OF ASHES AND BLOOD
CHAPTER ONE: THE ENDING
Beggar’s Row was a particularly filthy place. The stench of human waste and rotting garbage hung in the air, an almost physical barrier to those that waded through the murk. Collis clamped her mouth shut as she plodded along, swallowing back the sour taste of bile that rose in her throat. She made her way through the streets, deftly slipping between the paupers that lay in her path. They were little more than skeletons with brown skin stretched too thin across their bones. Their sallow cheeks and sunken eyes lent them a ghostly visage.
Collis kept her eyes on the stone pathway at the end of the alley, the cobblestone walk that promised respite from the wasteland through which she walked. She was careful. She was careful not to look the beggars in the eyes. Careful not to touch them as she passed. They were sick. Each and every one of them. Sick with more than any disease, any plague. They were incurably sick, and if given the chance they would drag her down into their cursed world and she would fall into the dirt among them, and die, just as they did.
So, she was careful. But she was not careful enough. Before she could stop it, fingers threaded themselves through the hem of her cloak, catching sharply on the warm wool. They tugged at her robe with surprising strength, pulling her up short. For the first time, Collis could not ignore the poor soul that lay in the muck next to her feet.
“Please,” she heard the words crackle from the bag of bones beneath her. Collis stared down into the face of a woman. She was gaunt. Her skin too thin. Her bones too brittle. She had the appearance of someone that could be on the brink of maturity or nearing a hundred years old. Her round eyes were black, hollow, and the emptiness Collis saw within them made it impossible to tell which age was the right one.
Collis swallowed back the sadness and the fear. She stooped down, wrapping her hand in the cloak about her legs, and grabbed the pauper’s hand in her own.
“I’m sorry,” Collis whispered to the woman, wishing there were something more she could do. She stared into the woman’s face, stared at the black goop that seemed to ooze freely from her mouth, stared at the red welts that marred her once beautiful skin. For a moment, the woman seemed at peace. Then Collis dropped the woman’s begging hand in the mud, and quickly as she dared, she rose from the beggar woman’s side and stole away towards the end of the alley. Collis could still hear her cries echoing off the walls around her as she walked away.
As she made her way farther north away from Beggar’s Row, the shops became markedly more elegant. Far from the run-down hovels of broken, rotting wood and rusted bits of metal that held the hobbled shops together in the poorer areas of the Sect, these shops were made of finely crafted woods and stone. The pillars outside of the shops each had intricately carved pieces, scenes that would depict what the shop carried within. Some showed medicines, powders and crystals and herbs that were designed to help heal the sick and injured. Some held the markings of a delicate battle scene, with swords and axes raised high in triumph, the sure sign of a smithy within. Neither were what she needed, though she admired the artistry and skills of the carver.
Flowers of every colour lined the streets, the delicate blooms of the nearby lilac trees catching on the breeze. They danced on the wind, soft petals of white and purple twisting and twirling before her, and for a moment she found peace within them. It wasn’t often she got to see things of beauty, and she had long ago learned to cherish them whenever she did.
She paused next to the apothecary, rummaging through the rucksack at her side.
“Where are you,” she muttered, digging around the various scrolls in her bag. At last, she felt the waxy seal she sought. It was thicker than the wax she used, the parchment it sealed sturdier than the sheafs she was used to. She withdrew the scroll from her bag. It was rolled tight and adorned with a single strip of blue cloth, a thin line of silk that gave the parchment an air of importance.
“I suppose that’s what you get when you’re sent an official summons,” she murmured to herself. “You get the nice paper and the thick wax.” She shook her head.
Few people milled about near the entrance to shops, and many were closing their shutters, finally finished after a long day. But the man she sought was waiting for her, she knew Maeda would have made sure of that, and so she hurried on, trying her best to remain inconspicuous. Soon she found herself at the end of the road, with only one shop remaining on her right. At last, she had come to the Stationer.
A small bell chimed as she opened the door, and the warmth of firelight embraced her as she closed the door behind her. Flames danced cheerily in the hearth at the back of the room, and sconces that adorned the walls on both sides held the flickering fires of candlelight.
Collis was overwhelmed. Books of all kinds lined the walls, some little more than sheafs of paper held together with twine, others fully bound with leather and embossed in gold. Spines of reds and greens, blacks and blues lay scattered among the mess, but there was a sort of dignified grace behind it all. In the center of the room stood a long desk with a shiny lacquered top. Another bell sat atop the desk, and Collis made her way over to it. The delicate chime it made as she pressed the top of it with her finger reminded her of the birds that often flitted through the trees near the Mountains.
The faint sound of grumbling floated up to her from a room tucked away behind the desk, and soon a disgruntled, middle-aged man appeared. His shuffling gait scratched along the wooden floor, the sound of his shoes dull against the grain. When Collis looked into the darkness of his eyes, she saw a man carrying a deep pain.
“What can I do for you, miss?” he asked, his voice gravelly and hoarse.
“I’ve been sent to speak with Stationer Haan,” Collis replied, pulling the hood back from her face.
The man’s black eyes studied her face, lips pursed in a tight line.
“You’re too young to be doing their bidding, girl,” he said softly, a look of sadness on his face. “How much did they pay you?”
Confused, Collis shook her head. “I’m sorry?”
“The Druids,” he explained. “They paid you to come here, looking for Haan, didn’t they?”
“No, no,” Collis shook her head again, auburn tresses snaking out from within her hood. “Nothing of the sort, I — ”
“Stationer Haan isn’t here anymore,” the man interjected, rubbing his brow. “He was my father. Passed away nearly a fortnight ago. Had the Black Lung. Terrible disease. I pray you never watch anyone struggle with it. I’m Habfpor, Haan’s son. I’m…I’m tending to things, now he’s gone.”
