Death Bringer (23 page)

Chapter 33
Willow Hill

hen Willow Hill Retirement Home had closed down twenty years earlier, nobody had wept. It had been a cold place, of long halls and strong smells, that seemed to infect its staff and its citizens with a dangerous level of indifference. Bodies, once young and strong, wasted away with barely a whisper of protest, following dutifully after minds that were in no condition to lead them. People gave up in Willow Hill. In Willow Hill, nobody seemed to bother.

The Necromancer Order had purchased the Home ten years previously, and had done nothing to prevent the slow decay that seeped through the walls. They let it crumble. They let the local kids throw rocks through the windows and spray-paint the outside. The only thing they didn't allow was anyone to break in, to spend the night. There was no telling when the Order might be in need of refuge, and they didn't want to deal with an infestation of mortals when this need arose.

Craven, in particular, liked retirement homes. He liked the peace and the quiet, the still quality of stale air. Most of all he liked the death that lingered like a faint memory.

His fellow Necromancers, thirty-four in all, were gathered in what had once been the dining hall. Craven waited at the door, judging the pitch of a dozen conversations, and then he walked slowly into the room and waited for everyone else to stop talking. When there was silence, he cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and shook his head sadly. “It is with deepest sorrow,” he said, “that I tell you today that High Priest Auron Tenebrae has rejoined the stream of life.” Shocked mutterings reverberated through the assembled Necromancers, and Craven continued. “Lord Vile killed him before turning his sights on our saviour, the Death Bringer. She was strong enough to survive. The High Priest, unfortunately, was not.”

“Where's the body?”

Craven frowned, seeking the one who had interrupted his solemnity. It was Wreath. Of course it was Wreath.

“We were unable to retrieve it, Cleric Wreath,” Craven said. “But I saw it happen myself. High Priest Tenebrae is no more. This is a day of great sadness.”

“It is indeed,” Wreath said, “because we didn't just lose Tenebrae, did we? We lost over three dozen others.”

“A terrible tragedy.”

“Tragedy, you call it? Melancholia killed them. I call it murder.”

Craven looked shocked, and glanced back at Melancholia. She was sitting with her head down and her hood up. For a moment there seemed to be a slight smile on her face. Craven turned back to the crowd. “Murder? How can it be murder? This is the Death Bringer. She released our fellow Necromancers to the great stream because she needed their strength and their courage to defeat Lord Vile and those Sanctuary dogs. I assure you, every single one of them was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, and I'm sure they did so gladly.”

“She didn't exactly give them a choice,” Wreath said.

“I didn't have time.” All eyes turned to Melancholia, who kept her head down. “I'm sorry I killed those people. I knew all of them. I'll miss them, but I know I'll see them soon, just as I know I'll see the High Priest again. I have a… a responsibility, Cleric Wreath, to bring about the Passage. That's the only thing that means anything any more. Surely you, of all people, know that we must do whatever we can to ensure that the world is saved.”

“And you think you're really the one to do that?”

“I don't know. In all honesty, I don't know. I have doubts. Beneath this power I am still me, I am still Melancholia St Clair. I have my fears, Cleric. I'm afraid I'm not going to be strong enough, or brave enough, and I'm afraid I'm going to falter just when you need me the most. I don't want to let you down, Cleric.”

Craven didn't smile, even though his lips wanted to. He watched Wreath glower, while all around him the Necromancers were looking at Melancholia with a new level of understanding. It was a masterful speech.

“The Sanctuary will be getting desperate,” he said, drawing their attention back to him. “As long as we remain here, we should be safe. Another four days. That's all we need. Let the Sanctuary agents tire themselves out searching for us. They won't find us. They won't find anyone who knows where we are. As long as we remain here, as long as we remain together, they will not defeat us, and we will save this world.”

He clasped his hands and closed his eyes, and they began applauding. They were
applauding
.

He turned, left the room. The White Cleaver trailed after him as per his new assignment – Personal Bodyguard to Vandameer Craven. Craven was sure that the Cleaver was deeply honoured by such a position, even if he didn't show it.

Shadows collected ahead, and when they dissipated, Solomon Wreath was standing there with his arms folded. “You saw it, did you?”

Craven slowed as he neared. “I'm sorry?”

“Tenebrae. You saw Vile kill him?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. It was quick, though, and from that we must take comfort.”

Craven turned to one of the grimy windows that lined the corridor. “It's all changed, isn't it? There's no going back – not now. I… I need someone I can trust by my side, Solomon. Are you that man?”

Wreath grunted. “I wouldn't have thought so.”

Craven turned, smiled. “Nor would I, my friend. Between us, there has been nothing but animosity and distrust. Years, foolishly wasted on childish games – for what purpose? Pride? Vanity? I know not. But we are here. Now. Thrown together. You, the last Cleric of our Temple. And me, suddenly looked upon as prophet, as leader, as High Priest.”

