Let the Darkness In

I gritted my teeth as the cart jostled and bounced. My foot jarred with every motion and the rough sacks began to chafe my exposed skin. Not much further.

The cart lurched to a halt and my heart started pulsing in my throat. I could feel sweat lacing my palms and brow. Why had we stopped?

“Alright Ulfric? Same as normal?” Footsteps sounded meters away from where I lay buried in my rough cocoon. I held my breath. The man was so close I could hear his nasal breathing. I didn’t dare move. Another excruciating few minutes and the footsteps moved back towards the driver. “Good to go!”

“Thanks,” the driver responded and cracked the horses back into action. As the rumble of the wheels sounded once more, I let out my pent-up breath, the air rushing out gratefully. I slid back.

A shadow seemed to pass over me and then the sound erupted in a cacophony. I heard children screaming and running about, the shouts of angry sellers and customers, the stink of excretion over freshly baked pies. This was it, infinitely more than anything I had known in my sixteen years. It was overwhelming - my heart was pounding and I couldn’t focus on one noise, so they blended into a deafening miasma. My hands were shaking. Closing my eyes, I cowered in the blankets of canvas, but I knew any moment now, I would have to face this outside world. I dug my nails into my palm until it stung. This was to remind me.

The cart trundled onwards at a snail’s pace, dodging pedestrians (heard by cries of “watch it” and “twat”, and the thump of body parts whacking its sides. I jumped each time I heard the slap of flesh against the wooden sides, half-expecting the covers to lift and a face to stare down at me.

Finally, the cart slowed. I shuffled into position. I didn’t know who or what would be the other side of the sacking. If there were people, they would try and catch me, branding me a thief or a witch...like the villagers had. A shudder ran over my spine. Or...if there was no one there, I could slip off. Deep down, I doubted the merchant would leave his wares unattended.

I heard the merchant ease himself down from his seat. For a moment, there was silence. It was now. Shooting up, I threw the covers off, feeling the blinding day hit me with full force. Stunned, I sat upright for a moment, but a shout came from behind me. Turning, I saw the merchant pointing at me, his eyes wide and his mouth in a grimace, revealing yellowing, cracked teeth in amongst a greasy beard. I crawled forward, hampered by my skirts and the other irregular shapes of sacks. I slid off and onto the floor awkwardly, a grunt escaping as my feet hit the mud.

Then I was off...my limbs were shaking with energy. There was no way I would be trussed up in a prison again. Grey stone and mud walls flew past, people yelled as I shoved them away. My blood was pounding in my ears and I didn’t dare to turn my head.

I ran until my head started to pulse, the sweat dripped down into my eyes, stinging, and my legs could not go much further. Around me, people seemed to hardly notice the new arrival. They were thin, gaunt and sallow. Not much different here to the villagers. It seemed everyone was starving and miserable, no matter where they lived.

Bringing myself back to reality, I saw an inviting alley and ducked into it. Grateful for the halt, my body slid down the wall. I regulated my breathing and my heaving chest, but kept an eye on whoever walked past. No one paid the slightest bit of attention to the crouched figure in the dark and stinking alley. A strong reek was coming from a bundle of abandoned, fluffy items which I guessed were once fruit and vegetables. A faint rustling came from nearby and I felt the small heat imprint of a feasting rat.

My eyes remained trained on the entrance for a while. My body was returning to normality and with it, my rationale. No merchant would come down here. This was the part of town where I belonged - I could blend in with the filth and the muck down here. My mind worked and my fingers dug into a stagnant puddle. Mud oozed between my fingers and I wiped it over my birthmark and smeared it over my face.

As I reached down to wash the mud off my hands, the puddle shimmered and started to glow. Glancing around, I yanked a decrepit box from beside me and placed a box in front of the watery shine, so it blocked the puddle and I. Hopefully, no one would notice as they passed by. I pulled my rags around me, pulling the hood up.

A shadow seemed to undulate across the small ripples that had now started ebbing. I couldn’t make out any features but the outline was undeniably human.

Siofra. Go to the apothecary. She dwells in the cottage with the sign of the green bottle.

The image and voice faded.

That had been really helpful….first, I had no idea where this apothecary was. Second, I didn’t have a clue how to address them. Did they know who I was? Did I tell them I was here to kill their king?

I’d have to wing it.

“Excuse me sir/madam, I need to kill your future king.”

They may reconise me as someone different but maybe a white lie would be the best option. After all, I knew I could lie. My heart twisted briefly as I remembered the look in Ysyamay’s face. No, this was for the best. Standing up, I edged out of the alley, making sure my hood was up. My feet were throbbing and aching, and I knew they had swollen. All in all, with my limp, my ragged clothes and my filthy face, I blended in rather nicely. There were no second glances, no whispering, no attempts to pull down my hood.

My eyes darted to and fro. The streets were gloomy here...buildings jostled for space, some newly built wooden constructions, bright and less marred by years of muck and pollution. As I walked on, I saw some stone ruins, on which newer bricks had been laid. Turning back the way I had come, I stopped and held my breath. I hadn’t had a moment to take in my surroundings since I entered the city and that castle that presided over everyone on the hill caught my eye.

Huge turrets reached higher than the tallest trees, rounded spires tapered to points and sturdy walls stretched for miles. He was in there.

I turned away, now feeling the burn of determination and the watch of the tower. I would get up there.

The light had started to fade by the time I located the sign. Cracked and hanging dangerously off its mooring, it was a cracked wooden board with a faded green vial on it. The building was one of the old ruins but the roof had been thatched over and large holes filled in with woven twigs. It lingered at the end of a street where people crouched in the doorways and a noxious stream meandered down the middle.

Glancing around, I moved closer. If this apothecary was anything like Ysmay, they would be held in disgust and admiration of equal measure. Or, they could be like me. Outcast and hated.

I raised a hand to knock on the door and found my first trembling. Biting my lips hard, I steeled myself. My fingers ran over the scar. I knocked, my hand connecting with the cracked and splintered wood.

Nothing seemed to stir in the house. Perhaps I had missed the apothecary. I would sit and wait until they returned. As I resigned myself to settling in for the long haul, I heard feet shuffling towards me on the other side of the wall. I stood bolt upright. The door creaked and in a moment’s decision, I pulled down my hood.

As the door opened, I was met with light and the rush of herbs. Dozens of candles blazed from inside the room, silhouetting the figure before me. Squinting, I tried to make out the person’s features. They took a step forward so that the evening light illuminated them in a bit more detail.

“Can I help?”

Something in me relaxed. This woman was much like Ysyamy and immediately, I felt like I could talk to her. A round, flushed, lined face was looking into mine. Two green eyes appraised me. Her white hair hung in two tight plaits down to her waist. She was wearing a simple green dress with a once-white apron tied around her plump middle.

“I...I….” I started.

The woman took my hand and jerked. I felt a prickle of energy run between her and I. We both blinked and then she flipped over my hand. Her fingers ran over the fading scab. She looked back into my eyes. In a sudden movement, she clamped her fingers around my wrist and hauled me inside, closing the door behind her.

Words wouldn’t come at this strange reaction, so I gazed around. Shelves hung on the white plastered walls, hosting a wild array of bottles and pots. A large table dominated most of the room, filled with parchment, the remains of a vivid red powder and blobs of ink. A wicked knife shone in the candlelight.

My eyes wondered back to the woman who was watching me intentily.

“Who are you?” She began, breaking the silence.

I hesitated. This woman clearly knew I wasn’t quite ordinary. But how much did she know? And could I trust her?