The people of Lychea continued to gather on the cobbled street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Witch Hunter. The rumour, that the God-slayer herself was coming, had spread like a wild-fire. Many had slipped from their work, which was understandable, considering there was no one to visit the shops and markets. In less than an hour, the entire town had stopped.
Men and women pushed one another for a better vantage point, while children snaked between them. But all of them cursed the setting sun in equal measure. As the light dropped the shadows lengthened and pretty soon it would be too dark to make out anything.
“Move! Make way!” The shouts came from numerous directions. Followed by evening call, everyone was so familiar with. “Dusk brigade passing through.”
“That’s it, step aside,” some began to urge the people around them, while others added. “Let them light the lamps!”
“Wait!” Someone cried out from the front of the crowd. “I think I see someone coming…”
“He’s right,” another chimed in. “Quiet down folks. It’s the Silent Knights. They are nearing the gate.”
“Everyone quiet down!” Several voices yelled. “Show some respect, damn you!”
“Hey, mister, I can’t see,” Nate pulled at the cloak of the slender man in front of him. “Could you move a bit?”
The boy froze when the stranger turned his head to look at him, and a pair of sapphire-blue eyes fixed on him. “Wow! You’s very pretty…”
It took him a moment to realise he was standing there, mouth agape, staring at the stranger. A moment later, the words Nate had spoken registered in his head and his face turned crimson.
“Sorry, lady! I didn’t mean to insult you or anything.” The boy’s arms darted towards his mouth. If this woman complained, his mother would surely scold him and she had been drinking since last night, meaning that a beating would follow.
“Hey? Why’s you dressed like a man anyway?” The woman’s warm smile returned some of the courage, Nate had felt when he slipped from home earlier in the day.
“Hey! There she is!” Someone shouted from the front of the gathered crowd. Before the boy could react, a strong arm pulled him from the ground and lifted him in the air. A moment later, he was sitting atop the woman’s shoulders, while the crowd moved a few steps back.
If not for the stranger’s fast reaction, Nate could have been badly hurt. From his new vantage point, he could see why everyone had rushed in such an odd way. The main street was wide, almost fifteen meters from house to house, and stretched all the way from the main gate to the port, fifteen hundred meters away. This meant that it was easy to navigate on a busy day. However, it was not wide enough for both the crowd and the horses of the Silent Knights.
“Lady,” Nate tapped the woman on the head, his eyes glued on the amazing sight, “why’s they called the Silent Knives?”
“It’s Knights, not knives,” the stranger’s voice was soft and warm. It made him feel at ease. “They have taken a vow to never speak, dedicating themselves to honing their skills in combat, so that they can protect humanity from the monsters in the Wilds.”
“Nah, you’s wrong lady,” Nate giggled at how little this woman knew. “That’s what the Witch Hunters do.”
“If that were the case, they should be called Monster Hunters,” the woman chuckled. “No, little one, Witch Hunters don’t bother with the mindless beasts, that’s what the Knights are for. Their prey is a different kind of monster. Also, you should learn to speak proper…”
“Look! There she is!” Several people roared, interrupting the woman, and the crowd surged again. Yet, the woman stayed immobile. With a light tap on the knee, she attracted Nate’s attention and pointed with her gloved hand, revealing a large silver coin in her palm.
“That’s Irene Nox,” the way she spoke the name gave the impression that she was disappointed. “See how she differs from the Knight’s around her…”
Nate stopped listening, unable to tear his eyes away from the goddess passing along the main street. She was perfection incarnate. Her skin could rival the purest marble in colour, and the long platinum blonde straight hair adorning her head reflected the light of the lamps like strands of the finest silver. A pair of green eyes, glistening like emeralds touched by the morning sun, scanned the gathered multitude and Nate could feel his heart skip a beat when they stopped in him for the briefest of seconds. The boy felt warmth spread through his soul when a hint of a smile appeared on Irene’s cherry red lips.
The crowd chose this moment to surge forward like a mighty wave. A roar-like chant boomed from almost every throat as people cheered. “Glory to Lady Nox! Glory to the God-slayer!”
Like that the spell was broken and Nate returned to his senses. The boy grabbed the stranger’s cowl, to keep his balance on her shoulders, pushing the rough brown fabric back a little. It was enough so that he could catch a glimpse of the woman’s face.
“Hey, lady,” he shrieked, trying to be heard over the deafening shouts of the crowd. “You’s almost as pretty as the Witch Hunter.”
“Ok,” the stranger placed her hands over his thighs and pulled him over her head. “Time for you to get down.”
“You better scram now, before your folks start to worry about you.” Gently she dropped Nate on the cobbled stones and ruffled his messy hair.
“Thank you!” the boy jumped at her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He did so, as a man pushed the woman from behind to get a better view at the passing procession.
