People walked through the morning mists, stooped beneath the glares of guards arrayed around the two closest Spires. No crowds, refugees, beggars, hawkers or scavengers loitered in their shadows. Instead, the occasional civilian hurried towards their destination with shivering hands surrendered from the warmth of pockets, splayed as if in surrender. Above, a Spire loomed, its contours painted a patchy grey and scarred with ominous purple runework.
Rowandine Castle, also known as Bars, was one of the two most central Spires in the city. Crawling with purple-tabarded guards and stern-faced soldiers, it was the home of the House’s military and peacekeeping forces. Every entrance sat sealed by immense steel doors and had at least one obvious Blooded in front of each at all times.
Its counterpart, sealed from the ground level and accessible only by a single adjoining platform, was dubbed ‘the Nest’ by everyone with a lick of sense and some awful fifteen syllable name by everyone else. Unlike any of the other towers, it was entirely unadorned, possessing only two pipes stretching from it to Wastes. Within were the homes of the main Heltian family, where they apparently lived their lives completely isolated from the outside world. If the rumours were to be believed, they frequently left in the dead of night -- either left to abduct criminals for their gruesome experiments or to maintain the intricate bloodtech throughout the city.
I toed the ground outside one of Bars’ entrances, hands tucked in the warmth of my armpits. Despite the chill, I’d draped my heavy cloak over an arm. The risk of retaliation from those Kit and I had wronged was far lesser here than the risk of being on the wrong side of a guard’s truncheon. No would-be assassin would dare killing me here. Kit’s journey to the refugee camp was far less safe, however she wore the better disguise. I feared more for any attackers’ safety than hers. Wiping my runny nose, I glanced back up at the Nest.
My favourite idle speculation said that House Heltia had never existed; that its entire history was a vast and unfathomable conspiracy coordinated by the Albrights. It was easy to see why such a rumour arose. Experience had taught me that members of a House were liberal with their authority, whether for better or worse. A rare few were reclusive. But an entire House? The desire to hide inside an overgrown tree must’ve been an Owlblood thing. Who in their right mind would isolate themselves for so long?
A humourless smile smeared itself across my face.
“Wipe tha’ eerie look off your ‘ead, Vin,” boomed a voice. “With a face like that, ‘alfa the boys are wanting to smack you something awful.”
I turned to find a man at least nine feet tall walking towards me, his long face and widely-spaced eyes betraying him as an Oxblood. His size, features and the violence hidden behind his affable smile reminded me of Jackson or a past version of…
However the similarities ended there. He was far paler, far more unrestrained, and far, far hairier.
“Hello, Dervin sir,” I greeted politely. Every type of Blooded required a different kind of approach, and treating Oxbloods respectfully was theirs. It was important to do so; all Blooded were volatile, but none were quite so explosive as those imbued with Enn’s divinity. “Thank you for coming out to see me.”
Dervin waved a hirsute paw larger than most heads. “Least I can do,” he said, “given ‘ow peaceful Face Bhan ‘as kept th’ prisoners since ‘e’s come into our care. ’ow’re you doing?”
I tilted my hand in a ‘so-so’ way. “Well enough, sir. I’ve got some news.”
“Oh?” He jerked his head towards the large, ground-floor entrance, cracked open by his exit. “Come on, then. You can tell me on th’ way in.”
He walked ahead, his massive frame naturally deterring a few pedestrians from his path. Despite my own height, I was forced to jog to keep pace; Dervin’s strides encapsulated two of mine and he was the kind of man who hurried everywhere. Even, I imagined, to his own execution. The Oxblood exchanged a few greetings with the half-dozen guards by the gate, including a wide-eyed Lizardblood, and then sucked in his gut and shuffled sideways through the entrance’s gap. I followed with significantly less issue.
As soon as he yanked the door closed Dervin began speaking. “Gods that man’s lazy,” he complained, his rumbling voice far too deep to be concealed from the soldiers outside. Simultaneously, he gestured for me to leave my satchel at the door, which I did. “You’d think it were Wump’s or even Yoot’s ilk that’re the most slothful Blooded, but lieutenant layabout out there’s makin’ a good effort for his kind.”
Distantly, I recalled that Lizardbloods were prized as foot soldiers. Though their physical traits were desirable, it was their mental changes that made their formations unnaturally reliable. No other creatures were as disciplined as the Lizardblood, even if they could be rather dull. Had I just insulted myself? Regardless, even if he didn’t know what I did, Dervin’s bellyaching was absent of real weight.
