The Unblessed Dead Page 8

  Headmaster Simmons and my mother hold Bale between them, their gnarled fingers digging into his muscled body. He stares in terror at their dead faces and sharp teeth. Too terrified to even cry out, he jerks against their tight hold. It’s my dead mother who tears into his throat. Blood sprays onto Headmaster Simmons, causing him to frenzy. They enfold Bale in their embrace, their mouths buried in his neck. I watch in horror as the ground opens beneath them, and the three are dragged into the dark earth.

  “Ilyse!” Carrie gasps. “Ilyse! Stop!”

  Bale stretches his hands out toward us, terror in his eyes as his body sinks up to his waist. The dead don’t release their hold on him, but push him downward.

  Quade takes two sharp steps toward Bale and the undead, then hesitates. His gaze settles on my trembling body and my rumpled clothing. Raising one hand to his mouth, he watches Bale being dragged into the soil and doesn’t move to save him.

  “Help me,” Bale manages to whimper and then he’s swallowed by the ground.

  Walking to where Bale vanished, Quade smooths the ground with the toe of his boot.

  Carrie spins about and stares at me in shock. “What did you do, Ilyse?”

  I can’t answer. I’m shaking so violently my teeth bite my tongue. I just killed a man and I can’t even fathom that reality.

  Quade brushes past Carrie and gently rests his fingertips against my cheek. Staring into my eyes, he seems to be searching for something.

  I came when I heard you scream.

  “Help me,” I whisper aloud.

  Nodding, Quade settles his hand on my shoulder. Instead of shirking away, I lean into his side. Somehow, I know he’s safe. The warmth of his body is comforting.

  “Ilyse…” Carrie is afraid. She stares toward the front of the house, but doesn’t attempt to leave.

  I clutch her hand, tears obscuring my vision. I can’t even start to process what just occurred and a piece of me wants the world to cease to exist so I won’t have to.

  “It’s done,” Quade says to Carrie. “Now we deal with it. Understand?”

  Carrie nods.

  Quade guides me toward the back of the house and my sister follows.

  Chapter 7

  The Undertaker

  I can’t believe I killed Bale.

  As Quade guides me along the pathway to a narrow stone staircase rising to a screen door, I replay in my mind the image of Bale being dragged into the ground by my dead mother and mentor. I can’t seem to stop the endless loop of his stricken face right before he disappeared.

  It’s hard to focus on anything around me. I stumble on the stairs, forcing Quade to wrap his arm around me and lift me up step by step to the doorway. Carrie follows us and I imagine I can feel her accusing gaze on my back. If I’m horrified by what I’ve done, what must she be feeling?

  When we arrive on the doorstep, I peer through the rusted metal mesh into the house. A very long, dimly lit hallway stretches before me. Quade yanks the door open and helps me inside. The air is musty, but cooler than the outside. Carrie scurries past Quade to stand nervously at my side. He leans me against the wall, and turns to close both the screen door and a heavier metal door that clangs loudly when shut.

  Squaring his shoulders, he takes a deep breath before turning around.

  “Okay, Ilyse. We need to get you sorted out,” he says in his husky voice.

  “I killed him,” I murmur.

  “Yes, yes, you did.” Quade reaches out to me, his silver rings glinting in the glow of the light fixture dangling over my head. I feel tainted by my horrific deed and unworthy of any comfort, so I shirk away.

  “You shouldn’t touch her,” Carrie snaps. “She’s Pious Standing.”

  “I killed someone. My standing is destroyed.”

  “No one knows you killed him,” Carrie retorts.

  “Your sister is right. No one knows you killed him and it needs to stay that way. But in the meantime, we need to get you taken care of. You look shaky on your feet.” He keeps his hand extended toward me. “I’m sorry I touched you earlier, but right now, I think you need some help getting to the other room.”

  I study his expression and decide he’s sincere. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not anymore.”

  “We need to go home, Ilyse.” Carrie sounds young and scared. “We need to pretend this didn’t happen. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “You can’t go home with bruises and scratches on you,” Quade says. “Your parents will know something happened. I can take care of those for you.”

