The sun climbed high in the sky overhead / and cast its rays over the living and dead / and many who in between still tread. / Cast the sun a shadow across plaza square / to meet a second already there / that they two a few fleeting words might share: / "Shade," asked the first, "What is it you do / when you're all alone with nobody but you, / with neither your mistress nor prey within view?"
The Harlequin sprawled on a bench in the Exchange, hands folded behind his head and long legs stretched out in front of him. People paraded by him and those too busy to pay enough attention often tripped over his feet, stumbling and scattering their packages and purchases across the ground. Any regular man might apologize for being in the way, might get up from his seat and help them gather their spilled items, but he didn’t seem at all inclined to stop blocking the path. In fact, he gave them little heed, staring up at the scarlet leaves above him as if the rest of the world was merely an illusion moving around him.
He even whistled softly to himself, a song that sounded like some old dirge. What dead did he mourn?
When a shadow settled down on the bench beside him and intruded on his quiet time, the lanky elf deigned to lower his head – slowly. Peridot lights winked on in the dark holes of his mask and they gradually slid to one side, studying his newest guest.
“Shade,” the man asked, hands clasping his knees. “What is it you do when you’re all alone with nobody but you, with neither your mistress nor prey within view?”
Though he spoke not a word, the lowering of his chin and the tilting of his head indicated that the Harlequin gave the question some careful thought. Several heartbeats passed, loud above the fountain gurgling behind them, and eventually, the shade shrugged. Unfolding his arms, he pushed himself up from the bench and straightened up to his full height. One bony finger beckoned to the man, urging him to his feet.
He didn’t spare a single backwards glance as he strode down the streets, gliding across the cobblestones like some enormous ghost; whether the man followed him or not, he didn’t appear to care. Plowing through the people he passed as if they did not exist for him – and ignoring their indignant gasps and hard stares – he led the man through the Shepherd’s Gate and into the dim, dangerous stretch of Murder Row. He dipped into a dark alley and paused, waiting for his companion to join him.
As soon as the man entered the alley, the Harlequin lifted a clawed finger to the elongated, gleaming teeth of his bone mask, motioning for silence. He stuck his hooded head out of the shadows, inspecting those few elves scurrying up and down the sidewalks in their hurry to be anywhere else and his keen eye landed on a young woman dressed in a neck-to-toe affair. She carried herself with the prim air of a prudish priestess and under one arm, she’d tucked a thick book from which she proselytized at all whom she encountered, encouraging them to change their wicked ways and approach the Light’s warm forgiveness with humility and grace. Most people brushed her off, turning their backs on her impassioned sermons and she stood by a lamp post, glowering at every ne’er-do-well who passed her by. Those who had not yet been privy to her attempts at conversion occasionally sauntered up and tried to flatter her with charming words and lascivious eyes, but she only sniffed and drew herself up straighter, clutching her cloak at her neck and using it as a shield. Her sharp tongue earned her many a crude name, but it was effective in chasing away the scum of the earth.
The Harlequin glanced back at his companion, motioning with one hand to indicate that the man should remain hidden in the shadows. Gliding out the alley, he approached the young woman without a whisper of sound and tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled to face him, a ready curse on her lips, but her head slowly tilted back, eyes traveling up and up further still until they reached the unnerving face grinning down at her. Shrinking back, she cradled her libram against her chest as if it could protect her from the spectre overshadowing her. Her wide eyes darted back and forth, seeking any available escape route, but the Harlequin swept her an elegant bow and lifted his mask, offering her a peek beneath its disturbing, ear-to-ear grin.
Whatever she saw there must have put her at ease, for her shoulders relaxed and she flashed him a timid smile. The man in the shadows couldn’t hear the words that passed between them, but the Harlequin gestured down the street and she nodded, taking several steps forward while he fell in behind her. As soon as they stepped outside the circle of lamplight, he darted in, wrapping his arms around her and enveloping her in his midnight cloak. The curious man watched, wide-eyed as he caught a glimpse of her head and the grey cloth the shade pressed tight over her mouth and nose. His other arm held her against his chest and he ignored her violent struggles, the flailing limbs, the feet that pounded against his shins; reeking of chloroform, the rag muffled her screams and her fighting slowed. Disappeared altogether. The tall elf slunk back into the alley with his victim who hung from his arm, a dead weight.
Laying her out on a stained, abandoned mattress, he stood straight and loomed over her, gazing down at the unconscious body. One hand removed his mask, revealing a face even the most beautiful model might envy. Brushing pale hair out of his eyes, he stole a quick peek at the man who accompanied him and a slow, impish grin stole over his lips – his smile could make angels weep. He winked, pressing his ivory mask into his companion’s hands before delving into the darkness of his cloak.
