Street of Souls
Darkness suited him; a shadow swathed in night, watching with gleaming black eyes for his prey.
Anticipation swelled in his chest, the burn of hunger sharp in his guts like claws.
He cocked his head to listen. He couldn’t let the beast inside overwhelm him. To be caught meant instant death. Patience, he cautioned.
Aladaar huddled in his black cloak, stamped his feet. It was bitter, this night. I should have chosen a more heavily populated area. He stared out at the empty street from the stygian maw of the alley.
No. Cutthroats, thieves, prostitutes and beggars; the mad and the drunks… they all lived here, if you could call this refuse-strewn, sewer-stinking street as ‘home’.
Bright lanterns hung on wooden posts at each end of the street; the light barely reached the sides of the road. He’d chosen his spot well: the alleyway off the centre of the thoroughfare.
He glanced to the right, towards the docks, up into the night sky. A curve of pus yellow moon hung low. The inns would close soon, and then… well. A smile lifted his lips as eagerness rose, eased the burn.
A door opened and noise fell into the air. Aladaar drew in a breath and smelled his target: an ale-ridden old man.
No, he mused with surprise. The elderly man was surrounded by another, darker, more seductive scent: magic. Its sharp tang stung Aladaar’s nostrils and he flinched. Damn them, why couldn’t they leave these people alone? Why must they hunt the down-trodden and desperate? He helped them far more than anyone else, but the Councillors never seemed to appreciate that.
They would not stop him. His lip curled in a sneer as he shifted on silent feet and peered around the corner. The old man was being held up by one of the Councillors and he felt the smile crease his chilled face. One shouldn’t be too much trouble.
He called to his own brand of magic, eased out a breath and waited. This Councillor appeared raw; too young, too inexperienced to stop him.
Aladaar stepped out of the alley.
The woman gasped and stared at him. He could see her tremble, a fine ripple shuddered through her body. The old man didn’t react, but he was so addled, he was drooling even as he swayed at the sudden stop.
“I would take him.” Aladaar murmured and stared at the wrinkled and stooped man.
“No!” The woman shook her blonde head and struggled to hold herself, and the old man, upright.
Aladaar stepped closer as she squeezed the old man to her side as if to protect the wasted shell of humanity. He kept his voice soft, cajoling. “Can you not feel him slipping away? Can you not hear the slowing beat of his heart? He has suffered much in this life.”
The woman shuffled backwards, glanced around for help, but there was none to be had, not on this street. It was why chose this as his hunting ground. And it struck Aladaar as odd. This woman oozed with magic... Could it be that she didn’t know?
The tension tightening his shoulders eased and Aladaar felt the thrum of excitement course through his veins.
“You… don’t know me, do you?” He asked gently and she shook her head, kept her eyes on him.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.” He lifted his hands slowly and pulled back the cowl of his cape, smiled at her, filled his eyes with kind warmth.
He tilted his head. “I am Aladaar. I’m often down here looking for the imperilled.”
“You?” She asked, doubt in her eyes.
Aladaar’s chuckle was rueful. “Just because I dress like I live uptown, which is where I do live, doesn’t mean I should ignore the… less fortunate of our citizens.” He nodded at her charge. “I need to use my wealth for more than self-indulgence.” He gave a sad sigh at her wary expression and slumped his shoulders. “Like you, I have a calling and I understand your hesitancy. This place,” he gazed around at the garbage strewn street, “no-one should be here, living in squalor, in poverty.” His eyes met hers. “In desperation and desolation. I truly am here to help.”
The woman adjusted her hold on the man, as if he were growing heavier. And he must have been, for the old man’s milky eyes had closed and he leaned more heavily against her.
“If you have any doubts, perhaps you could speak with a representative of the Council?” It was daring of him to mention the ruling body, but she was a neophyte. The mere mention of the Council had her eyes widening.
“You… you know someone on… the Council?” She asked, awe filled her eyes and she shifted her grip on the old man who’d slumped against her.
He gave her a beguiling smile. “Not someone, every one of them, and they know me.” But not for the reasons you’re thinking, sweetling. “I’m often down here, keeping close watch on those who need it.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m supposed to escort Mr Ellirod home.”
“Then indeed, why don’t I assist you?” He flung his cape wide in preparation of her passing the old man over. “He must be heavy.” He said persuasively and smiled.
With some reluctance, the woman eased the limp man into Aladaar’s arms. He held the old one easily in one arm and pressed a hand to the man’s chest with the other.
Immediately he could feel the waning strength, the weakening life force. There wasn’t much left to sustain him, but then again…
Aladaar took a deep breath and held out his hand.
“Why don’t you take his other side, then he’ll be completely protected and you’ll be doing exactly what you were charged to do.” He kept his tone seductively low and with a relieved smile, the woman wrapped her arm around the old one’s waist.
Aladaar made sure she touched him, too, and revelled in her power.
***
Aladaar sat on a carved chair outside the King’s Tavern enjoying the sun and his breakfast. He listened to the gossips seated at a table next him.
“…The White Council said two more bodies and that the killer left no clues.” A well-dressed corpulent woman loudly pronounced to her companion and bit down on a flaky pastry.
“A soul-sucker for sure.” The second, emaciated woman agreed.
“Left only desiccated husks, I heard.” The first woman intoned.
Aladaar patted his full belly and sighed, heard the horrified cries of the woman and old man inside of him. It would be a couple of days before their life forces were completely digested by the beast. Then he could hunt again. He flicked a glance over his shoulder to the women. Maybe the fat one.
