Media: Derek

Music of the chapter: Toil and Trouble, Audiomachine

The wind rustled past her ears as she let herself fall. There was a small 'squelch' when she landed on her feet. Cadence dug the point of her boot into the moist ground. She had anticipated a watery-landing, and the wet ground caught her by surprise.

"Okay down there?" Arik said from above. Looking up, Arik's face was a black blur, given the depth of the well.

She gave him a thumbs up, then realized it was complete darkness down there, he wouldn't be able to see anything.

"Yeah," she called back.

Someone pulled her to the side. Cadence yelped, almost punching Misha in the face.

"Don't stand there," she said. "Others will squash you."

Right after Misha had finished her sentence, Arik plopped right down on the spot where Cadence bad been standing a few seconds ago.

"Someone strike a damn light," Arik said. "I can't see anything."

"On it," Feathers said. Sparks flew as the flint struck against rock, and the first breath of light latched onto the white, oiled cloth wrapped around a stick.

Cadence blinked the initial blindness of the sudden light out of her eyes before focusing on her surroundings. The well was narrow from the top, but it gave way into a wide chasm at the bottom. Frogs croaked at them, while leeches poked their heads out of the cracks in the wall, seeming to give the intruders a good look from top to bottom. Algae had claimed the right part of the well where the water was concentrated at the most, then gradually died away as it reached a stretch of tunnel on the other side of the well.

Feathers and Mara were the last to land. Mara brushed back several loose ginger curls stuck to her forehead.

"Well, through the tunnel, I suppose?"

Arik nodded. His face appeared more hallowed under the ghostly flicker of the torch. "The tunnel will cover a good stretch of land within the Hall, and when it finally ends, it would be in a ditch outside the Hall gates. This is where the good thing comes to."

He handed the torch to a Feathers, sank down on one knee and swung his backpack over.

"These would keep our identities safe, and no one would question our presence in the city."

Arik pulled out a bundle of masks, just like the ones Patrols wore. "I have exactly five here, take your pick."

"Whoa," Misha said. "I didn't even think of that. Where do you even get this?"

"I made them," he said. "Craft and smithing class, remember?"

"Yeah," Misha said. "Worst experience of my life."

Cadence stared in amazement at the intricate details of the masks. She couldn't tell that they weren't made by a Master Tinker, for even in the unsteady light, she could feel the smoothness, the painted masterpieces of each mask. Misha happily selected an ibis for herself. Arik staked his claim on the bear mask, leaving Feathers, Mara and Cadence with the final three choices—a white tiger, a stag, and a silver-lined falcon

Mara and Feathers shared a glance and grabbed the tiger and the stag masks. Arik surveyed Cadence and handed her the final mask.

"I'm sorry you have to take this one. I know a silver-lined falcon is bad luck, but its such a beautiful creature, I cannot help but to make one in its likeness..."

"Don't worry about it." Cadence took the last mask and smiled at Arik. "It's just temporary. Plus, I don't feast on dead children."

Arik smiled back. "Masks on, everyone. Don't speak to any other Patrols, keep your head straight, and stay together as a group."

Cadence placed the mask over her face and tied the silk ribbons into a knot at the back of the head, securing the mask. With the robes, the cloak and the mask, Cadence had never felt more powerful in her entire life. Through the black-tinted glass of her mask, everything was a swirling world of gray and muted colors. Somehow, she could feel her attention grow sharper, unhindered by the brilliance of the world. She could focus on her target, be fearless, and let the world around her fall away until there was only her and the enemy.

Her friends who stood before exuded the same confidence as she did, perhaps even more. Even Mara and Misha were standing a little bit taller, their shoulders squared and chin titled high.

"Let's go." Arik's voice sounded deeper, if it was even possible, because his voice was already resonating with a low timbre behind his mask. He retrieved the torch from Feathers and held it high, heralding the way for the others.

The tunnel became drier and drier, the leeches and creepers giving way to patches of brown grass and even weed. As the moisture wore away, the ground started to gather upward ground, turning their walk into a climb. The cloak rustled behind Cadence, like a very large shadow extending from her. She liked how it felt.

At the end of the tunnel was a metal grill, covered with patches of disturbed moss. Cadence could tell that the hand prints were recent. The moss had yet to grow over the sinking marks made on the grills.

Feathers and Misha took over, unfastening the lock and heaving the grill gate inward. Metal groaned, chains clanked, gear whirled. The grill opened to a blast of cold air and a dark, painted sky.

"Careful now, the steps are slippery," Arik warned. He gripped the rusted metal rails installed at both sides of the opening and hauled himself out. Misha was practically giddy with excitement as she propelled herself up the stairs and into the snow.

Once again, Cadence was the last one to ascend from the tunnel. Arik offered her a hand, but she refused. If she was going to be a Patrol tonight, she was going to stand on her own two feet. Patrols did not require help from others over such trivial matters.

The tunnel led them into the woods outside the Hall of Games. From their distance, Cadence could see the Celestium gates and the guard towers, as well as the heavy cloaked Patrols and guards standing watch around the Hall. A snowflake landed on her nose, which she blew away with a puff from her mouth.

