onlybetrayal
there's only betrayal.
Only fool children think there's magic in paper lanterns. And I was a bright child.
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Aaaaand finally full of my part for a Pathologic Zine!
(I hope you would like it as much as I do :> )
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governor.
He nods, quietly, taking the time to study her while she ponders the Cathedral. Nina, her sister, had been a vampire to the town- and even in death, she still maintained her hold over the population. Nina was chaotic and temperamental. Aglaya was her opposite. Measured and lawful.
The sun dawning, and making the red light creep across the floor as the heavy, deliberate metal pendulum swung, Alexander slowly rose from the chair, empowered by resolve and common footing.
“Yes, it is that large square complex on the other side of the town, in the Skinners. It also is attached to a large cave system. It’s called ‘the Abattoir’- and is indeed a slaughterhouse. The Termitary is both a home and a factory complex. They process meat there, sleep there, hold councils there, are born there…”
And die there, the thought completes itself, as grim as it was.
“I will gather my most able and trusted people to assist you, and myself, if you so wished. Many of my people have relatives and friends trapped in that place. I’d prepare to face confrontation- the Olgimskies employ a retinue of mercenaries and overseers to ensure Vlad the Elder’s will, along with a breed of… horrendously vicious dogs that hunt those that try to run away from the Termitary and the Bull Enterprise.”
The corners of his lips tug ever downward. He balls his fists at his side.
“The mercenaries are the kind that respect no Law other than coin and bloodshed, and the mongrels kept are trained to savor the blood of humans. I hope nothing comes to confrontation, but you have my word that I’ll aid in your efforts.”
“Our duties align. Save the town, defeat the disease.”
And hell swallow them if they fail.
He stands beside her and she tilts her head at the state of him. Even injured, even sick, he offers to stand at her side against mercenary forces and man-eating dogs.
“ There will be no need for you to risk yourself, Governor. I need only a handful of your men and myself. No one will dare harm an Inquisitor. ”
Most of those mercenaries would be on the gallows by evening. The dogs scattered or dead and the doors open. She’s expecting a blood bath, truly. (Though, even she can’t predict what awaits her.)
“ I have. . .experience with trained hounds. The military employs them in the Capitol, and they have historically never agreed with us, to put it. . .lightly. ”
There were a handful of Inquisitors who met with military force and never returned. Even more who have spoken about attempts on their lives by the army. She would be another, she felt, if she didn’t solve this soon.
Their duties did align. It was just a matter of pulling the strings in the right direction. Her eyes slide to the patchwork man beside her one more time before she exhales.
“ As I said: consider us allies. If you have need of anything, send for me. I will assist if I am capable of it. ”
She pauses but a moment before her tone is quite grave.
“ I hope to save this town, Saburov. Our lives both depend on it. ”
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governor.
A stay of execution. The disease could still ravage and bring about the end of all things, but now, at least, there was a chance to set things right. His family would be spared, and Clara… would be granted lenience. It was more than what he could ever ask for.
“Understood,” was all he said in reply.
To business, then.
“The other families, the Kains and the Olgimskies each carry conspiracy within their own houses.”
An understatement, but he would give her the facts, and solely the facts. Opinions were dangerous territory, and should only be offered when asked for explicitly.
“The Kains are wholly invested in their experiments. The most recent of which, is the Polyhedron, that Tower.”
He sighs, his breath rattling his ribs and spine.
“It was constructed by the Architect twins Peter Stamatin and Andrey Stamatin- yes, those Stamatins.”
Leaning forward on his knees, he folds his hands to support himself. Shreds and patches of a person at this point- being barely held together by a single thread.
“The Kains will try to direct you away from both of the twins. The family considers them a prized possession, and have always intervened and obstructed investigations involving them. Expect that they will intercede ‘on their behalf’. Georgiy Kain directly spoke with Artemy Burakh in my presence, and in the presence of the ruling families, demanding that the healer pay special attention to the twins, and that ‘the entire town could die, but the Stamatins must live’.”
He flexes his thumbs in place of a shrug as he tries to keep the bitterness from creeping into his voice. Poise, and rationality were the only ways to ensure the proper thing get done.
