Over a meager breakfast of crackers and the same marmalade drink as last night, Florencia and I talked about what we would tell Viola about the motives and abilities of our demonic enemies. Both of us understood that her magical powers were a gift, and it was probably because of that Lottie was holding so well against the Enemy that was at its doorstep.
That day, Viola took us through the crowded streets of Lottie to where she said most of the dregs of society lived. The weather was holding well enough for late autumn, with a constant wind from the north, but the skies were clear.
On the way there, we passed some beggars who had only sacks around their feet, and torn jackets and tunics on them. This was supposed to last them through the winter. I didn’t think that would be enough. We moved on.
Without a doubt, there was crime in the city. That much was clear. All of us could sense it, even Goxhandar. The bitter and saccharine stink of greed, lust, jealousy, and fear plagued most neglected corners of Lottie. But those had a most mundane cause—the inherent imperfections of man, and not the meddling of terrible creatures behind the veil of reality. If only people knew what stood waiting and clawing at the firm curtain of our realm.
Before we arrived in the city, I had wondered just how much demonic corruption would be here, but now, as we made our way, led by Viola, I sensed nothing. And there was one thing I was certain of—Grasd Vranik was not in the City of Flowers.
There was also a more terrifying scenario that I tried to not think about, which was that Vranik could mask his strength from me and Goxhandar whose perception of the stench of the demonic was even greater than mine. He was born from it, I thought, though he denied it passionately.
If Vranik could hide his power and was indeed in Lottie, there was almost no way of knowing that. But in my heart, I knew that he was not here.
That morning, Goxhandar was slumbering, being utterly exhausted from the previous day, and the feast he had of all the different kinds of thoughts the surrounding people had. He said he was learning much about how people think and how their dreams and fears influence their motives, or sometimes, the other way around. All that was natural to every one of us was foreign to Goxhandar.
Nonetheless, I knew that the moment there was danger, I would have the Blood Maul ready for violence. And if I truly was honest with myself, I found myself longing for that violence as well. In the moments none of us talked, I daydreamed about having my maul in my grip and crushing through masses of thralls.
I also knew that such lust for violence would not bring me to any place worth being.
Very quickly it turned out that Viola had much in common with everyone, except for me. What she did in Lottie was very similar to what Florencia and Jace did for the Yasman Lodge, and what Iskander and Jaxine had been doing all over the southern countries. When we found that out, the barrier of mistrust was overcome easily, and Florencia, Jace, and Viola talked openly about their experiences. But throughout their talks, we all kept the truth about the demonic truth hidden from her. Viola didn’t ask either, though I sensed it weighed on her mind often. Nevertheless, Viola was happy and relieved to share her plight with others who understood what she had been struggling with.
Because of that, I sensed a new strength flowing through her, and that could only be a good thing.
She got along very well with Florencia. Apparently, mages from Cappesand came now and then, maybe a few times a year, with some secretive task. Viola would never know what that task was, as she rarely even met those proud and powerful mages in person. They would, in Viola’s words, come into the captain’s office, demand good fighters, and go on their secretive mission somewhere. Sometimes, those fighters end up dead, other times mauled or injured. Viola was never informed of what they did, but she guessed it was some kind of magic-related matter, nothing that she should be concerned over.
But it turned out that both she and Florencia worked on the same case when Florencia was in Lottie the last time, though Viola was not told of this, and just found, many weeks later, the case was cold and done. This discovery earned a hearty laugh from all of them.
It was nice hearing them laugh. We had too little of that.
But with Iskander and Jaxine, who had also faced experiences strikingly similar to Viola’s, neither of them talked much. I could sense, beneath the surface, a boiling anger they barely restrained. I knew it was only a matter of time until it erupted into an untamed wildfire.
After strolling through the bustling streets and navigating the lively crowds of Lottie for what felt like an hour, we arrived at the Mergre District. We had, unbeknownst to us, passed by this area when we first entered the city the day before.
In Lottie, some districts were poorer and others were more opulent. The western side of the Ombrosso River boasted a captivating display of architectural prowess—masterfully carved stone walls, tall archways adorned with vines and motifs of flower petals, iron-wrought decorations, and polished brass accents on buildings. Other districts were less fortunate with coin, but the people living there took care of their surroundings so no place in the City of Flowers looked decrepit. Viola said the people had a genuine sense of pride when their city looked aesthetically pleasing.
Yet, even in this harmonious city, there existed a place that harbored those less fortunate, or, in some cases, those with darker appetites.
Some hundreds of years ago, the city faced an unprecedented challenge with a sudden influx of people seeking refuge but had no place to house them. A few dozen miles north was a village, built along the Castamand mountain range, that on one fateful day was annihilated when an entire mountain broke. Thousands escaped and from the distance saw their homes destroyed.
The displaced peoples made their way south to Lottie, seeking to rebuild their lives, but there was no place where they could all live, so a massive construction project was undertaken under the personal financing of the Lord Mayor.
An entire city district was erected in the southern part of the city, along the bay, overlooking the ocean. The scope of this endeavor was massive, but time was of the essence as winter lurked on the horizon. There was little opportunity to gather the best materials or employ the mage-architects, whose craft could have made the buildings endure the test of time.
