19. The Ferrier

Chapter 19

The Ferrier

H ooking the last of the horses to the carriage, I watched as the last of the sun's pale light dipped below the horizon.

Another night, another soul. But first, I had other plans.

The cursed woman had found something else to occupy her for the remainder of the day, but my mind wouldn't let me forget the feel of her body pressed to mine. The morning's interaction replayed in a constant loop inside my head, and my body thrummed with barely-restrained energy.

I had to admit she had courage, but she was also foolish and entitled and utterly maddening. I'd barely escaped our early encounter without calling the whole thing off. Still, I admired her tenacity in the face of such circumstances.

What Death wanted with her, I didn't know, but I had more than one debt with him and this vow would go a long way towards settling both.

First, I needed to keep her alive. Somehow, I knew that feat would be more difficult than expected.

With the sun fully gone from the sky, my shadows crowded in around me, and I exhaled in relief. They'd come with the position—the shadows, the power. I was ashamed to admit that I'd become accustomed to their presence. I found comfort in their shroud, in disappearing from the world. Though, I couldn't say the same for the cowl and scythe of the Ferrier uniform.

I grabbed the latter as I mounted the steps, settling into the driver's seat. I'd make a quick trip to procure food for Miss Fil'Owen, and then I'd complete my task.

With one command the carriage burst into motion, the beasts at the front needing little direction to understand my desires.

I'd never bothered to name them, the four black horses. They were titans in their own right. Enormous steeds of unknown power, they were as old as me, if not older still. I suspected they'd been at their job for a very long time.

We raced through the open gate and again my thoughts tugged back to the woman I was leaving behind. I wondered if she regretted her choice to come here. When we'd arrived, I'd left the gate open behind us as a way out. If she took her chance, I wouldn't pursue. She'd find her way back to the world of the living easily enough. After all, she didn't belong here. The Between seemed amenable to her presence, at least for now, but she was still a living being. We would see how a year in The Between would affect her.

I shook off thoughts of her, growling as I urged the horses faster.

Skeletal trees whipped past, stray branches reaching for my cowl. With one hand holding the reins, I took up my scythe and struck down those closest to me.

We crossed into the land of the living like stepping through a door. Only a sliver of moonlight lit the landscape. The oppressive heat of summer had not yet relented and the scent of a recent rainfall lingered in the air.

We passed by the crossroads, which were blessedly free from bargaining maidens. The soul I needed to collect lay to the west, but I steered the horses to the east, toward Felwyck.

I passed unnoticed by houses and lone travelers who would know me only as a cool breeze at the back of their necks. Only the recently deceased and those who met me properly at the crossroads could see me, but a hand of Death was not so easily hidden from the other senses. An intuitive few might guess at my presence, but it would be of little consequence. I was either coming for them or I wasn't. Like Death, there was no hiding from me in this world. Unlike Death, I was not so blinded by confidence as to believe that my quarry wouldn't think to escape this world entirely to flee me.

No, Miss Fil'Owen was not the first to attempt such a thing, but, to my knowledge, she is the first to do so with any measure of success. Who's to know if there are others though. Only those who failed would be found out.

Perhaps there were others like me who had harbored fugitives from Death. And to what end?

I would endeavor to ask one of my colleagues if I thought they could be trusted.

A great house rose before me as I crested a hill. Not so great as Tyr Anigh , but a proud home nonetheless.

I didn't question how my magic knew the exact location of Miss Fil'Owen's home, but somehow, I knew it was hers without a doubt. There was an essence of her here like a memory held by those she'd left behind. People often underestimated the power of the human mind. Those grieving could conjure images of loved ones so strong, they believed they were looking at a ghost. The truth was, aside from the first few nights after passing, there were very few souls who did not leave for the Afterworld. Those who didn't roamed the bridge between until they could either face their trials or fade from time forever.

The memory of Miss Fil'Owen lived on here, even though she hadn't passed.

I took in the stone walls, the mullioned windows, the manicured lawns. Perhaps I should have been calling her Lady Fil'Owen.

