Chapter Fourteen: Streets of Freywyn II
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'A rotten field, prospect of stars shift by magnitude powers greater than your own' A prophet once spoke, a judgement too broad and generalized to be of help. Ceron huffed, memories flooding the mixing of two lives paid tolls better left forgotten. Delusion of the mind and body meant dissociation to the reality Asriel's life flashed, still in the blur upbringing and knowledge the same came. The fundament nature of surroundings if not proof enough, centuries had gone perhaps more, "How much has gone rotten, dismayed, disfigured by unseen hands?" Privy not, conjures the most bleak and hard truth.
A mention of Ceron was no where in the boy's recollection, countries, organizations even continents-- Wiped. Someone buried history, aside the foreign make, extra moons, my tower my imprisonment of that dammed sword still existed. A force weaved itself into the workings, I' had to delve into the maw no answers solve themselves. Asriel held a ticket for enrollment, I intent to use it, isolation bares scrutiny no less by just ire and seedy hands.
The knowledge of mages was not spoken among common tongue, as much royalty to peasant farmers class had no matter to the supernatural. The common folk were trivial at best, rabble did little to advance one's own pursuit or worse degrade sense of a mages truth. But the common work had be done, troubling a warlock with gardening- A wizard with hairdressing was to say not the wisest of choices, stock of normal life brought such mundane issues remaining in the mundane. Obscured imagery, a lens of the world remains filtered by overarching shadows, Asriel himself shed barely a glimpse privy as a son's mage knight serving as little credence.
By the slum paths, numerous streets from the main road a drainpipe moved back and fourth rattling, kicking a trash pile and barrel away Ceron crouched down grasping the drainage cover, tossing it aside pulled a chain dangling beneath waste water and sludge. A meter of chain sat beside, a metal crate tied at the end; the second stash Ceron had been guided toward, gold and other miscellaneous wares saved from Asriel's estate. A penny not, given the circumstance wilted wealth carried questions alone- Fencing, among thieves, a lot whose life is dictated around coin. Asriel would have sold it, if he knew a trustworthy cut throat. Not an easy feat that.
I had seen a most pious mother, a sister serving a sermon helping youth a mother of four turned past in a single fortnight. Attempts to cheat death, age the wrinkles of her skin frayed an already decayed heart not even childbirth soothed' four children drowned in a well no less, her last still bearing. She herself gutted out with clippers and shearing blades,
when I had arrived at her shrine- The woman had bled out, the umbilical still cord sagged behind her. I had used mindsight, the fragments of her desire rooted incomprehensible ramblings-- Wolves in sheepskin- No, worse a wolf had reason still an object guiding force. Insane.
A mother, a naive child and entire towns to officials and handy layman's.
I knew more than coincidence, at the time I had little realization. A force of unseen will, within hearts of man in haunting whispers, gathering of souls; a circle of ghouls slumped, wicked silhouettes cast a portal lying in the darkness arms clutched outward beyond barriers of the world. Nevermore.
...
Drapes of smog lay feet side, unnatural wisps coursed curving around ones feet in corners and unseen alleyways Ceron moved the brick and metal housing danced by, boarded windows and shutters bolted. A wide range spell? The unnatural phenomenon was a concern on the layered dunes of doubt, strode past down another forked way the smog had subsided the entanglement gone and along a cobbled street. A man robed in white preached, through the thick crowd of people swarming the streets in droves his lengthy words, hoarse voice rattling those too close to not ignore. Most that rendered within range, stopped most ignorant they may be, uncaring or not for what the man had to say-- His legion was not something to ignore.
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Ceron narrowed his gaze, just audible enough to hear but not understand was more than enough.
Rows of people prostrated themselves before the man, folded hands continuously praying in unison, only a few stood meeting the robed spectacle with a face of disbelief. Gauging the spectacle from a distance, Ceron loomed, with a sack in tow walked past. By wide strides left the ruined graveyard of buildings entering the city limits on the verge of rebuilding. From scorched hovels, crumbling at their leisure to more fully furnished structures in sight. Rustic housing, hobbled together with tiled roofs lined each side of the road, various second story windows were opened fine wire extending out drying assorted linen.
Spurs of recent corpses dotting Freywyn's outside walls, mentions of possession and taxes but idle talk herald the lives of these people, Ceron was no fool to ignore the sum of the lives within these walls especially amidst the flesh and waking of a world foreign.
By sidewalk edge stalls brimmed with varied folk carrying on, wares bought and pawned sprawling nearly a city block, booths filled the entire road, as a block of commerce. Sounds of coin and soft talk filled Ceron's ears, saturated in the worry and gossip painted Freywyn's light, a mask behind the walls a open discussion. Men draped in silk cloth, leather workers and others wasting by corners of sight in tattered rags selling dirt pottery.
Some parted a glance, quickly as they feigned it, words fumbled in Ceron's mind at recollection of faces too darting to fully grasp. Expansive aromas filled Ceron's nose, roasted meat and dried fruits sat on a counter dragging attention of many, more stalls fitting food to handiwork, crafts. An assortment of wares for any to fancy, but with no leisure did Ceron browse- Was still he found himself in line, later a coin lighter and a stick of lamb in hand.
..
Stranger to myself,
Reflection in the mirror,
A man thought I knew.
Muddying waters did little to help, much Ceron wished to deny the fragmented flashes. A burden and warning just the same, those who due Asriel harm stalk within these walls, but I am no sheep. The night of Asriel's capture was still a blur, his torture behind intangible shades. Fiddling past another stall, Ceron entered moving the laced curtains aside a display of cloth wraps and leather hoods. Ceron view gazed past the ordinary materials, toward the back covered corners of a tent' which dimensions appeared too skewed and tall from its perception on the outside.
Shuffling, a clap from behind the curtains closed.
"Ah, sporting a fancy' Out from behind hanging cords a hooded figure slowly came, a long studded mask of bone riddled in etched worming streaks down a crow like break.
Ceron knew, he had come to the right place.
..
The figure laid at edges of the visible, as if recalling a distant memory, movement just out of perception a form Ceron couldn't quite narrow down.
"Not many wander into the tent of Lunimar, fewer same leave.' The masked figure greeted Ceron's eyes with still observation, it was not mundane lure that attracted folk here. Course mundane left in their shackles.
"A mask Luminar sell-' "Pray a different nature." Ceron finished, his turn to surprise the man. No one dwelled outside, the sea of people voided it something steered men away from it-- Strained by fading elementium Ceron saw the lined sigils, forming a rudimentary rune of perception. Those who fell victim saw all but this tent, an object or place to forgo, so what more reason to enter it? A tinge caressed skin, prickling were no breeze should be, a soft reminder the man payed little worth in abject wastes of time. The man was obscured, a lone mage or hired apprentice maybe something beyond conjecture' Ceron knew one thing, the man had control of magic enough to make a mistake fatal.
"I have come to entertain your collection of masks.' Ceron continued, "A fair trade, a modicum of truths insight for the modest of ware."
The figure remained stagnant, moments tense before extending an arm curtains dangled and swayed at shoulder length, cocking his mask the man turned his gaze, a cord moved jittering its appearance shifted to a arrow like head and flickering tongue and four stubby legs. A salamander came to being camouflage of scales altering in a blink, a whisper of muffled words the man jerked his head, eyes no doubt pasting judgment as the salamander shifted back to air.
"Fair, modest that decision is mine."