The Venomancer

II.5 - The Wolves' Weakness

It wasn't long before the front door exploded and a dark-haired girl burst through, squealing in excited Farban, and closely tailed by her little brother. Cassa's red-haired father and older brother ambled in behind them and set down their tools after a hard day's roofing. As expected, Cassa's return delighted the four of them and the children dived on him sooner than he could remember which child was which.

Cassa let them hug him around the neck and then prised the pair off one at a time with a smile as broad as it was awkward. As Tan watched, he wondered at what point in his life Cassa had lost the ability to comfortably accept physical affection, since Gamlakhi natives were usually unashamed about giving it. He hadn't always been like that. Cassa had even hugged him once.

He felt a heavy shade of blue descend on him. The little girl, Juino, seemed to be about the same age as he remembered his sister, Alerra, being before he had to leave the forests. She was eight. His brother had been twenty-four back then, already a man around Cassa's age. Seeing Cassa with his family made him feel something he'd not felt in a long time. Was it ... envy? Envy that Cassa was a good man with a good name, and a family that loved him? That his father would never have forsaken him for reasons that were never fully made clear? Still, Tan couldn't hate his own father for that, somehow. Instead, his hatred seemed to be aimed at Cassa in what should have been a heart-warming moment. Don't. That's not fair.

Tan wanted nothing more than to become part of the furniture, or to walk out and shoo away the feeling of rejection he'd only brought on himself. On second thought, he got to his feet. He decided on a solitary tour of the Faro household while he waited for the gaiety of the family reunion to wear off. Anything was better than being reminded that nobody truly wanted him around.

As far as Tan could remember, there had always been a housing crisis in Gamlakh, and the townsfolk's effort to remedy it produced cheap, hurriedly built huts like this. None of the rooms seemed to have any distinctiveness; all were cluttered and lacked purpose.

Only one room seemed to stand out. It was like a gallery, and over half the frames featured ink recreations of a familiar face - the Faros' honoured son. It was not that Tan sensed favouritism in this imbalanced arrangement, since he'd known from the day he'd met him that Cassa was a born achiever. His many accomplishments had earned him a couple of dozen frames on the walls ahead of his siblings. A bright-eyed young man posed in his Guard's silks; Cassa receiving his captaincy in the palace courtyard; Cassa and a girlfriend with sleek, black hair; Cassa holding a huge, ivory tusk ... to describe but a few.

But the one that caused Tan a moment for pause was of his friend in a set of navy robes, his face beardless and with the lustre of youth, and not a smudge of paint to be seen on his tanned cheeks. Even back then his hair had begun to bleach from the long hours he'd spent under the desert sun, keeping goats. His wide smile revealed a set of crooked teeth that had since been straightened and polished. This is the Cassa I remember. This is the straight-talking, foul-mouthed goatherd I left behind.

After a short time Cassa's ma served up a watery dish of mashed tomatoes and herbs, cubes of cottage cheese, and pitted olives to share between them. Tan's mouth watered at the sight of his second meal that day and he helped himself to more than his fair portion of it.

The family talked about the job at the waterworks Cassa's eldest brother, Ulli, had earned six weeks ago, which filled his mother and father with swelling pride, since the waterworks in East District also supplied the capital when its reservoirs diminished by the end of the dry season. It meant that Ulli Faro would be paid better than any of them, save Cassa, which was good news for his family, as his wife was expecting their fifth child. Apparently, Lofti Faro's wife was pregnant their third, too. Cassa's mother cried, "Eight grandchildren!" and loosed an expectant look at Cassa, the third eldest, who had so far sired none.

The more Tan listened and laughed on cue, the more he felt he didn't belong. He hadn't had a family for seven years, though he was grateful of the cheery company. It came as no surprise when Cassa, the dourest of them all, initiated a more sombre tone.

"Father?" the guard said as he finished his food. He placed his skewer on the table top with deliberation; his hesitancy to continue apparent. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my lad. And don't call me that, you sound like one of them city folk. I'm your da, and don't forget it neither."

"Yes, suh. Well, I've been worried for you all ... and I seldom hear good news these days. I was wondering if you have word of the ghûl attacks petering off yet."

His father exhaled softly through his nose and shook his head. "Not a one. Place is still as haunted as it ever was. Whole town's prayed those beasts would go back from whatever pit they spawned from as fast as they came here, but it's been months and there's been more deaths than numbers I know how to count."

"It's as I thought, then."

"Ar. South District's all but fled into Central by nightfall, which only goes and brings the ghûls in closer to the rest of the town. Only a handful of them stupid bastards calling themselves 'brave soldiers' stay out in South past dusk. Thinks they can go ahead an' fight the blasted things off with nothing but sticks an' stones, but I'll tell you this, son: whoever is behind this whole thing will be the last one laughing."

"W-what makes you say that?"

"Tcha!" His father slammed his palm on the tabletop. "'Cause it's only matter'a time before nobody's left defendin' the south and the ghûls work their way up the town, ain't it! Year's time and us poor buggers in Lakeshore'll be the ones boarding up our homes at night. Good men, gone. Women, children, the lot. And where's our protection, huh? You tell me! Where's our Painted Guard? You're the only one of them city gits that gives a monkey's about this town anymore. The emperor sure don't care if we all gets wiped out. Good riddance, he'll say. Lettin' us for ghûl fodder. Pah."

"What's a ghûl?" Juino piped up with intrigue bright in her eyes. Hesitant, the family looked to Cassa.

Cassa rubbed his cheek; the only indication he ever gave of nerves. "They are a ... well, a type of being that lives deep in the desert," he began. "We don't know why they're here or where they came from, and they're mostly already dead. As man, we are their prey, and once they kill a person they drink their blood and sup on their humours -"

Cassa's mother bristled. "Should you really be tellin' her that part?"

"Ma, she's eight years old. She isn't an infant."

"And what about Galli?"

"You know," Lofti cut in, "I've heard from a couple o' locals that they've started burning the deceased."

"Tcha. Only bloody way to get rid'a the mess and the stink if you asks me," their father huffed. "Only way t'keep the vultures at bay. Think of all that bird shite."

"Cassa," Lofti said, "the city got any ideas what's behind this? Or who? I mean, this ain't no thing of nature, is it? Them beasts ain't just born outta thin air - they're dead things. The Fates would never do this to us."

"The city is full of speculation," Cassa replied, "though many choose to blame a rogue kuzorocari."

"A rogue, huh?" Voya chipped in. "What about the Conjurer?"

Lofti snorted at him. "Who the hell is the Conjurer?"

"Like Cassa just said, he's a rogue. A necromancer or somethin'."

"Necromancer?"

"A puppeteer of the dead," Cassa breathed. He visibly shivered. "A sorcerer learned in forgotten arts long buried with the Era of Curses. None inside the city dare utter his name; none will admit to themselves such a man exists ... But these ghûls ... In secret, we know who is behind them. And Voya is right: it's the Conjurer."

Tan could think of only one man capable of being this thrice-feared necromancer.

The same man that Cassa longed to remove from the Farban seat of power.