Episode 9 – Flashes of Time
Malik tried to suppress the faint whirling red of irritation that crawled across his skin as Abraxas dabbed at his arm. A green salve pressed between the cracks that ran along his shoulder, feeling just slightly warm. It didn’t hurt, only creating a mildly uncomfortable sensation; Abraxas’s motions were gentle, precise, and well-practiced—indeed, there was a level of confidence and skill not usually exhibited by the timid man. But still, Malik loathed the time that he spent in the apothecary, placing his health into another’s hands.
Echoing Malik’s thoughts, Abraxas spoke. “We need you to stop getting into these situations. If your outer carapace keeps fracturing before it’s fully healed, it’s going to scar.”
Malik turned his face towards Abraxas “You mean more than it has already?”
“Er, yes, more so.”
“Thanks. I’ll see what I can do about that. I hadn’t considered just not getting into fights.” Malik’s skin shifted towards a yellow amusement.
“Right. Well, I or Illoc will be here if you need us.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He had decided, however, that he wouldn’t be coming back to the apothecary. So when the medicine had been applied, Malik passed Abraxas a few ceren and gave a curt nod before leaving. He had been injured one too many times protecting others from the abominations. It was time to lie low and look out for himself, remember all the lessons he had learned in Caespen Ru
Even before Malik reached the forge he could he the sounds of hammer in metal. It was a good sound, strong and steady and stable. When he pushed the door open he could faintly taste the scents of smoke and iron. Nova was there, wearing the same soot-stained and tattered clothes she had been in when last he saw her.
She glanced in his direction only briefly before turning to work. Her voice was gruff, as always, though Malik thought he saw the faint twitch of a smile.“Oh, good, you’re back. Still living?”
“Apparently.”
“Is the arm alright?”
Malik briefly flexed it, noticing all the cracks that rippled and heaved as he did so. “I can manage.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Well, if you’re able to work, I’ve got a job for you.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve got this package for you to deliver. It’s that one by the door.” With one hand she made a vague sort of gesture towards a bundle wrapped in cloth. “Take that Zeriv residence just past Hearthrawl Bridge, the one with the green door. Do it right; you need to start earning your keep somehow.”
“I’ll get it done.”
“Good. It might be for the best if you left that thing here.” She made another gesture, this time towards his hammer.
“You know I can’t do that.”
“I suppose. Well, make sure you come back after you’ve finished. You’ve spent too much time traipsing through the outer houses.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“And, Malik.” He picked up the package and turned to go but was forestalled by a last comment from Nova. “Keep yourself safe.”
“I’ll do that.”
And so he left, scarce minutes after returning to the house. He didn’t mind; it was good to keep moving.
There was a wave of muttering around him as Malik traversed the streets of Verdant, although this time it wasn’t directed at him. Valeria was walking through the middle of the road, glancing, at times, towards the people around her. The surrounding people all paused in their actions as Valeria passed, either murmuring to a friend or else just staring at the woman. Malik noted her posture, always so rigid, and her hands curled tight. Still, she said nothing, almost acting as though she were uncaring to the people’s attention.
Then Malik watched as a small boy with a dirty face approached Valeria, something clutched in his hands. Despite himself, Malik felt his fingers tighten against his hammer.
As the boy approached her, Valeria acknowledged him. “Hello… Gurt, right?”
The boy—Gurt, it seemed—looked up at her with sparkling eyes. “I made this for you.” He proffered something small and dark brown. Malik thought it looked like a roughly hewn carving of some sort, crudely made. But Valeria took it in almost reverent hands as the boy continued speaking. “You kept Emily safe. She told us all how brave you were.”
“I- thank you. Emily’s always been very brave, just like you. Thank you.”
“I want to be just like you someday.” The boy’s voice there was soft, such that Malik almost missed it.
But Valeria’s response was even softer. “No, you’ll be better.” Malik thought he saw a tear roll down her cheek. She then tousled Gurt’s hair, saying, “Now, get back to your parents and your big sister. We don’t want them to worry at all.”
