CHAPTER ELEVEN

Daimona stared up at the flayed dog. Impaled on a steel spike in the middle of the street, its blue-pink tongue lolled from its open mouth, entrails swaying in unison with the wind. Blood-stained patches of fur littered the ground below like breadcrumbs.

Norok stood next to her with an equally blank expression. He whistled at the sight. “Guess that knight lady’s no joke.”

Images of the night before flashed through Daimona’s mind; after Will led them out of the alleyway, they found the people of Linnstan crowding around the armored woman. She raised her arm, revealing the small, brown mutt dangling by its scruff in her hand. It whimpered as she showed it off, inciting a flood of shouts and screams from the crowd.

“Kill it!!”

“Kill the beast!”

All the while, the dog whimpered with bulging brown eyes. Daimona could see dribbles of the same black liquid ebbing at the edges of its mouth. The armored woman ran her sword through it mercilessly right then and there. Sergeant Cowell’s voice rang in Daimona’s mind as she watched the brutal scene. Consider this your first lesson in hierarchy.

“Will was saying that it prolly wandered in from the fields,” she said. “We might see more on our way to bootcamp.”

“Maybe we’ll catch one,” Norok replied with a smirk. “Chop it up, roast it on some skewers… I’m sure Irina would be down for some dog food.”

But Daimona wasn’t listening to her brother. Instead, she had turned her attention to the two strangers who had come to visit the macabre shrine. They were both young, a pair of redheaded twins no older than ten. The first stepped forward, her puffy red face framed by two thickly braided pigtails. She fell to her knees and began sobbing loudly. Her sister pulled a neat, white handkerchief from her dress pocket and shoved it towards her with a loud shush.

“He was a criminal, Delilah!”

The crying girl wailed. “H-h-he w-was not!! He was soft, and kind, and he was the nicest dog and I loved him, Nelly!!”

Nelly clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth. She quickly scanned the street around them, head spinning from side to side until she locked eyes with Daimona. Nervously, she smiled.

“Sorry, she’s-- She’s confused,” Nelly offered.

Delilah shoved her sister aside, staring up at Daimona indignantly. “Jelly was a good dog, and he wouldn’t hurt anyone! I swear!”

“Please,” Norok snorted. “That thing threw me against a wall.”

“Only because he was scared!!”

Norok rolled his eyes, crossing his arms as he glowered down at the little girl. “Scared things don’t bite the good guys. Not to mention, I heard it injured five random people before we got to it. Trust me kid, you’re better off with a pet rock.”

Nelly reached out, pulling Delilah up by the hand with a sympathetic look. “The pink man’s right, Delilah. Jelly was a bad boy, and he hurt a lot of people…”

“No!” Delilah stomped her foot, sneering at Norok. “You didn’t know him! He was protecting me from the wolf!”

For a moment, it was as if the whole city went silent. The words echoed distantly in Daimona’s mind, a picture of black fur and yellowed fangs rushing towards her illuminating her thoughts. Then the wind came flowing by, and Nelly’s sighs sent the image up in smoke.

“Enough, Delilah,” she said quietly, tugging her indignant twin along. “Father’s waiting for us.”

The two hurried around the impaled dog. Delilah shot one final glare at Norok before they scuttled off, joining Linnstan’s faceless crowds again. Daimona turned to her brother with an unamused frown.

“‘Scared things don’t bite the good guys’?” she repeated flatly. “Where’d you get that? Captain Four-Eyes?”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Norok shrugged. “I mean, it’s true. We’re supposed to help people and stuff, that’s what we’re training for.”

Daimona’s stomach curdled. She punched Norok in the shoulder. “Name one person we’ve helped, dumbass.”

“Ow!” Norok whined. “No one yet, but that’s what bootcamp’s for.”

“Going to bootcamp won’t make us better people, Norok,” Daimona replied harshly. “It hasn’t done any good for anyone we’ve met. They all just kill and kill, pretending that it means something when it just doesn’t.”

“What, and we were doing something different on our own?”

