The Tale of The Exile Chapter List

In which Gaven Morren, a luckless thief, is sentenced to survive seven nights on the streets of the cursed and haunted city of Miir.


  
The First Night: Into The Shadows

In which the thief Gaven Morren is sentenced to Exile, and discovers the perils of Miir by night.



 
Part 1: The Sentence
Part 2: The Man in the Empty Room
Part 3: Miir By Night
Part 4: Lost
Part 5: Jolly Red Caps
Part 6: Jessamine
Part 7: The Shadows of Miir
Part 8: Over The Pen Wall
Part 9: Dawn


 
The Second Night: Through The Belly of Miir

In which Gaven Morren attempts egress through the sewers of Miir, with the help of another.




Part 1: Swallowed Down
Part 2: Another Version of The Truth
Part 3: Fortunes
Part 4: Saints and Jokers
Part 5: There's No Place Like Home
Part 6: Vermin
Part 7: The Nest
Part 8: You Make Your Own Hell
Part 9: Pain and Penance

 
 The Third Night: Le Cirque d'Aberrations

In which Gaven is captured by the nobility of Miir, and shown just how noble they really are.



 
Part 1: Purple Haze
Part 2: Ziggy Stardust
Part 3: Play Me Backwards
Part 4: Being For The Benefit of Mr. Kite
Part 5: Helter Skelter
Part 6: How To Make A Monster
Part 7: Blue Jay Way
Part 8: Gallows Pole

 
 The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare

In which Gaven Morren faces shadows both external and internal.





 
Part 1: White Rabbit
Part 2: Break On Through
Part 3: Smoke On The Water
Part 4: One
Part 5: Happiness is a Warm Gun
Part 6: Die, Die My Darling
Part 7: Revolution 9
Part 8: One Step Closer (NEW!)


See also the Cast of Characters.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 8)

Part 8: One Step Closer

“Number nine...number nine...number nine...number nine....number nine...”

Everything aches. I've had time to rest, let the adrenaline wear off, and as it goes the pain comes. Nothing's broken, hail god, but that just makes my thrashing feel that much more humiliating. I shouldn't have let myself get drawn into that stupid monkey dance with Gotz. I should have just run when I had the chance.

The cell is dark, but I still have those fireglass chips. I pour them out. Multicolored shards color the padded walls with light. There's a cot and a chamber pot, and the room has that stink you only get when you stick a man in one place for years and years. The guy in the next cell just will not shut up. He's been repeating that dragon-taken number since I got here.

This is a crazy place. It's bad for the mind. It's bad for the soul.

“Number nine...number nine...number nine...number nine...”

I ignore the rambler and pick up the shards. I've got five. Each is a different color—your standard orange and yellow, a deep red, green and purple. I have no idea how the elves got the fireglass tinted that way...it doesn't look like a glaze. The red one isn't even fireglass. It's a crystal, not a glass, faceted instead of chipped. It's odd, and probably worth a nice bundle out in the world.

Here, all it does is keep the Shadows at bay. I arrange the shards into a semicircle around me and lean against the padded wall. I want to sleep. My body is bruised and I just don't have much to get up for at the moment, but if I nod off the Shadows might come and get me. Jereth's promises to keep me safe are a load of dragonshit. Being inside in his nice little prison didn't keep that whispering darkness or that grim figure with the rope from stalking me half the night. Running and hiding from the Shadows isn't going to do me any good. I need to find a way to fight them.

“Number nine...number nine...number nine...”

Great. Wonderful. Easier said than done. How am I supposed to fight supernatural forces of evil? Boil it, what do I even know about these things that would be the slightest bit useful?

“Number nine...number nine...”

“And god's tits, would you JUST SHUT UP for a moment so I can think!?” I shout at the wall.

“Sod off, ye tosser!” the fellow on the other side lobs back.

“Cork it up your mother's backside with a plowhorse!”

“Least I know who me mother is! Yer the son of a thousand fathers, all bastards like you!”

“I'd rather be the son of a thousand bastards than a whorespawned git of a three-legged goat like you!”

“Ye come over here and say that, ye son of a bitch-dog!”

“What do you expect me to do? Tunnel through the wall with a spoon?”

There's a pause, and then we both break out laughing. “Well played, sor!” the man behind the wall says. “Well played.”

It's been months since I played the snaps with anyone. Anyone I insult in Miir takes it deadly serious. For a moment, it's not so dark.

“So if you don't mind my askin', what is so important yer thinkin' about that you have to interrupt a perfectly good madness mumble?”

“I'm trying to figure out how to kill the Shadows.”

Silence. Then, “Cor. Ye don't think small, do ye now?”

I lean against the pads. “Can't really afford to. I'm an Exile.”

There's a chuckle. “Well, I suppose that would do it. Maybe I can 'elp. Care to bounce some thoughts off me, see what sticks?”

“And how can I trust you?”

“I ain't the nutter talkin' to a wall, mate.”

“Point taken.” I begin smudging the floor with my finger, jotting thoughts down. “I suppose the big problem is that I just don't know what these Shadows actually are. Everyone I’ve talked to has given me a different sodding story. Demons, the sins of man, delusions, living stories...which am I supposed to believe?”

“Well, what is it ye know about them?”

