Aria [4]
The Subtly of a cat
The Iron Eye
A week had passed. A week, cramped inside the compartment atop the Ark with her six companions. A week in hell. Darius was at the point of near self-destruction. Altair had nearly eaten all the salt-containing substance on the entire Ark. Starla practically lived inside Aria’s pocket. And Aria had been forced to step between many a rows between Charliza and Angela before they tore each other’s throats out. Puck had been complacent. Even for a man without a word to utter, Puck seemed silent. For someone so tall he seemed to take up little space, and tried his best to remain invisible to them all. Jeremiah had left Aria to her own devices for the most part, yet sometimes when Aria found sleep to be avoiding her she’d find him sitting there. Usually cross-legged. Usually staring out into the passing nothingness outside the small window. Usually with moonlight caressing his pale face and orange eyes.
Yet, despite it all they’d survived.
A station lay in the centre of the City Above. It was built like an open-spaced warehouse, an eye-sore as much as the Ark was. The Ark had come to stop, and with it many passengers disembarked, along with a fortunes worth of cargo. Amongst the fuss, it proved easy enough for the six to slip out and onto one of the gondola lifts that ran from the station, up the Summit and to the Industrial District. It’d been about two years ago now, Aria remembered, when the Clan Father Arbitus told her of the capitol.
“It is a dangerous, wonderful place, Aria,” He’d warned wistfully. The old man of sixty seven years had only been to the capitol in his days of youth. He’s been by himself, but he’d been just as lost, on edge and in awe of the enigmatic city as Aria felt now. The clan father had described the Industrial District as a place that smelled of grease, oil and sounds of metal machines, alive and growling with hisses of steam and gusts of fire. The Residential District smelled of fresh baked breads and spices being sold by the pound. The sound of the crunching bread, the carriage-horses hooves clopping against the cobblestone and shouts of side-street merchants selling their wares.
Wandering about the streets without any idea where exactly they were going, Altair nudged Aria.
“So how do you propose we find the Psychopomps?” He asked. Aria looked to him, then to the group of young, good looking men off to the side of the road.
“Obviously, we ask.” She ventured over to the group, arms folded. They looked to her with eyebrows raised.
“So, boys. Where do we find the Psychopomps?” She asked outright. They went silent, and one of them flicked a cigarette and squashed it into the stone.
“You soft in the head, feral bitch?” The black-haired one said. Aria noticeably winced, and took a step back. Puck stepped forward, a twitch in his leg he seemed completely unsure about what he was doing. They looked to him, clearly looking for a challenge and hoping to find one in this unbelievably tall, emerald eyed, mildly-intimidating looking guy. He looked to them, blinked, and reconsidered telling them off, considering he wasn’t physically able to.
“I’m just – I’m just looking for them. Are directions too much to ask for?” She said, confidence waning.
“Fucking fool,” Another hissed. The black-haired tramp and his friend left the mouth of the alley, giving them all filthy looks. The blonde, pretty looking lad remained behind. He looked almost sorry about his companions, and tossed his cigarette to the side.
“If you’re really looking for them…go to the Fallen Angel.”
It was only by midday that they managed to make their way to the Fallen Angel. By then, their feet and very bones were aching from walking on the stone for hours and uphill, downhill and down back alleys at that. Their empty bellies growled to let them know they were so, and on top of it all, it just simply reeked. The stench of burning things and foul things clogged Aria’s senses, slowed them. Along with that, it gave her a throbbing headache. A young woman with greyish hair with black streaks sat outside on one of the concrete guards running either side of the steps leading to the gate. She sat there, legs stretched out, bathing in the sunshine like a cat might. hey approached up the stairs.
“We’re looking for the – ” Aria began.
Altair brushed her away, standing in front of her. “We’re here to see the manager of this facility,” He said, using his formal, serious voice. The grey-haired girl just looked at them sideways with the same bored expression. After a moment or two, she waved them in.
Altair pressed forward and held the gate open for them all. Aria’s head thumped ever harder, when the sound of the music flooded their ears and the monotone grey washed over them. The whole thing was almost more than Aria could process.
Clan Father wasn’t lying when he said this was a strange place.
The grey-haired girl had followed them in, and motioned for them to follow her upstairs onto the dark rafters above. Puck and Aria exchanged a look, and they followed the others up the black metal staircase
In the rafters, the sound below seemed to be muffled. Darius had scampered off to the bar with Angela, most likely to do the same overly complicated drinking game they usually did. A drinking game that usually involved taking shots and seeing who passed out first. Lucky for them, those of clan descent had a considerably high tolerance of alcohol. Charliza hesitated for a moment, then wandered after them, determined to beat Angela at something. Aria wished the Raven Callers luck upon her.
