Merula: The Children of Corvus, #2

Part One

Prologue

DEPARTURE

Acadia Maxwell

Blackwater Hills

Impelled by her conviction, Cadie Maxwell fled through the murky forest to Blackwater Castle.

Just outside the imposing stone edifice, she stopped to breathe and calm her growing trepidation, reminding herself that leaving Blackwater Hills and entering the land of the advena was the will of Fatum—the only way to discover the truth. She slipped through a door in the north tower, stopping briefly to exchange the forest green hood of a priest for one of dark red wool.

She hoped that anyone who happened to see her would assume she was a member of the Guard and would not stop to ask questions.

A door on the opposite side of the circular tower opened to the grand foyer where four tall, blazing sconces warred with the shadows. Cadie turned left. Several thundering heartbeats later, she passed through the alcove into the gathering hall. After that, it was a scant few feet to the door of the library—the private domain of the Guardian of the Dead.

The door was locked as always, but Cadie was prepared. She’d spent the last six months practicing the locksmith’s art and made short work of the complicated mechanism.

Inside the library, she found what she had come for in the top drawer of the roll-top desk in the corner of the room. She grabbed the pouch and hurried back toward the foyer, but a loud disturbance caused her to halt in the alcove. Hugging the wall, she peered cautiously through the opening. The iron-banded front door swung open and crashed against the wall.

By the blood of Corvus, hold him still!

Cadie recognized the voice. It belonged to her twin brother, Devin—who had, only months ago, passed the initiation to become a Junior Officer in the Guard.

I’m trying! This one’s slippery as a snake.

The voice was muffled but still recognizable as belonging to Corin Campbell.

Take his arms, Ian, Devin ordered a third Officer. Corin, get his legs.

Cadie’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as the three Junior Officers struggled to get their prisoner through the door. Curses rose above scuffling sounds and grunts of effort, then the young men carried a writhing, cursing man into the grand foyer.

I demand to see the Guardian of the Dead! shouted the prisoner. You have no idea what is at stake. I must speak with Claudius Andrick immediately!

Not until you explain yourself to the Captain of the Guard, Devin said. Let him decide what should be done with you.

I must speak with Claudius Andrick, the man repeated. It’s a matter of life or death!

Midway through the room, Devin swore as he caught an elbow in the ribs. Damn you to the Shadowlands!

Corin lost his grip on the man’s legs. In the same instant, Ian lost control of the man’s arms. The prisoner landed in a tangle of heavy chains, and the clash of iron on stone echoed through the grand foyer. The three Junior Officers formed a ring around the chained man.

Think we should get the Guardian? Ian suggested, between panting breaths. So he stops his infernal hollering?

Corin shrugged.

Devin shook his head. Follow the protocol. We need to secure him in the dungeon, first. Then we notify the Captain.

"He’s just an advena, Devin," Corin argued.

Protocol, Devin insisted. Do you want to be the one to explain it to my father?

Corin paled. He tightened his lips on a retort, then reluctantly nodded.

Ian swallowed. Devin’s right. We got him this far. Might as well drag him the rest of the way.

You will do no such thing! I demand to see the Guardian⁠—

Shut up, growled Devin, with a hearty kick to the prisoner’s side. Or we’ll shut you up, permanently. You’re an outsider caught trespassing on our land. We have the right to decide what’s to be done with you. You’ll have your chance to speak.

The prisoner—wisely, Cadie thought—bit back a retort, groaned audibly, and lay still on the floor. The three young guards hoisted him to his feet, then half-dragged, half-carried him through the door to the kitchen.

As soon as they passed out of sight, Cadie leapt from the shadows, darted through the opened front door, and raced toward the safety of the trees.

The Hunter’s moon illuminated the open space around the castle. Before fear and doubt could resurface, Cadie reminded herself that as soon as she passed through the Great Shield that protected her homeland from the advena, there would be no chance anyone would recognize her and tell her father.

The Guardians who maintained the Shield would be able to detect that she had passed through it, but by the time her father realized she was not coming back, it would be too late for him to do anything about it.

