15 Coldpalm

Death Row, as Le Bor called it, was in the middle of the Labyrinth, in a corner cluttered with junk. It was almost completely dark, and I moved carefully, avoiding the broken crates and baskets. As I entered the dead end, I armed myself with a wooden stick and gave regular blows to chase away the rats. Usually there were always rats in such places, so when I threw a harmonic light, I was surprised to see none. Staying alert nevertheless, I walked down the narrow corridor to the back door. Coldpalm’s door. Coldpalm, the forger, the magician, the monster witch, as some people called her… According to Le Bor, she was the best forger in Arkolda, and no one had yet been able to prove that the forged papers she made were not genuine.

I left the stick against the wall and struck a few sharp blows against the wood. I waited a long time and then I knocked again.

“Why doesn’t she open…?” I mumbled, fidgeting.

Suddenly, there was a muffled metallic sound, the handle moved, and the door opened slightly. I peered into the darkness, turned up the light, and saw nothing. I frowned. What the hell…?

I almost died of fright when I saw a small white hand come up and pull the door open. Illuminated by my light, I could see the pale face of a blond child no more than three years old, blinking at me. I dimmed my light and said:

“Thunders. Am I in the wrong house? I’m looking for Coldpalm.”

“Come in, then.”

It was not the little one who answered me but a languid voice which left me speechless for a moment. The witch, I realized with a shudder. I slipped inside and closed the door.

“Turn off that light.”

I turned it off, albeit reluctantly. Even my sokwata eyes could hardly see anything. I swallowed, and since I couldn’t see, I cast a perceptive spell. I hit an energy shield and took a sharp breath.

“Good mother…” I muttered.

A small hand took mine, and I let myself be guided by the little blond toddler to what must have been a room.

“Who are you?” Coldpalm asked.

All I could make out was a large mass sitting on a large sofa. I wrinkled my nose. It smelled of death. Almost without breathing, I said:

“I come from Shyuli, nicknamed Le Bor. He wants to pay for the papers that still need to be done. And he wants to take away the ones that are ready.” I took out the small bag and added, “I’m bringing the money.”

There was a silence, and I stood there motionless, not daring to move. The little one did not let go of me, and I was mentally grateful. Then the magician repeated:

“Who are you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Draen. A gwak. As I said, Le Bor sent me and—”

“I don’t know many gwaks,” Coldpalm interrupted me. “But I do know that, normally, none of them can use harmonies.”

Her words troubled me, but I shrugged.

“Well, I can. Listen, I’ll give you the money and… and you give me the papers, and I’ll leave, okay?”

“Are you in a hurry?”

“Yes,” I replied. In a hurry to get out of there, I added quietly. I let go of the little one’s hand, moved forward timidly, and stopped only a step short of the large silhouette. I thought I could make out the shape of a huge mouth and the strange green glint of… an eye, perhaps? When I held out the little bag, my hand was trembling a little.

“There’s fifteen goldies.”

Coldpalm made no move to retrieve the money, so after a few seconds, I asked:

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t you know?” the witch whispered. “Everyone who enters my house must pass a test before doing business with Coldpalm. Didn’t anyone tell you what that test was?”

I blinked. Blasthell, damned Le Bor! He hadn’t told me anything. He had only told me to do whatever Coldpalm asked of me.

“But I don’t want to do any business,” I objected. “I come as a representative.”

I saw something shining in her huge mouth. A tooth, perhaps? Was she smiling? Then I felt that my purse did not weigh so much, I noticed that the witch had held out her hand, and I quickly dropped the little bag. I sighed with relief. All that was left was the papers.

“Hold out your hands.”

Coldpalm’s request filled me with apprehension. The hands, I repeated to myself. Both of them? I held them out with some fear and asked:

“What are you gonna do?”

“Fear not,” she replied calmly.

She took both my hands in hers, which were very large, too large for a sajit. They were very cold. The witch said nothing. When she cast the first spell, it bounced off my left hand, but the second broke the shield of the sokwata, and I was repeating to myself that all this was necessary to bring the papers back to Le Bor when I suddenly understood what Coldpalm was doing.

