"There're few daugh'ers of Agste 'ere. Are ye Nameless?"
"Nay," she replied defensively and sharp.
Helmeck studied her for a moment. "Jaques is burnin'. Foun' a body in a shed. Look like he’d been questioned as I hears it."
"Who was found?"
"One of 'em. I pray to Avenste 'e don't t'ink twas ye."
At that moment Jaques stormed out of his backroom office. He threw an empty decanter at Syndael, striking her on the back of her head. The impact of the thick glass forced her forward into the table she stood by.
"Shaz'tet!" Jaques yelled. "Get your prophet's head blood flower here now!"
Syndael turned to him, a hand on the back of her head checking for blood. When she reached the counter where Jaques stood, he grabbed her arm in a bony, vice like grip and forced her through the door. He threw her to the floor, lifted a heavy hand and struck her on her ear. The force of the blow made her inner ear shake and sting, sending a ringing reverberating through her skull.
"Cuntling Nameless!" He cursed her. His bloodshot eyes were wide and filled with rage.
"'Ow do ye mean, sire," she asked through a mix of real and forced tears.
"A fire head kills one of us an' you say it's not you!"
"Nay, sire. I swear to the gods of creation, on tau itself!"
Jaques grabbed her right leg and pulled her towards him. The back of her dress slid up, exposing her naked lower half. He forced her knees apart. The tip of his boot flew inwards, between Syndael's thighs, with a force designed to penetrate.
She screamed as the shockwave of his unyielding boot struck her pelvic bone. Pain echoed up through her body until she felt nauseous and a bitter taste filled the back of her throat.
"You lie!" He kicked her again. Her screams filled the room as she doubled over, crossing her legs and curling up. Her face was hot with pain and wet with tears, but she knew she could not give up her identity, no matter how bad things got. Even if … Her mind suddenly filled with the image of the faceless corpse and she shuddered.
"I swear to ye," she pleaded. "I swear, I'm no Nameless."
Jaques picked her up and threw her on the table. His hands were around her neck. Syndael's mind raced and real fear for her life washed over her. “Is this to be the end for me?” A lucid part of her mind wondered. Should she blow the investigation and save herself, or die, still maintaining her cover? Either way would spell disaster for their mission.
"Naethaniel," she choked out.
"Who in the burning abyss is that?" He was yelling. Fire flamed hot in his eyes. "Another Nameless shaz'tet?"
"M' uncle, the Gendarme." Syndael grabbed his wrists trying to push him off her, but she was careful not to seem to be attacking him. Her abdomen throbbed, pulsating pain radiating through her body. "I was at 'is house t'is morn." Her lilting accent was still in place.
"Where?" Jaques demanded evilly.
"Crocien's Street and the highway. 'Cross from the jeweler's."
"The bearded stump?"
"Aye."
Jaques released her and let her sit up. The hatred in his face burned with his narcotic induced rage, but now it was temporarily held at bay. "I shall speak to this Naethaniel, and he had better have seen you."
"'E didn't," Syndael said. Jaques slapped her.
"Don't ever lie to me shaz'tet!"
"M' uncle wasn't there," she said hastily. "I saw Miche, m' cousin. 'e 'ill tell ye," Tears streamed down her face.
"We shall see," Jaques said. He pushed her back on to the table. He spread her legs and lifted her dress. Syndael protested sharply, fighting as she knew her undercover self would; wishing by all she could stop his advancement. His manhood entered her painfully. Jaques ravaged her without mercy. Her screams and protests filled the room and penetrated the walls.
It had been an hour since Jaques had gone, leaving her with instructions to, "Clean herself up and earn his coin by any means." Syndael sat on the floor holding her knees, crying. The pain coursing through her brought the words Adom had written back to her mind. She had been sterilized before becoming operational. Now, that was the only good thought that came to her, the pain of being violated so violently pushed any other thoughts from her mind.
Her heart wept for Adom and his letter. She wished with all her heart he was still here. Even his out of place laugh and wide smile "Follow the trail," she thought. She got to her feet painfully. After wiping the tears from her face, she went to the chest she had seen on the shelf and set it on the table. Syndael open it and stared at the contents.
