#Wendrii Hull

[a-brief-history-of-magic]

These New Gods

Part Three: Into the Bower pt. 1

Monte Alteel was displeased with their current state of affairs.  He liked to think it was hard to tell, but a rational part of his mind reminded him that he had spent most of their trek quiet. He was not by nature a quiet person, and so it should have been clear to just about anyone that he was in a bad mood. Although even so, he was fairly sure the others either didn’t notice or didn’t care. This served him well, even if their lack of attention irked him. The less people paid attention to him, the easier it was to do what he wanted.

But there was the nagging issue that Monte liked attention. The spider on Monte’s his shoulder skittered around a little bit. Monte absently reached up and scratched his spider’s head, although this seemed to do more to agitate it it than anything else.

“Master, is there anything I may can do to assist you?” the spider asked. Monte hummed and did not reply. He would have an answer, when he knew what exactly he wanted. That sounded easy, but for someone as impulsive as Monte 'what you want' became a fraught and contradictory thing.

After a moment, he picked up an old folk song, and began to hum it under his break.

Luicya looked over at him and glared as he hummed a little louder. He waved, and she scowled before looking ahead down the road again.  

. . .

Wendrii was pretty pleased, all things considered. Well, there was the issue of the whole fire and the riot, but they got a new friend out of it, and honestly, not too many people were hurt in the fire, so that was a win in Wendrii’s book. They were also going to a Bower, and Wendrii hadn’t been in a Bower in ages. Not since he left home. He missed the artificial light of the Lanterns that hung overhead, the heady wet sent of growing things, and of course, the pleasant soreness of a hard day’s work. Without the light of the sun, the Bowers were the only places that a person could really feel as if they stood outside. Wendrii had taken a piece of that life with him when he left home.  No matter how much Wendrii wandered, he could not help but feel a building anticipation, as if he expected to see the Lanterns light every time he stepped outside or looked out a window. Any second now, his parents would call him down to breakfast, or someone would shout for a hand. He could feel the knot in his chest, as he waited for words that no one would say, a Lantern that would not shine, and a harvest season that would not come.  

Traveling all the time also left him with a different kind of soreness, one which rarely healed. Resting on the earth, or in a strange inn’s bed did not feel like rest, no matter how much Monte said it was better than being stuck in the same bed every day. And it was true that he was almost never bored wandering around the country with Cael, and then later, Monte, but he was also never satisfied.

…

It was not that Monte thought that Luciya had been a bad investment necessarily. On the contrary, just that scowl alone told him that she was fast learning the inns and the outs of their party. He was half certain that he wouldn’t even need to tell her about Temby. He gave her a week before she figured out that Monte was always half-listening to the spider on his shoulder.  

The riddle-book in his backpack seemed to shift again. He wanted to pull it out and check to see if it had really changed, but Cael and Wendrii didn’t know about the riddle-book, and now did not seem like a great time to mention it.

“I wonder…” he muttered to himself. Luciya shot him another look. He waved again, and just like before she scowled and turned away.  

“You have been saying that quite often, Master,” Temby said. Then he made a little noise of frustration, and skittered on top of Monte’s head. Some wayward thread of Monte’s woven crown was likely unsatisfactory. Well, he was just a fledgling god. His nimbus was bound to be unsatisfactory.

“I suppose I have, haven’t I?” Monte mumbled.

…

Wendrii felt that a trip to a Bower was exactly what he needed. Having grown up in one, he was certain that there were no problems a Bower could have that he could not fix. Just one taste of home could ease his growing sickness. Wendrii paused, turning his head left and then right, and then he stumbled upon the word. Homesickness, that’s what it was. He still wrote to his parents occasionally, but they traveled so much that Wendrii rarely got a reply. Visiting the Bower would only give him a ghost of home’s comfort, but hopefully that would help him out. Leaving home was supposed to be part of growing up, but it was still hard.

Any second now, they would round the crest of the hill and he would see flowers, and thick growing fields. He would see the reflection of his home here, where beautiful things grew in tidy order. Just the thought of it settled the agitated beating of his heart. This place was not his home, but it would be close enough. Good enough. Wendrii could not imagine a time when he had looked forward to something so much.

…

“Would you stop muttering so damned much?” Luciya snapped.

“Sorry, just talking to myself,” Monte said, smiling at her once more. She narrowed her eyes and sneered at him, before repeating what he said in a mocking, high pitched voice. How charming.

When Mote had set about assembling a team of gods this was not what he had expected, nor had it been particularly ideal. Now this whole detour had distracted them from … Whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Monte hadn’t figured that out yet, but running errands for a woman they didn’t know did not seem like something gods should be doing. Besides, if they invested too much time and energy in that backwater town, they were likely to get bogged down there for ages. No, Monte thought it was best they keep moving . . . But that brought up another problem.

Luicya.

She was clearly attached to that place. Just one second with her had revealed a smattering of personal connections that would be messy for newly aspiring gods. Perhaps he could find a way to ply the connections she despised, and shake her fondness of the city. After all, the only home gods needed was Elanhetar.

“Oh.” Wendrii’s voice was quiet, almost lost under the sound of their marching feet and the light breeze rolling over the hill. Still there was a tenuous undercurrent of emotion in it that drew Monte from his revere. Wendrii had stopped dead in his tracks, and his face was pale. In the shade of his brow, and the tremble of his lip, there was a slow growing horror. He looked down the path to the base of the hill, where a wide, shriveled field stretch out towards a manor house in the distance. There was no sign of life, and the Lantern which hung over the Bower was tinted a deep red. Wendrii’s mouth opened, and only a faint whimper came out.

“What?” Monte asked. They had seen plenty of terrible things before, ghost-town villages and the burned out husks of old trade caravans. This was not new, but Wendrii was still looking at it as if he had never seen the ghostly imprint of death before. Perhaps there was something about Bowers he knew that Monte didn’t, some greater omen.

Cael socked Monte on the shoulder, and gave him a look that said ‘don’t be an ass.’

“What?” Monte demanded again, this time agitated and a little shrill. Cael ignored him, in favor of putting a hand on Wendrii’s shoulder and squeezing gently. Monte watched their silent exchange before he sighed and rolled his head along his shoulders. They could take their moment if they needed it. He intended to get to work.

…

Cael watched Monte march ahead of them, into the fields. Wendrii dabbed at his eyes and took a few, shuddering breaths. Cael kept his eyes studiously diverted, though he left his hand on Wendrii’s shoulder. Seeing a Bower in this state couldn’t have been easy for him, especially considering how long he had been away from home.

After a moment, Cael caught Luciya looking between them, and Monte.

“What’s his problem?” she asked.

“Nobody knows,” Cael replied as Monte stopped just a couple yards away. He was doing that weird thing, where he tilted his head to the side, as if someone were speaking to him.  

