THE BEGINNING

SCENE 1 DINIHARI

It’s was a cold morning when Dinihari walked up to the house of civil discourse, she was bored and had nothing to do with her home being burnt down the previous day. The noisy crowd proved an irresistible temptation, providing a good distraction from her hunger.

“Justice! Justice Phas been served.”  The crowd chants. Dinihari blends in well into the crowd with her muddy clothes that were pristine only days ago. This is not her first experience of homelessness. It’s not even her first time losing things of great value because of the actions of a stupid man. Then a shriek of woman out of site but near enough pierces through the crowds noise before fading away, pulling her out of her thoughts. The noise last a few seconds but it’s enough to awaken unresolved emotions. Soon enough Dinihari is fighting back tears, realising the memory tied to the familiar sound. Not now, she commanded inwardly but in truth, she was pleading. Pleading to her mind to think of something else.

The appearance of a man upon the raised platform ahead helps. She unconsciously bit down her lower lip, almost drawing blood. “Finchner.” She breathed still unwilling to unclench her teeth.

The pale middle-aged man in a black jerkin and brown trousers struts atop the stage like a giant cock about to loudly seek attention. “Finchner!” The crowd cheers.  He takes it in, opening up his arms as all aspiring saviours do. He silences the crowd with a wave of hand after getting his fill, which comes off clumsy because he never quite had the luxury of training.

“Justice has been delivered my fellows, as promised.” Finchner screams to thunderous. “When these elitist prigs devised to screw over these two young men.” Pointing to a young man with golden brown hair and his friend with blue eyes.  “These two boys, simply acting out of concern, in service to their community. Mishandled like common criminals.” More thunderous applause.

“But they are criminals.” Sudden quiet as the crowd’s attention shifts to a man on the side of stage. The man timed his words just as the crowd subsided, effectively interrupting Finchner. The man lets the word settle, uttering no sound as a young woman sobs uncontrollably upon his shoulder.

The bright blue feather attached to his stretched left ear lobe catches Dinihari’s attention more so than his black skin and eccentric electrified hair. The blue feather stood out among his dull grey clothing, managing to add elegance to the beggars look. He looked quite beautiful and that never boded well in such situations, hateful crowds tended to relate to those that mirrored their ugly, like Finchner.

“Shut your trap Breech sniffer.” Someone in the crowd cries, bringing back the communal hate as the crowd whipped up again. “You heard the people Lu,” Finchner picks up riding the momentum. “We don’t need your preposterous antics. Come on. Begone. Get gone with your….” Finchner freezes, holding back the words. It’s clear what was meant to be said, go away with your kind – meaning the Breacher woman. Then that alienate some in the crowd, for though the man he called Lu might not have been born in the city, he had done enough and considered by most a true citizen. A flamboyant citizen but an important citizen nonetheless. “I said leave us to enjoy this little moment of joy.”

The crowd froths with changing angrily at the man. It get bad enough that Dinihari almost empathises with the man. Almost. She long disarmed her mind of such dramatics. Then to her surprise Lu moves onto the stage laughing like a child disillusioned by reality. “My apologies.” He said, the words quieting the crowd but not completely. “What I meant to say was these men are monsters.” The crowd gasped and before the noise could return he attacked. “How many among us have ever slain a child? Exactly. None. Not even to the little brats that keep defecating in front of our doors in the middle of the night.” The crowd chuckled, uncomfortable half laughs reverberated all around Dinihari. The previous pointed question had everyone in shock. The humour was much needed. Lu wearing a casual smile atop the makeshift stage slowly shifts his demeanour, allowing the crowd to follow. “So if we can’t allow ourselves such obscenity. Why would we stand here and celebrate such a verdict as justice?”

“Bah,” Finchner interrupts not letting the words settle. “The Breacher spawns were thieves, future brigands. Their fate, simply a consequence of overzealous exuberance of youth. Accidental and intention matters.” The crowds murmured in supportive consideration.

“By that account then the bankers of Oste district shouldn’t be held liable either.” Lu quickly responds and the crowd is already enraged, no one liked bankers this far below the social pyramid. “After all, their intention was only to get rich, who cares that it was at our expense.”

The bankers are raw would for the entire city, Dinihari remembered. The bankers had completely bankrupted the city before defecting to neighbouring Tuxian territory, days before the recent failed invasion. Dinihari can feel the heat in air, the crowd is angry, furious and ready to hate again.

Never one to shy away from a challenge Finchner fought back. “These our boys, not elitist prigs lackin–”

“Are they?” Lu asked Finchner but really the crowd. “In times such as things, clamouring around any who speak our tongue but clearly lack our values could prove costly.” Lu then faced the crowd, looking straight at Dinihari, at she thought so, as if directly speaking to her.  Lu’s face then gradually expressed a cynical smile, a familiar smile and showing exhaustion. A man tired of the situation and world he existed in but at this point she had begun transferring, mapping her own emotions onto the man and she could see she wasn’t the only one. “We should learn to separate the good from bad and these two men but most importantly we should learn there is something beyond that. More vile than bad and sharing kingship with only monsters and beasts. Not us, never us.”

Dinihari now shared the crowd’s hurt and joined them in hate. Lu had managed to create a demarcation so stark that even Dinihari, an outsider, felt part of the crowd. Lu returned to a sombre tone, speaking from the heart as a caring mother would to a beloved child. Dinihari thought her own mind crazy, for now she felt the pain of someone else or the maybe her own pain caged within for so long. Lu spoke to her again. “This past year has been a bitter turnip to ingest but we should be wise to learn from it as any good farmer would from a bad harvest. Finch here talks about the terrors of Breachers, about the danger of outsiders but we know what true terror is. We know true danger comes not from the outsider but the wicked insider.”              

“So is this truly justice?”

“No!” She screams and feels embarrassed but she’s not alone, the crowd is with her.

“With hunger, little coin and bloody plague, surely we can’t add free chid strugglers to a growing list.” Lu said fired up now. “The elites have failed as again with this verdict and like always it falls on us to do their bloody work.”

The crowd continued to roar ignoring all of Finchner’s arguments long after Lu had left the stage. For all the noise, nothing truly came from it as the two murdering young men still went free. So much for a call of justice.

SCENE 2

The walls rose high, almost touching the dreary clouds, at such an angle only suffocating hopeless emitted from within. The fact that the desire to scale the walls barely crossed his mind, he nodded, in sort of quiet celebrations of long dead constructors.

“Whoa, Retski?” The guard ahead uttered seemingly in grateful surprise. “You’re alive. Come here you beautiful bastard.” The brown eyed guard took off his helmet revealing a golden brown hair. His partners some brown as Retski ignored the manly embrace, focussing on the three carts behind Retski. Each grabbing a beet to chew on.

“We thought the cursed brigands had you and your boy.” One of the guards said, throwing a beet to their comrade that hugged Retski.

“They did, before Chite-lwe-na came to the rescue.” Retski said but hearing his name butchered so badly made him physically ill, contorting his face in the process.

“Whoa, we all friends here.” Said the guard noticing the frown on the black boy’s face.  “Excuse my asking, but how does a child rescue an entire merchant caravan.”

“By doing it.” He answered but managed to remain respectful. “Once you survive the death camps of Nazeer. It’s an easier feat.” More like burnt them to the ground but it wasn’t a complete lie. Nazeer always managed to end inquisitions quicker than his complicated tale of random tragedies. Better an atrocity every man and child understood than obscure tales of valour.

It took a while before another word would interrupt the noise of the horses as the other guards pretended to check the carts. Nazeer had that kind of effect on people, it questioned how one would let such a place exist, as though by simply letting exist one became complacent in its insidious acts. Even if it lay at the centre of the most powerful imperium, it put in doubt the humanity of all that never attacked the dam thing. Where were you when Nazeer was born? Why did you let happen what happened? And where were you when it fell? Home? Traven? Brothel? Then how can you surely call yourself a thinking being of in mind and spirit?

None of the guards could hide their shame, even Retski was taken aback, looking more guilty that he had relied upon the aid of a child no older than his boy. “Everything  look good?” A woman who at this point looked like a man under a helmet asked failing to look his way. “Chit-lwe –”

“Chitilwena  Chitapankwa  but you should call me Chite.” He said to the woman who appeared in charge of the post.

“Yes, Chite. Make sure to find the quartermaster, you should be reward for your actions.” She said not making clear which action she meant rewarded. “Make sure to register your any weapons too.” Handing him a piece of parchment with writing that required him to complete.

Chite understood that only foreigners of high standing received the privilege of carrying weapons into the city and only after paying a high fee. A boon fit for heroes but the boy always argued that designation preferring the term “killer of the any wicked in his way.”

“Welcome to Arikot, my friend.” Retski said, pointing to the city road ahead once they had passed the city gates.

Chite took some time to respond, distracted by two people. One with patches of brown hair the other with bold scalp and strands of black hair. Both must have been young and white before turning pale, but the distinction mattered little now. For all they had become was a pair of hanging corpses with the signs “CHILD KILLAs Not welcome” tied to their bodies. Ironically, the pair received heavy pelting in death by children.    

“Strange city you have here. Retski.” Chite mused to the merchant looking away from the pungent message with a cynical smile.

SCENE 3

Their chosen path led them to the district of Aste, a muddy slog of district, with Chite and Retski often having to push the horse cart when it got stuck. Eventually they reached their destination, the city run trading hub – more of a depot. The place looked large, although towered on both sides by stone buildings.  The hub’s wooden structures made it appear quint among the stone constructions but horse pens revealed practicality; probably an old barrack stable converted to satisfy current needs.

The size of garrison highlighted the hub’s importance, an observation Chite took to heart, reducing the rigidity of his natural posture to blend into the sea of traders marching along long lines. Retski was boisterous among his kind, striking up conservation with old friends and acquaintances, never forgetting to inform them of Chite. “The boy must have godslayer blood in him.” He embellished. 

Chite of course played his role to perfection, exhibiting the unnatural stoic demeanour of the great people from across the waters of end, years of pretending helped.  The act grew monotonous quick and got delegated to Chite’s unconscious mind. His active thoughts shifting to more important matters, food. Being in the presence of so much grain and dried fruit brought an appetite, he thought satisfied the previous night. The front of the line elated Chite as Retski promised a proper home cooked feast at the end of work but he remember spawn of people that drove gods extinct rarely smiled. At least that’s myth went.

“What you got?” A regal postured woman ordered in the form of a question.  The sharp commanding voice coming from such soft looking persona always tended to surprise.

Retski listed out his inventory, mostly grains, turnips and liquor, as Chite and his boy offloaded it off the wagon. Retski received a sizeable pouch for his troubles, though his look of contemplation suggested more was expected. “Don’t look so glum? You will be reimbursed, at the end of month.” The woman said, same voice yet somehow comforting.

“Time for tha–“

“You boy.” The woman interrupted. “You look foreign and you look more capable than most. I’ve got a job for you.” Another order in masquerading as a statement. Retski tried to complain but it all amounted to visual mumble jumble.

Never been one to argue. “What’s the job?” Chite asked.

If he knew what task awaited, he surely would have protested but with youth on his side the chance remained. Then again, understanding was a tool reserved for the living.

SCENE 4

The job bought Chite to Priost, a district further down the slope of the city. If Aste was a slog, Priost was a complete barrier, mud so thick wooden paths had to be paved as they crawled along to their destination.  It took half a day but they did arrive at the district’s centre. Chite and a dozen manning three wagons, received a frosty reception upon arrival. “We’ve been waiting all day.” The angry crowd complained, getting angrier every passing moment. It didn’t take long for mud ball to start flying. Chite dodged one heading his way, the soldier next to him was not as lucky. It as this man took on a new acrid scent that Chite realised what gave Priost its natural odour. All this time of thinking one of the barrels had been full of human waste.

The man leading the group stood majestically atop one the wagons. His voice loud and penetrating, one would call such a man a leader of men. A mud pie called him its target. Chite raised his closed lips in response, shadowing the man’s disgust.  Chite had grown accustomed to such acts of civil disobedience but he usually aligned with mud pie throwers.

“Whoa. Whoa.” A voice, male in tone floated above the wagon side Chite leaned against, accompanied by the neighs of an energetic horse. Curiosity got the better of him as he peeked out cover, taking on the appearance of a peeping child. The voice belonged to a man as dark as he in skin tone on horseback, holding tightly to a female rider with long dark hair. The man’s blue ear accessory would normally grab attention but for the horse, though average in seize it’s attitude shown through, kicking through at the mobs feet with odd malevolent awareness.  The horse’s dark, malevolent coat added to the mystery. Who cared about the pair riding it achieving what the soldiers failed, Chite felt certain the horse deserved the credit. He would have commutated his appreciation if not for his natural disdain for the creatures.

“What took you so long?” The man with a blue feather dangling off his hair whispered to the caravan leader, a man named Von-something, Chite couldn’t be bothered to remember. “Zevon, next time I guarantee you I’ll be marching to that place myself…” He trailed off grinding his teeth. Zevon eyes looked stuck to his boots; most of his men took on a similar submissive stance. “Let’s just hand out the food. Come on." He urged disembark off the horrid magnificent creature.

Chite’s involvement should have been complete but for one of the men twisting an ankle as the unloaded the cargo. He took the man’s place in the dispensation line. Zevron and blue-feathered man were hovered next to Chite’s stand, both bearing him eyes reserved for the bankers, elites, kings and pickpockets.

“I can take leave, if am not needed.” He had said both men reducing the surveillance but not by much.  “Next!” He shouted after handing a fistful of turnips to a mother of five. Such actions would be tantamount to cruelty but current times labelled it welfare.

The next family moved up, a young girl and an old woman, “Name?” Zevon asked his voice loud as usual. Before the girl could speak the blue-fathered man shared a slight nod, an indicator that the family didn’t reside in area. Must have been foreigners because Arikot never abandoned its homeless, even in troubled times.

“Marta.” The timid girl fully covered in black rags finally said, holding the old woman steady. The pustules on her left chick explained the black hood. Zevon asked for her father’s name prolonging the charade. The decision had been made, the rest was pageantry; can’t have word get out about throwing children and old women to the mud, in addition to starving them.

“We have list to follow.” The blue-fathered man said to the little girl, “Once that’s done, the rest will be attended to.” Chite looked at dwindling food stash, sitting in place visible to him alone with scepticism. It would barely last the rest of the official list. The little girl oblivious to this fact smiled, eyes wide and walked away calmly.

Chite took note of the man’s features, black skin tone, brown eyes and a blue feather attached to a golden string tried through a glass earring. All he needed now was a name to attach to the face. After all, how could one place a nameless face on a kill list? Hope based on lies when survival is at stake was murder and he intended to educate the man on that as he plunged a spear into his ear.

“Luyeba.” An angular eyed woman with sunken chicks, probably out of hunger, called out, immediately receiving the go ahead. The uncertain look of Zevon was all Chite needed to bump him to the top of the list.

“Thank you.” He said with a cocky smile as he handed the young woman a fistful of turnips.

SCENE 5 MAXI

In Oste, formally district of the moneylenders and financiers of Arikot a young man marched out a large house. A horse carriage waited for him at the foot of the stairs but a line of men and women in uniform block his path.

“Sir.” A woman in the line said halting him in the process. “This is unwise, others can be sent as proxies.”

“Maximilian.” A little child wearing a tunic alone called out, rushing out the door. The woman gives the boy a glare, slowing his approach. “I mean sir.” He corrected holding out a tray, on it a piece of chicken and bread. “You forgot to eat again.”

Maximilian patted the little boys brown hair, took the platter and sat on the steps.  “Well let’s get the objections over with.” He said waving his right hand as dramatically as possible.

“Prancing around in the muddy dwellings of these plague ridden Colts is beneath one of your position and title.” She said to the young man scoffing down food. “If not the plague, then the lowly masses might attack you. These Breachers can’t differentiate between nobles and elites.”

Maximilian washed down the food with red wine. “It’s strange how such a vital thing as hunger can be repressed until food is in your mouth.” Spoken like a true silver spoon fed child. “Anyway, a proxy can’t see what a trained eye can. The city of Arikot has the lowest crime in all of the three kingdoms, so nothing to worry about.”

“This is foolish.” She said, more aggressive. “Your affection for the retainers is naïve…in this instance. What do you think your brother will do to us if you become afflicted with this plague? Might as well sentence us all to cold dungeons.” The man looked thoughtful stroking his golden stubble. “You already have one dangerous task, no need to add another.”

“Hemm,” Maximilian said softly, drawing the tall woman his way. “This plague might be upon Heamansha in the next few months. I rather be proactive than wait till our people are dying.”

“So this has nothing to do with young Nora?” The words caught him unprepared and his thick shoulders dropped. “We can take her to temple.”

“That’s a death sentence.” He objects enraged. “All the gods are dead. No point in placing trust in pointless antiques. Only we can help…fix this.”  He moves closer to chariot but Hem blocks him again. “Like you always say tell me, a good worker should know their place.”

Hem reluctantly gives way. “At least dress appropriately. You still represent a great family.”

Maximilian looked to his feet, hard to see over is belly. He sucked it in, a brown boot – to the left – and a black boot – to the right – protected his feet. The silver platter cleaned of food stood in front of his face, held by Hem. Golden dishevelled hair, black bags highlighting the blue eyes and a tanned greasy face reflected back. “Call it blending in.” He said entering the carriage.

“Be careful.” A distressed Hem said through the open window.

“Always and never.” Maximilian said displaying a wide smile.  “To Aste! Mish.” He ordered the coachman. Without delay the man rode away into the empty street not giving any credence to the burned houses. 

SCENE 6

The sun began to set by the time the line reached it end, and set with end of job came aching knees and elbows, to add more pain Chite’s was still required to help push the wagons. The job was more tiresome than the pay that came with it but in such cities good work ethic even if abusive went a long way. Especially for a foreigner. Chite took a deep breath, set his mind up for the last haul.