  “He has a point, Carrie.”

  She lets out an exasperated noise. “Fine.”

  I timidly take his hand and he pulls me against his side. With an arm slung across my shoulders, he guides me through the long hallway past darkened doorways to an enormous room filled with large black crates made out a glossy material, a table and chairs, ceiling-high bookcases devoid of books, and an inflatable bed covered in colorful bedding. Wall sconces cast bright light over the room. I lift my head to gawk at the ornate crown molding that includes fancy scrollwork and what looks like babies with wings. It’s hard to discern details since grime and cobwebs obscure the decoration that would never be included in any of the settlement homes. The house is definitely from before The Fall.

  “Those cherubs up there are supposed to be comforting, but they really creep me out,” Quade says with a wry smile. He yanks out a chair for me to sit at the table. The furniture is heavy and scrapes loudly against the wood floor. The dining set has a dark shiny varnish and is intricately carved. It almost feels wrong to sit on something that’s so pretty.

  “Those are cherubs?” Carrie frowns. “It’s not right to have graven images. Especially of the angels of the Three Gods.”

  Quade ignores her scowl and opens one of the big black crates that are nearly as tall as him. Inside is a myriad of drawers of different sizes. His dark blond hair falls across his brow in long, jagged bangs and he sweeps them to one side as he scans the labels on the drawers.

  “Did these come today?” I ask.

  “The crates, yes. The furniture was already here. There are a few rooms just crammed with the stuff. I pulled out what I needed for now.” Quade starts to set things on the table. I don’t recognize any of the objects. The cylinders have matte metal surfaces and are labeled in black lettering I can’t read from where I sit.

  “This house is very different from ours,” I say, my voice quavering. The world around me doesn’t feel real anymore. It’s as if I’m untethered from reality and drifting in a bubble.

  Carrie wanders around the large room. She pokes at the musty curtains, peers up at a gigantic light that’s made up of what looks like hundreds of glass crystals, and studies the shipping labels on the crates.

  “Be careful over there,” Quade warns her. “There’s some loose flooring.”

  “Why do you want to live here? It’s filthy.” Carrie gives Quade a piercing look. “You’re from The Enclave. Don’t you have a home there?”

  Quade tosses some clothes onto the table before turning to regard Carrie. “Is there a reason you don’t like me?” He doesn’t sound unkind, mostly amused.

  “Maybe you killed, Bale and are trying to make my sister take the fall,” she blurts out. “You’re a necromancer!”

  “I’m not a necromancer.” Quade scoffs at her words with a shake of his head. “Only women are necromancers.”

  “Oh. Well, then, you’re something just as bad.” Carrie always stands her ground in an argument.

  Quade gives her an amused smile. “Nah, I’m nowhere near that powerful.”

  “How do we know that’s true?”

  Pressing my hand to my face, I’m unsettled by the clamminess of my skin. I don’t feel well at all, and the world is tipping to one side again. “Carrie, leave him alone. I did it. I killed Bale.”

  “But you’re good, Ilyse! So good! You’ve always been so devout and kind. How could you kill someone?” Carrie stares a
t me with tears in her eyes.

  “Because she didn’t know what she was doing,” Quade answers for me. “Undisciplined power is dangerous.”

  Carrie spins away from us and stalks over to the far end of the room, ignoring his earlier warning. I can hear her sniffling and I wonder if she’ll run home and tell my father what I did.

  Quade takes my hand, turns it over, and sets one of the smaller cylinders to my wrist. I feel a hard press against my skin. “That’s for the shock.”

  “Shock?” I stare at him, not understanding.

  “You’re in shock from what happened. It’s one of the more adverse side effects of using your powers when you’re not trained. The medicine I just gave you will help regulate your blood pressure.”

  I’m already feeling a little less dizzy and nauseous. “Thank you.”

  “This is what you’re going to do,” Quade says, leaning toward me. His eyes are mesmerizing with how they transition from green to gold to brown. “Go in that door over there, wash up, and put on these clothes. Bring me your dress when you’re done. I’ll treat your bruises and cuts then.”

