Chapter 4: The End of a Beginning

Vix stared after him a moment, stunned. What did it mean? There was no way that he had not seen the burning barn the night before. He had lied. But why?

Did he start the fire? Another, even more terrible possibility jumped to her mind. Did he murder the man whom Vix had found inside?

Vix watched Caine beat a hasty retreat. She did not understand what was happening. Caine had seemed so frightened, almost as though she had uncovered his darkest secret.

But even if he had murdered the man, what would he have to fear from her? She was nobody, just another slum rat living on the tattered edge of society.

She was not about to turn Caine in on mere suspicion. And even if she was sure, she would still not go running to the Royal Guard. The authorities of Belgrave ignored the crime-infested pool where Vix lived, and everyone was happy to keep things that way. She would only be endangering herself by going to the law.

What was he so afraid of her finding out, then? Vix felt like she was missing something. Something important.

Caine turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Vix hesitated another moment. His coin purse was still hidden beneath her shirt. She had gotten away, despite herself. She knew she should just let him go.

But instead, with a small growl, she chased after him. 'Curse him! Curse him for being so blasted mysterious!'

Vix rounded the corner where Caine had turned. He had made his escape onto Taggar Road, a much busier thoroughfare that led out of the slums and into the city proper.

The people in the street were modestly dressed, most giving Vix a thoroughly disgusted look as they skirted past her. Her kind did not come into their part of the world.

Vix felt like a snail out of its shell, here. She swallowed her discomfort and took off in the direction Caine had gone. She was lucky; the people in the street gave her a wide berth, their noses wrinkled in distaste, allowing her to cut through the crowd quickly.

She came out of the dark shadows cast by the dilapidated buildings of the West Slums, into the neat, sunny streets of the Silver Quarter. In the distance, the Lord’s castle and the holy district Hallowskeep battled for the skyline, all bristling turrets and towers.

Vix began to sweat under the accusing eyes of the nearby citizens. If she hung around here much longer, she was liable to run into some guards. They would not think twice about locking her up for ‘loitering’ – or, to put it more simply, for upsetting good and decent people with the proximity of her presence.

She scanned the crowd. There was no sign of Caine. Vix stood there for a moment, breathing hard. She felt a keen, unexpected sense of disappointment.

'Buck up,' she told herself. It was just as well he got away. What if he discovered his purse was missing? 'Some pickpocket I would be, racing back to the scene of the crime to turn myself in.'

Out of breath, she began to slink back the way she came. But then she spotted him. Caine was standing only fifty feet away, nearly obscured by the bustling crowd. He glanced around nervously, then plunged into a small side street, disappearing from view once more.

Vix, electrified, sprang forward after him. The small crowd of gawkers that she had attracted jumped as one, startled by the sudden movement, as though Vix were some wild beast that had wandered into the street. A woman let out a faint scream. But Vix ignored them.

She slipped down the street after him, relieved to be free of the watching crowd. This way led to the Wharfs, if she recalled. It was a rough and tumble part of the city, more welcoming to urchins like Vix.

Caine was only a few dozen feet ahead of her now. He was walking quickly away from her with his head down, as though battling a powerful wind blowing from the other side of the street. Vix began to walk faster, navigating around the heaps of rubbish that were piled in the street.

She still had no idea what she was going to say when she caught him, whether questions or accusations would come flying from her.

Vix took a breath and opened her mouth to call to him.

A flurry of motion came from an alley to Caine’s right. Three men barreled into him and smashed him against the brick of the opposite wall. They were all wearing long mufflers that hid their faces. Longscarves.

Before Caine could fall, or even let out more than a surprised grunt of pain, his attackers seized him by his arms and dragged him back into the alley from whence they came.

A cat yowled contentedly from somewhere behind Vix, It had all happened in five seconds.

Vix ran forward, her body recovered quicker than her mind, which was still swamped with shock. She skidded around the corner of the alley. One of the Longscarves was standing guard a few feet away. He had a long knife in one hand. The blade was dripping red.

