Chapter 43 - Carran

Morning light trickled through the foggy glass in uneven, blue tinged rays. In the dawn of the first plane, when the sun hadn’t yet passed the horizon, the monochrome realm was temporarily washed in cool violets and ultramarines. Around the realm gate, the clouds hit by the pillar of light appeared turquoise in hue. Lazar’s eyes lingered on that distant gate, moving between it and the blank expanse of the sky. There were no stars on the first plane. Those were reserved for the second and third.

A pot clanged from the kitchen, and Lazar turned his head. Madeline’s wavy blonde hair swayed behind her as she busied herself by the stove, humming to herself as she worked. She was alone in the room, the other residents of the house not yet awake.

The seraph strode forward, making sure to keep his steps loud enough to hear so as not to scare the woman. In the Andire manor, he would constantly have to evaluate whether he should keep his movements silent and unobtrusive, blending into the background, or loud enough to make his presence known. Here, he assumed the latter would do in most instances.

Sure enough, Madeline turned just as the seraph reached the little area designated as the kitchen. She beamed, her smile warm in the cool hued light.

“Good morning! You’re up early,” she noted. Her eyes widened a little. “Oh! I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Lazar shook his head. “I prefer to wake early,” he reassured. His eyes landed on the dishes and ingredients carefully crammed onto the wooden table. The basket of plants Madeline had gathered the day before sat on one corner, and a few dull green sprigs were laid out on a small chopping board beside a knife. Lazar gestured at the board. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh no, that’s alright. I wouldn’t want to bother you. You’re a guest!”

“You’ve already shown us great kindness,” Lazar pointed out. “Helping out is the least we can do.”

The woman hesitated. “Well…”

Lazar stepped over to the table and picked up the knife. The handle was worn, and upon closer inspection, the blade looked like it had been sharpened and resharpened many times.

Grasping the handle, the seraph began to chop the herbs. In his early days at the manor, before he’d met Julius, Lazar’s tasks had been largely the same as the other servants. He’d helped out wherever was needed, from the laundry to the cleaning to the kitchens. Now, the knife in hand, it felt nostalgic. Nostalgic in the way that old, distant memories were always reached for, regardless of whether or not they were truly pleasant.

“Are these the same herbs you were gathering yesterday?”

Madeline nodded, carefully moving a large pot off the stove. Her hands shook a little, Lazar noted, but she kept herself steady until she was able to set it down.

“They’re Matilda’s favorite.” She glanced around conspiratorially, lowering her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “You’ll never hear her admit it, though.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

Madeline smiled. “She’s done a lot for me. Honestly, I don’t think I’d’ve made it half this long if it wasn’t for her.”

Lazar swiped off a few pieces of the herbs that had gotten stuck to the sides of the knife, meticulous in his movements. He frowned. “You mentioned you were also a refugee,” he said carefully. Thankfully, the woman took the question in stride, simply nodding her head.

“I was pretty young back then, but someone in our village fell and a tear opened up.” Her voice quieted, brown eyes distant for a moment. “We’re lucky we got away in time. The whole thing happened so fast, we—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “Well, I’d rather not drag the mood down. That sort of thing’s not that unique, anyway.”

Perhaps as a result of the poor natural resources of the first plane, fallen were more common. When those fallen fell directly into the Void, the resulting tears only caused even more instability. Lazar remembered the strange white tear in the Abyss, the way the cavern had contorted around it and how easily stones had been peeled and ripped from the walls. That had been a smaller tear, one formed randomly and not as a result of a fallen, and it had already created that much instability on its own.

Lazar silently wondered how large the resulting tear would be when his mark spread to its limit and he fell into the Void.

He wondered if Cassius had already devoured Leon’s soul, or if the demon had found himself unable to do it, instead allowing a tear to form. But then, Leon was strong. The seraph wouldn’t be surprised if the boy had managed to stave off the mark’s growth for a little while longer through sheer stubbornness alone. The thought was enough to put a small smile on the seraph’s face.

“Did you and Ciel make any plans for today?”

Madeline spoke, and Lazar nodded, glad for the change in subject. He set the knife down and gathered the chopped herbs into a pile on the edge of the board.

“We were planning on purchasing some new clothes,” he said. He paused. “After that, we were going to explore the rest of Carran.”

He didn’t mention that they were going to the forest that evening. It wouldn’t fit their cover story particularly well if they deliberately returned to danger, and he’d rather avoid questions when he could.