Gurt shot her a smile like a sunbeam before disappearing off down the street.
Against what was, perhaps, better judgment, Malik approached Valeria. Something looked just slightly fragile about Valeria, like a chipped blade that had been reforged while missing some of its metal.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Valeria turned towards him quickly, almost immediately adopting a more regal air. It was as if he could see the tears evaporating from her face as she spoke, “Oh. Yes. I’m doing just fine. How are you keeping yourself, Malik?”
“Well enough.” He decided that he should have expected the conversation to turn in this direction and known better.
“That’s- that’s good. I’m glad. We thank you for your help earlier.
“I don’t want those things to kill us any more than anyone else does.” He was perhaps a bit blunt, but Valeria didn’t seem to mind
“I’m glad that I can count on you. You really are an asset to us.”
“I’ll see you around then.”
“Yes, that would be lovely. I would hope to work with you under happier circumstances, though I suppose we won’t have many of those for a long while.”
Malik left her, traveling towards his destination. When he glanced backward, Valeria still hadn’t moved. She held the statuette in her hands, almost cradling it. When she walked, her footsteps were slow, and she was no longer gazing so resolutely ahead.
In the streets beyond Hearthrawl Bridge, the people were less prevalent and buildings were closer together. Many of the pavement stones were cracked and weather. There was a familiar taste to the air and it reminded Malik of many of his old haunts in Caespen Ru. He wasn’t quite sure if he liked it.
Between the buildings, if he looked closely, he could see the space just beyond the limits of Verdant where many of the people from Willowbrook now resided. Tent fabric rustled in the wind. Malik hoped that the slowly growing palisade would soon offer them just a bit more respite and peace of mind. Beyond that, in the deep forests that rimmed Verdant, he thought he saw a golden shimmer, tinged with violet. Carrying the package in one arm, he felt his other hand tighten around his hammer.
And then he felt a faint, almost imperceptible tug at the coin purse he kept attached to his hip. Immediately he spun around, almost dropping the package and spilling its contents across the ground. He held his hammer out in only his right hand. It was less steady this way, but he hoped it would still help him drive off the pickpocket. “Back off.”
What he saw before himself was a now frightened little human boy, no older than eleven. Disheveled, dirty, matted hair that looked as though it might have originally been red framed his face. Malik thought he saw a thin scar across the boy’s side where his shirt didn’t quite cover him. But Malik couldn’t be sure of everything as the boy quickly darted away, sprinting between the buildings, toward where the people of Willowbrook now lived. He thought that he saw the shape of the boy run into the arms of a woman, perhaps his mother.
Malik stood there for a moment, much as he had watched Valeria do so. His skin was swirling with translucent greens and blues, the mixing of melancholy and regret. He couldn’t quite identify why.
Eventually, he began walking again, making a slight detour.
The Eyesocket was filled with the familiar constant noise. Songs, murmurs, shouts, and sobs all rolled together into an off-color symphony. This, like the cracked and empty alleyway, was familiar to Malik. He wasn’t hungry—and wouldn’t be so for a few days—so he ordered nothing to drink. He passed by the bar, noticing again that those situated there were mostly humans as well as a few Sculos with cracked faces right where their mouths would be, something emblematic either of a tendency towards too much drink or of poverty. Malik’s own facial shell was cracked over where his mouth off.
The patrons all ignored him as he passed, mired in their own fixations and worries. So Malik walked forward, till he spied an azure flower nestled within curly blonde hair. Crescent was where he’d hoped that he would find her.
Even before he spoke, she reacted with a broad and beaming smile. “Malik, It’s wonderful to see you again! It’s been too long.”
“It’s been half a day.”
Crescent’s laugh had timbre to it like bells. Malik wondered who she’d had to murder to get it. “It’s amazing how the time flies by, isn’t it? So, what can I do for you today? I’ll give you a discounted price for my services ’cause we’ve worked together.”
