Chapter 8 - Dark Clouds Cast Twisted Shadows
So this was what a grand city was supposed to look like…Guards everywhere clad in shining metal covered by robes of purple and black—colours of the ducal family. Banners hanging from the walls depicting a black flower in a purple background with golden borders; a disgusting array of colours is the only thing I see it as. But nonetheless it was the coat-of-arms of house Roterran, a great house or so I hear, men-at-arms by the thousands, noble knights with plates of steel, even their horses reflected the sun, blinding their enemies as they charged with temerity through fields of blood.
The three of us in awe: Damien, Hermes and myself; boy did I feel small, I bet they did too. It seemed out here even the rabble lived like kings; the domiciles were made of sturdy stone, piled high, some were three stories and some two, rarely just one.
Sites of worship, fountains, statues of bronze and marble, great stairwells surrounded by lush trees, a fragrant smell reached my nose, emanating from small trees flowering yellow; a stunning sight, a smell of heaven.
Flies buzzed by us without cares, the people paid no mind to their surroundings, they were busy like bees in their endless quest for honey.
Liline and Iris had separated from us by now, pestering me for money which I gave them; after which Iris pulled Liline along and they vamoosed without warning. I produced my pouch, pulled on its black string and peered inside; a few ugly coins, no more than fifty marks.
So there we were, trying to navigate the bustle of a city housing fifty thousand. Attempting to find a market, looking to sell some of our goods. Asking around for instructions many ignored us; the city was infested by rudeness, I felt its shadows around every corner, a dark gaze staring directly into my soul.
I could not place it but I felt unsafe, I felt it like bugs crawling on my skin that were never there to begin with. It was a feeling without a source it seemed; a delusion caused by my imagination? That is how I felt too—for a moment.
Hermes saw a sign with an ace and a queen, and he could not contain himself, clearly his addictions were getting the better of him; there was nothing I could do, this money was for us all; it wasn't democratic, we all had a portion, and it was not my choice to make but his own.
Leaving just me and Damien in our search for trade, we wandered aimlessly for a moment.
Suddenly, I felt a great force throwing me backwards, stumbling down and onto my ass. Someone had run through the crowd, collided with me, and now he stood there with a face of pure terror, his sleep-deprived eyes bloodshot and his body shivering like a wet dog.
A rich man in his thirties, a stubby figure with a styled black moustache and a bowlcut; he spoke to me; ¨I'm sorry! I need to go!¨
¨Hold on! What the hell man!?¨ Damien grunted angrily, grabbing his wrist before he could escape.
The man looked impatient, his head pointing left, right, up and down, his body was utterly restless, everything he did was done in jerking movements; his speech lacked cadence and it was hard to determine what he was trying to convey, it was so fast that it almost sounded like buzzing.
¨Stop! Leave me please! I need to go, this place is cursed.¨ he whimpered. I pulled myself up, and patted the dust off my back. The man must have noticed he was not leaving without an explanation; he went silent, his eyes scanning our faces for a good while, searching for something as if trying to determine friend from foe.
Then, he moved his head closer and signaled with his hand for us to follow. Once we were all huddled close enough to distinguish each other's breathing through all the background noise, he began whispering in a grim shaking voice; ¨the flies, can't you see the flies? Can't you see his puppets? He's inside the people, the parasite, the pestilence, the lord o-,¨ suddenly, the man froze like a corpse in its grave, eyes of terror stared through us for a moment, and with a quick jerk he pulled his hand free, coupled with the most primal of yelps, he quickly turned his back on us, horribly screamed like he was being subjected to vile torture, stumbling as he began his sprint towards the southern gate; he fell to the ground, desperately pulling himself back up like a rabbit being chased by a fox.
I had never heard a man make such a pathetic sound, I had never seen someone so hysterical—so utterly terrified. Pushing past us thereafter two guards gave chase, and from the crowd emerged a tall man with long blonde balding hair, sharp eyes of green that were blankly jumping between the faces of Damien and myself.
His body moved in jolts jagged and sharp, I could have sworn I heard cracks making me feel like his joints were made of rusted metal. His face was a wrinkled canvas absent of colour. When I looked at him I saw only emptiness, it felt like I wasn't looking at a human but something terrible, something other, something alien.
