Tales from Arondell: Sodom - Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Isabella Darian

The rain eases to a fine mist, and blankets the entire city. Swollen clouds loom overhead, veiling the stars and three gibbous moons.

Everywhere I look something glitters beneath the yellow, orange and white street lights. Gutters and drainpipes overflow with gushing storm-water, and murky puddles collect in the cracks along the pavement. Passing tyres splash through these puddles, spraying dirty water onto the side-walk, drenching the cluster of unfortunate pedestrians.

Further down, as the Caines and I turn from Broad Way onto Vine Avenue, a sign with missing red neon lights winks at us. It seems that in most houses we pass, from the sprawling steep roofed manors, to the narrow tenements stacked side by side, someone is still awake at this hour. Warm beckoning light shines from those bay or sash windows, and plumes of smoke billow from their chimneys.

For a few more blocks the rank fishy smell lingers, until an unexpected deviation in our path takes us away from the Docks and the Shiv and Tankard.

At first I think nothing of it. I'm too tired to care as I walk, just within arms reach of Zaenack. Afraid to step any closer to him. His hands are still jammed into his pockets, and his posture is stiff, hunched, and forbidding. He keeps his eyes to himself, glancing over my head only if a troubling noise gives him reason to look that way.

This coldness, it isn't like him at all. Ever has Zaenack been warm and affectionate, whether sociable or not, and quick to offer a hug, or a shoulder to lean on. But something in him has changed, like ice settling upon a boulder. All because of that kiss!

But he kissed me. I try telling myself this again as I huddle beneath my heavy, wet coat. Although the wool keeps me warm – I'm roasting in fact – my knees are cold, my sodden wings shiver, and my socks squelch in my shoes. It happens after stumbling into one too many puddles.

Weariness finally seeps into my bones, weighing me down, and it takes all of my willpower just to keep my eyes open. If only Zae would hold me, let me lean on him, I might make it the rest of the way. I yawn again and dare a quick glance at him. If he's aware of my fatigue he doesn't show it, seeming more interested in the path ahead.

The long gloomy road, with only a smattering of parked cars and pale street lights, traverses a quieter part of Outer Sodom. The buildings here are flats mostly, with broken or cracked windows. Only a few show signs of habitation.

Furtive inspection of a dark sedan reveals the same signs of vandalism and neglect. It has a smashed windscreen, the front passenger door is missing, and someone ripped the guts out of the car, leaving the bonnet wide open.

Where in Taros are we? I step closer to Zae. Although he doesn't move away, he doesn't exactly welcome me either. I feel the near palpable barrier surrounding him. His tight-lipped silence unsettles me.

Up ahead, beyond Nadia and Darneth with their cigarettes, the line of dark decrepit buildings gives way to a deeper desolation. I shiver, because now I know exactly where we are: Barrow Flat, a district commandeered by thugs and indigents, not more than a stone's throw from Sodom's Weep.

Why come here, when it isn't anywhere near the Tankard Surrounded on all sides by rows of ruined flats and shop fronts, I cling to Zaenack's shadow and risk touching his arm. I just hope he doesn't try to shrug me off.

To my surprise – and relief – he doesn't push me away, accepting my hand upon his elbow and even gives it a hesitant pat. Okay. Maybe he hasn't gone cold. Maybe it's just the thought of his brother and sister watching him?

I nod to myself. Yes, that's it. Zae's always loves giving cuddles, but now that I think about it, there's been plenty of times when excessive hugs in front of his family made him blush. Honestly, it's not so different from smothering his face with kisses...

Feeling my face redden, and my cold wings droop, I want nothing more than to apologise to him. But what can I say that won't risk further embarrassment?

The frigid wind ruffles my hair, slipping through the slits in my coat, and carries with it a whiff of something sweet, foul and unnatural. The hairs at the back of my neck stir, and a soft, distant droning reaches my ears. Phages again. People believe they infest the Weep, like rats or lice, breeding, spreading and consuming everything in their path.

Tightening my grip on Zaenack's arm, I peer at my surroundings. Shattered windows and vacant door frames leer back at me. There are few signs of life here. Shrivelled weeds and ivy scale the crumbling walls and entomb most fences. Graffiti, hateful screed, and dozens of red star-like tags mark this as gang territory. But which gang, I don't know.

In a littered alleyway, a pair of stray dogs wrestle over a chicken carcass. A raw-boned tomcat yowls at me from its perch on a sagging gable. In the umbra of a gaping doorway, an old transient snores and huddles beneath his moth-eaten rags.

I look away. I though my life was bad...

Hugging myself, I walk in reflective silence. The road ahead advances upon total ruin, and from the desolation rises the ghastly edifice of Black Shroud Manor.

