The 3:10 to Tirel

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

http://i.imgur.com/3KHcR0R.jpg



Solo.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The Ebonheart was a marvel of modern transportation technology.

A massive steam locomotive, one of the largest in the world, a collaboration between Aleraran engineers and Salvic trading companies that was used to transport goods and people from the port city of Tirel on the east coast to the capital city of Knife's Edge. While the trip would take a regular caravan a couple weeks, the rails could get you between the two in three days. One could hear the rumbling of the running gears and see the billowing tower of black smoke from a mile away. Whenever it pulled up to the station, children would flock to the platform and stand in awe at the black-painted majesty of it all, whispering among themselves their dreams to ride it one day until a blast of the whistle sends them scattering.

Trailing behind the engine were several dozen cars that served various functions. The first handful contained enough coal for the train to make the trek without having to refuel at any of the stops along the way. And then you had the freight cars. Nothing special about those. But the fifteen or twenty or however many that followed? That's where the passengers were all stuffed like sardines in dirty tin cans--unless you could afford the bump up to one of the double decker sleeper cars, like I could.

If I was going to spend most of my week in a noisy steel tube, then I was going to do so in style. I sprung for one of the fancy cabins on the top level. The car I was traveling in had three cabins with two beds each and doors to offer privacy. In the middle, there was a quaint little sitting area with a pair of tables with more than enough padded chairs covered in red velvet. At the far end, there was even a little bathroom and wash area. I was quietly thankful for the bottle of perfume stashed inside it to help mask the stenches normally associated with such places.

We were sharing the car with three other people; a pair of lovebirds on a honeymoon trip across the countryside, and an elderly man from Knife's Edge who I had been in contact with for some time.

The most interesting thing about Mirko Soloviev was that he was a purveyor of rare and unique books, scrolls, and records, very much like myself. Other than that, he was a little short for a Salvic man, his skin weathered and spotted by age, hair salt and peppered and receding a bit up top. Even though he was nearing the end of his life, he still had this sparkle in his sapphire eyes and a smirk on his wrinkled face that told of a youthful vigor he still clung to.

The old collector was seated in the car's common area, looking out the window at the endless pine forests that flew by. I sat in one of the plush chairs nearby, one leg crossed over the other, a small tumbler of whisky in my right hand and a trashy horror novel in my left.

Mirko's voice was as demure as his appearance. "Is this your friend's first train ride?"

I looked up from my book at Hype, who had her face mask pressed against the thick glass of the window, her gloved fingers tracing horizontal patterns across its surface and she followed the movement of anything she could focus her amber eyes on. Instead of her usual ensemble of Fallieni ceremonial wraps and robes, she was clad in one of my own dress shirt, vest, and slacks combos with a hood and mask. We had left Knife's Edge that afternoon, and didn't want to raise the attention of the Church while we were in town. We figured this was the safest way to move about.

With how much time I've spent with her, it was easy to forget that Hyperion was just under two years old, and still had a lot of the world to experience with her child-like sense of wonder.

"Yes," I replied before taking a sip of my amber drink.

The elderly man simply nodded and went back to gazing out the window himself. "I've always been a fan of trains, ever since I rode my first one nearly sixty years ago. I was studying in Ettermire, and would constantly take trips through the countryside when I had the spare time and gold. This was long before Vorgruk-Stokes had the lines built here of course."

"Of course," I said as I dog-eared my book and tossed it onto the table. I began hunkering down for another long-winded story.

"Naturally, the Alerarn countryside isn't as wondrous as Salvar's." Mirko gestured towards the monotonous blur of green, brown, and gray that flew past the window. "Even then, their trains were far more advanced than this one, and more comfortable to boot! But once you've seen the inhospitable landscape in and around their capital, you've essentially seen the entire country.

"But Salvar--! The majestic Kachuck Mountains! The emerald greens of the river valleys! The sandy shores of the Gulf of Scales! The steppes out west and in the north! The endless forests of ancient pines and hills of blowing snow past Archen, where man has rarely tread! I could live several lifetimes and still not bear witness to all the beauty this country has to offer!" Mirko shifted in his chair, a million vivid memories of his travels flashing before his eyes. "Tell me, Miss Freebird. Where did you grow up?"

"Radasanth. In Corone."

The old man nodded. "Beautiful city, that. Surrounded by nice countryside, too."

"Have you been?" I asked with genuine curiosity.

His smile grew. "Yes, once or twice. Much like yourself, I've traveled the world over, collecting the accumulated knowledge of this wonderful world we live in. Raiaera, Fallien, Dheathain, Corone--I've been everywhere, and seen everything."

"I was always quite fond of Concordia, myself," I said with a nod. I felt a nostalgic pang in my heart for the forest I made my home, between the dark time with Pode and my ascension to Archivist under the employ of the demon Maladim Karunungan.

"Ah, yes. I have fond memories of Underwood. Quaint little village. Been about forty years since I set foot within those stone walls, I think."

I downed the rest of my drink and set the empty glass aside. "You should go back sometime, then. It's grown a lot--shit, in the last ten years, even. The logging business is booming, and it's drawn in more people to live and work there. The roads leading through Concordia have gotten better, too. Lots of trade caravans have made it their main route to Serenti and Gisela."

Mirko's face scrunched up a bit, the gears in his head turning in an attempt to dredge up a memory. "There was one tavern I spent a couple ale-soaked nights at. The Peaceful Promenade, I believe it was called. Do you know if it's still around?"

I knew the place. Had my nose broken there once. "No, the owners shut it down and moved to Scara Brae years ago."

Mirko nodded. "Shame, that. I bet business isn't as good on that little island."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The best part about being in the sleeper cars was that dinner was served to us, cooked on the train itself by a line of chefs employed by the Vorgruk-Stokes Trading Company. At approximately 6:30 that evening, a pair of servers presented the five of us with plates of something that resembled shepherd's pie and an assortment of greens. We had this nice regional wine whose name I can't remember at the moment for drinks as well. I was a bit ambivalent about it all, since potatoes and veggies aren't really my thing; but Hype eagerly snatched up her plate and ran off to our cabin to eat in private--she wasn't keen on unveiling her true nature to the lovebirds and the bookseller.

After dinner, the young couple retired to their private room to fool around some more, leaving Mirko and I alone to enjoy the soft rumbling of the train as it continued its path towards the eastern shore.

"Will your friend be joining us again?" he asked as we enjoyed the remainders of our wine.

I shook my head. "Probably not. She gets extremely tired after eating, and usually takes a nap afterwards." A thin smile crossed my face. "I always pick on her for it. She gets so excited that food is in front of her and spends so much energy shoveling it into her face that she shuts down afterwards and has to recharge."

"Could it be that she has abnormal dopamine levels or another condition?"

No, it's probably that I was still experimenting on the parasites that consumed the woman's corpse that eventually became Hyperion, and hadn't quite worked out the kinks of how they would handle hormone and chemical balances and production, but the potential setbacks vastly pale in comparison to how incredibly valuable she has been to me in the two years since she was created. "Whatever it is, it hasn't caused any major issues in our travels. She's a bit excitable, and has trouble controlling her emotions sometimes, but she's easily one of the most kind and intelligent people I have ever known."

There was still a tiny part of me that had trouble thinking of Hyperion as a person. Some cold, logical shred of my subconscious that knew she was born in a lab, an imperfect first run at something that could reanimate the corpses of the fallen and shape them into perfect and perfectly obedient killing machines. I named her Hyperion because she was the first; and she was born at a time that I desperately needed something, anything to fill a massive hole in my heart after the violent death of my old assistant, Nell.

Over the course of a few weeks, after the parasites consumed and converted the body of a woman I had never known into a walking humanoid houseplant, Hyperion began to take on the mannerisms and personality of what I had to assume belonged to the body's previous owner. In her past life, whoever she was had been a bright, innocent, inquisitive soul, and these traits manifested into Hyperion as the days went by. I took her with me on my adventures and allowed her to participate in my experiments and research at first to shut her up, but gradually it was because I found myself enjoying her company and insight. Her bubbling curiosity opened up possibilities and answered questions that I would have never considered in the first place. We shared laughs and drinks together. She was no longer an experiment; she was a friend during a time when I badly needed one.

She ultimately saved my life. Pulled me back from the brink. I would have lost myself to the influence of the Forgotten Ones had it not been for her.

The irony of it all, right? It took a monster to make me human again.

Mirko shifted in his seat, producing a pipe and a pouch. "I have been curious about her ever since you two arrived on my doorstep in Knife's Edge. She does not seem human to me, but she walks and talks like one."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Is it the mask?"

"It's the mask," he replied, his wrinkled face coming to a slight blush.

I had to be careful about how much I revealed. The Church of the Ethereal Sway, neutered as they have been ever since Salvar's civil war, are still very much a constant and foreboding presence. Should word get out about a walking houseplant, I would have to answer some very awkward questions.

After thinking on the matter for a moment, I finally spoke. "Have you ever heard of a Briarheart?"

The old man tilted his his head back for a moment, staring off into the train's ceiling as he packed a wad of tobacco into his pipe. "You mean like the creatures in the old fairy tales? The ones with bodies wrapped in vine and moss?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Those."