She would be long gone. Far from the reach of Captain Donnall Maxwell, and whatever cruel form his punishment might take.

While planning her departure over the course of the past year, Cadie had realized that fear was the only thing keeping her here. Fear of the unknown. She had lived every moment of her eighteen years in Blackwater Hills, and the thought of being entirely on her own for the first time frightened her the most.

She could happily live the rest of her life without seeing her father, but leaving Blackwater Hills meant that she would never see the rest of her family again. The sight of Devin Maxwell’s broad back, as he carried his prisoner toward the dungeon, was likely the last she would see of her twin.

Besides Devin and her other three brothers, Cadie knew she would miss her grandmother the most. Their mother had passed to the Otherworld when Cadie was a young girl, and the family would not have survived without Cora Maxwell.

What would we have done, she wondered, without Avia Cora to pick up the pieces after one of Donnall’s rampages?

She noticed she was quickly approaching the Shield and pushed the dark ruminations to the back of her mind. Let the past stay buried, she thought as she braced herself for the tingling, almost-pain sensation passing through the Great Shield always caused.

Cadie took a fortifying breath of the crisp, fall air, then stepped through into the land of the advena.

The first town she came to was Ashland, Maine. The sign by the side of Route 11 proclaimed that Ashland had been established in 1837 as the Gateway to the North Maine Woods.

Cadie arrived just before dusk, and walking along Main Street was one of the most frightening things she had ever experienced. Even her first day as an acolyte in the Sacred Order had not been as terrifying.

Despite its flaws, Blackwater Hills had been home. Among the priests and other acolytes, she felt a sense of fellowship. In the Gathering Hall of Blackwater Castle or surrounded by the standing stones on Mystery Hill, she felt as though she belonged.

In Ashland, outside the forest, she felt exposed. The windows of the buildings were like large, reflective eyes—harsh and judgmental. She had a moment of clarity, wherein it seemed she was watching herself from far away and could see herself as the people behind the windows must see her:

A young woman of above-average height—short black hair partially covered by a green hood, lean body hidden by a heavy canvas overcoat, dark trousers tucked into a pair of fur-lined leather walking boots, a bulging backpack slung over her right shoulder—flinching in fear at every car that drove past.

She couldn’t help the flinching. It was instinct, more than anything.

The cars speeding over the road like malevolent steel monsters that shattered the peace and devoured everything in their paths put her on the defensive. The train horn blaring in the distance assaulted her senses.

Cadie wondered if she would be perceived as too unusual. For the most part, the advena were unaware of the existence of her race. In Ashland, Cadie would be the outsider. Although she had been taught that the advena were unlikely to notice the ways in which the children of Corvus were different, she would have to be careful not to reveal through words or actions where she came from. She must be ever vigilant, always on guard.

About forty feet ahead, a tall building towered beneath the waning sun. Its long, rectangular shadow crept over the pavement. As Cadie neared, the words on the sign came into focus.

Welcome to Sal and Dottie’s Bar and Grill–Where the Hometown Gang Makes Itself at Home!

Directly below, in bright pink neon, was the phrase: Rooms for Rent / VACANCY.

Enticing aromas wafted on the breeze, and Cadie’s stomach growled in anticipation.

She hadn’t eaten since dawn, a breakfast of smoked salmon and dried cranberries, but the idea of actually entering the building and purchasing food made her heart race and her palms start sweating.

You can do this, she told herself, trying to calm her rising panic.

If anyone asks, just tell them your name is Acadia Maxwell and you’re from Pennsylvania. Tell them you were raised by the Amish, and they won’t ask a lot of questions.

She had learned about the Amish—and most other things she knew about the strange land beyond the Blackwater River—from her brother. Sebastian Maxwell had always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. So much so, that at the age of twelve he had been apprenticed to the Medicus Jackson Singleton.

Bastian, as she affectionately called him, was Cadie’s favorite brother—possibly due to the fact that she shared his passion for learning and he was always willing and able to indulge her myriad questions.

