By A.Z. Mohd

It took Tallem a considerable effort to convince Behram to join him on Tairim’s magnificently fucked up plan. The very purpose of this plan, or at least the one that Tallem was originally led to believe, was to stay as far away from the Greywatchers. It was an absolute necessity, Tairim said back then at the graveyard when they took the entire afternoon planning this whole thing. His witty little brother, which was not so little anymore even took the effort to repeatedly state that Tallem was to stay away from any sort of trouble in case he fucked things up again. Something he seem to do quite naturally due to his extraordinary sense of self control, which was arguably—close to none.

Tallem had to drag the poor little princeling as he endlessly bleated at the increasingly intoxicating stench that filled the chamber cells. Luckily the two slaves there finally moved on, leaving the rest of the graveyard boys to pick up the slack. It was quite the reunion. They were doing quite the progress at flushing things out of the way, human waste and all that. Behram’s purpled face, gasping for breath finally managed to keep quiet at the sight of Tairim and Riff, who had to explain everything to him as slow and repetitive as his temper could manage.

“The pit is this place?” Sweaty-face Behram gurgled. “Feels like my skin’s peeling off or something.”

It wasn’t that bad as far as Tallem was concerned. But who was he to talk about such things? Both boys were tainted, though not in the same spectrum. The smell of charred flesh, blood and bone mixed in with a thick air of burnt coal oozed from the cauldron. Every nook and cranny in the room soaked up the stench throughout the years. Even the walls smelled like it.

Tallem took the lead climbing the wide and seemingly endless stairway that spiraled around the huge cauldron. It seemed endless for the unfamiliar. A neat illusion if you stared at it from down below.

Behram surfed the wall and away from the cauldron that burned like the fires of damnation itself. He almost looked like a bug on the wall. A very large one at that. The searing heat touched their skin, which in turn made them sweat. And sweat they did. Behram on the other hand looked like a drenched sheep in the season of rains. Behram could feel the flames touch his skin. But Tallem--he could hear them.

Behram’s breath heaved, gurgling. The bruise on his leg was much visible now. His steps looked more like a crawl rather than a climb. Is he going to pass out? Tallem grumbled, sighed, then took one step back, walking directly beside him. His towering height compared to the little rat shielded him. Tallem noticed the suspicious stare coming from his right. He didn’t bother to look.

“T-thanks,” Behram mumbled.

Tallem stared, but Behram kept his gaze at the next step, one painful foot after another.

“Do you need help?” asked Tallem. “I could just carry you, you know.”

“And look suspicious? Are you trying to get us killed?” Behram’s gaze turn toward the cauldron. “I’ve been kicked enough for one day.”

Shit, how did I forget. Embarrassed, Tallem began to take the lead again. He heard Behram cursed behind him. He could hear his breath struggling again. But Tallem managed to ignore it until the endlessness of the cauldron finally ended.

The last person who used this door, whoever he maybe, forgot to shut it. Not that it had a lock on it to begin with. There was enough crack for Tallem and Behram to peek through. What they saw was a place lit by bright sunlight. A stark contrast from the hellish red glow in the cauldron.

They snuck through after finding it empty. Behram shut the door behind him, nearly collapsing as he took one big gasped of breath. An obvious gratefulness made his mucky face glow like a devoted church goer at the sight of the half-covered balcony. A little longer in the cauldron and he’d be singing praises for the King like Kalis. Behram was not the religious type, though he might just end up one once they’re done with this place. Patiently, Tallem waited, giving the young princeling as much time as he needed to gather himself while the coast was still clear. He needed his talents—or curse as most people would point out—in tip top shape for what they were about to do next.

The balcony was covered by a thin layer of metal mesh, hence half covered it was. Most balconies, windows and other confined open spaces—the ones who can afford it at least—were done that way to siphon the toxic air of the day out. Though it isn’t impossible to breath the air outside, but breath long enough however and it starts to become bothersome. Taking it in for far too long and one would find himself struggling to find air. It was quite the irony indeed. Those who could not afford the presence of a physician would die in a matter of days after the symptoms have arrived.

Tallem peered through the balcony. He could see parts of the city below. People crawled the streets with scarfs over faces. But no one dared to cover their dust riddled heads. It was illegal to do so, with the exception of the Cloakmeisters with their bright red hoods. Stupid fucking laws, Tallem cursed. There were a few of them now marching on the middle of the street. Everything moved from carriages, horses, and people giving safe passage to their passing. All of them bowed in the presence of the robed men. Tallem could almost hear their endless chants, prayers and of course, the praises for the King—the one they call the Prophet of Progress.

Legends say that the King once saved the world. The prophecy tells that he will do so again, that he will lift the curse from the desert sky and bring back the ocean above them. Fairy tales, Tallem thought. He was too old for that.

