Chapter Fifteen

 The wooden palisades of Brookshire appeared on the horizon, rising out of the grasslands like a jagged set of teeth.

It was less a fortress and more like a corral.

The walls were sturdy enough to keep out wolves, but they wouldn't stop an army. The road, which had been empty and blood soaked just miles back, was now clogged with traffic. But not soldiers. Sheep. Hundreds of them.

The smell hit Siurad before they even reached the shadow of the walls. It wasn't the metallic tang of blood he was trying to scrub from his memory. It was lanolin; the greasy, heavy scent of wet wool, mixed with the sharp ammonia of dye and manure.

"It smells like a wet sock filled with money," Yona noted, adjusting her hood to hide her ears.

She stopped, turning to Siurad. She looked him up and down; at his blood flecked armor, his thousand yard stare, and the tension radiating off him like heat.

"Okay, big guy," she said, grabbing his collar and giving it a rough shake. "We need to change the vibe. You look like you're about to murder everyone, and while that's usually your charm, it's bad for business here."

"I just erased a patrol," Siurad hissed. "I'm a little tense."

"Exactly. So you don't talk," Yona ordered. "If you open your mouth, you'll say something spooky about order or variables. So we're bringing back the classic."

She poked him in the chest.

"Tall, Dark, and Dumb. You're the muscle. You hit things for a living and you don't read well. Slouch your shoulders. Look vacant. Only answer in grunts. Can you handle that, or do I need to draw you a diagram?"

'...A DEGRADING DISGUISE,' Obi pulsed, sounding offended. '...BUT TACTICALLY SOUND.'

Siurad sighed, rolling his neck. "Fine. Big and dumb. I hate you both."

"Love you too, Shepherd. Now, slouch."

Siurad let his shoulders drop. He puffed out his chest, relaxed his jaw until his mouth hung slightly open, and adopted a facial expression he hoped conveyed, I am thinking about a potato.

They reached the gate.

Two guards in stained leather jerkins leaned against the timber frame, spears resting idly against their shoulders. One was picking his teeth with a splinter; the other was watching the sheep pass with glazed eyes.

"Hold up," the toothpick guard grunted, stepping lazily into the road. He looked at Yona, then up at the hulking, black clad tower of meat behind her.

"State your business."

"Deliveries!" Yona chirped, flashing a smile that was charming but exhausted. "Pilgrims for the Temple of Ceuci. Labor offerings for the harvest."

She jerked a thumb at the line of fifteen ragged children. Then she patted Siurad’s arm like he was a prize bull.

"And this is my... associate. He handles the heavy lifting. And the unruly cargo."

The guard eyed Siurad warily. "He's big. He got a name?"

Siurad stared at a spot on the guard's forehead. He didn't blink. He let out a low, wet, guttural grunt that vibrated in his chest.

Hrghn.

The guard flinched slightly.

"We call him Tiny," Yona said with a wink. "Not much for conversation. Dropped on his head as a baby. Twice."

Siurad let out a second, slightly more inquisitive grunt, shuffling his feet heavily in the dirt like a bored toddler in a giant's body.

Hurh?

'...EXCELLENT PERFORMANCE,' Obi critiqued. '...THE LACK OF INTELLIGENCE IS CONVINCING.'

Shut up, Siurad thought, committing to the bit by scratching his stomach through his armor.

"Right," the guard said, clearly deciding he didn't want to question the giant simpleton. He looked back at the kids. "Labor, huh? Town's full. We got a gate tax. Two coppers a head."

"Two?" Yona asked, feigning shock. "For charity cases?"

"Commercial rate," the guard shrugged.

Yona sighed, reaching for her pouch. But Siurad moved.

He stepped forward, the ground crunching under his boots. He reached into his own pouch with agonizing slowness. His face was a mask of intense concentration, as if counting to three was a struggle.

He pulled out a handful of coins. He didn't count them. He just dropped the fistful into the guard's hand, silver mixed with copper.

Then he grunted again. A deep, flat sound that meant done.

The guard stared at the silver. He looked at the giant, dumb brute who apparently tipped like a king because he didn't know the value of money.

"Uh... right. Okay then," the guard stammered, pocketing the cash before Tiny could realize his mistake. "Move along. Temple's in the High District. Try not to step on the sheep."

He waved them through.

As soon as they passed the threshold and the noise of the market swallowed them, Siurad straightened his spine. The vacant look vanished, replaced by the sharp, hunting gaze of the Shepherd.

"I hate that persona," Siurad muttered, his voice low and dangerous again.

