10-12

 

10 GHOSTS Ii

 

“H

ullo.”

Liasis’s olive brown skin shimmered in the torchlight in the alley, and as he smiled, he exposed his long, jagged teeth. He shook his brother’s hand and stepped back to eye Teiidae suspiciously.

“So, you’re Morelia’s offspring?”

“Yeah, I’m your brother. You’re Boidae, right?”

“T’is I.”

“Thought you were on the Outer Rim with that one crazy old coot.”

“Yes well, he was killed.

By a Surfacer.

And The Magus will not bury him unless I bring him Mr Lapin.”

“Oh…”

Was all Liasis could say and he leaned against the cold stone wall, his eyes fixed to keep both the large man and the skewed woman in sight. The one called Boidae shifted his feet, and looked to the dingy alleyway to avoid eye-contact.

“Teiidae thinks –“

“I think you should go with your brother to Fulguralis.

Plain and simple, and before you set off, you should stop at Mastiff’s.”

“I suppose this as good a time as any to get to know my brother.”

Liasis spoke and pushed off from the wall to shake hands with his brother once more, the deal as sealed and they set off behind the twisted woman, wobbling down the narrow lane and reclaiming the attention of the peddlers. Liasis and Boidae looked to all those up and down the street, both wondering the exact same thing, what do they know about this woman that puts them in such fear. Then again, Boidae’s thoughts processed the Hierarchy’s instillation of fear toward the outer reaches of The Grotto, and he began to understand. Inherence.

Several meters behind Teiidae, they watched as a seedy man approached her wearing a vivid black cloak, like a moving black hole. He was as large as either of them, and he called something out, something inappropriate, a lewd offer, and the woman turned to him and rapped him hard across the hood of the cloak with her cane. He fell to his knees without a sound and collapsed in a heap. They crossed over him, a dark pool of blood spreading like a viral halo around his head.

“Holy hell.”

Boidae muttered as he booted foot stepped over the man, and they understood why she was feared throughout The Grotto. Neither had ever seen her attack anyone or anything, but neither had ever seen her in the open, as such. Boidae’s eyes lingered over his shoulder, fixated on the shell of a man broken by a brittle woman.

“And she didn’t think she could go with me to Fulguralis.

Bloody hell.”

Boidae spoke to his brother and they shared a snigger.

The streets of The Grotto intertwined and as she turned, they followed like a pair of mongrels on the hook of some aromatic scent of food. It was another dark alley where she turned, and scraped her cane down the clay, her eyes reading each worn sign they passed. The paints used were all but faded and it took long seconds to decipher them in the darkness. At the seventh sign, near the end of the alleyway, she turned toward the two men and smiled.

“Here we are, fine sirs, Mastiff’s.”

Through the grimy glass they saw a fat man propped up on a stool behind a glass counter, and all around him were a plethora of armaments from swords to knives to maces to spears.

“Do you really think we’ll need this, Teiidae?”

“Anything is possible, Boidae.”

“Bloody hell.”

Boidae said with resignation and was pushed out of the way by Liasis who jerked the door open and strode inside, followed by his brother and Teiidae.

“What can I do you for?”

The large, dark man said; his voice much like a grumbling bark. He stubbed out a smouldering, hand-rolled cigarette upon the countertop and brushed the embers in their direction, over the edge and to the floor.

“These boys need to be prepared for a trek to Fulguralis.

If you catch my meaning.”

“Yes, ma’am. And that’s through the Village of Descensus, correct?”

“That it is, Mr Mastiff.”

“Brutal territory, from what I’m told. I have everything you need.”

He said and pulled open a series of drawers and closing them quickly. His lips were pursed in thought and faded with the dawn of comprehension.

“How could I have been so stupid?”

He asked to no one at all and rose from the stool, walking around the corner, still behind the display cases, and knelt midway through with the screech of another drawer, beyond their line of sight. Liasis approached the counter and looked down, but all he caught was the edge of the drawer before it closed and the large mans eyes rose. Those eyes screamed get back, and Liasis did so, back to the woman and his brother with an almost fearful look.

