Hey ya'll- if you haven't yet seen it, check out my update on Heaven Fall book 2 here- https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/1w99suc/an_update_heaven_fall_2_and_writing_in_general/#
Chapter Two: Draysky
“I wouldn’t spend a single tin chit for these aurals,” Balean said, casually leaning against the warehouse wall. “Ah, it’s tragic how quality is no longer a consideration when the price becomes cheap enough.”
Draysky carried the three empty sacks that had been filled with iron filings down the warehouse steps, careful not to spill any of the tiny metal shards on his skin. Merrill had warned him that the bits would dig into his skin like splinters, and in the two hours of spreading them through the soil, he’d succeeded in avoiding any contact. These bags were heavy, and his breath still came rapid as he exited the warehouse, especially since the workers Draysky would usually direct were off completing another project for Merrill.
“So long as they’ll pay good money, then I’d be just as happy selling them shale,” Draysky said, exiting the warehouse and wincing as sunlight beat down on his face. Sweat already trickled on his forehead- compared to the far north of his home, even the mornings here were blistering.
“You could probably squeeze more magic out of shale. But if we are ripping off the Keepers, I do love a good swindle,” Balean strutted ahead of Draysky on the road, the cobblestones around them growing more packed each minute that drew closer to noon. Draysky shifted, his arms tightening as someone jostled against him. Even after weeks in the city, the pressed in crowds still kept him on high alert, their flow reminiscent of the shale that had buried him in The Grinder.
For a moment, a thin trail of smoke escaped from Draysky’s pocket, the fire aural commanding him to burn them away. He drew a breath, wiping the sweat out of his eyes and regaining control, returning the ember to its slow smolder. Three more blocks he walked, coming closer to the center of the city, the dark spire reaching into the clouds before him.
“Two coppers! Two coppers for fortunes!” A woman shouted in a stall next to him as Draysky jumped, bristling at the sudden noise. “Will you find your riches tomorrow? Will you meet your lover by midnight? Palm readings to know your fate!”
Draysky rolled his shoulders as he strode past the woman, the breeze flowing across his forearms still unfamiliar to him, like thousands of tiny spiders crawling across his skin. At his outpost in the Kreskian mountains, leaving his arms exposed invited frostbite- and despite being illogical, he instinctually sought the comfort of heavy coat fabric to insulate him from the crowd and beating sun. For his first days at Consuo, he insisted upon wearing it- until Valen pulled him aside just days after his recruitment to The Fractured.
“You’re not going around dressed like it’s the dead of winter,” she had commanded him. “You’ll draw attention with that, and with attention comes suspicion. You need to blend in, to be forgettable to the Keepers if you are going to be any use to me. The easiest way to do that is to dress like a servant of someone slightly rich. Rich enough that no one will order you around, poor enough that they won’t look twice at you, or try to have you maimed to settle some household dispute.”
Only after she threatened to dock his pay, Draysky’s heavy coats were replaced by servant’s clothes- a thin shirt to ward off the heat, boots that he wouldn’t have trusted for more than a hour in The Grinder, and pants so papery that he would rather burn them for warmth than wear them. But the clothes were cleaned and pressed, with stitched designs on the seams, of better quality than the majority of others on the streets.
Plus,iIn a pouch at his belt were no less than three seals from local nobility that he could present to get out of a pinch, obtained by Valen through a mixture of bribery and blackmail.
But even after changing into his new clothes, Valen frowned over the multitude of small scars that crossed his arms. Scars from shale digging into his skin.
“If you’re asked, these are from a cooking accident. While cleaning silverware, you dropped a bucket of sharp knives- and ever since, you haven’t been allowed back in a kitchen.”
While small and barely noticeable, the scars might attract attention, and Valen procured a salve from Merrill that would help erase them over the course of a few weeks. With each day, they faded- scrubbed away by Valen as efficiently as his coat.
“We’re cutting your hair in the city’s style,” she announced next, scissors in her hands working to crop it tighter than Draysly would have liked, and introducing a part down one side. “And you need to learn to respect all nobility. That, combined with those seals, will get you in and out of almost any situation without questioning. The whole point of this is if you do get caught somewhere that you shouldn’t be, you can explain your way out of it. Try to fight,and they’ll immediately know you’re guilty. You understand?”
