《The Quetzal Paradox: Kefnfor [Dark Fantasy]》


 Issue 1: The Horror Under Eldryn’s Quay (Part 1)

    Korax 17 ¨C Inselaciune 1, 1308.


    The sea had always filled me with dread. Which, in hindsight, made perfect sense, seeing as I¡¯ve drowned more times than I can count.


    That feeling came crawling back when I entered the docks. You¡¯d have laughed, I know, with that annoying smirk of yours, if you could see me. I was practically tiptoeing as if I¡¯d dropped mum¡¯s needles, hugging the inner edge of the walkway, trying to picture myself anywhere but here. Didn¡¯t work, though. It never did. One glance between the cracks ¨C those gods-awful gaps in the planks ¨C and I¡¯d be reminded of what lay beneath. Then the memories would come back. The water closing in, the desperate struggle for air, the darkness embracing me as I fell¡ª


    ¡®Move out of the way, lad!¡¯


    A foreman¡¯s yells shocked me back into reality. I stumbled back from the edge, mumbling an apology, and took a moment to orientate myself. Regrettably, I was still in Eldryn¡¯s Quay.


    Why had I even come here? I¡¯d promised that little girl I¡¯d find her missing father. But was that it? I¡¯d met her at the Coral Festival a few nights back. She¡¯d described her old man as troubled, unlike himself. I almost walked away right then and there, ready to dismiss him as a mere drunk. But then there was the other word she used¡­ ¡®haunted¡¯. That word had brought me to the Quay. It was a long shot, but if a spirit was involved, I had to help.


    I took another look at Kefnfor¡¯s oldest harbour, my gaze sweeping across the quiet scene, looking for clues.


    A crew of humans and dwarves unloaded crates and nets from a newly arrived trawler just off to my right. The foreman, the same charming fella from before, was back to barking orders like he owned the place. They were hauling the day¡¯s catch to the warehouses by the old whaling station, on the north side of the harbour. Busy as they were with their tasks, this group didn¡¯t strike me as the kind who¡¯d humour my questions. I could compel them to talk, of course ¨C a simple whisper of magic would do the trick ¨C but the effort seemed excessive.


    That left only the foreman. Terrific.


    As I stepped forwards to question him, a voice stopped me in my tracks. An achingly familiar voice, murmuring through the mist, ¡®Something¡¯s coming. Something strange.¡¯


    My spirit companion urged me not to worry, that the voice was not a threat; it was merely making an observation. But I was worried. What was watching me?


    Even if that tiny ember inside ¨C my mate, as I liked to call it ¨C insisted the voice wasn¡¯t hostile, I remained unconvinced. I needed another approach, at least until I knew what kind of spirit had taken an interest in me.


    I turned around and went back to the street running alongside the docks.


    Eldryn¡¯s Quay was the city-state¡¯s beating heart, at least when it came to trade, and the shops lining the main street reflected that. You could find anything from fishing supplies and eateries to something called ¡®Morgan and Sons Clothing Emporium¡¯ ¨C fancy name for a shop hidden in the Quay. With enough coin, you could probably buy anything here. Even information about a missing man, if you knew whom to ask.


    Along the way, I passed in front of a small grocer¡¯s, more run-down than the other shops, with peeling paint and a faded sign. Inside, a woman paced restlessly, restocking shelves and wiping down counters with an old rag. A small child trailed behind her, clutching a doll in one hand and a bucket of murky water in the other. And there, tucked between the pots of honey and tins of salmon, a small spirit ¨C Affection, by the looks of it ¨C watched the scene with quiet delight.


    I chuckled to myself. A part of me wanted to go inside, corner the little spirit, and ask it what fascinated it so much. It looked older than most spirits around here; imagine the stories it could tell.


    Pity that I couldn¡¯t stop to chat with it. I was headed somewhere else. A place of laughter and off-key singing, where the harbour workers went to unwind after a long day under the sun: Dafydd¡¯s. With any luck, someone inside could tell me where to find the missing father, or at least point me in the right direction.


    The pub was tucked away in the narrow streets separating the harbour from the rest of the city. Palladian windows and old brickwork suggested it was older than most buildings in the Quay, yet it didn''t seem out of place. It was as if the surrounding structures had been built to match its style. My favourite detail, though, was the oil lamps hanging from the facade, casting a warm, dim glow over the path. Call me old-fashioned, but I couldn¡¯t stand the gas lamps they used in the rest of the city, let alone those new electric ones popping up in the wealthier districts.


    As expected, the pub was packed to the brim. Someone had even dragged barrels and crates outside to make makeshift tables for the overflowing patrons. Even then, plenty of blokes were left standing, drinks in hand, laughing and singing with a joy I couldn¡¯t even fathom. One group of dwarves and humans were particularly loud, sharing tales of their, and I quote, ¡®troubles with the lady-folk¡¯. Lovely.


    As I stepped inside, the warmth, scents, and sounds of the pub washed over me, stirring a raging sense of nostalgia. Every table was packed, men and women from all walks of life crammed together like life-long mates. A cacophony of music, chatter, and drunken ramblings filled the air. Some blokes were even singing ¨C and ruining while doing so ¨C old Clei?ian shanties, mixed with more modern Kefnforian tunes. And the smells¡­ The place reeked of beans, pork, a hint of spicy paprika, and of course, dill. Smoky Clei?ian Bean Stew. I¡¯d have known that smell anywhere.


    And of course, there were the spirits, tucked away in every nook and cranny, observing quietly from their invisible realm. Most just drifted aimlessly at the edges of my sight, floating from table to table, slipping under counters and through the walls. Some didn¡¯t even bother with the pretenses of the Physical Realm, vanishing mid-air with a faint pop that most folk wouldn¡¯t even register. A sensation they¡¯d remember only in dreams, before forgetting it again upon waking up.


    But then there were the others. The curious ones. The ones I had to keep an eye on.


    Luckily for me, a large mirror hung behind the counter, perfect for observing the spirits. Unluckily, the one tending the bar was the pub owner himself.


    The old dwarf hated my guts. No other way to say. A regular could get a pint and a plate of chips for a single bani, but I¡¯d have to fork over three or four for a cup of stale juice and some leftover snacks. My only comfort was that the old miser seemed to love money more than he hated me. A small, expensive victory, but a victory nonetheless. Was I petty, spending four or five bani just to watch him fume and mutter under his breath about us ¡®evil¡¯ holders? Probably. Was it worth it? Absolutely.


    I braced myself and took a spot at the counter. Now wasn¡¯t the time for pettiness, though. I needed his help. The publican knew everyone in the Quay, which made him my best shot at finding that girl¡¯s missing father.


    ¡®Evening, mate!¡¯ I said, taking a seat. ¡®Busy night, eh. Business booming, I hope?¡¯


    The dwarf approached me the moment I sat down. He always did. Probably figured the sooner I got my order, the sooner I¡¯d be out of his fur. He just stared at me with those beady yellow eyes, and the same annoyed frown etched on his narrow snout. One hand, covered on that cobalt blue fur common in the southwest, was curled into a fist, ready to strike me if needed. He scratched his good ear, the one without the scars, and let out a theatrical sigh. Didn¡¯t say a word. But he didn¡¯t kick me out, either. That counted as a win in my book.


    ¡®Could I get some apple cider and a serving of chips?¡¯ I asked, taking his silence as permission to speak.


    ¡®Two bani.¡¯


    ¡®Here you go. So I was wondering if¡ª¡¯


    The dwarf snatched the two copper coins from the counter and walked off without a word. Same old routine. For a second, I doubted my decision to come here. The publican loathed me, probably loathed every holder who walked through his door. I couldn¡¯t blame him, not really, considering this city¡¯s complicated relationship with magic. But it still stung. Some of us just wanted some decent chips, a bit of friendly banter, and maybe some information about a crazed man who was two words away from transforming into a Rotten. Was I reaching for the stars here?


    Maybe I should have gone to the foreman after all.


    While the dwarf was off getting my order ¨C hopefully without spit this time ¨C I took a look at the mirror. It was a good chance to check on the pub''s invisible guests, and maybe fix my hair. A few strands had come loose with the breeze. I needed a new pomade. The stuff I¡¯d bought at the Octant¡¯s market was the worst investment I¡¯d ever made.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    One thing I¡¯d never understood about spirits was their perception. When they took their animal forms, they¡¯d mimic the beasts, acting like they saw and heard the world just like any living creature. But sometimes they¡¯d do something that made you doubt that. Take mirrors, for instance. Spirits didn¡¯t seem to see them. Or rather, didn''t seem to see through them.


    Except for the obvious buggers like Truth, Insight, and, of course, Pride, spirits didn¡¯t seem to grasp what a mirror was or how it worked. I once spent hours watching a little one through a reflection, and the thing never reacted, not even once.


    That¡¯s how I figured out that mirrors were perfect for keeping an eye on the little, ethereal bastards without them noticing. And where better to use that trick than in a cosy pub like this? I could use one eye to watch the dwarf in case he decided he¡¯d had enough of me, and the other to make sure the spirits weren¡¯t getting up to anything strange. Too strange. If I had a third eye, maybe I could finally figure out a hairstyle that wouldn¡¯t turn into a rat¡¯s nest under the sea¡¯s breeze. Pity, the gods were cruel and only gave me two eyes.