Mirko grunted. "I never would've believed they actually existed. Aren't they the stuff of nightmares? Snatching children from their beds in the dead of night, feasting on their flesh and planting their hearts in the earth?" He lit a match and put it into his pipe, sucking on the mouthpiece to get the weed to smoke.

Not far from the truth, but I wouldn't tell him that they went after adults as well. "I discovered her about two years ago, lost and desperate on the streets of Radasanth. She had come into a tavern right at closing time, tired and hungry, dressed head to toe in rags. Face covered, so I couldn't see what she really was." I made a circular motion with my hand in front of my face for demonstration purposes.

"The barkeep kicked her out, but she was still skulking nearby when I left. She followed me home, and snuck in behind me. Middle of the night, as I was falling asleep, I hear this clang in the kitchen, followed by a shriek. I climb out of bed, grab a dagger, and go to investigate. And I find this frantic little pile of rags and vines, scrambling to hide under the table.

"It was a while before either of us moved, but all she said was 'please' and held out two briar-knit hands. I was tired as shit and more than a little drunk at the time, so I rummaged through my ice box and came up with a handful of ground beef. Which I then handed to her."

An amused look was on Mirko's face. "You didn't even cook it first?"

I gave my shoulders an exaggerated shrug. "I don't think it would have mattered. She snatched it out of my hand and wolfed it down. I went back to bed. Woke up in the morning, and she was curled up on my couch. We've been inseparable since."

The old man grunted, and focused on his pipe. "You're braver than I am, that's for sure. I would have probably burned my house down trying to rid myself of a monster like that."

I let out an inward sigh of relief. I had to pull that story out of my ass, but it looked like that the old fart believed it.

The latch to my cabin door clicked, and Hype poked her head out from around the corner. "Actually--"

Mirko and I turned towards her. I shot her an incendiary glare, which she immediately caught and understood.

Hype's four amber eyes flickered for a moment before she continued. "We eat their hearts, too. Burying them would be wasteful."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Mirko Soloviev let out a hearty laugh, and invited Hyperion to take up one of the empty chairs in the common area. The briarbane obliged, but politely declined his invitation to take her mask off and pull back her black sifan hood. She was cognizant about how others might react to her horrifying visage, let alone what might happen if she were to be confused with a hellish abomination deep in the wilds of Salvar. It was one of the things I stressed the most when we set up Briarheart Books in Tirel--she was to remain masked while in public, and have her story about being a worshipper of an ancient god ready whenever she was questioned about her attire.

As my friend made herself comfortable, Mirko produced a notebook and a pencil. "You don't mind if I ask you a few questions, do you?"

Hype shook her head. "No, that's fine. Go right ahead!"

The old man pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and flipped his book open to an empty page. "Splendid, splendid. You see, it's one of my favorite hobbies, collecting the stories of any unique and interesting people I encounter in my travels."

I could immediately sense Hyperion relaxing in her seat at the idea of being called people. The poor thing was a little too self-conscious about the shady circumstances behind her "birth", and one of the fastest ways to the top of her list of friends was not to be referred to as a biology experiment.

"Now," he said with a grandfatherly smile, "where shall we begin?"

Over the next two hours, I watched on as Mirko flipped the switch from kindly bookseller to seasoned chronicler. Every question was expertly phrased to open up its recipient, drawing out the best answers. As time wore on, Hype got more and more excited about the interview, and went into full detail about the past couple of years. She talked about our adventures in the plaguelands of Raiaera in search of a way to cure the necromancer Xem'Zund's plague (tactfully leaving out all the nasty bits about how I nearly took control of the remnants of his undead armies and his Death Lords' territories). She dabbled in stories from the Seventh Sanctum, and the wild experiments we conducted under the employ of the Crimson Hand. She recalled all of the stories in between, from our travels throughout Corone to our research trip in Fallien.

I made sure to steer the conversation away from anything that might be too incriminating, of course. Mirko knew of my shady past, but there were plenty of things that he did not need to know about.

By the time the interview was over Hype was beside herself. She had never gotten so much attention from someone other than myself before. The briarbane kept squeezing my hands with a childish glee to the point where my fingers started to ache. With a yawn, the old man finally closed his notebook and set it down on the table next to his glass, which had been refilled with wine and consequentially drained again over the course of the evening.

"I think that will do quite nicely," he said.

Hype bounced in her seat, bright amber light shining from her mythril mask's eyeholes. "What will you do with my story?"

"You know, I don't actually do anything with the tales I collect." Mirko slid a couple fingers up the bridge of his nose, rubbing the space between his eyes. "As I said, collecting them is merely a hobby of mine. It's something I do to pass the time. I write them all in these notebooks--" he motioned with a wrinkled hand towards the one on the table-- "and occasionally, when I'm feeling a bit sentimental, I'll pull a random one off the shelf and read it over again to remind myself of the places I've been and the people I've met."

"How many stories have you collected?"

"Including yours?" He leaned back in his chair a bit, producing the tobacco pouch once more and stuffing another wad into his pipe. "Over two hundred. Closer to three, maybe."

The briarbane's eyes flared. "That's a lot of people."

"And each of their tales are as unique as yours," Mirko said with a point of his pipe at Hyperion.

She leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees. "Have you met anyone famous?"

That earned a wheezing laugh. "Well, fame is pretty relative, isn't it?" Mirko took a drag off his pipe, blowing out a thick cloud of scented smoke which dissipated into the sterile air of the train car. "But yes, I have met some people that could be considered famous in their own right, I suppose."

"Like who?"

"Well, I once found myself in the company of the Jya in Fallien, while she was still a priestess--"

"Can you tell me about her?"

Mirko shot me a pensive look. I merely smiled at him, a toothy grin that told him that there was no escaping Your New Best Friend Hyperion.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The sun had long since fallen over the horizon before Hyperion decided that she'd had enough storytime for one night, and slithered off to our cabin to get some shuteye. Mirko and I chose to remain in the common area, gazing at the pinprick lights of distant stars through the window as they hung in the cloudless midnight sky. Astronomy was never my thing, but the scholar was more than willing to educate me on the mythos behind the constellations we watched as The Ebonheart continued its trek to Tirel.

"If you look about six inches up at a twenty degree angle, over to the right, you'll see the star that they call Yngrith. It's seen as the Waypoint Star by the ancient Skavians. They would use that start to navigate their way back home after a hunting trip. A lot of sailors nowadays will still use the star to sail the seas. But it's also where the heart of Mirandir lies." Mirko leaned forward, tracing out with his pipe the rest of the celestial form of the mythical lover laid in the sky. "You can make out her person, running east to west across the nighttime sky."

"And if we were to awake right before dawn, we could see the constellation of Torg?"

He nodded. "In the tales, he was never able to forgive his lover for her betrayal, and vowed to chase after her into the next life. And now they're eternally cursed to chase each other through the heavens. Or so the story goes, anyway."

I had to say, it was absolutely refreshing to talk to someone about normal things. For my thirty-plus years in this world, I've been surrounded by death, violence, and plots. Between being under the thumb of my parents, enthralled by the Red Witch, and working with the Crimson Hand... The conversation was always dominated with "when can you kill so-and-so" and "how much will this cost me", or "you have done me a disservice, Madison" and "now you must pay the blood price". He wasn't asking me for constant updates on the latest concoction of poisons meant for the blades of assassins, or if I had finished decoding the missives taken from our enemy's couriers so we could deal them a decisive blow; he just wanted to talk about stars and shit. He never judged me for any of questions, or my lack of knowledge regarding the legends and tales of times and peoples long gone.

Of course, our talk would eventually have to turn to business; but for the time being, I was content to listen to an old man spin yarns and wax nostalgic.


- - - - - - - -

"It's late." The figure cupped his hands in front of his mouth, blowing on them in a futile attempt to warm his palms up. He silently cursed his luck of having left his fur-lined gloves in the tavern.

"It's not late. The trains always run on time."

"I checked my watch five minutes ago. It's fucking late."

A feminine voice rang across the mostly barren boarding platform, mildly annoyed at having to be awake at this ungodly hour. "Have you considered that your watch might be wrong?"

The first figure looked at his comrade, the gears of his mind cranking out the possibility that he might have been wrong. Ripping the watch out of his pocket, he squinted at the small black arms by the light of the moon. "Does anybody have the time?"

A fourth member of the group chimed in. "It's five past three."

"Dammit." The cloaked figure could've sworn that his fingers were going to fuse to the cold metal as he popped the dial up and spun back the hands of his pocket watch to display the correct time.

Four minutes later, the powerful screeching blast of The Ebonheart's whistle could be heard across the snow-covered plains. Slowly, the monstrous hunk of black metal lurched into view, the luminescence of the moon glinting off of its many curves and corners. The rumble of the intricate machinery grew in intensity until it was deafening. The four fur-cloaked travelers wondered how anyone in the small town behind them managed to sleep through the cacophony caused by the train as it rolled into town.

At 3:10 precisely, the locomotive screeched to a halt at the platform before letting out a long hiss of steam. "Told you," the second figure humorlessly muttered to the first as he knelt down to collect his bags.

