Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  Creg knew he couldn’t beat Ōbhin in a fair fight.

  With a squeak, the bandit darted around the corner and out of sight. Are you going to be a badger and flee to your den? The pests infested the Vobreth Mountains in his home of Qoth. They’d break into food stores. When interrupted, they’d always fled back to their dens. Killing one was something boys did. The bold ones, at least. It was dangerous following a badger into its den, but if you did, you could end a threat to your family’s survival during the long winter.

  It was time to move on. To kill Ust and vanish. Ōbhin had made up for killing Ni’mod. He’d tried to save Carstin. Best he could do was find what happened to his body before he took off Ust’s head. Maybe he’d kill that dark sorcerer, too. Dje’awsa . . . The world would be better without him causing disharmony to the Tones.

  And me?

  He reached the corner of the building and peered around it. The skinny Creg was easy to spot. His blue vest and brown shirt beneath contrasted nicely. His lanky form stood out from the men in this district. He was scrawny, underfed, and wearing a scruffy coat patched at the elbows.

  Just as Creg vanished down a street, Ōbhin stepped out and rushed after, his chainmail rattling. Shocked gasps from women in dresses cut in a similar fashion to Avena’s—high necks, long sleeves, and hems almost brushing cobblestones—melted out of his path. The men shook their heads and muttered, “Dirt-stained Tethyrians.”

  He reached the intersection and peered down it. Creg slouched down the middle of the street, not in as much of a hurry. He looked more relaxed. Ōbhin smiled and waited until the slovenly man had gone another block down the street before stepping out after him.

  *

  “What is he up to?” muttered Avena as Ōbhin paused at the corner of the next intersection and peered around it. The way he moved felt so . . . secretive. Clandestine.

  Avena chewed on her lower lip as she waited, afraid to get too close to him. Her eyes fell on his sword. He had fought to protect her, but he had also attacked her once. He’d killed Ni’mod on the Brotherhood’s orders. Now he skulked through the streets. This had nothing to do with protecting Dualayn.

  She wanted to trust Ōbhin. He hadn’t looked down on her for being a woman when she’d first picked up the binder. He’d trained her, seeing she needed to learn it so she couldn’t be helpless. He’d even protected her from embarrassment by keeping secret what they’d seen that night.

  So what are you doing?

  Ōbhin slipped around the corner. Avena hurried after, her skirts swishing as she crossed the road. The clatter of a wagon grew behind her. Hooves clomped. A merchant passed her as she reached the corner and peered around it.

  Ōbhin strolled down the street, his hand on his sword hilt.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Confusion wreathed Avena as she followed Ōbhin through the streets of Kash. They were heading north towards the river, entering a seedier district. She could smell the mix of salt and sour mud on the air, making her nose itch. The clouds above grew bleaker, a low rumble of thunder echoing around her. The world grew darker despite it being near noon.

  She’d followed him for a quarter of an hour. He moved cautiously. It was like he was following someone himself. He would wait at intersections and peer around corners. He stood out in his armor, easy for her to follow after.

  She became more and more aware that, though plain, her dark-blue dress was out of place with the poor garb around her. She had lace at the cuffs and a pattern of polished, red beads along the neckline and down in a plunging V towards her breasts. It was a tad ornamental, and maybe a little immodest, but it didn’t show any flesh. It wasn’t like the scandalous dresses she’d seen young noblewomen wear, flaunting their motherly attributes.

  Or like the woman lounging at the street corner where Ōbhin stopped. Rogue reddened the woman’s cheeks and stained her lips. Her dress was a pale pink-orange, faded and frayed at the hem. It was open at the square bodice, showing off the low-cut chemise the woman wore beneath, the thin linen leaving little to the imagination.

  The woman spoke to Ōbhin, gaining his attention. Embarrassed heat spread to Avena’s ears. Is he just renting a wife?

  After a moment, the whore scowled and turned away as Ōbhin marched off.

  Relieved she wasn’t wasting her time, Avena hurried after, her heeled shoes striking the cobblestone streets. The pavers were worn and crumbling, buckling up in places. A wagon clattered by, axle groaning at the shoddy conditions. She passed a jewelchine lamp. The glass holding the diamond was surrounded by bands of heavy iron, ugly and thick, clearly later additions.