A blank smile revealed his eroded yellowish teeth, but it didn't look like any smile I'd ever seen, it felt like he was the predator and we were the prey. It was blank, lifeless, artificial; horrible, and it sent shivers coursing through me, I could barely keep myself together.
¨A madman. We cannot allow a wretched creature in such a state to roam through the night now can we.¨ he said emotionlessly, his lips barely moving; he crouched down, slowly bringing his face closer to ours, eyes observing us carefully baring our souls I thought; ¨what did he tell you?¨
¨Uh…Nothing, nothing at all,¨ I muttered, taking an involuntary step back as I noticed Damien's finger caressing the hilt of his sword. I tried to maintain a doughty facade as I continued desperately; ¨he was insane. Talking about flies, and, and other such fantasies. An absolute madman!¨ I explained, hoping my words were what he wanted to hear…But inside I was panicking, I felt true terror, unlike anything I had felt prior; it was indescribable and I could hardly think; in fact I didn't even remember what words had left my mouth moments prior; there was only the threatened touch of death, a cold skeletal hand hovering inches above my shoulder, and I could only await its judgement…
Then, he looked around, prompting me to do the same; people stood and stared, the street stood still…And then—then he left…Wordless.
That was doubtless him, the lord of this city they called Mosburg and the ruler of the surrounding lands, the Duke of Barcala: Rurick III Roterran. That much even I could tell.
I finally felt like I could breathe as I gasped for air, a short rotund man was hauled past us, his attempted screams muffled by the abuse laid on him by the guards; he was being taken somewhere, somewhere I felt he would never emerge from.
¨Did you feel that?¨ Damien asked me, his eyes staring like a hawk towards the crowd that had swallowed the duke.
¨Yes. That…thing. Whatever it was, it didn't feel…It wasn't human, not really.¨
¨That's what I thought as well. That smile, I have never seen anything so forced, so odd. It was like he was staring into my soul, staring back I saw only the void.¨
¨Shit…Don't remind me.¨ I looked around, noticing the people didn't seem too bothered, there were a few people conversing about the madman, but there was no fear in their eyes, the duke's strangeness had not caught their perception it seemed; I cleared my throat; ¨I think…It must be said that our lingering presence in this town calls forth disgust that envelopes my body, we must obviate our stay, wander far with haste. This town entertains itself with dark energies, therefore lingering further is an idea that must be purged from our cognition, and any contrarian ideas of whomever should be dismissed without needless consideration.¨
¨Agreed. We should gather our group.¨
Hightailing out of there first we retraced our steps, returning to that gambling den where Hermes was currently abrogating common sense.
We narrowed the door and stepped within that shithole, and immediately I was hit with the stuffy hot air of that dimly lit gathering of ruffians and degenerates; the scent of sweaty ballsack—needless to say I longed for fresh air.
From the far left-hand corner we heard angry yelling; seeing a burly man striking a table with his fist as he looked just about ready to pounce on someone. Of course, Hermes was sitting opposite him, and it did not take long to recognize that he was the object of that wrath.
Slowly moving towards that situation, I heard him rant about aces, and how it was impossible for such a hand to occur twice in a row. He was calling my friend a cheater it seemed, and this was naturally a ridiculous accusation. However what can you expect from people in such places, probability was after all a concept that would flummox the comprehension of most people; and if so then what would it do to a fool's?
Damien looked angry, his steps were rapid and he quickly made his way to the table, placing himself between the quarreler and his possible victim.
¨What do you want runt!? This fucking idiot! He is the worst player I've ever seen. He must be cheating! I would never lose my money to an idiot child!¨
¨Call my friend an idiot one more time! See what happens you ugly fish-lip degenerate.¨ Damien roared, clearly preparing for a fight…Not something I needed, so I quickly attempted to step between them and soothe his anger; this would not do.
However, that idiot continued with his harassment, prompting my red-faced idiot friend to push me away as he began to approach the much larger man.
I quickly tried to get back on my feet, but those two were already in fighting distance; which meant I could only watch. That fucking idiot. I palmed my face, letting it play out.
The first punch was thrown by the muscular man, hitting Damien straight in the nose; and by all means such a powerful hit would have floored most men the size of Hermes, but that resilient twerp just shrugged it off like it was nothing, blood gushing out of his nose.
Immediately a left hook began barreling towards Damien's temple, but he skillfully ducked under it and sprung up, retaliating with a devastating haymaker that slammed against the bigger man's chin.