© 2005 Jaye Patrick
Anticipation swelled in his chest, the burn of hunger sharp in his guts like claws.
He cocked his head to listen. He couldn’t let the beast inside overwhelm him. To be caught meant instant death. Patience, he cautioned.
Aladaar huddled in his black cloak, stamped his feet. It was bitter, this night. I should have chosen a more heavily populated area. He stared out at the empty street from the stygian maw of the alley.
No. Cutthroats, thieves, prostitutes and beggars; the mad and the drunks… they all lived here, if you could call this refuse-strewn, sewer-stinking street as ‘home’.
Bright lanterns hung on wooden posts at each end of the street; the light barely reached the sides of the road. He’d chosen his spot well: the alleyway off the centre of the thoroughfare.
He glanced to the right, towards the docks, up into the night sky. A curve of pus yellow moon hung low. The inns would close soon, and then… well. A smile lifted his lips as eagerness rose, eased the burn.
A door opened and noise fell into the air. Aladaar drew in a breath and smelled his target: an ale-ridden old man.
No, he mused with surprise. The elderly man was surrounded by another, darker, more seductive scent: magic. Its sharp tang stung Aladaar’s nostrils and he flinched. Damn them, why couldn’t they leave these people alone? Why must they hunt the down-trodden and desperate? He helped them far more than anyone else, but the Councillors never seemed to appreciate that.
They would not stop him. His lip curled in a sneer as he shifted on silent feet and peered around the corner. The old man was being held up by one of the Councillors and he felt the smile crease his chilled face. One shouldn’t be too much trouble.
He called to his own brand of magic, eased out a breath and waited. This Councillor appeared raw; too young, too inexperienced to stop him.
Aladaar stepped out of the alley.
The woman gasped and stared at him. He could see her tremble, a fine ripple shuddered through her body. The old man didn’t react, but he was so addled, he was drooling even as he swayed at the sudden stop.
“I would take him.” Aladaar murmured and stared at the wrinkled and stooped man.
“No!” The woman shook her blonde head and struggled to hold herself, and the old man, upright.
Aladaar stepped closer as she squeezed the old man to her side as if to protect the wasted shell of humanity. He kept his voice soft, cajoling. “Can you not feel him slipping away? Can you not hear the slowing beat of his heart? He has suffered much in this life.”
The woman shuffled backwards, glanced around for help, but there was none to be had, not on this street. It was why chose this as his hunting ground. And it struck Aladaar as odd. This woman oozed with magic... Could it be that she didn’t know?
The tension tightening his shoulders eased and Aladaar felt the thrum of excitement course through his veins.
“You… don’t know me, do you?” He asked gently and she shook her head, kept her eyes on him.
“I’m sorry if I startled you.” He lifted his hands slowly and pulled back the cowl of his cape, smiled at her, filled his eyes with kind warmth.
He tilted his head. “I am Aladaar. I’m often down here looking for the imperilled.”
“You?” She asked, doubt in her eyes.
Aladaar’s chuckle was rueful. “Just because I dress like I live uptown, which is where I do live, doesn’t mean I should ignore the… less fortunate of our citizens.” He nodded at her charge. “I need to use my wealth for more than self-indulgence.” He gave a sad sigh at her wary expression and slumped his shoulders. “Like you, I have a calling and I understand your hesitancy. This place,” he gazed around at the garbage strewn street, “no-one should be here, living in squalor, in poverty.” His eyes met hers. “In desperation and desolation. I truly am here to help.”
The woman adjusted her hold on the man, as if he were growing heavier. And he must have been, for the old man’s milky eyes had closed and he leaned more heavily against her.
“If you have any doubts, perhaps you could speak with a representative of the Council?” It was daring of him to mention the ruling body, but she was a neophyte. The mere mention of the Council had her eyes widening.
“You… you know someone on… the Council?” She asked, awe filled her eyes and she shifted her grip on the old man who’d slumped against her.
He gave her a beguiling smile. “Not someone, every one of them, and they know me.” But not for the reasons you’re thinking, sweetling. “I’m often down here, keeping close watch on those who need it.”
“Well, I don’t know. I’m supposed to escort Mr Ellirod home.”
“Then indeed, why don’t I assist you?” He flung his cape wide in preparation of her passing the old man over. “He must be heavy.” He said persuasively and smiled.
With some reluctance, the woman eased the limp man into Aladaar’s arms. He held the old one easily in one arm and pressed a hand to the man’s chest with the other.
Immediately he could feel the waning strength, the weakening life force. There wasn’t much left to sustain him, but then again…
Aladaar took a deep breath and held out his hand.
“Why don’t you take his other side, then he’ll be completely protected and you’ll be doing exactly what you were charged to do.” He kept his tone seductively low and with a relieved smile, the woman wrapped her arm around the old one’s waist.
Aladaar made sure she touched him, too, and revelled in her power.
***
Aladaar sat on a carved chair outside the King’s Tavern enjoying the sun and his breakfast. He listened to the gossips seated at a table next him.
“…The White Council said two more bodies and that the killer left no clues.” A well-dressed corpulent woman loudly pronounced to her companion and bit down on a flaky pastry.
“A soul-sucker for sure.” The second, emaciated woman agreed.
“Left only desiccated husks, I heard.” The first woman intoned.
Aladaar patted his full belly and sighed, heard the horrified cries of the woman and old man inside of him. It would be a couple of days before their life forces were completely digested by the beast. Then he could hunt again. He flicked a glance over his shoulder to the women. Maybe the fat one.
© 2005 Jaye Patrick
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