It was a cloudy gray day that greeted Irayna Mudlark as she stepped out of the side door of the three-story white brick orphanage that had been her home for as long as she could remember. She was still tired even though it was nearly mid-morning, the nightmares having been particularly vicious last night. Her stomach churned with unease, and she'd chosen to forgo breakfast despite Consorta Aria's stern admonishments that it was "the most important meal of the day." She was sixteen now and could make her own decisions.
The cool morning air washed over her face as she followed a dirt pathway around to the front of the house and eventually arrived at an iron gate that let out onto Barley Street, one of many thoroughfares that crisscrossed the Brewtown district of Mist Haven. Traffic was light at this hour; most folks had already made their way to their shops, factories, and warehouses. Irayna took a right turn on Barley Street. She dug into the deep pockets of her skirts as she went and withdrew a crumpled piece of parchment with neat handwriting on one side. She consulted the list of names and selected the third name as her first visit for the day. The list contained names of people who needed a follow-up visit from a healer's apprentice; Consorta Aria had scribed it for her the night before.
"You're going to Tinker Town first, are you not?" a high-pitched voice chimed.
Irayna shrugged in irritation. She glanced over her left shoulder at the tiny creature that flew near her ear. She folded up the parchment and tucked it back into her pocket.
"You know that I always start with the furthest, Cyan," she answered the pixie. "Besides, Gretel always pays me a silver hart, and Tinker Town has the best muffins in the city."
"I thought you weren't hungry," Cyan shot back.
The pixie buzzed her ear and flew ahead of her, turning to face her, wings flapping madly to stay aloft. Cyan was beautiful, with the form of a human female with butterfly-like wings attached to her back. She was a little less than half a pace tall. Her skin was azure blue while her long, flowing hair and sharp eyes were a contrasting cobalt blue. She wore a silky purple dress that clung to her voluptuous form like a glove. And she was invisible to everyone but Irayna.
"I'm not right now, but I will be after this long walk and after listening to Gretel prattle for an hour," Irayna replied. "Besides, all the others on the list are here in Brewtown. It makes more sense to get the long walk out of the way while I'm fresh."
"No doubt you'll leave the one nearest the docks for last so that you can watch the young men getting out of work at the warehouses. Maybe some of them will even be shirtless." Cyan replied with a teasing giggle, her wings catching the weak sunlight in iridescent flashes.
Irayna blushed as she recalled one such young shirtless man that she'd seen a few days ago. She'd day-dreamed about that one several times since, placing him in lurid scenes from the forbidden books she'd been reading before bedtime over the past year. They helped her go to sleep faster, though they hadn't stopped the dreams like she'd hoped. The thought of her books and the young men made her feel warm inside, and she was finally able to banish the final vestiges of the nightmares from the previous night. A feeling of gratitude towards Cyan flooded her heart. The pixie always knew how to raise her spirits; she didn't know what she would have done without her.
"Yo-ho, Ray!"
The shouted call snapped Irayna out of her reverie. Cyan turned to face the caller and dropped back to Irayna's left shoulder. A boy of no more than twelve summers ran towards her, waving his arms wildly. He wore a shabby smock over torn breeches and was shoeless. He had an unruly mop of black hair and the distinctive red glowing eyes of a Moon-Touched. He skidded to a stop before her, panting heavily.
"Come Ray, you's needed at the den. Boys got hurt on job last moon."
"I have work to do, Odi," she replied curtly, the irritation suddenly back. She couldn't just leave her chores anytime the gang needed her. "I'll come later if I have time."
"Big Bossman says you owe big. Says get dust and coin if you do good." The boy's red eyes widened meaningfully.
"Not so loud, Odi!" Irayna whispered harshly, looking around to make sure no one had overheard them. Fae dust was an illegal substance that could get a person thrown into prison.
"Do not do it, Ray," Cyan whispered into her ear, though no one else could hear her. "You do not owe these ruffians anything. Please, Irayna, you do not need that stuff."
Irayna shook her head in frustration; this was an ongoing argument that the two of them had engaged in for nearly two years now. The fae dust was the only thing that worked to calm her constant anxiety. The nightmares that tormented her every time she fell asleep were always with her, always at the periphery of her mind no matter what she was doing. The fae dust was the only thing that gave her relief.
"Let's go, Odi," she told the boy and took the lead, turning down the first street that went south.
