Spoiler
The indigo fingers of night slowly crept across the sky, enclosing the daylight in their grasp. The landscape breathed a sigh of relief as it was enveloped by the darkness. It was a pleasant change from the blistering fire of summer, but soon the cold of winter would descend and plague those who had just grown strong again.
One weak shaft of sunshine still grazed the cedar treetops. It illuminated a scrap of papyrus inscribed with a tall, bent lettering. A peculiarly short man, dressed in bedraggled gray, fingered the script briefly, then pocketed it. The message was his employer’s name, and the sum he would be paid. He pocketed the paper and broke into a run, into the darkening forest that promised only his reward. The sun dipped below the horizon and his eyes adjusted to the evening shadows that hid amongst the trees.
Felix Norwood was a fickle, flighty man, prone to a lust for power and riches. Most saw him as a pawn to be played, an exploitable commodity, a nuisance. His employers usually set him to the most menial of tasks, like thieving and murder, as long as they might provide compensation. He drifted from inn to alleyway, widow’s home to boxcar. He felt no shame in his lifestyle, for all he sought was a pocketful of coins.
As Felix ran, slowly yet insistently, he felt less and less certain of this new job. Most of his business was with crooked sailors and opium dealers, not anonymous forest-dwellers. The scene whipped past him, obscured by a gathering mist. As he gained speed, he felt his clothing chafing him and his cravat constricting his windpipe.
Going blindly through the forest, it was not until he struck a solid, rather painful surface that Felix realized he had no idea where he was and where he was going.
Felix expected the hard surface to be a tree, but instead it was a tall, bear-like man, wearing an angry scowl. He flexed iron muscle under his evening suit. He was well-dressed, and wore an expensive top hat. Felix searched his brain for a name, for he remembered the face that sat on those shoulders. He was a Hazael, a Hiram, a Homer, perhaps? Yes, that was the one...
“Why are you here, you little sneak? I thought you learned your lesson the last time I was forced to deal with you. How not to dabble where you oughtn’t to.” Homer stroked his red beard as he spoke, and Felix recognized the smooth danger that punctuated his words.
“M-money tempts me again, Homer. Now let me pass.” He tried feebly to hide his unease.
“I know why you’re here. You’re here for Ezlel. For his little test, am I right? So you can earn a little cash, right? Right?” Homer snickered mockingly.
“N-none of your b-business.”
Homer roared with laughter and stood aside. He was obviously guarding something and saw that weak, pale little Felix posed it no danger.
“Go on, go on. I’d be more worried if it were a housecat trying to speak with Ezlel.”
Homer immediately bounded ahead, gesturing for Felix to follow as he turned. Felix followed with a grumble, recalling the last time he had met Homer. It was his first time on a proper job, back when he was still just a lad. It was a bit of grave robbery; decent wages, and a hot canteen of coffee to boot. He had come to his cemetery of choice, in search of the specially marked grave from which he was to obtain the bones. He knelt beside the grave, and saw it had already been stripped. He groped in the dirt, looking for maybe a discarded half-bone, until his fingers found the domed roundness of a skull. This was his lucky night; even the most experienced robbers found mostly thighbones and ribs. An unmarked whole skull would sell for almost four thousand sovereigns, if he was lucky.
As he swung the sack containing his find over his shoulder, a current of crackling energy ran through the dusk. A thick, red-bearded man materialized from the gloom, bursting forth from the dark. His lower half still had the texture of the background as he advanced on the teenaged Felix. After a rather brutal beating over the rightful owner of the skull, Felix was left in the grave itself, half-buried.
“I understand your predicament, friend,” called Homer over his shoulder. “We are all sorely enticed by the coin these days.”
What right did Homer have to Felix’s friendship? He gave another grumble as they plodded along, until Homer came to a circular clearing, rich with the tang of resin and mouldering scraps of life long-gone. There was a gang of dragons attached to studded leather leads, wrapped around a red fir. Their bulbous, scaly bodies were slowed by their short legs as they scuttled from beneath their feet, although one was too slow and felt Homer’s foot in its’ side. It gave a squeal as it came to earth with a thud and scampered away to join its’ brothers.
Homer led them to the center of the seemingly empty clearing. “Take a seat,” he warned. Felix backed up and sat cross-legged a few feet away.
Raising his arms heavenwards, as if in praise of some unearthly deity, Homer summoned a large gilt throne from the midst of the foggy woods. Felix knew this was Homer’s Skill; his special, elemental gift. He had the power to change and mask and disguise objects, people and even emotions, hiding them so thoroughly that they were nearly indistinguishable against any background.