Whisps of imperceptible red and yellow rolled across his arms. “You owe me a favor.”
“Ah, I do. I’d forgotten. What is it?”
She hadn’t, of course, but this was the game that people like her played, so he continued without acknowledgment. “There’s a kid—red hair, blue eyes, a scar on his side—he’s one of the refugees, I think. I want you to look after him for me.”
All Crescent did was lean ever so slightly forwards and raise her eyebrow. Malik could almost see the thin, thread-like network of vines that worked to raise her eyebrow higher on her head.
“Just keep an eye out for him, Malik said, “I know you can pull strings. Make sure he gets some food.”
“I’m not as powerful as all that,” Crescent said, still smiling, “but I’ll see what I can do for him. That’s an interesting request from you, isn’t it?”
“Just do it for me, please.”
“Of course, I always repay my debts.”
She stuck out her hand out for him to shake. He took it in one of his, noticing how much smaller hers was than his. Malik shook her hand feeling, somehow, as though he were mas making the losing end of a bad deal despite not giving anything up. It was as though her fingers were closing around his throat rather than his hand.
Still, she smiled. And it was a warm smile like the summer sun.
Despite being located near the broken and run-down alleys, the buildings began to look nicer as Malik neared the Zeriv residence. It was still in the outskirts, but it had a more systematic and put-together look to it. There was a forced cleanliness and an aged air to it. This space, Malik decided, was more enclave than slum.
The buildings—though still old, weather, and packed tightly together—had an altogether different character. The cobblestones that Malik now stepped on, instead of feeling neglected, seemed ancient, as though they were cloaked in history. There were old windows with glass panes, though these were well-cared for instead of cracked. The air hummed with old money and tradition.
It was therefore of little surprise to Malik when the first person he saw in the quarter was a Sculos. Several of them—their skins all just barely tinted yellow—stood talking to each other, or else sat on carved benches.
Malik called out to them, hefting the package and saying, “I’m delivering something from Nova; I was looking for the Zeriv family.”
“I can take it; I’m the eldest child of that family.” One of the Sculos drew closer giving Malik a good look at his facial carvings. A clan symbol, presumably for clan Zeriv, adorned the center of the face while a glyph exalted the virtue of respect lay in his forehead. As he approached Malik, the member of clan Zeriv’s skin turned the faint gray of prickling unease, swirling like dissipating smoke. “Why is your face uncarved?”
“What is it to you?”
“Did you get kicked out of your clan? I can’t imagine how badly you would have needed to disgrace them for that to happen.” The gray tint of the Sculos’s skin eased into seeping green disapproval.
“Are you going to take the basket?”
There was a brief pause and the Sculos’s glassen skin turned slightly greyer. “… yes. I will do so.”
Malik decided he didn’t have time for all of this. “I’ll set it down for you so you needn’t touch me.” Though he tried to suppress it, hints of green began to dot his fingertips as he set the package down.
“Well, that’s one thing you’ve managed to do right.” The Sculos seemed to be trying to look imperious, though they did so with not even half the skill with which Valeria performed the look.
“Isn’t the glyph on your face supposed to stand for respect?”
“Are you challenging me?” Blisters of red bloomed across the Sculos’s skin.
“I don’t care enough about this.”
The red coloring across the Sculos’s skin was still faint but darkened just a shade, a testament to his heightened emotions and increasing provocation. “You will not besmirch my honor like that. I am a full member of my clan. I bear the glyph of respect. A great deed has been emblazoned on my face. You should at least speak with some respect.”
“Are you looking for a fight?”
“If you insist, then yes, I’ll have one.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I will not let this slight against me from one such as you go without response.” The Sculos’s voice now carried, the sound reverberating across the miniature square.
Malik glanced at the surrounding Sculos, none said anything or made any motions forwards, though he thought he could see the faintest whisps of green on some of them.
