7
the Dark Man
What an exhausting day.
Once Raven finished her tea, she began making her way upstairs. The Lord knew she needed a great rest. Tomorrow she wasn’t quite sure what she would do. Perhaps she would head into town and see if there was anything she could add to her arsenal. She might even meet up with Heather again, just for some company, or to celebrate.
For now, however, she dragged herself up the wooden steps, keeping her hand on the railing in case she blacked out again. She focused her eyes on her feet, and when she followed the stairs’ right turn to the second floor, she was shocked to see a second pair resting over the penultimate step. Grey socks. They almost frightened Raven, but when she looked up, she saw Mira, sitting over the top step with a green-skinned book on her lap. Next to her lay a heap of pages, an ink well, and a quill.
“What are you…?” said Raven.
“Can’t sleep,” Mira said. Then, looking down, she added, “Besides, I’ve been putting off my homework. I thought I’d do it now.”
Raven smiled, stepped up, and sat next to her.
“You need a bath,” Mira said.
“I know,” said Raven, chuckling. “But I got something for you.”
All that wide-eyed surprise graced Mira’s face now. Surprises were always a good thing, the little girl liked to say. Often it meant she was due candy, or something at least very sweet, but Mira looked all too confused when Raven pulled out the dark-blue vial instead of a bar of chocolate or a tootsie delight—those were her favourite.
The little white-haired girl took it from Raven’s hand and scanned it, eyeing the interior closely, shaking it, watching the blue liquid slosh around. “What is it?” she asked curiously.
“The answer to the Dark Man,” said Raven.
At first it looked as if Mira didn’t understand, but after a moment her eyes widened again, and her lips crept into a grin. This was exactly the reaction Raven had anticipated, which made it all the more satisfying.
“You mean…” she started but waited for Raven to finish.
“No more nightmares.” Raven nodded. “Well, at least from what the doctor tells me.”
“Dr. Dewphial?” Mira grinned more and revealed the adorable gap between her two large front teeth. “The lady who gave me the gumball?”
Raven had forgotten about that. On their last visit, Lyrielle didn’t have the solution to her ailment, but she did have plenty of chewing gum. She said it might keep her mind at ease for the time being while she came up with something. That was months ago. Mira had a good memory when it came to names and faces.
“That’s the one,” said Raven. “And she even named this cure after you. ‘Miracle Dreamclear.’ How cool is that?”
Mira moved the green textbook—‘The Book of Creation: Ages 10 – 12’—next to the ink and quill and asked, “How does it work? Do I just… drink it all in one go?”
It occurred to Raven that she hadn’t asked Lyrielle that question either, nor did Lyrielle explain to her the process on how it was to be ingested. She would presume that, because it was a light liquid, it would be safe to drink. If it wasn’t, surely the doctor would have made her aware of that.
She told Mira she was supposed to drink it.
To Raven’s surprise, she didn’t undo the cork right away. Instead, she glared at it with uncertainty. “I’m a little nervous,” Mira said. “Has Dr. Dewphial tested it before?”
She realised that she hadn’t asked that question either. It sparked a prickling worry within her, but only momentarily. Dr. Dewphial wouldn’t have offered the treatment if she wasn’t certain it was safe to consume. If she had used ingredients she had experimented with several times, then that might have strengthened her resolve to think so.
Still, she told Mira, “I’m unsure. But she wouldn’t have offered it to me if you couldn’t drink it.”
“It’s not that. What if it doesn’t help? Am I… stuck like this? With the Dark Man?”
“No,” said Raven sternly, “because one way or the other, the Dark Man will die. Recurring nightmares are temporary. Do you think there’s a reason you’re having these dreams?”
Mira shook her head as though shaking something out of her hair. “You asked me this before,” she said. “Everything’s fine. Really.”
“You’re sure?” Raven said.
