“I came alone. May I come in?” she asked. Choss wasn’t aware that she even knew where he lived, but then again he shouldn’t have been surprised. There was very little that Dońa Jarrow didn’t notice.
He moved back and she stepped inside. Dońa Jarrow glanced around his front room before perching on the edge of a padded seat by the fire. Choss sat down opposite and tried to mirror her neutral expression and relax in her presence, but he found it almost impossible. Instead he went down into the calm place in his mind that he focused on before a fight. A place where he could lock away all of his emotions and shackle his rage. Eventually Dońa Jarrow spoke, her husky voice shattering the quiet.
“We’ve already heard back from the other Families. They’ve agreed to meet tomorrow night on neutral ground at the arena.” A nerve twitched in Choss’s face at the mention of the arena.
“What can I do to help?”
An unsettling smile briefly touched Dońa Jarrow’s mouth, but it never reached her eyes. “Don Kal will try to talk his way out of what happened. He’ll claim the venthe farm wasn’t his. Or that his men were doing it without his knowledge. He’s forgotten who we really are.”
“Which is?”
“We’re not diplomats who negotiate with words, or kings who barter with signed pieces of paper. I earned my position through blood and sacrifice, the same as every other head of a Family. Don Kal needs to be reminded of that.”
“Why come to me?”
Dońa Jarrow hesitated and a sour twist quirked her lips as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “Because I can’t trust my own people. Someone has been passing information to the other Families. I will deal with them soon enough, but right now I need someone I can trust.”
Choss considered her request, noting that she’d been very careful with her words. It was a stark contrast to their last meeting at the Emerald Dragon. So far she’d not mentioned their previous arrangement about him leaving the arena to work for her. Perhaps if he did this it would make them even, although he doubted it would be that simple.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Don Kal isn’t stupid. The farm you destroyed won’t be the only one. Venthe takes weeks to grow and he needs several to maintain a steady supply. I want you to find the other farms and destroy them tomorrow night while he’s at the Family meeting.”
“That’s a lot to ask, especially now. They’ll be extra careful after I burned down the other one.”
“But it’s not impossible for a man with your talents,” said Dońa Jarrow. It sounded like a compliment, but he knew she viewed him simply as a tool to be used. He couldn’t help himself and had to ask the obvious.
“Why should I do it?”
“I would’ve thought that was obvious.”
Choss leaned forward on his chair, struggling to control his temper. “I want to hear you say it.”
“If the Families go to war over this, the city will tear itself apart. We need to destroy every single stalk of the new venthe. Then everything can go back to normal, including fights at the arena.”
There it was. She’d set out the cheese and didn’t think he could see the trap beneath, ready to snap his neck.
“You must think I’m an idiot,” snarled Choss. Dońa Jarrow fidgeted in her chair but didn’t respond. “That’s not why you want me to do this. I know what this is really about.”
“And what’s that?”
“You want to eliminate Don Kal from the venthe business. It will weaken his business and drive more addicts to your dealers. That’s what you’re really after.”
A rare smile touched Dońa Jarrow’s face and she grudgingly nodded. “You’re right. His recklessness has cost all of us a lot of money. I want to weaken his Family’s position and drive him out of the city, but one thing at a time. For now I’ll settle for taking his piece of the venthe business.”
Choss sat back, letting the tension ease out of his shoulders. At least she’d not lied to his face. As he contemplated his choices Dońa Jarrow spoke again.
“There’s a price to be paid for everything that matters. I want to weaken him. You want the arena.”
“What sort of price?” asked Choss, although really he already knew the answer. It was a price he’d paid many times in his life.
“For people like us, it’s normally paid in blood. Nothing of worth comes without pain and sacrifice. Can you do it?”
He knew what it would cost him. The question wasn’t if he could do it, but if he was willing to pay the price. Choss took a few minutes to think it through, but eventually he realised there was only one answer he could give. One more time, just one more.
“Yes, I can do it.”
And with that Dońa Jarrow smiled again and he felt a chill run down his back.
CHAPTER 26
After an incredibly long day Fray should have just collapsed into bed when he got home. The missing journal entries from his father weren’t going anywhere. He could get some real sleep and read them in the morning when he was refreshed. He’d waited this long. One more night wouldn’t make any difference.
Instead of going to bed Fray lit every candle stub in his dingy room. In the flickering glow he smoothed out the pages and began to sort them into order, starting with the oldest. After reading so many of his father’s private journals he immediately recognised the crisp clean letters. Everything was neat and tidy. Everything had its proper place and Fray suspected his father’s mind had been the same, organised into different sections.
The chaos and disorder of the real world must have agitated his father no end. He’d tried so hard to keep his work and home life separate but they’d bled together around the edges. Fray had come to know Byrne from the many times he’d visited their home and had overheard countless conversations about investigations. Equally, thoughts of Fray and his mother must have pushed his father to work harder to keep them safe from all of the horrors he saw on a daily basis.
