by Ty Arthur
“A sighting and a sign from god himself in a single evening? We walk the darkness with a purpose. All of this will have been worth the sacrifice, I promise each of you. Our holy work is nearly done here brothers, and one day soon we will go home.”
He paused then, to ensure he had their attention. “But we must now complete the task, and that means I have even more to ask of you before we depart.”
He looked to his messenger, offering what he hoped would be among his final orders before seeing the safe return of their precious cargo. “Round up all the civilians in the high ward and take them to the square, even the nobles. Every knight in the city not manning the walls is to secure as many people as he can and return here. God isn't going to hand his power back over to us freely. We will have to ensure the sacrifice is worth his notice.”
The knights sprung into motion, leaving the rapturous collector on the floor, still shouting out half-coherent praises. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a passing subordinate and barked, “Grab that blind boy who was so eager to turn against his master. He was of no use to us. Nail him to the trees with the rest.”
16 (Western Ward / High Ward Border, True Night)
In a marked difference from the last time he'd lost control of his internal companion, Myrr was on his own feet walking unaided within a matter of minutes. Sensations and visceral images stirred throughout his gut, but they were becoming expected and commonplace now. Witnessing the manifestation of the knight's dark god, or perhaps some herald or angel of that god, had killed the fear. He knew its name, and was coming to understand what it desired.
Myrr and Tala both looked up idly as another volley of flaming arrows shot overhead, one sputtering out mid-flight from the ongoing flood of rain from above. The sounds of large-scale conflict flared to life every few minutes, warning them which streets to avoid as they worked their way north through the city to the high ward and Myrr's mad destination.
Looking back down, he'd nearly forgotten his muck-crusted clothes were now gone, replaced by a brown collector's robes. He clutched a thick leather-bound book that marked their profession, always carried wherever they went. Each ledger was always brought out as the collectors assessed what supplies and patrols were needed, as well as where citizens were required to offer up a portion of whatever they had, in amounts that continuously dwindled as time went on and no trade came in or out of the city.
He had felt certain when they'd entered the makeshift chapel that this would be the safest way to move around the city without being accosted by one side or the other. The collectors were hated as any associated with the Knighthood, but no more so than the soldiers, as they almost never took part in the direct violence. They took what wasn't theirs, but that was rarely accompanied by slaughtered families or raped daughters, so they avoided being openly targeted by the resistance.
The irony of their theft was that Myrr no longer felt he needed a disguise at all. With a call to the father of the dark he could shroud himself in an absence of all that was light. The question was if he could clamp down its desire to smother and consume. He felt it even now, lurking there, ready to strike if given the opportunity and the direction. It didn't care if they were rebels or even worshipers of its own darkness. It wanted to be used, and seemed to enjoy exercising its will, even if it had to wait on Myrr's call to function.
He clutched his hand closed tightly, digging in nails until the first beads of blood welled up, waiting to feel its rising lust at the pain, desperately seeking a strong need to summon it out. He relaxed his hand then, feeling the frustration within, letting it wash across him and neither fighting against it nor trying to hide from it. Tala's admonition to always be on guard against it seemed foolish now as he tested his parasite's boundaries.
He noticed her eyes on him, watching him carefully since the insanity they'd beheld that had clearly had such a strong effect on Myrr's demeanor. He nearly laughed at how they must appear to any who caught sight of them, boldly moving through the street as a collector and an armored soldier, torch held high.
While the newly-empowered collector was certain he could overcome a patrol or a handful of crazed rebels, unfettered battle between the two groups would best be avoided, which meant they needed to know what route to reach the obelisk when they arrived at the high ward. Stealing a glimpse up at those black walls, always visible from nearly anywhere in the city, it seemed less solid and imposing than before. Since leaving the sanctum it appeared more a collection of smoky shadows than a flat plane of impenetrable darkness. There were secrets to be plundered there in the dark, and he intended to root them out.
His theory of traveling unmolested would immediately be put to the test as they heard the unmistakable sound of a routine act of barbarity being carried out on those who deserved it least. At the end of the road a patrol of six soldiers thrust their spears into a sobbing form barely visible on the ground. As they approached closer and the screams grew louder, he realized they were using the blunt ends of their weapons, and the mass consisted of two malnourished women huddled together.
Both Myrr and Tala's eyes remained fixed on the crime openly being committed before them, neither slowing as they walked towards the edge of the ward. One of the knights ceased his exertions to return their gazes, shouting out, “Caught two more! Best not return to the square empty-handed. We heard some shouts from over by the granary. Check there for stragglers.”
Myrr nodded his head at the patrol as Tala yelled back, “Headed there now. Plan to have our fill before light dawning.”