    Only a handful of spirits demanded my attention, though. Near the front door, a small spirit of Want slithered between the coins of a group of men playing cards, its translucent skin pulsing with a brighter light each time someone drew. On the table beside them, Sorrow swung from the ceiling beams, weeping as it listened to a sailor¡¯s tale. I couldn¡¯t hear the words, but judging by how the spirit was wiping its tears with its tail, I reckoned it was probably a tragic one. Further in, a hairless, dog-like spirit of Treachery slept at the feet of a woman who seemed a bit too friendly with the man she was talking to. Definitely not her husband.


    What surprised me most, though, was the sheer number of spirits of Concern in the pub. I¡¯d counted at least twenty when I came in, and that number had easily doubled. But they weren¡¯t doing anything, just drifting aimlessly among the patrons, like they were waiting for something. Had they followed me? Their presence here was unsettling.


    ¡®Your food,¡¯ the dwarf grunted, slamming the plate down in front of me.


    ¡®Hold on a second,¡¯ I said, a little more desperate than I intended. ¡®I need your help with something. I¡¯m looking for a mate of mine. Thought maybe you¡¯d seen him.¡¯


    ¡®A mate?¡¯


    ¡®He¡¯s gone missing, you see. He¡¯s kinda short for a human, red hair, green eyes¡ª¡¯


    ¡®A holder,¡¯ the dwarf said, flatly. It wasn¡¯t a question. He¡¯d seen right through me. The word dripped with enough venom to poison an entire village.


    ¡®Aye,¡¯ I admitted. I had to be careful here. ¡®He might be. His daughter thinks¡­¡¯


    ¡®You have your food. Eat it.¡¯


    Godsdammit. Why was this man being so difficult? I thought about trying to buy the information, but something told me he wouldn¡¯t budge. I had to convince him the old way.


    ¡®My mate works at one of the warehouses here,¡¯ I said, ignoring his dismissal. ¡®Maybe at the old whaling station. His name¡¯s Elian.¡¯


    ¡®Elian.¡¯


    ¡®Aye. You know him? Might have been one of your regulars. He was always fond of good spirits.¡¯


    ¡®Many people are. This is a pub.¡¯


    ¡®Right, of course. His daughter said he liked to come here sometimes. That¡¯s why I¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Ask the Hospitallers for help. Or the guards. I haven¡¯t seen him.¡¯


    Gods, I wanted to smash that vulpine face of his. He knew something, I was sure of it. The way he hesitated when I said the name. The way his pointy ears flattened against his head and swivelled back. He was agitated, scared even.


    I hated using magic unless I absolutely had to ¨C there was always a downside ¨C but he¡¯d backed me into a corner.


    I glanced at the spirit crawling on the counter, its amphibian tail leaving a trace of slime behind. It wasn¡¯t large, maybe the size of the dwarf¡¯s forearm, but it held a certain unsettling presence. Its head was wide and flat, like a snake that had been stepped on, with vacant, beady eyes that, strangely, offered a sense of comfort if you met their gaze. But this wasn¡¯t just one spirit. Something about it was off. The creature¡¯s body was covered in dark, plated scales that oozed with blood-like ichor. And if you looked close enough, you could all but taste the wrongness of it. Every joint of its tiny body ¨C knees, elbows, tail, even its knuckles ¨C was a gaping, ravenous maw lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth.


    Concern. A twisted fusion of Compassion and Fear.


    I spoke again, keeping my voice soft and steady ¨C or as steady as I could make it with the stutter. I pretended to address the dwarf, while focusing my words on the spirit.


    ¡®Please, I need your help. I¡¯m worried about Elian. He might be in danger. He might be a danger to others. Wouldn¡¯t you be worried if it was your mate?¡¯


    The dwarf¡¯s eyes narrowed to slits. He still wasn¡¯t buying it. But it didn¡¯t matter. Concern was focused on me now, its black, beady eyes fixed on mine. I had its attention.


    The spirit flowed through the air behind the counter, slithering closer to the dwarf. Its tail, a grotesque parody of an axolotl¡¯s, twitched as it moved, dripping spectral slime on the wooden floors. Then, without physically touching him, it worked its magic, its influence coiling around the dwarf¡¯s own emotions.


    You could almost see the gears turning behind the dwarf¡¯s eyes as Concern¡¯s influence took hold. His eyes widened, his mouth started to quiver. He leaned closer, almost hesitantly, close enough for me to smell the sweat beadings on his forehead.


    ¡®I want to help. It¡¯s just¡­¡¯ the publican hesitated, his voice trembling with every word. ¡®I don¡¯t know where Elian went. We saw him three days ago¡­ and then nothing.¡¯


    ¡®By the Navigator¡¯s teats, Dafydd!¡¯ a man roared from the other end of the counter, his voice booming over the pub¡¯s din. ¡®Tell the bloody holder the truth!¡¯


    The man stormed towards me, covering the distance in a heartbeat. So, I was the ¡®bloody holder¡¯ in question. Great. This is why I hated using magic. All I got was free insults and angry seamen on my face.


    ¡®You looking for Elian, are you?¡¯ the man barked, his eyes narrowed.


    ¡®Yes. His daughter asked me to. She hasn¡¯t seen him in days.¡¯


    ¡®Worthless drunk, that one. Lost his job at the Branwen¡¯s for drinking on the job. Sodding waste of space, can¡¯t even hold a job down to feed his own daughter.¡¯


    ¡®So where does he work¡ª¡¯, I started, but the man cut me off again. I was really starting to hate this bloke. Maybe the dwarf''s hostility wasn¡¯t so bad after all. At least he let me speak. Sometimes.


    ¡®Some eatery next to the whaling station. The Branwens built it for their workers. Bloody imbeciles. We were all trying to get away from the stench of blubber and blood.¡¯


    ¡®I think I know the place,¡¯ I said. ¡®Should be easy enough to get there from here. Thanks for¡ª¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re going alone?¡¯ another voice asked. I¡¯d noticed more and more people turning to listen in on our conversation about Elian. I¡¯d hoped they were just nosy about all shouting. Clearly, I was wrong.


    ¡®If Elian is a holder,¡¯ I began, trying to reason with them, ¡®it could be dangerous. It¡¯d be best if I went alone¡ª¡¯


    The punch came out of nowhere. It wasn¡¯t the loud bloke, or the nosy one from before. Not even the dwarf, though I bet he¡¯d been itching to do that for a while. No. A middle-aged woman, a merchant of some sort based on her clothes, had taken it upon herself to deliver a proper hook to the ¡®bloody holder¡¯. The force of the punch, or maybe just the shock at the absurdity of it all, sent me sprawling to the floor. But what really worried me was the mob of angry faces now looming over me.


    ¡®Like hells you are,¡¯ she bellowed. ¡®Elian¡¯s one of ours. We look after our own and we look after our harbour. We don¡¯t need a promise-breaking dog to tell us what to do. This is our livelihood we¡¯re talking about.¡¯


    Promise-breaking dog. So that was still a thing. Hadn¡¯t heard that one in ages. Must be going out of fashion. I sighed internally. Different faces, same tired prejudice.


    ¡®You don¡¯t understand, holder¡¯, the dwarf said, his voice surprisingly strong from behind the counter. His hands were clenched into fists, shaking with a mix of anger and fear. ¡®This might mean nothing to your kind, but this place is all we have. We¡¯re going with you.¡¯


    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Concern hopping up and down, practically trembling with delight. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d have sworn it was happy.


    I could probably take them all on, but explaining to the city guards why I¡¯d knocked out a pub full of ¡®innocent¡¯ patrons wouldn''t be easy.


    I sighed. There was always a price to pay. There¡¯s always a catch. At least I¡¯d got my clue.


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ I conceded. ¡®But stay close. If things go south, I¡¯d feel better knowing you¡¯re safe.¡¯


    Or as safe as one can be when dealing with holders and crazed spirits.


    ¡®Will things go south?¡¯ the pub owner asked.


    ¡®I hope not.¡¯


    The music had stopped. The workers were clearing tables while the patrons settled their tabs. The mood had shifted ¨C my fault or Concern¡¯s, or both. Didn¡¯t matter. Several men, humans and dwarves alike, were now forming bands to help search for our missing man, discussing plans and possible locations.


    A knot tightened in my stomach. My heart raced. These men were ready to put themselves in harm¡¯s way. Was it Concern¡¯s influence that made me worried? No¡­ it was something else. Something about the way they¡¯d spoken of Elian. I was missing something.


    I wished, not for the first time, that my own spirit could offer some guidance and actually speak to me. Instead, it remained stubbornly silent. I didn¡¯t like this feeling one bit.


    As the crowd dispersed, the loud bloke helped me to my feet. He muttered a quick apology for the shouting and his wife¡¯s punch. I told him not to worry about it. My cheek still throbbed where the woman¡¯s fist landed, but I knew there wouldn''t be a mark.


    My hand went to my pocket, instinctively checking for the few bani and caini I had left. Thankfully not a single coin slipped when I fell.


    I headed for the door.


