The Keeper's Codex: Ashen Memories

by A. D. Wills

  Meanwhile, Theron made his way toward the backside of the mountain, wearing a wriggling smirk that was dying to come out and play. When he reached the line of sheltered rocs off to the side, he stared down the steep dead drop ledge of the mountain—the likes of which obviously fatal should he fall or slip.

  “Well, that went rather smoothly,” Theron said in a giddy tone. “All the more pleasing is that Yuliana is on time, as is expected.”

  Theron looked down through the misty fog swirling around, and revealed a large wagon down below in one of the brief breaks. Once he caught sight of it, he dove down off the mountain toward it head first—cutting through the clouds without anything to slow his fall. He rapidly approached the stationary caravan without anything in there to break his fall, but just as he was going to crash, his body came to a gentle slowing stop in the front seat.

  There at the reins was a stunningly beautiful woman with flowing dark hair, sharp blue eyes, and an elegant face that could seemingly bewitch any man or woman with even the quickest of glances.

  “Well done, as usual Yuliana,” Theron said with a dear smile.

  “Please, Boroku, I much prefer it when you call me Yuli,” she replied a little upset, as though he should have known.

  “My apologies, Yuli, it's just been so long since we've last seen one another it slipped my mind."

  “You don't need to remind me how long it's been...” Yuliana looked ahead with a bit of a pout, but couldn't pretend to be upset with Boroku for more than a fleeting instance.

  “Oh, please forgive me for donning such a face, it really is unbecoming, no?” Boroku turned to face away from Yuliana.

  Boroku lurched over, tensing up, and wincing in a great deal of pain, panting heavily as the bones in his face crunched and shifted around to reform the face of Boroku the monk—leaving him in an exhausted state, slumping over in his seat in a cold sweat.

  “Please, you mustn't exert yourself like this, Boroku,” a concerned Yuliana looked over at his beaten state.

  “I appreciate the concern, Yuli, but time is something we can't afford to spare anymore. I assure you, I will have a bit of time to recover soon though, at least for a little while.” Boroku looked over to Yuliana with a kind tired smile, while they rode off toward their destination. “We're almost there after all.”

  Chapter 19: Caden

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Sappo asked, watching Caden secure his things before heading out to scout the pit.

  “Don't worry about it, we'll be back before you know it,” Caden said without concern, already halfway out the door anyway, with Zasha in tow.

  “Please be careful, and more importantly, discreet...” Snillrik added their concerns.

  “Remember, if you're seen or taken, then all of this is for nothing, and we'll have no way of finding anything out. More importantly, if the townsfolk see you get captured, they won't have any hope for themselves either,” Chryssa gave one last stern warning.

  “You don't need to remind me. I'll make sure he doesn't blow it.” Zasha kicked Caden out the door, following behind. “We'll meet back here tonight.”

  Zasha shut the door behind her, and the team divided itself for the evening with the sun now fully set.

  “Good luck...” Sappo muttered without anyone able to hear, caught off guard by their sudden whirlwind of an exit.

  “I suppose we too should get going, yes?” Snillrik suggested.

  Chryssa nodded, waiting a few minutes with Sappo, and Snillrik to make sure their movements wouldn't raise suspicion leaving so soon after Caden and Zasha. She couldn't be sure who was watching, and knew better than any of them the extra caution was well warranted.

  The three of them moseyed their way down the steamy stone streets, dimly lit by creaky lamp-posts with the smallest of flames inside. They did their best to appear natural, slumping along, with Sappo keeping his head loose on an anxious swivel, even if there were hardly any people out at this hour. By now, everyone was either at the Inn, or had already rushed home. At least then it gave them a better chance of not being scooped up by Workal and his guards.

  “Are you sure you know where to go?” Sappo leaned in to whisper.

  “I think so...” Chryssa conceded. “It's not like I've ever visited him, but I know we used to think his house was spooky as kids, so we would sometimes see who could make it the furthest down the street before running away."

  “Oh, spooky. Good,” Sappo's pitch heightened.