“Ready?” Zevon asked leading the push. A stoic response from the group returned as they pushed as a cohesive unit. The men lacked their earlier vigour but they pushed still, not giving into the hungry mud. Somehow, someway, numbed in every bicep the men reached their goal. The sun was out of sight, obscured by surrounding buildings. So much time lost over something so trivial but for the view of the twin moons, it proved worthwhile.

Chite’s moment of peace soon faded as the young girl from earlier came into his peripheral view. Zevon distracted with his duties accidentally bumped into her. “Bloody hell.” He scorned turning to see the victim. The girl’s hood had come loose during her fall revealing more than her face. The trail of small-clustered pustules leading to her small hand caked in mud.

“Stop!” Chite said, stopping Zevon hands midway. “Don’t touch her if you want to live.”

“I would never harm a child…” Zevon raged but trailed off, disrespected by Chite no longer facing him.

Chite took in the freighted child, paying close attention to her pale arm. In swift movement he produces a fresh turnip, gentle placing into her open arms. “I knew it.” Zevon screamed with an accusing finger. Chite still remained focused, not giving the rediculoues man the attention he craved. With the little girl eating using both muddy hands he could easily spot the cluster of small boils littered more parts than the face and left arm.

“Have seen this before.” Chite whispered, unable to mask concern. He turned to Zevon but he had been replaced by the dark horse and atop it the long haired woman and the blue feathered man called Luyeba.  

“Where exactly?” Luyeba asked, with an unflinching glare.

The man’s height aided by the horse had an effect on Chite, he stepped back, unconsciously reaching for the javelin on his back. “Far, far away.” He said, taking in the surroundings. If things confrontational it could get bloody.

“Zevon! Am borrowing one of your men.” Luyaba said, not requiring an answer. “Come with me.”

“I don’t do equestrian–” Chite’s stomach interjected, rumbling in protest. “Will there be food?”

THE MIDDLE  PART 1

SCENE 7

Chite’s consensual abduction brought him to a dreary two-storey wooden structure that served as an inn. Surprisingly, the interior of inn looked the opposite of the exterior, even with the overcrowd tenets sleeping on the floor, it looked exquisite. Chite would normally take in the décor of such a contradiction, and at a glance, it appeared that the designer called for it, but the smell of the potato soup had him in its grips. Chite moved briskly to the counter and grabbed a bowl.

“Food first.” He demanded as Luyabe and his female companion approached. The pair didn’t argue, giving into the boy’s whims eagerly. The dark haired woman filled the bowl effortlessly without spilling a drop, with the efficiency of someone who had to repeat the act daily.

“Esker tou vian.” She said to Chite, revealing beautiful blue markings below her neck. She received a blank stare when Chite emerged from drinking the soup. “Your living marks, they are rare.” She said in the local tongue, her accent full of the unnecessary flair typical mid-eastern Colts. The woman’s dark eyes fixed themselves on Chite’s lower neck observing the black tails itched into his dark skin. She waited for them to change shape before blinking. “Mine are quite ordinary. I tried getting them but the marker was stabbed in a raid by a Colten army.” It took some time for her to realise the food had all his attention.

Chite produced an audible sound of satisfaction and pushed the empty bowl towards the dark haired woman. “More.” He demanded.

The woman paused, still looking at the markings. “Where did you get them?” She said, refusing to pour in more broth.

“An old witch gave them to me.” Chite said, looking at her blue markings intently. “Nizhoni, daughter of Niara of the Chiaka, originally from the east forest of the tree that came before time.” The shock was worth the trick. “Met a group of slave liberators that had attacked the wrong convoy, they needed some supplies but had nothing to exchange. Well they thought they had nothing to trade.”

Nizhoni quietly poured some broth into the bowl and pushed it across the counter. Adding a wooden spoon next to it. “Any chance of you arranging a meeting with this sorcerer?”

“She also had a fatal running in with an army.” Chite said wearing a wry smile. “Now let’s get to your infectious disease quandary.”

Luyeba had been a silent observer to the exchange all this while, so has been an angular eyed woman. It takes a while for Chite to recognise her as the exhausted tired woman from the welfare line. The intensity in her eyes would shake the will of any who looked her way. What wonders a few vegetables can do, or maybe what hunger could to any will. It would take a lot to break such a will.

“Since the rest of us lack colourful name paintings,” Luyeba said in a gentle tone. “I am Luyeba, she is Dinihari, a healer, herbalist and sorcerer.” Pointing to the woman. “He is Otto–”

“The cleaver of the Vahemin pass.” Chite interjected eying the man’s black facial marking on his tanned skin. “Then I must be in the right place.” Removing a piece of parchment under his tunic.

Otto reluctantly took and read it, mouthing the words out. By the time he reached the end, everyone observing knew the contents but still didn’t fully understand. “Impossible.” Otto said, his accent more rough and hard than Nizhoni. “It can’t be, she can’t be alive. When they took her…” It appeared the infamous slayer of five hundred Tuxian trained men had met his match. “Wait this could be for…” But it couldn’t, it had the red beaded necklace their mother gave to her. “Where you with her, in Nazeer?”

A simple nod of acknowledgement, that’s all the question needed. “The good news is your ‘plague’ is curable.” He quickly changed the subject before the guilty stares could settle. “The bad news is the disease evolves slightly in every epidemic.  Meaning–”

“The known treatment might not work.” Dinihari finished.

SCENE 8

“Would you quiet down?” Dinihari complained. She had finally lost patience at the Chite’s incessant pacing. The words stopped him and she returned to slowly heating a green concoction in small ceramic bowl using small flame in her hands.

“Repeating the same experiment and expecting different result is inane.” Chite said taking notes in a travel size book. “If the known formula doesn’t work, it might be wise to change it.”

“What do you want from me?” Dinihari said louder than she intended. “You want me to start guessing reagents.”

“Better chance of finding a treatment.” He said closing the book and tucking it around his waist. “All that will do is add to the misery, failing livers rarely bode well for recovery.”

“And the unknown side effects?” She said still producing a small flame at the base of the elevated bowl.

“Death for survival is preferable to death for living.” He said beginning pace again before abruptly stopping. “All the more reason to track down the source. The first host, an autopsy might shed some light on the issue.”

“You think a group of close-minded xenophobes will allow it.” Dinihari said, dry in tone, annoyed that she had to point it out. “Sure you do that.”

Accepting her stance Chite left the room, it lead to an elevated floor with the view of the dining hall below. The dark brownish-red tarps hanging overhead, alongside a candle chandelier, reminded him of a painting in a fallen castle. At such a vantage, he could see the great size of the hall and it donned on him how many actually littered the floor below. People below, mostly women, slept in rows, head to feet, yet still managed to consume enough space that some had only a wall to lean on.

Nizhoni and Otto dragging a large cauldron filled with steaming broth below caught Chite’s attention, the sight of parting weathered blankets and feet demanded attention.  It reminded him of the tale of vessel Akukatineham, she parted entire oceans when the world first flooded, using a simple wooden staff, saving most land species from extinction.  Arikot could use such benevolent guidance, he thought. He’s attention returned to reality as his sight trailed Otto and Nizhoni’s path until they disappeared below the elevated floor he stood upon.

“You need something.” Luyeba stated appearing from another room. “I know what, a hair cut.” Running a hand through Chite’s tough shrub of hair.

The change of tone surprised Chite more than Luyeba’s sudden appearance. “Later.” Chite said in conversation tone. “Right now I need census information of the sick. We need to learn how it spread.”

“I thought you said through blood and other boy fluids.” Luyeba said with the oblivious wonder of a child.

“Yes but we don’t where it started.” He said moving for the stairs leading down. “Maybe someone along the line of transmission was cured. If not then the earlier host might offer new insight, whether this thing came from a person or an animal.”

“That won’t change anything. The plague already upon us.” Luyeba said trying to catch up to the boy setting a frantic pace. “Wait. Where are going?”

“The temple. You said that’s were all the sick are, Right?”

Luyaba put a hand, blocking Chite’s path. “Night time is dangerous for outsiders.” He said looking at the crowded sleeping on the floor.

“I can handle it.” Chite said with an air of assured arrogance.

“All it takes is a lucky – unlucky – hit.” Luyeba reminded. Chite stopped, looking thoughtful in pose. “May I suggest another option?” Taking advantage of inaction.

A short journey to the cellar brought Chite face to face with horror he thought accustomed to, but the living can never get used to all horror, one may experience numbness and indifference, never inoculation.

Chite put his mouth and nose into his sleeve the acrid odour of a hundred dying in confined space hit him at once. Through watery eyes, he spotted the young from the welfare queue getting a warm bowl from Nizhoni and with her grandmother sleeping at her feet.

“It’s going to be busy night.”

SCENE 9 DINIHARI

Dawn brought with it light but not enough to illuminate Dinihari’s conundrum.  It pained her but she refused to let her emotions reign. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off her uncomfortable chair that she had been sitting in all night. A pointless torture it proved as her mixture had gone blue. The desired result was green, the wild stray caused by a single minute of uncontrolled sleep. The thought added pain to an already buckling restraint. She rubbed her temples, moved to the window for relief, only to bath the acrid essence of the streets below.

Hours of no sleep and food on the streets replaced by hours of voluntary sleepless, starved nights in a claustrophobic room. All hard work over the years all wasted. Years of running a successful medicinal practice, gone and vanished into ash like the letters of an old lover.

“Finchner!” She screamed, losing control and grabbing the wooden chair that had tortured her all night.   “You Priging! Priggort! Die! Die” Turning her makeshift workplace to ruin.

Concerned footsteps rush up stairs before barging into the room. “Dinihari!” Nizhoni asked, her face the colour of confusion.

Dinihari parted her withered hair – from lack of proper care – stuck to her sweaty face, revealing a young vibrant face. “I am a master in my art. I refuse to use equipment not of my standards.”

“Okay,” A tired Otto said, walking through the door and stopping by what used to be a solid table. “But did you really have to take on the furniture.”

“We all protest in different ways.” She said, appearing as defiant as her small frame allowed. “The Cleaver they call you–”

“Used to, now it’s just Otto first guard of Arikot’s Bazaarian.” Otto interjected, tone low but his natural hoarse voice always made it commanding.

“Well first guard, I’ll need your strength. Come on.” She said, hastily putting on a furry mantle cloak that Nizhoni had made. Not her style but anything was better than a muddy sleeping gown. “Where are you two off to?”

“The Temple.”  Luyeba answered as placed an azure cloak on Chite. “You?”

Noticing the eye-catching cloak, Dinihari grabbed it before it could be fully set on the boy. “Finchner’s loyalists took my equipment when they burnt down my lab. There is still a chance the idiots haven’t sold some of it off.” Continuing without pause, ignoring the securitizing stares of present company. “Otto I hope your blade is sharp.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Luyeba argued. Dinihari continued on, pushing Otto forward. “Nizhoni mind taking Chite? This woman may cause another culling.” He added rushing after Dinihari.

SCENE 10

“Shall we?” Nizhoni asked, hand outstretched, perched upon her dark stallion.

“I will walk.” Chite answered without sparing a thought.

It took them longer to reach the temple because of Chite’s stubbornness. They had to sneak in as the vessel of the temple was presiding over a holy session. Whatever that meant now, with the gods dead. Lucky for them it proved a short session.

Chite trailed Nizhoni as she weaved a path through the exiting crowd. Up close, he evaluated the pretend vessel, taking in her fit form, a puffy cheeks and black hair encircling her head.  Expectations left him disappointed. Destroying his cynical belief of modern vessels as masquerading wenches, for such an attack he disliked her already.

In his defence, most vessels he had come across mired his view. All were nothing more than thieves, rapists and megalomaniacs with a penchant for genocide. This was yet another reason to be concerned, for anyone who can amass such a crowd in times of great sickness and hunger without vague promises is more dangerous. For anyone one that can make you believe is liable to lead you to the sharp end of the spear, eventually.

He gave the woman a weary gaze, as Nizhoni approached, playing the role of the random stranger in the crowd to perfection. Nizhoni shocked him, suddenly embracing the vessel in an impassioned kiss, almost tripping the woman in the process.

“I don’t like it.” An old man beside Chite moaned, voice hollow. “Where is the decency in these young folk? Some of us are all alone you know.” Walking away slowly with the aid of sturdy stick. “Emotional violence should be a crime.”

It was quite a feat to keep his laughter quiet but he managed. The vessel approached and it pleased him to in control because first impressions did matter and no one would take a hysterical child seriously.  He took the form of a dark lord from a long dead world inspired by illustrations from old paintings.

“I am Flayel caretaker of this temple.”  She said after kissing the air around both his cheeks.

“Chite.” He replied with coldness to set off never ending winter. Explanation wasn’t needed as the Flayel nodded in understanding, he wouldn’t be the first heathen to soil her temple.

Nizhoni had to return to her duties at the inn, leaving Chite in the care of the vessel and her helpers. The two alone proved awkward, with the boy dousing any sparks of a sustained conversation with short answers. Therefore, the two walked in mostly silence through the pearly high ceilinged hallways of the temple. Chite, a child accustomed to violence by means of survival treasured such peace even if the destination brought with it death. Flayel was the complete opposite.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” She said, breaking a long silence. “Although my faith is an important part of me. It is not all I am. We may worship different deities but we share a world. I believe the latter more important.”

“Mourn.” He said, moving past a flustered Flayel. “Worship would imply the gods still live.” He explained after Flayel caught up.

“You’re one those.” Flayel said with a hint of annoyance. “I only believe in what I see kinds.” She mocked, arising no response from Chite. “To make it clear.” She broke a short silence, sounding less reserved. “I don’t tell the congregation to call me vessel; they do it out of tradition.”

“A shared delusion then.” He insulted, looking away pretending to be distracted by the painting of a large humanoid bird. “Even more dangerous.”

“I understand your doubts.” She said standing alongside him, trying hard not hit the child with the cynicism of an old man. “But I speak no words that are my own. All our sessions are simple rewording of the old written word.” looking him in the eye.  “Sometimes people just have to be reminded of who their god was and how deeply they loved. That way the gods live on.”     

“Understandable.” He said sincerely, beginning to walk again. At last the came upon the hallway leading to the atrium. The light ahead made the hallway appear darker, Chite noticed.

 “Even as actualist,” She said, picking up his position through the sound of movement. “You surely must wonder if some survived the slayer’s purge. Just hiding, waiting for the perfect time to return.”

“No.” He said confidently. “Trust me we made sure of it.”

SCENE 11 DINIHARI

The warm welcome at Finchner’s abode surprised Dinihari, to the point that when she regained sentiency, she was helping Finchner’s wife and a group of women serve food to children. The woman’s elegance completely enamoured Dinihari, it shown through, unblemished by worn clothing and sweat. Dinihari took in her figure, trying to decipher the cause of such emotion. She doubted it came from the woman’s black greying hair, or her young simple pale face. Yet the same ordinary face drew her in, powerfully rejecting all her weak objections, centring all her focus on the woman’s dry lips. It took Dinihari some time to realise the lips were moving, producing sounds aimed at her.

“…believe in the pacifist teachings given to young girls at the temple. Girls need to learn of the dangers that await them. I rather they become harlots of own choosing than it forced on them by circumstance or small men.” Chin pointing to a woman in army regalia training a group of girls.

Out of routine, she plunged a small bowl into a half empty large pot of rice before handing it to small girl with similar facial markings as Otto. She found herself salivating, realising she hadn’t eaten since morning. She thanked the empty heavens that only two children remained.

“I apologise for dragging you into this.” Finchner’s wife said solemnly. “It’s not proper for guests to be treated but assistance was desperately needed. Especially after Olga got taken by bloody plague.”

“It’s not a bother.” Dinihari claimed, trying to present a different version of herself.

“We’re almost finished.” She encouraged. “Go inside and wait with Lu by the dining table. I’ll bring something up.”

Dinihari intended to object but her rumbling stomach beat her to it. She simply stood up and walked away in embarrassment.

Inside the small creaking house Finchner called home, Dinihari wondered how it housed so many people. Luckily for her, the man to answer such questions sat right ahead. If only she could sterm the rage she felt for the man and his ilk. She made her entrance as loud as she could, taking up a sit next to Luyeba but sadly she went unnoticed, both men to engrossed in their loud discussion.

“We need to be in those negotiations.” Finchner said loudly. “Or at least someone to represent our interests.”

“Our interests?” Luyeba snapped. “Last I checked your line of our was drawn too tight.”

“For the best then.” Finchner conceded. “None of the elites would spare seconds for my words anyway.”

“Wise of them, if you ask me.” Dinihari commented, gaining the man’s attention. “All you do is fan hate.” Looking him in the eye. “The only place you belong is in a Tuxian death camp.”

The insult landed as intended, she found joy seeing the man physically uncomfortable, trying ut failing to sooth his emotions.  A long moment passed before the man spoke again.

“I apologise again for the boys’ actions, the boys’ zeal–”

“What do you think will happen to people when say what you say?” She interrupted, barely keeping calm. “Outsiders this, outsiders that. Outsiders brought the plague. Outsiders led to the desolation of heavens. Do you really expect Breacher children beaten and killed? Women raped and drowned? Young men castrated and hanged.” She let the words settle, let them suffocate the casual atmosphere. “Or is just that an added bonus to the residual intolerance.”

“Well I’ll have…” Finchner snapped.

“Dinner will be ready soon.” Fincher’s wife said from the doorway. She stood patiently waiting eyeing her husband with great displeasure. “Lu, control your friend. I won’t have it in my home.”