Madeline’s eyes brightened. “You should go to Pele’s, she bakes these lovely little cakes. They—”

The woman promptly launched into a list of locations in the village, giving detailed descriptions of what could be bought there, who the owner was and how nice they were, what anecdotes she knew about the people and locations, and more. Lazar was impressed at how thorough her knowledge was. She seemed to enjoy having someone to talk to, so he stayed quiet, listening closely.

As the sun crept up the horizon, the two continued making breakfast, Madeline’s voice falling over the room like a lull.

—

“You know, you could’ve gotten more stuff.”

Lazar turned to Ciel, who strolled casually beside him. After purchasing some basic first aid supplies and other utility items, they’d gone to a clothing store to replace their torn, dirtied clothes. Despite the ripped state of his old coat, the owner had still been willing to take it in as a trade for a discount. The quality of the cloth, he’d claimed, was high enough that it would be worth it to make use of the parts that were still intact.

In the end, the seraph had selected some plain shirts and pants (his shoes were still in good enough condition) and a long, sturdy dark blue overcoat with silver buttons. He would’ve preferred something of a shorter length, but he could tie the ends for more movement like he had with his old clothing.

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“I’d rather save money,” the seraph said simply. “And this should be enough to last.”

Ciel shrugged. She, too, had opted for more practical options, though in her case she was so tall that the longer cloak she’d bought looked normal length on her.

“Does the money even work on the other planes?” the demon pointed out. Lazar paused, considering.

“I believe it does on the second. The first plane is ruled by the same government.” He glanced around the dusty street, scanning the worn buildings. There weren’t many people outside, though the ones who were shot them more than a few curious glances. Likely both because they were strangers and because, between Ciel’s build and the halberd he carried, they made for an unusual sight even when they weren’t covered in blood.

Up ahead, a slate colored sign came into view, and the seraph slowed. The letters themselves were faded, but a picture of a hammer was etched into the wood and outlined with dark ink.

“This should be it.”

Ciel squinted up at the sign. “Damn, that thing needs new paint,” she said before ducking under the doorway.

The moment Lazar stepped inside, the temperature of the air increased. The space was small and tight, the front of the room littered with racks of weapons. Unlike most of the buildings in Carran, the walls were constructed out of stone, not wood, and a crackling fire glowed from the back of the space. Seated on a stone, hammer in hand, a man looked up at the new arrivals. He looked to be middle aged, with bronze skin, a broad, muscular frame, and a scruffy beard. He grinned and rose.

“Welcome, welcome!” he said, voice rich and booming. “You must be the folks Alaric told me about.”

Lazar frowned, carefully studying the man. He didn’t carry any visible weapons on him, and his demeanor was lax. According to Madeline, the man’s name was Derrick.

Perhaps sensing the seraph’s unease, the blacksmith added, “Nothing bad, I promise. It’s just rare to see new faces ‘round here, and word travels fast. Especially with those damn bells.” He shook his head, eyeing one of the dark strings visible just outside the window. “Useful little buggers, but loud as the Abyss,” he muttered.

Derrick cleared his throat. “Anyway, how can I help you?”

Behind him, Lazar heard Ciel turn and begin casually inspecting the weapons laid out, not bothering to give the blacksmith a proper response. Her visible golden eye was sharp as she took in the various types, eyeing the metal with an easy scrutiny that suggested far more experience with weaponry than he’d first thought. He’d been a bit surprised when she’d said she was planning on buying one earlier, but he supposed, now that she had to hide her more demonic abilities, it would be necessary to have another way to fight.

Turning around again, Lazar stepped forward. He held out his halberd for the blacksmith to see, though his grip around it remained firm. The light from the forge bounced off the gleaming silver, and the seraph could see Derrick’s eyes widen a little as he took in the weapon in its entirety.

“If it’s possible, I was wondering if you would be able to remove the engravings.” He adjusted his grip, pointing out the parts on the shaft and blade where the looping patterns were present. Derrick’s jaw dropped a little, and Lazar’s shoulders remained tense.

Thankfully, it seemed the man didn’t recognize the engravings as being from Elysium.

“Why on the Light’s name would you want to do that?” He looked horrified at the very prospect. “I haven’t seen such fine work in ages! Did a second plane smith forge this? Maybe Lenore, but no, her designs’re usually more boxy,” he muttered to himself, eyes still fixed on the halberd.

“It’s not mine,” Lazar said. “I…acquired it from a faction, and I’d prefer to remove any identifiers if I can. I worry someone may recognize it while traveling.” He paused, then added, “I realize this request is rather unconventional. I hope it isn’t too troublesome.”

