Thorne Grey and the City of Darkness

by Farrell Keeling

  ‘This is for you, scum,’ his captor had snarled, placing a thick strip of leather over his eyes.

  Varg closed his mouth, recalling his captor’s previous promise before he could retort in some way.

  He remembered as he was guided through a tunnel, completely blind and helpless, that he’d never felt so cold in his life, or quite so bloody afraid for that matter.

  Where was he? He’d thought, and what the hell had he done to deserve this?

  Okay, when he did look back, he was a bit of a thief… and a con… and a murderer… but a man has to make a living right?

  They stopped suddenly and that was when Varg heard a cold, chilling cackle of a laugh that sent chills down his spine. He’d felt so exposed, very conscious of his bare neck, and he’d tried to tuck his chin into his chest only to have it pulled sharply back up by the Cloak.

  ‘You’ve done well,’ a deep, husky sort of voice had said.

  He felt his body lurch forward, as the Cloak bowed graciously to the hidden speaker.

  ‘Forever your servants we are, my lords,’ the Cloak replied courteously.

  Lords? He thought. How many of these freaks were there?

  He tried to raise the leather strap on his face by shaking his head and furrowing his brow. The Cloak instantly caught on to what he was attempting and struck him hard across the face.

  ‘You are not permitted to look upon your betters,’ his captor had hissed.

  ‘Let him be,’ another voice commanded, more guttural.

  ‘Yes,’ the husky voice agreed, ‘we don’t wish to harm a potentially valuable resource.’

  ‘Then let us ask of him what we seek and send him on his way,’ the third voice said, smooth as you like but about as comfortable as the edge of a blade.

  ‘Yeeeessssss,’ they all agreed simultaneously.

  Who were these men he’d thought, they were bloody strange, that much had been for certain, but what were they on about? What ‘potentially valuable thingamijig?’

  ‘W-Who are you?’ Varg stammered.

  The Cloak struck him again.

  ‘Let him be!’ the guttural voice said more sharply.

  His captor hissed in response.

  ‘You ask a valid question, cutthroat,’ the husky voice said.

  ‘We imagine you must be quite confused and we do apologise for the manner of your arrival,’ the silky voice had said.

  That was when he had made a stupid mistake, believing himself to be in control of the situation.

  ‘Damn right you should be, you buggers,’ he had said boldly, ‘now let me go before I- AGH!’

  The husky voiced ‘Lord’ had growled and he’d felt as if his head was being stabbed with thousands of tiny needles.

  ‘ARGHH! PLEASE!’ Varg screamed, and then it stopped. He could not recall feeling as relieved as he had when the pain had gone.

  ‘Consider that a reminder of who has the power here,’ boomed the guttural voice.

  ‘You are here because we demand it,’ said another.

  ‘And you will die if we command it,’ added the last.

  ‘What do you want?’ Varg cried.

  ‘Oh, many things, but from you? Just one small task shall suffice for now,’ said the silky voice.

  ‘This should be interesting,’ Vince muttered.

  The Lords ignored him. ‘We wish for you to roam the land of Féy,’ the silky voice said.

  ‘Why?’ Varg moaned.

  He then felt another sharp pain, this time in his chest.

  ‘Because we demand it!’ boomed the husky voice.

  ‘My friend is correct,’ the silky voice purred, ‘but my fellow Lords, how can he do what we need without knowing our wishes?’

  ‘Hm. Very well...’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Cutthroat,’ rasped the husky voice, ‘we want you to find a particular child gifted in the arcane.’

  ‘Gifted in the what?’

  ‘The arcane, you fool! Majik!’

  ‘But how in the blazes am I gonna’ do that?’

  ‘You humans are useless by yourselves, we understand this. Fortunately, however, you are not alone here. Bring the re-ject forward!’

  There was a shuffling of feet and he twisted his head and heard the other captive, ‘oi!’

  ‘Silence!’

  Vince fell quiet.

  ‘Are you aware of the reason you are here, re-ject?’ asked the silky voice.

  ‘Is it because I’m incredibly good lookin’?’

