Page 18 of House of Dusk

“They found him with his flock,” the tomb keeper continued. “He was a shepherd, like his mother and grandmother before him. They’re gone to ash now, but he has a sister in the village.”

Sephre made a mental note to talk to the woman. But she had other work, first.

The holy flame gifted an ashdancer more than just the means to burn corruption. It could also reveal the unseen.

She sliced her hands through the air, two mirroring arcs, tracing streaks of flame to form the shape of an eye that remained even as she lowered her hands. Timeus gasped. “What is it?”

“An oculus. It lets an ashdancer see spirits.” Sephre peered through the glimmering ring, searching the linen-wrapped corpse.

But there was nothing, no hint of any uncanny gleam.

“The spirit’s gone.” Which meant they could gain no answers from Castor himself.

And that the corpse lay open for something else to claim it.

The back of her neck prickled, as if she was being watched. Sephre glanced uneasily toward the tunnels. She let the oculus die, but kept a handful of sparks ready in her palm.

“So you’re done, then?” asked Deucalion. “If the spirit’s passed into the labyrinth, you can’t do anything more, surely.”

If the spirit lingered, she might have offered it the touch of her flame, to cleanse and empower it, easing its passage through the netherworld.

Hastening its rebirth. Even now, she could invoke the merciful flame to pray to the Phoenix for intercession.

But there was only one way to absolutely ensure that the corpse could not serve as a doorway for something terrible.

She cleared her throat. She had other work first. “I need to examine the corpse.”

Deucalion’s brows arched. “He’s already shrouded.”

She hesitated. For some reason, it was hard to bring herself to ask the question. It would sound foolish. Or maybe she just didn’t want to know the answer. “Did he have an inking on him?” she asked, measuring the size with her thumb and forefinger. “About this big, shaped like a ring?”

The tomb keeper frowned in thought. “I don’t recall any inkings, but I wouldn’t swear to it. Why does it matter?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug, aware that Timeus was also watching her, listening. “I’m sorry to undo your work,” she said, moving to the plinth. “But this could be important.”

She drew her belt knife, wincing at the flash of metal.

Carefully, she sliced the blade through the linen shroud.

A foul stench slammed into her nose as the cloth fell apart, revealing the mottled skin of the dead body.

She bit down on a curse. Even Deucalion gave a startled, “Fates! He’s gone fast.”

Timeus surprised her by holding his ground, for all that his skin had a sickly gray cast. She gave him a small nod of approval before turning her attention to the corpse.

She made brisk work of it, searching the man from toe to crown. And found nothing, except for the bite itself. She wanted to feel relief, to cover him up and leave him in peace. See? Just a coincidence . But doubt chewed at her.

“Help me, please, Brother Timeus,” she said. “I need to check his back.”

To his credit, Timeus didn’t hesitate, only gulped down another steadying breath, then moved to take hold of the corpse’s left arm.

Together, they rolled Castor to one side, exposing the broad expanse of his back.

Muscles that would have hefted a young lamb easily, to bring it safely home through a storm.

But now Castor was the one who was lost in the tempest, with no one to guide him. We all walk the labyrinth alone.

“Is that it?” asked Timeus, pointing to a shadow under the man’s shoulder blade, partly hidden by the folds of the shroud.

Sephre squinted. Let out a long breath.

Seven dark lines, linking seven points into a ring. The Serpent’s star sign. The same mark that she’d seen on Iola.

Prickles ghosted over her skin. She tensed, staring into the dark mouth of the nearest tunnel. Just try it. I haven’t forgotten how to f ight.

“Sister?”

She turned back to find Deucalion and Timeus looking at her the way two reasonable people might look at a person who was glaring dramatically into the darkness, holding a dagger as if it were a sword. She was breathing too fast, heart thumping, as if she were about to plunge into battle.

Carefully, she lowered her dagger, sliding it back into the sheath. It would be useless, in any case, meant for slicing cheese, not waging war against the unholy creatures of the netherworld.

Deucalion cleared his throat. “Does the mark mean something, sister?”

“Yes,” said Sephre, wearily. “It means I need to invoke the consuming flame.”

Deucalion rocked back on his heels, all jovial warmth gone. “You can’t be serious.” He stared at Sephre as if she had just declared herself high priestess of the abyss.