Daimona gazed up at the dog. Her stomach lurched, but she bit her lip hard to suppress the feeling. Through gritted teeth, she replied in a low voice. “They’re not going to eat that. They’re going to leave that creature up there and dance around it until it rots. At least when we kill, it’s on an empty stomach.”

Norok huffed, rubbing at the back of his neck indifferently. “When did you get so gloomy?”

“Probably when you went and stole the stick out of Will’s ass to shove up your own,” Daimona muttered back. She whirled on her foot, heading back in the direction of the inn they had spent the night in. Norok chased after her.

“Daimona--”

“--Can it,” Daimona waived him off. She didn’t even feel like looking at him. All this talk about forgetting who they were, losing track of what they came for, only for Norok to end up a carbon copy of the Fable filth.

“Mona,” Norok pleaded. He grabbed her arm. She could have thrown him off, tossed him through the stem-shaped foundation of the nearest building with such ease. But the regretful, shameful look in his eyes caught her off guard. “I’m sorry.”

Daimona searched his face very carefully. Norok was a good liar, but he had his tells-- a twitchy right eye, a left-leaning smirk-- and if she caught any of them, any of them, she’d kick his ass right here in the middle of the street. But his face remained completely earnest, his eyebrows even furrowed with concern.

“I know we haven’t been talking much,” he added slowly. “And that’s my fault. I guess… I’ve gotten pretty caught up in doing all this stuff that I kinda left you on your own.”

Well, with Irina, Daimona corrected mentally, but nodded along all the same.

“And that’s kinda shitty on my part…” Norok’s eyes dodged hers, plummeting to the ground. “So… My bad.”

Daimona planted her hands on her hips, feeling a sudden pride watching her brother grovel pathetically. Chest puffed out, she raised her head high. “I’ll forgive you, brother.”

“...Cool--”

“If,” she jabbed a finger into his chest, punctuating every word with another pointed push. “You tell me why you’ve actually been sucking up to Will.”

Norok’s cheeks flared. He tried to form a nonchalant expression, but Daimona could already see his lips curling harder to the left. She immediately crossed her arms.

“Don’t lie,” she said sternly. His shoulders sank.

“Fine,” Norok sighed. “I sort of screwed up…”

…

A few days later, Daimona pushed through the final stretches of the wilds. Irina quickly emerged from the thicket, with Will, Kell and Norok huffing and puffing not far behind. Before them appeared to be a massive dirt clearing, gated by a pair of gargantuan trees. They mirrored one another, perfectly symmetrical as they angled upwards and wove their branches into intricate wooden knots. Two swords were planted at the foot of each tree, embedded so deep into the roots that Daimona could only make out their hilts.

Will stepped forward, clearing his throat before pushing ahead. He turned his head up to the sky, and shouted, “Butterpie!”

Daimona crinkled her nose, turning to Irina inquisitively. “Isn’t that what he always says in the simulation chamber too?”

Irina nodded. “It is the dumb catchphrase Fable uses for everything. Apparently the language magic of the animals is, eh… Not good at pronouncing that one.”

Before she could point out how ridiculous that explanation was, the circular entrance formed by the trees rippled with a soft chime. As it peeled away like vines falling to the ground, Daimona watched in awe as a grand tower was revealed in the center of the clearing. Made of black-stone bricks, it climbed high into the treetops and branched out into floating islands. Each segment was linked by bridges made of levitating step stones, each dangerously moving with the wind.

Standing before the entrance to the tower were two men. The first Daimona recognized immediately-- the stoic Sergeant Cowell, still wearing his unrevealing sunglasses. He regarded them with a solemn nod as they made their way closer. The other was scruffy, a short thin man with a sallow face. His wiry, greying hair stuck out in waves from under his rumpled hat.

Slowly, a white fog began rushing towards the group, emanating from the shoes of the disheveled stranger. For a moment, Daimona swore she could see Cowell frown, but quickly felt an encroaching chill crawling up her legs. Her body stiffened, her fingers becoming raw and rapidly turning blue.

“Sorry kiddos,” the man chirped. He raised his hand, revealing a glistening gauntlet of ice encasing it. “You already lost.”