The Screaming that Never Stops

[Skie and Avery]

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Avery stood in the orchard. The apple trees were tall, thick with green leaves. They were shade enough, with light from the summer sun dappling his skin and the glittering wing that lay folded against the left side of his back. The wing’s sister was devoid of its bones and stretched across a Delyn shield that he carried limply in his right hand. He stared at the ground with eyes as green as the foliage that shaded him.

On the ground were a small collection of apples. They dotted the trees as well, bunched together along the branches. These were not the rosy fruits of other orchards, though. Instead their skin was a pale ivory, the barely yellowed color of bones fresh stripped of flesh and left in the sun to bleach. The crows that leapt and called in the trees weren’t eating them, instead simply happy to lob the fruits to the ground. Once there they rolled and smashed, pale skin bruising with purple and black.

Avery had stood among apple trees before that had been giving up their fruit. The open and oozing bounty had smelled sweet then, but here there was no smell. There were only the sounds of the crow’s caw, shattering apples, and the sound of a baby’s cry, faintly. Avery swallowed hard when the sobbing picked up, his free hand resting on his stomach. Shaking, he worried he might vomit. The last infant’s cry he’d stood to hear was his own son’s, just moments before his death.

A breeze blew, hot and petulant as the summer had been. The demon took a breath, and turned, stalking through the orchard of death.

[Sulla]

“So, what did you find out about the target?” Yven went straight to business as he scourged the last of the meat from the lamb bone. Had he paused to chew before speaking, perhaps our filthy tavern table wouldn’t be nearly as revolting. Some simpering idiot behind me began to slur the words to some dreary little shanty he seemed only to remember in a fevered dream. The rest of the bar began to follow his lead, giving quite a bit of background noise and the perfect ambiance to loosen my tongue.

“Subtlety; it’s an art, dear friend.” When the second chorus began, a great laughter seemed to fill the hall, and I felt it safe enough to disclose my findings. “Brother Cendred. Skilled monk of the Ai’Brone Order, and a positive recluse.” I joined in a bit of laughter myself, though it was mired by a sneer. “The damned man never seems to leave the Citadel. He’s a drinker, by most reports, having never refused the chance to toast with knight nor servant. But I fear that’s where his vices end.” I flipped a bit further in the notebook I had in front of me. “Oh, and he collects cat statues for some daft reason.”

“So you’ll have to kill him in the Citadel. It sounds simple enough.” Having cast the bone to the floor, Yven began to drink a bowl of broth with a fury that could be best described as a religious experience. I’d have to make a point to avoid meeting my contact in the future at any place that served food.

“Oh no, not simple in the slightest, my astute companion. Even if I managed to kill him in secret, there’d be no doubt that the bumbling visitor or new servant was the prime suspect.”

“Shitloads of people are in the Citadel every day to fight. Why not go in with them?”

“I’d thought of that. But you know my feelings on that wretched place. Why –“

“I’ve heard the speech, and this song’s not long or loud enough to mask it.” He took a long chug from his stein before slamming in the table; a sullen waitress nearby applauded with a hint of gold in her eye. Yven smiled back, before turning, more seriously, to me. “Dussek has a client that wants him dead. Don’t ask me why or how, but this man was set on this idea. Worry less about those insane flights of fancy of yours, and more how you’re going to get the job done.” I bit my lip to stem the venom that rose from the back of my throat. Then, with a sigh and a slight shake of my head, I relented.

“If that is your wish.” I tore a sheet from the notebook then, scribbling a few quick instructions on it before I slid it across the greasy table. “I’ll need a bit of assistance. You know the routine.” The handler snatched the paper up and before throwing it into his pocket.

“Fine. Now, if you’re on your way to scheme some more, I’d best entertain myself a bit before your match. I’d love to watch it later.” With a drunken smirk, he sauntered up to catch the bar wench before someone else had claimed her for the night.

***

The sun sent blissful, sensuous fingers to brush against my cheek and chest. Around me, in orderly rows, stood tall and short trees in full bloom, their ripened fruit so heavy on the branch that the earth seemed marred. It reminded me of my family’s orchard in the distant days of my use, or would if my family had ever spared the rod against such insolent, lazy farmhands to waste such a bountiful harvest. But like my memory parent’s estate, this world was no more than a dream; some fatuous little illusion with the same tangibility as the false summer’s air I breathed. As I strolled a bit through the trees, I grabbed a small apple off a low hanging branch, though I thought better before taking a bite. There was something unseemly about it, like the flesh of some wizened hag hanging off the bone. I let it drop and roll on the ground. ”Yet another untruth.”

The Citadel, to me had, always been more than just a falsehood though; its lies bordered so tentatively on the sacrilegious that I had sworn an oath to myself to never make the visit. But words are wind, and untold promises to yourself are the easiest to break. ”At least the caws of the carrion birds seem somewhat interesting.”

I’d planned, in some detail, my outfit to best blend into this arena. An opened poets shirt with a charcoal cloth vest on top, tight breeches, boots, gloves, and a wide belt all of the same brown leather; all of it armed with only my simple steel knife in the belt, and my straight razor hidden in the opposite poach. I’d thought of buying some quick arms or armor to better hide, but my sluggish movements in either would be far more memorable than I would have liked. And, of course, my glasses, made specially to make my face all the more forgetting. I played with them a bit before I caught my first glimpse of the opponent. Any fear I had standing out quickly washed away.