"Worked though," Yona grinned, counting the coins she’d saved. "Everyone underestimates the help. Now, let's get these kids off the street before your intellect scares anyone."

​“Fuck you, Yona,” Siurad muttered.

​They pushed through the busy streets on their way to the temple. It didn't take a genius to read the mood of the city: coin was god here, and those without it were suffering. Beggars lined the mud-slicked alleys, and the buildings leaned like they were tired of standing.

​“Yona, I thought this was supposed to be a small town? Why does it look like a war zone?”

​“Big guy, this is what most small towns are actually like,” Yona replied, stepping over a puddle of filth. “Not enough work to go around. A place like this needs a sudden influx of gold to survive, and they just don't have it.”

​“How safe will the flock be if we stick them in a fucking ghetto? Are you serious right now?”

​Siurad forced his voice low, trying not to spook the children trailing behind them, but his blood was boiling. He had just killed a good man to get them here. If he had traded that man’s life for a place where the children would starve, or worse, he would never forgive himself.

Yona didn’t flinch at his tone. She just adjusted the strap of her pack; the one heavy with the coins they had stripped from the bandit camp, and gave him a sharp look.

“Lower your voice, Siurad. You want to advertise we’re walking treasuries?” She gestured vaguely at the squalor around them. “We have money, yes. Enough to buy this whole block. But we don't have a history. You want to walk into a noble district covered in road dust and blood, dropping bandit gold on the counter? That gets the guard called. We need to be invisible.”

Siurad gritted his teeth, his jaw working silently. He glanced back. The children, the flock, were huddled close together, shivering in the damp alley air.

“They can’t grow up like this, Yona,” Siurad rasped. “We’re sitting on a fortune. We could have taken them anywhere.”

“We take them where nobody asks questions,” Yona whispered back. “Once they’re safe, we use the coin to make the nest comfortable. But first, we secure the nest.”

She turned and marched toward the temple. It rose from the grime like a polished tooth in a rotten mouth grey stone, iron-banded doors, imposing.

Yona let the knocker fall against the plate. A dull boom echoed like a judgment.

A moment later, a viewing slot slid open. Eyes, yellowed and suspicious, peered out. Then the door creaked open, revealing a man in robes that were once fine but now stained with wine and grease. He looked the group up and down, sneering at their travel worn clothes.

“The soup kitchen is on Thursdays,” the priest droned, already starting to close the door. “The gods help those who help themselves.”

“We aren’t here for soup,” Yona said, jamming her boot in the doorframe. “We’re here for sanctuary.”

The priest let out a wet, rattling laugh. “Sanctuary requires tithes. The temple roof leaks, my child. The candles cost wax. Faith is spiritual, but maintenance is material.” He rubbed his thumb against his fingers it was the universal sign for coin.

Siurad stared at the man.

The Captain, he thought, a fresh wave of guilt washing over him. The Captain refused a bribe because he had a soul. This parasite demands one because he has an appetite.

Obi, Siurad thought.

The ring on his finger hummed with a heavy, ancient pressure. Obi’s voice filled his mind, vast and dripping with disdain.

'...LOOK AT IT,'” Obi pulsed. '...A FLAWED CONSTRUCT. CONSUMED BY CHAOS AND GREED. IT WILL TAKE YOUR RESOURCE AND DISCARD THE FLOCK THE MOMENT YOU LEAVE.'

Greed makes a man predictable, Siurad thought back. I can use that.

'...THEN INTRODUCE A NEW VARIABLE,' Obi rumbled.  '...TERROR.'

Siurad stepped forward, moving past Yona. He placed a hand on the priest’s chest and shoved him backward into the dim, candlelit vestibule.

“Yona, keep the children outside for a moment,” Siurad said. His voice was calm, but it carried a vibration that made the hair on Yona's arms stand up. She didn't argue. She pulled the door shut, leaving Siurad alone with the priest.

The priest stumbled back against a stone pillar, indignity warring with alarm. “Now see here! You can’t just—”

Siurad didn’t speak. He just let it slip. The leash he kept on the darkness inside him he dropped it.

The temperature in the room plummeted. The shadows in the corners stretched. They detached themselves from the walls and pooled around Siurad’s feet like black water. The silence of the Void filled the room, swallowing the sound of the street outside.

When Siurad looked up, his eyes were no longer brown. They burned with a sick, luminous violet light.

“Do you know what I am?” Siurad whispered. The voice didn’t sound like his own. It sounded disturbed.

The priest shook his head, too terrified to speak.

Siurad reached into his pouch. He didn't count the coins; he just grabbed a heavy fistful. He seized the priest’s hand and slammed the gold into his palm, forcing his fingers closed over the stack with crushing force.