I stop then and stare. It's an impressive structure, with dark bricks, steep slate rooftops, barred windows, a spiked fence, and leering demonaic adornments. The garden, what little I glimpse between the cast iron bars, is overgrown and long neglected. Streamers of ivy crawl up the walls, like many of the old buildings before this one and a few naked trees claw at the blackened sky.

But the thing that stands out most, coupled with the legend of the house, are the weathered white statues. More than two dozen in number, the headless and limbless ladies embody those who died here decades ago. As for the man who lived in this house, he's dead now. Cursed to haunt those walls by the last woman he murdered.

Ghastly tales called him the Black Shroud Beast. Stories which Uncle Kellen liked to frighten me with, describing in graphic detail everything the Beast did to those women. How he raped and sodomised them, strung them up on meat-hooks or in a net of barbed wire, skinned them alive, roasted their breasts and genitals and...

Zaenack gives my arm a gentle squeeze, dragging me from my morbid thoughts. "What's wrong, Bella? You seem troubled."

I seem troubled? I tear my eyes away from the house, long enough to gape at him. "You could say that.” I squeak, my voice tight and horrified, in part because of where my mind wandered. “What on Arondell are we doing here, Zae?" I don't mean to sound rude or demanding, but this place makes my skin crawl. Just like Uncle Kellen.

Zaenack arches an eyebrow. "We live here now."

"What?" My jaw drops. "You can't be serious." Uh, he isn't serious, is he?

"Dead serious." He frowns at me.

Nice choice of words, Zae. I roll my eyes, and cross my arms, this time glancing at his siblings. They're waiting for us in the alley running along the fence. The rain finally stops, allowing Nadia to roll herself another cigarette. She shields her match with her cupped palm.

I sigh and let my arms fall slack. My friends have done so much for me already, going out of their way, even risked their lives to release me. Surely I owe it to them to trust them, certainly not to keep them waiting?

"Come on." Zaenack smiles at me for the first time since that kiss, and drapes his arm around my shoulders. His touch brushes across my wings, making me quiver, and I snuggle into his wet coat, grateful for his warmth and strength. Perhaps those awful stories, as much as they terrified me over the years, were little more than the perverted imaginings of a disturbed mind...

"The girls have missed you. And so has Lannie."
 

Zaenack unlocks the back door and pushes it open. Soft light, jovial voices, and the mouth-watering fragrance of pea and ham stew wafts up the narrow stair well.

My stomach rumbles. When was the last time I had anything decent to eat? Clutching my upset belly, and feeling a little woozy, I follow my friends down the slippery steps and into the building.

The room is small but cleaner than I expected from seeing only the outside. However, the arms and armour on display seem fitting. Polished swords, axes and shields gleam on the dark panelled walls, and a burgundy rug – lined with silver – runs down the centre of the room, stopping at a pair of iron maidens. Between them, above the far door, hangs the great silver Chaos Eye of the Fraternity.

Oh. I bite my lip, and look away, feeling more than a little foolish. So that's why they live here now. Probably safer for them...

The door swings open, and a slim man in a dark hooded sweater, and matching trousers, blocks the portal.

"What are you doing, Bren?" Demands a man from the next room. The voices are louder, the meat smell stronger, and above it all floats a thin curtain of tobacco smoke. I wrinkle my nose. My belly growls again. "Shut the sodding door! You're letting all the heat-"

The slim man shakes his head. "I thought I heard..." Turning toward us, a broad grin splits his chiselled features. "Hey! The Caines are back..."

"What?" Yells the unseen man, sounding a little surprised. "Already?"

The lanky man, Bren, nods. "Yep. And they've got a little Lady with them."

Great. I groan and bury my face in Zaenack's sleeve. If there's one thing I detest, it's being the centre of attention.

"Well?" The other man said. "Don't just stand there, Bren. Let them in!"

Bren finally steps aside, allowing us to pass.

Six men in dark shirts, vests and sweaters sit around a wide scratched table, drinking beer, smoking cigars and playing cards. A seventh man in baggy black pants, festooned with chains and straps, hugs the corner with his back to the wall. Shaggy wisps of cherry red hair poke from his deep hood.

Doing my best to hide behind Zaenack, I clutch my rumbling belly again: The rich, meaty smell wafts from the discarded dinner plates and bread scraps on the table.

Bren returns to his seat beside a carrot-haired elf who could easily be his twin. The other men also glance up from their game.

"Zaenack!" The redhead flashes his tobacco stained teeth. "You long-haired manky sod." Beside him Bren lights a cigarette. "And who's this lovely young Lady?" The redhead leans to the side, to get a better look at me.

