Tales of The Mortal Realm: Innocence

By Steen Belhage

The dark tale of Innocence follows three people in Westport, the gloomy, wet harbor town in The Fairlands. The streets are riddled with crime, the chance of rape and murder lurking around every corner. In all this filth, Eadric Hartney, the lawman and vigilante, carries an unyielding lust for justice at any price. However, on the other side of the law, is Nyeepa, the fatherly Myaani whose only wish is to care for his family--but the bad company around him seems to drag him further and further away from his daughter and soon-to-be wife. And in between is Cain, the magi-technician with an ambition for resurrection of a dead loved one. These three characters' stories intertwine, and they will have to set aside their differences as evil rears its ugly face.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steen Belhage
• Release date: Feb 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311978523

Steen Belhage

Steen Belhage is a Danish aspiring author, living in the approximate middle of nowhere, and with his mind even further away from reality than that. Locked in pseudo-consciousness, Steen spends most of his time daydreaming, as he has done most of his life. After a while he realized that he could spend this seemingly-useless daydreaming for something productive: writing! So now he has cast himself yet even further away from life's duties and expectations, and immersed himself with his own mind and world (which really is far more comfortable than having to deal with socializing and other bothersome trivialities). He dreams (once again) for publication as so many other writers do, but more for the sake of getting his work out there, rather than getting cash in his pocket. Of course, he wouldn't argue with the cash, but he's in it for the stories--not as much the money. Because think about it: being allowed to dream all day and write when you're not dreaming, and then get a pat on the back for doing so... who could ask for more?

Book preview

Innocence

Steen Engel Belhage

Published by Steen Engel Belhage at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Steen Engel Belhage

Smashwords Edition

Cover illustration by Péter Antal

This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for reach recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter 1: Eadric

Chapter 2: Nyeepa

Chapter 3: Anguish

Chapter 4: Hunters and Prey

Chapter 5: Bereaved

Chapter 6: Journey

Chapter 7: Scent of Crime

Chapter 8: Shattered Fellowship

Chapter 9: Lost

Chapter 10: A Verdant Hell

Chapter 11: Ashes to Ashes

Chapter 12: Stranded

Chapter 13: Old and Forgotten

Chapter 14: The Escape

Chapter 15: The Enemy of my Enemy

Chapter 16: Bleeding Dreams

Chapter 17: From Beyond the Grave

Chapter 18: The Three Trials

Chapter 19: A Twist of Fate

Chapter 20: Chaotic Equilibrium

Chapter 21: Spirits of Both Kinds

Chapter 22: Goodbye Reality

Chapter 23: Torturous Revelations

Chapter 24: To The Heavens

Chapter 25: In the House of Death

Chapter 26: Redemption

About the Author

Chapter 1: Eadric

"You'd think the world would have succumbed on itself by now. Drowned in the heap of filth that slowly accumulated behind the smiling, obscuring face of society. In these miserable years, where human life seems to mean less and less, you begin to wonder. Wonder if humanity's feeble hand still holds around our society somehow. Wonder if animals have more sense of empathy than us. Wonder how far we are from the edge of the cliff that will send us plummeting into chaos. The seeds of anarchy were sown long ago, but these are the times when that flower blooms. But this particular flower gives off a smell that should have suffocated our kind long ago... and yet, the world lives on. But it lives on as a heaving and gasping abomination.

A disease has fallen across our world, and it is killing us. It degenerates us, decomposes us, and turns us against each other. It is everywhere, around the corners and in the dark alleys, waiting to contaminate us when we are alone. When will society see that their world is sick and suffocating, dying under this nefarious disease? It is being neglected, denied like by a child closing its eyes to night terrors. But this is one night terror that will not go away. As long as there is more than one person in this world, this disease will linger on. Its roots and go so deep into the world's flesh that it has caused wars and death beyond counting. This disease, this voracious virus, goes by the name of 'crime', and it is thriving more than ever." 

These were the thoughts that went through his head, as he let the piece of chalk grind across the brick road, crouching down. The white of the chalk was nicely visible in the shadows of the buildings that squeezed together this narrow, dark alley. His chalk ground shorter and shorter, as it enveloped the shape of an arm... a leg... a torso. Before long, an entire body's shape was chalked upon the wet brick road. For a few moments, he just stared at the tragedy before him. He sighed and shook his head slowly. Such a shame, it was. She was a pretty one, though her pale skin served to dampen her beauty. And worst of all, she was an acquaintance. 'Was' was the correct word. Only twenty-four years old. She just had to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time. The blood on her forehead had long since caked in, and her dead eyes were blankly staring upwards, into the starry night sky. The smoke of the low-hanging cigarette in his mouth slowly wafted around in the air and got in his face and coiled around the brims of his short, stiff black hat, like an affectionate jellyfish of smoke, though he didn't even flinch. He merely stared at the body of the poor woman on the wet ground before him, wondering when the day would come where he could walk through an alley without tripping over a murder victim. But that was nothing but a vain dream at this point.

What do we have, Eadric. A male voice behind him asked blankly. His sentence seemed to ask for a question mark, though the tone of his voice resembled an order more than a question.