At the very end, at the widest section of the rafter there sat an elevated, curved lounge, a lower booth facing it below the platform.
“Sit here,” The Grey-haired girl said, motioning to the lower booth. And so they sat, Aria sitting in the middle, with Puck to her left and Altair to her right.
For a few moments they sat in an uncomfortable silence, looking about for the mysterious owner. Aria looked to the raised booth before her, and finally saw the shadow sitting there. “Welcome, sons and daughters of the Raven Caller,” The shadow purred. It blinked, revealing, bright blue eyes, slitted like that of a cats. Aria felt Puck jump slightly beside her, and glanced as he dug his fingers in his knees as if to hold back some emotion he could barely leash.
“My name is Cait Sith, the owner of this establishment…and a friend of Wolf Clans.”
Wolf Clans…hardly a soul calls them the Wolf Clans anymore. Curious too that he’d call us the Raven Callers children. Given how I came to be part of the Silver Clan, I’m not sure I’m even a descendant.
“A friend, how so?” Aria said, trying her best so speak loud and clear.
“I know what you seek. The aid of the Psychopomps is not something lightly sought after, and even harder so to gain,” Sith said, his head rested on his knuckle. His handsome face now only half-hidden by the black, his blue eyes now even stood more against the grey.
“How much?” Altair asked, tapping a finger on his thigh. Aria had almost forgotten about how much time Altair had spent in the Abbyford trading his catches.
“You ask me to make possible what is impossible. This is not a matter of money. ” Sith said, squinting his blue eyes.
“Then what is you want? You know we’re the Raven Callers people, then you know what we’re capable of,” Aria said, folding her arms over her chest.
“Well, suppose we make a deal,” Sith said. His fanged grin was so white, it glowed white through the grey and black.
“You think us foolish?” Altair practically growled. Puck’s limber fingers held her thumb, pointer and index finger in a mild manner. Touching her like that would’ve caught her attention, if it weren’t for the utter impossible that Cait Sith was. Altair leant back against the dark leather, the material making the same sound that all fine leather did when stretched or taut.
“Any idiot is wise enough not to know to ever make a deal with a Cured. As a matter of fact, how is it the City Marksmen haven’t made a trophy of you and hung you on the Wanderer Tower by now?” Altair wondered. At that, Sith simply smiled.
“Oh, please child. There are worst things in this city than simple men in their pretty blue uniforms. Oh, no. The creatures that protect these weed-infested streets, obsidian towers and palace of vultures are something just short of human. Soldiers of Sulphur, I believe they’re called. They look down on the Slum Guard behind their hideous masks. They’re the true monstrous beings, deformed, mutated for their impossible strength they are without emotion, always hiding behind their masks. Rumour is, they can’t survive without those masks connected to the cylinders strapped to their backs. I’ve made dealings with them in the past, I’ll be honest. But I only show my true colours to true friends. Will you be my true friends?” Sith wondered, looking to each of them and finally resting his gaze on Puck.
Aria found it difficult to weigh her options with the grey-haired bouncer practically breathing down their necks.
“Warren, mind the door. I’ll be seeing no-one else today,” Sith waved off the freckle-faced girl with a lop-sided, slight frown.
“It’s simple, truly. All I require is a few errands run for me with the help of your little gaggle and I’ll provide you with the Psychopomps aid. Not only that, but a tower is adjoined to this humble establishment, one that I will happily allow your gaggle to take up residence in for your stay here in our lovely Capitol,” He offered.
“What kind of errands?” Altair asked bluntly.
“Nothing impossible, but it won’t be easy. Think of it as a challenge!” Sith exclaimed, his grin returning.
“You know you’re terrible at actually answering questions,” said Altair.
Sith just grinned. “Going once.”
We don’t have choice on this, do we?
“Going twice.”
Puck tensed beside her.
“Ok!” Altair snapped.
Cait smiled.
Warren led them to the tower behind Fallen Angel. Aria explained to the others that they’d be working for Cait Sith for a while in return for the Psychopomps help and a place to stay. The tower was four stories tall. Standing on the ground floor in the centre, if you looked up you could see the pointed roof. A staircase led up to the boardwalk that circled around the tower of each floor. On the ground floor, there was a round, wooden table in the centre of the cold, concrete floor. There was a small-room, refrigerated through the copper pipes spider-webbing across the walls that housed an abundance of food and drink locked behind an impossibly heavy metal door. There was another, smaller yet room that only held an empty cell littered with straw and high-placed, small, barred window. A small, well-hidden door led out onto the back-alley behind the tower, giving them a quick escape if needed.