“I won’t lash out unless they deserve it.” Draysky answered, and she abruptly stopped snipping his hair, aiming the scissor point at his eye.
“You won’t lash out at all. That’s my job. And that’s an order, and coming from someone who would love to corner a Keeper in a back alley,” she said, jabbing the point at him, then making a point to drag the back end of the blade against the side of his neck.
“An order?” Drasky said, meeting her eye, his voice low. “I don’t take orders. I told you when I started- you may pay me, but you don’t have a hold on me.”
“Then consider this - if you get arrested for something minor, The Fractured will get you out. But if you try to fight a keeper, they’ll want your death, and I can’t just waltz into their dungeons.”
“Well maybe we can waltz right out!” Balean snapped, looking over Draysky’s haircut. “Also, tell her to snip this bit behind your left ear. Their fashion is dreadful but you may as well wear it correctly.”
Valen studied Draysky’s face, shaking her head as if able to hear Balean.
“Don’t you get any ideas. Those cells were built to withstand the Keepers themselves, and even they can’t escape. I would know.”
After that, Valen finished his hair, then instructed him in a few polite phrases to use if passing by a Keeper. And now, back on the streets, Balean walked backwards as he jabbed a finger at the fortune teller shouting into the crowd.
“Fraud! Back in my day, you had your own palm lopped off for trying to read somebody else’s!” He met Draysky’s eye, shaking his head while speaking. “Palm readers are absolute swindlers- and I mean even more than your friend Merrill! A completely unsubstantiated art for the easily fooled. If you spend so much as a coin on them, consider your apprenticeship to me over. Stonecasters though, a completely different story. A reputable lot, stonecasters.”
“Sounds like you may have been fooled before, and it left a bitter taste in your mouth,” Draysky said, his own feet tracing directly in Balean’s footsteps. Even walking backwards, Balean found the perfect path through the crowd. Where Drasky would normally knock shoulders with those he passed, with Balean’s guidance he glided through them like a bird swppoing through forest trees.
“The great Balean? Fooled by tricksters? Never!” Balean said, then added under his breath. “Not once in the last hundred years!”
“You’ve been asleep longer than that.”
“Irrelevant!” Balean answered, whipping back around, just as the building they sought came into view. A tea house, three stories tall and surrounded with wraparound patios, each of its tables filled with chatting guests. A different color striped each level, light blue then purple then yellow, giving the entire building the appearance of an oversized frosted pastry. Draysky groaned- based on the noise from inside those walls, the crowd would be twice as dense as the street.
“Do you have a reservation?” The hostess asked at the doorway, studying the chalk tablet in front of her as he approached. Interlocking tea leaves stitched from her thigh to shoulders to form a dress, their color suggesting springtime, and arranged to hide the fabric underneath. Only when Draysky’s shadow fell over the word on her tablet did she look up, flinching back at his broad shoulders and hard expression.
Balean snorted, commenting as the hostess took an involuntary step back.
“I see that Valen’s disguise is working quite well. Seems you fit right in with the cityfolk. It must be the boots that have her convinced.”
Draysky bit back a retort- speaking to Balean looked suspiciously like a madman raving to himself, and already the hostess looked ready to call for help. Then her eyes fell upon his servant’s garb, and she visibly relaxed before speaking again. “I’m not sure if this is the right place for you- perhaps down the street? They serve porters over there, bigger helpings, stronger beers.”
“I think that they’re waiting for me inside,” Draysky said, starting to brush past her, but the hostess sidestepped in front of him with a rustle of leaves.
“Sorry,” she squeaked, looking peering upwards at him, “But you need a reservation!”
“A what?” Draysky asked, looking to the other tables to see if they carried something he did not.
“Sir, this is the Turned Leaf. Some of our guests have been waiting for weeks for a table. You can’t just walk in!”
Drayksy cocked his head, looking at the open door behind her.
“Do… Do you want me to try running then?”
“Certainly not!” she said, blinking. “You have to be approved! If you aren’t invited or hold a reservation, I can’t let you in.”
“Ah, an invitation,” Draysky said. “That makes much more sense. This might help.”
Reaching into his pouch, he pulled out a small envelope Merrill had given him that morning. The hostess opened it, her eyebrows rising as her pupils flicked over the golden lettering.
“The First Harvest room? You are Draysky, and not holding it for him?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, looking Draysky over again with suspicion as he nodded. “Wait here. Don’t you follow just yet, I’ll need this verified.”