The words annoyed Dinihari. “Dini, come with me. Leave these reckless children to their pointless discourse.” Suddenly understanding whom the woman meant controlled. Relief came with added confusion of her inner portrait of Luyeba’s character.

For the moment, she chose to delight in Finchner’s shame, walking towards his wife with the most insidious smile.

“Behave yourself too.” The woman lightly scolded.

“What did I do?” Dinihari half-heartedly complained.

Later, when night fell as the men were cleaning the dirty plates, Dinihari sat on a wooden porch next to Finchner’s wife. They both stared silently at the twin moons, the reddish large moon next to pale smaller moon, in complete adoration.

“You think anyone lives there?” The woman asked placing her head gently on Dinihari’s shoulder. “On the moons I mean.”

“Maybe.” Dinihari replied softly. “I don’t know.”

“I thought you were the sorcerer and scholar. You’re supposed to know these things.”

“I focus on plants and animals of this world only, sadly.” She said. A long moment that felt akin to a mere second passed. “I heard the godslayers have an entire city dedicated to finding out.”

“Of course they do.” She said with a fair bit of irritation in her tone. “I don’t hate them.” She said after heavy sigh. “I just wish they would share some of that infinite knowledge. Help the rest of the world become better. What?”

“Well they did. Years ago, they trained capable sorcerers from all lands and sent them back to help their people of origin. Then…”

“Bloody witch hunts.” She interjected simmering but not quite angry. “That wasn’t our fault. That’s was all the Tuxian Emperors. All long dead now.”

“Yet magic users are hunted to this day.” Dinihari said pulling the woman’s head gently back onto her shoulder. “To them, all we will ever be is backwards people, flinging stones at the night sky hoping to hit a star.”

“Then screw them in their backsides.” She said with fair bit of mirth. Dinihari broke out in laughter at the comment.  

SCENE 12 MAXI

Chite barged into the inn and saw children for the first time; they all sat some distance from their parents, eating bowls of gruel. The children ploughed through the brown muck like a serving of pork. He noticed one of the woman showing signs of a rush and understood the separation. He doubted the kids would, immediately spotting a little girl held tightly by her mother while her father stood in arm’s length. The situation must have perplexed the children but it fell on Chite to do his part and prevent the sad sight from turning tragic.

“Hey little boy.” A blonde haired mess called to him, with an accent more ambiguous than that of a linguistic trader. From the unhealthy stature, he easily identified the man as a failed scholar, whose preferred death was alcohol poisoning. “Yes. You. Would you please inform this woman of my desire to find some rats from this district?”

Chite gave the man a glace of a thousand glares. He hated references of his height and age as he preferring to judgment based on his experiences and by that factor, he would an elder in any short-lived race. Instinct called for an unceremonious beating but taking in the small frail looking man beside him exposed he dangers of such action. Therefore, choosing long winded etiquette by sitting across the man.

“What exactly happened?” His tone though even immediately sent the frail man’s hand to his scabbard. The movement proved precautionary but still clear sent the intended message.

“Well I approached this woman and asked about the rats of the area.” The man half-drunkenly spewed. “She brought me a here and served me broth. Delicious broth but not what I was looking for. Can you translate? Bloody woman doesn’t even understand her own peoples language.”

“No translation needed.” Chite responded glare at the five empty bowls stacked on the man’s sided of the table.

It took him a while. “Ooohhh!” He said face palming at the realisation. “Good jest my lady. I am not dull you know.” The man said in desperation, clearly trying to amend his reputation in the boy’s eyes. “I was finished fifth in my class. Youngest of the lot at the Cosmopilus Centre for Advanced learning in Heamansha.” Having to shout the last part as Chite had left the table. “I am going to end this plague.”

“Sure you are.” He whispered to no one, taking a sit up at the counter. “Are they back yet?” He asked an exhausted looking Nizhoni pouring brown beer made of roots into a cask.

“Not yet.” She said not looking at him. “It takes a while to pry Luyeba from that fear-monger Finchner. Advocates of the same philosophy yet through drastically different means. One spirit cut in two and given different tales to scribe.”

“Wake me when they return.”

“Did you find your answer?” Nizhoni asked. He hovered his open hand in mid-air, moving it side to side to express uncertainty. “Need help making it clear? Give me a moment then.”

That moment bore close to an hour, to the boy’s dismay. Luckily, the delay allowed for Luyeba, Dinihari and Otto to join the discussion, meaning he wouldn’t have to repeat his findings. With their help, he spread a large piece of parchment, filling the an entire table made for six.

“What?” He uttered at their looks of amazement.  “Folding is art form. Now focus.” Pointing to table that elevated the parchment.

It took them a moment to decipher the information they were straying at, it’s takes time to recognise your own home from bird’s eye view. With the lines connected, it left the joining of multi-coloured dots. With the help of small note book they did manage.

“Impressive.” The frail man guarding the drunk had managed to sneak up on the Chite. He blame his lack of sleep. “You did all this.” Chite simply rubbed his temples in annoyance. “Master Maximilian, this little boy’s discovery might interest you.”

A drunk Maximilian immediately sobered up at the realisation of what lay at his hands. “Colour coded and multiple translations. This must have taken weeks. Who did this?”

“Who the hell are you?” Dinihari asked rudely. She hadn’t been in good mood since morning and visiting Finchner had added to it. “I don’t need to know you. Find a good cold ditch to lay in.”

The room fell silent, even the sobbing mothers went quiet, taking note of the seething cold rage on display.

“The most important cases are the ones in red.” Chite broke the silence, saving the young man some embarrassment. “These were the earliest cases, about a two moons ago. I information can’t be accurate as the victims had already passed but in the last dying days were spent in confession with the vessel.”

“People rarely lie on their death beds.” Nizhoni said. “They are all ground in Aste around the...”

“Isn’t revealing the confessions of the dead cause for dismemberment.” The frail man pointed out.

“If those confessions lead to the righting of a great wrong.” Chite reminded.

“I think that’s intended for crimes.”

“No you piece of refuse. It’s ambiguous for a reason.” Chite making his distaste for the man clear. “More than half of this dots are already gone and this is only the beginning.” His eyes emitted a red glimmer and the man immediately leaped back, not taking any chances.  The sight left everyone perplexed. “As I was saying.” He continued without having to shout, the attention was already his to control. “Anything around here that catches the eye.”

Nizhoni and Luyabe exchanged a look before looking back at the boy. “Ma Zevchev’s house of fantasy.”

“Let’s go then.” He ordered. “I won’t hear any complaints of unseen dangers.”

“We’ll still need working apparatus to concoct a treatment.”

“I can help with it.” The blonde young man outstretched a hand towards Dinihari, who by her look had decided to stay in the inn. “Call me Maximilian.” Dinihari left the man’s hand hanging.

“Otto I might–”

“Otto is for the obvious threats.” Luyeba explained placing a crimson clock over Chite. “Nizhoni’s for the unseen perils.”     

 “And what do you do exactly?” Chite asked as they went out the door.

“I motivate.”

SCENE 13 ZEVCHEV’S HOUSE OF FANTASY

The welcome was a warm, too warm for Chite as half-naked men and woman caressed every part of his body as the trailed his alleged guardians down a dark narrow corridor. He kept his pockets tight, such designs had other functions that just arousing the appetite of the patrons. Having his weapon confiscated left him in fair bit of mood but even he would admit carrying a blunt blood soaked weapon around such an establishment was faux pas; so many cheating spouses in one place would cause a stampede.

Chite’s understanding of such complexities was cause for relatively calm. The dark corridor led to a brightly light semi-circular room, were various well-fed models of all shades awaited judgement.

“Welcome to your wildest fantasy.” An oddly sharp-eared man said with efficient familiarity. Then as though out of stupor, the pale figure blinked twice with shock and recognition.  The man didn’t speak, he just clapped twice, rapidly send the various hued men and women behind him to their displays – alcoves that had places to sit. “This way.” He said opening a door in the wall.

A secret-word protected entrance, Chite suspected as the man hadn’t pushed or pulled anything. Immediately their dark path led to a descent, circular stairs amounting to two storeys guessing from the pain in his calf. He put it up to days of roaming a muddy city. The sharp descent then levelled out, leading to a singular, foul smelling passageway that in turn led to a circular centre chamber. The chamber housed a complicated number of tunnels, all similar in size. This would be the place an assassin could easily lose a trail.

“This is part were I say trust.” He said with the charm and seductive lure of a trained professional, showing off a set of black cloth blinders. “But as you already know the trick it pointless.” Looking at Luyeba intently. The man revealed a small vial filled with red liquid, dropped a single drop to the dirty floor, a bright light trailed it as it formed complex weave in the floor. The sharp-eared man said gibberish filled phrase then clapped twice. The last part done for effect, Chite assumed.

Then floor disappeared.

Abrupt darkness followed by abrupt light. The sudden shifts were a shock on the sense. Chite immediately regretted not receiving the blinders. The pale figure had earned Chite’s ire for more than his appearance.

The rest of the journey consisted of blurry visions; the most memorable was one of a richly dressed old woman surrounded by five young shirtless dark skinned men.  Other fantasies of winged and tailed creatures seemed mundane in comparison.  Focussing on his mission, he moved on, no longer distracted by the myriad of curtained room, relying on the movements of his companions ahead as he refocused his sight. Days without sleep did not help in this aspect.

“Wait here.” The man said, leaving them in a spacious room.

Cheti took in the room, as his companions got seated, searching it for secrets but the only notable thing to found was a portrait of brown woman, paler than dark. Her genetically confusing dark hair tied with a golden ribbon pulled upwards. The two grey curling strands dropping on either side of the face caught his attention. The contrasting eye colours of the woman seemed an artistic choice. Chite had never seen a person with an emerald green eye pared with his golden brown.

“As racially ambiguous as possible. The perfect Colt.” Chite said.

“Someone with ties from every continent but tied to no culture in return.” A soft voice uttered. He sensed a familiar pain in her words.  He turned to find a copy of the portrait in living form with the added exception of twenty some years. Her face had lost some of its tension and similarly her body. Chite put on a smile, finding the natural appearance more beautiful than a touched up painting. “Well that’s unexpected. Few find this form more appealing than the portrait. Maybe I should add a sixth child.” She said playing with the young man’s long ears as she stared at Luyeba. “What do you Peta?”

“Anything you desire, lady Zevchev.” The sharp eared man she called Peta said playfully.

“You should be more careful.” She said, now talking Luyabe. “Even a war heroes, plucking unripe fruit get the penalty, eventually.” She said looking Chite’s way. “So how much you want for him.”

“You can’t afford him.”  Chite said seating on the bed, which proved to be a mistake, as the comfort quickly swallowed him up, reminding him of a vital deficiency; sleep. “Besides I can’t play make believe.” Focusing his eyes on Peta’s ear’s. “The creature you’re supposed to be is too arrogant and obtuse to actually obey another. Especially a human.”

To his surprise, Peta drew a small book and wrote something down. Clearly, a man dedicated to his craft. He pointed to his ear’s asking if they matched the real thing. “Close enough. Most file the edges off when in human settlements. Last thing those things want is to stick out for the wrong reasons.” Another note.

“Peta is an artist you see.” Lady Zevchev said staring at Luyeba. “A writer among other things. He intends to write a guide for woman and men too displeased with their own appearance to hunt down what the desire. He reminds me of someone–”

“Yes we get it.” Nizhoni interjected. “He worked here. We are here for more important issues.” She said withstanding Zevchev’s glare. “The plague, we mean to end it or at least try.”

“How can I help?” Her playful expression suddenly turning serious. Nizhoni passed her a piece of parchment. The woman performed a quick snap of her fingers, producing a surprising loud sound. Moments later three girls brought in large books. “Find them if we have them.” She said handing over the parchment.

A long moment passed before the information turned up. Thinking about it as the adults talked, Chite found it hard to believe that the plague would have begun inside such a pristine place, disgusting, yes but kept exceptionally clean. For victim to pass on the disease symptoms such as pustules would already manifest and the chances of someone finding that attractive were slim to none. Then again strange things happen in dark rooms, he thought, the image of the old woman came to mind.

“You think something here can help?” Lady Zevchev asked Nizhoni. The girls raised a hand before she could answer. “What is this about exactly?”

“Gathering some information.” Luyaba said, speaking for the first time. “Are they among your clientele? I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”

Something strange happened to Chite as parts of time seemed to be missing in his memory. The sight he saw now was not of Zevchev but of another, a quite ordinary pale woman. Nizhoni and Luyeba were talking to the young woman, the contents of the conversation seemed foreign to him.

“…only noteworthy, I can remember was the ball.” The woman said. “Woke up tired but not fever.”

“That’s all, then.” Nizhoni said. “Being in the next girl.”

Another slip of time and this time his eyes opened to the sight of a sobbing woman.

“….when…he stopped coming…” She seemed hysterical unable to communicate through her trembling voice. Nizhoni stroked her gently. “You’re not supposed to like them you know. I mean most are as rabid as animals.”

Nizhoni stayed silent letting the woman talk at her pace. “But then you find that one. You know the one that’s just a little bit less rabid. Then you start looking forward to it.” The woman sobbed again, worse than before.

Yet another time slip; this one was shorter than those before as he had noticed his own weakness. Or so he believed as the sight hadn’t changed too much. This time Luyeba comforted the young woman, caressing her brown wet cheeks. The pain inside those black eyes was familiar to Chite, the type of pain that aged with you, the worst kind of pain he had to experience; regret.

“…lost his wife in the war, said I reminded him of her.” She managed to say.  “He just paid for the time and we talked, at first about me then about him. After the party, I just needed to feel something real. It was me. I insisted. After he stopped showing up.”  Her voice trembled but no tears came, she appeared drained out. “I…I hated him for it. All the while he was dying alone.”

“His ashes are still in temple.” Chite said the woman gave a strange look, as though only noticing his presence.

“I can’t. I couldn’t.”

“You should.” He head Nizhoni utter as he faded into another long dark

Time had passed it seemed as a new woman sat across the duo. The new woman looked and seemed familiar, yet he was sure he had never seen her before. The woman managed to look colourful without turning into a caricature of a rainbow. She somehow exuded confidence and elegance while freely exposing her unimportance.

“…tired most days.” She said. “Comes with job. I enjoy my craft so I put in extra effort.” Then she twirled her green feather earing accessory, giving her inspiration away immediately. “Like mine because I love yours.”

Maybe too much confidence, then modesty was a pointless virtue in her profession. Too grossed out Chite let the dark take him, when it came. Fast but short in the instance and when he returned the conversation had turned more casual.

“…you know how these Tuxians are, use you till you can’t walk.” She said with a hint of displeasure. “Yeah so they called us because their pompous art couldn’t accommodate all their desires. Something about reducing temptations before negotiations. At least they were generous in gifting.”

“Thank you Xianda.” Luyeba said, rising up from the comfortable looking chair. What Chite would have given to lay in it or the bed beneath him? Xianda suddenly engulfing Luyeba in her arms brought him out of the fantasy, immediately reaching for the weapon at his back. Lost to him was the memory of its confiscation. That proved best as the only thing Xianda displayed was longing. “You don’t have to throw every part of the old Lu to become what your father desired.”

Luyaba displayed a warm smile, pulling the girl away gently. Intentionally trying to soothe her concerns. “You’re always welcome at workshop. We turned part of it into an inn.”

“I am sure your father is already planning his return from beyond the veil.” She said in casual tone. “Remember when…” The intense glare from Nizhoni stopped the young woman’s remembrance. “Another time maybe.”

“We it all thanks.” Nizhoni said pulling a disorientated Chite to the door. “We have more pressing matters.”

“Good to see you too Ni-zho-ni.” Xianda said playfully saying the name as a child would to a friend or older sister. Chite saw resemblance but the contempt in Nizhoni’s eyes gave Chite his answer.

SCENE 14

The house of fantasy had shattered all illusions of his lazy investigation leading to anything but a dead end. The epidemic statisticians of old would be displeased with his efforts. This slight although shallow added to his drive.

“We need to move faster.” Chite said, his tone cold as they walked the muddy streets.

“You’re welcome to walk faster.” Nizhoni said walking ahead of the boy. “Oh. You meant with finding the cure.”

Too tired to put on mask. “The nadir of this situation will mark the end of this city.” An old man’s face replaced the young boy’s face. “Have you ever seen a city eat itself alive?”

“That’s what we are trying to prevent.”

“This thing is as deadly as any war but all I see is a child and two innkeepers on the battlefield.” He said busting into the inn, too loudly judging from glares he received. He couldn’t careless, the time for trivial politeness was over and the time of dissolution was upon them.

 He walked up to the table with map. “What do think when you see this?” He asked the scholar who had now sobered up.

“The information pool is small,” He said looking thoughtful with the frail man ever in his shadow. “But most importantly, the base is there, all we need to do is add to it.”

“I meant the death rate?” Chite said sparking something in Dinihari who was writing something down.

“Close to the point of no return.” She said with uncaring tone. “But shouldn’t it have already been there?”

The room fell silent, with everyone looking confused. “Don’t start marking wild conclusion, now’s not the time.” Maximilian urged writing his own additions to Dinihari’s. “See if you can get all these Mish.”  Giving the scroll to the frail man.

There was hesitation in Mish but he left the young man’s side. He walked up to Nizhoni, who sat looking to the floor in exhaustion. “Take care of boy. He can be a reckless idiot.”   

SCENE 15

Loud shouting and other noises wakened him from his nap, waking him strangely full of energy but the ache in temples informed him it wouldn’t last. He closed the small pocket book by whispering a gibberish-filled phrase. Stood from the table where he had napped and walked to the door of the small room.

“Chite, you awake?” He heard Nizhoni’s voice through the door. He opened it. “Word has come from temple, the vessel needs you to talk to someone.” He took the paper though his focus was on all the activity down below.

