Saving The Dark Side Book 2: The Harbingers

by Joseph Paradis

  Habbad glanced back, forcing a look of deepest shame upon his wrinkled face. “I’m Father Kreed’s apprentice,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders. “Father Kreed taught me magic so that I might help people as he does. He’s so busy these days that he can’t be everywhere at once. I thought I’d come down to the Wind District and see if there’s anyone here I could help. I see I was wrong. I’m so sorry, Dirken. I’ll leave now, trespassing is illegal.” Habbad rushed himself from the room with a rapid pitter-patter.

  “How do you know my name?” Dirken asked, lowering the fire-poker.

  Habbad paused, inching back into the room. He gestured with an open palm. “I’m Father Kreed’s apprentice. I know many things. I know that your heart hurts, and that you’ve been betrayed. I know that you are a talented artist with potential for so much more, though no one else can see it. You are not appreciated as you ought to be.”

  Dirken set the fire poker back in its stand. “What else do you know?”

  “Many things,” Habbad replied, hugging the door frame. “Dirken Sir, can you put some more wood on the fire? I’m very cold.”

  Dirken blinked, his words rushing from his mouth: “Of course, of course, please grab yourself a seat. I’m the one who should be apologizin’. Had no idea you were Kreed’s boy. Habbad, right? Can I get you some food or somethin’?”

  Habbad struggled his way onto the Aenerian-sized couch. “A drink would be nice. A strong drink if you have some.”

  Dirken tossed a log into the hissing fire, sending a cascade of sparks up into the chimney. “Got a bit of Galdebrean brandy in the hutch here, but ain’t you Underkin not supposed to drink? Ain’t it illegal?”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t,” Habbad quipped and grinned.

  Dirken returned the grin with a sad smile. “‘Course I won’t. You come up here of your own goodness, trying to do old Dirken a favor. It’d be bad luck to turn on you. Bad in the gods’ eyes too, and I can’t afford to miff them any more.” Dirken pulled a matching set of crystal glasses from a sturdy oaken hutch. He thunked them down and filled them with amber liquid from a plump wooden cask. He carried the drinks over and sat next to Habbad. “Take it nice and slow now. This’ll set your toes on fire if you gulp it down too quick.”

  “Thank you, Dirken,” Habbad said, using both hands to grab his glass. Habbad waited for Dirken to take a sip before bringing his glass to his pinched lips. With a silent spell, Habbad transported a sip of his own glass into Dirken’s. Habbad pulled an appropriate bitter face, nodding at the quality of the drink before inclining his head towards the pictures on the mantel. “That is a beautiful family you have, but where are they now?”

  Dirken’s eyes fell back to his glass as he took a bigger sip this time. Habbad matched him, refilling his glass once more. “They’re off seeing to their own affairs. My boy’s gone to work with a church of Sorronis out in Amoskeag, and my girl’s taken up with some puffed-up pin head on the other side of town. Writer or somethin’. Neither of them visits much. Can’t scrape a few hours a month to spend on their old man. No thanks at all for the fortunes I’ve spent on their fickling fancies. Ah, but all kids leave the nest don’t they? They’ll come back around someday. The gods test our resolve now and again to make sure we’re deservin’ of their graces.”

  Habbad sat in silence for a moment, watching Dirken drift into a daydream. He feigned another sip from his glass, triggering Dirken to do the same. “What of the woman in the pictures? She’s stunning.”

  Dirken’s face soured, but his eyes remained in the fire. “She’s my…that’s Raiya. We were bonded once, still are as far as the law’s concerned. She’s busy with an affair of her own.”

  “What do you mean?” Habbad asked. “A wife’s place is by her man’s side.”

  “So it was until she found the side of another more suitable than my own.” Dirken suddenly looked as if he were about to be sick.

  “Impossible,” Habbad scoffed. “How can another man have more to offer than you?”

  “Other men can use magic,” Dirken growled, his face twisting into a knot of fury. “Magic grants you power and status, opens doors for you. Raiya wants for a man that has that power. Even my own children have the gift. A barren man such as myself has nothin’ to offer them.”

