Jalen felt like a horse had run over him. No, a demonic-mutated hell stallion, dragging a cart full of screaming babies. That would’ve explained the pounding headache that accompanied his body’s weakened state, and this was him feeling better than he had been.
The thought of attending his early morning class made him groan in misery, but he had missed two days after surfacing from Saraf’s memory and was still playing catch-up. Even Darl had commented the evening before Jalen had gone to bed early how pale he looked, yet he had no fever. Quite the opposite, actually. Despite the house being warm, his limbs were cold as if they were Saraf’s own still from her time in the frozen camp. Sitting up on the edge of the bed he rubbed at his scalp until his unruly curls were sticking in every direction.
An anxious knock on the door downstairs, and Jalen tried to stand, only to lose his balance and sit heavily back on the bed. Cursing he tried again, wobbling to his feet and shuffling out and into the hallway.
“I’m coming,” he called down the stairwell, clutching the railing as he descended. Slightly winded by the time he got to the door, he opened it to find a boy a few years younger than him standing at the step.
“Y’Jalen?” He asked by way of greeting, shifting from foot to foot with nervous energy. Jalen frowned, but nodded in response, and the youth stuck out his hand to expose a tiny strip of paper he had been holding in his grip.
“M’Aunt says it’s for you, so I came. No for no-one else, sh’ saids,” he rambled, bobbing his head when Jalen took it from him.
“Your Aunt,” Jalen repeated dumbly, blinking as he tried to unravel the thick country accent, but the boy had already turned and bounded for the horse tethered outside the houses iron fence.
Stepping over the threshold he watched the kid mount with an ease that came with working with the animals full-time. The equine itself was a rare breed, its champagne coat and matching hair a true gold in the morning light as she tossed her head arrogantly.
That’s Iscah’s favorite mare, Jalen realized as the two cantered down the street. So was that a stablehand from their estate?
Frowning at the strange interaction he unrolled the tiny strip, lips parting in surprise at Iscah’s short note, written in obvious haste.
Chasing dreams. His name is Apoch, find Constable Edever and tell him everything. -P
[https://i.postimg.cc/ht3bqpkV/blue-moon.jpg]
It was late morning by the time he found the Office of Royal Law. When they had named it office, they had quite literally meant an office.
Tucked away in an older section of the castle’s barracks, the single room was a lightless cell, all but overflowing with paperwork. Stacks of them lined the walls nearly to the ceiling, each column looking more unstable than the one beside it.
Jalen’s eyes widened at the looming catastrophe, forgetting to knock on the already open door. Behind the desk piled haphazardly with more work, a man glanced up before returning to his reading.
“New recruits are in the other direction. Take a left at the intersection behind you,” he said by way of greeting.
“No, I’m here for Edever?” Jalen queried, taking an anxious step into the room and trying to not let his obsessive need for tidiness cause him to hyperventilate.
“You’re reporting a death, or a missing person then?”
There was a moment of silence as Jalen processed the Constable’s cavalier attitude towards a tragic subject matter. “That seems a rather insensitive way to broach a painful subject if I was.”
At this the man let the paper droop, motioning towards the mess strewn everywhere. “Son, do I look like I have time to pat your hand and hear the life story of whoever it is you’ve lost?”
For the second time that day, Jalen’s draw dropped as he realized every single stack upon stack was a report of a missing or deceased person.
“A-are you the only one who works these cases?”
“Do you see another desk in here?”
He gave a gormless shake of his head, and Edever gave a soul-crushing sigh before settling back in his chair.
“I’m not here to report either,” Jalen finally managed, fidgeting in place. “She said his name was Apoch.”
Edever frowned in confusion, thrown off guard by the whole statement. His brows rose as it dawned on him what the youth meant.
“Apoch,” he corrected, the ‘ch’ sounding like a ‘k’ in his pronunciation of the name. Silence ensued as Edever studied him with a stare that was now more hawkish than man.
“My name is Ja—”
“I know who you are,” he cut in, still unblinking. Without looking away he set the paper he had been reading on top of a grouping on his desk, the column swaying perilously for a moment.
Jalen could feel sweat forming on the nape of his neck, his anxiety ratcheting up another notch. Had this been a mistake? Had Iscah just thrown him to the wolves and he had walked into it fully trusting her?
Was this guy ever going to blink?
“You hungry?”
“Uh, yeah,” he stammered, surprised by the sudden shift in subject. “Yeah, I could eat.”
Edever grunted in response and rose, finally blinking once to Jalen’s near visible relief. He grabbed his sword belt and strapped it on while crossing the cramped quarters, sliding past Jalen and out into the corridor without another word.
Flabbergasted, Jalen followed, sensing the Constable wanted to continue their conversation somewhere other than here.
The two stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, the day already hot for spring. Edever tucked his hands into his pants and lengthened his pace when Jalen fell in step beside him.
