The Third Eye Initiative

by J. J. Newman

  A hand grabbed his ankle before he crested the top and yanked Tsaeris hard to the ground. He felt the air burst from his lungs as his body struck the hard alley floor. A heavy foot pressed down on his chest, and Tsaeris cried out in pain.

  “You best be quiet, kid. I’ll kill you right here and now if you yell again.” The man leaned over and put a sharp knife to Tsaeris’ throat.

  “What do you want?” Tsaeris spoke quietly, not wanting to anger the man.

  “Been working the streets, have you boy?”

  Tsaeris shook his head in denial.

  “Don’t lie to me. Not a lot of white-haired boys ‘round here.”

  It must have been Duncan. That son of a bitch.

  “Look. I...I won’t work the streets no more. I just stole a bit. Only enough to eat. I’ll stop, I promise.” Tsaeris hated how small his voice sounded.

  “Ah, lad. Too late for that. Yes, too late. We let you go, and it sends the wrong message to the other little shits. Can’t be soft now, can we?” The man hauled Tsaeris to his feet.

  “Please. I’ve only been here a few days. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to worry about me again.”

  “It don’t work that way, boy. You’re coming with me, and if you make a sound I’ll kill you quick. Now move.”

  The man positioned himself behind Tsaeris, and pressed the knife point into his back. He marched Tsaeris deeper into the alley. Tsaeris felt himself on the verge of panic. He was sweating profusely, and he thought he might vomit. The man stopped him over a sewer grate.

  “Open the sewer, boy.” The man ordered.

  Confused, but not willing to argue with the man, Tsaeris did as he was told. As soon as the sewer was open, the man pushed Tsaeris hard from behind, and the boy fell into the darkness. He splashed down hard in filthy water, and he heard the man descend a creaky ladder behind him. Tsaeris coughed out a lungful of foul water.

  The man pushed Tsaeris further into the dark sewers, seemingly able to navigate the darkness with no need for light. Tsaeris considered trying to run, but decided that it was too risky. This man knew the sewers and Tsaeris did not.

  They seemed to walk for hours, and Tsaeris could not help but remember the Neutral Roads. He doubted The City Watch would be rescuing him down here. Finally the man put a hand on the boys shoulder, and the two stopped. He heard a loud screeching sound, and suddenly his eyes were blinded by torchlight. When his eyes recovered he saw that a small square of the brick ceiling had been pushed open, and the light came from beyond the hole. A false ceiling.

  Somebody above them dropped a rope ladder into the sewer. The man ordered Tsaeris to climb up the ladder. He climbed about half way, and then was hauled up roughly by multiple hands. He looked around. The room he was in was simple. It had some tables, chairs and a bar on the right wall. The wooden walls were worn, but clean. Dozens of men filled the room, and all of them were looking at Tsaeris. A greasy-looking man with a rat-like face and long, dirty hair stood right in front of Tsaeris, grinning an evil smile at the boy.

  The rat-faced man leaned over the hole in the floor, and yelled down to the man who was still in the sewers.

  “What’s this, then?”

  “This is the one the boss was looking for. Don’t kill him before the boss sees him. I’m heading back into the streets,” the man in the sewers replied.

  Rat Face gestured to a man to reseal the hidden entrance, and then faced Tsaeris again.

  “Alright. Come with me, boy. Don’t be doin’ nuthin’ funny.”

  Tsaeris was marched through the drinking room in what he had decided must be a Thieves Guild safe-house. The thieves all smiled at him, and Tsaeris felt his skin crawling. He was led through a door at the far end of the room, and into a plain looking hallway. They passed several rooms before the man stopped. He produced a key, and opened a door, and then pushed Tsaeris into the room.

  “You just sit here nice and quiet-like until the boss is ready.”

  The door slammed shut. The room was small, and empty. There was no furniture, no bed, and no bucket. Obviously they didn’t keep people in here for very long. Tsaeris did not find that reassuring.

