As Fray headed for home he passed a few squads of the Watch and each time they made note of his presence. A smile, or a little wave to indicate his status. Once again he was part of the city and its people, and yet now he was a member of another group that sat apart from others.
Just over a year ago his magic had forced him to the fringes, to hide in the shadows and do his best to go unnoticed. Now, because of the uniform, the opposite happened and Fray couldn’t walk down a street without drawing attention. It was rarely negative, but never overtly friendly as no one offered to buy him a drink or wanted to stop and chat. If you saw a Guardian, then it usually meant something bad had happened.
Part of Fray wanted to rip off his uniform and just blend into one of the crowds. To walk through a group of people without anyone staring. To drink and sing and feel part of a community. Suddenly he understood how much his father must have cherished coming home to his family every night. A safe and welcoming place where they were always happy to see him and didn’t dread the uniform. Fray believed that the other Guardians would offer him friendship over time, but it wasn’t the same. Coming home was a feeling that he struggled to describe, even to himself. It had been lacking from his life for a long time.
For once when the narrow stairs that led up to his tiny rooms came into view Fray wasn’t dismayed by the sight. He locked and bolted the door, lit a few candles and found some comfort in the familiarity of his surroundings, if not the ringing silence that echoed in his ears. He considered just going to sleep for a few hours but his mind was whirling with so many questions. Instead he pulled out his father’s journals and started to read them again from the beginning. This time, because he knew they had been written for him, he saw each entry in a different light.
After a few hours Fray knew that the journals would only get him so far. His father wasn’t here to help him but he was not without contacts who could offer advice.
Moving to the window he painted a symbol for the Maker on the glass with the red paint Eloise had provided. Many people had small shrines in corners of their home dedicated to their faith, but the poorest simply painted their windows in the hope of receiving some blessing and protection. Fray drew the stylised hand that represented the Maker and set a candle in the window beside it.
For the next few hours he read his father’s journals as he waited, but as the night stretched on, he dozed and finally slept. A strange tingling sensation across his scalp woke him and he sat up to find Eloise sat in the window.
“You’ve found another child,” she said without preamble. Once again her rasping breath sounded incredibly loud.
“What happened to the boy? Where is he?” asked Fray, shaking off the remnants of sleep.
Eloise’s masked face turned towards him, the metal glinting in the candlelight. She watched him in silence for a minute before answering. “He is safe. We asked him what he wanted and again he chose the Red Tower. He’s on his way there with a group of merchants delivering supplies.”
“Is that safe?” asked Fray, thinking of the accidents he’d heard about.
“We’ve taken precautions,” said Eloise, waving a hand to brush the topic aside. “Where is the other child?”
“There isn’t one. I need your help with something else.”
“You want to hire me?” asked Eloise, and Fray sensed a smile behind the mask.
“No, I need you to help me stop a killer.”
“That’s a job for the Watch and the Guardians.”
“You don’t understand,” said Fray and this time he fell silent for a time as he mulled over his decision. “Can I trust you?” he finally asked.
“I have kept your secret and many others. Whatever you share with me will remain private.”
Despite her promise Fray still hesitated. Eventually he realised there was little choice. Part of him knew that already, or else he would not have painted the symbol on his window.
“You mentioned my father. You know he died just over five years ago, but do you know how or why?”
“No, the details have never been revealed.”
“He died fighting a man called a Flesh Mage. Do you know what that is?” To his surprise Eloise shook her head. “It’s a parasite. Someone who feeds on the life and raw energy of other people. Five years ago a Flesh Mage tried to open a doorway. A rift to somewhere beyond the Veil. Don’t ask me how because I don’t know. But he was communing with something on the other side that he, and others, believe is a God.”
“It is not.” Eloise’s words brooked no argument.
“And even if it were, allowing a being that powerful to cross over would be worse than any plague.”
“Last time the death toll was in the hundreds and now it is happening again. Another Flesh Mage is threatening the city.”
Starting at the beginning, from when Byrne had come into his shop, Fray told Eloise about what had happened in their investigation into the Flesh Mage. She sat in rapt silence throughout, never questioning the validity of what he told her.
“I need you to teach me about magic,” he said in conclusion. “I need to know how it works so I can fight him and stop this.”
“What you’re asking is not something that can be taught overnight. There are many aspects to magic. It is not a single straight road.”
“But isn’t what I can do a form of magic?” asked Fray.
“Yes, but yours is a Talent that is incredibly rare. To you it’s just like flexing a muscle. It would take me months of study to unravel how it’s done, before I could try to mimic it.”
“Months?”
“Why do you think the Red Tower takes in children as young as possible? Control can be taught in a few weeks or less to prevent accidents. It takes years to master some aspects of magic. Every year new Talents are discovered that have to be unravelled before they can be safely taught to others.”
Something clicked into place in Fray’s head. “You healed the boy. I’ve never seen that before, but there are old stories of such things.”
“It was lost for a long time. I learned how to heal in a very dark place,” said Eloise with a catch in her throat.
“I don’t have months or even weeks. We came close once, but the Flesh Mage slipped away. I need to find him.”
