Blood Blight

Excerpt

Guttural snarls slashed through the night air, followed by a scattered chorus of screams. Lis glanced up at her unbarred door. “Bloodrot, another beast.” She pushed up from the table, its worn, pocked surface familiar under her hands.

Are we actually going to help?



Lis rolled her shoulders, making sure that her mental walls were in place and her thoughts and feelings would remain private. She’d built the mental barrier years ago, had erected it brick by mental brick until it stood firm and immovable, a barrier between her and the interloper in her head. “Of course not,” she said aloud, unwilling to lower her guard enough to convey the thought to Bellamy without words. She crossed the small living area and slid the heavy crossbeam into place, protecting her home from the beast attack. Not that they were likely to get attacked on the upper floor; the shop below would fare worse if the beast made its way to them. But she’d deal with that tomorrow.

What about Janik? We’ve just locked him out.

“Janik’s smart enough to find shelter until the beast is dealt with.” Truth be told, Lis didn’t expect her father to return anytime soon. He’d been gone for a few days, disappearing on another fool’s errand. Bloodrot, he’d likely run toward the beast in his obsessive search. He’d been missing for longer in the past and would likely show up in a few days with no explanation or gratitude that Lis had taken care of their herbalist shop while he was gone.

Again.

She returned to the table and fingered an errant lock of hair that had escaped its tight braid, the strands glowing dully in the candlelight. Though it had been a while since she’d had the luxury of bathing, the gilding in the strands fought to break through the grime of the city. The color of old gold, her mother had said. Lis shook her head and shoved the strands behind her ear, pushing the thought away as she shoveled another spoonful of stew into her mouth. Though stew was too generous a name; it was little more than vegetable-flavored water with a few pieces of tough meat and sad tubers. At least the herbs had made the meal palatable, and it was something warm in her stomach.

The screams continued, growing faintly closer but still not near enough to cause concern. Are you sure? We could open our door to people, provide shelter.

Lis shook her head and spoke around a mouthful of stew. “Not my garden, not my weeds.”

Bell rattled around in Lis’s head; if they’d been a bird, they’d be rustling their feathers in annoyance. But we could help! The alley out back is narrow. There’s no way a beast could fit through there. We could call people over and–

Lis almost choked on her stew. “Call them over? By the blood, are you serious? They’d likely see it’s me and run toward the beast, instead.” She shook her head. “No, Bell. I don’t save people.”

You saved me.

Lis snorted, eating another spoonful of stew before answering. “No, I didn’t. I was a stupid kid and didn’t understand what I was agreeing to.”

That’s not true. Besides, the alley is dark. I doubt anyone would recognize us.

Lis dropped the spoon and looked up, as if she could give side-eye to the spirit squatting in her head. “You know it’s true. You may not be all-seeing, but you’ve experienced everything with me. You just refuse to accept that your vessel is so unliked.”

Oh, come now, I never said that. You’re putting words in my… er, mouth, as it were.

“Then tell me truthfully that you wouldn’t choose another host if I could detach you.”

The silence stretched long enough for Lis to hear the unspoken answer. Her neck lowered, and she was again grateful that she’d learned to enforce her mental walls over the years, that she was able to wall up her vulnerability with her thoughts. She shoved the emotion down and shoveled another spoonful of stew into her mouth, though there was now little more than broth in her bowl.

The disappointment in Bell’s words made Lis question the strength of her mental walls. You’d be better ff than most to deal with a beast. It wouldn’t be the first time you’d seen one up close.

Images flashed through Lis’s mind – a gaping mouth filled with sharp teeth, torn flesh, white bone that branched up and out like a vine, blue eyes so like her own staring at her without recognition. She remembered her fear when the screams began; the way her stomach dropped when her mother’s back twisted and grew in unnatural ways; the feel of hot, wet breath right before the searing pain of teeth closing around her throat.

Lis came back to reality with a jolt. Her vision was dark at the edges, her head light and fuzzy. She couldn’t seem to breathe. One hand clawed at her throat, fingers tangled in the chain she always wore as they scraped at the uneven, scarred skin. She concentrated on deepening her breaths and slowly, very slowly, her vision returned. As it did, she became aware of the steady drone of Bell’s voice.

