XXIII.

XXIII.

They were in a grimy back-alley in Smogtown, where a mist of thick fog obscured anything further than two metres in front of them. Jakob had already extracted one of the eyes from the head he had gathered, but the second one was giving him a harder time, as a crust of bone had formed around the eye-socket.

After a bit of delicate cutting with the sharp index-finger-knife of his demon-glove, he plucked it out with a sucking smack and lifted it closer so he could see its retina.

First one better, Heskel commented, looking over his shoulder.

Still, its strangely beautiful, dont you think?

The Wight gave him a look that made Jakob wonder if toadstools had grown from his ears. Then he grunted and looked away.

Jakob was unsure when it had happened, but the Wight seemed to be regarding him differently, as this was not the first time he had felt judged by him in the recent weeks.

Maybe a bit of the Greedy Demon Lord has rubbed off on me he considered. The idea was appalling, but not unlikely. After all, he had seen everyone around him, except for Heskel, change as a result of their exposure to Mammons aura.

He shook his head as if to dismiss the idea and brought out the other eye, holding it next to the freshly-plucked one. They shared the same size, but the patterns within them were distinctly different.

The first had an almost fractal-like crimson bloom from its centre, with the black pupil smeared into an elongated shape so that it resembled more the eye of a snake or a goat. The second eye had a layer of dense bone covering half of it, but the rest was like a black snow-globe within which lived a galaxy of stars. Somehow, Jakob was certain that both of these eyes belonged to the Watcher himself, after all, he was an Entity said to see everything that was, is, and ever will be; so his eyes must certainly be endless in shape and design, each with its gaze fixed on something unique.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Jakob stowed the two eyeballs safely in a purpose-made compartment of his demon-flesh apron. In terms of function, his demon-sculpted attire was endless in its possibilities and usefulness. Where he had once viewed the self-thinking tail as the pinnacle of tools he would ever craft, he now considered it to merely have been an in-between stage. And though he had been apprehensive about utilising the souls and bodies of demons, given their proclivities and manifold flaws, it was obvious that he had let himself be swayed by fear. After all, the two demons whose corpuses he now wore, Marll and Purll, were docile and easily-controlled after only a few Chthonic sigils were inscribed upon them.

Heskel had opted to keep his own poncho-like apron soulless. It seemed the Wight did not enjoy the notion of wielding the leash on souls of lesser beings, preferring to rely entirely on his own powers. Obedience had been crafted directly into him by Grandfather, but Jakob was unsure how absolute such obedience truly was, given the fact that Heskel had, by Jakobs prompting, defied his Creator.

Let me see the Relic, Jakob told his Lifeward.

Heskel withdrew it from an interior pocket of his robes and presented it before him, the object appearing very tiny as it lay within the Wights palm.

Wheres the rest of it?

This is it.

Jakob lifted the ring from Heskels palm with his left index and thumb, looking it over meticulously. It was a very simple wedding band of some silver-coated inexpensive metal, given its weight and the fact that the shiny outer layer was flaking off.

I believed the entire hand was the Relic, he muttered. But it was simply his ring? Peculiar.

Clergy believe marriage virtuous.

If their contracts are upheld, Jakob shot back.

Heskel grunted his assent.

So, this qualifies as the Esoteric Toll we seek, due to its inherent vow never having been broken?

The Wight nodded. He seemed quite adamant about the latter, so Jakob decided to believe him. After all, he had never seen his trust misplaced before, despite their disagreements.

What comes next?

First branch.

Jakob released a puff of condensate from his mask in contemplation. Market North did not seem to deal in such obscure trinkets, regardless of the fact that returning there would be a grave mistake, and Market West lay in ruins. It was possible that Market East which bordered Eastgate District would have such niche merchants, but it lay at the opposite end of the Metropolis and would take hours to reach on foot. That left only one viable option.

Well go to Mage Quarter.

Heskel nodded, no doubt having reached the same conclusion.

In the darkness of his personal tower, Sirellius ran his middle finger around the circumference of the clay bowl. The black water within pulsed with hundreds of overlapping rings that at once amplified and cancelled each other, producing a stable equilibrium that made it appear as if the rings were constantly bopping up-and-down, though this was merely a trick of the eye.

Reveal to me the sight I wish to see, he intoned clearly. He had attempted to scry the location of Jakob the Fleshcrafter and Demon-Summoner for many days. The first week had only shown him a peculiar golden light, like dawnlight breaking through the thin mist adorning the mountains of his hometown in Lleman. However, these past few days, an altogether-different result had occurred and today was no different.

As the rings in the water contracted to form an image, they suddenly took on the appearance of an eye, though with the barest of details and clearly belonging to no creature of which he knew. Its elongated horizontal pupil seemed to stare back at him, before it blinked and the spell was broken.

With a sigh, he rose from the floor, where his knees had been cushioned by a soft rug before the bowl of water.

they are guardedwell said the Daemon-slave in the corner of the room. It was unfortunate that Sirellius favourite attendant had been taken over by the Undying Guillaume, whose magic kept alive the King of Helmsgarten. Sirellius was a man long-used to setbacks though, and he had entered an uneasy alliance with the Daemon, allowing him to keep his black-eyed attendant as an advisor in rituals and rites and magic of which he himself had little-to-no knowledge.

How?

the oldtongue

No matter how many times he conversed with the vile Entity however, he still could not help twitch and shudder whenever it spoke.