  Tsaeris sat down with his back to the wall. He couldn’t believe Duncan had done this to him. He hadn’t even gone back to see Cyra. This wasn’t fair. This trip to market was supposed to be profitable, and maybe even fun. Now he was probably going to die. He wished Jason were still alive so he could kill him.

  Hours passed, and nobody came for him. He was hungry and thirsty, but hadn’t been offered food or drink. He wondered if they planned to kill him by starving him to death. How long did it take to die from hunger? Days? Weeks? Tsaeris had no idea.

  He would explain himself. Surely this boss would understand. He was just a boy, and only wanted a small profit before heading home. He didn’t mean to step on any toes, and he would just leave for Darson. There was no need to kill him. He would forget the whole thing, and never come back. Yes, he would talk his way out of this. He would be fine.

  The door opened suddenly, and Rat Face appeared. The man gestured to Tsaeris, and the boy stood and followed. They walked down the hallway to the end, up a flight of stairs and down another hallway. The entire place was unremarkable. There were no decorations on the wooden walls, and one hallway looked much the same as the next. He was lead up a second flight of stairs, which ended at a landing and a door. Rat Face knocked on the door. A voice gave him permission to enter.

  This room was very different from the rest of the safe-house. It was large, and spacious. Expensive looking paintings hung on the walls, and a large opulent bed sat in one corner. Silk-covered chairs and polished oak tables adorned the room, with small silver and gold statues sitting on each. A large fireplace gave the room a warm glow, and a desk sat in the center of the room. Tsaeris imagined that this was the kind of room a king lived in.

  A man sat behind the desk. He wore a red silk robe, and his head was shaved to the skin. He was thin, almost gaunt, and had an air of superiority about him. He wore expensive rings on each finger, and a long golden chain hung around his neck. He smiled at Tsaeris, and gestured to the chair in front of the desk. Rat Face forced Tsaeris into the chair, and bound his hands behind his back.

  “Thank you for bringing him to me. Now leave us.” The man smiled at Tsaeris again, as Rat Face left the room.

  “Have you been enjoying your stay here, boy?” The man asked.

  Tsaeris just stared at him.

  “You should answer me. You really should.”

  “No. I haven’t been enjoying my stay,” Tsaeris replied honestly.

  “Do you know why you’re here?” The man seemed to ignore Tsaeris’ response.

  “Because I stole without permission.” There was no point in trying to lie to the man.

  “Ah, you’re a smart one. Yes. You’re here because you stole without permission. We do not allow freelancing. If a boy wants to work the streets, he needs to work for us. That’s the way we do things here. When we find a boy working freelance, we give them the chance to either work for us, or never work again.”

  Tsaeris didn’t like where this was going. The man was going to force him to work for the guild, or be killed. Tsaeris cherished his freedom. He always did what he wanted, not what others wanted. Still, he cherished his life even more.

  “So that’s why I’m here? You’re giving me the chance to work for you to save my life?”

  The man smiled again. “That’s the way these things usually work. But this isn’t an ordinary situation, is it?

  Tsaeris was confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Some of my men turned up dead. Murdered. One of my street boys saw you leaving the alley covered in blood, then discovered their bodies.” The man was still smiling.

  “They attacked me and a friend, but I didn’t kill them. Somebody else showed up, and then the men were dead. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Oh? That’s strange. My eyes on the streets didn’t see anybod
y else enter the alley. Tell me, what did this killer look like?”

  “I didn’t see him. He just came in, killed them and left.” Tsaeris tried keep the panic from his voice.

  “You didn’t see him. My street kids didn’t see him. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of evidence to this man’s existence, does there?” The smile faded from the man’s face.

  “I swear to you, I didn’t kill them! Look at me. I’m no match for one man, let alone two.”

  “Even a little street kid can get lucky from time to time.” The man stood from his chair. He was much taller than Tsaeris had thought he would be.

  “Please. Let me go. I’m sorry I stole without permission, and I didn’t kill your men. Let me leave, and I’ll go back to Darson. I won’t ever steal in Market again.” Tsaeris hated begging, but he knew his life was measured in seconds only.

