A delight to die for, the title Ariel had given to the last white peach of the Summer. The recollection was near painfully vivid - the way its juice had been dripping down her chin, the consistency of its over-ripe flesh, the pungent sweetness spreading in her mouth. It was with desperate abundance that she was clinging to this memory as poison began assaulting her mouth.
She had never considered its taste, had always been content with knowing its coloration, properties and ultimately its final effect. Bitterly, she thought, if anything this was a crude lesson.
Ironically, the second taste was bitterer yet, she had to yield, as the hard-shelled kernel burst beneath her grinding teeth, expelling gooey resin. Vile, really, and yet she knew that survival depended on the victory of bitterness over sweetness. And while instinct was commanding her to disown feeling, that was not what she had come there to do.
But feeling was one thing and physicality another, so before she could stop herself she was keeling over and down, her shins kissed raw by the splintering wooden platform there to receive her. While the aspiring actress in her would have liked to claim credit for her grand weakness as a final bow, she could not dissuade her knowledge of the poison’s effects.
It was when spittles of the spluttering sea flecked her skin that she understood her precarious position by the steep shoreline, causing in her the urge to flinch away from the raging crowd, their bodies lapping up the wooden planks ready to push her back.
While their uproar was both unintelligible and deafening, one voice rung out above them all. The voice of the Prophet.
“This is justice. By Osmia, it is our duty to rid our town of this foul pollution. A spy sent by King Ariel – King Ariel, spawn of Dicun the Gluttonous!” Janos Seayield proclaimed, and she could only distantly feel him prod her convulsing body with his foot. “Witness her suffer, just like a heretic should!”
At this the waves of taunts and cheers came crashing against the three sides of the platform once more.
“Daemon!” the many-headed beast cried, “intruder!”, the monster yelled, “Whore!” near thousand voices bellowed in turn.
Choosing not to focus her already scant attention on the fury-flooded town square, she lifted her head instead, facing her self-proclaimed judge. The solid, smoked-brick keep, with its perpetually soot smeared façade and protruding tower was looming just behind him, it’s long shadow cast upon the hateful man and extending, like his words, to engulf them all.
In that moment a gust of frigid morning air came rushing past the keep wall, making the rickety wooden structure shiver beneath her, and then swooping up again to elevate the Prophets words. “These King’s men besieging our walls preach a false faith.” For a moment Una believed she could smell the cooking fires from beyond the moat. Had the Kings’ reinforcements finally arrived? She hoped they had. Perhaps then her failure would be short lived.
“A faith that keeps the small ones down. Una Moralis!” Seayield spat onto the stage. “The peasant is to know his place? But we are not Lambs! They cannot cage us in! No, I say - only the true Five Senses can set us on the right path!”
Surely anyone in their right mind would have cried sacrilege! but the crowd erupted into turbulent elation, this, she thought, was what happened if you reduced the Six Senses to five, took away Una Moralis and the order it provided – unrest, chaos, madness.
“All of you are yet beleaguered by this Sixth Sense, but soon I shall banish it from you and nothing will stand between us and equilibrium.”
Taking in the preacher’s heathen manner, she had to convince herself that having swallowed the antivenin was for her own good. But any thought given to this madman’s logic was soon expelled from her mind. Her throat was, after all, rapidly igniting with rising bile.
“For I have communed with the five true divine and they have shown me their hidden way - for I am their human vessel. I receive with the ears of Howel. I speak with the tongue of Tantalus. I act with the hand of Bia. I smell with the nose of Osmia!” Throwing up his arms to grant momentum to his declaration, his robes slashed at her side as the man turned to the crowd, conviction of his righteousness etched into his surprisingly boyish features, he cried out, “and I see with the eyes of Loupe a rapture waiting for us at a future dawn, just like this very one!”
As if the audacity of his words alone had managed to churn her guts more so than the poison, it was then that the meager remnants of her breakfast and the vile toxic concoction came cascading out of her mouth. It was by no means a coincidence that the majority of the vomit hit the prophet’s sandaled feet.
