Chapter 46: Enclave XVI (Second Draft)

Chapter 46: Enclave XVI (Second Draft)

There was nothing I could do about my eyes and lack of horns. Regardless of how discretely I dressed, the eyes would give me away immediately. Thankfully, I was not the only non-infernal within the Enclave. There were a decent number of elves and dwarvessome respectable, here for trade or tourism, others, less so. But ideally, beneath the shade of my cloak and within the depths of the mask, no one would get close enough to see them.Read latest chapters at nov(e)lbin.com Only

The fingers of my left hand were on the verge of going numb, the bandage around my left arm wrapped a little too tightly, resulting in a sensation of pins and needles. The outfit, which I was largely cribbing from Maya, was not improper within the Enclave. There was not a direct aspersion amongst the infernals to showing skin as far as I knewthey were just as open about that sort of thing as Whitefall was, if not less prudishbut there did seem to be a disproportionately large number of people sheathing their arms and legs in various manners, despite the relatively warm climate. Long sleeves, leggings, and other coverings were common.

Whatever the reason, it worked for my purposes.

I walked at a clipped pace, keeping my head down as I traversed one of the many reinforced rope bridges over the hundred-foot wide fissure that separated the inner-city from the residential. I was careful to keep my distance from any who passed in my vicinity, feeling strangely off-route.

For months, Id followed the same simple pattern. Anytime I went out in the evenings, I would walk through the lower end district out towards the entrance portal, taking a long winding path that wound around the portal itself towards the surface caverns. While the enclave might have been safer than most cities, it was still a city, and as such, outside the golden districts there was plenty of trouble for a child to stumble into at night.

But I wouldnt find what I was looking for in the wealthy districts or the surface caves. On the massive, burgeoning list of things I needed, most tantamount was information. The sorts of things that werent filtered through high-handed word of mouth and propagandized heralds. And to find that source, I first needed to find the pulse of the enclave.

If youre looking for the heart of a city, you need only follow the homeless.

Never underestimate the usefulness of a beggar. They are often looked down upon but rarely looked at, able to listen and observe where the average person would stand out like a fire at night. They form tight bonds with others of their kind and effortlessly construct the sort of information exchange many a spymaster would kill for, sheerly on the grounds of pursuing their own survival.

From my first impressions, it was clear that the enclave took better care of them than most. The truly wretched denizens of topside, those who were pockmarked and plague addled, bones protruding from pale skin, bleeding from open sores and mumbling with madness, were practically nonexistent here.

I saw a red infernal sleeping on a bedroll in open view from within an alley, his satchel in clear sight, held loosely within his arms. That he held his possessions tightly mattered less than the fact that he held them at all instead of stashing them somewhere. He was comfortable enough to sleep in the open without worry that anyone properly motivated and morally deficient might steal it from him.

This was as good of a place as any to start, and an opportunity to practice.

The nascent character Id been toying with began to take root. My name was Sontar Eltoris, half-elf. Id been separated from my sister Tamara years ago when we were both driven from our tribe on the account of our heritage. After assisting a minor arcane merchant lost in the Shawbury Bog, I had traveled with him, proving my worth in various ways. He eventually offered me a place as a servant. Thanks to his gratitude Id been allowed into the enclave. But the wages were poor and my patience had worn thin, and I now searched for a way to line my purse and continue the search for my lost sister, who, last I heard, had headed to Brelmore, a town known for being tolerant to our kind.

I tapped the man on the shoulder then immediately took a step backwards and crouched down, making myself look as friendly and unintimidating as possible.

Good evening my friend, I said, apologizing silently to Tamara for the shameless theft of her accent. Or should I say, good morning.

The man stirred slowly at first, then his eyes landed on my mask, and he jolted awake, rising to a sitting position. His left horn was chipped, black giving way to dull white.

Whadya want? He asked, his voice still bleary from sleep.

To apologize for rousing you from your slumber, but it was a necessary thing. I smiled at him. My face was covered, but hopefully, he could see it in my eyes. I reached within my purse, intentionally stirring it so it clinked heavily and pulled out a single silver. The mans fear faded to guarded interest. We have business to discuss.

Pure, unadulterated id was on full display, washed in radiant pinks and lumen-lit purples. There was more variety in this crowd than anywhere else in the enclave. Infernals, elves, and dwarves, all pushed together in a sea of bodies. Merchants peddled honey figs, stimulants, and performance enhancers, advertising their products shamelessly, often across the street from establishments with hackneyed names such as The Devils Tail, Demons Caress, and The Split Tongue. Masculine and feminine bodies gyrated on silver stages, dressed in skin-tight silks, silhouetted by too-bright lighting. The entire block was heavy with the scent of smoke and sweat and sex.

I felt my face growing red beneath my mask. Yes, Whitefall had its share of vice, but it was generally discreet and spread out amongst the city. The openness and scale of this place shocked me.

In the center square, a large, muscle-bound infernal laid supine on what looked like a physicians table. In a flash of horror, I thought he was strapped to it, before realizing that his binds, were handles he gripped voluntarily. A disinterested looking elf dressed in dark clothes and a brown leather apron selected a series of tools from a nearby standing tray and went to work on him, her back to me, blocking the view. The surrounding crowd cheered.

Feeling equal parts nauseous and curious, I circled around for a better look.

With a deft, practiced touch, she placed a series of glowing blue needles in a series of complex parallel patterns along his arm. The flesh within the patterns seemed to frost over, turning a dull gray. Then she began to carve the grayed section with a scalpel, removing the topmost layer of skin, revealing red beneath. I nearly gagged, but the crowd around me shouted and jeered as if this was nothing more than trite entertainment. The elf picked up something from the standing tray that looked like a chrome calligraphy pen. She dipped it in an inkwell and drew black lines across the edges of the open flesh. The man on the table began to writhe as, slowly, inky blackness filled the wound. By the time she finished, his left arm was discolored and swollen, covered in jagged demonic text.

The process was harrowing, and I now understood why Maya had reacted so strongly when I mentioned the possibility of inscription magic.

The duality of this place compared to the rest of the enclave was staggering. How exactly did this coexist alongside the respectable, scholarly city Id come to know? I had no idea what legal status of the flesh-trade was here, but was fairly certain the merchant peddling opiates out of a repurposed food stand had to be breaking a few laws. And was that banshee powder?

It was almost funny how unaffected I was by all of it. A year ago, I would have been thrilled, lost myself in this place, thrown myself face-first into it. Now, I wasnt even tempted.

Maybe it was because Lillian was alive.

Maybe Id just grown up.

All I could think of was what would happen at the end of the month if I failed.

Wading through the sea of bodies, I finally spotted the establishment I was looking for. A bar called the glistening gate. It was practically abandoned, save a cluster of drunken infernals in the back corner.

I asked for Persephone and was practically shoved into a connecting room.

A woman clad in a long flowing dress, printed with flowers, turned towards me, taking off a pair of glasses and closing the book in her lap. Half of her face was beautiful, with the dreamlike features of a Panthanian skywriter. The other half had the smoky black quality and bright blue eye of an asmodial demon. Her arm was dark, her fingers pointed.

My heart thudded in my chest.

Im very curious to know, She said, her voice throaty, Who told you my name and why?

Thinking back to the strangely informed little elvish girl, I realized I wanted an answer to that as well.