The first man sneered at him and shouldered his pack as he and his comrades approached one of the passenger cars. As they drew near, the hinges of a door creaked as it swung open. A sharp-dressed man in the familiar garb of a conductor stepped out, a shimmering flame from an oil lamp illuminating him. He clearly had just been woken up from slumber a few minutes ago, the way he leaned against the side of the train as he went through the motions.

"Tickets, please". He stifled a yawn.

The tallest of the quartet reached into his furs and produced his ticket. The conductor raised a gloved hand to stop him from boarding the train. "There are no swords, bows, staves, or other weaponry allowed aboard The Ebonheart. I will need to search your bags and person before allowing you on board."

The grim man cast a glare at this lowly nobody who dared question him for a moment before moving. With a flick of his hand, he opened up his cloak. The conductor caught the glint of moonlight off the golden hilt of a short sword, but that wasn't the most important thing he noticed--the stranger dug his hand into the collar of his robes and produced a chain with an insignia at its end. It was made of the purest gold, and immediately recognizable to anyone who had spent more than five minutes in Salvar.

Knowing what would happen if he further detained these four passengers, the conductor made the decision to rush them into the car.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"You're weak."

"Actually, I've never felt better. Or stronger. Or more in control."

"You lost your way. You gave up. We had great things in mind for you, and you turned your back on us."

"I saved myself."

"Keep telling yourself that, child. You may have run away from your destiny, you may now walk down a different path; but know that all roads will lead to your damnation."

"I accepted that a long time ago."

"I gave you the tools to change your fate. I gave you the world."

"And you took from me the only thing that mattered in it. The only good I had in my miserable life."

"You did that yourself. You killed that poor girl with your own hands."

"Stop."

"It was your own two hands and feet that broke her jaw. Guided by your own emotions. Your uncontrollable, blind hatred."

"Don't you fucking dare."

"It was your own hand that drew that dagger across her throat, spilling her lifeblood on the ground. That poor, innocent creature. What was her name, again?"

"ENOUGH!"

The woman in red laughed.


- - - - - - - -

A scream of rage, the crack of wood, a sharp jolt of pain, and a shriek from above me.

Hyperion leaped off the top bunk of our quarters and was at my side before I could even open my eyes. "Madison! Madison! Are you alright? What's wrong? What's happening?"

I couldn't answer. I was consumed by the dream that was still fresh in my mind. No, not a dream--a nightmare.

I examined my right hand a bit closer. The pain was mixed with that certain distant numbness that you feel when you've broken something and your body was going from zero to sixty trying to repair itself because magical regenerative abilities. I wasn't sure which finger went, nor did I care. A few layers of skin had been claimed by the thick, rough boards of the wall as a prize for surviving the blow. It could keep it, as far as I was concerned.

Thick, briar-knit hands were at my shoulder, confused as to whether or not it should shake or squeeze or caress or what. "Madison?"

"I'm fine, Hype." No, I'm not fine. I took a deep breath and rolled onto my back to gaze up at the planks that supported the top bunk. "It was just a bad dream."

Hype's four eyes flickered concern. "But, you're crying--!"

Was I? I reached for my face with my good hand, lightly touching my eyes with my thin fingers. I felt a certain warm wetness. The tear stuck to my finger, even as I pulled it away to get a good look at it.

Nell.

My throat tightened at the memory of that day in that accursed crimson glade. How I let my wrath consume me, how I fell into an abyss I wasn't sure I would ever climb back out of.

Even to this day, I can hear the sound of her cries and whimpering as I slit her throat, tricked by Pode's illusions. Each time that memory flashes before my minds, I want to scream. How I wish I could take it back. How I wish I could go back in time and stop myself, or even wrench the dagger from my own two hands and plunge it deep into my chest to save her life. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any of it. I should have never let Nell come with me. The girl would still be alive today, fretting about organizing the shelves in my store or making sure that my workbench was nice and orderly. She would also still probably try and get me hooked on those stupid silver romance novels she loved so much.

A fresh wave of burning in my eyes caused me to curl into myself. I couldn't take it any longer. A deep, horrible sob wracked my body, and I buried my face into my pillow. Hype's hands rustled as she pulled them away from me.

Hype, who I developed to fill the empty void in my heart because I couldn't cope with the loss of Nell.

We sat in silence for several minutes, while I waited for everything to pass. It wasn't long before I had finally cried my eyes dry and sat up in the bed. The brairbane looked at me, the unmistakable look of pity etched on her face. She knew that I wouldn't open up to her, especially on this matter. I knew how much she wanted to share my burden, but I wouldn't let her. I couldn't.

I simply got up and slipped into a black tunic and a pair of slacks, drying my face off with a spare shirt before turning to the door of the cabin. "I'm going to get some breakfast. Want anything?"

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Reason 46 why I sprung for the fancy cabin on the trip back to Tirel: Our dining car was fancier than those who couldn't afford it. Never let it be said that the Vorgruk-Stokes Trading Company doesn't take care of its customers.

Whereas the travelers packed like cattle essentially had to snake their way through what was essentially a glorified cafeteria line, I was treated to a roomy seat at a table complete with a quartet of neatly-folded napkins, sterling utensils, and an arrangement of seasonal flowers in a clear vase in the center. There were about ten rows of two tables that stretched from door to door. The sun had been up for a few hours now, its light pouring through the windows and bathing the twenty or so of us who were grabbing a bite to eat.

I was still shaking a bit from my nightmare. The images of Nell bleeding to death and refusing my offer of resurrection were only starting to fade.

I took a sip of water and a deep breath. And then another breath. I looked out the window at the pristine blanket of snow that drifted by as The Ebonheart chugged along, feeling absolutely drained and uninspired by what I would assume someone would tell me was wondrous natural beauty.

By the gods, how could I have been so stupid?

"Your menu, ma'am."

The warm tone brought me back to reality. I looked up to see a man, probably not much older than myself, his blond hair combed over and a rich blush decorating his cheeks. He wore a snow white button-down shirt tucked into tan slacks, the ensemble tied together by a garishly out of place black belt and a white apron. He pushed a piece of parchment into my hands.

"Oh, thank you," I managed after a few seconds of trying to force the horrible memories back into the little black box in the darkest, most cobweb-cluttered corners of my mind.

"I'll give you a moment to look it over. Can I get you a coffee to start?"

"Do you have any hot chocolate?"

The waiter nodded, his smile growing further. "Yes we do. I will have it for you shortly."

He turned on his heels and left towards the far door, and I took a peek at the menu. Food is a good way to distract you from your problems.

I was moderately impressed by the selection available. Having about an hour until they started serving lunch, I gave my eyes the task of deciding how much I was going to eat to hold me over until dinner. On offer you had your standard selection of Salvic breakfast plates that were overloaded with meats--sausage, bacon, steak, thick cuts of ham, and sides of eggs in any manner you could want them, hash browns or those little cube things of potato (whatever the fuck they're called--home fries, I think?), and pastries. Then, you had the kinds of things that weak-ass foreigners like myself could tuck into; a selection of toast with jams and jellies, waffles topped with whipped creme and fruit, pancakes and syrup, boring-as-shit oatmeal or grits, and the like.

Hmm, I think I'm in the mood for a couple slices of lightly buttered sourdough toast, a side of bacon, and an orange. Maybe two sides of bacon. Or a side of bacon and some sausage links? How about a nice fat cinnamon roll instead of toast? Hells--why not both? And an omelet... Or maybe in an omelet?!

Maybe this was a bad idea. Everything sounded so delicious. The thought of ordering everything on the menu and riding out the rest of the trip in a food coma was really neat. Except for the baked beans. They could keep those.

My table suddenly jostled, knocking over my glass of water and spilling it all over the tablecloth. I sprung from my chair so I wouldn't get wet, a nasty curse ripping through the otherwise serene environment of the dining car. I looked up at who the perpetrator of the vile act was to find a group of four grim motherfuckers staring a hole through me. They all wore similar dark furs, and had the same sour looks on their faces. The only differences between them were one had a shaved round head, one was a blond squared-jawed asshole with a bad mustache, the shortest one was a ginger with a ponytail sporting a map of the stars freckled on her face, and the tallest and wrinkliest bastard was missing his chin due to bad genetics, possibly from familial inbreeding.

I shot them a sneer that rivaled their own in disgust, contempt, and face-wrinkling. "Watch where you're going, will you?"

Ol' Fathead fully turned to face me in the isle, and took a step closer. "Begging your pardon, sister?"

Before I could ball up my fist and serve him a delicious knuckle sandwich, the man whose face stopped at his lower lip rested a gloved hand on his comrade's shoulder and whispered something in his ear. I could practically hear the rusty gears echoing off the inside Cueball's cavernous skull as his features contorted and knotted up. He eventually decided that whatever was whispered to him was a better course of action than getting his face caved in by a bookseller.

"Excuse me, pardon me, so sorry--" The waiter had returned, cutting through the tension with his trained politeness. He wedged himself between me and the four assholes, setting down the mug of steaming cocoa on one of the dry spots on the table. With expert skill, he produced a towel and began soaking up the spilled water, setting the glass back up in its proper position. "I'll get this cleaned up right away for you. Would you like another water?"

I stared daggers at the fur-robed strangers as they turned and made their way to an empty table. "No, that's alright," I muttered.

