《We Are Free》 Chapter One (Part One) - Search the dark, find dark things We don¡¯t steal from the river. The banks are hushed in their hour of reverence. Heavy clouds roll in, their underbellies bruised with coming rain. No wind stirs the mist resting above the water. From the old stone bridge, I flick a faded silver coin over the half-wall. The faint glow of the hungry depths swallows it. I lean forward on my elbows, shawl damp from the mist, watching as it joins thousands of others at the bottom, all shimmering in the fading dawn. A pleased chill winds through the untouched mist, threading through my lengthy hair before it dissolves. The scent of rain clings to the air. I breathe it in, smiling. A group of children play by the water¡¯s edge. The soot-covered matron watches, hunched near her coals, brow creased, hands busy. She slaps dough on the smoldering embers, flipping the half-cooked pieces with deft, time-worn hands. My belly groans. The children do what they always have. They shriek and chase and laugh, crafting their own world from nothing. A small boy who knows better, one less interested in rocks and sticks, kneels down, the river lapping at his toes. He dips his arm into the shallows. Cold air hangs in my throat. The matron stiffens and cranes her neck, mouth firm. I lift my eyes to the clouds, and she does the same. The boy reaches for a handful of coppers and the matron starts toward him, calling his name. The coins slip through his fingers. He tries again. And again. Finally, he huffs and sits in the rocks, pulling his arm out empty-handed. Good boy, leave them. The water stills. The other children¡¯s laughter drifts away, fading under the soft murmur of the breeze. Then, a ripple. A single copper rises. My heart drops and the matron freezes, eyes fixed on the boy. He takes it happily, a joyful smile streaking across his face. We both let out shaky sighs and she rushes to his side. She bows her head to the water, pressing a kiss to her fist. I do the same. With a sharp tug, she pulls him up, scolding him all the while. The other children are called home, giggling quietly. A swollen cloud smothers the sun and the matron hurries the children inside a leaning cottage. Its door slams shut behind them. As the light withers, blackness devours the ethereal glitter. In its place, hundreds of pale, bloated husks unmoor themselves, drawn toward the warmth beyond the glassy divide. The living above, the dead below. One grins, lips peeling back over rotting teeth, my coin pinched tight in its fingertips. I stare into its engorged, clouded eyes. We don¡¯t steal from the river. And the river leaves us be. I clamp my eyes shut and turn my back to the hideousness. A familiar face joins me on the bridge with a mud-squelched step and outstretched arms. ¡°Catherine, darling?¡± A rhythmic pulsing flares in my temples as she continues. ¡°Two days I¡¯ve been wading through mud. Were you hiding from me?¡± She closes the distance between us, an oiled-leather cloak draped around her petite but sturdy frame. I give her a tired smile. ¡°Not well enough, it seems.¡± Copper-dark hair spills over my face as she draws me in, the strands steeped in sage oil and lemongrass. Part of me wants to bury my face in it, but I pull away. ¡°Fornthveit¡¯s a shit-hole,¡± Izzy says, a local frowns at her as he passes. ¡°Oh, do stop pouting. World needs shit-holes. Otherwise, how would we know how good we have it?¡± I cross my arms over myself, ignoring her antics. ¡°What did you want, Izzy? Must be important if you couldn¡¯t write it down.¡± Izzy glances over the bridge, then recoils. ¡°Well, that¡¯s fucking unsettling.¡± She scowls, stepping back. ¡°Charming. That normal?¡± ¡°Izzy¡­¡± I insist. ¡°Fine. We should find somewhere private. Away from the¡­¡± She gestures at the river. Then, to the rest of Fornthveit. I nod toward the other side of the bridge. ¡°This way.¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The pulsing grows heavier as we walk toward the city proper. I tighten my threadbare, lavender shawl, bones pressing against cloth, and the chill finds me anyway. Izzy steps in close to my side, her shoulder brushing against mine. ¡°You don¡¯t have to stand so close. I¡¯ve got things under control now.