Andrei

By the time we returned to Oskari, I’d recovered from the incident at the lair, and although there were no direct apologies involved, I’d made amends with Rhydian Sinclair. We agreed to ignore our differences for the sake of our common interests, but we still didn’t speak of my parents. There was no sense pressuring the man on the topic of his daughter, either. He’d soon have no choice but to face reality.

Because of Rick and Rhydian’s defected status, staying at the house with Helena Varis wasn’t an option, and with the church still shut down, and the Widow’s Peak being too risky, I could only think of one place that was both comfortable and unoccupied. It came as no surprise when the door to the Murder House was unlocked. What did come as a surprise, were the dozens of mirror shards stuck to the walls and hanging from the ceiling by strands of silvery thread. The fiery-haired Partisan sitting at the table was a new addition as well, but there was no question in my mind as to who she was.

It was too late to hide the defects, but considering Sinclair’s opinion of the Squeaky Lass, I trusted the girl could be counted on. We stepped inside and closed the door, and Adeline Blanchett sat frozen, staring straight ahead with her mouth agape—or at least it seemed she was staring straight ahead. It was difficult to tell behind the bug-like goggles.

We hadn’t had the chance to utter a greeting before the Successor came flying at us in a flurry of bouncy curls. She wrapped her arms tight around my torso and just as soon backed away, leaving me with little time to react.

“Father Strauss, it is so nice to finally meet you.”

Clearly, I thought. “Likewise, Successor.”

“You may call me Adeline, or Adel if you prefer short names.” I couldn’t remember seeing a smile so genuine. “Now, I must relay a message from Enforcer Rhian before I become distracted and forget. Are you ready?”

Rhydian sighed.

“Go ahead,” I said.

The Delphi cleared her throat and flipped a hand with a certain nonchalance. “Tell him to stay put, protect you, and help out with the clever shite. I'll be back soon.”

The accent was impeccable, the intonation near perfect. A curious talent. I made no effort to suppress a smile. “I’ll be glad to keep you company.”

Rhydian cleared his throat impatiently, and after sparing a pointed glance over my shoulder, I turned back to Adeline. “I’ve brought these men here because they are trusted and vital to our work. I realize you may feel obligated to report them, and I wouldn’t dream of putting you in an uncomfortable position, so if there’s a problem...”

Adeline cheeks flushed red. “A problem?”

Fury? I wondered.

“I know exactly who these men are, Father Strauss, and I simply cannot believe it.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if Sinclair was mistaken as to the Successor’s easy-going nature and trustworthiness. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I urge you to consider the danger we face,” I said. "These men are—”

“These men,” she replied, “are legendary! Of course they can stay, and of course I won’t be reporting them. That would be ridiculous, Father Strauss. Can I get you all some tea?”

The collective tension in the room lifted, and Rick and Rhydian hauled their bags over to the stairs while Adeline scurried over to the stove.

In the days to come, Adeline Blanchett shared everything she knew about the two elder Partisans—especially Rhydian Sinclair, with whom she seemed mildly infatuated. With our companions filling in the blanks, we learned some of the stories were true, some of them entirely false, and some fell somewhere in between. The stories were stirring, and worthy of their own volume. No mention of what an insufferable ass Rhydian was, however.

That spoke for itself.

Over the next few days, the time spent with Adeline Blanchett in her makeshift workshop was enlightening. The scientist’s inquiries on the subject of the Anima were a change of pace from the rage-fueled, “Barrage, behead,” mentality so far, and with Rick and Rhydian nearby, we were feeling more than ever prepared.

Early one morning, while the elder Partisans still slept, I arrived at the Murder House to find Adeline in the kitchen, tinkering at her workstation.

“What are you working on?” I asked.

The scientist turned and opened her hand, revealing a bauble that resembled a black cherry. “I call this HNF, which stands for hope and fear. First we must hope it will work, and then we must fear it will not.”

“And what would this HNF do?”

“Why, it would be ignited and thrown at the Anima. Of course, it would only produce sparks and small flames, but we have you to make them bigger, no?”

“No,” I said. “Genius, but it’s far too dangerous.”

“Of course it’s dangerous, Father S, we are discussing firepower.”

“I haven’t been properly trained, and it wouldn’t be sanctioned, and—” I shook my head.