Sebastian had once told her that there was a group of the advena who called themselves the Amish. Their god had no name but was said to be very powerful. This nameless god had instructed His followers to eschew earthly pleasures, to strive to live as purely as possible.

To the advena, this meant that they were forbidden luxuries like cars, electricity, and certain types of clothing. They were a lot like the children of Corvus, according to Sebastian.

If Cadie pretended to be ex-Amish, maybe no one would question her unfamiliarity with the new world that now surrounded her.

She noticed a bench set just off the side of the road, a few feet from the diner. She thought it might be a good idea to sit down and regain her Balance before going inside. Her hand automatically reached for the pouch in her pocket—the pouch she had stolen from the library of the Guardian of the Dead.

Without its contents, she would be an outcast here. Cadie had been taught that without the coins and decorated strips of paper inside that pouch, the advena would never accept her as one of them.

Even the Amish were forced to use it, and so far as Cadie knew, there were no gods who forbade its use.

She had counted the money several times during the journey from Blackwater Hills to Ashland. Inside the pouch were twenty strips of paper and thirty coins of various denominations. As well as she could figure, it added up to two hundred and thirty dollars and twelve cents.

The money was used as a teaching tool by the priests, but although she had studied the concept and use of the money, Cadie wasn’t sure she quite understood how something that seemed so insignificant had been invested with such value.

But she didn’t have to fully understand. All she had to do was convincingly pretend to understand. Cadie figured that should be easy enough to accomplish among the advena. She hastily stuffed the money inside the pouch, slipped it back in her pocket, and got to her feet.

The maxim of the Sacred Order rang in her mind, repeating itself in the familiar, chanting voices of her people—direct descendants of the powerful beast god, Corvus.

To shore up her courage and remind herself why she had set out on this journey in the first place, Cadie whispered the words as she strode briskly toward the building.

The law of Corvus is truth. The truth is sacred.

Chapter 1

Samuel Speaks

Samuel Singleton

Blackwater Hills

As the first rays of sun blazed above the ring of snow-capped mountains, I took in a deep draught of the crisp fall air and headed for the barn on the south side of the castle. I planned to spend the entire day outside—feeding the animals, chopping wood, doing minor repairs to the barn and fences. The more mundane or physically taxing the task, the more I looked forward to it. Exhausted from the last round of exams and Claudius’s insistence that I master each and every test, I didn’t want to think today. I simply wanted to clear my mind and listen to the heartbeat of the forest.

It was a perfect day to spend outdoors. The sky was a deep and sensitive blue. It was cold enough to see my breath, but not icy enough to numb my hands. I worked steadily through the morning into mid-afternoon, until my stomach began to gnaw on my insides.

A few years ago, I had made a bench out of two sturdy tree trunks and some fallen branches I’d dragged from the forest. I sat down upon the bench and opened the satchel of food Jackson had packed for me that morning: a thick loaf of freshly baked bread split down the center and stuffed with slow-roasted pork and melted cheese, a jar of preserved pears, and a small cask of wine.

Jackson Singleton, the senior Medicus, prepared supper every morning in the castle kitchen. The cask of elderberry wine in its individual-sized wooden bottle was the only constant, but his cooking—while not quite up to the standards of his predecessor, Cora Maxwell—was quite delicious.

I was just about to uncork the cask of wine when I noticed two red-hooded figures coming out of the forest, moving toward the castle. The men were of equal height and build, though the one in front may have been a bit broader in the shoulders and thicker around the waist. They came closer, and I recognized the Captain of the Guard, Donnall Maxwell.

Visitors to Blackwater castle were rare. Only the three of us—Claudius Andrick, Jackson Singleton, and me—lived here full time. The Guard and the other priests of the Sacred Order came for scheduled meetings, gatherings, or to impart urgent news to the Guardian of the Dead. It was a rare thing for the Captain to randomly show up, and he looked to be in a hurry.

