by Tim Akers
“So, what, you bind an angel to one of their slaves? What the hell good is that going to do? They’ll have control of both an element of fire and a spirit of law. Won’t that just make them more powerful?”
“Elia sees it. Don’t you, love?” Harlon asked.
“The angel will be too powerful for the binding. He’ll push his way into the slave’s will. Take over. The spirit of fire will be snuffed out, along with the slave.”
“And what then? What do you think these men are going to do, when they discover they have an angel on their hands?” I asked.
“Let me ask that question in a different way,” Harlon said smugly. “What do you think an angel is going to do when it finds itself surrounded by slave traders and drug dealers?”
The four of us settled away from the page, turning Harlon’s idea over in our heads. Becca looked nearly sick, and Jovin was just scared. But Elia was thinking.
“Harlon, man, I don’t think I like the sound of this,” Jovin said nervously. “Can’t we just do the deal and be done with it?”
“How many times do I have to say this? We won’t be done with it. They’ll never be done with us. This, here, is our only chance of having a life after this, free and clear.”
“Love, I really don’t like this,” Becca said. “I’m with Jovin. Let’s do the deal and be done. I’m sure you’re worried about nothing. At the very least, if they do demand more of us, we can push back. Maybe try this at some point in the future.”
“It’ll be too late, then. We’ll have this on our record. Even if we undo them later on, the stories will be out there. The Iron will have us out, and good luck finding work as an honest ‘binder with slavery in your past.”
“I’m with Becca,” I said. “This is too risky.”
“No surprise which way you’d go, Rael,” Harlon sneered. “What about you, El? How do you feel about doing a little mischief?”
Elia pored over the soul map, muttering to herself. She looked up, giving me a cold glance that felt so much like hatred that I had to pull back. Then she smiled at Harlon.
“I’m in,” she said. “We can do this, Harlon. I know we can. And I’m certainly in the mood for mischief.”
“That’s my girl,” Harlon said, beaming. “I knew you were the type.”
####
Once Harlon and Elia had hatched their little plan, the two of them spent less and less time at the club room, entombing themselves in the private collections of the Iron, scanning tomes that could not be borrowed for any cost. Becca moved in to the little room over Thuen’s bar permanently, arriving one evening with a trunk of clothes and tears on her face. I didn’t ask any questions, but poured her something expensive from Harlon’s personal stash and let her work. We buried ourselves in the business of saving our friend’s soul.
As the days ticked by, Jovin was less and less useful to us. His appearances at the club room were less frequent, and he was usually drunk, until Becca finally threw him out for sicking on some of our notes. The morning before our meeting, it was just me and Becca in the dusty heat of the club room. She was dressed in a simple robe that buttoned up the front, her feet unstockened, her hair down. It was as natural as I’d ever seen her, and as beautiful.
“I think we’ve mostly got it,” I said, shortly after lunch. “We won’t know the state of the souls until we get there. But I think it can be done.”
“I’m still not comfortable with this,” Becca said, brushing crumbs from her chest and wiping her hands on one of the green scarves she had hung, a lifetime ago. “I keep thinking of the poor souls. The lives we’ll be erasing.”
“Their lives are already over,” I said. “That’s not on us. They have rung their bill, and now they have to pay their debt. Think of the life we’re saving. Think of Jovin, and the days he’ll have because of us.”
“The days he’ll waste, most likely.”
“Well. That’s not on us, either,” I said.
Becca sat quietly, her eyes going sightlessly over the notes she had just taken. Her face looked so tired, so hopeless.
“What if Harlon’s right?” she asked. “What if they don’t leave us alone after this? What if… what if, one day, we’re the ones who can’t pay our debt?”
I reached over and took her hand, squeezing it tight.
“That won’t happen, Bec. I promise. It won’t come to that.”
She looked down at my hand, a thin smile on her tired face. She squeezed my hand back, then pulled away.
