Even though this Dragon pit was rendered dormant by the Coda, it was still highly dangerous. A deep pool of molten rock bubbled away, filled with some half-formed element stuck between two worlds. If you wanted something gone, it was as good a place as any.
The pit wasn’t hot or explosive. It was almost silent, other than a gentle hissing and the occasional pop of escaping gas. It constantly moved like it was rolling in bed but couldn’t ever get comfortable.
We didn’t say anything to each other. Pete just dropped the kid’s feet by the bank and kicked them in. I pushed from the shoulders and the pit seemed to reach up and swallow the midnight snack.
I didn’t want to be here. I was supposed to be finding missing people, not making them disappear myself. But this is who I am: a spineless kid who can get talked into anything because he thinks it will make up for his mistakes.
The trail of rope slid in after the boy but Pete had already turned and walked away. I followed. Hating myself for coming here and hating Pete for what he’d done.
We walked through tall grass, abandoned timber mills and dead forests. We walked till our backs cracked and our boots choked on swollen feet.
On the outskirts of the city, the sun frowned over the east and I pulled myself up at an old checkpoint. I sat on the guard stool beside the boom gate and turned the soles of my feet inward to give them a break from treading on the world.
Pete stopped but didn’t turn around; he just stared out towards the city and tapped his long foot. He was waiting for me to catch my breath and likely hoping that I wouldn’t ask him those questions that didn’t need asking.
We were at the point in the road where the Maple Highway reached the city limits and became Main Street. The first lamp was beside me; a copper pole with a cradle at the top, filled with dark soot and spider webs.
“Why would he come alone?” I finally asked. “If the kid attacked you, he was too much of a coward to—”
“I’m not interested in playing your little detective game, Phillips. He didn’t find me. I found him. You told me what he looked like and what he planned to do so I tracked him down. Not because I was scared or I wanted to strike first but because I could. Because I had an excuse. I waited till he left the bar and I jumped him.”
I’d always remembered Pete as garrulous and flowery; he was a diplomat, after all. I’d never heard him speak so plainly about anything.
“He was just an angry kid, Pete.”
“I know.”
“So, you don’t feel anything?”
“Like what?”
“Guilt?”
He smiled with the half of his face that could.
“Yeah, I do. But you know more than anyone why that doesn’t matter.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Because guilt feels good. Well, it feels a hell of a lot better than the other demons singing in my head since this world shat itself out all over the place. Sure, this is bad, but I’ve seen worse. I’ve lived through far worse. And I’d rather be ashamed of the things I’ve done than ashamed of the things that others have done to me.”
The logic tried to fit into my ears but I didn’t want to let it in.
“You want proof, Fetch? Look in the mirror. You hold on to guilt like it’s a life preserver. So angry at yourself, and your mob, that you can’t smell the blood on the hands of the rest of us. But it isn’t about you and your kind tonight. It’s just me. Sometimes, the one who looks like a monster turns out to be a monster.”
He shrugged and turned away, and there it was; the scratch that causes the infection.
Pete was right. There are a million reasons why Rye could have disappeared but there was one that I was hoping for. If this was done by Humans, or because of the Coda, then I could take out my anger on my kind and myself. That was the world that made sense to me and that was the story I wanted to hear.
But maybe the monster isn’t in the mirror this time. Maybe he’s the one with the fangs who spent hundreds of years hanging on for dear life.
My brain was too tired to form any conclusions, but there was a bug in it now. I’d been looking at the world through grimy glasses; blinded by too many days down in the dirt. The infection grew slowly as I scraped my feet back into town and up the stairs.
The old man was starting things up in the kitchen and I could smell the fat on the fryers beginning to burn. The bed was still out from the wall and I collapsed on to it like a statue torn down in a city square.
In the last moment before sleep, I heard Pete’s words in my ears and saw Edmund Rye’s hollow face.
Sometimes the monsters look like monsters.
For the first time in a long time, I was eager for tomorrow.
The third mark was made by my people…
After six months of training, I was an apprentice Shepherd. After two years in the field, I’d seen both sides of the continent, broken bread with almost every race, lived in thousand-year-old castles, thrown up on boats, fainted in deserts and slept under infinite skies. My body had been beaten into shape and my head was full of ancient history. Compared to the boy that fled Weatherly or the naïve young man that mopped floors in Sunder, I was quite capable. Compared to every other member of the Opus, I was just Hendricks’ pet Human. An annoying experiment. A joke.
I was waiting for the moment when I would be given my chance to prove myself; when Hendricks would send me out on some mission, away from his ever-watchful, guiding eye. In all my time with the Opus, I had never left his side.
We were in Lopari, an Elvish Kingdom close to the north-western coast that took pride in adhering to the old Elven ways. Lopari had been Hendricks’ home for fifty years, during the Elven equivalent of his teens. He made a point of waking up early and getting all his work done so the celebrations could flow by late afternoon. Each night, Hendricks and his old friends would sit in the banquet hall or out on the parapets, swapping stories and laughter like we’d always done at The Ditch.
One night, Hendricks, three Elven Rooks and an Ogre ambassador brought their chairs up on the western wall to watch the sunset. Hendricks was in an especially good mood because the Ogre ambassador was willing to join him in a drink. The other Elves, like most of their kind, abstained from alcohol and Hendricks preferred not to drink alone.
The other guards and I were positioned around them in formation. The idea was that, as a unit, we were ready to protect the group from outside forces. As individuals, we were also ready to protect our lords from the other guests. Of course, it was impossible that these old friends would suddenly try to assassinate each other but we were well-trained soldiers and we had learned to always follow procedure.
The Ogre ambassador had spent some time in Sunder City so, as he and Hendricks swapped stories about their favorite places to eat or drink, I was occasionally brought into the discussion.
When I was pulled from my position as bodyguard to weigh in on the conversation between the superiors, I could feel the judgment from the other Shepherds. The Half-Ogre who had come to guard the ambassador smothered a smile whenever it happened. But it wasn’t an uncommon routine for Hendricks and me. I had learned how to keep the rigid appearance of my position while also giving Hendricks the support he needed to launch into his next story.
Hendricks’ greatest weapon was his charisma. A well-told fable or heartwarming anecdote could be the final score in securing an alliance. So, we were a double act. I knew his stories well enough to throw him a pertinent question or set him up for a punchline and I took pride in the fact that I was more than just a piece of muscle. Despite my shortcomings, I could do that one specific part of my job better than anyone else.