Void to Soulless

2

Muttering curses, Caru ran through the back alleys of central Garenesh to further himself from the military structure that had served as his prison for the past two weeks. His head still buzzed, but he recalled hearing at some point that it was an armory. Maybe they felt it was too dangerous to keep him locked up in a regular prison with humans? It went against all protocol for humans to imprison an erman, but the Seranians seemed to have cast such protocol aside.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone followed. None did. Plenty of shouts echoed in the distance, but those were likely for the bloodmages to find and tend to the wounded. Caru felt no pity; perhaps murder was wrong, but he would forgive himself for slaying his tormentors. The woman, though, there was something about that woman in the kitchens. She remained framed in his mind, but focus would elude him as long as Rythellas remained dark in the sky. The Soulless moon would barely be above the horizon now, maybe a bit into the sky, but Caru needed only look ahead to the fullness of Cirellias to see that it was yet before midnight.

He licked his lips, mouth aching for long gulps of water. Even a few gulps of stagnant rainwater eased his rage. Rythellas still showered the erman people with dark rage, but they would be huddled together tonight for the Calming in order to contain their powerful outbursts. Caru had been alone, though, but now that he was without wings, the effects from Rythellas diminished. Where before he would have spent the entire night with family and friends, now one glimpse of a familiar face in a kitchen brought him down.

He thought the fury might return when he was alone again, but his capacity was spent, and, with that, his mind returned. Still buzzing, but he could focus.

Caru flung himself from another alley onto an empty street, bowing his head low between hunched shoulders and rushing ahead into yet another darkened stretch. The guards wouldn't soon forget his chaotic escape, and he had no desire to face them again, powerless as he now was. He thought of the torment they had brought upon him, and the muscles in his back twitched and ached in response. Flight was no longer an option. High moon Rythellas had granted Caru the generous reward of escape, but now he would be left only to his own determination. Being away from the ermen Calming felt odd on the night of the Soulless moon, and he wondered if his mother thought he was dead. Though he couldn’t see his homeland Edaria from the Seranian capital, he could look to Cirellias and know its direction; the Edarian subcontinent rested directly beneath the satellite, and the stationary low moon would serve as a beacon from nearly any point on this hemisphere.

Coming to another thoroughfare, he glanced first left and then right. No lights, no people. The emptiness brought from him another whispered curse. If he could weave through a crowd of people, it would be easier to lose himself to any pursuing guards. A lone man running at night–one with a scrap of bloody shirt at that–would raise questions even if the night watch was not on alert. Armory bells still tolled in the distance, echoed by others across the city. Turning eastward, he spotted the orange tint low on the horizon from fires blazing somewhere in the capital. Again he found himself wishing a safe escape to the others tonight. He wondered how long it would be before the Seranian military began patrolling the streets in force, but he crushed the thought. Panic would only end in his recapture, and he would see the entire city drown in flame before allowing that.

Barrels of stagnant rainwater sat in one alleyway, glowing faintly beneath Cirellian light. Rats watched Caru’s approach before retreating to various holes in the wall as he neared. Tiny eyes reflected moonlight from higher perches, the bold vermin remaining to spy on the intruder. Water oozed into his worn shoes as he padded through a large puddle and stopped at a barrel to first cup water into his clean hand for a drink and then to plunge the arm covered in guards’ blood beneath the surface to rinse it clean. Refreshed, and looking less like a murderer, he stopped to rest for a moment. The alley was wider than some of the others, dotted with a few more barrels and crates. It stank of decay and cheap booze.

The source–well, a contributor at least–of the filthy smell rested at the exit to the next street. A grimy man lay curled in the fetal position at the entrance of a grocer’s shop, perhaps to have the first pickings of whatever moldy fruits and vegetables the owner would throw out in several hours. For now though, the man held an empty bottle in his hand and muttered angrily into what seemed an especially aggressive dream. The drunkard’s left arm flopped down in an impotent mockery of a punch before returning close to his chest. He then clutched his bottle in both hands, shivered, and curled into a tighter ball. A rough woolen coat lay some distance away from the man. Caru knelt beside the man, careful not to wake him as he claimed his prize. He shouldered the jacket onto himself and buttoned it in a rush as he walked across the street. The jacket was tight over Caru’s shoulders and reeked of booze and regret, but it would serve its purpose. Turning into another alleyway, Caru saw the drunkard’s arm flop again before drawing it back to his bottle. As he disappeared from sight, Caru smiled, imagining the flailing arm to be a wave of good luck and best wishes.

Memories of his imprisonment returned, and the smile faded. Damned humans. Rage still kindled in his breast, but he could suppress it long enough, wear a smile long enough, to not cause a scene and get away from that damned armory. This was no time to dawdle. He jogged through alleys until he lost count, each time finding the streets dark and empty. Somewhere far behind, a guard shouted, the voice resonating over the quiet city. Interrogating the drunk man by now, no doubt.

With five more streets between himself and the armory, Caru spared himself another moment of rest, leaning against the side of a building as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. Immense resolve kept his hands from trembling or knees from shaking. Muscles burned with a deep fury. The escape had seemed effortless at the time, but without Rythellas driving him into a Soulless fury, his body would soon claim its toll. The Soulless night was taxing even during the Calming, and this marked the first time in his life that Caru had yielded himself to the moon’s insanity.

Taking a deep breath, Caru stood and moved across the next street at a more casual pace. Despite his present aches, giving way to the Soulless monster was exhilarating. Even with only the tiniest fraction of power remaining, he felt truly alive for the first time in weeks. The rush, the power, the sheer bloodthirst of it all! If only he still had his erman wings, if the damn humans hadn’t taken them from him, the entire armory and surrounding city blocks would lie in ruin, if not the whole of Garenesh. Surely the human bloodmages would have killed him before he got that far, but the damage would have been formidable, nonetheless. Luck alone saw that there were no bloodmages present at his prison, or at least it had kept any who may have been there from discovering him.