  “That is the most foolish thing I’ve heard in my life,” Habbad exclaimed. “You’ve cared and provided for your family, more so than most by the look of your estate. You must be the wealthiest man in the Wind District.” Habbad’s voice rose with enthusiasm, eking out a reluctant smile from Dirken. “I’ve been all over this city and you’re better looking than most, not to mention you have an artist’s heart. My friend Florien is the most illustrious surgeon in Costas and he adores your work. Every corner of his apartment is covered in your talents.”

  Dirken’s eyes popped wide. “You know Florien the Generous?”

  Habbad smiled. “I do. Would you like to know a secret about Florien?”

  A greedy shadow fell over Dirken’s face. “I would.”

  Habbad waited a moment, studying the man’s eyes, tasting his Hunger. “Florien can’t use magic either. He’s as fallible and flawed as you are, yet he is a man of status. Of power.”

  Dirken’s expression changed from yearning to shock. “That’s incredible. You’d never know, what with the way he carries himself, the way that others treat him. He’s somethin’ of a celebrity down here in the Wind District. He’s the one that discovered my art in the first place, made me popular among the local galleries. Everythin’ that I have I owe to him.” He fell silent, his face scrunching as a tear rolled down his nose. He spoke in a shaking whisper: “I Hate him.”

  Habbad allowed Dirken a moment to collect himself, patting the man on the knee. “Why would you Hate a man that has given you so much? Didn’t you just admit that you owe everything to him?”

  Dirken bit down on his trembling lip, forcing it still. “Everythin’ I have I owe to him, but everythin’ I’ve lost is because of him. When Florien discovered me, I was but a poor dock hand fightin’ tooth and nail for my Raiya and the babes. Florien found a bit of my art floatin’ somewhere and demanded I accept payment. It wasn’t worth nothin’ and I knew it, just a stupid drawin’ for the babes to look at. Florien offered me a fortune, and bein’ an honorable man of the gods, I refused. Then he increased the offer by tenfold, and I took it. I took it all. More than I was due, more than I was worth. What’s worse is he demanded more of my work. Made me promise to have another piece ready in a week. I took it all like a starvin’ dog.”

  Dirken wiped his nose, taking another sip. Habbad refilled his glass once more. “It sounds as if your gods were taking favor with you. You went from a poor laborer to paid artist overnight. Perhaps it was their intent for Florien to discover you.”

  Dirken grunted, shaking his head. “That was their intent all right, but the gods was only testin’ me. A test that I failed good and hard. Money corrupts, especially when it’s not deserved. My art’s shit. Worthless garbage. My life, all of this is just a lie. Florien the Generous took notice and paid me boatloads. I didn’t trust him. I knew there’d be a catch for takin’ more than my worth, but the money had already started workin’ its magic on me. Raiya was happy at first, and I was too. I could treat every day as if it was her birthday. We moved out of our home, snubbed our old friends and family as though they was nothin but rats lookin’ for a bite of our cheese. It changed us. The money gave me power, made me important, and Florien made me valuable to others. The money and status gave my sweet Raiya a life she had been dreamin’ of since she was a girl. We mingled in different circles and it wasn’t long before other men began to catch her eye. Men with real power, real value, real magic. She knew my art was shit, that my money was fake. Can’t blame her though. Her greed’s just as powerful as mine.”

  “Dirken please, don’t say any more. You’ve been through enough, my friend,” Habbad cooed.

  “Nah, got to get it out while the wound
’s open. I shut it up for too long and now my seams is burstin’.” Dirken rubbed his raw eyes and blew his nose into his shirt. “Hey Habbad, I think I just figured somethin’ out. I can make peace with what the money did to me and my Raiya, but what doesn’t settle is what the money did to my kids. Grew up never havin’ to work for nothin’. They expect all of life’s fruits brought to them, though they won’t put so much as a nail in the dirt for it. They treat everyone like ghosts or worse unless there’s somethin’ to gain. We raised them wrong we did. And now it might be too late. Too much Hate stacked against me now. I’ve no worth, no value. Nothin’ to offer my wife or my own kids.”

  Habbad moved his gaze respectfully into the fire, which no longer sputtered. The flames crackled and lapped their way up the fresh logs, as though driven by a Hunger of their own. Habbad’s heart quickened. He was very close now.

  Waiting for Dirken’s sobbing to wane, Habbad offered another careful measure of sympathy: “Your story is a sad one friend. Is there nothing you can do? Any way at all to get them back?”