"Tavern's in town." Cadence couldn't see Arik's expression from his full bear mask, but judging from his tone and the incessant tapping of his right feet, she could tell he was impatient to hit the road. "Follow me."

Misha clapped, then remembered she was supposed to be a Patrol and snapped back into a rigid, military position. Tonight, Cadence wasn't the only one who was going to pretend she was a real Patrol.

If Cadence's memory had served her right, there was a large town a couple miles from the Hall of Games. The Great Wall kept several towns locked within its stony embrace. She hadn't paid the town much attention except for the great mansions of the nobles. They were near impossible to miss, for every tower and every banner was designed to capture as much attention as possible—all colors and animals vying for the top spot.

The first lot of shops and houses came to sight. Cadence was surprised that there were still activity at such late an hour. Back in Azrapol, the people headed into their homes the first thing the night touched the ground, especially in the winter. Perhaps the capital folk didn't have to worry about rising early the next day and toil in the fields or the lumbering woods. The windows of the local delicacies were will lit, the aroma of baking bread still fresh from the chimneys. The shops selling clothes, jewelry, trinkets and other small services, however, were closed.

The few people on the road inclined their heads at their passing through. Cadence felt the start of cold sweat blossom on her neck and around her palm.

Please don't suspect anything, please don't suspect anything.

Despite her erratic heartbeat, she still maintained the posture of a Patrol, all business and no play.

No one noticed anything peculiar, they just acknowledged them and returned to their work, or whatever it was they were doing.

She sighed silently under her mask. A man passed her, close enough to brush shoulders. The man turned back to apologize, then noticed the mask on Cadence's face. He turned from a vibrant shade of red into ghostly white in less than a second, then fled down the road.

Perhaps, choosing the silver-lined falcon was a bad idea. Silver-back falcons were predators that only ate dead children, regardless of its origin, but witch-doctors said their favorite type of meat was human children. Back in the days when the Great War still raged through Moskava, hundreds and hundreds of silver-lined falcons was seen circling the skies with their enormous black wings, their silver tipped feathers reflecting the moonlight, like Orisha Valador himself had come to collect the Souls of the dead and dying. Hence, the sight of a silver-lined falcon meant inevitable death, especially the young and the vulnerable.

However, on the bright side, she would not be approached by the commoners, which added another layer of protection over her false identity.

The tavern was a squat building among the clean, stucco buildings, sticking out like an eyesore. Cadence could hear loud, rowdy music pouring from the seams and cracks, and smell the strong scent of alcohol.

"Partay." Arik grinned. He strode to the door, pushed it wide open and disappeared into the sea of bodies.

"See you in an hour, don't be late." Mara's eyes were already at the bar where drinks were served, tankard after tankard.

"And don't get into trouble," Misha warned. "Don't talk to strangers, Patrols under orders don't talk to outsiders."

"But-" She turned to Feathers for help, but the boy was already long gone.

An hour. She could try to find something that didn't involve drinking or socializing with the people in the tavern.

All taverns had different sections for different social classes. Those who came just for sex and booze dominated the middle ground. The heartbroken ones, or those who just wanted somewhere merry and loud to pass the night took the back, while sullen groups occupied the rest.

She found herself table at the back of the tavern, far away from the women swathed in glitter and heavy pins in their hair and huge men with dirty teeth and thick furs. Sitting at the table, she was reminded of her first mead, the sweet, honey taste in her mouth which warmed her at once.

Cadence had only a few Stones, saved up for emergencies before she left home. She no longer needed them, since she was in the army now. Soldiers do not need money, for the Hall provided their every need. Cadence got herself a tankard of mead and settled back into her corner.

There weren't any candle-clocks in the taverns. Their source of time was their heads—passing out meant too much a drink, giddiness meant an hour worth of heavy drinking, and waking up in the morning under the table meant well, a whole night of inebriation. Cadence could mentally keep track of time, every passing minute was as clear as observing the melting wax of a candle-clock. She needed that skill when she served in the Orelik household, for a second late meant Khazaria flying into a violent tantrum.

She itched for news of the Orelik mansion. Did the family survive? Did they find out the cause of it? Would they track the Polong to her?

Cold sweat broke through her skin. She gripped the tankard and raised it to her lips, taking a whole mouthful of the sweet liquid. The mead burned a path through her veins, right down to her stomach.

If the Patrols discovered she was the one who released the Polong, they would come for her. She didn't want to die, not yet, there was still so many things she wanted to do. She wanted to grow up, leave the army and move to Eyria where she would have no connection whatsoever with Moskava. Let Moskava rot with its Varya and Murka separation, the divide between the rich and the poor, and the striking favoritism of those with powerful allies.

Cadence's head felt as if it was going to explode. How could she be so self-absorbed? She should still be mourning for her father. In fact, she should punish herself for believing in the lies of an evil creature her father had taught her to avoid at all costs.

"It's not everyday I see a Patrol come to this sort of prosaic place. What brings you here, bearer of the silver-lined falcon?"

