Jorm

by Alan Bayman

Damn you

  Unsure what to make of this, I began to search through Cronwins secret caches. There was practically a treasure hoard of jewelry hidden in a few compartments underneath the store. In his study I found several alchemical elixirs of for healing and the curing of diseases, a loaded hand crossbow with a poison tipped dart, and a journal.

  At first, I thought the journal was written in cypher but then I quickly realized it was written in Oobos, the Orc dialect, with a few words in Late Cyrian thrown in to try to make it confusing. I was tempted to read it right away, but I wanted to check the rest of the caches first.

  The cache in his bedroom nestled between his headboard and the wall had a few more healing elixirs, a small tightly rolled up scroll, a wicked looking stiletto, a set of lockpicks, and another loaded hand crossbow.

  Going through the back of the store and into the warehouse (which, large as it was, was just as crammed with merchandise as the store) I found larger valuables hidden away. A bronze statue that would take four men to lift. A chest full of rare pelts. A stack of paintings of varying sizes.

  At this point it occurred to me that Cronwin was likely a fence, probably for the Stockies.

  The last hideaway was the one with a trap door. The top had what I could only describe as a burglar’s kit. Several suits of well-made black clothing, a variety of saps, a few throwing knives, another loaded hand crossbow, a small case for crossbow darts, a few bags of coins, a rolled-up piece of leather witch neatly displayed a myriad of lockpicks and small crowbars, half a dozen soft leather gloves, a couple of wigs, and a very well made short sword.

  Both the cache and the trap door were boobytrapped, but the note told me how to get around them. The trapdoor itself was little more than a horizontal locker. In it was what looked like a foraging bag reinforced with studded leather. It was well oiled and apart from being a little dusty, in pristine condition. Pulling it out, it felt light, like it was practically empty. When I opened it up all I could see were folds of a soft cloth interior. It looked as though it was lined with silk of some sort.

  When I reached into the silken folds, something opened within my mind. It was like white a lotus blooming next to the embers of passion within me. There were dozens of petals, and each petal had a bulb of space within its center. Most of the spaces were empty, but some of them were filled. I brought my attention to the filled ones, and they seemed to grow as I focused on them. One space held an ornate pair of spectacles. Another held a half a dozen books bound to together with strips of leather. A hunter’s bow made of bone. A small silver cage. And lastly, a vial made of solid black glass.

  I focused curiously on the black crystal vial and as I did so something touched my hand. Pulling it out of the bag, I was now holding the vial I had envisioned. The moment my hand left the bag the image of the lotus vanished from my mind. Reaching into the bag again caused the lotus to reappear, this time the lotus was missing the black crystal vial. I took the vial and pushed it back into the bag, and it reappeared on the lotus.

  This bag was wonderous. If it held true for the rest of the petals, it already held a bunch of items, yet it weighed nearly nothing! Further, it could hold a great deal more with little or no effect to its weight.

  I took the bag, strapped it over my shoulder, and put the rest of the items from the upper cache in it. I then put in all the jewelry and alchemical elixirs I had found. I figured that if I am being pursued it might be a while before I came back here. The potions and jewels took up a lot of space on the lotus, until I got the idea of putting the smaller items in a couple of sacks and then stuffing them in. As long as the sack could fit in the bags opening, it would only take up one lotus pedal.

  While doing so I noticed that the warehouse had a pile of things that looked devoted to alchemy, so I went rummaging through it, bagging things I thought Adan might like and some things for my own experiments.

  Amid all the vials, tubes, and beakers, I found something that would completely change both my approach to medicine and alchemy. It was a small metal box containing a dozen syringes made of silver and glass. The box itself was a means of cleaning them; you simply added a few cups of water to the bottom of the box with the dirty syringes inside, and then hung it over a fire. When the box stopped steaming the syringes would be clean. Instructions were written on the inside lid of the box, in Dwarven.