¡± She raises an eyebrow and offers a lopsided grin. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m feeling nostalgic.¡± ¡°Well, don¡¯t.¡± Izzy sniffs the air. ¡°Fish and shit. What a lovely welcome.¡± I roll my eyes. Nostalgia, indeed. Ramshackle storefronts and sagging cottages jut from the earth like splintered ribs, holding the market together. Vendors and stalls sprawl out into a bazaar, its relative chaos controlled by the regulars. Haggling, hawking, laughing, shouting, it is Fornthveit¡¯s lifeblood. And no place for someone like me. An angry throb replaces the pulsing, spreading from my temples through my crown. I clench the pendant around my neck tight enough that my knuckles burn. It is a simple thing, a twisted metal knot¡ªa gift no one would want. A small act to calm my nerves. I weave in between fishmongers and crafters, focusing on my breath. I feel Izzy¡¯s concern boring into me, but I keep my shoulders back, chin high. I turn my head for just a moment and a broad shoulder slams me into a stall. My grip draws a groan from the driftwood. I struggle to regain balance. Briny slivers dig into my nails. The brute mutters something¡ªbut the words are lost. The throbbing is a drum now, pounding in my blood vessels. She is beneath it, waiting. ¡°Swine!¡± Izzy snarls, before turning to me. ¡°Is it happening?¡± I suck in air and my vision strains. ¡°I¡¯m alright.¡± The words grind out of me. ¡°Was my fault.¡± Izzy takes my hand, giving me a reassuring wink. Always that ridiculous wink. She tugs me through the tangle, ¡°breathe,¡± she mouths. And I do, feeling the crookedness of her broken fingers in mine, noticing that they cannot hold me tightly. They haven¡¯t, for a long time. I snap away and find the long uneven scar at the base of her neck glaring at me. It was an accident. More unwanted gifts. The crowd presses in and my muscles lock, pushing back against the chaos. I grit my teeth and force through until we emerge on the other side of it. I swallow hard against the beating invasion of my skull. ¡°It¡¯s not far. The tree line, just past it.¡± We leave the city behind, our boots sinking into the waterlogged field. The pain subsiding the farther out we go. Lightning calls, thunder answers, and the rain follows. We hurry into the trees to my little shack, my solace. It is a few nails and a strong gust from squalor. Tattered old fox furs line the cracks, trapping their musty aroma inside. The last dregs of oak smoke waft out from the precarious slant of my stone fire-pit. With trembling hands, I feed the last hot ashes some kindling, a dull clack echoes in the small space as I pile more wood. The flame exhales and rises back to life, warming our bones. I light a few candles. Their glow flickers over Izzy¡¯s freckles, the fire snapping between us. ¡°You live in this?¡± ¡°It suits me.¡± ¡°Why here? Why Fornthveit?¡± Matted coal-like threads cling to my face and I brush them away. ¡°Because nowhere else would have me.¡± The throbbing in my head wanes and I settle into an aged chair, its frame muttering into the floorboards. Izzy rolls her pack off her shoulder. A thud. Then the shuffling of glass, parchment, and other necessities. ¡°That river isn¡¯t natural.¡± She digs through her pack, shoving aside vials and rations with a grunt. I study Izzy, wondering what she hopes to gain here. ¡°Neither am I.¡± ¡°Spare me your brooding, Cat. I haven¡¯t the stomach for it.¡± Izzy snaps, looking up through her lashes. She sits upright and sighs, eyes lingering on the deep grooves cut into the table, the broken furniture, the holes in the walls. ¡°This is your control, then?¡± ¡°Yes, Izzy.¡± My throat tenses, heat spreads into my ears. ¡°Tell me, how¡¯s the hand?¡± She tucks her left hand behind her, but it conceals nothing, I recall the moment her bones snapped in my grip. I continue. ¡°Had it under control then, too. Or, perhaps¡ª ¡°Shut the fuck up, Catherine. I get it.