The two rotting corpses stared at Fortune. The follower of the god of bones still had his mouth full of excrement, while the other had a chunk bitten out of his neck, leaving his head dangling. For some reason, his appetite had diminished, as he left the flesh half-gnawed. Now both were on his cart. He was chosen to haul away the dung heap and the two bodies. The backwind blew the corpses' bitter, tingling stench into his nose, as if trying to spoil their shared memories. That beautiful moment when their muscles tensed for the last time. He dragged them off the cart onto the altar. Gathered wood beneath them, then let the fire embrace them with its arms. Fortune stared into the fire.
He turned away from the fire, hopped back onto the cart, and set off to take the first bite from the black flesh of the apple.
***
Fortune crouched motionless, his back pressed against a tree. He crumbled a freshly fallen leaf into tiny pieces, its rust-hardened texture crackling between his fingers. Not far from him, mosquitoes were dropping to the ground one by one, landing with soft thuds, as if rain had begun to fall. It was as if he were witnessing some divine miracle. In reality, it was the effect of an extract he had received from the watchers, meant to sedate the mosquitoes. It was a simple concoction that he placed near the fire and let evaporate completely. To him, it just smelled foul, but it put the mosquitoes to sleep. Their wings buzzed among the leaves for a while before they froze completely still. He had seen before how they would later fly up again as if nothing had happened to them. The only exceptions were those taken away for dissection. Now, in his protective gear, minus the helmet, he curled up like an egg, waiting for the watcher to arrive. He clutched the blowpipe and a few darts in his hands. He had slept little, and his head buzzed.
The ground was cooling in the mud, but he could not move. He didn’t know when they would appear. When he finally heard footsteps and tried to stand, his legs trembled. With a twisted movement, he pulled himself up by grabbing the tree, not even daring to breathe. The blowpipe creaked in his hand, nearly snapping in half as he loosened his grip. Then, it fell to the ground. He had to bend down to pick it up, making more effort and noise. He listened. No one was approaching. He peeked out cautiously. They were turned away from him. The noise and popping were the sounds of mosquitoes as the bearded watcher in a brown robe and hood stuffed them into a basket. He had as long as it took them to fill the basket.
Fortune slipped back into his hiding spot. He squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled, perhaps too loudly. He wasn’t sure if they had heard him, but he had to act immediately. He tried to stuff a dart into the blowpipe. His hands were clumsy; first, he completely missed the tube, then tried to insert it upside down, barely managing to retrieve it. He took another deep breath. This time, it slid into place as it should, but before it was fully inserted, he paused. A thought crossed his mind that nearly made him snap the reed.
He recalled the practice shots from the night and aimed the nearest one. He gripped the blowpipe and placed it to his mouth. Another deep breath. The guards still had their backs to him, but the man in the brown robe might turn at any moment. He ignored it, aiming at the two guards.
Finally, he turned towards the one on the right and shot. It sounded like uncorking a bottle.
The dart embedded itself in a tree.
The chainmail jingled as the man turned his head. He noticed the dart embedded in the bark. He reached for his sword. Fortune prepared another shot, aiming for the same target.
The dart struck him in the neck, but he still stood. Then he leaned against the tree. He toppled over and sank to the ground, falling like a tree.
Fortune couldn’t believe it. A grin spread across his face. He had only two darts left and his hands were shaking so much he saw no point in trying again. Only one person remained standing, legs apart, next to the half-filled basket, sword already drawn. Fortune clutched the two remaining darts in one hand, the sword in the other. He ran out from behind the tree. He charged from behind the tree, raising his blade, but the man was already thrusting forward.
Fortune groaned as he saw the sword disappear into his own side, emerging from the other. Then, he realized what had happened.
He tightened his grip on the dart and drove it into his neck.
His opponent screamed as he pulled the sword out of Fortune's clothing. Fortune managed to jump back just as the next swing missed him. The man swung at the air towards Fortune again, but his legs were unstable, and before he could raise his sword again, he face-planted into the mud.
Fortune gasped as if he had been running for hours. Sweat pooled in his boots. He felt his clothing, the hole in it. The broad protective clothing had deflected the sword, but it had missed him.