“Yes, I promise,” she said with the same face of uncertainty. Before Raven could press any further, Mira added: “I’m just worried about you. That’s all. You and Darian. It’s scary out there, isn’t it?”
It was one of those questions where she herself didn’t quite know how to answer. For any normal undercity witch or wizard, sure. For herself or any other guildmember, no.
Raven smiled at her. “I’ll tell you when you’re older. I’ll still be around then, coming home and playing Brooms with her snowy sister.” She ruffled Mira’s hair. “It’s getting late. I can help you in the morning if need be. You start at ten o’clock on Sundays. We have plenty of time yet.” Then, after a short silence, she said, “You can drink if only if you want to.”
There was no question as to what choice Mira would make. The answer was written in her gap-toothed smile. Mira hugged her, tighter than before. She didn’t need to say a word more. This was enough thanks for Raven. After another moment, she undid the cork on the vial, brought the tip up to her lips, and drank. She showed no reaction, so it mustn’t have tasted all that bad, or all that good.
“What’s it like?” asked Raven.
Mira shrugged. “Nothing. Like water.”
Raven cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting.” She took the now empty vial. “Off to bed then. Speak to you in the morning, okay?”
She and Mira got to their feet. Mira collected all the bits she had left out on the floor up into her arms and took off to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her, though not before wishing Raven good night. Her door was darkly wooded and held a dreamcatcher comprised of purple and turquoise feathers, along with floral patterns which looked like cosmic tapestry. The dim candles shining from the steel sconces along the hallway gave it an otherworldly appearance, like this truly was a portal to another realm. A realm void of the Dark Man, hopefully.
Then Raven sauntered over to her room. It was made of the same material as Mira’s, but it had a picture of what she had imagined to be a dolphin back when she was three years old—the time Raven had drawn it—pegged to a white canvas rather than a dreamcatcher.
She walked inside, being met with mostly darkness, and climbed into her bed. The only form of light came from the blue phosphorescent fungi attached to the cavern’s walls and ceiling streaming through the window. She didn’t bother closing the drapes.
Raven must have fallen asleep within the same minute of flopping down on her bed, because in the morning she remembered nothing of it, and her injured arm felt heavenly refreshed.
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She did, however, remember the discussion she had with her mother, and for a brief time her father, and what Mira had said to her, about needing a bath.
She spent the early morning hours in the bathroom, bathing in soapy water, relaxing. She had expected the water to have some sort of effect on the Muscle Disorifice, but the goo hardened rather than dissipating. Still, when she stepped out and smelled of lavender bubbles, she thought it was best to re-apply the mixture to her wound again. Just to be safe.
She brushed her teeth and dressed herself in something a little more casual today: a brown tunic and dark-green cotton trousers. She didn’t plan on going on any wild adventures; she might contact Nautilus later in want of updates to their financial situation; she might talk to Heather.
Her mind was a little bit clearer now but still she wasn’t sure.
Primarily, she wondered about Mira. Had the potion worked? She couldn’t wait to find out.
Raven crept up to Mira’s door, twisted the handle, and nudged it open. She peeked inside, around her room strewn with books and teddies and colourful paintings, and there, on the flower-pattern mattress, was Mira tucked in under a blanket, sound asleep.
If she was having nightmares, they must have been very light, because she wasn’t tossing and turning. She hadn’t screamed bloody murder in the middle of the night and begged to spend the rest of it in Mother and Father’s bed. She hadn’t paced her room or spent hours reading with the hope of avoiding sleep. The Dark Man.
No. Raven could tell that the doctor’s potion was a success without even having to talk to Mira. How joyous that had made her feel.
With that, she made her way downstairs, already smelling the breakfast her mother had been cooking. She thought Alfred would be sitting at the table with a plateful ready to go, but it turned out he had planned to take Angel out for a carrier ride much earlier than they’d anticipated. He had left the house at seven o’clock in the morning to collect goods from the delivery cattle outside Litch Mountain. Just him and his staff. His designated delivery service didn’t like to loiter too close, what with the forest animals and all, choosing to spend their time in friendly neighbouring towns where it was safest.