Please. Don't look at me like that. I turn away and blush, relaxing only when Zaenack curls his arm around me. My wings start to tremble, until he strokes them. I sigh with pleasure. He's never touched me like this before. At least, not intentionally.

"This is Isabella,” Zaenack says. “Is the Gaffer around?"

"Ah." The redhead leans back in his chair. "You'll find him downstairs... Somewhere..." He waves his pale hand absently.

"Is everything alright? He hasn't..." Zaenack cuts in, sounding worried.

What's he worried about? I frown.

"No, no. He's fine." The redhead fingers his cigar. "But I'm sure that old harridan will tell you otherwise," he snorts, and shoves the cigar into his mouth.

Zaenack nods. "Thanks. I'll take her to him."

Take me where? To see whom? You never said anything of the sort, Zae. I glance up at him.

"No need." The redhead dismisses Zae with a wave of his cigar. "Vorin will do that." He jabs his thumb at the hooded man in the corner, who hasn't moved since our arrival. "Just take your little miss to Eddie. Get those cuts and bruises looked at."

Zaenack seems to hesitate for a moment, then he nods. "Thanks, Quinn." Still touching my shoulder, he steers me away. "Please, follow me."

We take no more than a few steps, when from down the hallway comes a familiar joyful squealing and the stomping of little feet.

"They're home! Aunty Bella's here..."

That's Danu and Brigit. I beam, feeling the tears sting my eyes again.

"Come... Back here... You two!" Out of breath, their mother, Larenna Caine, stumbles along behind them.

A six-year-old half-Orzan girl, in her white flannelette nightgown and fuzzy slippers, bursts through the door. She has a head full of light mahogany ringlets, and the same chestnut eyes as her father and uncle.

"Aunty Bella!" The little girl giggles, launching herself at me and wraps her little arms around my waist. "I missed you."

I bite back my sob. "I missed you too," I croak, and hug Danu tight. It's all I can do without bursting into tears.

"Give me... A rest, will you?" Lannie gasps, and stumbles into the crowded room behind her tottering two-year-old. Her cheeks are red, and her long gold hair spills from her loose bun in disarray.

As always, Brigit is bright-eyed and full of mischief, even now when the girls should be in bed. I hope she isn't like this because of me...

"Belly-belly," Brigit giggles, letting go of her mother's hand, and stretches her arms out.

I drop to one knee, even with Danu still hanging off me and scoop the little girl up into my arms. I've wanted to do this all week. But I feel the eyes on me – studying me – and my cheeks are wet again. No Gaia, please. I don't want to cry again. I bite my lip as I struggle to stay calm, and glance at my friends for support.

Nadia leans against the wall, arms crossed and eyes closed, and Darneth holds his wife. Only Zae watches me, caressing my shoulders as the other men return to their game.

Surrounded by so much love, even in an unfamiliar environment, I'm reminded that beauty exists in an ugly city like Sodom: In the form of these adoring children, and their devoted family. I cry harder, and place a gentle kiss upon the toddler's warm crown. Her hair is clean and smells like peaches.

"They haven't stopped asking about you all week," Lannie says, smiling. Darneth picks up his eldest daughter, and strokes her hair. She yawns and closes her eyes. "Wouldn't even sleep because they knew you were coming here."

Please don't tell me that. I moan, and squeeze my eyes shut. Gods, I love them all so much. I don't even know where to begin thanking them for everything they've done.

"Hey. There's no need for that." Lannie wraps an arm around my thin shoulders, drawing me against her warm neck and bosom. She smells so sweet and fresh, like daffodils on a spring morning. Oddly enough, she reminds me of my mother.

Zaenack takes Brigit from me then, but the child struggles, making little mewling noises for a few minutes, and finally settles in her uncle's arms.

"You're with us now,” Lannie whispers as she rubs my back, up and down between my wings, soothing me. “You're safe."

“Not likely,” I moan, and lean into Larenna's embrace. Sinah will find me here...

"You know what you need?" Lannie strokes my wet hair, just like my mother did when I was little.

"What?" I mumble despite my tears.

"A good night's rest, a hot bath, and a decent meal in your belly."

“You can say that again,” I sniffle, and dry my eyes. I'm still cold and wet, and my belly starts grumbling at me again.

"Darneth, could you and Zae take the girls to bed?" Lannie says to her husband. Darneth nods, before he and his brother depart with the children.

"As for you." Still keeping her arm around my shoulders, she steers me into the hallway. "You're coming with us. And we won't take no for an answer."

Like they're getting any complaint from me...

Continued in Chapter 5