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]

8. Circles

I found the track the farmer had described in a broad valley to the east. It had seen brighter years though: weeds crawled over its potholed surface and the creak of a wheel was an alien sound. I walked quickly but with my mind turned inward, Firewatch would be in uproar. Meersa had healed me, had known I would stir the hornet's nest, even encouraged me. Now did she see how they stung?

Once I might have been proud. When I was young it would merely have reflected the satisfaction every man gains from altering the world, changing its very course, if slightly. Later I had known enough of that, but only then had I ever done jobs with effects as potentially large as what happened the night before, and never with such wild disregard. Then it had been the rage, striking a world for where it had left me. Perhaps the same could be said of Firewatch. I'd killed my way to a truth. I'd been in a rage, or ecstasy. A fey night.

And now the grey light of day extinguished the dancing flames and left only the screams, and blood, and horror. As it always would. A strike against a cruel world or against the one who lead me? The drab moors the unchanging path left my mind to wander. I walked and brooded, nursing my self-hatred like a beggar picking a wound. Miles passed. But even through the dark thoughts and creeping desire for skooma which burrowed like worms in my soul I saw the hint of motion on the road ahead. I stopped, my sword had already found its way to my hand and I stood ready. A large dunmer stepped from a couple of trees, the first I'd seen down the path. He held an axe and a dirk.

"Drop the sword and the pack and I might let you live," he said. A long scar twisted one side of his mouth. It might have scared some people, to me it just suggested he was incompetent even for a highwayman.

"Stick it elf."

"I shall not warn you again. Hand over your pack." His voice was low, and forced.

I shook my head, "You don't want to try. Disappear back into the trees and I'll forget about you. That's more than I'd have given you last week." It was true.

"N'wah," he screamed and charged straight at me, the axe over his head.

I kept an eye on the dirk, assuming the axe was a diversion. It wasn't. He was really that bad. I sidestepped and cut his fingers. The axe fell. As did his smallest finger, I shuddered. He screamed and rounded on me with the dirk. His strikes were quick but he telegraphed them and I wasn't pushed to block them. I could have killed him easily with the superior length of the sword, and had he been any good I would have. I knew it was stupid, I had every right to kill him. What about Dervas or the Mage?

The thought cost me. He blade nicked my forearm. I swore, knocked the dirk sideways and kicked the back of his knee. He fell in a heap. I put my boot on the dirk and the point of my sword to his throat. "Drop the dirk and then give me a good reason not to kill you."

He opened his hand and I kicked the long blade away. "Don't hurt me," his pleads sounded so similar to the others, "I wouldn't have you. I can help. I'll help you."

"You better not," I answered.

"I have things," he said, "We can split them, you can have half." I said nothing. "Three quarters," panic tinged his voice, "No, sorry. I'll give you it all. I can show you where it is."

"What makes you think I want anything you have. Now tell me; how far to the main road?"

"The main road? You're on it, near enough. It's on the other side of the trees."

"You watch the road."

"Yes."

"Seen much traffic lately?"

He paused, then his face lit up, "Of course, there was a tax shipment going south to Helnim but you've missed it. If you get a quick horse you might catch it before Tel Drenya. It had a few guards, I didn't dare show myself. But a fighter like you-"

"I'm not interested in banditry. The last few days going south. What have you seen?"

"Well, other than a few merchants and peasants," he spat the word, as if he wasn't one, "There were a couple of wagons. Done up like pilgrims but rogue Telvanni if you ask me. And the slave train, a few days ago. Biggish one, what with food being expensive up here, especially recently, the slave price has dropped so they're moving them back south again. Good money I'm told. North south, the lizards won't know if they're coming or going." He laughed.

I didn't. "Tell me about this train."

"What's there to say. Fairly typical. A good few guards, the merchant in charge - Dres if you ask me - the slaves. A few hangers on. I didn't notice much, they had a mage so I kept well hidden."