As he reveled in his victory and the fact that he was still alive, the watcher ran past him.
He bent down for the last dart on the ground, ran to the next tree, raised the blowpipe to his mouth, but a tree came between them. Fortune started running after him. The man in the brown robe sprinted out from among the trees straight towards the road. He put the blowpipe to his mouth and blew. He fell shouting. Just enough time for Fortune to run up and grab his leg. He dragged him back. His grip couldn’t hold the thrashing body. For a moment, he let go to grab the vial and pull out the stopper.
That was enough for the man to throw himself down and pin him to the ground. Fortune felt the man’s nails biting into his face. Somehow he found a hold on him and managed to get on top, but the hands still clawed at his face. Fortune pressed the vial to his mouth, some of it just ran down his face, but a tiny sip might have slipped down his throat because he coughed once. He saw nothing, fingers were already poking his eyes. With his last strength, he pulled the hand off his face before he went blind. The watcher’s grip loosened. His mouth slowly stopped moving, his legs calmed down.
Fortune collapsed in the mud.
***
As the sun slunk down the western sky, casting a golden glow over the trees and the breeding tents, the brown robe lay discarded on the ground. The mosquitoes were slowly waking up. From the outside, one could see the shadows on the ground stir, then flutter up and resume their buzzing. The watcher lay among the fallen red leaves like an infant in slumber, naked except for his hair, turning his head, moving his legs, or bringing his hand to his mouth, even sucking on his finger. Fortune watched over his body like a mother, sitting beside him, observing his dreams.
Fortune stripped and searched the guards as well. He only took one dagger from them, then left them for the mosquitoes. A grin spread across his face. With one hand, he lifted the watcher's eyelash slightly, with the other, he placed the tip of the dagger under the eyelid, looking into his eye:
"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," Fortune began shaking him with his free hand.
When the other eye snapped open, he knew he had awoken. The man first tried to stand and flail his arms. Fortune watched the tip of the dagger. He didn't have to move. As blood ran down the blade, the flailing stopped.
"Tell me about yourself," Fortune leaned in closer.
***
The sun's red enveloped the clouds and trickled down to the ground. Fortune's hands and face were soaked in blood. Red liquid seeped from the many fresh, sharp, gleeful wounds on the face of the watcher named Crucio.
"You still haven't told me enough."
Crucio's mouth never closed again. He made noises as if a baby were cooing there in Fortune's blood-drenched hands.
"I've told you everything," he gasped, "Everything. I've told you everything," he looked at Fortune with his one remaining eye. The missing one, recently held in his hand, now rested on the ground, watching its owner and its separated counterpart.
"You must have something more to tell me."
Fortune's fingers wandered towards the bloody, warm socket where the missing eye had once been. He touched the rim of the eye socket. Crucio let out a faint but high-pitched scream, though Fortune's hand ventured deeper into the hole until the incoherent cries became intelligible words.
He put on his protective gear mask.
"Finally. You've learned to speak, you wretched damned," Fortune laughed with a smile, "Finally your life has some meaning."
He pulled him up by the beard from the ground and, after a short walk, escorted him to the tent of mosquitoes as well. Two mosquitoes immediately flew toward them, plunging their stingers into Crucio's belly, their hooked legs clinging to his skin and flesh. Fortune shoved him forward. More mosquitoes swarmed, fighting each other to be the first to pierce the man's body with their stingers. The first, the second, the third, the tenth—all the way to the countless ones—buried themselves into him. Soon, only Crucio's flailing hands could be seen, as Fortune stood back, listening to the buzzing and watching as the mosquitoes feasted on and tore apart his flesh.
***
The sun was already sinking behind the watcher's tower. He was standing in front of the heart of the estate, where the labs, warehouses, and somewhere the rizuses were located. He just needed to get to them.
He dragged Crucio's naked, chewed up, slashed, and somewhat incomplete body off the horse. The brown robe was on Fortune, covering his tired, trembling legs. He put on the hood, and the sedative was in one of his pockets. He couldn't bring the sword; he had to leave it with Broom. The rizus was inside, but Fortune could barely walk, and the guards had their eyes on him. All four stood at the entrance, laughing about something.