  “I have a reputation, boy. I can’t let people think I’m soft. You have to be punished.” The man walked to the fireplace.

  “Please...”

  “Tell you what. I’m going to punish you now. I won’t just slit your throat like I had intended, so there’s a chance, however small, that you may live. Do you find yourself to be a lucky boy?”

  The man picked up two fire pokers from beside the fireplace. He placed one in the fire, and the other in his hand as he walked towards Tsaeris.

  “Please...please don’t. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll work for you, I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt me.” Tsaeris was crying now.

  “Yes, cry boy. Cry and scream.” The man’s smile returned.

  The man swung the fire poker hard at Tsaeris’ left arm. He felt, and heard, his bone snap. He screamed. The metal slammed into his ribs, cracking at least one of them. The man continued to beat Tsaeris mercilessly with the poker. Tsaeris heard bones snapping, saw blood flying. He had heard that sometimes people in extreme agony would lose consciousness. Tsaeris was not so lucky.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the beating finally ended and the man walked back to the fireplace. He removed the poker from the flames and the end glowed white hot. He walked back to Tsaeris.

  “An eye for an eye. So to speak.”

  The man pushed Tsaeris’ head back, and lined up the white hot end of the poker with Tsaeris’ eye. A few inches lay between Tsaeris and the poker, but he could already feel the heat beginning to sear his eye.

  “Stop it! Stop it! Don’t!”

  The man grinned at Tsaeris. “Hold still now.”

  Chapter Eight

  For an Eye...

  “You’re at least half giant. You gotta be.”

  Doctor Tyrier Sydarin stared down at the little red haired boy, and made a face.

  “There are no giants, kid. Do you really need to make jokes about my height every single time you come in for a checkup? They’re not very funny, you know.”

  The boy chuckled, and Tyrier sighed. The boy was a regular patient, and his father brought him in monthly for a checkup. Tyrier ran a small clinic. It consisted of two rooms, and a waiting area. One room had two beds and was used to treat the more serious patients, the other was the room where he performed tests and non-surgery procedures. The room was simple and furnished with a chair and desk in the center, as well as a stool and a table with an assortment of instruments that he used for his trade.

  He conducted a few standard tests on the young boy, found him to be fit and healthy and sent him and his father on their way. He cleaned off his instruments meticulously, and then sat down at his desk. He wasn’t expecting any more work for the night. His intensive care room was empty, and it was getting dark. He opened a compartment in his desk, and pulled out a tankard and an ale skin. He filled his tankard, lit his pipe and settled in for some well-deserved relaxation.

  His pipe still lit and hanging in the corner of his mouth, Tyrier began to fall asleep. He was vaguely aware of the fire hazard, but was unconcerned. His eyes closed and he saw the beginning of a dream form on the blackness of his eyelids. Then the door of the clinic slammed open.

  Tyrier jumped, and his pipe fell from his mouth. He cursed, and stomped out the embers that had fallen to the floor. He heard the door to the intensive treatment room open as well, loud and aggressively. Somebody was yelling his name.

  Tyrier rushed out into the waiting room, and through the open door of the intensive treatment room. It was dark inside, the hearth and candles had been extinguished. He heard the sound of somebody moving around, and the creak of weight being lowered onto one of the beds.

  “What the hell is going on?” Tyrier barked.

  “Tyrier! Bring some light! Quickly,” a voice shouted from the darkness.

  Tyrier rushed back into the checkup room and grabbed a candle off of his desk. He ran back into the treatment room. As fast as he could manage, he lit the braziers and the hearth. He looked towards the bed. A man stood over a small form that was laying still in one of the beds. He recognized them both.

  “Oh, no.” He whispered sharply. He ran to an equipment desk, and filled a bag with an assortment of instruments and medicines. He rushed to the bed. He was not prepared for what he saw.

  Tyrier was sure the boy must be dead. His right eye was destroyed and the eyelid was gone, burned away from the looks of it. The socket was empty and oozing. Blood streamed from the boys mouth, and right ear. His white hair was stained red from a wound on his head. His clothes were torn and there were signs of blunt force trauma and cuts all over his torso. His left arm was clearly broken, with sharp bone piercing the flesh below the elbow.