When Captain Maxwell spotted me on the bench, he stopped midstride—causing the man behind him to stumble. I recognized the stumbling guard: Devin Maxwell, son of Donnall. The Captain recovered quickly, then father and son disappeared through the south tower door.

Curious as to what might be going on, I left the satchel of food and cask of wine on the bench, stood up, and made my way to the castle. Instead of using the side door as they had, I went round to the front, crossed the foyer, and passed through the alcove that led to the kitchen.

I had a partial view of both the kitchen and Gathering Hall. In the kitchen, Jackson had left a pot of fragrant venison stew bubbling on a hook above the fireplace, but the senior Medicus was nowhere in sight.

I went back through the foyer to the north side, where another alcove led into the cavernous Gathering Hall. I heard raised voices coming from the library and peered around the corner. The library door—along the north wall of the alcove—was ajar, but the Captain and his son must have stood on the other side, for I couldn’t see them.

I couldn’t see the man they spoke to either, but the voice of the Guardian of the Dead was unmistakable.

"An advena? Here? How did he get through the Shield?"

I don’t know, Honorable Guardian. I was on patrol and saw him wandering near the edge of the river.

Perhaps he was simply lost, Devin. An unfortunate happenstance which, incidentally, does not merit imprisonment. Did you ask him what he was doing here?

I did, Honorable Guardian, and he said…

Yes? Claudius prompted, after a prolonged silence.

He said he wanted to speak to the Guardian of the Dead. That it was a matter of life or death.

Did he say why? The words were close to a whisper.

No, and I didn’t ask. The protocol states that I should secure the prisoner first, then notify the Captain of the Guard.

Claudius cleared his throat. I see. And have you questioned him, Captain?

Not yet, answered Donnall. Just about to do it now. Based on what Devin’s told me, I came to ask if you wanted to come along.

I heard shuffling footsteps, then the gap in the opened door widened.

Claudius stepped into the alcove. Lead the way, Captain.

The Captain and his son brushed past Claudius, moving in the direction of the Gathering Hall. I didn’t wait to see where they were going. If I followed them, they were likely to notice, and I had no wish to attract the attention of Captain Maxwell. As silent as a specter, I slipped through the foyer and back outside.

Blackwater Castle faced west, toward seemingly endless miles of tangled forest. As I crossed the narrow bridge to the meadow, the sun moved south to west, approaching sunset. And it was bright. Too bright. Too sharp, like tiny needles stabbing my eyeballs.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I closed my eyes until it passed. When I opened them, I saw what looked like several dark hulking shapes prowling through the forest—directly ahead of me, at the edge of the grassy meadow that surrounded the castle.

I strode briskly across the open space, scanning the trees for any sign of whatever lurked in the colorful mixture of half-fallen leaves and majestic evergreens. It was rare for animals to venture so close to the tree line, but autumn had arrived in Blackwater Hills, and bears were preparing for the coming winter.

I reached into the pocket of my jacket and grabbed the slingshot and one of the smooth, round stones I always carried. I had no desire to tangle with a black bear in search of sustenance, but winter came for all of us, and the meat wouldn’t go to waste.

Dappled sunlight played upon the ground. Shadows from the leaves made interesting patterns. I stepped through the wall of trees into the forest, and the world all at once became filled with sounds—birds singing, crickets and locusts chirping and whirring, wind sweeping over the mountains through the tops of the tallest boughs, pine needles crackling beneath the furtive footsteps of a squirrel in the underbrush.

I knew it was a squirrel because I could smell its distinctive, slightly musky odor. Squirrels tasted much the way they smelled, which explained my dislike of anything made from the meat, no matter how well prepared. I couldn’t detect the scents of any other animals, but the lumbering creatures I had seen had not been squirrels.

I walked farther south, toward the river, still searching. By the time I reached the makeshift bridge over the narrowest stretch of the Blackwater River, I had convinced myself that all I’d seen were sunspots. The walk through the forest—while relaxing—had set me behind in my work.

