Plan of Action

Ferric sped through the serpentine alleyways. The murky labyrinth was an old friend, just like the Graystar forms drilled into his bones. Brushing aside a piece of stinking cloth, Ferric slipped into a hidden alleyway and stopped outside what appeared to be an abandoned building, made all the more eerie by the silent darkness. The pugilist clambered up the jagged masonry, vanished into a narrow aperture and emerged through a creaking door.

“Last one in,” said Ferric, “close the door.”

The ceiling, or what remained of it, was a jigsaw of tattered rags clinging to the wooden frame like old skin on bones. Unimpeded by the darkness, Ferric lit a candle while kicking out crates for each of his guests. Gently, he set the feeble flame atop a table alongside a bottle.

“First,” he took a swig and handed the liquor to Zaile. “It’s good to be alive.”

Zaile wrinkled his face. This was the second time his nostrils suffered the sharp assault of alcohol. For want of solidarity rather than sedation, Zaile swallowed a mouthful that left him gagging as he handed it onto Euphon. To their collective surprise, Euphon downed the foul grog like a hardened veteran.

“Hardly a fitting drink for a lordling,” teased Tiana as she snatched the bottle from Euphon. “You’re an odd one.”

“Tastes like the western theatre,” Euphon was more bitter than the drink. “I was to sortie until High Guardian Lufeir decided to enlist my services for the Peacekeepers in Sahjax. Anyway, what is this place?”

“Our hideout,” Ferric declared proudly. “You can never be cautious enough in the business of violence.”

Eyes no longer watery, Zaile surveyed the derelict building Ferric had occupied. Scattered crates, much like the one he sat on, littered a corner, with a pile of broken bricks for company. Sheets of curved metal, bent so out of shape that they could serve no purpose, rested their battered bodies against the walls. Comfort was definitely not a priority here.

“Hey,” Kannu stabbed a finger at Euphon. “You got some explaining to do. Who are you?”

Euphon chuckled sheepishly but soon realised he could not laugh off the question. Sighing, he got to his feet, buckled his sword, and slipped into his coat.

“I am Euphon, from the house of Lufeir,” he made a sweeping bow. “High Guardian Vantis Lufeir is my grandfather.”

“So you have the pedigree,” Ferric took on a more serious tone. “Now I can blame you for the entire debacle without feeling bad.”

“Me?” Euphon pointed to himself, incredulous. “I –”

“Please sit down,” Ferric lifted a hand before the Apprentice could begin his animated protest. “How many enchantments did Solmis have?”

“I don’t know.”

Zaile peered left and right only to find his companions equally confused. Sensing puzzling but vital morsels of information, he perked up his ears, determined to commit the remaining conversation to memory.

“When we first spoke, you simply said you weren’t aware of any,” Ferric remarked coldly, his eyes narrowing. “You might as well have lied. Let’s continue. How many artefacts was he carrying?”

Euphon was quiet, his silence an answer itself.

“I recall you stating that you didn’t think he had any noteworthy weaponry.” Ferric through another punchy accusation at Euphon. “Have you fought someone of that calibre?”

“No,” Euphon conceded.

“Do you know any silver collars who might best Solmis in single combat?”

Ferric already knew the answer to this question. His reward for surviving the Zohrenburg campaign was first-hand knowledge of divine warfare, secrets one could not learn if not fighting alongside a Finnardian host. He studied Euphon with a fascination that could only be matched by a Freak that had caught a whiff of blood, waiting for the Apprentice to deflect or lie.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Euphon answered, heaving a great sigh. “No, I don’t think there are many Guardians who would even stand a chance. Quinton might hold his own, but probably not for long. The western devils excel at single combat, and this one seems particularly so. I think we’ll need at least three Guardians to fight him to a standstill.”

“You didn’t think that when he ambushed your unit?” Ferric lifted a brow.

Euphon chewed on his lower lip.

“Solmis caught even your master unaware, and Rondel was no slouch.” Ferric pressed on. “Did you consider that –”

“Alright!” Euphon pushed back. “I – lied. But would you have given up on the bounty had you known any different?”

“Of course not,” Tiana laughed. “Isn’t that why we’re all here?”

And with that, the foul bottle of grog circled the room once more. Zaile thought to refuse at first but decided against it. Somehow, the second swig tasted worse.

“The lady makes a fair point,” Ferric chuckled. “Let’s talk about Curses.”

Having no secret to concede, Zaile shrugged at the request. Marcus had seen to that, pricking his fingers religious fervour until he turned ten. Tiana pursed her lips and folded her arms in displeasure. Kannu, however, bristled at the notion.

