Dragon (S)Layers Ch. 43

Volume 5: What Was Left Behind

Chapter 1 - The Unrequited

"For the wandering soul, there is a certain longing for the idea of a home life. It's at once inviting and tender, teasing us with the promises we know better than to believe; seductively luring us into the arms of comfort ever beyond our grasp. This time will be different, we promise ourselves. This time, you will finally fit in.

You will be accepted.

You will be welcomed.

You will be cared for.

The heart can be lied to but the soul knows what it wants, and denying its simple demand is the kind of suicide that the sharpest blade or longest drop cannot hope to compete with; it is the insidiously quiet spiral into a crushing oblivion.

The greatest irony is that this spiral's path open with three little words:

I love you."

Sarah Kettar

Diary Entry 5528

Vestrin

The shovel bit deep into the packed dirt. It kicked up rocks that grazed his knees like blades. Sweat rolled down his battered flesh only to frost over in the early morning air. And still he dug. A six foot by three foot rectangle in the middle of a dead district, in a park. A park was fitting.

People had spent time here. Mingling, they called it. Different races met to talk about whatever shit they talked about to make themselves sound important. There wasn't any talking going on here any more, though. The husks of the estate grounds laid all around him- around them- reaching ashen and soot stained fingers into a dead sky. Prayers to a god that was, and never had been listening.

The Salter's district. An entire district owned by some rich snob who thought he could make polite 'race mixing' normal. They had their balls, their open debates. They helped the poor to curry favor with the masses- Vestrin himself had eaten his fill from their larder when it was offered. But in the end, like everything else, it was ripped away.

Like the earth he broke under the dented blade of the shovel. Everything eventually gave way. Everything except his tears. He was empty. Too empty to even feel anger at the cowards of the Guild for refusing to pay for Rebecca's burial.

There were no tears. Not even for the small grave filled beside hers. What fucking good was a man who couldn't cry for his own son? For his friend? He slumped against the side wall trying to bring the tears, trying to taste the heat. And nothing came.

So he dug.

There was no guild. There were no friends. He was alone. Not a single copper to his name to even mark these places, and only salty tears to feed the soil. Briefly he considered opening his wrists over them, a thought that raced through his mind as he finished padding out Rebecca's final resting place.

They both deserved better. But on his hands and knees, naked but for his tattered boots, he sculpted a pillow from the dirt and lined his friend's bed with rocks and the flowers he had found roaming the overgrown gardens. Maybe it would have been best if he joined her, maybe that should have been the price, the penance as clerics called it. Maybe that would have made this right.

He didn't have it in him to think of the red headed elf beyond her escaping as his son bled from that fucking plague. The open sores- oozing into sheets blackened with dried blood- wailing for him to be near. Holding him as he went quiet.

The bitch who had contracted to the Guild was nowhere to be found. Smarmy cunt had probably disappeared when she found out some freelance assassin got involved. The Ace of Diamonds. . . .world class talent who happened to be chasing after the same bounty. Was it any surprise he failed? It didn't take away the hurt but it felt reasonable. Sane. Healthy. Rationalizing. . .

It hadn't been his fault he hadn't been able to catch her. No, of course not! It was that fucking bitch who'd handed him the contract in the first place! She was hedging her bets! His son's health hadn't meant anything to her-

"Stop it." He growled, punching the dirt. "Stop."

He couldn't change the past. No one could.

Warily he hauled himself up and grabbed Rebecca by the coat. It was the only thing he had left to give his life long friend, the one thing they'd argued over for years when he'd found it on some stiff on the lower east side. He laid her down gently, smoothing out the wrinkles in her leathers and pulling the coat tight and respectable like.

It looked good on her. With her hair arranged to hide the finger sized hole in her forehead, she almost looked like she' was on her way to a merchant's meeting. At any moment she'd spring to life and secure the future they'd always talked about! Yeah. Spring right the fuck up and wake them all from this nightmare.

Except she didn't.

He was still asleep.

He always would be, too.

Vestrin clutched the oily lapel of the coat. To no one in particular, he whispered. "I was supposed to get the pocket watch. . . .cheating bitch."

There was no air to laugh even sardonically. Just a hollow chuff of something that sounded like a sob. That rich fop from the Estan Free States had told them about retirement watches given out to important people. He'd begged them not to steal it, crying that it belonged to his father, and how he'd give them whatever paper bonds they wanted if they just let him keep it. All bullshit. But she'd fallen in love with that watch. . . .they didn't eat for three weeks so she could keep that shiny piece of ticking metal.

