Story 10 – Crescent – The Scent of Ashes
The young red-headed boy crept towards the market stall, casting a furtive glance at the people surrounding him. He must not have seen anyone looking in his direction, for he edged closer to the stall. In the stall a coin purse hung loosely from a merchant’s belt, and a few baskets with loaves of bread were stationed behind him. Even with the drop in prices by the three preeminent merchants, and with the refugees now being able to buy supplies, food could still be hard to come by for some of them.
It was just after midday, when the market would be at its busiest, providing greater commotion to distract from the creeping street urchin. This showed some level of skill and intuition, even if his overall actions demonstrated sloppiness and a lack of practice. Crescent found the boy’s actions too unsure, too jerky. He stopped too often to look around, making it clear that he was up to something. For a thief, he was far too obtrusive. Crescent decided he was lucky no one else had glanced in his direction, otherwise he would already have been called out. It wouldn’t be much time before he was caught, she knew.
She was being mostly unobtrusive. Of course, as a Tivour, she would always draw some degree of attention. And yet she was often able to escape people’s attention in the same way the half-naked, singing, drunk man might be overlooked. People looked and gawked but performed no deeper examination. In the present, she sat on a quaint little bench, astounding small children with tales and trinkets.
A few parents cast appreciative glances her way as she entertained the little ones. She even held a collection of delicate pale-blue flowers, each smaller than the breadth of her finger. They had been procured by Abraxas, of course. The children laughed when she gave one to them and there were one or two girls with little flowers stuck in their hair, like a miniature mimicry of her own. Idly, she made pretty little wreaths of smoke, her vines manipulating her fingers in delicate motions, and there was a satisfied look on her face as the children looked on her creations with wonder.
She had situated herself there so as to have a vantage point from which to watch the boy. She had made a promise to Malik, after all.
The shadowed form of the boy crept towards the merchant. He was, at least, mostly obscured by market stalls and he kept low to the earth. She glanced around to make sure that still no one else had noticed him. Then, out of the corner of her eye, Crescent watched the boy go, not for the bread sitting in the baskets, but for the coin purse hanging from the peddler’s belt. It ended as anyone might have expected: with the merchant turning around, itching for the hand on his coin purse, and shouting.
Crescent crossed the distance swiftly, leaving the children to play with the trinkets. Within the span of a moment she was at the market stall. The boy had tried to flee, but his arm was caught tight in the grip of the merchant.
“Gentlemen, why the shouting?” She stood before the pair, forcing a confused smile onto her face.
“This rat was feeling for my coin purse.” The man tugged on the boy who was straining against his grip.
She turned to the boy and softened her voice just a tad. “Is that true?”
The only response she received was that the kid lessened his thrashing and stared at her sullenly.
“Look at him,” the man said in disgust.
“Yes, well, there has been some unrest with everything going on. Let me take care of him.” She took out the Magistrate’s icon; she had, of course, forgotten to give it back, a shame. “We’ll make sure that he is adequately dealt with.”
The man loosened his grip slightly.
“Here, take this.” Crescent tossed the man a marked dinrow. “It’s an apology for your troubles.”
The man dropped his hold on the boy’s arm as he reached to grab the coin. Before the boy was able to take advantage of this, Crescent had her hand around his wrist.
“Just make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble,” the merchant said.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll see to him.”
Crescent pulled the boy with her towards a back alley, striding quickly so that the boy would have to be more focused on keeping up than on trying to escape. Once the two of them were out of sight, she let go of him. Upon regaining his wits, he took a few steps backwards, eyeing Crescent warily. She noted, with some degree of satisfaction, that the boy hadn’t turned his back to her. That was one thing, at least.
From her bag she drew a small object wrapped in a thin cloth. Unwrapping it, she revealed it as a very slightly bruised apple which she handed to the boy. He took it and eyed it, turning it around in his hands. He didn’t take a bite from it.
“What do you want with me?”
“Let’s start with your name.”
The boy just glowered at her.
Crescent smiled in a way that some people might think sweet. “Look, you want food? You want to provide for yourself and your mom? I can help you.”
“Why?” He took a step backwards.
“I’m not doing this for free, of course. You’re a smart boy, you know that’s not how things work. But, you needn’t worry. I just want you to pass me information from time to time, keep an eye on things. You report back to me and I’ll keep you and your mother well-fed.”
“What kind of information? Who do you want to use me against?”
“No one in particular, not anyone you could rat me out to. I just want to find out as much as I can about anyone worth knowing. I’m sure you’ve heard things.”
“Not really.” He took another step backward and looked ready to leave.
She tossed him a coin which he caught reflexively.
“Think about it,” she said. “You need me, you find me. It can’t be that hard, I stand out. And if you work for me I might be able to teach you something. You won’t be caught next time.”
