Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  Making his way towards the steps, he slowed at the sound of heavy footsteps making their way up. The Demon Hunter came into view. Their eyes met as he ascended the last step. A strange gray color, the hunter’s eyes locked onto Liam. Neither spoke, heads rotating as they passed, each daring the other to look away first. A cloaked man in white flashed across Liam’s vision, redirecting his gaze. A bit shorter than the hunter, the man moved with an eerie grace seen only in trained assassins.

  “You’ll find him in there,” Liam spoke, pointing to the open door on their left. With barely an acknowledgment, the fearsome figures entered the dining hall. Already Liam could hear Alaric spouting enthusiastic welcomes, and knew the wine was sure to start flowing shortly. This was no longer his concern. Let Alaric deal with the hunter. The madman was his problem now. It was high time Liam got back to his lab. There were more tests that needed to be completed.

  Let’s find out what you really are...Viola.

  Liam shook the vial of blood, then held it up near the light of a lantern. Thin and watery, he wasn’t sure what to make of it just yet. A series of random tests was simply out of the question. There wasn’t enough time or resources, so all he could do was measure one likely probability against another and work up from there.

  Thumbing through one of his many massive tomes, he finally found the page he was looking for. Repeating the list several times in his head before pulling his nose from the book, he shuffled over to his shelf and managed to pick out all the ingredients needed. Next, precisely measured liquids were mixed with dashes of white and brown powder. After adding a few drops of Viola’s blood, he held the mixture over a tiny flame with a pair of tongs. Within seconds, the concoction bubbled briefly, then turned black.

  He frowned at the beaker, fingers stroking his long mustache in thought. The lack of a clear result could only mean one thing. Not unlike the ash mixture, her blood was not pure. Whatever her race, she was apparently some sort of hybrid, a mix of at least two species, possibly more. Rare, indeed.

  With little choice left, he made his way towards an old, dust-covered trunk in the corner. Reaching under his shirt, he retrieved a key strung around his neck. He never parted with it, even when he was sleeping. After jiggling the lock, a thin cloud of dust sifted into the air as he threw the lid back. It had been ages since he needed any of these special items.

  Scattered about were rare insects floating in preservatives, dried herbs that could only be obtained from faraway lands, and old vials of dried blood from various creatures, many of which hadn’t walked the realm for many years. It was going to be another sleepless night, but rest was the last thing on Liam’s mind. Tongues could lie, appearances could deceive, but blood was a straight-lined map to the truth that couldn’t be denied.

  Eyes reddened yet still plenty alert, Liam set down another beaker. Green and bubbling, it was another of several filling up multiple holders. He ambled over to a piece of parchment at the end of the table and frantically began scribbling, dipping his feather in the inkpot several times before he was through. He set the parchment on a stack of others, allowing it to roll back into its former shape. Notes, charts, and the details of each test so far lay about in an unorganized heap.

  His hand trembled as he uncorked the blood vial marked “laberath sample.” Was he getting close? These sorts of tests rarely came with black or white conclusions. A blade of grass was vastly different than a tree, yet both had plenty in common when compared to a stone. So far, the night had proved far more useful in determining what she wasn’t...than what she was. Each test result led closer to another probability, which had slowly guided him to this final theory.

  She was at least partly human, of this much he was certain. With an effort, he stopped his hand from shaking and managed to scrape a bit of dry laberath blood into the vial. This sample was so rare, Liam figured he was probably holding a thousand gold pieces’ worth. Next, he added a few drops of Viola’s blood. He’d been at this all night, and her original blood sample was nearly spent.

  He hesitated a moment, going over the possibilities in his mind. He would have never started with this test, but this was where the night’s results had led him. Determined, he added a small amount of blue liquid and began swirling the contents. The colors mixed, clouding until the liquid went dark. Moments later the muddy mixture began to clear, starting from the base and working its way up. After a minute, the liquid looked no different than water from a spring.

