by Ty Arthur
He took note of the lack of response, and chided himself against being so flippant. Of all the awful things he'd seen in the city, he'd never lost a child there. Perhaps it would be best not to bring it up at all.
Hoping to salvage his plot before it was discounted entirely, Myrr quickly shook his head before whispering back, “No, not a patrol, we're too few for that to work, they'd realize something was amiss. With all the resistance members in this neighborhood we'd likely just be ambushed for our troubles. They've become more brazen about their attacks.”
Her responses quickened, and Myrr wondered if that showed interest or meant she was simply thinking of objections. “What then? Not one of those bastard nobles in the high ward who pay lip service to the Black Gauntlet. They'd never come here at night without a full contingent of knights to keep them safe from filth like us.”
That hatred of those who lived well on the hill at the heart of the city, while the unfortunates they governed over starved or were murdered in their homes, was a sentiment well shared by those in the other wards. Myrr wouldn't ruin his chances of securing her cooperation by admitting it was an idea he'd considered, but rejected.
Getting into the high ward would be difficult enough, but even if they killed some family and made off with their clothes and jewelry, no one would ever believe they weren't rabble from a lower section of the city. The stink of the occupation clung to them, and it was too obvious they'd been living through hell the past three years.
“We'd never manage that deception properly, but there's another option,” Waiting half a breath to ensure his audience was still receptive, Myrr continued, “The soldiers would let me pass as a collector. They move freely through all wards of the city and at all hours, but they also aren't afforded the same protection as the nobles or priests. A single collector with one armored bodyguard wouldn't warrant a second glance from anyone. If we come across a patrol, they might even escort us to safety.”
Something like a grin grew and a soft chuckle arose, absent the anger this time. She nodded and offered her agreement, “Better than doing nothing and dying in a hole.”
That option was clearly closed off, as there was only escape or death now. Something inside him rumbled its assent and an image of an empty safe house flashed through his mind, but he tried to ignore it. Having his hidden passenger in harmony with his thinking was more worrying than being at constant odds with its incomprehensible desires. He didn't trust it to truly have his best interests in mind.
The deal was struck though, and Myrr knew it would be time to move shortly. He pointed down the street to an imposing brick building dominating the southern edge of the lane and flanked on either side by dilapidated wooden structures that appeared long abandoned.
“Every ward, even one as lowly as ours, has a building where the soldiers and scribes enter in groups of seven at different times of day. They've turned the top floors into places of worship they call sanctums. There's always a group that enters just after true night falls for a final ritual before the new day begins.”
A sudden lurch in his stomach had Myrr's arm reaching out to the nearby wall for stability as he nearly lost his feet beneath him. Tala quickly propped him up, concern etching through her dirty face. “Are you sure you're ready for this?”
Myrr waved her off, muttering about hunger pains. He wished it were truly the cause, knowing the dread thing hidden deep below was trying to tell him something, but not in any way he could decipher. Its purpose remained alien, and he hoped it would long stay that way. He had a feeling whatever it wanted wasn't going to be pleasant, or conducive to a long life.
“It's always the same, every time. Seven of them will be going in any minute, and they'll stay there for at least an hour. They always remove their armor and helmets before their chanting starts. If we act with haste, we can make off with equipment that will let us stroll right down any street without being questioned.”
Over the years living in the shadows he'd watched them and learned their routines. Other than the cathedral in the high ward, all their ritual chambers were housed out across the city, but never kept in their barracks. They never spoke of it openly to the people beneath them, but from snippets of overhead conversation while remaining out of harm's way, he'd gathered they found these daily rituals to be necessary but repugnant, even to themselves. The knights sought out greater devotion to their deity, but for reasons unknown they kept that devotion separate from their warfare or their daily activities.
He sighed, wondering if the recent rioting and scuttlers loose in the street had upended their usually meticulous schedule. “It's a gamble, but no worse than openly moving through the streets. Either way we're certain of death if we get caught, but this at least gives us a chance to stay alive another day.”
The question came then that might end his scheme before it even began. “To what end? Even if we pass as members of their order, they aren't going to just let us walk out the gates and leave the city.”
Myrr shook his head and slowly raised his arm to point at the outline that was always visible no matter how little light was available, reaching out towards the flat planes that were even darker than the surrounding pitch black sky. When the rumble came from within, he knew he'd finally guessed his internal companion's wishes. “That obelisk is the only sure method of getting beyond the walls, and this darkness inside me is the key.”
Calling on it before had resulted in wanton death and nearly shattered his mind, and Myrr didn't want to know what fell price it would exact if he had to bring it forth again, but he was certain it had some connection to the tower. It had stopped moving after landing in the high ward the day after the knights first arrived, and ever since then their invasion had been halted in place as the soldiers searched the city block by block, time and again.