Derrick frowned and stepped over to get a closer look at the weapon. Lazar carefully kept himself steady, pushing down the instinct to move away, and watched as the man scanned the gleaming silver. He stroked his beard.

“Well, flattening them wouldn’t be too hard, but…” He stared at the halberd forlornly. “I can’t in good conscience do that to something so beautiful! Why, the Oblivion would drag my soul to the Void just for it!”

Ciel snorted. Lazar glanced back to see the demon casually performing a few test swings with a sword that looked comically small for her. She placed it back on the rack, raising an eyebrow when their eyes met. She glanced over at Derrick and the halberd, then back, grinning in amusement.

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you?” Lazar tried to ask the blacksmith. Derrick heaved a sigh.

“Listen, if you’re so worried about it being seen, why don’t you just wrap it up for now? I’ve got some nice sturdy cloths that’ll do the trick. No need to destroy beauty here!”

Lazar frowned. That would likely be sufficient while traveling, and the man did seem dead set against his request. The blacksmith was already rummaging in a drawer, pulling out a length of thick cloth.

In truth, a part of Lazar was almost relieved that the man had rejected his request. Even though logically he knew it was better to use a different, less conspicuous weapon, a small part of him still clung to that halberd. It was the first gift he’d ever been given, by the only person that had ever mattered to him at the time. He’d had it for so long, it had unwittingly become a part of his identity, a way of defining himself.

Maybe that was why he’d jumped to trying to have the engravings permanently removed instead of simply covering the blade, the seraph thought. Perhaps it was a subconscious attempt to remove his attachment to the weapon and the realm it represented as completely as possible.

Lazar stared at the long fabric placed in his hands. It was quite heavy, the material made up of small fibers that linked together into a rough, stiff cloth. After a moment's pause, he wound it around the blade, then pulled it down to the shaft and tied the fabric around itself. That way, based on the usual position of his hands, he could pull and release the knot with a single motion.

The cream color of the fabric looked odd against the silver, Lazar thought. Covered like this, most would still be able to guess that it was a weapon, but the marks of Elysium were hidden from sight.

“Thank you,” he said slowly, and Derrick beamed, looking pleased with himself. Behind them, the heavy sound of footsteps approached, and the seraph turned to see Ciel gripping a large double headed axe, casually balancing it over her shoulder like it weighed nothing. She raised an eyebrow.

“If you two’re done, how much’s this thing?

On closer inspection, in addition to being about twice as large as the other axes displayed, the handle was quite crude, with a few areas still left rough and uneven. The blade itself looked as sharp as every other weapon in the store, but from the handle alone, Lazar guessed that the axe may have been either an earlier work or a test of some sort that not as much care had been put into.

His suspicions were confirmed when Derrick blinked at the flesh eater. “Well I’ll be. Never thought that thing’d ever get bought. I forgot I still had it displayed up here!”

“I appreciate you looking out for us tall folks,” Ciel drawled. Lazar silently wondered how familiar the demon was with the weapon. From what he could tell, most demons didn’t bother with weapons, instead relying on their innate physical attributes and abilities. The seraph’s eyes narrowed a little. Her grip around the handle was relaxed and confident. Familiar.

Derrick gave the price, cheaper than Lazar suspected was standard, and he pulled out the bag and counted out the right number of coins. He’d offered to give Ciel half, but the demon had waved dismissively and told him to keep it. “Couldn’t be bothered,” she’d said. “I’m not doing math if I don’t have to.”

Lazar carefully handed the counted coins to Derrick. “Thank you again,” he said. The man grinned.

“Happy to help! You take care now,” he said, and with a final polite nod, Lazar stepped through the doorway and back onto the dusty road.

Outside, a cool breeze brushed past them, soothing some of the lingering heat from the forge. Up in the sky, peeking out between overcast clouds, the sun was beginning to sink lower. Lazar’s eyes shifted, landing on the distant dark silhouette of the forest and the ever present glow of the realm gate lighting up its edges. The seraph turned to Ciel.

“Did you have anywhere else you wanted to go?”

“Nope.” The flesh eater’s eyes, too, were trained on the mass of barren trees and stone. “Guessing you don’t, either.”

Lazar shook his head and adjusted his grip on the halberd. Covered as it was, the shape of its shadow was different now. It looked strange, he thought. Alien.

Around them, faint clouds of dust rose from the empty street. The dark strings coiled around buildings and corners, and a few of those colorful cloths flapped in the wind. If they left now, they shouldn’t have too much issue slipping away from the village without being seen.

Lazar flexed his fingers around the cool metal. That thrumming, frantic energy rose just a little higher as the two of them turned towards the forest.