    Before leaving the pub ¨C this beacon of decency and refinement ¨C I glanced back. The spirits of Concern were congratulating themselves for a job well done. Their grotesque tails wagging back and forth, and their maws, all of them, stretched into what could only be described as a horrifyingly comforting grin. They were so pleased with themselves. Bloody parasites.

 Issue 1: The Horror Under Eldryn’s Quay (Part 2)

    Korax 18 ¨C Inselaciune 2, 1308


    Elian was nowhere to be found. We scoured over the harbour and sent a diver to check beneath the pilings. We questioned every shopkeeper still awake at this late hour and even convinced a few warehouse owners to let us search their premises. Nothing. As if he¡¯d vanished into thin air.


    I hated this uncertainty. If I knew what kind of spirit had possessed him, I could formulate a plan. Even in holders, the spirit¡¯s essence lingered, drawing them towards familiarity and comfort. Elation could be drawn to an amusement park or a playground; the likes of Courage and Violence tended to gravitate towards barracks, guard posts, and fighting rings; and Pride could probably be found next to a mirror, admiring themselves until their eyes bled. Not literally. Well, not always literally.


    The worst thing was that I had no idea how dangerous he was. The men had decided to split ¨C a smart move normally, but with a potential Rotten on the loose, it was anything but. What if Elian was a Holder of Frenzy or Rage and he attacked the publican¡¯s group?


    I knew I had to shake those thoughts out of my mind. But it was hard. I couldn¡¯t even blame Concern for feeling this way. I may not like these people, but that didn¡¯t mean I wanted them to get hurt.


    ¡®The whaling station is empty,¡¯ my best friend the foreman said, interrupting my thoughts. There was no end to this man¡¯s rudeness. ¡®We looked everywhere, even under the carcasses.¡¯


    ¡®What about his house?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®Still nothing. Dafydd and some others are with the lass.¡¯


    ¡®Damnation.¡¯


    ¡®What now, Master ¡®older? We¡¯ve looked everywhere,¡¯ the foreman asked me, almost pleading. I didn¡¯t know what to tell him.


    When the group left the pub to look for Elian, some of them asked the workers outside to join us. Without Concern¡¯s influence, some wisely decided they did not want to get involved. Unfortunately, the foreman was not wise. Apparently, he was an old mate of Elian¡¯s, so he jumped at the call, joining the group. And since the Gods seemed to hate me, he ended up in my group, alongside the loud bloke and the punchy wife. On the bright side, if we needed someone to viciously assault a handsome and charming holder, she was our woman.


    Maybe we could ask the dwarves and ¨C Gods, what was wrong with me? I got upset when they called me a promise-breaking dog for being Clei?ian, and yet here I was, using an old slur. Dwarves. What a hypocrite. No. I must be better than that. Old habits were hard to forget, but I couldn¡¯t let those old prejudices fester. They were daearann¨²n and that¡¯s what I¡¯d call them.


    ¡®Didn¡¯t Elian used to work with you, Merfyn?¡¯ the woman asked the foreman. Of all the times to make small talk. Maybe I should go see if the grocer¡¯s still open and get us all some biscuits.


    ¡®Nay. Used to be mates, me and ¡®im. I got ¡®im a job and then ¡®e got sacked from the Tasty Siren. Drinking on the job again.¡¯


    ¡®The Tasty Siren?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®Aye. It¡¯s one of them shrimpers,¡¯ the foreman said, motioning towards the ships at the back of the docks. ¡®If I recall, ¡®is crew was the folks that almost knocked you into the water, lad.¡¯


    Almost knocked me? I mentally retraced my steps but I couldn¡¯t remember when that happened. Something in my manner must have betrayed my confusion as the foreman answered the question I did not ask.


    ¡®Earlier tonight. Or last night, I guess. You was daydreaming in the middle of the docks, and my men almost tripped on top of you.¡¯


    ¡®Oh. I remember now.¡¯


    ¡®You think ¡®e could be a stowaway? Elian sure loved that bloody shrimper. Almost as much as ¡®is booze.¡¯


    As unlikely as it seemed ¨C we¡¯d walked past those boats a score of times by now ¨C that was our only clue.


    ¡®It¡¯s worth a shot¡¯, I said. ¡®Do we need to ask someone for permission to look inside the boat?¡¯


    ¡®Nay. The skipper¡¯s my mate. Just don¡¯t set it on fire or turn us into frogs, Master ¡®older.¡¯


    ¡®I can make no such promises. Shall we get going?¡¯


    My three companions laughed. It was the kind of chuckle born of nervousness. The anticipation was eating us up. The unspoken question remained in the air, just out of reach: what would happen when we finally found Elian?


    The foreman grabbed me by the arm, pulling me away from my thoughts of Elian. I thought for a moment he¡¯d start yelling at me again, but instead, he leaned in and whispered so the others couldn¡¯t hear, ¡®I¡¯ve got your back, mate. You won¡¯t fall into the water.¡¯


    I nodded. His words were genuine. Somehow, he¡¯d known how I felt about this place. ¡®Twas a little thing, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Maybe he wasn¡¯t so bad after all.


    The activity in the Quay dwindled considerably as we walked back to where the boat had docked. The other search parties were slowly combing over the harbour, the light of their torches barely visible through the mist. Or maybe it was the distance that made their lights seem dimmer. They were shouting something, but I couldn¡¯t quite make out the words. Perhaps they were calling out to Elian. Nobody answered back.


    The loud bloke was leading my group. He held our torch with one hand, a small wooden box with a brass or copper handle, but it was off. While there were some clouds in the sky, the twin moons provided enough light so that we didn¡¯t need it. The Watcher was especially bright, being full tonight. The light from the gas lamps on the street nearby also helped.


    Luckily, the night¡¯s drizzle had stopped, leaving only damp crates and slippery planks in our path. This was something I¡¯d never liked about Kefnfor. Its winters were too wet. Not content with the ceaseless ocean winds, or the waves crashing against its shores, we also had to endure six months of constant rains. From light drizzling to the most vicious of pours, sometimes it felt like the rain never stopped. Was this the reason why they called it The City of Tears?


    I hoped I¡¯d be able to leave the island before Iarna was over, maybe in two or three moons¡¯ time. But then again, I¡¯d been saying the same thing for the last three years.


    ¡®Holder!¡¯ the loud bloke called out, his voice already hoarse. ¡®Use your torch. This damned thing¡¯s burning my hand.¡¯


    ¡®Aye.¡¯


    I pulled out the torch from my trousers¡¯ side pockets. It was a small, cylindrical model I¡¯d bought at the Seasong¡¯s markets. The shopkeeper assured me this new model was one of the best ones yet, its batteries lasting up to an hour. He wasn¡¯t lying. The only downside was that its metal frame got hot even faster than the regular wooden-box models. However, it was more practical to carry around.


    I turned it on. With a small flicker, the bulb inside began to shine, illuminating our path. Uncomfortable leading, I handed the torch to our unofficial leader. He didn¡¯t say ¡®thanks¡¯, but he grunted. It was a friendly grunt, all things considered.


    The smaller lens of my metal torch meant its range was also smaller, but it served us well. Rats were scurrying behind the crates and between the ropes littered through the docks, all while small spirits of Elation or Joy followed them as if playing with them. It wasn¡¯t possible, of course, since the rats couldn¡¯t see their little monkey-like playmates, but it was a funny sight. Down by the water, Fear pretended to devour a dead fish that floated on the surface, possibly attracting other predators and keeping the curious ones away. And off in the distance, the intermittent glow of the trawlers illuminated the side of the docks with its yellow and purple light that¡ª


    Why was a trawler glowing? I was no sailor or fisherman, or anyone who would know anything about boats, really, but I was pretty sure boats didn¡¯t glow intermittently.


    ¡®Something strange is coming. Closer now.¡¯


    It was the same voice from the previous night after I arrived at the Quay. That same sense of familiarity I¡¯d felt before was eroding my own thoughts once more. My companions didn¡¯t react ¨C why would they? It was a spirit calling out to those who could hear it. Spirits drawn by their bizarre curiosity. Spirits of the same kind who shared its essence. And, of course, myself.


    ¡®Stay behind me,¡¯ I said, stepping in front of the group. The loud bloke handed me the torch and took a step back. At least they listened.


    The closer I got to the trawler, the more intense the glow became, pulsing with a faint heat I could feel on my face. The voice had stopped, but my mind was filled with an unintelligible mumbling. It was like the scurrying of rats below deck, or the muffled shanties sung by drunk men. It was low but constant. Annoyingly so.


    As I reached the vessel, it let out a loud, piercing whistle, like a sudden release of steam ¨C a sound, judging by the others¡¯ lack of reaction, only I could hear. Then the flickering lights stopped. It knew I¡¯d seen it.


    The shrimp trawler was, at first glance, rather unremarkable ¨C just another average-sized steam vessel with the usual masts, rigging, and a small cabin. Its hull was painted some dark colour, brown or red, I couldn¡¯t tell which with so little light.


    However, under this mask of mundanity, a single feature betrayed its true nature: there was a face, appearing faintly over the hull; the face of something gone wrong. It was the kind of illusion one sees on a cold night when you¡¯re tired and paranoid. When you see things moving in the shadows. But in this case, the face was there.