They wanted the thing inside him, and the thing inside him wanted to be back in that tower. His certainty was growing the more he thought on it, as images flashed in his mind of floating black planes of force and bolts of twisted void raining down on the city.
Myrr tried to grin, thinking of how the knights had no idea just how close they'd been to their prize, over and over, but he found his face wouldn't comply. More than just the present circumstances marred by the dead and dying or the hatred brewing in the living, he worried life under occupation had killed that part inside that allowed mirth. He frowned deeper as the thought went farther, wondering if it wasn't the occupation at all, but rather his silent companion. Of all the people living across the sprawling metropolis, he alone knew how maddeningly close the knights had been to their quarry, because what they were looking for was hiding inside him.
Looking down at the thought, he expected to see it move visibly beneath the skin, but it was more elusive than that. It didn't show itself unless it had to, exhibiting some sort of sly intelligence and active will. He was coming to think of himself more as a host than an owner, suspecting that it stayed within because it was convenient to do so, and not because it required his flesh and blood to survive. If someone else had come across it, they would no doubt be offering up their body as an unwilling vessel now in his place. His only hope was that when it was done with him, he and Tala would be allowed to go free.
13 (Western Ward, Early True Night)
True to his word, the procession of seven arrived shortly, just as Myrr said they would. Tala watched from beneath the building's eave as the figures approached, one at the back and one at the front holding out unpleasant-smelling torches.
She jostled him up while asking, “How did you know about this?”
His finger hit his lips, motioning her into silence, and soon she recognized the wisdom in this course of action as the sound of the knights and their retinue carried clearly across the nearly deserted street. Only part of the sentence was audible, but if she could hear them, they would be able to hear her.
“Some madman broke into the cathedral in the high ward and blinded the Overlord's personal retinue of guards. We'l
l be back out on the streets for a second patrol after...” The voice trailed off as the final member of the procession entered the brick structure.
To her surprise the pair didn't immediately follow after, as Myrr turned to the side and approached the next building over, once a home filled with life and dreams but now just yet another abandoned structure. He grabbed hold of a large open window and drew in a breath, as though steeling himself for some action he wasn't sure he had the ability to follow through. Finally stepping free of her steadying arm, he pulled himself over the sill into the darkness.
When she placed her hand on the sill, Tala was surprised to feel not rough, splintery wood, but a worn smooth edge, as though this had been done many times in the past. Not wanting to tarry out on the street in case any stragglers followed the procession of soldiers and scribes, she pulled herself in after Myrr, holding her hands out in the pitch black room. Despite a lack of sight, she was imminently grateful to finally be out of the rain.
Stumbling forward, she solidly collided with her larcenous companion, holding her tongue as they both nearly went down in a heap. His hand found hers then as their roles reversed and Myrr pulled her up, leading her through the darkness. The soft creaking of the boards beneath their feet shifted in tone as Myrr slowed ahead, and she realized they were going to move up a set of stairs unseen in the blackness. Each step was taken slowly, painstakingly, to avoid tumbling back down and alerting anyone nearby to their presence.
When they reached the top, a faint stream of filtered starlight coupled with a cold, wet breeze shot across the floor from another broken window sill. Peeking ahead, she could see this window looked directly across at the side of the brick building, rather than into the street below.
Peering through the gaping wound in the side of the house, she could just make out the bottom of a ledge a few feet above on the adjacent building. Questions swirled now as to what this man did before and during the occupation, and how he knew about the comings and goings of the occupiers to so intimate a degree, but she set them aside.
He pointed his arm up the window and nodded slowly, then pulled himself out and vaulted upward. Through the dim light of the stars – one of them her special birth star, no doubt still watching down on them – she caught sight of Myrr struggling to heave himself up onto the ledge and eventually disappearing into the brick building. Something was compelling him onward with a sudden fervor that was surprising considering his difficulty simply walking only minutes ago.
Whispering a litany in her mind in case the whispers came back while she exerted herself, Tala jumped from the window sill and felt her hands wrap around a brick edge, slick with rain. Pulling up with all her strength but going nowhere, at first she thought she would slip and fall before reaching the edge, just as two rough hands grabbed hold of her side and clumsily aided her entrance.
The room they found themselves in was equally as dark as the corresponding space in the building they'd just departed by less-than-usual means, but Tala could clearly hear movement and muffled speech through the nearby wall. A thin sliver of light cut across the room as the door opened slowly and she nearly jumped back through the window before realizing it was her roguish counterpart, checking to ensure the hallway outside remained clear.
She found herself wishing he'd make use of that fell power toiling away inside him, obliterating all seven of the occupiers ahead without giving them even a moment's warning, but knew better than to break the silence and ask. Guilt immediately stabbed throughout as she thought of the high price to be paid by letting loose the things inside.
She would refuse such a request, so how could she ask it of anyone else? At least the whispers weren't there to berate her this time, but how long that would remain the case was unclear. Tala knew better than to hope they were well and truly dead. The thought brought her back to the dirt mound in the Briar, and she held her hand against a nearby wall to steady herself as she pushed down the hysterical despair working its way up without the need of any whispers for inspiration.
