A Thirst for Vengeance (The Ashes Saga, Volume 1) (13 page)

“What are you talking about?” I scoffed. “You
killed
them! You can’t fight an invisible enemy!”

“I can,” the man said. “Three assassins came from the Black Brotherhood tonight. They did not come in the flesh.”

“I saw them,” I repeated, incredulous.

“How many did I kill?”

“Two.”

“And what happened to the third?”

“He…
disappeared.
” I choked on the word.

“You saw him do it?”

“He threw something that exploded at his feet. It sent off a bunch of smoke. Then, he was gone.”

“How do you think he did that?”

I blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to tell you why the Black Brotherhood is called the
Black
Brotherhood, Dagan?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“The Black Brotherhood is a cult that follows the teachings of Helosis. Helosis was a man—a leader amongst men—in the time before magic was sealed away. He was the most powerful human sorcerer the world has ever seen. His time was before even mighty Rel'ghar.”

Seeing my confusion, the man continued. “Helosis was powerful, but discontent. He craved more than he had. He began dabbling in the dark arts. He intended to turn himself into a true God.

“Xune saw what Helosis was doing. He watched as Helosis corrupted the magics of the earth. He watched as Helosis turned them into something they were never meant to be.

“Xune was not threatened, for he knew he stood above all men. But he feared what would happen to those who attempted to channel the tainted elemental forces that Helosis was creating.

“Xune came down from his mountain and confronted the man. This was the moment Helosis was waiting for. He unleashed a great torrent of magic intended to destroy Xune.

“Xune laughed. The attack was as futile as a boy trying to break down the walls of a city with a willow stick.

“Yet his arrogance was misplaced. Helosis had command of forces even Xune did not know. Helosis struck Xune down.

“The god fell. Helosis commanded true power. But he reveled in his victory for too long.

“He could not control the forces he had unleashed. They grew stronger and stronger, swirling around him in a violent maelstrom of energy. Helosis grew frightened, for he had used the souls of the dead to power his crude, unnatural magic.

“Xune saw his chance. As Helosis struggled to contain the dark force, Xune spoke the words that would bind Helosis to his creation forever. Helosis screamed as the malevolent spirits feasted on him. And Xune, weary, reached out and touched Helosis to extract the final bit of life from his body.

“Helosis died on the spot. But Xune knew that even he could not contain the magic that had been created. It fled from the battleground and spread through the world like an infectious disease.

“Xune returned to his home, at ease. The threat had been soothed. He did not care for the residual magic, or the new dark forces that Helosis had birthed, so long as they could not be used against him. They were left to ravage humanity as they pleased.

“But when Xune left, he did not realize that Helosis had written treatises of his creations. Men found those pages years later. While none had the pure strength that Helosis commanded, they understood that a new force was present in the world.

“That, Dagan, was the birth of the Black Brotherhood. They are a cult that worships the dead. They call upon the magics that Helosis created to aid in their endeavors. Such unnatural power comes with a cost. All those in the Black Brotherhood forsake their souls. Each time they channel their power, they slip deeper into the realm of the dead, and lose their humanity.

“That’s why you were the only one who could see the assassins. They reside in the shadow world, halfway between the living and the dead.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. “But, why can I see them? I’m not…
dead
, am I?”

“No, dear boy, you are
gifted
. Yours was not a regular birth.” He glanced up at the rooftops. “We will speak of this later. For now…” His eyes trailed a line in the sky, “…we need to find the final assassin.”

He took off down the street, his cloak billowing behind them. “But how can
you
see them?” I asked, running to keep up.

“Because, Dagan,” the man glanced down, “I was once one of them.”

Chapter Seventeen

Together, we ran down the street.

“Does that mean only
I
can see you?” I asked. I knew the question made no sense: I saw the man interact with the coach driver, the bartender, and the whore. But I had to hear the answer from him to be sure.

“No,” he said. He stopped, turned toward an alley, and stood at the entrance. I looked past him. It was dark.