“Gold,” Siurad said. 

The priest’s eyes bulged. He looked at the gold glinting between his fingers, his brain short circuiting at the math. He could rebuild the temple. He could buy a vineyard.

“That is for the children,” Siurad said, leaning in, the violet glow of his eyes illuminating the sweat on the priest's face. “And for you.”

The priest blinked, confusion cutting through the fear. “For... me?”

“I don’t care if you buy fine wine,” Siurad hissed. “I don’t care if you replace these robes with silk. Be greedy, Priest. Indulge yourself.”

Siurad’s hand moved from the priest’s fist to his throat. He didn't squeeze, but the threat was absolute.

“But the children eat first. They get soft beds. They get to be safe. Because if they don't... I will tell you what happens.”

Siurad leaned closer, the violet light in his eyes flaring brighter.

“I knew a man named Kel. A bandit. Stronger than you. I introduced him to this darkness. I cast him into the Void. Do you know what happens there?”

Siurad’s voice dropped, becoming terribly soft.

“He didn’t die. Not immediately. He floated in the silence. No air. No light. And then... he began to unravel. He watched his own skin turn to dust. He watched his fingers dissolve into grey mist. He was unmade, piece by piece, until he was nothing but a memory of a stain.”

Siurad let the Void flare. The candles in the room snuffed out instantly, plunging them into total darkness, save for the two violet circles burning in the black.

“If one of those children cries out in the night and you are not there... I will know. And I will come back. And I will send you to find Kel.”

The priest let out a choked sob, his knees buckling. "I…yes. Yes. They eat first, they eat first, I swear it, I swear—"

Siurad released him.

He inhaled sharply, mentally wrestling the darkness back into its cage. It was reluctant to go. It wanted to stay, to feed on the man's fear. Siurad forced it down, the violet light fading back to brown, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The candles flickered back to life, though they burned lower than before.

The priest was slumped against the pillar, clutching the fortune to his chest, shaking uncontrollably. He looked at Siurad not as a man, but as a monster who had just handed him a winning lottery ticket.

Siurad looked down at his own hands. They were trembling slightly.

I enjoyed that, he thought, a spike of genuine fear piercing his own chest. I wanted to hurt him because I couldn't hurt the captain.

'...CAREFUL, HEIR,' Obi’s voice echoed, cold and distant. '...THE CONTRACT IS VALID. DO NOT LINGER IN THE DARK.'

He pushed the thought away and turned to the door to signal Yona.

“He’s agreed,” Siurad said, his voice sounding hollow to his own ears. “Bring them in.”

The change in the priest was instant and pathetic. He scrambled to his feet, clapping his hands and shouting for novices who emerged from the back rooms like startled mice.

"Hot broth! Bread! The soft blankets from the guest quarters!" the priest barked, his voice cracking. He glanced nervously at the shadows where Siurad stood. "And wine! For the... for our benefactors."

Yona herded the flock inside. Fifteen children blinked, overwhelmed by the sudden warmth and the smell of incense. They didn't touch the benches, they didn't even speak. They just looked at Siurad.

Siurad stood by the door, half in the shadow of the archway. He felt cold, despite the fire.

"It's safe," Siurad said, his voice rough. "Eat."

Only then did they move. It wasn't a scramble; it was a disciplined, desperate quiet. They climbed onto the benches and tore into the bread the novices brought out.

Yona adjusted her pack, checking the straps. The leather creaked in the silence.

At the movement, the eating stopped.

It started with the oldest boy, but it rippled down the line instantly. The bread was lowered. The spoons clattered back into the bowls. Fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on Yona’s pack, then shifted to Siurad, who was still standing by the door.

Mara slid off the bench.

She was small, even for her age, but Siurad knew better than to underestimate her. He remembered the tree in the clearing, the tiny, splintered hole she had punched into the bark with a spike of solid night during their training. She wasn't just a victim; she was a fledgling.

She walked toward him now, stopping just outside the reach of his shadow.

"You aren't staying," she said. It wasn't a question. It was an accusation.

The room went deadly silent. Even the manic priest froze, sensing the shift in the air.

"We cannot," Siurad said. He wanted to lie, to tell them he would be back in the morning, but looking at Mara, he knew she would smell the falsehood. "The road ahead... it isn't paved yet. We have to clear it."

"You said we were a flock," Mara’s voice trembled, just slightly. "A shepherd stays with the flock."

"A shepherd fights the wolves," Siurad corrected gently. "And sometimes, the wolves are far away from the pasture."

