The old man blinked, trying to clear his eyes.
Then he took a sudden, shaking step backward, for he had seen a face peering back at him in the window.
Not his own reflection, of that there could be no mistake.
What he had seen was a visage twisted in madness, its contours strange and sickening, before that face shifted, appearing to find reason again. It belonged to a man in the shadows, who then smiled a polite smile while pointing in the direction of Gésier's front door.
A moment later, the old man heard a knock that rapped in his ears as loudly as his own heartbeat but sudden, unreasoning fear froze him where he stood. Without understanding how he had come to such an unplanned choice, the apothecary wanted nothing more to do with the strange man and his gold.
He did not move. Only his lips trembled as he mumbled low words without his realizing he spoke aloud.
Then the familiar creak of old hinges came to his ears, a sound not so different from the creak of his old joints, although this, too, was perfectly unexpected.
Gésier was sure he had bolted the door closed. Not just locked, but bolted with a crosspiece of oak and iron that grew oddly heavier with each passing year.
Perhaps one day his old arms would no longer bear its weight and that would be the day when the seamy residents of the quarter would come to prey upon him and steal what little remained of a once well-respected apothecary's life.
In any case, he knew that it had been locked and bolted and had been that way for the past week. He had no need of braving the dangers of the exterior world, especially now that a bit of gold had found its way to him with the promise of more to come.
Fear held him where he was and the solid, steady footsteps of a man far younger than he presaged the figure who strode into the room as if heavily bolted doors were beneath his notice.
“And how does this evening find you, dear sir?” he said as his smile stretched wide into a grin.
Gésier said nothing as the man appeared to surge from the shadows like a demon called up by an infernal incantation.
Darkness hid his visage as he spoke again.
“I trust you are well, then, and that your work is done.”
The apothecary nodded then gestured toward the table.
“Ah,” the man in shadows breathed, “an elixir most rare and wonderful.”
The apothecary coughed then found his voice at last while his visitor stared back at the old man, fixing his rheumy eyes with his own still hidden in shadow.
“A dreadful thing is what it is, as is the rest. Make no mistake about that.”
The man turned to the table, his gloved brushing lightly over the three objects there. Two stoppered bottles and a small hourglass, its fine, black sand long since run still.
“I assume that the timing is as precise as I have demanded?” he murmured.
The old apothecary coughed.
“Of course it is. To the very second. Of the two, a timed poison was as nothing compared to the evil I have wrought in the name of your gold.”
“Evil?” the man said, then wheeled around to the old man, his tone lifting in curiosity.
“And what would you know of it, old man? Can you tell me, even, how the draught gained its name?
Of course, Gésier replied, his voice shaking then growing steadier with each word.
“The oldest texts describe Lierre as a goddess. One who was wroth with mankind because her half-sister met her doom due to her love for a man. Some say she is still revered to this day by certain clans south of the Ardoise Mountains, inspiring profane cults that worship before the vining plant that bears Lierre’s name. This goddess is said to have descended to earth to wreak her anger among men, so she inhabits this plant and endows it with powers that inevitably lead to every man’s doom should he cross its path.”
The man in the shadows nodded his head then spoke in a singsong voice.
“Take fright of the green-toothed men,
Children.
Take flight before the green-toothed men,
Children.
For they come a’chattering in the night, their green teeth clattering,
Fearing nothing, not even the sword’s bite.
Take fright and flee before the green-toothed men,
Children.”
He smiled a grim smile as he finished.
“It is but a common children’s song. Something to which they might time their skipping rope, never guessing that in that foolish rhyme lies a truth that protected their homelands from a certain victory for the goblins in the war so long ago.
“For the goblins themselves were swept away before the Kaurish warriors, men who appeared not to feel the bite of the sword, their teeth green from chewing the leaves of that infernal plant. It gave them strength enough to annihilate every goblin to the last during the monsters' doomed attempt to slip south of the mountains so that they might encircle their northern foes and ambush them at their backs.
“But no goblin withstood those fierce barbarians who kneel to worship before a plant then chew its leaves while going into battle, the juice lending them inhuman strength they can hardly contain, so much so that it makes their jaws chatter as they fight and enables them to take wounds without feeling them until the battle is over. Only then does the plant’s effects wane and their blood runs red at last before they die.”
Gésier would have liked to back away from the man before him. He would have liked to put the table between himself and the dark figure before him who spoke of things found in no ancient text of any kind. Things that no one north of the mountains had ever heard.
It was as if his horrid visitor had been there so very long ago and seen such things with his own dark eyes.
And not for the first time, nor for the last, the old man thought to himself that what stood before him then was no man at all.
"Lierre's Wrath," the man said under his breath as he turned back to one of two bottles on the table.
He reached for it then broke the wax seal covering its stopper before lifting it free to sniff at the bright green liquid within.
"It smells of nothing special."
The old apothecary nodded then spoke with a trembling voice.