“Strip me naked, why don’t you?” the giant flared his nostrils. “If you want to know so badly, then show us your Curse first.”

Chuckling, Ferric blew out the candles, leaving but the fleeting moonlight to flutter about his hideout. Before anyone could adjust to the darkness, Ferric flicked a copper coin straight into Kannu’s noise and was rewarded with an indignant growl.

“Night vision,” Ferric lit the candle again and retrieved his projectile. “That’s for cutting my hand.”

Tianna made a coquettish giggle that pacified an otherwise enraged Kannu. Wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders, she pressed her breast against him and whispered into his ears. With a hand mindlessly tickling his chin, Tiana cleared her throat.

“I touch the wind,” she shot a finger at the candle, snuffing it out again. “Nothing too useful. What about you, Zaile?”

“Nothing,” Zaile replied curtly.

When an annoyed Ferric lit the candle again, all eyes were on Kannu. Zaile yawned and wiped away the tears. If Kannu possessed a weapon besides his great axe, they would have seen it in the Deadwoods. All the aged hunter achieved was becoming a deadweight that made their escape more perilous.

“Stay clear,” Kannu shoved Tiana well clear of him.

Zaile discerned from her perplexed look that not even Tiana knew the true nature of Kannu’s Curse. Odd. Zaile leaned forward and perched his chin atop an open palm. Kannu had always been an unusually large man, easily dwarfing most of the Freaks he had confronted. Was there more to his Curse than inhuman strength?

Kannu hoisted his great axe towards the ceiling with a single arm and became still. Once the candle became visibly shorter, the juggernaut flung himself forward with reckless abandonment, swinging downwards with the malice of a headsman, stopping short of the ground. Exploding like a thunderclap, the arcing slash left a deep and extended cleft in the earth. A thin veil of black mist lingered over the divide. With a loud clang, the axe felt from his grasp. The limb that unleashed the devastating strike was now a shrivelled appendage. Kannu moaned before retrieving his weapon with his good hand.

“Grace of Mercy,” Tiana cried out in horror. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Kannu waved his mummified arm dismissively. “Fool woman.”

“But your arm –”

“It’ll be right in a few days.”

Zaile strolled towards the crack and crouched down to better inspect the aftermath. Judging by the length of the fissure, the slash had stretched a good three paces beyond the axe. Anything within reach would have been cleaved in two. Euphon paced about the opening and murmured to himself while Ferric reached down to measure the depth.

“Well,” whistled Ferric, dusting his hands. “Surely this would have Solmis in two halves.”

“You had this all this time?” asked Tiana. “And you didn’t think to use it?”

“If you asked him to stand still for a minute, I would have,” Kannu was playfully sarcastic, a tone he took only when talking to Tiana.

“Does anybody else know of your Curse?” Euphon continued on without waiting for an answer. “I think what you have is an unrefined form of amplification, which is extremely dangerous. How have you escaped our purges?”

“Grace of Mercy!” Tiana exclaimed. “You can’t just kill people for an affliction they have no control of.”

“We can and we do,” Euphon replied darkly. “Never mind that now. That wasn’t full power, was it?”

Zaile shuddered. Were the adoptions a veil for something sinister? No wonder Marcus, who so resented his duties, administered this particular task without fail. Slowly, his shaky hands rolled into angry fists, drowning out sound and eventually, reason. He reached for his dagger but caught himself. The Peacekeepers would scatter his ashes to the winds if he killed Euphon.

“…short,” Zaile returned to the discussion in time to hear Ferric’s closing statement. “Ten is a start, but we need a lot more.”

“Your shopping list is about the size of the bounty,” Tiana argued. “And what you’re proposing is not a hunting party, you’re after an army. We’re not even going to break even at this rate.”

“Quinton said the bounty is being tripled,” Euphon chimed in. “I wager it’ll go up even further.”

“I’ll believe when I see it,” Tiana was unimpressed. “If true though, I’m not going to complain. That leaves you Zaile. You ready to take point?”

Blinking, Zaile pointed a thumb at himself to make sure he heard her correctly. They must have assigned him the vanguard during his brief lapse. Too weary to question the decision, Zaile nodded. Besides, hiding behind Ferric or Kannu against Solmis seemed futile.

“Let’s meet here same day next week,” said Ferric. “Until then, rest up because you won’t have time afterwards.”

With the scarlet moon as his only guide, Zaile completed the homeward journey jumping from one rooftop to the next, encountering nothing more threatening than stumbling drunkards. Quite as a thief, he landed in the orphanage courtyard and froze. From the dining hall, light spilt through the doors. Gingerly, he pushed aside the coarse woodwork, hoping in vain that the panel would refrain from squeaking.