The man's eyes rolled back in his head as he was sent flying by Damien's flappy little arms, landing on his back with a loud thump.
And that was it; a doubtless unwelcome event, but at least it was over now…
Damien turned back towards me and the door, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his face awash with blood, falling on the floor in a dripping rhythm of uncertain signatures…However, although that fool might have found calmness, the bar didn't. There was yelling, people crouched around the belligerent man; that is when I heard it.
¨He's bleeding.¨ — ¨He's not breathing!¨ — ¨That boy just killed Marko!¨
Shit…This was obviously very bad. Apparently the large man had hit his head as he fell down, and as I peaked at his body and saw the pooling blood around his head; I knew it was bad, I knew he wasn't getting back up…All from a punch. Life was ruthless. But I knew that already, and I'd seen worse.
Luckily it didn't seem that anyone was turning on us; at least they had the sense to understand that such things can happen, and that he was the true initiator of that conflict to begin with. But even so, I could not help but worry for Damien's sake; his face was after all one of deep regret and shock…And why wouldn't it have been? The guards he had killed in Scorburg were trying to kill him, he was protecting us and himself; but this was different, he had no reason to kill this man. Therefore even though it was clearly an accident; I knew it would be a heavy burden for him to carry.
Regardless, we scurried out of there, and headed out in search of our remaining companions.
That reckless hobbledehoy was a sorry sight, his eyes staring into nothingness throughout our search, absorbed by thoughts debilitating him through absent-mindedness circumstances forced Hermes to practically steer him around as I led the way.
Eventually though, we located the two girls towards the center of Mosburg, in a clean middle-class street with tailors and bakers with a couple inns too. Carrying clothes by the dozen, which was sort of what I was expecting to be honest.
But regardless, I explained the situation briefly: the strangeness of this town and its ruler, referring to the feeling of danger that had bored itself under our skins; they offered no argument, and soon we found ourselves attempting to abscond from the ethereal grip of that perceived-peril.
However, unexpected circumstances joined our plans…
It was as we were passing by the den from earlier; seeing a deceased man being carried away, a child's crying pierced through the crowd.
The kid must have been no older than seven or six, only a young boy; short brown hair and blue eyes bloated from crying; the people around looked at him with pity. And whether it was because they did not know how to comfort him, or some other reason; no one approached the poor thing. In fact they only seemed troubled by the traumatized child screaming for his daddy. These people were all egregiously rotten as well it seemed, was it the same everywhere?
Damien was awakened from his thoughts, his eyes flashing with emotions as sad as they come; he rushed to the child, I followed, keeping an eye on the rabble nearby.
¨Kid…You shouldn't be here now, where's your mother?¨ he asked, guilt seeping through every word…
¨She's dead…¨ the child cried, a wretched lump crumbled down on his knees; ¨I want my daddy!¨ he screamed a shrill cry.
¨That kid has no relatives or anything, better not bother with him. He's a lost cause,¨ whispered an elderly lady; Hermes pushed past me in anger and lifted her against a wall like she consisted purely of air. Well, dumb as he was, I'm sure he wouldn't hurt some wrinkled old hag; and besides, I probably would have just slapped her lights out myself if he didn't act first, so this works fine…However I must admit, I think I see where this current situation is headed, harbingering a certain sort of awkward and persistent deception, and most importantly; it begets more mouths to feed doesn't it?
¨What's your name?¨ Damien asked; — ¨Ingvar,¨ the boy sobbed; — ¨Ingvar…I'm really sorry to tell you this, but your father's not coming back…Uuh, we're going to Pentor, unless you have someone to take care of you here, then you're coming with us.¨
I was forced to back off a couple idiots with a glare, no doubt about to reveal Damien as his father's killer, which would have been a horrible thing indeed…Since although this was certainly not an optimal course of events; I sure as hell didn't want to leave the kid for the streets, and neither did anyone else in our group of that I'm sure.
It took convincing in profusion, after all the kid was absolutely inconsolable, a hysterical mess of emotional soup. Therefore it was hard to make out what he was saying at times, but his intent was clear; he was not about to leave without his father…Well, we eventually managed to convince him otherwise, practically kidnapped him actually now that I think about it; and if not for the fact that he would have been dead or worse otherwise, that would have been a horrible thing indeed. Incidentally, maybe it was regardless, but we were not about to leave a child alone in this world; not us—never.