The den was part of an alliance of outlaw organizations that had discovered Irayna's talent for healing two years ago. They were constantly in need of healing services from someone who wouldn't ask questions or carelessly flap their lips. Irayna turned out to be the perfect match. She thrilled at the sense of danger involved in treating cutthroats and thieves, of sneaking about dark alleys at night, and socializing with men and women of ill repute in secret hideouts.
It was among these ruffians that she'd had her first experience with fae dust, given as a reward for her services. She'd saved many lives, and their gratitude was shown in many ways besides the dust, trinkets, and coin from the loot they'd stolen; they also gave her books, protection, and a sense of belonging. It was well known on the streets of southside Mist Haven that you didn't mess with Irayna unless you wanted trouble with the underworld.
The Den was in the Squalls, the southernmost district of the sprawling city and Mist Haven's poorest community. There were no thoroughfares or avenues in the district, just narrow dirt lanes between ramshackle buildings made of warped and often rotting wood. The constables had no regular patrols here, and the residents were largely made up of the Moon-Touched. There were no street signs to navigate by. Residents got around using the intricate graffiti that covered nearly every wall. Knowing the language of the wall art was key to survival in the district's various neighborhoods, where territory was divided among rival gangs, and being in the wrong place could get a person killed.
Most of the lanes in the district ended in dead-ends or huge rubbish piles that required pedestrians to cut through multiple buildings to get to their destinations. This made wagons and mounted travel all but impossible in the Squalls.
The air quality in most buildings was terrible, so people tended to loiter in the lanes, though the air quality there wasn't much better either. Almost everyone in the district was unemployed, so there wasn't much to do other than socialize with one's neighbors. Outsiders might find the district unsettling, but anyone who spent any amount of time there would quickly realize that it was a place of intricate and vibrant culture.
Lane rhyming, fiend dancing, night shrieking, and rat races were among the many interesting activities that one might partake in if accepted by the denizens of the Squalls. Squall juice and meat sticks were available on every street corner, and the entire district thrummed with the constant beating of thousands of drums being pounded night and day from across the entire ward. The people of the Squalls paid no mind to the night curfew; the majority Moon-Touched population was immune to any further effects of the Fiend Moon.
It took Irayna and the trailing Odi nearly an hour to reach the den. Cyan flew alongside her, maintaining a sullen silence, which was fine with Irayna. She had no desire to rehash old fights; the pixie's constant prattling about her destiny was too much to take sometimes. The den was located underground and could only be reached from a garbage-covered grate in the back of an alley.
Irayna had no trouble navigating the streets of the Squalls; she had learned how to read the graffiti language years ago. Once they arrived, Odi pushed aside the garbage and banged on the grate five times, paused, and struck it seven more times in rapid succession. The signal changed daily, and Irayna knew that there were unseen gang members nearby keeping an eye on everything that was going on above ground. After a few minutes, the grate was pushed open, and a heavily bearded head popped up and looked around.
"About time, took long enough," the gruff-sounding man complained.
"I's never dallied; I's went straight to her," Odi whined, scuffing his bare foot in the dirt.
"We came as quickly as possible without running, Dregster," Irayna replied, her tone level and professional. "You know if we'd come any faster, we'd only have drawn attention to ourselves. Who's injured and how badly?"
"Jammer and Cole. Cole took a sword to the gut; Jammer got his arm sliced." Dregster's expression darkened. "Cole's done for; Bossman wants you to patch Jammer up."
Irayna sucked in a breath of panicked alarm. Cole was one of the few in the gang who'd always treated her with genuine respect rather than just as a useful tool.
"Take me to Cole now, Dregster."
"Bossman says to forget Cole," protested the bearded man, tugging nervously at his beard.
"Take me to Cole now or get out of my way!" Her green eyes flashed dangerously.
"Alright! Alright, no need to shout. Just following orders." He raised his hands in surrender.
The man's head disappeared, and Irayna followed quickly, lowering herself into the hole and finding the top rung of a wooden ladder. She moved rapidly as did her mind, worry for Cole crowding out all other thoughts.
Upon reaching the bottom of the ladder, she found herself in a narrow stone passage. Dregster waited nearby, a tall, thin man with thick, curly black hair and beard. His eyes were black and beady. As far as she knew, he was the only member of the gang that wasn't Moon-Touched. He wore tight-fitting leather leggings and a leather vest. A knife was tucked into his belt. He nodded to her and led the way down the lamp-lit passage.