A messy orchestra played below Chite’s feet as men and women of various stations moved about in what seemed like orderly chaos. Little children carried written notices as they ran around circling Otto. A group of the inn inhabitants soaked clothing in what looked like boiling porridge that seemed to turn the clothes put in grey or white. Then another line of nearly naked individuals put on the dull coloured clothes.

Chite walked down the steps, meandering through the crowded floor and walked out. The midday sun kissed his tired eyes with some unneeded sunlight. He flinched, holding a hand up to adjust. The inn resided at the end of a closed street, with a large open area around it. The area now harboured, from what Chite could see, the entire population of Priost district. Their numerous works all centred around a grey tent. A figure, female, judging from the outline emerged from the tent, completely masked head to toe. Her helmet’s glass visor brought memories of underwater expeditions to mind. The visor slide up into the helmet, revealing a sweaty Dinihari.

“The first batch is done!” She screamed at the work force, which included Maximilian. “Start testing.” She said as she poured a single drop of green alien liquid into barrels of what looked like water but smelled too odourless to be regular water.

Chite looked at the paper again, only then noticing Luyeba sitting in a chair sketching with a piece of charcoal. “You wanted an army.” Luyeba said stopping his illustrations.

“A Point for the morale rouser.” Chite said trudging forward through a thick patch of mud. “Let’s just hope it’s a winning point.”

SCENE 16

 “That’s her.” A man said, tone hollow, full pain as he handed Chite a glass of red wine. The patriot above the fireplace was of a family of ten, the artist had somehow managed to capture the family’s dynamic in a single moment. It depicted a red haired woman playing with her brown baby without a care for a the wrestling pair at her feet, two identical looking brown girls standing perfectly still, another three – one boy and two girls – that seemed at home in a rowdy battlefield that seemed to extorting the rigidly dressed black man.

“She was a fire starter.” The man said with a sad smile. “Literally, I mean. She led a squad specialised in sabotage. ‘Can’t fight a war on empty stomachs’ she always said.” Chuckling dryly as he Led Chite to a chair that overlooked a large aquamarine bathing pool.

After his indecency at Zevchev’s he chose to stand, leaning on the safety wooden rail of the balcony. The position gave the perfect view of the children playing below, an intentional design it seemed.

“I heard word from the vessel,” The man said taking a seat. “She said you were our best chance of ending this plague. I am hoping to help.”

“Your wife was among the early victims, so any information about her movements can help.”  He said, sipping the heavily watered down wine. “Anything strange about her actions, when her symptoms starting showing. Anything and everything.”

The man needed no encouragement as he bust out as many stories of his wife as he could manage. Chite let the man speak guiding him only ever so gently. The listening act took a good portion of the day but at least he had picked up the underlying humane philosophies of poisoning your enemy’s water supplies.

“…in Aste, what did she do there? Buy food at market maybe?”

The man took a swig, emptying an entire glass. Chite took a seat in response.

“There things people in lifetime bonds pick up,” He said feeling up his glass, forgetting to add water. “Especially when it’s a bond of two contrasting personalities. The stability that you once found reassuring turns boring and the spontaneity that was once exciting becomes recklessness. Most starting fantasising about their partners death, some actually go through with it. We chose adaption as any old thing trying to prolong its existence. Our solution, the house of fantasy.”

Chite finished his glass, saying nothing as he feigned ignorance. The vessel had told her of their monthly indulgence and he had already talked to the fantasy woman they shared; Xianda and she was a dead end. Such a tales were obscene revelations to colts and Chite gave the man the judgemental glances he would expect from strangers.

“It made up for each other’s deficiencies.” The man said with a hint of shame, maybe Chite had played the role too well. “Anyway, her name was Xianda; she was good at her craft.” He took another swig emptying his glass. “At first it did but you know these warmongering types, their appetite is gluttonous. During her sessions, she added another, with permission of course. Viayla the soother, they called her.”

If the man had looked at Chite in that instance, he would have noticed real shock in his eyes. The house had only offered up one girl for the couple. This was new but it could have likely been an error on the Lady Zevchev’s part.

“I couldn’t handle that many so I stuck with my Xianda.” He said leading Chite back into the house, along a marble hallway. “She had grown close with the girls, so they might have something to add.” He said coming to a sudden stop in front of brown door.

“How long did this Vialya have appointments with your wife?” He asked trying to fill the awkward silence that had suddenly formed.

“Well…over six months…” The man managed, suddenly overcome with grief. Then he pushed in the door and left space for Chite. “Please.” The man begged a stoical Chite.

Chite looked into the room with the air of deluded general bent on winning a lost war. The three children lying in bed, covered in puss and blood, watching their own body eat them away.

“We promised her not to let them suffer.”  A young brown man said standing over what looked like his sister. “Do your duty as father!” He screamed throwing a blade at his father’s feet. His father looked horrified, stepping away from the blade. “How desperate do you have to be put faith in a child?”

The insult wasn’t meant for him but since he had aided it’s sting he believed the offence to his bonus. That was the all Chite needed, he could care less about the dying girls but the lack faith, even from a stranger struck something deep within.

As though possessed by a sadistic devil, Chite suddenly pushed his thumb into his upper incisor, straining his mouth red. “Such a faith less creatures.” He said sharpening the attention that was already on him. “What happened when you marched down our shores, millions upon millions, gods in tow?”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Terror suddenly crossed the young man’s face, worse than that of his father. He tripped over his own feet. “I… didn’t mean nothing by it sir.”

“That’s not what I asked?” He said, a drop blood from his thumb falling to the marble floor.

“Aww…” The young man screamed watching the blood catch flame and dry up. He looked the beautiful gentle black boy in the his eyes; brown iris turning red hot, an angry god trapped inside. “You….killed them all.”

“Exactly,” He said softly, his eyes return to their original brown. “So what is a little plague to me?”        

SCENE 17

On his way out the nobleman’s residence, Chite met Retski, the trader that had brought him to the hell called Arikot. The trader had convinced him to join him for a meal at the Merchant’s lodge, Chite didn’t need to much convincing but one had to put in the courtesy feeble refusal before accepting.

The lodge multi-cultural menu was something only such a continental trekking convention could create. Food he had only heard of through traveling adventures littered the board alongside their illustrations like an appendix of a census survey.

The thought of trying everything came to mind but such feast would only impede progress. Thus he choice to go home, not in the physical sense but the emotional. Picking a homing meal consisting of ubwali – a thick porridge made from sorghum or cassava flour -, ox tail soup and ifisashi – various vegetable leaves mixed with grounded peanuts.

That’s all the teleportation magic he required as one handful lamp mixed with ifisahi sent him back to his mother’s lap as she chatted up a friend, he remembered marvelling at the earth below as hovered him over a finished wooden balcony. He chuckled at his younger thoughts that once believed all cities sat atop mountainously tall trees.

“The breather of life itself.” Retski said staring at his meal with an envious glare. With much annoyance he asked Retski to join. “Just until my meal is ready.” He replied already washing his hands in a water bowl.

The food disappeared fast; Retski had his own gastrointestinal upheaval to quell it seemed. Chite didn’t protest, immidiatly digging into Retski’s order like a second course meal. The meal was neatly arranged platter, having a base made of fried dough, topped with section of various meals with a red paste consisting of different herbs at the centre. This would surely be good way to end lunch.

Three decadently dressed men, noblemen visiting the lodge judging by their appearance dragged chairs to the empty sides of the table. Friends of Retski it seemed. The men had already washed their hands before Retski finished introductions. The followed it up with taking off the finely stitched tunics, leaving on their lighter undergarments.

“The flame is hot in this one.” One them said plunging in a hand. Retski vividly expressed his disdain for the action but chose to hold his tongue.

“So what are you to my friend?” Retski gabbled as he ate.

Chite made sure to eat a good share before opening his mouth because in such numbers the meal was a race. “Looking into this plague–”

“First the war, now this damn plague. Talk about driving a bolt into a corpse.” One man complained.

“The Tuxians will plough our backsides at the negotiations with this.”

The conversations repeated along the same subject. The Tuxian surge had the continent’s many kingdoms hiding their family jewels on far islands but not Arikot. The city-state had been a sole on the large empire’s backside, the only city to repel the empire’s recent incursion.

“Wait!” Retski said remembering Chite’s presence. “You, think you can do something about it?” Sending an intense gaze Chite’s way.   

 “What do you Retski? A child is going to attack the will of dead gods themselves.” One mocked as the rest gave into laughter.

“The great vessel Mukaku was eight when he silenced earth intent on flood the world in fire.” Retski cautioned.

The table went quiet, as Mukaku was a vessel who rose from the muddy streets of Priost. A holy figure even among holy figures as he never lived to see the world he had saved. The price for saving the world had to be prodigious or everyone would do it.

“So, what do require friend.” Retski said in the silence still eating.

“Nothing,” He said in a contemptuous tone. “Unless you can find out every sick and dying person it the city. Exactly.”

The group resumed the meal in silence. Chite washed his hands and stood from the table, Retski faltered trying to put out a hand.

“I appreciate the treat.” His said tone more even.

“Apologises friend.” Retski said at Chite’s back. “For the disrespect of my friends and wife.”

Chite waved him off, their journey had been too long to be soured by abrasive small talk of three men and a woman.  “What did your wife do to me again?” He asked in wondrous confusion.

“For sending you to help her men deliver goods to Priost. Expecially…”

The churns in his mind were slowed by sleep deprivation but the still churned and functional is sometimes more Important than speed.

“Wait your wife runs the depot?” The look was of magic decryption savant breaking a curse. “Actually there is something you can do Retski.”

SCENE 19 KRISTOF

“Kristof!” Bellowed an immaculately man with blonde stash. It startled the boy so close to the man. “You need be strong. For your home and people.” He received a tough shoulder jerk with the words. “You ready to serve?”

Christophe hesitated, distracted by the lamp of pustules on the man’s face.

“I said are ready to serve your community?” The man screamed.

“Yes sir!” Kristof answered, hitting the blue band on right arm with his left hand.

Kristof put on his best fierce look and eyed his new brothers and sisters with the same intensity they gave him. The room then gave way to rhythmic chanting. Kristof, walked along an aisle made of his new companions each one give him a firm part on the back as he moved.

“Here,” said an old woman, frail and on the verge of death, held together by unholy will itself. “They say you’re good with the bow.”

Kristof took the hunting bow with caution and placed it on his back. “The best.”

Later, in the evening Kristof waited eagerly to prove that statement. His patrol, made up of mostly senior members of the Paradise Sect, which was an honour for a recruit. Nothing more admirable than protecting your community from the criminal underbelly the elites allowed entry into the city. Their quest to enrich their coffers had cost the city it’s soul. The faceless outsiders had grown too bold, unleashing a plague as the final means to displace the Arikot’s originals.

Not on the Paradise Sect’s watch, for they cut down such mongrels and end their nefarious plans of breeding out the originals. The elites would call this brutality but they would be wrong, their actions of placing these criminals in the death trap of Priost was true brutality, at least this way the mongrels’ blood would bring on the rebirth of the gods.

Just as Kristof finished reassuring himself Maria, the woman that always gave him free fruit in the morning, gave the signal.

“Some bloody depot inspector asking funny questions. She says.” Rastinov said to the blonde man. “I know all them inspectors, that one ain’t it.”

“Too small to be one anyhow.”

“Let’s move.” The leader figure said, twirling one end of his glorious moustache. “Welcoming newcomers is part of job too.” Smiling insidiously.

Kristof, having hopes of rising in the ranks observed quietly, blending in well as ordinary customer in the market. They followed Rastinov as he navigated the stalls and in no time, they were on the imposter.

Their bold, blonde leader initiated contact, his tone casual and friendly. These sorts of fiends usually incriminated themselves when talking to what they thought was a target for their taint.  When the man had heard enough, he cranked up the heat.

“You may want to watch closely.” Rastinov had suggested to the child, daring to be a man.

And watch closely he did, more accurately he listened still pretending to be a passerby.

“…mind show proof or identification.” He heard, suspecting the accused would come up with an excuse. He heard the sound of crumbling soft paper.

“Ah…so you do actually work at the depot.” He heard, glanced and saw paper being past on to Rastinov.

“Chite, emergency order writ. Bearer of document must be complied to by any and all Arikotizans. Description of bearer, dark skin, golden brown eyes, distinguishing features, living body ink paintings below the neck.”

“Now that’s sorted.” He heard the child say, in a tone too casual for his age. His accent, odd, not too foreign but not local either. “I would be pleased if you’d to answer some questions.”

“I see they are hire children now to save some coin.” One of the men said, revealing himself from his guise. “Instead of hiring good honest local folk.”

“Trust me. You wouldn’t want this chore.” He heard. “Running around the city, for nothing but a bowl of soup. It’s not easy my friend.” That was bait, the dry laugh made it too obvious.

“You won’t find any friends–”

“It’s not wise deny my friendship.” The voice was the child’s but the tone was something different entirely, it tagged at something deep inside Kristof. “My enemies find sleep too easily than most.”

Rastinov found the child’s petulance hard to swallow. “Hold your tongue boy, this is not your mother’s house.” A dozen sect members revealed themselves effectively shut up the child.

Kristof smiled at the power of his organisation as overwhelming pride washed over him. He couldn’t believe such an honour.

“We glad to answer some questions.” He heard the strong of his leader. “Follow us, somewhere less noisy.”

“Yes somewhere with less stink.” Rastinov added. “The sun is drowning already. Might be best to take a break from all that walking.”

The eyes in the market all darted away. Kristof saw no need to and looked the child’s way. No fear in his eyes, just evaluation, as any hunter did stuck in predator’s den. He prepared his bow just in case the child chose to run. He might too quick to catch.

“Come on friend.” Another member said, placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. Kristof saw the girl’s knife glint, the candle from a nearby stall. He immediately saw the man peddling his goods take a much needed break, not even bothering to cover his wares.

“An orderly line will do fine.” The arrogant child responded.

The member waved a fist. She missed somehow, the rest of the group laughed off her attempt. A sudden shriek drowned out their laughter. When the girl turned, Kristof winced, spotting the flopping hand. Broken hand, that quickily, impossible.

The Sect attacked out of instinctual retaliation. Kristof mind froze, unable to comprehend the unflinching bodies of associates in the mud. Maria the fruit vendor screamed a single terrifying scream.

Thankfully the Kristof’s had already put in an arrow. He pulled, inhumanly steadily given the situation but the hunter inside had come alive, an instinctual thing. 

The child pretended to zig when he intended to zag. Kristof didn’t fall for the faint, his prediction and aim were true. Straight at the child’s heart.

“A lucky – unlucky hit.” The child uttered in mortal delirium.

Kristof put in another arrow this time aiming for the head. He watched the child cautiously feel the wound, then remove a small book from under his brown tunic. The arrow had passed clean through it but yet no blood.

Kristof loosened the arrow, the aim was true. The arrow went straight for the child’s head, the living ink refused that fate, elongating into a tendril and stopping the arrow’s motion.

Kristof saw a flick of the hand, an odd thing flying his way, then staring evening night. He felt the wet mud at his back.

“Don’t…blow…out…the light…please.”

SCENE 20 MAXI

Maximilian looked to floor as sweat dripped from his brow. It surprised him how quickly he had adjusted to the death and dying at his feet. He moved slowly through groaning bodies, making his way to the counter. He had seen Dinihari disappear behind the counter and he aimed to pick her brain on their new batch.

The sight of an empty counter piqued his interest as he walked into the cooking room. The smell of roasting meat reminded him of his hunger. He moved unconsciously towards the roasting pit, the meat looked delicious despite the tails. His highborness couldn’t understand the contradiction between his brain and salivating mouth. Nizhoni’s skills appeared transcendent or it could be days of working on an empty stomach. Nora usually reminded him to eat, dropping by his workroom regularly to “disturb” him with a platter.

A sad smile lined his face as he stroked his stubble. Loud arguing broke him out of the reverie, following the source led him to high ceilinged room filled with grindstones and other metal working equipment.

“…that’s mighty generous of you. Why not blaze half the city as well.” He heard, the voice sound female and most importantly familiar.

“The Bazaarian is my main concern.” He heard Luyeba counter as he walked past the pillar obstructing his view. “Once the treatment is perfected it can easily be moved to the rest of the city.”

The woman’s fist instinctively went for Luyebe’s face but Nizhoni was faster, stopping the attack mid-flight. The action sent Maximilian’s frail brain into shock, his stance on godly vessels instantly undergoing violent change before his eyes.

“Scholar Maximilian…” The vessel said, surprised by his appearance. “How goes the work? How’s your Nora?” She dusted her robes, regaining her composure.

“She’s getting better.”  Maximilian said, his face still in some shock.

“Does that mean you found the cure?” The vessels asked, tone hopeful, too hopeful for one in her position. “The temple needs your expertise.”

“No.” Maximilian said, dashing the woman hopes. He sat on anvil as exhaustion set in. “No cure yet. The treatment works only on a small number, too small to be hopeful. In most it’s just slowly the infection.”

“That’s still something.”

“Prolonging their deaths is not improvement.” He argued. “An opportunity, yes, but one with little chance of yielding success.”

“Chin up.” The vessel said, taking a mother tone. “No point in looking down. Come on, a break will do you some good.” She helped him to his feet.

“Where is my partner if I may ask?” Maximilian asked, remembering what had brought him, in the first place.

“Dinihari is discussing compensation with the some elites.” Luyeba informed pointing to a small room further down the workshop.

“And the other one.”

“It’s complicated.”

MIDDLE PART 2

SCENE 21

Walking up the short steps proved a task but the rough shoving behind him ensured he made it up. He could see the entire room at such elevation. The crowd below stared, he saw rage and pain in the eyes. The sight brought him some sadness, not a lot, just enough to make him appear pensive.

