Captured Sky

Tinder snapped, crackled and popped between several logs stacked in parallel. The warmth of the flames seeped into Havoc’s bones; they chased away a cold which had persistently hounded. The chill of the cave was not unbearable. As a student of unroofed living, he was well discipled against the brisk of the night. Bundle tight, extremities tucked; the streets were a strict mistress. But her lessons did prepare. Thoroughly tested— wet or dry, hot or cold—he could sleep in any condition. Even still, this was the first time since entering the cave he felt so warm. Arms outstretched, palms rubbing as if a vagabond before a carnivorous feast, he savoured the heat.

Beneath the shining moss of the Temptress’ lair, they had made camp. Aaron and Lucia sat side by side. Stiff backs, a gap between them.

Not exactly the image of a happy couple, Havoc thought. The two could barely look at each other. When they did, it was not puppy-love he saw in their expressions. Rolled eyes and tight lips. “More like annoyance or thinly veiled contempt.”

On the opposite side of the flame, Havoc sat next to Naereah. When she had awoken, at Lucia’s instruction, she had summoned a large brown chest. A thick, red mist poured down from the lip of the truck. When it cleared, there remained an assortment of supplies on the ground.

Havoc had been handed a potion, a bucket, a wash-cloth, and a fresh set of clothes. Having been assured of its effects, he had drank the potion. He snarled at the memory of the greasy substance sliding down his throat. Nose pinched—all in one go—It was like rotted fish left to liquefy. His vision swam after drinking. He had struggled to keep the foul liquid down. But with his wounds healed shut, on balance, it was worth it.

When the last of the blood and muck squeezed into the bucket, he had slipped on his new attire.

Dressed in rags no more—his loose-fit, white shirt tucked into mustard trousers. The trousers themselves were held up by suspenders and the length of them was stuffed between brown, leather boots. Neatly folded at his right was his tailcoat. From the clavicle curving down to the waist, it was the colour of cream. The remainder of the coat was a contrasting black. A matching cream waistcoat lay atop the tailcoat. Draped over both was a scarlet neckcloth.

I look like a guard, Havoc sighed. He had kept the thought to himself, nevertheless, it did not fail to attract a quick glance from the girl to his left.

On her knees looking down, Naereah occasionally stole glances at him. A rapid peek, only to shy away from his returned stare. So close was she, Naereah did all but cling to his arm. He found it strange but not unpleasant. Her hair—washed through and through—was a flawless white. Her dress was dreary and grey. Oversized on her malnourished frame, it draped over her but did nothing to cover her alien mystique. Her fragrance was clean—neutral. It was nothing to entice but was enticing nonetheless. A primal intoxicant; on a different night, under different circumstances, he could have gotten drunk on her scent.

Slowly, he shook his head. He could not allow himself to explore such thoughts. Naereah had risked her life to help him. but he could not forget she was ready to abandon the others.

I can work with her but she can’t be trusted… None of them can, he silently concluded.

‘What’s the plan, boss?’ Sitting between Aaron and Havoc was the fifth member of their party. Havoc did not believe any parents could be so cruel or farsighted as to name their son “Ugly”, so he assumed it was a nickname. Dressed in the same military garb as Havoc, he bore a garish scar cutting diagonally from his forehead to chin. He was the oldest of the group, but marred as he was, Havoc was uncertain of his age. Late-twenties, early-forties, whether through age or trials were his leather features wove, Havoc could not say.

‘Nothing has changed,’ Aaron said. He glanced briefly at Ugly, but his face then turned—first towards Naereah, then to Havoc. His lips scowled, his nostrils flared; Aaron seemed not to approve of the seating arrangements. Lucia, by his side, glared at him before directing her own sharp gaze toward Naereah. With a glance at his fiancée, Aaron returned his attention to the fire.

‘My darling is correct, of course. We simply cannot leave without that for which we have come.’ Lucia said. The twitch in Aaron’s face did not go unnoticed by Havoc when Lucia had called him “Darling”. By Lucia’s feline smile, she also seemed to take note. She placed a hand on Aaron’s thigh, which began to tremble. Her hand slowly slid up his leg before he gripped her wrist and stared at her.

‘My love, not in front of company,’ Aaron said sharpy.