“Not enough.” I sigh, then start sketching things out on the tiles. “They can make people see things. They can possess the dead. They can turn floors and walls into goo to trap people. They can take scary forms. They can be summoned by name. They can be solid or insubstantial. They can be in one place, then another. They don't like the sun. Lights go dim when they're around. They can make you lost.”

“Can all of them do all those things?”

I stop writing. “Good question. Maybe the Shadows each have different powers.”

“How many different Shadows have ye seen?”

I squiggle a quick tally. “Hmm. Naros, the Other inside Jessamine, that Despair creature, the Hangman, the other Exile...” and possibly Aeila, too. “Five or six in all.”

“Do they all do all them things ye mentioned?”

“Another good question.” I start drawing some connecting lines. “Most of them can just appear. I think most of them dim lights. The Other didn't do either of those, come to think about it, but it was the only one that possessed anyone.” Did Aelia dim lights around her? Every time I saw the lights dim tonight, she was there, but so were other Shadows. That's inconclusive. “Only Naros has attacked me physically.” I touched Aelia, though. She's the only one I've touched. The Other was inside Jessamine, Despair melted surfaces around me, the Hangman hasn't gotten close enough to strike...except that once, when he attacked Aelia instead. He could have gone after me, but didn't. Why did he go after her?

“And making ye see things?”

I can't be sure. I think Naros was behind the maze when I first tried to escape from his fetch quest. I think Despair was behind the other maze, before the Other confronted it. I don't know which Shadows were responsible for Eric and I being lost in the Belly, or for Aelia and I being lost in the mansion's halls.

If Aelia is a Shadow, she could have been misleading me, keeping me away from Jereth. But she seemed genuinely confused and upset by winding up in the wrong place when we came to the courtyard. The Hangman set that trap.

“Do ye suppose the Shadows are a unified force, or bicker among themselves?”

I make some more marks. Naros was chasing the Other to keep it from leaving. The Other chased away Despair. Naros couldn't simply appear and take Jessamine away from me...he demanded I hand her over. He also told me NOT to interfere with Eric's suicide attempt. He claimed he was keeping the other Shadows away from me. The Exile claimed he was tapped to help me because the Saints weren't allowed. Despair moved in for the kill only after I invoked the Hangman. Despair attacked me the first night, despite Naros assuring me he was keeping the other Shadows at bay, but the Hangman only appeared after he stopped helping me. Aelia helped me attack Despair, and the Hangman strangled her. Did he attack her because she helped me?

“There's something here.” I make a few more marks. “There's lot of pieces, but I think they're coming together. Give me a few more questions...I've got to write this all down.”

“Write? With what? What could ye possibly be using for ink, sor?”

A horrible chill raises all the little hairs up my back as I look down at my notes. The tiles are stained with crimson words and lines and diagrams. The bandages on my right hand are dripping red. I must have torn one of the stitches in my hand. The other exile was found surrounded by bloody writing...

I fight down the urge to retch again. Oh God in Heaven. Oh Dragon Below.

“Ain't that a kick in the 'ead? Ye're awful quiet in there, sor. 'Ad a fright, 'ave ye? It 'appens, 'ere in the madhouse. Makes ye want to scream an' scream an' scream 'til there ain't nothing left in your lungs but pain and the certainty that yer a broken wreck. Go ahead and scream about it, if ye like. No one'll come. That's why these walls are padded, ye know. T'ain't for our benefit. Oh no. It's so them pointies don't 'ave to listen to us. So they can forget about us 'til we're needed. That's the point o' them 'aving these cells 'ere in the first place, sor. They ain't takin' care o' Dreamers out o' the kindness o' their 'earts. We're just a bunch o' tools, stashed away 'til we can be useful.”

I stare at the bloody marks all over my floor. One part of my brain is trying to hide comprehension of what I'm staring at from the rest of it to keep me from freaking out entirely. It's not doing that good a job. I'm going to wind up like that empty-eyed Exile, babbling insanity and bleeding to death, my last words a bunch of bloody marking that won't make sense to any person that finds me. Just scribblings of doom to be talked about for centuries. My life forgotten. The real me swept away forever.

“And would that be such a bad thing?” The voice from the wall says. “You're not a good person, you know. Hardly worth being remembered at all. You're a robber and a murderer.”

“What the fuck do you know about it?” I scream at the wall. “What the fuck do you know about anything?”

“I know you're a parasite, Gaven.” The wall says back. It's getting very dark in here. “You take what is not yours because you believe the world owes you for your wretched beginnings. You justify it by telling yourself that you only take from those who have extra to spare. You do not see those people, Gaven. You only see what they can do for you. You take from them because you believe they don't deserve it. But what have you ever done to earn what you take?”

“Stop it!” I shout. The fireglass is barely glowing. Only the red crystal still shines with any strength. “Just shut up!”

“You had the chance to give it all up. To walk away. You knocked up that pretty girl, said you'd take care of her and the baby.” The begins to bulge in towards me. Stretching as something from beyond tries to push through. “You said you loved her. You lied, Gaven. You lied.”

“No!” I scramble towards the furthest corner away from the deformed wall, trying to squeeze myself into the cracks and hide away. “No! You're wrong!”

Wrong? Why did you really keep up your jobs on the side? You could have been a better shopkeeper if you'd put in the effort. But it was easier to keep burgling, wasn't it? Easier to just hurt others, take the things they earned through the sweat of their brow and feed yourself and your family. And if you'd had your way, you'd have just fed yourself, isn't that right?