  “What will you do with my dress?”

  “I’ve got a portable clothes washer in that crate over there. It also mends.” He points to a tear in my sleeve I didn’t even know I had. “It’ll take about thirty minutes to run your dress through it.”

  “A machine that washes and mends?” I’m awed by the thought.

  “And dries.” Quade points to the door. “Now, go clean up. Right in there.”

  I stand without his help. I’m relieved when the room doesn’t tilt and I’m able to walk without assistance. When I’m finally in the small bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The reflective surface is freshly polished and my image stares back at me. My light brown eyes are bloodshot and glassy. I’ve been crying this whole time and didn’t realize it. I poke the puffy lower lids with the tip of my finger before wiping away the tears. My lips are swollen and there is a bruise forming on my cheek. I am surprised to see that my lip is cut since I don’t recall that happening. Bits of bark and leaves are in my tangled auburn hair. Tears well in my eyes again and I choke back sobs. The need to wash away the signs of my struggle with Bale overcomes me and I scramble to get clean.

  There isn’t a water pump over the surprisingly clean tub and it takes me a minute to understand how to work the faucet. When I finally have fresh water running, I take off my cape and dress. Tears drip from my chin when I see the ugly bruises forming on my pale, freckled thighs. Again, I feel Bale’s hands on my body and I retch. The water carries the vomit away down the drain.

  I find a wash cloth and soap on a shelf and scrub my body and face. It’s difficult to keep my tears from flowing as I finally surrender to the emotions boiling inside me. Weeping, I wash my hair and body until it feels clean again.

  Afterward, I put on the clothing Quade gave me. It’s a soft gray T-shirt with long sleeves and lightweight black pants with a drawstring waist. I roll up the sleeves and pant legs, feeling awkward being in a man’s clothing. I stifle my tears and wash my face one more time. Gathering my cape and dress, I open the door.

  Carrie stands in front of Quade, arms folded over her chest, glaring up at him while he stares at her with a confused look on his face. Her voice is low, speaking rapidly, and she’s clearly not happy. When she notices me, she whirls about, storms over to the inflated bed and sits on the edge.

  “What’s going on?” I demand.

  “Your sister thinks I’m raising the… uh… Beloved? Is that right? Beloved Undead?”

  “Yes,” I answer. “That’s what we call them.”

  “She thinks I’ve raised the Beloved Undead to trap you.”

  “Not raising. Helping them escape the Perdition Sanctuary to go into our garden.”

  “What is the Perdition Sanctuary?” he asks.

  “It’s where we place the people who die. They’re sanctified and placed inside the Perdition Sanctuary. It’s the big metal building with the high steeple,” I answer.

  “You should be burning the bodies so they don’t rise.” Quade shakes his head in disbelief. “Or at least chopping up the bodies.”

  Carrie stares at me in horror. “He’s a barbarian!”

  “You don’t want them getting out, do you? Keeping the dead inside the settlement is just foolhardy.”

  “The Beloved dead are waiting for Resurrection,” I explain. “The Three Gods will one day cleanse the world and resurrect the dead that have been sanctified.”

  “They’re at peace,” Carrie insists. “Not like the Unblessed.”

  Quade rubs his goatee with his long fingers. “And these Beloved Dead won’t attack you? Try to tear you apart and eat you?”

  Carrie ducks her head, unwilling to answer.

  “That’s what we were told,” I whisper.

  “The two who attacked Bale were definitely not at peace,” Quade points out.

  I feel sickened with that truth. “I know.”

  “You’re the one who let them out. Just admit it! You’re the one who made them not be at peace!” Carrie exclaims, her righteous indignation rising to the forefront again.

  “For what purpose?” Quade looks both annoyed and amused.

  “As a test!” Carrie glares at him.

  “I told you. I’m not a necromancer. I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “But you do have power,” I say. “I’ve seen it. It looks like green fire around your hands.”