The sea stilled, the storm was over. And Janos Seayield was left the fish out of water.
From the only cushioned seats behind, came a single strangled gasp in response. Easily identified as Scale Cless, the Golden Scale of Osmia, who had foolishly granted her a last moment of prayer. She had used the opportunity to pluck an acorn-disguised antivenin from her braided hair as the old woman had allowed her a morsel of privacy. It had not been a challenge to slip it underneath her tongue and to tip the scales to her favor.
After all, Ariel was still counting on her.
The silence of the other two spectators, the only other remaining members of the recently collapsed Bramblepoint town council, did not reveal more information to her than she had received in her briefing the night prior.
Before the crowd had a chance to burst into an onslaught of unknown emotion, swift footsteps approached her from behind. Even with her throat still aching, she near gleefully anticipated the reveal of yet another one of her designated targets.
A firm hand wrapped itself around her upper arm as a sharp cut face and jet black curls, not unlike her own, came into view. Grey eyes met hers and a cool smile cut across familiar features.
“Ranifer.”
To utter the name after all these years felt just as vital as drawing in the next clean, but scalding mouthful of poison-free air. And all she could think was - had Ariel known? A part of her was inclined to believe that the King would have the wits not to withhold such key information. But then again, was it really a matter of wits?
“Concubine,” Ranifer returned in soft greeting.
For a moment it was as though time had not passed. And then she found her Senses.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, her freshly gathered composure a knotted mess once more.
“Well, Una, helping you rise up in this world it would seem.” And with that he hoisted her up to stand on her own two feet, turning towards the crowd in a grand motion, that not so much mirrored but perfected Seayield’s attempts at dominance, and with a booming voice he bellowed, “People of Bramblepoint meet your new Prophet!”
If her miraculous survival had stilled the sea, Ranifer had seen to its swift revival.
Its forceful current was once more pressing forward, the mass of voices merging into an amalgamation of utter confusion. If they were cursing or celebrating the news, Una’s mind was unable to discern the difference. Her own bafflement as to how the day had escalated so quickly - how she had gone from being a makeshift royal spy, to a nearly corpse, to a prophet - was reducing any thought to a dull ringing between her ears.
Through it she could faintly hear Ranifer’s words, “The poison tells truth!” His hand was still resting on her arm, there to steady her as she felt yet another need to take a bow come on. Though this time, having just been painted the town’s new prophet, it might have been warranted.
“If she was still swayed by the daemon - Una Moralis, she would not stand here now, alive. No. If she was a false one indeed, she would be dead,” Ranifer continued.
Unable to rely on sound, as she could not find any real sense in Ranifer’s words, she decided to take to sight, turning her attention to the mark easiest to discern - Janos Seayield.
The man truly looked like the world had ended. Una could not help but wonder if it looked anything like the end he had prophesized. He seemed as averse to the idea of her joining the rank of Prophets as she felt. And honestly, if it was up to her, he could gladly keep the title and the engrained insanity to himself.
“But look at her! Breathing! Standing! The poison expelled from her body.” At this, Una vaguely recognized that Ranifer was pointing at Seayeild’s feet. “She is innocent. More so, she is greater yet than our old Prophet, for she has been proven pure.” And with that, Ranifer turned to the Prophet.
“You would insinuate I carry a daemon?” Seayield spluttered, quite unbecoming for a Prophet of the Senses. Gesturing at the crowd wildly, he added, “That is blasphemy! The stink of your dirty money can’t cover up the smell of your horseshit, scribe.”
“Profound,” Ranifer observed. Turning his palms towards the skies he added, “but ultimately,” tipping one hand to the side as if weighed down, “Empty.” Then with the same calculated confidence, he brought the hand back up, “As of yet.”
If even Una felt the urge to cringe at Ranifer’s misuse of the scales, she was certain Scale Cless would be holding her breath.
“Surely her survival can be chalked up to her whoring ways!” the red-faced Prophet howled. “She has lived in close quarters with daemons for so long she would know how to tame their thirst for poison.”