“No...” I pull myself into a ball and shiver. That thing can't be right. It's not! I'm not this horrible man it's describing...

You're not? Tell that to the elf girl you traumatized, the one who tried to tell you the truth and who in your madness you almost destroyed. You didn't want to believe her, so you turned on her. No better than a dockside thug after all...

“NO!” I won't let this thing win. I won't! I grab the chamberpot. Large, round, iron. It's not going to do a dragon-taken thing to the monster in the wall...but there's the fireglass. All of them dim, except the red crystal. The red crystal shines as bright as it did when I pulled it out of the wall. It's not all light that goes away when the Shadows come after all.

Light. I need more light. Need to keep it away! I grab the nearest fireglass chip and start striking it against the chamberpot. Sparks bloom, fly, vanish. Need something else...the padding! I start flicking the sparks at the batting, and I'm rewarded when it catches. Flame licks its way up the wall. The thing stops pushing its way through, begins to retreat. I've done it! I've...

I've set my fucking room on fire.

I hear a chuckle in my mind. Congratulations, Gaven. Very clever. What are you going to do now?

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 7)

Part 7: Revolution 9

I notice two things when I wake. I can breathe again, and my neck really hurts. I'm very, very relieved to be breathing. So very relieved I'm not dead. I could even move, if I had a mind to. Of course, I don't really want to as I’m already being moved. My neck and shoulders hurt because someone has my arms and is pulling me across the floor.

“Sodding ash-sucking fires of fate,” comes a growl from above my left shoulder. My clothes slide against the smooth tiles of the floor, slightly warm from the speed. “Of all the cells to pop open in the rumble why'd it have to be this sack of shit?”

“I can't say, Gotz,” says a voice to my right. So two people are hauling me, then. “Maybe it's just that poor luck you complain about all the time. Maybe the Shadows did it to spite you. Punishment for your sins.”

“My sins ain't the ones they should be feedin' on,” says the grumbler. “He killed Cobb. He ought to die a thousand tiny deaths for that. I still can't believe Lord Dythanus won't let me do what's proper and stick the gully bastard.”

Bullyboys. Great. Just what I needed right now. I briefly consider leaping up and knocking them around because I'm still lightheaded and stupid from whatever Aelia did to me, but blessed merciful sanity stops me before the idea gets me killed.

They haven't searched me - I can still feel my pouch of chipped fireglass bits flapping against my leg - but I have no weapons and I ache too much to really want to give attacking them a go. Mostly I just want to sleep. Put this whole night behind me. Refresh my brain and plan things out better without the Dreamlily to mess everything up.

I don't think that's much of an option, though. The Shadows can get at me anywhere. I'm sure Despair hasn't forgotten about me, and The Hangman might be lurking around any corner, ready to make me swing...

If they catch me in an enclosed space, I'm probably done for. And the bullyboys are dragging me right back to where I started.

I let out a sigh slow enough that the bullyboys don't notice I'm awake. As poorly as I'm feeling, I'm going to have to try and escape anyway.

I crack an eye open and do my best to stifle my flinch at the sudden light. I let the eye adjust before carefully opening the other, then wait for that flare to die down as well. I look about as best I can without raising my head. The Bullyboys seem too engrossed in their conversation about how much I deserve to be stabbed to pay much attention to me.

The bullyboy to my left has thick legs shoved into thick boots. He has a long, heavy stride. He's probably the larger of the two. I recognize his voice as the bodyguard who threatened to pull my guts out and feed them to me earlier.

The other one, to my right, has thin legs and soft, well-made shoes. He moves with effort, digging his heels into the ground to heft my weight. I'm guessing he hasn't had to pull much deadweight in his life. He's probably a manservant from his fine shoes. He might be an elf, I can't tell from down here, but he doesn't sound like one. I got the impression from Aelia that all the elves in Miir are nobles, and even a minor lordling wouldn't put up with the way the guard on my left is speaking to him.

“-collecting debtors, chasing escaped Dreamers all over the Lair...this is dog's work, Udo! Kostjak or Chevin should be doing this, not me!”

“Maybe Lord Jereth is giving you a reward for your loyal service by ordering you about personally, Gotz. Or maybe you should consider these last few days the next time you think of playing jack and trump while on duty. Be that as it may-”

Dreamers. Plural. I'm not the only one out of their cell. That means I might have an enemy of my enemy to work with, or at least someone else to cause a distraction to cover an escape. Either way, it's something.

I risk raising my head to catch a glimpse of where we're heading. I catch sight of a stairwell heading down into darkness. This isn't the way I came. There were no stairs I can recall between my cell and the infirmary Aelia patched me up in. If they're taking me to a cell, it's not the one I was stuck in before.

The bullyboys aren't gentle pulling me down the stairs, but I don't wait for them to bang my shins on every step down. As soon as I feel the first drop I tense, drawing my knees in and pushing against the steps while yanking my arms in to break the grips holding me.

It half works. The skinny guy in the poofy clothes screams like a little girl and drops my arm the instant I start thrashing about. The burly one on my left, however, has a grip like a vice. My sudden leap into the unknown unbalances him, and as he tries to keep me from squirming away he takes a step backward. Into empty air. We go tumbling.