His eyes wondered beyond the rows of houses and structures, beyond the great tower that stood in the city center like a sword plunge into the earth, beyond parts of the city he could no longer see clearly, to finally rest on the wall that rose so high you could barely see the sky if you stood in front of it. A great big wall that enveloped the city to no end, keeping everything out, and everyone else in.

“Are you done?” Tallem turned toward Behram still seated on the floor.

He seemed to have gathered himself now. Behram grumbled as he stood, and with that, they again began their procession.

For the meantime luck was on their side. The place was empty so far. The rowdy crowd below seem to have come alive once more. Though that would die soon enough. They had a few hours left before this floor was riddled with servants eager to call it a day. Worst case scenario, they might even stumble on a few Greywatchers. Tallem hoped at the very least not the ones they’ve encountered moments ago.

The pathway on the balcony ended on two separate doorways. Tallem struggled for a moment with his memory floundering away, but eventually took the lead toward the right. Left was Greywatcher territory, his memories told him. Part of him doubted his decision, but the carvings on the door head ceased it. They were off to a good start.

For the uninitiated it was easy to mistake this place as a cavern. Each corridor led to even more, breaking into infinite passageways consumed by darkness crudely lit by flames hanging on the walls. Each leading to an end to their supposed luck. This was why Tairim was incessant on bringing Behram along. The little sheep served as their very own early warning device, sensing the smallest hints of footsteps and echoing voices, and sometimes even the odd stench of liquor hazing through the air. Normally Behram would have been incapable of such feats. Not with such substandard powder that is. But the small closed off area seem to funnel such sensations to their benefit.

Tallem found a new kind of respect for the little rascal. Partly due to the fact that he finally managed to keep his mouth shut. Something rare for the likes of Behram. Tallem knew the little rut too well. Indeed, beatings had their uses. As an expert himself at taking and giving them, Tallem strongly agreed.

Most of the servants stayed in their small bunkers. Behram heard a few snores. But there were others who roamed the area from one place to another. Though their method kept them safe, it also meant they had to turn back or wait for the threat to pass. They could just walk it out. But those damn marks on both their foreheads would give them away. Their disguise was not meant to be seen up close. Questions would raise and soon enough things could get ugly. They should have made some progress at the very least with Behram’s talents. Instead, they were walking in circles it seems.

The goal was to cross these looping corridors, pass the long open aisle that would then lead into the antechamber, and hopefully the assembly hall at the far end. The problem was, there was only one way to cross this maze, and that meant facing the inevitable.

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” whispered Behram.

“Were not.” Said Tallem, leaning closely on the walls edge, eyes peering through.

“We’ve crossed this exact corridor three times.”

“They all look the same. Now shut it.”

Behram did. But not for long as they moved around yet again, going back to where they were moments ago, turning left, then right, and settling into another yet identical corridor. Behram heard a noise from one of the rooms, which meant they had to move. And move they did, turning around, taking a left, then a right once more, into that exact corridor they left earlier.

“Again?! That makes it four!”

“Quit it! I know what I’m doing.”

Tallem began to doubt those words as it left his mouth. They could just walk straight toward it. But Tallem wanted to avoid meeting a servant as long as possible. Him being old enough to look like a—Shit! Tallem held the fake bangle around his neck, staring at his ragtag clothes. Tallem continued to curse in his thoughts, realizing far too late that he had the wrong disguise from the very start.

He could have just pretended to be a servant leading along a slave into one of the quarters. No one would have batted an eye. Even so with a slaves disguise, him being somewhat old enough meant he would have been safe from the hungry eyes of the servants. Or so he assumed he would be. But Behram, he was just a boy. A boy walking into a snake pit.

“Behind us.” Whispered Behram

Tallem turned around, eyes zoned in on the corridor. Must have come from the cauldron, he thought. Tallem leaned his ear, but heard none.

“How many?”

“Just one, and walking fast.”

“We need to mo-”

“Wait! There’s more of them. It’s coming from there.”

Behram pointed to other side. Like a bunch of mice running a maze with no exit--they were trapped.

“Looks like our luck has just run out.” Tallem eyed Behram for a second. Then he cursed some more. He seem to do that a lot lately. “Just follow my lead.” Tallem stood to one corner, both hands to the side, eyes gazing at the floor like a good slave. Behram followed his lead. “And whatever you do, don’t—”

“Stare at them,” said Behram. “I got the message quite clearly.”

Tallem nodded. Hearts pounding in their chest. Waiting for either one to arrive. The footsteps grew closer said Behram. Though Tallem couldn’t hear a thing until a sharp clapping noise came about. It was the sound of lose rubber hitting the ground. A pair of sandals. It came from behind, which was soon followed by softer but merrier footsteps from the front. Better one than many, thought Tallem as he quickly took off toward that way. Behram paused for a minute, confused, but eventually followed.

“What are we doing?”

“It’s a good time to keep quiet now.” whispered Tallem, keeping his brisk pace. Please don't be an officer, or worse—a seer.

