Burning Today Options

[Olen]

Some of you probably remember my last piece, Yesterday's Shadow and that it had a rather unsatisfying ending. I spent the summer rectifying this and now have a sizeable sequel/ completion to it which is itself now finished. It would probably be better to read Yesterday's Shadow before this as it would make more sense, however you should get by without it. If anyone wants I'll put a synopsis here, though Yesterday's Shadow isn't very long so you could just read it here (enough plugs yet?)

Anyway without further ado:

Burning Today

Prologue

Dervas wore boots while he worked. Shoes didn't last long in the decaying mixture of blood, vomit, drink and drugs which floored The Black Guar. The dark man had finally passed out and for the first time Dervas dared look at him. A worn man with a broken soul. Who are you? The Black Guar didn't get passing trade – the mixture of pushers, heavies and racketeers who made up most of his patronage didn't appreciate strangers. In the first hour the man, who now lay face down on the table, had knocked two out cold and broken another's arm. They left him alone after that and he them. Dervas wiped the remains of a line of sugar off the bar and nodded to the bouncer who went to move the man to his room.

Someone knocked at the door. Dervas ignored it. They knocked again, for longer this time. He cursed and went to tell whoever it was where to go. It was late an he didn't need any more trade. He pushed open the door, a curse dancing on his tongue. A sack crashed to the ground, gold clinked within. A Breton in black clothes stood in the doorway.

“What's his tab?” There was no need to ask whose.

“Sixty.”

The Breton showed no surprise, and counted out the gold. “Listen,” his tone offered pain if Dervas didn't, “You keep giving that guy drinks, drugs, whores, whatever he asks for okay? For him happy hour doesn't end, tabs never have to be paid. Push as much as you can into him. Don't worry - I'll be round a couple of nights a week to pay you. That sack,” he kicked disdainfully at the one he'd just dropped, “Contains a thousand drakes, payment enough I'd say. If he asks don't tell him, just give him more drink. Understand?”

Dervas nodded, his mouth was dry.

The man disappeared into the night.

Dervas walked back into the bar. He looked towards the dark man's room. Who are you? he thought again, And what have I gotten into?

[Olen]

I admit I did lay it on a bit heavy in the last part but my intention was to set up a mood and backdrop without getting bogged down. Thanks for the comment. Another longish part, if they are too long do say and I'll make the cut shorter. As ever any comments appriciated.

2. Cold Morning

I could sense someone near me but was too near to sleep to do anything. In a second hand way I was aware that there was a lump in the mattress pushing uncomfortably into my back but it simply didn't occur to move. Slowly, though in truth the term meant little as I had no sense of time, but it felt gradual at least, I became aware of myself. Arms lying close by my sides. Legs slightly raised. Hands under a cheap blanket. My ear crushed against the pillow. They came like news from a foreign country, fantastical additions to the infinite darkness combining, ameliorating and becoming myself. After a long time, or not, I opened my eyes. They felt gritty. I looked around, it was a simple room, small with a single window. Bundles of herbs hung from the smoke-blackened beams on the roof. I tried to sit up and failed. I felt like I'd been trampled by a herd of guar. I lay there trying to fathom what had happened, I'd been unconscious, that much was certain but the details evaded me. Then the door opened and a middle aged dunmer woman walked in, she looked like there was some ashlander in her, she was short and an apron covered her enormous stomach.

"Hmm," she said, "You've come round. And about time."

I groaned weakly.

"What's you name?"

I had to think hard but eventually it came, "Firen," my voice was a croak, "I work for the Fighters Guild."

She nodded, apparently pleased, "Awake and not raving this time then. Good. I suppose you want to know where you are?"

I nodded.

"I'm Meersa, healer. And you took some particularly bad skooma, almost three days ago now. I had another couple in who took some of the same batch but they both died."

Memory came crashing down, and with it the hangover. I winced, what small part of the bender I could remember put it down as among the worst, and this time it had been almost fatal. How had it lasted so long? I put the thought away for later. "By the nine," I muttered reaching to rub my temples. My muscles felt like bags of water.

Meersa clucked, "You're a tough one, I'll give you that. I'd say half the city knows of your... excesses. Still I have some folk coming in from up Ness way, someone, or thing, attacked there last night and I'll see no help from those baskets up at the cult so I'd best give you something for the head. How deeply do you want to sleep?"

Something beyond the dysphoria of the hangover stirred in my mind at the mention of the cult. I thought but nothing came to mind. Meersa was glaring at me, "Sleep.." I said, "Not too deeply but sleep would be nice," the niggle at the back of my mind continued, "Is there something I should remember about the cult?"

She looked at me, testing. I held her gaze. "You managed to forget then?" she seemed surprised, "One of their patients went missing, I know they're useless but..."

I didn't hear her finish. Varnan had gone missing and what had I done? I shook my head, Now sober I realised I deserved to feel every bit as bad as I did. He had needed me. No, he still did.

"I don't want to sleep," I said, "I have something needs doing."

She turned from the kettle she was boiling, "You're in no state-"

"The man who went missing was a friend, I need to find him."

"Are you sure he didn't just get better?"

"Yes."

She paused, "Alright, so am I. Sit up." I did. The room span. "Are you sure you need to go now?"

