Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain

by Kristopher Cruz

  She dumped out her packs in her makeshift shelter and set things out with shaking hands. Though she knew she would have to be careful and plan her next moves, she was too tired and too cold to think beyond the immediate moment. She couldn’t even hold the matron’s dagger without it rattling. She found two changes of clothes in her pack, and two in her mother's.

  While she didn’t fit in her mother's clothes, they were sufficient enough to roll up into a pillow. She didn’t find anything else to bed on; everything in the pack, other than the clothes, was either hard or sharp. She used the empty packs to lie on, and draped the extra clothes over her. Though it was uncomfortable, she was too tired to care.

  As she was drifting off, sounds arose from the tunnel beyond the chamber. Water gurgled along the door, but didn’t leak inside. The elementals given the task of keeping the sewers clean and running followed the orders of their summoners to the letter. They did precisely what they were commanded to, nothing more and nothing less.

  As she started drifting back off to sleep, she thought that she would need to make a name for herself. Hells, before she could do that, she would have to pick the name.

  That night, she dreamed. She relived murdering her own mother several times, each dream drawing out the moment with lingering malice. Every time, she could see the twisted pleasure the matron had felt when she did it. The female not only got to complete the contract, but she also got to see a daughter turn on her mother in a heartless attempt to survive.

  She dreamed of pain and darkness, and the last words of her mother which ran through her head.

  “You want to make every strike your best, and most importantly your first.” She had told her. She was going to make that her motto. Her first strike would be her best. She would make her first strike perfect, an attack that would steal the life from anyone who got in her way.

  And she would find the matron of the Nightsever house again when she had perfected it and show her just what a perfect strike it was. Personally.

  She awoke not knowing how much time had passed. She dozed for several more minutes until she heard the gurgle of water rushing by the door again. She realized that she would have to leave soon or risk getting caught in the tunnels when it came back.

  Rising, she changed into one of her sets of clean clothing. She would have to find a way to live, and she was going to have to start now.

  She thought back to the dreams, which remained in stark clarity in her mind. Her hands no longer trembled. She had been emotionally torn, but she was throwing that part of herself away. She wouldn’t become attached to anyone ever again; it was a vulnerability that too many Sha’hdi indulged in and she could not afford to be weak. She had to be hard-hearted.

  “Hard-Hearted.” She whispered. “Yin Jalah.”

  “Devinia died the night her mother died.” She declared. “But until I gain a new name, I will remain Devinia.”

  * * * *

  Days passed, and survival was at first hard. There was a learning curve that was punishing and cruel. While she could walk around the streets, word had passed that she was a lost seed, no longer Devinia, and no backing of any house. She was only given the barest modicum of respect, even by the kindest of the Sha’hdi. Charity, she learned, was not a trait the moon elves cultivated.

  She learned quickly that she would need to steal in order to survive. It wasn’t even hard for her; she only had to wait for her stomach to growl at her to motivate her to larceny. Though her practice with shadowmeld and her eyes allowed her some advantage, she had to be cautious. About one in every twelve Sha’hdi had been born with the eyes, but it was easier for them to spot her uses of shadow magic.

  So she practiced, learned every route she could use to flee, and even spent hours observing the elves selling their wares out in the market to learn who the easiest marks were. It was surprisingly difficult; the Sha’hdi weren’t trusting by nature, and a small degree of paranoia was considered a healthy mental attitude. Still, she was lucky and survived the first few days without getting caught. She looked upon every chance as an opportunity to hone her skills.

  She sneaked off with whatever goods she could acquire for herself. Blankets, clothing, even some cookware she salvaged from a house that was closed down awaiting a treeshaper to repair root rot. She kept her things in the room off the sewer, and had finally made her home somewhat comfortable. At least, it was comfortable enough that she could sleep without freezing half to death in the night.

  Once she had mastered feeding herself, she focused her attention on making coin. That was the hard part. No one wanted to trust a lost seed with any work but menial labor, and because of her age she wasn’t even able to do that. She was still growing, and had none of the strength or great reflexes she would need to work.

  So instead, she went looking for others like herself. She had seen a few lost seeds in her younger years, but had dismissed them as easily as she was now being dismissed. It made her bitter now, knowing that she had contributed to the very condition that was now affecting her.

  She managed to get lucky three weeks after she adopted her new name. A pair of brothers was working a street corner passing out flyers for a nearby bakery and she approached them directly once she realized they were lost seeds.

  “Good day.” She greeted them, standing out of the way of foot traffic. The closest brother to her looked her up and down. His eyes were blue, and his hair dark ashen gray like his brother.

  “Go away, child.” The elf said, though he was hardly a decade older than her. “Where’s your mother?”

  “Dead.” She replied. “Where’s yours?”

  “Same.” He replied, “You should go home before we lost seeds eat you up.”

  Devinia felt an irritated twinge in her cheek. “Too late for that.” She replied. “I’m a lost seed too.”

  The elf looked her over again. “You must be crazy then.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re too young. You’re not even fully grown yet. How could you hope to make a life for yourself without the help of a family line if you can’t even work?”