It fucking figured.

Vestrin barely had the strength to climb out and, like his son before her, had no words that would come when he tried to fill the minutes it took to catch his breath. As he shuffled the dirt back in the hole, there was only the metallic clack-shuff of the shovel biting into the dirt, depositing it into the pit.

When he was finally done he grabbed his trousers and with considerable effort managed to get them on. Parched and numb, he sat there on his knees between the graves. Minutes passed in silence with only the dull purr of wind rolling over the hill to wash away the stink of blood and disease.

A sound to his right. Grass crunching. He yolked to the left grabbing for the dagger he'd stupidly left beside his gear. By the time he had the magic blade in his hand he could have been dead several times over. But he wasn't. Standing in his old spot was a tall eastern looking woman with a distinctly orange-yellow pair of eyes and wavy brown hair. She was dressed in clothes that cost more than even the land under them was worth. It was the bitch who'd contracted the Guild.

When she poke, her voice was a soft rumble like a cat preparing to strike. "It has been too long, Vestrin."

Tired and weak he was in no mood for anyone's shit. "You aint wanna be alone here at night. Dangerous place."

"Only if I was in yourrr shoes." She said flatly. Her gaze swept the freshly dug plots, lips turning downward, she pouted her lips out a touch. "I expected only one."

"Fuck you! Don't you-"

"Behave," she said in a sharp tone that carried up and down the hill. "You've lost enough for one day, and now I hear that your friends and compatriots have all turned their backs on you. Very dire indeed, for the golden boy. . . .you have even failed my father, which he is not fond of."

"I-"

"But I am not here to place blame, Vestrin." She eyed him though she didn't tear her attention from the graves. "Only to find out what you plan to do next." As an afterthought she threw in: "The blade, regrettably will be coming with me in any case. That was for your work. Kindly hand it over."

Vestrin clutched the blade all the tighter, staring at the woman. He tried to process his options but the days had left him too battered, too worn to even muster a reply. She seemed to recognize it, too. They stewed in the silence for several moments before she produced a single blue rose and laid it upon his son's grave.

He opened his mouth to scream. Did she dare defile his memory by touching his resting place- but again the words wouldn't come. His hand trembled and he balled his hands into fists slamming against either side of his scarred face. It was a sign of respect, she was just paying respects. Monster. Dragon. The words raced through his mind only to slam into the blockage in his throat like a runaway bull. "Fuck." He croaked.

Something metal thumped in front of him. It was a flask. Shakily he grabbed it up and sipped- water- he guzzled it to the last drop. When he was finished he wiped his mouth and looked up at the woman who'd not moved from her spot.

"I want something from you," she said softly. "What happened is your failure, but not your fault. The Kettar woman. . . .where has she gotten to?"

Vestrin stared blankly at her. "H-" After another attempt it finally came. "How the fuck am I supposed ta know?"

Not the answer she wanted. Vestin ignored her pointed look. Her eyes flashed an eerie orange, gone in the next instant. "Werrrre I to offer you a second chance-"

He snarled. "My son is dead! YOU CAN'T OFFER ME-"

She closed in on him. He lashed out at the monster.

She was beside him out of the arc of the blade. Hand touching his chin. She wrenched his head around to meet her with no effort. "Don't. Do that again." She waited a full beat for it to sink in. "My father wants me to kill you. . . .I want to spare your life." Her finely manicured finger touched his lips. "Do I have your attention?"

Vestrin balled his hands into fists, briefly considered trying his luck again and decided against it. He let out a sharp, short sob. "Fuck you."

Her finger stayed on his lips longer than necessary, indenting the soft flesh to the teeth. All the while her eyes bored into him with unearthly fire. Her voice was, as ever, smooth as diamond and every bit as hard. "There was a time. But for now, I want you to listen and listen well. To disobey my father is death, even after the centuries I have served, but I have never been wrong. I will not change that streak. . . .what I offer will not be offered again."

She waited a moment for him to open his eyes.

"Your son, that woman, you. You three were robbed of your dignity by- how did you put it? A 'knife eared cunt?'" The word sounded completely alien to her lips. Too high pitched, too sharp. "The Guild has felt my father's displeasure at their failure to get what I asked for. You may think of it as my gift to you for your efforts." Without warning she pulled a silk handkerchief from her vest pocket, opening it to show a set of solid gold teeth.

