4
times have changed
Dark clouds rolled over the forest and the rain was now pouring down. Heavy drops drummed on the tarp of the carriage as it rumbled along the bumpy forest road and eventually hitched to a stop. It wasn’t long before Heather climbed on board. She had been hiding here for the past hour and a half, observing the gravelways leading into Bogdonrail. She was a scout, a deterrent if need be, with a long-range spellcast that could keep unwanted guests at bay. Had she not brought the oxen from the previous carriage to a stop, the kingsmen might have made it to the scene of the crime before Vox and Raven took off.
Her boots made dull clacking sounds when she leapt over the wagon bed and approached Raven on the other side. The rhythmic thuds of her steps matched the beat of the rain as it splattered against her hooded cloak.
Vox whipped the oxen and seconds later the carriage was moving again. Heather shifted her weight onto one leg and found her balance. She pointed at the box lying neatly to the side.
“This it?”
Raven, who hadn’t so much as leaned forward since she sat down—any sudden movement caused pain to present itself in new and concerning ways—gave a thumbs up with her strong hand. “I hope so.”
Heather knelt next to the box and pulled her hood down, revealing sleek crimson hair coiffed into a dense, rounded bob. She only looked at her for a moment, and that was all it took for Raven to make out the lack of concern in her eyes. The eyes that were here for business and nothing more. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing an apothecary can’t fix,” Raven said, her voice showing no weakness.
“I’ll say.” Heather undid the hasps of the chest and opened it. The corner of her lips curled upwards into the early signs of a wry smile. “I hope what Nautilus said was true. You know, about the gold.”
“If it’s not then I’d rather take my chances with the unguilded,” said Raven.
“With them? Seriously?” Heather closed the box. Now she was looking at Raven with utmost curiosity.
“Nautilus has been… well… not the most profitable,” Raven said. “At least, not as profitable as I once thought.”
Heather hummed in agreement. She stood and made her way over, taking a seat on the heap of boxes. She reached into her pocket and pulled out something small. Raven thought it was a simple compact mirror but was pleasantly surprised when she popped it open to reveal a tiny, still-ticking clock and a picture of a man and woman holding a baby.
Raven was about to ask who the people in the picture were but stopped herself once she realised that she already knew the answer. Those were her parents, Michealangelo and Seraphine Fairburn, and the baby was Heather at only a little under six months.
Heather had told stories of how her parents were murdered by the aura-blind, by the second kingdom to the far northern border, during a ship heist in which the cargo hold was loaded with a great deal of gems, gold, and aura-infused material that it would be a shame to leave it in the wrong hands. The aura-blind wouldn’t make use of them, and instead would merely sell them off in a black market to some less-than-agreeable wizards who looked to enhance their artillery in the hopes that perhaps one day they might take over a kingdom. The chances of that, thought Raven. Why, you were more likely to end up as a member of royalty in a king’s castle altogether. And as a person with no social holding, to add.
Heather didn’t speak much of her parents since then. She didn’t speak much of her family at all because, well, she was a sole orphan, and both her parents were unsiblinged too, meaning she didn’t have any close cousins, uncles, aunts, or just about anyone with whom she could share a platonic bond.
To put it harshly, her whole family was dead. To put it even more harshly, the aura-blind were to blame. They were the reason witches and wizards had to steal shiploads to begin with. Had everyone learned to live together then maybe none of this would have happened, but that was the thing about living with regular humans: they were greedy, selfish… afraid.
That’s what separates us: fear. And a great deal of gold.
“How many did you kill?” asked Heather.
“A whole lot more than I expected,” Raven told her. She and her had agreed that it was best not to kill anyone during the heists, and most of the time that was possible—normally wizards and witches stole from commonfolk—but guards were a recipe for destruction. After all, it was their job to protect the goods with whatever force they held at their disposal, which over the years, seemed to become more and more reliant on enchantments. That certainly didn’t make things any easier. Raven’s wound was proof of that.
But Heather nodded, knowing this already. She grabbed the old and wrinkly waterskin at her side, popped the lid open, and waved it suggestively in Raven’s face.
On any normal day, she would have rejected the offer to drink from someone else’s waterskin, but having run out of her own supply on the trip through the forest—and deciding that she could do without thirst for the time being—she took it from Heather’s thickly gloved hand and poured the water into her mouth without lipping the bore.