The clapping sound grew louder as they approached the corridors edge, keeping the noise under their feet to a minimum. Tallem stopped, then stood on a wall just in time as the mysterious figure loomed over. Black curly hair cropped short, sandals braided in red vines wrapped around skinny feet, skin as thin as can be with clothes too long for his size. It was quite the fashion statement in these parts as Tallem would argue. And around his neck glinted the familiar jewelry of a steel bangle.

The slave didn’t bother to look into the corridor as he passed by. The boys stood idly with their hearts about to burst. An audible gasp of relief escaped Behram’s throat, which he instantly choked up on upon hearing the many footsteps that followed on the other side. They too were about to make an appearance. By then Tallem had made his decision.

He came out from that corridor and began to follow the boy, walking a few lengths back from the quiet slave who still didn’t bother to turn around. He seemed older than Behram, though not as old as Tallem. His shoulders were small, neck reasonably long, and there was a slight limp on his right leg. Tallem wondered where this slave was headed to. Not one of the quarters he hoped, otherwise getting ganged up in the corridor would have seem a much brighter fate than what awaited them.

“I see you’ve found a friend,” whispered Behram, barely catching up from behind. “So, is this part of your plan? Or do you intend to live here from now on?”

“Do you think any of this was my plan?” Tallem turned sharply toward him, glaring darkly. Behram nearly choked at that.

It was enough to make the little runt stumble a little. Normally, Tallem would have been amused by that. But as it stands, his patience was falling a lot shorter than he expected. At this rate, he might just have to make a run for it.

“So, when where you guys brought in?” said the unfamiliar voice.

Tallem and Behram stood still at the strange talker. He seemed to have noticed, stopped, then turned toward them. Both hands clasped, resting just below the navel. Tallem gazed at him suspiciously, staring at the bangle around his neck and down toward the rest. Then his jaw dropped at the sight of two round nipples poking through the thin and almost invisible front fabric. Round and supple and blossoming. He was no boy indeed. Far from it. He wasn’t thin, he was a she.

Her black hair cut short around the ear, soft skin like almond with a hint of bruises here and there, but up close you can see the fullness of her lips slightly pink, the way the eyebrows slant and curved like a woman’s did, and black eyes that were deep and wide as the moon itself.

“It’s a woman.” Behram red faced gasped. His lips parted so wide that his tongue threatened to fall out.

“It’s a girl.” Tallem said while pushing Behram’s face so far back behind him, his neck nearly bent backward while the rest of his body followed.

“Fuckin hell,” Behram touched his red face. “Why’d you do that for?”

“Stop staring you creep.”

“I’m not,” Behram whined. “It’s not like I haven’t seen breasts before. You’re the one who keeps sneaking into whore houses on Revellent Street.”

Tallem blushed for a moment. His instincts wanted to reach out to Behram with a closed fist. But the thought was quickly broken by a soft giggle that seemed to hang in the air like grape juice, sweet and honeyed. Tallem stole glances of those pair of black round spots for a moment. Thinking it was rude, he managed to leer at her lips instead.

Those lips reminded him of someone he knew. Someone he knew quite well indeed. Her name whispered around his mind. Then he brush the thought away and returned her gaze to her. She might be frail looking for now, but there was an endearing potential to her beauty. Something Tallem hoped to see one day in the near future. Perhaps in a future where he becomes a champion of the coliseum, and that her voice would echo on the sidelines where she waited for him. Or at least that’s what the voices in his mind thought. What am I doing? Focus you little shit! Tallem shut the voices down.

“We’re new.” Said Tallem.

“I can see that.” she said, scanning their faces. That was not a good sign, thought Tallem. “Though I find it odd,” she continued, “That a marked one such as yourselves,” her gaze wandered to their foreheads, “would be bothered to be here. Shouldn’t you two be somewhere more, useful?”

Tallem almost gagged at that. But he kept his composure. This was not the time to lose it. Not yet at least. “Dunno, perhaps it’s some kind of initiation or something. Just doing what were told.” Tallem tried to sound oblivious. A pathetic attempt it was.

“I see.” She spoke. “I’m not sure where you two’r headed. But I must apologize, I am expected elsewhere,” she curtsied, then began walking away.

Only then did Tallem noticed the sway on her hips as she walked down the corridor. He didn’t even get her name. Though to be fair, she didn’t bother to get theirs. Fucking pit!

“She’s a whore, isn’t she? And quite young as well,” said the drooling sheep.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tallem began to brisk his stroll, trying to catch up at the young damsel.

“And she curtsied,” Behram slightly out of breath whispered from behind. “Did you see that? Like a fucking noble. She’s been trained it seems. I wonder what else she’s been trained to do.”

“Do you need more beatings?” He glared at him. He’s been doing that so much today that Behram was probably used to it by now. “Perhaps you need training as well.”

