• Memory • Lungs.

[Moiran]

27 Ymiden 715


"Dirt would be better." Jacobi Krill of the Hanged Fate groused his way through the cobbled streets of Andaris, hooded and fleet of foot. A collection of hard lit stars could be glimpsed through the clouds but otherwise there was a little light in the circling maze. This did not seem to bother the Blackbriner. Rumor was he had grown as a child in these streets, grasping his way downward like a weed while the rest of him shot up to sharp height. An awkward bundle was slung over his shoulder, bulkier than his wiry frame and the easy length of a body. It bounced and wobbled but never fell because Jacobi was always keen to his burdens. Yellow eyes glanced back at the cloaked figure following him. "These'll just slick with ice come Cylus, nah?"

Nadeja Ej'ryn did not reply. She was busy craning her neck, a narrow hand resting atop her head to keep the hood of her cloak in place as she searched the familiar skyline. It had been a long slaughter of arcs since she had last come to port in Rynmere, but she had done so often in her life before this perdition. The crowded houses and towering walls still made the breath in her lungs feel short, the claustrophobia of a seafarer-on-soil omnipresent. But there was a building here in Andaris that was limned in her memory with dawn light. The memory was soft and rotting, the flesh of it swollen from too much handling as the memory was among her best. She had been conjuring them too often now, too long.

"Hey --" Jacobi carved about his heels to snap his fingers in Nadeja's face. His blanket-wrapped burden swung wildly and the young woman swayed backwards and ducked in the same extended motion. There were echoes of a dancer's grace still lingering in her hungry limbs. "Look sharp." His mouth twisted, lending an expression of long suffering to his otherwise handsome face. "I need you here with me, Nadeja. And you? You're gonna need me back on board ship with you after. Right?"

Nadeja straightened with a stifled sigh. "Right."

"So find us our way, seer-glass." Jacobi rose his eyebrows pointedly. "He's getting heavy n' it's not like there's any love lost for my leviathon kind these parts."

Crow feathers of hair ruffled out of Nadeja's hood with the nod. A tilt of her head and a hesitation later, she curved around her so-called partner to lead the way. Her strides were not so long as the pirate's, but they were swift on the tide-tip as she navigated their way through the streets. She would never understand what it was about roads that made flatlanders love them. They struck her as lazy and, when she remarked as much once to her father, he had laughed until his lungs seized up.

The memory threatened to decay inside her.

Within a few more bits, Nadeja led them around a final bend and stopped in front of the undertaker's office. There was a tempest off shore throwing fistfuls of thunder down on the Orm'del, causing the night to be possessed of a chill despite balmy Ymiden. Nadeja did not notice, hollow cheeks flushed, cloak spilled open rather than tightly wrapped. She slid a sidelong glance at Jacobi.

He nodded. This was the one. The runner swore they were expected. If they could be expected. If this could be.

Nadeja drew a breath and knocked.

[Faith Augustin]

She was to be there, to expect someone. They would come, they would bring a body. She would deal with it and, should this be a trick or the guard be informed, she would deny that Jamal knew anything. He had instructed her clearly on this and the young girl and responded in the affirmative when he had asked her if she understood.

Then he had made sure that she did understand and he had left. Out into the storm where it seemed that the Immortals themselves were angry at the people of Andaris.

It was dark and it was cold and Faith was, as commanded, kneeling in position and waiting for the knock. It did not occur to her to question, not any more than it occurred to her to flee. Her owner had instructed her what she was to do and so do it she did. The earnest young slave had knelt, waiting, and her time was spent in prayer. Giving thanks to Famula for the breath she drew, for the lessons she was taught. Asking that she might learn them as well as she could. A hunger for learning was something which was as familiar as the hunger she felt as a child.

The knock on the door came and Faith rose to her feet and opened the door. There, outside were people and Faith opened the door further to let them in. The girl, for a girl she was, in her late teens was short and so thin that she looked unhealthy. Her bones showed clearly through her pale skin and she wore a black strapped vest top and a pair of black trousers, both of which were ragged and ill fitting. There was an old, possibly as old as her, slave brand on her shoulder and there on her neck was a much newer one.

Her hair, black as tar, was piled up on her head in a loose tumbling almost- style. Her scrawny figure and pale skin showed in stark contrast to the black of her hair but those were not the most obvious things about her. Nor was the vivid purple bruise on her face, nor the scars and fresh marks on her back. It was her eyes which stood out more than any of those things ~ pale blue to the point that they were almost silver. She held the door and then moved to help with the load.

"We are expecting you, I believe. I am Faith. How may I serve you?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to help. "The room for the bodies is through here?" The undertaker's was unsurprisingly dark and somber, scented candles flickering and a pervading scent of incense. Faith tried to help and did not, at any point, make eye contact.