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I…Maeda didn’t tell me…I-I didn’t know.”
“Maeda?” he asked, his face turning cold. “What does that old witch want?”
Collis offered the summons still held in her hand. “It’s a summons,” she explained. “For work. The elders — ”
“Now you listen to me,” he snarled, placing a large fist on the desk before him. “My old man had a fondness for Druids that I’ll never understand. He says he was saved by them. That’s his business. But now that he’s gone, don’t be expecting this shop to scribe for you lot anymore. I should have known you were one of them,” he said, then spat towards the fire. “You have that stink about you. Holier than thou. You Druids make me sick.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” Collis began, hoping there was some way to salvage things. If she didn’t return with a signed agreement from a scribe, she’d have to come again in the morning. And one trip was dangerous enough.
“Your kind disgusts me. My old man was soft-hearted, but I’m not. Everything you are is an abomination. You don’t belong on this earth. You all need to be wiped out.”
“I’m sorry,” Collis said again, trying to assuage him. “I’ll go. Please, I don’t want any trouble.”
“Too late for that,” he breathed heavily. “You should have known you were asking for trouble the second you left Beggar’s Row. That’s where you filth belong. That’s where you should have stayed.”
In a flash he darted out from behind the desk, and in four broad steps he was at the door barring her way out. He threw the door open wide, and the sound of it banging against the wooden pillars outside cracked through the night sky.
“Druid!” he shouted, cupping his hands about his mouth. “Druid in here. Call the Nightguard!”
Collis could hear the chaos erupting outside. The faint light of torches being lit along the alleyway filtered in through the window, the cries of others in the Sect calling for her to come out to meet them pounded in her ears.
“Please,” she said again, her voice high and frightened. “I just want to go. Please just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise. Just let me go…”
“You’re not going anywhere, girl,” he snarled, and any bit of humanity that had once been present in his eyes was erased. “Except straight to the Secta. He can deal with you.”
Frantic, Collis searched around for a way out. She darted behind the desk, looking for a trap door, a back door, perhaps another window.
There was nothing.
She felt a hand on her head then, pulling down her hood. Rough fingers wrapped themselves in her hair and pulled her up off of her feet. Collis shrieked in fear as much as pain.
“Please…” she whispered again, but the fear within her was constricting her throat, muscles tightening until it was hard to speak.
“Nightguard’s almost here,” he whispered, and there was a dark hunger in his eyes that made her recoil.
His sour breath was hot against her skin as he leaned down against her face. “Beg all you want,” he murmured, his tongue darting out and tasting her flesh. “No one’s going to help you. Not tonight. Tonight, you’ll get what you deserve.”
She couldn’t speak. Her limbs were frozen, her mind silently screaming for help. All she could do was shrink within herself as she felt his hand pawing at her skirt. As his hand grazed her thigh, nails dragging along the softness of her skin, something broke within her. He pressed his mouth against hers, hot and full of hatred, and she squirmed to get away. He pulled her tighter against him, and with his free hand, he wormed his way into her robe and tore her garments away. They fell to the floor, seams spilling thread all around them. She felt the hot prick of tears behind her eyes, felt them falling in a rush, and she swallowed hard against them. Now was not the time to cry.
He grabbed her then and shoved her to the floor, her body landing awkwardly, her bones creaking and popping as she fell. The pain she felt was instantaneous, but it was nothing compared to the anger building inside her. She tried to stand, but as she moved, he balled his hand into a fist and struck her. She could vaguely see him undressing, his movements sharp and hungry. She tried again to stand, but he pushed her down, this time laying the full weight of his body against her.
And the last vestiges of fear that she felt gave way to unbridled rage. Without a second thought, she snapped her fingers, and there in her palm a fire sprang to life. It was small, but the white flame licked hungrily at her skin, and the heat of it sent pain shooting up her arm. But she welcomed that pain. That pain was her retribution, her savior. She clung to it, even as he bent to kiss her again. She clung to it even as he fumbled with the remaining bits of fabric about her pelvis. And when he looked up to sneer at her, she took that flame, and pressed it squarely against his face.
He howled and struggled upright.
“Bitch!” he screamed, holding the skin where she had burned him. She could see the bits of flesh melting between his fingers; angry, red, and mottled. Tears streamed from his eyes, but the look of rage they held she would never forget. He lunged for her, but Collis was quicker. She darted away from his lumbering frame, dropping low to the ground. Grabbing up her robe, she draped it around her shoulders and stood.
“You should have let me leave,” she uttered, voice hollow. Flame still flickering in her hand, she made her way to the bookshelves.
“Now,” she whispered, swallowing down any bit of emotion she felt. “Now, you’re going to pay for it.”
Collis spread her fingers wide and poured all of her heat and energy into the flame. It grew, brighter, stronger, and the white flame tongued the sky. With one last look toward the Stationer, she pressed her hands against the bookshelves and watched as the flame spread outward in a matter of moments, burning everything in its path. In the blink of an eye the shop stood burning around them, thick grey smoke curling towards the dark night sky. Shouts from outside heralded the Nightguard’s arrival, but Collis didn’t care. She had eyes only for the hulking scribe. She watched as anger was replaced by panic, watched as he dropped to the floor as smoke filled the room, watched the way he wriggled on his hands and knees, desperate to be free of the burning tomb around him.
Then, knowing the flames could hurt her no more than she could hurt them, she stepped through the fire that was ready to swallow them both, and emerged on the other side into the cool evening air.
read the next chapter in the story here https://medium.com/@SamanthaHuson/of-ashes-and-blood-be65776b386e