“Jeez, relax. I’m just stating the obvious. No wonder you need whores to keep you company. Always grumpy and all.”

Since when did he started talking so much? For a moment Tallem hoped he heard the last of it back there. Now he seems to bleat more often than not. It’s as if he forgot being kicked to death just moments ago, and his sheepish personality just got turned on once more. Tallem needed to find a way to turn it off, and quickly.

“Unless you want a servant up on your ass, I suggest you listen, and less talking.”

They were almost close to her now.

“Calm down, where in the clear. I don’t hear anything at all besides our footsteps.”

Tallem stopped abruptly. His wide eyes stared at Behram. “Are you sure you didn’t run out?”

Behram paused, then his face turned pale. His eyes fell to his leg, still purpled and visibly swollen. But he didn’t seem to limp anymore. No wonder he was acting himself. The pain on his leg must have died down along with the powder. Things have just gotten worse.

Tallem considered forcing Behram to use his senses. But tapping into the curse without the aid of a powder coursing through your veins was dangerous. Deadly in most cases. Behram was no longer useful, more like an extra baggage. A risk with no reward. Should he tell him to turn back. But they were way too far from the balcony. Behram could get lost. He could take him back. But then he’d lose all the progress. And Tallem seemed to have forgotten where this corridor led. Shit. Shit! Shit! The voices droned over and over.

Tallem’s eyes turned toward the girl. She’s made quite the gap between them. Tallem burst to a light jog, trying to catch up.

“Where headed to the aisle,” Tallem whispered from behind. Her head turned slightly, then retracted back toward the front.

“You’re lost,” she sighed.

“I guess we are,” Tallem attempted a laugh. It was more like snort. “We’ve been walking around for quite a while now, and we can’t seem to find it. It’s like a maze in here.”

“Hmm,” she simply mumbled.

Tallem debated whether to speak more. Perhaps he could sound more desperate. A servant could spring out any moment now. Behram seem to have kept quiet at the very least. Seems like his more aware of how fucked up the situation was. If Behram was running empty, then what about him?

Tallem closed his eyes for moment—then listened. The whispers came pouring out. His eyes shot open as he closed back the lid inside his mind. He still had some of it at least. An incredible weight rested on his shoulder. It was all on him now. If ever he manage to get them out of here, he planned to have a very long talk with his brother. Perhaps with a few smacks here there as well for good measure.

“Why there?” said the girl.

Tallem barely heard her. “W-what? Oh yeah. Were on cleaning duty.”

“Without mops and buckets?”

Shit. Why does this feel like an interrogation? She’s asking too many questions.

“We were told there were some left there.”

“And how would that happen?” she continued.

The conversation flipped. They were supposed to be the ones asking questions, not the other way around. Tallem was bone dry of ideas—and patience.

“That’s just what were told lady. Just following orders like everybody else.” Behram interrupted.

Tallem glared at Behram. Behram stared back. Both boys held each others gaze is if they were speaking with their eyes.

“I believe someone already did that area moments ago,” the girl slowed her pace now walking beside them. Her eyes stared suspiciously.

“Oh, yeah. I heard that too. But there’s blood and stuff there now,” said Behram. “Some kid must have messed up quite spectacularly. The masters thought him a lesson if you know what I mean,” Behram displayed his swollen leg with pride, adding a few limps here and there for dramatic effect. It looked convincing enough. A talented liar indeed. “He passed out after that. Where just here to pick up the slack. So where is that place again?”

“I see,” Her eyes stared away from Behram’s leg. It seemed somewhat similar to her own bruised leg, though not as badly bruised nor swollen. She seem to doubt them for a minute. “Fine. But only once, and just the lip of it. Better get used to this place, and quickly. Unless you want your blood being mopped off the floor.” And with that, she led the way.

A considerable number of servants passed by forcing them to stand aside and give way. They were stared at from time to time, laughed at, called out, but never beyond that. Some threw glances filled with disdain, while others lusted over them. Minds running wild with disgusting thoughts of what they could do to them.

But the servants seem to have a limit with their usual transgressions. It stopped as soon as they noticed the young lady. Anyone who even dared to grab her stopped abruptly at the sight of the bright red tattoo marked between her collar bone. It was quite the match with her red sandals. They must have assumed that Tallem and Behram were with the girl for a very specific task. Something Tallem had no intention of knowing.

She must have been someone’s prize possession to keep them in check like that. Someone who held quite the leverage within the coliseum. Perhaps someone important within the Nameless Seven itself. Who might that be? The voices tickled Tallem’s thoughts.

The tour ended at one of the corridors. The sight of the aisle appeared at the end. Then the girl went on her way, not bothering to know their names. Though they did manage to exchange a few conversations, with Behram interrupting half of it, doing a piss poor job of trying to impress her. For all of Behram’s dramatic flair, he was still a boy. Though to his credit, he did manage to get her name. Lire she said it was. Assuming she was telling the truth that is. Names are irrelevant once you’re a slave, you either forget it or forced to abandon it.

