《Ducal Juhasz》


 Chapter 1: Ducal Juhasz

    Chapter 1: Ducal Juhasz


    ¡°Oh fu-fuck¡­fuck!¡± I spat amidst a tired wavering, realising in the nick of time that I was about to slide right off my horse! Shaking my head, I pulled at the reins, tightening my grip around their leathery surface, to try and instil myself with some energy. It was a good thing too, that I caught myself, lest I¡¯d have fallen into a black, muddy pool of water.


    The roads into Great Kaerda were a slow slog through a heterogeneity of dirt, sand, gravel, and grasses that had turned to muck after an hours-long rainfall. Grace to the crops, distant fields of gold over and along the horizon, past lone, crippled trees reaching like dancers this way and that.


    I tipped my hat to a passerby, only the second Human I had passed since crossing the border. He ignored me, as did the last, or perhaps didn¡¯t notice me. His chin tilted low and to the road, following it carefully to avoid the deep spots and trippy traps.


    Although the second, I couldn¡¯t help but tighten my grip on the leather that guided my horse. The flex in my wrists was uncomfortable but fleeting. ¡°I don¡¯t get why you¡¯re all so grim.¡± I said, aloud, and turned back quickly to see whether it drew his attention to me. It didn¡¯t.


    But it did draw the attention of a trio of armoured men. They wore leathers and gambeson, carrying pikes and shortswords, respectively, with grisled, tired, hairy faces shielded in half by silly little helmets shaped like crumpled cones.


    ¡°Um¡­ vaski¡­ samr¡­¡± I tried and trailed off, laughing at myself. My hands relaxed. Uhraan is such an antiquated language. One would think by this day and age they would resign it to scholars and adopt its child, Uhra, so as to, say, communicate reliably with the outside world.


    Thankfully, the guardsmen seemed to have a sense of humour, and laughed at me as I hopped off of my horse. Just behind them, a half mile in the distance, stood, now visible at the top of the hill, the gates of Veha, capital of the Duchy of Juhasz. The middle one took a step forward and greeted me with a singular nod, speaking,


    ¡°Welcome to Juhasz, Sir." He gestured lazily to my horse, "Is that a Greysteed?¡± I nodded, smiling. Too often does such craftsmanship as husbandry go underappreciated. He went on, asking, "What brings you to our solemn home?" As he inquired of my business, his compatriots walked around us in an arc and approached my horse, now behind me, to inspect it. I could sense their ease.


    ¡°I received a letter from Veha¡¯s Brick-Layer¡¯s guild. A summons.¡± I twisted and, with my left arm, extended it and pointed at the right saddle bag. The nearest pikeman opened it, and retrieved from within, sitting atop some supplies, a rolled scroll. ¡°If you open that, you¡¯ll see, Santiago summons me.¡±


    ¡°And your name, Sir?¡± He asked. I replied, ¡°Jack. Jacobi, properly, from Yhortor. But, please call me Jack.¡± His brows lofted, disappearing above the trim of his helmet, prompting me to elaborate, ¡°It¡¯s on the western seaboard, a few months from here by cart.¡±


    ¡°You travelled so far just to see our Brick-Layer?¡± Immediately I sensed his growing suspicion. Too difficult to hide it behind his tone. At the same time I sensed his friends, their hands, readied themselves in their grips on those pikes. So ready to assume ill will and bad intentions. Disappointing.


    ¡°I travelled so far to see someone who I think of as family, Sir.¡± I tried to sound reassuring, continuing, ¡°Santiago and I have known each other for a long time. This is not my first foray into Great Kaerda, or Juhasz.¡±


    ¡°When was the last time you entered our borders?¡±


    ¡°Six years ago.¡±


    ¡°And what prompted you to leave six years ago?¡±


    ¡°Oaths back home. Now, free from those obligations, and with reason to journey so far and at such expense, I stand before you, friend, at these gates.¡±


    That seemed to please him. He gestured for his men to return to his sides, and as they did so he hid a smile beneath the flustered hairs of his scruffy beard.


    ¡°Welcome back to Juhasz, Jack. Travel safely, and never at night.¡±


    I took my horse by its lead and started walking. As I passed by the guards who stepped back and to the side to allow me to pass, my letter was returned to me. I took my steed to the stables by the gate, leaving it with the stablemaster there, entrusted with a pouch of bronze pieces and his word.


    Kept or broken, really, it didn¡¯t matter. The horse was just a formality. Another check at the gates led to my getting searched. The men there exchanged no words with me, but rather only gestured, did their duty, and dismissed me.


    Through the portcullis it was as if passing through a portal to a new kind of world. The dreary, desolate, disparate countryside of Great Kaerda became a lively, colourful, band of shouting heads, sparkling goods, and businesses, stalls, and carpets occupied by folk from all walks of life. The Bazaar of Veha.


    My sober eyes gave way to such a cheery grin that my cheeks started to strain. You couldn¡¯t stand here nor there, let alone walk through, and not suffer a transference of the excitement that grew out of the crowd, drunk, high, happy, and eager to spend some money on baubles, foods, and trinkets.


    Families with their children, bachelors, guardsmen, adventurers, artists, and so on and so forth. Little leather caps decorated with multicoloured feathers, draping, layered robes with fantastic textures and designs, and capes that draped and fell upon the sandy streets, dragging, creating an image of unimaginable, unfollowable complexity.


    Unfortunately, this was not the time to take part in such a festival as this daily affair. Santiago awaited me. So, I weaved my way through the thickets, allowing the push and pull of passing bodies to guide me in a line most bent and shaky. The collective spat me out on the other side after a few sweaty minutes of wandering.


    As I brushed the dust and gathered soot from my suit and pants, I permitted myself a moment to look back upon the great sequoia that buttressed the back end of the Bazaar, opposite the gates. Its cragly, burled, boogying trunk and limbs created a picture of fantastic intermingling. A stone circle of stairs elevating one, two feet, to a platform of tall grasses created a place for gifts. Little pieces of this and that, and bits of food, in themselves and in dishes, alongside cakings of dried blood from rotting animals with slit throats formed an assemblage of offerings.


    ¡°Are you going to give it something, mister?¡± An old man spoke to me from my periphery. He leaned with all his might forward onto a cane, and smiled through shattered, scattered teeth. I reckon, if not for the walking stick he''d have to crawl to get around. His body was bumpy, bulbous, and all twisted up, wrapped in layers of black cloth that looked, collectively, like a big pile of rags and, certainly, weighed him down.


    ¡°I, um¡­¡± Did I even have something to offer? I patted my pockets and searched through my coat. The old man stood quietly and watched me. Did I even have to? Of course I did. It would''ve been so awkward to say no.


    ¡°I think I could give it this, yes?¡± I held up a silver coin, and much to my satisfaction the old man nodded at me. So, I approached the tree, ascended its stairs, and set the coin gently against its stained bole.


    I felt¡­ good. Yes, good. Fulfilled is perhaps clearer. I pondered it as I spied the tree, now so close to me, and followed the interlacings of its bark with my eyes to no fruition. Like a fractal it seemed never to end, one corridor leading to six, which, in turn, led to six and six for each of the six. So on, so forth, in a complete circle looking ever so a-circular.


    By the time I turned back around to descend and rejoin the strange man, he had departed. Letting go, I continued on the way I had intended to walk. Pulling deep and distant from my memory, I began to reconstruct a mental map of the streets of Veha. It couldn¡¯t have changed that much since I was last here.


    Pleasantly, after a few bumps and bruises, finding what were once streets, now alleys, barricaded and blocked by walls and new buildings, I stood before a tall, four-storied brick structure. The front doors were a double set of dark wood, bolstered by black steel, and decorated with the words ¡®Brick-Layer¡¯s Guild¡¯ in yellow calligraphy.


    I rapped the door twice and, before I could strike it a third time, it opened and I nearly collided my fist with a lumbering man whose head just brushed up against the frame. He seemed unamused.


    ¡°Oy, are you Jack?¡± He asked me, I smiled, and replied,This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Indeed! Jack, for Santiago.¡±


    He lingered to the left and to the right, using his height and elevation to spy my uniform, looking down both ways of the road, and across, behind me to the alley, he finally stepped back. I stepped up and in and entered, slipping carefully past him into a mudroom where I kicked off my boots.


    Beyond that I entered a waiting space that seemed to have been transformed into such a space from a workshop. At least, if memory serves, it definitely once was a workshop, but now possessed a couch, tables, cabinets, and little potted plants.


    ¡°Seat.¡± He muttered, commandingly, but not rudely nor forwardly. I don¡¯t think he possesses the most¡­ diverse¡­ vocabulary. I complied and sat myself down on a cushion of leather against the front windows.


    ¡°Is Santiago not around?¡±


    ¡°Busy. He will come soon.¡± And the brute departed further into the building through the only door off of the room. Chuckling, he barely fit, which prompted him to shoot me a glare before closing the way.


    I sat there in growing anticipation and anxiety as what had to be an hour ticked by. The sun, high on my arrival, started to set and cast long shadows over parts of the room previously illuminated.


    My feet tapped the carpet, fingers drummed my knees, and my humming and clicking turned into a soft song. To pass the time, I tripped over lyrics to old ballads and bard¡¯s musings I hadn¡¯t heard in months. Sick of my stumbling, I started to invent my own words to the songs, funny nonsense, and before I could complete one, the door opened.


    In trapised the blond haired beauty, Santiago himself. As tall and picturesque as I remembered him, the gentle giant was a majestic and imposing silhouette. I stood to intercept him, my knees weak, if not for the immediacy of his hug I might¡¯ve tumbled back down onto the couch by the sheer force of the wind making way for him.


    He laughed aloud, an expression of his joy, ¡°Jack!¡±


    ¡°Santiago!¡± I hailed in reply, wrapping my arms around him tightly, ¡°God I¡¯ve missed you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been too long¨Cit¡¯s been so long, Jack. Dammit man, I should¡¯ve called for you so much earlier.¡± His pitch took a downturn at the start of the latter sentence, much to my surprise. I thought I¡¯d left him on good footing.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Curiosity peaked, and Santiago, prepared, brushed it aside with a quick gesture, moving his head as a sign for me to follow him. We passed by the doorman and entered the building proper.


    ¡°We¡¯ll talk in my flat, it¡¯s on the fourth floor.¡± The inner walkways and rooms of the guild were decorated sparingly with items reminiscent of their craft and its history. Portraits of previous guild masters and members of prominence, depictions of projects of prestige and pride, and with furnishings that emulate the coarseness and geometrical stylizations of brick.


    It would¡¯ve been overwhelming, I think, if not for the occasional break in theme: bearskin rugs, torches for light, and ceramics. Santiago led me to an ajar gate that barricaded a stairwell separate from the grand staircase I had earlier passed upon entry.


    ¡°This will take us straight to the top.¡± He explained as we walked up the spiral stairwell.


    ¡°Are you not concerned with this being a¡­¡± I paused just long enough for him to interject without interrupting.


    ¡°Security risk? No. My men are reliable and loyal, they are security enough. Not to mention the lock on that gate is subpar. I may as well leave it open.¡±


    ¡°As you do.¡± I replied, chuckling a bit, ¡°Perhaps I¡¯ll have to find you a locksmith to install something you can sleep soundly with.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± He said, shooting a smile in my direction.


    When we reached the top I was again graced by partial sunlight. We stepped into an atrium, an octagonal room with an all-glass roof. The middle of the space housed an octagonal garden home to purple and yellow flowers, and grassy flora, resting upon a bed of ivy.


    ¡°This is beautiful, San. When did you take up gardening?¡±


    ¡°The Pora¨C¡± He said, right hand brushing against the purple flowers. Native to Great Kaerda, they were pretty little things reminiscent of buttons in lily pads, ¡°¨Creminded me of you. So, I started with them, and this came out of my work.¡±


    I admired it as he unlocked a set of double doors beyond it. He pushed both doors open and revealed to me a most overwhelming, voluminous fright. Following in his path, I stepped into Santiago¡¯s flat and was taken aback at the amount of decor he kept therein.


    No surface was without something. While none of it was garbage, per say, I couldn¡¯t help but feel that, by virtue of sheer number, each item lost its individual meaning and gave birth to a unity of meaning that was not greater, but lesser, than the sum of its parts.


    Picking his brain as to the ridiculousness of this display would have to wait. I joined him in a stuffy armchair across from his own, a glass table in between us. It had a box upon it, which he opened, collecting a little pot and two cups. He filled each and passed me one. Cold tea. I took a sip, it was delicious, a mildly bitter green.


    ¡°So, Santiago¡­¡± He took over quite quickly.


    ¡°If I may begin, Jack. You recall that order that we established last you were here, right before you left again for home?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Our great restoration, the pride, Jack, oh the pride, it¡¯s gone now. Not all, as you can obviously discern from my life and this fortress, but in no small part is it gone.¡±


    I frowned at him, and set the cup down on the glass, folding my arms.


    ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel terrible having to ask you again for your help, Jack. I lost it all, and it has upset the balance.¡±


    ¡°Naturally.¡± I replied, quickly elaborating so as to avoid misunderstanding, ¡°Naturally it would upset the balance.¡± Nonetheless he seemed hurt, ¡°I apologise, Santiago. This is surprising. Please, don¡¯t misunderstand, I am not going to turn you down.¡±


    His pain and fluster receded some, and he responded, ¡°Thank you, Jack. I cannot express how grateful I am for you, my friend. This means a great deal to me.¡±


    ¡°I will always be there for you, Santiago. Always. First, I need to ask you a few things to get an idea for what¡¯s going on. Tomorrow, we can begin figuring out how to fix this mess.¡±


    He nodded, finishing his cup and he too set it beside my own.


    ¡°What started the downfall and collapse?¡±


    ¡°Without you I failed to find a replacement I trusted to oversee our claims. So, with split responsibilities each cracked and crumbled. Rodrigo, one of my earliest lieutenants, left me to work for a local slum-lord who convinced him to betray me. They revolted, slaughtered a few of my men, and wrestled control over the city¡¯s smuggling trade.¡±


    ¡°Is the slum-lord still in command of your lost assets?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He said, ¡°Rodrigo killed him and assumed command. I doubt an Ascended would ever live comfortably in the shadows beneath a Human.¡±


    ¡°Naturally.¡± I said again. He went on,


    ¡° With the lost capital I had to let some of my men go. The loss in muscle led to more of my subjects floating further away from me, defecting, in small ways at first, skimming off the top, and eventually they just stopped recognising my authority.¡±


    ¡°So, has the city become a shattered mess of factions?¡±


    ¡°No. Rodrigo scooped them up.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re surrounded?¡±


    ¡°Essentially.¡±


    ¡°So, we are sitting in your final spot, your own bastion of control and safety. Right.¡± I sighed, ¡°What of the thugs I saw? Those sitting around and that one big fellow at the door?¡±


    ¡°The few who remain. Most of them are new, only two have any experience. You didn¡¯t see them all, though, some patrol the streets and rooftops.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡± I took a moment to contemplate Santiago¡¯s abysmal situation. This was a terrible, horrific shitstorm. I honestly could hardly believe he managed to fuck up this badly. How? How?! I left him like a king managing the balance of Veha. I can¡¯t, I know I can¡¯t linger on that. It¡¯s unhealthy. One step at time, I will figure out exactly what happened, and we will fix this mess.


    ¡°Are any of the other Ascended left?¡±


    ¡°No. They were either killed or defected to Rodrigo.¡±


    Great. ¡°Who are your best candidates for the ritual?¡±


    ¡°Vidal and Edgar, in that order. Vidal has two years of experience with me, and Edgar is new, but loyal and good at thumping heads.¡±


    I rolled my eyes, he cackled at the obvious jest of the combat comment. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on Vidal. Summon him in the morning and we will vet him together. Given our¡­ situation¡­ why don¡¯t you take some time to prepare a ritual space too. Taking your word, given you named his name, if I like him and you¡¯re alright with the proposition, we can put him through the trials.¡±


    Santiago nodded in agreement.


    ¡°Great. What about leads? As to where we can begin looking to reassert your control over the city?¡±


    ¡°The Silver Fawn. Do you remember it?¡±


    ¡°The tavern in the bazaar, well, one of the taverns in the bazaar. Correct?¡±


    Santiago nodded, going on, ¡°It¡¯s under new management and I know the morning manager. He is close with the owner who is able to be bought.¡±


    ¡°Good. How¡¯d you meet the morning manager?¡±


    He smirked, and glanced off to the side, looking out the window, as he replied, ¡°Well, we¡¯ve spent some time together.¡±


    I rolled my eyes, ¡°Save it.¡± I really didn¡¯t want to hear about his trysts. ¡°Come tomorrow, we shall draft a plan.¡±

 Chapter 2 & 3: Upyric Ascension, Yhovs Trials

    Chapter 2: Upyric Ascension


    I awoke in peace and to the calm of the morning sunlight streaming through breaks in the curtains. Through open windows I could hear the forenoon birds, bustle, and laughter of chattel, the Humans, still joyous¨Cyet unbothered by the stresses of the day, and thus yet free from the inanity and pangs of worldly work.


    I hauled myself forward with the promise of the fulfilment of duty, backboned by a deep exhale with which I found the strength to rise and toss off the sheets. A warm bath and tea awaited me. So considerate. Santiago¡¯s doing, I figured. I couldn¡¯t help but smile as I eased myself into the lusty embrace of the steaming waters.


    Once clean and released from muscular tightness, I threw on loose fitting clothes, and took my time walking to the ground floor. On my descent, I paced my breaths with each step. In, out, energy, ease, a coalescence of air, and the dropping of lead from the throat.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± I said in an address to the room, having entered a previously unseen sitting space. A quick exploration of my surroundings found Santiago and two men gathered there.


    The fingers on my right hand lay flush against the closed lids of my eyes, relieving, with their pressure, a lingering discomfort in the front of my cranium. Where had this come from? It felt like the beating drum of nervousness, but I had nothing to be nervous about. The ritual? One in twenty, at least. I was too experienced to be this nervous.


    ¡°Would you like some more tea, Jack?¡± Santiago asked me, but I shook my head. He went on, ¡°Right. I hope you¡¯re okay. Vidal is going to join us when he returns from his rounds.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the gifts, San.¡± He smiled at me, graciously, as if overjoyed that I mentioned it, ¡°I have no desire to rush. We can take our time with this matter of questioning before proceeding.¡± I paused to wave at the men that stood guard over Santiago, against the back wall, behind where he was sitting in a wide armchair.


    ¡°Would you dismiss them, please?¡± I asked Santiago, but as I did so they left speedily.


    Santiago cackled at my surprise, saying ¡°I have instructed them that you walk with an extension of my own authority. Thus, they will follow your orders.¡±


    ¡°Did they protest?¡±


    ¡°Only until I reminded them that I pay them to act and obey, as opposed to thinking¨Cthey are not philosophers, Jack, but warriors.¡±


    ¡°And warriors act.¡± I said over a sigh, taking a seat beside Santiago in an equally as boisterous armchair.


    We sat there and spoke of little nothings, the weather and the day, the routines of the guardsmen and the colours of the local fashion, until, a half hour later, an average sized man in torn and dirty clothes entered the room.


    ¡°Pardon me.¡± He said in a gutteral way, ¡°We had a scuffle at the end of the road. Two kids pickpocketed one of the guys we watch, and¡­¡± Santiago smiled and cleared his throat, causing Vidal to stop mid-sentence.


    ¡°I understand, Vidal. You do not need to justify yourself to me.¡±


    He seemed to appreciate this; his countenance, which had hitherto been reserved in appearance, a forced sort of sobriety, opened up to a relaxed pleasantness. What followed was a slouch, hands in pockets, and weight shifted onto his right foot, previously kept balanced.


    ¡°If you¡¯d please join us, we¡¯d like to speak with you.¡± I said, pointing at a loveseat situated approximately across from Santiago and I. He took a seat there.


    ¡°I¡¯m Jack, it¡¯s a pleasure Vidal.¡± He nodded, saying ¡°Nice to meet you, Jack. Are you one of the new guys?¡±


    ¡°Not at all, but a friend of Santiago¡¯s. I¡¯m here to help him with his business.¡± I lingered on that misleading little joke¡­ business¡­ as if extortion and smuggling were really, in the worldly sense, business ventures.


    ¡°Sure.¡± Vidal replied, bringing his right leg over his left, and planting his hands in his lap, right over left, ¡°What can I do for you?¡±


    ¡°You can start by telling me a little about yourself¡­ where you come from, what your interests are, and such. To preface this, what is likely an oddity, with an explanation, I shall reveal that Santiago and I are interested in promoting you, should you fit the bill.¡±


    ¡°Promotion?¡± He was almost confused in his questioning, in the sense that he didn¡¯t expect to be offered such a proposition, or didn¡¯t fathom its being an option.


    ¡°Quite so. The details will come if we decide you¡¯re right. So, please, answer my question.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Vidal started, uncrossing his legs, ¡°I was born here, by the far walls in the west, before it became what it is today¨Ca place for people to store their things. When I was a kid it was more homely, a place for big families stuffed into small flats.¡±


    ¡°Does your family still live there?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No.¡± He replied, ¡°My Father died in the mines, where I too worked for a time before finding a job with Santiago.¡± He gestured at Santiago as he said that, eliciting a smile.


    ¡°My Mother is with my Sister, down by the east wall where the Lord moved the poors and labourers. I haven¡¯t seen them recently, but that¡¯s alright, and if it¡¯s alright I don¡¯t fancy talking about it.¡±


    ¡°I shan''t press you, Vidal. Why did you leave the mines for Santiago?¡±


    ¡°Pay and cleanliness.¡± He laughed, looking down at his soot-stained clothes, ¡°In the sense that I don¡¯t find my bed each day wheezing and coughing up black blood anymore.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡± I said in agreement with his description, looking then to Santiago who only nodded, subtly, ¡°I think you sound like the right fit.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± He seemed genuinely surprised.


    ¡°I think you know we made our decision before you came in. I¡¯d call this a formality, but really it¡¯s not. It¡¯s important to ask again, and keep an eye for inconsistencies.¡±


    That description seemed to sit poorly with him, but I figure Vidal didn¡¯t want to question his own promotion, and so accepted it wordlessly.


    ¡°Stand then, and accompany us, please.¡± He stood, and so did Santiago, who I then questioned, ¡°Where¡¯d you prepare the space?¡±


    ¡°I sent the men out and arranged it upstairs, in a workshop spot we aren¡¯t currently using.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic!¡± I turned to follow him, allowing Vidal to naturally take a position between the two of us. Santiago led our trio through a few doors and a hallway, to the main staircase where we walked across the building to the back, into a tall rectangular room.


    Vidal¡¯s shock was immediate and expected. Who wouldn¡¯t be surprised and amazed, in the worst possible way, to be brought with the promise of promotion to blood and sigils?


    The workshop had been transformed into a ritual room. The approximate centre of the space housed a circle forged of blood that had caked and cracked, creating a crimson desert-rock like appearance. That larger circle housed a smaller circle that butted up against its top-right side.


    The interior circle held six candles in its ring, all lit, and the larger circle housed a grey and black carpet with highly geometric, almost alien designs. On the right and left sides of the carpet, the long sides, three candles, respectively, sat alight.


    A metre off of the outer circle, on the left, sat a podium with a weathered thin grey-leather book atop it, along with three pots containing two sticks of incense each, burning, that gave the room a vaguely piney scent.


    And on the right, approximately opposite the podium, sat a single brown and black feather in a pool of clear water on a silver saucier. A ring of crimson blood encircled it in the vague shape of an ouroboros.


    Vidal¡¯s instinct was flight, but Santiago and I, expectant of this, turned in unison and grabbed a hold of either side of him. This prompted immediate kicking and screaming that Santiago put a swift end to by slamming his fist into the back of Vidal¡¯s head, knocking him unconscious.


    ¡°Damn, Jack, can¡¯t we ever get one who¡¯s at least a little curious?¡±


    ¡°Who¡¯s curious about the occult, San, but those who are already insane or those fictitious blights in storybooks?¡±


    Sharing a laugh, Santiago and I carried Vidal to the carpet, and gently eased him down onto his knees. As soon as he was settled, I let go and gave the weight of his ragdoll to Santiago, allowing me to approach the feather.


    There, I snapped my fingers, and knelt before it, whispering. In this hush, and in my head, I centralised my mind¡¯s eye on that feather, and spoke of its connectedness with the Mother. ¡°Yhov!¡± I cried out, suddenly, ¡°A carrier awaits your brood.¡±


    Suddenly, the feather illuminated a soft, orange-yellow like maize, and spread that illumination to the blood-ouroboros. There, the colour deepend and deepened until it turned that same sanguine red, and then shot out, around me, two curved beams of light that struck the carpet.


    This caused the carpet to react violently, shaking and wiggling as flat grey vines grew out of its base, up and along Vidal¡¯s body, capturing and holding him firmly in place, as if they were chains or a kind of earthy glue.


    ¡°Take The Calling, San, and I will prepare him for injection.¡± Santiago nodded, and stood, free now from keeping Vidal in place, to approach the podium. Once there, he picked up the book, that weathered grey book, The Calling, and opened it to its first page. The prayers he recited sounded like gibberish. Untranslatable garbage, or the musings of a child. Such a strange phenomenon the book was, for one, upon reading, both understood and misunderstood the text, forgetting it the instant the reading concluded, and yet remembering thereafter, hazily, having had the knowledge in the moment.


    I walked around Santiago to a table at the back of the room, collecting three fresh sticks of incense that I lit and carried over to Vidal. I waved them beneath his chin and nose, and then over his head, twice, in a circular motion.


    By the time I completed my movements, Santiago reached the fourth page, which caused the room to become enveloped in an eerie crimson glow. This glow overwrote the glow from the bindings and the feather, and in that instant too the feather turned to dust, making the clear water black.


    As the page turned from four to five, a fog, thick and silvery, rolled in from within the walls and floorboards, creating a nearly opaque cover a foot off the ground. Moving through it felt like wading through water, slowing my movements around Vidal, where I repeated my waving, ensuring the incense wafted over every inch of his upper half.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    As the sixth page came, a spectral circle formed around Vidal, floating just above the fog, that then extended and formed a portal in front of him. This portal, an extension of the circle, created a vague ¡®8¡¯ with its upper half coloured in. From this upper coloured half extended two spectral arms of the same black appearance as the rings.


    The arms, emaciated, held in oversized hands, with long, bony fingers, a wiggling, writhing, slimy grey worm, the size of a Human infant, with a ribbed body. It screeched and cried, and pierced our ears causing a mighty, migraine-inducing pain.


    Thankfully, the sound lasted only seconds, as the hands reached forward and touched against Vidal¡¯s chest, prompting the worm to take sight of him, and to burrow. It turned readily, and made haste into Vidal¡¯s chest. The sounds it exuded were gut-wrenching, snapping bones like the breaking of great sticks, and squishy shredding like the muscle and organs turning to ribbons, but no blood left Vidal, nor bones protruded out of ripped flesh, for no flesh ripped.


    Rather, it was Vidal¡¯s soul that snapped and rived and made space, by force, for its new, permanent inhabitant. Over the course of ten, years-long seconds, the worm made entrance, and upon doing so prompted the hands to recede into their portal, and the portal, and its accompanying ring, to dissipate.


    As the chthonic sight left this world, Santiago reached the eleventh page of the book, which in turn prompted the fogs to too recede, and the glow to fade, leaving us in a space thoroughly used, stinking of sulphur and rotting flesh.


    <hr>


    Chapter 3: Yhov''s Trials


    Written from Vidal¡¯s Perspective


    Immense fear, immense pain¡­ and then I was struggling against immense weight. My mind came to a knee under the weight. That terrible weight, it clamped against my brain with a mighty hold. Like a titan in the mountains, it gripped me unknowingly and squeezed, squeezing in its sleep with thoughts of love.


    My mind, however, found no love in it, and thrashed my body. It was then that I realised I was submerged. My motions were slow but fluid, and I popped my eyes open to an intensity of red¨Cred like blood, or red like flowers, red like¡­ overwhelming red¡­ I forgot about the red and was reminded of the pressure.


    Immense pressure. I started to tear up as I thrashed around again, and flexed my legs, kicking to propel myself skyward. The pressure mounted again and again. The red turned white around the edges, and that ring began to inch inwards as I kicked harder and harder.


    By the time white replaced red and consumed half my vision, I broke through a thin mucus, and found complete relief, both visually, and bodily. I thrashed some more, now out of pride and celebration rather than fear and discomfort, and cleared more of that film, allowing me to float freely.


    Spinning, slowly, I surveyed my surroundings and found that I was floating in a pool of red, opaque red, in a small crater in a field of like craters. Some had their mucuses broken, like mine, just in the centre or entirely, and others had theirs in tact. I couldn¡¯t see many, though, so I pushed forward to an edge, and hauled myself out of the liquid.


    Despite it being a liquid, having felt quite like water, albeit more gripping, I found myself, much to my surprise, dry, sitting in orange sands. That sand formed the ground all around me, wrapping each stony crater perfectly.


    This centre of craters went on for what looked like two hundred yards in all directions, till it stopped at a sloped stone wall broken only by catwalks around damage, and towers.


    My fear returned, and settled itself foundationally. My desire, however, for life, that instinct to fight and flee and find peace away from danger stood over fear, and became energised in doing so.


    With that impetus I stood, and started jogging in some direction, towards the wall where it looked most damaged. Upon arrival, I gave myself a running start up as much of the slope as I could manage, ¡®till it became nearly shear, and I grabbed a hold of the base of the scaffolding.


    It took three tries before I was able to hold on firmly, and not lose my grip. I used that firm hold to pull myself up, carrying my aching body onto a flat wooden surface. My new vantage revealed to me that, beyond the wall, lie a continuation of the orange sands, without the craters, and in the distance mighty mountains and thunderclouds shot lightning down onto the ground.


    ¡°Where the fuck am I?¡± I thought, crudely, and whipped around again to ensure I wasn¡¯t being approached. Contended, I found the nearest tower, and within saw that it contained a spiral staircase that descended. I followed it to an archway that allowed exit from the ring.


    Taking that exit, I again jogged, moving towards those mountains with a consistent, whipping gaze, right, left, right, left¡­ seeking to spy any impending danger before it came too close too fast, and took me by surprise.


    ¡°Come on¡­ Vidal¡­ Come on¡­¡± I repeated to myself, making a mantra out of that reassuring push and reminding moniker. ¡°Vidal.¡± My name is Vidal. I knew that, but why did it feel so foreign to me?


    As the minutes passed, I began to grow aware of the air temperature. My breathing grew heavier and uncomfortable as heat seeped into my body. Annoying at first, as I neared what I figured was the two-thirds point it elevated so greatly as to bring me to my knees, sliding, digging into the sands.


    ¡°Fuck¡­ fuck¡­ fuck¡­¡± I said as I panted, sweat pouring off of my face, hands, soaking my clothes, making them icky and sticky. ¡°Dammit¡­¡± I said then, tearing off my shirt and rolling up the legs of my pants.


    I gave myself ten minutes, my panting slowed, and so too did the heat. It was hot here, certainly, but it was likely the running and the fear that boosted it. I was not burning, no, but pushing myself too near to hyperthermia.