Still staring at the dead body, watching it go paler and paler, Eadric slowly picked out his cigarette and tapped off the ashes onto the ground, right beside the brims of his long, grey trench coat Adriana Palmer. He said monotonously, his voice dark and rumbling, too many cigarettes clearly taking their toll upon his vocal cord Twenty-four years old. She worked as a fish-gutter at the 'Henry & Paul's Fresh Cod' store. Poor girl... she was dead before she hit the ground. He muttered gruffly as he put his cigarette back in his mouth and indicated towards her blood-caked forehead And whoever this guy is, he's quite the marksman. Look, Francis. Right between the eyes. At least this scumbag had the mercy to grant her a swift death.

The other man, Francis, slowly crouched down beside Eadric and let out a long sigh. He tapped his small notepad with his pencil and frowned disappointedly That's the second already this year... and it was New Year's three weeks ago. He said and slowly shook his head 1537 is going to be a dark year for Westport, Eadric. I can feel it.

Eadric took a long draw of his cigarette, before keeping a small silence, contemplating. The chatter and bickering of law enforcement officers behind them drowned out the sound of a bell upon the mast of a ship, in the nearby harbor. The smell of ocean was thick in the air, though the stench of Miss Adriana Palmer's body slowly began to creep up Eadric's nostrils. The nightly chill of winter in The Fairlands nibbled at his skin, even through his rather thick trench coat.

Eadric let out a long plume of smoke through the side of his mouth And they just dumped her body here, in a lonely alley. How graceless. Eadric said and sneered, his skin wrinkling underneath his stern, hazel eyes They could at least have dumped her in the harbor. We've got six of those in Westport, after all. But no. They'd rather pollute the streets with their victims... more than their filthy presence does already. I think it's one of those damn outsiders. Targussian, probably. Eadric said and tapped his tightly gloved fingers on his crouched knee Westport is a nasty cesspool of crime, Francis. I can't understand what makes it such a vital harbor town in the Fairlands.

Francis took a long breath of the fresh night-chilled air of Westport, and lightly padded Eadric on the shoulder, trying to force forth a little smile on his own lips I can understand you're pissed, Eadric. I would be too, if someone woke me up at this hour. He said, smiling slightly at Eadric's stern and rather intimidating face Talking of which... Francis continued Did you sleep well before we came and woke you up?

No. Eadric spat pointedly I don't dream, remember? And when I do, they're nightmares. I haven't 'slept well' for months. He grumbled Not ever since the murders began.

Francis' smile gave up. It fell to a blank line that fit the situation better Maybe you're just too focused on your job. It can put tremendous strain on a man, having to deal with dead bodies in dark, gloomy alleys all the time. You should go home and get some rest, Eadric. I'll deal with Miss Palmer here. He said and indicated towards the body with a bob of his head.

But Eadric merely let out a puff of smoke in a ridiculing snort Don't give me that bullshit, Francis. He growled I chose this job, and I'm going to stick by it. It's a nasty job, but someone has to do it. And I took up that mantle. Smoke seeped through his teeth as he spoke with that gruff, harsh voice of his. He then exhaled deeply, and slowly stood up on his feet But you're right. He said, as he met the more compassionate eyes of Francis who stood up with him I should try to get what little sleep I can. I've got an appointment with my shrink this afternoon, after all. He tipped his stiff, black hat to Francis Have a ball, Francis.

Francis nodded in response, but it was in vain. Eadric had already turned around, stuffed both hands in the pockets of his trench coat and was steadily sauntering off. Francis watched Eadric as he disappeared into the wet night of Westport, his coat swaying in the fresh wind that swept in from the ocean side.

Dawn broke. The gloom and greyness of Westport lingered, but at least the red sunlight made the ocean glimmer in such a pretty way. The cry of seagulls harmonized with the soft brushing of waves splashing against the pier and brushing against the hulls of the dozens of ships before him. Eadric's gaze wandered slowly in the horizon and would dream himself elsewhere, but was held back by the rhythmic chiming of a nearby ship's bell. The southern ocean between The Fairlands and Targus stretched far out before him before disappearing in a burning clash with the dawn-reddened horizon. The soft Fairlandish wind swept in Eadric's coat, as he poetically stood at the end of the pier of Wesport's fifth harbor, staring into the horizon. Nature was different in the way that it seemed to stay beautiful forever. It always seemed to figure out how to flourish again, and adapt to whatever harsh environment. Humanity wasn't like that. They didn't adapt; they forced adaption on others. They didn't flourish either; they simply learned how to keep on living in their own feculence, and did nothing to lessen it. And as for beauty... that was one of the first things to go, when humanity began to sully itself in the filth of crime.

Eadric quickly tore himself from his daydreaming. He looked over his shoulder, back down the long pier, towards the city. People were beginning to wake up, and he was already late for his appointment.

Knock knock

The sound of Eadric's knuckles upon the wooden door resounded inside. His face remained as bitter as always, and he slowly let his gaze wander up and down the door before him. Mahogany. Fine mahogany at that. Did a shrink earn that much money? Perhaps Eadric was getting paranoid, but he couldn't help but get suspicious too. He had a plaque too, embedded on his door. 'Dr. Nicholas Retby', it wrote, carved into the metal. Eadric would have inspected it further to see if it was gold, but then the door swung open.