It was a lot of bother for a drink, yes, but she couldn’t afford to bring home any unwanted germs. Well, she could, but would prefer not to. Who knew what one might pick up out here?
Raven made sure not to drink too much—she wasn’t that greedy—and thanked Heather for the help. It wasn’t like her to be that considerate, especially since they were both relatively new hunters, thieves if you will, and didn’t know each other all that well. Even so, she struck Raven as… nice. Compared to what she experienced in the Arcane Basin, hell, she was a downright saint. It was a dog-eat-dog world out there and every guild for themselves. Maybe that was why Heather was so considerate: she had to be, just like she had to follow Nautilus’ orders blindly in the hope that he might one day cough up enough gold to help her start a guild of her own.
Raven liked that idea, too. Starting a guild of her own. One that could give the Enchantment Syndicate a run for their money. How she would love to see the look on her brother’s face if she came home with not a pouch of gold but a whole rucksack, and perhaps a wagonful, like the king’s freight carriages.
She looked around at all the other wooden crates of goods. She realised that she had been so fixated with the gemstone that she neglected everything else the king was transporting. While Nautilus had given her strict instructions to keep the Meedan’s Gemstone secure, he said nothing about everything else. Still, she was loyal. She wouldn’t dare steal from her boss, especially with Heather watching over her shoulder like a hawk, not that she would probably care.
As if reading her mind, Heather grabbed one of the wooden boxes and popped it open. She reached inside and pulled out a large, cone-shaped metal piece adorned with golden fixtures, glass tubes, and a red, diamond-patterned exterior. It looked like your everyday knickknack, a gewgaw of sorts. Raven knew King Abundus loved expensive items even if they didn’t provide much purpose in the long run. He was a collector according to Nautilus, so it made sense that he would want gemstones he couldn’t use, weapons he had no intention of wielding, armour he couldn’t fit, and, yes, these small ornamental pieces. But then Heather turned the cone-shaped gewgaw around, revealing a small circle emblazoned with the face of the king’s dragon. They wondered what it could have possibly been, and pensively, Heather pushed it. It gave way stiffly, but nothing happened. She pushed it again, holding it down longer, and this time, with the slow methodical churn of small, internal cogs, the golden fixtures pivoted, and the glass tubes began to glow.
Raven’s eyes lit up, and for a moment she forgot all about her pain. “What is it?”
“I’m not…” Heather raised an eyebrow, as if thinking of an answer. “… sure….”
“It seems to have an aura of sorts,” Raven said thoughtfully. “But it’s hard to tell. My senses aren’t as strong.”
They both stared at the slowly rotating object, dumbfounded. Then Raven gently took it from Heather’s hand; she felt very fragile, as if she might break. She brought the object closer to her face, hoping her senses would sharpen, and sure enough, a round albeit faded aura emerged from the centre, flickering like a dying flame. She pressed the button. The cogs stopped spinning and the blue glow dissipated, but the aura: it stayed.
It seemed, at least to Raven, the king had new interests. Did he know this object was enchanted? Why would it be? What could it possibly be used for?
She neglected to think that the king’s intentions were simply beyond her comprehension, or interest. Surely Nautilus would have mentioned these trinkets if they were something worth noting, or perhaps he decided not to mention them at all so that he could sell them off without giving his guild a piece of the pot. Sure, he promised to share the gold after selling the Meedan’s Gemstone to another guild for a hefty price, but that was all. No trinkets, weapons, whatever else the carriage held.
Thinking of that sparked a strange wistfulness within Raven. She decided to put up with the pain, pull out the jackknife from the side compartment of her boot, and stand up fully. Heather tried to make her sit down but she shook her head, curious about what else this travelling vessel held within its mist.
She slid the jackknife out of itself and started cutting through the thick pieces of rope that held the crate stacks against one another. It was difficult—impossible even—and Heather stepped forward to take the knife from her. At first Raven thought she was going to tell her to sit down again, but surprisingly she cut through the rope for her, mentioning that they’d have to do this eventually once they got to Litch Mountain.
The rope snapped in two and for a moment things looked as though they were about to fall over, what with the bumpy road and all, but Heather kept the top of the stack pressed down with a single palm. Once the road smoothened, Heather picked up the top crate and placed it on the floor next to Raven. She did the same with another, and another, and another, until eventually the floor was covered with all sorts of wondrous treasures ready to be unboxed.
