The inquisition knows the truth, the width of our claws and the depths of our hunger, yet they look the other way. Ours is a necessary evil. I wonder, is that what they tell themselves when emptying the prison cells and closing their eyes? Can those few men who know us sleep at night having seen the things we do? Do they toss and turn, hearing the screams of the purse snatcher and the snapped tendons of the baker? I hardly remember them, but I am not human, am I?
“When the path leads you astray, Saint Iranol will know the way.” Felix’s mother was fond of saying that.
She clung to that pendant of hers, bending her knees on the night of the winter solstice.
Saint Iranol wouldn’t show the way, not when his father shut the door in their faces and not when the inquisition dragged his mother by the heel and tied her up in the middle of town.
“Witch!” the crowds screamed as Felix looked on with trembling fists.
He remembered the icy chill of the wind and pulling the cloak tight to his neck. The wood was slick with ice; that’s why it took so long to burn. His mother prayed as long as she could until the flames touched her heel.
That’s when the screaming started.
Yet, despite her shrill cries, it was the smell that got him. That putrid stench of burning hair clung to Felix’s nostrils like a spider’s web. He lost consciousness after that, collapsing in the heavy snow. When the fire died down, the crowds walked past him without sparing a glance. After all, he was now just another orphan decorating the streets.
Felix woke at midnight, dragging himself up to poke through the smoking coals. Something flashed in the sparking light; a silver pendant etched with the ring of fire. He snatched the medallion, closing his fingers tightly as the metal sizzled against his palm scarring him forever. Then he looked up at the night sky. High above was his mother’s god, a glowing star on par with the sun itself: the northern star, Polaris, Saint Iranol.
“Damn you!”
That’s how it all began, Felix’s journey towards the sunken valley. He would have joined the inquisition in another life, spitting on the gods who wronged him and persecuting fools who put faith in cold starlight. But Felix couldn’t overlook what they did to his mother. So, he wandered the streets with no place to call his own.
Felix the sly, that’s what they called him. The beggar who sat at the corner of main and slipped purses on the market square. In Bruma’s capital, there was a baker on twelfth street who was blind in one eye. Felix stole pies from his left while inquiring on his right. Fortunately, at the end of the swollen square, shopkeepers never asked questions, even when the pawned diamonds were worn by the lady prior.
Yes, business was good, but deep pockets attracted unwanted attention.
“You owe us.” his friends would say, robbing him blind in the back alleys as he struggled to pay his debts.
Felix coughed, another bruised chest and an empty belly. On nights like that, he knew exactly where to go.
Three hots and a cot.
There was always that one gatekeeper with a short temper. Maybe it was an accident when the stone struck that guard’s helmet, maybe not. Either way, Felix’s ass wound up in a cell to cheering inmates.
Felix the sly, he was a regular there. Yes, he was the man who wasn’t taken to prison. He came to prison. A cold stone cell with a bucket, a pillow, and a rancid sheet.
At least they fed him. At least he got a reprieve from the sharks. Only for the night, though. The crown had more important things to worry about than a clumsy stone thrower.
Felix wrapped the rags around his shoulders and lay across the jagged mortar, his breath hung like mist in the air. He then did something he hadn’t done in many years, something he hadn’t done since the vile scent of burning hair filled his lungs. He looked up through the metal bars at the night sky towards the northern star, his mother’s god.
There was always something off about Polaris, the way its light twisted and turned like snakes crossing a river. It wasn’t warm or comforting, but piercing, and it made his skin crawl. He held up his right hand where the flesh curled back, a ring of fire etched into his palm.
Something had to change, or else he was going to die in there.
It was no coincidence when the scholars of the sunken valley came to Bruma. Felix found them when he returned to the corner of main after the jailor tossed him into the sewers. Brown-robed men and women gathered in the market square, nothing to peddle, nothing to wager except the clothes on their backs and familiar silver medallions.
At first, he thought they were more star-struck fools worshipping a deity that didn’t care a wit for their existence. Soon, the inquisition would gather them up and stack them like firewood in the middle of town for another nightly bonfire. At least, that’s what he thought.
But, strange, the inquisition passed them by without a second glance. Were they not heretics, not pagans begging for the embrace of holy fire? Felix pushed through the crowd to listen.
“Fear the saint’s light!” they shouted to the masses. “Fear the eye of Draco!”
Draco? Felix had heard that name before, a constellation of a winged beast with Polaris as its pupil.
“Why should we be afraid?” Felix asked. “It’s just a star.”
“Ignorance!” they answered. “Polaris is not a star! It is a child of the Great Devourer! A demon sent to cleanse the plains of life!”
Oh, great. That’s all he needed, more crazy men and women.
Felix turned to leave, but when he reached the end of the gathering, a woman grabbed his hand.
“Please wait,” she said, her face covered by a dark cowl. “Will you not hear us out?”
“I’ve heard enough. You’re all zealots and I don’t have time for this.” Felix spit on the ground.
“Oh, disappointing, I thought you’d be different,” the woman said with a wounded voice, shaking her head.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“A corrupt faith took something from you, didn’t it?” She ran her finger across the ringed scar on his right hand. “Polaris took something from me, too.” The woman then pulled down her cowl to reveal a blistered mark that ran from her neck to her scalp.
Felix stepped back, his right-hand aching.
“What happened?” he asked, the words slipping out.
“I got too close, and my family paid the price. I was like you once, lost and alone, with no place to call my own.” She clenched her fists. “I was angry and had no one to blame. You see, the scholars gave me that.”
“What did they give you?” Felix asked, trying to pull away from her.
“A home to protect, and an enemy to fight. Give us a chance. We are not zealots, and we are not religious. The scholars seek to draw people away from a false faith to keep them from drawing the Leviathan’s eyes.” She dug her nails into his hands. “Please, don’t you want to stop what happened to your mother from happening to anyone else?”
Felix froze, a chill running down his spine. “How do you know about my mother?” he asked.
“I know a lot more than that, Felix. We came here for you. With us, you will be so much more.” She dropped to her knees. “Please, the war for the Pallid Throne is about to begin, and we need all the help we can get.”
Felix chewed on his lip, looking up at the sky towards the bright spot where Polaris glowed.
“I already have an enemy,” he said, clenching his palms until his knuckles turned white. “Screw it, sign me up.”
Three hots and a cot.
At least he would be fed.