“Is he always like that?” Luciya asked, in a way that implied ‘like that’ meant ‘an asshole.’

“Yeah, pretty much,” Cael said. Luciya hummed, and then frowned.  

“Why do you bother traveling with him?” She was watching Monte with a particular intensity that Cael recognized. He had seen people look at Monte like that before, the kind of puzzle working that was three parts frustration and one-part familiarity. Monte had that quality about him, the ability to make people feel like they knew him or could know him, even if he was impossible. It was just their luck that they managed to run into the human equivalent of a word on the tip of your tongue.

Cael wanted to warn her against prying too much. The more one learned about Monte the less they understood. It was easier, and more accurate, to just accept that he was insufferable, and move on.

“He’s not so bad,” Wendrii said, clearing his throat. His eyes were still a little red, but the kid bounced back fast. He was already starting to buck up.

“He’s useful, sometimes,” Cael said. Truth be told, Cael couldn’t actually remember how he and Wendrii had started traveling with Monte. He remembered meeting him by the side of the road. The fop rolled out of the bushes, orange hair a mess, complained about being hungover, and then fixed their table. After that he just kind-of… never left.

“Guys, we’ve got company,” Monte shouted, gesturing wildly over his shoulder as he jogged back to the others. Cael grunted and followed his gestures . On the far side of the fields there was a murky figure. It blurred as it moved, drawing points of space together, and then jumping the distance between, so its motion was nearly impossible to follow. As Cael watched it, it became a second, then a third, then a fourth figure. Cael reached for his sword, drawing the steel from its sheath. In his head he began to do the math: four men, four of them. Although realistically, three of them. Cael had seen Monte in a bar fight before. The fight consisted entirely of Monte sitting behind the bar, egging on various parties, and ducking the bottles people threw at him.

Then a certain slant of light hit one of the nearest, meanest, looking figures, and Cael realized with a shivering jolt that it was translucent. The next was missing an arm. A murky mist circled their ankles, and followed them as they marched through the fields.

“Ghosts,” Cael said, his voice hallow. “They’re ghosts.” Luciya looked at him with a careful, measured, look.

“Ghosts?” she asked, as her scowl fell away. Cael nodded real slow.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a ranged weapon on you?” Monte asked Luciya as he came to a skidding halt at their side. Luciya straightened up, and put her scowl back in place.

“All I have is a sword,” she said.

Monte nodded, swinging around as he did, so that he could face Cael.

“Okay, Cael,” Monte said, clapping him on the shoulder, “plan B. Light this field on fire.”

“What?” Wendrii gasped, tearing up again.

“Fires are good for nature Wendrii, the ash will return nutrients to the soil and it will be easier to start again,” Monte said with a pacifying smile. Cael was suspicious of this claim, by virtue of the fact that it came out of Monte’s mouth, but Wendrii seemed pacified by it, so he let it slide.

“Hold on, can ghosts even burn?” Luciya asked. Monte flashed a smile at her, as if ghosts were something exciting.

“We’re about to find out!”

“Do we have a plan C, if this doesn’t work?”

“Stab them?” Monte offered. Luciya pinched the bridge of her nose, and scowled. In that moment, Cael felt an immediate, and inexplicable kinship with her.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve got a better plan,” Monte groused. Cael sighed. It looked like they were going to have to do this the hard way. He walked out into the nearest field as the blurry forms of the ghosts began to move towards them. The brittle husks of withered plants crunched beneath his feet.

“Shut up, Monte,” Cael shouted over his shoulder as his skin sparked to life.

…

Monte watched as the fire consumed the hillside. Even from this distance, Monte he could feel it’s heat. It swarmed the ghosts, licking orange through their ethereal forms. Their bodies contorted in the flickering flame, bending like a mirage, yet still they advanced.

“It’s not working,” Cael shouted, retreating a few feet. The ghosts were close enough now that Monte could see their faces, contorted with rage.

“At all?” Monte called, squinting at the flame. That didn’t make any sense, ghosts were just bound spirits, they should be vulnerable to magic.

“Well I don’t know; it’s not like they’re going to tell me how much I’m hurting them. That would be stupid,” Cael snapped, stabbing one as it came within striking distance. His blade sliced right through the immaterial flesh. It opened its mouth and made a high pitched screeching noise that came in fits and spurts.

Monte winced at the sound, and hoped that it was screaming, not laughing.

“Ghosts have to be coming from somewhere, but, I don’t know, I don’t feel like their summoner is still around. They’d have more direction, and this place is already dead. There’d be no point in killing us off, if they could just leave without wasting the energy. So are these the dregs?” he began muttering to himself.

“That seems to be the case, Master,” Temby replied, skittering across his shoulders. The spider nervously watched from his perch as the closest ghost to Cael turned its hand above its head. Light bent around it’s fist, till the space condensed and the spirit pulled a long sword from the air. It swung with inhuman speed. Cael moved to roll, but the ghost was faster and the tip of it’s sword just barely grazed one of his ribs. Two more spirits joined to circle around him, as he staggered back to his feet. Now there were three ghosts barreling down on him.

“Why are we just standing here, shouldn’t we do something?” Luciya asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly fireproof,” Monte shot back. Luciya kicked him in the shin.

“You don’t have to be an asshole,” she snapped.

“I do, actually, you see it’s in my contract, right below the part where I have to help people who hit me,” he said, hugging his bruised knee. He understood why she was mad, but even if they could magically get through the fire, there was still the matter of how woefully unprepared for a fight they all were. He quietly eyed up Luciya. She didn’t look like she was particularly skilled in fighting. In fact, she didn’t look any stronger than he was, which was really saying something. Cael should retreat, and hustle back up the hill to them, but with three ghosts he more than had his hands full.

Another two ghosts formed in the last fire-free corner of the field, and immediately charged up the hill. Monte scowled. It looked like he was all out of time to think, and all out of luck. Between the three of them, Luciya had a sword, Monte had a knife, and Wendrii had nothing.  

As the closest spirit made it through the fire, it turned its hand in the air above its head, and then clamped down on a handle as it appeared there. It pulled a battle-axe down, and smiled at the closest victim. Luciya tried to intercept it as it swung at Monte, but she was just a little too far away to parry.  

“Oh fuck me backwards,” Monte said, ducking and rolling as the ax sliced through into the dirt at his feet. Wendrii reached into his side bag and threw a handful of seeds at the spirit. Monte was half a second away from cursing him as an idiot when the seeds exploded in mid-air. Thick green vines shot out of the tiny shells, writhing and wrapping around the ghost. It stumbled back, and began to tear at the vines.

“What the hell was that?” Luciya shouted. The second ghost drew a great sword  from the air and swung at her. She ducked underneath it’s wide swing.

“I’m the God of the Harvest,” Wendrii replied with a shrug.