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± I raise my voice, standing now. ¡°If you really did get it, you wouldn¡¯t be here.¡± ¡°Oh, my¡ªdone with your little tantrum yet?¡± Her body is rigid, unflinching. Daring me to say things I want to, but shouldn¡¯t. The drumming returns, kicking behind my teeth. The rage dulls it just enough to ignore. My nails pierce into my palms. ¡°Tantrum?¡± I step closer, voice low. ¡°You¡¯ve seen my tantrums, Izzy.¡± I tap my neck in the location of her scar. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for fear, love, you won¡¯t find any.¡± Izzy pulls out a great leather-bound stack of papers and shoves it into my chest, hard. ¡°I have seen your tantrums. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here.¡± ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± ¡°Maybe nothing, but come to that Silver-place tomorrow. We¡¯ve got a client to meet.¡± ¡°The Silver Scale? Izzy, I don¡¯t¡ª ¡°Just speak with them.¡± She taps her scar. Our scar. ¡°You owe me.¡± The documents hit the floor with a dull thunk, I sit back down, flicking my gaze between them and her. I do. Chapter One (Part Two) - Search the dark, find dark things The Silver Scale Inn crouches under the noon sun, its skin slick with rain and debris, remnants of the storm. Hard-beaten and haggard as its patrons, it is the only inn Fornthveit has, and so we keep it. Faint hope grumbles beneath my ribs, and I dare not indulge it. For four years, Izzy and I scoured hovels, ruins, and distant villages, picking through the carcass of the forsaken south. All in the name of a singular goal: purging me of the drums. Of Her. It was four years of nothing, and now, a sudden something. The night before, I spent hours sifting through text so dense I¡¯m not sure how Izzy made sense of it. I¡¯m not even sure I made sense of it. Mentions of grotesque rituals and old, ancestral magic¡ªthings we had never considered possible. It¡¯s too convenient. I know it. But Izzy¡¯s here, and she¡¯s trying. For her sake, I bury my suspicions with the rest of my cares, because if I don¡¯t, I¡¯ll turn around and go home. And Izzy would just come drag me out. I tug on the inn¡¯s heavy doors and they groan open with invitation. A dead hearth greets me, but the inn is still warm. Only a few fishermen sit in the back, nursing soup. The scent of old, too-sweet ale has seeped into the tabletops. Years of revelry and debauchery have plastered themselves into the walls, in every porous crack. The acrid sting of drunken piss, roasted chicken, and fresh rosemary creep into my nostrils. Clanging pots from the back kitchens startle me a little. A burly man in a tunic too tight stops polishing his mug and beams. ¡°Oi, Catherine! Finally came to declare your love at last!¡± I chuckle, the closest I come to laughing. ¡°Hello, Orn. Not today, but I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll cave eventually.¡± He frowns a little but perks up quickly, reaching for a bottle of something fancy. ¡°What can I do fer ya then, my winter rose?¡± He hoists a mug, as if to pour me some. ¡°No spirits, Orn. Just looking for someone. A friend.¡± ¡°Aye, aye, never any spirits for the young lass.¡± He straightens himself up. ¡°You have friends?¡± ¡°Point well-taken, sir. Have you seen a red-haired woman? Loud. Foul-mouthed.¡± Orn doesn¡¯t need to think. He¡¯s already nodding. ¡°Ah, that one. Upstairs, back room. With the other out-of-towner.¡± I nod once and take the stairs. Izzy¡¯s voice slices through the dim corridor as I ascend. I know that tone. ¡°She has to be awake?¡± A hesitant voice follows. ¡°Yes. Unfortunately, it won¡¯t work otherwise. She will need to be conscious during the entire process.¡± A thud against the wooden floor. A muffled scuffle. A high-pitched yelp¡ªthen Izzy again, lethal and flat. ¡°Lie to me, and I¡¯ll fillet it off myself.¡± An ugly thought creeps in and I rub at my temple. Better save her from a dungeon cell. I rap twice on the door and step inside. The room is cramped, barely more than a bed and a crooked table suffocated with parchment and wax-dripped bottles¡ªcontents murky and pulpy. A set of tools lies open on the floor, bone dust clinging to the handles. A human hip bone sits beside them, stripped pale. ¡°Calm down.