The winds of twilight covered the royal capital of Candere in a chemical mist. Under the wine-red skies and amidst thin, dirty streets, poorly lit by gaslight, lived the men of the new century. Barely distinguishable from rats, they engaged in all sorts of debauchery and cutthroating. It was said that in every corner of the Windfall District you could find a place to either fight, fuck or both.
There, in a godforsaken district, out of the limelight and hidden by urban decadence, holy men marched.
Their heavy steps echoed. Not a living soul could be seen in their path. No one was idiotic enough to show up in front of the Holy Seer’s dogs. Windows shut, doors locked. It was a silent night in the Windies.
In the hazy night, the men might’ve looked like apparitions. They wore the white and gold of Temperance over black studded leather. They had hooded gray cloaks, pulled all the way, and a tied cloth over their mouths, trying to get some protection from the fumes.
Three soldiers reached the outskirts, almost at the city’s walls. A strong stench made them hold their breaths. The one in the front, the only wearing a red armband, gestured to a downwards slope going along the wall. At the end of it, three more men waited for them, guarding the entrance to a sewer gallery. Two were soldiers also, expressions hidden by the darkness. The other one was dressed in a green cloak and stood below all of them. He spat on the ground.
— Took your time, Gendrich. — the little, bald man said. — The greenies here didn’t even consider going a single step after that… thing.
— I see you have some reason in your heads. — Gendrich said, analyzing the faces of the trembling pair of rookies. — Cowards or not, they did well. A couple of boys barely old enough to handle a spear would stand no chance against the witch.
— I’m telling you, Gendrich. The bitch could barely walk. I would go after her myself if it wasn’t for…
— What, Lamprey? — Gendrich frowned at him. — You’ve done your job, now keep quiet. It's not over yet.
The captain looked at the men around him and sighed. The Church’s Fist had seen better days.
— Listen up. We have men at every entrance or exit of these galleries. If the bitch comes out into the fucking river, there will be men on boats, ready to spear her down.
— We’re going down in pairs.
He could see that the men looked at each other, confused, although they would never question Gendrich’s logic. There were only 5 guards. The scout evaded eye contact.
— That means you’re coming too, Lamprey.
Gendrich pulled a short saber from his belt and threw it at the short man. He barely managed to not get cut by the sharp blade.
— And I’ll be your pair.
Lamprey’s expression went even darker and he spat on the ground.
— Organize yourselves. We’ll enter in five minutes. Bare feet. No light of any sort. I doubt anyone tried teaching you how not to be a brutish airhead announcing your arrival at every step, but do try, else, you’ll die.
— This is no common danger. Be prepared and do not hesitate to kill. Remember, it’s always you or them. If we want justice. If we want the streets of our city cleansed of rats, we, deliverers of punishment, must remain alive for the next day. And the next day. And all of our days until we perish. Evil has no place under the light of the Church.
The men raised their fists. Gendrich could see some confidence on their faces. The speech worked the same way it did with him the first time he heard it. The Church’s Fist. The holy shield protecting the folk from the darkness. If they failed, everything was lost. He’d laugh, if he was not alone.
The five minutes went by in a flash. Gendrich sat on a rock covered in moss to ready his flintlock pistol. His men, after settling with their pairs, either prayed or stood still with a straight look in their eyes. Those were the moments when you had to find means of staying alive. If your mind was loose, unfocused and scared, you’d die. Faith and homicidal lust were the two best ways to get your mind under control, Gendrich had observed after many years of service.
His own method was choosing to not let it all matter. He did not matter. None of these men mattered. Their cause did not matter and neither did any of the lives their mission affected. Day after day, he’d serve, protect, be on the verge of dying and see other men meeting their final fate. Every time, it could be him, and there was no way of foreseeing it or avoiding it. The best fighter he had ever met died from a glass bottle thrown at his head. So you may fight like no other man has ever seen, and in the end of it, you’re still a man. They stood no chance against the true evils of the world. If they won for a day, it would be back for the next one.
Why fight at all, then? Gendrich had no answer to give to himself. The silver paid for booze and whores, though.
— It is time. — The captain got up.
— Harren and Oliver, you two stay here. Guns and spears always pointed at the entrance, got it? Any signal of something that’s not us, kill it.
