The sickening crunch of bone and the tang of blood had become music to Cordelia’s ears, tomorrow, she would take her place at Death’s side. Already a trained assassin and master of poisons, Cordelia Soren had longed to become a Sage of Death. She had entered the competition for that sole reason. Occurring once every century, this blood sport was a tradition amongst those in Asphodel. The champion not only won Death’s favour, immortality, and riches, but the honour to serve at its side. The last true God in this forsaken world, Death and the Shadow realm were Cordelia’s last chance at salvation. In the Colosseum of Ossein, Cordelia swore to scheme and slaughter her way to victory. She vowed to win by any means necessary, she had but one shot to turn her life around and change it irrevocably. Tomorrow, Cordelia would fight to the death for Death; at least that’s what she hoped for until she saw Bianca.
Cordelia’s heart stopped. Minutes ago, she had been sharpening her sword in the armoury on the eve of the final test. Surrounded by a handful of mercenaries, assassins, and thieves from across the realm, she was smug. Cordelia was confident in her ability to win. After all, she had spent her adolescence training and studying the art of war in Haen. Her scars were worth their weight in gold. This competition would be no different, she told herself, she would win by any means necessary; but then Cordelia saw her youngest sister stumble into the sweat soaked room. Dressed in rags, Bianca was bound in irons that were wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Bruises adorned her once beautiful face, and worst of all, her auburn hair was matted with blood. What in Hell’s name had happened to her? Escorted by one of the guards, Bianca crashed onto the dirt, falling on her knees.
“Find a weapon of your choice,” the guard barked out, “the test begins at dawn.” Shifting to give him a nod of acknowledgement, Bianca’s pewter tunic shifted enough for Cordelia to see hand shaped bruises on her collarbone and arms. Some of the marks were a deep black and purple, while others a sallow yellow and blue. “Be ready at first light,” he spat, as he unlocked the manacles from her hands and banged the armoury door shut.
Cautiously eyeing her fellow competitors, an unusual assortment of thieves, warriors, and assassins, Cordelia made sure to keep an eye on Bianca, from a distance. Then, finally, after long uncomfortable minutes, the room of trained killers decided that the lamb to slaughter wasn’t worth their time. This was Cordelia’s moment. Moving from her place at the rack of swords, Cordelia took care in walking along the shadows. She needed to get to Bianca without causing a scene or drawing suspicion. Of the two dozen competitors that were left in the challenge, only seven of them were women; the rest were only barely passable as people. Cordelia knew she had to act fast before one of the others lunged at Bianca. Grabbing a thick woollen blanket off a discarded pile of rags, Cordelia threw the excuse of fabric over her sister’s too thin shoulders.
Making sure to hide her face in the shadows of her hood, Cordelia barked out a harsh, “get up, and follow me.”
Bianca remained on her knees, head lowered, and after one long heartbeat she cursed herself, for what she was about to do next. She couldn’t risk showing compassion in this cesspit of company. Extending a hand, Cordelia yanked Bianca up, dragging her towards the bathing rooms. Her heavy boots thudded against the hot stone floor; the forges of Asphodel were known for their scorching temperatures, but at that moment Cordelia couldn’t tell if it was her blood or the air that was boiling. Brushing past the threshold of the bathing room, Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief, it was empty. Shoving Bianca to the floor, Cordelia spun on her heals and closed the door behind her, making sure to jam the door shut.
Ripping the hood off her head Cordelia knelt next to Bianca, “Bianca?” The question rang in the air. Cordelia couldn’t stand it, reaching out a tentative hand she gently gripped her sister’s shoulder, “Bianca, it’s me―”
“Cora!” Thin frail arms wrapped themselves around Cordelia, a smile feathered across her face at her old nickname. Cora. It was the name her sisters had called her growing up, but that was a different lifetime. “Oh, thank the Gods, Cora I―”
“What are you doing here?” The question shot out of Cordelia’s lips.
“I… I um― it’s a long story,” Bianca drew back from her hurried embrace, looking down at her dirt covered fingers “but I, I made a deal with one of the Lords of Hell and I am here now.”
Holy Gods! Cordelia thought, what was Bianca thinking? Making a deal with any Lord of Hell was damnation of the highest sort. Death was many things, a necessary function of nature, a pillar of existence, a means to an end, but never evil.
Bianca looked around the dark bathing room, tendrils of steam curled in the air. “Which is where?” she asked, whirling her head back towards Cordelia.
She didn’t know. How could she not know where she was! It was true that Cordelia hadn’t seen any of her family in years, and that Bianca had only been a child when she left home, but still. The stories of Death and his Shadows were a tale that all children knew, a story that all adults feared. How could she not know where they were, in the belly of the beast, on the verge of oblivion.
“Asphodel,” Cordelia signed, wiping a stray tear from her sister’s cheek, “we are in the Shadow realm… and in a few hours” Cordelia swallowed a lump in her throat fighting back fear, “and in a few hours we will be released into the Colosseum of Ossein for the final test.”
