The forest seems to grow thicker and thicker with every step I take. The path that was clear earlier is now covered in shrubbery and thick vines. Thorns cut through my skin as I leap over a huge bush and land poorly. My breathing is getting heavy, every breath sends a small kindling of fire down into my lungs. I stop for just a second to try to think of where I am, or what way leads out of the ever-growing dark forest. The path I staked out earlier has vanished before my eyes and from the shadows, they're getting closer.
I try not to let the panic get to me; I try to tell myself this is nothing new. I have been in similar situations before, albeit I cannot think of a single instance where the forest suddenly changed, and shadows of ice and hollowness chased me until now.
I leap over another bush and another and dive headfirst into a rock I do not see. And then -
My head is filled with explosions as I find myself on the ground. My mouth is filled with dirt and leaves. I have a hard time assessing the damage I have taken as my mind seems to slip in and out. I try to get up, but my body caves in, I use my arms to pull the weight of my body forward. Every muscle aches, screams. My bones feel hollow and chipped. I turn over on my back and look up at the silky moonlit tree crowns that sway in the wind. A blood-curdling howl cuts through the beautiful scenery. It sounds like death. I cough something warm and metallic from my lungs and wipe it off with the back of my hand. A trembling dizziness takes hold of me.
Death is coming.
--
"You know this is a quick and easy in-and-out job, right?"
"It sure seems like it. Nothing weird, no specifics or guards I should be worried about?"
"The only thing you should worry about is what you're going to spend all that lovely gold on when you're done."
Verity sits on a chair in front of me in her small study. A room just bigger than an outhouse, filled to the brim with parchment paper, books, and a treasure trove of garbage knickknacks that no one would've thought twice about throwing away. Except, of course, for my lovely host, Verity.
"And the client? The person who made the request… what's their deal?" Verity shakes her head as if to say she does not know, or that it is not interesting to her, beyond the fact that she has already been paid. Half of it anyway.
"You know I do not care for such things…"
"Things like… being sure you're not sending me into a trap?"
She gives me a sharp look. Her teal-colored eyes lock in on me as if she is trying to read something in an unknown language written all over my face. She takes up a cigarette and puts it to her lips, leaving it unlit as she averts her gaze and looks around the small study.
"If things go south just throw the book away, okay?" A seriousness in her voice I have not heard in a while.
"What is the book anyway?"
She lifts her brow and lights the cigarette hanging between her lips.
"I have heard some scholars call it the Book of Death," she says. "Supposedly, you can find a way to bring someone back from the other side. It has been lost for centuries, thought to have perished in the flames of Al' Benoh just short of five hundred years ago."
"See – you did find out some things about it anyway," I say, trying to sound cheery about the fact that I am on a fool's errand. Stealing a book that is said to have been burned hundreds of years ago is stupid, but for some reason, Verity has been paid handsomely for it, and I need the distraction.
She nods towards the door, and I jump to my feet. We will laugh about this later, I think. The Book of Death, or whatever cheap copy this old merchant hoarded in his mansion. Easy, quick in-and-out thievery.
--
I take a detour on my way to the mansion, crawl through the window to Augustus' house in the Pits, and lie beside him as the night continues outside. He is warm, muscles relaxed and filled with sleep. He holds on to me as I kiss his shoulder. He smells of stew and beer and sweat. Bone broth and the constant burning fire that is lit from dawn till late at night at the pub he works at.
Augustus is not built as a cook, or not as the ones I have seen before at least. He is tall and burly, built more like a sailor or Bruiser. Thug maybe. The scars and tattoos on his forearms sure make him seem more like someone of questionable background than he is. Just for a few minutes, I tell myself as I set my route toward his house. I can stay for just a few minutes, and then get on to it.
As I sit down on the ledge of the window to crawl out again, he wakes and spots me. "You're just taking off like a thief in the night?"
"Kind of…"
"Busy?"
I turn to him, his naked body hidden by the thickness of midnight, light reflecting from the nearby taverns and streetlights hitting him here and there.
"Too busy for that at least," I chuckle as he sits up.
"Be safe, okay?" Softness in his voice, I sometimes forget he is completely different from me, from the company I like to keep, or that likes to keep me. I do not like the worrying and coddling. But instead of telling him as much, I just nod and slide out the window like a cat on the prowl.
--
I wake up to the sound of a burning fire. The smell of blood and dirt sticks to me and makes me nauseous. I had held on to that book, I know I did. But where have I woken up? The last I remember is the icy death of shadows calling my name, hounds howling and searching, their fangs glistening in the moonlight. I see that and perhaps now I am dead? In the afterlife, waiting for my judgment.
I try to open my eyes but the light from the fire is too bright, and – something covers my left eye… bandages? I lift my head, shaky fingers meeting my warm skin, and feel for the thick cloth that wraps around my head. The taste of blood and bile in my mouth as I feel an absence, swollen and hollow.
"I could not do anything about the eye, I am sorry…" a voice from across the room cuts through me like a knife. I cannot understand him. I reach for the knife in my belt but realize it is not there. I am unprotected.
"What do you mean… you could not do anything about… what?" My voice hoarse and shallow.
"The hounds," the voice continues. "The hounds had gotten to your face when I got there… there was not much left to… restore."
There is a shriek that fills my head, someone screams and screams. There is a memory of dark warm liquid running over my face. I fight it, it is not my memory. Someone else's. I did not lose fights, nor did I ever let a beast – I do not know if I am even awake when a voice fills my head and makes the bone-chilling shriek silent at last. It sounds muffled, and yet I understand it. It is not from the man sitting across the room from me, it is from somewhere else. Inside. Deep inside the dark hollowness that seeps through my entire being.
'I see you', it says. 'Thief and murderer. I see you.'