Wreath unfolded his arms. “I'm sorry, what? Exactly
who
is looking at you that way?”

“Why,
they
are. Our fellow Necromancers. They look to me for answers I cannot give.”

“Because you're not the High Priest.”

“But if I am not,” Craven said, as gently as he could, “then who is?”

Wreath frowned. “Craven, you're a Cleric. We lost a High Priest, another will be assigned. It's how these things work.”

“Would you wait for someone new to come in and take over? If we stand united, we need no one else.”

“If we stand united under
you
, you mean.”

“Then I won't be the High Priest,” Craven said impatiently. “It's just a title, after all. A name. It's all meaningless, the petty rivalries, the power plays. Oh, how I lost myself to it, back when my eyes were shut and my mind was closed. But now, I see. The way is clear. The Death Bringer will unite us, my friend. If you cannot believe in me, at least believe in her.”

“She killed thirty-eight of us.”

“For which she has just apologised.”

“She's unstable.”

“She's adjusting.”

“She's a mental case. And what about her power? One moment she can barely lift her head, the next she's flinging people around like they're leaves in the wind. How can she be expected to usher in the Passage if she can't control how long she'll be able to stand upright?”

“I have faith.”

“I don't.”

“That is… troubling.”

“No, it's reasonable.”

“Melancholia is the Death Bringer. Yes, it's not like we thought it would be. It's not as clean. But it's real, and it's happening. She has the power to do this.”

“She had better. If she doesn't, if she fails, we'll never get another chance. They know what we want now – they know what we're after. If we continue with this, and she fails, we'll be hunted down across the world. They'll destroy our Temples, our teachings, everything. She'd better be the one, Craven.”

“She is.”

“Because if she isn't, we should kill her now and see what we can salvage.”

Craven's eyes widened. “What?”

“If we stop, now, immediately, we can take care of this. We can take the blame – me, you, Melancholia, the others. We can take the punishment. But our brothers and sisters around the world will be left alone, left to find the one true Death Bringer.”

“Melancholia
is
the one true Death Bringer!”

“No, she's the one
you
made.”

Craven fell silent.

“This is our last chance. If there is any doubt about her, we should sacrifice ourselves for the greater good.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that she can do it.”

“Well, there's plenty of doubt in mine.”

“Our enemies are closing in,” Craven said angrily. “We need to stop them. We need to strike back. Instead, we are at each other's throats once again, when we can least afford it.” He sighed, and turned to the window. “Leave me now. I am tired.”

Wreath didn't speak for a moment. “Craven, I'm going to be very nice to you, and not break your jaw for what you just said to me. I'm just going to forget you ever said it, and backtrack a little. You think we should strike at our enemies, do you? With what, exactly? We have just over thirty Necromancers, and practically none of them have combat experience. And even if they did, who should we strike against, do you think? The Sanctuary? Its agents? Pleasant and Cain, maybe? Or how about Lord Vile? Should we strike against him?”

Craven turned. “You mock me, Cleric Wreath.”

“Oh I do, Cleric Craven, for you are easily mocked. You have no idea what it is you're saying at any given moment, do you? You think just as long as you're issuing orders, you're a leader. Well, here's a newsflash for you, sunshine. That's not how it works.”

“You are most insolent.”

“You're not the High Priest, Vandameer. If our enemies
are
closing in, then this would appear to be the perfect time for Melancholia to initiate the Passage. If she proves unable to carry out her duties, she must be put down.”

“Those are dangerous words you speak.”

“Well then,” Wreath said, “it's a good thing you're not in charge, or I'd really be in trouble, wouldn't I?”

He walked away, robbing Craven of the chance to do that himself. Craven stayed where he was, at a dirty window he could barely see out of, and seethed with anger.

Chapter 34
Valkyrie and Fletcher

orning came, and Valkyrie woke. She pulled on a dressing gown and went downstairs. She left her phone by her bed. She didn't want anyone calling her. Her mum was eating breakfast. Alice lay in her basket on the table.

“How are you feeling?” Valkyrie asked.

Her mum smiled. “I'm fine. You can all stop worrying about me. I had to literally push your father out the door a few minutes ago. He can be really sweet when he wants to be.” The smile faded. “What happened to you?”

Valkyrie blinked at her. “Sorry?”

“Is that a bruise?”

Valkyrie ducked back into the hall and checked herself in the mirror. A nice round bruise had appeared where her forehead had met Moore's face. She glared at herself, then returned to the kitchen. “I banged my head last night,” she said.

“How?”

Valkyrie shrugged. “Just one of those things. Woke up suddenly, turned the wrong way, banged my head on the wall.”

“Nightmare?”

“Can't remember. How did you sleep?”

