Pounding footsteps, a shroud of confusion, wells of emptiness danced as products of my mental creation. Billowing behind me, these forces covered all ahead and behind: All that was once cherished, and prospects of joy in taint. My storm, forged in broken hopes brought me away from that house, that terrible fate.
The damp, organic smell of wet soil greeted my nostrils-- a smell that once I thought to be of life-- a smell that I know to be of death. It would be these very soils that would devour corpse in it's path.
The cadaver, a vivid image remained bright-- no, was it dark in my memory: A pallor of fading energies in delicate visage brought me close to despair once again. I tried expelling the thought of her cold, clammy body rotting away in the bed.
No avail. I smelled the air with more relish instead.
My tall boots sloshed in the mud and the ringing in my bag brought back more reason to feel guilty. I glowered down at the items that jingled in there, a pleasant ring emitting forth into the desolate evening. It sounded lost. Just as lost as I. They added insult to injury at that. Now he was stealing the most precious items from a dead woman. Well, she wouldn't care, not anymore.
To preserve my sense of forward thinking the wild idea that making it to Somnuim would help me recover. The Witch-Mother was all that I had, and now she was—
Dead.
Just admit it. There’s no escaping that fact, and only by recognizing it over and over again would I create the mindset for recovery.
But I didn’t want to recognize it over again. I wanted to forget.
As if shutting my eyes would create this desired forgetfulness, I closed them hard and tight, blackness engulfed the world.
It isn't much darker in here than out there.
I blinked my eyes open and studied the night. This dusk was cold, and the frigid air bit deep into my thin cloak. I shivered, and moved a bit faster. The first thing that I would do when I got to Somnium would be to buy a new cloak. It didn't help that I had to leave in such a rush, but another moment of that room would have brought vomit aforth.
The path was narrow and surrounded by tall trees, extending far above my eye sight. My petty lantern cast a feeble glow upon the trunks of these massive trees, creating a dancing shadow of myself, flitting and dancing in my radius, in almost a mocking way. My shadow smiled, smirked even. It was not the most settling feeling of the evening.
I shivered again, but not because of the cold, but of the final moments of the old Witch, flashing in my head—fresh and equally distressing. The most poignant sound of the room was embodied in those raucous coughs. The Witch-Mother was a frame of hacking expectoration-- Out went the blood, and in went the death.
I fathomed more than once that she wouldn't draw another breath to release anymore bloody vomit, but of course, I placed my predictions fallaciously. To some gruesome miracle, the frame would tremble and shake, beginning the horrid process of coughing and vomiting, once again. And again.
The sound of my boots in mud blended with the sound of rain atop a canopy of coniferous, the dark green trees willing to accept the hard, cold drops of uncertainty. By this time, the torrent had prompted the forest critters to scurry in protection. While they're happy in holes of dirt, or suspended above with their families, here I walk-- have been walking for hours. How much further?
I remember that the room was small. On it's walls were a scattering of her possessions, archaic artifacts that only a witch could have acquired after yeas of arcanery and sorcery. It was a room of a handful, to call it a house would be false, they lived in a cottage, he, Morcerus, I, the apprentice of Light magics.
I could feel the spirits pressing in on her, sliding their cold fingers, translucent whips of Aether, up and down her arms, whispering in their sing-song voices. They said that she wouldn’t be living anymore and then they would have one more companion to add to their lonely parade. They asked her to join them. They asked her to die faster. More singing.
I tried to banish the apparitions with Light magic, but they would only return with more numbers, singing, chanting louder, their whispers heard only as echoes across the cold and dimming chamber of blood.
It wasn’t long before the candles by her bed began to burn, and give off more light than they ever had, each candle-flame going out one by one. It was at this time the spirits voices rose to a fever pitch. They crowded and choked Hallah, screaming in her ears. Moments after, the final flame went out. The room was cloaked in a darkness more eternal than night.
I bit off a sob. I had nothing left.
I would need a new Instructor to teach me the ways of the Light. I would have to finish up my studies. Years of study would not beget nothing. Despite that, I knew something in me would burn for more knowledge. But this something was very far away, and very dim, underneath hundreds of trees in a forest of night; a single lantern to light the way.
I gave a half-hearted chuckle. Despite my best efforts, who really knew how that would turn out? I could only hope. Hope was all I had. I had myself, some of her last possessions in my bag, and this ‘hope’.
I hope that I have more than hope to hope for. Feh. Useless.
I stomped the last few steps out of the smaller trail and onto a larger path, more heavily used and leading to the city directly. The street was created with a wide cobblestone layout, in accommodation for the carriages to pass. The trees that were wide and tall around my last home had become smaller on this path, and different types of flora integrated in, but with the light of the lantern, it was hard to tell the specifics.