"True enough … odorless, tasteless. But have a care. It is a poison of extraordinary efficiency. It kills without exception."
The man set the bottle back on the table, however, he made no move to stopper it again.
"Yet it does not kill quickly … yes?"
Again the old man nodded.
"Justly so,” he replied, his voice shaking. “It is at once a lightning fast and chillingly slow poison. At its touch, the victim is taken instantly with total paralysis. Yet it is horrendous in that it does not quiet the bellows of the victim's lungs, nor silence the hammer of his heart. Instead, it fills the victim with a pain that has been described as unimaginable, for it does not abate, nor do the body's usual defenses act upon it. The victim is said to lie dying for days on end in an agony rivaled only by that of Hell's own crucible for the damned."
The man across from the apothecary stood perfectly still, lit from behind by the stuttering oil lamp, making a perfect, jittery silhouette that belonged in a ghastly mummer's farce.
"And they cannot scream, can they?" he said at last.
This time Gésier shook his head.
"No, they cannot. While they continue to draw breath, the victims cannot draw breath deeply enough for anything more than a whisper to pass between their lips."
"How ineluctable … how terrible. If true, that is."
The apothecary felt his ire rise and spoke more quickly than what was surely wise.
"Of course it's true. Why else did you come to me? Me, the sole apothecary in this entire land with a few berries of lierre carefully stored in ambered oil for so many years. I am also the sole learned man possessed of the knowledge necessary for its transformation into one of the most dreadful banes this world has ever known."
"Ah, and that begs
the question — where did you come by this knowledge, sir?"
Anger and pride loosened the old man’s tongue, and his many years did the rest as he forgot the fear that had kept his mouth mostly closed until then.
“It was by chance, or perhaps mischance, and not by design. My mentors had charged me with studying ancient scrolls describing horrible creatures of darkness long since banished from our world. These were terrifying beings of such power that the gods themselves intervened at their coming, barring them from this world forever more. Only such nefarious creatures as they could have conceived of this kind of poison, a perversion of a goddess’ power and anger to be used without fail in wrongdoing.
“At the time I told myself better to have put out my own eyes than to have read the process for its making. Yet my own foolish curiosity held my eyes wide open and I could not unread what followed, nor has my memory ever faded on the subject.”
Gésier’s visitor chuckled.
“I hear truth in your words, dear sir. And I would so much like to place my absolute confidence in your efforts, but I’m afraid there is too much at stake,” the apothecary’s visitor said, his voice lowering to a murmur.
“With each breath she takes, I am further diminished and I can no longer await her coming back to him. Where ruse may not suffice, stronger measures shall be required.”
The apothecary did not understand what the man meant. In fact, he thought it quite possible that the madness he had seen written on that shadowed face earlier had once again moved to the fore.
“As to that, I’m afraid a test is required.”
Gésier still did not understand just what his visitor meant until it was too late.
Without warning, the man slipped a finger of his gloved hand into the bottle’s mouth, only to withdraw it just as quickly before flicking a single drop of that bright green liquid up into the air before him.
Then, without pause, a small dagger flew in a straight path from his other hand, cleaving the droplet as it fell while the weapon continued its unerring flight toward the apothecary.
Still Gésier did not understand as unseen fire engulfed his arm, as a horrible lassitude fell over him like a wet blanket to drag him to the floor.
Understanding flickered in the old man’s eyes as he saw at last the dagger embedded in his forearm, its blade glistening, tinged in green malice.
Then his reason left him as pain rose like a whirlwind of fire and ash that rent his soul and burned him through and through.
Pain flooded through him without end, and he pleaded for the man to put a stop to his misery.
Gésier begged for his own death, the same death that he had stubbornly defied for so many years, refusing its dark pull with an old man’s bitterness as his fate. He screamed and screamed, and just as he had explained, no sound passed his lips other than that of whispers of suffering and desolation.
The fire that he felt licking up and down his body roared as it burned, yet there were no flames — there was nothing at all. There was only a monster he had mistaken for a man still standing there, taking his time to put the stopper back in the bottle of agony that he had been a fool to create.
The man who stood in the shadows smiled through the long hours that passed with a grin that faded no more than the excruciating torment wracking the old man.
His dark smile still rode his face when he decided that he had seen enough to be sure.
A satisfactory test indeed, he thought as he stepped outside the following evening, an entire day gone by.
And it was only then that the old man’s blood ran across the floor, for Modest Klees’ second dagger had put his torment to an end, not in mercy, but simply as a means of sealing the apothecary’s old lips for once and all.
Chapter Two — Silas
Lest's eyes widened as her lady-in-waiting finished speaking.
“And you say he’s on his way here now?” she asked as she willed herself to remain calm, to maintain her human form and not veer into cold blue flame that would betray the fear coursing through her.
“He is, my Lady, and he carries the other with him.”
Lest heard how the younger female’s voice trembled. Her husband could inspire fear in the staunchest of spirits, and even her most loyal friend was clearly shaken.