  I wondered how the box had gotten there as I quickly put it in my bag. That reminded me of the journal written in Orc, so I went up to Cronwins old room and began to read.

  The book was half journal, half diary. It listed various transactions, proving that Cronwin was indeed a fence for the Stockies and a few other criminals, but to him that was just a side business. It turned out that his main source of income involved the doll he gave me. He had made a deal with someone he alluded to, but did not outright say their name, who gave him the doll in return for a cut of the profits. Cronwin would sell or otherwise give the doll to someone who “had wealth but was low born”. The doll would then possess the person, forcing them to give or will everything they owned to Cronwin, and then kill themselves.

  Cronwin was warned that if the doll was not “fed” victims regularly, it would turn on him. To thwart the dolls betrayal, he had a box crafted and enchanted so that it could not harm him while it was within it.

  I think the doll tried to “feed” on me, and when it failed, tried to turn on Cronwin, but couldn’t because of the box. Then it went back and forth between attacking me and attacking Cronwin, until finally the mask broke, freeing whatever was in the doll from the boxes confines.

  From the looks of the journal, he had been using the doll for years. The doll would ensure that the inheritance would be undisputed; the possessed would kill all immediate family and anyone else nearby who might get in the way.

  I thought it fitting that Cronwin died from the curse he had placed on so many.

  7.

  I was just going through the last few pages of the journal when I heard a noise downstairs. Looking around, I realized that the sun had recently set and from the gentle taps on the roof it was raining outside. On such nights the streets quickly cleared after dark. Whoever followed me from the bank must have taken it as an opportunity to break in and rob me.

  I crept down the stairs that led up to Cronwins room and looked around. Whoever was trying to break in was doing so from the warehouse door. That made sense, as it was further from the main road, but it was also disturbing because they must know that the warehouse and shop are connected, as I had come in through the shop door.

  Unless it was a burglary unrelated to my pursuers.

  I went to the shop door entrance, thinking I could go out and get a look of who was trying to break in, and maybe alert the guards. Sic’ing guardsmen on them would be a risk, but I couldn’t defend the shop on my own.

  I rested my hand on the door latch and paused before turning it. I had forgotten to unbar the door. Before I could grab the bar and slide it away I realized I could hear raspy breathing on the other side. Several people were standing just on the other side of the door. Stopped, I put my ear to the door instead.

  Three people breathing. The scuff of boots. Someone tried to muffle a cough, followed by a harsh whisper, “Keep it down, I thought I heard something.”

  I backed away from the door slowly, looking for another way out. The only other exit I knew of was in the warehouse, and the noise of them forcing open the door had grown louder. I could hear wood cracking.

  There must be another way out, I thought to myself. Cronwins room was the likeliest place for the him to make an escape route, and I reasoned that if he made secret compartments he must have made a secret exit.

  I hurried up to his room, shutting the door behind me and moving his nightstand over to block it. There was a loud crash downstairs, followed by silence. I knew they were inside. I looked around, searching for some sort of secret latch or door, but could find nothing. I was calm, although the embers within me burned with fear and
apprehension, my thoughts where clear and steady as long as I stayed clear of them. I knew it was odd, to have this churning matrix of feelings in the back of my mind that I could steer clear of or merse myself in at will but I had never bothered to contemplate the matter and didn’t have time to now.

  Someone was starting up the stairs when I remembered the rolled-up scroll in the secret cache behind the bed. I reached down and grabbed it and started to open it just as someone kicked open the door with a force that took the door off its hinges and broke it in half over the nightstand.

  Startled, I turned as the scroll opened. That is what saved me.

  The scroll was a magical trap. The explosion sent me hurling into the wall opposite the bed. The bright light from it temporarily blinded me, even though I wasn’t facing it when it went off. I found myself instinctively rolling on the floor. My whole body was tingling, especially my right arm, that had been holding the scroll.