At that time, I was thoroughly through with recalling the dismal scene. I let my mind go blank as I walked, waiting for a buggy that would pick me up and drive me the rest of the way to the capital. After nearly a day and a half of walking, I was exhausted. Crow’s feet weren’t meant for walking that far, and I certainly did not have the will power to run and save time.
Two buggies had passed at this point, but paid no heed to the roadside traveler that was me.
I waved a third buggy to assist me, but it politely disregarded the action, speeding off as if the plague were behind it. Charming. Really.
I gave a sigh filled with melancholy.
It was a few moments longer before a fourth horse-drawn buggy neared my position, going the proper direction, too. I smiled, despite the fact that it may not have stopped for me. It was reassuring that people still had lives; an astounding ability to push down any unpleasantries to go about their business.
Welcome to the big world of adults, Morcerus, happy 18th birthday, now make a wish.
I wished that the buggy would stop for me.
It continued on its merry way as if it hadn’t even seen the onlyperson walking on the onlystreet with it.
“My word! That was the fourth one.” I muttered with growing annoyance.
I couldn't say that I was entirely surprised, yet. It wasn't every day that a gent cursed with the head of a crow would be asking for a lift. Certainly not the most appealing guest to board a buggy.
I attempted to pull the thin cloak closer to my body, but it provided little respite against a particular strong gust of wind. The flimsy strap upon my leather bag flipped open and a few spell papers flew out, scattering to the wind.
I shouted in surprise and chased after them, gathering most. The last page flew forward, carried by the infernal wind, which, by then was a natural force that was not fond of me.
Up the road it went, curling along the top of a hill, just a single foot out of my grasp, at most, laughing like shadow: I had not come to understand it's elusiveness.
Finally, the paper rested in the center of the road, immobile and ready to be captured. It was a grasp away, when the sound of ceaseless gallop originated from behind me, also, perhaps just grasp away.
A creaking buggy approached, taking the center of the road, ready to crush my paper and I into the pavement. I caught myself from moving any closer to the page to the side of the road (as to not get trampled by horses, then to be crushed by the carriage’s wheels). An act, may it be noted that I dismissed with some measure of hesitation.
My face stiffened up as it neared my paper, but suddenly, the carriage careening, screeched to a halt, mere inches away from the fallen parchment.
I gave a blink of surprise. Why would anybody stop for such a petty thing?
A man stepped from the coach, wearing a long and intricate black and silver robe, a head donned with a large pointed hat. He drew the paper from the ground, as I retraced, cautious, over to him.
The man looked up to me with an expression as to say: “Only an imbecile would let such an important thing fly into my way.” he opened his mouth and spoke, with a smile, no less.
“Is this yours, good sir?”
I nodded graciously. “It is, indeed. Apologies to it's inconvenient locale. ” I replied, as courteous as possible.
He gave a tiny and mirthless smile as he looked at the page, handing it back to me, very slowly. This demeanor was as if he didn't want relinquish his little find. I took the page with a strong grip and stowed it away in my bag, giving him an earnest smile, and securing my accursed bag with the best tug manageable.
“I thank you for yielding.” I added. There was something off-putting about him. I felt like it was necessary to apologize again.
The man appeared to have been studying me for a moment, and when I was about to turn away from him, he placed a hand on my shoulder.
“Wait.” He said, suddenly. “You wouldn’t happen to be going to Somnium, would you?”
I froze at the feeling of hand on my shoulder and turned back towards him. I nodded slowly.
He gave another tiny smile, like he didn’t want me to know that his lips could curl into such a fashion. “I happen to be traveling to the Capital as well. Could I offer you a ride—It’s terribly cold this evening.”
This statement caught me off guard, and I couldn’t help but to give an inward gesture of delight. But then, my common sense kicked in.
“Ah, well, I should think it better to walk. I wouldn’t want to burden you, sir.” My reply came quick with a slight tilt of my crow head.
He shrugged. “If am offering you, you’d certainly be no burden. Reyus, get this boy a spot of tea.” He turned to the coach and frowned. “I insist.”
This time, I studied him. He looked to be around thirty years old, with slight facial stubble growing in. His skin appeared to be dark, but in the lantern light, he could have been hot-pink and I wouldn’t have been able to tell. Intelligent and solid navy eyes were veiled beneath the brim of his hat. His hair appeared to be a cropped pure white, coming down in sideburns on his face. His expression was of curio.
At ends, the offer was at once generous and ludicrous; rationality and amenity battled for an applicable answer. In short time, I considered his offer entirely appropriate for the situation, even though it didn’t seem quite right to accept.
“Well, if you insist.” Spoke amenity, before regret would come in the form of another three hours, walking, cold.
He clapped his hands together. “I only want to help a chap out.” He added, as I mounted onto the raised carriage.
The seats were made of padded leather, the shiny hues of scarlet reflecting back in the tiny compartment. I sat down with a composed grin on my face, the tiny room feeling cozy and luxurious to me.
