Wrath of the Risen God: Arcane Renaissance Book Three

by Tim Paulson

  “Girl,” said a deep voice. It wasn't the clen leader but one of her lieutenants, a big female with a long twisted scar that cut straight through her nose. It made her even more menacing than the rest of them.

  “Yes?”

  The creature's head turned left, looking to where the small male had gone. “Don't feed that one.”

  “If he never eats, he'll never get bigger,” she replied.

  “That is not our way.”

  Celia pursed her lips. “Is that all?”

  It looked at her. Huge yellow eyes looked down, lingering on the remaining ham. “No. There is news for you.” The creature paused, waiting.

  Celia cut a hunk from her ham, tossing it up. The meat was snapped from the air by the creature's jaws.

  “One of the clen has seen the girl you told of. She's returned to the quarter with a keralti female.”

  Giselle! She was still alive!

  Of course she would be, and living in luxury too no doubt. What rich idiot had she charmed into taking care of her this time? That girl, no sense, no awareness, just endless curiosity and a pretty face. She ought to have met her death a hundred times over by now, especially with the revolution and the fact that her family had been designated enemies of the republic.

  Hmm... perhaps she'd been living somewhere incognito? That must be the case given she was traveling the streets freely. However, of all the things that came into her mind, there was only one question about Giselle that Celia truly wanted answered.

  “Does she still wear it?”

  “Yes.”

  Celia was still wet and cold from her morning swim. She hadn't spent nearly enough time warming herself or drying her clothes but the prospect of getting her hands on the necklace that Vex had given them was too good to pass up. She'd been through hell in the months since the fall of Aeyrdfeld, but if she were to get her hands on that necklace... maybe she could figure it out. Maybe she'd finally know what to do. It represented hope to her, a chance.

  It'd been so long since she'd been there, in that perfect place of exquisite undulating black. Vex's dark wizard temple. She'd felt at home there, like she belonged, for the first time in her life. Celia wanted that again, so much. That... and to see him. The red eyes, the ashen skin... Yes. But above all: the power. Celia's hand tightened around the green stone in the pocket of her smooth black jumpsuit. Vex had given her those clothes. She'd never taken them off either, nor would she, until he asked.

  When she arrived at the place the clen sister directed her, it didn't take long to find Giselle. The girl stuck out like a sore thumb. Everywhere she walked her head swiveled as if she'd never been there, telling all who could see that she was new, like a babe in the woods, crying out to the wolves. Despite years of hinting at the importance of awareness, Celia could only surmise the girl was unteachable. Which was fine, she no longer had any interest in teaching.

  She paused at the edge of a fruit seller, hanging back as the two of them passed. Giselle was with that keralti girl still. That made sense. The two were made for each other, a pair of fools.

  More importantly, the report had been correct. Giselle was wearing Vex's necklace. The set of bones strung together was just barely peeking out at the center of her collar. Celia smiled. That necklace had been meant for her. She'd known that. Vex had wanted it for her, but that damned witch-woman had forced him to give it to her children. Celia would fix that, she'd make it hers. Then maybe... he would awaken. They could be together. Finally.

  But how to get it?

  Celia watched Giselle and her short dog girl companion as they wound their way around the dierlijt market. The girl was dressed well, clean, and eating well. If anything she was a little pudgy. Celia's lips formed into a tight line. Of course she was. Everything always seemed to work out for Giselle, no matter how stupid or childish she acted.

  They were moving around the market speaking to all the shopkeepers, asking questions. Celia slid in behind them and approached a meat stall. The bodies of dozens of freshly killed rats and sewer slickers hung by their tails, dripping spots of bright red on the counter below.

  “Zelish, what did the human girl want?” she asked.

  The keralti shopkeeper paused his fat square cleaver in mid chop. “Looking for medicine. Told her I don't know. The puritans attacked two dierlijt apothecaries last year, calling it the work of the devil. They've gone into hiding. I said they might ask Szilly.”

  Celia raised an eyebrow. “The owahpi mime?”

  “He does talk... when there's money.”