The pair nodded.
— Waler and Caroth, you’ll get in with me and Lamprey. If the paths split, we’ll split too. — Gendrich raised his pistol. — This is our communication. Heard a shot? Go back running to the entrance. I’ll do the same. If we try going after each other inside the tunnel, there’s a chance that the thing came out on top and she’ll end up mowing us all down.
— If I end up being the one to fire the pistol and… don’t come back, don’t go after me. Stay here and send someone to look for reinforcements. I won’t go after you either.
— Hmpf… I guess we’d better survive. — Lamprey said.
The four men went forward into darkness. Immediately, the pungent smell became even stronger. There was a dissonance between how the dark waters looked and how they felt on their naked feet. Each step sulked into moss and either smashed something or tripped on it. They were silent, but Gendrich wished for his boots, even if they’d end up sogged anyway. Slowly, the light coming from the rounded entrance became a distant beacon. Their path took them far, to a point that the world around them seemed disconnected from the city outside, a realm apart. There were no walls, no ceiling, no floor. Only shadow, who kept them alive as long as it was suitable for it.
At one point, the group reached a wall. The gallery split itself diagonally into two different tunnels. Both were protected by thick iron grids. However, the right one was destroyed, providing passage.
— It looks like an animal mauled this. — Waler picked up a broken bar from the ground. The ends of it, where it was separated from the grid, did not have a regular cut. Instead, they looked like they were torn apart in a very violent fashion.
— Heh, that’s what we’re dealing with. — Lamprey said.
The two rookies widened their eyes.
— Isn’t she just a woman? — Caroth asked.
Lamprey laughed, and received a slap on the back of his head.
— Silence. — Gendrich said.
— Ugh… She probably already heard us mingling here. — Lamprey said. — Listen, boy. There’s lots of stuff in this world that you don’t know about and, trust me, you wish to stay oblivious. This is not just some woman. It's a witch. And not just some fat old hag that runs around the woods making teas so that the village elder can get his cock working again. I’m sorry they didn’t tell you before, but that’s what we’re dealing with.
— That’s enough, Lamprey. — Gendrich said. — We have a job to do. No more talking.
Gendrich approached the intact iron grid.
— Look.
Gendrich gripped an iron bar and, with ease, pulled it away from the rest of the grid. The ends appeared similar to the ones on the bar Caroth picked up.
— It’s almost entirely taken by rust. Doesn’t need much effort to tear down one of these. Help me here, you two.
The three soldiers started ripping the rusty bars apart. Without much work, they managed to create a gap wide enough for them to pass.
— We’ll separate now. Lamprey and I will follow the most obvious track. You two go through the path we just opened. These galleries can get complex, so there’s a chance that going through here will get you closer to her than us. Good luck.
Alongside the scout, the captain turned his back to the green soldiers and followed the path of destruction left by the witch. He had failed to mention that there were no signs of rust in the grid that was already broken. Lamprey stood in silent complicity.
As the tunnel diverged from the main axis, light was gone almost to the point of pitch blackness. The noises from outside ceased, too. All they could hear was the low sound of dense, dirty water running and the mingling of rats, coming from every direction. And wind. A cold breeze, carrying a miasma of death and rot. Gendrich shivered.
— I’ve had my share of adventures down the sewer tunnels, you know. — Lamprey whispered. — There seems to be something different about this one. Feels like a cold hand is gripping my bones.
— There’s something in the darkness. — Gendrich answered. — Now that we go deeper and deeper, there’s no more light to keep us safe. At each step we take, it gets thicker. Heavier. I can almost feel its desire for me.
— No need for silence anymore? — Lamprey asked.
Gendrich shook his head.
— No. It doesn’t matter anymore.
They moved forward. Looking behind, their escape was a dim light, growing more distant by the second. Lamprey doubted they could take a run without tripping and getting engulfed by the heavy sewage. The captain did not think about it. The moment he stepped beyond the broken iron grid, he knew that their possible positive outcomes were quickly dwindling down. He had a tense grip on his pistol, and the other hand constantly reached for his retractable spear, just making sure it was still there.
Another sound started to compose the background. It was a water stream too, although lighter and seemingly from a crossing direction.
— There’s something ahead. Can you feel it? — Lamprey asked.