“Murderer!” A woman shrieked, tears and sweat coving her face.

“So are all of you!” He bellowed raising his tied arm. “But you don’t see me shouting about it.” The crowd went silent in disbelief. His audacity angered the crowd, there response, a hail of boots and slippers. “So much hate” He mocked, skilfully dodging every single projectile.

“Give him to the noose!”

“Behead the prigoat!”

The noisy crowd bellowed sending profanity laced spit his way. Only then did he understand need for elevation.

“Order! Order in the house of judgement.” A large man commanded, wielding a large battle axe he seemed too eager to use.

The crowd went eerily quiet at the sight. “Chite,” The woman said, sitting in an elevated chair alongside twelve other peers. “Emergency state sanctioned investigator.” The woman looked at the document twice, doubting her own words. “You stand accused of abuse of your station. What do you say?”

“Innocent your councilship.”

The group of judging figure shared looks of boredom. “The council finds you your actions, harsh and appalling as your title demands. As such you are free to go.”

A gasp filled with pain and anguish reverberated as a woman clutched her own chest. The crowd fell to woman’s side forgetting Chite’s existence for the slender moment.

“AHH…was…boy, a little boy. Why? Why?” She moaned, her dry eyes refusing to drop anymore tears.

“It was either me or him. And he it wasn’t going to be me.” Chite answered, his tone cold and harsh, speaking words of a child forced to adapt too fast to rules too rigid for personal interpretation.

SCENE 22

Chite’s exit from the house of judgement was one of gruelling endurance, wishing the whole his blindfold covered his nose instead. He breathed heavily upon entering another chamber, the air smelled less pungent, more sweat than faecal matter. The sound of numerous footsteps gave him an idea on size and volume of the room’s occupants. The blindfold came off, revealing a semi-circular chamber filled with professional looking individuals. The table at the centre of the room called to his attention, to the point that the man standing in front of him vanished from view.

“Mhh.” The man in black coughed pulling Chite out of his daydream. “Your release was dependant on your findings helping us find the origin of this plague. They didn’t.”

“There were not findings,” Chite said, raising his hands, demanding freedom. “Simply observations, missing vital information to make valid conclusion.” He eyed the man intently that had yet to break his bonds.

“Every kind of vermin nest in the Aste has been tested.” The man explained, ignoring the Chite’s demand. “None carry the disease causing infection in blood or any fluid. Your theory on the origin appears to be false.”

“No human could have survived a journey across the seas and lived long enough to reach Arikot.”

“Actually in theory one immune to it can.” An unknown dishevelled individual utter, looking too smug for Chite’s liking.

“You’ve met one then?” Chite asked irritated. “Exactly. I work with what I know, so would you please unbind me, so I get back to it.”

The man in an elegantly stitched jacket with red lining gave Chite a cold stare. “Your path is pointless. I don’t believe it will lead to a permanent cure.”

“You wouldn’t have set me free if that was the case.”

“That had more to do with authoritarian dogma than personal favour.” He said walking Chite to the table. “Can’t have commoners disrespecting power and those assigned to wield it. That path only leads to perpetual revolution.”

“Fine then.” Chite sighed. “Do what you will agent Osventias. Strange that a Tuxciak leading the secret operations of an enemy state.”

Osventias laughed off the accession, perusing through the mountains of paper. “Is my name all you see? By that logic your Luyeba would be a goldslayer.” He grabbed a single sheet document and handed it Chite. “When you saw the plague, what urged you to find it source? Why not wait patiently for a cure? You had a skilled magic manipulating herbalist after all.”

Chite shrugged not bothering to question how the man obtained the knowledge. “That’s what an old witch taught me. The known treatment might not always work.”

Osventias scrutinised Chite through tired angular eyes. “You have a week.” He said, stopping to ruffle through his silky dark hair. “That’s not a threat, that’s how long it takes for wide spread hysteria to begin.”

“Putting faith in a child might not be wise.” A woman said, her appearance too extravagant to blend into such a crowd.

“My Lady, a romantic novelist led an army of beggars and urchins to victory against an army that had obliterated almost all our trained men. This is Arikot, our most influential individuals don’t obey conventional law.” He looked the woman judgingly, angry at her doubt of judgement. “You of all people are a testament to that.”

“What you seem to forget–”                 

“Can’t do anything with my hands bound.” Chite interrupted, reducing some of the tension. “I also need some new clothes these…”

The entire room looked at Chite as one would a flaming pig running into a dry field, with complete confusion and shock.

SCENE 23

“A week!” Chite heard as he flew through the air, landing face first into muddy ground. “A week!” He heard again, over the noise of a moving wagon.

He wallowed in the mud a good moment, contemplating sleep. A rough jerk to his feet made contemplation pointless as water to his face soon followed. The mud gave way to view of a familiar outfit but he had to look up to confirm the wearer’s identity.

“Much appreciated.”

“You need sleep.” Nizhoni scolded, cutting his bindings and setting his hands free.  “You can continue playing in the mud tomorrow.” Her eyes looking towards the moons and stars in the sky.

Chite frowned, disapproving at her playful insults. “Time waits for only space bending illusionists and the last one cut herself in half trying to be in two places at once.”

Nizhoni contorted her face at the imagery as she handed him a carefully folded small bundle. “I didn’t to hear that.”

“I am not sure actually.” He answered truthfully, as he unfolded the bundle, surprised by the stale bread. “Much appreciated.” He took a large bite into the bread. “….I ne..ed…to track…the first victims movements.”

“Osventias men would have already done that.” She countered leading him towards the inn in Priost. “All we can do is help Dini and the scholar. I know you’re trying to help but sometimes the best help you can give is nothing. Inciting anger in Aste will only add liquid fire to their hate.”

Although her tone was caring and compassionate, Chite’s ego twisted the words purpose. “Then I’ll do this on my own. You will only slow my efforts.”

“Everyone wants to be the hero, even when they are not qualified.” She mocked. “Who do think will pay the price of the sins you committed in the market.”

Chite produced a dry laugh. “Me? A hero? Never. That’s a good way to end up dead.” The look of unease on Nizhoni’s face, reminded him of so many. He composed his posture, appearing as resolute as his tattered rags allowed. “You may not know this but I spent most of my life bound to powerful sorcerers. Although insane, this is how they made their leaving. So I may appear an ignorant child to you but you would be mistaken to treat me as such. This is not my first plague and by all accounts I am the most qualified of any to end it.”

He walked away, leaving Nizhoni behind.

SCENE 24 DINIHARI

Dinihari emerged from her tent of noxious gas and toxic flame, surprised to see the moons up in the sky. She took her glass helmet and immediately confusion took over, as a sudden rush of desperate screams bombarded her eardrums.  A man and woman disrobed her many layers of clothing as she acclimated to the environment.

“This is the last batch for today.” She said to the her many assistants as they poured green aflame liquid into drums of water. “Tell Maximilian, I need as many reports ready by the time I wake.”

They nodded obediently as they rushed to get out of her way. She spotted an aloof Luyeba playing with a piece of charcoal sitting close to the inn’s entrance. The man’s role in the whole ordeal was beginning to annoy her, although refusing to admit it. She looming over him before she knew it.

“How goes the toil?” He asked charmingly, still sketching away. “Any improvements?”

“No. The opposite actually.” She said glowering at the inattentive man. “If this batch does work will, the only option left will be volatile and aggressive concoctions.

Luyeba remained silent, appearing unconcerned. She let out a heavy sigh, full of disappointment. “At that point might as well start digging large pits.”

Still he said nothing, not a single muscle on his face flinched. “I assume that would be bad for your ambitious return to Oste.” She didn’t falter either, returning more of her old self. “Big house, large bathing pool, expensive clothed neighbours to share expensive dinners with.”

“What’s your point?”

“You can try as best as you but you never belong with them. Do have to remind who came to your aid when death by starvation was your only fate.”

“Do I have to remind you who made that my only fate?” She screamed, rage getting the better of her. “Your boys burnt my house to ruin.”

“Finchner’s boys.” He corrected, still refusing to face her. “No one from Priost is part of the Sect. It would be tantamount to throwing oneself into a lake of fire.”

“All the same to me.” She scoffed.

“That was always your problem. You look into a crowd and insist on seeing only the clothes on peoples backs, judging only the fabric from which they are made.”

“I am not one of your fanatics, speak sense novelist.”

“Existence is nothing but survival. So why do you wish to make camp surround by enemies.”

“Are these people supposed to be my allies?” She asked wearing a wry smile.

“No, but they are not your enemies either and that’s the only thing that’s relevant to survival.” Finally looking up to showing her a sketch of a woman standing majestically; helmet at her hip, surrounded by others.

It’s the woman’s posture that catches Dinihari’s eye. Shoulders slouched but not from exhaustion, there is a fire in her dark eyes. Face, although frozen, expressing a certain unexplainable comfort.

“I’ll still take the luxury camp surrounded by enemies. At least then I would die in comfortable bed, eating the most delicious food.”

“That’s the hunger talking.” He chided handing over the sketch.

“Sure…” Desperate shouting drowned her out. “Do something about that.” She instructed, holding the bridge of her nose in irritation.

SCENE 25

The door easily gave way to Chite’s loud knocking, revealing a brown face full of blemishes and scaring. The woman seemed reluctant but state issued documents with the added unease of Nizhoni’s glare helped her make the preferable choice.

Inside the cosy room, stuffed to the bream with various paraphernalia, Chite spotted a boot going out the window. That explained the woman’s reluctance. She pointed them to a table in the middle of the room barely holding the weight of books atop it.

Chite picked up a book from the pile. “Research,” The young woman said pointing to a poster full of suggestive themes and names on her wall. “For my craft at the House of fantasy.”

“State your name,” Chite said, putting on the most adult face he could imagine. He looked more adorable than frightening. “For the report.”

“Viayla, alias, the soothing siren or simply the soother.” Not her first time being questioned by an investigator it seemed, the unease in her eyes giving off the impression, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. “If this is another case of infidelity, I can guarantee you it’s a false report. All bond mates are required to have a letter of consent from their partners.”

A loud thud from the other room in the back made the girl nervous. “You alone Viayla?”

“That’s my roommate.” The girl nervously said. “She’s trying on a new alter ego. It requires a lot of intricacy.”

“We’re here to enquire about your relationship with squad leader Frida of the sixty-six.” Chite said as professional as he could make it sound. “What you did together prior to her death - nothing too specific - and what you knew of her activities during that time.”

“Well I was the secondary, so I Xianda might know more about that…” The glares she received from her interrogates proved too distracting. “I saw her around five months, maybe six. Individual sessions well over twenty. We usually talked about her children. All she talked about was her bond mate and children, that’s all she seemed to care about. She never shared anything about her work.” The last words spoken in fear.

“Can you write in any language? Write down everything and anything that might be useful.” Chite said too tired to ask the same questions.

The young woman got to writing with a piece of thin charcoal as the boy perused through the colourful literature on the table. The works were more analytical than he assumed by their artistic covers, a clever bait and switch that might be profitable for the writer but could prove deadly to book vendor.

Although the effort was worthy of applause, the inaccuracies painted a glaring one-sided picture, that of an outsider observing than of that of an insider actually living it. Strange how tales of a foreign cultures told by a stranger’s to the culture were preferable to that of the culture’s practitioners.    

“What do you think?” Asked a girl covered in black feathers. She paused, surprised by her audience. “Ni-Zho-Ni!” She screamed jumping about in excitement. “I can’t believe you came. You actually came.” She said tightly hugging the Nizhoni.

“I am not here for you Xianda.” Nizhoni said, tone cold enough to drive to make Chite feel his heart ache. “If I knew you lived here. I wouldn’t have come.” Pulling the girl away.

The room went in silent shock as Vialya slid Chite’s small book back to him.

“Always consistent I see.” Xianda said, turning with a light jump and facing Chite and Viayla. “So what do you think?”

“It look greet, Xia, just like the illustrations.” Vialya comforted as Xianda’s eyes glistened.

“You…think?” She asked stifling a cry. “I think I’ll need some more feathers.” She said walking back to her room.

Vialya gave Nizhoni a defiant glare before following Xianda. Chite went back to the book, letting Nizhoni drown in the quiet she had manifested. Strangely, Chite found the book more enjoyable.

“Just say it.” Nizhoni said guilt ridden. “I know you’re thinking it.”

“This thing has an illustration of an Insoerakent.” Chite uttered, horribly trying to avoid the woman’s gaze. “What I would give to be able to grow back a limb.”

Nizhoni switched positions pushing her chair closer to Chite. She sat silently looking at the side of his head, dark eyes as wide as an owl’s. The boy grew so uncomfortable that he had to turn his back on her.

“What does the ink say?” She asked.

“Who so ever shall destroy my property will understand pain worse than having boils on their backside.”

“A token of enslavement.” Nizhoni gasped, flustered by the realisation. 

“A curse actually.”

Vialya reappeared from the room, providing the perfect distraction Chite needed. “Going somewhere?” He asked noticing her eye catching red clock.

“I had have appointments for the night.” She said, appearing more reassured. “Am free to go.”

“Sure.” He breathed eying the woman all the way to the door. “And Vialya if I catch anything off in this statement, I’ll have no choice but to pass the information along to less friendly Vests.”

The words stopped the girl in her tracks. She looked back at Chite. There was no fear upon her scarred face, only resignation in her eyes. “I’ll be going then.”

“Playing the adult tyrant already, I see.” Nizhoni pointed out.

He looked her way, surprised. “Just playing the role I’ve been given.”

“Maybe too well child. You’re too young to be playing the monster.”

He smiled at the words, yet still managed to display no discernable emotion.

SCENE 26   

On their way to Priost, they found the found the main road blocked by a large impassable crowd. The people bustled and jostled, it looked frightening as people appeared before disappearing violently.

“Please just take my children! Please sir!” A blurry face in crowd pleaded.

Violent noise was the only response Chite heard. He spotted Otto and his men threw the throng, standing fiercely behind a barricade, spears in hand.  None of men and women guarding Priost appeared remorseful; all looked the perfect of uncaring gods.

“Come on.” Nizhoni  said, leading Chite right of the crowd. “Some idiot elite made a speech about funding research for cure, now we have to deal with Shit.”         

“Lu! Lu!” The crowd called out stopping Chite mid stride. He spotted the inn owner on the dark mare, exuding the confidence of a harlot that had too many privileges. The crowd fell silent the moment Luyeba opened his mouth. From their reaction, Chite concluded the man had made a funny jest.

“Come on.” Nizhoni urged. “I have other duties.”

Chite followed silently into an alms-house filled the old and infirm, then to a cellar packed with heavily armed individuals, followed by a labyrinth network of tunnels. A short walk up some stairs led them back up, and onto city streets.

“Great job with the crowd.” Nizhoni said, startling Luyeba, almost throwing him off the horse. “Whoa! Steady! Steady girl.” She instructed calming the horse, which proved surprising easy without use of a bridle. Luyeba left space for the young woman without prompting. “You riding or walking?” She asked once mounted.

Chite was slightly disappointed that the duo didn’t wait for answer. Same result but custom demanded they wait. Chite sulked all way back to the inn. A lot had changed in his two-day absence. The community had set up more, complicated metal works around the inn’s open space. The convoluted network of pipes seemed to produce white light that lit up the empty space. The magic assisted lighting suggested the workers intended to go throughout the night. The emptiness of the lot gave Chite something bad in his stomach.

A young man suddenly emerged from the inn running as though his lovers bond mate was upon him. Chite couldn’t move fast enough, colliding with the man, both falling to the ground.

“Watch yourself boy…” The man went quietly still. “It’s you. You have to come quick.” Tone changing as water does with steam.

Chite stood his ground, wiping mud off his hands with violent jerks, aiming towards to man. “What you on about? Blind or something.”

The young man ran back into the inn, Chite followed suit at a slower pace.

He pushed the doors, they easily gave way, revealing a crowded floor that produced too little noise. He saw Nizhoni exiting a room up the stairs; her expression was that of a lost child in a crowd.  In his moment of pure focus, he failed to see young man running up the stair. All he saw was Nizhoni calling him up with a gesture.

The crowd looked at him oddly, leaving him a clear path to the steps, their whispering bringing back memories of sacrificial rituals. He held his nerves still, concentrating on making efficient and steady movements until he reached Nizhoni.

“What’s going on?” He whispered, unintentionally matching the mood of the room. Nizhoni opened the door in response. He walked as she closed the door behind them.

Inside he found Dinihari frantically pounding herbs in a ceramic bowl before rushing to the bedside of a dying patient.

“Chew on this.” She said, tone cold and detached.

“Nizhoni. Is that you?”

“No. It’s Chite. “ He said approaching the bed. “You look like death morale rouser.” 

“Don’t speak,” Dinihari ordered. “Just chew.” She dragged Chite to the table by the window. “What is this? No disease acts this fast, he was fine in the morning.” Only silence punctuated by Luyeba’s dying moans came her way. “Fine, play the role of the ignorant child but if that man dies…if he…” She held a hand to her mouth.

Chite looked at her intently, gauging her and walked to the table. Pounded the same concoction as she did with one exception. He bite deep into his index finger until it gave him a steady stream of blood. The drops fell into the bowl as he whispered nonsense into the wind.

He walked to the half-naked Luyeba, covered the sites of the exploded pustules with his strange mixture.  Whispered more nonsense as the dying the man screamed, his mouth and eyes agape.

Nizhoni barged in then, her words drowned out by screaming and her hand blocked firmly by Chite’s inhuman strength. “What…” Her words stuck in her throat, consumed by the horror of Chite’s living ink consuming Luyeba whole.

Silence returned as the black ink covered the man. Chite sat next to the bed in meditation. “This will take a while.” He said to Nizhoni.