  The vial slipped from his fingers, shattering against the floor. He stumbled back, luckily landing in an open seat behind him. “Impossible,” he mumbled, staring at the far wall with a blank expression. Numb, he sat in silence for a time before pulling himself together. Forcing himself to accept the reality of it, he rose from his seat and went back to his bookshelf. Finger tracing along the rows of bindings, he eventually found the one he was looking for.

  With an effort, he pulled the heavy book free and slammed it on the table, dust rising all around him. The binding crackled as he turned the yellowed pages. His head swam with swirling emotions, nearly all conflicting with one another. On one hand, she could just be the greatest discovery ever found, an impossible mutation that shouldn’t even exist. On the other hand, the very concept that human blood could mix with such a being...was terrifying.

  Several pages torn from his book in hand, Liam bounded up the steps. Despite his disagreements with Alaric, he was still obligated to report any relevant information, especially a finding of this magnitude. Rushing down the hall, he glanced into the dining area as he passed. He stopped, a bit surprised. He hadn’t expected to see Alaric still in here. He must have been here all night!

  Scattered plates of half-eaten stuffed pigeon were slung around the table, along with a few empty goblets, one turned on its side with a trail of red running across the white cloth. Unsure, Liam approached the obviously drunk man sitting alone. Eyes glassy, Alaric stared at the flickering ball of wax that was once a full-size candle.

  “My lord?” said Liam, cautiously taking a seat across from him. “My lord, where is the hunter and his companion? I assume your meeting went smoothly as planned?” When Alaric’s eyes drifted towards his half-full goblet, Liam pushed it with his fingertips, subtly sliding it just out of reach. It was too early for Liam to be tolerating such foolishness. He needed Alaric to sober up and clear his mind.

  Alaric’s lazy eyes rolled towards Liam. “The hunter and his apprentice retired to their rooms many hours ago,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. He sounded exhausted.

  “Apprentice, you say,” Liam repeated with a nod, at least getting one relevant answer to his many questions. “Then why are you still here? Still drinking. All by yourself. Where they able to provide us with any relevant information regarding the attack?” The string of questions was really just an attempt to get Alaric talking.

  “The attack,” Alaric repeated, his voice so very soft. “Owen and I spoke of this at length. It appears these assaults are happening all over Ayrith, each resulting in a single survivor left to tell the tale.” He motioned towards three tiny rolled-up parchments on the edge of the table. “Even as Owen informed me of what he knew, messenger birds have been landing throughout the night. Every nearby town and city is calling for aid, each one unaware that this is happening everywhere.”

  Liam bit his tongue, the vision of his friend being torn to pieces right before his eyes flashing in his mind. Again, more proof that his death was meaningless. As badly as he wanted to point that out, now was not the time. Something big was happening here, and they needed to be united on all fronts. More bickering would accomplish nothing.

  “And what are they reporting? I need specifics,” Liam said, reaching through the rolled parchments. He read the alerts one at a time. They were so similar, they might as well have been written by the same person. White powder being dropped from above... Large albino men with pink eyes moving through the white dust and attacking from underneath... Their limbs shifting s
hape to form solid weapons... Help us, we can’t fend off another attack... The notes where chilling.

  “I killed him.”

  “What?” said Liam, suddenly realizing Alaric was speaking. His tone was so feeble it was nearly unrecognizable.

  “General Coleth was executed on my order.”

  Liam sighed, glad to see Alaric showing some remorse for his action.

  “There will be no way to conceal the knowledge of this widespread outbreak of attacks,” Alaric continued. “Soon, the people will know I made a mistake in executing Hyndrid. Th-They will hold it against me. My authority will be challenged at every turn!” He looked at Liam, panic filling his now alert eyes. “What do I do? I must find a way to divert the negative attention away from me.”

  Enraged, Liam leapt to his feet. “That is the source of your distress?!” he bellowed, hardly able to contain his anger. “You sacrificed the life of a loyal friend in order please a mob... The death toll from these attacks looks to be hundreds of times higher than we originally thought, and your status is what concerns you most?”