  The husky voice snarled and the other man screamed, ‘Ow! OW! SORRY!’

  ‘You’re not here to joke with us, re-ject, you’re here because we demand it! And you will do what we say because we command it!’ the guttural voice growled.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Vince muttered dejectedly.

  ‘Cutthroat! The re-ject will help you find this gifted child, and once you have found him you will bring him to us!’

  ‘Why should I work with him?’ Varg asked.

  ‘If you don’t, you will fail. Your sense of smell is blinded by your commonness. The re-ject, on the other hand, was once an applicant for the Warlocks but they thought him unworthy to even attempt their tests. However, he has been touched by Majik and will recognise its unique presence wherever it may be,’ said the silky voice.

  ‘Fine then,’ Varg spat, ‘anything else, your lordships want?’

  ‘No, that will suffice, but we also understand your human needs and we will provide you with payment.’

  That rang a bell in Varg’s head and his attitude instantly changed.

  ‘How much?’ he asked, adding quickly, ‘my lords.’

  ‘200 gold pieces should meet your requirements for the meantime, and you’ll receive a thousand more when the task is completed,’ said the silky voice.

  ‘And only when it is completed,’ added the husky voice.

  And that had been the end of it. They were taken back out, their blindfolds removed to see the horse and cart waiting for them along with Varg’s prized dagger and the promised 200 gold pieces sealed in two leather purses.

  They’d spent weeks hunting for this ‘arcane kid’ and they’d not seen a damn sign of him.

  It was to be expected of course, Féy was vast and huge; while they were in the lower markets of the capital, the kid could be on the higher or on the other side of the city. If they failed to find the child in Féy they would then have to move their search to the surrounding cities or, worse still, the dreaded mountains.

  He buried his head in his hands. It was hopeless; they were never going to find this child.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ Vince asked.

  ‘Please for the love of ‘ell, tell me you smell somethin’?’ Varg begged.

  ‘Nope,’ Vince replied.

  ‘Nothing? Well what can ya smell now?’

  ‘What? Right now?’

  ‘Duh.’

  ‘Pies and piss if I’m being honest.’

  ‘No, you dolt! Can you bloody sniff some Majik?’

  ‘I told you, if I find someone I’ll tell you, besides I’m too hungry to find anyone,’ Vince replied, wrinkling his nose. ‘This weather doesn’t help either mind.’

  ‘We’ve got a job to do,’ Varg said.

  ‘You need me to get the kid, and I’m telling you I’m starvin’,’ Vince replied.

  He then pointed to the right side of the street. ‘Look, there’s a butcher’s right there,’ he said eagerly, ‘I say we go in and share a bite of somethin’.’

  ‘Fine,’ Varg muttered wrenching the reins to bring the cart to a halt.

  He then paid the carriage man, who’d stepped forward to meet them, a few silvers and told him to keep the cart where it was.

  ‘Share a bite,’ Varg grumbled under his breath as he kicked open the butcher’s door, ‘I’ll have my own bloody bite.’

  *

  Vince lobbed the remains of the pork in his mouth and patted his belly appreciatively. Féynians certainly knew how to cure their mea
t, that’s for sure, he thought, as he lounged on his chair inside the butcher’s store.

  He and the bearded man, Varg, had been looking for Majik potentials for almost a week now with no luck. He really couldn’t understand how the Warlocks put up with the boredom, considering it generally took them several weeks to find recruits, and that’s if they were extremely lucky and had more men to do it.

  How would two men, only one of them able to sense Majik, be capable of finding one child in a city? It was impossible; he knew it, Varg knew it, and so did the Cloaks and their masters.

  It was probably all a joke.

  He sighed, realizing in disappointment that it was time to go. He looked over at Varg who had already finished his two sausages and was now gambling away the rest of his gold with two other burly men in some stupid card game.

  Vince shook his head sadly and prepared to get off his seat. He should get the cart back off the carriage man and then–

  He froze and reached out to the air in front of him, waving a hand to and fro as if to clear away smoke.