Ah, Eadric. Retby said A bit late, but that's alright. Come on in.

That smile. Like a mask strapped to the face of a corpse. The way his wrinkled cheeks wrinkled further up under his old, tired eyes that shined greed so brightly you could put him on the pier and call him a lighthouse. Eadric was obviously nothing but a money dispense in the eyes of this old, greedy shrink. His fine white suit told of how many patients he had left with full heads and empty pockets. But he was the only one in all of Westport, so what was Eadric going to do? He had the monopoly, and Eadric had the mental issue. So there was not much to do but to comply, and hope for the best.

Eadric tipped his hat once at him Hello doctor. He said, his voice as monotone as ever, as he took the liberty to step inside. Eadric's hard shoes clicked against Dr. Retby's fine floor, and he was quickly presented with the much familiar interior of his office. The cold of winter was kept outside, banished by the warmth of Dr. Retby's officer. It smelled strange in here too. A distinct smell of rich mahogany, old moldy psychologists and greed. Lots of greed. A small hanger for coats allowed Eadric to set his trench coat aside, while Dr. Retby headed straight for his desk, at the back of the room, sputtering useless questions about how Eadric's day was, as to which Eadric tried to answer as shortly as possible. He lay his hat on the hanger as well, revealing the short but thick brown hair of his.

So, Eadric. Dr. Retby began as he sat down in his office chair behind his desk Please, have a seat. He gestured towards the patient's chair, the pestering smile still lingering on his lips. Why couldn’t he just cut out the act? The chair he gestured to was one of those laid-back elongated bed-chairs on which whimpering patients could dramatically rant on about their sorrowful lives. But, theoretically, that was what Eadric was here for, so he appropriately laid down on the 'chair'. A beam of dawning sunlight pierced through the one and only window in the office, right down upon Eadric's rugged face like a spotlight.

Meanwhile, Dr. Retby began shuffling through his pile of papers, quickly pulling one out from the rest. It was quite familiar, both for Eadric and Dr. Retby. There was a long list of notes further down the sheet of paper, though the header of it wrote of the basics.

Name: Eadric Hartney

Gender: Male

Age: 34

Place of Residence: Westport

Ailment: Insomnia and nightmares

So, Eadric. Dr. Retby said, repeating himself, as his slender, bony fingers held firmly around the pencil that lay upon his notepad, ready to write down Eadric's words You seem particularly... cross, this afternoon. Is there something you would like to tell me?

Eadric hesitated to speak, clearly not wanting to be here in the first place, but he knew it was for his own good.

There was another murder. He uttered pointedly A young woman. 'Adriana Palmer'. Shot through the forehead. No trace of the sinner. He said, his voice turning to a harsh growl as a sneer twisted his face angrily ...Again.

I see. Dr. Retby muttered carelessly and seemed to scribble something on his notepad And how long has this been going on for, then?

Seven months. Eadric replied, staring at the ceiling. He had obviously prepared for that question.

Ever since we executed that dark sorceress in the town square. I am considering that she has a gang or family, who are out for revenge. I can't figure out why they aren't killing me instead, since I was the one who tracked her down and found the evidence of her crime. She managed to shout something at me, though, when I attended her execution. Eadric continued.

Dr. Retby's attention suddenly seemed to have been caught. He turned his gaze from the notepad down to Eadric, eyebrows furrowed Eadric. Tell me more about this execution. What did she shout at you?

Eadric uttered a small chortle, though it was brash and ridiculing Some sort of curse, apparently. Her words were cracking and trembling in fear, and she spat her words out so desperately and pathetically as the guillotine loomed over her neck. It didn't make any sense either. It was something along the lines of 'may your past taint the future, and may your memories be the death of your friends'. He snorted disbelievingly And then of course followed by dozens of 'curse you's... but the guillotine shut her up.

Dr. Retby continued his scribbling, while Eadric folded his hands in his lap, staring up into the ceiling of rich mahogany.

How interesting. Dr. Retby said, though his tone didn't fit the words at all I'm curious as towards what she meant about 'may your past taint your future'. We both know that your childhood was a little... different, from that of most people. Why don't you tell me a little about your parents, Eadric? He asked.

Eadric's heart sank. He felt the wretchedness of putrid memories skulking forth in the back of his head. His lips twitched, bending in a disgusted frown With all due respect... He began There are certain things that are best left forgotten.

Dr. Retby kept a small silence, before laying down his pencil and folding his fingers as shrinks now do Eadric... I'm here to help. He said, almost sounding compassionate to Eadric's surprise, but he knew it was an act Or rather, you are here to be helped. I can't help you if you keep things from me.

Eadric took a deep breath and exhaled it all in a deep sigh Fine. He said, figuring he might as well play along with Retby’s game My parents were not the parents any child deserves. Love was a lie in my childhood. I was a single child. My father had these evenings where he said he would go out for a drink, but he never came back before dawn. And when he did, he was riddled in bruises and wounds. He shut his eyes briefly and forced himself to carry on But my mother let him. He said, to Dr. Retby's surprise Because he always came back with 'medicine' for her. Little yellow vials. My mother called it 'liquid sunbeams'. He said, as his lips jittered in a hateful sneer My mother was addicted to nethersap, and it became the death of her. My father hardly flinched when he found her dead in the bathtub with her mouth full of yellow spittle.