As she moved onto the next stack, Raven began opening them one by one, hoping to find something worth cashing in at a local vendor. There were fine pieces of jewellery, silver bars, potion bottles, leather straps, all types of valuables. It was a fairly standard haul, but one thing—or group of things, more precisely—caught her attention: a small box, much smaller than the box it was contained within, full of pill-shaped metals. Titanium, or perhaps aluminium, or maybe even stainless steel. She wasn’t quite sure, and neither was she sure of what they were supposed to be used for.
Raven brought these to Heather’s attention, shutting the box tight and giving it a good shake, before tossing it across the wagon into the young scout’s hands.
She gave a look herself, and it was clear from the puzzled expression on her face that she had no idea either. This wagon was just full of surprises.
“They look like pellets.” Heather lifted one of the mysterious tiny bits in the air, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a vial of alchemised nectar. “But what for? Must they explode?”
It was no use asking Raven; she knew as much about this as a child did about carpentry. She figured if they did have a purpose, it probably wasn’t anything important, not like the rest of the boxes, which were jampacked with value. The question remained, though: should she take some for herself and sell it off to a vendor, or give it all to Nautilus with the hope that she’ll be compensated accordingly?
She thought about it for some time as the wagon continued to rumble out of the forestlands and up the hills of the Willowing Slopes, eventually deciding that it was in her best interest to play it honestly. Even if she wanted to steal from Nautilus, there was always a chance that Heather might not want to go along with it, meaning she would possibly turn Raven in. Trust, Raven supposed, was what held guilds together. Not power—although that was still a part of it. What was the point of putting people together if they didn’t have anything to offer, after all?
Later, when they’d stripped the carriage down to the most meaningless of pieces and stuffed all the goods back into their respective boxes—nice and neat—Raven made her way over to the back of the carriage, brushed the tarp aside, and looked out at the enormous spread of trees, wooden huts, and animals that scurried along the dense foliage. She had seen this view many times before. It was where Darian once snuck out as a delinquent child, only to be attacked by a large berrosk, all big, muscular, and hairy. The scar remained strong beneath his eye even after all these years. Those monsters were no joke. She had never gotten the chance to experience one up close and personal herself, and perhaps that was a good thing, because while they were indeed quite rare, they were said to be some of the most deceptive and dangerous beasts of all the forest lands. Perhaps they were in hibernation. Perhaps not. It made no difference to her so long as she stayed away from those places.
Before this, Raven thought the oxen pulling the carriage might have struggled to make it up these steep hills—horses and cattle most certainly would—but then she remembered that oxen were just as strong as history made them out to be. Even stronger. There was well over five tonnes of gold and steel on this wagon.
Still, she couldn’t help but worry about the idea of the oxen growing thirsty, weak, and the carriage slipping to an avoidable doom. It was such a far fall; there would be no time to react. Unless of course they had a stiffening spell, something to keep the wheels locked and the oxen out of harm’s way, but as far as she was aware none of them had that sort of power. If they did, they wouldn’t be stuck doing such simplistic jobs most of the time.
A great, looming shadow eventually swallowed her view. They were entering the cave of Litch Mountain. Well, not quite the cave, not yet anyway.
Vox brought the carriage to a stop, and this time the oxen were gasping for real. What creature wouldn’t be after carrying all that weight up a steep hill?
Soon, the sound of heavy earth pulling apart echoed across the dimly lit cavern, and a dividing line of white light began to widen towards the entrance. Slowly, steadily, but not inconspicuously. It was the barrier, the walls. Many witches and wizards used to believe that keeping the city hidden behind a spellbound doorway was foolish. Why, any travelling fellow, be it a member of the seven kingdoms, a scavenger, or a travelling vagrant, could always just stumble inside and reveal the city to thousands aboveground, bringing armies down upon their society with a magic of their own. But that never happened—not yet anyway. You needed to cast the correct spell to get the stone walls to open, and no mortal was capable of that, thank the Lord.
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But that wasn’t to say that a wizard or witch with the poorest of intentions couldn’t infiltrate the Litch, leaving them none the wiser. There were security procedures in place, of course, but they weren’t particularly difficult to get around. All you needed was a convincing story. That and perhaps a pouchful of coin.