“Both of you, focus,” Cael shouted, rolling as a sword plunged into the ground not two inches from him. He parried the next ghost, and plunged his sword into its stomach. As the flame flickered around it, it made a chattering noise and swung again at Cael.

“Shouldn’t you be fo-oh shit!” Monte said as a rush of wind blasted past his ear. He whirled around just in time to see a battle-axe coming for his neck. Wendrii’s vines had tangled the ghost, and were quickly squeezing its ethereal form into nothingness, but it had worked it’s arms free and was currently looking to shut Monte up for good.

He was a little slow getting out of the way, and the spirit’s blade clipped his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He rolled onto his back, as the ghost towered above him. It raised its axe. Monte took in a slow breath and set his fingers together, pulling at the faint thread of magic that wound its way through his body. Then he snapped. The ax in ghost’s hand shattered on the downswing. Flecks of the ethereal metal stuck in the ghost’s hands and neck. It gave a loud, broken, howl.

“I knew it!” Monte said, pumping his fist in the air. The ghost turned to give him a flat look and then pulled another axe from the air. Monte groaned, “Oh fuck,” and scrambled to his feet.

Luciya parried the one swinging the great sword, but the force of the blow nearly knocked her shoulder out of its socket. She hissed, and jogged back a couple of steps to avoid it’s next swing. Monte ran up alongside of her, looking a little worse for wear, but pleased.

“They’re vulnerable to magic,” he said. A great sword struck the ground between them. As the ghost tried to yank it's blade free, Luciya took the opportunity to stab it in the face. Wendrii followed her strike with a handful of seeds that burst against its chest. It stumbled back, buying them just a few seconds.

“Neat-o Monte, I’m sure that’ll be a lot of help,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. Monte rolled his eyes too, but it wasn’t really possible to roll one’s eyes in a sarcastic mockery of someone else's eye roll so he just ended up feeling a little stupid.  

“It means that Cael’s fire should be working. Listen, all we have to-” The one with the great sword charged them again. They both side stepped him, but he was fast, turning on his heels and charging again.

“If Cael’s fire worked than he would be-” Luciya began as the ghost swung down at them. She was just a little too slow. Monte could see the movement in slow motion. She stuttered, first moving to dodge and then drawing her sword up to parry, and that moment of hesitation cost her. The great sword’s arc would take her shoulder clean off.

Monte set his fingers together, and prepared to cast his next spell, but his mind was too unfocused. The magic fizzled between his fingers.

And yet the ghost still stopped. It tilted its head, and gave them a curious look. Then it turned its head down towards it’s chest where a little steel triangle was poking out. It opened its mouth, as if to scream, but instead it’s jaw unhinged and fell to the earth. The rest of its body followed, dissolving into a translucent ash. In its wake Cael slowly straightened and withdrew his sword.

“Right here. Hey, how’s it going?” Monte asked. Cael clapped him on the back of the head.

“I thought I told you to focus,” Cael said. “Why can’t you be more like Wendrii?”

He gestured over to where Wendrii sat next to three piles of dusty remains and leaves. Monte looked at Luciya, but if she was surprised to see that a fifteen-year-old kid had taken out another two ghosts that they hadn’t even seen, she didn’t show it. Then her face paled with horror, and Monte realized she wasn’t listening.

“We have another problem,” she said. Monte rolled his eyes. It couldn’t possibly be as bad as what, seven, eight, ghosts? He turned to look, and as soon as his eyes fell on the scene, he felt a cold shock of fear run down his spine.  

The fire had spread.

[a-brief-history-of-magic]

These New Gods

Part 2: The Price of Life

Cael watched as the thief woman disappeared through the city streets. He was amazed, for a moment, by the way she seemed to be there, there, and then gone. Nobody passed in front of her, and he did not blink, but she was there and then she was not and he could not remember the space in between.

“We should probably falloooo-oh you’re already gone,” Cael said, staring at the empty space of sidewalk where his other companion had been. A conspicuous head of blue hair bounced through the streets in front of them.

“I know doing stupid shit for the hell of it is your job, but could you at least wait?” Cael yelled. No one so much as flinched, least of all his target. Fields these people creeped him out. Half of them were walking skeletons, starved and shambling through the city streets. They only looked at him with vacant and uncaring eyes. He was half-sure that he could reveal his nimbus in the middle of the street, and everyone would look at him as if he were nothing more than a hunger induced delusion. Though their lifelessness disgusted him, Cael could not dredge up a feeling of contempt. He knew what hunger did to a person. The sympathy that ran in currents between his own body and the emaciated forms of strangers only made him uncomfortable. He really wanted to be done with this shit, and get out of this stupid city.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched to make sure that Wendrii didn’t wander off anywhere. They didn’t need another incident, especially after what happened in the last town they were in. Fuck, he wasn’t sure how many more times they could repair that poor table.

Cael should probably follow along. After all, this thief was interesting. And if she was going to be traveling with them, it made sense to test her skill. The last thing Cael wanted was another useless tagalong. Although, even if she were incompetent, at least her hair wasn’t blue.

He snagged Wendrii by the collar and dragged him towards the square.  

“Where are we going?” Wendrii asked.

“To watch that woman steal some stuff,” Cael replied. Wendrii hummed for a second.

“Isn’t stealing a crime?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, just checking.”

It was times like this when Cael remembered the feeling of starving on a roadside, just feet from the edge of a field that could have sated his hunger. His body had been too weak to save itself. At that moment he would have done anything for food.

When the farmer’s son spotted him, and gave him some beets, Cael had pledged to repay that kindness. Now he regretted that. Starving to death would have been so much easier than taking care of Wendrii.

They trudged off in the direction Cael had seen the others go. They couldn’t have gotten far. After all this stupid town only had two roads. As they entered the square, things got a little more crowded. It seemed the entire town was meandering aimlessly through the space, staring off at some imagined place where their body wasn’t in the midst of devouring itself. It creeped Cael the fuck out, but he found himself a spot on the wall nevertheless.  

He spotted a homely guard, his fist shoved into his pocket on the other side of the square. Judging by the way his clothes billowed in the faint wind, he was desperately underfed. There were a few other guards near him, but Cael didn’t recognize their faces. He was certain that man was their mark. His hand shifted in his pocket, holding onto something dear. Cael scanned the area around but couldn’t spot the woman. After a moment or two, he diverted his attention back to Wendrii. The kid was picking the dandelions that grew around his feet, and then tossing them to the side, as if testing how many times he could pick it before it stopped growing back. He had a sizable little pile growing. 

Then a cart appeared, just outside the little town’s murky border, and the bodies inside of the square began to churn. A dull buzzing permeated the air as people mumbled to themselves and the strangers at their sides. As the cart entered the square in truth there was a moment of stillness in which no one seemed to have realized what had arrived in their midst. Then, like a single, living mass, the crowd surged forward with a roar. The vendor, a small, wiry man, looked terrified as they descended upon him. Moments later a shout came from the direction of the cart.

