Arc 9: Chapter 10: The Venal One |
They found me inside the studio later that day. I would learn later that Tej found me first, but had chosen to leave and get Didikas rather than approach himself. He had very good survival instincts. When he did muster the courage to enter the room, Tej spent nearly twenty minutes vomiting. Even Didikas, fortified against many horrors both worldly and supernatural, had hesitated at the door.
I remembered little of it, caught only some words, and refused to look away from Ekasne’s body until the Candrian arrived around dusk and gently ushered me out.
I had a nest in the Bow Quarter. A small apartment built into a cave inside one of the many towers of stone and hardened clay that grew throughout the city like roots from the Akropolis. It had some luxuries, though I preferred comfort over garish displays of wealth, and it did not accommodate mortal eyes. The others had to bring their own lanterns and stoke the cold hearth as the moons rose and chill winds from the wastes hungrily devoured the day’s heat.
Figures came into the tenement and went. Questions were asked. I might have answered some. Tej raved and made threats of vengeance against Karvessa’s allies, his anger juxtaposed by his sister’s cold observations. The Candrian was there briefly, but his own business pulled him away.
There came a point late in the night when it was only me and Didikas inside the room. The lanterns were taken away, the hearth nearly burnt down to embers. Moonlight shone through the window, providing some light.
I sat on the edge of my bed. The mage moved about the apartment and tutted over my lack of indulgences, which included an absence of food and wine. I ignored him, instead staring at the sprawl beyond my small window. We were near the top of the pinnacle. I liked to be high up.
“I’ve spoken with five different alchemists trained in enûm,” Didikas said as he pulled a stool up next to the bed and settled into it. “They say that Karvessa was particularly rough in her assault. Apparently, the emotion of the attacking gorgon affects the… quality, I guess, of the resulting petrification.”
I wasn’t looking at the roofs of Rot Voraag, but instead at the most distant of the two moons as it tumbled across the night. Didikas was hesitating to say the rest, but he didn’t need to.
They couldn’t turn her back.
The statue. Not the corpse.
“We still aren’t sure how she did it,” Didikas continued as he lifted the lenses to eye level. “I plan to have these examined. They might be a curse-trap, likely commissioned from one of the Guilds. I don’t understand how they work, but if my hunch is correct, then they are a weapon made specifically for one gorgon to slay another. This attack was well planned, and likely a long time in the making.”
He meant that to be a comfort, I was sure. It wasn’t just an impulsive retaliation for my actions. I might have reached that same conclusion, had I been thinking like the Lodge member. I was trying not to think of anything at all. I’d not satisfied my fury that day, and it might surge again. Aftershocks of the earthquake.
But the mage-thing wasn’t leaving, and seemed to be waiting for me to give him something.
A thought struck me. “What about Fell? Does he know?”
“Yes.” Didikas grimaced. “I had to trap him in a metamaze. He will probably try to kill me when he escapes, but we should discuss our next move before he goes off on a rampage.”
“What is there to discuss?” I asked in a distant voice. “Karvessa is dead. There is no vengeance for him to claim.”
I’d stolen that, though it gave me no satisfaction. The slaver had gone still too quickly, and I remembered little of it.
Didikas let out an impatient breath. “Come now, Shyora, you know as well as I that she did not act alone. Though they hold little warmth for their own kind, médousai also hold to very strict traditions. Karvessa would not have executed her cousin without the consent of the other gorgons in the city.”
“They punished Ekasne for overreaching,” I said. “They had to act now, or risk Rot Voraag’s king taking more of an interest and pulling her from their reach.”
It also meant that Rettabrand had been a diversion. While I’d been playing in the Nails, Karvessa had struck where we were most vulnerable. He would not have appeared there at that time without being informed by our other enemies.
Didikas nodded. “Exactly. But in this, the Ophidian Sisterhood overplayed their hand. They declared war on us, and we took one of their best right at the jump.”
He made a grabbing motion. He sounded eager, almost excited. Of course he would. He sought something very similar to what I’d been grasping for — new experience, power. War was often a source of evolution to those who understood even a fraction of the make of Creation. An excuse to battle the gorgons of Rot Voraag, to lay them low and claim their arcane secrets for himself, would be a tantalizing cut of meat to the magician.
Part of me saw all of this, even as most of my attention remained fixed on the dead rock tumbling across the lower heavens. How long would it take to fly to it? A year? A century? At what point would I grow bored of airless nothing? Would I even have the strength to break free of this world’s grip? And if I missed any of the moons, I would be a long time tumbling through the great emptiness. Perhaps forever.
It had been a long time since one of these more nihilistic moods had come over me, but I knew the signs. They were difficult to pull from, like climbing out of a deep well with slippery walls. I was still fighting the pull, if half-heartedly. Many of my kind had fallen into similar fugues after we’d taken the Silver City, their excesses dried up, their rage — once inexhaustible — burnt out.