  Celia sighed. “Thanks Zelish.” That explained why the mime had never spoken to her.

  And there they were. Giselle and her little friend. Talking to the mime. Celia slid into the crowd behind them, using it as cover to approach. She'd lost her cloak so if either girl turned, she'd be noticed for sure. As long as she was quiet and quick she could make it happen.

  She was within five feet now. Four... Three.

  Close enough to hear them. Szilly's voice was even higher pitched than Celia would have imagined. It was almost enough to throw her off, almost. Two feet away. Arms length. Next was the bump. You gave them a slight jostle from the opposite direction. It was a staple in the toolkit of any thief: misdirect the attention, take whatever you like.

  Ready, and...

  * * *

  The walk on the streets south was long, cold, and dark. The carpet of newly fallen snow that covered the cobbled streets was just enough to make it harder to see when a stone was missing or broken. This caused Giselle and Ina to stumble more than once, but luckily neither took a fall.

  There were more people out than they'd expected as well, even in the Cavlinist area, but none took interest in them. Everyone seemed to be going somewhere and quickly. That was just as well. Giselle had seen how those people talked about Ina and other dierlijt first hand and she did not wish to repeat it. Still, they made it through quickly enough and were soon delving into the winding alleys of the dierlijt quarter.

  At Ina's suggestion, they decided it was best to start at the Donker market, the largest market in the quarter, but that was fruitless. After talking to more than ten vendors, the answer was always the same: the apothecaries had gone. They all said it was the puritan's doing, though which sect was at fault differed from vendor to vendor. Only one of them had given them something useful to go on: Try the south market by the docks.

  “I don't like it. This place has a bad reputation,” Ina said.

  “What do you mean? You're always telling me the dierlijt aren't nearly as bad as the Cavlinists say,” Giselle replied.

  Ina tilted her head, looking uncomfortable. “That's true... they're liars... But that doesn't mean there aren't bad dierlijt. Mother told me never to come down here.”

  “But we did. This street... we came exactly here before, with Thira.”

  Ina rolled her eyes. “Of course! And if you remember some thugs tried to steal from us.”

  Giselle shook her head. “No... they were just checking whether we belonged. I remember Ina,” she pointed at her own chest. “I was there too.”

  Ina grumbled. “We have to go either way. We need that medicine. I just don't like it.”

  Giselle put a hand on her friend's forearm. “I know.”

  There were fewer dierlijt on the way to the dock market. More long faces peered from alleys, and of those far more were weaselmen and the hyena-like akkikul. Ugh, weaselmen. Despite all that had happened, just thinking of them still gave her the shivers. It was as much the stories about them as it was their look: those long thin necks and beady little eyes, they made her squirm.

  “What are you thinking about, you're squeezing my hand!” Ina snapped.

  “Oh... Sorry,” Giselle replied as she let go. “I... didn't even realize I'd taken your hand.”

  “I'm not mad, just don't break my fingers alright?”

  She nodded.

  “I've yet to become a fashion goddess and my fingers will matter very much on
the road to Pallus and Miran.”

  Giselle smiled. “They will indeed!”

  The dock market was a lot like the Donker market. Dark but for a few warm oil lights placed strategically around the small square. It too was colorful, both in the merchandise available and the vendors themselves who were of every kind of dierlijt Giselle knew, and a few she didn't. To their left was an owahpi juggler throwing sticks of fire into the air in a perfect circle and to their right was a mime dressed in a sharp red and white harlequin costume.

  “There are more performers here,” Giselle said.

  “And more lurkers watching too,” Ina replied. “You can't see them as well as I can. Let's get this over with.”

  “Fine with me,” Giselle replied and walked directly to the nearest merchant, a meat stall absolutely jammed with the corpses of rats and... some other, more disgusting kind of scaled creature she wasn't quite familiar with.

  “What are those?” she asked the vendor, a keralti like Ina.

  Ina pushed past her. “Forget about that... Can you tell us where we can find an apothecary? I need medicine. I can pay.”