I'm going to order six of everything and have it put on their tab, I thought to myself bitterly.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - - -

It was the longest forty minutes of Ratomir's life before that raven-haired bitch finished her meal and left the dining car.

She had no idea. No idea at all who he was, who he was associated with. A single word, just one command, and he could have had her meal poisoned. Sure, she would have found her food delicious at first, and maybe have considered to leave a bigger tip as the delectable flavors danced across her taste buds; but after a few minutes, her pale skin would've taken on the same hue as the wildflower arrangement at her table. He would have enjoyed watching her eyes bug out of her skull, her spidery hands clawing at her neck in vain as her esophagus clamped shut. Ratomir would have of course made a big declaration that she must be choking and rise to help the waif; and in the process of administering life-saving techniques he had learned as a part of his basic medical training, he would have most certainly twisted the knife deeper by bruising or breaking a few of her ribs. Alas, it would be too little, too late. The woman would die, he and his brothers and sister would mutter a quick prayer, and her body would've been unceremoniously dumped out the back of the train for the wolves and ravens to feast on.

"Let it go already, your eggs are getting cold." Ratomir snapped back to reality to catch an arched eyebrow from Petrov.

"Maybe I like 'em that way," the bald man muttered, trying to save face.

His brother's mustache twitched, but he remained silent. Ratomir's gaze returned to the half-eaten plate of steak and eggs, knowing that Petrov wasn't going to believe that for a minute. With a heavy sigh that could have been mistaken for a grunt, he tucked into his breakfast.

The quartet were, quite frankly, utterly miserable. They had only received the missive from Cardinal Nikitovich five hours before the train arrived, and had to scramble to draft up the required documents to board the train and formulate a plan to capture and neutralize their quarry. Once they were on The Ebonheart, they had to find a car to set up their base in. That meant taking over one of the sleeper cars--both the top and bottom levels. That meant dealing with tired, angry peasants at three in the morning. That meant shelling out enough gold to shut them up, or saying just the right threats seasoned with the correct amount of profanity to scare them into compliance.

Ratomir always enjoyed that glint of fear in their eyes when they saw the pendants. It meant that they were aware what could happen to them should they not comply with their orders.

They finished their meal in silence before returning to their car. Retiring to the upper half, the staff were given explicit orders to not let anyone loiter around the lower cabins too long, lest they discover the dire threat to their safety that is aboard the train and whip everybody into a panic. That was the last thing that Anikin in particular wanted to deal with. It was more to his liking that their operations be as discreet as possible. He feared what could happen should word get out that a necromancer was on board.

Anikin stood close to the window and stared at the rolling Salvic countryside in quiet contemplation. He had been a witch hunter for longer than he could remember. How many had he hunted down and killed in Their names over the decades? Younger initiates into the Sway often joked that every time he judged a mage guilty, a new wrinkle appeared on his face. He considered retiring at multiple points, but... No, The Sway's work needed to be done. Always had been, always will be. The grizzled hunter could not abandon his post.

Ratomir threw his hefty frame into one of the padded chairs that littered the car's common area. Petrov sat close by. The fourth of their group, Tanya, was busy unpacking in the cabin at the far end of the car.

As soon as the attendant made sure they needed nothing else and locked the door behind him, Anikin wasted no time getting into the briefing.

"Gentlemen," he began as he turned to face the others, hands clasped behind his back. "I know you both read the missive from the Cardinal, so I will not waste your time with the details. We are here to uncover and capture a practitioner of the arts of undeath, secure him until our arrival in Tirel, where we will deliver him to our brothers and sisters for judgment and execution. The Ebonheart will arrive in Tirel tomorrow morning at seven, so we must locate the heretic by then."

His fellow hunters sat in attentive silence as the veteran spoke. "As easy as it would be to display the All-Seeing Eye pendants we bear on our persons and bully our way to the necromancer, that is not an option. News of our presence will travel fast here, and everyone will whip themselves into a panic. They will turn on each other, and innocent people will be hurt or possibly killed in the ensuing chaos."

Petrov was the first to interrupt. "Then how are we to locate the fiend? We have nothing more than a vague description from witnesses who were at the Estrova manor at the time of the incident. And there's no guarantee that our information is correct in the first place. The witnesses had plenty to drink, and may have gotten a few details mixed up."

Anikin offered a warm smile to the younger hunter. "I can assure you that the information I pulled from them is one hundred percent factual."

It was Ratomir's turn to voice a concern. "And we're certain that he's aboard this train?"

The elder nodded. "The records were checked at the station in Knife's Edge. A person with the necromancer's name purchased a ticket and boarded. We just do not know where he is."

The scant details made available on the necromancer's appearance turned around in Ratomir's mind. It seemed like every farmhand and stable boy south of Archen had shaggy blond hair, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and a thin but tone body. Hardly how you'd picture someone who could raise the dead to look. But then again, he learned long ago that looks were deceiving and not every fiend he would find himself up against looked like the ones from the storybooks.

"Then we should get to work," Petrov said with a nod.

Anikin's smile grew. "Tanya is already on it."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - - -

She was terrified.

Every time she stood at the edge of the abyss, ready to throw herself into it, she could feel hands grasping at her, desperately trying to pull her away.

Nagging doubts. She knew what she was doing was inherently wrong. It was forbidden.

She was a monster. She was unclean.

That's what they always called her, right? When her gifts manifested in her?

She vividly recalled the faces of those who tormented her, the venom that soaked their every word as they accused her.

Witch.

Possessed.

Monster.

She hated herself for it. Even after the Church took notice of her. Even after the Justice looked upon her, pity in his eyes. Not a day went by in her training that she didn't wish she could've ended it all. Each lesson from the Ethereal Texts drilled into her mind that she and others like her were abominations. The gift she carried with her was more akin to a curse; and her kind existed to skulk in the shadows until the time came for the hunters to drag them from their hovels and hiding places and judge them in Their eyes.

This hatred drove her. She would prove to them that she was not a monster. She excelled in her training, and proved her dedication to the Church time after time again. She survived the awful atrocities of the Civil War. She quickly ascended the ranks, until the day she was granted the title that others like her achieved.

And still... This curse consumed her thoughts and emotions every waking moment. While the Church praised her actions and devotions, she knew what they thought of her behind her back. She knew she was nothing more than a weapon to them. Like all things, her skills would grow dull, and she would no longer be of any use to them.

And then, she would find herself at the stake, or on her knees with the sharpened blade of a sword pressed against her throat. Her life would end, much like the lives of the wizards and heretics she snuffed out.

The thought of it made her sick. She was damned, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Breathe deeply.

Exhale.

She edged up closer to the abyss, and threw herself in.

As she fell, she could see pricks of light appear before her in the inky, swirling blackness. They were arranged in neat lines, milling up and down and flickering in intensity. She had done this numerous times before, and understood everything that the lights could tell her.

It wasn't long before her ethereal vision stretched up and down the length of The Ebonheart. The souls of everyone aboard were made known to her in varying brightness and colors. All that was left for her to do was to pick through them, identifying the ones that Anikin and the others would need for their investigation.

The white ones were the devout. They would pose no problem whatsoever. Then there were the gray ones and the yellow ones. These lights belonged to those who held doubt and sin in their hearts, but could be considered good people--if not harmless.

She took another breath, and exhaled. If she were to find what she needed, she would need to focus harder. There were still a handful of souls that tried to hide themselves from her. If she could only bring them into view, she would have the answers she sought.

Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Underneath her clenched eyelids, her eyes were frantically rolling around in her sockets. Where are they? They have to be here! They must!

Her teeth ground themselves into dust as she concentrated harder on her prey.

And then... They showed themselves to her.

Three soft, tiny globes of light. A pair of them were as black as night, but the last one...

Purple?

That's new.

Before she could examine it further, she felt the familiar pull of hands at her arms. Her time was almost up. Scrambling to memorize the general locations of these three dark beacons along the length of the train, she allowed herself to be pulled back out and into reality once more.

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her sockets as she sucked in air. She never did get used to the feeling of her consciousness re-entering her body after traveling through the aether, nor could she ever cope with the feeling of self-loathing that followed.

Whispers from her childhood lingered in her mind. Monster.

The door to her cabin opened, revealing the towering frame of Anikin, who shed his black hunter's robes for a merchant's tunic. The garish violets and golds clashed with both his brown slacks and the idea that they were to remain inconspicuous while aboard the train.

"Well?"

Tanya took a moment to catch her breath before she croaked the words out. "There are three."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - - -

"Show us another one!"

"Yeah, mister! We want to see another trick!"

A playful smirk grew across Deyan Slifkin's face. Oh, how the young were so easily amused by parlor tricks. He admitted they were just as easy a crowd as those he normally entertained during the midnight hour at some dank tavern somewhere.

"Certainly," he said as he shuffled the deck of cards once more. He only meant to take a short walk up and down the length of the train to stretch his legs and clear his head, but the small pack of children stalked him from the packed coach cars and ambushed him as he reached the roomier private cabins further back. The guy could certainly relate; he remembered all too well the sense of wonder he felt the first time he saw a card trick performed, where the traveling minstrel named the three cards he picked out from the deck with that theatrical flourish of his.