Bianca’s eyes bulged, recognition creeping over her features, “no,” she whispered. “No, that means―”
“Only one of us will walk out of that arena, and ascend to become a Sage of Death,” Cordelia wiped more tears from Bianca’s cheek, reaching for a nearby wash cloth. Wiping meticulously at her sister’s face and red wrung wrists Cordelia pressed a kiss to her temple holding the girl tightly for the first time in years. Feeling the cracks in her heart, Cordelia knew that she could handle the fight, the bloodshed, and the grief, but Bianca was different. She was soft, sweet, and either way, Bianca could never, would never, walk out of the amphitheater of bones. Leading Bianca towards the bath, Cordelia knew that tomorrow, either one or both of them, would be claimed by the darkness.
Cordelia hoped for the former.
-
The blood on her teeth began to taste like a song, like wine, like religion in Cordelia’s mouth. Blasphemies Cordelia thought, it tasted of divine blasphemy. Cordelia had spent hours cutting down grown men like stalks of wheat. Skirting her way down a staircase Cordelia wondered who would make such an absurd place. Perhaps it was an old theatre of sorts? Maybe that was why instead of a ceiling there was the remnant of an oculus. The arena was built out of glittering obsidian stone, littered with a variety of concrete statures and pillars. The orientation of the different stone carvings made the Colosseum of Ossein feel more like a stage than a cage. However, it was clear that the ruin had been subject to the ravages of time, because patches of weeds and small clusters of trees erupted through the stone. Chunks of misshapen rubble decorated the floor that was now stained with fresh blood that pooled around Cordelia’s boots. A shadow laced figure loomed in the distance, high above the carnage, watching over the unfolding chaos. Death’s second in command watched imperiously. Through obsidian helm, slitted eyes glared down at Cordelia.
In the hours since dawn, Cordelia had left little more than lakes of blood in her wake, cutting her opponents into ribbons with her sword. In the aftermath of her carnage Cordelia prayed that Bianca would die before she saw her again.
That morning, an hour before first light, Cordelia had cut notches into Bianca’s whip, scoring her fighting leathers so that they had holes, and most importantly of all, she had taken her twin daggers. They were supposed to have been secured in Bianca’s boots, but Cordelia had taken care to remove them. Guilt ate at Cordelia’s throat, as worry sat on her shoulder in anticipation of Bianca’s impending fate. So far, nine bells had sounded for the nine deaths, and of the thirteen of them, Cordelia expected that it wouldn’t be too long until the other two were rang.
Cordelia knew she had rigged the outcome, but it didn’t matter, it was her survival at stake. Bianca had made a deal with a Lord of Hell, it was already too late for her, the least Cordelia could do was make sure that she wouldn’t see it coming; it would be quick and hopefully, painless. She would be caught off guard, or mid-blow would find that either her whip had broken, or her daggers were nowhere to be found. Cordelia repeated these things to herself as she ducked behind an archway, nocking another fire arrow in her bow. Bianca will be dead soon. Aiming it at her adversary, a small woman with moss green skin and opalescent eyes. Bianca will be dead, and soon she will be crowned the victor, anointed to be a Sage of Death. Releasing her arrow, Cordelia’s ears heard the satisfying boom of the concrete pillar that her adversary was under. Running to check her work, Cordelia saw the woman’s white blood gleamed on the dust covered stones. The shriek of brass bells ripped through the still air. Cordelia whipped her head toward the sound and did the math.
Ten dead, that left Two more champions to kill.
The ashen sun hung high in the sky peering down at Cordelia, almost as if it were watching, waiting, to see what happened next. Another bell sounded in the far distance, sending ravens into the sky. Their onyx wings glistened violet and indigo in the noon high sun. Cordelia’s gaze lingered on the Commander of Shadows, unknowing ate at her mind.
One more life to take.
Cordelia sheathed her sword at her hip, and nocked another arrow into her bow, running into a small patch of trees, towards the sound of the last bell. This was her chance, at freedom. Trailing down a path of cracked concrete and broken leaves, Cordelia searched the surrounding bush for any sign of life. Cocking her head to her left she listened to the wind, a rustle of leaves answered back, carrying with it the stench of blood. An ear-splitting grin spread across Cordelia’s face as she stalked closer to her prey. This was her chance at glory.
Cordelia wiped the grime from her face and hands onto her blood-soaked fighting leathers. Glancing down, she double checked that her armour was secure, and quiver loaded. This was her chance, at salvation. Approaching the clearing in the middle of the makeshift forest, Cordelia saw bright light flood the space. Looking through the trees, golden sunlight poured through the canopy, to reveal a gleam of scarlet bright hair.
Milky white eyes flashed around, scanning the patchwork of grass beneath her. Relief flooded over Cordelia, good she thought, Bianca was dead, she was safe. It was just this one last kill, and then the whole ordeal would be over. Firing her arrow at the woman Cordelia watched as the shaft whizzed through the air and watched her advisory burst into sparks.
