Nahaniel hadn't eaten for a day. He sat on a chair in his room and stared into the empty space before him.
His eyes were bloodshot. Veins popped out around them.
A doll made of flesh and bones. Still, there were signs of life. Slow paced breaths and veins pumping with blood.
With a sudden blink, he came back. His sclera now white as snow.
'They feed on this city, like maggots on a carcass.' He muttered and rubbed his forehead with his right hand.
He whispered to the lifelike darkness in his room, 'Why can't I find him?' But it didn't reply. He felt vexed for some reason.
Cornelia's Memory
Cornelia was one of the two the maids in Blachard's mansion, worked here for ten years.
Boreal fell ill for several months after he saw the torn up body of his grandson. After his own son's sudden death in war, it was too much for him to handle. He had been kind to Cornelia and, she just couldn't leave him like this, bargaining with death.
'What monstrosity could do that to an orphan boy?' She often wondered.
Young master, as she called him now, suddenly appeared three years ago, on a night of an awful thunderstorm. The date was precisely 7th Nahaniel.
Drenched and reeking of death he stood before her when she opened the door. He didn't force himself in, just stood there quietly.
'Let me in.' He said, with a voice colder than ice. She could remember that night like it happened yesterday.
She wanted to yell at him, but a lingering fear stopped her from doing so.
'Who are you?' She asked calmly
But he didn't have to answer because of a miracle. Cornelia could hear heavy steps on the upper floor. Moments later Boreal came down running.
'Come in!' He shouted while coming down. Cornelia couldn't believe her eyes, the man was bedridden for months.
A costly overcoat hung beside the door. Boreal took it and hurriedly tried to dry the soaking boy.
'Bring a towel!' He screamed. 'Can't you see that he is hungry?! Prepare some food for him!' He spoke like a madman, as though, the boy was his long lost family.
Of course, he looked nothing like his grandson, who was much younger.
Overwhelmed by this situation, she did nothing but follow her master's command.
'I will avenge him.' She could hear the boy whisper into Boreal's ears.
That was the night something foul grasped this house with its evil hands.
Nahaniel started to live on the third floor, nobody had lived there for years. Cornelia was given the task to clean it once a month and look after the boy. Soon she came to know about many of his abnormalities.
When she asked him about his name and past, 'This is my month. You can call me Nahaniel.' He replied with an eerie tone and showed no further interest to reveal anything more about himself.
Something compelled her not to speak about these oddities to outsiders. Maybe she was just too terrified to speak of these things or maybe not.
Birds made out of black and white paper hung from the ceiling. There were rooms, whose walls and floors were tainted by purple ink, ancient symbols and runes that glowed in the dark. She never dared to walk those rooms and halls after the daylight faded. Nahaniel never lit any candles or used the paraffin lamps. How can someone live in such darkness?
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Cornelia walked silently, glancing over the garden. On her hand was a tray, it had a plate of biscuits, a pot full of milk tea and sugar cubes.
He sat there, under the evening sun and cheerfully fed an unkindness of ravens. She never saw someone do that. She didn't even know that ravens flew in flocks or that they could be so friendly. They fluttered here and there, made low croaking noises. Oddly enough, this was the only time she could see him smile, the smile of a normal boy.
A garden full of beautiful flowers and plants and a boy with a raven standing on his shoulder, as though, they were best of friends.
'Why do I have to see these strange things?' She complained to herself.
She put the tray down on the stone bench, beside Nahaniel.
'Why are you so afraid of me?' He asked suddenly.
He rarely spoke to her and his sudden words made her lose balance. She was about to fall on the ground but managed to save herself and breathed a sigh of relief.
'I've seen things.' She said honestly.
'It's not what you've seen, it's what you think about what you saw. Wise people call it perspective. I call it, not minding your own business, as I've told you not to peep into those rooms.' He said as if it didn't bother him.
'I will never tell anyon...' She tried to speak.
'Natives of Ipsom used to sew the mouth of their dead to protect the secrets of the living. Fascinating culture, if you ask me. When the Empire of Oplor expanded to their lands, they didn't feel disgusted by the many genocides they had committed on Ipsom, but by this act.' He said, cutting her off.
Cornelia couldn't understand what he tried to mean by that. She backed up a little when the bird flew away from Nahaniel's shoulder and joined its flock.