The narrow hall emptied into a large central chamber filled with crates, tables, and loitering ruffians. The room went quiet for a moment as every eye was drawn to her. Six other doors led out of the central chamber into other rooms and hallways. Dregster pointed at one of the doors across the room, and Irayna set off at a brisk pace towards the indicated door.
A pair of thuggish men with tree trunks for arms rose from their seats and seemed intent on blocking her passage, but they both paused when she gave them a haughty, green-eyed gaze that promised trouble. Her stare always impressed people for some reason that she didn't understand but was more than happy to use to her benefit. She passed quickly out of their reach before they could recover.
"Irayna!" A commanding basso voice boomed out from the center of the room.
She spared a glance over her shoulder towards the caller. A very fat, bald man sitting in a wooden throne-like chair was glaring at her menacingly. This was the man everyone called Bossman. Irayna wasn't clear as to whether he was the actual leader of the entire underworld or just the boss of this local gang. She gave him an empty-headed smile, as if she didn't understand what he wanted, and kept on moving.
She didn't like the Bossman; there was something off about him. So, she played dumb whenever she had to deal with him, which wasn't often. She pushed the door ahead of her open and entered a poorly lit corridor lined with doorways on each side. It stank of body odor and worse things. Irayna knew that these were the barracks, the living quarters of the gang. She could hear moaning coming from behind one of the doors.
She moved quickly to the third one on the right, which was partially ajar. The moaning was coming from inside, and Irayna stuck her head in for a quick glance around. A young man lay on a cot, writhing fitfully in apparent agony. The chamber was small, with room only for a cot, a trunk, and a single wooden chair. The young man was lanky, with red hair and a long face. He was wearing only trousers, and his left arm was poorly bandaged with red-tinged dirty cloth.
"Stop being a baby, ," she said, trying to sound confident. "I'll take care of you after I deal with Cole."
Jammer's red, Moon-Touched eyes shot open at the sound of her voice, and he half sat up, wincing in pain.
"Cole... he's alive?" He looked incredulous. "Damn thief-seeker snuck up on us. Cole took a sword in the belly before I could blind that demon-loving bastard with a face full of shadow powder. He got a lucky swing on me, but I was able to drag Cole away. There was so much blood. I thought he was done for."
"I'm going to check on him now," she said, already backing out of the room. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
Irayna pulled back and crossed the hall to the fourth door on the left, which was closed. She didn't bother knocking; she just went in. She took in the scene in a single glance. Cole was a short young man, barely taller than a dwarf. His hair was shoulder-length, curly and blond. He lay naked on the cot, unmoving. Woolen towels had been wrapped tightly around his stomach. They were black with wet blood and stomach fluid that had seeped completely through.
Irayna crossed the room quickly and put a trembling hand to Cole's throat, checking for signs of life. Incredibly, he still lived, though his pulse was faint and irregular.
"He's dead, leave him," Bossman said gruffly. Irayna looked over her shoulder and saw that the fat man was standing in the doorway, filling it completely with his bulk.
She closed the distance between them, pausing a pace away from him. She stared directly into his fiery red eyes for the first time, summoning every ounce of courage she possessed. Then she slammed the door in his face and threw the bolt. The man banged on the door, but she ignored him.
"I need your help, Cy. He's still alive." Her voice trembled.
"This is dangerous, Ray," Cyan replied, hovering anxiously near her shoulder. "Doing this will reveal certain secrets that could bring you unwanted attention. These people cannot be trusted."
"You think I don't know that?" Irayna snapped.
Frustration and fear suddenly gnawed at her guts now that she was alone. She was glad that she hadn't eaten anything for breakfast; the stench of Cole's stomach wound threatened to make her vomit. She closed her eyes for a few heartbeats and took shallow breaths, trying to center herself. She wished fervently that she could have had a hit of fae dust before entering the sick room.
"Will you help me, Cyan?" she asked the pixie quietly, eyes still closed.
The pixie sighed in exasperation.
"Of course, Ray. You know I will always help you, even if it leads to trouble. Gyah knows that you are good at getting into trouble."
"Ok, what do I do?" Irayna asked, opening her eyes and moving over to Cole's bedside. Cyan flew over Cole slowly and came to a hovering stop over his belly.
"This is beyond anything you have ever done, Ray. You have only dabbled with the magic. I do not think you can save him, but at least we can make him more comfortable.”