¡± I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. A boy sits on the bed. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. His spine is tight to the wall, hands folded neatly in his lap. Dark hair drapes over round spectacles. They are fine and sharp, like his features. He adjusts them with precision, peering through the glass at me. His skin is olive, a shade I¡¯ve seen only once before. ¡°I¡¯m perfectly calm, just discussing the finer points of honesty with our friend, Luca.¡± She steps back from the boy and sheathes a dagger. ¡°Catherine, meet client.¡± ¡°This child?¡± I say, incredulously. Luca ignores my rudeness. ¡°Catherine?¡± I nod, curtly. ¡°I can help you.¡± He says. ¡°And how might you help me?¡± I ask with a creased brow. ¡°Well. I can seal Her away. That¡¯s what you want most? To be free again?¡± I don¡¯t respond. Not yet. Luca¡¯s gaze crawls over me like a mechanical spider. He is measuring me, as if I am something to be assessed. As if I am already under the knife as his experiment. What could he know of me? How? The air is thick with candle wax and dust. My breath slows and the drumming begins again, but it¡¯s changed. What once was a prideful boast is now a sludging slink in my core. She knows. The boy is dangerous to her. I fix my vision to Izzy, who is shifting on her feet, arms crossed, wary. The papers, laid before me, now seem more complex, impossible to fathom. Their ink thick as dried blood. I try to form words, but none come. We searched so long and now a child stands before me with the answer? I cannot accept it. "I was in Merriweather when you changed." Luca says. His voice is smooth, softening the delivery. Izzy and I both step back and exchange glances. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°When were you planning on sharing that detail¡ª ¡°Lies.¡± I spit, cutting Izzy off. ¡°That whole¡ªI left no one¡ªit isn¡¯t possible. She would never¡­¡± ¡°There were more survivors than just myself. A few of us were trapped in a cellar. Had to dig out, we nearly suffocated but, we didn¡¯t.¡± The drums beat gleefully at the mention of Merriweather. The first. The worst. I shake off the fire and blood clinging at my memory. Luca continues. ¡°Having such a creature inside you¡­It must be horror.¡± ¡°You cannot even possibly imagine it.¡± I whisper. ¡°Or, maybe you can.¡± Luca nods knowingly. Izzy comes close. ¡°I¡¯ve seen his craft work,¡± she says, quiet and reassuring. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t need to be some empty grave anymore, Catherine. Your father, your sister, this is what we¡¯ve searched for.¡± I think of Mesica, my home, and my father¡¯s paintings, my arrogant little sister a woman, now. I bet all the boys are chasing her and I¡¯m not there to fend them off. A daughter. A sister. What price could I pay to be home with them again? ¡°What would you need me to do?¡± I ask, throat dry, recalling the gruesome specifics of the rituals I¡¯d read about. ¡°I¡¯d need to carve a sigil into you. You would become like an Ombresha, or bone-puppet, in your language. It will act as a doorway, pulling Her into your skeleton. A prison.¡± Luca says, matter-of-factly. ¡°It must be done while you¡¯re awake.¡± The words slide under my skin. I feel the pain before it begins. Another memory¡ªa thin blade dragging through my spine, and a voice¡ªyou are magnificent. I swallow it down. The drums flutter, begging me to put an end to this foolishness. It¡¯s too convenient, they rattle. Who even is this boy, they thump. You have everything under control, they pulsate. "Simple enough.¡± ¡°Cat, he¡¯s a bone carver.¡± I shudder at the thought. ¡°Okay. Choose one.¡± ¡°Woah, we don¡¯t need to rush into¡ª ¡°Your scapula is best for the size and shape.¡± He pats his own as if to teach, but Catherine knows. "Do it, then." I say, pulling at the strings of my bodice. Izzy steps in front of me. ¡°I¡¯m glad you agree, but slow down, at least let¡¯s go somewhere quieter.