  When my sight returned I realized I was on the ground and bits of me where on fire. I was ravenous. My entire right arm and parts of my right side were gone. The opposite side of the room was a blazing inferno. The tingling all over my body was it smoldering. Looking around frantically I noticed that the smoke in the room was being sucked through the boards on a section of the wall. I knew it must be a secret exit to outside, but I didn’t have time to figure out how to open it. I ran at it punching with my good arm through the boards. My hand broke at the first punch, but I ignored it until I had burst my way through to the other side.

  Outside. I was on a small balcony. There was a narrow ledge that led to another balcony nearby. The rain cooled my skin, but I could see flames coming out of the opening I had just made.

  I tried to crawl along the narrow ledge to the other balcony, but with one arm, a shattered hand, and my entire right side severely charred, I could not do it. On the slick tiles I slipped and fell to the ground below.

  I hit the ground with a thud. I heard my ribs break. Suddenly, someone was lifting me. I found myself face to face with an enormous man who looked strikingly like Cronwin. Behind him stood two other men, one with a shaved head covered in scars and another with a ragged black beard and unkept hair. Both were dressed in clothing like those in Cronwin’s stash.

  All this I only caught a brief glimpse of before I was consumed with hunger.

  “Well, well, we-”, Cronwins nephew began, before I launched myself at his face. A red haze overcame me. I could sense that I was feasting, a pleasure greater than any corpse I had ever consumed. Distantly, I heard screaming, then the screaming turned to gurgling, then only the gentle taps of rain over the crunching sounds my jaw made.

  When I came to my senses, I was crouched over two bodies in the alleyway. From the size of him I could tell that the first body was that of Cronwins nephew. That was the only way I could recognize him; I had eaten most of the upper half of his body.

  The other body was the bearded man. He had been holding a sap in one hand. His other arm was missing at the shoulder, and it looked like he had tried to crawl away before he bled out.

  I had healed completely. At first, I thought I had regrown a new arm. But then I noticed a pinky ring, one that the bearded man was wearing, on his arm that was now missing…

  I had to get out of there. The big man had been wearing a cloak. I dumped the bearded man on top of him, then used the cloak to drag the bodies down the alley. A canal was only a few blocks away, and in the dark with it raining I was unlikely to be spotted.

  Next to me was Cronwins Goods and the connecting warehouse which continued to burn, despite the rain. Around a corner and I could no longer see its flickering light. A block away and all I could see was rain and dragging the two bodies I dragged through the grey darkness. Some rats watched me curiously from sheltered alcoves, but otherwise no one witnessed my passing.

  At the canals edge I searched the bodies before throwing them in. They had some cheap knives, a few rings, some coin, and each had a copper medallion with a symbol on It marking them as a Stockie.

  The medallions I threw in the canal. With the rings and coin, I went to a nearby brothel and bought a spare cloak from one of the girls. It was a little small, but my cloak was in tatters. I took a roundabout way home and came in through the back door a few hours before dawn.

  I took off my clothes, sponged myself down, put on a fresh set of “humble” clothing, and tried to think of what to do next.

  The bald man had seen my frenzy. He was out there, somewhere, and I had no way of finding him. If he talked to anyone, the necromancers could quickly find out, and I would be enslaved. The best course of action was to run, but to where?

  The city, I recalled, was surrounded by marshland and swamp. Most of the marshland was farmland, and the White Council kept a close eye on everything that went on there, especially since most of the farms where rare herbs and spices. The swamps were safer from the White Council, but Orc tribes were known to inhabit them. People didn’t travel the few roads through the swamp or even by boat without heavily armed guards. Even then, groups would disappear all the time. I wasn’t sure if any of that had changed over the years, but for some reason it didn’t seem likely.

  I could travel. With the money I had, I could get on a boat and sail overseas. But to where?

  Almanon wasn’t an option; the Alchemists in The City of Masks would be just as dangerous as The White Council. They might even decide to experiment on me.

