Mortal Banshee by Jonathon Magnus
“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that.”
“Do you know? Because if that’s the end goal … we can end this here and now without risking anyone else.”
“Oh, sweet Ranie.” He stroked her neck and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I do know. But I can only tell it has to be the way I explained for everything to work out. I believe that. I promise you that I believe that.”
She hugged him. “I know you do. That’s enough. Thank you, Donnie, for so much.”
He hugged her back and stroked her hair. “Thank you for being you.”
Chapter 73
Flower of Evil
Mercy packed loose dirt around the stem of a purple flower. She wore leggings that covered her legs from the top of her boots to up past her dress hem. A head band supported a lace veil that obscured her face and ears. Her hair was down so that her neck was covered.
She was facing away from Visor, and did not acknowledge his approach before speaking. “This garden began as a research facility to develop an ultra-high caloric nut. Sorana’s metabolic rate is accelerated such that she requires a portable, non-spoiling food to keep her body’s performance at an optimum during extended missions. I completed that research some time ago, and the clonal colony of trees around this tower provides this nut in abundance. I continue to maintain this garden for its aesthetic value. It seems to please Sorana and guests.” Mercy adoringly stroked one of the flower’s petals.
“Weeds are a constant battle. Though … what is a weed? It is just a plant that is undesirable in the eye of the beholder. I read the physiological responses of guests to determine which plants are most desirable, and designate the less desirable plants as weeds. I cull the weeds so that the desirable plants may thrive.” Mercy pinched the stem of a weed until juices flowed out of the broken skin. The limp stem bent over.
“All of these plants compete for resources. Left to nature, those that adapt the best would be fruitful and multiply. They would eventually take over the whole garden. Some weeds crowd out the competition by blocking the sun—others by reaching further into the ground to absorb an increased share of the nutrients.”
She lovingly stroked a thorny bush. “This weed, colloquially called the Fleur du Mal, goes beyond simple competition with its rivals. It proactively poisons the soil around it so that other plants cannot grow, leaving empty, wasted, space. It destroys life simply because that other life might someday compete for resources. And it does not stop with other plants.” She squeezed a portion of the stem with a thorn, forcing the sharp thorn into her middle finger. “Its thorns secret a toxin that affects a range of mammals to varying degrees. It can temporarily paralyze a human or siren. It is particularly harmful vardal, sickening the young and old, killing the already sick, and aborting the unborn. Lacking sentience, the Fleur du Mal acts without malice or foresight, oblivious to the moral implications of its behavior … oblivious to the eventualities its actions or inactions might permutate.”
She held up her pricked finger, staring in fascination as blood soaked into the thin glove fibers. She turned her hand so that a drop formed and fell to the dirt. “Meanwhile, the sentient species of Esselin struggle constantly with their decisions, weighing the needs of the many against the few, the present benefit against future greater good … truth against contentment. Yet, in the end, we, even the oracles among us, rarely comprehend the ultimate consequences of our most deliberated decisions. In the view of infinity, we are hopelessly lost in complexity, no better or worse than the Fleur du Mal. Should we be judged any differently?”
She stood up, brushed the dirt off of her knees, and faced Visor. Patches of sunken and dehydrated flesh spotted her face. The lesions were partially obscured by the lace frills connected to the head band. “You did not come here to learn of horticultural novelties. You have come to fulfill your contract. You have come to judge. You know who I am—what I am.”
“I don’t know the whole story.”
Mercy said, “Then you would encumber me to reveal my shame … to bring this old, cursed song to a close. Shall we add one more imperfect tense or one final, peerless verse? How many times must I recount this tragedy? I am so very weary, not having slept for three hundred years, yet never having woken from this nightmare. I couldn’t cry, for the only shoulder I knew would cry more. I couldn’t die, lingering eternally in this dreaming hideaway, a sore upon this world so cold.