    I placed my hand on the trawler¡¯s hull. Then I paused. My companions were probably not used to this type of magic. Had they seen an Anchor before? I could only pray they wouldn¡¯t do anything rash.


    ¡®I know you can see me,¡¯ I said, ignoring the odd looks from the foreman and the woman. They didn¡¯t matter now; only the spirit inside this Anchor. ¡®I can see you too, through the mist and the darkness. Please, speak to me.¡¯


    Silence was my answer. Literally. For a brief moment, the wind stopped its soft howling, and the rats¡¯ scurrying noises were replaced by a silence too deep for the harbour. Even the waves, calm as they were under the lesser moon¡¯s gaze, held their breath.


    ¡®Uhmm, lad?¡¯ the foreman asked, stepping forward and gently grabbing my shoulder. Concern, thankfully not the spirit, etched his face. He probably thought I¡¯d gone mad. ¡®Why are you talking¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Go away,¡¯ the trawler replied. ¡®You do not belong here, vessel of another.¡¯You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Right on cue, my companions freaked out. The loud bloke began to curse every one of the Gods, using profanities I¡¯d never even heard before. His wife was cowering behind him, her shrieks drowning the bloke¡¯s colourful expletives. At least the foreman fared a little better, though his voice was almost as broken as mine on a good day.


    ¡®Calm down,¡¯ I said, trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. The last thing we needed was a trio of gutless wimps scaring the spirit.


    ¡®But the nobby!¡¯ the foreman yelled. ¡®The bloody nobby is talking.¡¯


    ¡®What¡¯s a nobby?¡¯ I asked.


    ¡®We are Nobby. The sailors gave us that name for we were born with none.¡¯


    ¡®Look, er, Nobby,¡¯ I said, unsure if I wanted to know why it referred to itself as we, ¡®I need your help. We¡¯re looking for a man who went missing. We thought he may be hiding inside of, well, you.¡¯


    ¡®Go away,¡¯ it repeated. ¡®You are not welcome here. Our song cannot reach you. We cannot help if you refuse to listen to it.¡¯


    ¡®What song? If you wish to share your songs with me, I am willing to stay. All I ask is for your help in return.¡¯


    ¡®We sing to those bound to death by the sea, that they may find comfort in golden memories. Your heart is closed to our melodies. To us. You are of no use. You are too strange.¡¯


    In the last twenty hours, I¡¯d been insulted by a daearann¨²n who probably spat in my drink, and then I was punched by a woman at least a head shorter than I. Now I was being called ¡®too strange¡¯ by an Anchor, a mere wisp of a dead spirit. Lovely.


    At least now I knew what this spirit was. Longing. That explained that feeling of nostalgia I¡¯d felt all night since I arrived, and possibly the Clei?ian smells and shanties at Dafydd¡¯s. Cheeky little bastard, toying with my mind like this.


    Still, that presented a good opportunity to exploit it. If it refused to talk to me because I didn¡¯t hear its songs, then maybe it¡¯d talk to someone who could. And if I recall correctly, my loud mate, was a man of the sea¡­


    ¡®Mate,¡¯ I said, approaching the man cautiously. He hadn¡¯t run out of expletives yet, surprisingly. ¡®I need your help. Talk to the Nobby. See if you can convince it to help us find Elian.¡¯


    ¡®You want me to talk to that bloody thing?! You out of your mind or something?¡¯


    ¡®I know it sounds weird, but it¡¯s our only lead. It might know where Elian is.¡¯


    ¡®Bugger off, holder. I¡¯m not getting close to that thing or any of this mumbo jumbo magic shite.¡¯


    Whether it understood the man¡¯s words or simply grew tired of my presence, the trawler began to sway back and forth rather menacingly. The oil lamps scattered on its deck began to flicker ¨C something my companions did see this time ¨C and its masts bent forward, towards us. Was it trying to intimidate us? So much for ¡®the voice is not a threat, it¡¯s merely making an observation¡¯.


    ¡®I can do it,¡¯ the foreman suddenly said. His voice was shaking but his eyes were fixed on the boat. ¡®Or¡­ I can try.¡¯


    ¡®Aye, that¡¯d be good,¡¯ I said before he could change his mind.


    ¡®What do you want me to say to ¡®er, ¡®older?¡¯


    ¡®Appeal to its¡ª,¡¯ I stopped myself. It was better to play along. ¡®I mean, her nature. She is a spirit of Longing. She means us no harm, I don¡¯t think. Maybe she just wants to tell stories about the old days. Try and see if that works.¡¯


    The foreman nodded. For a brief moment, he stopped being the brash man who barked orders and acted like he owned the place. His voice had softened and, despite the evident terror in his eyes, he also had a certain air of curiosity to him. He had called it ¡®her¡¯. Had he heard a different voice, a ghost from his past, just as I¡¯d heard my brother¡¯s?


    ¡®G¡¯day, M-master Spirit,¡¯ the foreman said as he got closer to the boat. Instinctively I walked next to him. Just in case. ¡®I ¡®eard you don¡¯t wanna ¡®elp my mate ¡®ere. B-b-but we all need you. One of ours is missing. We¡¯re all mighty worried about ¡®him.¡¯


    ¡®I know you. You¡¯ve always been kind to us, even when you never sailed at our side. Are you happy?¡¯


    ¡®Aye. I am,¡¯ the foreman replied, confused. I couldn¡¯t blame him. Spirits are seldom as straightforward as people.


    ¡®Your heart does not yearn for the sea like it used to. You have changed.¡¯


    ¡®My sister is with child. The babe will be born next spring. I ¡®ope to be a good uncle to that wee thing.¡¯


    ¡®Will you tell the child about us?¡¯


    The foreman looked back at me for reassurance. If I intervened, the spirit may become enraged and stop talking. All I could do was offer an encouraging nod. He smiled back at me. It was a warm smile. For the first time, I noticed he was a good-looking fella. Still annoying and rude, but not hard to look at.


    ¡®Aye, I shall. I¡¯m sure the babe will love to ¡®ear stories about the talking Nobby who watches the Quay. But, will you ¡®elp me make the story better? Please, tell us if you¡¯ve seen ¡®him. Elian was a deck¡¯and for you. Used to say ¡®ow much ¡®e loved you.¡¯


    Oh, he was good at this.


    The Anchor did not respond. The rest of the Quay fell silent as if frozen in a painting. It was thinking. Its reluctance worried me, but there was no turning back now. Maybe this was our only chance to find Elian.


    After a few excruciating minutes, it spoke.


    ¡®The one you seek was like us. It only wished for things to go back to the way they were. To restore the perfect paradise THEY had denied IT,¡¯ the spirit was getting restless, its voice a possible mirror of Elian¡¯s own turmoil. I stretched my arm in front of the foreman, ready to intervene if it attacked. ¡®It is now LOST. Its mind is BROKEN. It is hiding.¡¯


    ¡®Where?¡¯ the foreman and I asked at once.


    ¡®We can show your holder the way,¡¯ the Nobby said, clearly addressing the foreman. ¡®It can see our lights.¡¯


    Before I could question why it kept referring to itself as ¡®we¡¯, the answer appeared in front of me. Scores of boats began to glow, their lights flickering in the same unsettling rhythm as the Nobby. Almost all the trawlers, drifters, and all kinds of fishing vessels swayed with the same energetic force as the one in front of us. Nearly every ship in this accursed harbour was an Anchor of Longing.


    ¡®Master ¡®older,¡¯ the foreman said to me. ¡®What do we do now?¡¯


    ¡®She¡¯s showing me the way. Follow me.¡¯


    Without wasting another second, I strode through the docks, following the lights of the Nobbies who lit the path. My companions were still shaken up by the experience ¨C who wouldn¡¯t be? ¨C but they kept the pace with me. The loud sailor, how own torch now blazing, kept pace beside me.


    Behind us, the sounds of more unintelligible shouting and steps running through the wooden planks filled the air. Had the rest of the search party been alerted of our discovery?


    I did not dare stop to find out. The Anchor¡¯s words were worrying. If Elian was indeed possessed by Longing, his own emotions were trickling down onto the other spirits in the harbour. But it wasn¡¯t just Longing anymore. These Anchors were filled with anger. Rage.


    After twenty minutes we reached our destination: an abandoned shack or shed of some sort. The foreman said it was probably used to store tools or old fishing rods, before the renovation of the harbour.


    ¡®Stay here,¡¯ I said. ¡®I¡¯m going in.¡¯


    ¡®You can¡¯t¡ª¡¯ the foreman protested.


    ¡®No,¡¯ I declared. I wasn¡¯t playing this game right now. I couldn¡¯t risk any of my companions getting hurt, or worse. ¡®Whatever is inside¡­ it could be dangerous. I¡¯ll get Elian.¡¯


    My three companions looked at each other, their faces a mask of worry. Part of me wanted to reassure them that everything would be alright, but I didn¡¯t feel like lying. Maybe when all of this was over, I¡¯d explain what had happened to their friend.


    ¡®Be careful, ¡®older,¡¯ he said. ¡®But we¡¯ll follow you inside if we ¡®ear trouble.¡¯


    I opened the door and ventured inside the shack-shed-thing, torch in hand.