Gendrich didn’t have the same awareness of the thief turned scout, a man very used to crawling around in pits and passages. The lack of use of his vision, however, made him more sensitive, and he understood what Lamprey had said. The air started to feel different, less uniform than in the straight tunnel. Even though there was no light, somehow, he saw. The darkness stopped being this ethereal force and it became like a curtain, opaque, but could be put aside.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The tunnel ended and a new gallery crossed their path. It was wide and had a strong current running through its center, with a stone floor at each side.
— This is going straight to the river. — Lamprey said. — Wonder if she just let herself go and hoped to wash away somewhere safe? Maybe the soldiers posted at the end of it already catched the bitch.
— We must be sure. — Gendrich said. — Can we walk through it?
— Yeah, it barely reaches over my knee. Should be easy for you.
The man raised their pants a bit more and went head into the sewage. The water was lighter, but the current was definitely stronger. If they lost balance, it could take them away very quickly. They dragged their legs through the stream, a movement that echoed for a long while as the gallery was not only wide, but tall.
There was another tunnel right across their entrance point. It was their beacon during the tough crossing they faced. They were so focused on it, however, that they did not notice the shadows coming alive.
The curtain of darkness became heavier. And heavier. The image of the tunnel entrance was only a projection in their minds, as the world had turned into a void. They tried to rip through the curtains, layer after layer, but it proved impossible. They were in the grasp of darkness, imprisoned in a realm that was no longer their own. Their feet did not stop. There was no more rumbling of rats, no more distant sounds of water and dirt. Their senses seemed to merge into a single stream; whatever they saw, whatever they touched or heared, could only be described as dark.
There was no noise, only a glimmer. They turned their heads to see the image of a girl. Red hair as if her head were in flames and covered only by sewage. She looked at them without expression, eyes gazing like the dead did. It was a frail image, and that made the minds of the men freeze. It took them a while to identify the menace, and by then, it was too late.
Lamprey jumped sideways and went out of vision immediately.
The flintlock fired. The void was taken over by the blaze’s light. And for its brief duration, the girl’s image was no more. The spherical bullet voyaged through where she should have been, making an explosion sound as it cracked the wind.
Once again, as the moment passed, the darkness reigned absolute and the girl’s image returned to its place, untouched. The shadow played tricks.
No way he could reload the gun fast enough, Gendrich thought right before dropping the weapon in the water below. His other hand pulled the retractable spear from his belt and, while gesturing to lengthen the spear’s shaft, Lamprey jumped from out of vision, sword in hand.
Before Gendrich could warn him about the illusion, he was already too close to landing his blow. To the captain’s surprise, the image reacted. The girl turned sideways, raising her hands as if they could parry their blow. Her expression remained unfazed. Although her movement was nowhere near fast enough to match Lamprey’s, the shadows were. Claws grasped the wrists of the little man, stopping the blade from penetrating the girl’s flesh. He flinched and fought against the living darkness, only to end up dropping his weapon. From afar, Gendrich noticed that it was only a distraction.
— You bitch!
As he loudly struggled, Lamprey positioned his legs to get strength enough to deliver a kick. Between his toes, a small blade was being held.
The movement was swift.
Before the kick even reached its halfway point, another claw surged in a wild, ripping movement. It hit both Lamprey’s legs, right above the knees. The man screamed, flailed. Hot blood ejected from him. On the water, there were now two pieces of meat and bone, which emitted no sound upon hitting the liquid surface.
Gendrich could wait no longer. With one step and the spear’s shaft fully extended, the distance was enough. He went for a full pierce while the girl watched Lamprey’s life extinguishing and the claws held his body. Her body was no illusion anymore. He felt the blade ripping through her skin, as soft as anyone else’s. It tore a hole in the flesh.
He got a reaction out of her, finally.
She writhed in pain and released a piercing scream. For a moment, the wail took Gendrich out of the battle. It was no demon screaming, just a girl. The moment did not last long, however. The reaction gave him more time, and he’d better use it well. With the two hands in a strong grip, he moved the spear inside her. It had hit right below her chest, so the movement felt a bit restricted by the ribcage. Still, the iron tip went deeper and blood started spilling.
