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| The Stranger; Short Story: Harvest | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Oct 28, 2017 10:40 pm (50 Views) | |
| Ioann | Sat Oct 28, 2017 10:40 pm Post #1 |
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Ioann was still panting. Around him, the crumbled carcass of the Courthouse’s East Wing collected in mounds atop shattered benches, lecterns, bodies. The fine, white snow of powdered marble dusted everything in sight, as if it had all been an early frost and not a maelstrom of destruction. He lay as still as the cooling corpses around him. Thirteen of Balefire’s Judges, and far too many men and women. And children. His breath caught. Rivulets of tears trailed down his stained cheeks. “I know you are still alive, Mr. Gregori.” Ioann froze at his name. The voice was calm. Emotionless. “We have been aware of you for some time now.” His eyes darted, searching for the speaker. The hue and cry had been risen, already the sirens of the Constabulary blared their impending arrival, but time in this little battlefield dilated to agonizing heartbeats. He swallowed, listening only. “And We have agreed – unanimously – that your current employment is no longer tenable to Us.” Ioann shifted suddenly. His voice was raw, as if he’d been screaming, shouting, crying out in terror. Or some kind of vile, sick pleasure. “My... employment?” He heard muffled shouts. The sounds of pummeling at the ruined doorway, but the cave-in secured the entire wing from access. It would take them hours to get in. Hours for him to be rescued, only to be damned once more. There would be no leniency the second time. Nor was it deserved. “Yes. The arrangement you have with a Mr. Viskovien.” There was no use in trying to hide any longer. He stood and wiped away the dust from his eyes. Sweat caked it into a paste that clung resolutely to his skin. The jumpsuit was in tatters, no longer orange, but spotted with black char and white powder and brown-red splashes that made him queasy. “Red? What does Red have to do with any of this?” “Precisely nothing. We have settled your contract with him. You work for Us now.” His head was still pounding, coming down from the high of it. Thoughts liquid, muddled things, and his concentration fleeting. Ioann rubbed at his eyes again. “Work for... work for... who are you, exactly?” The voice was coming from the front of the room, near the remains of... near where the lectern had been. He squinted ahead, but saw only a dark silhouette. It stood still and tall and confident. Ioann’s vision, still blurry, was further betrayed by streaky orange lanternlight that leaked in through holes in the walls and cast the entire space in an irregular checkerboard of shadow. The figure moved toward him, taking measured steps through the rubble, carefully selected the shortest, most direct path to where Ioann stood. The hair on Ioann’s neck rose, and he took an involuntary step backwards to the perceived safety of a split pylon. “We are an organization interested in people with very particular talents.” “I... I already have a job. I work for Red.” Worked, but that distinction didn’t seem as important as coming up with any excuse not to agree to whatever was being proposed. “That contract has been terminated. In fact, you’ll find Mr. Viskovien to be quite forgetful of the association the two of you once shared.” Forgetful? They’d worked together near twenty years. Red would never... Understanding beat its way to the forefront of his addled thoughts. “I can... take on my own work. I have, throughout the years. I always wanted to...” Ioann began to edge away from the fleeting safety of the pillar, eyeing the distance to the doorway. How long could it take for the constables to dig them out? If he shouted, would they hear? Would they believe that he couldn’t control what had happened? Couldn’t be completely to blame? “Mr. Gregori,” the stranger’s voice punctuated the air, still flat, still calm. It was closer than before. “We seem to have a bit of a misunderstanding. This,” a hand waved at the destruction around them, “gives you very limited options, even in a city like Balefire. The Taming has seen to that. We can give you a way out, a way to-” The voice paused for a moment, savoring the suspenseful search for an appropriate word. “-atone... for your sins.” Not crimes, sins. Ioann suppressed a shiver, and began to scramble toward to doorway. But then the stranger was beside him. A single touch to the shoulder made Ioann freeze. He turned slowly, panicked eyes drawing in all the details, teeth unable to stop chattering. Flickering orange lanternlight reflected off the intricate silver detailing on the lapels of a silk black-on-black floral-patterned frock coat. A gray and silver ascot, neatly tied, was perched between a perfectly starched collar. The face was hidden under the brim of a fedora, but then the stranger tipped it back and revealed only its even, close-mouthed smile. It looked like something that had required repeated practice, over and over and over again, in front of a mirror, to get right. It was chilling. Ioann withdrew a step, face twisted into a grimace. “There is nothing to fear.” The hollowness of the voice belied the words. Ioann heard the low rumbling of rock and crete and brick shifting. How much longer until he could be free of this-- “Perhaps you should think of this in a different light. Today is Harvestday. A time for celebrating the bounty you’ve sown and reaped. Look around you.” He couldn’t stop himself. Here and there shattered limbs and broken bodies protruded through the debris. The too-small lump that could only hide a child was a few short paces away, obscured by dust and a shattered wooden bench. Who knew how many other futures he had stolen today? “This is the Harvest festival you chose. The men and women here dead, they are your fellow revelers.” Ioann retched. As he drew his arm across his lips, he caught sight of his ruined hand. The flesh, sealed by the magician’s heat, had twisted into pink scars at the base of each digit. He flexed what remained of his thumb, clipped but still recognizable, then slunk to his knees. As he stared out at the death around him, he wept. The stranger watched him silently until the tears no longer fell. “We offer you an alternative to this earned damnation, Mr. Gregori. Stand. Come with me.” Slowly, hesitantly, Ioann rose. Head hung low, eyes bereft of moisture, he simply nodded. And followed. Edited by Ioann, Sun Dec 3, 2017 10:33 pm.
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8:39 AM Jul 11