It had also caused me to lament my uneaten supper and the cask of wine I’d left on the bench. My stomach growled in frustration. I stuffed the slingshot and stone inside my coat and knelt by the edge of the river. Cupping my hands, I let the icy water flow in to form a tiny pool and leaned down to drink.

I saw them again, out of the corner of my eye. Huge, furry black animals. Like bears, only larger, nearly as tall as man. I stood up slowly and grabbed the slingshot again—more out of reflex, not because I had any illusions about being able to kill an animal of that size with nothing but a stone.

Two of the creatures stopped moving, but were partially concealed in the shadows of majestic firs. Hoping to simply melt into the forest, I took a few cautious steps backward. I was a good shot, but four—or more—against one were terrible odds.

One of the figures came out of the shadows. The animal was massive, looked like a cross between a bear and a well-fed wolf.

"Cessio, Prince. We mean you no harm."

My heart stopped beating, then kicked back in with a force that left me unable to breathe for a few seconds. I stood rooted to the spot, the slingshot gripped in my numb fist. My scalp tingled in warning.

Beware, for tonight the veil between worlds is thin. The daughters of Venefica travel through the portal.

The voice was low and guttural, unmistakably male. Was there a man hidden in the trees with these mysterious beasts?

Who’s there? I called out. Show yourself!

My voice rose above the trees, bounced off the mountains, and echoed through the valley.

There was no answer. The beast turned tail and melted back into the gloom. Long, silent moments passed. The forest held its breath and waited.

Help! Help! Samuel, come quick!

The high, plaintive entreaty—a woman’s voice, this time—struck me viscerally. There was something familiar in the sound, though I couldn’t place who the voice belonged to.

Had one of the beasts attacked someone? I wondered as I ran toward the cry—over the rocky, snow-covered ground, back across the makeshift bridge, in the direction of Mystery Hill.

I could just make out her long hair streaming behind her as she ran; all the colors of autumn, glinting in the sunlight.

Samuel, please hurry! You must save him!

The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. The girl glanced over her shoulder as she fled through trees and tangled undergrowth.

Follow me, Samuel! she pleaded, as she reached the small clearing and ran through the standing stones. She stopped well inside the wide, stone-lined path on the opposite side of the large firepit and appeared to wait for me.

I charged down the pathway. The closer I came, the more she seemed familiar, but the memory danced on the edge of my consciousness, just out of reach.

Who are you? I panted as I circled the firepit. What happened? Is someone hurt?

She gazed at me with wide, innocent brown eyes. She lifted her delicately pointed chin and a tiny, secret smile played upon her lips.

Then she laughed—high, trilling notes of impish merriment. Closer, Samuel. Just a little. You’re almost there.

What game was she playing?

I stepped forward and opened my mouth to ask, but the words died upon my lips. A swirling gray mass rose up from the ground. It grew larger and larger, till it swallowed us both.

A fierce tingling sensation spread throughout my entire body. Discomfort morphed into pain, so intense it made me cry out. I fell upon the ground. Just before the world tuned black, I felt gentle hands upon my skin, a soft caress.

Her childish laughter echoed through the void.

I was jerked awake by the sound of someone screaming. Like a well-aimed knife, the clamor plunged straight through my skull.

Black spots danced before my eyes, but I managed to piece together a vague impression of my surroundings. I was naked, lying face-up with my legs stretched out, cold rocks beneath my bare back. More rocks, stacked one atop the other, formed a sort of cave around my body. The roof was only inches from my face, and my shoulders barely fit into the spaces on either side of the walls.

Outside, an owl’s melancholy cry echoed through the valley.

Wha-WHOO-hoo-hoo

Was that the noise that had awakened me? I didn’t think so. That sound had left the residual impression of misery and terror. I tried to roll to the side and push myself up, and almost managed it. The space was too small—or my body was too large. Either way, it wasn’t going to happen.

I lifted my hands and flexed my fingers. They were reddened and a bit stiff, but they were clean. No blood, though I wasn’t sure why I thought there might be.

I attempted to summon my wayward memory. The last thing I could recall was leaving the castle and entering the forest.