  Dirken released a shaky sigh. “You’re a sweet boy Habbad. No, there’s nothin at this point. Suppose I just take the gods’ spankin’ and just be thankful I didn’t lose no more.” He took a deep pull from the brandy, waving it about with a flourish. “Though I bet a bit of magic would set a few things right. I’d love to boil the guts of the struttin’ rooster that my Raiya’s fuckin’ nowadays. Sorry for cussin’,” he added, his words melting together under the effects of the brandy. “Drink brings it out of me. Makes me thirsty for unsavory things. Shouldn’t be drinkin’ like this. But then again, this stuff’s expensive. Drink up Hubbard.”

  Habbad threw his empty glass back, both hands shaking with anticipation. He was so very close. “Dirken, do you know the miracles of Father Kreed, of his work with The Three?”

  “Course I do,” Dirken sloshed. “The most powerful man in Costas workin’ for the most powerful gods of our world. Kreed’s a hero to us all.”

  Habbad nodded. “Yes he is powerful, but he is also generous. Even more so than Florien. He helps people realize their true potential, gives them the hand they need to take back what is truly theirs.”

  “Go on then,” Dirken grumbled, Hunger burning visibly in his eyes.

  “It’s no accident that I happened upon the Wind District today,” Habbad said, slowing his words, allowing Dirken to drink in every syllable. “As Kreed’s apprentice, I’ve become attuned to the suffering around me. It’s a heavy burden, but the worst part is that I can’t help everyone. There simply aren’t enough hours in the day. So I spend my time helping those who need it most. You have been wronged by Florien, by your family, by the gods even. Yes, the gods Dirken. I have touched them with my own soul, and I assure you they are not as perfect as the church would have you believe. You’re a good man, and good men deserve a second chance to put things right.”

  Habbad paused. Dirken slumped from the couch and onto the floor, kneeling his way closer with his fingers entwined in prayer. His eyes were round and begging, his lips wet and thirsty. He was rock-still, as if afraid the sound of his own breath would betray him.

  Forcing his own breath to continue its steady, confident cadence, Habbad stood on the couch. Dirken’s eyes followed. “Dirken, will you allow me the chance to help you?”

  “Yes,” Dirken whispered. A mixture of Hunger and Fear spread across his face. “But I’ve nothing to give. Nothing of value.”

  Habbad placed a hand atop Dirken’s bald head. “You have something very valuable, my friend.”

  “Name it!” Dirken squealed. “Name it and it’s yours!

  Habbad allowed himself a sigh of relief. Dirken was his. “Soon, my friend. We will set things right when the time is right. But now you need sleep. We both do. Rest your eyes and we shall continue when you wake.”

  Without another word Dirken threw himself upon the couch, asleep before his head hit the cushion. Habbad hopped over Dirken’s legs, landing on the table and then the floor. He trotted his way through the house, making his way to the front door. They had talked through the night. Kreed would be expecting him for lessons in only a few hours, though Habbad had no intent on going. Habbad was doing the work of a god. He was about to serve Grotton in a way that was unprecedented in all of recorded history. Kreed couldn’t hope to comprehend it, nor would he allow such a violation of one of his subjects. Habbad knew he must do this alone and in secret. There was still much work to be done, but if he were very lucky he would be the first person to take an Aenerian Domina, a sentient being.

  Habbad reached the front door, opening it slowly. The front yard was empty, the guard safely asleep at the front gate. Habbad then noticed something on the steps in front of him. Soft as a shadow, he darted from the doorway and snatched a newspaper off the steps before retreating back into the house. Closing and locking the door behind him, Habbad opened the paper, reading the headline.

  MAN MURDERS FRIENDS IN CLOUD DISTRICT, REMEMBERS NOTHING

  Habbad grinned, hugging the paper into his chest. His Hunger purred, ready for another meal.

  Chapter 16

  Bonds Broken

  Cole explored the Everglen with Valen and Eliza, making a game of finding all the similarities to The Sill. They walked from tree to tree over footpaths of braided roots, careful not to stray too far as there seemed to be no end to the place. Conversation was unusually light and superficial, never straying too close to the Council’s sentencing or the machinations of the elders. A deep worry budded within Cole. He had a horrible suspicion that he would be leaving the Everglen alone.