She willed herself calm before speaking again. Her lady-in-waiting would find strength in her confidence, even if it was a feigned one.
“So be it. Quickly now — gather the others. You have little time.”
The younger female curtseyed deeply before turning away in a swirl of orange fire, the flames of her passage rippling from cold blue to a deeper color of blood with obvious thoughts of the intrigue to come.
Lest permitted herself a slight smile. Being part of the machinations of the Estril nobility was surely a potent antidote to whatever apprehension her lady-in-waiting felt as she swept from the room. However, setting the Will o’Wisp in her husband’s path earlier had been but a game. What she would attempt now on her mistress’ behalf was far more dangerous
Again, Lest willed herself calm and steeled her resolve. She would trust in her friend as she had until then. There was no other choice.
She felt the heat of his coming before she heard him, then the floor beneath her feet shook as Raffiran, her husband and High General of the Estril race, stormed into the room.
“Can you explain to me why this …” his voice boomed as he threw a still-smoking body to the floor before her, “… this worthless creature is still alive?”
In the instant before her husband had made his entrance, Lest had turned so that her back was to him.
She did not move to face him as she spoke.
“I was not aware that I had given anyone leave to cause harm to any of my possessions.”
Then she turned on her heel, a very humanlike heel, except that her skin was perfectly unblemished and its color was an otherworldly, scintillating gold.
“In fact, I am positively certain that I have not given you permission to even speak to my … plaything.”
The High General’s own color darkened, a color so deep that it approached black, a color that denoted he was on the brink of unfathomable rage.
There was the sound of a low groan, and Lest’s breath caught. It was very much a human sound, a living sound, and relief flooded through her.
The High General’s wife did not dare to look down at the body lying on the floor as she spoke again.
“I simply did what was necessary to ensure my continued pleasure.”
Raffiran’s nebulous form coalesced into what passed as a roughly human form, one that he said he detested, but also one that Lest knew from experience, he appreciated well enough when they were in an intimate moment.
“You did more than was necessary, Lest. My fire should have scalded the flesh from his bones. He should have fallen to ash and cinder before drawing his next breath once my wrath fell upon him.
“Instead, he resisted me in a way that can only be explained by the capacity you have invested in him. You have given him the means to draw upon the source of all our power.”
“No, not quite,” she replied, “Before our first encounter, I inured him to my own flames and then opened the tiniest of windows upon my own power.”
“You fool. Have you learned nothing from the errors of your brother?”
“Of course I have,” she answered. “That is why I did not rashly throw the greater part of my strength outward, expecting it to return to me like a faithful dog as he did. I merely opened a conduit to my own magic.”
“And when I brought my fire to bear?” he asked, his voice grim.
“It took all my strength to resist … for both of us.”
Raffiran shook his head.
“Your reasoning escapes me, Wife.”
He turned and motioned to someone beyond the doorway behind him.
“In this case, he shall live until the end of his days in the darkest prison cell my soldiers can find.”
> They numbered four as they marched into the room and seized the human.
It was only then that the man who named himself Silas found his voice at last.
“Lest!” he cried out.
Then they were gone and only husband and wife remained.
“You do realize I could bring charges against you,” Raffiran said. “I am certain the tribunal would take an interest in the reckless endowment of a human being with our sacred power.”
“Sacred? Your arrogance is laughable. Don’t tell me that you have come to believe your own rhetoric from the time of war. Our power is no more holy than that of any other race of beings. These are merely words the Estril repeated over and over until we all believed them and knew ourselves justified in an irrational conflict with the lizard race.”
She did not name the Donglin. The convention was that their enemy was to remain unmentioned and thus unknown — and thus, to remain hated for all time.
Lest laughed then. Her tone was light as she went on.
“So very sure of yourself, Husband, as always.
“Skilled you may be upon the battlefield,” she continued, “but in affairs of intrigue you are outmatched. I can assure you that my human has already slipped from your grasp, and this time I will ensure his safekeeping where even you cannot find him.”
Raffiran shook his head slowly, disbelief hooding his eyes.
When he spoke next, his voice was low.
“Why, Lest? Why this sudden interest in such a lowly being? Do not tell me that it is for love of him?”
At last, Lest softened her tone as she took a single step toward her husband.
“No. I do not believe so. As I have said, it is merely for distraction. Otherwise I would spend all my days in anguish over the plight of my brother.”
The High General’s eyes widened and in answer to his unasked question, Lest said, “Did you not send that horrid monster after him? Would you see him harmed by that beast?”
“Fear not, Wife,” he replied. “The Evangeline returned and was, herself, grievously damaged, the like of which I have not seen since the war. Further, her return was short lived for she has left our realm, no longer heeding my commands, and as to where I haven’t the least idea.”
The Marechal Chronicles: Volume VI, The Crucible: A Dark Fantasy Tale Page 3