“What the Hell! This is all rotten!”

An apple flew from the surfing crowd, as if vomited from some unhappy stomach. It hit the grown and ruptured into an oozing puddle. Two seconds passed, and then something long and dark squirmed from the muck.

“Now wait, please,” the vendor began, “This is all…”

He never got farther. The crowd descended, all claws and teeth on open flesh. His words choked off in a scream. The three guards, finally noting what was happening, turned as one and entered the riot, trying in vain to restore order. Cael thought he saw some faint glimmer of metal out of the corner of his eye. His first thought was that it must’ve been the guard’s pocket watch. He had focused on it so much that now it was catching his eye. However, as he looked out into the square, he realized he had been wrong. Very wrong. Wendrii’s scythe, dull and rusting through it was, caught the light.

He was a hair’s width behind the guards already, charging full force into the crowd of ravenous strangers. Stupid reckless farmer boy. Had there been gods left to curse, Cael would have laid them out. As it were he charged after Wendrii, and wished, vaguely, that he had been allowed to starve, or better yet, that he had been laid to rest with his parents.

Anger, hot and tangible, prickled along his skin. As he passed through the crowed, it jumped, catching and flickering to life along the skin of those who drew too near. They screamed as the fire caught. He did not care. He pressed on.  

…

There was nothing like a good riot to get people focused on their emotions and not on people trying to pickpocket them. Not that Luciya had been in a lot of riots before, but she found that this one was convenient. She had gotten within a few yards of the guard-and then she heard the first scream. Then another, and another.

“Cael, no! Oh for fuck’s- Cael!” The now familiar voice of the gaudy one rose above the peppering screams. Just as she was beginning to wonder what that was even supposed to mean, Wendrii, the skinny farm boy, ran full tilt into her. His face was aghast, and cast in a deep shadow. Behind him, Cael was struggling through the crowd. Fire flickered around him, eating up all those who stood too near, in a swarming orange flame. Then something hot, painfully so, touched her shoulder.

“Damn,” she muttered. She dropped backwards on the ground and rolled. The angry feet of rampaging citizens crashed around her. One person nearly nailed her shoulder with his sole, before she rolled again. The fire on her shoulder was nothing but sputtering ash now, but she had lost the guard.

…

Mayor Arivan did not like messes and he certainly did not like to leave his research. A large, almost corpulent man, Mayor Arivian, was not generally fond of walking either. And yet here he was, walking amidst a mess. A scraggly black beard obscured several, but not all, of his chins, and in one hand he held a large leather bound book. A golden medallion hung heavy around his neck. He tapped at the piece of white marble set in the center. A soft glow radiated from the pendant. This light shifted in and out of focus, twisting into the aberrant symbols of a language long dead, or not yet born. He was not entirely sure how to classify the language of divinity. 

Arivan surveyed the scene. When Nelumriel had assigned him to a backwater town, Arivan was delighted. Nothing was supposed to happen in boring little backwater towns. But no, first someone stole his spy glass, and now this? He heaved a great sigh of irritation and opened his book. It fell open to the exact page he needed at his behest, and he ran his fingers over the words he wanted to speak.

Therem obet selvian. A voice larger than his own swept out through the square, echoing in the ears of every man, woman, and child within a hundred yards. On the ground the putrid mixture of blood, water, and rotting fruit squirmed as if alive, then lurched up into the air, forming into an orb that hovered above the still raging blaze.

Stue. Arivan punctuated his last by snapping the book closed. The orb broke apart, raining down all the city's bile on the people below. It rained on and on, well past when the water should have run dry, but soon enough the fires were out. And most people were still alive, if drenched in muck and nursing burns of varying intensity.

There. Now maybe he could get him work done. Arivan turned and marched himself out the square, his belly bouncing as he did.

…

Luciya stepped up onto the soaked and splintered remains of vendor’s cart to get a slightly better look. The people were still confused, and a little angry, but the fire had calmed them down. Now people were shaking off the water and rained muck while they stomped about and cursed. Among the havoc, it was hard to tell whether the dark liquid smeared across the ground was blood or some form of rotting vegetable. A chunk of what might have been flesh or the remains of a melon, landed on her foot, and she kicked it away.

Then she saw the guard.

And boy, was it her lucky day. The guard was attempting to drag a grieving woman from what Luciya could only assume was the burning ghost of her child, lost somewhere in the crowd. Best of all, they were positioned right in front of her acquaintances. She felt as if she were putting on a show.

So she strode towards the guard, and over barely distinguishable shouts of “Leave me be!” and “Come away!” she reached into his right pocket. Her hand closed around the pocket watch, and she immediately pulled it out, with a few nights’ dose of dream dust for good measure.

Then there was a hand on her shoulder, yanking her away from the crowd. A few seconds later she was looking up into the grizzly, tired face of Cael.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, looking off to the side. Luciya shook off his hand and glared at him. He raised an eyebrow and then took a half-step away from her as a rumpled and singed looking Wendrii looked between the two. The gaudy one was sneering down at his now ruined clothes.

“Are you shitting me?” he mumbled, flicking some viscus liquid from the tips of his fingers. “Are you fucking with me right now? Fuck … Fuck.”

“I appreciate your concern for my safety, Fire Man, but I was doing fine myself,” she pronounced. Then she looked at the talkative one. “Here’s your watch.” She tried to make her voice a nonchalant as possible, but a faint note of pride snuck in, as she tossed him the watch that had almost destroyed a decent portion of Seyla.

As the watch spun in the air a heavy hand gloved in mail clamped down on Luciya’s shoulder. Unnoticed in all the confusion a man had come up behind the group. He wore a heavy mail shirt with a tabard tight over it. A sword rising from a book was stitched in bright silver cloth on a field of black, the symbol of Nulumriel. His features were fair, but haughty, and his black hair was slicked back. He grinned sickly, revealing teeth like chipped marble.

“There you are, you little bitch.” His voice was thick, spreading through the air like oil, “How did I know you were responsible for all this?” His gaze moved languidly over the rest of the group, pausing for a moment longer on the talkative one and the watch he snatched from the air. “And it seems you’ve got a little band now too? Well I guess I’d better be taking you all then. The Mayor will deal with you.”

He tightened his grip, the rings of his glove pressing hard against Luciya’s shoulder, until she could feel the blood vessels breaking beneath her skin.

Oh, fuck. Luciya had specifically stayed out of trouble (well, as much as she ever could) ever since she had stolen her spyglass. Or rather, the Mayor’s spyglass. It really was an excellent spyglass, and as far as she could tell, they didn’t know she had it. Of course they would search her now, and take it back. She would be stuck alone again, with one normal eye and uncontrollable, ridiculous sight from her nimbus.

