Thursday, June 30, 2011

Cordoba Chronicles IV: Chapter 2


A STRONG cough rattled in the foreman’s chest as he sat poring over the floor plans of future buildings. It came in sputters and spurts in the back of his throat. By all rights, Jollum thought, he should be dead and buried.

The Halfling tried to remember how long it had been since contracting the disease that left him this way. Fifteen summers ago, wasn’t it? Maybe seventeen. In fact, it had been twenty years since this affliction left him a wreck of a man with barely a breath in his body. His chest heaved with fear of those days when he almost died. Jollum’s mind began to race with his heart when he thought of what happened soon after that: he met the Benefactor.

The Benefactor helped the pain of his affliction go away when he asked, making him feel alive again. Jollum was so happy, he pledged his life to the Benefactor to do her bidding. She then said the strangest thing in reply: she “knew” that he would. From that moment on, he did whatever the Benefactor asked, never questioning but always wondering and thinking of his actions. One day, Jollum tried to do something he normally did and he received two surprises. When the first surprise made him jump, that was all and nothing else. The following revelation that came to him was the second surprise.

“Mister Jollum!” came the call.

Jollum jumped in his seat and spoke, “Who asks?”

A slender hand pulled aside the tent flap. Familiar gray-green eyes and a curly mop of hair poked in through the opening. “It’s me, Inia. Can I come in?”

Jollum hefted himself up to spread his arms, joints popping and cracking with age as he did. “Yes, my child,” the foreman said as loudly as he could. “Do come in.”

Inia strolled into the tent, past the worn hammock and asked him how he was doing, getting the usual negative prognosis. “You poor man,” she cooed and kissed his forehead. She then said, “I think I may have something that’ll make you feel better.”

“What, child?” Jollum asked.

Inia reached outside of the tent’s flap and pulled in Rashad. The foreman looked him over and said, “So, human, you lookin’ for a job?”

“Yes, sir. I need to make my way.”

“I don’t normally hire humans,” Jollum said, “You’d better have some experience.”

Rashad told him how he built his own home with help and that he helped build some Draconian homes. “Draconian, eh? Good stonework, those Draks have. But that’s sandstone.”

“Stone is stone to me, sir,” Rashad said. If this fool was trying to get a job, Jollum thought, he sure wasn’t doing well. He was about to dismiss the young fool when he noticed Inia giving him the look. He had seen that look before: those big pretty eyes asking for something they couldn’t get. In Inia’s case, she usually got what she wanted from Jollum. He knew that she wanted this young man for something. He decided to play it safe, even when any man worth his salt knows that sandstone is softer than the slate they’ll be using.

“Indeed, lad,” Jollum lied. “Indeed. You’re hired.”

.........................................................................

“Crew! Listen up!”

Over the clatter and clang of metal against stone and the drone of sawing wood, the workers somehow heard. They looked down from their perches and walkways on what would be a new town hall for Karmor’s Bend. The lot of them saw what birds knew by heart: the town streets stretching east and west from the town square, balanced on a southbound street like a pair of scales. The southern street led out to the low hills and ended not too far from the biggest house in town, Blackheart Estates.

Their attention was pulled from “the big house”, as some joked, and down to the three figures standing near the foreman’s tent. There stood the foreman himself, that sweet piece of ass Inia and some guy with her.
“Come on outta there, we’ve got a new guy,” Jollum yelled.

The workers made their way down and walked up to the trio. As Rashad looked at the workers, Jollum explained, “Boss’ daughter brought us more help. This is Rashad, everyone. Introduce yourselves, gents.”

Rashad watched as a burly human with skin darker than his walk up and shake his hand, saying, “M’name’s Wyle, I drive the nails in here.” As Wyle left him, a Halfling walked up and stated, “Name’s Cyan. I dig out here.” The Halfling squeezed Rashad’s hand unnecessarily in the handshake and walked away as another approached. Many of the workers who greeted him were either human or Halfling. Rashad got around to meeting most of them when a large red Enigman made its way through the crowd. Suddenly, a large crab claw jutted from the massive, and the ground shook as the Enigman spoke: “BARCRAB.”

“Wh-wh-well, hey…” Rashad stammered as he shook the Enigman’s pincer.

Jollum interrupted, “Waitaminit…where in the Hells is Orcheon?”

“Boss,” Wyle spoke up, “Orcheon said he’s sick and can’t come today. Something about food poisoning.”

“Great.” Jollum looked at Rashad and asked, “You wanna start today, man?”

“Sure!” Rashad piped up.

“Alright, go over there with Wyle and see what he needs help with.” The foreman turned to the girl. “You going home, Inia?”