Ducking Cordelia watched in horror as the figure standing in the clearing burst into sparks, the arrow that she fired cut through the flickering image. Her head spun, eyes darting around, Cordelia searched for the source of the glamour. Nocking another arrow Cordelia fired into the surrounding bushes at random, looking for its marionettist. Whoever it was had to be close by. Reaching into her quiver, Cordelia’s hand found one last lone arrow. Damn it. Cordelia cursed herself colourfully, firing her last arrow into the distance. However, where she expected silence, Cordelia was met with a hiss of pain. She hit someone.
An ear-splitting grin covered her face, yet again, this was it. Gripping her sword hilt, Cordelia drew closer, skirting around the clearing, slowly drawing her celestial steel blade. Dry leaves and concreate crunched under her light footfalls. She was close now, she had to be. Walking around a boulder Cordelia felt dread leap into her chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs because her target wasn’t one of the other champions. When Cordelia turned the corner she was met with the sight of large doe eyes, framed by auburn hair matted with blood.
Holy Hell.
It was Bianca.
Bianca had caught Cordelia’s arrow in her thigh. Cordelia almost dropped her sword when she saw the blood and bruises on her sister’s face and arms. How was she still alive? She should have been dead by now? Her destroyed fighting leathers were nowhere to be found, but her whip. Bianca clenched her whip with an iron grip, lashing out towards Cordelia. Lunging, Bianca slammed her whip into Cordelia’s chest, knocking her backwards. She was caught off guard and slammed into a tree, blinking the stars out of her eyes, she struggled to think. Bianca was alive!
After hours of bloodshed and fighting she was exhausted, running on fumes and adrenaline. Dodging Bianca’s blows, she stumbled backwards tripping and falling over a discarded piece of rock. Her back connected with the hard ground. With her eyes to the sky she saw Bianca looming over her. Cordelia saw her sister pull out a dagger from her belt, angling it towards her throat.
“You have underestimated me, sister,” Bianca crooned, placing a knee on Cordelia’s chest, “do you take me for a fool? I saw you ruin my armour, steal my blades! You wanted me to fail, you wanted me to die.” Bianca blinked tears out of her eyes, Cordelia felt her sister’s tears fall hot on her face, “why” she screamed, “why did you do it?”
Greed ate at Cordelia, but she revelled in her selfishness, “you were so young when I left home, you were a child, I―” Bianca pressed the blade against Cordelia’s throat. A trickle of blood oozed out, but Cordelia continued, “I did it because you are and always will be soft, and weak.” Cordelia spat blood up into Bianca’s face, “Bianca you are too soft hearted to be a Sage of Death!”
“You’re wrong,” she cried, “because I―”
Cordelia could see the rage in her sister’s eyes as she continued to yammer on. Seizing the moment, Cordelia shifted, wrapping her legs around Bianca and throttling her. The two tumbled and wrestled for control. Grappling for Bianca’s blade, Cordelia knocked the dagger out of her hand, snatching up one of her own blades from her belt. Plunging it into Bianca’s other thigh, Cordelia rolled off her sister, rising to stand above her. Her hands were slick, and when she looked down at her youngest sister, Cordelia saw the terror in her eyes. Their mother’s eyes. Bianca had always looked so much like their mother. Blinking rapidly, Cordelia assessed her options.
Kill her sister or be killed by her sister.
No, she had crossed many lines, but this would not be one.
She would end this hunt her way.
Swearing at what she was about to do Cordelia picked up her sword and hefted the weight of the steel in her hand, it was heavy, good. Bending down Cordelia ripped out the small knife from Bianca’s thigh. Holding the dagger in her left hand and her sword in her right, Cordelia looked towards Commander of the Shadows and yelled, “the quality of mercy is not strained, nor will it be now. It is not the ability to kill that makes a Sage of Death devout but knowing when to kill.” Cordelia threw the weapons to the side and stretched her arms out wide, “so, I shall choose to not slay my sister nor kill myself. I instead choose to honour Death by preserving the sacred act of destroying. Death comes for us all, long live her reign.” Bending the knee and bowing towards Death’s second command Cordelia waited for her judgement, was she about to damn herself or both of them?
Risking a glance at the Commander of the Shadow Soldiers, Cordelia saw a grin; the sharp fanged smile turned her bowels watery. Nodding her head in Cordelia’s direction the Commander extended a hand, “rise,” she breathed, “both of you.”
-
Death walked in at dusk, wreathed in shadows, he was the picture of calm. Dressed in clean fighting leathers, Cordelia and Bianca stood in a lavish throne room and watched Death take his seat on the dais. Clearing his throat, he dismissed the shadows at his side. They melted away, revealing a young man, no older than twenty. His almond eyes and tan skin made him feel out of place in the cold room.
“Congratulations,” he said, crossing an ankle over his knee, he flashed pearly white teeth at them, “you and your sister have passed the test of necromancy, and I must admit I am surprised. You are the first to have passed the test with brains rather than brawn, although you are quite gifted in that area if you ask me.” He raised a groomed brow in jest, smiling at his own joke, gesturing towards Cordelia, he announced “as your reward I welcome you into the House of Blood,” and gesturing to Bianca, “and you into the House of Bone.”
