The War of Transition

Chapter Two (Mereissa)

     She stepped out into the pre-dawn chill of Tiannima with her back to the wind. It howled through the vacant streets and tugged at her torn clothing.

     Mereissa buried her fingers in her armpits before making her way across the harbor city. The narrow cobblestone streets twisted and turned and ended abruptly. When she first left Jiannimar to find work in Emmurise, she had spent weeks learning the city, understanding it's dark walls and recognizing every corner, a feat not achieved by many. Most of the buildings were crumbling at the foundation, and she had heard stories of a new roof caving in on an unlucky patron several times a month.

     Despite the city's financial shortcomings and overpopulation of mercenaries, outlaws, and smugglers, Mereissa couldn't say she hated the city. She had found her best work here, earned the most pay per job than she had back home in Jiannimar. She knew she would miss it tonight on her long voyage home, but no part of this country would miss her. The corrupt merchants and numerous despised lords who have felt the sting of her dagger would not mourn her absence. Any tears they shed were for their own leaving, not hers. Mereissa knew as much. After collecting her payment for the Myriass Smuggler job, she would buy passage on a large ship and reach home in a month's time.

     The old artisan who had given her the contract to burn the smuggler's ship would be waiting in the garden toward the north end of the city; the garden with the tree that grew next to that brothel, he had told her. She knew which that was. Her first job in the city was to put that brothel out of business, but her contractor forbade Mereissa to allow harm to come to the owners. She posed as a prostitue for sixth months and slowly drove customers away, turned the owners against each other and ultimately ruined the business.

     When she finally reached the courtyards, the city had transformed. Where the taste of salt lingered in the air near the harbor and the ship bells tolled peacefully throughout the night, the northern end of the city was a ruin of underbrush. Pockets of weeds broke through the cracked streets, thin arms of vines entangled sun baked walls of stone, and thick trees with black trunks twisted between buildings and loomed above the low rooftops with branches so thick with leaves, they gave the illusion of eternal night.

     Mereissa found the courtyard behind the brothel easily enough. It was surrounded by stone walls and a steel gate halfway off it's hinges. It was so rusted she had to climb over it after trying to budge it out of place. The trunk of the tree sprouted out of the ground towards the other end of the courtyard. Hanging from it's lowest branch was a body clad in black. His face was purple and the eyes bulged from their sockets. Mereissa immediately recognized him as the artisan.The rope around his neck swayed with a deep sigh as a breeze picked up.

     Mereissa pulled the knife she had hidden in her boot and ran to the body. Before she could reach the old man, several figures emerged from the underbrush with blades in hand. She came to a halt and scanned her enemies. The first thing she noticed was the silver fish stitched to their shirts. The smugglers.

     How could they have known? There were six of them in front of her, each determined to cut her down for what she did to their flagship the other night.

     Mereissa squeezed her knife. She shuffled backward a few inches to distance herself from their swords. There are too many. She could run, but she didn't know if there were more waiting for her outside the courtyard. Instead, she held her ground, watching as her enemies moved closer. Then, an opening. To the left. Her eyes caught it immediately. She lowered her stance, ready to bound off to the left to encirlce them...

     Until she felt the knife at her throat. Someone stepped up behind her and breathed down the back of her neck. She felt the heat and smelt his sweat as his free hand gently grabbed her belly, while the knife remained still. She dropped her own weapon.

     The figure behind her kissed her ear and in that moment a chill of recognition stroked her spine. She knew that touch, those lips. She knew them all too well. But I killed him. 

     "You should have burned me with my ship, love." Albyn whispered in her ear. She could almost hear his sharp smile.

     The old artisan hung from the tree, watching her with jealous anguish, waiting for her to join him.