    The inside was more spacious than it looked on the outside, and it was eerily quiet. The only sounds were the clinking of bottles that littered the floor, falling as I moved past them. I guessed these had been Elian¡¯s. The boarded windows muffled the voices coming from outside. Probably more men had caught up to my companions outside. I prayed no one would follow me. I had a bad feeling about this place.


    What was this feeling in my chest? Was it the spirit inside of me? There was no response. There never was.


    A broken shovel leaned against the wall. I took it while cursing myself for not bringing a real weapon ¨C I hadn¡¯t anticipated needing one ¨C but the broken handle would have to suffice.


    Then I heard it. A squeal ¨C a desperate, frenetic animal cry ¨C cut short by an abrupt silence.


    I wished there were spirits, any spirit, who could tell me what lay ahead. But there were none here. The complete absence of spirits was telling. This place was inherently wrong.


    Another squealing sound came from the back. Followed by another and then another. They¡¯d all follow the same pattern of increased desperation before being suddenly silenced. I followed the poor creatures¡¯ cries.


    Upon reaching the furthest room from the door, I saw him. Hunched in a corner, his back turned against me. A multitude of rats lay on the floor in front of him, bite marks all over them, with huge chunks of flesh missing, and their tiny faces locked in terror. The blood flowing from the rats¡¯ bodies had formed a puddle that extended well beneath the hunched man. He was eating them ¨C no. He was devouring them like someone who hadn¡¯t eaten in weeks. There was desperation and pain in his breathing. Was he turning into a Rotten?


    ¡®Elian,¡¯ I called out, makeshift weapon in hand. ¡®Your daughter sent me. She¡¯s worried about you, mate.¡¯


    The man, or monster, did not reply. His prey had tried to flee when it noticed me. It couldn¡¯t escape. He was faster. Impossibly faster.


    ¡®Whatever it is you¡¯re feeling, I can help. Let me help.¡¯


    ¡®So hungry,¡¯ he growled, his voice sounded distant and wrong. ¡®I¡¯m so cold. The hunger hurts. So much pain. Please¡­¡¯


    Before I could react, Elian lunged with inhuman speed. His muscles were twitching and twisting so much that I could hear his bones crack under his skin. It was a wet, sickly sound. I kicked him with all the strength I could muster, a desperate attempt that sent him tumbling a few metres back.


    The impact sent my torch clattering to the floor, but I didn¡¯t need its light to see the monster¡¯s face. His eyes were literally burning red, with molten fire dripping over his face like hellish tears. This ¡®fire¡¯, if you could even call it that, had melted the parts of his face where they had fallen, passing through flesh and bone. As he moved to stand up, a drop of fire fell on one of the rat¡¯s bodies, burning its flesh in mere seconds. Then there was his left arm, or whatever was left of it. The flesh had peeled back to the shoulder, revealing the bone underneath. But instead of a normal human arm, the bone had twisted into some sort of blade, its serrated teeth clogged with bits of flesh and blood.


    When the creature charged again, I was ready. I grabbed my weapon with both hands and swung as hard as I could, hitting him on the right side of his twisted face. The creature¡¯s skull cracked with a loud thud. The creature stopped dead in his tracks. I prepared to swing again, feeling a surge from my own spirit as the creature¡ª


    ¡®Is this how you SAVE people, holder?¡¯


    The voice sent a chill running down my spine. Laying next to my fallen torch, its front legs crossed in a mocking shape, a hulking beast watched me as I fought off the Rotten Elian. It looked like some kind of large cat, with a muscular body and a large rounded head. Its large yellow eyes were marked with a sinister glow, and his jaws seemed to be dripping blood and¡­ black smoke? Its most disturbing feature was its golden coat filled with black spots that swirled and danced like the shadows from a flickering candle flame. I¡¯d never seen such a spirit.


    ¡®Yes, you have seen such as I,¡¯ it replied as if it could listen to my thoughts. ¡®Have you forgotten me already? Ow, you wound me, child.¡¯


    ¡®D-d-d-d-despair?!¡¯ I tried to say, my voice failing me worse than ever. ¡®B-b-but that¡¯s imp-p-p-p-ossible?¡¯


    ¡®Good night, little bird. Do not let this failure consume you.¡¯


    While I was distracted by the impossible thing, Elian stabbed me with his long-bladed arm. The pain was unmeasurable, sending jolts of agony to every corner of my body. It felt like I was burning from the inside out. My eyes instinctively looked down, as if they had a mind of their own, drawn to the torrents of blood that poured out of my chest.


    As the pain soared, and the thoughts of Despair flooded my mind, the world went dark.

 Issue 1: The Horror Under Eldryn’s Quay (Part 3)

    Korax 18 ¨C Inselaciune 2, 1308


    Kefnfor was once a city of deliberate chaos: of planned mazes set in volcanic rock. Intentional yet modest geomancy was observed in every back alley and winding path. As it grew into a megacity, rivalling the other city-states in trade and influence, its new mazes no longer followed the old ways. Kefnfor¡¯s soul had been compromised by dreams of progress. Quietly, madness worked its way into the city-state¡¯s heart. Today, I¡¯d brought it to Eldryn¡¯s Quay.


    My room at Dafydd¡¯s, the one where I¡¯d rested after the encounter with Elian, had only one locked window. It offered only a modest view of the northern docks, barely enough to glimpse the mess. Ships were being rerouted to other harbours, and most of the warehouses had closed their doors for the day, leaving hundreds of crates piling up like books overflowing on a librarian¡¯s shelf. Scores of city guards swarmed the Quay, revolvers in hand, knocking on every door and stopping anyone who looked vaguely suspicious. In Eldryn¡¯s Quay, that meant everyone but the children.


    I sighed, my gaze distant. My mind replayed the events of that morning. Had I truly seen a Spirit of Despair? The old scrolls told grim tales of what happened to those who fell to Its influence. Every scholar and spirit-world expert agreed that Despair was an impossibility. And yet¡ª


    The door swung open. The men on the other side had been knocking for a minute or two. I heard them but I would have preferred more time to make sense of it all.


    ¡®You¡¯re awake,¡¯ the publican said, short and straight to the point, as usual.


    ¡®Cheers mate. For letting me stay here. After, you know, the thing.¡¯


    ¡®The chirurgeon will look at your wounds,¡¯ he continued, stepping aside to let another man enter the room. He was a daearann¨²n, older than the publican, with bright electric blue fur that was beginning to turn silver. An elderly medic of five to six score winters. ¡®The city guards called him. For you.¡¯


    ¡®Won¡¯t need it,¡¯ I lied. ¡®There¡¯s no wound. Perhaps it¡¯s magical in nature?¡¯


    The blue-furred medic frowned but didn¡¯t say anything else. He lifted my undershirt as if I had no say in the matter, and began examining the place where Elian had stabbed me. If only the one touching me was more handsome. And younger. And of the same species as myself.


    ¡®Do you feel any pain?¡¯ the chirurgeon asked.


    ¡®Nay. Not since I woke up. The pain had been unbearable when the Rotten attacked me, but it¡¯s gone now.¡¯


    ¡®Are you nervous? Your voice sounds¡ª¡¯


    ¡®That¡¯s how I normally speak,¡¯ I interrupted before motioning to the pub owner. ¡®He can confirm. I¡¯m basically one of his regulars.¡¯


    The publican grunted in agreement, although something told me he didn¡¯t find my joke funny. The chirurgeon ignored him and kept on poking my sides.


    ¡®I can see a faint scar, but it¡¯s fading now. Magic, perhaps. You ought to seek out the Hospitallers and their holders. I can give you a poultice for the burns, too.¡¯


    ¡®Aye. Thanks, doctor.¡¯


    As the chirurgeon scribbled something on a notebook, the other men allowed themselves to relax for a bit. The publican was standing on a step stool, looking out the window. The constable guard, another blue-furred daearann¨²n, sat at the chair next to ¡®my bed¡¯. The last man, the same loud bloke from last night, stood by the door, with cross arms and an expression as grim as ever. I couldn¡¯t read it. Was he upset or worried?


    They outnumbered me and they knew it. I braced myself for what was coming next.


    The constable spoke first, ¡®Holder, what you did this morning put everyone at risk. The monster you awoke poses a threat to this community.¡¯


    ¡®Even if I hadn¡¯t got involved,¡¯ I tried to defend myself, ¡®Elian would have still turned into a Rotten. Those creatures don¡¯t wait until it¡¯s convenient for you, sir.¡¯


    ¡®And what about the Rotten trawlers?¡¯


    ¡®What do you mean? Those are not¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Several witnesses confirmed you did something to the boats, making them move on their own and speak with demonic voices.¡¯


    ¡®They¡¯re called Anchors, constable. Perhaps you¡¯re way over your head here. It may be time to call the Hospitallers.¡¯


    ¡®Called them already, we did,¡¯ the publican said without looking at me. ¡®They¡¯re busy. All we¡¯ve got is the city guard, for now.¡¯


    Was he lying? Why?