    I finally stood and resumed my movement, but now at a walking pace. I took that time to take in my surroundings. For an unknown distance, unto the horizon, that field of sand went left and right. The ring disappeared into my background, a dot in the distance now, and the mountains neared and jumped up in their intensity. I saw their raw detail, jagged cliffs and edges, spires, outcroppings, and such, and the storm too looked cataclysmic.


    A fantastic bolt of lighting brought my advance to a momentary halt, as it struck the ground at the border of that mountainous region. The sands were scarred, scorched black¨Cthe blackest black I had ever seen. It seemed almost to bend the light around it, obscuring a wide ring.


    My distraction therewith made me ignorant to the rumbling beneath my feet until the sands exploded in a cloud of dust that blinded me. Screaming, I was in pain¨Csand in my eyes!¨Cand something grabbed my ankles.


    I tried to thrash away from it, but was pulled deeper and deeper into the ground. More and more, I pulled and pulled, but only moved further downward until my head disappeared, and, looking up, I saw the sky, red, vanish as the sands filled in the gaps.


    Pain. So much pain. I tried to look down but saw only orange sand. I felt my legs being shredded, as if pulled through a grinder or a spinning circle of razors. So much pain. It took me. Darkness freed me from the pain.


    In that darkness I felt nothing. Not the absence of harm or the absence of bliss, but the sheer absence of sensation. It was as if I was floating in space itself! No single thing enticed my flesh nor my eardrums nor my nostrils. No, no single thing was.


    There I lay in stasis for some time¨Cfor how much time I was unable to say, for I felt no time, nor recognised time. It was, however, the coming of a sensation of red that birthed time, and gave me a sense of space. It was at a distance, some distance, and neared and wrapped me, like sheets, and pulled me into it.


    I saw therein a great armchair, and seated upon its leathery cushion a woman of unimaginable beauty and purity draped in grey. Around Her, a brood, a collection of ribbed, circular worms that writhed and wriggled and made noise so faint I could only but recognise it as noise.


    She smiled at me, and spoke without words, and I understood. Completely, as if instinctually, or as if caused by my mind, I comprehended each and every word, and the sentences those words formed.


    ¡°You are Vidal, of Jacobi. You are Vidal, known to Santiago. You are Vidal, brood of Yhov. Obey me, and know beatitude.¡± She said.


    ¡°I shall be your honest son.¡± I said, and She smiled. She knew.


    Then, darkness.


    #


    Written from Jack¡¯s Perspective


    I stepped over to Santiago and pulled him into a hug, rife with giggles and instilled with joy, ¡°God, San! It¡¯s been a while, but never has a ritual felt so good, and gone so smoothly!¡±


    Truly, it was perfect. No piece was out of place. The fog and the light, the sounds and the actions, all came on queue and left as they were ordered out. Truly, should an example of perfection with the ritual ever be made, this ought to be that one that is referenced and rehearsed.


    ¡°Aye, Jack.¡± He replied, grinning, ¡°I think it¡¯s this¡­ the two of us¡­ this reunion.¡± He suggested, and hugged me back with a loving grip.


    ¡°Thank the Mother.¡± I returned, and released him, walking around Santiago to lean against the back table, ¡°And so, a waiting game. Do you think he will survive the trials?¡±


    ¡°Whatsoever they shall be.¡± Santiago said, joining me, ¡°What they were for you, they were for you¡­¡± I continued his statement,


    ¡°And for you, for you.¡± I poked him on the shoulder, ¡°To each, their own. A unique experience. I spoke to an Elder once who claimed that it wasn¡¯t always like that.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Santiago questioned, promoting my elaboration, which I did so only briefly, struggling to recall those distant conversations,


    ¡°Consistent imagery, always the Mother, and a trial of breaking and enduring suffering. Finding oneself needing to muster courage in the face of celestial horrors¡­ something like that.¡±


    ¡°Yours was a labyrinth, right Jack?¡± I nodded, adding,


    ¡°Trials of the mind, tricks, and moving walls. It was confusing and nightmarish, but now it¡¯s too distant. I only have emotions and vague thoughts.¡±


    Santiago bobbed his head in agreement, ¡°I remember being on a boat under siege. It was on fire¡­¡± He trailed off, furrowing his eyebrows as I figured he delved into some attempt at recalling exact details¨Ca futile effort.


    I let him play that game while I set my gaze on Vidal. He struggled unconsciously against his bindings, and had a very intense, focused look on his face. His features contorted from time to time, as the minutes passed, and eventually he began moaning and groaning.


    ¡°He may be coming too. Let¡¯s get ready.¡± Santiago and I stepped forward and put ourselves on either side of him, prepared to grab him once the vines receded as consciousness regained control.


    It did, shortly thereafter, and he lurched forward with a deep, painful wail that trailed on and on for nearly six seconds. Immediately he began weeping, and together Santiago and I grabbed him by and under the arms to carry him out of the chamber. We moved swiftly down a hallway to a room at the end, a bedroom, to place him on the comforter.


    ¡°Vidal¡­ Vidal¡­ Vidal¡­¡± Santiago chirped, sitting beside Vidal, who had curled up into a foetal position, clutching his legs as if his life depended on it, with his face buried in his knees.


    Although I felt an inkling of pity, I smashed it, reminding myself that all us Ascended had to endure the Mother¡¯s gauntlet. For, it t¡¯was a trial of creation. Only the worthy could be so blessed as to serve Her.


    So I left Vidal with Santiago, placing my implicit trust in him to ease the sod out of his depressive frenzy and back into reality with enough footing not to lose track of his mind. Mother willing, he would return to us stable, lest this entire affair was a terrible waste of time.


    ¡°Jack.¡± He called out to me as he saw me leaving, ¡°Briefly¡­ please¡­¡± He requested, I figured, to make mention of my departure.


    ¡°Go ahead.¡± I said.


    ¡°Remember how my sponsors treated me. You know how they beat me, Jack. You were perfect for them¡­¡± I tried to interrupt, but he insisted, ¡°¡­just go easy on him. This seems to have hurt my Vidal as much as it hurt me.¡±


    I thought to myself, ¡°And it took you five years to break out of your shell. Five years to shirk shyness and timidity. Five years to act like a man.¡± However, I neglected to say it, knowing it would be poor to speak to a friend, so grown, in such a childish way. I only nodded, looking grim, and left to find myself a place to sit and think.

 Chapter 4: The Silver Fawn

    Chapter 4: The Silver Fawn


    I left the guildhall when darkness still cloaked the streets, wearing a cape and hood. I crept against the sides of houses staying alert for the high-pitched clangour of walking plates and mail.


    Whilst Vidal recovered with Santiago, the day would be best spent attending to the matter of The Silver Fawn¡¯s day-manager. As far as I was concerned, Santiago¡¯s judgement was trustworthy, but no lead nor ally would be a lead or ally lest verified by my own judgement.


    Getting to the tavern took a meagre half hour, interrupted by no hidden wait. To my surprise, not a single citizen or guard passed by or near in any capacity. The closest came in the form of archers on the walls, whose gaze rested outward and whose gaze if turned inward would surely miss me.


    The Silver Fawn was shaped like a pentagon, with its entrance situated at the peak, and its base backing up against a block of adjacent houses, and its sides fixed between businesses fronting market stalls in the heart of the bazaar.


    The quality of the wood arising from its stone base gave it a style and a light unlike the surrounding architecture. Not only did the craftsmanship come across as fine and well, but it was without tarnishes, damage, or flaking paint. Likely one of the many new constructions dotting the city. One I probably missed during my arrival whilst weaving through the thicket of the occupied crowd.


    Following assurance I was without lingering eyes, I planted my hands upon the flat wall of The Silver Fawn¡¯s neighbour, an apothecary-clinic of some sort. There I rode the wall, carrying myself to the roof with sticky hands and feet. From that roof I was able to drop onto a balcony on the tavern¡¯s third floor, and enter into a bedroom through ajar doors.


    A quick visual sweep of the bed and armoire settled nerves about its occupation, allowing me to comfortably slip into the hallway. It was decorated sparingly with paintings and prints, illumined only softly by the flickering of low candles resting on bulbous clouds of wax.


    A creaking of wood that I knew was not my own brought me to extinguish the light of the hallway. Two fingers outstretched, index and middle, swept through the air and gave life to the wind, stripping the fuel from the fire.


    The hallway culminated in a three-stair descent to a landing that carried one down to the first floor, beyond my view. It was from this obscurity that a figure emerged, casually carrying themselves to my level with a guiding arm sliding along the right wall.


    Three steps took them to an end table below a landscape drawing of the cheerless Juhaszan countryside upon which sat one candle, now leaking a dissipating sliver of smog into the air. The figure took something from their pocket, matches, to relight the candle.


    The illumination revealed to me a man of my height and stature, wearing green and brown with a belt that carried keys and a stained rag. His hands were horrendously calloused, and hairy, which matched his lurid, albeit well proportioned, face.


    ¡°Hello.¡± My voice carried a timidity. I didn¡¯t want to scare him any more than I had to. Of course, he jumped.


    ¡°Valskov!¡± Old Uhraan, an insult. Had he been any louder I¡¯d have feared the inn would awake prematurely. Stepping forward only once, I held out my arms, and in the light of the candle revealed, at least externally, that I was unarmed.


    ¡°Peace, peace. I am a friend of Santiago.¡± This brought him to pause. An adrenalized visage gained curiosity, and his movements back towards the stairs ceased.


    ¡°Did you think not to warn me?! How¡¯d you even get in?¡±


    ¡°Through an open balcony.¡± I gestured towards the door, down the hall, that I had emerged from. ¡°Perhaps we could speak inside?¡± I slid my rear leg back in anticipation.


    ¡°No one is visiting on this floor. We can speak here.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you warn me? Is San with you?¡±


    There it is again, ¡®San.¡¯ I stifled a frown. ¡°Santiago is tending to an ill mutual friend back at the guild. So, he isn¡¯t here, but he knows I¡¯ve come to see you, because he told me about you.¡±


    ¡°He told you about me?¡± He seemed insulted.


    ¡°Likely not in the sense that you¡¯re thinking.¡± I responded quickly, but I did not speak quickly. Calm and collected, to quell his dithering. ¡°Santiago and I are in business together, and he expressed that the two of you were friends.¡±


    ¡°And Santiago told you to bother me before work? Not, say, after? Or on a day when I''m free?¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t ask, nor did he volunteer a suggestion. You see, however, the importance of my coming outweighs the annoyance of being bothered at such an early hour, I assure you.¡±


    ¡°You assure me?¡± He hesitated before continuing. ¡°I feel uncomfortable being so rude, but I¡¯m not going to entertain whatever this¨C¡± He waved his hands around the air in my general direction, ¡°¨Cis right now. I have to clean and prep, so you¡¯ll have to leave.¡±


    ¡°You have to listen to me.¡± A darkening of my aura accompanied the command. Aura, this is to say, meaning my ambiance. A fan of darkness encircled me, having materialised at will. The shift in composure in the day-manager was subtle, but noticeable enough for me to feel confident that my presence had influenced him.


    I went on speaking, ¡°You, by virtue of your employer¡¯s cravenness, pay a weekly protection fee to Rodrigo¡¯s men, correct?¡± He nodded, ¡°I take it that this fee is somewhat crippling to your business, and you feel you cannot go to the guard for help, correct?¡± Again, he nodded. ¡°Good. You¡¯ll pay me henceforth, and you shall pay half what you pay Rodrigo¡¯s men.¡±


    He nodded, and then spoke, ¡°Will you be here when they come?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I said, and he replied, shakily,


    ¡°Just as the doors are unlocked they enter, they¡¯re paid, and they leave, so that no customer lays eyes on their doing so.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Efrain.¡± He spoke it proudly.


    ¡°Good, Efrain. I take it you fight or that you¡¯ve fought?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve fought. We keep a club behind the bar.¡±


    ¡°I want you to finish whatever your duties are for the morning, and then unlock and open the business at the standard hour.¡± I brought my arms to cross, ¡°I shall join you in this uncomfortable extortion, and we¡¯ll bring it to an end.¡±


    ¡°And what about my boss?¡±


    ¡°I shall take care of whatever turmoil you fear to be the outcome of this exchange of lordship, I assure you, Efrain.¡± I took a step forward and momentarily put a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.


    He seemed to appreciate it, for however muted his emotions had become. Influence, this growth of presence, was a byproduct of my Ascension, of all ascensions. It is like a status symbol that, when shown, elicits a universal response from the weak willed and ignorant.


    ¡°Go then, I shall wait.¡± I followed him to the ground floor where he returned to his duties tidying the bar and room, stocking liquor, and the like. The establishment was quite modern by Kaerdan standards, free of what I took to be the usual dated references to the last dynasty¡¯s taste for over-enthusiastic regal stylisations. Rather, the decor all seemed to seek to mirror the natural dread of the countryside, floral and greyscale fashions.


    It wasn¡¯t until the nearest sun rose above the walls and brought light to the room that Efrain announced it was time to open. Through tall windows at the front I saw a band of three approaching through the empty square.


    I took up a seat at a round table next to the stairs, and sat facing the front. Efrain moved slowly to the doors, unlocking and opening them before rushing back, past me, to take up a position behind the bar with his club. We exchanged a glance before the trio entered, his confidence, mine sobriety.


    ¡°Early riser?¡± The frontman asked me, sporting a smile and a comfortable gait as he passed through the threshold with two lackeys in tail towards Efrain. His men were all chattel, I could feel it. Their auras were weak.


    I stood abruptly and kicked out the chair with my legs, melding through a shadow in the floor to reappear behind them in the blink of an eye. Their surprise prompted them to turn towards the sound, to their right, which left them open for quick disposal. I placed my hands on their heads, respectively, and dissolved their matter into dust.


    It was over in three seconds. Where once stood two Humans, proud and industrious, now sat two piles of grey soot. Their leader, however, although not Rodrigo, or at least, I assumed he wasn¡¯t Rodrigo, was like Santiago and me, Ascended.


    His eyes wandered to the floor and then back up to meet my gaze. ¡°I apologise for trespassing, Upyr.¡± He addressed me respectfully. I reckon he immediately recognised the change in arrangements.


    ¡°The Silver Fawn is under new management, as you seem to understand. New policies, new policing. Keep the riff-raff at home if you decide you want to return, friend. I wouldn¡¯t want them dirtying up my bar.¡± I explained, although his expression, remaining passive and positive neglected confusion or surprise.


    ¡°I appreciate the explanation, and your understanding of my nescience. I¡¯m sure Rodrigo would appreciate meeting you, if you¡¯d have him.¡±


    ¡°Bring him along tomorrow and we¡¯ll talk, over tea. Come early, we¡¯ll open before the crack of dawn.¡± To avoid unwanted interruption. We were nearly out of time to avoid the first patrols and crowds of locals rushing in to break their fast before work.


    ¡°I bid thee well, my friend.¡± He replied, and walked past me to depart. In the process of doing so he patted me singularly on the back.


    ¡°Grab a broom and clean up this mess.¡± I said to Efrain, whose awe I disregarded. He just stood there.


    ¡°Efrain.¡± I barked. ¡°Get moving.¡± And he complied, the rapid aggression snapping him out of the daze. As time elapsed, and the people approached, I could hear their desperate musings and collective feet moving upon the dirt streets, so too did my time elapse to abuse the influence. He¡¯d lose the memory of the executions, but the bias would linger.

 Chapter 5: Late Rodrigo

    Chapter 5: Late Rodrigo


    ¡°Why are you awake so early?¡± Santiago¡¯s accusatory tone swept right over me. My arm flowed familiarly downwards and set my saucier and cup down onto the coffee table. I looked up at him,


    ¡°It¡¯s for the best that you spend time alone with Vidal. At least until he gets over his frustration with me.¡± I leaned back in my chair, holding my right loose-wristed arm at a perfect angle.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± He gave me an annoyed, confused look.


    I ignored him and pressed onward, changing the subject matter to the more prudent, pressing problem, ¡°I followed up on your relationship with The Silver Fawn¡¯s manager.¡± Santiago immediately scowled and ensured I saw it before he sat down across from me. ¡°He and I worked something out.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you warn me, at least? Ask my advice? You know I know him¨C¡±


    ¡°Well.¡± I said, cutting him off. ¡°I know you know him well. It really doesn¡¯t matter how well you know anyone, Santiago, when we¡¯re dealing with chattel.¡±


    ¡°So, you manipulated him?¡± Santiago began to relax, his face lost its tightness and the red flush of his cheeks leaked away as he sipped on a cup of coffee he¡¯d poured for himself.


    ¡°A few minutes of attempting to convince him that our relationship was enough to cooperate failed, and so in the interest of time I influenced him. Rodrigo¡¯s clique are using the tavern for protection money under threat of damage or death. Now, we¡¯re their new protectors.¡±


    ¡°What about the owner?¡± He asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried about them. If it comes up I will use the same method to assert my dominance over the establishment, or we can dispatch him and promote your friend¡­ what¡¯s his name? Efrain! Yes, Efrain.¡±


    We were momentarily interrupted by Vidal who finally shuffled in to join us. He wore loose and dusty clothing, without shoes. The unclean attire led up to a soiled face, and baggy eyes. He meandered around the furniture to sit next to Santiago.


    ¡°Good morning.¡± I stated flatly, and passively, without looking at Vidal. Santiago turned to smile at him, but found himself stonewalled as Vidal was staring at the floor. He didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°Returning...¡± I said, gesturing to Santiago, ¡°...to our immediate future, the awaiting step is figuring out a plan to handle Rodrigo. The likelihood of his retaliating is sure and I reckon it¡¯ll come soon and swiftly.¡±


    ¡°So¡­¡± Santiago lifted his right leg over his left, and looked away with a tilted head, slipping into thought. ¡°¡­ Rodrigo centralises his holding down by the west wall. Because he controls the smuggling trade, my understanding is they use the sewers there to move goods in from a drop-off point. At least, basing that assumption off of how we did things.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the composition of that district?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Warehouses, small businesses, and factories. I suppose there are a few houses too, but nothing large enough to function as a Haven. We should speak with Efrain about it, he might know someone in that area or have some sense of direction.¡±


    ¡°What leads you to believe he¡¯ll have any ideas about direction or persons?¡± I figured he was trying to say ¡®maybe Efrain followed them,¡¯ but that doesn¡¯t make sense.


    ¡°If he lives there¡¯s all I mean¡­ I guess.¡± Santiago shrugged and finished his coffee.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go then. Vidal can stay behind and¡­ wash up.¡± I lingered on the last two words, speaking down at him, literally and figuratively. My presence over him drew his gaze unto me, and his set of sunken, misfortuned eyes lingered against my own. I didn¡¯t pity him, but I could sense his loathing was diminishing. A subordinate in the making.


    Santiago and I left through a side door and slipped between a small mixing of alleys to bypass the public and skip a few annoying, overcrowded intersections.


    ¡°We¡¯ll go in the back, the delivery way. There¡¯s a passage via one of the border streets around the bazaar. That way we can avoid attention. It¡¯s just somewhat roundabout to get¨C¡± I had started to explain why it would be important to not just waltz in the front door when I was cut off by a bolt of iron skimming the flesh on my forehead before smacking into the wall on my right. The cracking of the crossbow¡¯s string caught my attention just rapidly enough to allow me to avoid what would surely have been instant death.


    We were firm in our tracks in the middle of a T-intersection of alleys. About fifty yards to our left, three ruffians hugged crates defensively, aiming down the sights of crossbows, holding us effectively at bolt-point. Santiago spoke up quickly, saying,


    ¡°There¡¯s a man wrapped in the shadows just behind them¨Chis eyes, Jack, they¡¯re blue.¡± Santiago extended his right arm and pointed, loosely.


    This couldn¡¯t have been an ambush. Our trek was too spontaneous. I had no intentions of winding up between these houses. Furthermore, these short hours were hardly enough time to plan an ambush. No, we ran into them by chance. This has to be a horrific coincidence.


    Two pops. The other grunts discharged their bolts at us. Santiago shunted himself right and I left, occupying the corners of the houses that buttressed this intersection.


    ¡°Reload!¡± The sound of charging footsteps echoed close behind. At the same moment Santiago and I exchanged glances. We could sense a disturbance dancing through the air. The space all around us was dishevelled, like heat at a distance obscuring our normal perception of objects.


    This leaking power could be none other than that of one of our kin; an Ascended furious and itching to execute. The two of us bounded backwards and further separated once the foursome returned into view. The trio targeted Santiago with additional shots whilst the obscured one tended directly to me.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    At approximately my height, the blue-eyed man wore all black in tight layers. His hands, exposed, bore razor-like claws that grew right out of his five digits starting at the second knuckle. The fragmentation in my perception, at the level of the air itself, intensified immediately around him, creating a mirage-facade.


    His outstretched arms, connected at the wrists, formed a loose cocoon around a coalescence of energy, dark in hue, spotted with purple, that seemed to draw in the distortions on the air. At the same time that the distortions cleared, they intensified. In the wake of returning normalcy came warping physical space. He was manipulating matter.


    My rapidly changing environment caused me to trip on my backpedal. I collapsed downwards, expecting ground, but finding freefall. I glanced around as quickly as I could, trying to find myself some footing, but I saw only void of the same constitution as that which he had formed in his hands.


    Panic propelled me to flail around and draw my limbs in, spinning to reposition myself towards the tear in the earth above that was quickly growing smaller, closing in on itself. I spat a burst of air out of my palms and feet, which redirected my vessel back upwards with a billowing of kinetic energy.


    Within seconds I was back in reality, planted on the soiled gravel road. Having, I assume, expected my demise, the man turned his attention ¡®round to Santiago who had slaughtered his three goons and, claiming one of their crossbows, levelled it on our contemporary foe.


    Quickly, I rotated right and shot out my right foot, digging into the ground as it moved, to kick up a plume of gravel and dust. The sound and distraction caught the man¡¯s awareness just long enough to permit Santiago a shot, which he took, shooting the bolt at his chest.


    Much to our shared surprise, the man¡¯s left hand intercepted the bolt, exchanging it through a tear in space anchored to his palm that redirected it, preserving its energy, back at Santiago. I was reminded of what it felt like to suspect your belly¡¯s dropped out¨Cto undergo that almost literal gut-wrenching, out-of-body horror constituting one of the greatest shocks of your life.


    In an instant, every speckle of my matter shared in the anguish of witnessing my belov¨¨d friend grace ruin''s cape. It shook my crown. It spasmed every muscle in my body. It blurred every inch of my vision. In a moment, I descended headlong into rage and a tribal preservation¨Ca fight or flight response that soundly chose to fight. So, my fists clenched, and as my obscured gaze collapsed into a sanguine abyss of primaeval recompense, shadows lept.


    The sun-cast darkness supporting every object and building came to life, and left its buttressing of the light to join my hands in their formation of fists, plastering onto them, and spreading up to my wrists like gloves. It was from my fingers that the darkness transfigured into razors, bolstering every punch with deadly, sharpened knuckles.


    What a sensation it was, that sensation of stepping into a flow of prodigious speed, turning my flurry of blows into a violent, retributional whirlpool. Everything around my bladed fists, all that material unlucky enough to wear their target, was relentlessly, and mercilessly, pulled into the fray until all that remained was a lifeless amalgamation once resembling Rodrigo¡¯s upper third.


    Upon finally regaining my senses, I found myself somewhat flustered and drained. I had to catch a nearby wall to prevent myself from falling over, and looking at my right palm revealed the usual calluses and wear being shielded by a fresh coat of blood and gore. The man¡¯s body, eviscerated, and my own was hardly damaged. Did he not expect such a tide of resistance? Did he suspect we¡¯d go down easy? Did he suspect it would be us?


    The shadows returning to their rightful place, and a sickening, churning feeling in my liver, and blood, my own blood, trickling down my face from my forehead and through tears in my clothes pulled me away from the questions.


    Then, I cried ¡°Santiago!¡± and ran over to him.


    He was hyperventilating and gripping the flesh around his wound. The bolt connected with his skull, above his right eye, and was stopped by the bone. A blessing, no doubt. Hurriedly I tore strips off of my jacket and wrapped Santiago¡¯s head, pleading with him to remain calm and conscious.


    ¡°The tavern¨Cthe¡­ Silver Fawn.¡± He spat out, speaking between spikes in immense pain. I could only imagine his suffering.


    ¡°Okay, okay.¡± I agreed with him only because I knew it was closer.


    The trek was a meagre two blocks, going the back way, and would risk less exposure given the lack of major roads. We went in the delivery door, and I gently set Santiago against a crate whilst I sprinted to fetch Efrain.


    We returned to Santiago within minutes, Efrain bringing along a barback who he claimed was training to be a doctor.


    ¡°I cannot stress how much you need to keep quiet about this.¡± I commanded, pausing only for a few hurried seconds to speak directly to Efrain¡¯s employee. My hand gently touched his chest as I issued the order.


    Whether it was the rage leaking off of my aura, or the look in my eyes, compounded by composure moving outside of my control, he weakly replied,


    ¡°I shan¡¯t say a thing, Sir.¡± He sounded like he was on the verge of tears.


    I left them to work, remaining in the hallway only after I peeked in long enough to be sure Santiago was still with us.


    It was there, beside a dusty end table and a portrait of a muskrat in a suit, that I collapsed into myself, hysterical. Each second of the fight replayed in my head, what seconds that I could recall. How did I let myself fall? Why did I take that route? Why didn¡¯t we bring Vidal?


    I couldn¡¯t have anticipated this. I couldn¡¯t have known. I slammed a fist into the floor. I heard the wood crack. Why didn¡¯t I fight harder? Why did I wait so long to use my powers? We should have reacted faster after the first shot missed me.


    As I replayed the moments over and over again I reconstructed the face of the Ascended who led the ambush. A tight, angular chin¡­ blue eyes¡­ bushy, almost-unibrow eyebrows. The more I thought of him the clearer his bust became, and with it in mind, an abyss around it, untainted by lingering thoughts, I called out to Mother¡­ ¡®Who?¡¯


    I could almost feel her grasping me whilst replying. She could feel my pain and saw fit to share in it. With her answer I felt her warmth embracing me. I was safe, at least in this moment.


    ¡°Rodrigo.¡± That alto, wispy, feminine tone. So rare, so perfect.


    The first snake is dead. Purely by chance, it had to be a chance. Lest we walked through an ambush intended for someone else?


    My reconsideration of the events was interrupted by Efrain, who emerged now wearing a blood-stained apron. Despite his ruined clothes, he did not look upset, but relieved.


    ¡°San will be okay.¡± He said, taking a seat beside me, ¡°But he needs to stay here. He cannot leave until he has healed, I think it¡¯s too risky.¡±


    ¡°Where will he stay?¡±


    ¡°Downstairs. Where he and I¨C¡­ err¡­ there is a bedroom down there. It¡¯s a secure space, like a little flat. The old owner used it to hide from debt collectors.¡±


    ¡°Is he still conscious?¡± I wanted to speak with him again.


    ¡°No. He found sleep shortly before we finished working on him. It¡¯s for the best, it will speed up his recovery.¡±


    Efrain didn¡¯t know the half of it. I¡¯d have to get Santiago fresh vita if he was to fully recover.


    ¡°Thank you, Efrain. Thank you.¡± I gave him a side-hug, tightly, before speaking again, ¡°I¡¯ll return as soon as I can, but I need to let his men know what¡¯s happened.¡±


    He nodded as I stood, and I dusted off what remained of my clothes before leaving for the guild hall, bearer of tragic news.

 Chapter 6: Knowing Resentment

    Chapter 6: Knowing Resentment


    T¡¯was midday by the time I arrived back at the Brick-Layer¡¯s, solemnly standing before the front door I took a moment to breathe deeply. I knew I couldn¡¯t possibly ready myself, for, for the deliverance of awkward and terrible news one can only do it. Preparation kills the moment.


    I pushed the doors open and immediately asked for Vidal, speaking to two men who should¡¯ve been standing watch, but were rather playing cards quite distractedly, who both, without looking at me, pointed towards the kitchen. The door into the building, otherwise barred, lay open.


    I set aside my annoyance for their lack of compliance and arrived at Vidal, dressed now much more appropriately, in a fresh tunic, boots, and smelling of lavender, seated with coffee and bread at the head of the table.


    ¡°Vidal¨CSantiago¡¯s injured, but okay.¡± I slowed myself down so as to speak without sounding out of breath, and did so as I pulled out a chair to join on his right.


    He paused mid-sip to eye me, mouth agape. His cup tapping the porcelain was soft, timid, almost, and he took a moment to pat his lips with a napkin before speaking,


    ¡°How did Santiago get injured?¡±


    ¡°We were unexpectedly ambushed by a small group of men, and he took a bolt to the face. Thankfully, it did not pierce anything¨C.¡± He cut me off, screaming whilst his left hand smashed the tabletop twice.


    ¡°He took a bolt to the face?!¡± Vidal stood, furiously whipping his hands up and forward as if dismissing me.


    ¡°Okay, okay¡­¡± I spoke quietly, allowing him his moment of boiling rage.


    ¡°My life was fine before you waddled in and turned this comfortable gig into some, some¡­ some ridiculously serious ceremonious bullshit!¡± He kicked out the chair from behind him, and I stood to face him, he continued,


    ¡°Who do you think you are?! That man was like a father figure to me! There for me, supportive, helpful! This is important and you¡¯re ruining everything for me, for us!¡± His last words seemed to appeal to the men, his now-former compatriots, who had gathered behind me in a semi-circle at having heard the sudden fight.


    ¡°Okay Vidal, okay¡­¡± I was growing impatient, but I held it in, ¡°Please, please allow me to reply and I will try to give you a satisfactory answer.¡±


    Vidal¡¯s left arm and hand tensed up, and he shot it into the air in a release of frustration, a nothing-gesture, a fury-flex, so to speak. ¡°Speak.¡± He was cold and dry.


    ¡°Would you give us a minute?¡± I asked of the men, whose eyes, I followed, turned to Vidal who shooed them out of the kitchen. They closed the door behind them.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± I started, adjusting my waistcoat before sitting back down, gesturing for him to join me. He remained standing.


    ¡°What you have become at my will serves the greater purpose of helping Santiago. Although this is not its grandest purpose, it is larger than what I want. What I want, what I came here to do, is help Santiago at his request.¡±


    In the interest of avoiding a perpetuation of this conflict, or worse, its worsening, I spoke as clearly as I could muster, uttering each word with confidence and clarity. Vidal, thankfully, seemed receptive, as when I spoke he lightened and loosened, and by the time I finished my first articulation he sat down, arms yet crossed.


    ¡°Your position with him must¡¯ve given you the opportunity to witness the degradation of his holdings in the city. This little under-empire of his is in shambles from what it was when I helped him build it in the first place.¡±


    ¡°You helped him¡­ in the first place?¡± He inquired of me.