The words were scarcely able to amount to the sting of a parchment cut. Una had heard them uttered in various flavors, too many times before. It was Ranifer’s hand suddenly clutching her shoulder that elicited a reaction. Thinking he meant to hold her back, she threw him a confused look, but upon seeing anger cross his features she knew she had been wrong. He was steadying himself.
Before he had the chance to act on his indignation, however, Scale Cless let go of her breath.
“Daemons,” she said, with an ease glaringly lacking in Seayield’s voice, “Are a gluttonous bunch. They would not relinquish a drop of their favorite brew.”
She stepped forward. “She does not carry an intruder in her side, that much is apparent.” Raising her hands in the same manner Ranifer had done, she took the time to throw the man a short but effective look, before continuing. “Her body is in equilibrium,” her palms stayed in perfect balance, “it is your wholeness that has not yet been sufficiently weighed, Prophet Seayield. You have not yet rid a single soul from the burden of Una Moralis in this town. So how do we know such a daemon no longer lingers within your body? The time for mere words seems to have passed.”
Her words served to silence like a purse of gold would a greedy heart. Even Seayield was momentarily mute.
But then Ranifer lifted his hand off Una’s shoulder and for a moment she dearly wanted to hold him back. But a moment more passed and she did no such thing.
“So the Scales weigh in and I believe it becomes apparent. The people deserve the truth. The truth about the man who lured the King’s forces to their very own gates.”
“The truth,” Seayield echoed meeting Ranifer’s gaze. “The truth?”
“Judgment,” the Scale comments, “judgement is impartial.”
“And I am the truth!”
Poison for the masses. It was in Una’s experience just this kind of conviction that had a tendency of turning sour, acidic and ultimately deadly. His words were all the proof she needed to hear to affirm that she had indeed been sent for good reason. And, for a moment, the failure’s poignant taste overwhelmed that of the lingering poison.
As the crowd failed to react, Seayield turned to throw his gaze onto the last silent spectator on the stage. A tall, stringy yet broad-shouldered man, standing at the very back of the platform in robes that could belong to no other than a merchant. The man’s already weary look turned wearier yet as he found himself at the center of attention.
“Bernard,” Seayield nearly pleaded. “Bernard, you know the truth of my prophecies! You were the one to call me to this town. Surely you – “
“Janos, this matter lies not in Master Eisen’s hands,” Scale Cless calmly reminded.
With barely concealed relief, Bernard rushed to retort, “I am but a humble merchant! I do not know the will of the deities. By Osmia, my friend, all I know is that I have always believed your intentions to be true.”
It was in that moment that Una believed she saw something shift in Seayield’s eyes. She had to wonder if the false Prophet had had his only true prophecy then.
Whatever it was he had envisioned, it carried him forward towards Ranifer and Una and he held out his hand, hissing, quietly enough so only the two of them could hear him. “Serve me your watered down poison then.”
Ranifer, not rising to the bait, turned towards Una and nodded toward her fallen cup on the ground. She required no further instruction to proceed to the poison jug, sitting atop the chopping block. As she poured the thick pitch liquid into the cup, she felt instinct take over and it was the realization of it alone that nearly made her gag. But in the end, it did not. After all, poison was just a tool of the trade.
As she handed Seayield the cup of poison, regardless of knowing how these things were usually bound to go, she could not help but worry that this time it could be different.
If he was a true Prophet there would be nothing that could save her.
And with that Seayield raised the cup and turned towards the crowd once more. The lick of desperate flames had replaced the previously ranging fire of idealistic truth behind his eyes.
“The King may keep us small, but the gods will raise us up!”
As if the poison could douse the flames of heresy, sparked by no other than his former congregation, he drained the poison to the last drop and with an exaggerated motion, flung the cup into the sea of people.
Una could only pair the sweet relief crossing Seayield’s face with the deceptively honeyed taste of the toxin. For a moment it seemed he was about to speak once more, when - and Una had seen this many times before - the man came to realize his own end.