"Fine." For a moment I considered killing him. By his own admission he preyed on the weak, and I had every right. But was it just? The law was with me, there was not doubting that, but did I have the right to pass judgement. No. I couldn't. It would only fuel the dreams.

"Roll on your face," I told him. He obeyed, "If you move until I'm well out of sight you will die."

I turned from him and scooped up his weapons and left. Past the trees I came on the road, it was even surfaced with broken stone. I continued south checking behind me for pursuit. I saw no one. After a couple of miles I tossed the highwayman's weapons into a ditch. I couldn't help wandering if I should have killed him. Weapons are not so rare: in my compassion how many innocent travellers had I sentenced to robbery, injury and death? Would it not have been the just thing to do as the watch would have. But I'd been in the legion, I knew about justice.

After another couple of miles the sun began to touch the western moors and I settled for the night in a small copse of trees. I could have continued further but I would make Helnim Wall on the morrow either way and I wanted to spend a night there. I didn't bother with a fire, I was too wrapped in thoughts. How would I feel had I killed him? Worse. I was not a guard, my business was not to kill him. I tried to lay the thought to rest. I had done the right thing. There was a chill in the evening air which promised of worse to come. I mentally thanked the farmer, whose name I couldn't remember, if he'd even given it, for the blanket and wrapped myself into the nightmares.

Sleep was long in coming, black thoughts skipped with my dark mood. I wanted skooma, it lifted me from the depressions. But I would not have it. I would endure the mood and drink every last draught of it. There were decades bottled up. I was just getting to sleep when the first of the cramps hit.

***

The night passed in a series of half-dreams roughly torn apart by the cramps. When I wasn't trying to straighten out muscles full of hot nails my dreams were sickly. I was getting skooma, or trying to smoke it but unable to light up. I dreamed of my pipe, with the small dent in the coal chamber, the leaky water chamber. I doubted I'd ever see it again. It was like losing an old friend. Interspersed through the dreams were the faces from Firewatch, and from before, telling me the truth about myself. I knew if only I could find skooma they would leave me.

In the grey half-light before dawn I lay awake, not that it stopped the voices. They whispered just beyond hearing of the things I'd done. Insidiously stirring the dust from memories long buried. I lay still fearful of another cramp.

Crack. Another part of the dream?

No it was different. It was from outside. I blinked my eyes. A shuffling. Someone was trying to sneak up on me. My fingers found my sword. I waited for the person to get closer.

They crunched on through the copse, slowly. I caught movement but never a decent view for the bushes which covered the ground. Then the bushes were pushed aside and I saw someone crouched low. They carried a weapon. I leapt to my feet. A cramp threatened in my right hamstring but I staved it off and faced them.

"What's your business," I said.

"N'wah." The figure screamed and charged me. His weapon swung an arc in the air. Instinct took over. I stepped inside the arc and pushed my sword forward. It met resistance. I drove it home. The but end of his weapon crunched into my ribs and I swore. I pulled my sword free and kicked him over, already looking for anyone else. There was no one. It was over that quickly. I looked down at my assailant and saw the highwayman I'd spared the day before. Dead. By my hand. My reform confounded.

I had been wrong, I mused later as I continued south, I had not escaped the hold fate had taken on me. I had thought I done with killing. Firewatch had been the final flare of a dying fire, my horrific swansong. So I had hoped. Two days later the strings of fate had pulled me back into the old ways.

I'd left the corpse unburied. Just like so many. Another cut on my tattered soul, and no skooma, or even alcohol, to smear into the wound. Periodically I had to stop to break the worse cramps which seemed to build like embers in the knots of my legs. My appetite was gone. Except for the blessed white smoke of skooma. This was beyond the creeping thoughts and itches. This was a love burning me from inside. I think the only thing which got me up was the knowledge that in Helnim Wall there would be a bleak tavern, and in that tavern a pusher.

The thoughts played on the same like a cheap minstrel. I ignored the few other travellers I met while the miles slogged past to the grinding beat of my bootheels.