Chapter 238 - The Bleakrows

Jiran’s thoughts raced to wrap around Markhiss’ revelation, “Why would Silence and the Voice work together? Emperors Palo and Loro have enough sway within the empire that even the other emperors don’t dare cross them. What do they stand to gain?”

Markhiss shook his head, using the movement to double check their surroundings, “This has nothing to do with power. For as long as there has been a Voice, there have been the Silent Listeners. What the church cannot accomplish openly, Silence manages in secret.”

“Like what? What could be so important they need an entire criminal organization hidden away across the empire?”

Markhiss inched closer, speaking in hushed tones, “Largely, their focus has been the collection of test subjects for the ascendancy program. Our first fateful encounter was merely a side project. I was tasked with luring Emperor Dominus away from Cruex so another group could steal his key to the Ender’s Vault. As for their ultimate goal, I couldn't say, but there’s a good chance it's related to their recent overt movements.”

“Back up. What’s the ascendancy program?”

Expecting the question, Markhiss launched into an explanation, “The church locates vulnerable villages, and Silence ensures they fall due to natural factors. Only the children are spared. They’re rounded up and transported until a limb of the church ‘stumbles’ upon them, rescuing them from a most miserable fate. I’ve little intel on what happens to them after that.”

Jiran’s thoughts ground to a halt, a searing coal of disgusted rage burrowing into the center of his brain. Mana leaked from his skin, boiling the air, “How many? How many times have you participated in,” Jiran trailed off, his voice a deadly whisper when it returned, “Markhiss, how many innocent children have you kidnapped?”

Markhiss waved his hands furiously, “None! I was merely a mercenary they gave the most suicidal missions. If ever it was imperative the Voice or Silence remain anonymous, they called for me. I refused to capture children,” he gulped, staring into Jiran’s expressionless visor, “N-not that I was above such a task, it simply didn't suit my goals. In hindsight, it was quite fortunate my disposition leaned toward punishing the deceitful, and not preying upon the innocent.”

Jiran’s Remalonian Constitution relentlessly chipped at his anger with waves of soothing calmness. Yet he stubbornly clung to the human side of him that demanded the church pay for what they had done. He understood Markhiss wasn’t directly responsible. Still, the man had admitted he wouldn’t have balked from participating if asked.

It’s like he’s trying to piss me off. Wait, is this a trap?

Expanding his senses, Jiran snapped his focus to the city around them. The nearest guards were several blocks away and showed no signs of approaching, or that they were aware of his existence. Jiran firmly wrapped his emotions in a controlled bundle, hiding them away for later when he met whoever was truly responsible. 

He returned his attention to the once-criminal and any semblance of kindness he’d begun to feel toward the man was gone, replaced by utter indifference, “Did you at least try to stop them?”

“Why would I? I was on the verge of turning wild before you cured me. I was desperate, I did what I had to to survive. So long as I ran suicidal missions for them every few years, Silence kept the Reliquary off my back. Saving even one of those children would have meant my eventual death.”

“Reliquary? Isn’t that the division of the church that puts down ascenders on the verge of madness?” Jiran’s lip curled in disgust, “So, you did their dirty work, and in turn they hid you, in essence, from their own people.”

None the wiser to Jiran’s change in tone, Markhiss continued excitedly, “Precisely! Well, everything changed after meeting you. Knowing they would someday be a threat to you, I killed most of their agents, destroyed their bases, and disrupted as many of their plans as possible. I was not privy to all of their operations, of course, but I learned a great deal recently from those with… loose lips. Such as there being a massive, vitally important operation here, today, in or near Sanctum. Oh, and I freed all the children in the cells that I visited.”

Jiran groaned, wanting nothing more than to massage his forehead in exasperation.

Cured my ass! He’s still completely looney. Why in the Fathers’ names would he save that bit for last? And tacking it on like it hardly matters.

With a voice that sounded aged a decade, Jiran prodded Markhiss for details, “I take it you’re on the way to this vitally important operation?”

Mayalyn told me to take my time, and flying around randomly isn't getting me anywhere quickly. Might as well check it out.

“Not exactly. One of their contacts from the Voice is nearby. I planned to get the details from him, one way or another. If their operation is a threat to you, I’ll do what must be done.”