  “Here, I'm almost sure it's down this way,” Chryssa signaled, motioning her head down a branching stone alleyway that felt damp from all the steam being vented out, their feet slapping on the ground with every step.

  They approached a home at the very end of the damp street, where no one else seemed to actually live. The few other homes there, or whatever the buildings were used for, were all but abandoned, and blacked out. Not so much as a glimmer of light other than the last lamp-post back from whence they came.

  “Not the coziest of places...are you sure this is it?” Snillrik asked.

  “Pretty sure...” Chryssa nodded, and knocked on the door a few times, but no answer.

  “Maybe we should just come back later,” Sappo took a step back.

  “We don't have any time for that,” Chryssa knocked, banging on the door this time, but again, no answer.

  “Achi, perhaps you might be able to be of assistance?” Snillrik held their wide palm out for Achi to jump onto, leading it to the keyhole.

  Achi squeaked out in high-pitched joy, and squirmed its way through the tiny keyhole to rummage around.

  “It can fit in there?” Sappo blinked in surprise.

  “Without any bones to speak of, Achi can wiggle his way into just about anything,” Snillrik leaned down waiting for their trusty assistant to emerge.

  After a good minute or so, Achi emerged, shooting out of the keyhole back into Snillrik's clutches, and safely into their front pocket.

  Chryssa went to twist the knob, and the door opened. “It worked,” Chryssa said, and felt a little rush of adrenaline come over her.

  “Should we really be breaking into places like this?” Sappo asked.

  “I suppose it's not so bad seeing as we're already criminals. We're only acting within the label bestowed upon us,” Snillrik reasoned.

  “Caden's definitely rubbing off on you a bit.” Sappo dragged his way into the house behind Chryssa and Snillrik.

  Pitch dark, they felt around for anything that might feel like a candle, or something to light the room. Eventually Chryssa found a little lantern on a side-table she walked into. Fumbling around to light it, finally they saw the wreckage before them. Walls once lined with shelves of books, torn up, and scattered all over the dusty abandoned floor. Papers shredded and torn, black spots from where they burned everything else. It was a chaotic mess.

  “What happened here...” Sappo's face dropped.

  “It had to be Workal.” Chryssa's hands tightened up in anger. “They must have been here already before us.”

  “Which means you were right to come here. Clearly they were here for something, or someone,” Snillrik assured with a solemn tone. The weight of the room was clear, and something much more ominous felt afoot to them.

  The three of them scoured every inch of the home, slow and steady, to try and find any hints as to what happened here, or what it is they were after. When Chryssa holding the little lantern scanned over a corner of the room, a dead body came into view, limp and leaning against the wall. She almost dropped the lantern in shock, barely managing to recover and hold on.

  Sappo covered his mouth at the horrific view. Eyes rolled back into the old man's head, his once white frizzled beard now clumped up and bloodied with swords impaled in both shoulders to pin him in place.

  “Workal...” Chryssa seethed between her gritting teeth. “Here, take this, and hold it close to me.”

  Chryssa handed Snillrik the lantern, and crouched down at eye-level with the dead body, sh
arpening her eyes to look him up and down.

  “Is there something you're looking for?” Snillrik asked, holding up their shirt to cover their mouth with their free hand.

  “I'm a healer, or at least my parents were teaching me to be one. I'm looking for anything that might be able to tell us any details. So far, it doesn't look like there was a struggle, he just...he was helpless to do anything at all. And this wasn't too long ago. Maybe a week at most,” Chryssa planted her tongue in her cheek. “If only I thought of this earlier, or even talked to him just once. But none of us here ever tried once to reach out to him. We just made the convenient excuse that he was a hermit, and didn't want to be seen or heard, like cowards. Now he can't tell us anything."

  Snillrik, and Sappo remained silent as Chryssa swiped her hand over his open eyes to finally shut them, and give him what little peace she hoped he might be able to see in the afterlife. In examining his body further, she ran her hands over the two gashing wounds, and in the corner of her eye, she noticed a reflection when Snillrik moved the lantern down.

