A store came into view, its painted sides standing out from most of the plain, wooden or stone buildings in the town. The store was painted in the subdued colors of dusk, decorated with a brightly colored smiling moon, happy stars and large beautiful moths. All the stars, moons and moths on the building were painted in luminescent paint. It put of a faint glow in the twilight even to human eyes. I knew if I looked to my eyes the luminescent patterns within the smiling stars, moon and moths was writing. It promised horrific painful death and destruction of your very soul in creative, and above all horrifying ways if you planned harm to this store or any within this village. I figured it was about as effective as pouring alcohol on a fire to douse it when it came to the store owners race, but whatever.
This is Eve’s store, a place I come when I need advice or want to do some training. I walked through the door, the smells of baked goods I loved so much washed over me like a wave, unnoticed in my current mood as I wandered over to a table and took a seat. This store opened late and stayed open throughout the night. Its reputation was such that people wanting great baked goods showed up at earliest evening, night or very early in the morning to get their baked goods.
The lady behind the counter was striking, almost willowy slender, her face angular, high cheekbones leading your eyes to the flat angle of her ears that ended in a pronounced pointe that pushed out past her hair. That is if you could get your eyes past her eyes. Her eyes seemed almost entirely pupils surrounded in a slim rim of red. Her most striking feature though was her obsidian black skin.
Those eyes flicked to me as she handed the lady in front of her a couple loaves of bread and a bag of pastries. “Ashtim geirskakapft!” she said cheerfully. My beloved abomination, I mentally translated. “Ershalain, Mehashasaraz.” Or ‘Good eve my priestess’, I replied wearily, much of the rage having turned to numb weariness in my trip over. Eve glanced again to me as she accepted the money. Her customer glanced between us. Eve blushed slightly, a lightening of her cheeks that most humans would not notice. “I’m sorry.” She said to her customer. “Baz and I like to call one another names in my native tongue. I meant no offense.”
Eve had worked very hard to create the persona of Eve, a friendly, harmless baker and worked even harder to stuff herself within it. Originally she had been a high ranking, blood soaked dark spirit worshiping priestess whose typical pastime included incredibly bloody rites for a society that reveled in that kind of thing. She was very skilled with weapons, in particular with leaving painful, debilitating yet non-lethal wounds.
She met a prisoner though. Someone she talked with initially to taunt, later out of curiosity, later yet out of a belief that there were possibly places where things were better. In a dank prison cell she converted to his belief, fell in love and conceived a child. She fled that life hoping for a better life for that child. Her people were long lived, and more importantly long of memory. She waiting for their arrival, sharpening her skills and defenses to prepare an appropriate welcome for them even after the many years after her hasty departure. I know all this because she and my dad were the reason my skin was a strange and rather unique grey.
Yep, that’s my mother. Someone everyone looks at as a skill because when they look beyond that they are terrified. Perhaps that terror is justified knowing her past but that’s not what terrifies them. What terrifies them is what she is, and how they see what she is, which has nothing to do with who she is.
She plucked up a few of the pastries and some chilled juice and came to the table I was at. Sliding a loaded plate and the juice over to me. “Tell me.” She says. So I do. She has always been a good listener. I always figured it was because after the things she’s seen in her life most things seem pretty tame, or maybe with her societies upbringing much brought to her is alien and takes a moment for her to digest, I dunno. But whatever it was she sat quiet as I went through everything about the necromancer and finished up with my visit to Arla’s. I finally finished. Going over Arla’s had brought back some of the anger, which I held in check. She would scold me if I showed strong emotion. She always said that emotion clouds the mind. ‘You can’t think straight if your emotions are running wild. The time for emotions is when you are having fun and when your enemies lay broken before you.’ Honestly, I found that she was typically right with this one even though my temper still got the better of me at times.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Eve looked at me “There are rules and there are rules. The rule of law is there and is important to society, but society isn’t always right.” She said. “Look at my society. Only money and power matter. Law and social rules are there only for those who can use them to gain money and power. It provides the fa?ade of civility to protect those in power, a structure to hold the commoners in place and provide them the illusion of fairness. A show of protection to the people they are used to limit, crush and dishearten. Most of those rules put in place by those that stepped over those lines and didn’t want others following them, closing the doors behind them, cementing their own power.
She shrugged and continued “Often it comes down to doing what is right because you know it is right. This is your rule. Should you defend a cold blooded murderer?” She smiled sadly reminded that at one time she was just that, in a society that bred and rewarded them. “No. ” she said, shaking her head. “You should not.” Still focusing on me she pointed to the table, tapping her nail to underscore what she said “The question is, are you dealing with a cold blooded killer?” She cocked her head to the side as she regarded me. “No.” I said after thinking through it some more. “She could’ve been, but this was not premeditated. There’s no telling if she would’ve went through with her plans.” She nodded “You did a good job at getting the information from both sides. Do you feel Arla is right? Do you feel that Crai did the right thing? Do you feel the Mayor’s place in this is right?” She shrugged. “There’s a lot mixed in here. Things you have to think about.”
“Often, due to my upbringing I see the world in predators and prey. In that world, Crai is prey. Arla is prey backed into a corner. The mayor? He is a predator. Lazy and apathetic, but he has power and uses it to take, he does not give and he reveals no weakness.” She paused for a moment “Garen, he was an alpha predator. Utilizing his strengths ruthlessly and forcing those around him to recognize him. Handing him the bank just enabled him. He probably would’ve fit in back home.” She paused a moment lost in thought. Then she jerked her head and focused on me, something had occurred to her. “You never mentioned what killed him.” “True” Baz said, “But a broken neck is usually pretty final.” “Still,” she said “it’s dangerous to work with an assumption, especially if you don’t have to. He was falling before Arla touched him. Do yourself a favor and check.”
She was right. That would mean talking to the mayor I realized, heart sinking. It was going to have to happen sooner or later I guess. “It’s getting early. I will catch some rest and check it out when I wake.” She got up, opened her arms wide, even spreading her fingers apart and took a couple waddling steps toward me. I hate this. She just wants to be like the people around her but really doesn’t understand why they do what they do. I stepped in and she folded her arms around me squeezing me into her breasts. After a moment she shook me a little back and forth which effectively made the contact even weirder but I would rather break my own arm than make her feel bad. So I went along with it.
A pounding at my door woke me. If each waking was going to be like this I’m going to have to find another place to live, I thought. Budor was at my door wringing his hands. Again. Today was going to great. I could tell already.