  He had suddenly felt… he had sensed Majik. He could feel it in air like tiny vibrations that reverberated through his senses. He couldn’t quite describe the smell, or the sensation of feeling the presence of Majik. It was like taking a hit of Whiteye, his drug of choice. It made him feel almost delirious. He wanted more. He needed it.

  It was then that a boy walked past him, only past the first ten years of his life at most. He wore a pair of torn shorts, a dusty shirt, and a cap covering his coal–smudged face. He was also shoeless.

  He was munching on a sliver of horsemeat, completely unaware of the fact that he was being stared at in amazement by the thin, hooked-nose man to his right.

  Vince licked his lips. It was now or never he realized.

  He then jogged to the end of the room, attracting a few glances from the shop’s occupants and stopped at the front door blocking the boy’s path.

  The boy looked up and frowned at him, or at least he thought he did.

  ‘Scuse’ mista,’ the boy said.

  He didn’t answer, he just stared ahead at his companion willing him to take a glance. Just one glance, that was all that was needed.

  ‘Scuse!’ the boy said, louder this time. Now, everyone was beginning to notice. Varg had looked up this time to see what all the commotion was about but so had the two burly men and they were blocking his view.

  He weighed up the options in his head, he could grab the boy and make a run for it and hope Varg would be behind him. That would risk inciting the shop and all the people in it, or just let him go and try to find him afterwards.

  There was really only one option for him to take.

  Vince cursed his fortunes and stepped out of the child’s way, grumbling ‘sorry.’

  The boy grunted and then left the butchers. Varg came to him soon after, moody with his losses, ‘what was all that about?’ he demanded, ‘and why are ya so pale?’

  ‘Th–the boy,’ Vince stammered.

  ‘Boy? What boy?’ Varg spat.

  ‘Th–the one th–that just left,’ Vince stuttered, ‘it was him. He’s the one, the one we’re looking for.’

  Varg then went pale too.

  ‘You let him go?’ he hissed. ‘You idiot, we’ve been tracking this bugger fer days and you let him go?’

  Varg stormed out of the butchers, Vince having to jog after him to keep up. They both mounted the cart waiting outside, elbowing the carriage man onto the ground.

  ‘Wait a minu–,’ began the carriage man.

  ‘Go!’ Varg growled, whipping the reins.

  The horse neighed and the cart wildly lurched forward and rolled ahead.

  ‘Which way,’ Varg roared over the torrent of rain.

  Vince closed his eyes and followed the scent. It was weaker now, but he could still just, barely make out the smell of the kid and see the trail he’d left, like smoke from a fire.

  ‘Over there,’ Vince shouted back, pointing at an upcoming street, ‘through there.’

  The cart made a sharp turn and they rolled down another street, houses and shops flying by.

  ‘There!’ said Vince.

  They saw the kid walking up the street, passing a bunch of the umbrella ladies on the way, and then he turned around the corner and disappeared from view into an alleyway.

  ‘We’ve got him!’ Varg barked with delight, ‘cornered like a bloody rat!’

  *

  The boy woke up and groaned, his head still sore from the punch he’d received.

  He’d always been told that the alleys were safe, nobody but the ‘rabble’ like himself and the other coal workers went there. Why did that have to change now? Why had the two older men been after him?

  ‘Boy’s awake,’ a man said.

  He tried his sit, but he realized to his dismay that his arms and legs had been tied down to the cart.

  He struggled against his bonds, his body thrashing against the wood of the cart. It was no use.

  ‘You’re a live one,’ the hooked-nose man said staring down at him.

  The boy spat at his face in response. ‘Argh,’ the man growled in disgust.

  ‘What?’ asked the other man.

  ‘Twit spat at me,’ the hooked–nose man moaned, wiping his face with a dirty sleeve.

  ‘What did you expect?’ the man chuckled, ‘with a face like yours...’

  The man scowled, ‘you’re one to talk.’

  The bearded man laughed again.

  ‘Let me go,’ the boy demanded.

  ‘Fraid’ we can’t do that, kid,’ the bearded man said.

  The boy swore at the man, shouting at him with all the venom he could muster.