“The Polyhedron is the Kain’s crowning structure, but curiously, only children inhabit it. No one but them know what is inside, not even its builders. Kaspar Kain- who goes by Khan- is its ‘ruler’. Maria Kaina is no longer allowed within its walls.”
Rested, he sits up straight once more, “So, the Kains will do everything in their power to maintain the twins and the Polyhedron. They will hide those from you, assuredly, if they even comply to speak with you.”
The Kains were angry and proud. If there were any family arrogant enough to defy a State Inquisitor, it would be that one.
“The Olgimskies… are another matter.”
Saburov locks eyes with Aglaya, “Vlad Olgimsky the Younger is more amicable to alliances and understands the importance of cooperation- however, he is also easily cowed by his father’s whims. His sister, Victoria Olgimskaya the Younger- who goes by Capella- is the leader of the children and Vlad the Elder’s favorite. The only way to get through to him is through that child.”
“The Olgimskies will hide the Termitary from you, or rather its contents. A third of our town’s population, all kinsmen and women and worms, live there. Vlad the Elder does not permit either the Kain’s people, nor my people within its walls.”
“The Termitary,” he continues, “has also been locked since Isidor and Simon passed. I’ve had reports of butchers escaping from there- but were then found dead, or near death and not capable of speech before passing fully. Yet, in spite of this, a Termitary overseer, Yaklakh, was able to get out, form a mob to destroy our water treatment, and then, reportedly, able to return to it. I wanted to conduct an investigation, and was refused, as was Dankovsky, and anyone else who inquired about the happenings within.”
Let the evidence speak for itself. It’s suspicious enough, and one of the greater thorns in the side since the beginning.
“If you need to know anything about Olgimsky, I can direct you to another individual. Grigory Filin, who prefers to be called ‘Bad Grief’. He ran Olgimsky’s illicit trades and distributed contraband for him, and a thief by trade. His code won’t allow him to speak with me directly, but perhaps you’ll be afforded more courtesy.”
Saburov nods, “The families will hide from you their prized structures- the Polyhedron, and the Termitary.”
Ah, the Stamatins as well. Would every path she had ever crossed be here? The path really did lead to the same destination for her every time. There’s the subtle pull of strings on her and it makes her frown, makes her arms fold behind her back once more.
Back to business.
“ I’ll admit, I know what to expect of the Kains. My sister married into their family, and she was. . .a unique specimen of cruelty. If the builders were a project funded by them, I imagine they truly were owned. ”
She walks away to look at the Tower outside the Cathedral, her eyes drawn to the spire of it as she tilts her head one way and then the other in exactly measured movements.
So, they would defend the Tower with their lives. She would have to keep that in mind for her investigations.
“ The Termitary. . .is that the wide building on the other side of the town? ” A wide, square structure that sat like a counterbalance to the impossible tower on the other side. “ It has been closed the entire time, but there have been people in and out. ”
There’s a twinge in the back of her mind, behind her eyes, and she sighs. Ah, a failure then.
“ If that’s true, then the walls have been breached and there must be infection inside. I’ll have the doors open by the end of the day. Have your men prepared to assist me. ”
She says it as if she wasn’t going to let the Olgimsky family have any say in the matter. . .because she didn’t. If they were to save this Town, then that needed to be rooted out now.
“ I will keep your advice in mind. ”
The mention of the thief makes her brow arch, but she keeps it to herself. She’d see him sooner or later, she’s sure.
“ The source is either in the water or in the ground. If it’s in the ground, then. . .hm. It gives us a very poor outlook, I’ll admit, but my job is to save the town and defeat the disease. We’ll do what we can. ”
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governor.
Aglaya asks about the healers, and Saburov nods, curtly and affirmatively.
“Yes. I’ve no doubts about their character in regards to the pragmatism this situation calls for. If you call for them, they will come to you- even if they don’t personally care for you. Even Burakh. When my wife…”
He stops himself short. Attesting to character of the healers or not, he was certain that the Inquisitor wouldn’t find that necessary for the current situation.
It still surprised him, however. The willingness of Burakh to aid him with Katerina’s deteriorating heath in spite of having put him in jail twice… and checking on Alexander when Katerina asked it of him.
