Page 18 of House of the Beast

Applause rang through the temple as the Antecedent bowed to the new arrivals.

Obediently, I put metal to flesh as I joined in the clapping.

Though I itched for the action to begin, I knew a speech was inevitable.

This was a show to ensure the people of Kugara understood the weight of our duties.

A reminder for them to continue worshipping, and thus to keep our gods fed.

When the noise died down, the Antecedent continued, “Today we gather in preparation for Kugara’s most noble and time-honored tradition.

In seven days’ time, the umbral gate over Sorrowsend will open.

It is Avera’s duty, as the swords of Kugara, to keep our nation safe from the foul whispers of a foreign star.

I expect no House to handle this task as assiduously as ours. ”

A buzz of approval rang through the temple as all the members of House Avera and nobles alike preened at the Antecedent’s words.

It was a good way to rouse everyone’s spirits. For a moment I almost felt a tug of desire to do good for the sake of my nation—even a brief flash of guilt at the selfishness of my own goals.

“Pretty words,” Aster allowed, before he affected a big, rude yawn. “But boring as rocks. See, this is why I want you in charge, Alma. You have no patience for these things—these games they all want to play. I can’t wait for all of this to be gone.”

A game, yes—and I would not let my father win. The guilt quickly dissipated. All of Kugara would be better off once House Avera had been brought to heel a little bit.

The Antecedent held up a finger for silence. “But,” he continued, “it is also the task of our most Divine Court to ensure that any vessels who travel within those gates are worthy. And that is why we are here today.”

He bowed again to the procession standing before us.

“Cardinal Lorn,” he greeted. “Meister Hellen of Goldmercy. The House of the Beast thanks you for your attendance.”

Cardinal Lorn stepped forward to return his bow. “Antecedent of Avera. Your gracious hospitality is appreciated. I see the House of the Dark Hunter is as terrifying and magnificent as ever.”

The Antecedent puffed himself up. “We remain strong, thanks to Maximus’s presence in Sorrowsend. Our people sustain us, and we have two of the blood eager to accept your challenge today.”

At his words, my eyes went to the giant Thing standing at the Goldmercy Meister’s side.

The trial of the Pilgrimage was always a trial of combat—a basic test to ensure that all who ventured through the umbral gate could hold their own against the terrors living within.

It was not a guarantee of survival—only a warning to those committing to the task that they would face even greater danger beyond our realm.

Today, the task was to defeat this flesh-and-clockwork monstrosity.

Anticipation in the temple hummed and grew.

The noblemen whispered fervently and leaned forward in their seats.

It was expected, of course, for the whole of Avera to be invested in the first Pilgrimage to occur in three decades.

But as much as this trial was a test for the true quest awaiting us, it was also an opportunity to prove Avera’s superiority.

They were eager for the House of the Beast to strike down a Goldmercy Meister’s servant.

I suspected that another reason for the buzz was my Uncle Maximus’s condition.

It had been unanimously agreed that he was in no state to be facing the horrors of the umbral plane. His mind had been fraying for so many years; the court feared that if he ventured past the veil again, he would lose himself for good.

So, the task fell to those who would take his place. My father, who coveted the position. And Kaim, who’d been trained for it all his life.

Of course, there was no chance they were going to work with each other.

My father had spent too many years being jealous of his older brother.

He had brought me here, ruined my life, stolen my goodbye from the only family that loved me, all for this moment.

And Darantha would sooner pull out her own teeth and eat them than let her son back down.

The House was divided—which had been an endless source of gossip and fiery speculation for some months now.

I had seen attendants placing bets and discussing the strengths and weaknesses of my father and Kaim like they were horses in a race.

No doubt the nobles had been doing the same.

And once we were in Sorrowsend, this rivalry would only escalate.

Because, of course, I would be taking my place among them as well.

The Cardinal nodded. “We welcome all those of the blood, but first comes the trial. House Goldmercy has been kind enough to lend one of their creations to test the readiness of your warriors. Meister Hellen and myself shall be the officiators of this challenge. Any of the blood who defeat the Tinkerer’s Thing are, in the eyes of the Court of Divine Hearers, worthy of being a Pilgrim. ”

“Then let us not waste any more time, shall we?” The Antecedent gave an ancient, raspy little chuckle. “My grandnephew and great-grandnephew have been awaiting their glory for years.”

The Cardinal smiled blithely in response, and then turned on his heel to march away, snapping his fingers above his head.

At his signal, the knights marched back with him to form a line blocking the temple entrance. Together with the House Avera Dreadguard, they formed a wide perimeter around the Meister and her Thing.

The Antecedent sank back into his chair with a relieved creak of his bones. The temple grew quiet again with anticipation. I rocked forward on my toes, skin buzzing, ready to see the challenge I would face with my own blade soon enough.

The Meister whispered to her Thing, and it unfurled itself to stand even taller. She pulled at the cloth, and a collective gasp of delighted horror resounded through the temple.

It was human once—probably. It looked like it had been stretched, like its limbs had been pulled outward the way a potter might mold clay.

Clockwork clicked and stuttered at its joints.

Its skin seemed to have been torn apart, packed with additional muscle, and then stitched back together.

Its neck was too long and drooped forward, and its face was hidden behind an array of paper talismans nailed into its flesh.

Each of its fingers ended in a claw that was, to my dismay, as long as the sword currently hanging at my hip.

Aster hummed approvingly. “Very menacing. One of those could easily cut a man in half.”

“I wish you didn’t sound so happy about that,” I replied, taking care to keep my voice quiet.