When they reached the end of the street and turned onto the next boulevard, both stopped to stare at the other, expecting the question hanging in the air to materialize. Myrr didn't hold long enough for her customary pause to finish this time. “We can't help them.”
Tala looked down, as though mustering the courage to offer a rebuttal, but left it unsaid. She nodded and matched his stare, offering no judgments or reprimands. As they resumed their trek across the ward, he suddenly wondered if he should have offered to intervene, even though he was certain she'd have advised against the unwise idea.
Those women there, terrified and alone in the circle of soldiers, reminded him of their first meeting in the Briar, where she'd set her son to rest. No one chose to bring a child into the hell of Cestia, and he suspected Tala hadn't either. On the verge of stopping to try to offer some comfort, even though he would have no words that would matter, they reached the wall of the ward then, only a few hundred yards from the gate to the least ruined section of the city.
Seeming to understand the situation, it was Tala who spoke first, venturing “It may be unwise to approach the gate, even disguised, until we know what's happening on the other side. We should find a higher vantage point to see over.”
There was a cold, mechanical tone to her voice, and he knew he'd made a mistake, but there was no going back now. “We're part of their order, and there's no reason for them to question us if we appear to belong. We're going to walk right up the rampart and over to that lookout tower.”
He pointed across to a catwalk on the wall, where soldiers could be seen taking up position and knocking arrows where the torchlight was strongest, while others rushed across to reach other areas of the city more quickly and carry orders. The shielded guard tower offered a clear view of the ward on either side, along with ample room to hide from any returning fire.
Just a few yards down he could make out the first set of carved steps leading up the interior wall to the catwalks, not far off from the gate. The segmented nature of the city made it simple for the occupiers to always watch the movements of the citizens, and to easily shout out directions to soldiers on the ground or fire down arrows at dissidents. That boon was about to be put to use against the knights as Myrr and Tala boldly took to the hewn stone staircase, marching up towards the top of the wall as though they belonged.
Myrr's breath caught in his throat when a knight traveling down the steps stopped ahead of them and barred th
eir way. His voice was full of pride, rather than suspicion, when he spoke, “Glad to see you take up the cause so directly. Many of your kind aren't as devoted. There are spare bows and ammunition in the tower. This nightmare is nearly through.”
He nodded again, muttering about how all needed to do their part, and continued his ascent up the rough steps. Myrr nearly turned and shouted out the name of the darkness, filled with an indescribable rage at the notion that the soldiers were living in a nightmare, discounting the daily suffering of all who lived and died under the yoke of the Knighthood.
Tala's gauntlet-shrouded hand was on his back then, pushing him forward, something telling her what direction his thoughts went. Despite his gaffe earlier, she maintained their plan, showcasing a deeper understanding of his affliction than he realized she could possibly have. Desire to call out the smothering blackness evaporated when considering how she'd kept a cooler head and saved his skin more than once since they crossed paths.
Finally at the top of the wall, the pair made their way through the group of soldiers firing arrows into the darkness of true night and approached the guard tower, which reached to an even higher elevation than the interior wall. Empty of guards, as they were all launching sharp missiles into desperate peasants or rushing off to another area of the city for supplies, the tower stood empty, save for a handful of bows and spears not yet employed in the conflict.
Moving up the short run of steps that looked out over the tower's defensive half-wall to the city a deadly distance below, both Tala and her possessed companion could clearly make out the shapes of buildings, as well as the areas that massed with people or were illuminated with torches. A very large crowd was gathering at the market square in the high ward, an area carefully cultivated in a way similar to the Briar before its destruction. Curiously, much of the rest of the high ward appeared devoid of movement, which would suit their purposes for moving past the mob and to the obelisk.
From their vantage point, they could see nearly all of the high ward, and turning to the other side of the tower and walking up its steps to the edge, could make out the vast majority of the city, including the western and southern gates.
It was unlikely any living citizen of Cestia has looked outside the bounds of the walls to the surrounding hills and forest in years. None had seen what the companions were currently witnessing since the occupation's brutal start, save for those had been forcibly marched out the gates to tend to and join the mass graves, which had reached critical mass on all sides. The darkness inside him fluttered and punctuated the impression of a sneer, which he allowed to wash over him without comment.
Even from this vantage point, they would be unable to see to any neighboring settlements, and Myrr again wondered why no one had come to the city's aid, bringing another bout of amusement from his possessor. No liberating army from any neighboring kingdom had arrived to save them out of a sense of altruism, or even the more pragmatic approach of securing borders against a future invading force. The world sat by and watched with detached apathy as an entire people were slowly put to the sword.
So few seemed to care in the slightest for the unfeeling sadism overflowing in the city, with even the people who called Cestia home slowly losing their humanity. A twinge came from inside him, and this time it wasn't from his unwelcome inhabitant, as he thought of how easy it had been to abandon those women on the street.