Dr. Retby cringed slightly I see. He said I'm sorry to hear that.

Don't be. Eadric spat She killed herself. She deserved to suffocate on her own bad decisions.

Hmm, yes perhaps you're right. Dr. Retby said rather plainly, though his face blatantly showed the disgust he felt Let's change the subject, shall we? He slapped on that typical false professional smile that shrinks would wear—it was a psychologist’s masquerade, and Eadric knew he had attended What about your father? Have you ever thought of seeking to re-unite yourself with your father?

Another question that made Eadric sick to his stomach.

I can't re-unite myself with a pile of ashes, doctor. Eadric said bitterly He died in a house fire. I escaped, but my father was crushed underneath the collapsing roof. The last specks of my childhood were burnt to the ground together with that house.

Retby seemed to struggle to keep his mask, clearly not used to Eadric’s harshness I'm beginning to see why you're having nightmares, Eadric. He said, as he leaned back in his office chair and idly fiddled with his pencil Do you remember how the fire started?

Eadric held a short silence as he stared unblinkingly upwards. His lips twitched, eager to speak, but they remained shut until he replied shortly and directly An accident.

Dr. Retby let his gaze wander out the window, into the distant horizon. He let out a short sigh, before returning his attention to Eadric Where did you go afterwards, Eadric?

The law enforcement found me. He replied sharply They sent me to the Westport orphanage. I was the new kid. It was not easy, but I found help. He said, as his lips slowly began to curl in a little smile That's where I met Francis. He helped me deal with the 'tough kids'. We've stuck together ever since.

Ah yes. Francis. You've told me about him before. He's your colleague at the law enforcement office, right? Dr. Retby asked, 'smiling' at Eadric while his hand rapidly scribbled some notes on the notepad, as if his hand was another living entity, independent of the rest of his body.

Superior. Eadric corrected He's my superior. He does all the paperwork, I find the evidence. He said, or once with a bit of rise in his voice, as his gaze stared out the single window, into the horizon. The sun had left the horizon by now and was casting its long beams across the ocean that stretched itself long out into the distance. The sunlight on the water danced in the waves like golden flames. The relentless shouting of fishmongers resounded through the mahogany door, and the smell of fish slipped through its slender cracks, into the office. But neither Eadric nor Dr. Retby seemed to mind. Everyone in Westport was used to it anyway.

Dr. Retby remained silent for a while. The quiet was only broken by the sound of his pencil sliding across his endless notes, and the sound of his large clock ticking rhythmically. He shot a quick glance up at said clock, and let out a short Hm., before neatly folding up the notes he had written I'm afraid we're out of time, Eadric. Shall I expect you next week as well?

Eadric felt a quiet relief inside of himself. Freedom at last. He slowly got up on his feet from the chair, his hard shoes clicking against the floor. He stood up and stretched his back to let out a few cracks. He then turned to Dr. Retby, looking at him blankly for a few seconds before answering.

You're the only shrink in all of Westport, and I have nightmares to get rid of.

Dr. Retby managed a little smile, this particular one displaying the greedy pleasure of his monopoly And I'm sure we'll rid you of your nightmares soon enough. He said, tapping his bony fingers on the armrests of his office chair as Eadric went to put on his coat I can suggest you take a vacation, Eadric. A break from your job would do you good, I'm sure. When I say that ignorance is bliss, I mean it. We’d all be better off not witnessing what goes on, out there, on the streets.

Eadric stood at the doorway. His hand was already laid upon the doorknob, but he was halted by Dr. Retby's suggestion. He shot a vile, condescending glance over his shoulder, towards Dr. Retby I have seen beyond this world’s gilded curtains. One may choose to comfort themselves in sweet lies of bliss, or one could do something about the filth that we trudge through every day. I choose the latter. His voice had fallen to an ominous growl, polluted by hatred And this town needs me. Heroes don't take vacations. He said, as he squeezed his stiff hat down over his head I'll see you next week, doctor.

Chapter 2: Nyeepa

It was cold. The bite of a winter night tore at his slender fingers, and a nightly gust of chilled wind swept in his foxy ears, and in his long, plushy tail. Even through his coat of tan fur, the chill of night still managed to prickle at his skin and numb his fingers. His he kept twitching his wet, canine nose to keep it from going numb as well. Numb fingers were no good for delicate work like this, but a numb nose was just downright unpleasant.

Click... click... click...

The sound of his pick upon the lock broke the serene silence, and he flinched with every click. What if someone heard him? He tried to synchronize it with the sound of the rhythmic drip of the rainwater on the roof above him. His keen eyes lay fixed upon the lock before him, and his long tongue lay slapped up against his own muzzle, for that was what he had seen humans do, when they were trying to concentrate. However, it appeared rather silly on a creature like himself.

Suddenly, a hushed male voice angrily snapped at him from behind Gods, Nyeepa! He hissed What's taking so damn long? Just get the bloody lock open already!