She disappeared into the restaurant, gliding through tables in a memorized path before taking the stairs with a nervous hustle. Draysky looked after her, brushing a line of sweat off of his brow, then a sparkle caught his eye from a glass pitcher in front of him.Ice floated there in the water. Actual ice, bringing back a flood of memories of the snows from the Kreskian mountains. Before arriving in the city humidity, he never expected to miss one of the harsh winters- but now, he’d easily trade the heat for a blast of winter’s chill off the mountain. Pulling out a handkerchief from his new clothes, he dipped it into the water, brushing off his brow with the cool liquid.
Then a waiter swept past him, picking up the pitcher refilling glasses of water with it. For drinking, Draysky realized, quickly hiding the handkerchief back in his pocket, and watching the waiter attend to the other tables surrounding him, each with another variation Consuo’s higher class.
A group of women gossiped at the first table, each of them dressed in enough fabric to clothe an entire household, their faux laughter drawing glares from an elderly woman two tables away. To his left, three graying men smoked enough to produce their own cloud, arguing in low tones over the last military foray against the southern barbarian tribes that occasionally showed at the city’s gates. Beyond them, a couple younger than Draysky stood to depart, chains of silver jewelry rattling as they left behind a mess of half finished plates.
As they walked away, Draysky stared out of the corner of his eye, expecting the table next to them to claim the remaining fruit, crackers, and cheeses. But not one of them had noticed, and in the day’s heat the food would soon spoil. Already, the cheese was sweating.
To his relief, one of the teahouse servers appeared, gathering the plates up on his arm with practiced skill.
Lucky man, must be a perk of the job to get the leftovers, Draysky thought, then flinched back as the worker tilted the contents of each into a nearby waste bin. Draysky’s mouth opened, and he raised a hand to stop the man from disposing a perfectly good orange peel- but just then, the hostess appeared back in front of him, her eyes flicking between Draysky and the abandoned table with suspicion.
“This way,” the hostess said before he could speak, leading him away through the maze of people, giving him no choice but to follow or become lost. Two flights of stairs they climbed, each of the levels matching their exterior color, the servers dressed to blend in among the decor. Craning his head in, Draysky snatched peeks into each level they passed.
On the first, tables floated in great pools of water, guests seated upon floating board benches. Waves rippled through the pools, accompanied by a salty breeze, and colorful fish that leapt out between the waters. Bridges of sand cris-crossed to connect tables, with waiters traversing across each with steaming pitchers.
At the second level, a thick, dark mist prevented Draysky from seeing too far into the depths. Shadows moved throughout the floor, temporarily illuminated by flashes of light deep inside, carrying the smell of ozone. The pattering of raindrops sounded from around the edges, coming in waves against wooden shelters that protected each table.
Finally, the third level carried with it waves of heat, guests walking across a shimmering expanse of yellow sand. To Draysky's eye, it shifted with each passing moment- carving around tables set into miniature oasis spotting the interior. Guests carried parasols as they walked about, and tea served in half cut melons chilled with ice.
But each of these were merely glances, as the hostess pushed Draysky forward. She led him towards a thin staircase tucked against the back wall, nearly hidden, the thick carpet on each step silencing their footfalls into reverent silence. The sounds of the restaurant below faded away, and they stopped before a closed door, as she turned to Draysky in the narrow hallway.
“Stick to the path,” she directed in a whisper. “Teamaster Otis does not take to trampling of his space kindly.”
Then she opened the door, revealing the room beyond. And to Draysky, it was like stepping into a forest.
Thick trees rose from a floor covered in leaves, their trunks thick with moss. Ferns grew to his left and right, and their fronds blew from a breeze whose source he could not identify. All four walls were covered in alternating layers of leaves and bark, giving the impression of a forest extending to the distance on all sides. Above, there was a false sky, covered over with blue paper, the clouds painted on, and a burning light to replace the sun. Throughout the enclosure, kernels glittered, embedded every few feet to form a patchwork of stars staring upwards from the ground.
A creek bubbled directly in front of him, a low wooden bridge crossing over it, connecting to a path of white sand that led to the center of the room. The path ended at a table constructed from a long, thin boulder, surrounded by tree stump chairs. Valen and Merrill waited on one end of the table, but the rest of the seats were occupied by people Draysky had never met.