The pipe Jaques had made her smoke the other night was there, still with oprianal in it. A charred twig lay next to it. She removed both from the chest, lit the twig from an oil lamp on the shelf, and puffed on the pipe until it was well lit. She coughed at first, then her head began to swim. Again, she inhaled the bitter smoke and the physical world began to melt into a dream. She was stronger, blessed by Agste himself, "the truest Daughter of Agste."
Her pain subsided and became her strength. Her eyes wide, she saw everything and knew the unexplainable truth behind all that was seen and unseen. Syndael turned and boldly walked out of the room into the half-full tavern. It was awkwardly quiet as the bard had not yet arrived. Many of the patrons were quietly talking amongst themselves, occasionally looking at her. No doubt the sounds of her being assaulted had been heard by them all.
"Are ye a'right?" Helmeck asked.
"Aye," her tear-streaked face hardened. Helmeck studied her for a moment. "He knows," she thought with a child-like excitement in her.
"Did ye smoke oprianal?"
"Aye, to help with the pain," she explained. And it had worked. The pain that had wracked her had subsided to a dull pulse, a placeless ache.
"Careful with that. I've seen what it can do to a man."
Her eyes gleamed, everything was fascinating. "I shall." She then turned to attend to the customers. "Did I use the accent just then?" she wondered as she walked towards a table where two iron smiths sat. She didn’t realize that with the last two words spoken she had allowed her accent to slip.
The tables were moving like mud slowly running down hill. The faces of the two smiths glistened like diamonds in a dim cave. Syndael took their coin as she tried to blink her mind straight so she would not expose herself as Nameless. All the while she was working, Helmeck watched her closely.
Later in the evening Jaques came through the front door and went straight to the back yard. He still had an edge of anger, but appeared cooler. The night went on, whispers of the flying Daughter of Agste and a mysterious dead body occasionally audible.
The night deepened and the euphoria Syndael felt began to fade. She was still wide awake from the oprianal, but the life the narcotic had bestowed on her surroundings slowed and was no longer visible to her. The crowd in the tavern grew as usual. Then she saw Turpin walk through the door, his right cheek bone slightly swollen.
"Follow the thief." Adom's words rang in her head. Syndael walked toward him, intent on setting a time for them to talk. "He is a major part of this, I know it!" Her thoughts then sharply jumped to the nausea and dull pulse of her abdomen that had been slowly returning. And she remembered the lovely release only oprianal had been able to give her.
"'Ello sir," she said in a sing-song, lilting way. "Hou'r ye?"
"Fine, woman," Turpin responded with a faint smile. "Is Helmeck in the back?"
"Aye, he is. Shall I get 'im for ye?"
"No, I can manage." A voice rose above the clamor of the crowd, calling for her as an empty mug was lifted into the air. "You're busy anyway."
She looked at the thick-bearded man with the empty mug and rolled her green eyes back to Turpin. "Aye," she said, annoyed. "I shall like to speak with ye somewhere quiet …" she began, but was cut off by the repeated call for ale and she left to fill the man's mug.
When she turned back, the young thief was gone, presumably into the backroom. Her opportunity to set a time had gone for the moment and
her mind began to drift. The wanting to numb the pain in her groin and abdomen grew. She continued with her duties until she realized someone had just walked past her. Syndael turned and saw Turpin leaving.
"Cursed!" She swore to herself. She had let an opportunity slip through her fingers. Quickly she went after him. She stopped when she heard a voice boom over the crowd.
"Syndael, ye'r customers are inside the tavern." She turned to see Helmeck glaring at her from across the room. Some of the patrons glanced over briefly, while others silently pointed and conversed with others at their tables. She walked across to Helmeck, who had just emerged from the backroom, and apologized to him.
"I wan'ed to ask 'im a..." she began her voice lilting again.
"Ye need to be more careful," Helmeck whispered. His eyes conveyed a different meaning to his words.
"Aye," she said.
"'ere," Helmeck said as he handed two bowls of stew to her. "Back corner." He gestured to two men sitting a table. She delivered the food, feeling all the while that everyone was talking about her.