'Forgotten rituals, forgotten people. In the darkness, I hear whispers of the death throes of their culture.' He said, looking aimlessly at the disordered flock of ravens. 'A culture that went extinct hundred of years ago.I know of many other secrets. Both archaic and present.'
Cornelia stood silently with a confused face. She hated people who spoke in riddles. Even though they rarely spoke, Nahaniel was at the top of her list.
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'I tried to save him, make him feel better. He is too attached to the world, too bitter and enraged. Thus, his residue will be a lasting mark on it. When Boreal breathes his last, his dwelling will be the subject of a powerful curse. It is better if all of you leave now.'
She gave Nahaniel a stern look, as though, her fear of him had suddenly disappeared.
'Impossible! I'm not leaving him to some deranged boy who dabbles in sorcery!' She screamed with rage.
'I know that you respect him greatly but this is his last wish. You will inherit his wealth, except this house. Speak to him before you go, bid him farewell.'
Anguish. Pain. Anger. A flood of negative emotions contaminated the air. Cornelia always reeked of fear and this was the first time Nahaniel detected something different from her. She was looking down on the ground with tearful eyes.
A droplet fell from hr eyes but stopped abruptly in mid air.
'Women. So complex, yet so naive. She was better than most, saw and heard enough. However, fell for the simplest of traps. A charming young man with a silver tongue. Like most, the story of their love was also short lived.Left with a child and disowned by her family, she wandered the streets for many days. But luck smiled upon her. She and her son, both were saved from an unjust fate because of an altruistic man. Like many others, she too was touched by Boreal's compassion. But she stayed, while others left.
On his deathbed, he grieves for his loved ones. For all of his kindness, what did this world give him?
So it is. The passing of a kind heart, full of woe, will leave behind a curse that will devour many.' The Woman to Nahaniel and he listened to her whispers.
When time was familiar again and Cornelia's tear had touched the ground, Nahaniel saw Cornelia walk away. She didn't want any further explanations. Maybe it was the time to say goodbye to her master.
Nahaniel stood up.
'Find him.' He commanded the ravens and after a slight movement of his hand, they started to fly away.
He looked quietly at the flight of the ravens and with utmost concentration, listened to the fluttering of their wings and their croaks.
The great city of Newton. Attractor of all sorts of people, from all walks of life. Now it was filled with idlers and loungers. Many came in search of success, another chance or just a better life. Surely, living in the largest city in the world was better than rotting away as a country bumpkin.
Cheap hotels, inns, and pubs became the signature mark of the city. It supplied as the people demanded and now their demand was cheap beers, ales, and other alcoholic drinks. That slight punch of intoxication that would make them forget about their not so wonderful life and daily misfortunes.
The nation had been at war for hundreds of years because of their expansionist policies. Everyone was tired of the constant war mongering of the imperial family. Now an interregnum government was in place. During the revolution, the leaders said, 'A government of the people.' and that was enough to cause a devastating revolt. Who doesn't want a whiff of power? Even the illusion that you have a say in anything bigger than your daily chores was convincing enough.
It would seem that the country had a drinking problem and it was most visible in Newton. The city, from where the fire of industry ignited and spread throughout the civilized world. Many blamed industrialism for the alcohol-induced frenzy that the population was witnessing. Like many other basic needs, alcohol had become too affordable, too quickly. Now the drunk nation was counting days to another civil unrest, as the interregnum government wasn't giving back power to the people.
Some did speak of a government conspiracy to keep the people drunk and their mouths shut. But this was a new era. People liked their mysteries, dark secrets, and urban myths.
In Newton, nobody knew how this enormous ecosystem ran. Bureaucrats, businessmen, laborers and the common folk, like perpetually-turning cogs, they ran the city like a machine. No one was privy to its complex inner workings.
So during a rainy night when a man felt the sudden urge of another cool bottle of drink, he didn't think about the drizzling rain, nor the umbrella.
The Divine Cauldron was nearby, a pub that he visited for occasional drinks. He searched vehemently, but to no avail, he couldn't find any coin in his small miserable room, or in his pockets. So he decided to try out his luck today.
