5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
Lux stood, unmoving, upon the stone bridge.
The sun had begun its hidden descent beyond the town’s buildings, folding the world around her in deepening greys. The air was damp with a mist that never fully abandoned Ghadra’s borders, what with the endless marshes on one side and the dark forest on the other. That mist clung to her hair, curling it further. It weighed upon her shoulders.
Without tearing her eyes away, she wrapped a long tendril about her fingers. She hadn’t cut it for years and now it grew almost unmanageable in its length. She let it fall.
The forest mocked her. It knew she held no power there. It relied on the dead to sustain it even more than Lux herself did, and if it weren’t for her, it would be more satisfied than it was. Every life she revived was one fewer for it to feed upon, and she knew it tracked her movements with an eerie, unyielding consciousness.
The dead were forever silent there. But at twilight, when the air thickened and the winds hushed, the grass damp with dew, Lux swore she could hear them.
Her parents.
Lucena. Lucenaaa.
She had been eight years old and only just beginning to learn the extent of her gift. Her parents were ordinary people. They didn’t ask for a strange daughter capable of even stranger things, and they died for it.
Blood was everywhere. It coated the walls, stained the floors, and it had soaked into every pore of Lux’s skin as she had attempted in vain to revive them. She’d mixed and painted and shakily read the words over and over through tear-muddled vision.
It hadn’t mattered. She hadn’t known what she was doing. She hadn’t yet learned the tricks: sift the wyvern claw, stir three times clockwise, stir twice as many counterclockwise, and blend the lines but not too much . So many little things that made a world of difference. The difference between death and revival.
In the end, the hours drifted by. She had to stop; her time was up. Her lungs ached, pushing through the cracks of her ribs with every painful breath, and she was so, so tired. With red, swollen eyes, she’d surveyed the mounds of ingredients tossed and spilled and sticking to the shelves.
She’d enough for one more try.
Lux did indeed murder her parents, but the parents who had returned weren’t hers anymore.
Along the setting sun, she’d watched the death-cart rumble across the bridge, through the worn, grass path and into the forest beyond. And when it had returned, her body shook with the grief, the guilt, and the complete emptiness of her new reality. She could not handle the sight of blood since that night, not the warm, clinging touch or the rich, copper scent. And from that day on, at twilight, she walked to the bridge. Still as a statue, she stared back at the unflinching, veiled eyes of the forest and listened to her name-calling through the twisted, black branches.
Lux released the memory from her grasp, sending in plummeting into the abyss. Until tomorrow . Shooing the crow perched curiously beside her hand, she turned to stride back across the stone, cracked and overgrown with thick, green moss. Her gaze swept over Ghadra.
Ugly, cold and grey, it melded into the bleak countryside like a wet, dead thing sinking into the marshes as it decayed. Lux hated this town. She hated the forest. She hated the rain. She hated the sun for only gracing their dreary walls for one day out of seven.
If she looked too hard, she could see the toxic darkness rooted in her soul. Mostly, she hated that.
Her mind whirred anew with images of stacked, dusty books and crinkling potions’ excerpts. They’d been untouched for years, resting in a hidden alcove. Transforming to a conjured likeness of murky-grey eyes and strange, slit pupils, her mind replayed what the prowler had said. Over and over, it rolled around in her head. Why did she care?
Two hundred years.
The mayor wasn’t a good man. And he’d laid claim to the mayorship for as long as she’d known, but the chosen age growled by the boy confused her, because it was impossible. People would have noticed. Gossip would have spread. Hell, surely someone more important than an arrogant boy of the Dark would have discovered the truth ages ago.
Which meant it was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
Perched at her kitchen table, on a rickety stool that squeaked in protest with every slight adjustment, Lux rubbed her hands across her face. Beneath the lamplight, she studied the aged pages. One after another—and another after that.
Misdeeds were undeniably rising in Ghadra, and the Shield was to blame. They turned a blind eye to anyone capable of supplying a worthy bribe, be it coin, flesh, or privilege, and she wasn’t overly surprised someone had finally taken it upon themselves to do what they would not.
Shame seeped through her core as she admitted she hadn’t ever thought about it. As long as it didn’t affect her, secluded and cut off from the world as she was, she hadn’t truly cared.