The night progressed normally as the secret world of the living tables and chairs slept in Syndael's sight. She saw Jaques only once before closing. She ached badly between her thighs and she felt nauseous. The wariness had not yet fully returned as the oprianal wore off, but was coming back slowly.
"I want more O," she thought.
An hour or so later Helmeck announced the time had come to stop serving all food and drink. The usual grumbles ensued and shortly thereafter, the songs and shouts of the drunkards sounded in the night-dark mountain air. Syndael helped the other bar maidens brush the tables down and sweep the floor.
After everything was done, Syndael found an opportunity to sneak up to the second floor. She knocked gently on Jaques' door. A second later it swung open violently and Jaques stood there shirtless. His ribs were clearly visible, his gut sunken.
"I've come to say I'm sor'y," Syndael said looking him in the eye.
"Are you admitting you're Nameless?" he asked and angrily grabbed her blouse.
"Nay, sire," she protested against the accusation. "I took some of ye'r oprianal, and I want more."
"You’ll need to pay for that," Jaques said smiling evilly. He opened the door wider for the red-head to enter and further establish her credibility.
The stars danced and shined with all the colors of the rainbow. Colorful streaks of light were evidence of the changing positions of the stars as they wheeled across the night sky and the viewer's tainted perspective on the planet slowly changed. It was called Ashra by its inhabitants, and it had, for countless millennia followed its unchanging orbit around the red dwarf star known as Agste. There was no more pain, that had been replaced by a powerful euphoria. A new strength and awareness empowered Syndael as she walked through the quiet streets.
Making her way through the alleys and streets, each footfall made the stones bend and bow. She could still feel, although she was physically numb, where Jaques had been inside her, no more than an hour before. The warmth he had shot into her, and that had later run down her thigh, had long since dried and flaked as she walked. Eventually she came to the door she was looking for. It moved like water in a gentle breeze. She knocked on it twice. The sound echoing in her ears. Her skin felt moist. She knocked twice more and the door opened.
Naethaniel glared at her for a moment then let her in.
"What in the burning abyss where you thinking," he blared after closing the door. His tone jarred her back into the physical world, his usual 'report' greeting replaced by his inquiry. "The whole cursed operation is at risk because of your jōhyō show-off this morn!"
"Something big is happening," she protested. Her eyes were wild and startled, and she had stopped hiding behind her faux accent. "Jaques confirmed it tonight."
Naethaniel studied her for a moment, looking intently into her distant eyes. "Are you narcing?"
Syndael sighed before confirming what Naethaniel knew. The effect of the narcotic hugged her mind, a panic began to beat in her chest.
"Syndael," Naethaniel said, his voice cooler yet still angry. "We need to do what it takes, but do not commit an act like that again. You may have truly needed to question him, yet not by swinging through the morn streets."
"Aye, sire," she said formally.
"If you need to be a narc for him to trust you then do it, however, keep tighter reins."
"Ye'r lucky I'm a softy for Daughters of Agste." A thick, rough, familiar voice said from the dining room. She turned to see Helmeck step into the kitchen. "And a friend of Nameless shaz'tets."
Naethaniel scoffed at the insult and Helmeck smiled widely.
"Wha' are ye doin' 'ere?" Syndael asked, automatically slipping into her faux accent.
"There's no need for that," Helmeck said as he held a hand up and moved to embrace her. "I was talkin' to ye'r …" he glanced at Naethaniel, "… uncle," he finished loosely.
"About what?"
"The 'appenin's at the Lotus. And ye?" Helmeck smirked.
"The same."
"You are lucky it was just Helmeck who heard you slip from your accent," Naethaniel told her. Syndael thought back to earlier that evening and realized her earlier fears regarding her accent had just been confirmed.
"As for the notes that were given to us," Syndael turned to Naethaniel, "It is a set up, he is not to survive."
"I have sent word to Shaene and Miche already. They are to keep an eye out for the boy should he attempt to rob the Grand Wizard."
"The Grand Wizard?" Syndael asked, her sight was still fluctuating between the real and the imagined, and the sensations she was feeling were a wonderful blend of all her senses seeping through her numb skin. "Jaques told me he is to enter the castle."