The shadow reacted. Somehow, it seemed to panic. The two claws fought against Gendrich’s strength and tried to outright pull the spear out of the girl. The soldier resisted, but it was no use. He focused on maintaining his position, sinking his feet as deep as he could in the mossy floor. The claws forced his spear out of the wound, but he kept an aggressive position.
The girl looked at him. Her expression had gone from pain into wrath. Gendrich smiled. He would stand against the creature. They looked at each other firmly for what seemed a long time, but it was barely under one second. It was about who could act faster.
Gendrich’s spear moved forward, ripping apart the curtain.
-
By the time it reached the entrance, the sound appeared to be of a pebble hitting a still lake.
Harren and Oliver almost jumped at the spot. As low as the sound was, it still broke the silence. They could only hope that it meant their victory.
— Could that be the gunshot? — Harren asked, trying to hide the trembling in his voice.
— We’ll find out if someone, or something, comes back. — Oliver answered.
After the initial echo, the quietness took over once more. The soldiers’ breath was heavy and irregular. Oliver almost wished he went with the others, at least he’d be spared from the anxiousness.
Roughly ten minutes passed before anything could be heard again. It was a splash. Another. And another. Someone walked towards them. They pointed the spears forward, their hands were sore from holding them for so long with such strength.
— Who is it? — Harren shouted as the sound approached without a visual.
The steps were louder and louder. The light outside was too weak to lighten the path all the way to the end. Or maybe the darkness was stronger. The sound was almost at the entrance when they saw him. His hood was lowered, showing a good head of gray hair. A mask of blood covered his face. His cloak was in a sorrowful state, ripped apart and tainted by sewage and even more blood. His burden, however, was the truly awful view.
Over his shoulder, Captain Gendrich carried Lamprey’s corpse, seemingly untouched, until you searched for his legs. On the other side, Gendrich held a firm grip of a long, fiery hair, as dirty with blood and dejects as his cloak. He dragged the corpse of a woman, naked and unidentifiable. She had a deep wound right below the chest, open like a crater. But the worst part was her face — there wasn’t one anymore. In its place, only a deep hole of shattered bone and ripped skin, filled with dark blood. It dripped.
The men dropped their weapons and held the captain as he fell to his knees. His leather chestpiece was in shambles, marked by claws and wet in blood.
— Captain! What about the others?! — Harren asked.
— Do not bother him, idiot! We must take care of his wounds. — Oliver said — There, on your side. Grab his horn, we can use it to call reinforcements.
Harren reached for the horn, only to be intercepted by the captain’s hand.
— Do not bother… — the captain said, in a faltering voice, unrecognizable. — We’ve done it. Let’s take the corpses.
He got up, dropping the bodies and forcing the soldiers to catch them. Harren saw what remained of Lamprey’s legs and needed to hold what was in his stomach. Oliver, with disgust, held the girl’s arm while leaving the rest of her body dragging on the dirt.
— Sir… The others. Will they know? — Harren asked.
— They’re dead. — the captain answered, without skipping a beat.
Gendrich did not look in any direction other than forward. His walk was trembling and weak, but never reached the point of failure. Following him was a trail of blood and water from the sewers, ingrained in his feet like a pair of socks.
— Captain! Shouldn’t we do something about your wounds? Or maybe we could wait for help here. — Oliver protested.
There was no response. The captain kept moving forward at his broken pace.
Harren and Oliver exchanged looks.
— Blow it. The others should be warned somehow. — Oliver said, pointing to the horn.
And so Harren did. Awkwardly, at first, as he did not know the correct technique nor did he have a strong enough lung. The horn’s weak call sounded like a faint whimper and it vanished alongside the soldier’s breath. The rookies had to pick up the slack after noticing the captain disappearing into a dark alley, unfettered by their acts. Harren tried again, walking and balancing Lamprey’s dead body at the same time, to equal or worse results.
Although the captain had a head start, he soon faltered behind, after a couple of wrong turns and stumbles on the irregular stone streets. The two rookies sweated ahead, leading the way towards the closest barracks, which they assumed was the rendezvous point with the other groups. The alleys of Windfall could be almost labyrinthic. It was a settlement grown without much planning, where houses and buildings fought for space and moved towards wherever the builders felt like. The paths snaked around between constructions of simple stone and masonry, went up and down and constantly split and merged back again. Few were the main streets where a carriage could pass through. Going through the Windies was an on foot affair. Harren and Oliver moved with confidence, even though they weren’t if they followed the correct way. The captain did not complain and kept following them, silent.