How do I circumvent it?

you cannotthe Watchershields them

Sirellius found it unsettling that even his archaic magic, passed down through his familys bloodline for countless generations, could be beaten by some obscure language that he had never even heard of before. Though it did explain why his attempts to spy on the Underking in the past had born similar results.

A commotion from the stairwell outside his Scrying Chamber suddenly drew his attention. Moments later, a hurried series of knocks banged against the door.

Enter, Sirellius called.

Light flooded the dark interior as a messenger and two guards entered his private sanctuary.

Sire! Your presence is needed urgently!

Did the King send you? he asked, dreading the reply.

No, Sire.

What is it then? I am busy.

The Messenger looked at the two guards who themselves exchanged uneasy glances.

Then one of the guards cleared his throat and said, You had best see it for yourself, Sire. We are at a loss on how to explain it

Market North

Westgate

Mage Quarter

Residential

Slums

Eastgate

Market East

Breadbasket

Crafting

Smogtown

Be on the lookout for an Adolescent wearing: the stolen robes of a Magister or flesh-coloured leather robes. Likewise, be on the lookout for a giant wearing similar attire. They travel most commonly as a pair and are known to frequently utilise the sewer tunnels to outmanoeuvre our guard posts.

If contact is made with these individuals, send an alert to your nearest Royal Guard Representative, and attempt to apprehend the pair. They are both extremely dangerous, but it is imperative that they be captured alive to face justice for their abhorrent crimes. Attempts to apprehend them should be made with teams numbering no less than two dozen.

You are thus ordered, in the name of our Glorious King, Patrych the First of Helmsgarten.

Jakob crushed the flimsy parchment in his fist, before tossing it aside, just as Heskel rounded the corner. The Wight took one look at him and the ruined letter, and put two-and-two together.

The Promise of the Crown has no value, it would seem.

Virtuousness belongs solely to the domain of fairy tales.

And dead heroes, Jakob replied mockingly.

The workshop complex of the Horticulture Magister, and his three apprentices, was quite expansive, containing within it: a store that was not too unlike the Apothecary that Hargraves no doubt still maintained in Jakobs absence; a dormitory with sufficient room for all three apprentices to bring their families, which two seemed to have acted on; a vast arboretum; several small greenhouses for those plants that required a specialised environment; and lastly, a well-ventilated laboratorium-like attic for distilling, refining, and mixing the various alchemical formulas they sold.

That is a very odd request, replied the Magister, an attendant close behind, eyeing Jakob and his entourage warily. I do not myself possess anything like that here.

Jakob was about to turn away from the hairy brute of a Magister, when he continued, But, my apprentice studies trees more in-depth than I, so he may know of such a branch, or a tree of that age, at the very least.

Fetch me Merab, the Magister told his attendant. It took him a moment to realise he had been issued an order, so the Magister clapped his hands and sent him from the room with a scalding series of critiques about his work-ethic.

He turned back to Jakob, stroking his thick grey-stained black beard with his long fingers. Of course, an establishment such as ours is not in the market to give out free information. We do after all have better things to do.

Heskel stepped forward and withdrew an item from his robes that he set down before the Magister, who stood behind the counter of his apothecary. The sculpture produced a heavy clunk on the wooden top.

Is, is that?

Yes.

The Magister gleefully lifted the severed demon claw up in front of himself, the flawless golden surface glinting in the light of the many candles all about the shop. They still carried with them a few petrified-and-golden body parts from Mammons mansion, as they had been easy enough to bring with them. It was a peculiar facet of the Demon Lords aura that all who perished in his vicinity turned to gold rather than decay.

The attendant returned some minutes later with another man in tow. He was not as thickset as his mentor, who was still admiring the golden limb, but rather was tall and slightly pot-bellied with a light-brown tan.

Merab. These customers are seeking information about how to locate a an err what was it again?

The First Branch of a Thousand-Year-Old Tree, Jakob said.

That is pretty specific, the apprentice replied. It is not something I collect, but I do know of a few trees that have lived to that age. As well as some even older than that.

It has to be a thousand years old, Jakob demanded unflinchingly.

Well Merab started, but then contemplated silently for a moment, before answering, There is a Sacred Grove not too far west-northwest from Helmsgarten city, next to a township named Rooskeld. I have only been there once, but their Sacred Grove is well-known for the giant tree at its centre. As I recall, they have their millennial festival beginning next year after Harvest.

How fortuitous, wouldnt you say? the Magister said cheerfully.

That will serve me well, replied Jakob. He could wait a year to gather the Branch, and spend the meantime figuring out how to obtain the two other Esoteric Tolls, whose nature was far more obscure and hard-to-come-by.

Then that settles it, announced the Magister. Now, as payment, how about we say I keep a finger of this?

Keep the entire thing.

The Magister was momentarily dumbfounded, then recomposed himself and lifted his gaze from the golden claw to look Jakob in the eyes. Is a deal of silence implied in this?

Indeed.

Very well. I shall forget to have seen your personages.

As shall I, complied Merab, seeming to easily follow his mentors lead. Though, given the peculiarities of Magisters and the strict limitations placed on them by the Crown, they were perhaps not unaccustomed to dealing in secrecy.

As they headed for Westgate, Heskel voiced his concern. Trust not humans.

Am I not human?

You are more than.

You are kind to say that, but, regardless, I do not trust them with anything worthwhile.

They will tell on us.

And so what? What matters it if the Crown knows we are heading west? We will be close enough to Lleman that they may simply believe us to have continued across the border. They would not bother hunting us that far.

They will.