“There is one thing I can teach you that may help,” said Eloise, “but it will not be easy.”
“I’m willing to try.”
“Even if you don’t know how something is done with magic, it can be unravelled.”
“Show me,” said Fray.
They practised for hours until the sun came up, by which time Fray’s eyes were sandy and painful. But when Eloise left he could unravel her constructs two or three times out of ten. It wasn’t much but at least he had a way of fighting back.
CHAPTER 30
Sol, the Flesh Mage, kept one eye on the ranting Don Kalbensham and the other on the door. So far no one had bothered to investigate the noise, which suggested they’d been expecting it. Don Kal had been shouting for some time and Sol had barely been listening since the start.
Plans were in motion that could not be stopped and the normally long-sighted Morrin didn’t seem to have the vision to let events play out. For one who had lived for over a century his patience seemed to be incredibly short these days.
Finally he started to wear himself out and flopped down in a chair.
“All of them, just gone,” he lamented about the destruction of his venthe farms in one night. It had been a daring and dangerous attack but very thorough, as every stalk had been turned to ash, every guard killed and left for the crows.
“There’s no choice, I’ll have to take a step back and wait. Plant an old crop of venthe and go back to how it was before.”
“You mean bowing and scraping to the other Families?” asked Sol.
Don Kal didn’t rise to the bait. “I should never have listened to you. You’re bad luck. Ever since the start you’ve made promises and none of your plans have worked.”
“The arena didn’t go quite as planned,” admitted Sol. He’d miscalculated and the first strain of venthe had proven too strong, driving the fighter into a blood rage. However, it had proven useful in that it had given him a boost in power. He’d then fed all of that fury back to the crowd and increased his strength again.
“I want you out of here, Sol. It will take time to recover from this, maybe a few years, but I will grow strong again, because I’m a patient man.”
“I’m getting very tired of your constant complaints,” said Sol.
“This is still my house,” said Don Kal. “You will leave now before I take offence.”
When the guard didn’t move towards them Don Kal finally turned around and stared at the silent man. “Escort him out of here.”
The man made no move but he looked towards Sol for instruction.
“Some of your people have lost their faith in you,” admitted Sol. “They belong to me now.”
“One or two turncoats will change nothing,” said the Morrin.
“I think it’s time you became more proactive,” said Sol. “Watch the door,” he said to the guard as he moved towards the Morrin. Don Kal started to scream but Sol clamped one hand over his mouth as the guard moved to stand watch outside. Don Kal surprised him by producing a dagger but his arm lost all of its strength as Sol started to draw out his life force. The dagger clattered to the floor so instead he tried to shove Sol away, but it was already too late, they were joined and the process had begun. Energy flowed out of the Morrin, a trickle and then a river, as the years of life ahead were pulled from his body and channelled into Sol.
Blue veiny lines sprouted all across the Morrin’s face, until it became more blue than white. His hair turned grey then white all over, the skin sagged on his face and his horns lost their sheen. The Morrin’s body shuddered and then started to contract as all fluids evaporated. The skin on his face became tighter and tighter, the eyes shrinking in their sockets to tiny raisins, the hands twisting into claws. A final gasp escaped the dead Morrin’s lips and once again Sol thought he saw something flickering at the edge of his vision, but he brushed it aside. His senses could not be trusted during this part of the process.
Finally there was nothing more to take. Sol stumbled back and then fell into a chair. The dry husk of Don Kal stared back at him from across the room. A skeletal husk dressed in clothes that sagged off a stick-thin figure.
The first wave of pain ran through Sol’s head and he braced himself for the onslaught. Of course, it started in the skull, a twisting snapping sound as the bones came apart and his jaw broke. He bit down and muffled the first scream but knew it wouldn’t last. As the first nodule of horn split his scalp Sol shrieked in agony and would have fallen to the floor if he’d not gripped the arms of the chair. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the guard had come back into the room and was staring in horror, his eyes wide with terror.
Another lance of pain ran down his spine and he felt it stretch and realign itself. His jaws stretched wider and wider, snapped again, and then stretched as his whole skull became longer and leaner. The pain became too much and soon he didn’t know if he was screaming or not. All he remembered was seeing the colours in the room shifting from dull browns and blacks to a sea of red and blue. A popping sound followed by a rushing noise close to his ears came next, and somewhere nearby he could hear two heartbeats, one frantic and scared, the other slow and regular.
The frantic pounding of feet approached before the transformation was complete and he waved towards the door. The guard understood enough to quickly slip outside and try to delay them before the transformation was complete. Searing pain in his jaw told him it wasn’t finished and he felt fresh teeth rip their way through his gums. A twisting sensation made him look up and the horns started to curl backwards and turn from black to a deep brown.
As his feet and spine swelled he started to choke, gagging and coughing before hunching forward and spitting out a wad of something red and black. He kicked it towards the fire where it sizzled for a few seconds, turning the fire blue. Raised voices came from outside the door as a crowd had gathered, drawn to the room by his tormented screams.
Finally the pain started to subside, but echoes of it remained, running down his spine and across the new edges of his skull. Without drawing power it would take weeks before they settled, months for the skull to harden.
