Despite overhead rustic timber beams like that of a log cabin deep in a wood far from the troubles of life, Dimitry couldn’t fall asleep. Whenever he tried, he would stare at the ceiling, eyes wide open. Perhaps a stroll through the room could ease his troubled mind.
Every slow step elicited stressed creaks from the floorboards. Did Dimitry gain weight? A quick examination supported that conclusion. His arms and legs were thicker, ribs no longer protruded from his abdomen, and accumulated soreness and aches had begun to dissipate. The high-calorie diet paid dividends faster than he thought.
All thanks to the brothel.
There was much to be grateful for; however, for everything the brothel offered, it took twice in return. An employer that treated him like a pet, a coworker with anger issues, another who was enslaved, soul-crushing work, and chronic insomnia. Every day was a haze.
Dimitry stumbled to the shuttered windows which, although closed, leaked crimson light from the street. He pushed them open, and a cold gale entered the room. The clamor of passersby fused with passionate screams and rustling furniture from the floors below.
Unfortunately, he had to endure until one of two plans came into fruition.
The first involved paying a caravan to convey him to a distant city where he was anonymous. With enough money saved for a certificate, Dimitry could start a surgical practice without fear of persecution. But there were flaws. What if the people he hired were loyal to Tenebrae or the Church? Would they turn him immediately, or wait until they left Ravenfall to rob him and sell him into slavery? No one could be trusted in this world. Extensive vetting was necessary.
His other option relied on Saphiria. Unlike Arnest, who compromised an escape for a few silver gambling pieces, she was competent and reliable. The clear-headed girl wasn’t one to sway under pressure, and like Dimitry, she had every reason to despise Delphine and the Church. She would be the perfect ally were it not for her collar. Although a long cloak could hide the steel to avoid detection by religious zealots, the enchantment remained a problem. Saphiria couldn’t speak freely or consent to his plan until he dispelled the magic. Conversely, the enchantment and ‘servia’ would force her to squeal his intentions to Delphine.
His conscience yearned to help the girl, but caution advised he consider all options. Dimitry would make headway into both plans until either became plausible.
He sighed, shut the window, and turned his gaze to the nightstand. A hooded cloak draped over a satiated faerie, who snoozed as if free from all the world’s troubles. How enviable.
Dimitry lay down and closed his eyes.
As expected, sleep never came.
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Clamoring church bells resounded, and searing sunlight seeped through the shuttered window’s cracks, painting the room’s plastered walls with discombobulated shapes.
Dimitry counted the gadots in his pouch, which produced grating metal clangs as they clashed against one another, and threw on his cloak. The sudden loss of warmth alarmed Precious. She scrambled into his hood, curling into a ball behind his neck.
Before anyone could bark orders at Dimitry, he rushed into Delphine’s study to ask for permission to shop for supplies, citing the near-death encounter with fyrhounds as an excuse to better prepare for the next delivery. She agreed, even allowing him to purchase vol to become acquainted with magic as a ‘proper’ barber-surgeon should.
So he did.
The first stop was a market square counter with magic catalysts on display. He purchased a small stack of mixed aquamarine and dark green pellets. Access to invisall increased his odds of escape, and the extra vol would help if Dimitry brought Saphiria along. She was a competent magician. With the remaining silver gadots, he roamed stalls for anything else that might help in a pinch.
Precious yawned. “Dumitry, why did we have to leave that warm, cozy room?”
He pulled the cloak tighter to his body to keep heat from escaping. Mornings were freezing. “I need supplies for the escape.”
“But all you bought was a stack of vol.”
“Yeah.”
“And you don’t know any spells.”
For the time being, it was best to keep his knowledge of invisall hidden. After overhearing yesterday’s conversation at a tavern, Dimitry preferred not to trust anyone with his secret. Even Precious.
“That’s true.”
“I can tell you’re lying.” She lazily tugged his ear. “Does that mean you actually know magic?”
A faerie that deciphered emotion was a double-edged busybody. “Yes, I know a spell… I think.”
“You don’t even know how much magic you know? How?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Huh.”