  Devinia shrugged. “I’ve been able to take what I need when it comes down to it.” She replied mutedly. “I’m small for now, but I was thinking that maybe-”

  “No.” the other elf replied, smiling and handing a flyer to a passing elf. “Whatever you’re about to ask us, the answer is no. We have a hard enough time taking care of each other.”

  Devinia wasn’t about to let it stop her. “Then just give me some tips then!” she offered. “I could be of use in exchange.”

  The second elf glanced at her with sharp, gray eyes. “Sorry, girl.” He replied. “You don’t have anything we’re interested in. Come back when you’re grown up. Then maybe you can stay with us.”

  Devinia held back a scowl. She realized what he was implying. She wasn’t going to whore herself out to survive, but rapidly the possibilities dawned on her. Elf or not, most males were susceptible to certain charms. She gave him a half smile. “Yeah sure, that won’t happen ever.” She said, a bit of bite cutting into her voice.

  “Then piss off, girl.” He replied. They continued working, and Devinia made a show of walking away in a huff. She would have to find out what she wanted the hard way.

  Hours passed, and the two elves finished working. They were paid a paltry fee for their time and sent away with the coin and a package of bloodwine bread that had been left over from the sale.

  As they walked down the streets, they were unaware they had a follower. Devinia remained melded in the shadows, slinking along the sides of the roads where the glow of the suns above and the hanging crystal lights provided the deepest shadow. She could feel others passing by her, similarly melded into the shadows, but it was only a vague awareness of presence coming and going, and no particular one would linger for more than a split second before moving on.

  The two quickly made their way to the lower cost areas of the city. Though the trees had been crafted to
be the same size as most housing, they were segregated by floor, and external landings allowed a resident to live on their single floor. Devinia bitterly remembered the amount of space she had enjoyed as a child, where her family home had several floors.

  She waited until they opened the door to their room. She then pulled a trick she had seen only once before. She jumped from shadow to shadow, landing inside the shadow of the first brother. She moved with him as he walked, and she realized how hard the act was; the assassin who had offered to recruit her had done it effortlessly. It had seemed easy, but managing straying out from under his shadow all while trying to anticipate the direction he was walking was far harder than it looked.

  The two closed up the door and spoke the command word to raise the lighting. Neither of them had the eyes and couldn’t see her in the shadows.

  The home was small: the front room which was the living room and kitchen combined. Barely furnished, the home definitely looked lived in, but had very little in the way of personal effects. The blue-eyed elf set the bread down and turned to his brother.

  “You can take the first bath, brother.” He said, rummaging through the sparse supplies he had to cook with.

  Devinia waited until they were separated to move. She rose out of the shadow behind the first brother. She never went anywhere without the dagger she took from her mother’s body, and she quietly drew it. He stood from leaning over the counter, and stiffened. She could tell he knew something was amiss and struck quickly.

  The pommel of the dagger impacted the side of his head as he turned suddenly. He was too late to defend himself, and with a sickening crack he dropped to the floor, blood trickling down the side of his face. Devinia froze, her ears straining to pick up any other sounds.

  Apparently, she had hit him hard enough to knock him out. As much as she wanted to feel ready to, she couldn’t push herself to kill again. It wasn’t time yet, and she had no reason to kill them. She only needed to learn any tricks they had.

  “Y-you!” the other brother stammered from the door into the other room. He was only in his pants, startled while he had been preparing for a bath. He saw the dagger in her hands, and his face paled as he recognized the symbols on the blade. “You’re an assassin?” he asked, trying to figure out whether to run for the door or to lock himself in the bedroom and hope she couldn’t get in.

  Devinia looked down at the blade, then back up at the elf. “An assassin?” she asked, partially to herself. “Not today. You two will live, but I will not allow your stubbornness to stop me from moving up in the world.” She pointed the dagger at him. “You will tell me what I need to know or I will end you!” she exclaimed, putting every bit of menace she could in her voice, hoping to hide how scared she was inside.

  The elf swallowed nervously, and held up his hands. “All right, you have us. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. After that, just please leave us alone!”

  “Excellent.” She replied, pushing the first brother over with her foot. “First, who are you?”

  “I’m Markus, and if you haven’t killed him, my brother is Lukas.” He answered immediately. “We were originally from house Si-”

  “I don’t care about that.” She interrupted. “Now, tell me everything you learned about surviving as a lost seed.”

  The elf nodded. “Okay.”

  Lukas awoke some time later to find his brother sitting on a chair, staring out the open door. A breeze fluttered through the room, and the loaf of bloodwine bread was missing. In fact, most of their food was missing.

  “Ah hells,” he muttered, rubbing his head. “We got robbed.”

  Markus muttered something, and Lukas shook his head. “What?”

  Still staring wistfully out the door, Markus murmured. “I think I’m in love.”

  Lukas shook his head again. “W-what?” he exclaimed.

  Markus sighed. “That was a Sha’hdi that will go somewhere.”