    ¡®Be that as it may,¡¯ the guard continued, ¡®we cannot allow you to disturb our peace. You are forbidden from continuing your investigation. When the Knights Hospitallers come they¡¯ll take care of the monster and help us keep order. You should go home.¡¯


    There was no point in arguing. The way the loud bloke was avoiding my gaze, looking at the ceiling as if he¡¯d discovered a secret pattern in the wood¡¯s grain, made me think they¡¯d invited him along in case this unruly holder needed to be put in his place.


    ¡®Alright,¡¯ I conceded. ¡®I¡¯ll leave it to you, mate.¡¯


    As the men turned to leave, I looked at what little remained of my clothes. The Rotten had made a mess of it all.


    ¡®Mate?¡¯ I called out to the publican. Better to use his name lest he got mad¡­der. ¡®Master Dafydd, could I borrow a sewing kit to fix me my clothes?¡¯


    The daearann¨²n grunted. Apparently, when I first learned Kefnfor¡¯s language, I¡¯d skipped over the part where it said grunting was an acceptable form of saying ¡®yes¡¯. Was that something I could do myself or would it be seen as rude coming from a foreigner?


    I didn¡¯t have to wait long before a nice daearann¨²n lass came barging into the room, thread and needle in hand. She seemed nicer than most of the pub¡¯s workers, including ¨C no ¨C especially the owner himself. I¡¯d seen her around during my previous visits to the pub. Either she was the pub owner¡¯s wife or casually kissing your boss had become the norm in Kenfor.


    ¡®Dafydd told me you needed this¡ª?¡¯ the woman asked before stopping herself. ¡®I should have knocked. Do you need a minute to get presentable?¡¯


    I forgot I was still in my smalls. Going by the lass¡¯s face alone, I couldn¡¯t quite figure out if she was embarrassed or amused. Maybe a wee bit of both.


    ¡®I don¡¯t have anything else to wear,¡¯ I admitted. ¡®I was hoping I could fix it with the needle and all.¡¯


    ¡®Oh darling, this is too far gone. Let me see if I can get you something else.¡¯


    ¡®I don¡¯t want to impose, ma¡¯am.¡¯


    ¡®Nonsense. Stay put. I¡¯ll be right back.¡¯


    She was right. The Rotten¡¯s molten fire had burned holes through my brown trousers, and the yarn of my jumper was coming loose around the sleeves. The worst was definitely my henley. The blood had dried, replacing the white fabric with a black, right where Elian had stabbed me, and the seams were completely torn, with bits of flesh ¨C hopefully not mine ¨C stuck between the threads. And to think I¡¯d just bought that shirt six moons ago. This ¡®case¡¯ was getting more expensive by the hour.


    ¡®You can try this,¡¯ the lass said with a smile. She had appeared faster than a merchant at the sound of coins. ¡®Sometimes the workers leave them downstairs.¡¯


    ¡®They won¡¯t mind?¡¯


    ¡®Doubt it,¡¯ she said, barely containing her laugh. ¡®Have you ever gotten so drunk that you passed out under a table with nothing but your knickers on?¡¯


    ¡®Can¡¯t say I have, no.¡¯


    ¡®Let¡¯s just say some of these men ain¡¯t brave enough to show their faces after those incidents.¡¯


    I let out a chuckle. I could definitely picture some of the patrons doing that. ¡®Must be a lovely sight.¡¯


    ¡®Not the word I¡¯d use, but sure. Let¡¯s go with that.¡¯


    As I looked down at the mess of blood and fabric that were my old clothes, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what had happened to my companions from earlier. The loud bloke looked healthy enough, grumpiness aside. What of the others?


    ¡®You gone quiet. Something troubling you, darling?¡¯ the woman asked.


    ¡®Can I ask you something? When we went out looking for Elian, some people were with me. I was wondering¡­ well, it¡¯s just curiosity, you know? What happened to the foreman? He alright?¡¯


    ¡®Oh?¡¯ she said, a smirk playing on her lips. ¡®I¡¯m not sure who you mean. I remained here while you men went out after poor Elian. ¡°Man the pub at all times¡±, my husband told me. So I did.¡¯


    ¡®Well, he¡¯s a tall fella. Kinda rude and loud. Works at one of the warehouses, I reckon. Has green eyes. Just¡­ a regular human.¡¯


    ''Human you say?¡¯ the daearann¨²n woman replied, her every word dripping with sarcasm. ¡®Is it a blue human with long pointy ears? Or maybe a short human with beautiful, graceful, majestic, plum-coloured fur? Or maybe you''re referring to one of the tall humans with beautiful scales that glow like¡ª''


    ''Alright, alright, I get it. I''m sorry. I meant, well... a thneam like myself.''


    The lass put me in my place. I deserved it. My people had once appropriated the term ''humanity'' as a form of unearned superiority, trying to put ourselves above all others. The zmei and alfars had declared that ¡®humanity¡¯, more than a mere biological term, referred to all those who were capable of love, empathy, and altruism. Ironically, such a description excluded at least half the populations of Clei?os and Mykenai. Unlucky us.


    Times had changed and I really had to leave these old habits behind.


    She was right though. Her fur truly was majestic.


    ¡®Oh,¡¯ she melodramatically exclaimed, ¡®I do know who you¡¯re talking about. Rhodri. I believe his family name is Ap Merfyn. Nice bloke. He¡¯s the one that brought you here this morning. Mighty worried, he was.¡¯


    ¡®Was he, now?¡¯


    The loud bloke¡¯s wife was the one who saw me when I awoke, so that meant everyone was accounted for. It was a relief, really. The Rotten could be extremely dangerous on a good day, and Elian¡¯s day had been anything but. And the spirit I saw still lingered in my mind.


    ¡®Thank you for everything, ma¡¯am. I should get going.¡¯


    ¡®Do take these with you, darling,¡¯ the publican¡¯s wife told me as she handed me a brown paper bag. ¡®Dafydd told me you hadn¡¯t eaten yet so I packed something for you. Just some rabbit with truffles. You do like rabbits, yes?¡¯


    ¡®Aye. It¡¯s the best thing to have¡­ when I¡¯ve got the coin for it. How much¡ª¡¯


    ¡®This one¡¯s on the house. I¡¯m sure the husband won¡¯t mind.¡¯


    ¡®Thank you again, ma¡¯am. Really.¡¯


    The garments she gave me were perfect. Some were even newer and better than my old ones. I quickly finished putting on my boots and put the torch and coins inside the pockets of my brand-new trousers. They were navy blue and, despite the oil stains on the back, they seemed sturdy enough. The woollen shirt, collarless and with short sleeves, was an improvement over the one I¡¯d worn before. I took one look at the mirror to make sure everything was in order. If I spilled some rum on my clothes, I could easily pass for one of them dockworkers.


    As I took the bag with the food and turned to leave, the publican¡¯s wife grabbed me by the arm. Her joyful face from before had been replaced by a mask of concern.


    ¡®Lad, I know you mean well, but please, just walk away. They don¡¯t want you sneaking in the harbour.¡¯


    And just like that, the woman was gone, disappearing into another room down the hall. Her warning only confirmed what I¡¯d already seen through the window.


    As I stepped out of the pub, I looked to my right, glancing one more time at the harbour. The number of guards had easily doubled and they were patrolling everywhere. From the shops at the seafront to the warehouses all the way in the back. Some were stationed next to the trawlers and drifters that were docked there. Something told me those guards wouldn¡¯t let me get close to the Nobby.


    Fortunately, I still had my backup plan. And my backup plan had a backup plan. Just in case.


    I quickly turned left and began walking up the narrow streets behind the pub. These alleyways led towards the Octant and some other districts in the city, but more importantly, they led to the only underground station that serviced the Quay.


    It didn¡¯t take me long to get there. The arches of the entrance, made of steel painted in sea green, loomed over me with their peculiar mix of tacky superiority and functional weirdness. A perfect representation of Kefnfor¡¯s idea of progress. It wasn¡¯t pretty; it wasn¡¯t meant to be. The only purpose of this building was to be needlessly imposing. Because nothing screamed ¡®The City of Tomorrow¡¯ like boring and slash or ugly architecture.


    The man at the booth warned me that the trains were delayed and that it¡¯d be best to walk to the nearest station, but he was still too happy to take my coin when I told him I didn¡¯t mind waiting.


    While the stone halls would usually echo with thousands of footsteps and the ramblings from annoyed customers, that day the tunnels were mostly deserted. There were about eight other people, at most, walking down the hall. They all seemed to be heading for the exit at the other end of the tunnel. Perfect.


    After two minutes of walking, I finally reached the platform. There was only one guard ¨C a real one this time ¨C and a young woman holding her baby. If luck was on my side, these daearann¨²n would probably think I was just another mad thneam who slipped into the tube to sleep and drink. Maybe my new outfit would help me sell that image.


    As I reached the end of the platform, I took a deep breath and whistled a melody. It was the lullaby mum used to sing us when we were kids ¨C the spirit had grown fond of that one in particular. Then I waited.