“… apologies. Yes, they’ll come to you if you send for them, but you will likely need to send for them. They’re all overworked, and will continue working until something pulls them away.”
Saburov blinks when she stands, scrutinizing him.
Heads or tails?
The question seems… irrelevant to the situation at hand, admittedly, but Inquisitors were trained in very strange methods when conducting their investigations.
So he doesn’t question her.
“Heads…” he speaks quietly, nodding his head slowly, “… always heads.”
“ I’ll be mindful of it, and send for them once we’re finished here. ”
She considers him as he seems surprised by the question, though not surprised enough to question her on it -- and therein lies the answer she seeks. He understands the situation he’s in, that the Inquisitorial Committee works in strange ways.
His answer, too, intrigues her. Heads. Always heads. What a fascinating man.
“ I see. Consider us allies instead of adversaries, Governor. Your patrolmen can continue to report to you; should anything happen, I require a full report from you about it, but let your people remain your people. ”
She moves to fold her hands in front of herself rather than at her back this time. He was a brave man to face her like this, and a braver man to admit to her his faults.
“ I am a woman who believes in simple things, Alexander Saburov. I do not care for the crimes of the world -- the only crime, the only true crime, is the betrayal of those who trust you. You have done well for this place. I’ll leave your wife be, rather than call her here as well, and I will consider. . .leniency in the face of your daughter and what you’ve told me.
However, I know the others have not been as careful as you have, and I know they will not be truthful to me. Tell me about the ruling families. Yes, even those impeccable Kains, my own family. I care not for the spats, but I do care for the things they will hide from me. ”
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governor.
The chair is offered, and he does take the small gesture of kindness. It’s hard to speak and stand and keep composure all at once. Shivers and tremors from the shmowder also made standing fully at attention extremely difficult.
Murmuring a small motion of gratitude, he nods at the recognition of Clara.
He hoped that none of the townsfolk had gotten to her.
“The beginning of the outbreak. Yes, the outbreak was identified on that day. Bachelor Dankovsky confirmed the symptoms of the Sand Pest, which had afflicted this town five years before as well, shortly after the completion of the Kains’ project- the Polyhedron, that Miracle Tower on the shore of the Stone Yard.”
“There are a few suggested origins for the Sand Pest. Thus far, we have been unable to identify a singular origin for the Pest, and there is substantial evidence that there is a supernatural carrier- a creature locally referred to as a Shabnak. The evidence was corroborated by Yulia Luricheva.”
He pauses briefly as the air feels very still for a moment. Aglaya ceased her pacing. Recognition of the name, perhaps? Or was it disbelief? Either way, she’d come to discover both, soon enough.
“The townsfolk blame this creature for misfortunes and plagues. It is allegedly a spirit that assumes the shape of a deceased woman, and formed from clay and bones. After Simon died, there were witnesses and rumors that claimed to see him in the company of a woman that appeared from the Steppe. In retaliation, lynch mobs formed to hunt suspected shabnaks. This was quickly dispersed- but not before the mobs claimed two victims, herb brides.”
Saburov measures her responses to the information as he relays it. She listens thoroughly, and… almost seems surprised by some of the details. She didn’t seem to know some of the basic information that was detailed in the initial report to the State Inquisitors. Which meant either that she neglected to read it (highly improbable), or never received it- for one reason or another.
Which meant that everything he said would set the precedent for others that followed, and solidified the urgency of fully disclosing everything- especially the structure and demograpgics, cultural relations in the town.
He takes a moment to derail- explaining the Kin and their caste roles, how the townsfolk adopted practices and taboos from the Kin, especially relating to bodies and their sacredness.
“Apologies for the tangent, but I assure you, it isn’t unimportant, and it is crucial for understanding the basis for the current disorder. The Pest… has two other suspected origins. The waters of the Ghorkon, and pockets of Earth that can be released by digging. The Bachelor posits that this disease, physiologically, is a bacteria. Symptoms are as follows-”
He straightens his posture in his chair. He was overly familiar with the symptoms. “The bacteria targets old scar tissue, and breaks it down, and eats away at four main organs- the brain, the kidneys, the liver, and the heart. Extreme changes in behavior reminiscent of rabies begin to manifest, fever, organ failure… It is transmissable through infected bodily fluids- coughing, sneezing, the curious clouds of dead skin and phlegm. These in turn infect surfaces, bond with a rare variety of house mold… rats also carry the disease.”