Lire, Tallem thought about that. Or did she mean liar? Clever, Tallem thought. Tallem guessed it was better that way. Less breadcrumbs meant less trouble. Tallem also guessed that she would stay there for quite some time—inside his thoughts that is.

“She’s quite something isn’t she. I’d like to be trained by her sometime.” Behram whistled, staring at her bottom waving left to right as she faded away.

Tallem ignored that. It was time to get to work. He sighed; eyes wondered about. Things seem quiet besides the muffled noise of the crowd from the arena. Then he walked through the corridor with Behram by his side.

Tallem winced at the sudden blast of light. It was bright within the aisle. The space opened up considerably as they left the corridor. Rows upon columns of long wooden chairs stood on each side. Sunlight came from the clear roof made of tempered glass shaped into a dome. A Fabricator’s work no doubt. Crystal light bulbs hanged from above that shone with the power of steam. An invention that triggered the progress that man enjoyed to this day. For the ones who can afford it at least. Stone statues stood on each corner of the room like living creatures coming out from the walls. Figures shaped into faces of lords and rulers of old. The aisle was a miniature recreation of the city’s main square where the statues stood at least a hundred feet tall.

Tallem recognized some of them. The Hammer King Berthold, a huge man with hair so long it flowed down to his elbows. Legend’s say his story began as a common Greywatcher, and grew in honor within the watch by leading the war against the rebellion. The Stone Lord Merkhith, who founded the scholar of Cloakmeisters. And the Spider King Fallaheem, who's skin was said to be as black as night and organized the institute of inquisition. They say he hid an army of spiders into the royal court and seized the thrown from his corrupted nephew who caused the great stagnation. Though they were no spiders within the city of Jericho, as far as Tallem was told.

Most of the statues blurred into Tallem’s mind. It’s been far too long. He remembered himself as one of the children sitting on those chairs and being lectured upon. A memory long lost. The whisperings fiddled in his mind as he stared at the stone figures. There was one King he hoped to be sculpted on, because that would mean he was dead.

“Woah!” behram gasped behind him. “What an odd place. It’s like—like the main square! Or a piss poor copy of it at the very least.”

“Because it is. Now stop dawdling.” Tallem began walking through the aisle. The lectern caught his eye. This place, it served as a prayer hall. For servants and slaves, a like. Days of red hooded Cloakmeisters visiting the aisle came to mind. Tallem winced, vigorously shaking his head. This was not the time to go on a trip down memory lane. Though that seemed quite the irony. Since he was in fact taking a trip into memory lane. Damn you Tai. He quickened his pace.

The boys made it through the short corridor and into the antechamber. Another corridor led deeper into the building. But they didn’t need to go there. They’ve reached their goal, standing in front of the huge finely carved wooden double doors of the assembly hall. And here comes the risky part. They didn’t have Behram’s ears to rely on. There was no telling whether there was someone inside. Or whether someone was coming from either side of the corridor. And if there was, what excuse did they have to be there?

I got no time for this. Screw it!

Tallem shoved the doors open and was greeted by that familiar darkness. The room was empty it seemed. Tallem scouted the area. A huge long oval table sat in the middle. A candelabra made of glass bulbs hanged above it. Empty wine bottles neatly displayed on opposite walls, with red long curtains that flowed from top to bottom and painted black with the mark of the coliseum, a round ring made of pillars. A few bush plants thrived on corners, some stood taller than him. And in the far corner were two giant bookshelves filled to the brim, with a red thin metal door squished in the middle, also with the mark of the coliseum painted on it. It almost looked like a curtain if you weren't looking close enough.

“Stay here and keep watch.”

“I can’t hear shit,” Behram whined. “What if there’s a lot of them? And what’s beyond that corridor?” He pointed at the one leading further beyond the antechamber.

“Greywatchers. It leads to their quarters.”

“Great,” Behram swooned with a sarcastic tone. “And now I have to watch both ways? Hell no, I’m coming in.” Behram stepped inside, eyes filled with amusement. “Uh-huh. Fancy place they got here.”

Tallem thought of choking the little shit with that bangle around his neck. Perhaps he can hide his body under the table. He was after all, no longer useful. They were wasting time.

“Fine. Get those buckets and brumsticks and pretend like you’re cleaning the place. And don’t touch anything.”

“How am I supposed to clean anything if I can’t touch anything?”

Tallem clenched his jaw. His fist moved fast behind the shoulder ready to swing. Behram’s eyes widened, arms held high in front of him. Then his knuckles stopped right before impact. The muffled roar of the crowd followed, echoing from down below. Tallem opened his fist, then pointed a finger.

“Don’t test my patience. I’m all out of it.” Tallem relaxed, turning his back to him. “Use your head, make yourself useful, I don’t give a damn. Just stay out of my fucking way.”

