B
its quickly lengthened into breaks. Those breaks slowly began to tug at the sun, drawing it ever closer towards the earth. And though the sun progressed steadily under the careful and exact ministrations of time’s constancy, Mathias found himself no closer to his vague mark. Already the crimson bloom of the bloodlights began to compete with the sunglow of the late evening, yet light or no, there was little to be found in the way of illumination when it came to the mysterious woman he sought.He hadn’t expected much to come from the description of “a short woman with brownish blonde hair”, and it turned out he’d been correct in doing so. Though the general paranoia that had settled over the city in the wake of the discovery of the creepborne had been fierce in the Gleam and those areas nearest to it, the farther he wandered, searching through the streets and catching whoever might be passing by with questions and steady eyes, the more people there were out and about; of those, very few seemed to be particularly concerned with what had happened.
Rumours were called “rumours” and not “facts” for a reason, they said.
The collective ignorance of the fearful was a powerful thing. It allowed the people of Quacia some semblance of peace and security in a world where there truly was little of it. They created their own, allowing themselves to lie to one another to protect one another. However paradoxical a situation it might have seemed, it was, if nothing else, effective. Unfortunately, where panic sharpened senses, complacency was quick to dull them.
“Chasin’ after a pretty little tail, eh?” A hearty guffaw followed the supposition. “Might wanna hang from yer ankles a good arc or more then, hey, boyo?”
Most had been about as helpful as the man, Glauco, was currently being – some less so. Politely chuckling, Mathias shrugged, though he smiled it didn’t reach the relentlessly bright curiosity in his eye. “She is about my height, I think. Medium length hair, somewhere between blonde and brunette?” He pushed his voice up, intoning hope that was entirely superficial but seemed to ring true enough in the other man’s hairy ears.
“Well, I don’t wanna keep a proper gent from getting what ye want.” There was some resignation in his voice. Clearly, he wasn’t so thick as to miss that his jests hadn’t hit home but just enough to believe Mathias earnest in his request. “I can’t promise it’s the one yer after, but I did see a lass with an empty square way back thataway earlier on this trial.” He shoved a thumb over his shoulder, “Near Heitor’s-“ Pausing, Glauco frowned. “Yer not from around here, huh?”
By the man’s manner along, it seemed he knew something – something which was far much more than the nothing he had been met with for the better half of the trial. Raising a brow, clearly displaying his interested, Mathias nodded. “I am familiar enough with the area.”
“Ye know Heitor’s Tower?”
Mathias took a moment to consider, running through the mental maps of the city he’d accumulated over the arcs of his life travelling through its twisted streets. He certainly didn’t recognize the name, but he was well aware of a crumbling structure about a half-break’s time in the direction Glauco had indicated. “The dilapidated belfry with the wrought iron windows?”
“The very same!” The man clapped Mathias on the shoulder, grinning wide and somewhat prideful. “It were there I saw her.” He hesitated for a moment then, chest falling and eyes darkening some. “She went in, didn’t come out.”
Blinking three times in rapid succession, Mathias turned his smile into a thoughtful frown. It was always better to telegraph the proper emotion of a question before asking it, especially with those who tended towards amicable. “Is that… common?”
“Not even a little.” It didn’t seem to be a joke, and Glauco’s smile had faded. “I dunno what she is to ye, but just… be careful if yer gonna head in there. Whole place is…” He shrugged. “Just watch out, hey?”
It was never a good sign when one told another to exercise caution. It was even less so in Quacia. Lighting his own features to offer a reassuring curve to his lips, Mathias nodded. “I will, thank you.”