Even that was optimistic. If they let her live, she would spend the rest of her life rotting in an eight by eight jail cell.  

“Go get fucked by a cactus, Justrad,” she snarled as she struggled to free her shoulder. It was a petty and futile gesture. They both knew that Justrad was stronger and better armed. She sighed, and let a little bit of the fight slip out of her.

“You don’t need to worry about taking these people in-I truly don’t know who they are,” she said. “That one hired me to steal a watch for him, but I just met him a few moments ago. When I was, as you like to put it, ‘slinking around,’ I knocked into a lamp, and everything caught on fire from there. So, as you love reminding me, you self-absorbed, sadistic bastard, everything is my fault.” She didn’t even hazard a look at the other three gods. It was better this way. If only she got caught than she was the only one she need to worry about when she set up an escape plan. It was so much easier than worrying about clumsy and conspicuous fr-people.

“I’m sorry, did I make that sound like a request?” Without loosening his grip Justrad moved his other hand and drew his sword. “If you’re willing to defend them, then I want them.”

At the same moment five more guards, including the one whose watch was currently swinging from the gaudy one’s outstretched hand, stepped out of the milling crowd.

“Now, you have a choice,” Justrad continued, “You come with us to see the Mayor in one piece or we bring you to see him in many.”

Cael snarled and stepped up to Justrad, and though the man towered well above him, Cael held far more presence.

“She’s just a bystander. Some drunken idiot tripped over one of the lamps and set this whole rotted mess on fire. I saw him get swept up in the mess myself. If you want to imprison the fire starter, you had best get a broom to sweep him up first,” Cael said with a low sharp voice that carried all the heat of his halo's fire. 

Luciya jumped, and looked at him. Not only was the lie stupid and obvious, but it’s purpose was moot. Justrad wouldn’t let them go if they kept butting in. If they would just let her take the fall she could free herself. But three other people? And just what did they hope to gain by going to prison with her.  

The flamboyant one sighed, pressed his sopping bangs back from his forehead and put a smile on his face that was equal parts admiring and derisive. He looked as if he thought this all a very inconvenient misunderstanding, and the swords just silly props. The other guards looked between Justrad and the man. The flamboyant one cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him.  

“Cael’s right. What a sly man you are Justrad,” he began, slowly raising his voice in careful inclines, so as to catch the attention of the surrounding people. “No really, this is all quite the clever set up. If you blame us, you think no one will notice your crimes. First you, and your government deny the starving people food while you gorge yourself.” Here he paused and looked to the nearest milling citizen, before nodding to Justrad with a smile that fell into something twisted and angry.

“Truly, honestly, look at his belt, it barely fits around his waist. How many meals have you wasted with half eaten food, while children starved in the street. Ah, but I suppose that I could forgive. In this dead age of course beasts would do what it takes to survive. But now they can’t be sated with taking our food, they have to devour our pride too? Look what they’ve done, they throw promises of food and its sweet relief before us, and then watch as we consume this rot, laughing as if we were animals. Liars, all of them! How dare they do this to us. This isn’t survival, this is indulgence, cruel gluttony!”

“What the Hell are you talking about!” Justrad’s voice was pitched with fury and fear in equal measure. “I haven’t eaten a good meal in weeks! We suffer just as much as them!”

There was a chorus of agreements from the other guards, but it was already too late. The nameless man’s words had woken the beast that blood and filth had put to sleep. With a howl of blind rage the crowd surged again. The air became thick with rotten fruit and broken stones, a rain of violence and putrefaction. Caught in the center of it all the guards grouped around their leader, trying their best to hold off the crowd while dodging the most dangerous projectiles. From this knot Justrad looked out, his eyes ablaze, and reached towards the man with the blue hair. His long fingers were a hair’s breath away from his neck, when Luciya kicked Justrad back, back into his own men.  

“Listen here, you fucker!” he cried over the howling din, “You will pay! I will break you in my hands and watch you weep for mercy!”

He may have said more, but at that moment a roofing tile caught him, hurled from above by some dexterous hand, and opened a gash across his brow. He stumbled back, vision choked with blood and his voice cut off as it filled his mouth.

“Yeah,” the man with blue hair said, “I’ve heard that one before.”

“Don’t just stand there, you idiot, run,” Luciya yelled, grabbing his wrist and yanking them both through the crowed. She looked back only once, just long enough to scoop up a stone and hurl it at Justrad. In the flash of movement she saw two things, the first was the stone making a satisfying smack against his temple, and the second was Cael, who was dragging Wendrii through the fray a couple feet behind.

“This way!” she yelled over her shoulder. Then she set off running, and while she refused to look back, she nursed a strange, fervent, hope that the three were following her. She slipped the newly acquired dream dust into one of her many pockets and smiled as she felt the weight of her spyglass. Not today, Mayor Arivan. You’re not getting it back today.

They ran and ran, through the dingy, muck mired alleys, until the nameless man began to drag as a dead weight behind her and they had to stop just three streets away from Lady Kavian’s home. Luciya looked behind her, and watched as the gaudy one doubled over, wheezing. Cael and Wendrii were missing, lost somewhere behind them. Luciya hoped they would catch up, or at least safe somewhere else.

“Monte,” the flamboyant one said, after a fast gasp. Luciya stared at him a moment, blinking.

“What?” she asked.

“Monte- my name. I’m Monte Alteel. I don’t think we were ever properly introduced.” He righted himself and dusted off his jacket before extending a hand. She eyed him a moment. Monte Alteel sounded like a fake name, but hell, he might have just saved her life. He started a riot that might just fuck up this city, but he might have just saved all their lives too.

“Luicya Zareth,” she said. She gripped his hand, and found that his hand was not as soft as his face. Thick callouses covered the underside of his knuckles. They grated against even her own rough hand.

The flamboyant one-Monte- smiled at her.

“I’d like to say it’s been nice knowing you, but-” he began.

“Luciya!” A body slammed into Luciya’s shoulder, and spun her around. Lady Kavian stared at her with wild, frantic eyes that searched her ever inch for harm. “Luicya, Fields, are you alright? Are you hurt, I heard there was a riot and a fire.”

There was another storm of footsteps, and Luciya was just able to see Monte hail someone out of the corner of her eye. She supposed Wendrii and Cael had finally found them.  

“Who are these men, what-what happened?” Lady Kavian asked. Luciya winced.

“A lot,” she said.

“I-I need to get back to the apothecary, and get my supplies, but I left because I wanted to …” She trailed off and looked at the men, then back at Luciya. “I talked to one of Loretto’s friends when he stopped by the apothecary and I- He said he hadn’t heard from Loretto’s Bower in almost a week.” Her eyes were tight with a plea that Luciya didn’t know how to answer.

