by Noam Oswin
“It’s the least I can do for my favorite little orphan.” She said. “Or not so little as he likes to say. How old are you anyway?”
The reminder of his age brought him a slight feeling of discomfort. “Too old. I have four months left before I’ll have to leave the orphanage.”
She adjusted her glasses, slowly. “You’ll be sixteen in four months?”
“Seventeen.” He said. “We – my friends and I – pleaded with the Fathers to give us an extra year in exchange for less meals, more chores, grunt work, supervising the younger ones...”
Not that Juma and Niha helped much in that respect. Somehow, the role of supervision and order fell to him and they just did whatever he instructed them to. If it were up to Juma – the kids would never bathe or do chores. If it were up to Niha... he shuddered to think of the amount of innocence that would be lost.
“Do you have something planned for when you leave?”
He winced. “I... requested for nine apprenticeships across the Middling District, two in the Apparent District, and one in the Prominent District.”
“I’m... sorry, did you that with actual belief that you’d be accepted, did you just want to see how a fancy rejection letter looks like?” The Archivist said. “I’ve seen your scores Kuri.”
“I hoped at least one would accept.” He admitted. “Twelve letters for apprenticeship to blacksmiths, bakers, and artisans, and I didn’t get one offer.”
He turned his gaze to the side, and muttered a bit under his breath. “If I don’t have something in four months, I’ll probably head to one of the Warehouses and do tedious labor. It’s not the highest paying or the safest job but... it’s a living.”
“Or you could always attempt a life of crime.” The Archivist chuckled. “It’d be a short one, but a good one.”
He gave her a long look. The risks of crime were far higher than the rewards. The Eminency of War, Eminency of Progress, Eminency of Culture, Eminency of Penance, the Eminency of Espionage and the AAA were all involved in ensuring that the general rate of crimes committed in Alhamis was about the price of bread – two manna, fifty vittles, or 2.50%.
“I was joking, in case that was not obvious. Don’t – actually, enter a life of crime. The last thing I want to see is a group of obese men sodomizing you like they did to those deserters three months ago.” She said.
He grimaced. The Archivist handed over his coins, placing them softly into the palm of his hands, before slowly grabbing the palm. Her hands were warm and soft and he could feel an uncomfortable heat begin to rise to his cheeks.
“There are other jobs, you know. The Double E is always looking for new companions.”
“I don’t think prostitution is my calling.”
“That’s not all they do.” She clarified. “You people make it sound like the Eminency of Espionage is all about sex and sex-craved people who join because they’d have the chance to seduce and fuck as much as they want.”
“Language.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Sorry – it’s... a habit. Whenever I hear someone swear it slips out.”
“That’s the cutest thing.”
He coughed and ignored the rising heat on his cheeks. “The Double E – isn’t it all about debauchery?”
“It’s what they want you to think.” She said. “They take refuge in audacity. At realizing that the Eminency is a brothel with an orgy going on, most people flee for the hills, not noticing they’re being tailed by six agents who’ve profiled them, know where they live, know who they have the hots for and what tickles their fancy. And they will be paying a visit past midnight.”
Kuri found the information... odd. “How do you know this?”
“Before I became an Archivist, I worked at the Double E as an amanuensis for a really annoying prick of a Prominent.” she said.
He only managed to prevent himself from slipping out the word: “Language.” The Archivist’s lips twitched.
“Anyway, there are other jobs than just the seducing and sleeping around. Only, it depends on how much you can stomach the smell of dead bodies and the sounds people make when tortured.”
Kuri found himself looking everywhere. Thankfully, no one seemed to be leaving the Annals, and there was no one approaching it either. He thanked the Sycophant for the small mercies.
“Are you... allowed to tell me that?”
“Only the AAA is sworn to secrecy. Besides, the Em-Pen does commercialized monthly torture exhibitions of AAA deserters and criminals, so I don’t think telling you that the Double E tortures people is much of a big deal. It’s just torture. Doing it for information rather than fun doesn’t make it any more interesting.”
“I don’t think torture is interesting... or fun.”
The Archivist gave him a smile. “That depends on what end of it you’re on.”
He wanted to say that he’d feel the same on both ends. He could not see himself possibly finding it ‘fun’ to drive nails into someone’s fingers and needles into their tongues. Except, he, and most of the people brought up in the West Sycophant Church were the outliers. Father Goma’s methods of teaching provided them with a different view than most.
“How about this... I’ll write you up a formal introduction to an old friend in the Double E. If you impress him enough, he’ll take you under his wing. Benefits include better pay than you can get from Warehouse grinding, a place to live, and some training in diplomacy and foreign relations. I think it’s a generous offer.”
It was generous. More than generous. So generous that he was starting to get suspicious. “What’s the catch?”
The Archivist smile returned. “I like church boys. I find your innocence... refreshing.”
“I – er – I mean –” she gave solid advice, yes, but this? “I’m not – I don’t –”
“Want to sleep with an older woman? I’m not that old you know. Just entering my twenty-ninth year.”
“Could you simply help me without me having to sleep with you?”