The Harlequin rummaged around for a moment or two, his eyes locked onto the immobile body and when his hands reappeared, they bore a second mask carved from a chunk of pure ivory. This one had none of the distinctive features of his usual disguise – no giant beak nose, no wide, grinning mouth, no knife-like teeth. In fact, it had no face at all, only a wealth of unrecognizable runes inscribed across its surface. Lips moving without a sound, he lifted this new mask to his face.
It moved over his skin, stretching like shrink wrap pulled taut over a dish and molding to his features. Shaping them. Warping them. Before the man’s eyes, the Harlequin shrank in on himself, standing no higher than the girl he’d abducted. His cloak shimmered as if stars burst across its velvet depths, and it wrapped around his body like a rag wrung out; in only seconds, it mirrored the pastel robes worn by the inert priestess. Straight hair that glistened like pearls curled and darkened, became the sunburned gold of ripened wheat.
Where the Harlequin had been moments ago, only an exact replica of the priestess stood and she wore a conspirator’s grin that did not suit her innocent face.
Throwing back her shoulders, the Harlequin lifted her chin, shed her heavy cloak like a snake slithering out of its skin, and opened the first three buttons of her bodice to reveal bountiful cleavage. She cocked out one hip and winked at her companion, then sashayed out of the alley, beckoning the man to follow her as she hit the street. Doe eyes scanned the Row for her first target with the laser focus of a hawk hunting prey.
Sidestepping the man who trailed after her, her dainty hands clapped down on his shoulders, gently directing him over to the abandoned lamp post. Hot breath touched his ear and warm, soft lips ghosted over his skin.
“What is it this one doeswhen left alone outside the nest?Watch this one set the town abuzzby doing what is done best,” the Harlequin whispered in a feminine voice sweeter than confectioner’s sugar on a marshmallow.“Dear Ji is not the only puckto spread mild mischief and grand gleeamong these elves who like to fuckwhatever they can see.So stand right here in lamp lightwhere your eyes may thus keep watchas this one casts a line for bitesto catch those who think with their crotch.” Her hands released their deathgrip on him and she strolled out into the street, blazing eyes locked on a rogue who leaned against the wall of the Sanctum, tossing a knife and catching it by its handle.
One auburn brow arched and the rogue cocked his head, watching the young woman approach him with an inviting smile on her lips. He caught the knife, fingernails digging into the leather that wrapped the hilt. Looking her head to toe, he reached up and pulled his mask down, revealing a handsome, square jaw and a mouth that spread into a slow grin. Licking his lips, he let out a low, soft whistled and shook his head, pointing at her with the tip of his blade.
“The Row ain’t no place for a pure cupcake like ya,” he told her, waggling the dagger at her as if he imagined using it to cut her out of her robes. “What’cha doin’ here, sweetheart?”
“Excuse me, sir,” she trilled, clasping her hands in front of her as she approached him. The motion pushed her breasts together, deepening her cleavage and immediately drawing his roving eye. “But I am from the Church of the Holy Light and I was wondering… have you heard the good word today?”
“And what word would that be, darlin’?” His eyes remained glued to the creamy swells of her breasts and he gulped, dipping a finger into the neck of his jerkin and drawing it away to give himself a little room to breathe.
The priestess laid a hand over her lips to stifle her charming giggle. “Why, the good word today is legs,” she said, advancing on him until her chest brushed against his. “Would you like to go back to my place and… spread the word?” One slim finger touched his chin and slid down his throat, down his chest until she reached his belt. She curled it into the leather, tugging gently and pulling his hips into hers.
“By the gods, yer a li’l tart,” he breathed, sheathing the knife before he palmed her curvy hips. His fingers curved around to dig into her plush rear and she slipped her arms around his neck, rising up on her toes even as she pulled his head down to meet hers. The rogue closed his eyes with a soft groan. “Saw ya tryin’ to preach earlier an’ gettin’ nowhere, but this’ll be a surefire way to convert the wicked. Colour me a changed man, girl.”
His mouth met hers in what he probably meant to be a scorching kiss, but the Harlequin bared a set of razor teeth that punctured tender skin. Blood immediately welled up, trickling down over the rogue’s bottom lip and staining his chin. Emerald eyes flew open and he gasped, clamping down on her shoulders as he sought to extricate himself from her vise grip; unable to draw away lest she rip his lip right off his face, he stared at her in mute horror, his tanned face growing waxy and ashen.