“I, Lukel of clan Zeriv, do formally accept the challenge from the clanless. As a courtesy, I will allow him to set the terms. You could even choose to wield that crude weapon.” He gestured at the hammer that Malik carried; it was a weapon that was most effective on other Sculos, leading to its derision. “How would you have us fight?”
If Malik didn’t deal with this immediately, he would leave himself open to being accosted by members of clan Zeriv. If he won the challenge he would earn himself a kind of immunity from them. “We’ll do it here, right now. And we can fight with fists if that pleases you.” He set down his hammer with a loud clatter.
“And when would you have this end?”
“First blood.”
“How expectedly barbaric. I suppose you have no clanmates to aid in officiating this challenge, no second to urge you to apologize and save face. That is your cost for being clanless.” The scion of clan Zeriv turned backward towards the silent, waiting, staring mass of Sculos. “Obarra, would you count us in?”
One of the Sculos rose from the bench where she had been sitting and strode towards the two soon-to-be combatants. Her skin was almost perfectly translucent, a model of Sculos perfection. “Neither of you will reconsider?”
“I will not allow our honor to be tainted in this way,”
“I’ll fight if he wants me to,”
“The two of you are to keep surrounding damages to the surrounding area to a minimum and will be charged for destruction of property. At first sign of blood, I will call the match. No fighting will continue after that. I will not favor Lukel; we are above such things. Do you understand?”
The last part was probably only mostly true, but Malik nodded his ascent anyway.
“Well then, you may commence in three, two, one.”
Malik was the first to strike, immediately starting with a jab to Lukel’s face. This was swiftly blocked and Lukel took the opportunity as a chance to surge forwards. He jabbed at Malik’s side before following up with an attempted uppercut to the face. While Malik managed to block the uppercut the jab still connected with his side, although it had very little impact.
Lukel then wound up with a powerful punch. Malik decided to thank him for the considerate well-advertized attack. This came in the form of a well-placed punch to Lukel’s chest.
The blow caused Lukel to stagger backward. The scion of clan Zeriv stared, for a moment, at some point vaguely adjacent to Malik. It was as though he’d never been hit before. So Malik pressed his advantage, besieging Lukel with a flurry of blows, striking the Sculos in the chest, causing fissures to spiderweb through his opponent’s glass. Pieces began to flake off. It could be a month before the shell was even close to its original condition. But Obarra simply stood impassively for blood had not yet been drawn.
So Malik seized both to opportunity and Lukel’s face, gripping Lukel’s head in both hands. With his thumbs, Malik pressed down on the shell covering the bottom of Luke’s face, on a section where there were no carvings, on the point directly over Luke’s mouth. The shell was weaker there and shattered, sprinkling shards like grass onto the floor.
Brood dribbled out from the scratches around Lukel’s gaping mouth, where the shell had been pressed into his body. As soon as Malik let go, his opponent fell to the ground, motionless. Lukel wasn’t quite dead, but at that moment he seemed only half alive. Malik remembered, for a flash, the things that he had done and the things that had been done to him whilst he lived in the streets of Caespen Ru.
Obarra stepped forward and spoke in a voice that carried, for she spoke as much to the watching Sculos as she did to Malik, “You have one this challenge. Is there anything that you would bid of us?”
“Leave me to myself.” He turned to go. “And tell Nova that you received the package.”
Malik walked about Verdant, not quite shaken, not quite feeling pleased with himself. He again held the hammer in his hands, holding it tight, almost caressing it. The next fight he found himself in, he would use the hammer. It wouldn’t do to spurn his one consistent companion. Red and blue both edged his fingertips, a tired mire of irritation and melancholy. He would, he supposed, need to return to Nova quite soon. But he didn’t want to, not quite yet.
It was then that, betwixt the trees and buildings, he saw something glimmering in the forests. There was a golden light, tinged with shades of rose and violet. He remembered the mice, the hawks, the deer. It would not do to let an unknown threat continue to lurk, even out of sight. Malik could let others deal with it, find some nook to hide in nested somewhere deep in Verdant, but that would leave this task—his safety—to others and to chance.