“You don’t want to see your father butchered?”

“I don’t want to see me butchered.”

“Impossible,” proclaimed Aster, a hand placed in grave sincerity over his heart. “I won’t let anything hurt you.”

I believed him—but the problem was, faced with such an opponent, I wasn’t sure I believed in myself.

The reality of the situation was sinking in.

My father and cousin had experience, having both been stationed in the capital before.

They had fought the nightmares that occasionally crept out of the umbral gate, or bandits, or sometimes levered their swords against heretics.

I, on the other hand, was fresh meat. This would be my first real taste of battle.

What a stage to have it on.

My father stepped forward. Being the senior member of the House, he would face the challenge first. He unsheathed his sword with his right hand, the one of flesh, and held it at his chest, blade pointed unerringly skyward.

“Zander Avera,” he announced himself. “Second Hand of the Dread Beast.” He swung his weapon forward as acknowledgment of the challenge.

The Meister bowed to him. She couldn’t have been much older than Sevelie, but there was a gray, shriveled look about her.

“Well met, Lord Zander. It is an honor to be able to test my creation against you. Any move that would incapacitate my Thing passes you the trial. Likewise, if you are incapacitated, that is a loss.”

She turned, adjusted something around the Thing’s neck that made its clockwork joints hiss and whirl, and then went to join the Cardinal and the knights at the back of the temple.

As soon as she stepped safely out of the perimeter, the Thing lunged forward.

It had begun.

I wished that I could say my father was a poor swordsman.

Unfortunately, he was excellent, because he would not have settled for anything less.

His moves were measured with military precision.

He had spent decades of his life training for glory, and it showed.

Any of the ridiculous standards he burdened me with, he had put himself through first.

His duel with the Thing was like a dance, the way he often instructed me to fight.

The Thing swung its arms in wide arcs, one after the other, claws slicing through the air.

The cogs of its shoulders whirred as its arms rotated in a fluid, relentless assault.

Its long neck swayed back and forth while its gaze remained steady on my father, like a snake, and its movements were sharp and strangely beautiful.

For a moment, I could see why people would worship House Goldmercy, who could bring to life such grace from nothing but clockwork and dead flesh.

Interrupting its own steady rhythm, the Thing lurched forward with a sudden burst of speed, a claw catching my father’s cheek and leaving a bloom of blood across it. The crowd collectively gasped. I found myself holding my breath as well, half hoping for my father’s failure, half dreading it.

If he failed here, I would not have to face him in the umbral plane.

But where was the satisfaction in seeing him felled by a hand other than my own?

My father caught his footing quickly and the trial continued.

My eyes grew dry as I watched, barely blinking, trying to find a pattern in the Thing’s movements I could later exploit for myself.

I would be entering this same arena later.

More than that: I would have to dominate it so decisively, no one would be able to question my competence.

But it was a frustratingly fruitless attempt.

The Tinkerer’s Thing did not obey the rules of battle the way a regular swordsman would—and that, I realized, was because it could not feel.

It did not fear pain. When my father found a bare moment’s lull in the Thing’s rhythm, he rallied himself and lunged.

Its gray flesh split under his sword, but it did not bleed.

Nor did it stop. It planted its feet on the ground, and then it was pushing forward again.

I gripped my dress between my fingers. How does one find an opening against such a creature?

Another flash of my father’s blade, and the Thing’s left arm flew to the ground, dismembered.

I cursed under my breath. I hadn’t caught what he had done to grant himself an advantage. My father’s trial was going to be over soon; I had to admire his efficiency.

He charged forward and slashed again. This time, his blade sliced open the Thing’s neck. Not clean through; it towered above him, and even with his stature, his reach did not extend that far. But he had sliced deep enough that its head fell backward, now dangling from its neck by a strip of flesh.

The Meister stepped into the ring and clapped once. “That’s enough.”

Docile as a lamb, the Tinkerer’s Thing tucked itself back into a resting position, feet shoulder width apart, claws dangling harmlessly by its side. It did not seem to care that it was missing an arm and had almost lost its head.

“Lord Zander Avera passes the trial,” the Cardinal pronounced.

Applause rang through the temple. Prayers of gratitude mixed with shouted praise.

“He looks smug,” Aster said, glancing at my father.

He did. He was basking in the attention, the adulations.

I could feel my face puckering, my emotions sour. The noblemen chattered excitedly among themselves. What a display , they said. With a candidate as strong as Lord Zander, glory would belong to Avera for sure.

On the balcony, I saw Sevelie place a hand to her throat.

The Meister was attending to her injured Thing. It had picked its own arm back up and held it steady as she muttered prayers to stitch the dead flesh back together. Its head was already fully reattached, with no visible evidence of the violence it had suffered earlier.

My father returned to his place beside the Antecedent, still glowing with triumph, and Kaim stepped forward. He looked as thunderous as I felt, and moved like he was ready to claim the arena as his own.

My grip tightened on the hilt of my sword.

“Soon,” Aster whispered, his breath warm in my ear.

In the echoing bowels of the temple, Kaim announced himself confidently to his audience. “Kaim Avera, Fifth Hand of the Beast, son of Maximus Avera, First Hand of the Beast and representative of the Divine Court.”

The crowd cheered.

After this, it would be my turn. And I would have to not only be victorious in my battle against the Tinkerer’s Thing but also prove beyond any shadow of doubt that I was worthy.

I would have to put on a show so brutal that even my father and my cousin’s most ardent supporters would have no reason to refuse me.

I could only hope that I was up to the task.