Not even Orcus thread can stitch a torn soul. Only Essiene thread, spun from the spirit of a loved one in a time of need, will do.
—Esther Bruce,On the Treatment of Irreparable Harm:A Field Manual for the Soul
The semblance woman’scry echoed out across the stony Highgate ground. Cassius and I stepped between her and the veil-faced woman floating down out of the Dark.
Owen shot a look skyward. “Blazes, it’s a waelcyrge!” All I could do was stare.
“A psychopomp,” Owen explained. “They guide warrior spirits into their next life.”
Owen laid his lantern on the ground, positioning its beam on the ribbons of light. “Don’t let her interfere!” He cut the streamers of the semblance woman’s soul, and she collapsed to the ground, whimpering. The tailor’s lamp beam held thestreamers like bugs in amber, while he reached in with both hands and began to weave the soul strands into a tight thread.
The waelcyrge raised her free hand and lightning erupted from her fingertips, brightening her dress and veil. A boom of thunder exploded around us. And the sizzling light, radiating again through the Dark, lit a thousand latent forms in the thick, black sky that seemed ready to be called forth. The light wound upon itself, until the darkness above the woman had coalesced into two massive ravens. They cawed loudly and dove toward the tailor.
Cassius and I backpedaled, trying to give Owen cover, but the waelcyrge pointed her spear at the semblance woman, and a ribbon of blue light ripped into her body. The semblance stood and turned toward us, her eyes twinkling with the same blue light. She hunched her shoulders and let out a shriek so powerful it would have made Slipknot piss themselves. It knocked Cassius and me on our asses.
The ravens reached Owen, savagely clawing and pecking at him. He tried to shoo them with one hand, still grasping the woven ribbons with the other.
Cassius shot to his feet and shouted “Bratros,” silencing the semblance. From my knees, I pulled a hard bow-stroke on my lantern, to try to flash-blind her and the ravens, but only got one contact point. Damn. I clambered to my feet.
The waelcyrge’s lips parted, a deep, sonorous voice cascading down on us in echoes. “These garlands do not belong to you.” With her words came a chilling cold that wrapped around us, slowing our movements. The semblance shrieked again, and a blast of frigid air shot from her mouth, nearly knocking me back to the ground.
Cassius drove the semblance back with a swipe of his blade, and I stroked my lantern hard again with my bow, catching two contact points, and holding thoughts of light in my head.My lamp flashed bright this time. The semblance covered her eyes, and the ravens circled up into the darkness. Owen pulled a spindle from his pocket and gathered the streamers together again. He wove the trails of light with his fingertips and wound the sparkling crimson and amber thread around the spindle as he went. The semblance crept away into the Dark, her feet sliding across the stony ground. I peered after her into the black. Cassius took a few steps but stopped. She was gone.
Owen had almost finished spooling the thread.
When the waelcyrge reached the earth, she pointed her spear heavenward and raised her free hand high above her head. Lightning crackled across the black sky again. Thunder rumbled the stone beneath our feet.
When the thunder had receded, violet streamers cascaded quickly to the dark ground at the far side of the clearing. We heard a shrill cry and stamping hooves.
Owen doused his lantern and shoved the spindle of shimmering amber and crimson Orcus thread into my hand. It thrummed as if alive. “Stow this away and put out your lantern.”
“The semblance’s streamers?—”
“Remnants of her soul, and her last connection to the world above.
Now hide it.”
I tucked the thread into my pack and whispered my ghost stone to darkness. At the far side of the clearing, hooves sparked against the stone, illuminating the semblance woman now riding a black beast. Its legs were scarcely more than bone and knotted sinew. Its great horns swooped out and forward like jagged spikes. It glared at us, its face long and bony, its tongue flicking over rows of broken teeth. “Dear Father . . .” Owen crossed himself. “What is it?” I asked.
“A shagfoal,” the tailor whispered.
The semblance charged the shagfoal toward us, her sheer white overlay rippling in the wind, beast and semblance shrieking. The screams pierced my ears like an ice pick, and my legs went heavy like I’d run ten miles. I put a hand on Cassius’s shoulder for support.
“Go,” Owen said. “I’ll try to draw it away.” “No,” I said. “We all go.”
Owen grabbed my shirt and pulled me in. “You just make sure you use the Orcus proper. Stop Brach, ya hear me. And if you see ’em, tell my wife and daughter . . .”
My own parents hadn’t given a damn about me, and here was Owen, scratching out a life in the Dials down a stinking alley for his wife and daughter, willing to put it all on the line for them, too. I’d never seen something like this up close.
I stared a moment, then said, “Yeah, man. I’ll make sure.”
The tailor nodded, let go of my shirt, and hobbled away, striking up his lantern as he went. I fought the desire to go after him, as the shagfoal and semblance tore after his bobbing lamp, the ravens wheeling and beginning to dive-bomb.
“Cassius—”
The waelcyrge whipped her spear tip our way, and bright white streamers flared over us, lighting us up.
The shagfoal skidded to a stop and snapped its skeletal face in our direction. The ravens circled back and flapped wildly toward us, abandoning their pursuit of Owen, who disappeared into the Dark. The semblance shrieked again, so loud this time my ears rang. Cassius said something but I couldn’t hear him, and my vision began to blur.