Liasis’s eyes browsed the shops; swords glinted in the flickering light, shields and gauntlets, spears and maces, crossbows – the little shop was loaded to supply an army, and with a dry smirk, he turned to the woman. Her cold gaze automatically silenced him, and his pitiful eyes turned to his brother who stood in the corner, arms folded across his chest and head bowed, away from everything, and Liasis could see the cogs of his mind slowly churning in thought. Crestfallen, he turned back to the counter and examined more weaponry, wishing he’d been able to make some crack to lighten the tension in the room. It was overflowing, and it was about to tear him apart. There was something ominous about all of this, and he was wondering if it would be best just to return to the alley and give his brother the best of luck.

His brother. What a concept? He attempted to wrap his head around it, but was unable, as he’d only heard stories. He’d heard that he was brave and valiant, going out to the Outer Rim, or that he was a rascal and The Hierarchy had sent the pair of them out as punishment. The stories varied with the teller, but his mother did not speak of him, not much. Only in her sleep did Morelia speak of Boidae, during fits of nightmares that left her clinging to the bed, stippled in cold sweat. Those nightmares scared even him, and then came the night when they became too much and took her from him. He wasn’t sure if Boidae knew this, but he did know that he wasn’t keen on being the one to break the news that their mother had gone to The Magus.

He moved away from the counter and Teiidae, and went to his brother. He looked his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Boidae. There’s something you should know.”

“What?”

“Not here, Liasis. Not here.”

“Fine, then you get to tell him, Teiidae.”

“What?”

The edge in Boidae’s voice was sharp, and cold enough to sting. His arms unfolded and head raised, eyes spitting fire. Back straightening his body to its full height, he looked down upon the others, and saw Mastiff rise from behind the counter, the gleam of triumph in his eyes. The fire died down and he sagged on his bones, nodding to the shopkeeper.

“But you’re telling me once we leave.”

It was a mumble of defeat. He approached the counter with the others and stood behind them, looking over their shoulders at the steel laid upon the glass counter.

“What is it?”

Boidae grumbled.

“A misericorde.”

“Looks like a bloody dagger.”

Liasis barked.

“More or less, but it… well, no. I’m not going to bestow the virtues upon you. You’ll take it or you won’t.”

“They’ll take it. What else have you got? Something bigger, please.”

Teiidae said and took control of the situation, pushing through Liasis. She laid her haggard hands upon the glass counter on either side of the misericorde. It was made of deep black obsidian and shown like an oil slick. She turned her head to the side, to the boys.

“And shut up, show some respect. He’s right. You’ll need one of these, yeh ungrateful brats.”

Both were taken aback, so much so that they each took a step back from the woman, waiting for her hair to crackle like some daemon. Liasis wondered if this bile was because of what he’d said, about the chore of telling Boidae falling to her.

Mastiff returned with a Labrys axe resting over each shoulder, they clattered against the glass and he smiled up at them.

“Two hundred Bits for the lot.”

His voice was smarmy, dancing between the three of them.

“Pay the man.”

Teiidae said, stepping away from the counter, between Boidae and Liasis. Liasis looked to Boidae and shrugged.

“I don’t have a Bit to my name, mate.”

“Hell.”

Boidae grumbled and pushed his hand into his pocket, mumbling that Jackdaw would kill him, but the old man’s money was now his own. He opened a small bag he’d removed from his pocket and eyed the man with suspicion, but still, two ragged grey notes passed hands, and Boidae retrieved the weapons from the counter. The misericorde was slipped into a pocket hidden in the folds of his cloak, and with one axe in hand; he offered the other to Liasis.

The trio left the shot, and once outside, Boidae reeled on his brother, pushing him against the hard clay wall of Mastiff’s.

“Tell me what?”

His voice was a growl, and his eyes flickered fire. He pushed his hand into Liasis’s shoulder, the bones grinding against one another.

“Boidae – let him go.”