“Do you think this was sanctioned?” Adeline dangled the HNF between two fingers. A madwoman in bizarre spectacles, fiery curls abounding. “No, Father S, it was not.”

“I see your point, but I don’t have any books on the techniques I should have mastered years ago, and I’ve had no one to learn from. I’m much too unpredictable.”

Adeline set the HNF down on the table and trotted across the room, heels clip-clopping. “What you must understand is that your ability to control the elements is not in addition to you, it is a part of you. It begs your attention and you reject it. Of course it rebels. If you wish to ask a favour of someone—or something—you must first get to know it.”

Hidden away in one of the kitchen cupboards, Adeline revealed a stack of science textbooks which she offered up for my perusal.

Sinclair was wise leaving me in her company. I’d be sure not to thank her.

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In the interest of public safety, we hadn’t reopened the church, so I skittered between the house and Blanchett’s workshop like a thief in the night. Despite my efforts—cautious but terribly unskilled—the townspeople spotted me sooner than I would have liked. They demanded to know more about the deadly fungus, and I perpetuated the fib by evading their questions with complex terminology and the appearance of busyness.

Over the course of a week, we survived two Anima attacks in the night—one at the workshop, and another on the way to the Widow’s Peak. Rick made quick work of the attacker at the workshop, and the Commander dispatched the one outdoors. As usual, the Legacy wanted nothing to do with our business. Furthermore, she and the Commander suspected they’d been successful in conceiving, as she’d been suffering symptoms. In light of this, the Widow’s Peak became our base of operations, and that’s where we convened most nights. The den, a sectioned area on the ground floor of the Peak, suited our purpose.

That night, Rick was absent while he guarded Adeline’s workshop.

“We need to take action against Lidia, with or without Rhian,” Reider said.

Adeline shook her head. “I respectfully disagree, Commander Michael, Sir. If we are impetuous and fail, we are putting her in greater danger when she returns.”

“Then tell us where she went,” Rhydian said. “I’ll get the lass and bring her around,” he added, as if the lass were a runaway chicken and not his daughter.

“No offense, but this isn’t the best time for a family reunion,” the Commander said. “Rhian’s always been difficult to factor, and we need to limit our variables.”

“You don’t think I bloody know that?”

The Commander shrugged. “I really don’t know what you think you know about Rhian, but we’re her friends, and your being here is going to affect her.”

The Commander had a point, and I suspected Rhydian’s decision to exclude himself from our plans going forward was a rebellious response to Reider’s authority. The Strachan didn’t answer to Palisade, or to me, and most certainly not to Michael. Of course, he didn’t leave the Peak that night without issuing a warning that if any of us tells his daughter we’d seen him, he’d kill us himself. In retrospect, if I’d have known it would be the last time I’d see the man, I’d have appreciated the family resemblance one last time.

Outside the Peak, a winter storm raged while we stayed warm by the fire in our cozy den. The inn was excellent at keeping out the weather, but not so much the people.

Ivana poked her head past the curtain, “Not too sorry to bother, but there’s a couple here to see you. All of you.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“A couple of what?” Adeline asked.

“Lovers,” Ivana said.

“Romance? How exciting!”

“Why is there a couple here to see us?” Reider asked.

“What, am I working for you people now? I have no idea. It’s busy. People are cold and hungry. Go see for yourselves.”

Evidently, the proprietress still hadn’t warmed to the Commander.

The three of us emerged from the den while the couple in question waited patiently in the common room, each carrying a cloth-bound parcel. I recognized them as the first couple to have gone missing—one of my parishioners, and one of the local guardsmen.

“This is all we could afford to repay you with, Partisans,” said the woman.

“While we appreciate the sentiment, we can’t accept gifts in exchange for service,” I replied. “But again, thank you.”

“Gifts?” said the man. “She threatened to kill us. Us and the rest.”

The Commander stepped forward. “Sir, you’ve lost me—who threatened to kill you?”

“The little blonde bitch with the spots on her face.”

By then, a dozen pair of curious eyes burned holes in our backs.

“You mean the little blonde bitch you claim rescued you?”

“Yes, she rescued us from that awful man,” said the woman. “We were all so frightened, and she was so brave. She would hear none of our thanks, Amalia knows we tried.”

Adeline shuffled to the side and reached for my hand.