“Great. Let’s go. If we're lucky, we'll run into the Numbered,” Jiran motioned in the direction Markhiss had been moving previous to their encounter, “Lead on.”

Markhiss paused, completely thunderstruck, “You want to… come with me?”

Jiran nodded resolutely, his bulky suit giving the motion more gravitas than he realized, “Gotta see for myself. Besides, you're just as capable of lying as anyone else these days. I don't think you are, but I'm a paranoid guy. And you skulking around Sanctum at this exact moment is way too suspicious. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“What?!” Markhiss squeaked, though he did begin leading the way with jerky, nervous steps. He looked back, speaking quietly, “Master Jiran, I assure you there is nothing nefarious about my timing! I left the front lines when your army retreated and arrived here with all haste after hearing of this so-called plan. I arrived two days ago and have been waiting for an opportunity to corner Deacon Mathayes ever since. He should be the most lightly guarded tonight. Though with the trail of bodies I’ve been leaving, that may have changed. Regardless, tonight was my best chance.

Trail of bodies? How many has he killed since the last time we met? Do I even want to know? Probably not.

Unnoticing of Jiran’s silent judgment, Markhiss carefully checked an empty street for guards before leading them across. Safely in the shadows of an adjacent alley, he inched his head out to spot down the next street, “What are these Numbered you spoke of?”

Jiran double checked his aura and spun in a slow circle, Mana Omnis piercing the walls and cobbled streets, revealing nobody within range, “The Church has at least four parties of tier nine assassins. They have brands in the shape of numbers.”

Markhiss turned pale and his breath caught. Thick shadows wrapped around him and he jumped toward a nearby rooftop. Jiran followed, the two landing gracefully on slanted tiles without a sound. His guide tried to look in every direction at once, his motions turning a touch frantic, “Tier nine, and four full parties? You're sure? T-that was confirmed to be only a rumor.”

“I've fought them twice now. They're no rumor,” Jiran confirmed.

Markhiss took off toward the slums, each step sending him the length of several homes and shops. His head was on a swivel and he often stopped to check their surroundings before changing their heading randomly, never once ceasing his rambling, “Hmm. Brands in the shape of numbers? Could be a ranking of their individual prowess, or a denotation of the order they joined. There was a chamber who called themselves the Meritanas in the Zorodin period. They used a similar system to mark their slaves. No, that doesn’t make sense. The Perinael? No. Oh! Of course! The Chulanachin Order!”

“The who what now?” Jiran regretted asking before the words finished leaving his mouth.

“Eight hundred years ago—”

Jiran cut him off as they stopped at street level, peering around the corner of a large stone warehouse toward the edge of the slums, “Forgot you used to be a scholar. Now probably isn't the time for a history lesson.” Ahead, through the buildings and ground, he spotted multiple tier seven and eight guards, far more concentrated than in the rest of the city.

Why are the slums so heavily guarded?

“Right. Yes, you are quite correct,” Markhis wrung his hands, the shadows around him growing thicker by the second.

The mana being wasted by what was clearly an aspect surprised Jiran enough to say something, “Don't tell me you're scared?”

“I've recently been cured. My life is mine again for the first time in ages. I’m in no hurry to lose it,” he hissed, ”Our window for abducting the deacon will be short with the time I wasted. It’s only a few more blocks into the bleakrows.”

“Is that what they call the slums here?”

“Slums? The bleakrows is no slums. The most affluent members of the church live here in supposed poverty, having abandoned all worldly desires. That lie is only surface deep,“ Markhiss spat the word, “Underground are their true estates, and they are far more opulent than those ringing the Grandem Papal or Cathedral of Chords.”

“That explains the increased security. What tier is this deacon?”

“Six,” Markhiss frowned into the night, trying to spot what Jiran was seeing.

“Okay. There’s a couple in this direction, and one over there. The rest are seven and eight,” Jiran pointed out each in turn, prompting the furrows in Markhiss’ brow to deepen.

He nodded slightly east from Jiran’s directions, “The deacon should be that way, are you sure?”

“Positive. There’s a lone tier eight over there with a few tier seven guards around.”

“A few? That’s preposterous! A mere deacon wouldn’t have such numbers of high-tier guards,” Markhiss gulped as Jiran simply stared down at him, “R-right. I forgot who I was conversing with for a moment. Please excuse my slip in decorum, Master Jiran.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been wondering about their numbers myself and I’m not surprised they fooled you. Every one of them I’ve seen has been moving as though they’re tier five or six. You mentioned the kidnapped children were test subjects for an ascendancy program? Do you know anything about it beyond the name?”