She made a point of turning her back to him and letting him go the other way unimpeded. It wasn’t until she had almost left the alley way that she heard his footsteps leaving the other way.
Around her, the people’s titterings and conversations increased in volume and took on a dire note of urgency. Crescent looked up. From one of the watchtowers that now sat just within the palisade, there rose a thick plume of dark smoke that took on a purplish tint. The signal fire had been lit, the emanating smoke thickened and colored with spirit so that all could see the warning. And it was violet, the color of the abominations
This was the first time that the warning fires were being used and it seemed that the people didn’t quite know how to act, just as how so many people had stood stupefied at the sight of the hawks. The unprepared and the slow to act would be among the first to perish, Crescent had determined long ago. There just wasn’t much you could do for some people.
Ignoring the quivering mass of people, Crescent pushed her way towards the site of the aberration, towards the violet smoke. Galba would want her to figure out what was happening there, and Crescent knew that times of stress always came with opportunities for the quick and the cunning. But scarcely had she traveled down two rows of houses when her way began to be impeded by the throng of people who were just then deciding that they should start moving. Her lifeless body was especially susceptible to being buffeted by the crowd. It was hard to make out distinct words from the crowd as it murmured and rumbled. She caught some people speaking of monsters; others said something about a fire.
The crowd thinned as she drew nearer to the watchtower. There was one other person who walked against the crowd, towards the signaling watch tower. Although, Crescent was sure that this person had much more altruistic intentions. Valeria walked forwards, unfettered, determined. She wore padded cloth armor, a detail that always struck Crescent as slightly incongruous. Crescent had seen real knights, and it had always seemed as though Valeria would be a better fit in something that shone brighter than starlight.
Crescent was in no hurry to catch up with the proud scion of Verdant, for Valeria would surely try to persuade Crescent to join in whatever plan she had to protect her settlement. And there would be no way for Crescent to refuse without damaging her image. It would be better to follow and observe.
Valeria was now near the base of the watchtower, with Crescent a ways behind. They stood right by the palisade. A bridge leading across the river towards where those from Willowbrook now settled lay to their left. Crescent tried not to look at the churning water of the river, instead gazing right ahead.
There was a tiny hole seared through the base of the palisade and a magenta trail led out from it. Near the hole, there was a creature like some sort of monstrous Salamander. It was longer than she was tall and it prowled with a menacing gait. Its limbs were splayed in a way that reminded Crescent of a squashed spider. A heavy tail swayed as it was dragged across the dirt. Dark, beady eyes lay atop a flat head. Three slits, like knife wounds, sat on either side of its neck. A heavy tail swayed as it was dragged across the dirt.
It had skin of mottled brown and burgundy that seemed to ooze a kind of slime. As it walked it left splotches of a burning magenta sizzled as they splattered across the ground. Brief tongues of scarlet flame seemed to leap from its skin before snuffing out. Crescent thought that she could make out the faintest trails of smoke.
It hobbled towards Valeria, surprisingly quick.
The proud scion of Verdant looked at the creature with a gaze that was more disgust than pity. Within a moment her sword was unsheathed and gleaming. She brought it crashing down against the abomination, severing its head while the body collapsed lifeless into the dirt. The creature made no sound as it died. It was a kind of anticlimax.
And then the creature burst into flames.
Nobody moved as the creature’s corpse charred and burned. Flames, all white and violet and red, licked across the creature’s body. For a moment, they just looked at the creature as the flames danced, faces lit by unearthly glow.
“Well, that was something.” A young man was climbing down the watchtower; he looked like an apprentice member of the bridge guild. The guild had influence on every aspect of Verdant’s infrastructure and had adeptly claimed the role of overseeing Verdant’s defenses. It did wonders for their image.
The man jumped down the last few rungs of the ladder. He straightened his hat before he spoke. “Some more of the little lizard-things came in through that hole.” He jerked his thumb towards the gap seared into the palisade.
Valeria’s face darkened. “I’ll see to it; where did they go?”
“Well, they dispersed a fair bit, but most of them went towards the river.”
“How many?”
“Four or so.”
“I see.”
She turned and left, striding purposefully towards the river that bisected Verdant.
Crescent was growing doubtful of her ability to remain inconspicuous. While she could cause people to pass her over, it was a much more difficult task when the streets were cleared and she was following someone. And, it would look bad if Valeria questioned why Crescent was skulking around.
She had resolved to catch up to Valeria when Abraxas came rushing out of a side street, his medicine bag bouncing against his side. “I’m here. Sorry for the wait. Is anyone wounded?”
“No, not yet. But there are more of the things”
“Oh.” Abraxas at last took a second to compose himself. He cast a brief glance towards the charred corpse of the Salamander. “Good. I’m ready then.”