Teiidae said, raising her cane, ready to strike if need be.

“No. Tell me what?”

He pushed harder and watched a fraction of Mastiff’s wall come away, his head turned and eyes flickered to the frail woman.

“Tell – me – what?”

“Damnit, Boidae.”

The axe fell to the ground with a loud ring, and the hand that had been wrapped around it moved with his eyes to Liasis’s throat.

“Tell me.”

 

11 ghosts II

 

T

he storm drizzled to a close and Claudia shifted in her sleep, her head arrest upon Haley’s breast. The girl was awake, watching Claudia’s face in the grey half-light as the storm died with a soft expression of affection. They had met a few times before, had shared a handful of moments between the sheets, and each time, Claudia had been awake long after she’d retired, and woke before – Haley had never seen her sleep. She was going to relish this moment, as brief as it would probably be, and just watch. She brushed the hair from Claudia’s face, and watched her eyelids flicker with a dream.

In the half-light, bleeding through the curtains, Haley saw an ornate silver box on the night table. It glinted, and in the shimmering darkness, Haley reached her hand out, scratching the edge of the table, an inch shy of the object. She shifted, just enough to pull it a little closer, enough she could wrap her hand around it and bring it to, to examine it, but as she reached once more, without the smallest warning, Claudia’s arm shot out and her fingers closed in on Haley’s wrist. The bones ground together and Haley winced, her muscles going slack.

“Don’t.”

Claudia said, shifting to look up at the girl, rolling onto her stomach and in a fluid movement, bringing Haley’s arm around her back. There was a small, almost apologetic smile, a yawn, and a morning breath kiss.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Just – it’s not mine.”

She rolled off the bed and stretched, her pale flesh catching the grey half-light, and holding the shadows close to the contours of the muscle beneath her flesh. Claudia smiled at the girl and pulled her hair back, off her shoulders and away from her face. With a subtle wink, she turned and slipped from the bedroom; shadows swallowed her body as she moved from the sliver of light from the parted curtains.

 

The darkness of the world behind his eyelids was comforting, but the sharp kneading upon his stomach was not. He grumbled and tried to roll over, but the pain increased, and his eyes were forced to open.

“What?”

He grumbled, staring down at the sleek black cat, her golden eyes fixed on him.

“What do you want Mama-ji?”

Her eyes appraised him, as if to say:

You’ve been asleep for days, and you have the audacity to ask what I want? Feed me, and we’ll talk later.

“Where have you been, then?”

Atticus asked, wincing as Mama-ji removed her dagger claws from the soft flesh of his stomach. The cat looked to the window, and returned her appraising eyes to him. The cold gaze chilled him to the bone, and he nodded. Wrapping his hands around the cat’s midsection, Atticus lifted and released her to the floor without further incidence of clawing. His feet landed on the floor, and he proceeded into the kitchen where the food was held, with the bowls for food and water. After the cat was fed and watered, he watched the small beast ravage the bowl and listened to the clicking of the little dry morsels cracking between her teeth.

It was brutal, the way she ate, and leaving the kitchen, he pulled the shirt from his body and examined his torso – the black marks were almost faded gone. He ran his fingers through his hair and felt the dingy oil clinging to every strand, his fingers and his palms. In a way it was revolting, and his feet carried him through the apartment toward the shower.

 

The water poured over Claudia’s body, rinsing the stink of sweat and sex from her body, and as the shampoo streamed down her body, she heard the squeal of the hinges on the door as it opened. The soft pads of feet on the linoleum and the rustle of a t-shirt as it fell drew her muscles taught with anticipation and fear. The crackle of the curtain as they were pulled open made her shiver, the cold rush of air. Her eyes remained closed as she heard the feet land on the floor of the tub and the curtain close – a sudden rush of warmth from either her own body or Haley’s.

Claudia felt the water running freely through her hair and down her body, all traces of the lather gone, but she did not move, hands searched over her body and the world melted away to go spiralling down the drain. This was the first time since the sewer that she’d felt like herself, and with a wry smile, her head righted itself and her eyes opened. Her smile turned to a smirk and she stepped forward, into the girl and her hand slipped up her torso and around her neck, her fingers drumming lightly on the jugular.