“You can’t promise that, Rael. You don’t know. You barely even know what you’re doing, even right now,” she said, turning back to her notes. “But it’s sweet.”
Embarrassed, I took my hand and lay it in my lap. The book in front of me swam in lines of black and gray, the words smearing through my wet eyes. I sighed.
“There was a book,” I said, haltingly. “On the states of souls. The various things to look for, when binding. It’s meant for self-examination, but I think it might be some good. I was looking for it last night,” I looked up to see her calm face, her eyes still on her notes. “Do you know where it might be?”
“Harlon took it back, a few days ago. It’ll be at his apartment.”
“Could you… would you be willing to go get it for me?” I asked.
She hesitated, a hitch in her calm like a pulled muscle on a runner. She shook her head.
“Not yet. I really can’t go back there, yet. Maybe after.”
I sat quietly for a moment, then stood and gathered my purse and blade.
“I’ll get it,” I said. “Be back later. You want anything?”
“A bottle of wine. Not one of Harlon’s expensive things.” She looked up at me, smiling. “Whatever you can afford.”
####
Harlon lived in a part of town I could barely walk through without being hassled by the wardens. It was only the gray and black of my student’s robes and the fact that I seemed to know where I was going that got me through without bother. I went up the wrought iron stairs in the atrium and knocked on the polished wood of his apartment door. There was no answer, so I tried the latch. Open. As with everything in Harlon’s life, confidently unguarded, boisterously unwatched.
I crept inside. The main room was a puzzle of open books and half-drawn diagrams, arcane symbols mixing with drunken smears, all of it coiling around the problem of binding a Spirit of Law. They seem to have made good progress, from what little I knew of the process. I leafed through a few of their notes, trying to make sense of their plans. I could see the shape of it, but not the rhythm.
My study was interrupted by the moist slap of flesh from the bedroom. I slammed shut the book I had in my hand and stood, shivering. The door to Harlon’s room was mostly closed, but through it I heard the soft gasp of Elia’s voice, surprise and need mingled, rolling from a low moan to something louder, something more feral. And Harlon’s breathing, fast, like a man shoving a barrel up a hill. The bed beneath them creaked like the hull of a ship, caught in a stiff tide.
For one second I thought about going over and opening the door. To see Elia splayed across the bed, to see her serious lips parted over the glisten of her teeth, her tongue. For one second I thought about seeing what would come of that.
Then I set the book down and escaped, my blood humming, down the atrium stairs and into the street.
####
I stumbled back into the club room and settled back into my spot at the table. Becca gave me a curious look.
“No book?” she asked.
“No, it was… I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t there,” I said.
“Was Harlon home?”
I paused, unable to look her in the eye, and she knew.
“Were they home?” she asked. I nodded.
Becca set down her pen and lay her hand across her face, breathing quietly. Finally, she got up and came around the table, sitting next to me. Her smell, the rosewater in her hair, the days of sweat settled over me like a net.
“What we’re doing tomorrow, it’s dangerous,” she said, matter-of-factly. “These are dangerous men. Not to be trusted.”
“We have an idea of what we’re doing, though. I’m sure…”
“Hush,” she said. “Rael, I know. I’m not an idiot. And if tomorrow goes badly,” she leaned forward, brushing against my elbow. “I would rather there not be things between us that are unsaid.”
“I… I…”, stammering and red, the shiver in my blood again, and the smell of her on my lips.
She brushed her hand across her cheek, her lips, then dropped it to her robe. Her other hand took the sweaty palm of my hand and led it to her ribs. I could feel the beat of her heart, steady, slow. Slowly, she undid one button of her robe, and then another. The soft weight of her breast fell into my hand, the surprising stiffness of a nipple, soft and warm.
“Becca, please,” I whispered hoarsely, though I didn’t know what I wanted of her. “Please.”
“Quiet, Rael. There are souls in the balance tomorrow. But not tonight.”