It was then that Crescent finally sidled up to the group. “What can I do?”
“Ah Crescent, I’m glad that you’re with us. We’re trying to route out any more of the Vermin.” Here she gestured towards the still smoking remains of the Salamander. “It didn’t put up much of a fight, but we’d better proceed with caution. We don’t want to let any fires start.”
Crescent nodded slowly, as though hearing this for the first time. “Alright, I understand. Where do we start?”
They heard a shriek from somewhere just a bit downstream, by the market.
“I think we’d best start there,” said Valeria
They started running.
The sight they came upon was not an unduly terrible one. There was a man backed against a wall, a horrible shriek emanating from his lips. Before him was the source of his terror: another one of the Salamanders. It lumbered in the man’s direction. But, its movements were slow, as though it had no strong inclination in regards to the man, perhaps a mild curiosity, perhaps confusion. This did not seem to stem the man’s terror. Crescent supposed that the man could be forgiven for his excess of fear.
At their approach, the Salamander turned away from the man and towards the three of them. It cocked its head and looked somewhat befuddled, although that may only have been Crescent’s anthropomorphization. It took a slow step forward. The man that had previously been backed against the wall started edging away from them before sprinting off. Embers clung to his shoes as he did so, spawned from the faint puddles of oil that had dripped off of the Salamander’s skin. The man glanced once back towards them but made no other motions in their direction. Perhaps he assumed that Valeria would have things under control.
Valeria stood, her sword pointed at the abomination. Crescent thought that she detected a thread of hesitance in Valeria’s actions. It wasn’t fear, Crescent knew that much. Perhaps it was a form of pity, though that also didn’t quite seem something characteristic of the proud scion of Verdant. Whatever the reason for the hesitancy, it ended after a moment. Valeria drew her sword in a line, severing the Salamander’s head from its body.
And again was the corpse bathed in fire. The flames seemed brighter this time, the conflagration greater. Crescent took a step back, looking around for any stray embers. It would not do for Verdant to catch fire now.
But something else caught her eye. There was a small shape, akin to a fluttering shadow, skulking in the back alleyways. Crescent thought that she could recognize the form of the young boy that Malik had asked her to watch over, her future protege. Eventually, after slightly too long a time in Crescent’s opinion, he noticed her glancing at him and darted away. His red hair waved like a flickering candle flame.
She then turned to her two compatriots, saying, “It might be best if we split up for now. We’ll be better able to cover ground that way.”
Valeria stared at her for an interminable second before nodding. “That would seem prudent. I appreciate your discernment here.”
It seemed that Valeria was still less sure of herself after their encounter by the palisade. Crescent still had time to nudge her in the most opportune directions. Beside her, Abraxas looked just slightly bemused, but he acquiesced to Valeria’s decision, as was his part.
“You see anything, holler or send someone running for us, understand?” Valeria looked once at Crescent and then gave a slightly harder look in Abraxas’ direction. Idly, Crescent wondered how the two were getting along. Perhaps there were some levers she could pull at.
But already Crescent was off. She had business to be about.
Swiftly and silently, Crescent departed from the group. There were no screams—at least, none more than usual—that could direct her movements. As of yet she could not detect any embers. She hoped that they would catch the aberrations before any extant embers turned into flames. But she trusted that Valeria, Abraxas, and Malik—wherever he was—would be able to take care of it. Such was their nature.
While they saved the settlement, Crescent would have other, more modest, pursuits.
The boy with the red hair and the scar darted through the streets of Verdant, winding around and between the nervous people, though he never left Crescent’s sight. He did not seem to notice her following, but such faults could be fixed with time. And he did, at the very least, demonstrate a healthy amount of caution—not immediately leading her to anywhere important. Perhaps he suspected she was following him, or perhaps he was just wary. Either way, he showed some promise.
The streets of Verdant were noisy, full of a nervous mass of people. Faces were clouded and people ducked in and out of buildings. All the while, they whispered to their fellows, or else made their usual conversation in pointed, loud voices, attempting to force a kind of normalcy. Fears that had been simmering—at times bursting forth—for weeks were now being stoked further. Crescent knew it was one thing to be told that there were monsters out in the forest, to hear rumors of people going missing, to worry about food and about shelter. That was a more existential kind of terror, the fear of the unseen and the unknown, of possibilities.
But, with flames and embers cropping up inside your settlement, with the monsters coming into your hope, suddenly all of your fears were put into sharp focus. So many people had a tangible fear that could crop up at any moment, something that each of them could readily understand. Everyone was on the lookout for stray sparks.