Where there had previously only been detached professionalism, Una could feel actual crude relief spread.
The Prophet swayed and the waters parted for him as Seayield tumbled off the platform, and Janos died. The people of the town flinched back from the still warm corpse. Then, they looked up and their eyes fell on Una.
Maybe the end of the world was not as mad of an idea after all, Una entertained. She looked up as she felt Ranifer take a step forward. But whatever the man had been planning to do or say, Scale Cless was faster.
The ring of her boots was a stark sound, in the hushed town square, as she stepped to the forefront of the stage, looking down at the dead man. She did what any Scale would have done, bowing her head in a moment of acceptance in face of the judgment the Senses had weighed out.
It was from there that her attention briefly shifted to the crowd and further yet, settling on the Crowned Hill just beyond the first row of houses lining the opposite end of the market square. The sight of its crown jewels, the now fully blooming branches of the three Wisteria trees reaching over their stony enclosure, seemed to offer her the last needed waft of final resolve.
“Seayield was no Prophet. It seems, like to so many of us, he was yet a slave to the Sixth.” Her words echoed across the still square. “But there is no denying that he was a herald. In a time of blindness, he was sight. In a time of mute following, he was harsh but true words – he was convinced of his truth, but the Senses do not always give us the lot we expect. No, he was not a Prophet. He most likely would not have been able to expel the daemon from any of us. But,” and with that she turned to face Una at last, “it was his presence that brought forth the real Prophet. And she will succeed where he could not!”
“The Golden Scale speaks true.” Ranifer agreed, bowing his head. “Janos Seayield showed us the way and I think it is only our duty to prepare his passing.”
On his last words, he turned to look at Bernard. The man looked pale, steadying himself against the keep wall, as if he too was about to drop dead. Finding himself the center of attention once more, unease was creasing his features. A moment passed before he nodded and he, too, stepped forward. “It shall be my privilege to aid in the efforts of supporting the passing of a great leader and an old friend.”
“A great leader and an old friend,” echoed Cless, and with that she turned back to the people, “In this time we are called to stick together, in the name of Osmia, this day is a day of great loss. But also hope.”
As if on cue, two people pushed to the forefront of the crowd. A hearty looking man and an energetic yet earnest looking woman, their fiery red hair marking them clear amidst the people. She called out, voice rough and breathy, “And we shall make it golden!”
“Beer shall be plentiful,” the man added. And if there had been any doubt left in the hearts of the people of Bramblepoint, the promise of brew and celebration had swept it all away as they erupted into cheers.
The wild, joyful uproar of the crowd was somehow even more unnerving to Una than their previous fury-filled reception of her. When they had wanted her dead, she had at least known what to expect. Their elation on the other hand was unpredictable - as unpredictable as a whole town shunning Una Moralis while remaining convinced of their own sanity.
The dead man lying prone on the cobblestone before the stage, however, served only to crudely underline the festering madness of Bramblepoint and its people.
She wondered if some of it at least could be attributed to their prolonged self-forged isolation. Perhaps, if they had intervened sooner the towns folk would not have developed a taste for such poisonous propaganda. It had been four months since they first had word of Janos Seayield, three since he’d claimed the title Prophet, two since the last trader was turned away from the city gates and one week since she had arrived with the King and his men, only to be denied word with the self-proclaimed Prophet. Truly, how long did it take to brew insanity?
By the time she realized she was being led, Ranifer was ushering her to the back of the platform and past Bernard, away from the crowd. Where the wooden planks met the stone wall was a side entrance into the keep. Ranifer quickly opened it and nudged her in.
As the door fell shut and Una expelled a sigh of relief at the welcome silence. But she had no time to indulge, as Ranifer, without delay or explanation, proceeded to pull her up a slim spiral staircase, nothing less than two steps at a time.
It took Una two near slip ups down the stairs to finally hack up the words she had wanted to form the moment she had recognized him. “We thought you were in Arrow’s Creak.”