“Not the best,” her mother admitted. “But I'm used to only getting a few hours' sleep with the Little Miss here.” She put down her toast and picked up Alice. “You were great yesterday,” she said. “Des was just talking about it. You were so calm and collected, and the way you took care of Alice while we were running around like headless chickens… Thank you, sweetheart.”

Valkyrie's smile was brittle. It had been the reflection who had been there to help. Valkyrie had been too busy with her other life, where her best friend used to be a mass murderer.

She went upstairs, selected a small healing rock from the collection Kenspeckle had once given her, stripped off and took a shower. She soaked a sponge around the porous rock and gently dabbed the sponge against her forehead. The bruise would disappear soon enough, just like almost every other injury she'd ever suffered. She looked at the palm of her right hand, where Billy-Ray Sanguine had cut her with his straight razor. She still had the scar. It would never go away. She thought about Tanith, and wondered how she was. She missed her. She missed having someone to talk to.

The water was hot, and felt good. Valkyrie held her face against the spray, eyes closed, standing there for the longest time. When she was done, she stepped out, grabbed a towel, walked barefoot across the landing. She dried off in her room, pulled on a pair of loose jeans and a T-shirt. Her phone rang. It was Fletcher. Again. She ignored it.

He appeared in front of her.

Valkyrie jumped back, then lunged past him, shutting her door. “What the hell are you doing?” she whispered. “Anyone could have been in here!”

“You haven't been answering my calls,” Fletcher said.

“I was in the shower!”

“I've been calling for days. Val, the last time I saw you, you were in the Sanctuary covered in blood. I've been worried sick.”

“You knew I was OK,” she shot back.

“Don't I deserve a little
more
than that? Don't I deserve to see you?”

“Fletcher, seriously, this is not a good time, all right?”

“Ghastly told me Melancholia got away. They'll get her, you know they will. They have every sorcerer out there right now, hunting them down.”

“This isn't about that.”

“Then what's wrong?”

Valkyrie laughed. “Everything's wrong. Nothing's wrong. I just want to be left alone.”

He looked at her, then turned to her desk, started playing music. He turned up the volume. “Now we can talk,” he said.

“Turn that down,” she snapped. “Mum's been through enough without you giving her a bloody headache.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was mugged yesterday. She's fine, she's fine, everyone's fine. She was mugged and the Guards grabbed him, a guy called Moore. I paid him a visit in his cell last night.”

Fletcher stared at her. “You what?”

“He attacked my mother. What was I supposed to do? Let him get away with it?”

“He didn't get away with it, Valkyrie. He got caught. He was arrested. He was in a cell. What did you do?”

She met his eyes and didn't answer.

“What did you do?” he asked again, stepping forward.

“I hurt him,” she said. “I could have killed him, too. He's lucky I didn't.”

Fletcher shook his head. “You don't mean that.”

“Again, I'll say it because you may have missed it the first time. He attacked my mother.”

“You nearly killed him?”

“He deserved it.”

“What? What did you say? He deserved it? Are you serious? You went in there with your magic and your training, you almost
killed
him, and you're OK with that? You'd do it again?”

“Nobody hurts my family.”

“You're spending way too much time with Skulduggery. I'd expect this from him, wading in, leaving a trail of bodies behind. But you? This isn't you. This isn't who you are.”

“You don't know me well enough to say that.”

“No, obviously I don't. The Valkyrie I thought I knew would argue with me every time I even
implied
that she was violent. She certainly wouldn't do what you did.”

“If you're going to give me another lecture, save your breath.”

“Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I wouldn't dream of telling you what to do. You know it all, don't you? You know exactly what you're doing, and everyone around you is so very happy to let it continue.”

“What are you on about now?”

“Did Skulduggery scold you for breaking into that police station? Did he caution you against beating up a prisoner? No? I'm not surprised. That's exactly the kind of thing
he'd
do.”

“Oh I see,” said Valkyrie. “Now that Kenspeckle's gone, you've taken it upon yourself to tell everyone when they've crossed a line, have you?”

“Someone has to. It's not going to be Skulduggery. Ghastly's too busy. I
was
relying on Tanith, but I can't do
that
any more. You need someone to rein you in.”

“And that's you?” she laughed. “
You
are my moral compass? My God, things are worse than I thought. And I haven't told Skulduggery yet. I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to
anyone
.”

“Well, I'm not going to just stand around while you go down a path you're going to regret.”

“Do yourself a favour, OK? Stay out of it. You think we're in this together? We're not. I'm in this. That's all.”

“I'm your boyfriend, Valkyrie. It's not as simple as that.”

“Well, we can make it that simple.”

He looked at her. “You want to break up?”

“I don't know,” she said, defiance rising in her voice. “If you don't stop complaining all the damn time, maybe I do.”

“Be careful.”

“Of what? Of hurting your feelings? Because you're so delicate?”

“Be careful of saying something you won't be able to take back. You're angry. You're not thinking right.”