“Do you need someone to go look for him?” Cael asked as his quick breathing leveled. Luciya whipped her head up, and found her heart beating in her throat. Yes, that had been what she wanted to say. Lady Kavian looked as if no one had ever offered her so much kindness, and though Luciya felt a stab of jealousy, she was glad that someone had said something.

“Yes, thank the … Please, the Bower is only a few hours north from here. My son’s name is Loretto, he’s a guard there. If there really is a riot I have to get into town-get my supplies,” she said walking away even as she spoke. She stopped for just a second, cupping Luciya’s face in her hands and planting a quick kiss to her forehead. The affection stunned Luciya. Neither women were tactile people, and yet-

“Stay safe,” Lady Kavian said. Then she was gone. Monte sighed.

“I guess we’re going to a Bower then.”

[a-brief-history-of-magic]

These New Gods

Part 1: Stranger People Have Met

A dreary morning rain settled over the town of Seyla in a blanket. It misted before the eyes, and ran in dribbling rivulets down the stone sides of the little hovels lining the streets. It would break by noon-time, or there about. Luciya could sense that much, even if she could not, necessarily see.

She had little to do to prepare herself for the day. Her home a dingy collection of fabric scraps and wooden slats, propped against the holes in the shop owner’s vacated backroom. He didn’t know she was there. She didn’t make a lot of noise. For Luciya this was an ideal partnership.

There was a little bowl on the floor, filled with murky water. She reached for a rag, only to realize it was clean.

Sutel …

He must’ve washed it when he stayed here last. Luciya smiled a little to herself. Sweet kid.

She washed herself, careful to push off whatever muck had clung to her in her sleep. It was impossible to be clean when her home was so caked with grime, but she made an effort. Then she wrapped up every inch of her body, careful to leave no inch of skin visible. Her shoes were the soundless kind, soft black slippers that let her walk and not be heard. Her trousers and shirt were a murky grey-black, flexible, though resilient. Around her head and face she wore a headscarf. It left only her eye and a bit of her wiry brown hair visible.    

Luciya slipped from her ramshackle home, into the streets.

There was no sun. 

Bearing the sins of the old gods, the sun devoured its own light. The dreams of the world’s children sat before the sun, throwing them all in an unending darkness. Minute shifts gave way to time. Luciya had heard stories of a land outside of this fallen world, where seasons still reigned, but it was distant to her.  

A few miserable citizens loitered in Seyla’s streets. If their bodies weren’t emaciated, their eyes were haunted. If their eyes weren’t haunted, they weren’t moving. Luciya was always of the opinion that people came in three kinds: starving, hallow, and dead. Nothing she saw proved any different.

Across the muggy streets, Luciya spotted her destination. The apothecary was mired in a breaking street, whose muddy path was slushed and blurred. The whole building bends, sinking beneath its own weight, swollen with the wet residue of the last rains, and its own age. No sun broke the wet air. It would hang. The wood would consume the water, and the wet coldness of the air would linger for days until it moved on in a suffocating cloud to some other, miserable, town.

She yanked the door, jammed at first. One, two, three pulls and it broke free of the caked mud at the base. Someone should take care of that. Luciya probably wouldn’t, unless Lady Kavian asked her to.

The yanking, grunting, grinding sound of the door drew attention from the shop’s occupants.

“Hello, and welcome!” The voice was bright, cheery, young. Luciya felt her mouth wobble, fold in with the desire to keep her smile hidden.

“Sute-” Before Luciya could get his name out, he tackled her. His scrawny little body made next to no impact against her, but she pretended to take a bit of a hit.

“You’ve gotten bigger,” she said.

“Lucy, you saw me yesterday!”

“And you’ve gotten bigger,” she said, bopping the top of his head, and pushing him away. Sutel smiled with a handful of broken, and chipped teeth, as if he couldn’t be less concerned with the world. His body was thin, brittle, and stretched. There was a redness to his hair that was unnatural.  

“Luciya, I need your help for a moment,” Lady Kavian called from the other room. Luciya wandered into the back workshop where Lady Kavian was hunched over a bowl of something.

“Pass me the honeysuckle,” she said. Luciya scanned the shelf and brought her what she needed. Lady Kavian snatched the sprig from her hand without looking and grunted in reply. This brusqueness pleased Luciya, even as it annoyed her. They passed the next few moments in companionable silence, while in the shop front Sutel puttered around, playing at being a shop keep. No one would be coming in, Fields knew no one in this fucking city had the money, the means, or the energy to come asking for help. Lady Kavian would give it to them anyway. She was stupid like that. Or maybe she was kind. Luciya bristled under that thought, as a guilty part of heart squirmed. She didn’t trust herself to do the same. And why would she? She had to cower, hidden, because everyone in this Fields forsaken shit hole-

“Stop brooding,” Lady Kavian said. Her eyes were still on her bowl, and whatever mixture was inside.

“I wasn’t brooding.” Luciya said, even as her mind wandered back to the people she robbed and passed. They shunned her for her scars and called her a monster when her perspicuous tendency couldn’t save their starving family. She wasn’t a miracle worker, only monstrously unlucky.  

“Have you eaten today?” Lady Kavian asked. She turned from her bowl and stared Luciya down with an intensity that Luciya shrunk before. She was not this woman’s child, she had a son out there making deliveries from the farms. And yet Luciya felt like a child before Lady Kavian all the same.

“I’m an adult you know? You don’t have to baby me like Sutel. I don’t even live here anymore.”

Lady Kavian paused in her work to raise a singular skeptical eyebrow, and roll her eyes at Luciya. A hot flush of embarrassment ran up the back of Luciya’s neck. Lady Kavian was soothed by that reaction and went back to her bowl.

“I’m twenty-four,” Luciya muttered. Lady Kavian sighed and sat up from her work cracking her neck.

“And when you’re one hundred and twenty-four I’ll still ask you, have you eaten today?” she said. Luciya grunted and began to gravitate towards the exit. She really only liked hanging around the apothecary when people weren’t fussing, or asking questions.

“Come taste this,” Lady Kavian said, sitting back from her bowl. Luciya crept forward and eyed the concoction. It reeked, a thick and pungent herb smell that made her light headed. She dipped a finger in and tasted it, gagging immediately. She spat the mixture out, scrubbing her mouth.

“What-”

“That bad?” Lady Kavian stared down at her mixture, vaguely puzzled.

“What was that?” Lucia scrambled around the kitchen, scrambling for water. No matter how much she drank, the taste wouldn’t go away.

“I’m trying to make a food substitute, something that can provide the nourishment people need.” Lady Kavian sighed, dragging a hand through her knotted brown hair. The oily strands stuck to the back of her hand, and her fingers, leaving dirty smears through the green residue and flecks of bitter mixture in her hair. Her eyes skated over to the front of the shop where Sutel was playing house.