Saburov’s chest rattles as he speaks, “Once infected, symptoms manifest within twenty-four hours and, if lucky, die. Victims typically die within forty-eight hours, though there are those that suffer much longer. There is no cure.”
The weight of his words carry with the swing of the pendulum. Everyone here was living on borrowed time. Pushing against the inevitable. It’s a futile battle, the war against death, but one that must be fought, and hope spared where it could be.
“The only reason I stand- well, sit… before you is due to the intervention of the Bachelor and the administration of a toxic and volatile collection of ground pills referred to as ‘shmowder’ which, is fatal in any other circumstance, and is not without consequence. I’ve had one seizure since taking it. ”
He pauses, “Dankovsky has been working on a vaccine. My daughter has healed perhaps fifty people while aiding our search for the carrier, Stanislav Rubin has aided in the theater and advanced research. Burakh… I know not what he does,” he admits, “Only that he is trying to discover Isidor’s secret to curtailing the First Outbreak, whilst also accused of being a Ripper.”
“Sand Pest has a ninety-eight percent mortality rate. We only have four healers, each doing what they can. But near ten thousand people… maybe more now, have already perished. I tried to maintain order.”
Shoulders slumped slightly, he forces himself to regain his posture.
“I am prepared to discuss the measures taken, the challenges faced. I accept any and all responsibility for the resulting failures that arose during this. I will lend you any assistance I can while I live.”
Nodding to his own resolve, he looks up at her, “I also formally relinquish all executive authority to you. Yes, this may only be a formality for us- but understand, most of the patrolmen are loyal to me and my house. They are also mostly Kin, and do not recognize the authority of the State.”
Her pacing pauses at two moments: when the Tower is mentioned, for she stops to peer through the Cathedral windows at the shape of it on the shore beyond, and at the mention of one Yulia.
How. . .odd, the way lines connect here. She had never thought to hear that name again in good company.
“ This creature sounds to be nothing but childhood horror stories, and so I will disregard this idea for now. ”
The Sand Pest was a disease that ate the body apart at the weakest points, before it devoured the mind and killed whoever it came into contact with. She knew the barest amount about it. The dead did not spread it, though the houses did somehow.
This Town was doomed. If that were true, the solution would be to level it to the ground. Unless. . .
“ Your healers. You said their names. Will they be amicable to meeting with me? ”
Even if they weren’t, she would call for them anyways. They had no choice but to speak with her.
Saburov struck her as a man doing his best in a very desperate situation. The entire town must hate him for trying to seize power in a vacuum where the others would simply watch them die.
She walks back and forth a number of times more, considering the situation laid before her, and sighs audibly under the ticking of the clock. When she finally stops to stand before him, her hands folded at her back, the clock above tolls for proper morning.
She scrutinizes him with a careful look, her head tilted to the side.
“ I see, I see. . .I have only a few more questions for you, Governor. The first one: heads or tails? ”
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governor.
He nods, slowly. What he knew, he would tell. There would be no hiding anything- and he had no wish too. The only question was… where to start?
The beginning. Very beginning.
“As you wish, Inquisitor Aglaya Lilich.”
He stands at attention. An old habit, but he would be still and direct as he addresses the woman who is, by all means, his superior.
“The beginning of September, there were reports of an unknown disease that ravaged five other nearby towns…”
He explains the contents of the communications, the names of the five towns, the response of the other ruling families…
“Vlad Olgimsky Sr. suggested to keep the trains closed as they had been since June, while the Kains conspired with Isidor Burakh to secure a brilliant mind from the Capitol, one Bachelor Daniil Dankovsky, to invite him to the town so he could continue his research and install measures to prevent the disease from ever reaching here.”