“And not just the Sisterhood!” Didikas continued in his odd, melodic accent, blithe to my despondency. “Karvessa’s fellow slavers will also seek a blood price. We will have to call in favors, gather allies… I think a shift in the city’s power structure is long overdue, don’t you?”
“Do you want to fuck me, Didikas?”
The mage paused mid-word, turning his bald head to blink at me for a long, blank moment. I met his gaze steadily, finally ripping my eyes from that cold desolation in the sky.
“Shyora, I…” Didikas swallowed. “I’m not sure this is the best time to—”
“You have wanted it,” I insisted, shifting on the bed to lean closer to him. “For a long time now, isn’t that right?”
I could see myself reflected in the mage’s pupils. My face — Kaida’s face — looked relaxed and inviting, dark and full lipped, features framed in a tripartite bob. Narrow slivers of unearthly light shone at the centers of darkly violet eyes. In that reflection, my hand reached forward.
Didikas was normally very composed. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the allure of poisoned fruit, and had faced my kind and its tricks before, but even still I saw him hesitate. “I am no meal to you, Lady Wurmwing. I thought we understood one another better than that.”
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In my reflection, a smile touched my lips. He was just like Urizen. Younger, less afraid of his own mortality, but his armor would prove just as brittle. Beneath his cool facade and momentary surprise, he was gloating. Likely, he’d believed I would try this eventually, the prideful creature.
Still, I found myself musing on what might be. Could he come to treasure me as deeply as Fell had treasured Ekasne? If I were to be slain, would he rage so fiercely that someone else would need to trap him inside a prison?
No. Not enlightened Didikas. I was just a conquest to him. A succubus’s affections are fickle, but easily mutate into obsession.
I reached out a hand to brush at his wind-scarred cheek. He put on a good show of being relaxed, but I could hear his blood coursing fast in his veins, his heart thumping loud in growing anticipation.
I let my voice drop into a soothing purr. “What if I promise to be gentle?”
“There is no promise you can make that I will believe,” Didikas said seriously. “But… There is a compromise, perhaps. An exchange that might benefit both of us.”
My fingers paused as they brushed along his jaw. “What exchange?”
A slight smile touched the mage’s thin lips. “I have heard certain stories about your kind. That they occasionally choose a favorite amongst their prey… That rather than devouring them, they instead bestow on them a share of abyssal power. I believe there is even a name for it, yes?”
Instantly, my languid ardor scattered like so much mist. I pulled my hand back, but Didikas grabbed my wrist and held it tightly. He did not seem to notice my change in mood. His voice became firm, strengthened by a sudden eagerness. This was a hunger that went beyond mere lust or ambition. The light of his awakened soul burned at the centers of his dark eyes.
“I will willingly give you a piece of my essence,” Didikas said in a rush. “Take half, if you must! But give me some of yourself in turn.”
He had a strong grip, enough to make me wince. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I do!” He insisted. “Yes, I know it will let you speak in my mind, influence me, but it is a small price to pay! I will pay it gladly, if you would grant me your Profane Gift.”
This is what he’s wanted all this time, I realized as I met his fevered stare. Demonic power. He wanted to enhance his spellcraft, to make himself more than merely mortal, and sought to use my most intimate favor to do it.
Of course he did. And many of my kin would do it without a second thought. After all, it could be taken back, and with severe interest. The Gift was, in some ways, an even more insidious weapon than the Kiss.
Only, I’d thought perhaps…
But Didikas was not Fell, and I was not Ekasne. We were both a lower class of monster. I’d only wanted to be distracted for a while with the pretending.
“Get out, Didikas.”
His face hardened. “What? Don’t be like that, you just—”
With a motion quick as a viper’s strike, my hand flicked out and plucked his left eye from its socket. He let out a strangled scream and released my wrist. I watched him writhe on the floor for a moment from my seat on the bed as I rolled the damp orb between my fingers. After a moment’s consideration, I placed it in my mouth and bit down, shuddering as the juices burst free.
“You bitch!” Didikas howled. He covered the new hole in his face with one hand as he tried to get up. His shock and agony had already given way to rage, a fury that intensified as he saw the trail of fluid running down my chin.
My own voice was cold. “Consider this a lesson, wizard, and be grateful that I only took the one eye. Ah, I almost forgot…”
My tail slipped free from the folds of my tunic and slithered toward him. Didikas cringed away from it, gritting his teeth as it flicked its tongue. But I did not bite him like Narahn, only searched through his garments until I found what I was looking for. My tail pulled back with a small item in its jaws, a little puzzle box of hard wood plated in brass.
I took it in hand. The touch of metal burned my skin, and the pain was a welcome one, clearing the fog in my thoughts. I studied the puzzle box as I spoke. “Now I will ask one more time, politely, before I become cross. Leave.”
“You will regret this!” Didikas snarled. Blood poured down his face.
LEAVE.