I nodded absently to his complaints, quietly evaluating the innards of Bars. I’d been inside enough times to know that something was off about it. Usually, Bars’ hallways were a stark contrast to its outside: with walls hung with antique weaponry and lit with the dull blue light of ever-burning lamps; errand-boys jogging lightly; guards glancing sheepishly at Dervin as they shirked work; inactive bloodtech embedded in the walls. Yet guards were placed at every intersection, their jaws uniformly clenched, and any individuals travelling the hall seemed possessed by a manic energy.
“We’ve gotta take the stairs today, Vin,” announced Dervin. No one but a Foxblood would’ve noticed the strained note in his voice. “Elevator’s out.”
I paused, and slowly raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not planning to stab me, are you sir?” I half-joked.
The giant barked a laugh. “Ah, I wish all my problems were so simple. Bam!” the large man sounded, miming a gutting motion, “and there goes me rent an’ taxes an’ lacklustre love life.”
“Okay, okay.” I considered making a quip about showing him his place, but that would be a poor move considering his blood. “Just be gentle with me, sir.”
“As a lamb, Vin, as a lamb.”
As always, I walked in front as Dervin as he rumbled directions. Usually, Dervin’s word were for the benefit of any suspicious onlookers and my biggest concern was ensuring the Oxblood didn’t step on my heels, however this was my first time taking this route and I needed instructing. Despite that, making our way over to the steep flight of stairs downwards took only a few dozen steps.
Bars’ was an exception amongst Spires for many reasons, however the most outstanding one was that whatever mad Heltian had hollowed the massive speartree had also decided to dig into its subterranean portion. Unlike similar forms of vegetation, a speartrees’ trunk thrust straight downward, with its stiff roots seeping from the main body and into the surrounding substances. Apparently, they could even worm their way through rock. They went down so far that I’d never heard of anyone successfully uprooting one. The problem with attempting to burrow into the below-ground portion of a speartree was that, somehow, it became even harder. That didn’t stop the Owlbloods working on Bars, though.
A cleared throat interrupted my musings. “So, Vin; what’s the news?”
My jaw worked silently. “Well, the group’s been offered a new job,” I began slowly, sounding out the phrasing, “and it’s supposed to pay pretty well.”
“You’re sure it’s not some… trick?”
“It’s a reputable client,” I said, facing forward. “And the job’s meant- “
A wheedling grumble interrupted me. “But you know how people try to take advantage of Strains. Are you absolutely sure?”
“Well, we’re meant to be caravan guards.” I paused. “Leaving the Heartlands.”
For several long moments, the only sound was our boots thumping against the spearwood stairs.
“You’re leaving?” His face was hidden behind me.
“Yes sir.”
My back prickled. For a moment, I feared he would kick me down the stairs.
“That’s good,” he finally responded. My head turned before I could stop it, revealing Dervin’s face, gazing somewhere far away. “You all’ll be much better off out of this place.”
I nodded and looked back downwards as we continued to cut through the azure haze that filled the stairwell. By the time the Oxblood spoke again, we had already reached the bottom.
“Turn left here.” We did so, taking us to a large curved hallway with strangely bright lighting. “How’s the gang doing?” he asked abruptly.
“Same old,” I replied. “Whip’s keeping our feet straight; Davian’s keeping our heads straight; Gast’s keeping our eyes straight.”
“What about the new girl?”
“Uh, Kit?”
He released an exasperated grunt. “Wha’ever her name is. She treating you all right?”
“She can be a bit abrasive sometimes, sir.” I hurriedly continued before Dervin got any violent ideas. “But she’s never looked down on the others for being Strains. And she’s a wizard with her sword; we’re all much safer with her at our side.”
I felt him nod. “And, uh…” The sound of his dry mouth was audible. “Ronnie?”
We arrived at our destination: a familiar door moulded from the same heavy spearwood as the Spire. Several deadbolts were placed on its outside. I turned to face the giant behind me. The concern on his face was easy to see.
“Ronnie is doing fine, sir,” I assured him.
“The kid’s not ‘urt?” His voice cracked on the final word. With a hacking sound, he cleared his throat and continued in a more subdued tone. “Monster ‘unting’s a dangerous job, an’ I know you’ve had trouble with those Reclamation bastards driving you too hard. An’ Ronnie can’t speak for themself unless someone knows- ” he curled his fingers in a variety of motions, “- hand-speak, so it’s always too easy to ignore ‘em.”
“Whip’s always quick to translate, sir, and Ronnie’s never slow to let their opinion be known. I’ve been trying to puzzle out the words as well.”
His thick lips stretched into a broad smile. “Oh, tha’s a relief.” Dervin paused, twisting his mouth. His eyes fluttered closed while his features returned to a neutral grin. “You’re a good man, Vin.”
