The Consequences of Good Deeds Part II

Despite her harsh expression, Gryffin found something much more precious in Ameline’s rose quartz eyes. Each time he came to The Merry King, not long after he took place at his usual table, the teal-haired barmaid brought him a glass of his favourite drink. That wasn’t much, yet it brought him some relief. This alone proved that she remembered him.

    Kindness.

    Sometimes, Gryffin felt like a ghost. A soul roaming without aim. Unwanted. Unseen.

    Or was it he who didn’t accept this world any longer?

    Sometimes, when it was late and Ameline visibly had time to kill, she sat at his table. Not facing him, though. She always sat on the side of the chair, an elbow pressed to the table as she stared at the few customers who remained after closure time. Like him, one would say. Like him, indeed. But, at least, the moment Gryffin saw the last customer aside from him leave, he used to leave in turn.

    He knew Ameline hated those customers who stayed longer than they should, delaying her reunion with her bed.

    Ameline barely spoke to him, he didn’t have misconceptions about it. If from time to time she indulged him, if she asked a question, it was probably to distract herself with his long, oh often too long answer.

    Did he have family? How was his daughter? Why did he cheat at cards? Gryffin answered all those.

    At rare times, they shared a real discussion.

“Do you think it will ever change?” Gryffin asked once.

“Dumbasses pretending not to be aware the tavern is supposed to be closed?” Ameline retorted.

“No. This world.”

    She glanced at him as if she were calculating how many glasses he had tonight.

“It’s as if being alive meant nothing.” He resumed for lack of protest. “We are goods before being sentient creatures. Isn’t that strange?”

    Ameline averted her rose quartz gaze. For a while, Gryffin thought she wouldn’t answer.

“As strange as it is to sentence people to death for overusing magic. Many aren’t even attempting to do anything wrong.” Ameline replied. “I don’t think the Militia really aims to protect our butts. If Felbalia exists, it’s because of a potent spell King Orloff Od Mithril used to kill that… whatever the name of that huge monster is. Out of the powder of its bones, the first villagers built our houses, just as later they turned its skull into a prison. This was protection.”

“I think the same.”

“Excuses. That’s all it’s about.” Ameline sighed. “But what can we do?”

“We can choose to be less cruel.”

    Ameline didn’t add anything, but Gryffin noticed the faint smile on her lips. This was, too, a rare sight.

    If he were perceptive, maybe he would have noticed, too, that she never asked the same question twice.

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    This dumb Gryffin… He seemed to think that nobody cared about him, that he failed to share a connection with anyone. But Ameline cared. Wasn’t it obvious in her behaviour?

    Each time, he ended up sitting at this very same table. For some reason, no one ever sat here. It was almost as if this table were expecting him. Perhaps it did. That would be nice. Even if it was an inanimate thing, thinking that something expected him was a very nice thought.

    I remember part of the first memory I got from Gryffin.

    He didn’t notice either that she was the one. The one who made sure he’d always have a place inside the tavern.

“Assassin!”

    The word, filled with hatred, echoes once again in my mind, already saturated with all the memories colliding with one another.

“What have I done…” I mutter. “Please, stop this.”

    How long has it been? For how many days did I remain huddled behind closed doors? Sometimes it is day, sometimes it is night.

    Even Fufu left earlier. He managed to push the window open, and flew away. Not knowing if he plans to return, feeling sick at the idea of going out, I stayed behind. As much as I’d prefer to close the window letting in noise from the outside, I also wish to leave Fufu a way in.

    Arms folded over my knees, my eyes wander around. The house is like the man who inhabited it until now. Neat. Nothing too sophisticated aside from a few pieces of art. Actually, local art is more what it resembles. Figurines made out of shells representing some sort of marine creatures, necklaces of teeth so thin and incurved… they resemble moons. I end up standing up to observe them in more detail. There’s even a framed, lustrous image. At first, I thought it was a painting but, upon taking a closer look, I realise it’s crafted with extra tiny specks of quartz and other colourful crystals.

“It looks like trinkets bought in small villages.”

    For a mercenary who must have earned quite a lot, though, I don’t find the place Seveg lives in to stink of a rich man.

“Fwiih!”

    The familiar chirping dissipates my thoughts as I turn my gaze to a Fufu passing through the window to float towards me.

“Fufu, you’re back… So you were just on a stroll, after all.”

“Fwifwih!”

    As I am about to pat my little cloud, he begins to squirm and flies a tad higher.

“What is that, Fufu?”

    The little cloud closes his mithril eyes, opening what I suppose is a mouth. Fufu leans forward, and a small object falls out of his mouth, turning into something bigger. A book I’ve already seen before.

“What the… Is that Gryffin’s book?”

