Curselock

Chapter 25: Shoutwell

Deep within the sewers of Shoutwell, likeminded people were gathering. Most wore red robes and obscuring hoods, carried ritual serrated knives, and hummed muted chants. They walked in pairs, shoulder to shoulder through the twisting foul tunnels. Muck and ichor dripped from the ceiling and leaked down the walls, but they didn’t care.

They couldn’t, not when something as grand as the Calling was due to start soon.

They walked in low flickering candlelight, eventually reaching a concrete room of worship. An eyeless statue met their gazes, forcing the devout to fall to their knees upon entry. Each gestured with silent prayer, finding their seats among the unholy pews.

Soon their leader took center stage, her hood down and her bandaged eyes on full display. She led the room in chanting, she broached difficult subjects. Some cried, others yelled in agreement. Regardless, she had the room enthralled, the statue of her Lord silently judging from behind.

“It is time to expand,” she said, her white robes flapping despite lacking wind. “House Onryo is weak, they will not stand before us. It is time. Go, my flock, go and spread our Lord’s message.”

As the crowd cheered with raw emotion, one man kept to his seat. A newcomer, one that joined the coalition from the burnt remains of House Icewillow. The man watched with careful eyes, hoping to stay hidden in the shadows of the celebrations.

But the leader had seen.

She raised a single hand, silencing her children.

“What is it, my son?” she asked. “Please, speak your mind!”

Nearly a hundred eyes turned to the man, each pair hidden behind dark cowls. He couldn't feel their sinister minds, however, he could feel their hunger. He was but a mouse, one trapped by countless cats and the fear that came along with it.

He was petrified but a nearby hand raised him to his feet. He was guided forward, just before the podium and stage. The leader stood there patiently waiting, her hands clasped in front of her belly.

Suddenly the man’s hood was pulled down. He cowered with shame, he scrambled to keep his anonymity. It was too late, they all saw, they all knew.

“Ah, I thought all of the Icewillows were killed?” the leader asked.

He waited. He didn’t want to answer. The cold of sharp iron against his back urged him to reconsider. “I-I am only a branch family member. A-a secondary soul in name a-and life.”

A smile befell the leader’s lips. “It matters not what one once was here, only the future of someone can be.”

The man nodded, feeling the knife release its pressure.

A whisper shocked the room, along with a low grumble and bright red light. From within the eyeless statue, crimson shined through. It washed over the coalition, highlighting the most devout. The leader was first and she trembled with acceptance.

“I see!” she explained. “I understand! I will follow your will!”

The man raised his head, dread settling as the red light ignored him and focused elsewhere. It befell those closest to the stage, then those in the first of the pews, then those in the back and the few watching the doors. Everyone was bathed in red, everyone had been baptized with something new.

Except the man.

He ran, right though the pews and towards the sewers. But he never reached the doors. He never passed the midpoint of the room. He was stopped, frozen in fear and unbounded pressure. Suddenly he was spun, and the leader came back into view.

She held her arm out with invisible grip, blood trickling from her nose like a busted faucet. As her eyes wobbled with the sudden strain, she squeezed until the captured man stopped struggling. When a bloodied corpse was all that was left, the statue released its hold, returning the room to candlelight.

The leader then held her arms out wide. “He was not a believer. Only a peon trying to cash in on our Lord!”

She stumbled a bit, catching herself against the podium. “The Icewillows have fulfilled their role as smuggler. Our Lord is here, in Shoutwell! It is up to us to piece him back together and feed him! It is time to expand! It is time to spread our Lord’s words!”

Alkin held out his hands with a grand gesture, the city of Shoutwell just down the hill. “Home sweet home.”

From their vantage, the entire city could be seen. Deep red brick, black tile roofs, and dark gray stone made up the foundation, along with a perpetual wetness. Salt was in the air, the crashing waves nearby, and ships floating harmlessly in the great blue. An intricate and dated dock edged the city into the water while green moss and barnacles invaded the land.

“Shoutwell is a decently sized port, the main export being—”

“Hops!” Jude interrupted.

“Among beer and mead, yes,” Alkin finished.

The brute shook his head, pointing. “No look, hops! And a lot of them!”