  “Normally... I would ask you to buy something before I gave out information,” the keralti replied but he smiled at Ina. “But for a cute young one like you, I'm happy to.”

  Giselle rolled her eyes.

  “I'd be ever so happy for your help sir,” Ina said, puppy dog eyes in full force.

  “Well they've gone into hiding after what happened last year,” he said.

  “What?” Giselle asked.

  Ina waved her away. “I heard,” she said. “They have no right to do such things to us.”

  “No my dear,” the meat vendor said. “We have no rights, now that they're rolling back the laws in favor of religious freedom. Freedom to oppress is what I call it.”

  Ina nodded emphatically, “You're so right.”

  The vendor smiled at Ina again, perhaps too broadly.

  “So... the apothecary?” Giselle asked.

  “Right... You should ask the owahpi gentleman on the other side of the square. He can help you.”

  “The mime?” Giselle asked, “Are you serious?”

  The vendor nodded, chopping a rat in half with his cleaver. “Oh yes.”

  “Right, thank you so much! Let's go, Giselle,” Ina said, pulling Giselle away by the elbow.

  “It's crazy, right? Why would the mime know?” Giselle said, frowning.

  “I think you made him annoyed with us and he gave us misinformation. Why didn't you just shut up and let me talk!”

  “He was creepy, I'm sorry.”

  Ina sighed. “You sound like my mother.”

  Giselle shrugged, walking across the square. “Speaking of... Let's go do this.”

  “Do what?” Ina replied, hurrying to catch up.

  “Why, talk to the mime of course. What choice do we have?” Giselle replied as she pushed through a smaller crowd of varied dierlijt.

  “Is that a good idea?” Ina asked.

  “I have no idea!” Giselle said, stalking up to the mime, who stood behind a striped hat turned upside down that was currently empty, which was odd. It was Giselle's understanding from the stories she'd read that such a hat was never allowed to be empty. If necessary the performer added a few coins to it, in order to give the impression that others were contributing and the act on offer was worth it. Perhaps this mime was more than he appeared.

  At the moment the mime was moving very slowly, acting like he'd been stabbed in the back and dying, dying. Then he was back up, twirled twice, and came to a stop facing Giselle, his long thin limbs hanging like lengths of rope.

  “Very impressive,” Giselle said. “Could you possibly help us with some information?”

  The owahpi said nothing, but he did look down at the upturned hat.

  “Of course,” Giselle replied. “Ina, if you please.”

  Ina nodded and tossed a coin in the hat.

  The owahpi tilted his head as if to say: that's all?

  “Ina, one more.”

  Ina let out a low growl. “I don't have a lot to spare Giselle!”

  “I know Ina! Just one more.”

  The mime's hands were on his hips, waiting.

  Ina threw in a second coin.

  “What can I help you with?” the mime said. The voice was so high pitched Giselle almost burst out laughing. Clearly the owahpi saw it on her face because he frowned at her.

  “You're not rhyming, are you even an owahpi?” Giselle asked.

  “You should teach your human friend some manners!” the high squeaky voice said.

  “Right... I'm sorry,” Ina replied. She punched Giselle in the hip.

  Giselle glared at her. “Hey!”

  At that very moment Giselle was collided with from behind. She felt a pressure on her back, like an elbow being jabbed. It seemed like everything was happening at once like she was being attacked from all sides. Yet after only a moment she heard a mumbled apology and before she even turned around to see... whomever it had been was gone.

  “What just happened?” Ina asked, eyes wide. “You're looking at me like you were just stabbed.”

  Giselle's mouth moved but no words came at first as she mentally checked her own body. Had she been stabbed? There was no bite of pain, no heat, no numbness, not in her back, nor anywhere else that she could tell. No, she hadn't been, that was a relief. She'd been stabbed more than enough for one lifetime already. “I... I think someone ran into me.”

  “How unfortunate,” the mime said flatly. Given his garish checkered face paint, the harlequin costume, and his natural owahpi stripes... the effect was quite funny. Giselle giggled.