Homer shuddered, using his Skill to its utmost. A man appeared on the throne, decked in silks and brocades. Homer’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his form heaving with exhaustion.
The man had an aquiline, clean-shaven face, almost sculpture-like. He seemed to be in thought, as though he were in silent debate.
“The applicant, sir. He seems like the first one.” Homer had pulled himself up and straightened his clothing, apparently to impress his master. Felix snorted at the obvious subservience. Why did such a powerful man bow to a small, less commanding man?
Ezlel snapped out of his revelry immediately, locking his eyes on Homer. His gaze darted to Felix for a split second, and then back to his guard.
“His name?” A foreign accent inflected his speech.
“Norwood, I believe. I have met him before, and I urge you not to trust –“
“Silence. His name is Norwood, correct?” Homer nodded. “Correct, sir.”
“That will do.” Now Ezlel turned towards his next applicant, with an expectant grin on his face.
“State your business, Norwood.” He said Felix’s name with a certain indulgence. Felix wasn’t used to this treatment, and he was rather taken aback.
“I have come for payment in exchange for my service, s-sir.”
“You are precise and determined, Felix. I admire those qualities,” he almost purred. |Felix wondered how he might have guessed his name.
“They are useful ones. Now, you are aware of what will be asked of you, in return for the payment you claim to hunt?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Ezlel’s voice had a soothing effect on him. He felt a sort of warmth welling up inside of him, although the biting cold and thin coating of frost on the grass would otherwise have penetrated his patched clothing.
“Then you will know that you are to undergo a test, of course. The test is not an easy one.”
“I understand.” Felix had no inkling of what lay ahead, but out of spite for his old adversary, he found himself speaking words he would never speak if he had a degree of sanity left. He would not let himself be bested just as he had been ten years ago...
“You may prepare yourself for a few moments.” Ezlel turned away as he spoke, and Felix assumed he too was readying himself for the test.
So Felix in turn prepared, measuring his nerves, rolling his head, cracking his knuckles as if he were a prizefighter rather than a short, sallow sneak-thief. He had barely a second before he was hit with some invisible force, nearly knocking his wind out. As he struggled for breath and felt the weight of this strange sensation overpower him, he tried to reach for something, anything, to hold on to. His hands cast about for something real, but his vision swam and all he saw was a rippling version of reality, as if he were underwater looking up. Just as the last air drained from his lungs, and his ribs were ready to splinter from the pain, he broke the surface of his unreal, liquid prison.
One weak shaft of sunshine still grazed the cedar treetops. It illuminated a scrap of papyrus inscribed with a tall, bent lettering. A peculiarly short man, dressed in bedraggled gray, fingered the script briefly, then pocketed it. The message was his employer’s name, and the sum he would be paid. He pocketed the paper and broke into a run, into the darkening forest that promised only his reward. The sun dipped below the horizon and his eyes adjusted to the evening shadows that hid amongst the trees.
Felix Norwood was a fickle, flighty man, prone to a lust for power and riches. Most saw him as a pawn to be played, an exploitable commodity, a nuisance. His employers usually set him to the most menial of tasks, like thieving and murder, as long as they might provide compensation. He drifted from inn to alleyway, widow’s home to boxcar. He felt no shame in his lifestyle, for all he sought was a pocketful of coins.
As Felix ran, slowly yet insistently, he felt less and less certain of this new job. Most of his business was with crooked sailors and opium dealers, not anonymous forest-dwellers. The scene whipped past him, obscured by a gathering mist. As he gained speed, he felt his clothing chafing him and his cravat constricting his windpipe.
Going blindly through the forest, it was not until he struck a solid, rather painful surface that Felix realized he had no idea where he was and where he was going.
Felix expected the hard surface to be a tree, but instead it was a tall, bear-like man, wearing an angry scowl. He flexed iron muscle under his evening suit. He was well-dressed, and wore an expensive top hat. Felix searched his brain for a name, for he remembered the face that sat on those shoulders. He was a Hazael, a Hiram, a Homer, perhaps? Yes, that was the one...
“Why are you here, you little sneak? I thought you learned your lesson the last time I was forced to deal with you. How not to dabble where you oughtn’t to.” Homer stroked his red beard as he spoke, and Felix recognized the smooth danger that punctuated his words.
“M-money tempts me again, Homer. Now let me pass.” He tried feebly to hide his unease.
“I know why you’re here. You’re here for Ezlel. For his little test, am I right? So you can earn a little cash, right? Right?” Homer snickered mockingly.
“N-none of your b-business.”
Homer roared with laughter and stood aside. He was obviously guarding something and saw that weak, pale little Felix posed it no danger.