Lux shoved more pages aside, her jaw hardening.
It was true she’d revived more of the city’s affluents than any other. Once, twice even. The mayor himself suffered from fast-spreading tumors—he’d been revived four times. They were rich, they were selfish, and the entire family sought out only what would allow them to climb higher. They possessed the money, so why wouldn’t they acquire her services?
But how old were they, really? Lux couldn’t extend a body past a normal lifespan. It wouldn’t work. A moment or two and the lifeblood would congeal again, the soul abandon its vessel again. It’d be unnatural to sustain it further.
Not only unnatural. Impossible.
One sentence spoke heatedly in anger by a boy she didn’t know, and now an entire new world of doubt and possibilities opened within her mind. It could have been an exaggeration of course, but if it hadn’t been, Lux feared there was something far more sinister at work in this town, and there wasn’t a soul she trusted enough to begin an inquiry involving such questions. Even her small standing with the elite could only get her so far. Which wasn’t far at all if certain members of the mayor’s family caught whisperings of Lux’s name.
Which was why, with continued fiery fury, she dug through the pages before her. She’d remembered reading about lifeblood long ago, acknowledging it should never be drained—an abominable sin—and certainly should never be consumed. But there had been something else, too, and it gnawed at her.
Lux groaned as she flung another useless healer’s book aside. She’d never possessed the gift. Her aunt had, before having disappeared without a trace. In fact, all these pages lining the table in further disarray had once belonged to her. Along with those bothersome plants.
Lux sifted through more books on curing common illnesses.
Her parents, upon realizing Lux seemed especially drawn to the dead and dying, immediately ushered the woman to her side. They had been so proud. A rare-brillianced family member. As well as they should have been. After all, Lux’s aunt had been held in the highest regard.
Healing required fewer obscure ingredients, less energy and thus less coin. Riselda rose to become a very prominent member of the community, and it was told that the mayor himself relied on her more than his own personal physicians. Until one day, as it seemed to her child self, Riselda was there, tutoring her, encouraging her, and in the next, she’d gone.
Weeks later, upon realizing she wouldn’t be returning, Lux dove into Riselda’s abandoned books and pages of notes. Deep within an alcove of her aunt’s home, she’d found it: The Risen . The book called to her like nothing else had. Heavy within her small hands, Lux had known with ever-strengthening certainty that this was what she’d been searching for inside herself.
She knew every word in that book now, and it didn’t have the information she sought this time. Where had she seen it? When had she read it?
“Aha.”
A loose-leaf piece of parchment. Odd. She’d remembered there being more to it than that. She shrugged the memory away; she’d been a child when she’d come across it, after all. Holding it to the lamplight, she studied the drawing first.
An uncorked vial tipped upon its side with liquid pooling thick and dripping onto the branch beneath it. Where it met, a winding, decayed hand reached forth. Lux’s eyes widened, hurriedly moving on to the text.
Lifeblood: the essential element. Not akin to that of red blood cells, the lifeblood does not travel the body but rather remains contained, well protected by several layers of matter. However, much akin to that of blood, if the lifeblood slows and grows stagnant, death is inevitable.
A metaphorical anchor of the soul to the body, Revival is rendered impossible if the lifeblood is drained from its carrier, for a soul cannot remain in a vessel without it. Another lesser-known aspect of the substance, aside from its silver appearance, is the consequence of ingesting it. For should a vessel, even weakened to the point of near-death, drink another’s lifeblood, not only is health restored, but another lifetime granted.
To harvest—
Lux flipped the page, back and forth, searching for the continuation of the instruction. It was useless. It was missing. Even knowing full-well she’d gone through every piece of parchment upon the table, she did so again.
If the mayor had truly discovered how to harvest lifeblood—
Lux’s heart bounded in her chest as she shuffled the pages. Just as she’d suspected, this was all the information she had now. It was enough to cause her anxiety to rise to crippling, but not enough to give her answers on how to stop it.
That boy had known something . Lux pinched the bridge of her nose, shuttering her eyes against the lamp and the flickering firelight dancing across the walls. She blew out a breath.