I'm trying! Nyeepa responded apologetically. His heart pounded in his chest, as the voice behind him stressed him like that, and his hands grew increasingly unsteady with the lock picks. The brick road underneath him was hard, cold, wet and generally unpleasant. He kept awkwardly shifting between what knee to kneel on, as his hands hurriedly worked to pick open that dastardly lock. It was hard to see in this darkness, though. Even bathed in the moonlight, tinted slightly silver, a torch would have done wonders for visibility.

And don't be so damn loud! the voice behind him complained again You're going to wake up all of Westport with that racket!

I'm sorry! I should be done in— He was interrupted as he heard the distinct sound of the lock falling in place with a click Aha! He exclaimed joyfully, though still with a hushed tone. Slowly, still kneeling, he proceeded to push at the door with his nimble, slender fingers.

Creeeaaak

A proud smile adorned itself on his muzzle, baring his long set of canine teeth. He slowly stood up on his hind legs, presenting his full bi-pedal figure as he turned to the man behind him. Although Nyeepa smiled widely and proudly, he was met with a face that seemed to say 'about damn time'. In the light of the moon, stars and nearby lampposts, Nyeepa's comrade stood. His arms were folded across his darkly leather-clad chest, and his crude eyes—or rather: eye, since his right eye was covered by a dark eye-patch of leather—stared harshly up at Nyeepa, into his gleeful eyes. His face was riddled in scars, and his chin was covered in a thin layer of hair that Nyeepa recognized as 'a beard'. They were strange creatures, these humans. Only fur on certain places on their bodies, and particularly much on the top of their head. How useless! Much better to just have fur everywhere. Keeps you warm, and you don't necessarily have to wear clothes all the time. Nyeepa was rocking back and forth on his hind paws, hands folded behind his back which was clad in the same dark leather outfit as his comrade. Like a dog awaiting a treat after doing a trick, Nyeepa awaited some kind of praise of a job well done... but he was about to be disappointed.

Next time, be quicker about it. Nyeepa's comrade gruffly complained You know Father hates when we're late. His eyes narrowed as he tapped Nyeepa on his uniform-clad chest, frowning threateningly Especially you, Nyeepa. Especially you.

Nyeepa frowned too, but far more theatrically. He proceeded to pouting as well, arms laid across his chest and muzzle held high Father doesn't like Myaani like me. I liked Father better when Father had Mother. Mother was nice. He grumbled childishly, as was so common for Myaani behavior.

Yeah, well, mother's dead. Nyeepa's comrade countered She met the guillotine months ago, remember? I think it's about time you get over it. He gave Nyeepa a condescending sneer as he pushed him aside and made his way through the open door Now come on. He said, his voice lowering a notch We've got a job to do.

The cold, the wetness and the smell of rainwater disappeared as the door was gently and silently closed behind them. However, the silver moonlight slipped through the windows as the door and stood as diagonal pillars down upon the floor. The faint moonlight served to dimly light up the dark inside of the house. Utter silence ensued, as Nyeepa closed the door. His keen, canine eyes rapidly adapted to the darkness inside, allowing vision far superior to that of a human. And as his eyes adapted, everything inside was revealed to him. He was met with the sight of a large room, one of many, with long carpets slung across the wooden floor and with ornaments placed in the windows and on pedestals here and there. All the vases, all the figurines, all the little things that Nyeepa had no idea what were. But Nyeepa didn't care what they were. Only that they were there, so accessible, so... snatchable. Nyeepa could barely contain himself. His fingers tingled, his heart pounded and his mind kept whispering 'take it! It's right there!'. The thrill of theft was so luring, and he would rid the entire house of all its valuables if he had brought a sack or two. And there were paintings too! Large, intricate paintings, all placed side by side on the walls around him. He immediately recognized the paintings. They were depictions of the five gods. He figured that whoever lived here was quite religious; a priest perhaps. The paintings all had fine little plagues at the bottom of their frames, telling who the paintings depicted, in case someone had forgotten.

Morrin, the god of death and slumber

Lyrras, the god of life and mercy

Keyen, the goddess of luck and good fortune

Jullix, the goddess of beauty and lies

Hrumalz, the god of war and justice.

And Nyeepa wanted to steal them all! Steal them, hide them, sell them. With emphasis on the 'steal' part, for that was where the thrill was. But he knew better. He quickly shook his head to tear himself out of his fascination. He was here on a mission. He had to focus. Focus!

His soft hind paws allowed for complete silence, as he quietly strode through the house. With muffled steps, he stealthily sneaked from drawer to drawer, which there were plenty of in this house. But they all seemed to filled with worthless junk. Scissors, feather pencils, ink jars, but not what they came for! Nyeepa grew increasingly unnerved. It had to be in here somewhere, surely. Father would never give the wrong location. Father couldn't be wrong! Nyeepa's sharp ears could hear his comrade searching through drawers in the other nearby rooms, and he didn't sound like he had much luck either.