Crescent watched as the boy bumped into someone and got swiftly clocked in the head as a result. Crescent was a ways away at the time, firmly hidden within the crowd, but she thought she could still hear the smack. The young boy just rolled with the punch, ducking downwards and not fighting back. Crescent watched him disappear back into the undercurrent of the crowd, away from his assailant. She could almost feel the beat of his footsteps against the cobblestones.
Slowly, carefully, she edged her way closer to the boy, picking her way through the nervous throng of people. The boy with the red hair and the scar darted through the streets of Verdant, winding around and between the nervous people, though he never left Crescent’s sight. He did not seem to notice her following, but such faults could be fixed with time. And he did, at the very least, demonstrate a healthy amount of caution—not immediately leading her to anywhere important. Perhaps he suspected she was behind him, or perhaps he was just wary. Either way, he showed some amount of promise.
The boy picked his way through the street, maneuvering around the mass of people, before slipping into a narrow alley nestled. It lay nestled between dilapidated buildings that Crescent was sure would still be occupied. She slowed, allowing more space to stretch between them. The boy crouched low, listening. He didn’t move for several long seconds, his face angled toward the alley’s mouth watching for anyone up ahead.
Crescent listened to the sounds of the settlement beyond them. From somewhere deeper in Verdant the bark of a distant dog, the crash of a toppled wheelbarrow, and the low, restless murmur of a crowd trying too hard to sound unconcerned.
Eventually, the boy rose and continued on, moving more confidently now along a winding back route. The streets he chose narrowed, flanked by ivy-strangled fences and stacks of sun-bleached crates. He vaulted a low stone wall with practiced ease and dropped into a cramped yard. It was cluttered with cracked pots and wilting herbs growing in mismatched containers. A ratty mattress lay in one corner, half-covered by a threadbare cloth—someone’s bed. Possibly his.
And then they approached a building. Crescent recognized this one, and it was with a wry smile that she watched as the boy entered Illoc’s apothecary. The lights were dimmed and it seemed to be empty. Abraxas was with Valeria working on the fires and Illoc would be out making house calls. Crescent had an inkling of what the boy might be doing in there. He slipped in through a window with admirable dexterity, but it still would have been less obtrusive had he walked in through the front door; it was already ajar.
The Tivour didn’t follow the boy inside, but instead stationed herself by an adjacent shopfront and let herself fade into the background. She did not think it would be long before he reemerged.
He didn’t stay long. No sound came from inside the house. There was only a moment’s pause where everything was still and then the boy deftly escaped through the same window he had entered. Crescent thought that she could see a full satchel clutched in his hands, likely filled with swiped medicines. This was quite illuminating, and she wondered what exactly the medicines would be used for—an injury of his, or someone else’s, perhaps insurance? Whatever the answer, it would provide a lever that she could push.
Crescent made to follow him again, as he resumed his course, but then she caught sight of a flickering ember. She turned, looking at the few people around her. None seemed to have noticed it and she was not yet keen to alert them to its presence.
She looked about herself and muttered a curse. Her vines pushed and pulled at her fingers, causing them to twitch. The boy was gone now, tucked somewhere within Verdant’s heart. Whatever he had stolen wasn’t her concern for the moment. It was time to be useful again.
Crescent moved quickly, boots skimming over the cobblestones, her footsteps light. It would be best if she could find the source of the embers before there arose a panic. Already a few people were turning around, asking their fellows if they could smell anything. The air grew fraught with tension.
She found herself walking down a back alleyway, just nestled out of sight. There she saw two human children, and a bracket box cloaked in flames. Plumes of violet smoke billowed from it, already thickening. Neither of the children seemed to have the prudence or survival instincts to leave. Again cursing under her breath—though not loud enough for the children to hear—Crescent drew closer to the sight.
The first thing on her mind was discretion. Panic was useful, sometimes. But not today, not while she was trapped in Verdant. Only after she found her way out could she look at taking advantage of people in that way.
So she stuck out her hand, fingers stretching towards the plumes of smoke. The smoke began to wither and thin, no longer curling up towards the rooftops.
“What have we got here, children?” Crescent asked, her face already a mask of sunshine.
Evidently they hadn’t noticed her approach as they both jumped. The older of the two, a girl, approached Crescent with shining eyes. “Oh, auntie Crescent,”
Crescent thought that she recognized the girl from that morning. The Tivour knelt down as she looked at them. “What have we got here? Do you have something exciting to show me?”
It was at that point that the box exploded.
There was a sound like a shot from Abraxas’ gun, flames shot towards the sky, licking the rooftops. Within the instant, Crescent moved, vines pulling taut, throwing herself between the children and the rising inferno. Both she and the kids were thrown backwards along with burning shrapnel, but perhaps she had safeguarded them. She hit the ground and crumpled with a muffled thump, as touches of fire ignited her vines.