Instead, the construction was hurried, and the district arose from the ground with materials more affordable, but less durable—cheap plaster, soft wood, and with a foundation that turned brittle with only a few passing of seasons. To maintain the aesthetic of the City of Flowers, gardens and lush greenery were meticulously planted amidst the buildings, but over the years, they had grown wild and untamed.
Then, as the decades passed, some of the once-shoddy dwellings had undergone renovations and made beautiful again. Those were the streets that we had passed the previous day, but had we turned rightward, and gone along the winding streets deeper into the Mergre District, an entirely different sight would’ve greeted us.
Entire blocks of houses appeared to be barely clinging to existence and were falling apart in front of our eyes. Trees had grown too wild, and some thick, spiny bushes infested the green spaces between the buildings. During the night, the dim light from a lantern would not penetrate those bushes.
As Viola took us onward, signs of decay were everywhere. Mold and cracks marred the once-pristine plaster on the walls, and the sandstone carvings that were done by novices now bore the scars of faded beauty. Roof tiles that had once been a shade of orange were now dark green or brown, broken, and lying in piles in the corners of the street.
“What a charming place,” said Iskander. “We’ll find a lead in here, I’m sure of it!”
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But I was not so certain of that. In here… I did not sense the stink of the demonic. Only man-made misery.
The basement that the Zekt had used to hide their terrible actions now lay before us as a charred ruin, a haunting testament to what had to be done to get rid of the corruption. From where I stood, this looked almost exactly like Pecca’s apartment after we burned that down. Above ground, the remnants of the building were no more than burnt frames and ash.
Viola shrugged apologetically.
“How could you have known?” said Florencia, reassuring her that she’d done the right thing. “We did the same thing only a few weeks ago in Caffria. You did the right thing. Only fire purges the cor—” She caught herself before uttering the dreadful word.
This calmed Viola down, and she walked, arms crossed, among the ruins.
We dug through the debris as best we could, our hands quickly covered in ash, kicking aside pieces of half-burnt timber. I expanded my mind far and wide, seeking to catch a hint or anything that could help us, yet I sensed nothing. Despite our efforts and hours of searching, nothing surfaced. The malevolence that once was here now lingered impotent, incapable of infecting anything else.
Florencia and I exchanged glances, and we passed a silent agreement. It was evident this was a dead end. While we could dedicate days to painstakingly sift through the ruins, more likely we would be only wasting our time.
Our presence had stirred the curiosity of the dregs of Lottie, few as they were. They wandered around us, keeping a distrustful distance, while not saying a word. Braver ones simply stood by dumbly as we decided on what to do next.
Silently I cursed myself. Again we were too late, and again we were outmaneuvered by the Enemy. I could sense we all thought that. This realization was etched across our faces. Iskander was the most disappointed.
“Useless, cursed trash!” he grunted, more to himself than to anyone else, and kicked a loose stone into the ashy ruins. He spun around and stormed off, his black coat billowing dramatically in his wake. But in his haste, he collided with two beggars. They fell on the ground with a loud smack, and they cast resentful glares at the enigmatic figure who had disrupted their meager existence.
A third beggar was spared, and he quickly clawed at Iskander’s shoulder.
“Please, excellent master, have you got any coin to spare? I ain’t got any and ain’t got any food to eat!”
“Out of my way, you cursed leech!” said Iskander hotly, and shoved him away. But he had expertly judged his strength, and the beggar stumbled back into a stone wall. The beggar managed to stay on his feet, but he was thoroughly shaken, and he kept muttering about the injustice of the world, and stumbled away.
“Is it not fascinating how this man is so taken by his anguish that he will most certainly be consumed whole by it?” mused Goxhandar. “Not catching the culprit who had created this void within him, slowly and surely he now pours his grief on those around him. How much longer until he breaks under the weight of it?”
Iskander’s bitterness surfaced again as he cast a murderous glare at the two remaining beggars.
“They should be sent off to work somewhere, instead of infesting the city,” he said bitterly.
“Sending the refugees away is not an option,” said Viola. “They can only be kept here, or sent back to Belcorvo.”
“But surely something is being done to house them, or to find them a use?” asked Jace, walking rather proudly beside us. He seemed quite unbothered by the defeat we suffered here. “Maybe the churches could take them in, and use them in keeping the grounds cleaned and tidy, or build necessary things? Or they could even repair this district. By Hanuos, some of these buildings are offensive to look at!”
“They don’t want to work,” said Viola. “Or rather, they can’t work. Most had to abandon their homes and families to God’s knows what. They don’t have any strength left for anything save for begging.”
“Pff! I don’t want to waste another moment thinking about these dregs,” declared Iskander, waving his hand as to cast aside the topic.
We decided to spend the rest of the day combing through the district, our powerful senses alert. We observed, listened, and questioned anyone who crossed our path, hoping to unearth a glimmer of information. Most in the district retreated into their homes the moment they saw us, or vanished into the overgrown, untamed yards where we had no inclination to follow. Even Iskander, in his might and rage, refused to set foot into the mess of spiky bushes.