"Help!" he shouted at them. He repeated it, then leaned his head against the horse.
Boots clomped in the mud, and chains and swords jingled as they clanked against each other.
"What kind of fucked-up shit happened here?" one of them asked.
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"He went into the mosquito tent without protective gear," Fortune replied, turning away from them.
"These slaves are getting stupider. Just this morning, we found one dead. His mouth was full of shit," one grunted in disgust as if he was about to spew his lunch.
Fortune looked back and began to follow them almost blindly, always looking at either the ground or the distant walls. They dragged Crucio's corpse by the legs, which stared back at Fortune with its one remaining eye. The elongated shadows of twilight approached the entrance. There the guards stopped and turned to Fortune. He stepped back. He nearly turned to run, but then stopped. He clenched the sedative in his pocket as if it would be of any use.
"Where should we take it?" they finally asked.
"Down to the lab."
***
The door slammed shut behind Fortune as they dragged Crucio's body down the hallway. Compared to the tent, it was astonishingly wide—four people could walk side by side without touching. Four people could have walked abreast on it. Lanterns along the walls cast an orange glow, and between them hung oil paintings of plants, animals, and posturing nobles. One painting showed a fat, clean-shaven man standing to the left, holding a blue-petaled flower in his left hand and gleaming sugar worms in his right, with a grinning meatball tucked under his arm. It took a moment for Fortune to recall where he had seen this before. . At the far end of the corridor, in front of one door, two armed guards stood.
Fortune thought, remembering Crucio's words. They turned into the middle of the corridor with the corpse. He had no choice but to follow the armed men. They descended the stairs, moving away from his goal. Crucio's head rhythmically thumped on each step, and he cast a blaming gaze at Fortune with his remaining half-eye; a grin plastered on his face.
Finally, at the bottom of the stairs, a door opened. As he reached the threshold, warmth immediately enveloped him. He looked around while they were still turned away. Across the room, ten to fifteen steps away, a massive furnace radiated heat, red light streaming through its grates, with a wheeled iron table attached at its mouth. On the opposite walls, shelves held embryos floating in flasks, eyes, and various delicacies, among many scrolls and books. In one corner, a desk awaited completion of a letter started on a few scattered pages, equipped with an inkwell.
"Put it on the table," Fortune instructed them when they turned around.
They flung the body onto the iron table in the center of the room as if it were just a sack. The skull thudded painfully against the edge of the structure. Blood trickled down the metal legs.
When they finally left him alone, he pressed his ear against the door and listened as their steps thundered upward. In one corner, mouse cages were stacked, labeled one above the other. Fortune had no idea what was written on them, but Crucio had spoken of some research involving hero mice. There was even a paper among those on the desk about the expected hero mouse population over the next ten years. Fortune smiled.
He paced around the lab, unsure how long to stay. He didn’t want anyone to barge in. If someone did and asked questions, he would be exposed instantly. After a final prayer, he opened the door as slowly as possible, which still creaked. He went up the stairs. The steps creaked under his weight. On the corridor, the portrait of the estate's lord with his chubby face stared down at him. The same two armed guards still stood by that door. He had no time to wait for them to leave, and he was sure he couldn’t slit both their throats.
He stepped into the corridor. Both turned towards him. Their eyes were half-closed; one yawned and then scratched his buttocks. Fortune wanted to say something first. Any excuse for why he wanted to enter, but ultimately, he just went in. As he opened the door, he froze and nearly turned back. They looked at him again. He couldn’t stop. He entered and shut the door as if utterly unfazed that a watcher was tinkering with the plants inside. Wearing the same robe with the estate's emblem, including the rizuses, sugar worms, and meatballs. One side of the room was filled with various flowers. They must have been rizus replicas, if Crucio wasn’t lying while scooping out his eye. Cheap imitations, most of which simply killed quickly, almost painlessly.
The watcher clipped leaves, collected pollen samples. Fortune just waited for him to disappear from there so he could access the cabinet. As long as he was there, he couldn’t do anything.