We bounce down the stairwell. I feel a dozen steps slap against my spine. We collapse in a heap at the bottom. Somewhere in the tumble the big guy let me go, so I spring to my feet...and instantly regret it as a wave of dizziness crashes over me. I see spots and my stomach lurches, doubling me over. I don't have anything to throw up though so the retch just hurts. By the time my dizziness is gone so is the element of surprise.

The burly bullyoby finds his feet. From up top I hear the patter of coward's feet, so it's just us right now in the gloomy hall. He snorts like a ram and gives me a bloodshot death glare.

“So...Gotz, is it?” I say. “Good name. Fits your smell.” Then I slap his face with my good hand and try to duck back up the stair.

“GRAGH!” he bellows and charges, which is just what I had in mind. Angry fighters are stupid fighters. I duck away from his lurching grabs, sticking my foot out to trip him up as I do. He goes crashing into a heavy metal door and I realize we're in a hallway full of cells. Great. I don't see any way out except the way we just came, and there isn't much for me to work with. It's also hard to move quickly with just one boot on.

So I solve both my problems by stripping off my remaining shoe to use as a weapon.

Gotz gives another inarticulate roar and rushes me again, so I duck him again and start smacking at him with the hardened heel of my makeshift club. I can't tell if I'm doing more than raising welts, but he's certainly not thinking straight enough to get a good grab on me. I spy an open cell door...perhaps I can lure him there, shut him in. Then I can head upstairs and deal with his friend before he brings half the mansion down here.

Another rush. This one silent, determined. I shove my hand into the boot for better leverage and whack the heel across his face, sending him stumbling back. Blood pours out of his nose, and he rubs his jaw. I half expect him to spit a tooth out. He glares at me, but I think he's wised up. I step back towards the open door. He doesn't follow immediately.

“There's nowhere for you to go, Exile.” He says, moving toward me slowly. “Give up now, and I won't have to break you into pieces. Personally, though, I hope you resist and give me the excuse.”

“You and what army?” I say, matching his steps, backing toward the cell. “You aren't so tough when you can't sneak up and brain someone from behind, are you? Just another dumb bullyboy caught without his stick.”

He lunges again, and I dance to the side, but this time he moves with me and I realize he was feinting. His thick hands close on my wrist. He lurches, and I'm raised off my feet and into the opposite wall with a BANG!

“Thieves!” Someone screams from inside the cell. “Killers! Assassins! You'll never get me! I'll cut out your eyes with a spoon!”

Like a spreading plague, the screams spawn other screams, yells, and curses from the cells around us.

“No! Can't stop here! This is bat country!”

“...in my broken chair, my wings are broken and so is my hair...”

“Merciful Saints! What are all these goddamn animals?”

“...like being naked...”

“...number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine...”

“There's no earthly way of knowing which direction we are going...”

“...if you become naked...”

“...the girl! The girl with empty eyes! Follow her!”

“Is it raining? Is it snowing? Is old Mount Morrine a-blowing?”

All the screams and singing and weeping of a dozen Dreamers pouring into the air...it's suffocating. I hardly feel the next couple of blows, so lost am I in the madness, tugging at me like a foul tide, sweeping me away...I roll on my side, sucking back sobs...

I come back to myself after the third punch to my kidney knocks my face into the wall, splitting my lip open. I'm curled on the floor, gasping for air, with the huge bullyboy crouched over me, one hand shoving my head down while the other slams me to paste. I try to kick him in the dangles but he shifts his leg in time to catch my foot against his thigh.

So I do the next best thing I can think of to get out of his hold. I bite his thumb.

His bellows aren't much louder than the racket surrounding us, but he loosens his grip enough for me to wiggle free. My guts ache and I think I'm going to be pissing blood tomorrow but I'm free, scrambling toward the empty cell. I pull myself up on the door. I can still win this. I just need to get him there...

And then he's in my face again, all bloody-faced and wild-eyed, snarling like a street dog, and I swing the door between us to keep him at bay. He doesn't slow down, just uses his momentum to turn the door into a weapon against me, slamming me off my feet. I go skidding across the floor, and he's right behind me as I flop around. He grabs me, hauls me into the air...everything seems to slow...my hands clutch at his arms, desperate to get purchase...and then he drives me front first into the stone tiles. I see stars.

By the time the stars clear, he's rolled me onto my back and gathered me up in a painful pin, and he's counting. “...two...THREE.” He begins to laugh. “It's all over, whorespawn.” He twists my arm and I can't help but shriek. “Give me any more trouble and I'll break it off. Got that, cocksucker?”

“YES!” I cry as he twists again. “Please! Anything! Just stop!”

He gives the arm another yank just to hear me squeal again, then drops me out of the pin, grabs my shirt, and heaves me into the open cell. The door clanks shut behind me, and he laughs again as he locks it. The other madmen in the cells along the corridor echo his noise with babbling, cackling, hooting mockery, echoing my shame throughout the hall.

Revisionism

Welcome to the new site design!

I've had a sudden rush of creative energy, so I'm dusting things off and going back in and performing some surgery on the site. Expect changes.

So far, I've got two new chapters of The Third night: Welcome To My Nightmare up, with a third in the works. Yay for new writing!

Along with that, I'm taking a critical eye to the older chapters. I've gone through the first two nights and worked to de-twitterize them. I will probably do much more revision on them, but the part of the story that's getting the most love is the first half of The Third Night, Le Cirque d'Abberations.