“I’ll wait.” She said still horrified by a screaming man on the bed that produced no sound.

SCENE 27

Light tapping echoed, as Chite sat on fairly uncomfortable chair, staring at a confused Maximilian staring back. The frail man called Mish stood uncomfortably behind him.

“So you had a cure all along.” Dinihari spat, stopping her pacing.

He quickly covered his mouth as he endured a bad cough. He looked at the bloodstained cloth with odd calm before carefully folding it and putting it away inside black tunic; a gift from the Vest so he could look the part.

“Not a cure.” He finally answered, ignoring their looks of worry. “A temporary placation. Don’t worry yourself Vashinite, it won’t get to that.” The last words aimed at a cautious Mish.

“So what happens?” A perplexed Maximilian asked but turned his head to the stairs, where a tired Nizhoni helped a weakly Luyeba walk.        

Everyone remained silent waiting for the two to take a seat. “What’s next?” Nizhoni asked immediately after carefully seating the invalid. The fire in her eyes could start a forest fire. “How can we stop this permanently?”

“How should I know? I’m not the herbalist or the scholar.” He Looked to Dinihari then Maximilian.

“I don’t either.” Dinihari looked unsure, lost in her own thoughts. “I have never seen a disease progress that quick. He was fine in the morning. He had no symptoms.”

“In the evening too.” A weak Luyeba groaned. “It happened instantly.”

“Maybe this is good.” Maximilian’s words stupefied the room. “I’m saying if it acted that fast, then he must have come in contact with a potent strain. Meaning…” He left the words to hang.

“Carriers don’t work like that.” A tired Dinihari pointed out. “If that was the case then we all been infected.”  She took a seat face to the floor.

“Remember it’s body fluids.” Maximilian grabbed a piece of parchment paper and handed it to a Luyeba. “Write down the people you might have come into contact and exchanged fluids.”

“None.” Luyebe whispered, his voice whizzing. “I made sure to protect myself and my nights I’ve been lonelier than a hermit trying to start a religion.”

“A kiss maybe?” Maximilian ignored Dinihari’s contemptuous gaze, focussing on the sick man. “Any form of contact. What’s the gestation period again?”

“Three days to five days.” Dinihari waved her hands in resignation. “What of you? What are you thinking?” Her eyes pointed at Chite.

The question caught him by surprise as his thoughts where plagued with thoughts of enviable deaths such as an axe to the neck. What the boy would do for the comforting cold steel of a blade to his heart. He stood up, held up his index finger, coughed violently into a cloth.

“What’s the midday meal?” He asked, cleaning his bloody lips. “I am hungry.” The stillness in their eyes informed him of the outward appearance of his condition. “Like a drunk man said, don’t jump to conclusion. Besides everyone does realise we’re living in house of death. The man couldn’t have gotten it from anywhere.”

Chite laughed dryly as he walked to the cooking pot.

SCENE 28

“Do I have to be here?” Chite asked an afternoon later as he sat in another uncomfortable chair in a cramped room.

Nizhoni had decided to change Luyeba bandages and she insisted Chite match her every step. Not because she worried for the boy, but had come to understand what his death would mean to Luyeba. Two souls tied to the same fate.

“Yes.” Nizhoni’s voice was clear and sound, leaving no room for argument, as she peeled off the bandages.

“You can’t stop me from dying even if I stay with you.” The anger in Nizhoni’s eyes dissuaded his trajectory of thinking. “Why do you care so much? Am sure you can find another business partner.”

“He is my brother.” Nizhoni answered.

“I can see the resemblance if I close my eyes.” He Placed a hand on his buggy eyelids.

“A woman put a baby in my hands and told me to never let go as the world died around us.” She said ignoring the jest. “So I held on tight, through seven cities, twelve villages and a relief camp.”

“Don’t forget the part where you abandoned me and ran off with your girlfriend.” Luyeba breathed, still struggling with words. Nizhoni faced the floor avoiding eye contact. “Just trying to be truthful. No point in telling only the good bits of the story.”

“I searched for you.”

“Fifteen years later, after Xianda left you as you did me.” Luyeba whizzed, a failed attempt at laughter. “I am not angry. Your abrupt departure was the best thing that could happen. No more picking up rotting fruit, I became an elite and elites eat three times a day. You should be the angry one.”

Luyeba ashy skin full scabs garnered the exact reaction one would expect. Chite couldn’t help flinching. The strange scaring a result of the eruptions was jarring. The horrid stench of dying flesh only added to the horror.

“I need some air.” Too jarring it seemed for the boy, he quickly walked out hand to mouth. Leaving Nizhoni to her obligatory familial burdens.

SCENE 29 XIADA

Another late night shift had left the woman exhausted, she sighed at the sight of her friendly accommodations. The audible relief an indicator for the trouble on her mind, a sign that she was in need of some soothing. Sadly, no response came from her roommate, Vialya. Tea would have to do.

Xianda walked through the dark room not bothering to light a lump because of her mental map of the room. A quick journey to the oven proved fortuitous, finding a pot of boiling water already on. Grateful for once that her roommate was a dangerous absentminded friend.

The light in dinning space caught her by surprise, she checked thigh inspecting the blade while continuing to play her role of fatigued artist. Whoever had followed her home would regret such naivety.

“OH! It’s you,” The surprise almost knocking her off her feet, the table by her side proving a lifesaver. “What was it again...Chite.” She poured a filled a single tankard. “Tea?”

She received a simple nod.  “Where’s your roommate?” There was dangerous intent in his tone.

“Personal time, she’s out a lot late night lately.”  Busily looking for clean drinking vessel, it took a while as she had forgotten that it was her day of cleaning duty. “Why you ask? She be back in the morning. There you are.”

Lifting a large hollow horn of a beast.  “Even for a vest you have to admit this is a bit unconventional.” She said carefully lining the small pot with the horn. “I hear you’re new. Oh you did know. Friends in low places, see.” Flashing a bright yellow smile. “It’s a demisable offense to enter premises without consent. “ The words came out smugger than intended but she understood the need to put tyrannical children in their place.

The words worked as intended as the boy, who in current circumstances exuded the arrogance of an inept man, fell silent.

“Do you know that death is the best possible punishment a traitor can receive?” He suddenly picked up, almost making her burn her hand. She took a deep breath giving him an uneasy smile. “I say this so you understand how things stand.”

A long silence elapsed. “Go on.” She said tired of the suspense but he gesture for her to continue pouring the water.

“Luyeba has become afflicted with plague. He will die soon.”

Luck abadoned her as the water turned her skin red. Anger swelled within, the little man’s sadism the source of her ire. A barely audible “What?” is all that came out. “Why did you say that sooner?” Her expressions overshadowed by creeping madness. A part of herself remained sane reminding to remove her hand out of the stream of boiling water.

Overcome by complete obsession Xianda didn’t even notice quickly wrapping her left wrist in a thick cloth. All the time looking at the unflinching eyes of the uncaring boy, sitting in her uncomfortable chair.

“Where is he?” Tone hollow and absent as if the executioner’s axe had split mind and body. “Take me to him.”

There was a coldness in his eyes that she refused to acknowledge earlier. “Sure.” Though still stuck to the chair. “Answer me this first though. How did your friend get the scars on her face?”

The words brought her back to the small cramped room. The books stacked on the table besides him offered no solution as wishing to be magical creatures did her no good.

“I don’t know.”

“I know habit tells you to lie.” She instinctively moved backwards as a strange shadow made movements on the floor. Her imagination was getting the best of her. “Imagine Nizhoni’s surprise–”

“What did you tell her?” Instinct, the name was a trigger, she couldn’t help it. It was clear he meant to make her uncomfortable.

“Simply pointed unique scaring of a surviving plague victim.” His brown eyes glowing in the partially lit room. “How it looked similar, like something I had seen before. I talked to Vialya’s loyal clients, told me about their surprise when her flawless face recently became blemished.” She swallowed but produced too much noise. “Want me to go on.”

“A fanatic, she said, attacked her while she walked home.” She looked him in the eyes as she spoke, showing what she believed to be strength. She refused to flinch eventually winning the staring contest. The loser rose from his seat and she could see weariness in his eyes, a kind of resignation. Defeat she assumed but his demeanour as he walked away was nothing of the sort. “I am to follow you?”

“That would be unwise.” He didn’t turn to face her when he said it. “I will be giving the information I’ve collected to Osventias, making sure to point out that Viayla stated that her blemishes were result of a bad reaction to food.”

There was no need to add to the thought, Osventias was never a man of mercy. The boy had already made her fate clear with the first words he had said. Her state of calm instantly came to crashing upon the realisation. The realisation came with it a flood of pain from her burning arm.

“I could say you misheard.” He didn’t even break stride at the thought. “They will kill me you know, you’re fine with that.” She finally broke the charade. “He’ll torture me even if I tell him everything I know.” Still nothing as he reached for the door. “Stop. I’ll talk.”

“Folk of your ilk tend to need potent motivation to inspire true honesty,” He turned to her, she expected to see perverse joy in his gaze but all he displayed was pity “And I was never much of a morale rouser.”

The look of someone about to commit a necessary evil. Were her actions that awful? She questioned. When did protecting a friend become treachery? The thought of turning the blade came to mind but that would only seal Vialya’s fate.

“She did nothing wrong.” She leaped to protect Vialya physically rushing to stop the door. His unsheathed dagger halted her progress.  “Just listen to me. She didn’t give it to Frida. All she did was survive it. Just simple luck.” The words flowed like a broken dam. The boy’s unease wasn’t sign, making her doubt her sanity but at least he had stopped.

He pointed to the table with the blade, his dangerous intent an odd sight given his height, but she was glad for the chance. Once they were both seated across each other, she found it difficult to speak, the dagger in the middle of the table didn’t help; it was as if he was goading her to make a bad choice.

“Vialya didn’t pass on the plague to Frida.” She Spat, catching herself in the process. “She missed both sessions and didn’t come into contact with her before her death.” The words seemed more absurd as the boy pointed to the amount charged to Frida’s name for last two visits; the cost of two girls. Her own expression of guilt almost sealed her fate.

Xianda’s shoulders slouched she finally understood why Arikot of all places seemed to survive all forms of upheaval. The city-state’s enshrined ethos of judging a folks only on merit hit her like an arrowhead to the temple; before she had believed it a warning to unsuspecting men that prowled the shadowy roads looking an easy lay, she never once thought it would apply to children.

Now the best time to have such epiphanies. If the it was her time to join the gods in their eternal slumber, she would prefer she went free of burdens, she decided. “We usually do that for wealthy patrons. They never notice the extra charges.” The shame in her easy helped as the Chite’s posture seemed less threating. “…the plague it spreads through blood, mucus, sweat and such. At least that’s what Xariana said.”

“Xariana?”

“Yes. A travelling inventionist, I think that’s what she called herself.” Her words came easier now that she knew her story held some interest. “She came into the house for our night of self-exploration, I found her company interesting enough to invite her home – here. She preferred talk to frolicking. At least at when it came to me. Vialya had missed the session with Frida due tiredness so she was home when we came by. They hit it off. Love at first sight, of course my jealousy forbade me seeing at such.” The touched the edge of her lower lip, allowing her thoughts the freedom to roam free in memory.

Xianda was surprised to find the boy patiently waiting for return to present. “Days later,” She cleared her throat. “Vialya was fighting to stay alive, her own skin was exploding. I told the Ma Zevchev but she said to keep it a secret. Can’t have the house associated with such things. Xariana came to the house, I thought she might want to say her farewell but she had other ideas.”

“She found a cure?”

She could see some hope wrapped in his scepticism and wondered whether to kill it in its infancy. “A treatment that required too many rare ingredients to prove profitable, Xariana said.” Anticipating his scepticism.

“Description of this Xariana.” His hand holding charcoal ready to sketch in his small book.

“Dark skin tone, like me. Mismatched eyes, a left pale red and a bright brown right.” Pointing to her eyes. “An experiment gone wrong she said. Short brown curly hair…”

SCENE 30 MAXI

Maximilian sat on small table in a small room – by his standards – surrounded by his retainers he believed to be family. The tankard in his hand full of numbing drink had lost it usual allure. The young man found the varying effects of grief fascinating, while the sudden passing of his parents inspired binges, Nora’s barely perceptible life signs were somehow causing the opposite.

Suddenly the girl began whispering.  He jumped to his feet, moving closer to hear her.

“Delirium.” Hemm informed stopping him with a firm hand. Hemm sat back down next to Nora, wiping the young woman sweaty brow.

He looked at Nora’s once spotless face riddled in blemishing puss-filled protrusions, with anger but it meant he still had time because they had yet to burst. A chance to save a loved one even if infinitesimal was colossal enough to inspire hope.

“I need some air.”

He left the room in some hurry, walking up to Dinihari door next to his. He stood there a moment, reluctant to pester an overworked partner, simply to quell his selfish desire.

“Am flattered Dini,” He heard through the door. “But am a bonded woman.” He pressed his ears to the door upon hearing the words.

“You deserve better. “ Dinihari argued.

“You don’t receive what you deserve. You receive what you need.” The voice said. A long silence followed, the woman’s words had stopped abruptly. He suspected they had grown aware of his presence but the heavy breathing challenged the thought. “I…I…don’t take women.”

“Neither do I.” Dinihari uttered softly.

He heard footsteps moving to the door. “Ten years ago maybe, you would have been a viable option.” The other voice said. “Now you just dangerous and unwanted temptation.” The words escaped, as the door was a jar, reaching a Maximilian pretend to be in enthralling conversation with Mish.

The woman existed the room, greeting both men as she walked down to the group encircling a lively Luyeba. The guilty kiss she gave the man put the conversation in perspective.

“What is on your mind?” At first he believed the words to be from doting protector. Dinihari walked to his side, her eyes focused on someone else below.

“Either than the plague, nothing.” He lied looking at a Chite buried in official reports as three officials loomed over him. “What of you?”

“Nothing as magnificent either.” What little mystery in her words, plain for the Maximilian to see. “Want to dissect today’s result?”

“Everyone died,” The bluntness aimed at hurt his own ego. “End of discussion.”

“Direct infusion into blood proved that the right concoction would act quiet effective.” Dinihari’s cold tone ignoring her own emotions and his melodrama altogether. “All we need is to ensure the next sample doesn’t exacerbate the symptoms.”

“That would preferable. I don’t desire to see another child burst into a red pulp.”

“Consequences of treading where only gods should.” He made sure to display that his displeasure was known. “An atheist I see, a new breed of hubris. You scholar’s puff yourselves up with a few innovations and think yourselves gods. Even godslayers had to earn their non-belief. So Maximilian, what have you done to earn such arrogance?”

“I prefer actualist. I do believe the gods existed, I believe there is wisdom in their teachings. I just don’t see the point in acting as simple livestock would, waiting for a long dead farmer.”

The words lingered as the two watched the floor below, the perfect semblance of peace now that the sick had gone down to the cellar. All that remained for the eye to see were happy old friends reminiscing on old times; not to be mistaken for the final moments of a dying man. Shy men and women sat silently as they shared meals with strangers; not to be misconstrued for nervous strangers anxiously waiting for turn in a dark cellar. Lastly, a young child sat in what looked the most uncomfortable chair near the doors, studying dutifully as caring instructor watched over him – not to be mistaken for the city’s desperate hope at salvation.

“There is purpose in playing one’s role.” Dinihari words caught him off as he had completely lost track of their conversation.

“And what role does he fit.” His eyes pointing to the dark haired child by the door.

“Probably a child apprentice of some powerful sorcerer,” She sounded as though she had been contemplating it for some time. “The level of magic he displayed is beyond compression.” His curious expression encouraged her to continue. “Apprentices are usually sent out as the last phase of their training. By the way he has been carrying himself I wouldn’t past his training sorcerer to have instigated it in the as test.” He found it shocking that the thought surprised him. “Great energy manipulation comes with the strange affinity for insanity.”

The thought stuck with Maximilian as he walked down the stairs, past Nizhoni’s party and stood at Chite’s side. He had to wait his turn as man in black berated the boy, but he made his presence known with his pointed gaze.

“…losing the men. You can’t keep disappearing.” Although his tone was even, the stiffness in his jaw gave his emotions away; not a man used to caring for children. “Regulations are there for a reason. I personally read them to you.”

Chite had on an infantile cocky demeanour, with clear intention to communicate disrespect. “I prefer to work alone. Besides I still have my six days.”

The man opened his mouth to speak but uttered no words, deciding silence was his only way to keep his dignity. He soon left, joining Nizhoni and her entourage in celebrating Luyeba’s limited time. At least that was one less distraction gone, but to Maximilian surprise, the child’s bleeding eyes firmly watched the large book in his hands.

Do compound his anxiety as soon as he opened his mouth, the child gave into a vicious coughing fit. By the look of him, six days was looked deluded outlook.

The child smiled as he cleaned his bloody nose with a wry smile. “You know I don’t actually have the virus, symptoms alone remember.”

Maximilian realised then that he had covered his mouth instinctively. “Precaution,” Glad for the attention, he calmly guided the conversation to his desired topic. “Speaking of disease and symptoms, any chance of explaining the magic?” He pointed to living ink. “How many can undergo transference spell?”

“Get to the point Maxi.” His tone to familiar but by the rate his health was deteriorating, one could tell his past the point of social etiquette.

“I was wondering if, it would be possible for you to do the same thing for Nora.” He blurted out.

The child’s chortle put his sanity in doubt and his words didn’t help clear the thought either. “I respect your callous nature.” 

Suddenly Otto barged through the doors whispering something into the child’s ear. In that moment something changed in the child’s eyes, it was as though the child died and a man took his place.

“Mind if I borrow a spear.” The long stick in his hand made for an odd sight.