"I have to try, Cy," Irayna replied, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Alright, Ray. Put both your hands on his . Gently now."
She did as she was told, flinching slightly as her fingers encountered the wet, crusty gore that drenched the bandaging that covered Cole's stomach.
"Get your hands fully in there, Ray. Creating a connection is important with healing. Touching the wound directly is usually best, but a connection can be achieved through blood."
Irayna resisted the nausea that welled up in her and pressed her palms more firmly into the gore-soaked dressing.
"Good, now close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing," the pixie ordered.
Irayna closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, forcing herself to relax into the rhythm of her own breathing, which was quick and anxious at first but began to calm as she began to achieve a proper meditative state.
"Good, now look for the cool energy at your core. It beats in time with your heart. When you feel it, reach for it with your mind. Let it fill you."
Irayna's breathing became even calmer as she began to search inwardly for the energy that Cyan directed her towards. This was an exercise that she had practiced often over the years at Cyan's direction. She hadn't known at the time that this was the first step in learning how to use magic.
After a few moments, she began to hear and feel the rhythm of her heartbeat and the flow of the blood through her veins. It was faint to her perception at first, but it grew stronger. As it did, she became aware of a light, a mote of energy at her core. She reached out uncertainly towards it with imagined hands.
The energy pulsed in time with her heart, and it seemed to her mind to be cold rather than warm. When the fingers of her mind touched the power, there was a reactive pulse of static electricity that lanced through her, and she almost lost her focus. A thrill of recognition filled her. This was her power; its origins were unknown to her, but she suspected that it was somehow tied to her bond with Cyan. Only rarely during her practice sessions with the pixie had she ever been able to touch the mysterious force. It seemed to her that the power had always been with her, lurking below the surface and just out of reach.
"Stay focused, Ray, you're almost there. Pull it to you, let it fill you."
She heard Cyan's words, but it was as though there was a great distance between them. She focused her will and tugged at the cold ball of energy at her core. A sound like wind and chimes assaulted her ears, and the power broke and spilled over and through her.
"Well done, Ray!" Cyan's voice was filled with pride. "Now picture what you want to do. You want all the blood to return to Cole's body. You want the skin to knit itself back together. You want the infection and pain to be gone. Will this in your mind. When the energy pulses in time with his heartbeat, let it go."
Irayna barely heard the instructions but grasped enough of it to do as ordered. She pictured the blood flowing back into Cole, the vessels reshaping and cleansing themselves as they reconnected. She almost screamed when the linen under her palms became even slicker, and she felt a movement, a current of viscous fluid.
When the bandaging felt nearly dry, she envisioned his stomach reknitting itself and the skin turning pink and healthy again. The energy that had filled her slowly drained from her as she envisioned each phase. It never pulsed in time with Cole's heartbeat. She suddenly felt exhausted, and anxiety filled her as she wondered if she'd done something wrong. She lost hold of the power and had to sit on the edge of the cot or fall over.
"I don't believe it," Cyan muttered in consternation. Irayna felt a surge of anxiety and surprise fill the pixie through their bond. "This is not good."
"What do you mean? Didn't it work?" she asked with trepidation. She was still too tired to check on Cole. The thought that she'd failed sent waves of despair crashing through her whole being. "I tried to do what you said, Cy, but the... the magic kept draining out of me as I envisioned what I wanted."
"It worked, Ray," the pixie replied, gaining control of her own emotions. "Cole is fine. You have completely healed him."
"That's good," she replied, elation replacing the despair. "Why are you afraid, Cy?"
"Because, Ray, everyone will be talking about this. This will bring too much attention onto you." The pixie's wings beat faster, betraying her agitation.
"What's so bad about that?" she asked, getting annoyed. Vigor was slowly beginning to return to her, though now she was starving. "You always tell me that I need to maintain a low profile, but you've never given me a reason. I'm just an orphan after all; who cares about what I do? This magic that I have scares you, though, doesn't it? It has something to do with my parents, doesn't it? You know who they are and where I came from. Why won't you tell me?"
This was another of their recurring arguments.
"I want to tell you, Ray, but I cannot. Not right now." The pixie's face was troubled, her usual playfulness completely gone.
The answer was always the same. Before she could retort, however, an insistent pounding on the door grabbed her attention. The spike of fear that came from Cyan through the bond only elevated her own anxiety.