Ever since that sunny afternoon, Deyan carried a deck with him wherever he went, learning all sorts of neat ways to handle a pile of fifty-two. It may have only been a hobby for him, but it was always a very good way to pass the time on long hauls across the frozen wastes of Salvar. A little sleight of hand and a toothy grin always made him a few friends, and helped pay for more than a fair number of bar tabs.

As he shuffled the deck, he turned around a couple possible tricks he could do. Hangman's Shuffle. Back of the Line. Door Number Three.

"Ah," he finally exclaimed. "I know just the one!"

The children's eyes lit up in anticipation, and they crowded around him.

Deyan finished rifling the deck, mashing them together into a nice and orderly pile. He cleared his throat, settling into his storyteller voice. "Have you heard the one about the Three Lovers?"

They all shook their heads in unison.

"Well then," he began with a grin. "In ancient times, before your grandparents' grandparents were born, there were three lovers." Deyan flipped over the top card, revealing the Three of Hearts before sliding it to the bottom of the deck.

"Our story begins with the King of a forgotten land. He was forty-nine at the time." Deyan flipped the top three, revealing the King of Hearts, the Four of Spades, and the Nine of Diamonds before placing them at the bottom. "The king had a queen, who was almost half his age." Queen of Hearts, the Two of Clubs, and the Four of Clubs.

Deyan then flipped over the Two of Hearts. "They were deeply in love, and ruled the kingdom on peace and harmony. However--" his voice deepened dramatically, causing one of the kids to jump back in surprise.

"There was a rival from a neighboring kingdom who had his eyes set on our queen."

The King of Spades.

"This ruler coveted our queen, and sent three assassins to murder her husband so he could have her all to himself." The kids whispered among themselves as Deyan revealed the Three of Clubs.

"Did they get him?"

Deyan shook his head and showed them the Nine of Spades. "The king's guard discovered them before they could make it to his chambers. Only one survived to make it back to their master." The Ace of Clubs.

The story continued as they crowded the hallway of the sleeper car, Deyan weaving his tale of love, betrayal, war, and death as he went through the deck card by card. The children stood enthralled by his every word, amazed at how the cards would always line up with the man's story.

"...And that, children, is the story of the Three Lovers." Deyan moved the Ten of Spades, which was sitting on the face-up Three of Hearts.

They immediately burst out into a round of applause and cheers. Deyan's heart warmed at the display. He had spent so much time on the run lately that he learned to appreciate these kind of moments.

He barely heard the woman clear her throat for the third time. "Hey, can I get through, please?" There was this slightly rude bent to the way she said please that immediately stabbed at him.

Deyan's eyes drifted over to her. She was a bit on the thin side, but well-dressed in a black vest over white button-down shirt. Her raven-colored hair fell down to her shoulders, her features a bit gaunt and bird-like. Piercing sapphire eyes seemed to burn a hole through his soul as she glared at him.

"Oh, yes, sorry," he stuttered as he pocketed his deck in his jacket. With both hands, he herded the lot of unruly kids to one side of the car so the woman could pass. "My apologies."

The dark-haired woman slid by without a word. She paused for a moment at the doorway leading to another car, her hand lingering on the handle.

"Neat trick, though," she said, almost as an afterthought.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - - -

The velvet of the chair softly creaked in protest as I sank into it, a rude suggestion that maybe I should've ordered the short stack and laid off the bacon. Breakfast was delicious though, so whatever. The warm weight of contentment sat in my gut, and I felt like I was going to nod off at any given moment. No matter how much I wanted to get more sleep, I fought against the heavy weight of my eyelids and willed myself to stay awake.

Mirko Soloviev had his morning meal delivered to him, wrinkled old fart that he is. A plate of half-eaten toast and an empty cup of coffee sat beside him on the table, along with a small bowl of strawberry jam and a dull knife. Hyperion opted to wait until lunch was being served before she'd eat anything and resumed her spot by the window, absorbing the warmth of the morning sun through the plate of glass separating us from the endless hills of the Salvic countryside. We were getting closer and closer to Tirel, and with that the warmer climes of the eastern regions. I could make out blades of grass poking up from the thinning layers of snow as we sped past, and the occasional raptor circling overhead in search of prey in the fields below.

"Would you like to take another look at it?"

I arched an eyebrow at the elderly bookseller. "Sorry?"

He motioned towards his cabin. "The book."

Ah, of course. As much as I quietly enjoyed the calm of the train ride halfway across the country to Knife's Edge, it had been a business trip first and foremost. I was on assignment to secure the acquisition of a very particular book for the inter-dimensional stacks of my employer, Maladim Karunungan. Mirko had the book in question, but refused to let go of it unless I met a very specific list of demands.

First, he wanted to browse my personal collection and select something that he considered of equal value. A simple book swap, which was fine with me. I already transferred any important information I may need from them into my Archivist's Notebook, anyway.

Second, he wanted a little information that was more private and personal. He learned some time ago about Maladim and his ever-growing archives that picked and stored knowledge from every dimension and every possible timeline through Archivists such as myself. He learned about how people like myself also facilitate the transfer of knowledge from the demon's library to those who, quoting the instructional handbook I was given, "require it to facilitate events as written by the Fates". As Mirko was a bibliophile from birth, obsessed with the various ways knowledge was collected and recorded for future generations, he wanted to know more about Maladim and what he did. The only problem was that he--how do I put this--was a little too precious and pure to contact my employer by standard means.

Apparently some of us are more okay than others with slaughtering a scholar and sacrificing their quivering thinkmeats to summon and make pacts with demonic librarians.

Anyway, I explained the situation to Maladim, told him that Mirko simply wanted to meet him and confirm that everything he'd read was real, and then he'd give up the book in question.

Maladim said something along the lines of "whatever makes that nerd happy", and that was that.

Mirko rose from his seat and shuffled off to his cabin in the car, reemerging a minute later with a pristine leather-bound volume. For how old it was purported to be, it was in exceptional condition. The pages were as white as the day they were bound, the brass latch that kept it shut still lacked even the smallest amount of corrosion.

Catching me staring at the book, he said, "To think that these pages are hundreds, if not thousands of years old."

I took in a sharp breath as he set it down on the table in front of me. Deep in the darkest recesses of my soul, something stirred. The faintest echo of laughter rang in my ears.

No. Go away.

"There are many in Salvar who would kill you on sight if they caught you with this," Mirko muttered between pursed lips, his own gaze locked on the tome. "Based on what it's alleged to be and who the Church claims penned the words inside."

I fought to suppress the swirling darkness inside me. "How did you come to possess it?"

"That is a secret," Mirko replied with a wink. And with that, that particular line of conversation was closed off.

The bookseller shifted talk back towards me and my business with it. "I trust that your, erm, employer is certain of the authenticity of the volume and its contents?"

I nodded. "He would have not sent me if he had any doubts."

I took a deep breath, still desperately fighting against this bout of dizziness that had come over me. "Besides, I can confirm it right now, just looking at it."

With a thin finger, I traced the golden Ethereal Sway iconography that was pressed into the soft leather of the cover. The laughter was quickly extinguished, replaced by a second voice I did not recognize. She whispered to me of events that had been, and times yet to come. Softly, she sung of fire and destruction such as the world had never known. She painted a promise of my future with the blood of my--no, our enemies.

I ripped my hand away. I bit down on my tongue to keep from screaming.

I am not your puppet. I am not your chosen. Not Pode's, not Xem'Zund's, not yours.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"Get it away from me," I hissed.

Hyperion was immediately at my side, a briar-knit hand on my shoulder in a vain effort to calm me down. I was shaking, hard. My nerves were on fire, the visions of the world's damnation fresh in my mind and refusing to go away.

This was a test. Maladim could have sent anyone to acquire that accursed book from Mirko--he has three or four other Archivists in this world that I'm aware of--but the bastard sent me. He wanted to see if I would fall back into my old ways, before he saved me from the horrible fate that the Forgotten Ones had planned for me. Would I succumb to temptation and reassume my mantle as their Heir? Why the fuck else would he set me up like this? I mean, I made it perfectly clear that I would never again walk down their path when he gifted me with a new body and a fresh start. He probably wanted to make sure that I would stay true to my word.

Only one more day before we'd be back in Tirel. Then, we make the trade, Maladim picks up the book, and I wash my hands of the whole matter. Maybe I'll call him a dick or something, just to get some measure of revenge for this whole thing.

"Madison, are you okay?" Hype's voice was a soft, calming presence in my ear.

The tempest in my head had died down somewhat. "Yes," I gasped. "I'll be alright."

A look of concern twisted Mirko's wrinkled face, causing new crease marks to sprout up. He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but thought better of it and muttered an apology instead.

"No, no, it's alright," I stuttered. "It's not your fault. You didn't know that would happen.

"I don't tell many people this, but I was among those the High Bard Council conscripted into helping them cleanse the Red Forest in Raiaera. A fair few didn't survive the ordeal, which is why the Raiaerans sent in outsiders to begin with. However, several of us were..." I had to be careful here. Really careful. "I guess you could say we were touched by the Red Witch. She left a mark on our souls. To this day, when an object that was written by one of the Forgotten Ones crosses my path, the mark she left on me flares up, and I get these... I get these horrible visions and migraines."