    ¡°I was with him when he expressed the desire to make of this city, and by extension of it, Juhasz, his legacy.¡± I cleared my throat before continuing, ¡°His purpose, in other words.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡­ I was under the impression you were an outsider. I wish he¡¯d said something.¡±


    ¡°You do not need to apologise to me, Vidal. You are not to blame for anything, here. Your ire is justified.¡± I was, of course, lying, but he didn¡¯t seem to notice, looking off towards the ceiling, in thought, it glossed over him.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    I continued, ¡°What you are now is what we call Ascended. It means you have been given the opportunity to take a step up and elevate yourself, both physically and mentally, into something greater. When I say, elevate yourself, I mean this truly, because achieving this required you to succeed in your trials. I can only bring you to the gate, walking through is independent of outside influence.¡±


    ¡°The ritual? ¡° He asked, I nodded, and he went on, ¡°That world was like a hell I couldn¡¯t have imagined¡­ Jack¡­ full of horrors and these¡­ these¡­¡± He seemed to struggle to find the words to describe what he had seen, rather moving his hands about incoherently in what I perceived to be an effort to give shape to the shapeless.


    ¡°I know, but I too cannot speak of it, Vidal. We all saw the same thing.¡±


    I sensed this click within him. The lingering tenseness from his outrage relaxed, and was replaced with peppy curiosity.


    ¡°Your successful navigation of those trials proved to our Mother, she who gives life to this echelon above basal Humanity, that you were worthy of joining us. Thus, you are here, before me, and not ashes in the sea.¡±


    I continued quickly before he could respond, as the proposition of death seemed to furrow his brow, ¡°Your life is on track to become far more interesting and purposeful. Where Humans struggle with this sensation, having a purpose, finding meaning, we know it in our core, because we are greater and in direct service to a goddess who certainly lives, for she shows herself and communes with us.¡±


    ¡°Do you declare God to be dead, Jack?¡±


    ¡°The question of God is unanswered and irrelevant, but many of us still pay homage to him. I, however, serve Yhov alone.¡±


    ¡°Strange¡­¡± Vidal started to go on, but stopped himself, looking at me as if prompting me to elaborate.


    ¡°The gaps will fill themselves in as you grow into your new suit. In the meantime, Santiago¡¯s incapacitation requires me to railroad you into a position where you can begin to exert influence. Thus, what was previously our mission, Santiago and me, has become our mission, you and me, Vidal.¡±


    Vidal took a few minutes to give me a reply, pinching his brow, shifting from left to right in his chair, and groaning and grunting whilst he seemed to contemplate my exposition. Having come this far, pushing him at a pivotal moment would be too risky. He has to convince himself that this is necessary.


    ¡°What is your mission, then?¡± He finally asked, settling into a comfortable, albeit reclined and inappropriate, posture.


    ¡°Late-Rodrigo¡¯s faction. He is dead, as far as I am aware, but his cabal is large and malleable; they are likely to recover quickly and resume status-quo. So, we need to make a trip to the heart of his district and attempt to discern their headquarters.¡±


    ¡°And once found, destroy it?¡± Vidal asked.


    ¡°If it¡¯s within our power to do so, yes. However, if we run into other Ascended, which we are likely to, then we may have to leave it as a reconnaissance trip, and return when we are able to muster a plan of attack.¡±


    ¡°Other Ascended? I thought that you and Santiago were the only ones.¡±


    ¡°Applying that title is respectful, but misleading. To keep it brief, they are Astray. This is to say, they are abusers, they are ignorant, and they are selfish. Rude, yes, judgemental, yes, but it is not my judgement, it is the Mother¡¯s, and I am merely reiterating it. They are like us, but they do not operate within the Mother¡¯s veil, and thus upset the balance.¡±


    ¡°What is the balance?¡±


    ¡°Another matter that you will find explained in time and on your own. It would be unorthodox of me to instruct you in these things better discovered in solitude.¡±


    He rolled his eyes, but didn¡¯t bark back. I wanted to slap him, but he¡¯ll learn. I went on to speak again,


    ¡°Once the balance of Juhasz is restored, we can supplant Santiago at its head and resume the norms we had previously established. As you can imagine, I am sure, this task is not small nor easy, and will occupy a great deal of our time over the course of this next year. The city comes first, then the countryside, and then the broader countryside, if necessary, so as to be sure that he will not again easily be threatened.¡±


    ¡°And we can¡¯t wait for Santiago to recover before working on this?¡±


    ¡°No. Not anymore. The blow we inflicted is too visible and too serious to go without repercussions if we fail to act on it. They will strike back at us if they are allowed to reorganise their resources against us. This has to happen, we¡¯ve started moving and we cannot stop, yet, at least.¡±


    Vidal sighed very loudly, and pushed his seat back a foot to allow him to rest his head in his hands, elbows on knees. ¡°Okay Jack.¡± He mumbled, muffled beneath his palms that massaged and shielded his face.


    Vidal went on, ¡°On the condition that you understand I am still mad, and that I still need time to think about this, for Santiago I will help you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for understanding, Vidal.¡± I replied through pursed lips and tight teeth, ¡°Take some time to talk to the men. I don¡¯t want them wandering about on the assumption that I have betrayed their trust. When you feel that you¡¯re ready, meet me out front. This has to happen today.¡±

 Chapter 7: Charred Dreams

    Chapter 7: Charred Dreams


    Vidal joined me after an hour or two. I had lost track of the time lingering on mental manifestations of my life far gone with Santiago. Happy, smiling, youthful faces, as we together, in the prime of our third decade of Ascension, paraded through the streets of Veha as rulers of an unseen, unheard class.


    In light of this obfuscation it was a greater kind of class, unhindered by the musings and collaborations of live court and the courtier¡¯s life. It operated free from political strife and political gains, making use of our influence and power to grip the underbelly and puppeteer up the ladder.


    This marionette¡¯s dance, however, lasted only so long as was necessary to slip through legal jargon, righteous guardsmen, and unlucky, misplaced wanderers and adventurers. This kind of war, which we were now waging with late-Rodrigo¡¯s faction, is a vice like arrogance.


    ¡°How did it go with the men?¡± I asked Vidal as he joined me.


    ¡°Did you not hear the shouting?¡± I suppose I missed it. He went on, ¡°They wanted to string you up for the authorities to find. I promised to deliver them Santiago within the day. It was the only way, Jack.¡±


    He looked apologetic but did not apologise, and spoke sternly. Vidal was probably frustrated, fairly and understandably so, but delivering them Santiago was an unfulfillable promise.


    ¡°When we return from late-Rodrigo¡¯s Haven, whether we find it or not, whether we burn it down or not, we shall stop in and check on Santiago. Fitting, anyway, as I have to deliver my vita to him.¡±


    ¡°Your vita?¡± Vidal¡¯s curiosity perked up. I ushered for him to stand with me, and we started strolling down the road from the front of the guild hall.


    ¡°My quintessence; my life essence.¡± I slipped my hands into my pockets as we walked, moving slow and by the sides of the houses to keep a low profile. I went on, ¡°It is a manner of healing that supersedes the body¡¯s natural processes with those of the Mother. In this way, she is a channel through which to impart upon Santiago my own health. In doing so, he shall heal at a greater rate and with no chance of mutation or malfunction.¡±


    ¡°If you are¡­¡± He paused to ponder, ¡°¡­gifting him your life essence, as you said, doesn¡¯t that mean you¡¯ll suffer? Won''t you fall ill?¡±


    ¡°It is unlikely here. You see, because his wounds are not fatal and in the moment, and I am not myself unhealthy, injured, or damned towards death.¡±


    ¡°Damned towards death? Do you mean dying?¡± He gave me a side-eye, suggestive of some thought like ¡®why is he being so complicated?¡¯ or ¡®why is he being so pretentious?¡¯ Fair enough.


    ¡°Yes and no. One can be dying but not damned towards death. This¡­ this¡­ complicated¡­¡± I twirled my wrists, searching for the words, ¡°¡­description is a way to try and convey permanence, irreversibility. When I am damned towards death, it means I am set towards it, I am on my way to it but cannot not be on my way to it. Does that make sense?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s a bit clearer, Jack. Couldn¡¯t you have just said something like ¡®destiny?¡¯¡±


    ¡°I could¡¯ve, but it would have been misleading. There is no destiny here, because there is no predestination. Dying is the natural, mutually arising conclusion of life, and thus it is our finale to die, but it is not our destiny. No, destiny carries too much baggage.¡±


    Vidal didn¡¯t reply. His eyes were hooked by a passing troupe of performers and their entourage using this street to make way to the keep. They paid us no mind, if they even saw us, no more than a momentary glance was afforded our way.


    ¡°Are you surprised or enthralled?¡± I asked him once his attention re-affixed itself on the road.


    ¡°I suppose I am enthralled. Their outfits are lovely, they remind me of my sister.¡± Once he realised what he had said he scrunched up the muscles in his face, and lifted up his right hand to scratch at the back of his neck.


    ¡°I appreciate the jesters. They remind us not to take things so seriously wherein there is little to no seriousness to be had, inherently. Wherein the seriousness is attributed.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve overheard gossip of the Duke speaking similarly, Jack.¡± Vidal replied quickly, eager to change the subject. He went on, ¡°The guards, the men who wear the bulky black plate, were discussing it quietly a few hours after court let out last year. It made a big fuss around the city, because it apparently upset or worried the local nobles.¡±


    ¡°The guard spoke of all this?¡± Impossible that even the outer ducal guard had such knowledge as of the intimacies of the worries of the peerage.


    ¡°My sister, she works¨C¡± He cut himself off, cursing under tongue at himself for traipsing right back to where he had uncomfortably started.


    ¡°Works in the keep?¡± He nodded, and the conversation ended there. Something to raise later when, perhaps, he has thought on the matter and decides that it¡¯s quite alright to stop being so uptight.


    ¡°We¡¯re here.¡± I pointed forward, where the road forked in a Y. The right led to the wall, an indefinitely sealed gate barricaded with boards and supports thereon. The left led to the warehouses and shoppes; the left led to late-Rodrigo¡¯s Haven, hopefully.


    ¡°Take your tunic off and stow it by that barrel.¡± As I commanded Vidal I led him by the arm to a break between houses, and threw my coat and waistcoat behind a stack of boxes, barrels, and construction supplies.


    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Taken aback, clearly.


    ¡°You look too rich to be walking around here, Vidal. Furthermore, this far cry from where I found you has led to a swagger unbefitting of one with such aesthetics.¡± I jabbed a finger at him and gestured to the finery he had been given. Clearly, they were from Santiago¡¯s closet.


    ¡°Unbefitting? What do you mean by ¡®unbefitting?¡¯¡± Regardless of his annoyance, he complied, and thus I answered him.


    ¡°Your gait is awkward and forced. It is as though you are trying to look casual, and thus you do not look casual. You look out of place. If they see you they will report you, and all windows to the Haven will close.¡±


    ¡°Windows to the Haven?¡± He went on as he undressed down to a plain, off-white undershirt and flood pants.


    ¡°Signs of activity. If they think there¡¯s a threat they¡¯ll do everything they can to conceal their presence. It¡¯s a part of our survival to operate under the watchful eyes of¡­ well¡­ everyone, Vidal. The point is we go unnoticed.¡±


    He sighed in response to my points, and started ahead of me, into the district. Quite rude, too. I wasn''t finished fixing my boots. I had to slam it back onto my foot by pivoting my leg back, into the ground, to kick start a jog to catch up with him. When I finally did, I gave him a friendly punch in the arm.


    I intended it to be friendly, at least. He didn¡¯t seem to take it that way and shot daggers back at me. His glare was fine and sustained, remaining as a drain on his overall demeanour even when he returned his eyes to the road ahead.


    We didn¡¯t have far to look. I could see the rear border walls of the district from the entrance, but stacked houses, structures, and other buildings made it a high density nightmare. All around my ears caught wind of chatter, working, and merrimaking.


    I decided to take the lead and tugged Vidal¡¯s sleeve, bringing him over with me to the right side of the road. There, I pointed further up and across the road, at a tall, T-shaped, outcropping building out front of which three figures stood. ¡°What do you see?¡±


    ¡°What do I see? Jack, they¡¯ve got to be two hundred yards away. What do you expect me to see?¡±


    ¡°I expect you to look, Vidal. Don¡¯t fight me on this, just try looking at them, and tell me what you see.¡±


    He sighed again, more loudly this time, and gave them his whole attention. Hopefully, this will be a learning experience for him. I suspect that the building we¡¯re looking at is late-Rodrigo¡¯s, and scouting out who all is loitering around the doors is a good first step.


    For, for an Ascended distance is less of a problem for clarity in vision. For, alongside the many tools in our repertoire, one is like a telescope that reaches out for hundreds upon hundreds of yards beyond that normal, blurry boundary limiting Human awareness.


    After about five minutes, Vidal finally replied, ¡°Jesus, Jack.¡± He shuddered, and took a double-take in my direction. Having done so caused him to stir, I put my hands on his shoulders to keep him still, ¡°How do I turn it off?¡±


    ¡°The same way that you turned it on, Vidal. You just do it, like you breathe. Don¡¯t think about it; let it happen.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Again, minutes passed, but finally Vidal responded with an exhale of exasperation and relief. He lowered himself down onto one knee, and slowed down his breathing.


    ¡°There are two men and a woman. They¡¯re all armed, I can see faint lines of swords on the sides of their trench coats. She is brunette, they have black hair. She looks powerful, like she¡¯s in command. When she speaks, she''s confident.¡±


    He rattled off the details rapid-fire. Again, I put a hand on his shoulder and shushed him, hoping to help calm him down.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Vidal. Take it one step at a time. It¡¯ll get easier. You did good.¡±


    That seems reliable enough. It¡¯s probably the building, or, at least, a front for it. If the Haven isn¡¯t through those doors, it¡¯s nearby. A solid start.


    We sat there for another half hour, exchanging smalltalk as I waited for Vidal to ground himself and settle the lumps in his chest. He signalled his stability with a slap to my shin, pushing himself to his feet without help.


    ¡°Stay low.¡± I murmured before signalling for Vidal to follow whilst crouching and shuffling across the street on an angle, towards the left corner of the structure. Once there, I crept lower, almost on all fours, to avoid being seen through the ground floor windows, and moved to the entryway.


    The trio had since reentered, away from view, after more chatter and a smoke. The streets remained without much action, and we were sure to look up and down the sandy flatland of that thoroughfare six times as we crossed and trekked to the doors.


    They were left open, propped, so as to stay in place, by a stool and two boxes, respectively. Atop the stool sat some papers weighted down by a rock, and an inkwell missing its quill.


    The corridor past the threshold was void of life, so we entered, still hugging the walls. Two doors, one right and one left, led into the equivalent sides of the building, this entryway seeming to bisect it, but neither spoke to being lived-in; each door was quiet, still, and dim.


    The hallway culminated in a stairwell leading up and down. The way up was partially barricaded by miscellaneous tools, piles of wood, and other construction equipment. The way down, however, was without impediment.


    I looked over at Vidal and found him looking puzzled, holding his chin tightly with one hand while the other drummed on his thigh, ¡°What¡¯re you thinking about?¡± I whispered.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t this too obvious? The basement of a big, abandoned-looking building? Like, like they want us to think this is where it is, when really this¡¯ll be a trap or a dead-discouraging-end.¡±


    ¡°That is what seems too obvious, perhaps.¡± I started, pausing before going on to breathe heavily, feeling the floor, dusty¡­ dusty? Where are the trio¡¯s footprints? ¡°Vidal, look at the ground. What¡¯s it missing?¡±


    His eyes followed my call to my hands, and perused the ground. It took him a minute to finally answer, ¡°Footprints.¡±


    We shuffled back to the entrance and found that the footprints started where we had seen them standing, but ended just past the doors, not even a yard into the building proper. There, we knelt down together and carefully inspected the floor, finding subtle scratch-marks along a line of tile.


    With our combined strength it was easy to get it open. In and back, the floor receded a few inches and then, of its own accord, set in motion by a not-so-faint click, rolled back, beneath the floor behind it, opening the way to a stairwell leading down to another set of double doors.


    ¡°Fantastic.¡± I said, starting my descent slowly, scanning each step so as to avoid any unexpected pressure plates, tripwires, or other precautionary measures. However, to my combined surprise and relief, none had been installed. ¡°Cheap.¡±


    My scorn drew Vidal¡¯s interest, as he asked curiously, ¡°What¡¯s cheap, Jack?¡±


    ¡°Their security measures. They¡¯re too complacent.¡± I replied, putting my ear up to the left of the double doors.


    Beyond them I heard bickering. Some mass of people, five, six, maybe, were in the heat of an argument. It was difficult to discern exactly what they were saying, as their voices were drowned out by a combination of the weight and tightness of the door in its frame, so blockading as to even upset my heightened senses.


    I tried the handle, unlocked, and turned it painstakingly slowly, easing the door open a crack once the latch fully receded. Therein I spied what I took to be a mudroom, and in an instant pushed the door open just enough for the two of us to slip through, subsequently relatching it.


    The mudroom was dirty and littered with muddy and sandy shoes, boots, discarded coats, and other overclothes. We stepped around them, taking care not to kick anything over or aside in our stride, and took up posts against each pillar of an archway leading further into the Haven.


    From there we located the group, six in number, gathered in the middle of a salon. Tables and chairs, lounges, loveseats, and decor in the form of artwork, bookshelves, and tall, potted plants¨Cartificial from the looks of it¨Cdotted the room¡¯s edges, leaving the middle open for a large, majestic carpet.


    It was there, in the centre, that they held their debate,


    ¡°Lyle and his friends didn¡¯t see anything on the west end, nor hear anything. Rodrigo didn¡¯t show up to verify the collections.¡± One voice reported,


    ¡°Which still needs to get addressed. Some cockwad wrenched the Fawn from us. The bartender threatened to have me killed if we ever came back when I confronted him about it.¡± The woman, this time, that confident dame from the doors,


    ¡°Look, this isn¡¯t the first time Rodrigo¡¯s slipped up on us. Just give it a day and we¡¯ll keep looking around. For all we know he got caught up with some hunt or something and forgot his duties.¡±


    Whilst they were engrossed in their discussion about their missing boss, Vidal and I crept forward and weaved between the seating arrangements to a stairwell against the right wall. It led up to a catwalk that we followed through an opening in that very same wall, nearer the back.


    There we found a T-shaped hallway with multiple ajar doors leading into offices, storage spaces, and bunk bedrooms. Unoccupied, and frankly unkempt. Vidal selected what he suggested was late-Rodrigo¡¯s office to rummage through whilst I returned to the catwalk and continued to round it. It followed the ceiling, above the conversing gang, and opened to one other such offshoot on the opposite side.


    There, I nearly stumbled and spat out curses, but caught myself with a quick hand to an end table that caught my fall and allowed me to prance over a sleeping man in a chair right in front of the door. My distraction while side-eyeing the group led me to seek to enter without looking¨Ca nearly disastrous paranoia.


    Thankfully, he seemed to be deep in a slumber, furthermore pushed down into the depths of dreamland by what looked like slow-healing wounds. The room he sat dozing-sentry for looked like a workspace, with two desks stacked with books and papers, followed by a bar-wall at the far end with a gate leading into a room of crates, barrels, and chests.


    A vault? I slipped back past the guard and found Vidal in the middle of the catwalk. He passed me a ledger and a set of keys before leaning into whisper,


    ¡°That office was an absolute mess. No sense of organisation. No sense of preparedness. It¡¯s a marvel he manages to keep his cabal together.¡±


    ¡°It must be a marvel, then, that you managed to find this.¡± I commented as I flipped through the ledger. It contained notes about payment, interest on those missed, and the names and addresses of abused business owners. As well, he had side-line after side-line of chicken scratch notes in the margins and between notations.


    ¡°This is a goldmine, Vidal. I doubt he keeps it all here, but there¡¯s an office at the other end with what looks like a vault.¡±


    ¡°Is it worth breaking into?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± I soundly replied. It was far, far too risky with the one at the door and this group below us. I felt their aura radiating around the emotionality of their musings and plans. At most, perhaps that one man, one of the two who were outside with the dame, was Human. The rest were Ascended.


    ¡°Why? At least we can open a few drawers?¡± Vidal squinted, sounding annoyed, likely thinking it would be quick and easy and worth the risk.


    ¡°Whatever minimal material gains are sitting in their for our taking via our pockets is outweighed by the fact that we are both outnumbered and your inexperience. I¡¯m sorry Vidal, but we can pick through the ashes.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± He yielded, unhappily, and turned for us to walk together back down the way we¡¯d come. Once again in the salon we made our way in a slow arc back to the door and beyond, to the other end where lay a vacant bar lined with alcohol.


    We waited there together for a half hour until the speaking six dispersed. Five ascended the stairs and one, the Human, left. Another ten minutes passed before I put our plan into action.


    ¡°Pick the torch off the wall and stand by the archway into the mudroom. When I give you the command, throw it towards the carpet in the centre of the room.¡±


    Vidal nodded, plucking a torch off of the wall whilst I turned and shut my eyes. In my head this skill was clearer; telekinesis demanded the utmost of effortlessness. To try and grab with the mind would be fruitless.


    So, with meditative breathing and only my sensations as guidance, I took my time to draw the alcohol out from the glasses and barrels, and made it coalesce in the centre of the room, allowing no small amount to drip down onto the carpets, to seep into the drapery, tablecloths, chairs, and paintings.


    Then, sustaining a lingering ball of liquid in the centre of the salon, I moved to Vidal, and whispered ¡°Now!¡±


    Once the torch was thrown, I grabbed him by the collar and we raced out the doors, up the stairs, and to the hatch. Before it was able to completely open, the roar of racing flames erupted from behind us, followed immediately by a series of differently pitched screams and hustling.


    We propelled through the hatch once it widened to allow us passage, and made haste for our clothes and the exit of that district. In the distance we saw smoke and a mass of light giving life to the recent nightfall and its accompanying darkness. The screams and bustle spread to adjacent occupied houses and buildings as the fire spread, and the attention of the public moved to quashing it.


    Individuals and groups streamed down stairs and out the doors of ground-floor structures with buckets, baskets, and whatever they could manage to carry water in. The flames roared up and high and streamed black smog into the air in such volume that it blocked out a great many stars.


    ¡°What the fuck was that magic, Jack?¡± A mixture of surprise and disdain followed the question. I figured it was a little much for Vidal who, up until this point, probably saw me as some quirky occultist damn good at fighting.


    ¡°Gifts from the Mother that follow from years and years, Vidal. Years and years. As they pass so too do the limitations of your earthbound body, your Human body, Vidal. Give it time and¨C¡±


    ¡°And I will see.¡± I scowled as he interrupted me, again annoyed at my putting off his need for instant answers.


    ¡°Santiago.¡± I said to break the tension, ¡°Let¡¯s go speak to Santiago.¡±

 Chapter 8: The Dame

    Chapter 8: The Dame


    We took our time getting back to the Silver Fawn. The streets were flooded with bored and interested people, and by the time we were three blocks further swarms of helpers and onlookers were rushing towards the fire. All-in-all it proved to be a great calamity, as even as we came into the Bazaar, some half hour later, whispers of a bombing or arson were being spread amongst the chattel.


    We slipped into the tavern through the front door, and met Efrain behind the bar. He offered to bring us tea and some assortment of bread as we entered the back hall and descended to the basement space. Santiago¡¯s room was guarded by a tall wooden door and some brooding fellow perched on a stool.


    I didn¡¯t recognise him, but he seemed to know us, as whilst opening the door he gave us a nod, and spoke in a whisper, ¡°He¡¯s doing alright.¡±


    Santiago was laying in a king-size bed at the back-centre of the room. It was otherwise sparsely decorated with a desk, bookshelves, a lounge, and some tables. Next to those unoccupied tables lie a bag of medical equipment and a barrel of bloody rags that reeked of rotting something.


    ¡°Oh, Jack¡­¡± He muttered mekely, and lifted his right hand to usher us towards him. We took opposite sides, but Santiago addressed me first,


    ¡°Jack, please.¡± He requested of me, offering his hand to mine. I softly grasped at each side of his palm, and pressed my thumbs into it. The nails on my thumbs grew long and fine, forming sharp points that carved easily into his flesh. Before, however, he could begin to bleed, I began to syphon myself into him.


    Blood trickled out of the tips of my thumbs, and rode the claws like slides into his body. Wispy trails of grey and miniscule white and black dots whirled around the wisps, and melded themselves through his flesh. Slowly, over the course of minutes, Santiago¡¯s pale complexion began to grow flush with life.


    This lasted for ten minutes before I withdrew my thumbs, and fell back onto my ass. Vidal rushed over, hurriedly and worriedly, but I waved him away with a smile, speaking, ¡°Don¡¯t fret, Vidal. This is the gift of vita. Just look at him.¡±


    Santiago was beaming and straining in joy and ecstasy against his own vessel; overwhelmed, he held himself firmly against the bed with eyes clamped shut. ¡°Jack¡­ oh¡­ thank you¡­¡± His utterances barely escaped his lock-jaw.


    ¡°Think nothing of it, Santiago. You know it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s¡­¡± Frowning, I caught sight of some surprise. I could remember, on what few past occasions I had to aid my brothers like so, that the healing was rapid, like the blessing of a Cleric. But, Santiago¡¯s healing was not so¨Conly better, not renewed.


    ¡°Santiago?¡± I spoke up, Vidal helping me to stand. Leaning over him now, I saw that, although now more lively than before, his head wound was still very much present, and his vitality, lost with the injury, returned only as a fraction. I could sense it, his essence remained frail.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you healing?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk¡­¡± He cleared his throat, eyeing Vidal who returned obvious concern, ¡°¡­in private, Jack. Vidal, would you, please?¡± He pointed towards the door with his left hand.


    Vidal looked to me, as if asking ¡®Why?¡¯ or for permission, and I only shrugged, whispering to him, ¡°Just go. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, but wait for me and I¡¯ll fill you in.¡±


    Santiago insisted on ten painstaking seconds following Vidal¡¯s leaving the room, and the door latched again, for an explanation to come, ¡°Jack, let me start¡­ start by saying that I¡¯m sorry.¡± I cringed. What does that even mean? ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯


    ¡°I should¡¯ve been upfront with you from the start, I should¡¯ve¡­ I just couldn¡¯t bare to show you how terrible I really was.¡± Imagine being honest with your friends. I grew angrier and angrier as he started to explain what I couldn¡¯t help but imagine was about to be a terrible confession.


    ¡°Yhov¡­ I¡­¡± He sighed, ¡°¡­I did wrong by the Mother and¡­ well¡­ greedily¡­ Jack I¡­¡± He seemed to be flustered and afraid, moving his head from side to side with half-closed eyes and a tight, uncomfortable complexion. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words to admit something in a misleading way. In a way that would make him look better than he knew he would be looking.


    ¡°Just fucking say it, San.¡± I¡¯d had enough. His eyes shot open, in surprise, at my curt retort, and he went on,


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry San¨C¡± I interrupted him, ¡°Stop apologising.¡± And he responded, ¡°¨Cokay, okay. She spoke to me in a dream after you¡¯d returned home to watch over her mecca. She asked me to negotiate with the mountain tribes, those Ascended who we, in the long term, planned to subjugate.¡±


    He¡¯d closed his eyes again partyway through the real reveal, finding comfort speaking to an abyss rather than his years-long friend,


    ¡°This would¡¯ve been a peace deal, Jack. She asked me to make amends with them and their independence from the locus of our authority in Juhasz. A stunt to my authority and my ability to manage trade on the outside roads.¡±


    ¡°Santiago, are you telling me you ignored her command?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m telling you I tried to subjugate them anyway. She stripped me, Jack! Stripped me of my influence and my power.¡±


    ¡°Insofar as you are still in command, San. I don¡¯t know what I can do for you or our project in Veha.¡± I threw up my arms and spat out an exasperated sigh. What a waste of my time, my energy, and my resources, ¡°I cannot even begin to explain why you should¡¯ve told me this from the start, I just have to take your word for knowing it as being what was right.¡±


    ¡°Just¡­ Jack I, I can¡¯t¡­ I¡­¡± His tone took a downturn and he began to grow sombre, his complexion darkening akin to those shadows that wrapped floor and walls, ¡°I can¡¯t let this go, it¡¯s mine!¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s yours anymore, San. Nothing. You own nothing but an image¨Ca fabrication you generated so as to, by God, sleep at night.¡±


    Tears left his clamped eyes and trailed down his cheeks, onto his shoulders and the sheets. I didn¡¯t care, going on with articulations given ballistically,


    ¡°As I am now here and so bound as to help you correct this nightmare, I am going to continue to help you, but no longer under our joint conditions. No, San. I am going to help you under my conditions.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± He questioned and rolled his eyes, having opened  them, throwing his hand-backs against the bed in some show of frustration.


    ¡°It means you have been dethroned. Whether you like it or not, and I surely do not, Vidal has to be groomed to replace you forthwith.¡±


    ¡°Why not you, Jack? Why not you¡­ just¡­ ask Her if you can remain with me, ask Her if you can help me rebuild our legacy¨C¡± Again, I cut him off,


    ¡°Stop it and accept it. San, God forbid you just now start acting like a child, unable to comprehend the concreteness of this situation. There is no alternative, for were there a way for us to maintain what we had I¡¯d have taken it. I know no alternative, because Yhov doesn¡¯t give one.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re so blessed, Jack. So blessed¡­ where does it come from?¡±


    ¡°Come from, San?¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    I leaned into the back bedpost on my left, and spoke, ¡°By realising that the Mother is, in fact, a physical and mental part of me. By realising that by neglecting Yhov I was, in fact, neglecting myself. Why would I do that?¡±


    He had no answer, so I hollered for Vidal who rejoined us in agita, flaked by a rather sober Efrain to gift us with promised victuals before returning again to the bar, leaving our trio in privacy.


    ¡°Well? What¡¯s going on Jack?¡± Vidal asked me, hurriedly, adopting some macho-stance with arms crossed, chest puffed, and shoulders back. One look at him gleaned unto me the feeling that he was nearing, once again, a sickness about the complexity of his circumstances, and towards my patience and reservation.


    ¡°San, it¡¯s better coming from you.¡± I said, leaning in to put a hand lightly upon Santiago¡¯s shoulder. He passed me a thankful look before regarding Vidal and speaking, softly,


    ¡°Vidal, although you may not immediately understand, I beg of you to suffer Jack¡¯s knowledge, and wait it out. You may not trust him, but please trust in my trust of him. You know me, Vidal. Please. So, please understand that I am stepping back, and capitulating leadership to you.¡±


    In a fluster, Vidal rolled his head with such frustration as to impart upon us both the weight of his ill feeling¨Ca shockwave of aura uncontrolled, ¡°Vidal, Vidal, realise what you¡¯re now doing.¡± I said to him, and in breaking his attention to emotion, the pain I shared with Santiago stopped instantly.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    He seemed too, to realise what he had done, and thus spoke, ¡°I¡¯m sorry Jack, I don¡¯t know what that was.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t fret about it, Vidal. I fully expected you to be upset, and to cause such unfamiliarities is as well expected in your newness.¡± I waved it off, and further flourished for him to continue.