  Avena swallowed at the rough men who moved around her. She glanced down at her skirt; the slight bulge of her binder strapped to her calf reassured her. She ignored the speculative looks. It was still noonday. Even in the poorest parts of Kash, a woman could walk without fear of having her head rapped by a sap and robbed, and maybe violated, while she lay face down in the gutter.

  She pressed on, skirts swirling. If any did try . . . Her fingers itched to rip her binder out now. To stalk down the street with it out to leave no doubt she was a woman who could thump their heads back.

  Ōbhin reached the next intersection. He peered around it, leaning against a building whose whitewashed exterior grayed and peeled, revealing rotting wood beneath. The air held moisture. She could hear the flow of the Ustern River that bisected Kash in half. Gulls cawed. In an alley, one fought with a rat over a piece of trash, flapping white wings tipped in black feathers. She grimaced at the size of the rat.

  It’s as big as some cats, she thought and shuddered. A tingle raced up her spine. She was grateful to the ratters that roamed Dualayn’s estate. Frisk and Baby Lynx were fierce cats who kept the pests at bay.

  Ōbhin moved on. She headed for the corner. The air grew cooler. Wetter. The wind carried the moisture from the river. They were near the estuary where the ocean warred with the Ustern for dominance. During high tides, waves would flow upriver. She peered around the corner. Ōbhin marched to a public house, three stories tall with bubbled and smoky windows set in it. A sign hung out front with a gray finger thrust upward, only . . . its shape was almost like a mushroom. Skinny.

  Her cheeks warmed at the disgusting sign; its name printed in bold letters proclaimed it the Gray Pillar Tavern.

  One of those dark-red women lounged out front, her dress half-unlaced, her heavy bosom almost spilling out. She had long, brown hair and a boil at the corner of her lip. She leered at a sailor walking down the road with the swagger of the salt in his step.

  Ōbhin didn’t go to the tavern, but to the alley running beside it. Thunder cracked above. A drop of rain landed on Avena’s forehead.

  *

  A light drizzle fell as Ōbhin entered the alley running along the tavern’s side. He glanced at the dingy window. The glass was cheap, full of bubbles and warped in places, distorting the image. He rubbed his glove on it to cleanse some of the grime and peered into the common room. A pair of sailors diced at one table while at the bar, several old men, shoulders sagging and lips puckered from lack of teeth, sipped at flagons of ale. They appeared to be arguing, the one in the middle turning back and forth.

  Through the mostly empty room, he watched Whiner Creg cross it to a backroom. He opened a door and slipped in without a word. Ōbhin moved down the alley, disturbing a pair of squeaking rats that scurried down the building’s side. One vanished beneath a pile of rotten lumber. Another alley ran behind the tavern. He moved to the first window he found and peered in.

  Through the brown dirt, he spotted Creg nodding to Hook, who was standing up. Ust’s second-in-command brandished his namesake before him. It thrust from a leather cap over the stump of his left wrist. The rusty implement had a dull gleam in the spurting lantern hanging from a bare rafter. The tavern looked too poor to have diamond lights.

  Beside Hook, the only other bandit in the room was Stone. The big man didn’t say a word as he ran a razor over his head,
shaving. He always kept his head bald. He had the build of a boulder, the muscles in his arms flexing as he worked.

  “Just sit down, Hook,” Stone muttered. “Stop pretending you’re Ust.”

  “I’m Ust when he’s not here! And Creg, you ain’t supposed to be back yet.”

  Creg shrugged and leaned against the wall. He looked nervous. Ōbhin smiled before ducking out of sight. Ust wouldn’t be happy that Creg had been spotted. The Qothian’s hand gripped the pommel of his resonance blade. He inspected the wall. The building had once been painted a vibrant red, but it had faded to a dull crimson. Streaks of brown crusted down the sides in places, spilling off from the roof. Where the paint peeled, the wood beneath was gray and rotting. He could hack through it. Two slashes of his sword across it, and he could kick through the wall and take off Ust’s head.

  First, Ust had to be in there.

  “Let Ust deal with you,” muttered Hook.