¡± ¡°There¡¯s only Orn and a few drunks.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t the innkeeper come when he hears¡­your screams?¡± Luca inquires. Izzy and I both chuckle darkly. ¡°No,¡± we say in unison. The door is locked. The windows, shut. The firelight flickers, warm against my back. I begin to roll my dress off my shoulders and I remember that Luca is just a young boy. He flushes red and looks away nervously. Izzy grins a little and covers his eyes. I kneel over a chair. Izzy sets a vial down beside us. A familiar bottle, clear as ice water. Draught of Midnight. ¡°Still had some, huh?¡± I ask her. ¡°Yeah, well, if you start bleeding too badly, if She won¡¯t help us¡­you know how I feel about having options.¡± She crooks her head to the side to be level with my eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve got you. Luca will be fast. Right?¡± She says the last bit through her teeth. ¡°Fast as I can.¡± He says, voice a little shakier than before. ¡°But there¡¯s still the matter of pay¡ª Izzy¡¯s head snaps out of view and she mutters something I can¡¯t hear, but Luca drops it. I dig my nails into my thighs as Luca rolls up his sleeves and drips a clear alcohol over them. His hands are like smooth stone, steady, unwavering, while he fingers through his tools. He chooses a thin blade, too small to be a weapon. Luca steadies the blade, waiting for my permission once more. I give it. The knife is at my shoulder, and the old fears rise again. My body jerks but I drown the resistance in my lived agony. It starts with the skin¡ªshallow, at first. A sharp glide. My body wants to react. To twist away. To stop this. But I don¡¯t move. I don¡¯t breathe. Luca almost seems to stop for a moment, waiting for my shrieks, but such pains do not affect me this way. Not anymore. Deeper. The blade slides through muscle, slow and deliberate. I feel it shear apart, each layer peeling back, baring me open. Blood rolls down my ribs, sticky and thick, soaking into my waistband. She is angry. Her fingers coil around my skull and squeeze. No more drums, just vice-like pressure. "She won¡¯t let you die," Luca says, voice calm as ever. As if my flesh isn¡¯t in ribbons beneath his hands. I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s talking about Her or Izzy. Izzy presses something to my lips. Bitter. Medicinal. The taste coats my tongue, numb and tingling. My stomach twists, my head sways, but feel it working. ¡°To keep you from passing out, love. Be still, now.¡± She tucks my hair behind my ear and takes my hand. Luca murmurs something in his own tongue. The words hum through me as he starts chipping away at my bone. He switches tools fluidly. Izzy places her belt between my teeth as Luca begins shaping the sigil¡¯s more delicate pieces. The pressure inside me grows wilder, slamming itself against my walls. She wants out. Fuck what She wants. Then, something changes. The sigil is finished, I know it the moment it happens. No, no. Not now. ¡°IZZY! Something¡¯s wro¡ª I choke on black bile and she rushes to my side. ¡°Catherine, talk to me, what¡¯s happening!?¡± ¡°Kill. Me.¡± Is all I can spit out as the bile spills from my mouth to the floor in a great black pool. My hand twists and contorts, lunging at Izzy¡¯s throat. I grip my wrist tight with the other hand, dragging it back. Not. Izzy. Bitch. Never, Izzy! A dagger rises from her belt. It tremors wildly in her hand. Her eyes meet mine¡ªglassy, uncertain. She knows I¡¯m right. Her mouth opens and then closes. I turn my head to the side, to make it easy. You promised. Do it! Her grip on the dagger tightens, knuckles white. I brace for the end, knowing I take this evil with me. But Izzy doesn¡¯t move. No, no, you promised. Her chest rises and falls. Her chin quivers and her lips form a word that I¡¯ll never hear. Hot, agonized tears fall from my eyes. Then, she yanks a terrified Luca from the floor and they¡¯re gone. An unwanted stillness caresses me. She giggles. A cavernous sphere splits open in my depths, making room for Her. The quiet is here¡ªand