“The only bathroom is on the ground floor. Two bedrooms on the second floor, three rooms on the third and the largest is on the fourth,” Warren said with a motion.
“Cosy,” Charliza whistled, her voice echoing slightly. Aria and Charliza exchanged a single look before racing up the boardwalk to the top floor. With more muscle mass in Aria’s legs than Charliza had in her whole body, Aria easily overtook the green-haired girl within a few strides. She made it to the top boardwalk level and took a moment to peer over the railing and down to the ground floor. Seeing Charliza fast approaching, Aria dodged backwards and opened the bedroom door. She slammed the door close behind her.
“Damn you, ginger!” Charliza yelped, banging on the door.
The room was worth the race that was for sure. There was a king sized bed, an empty desk, a small balcony that over-looked the city below and a wardrobe and mirror. Starla zipped out from inside Aria’s jacket and buzzed about the room.
“No birds?” Starla squeaked.
“No birds,” Aria reassured her.
“So, will you be taking off then?” She asked the blue fairy.
“Hmm, I don’t think so. It’s nice here. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere to go,” She said, perching on the backboard. Aria gave her a thoughtful look.
“Though I gather you haven’t got time for free-loaders?” The little fairy said.
“Well…we are here for more reasons than just to get the Psychopomps. If you could scope the city, listen in for information and find anything about Charliza’s father. You do your job, you can stay here for as long as you want,” Aria proposed. Starla stood, put her hands on her plump hips and then fluttered away, out the open balcony doors and out into the city.
For the first time in what felt like an eon, Aria let the satchel on her side slip to the ground. She peeled off her boots and outer-layers and collapsed onto a real, proper bed. Blankets, pillows, a mattress and all, the real deal. Aria was asleep before she hit the blanket.
The sun was a lamp-posts breath away from setting when Aria woke from her nap. A light knock at the door had woken her, to which Aria called inside. Altair opened the door and rested on the frame, drinking a strong-scented tea.
“What are you drinking?” Aria asked, sitting up.
Altair licked his lips and said, “Strawberry tea, believe it or not. The kitchen cupboards were filled with this stuff.”
Aria chuckled slightly at that. “Curious. Well, someone must have lived here before. But, judging from the layer of dust it’s been a while. Do you think it was the Psychopomps?”
Altair shrugged. “Maybe. It’s not a high possibility of course, considering they all hated each other…yet, considering how well-hidden this place is and it’s entrances…maybe they aren’t quite what the stories say?”
“Nothing is ever quite what the stories say,” She said, shrugging.
“Speaking of stories…you called Sith a Cured, how can that be? I’ve only heard tales of them here and there. I thought they were extinct,” Aria wondered.478Please respect copyright.PENANAhOKlWWrvph
“Most people do. Cured are a rare breed these days, so rare I’d say Sith is the only one in the entirety of the Capitol, hiding right beneath their noses. By the Raven Caller, you never make a deal with a Cured, Clan Father always said.” He said.
“How do you know all this? I mean…I know you can’t read all that well, I used to read to you all the time…” Aria wondered.
Altair rested his head on the door frame, his eyes full of thought that buzzed out into his fingers that tapped the tea-cup in his hands.
“You know how I used to sell my catch to the locals in the Abbyford? Well, I used to spend a lot of those Bellas on drink at the inn. But, ah, not as much as the Axemen, Smokemen and bloody Marksmen that would drink themselves into a stupor and babble whatever came to mind. Oh, by the Raven Caller how they proved a Drunk man’s words are a Sober man’s thoughts. They talked of our hushed past and stammered the unspeakable. There was this one man, one late night and a girl of hair so silver and so fine it almost looked like it was made from the string of angels harps. She was quieter than he was and never mentioned a name, like she was just there to pay witness to us. But she was a damn good drinking partner, but it was the man who’d bought the rounds. I’d told him mine, so I’d thought it only polite to ask his in return. Chugging down a tankard bigger than his head, he’d said Lance. Lance Franksaw. Odd name. Odd man. Lance was the one who told me of the Cured, told me how inhuman they were. They were not to be trusted, and never underestimated. And they each carried the aspect of an animal. He just said it was a side-effect, but of what he never mentioned. He had such little shoulders to bear the weight I knew he carried. By the end of the night Lance told me he had a letter to deliver. A letter to say he was sorry to someone. Never said who, just casually tipped us off to stay away from the Old Foxeyes castle and staggered off into the night. It was only in the street-light that I realised he’d been wearing a lab coat , but all torn up and filthy like. The silver-haired girl told me to take care of you all, then left,” Altair explained.
