Free

Sky

I slip quietly into a darkened alleyway, the hood of my cloak pulled well over my face. I wince as the contents of Cressida's satchel jangle loudly and draw into the shadows of the alley to avoid curious stares. A guilty reaction. I cursed myself for looking so suspicious: anyone who had nothing to be ashamed of would've just carried on walking. Still, I suppose it doesn't matter much; there's hardly anyone here. All the same I dart into a narrow space between the walls of two buildings to check that what I carry is still safe.

The mirror is no longer there. I carry it in my belt, although I don't know why. I'm in the place I always wanted to be right now, and the mirror has no use except to remind me of the terrible things I did in the field. On the other hand, the only reason I wanted to get to Orbis was to find a way to control my magic, and my hands are still numb with dejected nothingness.

There's no light to make the contents sparkle, but I run my fingers over the sharp corners of jewels and the smooth, cold surface of gold coins. The feel makes me shudder with shame. What lies in my satchel used to belong to the villagers living here. People who did nothing wrong, who will reach into their pockets to buy a meal for their families, only to find nothing. Maybe children will go hungry tonight because of me. Maybe the necklace I just stole is a priceless family heirloom, or the last remaining trace of a long-dead relative. But I can't seem to help it. Every time guilt dares to rise inside me, it is overcome with a spiteful wave of anger and bitterness and I find myself slipping my hands into pockets and bags, stealing items I don't need and don't care about. Not one person sees me, or even gets remotely suspicious. Even without magic, I'm a very good thief.

That's not something I'm proud of, by the way.

The strap digs into my shoulder, heavy with the weight of loot. I've been at it for hours now, and still it's not enough for me. There's a small curdle of hate inside me turning every moral instinct I have left inside me to dust. I'm almost beyond caring.

Noon has faded to memory, and the sun is hanging low in the sky, its last weak rays bleeding over the sky. Soon there'll be nothing left but darkness. Before I can stop myself, I wonder what Iris and Cressida are doing. If Iris has mastered teleportation, they must've found the healing flower ages ago. Together.

Don't think about it.

I become aware that the sounds of footsteps in the alleyway has faded almost to silence. I peer around the edge of the wall to see that the street is deserted except for one person: a hunched figure dressed completely in black, hood pulled low over his face. He has his back to me, but judging by his bent back, he must be quite elderly. Flung over one of his shoulders is a bugling sack, the contents clinking together. Whatever they are, they must be pretty valuable. Guilt creeps over my heart once more, but it's quickly extinguished. I don't care, I don't care.

I creep soundlessly behind him and pull out my knife. Reaching forwards, I cut a large slit in the bottom of his sack and prepare myself to catch whatever comes out.

But it seems my luck has run out.

The man swings around to stare at me. Something slips out of the rip in the sack and smashes onto the floor. I glance at it and blink. It's a glass jar containing some strange type of herb. I look back at the man and meet his eyes, which glare at me, black and tunnel-like. His hair is coarse, grey and dank, hanging around his chin like loose threads. His face is lined, but he has an air of surprising steeliness. He lowers the sack to the ground and straightens up, not as bent and weak as I'd first imagined. I hold out my knife threateningly, trying to keep my hand from shaking.

"Step back," I say, glad to hear my voice cold and composed. "Hand over the sack and say nothing about this to anyone, and you can leave with your life."