Saburov sighs, tiredly, and details how the Bachelor arrived late, Simon and Isidor coming to the Rod to warn him of a great calamity and to expect a harbinger, then Isidor being murdered in the night and Simon found dead not long after- the arrival of Artemy and the rumors naming the homecoming son as the doctor’s murderer, Georgiy’s order of Artemy’s execution, and the efforts made to apprehend him to prevent the execution and instead gather evidence… all the while Katerina had found a girl that she insisted was the harbinger that they were meant to shelter.
“Clara, who is my daughter, and is… a very gifted girl, by all means, though she is either monstrous or divine, or both and not entirely human. She seemed to have an innate sense of what she was capable of, and what she was meant to do. She listed that she may heal or harm with her hands, and incite those into speaking truth. My wife and I took her in.”
He pauses, allowing his throat to rest from the discomfort of the recovering illness, “That, perhaps is the simplest of the days. Everything else is much more complex after.“
She paces quietly, her boots still in time with the pendulum above them, before she moves away to pull over the chair from her makeshift desk. It’s set squarely in front of her, her hands resting on the back of it, before she steps back.
“ You’re recovering. Sit, if this story is as long as you make it sound. I want to know the details. ”
The explanation is exactly as bad as she has heard. Towns wiped out by the Sand Pest, and this was the latest on the list. This was the important town, because the world had decided this sandbox needed to be saved.
She makes note of the healers described in the Town. A man from the Capitol, the legendary Daniil Dankovsky. A surgeon who had come home to chaos, Artemy Burakh. And. . .
“ Your daughter is both healer and harbinger? How fascinating. ”
She would keep it in mind, making notes on her list in the back of her head. Meet with the healers then, to call them forth and see their sides of the story and see how well they had managed to help the town.
“ This is before the disease even properly took hold, if I am understanding correctly. You have a very busy town to care for, governor. ”
She steps away from him, peering up at the windows around her for a moment.
“ Tell me of the beginning of the outbreak proper. What do you know about the origins of the disease? ”
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governor.
It’s the twenty-second of September, in the year 1917.
Alexander marks the day and time, acutely aware that it could be the last day he had alive. Yesterday could also easily have been the last day, with the infection from the Sand Pest tearing through him, reopening old injuries and bleeding him dry.
Only due to the intervention of Dankovsky and the motley assortment of poisonous ground pills and powders he administered that Saburov still lived. Even with the tense arguments they had surrounding Clara’s supernatural origins, the Bachelor saw fit to spare him from the sickness…
… if only to have him live long enough to stand before the Inquisitor.
Perhaps Daniil thought that the governor had a lot to answer for, and given the state of the town? Saburov was inclined to agree.
“I don’t fear death or the Inquisitor,” he had told the Bachelor.
And it was truthful. He did not.
So what did he fear?
Truthfully, it would have to be unfinished business. Leaving affairs unsettled. Everything that he had set out to do had failed- whether or not it was due to sabotage was not important. The only thing that mattered was that the outbreak had failed to be curbed before the Inquisitor’s arrival, and that he, as the Governor, was responsible for this outcome.
So, he would take the steps he could to make sure that all affairs were in order. His love and regards to Katerina, entrusting Clara to Daniil (whether or not the Bachelor had found and absolved the Saburovs’ unearthly foundling of being the carrier, Alexander was unaware), and transferring all legal authority…
… to the Inquisitor herself.
Yes, to the shock of everyone, herself. Aglaya Lilich, and not Mark Karminsky, the latter of which everyone had expected to arrive and cause massive upheavals and drink the blood of the town like a vampire.
Not the quietly intimidating Lilich- one who also happened to be Dark Nina’s sister.
His thoughts do drift to Nina, as he enters the Cathedral. The massive pendulum swaying behind the figure who stands… stoically against the reddish backdrop of stained glass and iron.
Even from where he was, the resemblance to Nina was uncanny, the soft cheeks that tapered into a fine jaw and petite chin, eyes that were pale and bright… but the manner was completely different. She carried herself not as imposingly, and with a gentler expression- one that was meant to disarm expectations. It didn’t make her any less dangerous than her sister was. It was merely a different form of it.
He acknowledges her authority from the safe distance he was at, and speaks- voice still hoarse from the sickness and powders:
“Alexander Saburov, Governor. Reporting for summons.”