“Oh sweet little orphan Kuri. I am helping you. You’ll have to learn sooner or later that no one gets anywhere in Alhamis without having to do things they would rather not.”
“Even you?”
“Especially me.”
There was a certain weight that was held to those words that Kuri did not wish to bring up. For as long as he had known the Archivist, he never knew anything about her. She was merely the one on duty at this Annals on weekends. For five years, he’d seen her, greeted her, and entered to peruse more information and stories to expand on the ones Father Goma told him. For five years, she’d been here. He wondered how long she’d had her eye on them. He did not want to know.
“If... If I agree...” Kuri began. “You’ll have to give me something.”
“That’s cute. You’re negotiating.”
“You’re an archivist.” He continued unperturbed. “And you worked at the Eminency of Espionage. You must know a lot about things. About Alamir, about the AAA, about Mysticism and how Alhamis rose to power...”
“You want me to teach you?” The Archivist frowned. “You’re sweet and all, but I’m already helping you more than you are helping me. What do I get for playing the role of teacher?”
“My loyalty.”
“Adorable, but it doesn’t have real value to me.”
“If I rise up the ranks in the Double E, wouldn’t it be great to have a loyal spy who can tell you all the important news before anyone else?”
“I already have contacts that do that.”
Kuri pursed his lips. “I’ll give you ten percent of whatever I earn.”
“A noble sentiment, but I don’t need your money.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I already have what I want. You, however, need more. So, you need to figure out what it is that I could possibly want that you can trade with me.” She winked at him. “First lesson: in a negotiation, never let it be known that you have no idea what the o
ther person wants.”
At the words, first lesson, Kuri was forced to stop. He gave an unsteady look to the Archivist, and found her smiling. “You’ll teach me?”
“Now I didn’t say that. It just slipped. It seems things like that tend to slip out of my mouth from time to time.”
Kuri was a lot of things, but he was not slow on the uptake. He didn’t question it. He knew it was better to not question it. Instead, he nodded, slowly. “The letter of introduction you mentioned –”
“Sixth house on 14th Bard Street. Red gates, blue door. Come by with a nice outfit, I’ll have it for you.”
He wasn’t sure what to say. Would thanking her be appropriate? Would it be inappropriate? He decided it was always best to follow Father Goma’s teachings on gratitude.
He bowed formally. “Thank you.”
“You do realize I’m extorting you?” she frowned a bit. “Are you sure you should be thanking me?”
“You gave me good advice. You’re helping me solve one of my problems, and whatever little I learn from you can help keep my friends alive.” He bowed again. “I’m grateful for all of that. So, thank you.”
“...Now I feel guilty.” She sighed. “And somehow that makes me want you more. Church boys are my weakness. Everyone has a weakness.”
He walked away, faster than he had approached, if only to get away from the awkward silence that followed her statement. Had he stayed, perhaps even thirty seconds more, he would have noticed the woman’s expression rapidly shift from melancholy to stone-faced flatness in seconds. He would have noted the transition, and more than that, he would have seen the man that arrived in a cloak of shadows directly beside her.
“Report.” She intoned.
“I have a message from High Eminent Hoplite.”
The Archivist nodded. “Operation F.E.A.R. was a success?”
“Confirmative. The newly minted Lance Brigade are under the impression that they live only by whim. Prominent Lance, now dubbed Prominent Archer is ready to resume his duties in the Espionage Corp. High Eminent Hoplite sends his thanks.”
The Archivist nodded again. “And Operation D.E.P.E.N.D.?”
“High Eminent Sophos’ unintentional condescension is slowly convincing the Takumians of our Empire’s technological prowess. They are undergoing a tour of the Warehouse 9, the Sacrosanct Arms Factory, as we speak. Several of the Prince’s servants are currently receiving Class A treatment at the Lusty Mare. More information about Takum should come within the day.”
“Keep at least one agent on the Takumian Prince at all times. Have two lilies on standby as well.”
The shadow nodded. “As you command my lady. But if I may?”
“Yes?”
“That orphan boy –”
“He is one of three special children raised by Goma and Shiga. I have an interest in him.”
“Despite being raised by such people his FLT and MAT scores were below mediocre?”
“Are you doubting the value of my investment?”
“No, my lady. I could never doubt Pochteca the Perspicacious.”
“Flattering. Return to your post and keep me updated on the Takumian situation. Their presence is surprising, and I profoundly hate surprises.”
“As you command, your eminence.”
Interlude VII
Decision
“Thank you for accompanying me Vuna.”
“Of course. Did you believe I would leave you to this task on your own?”
“After what happened between us, at the river –”
Vuna’s spirits were mellow. She could tell the blue spirits and the red spirits were fighting. His expression was not readable, but the spirits told her enough of what she wished to know. She bit her lip, but otherwise did not speak. There would be a time where they would have their discussion. This was not it.
“Have you spotted more tracks?”
Vuna crouched low upon the earth, scurrying forward in the manner of an elongated monkey. “Large.” He said simply. “Heavy. Each stride leaves its mark. Each stride is strong. This creature... what exactly is it that we are hunting, Shutila?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does this have something to do with the amount of spirits Kadulja exhausted last night, and why she is taking rest?”