“Yeah, a real hero. Until she came knocking at our door, demanding we pay up. Clothes. Oil. Food.” The man tossed his parcel to the floor, spitting upon it for good measure. “Disgraceful bastards. We never should have trusted you.”

Wrong...Father…process…blocked, I thought.

Or had I?

No, I hadn’t started fantasizing in the third person. The thoughts—the words—they were my own, but they were not of me. Simply put, Adeline Blanchett had something she wanted me to think. Unfortunately, the transmission was incomplete, disjointed and beyond me.

The second message, however, was not.

DANGER!

The villager reached into his vest, and while the Commander was still distracted by the parcel at his feet, I grabbed the villager by the arm and shoved the Commander to the side.

My role should have ended there. The Commander should have picked up from where I left off, and perhaps he would have, but I’d grown impatient and annoyed. Making use of my abundant strength, I flung our would-be-assailant out of harm’s way. He crashed, and I turned around expecting to see an overturned table and a few disgruntled patrons.

Instead, I faced a man on fire.

Aim was not my strong suit, and it was not my intention to send him sprawling into the hearth. The inn erupted with ear-bleeding screams. The Anima rushed at me with a sudden burst of speed, and when I raised my arms in defense, the inn fell silent.

The man on fire was a man no longer.

All that remained was ash.

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As you can imagine, we were no longer welcome at the Widow’s Peak. You may even say we’d outstayed our welcome in the village itself. The man I’d thrown into the fire was one of the Anima, and if our suspicions were correct, so were the rest of the villagers who’d returned seemingly unscathed. But, appearances were everything, and to those who’d already seen my power in action, it appeared I’d murdered an innocent Barren by way of disintegration. In addition, the rumors of Sinclair’s shakedowns could not be disproved.

It was a game well played, leaving us with nowhere else to go but the house. The parcels did not contain food, nor oil, but they did contain clothes. Two dresses, three sets of trousers, dress shirts, dinner jackets, a blouse, and a corset.

“On the bright side, at least we’ll look good for each other,” Reider said, holding the jackets up to his body. “I’ll take the blue one.”

“You can have it all, Commander,” I said. “I’ll have nothing to do with whatever this is.”

“Surely not the dresses?” Adeline asked. “The violet one is practically made for me.”

The tailoring was exquisite and seemed to be designed with our tastes in mind. It was disturbing, but no more disturbing than the object we found hidden among the clothing. It was a tattered book, smelling old leather and Hocks spirits. The Commander opened the book toward the middle, turning the pages two at a time. Each of them revealed a portrait of notable skill, each of them labeled with a date.

“What is this? Reider asked.

“I’ve seen this before,” Adeline said. “It belongs to Enforcer Rhian.”

The Commander flipped another page. “Okay, and who are these people?”

“Oh, just people! She’s quite talented, isn’t she?”

“Wonderfully,” I said. “Now why aren’t we panicking?”

“Because I know where Rhian is,” Reider said. “And she probably wouldn’t have time to sit around and draw. I’m betting she left a few things behind to lighten the load. It doesn't mean she's in danger, it just means Lidia wants us to think she is.”

The Commander flipped to the most recent entry—the night the villagers returned, and the night of the madman’s death. The accompanying sketch, however, was not the work of a talented artist. It was a childish caricature, complete with X-shaped eyes and a protruding tongue. While I was still processing what exactly we were looking at, my stomach lurched when there was a knock at the door.

Standing on the other side, covered head to toe in fluffy snow, wasn’t an Anima. It wasn’t Sinclair either. It was a fair-haired, freckled Strachan, but not one I recognized.

“Erm—I’m looking for Rhian Sinclair,” said the visitor.

“And you are?”

“You can call us Bells if you like. So—erm—is she here?”

Sinclair mentioned that Councilwoman Kelly might eventually send a scout to check on her. According to the Commander, we were to protect her and her whereabouts at all costs.

“She’s asleep,” I said.

“Wake her, then?”

“She’s asleep because she’s ill.”

Adeline shuffled toward the stairs, sniffling pitifully. “Father Strauss,” she coughed. “I’ll inform the Enforcer of her guest.”

The Strachan stared ahead, unblinking.

“What in the six hells is wrong with you lot?”

I peered around the Strachan, looking outside. “Winter.”

Upstairs, one of the doors creaked open and slammed closed.

“So,” I said, barring the entry with my arm. “Why Bells?”

