“What will you say to the damned? To the legion of weary and wicked? What will you say to those trailing along— to the faint ember of hope in their heart? What will you say?” A ruddy faced woman stared into the throng of faces. “What do you say?” she said pointing at Arkes. Bad move, if she asked me. But no one asks me. Things would go a mite smoother if they did.

“Go fuck yourself” Arkes snarled. “I didn’t damn them— but I’ll be a ready judge if you point that finger at me one more time.” The crowd tensed as the woman struggled to contain her bafflement followed by her own fury.

Those ruddy cheeks turned into a harpy’s mask as she spat at Arkes. Once again, a bad move. Once again, a bloody disaster. Arkes surged through the crowd to grab the women’s finger and snapped it back. She screamed like a stuck hog as he went to work on her knees. Two quick kicks to her fragile caps and the would-be prognosticator laid in the churned mud. Everyone took several steps back from the pair. None daring to get within reach of that temperamental monster.

Should have waited until the crowd thinned a little, I thought. But decisive action and waiting weren’t playmates in Arkes’ world— something I regretted every half month.

***

The years spill out like grain from loose bags. Seconds lost to minutes lost to days. If you don’t stop to count them— you don’t realize the value of what’s slipping away. Time. More precious than gold and infinitely harder to find or make. It’s what I would come to rue from my association with Arkes. The time I had lost for it and the blood gained. A paltry trade— but the only available to a begotten son of Vajllen Red Star.