“What do you see?” the man whispered.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Look closer.”

I peered past him. The high buildings on either side blocked out whatever moonlight seeped through the clouds. The alleyway ended in a raised wall. It was a dead end.

It seemed empty, at first. But then, the briefest flicker of movement caught my eye.

“There!” I exclaimed, pointing. “There’s somebody in there!”

The man closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I can sense him too.” He looked down at me. “Stay here, Dagan. If things get ugly, run.”

“What are you going to do?”

The man grimaced. “I am going to finish the job I could not in the tavern.”

Without another word, he strode into the alley. His wide shoulders and dark cloak cut an impressive figure in the night.

“Arretus,” he called out. His voice rebounded off the narrow walls. “I know it is you, brother. Come out, and prove to me you are no coward!”

My breath caught as I waited.

Nothing happened.

“Arretus!” The man called again. “I know you are here. I can smell your rotting flesh. Show yourself! Reveal yourself to me!”

I caught a ripple of cloth in the air. I looked up, and saw the brown-cloaked man dropping from the rooftop.

“Watch out!” I screamed. “Above you!”

The man’s head jerked up. He grunted as the one in the brown crashed onto his shoulders. They fell to the ground in a heap.

I heard the sounds of their struggle. Both men were vying for position over the other. The one in the black produced a knife, but had it knocked out of his hand before he could use it.

It skittered over the ground and came to a stop before me.

They were grappling now, rolling with each other in the dirt. They were both so close that neither could use his hands.

A cloud passed overhead, revealing the hidden moon. The blade of the forgotten knife shimmered in the night.

I looked up. The two men were evenly matched. Neither had the advantage. One single mistake could mean the difference between life and death.

I moved without thinking. I ran forward, swept up the knife, and leapt at the brown-cloaked man’s back.

A memory flashed in my mind. Me, trying the same maneuver with Three-Grin. Doubt flared to life inside me. But, I had already committed.

I flew through the air and flinched just before I felt the knife sink deep into the man’s back. For half a second, I’d expected him to spin around and counter the way Three-Grin had.

He could not. The man in the black demanded too much attention. I felt his muscles part as the blade bit home. The assassin arched up in sudden pain and surprise…

That gave the man on the ground the opening he need. A knife flourished in his hand and he cut across the brown-cloaked man’s throat. Blood gushed out.

All in all, the whole sequence of events—from me screaming to alert the man, to right now—lasted less than the amount of time it takes to count to five. But to me, it felt as if hours had passed.

I fell back. The man kicked the body of his opponent off and came to his feet. Blood thundered in my ears. All I could hear past that was the sound of my raspy breathing.

My mind was blank. All I could process was that I had killed a man. I had
killed
a man.

“Dagan.” The voice drew my attention. I looked up at the bearded man standing above me. His face and chest were a mask of red. “That was a brave thing you did.” He paused. “But stupid.”

I sputtered. “Stupid? I saved your life!”

“And risked your own. Acts like that will not keep you alive very long.” He wiped the blood from his face with the sleeve of his coat.

“You could have died!” I countered.

The man raised an eyebrow. He kicked the body onto its back, and I saw, for the first time, two knives implanted into its chest.

He gestured to the blades. “Seconds before you came to the rescue,” he deadpanned.

I blinked. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Clearly.” He knelt down and pulled the knives out, then wiped them clean on the dead man’s coat. He stood up and held out a hand toward me. “Come on. Times like these, a man could
really
use a drink."

Chapter Eighteen

I woke up the next morning in a room I did not remember. It smelled of tar and burnt wood.

A single window allowed light in. I blinked rapidly when I looked outside. It was so bright.

My head hurt. I did not know why. It felt a little like the days after the concussion I suffered at the hands of the two toughs in the gambling district.

“Ah, finally, Dagan is awake.”

I turned toward the voice. The man was sitting in a chair, fully dressed, with a book in his lap.

“Where are we?” I asked.