Of course she'd had an easy life. No one living in the slums would have had the means to escape her curse as she had, nor, likely, the desire to.

Who wouldn't want to return to a life of luxury?

I halted the carriage on the cobblestone path outside the front door. The horses nickered and stomped, impatient to continue on to their task.

"I'll be quick," I reassured them, unsure when I'd begun talking to the horses as though they could understand me. Whether they could or not, they quieted, seemingly content to allow me this detour.

Leaving the scythe, I leapt to the ground and called forth the shadows. Some sprang off the walls, others slithered up from the cracks between the stones at my feet. Still more flew down from the soffits and gables. They swarmed, engulfing me in rippling darkness.

The sweat on my brow cooled and the tension in my shoulders melted away. Power flooded me as I pressed forward, becoming one with the night. Nearly blinded, I gave myself over to the shadows. They ushered me through the door like I was less than air. I blinked as they peeled away revealing a grand foyer boasting plush rugs and ornate wallpaper. Twin curving staircases arced up from each side, meeting in the middle behind a crystal chandelier.

If I'd had any wits about me, I would have asked the girl the layout of her house before setting off to raid it. Unfortunately, it proved quite difficult to keep my thoughts straight in her presence. Every encounter with the woman seemed to upend my plans.

I sighed, banishing Miss Fil'Owen from my thoughts.

A door opened to my left, and I watched as a hunched man entered, pushing a laden tea cart that rattled with every step. As he neared me, he stopped and turned his head. His gaze slid over me, and he shrugged before continuing on his way. He left through a door on the other side of the foyer.

I knew if I followed, I'd find the kitchen, but I needed to find something else first.

I headed up the staircase on the right to the second floor where I expected to find the bed chambers. My footfalls echoed in the cavernous room, but I made no move to dampen my steps. No one would hear me anyway. No one ever heard a reaper.

At the top of the stairs, I was greeted by a large painting in a gilded frame, a portrait of three people. I recognized Miss Fil'Owen instantly. Though she appeared quite a bit younger than I knew her to be and had none of the shadows marking her face, her upturned nose and full lips were unmistakable.

Young Katrin sat before an older couple—presumably her parents, the lord and lady of the manor.

Her father was an older gentleman with white hair and a kind smile. Her mother appeared quite a bit younger than her husband, but that was not uncommon, especially among those of propriety. The girls had matching chestnut brown hair, Miss Fil'Owen's in two plaits while her mother's was swept up in a fashionable coiffure. Each parent had a hand resting on one of their daughter's shoulders, and she beamed between them, her smile so large her eyes had become half-moon slits.

I'd seen nothing of the like on the current Miss Fil'Owen. Gone was the joyous naivety of youth.

Had the shadows upon her skin taken it or had the people around her?

It was a mystery I didn't need solved. She was a means to an end—a temporary house guest. After a year, she would return to her perfect little life, and I would be one step closer to freedom.

Several rooms branched off from the hallway on either side of the portrait. Gathering the shadows again, I passed into several chambers before discovering the one that had been Miss Fil'Owen's. A heavy black shroud had been pulled over each of the windows in her room, not unlike my own dark cowl. A customary tribute to the dead, it signified the absence of light after loss.

I didn't know how Miss Fil'Owen had left things with her parents. Perhaps she had run away without explanation, leaving her parents to assume the worst. Or maybe she had told them of her intentions and they still believed Death took her. Either way, it was clear they mourned the loss of their daughter, even clearer still by the sleeping form of her mother on the bed. Unlike the portrait, silver threaded through her chestnut hair and fine lines creased the corners of her eyes and mouth. Upon closer inspection, twin trails of salt blanched her cheeks, stemming from swollen eyes that remained pinched as if pain. She held a small doll clutched tighter to her chest.

Grief was one of the worst parts of my role as a ferrier. Oftentimes, I could fetch a soul and escape without coming into contact with the survivors, but on days like this, the grief seemed inescapable. The sheer magnitude of it rendered me immobile.

To love was to hurt. I knew that as well as any.

I gathered what I'd come for and left the lady to her anguish, melting into the shadows the same way I'd arrived.