She shifted toward me, and her robe fell fully open. The white curve of her shoulders, her breasts, the strong length of her neck craning toward me. My heart fluttered, and I was lost.
“Becca, I love…”
“No,” she whispered, then her mouth was on mine, wet and sharp and urgent.
####
The area Jovin took us to the next day was as grimy as Harlon’s district was posh. I was surprised that a place like this existed in the lee of the Iron College, a place where the gutters were clogged and thatchwood hovels piled up between older, sturdier buildings. The streets smelled like piss and vinegar. We saw no Lawbinders in that place, and more than one vagrant huddled in the shadows who seemed bound to chaos, or drugs, or his own realm of nightmare madness.
“What in hell brought you here, Jovin?” Elia asked. She seemed the calmest of us, neatly dressed and confident, no fatigue in her eyes or lines on her face. I looked a mess, walking next to her.
“The pretty parts of town are much less interesting,” Jovin said. He seemed to have gathered the last of his worldly wealth to buy one final hit of his drug of choice. His eyes were glassy and loose, his gait relaxed. Hopefully we wouldn’t need him for the summoning. “Pretty is rarely interesting. Don’t you agree, Rael?”
I flinched away, not sure what he meant but in no mood to engage. I was jumpy, full of energy, light on my feet. The mirror this morning told me my face didn’t match my mood, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. We were on the edge of this thing, and soon it would be done, and there was no looking back.
“Keep quiet, all of you,” Harlon said. He was at the front, with Elia trailing just a bit behind him, and Becca directly behind her. He walked with his chest out, and a hand on his belt, like a gentleman touring his grounds. Despite Jovian’s warning to dress plainly, Harlon was in full college formality, trimmed in gold and silver. I was worried he’d get us rolled before we even got to the meeting place.
Only Becca seemed to belong here. Her face was long and tired, her clothes the same simple robe from last night. She walked with her hands clasped in front of her and head down, not looking around at all. Drop her here by herself, and she would have looked like another Jane, on the way to her James. I shivered.
The place was less intimidating than I thought, at least on the outside. It looked like a coffee mart, an open air market with canvas stalls all around, each offering some tidbit of food or drink, a few with massive copper steamers that produced black, bitter coffee into rented mugs. The patrons watched us without interest or malice as Harlon led us in. We were stopped near the back, by two large men standing on either side of an archway. Jovin stepped forward, and they nodded and waved us past. Most of us.
“No women,” they said together.
“What?” Elia snarled. “Are you serious? Do you know why we’re here?”
“We know why Jovin is here, yes,” the larger one said, nodding to Harlon’s robes. “But it is no matter. No women.”
“The women who come here, they are not well when they leave,” the other guard said, smiling. “Not well at all.”
“Look, if you mean to threaten us…” Harlon said.
“I mean to threaten them,” the guard said, nodding to the girls. “You, I do not care about.”
“I’m not going to stand in here while you…” Elia started, taking Harlon by the sleeve. He shrugged her off.
“Nevermind. I can do this. Rael and I can do this,” he said, smiling at me with a wink. “Can’t we, Rae?”
“We can,” I said.
“Good, good, good,” the first guard said. He let us pass, then spoke in low, harsh tones to the two girls. I couldn’t catch what he said, but Elia hissed and turned back to the street. I tried to give Becca a meaningful look, something I hoped would be encouraging or… something. She ignored me, staring straight ahead at the darkness beyond the archway.
“Are you sure about this?” I whispered to Harlon as we were escorted into a low room. “Elia seemed pretty… involved in your research.”
“She was a help,” he said. “Not a hindrance, at least. But she’s not necessary.”
We were led into a room with more smoke than air, and less light. Pillars clustered around the edge of the space, each one with a guard between it and the next. Rough men, well-armed. The floor was tile, with a rusting drain at the center. The most horrific smells came out of that drain. The three of us were brought to stand in front of a low bench, swathed in dingy silk and hay-stuffed pillows. When we were situated, a short man with thin hair came from behind one of the pillars, dressed in the manner of a bard. He was washing his hands, the fat skin of his fingers glistening and red.