“I appreciate this. What kindness extends to the walking fodder.” I remarked, gazing evenly at the man. He stepped in as well, and took a seat across from me, with two cups of hot tea in his hands. He handed one to me and chuckled.
“No thanks are necessary. Now, enjoy your tea before it gets cold.” His words were of command, but they were not entirely unpleasant.
I did as asked, but I burnt the tip of my tongue doing so. I clicked my jaw in annoyance and lowered the tea, just as the carriage set off, moving at the same brusque speed as before.
The man took small sips of his tea every moment or so, and began to read a book, peeking up occasionally. His eyes drifted over to my bag each time.
I noticed the action and stowed my bag to my left and out of his gaze.
When he looked up again, instead of looking at the bag, he looked at me. Closing his book, the man straightened up.
“That’s terribly rude of me—I never introduced!” I suddenly said, before he could ask me any questions. I know he would ask questions. They always asked questions. “Why do you have the head of a crow, but a human body? Are you like those were-wolves? Do you worship Asorris, the evil goddess of Crows?”
The man nodded evenly. “True, you haven’t introduced.”
“My name is Cerrin.” I lied. I held out a hand. He took it in a strong grip.
“I am Cruentus. It’s a pleasure.”
“Quite.”
The stiff introduction was a great way to stop him from speaking for a moment. I relaxed in my seat, deciding to stare out at the road, trying to ignore the feeling that he was looking at my bag again-- or at least trying to.
And after a few more uncomfortable moments of this, he finally spoke up, his eyes eagerly scanning me and my bag.
“Young man, you wouldn’t happen to be a Sorcerer, would you?”
I stared up at him. If I could splash my hot tea into his face in a perfectly socially acceptable manner, I would have done so instantly. His questions were as nerve-wracking as the road. I felt as if he had something concealed behind his gracious demeanor.
So instead of smashing a cup in his face, I simply smiled.
“Oh, not really.” I replied in a vague tone, taking a large drought* of my tea shortly thereafter.
“Hm. Interesting,” Cruentus said in a voice which was not very interested. “You see, that paper that flew out…it happened to be a spell-paper… Rather fine quality too. I wonder where one such as you would obtain such a thing.” He leaned forward in his seat a few inches away from my face and stared directly at me, his breath suddenly filling the compartment. Lemon tea was not my favorite.
I battled the urge to shift in my seat, but I did not want to offend him. I remained still and held his gaze.
“I’m delivering them to a sorcerer. He is more adept at it than I. I wouldn’t be able to understand the terminology…” I replied in a calm, level tone.
Cruentus raised a suspicious brow. “And who is this Sorcerer that requests a document on vellum, ground of phoenix feathers? A powerful sorcerer, I fathom…I’m sure I would have met him…”
I felt the chamber get warmer all of a sudden. I tried to remain calm, holding in any energy that may betray my words. “Why, actually, I just met him. I’m sure that I’ll remember his name when I see him next.”
I gave the man a bright smile.
He stared back at me dubiously. For a moment I thought that he would say something else, to interrogate me further, but he actually left it alone.
The subject was dropped but the tension was still there: Thick as pigs' fat, thick enough to slice with a butter-knife.
For the rest of the ride, Cruentus said nothing more, and paid no more mind to my bag than he would dirt. It was the radical change in demeanor that began to worry me. I swear, aristocrats were so strange. And then again, I worried far too much for my own good.
We passed other carriages along the road to the city, horse-drawn orbs of wood that transported it's members vast miles across the region. They happened to be all the rage. I spied on a brightly painted specimen passing us, a scoff rising to the occasion, the frequency of these aristocratically colored vehicles increased as we neared our destination.
Finally, the carriage slowed and came to a halt, just outside of the southern gates of Somnium.
Cruentus gave me a quick smile. “I do believe that this is our stop, yes?”
I nodded, looking at the ornate city with some amount of awe and some amount of envy.
This was nothing like the house he had lived in for years in those ornery woods. It was a struggle: Ornery vs Ornate. I choose the latter.
The door swung open on its own accord, and I took a fabian step out of the carriage, my feet unsteady on the ground. I leveled myself and turned back around, just in time to catch Cruentus bidding me a good bye.
I thanked again, (at the end of the night, my thanking reflex would surely be dried out) smiles and all, and waved a final farewell.
The last thing I saw when the stagecoach left was that selfish, small, snake of a smile that Cruentus had: I know something you don't know.
I frowned back and began to trudge the rest of the way into the city, accomplishment written on the very signs suspended above me, in their beautiful spidery text. “Welcome to Somnium!” They cheered at me. I stared above at them. Somewhere deep down, I had hoped that the show of cheer and brightness displayed in that lemon scented carriage would remain, to retain my continence. I hoped wrong.
I was feeling far from this former hope, and far from accomplished. All that remained was something hallow at the core of my chest. A blackness eked of carbon and wretchedness. This continued on, through the gates, and into the charm of the city: Empty and cold and hungry.