You’re safe. Shh, you’re safe.

With one last, decisive breath, Lis unclenched the vice-like grip of her hand on the edge of the table. “I need silence,” she said, her voice raspy.

She focused on her bowl, and her stomach turned at the thought of eating more. Instead, she walked to the stove, dumping the remnants of her stew into the cooling pot for tomorrow. She checked to ensure the coals were banked enough to provide warmth throughout the night without going out entirely.

I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that up. It’s just that, maybe if we helped people, they’d see we weren’t something to be afraid of. We could–

“Enough!” Lis’s voice echoed through the Spartan room. Her body felt hot, fevered, and she took a breath before speaking into the silence. “I need peace, not more lecturing. And there is no we. There’s me, the person who belongs in this body, and you, the former person attached to me. All you get is a place to roost, not a say in how I live my life. Now be silent for the rest of the night or I swear I’ll run straight toward that beast and end this arrangement once and for all.”

It wasn’t the first time Lis had threatened to seek out death to be parted from Bell, but she didn’t do it often. They both knew she wouldn’t follow through, but that didn’t lessen the effect of the words. Bell fell silent and retreated, leaving Lis with more room in her mind. She sighed and mentally stretched, only realizing then how claustrophobic she’d felt.

The commotion outside was too close for comfort, but Lis’s shoulders and back were so tense it was painful, and she knew it would only get worse. She sighed and grabbed the thick iron key from its hook as she threw back the crossbeam and stepped outside. She listened, but the sounds of the beast were streets away. Thankfully, she didn’t have far to travel. She descended the wooden stairs, the structure swaying slightly, and reached the ground directly in front of the back door to the shop.

The heavy iron key slid into place, turning with an audible click. Lis stepped quickly inside, locking the door behind her, the air perfumed by the heady scent of herbs. The store was dark, but she could navigate it blindfolded. She let the aromas she sought out guide her feet; helia, thornwillow, and heathris would do. She grabbed a pinch of each, cupping them in her hand rather than bothering with a sachet. She grabbed some valery, as well, to make sure the sleeping draught worked.

Herbs in hand, she headed back to the apartment above. Once the crossbeam was back in place, Lis dumped the herbs into a mug and stoked the coals, directing the heat to the kettle. She closed her eyes as the water warmed, willing her muscles to relax and her mind to slow. These memory attacks didn’t happen often, but they always drained her energy when they did.

She opened her eyes at the low whistle of the kettle. As she poured water over the herbs, she noted how light the kettle felt. She didn’t trust the water in the rain barrel in the rooftop garden, so she’d have to go to the well in the morning. She sighed and rolled her shoulders, looking around the room as she counted down from five hundred. There wasn’t much to look at; just a small table with three chairs, and the stove with cupboards above. The space was impersonal, with nothing to show who lived there. It certainly didn’t feel like a home. Shaking her head, she watched the tisane steep, the blue-purple helia flowers floating at the top like confetti.

When she’d finished counting, she took a sip. The result was bitter and earthy, with floral notes dancing above the other flavors. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t the tastiest tisane she’d drunk. Still, it should get the job done.

Lis drank quickly, sending up a fervent prayer that she wouldn’t dream of them tonight. So often after these memory attacks, she’d dream of the Seucher – a dark figure in a wide-brimmed hat, their face obscured by shadows and the bird-like mask they wore. The mask design was similar to the one Lis and others wore, covering the lower portion of the face with a protruding pouch stuffed with medicinal herbs, but the Seucher’s mask was antiquated in its pronounced design: longer, thinner, more suited to the straw-like seuchil herb they’d stuff it with. Lis usually dreamt of them after vivid memories of her mother’s change, and they’d always scared her.

She forced her mind from it and headed to bed. Her cot took up most of her tiny room, and she sank into it gratefully. Her eyelids became heavy, and she closed her eyes, letting sleep take her as the sounds of screams continued in the distance, punctuated by a loud, savage ro​​ar.