Dimitry massaged his eyelids. They burned from the accumulated fatigue of a week’s worth of sleepless nights. He warmly recalled the only rest he got—two nights ago on a forest floor. If only Precious didn’t wake him up. Then again, fyrhounds may have killed him and Saphiria while they slept.
Dimitry stepped around a mom pandering to three crying children. “Hey, Precious.”
“What?”
“I never thanked you for your help that night in the forest.”
“You mean when I cast illumina to save Saphiria?”
Right, she also used magic to distract a mutated wolf. Precious saved Saphiria and Dimitry not once, but twice. “Maybe somewhere inside you, there’s a tender soul yearning to come free. Thanks.”
She paused, and her voice lowered. “… I was just securing my human investments.”
Dimitry wondered if he heard timidity in her tone. “By the way, since you know so much magic and I so little, mind teaching me?”
“And what will I get out of it?”
“Secure human investments?”
“No. Nice try.”
His eyes darted around the market and landed on a produce stall. “How does a lifetime supply of fent sound? After all, you seemed to really enjoy it last night.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“What’s not simple? Is there something else I could bribe you with?”
“That’s not the point.” Precious’s sigh tickled his ear. “The point is you need vol, but I don’t.”
“How does that work?”
A group of townspeople shot fleeting glances at Dimitry, whispering amongst themselves as they navigated around him. The sight of a man mumbling to himself piqued their animosity. Dimitry was too tired to care.
“You ask too many questions…” Precious’s voice trailed off.
“Does that mean you don’t know?”
“Too. Many. Questions.”
Among the dozens of stalls lining the market, one sold dried meat—a reliable product for extended travel. The merchant was a woman wearing a thick white tunic. Deep wrinkles formed ravines in her face; scars from a lifetime of hardship. Her eyes met Dimitry’s. She beckoned him closer.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
A migraine’s throbbing pain distracted Dimitry, nearly tripping him over a rock as he approached.
“This meat’s the best you’ll find in the whole county.” She waved a strip in front of Dimitry’s face and leaned in to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but it came from the fawns of a countess’ private hunting grounds. And don’t ask how I got it.”
“As long as it’s cheap, I don’t care about the details.”
He looked down to inspect strips of dried meat, but something else caught his eye. At the table’s corner stood a miniature granite statue of a veiled woman holding a cane to the sky. Just like the identical piece at Inscriber Works, which drained invisall’s effects from Dimitry’s body, it glowed gray.
“This statue—”
“Not for sale,” the woman spat. “Let’s get back to business.”
Dimitry bought a sack of dried meat and exited the market square. “Precious,” he whispered.
“What now?”
“What does it mean if a statue glows gray?”
“I already told you so much and got nothing in return,” Precious said. “Information isn’t cheap.”
“All you told me was that you didn’t know what to tell me. And did you already forget about the fent I humiliated myself to treat you to yesterday?”
“Look, that was a long time ago!”
Patience gone, Dimitry shook his head, rattling the unsuspecting faerie that lay at the back of his hood.
“St—stop!” A small weight hung for dear life from the neckline of his tunic.
Like a dissatisfied mountain god that held the fate of a weary traveler in their hands, Dimitry was drunk with power. “Ready to talk yet? I can do this all day.”
“Okay, okay! I get it! Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?” Precious climbed his shoulder and snuggled into his cloak. “Remember what I told you about dispelia?”
“Something about a spell that removes enchantments?”
“Kinda. But dispelia doesn’t only remove enchantments, and just like any spell, it can be cast or enchanted onto something. For example, Celeste statues. Their gray aura comes from a dispelia enchantment. Make sense?”
Dimitry stopped to stroke his chin, whose stubble pricked his fingers. If he had an item enchanted with dispelia, he wouldn’t have to risk asking potential Zerans to cast the spell directly onto Saphiria’s collar. The enchantment’s mobility also allowed him to sneak it onto a corpse-delivery trip, far from Delphine’s stalkers or any witnesses, freeing Saphiria from her brainwashing while providing them an ox-drawn cart to escape with. Days would pass before anyone at the brothel found out. It was a flawless plan.