“The name’s Bellamy,” the Strachan said. “Lucas Bellamy.”

“I see.” I reached for a smile which in hindsight I imagine appeared quite awkward. “I thought there may have been a story.”

Lucas Bellamy shook his head, squinting. “So, about Sinclair…”

“Of course,” I said. “Follow me.”

Lucas Bellamy hesitated, but did eventually follow me upstairs where a hushed conversation had been taking place behind one of the doors.

It wasn’t the cleverest of plans, but it was a plan, and it was the only plan in our repertoire with a moderate chance of success.

“Whatever, just tell them to go away,” said one of the voices behind the door. “I won't be seeing anyone looking like this, what with all the vomit, and sweat, and whatnots coming out my nose.”

I sucked in my cheeks, baring down.

Bells shouted at the door. “Oi, Rhian, it’s Bells. Got a missive from CK that needs signing. How’s about it I slip it under the door so I can get the hells out of here? This place is a goddess-be-damned death-trap.”

Truer words.

The plan proceeded perfectly. The message was exchanged under the door, was in the process of being read by Adeline, and all that remained was for her to squiggle an “S”.

The door to the bedroom opened wide, easily revealing that there had only ever been one person behind it.

“I’m sorry, I cannot do this.” Adeline shook her head slowly, locking her wide, glistening eyes with mine. “Rhian must see this for herself.”

You see, the Strachan had not been sent by Councilwoman Kelly to confirm Sinclair’s well-being. The missive was not a routine inquiry, either. The messenger, unaware of the grave news he carried, had been sent to inform us of Feargus Finlay’s death.

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The news scarred us all, a deep and permanent etching. Lucas Bellamy was unable to leave until Sinclair returned and signed the missive, so he remained with us at the house—annoyed but altogether relived we weren’t sick. Adeline Blanchett, not having known Feargus Finlay personally, was sympathetic in our time of grief, tending to our every comfort when not tied up at the workshop. The Commander was the first to break and the last to recover from the news. Finlay was not the only of his friends to fall in combat, but he was the closest of his friends. The notice revealed he’d died in Endica—one of a number of Councilwoman Kelly’s agents to have met a similar fate. Of those present, the Commander was also the only one to have experienced the dissent up north firsthand.

“She should have just signed the missive,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “Adeline made the correct choice.”

“I made the only choice! Are you suggesting we keep the news from her?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting,” Reider said. “I—she needs to stay focused. We all need to stay focused.”

Bells spoke next. “Funny story, but I lost both my bunkmates last year. It was utter shite, but I didn’t go mucking up my next job. Commander, you should know better than to say something like that.”

Not what I would call a funny story, but he'd made his point.

“Personally, I found their relationship quite disturbing,” the Legacy added. “Borderline incestuous, I say.”

Glaring to the left, I replied, “Legacy Varis, you understand the two aren’t actually siblings?”

“They may as well have been, and am I to believe they were innocent, all those nights sharing a bed?”

I spared a glance toward the Commander whose jaw contracted and expanded.

“It seems I’ve struck a nerve,” Varis continued. “Why is that?”

“Right, I’ve changed my mind,” Bells said. “Someone sign the missive so I can leave.”

In a flash of purple and fiery-red the Successor stood and slammed her first against the table. “Enough! All of you are behaving like babies.” Adeline stabbed a gloved finger in Reider’s direction. “Commander, you are supposed to be her partner. You are supposed to be her friend. Rhian deserves the opportunity to face the truth even if you are not ready to do it yourself. And you—” the finger targeted the Legacy next “—it’s those like you who sully our names. I don’t say this often, but I don’t like you, Legacy Varis. Not one bit. And you—” Adeline’s next victim was a petrified Bells “—have been an adequate messenger and have done nothing wrong. We appreciate your service.”

I didn’t wait for the finger of truth to accuse me of anything, instead I excused myself in favour of the Anima-infested night. For a time, I paced the perimeter of the pond, recalling my time with Feargus Finlay. He was a nuisance at times, but he was a rare breed. He was knowledgeable, wise, and intelligent leaps beyond us all. And somehow, he was happy. His ridiculous antics—unnecessary but certainly never boring—remain among my most cherished memories.

Feargus Barnabas Alistair Jack Finnegan Finlay was the best of us.

He would be missed.