Cañónoscuridad part III

WARNING: KINDA STRONG LANGUAGE

Part II

Lyle acted on instincts, not anything else. He didn't think when he turned, he didn't when he jumped, and only when he was outside, tumbling in the constantly wet mud did he become conscious again. Currently he had crashed into Gofdi, and they were rolling together in the mud. Finally they skidded to a halt, and both erupted with laughter. Laughing since the sudden awkwardness between them had disappeared, laughing because for those few moments, everything else seemed to vanish.

Gofdi stood, self-consciously trying to scrape the mud off of her dress. The lanes of the slums were always muddy. Gofdi sighed, and continued to scraped off the mud, stopping only when Lyle spoke.

“Its gettin’ late, its not safe for a girl to be in the slums at night…” He said, looking around him, at the makeshift shacks that looked as frail as an old man on his deathbed, and the wooden structures, leaning this way and that. Gofdi nodded. Underneath the overpowering smell of human and animal waste there was the faint smell of death. Lyle smiled nervously, as if he dint know exactly what he was supposed to say next.

“Ummm, should I walk ye home?” Lyle asked. Gofdi eyed him dubiously.

“I’ve bin livin’ here as long as you have I can take care of myself,” She said. Lyle smiled again, but this time in amusement. Gofdi glared at him, and he sobered.

“I’m…I’m sure ye can,” He said , nervous again. Gofdi smiled, and said.

“Bye then.”

“Bye then,” he agreed, as if he had reached a conclusion. And at that, they started off in their own separate directions.

There was the soft pitter - patter of rain outside, so soft that Wendy could only barely hear. She sighed, and unthinkingly thought of how it must be outside in the rain, feeling the rain, feeling the desperation to get out of it, to get to the warmth of your house. But she had only once ever felt the rain on her skin. It was a few years ago, on a market day, she had been standing in an alley, imagining it to be a slum alley, when it started raining. Her parents had found her eventually, but not before Wendy could feel the rain.  She lay in a pink room, on a King-sized pink bed with four columns on each corner. The entire room was filled with shelves with her teddies on, and one with a few books, one of which was not in its usual place, but instead on Wendy’s lap. There was a faint knocking on her door. Wendy jumped.

“Come in,” She said. The door opened a bit, and in peered Fabno’s familiar face, her hair held back by a white cloth, the symbol of servants. As if she was walking on eggs she stepped inside, curtsied, and said,

“My lady, I have been instructed by your elders that now is the appropriate time to sleep,” She said formally. Wendy smiled.

“In other words…” Fabno exaggerated a sigh.

“Your mother wants you to go to bed…my lady.” Wendy giggled, put her book on her bed side table, and snuggled in under the soft blankets. Fabno walked closer, and as her rough hands tucked her in, she said,

“Now forget about the rain, forget about the day, forget about the…Mountain Dwellers you love so, and remember your bed…”

Lyle made his way through the noisy tavern. He made a straight to the stairs leading up to his room, and when he reached the decaying door, he stopped. It was slightly ajar. If that’s how I left it, my name is Porcupine Sue. He thought. Lyle rifled through his pockets, until he found his knife, a old knife, a short knife, a length of wrist to tip of your middle finger. He held it, and slowly opened the door. It let out a long creak as he did so. Inside, the rain blew through the open window. On the floor lay all his li'l treasures, scattered around as if they were dandelion seeds blown by the wind. Lyle never ever made his bed, he never saw the point in it, yet the bed was made, perfectly. Slowly, be walked over to the closest of his treasures, a statuette of a knight holding a sword aloft. It seemed to be unharmed. He checked closer, to see if there were any minor scratched, when suddenly, like the imprint of a foot on a wet beach, a letter appeared. It was a C. Slowly, a word started forming. Lyle’s eyes opened in horror as the word was completed. Though he couldn’t read, he knew exactly what those letters meant .

“Cañónoscuridad….” The wind seemed to whisper. Lyle threw down the statuette. Now very cautious, Lyle made his way to his bed, on which lay a letter, paper of high quality with a red wax seal; a dragon in flight; was imprinted. Lyle snatched up the letter, and rushed outside. He rushed down to the tavern, as he opened the letter, even the voices sounded muted. The hand writing was long and elegant. Lyle dint know what he had expected. He stared dumbly at the words written on the paper, as if they would jump to life and tell him what it was that they meant.