Bringing his mind back to the present Fray stared down at the pages. There were more pages than he had been anticipating. Finally, after five years of wondering, the answers about how his father had died were in front of him. Fray took a few deep breaths and tried to stop his hands from shaking.
The first few pages detailed the initial encounter with what would later come to be known as a Flesh Mage. To begin with the journal entries detailed a case, from twelve years ago, about a series of seemingly unconnected disappearances. However, each disappearance was preceded by a period of out-of-character behaviour by the victim. After the first few the Guardians assumed people were being abducted or murdered. But there were never any witnesses, no ransoms were ever received and no obvious suspects were found.
Eventually they had found a pattern and from there tracked down a key witness. The hunt for the Flesh Mage began in earnest. Thankfully, due to his father’s ability to see through her disguises with his magic, they found the Flesh Mage before she’d transformed into someone else.
From the moment the woman was caught and put into a cell she never spoke a single word. That changed when Fray’s father used his magic to look at her again.
Her features changed dramatically, moving from a bland stare to one of wonder. Just as I’d never seen an ability like hers before, she admitted with delight that my magic was completely new to her. She agreed to answer my questions, but only if I answered one of hers each time in return. There seemed little harm since she had an appointment with the hangman in a few days. Anything she learned about my magic would go no further.
She named herself as a Flesh Mage and admitted that she had been taught this ability, although she would not name her teacher. When I suggested it had been someone at the Red Tower her contempt was palpable. The passion and joy with which she described her magic and the feeling it gave her was like that of a black crystal addict. To her, it was the greatest feeling in the world and she couldn’t be without it. She would do anything to feel that way again.
Looking on her with my ma
gic, I saw a complete absence of light. Every other person is filled with a rainbow of colours, but her whole body was nothing but a featureless landscape. She could not explain this to me as she’d not known until I had described it to her. Even now I am at a loss to explain it.
It reminded me of an old story from the book of the Maker about evil creatures stealing people’s souls and consuming them as they didn’t have one of their own.
I came away troubled after my first meeting with her. There was so much more to this woman than it appeared. She was full of life, not some creature that ate the souls of her victims, and yet she was a remorseless murderer.
At our next meeting the following day I asked her more specific questions about her magic and her purpose in coming to Perizzi. She explained that her physical transformations were only possible by draining all energy from a living person, right down to the last drop of moisture. She had burned what little remained which explained why we never found the first few bodies.
The murders themselves were only a means to an end. The violent events were connected to her real goal. Despite understanding all of the words she used, I still can’t explain how her magic works.
My father made the choice for me, keeping me hidden when the Seekers came to our village, to prevent them from taking me away. They could not bear the idea of being parted from me for ten years or more, missing out on large parts of my childhood. I never regretted his decision until this moment when I am faced with something I can barely comprehend. Perhaps if I had studied at the Red Tower I might be better prepared, but most likely I would not have become a Guardian or even lived in Perizzi.
I have made the same choice for Fray, because in the wake of my wife’s death, the thought of being without him for years is one I cannot face. I hope that my son never experiences such a moment of confusion in the face of strange magic, but if he should, I hope that he forgives me.
Fray put down the pages for a minute and stared out the window at the sky. He wiped his face and took a few minutes before turning back to the journal.
The Flesh Mage was the spark that began each violent event. She shoved someone, spilt a drink, uttered an insult or even threw the first punch. Once it had begun all she had to do was sit back and wait, as without her influence the violence would spread. Then she fed on the raw emotions from those around her, filling her up to the brim before releasing it back into the crowd. At this point the violence increased tenfold and she gorged herself again.
Somehow she was able to summon the most primal parts of a person, no matter how deeply buried, and bring them to the surface. She was very clear on that point and wanted me to understand she created nothing.
I have dealt with violent men and women for years, but in that time I have also met spiritual people who are incapable of harming another. The pessimistic voice in my head believes the Flesh Mage is right and that deep down we are all alike and capable of terrible violence in the right circumstances. The optimist tells me she is wrong. On good days it is easy to ignore the inner cynic, but there are times when the optimist is drowned out by the cruelty I see people inflict upon each other without reason.
It’s late, I’m tired and rambling.
The end goal of the Flesh Mage is to absorb large amounts of this primal power and channel it to create a rift in the world. It will open onto a place beyond the Veil. She speaks about it as if it were simply opening a doorway to another room, but she cannot explain to me where this other place is, or what it is.
She could not tell me how many lives it would cost to open such a doorway, only that she came very close on her last attempt before she was captured. Eighty-seven people died and hundreds more were exposed to some of the darkest corners of their soul. Some of them committed cruel acts upon strangers and friends that they must somehow find a way to live with and justify what happened.
Such a thing could not be ignored or swept under the rug. The Queen and the Old Man have agreed to distribute a more palatable lie, an outbreak of a virulent disease that caused hallucinations. Some will be able to swallow the story and go on with their lives as if nothing has changed. My fear is that, in time, others will begin to see through the lie and I cannot imagine what might happen then.