“What do you think you’re doing, pet?”

She asked as she the girl pressed her back against the cold, wet tile and winced with a playful smile.

 

Atticus stood in the bathroom, listening to the water hammer down upon the floor of the top and examined his reflection. His face looked more hollow than usual, and there was a darkness under his eyes that spoke of age. There were no crow’s feet or obtrusive wrinkles; this age was deeper, imbedded in his soul. He shook the thought from his head and he turned the water off, unshowered and unclean, and left the room, the lights still burning bright and spreading forth into the dark hallway.

His pack of cigarettes sat on the cluttered table, the cheap Bic lighter stuffed inside, and he placed one between his lips as he approached the window. It slid up without a sound; the screen gave him a small fit, but he managed and stepped out onto the wrought iron fire escape, eyes scanning the cityscape, the razorblade skyline. Pressed against the cold, wet railing, he leaned out over the alleyway and watched the shimmering reflections of the city that surrounded him. It was beautiful in the right light, and this was damned close.

The mirrored windows that reflected the dead grey sky rippled with the breeze and Atticus cocked his head to the side, transfixed by their beauty.

His eyes moved to the deep sea of black, the street below. The litter and debris of the city churned in the breeze, and he noticed a still body mingled with the garbage bags and boxes. He wondered if the grimy body was dead until it twitched in its sleep, and Atticus’s eyes wandered further down the alleyway, his torso stretched further over the edge, and he felt the gravity slip from under him.

Beautiful as the skyline was, the surface was just as hideous.

Atticus pulled back from the from the rail and sat upon the windows ledge, the white paint on the bricks was beginning to come up and break away, leaving the dark reds and blacks to poke through. It was crumbling with age, and there was no telling if or when the whole damn thing would collapse like a house of cards out from under him. He kicked the grate beneath his feet and felt it sway, and his gripped the ledge, as though it would save him. There was not enough there to grab, enough to hold onto and climb back into the house, but he gripped it with every inch of his life, as he heard something loud creak and squeal below him.

His heart thundered a violent tattoo against his ribcage, and he almost felt a fragment of bone splinter off and go sailing through the viscera. As a rule of thumb, Atticus was not fond of heights, and the thought of them splintering away from the building terrified him, but as everything calmed, his heart slowed, and he laughed at himself. It couldn’t collapse. Just couldn’t, not after everything he’d been through, but then came the death nail – overhead, between the clouds, he heard a shock of lightning resound between the buildings like a shotgun blast and for a brief second, his heart stopped in his chest.

After his senses returned to his body, he looked out over the buildings and saw the sky ebbed with a green radiance.

“Yeah, to hell with this.”

He said aloud to himself and rose onto the fire escape; he heard it squeak in the moorings of the buildings decaying brick, but felt no fear of it falling. He turned on the spot to climb back inside his apartment, but the window had closed and as he tried to pull it open, it did not budge.

“What is this? A goddamn movie?”

He barked and eyed Mama-ji, sitting pretty as she please on the back of the couch, watching him.

“Think this is funny, don’t you?”

Atticus pounded on the glass and gazed up toward the heavens, the green sky stretching up and over his head, to any sign of the sun fading into a mere ambient glow.

The sky opened in a torrent of rain and he grumbled, cursing himself and the cat. He looked down through the deep black grating to the street below. He was dressed in a thin pair of Mr Clean pyjama pants and a faded t-shirt. Atticus was not a vain man, but he did not find pleasure being seen in such a state. He kicked the fire escape down and threw a disdainful look toward the cat before taking the first step down in his bare feet. It was cold, colder on the rungs than on the grating and wincing as a chip of the peeling paint caught his foot.

Down upon the alley floor, he walked around the building and kept his eyes averted from the crowds meandering down the sidewalk with their umbrellas. He cursed as he approached the doorman with a sheepish grin.

