An Outlaw's Best Friend

An Outlaw's Best Friend

Vivian gritted her teeth, gripped the rope tight, and braced herself to the side of the marble wall. This was going to be a difficult climb. Now, if she was back home in the South, things would be different. In the Southern cities, the buildings were all crumbling and neglected— nothing like these polished marble surfaces. Vivian’s boot skidded across the wall as she tried to find purchase, and she realized to her dismay that her arms were going to have to do most of the work.  She muttered a curse, sucked in a lungful of air, and began to pull herself up. 

Up here in the North, nothing came easy. Everything was strictly regulated, from trade to travel to social status. You couldn’t walk from one end of the city to the other without a license, and the guards were everywhere. They seemed to see everything.  It was no place for an ambitious person to make a living. It was certainly no place for a thief. 

 

Nervousness got the best of Vivian, and she paused for a moment to glance downward. The cobblestone street was probably about twenty-five feet down below. Blissfully, it was empty. She glanced up. Easily another twenty-five feet to go. She didn’t like how exposed she was, even in the middle of the night. Vivian wasn’t exactly a cautious person, but a job like this would make anyone nervous. If she were caught here, there wouldn’t be any hemming and hawing. Just a quick trial, a public denunciation, and then: exile. She shuddered. She just wouldn’t get caught, it was as simple as that.

After what seemed like an hour, her hand finally grasped the top of the wall. Her arms burned from the climb, but she was almost done. And if her tip was right, there wouldn’t be any guards up here tonight. Vivian tried to stifle a grunt as she pushed through her exhaustion and hoisted herself up and over the edge of the wall. In moments, she was over the edge, and she collapsed in a heap on the roof. She rested on all fours for a moment and breathed in the warm night. She took a few deep breaths, muttered a few more choice curses, and spat on the floor. Damn the bastards who built this stupid tower with its stupid sheer walls. Damn them, and damn their masters, and damn their big beautiful shiny city. Damn them all. 

“Tonight, scum, you’ve made the worst mistake of your life.” The guard's rough voice cut through the darkness and shocked Vivian back to alertness. She looked up, straight into a sneering face that was all too identifiable. Of course, she couldn’t see the sneer. All of the guards wore full iron masks. But she could hear it all too clearly. She was beginning to think learning that precise tone of condescension was part of the guards’ training program.

The guard’s sword was leveled straight at her heart. He sneered harder. “On your feet, scum!” 

After a long moment, Vivian reluctantly rose to her feet. Her tip off had been wrong, apparently. She should have known; this job had been too good to be true. Nothing ever came so painlessly, so easily. She clenched her hands tight, so tight that her nails dug into her hands. Good. The pain would make this easier.

For the first time, she looked straight at the guard. He was dressed in dazzling armor, molded in a decorative and decidedly impractical style. All the guards wore armor like that, though the design varied from region to region. It was all so ridiculous.

Vivian felt a familiar sickness in her stomach. She latched onto it, let it fill her voice. “You hate me, don’t you?”

The guard regarded her with surprise and disdain. It took him a moment to spit out an answer. “You’re not permitted to speak, thief. How I feel doesn’t come into this. It’s my duty to bring the lawless to justice. Now shut up and follow me!” Already, he was a little too angry. Normally guard's didn't respond to taunts. Vivian smiled grimly. The guard grabbed her by the wrist and began to lead her away, but Vivian resisted.

 “You hate me so much. I’m worthless and vile. I’m disgusting to you.” The sickness rose inside her, like warm acid seeping through her body. She focused on that feeling, pushing it toward the guard. His grip on her wrist tightened painfully, and the feeling flared.

“Shut up!!” Now the tone of condescension was gone, replaced by pure rage. Reckless rage. The guard spun on her, his duty forgotten, his weapon in hand. Now he wanted only to kill.

Vivian’s smile widdened. She was getting better at this. She had the opening she’d been waiting for—as the guard whipped around, she deftly sidestepped and then delivered a sharp kick to the back of his knee. Just like that, he toppled to the floor. But he’d be up in a moment, and Vivian had to end this quickly. She hadn’t been able to smuggle any weapons into the city, so this next part would be messy. She planted her foot on his back and shoved forward, sprawling him out on the stone floor. He kept shouting, but Vivian’s mind was elsewhere. The acid feeling had reached a boiling point. It filled her up, something between nausea and ecstasy, and Vivian had to concentrate hard to keep from being overwhelmed.

Vivian had long ago learned that hatred was the best aid to concentration. Hatred was her tool, her weapon, her best friend. She latched on to her hatred for the guard under her boot. This pathetic, pompous idiot who had treated her like a child. Vivian gripped the air in front of her, all her muscles tense with the exertion of contained rage. She kindled her hatred, let it rise, let it grow. He should suffer. He should die. She felt his life in her hands: warm, wet, fragile and disgusting. She twisted, squeezed, ripped—

And it was done. Vivian felt the acid drain out of her until it was nothing but a foul taste at the back of her throat. She felt empty. Sick, but in a different and more horrible way.

She looked down to what was left of the guard. It certainly wasn’t a clean death. His flesh had been contorted, molded haphazardly by Vivian’s carnomancy. Here was an exposed femur, there a dislocated shoulder, a broken arm… Vivian noticed with some satisfaction that an eyeball had come to rest at least a foot from of the corpse. She laughed despite herself. She’d say she didn’t take any pleasure in doing that, but truth be told, she did. It hurt her, but it hurt him more. That was enough.

 

Vivian put her palm to her forehead and tried to clear her thoughts. She took stock of the situation. The other guards had surely heard something, there was no time to stay here. She’d have to keep going, or she’d have to flee… but that was no choice at all. She’d come this far. She muttered another curse—one reserved for particularly dire straits—and began searching for the way down into the tower. There was still work to be done. And if she could find what she was looking for, coming to this useless part of the world would have been worth it.