“Interesting, I’ve never heard of this Lance. But…Old Foxeyes castle, why there?” Aria asked, standing.
“Haven’t a clue,” Altair said, shrugging.
“Wait…so you mean to tell me all that time you spent away, you never once went to the castle?” She exclaimed.
“No, of course not. Lance warned me away,” He said, dubious.
Aria sighed and prodded his bicep, “Well, for what you lack in curiosity you certainly make up for in muscle. Muscle, which we’ll more than likely be needing if Sith has anything to say about it….say, you mentioned the Cured had animal aspects?”
“Sith? Well, considering how badly he irritated me and how I very much wanted to tear his throat out, I’d say he’s a cat,” Altair said, eyes narrowing.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, they were given a list. They’d all ended up sleeping in till midday, all except Aria and Puck. He’d slipped into the feathers of his crow-self and flew about the streets, Aria walking below, trying to warm herself against the chilly autumn morning air. There had been clothes left behind in the cupboards, they’d all found. The one in which Aria had moved into housed the widest collection of clothing she’d seen in her entire life. Aria had taken a crimson blouse that dipped into a v on her back, black lace woven into the shape of flowers the only thing covering the skin of her back. On top of that she wore a brown leather coat and black pants and strapped boots better suited for the terrain of the city.
Aria had let her fiery orange hair down in an attempt to fend the brisk cold from her neck and nape. At this hour only the bakers were awake, and a handful of street-merchants had begun to set up stall. If what the Clan Father had told her was correct, the Birch Tree Cloak tower would ring to signal the beginning of the working day, the Wanderer’s tower would ring to signal midday and the Hooded Figure’s would ring to signal the days end. Once again, Aria took the crumpled note from her sleeve and read it.
To complete these little errands, I’ve had Warren write a list of things to collect. Under no circumstances should you collect any of these from any other store than what is specified.
Your favourite friend, Sith
Six masks from Beezlebub’s Emporium on the street of Golden Silk-Web
Six hot-cross buns from Miss Sugarpears Patisserie on the street of Honey-Milk
Collect a blue-print from Tabitha’s Smith-shop and give it to Charliza on the Road of Axes
A pair of keys from a mechanic named Alexander on the Alley of Smoke
Looking up, she watched Puck fly lazily about, cawing as he went, and she wondered.
Could he be a Cured? I mean…what else could he be? But Altair said they only carried an Aspect, but he…Besides being able to turn into one of those things, he can turn into a horse as well. The stallion that saved me…then, shifted into Puck…what are you?
Aria scuffed her shoes coming to a stop, and Puck landed beside her, shifting back to his human form. He rested an arm on her shoulder and peered at the list. Puck pointed to himself, then a street sign that said, The Street of King Robins and then he shifted and flew upwards. Aria sighed, her breath frosting in the air, and she followed.
She followed him through twists and turns and eventually happened upon The Emporium. The store was musky, filled with dust and run by a sweet-looking old man with a slight shake in his hands. Aria stalked up and down the aisles with Puck by her side. Six masks.
“Suppose we’re getting one for each of us,” Aria murmured under her breath, knowing Puck would read her lips.
Hmm, but what to get?
She examined the hundreds of masks lining the dusty shelves and hanging from the walls. Cats, dogs, deer, owls of every colour an entire empty-eyed zoo staring down at them. In the end, Aria picked a black fox mask for herself, a fanged skull mask for Charliza, and a beautiful, blue jewel-encrusted bull with golden horns for Angela. Puck choose a wooden owl mask for himself, an antlered stag for Altair and golden hawk for Darius. The rest of the tasks they split between them, Aria collected the keys and blue-print, whilst Puck retrieved the buns and took them and masks back to the Fallen Angel.
Aria folded the mysterious blue-print and keys into her satchel, and decided to explore the city a little more. With the sun crawling ever higher up the sky, more of the Industrial District’s residents began to mill about the streets. Eventually, she happened upon a great wall. The Iron Eye was a whole new world for her, but this wall…there was something, off about it, as if it resonated with neither emotion or something man-made, but memory. It was a faded grey-white and stained. But names had been written on it, name after name had been scrawled on the cold concrete, some even etched or written sloppily in a cracked, blackened blood.
But at the very heart of it all, there was a butterfly that had been painted in what looked to be the centre. Curious, unsure of what to think Aria placed a gloved hand against the butterfly. Even gloved, the cold still slipped through the leather, through her skin and into her core. Aria gasped quietly and yanked her hand back, taking a small step back.