then, hellfire is, too, blazing in my skull. I cry out and collapse, curling in on myself. My knees crush into my chest. I reach for my pendant, a last attempt to slow Her down. And She cracks me open. Chapter One (Part Three) Search the dark, find dark things I am not enough. I must be more. My bones splinter, brittle and dead as dry roots, forcing through muscle as they reshape. The joints go next, breaking apart with wet, hollow, pops. It is agony, necessary and absolute. My ribs wrench open and outward, like an ancient cage breaking a hundred year seal. The pain all but blanks me. My teeth shift, sharpen, pushing past the gums, hungry things. Their points digging into my tongue. The skin follows. Darkness bleeds through me, an inkblot unfurling beneath the surface, the pale porcelain succumbing to midnight oil. I am Her. She is me. We¡ª We are free. The boy has made it so! We stand. Sweat-laden flesh, excrement, and something delicious fills our nostrils. Wonderful. We stretch the wall apart and land on the earth once more. It pleads beneath our feet. Movement draws our attention. They all scurry about in front of us. With a simple step, a flash to their eyes, we rip them open. Soft things spill out, still slick and steaming in our hands before we cast them into the muck. A wet slap. We laugh, a sound this world does not know, and we are pleased. The screaming begins in earnest. We bask in their warmth as we stride through the square. Shiny metals gather and point at us. We bend them into new shapes, better shapes. It is messy work, but only we can do it. There is a sting in our hand, it burns us, but then it is gone. Vermin in fancy robes come to chant words that fill us with joy. We kneel and share our own words as we examine their bones, oh, so closely. We are in the homes now. A plump little rat-man stands in our way, so we make him one with the stone. Next, we cradle three filthy little children in our teeth. They all coo for mother. But mother cannot hear them, she is in the rafters¡ªtwisted in half. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. We take our time with them, making for the river. They do not take from the river. But, we take what we please. Our legs wade into the water. Icy hands tug at them. We have blasphemed their master. Yes, come. Come to us drowned ones. One by one, we pull them from the deep, limbs sloshing, water-bloated. We cast them into the streets, and they feast as we feast. Flames roar in our honor. Blood splatters to our glory. And then¡ª *** I wake in the woods. A silence hangs in the trees, the kind of silence craved after nightmares, the kind that should chase the hauntings away¡ªbut it doesn¡¯t. The scent of char and iron lingers in my nostrils. My head pulses, but the drumming is gone, She is gone. I exhale, and push myself upright, my hands sticking to the earth. The half-light of the moon illuminates my shredded nails¡ªa blackened red. Something is in my teeth. My fingers tremble as I touch my mouth. My tongue find a scrap. I rip it free and fling it away in disgust. I see her. Izzy, slumped against a tree, her breath ragged, neck and ribs bleeding. She recoils as I awaken, and now she¡¯s farther. She stares through me. Wide-eyed. Unblinking. Vacant. "It said¡ª,¡± blood threads between her teeth. "It...fucking spoke to me." The words burrow into me, waking memories I don¡¯t want and can¡¯t handle. A taste now, I know it. Izzy¡¯s. I wipe at my mouth with my sleeves, but they¡¯re too soaked and crimson and they cling to my skin. My heart plummets and her glory shivers up my spine, images, faces, blood and death. Then, my lips curl into a wicked little smirk¡ªHers. Pleasure lingers upon my lips and I claw it off. A wretched sob bubbles from my chest as I convulse, vomiting into the dirt. I spit and spit and spit¡ªbut I can¡¯t get the poison out, I can¡¯t¡ª ¡°FUCK!¡± I shriek through a rasping breath, some of my bones still cracking into place. The visions are overwhelming. I want to dig my fingers into my brain and forget. But they are too deep. I will never be rid of them¡ªnever be rid of Her.