Malachai's Arc

Chapter 2 of 11

Malachai rode home through the dead forest with the ledger burning against his ribs. The pressure his master left behind had not lifted since the woodcutter's daughter. It sat inside his skull like a hand pressed to the back of his eye. By the time he reached his room and shut the door, his knees gave. He gripped the table edge and breathed through his teeth. Nineteen souls to go. Six months. He would not last one if the grip did not ease. He knelt on the cold floor and opened the ledger. He needed his master to speak. He needed terms. "Master," he said aloud. "You are killing the vessel. Give me air, or you get no more." The small black figure came into his mind, crowned in still flame, calm as a child at play. Diablo did not push. He did not squeeze. He only spoke, and the words were plain. "Bring me your brother. Shae." Malachai laughed once, sharp, because it had to be a test. Shae was a priest of Diablo. Shae wore the same chains, spoke the same rites, kept the same master. Shae had beaten a stable boy last winter until the boy could not walk. Shae had taken a woman who did not want him and called it blessing. Shae was not innocent. Shae was useful. "He serves you," Malachai said. "Bring me your brother." "He is cruel. He is already yours." "Bring me your brother." The words came again, and again, without heat. Diablo sat in the corner of his mind and watched. No pressure. No threat. Only the sentence, repeating, until Malachai's hands shook against the ledger. He tried to reason. He listed Shae's sins aloud, one by one, the way he had once listed virtues to price a soul. Diablo did not answer any of it. The command rolled through him like a bell struck at even beats. Bring me your brother. Bring me your brother. Malachai understood, slowly, that his master was not confused. His master was not naming a bad man. His master was naming a brother. That was the whole of it. The tie of blood, not the tally of deeds. He pressed his forehead to the floor. The grip in his skull loosened, a finger at a time, as he stopped arguing. Air came back into his chest. The ledger cooled against his ribs. Obedience was the release. He rose. He washed his face. He put on the bone-carved coat and buckled it tight. He walked to the door with his hands steady for the first time in a day. Shae would be at evening prayer. Malachai knew the room. He knew the hour. He knew the smile his brother used when he opened a door to family. He went to find him.