Standing proved more difficult than anticipated but he managed to shuffle across the room and yank open the door, sticking his head out. Ten of Don Kal’s Silver and Gold filled the hallway, all of them armed and angry, facing off against the guard. They all relaxed when they saw him.
“What’s this?” asked Sol, his voice alien to his ears.
“We heard screaming, Don Kal,” said a tall muscular woman with red hair. It took him a couple of seconds to retrieve her name.
“It’s fine, Tandir. The Flesh Mage and I are having a disagreement. He no longer works for me.” Sol made sure he didn’t smile as he dismissed them with a wave. They started to disperse as he leaned on the doorframe, trying to get used to his new body. When they’d all gone he grabbed the guard’s arm to keep himself upright.
“Put me in the chair,” he gasped. The guard bore his weight easily, lowering him slowly into the chair.
Sol spent the next hour getting used to his body and into some of Don Kal’s clothes while the guard disposed of the corpse. No one questioned him as he carried the wrapped body away and more than a few seemed pleased by the old Morrin taking a more active role. He made a note of who they were for later, as they would likely be more in favour of what came next.
Next he sent runners out to gather all of his Gold and Silver, as well as the Brass for a meeting that night. By the time they’d all arrived, news about the destruction of the venthe farms had spread. Sol could see many angry faces in the crowd and he could feel several more who concealed it better than the rest. Their simmering rage felt like a warm breeze blowing against his skin, making it tingle and itch.
Sol held up one hand for silence, copying the mannerisms of the late Don Kal. His own memories and feelings were there, securely locked away in a corner, but the rest seemed taken up with Don Kal’s. The edges were bleeding together, mixing up recent fresh memories from the last few weeks. Sol had to work harder than ever before to maintain his sense of self and not let the Morrin take over. It had happened only once before and he’d lost two weeks, living as his host before waking up in the night screaming at seeing a stranger’s face in the mirror.
“By now you’ve all heard,” said Sol as Don Kalbensham. “All of our venthe farms have been destroyed. Burned to the ground by agents from the other Families.” A few people shuffled their feet and glared but no one spoke out. Their loyalty to Don Kal was absolute. “I put my trust in the wrong person and he let me down. The Flesh Mage is gone and now we must start from scratch. The other Families expect me to lick my wounds, say nothing and rebuild. I did consider it. It would be the wise thing to do, if only it ended there.” Sol shook his head sadly as if disappointed by the recent turn of events. “A friend brought me some troubling news. The venthe farms were only the beginning. The other Families are restless. They want to drive me out of the city all together, cut up my turf and make it ruled by four Families instead of five.”
People in the crowd grumbled and muttered among themselves. He let it continue for a few seconds before raising a hand and the noise quickly drained away.
“The other Families think I am old and weak. They think we will just walk away. I have been in this city longer than any of them and it is my home. Wisdom tells me to wait, but they’ve forced my hand. We will take the fight to them. We will cut into their territory. We will rule this city!”
The roar from the crowd made his ears ring. Somewhere in the back of his mind Sol felt Don Kal’s disappointment and frustration at seeing his people so easily manipulated. A smile felt out of place but Sol couldn’t help it. The tide of strong emotions
coming from the crowd was already so dense it didn’t take much to absorb a trickle of energy and feed it back to them.
Don Kal had forgotten most of his people were not Morrin. They didn’t have his patience or his decades to plan and scheme a complex form of revenge. All of them were men and women of action, but lately there hadn’t been enough to satiate them.
He gave individual orders to all of the Gold and Silver, who seemed pleased by his change in behaviour. A few made comments about having the old Don Kal back, which made him smile and a tiny voice howl in the back of his mind. Eventually the last jackal left and Sol collapsed in a chair, feeling tired and hungry. Normally he would have eaten a couple of chickens, some bread and cheese to fill the hole, but Don Kal favoured seafood. Instead he sent someone for a large portion of smoked fish and rice.
The Families would go to war and slaughter each other for nothing. The streets would run red with blood and he’d feed the city’s misery and anger back to its people until it spread beyond the criminal underworld. Neighbours would turn on each other, family members would savage their own kin, and chaos would spread until every street was littered with the dying and the dead.
Then, when he had amassed enough energy, he would open a hole in the world and his God would cross over from beyond the Veil. He would be raised up on high and together they would reshape the world.
CHAPTER 31
Munroe had to knock on the door several times and shout that she wasn’t going away, before she heard someone shuffling around inside. Finally the door opened to reveal a battered and bloody Choss. He leaned heavily on the wall with one arm and the other was wrapped in a makeshift sling. Half of his face was swollen, his right eye completely closed with a huge purple bruise, and the rest of him looked in much the same shape. He looked like a steak that had been pounded with a hammer.
“Maker’s balls,” whispered Munroe. She immediately shoved her way inside, doing her best to prop him up and close the door at the same time. Together they shuffled down the hallway into his front room where they slowly crab-walked across the tiled floor before falling back into a wide chair. Patches of blood and a heap of bandages indicated this was where Choss had been resting until she’d made him get up.
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