Rubrum Arcane

Inner Secrets: Act II

"Please-," the unscathed man started, but was disrupted.

"Get out of my house." Traecs voice was calm. Contained, almost.

Still, there was something unnatural in it. A tone far back in the bottom of his throat that cut through the voice. As the rudder of a sailboat cleaves the calm surface of a lake. Maybe it was the demon, there in the background, swinging his rod of iron; A tone of metallic nature. Or maybe, it was just fear.

The injured man, veiled by his gray hood, slouched lifeless with his arm around his friend's neck. The pearls of blood that continuously dripped from the wound in the abdomen had already melted together, to form a red puddle on the wooden floor. The floor that Traec once had placed there with his own hands. The floor that he, on his bare knees, had polished for two days without sleep. For the girl. If the drops of blood were waves washing over the leaf-thin slivers of wood, the puddle by the door was the ocean.

The uninjured man stood perfectly still. He was the frightened hare and Traec the fox that would hand out the lot of the world. However, there was something preventing him. The pressure over the chest had worsened. The tingling as well. It hurt now. Not far from that unhandy feeling when you, as a child, slept on your own arm too long.

The gray cloak that the man wore was moth-eaten, the leather gloves ingrained with sweat and dirt, and one of his beak boots lacked lacing. If you thought about it, there was probably more sweat and dirt, than there was leather and gloves. The man was beautiful. Eyes like the water from a glacier, purified for thousands of years. For some reason, they were soothing. As if they purposely searched to put his demons to sleep. But the bigger demon nailed itself to his old mind.

So beautiful; A hawk's nose, body scrawny with sinewy muscles, where the cotty hair ended at well worked shoulders. Like a meadow full of golden tansy. Still, there was something that befouled him, something that destroyed the beautiful visage. Just like the ticks on the landscape. Just like the crack in the old clay pot by the hearth. The man was hare-lipped. Not badly, but just enough to ruin him.

He had lifted his free palm, as a sign of harmlessness.

"We mean no harm," said the hare-lipped and swallowed carefully before he continued, "We're here to warn you. Maybe also to help you."

"Us?"

Traec's fist clenched tighter around the old crafting knife. The silvery scars strained, and it created that awkward feeling of staleness. How can they possibly know anything about her? The hare-lipped man started, for the first time, to look around in the cottage, as if he was looking for something. Or someone. He looked troubled.

"Where's the girl?"

The demon whistled and danced again. No one was going to touch her. Traec took a challenging step towards the men. The wooden floor gave away its perfect melody.

"Get out of my house!"

The hare-lipped must have seen the fear reflected in Traecs eyes, and he must have known what many of us like to forget; Fear makes people baneful. As he took another step in the direction of the intruders, the beautiful man arced down and quickly helped his companion to the wooden floor. The only thing that came from the limp body was a deep breath, and a short, lifeless moan. The hare-lipped was still holding up his hand and looked directly into Traec's eyes. With those eyes, like mountain lakes.

"Is this what you're afraid of?" he said pleadingly.

He untied the belt with his free hand, removed it from the waist and threw it out into the air. As the dagger hit the floor, it shoot out a bit from its sheath. It was a dagger of black glass. Thick and short. Dull. At least not sharp enough to slash through someone's skin. Made with the glass from underneath the mountains. The black glass, forged by the warmth of the bedrock's ancient abysm. A dagger of obsidian. Traec stopped. The grip around the crafting knife lost strength once again. What in the..