Many times I asked her why she was attempting to open a doorway and each time her answer worried me greatly. To my surprise she asked me about my faith and truthfully I told her that I followed the Maker. She held nothing but contempt for all of the Gods. She claims they are dead and we pray to nothing more than ghosts of old powers that abandoned humanity long ago. Sensing my disbelief she asked me to show her any proof of the Gods in the last thousand years. She wanted me to point at some miracle, some clear indication of divine intervention that proved their existence. I could not come up with any and my retort about faith not requiring proof was met with derisive laughter.
The Flesh Mage claimed that she regularly prayed to her God. While not unusual in itself the most disturbing part was her claim that her God answered. Despite asking her several times she would not name her God, but she did tell me that he had been banished long ago. By opening this doorway he would be able to return to our world for the first time in ten thousand years.
I have searched through the archives, consulted with a dozen historians and theologians, spoken to several priests and yet none of them can find a reference anywhere to such a celestial myth.
This leaves me with three possibilities. First, that she is mad and the voice that answers her prayers exists only in her head. While it is possible I think it unlikely. My instincts tell me not all of it is in her head.
The second option is that the religious experts are ignorant, but this seems the most unlikely. This leaves me with the third option, which is that something is talking to her, but I do not believe it to be a God. Stories of demons exist in every piece of scripture, from the Maker to the Blessed Mother to the old pagan faiths. They are always said to live elsewhere, sometimes beyond the Veil, and they demand blood sacrifice and violence being committed in their name.
I believe something monstrous, and not of this world, is speaking to the Flesh Mage and if she had continued unchecked, she may have succeeded in bringing it into our world.
Fray’s stomach rumbled but he ignored it and focused on the last entry connected to this case.
The Flesh Mage is to be hanged at dawn for her crimes. When asked if she wanted anything she asked to see me one last time before the end. Spending time in her company is becoming more difficult, because after each visit I realise how little she cares for other people. However, I am still curious about who she really is, where she came from and who made her this way. I do not believe she was always so callous and indifferent about murder. The number of bodies we recovered has been counted and we estimate two hundred and twelve people died as a result of her actions.
As on all of my previous visits we traded answers. I have never spoken to anyone at such length about how my magic works, what it can do and the limits I am still exploring. Her impending death had not stunted her inquisitive nature and she pressed me for more details.
I will not be there in the morning to watch her hang. I cannot bear to look upon her sweet-natured face any more. Up to now I have avoided describing her appearance because it is too difficult to bring together the crimes she has committed with the innocent young woman I see looking back at me, chained to a wall by wrists and ankles. It is not until you look deep into her eyes that you can see the hollow space where her conscious, perhaps her soul, should be.
Tomorrow at dawn they will hang her until she is dead and then burn the body. There will be no marker of remembrance to denote her passing. She will be nameless but never forgotten.
The date on the next ripped-out entry was from five years ago, just three months before his father had died. Fray put the pages down for a minute and made a short trip to a nearby tavern, managing to grab some food before they closed for the night. The day had been hot and unpleasant but now much needed cool a
ir was blowing in from the sea, giving everyone in the city a little relief. Fray took his time walking home, trying to clear his head and prepare himself.
By the time he reached home and sat down again with the torn journal pages, some of the candle stubs had burned out. He moulded the still warm wax together and created a multi-coloured monstrosity that would provide light for a little while longer.
The final journal entries began like the others, with precise handwriting and a structured approach. A fight in a dockside bar had turned from rowdy, which wasn’t unusual, to one where eleven men were killed. Witnesses reported the men turning vicious like rabid dogs, tearing into each other with every weapon available including their nails and teeth. Blood was sprayed all over the walls and ceiling, and bits of bone and innards were scattered across the floor.
I went over the bar looking for something to explain their behaviour, but found nothing. The brutal nature of the murders was not something I had seen in a long time. Even before I asked everyone to leave the room and embraced my magic, I knew what I’d find. For a moment, when I saw the echo of magic clinging to the pieces of dead men scattered about the room, I thought that somehow she had returned. That somehow she had cheated death or escaped the hangman and we’d killed someone else in her place.
After a little while I realised that although the residue was similar there was a difference. This had been the work of a Flesh Mage, but it was someone else.
Once we knew that another Flesh Mage was involved the Khevassar made missing person cases a priority. I’m ashamed to say that because of the size of Perizzi, and the number of people coming and going each day, a lot of people go missing. We look into them when we can, but now they are as important as the violent event at the bar.
Once again a pattern began to emerge, where victims exhibited unusual behaviour before disappearing, but this time we started finding the bodies. They were dry husks, like ancient remains, rather than people who had died only a few days before. Despite knowing what was responsible and even a little about how it was done, it was difficult to find the Flesh Mage. If the pattern of escalation was to be identical then we anticipated a violent event on a grander scale, but we had no way of knowing where it would occur. Guardians and members of the Watch were stationed at the largest of gatherings around the city, including the music hall, the markets and the largest churches.
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