  “Please, old friend,” Alaric begged, diving over the table to grab Liam’s wrist. “Please, you must speak to the people on my behalf. Th-They value your judgment, as do I. They’ll listen to you. Set up a dais at the center of town, and tell them it’s not my fault. Tell them we’re at war! Yes! A declaration of war makes the weakest bonds strong again.”

  Repulsed by the sickening display of groveling, Liam yanked his hand free. “You sniveling coward!” he roared, rubbing his hand on his shirt. “I’ll do no such thing! Is power all that matters to you? How many lives would you sacrifice to keep your authority for one more day, sitting in that chair drinking and womanizing as if you own the world? One hundred? One hundred thousand? It is obvious that lives are meaningless to you. No, ‘old friend.’ I won’t help you this time. It will take a miracle for you to save face after this treacherous blunder.”

  “As requested, I gave you the night to think it over,” a gruff voice rumbled from the hallway. Without being asked, the hunter and his apprentice entered the room. Neither seemed to care whether they were interrupting or not. “I can wait no longer for your answer. Do we have a deal, or not?”

  “Deal? What deal?” Liam hissed, angered by the intrusion.

  Alaric slipped by Liam, whispering in his ear as he passed, “Alas, it seems my miracle has arrived. And not a moment too soon.” He turned his attention to the other two. “And good morning to you both. I trust you slept well.”

  “That is not an answer to me question,” Owen grunted, his odd grayish eyes flickering towards Liam suspiciously. He was no longer wearing his black armor, only a plain white shirt with ratty blue pants. His arms bulged beneath the shirt, veiny and covered in scars. His apprentice, on the other hand, still wore his gleaming white cloak, face hidden beneath its hood. With both hands tucked inside the opposing sleeves, he strongly resembled a silent monk.

  “Yes...yes. Straight to business then,” Alaric replied, doing an admirable job of pretending nothing was wrong. His voice was strong and his smile wide, a natural con when he needed to be.

  “And who is this?” the hunter asked, speaking to Alaric but staring right at Liam.

  “Liam Trundric,” Liam answered, fighting to keep his anger in check. “I am the city mystic of Redwater, and right hand to Lord Alaric Bournfred.” He extended his hand.

  “Owen Dunwich,” said the hunter, ignoring the offered hand. “No doubt you’re already aware of my profession, or I wouldn’t be here.” Of that there was no doubt. Liam was certainly aware of the man’s reputation: a mercenary for hire that willingly tracked down both man and beast alike. Gold was gold, so the contract’s target made no difference. Rumor had it he’d even taken down a demon or two, hence his given title. No one could confirm nor deny the rumors. But the simple fact that he was still alive after hundreds of completed contracts spoke volumes of his resourcefulness.

  “My apprentice, Xavier Graystone,” said Owen, gesturing to the man in white. Liam looked at the man expectantly. Head low, hands hidden within his sleeves, the man gave no indication he was even listening. “Xavier speaks only when I permit him to do so,” Owen added, answering the questioning look on Liam’s face. His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at Alaric. “Now that all the pleasantries be out of the way, I need to know right now if my journey here was a waste of time.”

  “And what exactly are these terms you speak of?” Liam asked.

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Alaric snapped, glaring at the mystic. “I’ll fill you in as needed. Dismissed.”

  Liam bit his tongue. Continuing their heated debate in front of these two would only show weakness in front of the hunter. There had been enough of that already. He turned back to Owen and Xavier. “Well met,” he said with a bow. “I’m sure we’ll speak again soon.”

  “I’ve no doubt,” Owen grunted, a knowing, tight-lipped smile creeping across his face.

  With little choice in the matter, Liam stalked back into the hall. With all that had gone on the last forty-eight hours, adrenaline was about the only thing keeping him on his feet. But now even that reserve was beginning to run low. The lack of sleep was really taking its toll, and the thought of returning to his bedchamber was an inviting one indeed. Still, there was one last thing he needed to do before getting some much-needed rest. From his inner pocket he retrieved the ripped pages from his book. That girl is full of secrets indeed. Time we finished our little talk.