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I tried not to flinch. “You too, sir.”
“And, eh… ‘ow’s th’ dog?”
“Ronnie’s dog.”
“Yeah.”
“Yowler’s fine.”
“Tha’s good, tha’s good.” He gave a lopsided smile, then began unbolting the door. “Go on in,” he said. “Bhan’s a-waiting. Give us a few knocks before you leave, yeah?”
The door unbolted. He would lock it after I entered, leaving me trapped in a room within a Spire full of strangely antsy guards.
I stared at him, trying to parse his intentions. I’d first met Dervin several months after Bhan’s arrest, while snooping around for an entrance to Bars. Naively, I had assumed that infiltrating would be similar to entering the Esfarian offices, all those years ago. That assumption was squashed after a large Oxblood came after me, only relenting in his pursuit when I’d mentioned Bhan’s name. The two of them had some sort of passing acquaintance, but what really got me into his good graces was my association with the Strains.
His brows crinkled as I stood there, attempting to read the lines of his face. The entrance was unlocked. The giant tilted his head towards me, his eyes growing increasingly frustrated.
I forced my lips to quirk. “Sir,” I began, “could you tell me whether Ronnie’s a boy or a girl?”
He recoiled, then immediately exploded into a roaring laugh. Though I wanted to know the actual answer, there was no way of knowing how long his patience would hold. After a brief wave, I unceremoniously yanked open the door and stepped inside. A shudder forced its way up my spine as the bolts slammed shut. It was far from the first time, yet the enormity of being trapped in a hole in the ground struck me like an axe to the head.
“Vin? You okay?”
The room was bare except for a small table, two chairs, and a shackled man. The lighting was almost blindingly bright, making his body a shock of dark colours against the whites of the walls. A wide grin revealed his yellowed teeth. Bhan was thirty-two years old. Anyone could tell from his leathery skin, lined-face and deep-set eyes that it hadn’t been an easy thirty-two years.
I nodded, the lump in my throat vanishing at the sight of him. As I took the seat opposite him, I gestured to his stubbly head. “What happened there?”
The Face frowned. “’Oh, how you doing Bhan?’” His deep tones matched mine perfectly. He continued in his usual voice. “‘Very good thanks Vin. Having great time.’ Blood, Vin, where your manners?”
“Sorry, sorry,” I intoned, waving a hand. “Eyah, Bhan. How are you doing?”
“Very- “
“That’s great!” I interrupted loudly. “Sounds like an excellent time. So, what happened to your hair?”
He glowered. “Poor Bhan, rotting in prison. One bright spot: little apprentice. But woe is Bhan! Apprentice is annoying turd sack!”
I inhaled sharply. “Turd sack! How dare you. You may be a Face, but I am a mighty Blooded!”
Bhan’s gaze evaluated me silently. After a few moments, he shook his head. “Alright show. Your artifice obvious though. Fun, but respect the audience’s cleverness. How your Divinity’s going?”
I shrugged.
“How many you done since we last spoke?”
“Four.”
“Ack, Vin. Four, in three weeks?”
“That’s unfair,” I retorted. “That’s only a little less than what you did a few years back.”
My teacher tried to throw up his hands, only for his shackles to halt the effort. “You not in bushland, Vin. We in a city – a massive godsdamned city. Centre of the Heartlands.”
“I spent most of my time hunting monsters!”
He shook his head. “A Face must perform. Freeing spirits is good, but the Divinity always, always first, especially when you learning. It everything a Face is.”
I scowled. “Well, maybe I just make a bad Face.”
“Hah!” Bhan exclaimed, slapping the table. “Good excuse. You good performer. Have the…” He made a vigorous circular motion. “…energy, the movement. Not everyone have talent; you do. You just lazy.”
It was difficult to decide whether to be flattered or insult. I decided to ignore both options. “I’ve got to eat. I’ve got to help my team eat.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “You young. Suppose you have time.”
“Yeah.” I scratched my head. For some reason, it seemed wrong to suggest I had time. “Anyway, what actually happened to your head?”
“Jackal,” was his immediate reply.
My eyes widened. “By the blood, Bhan; the Jackal’s in with you?!”
“Where else they put her?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said mockingly, then slammed my hand onto the table. “In with the killers?!”
His flat look forced me back to my chair. “Vin.”
I sighed. “I know, I know.”
Bhan was a killer. He’d been caught barely a month after we’d arrived in Spires. The Face had a bounty on him for a murder, placed by House Andoras, all the way up north. It had been nearly a decade old. In a way, he was lucky; murderers were usually executed or lynched and only the fear of spiritual repercussion prevented him from falling to the same fate.