A broader street lay ahead at the end of the next alleyway. To the left–south–the street curved into more darkness. However, the city was brighter to the north. Lanterns lit the path, swaying softly in the nighttime breeze as a small group of people walked the cobblestone road. A dark sliver cut across the Cirellian surface–just after midnight, then.

Caru looked to his tight jacket and frowned. It still reeked of alcohol and fit poorly, but hopefully he would only look clumsy and not murderous. Dry mud flaked from his left arm. He shifted his shoulders and bowed his head, hoping the jacket would make him unremarkable. Holding a prayer in his mind, he approached the first group of people. Some noticed his dirty jacket and turned away in haughty disgust. The younger people noticed his attire and pointed it out to their companions, laughing softly at “the clumsy oaf.” Caru forced a slight stagger into his step every third or fourth pace. Let them think him a drunken fool. A teenage boy shouted something Caru didn’t understand and raised a hand. Caru forced a grin and waved back, punctuating it with a stumble that very nearly ended with him falling face-first against the pavement. The group laughed at his antics and cheered loudly before they returned to their business. Caru waved a second time and forced another stagger before he turned and let his smile dissolve. He approached the lights to the north.

A loud whistle sounded in the distance, followed by a sound like a slowing heartbeat that ended with a prolonged squeal. Caru finally recognized the lights–Garenesh’s central train depot–and was surprised that it would remain open throughout the night, but he had little interaction or interest in human transport systems. Moving along the ground seemed so slow, almost archaic. Much faster to travel by air or Portals, but the humans lacked either option.

Caru came to the station and saw the train, how it extended far into the distance, steam still hissing from the engine as stewards aided disembarking passengers. Bleary-eyed travelers filled the depot, some standing before a car while attendants pitched luggage to other employees, others leaving the station with no more than what they held in their hands. There would be no better time to move with a crowd. He waited at the depot exit, propped against a pedestal that supported a statue in bronze of the Seranian Blood-Emperor, Theop. It was a fine cut, but not one of his own. Surely such a thing would have been commissioned to a human sculptor. Caru made himself step away from the monument; stopping to admire would only rouse suspicions against his facade, so he willed himself to look in another direction. While he did want to admire the bronze figure in more detail, he equally wanted to turn and spit on the Blood-Emperor’s image. Blood-Emperor Theop I, Sun Blessed! Caru willed his hands not to ball into fists. Though the bronze Blood-Emperor loomed over the broken erman, Caru held his peace. No sense in getting arrested again over defacing a monument.

Cirellian light cascaded through the depot’s glass roof. Iron rafters cast long shadows into places out of reach of the station’s interior lighting. A group of nearly twenty travelers came to the building’s south exit, and Caru fell into step alongside them, letting their movement guide him. They coughed and muttered and rubbed at their eyes, but none showed offense at his appearance, or smell. A few travelers broke away from the group at each intersection, but Caru remained with the larger group for some time. He hunched his shoulders and watched his feet shuffle along, keeping his head down.

When another pair split away from the group, Caru realized there were no longer enough people to blend with. If he remained, the others would scrutinize him more closely and would likely be suspicious that he was a thug or a thief. He held his breath as he walked, expecting someone to motion for a patrolman to investigate the grimy man in their midst. Caru exhaled in relief as they approached the next intersection with no one walking away. It would only raise further suspicion if he followed someone as they left. He stepped away from his group to head west along a split avenue, toward the shining beacon of Cirellias. Toward home. Someone looked over their shoulder as he left, but they said nothing.The path Caru had chosen was dim, but at least there was some light to it. People milled about at different points along the boulevard’s length, but no one presented danger. Still, he kept his shoulders hunched and eyes on the ground. Don’t make a scene. Don’t be remembered. Stay quiet, stay calm. That black slice along Cirellias’s eastern surface grew wider as time passed. Each hour between him and the armory brought him closer to a true, lasting freedom.

He wished to again be on Edaria, with Cirellias directly and perpetually overhead.

Caru knew there was a Portal in Garenesh’s Trade Plaza–the one he had used to come to this cursed city in the first place, the one that connected to his Edarian home, Detrina. Leaving that way would require him to remain in the Seranian capital, but it might prove more fruitful than making for the city gates directly. If he could get to the Portal and manage to activate it, he could return to Edaria and report his case to fellow ermen without human interference. Still, there remained the question of whether or not he could even use the Portal without wings. The Edarian Sentinels at the Portal platform would no doubt question his inspection, and that would undoubtedly bring more unwanted attention.

Perhaps escaping through the city gates wasn’t such a bad choice, after all, and would be easier if he could find more crowds to blend into.

Then again, he might also be able to contact the Edarian embassy. Escape must lie somewhere.

Yawning into his open hand, Caru decided he could save those questions for later. He’d hardly slept at all the night before in anticipation of possibly escaping his prison without the Calming on a Soulless night. Twenty long hours since he’d awakened, and the escape had further drained him almost to the point of collapse. Sleep felt like a bad decision, but so did passing out and tumbling into the street.

He looked down several alleys before finding what he sought: a ladder propped against the side of a tall building. He glanced about to see if anyone noticed, then stepped between the two buildings when he was certain no one was looking. Caru climbed the ladder and met a light breeze that blew over the rooftops and prickled against his skin. It felt nice. He had once worried he would never feel another breeze. The humans may have taken the sky from him, but they would never have the wind.

He stripped the drunkard’s foul jacket away and used it as a poor man’s blanket. Resting on the side of the roof opposite the ladder, he finally let sleep overtake his exhausted body.