Mirko nodded, seemingly understanding what I was getting at. "So then this book really is..." His voice trailed off. The old man casually fingered the latch that kept the book sealed. I could see that glint of curiosity in his eye--he was eager to read its text in a brand new light and glean the secrets contained therein.

"Don't," I commanded. "Let's just put it away for now. We know it's there, we know that it's real. We just need to make sure that it stays with us, and nobody else knows that we have it."

The moment the words left my mouth, I remembered that we weren't alone. My eyes shot up from the table towards the cabin at the far end of the car.

Mirko cut me off before I could even decide which expletive to use. "They left about ten minutes before you came back from breakfast. We're the only ones in the car right now.

"Thank my lucky stars," I said bitterly.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Mirko returned the book to its safe hiding spot inside his cabin, and Hyperion produced a deck and shuffled it up. We both knew that there was nothing like a good game of cards to take my mind off what happened.

"Pick your poison. Rummy? Poker? Blackjack?"

"How about Go Fish," the old bookpeddler mused.

We ended up passing the time with a bit of Rummy. Two hands in, everything was back to normal.

Mirko and I chatted about everything under the sun except for that damned book. He inquired about my previous occupations before I became an Archivist. I skirted the truth and told him that I researched various diseases, which brought on discussion of the recent outbreaks in Raiaera. I feigned ignorance on them, and asked for every little detail he could recall before ushering the conversation onto less incriminating topics, like what he read for fun. The old man admitted that he doesn't get much leisure time anymore, which was why he was grateful for the chance to get away from his personal studies for a week or two despite the fact that this was a business trip. I told him that I'd hook him up with a couple science fiction series I'd been following over the past couple years.

"Vessels that can escape the pull of gravity and fly across the heavens? Preposterous!"

"That's why it's fiction, Mirko."

"Even fiction has its boundaries. One can suspend their disbelief for only so long," he scoffed.

I raised a finger in objection. "Alerar has boats that swim in the sky. Who's to say that one day fiction won't become reality?"

Mirko considered this for a moment, chewing on the end of his pipe. "A fair point."

Another hour or two passed before Hyperion suddenly perked up. A low grumbling noise filled the common area.

"Was that the train?"

The briarbane cocked her head slightly. "Sorry, that was my stomach. I'm hungry." She immediately shot out of her chair. "I'll be back in a bit!"


- - - - - - - -

Hyperion made sure her shoes were properly laced, black leather gloves covering anything that couldn't be mistaken for human skin, her mythril face mask and black tie were straight, and the black shawl properly arranged and pulled over her head before she left the car. Madison had made it perfectly clear that she was to avoid raising as much suspicion as she possibly could--Salvar was an incredibly dangerous place for anyone that could be perceived as different. Having a body made of genetically-modified vines that sprouted from a group of parasites that consumed the desiccated remains of a human woman made you about as different as you could possibly be.

It took her a while to get to the dining car. Her path took her through four other sleeper cars, each of which had three windows along their lengths.

Twelve stops to gaze out in innocent wonder at the splendor that was unfolding before her.

Oh, how she loved to see the rolling hills speed by as The Ebonheart moved towards its destination. The snows had melted away, signaling that the train had made it to the fertile farmlands of the eastern region. She could hardly contain her excitement as she counted all the livestock in her head--cows, horses, goats, and little specks of white and brown that she could only assume were chickens. Hype's eyes flickered with joy as she traced clumps of wildflowers with a briar-knit finger along the glass, her brain working out what species they might be based on the shades of purples and yellows and whites in their leaves. They filled her with such awe that she would lose track of time at each of her stops, the soft pains of her empty stomach prodding her along towards lunch.

Had she ordered ahead of time, they would have had her meal ready by the time she took her seat.

Hyperion found the dining car pleasant enough. The scent of various meals being cooked wafted in through the cracks of the door that separated this car and the next. Her mouth watered with the possibilities. Something that was a little less than appetizing were the stares she was getting from the scant few patrons who also waited until two in the afternoon to eat.

One of them, a small child with rust-colored hair, tugged on the sleeve of her parent's tunic. The briarbane could hear the curious creature whisper over the constant rumble of the train's wheels.

"Daddy, why does that lady wear a mask?"

Oh! It's always the mask, Hype mused to herself.

She tried a friendly cock of her head and a cheerful wave, but the child squealed and turned around in her seat.

"Leave her alone and finish your peas," the parent scolded.

Hype's heart sank. She loathed to admit it, but she was used to these sort of reactions from everyone. At least she had friends like Madison and even maybe that Mirko fellow who didn't judge her, accepting her for who she was. She could be thankful for that much, right?

A slightly annoyed voice snapped Hype from her thoughts. "Can I start you off with something to drink?"

The briarbane looked over to see a squat woman, heavily freckled with dark hair tossed up in the most careless bun she'd ever seen. At least this person didn't seem to judge her for her mask, or the glowing amber orbs of her four eyes. Then again, this woman had probably seen her fair share of weird things aboard the train during her lifetime already, and had long since stopped caring.

"Oh, yes, I'd like a glass of water, please!"

The waitress nodded and handed her a worn piece of thick paper folded over on itself. "I'll be right back with that. Take your time looking at the menu."

Hype raised a gloved finger in the air before she could waddle away. "Actually, I'm ready to order now, if that's okay?"

The other woman produced a pad of paper and a pen from a pocket within her apron. "Sure. Whatchu' like?"

"Just a steak, please and thank you!"

"No sides?"

Hype shook her head. "No, that's quite alright!"

The waitress scribbled a few lines on her pad under the guise of paying attention. "And how would you like that? Medium?"

Hype clasped her hands in front of her on the table. "Cooking it won't be necessary!"

The waitress's lips clamped shut as she tried to work out how to process this request. Knowledge of health and food regulations and her duty to upload them overrode her need to give a smart-assed answer. "We have to cook it. It's against policy to serve under-prepared food to guests aboard The Ebonheart."

She thought about it for a second or two, wanting a good meal but also wanting to make sure that this nice server lady wouldn't get in trouble. "Okay, then I will take it as rare as you can legally make it."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - -

"Three, you said?" Anikin looked at his fellow hunter, unable to hide the uncertainty on his wrinkled face.

Tanya didn't budge an inch. "Yes. There are two black souls and one purple aboard this train. That means we have three potential targets."

Petrov smoothed his mustache before he interjected. "How can you be so certain about this purple soul? You yourself have admitted to never bearing witness to one before in your life. We cannot be sure that it belongs to our target."

From his perch on the arm of a nearby chair, it was Ratomir's turn to wedge himself into the conversation. "We cannot also be sure that it belongs to an innocent, either." He stood up, the fabric of his woolen farmer's tunic falling about him as he drew closer to his comrades. "The reason she might not have seen one before could be because she's never taken on a necromancer. It's not often that we take in people with her abilities, especially. Usually we put them to the sword first and ask questions later."

Tanya was almost shocked that Ratomir sided with her, up until the moment she could practically taste the venom of his words. It was no secret within the Church of Ethereal Sway's sect of witch hunters that he was one of their most ardent and steadfast adversaries of magic and those who practice it. He was born and raised in the wilds north of Archen, forced to live a life of banditry with nothing but his wits and a weapon before he repented and the Church put his skills and natural bloodlust to good use. To Tanya, Ratomir embodied everything she hated about the life she lived. She would show him, someday. There would come a time that his life was in mortal danger, and she would be his savior.

...Not terribly likely. The hard-line bastard would probably gut himself first and flip her a greasy, fat middle finger for her troubles.

Anikin seemed to be in deep thought, mulling over the possible outcomes of their mission. "It is entirely possible that this person is the necromancer. I have seen it once or twice before, and read of dozens of other occasions where one who is skilled in the art of undeath transferred their life's essence into a new vessel. Could it be that the process leaves a magical mark on their spirit, and the outcome is a shift in color?"

The quartet mulled over this possibility in silence. None of them were prepared to face a heretic who could jump from body to body, hindering their search and weakening their ability to capture and secure them.

"What about the two black souls, as she claims to have seen?" Petrov crossed his arms in front of him and leaned against the wall. "There's the chance that one of them is the necromancer. This purple one could be a decoy, or a thrall, or something."

"Yes, that's something I considered as well," Anikin remarked flatly. "There's just no way to be sure unless we investigate all three. But as we are four, and we are walking into uncertainty with this odd presence Tanya has sensed, I'm loathe to split us up. Necromancers are especially dangerous, and I do not wsh to see any of us fall under their wicked magics without another there to prevent his escape and immediately pass judgment upon him."

There was another pause, this one thicker. They silently considered the options available to them, each forming their own arguments that would hopefully convince the others.

Tanya was the first to speak. "I feel that we should split up and investigate all three potential targets."

The elder witch hunter narrowed his gaze in curiosity. "Your reasoning, Sister?"

"We do not need to directly confront the necromancer, only confirm which one is him. We know that we are looking for a tall, thin, pale man with shaggy blond hair and freckles on his face. The Ebonheart will reach Tirel in sixteen or seventeen hours. Once we determine which of the three souls belong to him, all we have to do is keep him under surveillance until we reach our destination."