“The Jackal’s just…”
Bhan leaned back in his chair, then winced against the bright light. “She more, eh?”
“Eyah,” I agreed.
“Mm.” He nodded, slowly. “She a beast, truly. Just last night – bam, bam! – she whack a woman for staring. Lady not weak herself. Jackal kill her with nothing but empty hands.”
I leaned forward. “Are you safe?”
“Mostly. She respect a Face.” He narrowed his eyes at a spot on the floor. “Close shave, though, few days back; before she knew I a Face. Got blood in braids.”
“Not your blood.”
The Face hummed affirmatively. “Yes.” He looked up at me, shooting a yellow grin. “Good read, Vin, well done.” He paused, then continued. “Man died on top of me. Shaved hair off. Spirits get in.”
“Must’ve smelled.”
He grunted. “You purge any spirits?”
I shook my head, looking away.
His eyes arrested my own. “I know you not believe they real. It still important.”
Once again, I shook my head. “I don’t know, Bhan. I honestly don’t know.”
“It different for Blooded Face, I know. Easier, in ways. But the spirits stay in you. They keep in Godsblood. You need to release, sometimes.”
I chuckled slightly.
In response, he sighed. “Keep with Divinity, Vin. Eye the audience. Eye the gods. Eye yourself. You done your Raven yet?”
I licked my lips. “I’m not doing the Raven.”
“I understand,” he said, “but- “
“You don’t,” I stated.
Bhan sighed. “Lot of people hate the Raven. Lot of reason – Cult hurt many. And it dead. No reason to keep it going. I hate the Dolphin. But, like your Avri, my Wump is my greatest. Maybe that enough. But,” he said, meeting my eyes, “the Raven important to people. All gods are. Important you play it.”
I leaned forward, my speed a menacing crawl. “No,” I spat slowly. “Leave it, Bhan.”
The man nodded, seemingly unperturbed. “Okay.” After a moment’s pause, the Face continued. “But know this: your Divinity will never complete without it.”
“I’m fine with that.”
“Are you?”
I rubbed the arch of my nose and looked downwards. The spearwood beneath us was impossibly smooth. “I don’t even know if I want to be a Face.”
Bhan shrugged. “It there for you.” A short pause. “When you need it.”
I drummed my nails against the desk between us, creating a sequence of dull raps. The motion jarred my fingers. “There’s something else I need to tell you.”
“Mm.” He straightened.
“I, uh.” My throat suddenly felt dry.
Bhan’s gaze was gentle.
I worked up some saliva. “There was, uh.”
He stared.
I looked away. The room was too bright.
“Vin. Tell me.”
My head found its way to my hands. “We, uh, killed.” I swallowed. “We killed some people.”
His voice was soft. “They attack you again?”
“Kit killed the guy who owned the Spiral. Then they attacked us.”
“Vin…”
“I wasn’t there drinking, Bhan,” I stated. “I haven’t had a drop for months. I promised.”
“Why she kill?”
“It’s what she does.”
“Not a reason.”
I thought for a moment. “They were conning me. The Spiral, I mean.”
He huffed. “Told you.”
“Go drown in it, Bhan.”
“Hah!” he snorted. “That why?”
“They weren’t giving my sword back.”
Bhan hummed. “Then Kit attack.”
“Yes. But I was about to get them to do it, without any bloodshed.”
“Make a scene?”
“Told them the sword was cursed. That only a Face could handle it.”
He chuckled. “Good man.”
I nodded. “And that they were scamming people.”
“Ohck,” he spat, “idiot. Just like you. All bee, no honey. What they got to lose, then?”
For a long moment I sat, thinking. Eventually, I spoke. “It still could have worked.”
“Maybe.”
“And it certainly doesn’t justify her actions. Nothing had started, yet.”
My master grunted. “That how the world be, Vin. People kill. People die.”
“It’s not- “
He raised a finger, pale on one side and a deep brown on the other. “You a good man, Vin, but no one live without hurting.”
“It’s still- “
“No. Not on you.”
“It’s still on me!” I yelled before he could interrupt again. “It was my choice. My hands.”
The Face shook his head slowly. “Some people- “
My eyes widened.
“-need killing.”
The world turned hazy around me. My fingers twitched with the urge to hurt him. I breathed in, and out. Without my consent, my hands fumbled for my bag, left at the entrance of Bars. I breathed in, and out. Bhan watched me.
“Relax, Vin. You angry – you no danger.”