I've been heavily revising this section for months, and soon I'm going to post those changes, removing the old versions in the process. I think the new stuff is cleaner, more interesting, and shows off the hallucination bits much better than the previous draft, but I'll let readers (all 6 of you) judge for yourselves when I post them up. I'll give them all new timestamps when they're done and ready for viewing.

I'm seizing this creative burst for as long as I can maintain it. I've been creatively barren for far too long.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 6)

Part 6: Die, Die My Darling

“Gaven...” Aelia whispers. She can't do much more than that. I have her pinned against the wall with my right arm just under her breasts. I stare into her eyes. Tears are welling up. Her slitted pupils are locked on the blade. “Please...please do not hurt me...”

“They say elves all look alike.” I say. “They say it's difficult to tell them apart. That's dragondung.” She squirms against my arm. “Stop that.” I growl, pressing the blade into her neck, just enough that I'm not quite cutting the skin. She quits moving. “Where was I? Ah, right. Elves don't all look alike, any more than humans do. You said there aren't that many elves in Miir. I buy that. But even with some inbreeding, House Dythanus still has enough members to have one great big extended family. Enough to match the other houses, at least. Am I right?”

“Gaven...” She whispers again.

“That's what I thought. That would mean, what, two hundred elves or so?”

“Yes.” She says. A tear rolls down her cheek. “Gaven, please...”

“So I have to wonder why, with two hundred elves in this mansion, I've been seeing you everywhere I've been. Everywhere. You were there when I was being put back together after my trip through the belly. When I woke you handed me the painkiller. You helped dress me when I was summoned. I threatened to skin you to get my hat back. When I saw that ghost thing, you were the one who came at my screams.”

“That is...my job...” she whispers.

I giggle. It's not funny. Why am I laughing? By the Dragon, why can't I stop?

“I threatened to skin you, Aeila. Why by God and the Dragon would you come within a hundred feet of me after that? You had every reason in the world to just let one of the other nurses deal with me. And yet there you were just after the earthquake. I threatened your life again. I threatened the life of your lord. You could have left while I was busy with the Shadows.”

“I...I did ask you...to let me go...” she says. She's crying freely now.

“Yes you did. You asked me to let you go.” I giggle again. Stop that, Gaven! Stop it now! Oh god, I'm cracking up. “You did. Why? Why ask my permission? Why did you need it?”

“I...you are dangerous...I wanted to protect...”

“NO! I wanted you around! To protect others from me. You wanted to leave, and I wouldn't let you, so you stayed. You even told me about Lady Sylvia, when I wanted to go and throttle Jereth. An interesting plan. Go tattle to Jereth's mommy. Is she even real, or was that just a wild goose chase, to keep me out of trouble?”

“She is...she is Jereth's mother...he will listen to her...I didn't lie...”

“Didn't lie about that. But you lied about the candlestick. You lied about The Shadows not being able to hurt me. They did hurt me. And they killed you.”

“N-no...that was...delirium...”

“NO! No it wasn't! The Hangman came, wrapped a rope around your neck and dragged you up a wall!”

“Gaven, I am alive. I am! I am right here in front of you...Gaven, please...” she weeps. “Please do not do this...I have only ever tried to help you...”

“And yet, when I wasn't paying attention, when I was cutting my hand to ribbons, there you were. As if nothing had happened. Telling ME nothing happened! You didn't walk up to me, though. I didn't see you walk out of any door. You just appeared. Like a ghost. Like one of the Shadows themselves.”

“Please...please do not pursue...”

“Pursue what, Aelia? Pursue this line of thought? Don't think about The Shadows, because thinking about them gives them power? But what does that mean about you? You've been practically begging me to think of you by name. To trust you. To believe in you. Why would you need me to do that?”

“Gaven, don't hurt me...” she sobs. “It's the delirium that makes you say these things. The delirium!”

“Are you a Shadow, Aelia? That eyeless, pleading ghost I saw before...is that your true form? If I cut you, will you even bleed?”

“Please...” she whispers. Her tears are soaking a tiny patch on my shirt sleeve. She squeezes her eyes shut. “...please don't rape me.”

What?

Revelation kicks me in the gut. I see it all as if looking through the eyes of God above: the girl shoved against the corner, the lunatic with a knife to her throat, too close...Will you even bleed?

This isn't me...I'm not this person! I lean away, lowering the scalpel. I'm not...some alley mugger, some dockside monster waiting to get his jollies off on some poor innocent in the wrong place at the wrong time. This must be the Dreamlily...please let it be the Dreamlily making me do this...

“Aelia, I'm...Dragon Below, I'm sorry...” I say, removing my arm from across her chest, letting her free. Aelia looks at me with those huge, huge eyes.

As soon as she's able to move, her arm whips up, her hand snaking to the joint where my neck meets the shoulder. She squeezes...and my body goes numb. Nothing works. I'm paralyzed! I can't move...can't breathe...the blade clatters from my useless fingers. With a gentle push she sends me crashing to the floor...everything's spinning...I’m gasping for air like a salmon pulled into a fisherman's boat, flopping around...

I see her feet in motion, heading away from me. Something red drips down her legs. She's still sobbing as she runs. Did I cut her any? I don't think so...