“I don’t understand,” Timeus said. “It’s a blessing. Won’t it help his spirit?”

“No,” said Sephre. “The consuming flame destroys a corpse completely. To keep any skotos from using it to reach this world.”

“But surely there’s little chance of that,” protested Deucalion. “Castor was a good man. Quiet, yes, but well loved. I doubt he ever had an unkind word for anyone. Would you deprive his family of the chance to pray for him? To leave offerings to strengthen his spirit?”

“I’m sorry.” Sephre cupped one hand, summoning a hungry bloom of golden flames. “But if he is the man you believe him to be, then he’ll find his way, with or without prayers and grave goods.”

The flames leapt higher, dazzling her eyes. She could not see Deucalion’s expression. Only heard his sigh. The scuff of his sandals as he stepped back from the plinth.

I’m sorry , Sephre repeated, silently, as she held out her hands to the still body of the shepherd. Be strong, Castor. I hope you find your way quickly.

The flames filled her vision then, leaping across the dry linen, licking across the oiled skin of the corpse, and rendering it to ash.

· · ·

Sephre could feel Timeus watching her as they made their way back down toward the village. She owed him no explanations. He was a novice. Yet something compelled her to blurt out, “I had to do it.”

“Of course, sister,” he said, meekly. But she could still feel his big brown eyes staring into her shoulder blades.

A longer explanation hung from the tip of her tongue.

Up until now, she’d kept the full details of their mission to herself, not wanting to alarm the boy if it all amounted to nothing.

But it was clearly amounting to something .

Something that made her skin crawl, sent her heart thumping at every dry whisper of grass, turned every innocent ripple of cloud shadow into a phantom serpent.

Fool woman , she told herself. The skotos in your herb garden wasn’t sign enough? He’s not a child. Stop treating him like one.

“You don’t have to explain,” said Timeus. “I’m only a novice. I don’t need to understand.”

She halted abruptly. “Yes. Yes, you do. Just because someone with a title tells you to do something doesn’t mean it’s right or noble or just.”

“I’m sorry.” He was shriveling like a spent bloom. Not looking at her.

Her irritation melted into regret. “No. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He nodded, throat bobbing, eyes wide.

There. She’d apologized. But was it enough?

Didn’t he deserve more from her? “Listen, though,” she said, before she could think better of it.

“You will make mistakes. We all do. It’s part of life.

It doesn’t mean you’re cursed by the Fates.

It just means you have something to learn.

I’m not going to throw you out of my herb garden for an honest mistake.

Believe me, I’ve made plenty. And not all of them honest, either. ”

She grimaced. “Maybe it was a mistake to call the consuming flame. Maybe I burned that man’s corpse to ash and left his spirit unmoored in the labyrinth for nothing. Agia Halimede ordered it, but I did it. It was my choice. And now I’ll live with it.”

Timeus nodded. No longer cringing, but still cautious. “Why did the agia order it?”

Her throat closed, remembering the scent of rot. The thing inhabiting Iola’s body, hissing at her. But Timeus had been asleep. He still believed the girl had been reborn. “Because dead bodies are how skotoi get into the mortal world.”

“So you might just have saved this entire village from a rampaging skotos.”

He was being far kinder to her than she deserved. She shrugged. “Only the Fates can know that,” she said, as she continued down the trail.

It took a dozen more steps before he finally asked the question. “Do you really think the Serpent is coming back? Is there going to be a war?”

Zander’s blue eyes blazed in her memory, his eager smile still so clear it could hollow out her heart.

What do you think, Seph? I hear it’s only a matter of days.

Hierax already banished the ambassador .

Won’t be long before the official declaration.

I just hope there’s still someone left to fight by the time we get there.

Can’t have the Second and Fifth getting all the glory!

Sephre shook off the memory, but not the sting. And she gave Timeus her honest, heartfelt answer. “Fates, I hope not.”

· · ·

Castor’s sister’s name was Penthea. She welcomed them with brisk hospitality, shadowed by loss.

Her clear brown eyes were red, and ash marked her cheeks, but clearly life hadn’t ceased its demands for mourning.

A handloom sat nearby, strung with grass-green yarn, and a little girl of about six was collecting tuffets of loose wool in a small basket.