Tall stalks of green leaves and thousands of small flowers made up the path leading into the city. Harvesters quickly moved through their crop, removing the grown hops while fighting off pests with the Legacy abilities.

“Shoutwell has a world renowned brewery. It's actually one of the main tourism attractions. People love to drink.”

Leland and Jude both hummed along in interest, despite Glenny’s obvious brooding. They had discussed it during the trip and they did not plan to stay long. The city housed horrible memories for Glenny, most of which were repressed.

“Was this city worth her death?” Glenny muttered to himself. “Could burn for all I care.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Leland saw his friend’s darkened tone. Speaking to Alkin, he asked, “What did the Icewillows do here? What did they do that started the investigations?”

Glenny glared at Leland for asking the question. The whole team knew quite well what the Icewillows did, in fact, Glenny felt sure that they knew more than the average city resident. Was Leland trying to provoke him?

“Drug creation and export, smuggling, murder, thievery. The usual, I suppose,” Alkin answered. “Why?”

“I was just wondering if the city had seen any positive growth since then? I would suspect having a major drug manufacturer gone would improve living conditions for everyone,” Leland said, catching an eye from Glenny.

“Oh yes. In fact, the Inquisitors who dealt with the case suggested my family invest in centers where those affected with drug withdrawals can receive help. Then there is the lack of general organized crime. Shopkeepers are quite thankful for that, fake ‘protection’ was quite expensive as far as I’m aware.”

Leland raised an eyebrow to Glenny, who scoffed in response.

Jude stepped in, seeing Leland’s plan. “So, you would say that the Icewillows were a plague and having them removed was a major benefit?”

“Most definitely,” Alkin answered. “Shoutwell will forever be in the debt of the Royal Inquisitors who ousted the Icewillows. In the debt of your parents, I mean.”

Glenny’s eyes widened and he turned away. The salt was getting to him, irritating his eyes to the point of welling with tears – or at least, that was what he would have said if someone brought it up. The truth was much more meaningful.

As they neared the gate, Alkin spoke up. “Before we enter, I would just like to say a few words. I-I may not look it, but I am indebted for what you three did in Liontrunk. I know you did it for your own reasons but saving my life was not something you three needed to do. If anything, forgetting me would have been the smart thing to do.

“Still, I would like to give my thanks again. I’ve had a lot of time to think about the risk you took during the trip here. You’ve been nothing but cordial even though I have not been. If anything, frankly, I have been rude. House Onryo means more to me than you three might believe and I hope we all can stay acquainted and on good terms later in life.”

Jude slammed a meaty hand on Alkin’s shoulder. “Yeah you were pretty rude at the beginning, but I’ve grown to like you a bit.”

Leland laughed at that. “Remember when you tried to kill me with spirit fire? Good times.”

Alkin reddened.

“I don’t know what the future holds or if I’ll ever return to this city, but it was nice meeting you,” said Glenny.

A rushed guard stopped their entry, however. The man came out in full armor, stepping to stop their approach from the gated city. “Identify yourselves!”

They looked at each other before Alkin sighed and pushed his mount a few steps forward. “I am Alkin Onryo, fourth son of House Onryo. Do you permit my associates and I entry into the city?”

The guard squinted, finding a small crest embroidered into Alkin’s clothes. He motioned them in, but stopped them before they passed the threshold into the city.

“There’s been quite a few murders in the last few days. I suggest a noble like yourself heads straight home. It is not safe on the streets.”

“Murders.” Leland stated.

“How many dead and in what manner? ” Alkin asked.

“Only six so far, but that is estimated to go up quite a bit. The first body was found three days ago in the sewer – squeezed to death. The other five had been squeezed to death as well but in sacrificial ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“Each body has had their eyes gouged out.”

Leland, Jude, and Glenny all leaned back. They took a collective breath.

“What is it?” the guard asked. “You know something, don’tcha?”

They did, and they wished they didn’t. Their parents, while drunk, had talked about some of their more horrid cases during their time as Inquisitors. From serial killers to grotesque artificial plagues, they had seen it all and then some. One such tale was the cause for many sleepless nights when the boys were young. One that still haunted their parents, one that had changed how the Inquisitors saw religion.

“Call for the Inquisitors, the Sightless Cult is in Shoutwell,” Leland whispered.

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