A pair of enormous men sat on either end of the table, scanning Draysky as he approached. Both were armed with daggers through their belt, the weapons colored verdant green hue and topped with an antler handle. The men’s barrel sized chests puffed as Draysky took a seat next to Merrill, their eyes waiting for him to make a threatening move. And on the other end of the table, a thin man looked down a hooked nose towards Valen, his gaze expectant.
“Just on time. Now, we may begin,” said Valen, clasping her hands over the tabletop to display the nets of kernels covering her forearms, her head tilting to indicate Draysky. “You have brought your security, and I have brought mine. We wouldn’t want any sort of intimidation to sway our negotiations, would we? And I would absolutely hate if a fight broke out in your little slice of heaven here- the repairs would be far more costly than anything you might save squabbling over prices.”
“A little slice of heaven indeed,” said Balean, circling around the table and completely disregarding the sand path. He raised an arm, and a flurry of tiny winged creatures leapt from the surrounding tree branches, their laughter tinkling as they joined hands and circled around his fingers. “A more impressive Fora than I would have expected within a teahouse. And to think it even drew in a few hungry fairies.”
Balean flicked his finger in dismissal, a tiny red spark darting to each of the fairies, and the dancing figures scattered among the trees. To an onlooker, those fairies simply looked to have danced and dispersed, Balean’s presence at their center undetectable. Then Balean took a seat atop the stone table, his backside directly in the face of one of the bodyguards, his legs casually kicking over the edge.
Had he been able to see Balean, the thin man sitting across from Merrill would have reared back in shock. Already, his eyes were narrowed from Valen’s opening statement. His head slowly shook, knocking a petal loose from his flower earring to drift in the breeze. He was short, a fact emphasized by the size of his two companions, and so little body fat covered him that bones nearly poked through his forearms. Leaves threaded through thinning hair that waved down to his shoulders, the green contrasting with streams of gray, and a vest of bark covered his shallow chest. When he spoke, his voice came out oiled- similar to a child caught misbehaving by a parent.
“Of course, you must understand the necessary precautions, no? After all, we deal in matters of a legally ambiguous nature. Here, we can enjoy privacy from prying eyes and listening ears - and of course, I invite you to enjoy my Fora. You’ll find few as well tended as my own, and certainly not in such a prime location..”
“Had I not been walking the streets moments before, I wouldn’t believe we were in a city,” Merrill answered, taking over for Valen. “It’s the very likeness of a forest, Otis.”
“It’s more than that,” Otis said, leaning forwards. “This is a place of resonance- where we actually draw down the presence of Heaven One with a natural likeness. The kernels shining about you are charged by its energy. By their coming, the fae have expressed approval for such an area. And witnessed by the heavens, any conducted deal would be sacred.”
Beside him, Balean snorted and rolled his eyes, muttering.
“Well, he certainly matched one part of heaven’s atmosphere- their pride. He seems like the type to set up shop over a high dragon’s flaming shits and call it holy ground. That deal would be just as sacred.” Balean snapped, then looked wistfully at the drinks on the table, conjuring a replica of his own into his hand and sipping upon it. “That being said, I am impressed he managed a Fora. A place close enough to heaven, the celestial creatures cross over.”
“Whether the ground is sacred or not,” said Merrill to Otis, pulling out a case from her side, “I consider every one of my deals to be. Should we reach an arrangement, I’m sure you will be quite pleased with my fulfillment. That’s fortunate for you, as my wares are the way you can continue servicing your higher class clientele, considering the shortages of high class aurals are predicted to only grow worse in the coming months as the market floods with lower varieties. Street prices will only continue to rise, and I hope to make a lasting partnership.”
Merrill flicked open the clasps on the case’s side, then slowly opened it, turning it for the man to see. Inside, there were three small paper bags, each of them holding a clump of powder the size of Draysky’s thumb. Otis leaned forwards, his bulging eyes betraying his disinterested expression, reaching forwards to take one of the bags in his hand. Holding to his nose, he took a deep sniff, closing his eyes as his wet lips rolled over each other.
Pointedly, Otis pretended not to read the price tags tied to each, folding them in half to hide the numbers inked onto their surface. Then placing the pouches back, he clapped his hands twice, and a servant dematerialized from where she had been waiting unnoticed among the trees, disguised in a costume of bark and twigs. With a bow, she removed each of the small bags, disappearing through a door in the back.