Worse still, the watcher turned directly towards Fortune and bombarded him with questions, attempting to converse about things Fortune knew the least about. The only credible answer was the name of the corpse whose robe he was wearing. His answers to other questions about plants, rizuses, and his work were limited to fiddling at the table and muttering something. The watcher didn’t accept his answer and repeated the question, this time louder. Fortune had to say something to make him stop, otherwise, he might attract the guards’ attention. Another question, Fortune again muttered something, rummaging among the knives, spatulas, needles, and other tools, but the watcher was still not satisfied. He grabbed Fortune’s shoulder and yanked him towards himself. Then Fortune stepped back.
"You’re not..."
Then only gasps and wheezing followed.
Fortune wasn't quite sure what the watcher intended to ask, but he thought it best to thrust the first knife he could grab into his throat. As the man collapsed, Fortune jumped behind him and gently let him down to the floor as quietly as he could. He allowed the last unintelligible words to bubble out of the man's throat, hopefully quietly enough that they weren’t heard from the other side of the door. He quickly looked around, then stuffed the body into a large chest in the corner after wiping the blood spilled on the floor with some nearby rags. He covered the corpse with a sheet, closed the chest lid, and pushed it back into the corner, all the while trying to moan as quietly as possible. The world spun around him; his hands and feet felt unbearably heavy.
He finally opened the cabinet. The shelves were empty, except for the top one, which contained six tiny boxes. In the upper world, these would have held engagement rings, but here they held nothing but crushed blue flower petals. Fortune remembered what Crucio had said before reaching up into his brain.
He held one of the boxes to his ear.
Clicking, scratching sounds as if something inside was trying to gnaw its way out of the little casket. Exactly as he had said. He put it down on the table, but could still hear it.
He sat there for a while, staring out the window. He should have stood up, but he remained seated on the floor. He closed his eyes, fearing he might fall asleep. He grabbed the chest, pulled himself up, sat on it, then leaned against the wall and stood up.
When he opened the door again, he wanted to say something to the two armed guards, but he remained silent. The inner pockets of his robe contained the ground rizuses. He walked past them carefully, making sure the wooden boxes didn't clink. He bypassed them, then the staircase leading down to the lab where the one-eyed corpse was warming itself by the furnace. A watcher was coming up the stairs, calling out Crucio’s name. Fortune said nothing, just moved forward and muttered something. His chest tightened, his teeth chattered. He grabbed the iron handle of the exit and opened it. The four men at the door looked at him. Fortune, even if he wanted to, could not have said anything. He jumped onto the horse and galloped away.
***
The horse snorted beneath him. He looked back; no one was following him. He stopped, looked back, no one was following him. He galloped on, looked back, no one was chasing him. No guard, no watcher, no one!
Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, and the rising wind blew rusted leaves into his face. He felt so weak that he could barely hold the reins, yet he laughed.
There was just one more thing he needed to take care of. One small but very important thing. Everything was prepared; he just had to go for Broom. This time, Fortune did not go back to the slave pen.
He galloped along the road, past the pastures and streams, towards the breeding tents.
Only the tip of the sun was visible now, Broom was thumping his tail against the tree trunk to which he was tied. He jumped off the watcher’s horse and slapped its rump, telling it to go wherever it wanted. When he turned back to Broom, two slaves jumped out from the bushes, then two more from behind him, and finally King also emerged grunting from among the trees. Before he could make sense of what was happening, the world exploded in front of his eyes and darkness swallowed everything.
***
Warm gusts of air licked at his face, while the cold bit into his rear. He opened his eyes. He would have raised his hand to shield himself from the campfire light, but he couldn't move his arms. The slaves around him leaned against the trees, stuffing their daily hairy head portions into their mouths.
He was still in the watcher's clothes, but he was bound.
He saw no sun; the sky was completely dark. That's when he realized he was late. He should have been meeting with the thieves for who knows how long now. Instead, here he was, somewhere, tied up in front of a campfire, surrounded by slaves, with King sitting before a neatly arranged log, waiting for his meal with two small carved forks in his hands.
"No. No. No. No," Fortune shouted, shaking his head.