  “Wait, can you keep it here,” Chryssa held Snillrik's wrist in place, and she was right, the old man's left eye shined. “It's a fake eye.”

  “Does that mean anything?” Sappo asked with a squirming face.

  “No, but it's not completely set. It's as if something is pushing against it just enough to partially pop his eye out...” Chryssa leaned in closer, and without hesitating, plucked the fake eye out of the old man.

  Sappo turned his head away, holding his mouth tight, trying to keep his dinner down. “Just tell me when you're done.”

  Chryssa signaled for Snillrik to point the light down, and obliged. They weren't nearly as bothered as Sappo, though it wasn't as if Snillrik enjoyed themself either. Upon shining into his eye, Chryssa saw it, a tiny rolled up scroll no larger than the size of one of her fingers. Delicately, she pulled it out, bit by bit, and unfurled it into a much larger map from its compact origins.

  “What does it say?” Snillrik inquired.

  “It looks like plans...plans to the city," There they were in front of her, the venting system, the Inn, it was all there.

  “To hide it in such a place, there must be a good reason to be willing to die over protecting it.” Snillrik stretched their neck over to take a look.

  “Then we'll have to make sure we don't let him taking it to his grave go to waste,” Chryssa rolled it back up, determined with a focused fury. “We should get back, and take a look while we wait. It's suspicious enough being out here, let alone in here of all places.”

  The three of them took one last look at the lonely old man, knowing nothing about him, not even so much as his name. He sat there alone, and forgotten in his dark abandoned home. His life snuffed out before Chryssa, or anyone else in Qwayke could ever even get to know him. But his last ditch efforts to preserve his lone secret wouldn't be forgotten.

  ◆◆◆

  Zasha, and Caden, weaved through the streets on their way toward the quarry to scout out the situation. So far, they managed to stay out of sight, Caden hugging the walls of every building in the branching alleys in sneaking around, but there weren't any guards around they needed to hide from.

  “Would you stop being so dramatic,” Zasha whispered.

  “What? It's like we're spies or something,” Caden insisted.

  “You look like an idiot is what that is.”

  “You're just jealous I look cool like this,” Caden proudly smirked behind his red wild rag pulled up to hide the bottom half of his face.

  When they approached the quarry, they saw orange tinted steam billowing up from below. It looked like a glowing oven from where Caden and Zasha peered from around the corner, and a few guards had gathered around the mouth of the edges of the gaping quarry.

  “I guess that's why the guards haven't been around the city, most of them look like they're around the edge here...” Caden muttered.

  “Looks like it,” Zasha agreed, lying in wait and observing the guards.

  “Should we go after these guys?” Caden asked.

  “No, there's no way for us to sneak up on them from here. We'll wait until they leave.” Zasha held her arm out just in case Caden felt rebellious.

  After a few minutes of conversing between the guards they couldn't quite pick up on, they dispersed either around the opposite edges of the quarry, or made their way down in what appeared to be a switching of shifts. They took their opening, crouching down on their way before they dropped down lying prone along the very edge of the quarry.

  The heat was almost unbearable from where they were, sweltering and suffocating—shots of steam bursting out of control, unlike the venting system everywhere else. Peering down, they saw townsfolk slaving away down in the scorching quarry below. Some were mining away with flimsy looking picks, others scooped up loose dirt and rock with their bare hands—all while every one of them were forced into working on the sizzling ground barefoot—barely clothed at all. After all, the guards needed a bare back to whip on a whim.

  Many of them howled out screams of pain and anguish, but Caden, and Zasha couldn't hear them very well over the cracking of rocks, and high pitched shots of steam gushing out at a moment's notice, sometimes shooting up in the face of a worker, melting the skin right off their bones. Though, that hardly put so much of a pause to the work below—the guards merely tossed the singed corpse into a growing pile off to the side as if it were routine.

  Caden smashed it against the ground next to him in a rage. “How can they do that like it's nothing? I've gotta find Workal, and a way down there so we can put an end to all of this for good.”