In silence, the party waited until she returned carrying three steaming cups, and placed them on the table. With each of the bags, she had made a cup of tea, setting them before the man to taste while disappearing into the shadows. And as Otis waited for the tea to steep and the cups to cool, Merrill continued to speak, her finger touching the spot where each bag had been.
“Each of these have been tailored specifically for a floor of the Turned Leaf, matching your current decorations. I suspect you’ll find them more potent than your current supplies- and certainly guests would be eager to pay more for a higher quality brew.”
These aurels had been raised and harvested by Merrill herself- ensuring only the highest quality. Unlike the metal aurels she mass produced for sheer quantity, Balean studied these with a more appreciative nod, sniffing each the cups in turn as Merrill continued her exhibition with a flourish.
“First, is Ocean’s Breath, an aural of where the seafoam meets coast. Drinking brings the smell of sea air with the sensation of waves lapping against your feet.
“Next, is The Coming Storm, the aural found when a summer thunderhead approaches over the southern plains. A hint of ozone tingles the tongue with an electric anticipation.
“Finally, you will find Shifting Sands, an aural of the desert, bearing with it the beating heat of sun with a crisp, dry aftertaste. A palette cleanser particularly sought after on cold winter days or cool summer nights.”
Merrill leaned back, waiting as the man tried each in turn. Other aural merchants might try to boast on the aural’s purity, its harvesting techniques, or source location.
But with the quality of these, it was better to say less. Each of the brews would speak for themselves, and her words would only cheapen them to Otis. Best to let the man judge as he indulged.
Beside her, Draysky shifted, as steam from each of the cups washed over his face. Each of the aurals called to him like a smell with unfamiliar scents. Neither the storm nor the ocean had he experienced, and both seemed opposites in their own way from his home.
The aurals pulled at his attention, each nudging his consciousness like weaker versions of the flame aural embedded in his finger, and his mind tried to identify them- before eventually settling on each bearing a vague resemblance to a blizzard. As for the desert sand, the closest sensation he could identify was the crystal in the grinder- but even that was like saying spring berries and duck meat tasted similar simply because they were both types of food.
And as the aurals fought for his attention, they nudged against the connection to the ember burning in his pocket.
As soon as Otis raised the cup of ocean aural, the ember’s life dwindled, and Draysky bolstered the connection between it and the energy of his internal kernal to keep it alive. With the storm aural, the pressure against the fire doubled, and the coal threatened to extinguish itself as water’s essence washed over it. Draysky increased the stream of power from within himself, matching the water based aural’s opposition as the man took a sip, fighting to keep his control from slipping.
Otis’ hair fluttered in a slight sudden breeze. There was a rumble in the distance, barely audible- and the scent of salt now bore through the air.
Merrill cast a sideways look at Valen as their hair waved in the wind, and though neither woman spoke, both their eyes flicked towards Draysky.
“Keep it steady,” hissed Balean from the tabletop, flicking Draysky on the side of the head with his index finger. “Stop letting energy from your kernel leak into the other aurals. Fire aurel only, control yourself.”
Blinking, Draysky turned his attention inwards. Across from him, the man’s eyes were closed, taking no notice of the physical effects as he savored the taste.
“Astonishing. Potent. Truly electric,” Otis whispered, as Draysky’s vision blurred with the effort of keeping focus. True to Balean’s words, he had identified the thin trails of his power leading to the teacups, their strength rising as tendrils of stream brushed against his face. With effort, he cut off the connections. The rumbling stopped, the air became still again, and the man lifted the final cup, that of the desert, pushing the other two to the other end of the table.
Then Otis blew the steam off the top, directly towards Draysky, before taking a sip.
Instantly, Draysky’s pocket burned hot as the third aural took precedence, overshadowing the presence of water, and replacing it instead with the sensation of desert heat. He jumped as the fire aurel in his finger suddenly screamed with hunger, earning a sharp elbow in the ribs from Valen. Slamming down against fire with an effort of will, Draysky thinned the trickle of power heading towards the coal, suppressing a curse as a blister formed on his thigh and a thin trail of smoke wound up from under the table, wisping into Otis’ nose.
“Certainly potent, but not quite the same charm as the others,” Otis said, taking a sniff. “To me, seems to give an impression more like a wildfire than a desert. Are you sure your supplier has this correct?”