So, he began to step between the buildings, walking through tents on the outskirts of Verdant. The golden light dimmed, disappearing for moments at a time. Malik walked more quickly as he held his hammer aloft. He would fell whatever it was that lurked within the forest. He would defend himself, and keep himself safe.
It was then that he noticed the dark-haired man that was approaching behind him. For someone whose movements were often awkward and clumsy, Abraxas moved quite silently.
“Why are you here?” asked Malik, faintest red flickering around his fingertips.
“Something’s out there,” said Abraxas with a jerk of his chin towards the forest, “I felt I’d better check it out.”
Without Valeria to look after you?
“Well, you’re here. Besides, I don’t follow people around for protection.” He tossed a mils glare towards Malik. “I’m capable. I just prefer being near people I trust. It… centers me.”
Malik said nothing and remained unconvinced.
“What about you?”
“What’s that to mean?” The red darkened half a shade.
“You’re just… always off to the side; there’s a tentativeness. You seem so isolated.”
“I prefer that.”
“I see. If you want, I can stay quiet. I’m good at that.”
And so they walked in silence for the last few dozen feet until they reached the forest. Abraxas’s gun was held in shaking hands, pointed down and off to the side. Meanwhile, Malik’s stance was strong and collected, his hammer held out.
“You follow behind me,” Malik said.
Abraxas did not dispute this.
They were now engulfed by the forest, the golden shimmer seen just ahead of them, half obscured by the trees. But they were now close enough to make out its shape as they witnessed a hundred shining motes of light, flitting through the forest just ahead. To Malik, it had all of the familiar markings of a trap.
Just a few feet farther.
Then they had made it to a small clearing. And both of them could see the source of the lights. Hundreds of gleaming moths flit throughout the air or else resting on the branches of verdant trees. Each was large, far larger than any moth had a right to be, each wing seemingly twice the span of one of Malik’s palms. And each was beautiful. Their glow seemed to pulse, colors shifting in swirls of gold and rose and violet. They were like dawnlight gathered in a bottle, or gold spun out into a tapestry, else perhaps a living crown.
None of the glittering things acknowledged the presence of the two intruders in their private clearing. They all continued in their strange mesmerizing dance, paying no heed to Abraxas and Malik. Malik slowly raised his hammer a bit higher, as though he were preparing to swing. At this, Abraxas raised a hand as if to bid him stop. “I don’t think they’re going to hurt us.”
A moth alighted on the head of his hammer.
Malik held it still, not moving, scarcely breathing, as he gazed at the creature. It stared at him, in a kind of way, slowly opening and closing its wings. Beads of sunlight rippled down miniature pristine feathers. It was as shining as the dawn. Malik stood like that, perhaps for an age, perhaps only for a moment. His own skin turned just faintly yellow, as though reflecting that radiant light.
Then the moth took flight and returned to the heavens. The moment eased; but the peace remained. So Malik turned to leave, Abraxas following at his heel. Things felt just a bit less real as they left the hidden clearing, the air bleaker, the colors less bright.
“That was something,” said Abraxas, after a few breaths had passed.
“It was,” Malik admitted, almost begrudgingly.
“How do you feel?”
“Better, I think.”
“That’s good. I think that with everything falling to pieces, it’s nice to find something new that isn’t trying to kill us. Not every new creature exists to hunt our blood. It’s good to remember that there is always beauty in this world if you look for it.”
“Maybe.” Malik definitely wouldn’t say it in all those words, but perhaps he agreed with the sentiment.
“And with that, I want you to remember that we’re here for you. It’s not you against everyone else. Come to us when you need help.”
“I suppose.” Malik stared at Abraxas. “You were following me earlier; it wasn’t just because you saw something.”
Abraxas shrugged and said, “Crescent said you looked like you needed some help.”
Malik supposed he should have known. Gray ripples almost spread from his fingertips, but the yellow shimmer still remained.
He returned to the forge and Nova and his work.
It was good to be doing something.