The carriage jerked to a start again, and the oxen struggled the last few paces into the city, where the darkness from the entry cavern faded, and the soft blue glow from the ceiling fungi sept into the wagon tarp.
It didn’t take much longer for Vox to bring the wagon to a stop. Raven heard voices, orotund and raspy, coming from outside. Among them was a thick Northern accent that belonged to the mountains, the volcanoes if she remembered correctly, and who else could it have been other than—
“Braum,” said Vox, once again with nothingness in his tone.
“Well, this is a haul if erve ever seen one,” he said, and the other men laughed along with him.
Heather undid the wooden tailgate by releasing the hasps at either side, causing it to slide down evenly. At the same time, Raven grabbed the box with the Meedan’s Gemstone inside, opened it, and stashed it in her boot compartment. God knew that bastard would end up taking it for himself; he might not even give it to the state as he was supposed to. Part of being a member of security for the Litch was making sure expenses were taxed from hunters, or just about anyone who dared come inside.
Of course, if he saw a gemstone worth more than his entire artillery, he would waste no time making his decision about what should be taxed.
Heather approached Raven in a breathless rush. “Did you hide it?” she whispered.
A heavy fist struck the side of the carriage as Braum ambered around the back, one ground-chomping footstep at a time. “Anyone back there?”
“Just us.” Heather flicked the jackknife blade away, spun it, and sheathed it in a holster three times too big; it was meant for daggers, but she had broken hers a fair while ago when playing pinfinger. So she said. Nevertheless, she returned Raven’s nod and turned to make her way off the back of the carriage, but then he came, finishing his stride with two thunderous stomps landing him dead-centre of the open tailgate. Despite the wagon’s enormous width, Braum Stonefist, The Right Arm of Litch Arcanum, left little to no room to squeeze past. You didn’t have to strip him of his belt-bound leather pauldrons, black boots, or heavy chainmail tunic to realize that Braum was muscular. Standing at least eight feet tall, his broad shoulders and barrel-shaped arms seemed almost sculpted from solid stone.
His face, worn from scars he had endured on countless missions, ones where he claimed to kill monsters with his bare fists, possessed a grin of irregular yellowing teeth, and stuck between them was a tobacco-leaf cigar. His eyes bore ghostly whites all around the irises, and they were aimed rightly at Raven and Heather, as if they had missed a step in their plan and he had been on to them with due regard.
In his hand was a great, big rucksack ready to be filled. He blew a ring of foul-smelling smoke and cleared his throat deeply. “Afternoon, ladies.”
Raven coughed. “Afternoon, Braum….”
“Got anything good for me then?” Before they had a chance to answer, the gigantic man put his right leg forward, causing the chains around his quad to almost burst free. He grabbed the side of the wagon and lifted himself on board. The floorboard strained under his mud-covered boots. “’S’pose there’s no point askin’, is der? Seem to have pulled in somethin’ quite heavy, says they.”
Raven took a step forward, intending to step off while Braum went to work, but a bolt of pain shot through her shoulder again, and this time she winced. Braum, with his hammerfists resting at his hips, raised an eyebrow and pointed at her wound. “That der. I thought I smelled burn. What happened?”
Raven saw no reason to lie. She backed up. “An archer.”
“How many?”
“Why does that matter?”
He took the cigar out of his mouth, held it between his index and middle finger, and knelt until eye-level with Raven. He breathed a wisp of dark smoke into her face, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but cough into her scarf. Part of her wanted to touch his arm, casting Infatuate, and then convince him to let them into the city without giving up so much as a single piece of copper, but his armour glowed with the purple spell-protection aura of the council; you would need something far, far stronger to break past that.
To make things worse, Braum was no fool, despite what some people liked to think.
“Takin’ on more than one means you got a strong stone,” he said, and biffed his chest plate twice. The purple aura around his body segued into a light grey colour which grew darker on his chest. Raven could see it: the outline of an octagonal stone hanging by a chain necklace which fell a little over his pectorals. “You got a strong stone…. What’s your name again?”
“Raven.”
He smirked. “Well, Raven, do ya?”
Raven’s skin prickled with the realisation that something intangible had changed. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but she didn’t think this was quite the questioning Braum adhered to. She swallowed, but before she could respond, Heather jumped in.