Tallem did not bother to turn. He cared little what Behram did. He only cared about being done with all of this. Done with this stupid plan, done with the stupid Gravewalkers, and done with the stupid secret peace and with that stupid Shepherd and his big fat face.

The red door seemed to have been painted anew. But the lock that held it shut wasn’t. It wasn’t one of those well-crafted locks made by the empire’s fabricators. These locks were made by the Nameless Seven themselves and whatever army of resources they have beneath the surface. It was complicated enough to the unfamiliar. But Tallem did lived in this place for a good chunk of his life. He was familiar with such contraptions. The more you know it, the easier to manipulate. There was a sense of comfort knowing that some things didn’t change.

Tallem was about to reach a hand over, when he stopped to checked on Behram. He was to his credit, making himself useful with a bucket and brum. More importantly, he was far away on the other side of the room admiring the empty glasses of wine. It meant no one else was looking.

Dear powder, please work. Tallem prayed, closed his eyes, then reached deep into the darkness of his thoughts. Hello whispers, Tallem whispered back at them. Make yourselves useful.

He grasped the lock, bare fingers feeling the metal, then the layers underneath. His mind making a mental image of the parts and bolts and hinges that moved the mechanism. Tallem’s whispers grew louder, almost deafening, reaching toward the other side to form a bridge, a connection. Then everything stopped abruptly, replaced by silence—and distress.

Tallem’s eyes opened in disbelief. He swallowed the lump forming in is throat, barely noticing the beads of sweat falling from his marked forehead. Then he pulled. The lock came lose. Someone left it open. Or worse, someone broke through. Tallem prayed it wasn’t the latter.

Tallem cautiously pushed it open. The metal hinges made a soft creaking sound. Noise was the least of his concerns. Tallem nearly lost his breathe at what he found inside. Or what was left in it.

Shelves upon shelves left hollow and empty. Valuable jewels and scrolls gone like they were never there. Old books thrown all over the place, with pages ripped apart when they fell and scattered about. But most notable of all, were the missing ledgers. Tallem could never forget those. His old master was a scribe in these very halls. A very old, very crude and incredibly harsh master. He made life like the pit itself for Tallem and his brother. There were times Tallem thought that flinging themselves into the endlessly burning cauldron was a much better fate than serving the old scribe. Thankfully, he died, and not by accident at the very least. Those were the kind of things the whispers would not let him forget. But with all the memories flooding his mind, one thing was certain, someone has been here, or more than one from the looks of it. Whoever they were, they knew what they came for.

It was dark inside. There was just enough light passing through a small hole on the wall to squint around and see. Broken pieces of pretty much everything else made an audible crunch at Tallem’s footsteps as he went deeper. There was a considerable amount of things left untouched. Tallem’s eyes rested on a silver dagger with a ruby on its hilt. At least they left some weapons, regardless of how small it was. Truthfully, it was more like an ornament. He took it without hesitation, checked the sharpness of the edge, and when satisfied, hid it carefully within his ragged clothes. It could come in very handy in the next few unpredictable minutes. The sun will not wait, he needed to find those keys, and quickly.

“Holy pit, this place looks like a mess.” Behram’s voice echoed loudly inside the small enclosed space. “I guess they don’t mind being filthy so long as no one sees it.”

Tallem glared at Behram standing on the partially opened red door. “What are you doing here? I told you to keep watch!”

“I did. The crowd just went silent a few minutes ago. I haven’t heard any yelling since.”

So soon? Damn it, Tallem cursed so hard he nearly bit his own tongue. “Fine, grab what you can hide, leave what you can’t. The smaller the better.”

Behram just stood there, mouth gaping wide in awe, drooling. “Were rich!” The little sheep squealed. “Look at all this stuff!” Touching a few coins here and there, grabbing a few gems to hold them in the air. “Were rich!”

“Keep quiet!” Tallem wanted no more than to smack him right then and there. “and close that damn door!”

Tallem searched the small room from end to end trying to find those keys. Every box unopened was opened. Behram on the other hand picked handfuls of whatever small valuable he could get his grubby little hands on. A permanent smile planted on his face. Coins, trinkets, gems and all, stuffing it on every crevice in his person, trying his best to make it inconspicuous as possible. Some of it even slipped into his crotch. They searched every shelf, climbing them if need be.

Tallem felt a sudden heat run through every inch of his skin. A sense of panic rising inside his mind as the time went on for what seemed like forever. The sickening sense of this going all to shit made him want to vomit. Then, as sighed relief escaped him. He managed to take the biggest gasp of breath so far. He found what he came for. It dangled beneath a shelf hidden between two undefiled books. Tallem reached in to grab it, then almost hit his head when he heard the noise of clattering coins on the floor.