“A little oversized don’t you think?” As though hearing his ridicule, the living ink sprang out engulfing the spear. When it returned to his skin the weapon’s form had completely changed. Suddenly having the ability to retract in the middle as well as bearing a dark tip of composite magical material. “I forgot. Sorcerer.”

“Remember the letter?” The child directed the words to Otto, ignoring him. The olive skinned man nodded cautiously. “My price and payment is simple.”

Maximilian doubted that even though he couldn’t follow the conversation. It was the eerie atmosphere the shift in tone had created, the sadism was inescapable.

“What’s happening? As though sensing the change Nizhoni had come, beautiful friend in tow.

“Can I trust you to be a man to repay a debt dutifully?” The child ignored Nizhoni as he did Maximilian. “Your sister has a second chance at life.” He added at Otto reluctance.

Otto nodded.

“If I do not return. Kill this woman, make it painful. Then go to the house and kill all her co-workers. Then burn it all down.” Now there could be no doubt, the child was surely mad.

“Noo!” The woman let out a feeble scream.” Don’t, please.”

The child’s eyes caught aflame, changing from a gentle golden brown to the colour of red-hot flame; the kind that leaves nothing but ash. “Every sin has an equal penalty.”

Nizhoni couldn’t see the change so she touched the child’s shoulder, his form sturdy as she struggled to turn him. “What…” It was simple when she looked into his eyes.

Maximilian fell to the follow, crawling out of the way, giving the child a wide berth. The insidious smile on the child mocked his pathetic position as he walked out.

FINAL PART

SCENE 31 CHITE

Following Vialya proved quite the challenge, with some clever magic employed at various points of the trail, an old man’s attempt at to shiv him the most memorable distraction; the man asked for nothing just attacked, it made killing him uncomfortable. She had led him through various dingy places that only a local would now, disappearing into overcrowded shacks at one point before going down an empty putrid sewer, all of which proved a curios distraction for her destination was the once noble district of Oste.

When he emerged out of the sewer into the once decadent halls of a fallen noble, Chite bore the face of relief, breathing in a few gust of stale air. The act gave Vialya enough time to disappear once she walked into the cobblestoned street.

He had to use his red eyes to catch her footsteps again which in a current state was more than hindrance but the revelation of other footprints would sooth his rage. The footprints looked too recent to belong to long gone nobles. The boot prints in mud on a section of dislodged cobblestone hinted at a dozen men and women.

He smiled dryly at his luck. “Something easy, just something easy one of these days.”

He continued towards what he believed to Vialya direction, catching up in time to see her disappear into another derelict estate. Quick movements were no longer necessary but the open space required him to keep his distance. Once inside he simply followed her melodic humming through the corridor and into a large cellar then another long dark tunnel. Glad for that no one had decided to guard it or defecate in it.

Then it hit why that was so as Vialya wrist flashed yellow after cross a certain part of the passage. Years of falling for such traps gave him enough experience to identify the invisible screen. Normally his bullish attitude would encourage him to pass through and deal with the consequences, but dying from a haemophilic disease had brought wisdom of common sense.

He grabbed a small stone once he had heard the opening and closing of a door, threw it forward and smiled when he saw it turn to dust. He removed the small book under his jacket and perused through the many pages before the ink stepped it. He looked at the page with immediate disdain.

“I can’t do intermediate spells. Am not a sorcerer, remember.” One would suspect delirium if the spotted his whispering in the dark. “Why is your first suggestion always blood? An hour is better than dying from a slow bleed.”

With the use of blood out of question, Chite had to rely on complicated overlapping sigils that required erasing upon failure. A tiring act when all ten basic symbols in a sequence proved wrongly aligned. Trial and error manipulation always angered his little sister but he comforted himself in knowing she was born special.

“I am calm!” He screamed. “That’s because you keep interfering, now both of you quiet.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose in resignation. “Not all of us can be special.” His voce calm and melancholic. “Don’t pity me, just don’t. Ok? I am fine. ”

He took a deep breath, drawing the last sigil in the sequence and uttering the required nonsensical phrases. The barrier glowed bright yellow almost whit and in that instant, he performed an acrobatic row forward. Better to pass through it than break it, preserving caster’s illusion of security.

“Because you don’t have to be special to do special things.” He uttered as he disappeared deeper into the tunnel.

The door ahead was ajar, providing the tunnel some illumination. He proceeded with caution, watching vigilantly for moving shadows. Assured of the room’s emptiness, he moved briskly ahead into an empty artificial illuminated chamber made of brick. Vialya’s moaning providing a good compass for the situation. He avoided the door, taking the distraction as chance for some much-needed comprehension.

He moved to the door to his right, locked, the ink intervened reminded him why locks were bad form of protection. Inside the room was bigger than anticipated, it needed short stairs to connect to the floor where a dozen bodies lined up on metal beds; all with chest carved open.

He walked through the aisles created by the orderly arrangement of bodies with apprehension. The immaculate incisions suggested great care and expertise. Strangely, a barely audible thumping called to him, guiding him to a child at the end of the row. He looked into the open chest cavity with of the young girl, staring at her beating heart with curiosity. The noisy breath she produced drew his eyes to her face. Wide-open eyes stared back at him in horror; they screamed a harrowing silent shriek too strong for Chite to ignore. He quickly dipped a cloth into a pale liquid before throwing it on the child’s mouth. He thought about holding on longer in hopes of giving the child true mercy but he couldn’t, his hand growing weak after the girl’s eyes closed.

It took him some time to regain calm, finding his eyes evaluating complicated notes and open books when he did. Most of the information made little as he lacked the expertise in such complicated fields.

“What’s that?” He whispered to the dark. “Genetic and metabolic magical modification? Get to the point.” He paced sturdily around the mortuary full of living bodies eying each one intently. His face the painting of a child solving the mysteries of reproduction. With quickened pace he went back to open books, extended his hand to turn the pages and found his view of the world turned upside; the view of white sheets covering bodies half way lay beneath him.

The next thing to register in his mind was annoying sting on splinters in his arms. He looked at the hole had made through the door with positively cheeky smile, knowing it could have been a broken back had he drifted the slightest right.

The glint of steel in his right peripheral sent him rolling, instinctive dodging the attack. His arm reached for the weapon at his back but found it missing, immediately his eyes searched the floor and quickly found it; corner of the chamber, past his attacker.

“Wait!” A familiar voice ordered. It was Vialya shielded in only a thin bed sheet. “He’s a Vest.” The information did little to soften the woman stance; who by first glance appeared to fit Xariana’s description. “You can’t kill a Vest. Osventias will burn the entire city to find you.”

“I can live with that.” Her beautifully pieced thick lips widening to form an insidious smile.

Xariana attacked with her dagger, Chite proved faster, twirling past the knife. He now stood behind the woman and closer to his weapon. The ink sprung forth grabbing it and placing it in his right arm. When Xariana turned to face the small baton sat comfortably in his hand.

“And here I thought you a rushed appointment.” Xariana mocked as her dagger transformed into a double-edged short sword. “I’ll make it quick.” Her gaze communicating utter contempt.

“I don’t want to fight you, am here for information on the cure.” He revealed. “Just a chat. No need for all this.” The woman looked ponderous and after a few moments, she circled his position to reach for the door, which had magical protection.

“How did you get in?” Her question rhetorical, clearly suspecting him proficient in magic glyphs. “Decryption or Sequence-interception?”

“Does it matter?” Of course it did, she meant to see if he could understand what he had seen her human laboratory. “Treating victims I see.” Pointing to broken door and changing the topic.

The words had Xariana baffled, looking at Vialya intently before deciding to talk. “Trying some new combinations…” He chose then the perfect moment to give into a coughing fit. “Consumption or late stage lung degradation?” He waved her to continue as he cleaned his bloody nose and mouth. “I could help you. Ok as I was saying, I’m trying to make my little miracle profitable. There is coin to be made in tragedy.”

“How much coin?” He asked, his back now facing the laboratory and Xariana standing next to an anxious Vialya.

“I like directness.” She kissed Vialya cheek gently. “Negotiating might take long. Go back to bed.” She suggested. Vialya looked reluctant.

“Don’t make too messy.” The young woman turned to face the room.

“I can’t say the same for your friends at the house.” Immediately turning her around. “How do you like them, in pieces or in specks?” He didn’t even bother smiling because this was simple survival.

“Swine!” Vialya pointed her finger. “You monstrous child.”

The room went silent as everyone pondered the cards that lay on the floor. Chite remained silent, choosing to conserve energy in case things fell to rabid dogs. The couple discussed their next move and it appeared Xariana was winning.

“What guarantee do I have?” Although Xariana words it was clear which of the two had contemplated the thought. “Your ilk tends to be overzealous prigoats.”

“None.” Not flinching to communicate seriousness, even though his tone came off casual. Another long moment of silence elapsed and he had to switch up the hand holding the baton, to stay alert.  Xariana moved around and pointed out something to a perplexed Vialya. The woman rushed in and out of their private quarters, blue concoction in hand and handed it to Xariana. “I am not that naïve.” Catching the blue concoction. “Come with me treat a few people at the temple. It works, we go our separate ways.”

“And the temple just happens to have a magic disrupting architecture.” Xariana pointed out. “Smart. Too smart for a simple Vest.” Silence was all he gave her. “Fine but you try anything wild and it all comes crushing down. Deal?”

He contemplated the thought too long it seemed. “Xariana, the prefect’s here.” A firm feminine voice came from the stairs to the right. He heard two pairs of feet rushing down to their level. “Xariana ready yourself.  Who are you supposed to be?” The pale faced woman exchanged looks with the man besides her as she belated recognised the black uniform.

“A Vest?”

“Tuxian filth.” The insult came as natural as a greeting; natural association at work. It took all his will not to attack, hoping he could somehow make it alive out of the predicament. The thought was optimistic then and would be proved delusional a moment later when the prefect joined them.

At first when the pale faced woman with large triangular eyes failed to acknowledge his presence, hope still lingered, even as her protective unit and retinue eyed him with murderous intent.

The Prefect walked up to Xariana with the indifferent gaze typical of Tuxian nobility. “Can the plan still go ahead?” Raising the young woman’s head up. Xariana responded with a nod.

“What’s going on?”

“Shut your mouth Vialya. The prefect’s speaking.” Xariana cautioned her lover.

“This is disappointing.” The Prefect voice was softer than one would expect, the grey’s in her short dark hair gave one explanation. “Even for one of your ilk. Impure, perverse witchery is grounds for execution.” She smiled at Xariana shudder. “But as said disappointed not frustrated. It understandable, love is an unpredictable thing even your unholy brethren are allowed such emotion.”

“Am grateful Prefect.” Her bow was stopped half with scolding nod of a head. Tuxians only bowed to gods. Xariana corrected her stance, her left arm to her chest. “For Ashreepour’s glory.”

“As it should be.” The woman then cast a shadow on him, her stature completely blocking the illuminating metal pipes. “A child,” Her eyes giving him the attention he tried to avoid. “Of breach I assume? Mongrel breeding at its worst, or is it best.”

He failed to answer, using all his will to fight a cough. He failed. “At least it is well trained.” The Prefect looked at him covering his bloody mouth with a cynical smile, glad her elegant black ball gown was still pristine. “I’ll have to thank Osventias for such a kindness when I send you to him.” Her footsteps rhythmically fading as she went up the stairs. “Don’t leave any trace of our project!” The words echoed before the loud bang of a closing door.

Lighting exploded as lightning soared through the air. “Careful.” One of the guards warned in total darkness. “Hurry up and fix the bright fixtures.” The comment were followed by nonsensical phrases in Xariana voice. The room was illuminated, revealing all previous occupant, including an able bodied Chite.

“Impossible. Faster than lightning.” One guard mourned debating whether to ready his weapon or flee.

“Faster than a lightning spell.” He corrected as his golden browns flashed red.

“Vile death itself.” The guards agreed in unison, holding the weapons tighter, galvanised by the transformation.

“Vialya leave.” Xariana pointed the girl to the tunnel-leading door before giving into a flurry of nonsensical tongues. Lighting fixtures flickered overhead in anticipation. She looked at her brethren with pride but they didn’t not return it in kind. “For the gods.”

“Yes, for dead gods.” Chite whispered, extending his baton into a spear and decapitating one of his attackers.

The zeal of the rest appeared undeterred by the act. They came in, fast and full of furry. All failing to match his unnatural speed, as heads and arms filled the crimson floor. He heard another loud bang, saw Vialya disappearing into the tunnel large jar in hand, blinked and an infernal hurtled his way.

“Just sometimes.” He whispered.

Xariana poured another torrent, to ensure the fate she desired and added another bolt of lightning for redundancy’s sake.

SCENE 32 NEVER FIRE

Xariana eyes shifted through the small infernal, searching for movement. They found nothing. She then shifted her eyes to a right, performing an head count of her remaining allies; three. She then looked to her left to do the same; two men focused forward, as intensely as she felt she was.

There must have been something wrong with her eyes because when she centred them Chite was already halfway towards her, spear outstretched aimed at her chest. She spat her defensive phrases but flab a line, giving into fear, she held out her arms to stop the spear. She had certainly stained her instructor’s reputation with the armature move but she could blame it on the impossible sight of her flames entering the child’s body as winds currents of a large whirlwind.

Sadly for Xariana she would never get the chance. The spears tip went through both her open palms efficiently and into her chest. Her thoughts flooded with pain and surprise. The light material resting in her arms and chest felt strangely foreign, both in presence and intent; the material of the weapon felt like no metal she hand been pierced with before.

“Never fire.” The child whispered as though to warn her of its ineffectiveness.

“Thank you.” Her voice calm and collected, the initial shock had passed. She screamed gibberish, chattering the child curious tool to pieces. He looked shocked, seeing the wound he had inflicted rapidly close with disdain. “That will make a good reading for a headstone.” She had gained confidence from seeing blood drip his small arms, caused by the weapon exploding in his hands.

The room fell tentatively silent. One of men attacked, it proved foolish as the loud snap of his neck, managed to return the child his momentum and a weapon. She took a deep breath before acknowledging one her allies pointed nods. Upon closer inspection, the attack proved more fruitful than first believed, as a steady stream of blood fell to ground from the enemy’s stomach.

Now it was clear the thing imitating a god was flawed. The others noticed too and when her commanding officer gave the nod, she was ready. Combining her most complicated tongues into a single cohesive complementing paragraph as the rest of her companions distracted the child. The room caved in all around as she floated to another.

She breathed a sigh of relief, upon reaching a stable floor, which from the obscured decadency she identified as the ballroom. The guards rushing to her through the dusty cloud appeared confused by her sudden appearance. They pointed their halberds at her.

“Where did you come from witch?” The words came with a sharp reminder of what she was too her peopl. It took her while to remember why. Sorcerers of Ashreepour and its realms were mere mumblings of the insane, rumours blurted by mad priests, trying to discredit the holy emperor’s name.

“Stand…stand down.” The Prefect’s voice shot through the clutter, dust and noise. “Stay your weapons.” The woman walked through the crowd of soldiers ungainly, clearly affected by the low visibility. “Is it done?”

She started, surprised by the woman’s focus. She nodded gingerly, just before sharp steel kissed her throat. She held out her arms in shock, using the Prefect’s shoulders for balance, staining her black dress in the process. It irked her more that an apology was her last thought. She didn’t register her face flopping in a pool of her own blood.

“Clean…up.” Rhythmic tapping sounds rung through her ears, the sound of a practiced gait. She rose again, she believed. In actuality, her body, held by both hands and feet hovered over the floor with as her head hung carelessly low. As though to show her a preview of the hells that awaited, the outline of the child she had buried in rubble haunted her.

“…and…thought myself unlucky.” The child’s ghost mocked surrounded by red shadows back-dropped by an hungry emptiness that called for her remaining essence. To comfort her mind she imagined the red shadows jesting. “It can always be worse.” She imagined one saying. “You could be her.” The other would point out.

“Yes that would be a good joke.” The emptiness mocked.

SCENE 33 ANYWAY YOU WANT IT

 Death by suffocation or crushing was not on Chite plan. That’s why when he saw the sorcerer rambling something that resembled psychokinetic energy conversion, he rushed to kill her friends as fast possible. He used his feet to write a hasty symbol of repulsion, glad for the ample donation of a liquid catalyst by his fallen enemies. He hesitated, knowing the dangers of using another subject’s blood in magic; nature never liked scapegoat magic. The crumbing rock above made his mind up, forcing him to drive the living ink into the pool of blood.

Then darkness swallowed him.

A moment or two of waiting for death, proved a waste of time. “Let see. What was the sigil again? Star, mweshi, munda vien pue due. Crescent.” He had to rely on his spatial awareness, without light or his eyes to aid his movements.

Slowly he floated upwards, cautiously digging through rubble with aid of dark tendrils created by his tattoo. Gradually unearthing takes time, Chite realised but he knew a rushed exit would cause more damage. One wrong pull almost caused a cave in, he breathed steadily at the result, popping his head through the hole created. Under every cave in is a tunnel leading to light. The view of artificial lighting flickered as he above.

“There is my something.”

The dark tendrils wasted no time in stretching to the top, giving his luck no chance to turn sour. Their movements flung him up the hole at frightening speed, requiring him to stick a challenging landing as he soared up into a specious room of some grand design. The dust cloud helped obscure his spinning ascension and acrobatic landing.

“Clean this shit up.” He heard upon landing gracefully, the voice uneven and full of disgust.

His excursion into the air, above the cloud of dust had warned him of the enemy’s numbers. It would have been wise to proceed with caution but one rarely gets a state backed opportunity to kill Tuxian arrogance.

“Here I was arguing of Tuxian generosity.” The sight of Xariana corpse caught his attention, spotting the Prefect’s red strained blade. “Incredible,” Exaggerated shock in his tone. “And here I thought myself unlucky.”