I struggle to stand, to breathe, to cry out, but everything is spinning and my head is far, far too light...it's easier to just pass out, so I do.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 5)

Part 5: Happiness is a Warm Gun

As much as I'd like to revel in my not-being-buried-aliveness, I need to keep moving. I did call up the hangman, after all. The best place to be if he shows up is anywhere else. I haul myself out of the pool and run across to courtyard to the door Aelia was heading for.

Poor Aelia.

But since I don't want to share her horrible death, I can't take the time to mourn her. Got to keep moving. But where should I go from here?

Siccing Jereth's beloved sister/mother on him is still the best plan I have to get out of whatever it is he wants me to do. She sounds like a very important person, though. Likely to be heavily guarded. I think Aelia was going to make the introductions. Without her, getting an audience with the "Godmother" is going to be tricky. But hey, I'm a thief. Getting places people don't want me to be is what I do.

Off again, down the lovely pottery halls, now cracked and less lovely thanks to the quake. Repairing this place will cost a fortune. Time for a little profitable vandalism. Thanks to the cracks, the fireglass shards in the mosaics are easy to chip out. Behind the ceramic, the wall is mortared basalt bricks. Just like the rest of life, the pretty facade is built on the support of the common.

I wander through the halls unescorted and alone, admiring the high arches, statues, and mosaic patterns. No destination, no immediate danger, no Hangman, no elves. It's good to relax for a few minutes. Come to think of it, where are all the elves? Or the servants? Or guards? These halls are conspicuously empty. They can't still be eating, can they?

Dragon take it. Let them eat their fowl and cake and wine and whatever else. I wish now I'd eaten more of that dinner, but there's nothing to be done about that. I lean against the wall, then slide down and sit.

All my wounds decide to remind me they're still around. There's the bruised rib on my side from the first night, reduced to a dull ache when I breathe. There is the slice in my arm from a Redcap's razor, bound and treated by the guards. There's the spear stab on my left thigh, hurting when I prod it. There are cuts, scrapes, and bruises from dropping from great heights into pools of not quite fresh water in The Belly. There's a lump on the back of my head from where the bullyboy's club knocked me out. On top is another lump I don't remember picking up.

And then there is my hand. My poor burned hand. I play with the bandages on it, unwrapping it and trying to rewrap it for comfort. At least I don't think it's on fire anymore. But by God and the Dragon, it itches.

I absently scratch as my burns with the glass shard. Ah. That's a bit better, but not by much. It's the kind of itch that goes deep. I keep at it. The prickle continues...I could scratch until I bleed, until the skin parts and the muscle falls off, peel it to the bone...I look at my hand, watch the cartilage crack, see the fingerbones glisten red in the fireglass light, hear the crackle as they move.

I raise my skinned hand at Aelia.

"Look!" I grin, and wave my pretty fingerbones at the elf standing over me as she stares down, aghast.

"What are you doing to yourself, sir?" she says. "Get up. You need to get that seen to before you bleed to death." She pulls me to my feet.

My head spins. I stagger a little and try to focus on her. "Aelia? Aren't you dead?"

"What a foolish question that is. Now be quiet, sir. You are distressing me." Fair enough. She leads me to a room with three beds, a cabinet filled with jars of powders and pills, and a table of carefully arranged sharp implements. "Lie down." she instructs.

I eye the pointy tools nervously. If she's at all upset about me holding a glass shard to her neck, there's easy revenge to be had here...

She follows my gaze and gives a sort of sigh down her nose. "Sir, If I am to help you you will need to trust that I will do so. Do not worry. I am a professional. I would not intentionally harm one under my care."

That isn't all that comforting, but my hand has gone numb and I can't tell if my fingers move when I try to wiggle them. I take to the bed. She moves over to a basin, washes her hands, then pulls out a small device like a tin whistle.

"Inhale, please." She says. I do. She puffs into the whistle, and a small cloud of white powder dusts my face. It smells sweet...I think of snowflakes again, and go limp.

The dust doesn't put me under fully. I feel like I'm looking down from the ceiling, watching her work on someone else. She daubs the lacerations I put in my hand with some sort of ointment, then threads a needle and begins to stitch. I lose count after a dozen. She wraps my hand in a clean bandage, tossing the remains of my old one in a bin, then pours something in a glass and lifts it to my lips. I don't want to swallow, but it's that or choke. This, too, is sweet, almost cloying, with a bitter aftertaste.

After a few minutes the haze in my head clears. And with clarity comes questions. "What happened? How did you escape the Hangman? Where is everyone else? Will my hand be alright?"

She tilts her head at me, her face blank. "What hangman?"

"The...the Hangman.” I wave my hand at her...ow. That was a mistake. “The rope...he yanked into the air...your eyes bulged...I thought you were dead..." Relief, confusion, and suspicion all war inside me, rattling around with the questions I can't quite form.

She tilts her head the other way. "Gaven, there was no hangman. We were crossing the courtyard when you panicked, then jumped into the pool. You hit the other wall, and I could not wake you. I went to find help because I could not move you, then returned to find you in the hall." She makes that hand gesture again. "There was nothing else there. It was just a phantom of the delirium, a shadow in your mind."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. Why was she lying to me? I didn't imagine The Hangman. I didn't conjure being buried alive. Too much is wrong. There's still grime beneath my fingers from clawing at the wall. My left boot is missing. And at least an hour passed from the time I saw her yanked up the wall to the time I tricked the shadow into turning the wall to jelly.