They couldn’t invite them into the Litch for obvious reasons: an aura-blind discovering their whereabouts could bring enormous consequences. Dangerous consequences. Deadly consequences.
But Father also arranged for early deliveries so Darian could use Angel later. He was quite surprised that he hadn’t gotten the poor girl killed, and even more surprised that he wasn’t using any of his hard-earned coin to purchase a horse of his own.
Aside from throwing coin on alcohol, Darian was a saver. He wanted to save up for a house of his own, one costly and large and oh-so-close to the Litch Tower, where the highest of wizards and witches resided. As a result, buying his own horse, which could cost anywhere from five to fifteen thousand gold, was a difficult decision for him to make. Plus, Angel was a high-grade horse, both for her sentimental value, having known her for the past six years, and for her superior strength on the battlefield.
Raven believed Darian’s dream of owning an expensive lot was just another one of his arrogant fantasies, but his hauls had become more frequent over the past few weeks, greatening in yield, too. The Enchanted Syndicate somehow managed to find the best and most profitable campaigns, and that was perhaps because they had eyes and ears across the seven kingdoms.
I wish to work for them, too. It isn’t fair.
Many things weren’t fair. That was how life operated. So, she got on with it.
Later, as Raven dug into her eggs, hashbrowns, bacon, and onion rings, Mira came downstairs. She didn’t just drag herself down this time; she hurriedly descended, with an energy almost unforeseen. Sure enough, the moonlocked shadows under her eyes had vanished, as if she had applied an instant skin-cleanser, and spread across her lips was an adorable, white-toothed smile.
A sense of relief washed through Raven. She had been ninety-eight per cent certain it would work, but the one per cent of it not working had weighed on her, along with the remaining one per cent that an awful side effect would present itself. Something much worse than the Dark Man. Something life-threatening.
Mira had no issue eating her breakfast on this morning.
After Raven took Mira to school, she contacted Heather with her bracelet stone, asking to meet her at Something Sandy, a pub on the richer side of the city. Just for a celebration of yesterday’s events, and as a thank-you for all Heather’s help. Raven said the tab would be on her.
How could she say no to free drinks?
They met up at the bar half of an hour later. It was a long walk from the residential side of town, considering this place was situated near the entry gate, near the Eyes of Hope. Raven had decided to swap into a neat white shirt and a leather corset, spraying herself several times over with a jasmine-gardenia bouquet, which projected strongly even against the alcohol- and smoke-filled air of the bar’s interior.
Men and women clothed in waistcoats, dresses, spider-silk kirtles, and berrosk-leathered jackets smothered the room with a din of bountiful conversation. The candle-socket chandeliers didn’t hang from the ceiling but were instead held aloft in the air by an invisible magic, their movements hovering yet casting the wooden floorboard, tables, dividers, and bannisters in an orange-yellow hue.
The fungal lights outside could not seep in; all the windows were covered in darkly tinted, impenetrable glass. It added a cosiness one might find reminiscent of a hut in a forest.
Raven opted for a deliberately fiery brew, the blood-vendor’s swill, which despite the name, comprised nothing of blood. It was a rich, red wine passioned with freshly crushed high-mountain berries. A sweet, juicy taste. She sipped it. “When do you think Nautilus will have the rest of our pouches?”
Heather, keeping her hood up and swirling her whiskey about the hexagonal glass, said, “If not by the next few days, then we’re better off taking it for ourselves.”
“Have you asked for any updates since yesterday?”
Heather leaned back with a twinkle in her eye. “No. I didn’t bother contacting him. I think I might have been too harsh at the time.”
Raven shook her once. “I understood where you were coming from. He’s only a fledgling guild leader himself. I think he would have been better off in the trading business, and that alone.”