Gendrich observed the two men. He did not care about their path. At first, they worried about him, who was leaving a trail of blood and could barely muster the strength to walk. Slowly, though, they grew used to his pace and stopped worrying about matching speeds. Gendrich carefully reduced the frequency of his own steps and let the rookies take the lead, too distracted about being lost in the city’s dangerous outskirts to notice his behavior. Lamprey stumps had dried out. Most of his blood had probably left while they were still in the sewers. The girl’s corpse was a mess, covered by the city’s filth and even more distorted by being dragged around. The captain seemed to focus on her. He just needed a bit more time.
They were nearing a lively neighborhood. A hum that could be heard in the background slowly turned into music, coming from many directions. The sky was lightened up. The men turned right, avoiding the path to the main street and reaching a small passage between the backs of two large wooden warehouses. There were no men working in them at that time, but the smell of the furnaces persisted.
— Forward. — Gendrich stuttered. He had seen the doubt on the rookies’ steps, which turned slow as they faced the unknown area. Their attention could not be broken. Eventually, they reached a thin set of stone steps, and from atop it they could see the river arm that cut through the city. The rookies were sure the barracks faced it, and traced a path towards the nearby bridge, barely visible beyond the fumes.
They were dangerously close to the rats’ nest. It was time.
Now that they had a clear destination in mind, the pair of rookies paid even less attention to Gendrich. They had sped up, with refreshed will, leaving the captain behind, as he wished to be. His hand went to his chest and an excruciating pain took over him like water crushing a dam. He could not lose the image of the girl. Not when he was so close.
The path swerved left, right after an alley. Gendrich held his step, and his underlings were no longer in his view. Blood went up his throat and an urge to cough took over. He used his mouth to muffle the sound of the crimson liquid being vomited out of his innards. He hoped luck was on his side. A distant red light, from the end of the alley, illuminated the path. It could take him to a main street, where it was easy to disappear. If he just gathered enough strength.
He stumbled into the passage, supporting himself on some barrels. He could hear the rats scrambling from his arrival. The girl was there, disfigured. He needed to be careful over his footing. Anything could make him lose his balance as his strength faded. What would he do if he reached the street? Could he keep being awake? What if he just collapsed and ended up captured by the guards anyway? No, he could not give up. Not after all that. The girl kept being dragged around like a bag full of garbage. After another set of steps, her skull was cracked.
Was he even halfway there? Gendrich wondered. His vision started to feel heavy. His limbs lost strength at every move. Just a bit more.
He could not be in the soldiers’ clothes. While one arm dragged along the walls, trying to find support, the other started ripping off his clothes. The leather pieces, in shambles, came off easily, falling to the ground piece by piece, like a trail of breadcrumbs. The shadows were light, ethereal. Of no help.
Damn, this man.
Gendrich started to feel the blood pouring down his body, starting right under his torso. The image of the girl started to become fuzzy, interspaced with blackness. For a moment, she saw the sewers once again. Just a bit more.
Suddenly, the belt fell, as if Gendrich got slimmer. The trousers soon followed and he went face forward into the gray stone floor. Just a bit more strength. There was no image of a girl anymore. The thread that held everything together withstood no longer. Where once had been an old man, a battle hardened captain of the Church’s Fist, there now was the slender body of a woman. Ragged and mistreated. From right below her chest, she bled profusely in the place a spear had gone almost through her bone. It burned. Her hands clawed forward, trying to drag the body with whatever strength was left in her. Just a bit more.
She did not want to look backwards. She could only pray that the men did not come back for her.
Was the light at the end of the path real?
Her senses wanted to shut down. Her eyelids felt heavy, like a great sleep called for her. It could not be death, she argued to no one. The pool of blood under her disagreed.
She saw her own hand raising, trying to reach further. But she didn’t see it lowering to the ground once again. A spiraling noise took over her ears and the metallic taste of blood burned in her mouth. With the last breath within her, Alice whispered.
— Annelise…
And the world faded into shadows.