    ¡°I mean, I¡­¡± He ran his hands aggressively through his hair, ¡°¡­this is, if anything, ridiculous, Jack. You can¡¯t possibly think I¡¯m ready?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t possibly think you¡¯re ready, Vidal. You¡¯re not. But neither are a great many new Kings or Dukes, or Owners or such and such throughout the peerage and the mercantile spheres. This is no different, Vidal. I will be here to teach you, and take on some of the weight until you are adept.


    ¡°Santiago has chosen to surrender his post for the benefit of our work.¡± I spoke ¡®our¡¯ with an accompanying tightening of my fingers on Santiago¡¯s shoulder, prompting him to glance at me, ¡°It is in the best interest of our sustaining this realm for you to be so educated and elevated, Vidal. So it has been decreed, let¡¯s move onto more pressing matters¨Cour blow to late-Rodrigo, and this discontent with the men.¡±


    ¡°Efrain told me what I¡¯d missed.¡± Santiago explained, and then I proceeded to elaborate, ¡°Vidal and I found their Haven in the West, with the warehouses. They¡¯d fastened a poorly disguised entrance to a basement club. Now, it¡¯s ash¡­ and for that matter too probably¡­¡± As I held on the tail of probably, Vidal finished my statement,


    ¡°Half the district, with charring on everything around it, and the streets, and the walls, and some corpses to draw it all together.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡± I said, continuing, ¡°What remains in our execution of late-Rodrigo¡¯s snake is to return, and attempt to discern how many of his faction remain alive. We¡¯ll go from there, tomorrow. Let them recuperate so we can get an eye for the lingering clique.¡±


    #


    The following day, Vidal and I set out from the Silver Fawn to return again to the west. I left the men to Vidal and Santiago, and retired to plan as they determined the best course of action. As it turns out, Vidal brought the eldest two to Santiago, and they spoke of some things. Apparently, the matter is settled, so I let it be without details.


    Vidal and I were met with a ramshackle blockade at that intersection into the district. Two lazily attentioned guardsmen posted on either end with a wall of boxes, barrels, crates, and assembled wood in between them.


    In the low light of what was yet, really, still the night, we swept up the side of an adjacent building to then descend back down onto the street, beyond the sentinels. A fantastic opportunity to quash Vidal¡¯s fears.


    ¡°Just climb the wall, Vidal.¡± I insisted, and in doing so showed him my method¡­ hands upon wood, feet nestled between the ground and the wood, and then upwards propulsion using the legs to get started. ¡°Sticky hands.¡± I said, showing him my own, glazed over with a sort of adhesive exuded by way of our power.


    Four tries and a bruised forehead did the trick, getting Vidal to the roof in something of a fury that finally overrode his attempts at rationalising what was possible only as a matter of intentionless action.


    We repeated our previous cloak-and-dagger slithering ¡®till we arrived at the edge of the smouldering carnage. Four full structures were levelled, and each around that block was heavily damaged and tarnished.


    Crews had yet to set out plans for repairs, or even really to begin cleaning. It seems rather that the guards, in wait, sectioned it all off and had the masses scatter to new hovels.


    Vidal and I trekked through rubble and blackness until we spied a little quad, standing in the midst of what was once their Haven. Three sorry looking men loomed dreadfully around¡­ that same proud woman!


    Vidal pointed it out to me first, stopping my advance with a firm hand against my chest, ¡°God, Jack. Look who it is!¡±


    Even with feet planted in the remains of her former safety, she was as still and focused as ever. One hand rested beneath a wrapping cloak, likely on some blade, while the other pointed about as she made assertions.


    ¡°We are in an advantageous spot, Vidal.¡± I gently lifted his hand from my chest, prompting him to allow it to drop. Then, I made my own gestures, drawing his attention to the fact that, despite us and them, this block had been abandoned.


    So, we approached them quite obviously. Upon taking notice, her three soldiers quickly drew their swords and took up a spread-out stance around her, protectively, barking commands to ¡°Fuck off!¡± and the like.


    We ignored them, of course. From this distance I could finally catch the scent, that stink of chattel¨Cthe stink of mud and repressed crises. This hubris of ours, I reckon, spoke to the woman, who barked back at her men to lower their swords.


    In greeting she stepped in front of the middle man, and presented herself in a stance of confidence, that with hands-on-hips and and a forward, tilted-upright look, as if she, despite being approximately our height, saw herself as looking down upon us.


    ¡°What the fuck do you two want?¡± She said as we stopped some ten feet in front of her. It was obvious, of course, at least to me, that she knew we were Ascended and I, her.


    ¡°Were you all with Rodrigo?¡± I asked plainly, and in spite of recognising her from the night before. Vidal responded by nudging me with his shoulder, but I ignored him, staring the woman down intently.


    ¡°Oh, we were with that visionary, yes.¡± She replied, taking her hands off her hips to brush aside her cloak, revealing a previously obfuscated sword that she drew, keeping the tip of the blade towards the ground.


    Unperturbed, I took a single step forward and brought up my hands in a passive gesture, speaking, ¡°Yes that was somewhat forward, I see that. Call me Jack, please. And you are?¡±


    ¡°Lorena. Rodrigo¡¯s replacement.¡± She insisted, lifting the sword as I stepped forward so that it now pointed towards my neck. Her free arm braced her back as her stanced changed to one preparatory for a lunging strike.


    ¡°Lorena. The pleasure is all mine.¡± I replied, speaking yet in a tone and with a pace so as to try and come across as inferior.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t with us, this isn¡¯t an audience for application, Jack. What do you want?¡±


    ¡°It seems¡­ apparent¡­ Lorena, that you find yourself in disarray. Why conclude that confusion with a fight? Obviously, whatever loyalties you once had have escaped you.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know either of you. So, tell me why you did it.¡±


    ¡°To restore order¨C¡± Promptly discontented, Lorena lunged. Had I not been watching, she¡¯d have jammed that damn poker right into my chest. Rather, I should say that, if not for my years and my attention, I might¡¯ve died if not suffered a damning wound. She was quick and good.


    ¡°Fuck¨C¡± I caught my vulgarity between clenched teeth, holding out a hand to plead with Vidal to hold still. He jumped back and flared his fangs at her, growling lowly.


    ¡°Stop this! Stop now!¡± I spoke up in a demanding way, projecting myself above the flurry of dirt and ashes kicked up by her attempted assault. Now between us, Lorena moved further forward and turned, facing me but with Vidal in her periphery.


    Before speaking again, Lorena¡¯s eyes darted between me, her men, and the lot where once stood that Haven. Her countenance, angry and tired, came to relax after two rounds of this looking that again ended on me.


    ¡°Fine Jack. Answer me this: how old are you?¡±


    In reply, I made a slow draw from my chest to the air on my right, bending my arm at the elbow, forming a straight line that drew an etching of a deep, crimson red. This line lingered on the air for a moment before dissipating.


    From her perspective, in opposition to my own, this line formed a timeline that Vidal too, likely, saw. A timeline from my origination to this day¨C403 years.


    ¡°Right.¡± Was all she gave me, immediately sheathing the sword, ¡°Speak your peace, then, Elder. Sue for it, whatever pleases you.¡±


    ¡°You can withhold and save again, for another day, the honorifics and such nonsense as that that the pompous in Yhortor demand.¡± My prompt disregard for tradition seemed to help in her relaxation. As calmness began to return to this meeting, Vidal made a slow walking arc round her men to join me. They¡¯d kept their silence and stillness, likely under her influence so as to preserve our dignity in light of their Human emotionality.


    ¡°This is everything that¡¯s left, correct?¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°Why was late-Rodrigo¡¯s army so small for a faction that controls Veha?¡±


    ¡°Who told you we controlled Veha?¡± She asked, my surprise was enough for her to simply go on, ¡°Whoever said that is misinformed, Jack. We only controlled this smuggling route and some of the nearby businesses that we extorted.¡±


    Immediate understanding washed away my silent questioning of the incredible ease with which we both dispatched of Rodrigo, and destroyed his Haven. Santiago was wrong.


    ¡°You were merely a gang.¡±


    She nodded, again.


    ¡°Let¡¯s find somewhere to talk. Do you have a townhouse?¡±


    ¡°Round that corner, there.¡± She pointed to my right, down an alley that culminated in a hexagonal space with three doors off to flats.

 Chapter 9: The Triad

    Chapter 9: The Triad


    Lorena¡¯s townhouse was more extravagant than I was expecting. An exquisite, subtly baroque flair carried itself across all corners of every room that I could see. Dark brown floral and circular carved wood lined the walls at their base and below the ceiling, and created a frame around pastel wallpapers with repeating patterns of fleur-de-lis, paislies, and flowers.


    The volume of furniture, trinkets, and baubles scattered throughout the space in her flat was like sitting front row before a full orchestra as they uniformly crashed one grand, final note, and thus took hold of all sides of the range of your hearing, and precluded all else. So, similar to Santiago¡¯s wing of the guild, but distinct in that the noise arose not from numbers, the many silly pieces of decoration that filled his tabletops, but from the collective detail each item held in its multitudinous artistry.


    She led us to a small circular turret-room in the back left corner of the house. An eggshell porcelain tea set sat atop a cart against the central window, while a wooden table and four chairs sat in the centre of the room. ¡°Do so¡­¡± She instructed us, ¡°¡­make yourselves comfortable.¡±


    Lorena had left her men outside, ordering them to ¡°Watch the stairs and bar the door. No one enters, regardless of whether they were with Rodrigo.¡±


    Vidal and I sat with our backs to the glass, momentarily also to Lorena who wheeled the cart from the glass to the door, carrying a kettle to the kitchen to fill it with water and hang it over a fire.


    When she returned, I spoke up, ¡°Thank you for the tea, Lorena. As it is prepared, I¡¯d like to get straight back to our conversation. My knowledge was flawed, yes? Late-Rodrigo controlled only this district and some nearby businesses, yes?¡±


    She nodded, I continued, ¡°And now the remnants of late-Rodrigo are few and crippled, yes?¡±


    She responded with a clarification, ¡°You eye the sole remnant of Rodrigo, Jack. Those men obey me, but they were never with Rodrigo in any real sense.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t Ascended.¡± I said, and she nodded, so I went on, ¡°What is the situation with Veha as a whole, as you understand it?¡±


    ¡°I shall reiterate what Rodrigo always told us.¡± Lorena began, pausing only to collect the kettle. She carried it over to the cart, pouring three cups of black tea, ¡°Veha is in a shattered state. He blamed Santiago, the ¡®Little Imp,¡¯ for being too hedonistic, losing control amidst distraction caused by fantasy and wine, or something like that.¡± She made a fluttering gesture with her hand, I took it to mean he was acting like a drunk fool, rather than literally being a drunk. Likely, I thought, ¡°¡­plastered by his perception of power.¡±


    Lorena continued speaking after passing around the cups, and assuming a seat with her back to the door, ¡°After Rodrigo rebelled first, Santiago¡¯s other senior commanders, Adorjan and Mar¨ªa Cristina¡­¡± I cut her off with a question,


    ¡°Adorjan?¡±


    She chortled, waiting to respond until she had a sip of her tea, sighing thereafter in that forced-but-not-forced, and horribly annoying, way, ¡°Like you, Jack, he is from Yhortor.¡±


    ¡°I cannot fathom missing such a rarity.¡± Lorena shrugged in reply, leaning so back on her chair as to cause its front legs to lift off of the floor, ¡°Alas, please continue.¡±


    ¡°Adorjan departed first, and far more gracefully than Rodrigo who left in a huff and screaming insults and the like. We joined him because we figured he¡¯d be the first and only, and we agreed with his concerns.


    ¡°Adorjan took with him some of Santiago¡¯s other older Ascended, thus creating a pocket of power that he took complete advantage of. By the time the first month had passed, he stripped Santiago of his control over the mines, the farms, the nearby fishing and hunting fiefs of Fersaad and Insjel, and almost all of the central suburban districts.


    ¡°Finally, Mar¨ªa Cristina consumed what was left, taking the entirety of his remaining Ascended and dealing a fatal blow by stealing the east, the district of the poor, and claiming ownership of the sewers, which blockaded his only remaining potential for smuggling and dominance over illicit trade.¡±


    As she filled me in on the great many importances Santiago had neglected to mention, I blew softly over the surface of the tea, and tried it. Its earthy tones were strongest at first, reminiscent of my imagination of dirt or bark, but rather in a pleasant, progeny sort of way, as opposed to a gross, soiled sort of way. Progeny, in that I found it to relate to my condition of being; to relate to my Human, Ascended vessel.


    Those earthy tones were followed by what I thought were hints of mint, but just as I began to consider it, Lorena concluded her speech, and so I readily replied, ¡°So you are alone and sharing a table now with two agents you see as being agents of  Santiago, agents of one of the three remaining, warring factions. Correct?¡±


    She reluctantly nodded, sharpening her eyes as they lay upon me, digging daggers into my own in search, I figure, of anything seeming to be misleading.


    ¡°Departure guarantees immediate safety, but no promise of a home. You¡¯ll be road-bound until you can find another loyal tribe. Remaining alone risks death, as the others will notice late-Rodrigio¡¯s passing, and invade. Correct?¡±


    ¡°I have no intentions of leaving.¡± Lorena swiftly clarified, but before I could go on, Vidal piped up, ¡°So join us, because we aren¡¯t, as Jack said, agents of Santiago, but agents of me.¡±


    He spoke bluntly, quickly¡­ quickly in that he jumped the crossbow, so to speak. Discharged the bolt before the string was fully taught. I wanted to ease Lorena into the request, given her having just undergone a trauma we caused, one where her allies perished and all that she¡¯d been working for transformed into a square of rubble.


    So as to avoid any thoughts of surreptitiousness, I restrained myself from shooting Vidal an angry look, and rather maintained my relatively amicable gaze towards Lorena.


    She took longer than I was expecting to reply, taking a good five minutes to finish her tea, and return the cup to the table, ¡°If only because I burnt all bridges with Adorjan, and know nothing of Mar¨ªa, I will entertain your offer.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t ask you for any commitments, Lorena.¡± Vidal said, ¡°Just that you consider trusting us. Please understand that we were only targeting Rodrigo, not¨C¡±


    She cut him off angrily, uttering her interruption quickly. As she spoke, I eyed her hands collapsing into tight fists that hugged her outer thighs, ¡°I don¡¯t care who you were targeting. I lost friends in that fire. You¡¯re just an out¡­ I¡¯ll commit to nothing until I understand what your new cabal is, exactly.¡±


    ¡°Understood, completely.¡± I said to her, giving Vidal not even a sliver of a second to reply, thereby taking back control over the conversation, ¡°Let us, perhaps, rebound to strategy and speak of Mar¨ªa Cristina¡¯s faction. The weaker of the two, perhaps similar in power to our own?¡±


    ¡°Similar, yes, but I¡¯ll mention first, before it escapes me, that there are rumours that Adorjan has had so much luck because he has a benefactor.¡±


    ¡°A benefactor?¡± I asked, and she went on saying ¡°The Lord of Veha.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea as to what the arrangement is?¡±


    ¡°No, not other than a few of Rodrigo¡¯s spies reported seeing guards deliberately neglecting cries for help by citizens and merchants, and other guards actually assisting Adorjan¡¯s agents. I couldn¡¯t say whether it¡¯s a pay-off, or whether the Lord is being influenced by Adorjan.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°And so doubly is considering him a potential ally off the table.¡±


    Lorena readily agreed with a hefty nod, saying ¡°I think we should fight them both. Starting with Mar¨ªa, we can deal a blow by ambushing her thugs in the undercity.¡±


    ¡°If I may.¡± Vidal requested this time, and I yielded to him with a quick, approving glance, ¡°I would prefer to negotiate with Mar¨ªa Cristina. If we can win her over by appealing to mutual interest¡­ business and survival in the face of a larger, settled opponent, we can create a future opportunity for union. Union is what we want, correct?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡± I agreed with Vidal, union is a restoration of the balance of Veha, but Lorena looked displeased. I couldn¡¯t tell whether it was a lingering of her earlier, just outburst, or distaste for diplomacy.


    ¡°If it¡¯s what you both agree on, I can try to get you to someone who can hail her for an audience. Be warned, though, that you will likely have to speak on her terms.¡±


    ¡°Rumours?¡± I asked about this bit of knowledge she seemed to offer us.


    ¡°Always.¡± Lorena clarified, continuing after Vidal and I gave her approving looks, ¡°Let¡¯s reconvene in a few days. Do you have somewhere more central we can meet?¡±


    ¡°The Silver Fawn.¡± I said, and it was settled.


    #


    One of Lorena¡¯s three men, a short, scraggly fellow with a triple-braided beard, found Vidal on the outskirts of the Bazaar in the infancy of morning. Vidal, in turn, found me leaning out on that balcony from which my origination of all this progress was made.


    ¡°Lorena says she¡¯s got a contact who¡¯ll meet with us around noon. Do you want to close down the bar?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not. It¡¯s too risky to invite them into a closed shop.¡± I said, ¡°Arrange a table that¡¯s not too obvious to the windows or the other patrons, and have Efrain keep a keen eye for someone with business.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± Vidal departed and I joined him on the ground floor after a few hours had passed, letting the time flow as I took some moments to meditate on that balcony. The surge of commotion, pain, and realisations caught up to me. I awoke that day with a binding, aura-inducing headache sitting centre-mass in my brain, screaming so loudly that its voice bounced off of the interior of my skull and rattled my cranium.


    The suffering was enduring enough to remind me that my days at Yhortor would never be without such personal time spent sitting quietly, breathing, and removing myself from the duality of thought and thinker. A restoration exercise, reminding oneself of this high connection with the Mother by way of grounding which strips away the paint and decor, and leaves only the naked, Ascended form.


    I thanked Her for the reemergence of my sense of duty to this art, as I joined Vidal in a full and bustling establishment with a clear head, relieved of its burden, and clear eyes, relieved of their blur.


    ¡°Good timing, Jack.¡± He said promptly, having come from the bar to intercept me at the base of the stairs, ¡°Efrain waved me over, saying there¡¯s some man at the far end looking for us.¡±


    ¡°Have Efrain direct him over to our spot.¡± Vidal went to do so, and I walked through a short maze of tables and wandering patrons to a temporary wall that had been erected with a door shielded by drapery. Through that blockade I found a booth, clean and set with a fine white table cloth, a tea set, and ample room.


    I figured it¡¯d be best to wait for them, so I could nab an ¡®aisle seat,¡¯ so to speak, and so I did just that, much to Vidal¡¯s discomfort, and annoyance, as he shot me a fighting glance I readily dismissed.


    ¡°Welcome to the Silver Fawn¡­ mister?¡± I extended an arm, giving way to our guest. He was about my height and build, but lumbered with a trivial limp, and carried three scars from the middle of his forehead, down and across to his chin, that marred his eye a milky white.


    ¡°Lucho, Mar¨ªa Cristina¡¯s husband.¡± He drew me into a hug before I could protest, bypassing my hand, and softly kissing the air beside both of my cheeks. It took me by surprise, but I felt the authenticity in the casual way he pulled me towards him, and through that ear-to-ear grin. He felt excited to be here.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard through my crows that you¡¯ve been causing a sudden stir in the midtown and in the old home of my people.¡± Lucho explained, getting immediately to business, and pressing on his forwardness by picking up the kettle, and pouring us all something to drink.


    He continued, ¡°I cannot express how desperately they wish to see those croaky houses used right. So, I¡¯ve neglected to let them in on the fire until I can find some way of easing in the bad news. Why¡¯d you burn it?¡±


    I thanked him for the tea with a singular, drawn-out nod, holding a reply to his query on the tip of my tongue as I drank, speaking finally, ¡°To execute the faction. It¡¯s as simple as that, really. I cannot possibly leave them to suffer when we¡¯ve worked to cause their demise.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Lucho asserted, his smile becoming a toothy grin, ¡°I¡¯d hate to bring someone who cannot follow through to the doors of my love and our people.¡±


    ¡°I see your appreciation for the dynamo, Lucho.¡± This made him laugh, Vidal too, albeit noticeably more reservedly, ¡°I believe that you and I share in this value, in that we share in a perception of the task and necessitating its completion, lest we fail ourselves, which is something impossibly voluntarily taken on.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡± Lucho affirmed, finishing his cup and pouring himself another, ¡°This little matter now, of the three of us, changes the playing field in a way that could provide mutual benefit to our factions¨Cnow warring, but soon revelling in newfound similarity. Yes?¡±


    I began to speak but silenced myself quickly, looking to Vidal. My expression carried, I hoped, curiosity as to his own opinion and concerns about Lucho¡¯s brazen behaviour. Vidal looked to me, paused, and then turned to Lucho, speaking, ¡°If we are to meet with Mar¨ªa Cristina, to speak of this¡­ similarity¡­ where do you suppose it will be?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been so kind to accept me in your fantastic tavern, gentlemen.¡± Lucho began, extending his arms out, wide, to touch my and Vidal¡¯s outer shoulder, this gesture held for a few seconds before his hands returned to the table, around his cup, ¡°Peaceful in public, let your next meeting be the same. Yes? Little Orna, a tea shoppe at the entrance of the east district. Is that sufficient?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know it, but we¡¯d have time to prepare, ¡°Let it be a week from today. Is that sufficient?¡±


    Lucho bobbed his head thrice, and then, unexpectedly, shot his gaze left, through a central break in the privacy curtains, where he first, and I second, spotted two cloaked men watching us through the windows.


    ¡°Ascended.¡± Vidal, to our shared surprise, affirmed for the table. ¡°Good.¡± I said back to him, in praise, which won me his appeal, expressed in a smile.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take this upstairs, Lucho. Follow our lead?¡±


    ¡°I am with you.¡± He said, and we stood together and made for the stairs. By the time we had crossed half the tavern to reach them, the two figures vanished, moving right, their left, towards that easy climb by the apothecary.


    I pushed through two drunkards, Vidal and Lucho¡¯s pursuit on my path nearly knocked them on their asses, and raced up the stairs, taking two at a time, to make it to the second floor on time¨Cand on time it was. I stood a few paces past the top step when the rouges emerged from the bedroom into the hallway.


    ¡°Speak your minds, brigands.¡± I commanded of them, educing a chuckle from one shut up by the other, who spoke in a deep, monotone bass voice ¡°The years of the dogmatic and the traditionalists are over, of-Santiagos.¡±


    ¡°¡­of-Santiagos?¡± I mentally questioned, realising quickly he meant to group us as arms of his opinion of an evil. ¡°Should your goal be to blaspheme the¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t finish speaking, they drew daggers and charged us at a pace I cannot adequately describe. They moved like flashes of lightning and flayed my shirt and the skin thereunder within a single second.


    ¡°Bastards!¡± Lucho shouted, and his verbal assault was followed by the sound of steel against hard leather; a blade leaving its sheathe.


    The rogues emerged from their opening mark with seedy eyes poking out between hoods and masks behind us on the landing. Lucho had become the lead, and took the first opportunity he had to slash and stab, violently, at the left figure. The right leapt over us to their original position, leading Vidal and I to charge them.


    We exchanged blows in a flurry of fists and feet, and followed as best we could manage at their hyper pace. Vidal ceded first and quickly, after six shots in immediate succession connected with his neck and head, putting him to the floor on the precipice of unconsciousness.


    From my vantage, panting on one knee, holding my squealing, bruised abdomen, I spied Lucho disembowelling his opponent on the landing. Their subtle throes commanded the eyes of their counterpart, who cried out and left themselves open in their sorrow.


    I stood and reeled back a perfect fist, empowered by will and ability with the strength of the night, it became emblazoned with black that grew and morphed like fire. Upon its connection with his side, a strike square to the liver, a loud crack and the sound of haemorrhaging boomed down the hallway.


    The rogue collapsed and curled up like a dying spider, shivering and unable to speak or willingly move. I stood over him without mercy, and struck his temple with my boot until he was dead.

 Chapter 10: Spring Festival, Part I

    Chapter 10: Spring Festival, Part I


    Two weeks passed after the brawl without word¨CLucho insisting he had to ¡°¡­connect with Mar¨ªa¡­¡± before something could be established¨Cand I waited with Vidal by the great sequoia on Sunday, day one of week three, upon finally receiving notice.


    Vidal stood with his back to the Bazaar, arms tense and crossed, hugging his chest as if he were feeling chilly. Speaking, Vidal raised his voice with a sense of impatience, ¡°I can¡¯t keep my legs from wobbling, Jack. This is getting out of hand.¡±


    His insistence was firm, almost curt, which elicited an indignant look I immediately regretted upon seeing the surprise wash across his face, ¡°Vidal, please understand that I too am frustrated with the delay and promise of meeting. Now, apparently, they want some public affair-obviously¡­¡± I broke my steady speaking pace to gesture at our surroundings.


    The Bazaar was in the midst of being transformed into a cornucopia of colour and light. Ringed, swirling, and straight streamers wrapped and clung to wires that flew across the square from rooftops to a tall central pole that bound them all together like a spoke.


    Paper lanterns and cards with hand-drawn naturalistic designs hung from the wires, slipping between breaks in the streamers, clinging to string just above the heads of passersby. Fluttering in the wind and hanging in the shade of that archaic tree, the paper displays flared-up with dancing light, providing a sense of life to the otherwise two dimensional floral scenes.


    The market stalls, tables, and rugs, alongside the many imposing business buildings, needed little decoration, defaultly being rather distinguished with a sense of jovial flare necessary to stand out in crowds of hundreds of exciteds and drunks.


    Before I could continue after drawing Vidal¡¯s attention momentarily away from his own unease and to the magnificence of the ongoing construction, he caught sight of and alerted me to the approach of three men from across the way, of whom one, the lead figure, he identified as Lucho.


    This did far more than any distraction or justification I could manage had done; I watched as Vidal had his own transformation from jitters and withdrawal to a broad grin and open arms, as if anticipating a hug. Lucho broke into a short jog as he neared us, his lackeys tailing behind, and he stopped before Vidal, grasping one of his hands to pull him into a brief half-hug.


    ¡°Fantastic gentlemen!¡± He praisingly exclaimed,  ¡°I know this is going to sound sudden, but would you please come with me? My love is ready to see you both, just outside that little tea house.¡±


    It took a glance away, in whatever direction removed Lucho entirely from my vision, and great withholding strength, to prevent myself from sighing oh-so rudely. Obviously it was sudden, and obviously that made it discomforting. Yet, Vidal, overwhelmed, I reckon, with anticipation and a lust for shattered monotony, had already started walking with Lucho by the time I turned my head back.


    Neither so much as looked for me, called for me, or hailed me even with an afterthought of a wave-without-looking. So, I let them disappear ¡®round the bend leading east, towards the district wall and their appointment. Vidal ought not to trip over himself too badly. Even if he did, I could fix it.


    As soon as they were entirely out of sight, my attention lingered on blurred air until the figure of that great sequoia caught my mind¡¯s eye. On easing my gaze over to it, it came clearly into view, and I spotted the old man from my arrival kneeling on its lower stone step.


    Approaching, I stalked, careful not to rouse him from what I took to be prayer. He put his weight, surprisingly, on both creaky knees, and left his walking stick behind, on the road. His fingers interlaced and held his palms together tightly, which braced his nose and obscured his lips, whispering unintelligibly.


    ¡°I thank God, you know¡­¡± He spoke¨Che spoke to me! I was struck with surprise that knit my lips together, leaving me speechless in my strange observation just behind him.


    ¡°¡­that Veha goes on in its carnivals and cash. In these artistic shows¡­in this four-times-annual reverence for God. Do you thank him for it all?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t say that I do.¡± I honestly spat, ¡°I¡¯m not from Veha, just a visitor of a friend. So, what do I have to be thankful for for a place that isn¡¯t my home?¡±


    As I gave the man my reply, he ached and groaned as he pushed himself to his feet. I considered, for a second, stepping forward to offer my assistance, but a following second¡¯s hesitation was just enough for me to witness his rise and, with an agile kick of the foot, the return of his cane to his hand. He then stood, facing me, decrepitly.


    ¡°That Veha makes herself your home, for so long as you¡¯re here. Right? Or is she just a hostel?¡±


    ¡°You mean Veha becomes homely?¡±


    He nodded, so I asked ¡°What defines homely?¡±


    ¡°That for-granted, consuming peace of knowing it¡¯ll always be here, as you¡¯ve known it, so for-granted that it retires from your conscious awareness.¡±


    ¡°That¡­yes I suppose.¡± I drew my arms across and in, in a self-hugging sort of way, ¡°I suppose I should see it that way. Would you have me donate something, again, to show my appreciation for that¡­forgetfulness defining peace?¡±


    ¡°Never. Only in appreciation of God. God¡¯s light, wisdom, and health. Yes? The health of the great sequoia is the health of Veha.¡±


    ¡°How could that be?¡± I asked him, sensing no connection between the tree and the city. While old, so obviously old, for however many times I passed that great sequoia by, never once did even the faintest waft of magic, ascension, or evil exude from within the perpetuity of its bark. It sat, merely, in peace, gifted all it would need to live, and then some, by the people.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Because it speaks for the people and their Lord.¡± As he spoke ¡®Lord¡¯ he lifted his free right hand to point, vaguely, in the direction of the keep, ¡°The tree lives, is loved, and is hugged¡­this says that the people of Veha acknowledge its spirituality¨Cits connection with God. You know, the tree really is good for nothing.¡±


    ¡°How can you conflate its use and uselessness? How can you say it is both so important as to be the life of the city, and to be good for nothing?¡± My scepticism roped my end of the conversation, and took a single, aggressive step forward. I regretted the way I said it, but was relieved to find the old man didn¡¯t seem to care.


    ¡°When I watched you arrive in Veha, I watched you spy the tree when you survived the gauntlet of the crowd. You see its burls and its dancing branches, and you see its height and its hourglass trunk. This tree couldn¡¯t possibly shoulder roofs or form coffins. This tree is good for nothing.¡±


    I sighed, letting my arms fall back to my sides. Feeling some relief, a tenseness I hadn¡¯t recognised fell out of my shoulders, ¡°You mean, it¡¯s good for nothing as far as people concerned with use go. Being, I guess, most people?¡±


    His smirk was mischievous, coming as an answer to my question. I went on, ¡°So, for so long as they can love it for its being this great sequoia, and nothing more, like they love God for being that God, it speaks to the city¡¯s life.¡±


    I neglected to inflect, feeling I had gotten the point of the elder¡¯s lecture. Knowing some pride, I diverted my eyes from the old man and to the tree, peeking through its sprawling, spreading branches that grew smaller and smaller as they neared the sky.


    When I looked down again the old man was walking off, heading for the roads west. ¡°What an odd man.¡± I thought, looking then to the east where I noticed Vidal and Lucho returning to me, deep in conversation, with Lucho¡¯s two men and a new, older woman in tail. She seemed to be in the midst of senescence, but without the physical turmoil the old man so obviously suffered, needing no cane nor hobble.


    Vidal spoke immediately as they reached me, ¡°There you are Jack, just where we thought we¡¯d left you. Why didn¡¯t you come with us? I assumed you were going to catch up after your daydream. What¡¯s on your mind, anyway?¡±


    As soon as Vidal finished his diatribe, my musculature re-found its previously shirked tightness. Discomfort accompanied this, leaving me angrier than I was when he abandoned me to chat and chortle with Lucho. I spoke rudely, I knew it, and I didn¡¯t care, ¡°Be quiet Vidal. Lucho, thank you for returning so speedily. I¡¯m Jack.¡± From Vidal to Lucho to the woman who I could only assume was, finally, the promised Mar¨ªa Cristina.