  “When is he getting here?” Whiner Creg asked.

  “Eager to get your bunghole reamed?” asked Hook. “You’re supposed to be watching Ōbhin. You better not have found a whore to scale your tower.”

  “I know what Ust told me,” Creg said. A chair creaked like someone sat in it. “Anything to drink?”

  “Just the piss they call ale here,” said Stone.

  “Why are we in this cesspit?”

  “Ust’s choice,” Hook answered.

  “Could have picked a place with a landlord that brews a decent beer,” Creg groused. “Black’s foul piss, is Ust upstairs tumbling Ruvine? I thought he was supposed to be here.”

  “He went out,” said Hook. “He’ll be back.”

  Ōbhin just had to wait. To be patient—

  Footsteps creaked down the alley. He whirled around. A rat scurried into view. It darted towards him before its beady eyes realized he was there. With a squeak, it scampered to the right and vanished into a hole in the foundation of a warehouse. The footsteps came closer. He tightened his hand on the sword hilt. A shadow appeared then a figure stepped around the corner.

  Ōbhin’s sword whipped from its scabbard.

  *

  Avena gasped, flinching as Ōbhin cut short his slash. She almost fell on her rump. Her face went pale. She clutched the front of her dress, gripping the pattern of red beads. Her heart pumped cold ice through her veins. He slammed his sword back into its scabbard as she gulped in breaths.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice low. “You followed me?”

  “Obviously.” She shifted. “I thought you might be . . .”

  “Sneaking off to see Grey?” Derision twisted across his brown features. “You still think I work for him?”

  Avena shrugged. “I didn’t know what to think. You’ve been . . . moody.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “I have good reason,” she said, planting her hands on her hips. Her eyes flicked to the wall. “Is it Ust? He’s here?”

  “Not yet.” His hand rested on the emerald jewelchine inserted in the pommel of his sword. “Some of them are.”

  “Are you going to . . . ?” She made a vague slashing gesture.

  He nodded once. A short, almost defiant jerk.

  “You must be the only man with a resonance blade in the city. After the riots, the guards have to know about it. About you. If you kill someone with it, they’ll investigate you.” A hand squeezed about her heart. “You plan on leaving.” Before she could stop herself, she crossed the two cubits between them and grabbed his sword arm beneath the sleeve of his leather tunic he wore underneath the chainmail. “You can’t do that.”

  “I can,” he said. “I will.”

  Her hand tightened. This dread in her swelled, a hollow pit looming inside of her. She didn’t know why she felt terrified by that fact. She wasn’t sure she could trust the man half the time. She should hate him. Fear him, but . . .

  She had to convince him to stay. She could muddle out her emotions later.

  She had to think. She had time. Ust wasn’t here. She stepped back from Ōbhin. He eyed her as she leaned against the wall under the eave. The rain drifted down, a fine mist that wetted his black hair. Drops ran down his face. He ignored it, ignored her, and studied the wall. He was ready to act.

  He’ll cut his way through and take off Ust’s head. Avena wanted to let him. If any deserved death, it was Ust. Yet this wasn’t justice shining bright with Elohm’s White. This was an assassination. Murder was no different than any other act of banditry.

  She worried her lower lip as she pondered the words to convince Ōbhin to stay.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A fog spilled off the river as the day lengthened. Three times had the Rainbow Belfry chimed the hour. Ōbhin glanced at Avena. She sat on a crate, her head lowered. She had a desperate look as she drifted through her thoughts, a youth floundering in a blizzard. She saw nothing but white in every direction and knew if she chose wrong, she would find only a slow, numbing death.

  His thumb rubbed across the sword’s jewelchine, feeling the gold wires.

  “Where is he, Hook?” Creg would say from time to time.

  “He’ll be here soon,” Hook grunted in a tone of a soldier passing time, not caring.

  “That’s what you said an hour ago. And an hour before that. Do you know what that stained word even means?”

  “Yep. It means soon.” Hook chuckled. “Eager for Ust to peel your hide?”

  Avena stood up from the crate, her skirts rustling. He glanced at her. Rain sprinkled her shoulders, soaking into the dark fabric of her blouse. Gray eddies rippled in the mist at the alley mouth behind her. She stretched her back, her arms reaching for the skies.