“I will drop my façade for the world so that you may know the self I present the Meta. You, advisor to the Mourning court, will hear me and then deliberate. And in your deliberation, you will answer the questions that have haunted my existence.
“How dare the coward abandon the most precious of gifts? How dare the hand of man make profane the name of innocence? What failed guardian would sing to suppress the wonder of hope? What divinity claims the warlord to poison the sacred feminine and twist wombs to tombs? What rights the assassin to wreak vengeance unguided?
“What fate befalls the mother who dismisses one child so that another may flourish? Shall she be cursed with insanity, eternally besieged between the howling of hounds and the anguish of angels?
“What is the reflection upon creation that we presume to perpetrate such degradations upon ourselves? Can the world be viewed so small, so distant, that wars serve to settle a petty family squabble?
“I will not attempt to justify what I have done, nor what I have left undone. I would only ask you to realize and remember that you weren't there. With the information I had at the time, I saw no other way. I was, after all, only human.”
Mercy linked to him, without touching him, and shared her tale with cold precision and objectivity, hiding nothing, skewing nothing. She integrated with his senses, sharing every sight, sound and scent to the best of her recollection. He lived her story, the Descent into Madness, in excruciating detail.
When the story was complete, she released his mind. She stood before him in solemn grace, awaiting judgment. A new legion had appeared on her neck. She was exerting significant effort to retain a dignified stature.
And so Visor deliberated. She was probably lying here and there, but they were the kind of lies that you could forgive because she believed it. She certainly felt genuine remorse. She did not represent a continuing threat. His judgment need only serve as a deterrent for others. “You did not have the benefit of hindsight when these things happened. That’s a normal human condition, and is considered by the courts. Given the nature of your crime as you perceive it, what you knew at the time, and extenuating circumstances, I think you’ve already spent enough time in this prison. It’s at least equal to the sentence you’d receive from a court. You have paid your debt to society. On behalf of Esselin, I forgive you. You are free to go.”
“I see.” She stepped up to Visor and placed her hands on the crown of his head. “Then it is time to end this.”
An electric current entered his brain.
Chapter 74
Confession
Sorana was so pretty, with her silken hair brushed to one side, hanging over her shoulder. She wore a red, satin dress with a split up the side. It showed off a lot of leg. It also bared her smooth, toned shoulders. She’d picked out mini-boots with a lot of reddish snake skin. Her expression was gentle and care-free as she packed the basket. “Do you think one cup of almonds or two?”
Rapture finished cutting a slice of bread. “It will be fine either way, sweetie.”
Sorana considered for a time, her mind notably slowed. “I’ll do a cup of peanuts and one mixed. I don’t know what everyone likes.”
Rapture made another cut into the bread loaf. There was a spike of pain in her finger. She gasped and checked her hand. She’d broken the skin but the cut was thin and shallow. Her hands were shaking. She wouldn’t be able to finish. The Heiliger Mond knew she wasn’t the most coordinated person to start with. “Sorana, could you
“Oh, sure.” Sorana took the knife. Even drugged with Lithium, she effortlessly made deliberate, perfect cuts, all the while swaying her head to a song that only she could hear.
Rapture healed her finger and finished packing up the baskets. She discreetly slipped a pinch of power into the wine casket that Sorana had picked out.
Sorana yelped and Rapture nearly jumped out of her skin. Had she seen?
Sorana said, “It ran across my boot.”
A cockroach ran behind the counter. Disgusting bug. That was odd. That was the first nasty bug she’d seen in Mercy’s tower. The garden had ladybugs, and the stable spiders, but not roaches or flies. “Don needed us to drop by the training room and see if he left his blanket there.” Her voice was shaking.
“Oh, should we bring weapons?”
Does she suspect something? “I don’t think we need them.”
“Did you bring your dagger?”
Rapture felt the dagger strapped to her thigh. “Yes, I guess I did.”
They collected the blanket and some weapons. They set up the picnic at a good spot out of earshot of the tower.