@onlybetrayal
This was her last chance. It isn’t even a chance, but it is her last. Her arrival had been heralded by a signal fire lit on the railroad and a toybox town caught in the bend of a river waiting her at the station.
There is no one expecting her, but there are a group of messengers awaiting her. She sends her letters quickly -- the governor was to report to her first thing in the morning, with the sunrise, and the rest would filter in throughout the day. She would interrogate the town, find the source of this pestilence, and. . .
And nothing. Her usefulness would come to an end. She would die.
The governor meets her in a sharp coat with bloodied bandages around his forearms, bearing the cracks of the Pest contagion. She isn’t afraid to bring herself closer to him, her footsteps echoing in perfect tandem with the pendulum overhead.
In her eyes, he is old, but proud. A toy soldier made of scraps of fabric and scratched silver buttons. A handsome, well-loved toy.
“ Governor Alexander Saburov. It’s good to meet you finally. ”
Her voice is exceptionally soft and even compared to the commanding tone Nina once held. Her hands remain folded at her back as she walks close, examining the effects of the disease on him.
The Sand Pest was a nasty beast indeed, if the bleeding and cracked wounds on his body were anything to go by.
“ You know why I’m here. I’m here to report on the state of the Town and find a cure for the Pest. Tell me what you know. ”
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the inquisitor
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“You seem visibly shaken, why?”
“It’s strange. I never thought of it like that before. Is it really that simple?”
“Being yourself isn’t simple.”
“…Incredible. Let me take a closer look at you. Perhaps you were sent to me by fate? Wait… I need to think.”
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aglaya lilich? as an inquisitor, you mean? i don’t know.
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inquisitor aglaya lilich; dialog screen
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bad grief.
His boots are soaked in blood so quickly, and there’s this… buzz in his veins and a rush like he’s been dunked in ice water. The shivers course through him and slow with the buzz in the back of his head like catching the sound off a gramophone. An old record. He’s heard her laugh now, a rare thing.
“I’m free,” he sighs, aloud, alone in the rain again and shaking. He takes the umbrella, and the cane off the wet ground, letting the rain pummel the signal fire behind him as he began to walk the long straits back to Andrey’s home. The town’s lamps were fuzzy in the rain. They hardly lit the path forward.
It made him think of when he used to have Lara ride on his back while he ran through the deeper puddles in the marsh.
“Free of chains. Free of strings, free to do anythin’. You know what I wanna do? I wanna sit silent on the coast, in th’ sand. I wanna sleep nice and quiet, n’ have someone whisk me off for the night though I ain’t earned it. Just a day in memory is all I need.”
He’s leaving bloody footprints. The rain’s not letting the whole of it not stain his shoes. It takes… a long time to reach Andrey’s. A doghead opens the door for him. They ask if he’s alright while he’s shaking his umbrella and leaving it by the door.
Because his hands are bloody and so are his feet.
“Welcome home,” he murmurs, and says nothing else.
“ I have been to the coast. It’s. . .warm. Noisy. The ocean is quite noisy. ”
She murmurs it quietly, letting him walk in quiet for the most part. She’s unobtrusive, as much as she can be, and she takes in the shapes of the town as they go. Things have changed in some ways, and are much the same in others.
They pass through the Warehouses, silent now, and past the Factories and. . .into the Town itself, and she makes interested noises -- but otherwise keeps quiet.
“ You have done something remarkable. I can’t see your strings anymore at all. Fascinating. ”
The doorstep of Andrey’s loft opens into warmth from the stove and the piping, and she mutters quietly to him as he steps inside.
“ I’ll leave you to your night. Sleep well, Filin. ”
And she leaves him to his silence, and the call of Andrey asking what he was doing out in the rain for so long.
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bad grief.
She pulls him to the fire, closer, and he shivers with his entire body, nodding and swallowing the tension in his throat. There was something about it. She scares him less dead than alive. She hardly scares him, this poor lonely ghost. Not much scares him at all. Perhaps it’s bravery, or apathy, but she doesn’t scare him.