I bit my lip to stop from yelling.
“You never hurt anyone for angry. You allowed to be angry.”
I swore at him ferociously, causing him to erupt into a cackling laugh, the kind I imagined a witch would have. Eventually, I ran out of energy and placed my head on the table.
“I shouldn’t have helped her,” I muttered.
Bhan’s hearing was surprisingly good, for an unblooded. “Let her die?” he asked. Before I could answer, he spoke. “No.”
“It wasn’t my business.”
“Oh but it was.”
I straightened abruptly. “Well,” I said, voice strained, “it means they’re all hunting us, now.”
His eyes widened fractionally. “Ah.”
My mouth opened and closed as I struggled to figure out how to continue. “Someone slipped Kit a job offer,” I said. “It’s meant to pay well, despite the…” I waved my hands vaguely upwards, towards the city.
Bhan grunted.
“Yeah. And it’s, uh…” I paused, licking my lips. “It’s as caravan guards. Out of the Heartlands.”
My master’s gaze was measured; unwavering.
“It’s dodgy, though,” I added quickly. “It might be a… I don’t know.”
“Vin?”
“Yes?”
“Good for you,” he said, smiling with his crooked teeth. “Take the job. I will be fine.”
I’d been hurt a lot in my time. His permission was like a blow sinking into my guts, stealing the air from my lungs and the strength from my legs. For an instant, I envisioned myself breaking of the cell with my mentor in tow, fighting my way through the Spire and hiding him in a cart with the rest of the Strains. As soon as the vision arrived, it departed.
“Vin…” he was saying.
I ground my teeth. “But, Bhan…”
“Go learn. Be outside Heartlands. As Face, or anything else.”
“But they might- “
He chuckled. “No one does anything to you that you do not want, Vin.” The Face’s expression was suddenly serious. “Promise you will be safe.”
We stared at one another. I looked away first.
“Promise.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“Good.” He glanced down and sniffed, then looked back at me. “Come here.”
I got up and shuffled over to him, awkwardly kneeling to bring myself level with his eyes. After a moment, an intense grimace fell upon his face. He opened his arms and I flinched, but he was only wrapping them around me, squeezing my large frame into the small space between me and him.
“Not goodbye, Vin.” Moisture spread through my tunic, and the fact he was weeping hit me with the force of a hundred gales. “We meet again,” he sobbed. “You be good to yourself.”
I patted him on the back, blinking rapidly. “I’ll try.”
We stayed in that white room for a while, his manacled form embracing my own. A few thoughts flashed through my mind, yet for the most part they were torn from my mind by the tears piercing from behind my eyes. Somewhere in that maelstrom, I realised that this could be the last time we saw one another and despite everything I’d told myself, I was unprepared.
That notion – that monstrously unfair idea – was what tore me away.
I gently extricated myself from his grip. Then, I placed my feet under my body and rose. Bhan mirrored me as best as his shackles would allow. An offered hand was seized in my own.
I released our handshake, and bowed slowly. “Thank you for everything, Face Bhan.”
He wiped the moisture from his face and breathed in deeply. “It has been an honour, Vin.” Something hard lay behind his eyes.
I strode over to the door I’d entered from and rapped it three times. The bolts rattled on the other side, and Dervin’s hairy paw pulled it open. I looked back at Bhan. He smiled tightly. With a deep exhale, I exited.
It bolted shut and my hands twitched with the desire to rush back inside and steal him away. A dumb horror bubbled in my chest. I was leaving him. It felt like I was screaming.
As the giant and I walked down the slowly curving hallway, an exertion of will snapped my senses back to me. Sparks of life force abounded through the area, roaming through Bars or standing in place until the limited range of my sense tore them from me. Holding them in my mind required intense concentration, but the route inwards was the same as the one outwards, and neither Dervin nor myself were inclined to talk.
Bhan slid from my perception halfway up the stairs.
I picked up my satchel in the grim atmosphere of the exit. Dervin slapped me on the back, and then I was squeezing out from the intimidating door.
“On your way,” the Lizardblood guard commanded.
I stuck my thumbs beneath the worn leather straps of my backpack and forged away from Bars, into the sparse streets beneath the violet light of the Spires. Around the corner I saw several hunters I recognised from the Spiral arguing with a guard. I covered myself, hunched my body and pretended to be another confused soul, lost in a city slowly orbiting around its own demise. The act wasn’t hard.
It had been arrogance to think the guards would care for one small incident. Whatever had them running like a kicked anthill wasn’t me.
Something else had them scared.
Once I was out of eyeshot, I broke into a jog. It was a good time to leave Spires.