She looked at her three fellow hunters, searching for understanding and agreement in their eyes. "I believe we all agree that making our presence known aboard the train will only lead to unrest and panic, which will only hinder our mission and cause unnecessary violence and anarchy. If we can remain in disguise and keep an eye on our target, then we only have to follow him as he disembarks. Once we are out in the open, we are free to confront and judge him guilty of his crimes with minimal risk of harm befalling others."

Anikin thought for a moment, licking the front of his teeth and nodded. Tanya breathed an inward sigh of relief. She wasn't sure how well her plan would have gone over with the veteran.

"How would you split up our group to investigate the three?"

She had an answer ready for that, too. "As we are all uncertain about the person whose soul is purple, I feel that you and I should search them out. We do not know what we might face, but between the two of us, I believe we can handle it. Ratomir and Petrov can each look into one of the others. They are skilled enough to keep themselves and their identities hidden. Once we discern which of the three is the necromancer, we will reconvene and assess our options then."

Petrov politely raised his hand. "How will we notify the others that we've discovered the heretic?"

"Guess whoever doesn't will meet up back here," Ratomir snorted.

"That's actually probably not a bad idea," Tanya interrupted before her brothers could get into another argument. "Let us agree on a time to meet back up and discuss our findings."

The four of them pulled out their pocket watches. "Will until the top of the hour give you all adequate time?"

A chorus of agreements rang up.

Petrov shot a sly grin Ratomir's way. "Make sure yours is correct, brother."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Before the four hunters left their car, Tanya took a quick peek into the aether once more to see if any of the three figures had moved from their last locations.

"The two with black souls have not moved, but the other one has relocated to a car further back on the train."

"There's nothing back there but baggage and dining cars," Anikin remarked, checking his thinning hair in the reflection of the window. "That will make it easier for us to corner them should the situation require it."

"It might also raise the suspicions of others who catch us loitering," Tanya remarked.

Ratomir shrugged. "Do we really have any other choice?"

"We do not," the elder hunter said. "You two have the locations of your targets memorized, correct? Ratomir, you keep an eye on the one who is three cars ahead of us; Petrov, you search for our necromancer seven cars ahead, in coach."

The two nodded, checked their watches one last time to make sure they were all in sync, and left for their marks. Tanya and Anikin left soon after, hanging a right at the bottom of the staircase and kept a leisurely pace on their way to where this strange presence sat--possibly brewing up vile schemes as they enjoyed their early dinner.

Anikin walked with an air of purpose, dressed in his finest plum-colored and gold-trimmed tunic, certainly looking the part of a wealthy merchant traveling to the coast. Tanya, on the other hand, felt completely out of place in her fancy sapphire dress, posing as the merchant's daughter. The corset was just a little too tight around her waist, and she hated how it hampered her breathing. She should be in her Sway robes right now, her weapon hidden within its folds, ready to protect her and smite her enemies in a moment's notice.

The most she could do right now is kick her shoe off and maybe ram the heel into someone's eye. Not the best method of defense, by any means.

As they drew closer, she could feel the weight of her All-Seeing Eye pendant press down on her chest. The intricately-carved hunk of gold was a constant reminder for her of what she was, and the path she chose in life. She lost track of how many hunts she had been on, how many of her kind--wizards, sorcerers, heretics, monsters--she had gone up against as she ascended the ranks within the Church.

No matter how badly the hatred and misery consumed her, she could never voice it to her brothers and sisters. What would they do? Would they turn on her? Would they cut her head off, drown her in the frozen waters of a lake, tie her to a stake and purge her sins from her with fire?

Mind on the mission, as Anikin would tell her. Tanya shoved all her horrible thoughts back into the darkest corners of her mind. She would have all the time in the world to ruminate on her fate after they captured and executed this necromancer.

Before she could reach for the handle, the door leading to the dining car slid open. A young girl burst into the thin connecting hallway, dragging her father by the hand as she skipped along.

"Pardon us," the father offered with an embarrassed look on his face.

The little one noticed that she wasn't alone, and looked up with the biggest green eyes. She brushed her reddish bangs aside, looking back and forth at the strange adults in colorful clothes like she had never seen before.

Anikin offered her a warm smile. "Hello, little one!"

That's when the child immediately lost interest, and continued towing her father back to their seats.

Tanya did her best to stifle a laugh while Anikin's lips thinned into the softest sneer. Together, they pushed into the dining cart and took the seats closest to the corner. She took the spot that gave her a full view down the car and at the seven or so people who populated it, while he was able to keep an eye on the door for anyone else who might interrupt them.

She took a deep breath. It's time.

Her brother leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper but his words crystal clear. "Which one?"

The priestess closed her eyes, her vision fading into familiar darkness as the souls of all present flickered into view. She immediately spotted their target.

"Four tables back, opposite side of the isle."

Anikin fought every urge to look for himself. "Describe them to me."

Tanya's eyes fluttered open, the lights and shapes of the real world bleeding into her view of the spiritual one. She focused on the curious figure for a moment. Something about it seemed terribly familiar.

"Black vest, slacks, white long-sleeved shirt," she whispered.

The elder's face scrunched. "We saw a woman at breakfast dressed the same."

Tanya shook her head. "This person is wearing a hood."

As if on cue, their mark turned their head to the side, revealing--

"They are also wearing a mythril face mask and..." The words caught in her throat.

"And what, sister?"

They were like nothing she had ever seen before. "Glowing amber eyes."

For the first time in a long time, her resolve had been shaken. Was this the necromancer? Something deep inside her said that, no, it wasn't; this was something far more powerful than anyone who could raise the dead. That would explain why she didn't recognize the color of their soul--this figure, this masked person, could not have possibly been natural. This was an otherworldly force, either created or summoned to cause havoc on this plane.

She snapped to attention as the figure abruptly set their silverware onto the table and stood up. Muttering a curse, the hunter's eyes locked onto Anikin's. He opened his mouth to say something, and she offered just the slightest shakes of her head, signalling him to shut up and not blow our cover.

The hooded and masked woman, as she quickly noted, slowly made her way to the door leading back to the sleeper cars. The witch hunters held their collective breaths for a moment, hoping that she would pass them by--

--But she didn't.

She stopped right next to their table, completely ignorant of the pregnant and awkward pause that had grown between them all.

"Excuse me."

Tanya was thrown off by the sweetness that laced her words. It was as if she was being talked to by a childhood friend. The scent of wildflowers filled her nostrils, overloading her senses. It's a ruse, she quickly scolded herself. Do not allow yourself to be charmed!

The figure cocked her head to the side, the light of her four! eyes flickering in intensity as she spoke. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, but don't you think that it's a bit rude to gossip about strangers behind their backs? You may hurt their feelings, and that's not nice."

The hunters blinked. They exchanged quick, confused glances. Anikin was about to open his mouth to say something, but the woman had already made her way out of the dining car.

Tanya was the first to pick her jaw up off the table. She shot out of her chair, bumping the table and rattling the silverware that was arranged neatly on the surface. "Where are you going," Anikin hissed at her, his eyes creasing.

"I'm not sure if you noticed, but that... that thing was not human. The four glowing eyes, the mask, the clicking noise when she spoke!"

Anikin clenched his fists. "We must not follow it. We cannot raise the suspicions of the other travelers. They will notice, and our cover will be blown."

"It is not of this world, and may pose a threat to everyone aboard. It may be a creature raised by our necromancer, or may be something worse." She spun on her heels and reached for the door. "I intend to find out, with or without your help."

The elder grit his teeth, rising from the table and quickly following his sister out of the car. By the time he made it through the connecting hallway, Tanya had regained all of the regal poise that her disguise required. She had a gloved hand in the air, and was calling out at the woman-thing with the mask on. "Excuse me! Miss? Excuse me!"

Hyperion stopped in her tracks and peeked over her shoulder. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes flashing inquisitively.

Tanya rushed up to her as quick as her restrictive outfit would allow. She wrung her hands and put on a mask of her own, one of apology and humility. "Hi, yes," she began with the best disarming smile she could muster. "You were right just now, and I wanted to apologize. It was incredibly rude for me and my father to discuss your appearance. We are sorry, we've just never seen someone with a mask like yours. I do hope you can forgive us!"

Underneath the veil of mythril, the briarbane's razor-sharp teeth curved into a grin. "That's okay! I didn't mean to make you upset about it, I just wanted to point out--"

Before she could finish, loud crack echoed throughout the length of the car, and Hyperion crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

- - - - - - - -

Ratomir considered himself a man of action. Scouting was for those who couldn't cut it on the field of battle.

Let his inferiors handle the spywork; he would be the one to slash his sword across the throats of the impure.

He was absolutely insulted to be standing on the bottom level of the sleeper car that witch claimed that the one marked by darkness sat in. He discovered that the door leading to the cabins at the top of the stairs had been locked from the inside, implying that somebody required their privacy--and privacy was tantamount to guilt in his eyes.

So, with certainty that his quarry was currently above him, all he could do was wait to see if they would emerge.

He checked his watch. It was nearly time to check back in with the others in their own cabin.

In the meantime, at least the view from the train window was okay.


- - - - - - - -

Everything was pitch black.

Wait, no--pitch black, except for the bright lights of the stars that swarmed her vision.