She was absorbing the morjas from my bones!

In horror, I countered her spell with a mortic shock. I heard her gasp in amazement, and for a terrible moment, we both stood there, not knowing how to react. Without having yet assimilated well what had happened, I tried to leap away. Coldpalm held me by force, I panicked and threw another mortic shock through my right hand, but the witch had foreseen the attack, she unraveled it and enveloped me with an energy that left me stunned. I fell to my knees, but even then she didn’t let go of my hands.

“You’re a necromancer.”

Her voice panted with disbelief. A powerful energy was now swirling around my right hand. She knew, I realized, shuddering. She knew that my hand was working with mortic energy.

“Don’t hurt me,” I begged. “You use the same arts as I do. You were trying to steal the morjas from me. You can’t do that,” I stammered. In the four years I’d been with my master, he’d only fed on my morjas three times, once as a test and the others because he’d really needed it. But he had always done so with my consent.

The energy that enveloped my hands gradually unraveled and Coldpalm finally said:

“I have no other option. My morjas is in tatters, and my life is sustained by the energy of my visitors.”

So that was why Le Bor had chosen me, and not one of his friends, I realized with a grimace. The sorceress let go of my hands, and perhaps that was what calmed me and made me stay put. Just knowing that I was talking to a necromancer fascinated and delighted me. Besides, if she was a necromancer like me, she couldn’t tell on me, could she?

“Tell me,” Coldpalm said in a low voice. “Who are you?”

I shook my head, puzzled.

“I told you before. I am Draen. A gwak. I come from the valley. There I learned all I know about… about those things one must not speak of. My master doesn’t want me to talk about him. What about you?” I asked curiously.

Coldpalm turned her big head. I could hardly see her, and the better I could see her silhouette, the more I thought that the less I saw of her the better. She answered me in a distant voice:

“I don’t remember where I came from. About a hundred years ago I had an accident, and I remember almost nothing of what happened before. Funny, isn’t it? The only thing I know is that I tried to turn myself into a nakrus, as we call them around here. It didn’t go well. And that’s why I am the way I am today, son. I feel like a dead soul wandering the path of life. Sit down if you like,” she invited me. “I’ll give you these papers.”

I barely hesitated before taking my place on the sofa. I heard her laughing softly.

“Do you know? Apart from me and Little Wolf, you’re the only one who has sat on this sofa for twelve years. Tell me, little one,” she resumed. “Do you believe in spirits?”

I arched an eyebrow and nodded.

“Natural.”

One by one, Coldpalm was now counting the coins I had given her.

“Why?”

Her question puzzled me. I thought about it and said:

“Because, if I didn’t, I’d be called a miscreant.”

Coldpalm remained silent for a few moments. Then she asked me with a strange gentleness:

“Do you think that when you die you will become a spirit?”

“I do, ma’am. People say that, when you die, you can protect the people you love. That’s what I want to do.”

In the darkness, I saw a slight smile forming on her twisted lips.

“Blessed soul.” She handed me a sheaf of papers. “Don’t lose them on your way back and tell Le Bor he’ll have the remaining papers in two weeks.”

I accepted the papers and rose reluctantly. In the corner of the dark room, I could see the little huddled figure of the little boy… Little Wolf, as Coldpalm had called him. Did she steal his morjas too? The very thought horrified me, and I decided that such a thing was not possible. I put the papers under my two shirts and hesitated, agitated. I did not want to leave. I was dying of curiosity, and at the same time, no questions were coming to mind… It didn’t make sense, did it?

As if she guessed that I was reluctant to leave so quickly, Coldpalm suggested affably:

“Come back whenever you want.”

I nodded, took a few steps back into the hallway, and wavered.

“Will you take my morjas if I come back?” I asked.

There was a silence. Then I heard her answer:

“Not if you don’t want to. But don’t tell anyone about this. Coldpalm the witch doesn’t make exceptions.”

I heard a joking note in her voice and smiled.

“Not even my ancestors will know,” I swore. I glanced at the little child and said, “Ayo, Little Wolf. Ayo, ma’am.”

And I left.