Taking advantage of the woman stumbling, Nate snatched the coin from her hand and darted into the multitude of people. A part of him felt really bad for stealing from the kind stranger. But with this, he might just have enough to pay the sailors and board one of the ships crossing the gulf or one heading towards Thibe. Actually, any ship would do, as long as it took Nate far away from his mother and all the drunks who came to visit her every night.
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Irene slid through the window on the second floor of the luxurious inn, hoping that it was the right room. The moment her feet touched the polished wooden floor, she smiled. No alarmed screams was a good sign. With a shrug, she removed the cloak fastened to her shoulders and let out the breath she was holding.
Her eyes stopped on the small table next to the window. A bottle of cheap rum, an un-light candle and a small box of matches stood on top of it. Yes, this was the right room. Quickly, Irene retrieved the small pouch, tucked behind her belt, and emptied its content on the corner of the table. She scowled at the sight of half of a Yafis leaf and two dented small cubes of dried and grounded Bailen bark. This was barely enough, but Irene could make it work.
With measured movement, she took each cube and crushed it between her fingers, careful not to waste the pinch worth of material each one contained. Out of habit, she wiped her palms on her thighs, removing sweat that wasn’t there. Holding her breath, Irene took the leaf with the grounded bark on top of it and rolled it into a misshapen cigarette.
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Only when the stinging sour taste of the Yafis slid down her throat, did she relax and smile. A moment later, the tip was secured between her teeth and a match was lit. Irene inhaled deeply, once a string of dark-grey smoke snaked its way towards her nostrils, and bliss spread through her face.
The moment the stinging smoke entered her lungs, the tattoo on her right shoulder flared bright blue, inflicting a small amount of pain. It resembled the letter i, thickened at the top and thin at the bottom with an omega surrounding the rhombus dot, had been there for as long as she could remember, and by this point, she was used to pain.
“You are in violation of your contract,” a cold voice spoke from the darkness of her room. “Again.”
The sound of snapping fingers echoed through the spacious room. At the same time, the lamps decorating the walls flared up, the flames captured within the clear glass cages on top of engraved bronze arms, exploded in blinding white, before returning to their natural orange and yellow hues.
“So what? You are going to kill me?” Irene groaned as she saw an exact copy of herself sitting on the edge of the soft bed.
Legs crossed and with a glass of expensive wine in one hand, and a rare Esqua grass cigarette tucked inside a polished wooded holder in the other, the copy had an air of cold nobility about it. The Witch Hunter wanted to roll her eyes at the thing wearing her face, but her gaze was fixed on the luxurious item. It had been decades since she had tasted such a marvellous thing.
“Please, give me some credit,” the thing sighed. “Our mutual path has proven that to do so again, would be an exercise in futility.”
“So glad to see you come to your senses,” Irene brushed the comment away with a wave of her hand. Her eyes following the cigarette like a hound following a fox’s trail.
“There are, better ways to punish you, for your transgressions,” the thing smiled and let out a puff of smoke towards her. “For example, conjuring memories is a child’s play.”
Like that the cigarette disappeared, leaving the Witch Hunter crestfallen. She saw a sadistic smile form on the creature’s face, which she chose to ignore. Yet, couldn’t help but think that it suited Irene’s features. After all, the thing had mimicked her perfectly, down to the smallest detail.
“However,” the copy spoke as it stood up from the bed and walked to the table in the middle of the room to pour itself a fresh glass of wine, “some modicum of routine must be observed.”
The thing snapped its fingers again and Irene’s head twisted, the bones in her neck snapping like dried twigs. As her body crumpled to the ground, the creature savoured the wine’s soft bouquet. Patiently it waited for the inevitable.
“That’s really annoying,” Irene grunted a minute later. With one hand on her chin and the other pressed at the back of her skull, she twisted her head back into its proper position. “Although, it did clear some of the tension in my neck.”
“So glad to be of assistance,” it said and took a measured sip from the wine at the same time as the Witch Hunter took a swing from the bottle of rum.
“It amazes me, how after so long, your tastes remain so unrefined.” The thing shook its head. Letting out a sigh it stretched out its arm and motioned with its fingers. “The artefact.”
“What about it?” Irene moved towards the bead, trying to see where her kit was. “Where’s my bag?”
“Where it belongs,” the creature wearing her face pointed at the large wardrobe at the far end of the room. “Now, the artefact.”
“Right,” she opened the decorated doors to see her vest neatly tucked inside. Next to it were her elbow-high steel gloves and shoulder pads, shaped into the heads of wild gryphons. Each item cleaned, waxed and treated with hardening oils. Her companion might have quite the list of shortcomings, but when it came down to it, it was the envy of every obedient maid.
“About that,” Irene continued and shot the thing an inquisitive gaze.
“Under the bed,” it downed the entire glass of wine. “Why you don’t take better care of such a potent weapon is beyond me.”
“What? It’s just a sword,” she shrugged in reply.
“Just a… No,” her copy’s face twisted. “I am not having this conversation with you again.”