For a moment, Vix froze. Again, the image of the body in the barn assailed her – except this time, it had her face.

The Longscarf recovered far more quickly. He lunged forward, his knife flickering toward her chest like a silver thread. Vix twisted desperately. She felt the impact of the knife thump into her just above her spine. Her soul let out a shriek and she dropped heavily to the ground, shaking.

It took her a moment to realize there was no pain. Glancing back, she saw the knife had buried itself in her bag.

The Longscarf reached out and tried to pull the knife free. The whole bag came with it, wrenched out of Vix’s arms. A loud rip split the air. The silver dinnerware inside the bag came spilling out of a hole just below the knife. The Longscarf deftly caught the precious loot before it struck the ground.

He looked up at her, his dull eyes shining with wonder. Then, he bolted.

“No!” Vix tried to scream. Her voice came out as barely a croak. The thief’s boots thudded past her head. Vix tucked herself into a ball instinctively, a terrified tremor running through her body. Then, the man was gone.

Vix waited several more seconds, taking huge gulps of air. They came out of her again as though through an old, groaning organ, full of discordant flats and sharps. At last, she dared to raise her head off the street.

In the distance, at the far end of the alleyway, the other two Longscarves ducked left and right, and disappeared. Caine was leaning against the wall of the alleyway. He had a fat lip and a cut on his cheek which was trickling blood down his chin. His shoulders rose and fell shallowly in time with his breathing.

Relief washed over Vix to see him alive. And she was alive! Each of her senses caught fire. Everything seemed to flare to life now that death had passed her by. Muted colors swam and grew before her eyes, the dirty alley transforming into a verdant paradise. The smokey air of the city filled her nose. Someone was cooking a spit of meat nearby. She could smell the juices sizzling, dripping off its charcoal hide.

Vix’s stomach twisted convulsively, and she barely managed to keep from throwing up.

She got to her feet shakily, giddily, chuckling at her own wobbling limbs. She stumbled closer to Caine. “Hey,” she said hoarsely, “you all right? Those poxy, dung-brained Longscarves. Stupid rats got my bag. Ah, well, I suppose it isn’t...”

She trailed off. Caine was staring straight ahead at the wall. He did not seem to hear anything she had said. The whites of his eyes were swallowing the lovely green, diminishing them to pinpricks. He emitted a choked, high-pitched whining sound with each gulp of air he took. He did not seem able to force the air back out again.

Vix stared at him, terrible, uncomprehending dread filling her up like ice water. Then she remembered the knife of the Longscarf that had attacked her. It had already been covered in blood.

Her hands went blindly to the front of the young man’s dark vest. They came away wet, stained a rusty red. “Caine,” she whispered. “Oh gods. Those gods-blighted murderers! No, but you’re not dead, yet. You’re not going to die.”

She put her hands on his cheeks, forcing his sightless eyes to meet hers. “Just stay with me, Caine. Chin up, just calm down, calm down. Right. Breathe in, breathe out, you hear? In, out. In, out. In...

“In...”

Vix sat back on her heels. Distant voices fell on her ears, an incomprehensible babble. The alleyway was dark and dirty and ordinary once again. The giddy joy she had felt before was gone, as well.

Gently, she closed Caine’s staring eyes with two fingers. She sat facing him, wanting more than anything to be far away. Death was right in front of her, staring her in the face.

But she knew that she could never forgive herself if she left now. Vix was never much for prayer. But she gave it her best, for his sake. Reverently, she asked for his soul to be accepted to the Beyond, though she did not believe in it herself. Others should be so lucky, though.

Something cold and metal suddenly dug into her belly. She let out a choked gasp, feeling a phantom pain where the Longscarf’s knife should have hit her moments before. But then her panic faded and she remembered. She withdrew Caine’s coin purse from beneath her shirt.

She stared at it for a long while, her eyes sightlessly tracing and retracing the swirling patterns of its fabric. Then, at last, she opened it. It was completely bare. Not even a copper was inside to detract from its utter emptiness.

Vix’s lips twisted in a smile. Then the tears began to scurry down her cheeks.