The South Gate, also known as the Main Gate, was the largest of the eight entrances to the city. Framed by the twin bell towers, it rose a hundred feet in the air; a wonder of lacework and architecture, all gleaming polished stone and intricate locks. It could only be opened from the inside, and then only by those with the Sisterhood’s blessing.
That wasn’t to say civilians hadn’t tried to force it open in the past. Four centuries ago, a group of revolutionaries—the Ash Disciples—had made a serious attempt to topple the Sisterhood. Heretical in their beliefs, they had put forward that the Order was founded on lies—that the Sisterhood’s domination was a perversion of nature, and the Eater herself nothing but a vicious tyrant. As the true and rightful rulers of Aytrium, they were in fact direct descendants of an elevated race of people. One untainted by our bloodline. Pure.
For all I knew, maybe they were right—the Order’s pre-Ascension historical records were pretty hazy on the details. And the Disciples’ story had a kind of romantic resonance; there was something chivalric and grand about the whole thing, about that exclusivity, about the idea of belonging to a better people. Even now, the story was whispered in certain subversive circles.
Accordingly, in the Disciples’ view, the only just course of action was to slaughter half the Order’s forces and drive the remaining Sisters into servitude. We were to feed the Pillars in chains.
Despite some flaws in this scheme, the Disciples’ rebellion proved moderately successful; they rallied the rural communities, and together managed to assassinate the Salt Pillar’s Head Custodian. But it all fell apart when they tried to breach the South Gate.
With superior numbers on their side, they must have felt confident that they could break through the walls. The Disciples split their forces. Half to take Ceyrun, the rest to eliminate the Pillar Houses’ remaining reserves.
In principle, this was sensible; in practice, catastrophic. The sitting Council directed the majority of the Order’s forces to provide aid to the Houses. Twenty Heralds and eight Reverends stayed in Ceyrun to safeguard the city walls.
If the Disciples had thrown all their forces against the South Gate, who knows, maybe they would have broken through. Maybe if they had just laid siege to the city and let everyone inside the walls starve, they could have won. But I doubt it. The Sisterhood was never one to contemplate surrender; we would have burned Ceyrun to the ground first. I suspect that the Disciples must have known that too.
Their direct assault on the Gate failed. The walls held, and the victorious Sisters returned to obliterate every one of the surviving men. Caught between the wall and the Order, what hope did they have? There was no chance of escape or mercy.
After the battle, the Council razed the Fields and staked the Disciples’ castrated bodies like scarecrows from Ceyrun to Halowith. It had the desired effect; no one had tested the South Gate since.
“Your frown is going to become a permanent fixture,” said Millie.
I blinked, my thoughts interrupted. The Fields on either side were a hive of activity; workers were carrying copper pipes to the dig sites. The boreholes had struck water at last.
“I was going for ‘brooding,’” I said.
That cracked a smile. “Are you certain you want to do this?”
“I’ve thought it through.”
She glanced at me sidelong. “How do you know this Herald is trustworthy?”
We passed below a small copse of trees at the roadside, where the Sisterhood had set up a water station. Labourers queued in the shade, sweat shining on their faces.
“She’s very careful,” I said, once we were out of earshot. “And she obviously has the resources to cover her tracks.”
“So she could throw you to the dogs at any time.”
“She could,” I agreed. “But I don’t think she would, especially after putting so much effort into recruiting me.”
“I don’t know, El. That sounds an awful lot like wishful thinking.”
“Her competence is reassuring. You should have seen the way she blackmailed me. Masterful.”
Millie sighed.
At the crossroads to Halowith, we turned west toward the Farasni Hills. In other years, the valleys had glittered with lakes, and the hills had been green and lush. Many Reverends and senior Heralds held estates in this area, and divided their time between the countryside and Ceyrun.
When I was nine, my mother had taught me to swim at the reservoir on her friend’s estate. I remember the oak trees that hung over the deep cold water, the smell of wet grass, and her voice. I remember that she had been happy sometimes, back then.
The road narrowed. Straggly wild lavender grew along the verge, and bees hovered above the flowers.