She said nothing. They had been trying to find the monster since the beginning of the day. Although Shutila had not been present at the battle, she knew for a fact that Kadulja would not lie when she said she eliminated the masakh. She utilized the flowers of destruction to utterly decimate it to ash. She did it all to ensure that no one would ever discover that a masakh breached the Sanctuary.
So why, then, did the trail of dead elk and deer arrive? Why had she spent hours burying and hiding, accumulating grime and dirt of the physical and mental all to ensure no one else discovered the dead animals?
She already failed her master once by not being able to acquire the help of the Yonder Bears. The winter-guardians of the sanctuary were a peaceful lot, they would not fight or attack unless one of their own was killed or wounded. Kadulja trusted her to gain their aid, and she was rebuffed by the patriarch. They possessed no interest in helping her. They did not respect her. They lacked any reason to listen to her. In the end, she was left pleading and begging while her master fought alone and exhausted herself.
She wished her master had been the one to request the aid of the Yonder Bears instead, whilst she met the Silva Wolves. Except, the wolves were aggressive, dangerous, they kowtowed only to power and ability, neither of which Shutila could impose upon them. Had she failed to impress them, they would not hesitate to rip her to pieces. At the very least, the Yonder Bears would only ignore her, rather than attack her, unless she began pestering them.
In the end, her master arrived on the scene just as she was about to start manipulating the spirits in order to force the bears to listen. The look she delivered upon her still made Shutila feel like the dung of bovine.
She needed to prove to Kadulja that she was ready for her pilgrimage, that she did not need an additional three winters to prepare. If she found this second masakh, found and eliminated it, then Kadulja would see. Kadulja would realize.
Alas, it was a task she could not accomplish entirely on her own. Not after seeing the manner in which the animals were killed. Whereas the masakh they first encountered was small and killed with bites and poisons, this one had large tracks, and everything it killed had died of as though clubbed to death. There was no way it was the same creature, and hence, it meant not one, but two masakh were in the sanctuary. No one could know.
How many more? How many more would come?
“You must tell me Shutila.”
“I can’t.”
She saw his red spirits flare. “Cannot or will not?”
“I promised Kadulja.” she stated. “That I would tell no one.”
“Do you trust me so little Shutila?”
Was he surprised that she did not? He approached her with the guise of friendship, then declared he wished for more that she could not give him, and claimed the friendship could no longer continue because he could not stand the thought of her being with anyone but him. She remembered how dark one of his spirits had gotten, she remembered the idea it sang of. No, she did not trust him.
“This is not a matter of trust Vuna.”
Vuna rose from the earth. His quiver of bone bows rattled against his bow, and he forcefully adjusted it. “Does this give you pleasure? Abusing me so?”
She was regretting the decision to let him accompany her already. “Vuna, I am not abusing you.”
“You know what I feel for you,” he continued. “You are the Kadulja’s apprentice. You must be able to see the spirits. You can see mine. You know that everything I feel for you is true.”
She turned away from him, marching forward. “This is not the time for this Vuna.”
“I know you were worried about me waiting, but now that the Kadulja has postponed your pi
lgrimage – there is no reason to pretend or hide or hesitate. Shutila – I know you secretly yearn for me in the manner I do you.”
“You do not know anything about me Vuna.”
“Then tell me. I want to know!”
She couldn’t. She could never tell him the truth. Tell him that she did not see anything special in him. She did not find him appealing, for she did not find anyone appealing. She did not consider him humorous, nor did she find herself drawn to his monotonous life, devoid of any desires or thirst for the knowledge and mysteries of the grander world.
What she enjoyed from him were his spirits. His pink and purple spirits that sang of unspoken desire for her. That lamented and mourned every moment away from her. That played wonderful melodies to her hearing when she was nearby. Vuna’s spirits performed for her, danced for her, sung for her, and she, in turn, had grown to gain affection for them. She watched them, learned from them, understood from their actions, and unwittingly, became inebriated on their warmth.
She knew this warmth would vanish the day she accepted Vuna’s advances. She had seen it, dozens of times before, once the chase ends, once the desire is fulfilled, the spirits return to rest. The passion is gone, replaced with the dull familiar tunes of normalcy and banality.
“Vuna, I –”
She stopped. A sound entered her ears, a wretched, hurtful sound that staggered her.
“Shutila?”
“Spirits... the spirits are crying. Spirits are crying – so many – so many of them –”
Her legs began moving before her mind caught up.
“Shutila, wait!”
She did not wait. She could not wait. Could he not hear the sounds? Could he not understand the sheer agony? The spirits never cried like this! They never mourned or lamented like this! They never wailed like this!
“...dear ancestors.”
Yonder Bears. The Yonder Bears – they were –
The brutalized corpses of the proud Yonder Bears of the Sanctuary littered the Kadulja’s River. Their blood flowed down the river and the spirits of the river wailed. The Yonder Bears their spirits... were gone. Gone.
Gonegonegonegonegone –