  Ina pushed at her. “Stop that!”

  The mime grimaced. “Begone!”

  “No,” Ina said, turning back to him. “I need an apothecary.”

  “We know that,” said a voice from behind them.

  Both girls nearly jumped with fright.

  The mime held up a thin long-fingered owahpi hand. “Do not turn around,” he said.

  “You will be waiting for ten seconds, then following me. I will take you,” said the voice.

  It was familiar...

  “Piotr?”

  “Yes... I am passing you now, going across street. You wait. Then come,” he said.

  He passed them, slipping through the crowd toward a street at the end of the dock market.

  “Wait... Giselle... Should we?” Ina asked.

  Giselle shrugged. “What choice do we have?”

  “You know a weaselman? I thought you didn't like them!” Ina said.

  “I don't,” she replied. “But this one's Ok.”

  “Shoo girls, shoo. I have a great deal more miming to do.”

  “Ha! So you can rhyme!” Giselle snapped, pointing at him as they left.

  The owahpi glared in return.

  * * *

  Celia slipped back inside the clen dwelling, passing several yellow-eyed sentries. They stared but did not engage. Maybe Risha had decided she'd been harassed enough for the time being. More likely her failure had already been reported.

  She found her bedroll in the corner and cursed. Where she'd carefully wrapped the majority of her share of cured pork, now there was only a scattering of shredded paper. It could well have been the same young male she'd fed.

  “Why? Why me?” she said, brushing the bits of paper from her single blanket as she sat, putting her head in her hands.

  She pulled the green stone from her pocket and stared at it, rolling it in her palm.

  “I'm sorry. I've tried. I don't know what else to do.”

  From under a board, she extracted a doll. They were popular among the children of professional citizens in the city: tax collectors, merchants, lawyers, etc. This one she'd found discarded near a sewer drain a month ago, torn to shreds. It was shaped like a Chevalier goliath, but deep indigo with an ugly brutish look to it. Celia had taken it just because it reminded her of the Halett goliaths. It had be
en days before she'd thought to try Vex's gem inside. She'd had hope that he would spring to life like that obnoxious little monster Harald who served Christine. That didn't happen. So she'd stolen veil powder and tried that. No effect. Oh, the stone absorbed the powder alright, but when placed in the goliath doll... nothing. Not even a twitch.

  Just once more. Perhaps, if there was anything to the idea of fate that appeared so often in Giselle's stories, this time, at her lowest point, surely... it would work.

  Celia turned the toy over and stuffed the green stone inside, pulling the strings to close it. Then she placed it on a tuft of blanket before her, waiting.

  Again. Nothing.

  “Please,” she whispered. “I... can't take much more.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I'm proud... I've been through much. I just... I don't see a way out of this.”

  “Why are you talking to that doll?” It was the young male from before.

  Celia wiped her eyes, stuffing the doll down beneath the plank. “It's... stupid.”

  He looked at her for a while, standing in the dark. “I'm sorry...” he said.

  She shook her head. “Don't be... I-”

  “I tried to stop them and I couldn't,” he said, his notched ears hanging low.

  “They... who?”

  “The others... the clen. They took your food. I told them not to... I tried to fight them.”

  Celia sighed, she'd misjudged the boy. Yet another addition to the day's long list of failures. “It's alright. I'm not hungry anymore anyway.”

  The fur on the boy's neck went up and his eyes widened. This was followed by growls from the dark.

  “Get lost runt,” said a voice. It was Risha and two of the largest clen females. They approached, menacingly, carrying clubs. This was not a good sign.

  The boy stepped in front of her. “No... I won't let you.”

  A club whipped out, cracking against the boy's snout. He shrieked, whimpering. Celia pushed him aside.

  “It's fine... what's this about?” she asked.

  “It's just a short meeting with more humans... I wish for you to be there to make sure the transaction goes... smoothly,” Risha replied.

  This wasn't unusual. Celia had been asked to be the face of the clen when dealing with humans before. Two clubs though, that was... worrying. Still, she was too tired and hungry to care.