Reverend Belia Verje’s house—more of a mansion, I suppose—sat at the base of a low hill. The yellow-brick residence was three storeys tall, with an ornate gable roof and pretty balconets outside the upper windows. Behind the main house stood cottages for the serving staff and a large barn. A five-foot-high stone wall surrounded the property.
Millie whistled.
“Verje is a Reverend,” I said. “Not to mention that she’s tipped for Kisme’s Council position.”
She elbowed me and grinned. “Someday you could live in a place like this.”
“Sure. Briefly.” I glanced down the road, then hoisted myself up the perimeter wall. The stones provided easy footholds and were warm from the sun. “Given the choice, I’d rather stay in the dormitories.”
“Come on, think about me.” Millie put her hands on the top of the wall and pulled herself up with a grunt.
“Are you asking to move into my hypothetical country estate, Millie?”
Her grin widened. “Are you offering?”
We dropped down on the other side, the sound of our landings muffled by the soft, clover-covered earth. Rows of tall trees screened the house from view.
“You sure you want to do this?” I whispered.
“Someone has to watch your back,” she replied. “If I can’t stop you, then I may as well help you.”
The estate was quiet; even the birds fell silent as we drew closer to the house. Rotten figs littered the ground beneath the trees. The mottled purple skin of the fruits had shrivelled, and their juices bled into the soil, sticky under the heels of my shoes. The sweet odour of decay turned my stomach.
Such a waste, I thought. The figs should have been harvested earlier in the season.
Through the branches, I could see snatches of brick wall. Windows like eyes gleamed in the sun, and black smoke rose from the kitchen chimney. Clearly, someone was home. A narrow stretch of lawn divided the orchard from the house; we would get no closer without abandoning the shelter of the trees.
I waved at Millie, motioning for her to stop. The sun beat down overhead, and even the shade was stifling and humid. So quiet. My breathing sounded too loud in my ears.
“I want to look around the back,” I muttered to her.
She gestured affirmation. Her cheeks were flushed.
The orchard ended a few feet from the house’s rear wall. Beyond was an untended vegetable patch, with tomatoes sagging on their vines and swollen eggplants drooping over the rims of clay pots. The servants’ quarters lay further off; the buildings were small and the windows shuttered. Silver fingers of dried ivy crusted the walls. The wooden frames were worn smooth and pale.
I frowned. It was too exposed here; if we emerged from the orchard, we would be entirely visible from both the mansion and the servants’ houses.
Millie nudged me. She jerked her head to the left.
“What?”
There’s a trench, she mouthed.
I followed her, and sure enough, a deep channel ran along the length of the orchard. We crouched beside it. Rough stones and mortar covered the soil. The trench had probably been used to carry water for irrigating the trees, but now a layer of dry silt covered the base, and flowering weeds poked out of the dirt.
“We can crawl up here to reach the back wall,” Millie whispered, and pointed to a cluster of pines growing beyond the rear wall of the property. “Then we’ll at least be able to scope out the rest of the place.”
I looked at the channel, and then back at the main house. “Do you think it’ll be enough to hide us?”
“If we stay low? The rest of this place looks deserted, so I think it will work.”
I hesitated, still doubtful, but there didn’t seem to be a better alternative. She waited. A film of perspiration gleamed on her forehead.
“Let’s try it,” I said.
We made our way on our hands and knees, Millie first. The midday sun scorched the back of my neck, blood pounded in my ears. She was right: the estate did appear abandoned. The rotting fruit, the untended gardens, the curtains drawn in the windows of the servants’ houses: everything about the place seemed just slightly off. If not for the smoke rising from the chimney on the main house, I might have believed no one lived there at all.
A rusted pump stood at the end of the channel, and the faucet slowly dripped onto the moss-covered ground. The temperature was cooler; a draft ran along the perimeter wall, and the ground smelled damp, faintly musty.
Inside the house, a door slammed shut. We both flinched, and I glanced over my shoulder.
A man stood in the channel behind me. He stared right at my face, silent, silhouetted against the sun. He was naked. I jumped to my feet.
Millie swore. “What are you doing?”
The man’s gaze bore into me. His eyes did not reflect light, but sat deep in his skull, cold as stone. His mouth was slack.