The southern thoroughfare of the royal district was lined with cheap food stalls and restaurants, a smattering of small businesses that served the castles soldiers and servants both. It was an oasis to the commoners, and a stain upon the otherwise flawless estates that backed into its shops. Edever continued, passing all of the options and heading out past the inner wall and onto the commoner streets.
“Don’t suppose you’ve talked to anyone else about what you’ve told me?” He finally asked, glancing at the youth out of the corner of his eye as the traffic began thinning around them.
“No, she had been pretty specific about it being you,” Jalen explained, handing the slip of paper over. Edever’s brows furrowed, squinting at the tiny writing as he brought it almost up to his nose.
“A carrier pigeon; clever girl. P, though?”
“A nick-name,” Jalen surmised with a shrug, figuring it was best not to correct his assumption that was how he received the note. The whole situation seemed off, and Edever’s vagueness was doing nothing to assuage his worry.
That feeling only escalated when they turned off onto an alley lined with trash piles. He glanced over his shoulder as they plummeted into the shadow of the buildings lining either side, wondering if this truly was a mistake. Flagging further behind, his companion seemed oblivious as he stepped between two towering piles of ripening oyster shells and grabbed a doorknob.
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Edever turned, assessing him. Jalen realized with growing dread the Constable had one hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword.
“Iscah,” he simply stated. “In case you were wondering if I was just going along and had some plan to poke a couple holes in you.” Shoving the door open the smell of sour beer and briny seafood spilled out into the alley, mixing with the already fetid scents of rotting debris. “Honestly was just in the mood for some oysters though.”
If that had meant to put him at ease it had not quite done the job, but Jalen gritted his jaw and immediately regretted it as he got a whiff of the miasma of odors with his mouth closed.
Inside was empty, save for the one-eyed bartender who managed to look disappointed at having customers arrive. Edever headed for a table in the corner, farthest away from the frail light shining through windows hazed with grease.
Sitting down he rapped his knuckles on the table and faced Jalen as he sat opposite of him. “Now, we can talk. Guessing from the fact your eyes are about as wide as plates and pallor just as pasty as one I should start first,” he began. “I saw her the day after the attack, but her Father would not let us speak alone. Protective Father; good quality, but unfortunately it meant she couldn’t tell me what really happened.”
“What really happened?” Jalen blurted, and now it was Edever’s turn to look skeptical. Jalen held his hands up. “All I know about the attack is rumors. He really did try to kill her?”
The bartender finally approached them with two tankards of ale, setting each down heavily as if to enunciate his irritation at having to serve them. Jalen offered the bald man a nervous smile, reaching for the ale and nearly choking on the first sip.
“Oh Gods— um, do you have water?”
Their host spit on the floor in response and headed for the kitchen. Jalen looked at Edever in disbelief as the older man picked up his drink and took a long pull. Giving an overly dramatized exhale of satisfaction he set it back down with a shrug. “It grows on you.”
“What, like a psychotic ex?”
The honest nod in response appalled him almost as much as the beer had.
“The maids said Iscah returned early from the ball very upset, and had dismissed them along with her two guards, though they apparently had remained on premises. Whether she was expecting Apoch or not is still a question, but it looks like Truvien broke her door down and interrupted whatever was happening. It seemed like she was more unsettled about Truvien saying they had been alone together than having come face-to-face with a cambion.”
“Which means it wasn’t an attack,” Jalen summed up, pinching his lower lip in thought with a nod.
“This isn’t their families first interaction with him, either,” Edever added, pausing to take another drink before launching into the history.
“About twenty-five years ago, Isren along with three others including your father had been kidnapped by a group led by Apoch. Supposedly they had managed to escape, and the military had spotted them on the other side of the wall running for the only gate in existence.”
“My Dad?! Wait— isn’t that wall hundreds of miles long?”
Edever saluted him with his tankard. “Actually, less than a hundred miles, but my point exactly. It was luck, they said, not circumstance, that they had just happened to pop out of the woods right in front of it. Unscathed.”
“Isren confirmed in our meeting he hadn’t disclosed any of that event, and Iscah was surprised to find out about it. Yet when I had given descriptions of Apoch, she had known exactly who he was.”
Jalen nodded again at the hanging question in the statement, rolling the tankard between his palms.
Find Constable Edever, tell him everything.
“For months, she’s been having dreams about him. Dreams that from what I could gather were more…intimate, then most.”
Jalen could feel his cheeks burning, and thoughtlessly he took another sip of ale only to gag on it again.
“Gods, that is just, so awful. Like sour milk and old peoples feet. Anyways,” he winced, scraping his tongue off between his front teeth as if that could rid him of the flavor. “She had been trying to find a reason why these dreams had begun, and possibly how to get rid of them in the University library, when she ran across…”
He trailed off, looking up from what might’ve been the distractedly worst tasting ale to the completely empty room. Even the bartender still hadn’t returned from the kitchen, leaving them in total isolation.