Rapture set out the food. She had to shoo Burke away twice.
Sorana had some white wine and chocolate.
The trees provided a nice cover from the late afternoon sun.
Rapture breathed in the scents. “It’s so perfect out here. Cool, but not too cool.”
Sorana lay back, looking particularly comfortable. “And it’s lit but not too bright. The breeze makes it … perfect.” After some time, she drifted off to sleep.
Rapture moved Sorana’s drink and food so that it would not spill. She put a pinch of powder in a cup of sweetened water and swirled it in. “My fall is for you.” She drank it.
Burke flopped next to her and starting purring. It was the growling purr of a great cat, but it was still hypnotic and relaxing. Why was it that most great cats could roar but not purr like a small cat? Why didn’t they just purr more loudly? And why did small cats hiss instead of making a smaller roar? She’d have to ask Don about that. Or just ask Mercy. She knew everything. Rapture felt an overwhelming urge to sleep, and she did.
Rapture awoke to someone’s touching her body. It must have been some time later because it was darker and shadowy now. “What happened?” The trees looked distorted somehow in the moon light.
Don said, “Guess I took too long—sorry.” He helped her sit up. “I didn’t know if you’d have tea. I stopped for lemons.”
Rapture had trouble waking up. Everything was weird—the distorted background, the temperature, and the echoing sounds. It sounded like they were surrounded by solid cliff walls, even though there were few rocks nearby.
Don awoke Sorana and poured them all some tea, including a lot of lemon in Rapture’s.
It tasted odd.
Don crouched near Sorana. “We needed to get out of the tower. I have to tell you something. It is a secret. And it’s unpleasant.”
Sorana rubbed her head. “I understand.” She looked around inquisitively.
Don took a deep breath and sighed. “Your mother, Mercy, is not what she appears to be. She is not actually your mother in the way we usually mean it. She has cared for you and she raised you, but she did not have you.”
Sorana said, “I know. She lied. I know.”
“The woman whom we call Mercy, is not a normal woman—not a person. She is a cyborg, a construct of the tower. Sometimes she may appear as a hologram, much like the illusions we train with.”
“Yes.”
“Mercy Singrin, the person who has cared for you during your time in the tower, was born in Vozvul as Mercy Bathony. She was human and her natural life should have ended some time ago. The tower converted her body into a cyborg and integrated with her brain in such a way that she could not leave.”
An alfanar man with a couple of trained tigers emerged from the tree line. He appeared to be a hunter. The tiger scent was unusual. Maybe it was an exotic breed.
A woman with a gorilla pet approached from the other direction. Rapture tried to communicate, but the gorilla did not respond. That was probably because the breeze had died down. In fact, it was gone. But some of the trees still moved. That wasn’t right. The drugs were still affecting her.
Sorana sat up on her knees, still groggy. “I know. Somehow, I’ve always known. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“Though born in Vozvul, she married a Paladin of Raykez, Thyestes Singrade, and moved there to live with him in a suburb of Raykez.”
Sorana became distraught. “No.”
Don said, “Mercy Singrade is older than she appears. She was there at Silent Hands three hundred and seven years ago. When the town hall burned—”
“She is the monster. The creature I lived with, the thing I called ‘Mother’ … everything I ever knew—it was all lies. Everything she said to me … taught me … the words of the Banshee.”
“I am sorry, so very sorry. There is more.” Don helped Rapture stand and backed her away from the picnic blanket. He opened a scroll and read aloud. “Herein lies the last will and testament of Mercy Bathony Singrade, Dowager Baroness of lower Worthington Estates. Upon my passing, I do hereby bequeath the Tower of Mercy, container of the Frame, and all subsurface rights to Fleurette SaSade, also known as Sorana Singrade, daughter of Thyestes Singrade and Sasindara SaSade, without reserve.