    I instantly sidestepped Vidal¡¯s offence, Lucho nodding and removing himself from my path to approach her as I moved so as to step between them. Lucho¡¯s men had retreated to flank her, watching me.


    ¡°Charmed.¡± She said to me, affirming it was her. I responded,


    ¡°I¡¯m glad that we can finally¨C¡± She cut me off¡­brash.


    ¡°Do, please, cut the shit, Jack. You and I are low on time, as has been seen by the rash assassination attempt you and my husband endured two weeks ago.¡±


    Another Lucho. Great. Genuinely, someone with whom I can abandon choice-words and rococo standards, ¡°Absolutely. Shall we talk here?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± I didn¡¯t have the time to mention the possibility of onlookers before I sensed that she¡¯d begun casting. Her right and left hands simultaneously twirled and lifted up to her mid-biceps, causing a translucent bubble to appear around us that, rather obviously, only myself, Vidal, Lucho, and her could see.


    The men that flanked her acted and peered about as if all were normal, and the surrounding labourers and passers didn¡¯t so much as glance. Speaking, I moved right onto the point, ¡°Adorjan is our shared problem, correct? What do you know about him and his connection to the assassins?¡±


    ¡°Unlike Lucho and I and our beloved citizens, we do not have the support of the crown. For men of similar origin, you and Adorjan couldn¡¯t be more different, Jack. He broke one of the Principle Codes. He revealed himself and leveraged that to influence the Lord.¡±


    I was promptly disgusted, sidelining my desire to spout curses so as to move the revealing conversation forward, ¡°He¨Cahem¡­¡± I paused only to clear my throat and organise my words, ¡°¡­so the Lord of Veha is aware that we exist, in some form or fashion. Adorjan has the Lord¡¯s protection and so presumably the Lord¡¯s muscle, yes?¡±


    ¡°Oh, absolutely. What a marvel it is, I must tell you, to witness the innocent being butchered while the guard watches or wanderers away, deaf to the screams of the dying. We are in this business for Her Jack, to make money and to support Her. She wouldn¡¯t want this.¡±


    ¡°Then I have to ask why She hasn¡¯t dispatched an Inquisitor. Yhortor was blind to all of this until I arrived at Santiago''s request. It made no mention or allusion to anything worse.¡±


    ¡°You would know better than any of us as to why. If you are unaware, then She must have other plans. Perhaps, knowing Santiago would call you, She deemed your coming sufficient. You¡¯ve been here, what Jack, a month? The waves you¡¯ve made have already undone years of damage.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve acted spontaneously. You understand this is a non-strategy, regardless of how thought-through some of my¨C¡± I caught myself, barely uttering ¡®my¡¯ before correcting myself, ¡°¨Cour actions have been.¡± Vidal seemed ignorant of my flash blunder, looking pleased at my acknowledgement of his efforts. I hope it allowed him to leave behind whatever huff he¡¯d been feeling after I steamrolled his excitement.


    ¡°Surely, this time of all times, you wouldn¡¯t have us continue this parade of open bloodshed. Would you, Jack? How lucky are you that none of the Humans noticed the stunts that word of crossed my desk? Ash on the tavern floor in the morning? Ash in the alleyways so frequented by beggars and thieves?¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t, but it¡¯s also obvious that we¡¯re at war with Adorjan whether we like it or not. He sent those assassins after us, didn¡¯t he?¡± She nodded, so I kept speaking, ¡°War necessitates sudden and unexpected changes. We have to mark successive targets, yes, but so too must we prepare to be somewhat open about this whole unruly affair.¡±


    ¡°But not today, nor any time this week. Even Adorjan, for however brutal and unorthodox he¡¯s become, will respect the Spring Festival¨Cits appreciation of God presupposes peace.¡±


    ¡°Why would an Ascended respect a Human festival dedicated to God of all people?¡±


    ¡°People?¡± Mar¨ªa sounded startled, ¡°She relies on the herding of the chattel as much as we do to go on, Jack. Where would you be if not for that contractual syphoning? By existing and allowing their little world to go on, undisturbed, the bargain is upheld and your life persists mightily.¡±


    Where was I, today? Where was my mind? Situated, clearly, off balance, to forget something so foundational, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you¡¯re absolutely right.¡± I felt hideous, ¡°Even if Adorjan has betrayed the Mother, he understands that he cannot disrupt the Human world, lest he loses his entire existence, and foils himself.¡±


    ¡°Precisamente.¡± Mar¨ªa said, confirming my recall.

 Chapter 11: Spring Festival, Part II

    Chapter 11: Spring Festival, Part II


    I stood with Lucho on the balcony of that initial room in the Silver Fawn, overlooking the bazaar in all its excitement. In preparation for the week¡¯s affairs¨Cgames, prizes, food, drink, fun, and religiosity¨Cthe last of which the most vital, Vidal and I, along with Efrain and his staff, reworked the entrance of the tavern into a walk-up counter. Beers, wines, and hard drinks, along with some slop food and bread. Nothing special, but good enough to fill bellies.


    ¡°I¡¯m a little surprised it took this long for the original owner to bark at you, Jack.¡± Lucho said, breaking a stillness that had fallen over us as we, in unison, stopped our discussion on the armaments of Adorjan¡¯s soldiers, and followed the sounds of cheering and laughter.


    He was referencing the Silver Fawn¡¯s owner, Efrain¡¯s former boss, about which problems came only today. He thought he could stand up to my command to make the arranged changes, claiming that we should close down. ¡°For dedication!¡± He said, speaking as if we should all use the time to meditate about God. Now, he meditates beneath pounds of mud and dirt behind a sewer dump.


    I refrained from answering Lucho for just long enough for him to nudge me with his elbow, leaning down to peer at my face as we used the balcony¡¯s bannister for support to see the dancers and their merrimaking troupe. A ring of jesters performed around women in vibrant pastel dresses, carrying streamers and painted rope that they twirled and connected to a central pole two assistants carried along.


    They were followed by a small marching band, eliciting dancing and praise from onlookers who became entranced by the upbeat, joyous tunes they played and sang along to. I, however, didn¡¯t recognise the lyrics, as, apparently by tradition, they were sung in Uhraan. Everything today would be in that antiquated speech.


    ¡°Oy, friend.¡± Lucho nudged me a second time, causing me to rise and rub roughly on my eyes, saying ¡°Sorry.¡±


    He laughed it off, and started back into the room, ¡°Shall we continue, or do you want to take a break?¡±


    ¡°I think I need a break, this week has been getting to me¨Cthe funds aside, as great as they are with the coin we¡¯ve been raking in, and the peace aside, as great as it is being caught in a stalemate¨Cno¡­¡± I paused a moment to sit across from Lucho on a loveseat we¡¯d dragged in from another room, transforming the bedroom into a workspace, ¡°¡­it¡¯s that, actually. The peace, the stalemate. I¡¯ve felt uncomfortable since it started, like a dishevelled feeling I haven¡¯t experienced before.¡±


    ¡°And yet you¡¯re as orderly as ever, Jack. I think you¡¯re overthinking it.¡± He suggested, seeming as if he wanted to go on, but we were interrupted by Vidal who joined us looking as cheery as ever.


    ¡°All this dancing and singing is getting people riled up. Our stocks have nearly emptied in preparation for the ritual.¡± Vidal said, looking at me.


    ¡°We should watch it unfold. Peace breaks at midnight when the ritual concludes and the revellers disperse to the taverns and alleys, and to their houses and estates to wash the night away with a whole new slew of hops and sweets.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡± I said to Vidal, Lucho concurred with a deep laugh and a perky smile, standing suddenly as if imbued with impetus anew, ¡°To the games!¡± was his pronouncement, making haste out the door.


    Vidal looked to me, whether with concern or for permission, I wasn¡¯t sure, so I opted to make the safe assumption, and said ¡°Go on, then.¡± And he did, looking nonetheless displeased. I suppose I assumed wrong.


    I followed them to the streets only after collecting our notes and plans into a neat stack to hide under the bed¡¯s sheets. We¡¯d pushed it into the corner and stacked some chairs and baubles atop it. Perhaps, with its obvious unused look, it would be avoided, at least initially, as a hiding spot.


    I had been expecting them to await me around the door, but found it rather vacant of familiar faces, save for Efrain who was busy arguing over discounts the guards seemed to expect all week. Six ¡°No.¡±s and they still pitched a fit.


    A quick scan of the crowd revealed my companions at a table by the gate, throwing darts at moving targets an attendant got running via a hand-crank. I looked on just long enough to watch Vidal land three bulls-eyes in a row¡­ the crowd behind him erupting into cheers as the manager handed him an oversized, stuffed tree vaguely resembling the great sequoia.


    My disinterest prompted me to attempt a gander through the passersby, weaving between clusters and stumbling inebriates to approach the tree. I neared it to find a small fence had been erected in a ring around the steps, giving those within its borders a few metres of space.


    Therein a central figure stood cloaked in white with thick red stripes, and a mask made out of the skull of a large stag, with a mighty set of nine-point antlers. It seemed to be affixed to a metal helmet, as opposed to some strap, that was shielded, partly, by a wide hood.


    Five others accompanied him, dressed meekly in white with a single red stripe from the neck, down the back, to the feet, in robes. They were assembling clusters of torches and moving a stone table from a large cart to the front of the tree. It was obvious, even from a distance, that the table¡¯s top was stained with blood from, I figured, exceptional use.


    Its feet were cracked and crumbling, its edges, once fine, rounded severely, and its surface was caked such a crimson as to glimmer blindingly in the light of the sun. Some three or four hundred years old, if not more¡­ a relic of sacrifice and holiness. The cart that wheeled it here was decorated with single-antler depictions on red and white banners, along with vaguely geometric designs in random patterns preferring circles and triangles, the iconography of the of-Gods.


    Four guardsmen donned in like attire to the priests stood sentinel as the table was unloaded. Wielding spears and stout shields, they stood out from the regular troop who, much to my interest, gave them a wide berth and averted gazes. The four men, in reply, kept smug visages and an eerie likeness to statues.


    Once the table arrived at the base of the approximate front of the stairwell up to the great sequoia, the priest and his helpers arranged the torches on either side of it and, one noting that the sun was setting below the wall-line, set them alight. They formed two sporadic clusters like pockets of frizzled, morning hair, and stuck out weirdly¨Ca woman beside me commented on the beauty of the whole thing.


    In walking away from her I ran into Vidal and Lucho, who had been joined by a baggy-eyed Mar¨ªa Cristina wearing a mountain of gold and silver jewellery atop fine red, embroidered robes.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    I think I mumbled ¡°My goodness¡­¡± at the sight of it, unconsciously, as I found myself doubting my own verbalism when she caught my attention with coy laughter.


    ¡°Thank you, Jack.¡± Was her follow-up, quick at that, perhaps in recognition of my moderately dazed composure, or in some manner of real appreciation for what she, perhaps, perceived as an intentional showing of my inner emotion.


    Together, we retreated to a corner between the apothecary and our tavern, standing atop a tight storage of boxes and hay, giving us an undisruptive vantage over a growing, tightening crowd with a quick, overhanging escape into safety.


    Even whilst removed by what had to be five or six metres, I could feel the heat and the anticipation, layered over intoxication and nervousness, exuding from the thicket of bodies before us. Like an ocean dumping into a ravine, every crack and every crevice was consumed as usable space for the eager, desirous, and impatient in their feeling of ¡°need¡± to see the godly affairs of the great sequoia.


    ¡°This feels strange.¡± I said, commenting in a whisper to Mar¨ªa Cristina, ¡°Is it always like this?¡±


    ¡°Always.¡± She said, ¡°They make it out like it¡¯s a once in a lifetime thing that, if missed, is like missing out on your dreams-in spite of the fact this is a bi-annual affair.¡±


    ¡°They drink it up with an intensity rivalled only by their consumption of ale.¡± Lucho observed, speaking directly into my ear and much to my surprise, as I hadn¡¯t expected him to be listening in, or, for that matter, leaning in quite so invasively. The look on his face was of amusement, so I took his closeness as a joke which he received mirthfully and returned to chatting with Vidal.


    My eyes fell again upon the start of the show, eyeing the merry brigade from earlier who concluded their round before the priest and the great sequoia, bound together in front of the opening of the fence. They took the place of the cart as it left, and made way only for the four grim protectors who passed between them to remain as near, it seemed, as possible, that table.


    ¡°What of that?¡± I asked Mar¨ªa, gesturing towards the sacrificial slab.


    ¡°Blessed by Josemar¨ªa, the founder of the of-Gods of old Veha. You don¡¯t remember that tall statue, Jack?¡±


    ¡°Why should I remember it?¡±


    She shrugged, and went on, ¡°It was a sight for sore eyes, botched by a sculptor, but they left it up for years anyhow. Josemar¨ªa used that table for his treatises on crime and the Lord, and made waves convincing the public to respect the peerage and do right by their neighbours. He¡¯s like a saint.¡±


    ¡°Like a saint?¡±


    Again, she shrugged, saying ¡°Had some problems, apparently. It isn¡¯t talked about anymore¡­ too far gone and without a record. The people around here are too busy and too bruised to care about hearsay.¡±


    The priest began projecting, making announcements and a great many gestures around the table and the great sequoia, winning the crowd¡¯s star-struck eyes and expressions of awe, but speaking Uhraan and thus winning my own glazed-over orbs.


    As he did what he had to do, I snuck around Lucho to poke at Vidal, questioning ¡°How are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all so enthralling to see this unfold in my¡­ well¡­ elevated? Yes, let¡¯s call it an elevated state of affairs.¡±


    ¡°You may as well say Ascended, Vidal.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll get dry if I use it all the time to talk about this sensation of flight, Jack. Do you feel that way too?¡±


    ¡°It goes without noticing after so many years.¡± I said, which seemed to disappoint Vidal, but his smile held steadfast.


    ¡°What about them, though?¡± He questioned, drawing my gaze across the crowd and past the priest, beyond the troupes and trees, by the rear stalls and stations on the eastern side of the square. Four figures dressed like the assassins three weeks prior, with swords on their hips.


    ¡°Swords?¡± I asked, lost in a well of shock, expressing my disorientation with the first word that came to mind¨Ctheir weapons. Immediately, Lucho and Mar¨ªa turned towards me and followed my gaze over the crowd and to the impending violence.


    ¡°Trouble.¡± Lucho spat, with a certain grimness I didn¡¯t take him as capable of. Mar¨ªa followed after him with as well a downtrodden tone, saying ¡°You know, Jack, I stand corrected. Forbid me, o¡¯ Mother, from assuming such will in a traitor.¡±


    ¡°What? No¨Cno, no, no¡­¡± I felt myself beginning to break apart. My stillness, and boredom with the eve¡¯s concluding religiosity and the sanctity of their tools and their phrases, fell and was replaced by a rolling fog that blurred my ability to remain affixed to any one thing.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Vidal asked me, tugging on my arm somewhat roughly, but Lucho spoke up before I could attempt a reply, saying ¡°We should leave¨Cwe should go up. They¡¯ll panic if they act.¡±


    ¡°Watch them, now.¡± Mar¨ªa Christina commanded, letting loose a weak, limp-wristed gesture in the general direction of those all-too-familiar assassins. Her flair, the air of festivity that carried itself in her pace and clothing was lost to the dread of betrayal.


    We watched one of them impale a city guard in the back, while the others overturned tables and toppled banners, causing a stir in the backline of the crowd. Subsequently, those who caused the ruckus drew little fabric things from pockets and satchels, and lobbed them up and into the crowd.


    Upon their contact with the cobblestone, they exploded in plumes of white smoke and loud pops like fireworks. Presently, screaming and a rushed, mortal panic ensued.


    If my vision wasn¡¯t already damned enough, oh my vision, it fell further into an abysmal state. I struggled to accompany my companions as I witnessed them, floating as if their bodies had shattered and remained connected by threads, scaling the wall to the safety of our transformed workspace.


    A red flash rounded the vague, oval border of my vision that subsequently pulsed inwards, creating shaky, shambling rings. One, two, three¡­ one after another they pulsed and pulsed, increasing as my heart rate skyrocketed.


    Eventually, I managed to get out something along the lines of ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± as I gazed upon my hands, six, no, seven fingers that shifted and morphed into one another before separating into distinct digits again.


    It was as if the world around me, and so too my body, began a trial with the cumbersome affair of breathing. As if attempting to mirror that rise-and-fall that the Human shoulders or the Human abdomen completes with every intake and exhale.


    Everything was moving; everything had become as if alive. What I figure would¡¯ve bound me to a world of confusion was stopped as I was liberated by a hand on my collar and a following forearm under my armpit.


    Lucho, I recognised the green of the sleeve of his tunic. He had descended to drag me up to the balcony. There, I saw Vidal seated on the ground, clutching his head in his hands that gripped the area of his temples whilst his fingers, splayed, flexed and dug into his scalp.


    Mar¨ªa was missing, but I heard a muffled crashing behind us, in the room, and glanced for a moment to see a vase shattering on the floor, and flailing arms. Of us all, Lucho was the most collected. He stood stoically and looked down upon the running citizens with what I took to be a mixture of pity and despair, and, for the first time since my turning, I watched a kinsman cry tears of blood.


    A broken contract, and soiled trust. I felt the Mother¡¯s beating fury rage upon my thumping heart. It threatened my chest by way of my sternum, battering against my bones, screaming for freedom and vengeance. All in time.

 Chapter 12: Spring Festival, Part III

    Chapter 12: Spring Festival, Part III


    Vidal was the first of us to rise from the floor upon which we¡¯d all taken to sitting as the sounds of roaring chaos whirled around outside, entering our dormitory through open balcony doors. He released a prolonged, deep sigh through pursed lips, and passed Lucho and Mar¨ªa to stand before me, beckoning impatiently for me to stand.


    My eyes followed his waving hands and apparent distraction, his head tilted down and to the left with eyes looking vaguely towards the bazaar, for a contemplative few seconds before focusing in on me. A gut feeling told me he was upset, really rather angry, and why aside from at a pain I reckon we were all feeling I didn¡¯t know, but came to know as soon as I rose to my feet.


    Vidal¡¯s first instinct, it seems, was to shove me to the floor. What violence! He roared and growled like a mangy, caged, and upset beast. His arms flailed and he took a few steps about at random, stomping his boots against the floor in a show of overflowing, juvenile emotion.


    Mar¨ªa looked as if she desired to speak up, peering upon Vidal in some shock and with an extended arm, but froze upon seeing him notice her and afford her a furious expression.


    Pleadingly, I spoke up and said ¡°Vidal, just talk¨Ctalk to me.¡± and this seized his attention from Mar¨ªa who looked relieved, and resettled herself in a cross-legged position.


    He responded, saying ¡°I¡¯ve never felt this lust, this hunger before, Jack. What happened? What did they do to us? What do you know? What is this!¡± He spoke ¡®this¡¯ with such emphasis as to cause his hands to stutter and fly up and out at his sides. Through reddened cheeks and wide, wild eyes I sensed a looming depression in him.


    ¡°This is a violation of Yoisen¡¯s Contract, Vidal¨C¡±


    And before I could finish he very quickly cut me off, asking ¡°What is Yoisen¡¯s Contact?¡±


    To which I responded, in the same low-level tone with which I had begun, opting not to field the spike in annoyance that exploded and arose at the audacity of his interruption of my reply, ¡°¨Can agreement with a figure alike in potence to the Mother, whose access to batteries of energy removed the necessity for feeding.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Was all Vidal managed to muster as his visage, now more confused than upset, swirled as if being kneaded by invisible hands.


    ¡°For centuries this agreement allowed us to live without needing to eat¨Cto feed, excuse me.¡± I said, noticing Lucho aiming to pipe up in my periphery. I went on, ¡°Saying ¡®to eat¡¯ is misleading, because we require vita in order to go on, you remember vita from my sustaining Santiago, correct?¡±


    Vidal nodded, and thereafter I watched his eyebrows shoot up in apparent realisation, which I assumed was his remembering Santiago still existed. The bastard, forgetting such a gem yet healing in preparation for his deserved, yes, still deserved, retirement.


    ¡°Until this transgression is mended, which will require a summoning, convincing Yoisen to forgive us, and more than likely delivering him Adorjan¡¯s head, and the heads of every single one of his followers, we are going to have to go hunting.¡±


    ¡°If he forgives us. You may not recall, but this is the second time the agreement has been violated.¡± Mar¨ªa Christina reminded us, although to me it was less a reminder than a history lesson.


    I responded, saying ¡°Could you briefly explain?¡±


    ¡°Perhaps before your time. An Ascended Elder at Yhortor, denied the next echelon, revolted and burned a nearby Human settlement to ashes amidst their Autumn festival. I suppose he wanted to garner the Temple-Keeper¡¯s attention, a show of power to demonstrate his worthiness. Ire overtook his knowledge, and brought ignorance as a means of satiating greed.¡±


    ¡°How did they solve that instance of this crisis?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Some agents of the Mother captured the malfeasor, and summoned Yoisen on the steps of Her temple, offering him and his cohorts to the daemon, who accepted and warned that another violation would bring damnation to them all.¡±


    ¡°And so damned we are.¡± Lucho said. I went on to continue the original discussion, aiming my utterances at Vidal, but not before a quick comment to Mar¨ªa.


    ¡°Ire overtook his knowledge even of the process. For, promotion is based upon age. Three centuries for Elder, a millennium for Archon.¡± Mar¨ªa nodded twice, and then I turned to Vidal, ¡°We all need to feed before our bodies degrade into an emaciated state, and we risk finding ourselves as piles of soot on these fine floors.¡±


    ¡°How do we feed¨Cand feed upon what, Jack? How do we acquire vita?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll show you, Vidal. This tavern is not without its occupants, merely without them on this floor. Let¡¯s go to the lower level and find an occupied room, likely now the home of many scared, sleeping drunkards.¡±


    I stood with him and left, leaving the lovers behind to find for themselves a meal. The look on Lucho¡¯s face as I turned to see if they¡¯d follow conveyed to me a certain distaste with the affair, as if¡­ as if he were experienced. Intriguing¨Cit isn¡¯t possible under the contract.


    Vidal and I stopped at two doors before the third yielded a sleeping man, an older, pot-bellied labourer. He reeked of beer and sweets, which repulsed Vidal, but I insisted and kept a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly, and opted to demonstrate.


    A simple manoeuvre, albeit discomforting at first, the ripe air around his resting form was replaced by the euphoric sensation of consuming his blood. A natural pair of canines grew out from my top row of teeth, and extended down to just about the middle of my chin.


    From those two piercing straws I stole a third of the vita from his system¨Clikely a killing blow¨Cand then prompted Vidal to follow, but he couldn¡¯t help but speak before doing so.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°So they¡¯re real¨Cmy God they¡¯re real. They¡¯re real?!¡± He was, of course, referring to the stories of Vampires and Ghouls, blood-suckers and such fantastical nonsense as the musings of misunderstood eye-witnesses and mystics. I dismissed it and his head-canon with a waving hand, ushering him to follow suit, and so he did.


    The relief from the abdominal anguish faded instantly upon completing my consumption. The rich, lavish sensation of blood was refreshing, but familiar. It seemed the natural, ethereal flow from Yoisen¡¯s pools now had a marker of comparison. It felt natural, as if some constant I had previously missed because of its constancy, like forgetting the air is air that one breathes to live till it suddenly stops being all-encompassing, became a rare resource.


    Vidal rose after moments, blood trickling down his chin, staining the neck and chest of his tunic, panting with eyes locked shut and hands, with fingers splayed, aggressively gripping his sides. The fellow had been left, now, with a third of his former, natural supply of life essence, a sure demise.


    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Vidal. It¡¯s okay.¡± My amazement at his reaction was short lived, overwritten by a realisation that it had to do with the shortness of his status as one of us. He hadn¡¯t yet grown fully accustomed to the flow, and so underwent this theft with a refreshing ability to experience. That elation I saw in him must¡¯ve been so unlike my own, so much greater.


    ¡°Fucking God Jack, fucking God.¡± He repeated it thrice more, and finally slowed his breathing to its normal pace. Eventually, he looked upon me with violence in his eyes. I only shook my head, conveying the obvious: We cannot go on a hunting spree.


    ¡°Repetition will kill its newness and kill its ecstasy. Time, albeit difficult, a necessary discipline, is a must, here.¡± And through so obviously gritted teeth, he complied, and returned with me to the workroom.


    When we arrived, I saw Lucho on the edge of the bed, tying on a pair of new boots. Mar¨ªa was missing. Without needing to ask, he spoke to us.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone to find your Lorena, and care for the now-needy in our district. I¡¯ll be joining her soon. We¡¯ll catch up in a few days, Jack. Take this time to recover, and to rebuild whatever¡¯s been damaged.¡±


    ¡°What of the crowd? What of the assassins?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Dispersed and disappeared. I reckon Adorjan¡¯s cur crawled back to him as soon as the bombs went off. As chaos ensued, their mission was achieved. After a while we stood and watched, making sure order had been restored. The priest was pissed, but, ah, nothing missed there. Amusing really, to watch him fawn over the safety of that sanctified desk they call ¡®relic¡¯.¡±


    I walked with Vidal to the balcony, and together we peered over the edge to view a sparse collection of guardsmen picking through a shallow sea of trash, discarded pieces of clothing, and spilled drinks across the bazaar. Stalls had been toppled, front windows smashed, and a few bodies left unconscious.


    The sacrificial table was in the process of being loaded back onto its cart by the priest, assistants, and sentinels. As we finished our survey, and turned, the noise of trotting led us back into the room.


    ¡°Good morning, so early a morning, and good luck to you both. Mar¨ªa will send Lorena here when she¡¯s found.¡±


    ¡°Before you go.¡± Vidal said, to my surprise, ¡°What¡¯s she been doing for you in her absence?¡±


    Lucho had started to leave when Vidal trapped him, prompting the man to smirk, and say ¡°Peacekeeping. She has a natural aptitude for cracking skulls.¡± And with that remark, Lucho disappeared beyond the threshold.


    ¡°We should check on Efrain and the staff¡­¡± Vidal suggested, turning to me.


    ¡°I suppose.¡± A new disinterest carried itself with my words, evidently propelling Vidal to question me.


    ¡°You smiled with him just yesterday morning, proud to declare him our Manager¨Cnot just some morning assistant. What¡¯s this then, Jack?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know Vidal. I do, however, know that caring has suddenly become a chore.¡±


    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t feel it. So, please try, Jack. Try until we fix this mess.¡±


    He turned to walk onwards, and I followed close-on-heel. We descended quickly to join the tavern floor. There, Vidal and I found Efrain with two of our bartenders, and the chef, still in the midst of a discussion on the hysteria and aftermath thereof.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it¡­ I just¡­ I just can¡¯t believe it¨Cstill! This is madness! Praise to God, give us your forgiveness!¡± Efrain pleaded, awash with some existential crisis.


    ¡°Let him give it to you on his own, Efrain.¡± I offered, grabbing his and the other¡¯s attention. They all stood as we approached them, with Vidal soon after dismissing their formality, reassuringly saying ¡°This is no time to be so serious about us, please.¡±


    Reluctantly the four found their seats again, and I dragged chairs over from an adjacent table for me and Vidal. Sitting, I planted my feet on the table top, and leaned back as far as I could manage without sending myself to the floor.


    Sceptically, Vidal eyed me before addressing Efrain directly. ¡°How much damage did we suffer, aside from the obvious?¡± An accompanying hand brought my attention to the door and front windows, of which all but one had the glass entirely smashed. The counter we¡¯d set up was in twain, and foodstuffs and drink soiled the floor thereunder.


    ¡°Leo took a fist to the eye. He tried to save the counter, and got attacked for it by some screaming, fearful people. He¡¯s in the back on ice.¡± Efrain explained, although his saying ¡®on ice¡¯ prompted me to chortle, earning a disapproving look from everyone at the table.


    I neglected to apologise, leaving us with an awkward seven seconds that Vidal ultimately broke, asking ¡°Are you going to say ¡®sorry¡¯?¡±


    To which I replied ¡°Absolutely not. It was spontaneous. Be displeased if you must, however I shan¡¯t repeat that altogether overused, and so rendered meaningless, phrase.¡±


    Three blinks, and a disbelieving stare, occupied the following seconds, before Vidal visibly cringed and shoved down his discomfort, looking away from me and at the table where he puffed out some air, and adopted a countenance that said to me, without saying: Fuck that.


    ¡°Yes, well¡­ right¡­ we¡¯ll get it cleaned soon. We just wanted to sit and work through all this.¡± Efrain said, sounding as though he hoped to push past the tension.


    ¡°Please take your time. I¡¯ll stay and help you when you¡¯re ready.¡± Vidal replied, standing and walking over to the bar. ¡°Would anyone like some water?¡±


    I drowned out the ensuing conversation, and pushed myself to my feet, walking over to the nearest broken window. Peering through the new hole, the lightness of the passing air prodded my hair, teasing it as if to suggest it could push it over my eyes. That fixation almost made me laugh, what a strange thing to notice.


    Through the void of glass I spied, distantly, some guardsmen beginning the grand project of clearing the square of its turmoil, and around them others quelling businesspersons, having arrived to check on their property, upset at the vandalism and accidents.


    Beyond even them I spied a couple, holding each other close, as they wept together. The one man¡¯s face looked bloodied, but it had dried, and was perhaps not his own. The other man clutched his right arm, gripping it with a certain strength that conveyed some great pain.


    Further then, and finally, I spied that man¡­ that craggly, broken man¡­ that elder, cane-wielding man¡­ that man whose fixation, twice now, carried itself about that great sequoia, that beautiful tree of God. That man spied me, and eyed me, and walked off in some laughter upon my aspect questioning of his looking.

 Chapter 13: Sleepers Crypt

    Chapter 13: Sleeper''s Crypt


    I entered Santiago¡¯s sanctuary midway through the morning, finding him wiping clean his jaw of the blood of a kill from just moments before. Some chattel bloke whom I had the men collect, someone who wouldn¡¯t be missed, to serve as a temporary blood bank for our ailing companion.


    ¡°It gave me a start, having to spill all this life.¡± He said to me, easing himself onto the edge of his bed with a low, drawn-out groan to make a show of lingering pains. The mark above his eye had all but entirely healed, a mere blemish remained, but I had to brush aside his hair to see it, which had grown considerably since he entered this healing state.


    ¡°Are you going to cut all that off? It¡¯s obscuring your natural glamour.¡± I jested, waving my hands around mysteriously with a smirk prior to joining him on the end edge of his bed.


    ¡°Perhaps¨Cin fact, I¡¯m thinking about keeping the hair. I¡¯ll trim it a little, and wrap it up in a tight bun, but the rats-nest beard¡¯s going to go.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll look as shining as ever, Santiago.¡± I felt myself grimacing, and so diverted my gaze to the left wall, where below sat an array of new clothes on a long table, along with an unused tea set.