Ranifer’s reply wasn’t as swift or grossly embellished as what he had utilized to please the masses, and all she received was a soft sort. But even that conveyed plenty. He was still furious. She couldn’t find it in herself to blame him.
“What is your– “
“Motivation? Not what you think.” Ranifer interjected as he continued pressing onwards.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” she retorted, “I was asking.”
Again his reply was half a snort. “You’ve seen this town - times are changing. I intend to be in the right place when they do.”
Now she was the one to stifle a snort. “Don’t tell me you’ve drunk from the poison well too?”
Una nearly walked into him as Ranifer turned sharply to face her. “Perhaps a Prophet of Osmia should not turn her nose up at her most ardent audience. By Howel, they will cling on to your every word you say.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Profound,” Una replied. “A verse you’ve learned by heart from one of your precious books?” It’s how she remembered him after all, always with his nose in a book. Maybe things had not changed as much as she had reason to fear, maybe she could still trust him to help her find a way out, maybe - “Or are you, too, burning the scripture of your King?”
But Ranifer turned his back on her and continued walking. Up still? It was then that Una realized they were heading for must have been the top of the keep tower. They passed a set of windows, the people below only tiny specks of color.
“I make my own words now,” Ranifer said, “and while I think you might benefit from deviating from the King’s scripture, I would advise that now is not the time to find your own voice.”
The next window revealed, the people below carrying away the discarded Prophet’s body.
“Oh, so you think I’ll live long enough?” Una asked, just as they were coming around a bend, the stairs ahead windowless and dark. She placed her hand against the wall.
Step by step Ranifer was slowly embraced by welcoming shadows. After a beat of silence, he spoke. “That, Una, is only up to you.” That, of course, was a lie, but Una took his advice and held her tongue.
They had reached the top of the stairs and before them lay what she could only barely make out to be a heavy chamber door.
“If you help me, I may be swayed to aid you in turn.”
“You expect me to throw spirit into these flames of madness? You know very well why Ariel sent me here.”
In spite of the dark Ranifer unlocked the door with deft and practiced hand and proceeded to push it open. Light spilled out the open door, banishing the shadows from his form. Then he turned to her once more, a loveless smile on his lips.
“Which is why I shall be taking these,” he acknowledged, and with little care but great efficiency moved on to unraveling the pearl and acorn adorned ribbons form her hair. All poisons and antivenin alike. Then he stepped inside and motioned her to follow.
Before the window stood something that Una could only describe as a loom under construction. Though, clearly, it was not one.
Nearly bare except for the monstrous contraption and a thin bedroll in the corner, it was an odd room to be sure, but it failed to impress anymore. Maybe, it would take less than two weeks and the notion of being a prophet might just taste stale to her too.
Una looked over at Ranifer, intent on demanding much needed clarification. But the look of surprising and immense pride on the man’s face gave her pause.
“Una,” Ranifer said, gaze still lingering on the appliance, “I intend to put your miraculous survival to good use. Your first order - finish building that.”
“What exactly is that?” Una replied pointedly.
“A long overdue tribute. A way to spread the truth.” He shrugged. “A tip in the scales, if you will.”
She couldn’t help the scoff that bubbled up her raw throat. “Stop weaving words, Ranifer, and start spitting truths.”
“The truth of the matter is - I need an alchemist to make it work.” He missed a beat, “I think.”
Una gawked. “I’m a poisoner.”
Why Ranifer had come to this town in the first place, or what had possessed him to stay in the eye of this gathering storm of no small proportion, was still utterly elusive to her.
“Close enough.” His tone allowed for no resistance. His look, too, was suddenly hard and cold. It was the combination of the two that stopped her from speaking until she realized he was about to leave.
“I am fine, by the way.”
He nodded, not looking at her. “Your skill remains unmatched.”
“You would know.”
“And yet sometimes I wish I did not.” And with that, Ranifer closed the door, leaving her alone, a prophet with no vision, a poisoner with no tools of the trade and a bitter taste with no quick relief.