“Jovin, good of you to show up. I have heard interesting things about your last few weeks,” the man said, looking Harlon and me up and down. “Hopeful things.”
“I have… I’m here to pay my debt, Hizzesh,” he said.
“It would worry me if that were true, Jovin. I don’t trust you to pay a debt like this, not in full.” He sat on the bench, stretching his shoulders. “But it seems to me that these men might be able to pay your debt for you. Is that the case, gentlemen?”
“First of all, let me say that I find this revolting, and if you think…” Harlon started. I put a hand on his arm.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re here to buy our friend’s life back.”
“His life,” Hizzesh said, watching me with apparent amusement. “Well, well. How noble of you. But I imagine Jovin’s life is a thing he will spend and lose on his own, eventually. Do you know the manner of this payment?”
“We do,” Harlon said, angrily.
“Then, let’s be about it,” the short man said, raising his arm.
Chains rattled, and four people were led into the room. I couldn’t have told you their ages, could only guess at their genders. They were dressed in plain gray robes, all too large, all filthy. Hoods had been cinched over their heads, held in place by rough twine, and their hands were bound and covered as well. Almost no flesh showed. The second, large and round and nearly as tall as Harlon, was crying into the coarse linen of his hood, so that the material was soaked through around his eyes. They were led to the center of the room and forced to their knees.
“One for each of the elements,” Hizzesh said happily. “I don’t care which goes to which. Though I think it appropriate that you bind water to our blubbering friend, don’t you?”
I swallowed a slug of bile and stepped to the first man. We had agreed that Harlon would bind the Spirit of Order along with the Element of Water, so that man’s fate was decided. I would bind Fire while Harlon was about his business, as it was the flashiest and the most likely to draw attention away from Harlon’s trick. I glanced over at Harlon. He nodded, so I bent my head to the first victim and felt for the lines of his soul.
It was nothing as I expected. As soon as I had a grip on the thread of fire and water that was woven through the man’s soul (and ob
viously a man, now that I had my fingers twisted in the stuff of his being) the elemental nearly jumped into existence. Much easier than it had been in the club room, with five of us pulling and twisting at the aether, trying to tease forth our brief spirit of fire, nearly two weeks ago. I wondered if our studies had paid off, bent as they were to this one very narrow purpose, or if such things were easier when only one ‘binder made the attempt. Or, perish the thought, that I was simply better at this when I was sober.
The Element of Fire crawled out of the air like a heat shimmer, hovering over the man’s hooded scalp, then leaping into existence like a curling sheet of forge-hot flame. Much brighter than our previous attempt, the flames tinged in blues. As the heat of the Element beat down on the subject, the man gave a shiver of fear, a terror that I felt from the inside as his spirit thrummed like a harp. Another new experience, and I tried to push aside what it meant, that this was a man’s life I was about to snuff out, even as his life went on after I was done.
I looked around the room. These men had seen Elementals before, and thought nothing of killing. They watched impassively as the dancing tongue of fire settled onto the man’s head, parting like water before the prow of a boat to leave his flesh unharmed. Harlon stood beside me, tensely concentrating on his own task. The Element of Water, a burbling globe of cold blue, a fountain that fed and caught itself in gurgling sheets of water, wobbled over the head of the crying, hooded man.
As I watched, the Spirit of Law began to materialize. It looked like a silver halo, spiked and tapered, that glimmered and grew from the size of a coin to a slowly spinning plate, splashing into the Water Elemental and circling it in an orbit of sunlight.
It was too obvious, too clear. These men had seen this trick a hundred times, they would know something was amiss. Even now, Hizzesh creased his face in wonder, watching the Spirits of Law and Water mingle in flickering waves of light. I only had seconds before he saw what we were trying. Only seconds.