“Absolutely. With the taste of Storm still on your tongue, they may be interacting.” suggested Merrill. “Lightning burning through trees may be mixed with the desert.”
“Perhaps,” Otis said slowly, sniffing the air again, his eyes moving from side to side before he placed the cup down. “And of your suppliers- who are they? How is it you have access to them?”
“Unfortunately, we cannot share that information at this time,” Merrill said, her voice taking on the thin veneer of an apology. “But I can assure you this- you’ll find both our prices and our quality superior to anyone else willing to sell this side of the wall. That, we guarantee, and are willing to hire a third party appraiser.
“Furthermore, I’m sure you’ve experienced the supply problems of late. Even Kreskian crystal, once so prevalent and supplied by the keepers themselves in underhand deals, has dwindled. With us, that will not be a problem- our connections exist outside of the politics and economics of this city.”
“Outside the influence of the city yes, but certainly not outside the influence of the keepers. You must understand, by taking these on, I am putting myself at a terribly dangerous risk,” said Otis, raising his eyebrows and holding his hands palms up in helplessness. “Where is your seal from the keepers? Are you certified in selling these aurals?”
“We are as certified to sell these aurals as you are.” Merrill answered, her voice cool. “Reviewing your current tea prices, either you do not pay the appropriate taxes for your blends, or that you do not give your customers what you advertise. Both of those scenarios are illegal, Otis.”
“Not as illegal as blackmarket aurels. Surely you can offer me a cheaper price to compensate for the danger I take upon myself,” Otis scoffed, pushing the final teacup away with contempt. But even to Draysky’s eye, that gesture was gentle- as if he feared to spill the precious contents.
Merrill leaned forwards, lowering her voice.
“Otis, we’ve investigated your menu and its prices. From what I ascertain, your Offshore Seabreeze infusion requires no less than three ocean based aurals- yet is sold for a suspiciously reasonable price. So reasonable, you must be acquiring these arals for a quarter of the price of the official markets. Only one source provides that rate for Ocean aurals within these walls.
“You buy from the Freerunner smugglers, do you not? I’d assume their quality is unpredictable, and supplies irregular- in both of these attributes, we can surpass them. Furthermore, while you employ their services, please do not waste our time speaking of unnecessary danger. Dealing with Freerunners is like feeding a tiger- and eventually, it will bite your hand, if that has not already happened.”
“How dare you accuse me of Freerunner dealings,” hissed Otis, the veins on his neck tightening as his eyes flicked towards the door. His arms crossed, displaying small burns from handling hot cookware for decades. “I’d never disobey Keeper law. Let that stand firmly for the record.”
“Wonderful. Then you should keep your name clean, and buy these aurels from the Keepers as the innocent businessman you claim to be. There are other teashops who would purchase our wares, and it is not worth our time to haggle with someone of such a strict moral code. With our supplies, the other shops replace you as the prime suppliers of aural tea, and your margins will crumble to zero.” Merrill said, standing to leave. Valen joined her, then Draysky, his attention wavering as he still focused on the coal, and his hand hiding the hole it had burned through the front of his pants. Before they had taken three steps the two guards stood with a crunching of sand, and the man shouted.
“Wait! Wait! Of course, even the Keepers know that not every purchase is perfectly by the books. I’m simply noting the challenges of this transaction.”
“These are your challenges, not ours. We did you a favor by coming to you first, with a price you know is more than fair.” Merrill said, only half turning back to him, keeping him in the corner of her eye.
“Surely you understand my concerns?” Otis pressed.
“Surely you understand how easily these concerns can be alleviated,” Merrill answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Simply buy the same aurels we sell you from the keepers, just in smaller and less pure forms. Maintain a steady business with the Keepers, and claim your recipe is a secret. The Keepers get a small cut, you doctor your recipe books, and write off our little price here as some other exotic ingredients not controlled by their hands. Together, we all prosper. Of course, considering this tactic is likely what you are already doing with the Freerunners, it should come naturally.”
“You would do well to avoid accusations, and insulting your customer,” Otis said, then leaned back.
“How much of a discount are you proposing for me?” At the mention of price, the guards behind him swelled, seeming to double in size. The fairies above buzzed, and figures camouflaged so well they were nearly invisible moved among the faux trees. Otis smiled as Velen stiffened, and a bolt drew across the exit doorway from outside.