    I forgot I left it in my room at the inn. Widening my eyes at the peculiar sight, I reach out my hands to take it and skim a few pages, confirming my assumption.

“If you left, it was all to bring it back?”

“Fwih!”

“Fufu… what would I do without you?”

    All proud, my little cloud floats around me.

    The way he carried it to this place… I begin to wonder what else Fufu is able to do.

“Are you able to keep things inside you like that?”

    As if to demonstrate, my little cloud swallows back the book, which seems to shrink before disappearing deep down his fluffy depths.

“In the rush, I could forget it again soon.”

    A thought which brings a natural conclusion.

“Fufu, from now on, it will be your duty to keep it safe!”

“Fwihh!” Fufu agrees.

    Barely have we finished when a knock sounds against the door. My heart misses a beat at the same time as I turn a weary gaze towards the mercenary’s door.

    Instantly, Fufu hides behind me.

“Opening the door isn’t a great idea. It never is.”

    Observing it with some anticipation, I decide to wait until the person abandons.

    But, as the minutes pass, whoever is behind the door keeps hammering at it. My heart pounding, I approach it, careful to remain silent.

“Seveg… Seveg, please tell me you’re here! Seveg!”

    The words I perceive through the door are urgent, but not aggressive.

    Knock, knock.

“Seveg!”

    Desperate.

    With a gulp, I reach out a hand towards the door. Fingers pressed onto the key I inserted into the lock, I hesitate one last time before unlocking it.

    The moment I open the door, a middle-aged man stands before me. Rather small, with short blond locks partly covered by a grey cap. It takes him but the blink of an eye to step forward and grip my shoulders, looking up at me with his iron eyes.

“Seveg! Thanks heavens, I thought something terrible happened to you.” He pauses to glance around, noticing surprised pairs of eyes turned towards us. Lowering his tone, he urges me to step back in as he closes the door behind us. “I thought you were dead.”

“Who is this man… another mercenary? He doesn’t sound hostile, but let’s play it safe.”

“Dead? Ohh, no.” I snort. “I just got… pretty busy.”

    The man sighs, letting go of my shoulders.

“Where were you…” He mutters, before realising he said that aloud. “I believe you, and truth be told, you look like shit.”

“Well, thank you.” I grumble.

“But… Without your support, the situation is becoming dire. Please, come with me. We need you at the Shelter.”

    I open my mouth to speak, to utter a simple refusal. And yet, I fail. A frown settles instead on my expression.

“The Shelter?” I parrot in a whisper.

“We need your protection.”

“An assassin’s?”

    I can’t admit that I have no idea what he is talking about, though. I don’t even know what kind of man he is. What if he begins suspecting something?

“Maybe this Shelter thing is a code name for a grim cult. If I play along and follow this man, maybe I can dismantle something bigger.”

    Ameline’s gaze flashes through my mind, making me grip my own forearm.

“Or, at least, gather information.”

“Then, I’ll follow you.” I end up uttering.

    My words seem enough to reassure the iron-eyed man, his expression softening a tad.

    With a nod, he leaves the house in a heartbeat, gesturing for me to follow him. The moment I cross the threshold, a doubt seizes me, glueing me on the spot.

“But… What if I make a mistake again? What if all I harvest is grief instead of gratitude?”

“Let’s not lose a single instant!” The iron-eyed man ushers me outside, not leaving room for protest.

    As we cross Felbalia, Fufu having hastily morphed back into a scarf, I cast glances at the townsfolk. The streets are busier than usual, being cleaned and adorned with sober decorations. A few guards keep an eye on the preparations.

“Come on! Put some welly into it!” One of them encourages. “Everything should be ready for the king's procession!”

“Look, my good fellow, no need to rush us like this.” A villager replies.

“Do you plan to bring dishonour on Felbalia?” The guard puffs out his chest, a breastplate covering half of it, just where his heart beats.

    The man turns to face the guard.

    He offers him a deadpan expression.

“You were still wearing diapers when I already knew how to do my job, boy.”

    Noticing my stray gaze, the iron-eyed man slows down ever so slightly.

“To think that the visit of the King is planned to show, to share grief with his people regarding the death of the young prince… And still, many villagers are getting so excited despite it. I don't know about you, but I don't feel at ease with all of that…”

“This makes me sick too.”

    What initially was the death of Juweld’s primal king’s offspring becomes a pretext for part of the population to change their minds. Is the king showing up more important than the reason he is?

“Hypocrites.” I think, glancing one last time at them. “Unless… Are they just empty shells?”

𖢻 𖢻 𖢻

    Seveg’s iron-eyed friend leads me inside a spacious mansion he locks up as soon as we’re in.

    It doesn’t take me more than a few steps before noticing the ambient mess. Hushed voices and steps.