    I¡¯m uncertain as to what, exactly, provided me this sense of relative calm around Santiago¨Cfor twas this at which I warped my lips. He was still deserving of ire, if respectfully, as a means of energising his apology to the Mother. However, he¡¯d yet gone unpunished, and struck a blow at not only his own work, but mine too. Yet, really, I don¡¯t think I cared. Not even a bit. For me, at least. For once, I felt unburdened, despite this rebalancing-load that I carried on my shoulders.


    Perhaps it was the passing of time, time spent away from someone whose company I enjoy, that aided in my ability to reconcile without speaking, and treat our time together as if we were old friends, seeing one another again for the first time in months. This new crisis made it too poor a time to accost or to demand retribution. A resolution of his personal plight would follow our reclamation of Veha.


    ¡°Jack, I¡­ I was meaning to ask.¡± His tone took on a pleading edge, a spike in pitch like one asking a discomforting, but necessary, thing, ¡°Will there be a place for me at the Guild when I¡¯m fully healed?¡±


    ¡°At this rate¡­¡± I began, breaking to cough into a balled fist, ¡°¡­you¡¯ll rejoin us within a few weeks time, and when you do, you¡¯ll do so through open arms and celebration. We¡¯ll get to your¡­ this¡­ distasteful thing later.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Jack.¡± He side-hugged me, and I returned the gesture, lovingly. Then, I stood, and waved as I departed up three flights to the workroom to meet with Lorena.


    Whether eager or antsy, Lorena jumped to attention on my entry from a deep lean against the armoire. Mar¨ªa Christia was with her, but seated cross-legged on the floor with some papers spread out in front of her. At a glance, it looked like a hand drawn map.


    ¡°Well¨C¡± Was all I managed to get out before Lorena cut me off, and cheerily said ¡°We might have a solution to our power imbalance!¡±


    ¡°Power imbalance?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Lorena has been scouting around the sewers for us.¡± Mar¨ªa explained, and Lorena picked up from there.


    ¡°Adorjan is running a little city down there.¡± She paused to reassume her lean whilst I sat down across from Mar¨ªa.


    ¡°I thought Mar¨ªa and Lucho ran the underground?¡±


    ¡°They do, in theory.¡± Lorena explained, continuing, ¡°But there¡¯s a lot to go off of, and room for growth that they cannot capitalise on¨Cor rather, couldn¡¯t, and now can¡¯t. So, in effect, Adorjan swept out swathes of it from under them by abusing his overwhelming manpower.¡±


    ¡°Since when did he grow such an army¨Cand from where, exactly? I understood he left in some show¡­¡± I raised an outward hand, as if giving way again to Lorena, to which she returned a nod, and then went on to go on speaking.


    ¡°Fantastic question. I don¡¯t know precisely, but judging by how orderly it is down there, I think he¡¯s brought in outside help. What was once, as I understand it, a tent city has grown into a city city, stacked shacks and canals traversed by boat. Watchmen in black metal roam the streets and keep order with clubs and threats.¡±


    ¡°Black metal? That sounds similar to¡­¡± She cut me off, with all that same energy as that with which she spoke on my arrival, ¡°The Ducal guard, I know, but they aren¡¯t the same. These folks look like outlanders, like mercenaries. They aren¡¯t Juhaszan.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡± I hardly muttered, somewhat fed up with her over-enthusiastic overwriting, which Mar¨ªa Christina seemed to pick up on, and laughed at, prompting her to take over the explanation.


    ¡°In summary, Jack, they¡¯ve got muscle we simply cannot match, and Ascended to lead them. Therefore¡­¡± Mar¨ªa leaned in to spread her fingers wide and carefully spin the assortment of papers around so I could more easily discern their message. It was indeed a map, of northern Veha, around the keep, and of the sewers and smuggling tunnels.


    ¡°¡­I¡¯ve plotted out a plan to acquire a weapon we can use to even the odds. Here, just here.¡± She brought my attention to a circled chamber amidst a complicated interweaving of passageways and cisterns, with a guiding line drawn from the city cemetery.


    ¡°Why there?¡± I asked, in reference to the point of origination.


    ¡°A rumour.¡± She admitted, and gave a response to my immediate scepticism, brows lofted and all, ¡°It¡¯s an old one, one I hoped to act on earlier, but as you understand we didn¡¯t have the resources on hand in the recent past. A late Upyr friend of mine, older than you or I, even now, told of one of the founders of our tribe¡¯s presence in the Duchy. That he, upon achieving stability after a long fought war, retreated into the crypt to heal, and simply remained, letting the ages pass around him, ignored.¡±


    ¡°My God, Mar¨ªa.¡± I knitted my already expressive brows, and gazed upon her disapprovingly. ¡°Fucking fairy tales.¡± She attempted to interrupt, raising her hands in a defensive, conciliatory manner, to which I yielded, but not without a first remark, ¡°This is a serious risk for a rumour.¡±


    ¡°Rumour verified by an old and stalwart friendship.¡± She replied first, awaiting my obvious relaxation to continue. I figured it better to let her speak her peace, and more importantly, better to let her continue divulging¨CUpyr, that remark, Upyr¡­ only the council and the Mother call us Upyr. How old is she, really?


    ¡°If it¡¯s real, and his loyalties, after all these years of rest, remain firmly fixed with the Mother, we run the possibility of gaining an extremely potent ally. If it¡¯s fake, we¡¯ve merely wasted time exploring some dusty tombs¨Cbut there¡¯s more to support the possible reality of this, Jack.¡± At that she turned to Lorena, who advised me on the furtherance.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen an uptick in activity around the cemetery since you dispatched me to aid Lucho. Adorjan¡¯s grunts have been keeping the mausoleum at the cemetery on lockdown. They¡¯re carting tools and equipment into its depths.¡±


    ¡°And it isn¡¯t a mere connection to their preexisting territory?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No, definitely not. These lines, you see they intersect, but they¡¯re above the crypt¡­ tens of metres above it.¡± Mar¨ªa explained. ¡°It¡¯s possible Adorjan is familiar with the rumour too, or discovered some oddity there that makes him think it¡¯s more than just another burial mound.¡±


    Without moving my head, I locked my eyes on Mar¨ªa, spying her for a moment before blinking, slowly, and spying Lorena, and then again, repeating that motion to return to Mar¨ªa. They both returned a certain sense of believing impetus¨Csome trust in this affair birthing a readiness, a drive to see this end achieved.


    ¡°Right. We¡¯ll go as it gets dark.¡±


    Rapidly, Lorena responded with an ardent ¡°Yes!¡± and a flexing of arms bent up at the elbows, with clenched fists; a show of fire, a real fire. How reassuring.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    #


    We rendezvous just as the sun was setting below the horizon on the wall, at a little corner bar called The Stampede. Coffee stained papers plastered and obscured its windows from the inside, advertising support for the Lord and the peers, and more colourfully for the Guard. A sign on the door read: The working class need not enter.


    ¡°Such an ill showing of their Humanity.¡± I outwardly observed, in frank assessment and the issuance of, quite informally, poor marks. I lifted the sign with my index finger, and let it clap against the door, twice.


    After the second subtle ¡®bang¡¯ the door swung open, and a wide-eyed, wide-bellied woman looked up at me, disconcerted, and without saying a word, slowly closed and latched the door.


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. She must¡¯ve taken me for a burglar! A bad one at that, all dressed in black fatigues with a scarf obfuscating my mouth and chin. She shouldn¡¯t call the guard¡­ too strange an encounter, to be given up to booze¨Cshe certainly reeked of it, as most Humans did once the labours were finished.


    ¡°If you¡¯re done¡­¡± Mar¨ªa Christina broke my air of fun, not so gently ushering me back into reality¨Cthat of the matter at hand. I turned to her with a single assertive nod, and proceeded to walk with Mar¨ªa to Lorena who awaited us at the threshold of the cemetery.


    It stuck out weirdly between rows of tight, tall houses, each with their own miniature impression of the countryside at the front. Tiny, boxy, depressing collections of flora seated comfortably in rows, alternating colours and patterns protected by a short, drab, iron fence. A poor representation of actuality.


    The cemetery was protected at the front by a similarly bleak, iron grate, except its was eight feet tall, with a peaked spike protruding out at the apex of every bar. Despite their being hinges on either side of the archway leading inside, no gate impeded us, and a distinct lack of wear on the inside of the hinges suggested there never was one to begin with.


    ¡°There, there, and there.¡± Lorena directed, quietly, pointing out three distinct heaps of boxes, supplies, and tools. Pick axes, hammers, chisels, wedges, shovels, and the like. Yet, in spite of the collection of equipment, no soul guarded them. The cemetery was void of sapient life.


    We walked up its centre pathway, which met a dry, crumbling fountain and split off three ways. Two, to the left and right, divided the plots, and a third, straight up, led to a two-story circular mausoleum. Exterior houses checkerboarded its outside walls, all occupied with variably faded inscriptions, names and dates, and naught but supporting columns and the front door violated this perfect pattern.


    The front portal had been shattered, and left upon the floor as if it were some carpet, and a creaky, split, soiled, and disruptive one at that. The building¡¯s interior walls mirrored the exterior ones, almost doubling its collection of corpses. Where once seemed to be a short row of benches leading up to a central altar now sat cracked and dirty floors, those benches having been brushed aside and overturned, transformed into makeshift tables.


    The central altar was in a state of total disarray. It had been fully, and violently, dismantled, reverted into a U-shaped pile of rubble and dust that opened to reveal a concourse, previously obscured by its simple presence, through the floor.


    ¡°So, um¡­¡± Mar¨ªa retrieved her directions from a satchel on her hip, ¡°This should drop into a tight, natural cave, that should then open into the crypt. It¡¯s about forty metres to the first chamber, and fifty to the second.¡±


    ¡°Our goal is the second?¡± She nodded, ¡°Right.¡± and I learned forward, over the lip into the hole. It took my eyes a few moments to adjust to the pitch darkness therein, and upon doing so I immediately recoiled.


    ¡°What¨Cwhat?!¡± My companions spat together, Lorena¡¯s hand, in all its martial instinct, grasping the handle of her short-sword.


    ¡°The silence, it¡¯s fine¡­ it¡¯s just an answer to the silence.¡± I directed them to look for themselves. The unexpected eyeing of a fresh cadaver¡¯s squashed skull took me by grotesque alarm.


    ¡°Disgusting.¡± Mar¨ªa curtly commented, all the while lowering herself, with Lorena, down into the space.


    ¡°Right, again.¡± I muttered, wiping at my forehead before joining the two of them, making careful movements so as to avoid dirtying my boots with that traitorous creature¡¯s gore.


    ¡°Sword out, if you¡¯d please.¡± I instructed Lorena, who drew her blade and moved ahead of Mar¨ªa to lead our trio further in, ¡°Slaughter whatever moves.¡±


    ¡°Very well.¡± She responded with a hint of apprehension left unaddressed.


    The following seven minutes resulted in tightening tensions moving side by side with disgust and regret. The further in that we traversed, the number of bodies increased, with the ground ultimately shifting from dirt and stone to a shallow pool of warm blood through which our boots waded.


    Organs, bone, iron, and hope rested over that sanguin basin, and led us to the entryway into the second and final chamber. There, Lorena stopped, and turned to us with a pale ivory complexion, speaking uneasily.


    ¡°You know¡­ this doesn¡¯t feel right. This doesn¡¯t feel okay. How can we enter on the heels of death?¡±


    ¡°More than fair. This is an entirely new darkness, Mar¨ªa Christina. Even we are civil enough not to torment and dismember our kills, and to leave them so visible is dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous, yes. Obviously, like Adorjan, but not Adorjan. No, I¡¯m certain now they were here for the same thing as us, Jack.¡± She answered after a moment¡¯s contemplation spent with orbs peering into the shallow, muddled crimson.


    Mar¨ªa went on, ¡°You both can see it through the doorway. The sarcophagus is the most blood-coated contraption in this forsaken complex. Look upon it¡­¡± She directed, and waited nearly a minute for the two of us to study, from this distance, its surface.


    Truly, it was a sight to behold, like the crown of this underground massacre. I felt its goldness, for it held an aura of its own, and felt it experiencing a sensation of unhallowedness. As if the blood touching its surface was a sickening, unwelcome ordeal. Yet, all the same, I felt it knew it was the result of its own discomfort, for it was the necessary result of self-defence.


    ¡°¡­know that we look upon the truth of the rumour. The rumour Jack.¡± Her application of attempted levity was unwanted, but I smiled nonetheless, if just to get her to get to the point.


    ¡°If our enemies¡¯ fools couldn¡¯t open it, I¡¯m confident we¡¯ll be able to. I know you see it too, floating in the blood. They tried to brute force the vault.¡±


    I stepped around Lorena and walked into the conclusory room. It was smaller than the first chamber, which was situated like a praying space, all the while continuing the pattern of slots in the walls, these far more crude than those on the surface, occupied by skeletons and stacks of skulls, tall and deep.


    It was at this moment too that I finally realised the sheer weight of the air, as it carried itself painstakingly to such depths as that that we gracefully descended to. ¡°Such craftsmanship.¡± I thought, pondering the strength of this ages-old chamber¨Calthough, it was likely my preoccupation with possible danger that caused our sinking to elude me.


    ¡°One more thing¡­ if he isn¡¯t willing to help us¡­ or has shrivelled up to a state of such emaciation as to be useless to us¡­ we can always¡­ you know¡­¡± She rolled her wrists, looking for the words, ¡°¡­drink his vita to empower ourselves.¡±


    At that, that ludicrousness, I hit my limit for the second time today. ¡°Another. Another fucking fairy tale. I concede readily and happily that I was wrong, wrong to distrust your old friend, but Mar¨ªa, and Lorena, do not seriously tell me you think that works.¡±


    They peered at each other, and then to me, expecting me to go on. So, I did, ¡°Those same meandering, half-sighted peasants who screamed Vampire at the earliest of us are the same who invented such ridiculousness as drinking blood to absorb power. It¡¯s a fashion. It¡¯s a trick. It¡¯s a show to impress audiences, and sell tall-tales.¡± I took care to really emphasise those parts I wished to mock the irreality of.


    ¡°Okay, okay, okay.¡± Lorena piped up, sheathing her sword as she entered and stood beside me, ¡°Let¡¯s just get this thing opened up.¡±


    The following hour passed like a fleeting moment, and our combined efforts and¡­ ingenuity? No, intuition. A pattern of unyieldingly geometric progeny had been carved into the face of the sarcophagus, which itself mirrored expertly the chiselled Human form, broken only by a distinct, extraordinarily long set of canines¡­ fangs, really.


    It proved to be a matter of tracing, and the lacing of our own vita, interwoven thrice, to prove to the case our worthiness in opening it. We wove this quintessence, these speckles of wipsy grey and white and black, forming, entirely, a painting of perfect geometry of indescribable complexity and beauty, a thing of things beyond this world.


    Upon its union and holding for seven firm seconds, a momentary golden glow burst out from the seams of the sarcophagus, and three distinct clicks emanated, muffled, from therein. At that mark we released the braid, and stepped back.


    Of its own, mechanical accord, the roof of the vault rose two inches up from the base, and split in half, featly, to slide down and rest at the sides, upon the floor. Therein lie the fated Archon, lying like a king with his hands layered over his heart.


    The white-haired and bearded creature wore robes of grey and black sporting woven designs similar to that pattern that vaulted his bed, but without its supernatural complexity, and so without its inhuman beauty. In a sheer break from the relative monochromaticity of his self and uniform, a pair of blood-red slippers rested on his feet, into which, through a set of only now visible drains, blood from the floor seeped.


    As it did, ever so slowly, enter those shoes, the complexion of our soon-to-be, Mother willing, ally, became flush with life. In spite of this, and his newfound freedom, he did not stir.

 Chapter 14: Noams Awakening

    Chapter 14: Noam''s Awakening


    Written from Noam¡¯s Perspective


    A crashing wave of white terror swept the parade street, and slammed into the enemy lines with a terrifying screech. A wail so loud and cumbersome to the ears that the drums therein violently bled, excreting rivers of blood that stained the stones their bodies stood upon.


    Originating from the summons of three of our best reality-benders, manifesting raw, encircling, tearing, and ripping dread was no minute feat. Rather, a score of paternal-death proportions, with clunks and bangs unmatched in their vibrational intensity. So intense, in fact, that the ground beneath our own feet shook, and rocked loose the mould holding each rock together, leaving our boots dusted grey.


    Their shield wall broken, and their defenders rendered deaf, I stood on high atop a makeshift barrier, and shouted soundly ¡°Charge!¡± and propelled myself forward with a single push. Leading from the front was a necessary burden, for achieving such a marvel as the unification of the barbarous countryside of Juhasz could not be achieved by a seat-of-the-pants minister, nor by a strategist leaning by day over maps, and by night buried in their own skull, nor so on and so forth¡­ and certainly not by cowards.


    So many cowards, fretting about the back line, asking to be casters. ¡°No.¡± I said to them, firmly, for I was sure that I needed as many bodies as could physically carry swords, and don armour. ¡°No!¡± I repeated, louder, commandingly, barking the order into their faces, scaring the fear from their flesh.


    I would not suffer a weakling; never would I suffer the yellow. For a mission of such heights as that set forth by the Mother herself to be hindered is incomprehensible. Entrusted with such magnificence as a position of command thereupon was an honour unparalleled, and one to be taken with the utmost seriousness.


    ¡°There! The windows!¡± I said, pointing up and to my left, directing my grenadiers to blast out the fourth floor suite of an adjacent flat. ¡°There! There again!¡± I subsequently said, this time to the right, referencing an entrenched spot atop the ruins of what was once a general store, protecting a caster of their own.


    Rather a primal fellow, dressed in cloaks and furs, wearing the skull of a stag with nine-point antlers, screaming out directions and inspiration in a tongue so foreign to my own as to be naught but blabber. ¡°Death! Death to the daemons!¡± I myself shouted, and charged headlong at their position.


    Screaming bloody murder, I catapulted myself over the half-wall and landed atop the caster¡¯s guard, driving my sabre through his chest, spinning the blade a quarter way, and then tearing it up and out, through the shoulder, to sever the heart and take as much with it as possible.


    He hardly gurgled before succumbing to quietus, leaving me alone with their bastard, encircled by the ensuing battle. What emotions tingled on his aura, I do not know, for the vast and warping chaos depravated me sensorily. No matter, for scrying was of little use in the heat of combat.


    Merely, I swung and slashed, stabbed and charged, and he and I exchanged blows for the following four minutes. His swordplay was weaker than my own, but he carried himself courageously, and fought with intensity expected, and admired, in one fighting to preserve their birthright, and their culture.


    However, I refused to acknowledge that birthright, and refused to acknowledge that culture, rife with evils and curses and banes, the seat of the Anti-Mothers, rich with hatred for the one true goddess.


    It was this, I fundamentally believe, this honest and excellent force that provided to me the might and luck to overcome the caster that led, finally, to the tip of my sword¡¯s grazing his neck. The pain faulted him, and that opening left me with a singular option: kill. And so I did, slaying him in a single follow-up, a stab through his side, through his heart and lungs.


    I withdrew my sword then, cleaning the blood on my cape, and returned from that fortification to my men. My appearance caused a sudden surge in their morale, cheering, even in the midst of matches, and together we carried onward, down the street, to its demise at the stairs of their holy temple.


    ¡°Fire, fire, fire!¡± I yelled out, alerting my archers to fulfil their duty. In a moment, a soaring darkness blotted out the sun, and replaced it with one of our own making. Fire of our own design, carried at the head of a thousand arrows fastened especially to carry such delicate cargo to its destination.


    Those blazes rained down upon the roof of the unholy cathedral, and set alight its thatch protector. In moments, the flames spread from the roof to the walls and the steeple, and invaded the interior, causing calamity to befall those taking refuge within¨Cthose last few hold outs, those last few enemy combatants thinking they could outlast the Mother¡¯s army.


    The pale horse¡¯s peace of aftermath, the quiet and solemn atmosphere of the post-battle streets, left me lingering on my own wounds. My mind¡¯s gifts didn¡¯t last, and I stood in the centre of a field of corpses feeling hungry¨Ca hunger unfamiliar, begging to sate my many wounds.


    The caster was good, I had to admit, better than I was expecting. My overconfidence, a natural accompaniment to my impetus, left me open far too often, and so I stood, leaking red from about forty lacerations.


    ¡°Captain! Captain!¡± A familiar lieutenant called, rushing over to me with a look of concern plastered across his visage.


    ¡°Calm, calm brother. Brother of the light, rest now.¡± I insisted, thrice, and put my hands upon his shoulders, smiling gleefully. ¡°We are victorious! I still stand! Fret not and celebrate!¡± And I spun him around, letting him go with a gentle push in the right direction. Any direction away from me.


    Celebrate as he may, with whatever assortment of nostrums and booze define that end, I had a mission of my own to complete. For, the battle was won, but the Mother¡¯s commandment couldn¡¯t be fulfilled without the destruction of that artefact of darkness, the battery for evil from which their casters commanded such wicked manipulations and influence as the generation of titanic illusions.


    Following Her path, that shone through clear skies, rays of sunlight illumined a wispy path forward, up the stairs of the ashes and wood, stone and brick, over the smouldering trunk of the church. It ceased at the centre, at which point I began to clear away the lingering damage to reveal the original floor.


    It had been scarred black, but retained its sturdiness, necessitating my prying up a few boards with a small dagger, nearly cutting my hand in the process. Thereunder I found a trapdoor, unlocked, which I opened and passed through.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    A short ladder led to a platform, and another, longer ladder opened into a small natural cave. Its vaguely roundish features gave off an air of rightness, as if it had always been this way, but my curiosity prompted close inspection, and my eyes revealed marks, the signs of great labour.


    Its naturalness had been faked, and with no door in sight, I promptly assumed it was a repetition of the same, silly trick. Hiding a portal in plain sight. A mere seven minutes of searching passed, spent spying little details, feeling for cracks or dishevelled surfaces, and finally I pressed in just the right spot, and heard a sound click emit from the wall.


    This allowed me simply to push, and the wall gave in and crumbled, opening into a crypt shrouded in sheer darkness¨Cand yet, through that blackness, that blinding air, obfuscating all, all but the gem, the sign, their vessel of power. I knew what had to be done¡­ destruction awaits.


    #


    Written from Jack¡¯s Perspective


    ¡°Who are you¡­¡± I muttered, staring intensely as the years on this man¡¯s face reversed before our very eyes. Wrinkles faded, and the flesh became taught, bags receded, and exhaustion vacated his eyes, and muscle tore itself asunder, and strength returned to make him robust.


    ¡°Careful now.¡± Lorena advised me, ¡°If he wakes up, and sees you staring into his soul, he might get pissed.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. Laugh it up.¡± I replied, sporting a smile as Lorena chuckled at the thought of my potential embarrassment. ¡°It¡¯s been three hours. At this rate, I reckon he¡¯ll be returned to some prime state within¡­ oh¡­ now?¡±


    I glazed over the man, and Lorena, and then Mar¨ªa Christina who looked up from her paperwork and new notes to meet my gaze. Then, as if aware of peaking scene tension, a low, throaty grumble emitted from the man. In unison, his fingers began to flex and draw inward toward his palms.


    I watched from a new perch, overly heeding Lorena¡¯s suggestion, standing beside the exit with my arms at my sides, and a slight bend in the knee. Mar¨ªa occupied the opposite position, albeit still seated, and Lorena lorded over the man, with her sword drawn.


    A forehead pressure mounted as minutes passed, and our collective sweat beaded up, wetting our cheeks and dripping onto the floor. Was it¡­ yes, it was literally getting hotter in the chamber.


    I saw it first in what I disregarded as a trick of the brain. The opposite wall seemed almost to shift, subtly, as if distorted¨Clike anything distant on a hot day.


    Ultimately, however, I noted, as I was pulling off my scarf and untucking my shirt to relieve myself of the mounting heatwave, that it was, in fact, just that. ¡°Wake up¡­ wake up!¡± I spat in some show of frustration, the latter utterance spiking in volume, almost to a shout, which won me some disdain from my dungeoneering mates.


    ¡°Jack I wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± Mar¨ªa began to say, something akin to horror awash on her flustered complexion, which shot at incredible speed to the slab when a louder thud vibrated through the room.


    We¡¯d seemed all to have missed the sleeping man¡¯s movements, as he sat up, and turned, placing his feet on the ground while remaining seated upon the sarcophagus¡¯ internal base. As this realisation dawned on us, so too did the realisation that the heat had passed, and with it my headache, visual distortions, and anxiety.


    Threaded through a clenched jaw, tight teeth, and a seething tongue, a slow release of air left the man, whose abdomen heaved, and shoulders rose, as he took a single, gargantuan breath.


    ¡°I have succeeded for you, Mother.¡± Were his first words, quickly winning my interest. Lorena, however, seemed less than intrigued, and kept the tip of her sword levelled towards his chest, prepared to pounce with a single, wrong move.


    That moment nearly came to pass, as we witnessed a series of bright green runes alight along his exposed hands and forearms, and up his neck and cheeks, disappearing beneath his curly hair.


    She jabbed immediately, sensing, I reckon as I did, the sensation of power, an Ascended manipulation of space, perhaps some kind of ward, or forceful expulsion. However, we saw nothing of the sort, as the runes, spoke-like in design, with less lines than those they contained leading off of the wheels, wrapping his skin and forming a convoluted web design, lasted as long as the golden flash of light did: an instant.


    The man caught the tip of her sword with his right palm, which seemed as if to blink before our very eyes, moving at supernatural speed, allowing the weapon to attempt to break through his hand, and yet it failed to do so. As if it had struck a stronger metal, the blade didn¡¯t even leave a scratch. Lorena was flabbergasted, allowing the sword simply to lower to the ground.


    ¡°Don¡¯t drop that, dear. Its construction is sound.¡± He said, looking over her with a single, fluid motion, repeating that inspection on Mar¨ªa Christina, and then on me, on whom he settled, looking a little silly as he had to twist to see me.


    ¡°Gr¡­ erm¡­¡± My attempt at greeting him struck an invisible, mental wall. I couldn¡¯t seem to get the right words out. My searching, my mental catalogue, came up empty. What an embarrassment¡­what a strange affair. It was as if his aura were so powerful as to form cracks in my usual gregariousness.


    His eyes closed, and his head rose, slightly, aiming vaguely above my head. A couple silent seconds passed, and the wall I had been feeling vanished. Finally, the right words came. ¡°Greetings, sir. Greetings to you. We mean you no harm, nor ill will.¡±


    ¡°Nor do I sense ill will on your breath, Jacobi.¡± Was he scraping my brain? An unlikely power, impossibly cast untraceably. I quickly backpedalled, and focused my collective attention inward, hoping to catch him in the act.


    ¡°You may all call me Noam, and first do tell how you uncovered my cell?¡± He expressed, bringing his arms to cross as he awaited a reply. Amazed, I must¡¯ve looked amazed, because Lorena returned an equally awestruck look, and Mar¨ªa merely sat, jotting down chicken-scratch on the first piece of parchment she could grab.


    ¡°We-uh we¡­¡± I stopped for just a second to catch my breath, collect my thoughts, and press on. He seemed calm, Mar¨ªa implied he was a traditionalist, and given what we¡¯ve seen so far, were he out for blood we¡¯d already have been killed.


    ¡°¡­we were following up on an old rumour, to be exact, hoping to find an ally in you.¡± I attempted to keep it as brief and honest as possible.


    He seemed to appreciate that as I watched his lips curl into a devious smile. Speaking, his voice grew ever less raspy by the minute as the final seconds seemed to be closing in on his return from corpse-like to prime, ¡°So I suspected, having seeded doubts of my gone-ness into the neonates, the Mother has seen it fit that I should return again to aid my Veha.¡±


    ¡°Are you¡­ you are an Agent?¡± I asked, directly and specifically, hoping he could catch my speaking of the position, rather than the word, definitionally.


    ¡°In a less precise way than I suspect you mean.¡± Noam replied, placing his hands on the edge of the sarcophagus to help himself off, and onto his feet. ¡°Whoever was here before you showed themselves to be rather the dullard, don¡¯t you think? Fifteen failed brutes, and they kept trying. Fifteen fried bodies, and they kept trying. No smarter than your average sewer rat, no?¡±


    A subtle cackle and an ever-widening smile told me he was trying to make a joke, and so I chuckled along with him as he led us towards the exit. While his back was turned, and in between the continuation of our conversation, I looked back at Lorena and Mar¨ªa who were rushing to pull up the rear. Together, they merely afforded me a cautionary, but agreeable look.


    At present, following Noam seemed the obvious decision, albeit with an arm''s-length between him and us ¡®til some sound proof of his continued loyalty be shown.

 Chapter 15: The Astray

    Chapter 15: The Astray


    I took the time between our exiting the crypt and cemetery, and our arrival in the bazaar, to tactfully fill Noam in on precisely what¡¯s been happening: Santiago losing control, our alliance with Mar¨ªa, the assassins, Adorjan, Yoisen¡¯s contract, et cetera.


    Somewhat to my surprise, his complexion remained stoic throughout my explanation. Even when describing the death of our fellow enemy Ascended he didn¡¯t so much as bat an eye, grunt, or¡­ blink. He wasn¡¯t blinking.


    ¡°What are you doing with your eyes, Noam?¡± I inquired, stopping mid-stride to ask as I realised just how statuesque the man seemed to be. A reply to this took the man a lengthy moment. I watched his eyes darting left and right, as if he were searching the depths of his mind for a proper, or political, answer.


    ¡°You are¡­ you are too young to understand. Just as the sight comes without forcing, so too does my inhumanity. Remember, Jacobi¨C¡± I cut him off to insist on ¡°Jack.¡± but he ignored me and went on without missing a beat. ¡°¨Cthat we are not Human beings anymore, we are Ascended, and this means more than a change in status in the hierarchy. It means more than an ability to influence or to cast. It means more than the consumption of vita to live.¡±


    As Noam began to list off what Ascended meant to him, I began to drown him out, finding my mental fortitude lacking in my ability to withstand the childlike annoyance of his down-talking. Yet, I considered that he didn¡¯t mean it that way. Rather, it was as if he was merely trying to be helpful, or that he saw himself as the elder, experienced, and able person and so educating was a necessity.


    I couldn¡¯t glean even a fraction of clarity from that face of his, which remained still like stone. Whether teaching or condescending, I figured it remained in our best interest to continue taking steps towards our vague, conversational destination.


    ¡°Tell me more about Adorjan, Jacobi.¡± Noam made this request as he approached the great sequoia, and took a seat upon its top step. He had to clear away a dog¡¯s carcass, and some fresh libations, to make room for himself.


    Lorena excused herself, leaving me and Mar¨ªa to forward the discussion. Mar¨ªa had been taking notes the entire time since Noam awoke. I, having glanced from time to time over at her sheets, saw what seemed to be every line that¡¯d left his lips, an illustration of the runes that had lit up along his arms, neck, and face, and other notes in the margins. Theories about his more cryptic musings, or about his hydraulic stillness, I guessed.