Then what?

Strips of hazy light streamed through cracks between the rocks, so I figured the sun had not yet gone down.

So then, I've only been lying here a few hours?

Assuming, of course, that I had woken up on the same day I’d gone into the forest in search of…?

I had been following something, but couldn’t remember what or who. The loss of time and memory—added to the echoes of disembodied screams—was alarming. I didn’t want to entertain the possibility that I’d lost more than a couple of hours, but fear breached the ragged defenses of reason. Nausea roiled through my gut. I swallowed bile and gritted my teeth.

That's when I noticed something was... not right. Confused, I opened my mouth and ran my tongue along the inside, starting with the molars, then sweeping over all my teeth—first the top row, then the bottom.

What in the name of the gods is that?

I must have fallen and chipped a tooth. No, two teeth. No, wait four!

But they didn't feel chipped, just sharp and pointed. I tested the points with my fingers. Sharp and pointed and curved, like the canines of a wolf. Longer, too, than they had been before. If I had chipped them, they would have been smaller or jagged, but they were smooth to the touch.

Think, Samuel, I told myself, before panic could gain control of my senses. Focus. Try to remember how you got here.

On second thought, don’t. Maybe you don’t want to know.

Because none of my imagined scenarios—however plausible—could explain how I ended up unclothed inside a stone sarcophagus with teeth like a wolf and no memory of how I’d come to be there.

But if there was a way in, there had to be a way out. I tried sliding downward, using my foot to feel for an opening. I found one, managed to slide the rest of the way down though a long, narrow tunnel. The space was tight, but I got through it and crawled out.

Once outside, I crouched on my hands and knees and looked around. Twilight bathed the clearing and the circle of standing stones, but it was the Hunter’s moon—rather than the sun—casting the hazy, bluish-purple glow upon Mystery Hill and the surrounding forest.

A few yards to the left, I spotted the pile of my discarded clothing. I went over and grabbed the neatly folded trousers, flannel shirt, and jacket. My hard-soled leather boots were stacked together beside the pile.

I would not have been so conscientious with my clothes—never mind being able to fathom a reason for removing them to begin with. I realized that someone else must be responsible for the odd circumstances I found myself in. A frisson of fear ran through me as I got dressed and pulled on my boots.

Bloodcurdling screams rent the silence. Instinctively, I searched my pockets for the slingshot. It was still there, as were the stones. Taking one in each hand, I rushed in the direction of the cries—around the low stone structure I had moments ago emerged from, over a grass-covered hill, and down another rock-lined pathway.

It seemed as though the screams were coming from the altar, which was tucked away behind the building and wasn’t visible from the firepit side. As I neared, I saw a crowd gathered round the large stone slab, heard women’s voices—and laughter—mixed with the visceral sounds of pain and terror.

One of them spotted me charging down the path and turned.

Look what we have here, girls. The son of the beast has finally come out of his hiding spot.

I stopped running and aimed the slingshot. The tall, robed figure—a woman, judging from her voice and the flowing, blonde hair spilling out beneath her hood—didn’t flinch.

He comes spoiling for a fight, a voice called from behind her. Should we oblige him?

The horrific screaming had subsided, but the bare-chested man chained face-up on the altar moaned in distress and writhed against his bonds.

Let him go, I ordered. Stand aside!

He gives orders, now, he does! Interjected another. Fancies himself immune to the madness, I suppose.

They cackled in unison.

"Immune to the madness and the Sacred Order," one chimed in.

We’ll see about that, won’t we? said the blonde—the one I had begun thinking of as the leader of this crazed group of women. She started toward me.

Stay back! I shouted. I don’t want to hurt you.

More laughter.

The woman halted. Millicent, come here, she called over her shoulder. I know you were the one who brought him through. Now, be a dear and get rid of him, won’t you? I don’t begrudge you your bit of sport, but there’s a time and a place. We have a ritual to perform.

The fear I’d felt upon awakening returned, tenfold. Witches. Here, inside the Great Shield. How did they get in?