But then suddenly: eureka! Nyeepa's long lips spread in a wide smile upon his muzzle, and his long fox-like tail wagged joyfully as he saw it. Hidden in a book about angels a demons, he found it. A long, crusty piece of old parchment, safely tucked in between the pages of the book. But it couldn't hide from Nyeepa's thoroughness! He discarded the book but kept the piece of parchment, holding it tightly in his nimble fingers. It was written in some strange language Nyeepa couldn't understand. Peculiar runes littered the old parchment, curling together in strange ways that made it hard to comprehend where one rune ended and the next began. Nyeepa even felt rather dizzy, as his gaze danced across the runes that were dimly lit in the silver moonlight that penetrated a nearby window. There was something eerily unnatural about this parchment.

He tore his gaze from it. The runes were making him nauseous, and he quickly rolled the parchment up to hush away the dizzying runes. Instead, he turned to look around the room, to where his comrade had gone. Nyeepa's keen senses heard him shuffle around in some drawers in the adjacent room, which would otherwise have been inaudible to human ears. With the parchment held tightly in both hands, Nyeepa strode silently across the room, into the other, with a wide smile on his lips and his long tongue flapping out of his mouth.

Hey, Klaus! He exclaimed, but with a hushed tone as he skidded to a halt beside his comrade, who was still rummaging through one of the many drawers Behold! He said and thrust the rolled-up parchment towards his comrade, Klaus, a cocky smile adorning his wide mouth Lay your eyes upon its beauty—this is what Father asked for, no?

Klaus looked up from the drawer, furrowing his eyebrows at Nyeepa Shh! He exclaimed, before letting his gaze fall to the parchment which Nyeepa had so abruptly extended towards him What's this? Give me that! He snatched the parchment from Nyeepa's grip. Quickly, he unfolded the parchment and let his harsh gaze glide across the runes. Nyeepa observed expectantly, and was happy to see Klaus' gruff expression loosen up a bit.

Yes... He said, keeping his tone hushed I think this is it. Nice work, Nyeepa. Father will be happy to see this. A crude smile shaped itself on his face, as he rolled up the parchment again Come on. Let's get out of here. 

Splish! Splash! The sound of Nyeepa's hind paws upon the numerous puddles of Westport quickly passed through the streets. The cold winter gusts swept in his tail and ears, and in the brims of his dark leather outfit. The sound of the ships' bells became more and more distant, as Nyeepa strode quickly through the wet streets, away from the coast side of Westport. The seagulls had long since gone to sleep, as had the rest of Westport. Nyeepa was probably not the only one on the streets of this large harbor town, but it sure felt like it. The only one by his side was his own shadow, which was stretched long by the luminous moonlight. It was so pleasantly silent, tranquil and quiet. Quiet, dark houses passed him by, like trees would pass you by in a forest. And Nyeepa was but a brief interruption of this silence, as he passed by, splashing through the scattered puddles on the grey streets... right up until the streets took an abrupt end.

The houses stopped passing by, the clamor of the ships' bells was long gone, and the road that led him here began to seamlessly fade away. Mud began to slowly conquer the road, as did the moss that followed. Nyeepa swiftly passed under a long arch of wood that bid newcomers welcome, but also heralded the border between Wesport and the Fairlandish hills. Gone from the sense of civilization, gone from the gloom of Westport, Nyeepa quickly found himself with a new scenery stretching out before him. Winding hills of green stood like earthen waves, locked forever in their petrified state. Grass covered these luscious hills that were forever snowless, despite the season. But The Fairlands were so far south that the white of winter could not reach them. Instead, green groves and grassy hills decorated these windings hills, and trickling rivers would snake through where the hills descended. The green of the hills was tinted faintly silver blue by the moon and stars above, reflecting off the mirroring rivers. But too much this beauty was pushed aside, devoured by the unquenchable hunger of civilization. It was a shame how the humans couldn't see what destruction their cities wrought upon the defenseless nature.

Nyeepa's stride remained uninterrupted, though. Westport fell further and further into the distance, as Nyeepa strode across the grassy hills. His hind paws brushed against the wet grass that stood up like endless hair upon the hills' backs, and his lungs breathed deeply of the unpolluted, chilled air of night. He climbed hills and descended slopes in turn, until he suddenly skidded to a halt at the top of one certain hill, which was so very familiar to him. Even more familiar was the large, lonesome tree that stood like a tall hat upon the hilltop. It's large crown folded out like a flower in full bloom. But it was no ordinary tree. It was a Myaani tree. More specifically: his Myaani tree. He turned his large muzzle upwards, gazing up to the top of the tree, where he saw his much loved tree house. Its structure stretched out together with the trees branches in perfect harmony with the tree itself, and gave room for an entire family. Nyeepa looked to his right. A small rope hung down from the Myaani home, and offered its services. Nyeepa quickly took the rope, but slowly pulled at it. He looked upwards and saw a small ladder being hoisted down to him. As it reached him, he nimbly and swiftly climbed upwards, although still near soundlessly. As he reached the top of it, he let his large head pop up over the foot of the entrance, like a mole sticking its head up from its hole in the ground. His keen eyes scoured the inside of the tree house. It seemed quiet, though his large foxy ears perked as he heard the sound of some gentle snoring, in one of the adjacent rooms. Silently, he climbed into the house and quickly hoisted the ladder back up. From here, at the door of his tree house, a magnificent view presented itself to him. With Wesport in the near distance, pushed tightly up against the coast, and with the silver moonlight dancing in the vast ocean, it was quite the sight to behold. Every evening did he see this, and he never seemed to enjoy it less. Such beauty. Such tranquility. Such—

He was torn from his fascination as he heard the sound of something creaking behind him. Quickly, he shot a glance over his shoulder, where his gaze collided with that of another Myaani. He quickly spun around and let a smile curl on his lips, as he saw her. Rocking back and forth in a rocking chair, she sat with folded, furry legs and with her plushy tan tail resting in her lap. Her long ears were attentively perked towards Nyeepa, as she let a long smile stretch across her slender muzzle.

