Blood of the Underworld (18 page)

“Watch your tongue in their presence,” Melody said, gently easing herself off the bed. “But don’t worry about me. I spent too much time in silence to care for tempered words and padded half-truths. I say if a man looks like a gopher, call him a gopher, don’t you?”

Nathaniel nodded. He still felt awkward, but at least it seemed like he could trust Melody to pay attention to him, and not care if he said something John would claim was ‘improper’. His grandmother walked over to her expansive closet and opened the doors.

“Can you can keep a secret, Nathaniel?” she asked as she peered into its darkness.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Lord Gandrem says my word should be my bond, and to never break it.”

“John’s a smart man,” Melody said. “And you should trust much of what he says. But I’ve spent a few afternoons with him, and he is lacking in knowledge of the gods. Tell me, Nathan, what do you know of Karak and Ashhur?”

As she asked this, she pulled out a small wooden box from the far recesses of the closet. Nathaniel stepped closer, his curiosity too strong to resist. Her question itself, though, nearly deflated him. His teacher of numbers had been devoted to Ashhur, always telling Nathaniel lists of rules, expectations, and everything Ashhur would be sad about for him doing.

“My teacher made me memorize some things,” he reluctantly admitted.

“I don’t mean prayers and sermons, Nathan. The gods are not figments, not boring lessons with names. They were real. They wielded blades, raised armies, and conquered the wildlands Dezrel used to be before their arrival.”

Nathaniel’s eyes widened. Now this was more like the bards’ songs than the dry lecturing of his teacher. When Melody opened the box, his eyes widened further, so much that he thought they’d bug out of his head. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The base was a circle made of dark stone, with two soft indents on either side. The center almost like a bowl, but much too shallow. Laying in it were nine precious stones, each with a thin silver chain encircling it attached it to the base. The stones were all different, ruby, sapphire, emerald, topaz, even a couple he didn’t recognize. Each one was the size of his thumb.

“When I was in the darkness, this was all I had to keep me company,” she said. “Your grandfather didn’t want me to have it, but a good friend gave it to me anyway. Pull the curtains across the window, child. We must make it as dark as we can.”

Nathaniel hurried to do as she said. Even with the lavish lifestyle he was accustomed to living in a house of the Trifect, he was still excited by the sheer wealth before him that Melody held. Whatever it was, it certainly was worth a fortune. That she had somehow hidden it in a dungeon was stunning. As he tugged on the curtains, he thought to ask her of her time spent imprisoned at Leon Connington’s mansion, but dared not. Deep down, he knew that what he might hear was something he would not enjoy, and involve things he was only starting to understand.

The curtains were long, and sewn thick, so when Nathaniel returned to the closet, he had to hold a hand against the wall to guide him there until his eyes adjusted.

“Remember, Nathan,” Melody said, “you must tell no one of this. This is a chrysarium, and is worth more than I could ever replace. I’ve long kept it hidden, so do not make me feel foolish for showing such a young child.”

“I’m not so young,” Nathaniel said, puffing out his chest. He caught a smile from her, just a crease in the shadows, and then she lifted the chrysarium. Her thumb and palms pressed against the grooves on the sides, the rest of her fingers holding it from beneath. Melody’s eyes closed, and he heard her whispering. The words were too low and quick for him to understand, but he felt something strange and foreign building in his chest. Panic struck him, and he wanted to flee, but before he could work up the nerve, the gems began to shine.

It was soft at first, just a flicker of color, like sparks of tinder on a fire not yet caught. The emerald shimmered first, a deep glow growing in strength from the very center of the gem. Next was the ruby, its blood-red light swirling within, as if each gem was filled with a smoky liquid. One by one the rest lit up, growing in strength as his grandmother continued to pray. Nathaniel reached forward, pushed on by a compulsion to touch them, but a sudden fear overcame him. His hand dropped to his side.

“They shine by the power of my faith,” Melody said, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. Even as she spoke, the glow began to fade. “Watch the center, Nathan, and open your heart to matters beyond this world. Let the spirit guide you, and you will see.”

He didn’t know what she meant, didn’t understand what to do, or what the spirit was. But then she prayed again, louder, stronger. The gems shook in the chrysarium, flared bright, and then lifted in unison from the stone. They floated in the air, higher and higher, until the length of silver chain holding them stretched tight, halting their ascent. Nathaniel gaped, mouth open in wonder. So strange was this light. Though at times it was so bright that it hurt his eyes, it did not spread. The walls of the closet remained dark, and even when Nathaniel had brought his hand close to touch them, their light had not shown upon his skin. A strange hum filled his ears, though where it came from, he did not know. It made his stomach tighten, but he could not stop, could not leave.

In the center of the chrysarium, where it should have been brightest because of the gems, it was darker than anything he’d ever seen.
That is where the monsters live,
he thought, not knowing why.
That is where the stars hide.

“Look deep,” his grandmother instructed. Her voice was a songbird over the din of a thunderstorm. Much as it frightened him, he looked inside, into the darkness, and therein he saw the first of his visions.

He saw a man crying in darkness, but when the man looked up, Nathaniel realized it was not a man but a woman. Her tears shone silver. Shadows turned, and another woman held her, her tears made of gold. Above them roared a lion, and from the creature’s throat poured a thousand stars. They washed over the two, bathed them in light, and together they emerged as one being whose hands were stained with blood. Next came Veldaren, seeing it as if he soared high above like a hawk. Below, the city burned, a hundred suns igniting within its depths. Nathaniel tried crying out, but he heard nothing of his voice, and was only dimly aware of his own body. Another vision, that of a hundred rows of wheat. They swayed in the wind, then withered and died as the moon rose. Reapers, their faces hidden by masks, collected the dead wheat, gathering it together in a great pile. When they set it aflame, Nathaniel felt the heat of it on his skin, felt his sweat pour down his neck. The bonfire split, revealing a great canyon, its depths endless. Stomach churning, he spun about, until he was standing on one side. On the other, a great army gathered, muscular bodies made of darkness and shadow lifting swords and axes high above their heads. And amid them, laughing, was a faceless man with eyes of fire.