    ¡°I understand him only to be reckless and a foe. Mar¨ªa Christina tells me he departed Santiago¡¯s service gracefully. However, his actions as of late tell me this sense of etiquette has left him, or has taken a back seat to what he considers more pressing. Alternatively, mayhap, he¡¯s undergone some immense change or experience that¡¯s diverted his trajectory down a more insidious path.¡±


    Mar¨ªa picked up from there, ¡°When we knew him under Santiago, he was always the quiet, loyal type. The one that stood there, in silence, only speaking up when he had something productive to say, and never disobeying or questioning orders or direction. This violent rebelliousness is new. However it built up, I couldn¡¯t say, but I¡¯d guess it started when he began working with the Lord.¡±


    Noam leaned a bit forward as we gave our explanations, supporting his face cupped in a triangle formed by his hands, buttressed by his elbows on his knees. He responded just after Mar¨ªa finished talking, ¡°You said you suspected he revealed his true nature, because you saw the guards ignoring the violence his soldiers inflicted on the citizens?¡±


    Mar¨ªa and I nodded, and Noam continued, ¡°On the contrary, I imagine he is puppeteering the Lord, not influencing him.¡±


    I began to speak up, to question the difference, but Noam proceeded to answer my query before I¡¯d uttered a single word. As far as I was concerned, at the moment, ¡®puppeteering¡¯ and ¡®influence¡¯ were synonymous, wherein the former may be long-term, and the latter may be moment-to-moment, as I did with Efrain. Once was enough to put the tender in his place.


    ¡°It is a short term, dangerous procedure wherein one seeds whispers of their quintessence into the mind of a subject, making permanent changes to their personality that, ultimately, turn them into marionettes. It is dangerous, because if the ritual-process is interrupted, it often causes fatal cranial haemorrhaging. Death, to put it more simply. It causes rapid, messy death.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s the case¡­¡± I began, ¡°¡­the Lord was never aware of us, nor, rather, of Adorjan¡¯s real state of being.¡±


    ¡°Correct. Which would explain why Yoisen¡¯s contract was only violated when his¡­ assassins¡­ you called them? Assassins attacked the festival. It was the first and only disruption of the calibre necessary to be considered a breach of the agreement.¡±


    ¡°We should consider the entire peerage compromised, then?¡± Mar¨ªa asked, appearing more concerned now than ever before. It was that kind of concern that spoke to crumbling future plans; a lost sense of security and directional lucidity.


    ¡°No. What¡¯s the relevancy of that? The Humans are chattel. If cows don¡¯t move, they get struck. When has this not been the case? We do not kowtow to the Humans, their obedience to our whims is absolute.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps once, but I couldn¡¯t say.¡± I replied for Mar¨ªa, noting the taken-abackness washing over her face at his somewhat cavalier retort.


    Noam continued, ignoring her morphing disposition and the subject matter of that tangent entirely, ¡°The puppeteering of the Lord is an offence, whether understood clearly presently, or not, it is a matter-of-fact. Therefore, we should first consider executing the Lord to cut off Adorjan¡¯s direct link to lording over the guard. Then, we should address whether the guard Captain has also been affected, and subsequently for relevant, problematic Ministers. So on, so forth.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    He declined to needlessly elaborate. The next steps, in that regard, were quite clear: Slay whatever was unfixably linked to Adorjan. So, letting that go, I prodded him about Adorjan, ¡°What of the man himself? Is it within our right to remove him as we did late-Rodrigo? Or would you propose a more diplomatic approach, seeding weakness with the removal of his made agents to give him an out when he¡¯s low? If he¡¯s as powerful as you¡¯ve made him out to be, with respect to what we¡¯ve seen, his turning back to our side would be useful.¡±


    ¡°Useful if controllable.¡± Noam said, going on ¡°Unfortunately, these practises and the unusual and unclear circumstances surrounding his sudden elevation in power suggest he¡¯s become Astray.¡±


    ¡°Astray?¡± Mar¨ªa Christina asked curiously.


    ¡°You¡¯re not from Yhortor. If you haven¡¯t heard of it, the light still shines on our people¡¯s future. It is an ancient, damning designation.¡± Noam replied, smiling.


    I asked him, ¡°What makes you happy about this situation, about Adorjan possibly being Astray?¡±


    He replied, saying ¡°Because if it¡¯s the case it¡¯s a done deal. The matter is closed, simple, and straightforward. One does not weep for the dead, but is joyous at their parting into the next life. For, to weep would be to be selfish¨Cinsofar as to weep is to express woe and desire. For, to weep oneself decoupled from such grounding conditions is quite fine and natural.¡±


    At that, Noam took a moment to twist around and peer up at the great sequoia. He granted himself nearly a minute wherein his eyes studied the detailed intermingling of its branches, as they formed a brown, blockading labyrinth of parts that precluded sight of the sky from its base.


    ¡°Such a journey, dear brother.¡± I believe he muttered, having placed his right hand into the small grasses around the foundation of the great sequoia¡¯s trunk in what space he could manage around bloodstains and offerings.


    ¡°Returning¡­put simply, the Astray are lost, they are no longer Ascended. Literally, they have strayed from the path of righteousness; gallant service to the Mother and her plans. Such a step is irreversible, regardless of the possible purification of heart and mind. Would you forgive a kinslayer who, in their greed, took your parents from you, and then recanted when you put your blade to their neck?¡±


    I shook my head to the negative, and Noam went on ¡°Judging by your admission, Santiago may have tested the waters of such a fall, but declined to do so when he called for your help, and sought to reclaim lost lands. Why don¡¯t you introduce me to your prodigy, Santiago¡¯s replacement?¡±


    The sour sobriety of his utterance of ¡®replacement¡¯ bothered me. Perhaps inexplicably, if I let it go then and there, but I let it linger. I wanted it to. It boiled the blood in my freshly pumping veins. He still deserved respect.


    Santiago could not so easily be shoved off to the side. He still deserved respect. However, Noam seems to find the need for that only in power and loyalty. Santiago may have lost his power, but his loyalty to me remained stalwart, even when his loyalty to the Mother waned. I know he will one day soon redeem himself in the faces of all around us.


    ¡°I¡¯ll fetch him.¡± Mar¨ªa said, turning abruptly to enter the Silver Fawn. Perhaps she needed a break? I wonder if Noam¡¯s insulting attitude was still clutching her soul, as it clutched mine.


    ¡°Where will you go when this is over?¡± I inquired, to pass the time, into his less pressing wants and needs.


    ¡°Yhortor.¡± He replied, speaking only once he perceived I was going to respond to the silence that followed my question, ¡°Or the countryside. Juhasz is large and rife with trouble. Or to the fields of Great Kaedia, so too rife with criminal tumult. I will go where the Mother implores me to go.¡±


    ¡°Admirable. Do you find that she commands you, or do you find that she leads you with signs and visions, and dreams?¡±


    ¡°It has and forever shall be the latter, Jacobi. You know this, She speaks to you in precisely the same manner. We live lives guided by like minded strands, cut more than likely from the same blessed cloth.¡±


    ¡°How do you know that?¡± I asked, accusatorily, with a start of fear bubbling up in my chest, creating a great discomfort. The speed and obscurity with which he seemed to be able to read my mind was incredible, and unheard of¨Cas far as I was concerned.


    ¡°Because I sense that you are quite similar to me, albeit of a later age. We are no champions, nor saints, as the of-Gods do say, the Mother needs no distinctions. The ranks at Yhortor are merely organising. They are our ranks, not Hers.¡±


    ¡°Those whom we may name Agent of the Mother are merely agents of our making, despite their rarity and obvious alacrity?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely. There are only three distinctions: Astray, Chattel, Ascended. Then, there is the Mother. She is above all distinctions.¡±


    Astray listed first, I reckon it¡¯s intentional. To rank a thing below the Humans is to declare it the summit of all possible anathema. To rank a thing before mosquitos from which you draw meagre sustenance, knowing a thousand others could perform the same job just as easily, is to call it rubbish of the lowest form. Disgardable in every sense. These are the Astray? Wicked things.


    Mar¨ªa Christina returned to us shortly thereafter, which Noam and I left to silence, with Vidal in tail. He looked apprehensive, but carried himself with a certain sense of open-minded trust, like a playful puppy.


    ¡°Greetings¨CJack, greetings, Noam, was it?¡± He asked, stepping around me to offer Noam a customary embrace. He accepted it, and in the course of doing so appeared to cast, entirely to Vidal¡¯s ignorance.


    I sensed it only because I was looking, and looking hard, and I knew it. He rapidly scraped Vidal¡¯s brain for useful information, sensations, and traits. The scowl he afforded me as Vidal pulled away conveyed two clear points: Vidal was unworthy, and I shouldn¡¯t be so intrusive towards a friend.


    ¡°This is your leader, Jacobi? The uninitiated. The fresh and recently turned? The slow and disobedient? The questioning?¡± He spoke directly to me.


    ¡°I suppose that really hasn¡¯t been¡­ decided.¡± Mar¨ªa said, out of the blue, taking the three of us by surprise.


    What the fuck did she just imply? I was half disgusted, and half betrayed. However, I couldn¡¯t allow myself to get too mad. As I had come to mind thoughts of confederation and joint-rulership. Of course she shared in Noam¡¯s openly stated disdain. Vidal was fresh meat, yet unmolded and in need of intensive, years-long training. Or, would she ask Noam to lead? To stay and fight for a new Veha, under a new set of crowned eyes.

 Chapter 16: Shattered Glass

    Chapter 16: Shattered Glass


    I met Noam after nightfall at his request. He was waiting for me at a table by the tavern¡¯s door, sipping tea from a little green cup. I¡¯d spent the better part of the evening attempting to garner Vidal¡¯s attention to no avail. Mar¨ªa Christina¡¯s assertion had rather obviously upset him and I don¡¯t blame him for that. I¡¯d likely have upset myself too were I in his position.


    ¡°Good evening Jacobi. Join me, please?¡± He lifted his cup and used it to lead my gaze to the seat across from him, which I approached and occupied. He declined thereafter to speak until a minute had passed, at which point I heard another descending the stairway to join us. Turning, I saw that it was Vidal looking as sombre as ever.


    ¡°Thank you for coming, Vidal. I hope that you can understand my intentions in inviting you are to bridge the disconnect between your youth and post, and my scepticism.¡± Noam said once Vidal had taken a seat beside me.


    ¡°Bridge?¡± He asked in a hurt tone of voice. ¡°I don¡¯t even¨CI don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, or why my job is up for grabs.¡± His brows knitted and facial features tightened as he finished speaking, expressing in no uncertain terms a prepared anger.


    ¡°I realise I may have been somewhat hasty in my assessment and declaration of concern about your usefulness, and the lack of precedence for such appointments.¡± Noam lifted a hand in my direction, keeping it steady in the air for a few seconds into his next statement. ¡°I should have been more trusting of this Elder¡¯s judgement. To let lingering thoughts settle into the dust, I propose that you accompany me and Jacobi on an excursion into Veha¡¯s Keep.¡±


    ¡°I¨Cum¡­¡± Vidal sighed heartily and scratched the side of his head before sinking into his chair. ¡°¡­I think I see where you¡¯re coming from, Noam. Just uh¡­ tell me what you want me to do. Also, Jack, I¡¯m sorry for ignoring you.¡±


    I reached over and put a hand on Vidal¡¯s right shoulder, squeezing twice in an affirmation of my acceptance of his apology. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Vidal. I want to stress that I have no intentions of letting you get dethroned. We¡¯ll address Mar¨ªa Christina when or if her suggestion actualises into a problem.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Jack.¡± His eyes darted down for a moment, which accompanied a soft spoken ¡°Awh man.¡± that suggested to me some unspoken thoughts. However, I didn¡¯t want to press the issue, but rather sought to revel in a revival of his appreciation of me.


    ¡°Well, gentlemen.¡± Noam reclaimed control over the conversation, punctuating his hands-on-the-reigns, so to speak, by tapping the base of his cup on its accompanying saucier. ¡°Allow me to articulate the plan. I spoke with Lucho and his crows, acquiring eyes on the Keep and its grounds. In their overhead flight, we took note of an unusually high number of soldiers around the west wing and its courtyard. A mix of men in colours like the Ducal guard and men who we think are Adorjan¡¯s own grunts are among their number.


    ¡°Most importantly, however, we saw a steady stream of goods being transferred via small convoys in and out of that wing. They¡¯re using a modified, enlarged entrance into the undercity via a nearby tower disconnected from the larger Keep complex. This leads me to believe that Adorjan may be using the Keep itself as a base of operations, or as a storage facility for goods of a quality above that which can be trusted with lesser men.


    ¡°At the peak of night, when the convoy reaches its slowest point, we¡¯ll scale the outer wall and make haste for the Keep. There, I fully intend for us to locate the Lord and dispatch him. Then, time permitting, we should attempt to locate and have a gander at their stockpile. Respective of what it contains, it may be in our interest to pilfer or destroy it. Any questions?¡±


    ¡°Just one.¡± Vidal said. ¡°If the courtyard between the wall and the Keep is loaded with guards, wouldn¡¯t it be better to slay them before we break in?¡±


    ¡°I think that¡¯s risky, for observational reasons.¡± I said, replying on behalf of Noam who seemed disinterested in answering. ¡°We can¡¯t guarantee that someone in the Keep won¡¯t see the bodies, or that there won¡¯t be a changing of the guard, or so on and so forth.¡±


    Vidal nodded in understanding, and pushed back his chair to kick up his feet on the table, yawning. ¡°Two hours.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯m going to take a cat nap.¡± And so he drifted off, somewhat rapidly, into a snoring dreamstate.


    I scoffed, a bit, at the crudeness of his behaviour. However, Noam seemed still distracted or content in his sheer lowness, and so approved of it in passivity. Speaking up, Noam uttered in a whisper. ¡°He could do with a sojourn to Yhortor. Training under an Archon or Councillor there. Reading the scriptures and the book of rules. Don¡¯t you think, Jacobi?¡±


    ¡°I think I can trust him to do what¡¯s right under pressure, and I think he¡¯ll learn as he goes along. When this is all over, it will be his decision to take such a venture. However, leaving a wartorn post-conflict Veha again without stable leadership would undo the work we¡¯d have done.¡± I soundly replied.


    ¡°The tenants of old cannot be forgotten. However, practicality reigns, and his education can always come to him. You could hail Yhortor.¡± Noam suggested.


    ¡°I could hail them, yes. So too could I educate him myself. You know what I am, where I¡¯m from, and all that technicality. Noam, I¡¯m more curious about you than you I, considering your ability to rifle through my thoughts and memories. No one here or, to my knowledge, in Yhortor possesses such a powerful natural aptitude.¡±


    ¡°You know by my reference where I¡¯m from, Jacobi.¡± Noam replied matter-of-factly, pausing only to finish the last of his tea. ¡°And we know by Adorjan¡¯s that Mar¨ªa¡¯s story about the holy city is false or a lie. I think it¡¯s far more plausible that our common enemy was enlightened in or around Yhortor¡¯s outer banks and villages, where the decrepit lie dormant in caves and raise traitors in dank depths.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± I was a bit taken aback at his accusation of the hidden disloyalty of the tributaries surrounding my home. ¡°¡­you really think it¡¯s that bad? They all still revere us, and come to us to pray and give gifts. In fact, those fresh arrivals who are forced through temporal trials would be far less likely to make it into our ranks without the aid of the villagers.¡±


    ¡°I have seen it, and I know the degree to which it has been rooted. Down through the roots of stone I feel the world turning, and reach through its core and heart to sense that merry place we adore. I know, Jacobi, that it remains as so, as I have described.¡± Noam¡¯s eerie phrasing discomforted me and set alight thoughts of tension and anxiety where previously existed a kind of tranquillity. It was that peaceful sensation one experiences in a place of rest and safety about which one knows no dark thoughts. Now gone, I could only scream internally at the potential peril of the Council¡¯s ignorance.


    ¡°Don¡¯t fret so much, Jacobi. Think on it.¡± Noam stood and departed for the bar to acquire more tea. His prophetic statement eased a few ounces of the rigidity plaguing my psyche, releasing some stress and allowing me to ponder with belief the time in which this obfuscated evil has been in a status quo. It was unlikely to change in the time that I¡¯ve been away, therefore I shouldn¡¯t make a heady mess of it.


    I sat up and let myself fall into a weak meditation as Noam went on drinking, and we sat there together for the next two hours. Breaking his cup-to-lips-to-saucier routine, Noam glanced left out the nearby windows and huffed, signalling to me that it was time. I tapped Vidal twice on the shoulder to wake him, and then stood to make for the door.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Together, the three of us ascended the side of the Silver Fawn to reach the rooftop. Once there, Noam instructed that we¡¯d be ¡°Avoiding the streets from here on out.¡±, recalling the increase in muscle nearer the Keep, making later ascension more risky. Whilst easy going for me and Noam, we had to slow down our pace for Vidal who struggled for the better part of our journey to keep up.


    Vidal was, however, appreciative and seemingly self-amused, which I was pleased to see, relieving any potential for a resurgence of discord between him and us. He took a moment to stop and pant, catching up with his straining muscles and minor exhaustion, when Noam had us pause our locomotion on the roof of a residential townhouse. Noam led me over to the edge, where he leaned in and directed my attention to the nearby low walls of the Keep.


    ¡°We need to cross the street and move around the right side. Then, we¡¯ll be just about beside the courtyard we need to cross. Watch out for those arblasts.¡±


    My eyes tightened and willed the disorienting hazy darkness of the night to take flight, illuminating in a clarifying way the form and function of a few individual men in towers and on scaffolding along the walls. They held tight, clutching readily, their distance weapons. Two I noticed expressly seemed to be itching for a kill.


    ¡°I think they¡¯re ancy. Too much ease, or is it discontentment with the turmoil following Adorjan¡¯s attack at the festival?¡± I asked.


    Noam replied readily. ¡°They¡¯re just killers. Brigands and blood-thieves. Monsters and madmen. Whether or not some thing that¡¯s happened has influenced them is irrelevant in light of their inborn and learned bloodlust. It supersedes the state of affairs in which they act.¡±


    ¡°Are you confident in our ability to make it past their agile eyes? If they¡¯re so prepared to seek out another¡¯s destruction, I fear they¡¯ll notice our crossing this empty space and fire.¡± My hands shook as I spoke. Recalling memories of Santiago¡¯s fall, I was feeling suddenly and unexpectedly unprepared to face off against Adorjan¡¯s crossbowmen. To still the moments of my wrists and digits, I pressed them against my outer thighs, and knelt down. Noam, whether because he noticed my unease or came to a similar, fearful conclusion, stepped back and brought Vidal over to me.


    ¡°To make this jump as seamless as possible, I¡¯m going to cloak us.¡± Noam said, placing one hand on my arm and another on Vidal¡¯s. In mere moments, serpentine streams of sable smog flew out from behind Noam and encircled us. In under six seconds we were completely encased in black, and then a great worldly sensation washed over me.


    I felt light on my feet and wispy, as if I were swimming underwater without the ocean¡¯s pressure. Like being carried by a thing far larger and stronger, I was as if weightless and free. Yet, disappointedly, as soon as it came and came to my realisation it vanished, and that disappearance was accompanied by the fading smog and returning reality.


    Glancing about, I saw that we had crossed the street and landed on the roof of some house or business opposite of where we¡¯d just been. ¡°Cloaking?¡± I asked Noam. ¡°It felt like we flew.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯d be because we flew, Jacobi.¡± Noam said as he stood up and began immediately pressing on. ¡°No time to waste, gentlemen.¡±


    Scrambling, Vidal and I stood and chased after him. I sensed that we were both caught in a bit of a short lived haze. It was certainly fleeting, but nonetheless impeded our ability to adequately keep up, forcing Noam to occasionally stop and wait for us to get close enough to see where he¡¯d run to next.


    After about five minutes of following the curvature of the roofline, which followed the streets below, we arrived at an outcropping on an old historical building. It allowed us to get a few metres closer to the wall than any other nearby structure, making a jump onto the wall viable.


    ¡°Wait¡­¡± Noam softly said, motioning vaguely at two spear-wielding Ducal guards wandering toward the gate. ¡°Now.¡± He said as soon as they passed over the threshold of a tower buttressing the right side of the front gate, leading by propelling himself along the wooden outcropping to its edge where he jumped full force over to the wall.


    Vidal and I followed after, breaking into a run as soon as our boots touched the stone. Noam led us to the right, around the bend near to the second gate¨Cthat which he¡¯d referenced as being the convoy¡¯s spot. Just before the archway, Noam turned left and hopped over the edge of the wall, sliding down into the courtyard.


    We landed in a patch of tall grass beside a trio of stables, boxes, and barrels. Noam shunted himself forward, wrapping his right arm around a soldier¡¯s neck, whose back had been turned but whose attention had been alerted by our fall, pulling him back into the grass before snapping it. ¡°Nice and easy, now, gentlemen.¡± Noam advised as he kept low and crouched forward, toward the open middle of the courtyard along a trail of shadow in between flickering pockets of light.


    On our left and right approximately equal spreads of guardsmen dotted the enclosure. I think I counted eleven or twelve in total, amongst the division equality between those dressed like the Ducal knights, in plate and colours, and those dressed like thugs, in black and leathers.


    Just as Noam had surmised, the gate was sealed and no carts stood in sight, parked or rolling. As well the stables were without steeds and hands, empty of all but a quiet night¡¯s shade and piles of hay. Once we arrived at the beaten, muddy path we turned about left and made way for the Keep itself. A large set of doors, boosted in its resistance to siege by steel, lie between us and the halls therein, with windows on both left and right barred on the first and second storeys.


    ¡°What do you suggest?¡± Vidal whispered just loud enough for the two of us to hear him. We pondered together for a few moments before Noam eventually answered, pointing out the third set of windows that lie unprotected by iron. Two windows on the wall of the series of twelve resided above tight balconies and stood taller than the rest¨Cdoorways.


    ¡°I¡¯m content to stick with the left.¡± I said, nudging Noam to fix his attention on the left windowed door. Without speaking, his movements suggested agreement, and he proceeded to lead us to the wall where we, one by one, scaled it. Upon reaching the third story we clutched a lip in the stone and shimmed over to the window. There, Noam pulled himself up and very gently placed his hand, with fingers splayed, against the glass.


    In a moment, a short lived high-pitched sound emanated from his fingertips and radiated against the glass. Glancing about, Vidal and I both noted the remaining calm of the Lord¡¯s protectors, evidently unaware of Noam¡¯s casting. Over the course of the following ten seconds, the glass disassembled itself into thousands of tiny shards and then floated, as if by telekinesis, back to lie upon the ground in a pattern resembling a break.


    Then, Noam reached through and opened the door, allowing us to climb through and into what looked like a war room. A long central table boasted colourful maps marked with little flags, chess pieces, and notations drawn on in charcoal. A few scattered chairs had been pushed up against the walls, wrapping tables, plants, and sculptures. Veha and Great Kaerda¡¯s banners lined the walls with obvious emphasis, both in size and placement, on the greater kingdom.


    ¡°Well, well, well¡­¡± Muttered Noam in a painfully chiche way, prompting me to shudder and turn away from him, inspecting the only door out of the room whilst his eyes peeled over the depictions with Vidal at his side. I ran my hand along the edge and landed ultimately on the handle. Just before I could turn it, however, it began to turn itself. Surprised, I jumped back and sharply inhaled, simultaneously hearing my companions turn on queue.


    A tall, broad shouldered, jet haired, amber skinned man entered. He stood with a sense of pride, draped in black on black on black, pulled together with a grey and white striped ascot. In spite of our trespass, he seemed anything but displeased. Rather, it was as if a sporting sense carried itself on his heels, and made the air jittery with expecting glee.


    ¡°Jack.¡± He said, lowering a finger on me. ¡°Vidal.¡± He proceeded to make the same directing gesture. ¡°And an unknown, but evidently potent, spider. Welcome to the west wing.¡± He let his right hand fall and subsequently rise along with his left, carrying on the tips of his digits a spatially distorting wave of colour that literally tore the room in half. From its inception on the floor at his feet, it cascaded forward and drew the four of us into a wonderland of living colour and giant flora.


    We landed in a loose circle in a field of vibrant greens, all manner of greens, all shades of greens, so distinct in its multitude that I found it near to disorienting to look at it for too long. So as to prevent my collapse, I had to steady myself on Vidal, nearly knocking him over in the process, and lock my gaze onto our opponent, allowing the surrounding chaos to become a collective blur.


    ¡°Focus, focus!¡± Noam commanded, drawing air as if it were a sword. Much to my surprise, as he did so a sword materialised into thin air. First came the hilt, a dark earthy red, and then the blade, subtly curved like a katana and made of a shining, silvery metal that he, by virtue of its size, had to hold with two hands. ¡°No mercy!¡±

 Chapter 17: Lotusland

    Chapter 17: Lotusland


    Written from the Custodian¡¯s Perspective


    ¡°Dearest Mair, once-kin of Yhov, who found freedom as does the stream through thickets of fallen leaves and shattered twigs. You¡¯ve come as Spring has, through the storm of death, to arrive in colour o¡¯ man-in-black.


    ¡°Our home in Heaven floats between the waves and dashes with alacrity to avoid chomping maws of razor teeth. With your help we have landed an anchor below the reef, finding comfort in an aurora of coral masking the deep, our haven-home.


    ¡°Might we, still yet with you, know an eternal peace? Is the tranquil way the Way? Perhaps this is a stepping stone yet unto greater things? A sure start nonetheless in landing upon freedom without so much as drawing a speck of blood.


    ¡°We have mirrored Her Way, that Way, and in doing so have wiped clean our mirrors¨Cwhich now reflect the moon¨Cand starved our hearts. O¡¯ hearts, thumping centres, self-serving generals who serve in equality with their brother organs.


    ¡°Dearest Mair, now-kin of Her, who with us floats in freedom down a steady rivulet painted with Autumn leaves and rolling logs. We sit as Autumn has, through the sun-lit years of life, to arrive in lived-out-years o¡¯ man-in-black.¡±


    I spoke in greeting to Mair, welcoming him home. The four stood beside me, together making six. We silly six, this union of newfound freedom. An arcadia of our own design, welcoming to the Dream passersby, now home to ten thousand things.


    ¡°I shan¡¯t ever again lay with evil, good friend of mine, Custodian of our home.¡± Mair said to me, embracing me and our fellow four as brothers. ¡°This is the Way, the hidden way, deliberately cast off into the abyss by Yhov¡¯s eager throw. Yet, as with all things good it shined too brightly to be masked by passing greats and daemons alike. We found it, as was our right, the right of all who herein reside, and made it true again, situated on our shared mortal coil.¡±


    ¡°And so we gather for a rite of passage.¡± I joked, eliciting hearty laughter from my compatriots into which I joined for some time before we then were seated and served wine by my great friend Whispering-Giant.


    ¡°Through passing hands the crown is guided and seated rightly atop the peak, the jewel of the body, the roof of our saviour and farseeing friend. O¡¯ Mair, mighty Mair, we declare you Curator of the Deep, champion of hallowed grounds, you will carry the torch that keeps us on freedom¡¯s course.¡±


    We cheered thrice and partook of good wine, long into the night, laughing and singing and banging on many drums, joined by the music of the forest to create a symphony for the ages. Come morning our extempore ritual had arrived at fruition and Mair stood tall and over us all with an air of due pride.


    ¡°A gift, a gift for our new King.¡± I heralded, drawing Mair¡¯s attention to an approaching ethereal spirit glowing green and white. It carried in its incorporeal grasp a small brown box of bark and stone. The spirit approached and bowed deep before ascending the stairwell to kneel at Mair¡¯s feet.


    What the spirit presented Mair collected, opening the box in one smooth singular movement. What lie therein: a lotus of the purest orange and pink. Mair affixed the flower to his lapel, making him a true man-of-colour. He wore it with ease and wore it with sincerity, thanking the spirit before it returned to Nature¡¯s heart.


    ¡°Shall our King sit?¡± I asked him.


    ¡°No.¡± He replied and looked upon me knowingly. ¡°He shall walk and make a place for himself beside gushing falls.¡± And so he walked, off into the distance, to collapse into a sage¡¯s meditation. A position upon stone overlooking stone and waters deep, a place at which to fall into a sleepless dream. The spirit therein is cast, thrown as a die, tumbling into the world-tree in search of a point of arrival.


    In finding one, may it be at peace. May it survey the land and know where evils lie. May it watch them with compassion and wish for their self-awareness. May it hug the meek and cradle the wounded, and wish for evil-doers arising virtue. May it cause by its mere stillness a clearing of the board; by its mere stillness the slate made new.


    In Mair¡¯s success we believe¨Cwe believe in that man-of-colour, lest we fall prey again to Her clutches and cry ¡®till death in Her deep. Lady Yhov¡¯s dungeons know no mercy, and make right by their duty through ceaseless torment. Long live our King, who walks the Way.


    #


    Written from Jack¡¯s Perspective


    ¡°Vidal! Stay with me!¡± I barked, eyeing Vidal stumbling left and right, nearly tripping over a bed of flowers interwoven with ivy and sprouts. The force of my command rumbled through the air, literally rippling along the space between he and I ¡®till it slapped the side of his head and brought his gaze to me. Then, he finally started to move in my direction. Contented, I set my eyes on the reality-bender.


    Noam charged at the man-in-black immediately after drawing his sword, meeting him in an exchange of surprising speed. Our foe rocketed around this wonderland as if he was its master, flying without wings or a visible propellant. He¡¯d drawn a blade of his own, lavish in design with a bright blue crossguard and leather-wrapped handle. The pommel sparked the sun¡¯s light and disturbed my vision with each pass overhead they made¨Cit was some crystal that warped the light and turned yellow into technicolour.


    That disruption accompanied their speed, moving so fast that mirror images of themselves in spectral form trailed behind and faded slowly into obscurity, and prevented me from joining the engagement. Instead, I took Vidal by the arm and rushed over to a nearby mushroom to stand beneath its cap. The fungus stood tall at what had to be ten or twelve metres, with a spotted yellow and blue trunk.


    The surrounding woodlands were equally as marvellous, thick and luscious verdure interwoven with a multitude of flowers of every make and model, and every colour and texture, that in their totality created a vaguely discernable fractal pattern descending into the distant trees. It was entrapping, inwardly drawing, as if the spiral itself had reached out and pulled my mind into its centre, down its swirling slides.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Thankfully, the duality of chaos behind us was enough to recapture my attention. An explosion shook the earth and split a grand crack up the centre of the mushroom¡¯s spine, bringing it down in a mighty thump and snap. The man-in-black had shot Noam down in passing. As I turned I spied his limp body falling to the ground in a plume of smoke wafting off of his charred clothes and flesh.


    I sensed he still remained in the fight and compounded that trust upon witnessing him catch himself, and flip, landing on his wobbly feet with his blade still in hand. Leaving Vidal to sit beside the collapsed cover, I hurried forward and stood near to Noam, looking upon our enemy who floated a good ten metres above us.