 

 

12 GHOSTS II

 

“T

ell me!”

Boidae repeated the words and they rung up and down the small alleyway of The Grotto. His hand tightened around his brother’s throat and he leaned closer to the man’s face.

“Tell me.”

It came out as a dry, hoarse whisper and his eyes flickered fire.

“Boidae,”

The woman approached the two men, an arm outstretched and brushing Boidae’s shoulder.

“Your mother is dead.”

“What the – I knew that. Someone told Jackdaw a year ago when he came for food.”

His grip released around his brother’s throat, and he took a step back, straightening his robes as his brother did the same.

“I’m sorry.”

Boidae bowed his head and stepped toward the mouth of the alley, and looked up to the flickering torches of the Centre. He heard the others scrapping behind him, and as he walked through The Grotto with his head bowed, watching as he feet tread over the dark, heavy clay, he remembered the night Jackdaw returned from here with the news.

It had hit him hard, and his fist hit the cold stone wall with the same force. He remembered it well, and the pain that shot through every nerve of his arm as the small bones in his fingers shattered. It hurt like hell for the better part of a month, but as the bones corrected themselves inside the wrap they had done, the pain faded and he was left with nothing more than the chipping away of his heart.

Feet scurried to catch up with him, and his peripheral caught the sight of Liasis’s heavy boots stepping in time with his.

“What?”

Boidae grumbled and followed the streets blindly, his subconscious carrying him toward the tunnel leading out of The Grotto. He knew he was about to embark on a journey with a man he did not know through dangers untold, but now, he’d lost all concern. He wanted Jackdaw buried proper, he wanted him buried next to her. The only two people in his life that held any importance, he wanted them together, side by side.

Something wet touched his face and he batted it away.

“What?”

He asked again, now turning his head toward Liasis, walking beside him, his eyes fixed toward the barrier wall, toward the exit.

“Nothing, bro. Just wondering, y’know, why are you doing this? Going to Fulguralis? I mean, I know he was your –“

“Shut up. You don’t have to go.”

“No, not what I’m saying. Just wondering; you know.”

“Yeah well, he was my mentor. That’s all that needs to be said about it. He deserves a proper burial, and if all I have to do is go to Fulguralis, then I’m not concerned. I’ve spent most of my life on the Outer Rim. I’ve dealt with brutal Surfacers. The ones that killed Jackdaw. I’m not concerned about these folk you all are terrified of. I’m going to go out there, collect Mr Lapin, and return. You don’t have to come, nor does Teiidae. I’m not concerned.

With or without either of you,

Jackdaw will be buried,

By The Magus.

Plain and simple – you don’t have to come.”

“Damnit, brother, I want to come. I was just asking.”

“Shut up, the both of you.”

Teiidae rapped them both lightly upon their shoulders, and her eyes were fixed on a spot beyond them, beyond the crowd that had all stopped and were staring as well. In the flickering light, a tall man strolled through the crowd that parted in a heavy black cloak, with a bowler pushed down over his eyes. He did not acknowledge a single soul; he merely passed through them, oblivious to their existence and this entire section of The Grotto was silent as a tomb.

 Once he was out of view, Boidae turned to the woman, noticing that Liasis’s eyes were still fixed on a point beyond time.

“Who was that?”

He asked; his voice barely over a whisper.

“One of The Hierarchy, Boidae, you stupid git.”

Liasis spoke, and nudged his brother.

“He’s right.”

Teiidae answered and pushed them along.

The Grotto unfurled and they worked their way toward the exit, and together, Boidae and Liasis climbed the handful of stone steps, onto the mouth of the tunnel. They looked at one another and back to Teiidae. She nodded her fare thee well, and turned away. She was lost in the crowd and they turned to one another.

“Are you sure?” Boidae asked, hoisting the axe over his shoulder and looking into the depth of his brother’s eyes.

“Yeah, man. Let’s just go.”

Boidae nodded and turned to face the inscription, speaking the words to his brother.