“No more,” he begged as the laughter filled his ears. “No more, no more, no more!”

Pain on the back of his head pulled him out, scattering the visions. He lay against the side of the closet, Melody cradling him. The chrysarium lay beside her on the floor, looking nothing out of the ordinary beyond the wealth of the gems.

“You poor boy,” she whispered. “You poor, poor boy. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right,” Nathaniel said, his voice coming out drowsy. His words were an immediate response, a desire to comfort her, for he knew something he’d done had frightened her. What was it? Laughter rang in his ears, and he felt his skin crawl.

“No, it isn’t,” she said. “The chrysarium always showed me pleasant images, fields of flowers and mountains in distant lands. I didn’t know it would work so differently on one so young. I should have warned you, I should have made sure...”

She was crying, he realized.

“I’m fine, everything’s fine,” he said, standing so he might hug her. She kissed his cheek, and he felt her tears brush against his skin.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping them away. “I only meant to show you something wonderful. I fear my god thought to use you for some other purpose. I caught only glimpses, but you saw a vision, Nathaniel. You witnessed the future yet to come. You should feel honored, for few are blessed with such a gift. You truly are a special child.”

Nathaniel didn’t feel special, or blessed. He felt awkward again, and the darkness of the room only made it worse.

“I should go attend my duties,” he said, rushing over to pull aside the curtains. When the room flooded with light, he trembled. The warmth of it felt divine on his skin, and it chased away the last image in his mind of those terrible burning eyes.

“What duties are those?” Melody asked, slowly rising.

“Lord Gandrem will have plenty ready for me,” he said, drumming his fingers across the bone of his stump. “Thank you, grandmother.”

She smiled.

“Remember, it is our secret,” she said. “And please, don’t forget what you’ve seen. A vision from the gods should never be ignored, nor forgotten. And if you need to talk about it...”

“I will,” he said, still in a hurry. He wanted out. Just out. Opening the door, he fled the room, eager to be back in John Gandrem’s world of chores, duty, and learning. He’d had a taste of what it meant to deal with the divine, and suddenly the tales of the bards seemed so far away from the truth.

Come that night, and the bard’s arrival, Nathaniel cuddled with his mother, listening to stories of doomed lovers, wars between lords, and the fall of dragons. Only once did the bard, a portly fellow in red, try to sing of Karak and Ashhur. Nathaniel had frowned, and begged his mother to make him tell a tale of monsters, princes, even thieves and murderers, just anything else but that.

12

H
aern ran, forfeiting the rooftops for faster travel upon the roads. He’d gotten caught up tracking what turned out to be a false lead, just a guildless street rat trying to steal in the Spider territory instead of being the Widow, as Haern had first hoped. The time wasted meant he might miss his chance to speak with Alan. Legs pumping, he raced toward the southern wall. Alan’s patrols varied, but every eight days he made sure to swing by a long stretch of the south wall, where there was little to steal, and even less eyes to see. For the most part, that was the only place Alan felt safe enough to talk.

And they certainly had much to talk about.

Since the attack against Victor, the city had settled into an unstable peace, a held breath before the next catastrophe. Victor’s work continued, a steady picking at the various thief guilds and their numbers. Through it all, the guilds remained quiet. Haern wanted to know what Alan knew, what Thren was thinking after such a vicious loss. That, and the Widow had struck again, another Spider found mutilated. Despite their best attempts, none of the Eschaton had been able to stop it. The rest of the city was catching on to the murders, and for most, it was just a cruel joke.

“Another went to see the Widow,” he’d heard a guard say, and the rest laughed as they picked up the body and pocketed the silver and gold. It was a lead Haern knew he should pursue, though the task was daunting. Systematically questioning every prostitute both within and surrounding the Spider Guild’s territory...

He shook his head. Even then, it didn’t explain the dead child on the Gemcroft property. Perhaps a housemaiden cast off for some reason, forced to work the streets for a living? Haern resolved to question Alyssa later as he climbed to the rooftops. Too close now to risk being spotted, even with the clouded sky hiding the moon and stars. Despite his numerous contacts, Alan was the only one within the Spider Guild willing to give information to the Watcher, so great was the fear Thren Felhorn inspired. The two previous members he’d contacted had died horribly as examples to the rest.

All the more reason to be careful,
Haern told himself. He slowed down his run and forced himself to carefully observe his surroundings. Far better he missed speaking to Alan for a few more days than to get the man killed by his carelessness.

The southern district was the poorest of them all, and against the wall were dozens of little shanties, homes made of thin wood that looked like a stiff breeze could knock them over. For a few months King Edwin had tried to scatter them, but they always came back, the hungry and homeless too adept at fleeing, too desperate to fear threats. Because of this, few thieves bothered to patrol the area. What was there to steal, or prevent another guild from stealing? With the night so deep, all there were asleep, all but Alan. With a leisurely stroll he passed them by. Only after a quick whistle from Haern did he turn about, heading toward a corridor where shadows were at their deepest.

“You spotted?” Alan asked as Haern dropped to the street before him.

“If someone had spotted me, do you think we’d be talking?”

Alan grunted.

“Confident, aren’t we? You have my coin?”