Those who remained and we questioned were either too slow and old or too dumb to escape us. Other times, they were simply desperate for someone to listen to their tragic story. What we heard from the poor, some from Stotor, others who just had back luck, was heart, other times infuriating.
But not once did we catch a lead. And none of those we interrogated were lying. We could sense a lie immediately. Florencia user her sublime magic to push some who were tight-lipped to talk, but then out came a tirade of useless drivel that was insufferable to listen to.
The entire day felt like utter futility. When we all had enough, I felt dumb and silly.
As the sun was waning beneath the rooftops, our rumbling stomachs reminded us that we needed to eat. We had gone the entire day on only some crackers and a warm sugary drink. Viola, who knew this district by heart, took us to where some dockworkers usually had their lunch and dinner. The salty air from the ocean mingled with the decent smells coming from the kitchen, though food usually smelled much better.
Viola was biting into a piece of toasted bread and said: “Well, now you know what I deal with. No leads, no rumors, no nothing. I got my best leads from here. Now? Nothing. If you want, we can come back here tomorrow, but I’m afraid it will be the same as today. I have a whole team who holds an eye on the district at all times.”
“In this case, tomorrow take us to the digsite,” I said, and Viola nodded.
“So…” Viola said and trailed off. “I’ve held my tongue for the whole day, but I simply have to get it out in the open. During the whole day, you could’ve explained to me what is this phenomenon, but you’re just not telling me. Why?”
“It’s rather simple, really,” I said. “They seek to cause as much misery and destruction as they can. They’re not looking for money or power for the sake of power, though we think they want power, but everything they do is to propagate evil.”
“Yes, that was my hunch as well,” said Viola. “Because nothing else would make sense—chaos for the sake of chaos was the only explanation left. But… but why? This is what I don’t understand. Normal people don’t just want to tear everything down and torture others.”
Jace interjected: “I read that hatred of society is sometimes the tragic outcome for unfortunate people. I recall reading a theory, I can’t remember where from, saying that seemingly normal individuals would develop some kind of… mental malfunction when awful things happen to them, especially when they’re young. This can lead them to have an intense loathing for all that is good and decent.”
Viola frowned over what Jace said and didn’t seem too convinced, though what Jace said was correct. He had told us the very same theories many times during our travels.
“But…” said Viola. “They’ve gone absolutely mad. I haven’t sensed some vengeful motives or some lingering hurt in them. Instead, I see a mindless desire to cause pain. Well, sometimes it’s a very purposeful desire. Those were the worst ones; when the murderer talked so clearly and slowly, knowing full well how much they’ve hurt their victims. I felt… a cold go into my bones. I can hardly explain it. It almost was like I wasn’t talking to a person at all, but…”
Florencia and Jace both turned their gazes towards me. Viola had seen straight through the explanation that Jace offered. It was still too early to tell her the truth, but I could gently guide her towards an understanding, and see whether she would arrive there herself.
“It is like talking to an instrument, instead of a person,” I said. “Your intuition is correct, Viola. The murderers you caught have gone utterly mad, and are no longer in possession of their own thoughts. No sane or normal man can commit such acts of brutality. But for now, please accept what I told you, and don’t get stuck trying to understand the why—”
“But you know the why,” said Viola.
“You’re very perceptive, and even from what I told you now, you can probably piece together a truth much greater than I have revealed. For now, weigh my words and see where they take you. Ask me again sometime later. Then we’ll talk.”
This, obviously, Viola did not like, and she frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned back in her chair. Florencia and Jace were not too happy either, but it was not their place to decide.
Iskander and Jaxine were not part of the conversation altogether. They sat by themselves further away and spoke nothing. Iskander kept rubbing the small ring he always had on while gazing pensively at the vast ocean expanse.
Suddenly Viola laughed.
“You’re acting like knowing why a simple murderer commits his crimes is somehow dangerous! You’re making a fool out of me. You're acting just like the Cappesand folks do.” Viola kept laughing even more loudly, but quickly she noticed it was only her who was laughing. She stopped.
“Viola, the knowledge is more dangerous than you can even imagine,” I said, my face cold and serious.
“Ah! You always had a flair for the dramatic, Master. I sense she is beginning to dislike you very much,” said Goxhandar.
“I know,” I told him.
“But there is no other way. She is, indeed, most perceptive. She will take what you said today and drill deep into it. It might very well be that you already said too much.”
“Perhaps, but the more she understands, the better. If she discovers the truth from what I told her today, then she will be an excellent ally, I’m sure of it. I need people who understand who are the true Enemies.”
“One who will not become corrupted in the process,” said Goxhandar.
Then I saw Viola’s eyes narrow as I talked with Goxhandar, whose weight was now heavy on my shoulder. He was keenly paying attention to what was going on. The Mergre District had been most curious to him, as well.
“What is this… shadow that I sense around you?” she asked. “I’ve never felt anything like it before! What am I not understanding?”
I smiled gently. “Like I said. You’re very perceptive.”