“At ur oo?” he managed, words garbled by the inability to move his lips. “‘Et oh! And ‘ish!”
The Harlequin’s pupils dilated, black holes that swallowed up his glowing irises. Shadows swirled around in the cavernous depths, reaching out to draw in their unwilling victim and what the rogue saw reflected back at him made tears well up and spill over his lashes. He babbled, wordless whimpers rolling off his tongue, but he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from the nightmares that stared back at him. Into him. Through him. Clapping his hands against the sides of his head, he tried to fold his ears over themselves and he shuddered, convulsing like a man struck by lightning. He broke down into gut-wrenching sobs, yanking at his ears as if he meant to tear them from his skull – anything to escape the agonized screams that deafened him.
His attacked only bit down harder, grinding her teeth into his skin and opening up fragile, vulnerable veins. Hot and sticky, his blood coated both their chins and dripped between them, splattering against the stone. The Harlequin’s claws wrapped around his upper arms, biting through leather and pricking flesh, and her knee slid up his inner leg, pressing into his crotch until he wheezed. She leaned in, pushing his head back against the wall and trapping him between cold marble and herself. Her mouth swallowed up his shrill shrieks as he yanked on his ears, struggling to rip them off and failing. The air around him stank of iron and flesh-rot and a moldy forest floor, and the Harlequin only released him when his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp.
Drawing her head back, she thrust her hands beneath his arms and lowered him to the ground, arranging him in a careless sprawl. She squatted down, fishing around in his purse to dig out a few coins that she scattered on the ground around him. Pulling his dagger from its sheath, she dipped it in the blood she’d spilled and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Her clever hands ripped at his clothing, roughing up his appearance. By the time she stepped away from the body, she had made it look like a mugging gone wrong and she turned back to her audience, her face as serene as a bishop who knew he had a guaranteed spot in heaven.
Swiping her sleeve across her chin, she wiped away all traces of the rogue’s blood and strode across the street, joining her companion who stared at her as if she were a murderous monster escaped from some containment facility. Clucking her tongue, she drew herself up beside him and rolled her eyes, lips curled in a knowing smirk.
“Worry not, that man will not die today,” she muttered, gaze roving around the Row to seek out another victim. Most people kept their heads down in the dark streets, taking care to avoid meeting the eyes of another and inviting an attack, and none seemed to have taken any notice of her dirty deed. If they had seen and thought anything about it, they weren’t prepared to confront her.
“If it helps your concern, this one will saythat later, he will only wakewith major fear and minor ache.”
She held up one hand, staunching the questions she felt sure her curious – and perhaps shaken – companion would ask.
“Before you ask, all this one has doneis show him the terrors from which he runs.” Her grin widened, sharp teeth on proud display. “But when he wakes and sees this maidwith whom he thinks that he has played,he will recall the way she prayedand he will rather throw himself on his bladethan suffer her presence another miserable second.These elves gained far more than they ever reckoned.”
“What… what did you do to him?” the man asked, concerned eyes darting back and forth between the Harlequin and the unconscious body lying across the street. Unless this strange elf coated his teeth in a paralytic poison, he could see no reason why a simple bite should have rendered the man senseless. Nor could he figure out what caused the rogue to grasp his ears and try to pull them off his head.
The Harlequin’s hand slipped into her companion’s, squeezing tight around his fingers and she arched her brows, the picture of innocent inquiry.
“Are you not satisfied now that you have gazedupon what this one does to fill empty days?Or do you need another example?Perhaps you’d like to be the next to samplea taste of this one’s chaotic spell–this one will gladly send you to hell.”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, pointing at the downed rogue.
“When he rouses, he will believethe nightmares this one chose to weavearound and through him, like a silken weband only when he escapes her will the torment ebb.When the priestess nears, he will relivethe abyss that this one chose to givehim. Howling voices that always screamwill haunt him when he wakes or dreams.To him, his ears have been detachedby his own hands; an itch, he scratchedand think he stabbed his own rotten gut.A peacock no longer able to strut.”
Grin widening until it touched her delicate ears, she pointed at the alley where the priestess still slept on the mattress, dead to the world.
“The Light cares not for mortal clay;it will abandon its worshipers anyway.That girl spreads false comfort and saccharine lieswhile the world around her withers and dies.So this one gave her the just rewardshe wanted; instead of being adored,when this one is finished, these men will shunthe priestess. Her false witness is done.”
Thank you, Anonymous, for the ask.
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