The sun's absence gave the city a mystical, secretive character. The empty streets and alleys, roads filled with puddles of rainwater and occasional carriages that stormed past him gave him a sense of serenity, far surpassing that of enjoying the quiet, green sceneries of the countryside.
The pub was filled with people, as expected. Lit up as if something festive was taking place. The old and rustic wooden floorboards creaked with his steps.
Of the many things of interest, he eyed a man and woman upon entering, the man was pouring beer on her face from a modestly sized bottle.
'Drink as much as you want, sweetheart.' He said to her with a vulgar and raspy tone, while his other hand fondled her breasts.
'You'll go broke tonight, hon.' She replied, moving her mouth a bit from the stream of beer, trying to sound suggestive.
He walked up to the bar and pondered on the many potential advantages he could've had if he was born a woman.
'Keep it coming.' He said to the barkeep.
He couldn't remember how many hours had passed and how many glasses of cheap rum he had emptied. It felt enough to him, the drowsiness.
'Don't have any money on me.' He said after his urge for another drink had faded.
The barkeep gave him an irritated look, he had seen this man before. He looked like a decent guy, so he didn't take money from him before serving him.
He was about to tell his cronies to shake him down for the money. Then he noticed something. Two of his fingers were probably broken, mended together with a white cloth. A malevolent thought raced through his mind.
'There's a fight going on downstairs. You can earn some money there if you want.' The barkeep said to the man.
'Why not...' He replied.
The barkeep smirked. A sure win this. The local champion, Goro, had been dominating the underground fist fighting scene for a month or two. It was bad for him. Nobody was stepping up to Goro and that hampered his earnings from the betting business. Another fight, even if Goro completely destroyed this miserable drunkard, would mean more profit.
'Hey! Take him to the basement.' The barkeep said to someone.
He couldn't comprehend what was happening around him. Alcohol made him drowsy and sloppy. The claustrophobic environment of the basement wasn't helping either. There was a strong stench of sweat in the air.
A man, no, an ox that looked like a man stood before him. He inhaled and exhaled so frequently that it felt like someone had just tried to drown him and failed. And now he was back for his sweet revenge.
They were surrounded by a rather energetic crowd.
The first to move was the ox-man. The drunk in front of him wasn't even in a fighting stance, his whole body was open.
Still, the ox-man went for head-hunting. A wild haymaker to the head, which was supposed to send the drunk man to sleep was easily evaded by him and the crowd went silent for a moment.
'Drunken luck!' One man yelled and the crowd started to cheer for the ox again.
This time the ox-man didn't underestimate him. He was a veteran fighter of the streets and knew that the drunk in front of him was no ordinary man.
This time he threw a feint haymaker with his right hand that stopped in the middle of its trajectory and followed up with a body shot aimed at the solar plexus of the drunk man with his left.
It was as if he was completely sober for a few seconds. He saw the upcoming body shot and his dry arsenal of counter moves. Two of his fingers were broken and he was drunk to the teeth, both made defense untenable.
He reacted fast. Dodging was not possible in this short distance. So using his left hand he pushed down the straight punch of his opponent, completely cutting off its power. With his right hand, he landed a chop on the neck with considerable momentum, within a window two seconds.
He saw the dilating pupils of his beefy and muscular opponent. For a while, they were frozen like a statue. Then the ox-man fell to the ground, unconscious.
The crowd had never witnessed something like this. They felt perplexed and terrified. Goro was a monster and they didn't know what to feel after they saw him fall like this, just with a single hit.
The man looked around for an exit. When he started to walk, the crowd slowly moved away from his path.
After he came out, the light rain was gone. He breathed in the earthy smell of the rain and basked in the calmness of the night and could not but think about his shattered life. He wasn't supposed to be standing outside of an unknown pub, depressed, lonely and broke. The ghosts of his innumerable past mistakes came back to haunt him with the silent night.
He didn't even notice the woman standing before him. There were two men with her. One of them held up an umbrella over the woman's head.
'Mr. Evergrave?' She said.
The man looked at her carefully but didn't reply.
'Samuel Evergrave? The Interregnum Regent wants to speak with you. Please, come with us.' She said with a polite tone and yet somehow managed to sound threatening. 'We have the authorization to use force if needed.' She added.
They did not need use force as Samuel fell to the ground a moment later, succumbed to intoxication. These cheap alcohols were surely not good for health.