  Empowa would be an even worse option. While I could potentially hide myself in one of the trade cities like Thanrest or Highhold, I would have to either brave the Dwarven city of Ackerage, sneak past the rabid fanatics in Cyria, or try the Elf plagued Southern trade roads. All of whom would likely try to kill me on sight, before they even found out I was undead.

  I might try and make my way to the continent of Kaven. They tended to dislike people from Ubenfold, but I was told that the city of Bermen was one of the wonders of the world, as it was one of the Triad: Bermen, Ackerage, and The City of Masks, as the three biggest trade cities in the world.

  Lastly there was Mckarden, Ubenfolds Easterly neighbor. Not a lot of people lived in Mckarden, a continent always shrouded in mist. People didn’t survive long, as magical beasts where far more common there. Colonies never got larger than a few fortresses scattered around the coast.

  Mckarden would be the safest place to run to, I decided. Bermen would be my second choice; it was more dangerous, but easier to get to with all the trade ships going there.

  But most importantly, all my knowledge was fragmentary, and at best, horribly outdated. Fleeing needed to be the last of all resorts.

  I looked at my bag. It was virtually undamaged by the fire it had gone through. Luckily, it had been protected on my left side when the exploding scroll had gone off on my right. I wondered if there was anything left to salvage from the shop and warehouse, but I knew it would be foolish to go there and knowing the city dwellers it would be picked clean by tomorrow night.

  I bundled up the rest of my things and put them in the bag. I was trying to decide if I should say goodbye to Adan or not when I heard the front door bang open. I don’t know why I didn’t just run. Not being directly connected to your emotions has some drawbacks, it seems. This time I was lucky I didn’t.

  I hurried over to the door to the main room and opened it slightly, peeking in. The door used to groan like a rusty gate in winter, but I had oiled all the hinges in the house so that my comings and goings wouldn’t wake Adan.

  Someone was being dragged over to the operating table. Adan stood by his chair, scowling (he must have opened the shop while I was packing). Two men came into view, lifting a third onto the table.

  One of the two men then said, “They’ll take care of you here. We’ll pay for it, don’t worry.” He then tossed a bag of coins to Adan, who fumbled in catching it.

  “Make sure he doesn’t die,” the man snarled at Adan. Adan shrugged.

  The man glared at Adan for a moment, then tu
rned to the man on the table. “I’ve got to find the boss.”

  “Boss-is-dead,” the man half groaned, half slurred. “Saw-it-all.”

  “Yeah,” the man’s voice hardened, “but did you see it before or after you were delirious?” The man hurried to go, then stopped just before stepping out.

  “Stay alive. If you’re right about the boss being dead, then we really need you up as soon as you can, boss.”

  As the front door closed Adan noticed me peeking in from the other room and smiled tiredly.

  “Oh good, you’re back,” he turned away and started walking toward his room and made a gesture at the table. “You can take care of this mess. I’m going back to bed.”

  The man on the table tiredly looked over at me, and his eyes widened in horror.

  He was the scarred bald man from the alley.

  8.

  “No, nononono,” He groaned and tried to get up off the table but was too weak. I could see Miasma swirling around and against him as I approached. His shirt was off, and one of his arms was heavily bandaged. It had an infection that looked like it had been treated but kept coming back because of a disease in his blood that was hindering his ability to heal. I had seen it before, many times in prostitutes and sailors that came in. The disease itself wouldn’t kill you, but if you were wounded it would fester, and you would die.

  “I could cure this easily,” I said, walking up to the table. “The question is, do I want to?”

  “Please-pl-ease,” the man stuttered. He wet himself. He was feverish and terrified, and if I didn’t calm him, he would either die or start screaming. I looked over at the injury on his forearm. From the shape of it I guessed that I must have bitten him. An idea came to me. If he was not an educated man, this could work easily. If he was, well, I could honestly say I tried to save him.

  “Shh,” I whispered, putting a finger over his lips. He froze, terrified, and as he stared into my eyes I killed the disease and infection within him.