Naethaniel and Helmeck looked at each other and then at her, clearly surprised. "Are you certain," Naethaniel asked. When Syndael nodded he said, "That complicates things. He would have to do both tonight." His scarred lip twitched as he thought.
"Aye," Helmeck murmured to himself, "I bes' be off."
"Evening Helmeck," Naethaniel said as Syndael curtsied, still wobbly from the oprianal. Helmeck left through the kitchen door and went out into the alley. "I am not certain if I could get a message to Treg tonight or not, the hour is late. Stay here until I return."
"There must always be someone here." She nodded as she repeated the understood operational procedure. With that, Naethaniel left through the front door.
Time crept by slowly, and the living, inanimate objects around her began to slow in their fluid movements. Syndael saw the epitaph to Adom was no longer there. She knew it had been packed up, ready to be sent to the Citadel. She wondered what happened to the liquor they saved once it reached the capital.
After a considerable wait, the door opened and Naethaniel entered. Syndael, who was sitting at the table, turned to visually greet him.
"I got the message out," he said. "It is in Avenste's hands now."
Syndael snorted at this statement, remembering how she had felt like a true goddess earlier that night. "Does he know who to look for?"
"He knows." Naethaniel looked out the window. "It will begin to get light out soon." He turned to her. "You need to rest."
"I'm fine." Syndael felt weary yet knew sleep would not accept her anytime soon.
"Go home and rest. You need to be clear-headed in the morn."
"Jaques does not trust me."
"Then why would he tell you about Turpin and the castle," Naethaniel asked. "A test perhaps?"
"I do not think so." Syndael thought how badly she wanted to taste Oprianal's kiss once more, and that wrestled with the following thought of needing sleep. "He is crazed. Suspicious of everyone. I'm not even certain if he knew Adom was Nameless or if he just thought he was."
Naethaniel sighed, thinking. lip twitching. "That is all the more reason for you to be extra careful."
"Aye, sire." She looked out the window and saw the faint lightening of the air as Agst
e, the red sun, child of Idtune, the goddess of the sky, began to stir.
"I need sleep," Naethaniel said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "And so do you. Do not trouble yourself, Treg will find him and bring him here."
"Adom said the thief is the key."
"Not every door can be unlocked by only one key." He turned towards the bedroom he stayed in. "Do not narc anymore if it can be avoided."
"Aye, sire," she said sleepily as the buildings slowly became lit by the morning rays. She left through the front door, locking it with a spare key sewn into her blouse.
The people who lived within the walls began wearily to exit their abodes as Syndael made her way to her hut. She decided to go through the empty market, instead of her usual route along Agste street. Syndael paused at an intersection, looking around at the early morning streets, and that is when she saw him.
He was limping through the streets, heading north. There was a small trail of blood that followed him, a single drop every two or three paces. He was using his left hand to support the damaged ribs under his right arm. Syndael could not see the injured young man's face from where she was standing, yet found him a queer sight in the morn, and in turn decided to follow him.
Snaking through the streets, Syndael shadowed the young man, taking extra care to not be seen. The wounded figure finally came to a stop, south of her own hut. He stood before the hut she had seen Turpin enter just before she chased the Shadow Claw. The young man limped his way forward. He entered the hut, closing and locking the door behind him.
Syndael stood outside the door Turpin had entered, her fist raised ready to knock. "He escaped the castle but is not at the headquarters," she thought. "How would I have known where he lives when he asks?"
She lowered her hand and put her ear to the door. She could hear the faint sounds of grunting and groaning, and the soft sound of splashing water. Syndael pulled her head away from the door, looked around for any sign she had been seen, then headed to her own hut for a couple hours of sleep before she had to be back at the Lotus.
Syndael awoke at noon. After spending years in undercover work and training in Nazarálara-cupa, she was accustomed to sleep deprivation. However, this morn, her body ached and exhaustion had replaced her usual boundless energy. There was a dull pain in her abdomen and her sterile uterus. The area around her pelvic bone, where she had been kicked, still hurt as well. A slight tremor rippled under the surface of her skin, like a chill she could not shake. Her thoughts turned to the bitter tasting purple flower.
The Shadow of Bristork Page 4