  “That's what the plan is, but it's ruined if you go down there now,” Zasha said through pained admission.

  Caden scanned over the quarry in hopes of seeing Workal himself, but all of the guards looked the same, and no one else stood out that might lead Caden to believe Workal was down there at all. On the far side of the quarry however, was a polished stone home embedded inside the quarry walls above everyone else below.

  “That's got to be where he is." Caden waited and waited, hoping to catch a view of Workal when he might emerge.

  Interrupting them, a sharp whistle went off, sending a panicked shiver even down Zasha's spine, wondering what the alarm meant.

  All of the workers dropped everything, and made sure to turn their attention to where Caden thought Workal was, backs perfectly straight, no matter how much they hurt from hunching over all day and night.

  From the stone home, Workal sauntered on out with a scrunched look of frustration through his weathered, patchy beard that looked to have been burned in certain spots. Everyone down in the quarry—including his guards—fell silent and observed Workal's every move, cringing in desperate hope they wouldn't draw his ire. A tall broad shouldered man, well larger than any of his guards by a good hundred pounds, and a whole couple of feet. He wore fancy silken clothes specifically tailored to his uniquely large stature, fitting of a Divine Lieutenant, standing out from his passably uniformed guards who looked more to be mercenaries more than anything else.

  “All of you filthy lot, listen and listen well,” Workal shouted in a deep gravelly voice that echoed off the quarry's smooth walls without the need of any amplifier. “We keep getting more of you mongrels in here to work, yet there have been so few fruits to your pathetic labors for myself to pick and present to Divine Lord Judocus. Not one precious jewel, anything useful—not even one damn bloody bit of treasure you have managed to dig up in weeks.”

  “Lord Workal, if I may,” one of the guards close to Workal spoke up, bowing his head.

  Workal's bloodshot eyes widened—glancing down sharply at the guard next to him, and without second thought, tossed him off the towering ledge into the quarry below, splattering in front of everyone bearing witness.

  “Anyone else going to interrupt me?” Workal bellowed, wiping his hands on the other guard's shirt beside him. “Now, I don't give two shits how many
of you return alive from that dungeon, if I have to keep sending more of you in to get some return for Lord Judocus, I'll do just that. I mean, at least that'll help cull these crowded numbers down here, if nothing else,” Workal directed his orders at his frightened guards.

  Caden couldn't believe his eyes. He worked for Workal, and just like that, he killed them on a whim. The sheer carelessness of it, it was just like Von Weiss.

  “If you need some more motivation to produce, then I'll gladly offer it to you all,” Workal donned a sickening grin, clawing to itch his beard, and motioned toward one of his guards.

  One of the guards nodded in return, and grabbed the nearest worker by his hair. “Get up, you're coming with me.”

  Workal watched on, licking his greedy lips at the sight of the man getting dragged up to him.

  Zasha hated seeing this, she wanted to leap in there and kill Workal—seeing him right in front of her, but she couldn't. Not yet.

  Come on, don't do it...they didn't do anything... Caden curled his fists, knowing he couldn't do anything but watch in horror.

  “No, please don't do this! Take me instead,” a woman shrieked out in a painful cry.

  “Be quiet! It's fine, Thella,” the man yelled, hoping his wife wouldn't be brought into this.

  “Instead? No, but you can join him,” Workal bellowed out in bloodcurdling laughter.

  Like the puppets they are, another one of Workal's guards grabbed Thella by the hair, and dragged her up to join her husband.

  “No, please Lord Workal, have mercy I beg of you. I should be enough,” the man shamefully begged on his knees, with tears streaming down his quivering dirtied face.

  “Whether you're enough or not will be decided for myself, and besides, 'till death do you part shouldn't be taken so lightly.” Workal spat down in front of him, and snapped his fingers to signal for his wife to be forced down onto her knees beside her husband. “Now, this better wake all of you up down there watching.” Workal placed his hand out adorned with a fat heavy ring on each thick finger, and a guard placed a coiled whip in his hand.