“Let’s hope all those years he built up convincing people to buy into his bullshit can help him strike a deal on the Meedan’s Gemstone.”
“I’m still unaware of what that stone does,” said Raven.
“Let’s hope mind-control.” Heather chuckled.
Raven snorted. “If it were mind control…. Well, my stone is a form of mind-control, too.” She pulled her necklace up from under her shirt, showcasing its dimly pulsing pink glow. “Although I’m not sure how much longer it will last.”
“Psychological gems don’t last that long,” said Heather. “A couple months, and then you’ll need a new one. Legendary stones, on the other hand: they can last for years, perhaps decades depending on how they’re used.”
“That’s fair and all, but that doesn’t explain what the Meedan’s Gemstone does.” Raven took another sip, swirled the liquid around her mouth, and swallowed.
Heather cleared her throat. The whiskey must have hit her right at the back. “Excuse me…. I’m unsure. I figure Nautilus might be testing it soon. Think we should ask him?”
“I think we should,” Raven said. “What was it Lyrielle said? Be curious? Think that fits the bill. And speaking of bills….” Raven left a coin on the table and the bartender, a bulky man with an even bulkier moustache and bald head, swiped it. “Another blood-vendor, please.”
Heather said, “You’re really celebrating, aren’t you?”
Raven cocked an eyebrow at her. “As I should,” she said slowly, and smirked. “Are you not concerned about what Braum said? About these new laws?”
“Why should we be? We got past the guards, didn’t we?”
Raven considered that. “They still might find it suspicious, you know: the value the undercity is pulling in compared to the council itself. I don’t know. I hope they don’t start searching our houses and stripping us down to the bone. I also don’t like the idea of trouble with the council. With the aura-blind, it’s different. We can defeat them. The council are too powerful.”
“Skilled with dangerous stones,” Heather said. “I agree. I just wouldn’t worry too much about it for the moment. As I say, we should be concerned with our pay. Everything else shall come later.”
Suddenly, the chairs next to Raven and Heather slid out, and a pair of wealthy-looking men sat next to them. The man next to Raven was neither skinny nor muscular, but a black-and-blue eyepatch gave him a slightly dark appearance. He smelt of musky smoke. The man next to Heather was much larger, though not with muscle—with fat. His face was long and hung down like a wilting sunflower.
Raven couldn’t help but be perplexed. Then it dawned on her—they were probably trying to flirt.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you ladies around here before,” the man next to Raven said. He placed his nearly empty glass still frothing with beer on the table. “Pointed wing for the ladies, Garrow?” he told the bartender. “On me, of course.”
Raven dismissed the order with a wave and a shake of her head. “No, no. None of that. I’ve already ordered.”
“Well alright then,” said the man, surprisingly okay with the response. “Cancel that.”
“Besides,” said Heather, “pointed wings are too sweet, even for a woman’s tongue.”
Then the fat man spoke: “I couldn’t help but overhear you two.”
Raven turned her attention to his blubbery face. “About what exactly?”
“About a legendary stone you have for sale,” he said. “Keyword being legendary. That true?”
Raven was taken aback. And here she was thinking she was being flirted with. “Who’s asking?”
The fat man said, “Look behind you and you’ll find out.”
With that, both Raven and Heather turned. She had expected to see an even larger and more imposing man standing behind them—she wasn’t sure why (it was just an instinct, she supposed)—but instead saw a man dressed in a purple, red, and yellow waistcoat sitting under a wooden canopy on the other side of the bar, staring at them with a glass of red whiskey in hand. He had the sort of look in his gimlet eyes that said he meant business. He looked to be somewhere in his early thirties, and Raven could tell there were no youth potions at play here. This was a young man with clear skin, although like most men on this side of the city, he had a gentlemen’s moustache which curved upwards in bushy crooks.
“Malachi wants to talk to you,” the man next to Raven said.
“Or more specifically,” added the fat man, “to your boss.”