“So if I had one of those dispelia statues, it would disenchant Saphiria’s collar?”
"Not that easy. The first thing you have to consider is the strength of the collar’s enchantment. If it’s wearing off, which it probably is since Delphine’s pet was curious enough to believe your babbling, then a strong enough dispelia enchantment will probably work.”
The faerie spoke sense. Because the collar inhibited emotion, Saphiria’s night terrors and her uncharacteristic rebellion against Gerbald meant its magic was faltering.
“You mentioned a second thing,” Dimitry said.
“The second thing is, unlike dispelia spells, dispelia enchantments don’t nullify magic completely. They only suppress it.”
So that was why Dimitry’s invisibility gradually returned after he fled Inscriber Works. Unfortunately, permanently taping a glowing statue to Saphiria’s neck to mute the collar would be ineffective. “Can we enchant any object with dispel—”
A bell rang in the distance despite an already awake city.
Dimitry’s head turned. “What’s—”
Another bell clamored nearby. Soon, dozens chanted their disorienting cacophony from every direction.
“It’s—” Precious spoke, but the barrage of sound overpowered her voice.
“It’s what?” Dimitry yelled.
Civilians dashed to the edge of the road and pressed their backs against building walls. Mothers clutched their children, shielding them from some unknown threat. Men pushed crates and carts to clear a path. Like a team of physicians and nurses, the people of Ravenfall worked in unison.
The patrolling guards didn’t stop to help. They ran towards distant objectives, weapons at the ready.
Seconds later, men in enchanted gray garbs, perhaps ceremonial gear, dashed through the streets. Glowing lances, spears, crossbows, and strange long pipes in hand, they rode on the backs of stallions whose hooves stomped against the road, footsteps barely audible in the ruckus.
The horses, too, wore armor. Partitioned iron segments that protected their upper body glowed either gold or green. Enchanted bangles of variously colored auras snapped around their legs.
Dust and dirt rose from the road, filling the air with a pernicious mist and the smell of earth. Dimitry backed up against a wall, pulled his cloak over his nose, and gazed down the street.
“It’s the Zeran Knights,” Precious screamed into his ear, her exact words now distinguishable amongst resounding bells. She buried deeper beneath his tunic. “Keep me away from them!”
Before long, the Zeran Knights disappeared from view, the bells stopped clanging, and normality returned to Ravenfall. People returned to their routines as if nothing happened.
Dimitry searched his surroundings and tapped where Precious lay buried to signal her to resurface. “What was that about?”
“The Church probably chased someone down.”
“Where did they come from?” He received uncomfortable glances as he whispered into his cloak. “I never saw them around before.”
“They hide in monasteries. Whatever you do, keep me away from them. Understand? Good.”
Dimitry paused. “Do you mean those giant buildings that look like small palaces? The ones with a statue of a woman out in front?”
“Yes! Stay away from the statues!”
“And what if they found me with you in tow?”
“I’ll be purged, and you’ll be forcefully recruited into Zera’s Chosen to repent.”
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Steady light from an enchanted stone illuminated the slender knife as it cut through yet another deltoid muscle, exposing bone, tendons, and ligaments underneath. In one of the cellar’s corners were piled bodies that waited for dissection by a weary surgeon, and in another, a cart half full with chopped limbs lying under a red-glowing blanket. Although preservia kept organs fresh, it didn’t stop the stench of raw human flesh, leaking bodily fluids, and smeared blood from fouling the air.
Gerbald, who waited by the brothel’s entrance, led Dimitry here as soon as he returned from the market, hurling a hail of insults as they walked. A gruesome job lay in store.
“I know people sold their bodies in brothels,” Precious said, “but to think they’d take it so literally… it’s kind of funny. Don’t you think?”
Hunched down, Dimitry focused on severing a tendon. An otherwise silent cellar made the blade’s incisions audible. “Are you trying to upset me, or is your sense of humor really that bad?”
“Hmm…” She paused and, finger on her mouth, turned her head towards the ceiling. “Dunno.”