Luciya grunted, moving again for the exit.

“Are you going to be alright?” Lady Kavian asked. “If you have strange side effects let me know.”

Luciya drew her scarf tighter around her face, and nodded.

“Oh, and there should be a new food shipment coming in today. Ask after Loretto would you? It’s been ages since he visited home,” she called as Luciya slipped out the back door. Luciya grumbled her agreement, but she couldn’t help the swell of resentment. Loretto had never been anything but ambivalent towards her, but he had always had a bed to call his own, and she could never forgive him for that slight. Luciya slipped out the back door, and went about her work.

Beneath the murky light of the eclipse Luciya moved like a shadow. Her fingers grazed against pockets and side bags, slipping coins and shiny bits from them as she passed. One, two, five, pennies. She could do this all day, but it amounted to nothing. Seyla was dying. If the food shortage didn’t kill them, this poverty would.

Then wonder of all wonder, she saw strangers. From the third floor of an abandoned building Luciya watched as the three men made their way through the city, spots of absurd color among the dreary morning air. One had blue hair, and was gesturing wildly as he talked. The sound of his voice rose from the street bellow, but she couldn’t make out his words. Another wore a blood red cloak. It obscured his face, but for the life of her, Luciya couldn’t understand why someone would cover their face but wear a cloak that eye-catching. Must be a prick. The third member only became apparent after she watched him for a few moments. He was long and lean, an average young man, gangly and reserved.

Ah, and they were gods.

That much was obvious.

Beneath the permanent eclipse their nimbi glowed. Luciya slipped a spyglass from her pocket and focused through it. The dark world around her drew into sharp focus; it’s murky colors distilled.

A glow surrounded the men, bending into bright points of holy light. The one with the blue hair had a crown, spinning and unwinding in thin whips above his head, as if it were made from thread. His clothes were finer than his face, and had a newness about them that was strange when she took in the smudges of dirt on his face and the wear on his leather backpack. The one with the red cloak had an old face, or rather, he looked only a few years older than Luciya, but his eyes were deep-sunk and heavy with purple bags. The flaming halo above his head only made the shadows on his face worse. The last of the party, the young man, was surrounded by a faint glow. As he walked dandelions pushed up through the cracks, brandishing their yellow faces in an act of resistance against the sunless world. They persisted for only a moment, before he walked beyond where they could see. Then they folded in on themselves, fading back into nothingness.

This same young man had a bag at his hips. A very full looking bag judging by the way it bounced a long as he walked.

She probably shouldn’t take them for marks. Looking at those guys, she figured that bag was all they had. And they were just like her, a fledgling part of some ineffable whole. She felt her own divinity burn sometimes. It itched in the memory of the scar on her face, a remnant of those who would hunt people like her. Over her head, her own divine nimbus glowed, an enormous third eye. Perhaps one day they would all belong to the same pantheon for all they were human now. That immediate, ever pressing mortality made the kinship she felt to these gods all the stronger.

But hey, fuck the gods. It was about time she had a pay day.

She tucked away her spyglass, checked that her whip was coiled securely by her waist, and swung down one, then another floor using the building’s railings. The group was only about two blocks ahead of her, and meandering through the street as the blue-haired one continued his story. His hands did more talking than his lips, and form the looks of it he was talking incessantly. The garish ring of fire above the other one’s head flickered as his companion talked. She chuckled at it, but they didn’t notice her. No one noticed her. Even the guard, fiddling with his pocket watch on the corner, didn’t see her. All the unwitting people in the streets-they were no observers. If they could not notice Gods among them, how could they notice a petty thief?

When she was just a step behind the youngest boy, she oh-so-silently reached for his bag.

Something shifted, she didn’t quite catch it, and then a voice said.  

“Do you mind? I’m trying to tell a story about a cross-dressing bastard daughter masquerading as a butler in the home of her father. You’re kind of ruining my flow.”

Luciya slowly looked up from the young boy’s bag, and found that the blue-haired man was staring her dead in the eye.

Her heart leapt into her throat, palpitating at a frantic pace. He saw her. No one ever saw her.

“W-what?”

“Yeah, long story short I was a party with a Duchess in Mehergan, and someone was murdered. You see, it’s actually a very lucky thing I was there, I could tell from one look that the wound was made by a candlestick, not a-” The blue-haired made a vague gesture, something akin to ‘shoo’ as he turned back to his companions. As if he weren’t at all bothered by her attempted robbery.

Luciya blinked. And then blinked again. They were so…colorful. Especially the one who had spoken to her. And it had been a while since someone had said that many words to her without expletives. Lately, the townspeople of Seyla had taken it upon themselves to blame her personally for the economic hardships of the town, as if her weird bits of Sight could somehow change their futures and she had been holding back from them.

She couldn’t save their children.

She couldn’t make food.

And so anytime they looked at her, they tried to take their recompense in a pound of flesh.

But this wasn’t that and she didn’t understand.

So Luciya followed her natural instinct and fled down the nearest convenient alley, heart pounding in her ears. She slid behind a rubbish heap and doubled over, panting, even though the short sprint should have never winded her. And she hadn’t even taken the boy’s money! What a coward. What a failure. She couldn’t let a silly group of three fellow gods throw her off her game. They were simple, careless, stupid boys, wandering around in a dead city. She couldn’t care. She couldn’t bother with fools like that. After all, didn’t her scar still itch? Didn’t she remember the folly of her parents, and the blood, and the screaming, and the fire, which left her looking like this. It would be nothing short of stupid to let herself be taken in by fools like them.

It would be stupid.

Unforgivably stupid. 

But what if she did it, anyway?

Wasn’t it just as stupid to waste away in this city, to seep  herself in hatred. Who knew when their fears and anxieties would next boil over, and she would once again be sunk in the brutality of these people.

The man who had spoken to her hadn’t sounded vindictive, only a little flamboyant. She had tried to rob his friend, and he was annoyed that she interrupted his story. He wasn’t a paragon of virtue, that was obvious, but he didn’t appear to mean ill. And he had some valuable things besides. Hadn’t he said something about a banquet with a Duchess? They could be … companions of a sort, or they could still be her marks. Neither of the other men seemed upset either. She could … maybe she could find a place among them.

Luciya straightened from behind the trash heap. She adjusted her headscarf to be sure her scars were masked and returned to where the gods stood, still congregated together.

The blue-haired one was still talking, looking between his two ambivalent friends.

“Did anyone else see the giant floating eye above her head … That wasn’t just me right? Seriously though-”

She decided not to think much about his words.

“What…What are you four doing here?” she demanded. Her voice broke into a screeching and grating thing, that was two-parts hostility and one-part fear.