“Can you just strip the place already?” she said, and Braum turned to face her. “Even if she wielded a stone from the Great Gods Themselves, you wouldn’t be allowed to it. It is Litch law. Our stones are ours to keep.”
“Calm down.” He chuckled and stood up. “Let’s get somethin’ straight here. You’re allowed keep your stone.” Braum quickly grabbed Raven’s scarf and tore it off, revealing the ashwound.
Raven went to grab the scarf—“What are you doing!”—but winced again. She had instinctively reached for it with her injured arm.
“Calm it,” he said, louder this time. Then with a chuckle, he added, “Youse women always put up a big fight, don’tcha?” He tossed the scarf at her feet and Raven quickly picked it up. “An arrow. Guess you were tellin’ the truth, weren’tcha? Seems to have a bitta fire in it, too, eh?”
“You can’t—” began Raven, placing the scarf around her shoulder but not tying it; she was too weak for that.
“I said calm down. I asked ye a simple question and youse two wanted a fight. Now outside. Inspection time.”
“Inspection?” Heather took Raven’s scarf and began tying it around her wound again.
“Didn’t hear me?” He let out a single deep laugh—right from the chest. “I thought you knew all about our laws, egghead. Not this one ’pparently. The state found out some of ye sneaky witches have been smugglin’ all sorts of things you don’t wanney hand over. So, they brought in a new law. All who wish to step inside will be inspected, and if you’re found trying to smuggle, you’ll lose your stone. How’s that sound? No stone to register with the state. Oh, wouldn’t that be bads for ye?”
Raven’s heart raced. This was bad, really bad. Once she stepped outside and the other guards frisked her top to bottom…. They wouldn’t, would they? The state never mentioned this to anyone. Did Braum make this law up himself?
She didn’t have much time to think of an answer, because once Heather finished tying the scarf, Braum’s guards hurried onboard and shoved them out. There wasn’t even time to come up with a plan. There wasn’t time to do anything. They had made a huge mistake.
The other guards were protected by the state’s magic, too, so any chance of infatuating her way out of this was completely defenestrated.
Shit.
When they escorted them to the city front, Raven caught glimpse of the towering city gate upon which the face of a sharply pointed, crown-wearing skull lay engrained among the metal bars and stone edifices. It bore a pair of radiant emerald eyes, gleaming with an inner fire that flickered in tandem with the rhythm of a heart that seemed all too alive. The Eyes of Hope: they reminded people that, although they had lost the surface, witches and wizards were prospering greater than ever.
Raven neglected to think so. There was nothing prosperous about this.
Flanking the Eyes of Hope were two gargantuan statues of Selendra Mindscape and Thaumandros Chronowarden, carved from a dark, glistening stone and imbued with an air of inscrutable wisdom. In their stony grips resided staffs, and at the top of them were the legendary stones they had used to build this society, this city of hope.
As if caught in midnight, the ground subtly pulsed with a blue hue, casting shadows upon the entrance, the marvellous chunks of fleshy fungal membrane and flora of nearly every breed, and an oakwood canopy, underneath which an extensive table shone with parted gleams. The guards pushed Raven against it, causing her to curse and wince again. Vaguely, she saw what had been causing the little winks of light: swords and wands and gold bars and expensive spider-silk clothing. This was tax. What else could it have been?
She didn’t notice it right away, but Vox had been standing under the shadows of the canopy, too, his arms outstretched as another guard ran his hands along his ebony apparel. He stood much taller than the others—with of course the exception of Braum Stonefist—but even so he refused to put up a fight. He was cold, having nothing to hide.
“Vox,” Raven began slowly.
He shushed her. “I know. It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay—they couldn’t do this to them. After all they had been through, after they finally got a chance to make some gold… after she finally had something she could use to prove her brother wrong, it would all be taken away from her. Gone, just like that? Along with her stone. She would have to join the ranks of the unemployed if they took that. Why didn’t Nautilus tell them about this new law? She had so many questions.
“This is unjust,” Heather yelled, and the guards shoved her up against the wooden table, too. She sneered back at them. “What list of laws did you conjure this one up from, Braum?” she shouted.