  Stifling a yawn, he made his way back downstairs. The saluting guards he passed irritated him for some reason. Was he just cranky from a lack of rest? No. Things seemed different somehow. Nightly parties thrown for no reason other than to mock those who couldn’t afford such lavish lifestyles. Soldiers saluting his very presence just because the chain of command dictated them to do so. This power pyramid he had grown accustomed to was nothing more than a mockery of organization. Suddenly, it all seemed so fake and meaningless in the face of recent events. How could these ridiculous protocols be more important than this strange, dark violence that was suddenly gripping their world? Did anyone even care?

  He marched up to the thick door, snapping open the eye slit. “Viola? Are you awake, my dear?” The smell coming through the slit was foul, far bitterer than it was his last visit. Listening closely, he could hear her raspy breaths. “Viola! Is everything all right in there?” No answer came, only the same harsh breathing.

  Liam turned on the guard to his right. “When did you check on her last? I told you she was to be well taken care of.”

  The guard avoided his gaze, eyes on the far wall instead. “I was following orders, sir,” he said, swallowing hard.

  “Quite the opposite, I’d say!” Liam retorted. “I gave you explicit instructions to—” He stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly realizing he had simply been outranked by another. “Unless the individual gave you specific instructions as to what you can, and cannot tell me, you are permitted by law to tell me whose orders you are following. I assure you there is no legal penalty for giving me that information.”

  “I am following the orders of Lord Alaric Bournfred, sir,” he replied quietly.

  “Which were?” Liam stated, his voice soft and solemn.

  “No food or water given to the prisoner until instructed otherwise, sir.”

  Liam was amazed at his own level of restraint. He raged inside, wanting to strangle Alaric, this soldier, and nearly anyone else who might cross his path today. Instead, he kept calm, knowing that a rampage would solve nothing. The wheels of his mind churned as he tried to piece together why such a cruel order would ever be given. The fate of the prisoners was mostly his jurisdiction. Why did Alaric get involved this one time, over this one prisoner? Was it just to get back at him?

  “I want you to fetch a proper meal and clean water,” Liam said, his voice dangerously calm. “You bring them directly to me, understand? My order does not conflict with your original instruction.”
r />   “Sir,” he acknowledged before turning away.

  “You,” Liam said, pointing to the other guard. “Open this door.” The soldier hesitated, appearing conflicted as to what he should do. Liam stepped towards him, towering over the young man. “It is a rare day indeed where I am forced to repeat myself,” he said, eyes blazing with barely controlled rage. “I ask you now, has that day come at last?”

  “N-No sir,” he stammered, immediately fumbling around with his key ring.

  “All of this falls on my shoulders, not yours,” Liam reminded him as the man clicked through the locks. “You are but a small piece in a much larger game, and won’t be held responsible.”

  Hearing the door click and rattle, Viola sat up. The straw in the corner used for a lavatory had yet to be changed, severely tainting the air in the unventilated cell. The rags they gave her to wear had grown foul with sweat, yet they were all she had. Her lips had grown chapped from lack of water, and her breaths came in raspy bursts. The door was flung open and in walked Liam. If the rancid stench in the room bothered him, he showed no indication.

  “I’m so sorry, my dear,” he said. It was so stuffy and hot in here it was hard to breath. Even animals didn’t get treated like this.

  “Water,” she begged, her voice raspy.

  “It’s coming,” he reassured her. “I swear I didn’t know you were being treated this way. I would have come back sooner.” He sat down beside her, his back to the wall.

  The guard returned, a hot plate in one hand, a silver pitcher of cool water in the other. He entered the cell, briefly turning up his nose as the musty stench assaulted him. “Give them here,” Liam reminded, holding out his hands. It was only a violation of his orders if he gave them directly to the prisoner. After setting them both down before the mystic, he took a step back.