It had been a long time since Crescent had experienced pain of that sort.
The corpse that she piloted had no feeling left within it, no capacity for agony. A broken bone meant nothing to her. Scratches and scars only really affected her when they cut her vines and even then they were manageable. But fire was another matter. While Crescent may have had a primal fear of water, courtesy of her Root, all green and growing things had an innate sense of the danger of fire.
She rolled on the rough cobblestones, desperately trying to smother the flames. It was only a few moments—though they seemed stretched into an eternity—before she thought herself rid of them. After all, she had been far enough from the explosion that she had not been wreathed in flame. Only a scattering of cinders had reached her, some dying upon contact. It still burned like hellfire.
So Crescent stood, once-green vines singed black in places. Even though she could sense no smoke emanating from them, could see no lingering hints of flame, she could still feel her vines burning. The pain persisted. She looked at the children, and felt somewhat abashed; Crescent did not like feeling ill-composed.
Still, she plastered a radiant smile on her face as she was used to doing. It would help put the children at ease.
The older child, the girl, seemed to have been thrown a few feet back. Her lip was bleeding; a thin red line trickled down her chin. And she clutched her friend tightly, her hands bone-white from how hard she was gripping at his shirt. Her breath came out ragged. The girl seemed more shocked than anything.
Crescent crouched beside them getting down on their level. She forced her body to move as though it were unburned, as though there was no pain echoing from within her singed vines. She offered a hand to the child. The girl stared at it for a moment before taking it with trembling fingers.
“You alright?” Crescent asked, her voice calm like soft rains. She glanced down at the boy whose face was marred by faint splotches of soot and of tears.
“I—I didn’t know it would do that,” the girl whispered. “It was just glowing, and it looked pretty, and I…” Here she faltered, voice trailing. “Thank you so much for saving us.”
Crescent reached out gently and brushed the soot from the girl’s cheek, her own expression carefully composed, all kindness and knowing understanding. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad you’re safe. Now let me look at the thing, and I’ll take care of it.”
Crescent approached the box, and there, amidst the dying cinders and the wreckage, lay a Salamander. It was smaller than the ones she’d seen before—barely the size of her forearm—but unmistakably born of fire. Its warm brown skin shimmered faintly in the light, dappled with orange splotches that pulsed like embers. It blinked at her slowly, tongue flicking once across its jaw. It was a shame that she would have to kill it.
“Some things look pretty, but can be really dangerous. If you see any strange animals like that, I want you to try and go to Valeria or Abraxas, understand?” she told them.
The girl nodded her assent while the boy clung tighter to her.
“Now why don’t you go to the apothecary nearby and wait for Abraxas or Illoc. Don’t tell anybody but them about the fire, so you don’t get in trouble, alright? This can be our little secret.” Telling a child to keep something a secret made it nigh certain that they would tell the first person they happened across.
They both nodded and scampered off. It really was amazing how quickly young children regained their energy.
She stopped for a moment brushing soot from her arms. But there was someone at the mouth of the alleyway, someone that the children passed as they exited. Crescent was taken aback, but it was only a moment before a placed smile was etched upon her face. “Hello, Ms. How can I help you?”
“Please, Crescent, call me Diana.” The human stuck out her hand.
One of Crescent’s least favorite things about being a Tivour, always being on the back foot when meeting new people. Although, if one cultivated their image tactfully, they could turn that into an advantage. Hopefully, Crescent’s well-manicured reputation preceded her.
She took the woman’s hand.
Diana’s handshake was firm, though her fingers trembled slightly—perhaps from the heat still lingering in the alley air, or perhaps from something else. Her face was composed, but not unfeeling; there was tension at the edges of her mouth, the faintest furrow between her brows. Her city was burning, after all. Still, she met Crescent’s gaze with warmth.
“So, who is the illustrious Diana?”
“Ah, I am Waxwright by my husband’s trade.”
Crescent’s eyes widened, thin vines lifting her eyelids. “Like Valeria?”
The woman smiled, but there was a crease around the corners of her eyes. “I see my daughter does not often speak of me.”
There was a heartbeat’s pause before Diana continued. “But she is very busy. In any case, I came to you because I heard the explosion and I saw two children scamper past me. I watched what you did for them. Thank you. We’ll need people like you if Verdant is to weather this storm.”
“Oh it was nothing.”
“I don’t think so. And I’m sure that’s not how they’ll tell it.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” It was quite excellent news to Crescent. Hopefully word would spread of her good deeds, and she would have an increase in social capital. Of course, having a positive reputation could make it harder to act unnoticed and would restrict her movements.
“I’m sure it does.” Diana then knelt before Crescent, clasping her expirus to the crystal matrix on Crescent’s left forearm. “From hand to heart”
Crescent’s forearm rippled into a deep purple. That would be useful. “From soul to deed.”