Raven was doubtful he would hear her—he was likely indulging himself in all the goodies that rested onboard—but to her surprise he shouted back:
“Take it up with the council, why don’tcha?”
Before she could say anything else—before any of them could—the guards began frisking them, starting with the upper body.
“Spread your arms!” one said.
Raven complied, her heart thumping and her skin rashing out with gooseflesh. Well, she tried. The right arm went up without an issue, but the left….
“I said up!” The man grabbed her wounded arm and straightened it.
Raven screamed. It was as if she had been struck with a lacerating whip a thousand times over, her scapula damn nearly falling off. Tears welled up in her eyes as she gasped in desperation. “You bastard!”
“She’s hurt, asshole,” Heather shouted, and a guard elbowed her nape. She fell over the table and was jerked back forcefully.
“And you will be too if you don’t shut your trap!”
Then the third guard, the one who had searched all seven feet of Vox, turned to the others and said, “He’s clean. Nothing to be found, except an ol‘ packet of amber leaf.” He shook the box of cigarettes and they rattled loosely with one or two inside.
“What about the mask?” said the quieter of the three.
Vox looked down at the little man. He calmly took the box of cigarettes. “What about that mask?” Almost instinctively, Raven saw the dark purple aura of his gemstone begin to glow, casting magical smoke all around him. Of course, these men couldn’t see it; they were blessed. That was perhaps why they decided to be corrupt guardsmen instead.
“Leave it,” said another. “A mask that ugly must be hidin’ somethin’ even uglier. Move along.”
Vox took a step forward and the guard who had frisked him moved aside, but then, as he went to take a cigarette out from the package, he dropped it next to Raven’s right foot. Slowly, he used his large and imposing frame to push the guard away, got down on one knee, and went to pick up the cigarette box.
At the same time, a loud, crunching thump came from behind, as if something heavy had fallen onto the ground, and a voice soon followed:
“’Ere,” Braum called. “Look what I found!” He laughed, and all turned towards him—all but Vox, who snuck his hand into Raven’s boot compartment and pulled out the Meedan’s Gemstone. All of a sudden it was like a heavy weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and her heart eased a tad. There was still the worry that it could be sniffed out, after all.
Raven turned her attention from Vox to Braum, who held something small in the air. At least, Raven thought it was small, but she quickly realised that that was just an effect of being such a large man, because he held the cone-shaped device from earlier, though it was completely lifeless. She thought he probably broke it, but then he used his pinkie finger to push the button. Just like before, the tubes began to glow blue, and the sound of the rotating cogs rang out.
“What is it?” a guard asked.
“I’ll tell ya what it is.” Braum tossed his cigar on the ground, crushed it with his boot, and marched to a thicket of fungal growth on a wall of mossy rock, beneath the steep decline from which Vox had geared the wagon. He raised the cone-shaped device, pressed the button with the tip of his fingernail, and held it. Soon, an electric charge began to build at the tip, and the aura within shone luridly.
Quickly, he whipped the device in the direction of the fungi and an enormous scourge of blue light—perhaps electricity, perhaps magic—struck the mushroom stems, exploding them in an eruption of spores and fragmented tissue. The once luminescent caps shrivelled in blue fire, their soft glows flickering and dying like extinguished candles. The scorched remains sizzled and popped, discharging a sickly-sweet aroma of burnt rubber and wildflower breeze. The thick stalks fell off as nothing but blackened logs, brittle and hollow, and the flame continued to burn.
Raven had seen nothing of the sort. It was a magical weapon, but only at the push of a button. Was there a stone inside? It must have been a particularly dark sort of magic if so, one even a gifted auraness couldn’t detect.
Braum let out another bellowing laugh, this time right from the belly. “I heard they ’er’ makin’ weapons down south!” He pressed the button without holding it this time and the device switched off. “These widdle witches are after pullin’ in a whole lot of stuff, but this, this could come in handy.”
Raven understood now. At least, she thought she did. This device was manufactured from another kingdom and transported to Abundoria. It wasn’t merely a trinket, a gewgaw; it was, like Braum said, a weapon. Not, however, a weapon she had ever seen before. It was frankly… mystical for something created by regular humans.
She thought he would toss it in the rucksack along with all the other goodies he seemingly taxed, but he didn’t. Instead, he placed it in his tunic pocket, tied the drawstrings of the rucksack together, and walked over to Vox, who at this point had already climbed into the driver seat of the carriage, ready to go.
