Chapter 023

Or they’ll take everything you’ve got.

For a brief moment, the world made sense again. The shopkeep had poisoned him. Of course she had. Who gave gifts to strangers? Harker gritted his teeth against the pain, even as he felt weakness steel into his legs. Someone who was only going to take them back, that’s who.

Well, she won’t get satisfaction.

He stumbled forward, hand braced against the exterior wall. The stacked fieldstone bit at him, tearing at his cloak as he dragged his shoulder against the corner, turning into the narrow alley between shops. He fumbled with his pack, rummaging through his new purchases and the rest of his bundled belongings. Food and his medicinal pouch fell from the bag, but it couldn’t be helped. Harker slumped, falling onto his rear only ten feet into the alleyway, but he’d found what he needed.

He pulled it free, unwinding it from its damp cotton bindings. Heronbane.

A common plant, found in marshy areas or places with a great deal of rainfall, they were a favorite to anyone with a hint of herbalism knowledge. It had many uses. Its leaves could be brewed into a potent tea good for curing sinus congestion, its stalk could be baked and mashed into an ointment to prevent infections. It could even be shaved and added to a meal to benefit digestion. Or, if taken whole and mixed into a tincture, it would have an entirely different effect—one useful for hunters who ran afoul of the more noxious predator fauna around Vale.

He didn’t have time for any of that.

Harker shoved the whole thing in his mouth and chewed vigorously. Bitter and dry, it was a crude solution, but the only thing he could manage. Strength drained from his arms, leaving them heavy and trembling, but his jaw crushed leaf, stem, and root together into a foul mash. He swallowed.

Immediately, the heronbane coursed through him. It burned his belly, searing through his guts as if a trail of fire had soaked into his blood. His heart hammered, but the effect was sluggish, rolling through his veins with all the speed of Winter-thickened sap.

Move! Harker pushed at it, squeezing the same strange muscles he’d used on his tributary. It was agony, both the scorching heat and the tingling clench of weakened muscles. The burning shifted, slipping a bit faster as it spread down across his hips and thighs. No! Wrong way!

He wheezed, unable to draw a full breath. Delayed paralytic. Focused on the respiratory system. It’s trying…to stop my lungs.

The fire flowed toward his knees, and Harker pulled at it with every muscle he could muster. By slow inches it halted…and cut its way upward. He heaved, his lungs only managing short gasps now, but spared no focus for air. All he could think of was the heronbane trying to sear through the meat of his hips and up sides like a cauterizing knife.

Higher!

The inferno in his belly flared, the sourness now a sharp spike through his innards. The burn of heronbane passed upward, flowing without his help now. It bloomed in his chest, reaching scorching fingers out into his lungs.

It squeezed.

Harker gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his nose as his hands shook. He braced one against the ground and the other he wrapped around the hilt of his knife, bearing down on it until his knuckles turned white. His back arced against the wall, every muscle inside of him locking into steel as his breath left him completely.

The scent vanished. His eyes unblurred. The burn shrank, until it was only a guttering bonfire at the bottoms of his lungs.

Harker managed a single, grateful breath before he collapsed.

Miriam stepped out of the side door of her shop, whistling. “What a grand day today, and it has only just begun.”

She adjusted her glasses, staring down the alleyway she shared with the wainwright next door. He was often absent, spending more time at the tavern than his workshop, but he often dragged himself back in the early mornings. So it wasn’t entirely surprising to see someone slumped in the alley.

“What do we have here?”

The boy from her shop was hunched over on the ground. It seemed he had strayed from the main road, for which Miriam was grateful. While Creston was a sleepy village, it had been unusually busy these last few days—had someone seen him, it would have raised far too many questions.

But it seems the boy brought himself to me. How kind of him.

A smile stretched her thin lips. Miriam had considered leaving the boy alone, but he was too tempting. Traveling from the far north, Chartermarked on a journey that risked life and limb—no one in the village would have batted an eye if he’d gone missing. He also had a surprising amount of silver in his purse. That alone would have tempted any number of bandits on the road. Not her, of course. She had far more refined tastes.

Then he’d gone and flashed around that bounty of Sea-touched herbs in his pack.

Miriam drooled at the thought of them. With those herbs, she could make all manner of things. Potions and poultices were certain, but her craft delved in other directions. Poisons were her trade, and those sold for gold back in the Sunken City. With the boy’s stash and her own savings, she’d even have enough to purchase her return to the Shroud.