As though her thoughts had summoned it, Crescent caught sight of a thick and dark pillar of smoke coming from the outer reaches of Verdant.
“Go.” Diana said.
And already Crescent was off. She had to be seen helping.
But she just barely caught the last words that Diana said to her. “Please, when you see Valeria, when you get the chance, tell her I and her father love her. She has so little time for family these days.”
“I will.”
Crescent pushed her way through the crowd of people, all of which were running in the opposite direction, away from the blaze. It would be so easy for her to slip among them, to shirk her duties, to disappear for a time. But she knew that she had work to do and plans to set into motion. She would have to be there for Valeria and Abraxas. Even Malik would probably have found his way to them by that point.
So she continued onwards, towards the dark cloud of smoke that smothered the sky. Her steps quickened as she threaded her way through Verdant’s winding streets, each turn drawing her closer to the gathering smoke. Her vines twitched and writhed as the temperature rose. It seemed that she would be facing an inferno. And then she caught sight of the general store. Flames licked at its facade, the wooden frame blackened and groaning. A window had shattered from the heat. Smoke billowed from the upper floor. But not everything inside had caught yet—not Merc’s careful rows of tools, not the hanging herbs or barrels of flour. There was still a chance. Verdant couldn’t afford to lose this place. She couldn’t afford to let it burn.
At the base of the blaze stood Valeria and Abraxas.
There were others there too, forms shifting in and out of the firelight, busying themselves and fighting the flames. But Crescent’s eyes were trained on her two friends.
Valeria stood, both palms extended toward the sky. Heat shimmered off copper skin, and beads of sweat pooled across her face. Plumes of vapor curled upward around her, hissing where they met fire. Each gesture of her arms pulled moisture from the air, condensed it, and slashed it through the fire in great sweeping arcs. The gemstones on each forearm shone a radiant azure and they pulsed with contained spirit.
Abraxas stood near her, close as he always was. Ribbons of smoke whirled around him, and Crescent could see his gemstone matrice gleaming a dark purple. She realized that he was clearing the smoke away from Valeria so that she could continue her work. Crescent smiled to herself.
Then she steeled herself, bracing against the rising heat, and approached the two of them with a smile. “I hope I didn’t miss the whole dance.”
Valeria didn’t turn towards her, didn’t so much as spare her a glance. The woman’s voice was hoarse from strain and from smoke as she said, “No, we’re just getting started. Do you have any vapor on you?”
“No, not at the moment.”
“Right, follow the other members of the bridge guild and grab a bucket.”
Crescent turned towards the others that had been working in the background. She saw people, cloaked in cinders, carrying buckets of water that they used to douse the flames. Slowly, so terribly slowly, the fire was being fought back.
If there was one thing she hated as much as fire, it was water and the river. But her image was at stake; she could not let either Verdant or Valeria think that she was unwilling to be of service. So Crescent ran with the other members of the bridge guild to the nearest point of the stream. Someone was there, handing out buckets, and she closed her eyes as she dipped hers into the stream. Her vines loosened as they met the cool water, but Crescent could almost feel herself falling down, plunging below the surface, gasping for her last breaths of air…
She was already off, running back towards the burning store, her bucket brimming with water. Crescent threw it against the flames, hoping to be seen doing her part. And so she turned, and spoke, “Abraxas, what’s our status?”
He was more able to talk than Valeria, always the support, always standing in the back ranks. “Currently, we’re trying to kill the flames before the rest of Verdant catches. Some people are trying to preemptively wet some of the surrounding shops. I wouldn’t say we have this under control—” here he stopped to cough, tufts of smoke pouring from his mouth “—but I think we’ll be able to manage.”
“Did you find the Salamander?”
“No. We haven’t yet.”
“That’s concerning.”
Abraxas let out another cough before he responded. “Very.”
But Crescent had dallied for long enough, and so she ran with the other members of the bridge guild back towards the stream. Luckily, someone was handing out full buckets, one of which Crescent took gratefully.
She really needed to find her way out of her situation.
Again she tossed water on the flames; again she made to run with the bridge crews.
And then she felt a presence like eyes watching her. Crescent caught sight of a shadow skulking near the flames. She thought that she knew who it was. The shadow drew a bit nearer, and she could make out tangled red hair. Crescent had a choice then, but it was an easy one.
“Can you hold down the fort? I think I might be able to find the Salamanders,” she asked Valeria, or Abraxas, or anyone who would hear her.
Abraxas let out a confused little noise, as was his habit, and already Crescent was off.
She chased the red-headed boy as he scampered through the smoke.