  “Why are you still here?” Ōbhin said. “It’s growing dark.” He nodded at the fog. “It’s going to be thick tonight.”

  “I’ve been thinking of what to say to you,” Avena said.

  “Oh?” he asked, glancing at the window. Stone appeared to be sleeping, slumped over. Hook now had his boot up on the table, his chair leaned back. His bulbous and veined nose twitched.

  “I know you don’t believe in Elohm.”

  “True. There is no god or gods, there are only the Tones. The notes of creation that still sing through us. Each has a name and should be revered, but they are not gods. They are not . . . intelligent like you or I. They are merely forces of nature, with personalities of a kind, that can adjust the world. They can react in ways a rock cannot.”

  “Well, let’s pretend Elohm does exist,” Avena said. “Do you know how He sees us? Me, you, even Ust?”

  Ōbhin shook his head.

  “Stained diamonds.”

  “What?”

  “Diamonds are the most beautiful of all the seven gems,” she said. “Clear as glass but possessing an inner fire. They are almost like prisms. They are beautiful and strong. They are something that can shine with brilliance.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and pointed. A steady glow spilled down the alley, lighting up the fog behind her. The day was coming to an end, night falling. Someone had activated the diamond jewelchine lamp out front to illuminate the street.

  “See, that is the pure light of a diamond,” Avena continued. “We all have that light in our souls, but we’re stained. As we go through life, we pick up more smears of dirt and muck that obscure the beauty inside of us. However, Elohm can wipe us clean. He can make us sparkle, but only if we let Him. I know you did something bad, but what will murdering Ust accomplish?”

  “Ust and his men will die,” Ōbhin said, his tone flat. Cold.

  Avena nodded, a sad smile on her lips. “You’ll shatter their gems. Keep them from ever shining.”

  “Some gems can never be polished no matter how hard you try. Especially Ust and his men. I know them.”

  “You were one of his men.” Avena’s eyes penetrated his flesh.

  He set his jaw. “I’m not Ust or Hook. I never reveled in cruelty for its own sake. They don’t deserve to have their
sins washed away. You Lothonians believe in a dark pit that those souls too weighed down with Black go to.”

  She grimaced.

  “They deserve to go there. I’ll send them tonight.”

  “What about you? What will you do once you’ve added more grime to your soul?”

  “I’ll flee once I’m done.”

  “And?”

  “I’ll return to what I was.”

  “So you’ll be lost in the dark?” she asked, her words echoing down the alleyway.

  *

  Avena felt that emptiness in her wanting to swallow her as she studied Ōbhin’s face. Those words had whispered out of her own soul. Lost in darkness . . . It was how she was after Evane’s death. That same emptiness that dwelt in her, that same flaw, existed in Ōbhin. She didn’t know how to fix herself, but maybe she could fix him.

  “I try so hard to keep from sinking into the dark, Ōbhin. I was in it once. Lost for two years. I didn’t speak the entire time. Daughter Heana, who was one of the daughters who ran my orphanage, coaxed me out of it bit by bit. She reminded me every day that I was a diamond just needing some polish.” Avena smiled at him. “Don’t you deserve that polish? Don’t you deserve to be clean?”

  “How?” he asked, his voice thick, almost cracking. He stared down at his sable-gloved hands. “I can’t undo it.”

  “But you were trying.” She took his hand in hers, the leather contrasting with her pale flesh. The world grew darker behind him as night fell faster. The light from the diamond jewelchine spilled past her, casting her shadow on his chest. “That’s why you agreed, right? To work for Dualayn? You were going to make amends.”

  He nodded.

  “So what changed?”

  *

  His brow furrowed. What did change . . . ?

  “It’s hard,” he muttered.

  Avena’s hand tightened on his. “Isn’t it? Are you scared of effort? You?”

  “I’m no braver than any other man.”

  She laughed, a pure sound that echoed around them. The fog behind her glowed with a pure light. Unlike flame, the light from a jewelchine didn’t flicker or dance. It was steady, a constant brilliance. Like the sun, only a pure white instead of a warm yellow.