The Costly Price

Rain. It was going to rain.

He could taste the musty undercurrent that proceed its appearance. It reminded him he was not alone, that others watched and waited, that he was being called to work.

Julian placed his foot on the edge of the dock then glanced overhead. Storm clouds gathered, rising as an abrupt wind from across a lake. They appeared from nowhere, coming as he came, from a summons. With their approach plumed the sickening sweet nectar of overripe flowers that only a few on Earth could detect. It signaled that the lords wanted something, that they wished for a “conversation.” It would be a dictation no matter what they called it—a command he would be required to obey.

With his shoulders set, Julian made the trek to the end of the dock and stopped at the water’s edge. The scent was so strong he could choke on it. It made him want to gag, but that would be undignified in the presence of the lords. And they did not tolerate much, especially from those they appointed to do their bidding.

A rumble echoed overhead, the lap of water beginning to beat the damp poles holding the wooden dock. Overhead, purple and gray replaced what moments before was bright blue. Then the clouds began to churn, painting the sky dark and ominous. They were not in a good mood.

Unease bubbled inside of him. He wasn’t—strictly speaking—mortal and able to fall prey to environmental powers, but that did not mean he didn’t feel fear or regret or the wish that he was not tethered to the lords and every whim they wished to impart to him.

Julian stilled himself as the rain began to pour. It wasn’t a slow drizzle or gradual build. It dumped buckets all at once as it always did when the lords showed up. And they were here. He could feel them like a second skin pressing upon him. The lords were as torrential as the a hailstorm and as intense as an uncontrolled fire. Their presence cracked in the air as lightning but without a visible sign to point to.

He stiffened as the airy voices that only he could hear penetrated his ears. Their words were like multiple snakes in the way they slithered inside then combined into a single unit.

We have a task for you.

No kidding.

There is a man that needs to be dealt with.

Unsurprising. Ever since he was bound to the lords they delighted in giving him the most unpleasant tasks, the ones they knew he would hate. Keep calm, he reminded himself. They can sense your mood and delight in your opposition.

He dwells in the lower section of the city and is known to many.

That was unfortunate because it made his job harder.

You will find him on Hillside Road within the hour. Take care of him in the usual way.

The “usual” way. What they meant was in the permanent way. They wanted the man disposed of so that whatever he might say or do would not interfere with their future plans. Heat rose beneath Julian collar. This would not be a task he would enjoy—not that any of them ever were.

He stiffened. The scent of the rain was more acrid, which meant the lords were waiting for him to respond, to show his feelings on the matter. But he would not give them the pleasure. Not this time.

With a brief nod, Julian set his jaw. He kept his gaze low over the frothing water, ignoring the chilling rain that continued to pound the saturated boards beneath his feet. He would not give in to their bating. No matter how much he despised their control over him he would not let them see his frustration. For as long as his banishment remained he would do what was asked and try not to give the lords too much pleasure in the process. They didn’t deserve it. They delighted too much in causing as much harm and suffering as they could. And if he could deny them even an once of satisfaction he would do it.

Their voices were edged with malice.

No questions? Their hissing rang in the back of his head.

Julian pressed his eyes shut. The lords would show him who they wanted taken care of when the time came. They could do it now if they wished. If not, the moment he laid eyes on the man, he would know who the target was. It was how it worked in the past.

An image began to shimmer upon the inside of his closed eyelids. Julian caught his breath. What was so different about this man that the lords were choosing to show him now and not later? He waited as the outline of a man took shape. The figure stood outside a shop with a bag in hand. He was unassuming in nature, not distinctive or worth noticing from the outside. So why him?

The image continued to grow in clarity, the haze if the man’s surroundings peeling away. He was outside the grocer’s on one of the few streets that retained active commerce. In a manner that proclaimed he carried no heavy weight, the man moved down the road to an alleyway. It was one of the many narrow side streets that ran throughout the city. Normally, they were not safe places to be yet the man’s demeanor remained unbothered. With complete confidence he walked partway down the alley then stopped. A shadow stirred to his side and his hand reached into his shopping bag.

Julian felt his heart begin to race. A sick feeling festered in his gut.

A wrapped sandwich was drawn from the bag and then held out. The shadow—another man—reached for it, bowing once before scuttling back into the dark. The man moved on.

No relief came as the image faded from his vision. The target the lords picked out was not a criminal. He was not creating chaos or a political movement that could threaten anyone. Instead, this man was chosen because he was doing good and to cause his death would be an extra burden. He was picked because of him.

Julian felt his eyebrows pinch together and his lips seal into a thin line. He could not give the lords any more satisfaction than they already got from showing him this. The whole reason they gave him the vision now was because they wanted a reaction. He forced himself to relax his features and exhale.

The air snapped about him. The droplets of rain doubled in size. Around Julian the pressure grew. They were trying to get to him, to break him, but he could not give in. Even just that thought seemed to be felt by them for a wave of cold water came hurtling across the dock. Julian struggled to keep his feet stable. He would not give in.

Lightning lit the sky. Thunder boomed. The clothes he wore tripled in weight as water streamed from on high and soaked everything beneath his long leather coat. Beneath the onslaught he sputtered, arms shaking, his skin prickling. To scream would do no good, to fight would be useless.

In a heap he sank to the dock. With his arms clasped behind his neck and elbows to his ears, he bowed his forehead to the boards to wait it out. Think of nothing, he told himself. Be empty, be still. They will tire of this.

And they did, for his silence gave them no pleasure.

At length, the pressure pulled back. The winds died down. Beneath the dock the water stilled while above him the rain gave way to a clear, cloudless sky.

Then the presence of the lords vanished.

Julian flopped back on the dock like a soaked blanket. The reality that he was currently bound to a physical form meant he could experience fatigue. It wasn’t enough to prevent him from accomplishing anything but it royally sucked.

He forced himself to sit up then glanced at the rivers running from his clothes. The fact that the lords insisted on affecting the weather yet refused to do anything about his attire just made him mad. They enjoyed toying with him. This whole mission was solely to piss him off. It was hard to imagine that he too once sat where they were yet was now bound to serve them. It made every insult they sent sting worse than a thousand of the most venomous creatures found on this planet.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. Some of the things he’d been forced to do hurt more, which was the point.

He climbed to his feet, thundering along the dock as water squished from his boots. As the long-standing voice of reason among the lords, his ousting meant he now had to carry out all of the deeds he once stood in opposition to. It was a cruel form of “just” punishment and he loathed every second. But his fate would not be decided today… not unless he chose to disobey the directive.

He could do it. The lords couldn’t actually kill him. But they could get close and they could make these tasks a thousand times more costly if they desired. They could require more lives. It was costly to take a life and each one he took ate away at his soul. If he endured it too many times he might just become like the lords that forced him out. He might begin to enjoy the stripping away of himself so that only hate and judgment remained. The idea of such a life was, to him, worse than death.

So, for now, he endured the punishment as best he could. He tried not to let his irritation show. He tried to perform the required tasks with the least amount of pain possible, assisting the affected families as best he could. It was a loosing battle. But if he could hang on long enough to be reinstated, if those still loyal to him could find a way to get his sentence reversed, then he could regain his seat among the lords and end their terrible domination.

Until then he had little choice but to continue as best he could. He had to press on, to complete the tasks that required the least amount of sacrifice, even though it would rip another part of his soul to do so.