His eyes turned red, he could fell it would be his last time. As though sensing Chite’s waning strength, the ink engulfed his body, from neck to toe.

“Kill that unholy form of perfection.” The Prefect’s was tone cold and unwavering, looking to sooth the fear in her guards. “If you can’t, then die in holy glory.” She pushed blue vial full of burning light. She then walked forward with even gait, towards the large exit doors.

Chite’s ink slowly morphed his short steel sword into a panga; a single bladed large knife. The thought of hacking at tall weeds came to mind when the weapon came to being. “Your proclivity for decapitations never ceases to shock.”     

If Xariana still lived, she would imagine the darkness reply with something unabashed. “I choose to embrace my perversions. Now let’s cut down us some weeds.”

Roaring rung out as the numerous assailants attacked, skilled in their thrusts and swings. The child dodged gracefully, dancing precariously to the tune of their boisterous chorus. The tempo increased with each addition, crescendoing as efforts increased to make Chite miss a step. Then as vipers  do the child attack. His skilled attacker was well prepared, putting up a good block. Sadly, his blade fell to the floor, his head in shortly followed.

The man next to him blinked twice, missing a perfect chance to attack. The panic intended had set in perfectly, a surprise was best enjoyed with a large crowd, after all. Chite flew into a flurry of clinical swings, his blade cutting through their blocks and parries life a subatomic knife through steel. Their chainmail pierced through like scissors through cheap linen.

Chite’s dance was starting to resemble the dance of crows and worms; a dance used in commemorating of the victims of great massacres. He slid on the slippery floor with grace of child playing on an icy lake, empty whiteness replaced by lively crimson. The ink joined in, adding its own brand of artful death, slicing a row of crossbowmen in the distance with a single tendril. A cacophony of morbid sounds coalesced to form a new tune, which Chite danced to exceptionally well, giving no quarter to his fleeing victims.

“Hold back!” Called a man with an emblazoning of a mighty beast on his chest piece. Chite would have laughed at such audacity but the man’s will to marshal such confusion in the face of death required some respect and a good death.

He moved swiftly to end the man’s life. The man saw through his intention, shaking a blue vial rough before throwing it his way. Floor between them caught blue flame, stopping Chite in his stride. The fire rose fast, quickly dividing the room in two.

“Holy death. For the glory of the golden city.” The man screamed, an instruction that seemed to inspire suicidal zeal from the men trapped on Chite side.

“Shadow!” He dodged an attack as looked through the flames. He saw nothing the blue flame had already reached the ceiling. “Get the woman’s corpse.” He spun around two attacks, countering one by slicing his kneecap. The other attacked again but was too obvious. Chite simply ducked and used the attacker’s momentum to slice a diagonal wound across an exposed chest.

“Shadow!” He order yielding no movement from the ink. “You owe me you bloody daemon. I saved you.” Still the ink clung to his body, slowing moving to cover up his face. “Please.”

“Fine.” An alive Xariana would have imagined the emptiness falter.

The ink completely flowed out of Chite’s body, leaving only a dark dot by his neckline. In confusion, he forgot of his enemies, a horrific slice to the back reminded him. He moaned but was drown out by the howls of a beast.

“I am fine.” He reassured but numbness in his left arm quickly disproved the accession. “Just a few more weeds.”  His blurred vision encouraged such a thought, concealing the true number of his foals. He moved to attack, noticing too late the falling burning wood. A swift row prevented a crushed arm but not a burnt one. The smell of his sizzling skin almost sent bile up his throat but he had to evade and overhead swing. Cutting a woman arm open, it was sloppy; it should have been a killing blow. Falling debris demonstrated how to do it, finishing off the attacker. Her screams distracted her allies enough for him to kill two. A shameful attack but there was no honour in survival. He gave into a violent cough immediately; good timing, considering current events.

A glint on steel, not enough energy to evade, he took in the shoulder, making sure to land his own. His proved more dangerous. The internal painful sting of his left arm mocked, called for attention. He used it instead to wipe sweat of his brow, straining his hair dishevelled stiff hair in the process. It hurt his arm but the enemies circling him were testing his sanity.

Smoke enveloped everything, making him think he had a chance; such things held no bias, choking everyone equally.

“Am…not dyin…” The ceiling buckling cut him off, some of falling off a few meters away. “Something. Just something.” Looking around to find openings in enemies encircling, their zeal inspired the thought of starting a cult if he survived the ordeal. An elevated floor came crushing down soon after blocking some of flames, for only a second but enough to let moonlight through the smoke.

“Something.” He pulled off a successful feint just as the ceiling above caved in. Providing a loud distraction, shattering into small pieces as it began its deadly descent. He run with all he had, through hot nails, brick, motor and shattered glass.

The pale moon looked beautiful, still in its place next to its red sibling, providing some comfort.He gazed at longing almost reaching out to it as he soared through the air, stained glass floating in his peripheral. Priost loomed in the distance, calling him to safety, using the memory of Nizhoni’s cooking. At such height he would break most of his bones, he damned the arrogant hierarchy design, looking at the cobblestoned street below with disdain.

Where is mud when you need it? He thought prepare his half-naked body for a risky roll trying to increase his chance of survival. Suddenly, blurry vision of city and sky turned dark, as he disappeared into emptiness.

SCENE 34 NEVER COUNT ON A CHILD

Osventias walked up the hill leading to Castle Rusnoveck slowly, gait even and steady as required from one of his standing. The elites he passed, made room for him and his entourage, some even had to crossed to the other side, fearing getting on to the man’s bad side; nothing more dangerous to an elite than scandal and he had the power to start and end them.

He wondered how he would inform the Lady of the city to start picking out flowers for her chosen heir’s funeral. Then quickly after that, how he would convince her bond mate, his master of war, not to channel his pain through the continuation of a tiring war. Calloused are the hands that hold the crown steady atop the leader’s head.

“Sir! Sir!” The voice was exasperated and the woman looked the meters covered; sweating profusely. “...” Adrenaline suddenly faded as the woman slouched to her knees. “The embassy.” She pointed to the road going up the other hill.

“Spit it out. Vespas.” His shadow replacement ordered. The woman had been enough ability to unseat him if she got the chance; it reassured him that incompetence wouldn’t follow the end of his reign. “What embassy?”

“The Tuxians’. It’s ablaze. Blue fire.” The young woman managed.

“Sabotage.” Osventias strode into a steady run. “Those inbreeds are sure to use this to their advantage in negotiations.” He dashed into the moonlit row, furious. “I specifically ordered you to watch out for this.”

“No one went through.” He found it impressive that Vespas had managed to keep up. The woman must have been made of godly essence.  “We watched both entrances. No one entered the premises tonight.”

“Dead gods.” Osventias moaned as the burning structure came into view. He walked forward unsteadily, unable to look away from the crumbing blue spire. “Any survivors?”

It didn’t take long for the a arrogant woman to kick the man in the sheen. He looked her up; taking in pale skin, black hair tied in a knot above her head and thin lips. His mind immediately gave him a name.

“Is this how you treat honoured guests?” He swallowed profanity at the word guests; if the bloody royal colts hadn’t forced Arikot into a ceasefire, he was sure he would be mounting her head up a spike. “But what would I expect from a traitor.”

“A true shame Prefect Jau-vaulin aet Kounda.” Careful to omit his preference to see her name on the victim sheet but that’s what nonverbal communication was for. He made sure his cold gaze was felt, the kind that implied, poisonings were handy quint little things. “Glad of you to be still with us.”

“What happened here?” He gave his shadow replacement a good cold gaze too. She was not the head yet. The guilt on her face made her apologies clear. “I’ll check on…”

A loud thud cut her off, the sound dragged all eyes in the vicinity to the sudden emergence of a child, knee deep in cobblestone, covered in emptiness, he would have called darkness but that would imply he saw something; all that he could see was the lack there of everything that should have been there. The outline of child’s foot rose from under the ground as shadow steadily faded to reveal soft, fragile little burnt feet. The other foot, still booted, resurfaced as the first, slowly and carful as those of a day old calf would.

“Arrest that unholy perversion.” Prefect Jau-vaulin commanded as soon as the emptiness faded from his face. “He attacked me and started the fire.”

Osventias men rushed the boy. “Stop! Stop!” He ordered as he charged towards the child. “I thought you were finding a cure! Ending this plague.”

“That’s what you get for trusting a child.” A finely dressed woman scolded. Her tone cold and detached. “Take care of this Osventias.”

“I guess I just throw this in the fire.” The child’s nonchalant tone and words sent everyone on edge. His hands played carelessly with a blue corked vial to drive the point. Not even he could hide his desperation. It was clear power had shifted. Even the Lady of the state was ready to throw herself on the child’s feet.

HE ACTIVATORO BE K.GNING CAN CONFIRM.Y. TO THE BOOK IN TH INFIRE THE ACTIVATORO BE K.GNING CAN CONFIRM.Y. TO THE BOOK IN TH INFIRE THE ACTIVATORO BE K.GNING CAN CONFIRM.Y. TO THE BOOK IN TH INFIRE SCENE 35 THE TIE UP

Chite golden brown gaze pierced through a small glass container, scrutinizing the shimmering blue liquid inside. The blue glow of the crumbling back drop mired his view but it didn’t matter, the action was more intuitive than methodical examination. He just wanted to see if he still had the thing.

“May I?” He turned to find a finely dressed woman outstretching an arm. He looked her up because, the unspoken respect she garnered from the crowd. She had no circlet or markings on her head but the mix of fear and adoration she basked was a privilege reserved for king-folk. “I have some knowledge on the topic. I trained as apothecary.”

His look of doubt, owing to her spotless hands, drew the woman’s ire. “I think I’ll hold on to it.” The burning of tunic had left him in funny position but that’s what shadow was for, swallowing the vial into his vast nothingness.  “The job still not done.”

“What happened here recruit?” Osventias bellowed, more for woman as curious eyes had started flocking. “Given the situation, it’s best you give me the gist.”

“I said arrest that. This is collusion am...” The Prefect was swayed by some troubling revelations, as a large tendril of darkness had just emerged out of the fire dragging a body with it.

“This is Xariana or at that’s one alias.” Chite pointed to a corpse of a young woman, searching her, to find a small book. “A witch hired to create a specific tonic to ale the city… ahe” A bad coughing fit cut him off, almost felling him to the ground. Blood from his nose and mouth doused the Xariana’s book in red.

“Lady…” Osventias held his tongue as the woman rushed to wipe Chite clean; it was an instinctive thing he suspected. In the moment they both fostered each other’s natural state; one a mother the other a child.

 Not interrupting her care, he focused his attention on tracing as many sigils into the blood on the book. “As…gghh…”This time the Lady covered his nose and mouth in time. “Thank you.” His eyes still trained on the book.

“Manufactured plague?” Osventias guessed, giving the Prefect an accusatory gaze.

“Hearsay of child,” The Prefect mocked, masking her emotions well. “Are these the heights of incompetence the Arikot leadership chooses to soar?”

A light orange glow distracted everyone, returning attention to the book in Chite’s mangled hands. “Her designs for the magical tainted infiltration enzymes are well documented. In the dungeon…” He flipped through books pages casually.  “Here.” His bleeding finger pointed to a specific diagram in the book. “I am sure a council approved medical sorcerer can confirm this spell to be the activator.” He rose to his feet feigning strength.

Shadow trailed his footsteps as any good natural would, returning to its casters body, leaving the corpse behind. Combining with the passive half it had left behind and fixing the Chite’s tattered clothing along the way. Although he hated admitting it, the act made him feel whole again.

“Is she still alive?”

“Barely.” The corpse would imagine, feeling the pain in it throat fading with time.

“GHa…gfsf.” Xariana’s body suddenly rose, gasping for air as its hands frantically touched it’s now sealed throat. It mouth opened but no words came.

The look on Chite’s audience was worth the risk of almost burning to death. Such simple joys were the only things left for the exile to enjoy.

“Too much energy.” He Held down one of her hands but the woman wrote quickly with the other. A simple blood sigil designed to bring her death. The furious zeal in her cemented the thought of starting a good cult. How he would enjoy the worship of thousands, even hundreds, but for the moment he was content with his ever-present shadow. The shadow quickly impaled the woman’s hand, stopping the woman scribbling just in time.

“Stop it.” He screamed, to no avail, failing to stop Xariana beating her head into the stony ground. She kept repeating the act, fighting off Osventias’s men. Chite could see a potent mix of death and resolve in her eyes and the resolve to do it.

“Let the poor thing just die.” The Prefect suggested, her words barely audible, overwhelmed the noise of burning fire and screaming.

“You know what happens to traitors.” He shouted trying to drown out the loud roar of flame. “I’ll find your Viayla and see if we can’t sooth to sleep, the right way.” Xariana’s immediately ceased her thrashing, giving into an ugly sob.

The power of love, the only thing that could impede mindless allegiance. The old witch had taught him well on exploiting it and he had proved a good learner. The existence of such evil made him doubt the sanity of the great universal architect, but in moments like these, maybe they was a method to the madness. Another thing she had instilled in him during his capture was good old magical intuition, teaching him, how to think as a magical adept would even if he lacked the talent.

“Where is the tether?” He asked suspecting a magical link between her and the patients in the dungeon. They would live, he thought, the sigils he had drawn had enough raw energy – blood – to last the night. The only obstacle to that was the caster laying dangerous traps that would kill them in the event of her passing.

He refused to repeat himself, relying on the cold shimmer in his eyes to inspire fear. The woman held her tongue, looking away from the Prefect. Tears flowed on her face as her gaze pointed to her right shoulder – which someone had pressed on firmly.

“Shadow.” The boy prompted, feel the strain in the entity’s power but he had choice. He was never a natural at primordial energy conversion. Shadow slowly permeated through blood stained clothing as the he flipped through Xariana small book. “Always at the back.” His relief visible to all.

He spat complicated nonsense, which shadow translated into his native language of radiation, convection and diffusion. The seal cracked successfully but unlike others before, it emitted no light; probably owing to Shadow’s involvement.

Everyone looked at him in confusion, when he rose. They all seem taken by the events. Osventias approached. “Explain.” He ordered.

The Prefect was already spitting her rebuttals, which would have worked, if most of her force hadn’t died in the fire. Although still imposing in presence and stature, physical violence had suddenly become a plausible approach.

“The witch’s Xariana, Tuxian army.” The shock on the eyes was expected, the holy folk of Ashreepour hated magic…in public. Only Osventias did bat an eye. “She mutated haemorrhagic causing entities to control their progress through the stages of illness.” He regurgitated what he the whispers had said to him a few hours prior in the lab. “She then infected a chosen few from different districts. Probably starting with house of fantasy resident…artist for the first test.”

Most were still having trouble following but Osventias was nodding along patiently, even on the things he clearly didn’t know. The Lady’s attention was sharper though encouraging the Chite to continue even as the Prefect protested.

“…something must have gone wrong with Viayla. Carriers went supposed to be affected, that way the carried on infecting others. And with a snap of a finger – not literally – the witch could hasten the illness. Killing folks in days, who would pass it on to those close to them and the cycle continued. If a cure was applied and the illness nullified the witch would know and quickly mutate the virus remotely.”

The Lady appeared shocked by the revelation. Osventias wasn’t, probably opened his mind to new forms of warfare. Something to likely bring up when war council convened.

“…but it should have killed more than it did. The design was to cripple not kill.” He looked thoughtful, contemplating motivations.

“Negotiating tactic.” A smug smile painted Osventias pale face. The man walked the Prefect’s way the Lady by his side as diplomat protested every word.

“Prefect it’s a shame we have to end peace talks.” The Lady words came out cold yet gentle. A woman used to hiding her real emotions. “I’ll be sending a letter of our reasons to Emperor, the lord of your –un – holy ménage.”

A death sentence for sure and her replacement would surely have to make great concessions just to get back to the table. Such mistake would lead her exalted family to the queries, among slaves that once served them.

The Prefect cleared her throat, taking on her most regal posture. “You will do no such thing…these simple…misunderstands can be easily cleared up in the negotiation room.” She suggested. “As I said before our specialist caste is well equipped to help end this plague.”

The Lady took some time to answer, trying to hide her states desperation. “Such mercies won’t…” She gave Osventias his queue to barging into the conversation and play devil’s advocate.

“My Lady it may be wise–” Allowing the man to speak before cutting off again, playing the furious character, which was easy given her situation.

Practice argument ensured as Chite walked into the night, back to Proist, where Nizhoni’s food awaited, sure the smell of it would guide him.

SCENE 36 SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK

Sadly, a chariot refused to give him the pleasure of walking through the muddy districts as bloody and shattered as he looked. “The journey home is long.” Mish looked the perfect kind stranger.

“I have no home,” His tone sombre and distant. “But I’ll accept the leisurely ride.” He dived onto the black leather seats as a toddler looking to amuse.

The Chariot disappeared into the crowd reappearing in the muddy entrance to the inn. He kicked the door in, intentionally grabbing all the attention from the infirm. Otto’s expression of relief communicated how serious the man took his words.

“You look like death.” Nizhoni gasped rushing to the door.

“Comes with the gifts.” The words said without care or coherence as walked past her, straight to the table of the savants. Dihari and Maximilian looked at him in shock. He gave their concern no mind, placing a blue vial on to the table loudly. “There’s your cure!” The entire inn fell silent – moaning patients included as the victims and their family members eyed the table with villainous gaze. “Or it could be poison.” The noise immediately returned, some cursing his existence. “Duplicate it.”

He walked away, ignoring their calls, heading for the stairs. Nizhoni blocked his path. “You need care, those wounds need to treatment.” She said, wincing at his charred arm.

He smiled. “What I need is sleep.”

She didn’t laugh.

END

CONTINUED IN THE ASCENT