As if it was all by design.
Jalen gave a slow, measured blink, his voice thin and reedy in his own ears. “Why did you tell me the details about the attack, and about what happened to Isren and my Dad?”
“Because,” Edever replied, his body language remaining non-threatening even though his gaze was intense. “That cambion’s name was only known by five people, until you and Iscah.”
“A-are you going to kill me for it?”
“Cause you know too much?” Edever taunted, the smallest of smiles edging the corners of his usually expressionless mouth. “That’s the most ironic thing I’ve heard all week,” he muttered into his tankard before tossing back another swig.
Jalen didn’t have a clue on what that meant, but he hoped that meant he wasn’t getting murdered anytime soon.
“Does the name Saraf, or Orick mean anything to you?” Jalen queried, stilling as Edever thought it over before shaking his head in negation. Blowing out the breath he had been holding he pulled out the tome, and set it on the empty table between them.
“Cut yourself, and press your blood onto the cover.”
Edever stared at him as if gauging if he was jesting or not before releasing his ale. Unsheathing just enough of the edge of his sword to cut his thumb on he swiped a trail of red across the book. Jalen leaned forward in anticipation.
Nothing happened.
The Constable cleared his throat pointedly after a few seconds, and Jalen shifted awkwardly. “It ah… was supposed to do something. Why didn’t it do something?”
He frowned, pushing the book as if to motivate it to respond. Scratching at his scalp in irritation he huffed, wondering how many times he could get cut and not scar at this rate.
Holding out his hand, Edever took the hint and pulled out a dagger at his other hip to set in Jalen’s palm.
“Please don’t make me look like an idiot,” he pleaded under his breath, drawing blood on the blades edge and touching it to the tome.
Instantly the transformation happened, Edever’s normally unflappable demeanor giving way to shock. Without prompting he opened the book, scanning the title before giving the next page his full attention.
“It’s so weird,” Jalen wondered aloud. “It worked for Iscah and me, I wonder why it doesn’t work for you.”
“That’s because,” Edever answered, his expression causing Jalen’s heart to stutter as those grey eyes rose to meet his. “I’m not a warlock.”
Jalen burst into laughter, he couldn’t help himself; that notion was as absurd as it was untrue. “Ok for starters, everyone knows Warlocks have the strange blue eyes. Secondly, Naon was the last warlock, and he died five hundred years ago.”
Edever gave a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then who is this Saraf?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Jalen slouched back, rubbing his forehead absently. “We’ve checked every public record accessible, there’s not one mention of her anywhere.”
“Lots of dead ends, eh?” Edever teased, leaning forward to brace his elbows on the table. “Let me tell you something else you won’t find: Naon is not the last warlock, and he was not originally hailed as a hero of the war. He was the catalyst to a realm culling of the remaining warlocks and their sympathizers. The executions were public festivals, and were not limited to adults. They burned children alive, and celebrated while doing it. The ashes from the pyres would be collected and added to drinks the elites would consume as an aphrodisiac. For the lesser gentry, they were added to pastries that became known as ashbuns.”
Jalen blanched, inwardly lamenting the origins of his favorite sweet.
“Eventually they ran out of warlocks, but the masses were hooked. It became anyone with blue eyes was sacrificed for their entertainment, and then it became any infants born with blue eyes.”
“But-” Jalen interjected, stunned by this knowledge. “Aren’t most children born with blue eyes that darken over the first few months?”
Edever tipped his head in acknowledgement, using the pause to take another long drink. “King Janius’ eyes were a normal blue, as were his son and daughter’s. Rumors began spreading he and his children were warlock usurpers, and so with the help of historians, the church, and bards that retired very wealthy the narrative quickly changed to paint Naon from Monster to Saint and that he was, indeed, the last Warlock.”
Jalen shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you’re saying he wasn’t.”
“I’m saying he wasn’t,” Edever repeated, rapping his knuckles on the table for emphasis. “Being a warlock is not a hereditary trait nor is it something that can be learned. It’s completely random who is born one.
“It is why every coven had at least one if not more of their members trained by the physicka and given the role as traveling healers. Their blood magic made them unparalleled Physickers, but the true reason was they were the ones who tracked down those born with the eyes to bring back to their true family.”
“So, you’re saying there’s still a secret coven of warlocks?” Jalen hedged, brows scrunching together at how crazy that conspiracy theory sounded saying aloud.
“No, the truth is much darker than that,” Edever murmured, lowering his voice even though they were still alone. “The genocide never stopped. It just became more… clandestine.”
“I’m sorry but, do you have any proof?”
“I have some leads,” the older man replied, finishing off his beer with a smack of his lips.
“How much do you know about your old Dad, Jalen?”