  Cole fell silent, slowing behind as Valen and Eliza debated over which starscape the Everglen displayed. He drifted into his center, cleansing his wayward thoughts and emotions into the stone room. Once he was confident there was nothing more, he was struck with a sudden yet profound lack of purpose. Taking a deep breath, Cole began to explore what his purpose ought to be. He felt parts of himself rise up to answer. The first and loudest part told him he needed to fight The Three and stop their evil from spreading. But why? Why did he need to fight? This was not his world. Another part arrived at his center, nudging harder than the first. It was the same part that didn’t like his Rage. This part didn’t want him to be defined solely by violence; a life of constant fighting was no way to live. He was more than a warrior, but what exactly, he didn’t know. Unable to wring any answer out, he emptied his mind once more and asked himself the question again.

  Eliza’s distant belly-laugh brought another part of him to the surface. His Passion answered this time, showing him everyone he cared about. He hadn’t lived on this planet long, perhaps barely a year in Earth-time, but here he had real, meaningful relationships. Outside his immediate family he had never known such wholesomeness. His Passion hummed again, wetting his eyes as he thought about how much his new friends meant to him. They had been through so much together. The feeling was difficult to label and impossible to pinpoint. It was as if his friends had made new parts of him grow and flourish, parts that changed him into a better person. His appreciation gushed alongside memories of every moment of shared victory and loss. The Passion waxed, illuminating this strange feeling in such an obvious way that Cole laughed aloud. It was simply love.

  The magic acted of its own, pulsing so forcefully that upon his next exhale Cole’s feet lifted an inch from the ground. Beams of lavender shot from his swelling chest, striking Eliza and Valen, halting them as their faces lit with euphoria. Cole’s breath took an alarmingly long time to leave his body, though he had no desire to breathe. The lavender light dimmed as his lungs finally emptied and his feet reunited with the woven root path. Eliza and Valen turned slowly, surveying Cole with looks of gratified wonder.

  “What was that?” Valen asked. He glanced down at his own body, checking and patting himself.

  “I… I don’t really know,” Cole said, wiping his face quickly. “I was just going over some stuff in my head. The Passion came out of n
owhere.”

  Valen tilted his head, curious. “As long as you’re well. Thank you for that, Cole,” he added.

  Eliza gave him a knowing, sly grin. “Been practicing I see. You are growing faster than a rising sun, little human.”

  Cole made his apologies, then his excuses so he could be alone. Dodging a flock of eager soul flies, Cole made his way over to where Sitra had discovered the sleeping quarters. His Passion clung to his thoughts as he walked, offering other answers to his question of purpose. He felt a powerful desire to rescue Habbad, though his Wisdom told him that his friend was lost forever. Cole wanted to save him, but thoughts of another disastrous rescue mission curdled his bravery. Habbad belonged to The Three now, just as Lexy did. Brother and sister bonded in the vilest of magics. Cole paid silent tribute to his friends, remembering their toast from the night before. After a while, Cole’s mourning brought about another depressing thought; his love for Lileth.

  He spent the remainder of his walk trying to discern his feelings for her, but more important was her actions towards him. When he reached his tree, however, his forking thoughts only led to more questions and a slippery ire that evaded all attempts to soothe it. He trudged up the ramp of the tree he’d picked out, resigning himself to a foul mood as he forced Lileth from his mind.

  Popping through the door, he delved into his foggy Wisdom and produced a glowing jade orb barely bright enough for him to see. Focusing another spell, he locked the door behind him, ignoring Eliza’s twangs of concern through their link. Fumbling in the dim werelight he found the smooth surface of a fist-sized gratia stone. Cole brought his eye close, but couldn’t guess what type of stone it was through his dim light. Growling in frustration, he forced his Rage into the glassy surface.

  The stone roared to life, filling the room with bloody red hues. The tree gave a gentle shudder as soft white lamps flickered to life and running water gurgled inside the walls. Much like his room at The Sill, this one was sparsely decorated. There was a simple bed, nightstand, and armoire, all blending with the floor as if grown from the tree’s ringed interior. Cole threw his bag down and sat himself on the end of the bed. The momentary distraction allowed his concerns for Lileth to branch like creeping vines, now blooming with their own desperate answers.