Gofdi ran through the rain, her worn out shoes sending a fountain of mud in every direction. All around her people were running about their shacks, trying to stop water from seeping through the roof. As she raced past another path, she saw that the water had flooded down the alley, taking many shacks with them. Gofdi felt a mixture of pain and empathy as she saw people’s lives drifting away. The further she ran the deeper the water got, and by now she was trudging along in water that came to her knees. And finally the wash house came into view. It was one of the oldest buildings in the slums, it was said to have bin built when the people first came down from the mountains in search of riches near to the city. It was built of ancient sand stone. Gofdi came to a stop before the door, soaked completely. Gathering up all her courage she opened the door. Inside the situation was no better than outside, water coming to Gofdi’s knees.  All the washer women had abandoned their posts by their massive wash tubs that filled the place, and had grabbed buckets and started to haul the water out of the window. But by the expressions on their faces, they knew that what they were doing was pointless. The rain here was hammering against the roof, from outside came pleas of help, but above all was the voice of Mother superior, as she liked to call herself. She was a plump lady who over judged her value immensely, and believed that she was the queen of the slums. Gofdi feared she was. “Gofdi!!” she heard mother superior shouting “Ye better have sold every fuckin’ one of those apples or I swear I will split you and gut you like a fish!”

The yellow sun rose like a messiah, and it would have if anyone believed they could be saved from their lives. Half of the slums had bin washed away during the night, and a quarter of it had bin rebuilt before morning. Lyle had slept in another tavern that night, afraid of what had happened in his previous room. That night he had bin far too concerned by what had happened to look at the new set of treasures he had liberated from the rich City Dwellers.  Lyle took another ring out of his pocket. unlike the previous, this one had a green jewel in that Lyle suspected was a emerald. He put it on the table along with a ring with a ruby in it, two gold pocket watches, each with a different coat of arms on it. Lyle took out the last object. It was a knife. Judging by the many jewels in the silver hilt and the flawless razor sharp blade, Lyle assumed that the knife wasn’t used much. He smiled to himself. City people use weapons for decoration, my god! Then he sighed. He thought of the stupidity of this. In the city he could sell these for a fortune each, but he couldn’t go around selling stuff to people who would instantly recognize it as their own anyway, and in the slums no-one had enough money to buy the items for the amount he wanted to sell them for. In the slums gold counted for naught, as in the city food was only something you eat, in the slums gold was only something pretty, and who wanted something pretty when you can’t afford anything to eat? Lyle shook his head, as if shaking away all those thoughts. Then a new thought came to him, a thought that seemed to over shadow all those he had previously. The thought of Gofdi. He smiled. That was what he was going to do. He was goin’ to find her. He emptied his pockets, of everything except the decorated knife, a present for Gofdi. But by the time he was outside, he forgot all about Gofdi. Across the muddy lane stood a man. It was a man Lyle had never seen before, yet by the manner of his dress and the way the lane was deserted told Lyle everything he had to know about this man. The man stepped forward, his long black cloak jingling with knives as he walked. Lyle was paralysed with fear, this man was what was known as a Knife. An assassin specialized in torture. Lyle’s mind raced. His knife was he had left inside, and the only thing in his long coat was the decorated knife. It would break if it was deflected in anyway, so if Lyle was goin’ to do anything he would have to have a clear shot at the man’s vital ‘spots’ as Lyle called them. The door behind Lyle slammed and clicked as it locked. The landlord would not want to be caught in the fray. Lyle looked up and down the lane. Two massive men with even bigger clubs stood at each end. Just beyond them a small crowd had gathered. They always loved to see a good Knife in action. Judging by the size of the crowd they were expecting this one to be one of the best. Lyle’s mind had already decided that if the man wanted him to die a quick death, he would have already thrown one of his many blades, which he did not, so clearly he thought Lyle knew something of importance. The man was closer now.

“I don’t know nothin’ of anythin’ that ye would want to know,” Lyle said feebly, his voice breaking with fear. The man chuckled, and from his coat drew a vicious looking knife. Lyle heard the crowd go “Oooohhhh” Then the man drew another. A knife in each hand. Lyle gulped, and fumbled for his own silly decorative knife. When he drew it the crowd and the man laughed. The man was very close by now. Lyle’s breathed hard, and then, drawin’ up all his courage, he lunged forward. He aimed for the man’s throat. In a split-second, the impact Lyle had expected vanished, nd’ he screamed in pain. The pain came from his left shoulder blade. Lyle stumbled and fell. He heard the crowd laugh. Takin’ a deep breath, Lyle stretched his right hand over, and pulled the blade out. He heard the soft click of metal, and felt no relief. In his hand Lyle held the hilt of his own decorated knife, the blade still stuck in his shoulder blade. Lyle tried to move his arm, but screamed again as he tried. A cold breeze whipped Lyle’s hair around his face. He looked up, and saw the man walkin’ towards him. Lyle looked at the stump of blade still sticking out of the hilt, closed his eyes and waited for the pain to come. And the wind seemed to whisper,

“Cañónoscuridad…”