‘Heh, don’t mind me,’ Ugly chimed in. ‘Not seen action in an age. If you two love birds want at it, let me stay and watch. We’ll call it my bonus. Reckon I’ve earned one.’

‘There you have it. The gentleman does not mind and we need not consider the help,’ Lucia said, her eyes fixed on Naereah. ‘That, I suppose, leaves you. Oh, what was your name, again? Harold, was it?’ Arm forward, palm open, a clear provocation to Havoc, inviting him to correct.

‘Havoc,’ he said flatly.

‘Yes, of course. Havoc. Our mysterious saviour with whom my dear Naereah has become so well acquainted,’ Lucia’s last words were not directed at Havoc, rather she turned to face Aaron who, as though struck, recoiled.

A brown-haired beauty, Lucia was. She wore a black, long-sleeved, high-necked blouse with a pleated front. The belt around her accentuated waist seamlessly melded with her long, green skirt. Legs crossed, sitting perfectly straight—chest front, shoulders rolled back—she was possessed of an elegance as plain to see as it was to see through. Grey eyes so clear they shone silver, her appearance seemed mythical. But like the monsters in those tales, Havoc could tell she was dangerous.

Attracting all eyes to himself, Ugly cleared his throat. ‘Look-see, it’s all well and good sayin’ nothin’s changed, but that ain’t the truth, is it, boss?’ As Ugly spoke, Lucia returned her hand to her lap. Her mystical eyes shuttered to a slit; sharply focused, they were, on Ugly’s bobbing throat. ‘Been sayin for weeks, ain’t I? Can’t get nowhere without that freaky chit.’

Annalise… Havoc thought, a creeping buzz tingled his scalp. Every moment, less and less, he saw her as person and more as spider. Web cast far and wide… Just how many of us have you entangled?

‘Our new friend here says he can help us with that,’ Aaron said, gesturing at Havoc.

‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Lucia exclaimed, her arms held open. The pitch of her voice seemed sincere, but her smile failed reach her eyes. ‘You must tell us, are you, as our sweet Annalise, a seer?’

‘I’m not. But I know where she is… Well, I know where she will be.’ Havoc replied.

‘As do we all, dear Harold.’ Lucia pause. Her fingers hovered over lips, a mocking display of social faux pas. ‘Sorry, it was Havoc. Such a peculiar name, so strange to speak aloud. Nevertheless, we know where lies our sweet Annalise. Such a pitiable affair. She is no longer of this world.’

They think she’s dead? It was not difficult for Havoc to see why. So lively was Annalise in the Fair Lady’s Teapot, it was easy to forget how he saw her first—caked in blood, pulsating, green veins, buried to her neck in stone—a miserable sight even prudence would abandon.

‘Saw it m’self, kid. Ain’t no way she’s still kickin’. Real shame too. Pretty thing like her; what a waste,’ Ugly interjected, his head swaying left to right. ‘Thing came out of nowhere, it’s a miracle any one of us still ere.’

Straightening his back, Havoc’s eyes flashed briefly wide. They’ve seen the abominable spirit… Like a scholar in the desert, he thirst for knowledge. Annalise had told him bits and pieces, but wary of the Dungeon’s will, she could only say so much… Enough to serve her purpose. The others were different. Each one was a Servant Inheritor. The aid they could provide would not exceed the Dungeon’s expectations. I saved their lives. They owe me, Havoc need not hold back in questioning them.

‘She’s still alive,’ Havoc said. He paused, looking around—face by face—he measured each reaction. Lucia’s brows raised; she was not convinced. Doubt weighed in Aaron’s eyes. While the others were unconscious, they had spoken before. Wary was Aaron, but not dismissive. Ugly’s weathered face held an unsightly grin. It’s breadth widened as Havoc’s eyes locked with his. Only Naereah showed no response. Eyes cast downwards, her shoulders folded in. As if in the presence of untamed beasts, it seemed an attempt to placate. Tucked away, as minute as she could be, her posture was defensive, minimised; hers was a diminished presence.

“I’m not a threat.” Havoc read the silent words in her demeanour.

‘Bollocks, mate,’ Ugly said, breaking the silence. His tone a tinged with amusement.

‘I must admit, it does seem far-fetched,’ Lucia added, her voice carrying a polite disinterest.