Markhiss flexed his fingers, rapidly opening and closing them, “Only speculations from those not involved. Most likely, the church was searching for shortcuts, loopholes, and methods to cheat the Voice's strict rules around the acquisition of EXP.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. They must have had some success. Put away your aspect before someone spots you. And here, wear this,” Mana Confluence pulled energy from Jiran’s finger in the form of thick, invisible goop. It rapidly reshaped into a black bodysuit perfectly sized for Markhiss.

Without questioning him, Markhiss shed his aspect and clothes, then climbed into the skintight suit. He ran his fingers along the smooth material while wearing a gobstruck expression, “My aura can barely move, what is this?”

“Keep your aura inside the suit if you can. Let’s go check out that solo tier eight. I have a feeling that’s your man and he’s just been pretending to be tier six like the guards.”

Markhiss gulped, “If that’s the case, I would have been sneaking straight to my death this night.”

Jiran grunted, “And to think I wanted to camp outside and arrive in the morning. If you survive this, you should thank Niya for being picky.”

“I will remember your words, Master Jiran.”

Jiran waved his hand, calling for silence. Markhiss nodded and they advanced down several streets in quick succession, hugging the shadowed walls. Elemental Castigation raised a shell of bending light around them, and Enthralling Touch drained the air of any stray motes of mana they left behind.

Between them and their destination were two tier seven guards holding their spears at attention, alertly gazing into the night yet none the wiser of Markhiss and Jiran’s approach. Behind them, a rickety, single-story shack creaked and groaned in the soft wind, performing a real life miracle by merely holding up its own roof.

Too many patrols, should try to sneak past.

Markhiss moved toward them but Jiran’s hand on his shoulder held him fast. He shook his head, then lifted his chin toward the sky. Markhiss paused, nodding in puzzlement. A minute ticked by before a densoon cloud burst, washing the city in waves of pressure. Jiran pushed Markhiss ahead, and they moved together. With the concentrated aura inside his body clinging to the framework, Jiran half-hovered right between the two guards, then through the open entrance.

The inside was a single room, bare of all but a decaying sheet tossed over a pallet. Markhiss moved to the wall opposite the ‘bed,’ placing a palm against a loose stone on the floor. His other hand cupped his ear and Jiran nodded in understanding. He moved next to Markhiss and ever so gently extended and wrapped his aura around the stone and a nearby latch that he easily spotted with Omnis. The guards showed no signs of noticing the minor intrusions. 

Olive had once told him how little information a non Aahmra-trained ascender received from their aura. Still, Jiran was shocked they could be so oblivious to what was happening within a few meters of them. These were clearly no beasts in an arena, but regular people who had been rushed through the tiers by some unknown means, leaving them little time to master their skills.

He felt the stone click, releasing a slight reverberation that traveled deeper into the ground. The latch popped and he lifted the revealed trapdoor slowly, careful to make as little noise as possible. Even if they were practically blind with their auras, enough noise would force him to harden his own to a degree the guards might actually sense.

Jiran took his time, lifting the metal plate covered in cobblestones one agonizing millimeter at a time. All the while, Elemental Castigation and Armament were poised to deal with the guards if they took notice. With their focus directed outward, they were none the wiser to the skullduggery transpiring at their backs. When the door was open enough to pass through, Jiran stuck it in place by turning the hinges to solid stone with a whisper of Mana Confluence.

They traveled down a set of polished stone steps into the bowels of the undercity. After a short distance, they left the range of the guards auras, passing into a much thicker one. A short hallway with paintings of praying men and women lining the walls led to a thick durable door. Beyond, the tier eight knelt in a supplicating pose, his back to them.

Markhiss and Jiran shared a nod, then Jiran’s aura exploded outward, wrapping around the deacon’s. He kicked the door and it crumpled beneath his boot, coming free from its clasps with a metallic screech. It flew across the room in a twisted heap. The deacon caught it in his aura, tossing it aside like trash.

He stood in a blurr and turned to face them, a welcoming smile on his face, “My dear Mark the Hiss, you’ve finally brought him to me.”