I let go of all pretense of chameleon-humanity in that moment, letting my true voice boil through the air. Didikas fled in terror, stumbling and scrambling towards the door. He might have even whimpered once, a small and pitiful sound lost in the spire’s depths.
He would seek revenge, after licking his wounds and taking the time to prepare. His kind could live a long time and be patient in their hatreds. It would have been smarter to kill him, but I did not want the unpleasant aftertaste of his withered soul on my tongue.
I felt a hidden warmth inside the puzzle box. It resonated with the mote of Spark I’d taken from Didikas along with his eye. I would need to solve the puzzle, but once done I should be able to release its prisoner.
Some time after the mage departed, another entered my lair. They appeared from the darkness, stepping through the folds of reality with little but the stamp of hoof and scent of sulfur to proceed them.
“It has not been nine days,” I said without looking at the devil, my gaze still locked to Didikas’s arcana.
“I’m not here for that,” Deacon told me. He moved to the window, though his gaze lingered on me. “I have information for you.”
I looked at him then. “About what I told you?” At his nod I added, “You Zosite work fast.”
“We have many resources to call on.” Deacon placed his back to the well to the left of the window and slid down until he sat, propping an arm on a knee as he spoke. “You remember what I told you about the Exalted?”
“I do,” I said. “It’s only been a few days, Meshann.”
Deacon tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I would prefer you didn’t call me that. It’s painful.”
I tossed the puzzle box onto the bed and lay down sidelong, pillowing my head on my arms. That placed me at eye level with the crowfriar where he sat by the window. “I enjoy your pain. You’ve always suffered so stoically.”
He was silent near a minute before he spoke again. “There are forces, both here in Rot Voraag and beyond, intent on stopping the Exalted from achieving his apotheosis. Some of these groups are going to great lengths to frustrate him. At least a few are other powers in the Heavenswar who do not want another rival to contend with, but others are more concerned with the damage he might do to this world. Are you aware of the one the mortals in this place call the Old Woman in the Well?”
I nodded. “She is one of the city’s old powers, near the Exalted’s equal if the rumors are to be believed.”
Deacon made a small gesture with his left hand, as though tossing a parcel to me. “I believe that she is the one you seek. You said the mortals were being maimed body and soul… the Old Woman in the Well is a demon. Not Abgrûdai, but she takes power in a similar way.”
“She’s feasting,” I said in realization. “Making herself stronger.”
“There can only be one reason,” Deacon said. “We believe she intends to challenge the Exalted.”
“Perhaps she is simply hungry,” I said dismissively and closed my eyes. It was difficult to care about that little mystery anymore, and to have it solved so easily annoyed me. More plots and powers. I had hoped it would be something more unique, more personal.
“Shy…” Deacon sighed and shifted. “You’re acting strange. You aren’t usually this… passive.”
“I’ve had time to think lately,” I said without looking at him. Demons do not sleep, but sometimes I liked to pretend. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, and about what I want.”
Not just about his words either. I’d been thinking ever since my encounter with the Urrson.
“Our offer—” Deacon started to say.
“I refuse.” I opened my eyes and looked directly at him. “I won’t join your side. I have no desire to be Zosite.”
Deacon, to his credit, did not grow angry. “Then what are your intentions with this city?”
I shrugged and shifted on the bed. “I did not say I’m not willing to help your side. If what you say is true, then our kind’s eternal war has entered a new era. There are many sides now, not just two, and I am not tied to any of them. I quite like the idea of that.”
It sang of freedom. Of choice.
“Dangerous,” Deacon warned. “If you do not choose a ship, then you could end up being swept into the waves.”
I laughed softly. “I was made beneath them anyway! But I hear you. Bring this offer to the Vicar. Tell him that I will deal with his witch. This should stabilize the Exalted’s position at least, and secure you your dupe’s ascension. In return, I will be owed a favor by the Credo. I will call on this favor as it pleases me.”
Deacon considered a while. “He might agree with that. It’s a dangerous gamble, Shyora. You’re sure you want to play the mercenary? You could easily rise to become a marquess in Orkael, even a viscountess.”
A basalt tower, damned souls as my playthings, luxuries from ten thousand kingdoms and a court all my own? It did sound nice.
I drew in a deep breath and waited to see if the thought made my dead heart shudder. But the shriveled organ remained still, and after a moment I shook my head. “No, Deacon. I will be no one’s slave, not even a well pampered one.”
He bowed his head. “Very well.”
He stood then and moved back towards the shadows beyond the window, readying to slip back into them. My tail betrayed me, began to slither towards him and hiss more loudly. I grit my teeth, hesitated, then stopped him with a word.
“Wait.”
Deacon, who had once been the priest Meshann, paused and glanced back at me. I stretched on the bed.
“Won’t you stay a while?” I asked him.
He remained silent a long time. I waited, feeling a kernel of hope at his stillness. That should have been my warning, that hope. My kind have none.
“No, Shy. You and I… We were never anything.”
He left me alone in the dark. I did not leave it for a long time.