  ‘Take these,’ the bearded man said, handing the other the reins.

  The hooked–nose man grunted sourly.

  The bearded man then came into view his arms resting on the top of the cart, his face just a few inches from the boy’s. The man was ugly as hell, with a smell to match, his breath heavy with mead and meat. He was also covered with spots and small scars across his sagging cheeks, evidencing a strong battle with acne, which made him appear far older than his years.

  ‘Alright, boy,’ the man smiled, revealing a set of yellowed teeth and shrivelled gums.

  The boy swore at him in response.

  ‘You got a mouth on ye, boy,’ the man said, drawing a heavily notched dagger from his belt, ‘maybe I’ll enjoy cutting it off of ye.’

  The boy pursed his lips, his eyes fixed on the blade.

  ‘I thought so,’ the bearded man said, pocketing his blade and returning to the front of the cart with a laugh.

  The boy closed his eyes, fighting back tears. Why was this happening to him? Why?

  Suddenly the cart slowed down to a halt and he heard the two men dismount, one tended to the horse and the other came for him. He was cut loose of his bonds and chucked carelessly to the rough ground.

  He cried out, but despite his pain he tried to make a run for it. However, his legs were sore and gave his intentions away and he was knocked to the floor again.

  ‘Get up!’ the bearded man ordered, thrusting him to his feet.

  He grimaced as he felt the man mercilessly clench a hand over his bruised arm.

  The strange men with the cloaks that he’d overheard his captors discuss in the cart, were waiting for them by the entrance to a cave nearby; torches held in one hand and leather strips in the other.

  When the strips were finally placed over his eyes and he was directed into the cold of the cave, the boy did something he thought he’d never have to do.

  He prayed.

  *

  ‘Masters, the men you sent out have returned with a boy,’ spoke a Cloak.

  The child heard nothing but silence in response, and then a second later a soft voice, vibrating within the cavern greeted them. ‘So, you have returned...’ the voice said.

  ‘You are late,’ another said, once with a voice like steel, ‘do you wish to t
est our patience?’

  ‘Be calm my brother,’ the soft voice said, ‘It is good that they have returned successful, rather than not at all, wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Let us hope they have been more successful than the others,’ the voice growled in response.

  The boy frowned. Who were these strange men?

  ‘Others? What others?’ the boy heard one of the men ask.

  ‘Let us see this child, for ourselves,’ another said, its voice seemingly rasping from its throat.

  ‘Nah, nah, nah,’ he heard the bearded man say disapprovingly. ‘We did your job, now ‘and over the gold.’

  ‘You dare?’ said the steeled voice, ‘you dar-’

  ‘Wait! Brother this human is correct, he has done us a service and is now due his payment,’ said the soft voice.

  ‘Our payment,’ the hooked–nose added. He was ignored.

  The steeled voice paused, chuckled and replied with what seemed like a hint of glee ‘but of course, my brother is correct. You are deserving of payment… human.’

  The moment the voice had finished its sentence, he heard a sizzling sound off in the distance, or close by, which made him jump. He couldn’t really tell how far away it was as the sound just echoed all around the cave.

  He realized it sounded a lot like they were heating and cooling metal.

  ‘Good,’ the bearded man said, ‘now give it over!’

  The voices weren’t angry with him anymore, instead they seemed to be chuckling quietly amongst themselves, and this alarmed him more than anything else.

  ‘Bring the cutthroat and the re-ject forward,’ the voices instructed, ‘leave the boy where he is.’

  He then heard a shuffling of feet and the Cloak’s grip on his shoulder tightened, stopping him from making any sudden moves.

  ‘Open their mouths,’ the steeled voice commanded.

  ‘Wait, wha–?’

  The men grunted in pain and he heard multiple thuds as they fell to their knees.

  ‘Oh Gods no! No! PLEASE! ‘AVE MERCY!’ the boy heard one of the men beg.

  He then heard an odd sloshing sound, and the screams soared into the highest crescendos the boy had ever heard. And then it was all silent, and he was left, shivering madly at the thought of how his kidnappers had been horrifically murdered.