That fucking brat is going to get as all killed. Tallem swerve to yell at him. Coins and gems filled the floor where he left. Behram was gone. He was out the door and was back into the assembly hall. Tallem couldn’t take it anymore. He was at his limit. With a single breath he yelled without a care in the world.

“Behram!” His voice boomed beyond the small room making Behram turned sharply.

“Keep it down, will you?” Behram whispered from a far. Which only served to agitate Tallem even more.

Keep it down? I’ll keep you down, and for good. You little shit. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“I have an idea.” Behram said, grabbing two buckets and brumstick on the side and made his way back.

Behram dropped them into the room. It didn’t take long for Tallem to piece things together. And it only made him angry at himself. It was a brilliant idea indeed. Something Tallem would have never thought to do. Just a moment ago, he was entertaining the idea of bursting out of the door, keys and coins clanking in wherever they managed to snuck it and making a run for it. Behram’s idea however, was clearly the better one. He wasn’t completely useless it seems. But Tallem had no intention of telling him that. No use trying to make his big head even bigger.

Quietly, Tallem took one of the buckets and started filling it with every odd bit of valuable he can find. And there was a lot of the small stuff. It was the mother-load indeed compared to the things they stole back in the Arena.

“What? No pats on the shoulder and such?” mumbled Behram while he filled his bucket. “No wonder you have a tough time with women.”

“The only pat you get is my fist to your face.” Tallem grumbled as he finished pilling his loot. Not too much, but not too few either. He felt a slight grin on his lips staring at it. Then pushed the thought away. “Now hurry up.”

Tallem stood, walked pass Behram, and made his way out the door. Then a loud cracking and shattering noise thundered from behind him.

As if Behram couldn’t do anything less than screw things up. He probably put too much than what he can carry. The fool he was indeed. The prospect of throwing Behram into the cauldron sounded more endearing than ever. But when Tallem turn toward him, with a mean scowl on his face, what he found was Behram with his mouth gaped open. Wider than he has seen before. His eyes peering straight into a small open box that seemed to have fallen. A hint of dust and smoke flew in the air around him.

“Holy Prophets and Kings!” said Behram, barely managing to find his voice. “The mother-load of all mother loads.”

Behram reached a hand into the box. Then a glint of light shimmered in his fingers as he pulled it up. Tallem could see it himself, and even he struggled to contain his jaw from falling, if it was indeed what he thought it was.

Glass vials they were, small and fragile and more valuable than anything they had so far. Valuable to the likes of Tallem and Behram. For what was contained inside them were the very things that kept the both of them sane enough to be alive. The precious powder it was. But not just any powder. Not the mandatory white powders the empire gave on credit for low lives like them. Those only serve to keep the infection from feeding off of their own mind and flesh, burning them from inside out. It wasn’t even the grey ones, light ashen in color which allowed the two of them to tap certain wonders that their cursed blood had given them, without the side effects of course. No, it wasn’t. This powder however was dark, darker than anything they have ever seen before. Even darker than the ones the fighters in the Arena where allowed to consume.

Both boys licked their lips, wondering the taste of it, the feel of it coursing through their veins. It wasn’t completely black. Far from it. But Tallem and Behram understood what this darkness meant. The wonders such a mixture could unleash. It was unimaginable as far as the two were concerned. The darker, the better. Every tainted knew that.

Tallem dropped his bucket, walking back to take a closer look, his jaw still dangling in place. There were a few untouched vials left inside that tiny plain looking box. Eight of them including the one on Behram’s hand. But most were broken. Must have been the fall. That clumsy little shit, thought Tallem. But then again, without Behram’s little fuck up, they would have never discovered it at all.

Whispers began surging through his mind, deafening. The thoughts grew louder still. Wondering why the Nameless Seven would hoard such a dangerous and forbidden substance. Dangerous to the empire at the very least. One would be signing his own death by simply having one of these on hand. Something which was about to happen as the boys heard footsteps beyond those large double doors.

Behram kneeled down, his hand reaching inside the box, then pulled out a palm filled with the scattered powder. “I’m taking one now.”

“Wait.” Tallem gasped.

“We don’t know what this thing can do.”

“Have you gone deaf?” scowled Behram. “I can hear footsteps out there. Without the help of my brilliant fucking talents. We might as well take our chances with it if we want to get out of here alive. I don’t know about you, but I’m liking our odds with this one.” He held the dark powder up to his nose.

The image of tainted ones devoured by their own curse sprung into Tallem’s mind. Inuk’s going insane from the inside out, Sturge’s rampaging as the curse devours their own flesh. And him, Tallem would lose his mind. Every bit of sanity left in him would be eaten away until there was nothing left of the boy he once was. He could barely remember his childhood as it is. This is bad, far too unpredictable. If only there was a better way. There was none. The footsteps grew louder.

Tallem took a single vial on one hand then hid it in his pocket, the rest he scrapped a handful scattered inside the box. Bits and pieces of broken glass clung to his flesh.

“Grab the rest.” Said Tallem.