I returned to The Joyful Spirit taking the safest route I found, entered the dead end, and Le Bor came to open the door. Slipping through the opening, I glanced at my fellow prisoner and saw that he had shed his disguise and was now dressed as a rather elegant man.

“Thunders. What about Ferruca Caldisona?” I asked, bewildered.

Le Bor smiled broadly as he grabbed the papers I was holding out to him.

“She died of fright when she looked herself in a mirror. Now Mr. Asaveo is staying here,” he declared, waving the newly acquired forged papers. “Good job, Four-Hundred. How did it go with the witch?”

While asking me this question, he handed me a small pile of coins. I accepted them with a smile.

“It went fine,” I said absentmindedly, counting the coins. I arched an eyebrow. “Five siatos?”

“I don’t have any more here. The other five will come tomorrow, does it run?”

I didn’t argue and shrugged.

“It runs. But tomorrow without fail, eh? With five siatos, I don’t have enough to buy my cronies coats too. And I want to give them one. Cause, good mother, the winter is coming and… Well, it’s not as bad here as in the mountains, but my cronies are not used to it, you know.”

“Coats?” Le Bor repeated. And he smiled broadly. “Come on! You should have said so before. I know a good friend who sells cheap. For five siatos, I’ll bring you four coats. How many do you want?”

I laughed at the good news.

“Well, four! But is that for real?”

“For real and in Drionsan, kid. You’ll have them by tomorrow. Come on, get out of here. My lady will be here any moment. Come on,” he urged me, as he opened the door again.

I went out and said cheerfully:

“Hey, thanks, Bor, really, thank you, because…”

Suddenly, Le Bor grabbed me by the neck, and I let out a muffled gasp of surprise.

“Be careful what you say,” he growled at me. “Call me Mr. Asaveo or just sir. If I hear you call me Bor one more time, I’ll give you a beating you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Is that clear?”

I answered immediately:

“Yes, sir.”

He let go of me and without further ado closed the door. I snorted, walked down the outside stairs, massaging my neck… and smiled. It had been a great day. First, I’d won the affections of the ladies of The Serene, then, although it had been brief, I’d met my father, the barber, and a brother, and I’d paid off a debt with Yarras and talked with Yal, and to top it all off, I now had five siatos in my pocket, and I’d met a necromancer.

All the way back to the refuge, I was radiant. Until suddenly, in an alley of the Labyrinth next to the Staircase, I saw two small figures talking near a huge wolf. As soon as I saw it, it barked, I recognized it instinctively and ran off in panic. My vision was filled with squirrels. When I reached the Staircase and saw Manras and Dil sitting on the steps beside other gwaks, I shouted:

“Comrades, to the shelter! To the shelter!”

My cronies were the first to react. And how quickly and nimbly we all slipped in! Outside, the barking of the quadrupedal monster went on and on, and we even saw him stick his snout through the opening to sniff us out. Thanks Spirits, it did not dare to enter, and a voice said in Caeldric:

“Dakis! Will you shut up? You’re always barking after people!”

I heard the paws of the Undergrounders’ dog against the wood of the Staircase. Then, after a while, the sound stopped.

“What’s bitten that dog?” one of the gwaks snorted.

“Dog?” I repeated. “It was a huge wolf!”

“A big dog,” the other replied.

“A wolf,” I insisted.

“It was a dog, period, isturbag,” the first growled, exasperated. “Wolves have finer snouts. Didn’t you see them in the Wild Garden?”

I grimaced and confessed:

“No. But I saw some in the valley—”

A burst of laughter rang out.

“The Sharpy is afraid of dogs!”

“No, that’s not it,” I protested.

“Confess!”

I gave the mocking fellow a blind slap and said:

“Shut your trap, shyur.”

“Anyway, we’re all a little scared of them,” he assured.

Suddenly, I widened my eyes as I recognized the voice and cried out:

“Diver? Patron Spirit, but I heard you ran away from the Rock!”

Nat huffed.

“Bah. I did run away, but I’m back. Things didn’t go well with the gang I left with. They wouldn’t give me the karuja, so I came back here. I just got here yesterday.”

I preferred not to imagine what state he must have arrived in. I sighed.

