The Colllectors

PORT OF JYR.

Jyr stank of fish, salt-water and gas. Just as it always had. At least, on the three occasions Naros had reason to visit the port-town. The death of a family member. A search for a rare material. A shipment of a new gun. And now, her son. All were a blur, a haze compared to what pulled her now. A son that had pushed both of his parents away, slowly, silently. A distance she hadn’t noticed until it was too late. As the two detectives drove past the gates filtering the flow of traffic past Talmir’s Peak, their assigned target came into view.

As they followed the road that wound around the mountain, the draconic idol Jyrendithrix and his great shadow washed over the road. He was great and large as the mountain he rested on, his brown and yellow scales nearly blending into the brown, blacks and green of the forest that had grown around him. The beast was so long he extended down into the lake, tail disappearing into the dark waters. Boats chugged back and forth over the length of the lake, divers peeling off their edges with prying tools to keep the dragon’s tail clean.

Alex seemed calmer than expected. No twitches, no death grip on the wheel. Naros clenched a hand, and rested her head against the window. Silence filled the car on their journey, and silence followed them as they stopped in town. Alex was quick to find the local coffee shop, while Naros was happy to meander about the towns square. Maybe she hoped to see a familiar face. Maybe a lead on their case. Or maybe just a moment of silence away from the bustle of the fishermen, fish-wives and sailors hauling their cargo. But her peace was to be short lived.

Alex thrummed his fingers against his table, eager for another cup. The waitress left him with another cup and a tight smile at what was probably due his stench and unshaven face. But before he could take another sip, ripples disturbed the brown caffeinated drink. On instinct Alex went to feel for his sword at his back, but was quickly reminded he’d left it in the trunk of the hard-top. There was danger afoot. And so damn quickly after they’d arrived, too. Alex bit his lip to hide a grin.

He picked up his cup and sat beside a nice looking old man. He returned his confused look with a smile, pointing outside. There, Naros stood before three masked men, gun out. The crowd on the main-street outside had cleared out, some watching from store fronts the possible slaughter of a young woman that was about to unfold. Alex took a sip of his coffee.

Each of the men wielded lightning spears, electricity crackling from their curved blade tips. Collectors. Masked men, each wearing a mess of tattered cloth that made them appear something akin to shadowy ghosts.

They were hunters. Trackers. Blood hounds. They charged her and with the ease and flexibility of an eel she dodged and ducked their strikes. Naros used the weight of the first attacker against him, grabbing his spear as he charged and kicking him in the throat as he attempted to yank it back. He fell back, and didn’t get back up.

Alex grinned, and took another sip of his coffee.

The second Collector was quicker but louder than the first. He swiped his spear, aiming for Naros’ head with a fierce growl, but she ducked at the last moment. It was her turn to charge now. Lowered and ramming herself right in his belly, Naros threw him to the ground. But another Collector was already on her. With a spear brimming with electricity, the Collector managed to shock her in the side, sending her tumbling into a crate of fish. With a hiss, Naros pointed her blaster and squeezed the trigger.

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Nothing. The blue shell of energy seemingly bounced off an invisible field around him, only revealing itself with a small ripple in the air. Groaning, Naros recognised the seal on the Collectors wrist. Protection against Witch-fyre. So, she improvised. Hard as she possibly could, Naros threw her gun at his head. He stumbled back, giving Naros the opening she needed to kick him square in the chest. The Collector was thrown off, tripping over his fallen fellow behind him. Naros scooped up her gun and delivered each of them a swift kick to the head.

The entirety of the coffee shop was staring in shocked silence, each gripped with the fight that had just taken outside. Alex simply finished his coffee and sniggered softly.

“That’s my wife!” He said, prodding the man beside him.

Before the Sherriff and his deputy could arrive, the two detectives left the Collectors were they lay and left the dust to settle. The Collectors operated outside of the law, and by the account of more than a handful of eye witnesses were the aggressors. It was a case local law had seen too many times, and the law tended to have a special distaste for the Collectors and their pious brand of vigilante justice. Besides, their lightning rods were quite illegal.

Out of sight and out of mind, the two detectives made their way to the other side of the town and holed up in a cramped but comfortable apartment. There, they began their ritual. Take out, 50% grease, 50% beef, rice and hot sauce. A messy sprawl of their papers, the correct order and method of madness only known to Alex. Naros with her own nest of take out and papers formed around her, half of her attention stuck on the whatever sitcom was crackling through the TV.

Anytime the live audience let out their fake cackle, Alex was reminded to sit up straight and take a bite of his food. As the sunlight peeking through the closed curtains turned orange and began to dip, Naros nudged her husband and reminded him to take a shower.

“W-what? I’m not that bad…” He grumbled. In protest he took a sniff of himself, snorted and scrunched his face into a look of agony. She gave him a soft flick on the ear.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go after you. I’ll get your disinfectant oils from the duffel bag, run them over the shower floor.” There was a sense of pragmatism to his voice, but it had always been hard for him to smother love in this tone when it was so blatantly there.

There was a lot about their relationship that was unspoken, but simply known. And right now Alex knew the discomfort crawling up her skin.

“Hey,” He said, taking her hand and pulling her into a hug. He pushed his face into the little soft part of her belly and gave it a kiss. Naros played with his hair strands, trying to distract herself from his efforts.

‘C’mon. You’ll be okay. You’re beautiful, Naros,” He urged, holding her tighter. With a sigh Naros complied. Piece after piece she stripped the suit away, sure to stand in the bathroom, the door ajar only enough for Alex to see a sliver of her beauty.

Her skin was ash. It looked as though lava had poured from her head and left only grey rocky flesh, ash and black cracked rock behind. Every inch of her. And she could easily spread it to him with a simple moment of skin to skin contact. So while she showered, stiff and quiet as he knew she would be, Alex yelled questions at her.

“How’d they find us so quick? It’s been months since they were on our trail.”

Silence.

Then, “It hasn’t been months. A month back, two of them found me. I went out one night, drunk, they cornered me in an alley. I managed to bust up one of them but…the other got away. I didn’t tell you because…well because I was drunk. I lost the fight. I was fucked up, Alex. I’m sorry.”

Well, maybe there was more unspoken than simply known. Alex threw the rest of his dinner in the trash, and put his coat back on. It was filthy, but there was fire on his finger-tips.

Naros called after him once. The slam of the apartment door was her reply. She rocked back in the waters, letting her back press against the cold tiles of the cheap motel shower and knew she would have to follow a trail of smoke.