I slap the tray of surgical tools with my bad hand. My fingers close around a scalpel.

She shrieks as I leap at her. My weight bears her to the wall. I don't have some broken glass at her throat this time...it's polished steel. Sharp enough to cut a finger off, let alone sever an artery.

“You need to tell me the truth, Aelia.” I say. I'm calm. I'm distant. I'm a thousand miles away. “By God and the Dragon, I will slit your throat and leave you bleeding unless you tell me the truth. Right now.”

Cast of Characters

Gaven Morren - Our hero. Gaven is a thief from the far-away city of Calisapas, who made the mistake of getting caught in a crime in Miir and then made the worse mistake of accepting the punishment of Exile to The Shadows.

Jessamine Weiss/The Other - A teenage girl possessed by a dangerous spirit tying to escape Miir. She and Gaven team up and try to escape together. Naros has a mysterious interest in her.

Eric Weiss - One of the city guards. Promises to help Gaven escape Miir, as he feels Exile is a punishment that shouldn't be inflicted on anyone. Is also running from his own past.

Lord Jereth Dythanus - One of Miir's nobles. Captured Gaven after he tried to escape Miir through the sewers. Has plans of some sort for Gaven, which the thief isn't keen on learning about. Poisoned Gaven with a hallucinogen to convince him to remain in his custody for a night.

Aelia Dythanus - A nurse of the Physician's Guild of Miir, who acts as Gaven's guide after being taken hostage by the thief during a bout of drug-fueled paranoia.

The Shadows - Legendary monsters of Miir, shrouded in myth. No one can agree if they are ghosts, demons, manifestations of the evil in men's hearts, or figments of people's imaginations. They are the primary antagonists of the story.

Naros Miir - One of The Shadows. Manifests as a pale man with dark hair and eyes hidden in shadow, clad in noble finery and smelling of rose perfume. Has an interest in Gaven, and has offered him several deals to reduce the horrors the thief will face during his sentence in exchange for questionable acts; thus far, Gaven has refused his temptations.

Despair - One of The Shadows. Has no physical form; instead, Despair manifests as a free-roaming patch of darkness that "speaks." Typically attempts to break its victim's will before it strikes.

The Hangman - One of The Shadows. Manifests as a silent, muscular man wearing an executioner's mask with no eyeholes and carrying a rope tied in a noose. May be a manifestation of Miirian justice.

The Exile - One of The Shadows. Is the manifestation of Exile, and, as such, has a vested interest in keeping Gaven alive, though his ability to interfere is limited by whatever rules govern The Shadows.

The Jester - A Caliban, a person twisted and deformed by magic. The ringmaster of Le Cirque d'Aberrations, a twisted circus where troublemakers are tortured for the pleasure of Miir's nobility. It is said he likes to humble the proud.

Le Cirque d'Aberrations - a troupe of performers composed of Caliban, people twisted and deformed by magic. The main attraction of their shows are troublemakers tortured for the pleasure of Miir's nobility.

The Bullyboys - A band of thugs in the employ of Jereth Dythanus.

Gotz Rammstien -  Leader of Jereth Dythanus' squad of bullyboys, bulky and strong. Holds a personal grudge against Gaven after the thief kills one of his friends.

Cobb - A bullyboy in Jereth Dythanus's employ.

The Redcaps - Murderous goblins that hunt the streets of Miir at night. Gaven has several unpleasant run-ins with them.

Tommy - Treacherous Redcap guide who leads Gaven and Eric into peril.

Miir - The City of Shadows, a hub of trade between Demurra and Ivthia. The setting of the story. Some people say the city is haunted by dark spirits known as The Shadows. Some say the city itself is alive.

The Tale of The Exile -- The Third Night: Welcome To My Nightmare (Part 4)

Part 4: One

Trapped.

Trapped in darkness. Five hundred heartbeats spent screaming. A thousand spent clawing at the wall. Two thousand trying to dig at it with the glass shard. The masonry is solid. The mortar is strong. Nothing except a sledgehammer will get me through that.

So I leave it, turn to the other end. At first I'm hopeful. There's a faint, smelly breeze. A tiny hole, in between the heaps of rock. I won't suffocate. But it's cold comfort.

The stones have been wedged too tight. That hole is barely large enough for me to stick a hand through. I have no leverage. If I had...Not helpful. If wishes were lockpicks, all thieves would be be rich. There's no way I'm going to get out of here by myself. I'll be here until I starve.

Naros. I could call on Naros. I'd owe him. I hate the thought, but not more than the thought of my skeleton mouldering away here, unknown for ages.

"Naros! Naros of Miir! I summon you! Please!" Well, there's the call. Now I wait. I count my heartbeats. Sixty. Three hundred. Six hundred. I'm beginning to think he's not going to come. "Naros! By God and The Dragon, Naros, please! I need your help!"

Eight hundred...Twelve hundred...Finally! There's the clink of his silver chain, on the other side of the cave-in. I catch a whiff of rose perfume over the dank sewer air. I scramble up to the hole, peeking through. I can just barely make him out.

"Naros! Please! I'll do whatever you want, just get me out of here!"