I figured you'd be home right around now. A bit late, but that's alright. She said in Myaani tongue, which both of them could speak far better than common tongue. She sat in the back of the room, in the corner where the moonlight did not shine.

Yeah, I know. He said, as he took off his dark leather outfit and hung it up on a small hanger There were some troublemakers at the tavern, so I had to stick around to shoo them out. He lied.

Hm. She stated Have you ever considered finding another job, Nyeepa? You seem to spend more time working at the tavern than you do with me. She complained. One of her ears seemed to fall rather sadly down the side of her head as she spoke.

Nyeepa, now dressed in a plain brown shirt and a pair of baggy trousers, looked down at her and let out a sympathetic sigh Meesha, you know how hard it is to find jobs in Westport. And I need to earn money to care for you and Teena somehow, right?

She held a short silence. She seemed dissatisfied for a moment, before letting out a short sigh Right. She said briefly.

Nyeepa managed a little smile. He thumbed towards a door at the other side of the room, and looked back down at her Is she asleep, by the way?

Of course. She stated Teena always falls asleep before I can even finish the lullaby.

Nyeepa let out a short chuckle, but kept it low to not wake up any adjacent sleepers. He slowly turned towards the door he had indicated towards, and gently pushed it open. It creaked slightly as it opened up, and a beam of moonlight slipped through the slender crack of the open door. The beam fell down upon a bed, in the back of the small room, in which a small individual lay. A young Myaani, not more than a mere pup, curled up in her blankets. She let out a soft snore, heralding her gentle sleep. Nyeepa let his lips spread in a compassionate smile. Teena looked so peaceful when she slept.

Nyeepa slowly closed the door again, before turning to Meesha with his smile lingering We make great parents, you know that?

Meesha mirrored Nyeepa's smile Of course we do. Now, you really need to get some sleep. Dawn is just around the corner. She said and indicated towards the horizon with a bob of her head.

Nyeepa shot a glance out of the door, and true enough: the colors of dawn began to erupt from the horizon and spread over the sky like a fountain of red and orange.

Oh, was I that late out? He asked, surprised, before turning to Meesha I didn’t even realize. I could say the same about you, though. You should get some sleep too—Teena is an early riser and she might need your attention.

Meesha tossed a sideways glance and perked a tiny smirk Oh the perils of parenthood.

Nyeepa contributed with a smirk of his own, and a slow chuckle as he sauntered closer to Meesha, hands in his pockets But in the end, it’s worth the lack of sleep, the cost, the noise. Her smile makes up for all of it.

He slowly approached and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on Meesha’s forehead. She too began to smile as Nyeepa laid a hand on her cheek and looked deeply into her eyes.

No price is too big for you and Teena, love. For family, I would do anything.

Chapter 3: Anguish

Oh that stench! It was unbearable! The foul smell of filth and uncleanliness was thick in the air, and Eadric could almost feel it stick to his exposed skin, as he sat curled up in the corner of the narrow corridor. His young, slender arms lay wrapped around his curled-up legs, as his soft eyes darted around the room. The narrow corridor was lit up by a single lantern that spread its dim light across the tattered walls and worn carpets on the floor. Eerie shadows reveled in this filthy place, and consumed the corners and crannies, including the one Eadric had curled up in. His eyes fell upon the floor on which he sat, and saw all the syringes scattered out across the floor. They were bloody and empty, their contents long since squeezed into the veins of the consumers. Their sharp needles stood up like caltrops, and Eadric did not dare walk on the floor in fear of stepping on one of them. The very air was heavy and hot, filled with the exhilarated breath of sex and drugged euphoria. The lonesome lantern in the roof creaked eerily, rocking back and forth like Eadric did, huddled close in the corner. It was so horrible in here, horrible and unpleasant. But then something suddenly turned that unpleasant feeling into downright fear. Eadric's heartbeat raced as he heard it. His eyes went wide, and his jaw jittered with fear. He let out scared whimpers, like a submissive dog, as he heard... him!

The sound of his footsteps neared the door. Heavy, hard and intimidating. They were so distinct that it could be none other, than him. Eadric's fearful grip tightened around his legs and he hid his frightened face behind his knees, letting a gaze slip through the crack between them. The door, at the back of the corridor, slowly began to rattle, as the man behind began to unlock it. And then, suddenly, it opened.