The guard behind Raven continued the body-search, checking her sleeves, her jacket, her pockets, and indeed her boot compartments—Raven couldn’t thank Vox enough. Despite that, she kept an eye on Braum, worried that he would sniff out the gemstone with that bulky, intrusive snout of his. Eventually, the guard cleared her, and she stepped aside, waiting with her arms folded.
The guard searching Heather pulled off her waterskin and started drinking it for himself. She tried to stop him, but he shoved her forward and spilled the remaining contents on the ground, saying that it was possible she was keeping something inside of it. Once it was empty, he tossed it on the tax table and continued the search.
Raven’s suspicions about how these men were supposed to carry out their practice rose, but she knew that if she were to ever bring this to a higher power, a corporate general or someone with at least some standing in the tower, she would be written off, ignored, and maybe even punished depending on whom she spoke to. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that this corruption was not just an isolated act of a few individuals, but a systematic issue embedded deeply in the city. It was inevitable, a byproduct of unchecked power and unbridled greed.
“Off that now.” Braum cleared his throat.
“Why?” said Vox.
“You won’t be needing it.” Braum shook the rucksack of goodies. “This here is yers. Carriage and everything else inside is ers. Understood, Blackcat?”
Vox took the rucksack, stepped off the helm, and was a couple seconds away from walking towards the city gate when Braum put a hand on his shoulder and held him in place. Vox turned to face him; it was strange seeing such a tall man look up to meet someone’s eyes.
“I said… understood, Blackcat?” Braum’s tone switched from conversational to cold and menacing. Perhaps ignoring him wasn’t in his best interest.
Vox stared at the titan as though he were a statue at a museum, then raised his free hand—or what Raven believed to have been free—and offered him the cigarette that had earlier fallen on the ground next to her boot. “Smoke?”
Braum’s scowl slowly morphed into a half-grin. The half-grin turned into a chuckle, the chuckle turned into a chortle, and soon he was overcome with a spell of full-throated laughter. He slapped Vox on the shoulder and took the cigarette. At first, he was going to use a matchstick to light it but stopped himself and pulled out the cone-shaped device instead, the lightning whip. “I have an idea.” He placed the cigarette in his mouth, brought the tip of the device up until it barely reached the cigarette head, and tipped in the button with his fingernail. Sure enough, the tubes glowed and the cogs churned, but only just; the tip was a stove fire and the cigarette was smouldering ash. He pressed the button again and whipped the device back and forth as if it were a matchstick that needed some putting out. “Handy, iddn’t it?”
Raven turned her attention to Heather again. The guard had finished frisking her and was now flicking the jackknife in and out of its unit. He planted it on the tax table, went over to the gate lever, and pulled it.
Soon, the gates to the city opened, and the Eyes of Hope parted.
Vox stood in front of Raven, appearing like a ghostly apparition, the rucksack hooked over his right finger.
Raven only smiled. They had done it. They had successfully retrieved the gemstone and were now on the way to earning their keep in a world dominated by competition and greed. As they walked into the city of stone, glass, iron, and obsidian, they were immediately met with the flooding merchants, wizards, and cityfolk. The palm-oil polymer tarps over the kiosks and wooden awnings blew lightly with each drought that managed to slip into the cavern, their stations packed to bursting with customers of every class: rich and poor and those in between. It was a change from parts of the Litch that Raven had grown used to—the less populated and more rural areas—but it was welcome all the same. Not many chose to go much farther beyond these walls, and not for a lack of courage. Some indeed preferred to live happy, peaceful lives where they could raise families and work a normal occupation as a clerk, a member of the state, law, alchemy, or any of the countless possibilities that rested within the city’s confines. All those opportunities, and Raven knew she would fit into none of them. She was meant to be a hunter. This raid was proof of that. No matter what Darian thought.
So, on they journeyed, into the heart of the city, where their bracelet stones would begin to glow, and a voice would ring out:
“You’re back!”
Raven didn’t know whether Nautilus sounded happy or not, only excited and intrigued. Regardless, she concentrated her aura-reading senses on Vox’s jacket pocket, saw the powerful glow of the Meedan’s Gemstone, and had only one thing to say:
“And richer than ever.”