“Go on, go on. I’d be more worried if it were a housecat trying to speak with Ezlel.”
Homer immediately bounded ahead, gesturing for Felix to follow as he turned. Felix followed with a grumble, recalling the last time he had met Homer. It was his first time on a proper job, back when he was still just a lad. It was a bit of grave robbery; decent wages, and a hot canteen of coffee to boot. He had come to his cemetery of choice, in search of the specially marked grave from which he was to obtain the bones. He knelt beside the grave, and saw it had already been stripped. He groped in the dirt, looking for maybe a discarded half-bone, until his fingers found the domed roundness of a skull. This was his lucky night; even the most experienced robbers found mostly thighbones and ribs. An unmarked whole skull would sell for almost four thousand sovereigns, if he was lucky.
As he swung the sack containing his find over his shoulder, a current of crackling energy ran through the dusk. A thick, red-bearded man materialized from the gloom, bursting forth from the dark. His lower half still had the texture of the background as he advanced on the teenaged Felix. After a rather brutal beating over the rightful owner of the skull, Felix was left in the grave itself, half-buried.
“I understand your predicament, friend,” called Homer over his shoulder. “We are all sorely enticed by the coin these days.”
What right did Homer have to Felix’s friendship? He gave another grumble as they plodded along, until Homer came to a circular clearing, rich with the tang of resin and mouldering scraps of life long-gone. There was a gang of dragons attached to studded leather leads, wrapped around a red fir. Their bulbous, scaly bodies were slowed by their short legs as they scuttled from beneath their feet, although one was too slow and felt Homer’s foot in its’ side. It gave a squeal as it came to earth with a thud and scampered away to join its’ brothers.
Homer led them to the center of the seemingly empty clearing. “Take a seat,” he warned. Felix backed up and sat cross-legged a few feet away.
Raising his arms heavenwards, as if in praise of some unearthly deity, Homer summoned a large gilt throne from the midst of the foggy woods. Felix knew this was Homer’s Skill; his special, elemental gift. He had the power to change and mask and disguise objects, people and even emotions, hiding them so thoroughly that they were nearly indistinguishable against any background.
Homer shuddered, using his Skill to its utmost. A man appeared on the throne, decked in silks and brocades. Homer’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his form heaving with exhaustion.
The man had an aquiline, clean-shaven face, almost sculpture-like. He seemed to be in thought, as though he were in silent debate.
“The applicant, sir. He seems like the first one.” Homer had pulled himself up and straightened his clothing, apparently to impress his master. Felix snorted at the obvious subservience. Why did such a powerful man bow to a small, less commanding man?
Ezlel snapped out of his revelry immediately, locking his eyes on Homer. His gaze darted to Felix for a split second, and then back to his guard.
“His name?” A foreign accent inflected his speech.
“Norwood, I believe. I have met him before, and I urge you not to trust –“
“Silence. His name is Norwood, correct?” Homer nodded. “Correct, sir.”
“That will do.” Now Ezlel turned towards his next applicant, with an expectant grin on his face.
“State your business, Norwood.” He said Felix’s name with a certain indulgence. Felix wasn’t used to this treatment, and he was rather taken aback.
“I have come for payment in exchange for my service, s-sir.”
“You are precise and determined, Felix. I admire those qualities,” he almost purred. |Felix wondered how he might have guessed his name.
“They are useful ones. Now, you are aware of what will be asked of you, in return for the payment you claim to hunt?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.” Ezlel’s voice had a soothing effect on him. He felt a sort of warmth welling up inside of him, although the biting cold and thin coating of frost on the grass would otherwise have penetrated his patched clothing.
“Then you will know that you are to undergo a test, of course. The test is not an easy one.”
“I understand.” Felix had no inkling of what lay ahead, but out of spite for his old adversary, he found himself speaking words he would never speak if he had a degree of sanity left. He would not let himself be bested just as he had been ten years ago...
“You may prepare yourself for a few moments.” Ezlel turned away as he spoke, and Felix assumed he too was readying himself for the test.
So Felix in turn prepared, measuring his nerves, rolling his head, cracking his knuckles as if he were a prizefighter rather than a short, sallow sneak-thief. He had barely a second before he was hit with some invisible force, nearly knocking his wind out. As he struggled for breath and felt the weight of this strange sensation overpower him, he tried to reach for something, anything, to hold on to. His hands cast about for something real, but his vision swam and all he saw was a rippling version of reality, as if he were underwater looking up. Just as the last air drained from his lungs, and his ribs were ready to splinter from the pain, he broke the surface of his unreal, liquid prison.