Dimitry cut the final ligament to reveal the ball and socket joint that connected the arm to the shoulder. “Aren’t you disturbed in the slightest?”
“Are you disturbed when you see a pig get slaughtered?”
Dimitry lowered his knife, which produced a soft thud when it hit the table. “Not really. I guess you have a point.” He reached for an iron rod to break the joint apart. “But I do feel some pity.”
“Right now, you don’t seem to be feeling much at all.” Precious sat on his head.
He dissected cadavers before; it was a rite of passage for medical students. The difference was that willing participants donated those bodies. His current “patients” didn’t have that luxury. Delphine gathered them from every corner of Ravenfall just to sell them to a mysterious client. Just like she harvested Samuel and Arnest.
An accidental elbow swing knocked a severed arm off the worktable and to the ground. “Ah, crap.” Dimitry knelt to pick it up. His eyebrows furrowed. “What the…”
“What the what?” Precious asked.
Jutting out from under thin pale skin, a purple bulge ran down the limb’s side. The other bodies had it too, but in this specimen, it didn’t appear to be a vein—it was too close to the surface and kept its shape too well. And it couldn’t be an artery either. The brachial artery was the only one nearby, but it ran closer to the bicep tendon. Whatever this was, it wasn’t human.
Dimitry picked up the arm, examined the strange vasculature closely, and tossed it towards the bright brick on the worktable. He picked up the slender knife again. With several well-practiced strokes, he sliced a thin layer of skin from the triceps, revealing the dark red muscles and yellow subcutaneous fat lying dormant beneath.
“What, what, what?” Precious peeked down from atop his head.
Dimitry sliced lengthwise along the purple vessel. With the help of a towel, he mopped up excess extracellular fluid that leaked from exposed flesh. There were the arteries, those were veins, but what was that? Livor mortis and pooling blood stained the corpse a similar shade of purple, making it too easy to miss. He traced the vessel down the upper arm, into the forearm, and through the carpal tunnel.
“Just say something already!”
“Shh.” Dimitry excised a thin, square-shaped piece of skin from the palm, then pierced and scraped a tough strip of tissue that concealed a layer of fat, muscles, veins, nerves, and arteries underneath.
Precious flew from his head and hovered over the dissected limb. Her golden ponytail hung over her shoulder as she thrust her neck out. “I don’t see anything except nasty meaty stuff. Tell me! I wanna knoooow!”
“Don’t block the light.”
They were too dark to be arteries. Dimitry poked them with the blunt end of the knife and they rebounded immediately. The vessel walls were too thick, resilient, and rubbery to be nerves or veins. He pierced one, and a blue liquid oozed out. What was that?
Dimitry carved away excess fat to uncover a network of dark purple vessels whose pattern resembled a rose seen from above, centered at the palm. They clustered in the middle and grew sparse as they approached the edges.
His breaths hastened as he wiped alien fluids and flesh from his hands and placed them by the light. For once, his malnourished body was a boon; a lack of fat exposed the underlying vasculature. The warm air from his nose tickled his wrist as he leaned in for a closer look.
Buried deep below his pale skin was that same mesh of purple vessels, almost imperceptible from above. They traveled through his hands, arms, legs, chest, and neck. Was it used for blood transport or to maintain tissue fluid levels like the lymphatic system? No. Blood was red and lymph was chalk-colored. The blue liquid was something new. Perhaps another sample could shed light on the mystery.
“Precious.” Dimitry’s fingers performed a beckoning motion. “Your hands.”
She pulled back, then turned away. “No! You can’t cut them open!”
“I’m not going to cut them open,” Dimitry said, perhaps lying.
Her arms slowly stretched out. “If you…”
Aside from pale white skin, five tiny digits, and fingernails like golden specks, he saw nothing else. “Useless.” Dimitry ignored the insulted expression on the faerie’s face in favor of a severed leg. His hand shot forth towards the knife and his fingers curled around the handle. Just as the blade’s edge contacted decaying skin, he hesitated.
One missing limb was suspicious. Two would be insulting.