    It took Curiosity only ten minutes to get here from who-knows-where. Its body, sinuous and delicate, was that of a rattlesnake, but instead of the typical mottled brown or grey patterns, its scales shimmered with a metallic silver glow. A pair of wings unfurled from its back, with oily, dark feathers, humming like crystals under a cavernous wind. The classic diamond pattern had been replaced by eldritch runes that spoke of truths long forgotten. Symbols I couldn¡¯t understand for it was the language of the Elder Ones.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡®My mate,¡¯ I said with a smile as the spirit¡¯s translucent body filtered the light from the nearby lamps, ¡®I¡¯m so glad to see you well. Tell me, have you learnt anything new?¡¯


    Curiosity floated in front of me, dancing in strange shapes as if it tried to ¡®eat¡¯ its own tail. It flapped its wings incessantly, fighting against an imaginary wind that couldn¡¯t touch it. It seemed happy, yet I knew it wouldn¡¯t give up its secrets so easily. This spirit, one of humanity¡¯s oldest friends, was but a mix of Want and Truth. A third for knowledge that would never be sated, but there were always new boundaries to cross, new answers to uncover.


    ¡®You should have been with me earlier today,¡¯ I said cautiously. ¡®I found the girl¡¯s father but he was too far gone. Don¡¯t you wish to know more?¡¯


    Alas, the spirit did not wish to know more. True to its nature, Curiosity demanded I give him something more interesting. We¡¯d seen so many Rotten before, and Elian¡¯s tale, as sad it was, would probably look dull to my serpentine mate. What was one more tragic story in the eyes of a being who has seen so much?


    I could share the thing I saw this morning, the beast of Despair, but I didn¡¯t know how it¡¯d respond to that, or if it¡¯d even believe me at all. There was one more thing I could share, as much as it pained me.


    ¡®You know,¡¯ I began, opening the bag in my hand, ¡®the publican¡¯s wife gave me something new. They call it Kefnforian Rabbit.¡¯


    ¡®It is no rabbit,¡¯ Curiosity spoke, its words resounding directly in my mind. ¡®WHAT is it?¡¯


    ¡®I believe it is a sauce of melted cheese sauce, with ale and mustard, served on toasted bread. Some sprinkle ground summer truffles and thyme on top. Can you smell it? It smells delicious, mate.¡¯


    ¡®WHY rabbit?!¡¯ the spirit demanded.


    ¡®Elsewhere on the island,¡¯ I continued, ignoring the poor thing¡¯s questions, ¡®in Lynnannwn perhaps, they call it ¡°rarebit¡±.¡¯


    ¡®WHO calls it that? Pray, point me WHERE I can find it.¡¯


    ¡®They made it at Dafydd¡¯s. You remember that pub, right? It¡¯s right down the road.¡¯


    ¡®Can I taste it?¡¯


    As much as I hated the idea of parting with the publican¡¯s wife¡¯s gift, I couldn¡¯t think of a better bribe for Curiosity. The men guarding the harbour could stop me from getting close to the boats or into the warehouses, but they couldn¡¯t stop what they couldn¡¯t see. Sending Curiosity to scout the area for me was my best chance at finding Elian before he finished his transformation. Even if it was too late to save him, I could still do something for the other residents of the Quay.


    Without thinking twice, I opened the paper bag and placed the contents on the floor, right in front of Curiosity.


    ¡®It¡¯s all yours, mate.¡¯


    Spirit didn¡¯t eat things the same way humans or animals would. There was no biological or even physical act involved. Instead, they consumed the essence of a thing. Beings like Curiosity would absorb the memories and emotions associated with something, leaving nothing but a blank, featureless impression of something that no longer was. Whatever it had once been, the remains of a spirit¡¯s consumption were nothing but an illusion with physical form. People believed that it was bad luck to eat the food or drinks offered to the spirits. That wasn¡¯t the case. All that could happen is that you¡¯d be tasting a piece of literal nothingness. An afterimage of oblivion.


    I watched ¨C with a certain sense of sadness at the loss of such delicious food ¨C as Curiosity finished its meal. Its scales glowed with every passing second as if something in the meal had triggered its supernatural senses. Once it had finished, the spirit shook its feathers and curled up on top of the paper bag. It was satisfied.


    ¡®I hope you liked it, mate,¡¯ I said, hoping it¡¯d be willing to listen now. ¡®Perhaps you can help me with my investigation. I got myself in a bit of a pickle, so to speak.¡¯


    ¡®I appreciate the offering. The threads will GUIDE me to the one who named it. The rabbit tasted jocular.¡¯


    That was my cue. It was now or never, ¡®There is a man who¡¯s gone missing. I suspect he may be a vessel for Longing or perhaps merely Sorrow. He is troubled, mate. If we cannot find him, he may turn into a Rotten, forever lost to us.¡¯


    ¡®The ascension causes suffering in your kind. WHY is it so hard to accept?¡¯


    I wished I had an answer to give. Sometimes I wonder that same thing myself. We resisted the Rotten yet did nothing to prevent them from rising in the same place. We acted until it was too late until children had been orphaned and entire villages had been wiped out by a holder driven to madness by the spirit inside.


    ¡®Maybe you should seek out that answer for both our sakes, mate,¡¯ I joked. ¡®We could start by asking Elian¡¯s own spirit.¡¯


    ¡®WHERE do you want me to go, dear friend?¡¯


    ¡®The warehouses in the harbour. There are men there who are hiding something. I cannot get close to them. You can. If you can find Elian¡¯s location, I can join you afterwards. It¡¯ll be just like that time in Costa Verde when¡ª¡¯


    ¡®The aqueducts.¡¯


    The spirit¡¯s words shocked me. Kefnfor was nestled within the southwestern cliffs of the island, the closest point to An Mirajab. Its construction, so many ages ago, had been a strategic decision to both defend and trade with the Mirajii¡¯s kingdom. Yet, it lacked a source of fresh water for its settlers. The Kefnforian daearann¨²n, as ingenious as they were annoying, built a massive network of underground aqueducts to feed the growing city. These hidden tunnels under the city still existed to this day, serving as a source of life-giving water, and as a way to dispose of all the waste generated by this megacity. The question was, why would it want me to go there?


    ¡®I¡¯m listening. What will I find down there?¡¯


    ¡®Thneamuri hide beneath us, in a web of interconnected secrets and hushed whispers. The aqueducts are roads that transport all sorts of goods, from wagons of water to barrels of charcoal and saltpetre, and even chained children of the Annwn.¡¯


    ¡®Smuggling and people trafficking,¡¯ I said, more to myself than an answer to Curiosity.


    ¡®New roads were carved. They lead to the warehouses you seek.¡¯


    ¡®And you think I may be able to sneak past the guards by using these tunnels? Or,¡¯ I said, emphasizing that word knowing what Curiosity wanted, ¡®you want to explore these tunnels with a handsome holder as your personal escort¡­¡¯


    ¡®An entrance lies beyond these tunnels,¡¯ the spirit said enthusiastically, or as enthusiastically as a literal manifestation of human curiosity was capable of showing. ¡®It is tucked away where the steam machines don¡¯t stop.¡¯


    I glanced back at the other side of the platform. The woman was now ¡®talking¡¯ to her baby, a tiny thing that couldn¡¯t help but coo and giggle at her mother¡¯s antics. The guard stood a few metres away from the woman. He was talking to the woman and smiling at the infant. I wondered if they were related. Still, as distracted as they were with the baby, I couldn¡¯t take any chances.


    ¡®Say mate,¡¯ I addressed Curiosity while motioning to the daearann¨²n on the other side, ¡®can you do something about them so we can get past unnoticed?¡¯


    Without saying a word ¨C or making it appear inside my head as it was often the case ¨C Curiosity zipped towards the daearann¨²n. It flew with a grace that was impossible in any living creature, disappearing into clouds of silvery smoke before appearing again a few centimetres ahead. Once it was next to the baby, it fluttered its wings in front of the infant¡¯s face, sprinkling a speck of silvery dust on her.


    It was only a matter of seconds before her giggles echoed through the stone walls of the station, taking all the attention from her mother and the guard (her father?), both of whom were saying something I couldn''t quite understand from where I was standing. They seemed happy, and that happiness was my cue to move ahead with the plan.


    Hopping over the small safety step at the edge of the platform, I jumped into the train tracks and took a sharp turn to my left, into the tunnels themselves. Curiosity was back at my side, floating next to my face as if pretending to stand on my shoulder.


    It didn¡¯t take me long to leave the platform behind, letting myself be guided by the tracks on the floor and the dim glow of my companion¡¯s silvery light. After a brief jog through the tunnels, Curiosity ¡®hopped off¡¯ my shoulder and floated in front of a metallic door. That had to be the entrance it¡¯d promised me.


    The doorframe was small, maybe better suited for a daearann¨²n or a child, but I didn¡¯t struggle to cross. Luckily for me, the tunnel on the other side was big enough for me to fully stand up straight. Almost. However, what surprised me was that the tunnel was surprisingly small, maybe only twenty or twenty-five metres deep, and at the end there was a hole in the ground with a metallic ladder bolted to the wall. I¡¯d have to go down.


    I would have preferred to be outdoors or at least in an open space. The idea of being trapped underground, or anywhere with such short walls and low ceilings, was something that had always terrified me. I felt my heart racing again and I was running out of breath. Now I was the one who needed a distraction.