Eadric shook. He shook in fear, as he saw the man before him. His bruised, scar-riddled face wore the same frown as it always did. Blood seemed to trickle down from underneath his tattered sleeve, dripping off his clenched fist. It was not all his own blood, clearly. He was a tall man, towering and frightening, with cold eyes that stared down at into Eadric's frightened ones. While his right hand was clenched and soaked in blood, his left one carried the same thing he brought home every time: 'liquid sunbeams'. He extended his large arm towards Eadric, holding the vial of yellow liquid out to him.

Kid! He uttered gruffly Give your mother this. You know how to do it. He said.

Eadric hesitated, but dared not disobey. He scampered to his unsteady, shaking feet and slowly approached the large man. His feeble hands carefully accepted the vial of yellow liquid, as he uttered lowly and humbly Yes, father.

His father put on the same crude smile as he always did, and patted Eadric heavily on the head Good boy. He patronized rudely You'd make an excellent dog.

Eadric's little heart pounded in fear, as he slowly turned to the nearby door with the vial of yellow liquid clenched tightly in his small hands. He approached it with feeble, unsteady knees, before slowly opening it. It let out a noisy creak, but was drowned out by the sound of Eadric's own frantic heartbeat, pounding in his chest so violently he could hear it rushing past his ears. He stood in the doorway for a few seconds, and stared in, staring at her. His mother, an otherwise beautiful woman, lay naked in the foamy bathtub, with her slender legs tossed out on each side of the bathtub. Her head was leaned back on the back of the tub, and her eyes were closed. She seemed to be asleep. Eadric slowly approached her, and he could feel his father's sharp gaze gnawing at him from behind.

M—mother... He stuttered lowly as he extended the vial of yellow liquid Father has brought you sunbeams. They will do you good.

She did not react. Not a single sound escaped her open mouth. Not even the sound of her own breathing.

Mother? Eadric tried again and gently pushed at her shoulder You have to wake up. Father has sunbeams for you.

As he pushed her, her head wobbled a little to the side and a stream of yellow liquid suddenly escaped her mouth. It trickled down her cheek and Eadric grew increasingly worried.

Mother? Are you alright? He asked again, and pushed a little harder. Still no response. His face began to twist in anguish.

Mother! He exclaimed, as his chin jittered in fear Stop it! You're scaring me!

What the hell is this racket, you little punk? Eadric's father suddenly growled and stomped over the floor. Eadric suddenly felt a hard yank in his shoulder as his father pulled him away from his mother, forcing him to accidentally drop the vial of 'sunbeams' on the floor, shattering it. Eadric staggered backwards and stared morosely at his father inspecting his mother.

Oh... Eadric's father suddenly said Hmm... about time.

Is... is she okay? Eadric stuttered fearfully.

The silence from his father was killing him, and he felt as if he was staying quiet, just to drag his pain out even further. His large fingers seemed as if they were caressing the woman, while in fact, they were pushed against her neck to feel her pulse. Eadric stood there, eyes unblinking, begging for an answer. But he didn’t like the one he got.

No. He said, his tone so infuriatingly careless. He slowly turned towards Eadric, and stared into his frantic eyes.

She’s dead.

Eadric's young heart jumped. Those words were exactly what he could not bear to hear. His face twisted in anguish, as tears began to escape his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. Whimpering in fear and sorrow, he stormed out the room and slammed the door shut. Then, he locked it.

Hey!! He heard his father shout from inside Stop misbehaving, kid, or I’ll throw you in the tub with your mother!

Eadric's teary eyes darted around the corridor outside the room. His mind was in a haze, broken by the anger that tore him apart from inside. His eyes fell upon a nearby chair, which he quickly grabbed and stood up on. He could just reach the lonely lantern in the ceiling, and unhook it from its handle. He leaped down from the chair with the lantern in hand, completely ignoring the frustrated slams of his father's fist upon the locked door from inside.

Open up this door right now! He shouted I don't know what you're doing, but you'd better stop it before I kick open the door and smack you so hard your cheek will be on fire for weeks!

But Eadric did not stop. His young heart was distressed and furious, destroyed by the sight of his mother's death. His frantic eyes then fell upon a bottle of his father's liquid. Rapidly, he grabbed it and uncorked it with his teeth, before pouring it all over the door. And when it was empty, he did something he would never forget. He raised the lantern, his face wreathed in anger, as he let the lantern crash down upon the soaked door. The glass shattered, and the door burst into flames. Fire rapidly consumed the door and its fiery roars drowned out the shouting of his furious father. Eadric stared at the ignited door for a few seconds, with tears and sweat rippling down his cheeks, before he suddenly dashed out the door, away from the flames.

And that's when he flung open his eyes. His frantic eyes darted around, and he felt how his forehead was sticky with sweat. His heart pounded in lingering fear, and he felt the adrenaline course in his body. But... he was safe. The flames disappeared back into the haunted crevasses of his mind, from which all these horrid nightmares poured forth. He breathed heavily and quickly, but the air was no longer thick with the filth of his childhood home. Instead, the cold winter air pushed it away, sweeping through the open window of his apartment. The reek of sex, drugs and sweat was merely a thing of his mind by now. Eadric slowly swung his legs off from his bed and let them fall on the wooden floor with a thump. He blinked a few times, squeezing the last of his slumber out. His droopy eyes slowly wandered across the silent space of his apartment's bedroom. It was dark,