The harder they fall

Night had come far too quickly. He wasn’t ready. Maybe that was what made him so sloppy. So reckless.

He was on the floor when she appeared in his doorway, papers scattered about before him on the floor, messily sorted in a way that really only made sense to him. He chewed at the end of a pen, ink staining his fingers, his glasses smudged from each time he brought a knuckle to his eye, blurred with exhaustion. Exhaustion that his magic would never relieve him of.

Her light rap against his wooden door startled him, pulling him out of his thoughts that had wandered much further than the unfinished paperwork. He found himself doing that more often since… since… well, he preferred not to talk about it, his head already pounding as he set the pen down on the floor and slowly pulled himself to his feet (why he always sat on the floor when he knew his knees would make him regret it, he never knew).

He wiped the ink from his fingers onto his pants, looking to the young woman with a question that didn’t need words: are you ready? She  simply nodded, nervously clutching at the strap on her pack.

Getting out of Namarast was fairly easy. Like clockwork, Kerelas watched the guards move into position at exactly the time he knew they would. The pair of them waited in a shadowy corner, listening for the dismissed footsteps to fade away. And one by one, the guards in their path dropped to the ground, lost in a dreamless sleep. Of course, he was kind enough to get them up against a wall, propping them up as if they had simply fallen asleep on their shift. It was such an easy thing to do at such an hour.

The fall night air bit at their skin as they stepped past the city’s walls, and Kerelas escorted her as far as the wooden sign that pointed back the way they had come, Namarast painted into the lopsided arrow. Kerelas had noted many times that it needed a new coat of paint, the letters so faded it could hardly be read in the dark.

He leaned up against that sign as he watched her disappear down the road, lighting a match against his shoe and bringing it to the cigarette that hung lazily from his lip. It was not easy watching them go, each one failed by the very Order that was supposed to help them learn and grow as mages… but he knew it was for the best. They were no longer safe in Namarast’s halls, no matter how many times the witchfinders tried to convince them otherwise.

He knew his own time was limited as well.

Kerelas burned through half of his smoke by the time he made it back to Namarast, the guards already awake and changing shifts once again. Flawless…

Or so he thought.

“Doctor Muirell,” His name found his ears at the tune of a young guard that he had not officially met, but knew nonetheless, her form leaning in the shadows of a large tree off the side of the road. Her arms were crossed and gaze unblinking on him under the moonlight. Kerelas glanced down the road, a sigh on his lips. He could see the torchlight from Namarast, but thankfully they were out of earshot.

“Elouan,” He replied, his lips quirking in a small, tired smile as he tapped ash from his cigarette. He moved to brush past her, but she stepped in his path, pulling a defeated sigh from his lips. It was going to be like that, wasn’t it.

“What are you doing out so late anyways? It isn’t exactly the season for nightly strolls.”

Kerelas paused, rolling his cigarette between his fingers before dropping it to the dirt, crushing it with the toe of his shoe.

“I tend to wander regardless of the night.” He replied slowly, plucking his glasses from his nose and wiping them on his shirt. His eyes watered from the blurr; gods his sight was getting worse. “But if you must ask, I had a dream.” He continued, returning his glasses to their rightful place.

He saw her hesitate at this, brow furrowing. “That’s rare for you.”

“It is.”

A long pause. The sound of an owl hooting in the distance. A battle of wits. Who would speak first? Well, Kerelas had never been much of a chess player.

“It wasn’t the type of dreams that many speak of. No grand adventures nor… weird shit that makes people wake up and stare at the ceiling wondering what they had possibly ate. Not a nightmare either, thankfully. No, it was more of… a conversation.”

“A conversation.”

“That’s right.” His thumb rubbed at the golden ring on his finger; his tell for anything stressful. Thankfully, his hands were still firmly hidden in his coat pocket. “I will spare you the boring details, but it seems as though I have been idle for too long. My life surely has more meaning than what’s in those walls.” He nodded towards the torchlight. Home. The only home he’d known for centuries.

“So I suppose you could say I was testing the waters. Stretching my legs. Whatever you want to call it.” He smiled again, looking back to her with an arch of his brow. “I’m surely not going anywhere. My leash is only so long. But it is nice to have a night out to yourself, is it not?”

Elouan considered him for a moment, her expression unchanging, but Kerelas could tell there was a… shift. Perhaps a bit of the suspicion had dropped, but not entirely. Not all of it.

“Okay…” She began, “Well, if that’s the case, you haven’t happened to see Adeena Tiller anywhere, have you? She was not in her quarters when they checked a few hours ago.”

Oh, so they were checking now…

“Can’t say I have.” He replied quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly. And she noticed such, taking a step closer to him.

“Several mages have gone missing since Miriam came into power.” She said, her tone incredibly pointed at… well, him. “Do you know anything about that?”

“I was wondering why my office was getting increasingly quiet.”

“Ah, yes, about that… each one has been a patient of yours at least once since then too.”

Shit. He knew he should have kept Aristea off of his paperwork pile. He shifted back a half step, clearing his throat. The palms of his hands ached from how hard he dug his own nails into his skin.

“Are you accusing me of something?” He could feel his heart starting to pound against his chest, his veins running cold. He had never been a very… careful man, but he thought he had the kinks worked out of his system. Unless others suspected him too and he didn’t realize...

“Just putting the pieces together, Mr. Muirell.”

“Well, you’re working on the wrong puzzle.” He snapped back immediately, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m simply a doctor, nothing more. I’m too old to play the game of politics.”

Oh, but she didn’t buy it, taking that step he had stolen back. “Then perhaps you can explain why I found a guard wandering the halls looking as if he’s just woken up, confused, and unsure of what time it was, let alone where his post was?”

Kerelas stumbled back with each step she took, unable to hide the dread that crept onto his features; the shake in his hands as he held them out before him defensively. This was it. If he didn’t… take care of this, he would be kicked out. Blacklisted. Witchhunters would eat him alive. Perhaps they would even kill him. He’d heard the stories of Miriam’s lackeys making an example out of people like him.

He didn’t realize he had called his magic until she had fallen where she stood, a heavy thump in the middle of the worn road. And he didn’t realize he had snapped at all as he fell to his knees beside her, his hands pressing against her chest as she rolled onto her back. His mind coursed with heavy darkness, blurring his vision.

Sleep, sleep, sleep, it told him, put her to sleep.

But she already was. She was already sleeping.

Deeper, deeper, deeper than sleep.

And he was willing to let it do such, his hands shaking violently as his magic took control. He was merely a puppet to its corruption, blinded by the obstacle laying in the dirt before him, so easily confronted. So easily erased…

Suddenly, he felt hands gripping his shoulders, a jarble of words meeting his ears, but he couldn’t quite make it out. The hands shook him, prying him off of Elouan’s sleeping form. The moment his hands released her wrinkled shirt, his mind started to clear, slowly, slowly…

He suddenly scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself in the process as he urged himself to put as much distance between himself and the guard he had just felled. Aristea looked at him, wide-eyed and bewildered, trying to speak to him, but her words only swam in his frazzled mind.

“I- She’s-” His voice shook as he tripped over his own tongue. He took in a deep breath. “She won’t remember. She shouldn’t-”  Fuck. He ran his hands through his hair, squeezing at his scalp. His magic still tickled the back of his mind, calling him to just finish her. He pushed it down as far as he could.

“She’ll wake up, but we can’t be here.” He said quickly, motioning for Aristea to follow him, interrupting any form of questions that she may have had. 

“Let’s go. Quickly."