He had a strong build of tight, lean muscle, with a cascade of chestnut hair to his neck. A fleshy wing looked ripped from his side and stood tall to the sky, while in his opposite arm he held a shield of strangely familiar hide. But none of those were the most obvious things about him. Because, as it appeared at a distance, he stood completely naked in the orchard. Perhaps the breeches I brought had been a bit too snug.

The urgings of flesh, no matter how strong, could not dissuade my focus. I had plenty of time to ogle him up close when we fought. I heard a crying infant, somewhere off in the distance. Had I not long ago learned to ignore such ugly mewling, I would have been quite real fucking upset.

I strode towards this creature, waving a bit and smiling.

“Aren’t you bit overdressed for the weather?” He didn’t seem too pleased. I hope it wasn’t the joke.

[Skie and Avery]

The demon king paused, looking down the muscled plane of his body. Lifting a dark brow, he slowly brought emerald eyes back up to the assassin, a decadent grin spreading across his lips. It was the kind of smile that never reached the eyes. He kept glancing as the faint cries grew smaller still, eventually fading on the breeze. With the silence, Avery could relax, his arms spreading so that he could show off a body unhidden by the bulky shield at his side. As he did, he revealed the single steel dagger lashed to the inner forearm between the leather loops that he used to hold the Delyn and demonhide shield. He made no attempt to pull it, simply stepping slowly towards the man.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, a low growl under his voice. The miasma of his mood had seemed to lift in the presence of this new plaything. There was a new spring to his… step, and Avery let his eyes size up the opponent who had stepped into his orchard. He was pretty in a way that you didn’t think about the next day. Every attribute just beautiful enough to be forgettable, had he a measure of imperfection about him, he would have been stunning.

“I am nothing but a good host. I can change however you see fit.” As he stalked around the blonde, he allowed magic to swirl around him, grabbing light and manipulating it. Soon he appeared as a thief, coated in leather and black cotton, until it changed to the stylings of a noble bedecked with silk and gemstones. He glittered in the sunlight, both his conjured clothing and the wing on his back that shone with a metallic iridescence. After a moment, the illusions melted away, fading as the shadows fade in the moments the sun prepares to break the horizon.

Avery stopped three meters from Octavius and bowed. He was sure he could end his life right then. All he had to do was flood the man’s senses with his scent and surely this vision of banality would be begging for anything Avery could think to do to him. The reminder of the cries that haunted the arena stopped him. Despite what he may have thought or saw, this place and this time were nothing ordinary.

As surely as he lusted for some entertainment to stay away his melancholy, he lusted for the challenge.

[Sulla]

”I hate surprises.”

I’d read about such creatures in the works of naturalists; squids that changed into flashing rainbows of color to dazzle their prey, raptors with wings that had spots to resemble eyes to confound their approach, it was a common tactic for predators to lessen the risk of injury. A twisting of in my guts was the only thing that seemed real in the moment, harkening to some deep dwelling hate I felt for the monster in front of me. He’d put on a show to mark me as the hunted, and the very thought of it brought down my ire with a thunderous thump.

After his little display, he edged so closely that I could faintly smell his sweat, despite the pungent sickly sweet of rotting fruit that seemed to stick in the air. I eyed his dagger and shield before I kept focus with his gaze. Lust, eager and anticipating, pure and simple; the same potent thing I felt starring down a kill. I had never been on the receiving end of such a look, the irony forcing me to stifle a chuckle to avoid breaking character.

“I’m afraid,” pausing briefly to hint at some hesitation I surely lacked, “that I’m more of an … inner beauty sort of man.” I smiled when he still refused to draw his blade, craning my head forward as part emphasis and part a taunt. “Considering this is the scene you set,” my hands swirled a bit, gesturing to our surroundings before returning to a whisper, “I think it’s something you’re without.” I stared into the abyss of his eyes, waiting for it to stare back. My breathing was careful, measured and slow, but arrhythmic enough to seem worried.

The problem with hunting a hunter is that they know all the techniques. Though his powers were unknown to me, my second sight gave me everything I needed to know of his intention. Even without that pulsing of emotion, I could neatly guess at what he wanted. Yven had used the same seedy look on me, as he had with the barwench, whenever his sinful nature took control. This creature wanted a challenge, a bit of fun, before finally striking.

His hesitation was adorable.

“Octavius, by the way.” I tried my best now not to look at him directly, looking at the ground instead. Submission was a long road, but the first sign of it would, no doubt, cause my opponent to drop his guard. I needed his shield away from him, I needed his hands distracted.

”And this grass beneath me needs a good trim.”

[Skie and Avery]

“Averymiel.” He replied. His smile revealed teeth just barely too sharp to be human, as if his wing hadn’t been enough. The wolf was wandering ever closer to the door. The man before him appeared to be timid, small and simpering and too easy of a mark. Why had Octavius even come here? The Citadel was a bastion of warriors, and yet now Avery had met this slip of a man and the girl Ruby before him. Would Octavius prove to be as surprising as the redhead had been?

The background noise of infant cries started to rise again and as a breeze rattled the leaves in the trees, Avery felt his pulse surge again. He felt as if he were being watched, eyes in the orchard burning into the back of his neck but he refused to turn his gaze from the assassin. He paused, unnerved. For a moment, the façade on his face fell and dulled the charm he’d been using.

“So, Octavius,” Avery crooned, stepping forward and offering his left hand. “Now that we’re met, I’m yours for whatever you may require of me.”