“For fuck’s sake, El!” Millie yanked me back to the ground. I struggled to rise, and she gripped my shoulders.
“Tell me what’s happening,” she demanded.
The man took a step forward.
“You can’t see him,” I whispered.
There was something inside his mouth, something with legs, an insect or a spider. It crunched under his teeth.
Millie grasped my jaw in her hands and turned my face away from him.
“You’re right, I can’t see anything.” She spoke urgently. “But El, I’m here. I’m right here.”
She refused to let go of me. I could see the man in my peripheral vision; he took another step, and his shadow crossed my legs.
“Breathe,” said Millie. Her hands were steady and cool, her blue eyes unwavering. “It’s not real.”
It’s not real. It’s not real. I inhaled. It’s not real.
I closed my eyes and breathed out. When I nodded, Millie let go of my face.
“Don’t scare me like that,” she said.
This was too soon; I had only seen Finn three days ago. And I had never experienced visions while in Millie’s company.
I opened my eyes. The man had vanished, although I still felt watched. Dead, vacant eyes. My skin crawled.
“We need to move,” I said. “Someone might have heard us.”
The trees hung low above the wall. Millie climbed over first, and then I followed. The hillside beyond was wild: nettles and long yellow grass, thorns and dry soil. I crouched, catching my breath.
“You okay?”
“Sorry.” I shrugged and tried to keep my voice light. “Must be stress. Let’s just finish this and head back to Ceyrun.”
Millie hesitated. There was a familiar, stubborn light in her eyes, an expression I recognised from all our previous arguments on the subject.
“The visions are getting worse, aren’t they?” she said.
I knew how it would go. Millie, telling me I needed to confess my problem to the Sisterhood. Me, telling her that the Order would sooner martyr me than help. She refused to see that it would be so much less complicated for them to put me to sleep. Less messy, less risky. Besides, even if they didn’t martyr me, I’d still be sent to the Sanatorium.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” she said.
Millie never needed to think about Renewals, or Haunts, or rites. She could have whatever she wanted. Whoever she wanted. She could joke about country estates and never calculate how many years remained until someone started cutting her apart.
“You have to slow down with all of this,” she said.
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
She drew back, surprised by my coldness.
“I’m going to do this,” I said. “Because you know what really puts pressure on me? Renewals.”
“I didn’t mean…” She bit her lip. “I’m just worried about you, El.”
My resentment burned red hot, but I knew that I had hurt her.
“I’ll visit Finn when we get back to the city.” My voice came out hard and bitter. I swallowed, tried to soften it. “Look, Millie…”
“You’re right, we should keep going,” she said, and got up.
The wall ran straight along the base of the hill. Parts of it were crumbling with age, and long-dead ivy spread across the stones like grey veins.
In the distance, I caught the faint murmur of voices from the house, too indistinct to understand. Another door closing. A sudden cold wind rustled through the leaves of the trees above us and chilled the sweat on my face. Millie peered over the top of the wall.
“Found the renovations,” she said.
I stood on my toes, and followed her line of sight. The barn doors stood wide open, but there were no farming implements or animals inside. Instead, mounds of loose earth were piled up next to the building, and the ground inside sloped steeply downwards beyond the door.
“I wonder what she’s trying to dig up,” Millie muttered.
I could not see much of the pit, but if the excavated dirt was anything to go by, it ran deep. Enormous steel panels lay stacked beside the entrance, shining in the sun.
“Maybe she means to bury something.” I did a quick count of the number of panels beside the barn. At least enough to cover the floor of the building. “Something she doesn’t want found?”
Millie shook her head. “Then this is far too conspicuous. If your Reverend had bodies to hide, she’d be better off throwing them over the Edge.”
As I stared, the vision emerged from the barn. Despite the distance between us, I could hear him breathing. His skin was stained with mud, like he had crawled out of the ground. His eyes found mine, and for a few seconds, he just stared at me. I balled my hands into fists.
He turned away and began rubbing himself against the wall.
“I think we’re done here,” I said, my voice flat.
We kept to the perimeter wall until we reached the road. Millie noticed I was shaking, and touched the small of my back.
Although I shared most things with her, I would never speak about this vision, or the fact that the man bore a striking resemblance to Declan Lars.