“May this also serve as my confession—that I was there that night three hundred years ago, at that farmstead of ill fate, the Silent Hands. It was the night that I made a choice that ended many lives early and caused enduring pain to others—the night of the burning. It was that night that I forsook my family and people to dedicate myself to another purpose—the Child in Time, min Velsignet, Sorana Singrin, Fleurette SaSade, Eulogy, Amber … the Misty Morning and the Burning Dawn …” he lowered the scroll to look directly at Sorana. “Sparking Angel of Gray, Spawness and Mortal Banshee.”
Rapture's brain ignited. Heiliger Mond—that poor girl! Oh, Heiliger Mond—the things we did to her!
Sorana stared through Don, breathless and wordless.
Don pushed Rapture back as he read. “Please understand, when I found her that night, she was so very alone, innocent in her insanity. She didn’t know who or where she was. Her actions were not her own. I couldn't just leave her for the wolves … for the other search parties. She was just a girl. And I could not abandon her again. Refusing her death that night was my second denial.
“My first denial was years prior. Her birth mother, Sasindara, came to see me when Sorana was an infant. I knew on sight that the child was the object of my disgrace, the residue of the Catalyst possession and that drow incubator. Sasindara informed me that she had other children and would not care for Sorana in her intolerant society. I could have taken her in as an infant and changed the course of history, but I closed my mind to the thought. I had children of my own, after all. Sorana was left to the whims of man. The Baptism of Stains transpired. The world’s punishment ensued.”
“The River of Life … the water I drink.” Sorana looked at her hands in disbelief … in horror. “The stuff of which nightmares are made.”
A human woodsman with a trained dog and monkey broke the tree line and took position around Sorana. The dog did not spar with the great cats. That was odd.
Other people with animals arrived and formed a circle around Sorana. All of the animals behaved strangely.
Don read, “So then, years later, on the night that innocents burned, I took her from the woods to my manor, a broken child. As the days passed, I realized her mind would not heal, but by then I was committed. I couldn't just let her die. I spread the rumor that she had died in the fire. I coerced and bribed my guard to remain silent, but I knew the silence couldn't last. I fled with the child to this tower. The Fragment offered me a
“And after all these years ... the lies and assassinations, one must wonder how much better off we both would have been had I just left her there that night—left her to the wolves. And so now fate has cycled, and I will deny her a third time, denying her liberty.”
Still looking at her hands, Sorana cowered and quivered. She was terrified.
Rapture instinctively moved to help her, but Don held her back.
Sorana cried to them. “No, you can’t abandon me. I changed my world for you—so you would see me.” The Child in Time whimpered. Her face was flushed. “We’ve had what others would call love.” Her words reverberated eerily. She choked and fell to her hands, struggling to retain motor control. “Stop looking at me like that. I am not a monster! I have a so—!” She vomited. Her body convulsed and heaved. Her face became bluish as she gasped for air, mouthing the words, “Help me.” Now on hands and knees, she heaved and vomited again.
Rapture’s own body was throbbing, wanting so badly heal and console Sorana. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. Yet Don held her back.
Sorana reared back on her knees, clasping her head. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream of overwhelming agony. Her amber eyes flared to copper. Drops of blood ran from her nose.
“Rap, stay behind me.” Don pulled Rapture’s arm around his waist and pinned her elbow so that she couldn’t move out from behind him. He gripped her wrist so hard that it hurt.
A four hundred pound silverback and another gorilla took position behind Sorana. A variety of great cats, wolves and bears formed a circle around the girl. Their ears were pinned back. Their claws were out. They crouched, ready to pounce. Rapture tried to calm them, but only Burke responded to her signals.
Beyond the animals, a ring of archers and swordsmen stood with weapons trained on Sorana. There were over a dozen hunters now. That was most of Mercy’s wardens.
Burke whined and spat, crouching protectively near Rapture.
Rapture peaked over Don’s shoulder. Her body no longer wanted to help Sorana.