"I haven't eaten something good in a long time. There isn’t much meat on you, but you'll be just enough for tonight."
Fortune instinctively tried to break his bonds, but they wouldn't give. He looked at King, who chuckled snorting, and disgust swept through Fortune. Even more so, because that grin was so familiar to him. He knew exactly what was going through his mind. The blood pounded in Fortune’s ears.
"Don't do this. Let's make a deal. I have something with me that might interest you?"
The slaves laughed, King snorted.
"What could that be?" he snorted. "The garments of the watcher whose eyes you gouged out with your filthy nails? Keep it. We’ll burn it with you."
"Something a bit more interesting than that. I stole something from the main building."
"What?"
"Rizus. In its purest form. It's right here in my dirty clothes. If you untie me, I'll show you."
King signaled, and one of his underlings patted down Fortune. He reached into one pocket of the garment, knelt before him, and opened one of the little boxes as if it were a ring box.
King’s mouth fell open. He snatched the box from his hand and turned around with it. The blue powder inside the box sparkled in the campfire light.
"Rizus. This is indeed rizus. And it's mine. Mine!"
"And there are a few more in my pocket. Interested now?"
King snapped the lid of the small wooden box shut, stepped up to Fortune, and lifted his chin to look him in the eye.
Then he spat between Fortune's eyes. Fortune snorted in anger.
"Here's what's going to happen. We're going to cook your little heart, I'm going to eat well, and you won't need it anymore."
Fortune decided to seize his last opportunity. He would lean forward and bite off his nose or whatever he could reach. But then he remembered why he had stayed there, why he had endured such humiliation for so long. He still wanted to live, but there was nothing left to play. Only the campfire in front of him, in which he would soon sizzle. He looked at King, clenched his teeth, thinking of what he could say to save his skin.
Blood splattered into Fortune’s eyes. He shook his head to see anything. King fell directly onto his shoulder, an arrow protruding from his neck.
Arrows rained down on the slaves from the bushes. Eyes, throats, stomachs, and lungs were pierced, one’s head was simply chopped off by the thief's sword. He still remembered his encounter with that sword and saw that he had not been mistaken when he thought it could easily sever a head. As the first shout rang out, it was already over. The dirty corpses lay scattered on the ground like discarded toys.
The thief wiped his bloody sword on one of the corpses, then approached Fortune.
"You’re late."
"They caught me," replied Fortune.
The swordsman said nothing, just bent down and took the box from King. He admired the blue powder inside, as if he could verify its authenticity by sight alone, then rifled through Fortune’s pocket and took the rest of the boxes. Still bound, Fortune had to look up at him like a fanatic gazing at an idol.
"We had a deal," Fortune repeated, eyes bulging.
"Yes, we did. You're late." He opened one of the boxes again, looked at the powder, pinched it between his fingers, crumbled it, then scraped it off with the edge of his sword back into the box. "Untie him. We're leaving."
They turned their backs on him and started to walk away.
"One more thing I need to do." The swordsman turned back, took out a half-burned candle, and lit it by holding it in the campfire.
"You have as long as this candle takes to burn down. If it burns out and you're not back, we leave without you. And you’d better not follow us afterward, or we'll treat you just like we treated them."
***
The night was dark, the moon obscured by clouds. The killer mosquitoes buzzed in the breeding tents, crawling, flying, and dancing on the inner sides of the canvases. Fortune sat on Broom, torch in hand. He spurred into a gallop.
At the first breeding tent, Fortune extended the hand holding the torch, and the tent's fabric caught fire. He galloped from tent to tent, and when there were no more left, he turned around. A broad grin spread across his face. He sighed. In the light of the fire, killer mosquitoes scattered across the sky. There was nothing left to hold them back. There were no more boundaries for them. They were finally free. Fortune inhaled the spreading smoke that began to envelop the estate, then exhaled.
Shouts echoed in the distance. They must have noticed the smoke by now. He took another deep breath and simply reveled in the flight of the mosquitoes and the fire. A swarm of tiny, glowing red stars took flight in the light of the fire.
Fortune keeps walking deeper into the dark, and Ignis still can't see the flame.
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See you in the Darkness.