If Irene was honest, the two-handed sword was one of the items she valued more than her secrets. It, like her gear, was with her for as long as she could remember. And that was a really long time. However, it also pleased her to torment her companion with this kind of statements.
“Anyway,” she decided that she had had her fun, meaning it was time for the hard part. “I wanted to thank you for today.”
“Your thanks, does not even start to cover for taking your place.”
“I know, I know,” the Witch Hunter scoffed. “I’ll let you eat a baby or something.”
“That is quite the disturbing offer,” the thing wearing her face recoiled. “What do you take me for?”
“I take you for you,” Irene exclaimed. “You were constantly moaning and complaining about it for the first ten years.”
“That was because it tormented you!” Her companion laughed. “Who in their right mind would want to eat a baby? They are so small. There is hardly any meat on them, and the little there is tasteless. There’s hardly any blood and the bones are all chewy.”
“Wait,” this time it was her turn to recoil. “So, you have eaten a baby?”
“Well, yes,” the thing shrugged. “Who hasn’t?”
Irene closed her eyes, doing her best to stop her imagination from conjuring images that would haunt her. “Nope, nope, nope, I’m done with this conversation.”
“About time,” her companion motioned with its hand. “Now, my dear, if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were stalling for time. However, I do know you.” It poured a new glass of wine and gently pushed the empty bottle to the edge of the temple.
“What did you screw up this time?” The thing asked after the moment of silence became uncomfortably long.
“How should I put this,” Irene scratched her head and wished there was another Yafis leaf left in her pouch. “There was this little boy and it, sort of, kind of…”
“A child stole it from you,” the things face cracked like broken glass with black smoke pouring from the thin lines. That was never a good sign.
“Let me see if I understand correctly,” it took a menacing step forward. “You, Irene Nox, a Witch Hunter. You who stubbornly hunted and killed the warlock god Uther, earning the name God-slayer. You! Were robbed by a child!”
“Ok. That’s technically correct…” Irene stepped back. “Just calm down and let’s not do anything either of us is going to regret.”
“That thing does not belong in this world,” the coldness in the thing voice worried her more than anything else. “It was gifted to Uther, when he ascended to godhood, by one of the three Infernal lords.”
Her companion was close enough, she could count the lashes on its eyelids. “All manner of beast and monsters, who have the capacity to produce a coherent thought, will be looking for it.”
“But most of all,” it pushed her on the bed and loomed over her. “It is the one sure thing, which could have led us to your tomb.”
The creature was so close, Irene could feel the black smoke sipping from its face, blistering her skin with its corrupting touch. It was one thing when it resided in her shadow and entirely different when allowed to roam free.
Gathering her courage, the Witch Hunter whispered with a quivering voice. “If that’s the case, go and find it…”
“That’s not how this works,” the creature moved back and walked towards the bottle of rum on the table next to the window.
“How long have we been companions, my dear?” It looked her, the cracks on its face slowly fading away. “Two decades? Or was it five? In case you’ve forgotten the answer, it’s been well over a century, since we woke up in that cursed forest.”
“As I told you then and a thousand times after that, I am bound to you until the day you die. Not by choice, but by the will of someone far more powerful than I. Try to remember it this time. There are few in the infernal realm who can order me around.”
Considering the delicate situation, Irene felt it best to bite back the sarcastic remark regarding that whole till death do us apart part and let the thing speak. She was pretty sure that there was no chance it would truly harm her. But pretty sure did not mean certain. If anything, the creature had proven to be quite resourceful over the years.
“I may not be sure about what kind of contract you have signed, due to the irritating fact that both your and my copies have been destroyed, because you’ve died. But, never has there been a contract, which is enforced after the holder’s death!”
The creature drained the entire of rum in a single swing. “And as we both know, that death is what you desire. Therefore, I am bound to help you achieve that, despite how little sense it makes.”
“Because I am tired of this life. Wait,” Irene sat on the edge of the bed. “You are angry that I lost the artefact because it will make finding my tomb slightly more difficult?”
“Weren’t you listening to me?” The thing shook its head. “The artefact is very powerful. Not only could it have provided us with vital clues, but it would have also increased my power. Allowing me to stay outside of your shadow for a longer time.”
“Then go and find it,” the Witch Hunter shrugged.
“I cannot,” it was strange to see herself shake her head in disappointment. “Can you sense where it is? No. And because of the contract, neither can I.”
“And because of the fame of Irene Nox, I cannot go about and search,” she reached the obvious conclusion. “I really screwed up this time.”
“Yes, you did,” the thing melted inside her shadow, yet its voice reached her, it’s true voice. Rough, guttural and full of malice. “I know you’ve lost the coin on purpose. There is no way a skilled thief, let alone a child, take it from you, without permission.”
“You were a colossal prick, over the last days,” Irene said through clenched teeth once she felt the thing bite into her to feed.
“I may be a demon, but I am a reasonable demon,” its voice sounded distant, barely louder than a whisper. “Remember this, and remember it well. Damnation is no joke, witch.”