Lightning cracked across the sky illuminating the sodden grounds beneath. Rain slapped against the cobbles and flowed off the slanted roofs into flowing streams. Raun, a small whisper of a girl, shivered under a small overhang. Her hair stuck to her dry lips, black with the water. The cold gripped Raun, freezing her in place. Helpless, mouth agape, eyes wide. A slow pained movement to look up at the ever darkening sky “Help”. A gust of wind pushed her to the ground. “Please”. Raun shivered once more, her rags made poor imitations of clothes. Another gust of wind buffeted her, urging her to move. Raun remained and rested her head on the floor. Streams of water pooled at the back of her head as it attempted to flow through the cracks in the cobbles. Raun took a slow and heavy breath, her chest barely moving. Flashes of light illuminated her grey eyes, blinking rarely now.
The sound of metal hitting stone pierced through the veil of rain. A large figure, nearly as tall as the simple stone houses in the city, made her way through the streets. A flat cap of metal sat on her bald head, a lip at the front guiding the rain away from her face. She wore a simple close fitting thin black shirt, atop this a jacket smeared with a dark blue wax with a simple silver ‘X’ embroidered over the left of her chest. Her shorts made from the same material of the shirt gave way to black leather bands strapped halfway down her shins, a small metal ‘X’ was on the left strap. A simple metal shoe enclosed her left foot whilst her right wore a black leather sandal made up of a series of straps around her foot and the sole of the sandal.
A significantly smaller man accompanied her, his footsteps silent. He wore a long thin black jacket not obviously as waxed as the woman’s jacket, a marker of his higher class. Fine fitting trousers, similar to the thin material of his black shirt, ended in polished black shoes.
“I hate working at night,” the man said.
“I hate working in the rain,” the woman replied, turning to look down at the man.
“Go back to your desert then. There’s no avoiding the blasted rain here,” he said, stopping and looking up at the woman.
“I would if I could, Sculptor,” She looked down the street.
"Well," the sculptor said, catching up with the woman, "Find them." He said, turning to the woman.
She took a breath in, deep and deliberate, slow and considerate. “There.” She pointed to a simple building. “By the door.”
A burst of wind buffeted the sculptor and woman, as they turned to face a building where a small shivering girl lay. The man knelt down by the girl and turned her over. Her grey eyes stared into the face of the pale man and then into the dark sky. Carefully he swept her hair out of her face and closed her mouth. He turned her head to face him again.
“Hey” he said “What’s your name little dove?”
“Are you help?” Raun managed to whisper out.
“I am,” wind blew against the man as another crash of thunder sounded above. “Don’t you worry dove, now what’s your name?”
“Raun,” she said.
“Well,” he smiled “What a lovely name, close your eyes for me Raun.” Raun slowly closed her eyes, her pale face in the hands of the man. He placed his left hand at the back of her neck. “Everything is going to be alright.” He focused his will on his left hand.She took a slow breath once more; red spilled into the cobbles beneath her mixing with the flowing rain water.
The Sculptor removed a metal spike from the back of the corpse’s neck, rain washing away the blood on the spike.
“Carry it,” the man stood up and retrieved a cloth from within his jacket and wiped the metal spike clean. Wind battered the sculptor and the woman again as they continued through up the street. “Where next?” he asked. The woman took a deep, slow breath and pointed.
“There, in the alley,” she said.
“Right,” the man turned to her, “Stay here and burn it.”
He turned down into the alley; a skinny boy lay curled up at the end. “You alright lad? What’s your name?” he said. The boy raised his head and stared at the man, shivering but silent. “It’s alright lad, I'm here to help,” the sculptor slowly approached the boy.
“No,” the boy croaked, his throat dry, “Stay away”
“I only want to help lad” the sculptor said.
“Liar,” the boy said.
“Lad-”
“I know what you are.” the boy interrupted.
“Then you shouldn’t struggle.” all feigned compassion left the man's face, “Give me your name.” The boy scrambled against the wall. The man approached the boy, in the corner of the alley. He kneeled down. A metal spike appeared in the sculptor's hand. “Boy, your name. It’ll hurt otherwise,” the boy shook his head. Rain streaking down his face. “I don’t want you in pain boy. All I need is your name, and you can go back home.”
“Liar!” the boy scrambled up onto his feet and launching off the wall behind him he pushed past the man. The boy limped down the alley. The man stood up, and walked after the boy. Each step the man took, the boy grew slower. Before reaching the end of the alley he collapsed on the ground. “Adria,” the boy said.
“Thank you Adria, now close your eyes.” the sculptor said, he knelt down by Adria and placed his hand by the back of his neck.
The corpse bled. He withdrew his spike from the back of the body's neck and began the habitual ritual of cleaning his spike. “Vorimh, another one to be burnt.” he called to the woman.
Robbie English