Well, that was a great first impression, Luciya. 10/10. You should have run away while you had the chance.

The man with the halo of fire scowled at her, and then glanced at the younger boy, who seemed a little too preoccupied with the daisy that was growing up from a crack near his ankle, to pay attention to Luciya.

The flamboyant one studied her with a serious and thoughtful look. She felt anxiety mounting. It was clear to her that the other two must take their cues from him. If she were ever going to get into their group, it had to be with his permission.

After a moment he shifted ever so slightly, and then opened his mouth.  

“Doesn’t having only one eye fuck up your depth perception? How do you not just run into door frames after you rob someone?” he asked. The other two groaned and rolled their eyes, but Luciya was too busy fuming to notice.  

“Doesn’t having such ridiculous hair fuck up anyone taking you seriously? How do you not just-”

As soon as she got too far into the retort, Luciya regretted it and stopped herself short. Here she was, actually confronted with a group of gods, and she was taking bait and making cracks about other people’s appearances. Hypocrite.

She was about to turn tail, and slink off again, when the one with the halo cuffed the flamboyant one over the back of the head.

“Shut up.”

The younger boy looked at her and snickered.

“Nice one,” he said, cutting his eyes to the flamboyant one.

“Hey that hurt,” the flamboyant one wined, holding the back of his head and pouting at them.

The sheer absurdity of this situation baffled her. No one in their right mind went around the Nightlands acting like some kind of stupid slap-stick troupe, especially not gods.

The question of place, and whether they would offer her one, seemed so stupidly small now. If nothing else, these guys needed to know just how dangerous their situation was. Watching eyes were everywhere, and she didn’t want these strange people (with at least one good bag of money for stealing) to be taken. She had found them first.

“I don’t know if you all are just passing through, but if you are planning to stay here overnight, there are some places you definitely don’t want to be. Because…well.” She lowered her voice. “The Order doesn’t have a strong presence in Seyla, but if you don’t know where to hide, they will find you. I can show you where to go…if you want. I’m best at hiding, and you need it.” Her eyes skated back over the blue-haired one. “You’re conspicuous.”

They had very little reason to trust her, and Luciya fully expected a slap in the eye. Her instincts got the best of her, as she took a few, careful, steps back. Just in case.

The one with the halo and the flamboyant one started in on what appeared to be a silent conversation. The boy looked her over once, and then snapped his fingers.

“I have a suspicion of what you want from us,” he said. He brought his bag into the light. He loosened the string and spilled it contents. A steady trail of seeds fell from the bag, and several seconds after it should have emptied in full, it kept pouring. Soon a pile began to build on the streets. It was an unending sea of seeds, scattering among the grey bilge-water. Then he tightened the bag again and returned it to his hip. “There is nothing of worth between us.”

“Excuse you,” the stupid blue-haired one began. “I’ll have you know-”

The one with the halo growled at him.

“Shut. Up.”

Luciya felt what seemed to be all her blood rush to her face at once. Of course the twerp had infinite seeds in the bag instead of money. And come to think of it, the garish one’s story about the dinner party was probably all talk. It seemed very unlikely they would have anything worth stealing. The dust and dirt which smeared their bodies spoke to a poverty that denied them beds.

They couldn’t be marks.

She should just quit them and be done with them.

She should.

But … But if they lived they would be her pantheon. It was a distant and murky concept, but the possibility of it lit a faint hope in her heart none the less.

Guess the only way forward now was to try and play nice.

“Right. The offer still stands, if you wish to take me up on it. Else…yeah. I won’t try to rob you, I swear,” she scuffed her toe against the ground. Either way, she needed to be out of there soon. The street was much too conspicuous for her liking.

“I personally appreciate your offer,” the young boy said, “but I’m not sure how the others feel about you. I’d like to have a place to sleep, but I’d like it if you didn’t murder me in my sleep. If you do, you lose out on something much bigger than simple coins.”

She stared at him for a few moments, but the boy didn’t seem to be forthcoming.  

“And that is?” she asked.

“Friendship,” he said.

“Right …”

The blue-haired one waved a hand, as if to wave away the lingering dregs of that conversation. He addressed his friend:

“Listen Wendrii, I don’t mean to undermine that deep and powerful philosophical point, but uh, you also picked up Cael off the street, so I’m going to have to say that you’re not the best judge of character.”

Well that was a glowing endorsement. At least she had two names now. Wendrii, the young boy with flowers at his heels. Cael, the man with the halo of fire. And then there was this last one, the as-of-yet unnamed Gaudy Slinger of Insults.

His eyes had an uncanny sort of machination to them as he considered her. The frivolous swipe of blue makeup underneath his eyes did nothing to soften the fierce and analytic way he catalogued each of her features. He tilted his head to the side, but the serious face he made looked no different than it had before he brought up the depth perception thing, so Luciya was not entirely sure how to feel.

At long last, he said, “I think we should put her to a test.”

She hated the way he said that, with a wry smile and a low tone, as if he already thought she would fail. It would serve him right if she just turned and walked away, but Fields. It was really, really hard for her to resist a challenge.

“It’s a little ridiculous that I’m having to prove myself so I can help you. Seems like a case of an inflated ego. Don’t go around-” she let slip an almost-smile at her own cleverness- “getting a god complex.” She let the horrible, horrible joke land. The three boys looked back at her with dead expressions. To cover the deafening silence, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

The blue-haired one’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted his backpack, as if it’s weight were bothering him. Then he looked over his shoulder with a wide and open expression, as if someone were speaking to him. He nodded slowly and looked back at her. His eyes were somewhere else though, far on an imagined horizon.

“I wonder,” he began. Then he shook his head, and the profound look in his eyes faded to the same mercurial gleam he’d had since the moment she met him. “Never mind. Your task is simple. First, there was a guard about twenty feet behind us that carried an antique pocket watch. I saw him fiddling with it earlier. Bring it to me.”

Of course she had noticed the guard. He had been a consideration as she sneaked up behind the party to steal the bag in the first place. He was associated with the City police, rather than the Order, and therefore posed very little threat. She had even seen him in the streets of Seyla before, although he had never come after her, so she wasn’t familiar with him.

The watch couldn’t really be all they wanted from her. Even the gaudy one could probably snag the watch. But Luciya was pretty good at reading what people wanted, and she wasn’t picking up on anything besides a genuine desire for a good time. And anyway, it would be a good chance to smooth her ego, after she had been caught trying to steal the seeds. She still wondered how he had seen her…

The gaudy one turned his head again, as if listening to someone, though no one in the group was speaking to him. Wendrii and Cael had gone back to talking between themselves, something about a fire and a table that Luciya didn’t really care about.

“Feel free to come with me, but stay back. I can’t have you all interfering or blundering through.” Without waiting to see if they intended to follow, Luciya pivoted and sprinted back down the street.