    ¡®So, mate,¡¯ I said to Curiosity, trying to focus my thoughts on something else but here, ¡®may I ask what you did to the wee child?¡¯


    ¡®Her mind was racing. Her heart yearned to be heard. I merely helped her say a word to the mother, the first building block.¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re such a softie, mate,¡¯ I teased. ¡®What was the word?¡¯


    ¡®Sandu.¡¯


    Out of all the things it could have done, it¡¯d chosen that to be the child¡¯s first word. For the millionth time in so many moons, Curiosity left me speechless. Once again, I felt that burning sensation swelling in my chest as the tears got stuck in my throat. This darned old food of a spirit truly knew how to throw me off my game.


    ¡®Th-they¡­¡¯ I said, my voice quivering as I descended the ladder, ¡®they won¡¯t know what that means, you know. They¡¯ll be confused.¡¯


    ¡®In their confusion, they will wonder WHAT it meant. I shall observe them when that happens.¡¯


    As we reached the bottom of the ladder, I was surprised by the sheer size of the aqueducts. I¡¯d imagined small tunnels with shallow currents flowing through narrow passages.


    It was nothing like that.


    The vaults of clay and stone were taller than most buildings on the surface, or at least those found in the Quay. The walkways, made of carved basalt and rubble-stone, were in much better condition than their apparent age may suggest. And the water, gods, the water! You¡¯d think there¡¯d be nothing but black waters and literal shite running underneath the city, but that was far from the truth. The crystalline waters in here had an eerie touch thanks to the network of electric lamps the Kefnforian had installed to light the tunnels. This artificial river, the literal life-giving veins of Kefnfor, all but made me forget about the horror that lurked above.


    ¡®Thank you for showing me this place, mate.¡¯


    Curiosity sat on my shoulders, silently coiling as a sleeping serpent would. Its intermittent breathing, fake as it was, provided a sense of comfort as I advanced through those wondrous tunnels of light and water.


    We made our way through the aqueducts at a brisk pace. My companion would only react to guide me with simple instructions, whispering ¡®left¡¯ or ¡®right¡¯ whenever we hit an intersection. This was something it always did ever since I rescued it in Azmaelan. Part of me wanted to believe we were good mates, despite our inherent differences. It was the kind of friendship that made me wish other people could see spirits. If one could understand them and connect with them, perhaps we¡¯d have fewer Rottens and Echoes. Maybe we wouldn¡¯t have had the Nights¡­


    Surprisingly, and perhaps attracted by Curiosity¡¯s own nature, other spirits joined us in our pilgrimage through the underground.


    Little fragments of Courage swam within the clear waters, carrying on their scaly backs the flame-imbued coyotes that represented Loyalty. Next to me, running between and through my legs, multiple spirits of Purpose ¨C looking like little, tiny, furry cubs instead of the massive behemoths from the surface ¨C playfully chased the hummingbird-like shards of Temperance.


    Along the path we had found a little spirit of Sorrow, newborn by the looks of it, that had tugged at my trousers at one of the intersections, weeping solemnly for an unknown tragedy. I didn¡¯t have it in me to abandon the wee thing, as distressed as it was by its birth, so I told it to tag along with us. It had somehow decided to climb on my back and onto my head, and now it was ¡®grooming¡¯ me, eating the non-existent lice in my hair. At least I hoped it was non-existent.


    After navigating the tunnels for an hour or two, Curiosity let me know we had reached our destination. It was another ladder, newer than most of the other ones we¡¯d found along the way, and it led to some kind of hatch in the ceiling. Or ground, I suppose, if you looked at it from the other side.


    ¡®WHAT is on the other side?¡¯ Curiosity asked. I was a bit miffed at the spirit¡¯s apparent ignorance of what lay ahead considering IT had brought me here. But then again, I was just as curious as the spirit. I was ninety per cent sure that was my own feeling and not its influence. Or maybe eighty per cent.


    ¡®There¡¯s only one way to find out.¡¯


    The hatch at the top was thankfully unlocked. It¡¯d been a bit heavier than it looked, but nothing a good push didn¡¯t solve. Soon enough I was on the other side.


    It was not what I expected.


    The building was obviously a warehouse of sorts. Metal platforms and high walkways lined up the upper part of the building, with staircases that led to larger rooms with heavy machines of some sort. Wooden crates of different sizes covered the western side of the building, forming strange labyrinths in which one could get lost. On the opposite end of the ¡®warehouse¡¯, raggedy bags hung from the ceiling, dripping a viscous liquid onto the floor. What kind of fish was stored in this place?


    However, all of that paled next to the room by the hatch. It was a lodge of sorts, where the walls were but piled crates and old, empty barrels. Some clothes had been set up by the large windows, preventing the sun from coming on. There were some wooden planks and nails nearby, so maybe our mysterious stowaway had tried to board them up, before giving up entirely. Tucked between some barrels, there was a makeshift bed made of the same material as the fish-filled bags from the ceiling, covered in the shards of a broken mirror. My biggest surprise, and also the least surprising, all things considered, were the scores of bottles scattered all over the floor. Most were empty, but a few still remained unopened. Whiskey. The cheap kind. The kind I¡¯d seen at Elian¡¯s other hideout.


    The question was, what was he doing here and who else knew of this place?


    ¡®There is a doll,¡¯ Curiosity said, floating away from my shoulder towards the bed. ¡®Can you see its memories?¡¯


    I strode over to the bed and grabbed the doll the spirit was pointing at. It was small and made of only three parts: the head and body made up of white yarn, vaguely given form by strings around the doll¡¯s waist, neck, and limbs; the ¡®dress¡¯ was a simple design knitted clumsily from green yarn; and the doll¡¯s hair was but a few strings of yellow, glued together by some kind of paste that could barely keep it together. This doll hadn¡¯t been bought at a bazaar or a fancy shop, it was the work of a child¡¯s hands, putting together a small toy with whatever they had handy.


    ¡®Do you think this doll¡ª¡¯


    ¡®The girl,¡¯ it said. It wasn¡¯t a definitive answer. It was the question I didn¡¯t dare ask myself. ¡®Use your gift to see it, dear friend.¡¯


    The spirit was right. There was always a downside to using magic, but perhaps it was the only way to find Elian, to stop this madness before it spread.


    I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Using my gift, as Curiosity called it, was as natural as hearing one¡¯s own heartbeat. All I needed was ¡®focus¡¯. One by one, the lights began taking shape within my mind, and then within my sight. These lights danced and flickered around me until they took their true forms: the Threads of Fate that connected us all.


    As I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of my eyes¡¯ golden glow as it burned bright by the use of magic. I¡¯d never liked it. I would have preferred blue or even green. Gold was such a pretentious colour.


    The place was littered with tons of threads, from those who had worked here in the past and those who would come after. Luckily for me, there was only one tiny thread coming out of the bed, belonging to the only person who¡¯d slept on it. It was the perfect starting point. After touching that invisible thread, a scene began forming around me, as if taken from a painting and placed in the real world.


    Reconstruction. That¡¯s what a scholar had called my magic. By following these threads, I could relive the memories of its owners, seeing what they¡¯d seen and feeling everything they¡¯d felt.


    The first image was that of a man lying on the bed. He was holding a bottle in one hand and the yarn doll in the other. He was sad, desperate, even. I saw the man¡¯s connections ¨C the carefully chaotic web of threads that sprung from him ¨C weakening as I followed them. I had to be quick lest I erode them all.


    I decided to touch his connection to the broken mirror. Had he seen something that drove him to shatter it? He wouldn¡¯t be the first holder who¡¯d become horrified upon seeing their transformation into a Rotten.


    Yet, when I touched the thread, the image was something completely different: he¡¯d been attacked. The man, probably Elian, had used the mirror as an improvised weapon to defend himself. His assailant¡¯s face had been scarred and a shard had penetrated the skin. If they survived, they¡¯d probably lost a lot of blood as they fled the warehouse. Unfortunately, this mysterious person had stabbed Elian in the chest with some sort of dagger or knife.


    There was a thread coming out of the weapon. I knew it was risky but maybe it could lead me to¡ª


    ¡®Open the damned doors!¡¯ a voice yelled outside the warehouse. ¡®We must move the cargo to another location. Boss¡¯s orders.¡¯


    The yells snapped me out of my magical trance, dispelling the images of my Reconstruction.


    I took a peek through the window, crouching in case the men outside were next to it. There were around twenty men, all wearing white, featureless masks, standing side by side. All of them were armed with revolvers and swords. The one they¡¯d been yelling at, one of the ¡®guards¡¯ who¡¯d been patrolling the harbour, was rummaging through a small bag, before pulling a key and walking closer to the warehouse, out of my view.


    Soon I heard the rattling of the warehouse doors, the ones closest to where I was.


    I looked around. The crates and barrels were not enough to keep me hidden. If one of them all but glanced to their right as they entered, they¡¯d see me standing here. And something told me they wouldn¡¯t be too happy about it.


    Fuck.


    I had to think fast. Maybe I could open the hatch and go back into the aqueducts. Then again, that thing was so heavy and loud, it¡¯d probably¡ª


    Someone dragged me back and covered my mouth with his hand. He was wearing the same type of mask as the ones outside.


    ¡®If you so much as make a noise,¡¯ the masked man said, ¡®you¡¯re dead, ¡®older.¡¯