“I’m an aged out baud, love. It’s old hat for me to heat up lonely broken folk. Old bodies, no-body. Take this old hide n’ crawl inside. L’ keep you warm n’ we’ll carry you home.”
She catches his wrist and he nods. It will be alright. If it was not alright, he would keep surviving like a roach. There’s something correct about this insanity that’s so deep in the marrow of his bones, that he feels them singing. His head’s loose and he’s in deathly condition, and he’ll have to tell Stakh about this one over low lamplight.
He can picture it now. Stakh’s serious face in the shadows of a lantern. Him and his twinned reflections, one human and one machine. He’d look at Stakh and ask him again.
Do you believe in ghosts?
“C’mere.”
He lets her go and opens his arm to her, offering revenge, peace, sleep, and warmth.
“A pact at the Basket is a promise to keep. Broken by nothin’ through wakin’ and sleep. We steal a soul together, we cut it in twain, and then we meet here at the crossin’ again.”
“ You’re going to be ill again. Or. . .perhaps not. I was immune to sicknesses for some time. Perhaps it will rub off on you. ”
She laughs the first time she has laughed since she came to the town, her head bowed forward as he makes remarks like he’s going to warm her bed. He’s a strange one, truly, and he always has been.
They spoke for hours, and it’s the first time she’s felt a kindred spirit in the world for some time. Some people were just made to suffer, Filin. We’re made of sturdier stuff than most.
“ They call this the Basket, then? This. . .formation. I heard it called the Fingers by some children. I suppose either suits you, doesn’t it? ”
She curls her fingers around his wrist and after a moment, a bone-chilling wind blows over them and she’s gone, leaving nothing but a puddle of blood at his feet -- and a radio buzz in the back of his mind.
“ You’ve a spark in you. What’s changed since I left? Since now we have all the time in the world. ”
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bad grief.
Aglaya’s cold as ice and it takes his breath away, but he’ll offer that breath to her for the information. Quid pro quo and reciprocity. He’s the caretaker, the underworld dog and the grave runner. He can hold a ghost who would walk lost otherwise for just a little while. He drums his hand on her shoulder, not a man of warmth or light, just a rat in the rain.
“What if you wear me? Could kill two birds, one stone. Send you both to your bones. Ain’t you suffered enough to be walkin’ around empty n’ yearnin’? We could pull a heist together, love. Steal the soul of your sister together.”
The fire is keeping his feet warm. He’s shivering something awful and he feels that tug of dangerous lethargy. Something in him wants to sleep. It’s the injury. He’s fighting that preternatural dream again of sickness and weakness. She doesn’t need to suffer these aches and pains with the hole in her.
“She’ll stab at my heart first. I know. N’ then she’ll kill me. Picture us, though, two thieves in the rain. Takin’ prizes from gods. I could do it alone, but all effective things need three. You, n’ me. And one more makes three. The knife makes three. You, me, n’ a blade to cut the strings.”
He laughs under the umbrella, squeezing her shoulder like she’s an old friend. Maybe she was, but more likely, she was him from a different life.
“ What if I --? ”
It’s. . .definitely a thought. It’s something she’s sure she could manage. Spirits had fundamentally similar abilities -- possession, control, utilization of physical forms of others.
“ Some people are made to suffer, Filin. I won’t sleep after this. I might not sleep ever again. But. . .I would walk lighter, I think, knowing my sister was gone. ”
She sets a hand on his shoulder, careful as she does, and pulls him just a shy bit closer to the fire. He’s shivering. He need not catch his death out here.
“ She will be furious if I intrude on her space. She hated me. I daresay she wished me dead, even as children. She convinced Mother to send me to the Inquisitorial Committee. She wanted me out of the way of her coming of age soirees. ”
She knew how to kill the dead, however. The Inquisitors knew how to quash magic at its source, and to drive the impossible away.
She closes her eyes, reaching to catch his wrist with her fingers. Her hands are cold, the leather creaking as she reaches.
“ You would be bringing me back to the Town. I will. . .not harm anyone. I will rest until you have need of me. Would that be. . .suitable? ”
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bad grief.
“Run em’ ragged. Run em’ tired. Chasin’ a deer. Huntin’ a hog.”