‘Let us hear the man out,’ Aaron said, His hand raised to quell the rising bickering. When the crackle of wood was the only sound left, he gestured for Havoc to speak.

Forward leaned, Havoc met Lucia’s impatient stare. The whole time, he had studied them. While leadership de jure was held by Aaron, Lucia was the one to carry real authority in their group. Havoc needed their help, but they needed his just as much. There was room to negotiate. It would be a battle off wits, and he held the high ground. Still, he was sure, Lucia was well skilled in attacking from below.

I’ll only have one chance at this… Havoc thought. It all came down to who needed who more. What did she call it? His mind raced back to Annalise’s closing words. Remember to mention…

‘The Tears of Desire.’ Havoc said, the words passing unchecked from his lips. ‘That’s what you’re looking for, isn’t it?’ Replaced was the expression of irritated boredom from Lucia's face. Hearing Havoc’s words, her mouth went wide in genuine shock. She gave Aaron a look, eyes promising restless times to come, but she rapidly regained her composure.

'You would seem well informed. Yes, we are here seeking the Tears.’ Lucia said with a sigh. At her confirmation, Ugly titled forward, as though he would gain closer insight by being nearer to her voice.

So they didn’t tell him… Wait, there’s something else... Havoc noted as Ugly’s expression of shock stiffened and his nose flared with anger.

‘Your lady’s bein’ funny, boss,’ Ugly said, menace undergirding his lowered tone. ‘If you’re ere for the Tears, that’d make this Cell, The Forest of Desire, and I know that ain’t where you bringed me.’

‘Well the secret is out. Yes, we are in The Forest of Desire,’ Lucia said, her carefree shrug scorching Ugly’s scarred face red.

Havoc did not understand the significance but he did not need to. Lucia understood, that is what mattered. To his benefit, she would haggle against her own preconceptions. From Ugly’s reaction, the revelation was significant. Whatever the Tears were, it was important enough and secret enough that Lucia and Aaron would keep it from their man. From Ugly’s reaction, there would be danger.

But what does that change? They’ll do anything for it, that’s all that matters. With a slight smile, Havoc allowed silence to linger, setting the stage to open negotiations. Seconds passed, he counted them. When a quarter minute went by, he parted his lips to begin.

He never had the chance.

‘You mad bitch!’ Ugly spat, the specks of his saliva frizzling in the campfire. Standing to his feet, he shuffled backwards, drawing distance with the rest of the group. Pointed at Lucia, a sword formed in his palm. His blade extended downwards propelled at speed. Lucia did not flinch, and the lethal thrust never pierced the malignant beauty. Mere inches from her neck was the tip but it could move no further. Within Aaron’s scaled grip, the sword was held. A whine of tortured metal but the sword could move no further.

Havoc, already on his feet, held the Buried Strike in both hands. Naereah scuttled to his side.

‘There is no need for alarm nor bloodshed this night,’ Aaron said. Still with the point of the extended blade firm in his grip, Aaron rose to his feet.

‘Wait your turn, fribble. You’re next,’ Ugly growled, his wide and wild eyes flashing at Aaron before returning his fury at Lucia.

What the hell is happening? Havoc thought. Not for the first time, he lamented his ignorance concerning the world of Inheritors. Palpable; that is how he described the tension when they gathered around the fireplace. Palpable but manageable. As though hanging on rope many threads bare, he knew they had been dangling on edge. But four words? Four words of ignorance and the last thread was cut.

Grunting his exertion, sweat steaming to his eyes, Ugly turned his face to Havoc. ‘You’ve haven’t the foggies what’s happenin, do ya? Wager you don’t even know where we are.’

‘Not another word!’ Aaron said as his forward march forced Ugly’s retreat.

‘This ‘ere’s The Forest of Desire,’ Ugly continued.

‘I said be silent!’ Aaron said firmly.

‘Takes thirty souls to get inside.’ Ugly growled ‘These bastard led twenty of my best men. With the other guilds, there a total of sixty.’

‘This is your final warning!’ Each of Aaron’s words as sharp as a butcher’s knife. He gripped Ugly’s sword tighter; cracks etched the steel.

‘Sixty damned souls!’ Ugly shouted this time. ‘But only four can ever leave!’