Needle in one hand and a tattered skirt in another, Prim hummed a Finnardian hymn as she sewed. Her undone hair, still wet, clung to her frayed nightgown. Seeing Zaile, she dropped her work and let out an involuntary gasp.

“Zaile, where were –” she caught herself. “You hungry?”

Struck by fatigue, Zaile nodded and sprawled himself across the dining table. The surface was cold and moist, no doubt recently wiped. Closing his eyes, he let out a great sigh. So much had happened so quickly. Even now, everything felt more like a fever dream.

He lay motionless, listening to the clattering of utensils and pots. Usually, Prim would chastise such brazen disregard for table manners with a firm ladle to the head. Tonight, however, it seemed the matriarch had suspended her unwritten decrees. Zaile let slip a smug grin, imagining the outrage amongst his siblings if they were to witness such blatant favouritism.

The smell of grease roused Zaile from his musing. He sat up and peered into a steaming pot. The usual stew, a tasteless goo mixed with vegetable scraps that would not fetch a copper in the markets, came with a foreign addition tonight.

“Marcus had a patient short of coins,” the pot squelched as Prim stirred the content. “It just so happened that she was the butcher’s wife so we ended up with an entire rump. Of what exactly they didn’t say. Now you going to sit down and eat or do I have to feed you?”

Zaile pretended to ponder this question for a moment before slipping into a seat next to Prim. Any reservations he had of the unknown animal melted upon the first mouthful. The tough and gamy meat probably came from some oversized rodent but Zaile was beyond caring.

“Ruan was waiting for you too,” Prim propped her chin atop her hand, smiling. “I had to send him to bed because he was dozing off.”

Zaile nodded to signal he was listening as he continued to inhale his late dinner. He set the container down with a satisfied clang and met Prim’s inquisitive stare. This continued long enough for Zaile to feel uncomfortable.

“Ruan thought you took the bounty,” Prim sprawled onto the dining table, yawning. “I thought you dead. Are you hurt?”

Zaile shook his head just as a weeping child descended the creaking stairs, rubbing her swollen eyes awkwardly with her only hand. It was Lan. Zaile remembered the timid girl for her constant night terrors and bedwetting. While her siblings quickly outgrew these habits, Lan had yet to manage.

“Lan,” Prim beckoned the little girl. “Come here.”

With her Freakishly red eyes locked on Zaile, Lan clung to the railing till her knuckles turned white like a frightened critter. Prim, however, was not prepared to indulge these childish fears. She got to her feet, placed both hands on hips, and frowned.

“Seems like you don’t need me,” said Prim, pointing a finger upstairs. “Go back to bed and don’t wake the others.”

Reluctantly, Lan crossed the dining hall, clutching her dress as if to afford some protection. As she shuffled onwards with reluctantly, the girl looked at Prim with large, begging eyes, demanding sympathy and affection.

Shaking her head, Prim opened her arms in resignation. The promise of a hug spurred Lan into an awkward sprint, burying her face into Prim’s skirt. Prim patted her head and brushed away the silver locks stuck on her tearstained cheeks.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Lan managed between sobs.

“Nightmares again?” Prim continued to caress her head.

“Why does mummy hate me?” Lan asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “Why did she take my hand?”

Zaile scratched the scar on his chest. Lan was one of the few children who witnessed the final moments of their parents before they turned into bloodthirsty Freaks. Perhaps having no memory of one’s parents had its benefits.

“Your mother loves you very much,” Prim continued to stroke her head. “Zunark took her from you.”

“Why would he do that?”

Zaile saw the difficult look on her face and grimaced. This was a question for Ruan.

“Sweetheart,” Prim murmured. “It is not for us little ones to know the whims of gods and demons. Is your hand hurting again?”

Lan shook her head.

“Lan,” Prim sighed. “I can’t always be here for you. Who will you turn to once I move out?”

Her question only caused Lan to cling harder. Zaile fell into pensive silence. He heard from Ruan that Prim had turned down many adoption offers to extend her stay. But now that she had come of age, this was all coming to an end. Had it really been that long?

“Where?” asked Zaile.

“I’ll be staying with a couple of girls from the Journeyman,” Prim replied. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

He wanted to know her departure date but for reasons unclear to himself, did not ask. Instead, he gave Lan a pat on the head, which made the little girl flinch.

“Night,” Zaile gave her his warmest smile.

Lan stared at him in frozen terror.

“Lan,” Prim warned. “Manners.”

“Good…” Lan was barely audible. “Good night, Zaile.”