Run a bottomless pit out. They’d have to find what Nina was tied to to even have a hope of doing it. The storm is voracious, and he tries to keep from shaking. Aglaya’s made of sterner stuff, vicious stuff, and yet he rubs his palm over the blood and gore and the seam of her coat like she’s made of glass. Might be because he’s made of the same thing too. Might be talking to a mirror. Might be trying to rub the back of the kid he once was, or whoever she was before she was an open wound trying to swallow everything around it.
“Somethin’ she can’t refuse,” he ponders. She’s petty, she’s vile, she’s vicious. She wants power. Revenge, perhaps. She wants to eat the stars and not stop, but all the stars she wants to eat have heartbeats and names.
And one of them is his.
“I killed her, dove. Snapped her life like a thin bone. Would she want me after that little bit of trickery? Would she come out to play f’ she thought she can win?”
He offers the rest of his arm too.
“I’m warm. You can feel me. C’mere.”
“ Persistence hunting. She will run herself dry at some point. Like you said: any fire must burn out eventually. ”
He’s trying to comfort her when she’s already dead. It’s something particularly sad, the punchline of a terrible story. She gets the comfort after she’s dead, after the Army had punched holes in her wide enough to see through.
He deserves it more than she does, really, but she’s never been good at comfort. She’s jagged, glass-sharp edges and nothing else.
“ If she thought she could win, yes. She likes to play, but only games she can win. She always has. Being her sister was. . .exhausting. ”
Aglaya closes her eyes and shuffles closer to him. He isn’t very warm, truth be told. He’s cold from the rain and the winter, but he’s warmer than the grave.
“ She knows you killed her? Then perhaps she would chase you, but only if she believed she could succeed. She would strike you where it hurt you worse first, to weaken you, but. . .yes, her goal would be to take your head eventually. The final prize, to conquer that which sought to conquer her. ”
She leans on him a little, watching the fire crackle with the rain spattering into it.
“ She will kill you. Or worse, she will wear you like a new coat. ”
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bad grief.
“You ain’t gonna, no. I ain’t takin’ you to see him. You’re too lonely. You’ll kill him.”
Still, he’s cradling her back to partially help her keep upright, and she can feel it. It’s the strangest thing. Like touching wet snow and slippery earth that could slide between his fingers. Bits of her fell out like hibernating earthworms to be washed off by the rain. He could be seeing things. He probably is seeing things.
“N’ how would you solve the impossible problem? How would you kill the ghost of your sister? She ain’t you, dove. She ain’t human.”
They’d discussed it before. It’s why he came back for another conversation. It’s why he’s starting to really shiver and swallow down the larger tremors threatening to creep out of him. She’s freezing. His little tinterhook claws are catching on her coat.
“She must’ve hooked herself into somethin’. Assume though, she simply ain’t. Assume th’ dawn n’ dusk are gonna come many times, n’ there’ll be no strings. You ain’t got strings anymore, love, n’ you’re still here.”
And.
“N’ you can feel my hand. Means she can too. What else d’you got, Aglaya?”
She would kill him. She tried to once, and she would try to again.
He cradles her back and she considers things from his point of view. She can see the wet of the blood, but to her, it’s simple stuffing that has poured from the holes in her, caught in wet clumps in her coat. It must be gruesome for him.
And his hand is on her back. She can feel the tiny hooks caught in her coat, touching the cold dead of her skin.
“ If she isn’t connected to anything. . . then you must draw them out and strike them at their weakest -- or make them expend themselves. A spirit is simply energy. Without it, they have nothing to hold them together. They must burn out. ”
No strings. She can’t see them anymore, but did that mean they weren’t there?
“ My sister is fickle. A burning star meant to crash into the world and reshape it. I imagine she is the same now as she was when I saw her gazing out of her husband’s eyes at me: a bottomless pit of hellfire and starlight. She has more energy than she can expend, but it means she must be tied to something. She would burst if she weren’t. ”
She closes her eyes after a moment, her hands plucking at a loose button on her coat.
“ You could bait her. Hold your hands out with something she can’t refuse. My sister was. . .is selfish. She will take until her hands are full and then she will take more. ”
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