She had no friends. She had no family. Her closest acquaintances were those from whom she purchased supplies every month, and those people were despicable. The longest conversation she’d carried with another living person aside from vendors had been with Aline, and only recently. Tiny Aline…and her murderous brother.
Perhaps there was a way to needle what information she could from them. Imagined or real. Either way, she felt she needed to know their theories. Or, at least, his theories. Especially as they seemed to cast a very dismal light upon her.
Lux still wasn’t sure why she’d allowed herself to be so bothered by what the prowler said. Maybe, deep down, she’d begun to feel it herself. Feel that she could do more, should be doing more, rather than watching silently as the town further decayed in its rot. Though he clearly didn’t understand how necromancy worked, and she certainly was no pet. Anyone could see from her small home and even smaller pantry that she only charged what allowed her to live comfortably. She never accepted anything more—even when the mayor had offered.
He’d stopped long ago though; she’d refused him enough times. Ghadra’s mayor was short, nearly eye-level with Lux herself, with watering eyes and a stubbed nose, beneath which rested a curling, white mustache above an ever-present leer. A mocking smile that often led a person to believe the mayor knew something they did not.
Which was undoubtedly true.
Following her parents’ deaths, the mayor had been the first to offer refuge. Of course, at eight years old, she had much to learn. He had immediately sought to move her into his mansion, dumping lavish gifts upon her, and boasted to all who would listen of his necromancer.
Lux was na?ve and lonely, and she went for a time. But living within the mansion was like another world, separate entirely from Ghadra. The air was cleaner, the rooms lavish; the food was decadent, unlike anything she’d eaten before or since.
The people, however, were too much to bear. Every sentence held a double meaning, every compliment a hidden barb. They couldn’t be openly cruel to her—what if they required her very particular services one day? Instead, they had counted on her innocent child’s mind and limited experiences to shield her from understanding the rules of their wicked games.
But it was the repetition of subtle cruelties that left the deepest wounds, and when it had grown to where Lux felt the stinging even while alone, she’d known she had to leave. She’d packed her things that very night, and without a word to anyone, she’d climbed inside a carriage and left. The thought of going back to her home, however, had left her panic-stricken. Images of blood-splattered walls shrouded her mind though those walls had long been wiped clean.
She’d arrived on her aunt’s darkened, abandoned stoop. She had managed to muscle her way inside, left nursing a scraped, sore shoulder and eyeing a door that would forever possess a grating creak. Riselda had been gone less than a year, and already dust and cobwebs had graced every nook and corner, but it’d been familiar. It had possessed good memories, and it felt like home. Or at least, it had held potential for what a home could be.
Over the years, Lux had stayed out of the mayor’s business, and he stayed out of hers—so long as she was readily available should he or his family have need of her. Though, even then, she’d placed boundaries.
She’d perform her craft as many times as requested, but they must come to her. To lie upon the table just as every other lifeless body before it, because she refused to ever step foot into that mansion again. It came as little surprise they’d agreed to her terms so readily.
With a puffed breath through her cheeks, Lux rose from the stool. Moonlight embraced the streets outside in shifts as ever-present clouds roamed the night sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw pure, unobstructed starlight. Maybe never. The hour grew late, but the table’s contents were too precious to leave in the state they were currently. Even though the only thing she longed for was to nestle deep within a mound of blankets, she forced herself to stack them neatly away first.
A grinding scrape upended the quiet.
Lux halted mid-step, listening. She couldn’t tell where the sound had come from. Her eyes skittered across the dimly lit walls.
The scrape came again. Louder.
She tossed the last couple books into the corner, eyeing the floorboards of her living room with widening eyes and growing confusion. This didn’t sound like any mouse she’d ever met. The rug jumped, and she yelped.
Something moved beneath it.
“Enough of this nonsense.” With clenched teeth, she tentatively reached forward, clutched the farthest bit of hem on the thick rug—and yanked.
A set of eyes blinked up at her.
A trapdoor. Its seams melded along the floorboards so flawlessly, she’d never noticed it. Not that she’d ever thought to look. Now, here it was, raised the barest fraction, as an interloper studied her as curiously as if she were the one trespassing upon its domain.
She stumbled back on a cry.
“Lucena?”