"I should have days ago."

She nodded, "Willow bark, honey..." she murmured throwing things into the kettle, "I hear some things. Talk to Ceril but I doubt he'll know much. Dalam on the other hand..." She stopped.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything," she said. I shook my head again but didn't push her. A few minutes later she poured a mug from the kettle, "This should take the edge off the symptoms and give you more energy until your own returns."

I took the mug, a film of oil floated over bitter smelling brown liquid. I took a draught. It was foul and curdled my stomach. Was she trying to poison me? I discarded the thought, if she wanted me dead she'd had ample chance. I downed the rest of it ignoring the vile taste.

"Good," she took the cup, "I don't know who you are, or what sort of mess you're in. I don't want to, but there's iron in you and your friend needs you. This is a rotten city." I waited for her to say more. At length she continued, "There's a sword by the door, I doubt you'll see the rest of you stuff again."

I nodded, "My thanks... I... I'm afraid I haven't any money."

"Dervas paid some, and I suspect the next few hours will be payment enough."

My mind felt less addled after the tea but she still made no sense. I decided that free was fine by me. "My thanks," I repeated, and picked up the sword as I left.


It was cold outside. The rutted mud was frozen hard as stone, a frosty sun hung in a cloud brindled sky. I breathed the air and enjoyed its chill within my lungs. Even though I could feel the edge of skooma withdrawal the simple joy at being outside and free overwhelmed it. Free: the thought was a novel one. I could do anything now. Nothing had really changed, perhaps it was coming so close to death, or perhaps it was the death of the hope which had haunted the past decade. I felt different. The future beaconed, and I would go after Varnan. Not because fate pushed me but because I chose to.

Meersa lived west of the keep by the docks. The people here were less broken than those in the north of town but the area was far from rich. Over the road a dunmer woman hung out cheap clothes to dry, one side of her face was bruised. I doubted she'd fallen. This is a rotten city. Meersa had said that. It wasn't my business, perhaps Meersa would see to it, perhaps she wouldn't. I set off up the dirty streets towards the fort.

As I walked I realised why I had not stopped the bender. The city was a festering wound, people crawled like maggots, going blindly about their daily lives. Everywhere was decay, I passed an old man patching a repair on an old bit of cloth which covered his missing windows. Beggars raked through mouldering piles of rubbish which lay in side-streets with no hope of ever being cleaned. A low palisade separated the inner city from the slums outside, the guards at the gate were too intent on gambling away their debts to care who passed in or out. I continued on towards the Imperial Cult shrine. The keep was full of bored legionaries, I'd had a few postings like this when I was in the legion, guarding a fort in the middle of nowhere which only holds because nobody cared enough to attack it. It wasn't fulfilling work. Their apathy was fog which choked the poorly built rooms. Someone had scrawled vulgar slogans across the door of the cult shrine, I kicked it open.

Inside was dark and smoky. Nucius, the priest, glanced up before turning back to the bottle of cheap spirit on the altar.

"Father," I said, "I'm looking-"

"Stick it, s'wit," he said.

I drew my sword and his eyes widened. "No. Now what do you know of the patient who went missing under your care?" The glass fell from his hand and the smell of brandy added to the stench. I felt a twinge of longing, but crushed it.

"Other than it upset that treacherous fetcher Ceril? Nothing."

"You lie," I said and swaggered towards him, sword ready. I had no idea if he was but scaring him couldn't hurt.

"No," he squealed like a pig, "Ceril left him in the other room one night. I'd already gone. He wasn't there in the morning."

"Why wasn't he there," my head still hurt but I tried to look as threatening as possible. By the smell of urine emanating from the old priest I was succeeding.

"What's this?" a shocked voice behind me.

I turned to face a thin man. He hunched dreadfully and seemed intent on the floor, Ceril, if I remembered him rightly. "I'm looking for a certain patient of yours."

"Firen? You bothered to come and check then?"

"Yes." I ignored his accusation, "What happened?"

"Varnan was getting better. I left one evening having finished sweeping and locked up. The next morning he was gone, but the locks were still shut." His gazed flickered around like a Khajit on hot coals, something worried him and I suspected it wasn't just me.

"Had the locks been tampered? Did someone come in"

"How would I know? I'm a priest, well training to be one, I don't know about that sort of thing." His eyes were more on the door than myself. He was scared, and not of me.

"What do you know?"

His lip curled as if snagged on a fishhook, but he said nothing.

"You've kicked up hell already, you know that," I hate talking my way to information, breaking a few bones has a similar result and is easier but I had to at least try, "I don't know what it is you know but you've already gone far enough to get burned, you might as well tell me the rest."

He looked pained and was silent for a moment. Then he sighed, "Fine, someone showed... Interest in him. Asked me to keep him posted on the details. Someone who shouldn't have given a damn."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"When Big Dalam asks for something you don't refuse."

I doubted it was the whole truth. I didn't care; I'd already heard that name today, "Big Dalam?"

Ceril looked distinctly miserable, "He's bad news. Camonna Tong."

"Where can I find him?"

"You don't want to..." he saw my expression, "The Camonna Tong stay in the Watcher's Club, next to the warehouse district."

"Thanks," I said and left.

This post has been edited by Olen: Oct 24 2009, 01:35 PM