The boy was young and spry, but he seemed to be more tired than he had been earlier in the day. Crescent suspected malnourishment and a lack of sleep would be part of the issue; she had seen those twin beasts steal away many a mortal thief. The smoke probably didn’t help either. And Crescent had spent a lifetime, or something like it, learning how to follow. She would be able to catch him, she knew.
Then the boy tripped and stumbled. Crescent darted around a half-collapsed barrel stand and was already at the side alley, flanking him near the general store’s western wall. He had fled away from the streetfront—away from the worst of the blaze—and now stood just beyond the smoke-filled reach of the fire.
Of course, she suspected that he had wanted her to catch up with him.
He rose, steel in his eyes and a look of determination emblazoned on his face.
They stood together in the narrow space behind the general store, far enough that only the crackling of the front blaze reached them clearly. The rear wall was still intact, mostly untouched by flame, but the acrid heat pushed around the building like a living thing. The rising warmth made every instinct within Crescent urge her to flee. But she stayed steady as she always did.
“You know where the Salamander is, don’t you?”
The boy took a half-step back. “You don’t know that.”
Behind her, Crescent could faintly hear the sounds of shouted orders and sloshing water—Abraxas and Valeria, still fighting to hold back the fire from spreading to the neighboring shops. Buckets hit timber, water hissed and steamed. But Crescent didn’t look back; her attention was locked on the boy in front of her.
She took a half-step forward. “No, you know where it is.”
She watched the tension in the boy’s legs. He looked ready to bolt, weight shifting to the balls of his feet. But still he remained. Crescent stood for a moment, studying him as the wind caught her hair and scattered ash around them like snow. Sparks skittered from the far side of the building, dancing in the air like stars.
“How about we start with your name?” She just needed an in.
The boy was silent, taking a half-step backwards.
This time, Crescent didn’t press forwards. She stood and watched him. “Just give me something to call you by.”
The boy said something in half a mutter that Crescent could only just make out. “Leslie.”
“There we go, that’s progress,” Crescent said, smiling, as though their world was not on fire. She did her best not to wince as the heat pressed against her back and as her vines recoiled from the blaze. She thought that she could hear Malik’s voice joining that of Abraxas and Valeria, all of them working together. Perhaps they were successful. Such was not yet of her concern.
“Now, Leslie,” she said his name delicately, “we both know you know where the Salamander is. So let us cease such pretenses.”
“Fine, sure. Let’s say I know where it is.”
“Well, you should tell me or else I fear that Verdant will go up in flames.” She said it lightly, like she were asking Abraxas what new flowers he had planted in his garden.
“And so?”
“Look, I want to help you. I swear upon my life and upon every coin that I own, that I will not hurt you or yours. Whatever you’re protecting. Who—” and here Leslie flinched “—ever you’re protecting I promise to keep safe.”
“Do you?”
“I do. And wouldn’t you rather I be the one to help you than someone like Valeria or the Magistrate? Look, if the store goes down, a lot of people are going to be hungry and Verdant will become a much less friendly place for you. Things will be even harder than they are now. You can get help from someone understanding, or you can get help from someone like Valeria.”
It seemed as though his next words took a lot from him. “Fine, but you break your promise and I will come after you. You have my word.” The boy brandished a knife; it was clear he was not the most adept at using it.
“I’m counting on it.”
Leslie took the lead, showing her a loose panel in the back wall of the store. Prying it up, the boy ducked inside, with Crescent right behind him. Glowing cinders filled the store. Flames reflected through glass bottles. She thought that she could still hear Abraxas, Valaria, Malik, and the others combating the blaze. She thought that maybe they were winning. But that was something beyond her now.
Leslie led her to a trapdoor in a dark corner, its metal handle scuffed and stained from long use. The boy ushered her down it. Crescent was wary, of course, as she followed him down, but she felt more than prepared for anything he might try to do to her. Besides, she was also skilled at ad-libbing.
She climbed down the dark stairwell, following Leslie at a comfortable distance. She could feel the temperature dropping as they grew farther from the flames. The boy’s footsteps were careful—no longer evasive, just cautious. Soon they were at the bottom.
A sputtering lantern sat on a crate, casting dancing shadows about the room. Crescent looked about her, at the stacks of stockpiled goods. It reminded her of the storehouse that Hildegard had taken her to, though this one was more cluttered and more compact. She took a step forward.
“Where is it?”
“This way, it should be here.”
Crescent nodded her assent and followed Leslie as he made his way through the clutter.
As she took a step, the vines around her foot felt a wet, slimy substance. She bent down, trying to get a good look at it. It was hard to make any details out in the lanternlight, but it seemed to be the same as whatever secretions the first Salamanders had caused. Crescent shuddered; she didn’t know what it would take to ignite it and very much hoped she didn’t inadvertently set it off. She continued to follow Leslie, now stepping far more cautiously.