“Nope,” the girl replied. “I’m gonna go look for a job. Auntie says I have to learn hard work.”

“Then good luck finding a job, lass,” she heard Jollum say without a hint of irony as she walked off to the stable wall. Making her way through the crowd, she walked up to the wall and pulled down the Moira’s Loom House ad. Looking about with a conspiratorial glance to make sure the black hoods weren’t looking, she grabbed the Egress Bar ad also. Inia then made her way home, leaving a rebellious streak behind her on the way to Blackheart Estates.

“Auntie, I’m home.”

The Blackheart mansion felt as cold as a tomb that evening, and just as empty. Inia’s voice bounced off the high ceiling as she called out to her aunt—the Benefactor.

While the townsfolk granted her aunt the title of Benefactor, Inia knew her by the name her aunt used in her businesses: Blackheart. It was a strange name, but it was the name she knew for as long as she could remember, ever since her aunt took her into her home after her folks died when she was just a baby. While her name suggested that her heart was black as tar, Inia knew her aunt as anything but. As she walked through the sitting area, she thought of how Blackheart was always there for her when she needed: skinned knees, the bad dreams in the middle of the night. Strange that I can’t find her now, Inia thought as she walked up the stairs.

On the second floor, Inia turned about the dun-colored banister and passed the water closet on the way to her room. She looked about the upper hallway, seeing the doors to the study chambers where her aunt worked and, on many occasions, slept. Forgetting about them, she twirled into her room as she shut the door and fell onto the soft bed. She rolled over onto her back and said aloud, “A job. Wonderful.”

“Speaking of jobs, I’ve had a tough one as of date,” a voice said from behind the closed door. “But enough about me; how was your day, Inia?” 

Shooting up like lightning, the tanned teenager reached for the door and pulled it open. Leaning against the doorjamb stood a statuesque woman with a short black hair, of which a loose set of bangs obscured the left of two shiny, almond-shaped black eyes. She was dressed in a gray pantsuit that clashed with the red gardening gloves she wore, caked with earth. A smile as big as the sky spread along her full lips as she watched Inia squeal, “Auntie Blackheart!”

“Oh child,” the woman laughed as she held the darker-skinned girl in her pale arms. “How was your day? Did you find a job?”

“Yeah…” Inia replied.

“Let me see what you’ll be doing,” Blackheart said, motioning to see some proof of the girl’s matters of the day. Inia reached into her bag and pulled out a job ad. She already knew what was going to happen next, so she handed it to Blackheart and sat cross-legged on her bed and watched her aunt.

Blackheart arched an eyebrow as she read the short ad. “Hmm. Moira’s good people. She’ll be a good boss for you and you’ll be able to earn some food for this household.”

“Auntie, I don’t think I wanna do this job thing.”

Looking up from the ad, Blackheart walked over and sat down on the bed with Inia. “Now, Inia,” she began, “we’ve been over this many times. You need to understand what the people of the world do everyday. They don’t have your life where you can stay inside and do nothing if you choose. You need to experience a job. You want to learn of the outside world, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am” was the young woman’s reply.

“Good. Not another word about the matter. When do you start?”

Inia said, “I haven’t gone to the interview yet. I’ll go tomorrow.”

Blackheart said, “Then tell me about it tomorrow; I still have some work left to do.”

“Okay Auntie,” Inia said as she slid under the covers. “May the night keep you, Auntie.”

“May the night keep you also, child,” the Benefactor said as she left the room and headed for the study. Blackheart closed the door behind her and looked about her study. Sealed potions and old scrolls littered the writing desk on the far wall. Next to that desk was a bookshelf containing books written in strange languages and preserved by magic – some so old that they were around when the Dragons walked the planet. The shelf on the opposite wall held artifacts of dark magic and bones of all types that had been shaped into all manner of common items. As Blackheart walked across the oversized mat of an arcane circle that Moira made for her, she cast aside the dirty gloves near a group of coffins leaned against the wall. She waved her hands about and a book with foreign markings floated from the bookshelf and through the door that the Benefactor walked through.

The door led into a chamber full of burning candles and a contrary chill. Sigil after sigil lined the walls of this windowless second level room from the ceiling to the floor, marked with the same arcane circle on the mat in the previous room. The difference between the two was that this circle was marked in blood.

Blackheart stepped into the circle and the floating book landed in her hands. The cover read “Kodx edu Gaowu” or “Book of the Dead”. She opened it to further plumb the depths that her master – her Benefactor – has laid out for her, starting from the bookmark she placed. The light from the study was disturbing, so she waved her hands again.

A black-hooded figure appeared in the doorway and shut the door, leaving the necromancer to her candlelight and ebony shadows.

CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3

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