He walked forward, dropping to one knee so he was eye level with her. The worn black leather of his armor creaked softly. He reached into his pouch.

He pulled out a single gold coin. It was one of the coins looted from the bandit camp. It was heavy, stamped with the face of some forgotten king, and scuffed with dirt and dried blood.

He took Mara’s hand and pressed the coin into her palm, closing her small fingers over it.

"This is not for spending," Siurad said, his voice low and intense. "This is not for bread. This is not for blankets."

Mara looked down at her fist, then back up at him. "Then what is it for?"

"It is a promise," Siurad said. "This is the first stone of a new castle. The first coin of a new kingdom. You are not just survivors, Mara. You are the foundation."

He looked up at the rest of them, the fifteen souls he had pulled from the fire.

"You are the Obsidian Authority now. You are the first. Keep this coin safe. As long as you have it, you are part of something bigger than this temple. Bigger than this town."

The ring on his finger pulsed, a slow, rhythmic thrum of approval.

'...A SYMBOL OF ORDER,' Obi’s voice echoed in his mind, devoid of warmth but filled with satisfaction. '...CAPITAL INVESTMENT. THE SEED IS PLANTED. MARK HER.'

Mara squeezed the coin tight. She didn't cry. She nodded.

"When will you come back?" she asked.

"When the road is safe," Siurad said. He stood up, brushing the road dust from his leather greaves. "Watch over them, Mara. Use what I taught you. But only when you must."

"I will," she whispered.

Siurad turned away before his resolve could crack. He nodded to Yona.

"Let's go."

Yona lingered for a second, looking at the children, then at the terrified priest who was bowing furiously in the corner.

"Feed them," Yona warned the priest, tapping the hilt of her dagger. "Or he comes back."

The priest turned pale and nodded rapidly.

They stepped out into the cool evening air. The heavy iron banded door boomed shut behind them, sealing the warmth and the light inside.

Siurad stood on the steps for a long moment, staring at the darkening street of Brookshire. He felt lighter, but also infinitely heavier.

"You did good, Big Guy," Yona murmured, adjusting her pack.

"Did I?" Siurad looked at his hands. "I just bought their safety with terror and stolen gold. The captain would have found a lawful way."

'...THE CAPTAIN IS DEAD,' Obi reminded him, mercilessly. '...YOU ARE ALIVE. RESULTS ARE THE ONLY METRIC THAT MATTERS.'

Siurad tightened his fists.

"Let's find an inn," he said, his voice hard. "Tomorrow, we decide where to go from here."

The heavy iron door of the Temple of Ceuci slammed shut.

Siurad stood on the cobblestones. Inside, there was warmth. Inside, the flock was safe.

Outside, the night air was cold and smelled of charcoal and horse manure.

Siurad didn’t move. He stared at his gloved hands. They were trembling. Not from fear, but from a surplus of kinetic energy. The memory of the sword sliding through the captain’s chest was playing on a loop in his mind. The resistance of the bone. The look of confusion.

He needed to make it stop.

He needed to hit something that deserved to be hit. He needed to find something unequivocally evil so he could crush it and prove to himself that he was still one of the good guys.

​"Alright," Yona yawned, unaware of the storm brewing next to her. "VIPs secure. Priest terrified. Bed time. I saw an inn two streets over..."

"Go," Siurad rasped.

Yona stopped mid-step. "Excuse me?"

"Go to the inn," Siurad said, turning away from her. He scanned the dark street, his eyes hunting. "I need to... walk. I need to patrol."

"Siurad," Yona warned, her voice dropping. "You've done a lot…you probably need some rest. You're vibrating. You don't need a patrol, you need a coma."

"I need to clear the noise!" Siurad snapped, the volume of his own voice startling him.

He took a breath, forcing the bouncer mask back on, though it fit poorly now.

"I just need to check the perimeter, Yona. I’ll meet you there."

He didn't wait for her argument. He marched into the darkness, heading toward the sounds of the city.

​He walked for ten minutes, hunting for trouble. He wanted a mugger. He wanted a rapist. He wanted a monster.

Instead, he found a commotion outside a bakery on the corner of a commercial street.

Shouting. A struggle.

There, Siurad thought. Target acquired.

He turned the corner, his fists already clenched, adrenaline flooding his system with eager relief.

A large, burly man in a flour-dusted apron, the baker had a smaller, ragged man pinned against the brick wall. The Baker was shouting, his face purple with rage, raining heavy blows down on the smaller man’s head.

"Thief! Rat! I'll break your hands!"

Thwack.

The baker’s fist connected with the thief's jaw.