There's a liquid chuckle. "Oh, my! Gaven Morren, actually begging me for help. What's the matter, my friend? What can I do for you?"

"Look, I don't care what it costs me, Naros. You win. I'll do whatever you ask, just get me out of this hole!" I grit my teeth.

"No."

It takes a moment to sink in. "What!?"

"You do understand the concept of No, don't you? After all the help I offered, which you rejected? Poor Gaven. You spent so much effort spitting in my face, only to realize now what it was I was protecting you from. Did you really think that a magic maze, a few redcaps, and a band of thugs were the worst the Shadows had to offer? And now you're the victim of forces you cannot understand and cannot fight, bereft of the protection that spared you before. MY protection. My protection, which was freely offered for such a minor favor, the barest hint of compensation for the incredible risk I took on your behalf. How little you valued it! How often you scorned it! And now, right when you need it most, you are without it. Look where it's gotten you."

"Are you done gloating yet?" I say. I try to keep from growling. "You're right, I was wrong. Can we put that behind us and get me out now?"

"I'm sorry, Gaven. Even if I were inclined to do so, I am forbidden from interfering in this. You are in the hands of other Shadows now."

"You FUCK! You spineless git of a three-legged goat! You pox-ridden spawn of a jackal! You bastard sack of dragondung! You can't do this!"

"Goodbye, Gaven. You were an entertaining Exile, but you're finished. And better men than you have 'disappeared' in such a fashion. Perhaps the Saints can help you, but I strongly doubt it. It would be a waste of your time to try. Good luck to you." He walks away.

"No!"

He's gone. Dragon take it all. I curl into a corner and cry.

Time passes. Can't tell how much. There aren't any more tears. Just clarity. I take stock of what I have with me. One shard of jagged glass. Two fireglass gems shaped like eyes. Torn and dirty clothes. My cap. Rocks. No food. No water. No hope. I look over the jagged shard, and wonder if I really have the strength to end it before I die of starvation.

And what else is there? There's no way out of this. You will need to make this decision sooner or later. Wouldn't it be better this way?

I stiffen. I hadn't noticed the fireglass dimming this time, but that voice in my mind was not my own. "You again. Come to gloat?"

I'm here to claim what's mine. What should have been mine when first we met. But this isn't about me. I have what I want. You will die here. We both know this. I can wait. It doesn't matter to me how slowly or quickly I take you, just that you're mine now. So the question then becomes how long do you think you can hold out, until you do what you know you must? You've seen what slow starvation does. The agony of that sort of death, as your own body begins to eat itself and you slowly fall apart. Will you try to face that end out of some misplaced sense of nobility or craven cowardice? Or will you end your troubles now, while your limbs still have the strength?

I twiddle the glass shard in my fingers as I contemplate the shadow's words. Is there really no other way out of this? No hope at all? I study the face in the reflection. There are parts that are familiar, recognizable. But when I try to put the face together, my mind rebels. Is that really my mouth, twisted and bitter? Were my cheeks so gaunt and hollow before? Can I claim that lost, maddened stare as my own?

And why is there a light behind the face in the glass?

I feel a wall against my back, but in the mirror there's a tunnel behind me. No bricks, just an empty pool coated with a layer of ash. My heart leaps. For a moment, there is hope, but which is real? Which is the illusion? I haven't been able to trust my senses all night. This could be another of this thing's tricks, some sort of ruse to get another cruel laugh out of me.

I've been trying to will myself back through this wall for hours, but perhaps it was never there. Maybe it's like that maze from before. The last time that magic maze trapped me, it drove me right into this shadow. Who tried to trap me by making the cobblestones soft like mud.

If I can trick it into doing that again...

I scoop up the fireglass gems, pocketing one and holding the other up. "You want me, shadow? Fine. But I'm not doing your dirty work for you. If you want me, then you'd best come at me. Take me, if you can. But it won't be without a fight."

I hurl the fireglass gem through the opening in the far wall. It skitters out of sight. Darkness falls.

You would fight me? How? I have no form for you to injure, no life for you to end. I am everywhere. You cannot hinder me.

"Then it will be a quick battle for you, won't it? What's the matter? Don't you think you can take me?" I stab wildly at the dark. Come on...

But I don't have to. You aren't going anywhere. And you will provide me nourishment for many nights without me having to do a single thing.

"Or until the Hangman comes for me. Then you have to share your feast with him, don't you? How much nourishment will you lose then?" I have no clue what I'm talking about. I don't know what the Hangman has to do with anything, aside from being another problem for me, but to gamble you gotta roll the dice.

You FOOL! You would call him here? You would summon him to yourself and your doom?

The dice roll sevens...um, great? It occurs to me I might have just summoned that silent figure, got it slouching roughly towards me...

"Well then, you had better take me while you can before he gets here, or he'll have me all to himself."

Agreed. The floor beneath my feet suddenly softens, turns to soup...I lunge for the wall. I sink through..it's like swimming through clay. Then it begins to harden around me. Oh, fuck. I slide through the stone, pushing myself through...my boot sticks. I wiggle...the foot slips out...

And suddenly I find myself in the bottom of an empty pool, my flailing arms forming wings in the bed of ash beneath me. Free! Free! Free!

I sit up and laugh hysterically for a few minutes. Flecks of ash from the volcano rain down like snow. There's a solid wall behind me. Life is so beautiful right now.