Her heart skittered and skipped. She knew that voice. She knew that name. But no, it couldn’t be. Lux bent awkwardly, peering in the inadequate light. “Riselda?”
It couldn’t be, and yet the trapdoor flung wide, revealing a cloaked, hooded figure as she climbed from within the impenetrable gloom surrounding her.
Before Lux could absorb the familiar wintry beauty of her aunt, she’d been wrapped within arms that encircled her so completely, she nearly sagged beneath the intense sensations it sent bounding through her. When a kiss was pressed to her brow, she had to bite her lip. Riselda’s soft arms tightened about her in a reassuring pulse before stepping back.
“How is this possible?” Her aunt’s musical voice doused the room before dropping to a whisper, “Are you alone?”
Long-fingered hands rubbed the length of Lux’s forearms sending goosebumps rippling up their length.
Her mind rattled in shock, her face gone numb. She lifted a hand to ensure her nose remained where it should. “I’m alone. I’ve been alone.”
Riselda’s expression dimmed. “Your parents?”
“Dead. Shortly after you disappeared.”
Riselda scanned her face. If she heard the unintended accusation in Lux’s tone, however, she ignored it, dragging her close once again. “Oh, Lucena. I’m so sorry. That sister of mine… She was always too trusting.” She craned her neck back, a head taller than Lux, eyes bright. “You’re living here? In my home?”
Well, to be fair, she hadn’t thought Riselda would ever return. “I couldn’t go back. Not after they died there.”
“I understand.” Riselda surveyed the cozy room, its bright furnishings and crackling fire. “You have kept it up well, I must say. It’s much better than what I had expected to return to.”
Lux found the opening she was looking for. “Returning from where, Riselda? What happened to you? Where did you go?” She squinted into the beckoning darkness at her aunt’s back.
Eyes once flooded with emotion, shuttered. “So far away, Lucena, it may as well have been another world.” Dropping her arms to her sides, she ignored Lux’s parted lips and walked about her long-abandoned home. Wrapping her fingers around the lamp perched on the kitchen table, she entered the workroom.
Lux followed close behind, questions spilling from her mouth like seeds. If even one would root and be answered— “You’ve been outside Ghadra all this time? But Malgorm is in ruin. Has it improved? How did you survive? How did you leave? Will that tunnel take me beneath the marshes?”
Or beneath the trees?
An extended perusal of the walls, and Riselda spun toward her. “You’re Ghadra’s Healer now?”
It was almost a physical blow. Not a sprout . “I—no. I never did have the gift for it as you thought.” She paused, but Riselda’s expression urged her to continue. “I’m Ghadra’s Necromancer.”
Lux was sure her aunt’s eyes would pop like little liquid-filled balloons. “A necromancer? I cannot… Lucena.” Riselda scanned her length. “This is astonishing. I’ve never met another with this brilliance. Are you adept?”
“Yes. It requires a lot of my strength, but yes, I think I’ve mastered it over the years.”
“Years,” Riselda breathed. “I cannot believe it.” Her eyes left hers and studied the swaying plants along the counter—and The Risen propped before them. “I’d forgotten about this.” Riselda walked toward the book now, and Lux held back from acting upon the possessive shock bolting through her. It did belong to Riselda, after all. With careful fingers, her aunt thumbed through its pages, pausing now and then with a secretive smirk.
“Did you know I attempted this? Several times. Never on a human body of course.” Riselda’s smile faded to a grimace of regret as she let the book fall closed. “It didn’t call to me, not the way healing did. You should be proud to possess such a gift, Lucena. But I find myself wondering, what does Ghadra’s sweet mayor think of your ability? I’d have assumed you to be whisked away to a seat permanently at his side.”
“He tried, but I couldn’t endure the sort of people he surrounds himself with. I managed a handful of months before I snuck away. And I refuse to set foot in that festering nest ever again.”
Riselda found amusement in her words and laughed deeply, the beautiful sound echoing about the room. Lux regarded her, how lovely she was, and how she appeared just as Lux had remembered. “Oh, what a sharp tongue you’ve grown. I adore it.” Riselda rested one generous hip upon the smooth table, running her fingers along the surface. “I’ve a few things to drag up from the tunnel. Would you mind helping me much?”