“Ahh, Ferrick you’re back!” A voice from a nearby room grows closer. “Did you find him? Is he alright?”

    The figure of a thirty-year-old man appears in the corridor, a box of some kind of board game under his arm. The moment his pastel green eyes lock on me, he hurries to my side.

“Seveg!!”

    Before Ferrick has the opportunity to reply, this one more stranger to my eyes approaches me close enough that I can distinguish the white spots on his irises.

    For better or for worse, I don’t even get the time to think of anything to say before a couple of other strangers make their way into the corridor, all gathering around me like cattle expecting to be fed. What wouldn’t hurt all these people with their pale skin, their too-thin faces.

“Seveg, it’s you!”

“Please, help us!”

“They killed Deliabel…”

“Killed? Who?” My eyes drift from one to another, not knowing on whom to focus.

“Seveg, where were you? We need you.”

“There are too many of them… Too many people…”

“Please!”

“Too much interaction!!” I struggle to step back, about to flee when Ferrick steps in front of me.

“Calm down!” He voices with more authority than I thought this little man capable of. “Everyone, I know you’re all terrified. I am, too. But Seveg won’t understand the situation if you all keep speaking at once.”

    Exchanging glances, an anguished silence settles. For the first time, I notice stains of blood, torn fabric on the clothes of part of these people.

    It’s better not to know.

    After achieving to bring back a relative calm, Ferrick turns towards me with a serious expression.

    It’s really really better not to know.

“Seveg.” Please, don’t speak. “Earlier today, a man slipped into the Shelter with the clear intent to murder us all. He wasn’t as skilled as you, though, so we somehow managed to get rid of him.” He drops his iron gaze to the floor. “But not without the cost of Deliabel’s life. Many of us were hurt too, but I healed them with my magic. As you can imagine, we frisked the intruder’s corpse. …And this is what we found.” Don’t tell me. Don’t show me. “Here.”

    Ferrick extends a bloodied piece of paper he retrieved from his pocket. Unease. My fingers hover over his hand when close enough to take it. Despite the low, steadying breath in I take, my heart refuses to calm down as I unfold the paper.

Grim Bell,

After Stray Dog’s failure to complete his last assigned quest, you’re assigned the following mission. Go to 51 Yarrendel Street and retrieve the hearts of every occupant of that house. We know with certainty that they’re related to the Stray Dog.

Bring the proof of your success to the usual location by this evening or the mission will be considered as non completed.

Atelier Xylatz

    My eyes widen as they scan the words. Halting on the name of the sender. I’ve already seen it before.

“Atelier Xylatz…” I mutter.

“You understand now why I feared you were already dead.” Ferrick chimes in. “This was one of your regular clients, right?”

    It’s now clear that they’re perfectly aware Seveg is a mercenary. The contrary would’ve surprised me anyway, with how Seveg seems to have his little reputation in town.

    But then…

“Seveg?”

    My eyes roam from one face to another.

“Does this make bad people out of them?”

    No matter how I try, all I see is a bunch of gemans in a poor state.

“Seveg!”

    I glance back at Ferrick.

“They must have noticed that you often came here. I tried to warn you… The man at the head of this atelier was once part of the Militia. He kept some bad habits from them. And since you didn’t answer their request…” Please, keep these words deep inside. Don’t tell me. Don’t. “…they likely decided to punish you by killing us all.”

“Is this happening because of me?” A tinnitus-like sound begins to resonate in my mind. “All I did was spare lives! Keeping these hands away from blood!”

“We were lucky enough,” Ferrick continues, “they probably didn’t expect us to be so many in there. But next time, they’ll send more mercenaries. Seveg… we need to flee. Tonight. We can’t wait. I know where we can move the Shelter, but we need your help.”

“My… help?” I snort, caught in the irony of the moment.

    The noises in my head become louder.

“It is thanks to you that this place could keep feeding all these people until now. All these lives you spared, offering them a place to hide… Seveg, help me protect them once more. I can’t do this alone.”

    They need someone who no longer inhabits this body, someone I’m not. I’m not the one they need.

“He’s not dead yet, but he’s not here any more.” My breath becomes ragged. “Or perhaps… this body may be alive, but Seveg’s mind…”

“You look pale, is every-”

    I can’t hear them any more. No voices. Only that piercing tinnitus-like noise. Only that scream that I can’t keep inside.

“Forgive me!! Forgive me… Forgive me please!!!”

    My fingers clutch my head from either side, their grip over my skull only tightening.

    Gryffin… Seveg… These people they need are dead. Even Seveg already is. Where is he? He’s nowhere! Whenever I die, someone dies instead of me.

“I am the one who killed them.”

    All I manage to perceive is my numb body hitting the floor as I quickly lose consciousness. Deaf to all but death.