“Good to see you. Well, even if I can’t see you now,” I said, looking up at the opening where the dim light from the Gem was seeping through and managing to illuminate the alley.

“Good to see you too,” Nat replied, “Still, getting nabbed for being antisocial…”

He let out a guffaw, and I smiled and gave him another shove.

“Then again, if I’d been accused of theft, I’d have been in prison for at least three moons,” I pointed out.

There was a sudden “boom!” on the steps, and I flinched, thinking that the dog had returned, but then another thin figure appeared through the opening.

“Ayo! What’s going on today, that you’re all under cover? It’s not even raining,” Rogan said, surprised.

“It’s because of a wolf,” Manras explained.

“It was a dog,” Diver corrected him with a laugh. “A dog that made Sharpy tremble from head to foot.”

I breathed in and chewed to calm myself before saying:

“Ayo, Priest. What were you doing?”

“Praying, what about you?”

“Negotiating.”

The Priest made a mocking sound as he made a place for himself to sit.

“Negotiating?” he repeated.

“Yeah, and I even spoke with my cousin. He’s inviting us. Well, not all of us,” I said, so as not to create misunderstandings. “He says Manras, Dil, and you can come. He’s even prepared a straw bed for us.”

“A straw bed!” Diver laughed. “Swift has found a house with a view of the Hippodrome and the river. I can’t tell you how luxurious it is; we can even see the sun rise, I swear. As soon as Sharpy tells us that the bad wolf has left, I’m heading there.”

“Scaluftard,” I laughed. “Don’t tell me he has a house with a roof?”

“Yep. Swift is not just any gwak anymore, shyur. He’s a kap with class. He knows how to get things done. And I trust him.”

I pouted thoughtfully. Swift had always had ambitions to command. Still, I liked him, and I knew the feeling was mutual, and if I’d wanted to, I could have made up with Syrdio and stayed with the gang. But now that I had told Yal that I was going to move in with him, I was not going to change my mind.

“Well!” Diver threw out, rising to his feet. “Looks like the wolf has already left. Ayo, everyone, and good night.”

We answered, and as he left, I rubbed my eyes. I was exhausted. If I had not been so tired, I might have had courage enough to go to the Hostel and say to Korther, “Great news, the Undergrounders have not gone away, they are in the Cat Quarter”. But I didn’t. Besides, who knows if Korther would have had the idea of using me as bait to attract the wolf, with Shokinori and Yabir behind… Just imagining myself running again, pursued by the wolf, I was so panicked that the harmonies played tricks on me again and it took me a long time to calm down and manage to undo them. I didn’t even ask myself why these things were happening to me: it was becoming a habit.

A few gwaks, including Rogan, had come out from under the Staircase, and I could hear them whispering to each other. Yawning, I curled up in my usual corner and, crushed between my cronies, was about to fall asleep when Manras whispered to me:

“Sharpy!”

“Mm…”

“Diver asked me if I, too, was a Black Dagger. He told me that, if you were one, maybe I was one too. Is that true?”

Without opening my eyes, I snorted softly.

“Slugboneries. You’re not a Black Dagger, shyur.”

There was silence. Then Manras called me again:

“Sharpy? Are you asleep?”

“A little,” I replied.

“Is it true that dogs scare you?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Depends on which ones.”

“The big ones?”

“Yes. The big ones.”

“Then it is like me,” Manras solidified. “I was very afraid of Adoya’s dogs. My brother used to say that they devoured children who misbehaved.” He paused, as if he regretted thinking of his brother, and then spat, “An isturbag. May he rot in his grave.”

My heart leapt with surprise. How long had he known that…?

“Warok…you know he’s dead?” I gasped.

“Uh…” Manras said, looking puzzled. “Natural. He popped off in the early fall. Didn’t you know about that?”

I knew that Manras was far from being an insensitive person… and that he showed no mercy for Warok took away any possible remorse I might have had for sending his brother into the spirit world.

For all answer, I put a hand on his dirty head and whispered:

“Snooze, shyur.”

This time, he asked no more questions. Or at least I did not hear them, for I sank almost immediately into a deep lake of silence and rest.