“I saw it over here,” Leslie said, “in a little crevice. Just barely caught sight of it.”
“And what were you doing down here?” Crescent’s lips stretched into a smile.
Leslie turned back towards her, his face mired in the lanternlight. “What I had to.”
“Like you were doing at the apothecary’s?”
The boy started.
“Don’t worry. Like I said, I’m not the Magistrate and I don’t work for him. I don’t care what you take or who you’re protecting.”
Leslie said nothing.
Crescent chuckled slightly before asking, “Alright, have we made it?”
Leslie glanced toward the wall before responding. “Yeah. There.”
He pointed to a narrow alcove half-shrouded behind stacked crates of grain and rusted metal parts. Crescent’s eyes followed his gesture.
She couldn’t quite make it out at first. But she could feel it, there was a tensing of some of her vines, a memory of heat and of pain. Then she saw it, tucked within a crevice in the wall, a flicker of orange light.
The Salamander was half-hidden in the crook where the stone foundation met the floorboards. It hunkered low, its stomach almost flush with the stone. A violet eye blinked at her. This one seemed bigger than the one that had caused the explosion earlier, more like the first that she had seen.
“There it is,” Crescent murmured. She crouched slowly, trying not to startle it.
Leslie stepped back, letting her take point.
The Salamander was about the size of a small cat. Its ember-like scales dimly glowing in the dark. Its tail flicked once; it made no move to flee. Perhaps it thought itself hidden, safe in shadow and heat.
Then the Salamander hissed. Its mouth opened, and a wave of heat rippled through the basement like a breath from a furnace. She jerked her hand back. Leslie stumbled, nearly knocking over a lantern, but Crescent caught it before it fell.
“Careful,” she hissed.
The Salamander, disturbed, began to climb up the side of the alcove wall, its molten eyes fixed on Crescent.
“Can I go yet?” Leslie asked, already inching backward.
“No.” Her voice was now stern, commanding, sounding almost like Valeria’s. She rarely got the chance to speak like that, but it proved effective then in that dark basement. Leslie quieted and did not leave.
The Salamander lashed its tail once, then again. Sparks flew where it touched the stone. One wrong move and the place could be a furnace— or a tomb.
She pulled out a knife and skewered the thing. But it did not die immediately. Instead let out a shriek like all the hells were bursting forth. Crescent pulled back her knife, the monster still attached to it. She slammed the creature against the stone once, twice, and then a third time—and on the last, the glow in its body flickered, then died. The Salamander went limp, and the scent of scorched resin filled the air.
And then, for a moment, all was still.
“That was…” Leslie’s voice broke off. He was staring at the dead Salamander like he wasn’t sure what emotion he should settle on.
“What it was,” Crescent said, stepping back. “This store would’ve gone up like tinder if it had been left.”
Leslie gave a slow nod. “Yeah. I guess so.” He turned towards the exit. “Now can I leave?”
“If you must. I’ll see you again at the Eyesocket ’round noontime tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
Crescent grinned. “You’ll be there.”
Crescent had found an old burlap sack—now empty of supplies and now full of Salamander corpse— which she carried as the two of them exited. They climbed back up into the store proper, where the air was already cooling. The blaze seemed to have been brought to heel. She could hear people shouting victory and orders and complaints—voices filled with tired triumph.
Crescent stepped outside just in time to see Valeria walking toward her, sleeves soaked, face streaked with ash. Her eyes flicked to the bundle under Crescent’s arm.
“Is that the Salamander?”
“Yes.” Out of the corner of her eye, Crescent watched Leslie slipping away, already vanishing back into the shadows.
Valeria nodded once, tight-lipped. “Good. We’ll have to do a sweep later and make sure there aren’t more. But I think that should be it, based on what I heard from Abraxas.”
“That’s one thing at least. I’m sorry I missed the fun and wasn’t able to help out.”
Valeria looked at her for so long that Crescent was unable to tell what exactly the woman was thinking. There was a strange look in her eyes, and soot and ash dirtied her hair. It seemed as though she had even ceased breathing.
Eventually, Valeria just said, “Don’t worry about it. Everything went fine. We always appreciate what you’re able to do for us.”
“How lovely.”
“But, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take that from you.” Here Valeria gestured to the sack that Crescent was holding. “I didn’t think to grab any of the specimens earlier. But I really should be studying them further. That is something I can do, at least.”
“Of course, by all means take it.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Crescent turned to leave, already plotting out her next endeavor. There was still much she should be doing if she was to secure her place in Verdant, even if commandeering Leslie’s help was a strong step in the right direction.
But, before she was fully out of earshot, she decided to play with Valeria just a little bit.
“By the way,” Crescent said, “Your mother says she misses you.”