    ¡°Have you wounded him?¡± I asked whilst tightening the grip on my own weapon¡¯s hilt, bringing it up defensively to shield my chest and neck. I kept my attention fixed on our foe¡¯s sword, the blade of which had begun to glow a faint watery blue that almost melded with the colour of the sky, and as it moved through the air it sung faintly like a harp.


    ¡°A solid two blows to his chest, note the coat.¡± Noam replied, gesturing loosely at the man-in-black to carry my eyes to his uniform which had been sliced up thoroughly, and stained red in two spots on the chest. Yet, unlike Noam that bastard was still and tall, as if unphased or suppressing his pain.


    ¡°Where are we?¡± I then asked him, once contended with our circumstances and experiencing a sensation of hope. He¡¯s able to be wounded, and although Noam¡¯s suffered a few sizable blows he¡¯s still standing, and probably still recovering from his time in the tomb.


    However, before Noam could give me an answer the man-in-black spoke up and uttered his reply as he began to descend down to eye level, landing ultimately in the grasses just ahead of us, butted up against the treeline.


    ¡°You are in a realm beneath realms. A pocket of hope and freedom nestled safely between large leaves, hidden from prying eyes and destructive claws. An eager home for the willing who walk our Way, without fear of Her intrusion.¡± He said, and for the first time I noted a real difference in my disposition.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Noam commanded in a growling and turbulent way. ¡°Do not dare to sully Her name with this discord and heathenry! Violence is the only answer¨CJacobi! Fight with me!¡±


    For the first time I felt a genuine sensation of freedom, as if a weight unknown and settled had been lifted from my skull. My psyche stood and roamed about itself without fear of intrusion or watching, and soon thereafter I knew what it was: I was free from Yhov¡¯s gaze and cut off from Her assistance.


    The Mother didn¡¯t reside in this place¡­ this place beneath places. We were genuinely free, free from both our brethren Ascended and the Human chattel. As I came to my conclusions Noam neglected to wait and charged once more at the man-in-black. Letting go for now this curio I too pushed forward and leapt into the air, finding myself as well able to fly, so swinging and stabbing mercilessly beside Noam.


    Our furthered engagement lasted for two whole minutes before our foe commanded with frightening ease the flora and fungi of this world. Our combined attacks forced him to the ground, and he landed near to that same spot beside the treeline. Once there, he raised his hand and flicked two fingers in our direction. His action sent life springing into the adjacent trees that subsequently locomoted and lashed out, slapping us with branches of incredible length and fortitude. The bark of the smallest of twigs withstood our blows, and we found ourselves forced back and back till our own backs met new trees and were shoved forward and surrounded.


    Branches of variable size slithered about one another to encase us in an amorphous cage, occasionally discharging sticks to strike at us and our blades, lacerating flesh and threatening bone. Noam fell to his knees first and was immediately seized by the trees, caught in place and bound to the earth. He dropped his sword and it faded from existence.


    Unlike brother Noam, however, when I found myself upon my knees I was neither grabbed nor grappled, but was left alone. The trees cleared a path in the surrounding blockade for the man-in-black who entered with his hands in his pockets. His blade hovered in the air above his right shoulder and aimed itself at what I took to be approximately the area of my head.


    ¡°Jack of Noble Veha, your city is without a crown. I am Mair, Curator of the Deep, I know what you feel and I know what you seek.¡± Mair inhaled deeply amidst his speech and his approach. ¡°She isn¡¯t here. How do you feel? What do you see?¡±


    My eyes darted between Noam and Mair, noting my companion¡¯s blinded and blistered visage roaring against bark growing ever tighter, and settled upon the man-in-black, Curator of the Deep, whom I regarded with a solemn expression and downtrodden tone. ¡°I feel relieved of chains I had grown so used to as to forget I had been bearing them.¡±


    ¡°For once in your Ascended life, dearest Upyr, you have found yourself situated such that you stand away from Her prying eyes. They cannot see you here, so you are but a blip in Her memory¨Cwalking without fear of Agent-born repercussions.¡± Mair said. ¡°This is a promise that can be kept in the land between lands, wherein we silly six sit and partake of Mother Nature¡¯s libations. She is the true Mother, the Mother of all the myriad things, whose reign was cut short and sent into hiding by the will of the Worm-Queen.¡±


    ¡°Bastard! Lying bastard!¡± Noam released a violent, muffled, and pained scream that carried itself hurriedly against his bindings. I caught first in my periphery and then in my direct gaze a tumultuous thrashing that sent waves through the air alike in appearance to my earlier calling at Vidal. Noam¡¯s muscles strained and the veins thereabout bulged against his flesh, pushing and pulling with such force that the tree-limbs began to crack and crumble.


    Mair, however, seemed to be oblivious to Noam¡¯s pending escape as he continued to approach me methodically. His composure had lost its previous stoicism to find an easy kind of welcoming grin, similar in composition to what one might imagine a friend to adopt spontaneously upon seeing you after some weeks or months of time apart. ¡°Jack.¡± He muttered now softly, more quietly than before. ¡°I sense a deep-rooted seed of disorder, that which the Mother had planted within the valley of your mind. Allow me to dislodge it, and you may find that comfort-beyond-the-glass-wall that I so simply sense you to desire.¡±


    The acorn of a mighty watching-tree. My own great sequoia psychically shouldered, bearing the weight of the Mother¡¯s eyes and the thousand looky-loos, those sorrowful Agents of the damned. Is he trying to corrupt me? To make me an Astray? She nurtured me, if overbearing by nature, She kept me safe.


    ¡°How could you ask me to do such a thing? You tore a mighty rip through space, Mair, your nature is illusory.¡± I asked and accused.


    ¡°My illusions are based in space, Jack, and shield our union from Her decimating gaze. Free yourself and peer about this consecrated ground.¡± He replied, and raised out his arms to bring me to gander upon the treetops and far-off clouds and birds. Two suns illuminated the sky.


    I closed my eyes and took an internal hold of the spread of my quintessence, bringing it inward to coalesce in the centre of my chest. Once unified, it ascended up through my throat and out the top of my head, projecting into the distance where I observed the many facets of Mair¡¯s lotusland. A place of indescribable diversity, the creation of a God. Home to ten thousand creatures, a sanctuary of weightless breath; the Way of nature.


    Upon returning my soul to its shell, I reopened my eyes and aimed to speak, hoping to offer Mair my preliminary acceptance. However, before I could manage to utter those treacherous words I was sent flying to the right, sliding through the dirt, at the force of Noam¡¯s freedom.


    He literally exploded out of the woody bindings and reformed his sword. From a power-stance Noam launched himself at Mair, catching the man-in-black midair to slam his body down into the ground. A crater formed around him, and Noam subsequently impaled Mair¡¯s skull with the tip of the blade before carrying it up and out, splitting his head in twain.


    Thunder rolled at Mair¡¯s coming to quietus. The skies darkened, first at their edges, coming inward to seal the blue in sable robes. Those dual bulbs vanished and the birds blended into the deep. Far off the cries of the broken carried over the tree-line and spoke of coming recompense.


    ¡°We need to leave, now.¡± Noam observed, turning in the direction of Vidal to whom he called. ¡°We¡¯re leaving! Now!¡±

 Chapter 18: Reality Flight

    Chapter 18: Reality Flight


    As the lotusland¡¯s rumbling compounded, and the very ground began to violently vibrate, I charged after Noam who had turned to run for Vidal. The oaken weave and its many limbs crumbled and receded, clearing the way for our retreat. Vidal met us in the middle and we moved together in Noam¡¯s shadow as he led us in some direction through the brush.


    I¡¯d guessed that he cut through the first opening his eyes landed on to bolt in search of some means of exit, or an area potent enough to allow escape from the realm¡¯s locking effect. If it even had a locking effect, that is, as I merely fancied a guess. Reality bending to this extent was well beyond my own repertoire, an all-too-clear fact becoming readily anxiety-instilling thinking of all the time I¡¯d spent perfecting my brawl and influence.


    To know that such power lay at our feet, pulled from our souls, was dually awe-inspiring and depressing. To think that late-Rodrigo knew a taste of space and time, and attempted to leave me cascading in a realm of ever-down darkness, to suffer an eternity of cutting breeze rending flesh. An absolutely monstrous thing set against the wonder and beauty of this quasi-divine plane.


    And who was the new Mother? The old Mother? Original, or were they both original and one simply won out? Naivety of the good, I think, could¡¯ve caused a winning outcome, especially if the divinity of the two can be called into question, insofar as it¡¯s understood as possessing no omni-qualities.


    Whatever it was, I couldn¡¯t suppress the overwhelming sensation that something significant had passed over my head. Thanks to Noam, our own survival was being called into question and the reality of Yhov¡¯s teachings was hinted at being mired in falsehoods and fabricated doctrine bolstering rewritten history. A lie upon lies shielding us from a truth of myriad colour.


    Whatever the case, my consideration of all that¡¯d just gone down was cut off by a deja vu of splitting spacetime as Noam drew again his two-handed sabre and cut up from the ground and into the sky. Reality tore itself in twain and revealed again the room in the west wing from which we¡¯d initially come. We stepped through and fell a good few metres onto our backs.


    Painfully standing amidst groans and discomfort, I looked around hurriedly to find situated just inside the wide-open doorway the mutilated corpse of Mair resting in a pool of his own blood and brain matter.


    ¡°That was discourteous. I¡¯d think an Astray, even at his age, would pay us the respect of first giving warning prior to capturing us in the realm of his mind, yet here we are now free from that bath of lies.¡± Noam observed whilst standing and dusting himself off, checking over his scarred clothes for any serious injuries or damage.


    ¡°What? Noam¡­ what?¡± I asked twice as I also came to stand. ¡°What were we just put through? Did you hear what he was trying to say to me, what he was trying to explain? Why didn¡¯t you humour him?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t humour heresy; we don¡¯t humour evil; we are Her hammer and we strike. What of this confuses you, Jacobi? What of Her will is troubling or confounding?¡± Noam addressed me straightforwardly as he began a renewed sweep of the room, pilfering through drawers in the table and cabinets against the walls.


    ¡°It seems like an unreasonable step to not at least hear out the heretics and, respective of their words, use the information to gain an up on their thought-processes and activities. It is intelligence, albeit mired in doubts and discord, that could prove beneficial to later attacks and coordinations. Do you disagree?¡± I asked him, but before Noam could reply Vidal piped up.


    ¡°I think Jack¡¯s right. Obviously this nonsense about a new Mother probably came from his fucked-up head. After all, he pulled us into a story book.¡±


    Noam paused to straighten his back, turn, and glance over Vidal before moving for the door where he hugged the left side and peered into the hallway. ¡°No one¡¯s beyond. We can keep moving.¡± He instructed and then gestured for us to follow whilst leaving the room.


    I looked back at Vidal who threw up his hands at me in a show of frustration prior to following Noam out. My only reply was a meagre eye roll and a quiet grunt, suggesting, hopefully, that I acknowledged the rudeness of his neglect but sought only to press on, knowing this wasn¡¯t the time or place¨Cespecially not after whatever we just went through.


    The hallway outside of the war room was similarly decorated, with the sparse placement of lavish furnishings and tapestries alongside paintings and carpeting over stone floors. Although the hallway continued both left and right, Noam had opted to go right towards an ajar door through an archway that appeared at a distance to lead into a spiral stairwell. The opposite direction rounded and disappeared off to the left. Distant torchlight was the sole indicator of what lay beyond, a sign telling little to nothing of potential dangers.


    He held his ear to the near side of the door before pressing in with the light touch of five fingertips, easing an otherwise squeaky door into a passable position without alerting any nearby and unseen guards. So far all had kept still, I reckon whatever troops were stationed here surrounded the Lord¡¯s quarters and Adorjan¡¯s treasure cache.


    Noam took a moment to careen to the left, leaning around the bend of the spiralling stairs where he merely grumbled, conceding something, and retracted to ascend. We followed close behind, low and with our shoulders brushing up against the medial stone column that braced the steps. At the top we found we¡¯d reached the last floor and beyond the final step peered into a short and decorated hallway boasting vibrant red and gold.


    A runner carried one from the archway to a dark double door with intricate geometric designs carved into it. A set of curvaceous floral handles lie vertically, presumably keeping the doors latched, and on either side a pair of brutish, brooding, and broad-shouldered men had rooted themselves into the floor. In this sense, they looked mean and ready, prepared with hands on swords to do battle with whomever would trespass here.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got the scent of an Ascended tickling my nostrils.¡± Noam commented as our trio of six eyes hugged, by way of our chins, a hidden position lying on the stairs. ¡°But it¡¯s meandering from under the doors. The guards are clean; nothing more than stocky chattel. I will dispatch them and you two will make an entry. Do it quickly and do it loudly, I want them to know we¡¯re here.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Without hesitating or allowing for questions, Noam pushed himself up and moved very swiftly down the length of the hallway. He reached the watchmen before they could fully draw their blades, or properly react, and extended out his arms to grab hold of their necks. Together, he pulled them back and flew up, off of the ground, to move in unison, as if they were extensions of his own body, over the railing blockading a fall to the lower stairs.


    There, now behind us as Vidal and I stood to charge the door, we heard cut-short screams and the sickening and squishy splatter of blood on stone. I sped up and braced to strike the left door with my shoulder while Vidal did the same with the right, and together we managed to emit enough natural force to shatter the locking mechanism, destroying the latch, sending the doors swinging inward with a great thud against the side walls.


    The room therein stood in stark contrast to the surrounding castle. The dreary multi-shades of grey and black that dominated, in all their stoney glory, all other corners of the estate which we¡¯d seen and been told of, completely left. Soft brown hardwood had been layered atop the stone, in parts turning so light as to step into the sandy territory of colour, while a host of furs, in the form of rugs, hanging d¨¦cor, and on display, dotted the room, adding in a pleasing range of darker earthy and animal tones.


    A great big fireplace and dining table drew together the back wall, with doors on its right and left leading off into adjoining rooms. Our persons of interest, however, seemed to be standing in wait beyond the table, with the flickering hearth behind them. It created for them an aura like a halo that clung to their borders, differentiating them from the background not only in their stature but in actual light, coloured yellow, orange, and red, that made them out to be godlike. Without it, I think, they¡¯d have been like any other man, as mundane as the door-guards regardless of their being Upyr.


    Furthermore, it led me to believe they knew we were coming or at least knew we were here. Noam had been hasty to continue our pursuit of the Lord after our lengthy and successful duel with Mair. He¡¯d have been a fool not to alert the others of our having broken in, and in all likelihood that battle was a martyr to prepare for us. Unless I was giving them too much credit?


    ¡°Like scum in the dirt¡­¡± The figure on our right shot at us as we entered the room and fanned out into a vague arc. ¡°¡­mocking my leathery boots. The time is now to kick you off.¡± I hadn¡¯t heard his voice before, its newness was distinct from those before him, because it carried itself rather dryly, in a wispy and forlorn way.


    He separated himself from the cagey light and its surrounding darkness to float forward into the light of the foreground. His feet hung a few inches off of the floorboards, and my eyes, scanning up therefrom, saw a lanky, sinewy, and pale husk of a man dressed loosely in flowing pants and an overshirt, tan in colour and linen in make. The aura he exuded reminded me of that which whipped around Noam upon our first finding him, an ancient and unhindered thing, long free from any mindful thoughts of self-restraint.


    Unlike our friend¡¯s heat, however, I felt only ice seeping out of the ghoul. A flesh-biting cold that came to life in the form of a pair of snow-white axes, one for each hand, which, like Noam¡¯s katana, materialised out of thin air. In time with the arrival of his weapons, the man¡¯s eyes released an eerie white glow out of which faint pixels of sparkling light floated and vanished. It was from that light that I got a good look at his face, and saw thereupon crackling flesh, flaky and grey, and a ravenous maw of two sets of razors stained with blood.


    ¡°Filthy fucking bender.¡± Noam spat back without hesitation and in rather a dismissive way. I glanced over and saw that his gaze hadn¡¯t left the other figure to whom he then proceeded to address. ¡°Our fight isn¡¯t with him¡­¡± He said with a quick hand-gesture at the freakishly cold ghoul. ¡°¡­and I have the feeling it isn¡¯t with you, either. Whatever you may be, you aren¡¯t our Astray, so let us pass through to find Adorjan or his pocket-prince and this showdown can be left as a distant memory.¡±


    To my surprise, as Vidal and I drew our swords and moved near each other defensively, the pending battle remained pending as the distant and shadowy figure responded in time to Noam. ¡°How can I have something true with someone hazy? How can we parley this problem when we see it so differently? How can either or any of us conclude rightness when we are already so engrossed?¡±


    Noam was quick on the trigger and replied, almost rudely, before the figure had finished uttering their final word. ¡°All it takes for a connexion is shared ground. We share land insofar as we share souls. This difference is manifest in our ability to speak and think clearly amidst manipulations and influence, without the witchcraft of the chattel. You¡¯re with him¨Cwhy?¨Cbecause he is keen to offer you power? Is protection his bid? I am offering you freedom from Her hammer.¡±


    ¡°I want to hear it from your King, from your crown who leads and who I feel shall lead.¡± The shadow said as it also floated forward. It carried with it that masking darkness that shrouded and suppressed the natural light of the fireplace. As it crept forward that light returned, and left the three of us and that ghoul enveloped in its surrounding night. Despite its closeness, the figure was no clearer to me than before as it stood merely vaguely humanoid and possibly amorphous. Looking at it was like looking at something through fogged-up glasses, unclear.


    Noam turned to look at me and I saw cast upon his face a look of concern and displeasure. The edges of his lips tilted down deeply and I could almost sense the muscles of his face straining against some stirring hate. I had no time to think to blame him, perhaps I¡¯d blame me too if I was seen to supersede his experience and position. I felt the shadow¡¯s gaze fall upon me and so felt compelled to reply.


    ¡°I care about peace from order. Until Adorjan is cut-off or beaten-down, we cannot achieve that. I don¡¯t care about your rebelliousness or your aims insofar as they don¡¯t get in the way of my peace. If you step aside for us and leave, all the better. I shan¡¯t spend a moment pondering you, you¡¯ll be a memory, not a problem.¡±


    ¡°A lost thought. Some dancing images become ever muted by the breaking gears of time. You¡¯ll have only that anxious readiness, that preparedness for war.¡± The shadow ceased speaking there, leaving me with a clear answer: they¡¯d be leaving. That belief was shown to be true as cascades of darkness leapt out from its body and carefully enveloped the ghoul whose icy aura was cut off simultaneously. In the following moments, light returned and the pair vanished from view in a steady and paced kind of way. They faded by flaking into the air, taking their time to disappear from view¨Ctheatrical, if impractical.


    Once gone, Noam immediately moved to the right of the two back sets of doors, leaving me and Vidal to exchange a brief and exhausted look before going forward to the left doors. In tandem we inspected the portals, discerning quickly that they were effectively identical, and found that, even with heightened auditory senses, no sound escaped them.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go in yours.¡± I said quickly and decisively, leaving out room for wishy-washy discussion on direction with respect to its triviality. Noam gave me a singular nod and put his two hands on the door handles, pushing at once and finding the doors unlatched. Beyond we saw a short hallway that culminated in a windowed wall, the window was ajar, and doors on either side, the right was wide open and flush against the wall.


    We moved with haste down the length of the hallway, slowing only to glance into the open room, it was an exceptionally messy bedroom with clothes and items strewn about the floor. At the end we poked our head out through the open glass and saw in a small courtyard below a circle of soldiers leading two men away from the keep. At the same time as the realisation dawned on us, the Lord was fleeing, we heard from behind a loud crash erupting and sets of metal boots rushing in from behind.

 Chapter 19: The Chase

    Chapter 19: The Chase


    ¡°We¡¯re going down!¡± I commanded with urgency as soon as I understood what was going on, leaping forward, shoulder first, to force my way through the window frame. I took it with me, of course, and fell loudly three storeys into tall grass and shrubberies below. In spite of the pain from both the distance and the roughness of the many twigs I¡¯d shattered, I forced myself to roll to the left off of the greenery and onto a gravel road where I leaned up, brushed myself off, and took in my new surroundings, noting that Vidal was close behind in midair with Noam just starting out the window.


    By the time I was standing the troop had led the Lord and his guest out of the gate and into the streets, and some men remained behind to seal the portcullis. It was closing, but slowly, turned manually by less men than was optimal. I seized the moment to sprint at the gate, aiming to clear it before it closed and we were cut off and forced to scale the wall. All the while, men ran along the walls, pouring in from surrounding posts, to load and discharge shots at us.


    ¡°With me!¡± I called behind, only after two or three seconds of a full run, remembering that my compatriots, still recovering, were very much off my tail.


    ¡°Just go!¡± I heard in return, Noam¡¯s voice, and glanced back to see he had Vidal with his arm around his shoulder and jogging at a reasonable pace. They¡¯d probably beat the gate too, but they¡¯d be more than in my dust and chased by archers. So be it, in any event, Noam was withholding power enough to sunder the souls of every breathing foe in that forsaken castle.


    I passed under the gate before it reached the halfway mark and bypassed passing remarks from the soldiers turning the gears. Whether they cursed me or commanded I hault didn¡¯t matter. I caught a glimpse of the guard passing over the horizon of a road that rose in grade and so propelled myself after them readily.


    With the roads still dark and most of the city asleep, I was able to tread the cobblestone without interruption. The vagrants and buffoons I passed kept to their shadows and alleys, or saw only a moving gust and heard the sound of a woosh as I went by. To catch up in due course, I began pumping energy into my legs, bringing them to smash down with such force as to kick up dust and launch me ever forward with every stride.


    With luck and intention, I put myself within reach and clear sight within two minutes of departing the grounds of the Lord¡¯s compound. They, of course, heard my rapid approach and sent the rear three protectors to ready themselves for my arrival. They turned on the queue and command of the Lord¡¯s guest, who spoke a guttural tongue I hadn¡¯t heard before, some ¡°Knash.¡± or ¡°Knashe.¡±, and lowered in my direction spears butted up against circular shields.


    Without so much as a moment¡¯s hesitation, and with the skill of a practised warrior, the soldiers backpedalled as they stabbed at me, forcing me to zig-zag and dance around their spearheads. It was a time consuming waltz that resulted quickly in me losing ground on the rest of their party, hoping and eager to find an opening to break the moving and piercing wall.


    My chance came when the leftmost of my attackers tripped up on his backstep and nearly collided with the middle man. The disruption was sufficient for me to get my hands on his spear, yank, and turn it around in my favour. With the line in disarray and the dishevelled one disarmed, I leaped into the air and jammed his own spear down into his eye, piercing his skull, and sending him to the ground.


    Then came his allies who, in their confusion at the turning tides, were unable to react quickly enough to dodge my strikes. One in the shoulder and another in the chest, followed by the neck, which felled one, and a single strike through the heart, which felled the other. Stepping over them, I left the stolen and bloodied spear behind and resumed sprinting.


    To my relative annoyance, catching back up with the remnants of the pack proved more difficult than expected. To try and shake me, they¡¯d turned up a central avenue leading towards the square from the heart of Lucho and Mar¨ªa¡¯s territory. As I ran, I spied in my periphery and felt innately that I was being both watched and followed. From the rooftops, and along balconies, allies cloaked in black pursued me.


    The avenue itself was rife with unfinished business. Ill-parked carts, sleeping horses, boxes, satchels, bags, and barrels stacked carelessly, and the occasional drunk either stumbling or sleeping in an inconvenient and disruptive position. Moving around them was easy, but avoiding knocking them over or aside was a chore, and I took care to do so lest some semi-conscious and justice-minded chattel go crying to his local boss. I doubt my friends would appreciate the bothersome news.


    By the time the square and that great sequoia came into view in the distance, the troop and flying duo had been stopped by a makeshift roadblock. A cart, broken and overturned, blockaded the middle of the road whilst a mish-mash of raw materials, building supplies, and other nonsense covered each end. Two men were prone in front of the cart, and a group of five had approached to aid them.


    The Lord was screaming and demanding they move, but the group ignored him and the Lord¡¯s men, what few soldiers remained, moved to help get the cart out of the way. Even from some distance, however, I could tell the impediment was a ruse. The helpers and the grounded men were too similarly dressed and too cloaked in tight and dark colours to be locals.


    In the passing moments between the clarity of my seeing that my allies had gotten ahead of me, and coming to a stop within throwing distance of the affair, the Lord¡¯s guest came into the picture squarely. He stood at what had to be six foot six, with wide shoulders and a full chest. The definition of his musculature and overall frame was accentuated by the athletic cut of his medium grey flannel suit, which clung to him dashingly.


    I was almost surprised by the imposing nature of the way he was dressed, especially by nearby comparison to everyone around him, who wore either dirtied fatigues, armour, or ill-fitting robes¨Cmyself included. This feeling was furthered by the fact we¡¯d been running for nearly ten minutes now, across a city, in a rush and a panic.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    What a waste of influence to cast as such to keep one looking prim and proper. It was as if he¡¯d be the sort of person to wipe the blood off of their steel in the middle of a warzone. It was as if his priorities were mixed up, lest he was the sort of person to be of such power as to have the luxury of not being bothered about an unexpected thrusting sword or singing arrow.


    Were that the case, however, he¡¯d have incinerated me by now. Unless, of course, this chase was a game to him. Whatever the reason, my deliberation was better saved for a discussion later with Vidal and Noam, for the pressing matter of the Lord was at the forefront of the evening¡¯s scene.


    As soon as the apparent leader of the east side allies noticed me walking up, she signalled to her companions who turned and systematically stabbed, slit, and beat down the soldiers. They were taken entirely by surprise, caught in the midst of disassembling a well constructed diversion, which left the Lord alone with his guest.


    Out of respect, I guessed, my allies encircled the pair and left space for me to take the lead. In wait, they stood with blades and cudgels in hand. When the two turned to face me, I saw, stricken across the Lord¡¯s face, the look of death. He stared me down with wide and empty eyes that sat, as if upon a plateau beset from around by daemons, wanting for relief. He¡¯d get it at the end of my fangs.


    His companion was unlike him in all respects. His well-fitting regalia aside, he was without fear and carried a pale and corpse-like complexion unlike any living thing I¡¯d ever seen. He looked worse, even, than Noam fresh out of the sarcophagus. Furthermore, his eyes were dead and empty pools of black, without clear definition between his sclera and his pupils.


    ¡°Take it easy and I will too.¡± I said, starting off with an understandingly commanding, but understated, tone of voice. ¡°We¡¯re only caught up in all this together because one of us¡­¡± I paused to point at the Lord who returned a dejected look. ¡°¡­found himself a bad ally.


    ¡°But this doesn¡¯t have to be it for either of us, your Lordship. If you give him up to us we will relieve you of his many stresses. You may fear that there will be retribution, but what return can hurt you when you are under the protection of a grander power?¡±


    ¡°Pha! Fuck you!¡± The Lord spat at the ground by my feet, which landed short due to the distance, and he subsequently tapped his imposing companion on the abdomen with the back of his hand. ¡°I have all the protection I need from a sewer rat like you.¡±


    His insults, however superficial, carried with them an irksome overconfidence that stood oddly beside the feeling of a chilly ending. This is to say, the Lord felt conflicted, internally and of himself physically, perhaps explained by the presence of whatever monster was set to protect him. In any event, a cursory glance around at my allies confirmed a collective acknowledgement: the walking-dead-man would have to go first.


    Whether sensing our readiness or seeing no further need to attempt flight or conversation, the Lord¡¯s bodyguard metamorphosed his four primary digits on each hand into elongated razors. The transformation was quick and just as quickly he set upon me.


    I raised my hands to meet his wrists, and upon catching them threw him over me. He rolled midair and landed on his feet, spinning to swing and slash his natural weapons without a modicum of hesitation. ¡°Sword, sword!¡± I called and was answered by a hastily thrown arming sword from the nearest gangster.


    I managed to clip the pommel, causing the sword to spin in my direction enough for a follow-up grabbing of its handle, which I quickly adjusted and settled defensively so as to hold my ground. I proceeded then to intercept his swings, parring the razors with my own blade and finding, somewhat to my surprise, that whatever composed them was of superior quality and strength to this tool¡¯s steel.


    Fearing the right move could catch a weak section of the sword, causing the blade to snap, I altered my stance and seized the first opportunity to go on the offensive. I swung loose and widely at first, hoping to drive the dead-man back and give myself some room to dance. I found, however, that he was fearless before the arcs and only resolved himself to fillet me faster.


    I took a second on a backswing to glance over my shoulder, finding that the Lord was managing to fend off a few of the bigger ones by backing himself into a tight spot between barrels and using the business end of a broken two-by-four. A couple others, however, aimed to assist me and came around each side with blunt weapons.


    In the midst of combat against me, the dead-man failed to take note of them and was struck thrice and felled, whereupon I lunged forward and drove my sword into his chest, cutting up and out through his left shoulder. Again, baffled, his body proved to be more cadaver than man and my sword emerged clean of blood or gore.


    What I saw within his open wound shocked the lot of us, a mere husk of white and grey without a bone, organ, or bit of muscle to be seen. Rather, what filled him was a gooey ectoplasm with an apparent consistency similar to honey. It was in that moment that, for the first time, I saw this creature smile, and as it smiled its body phased through rapid stages of decomposition until all that remained was a tall pool of its viscera.


    ¡°What in God¡¯s name just happened to it?¡± One of my timely allies asked me, one of the masked ones whose eyes conveyed a breadth of concern.


    ¡°That was easier than it should¡¯ve been, so I doubt he¡¯s really gone. Perhaps it¡¯s some sort of regenerative thing? In an event, your fear is warranted¨Chold on to it.¡± I answered.


    As I turned to settle the matter of the Lord I saw in the distance two joggers, Vidal and Noam, coasting to catch up with me. Their lack of urgency was mildly unsettling, but I chalked it up to the distance we travelled, turns we¡¯d taken, and Noam¡¯s incredibly invasive ability to know what¡¯s going on at any given time.


    Thankfully, with his brute dispatched, the Lord had calmed and shirked his prior sense of hubris and aggression. He was now pinned against the wall, held back at his shoulders and chest, looking over at me with an empty and regretful gaze.


    ¡°So speak, your Lordship. Say what is lingering on the lethargic greys of your mind.¡± I said to him, stopping within arms-length with my own crossed loosely against my chest.


    ¡°His death has lifted my unease, brigand. I ask only that you make it quick and spare me new pain.¡± He spoke more slowly than he had previously and without a cocky flair. Rather, he had truly become downcast and seemed to long for death.


    I reached forward and assumed a position between the allies who kept the Lord in place, and put a hand on his chin to force him to look up at me as I spoke. ¡°He isn¡¯t dead, only gone, and I figure it¡¯s distance that¡¯s sapped you of his influence. You should know, you were dead the moment we caught on to your game¨Cintentional or not¨Cso see this not as my rewarding you or giving you mercy, but merely as business. One step in a bid for control, your death is just a means to my end.¡±


    Without allowing the Lord to respond, I moved away my hand and dove forth, sinking my teeth into the major artery of the left side of his neck to drink of his blood and absorb his vita. He struggled only briefly against me and the restraining persons, but was quickly quashed under the pain and loss of energy that followed my execution.