“The Shroud.” She snorted. “Mark my words, corpse boy. Those salt-stained bastards will regret banishing me to this forgotten armpit of the world.”

Miriam squatted down. “Now let’s see what you’ve brought for me, hmm?”

She opened up the boy’s pack and pulled free the packages she’d just sold him. Items that she had just neatly recovered for resale. A smirk tilted the edge of her mouth, spreading into a full out grin as she delved deeper. Beneath the basic supplies he bore were a great deal of wrapped herbals and reagents. Far more than she had anticipated, even.

“Sacred Depths…” Her expression melted as she gave a long, slow blink. “Ghostflower Root? Sea-touched and mature. How did he get such a treasure?”

Miriam rifled through the rest, and confirmed that almost all of it was Sea-touched. Had the boy encountered a hidden tidepool? Perhaps a cavern untouched by scavengers existed in this far-flung northern isle.

She laughed. Her luck had finally turned around! Soon she would be back on the path toward First Depth. Soon, she would reclaim what was rightfully hers—!

Pain blossomed at her throat, followed by a wash of hot liquid. Miriam clutched at it and fell back.

What was that—?

Eyes of gleaming gold stared at her from under the dead boy’s brows. His hand was up and a red-stained knife was already falling.

He cut me?

“I should have known,” he muttered. “You were too nice.”

Blood poured down her blouse, staining its flowing folds. Miriam tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked gag. She reached for the boy, hands curled into claws, but he stepped away.

The world spun and Miriam hit the ground. She felt nothing save for the deep heat that spread across her throat, and the chill that stole into her head. They fought, vying for her attention, until the cold won out.

Then there was nothing else.

Harker leaned against the building, still a little woozy for the lingering effects of the poison, but also his Sovereign Sight. He’d activated seconds before the woman had emerged. Unable to lift his head or ruin the ruse of his demise, it was the only way to figure out when she had come into range. Where it had been truly useful, however, was peering into the shopkeep’s center.

Like with Sven, he’d pressed through some sort of resistance around the woman, one she hadn’t even noticed. Once there, he could see the rush of her reservoir and tributaries…and the venomous bile that was her Water. He couldn’t be sure, but Harker was willing to bet that her Talent had to do with poison directly.

More than that, he’d noticed a lack inside her. In Sven, his skin had a thickness to it that tasted of iron. A feature of his refinement, no doubt, and his muscles and bones were devoid of it. The shopkeep exhibited the same condition, save that she hadn’t any refinement at all.

Harker didn’t understand why. Perhaps she was like him, lacking some fundamental aspect. Regardless, it had been her undoing.

Sink swiftly, you wretch.

Harker had never enjoyed killing, but he couldn’t deny a grim satisfaction as he stared down at the woman’s corpse. Living in the northwoods meant he’d butchered his fair share of animals, and his training under his mother had instilled in him a deep appreciation for the gruesome side of life. The weak fell to the strong…unless they were clever, fast, and willing to do what was necessary.

Law 4D—Show No Mercy.

With a little effort and no small amount of hissed complaints, Harker dragged her body back into the shop. It took longer than he expected, but thankfully the crowds were still thin this close to dawn.

Once inside, he stashed the corpse behind the counter, awkwardly folding her at the waist to keep her from casual view.

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“Don’t forget to lock the front door.”

Harker glanced behind him, where Stillwater stood just inside the closed side door. “Coming inside now?”

“It was boring out there.”

Harker walked swiftly to the front, happy that the shop was small. In seconds he’d slid home an iron bolt and barred the door with a length of timber.

“Why didn’t you help me,” he said as he made it back to the counter. “Wouldn’t that have settled one of your life debts?”

“I didn’t have an antidote.” Stillwater shrugged. “You’re annoyingly adept at saving your own life, it seems.”

“What about when she emerged?” Harker gestured to the corpse. “What if her skin had been refined and my knife snapped?”

“What would you have done then?”

Harker paused. Something in the creature’s tone…he took a good look at the Gilken. Stillwater was leaning forward, and his yellow eyes all but glittered in the low light. He seemed…fascinated.

“I would have done what was necessary.”

“Mmm.” The Gilken grinned. “I like that.”

Harker gave a grunt of acknowledgement, if not a pleased one. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be admired by the little monster—but there were better things to focus on.