16. To Health

The last in a long series of addicts passed Maxim’s two stoic bodyguards into the darkened room. It had once been a granary, but he had gutted most of it and thrown up cloth in front of the windows to create a rudimentary hideout. It would serve, at least for the present.

The addict was tall and lanky, with buggy eyes and patchy hair, his scalp red and rashy. He glanced around the room in a half-present daze.

Maxim sneered. It was so difficult to find decent vessels.

He was not the same man that he had once been. Slow, dull Maxim. Ever since the Beast had given him new life, he had been changed. Everything was so much easier now. His thoughts flowed easily, like a raging river where there had once been a pitiful trickle.

He had, quite literally, been reborn. Body and mind.

“I heard o’ someone giving out free potion,” the man said, clutching one arm with the other. “That’s you, then?”

“That would be me, yes,” Maxim said, smiling behind his wooden mask.

The carved mask wasn’t necessary, but he preferred to use it. It had been the Nasaizh’s idea. Most of the addicts that came through were too far gone to care even if it was the Unmaker herself who handed them drugs, but it was still prudent to protect his identity.

His plan was still at a… vulnerable stage. Attracting too much attention could disrupt his timeline.

He was working off secondary suppliers to distribute the Angel’s Kiss. Too slow. Regardless of its effectiveness, he would never reach the scale he needed that way.

He needed that shipment.

The book is the key. Once I have that, I will have all that I need.

“Well, uh…” the addict said, bouncing on his heels. “Am I getting something, or what?”

“Of course,” Maxim hissed through broken vocal chords. He produced a pink vial of Angel’s Kiss from behind his desk and put it in front of him.

The fluid contained a single seed, invisible to the naked eye.

The addict reached out to grab it.

Maxim pulled it back.

“Before you take it, I require a drop of your blood.” He slid forward a long, slender knife.

The addict frowned, sucking on his broken teeth. “Why?”

Maxim was growing tired of this imbecile. “To seal the contract. Either give me your blood or leave empty-handed. Just a drop. That’s all I ask.”

He forced himself to wait patiently while the man made up his mind. The blood had to be spilled willingly. Same with the draught. It was the only way. The seed was not strong enough to overpower a soul. It had to be let in. A pact was required.

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Finally, the addict took the knife.

Maxim leaned forward.

He pricked his index and hissed with pain. He held up his hand, a bead of blood rapidly growing on the end of his finger.

“Right. What now?”

The Beast inside Maxim surged, hardly able to contain itself. It sent tingles of euphoria through Maxim’s body

He pushed forward a square of paper. He had to show restraint.

“There. Press your finger hard on that and we will be done.”

The addict pushed his blood into the paper so that it stained a perfect, sanguine red, and stabbed the knife into the desk. He grabbed the bottle of Angel’s Kiss and started walking towards the door.

“Fuckin’ weird, man,” he muttered to himself, uncorking the bottle.

He tossed it back, overturning the bottle and chugging its contents. He stumbled once it was empty, wiping his lips with a satisfied sigh.

“You really couldn’t wait, could you?” Maxim said. “Very well. We will see if you have what it takes.”

The addict turned around, smacking his lips. “What’s what supposed to mean?”

Maxim neglected to answer, content to simply watch.

It wasn’t long before he started to stumble. He dropped the empty glass bottle, which shattered against the ground. He fell to his knees and clutched his stomach with both hands, groaning.

“What… this pain…” he muttered. “What’s happening… to me?”

Maxim scowled behind his mask. “Nothing, I’m afraid. You are unworthy.”

The addict hunched over and vomited up a puddle of bile.

Maxim had seen enough. He gave a nod and his two bodyguards rushed forward. They grabbed the man under his armpits, hoisting him up on his feet. They dragged him towards the door.

“He-help… Help me…” he wailed, legs flailing uselessly.

He heaved again, this time blood. It mixed with the bile on his shirt as his chest heaved out of control, face beading with sweat.

He was thrown out, and the doors closed behind him. The bodyguards retook their positions on either side of it.

“A seed needs good soil to grow,” Maxim muttered to himself. “Any farmer knows that.”

Something inside him felt… wrong. Queasy. The sight of the vomit still on the floor made him want to do the same.

It was suddenly like he breached the surface of a vast sea. As if his consciousness had been smothered, and now he was awake.

Creator… forgive me…

He reached for the knife on his desk.

Do not forget your purpose, Nasaizh said. He didn’t use words, rather fragmented images, some Maxim’s own, others unfamiliar and unearthly, but all immediately intuitive and legible. Remember your daughters.

Maxim’s head jerked. His fingers curled, arms going stiff. It was as if someone was pulling strings from the inside of his body, forcing his movements.

He remembered them. Their faces. Their laughs.

Lessie. Mara.

“I have to do this,” he said. “Without them, why do I live?”

You can bring them back, Nasaizh spoke, images flashing. They will be with you forever. All you need to do is destroy the Heroes of Goldbrand and use their smoldering corpses as a beacon to call out to Mother. Only she has the power to restore true life. Even your crooked form can be mended.

Maxim nodded slowly.

“Yes. As you say.”

He was plunged back into that bottomless sea, and his mind lost its edge.

A smile crept across his face.

Everything was progressing smoothly.

END OF 'DARK TIDINGS' ARC