Cadence snapped back into reality, almost reeling backward at the man who had suddenly appeared at her table.

He had a long, bony face, the type that gave off the impression of an antelope. A long, jagged scar ran from his crown, down the left eye, and toward the mouth, pulling the left side of his face out of proportion. He wore thick furs, just like the rest of the men in the tavern, but he had a bandolier of assorted weapons and several vials containing a dark, viscous liquid which sloshed sluggishly against the glass as he squared his shoulders.

Cadence remembered Arik's advice to not speak a word. She remained silent, staring at the man out of her black-tinted view.

"I have not seen a Patrol with that majestic creature as a mask before," the man continued as though he and Cadence were well-acquainted. "Which division are you from?"

He was tapping the table with his long, bony fingers, as thin and spindly as a fish' backbone. He had a ring on his middle finger, a round, metal ring with a queer insignia carved onto its surface. Cadence was glad for the mask, for he wouldn't be able to tell she was paying his ring a lot of attention, more than she was to his words.

It was a raven with an arrow shooting right through its heart. Cadence wondered which noble House this man was affiliated to, it was certainly no sigil she had ever seen before.

"I'm Derek." The man put out a calloused hand. "And you are?"

Cadence was started to feel apprehensive at the man's persistence at making himself known to her. She decided to keep up her calm act for a little while longer. Perhaps she could out-wait this man.

"Still playing the game of silence, I see." Derek retracted his hand. "I wonder why you Patrols are so wary of us. You and I are not too different. We're all Varya. I just don't understand why we fight for different causes."

"Because ours protect the people of Moskava," Cadence said, breaking the first rule Arik had set.

"And ours is not?" Derek leaned in, his eyes were hard, bitter stones in his gaunt face. "You and I know why the Great War happened, that was why I left the Patrols. Leave the Hall and their so-called noble cause, come join us instead."

Who was us? Cadence's hands had frozen on her lap.

"The Great War has nothing to do with us. Leave me be."

Something was burning inside Cadence's stomach. It must be the mead. She pressed a hand against her stomach, praying for it go away.

"The Great War has everything to do with us!" the man hissed. "If we had started our grand mission several years earlier instead of waiting like cowards, we could have prevented it from happenings. Walker scum still crawl Moskava, and we don't know what kind of apocalypse they're planning within those sinister brains of theirs."

Walker scum. This isn't good, I must get out of here.

Her stomach was on fire. She shakily drew to her feet, but the man grabbed her by the wrist.

Derek's eyes went wide open. He released her wrist, his eyes burning.

"Impostor." He growled. "You're no Varya."

Shit. Cadence stumbled toward the door, just as Derek drew out a dagger. Everything in front of her seemed to be superimposed upon the other. Colors swirled, the stench of alcohol was suffocating. Cadence tripped over her cloak and fell face-first into the snow.

Derek was then on her, straddling her with his hips with his blade pressed against her throat.

"Who are you? Why are you impersonating as a Patrol?"

Cadence gurgled, feeling the sharp blade draw the first line of blood. The mask was torn off her face by a rough hand. Cadence gasped, while the man just looked confused.

"You're just a kid. Why would anyone send a kid to do their dirty work?"

"Get away from her!"

A powerful gust of wind blasted Derek off her. Coughing, she scrambled to her feet, trying her best to see her savior through double-vision.

Tall stature, a sinister snarl, wild golden hair and a fierce, white wolf mask. Ales launched himself into the air, gathering a storm of snow as he twisted and bent the wind, hurling everything at Derek.

Derek who was just recovering from the first attack, took the second on head-on. The force of Ales' blow struck him hard against the tavern's wall. He slid down, blood trickling from his mouth and onto the snow.

"Ales." Derek spat a mouthful of blood onto the snow. "You amaze me every time, you know that? Every time we meet, you sink lower and lower. Now, look at you, defending an impostor. How vulgar you Patrols have become!"

"No matter what, we're better than murderers who torture innocent people." Ales drew his blade, Celestium glinting wickedly under the moon. "Get lost before I kill you."

Derek wiped his mouth, then looked at the blood on his sleeves. "You're a traitor, Ales. You'll forever be a traitor until the day you die."

"GO!" Ales shouted and flung his blade at the man. Derek threw out both hands, an invisible shield of energy forming in front of him at once. The blade bounced off the shield harmlessly and fell, point first, into the snow.

"Give me a choice," Derek said. "And I would torture her over and over again, and I will make you watch."

He unstrapped one of the queer vials from his bandolier, held it out mockingly, and dropped it into the snow.

"A present, from the rest of us."

There was a whoosh, and the man was gone.

Ales' hands were scrunched up into tight, unforgiving fists, his breathing uneven. He looked at Cadence who was kneeling in the snow, her cloak drawn over her shoulders, her hair a mess in the wind.

"Are you alright?"

She was anything but alright. The burning in her stomach had reached excruciating levels. The last thing she remembered was Ales wrapping his cloak around her and then everything winked out of sight.

*****

A/N

This is probably my favorite chapter so far, I really hope you folks enjoyed it! xo