  The corner of Quade’s lip tilts upward as he regards me thoughtfully. “So that’s what caught your eye at the train station.”

  Of course, what first caught my eye was how attractive he is, but I’m not about to admit that to him.

  “Yes, I saw your power. Can you see it on me?” I look down at my hands curiously.

  “I see blackish vapor swirling around you. Not all the time.”

  “So you admit you have enough power to know my sister is a necromancer!” Carrie narrows her eyes, obviously furious with him.

  “Yes. I do. I’m what they call an Undertaker.”

  “So what’s that?” my sister demands.

  “I sense what you call the Beloved Undead and I call zombies. I know when they’re around. I can’t control them though.”

  “So what’s the use in that?” Carrie sounds downright hostile.

  “It allows me to get away. Hide. Whatever.”

  “But there’s more than just that, right?” Carrie clearly doesn’t trust Quade despite the help he’s giving me.

  “Yeah, there’s more.” Quade gives me a thoughtful look.

  Ilyse, we shouldn’t tell her everything.

  I don’t know everything, Quade.

  Will she tell on us?

  I look at my sister and contemplate his question. Carrie is furious, scared, and suspicious, but I also know she’s loyal.

  “He can talk to me in my head,” I say. “And I can answer him.”

  Carrie stares at me in disbelief. “Seriously?”

  “From the first time I saw him at the train station, I’ve been able to hear him.”

  “I’m not a necromancer, but I help them through my abilities.”

  Carrie looks triumphant, as though she has wrestled incriminating information from him. “So you’re from the Necromancer Chantry in the Enclave!”

  In a firm voice Quade says, “Don’t go telling everyone about that. That information needs to stay in this room. I know enough about the Lost Texts to know that your people don’t like the Chantry.”

  “You’re heretics,” I say.

  Quade gives me a startled look. “You think so?”

  “Aren’t you?” I don’t understand his surprise.

  “Well, we don’t believe in the Lost Texts, so I don’t think we can be heretics.”

  This response stumps my sister and me, and we fall silent.

  Quade takes my dress from me and walks over to a crate. He opens it and reveals a small machine tucke
d into a nook inside. He pops the lid, drops my dress inside, and taps a glowing blue panel. I wander over to gaze at the piece of high-tech equipment my father would despise. Timidly, I touch the top of the machine and feel a low vibration.

  Watching me, Quade says, “So your people really do despise tech, huh?”

  “It brought about The Fall.”

  “I thought they blamed the necromancers.”

  “The Lost Texts say that tech brought about both the Unblessed and devil-women. Which is what it calls the necromancers,” I reply. “The devil-women made people create technology to destroy the world.”

  “I don’t remember reading that.” Quade picks up a tablet from the table and swipes the screen. He flips it around so I can see what he was reading before we interrupted his night. It’s a digital version of the Lost Texts. Observing my discomfort, he sets it down so Carrie can see it. It’s heresy for the Lost Texts to be transferred to a hi-tech device. I wonder who would dare break the tenets of the faith to do such a thing.

  “If you’re not a believer, why are you reading the Lost Texts?” Carrie stares at the tablet apprehensively.

  “I started reading it on my way here. Usually when I’m sent to a settlement I have more time to prepare, but after what happened to the Bridgetown Settlement, the Chantry was anxious to dispatch an Undertaker here.”

  His words confirm Carrie’s hunch that someone is watching us.

  “So you are here with a purpose and it has to do with Ilyse. I knew you couldn’t be trusted!”

  Quade sets his hands on his waist and stares at my little sister. With a defiant tilt of her head, she glares back at him. Carrie’s much more outspoken than I’ll ever be, and she has no qualms about confronting this strange man in his own home. Finally, with a weary sigh, Quade focuses on me.

  “Sit down, Ilyse. Let’s get rid of those bruises and cuts. I’ll explain while I patch you up.”

  I take a seat at the table and he pulls a chair around so he can sit facing me. Picking up one of the canisters, he leans forward to spray something on my lip. It feels cold against my skin, but refreshing.