“The Wall of Tears, we call it,” A voice said.
Aria looked to the stranger beside her, finding her to be a beautiful, brown haired maiden. Beautiful to the point that Aria was jealous. She stared at the wall, looking to each name in sorrow as if she’d known every single one.
“My name is Celeste,” She introduced herself, extending a petite, milky white hand. Aria, hesitant, reached her own, calloused, finger-nail chipped ( yet thankfully gloved) hand and they shook.
“Aria,” She said, nodding. Aria looked back to the Wall, and traced a finger into one of the names etched into it.
Gammon Walker.
“How could a wall get such a name?” Aria half-whispered to herself.
“You really want to know?” Celeste said, almost in some fashion of a warning.
“Yeah…I do.”
“Well, it’s a long story. One which I’m not sure I can really service, but I can try,” She said, shrugging slightly.
“Please,” Aria said, looking to Celeste and giving her a small nod to urge her on.
“I’m not quite sure where to start…” She said, smiling to herself.
“The starts usually a good place,” Aria offered.
“The start? Well, I suppose it is.”
“As with most things, it began with an idea for the future. We all knew of the Cured, and the threat they all posed towards us. It was an unwinnable fight, but one we never stopped fighting. They outmatched us in every way, it was said only a mere six of them were an equal to an entire battalion of ours. Yet…one day, there rose an order. An order that could see past all their façade and match them in battle. They were the Wardens. With the Eye of Ra forged into their foreheads and the suns fury itself burning bright in their blade, the Wardens fought off the Cured. As the Cured diminished, the order grew. It grew and grew until a council was formed to govern its army of warriors of the sun. The Cured had retreated to their holds in Dordathion, and many believed it was the time to completely destroy the enemy once and for all. Yet, many others believed it was clear suicide to march into uncharted enemy territory. These others believed it would serve them best to take the Capitol by force and add it to their strength. With complete control of Valyrett, it would make it that much more easier to distance themselves from Dordathion and convince themselves the peace had been one. The division of the council divided the Wardens themselves. Some could see the coming storm and opted to leave, but were stopped. By force, each and every Warden was forced to choose a side of the divided order, or face the Night Bringer and his blade to dividing their heads from their shoulders.
Those who believed in storming the unknown hold of the Cured were dubbed the Assembly of the Hunt, whilst the renegades were named the Siege Masters. As to be expected, both failed in their head-strong missions. The Wardens lay siege to the Iron Eye, some in airships, others on foot, they scaled the Summits slope and jumped over with flaming swords in hand. They pillaged, they raped, they burnt this entire place to the ground. They burnt the City Above and Below, and their skeletons still form the ground of the Below. They burnt the Industrial District, the Residential District, but the tongues of their blind, head-strong flames never so much as licked the white marble of the Arabellan Gardens. Yet the gardens was what they rushed to protect. The lords and ladies and all their fineries was what they found most worthy protecting.
From the ashes, Emperor Gymrish ordered his city rebuilt, fast as humanly possible. And so, from every surviving family, every son, father and brother was taken. They were taken, and forced to work to death in an effort to rebuild the entire city from the ground up. Their blood and bones are the very foundation of this city, and all there is to commemorate the fact is the writing on the wall. The young women left at home, with no work and nothing else were forced to take to the pleasure houses that sprouted like fungus in the newly rebuilt City Above and Industrial District. The soldiers of the day found solace there, and the result was nothing but an army of unwanted children. Children, that with nowhere else to turn gave themselves at the feet of the Emperor, and he eventually found use of them. Those unwanted became the Soldiers of Sulphur we know today, barely human, toy-soldiers of the Emperor.
As for the Wardens, those who weren’t slain in battle or executed afterwards were exiled, the eye of Ra turned into a symbol of traitors. The Assembly of the Hunt either died in the march from disease, in-fighting or the bone-biting cold or were hunted themselves by the Cured.”
“Then these names…” Aria realised silently, looking to the Wall of Tears that only beared the names of men and boys.
“This Wall stretches from one end of the city to the other. Every inch is covered in their names. Their only memories,” Celeste said quietly.
“The questions remains whether the sacrifice was worth it,” She said, looking the city around them. For once, Aria was at a loss for words.
“We talk of fire as if its some pure, renewing force. Sure, the end result may be twice as beautiful as before, twice as strong, but most times we forget what it takes away to give us something so beautiful.” Celeste said, knowing Aria would understand more than most.
ns 172.69.59.44da2