The door swung open more fully and Myrr waved her over to the doorway, looking out into a hall bearing several wall sconces and a riot of gear and clothing strewn across floor and wood bench alike. Helmets, tabards, spears, maces, daggers were all ripe for the taking and left out in plain sight. But where were the owners?
The answer came shortly when she heard one of the soldiers, now much clearer and closer, answering some question posed by a subordinate. “It's too important to skip. The streets are going to hell out there, but it's all without purpose if we don't stay true to the course. As soon as we complete the litany we can return to aid our brothers in quelling this rebellion.”
There was some grumbling from several of the others, before they all apparently came to some assent that whatever they were doing in the next room was more pressing than putting down the chaos going on just a few blocks away. As soon as one of them began intoning a religious chant in a deep voice that spoke of rote knowledge, Myrr slipped from their hideout and began gathering up what was needed, removing his shabby cloak and searching for a stray collector's robe that would fit his wiry frame.
Tala joined him out in the hallway, worried about their exposure as they so brazenly stole from soldiers only hidden from them by a single wooden wall. All one had to do was turn round the hallway's corner and they'd be caught, not to mention severely outnumbered in a cramped space. Even in the blessed silence she still took a moment to internally rebuke herself for cowardice and reached out to seize the opportunity, pulling a chainmail hauberk over her head as slowly and quietly as possible.
The thick boots would be a problem, as she suspected anyone in the building would hear the creaking if she tried to walk away with them on, so she saved them for last, stuffing her disordered mess of hair into a metal helm and lining the nose guard across her face. It all felt heavy and uncomfortable, and the gaunt woman worried no one would believe their ruse as she clumsily moved around beneath the regalia of the Knighthood.
Finally strapping on the heavy boots and picking up a spear, she readied to make her escape, but noticed her fellow burglar had stopped pulling on clothing and instead crept towards the edge of the hall. Tala nearly shouted but stopped herself as Myrr's head dangerously poked around the corner. Indecision plagued then, and she filled the void left by her whispers by screaming internally all her own. She nearly left then to let Myrr die for his foolishness, but realized there would be no point. The silence seemed to be tied to him, and she'd rather die here with the voices gone than live a lifetime with their constant bellowing rage.
Against her better judgment, Tala crept forward and placed her gauntleted hand on Myrr's back to gently warn of her approach. He didn't so much as twitch a muscle, eyes staring firmly ahead into the next room, where the group of seven enacted their ritual. She knew the soldiers had their own religious rites, which they didn't bother to explain to the citizens, but she had never had cause to see them before.
Six were on their knees, naked, head facing down while arranged in a circle. The seventh stood with his arms in the air, adorned with a thick black and red robe she'd never witnessed any of the knights wear before. He moved about the room while intoning his chants and prayers, placing a series of short, curved knives in front of each participant as he wandered about.
Some makeshift altar, clearly meant for temporary use and not a solid base of stone or finely carved wood, could barely be seen at the far end of the room, incense rising from bowls and censers. Tala flinched when the middle congregant suddenly shouted out, “O great one, He who rends, Watcher at the center of the void where all light dies, we beseech you!”
The assembled knights responded in kind with one voice, “we beseech you!”
Myrr clamped his hand over his mouth suddenly and a look of shock overtook his face. A brief tremor passed through him as the ritual continued on, the participants none the wiser to their unwelcome guests as they were lost in religious rapture.
“Sil
ence all doubt and dissent, grant us the resolve to commit holy murder in your name. Cry aloud!”
The participants responded in unison yet again, “Grant us the resolve ancient Father!”
Something about the queasy look striking Myrr made her wonder if that's what the world saw when she battled her whispers, now mercifully gone for the time being. She took hold of the convulsing man and pulled him back around the corner, wrapping her arms tightly as he thrashed and shuddered.
Their chant continued, reaching a fever pitch, as the leader called out “Kill all mercy within us and grant us the cruelty to enact your divine will on a fallen world.”
The returning chant echoed from across the hallway, “Grant us the cruelty!”
Previously weak and limp, somehow iron-clad strength flowed through the writhing form beneath her as she was shoved away violently. Up on his feet and struggling forward, she saw the lack of control and knew it all too well. There was no stopping what was coming as he rashly rounded the corner and screamed out a name that sent a spike of jagged heat into her head.
Fighting through the pain she rushed after Myrr, ready to fend off a squad of soldiers and hoping her new attire would be protection enough against those ritual blades. Instead of a wall of rushing knights, she found the room in an entirely different state than before, draped in a darkness so black it seemed to reflect the fire of the torches, unwilling to let their light enter. The black was centered at the rear end of the chamber but only receded slightly as it repelled light from the room's entrance.