Page 15 of Darkness Births the Stars #1
The sound of the insolent fool’s face hitting the nearest wall was quite satisfying. Grabbing his hair, I jerked his head back.
“You shouldn’t have insulted a goddess,” I hissed, slitting his throat without hesitation.
For a fleeting, glorious moment, I burned with it all: the exhilaration of battle, the thrill of victory, the heavy scents of blood and smoke lingering in the air.
Then I noticed the stares. Even in a place like this, killing twelve men in the middle of the street attracted attention. People from every house and tent stared at me. Rabast and Amris stood in the doorway of the tavern I had left earlier, their faces ghostly pale in the flickering firelight .
Distant screams pierced the night, growing nearer. The tolling of an alarm bell filled the air. Not because of the bloodshed, but because of the fire that had begun leaping to the nearest buildings, just as I had feared. I had to vanish before the Royal Guard showed up.
“Over here!” a voice called out behind me. I whirled around to see a figure waving at me through the smoke. “Quick!”
I only noticed bright blue eyes and the gleam of dark feathers beneath a black cloak as I instinctually followed the stranger, the need to escape pounding through me.
The tumult behind us faded as we hurried through the maze of narrow alleys deep within the Undercity.
After a dozen turns, my guide abruptly stopped, a gnarled hand shooting out of the cloak, grabbing my arm.
“Inside.” I was pulled toward a dim tent entrance. “Better stay off the streets until things have calmed down.”
I ducked inside, aware I had little choice, but still cautious enough to keep my sword drawn.
The tent was surprisingly spacious. In one corner, a pile of colorful cushions resembled an enormous nest, while the center was dominated by a large wooden table overflowing with the ingredients and tools of the potion maker’s craft.
Drying herbs and flowers hung from the tent’s ropes, filling the air with their aromatic scent.
The glow from an oil lamp caught in a large crystal mounted on a tripod between two stools, while smaller crystals on the ceiling twinkled in the draft.
“Why would a soothsayer help a stranger in trouble?” I asked, my eyes returning to my savior.
Beneath the cloak’s hood, a female Aerieth’s high cheekbones and narrow nose were revealed.
Bright blue eyes blinked at me, standing out against her dark brown complexion, thin lines only highlighting her elegant features.
Her white hair was wound around her head in a tight braid.
Feathers rustled as she draped her cloak over a stool with a laugh. “ Why would a mercenary save two priestesses of Baradaz?” Her eyes glittered. “Maybe we both have kind hearts.”
I accepted the rag she offered with a scoff, cleaning my sword before sheathing it. “Well, whatever your reasons, thank you. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
Her grin revealed pointed teeth. “Not many customers tonight,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t need any charity, but perhaps something here might interest you. It seems you’ll be staying for a while.”
“I fear I have little use for a soothsayer…” My gaze caught on a collection of inks and sharp needles on the table, a cushioned bench beside it. A spark of curiosity ignited within me. “Are you offering tattoos?”
“Mmm,” the old Aerieth murmured, stepping over to realign the inks. “You are lucky, merc. I’m among the most skilled skin artists in all of Triannon.”
Ignoring her boastful claim, I followed her to the table and picked up a piece of parchment and a quill from the clutter.
With a few decisive strokes, I sketched a constellation of stars.
“Could you do this? Here.” I gestured toward the left side of my chest, right over my heart.
After a pause, I added a line of bold Aurean script. “And these words below it.”
Saying them felt wrong, my mortal tongue heavy in my mouth as though they were meant to be spoken only in her sweet voice.
Blue eyes scrutinized me. “Few Humans speak Aurean,” the Aerieth remarked, tilting her head. “A priest who lost his faith?”
“Something like that.” I unbuckled my belt and placed my sword and scabbard on the table. The Aerieth picked up the parchment, studying it with a raised eyebrow.
“There may be some unexpected side effects,” she warned. “Words in the tongue of the gods hold power. ”
“I’ll take my chances,” I answered, resolutely loosening the fastenings of my tunic.
After I had pulled the garment over my head, the old Aerieth motioned for me to sit. “It will take a few hours.”
I nodded, an unusual sense of calm settling upon me as I observed her preparations. She fetched a brighter light, mixed the ink, and finally dipped a long needle into it.
“So…” Her gaze swept over my bare chest, lingering on the scars on my shoulder without remarking on them. “Commemorating something? Your homeland, perhaps? A place you yearn to return to?”
I lay back on the bench. “I have no home.” I had burned it down with my own hands. It seemed only just that I should roam Aron-Lyr for the rest of my mortal years, lost and alone.
“I see.” The Aerieth chuckled drily as she positioned the needle. “I only warn customers off who want to do one for a woman. The ink tends to last longer than the feelings.”
“Don’t worry.” I closed my eyes at the first prick of pain. “She is already lost to me. This is only a remembrance.”
Time lost all meaning, the continuous stabs of the needle in my skin oddly mesmerizing.
My mind drifted off while the Aerieth worked.
I wasn’t so foolish as to conjure a real memory, aware it would be too painful.
Instead, I allowed myself to recall fragments of sensations, of touch and smell and taste.
“There is still enough magic left, you know.” The soothsayer’s soft voice pulled me from my daze much later. The needle clinked on the table. Calloused fingertips trailed over the raised scars above the finished tattoo. “To find her if you wish.”
I sat up, bewildered. “What?”
A glimmer appeared in the Aerieth’s eyes as she turned to me, golden flecks dancing in the blue. “The one who holds your heart.” Her lips curved into a subtle smile. “I can help you find her with a tracking spell.” She summoned a small, glowing object into her palm with a twist of her hand.
“I can hardly afford that kind of magic,” I said, suspicion creeping into my voice as I swung my legs off the bench. “Besides, how does a mere soothsayer possess a lyr -stone?”
The Aerieth leaned closer, her enigmatic smile widening.
“Ah, Belekoroz, always so wary. I am just helping the winds of fate along a little.” Her eyes blazed, the golden flecks within them whirling faster and faster, drawing me in until I forgot why her words had disturbed me just a moment ago.
“You will accept my offer,” she stated. A gentle touch on my jaw made me nod obediently, the familiar tickle of Air magic caressing my ear.
“And give me a generous tip for my exceptional work.”
The world descended into a gray, suffocating mist.
As morning dawned, I found myself near the main gate, clad in my dark tunic, my sword at my side, with no recollection of the rest of the night.
My chest throbbed with dull pain, where deep black lines formed an image to remind me of all I had lost. In my hand, the lyr -stone pulsed, tempting me with the chance to reclaim it. If I was brave—or insane—enough to try.