He chuckled. “You don’t remember?
Think
.”

I tried. After the fight in the alley, the man led me to another dim tavern. This one had been empty. I remember him giving me a drink, and I recall scarfing it down, even as the liquid burned my throat.

I did not remember much after that.

“You’re in my home,” he reminded me gently. “At least, the place I call home for now. We’re in an inn.”

I scrubbed my eyes. “Why can’t I remember?”

“That,” he said as he flipped a page, “would be because you are sporting the very first hangover of your life. How does it feel?”

I tasted dry vomit on my tongue and cringed. “Like hell.” Did I throw up?

The man laughed and stood. He poured a glass of water from a metal pitcher on a nearby vanity and handed it to me. “Hydrate. You’ll feel better. Yesterday was your initiation into manhood.”

“If this is what it feels like to be a man,” I muttered, “I’d rather stay a kid.”

That earned me a great guffaw of laughter.

I drank my water and felt my mind sharpen. I was caught by a flare of alarm as all of last night barreled into view.

“We just left him in the alley!” I exclaimed. “Won’t somebody see the body?”

The man looked over his shoulder at me from the window. “Heh. No. Look at your hands.”

I did. “What am I looking at?”

“Last night, your fingers were stained bright red,” the man said. “You did not wash them. Where did the blood go?”

I looked up and shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“I told you that the Black Brotherhood exists in the place halfway between our world and the land of the dead. Do you remember that?”

I nodded.

“The men we fought left behind bodies on the cusp of both worlds. Without a life force holding them together, the bodies disintegrate in minutes.”

My eyes widened. “So you’re saying…”

“That the only thing left in the alley right now is a cloak with a few peculiar holes in it. Don’t worry. Nobody will connect anything back to us.”

I remembered something else he had told me last night. “You said you were one of them,” I whispered. “Was that true?”

“Do I look like a man who would lie—especially after all I’ve revealed to you?” He grunted. “Yes. I was. Years ago.”

“What happened? Why are you… not there… now?”

He clicked his tongue. “Ask too many questions, Dagan, and eventually the answers will get you hanged.” He lowered his face to mine. “Do you understand?”

I understood that this was a prickly topic for him. So, I kept my mouth shut and nodded.

“Good. Now, come on. You’ll have to show me where you used to live. We need to collect your things if you’re going to train with me.”

Chapter Nineteen

“Whoa, whoa there,” Earl spoke. “You tellin’ us that this man, this man who killed
three
of the Black Brotherhood, took you in under his wing? Just like that?”

Dagan nodded. “Yes. He, like the man who gave me the mark, saw me for who I was. Though at that point, I did not know who I was, myself.”

“Your mother knew, didn’t she?” Patch piped in. “That’s why she tried to kill you.”

“I told you my mother was wise. She knew.”

“So what then?” Earl asked. “Who
are
you, Dagan? Some type of chosen one?”

The man in the hood barked a laugh. “No. That is not a privilege granted to one such as me.”

Earl narrowed his eyes. “Who then?”

Dagan raised his gaze and matched Earl’s. “I am the Damned,” he said.

***

I showed the man the way to my home behind the crates. During our trip back, I finally learned his name.

Blackstone
.

It was a fitting name for a man as mysterious as he. It was a name fitting for the powers he claimed to possess.

As we were leaving, I cast one last look over my shoulder at Magda’s hut in the distance. Blackstone stopped and looked at me.

“Is there someone you want to see before we go, boy?”

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded. “I will wait for you in the coach.”

I ran all the way to her home, clutching all the coins I’d hoarded to my chest. I burst into her hut, but found it empty.

No. It was not
just
empty. It was not empty in the way a room is when it is free of people. It was empty in a more complete sense of the word.

It was empty the way a bar is empty after the last drop has been drunk and the last patron has left. It was empty in the way a mother’s heart is empty after all her children have grown and left her care. It was empty the way your bed feels empty after the lover you’ve cherished has died.