“Flectere si nequeo superos, Achaeronta movebo”

“What does that mean?”

“If I cannot move Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

 

Claudia sat on the couch and stretched, her back arched and her fists were raised. A small groan escaped her lips, and she pulled her book from the glass table. The green sky outside cast an odd shimmer about the apartment, and with Haley gone, she settled back against the sofa to read. The storm raged outside, lightning firing off like machine guns and the howl of the wind rattling her windows, she could not concentrate on the hollow words upon the page. The outside was where she belonged, where she should be and replacing the book, she stepped to the windows and watched the clouds slow circling.

She dipped a hand into the pocket of her white robe and removed the silver parcel, caressing it with her thumb, the metal cold against her hand. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the glass, just to feel the metal, and the cold permeating her entire body. She had lied to the girl; it was hers and hers alone.

Bringing it to her lips, she brushed it softly and watched the fog fade, and wiped it clean with the sleeve of her robe. The engraved scrollwork was beautiful, and her eyes followed it around, the swooping spirals tapering off to nothing, and the delicate flowers imprinted for eternity upon the silver visage. The contents was inconsequential to her, in all reality, it was the box itself that captivated her so thoroughly.

She had gone through hell and high water to obtain this box, and it was finally hers. Hundreds of dealers in antiquarian goods, and as it turned out, it was in her city all along.

An anonymous email was sent, with a number attached in the signature. She had dialled the number and it had rung a handful of times, her heart was pounding in her chest. The line clicked alive and a low voice answered. She asked for a man whose name she could not remember, and he informed her that the piece was not for sale. The phone was closed; she cursed, and reopened it without a second thought to call Atticus. He would be able to handle it, and he did.

The boy did well.

She approached him with the proposition, the deal, and he accepted. Wary though he may have been, he accepted and with a small amount of money changing hands, in relation to the overall worth, it was hers.

The specifics of his retrieval of the parcel did not concern her, she did not ask the night of her retrieval, and wondered if she should have. She turned from the window, from the green sky, and continued to examine the box. She shook her head as she marvelled at the beauty. Maybe she would call Atticus and ask, her curiosity was peaked.

 

“Hullo?”

His clothes were soaked and the phone was ringing when the doorman let him in, and with a grumble, he flipped it open without noticing the number.

“Hey Atticus, what’s up?”

“Just got in. Who is this?”

“Claudia, git – want to get together for lunch? I want to ask you something.”

“Yeah, I guess. I have a couple questions for you too, kid.”

“Thanks. How about Thai Spice on the southside?”

“Sounds fine. Let me get a shower, I’ll call you, alright?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I need to get dressed, myself. Thanks, again.”

“Welcome. I’ll call you.”

The phone was closed and he returned it to the table, amidst the clutter and gave Mama-ji a contemptuous glare.

“B***h.”

 

 

Reviews

[S. J. Fisk]

"The water poured over Claudia's body, rinsing the stink of sweat and sex from her body, and as the shampoo streamed down her body, she heard the squeal of the hinges on the door as it opened. " BODY is used twice in this sentence. While it can be done, this sounds off. Perhaps try rewording it.

I will state, for the 100th time, I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IS IN THE DAMN BOX! I know, I know, you don't know. But it's still frustrating.

I do like her slinking from the room (properly cat like), I also like how you had Claudia do both the wrist grab and the throat grab. She's reasserting her dominance and it looks good on her. Atticus' submissiveness to the cat was well played, but it wasn't as sub as I thought you'd make it. I'm thrilled to discover that it was Claudia who wanted the box, and that Atticus had been the one to acquire it for her. It's also interesting to note that it's antique.

I think that Liasis is introduced nicely, with his eagerness to lighten the mood and to converse with his brother painting his personality for us. I'll be interested to read how well he handles himself outside of The Grotto. As always, I love your Latin quote, and I think it's just the right amount of foreboding for this trip they are taking.

The end "b***h" makes me wonder if he means the cat or Claudia (possibly both). Can't wait for the next installment.