Siurad saw red. A strong man hurting a weak man. A bully. A bad guy.

Finally.

Siurad crossed the street in three long strides. He grabbed the Baker by the back of his collar and the belt, ripping him off the smaller man with terrifying ease.

"That's enough," Siurad growled.

He didn't stop there. He wanted to hurt him. He shoved the Baker backward, sending the large man stumbling into a stack of empty crates. The wood shattered, sending splinters skittering across the stones.

The baker groaned, clutching his back, looking up in terror at the giant who had just materialized from the dark.

"You like hitting people who can't fight back?" Siurad roared, stepping forward, his hand drifting to his sword hilt. "Try me."

This was it. The release. He was going to break this man, and it would be justice.

"He stole from me!" the baker screamed, scrambling backward, pointing a shaking finger at the ragged man.

"I don't care!" Siurad yelled back. "You don't beat a man like a dog!"

"I have three kids!" the baker yelled, tears of frustration mingling with the rage. "Flour costs triple what it did last month! The taxes are up! If I lose stock, my kids don't eat! He took a whole loaf!"

​Siurad froze. The adrenaline stuttered.

He looked at the thief.

The ragged man was slumped against the wall, clutching a loaf of hard rye bread to his chest like it was a diamond. His lip was split, bleeding down his chin. He wasn't looking at Siurad. He was looking for an exit.

"Please," the thief wheezed. "My wife... the fever. She needs to eat to take the medicine. Please."

​The silence that followed was louder than any scream.

Siurad looked at the baker. A man trying to feed his kids, protecting his livelihood from a lawbreaker.

Like the road warden.

Siurad looked at the Thief. A man willing to commit a crime, willing to risk violence, to save someone he loved.

Like Siurad.

​There was no bad guy here.

There was no monster to punch.

There was just a desperate world where good people hurt each other to survive.

Siurad felt the nausea return, violent and acidic. The justified anger he had been clinging to dissolved, leaving him with nothing but the cold, hard truth of what he was.

He wasn't a hero stopping a villain. He was just another desperate man with a sword.

​'...A RESOURCE DISPUTE,' Obi analyzed coldly. '...IRRELEVANT. WALK AWAY.'

​Siurad couldn't walk away. He couldn't breathe.

He looked at his hands. He had wanted to beat the baker. He had wanted to break the man's jaw. Because the baker was right. And if the baker was right... then the captain was right.

And Siurad was wrong.

​"Here," Siurad choked out.

He reached into his pouch. His fingers felt numb. He pulled out a few gold coins.

He tossed it at the baker. It hit the cobblestones with a bright, heavy ring.

"For the bread," Siurad whispered. "And the crates."

The Baker stared at the gold. His jaw dropped. 

"My lord..." the Baker stammered, looking from the coin to Siurad, his anger vanishing into pure shock. "I... this is... are you serious?"

Siurad didn't look at him. He turned to the thief.

He pulled out more coins. He held it out.

The thief flinched, expecting a blow. When he saw the gold, his eyes went wide, reflecting the streetlamp.

"Take it," Siurad said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Get the medicine. Get food. Don't come back here."

The thief snatched the coin, his hands shaking so hard he almost dropped it. He looked at Siurad like he was a god who had descended from the heavens.

He scrambled away into the darkness, clutching the bread and a fortune in his fist, running before the giant changed his mind.

​Siurad stood alone in the street.

The baker picked up his gold, clutching it with both hands. "Thank you. Thank you, sir! You're a saint! A saint!"

"No," Siurad said. His voice was dead. "I'm not."

​He turned and walked away.

He didn't stomp. He dragged his feet.

He hadn't fixed anything. He had just thrown blood money at a tragedy to make it go away. Just like he had thrown the captain's body into the void.

He found Yona waiting down the block. She wasn't at the inn. She was leaning against a post, watching him. She had seen it.

She didn't ask if he felt better. She saw the look on his face; the look of a man who had gone looking for a fight and found a mirror.

"Siurad," she said softly.

"I couldn't hit him," Siurad whispered, staring at nothing. "The baker. He was just... he was just tired. He was just scared."

Siurad looked at Yona, his eyes wet, the violet light extinguished.

"I killed the captain, Yona. And I can't punish anyone for it because it was me."

Yona stepped forward and took his arm. She didn't offer platitudes. She didn't tell him it was okay. She just held his arm tight, anchoring him to the earth.

"Let's go to the inn," she said. "The world will still be broken tomorrow. You don't have to fix it tonight."

Siurad nodded. He let her lead him away.

He hadn't cleared the noise. It was louder than ever.