The Blunt Reaper

The lift continued climbing. Wind moved across the open side of the box, carrying the smell of stone, grass and smoke from the Bastion above. It was the one of the few occasions Mara had encountered since entering the Underworld that did not smell of blood, rot or stagnant water.

The warmth of the light touched her face. For a moment, she could almost pretend they were rising toward an ordinary city.

Then one of the other lifts passed them on its way down. The wooden box contained six armed guards and several lengths of chain. Nobody aboard spoke.

Rook watched them descend toward the port.

"What are they for?" Mara asked.

"Trouble."

The answer did little to preserve the illusion.

Their lift reached the summit and slowed beneath the platform above. Workers caught the side with hooked poles, pulled the wooden box against the landing and secured it in place. The passengers stepped out in a crowded stream.

A fortified district occupied the top of the cliff. White stone walls enclosed the lift platforms and separated them from the Bastion beyond. Towers stood at each corner, allowing guards to watch both the port below and the road leading inland. Only one broad gate entered the city, though several smaller doors had been built into the walls beside it.

Lines extended from the lifts toward a series of inspection stations. Reapers stood in one queue and ordinary souls in another, while merchants and cargo were directed toward tables where guards searched every container before allowing it through.

Mara followed Rook into the Reaper line. It moved slowly.

Each Reaper approaching the gate was ordered to reveal their forearm. The guards examined the Brand, compared its shape against a metal plate covered in faint symbols and occasionally asked questions about the bearer’s Bastion, rank or reason for entering. Most were permitted through within moments, while a few were pulled aside.

Mara watched one guard examine the mark upon a young Reaper’s arm for far longer than the others. He called over another officer, and the two spoke quietly before directing the man toward one of the smaller doors. The Reaper protested until four guards surrounded him. After that, he stopped.

Mara looked toward the line beside theirs. "What are they checking?"

"The Brands," Rook said.

"I can see that. What do the Brands tell them?"

"Who we are."

"All of that from a mark?"

"The Underworld made the Brands. People merely learned how to read parts of them."

Mara glanced at the black markings concealed beneath Rook’s sleeve. "Your name is written in there?"

"Not in any language you know."

"Does it show what you did?"

His expression did not change. "If it did, I wouldn’t be here."

She studied the guards more carefully. Each Brand received a different reaction. Some were barely examined before their owners were waved through. Others caused the guards to compare several sections against the metal plate.

"And normal souls?" Mara asked. "They don’t have Brands."

"Most souls never awaken. No Death Imprint, no abilities and no reason to identify them the same way."

"That doesn’t make them harmless."

"No. It makes them less dangerous."

The line beside them moved toward a row of guards standing beneath the gate. Each soul was stopped and inspected before being allowed inside. Mara watched one guard hold a hand several inches from an elderly man’s chest. A faint outline appeared beneath his clothing, no brighter than mist caught within the Bastion’s light. The guard studied it, nodded and allowed him through.

"They’re looking for corruption," Rook explained.

Mara remembered the Abominations beneath the sea, the faces moving inside their bodies and the memories being torn from her mind. "What happens if they find it?"

Rook nodded toward the front of the line. "That happens."

A woman had been stopped beneath the gate. At first, she appeared no different from the souls around her. Her clothing was clean, no wounds marked her remembered body and nothing distorted her face.

Then the guard inspecting her soul stepped back.

A dark thread moved beneath the skin of her throat, followed by another around one eye. The woman noticed the guards reaching for their weapons and immediately tried to retreat, but the souls behind her blocked the way. She turned, shoved one aside and ran toward the lift platforms.

Two guards caught her before she had taken three steps.

"Wait!" she screamed as they forced her arms behind her back and locked iron restraints around both wrists. Another guard secured her ankles with a length of chain, leaving enough space for her to walk but not run. "I’m fine. I haven’t changed. Look at me!"

"I’m not corrupted!" she continued as the dark thread reached her jaw. "I’m not! I still remember everything!"

The guards dragged her toward one of the smaller doors beside the gate. She fought hard enough to fall, her knees striking the stone, but they continued pulling until she managed to regain her footing.

"Please!"

The smaller door opened. Mara caught a glimpse of a white corridor and several more guards waiting inside before the woman was dragged through. The door closed behind her, and the line began moving again as if nothing had happened.

Mara kept watching the sealed entrance. "Are they going to kill her?"

"If she can be stabilized, no."

"And if she can’t?"

Rook gave her a look, and Mara realized she already knew the answer.

Several more Reapers passed through inspection before they reached the front. The guard waiting there had been speaking to one of his companions, but the conversation ended the instant he saw Rook. His face hardened.

"No."

Rook stopped before the table. "I didn’t even say anything."

"No."

"You said that already."

"And yet you’re still standing here."

The guard looked past him toward the other inspection stations, as though hoping someone else might take responsibility. Nobody met his eyes.

Rook rested one hand against the coffin strap. "Inspect the Brand."

"I know your Brand."

"Then this should be quick."

"No, it should be avoided." The guard lowered his voice. "The Vice Manager is here."

Rook’s expression soured slightly. "Elara."

"She’ll have my hide if I let you through without informing her."

"Then don’t inform her."

"She has people watching the gate."

"Tell them you didn’t see me."

The guard looked at the coffin rising above Rook’s head. "You’re carrying a wardrobe full of weapons on your back."

"It’s a coffin."

"That does not improve your chances of entering unnoticed."

Mara looked between them. "You know each other?"

The guard gave her a tired glance. "Unfortunately."

Rook tapped two fingers against the inspection table. "You know you can’t stop me. Law of the Underworld."

"Unless you’re entering under a valid contract, I absolutely can stop you. And I doubt anyone would willingly bind themselves to you."

Rook raised his right arm, and the contract responded. A pale chain appeared between him and Mara, forming from the Brand beneath his sleeve and extending through the space between them. Its links brightened beneath the white light surrounding the Bastion.

The guard stared at it before turning toward Mara. His expression carried the exhausted disappointment of someone who had just discovered that an unlikely problem was real.

"You willingly made a contract with him?"

"I asked for help before I knew what he was like."

"That makes considerably more sense."

Rook lowered his arm, causing the luminous chain to fade from sight.

The guard released a long breath. "I’ll have to notify Elara."

"Do you have to?"

"Like I said, she’ll have my hide."

"And you want her to have mine?"

"Better you than me. It’s not like you wouldn’t have done the same."

Rook considered that for a moment. "Fair."

The guard motioned them away from the inspection table. "Wait there. Someone will notify her. Let’s hope she’s too busy with what’s going on to care."

Mara followed his gesture toward a section of wall beside the gate but stopped before moving. "What is going on?"

The guard looked at her, then at Rook.

Rook’s attention had sharpened. "If Elara is personally watching the gates, something happened."

The guard hesitated. Behind them, another lift arrived, and more Reapers and wounded souls joined the inspection lines. Several guards left their posts to help carry someone whose lower body had been torn away. Above the gate, two officers exchanged signals with one of the towers.

"You’ll find out once you’re inside anyway, so I might as well tell you." The guard leaned closer to Rook and lowered his voice. "The Manager of the Forty-Second is missing."

Rook stared at him. For once, no immediate insult or dismissive answer came. His eyes moved toward the bright Bastion beyond the gate as the meaning of those words settled over him.

"Ah," he said. "Shit."

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