T
all, dark, and looming, Heitor’s Tower proved to be just as foreboding as the tales about it suggested. Before Glauco had allowed him to depart, he’d been sure to inform Mathias of the what and who and supposed when. None of it had proven to be particularly uplifting, as far as legends went, but he never refused being properly armed with knowledge. At the very least, he’d know what killed him.Sometime during the Corpse King’s reign, the Theocratum elected to erect a spire that would serve as a symbol to the people that they were being watched over. There, what fact there was ended and, as most legends were wont to be subjected to, speculation began. Most seemed to agree, by Glauco’s account, that the head of the Tribunal that oversaw the tower’s construction was a name named Heitor - there seemed to be some long-lived argument over whether Heitor had been a Ferro or a Ferreira, though Mathias hadn’t found it important either way.
It was constructed entirely by “volunteers”, those seeking reprieve from the Theocratum’s strict policies, and, upon its completion, nearly every single one of them vanished. Though some doubted all of them had been purged as the Theocratum was so wont to do during those times, the legend of the Tower suggested that they were conscripted to continue their work beneath the finished structure, working until they fell, digging their own mass grave.
Over the centuries, plenty of people disappeared into the Tower, and very few ever returned. Those that did were changed: scarred and distant and empty. As if someone had reached inside of them and pulled out a portion of their soul, they wandered useless and pathetic, most dying shortly after. When the Heaps rebelled, the Tower was not spared their wrath. It was raided, but there was nothing unusual to be found within, much to the people’s collective chagrin.
Cursed as it was, the Tower slowly fell into disrepair. The Theocratum had no real use for it any longer, not which the shift in power and the rise of the Vicemen. The Heaps found it eerie, perhaps even more so with no Tribunal attached to it. As it crumbled, its presence tumbling down upon the broken stones of the street about it one brick at a time, the people slowly began to take interest once more.
And once more they began to disappear.
Thus, Heitor’s Tower’s legacy was rekindled. The young men and women of the area used the Tower as a rite of passage – a whole night within its walls – wherein at least one if not more of all who undergo the childish test are never seen again. Like all stories and tales of horror, the Tower held a sort of magic over the people – though terrible, it was theirs, and theirs to do with as they pleased. Though the families of those lost to the Tower’s clutches certainly wanted to rid the city of the wretched place, they were few. So, it remained.
While the air itself felt heavier about the Tower’s entrance as Mathias pushed the ancient gate open to allow him to pass through, there was no scent of ether in the air. Whatever mysterious forces plagued the Tower, they were, at least, not currently active if they were within one of the known domains.
He wasn’t certain whether it was more appropriate to be relieved or nervous, though he felt neither as he passed under the wide arch of the Tower’s gaping mouth. It was very clearly an old building, even if it hadn’t been in such a state of disrepair. The stonemasonry was exquisite – the quality of the stone alone was quite good and would have been absurdly expensive to construct in the present day. Though he had no doubt it was quite an extravagant project in any era.
The ground floor was spacious, though it seemed somewhat cramped due to the heaps of refuse that had collected along the walls, spilling out toward the centre and creeping their way up the winding spiral stairwell that led upward twice round before disappearing into the floor above. From what he could tell, gauging the distance between where he stood and ceiling above in tandem with the crumbling exterior, there were about two floors left – the second being mostly open to the elements and more a glorified roof than anything else. How high it might have reached in its prime he had no idea – nor had Glauco for that matter.
Most of the ground floor’s original walls still remained intact, and, while the doors – presumably wood – had long since been looted, the rooms themselves remained in relatively good condition. From where he stood, there were seven openings – some of the rooms incredibly small while others were far larger – and yet, with a cursory glance over the interior itself, he could find no signs of the space having disturbed at all. The detritus of the collective centuries of disuse were coated in ample layering of dust, and the while the floor bore plenty of footprints, they were numerous enough that it might as well have been a dry street in Saun. It seemed the rumors of child continuing to brave the dangers of the Tower were true enough. Still, it was as close a lead as any – the chances of Glauco sending him into the Tower as a joke were, maybe, significantly higher than those of him having told the truth, but even if there was a small chance, it was more than he’d had yet.
With a brief, sharp exhale through his nose, Mathias set to work.