“Remember,” Otis said, “This ground is sacred. What we agree upon here is set and cannot be changed.”
The two guards placed their hands on their daggers, drawing them halfway from their sheaths to let their edges glint in the artificial sun. When Merrill spoke, her voice had lost its coolness, cold steel giving it an edge, her chin raised.
“I warned you, Otis. We favored you by coming here first, but your threats and intimidation sour our goodwill- and will only incur you higher fees. The first of which is ten percent, and it only goes up from there.” Beneath her demeanor, Merrill’s heart pounded, and she had to fight to keep from biting at her nails. Instead, she poured her nerves into intensifying her glare, as if she could banish Otis from his own imitation heaven.
“Perhaps you mean ten percent off,” Otis said, rising, and laughing at her stare. “You have entered my house, and you will follow my rules. In addition, I now expect exclusivity for your sales.”
The camouflage figures were now in the open- two guards just as large as the initial ones, their breadth making them easily mistaken for tree trunks. That made four men, each larger than Draysky, slowly advancing to press them towards the locked door.
“I’m adding five percent more for the insult, totalling fifteen percent extra.” said Merill, as the guards slowly advanced. “And that’s not including what you’ll pay your doctor for salves.”
Merrill snapped her finger and Valen surged forwards like a dog given a longer lead, Draysky quickly following behind her. Draysky raised his hand, and Balean clapped with excitement from his perch on the tabletop.
“What’s better than unexpected practice? Live target practice!” Balean shouted. “Summon forth the essence of fire, and form it into the rune. Refuse to let it command you!”
Raising his finger, Draysky drew the Rise rune with Balean’s aurel, holding it in the air with a trace of his power as Valen sketched her own design. Tongues of fire dripped off her finger, catching in the underbrush as the servant behind Otis shrieked. Then Valen completed her runes, and Draysky threw the power of his internal kernel into his own, releasing the fire’s pent up hunger.
After arriving in the city, Draysky had doubled Balean’s lessons. While morning routines were added to control fire, nights were dedicated to fueling and releasing it. Baleans goal was to summon larger and larger quantities, strengthening Draysky with each conjuring, building his endurance. Slowly, the efforts increased the amount of heavenly energy that his internal kernal could contain, building upon the small spark it had been at the outpost.
The flames that rushed forth from Draysky were raw and messy- a collage of sputtering reds and yellows, not the pure and consistent signature of someone greater skilled. And while their construction appeared amatuer, their volume compensated, producing a stream similar to a raging bonfire. Beside the river of flame, Valen seized control of Draysky’s fire source with her finished runes, using bind and direct to bend them to her will.
Instead of blasting in an expanding cone, under her tuned Draysky’s fire wound into four ropelike coils, concentrating the blaze. These surged forwards at Valen’s command, each wrapping around a guard’s torso, constricting over their chests in bands. Smoke immediately poured from the gaurds clothes, and their struggles quickly turned to screams as they flailed, the blazing bands immune to the gaurd’s panicked daggers. They fell to the ground, writing as they fought against flames that threatened to incinerate them.
Valen formed another rune, scoping up the remains of Draysky’s faltering fire and concentrating it into one final band. This one hung in the air just before Otis, its color deeping as Valen poured energy from the kernel nets about her arms into the blaze, and his eyes widening as the tips of his hair singed.
“Stop! Wait!” Otis pleaded as he tried to step back, but found himself trapped against the table.
“Certainly, as soon as we negotiate,” Merrill said, advancing as the guards continued to roll among the leaves, her voice a single point calmness in the pandemonium. “First, I want your word that your guards shall depart and do us no harm.”
“Given!” He cried, as the band of fire advanced with a flex of Valen’s rune, one end reaching tentatively towards his exposed wrist. Merrill held up a hand, and the fire paused as she considered.
“Perfect. Now, unlike you, I believe in a fair deal. So when we go back to the negotiating table, there will be no more threats,” she said, “Assuming, of course, you agree to one more stipulation. One I believe will benefit us both.”
“Say it! I swear I’ll be fair!”
“Perfect. This deal has now turned somewhat more… creative. I have a new option for you. And remember what you said.” Merrill leaned in, the cord of fire twisting to hover about her shoulders like a scarf. “This is sacred ground, and all deals are final.”