“I'm thinking fine, Fletcher. Maybe we
should
break up. Maybe we need a change. We've been together for too long as it is. We should have broken up ages ago.”

He shook his head. “You're angry. You don't mean it.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don't. Stop being so bloody silly.”

“
Silly?
” she snapped. “
Silly?
You don't say that to me. You don't
get
to say that to me. We're breaking up, Fletcher. We're through.”

“Wait a second, OK? Calm down. Think about it. This is heat of the moment stuff. You don't mean any of it.”

“Heat of the moment? This isn't heat of the moment, this has been building for a while. I've wanted to break up with you for a long time, I just didn't realise it. You think we're good together, do you? You think we're a happy little boyfriend and a good little girlfriend? Well, I'm not a good little girlfriend.”

“Val, just take a breath, count to ten—”

“I've been seeing Caelan behind your back.”

Fletcher froze, and Valkyrie instantly regretted it. More than regretted it. She hated it. She hated the words she'd just said. She hated the look on Fletcher's face. She hated herself. She wanted to claw it all back, to scrub it all away, but it was out, it was in the open, and she was talking again, saying something, she didn't know what, but she shut up when he looked at her.

He said, “What?” in a dull, dull voice.

There was something in her chest that stopped her from speaking. She had tears in her eyes. She was crying. When was the last time she'd cried? He looked at her and all his questions were answered. His face changed.

“I thought you loved me,” he said.

“Fletcher, I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don't know… I'm not sure…”

“You must know. You must. You always know what you're doing. You always know why you do things. It's how you're able to be right all the time. It's where you get all this confidence from, the fact that you are the one who is always right. So why did you do it?”

“I don't know.”

“You're lying. You know exactly why you did it.”

“Fletcher, it's not important.”

He laughed horribly. “Not important to you, Val, but it's plenty important to me. Do you even care? I mean, I know you're crying, I can see the tears, but they're not tears for me. You're crying because you feel bad. Those tears are about you, because everything is about you. It always is, isn't it? The world revolves around you, because you're just that selfish.”

“I didn't want to hurt you.”

“I don't think it even occurred to you that I would be hurt. It never even entered your head. You're obsessed with yourself, you know that? You always have been, but I've been OK with it, because I was obsessed with you too. How stupid am I, huh? Boom, just like that, I'm cut off and now I can see the whole thing. You've never done anything for anyone else. You've never inconvenienced yourself purely for someone else's benefit. The rest of us have. It's what makes us good people. You? You've saved the world, but you're not a good person. I don't know what you are.”

“Fletch, please—”

“Please what? Please stop making you feel bad? Oh, wow, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't realise I was ruining your day. Maybe you should run back to Caelan… maybe he can comfort you.”

Valkyrie shook her head. “It's not like that.”

“Oh, so you're not dumping me for him?”

“I'm not dumping you for anyone.”

“Does he know this?”

“I couldn't care less what he knows.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

“Listen, you can stand there and insult me all you want, but the fact is, this has been coming for a while.”

“And yet it's the first I've heard about it.”

“Of course it is, because you haven't wanted to hear about it.”

“Ah, right. OK. I get it now. Basically, I should have seen this coming, yeah? I should have seen the signs, and realised what was about to happen?”

“Yes,” she said.

“So in a way, when you think about it, all this is my fault.” Valkyrie looked away and sighed.

“Which makes perfect sense,” he continued. “Because you can do nothing wrong. Because you can never be selfish or self-centred because the fault always has to lie with someone else. I am really stupid, Valkyrie, and I apologise.”

“Don't be like this.”

“Don't be like what?”

“Don't be so bloody childish. Don't sulk. Don't feel sorry for yourself. Your girlfriend broke up with you. Fine. It happens all the time. Grow up and move on.”

“Like you, you mean. Because you're so mature, taking everything in your stride, accepting any and all responsibility that comes your way. That's you, isn't it? Little Miss Perfect?”

“I never said I was perfect.”

“But my God, do you think it.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“But why wouldn't you think you're perfect? Haven't I spent the last two years telling you how beautiful you are, how smart, how exceptional? Hasn't Skulduggery been telling you how great you are, and powerful, and amazing? Everyone you meet is instantly impressed with you, because you're so confident and capable. You can do anything you put your mind to. You go from schoolgirl to sorcerer overnight. You're descended from the Last of the Ancients. The Necromancers meet you and you're immediately one of the nominees to be their impossibly powerful saviour. With all these people going crazy over you, Val, I'm actually surprised you stuck with a nobody like me for so long.”

“Right now,” she said angrily, “I'd have to agree with you.”

There were tears in Fletcher's eyes, but he didn't cry. “Well? If you're expecting me to teleport away, you can forget about it. You're the one doing the dumping, so it's up to you to walk out first. So go on, Val. Walk.”