Vestin swallowed hard, backed away from the display. "M- Y- You killed Magson? You- You don't do that-"

"There is very little I don't do when I feel it's necessary, Vestrin." She tossed the mess of blood and gold to the side. Crouching down to his level, she continued. "There was another freelancer in the city, a girl. She calls herself the Ace of Diamonds. I believe she went after Sarah, but there was trouble in a village north of here, she's been put on the run. . . .this is an opportune time for you to prove yourself." She purred gently, tracing her finger along a scar on his chin. Her eyes followed that finger before slowly, agonizingly slowly, meeting his gaze once more. "Sarah stole your son's future, Vestrin. Does she deserve to steal yours, too?"

"D- Don't you speak of him-" he trembled in her hand even as she ran her thumb over his lips. "Killin' her aint gonna change anything-"

"No. It won't- or will it?" She lifted his chin gently. "You've not lived a particularly glamorous life up to now. . . .I can change that. Now and forever. I can make you comfortable, you need never wonder where your next meal will come from. Orrrr. . . .I can make it that you never need worry about eating again." Her hand touched his cheek. Power vibrated from her palm so hot and ready that even Vestrin could feel it preparing to release.

He grabbed her hand. It didn't move. He yanked and yanked but still she was unyielding. "S- Stop!"

"Choose." She cooed. "Either way, it will be quick. I will give you that favor."

"Let me g-"

"I want her. Alive if possible. Dead if necessary. . ."

Vestrin groaned as pressure started to build in his skull. The right side of his face was going numb, voice blurry and indistinct. "Fuck you!"

"This isn't helping you. She stole your life, Vestrin. She killed your friend. Your son. He isn't coming back, but you don't need to suffer for it. I can see to it you disappear, see you off to a new country with a new name and a future you can be proud of." The woman rose slowly to tower over him. Somewhere along the line she'd relieved him of his blade, and now turned it over in her hand. Spun it around her thumb. "I can make you powerful. Feared. Respected. . . .loved." She stopped with the blade, twirled it to a slashing grip. "I want more for you than this. You deserve more than this."

"It- it won't bring him back." He staggered to his feet. "Nothing's going to bring them back! You think I wanted to get involved with you fucking people?! I didn't have a choice! You said you could cure 'im! I believed you! I-"

"You've every right to be upset. But she got away. You didn't keep your end of the bargain."

"Nngghh!" He almost threw a punch. But suddenly it occurred to him that he didn't need to hurt her- even if he could- he just needed time to outsmart her. He didn't want to die, but he couldn't live with himself just blindly accepting her offer. Word had it she worked for a dragon, not surprising considering what he'd seen of her. He held his tongue, avoided showing off too much of his anger. "S- So what do you want me to do?"

"The mission hasn't changed."

"I don't have money. I couldn't even afford to-"

"Bury your dead." She nodded once. "I will arrange for an expense account in every city along the caravan routes. You will use a new identity, the documents are already set to go."

At his flash of irritation she smiled. Vestin inhaled deeply. "What if I take your money and run, what then?"

In a single prowling stride she was in front of him, head tilted slightly, and large peach colored eyes sizing him up. She leaned in, purring a roiling sigh in the back of her throat. "She left Laleah this morning, heading due west along the caravan route. . . You'll catch her quickly if you leave now." Punctuating her words touched his chest, tracing a line down his torso. "There is a courier at the west gate with all the documents you need. Get a bath at the guard house, you won't have another chance for several days."

Vestrin tensed under the woman's touch. A little too warm, a little too powerful. Too demanding. She was going to get what she wanted one way or another, there were a million idiots in the city who'd believe this bitch. He'd made a life of not believing what people said, making his own way and, when necessary, doing what had to be done. He'd get through this, too.

He just needed to buy some time.

Time to figure out what the hell he was going to do. . .

"All right." He whispered.

"Good," She cooed. "I'll meet you in Lewood in twenty days." With a brief touch, cheek to cheek, she let him go. Turning without thought or concern to her own safety. Vestrin considered it. Just once. And let it die in the depths of his mind.

Vestrin looked at the graves once more, perhaps for the last time. This time he didn't fight what few tears were still hiding in him. He was too tired to fight. Too numb to win.