Wuh... where am I?

The thought was interrupted by a dull, aching pain in the side of her head that commanded her attention. She remembered leaving the dining car after eating that wonderful steak, then standing in the hallway with those two elegantly-dressed people, and then... nothing.

Where am I?!

The question repeated itself, this time with a greater sense of urgency.

What's going on? What happened? Where am I?

Hyperion slowly opened her eyes, each of her four lids moving at different speeds. At first, she couldn't make out anything. The entire world was a blur. As her brain frantically worked to make sense of her situation, things started to fade into view. Blobs and swirls of earthly hues slowly became familiar patterns of wallpaper and pieces of furniture. Hype's head rolled around on her shoulders as she tried to glean more information about the room she was in.

A table. She was sitting at a table.

There's a hunk of shiny metal in the middle. It looks familiar.

--My mask...?

Every inch of Hyperion's body was immediately on fire. "My mask! Give me my mask!" Her screams bounced off the walls of the tiny cabin. She desperately scrambled for her most prized possession, but discovered all too late that her arms had been bound to the chair at the wrists by rough strands of rope that scraped and burned her skin. "Give it to me, right now!"

A deep, booming voice cut through the air. "What for? So you can hide your true nature from the world? Or is it to convince yourself that you belong in this plane? A veil of metal may convince those who are of lesser intellect, but before us you cannot escape your judgment."

Hype's amber eyes focused on the source of the voice. It was the man from the dining car--the one with the plum-colored tunic, with his wrinkled skin and baffling lack of a chin. Off to his side, the red-headed woman with the blue dress sat very unladylike on a plush leather chair and held a thin rod the size of her forearm across her lap. She was the one who made the apology that the briarbane could only remember snippets of!

"Who are you," Hyperion snarled at the pair. "What have you done to me? Let me go! Give me back my mask!" The legs of the chair rattled against the carpeted floor as she tried to break loose of her restraints, to no avail.

In a flash, Anikin was at her side. "Silence, creature!"

A sickening crack tore through the room as he brought the back of his hand hard up against the briarbane's temple. Hype's vision exploded in another trip through the stars, and for a moment she was still.

"You will speak when you are spoken to. Understood?"

She didn't respond.

Anikin clicked his tongue, then checked his knuckles. Flecks of blueish-black blood dotted his hand. The hunter wiped himself clean on the dark fabric of Hype's vest, then reached into the neck of his shirt and produced his pendant.

"Do you know what this symbol is, creature?" It made a very distinct, ringing clank as he set it down on the table before his prisoner.

Again, Hype remained silent, save for the slight rasping sob that escaped between her sharpened teeth. She glanced at it, but could not place it in her mind.

"It is the All-Seeing Eye," the hunter continued. "It has many meanings to many people. It is a contract, a promise, a warning, and a blessing all in one. It represents freedom, purity, and forgiveness. It also represents judgment, terror, and damnation. We are the chosen ones, handpicked by the Ethereal Sway Themselves. We are the witch hunters who wield this weapon in order to purge Salvar of the many blights that fester within its borders."

Hyperion's blood went cold as she processed this information. Madison told her about the Sway and their--what did she call them--band of ignorant pig-fucker zealots. She could only assume that she was talking about the witch hunters. The brairbane was given a strict warning to avoid them at all costs, for they hated anything they considered unnatural.

"What do you want with me," she finally whispered.

Anikin leveled a harrowing glare at her. "There is a necromancer on board. You are clearly his servant. We wish to know everything about him. The extent of his power, his motives, his crimes, everything."

"Necromancer? Servant?" Hype's eyes flashed worry as she looked at her captors. Madison was not a necromancer, she was a scientist who studied the process of life and death! Well, not anymore, anyway, ever since she got a human body again thanks to that delightful Maladim man and left Lichensith and the Crimson Hand behind to open a bookstore in Tirel and go on the occasional mission where she would find all these wonderful and magical new books for her to--

Another strike came out of nowhere, this one nearly taking Hype's head clean off her shoulders. "Answer me, creature!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she cried out through clenched teeth.

It was Tanya's turn to speak. "I have seen your soul. You were once human, but through the dark magic your master employs he raised you to serve him."

Madison's words echoed in her head. You must never tell anyone the truth of your creation.

"I am a briarheart," she hissed. The words rang hollow in her ears. She knew the truth of her birth, and accepted it. However, the hunters would never understand. How could they?

A bemused look spread across Anikin's face. "A fairy tale crafted by mothers who wanted to scare their children into falling asleep earlier. Briarhearts do not exist. No, we can see you for what you truly are. I must admit, however, that the plant-based magics your master used to drag you back to this plane are rather unique. This is why you still find yourself among the living."

The elder hunter leaned in closer, his face twisting into a horrible grimace. He snatched up the All-Seeing Eye off the table and held it inches from Hype's face, furiously shaking the pendant. "Now, creature, tell us about your master. The Sway compel you!"

Her briar-knit fingers digging into the arm of her chair, Hyperion's voice was like acid. "Do not call me a creature!"

"Would you rather be called fiend? Monster? Abomination?" Anikin asked tauntingly.

Hype snarled. She gnashed her razor-sharp teeth, her tormentor's words scraping along the inside of her skull and jabbing her like red-hot needles. For the first time in her short life, she wanted to kill someone--to rend their flesh from their bones and drink their tangy blood. To watch them as the light of their life faded from their eyes. To hear their last breaths rattle out from their throat. To feel them grow cold in her hands.

"Speak now, before I send you back to the circle of Hell from whence you came!"

When the wood snapped, it was like a crack of thunder.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It all happened so fast.

The ropes still tied around her wrists, with pieces of the chair arms that she was bound to dangling in the air, Hyperion shot like a bolt of lightning aimed at Anikin's throat. Before the aged hunter's face could contort itself into a look of surprise and alarm that you'd suppose someone would have if an undead plant monster lunged at you, the briarbane's teeth sunk into the meaty flesh of his jugular--aided by the fact that the man had very little chin to speak of to get in her way.

A horrible grinding noise echoed in her ears as her incisors scraped against the inside of his spine. Hype's momentum carried her until she tackled her prey to the floor with a heavy thud.

She immediately pinned the hunter down so he couldn't try and strike her, and clamped down tighter on his throat. If his spine hadn't been in the way, Hype could have very well taken his head clean off his shoulders.

Anikin's blood spurted into her mouth and across the floor of the cabin as the briarbane wrenched her head back and forth, content with settling for an evisceration instead of a decapitation. The old man's lips quivered as he desperately tried to scream for help, his face quickly going pale as the dark, sticky crimson liquid pooled around his shoulders. Hyperion relinquished her grip on his neck long enough to rear back and unleash a horrible, monstrous cry at the man who called her an abomination. She was in control. She was going to kill him. She oh so terribly wanted to see the fear in his eyes in his final moments.

Suddenly, Hype felt a tightness in her chest and the sensation of being picked up off the ground. She looked down to see a long metal pole sticking out of her chest, piercing one of Madison's best vest and shirt combinations. The briarbane whipped her head up to see the determined fury etched on the redhead's face.

Hyperion could do nothing to resist as she was driven back against the wall. The hunter ripped the spear free from her chest, pulling out bits of plant matter and spilling a trickle of dark viscous liquid onto the black fabric of the vest.

All the briarbane could feel was pain and hate--a swirling inferno of blackened malice that drove her forth and gave her the motivation to push through the haze and lash out at her new attacker.

Before Hype could pivot her feet to lunge through the air, she felt another punch to the chest. And another. And two more. Her ribs splintered from the impact of the sharpened tip of the spear piercing her green flesh and dragging across bone, cutting through her organs like butter. The last strike was perfectly aimed--through her heart and out her back. A loud thunk! shook the cabin as Tanya drove the tip of her spear into the wall of the car, trapping her in place.

Blinding pain overtook Hype. Giving into her baser animal instincts, she thrashed, snarled, and screamed as she tried to wrench herself free from where she had been planted against the wall. Her energy was quickly fading, and she only became more and more desperate.

Her hands still tightly gripping the shaft of her weapon, sparks of electricity danced across Tanya's bone-white knuckles. They were small at first, crackling in the air as they grew and grew in intensity. Energy began coursing through the rest of her body as she readied her spell.

With an arcane utterance, she unleashed all of her fury in a single blast.

Hyperion's cries drastically changed tone as her body convulsed, the hunter's magic tearing up and down her veins, causing her to dance like a broken puppet.

Tanya only grit her teeth and poured even more of her anger into her. She tightened her grip, focusing more of her anger and fury into the spell. Beads of sweat formed on her head and quickly evaporated as she silently continued the incantation.

The amber light in the briarbane's eyes started to fade. Her jaw was working, clenching and opening, clenching and opening as she tried to fight the energy that was ripping her apart from the inside.

“M... Muh muh--”

Hyperion raised a twitching hand into the air. Tanya braced herself for a trick that would never come.

“Muhmuhmuhmaaa-a-a-a-a-adisssss-s-s-on...”

The life leaving her body, Hyperion went limp against the wall.

[Breaker]

Thread Title: The 3:10 to Tirel
Judgment Type: No Judgment
Author: BlackandBlueEyes

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[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

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