Behram did, placing all seven of the vials in his own bucket, neatly tucked in and covered by the brumstick. Both of them stared at each other, dark powder on their hands. They exchange nods. Then sniffed a deep full breath.

Their eyes bulged out of their sockets. Behram fell to his knees, gasping for air, wheezing in painful agony. Tallem clawed at his chest, heart burning like nothing he had ever felt before. The whispers, they poured out, buzzing in his head so loud his ears were about to burst as they crashed into his mind.

These whispers, these thoughts, these are not Tallem’s. These whispers, they came from everywhere, endlessly whispering, reaching into his mind. They all called out to him. Every stone on the walls, every plant and vase upon which they stood, every book on every shelf, furniture’s, trinkets big or small, whether made by stone, wood, or steel. Each and every one of them spoke to him. Each and every one of them whispered. Tallem could hear them all.

It was too much. He could not contain all of it in his mind. It reaped into his throbbing head, bursting inside him, driving away his sanity. He could not ignore them. Tallem stumbled as he walked. He needed to get out of here. Blurry eyes staring at the dark secret space. The whispers, it would not let him think. He forced himself toward it. Closing the door behind him. But it would not budge. Behram was blocking the door. His body sprawled on the pavement, unmoving. Is he dead? The whispers, they drowned out everything. He could barely hear his own thoughts.

Stop it. His legs gave up under him. Teeth clenched hard at the sharp pain on his knees as he crumpled to the floor. Yet the whispers refuse to leave. Make it stop. He tried to stand, pushing every bit of muscle and bone, but his strength escaped him. The pain in his head, unspeakable. He could not move a single inch. And his memories, they were beginning to fade. No! Tallem tried to hold on. Don’t. His anger burned the tears that fell from his wet swelling eyes. His blood, boiling. Stooop! His voice came out a gurgling shriek. Then a voice spoke from the shadows.

“Close your eyes,” said the stranger.

A familiar voice rung in his ears. A single voice broke through a crowd of whisperers. It drove them back, for the moment at least. He looked behind him. No one was there. The whispers returned, louder than ever. Then he shut his eyes, and found himself staring into his own thoughts.

“Listen to my voice,” the familiar voice said. “Only to my voice.”

A memory? Tallem recognized.

“I-I can hear you,” He spoke back.

“Good. That’s good.”

“How does it feel now? Are they still there?”

Tallem could hear them. They were there, but weaker.

“Yes, I can hear them. But, its tolerable. For now, I think.”

“Were making progress then. I’d like you to try something for me. Open your eyes. No! Wait. Just one eye for now.”

Tallem did as he was told.

“Do you see it?”

He squinted with a single eye. There was something on the table. It was tiny, glittering—a coin.

“Try listening to this.”

He stared at the shadowy figure standing next to the table. A child, he was. Scrawny thin, but with a familiar smile on his face. Tallem tried doing what he was told. But he could not. “I can’t.”

“Try harder.”

“It’s too weak, the coin. Too small. I can barely hear it with all this whispering about.” He stared at everything around them. All of them whispering into his thoughts.

“But it’s there, the coin?”

“Yeah, it’s whispering.”

“Good. Then focus on that single little whisper. Ignore the rest even if they’re there. Focus on one thing, and one thing only. That should help drown the rest.”

Tallem found himself calm. The blood suddenly felt burning no more. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Immediately, the whispers pushed back into his mind. But Tallem saw what he was looking for, coins littered on the floor. They must have fallen along with Behram. Tallem focused on one near Behram’s face, a small golden crown. His eyes wondered to Behram. He was still unmoving.

“Don’t die yet you little sheep.” Tallem whispered to Behram. “I’m going to get us out of here. All of us!”

Then his gaze returned on that one little coin.

The voices were restless now, clawing their way back into his mind. But Tallem kept his eye on the coin, searching his thoughts for that one small whisperer. Eyes glaring at the tiny little object. Tallem could barely move, he did not have the strength.

I can hear you. Then, faintly, the coin whispered back.

Yes you damn it, I can hear you, you little fucking coin.

The whispers grew louder, each fighting to gain his attention, to gain his thoughts. Tallem reached out toward the coin, and only the coin. Tallem held his hand open. The coin’s whisper grew louder. But the other whispers grew louder still, threatening to break through the bridge he worked so hard to create. Finally, Tallem could feel the roughness of the coin’s edges, the smoothness of its metal, the unevenness of its circle. He felt it all, not by his touch, but with his mind.

Speak coin, Tallem commanded. And when the coin spoke back, he yanked it with every bit of strength left in his mind. The coin flew straight toward his palm, whispering. And the other whispers, they began to fade.

Tallem sprawled on the floor, taking a huge gasped of air. He felt his strength returning. But he was tired still. His mind even more so. But there was no time to rest. Tallem could hear them, the footsteps shifting right beyond those doors.