  He checked for a heartbeat. The boy was alive. Tyrier could scarcely believe it. He hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to start. There were so many injuries, most of them very bad. The eye would have to wait, he decided. It had been burned out, so most of the wound had been cauterized and it wasn’t bleeding heavily. He began to work on the still open wounds. The boy was losing too much blood. He started with the arm.

  “Is he going to die?” the man asked.

  Tyrier didn’t even look at him. “I don’t know, Elias. I don’t know a damn thing. Either keep your mouth shut, or go wait outside.”

  Elias was a medium sized man, with short, cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He was not yet middle aged, and looked to be in good physical shape. He wore a dark blue hooded smock, and dark grey trousers. A short sword hung at his left hip.

  Tyrier could hear Elias pacing, but decided to ignore it. He worked for hours on the boy. He managed to stop the bleeding, and set the boy’s broken arm. The boy had several broken ribs as well, but there was little Tyrier could do about that. He hoped there wasn’t any bleeding inside. He stitched up the many lacerations on the boy’s body. Somebody had decided it would be fun to slash at the boy with a very poorly maintained knife. He had spent a whole hour picking out shards of rust from the cuts. Every wound was infected, and he was fairly certain that many of these wounds had been inflicted after the eye had been burned out. He gritted his teeth to control his rage.

  Tyrier was exhausted, but continued his work. When he finally had the bleeding under control, and the serious wounds closed up he began to examine the eye. Large blisters lined the entire eye socket. He would have to drain them first. He began lancing them, and puss squirted out in small geysers. For a moment the boy awakened and began screaming. He thrashed around, kicking out at the Doctor, flailing his limbs erratically. Tyrier only just managed to get the needle out of the way before the boy could impale his empty eye socket on it. Afraid that the boy would do more damage to his already vicious wounds, Tyrier yelled over to Elias, who ran to the side of the bed and helped the big man hold him down until he lost consciousness again.

  The episode gave him hope that the boy had a chance, and he began working on the wound with renewed determination, his weariness fading away. There were no traces of the actual eye in the socket. He determined that it must have melted and stuck to whatever was used to burn it out in the first place.

  The s
un was coming up when he finally finished with the eye. Elias was still pacing. The boy was unconscious, but some color was returning to his pale skin. His breathing was measured, and Tyrier was fairly certain that he had contained the infections. The work on the eye was patchwork at best. If the boy lived, he would spend at least a month operating on it. If the boy lives, he’ll wish he had died when the real work begins, Tyrier thought bleakly.

  “Well?” Elias asked.

  “Hard to say, at this point. He definitely has a chance. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but I guess I’m even better than I thought I was.” He could tell from Elias’ glare that his attempt at a tension-breaking joke was not appreciated.

  “Come on. We’ll let the boy rest, and go have a drink.” Tyrier said.

  Tyrier led Elias into the examination room. Elias pulled the stool up to the front of the desk and Tyrier poured them each a tankard of ale.

  “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Had word that he might have been taken by Pyron’s guild. Searched his territory and found the boy lying in an alley. Looks like it had all happened before word had even reached me that he was missing. There was no chance to stop this.” Elias looked calm, but Tyrier could recognize the rage burning below the surface.

  “So Pyron did this to him?” Tyrier asked.

  Elias nodded. “Looks that way.”

  “Why?”

  “The boy has been stealing a lot lately. Had to save him and his whore from a few of them in an alley. Seems Pyron decided that Tsaeris needed to go.”

  “Would he do that? He knows the rules. He knows what would happen to him.” Tyrier refilled the tankards.

  “He must have thought he could get away with it. Who would notice a missing street kid from another district?” Elias clenched his fists, but made no other sign of emotion.

  Tyrier recognized the look in Elias’ face. “Alright. When do we leave?” He asked.

  “You’re going to stay here and look after the boy,” Elias said.