He'd only ever been shown the barest of kindness from three during the course of this rapidly-ending occupation: the disfigured Casterly, the mad but coherent Tala, and the priest who had seen him free of the ward riot and placed in the safe house days ago.
Back when news still came into the city, rumors had reached of far away places where the missionary's church held sway, and anyone who made the mistake of openly acknowledging any other deity or patron spirit was shown the error of their ways through elaborate torture before finally being executed. Based on what he knew of the wandering priest, Myrr found such tales unlikely, but living through the brutal occupation had taught him to never underestimate people's capacity for unwarranted cruelty.
Staring down at all the rotting bodies, Myrr was shocked out of his thought-lapse when Tala unexpectedly asked, “If you were gone from here, right now, and found yourself somewhere far away, what would you do with your freedom?”
Thoughts of life without the Knighthood had faded months ago, when it became clear none would be coming to Cestia's aid. Myrr hadn't thought of what purpose life could hold without daily horror, having nearly forgotten what a day was like before the Black Gauntlet arrived. “Anything but what this city led me to do before.”
That pause was there, and then she looked over at him to ask, “What was your profession before all this?”
The darkness in his gut stirred then, offering something that felt like a warning. He tried to remember the days when the sun still rose and life was worth living. An independent gateway between two major powers, Cestia was filled with lucrative trade and lacking in strong laws or the will to enforce them, as the acquisition of coin was preferred above all else.
“A collector of antiquities,” he stated, remembering how he'd provided that phrase many times before.
He was surprised at how completely it flooded back, a time before beatings and burnings. Sometimes acquiring a tome or expensive object for a client meant haggling, and others it meant following a mark for weeks until finding the right pressure point to exploit as blackmail. Sometimes it meant masquerading as another buyer while that person was forcefully indisposed. He smiled, despite the upset gurgling within, when remembering how sometimes it just meant a good old-fashioned smash and grab. Such petty larceny paled in comparison to the large-scale operation undertaken by the knights.
That smile faded when he thought of the clients who wanted more, and the things he'd done for them. He'd never been a killer or a slaver, but he'd committed plenty of atrocities of his own, long before any occupying soldiers trod the streets of Cestia. Rather than turning him into something he wasn't, maybe they'd just further brought out his true self.
The silence that rang out went on longer than her normal contemplation between speaking, and he nearly cursed at the way she seemed to infer the meanings – intended or not – between his words. There was no point in hiding it, not with death looming on all sides and insane darkness lurking within.
“I was a thief and worse,” he admitted, “and I don't regret it. It just gave me an edge on the rest of the competition in staying alive and hidden when these monsters who call themselves men arrived.”
She was waiting with her response immediately, catching him off guard in a way he'd never experienced before as Tala unexpectedly shifted the conversation to their experience in the sanctum earlier that night. “Something happened to you back there. It was like when my voices take over.”
He didn't like thinking back to it, just as he didn't care to think of the moment the darkness had first invaded him, but now that it was in his mind there was no stopping it. Witnessing the ritual, a calling had consumed him from the inside out, demanding he repeat the mantra as well, tearing through his blood and bone into some deeper part he wasn't aware had existed before that moment.
When they chanted to their deific father, the name he'd heard back in the cellar began to grow at the back of his mind again, slowly getting louder and louder, enough to finally make out clearly, enough to shout it out again and call down the god's attention. The thought had consumed him, dragging him toward one single conclusion – he had known no other option than to join in the chant and offer his praise to the dark god these merciless knights worshiped.
The displeased gurgling within subsided as he gave into the memory, as though sated and not in need of chanting again now, at least not for the moment. “It's become more distinct now, the sensation of where it is and where it isn't. Is that how it feels with your voices?”
That intermission between speaking returned, and he rebuked himself internally for his callous r
eference to her affliction, shutting off the memory of what he'd seen during the ritual before it could continue.
Neither had the chance to speak again as their attention was suddenly drawn to the thunderous burst of sound to the southeast, followed by an all-encompassing plume of fire reaching into the sky. Myrr hadn't witnessed anything as destructive or baffling since the night of the invasion. A building not far away was now nothing but a pile of flaming rubble, the smoke and fire choking even higher into the sky than the walls themselves.
His inward companion murmured contentedly for an instant, setting off an intense sensation of vertigo, and the torrential downpour suddenly ceased. As though waiting for the explosion, the sound of the rain ended all at once. In the reverse of the growing deluge putting out the raging fires earlier, the blessed water from above ended in an instant, sealing the city's fate. Myrr hung his head then, not even having to look to see the spreading flames, smelling it as wood started to burn.
Glancing back out at the suddenly illuminated night, a hollow realization filled Myrr. He'd seen that stone structure many times before while skulking about unseen to learn more about the occupiers.