  “Who?”

  “The girl.”

  “The girl?”

  “You know. The one that approached us at work?”

  “What about her?” Lukas asked, walking over to the door and shutting it. He had been out for nearly half an hour.

  “She was here.” Markus replied. “She thwacked you on the head, interrogated me harshly and left with most of our food like she was a professional.” His voice sounded almost reverent. “I never saw anything so beautiful.”

  “Great, I hope she clubbed you senseless.” Lukas replied. “Who was she?”

  Markus looked at his brother. There was a welt of a handprint on the left side of his face that had been obscured while he was gazing at the door. “She called herself Devinia, and I think she’s not a lost seed after all.”

  Lukas was feeling he must have been hit fairly hard in the head because his brother wasn’t making any sense. “What? Why would she say she’s a lost seed if she wasn’t?” he asked. “She wouldn’t get anything out of it.”

  “She was holding a dagger from house Nightsever.” Markus admitted, touching his cheek.

  Lukas hesitated. The only ways she could be holding one of those daggers and still be alive was to either be an assassin of that house or to have been given the dagger by someone powerful in the Nightsever family. They didn’t leave their equipment around for anyone to pick up, and stealing their gear was a good way to wake up dead.

  “Whoa.” Lukas admitted. “I… I think we may want to keep an eye out for her.”

  Markus nodded. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Lukas rolled his eyes. “I know, she probably set us back months, but… you have to admire her determination. She could become someone.”

  “If she lives that long.” Markus stated. “Come on; let’s see what we have left to eat tonight. It’s going to be a lean week for us.”

  She had relished the bloodwine bread. She digested the bread at her sewer home, along with the information she had gathered. There were people who had made a business of working with lost seeds, and now she knew better how to operate within the city without the social support of a house or bloodline. Most importantly, she learned what it cost to start a house of her own.

  While the humans put less stock in bloodline than the elves did, they consequently had an easier time starting a new one; most of their societies accepted new family names without resistance. For the elves, it was a significant matter since family lines could last for thousands of years, and human bloodlines were so intermingled it was rare to see one last a few centuries.

  For now, she lacked the means to draw together enough seeds to form a bloodline, nor did she have the ability to afford the tithes to the kingdom nor did she know what she would be tested on; Markus had little knowledge on that fact. She’d even slapped him around a bit to make sure.

  It seemed like surviving the six years and joining the Poisonblades was the best idea for her. She had already been growing, but as far as the assassins were concerned, she still had the body of a child. As she settled in to sleep, she considered what she would do to keep busy during the wait. Practice, she concluded.

  * * * *

  In the months that followed, Devinia started making progress. She found new ways to reach her saferoom, and never took the same way home twice. She quickly mastered the art of shadowmelding, getting to the point where she could remain in a single shadow for hours. It taught her patience. She practiced following in a person’s shadow, trying to keep in sync with their motions. It taught her to anticipate.

  At the end of the first month since her rebirth, she returned to the plaza where her new life began. During the day, it was a beautiful place. In the night, it took on a mournful air that she couldn’t shake. She knew that the assassin she was to meet wasn’t there, nor would she be for years. But still, a part of her hoped that she would come back and take her away early.

  It was getting too hard to steal food; many of her marks had caught on to the depletion of their stores and changed their displays to better protect them.
Now, many of their shops and stands included bright lights over the door or directly over their product to keep any shadowmelded thieves from taking advantage.

  It suited her just fine. She had stocked up enough supplies to last her a while, and had been working on hoarding money. With the money she made, she just purchased the things she wanted. The problem with making money still remained, but she discovered another problem altogether with the process.

  Salthimere used precious metal coins just like many other countries, but their coin was mostly used for external trade. Wealth inside the kingdom was mostly kept in the vaults of the Alastrel house or in the head of house’s coffers of other families. Coin was only doled out for sufficiently small purchases, while anything more costly than a few silver pieces was transacted by internal means. A voucher of payment was written up and signed by the members of the house in charge of money. The seller then took the voucher to the Alastrel house and their ledgers were adjusted accordingly.

  While efficient, it presented a number of problems; the first of which was that only houses could make large purchases. It was beyond her abilities to fake a house voucher of purchase. It was also beyond her abilities to go to the source, the house Alastrel vaults. Attempting to forge a voucher or nip anything from their vault was more likely to kill her than jumping off a cliff. She’d heard stories of how quickly house Alastrel responded to forgers and thieves.

  So for now, she would have to collect small bits of coin. She practiced sleight of hand, learned from watching other lost seeds. She only took information by force the one time, having learned that making enemies could be detrimental to her well-being. Ever since then, she’d had to keep an eye out for the two brothers. On several occasions they had come looking for her, and she’d used the pursuit as an opportunity to practice her skills at evading pursuit without using her advanced shadow magic.

  She never did discover what it was that the brothers wanted from her. As far as she was concerned, revenge was a common motivation among Sha’hdi. It was one of the emotions they felt more passionately than other races. To them, an offense must be made right, one way or another.