Unnatural Philosophy

Prologue

 

“Can you help me find Alexia Zhafaria.”

The words fell from my lips like an Alagwayic mantra, their familiar shape embossed into my soul as if by the drum of a printing press. So route was the question that I almost missed the answer. A quick darting of the eyes, a slight furrowing of the brow. My pulse quickened, but I held down my excitement. It wouldn’t do to to appear too perceptive.

I was in a smelly dockworkers’ pub, seated across from two men. They were both dressed in worn wool shirts and trousers, their dripping capes draped over the backs of their chairs. It was the one on my right whose expression had quickened. He looked about my age, but he struck me as untempered. A boy, for all he possessed the physical trappings of a man.

Not so his companion. Though unprepossessing in stature, the man’s face had such a hardness to it that it may as well have been carved from marble, and his arms and shoulders did nothing to negate my geological allusion.

The miniature mountain spat on the floor, and his voice tumbled over me like an avalanche. “Zhafaria? You think we know the Left Scalpel? Are you wrong in the head?”

Sometimes one must pay for their supper with a song and dance. “I know my question is strange. It’s just… I heard there was a gathering here, a couple days ago.”

“A gathering.” He repeated, the word simultaneously a question and a threat.

“You know…” I leaned forward, eyes darting furtively. “A Unity meeting. I heard she’s joined up with them.”

He matched my conspiratorial pose, our faces less than a foot apart.

“You’re asking dangerous questions. Pokes are everywhere these days. Hard to know who you can trust.”

“I’m not a spook!” I hissed. “I’m a reporter! I work for the Koutso Efimerida.”

“Sounds fancy. Doesn’t explain why you’re down here asking questions.”

“I want to write her biography.”

The bantam brute leaned back, folding his arms. “Why?”

“Why? Because she’s Alexia Zhafaria! She’s probably the most famous women in Kyklos!”

He grimaced. “Ever youth seek the sun. But I can help you.”

“You know where I can find her?”

“I’m here to bring you to her.”

My eagerness shriveled like an olive in early frost. This wasn’t a chance encounter, it was a setup. “Right now? It’s rather late, isn’t it?”

He smiled, his beady eyes predatory. “Your persistence has paid off, Kazimir. The Unity have agreed to grant you the interview you so desperately seek.”

My body clenched, urging me to flee. I pushed the instinct down, imagining the ridicule I would face if I failed to capitalize on this opportunity. Like the demigod Jeno, I would blindly enter the pit of snakes.

“Well marvelous! Lead on, friend.”

“One thing, first.” The man reached into his breast pocket and placed a small metal capsule on the table in front of me. “Do you know what this is?”

My heart sunk further, but I feigned ignorance. “No?” 

“It’s a kill capsule. Filled with poison. I was informed by a comrade that you’re a deepwalker. If you deepwalk with this in your stomach, you’re dead in less than an hour. I need you to swallow it.”

I tentatively picked up the pill and rolled it in my hands, covertly feeling for imperfections in the metal. “Is this really necessary?”

“If you want to meet Zhafaria.”

I held onto hesitation a moment longer, then swallowed the pill. It slid down my throat, a cold and lethal lump. I could only pray to Sysperos that it was of sound craftsmanship.

My stout interlocutor pushed himself to his feet. “Now. We’re going to stand and go outside. We have a wagon waiting. You will walk slowly, and when we get to the wagon you will be blindfolded. Don’t make any sudden movements.”

I did as instructed, shadowed closely by the twitchy youth. The cold evening air washed over me as I pushed through the door. The rain had stopped, and the last rays of evening sun shone over the southern bank. The Yesamine flowed placidly by, its surface glistening with factory offal.

As soon as I stepped outside, I felt a familiar twisting of the soul. Another deepwalker stalked up to us. She was a lean women with short brown hair, pretty in an athletic way, with angular features that suggested strong Alagway heritage. She was dressed in dark military gambeson, with deepwalker goggles on her forehead, and the rather grandiloquent affection of a bandoleer lined with bone knives. The Unity of Wills must be desperate for bodies if it needed to rely on saplings such as these.

“Watch him, Erma. I’ll get the blindfold on. Brig, grab the wagon.”

We rode in silence. I could just see the moon through my blindfold, but could make out nothing else of use. A chill mountain wind cut through my coat. I sought tranquility in the breath, silently chanting the Prayer of the Inevitable to quell the trembling of my spirit. The Depths had been Walked. Whether it was Zhafaria or an unmarked grave that awaited me, my hunt was finally over.

Eventually, the wagon stopped. I was led into a building and up a flight of stairs before the blindfold was finally pulled away to reveal my new boudoir. It had a bed, and that was about all that could be said for it. There wasn’t even a proper door, only bars. The walls were cracked plaster, the air unpleasantly cool and musty.

“I thought you were taking me to meet Zhafaria.” I said tremulously. “You can’t hold me here!”

“It’s late. You’ll meet her in the morning. Don’t worry, Erma and Brig will keep you company.”

The squat strongman departed, and I was left to sit on a lumpy cot under the watchful eyes of my two guards. With a forlorn sigh, I lay down for an uncomfortable sleep.

I was awoken the next morning by the ringing of metal. Erma stood at the doorway, tapping the handle of one of her bone knives against the bars.

“Breakfast.

I stretched, my back aching from the uncomfortable bed, before accepting the proffered bowl of gruel. It was cut with sawdust, a dish I had hoped never to experience again. She also handed me a new kill capsule, which I swallowed reluctantly.

“What happened to ol’ burly and surely?”

“Irus runs this cell. I’ll be in charge of you from here on out.”

I looked at her more closely. In the light of day I could now see that she was missing most of an ear. Perhaps she wasn’t as green as I had initially thought.

“Pity. I’ll miss his gruff charm.”

She gave me a stern glare. “Irus is a loyal comrade of the Unity, and I would ask you not speak ill of him.”

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “Apologies. So, when am I to meet Alexia?”

“I’m to take you to her once you’re finished eating.”

After patting me down for weapons, Erma led me down the hallway. I covertly catalogued our surroundings as we walked. The walls were covered in flaking plaster, while the wooden floors creaked and groaned with every step. My bet was that we were in an abandoned building suborned by the Unity as a safe-house.

We arrived at a door. Brig stood outside of it, yawning profusely. I could feel the pressure of another deepwalker behind him. I covertly tried to tidy my hair while wishing I had a mirror.

“Morning Brig. I’ll take over while they’re both inside.” Erma knocked on the door as Brig shambled off. “Madam, I’ve brought the journalist.”

“Send him in.”

Erma opened the door. I stepped through, and beheld the subject of my year-long quest.

She was sitting at a small table puffing a long thin cigarillo. Dark circles under her eyes, but a disconcertingly piercing gaze. After several long moments, I tore myself from their haunted depths to look the rest of her over.

Spiky grey hair that looked like it hadn’t been properly cut in months. A missing finger on her right hand, an old scar across one cheek. Tall, broad shouldered, though thinner than her portrait. The popular papers called her mannish, but seeing her in person I found myself unable to agree. She reminded me of a fertility goddess statue I’d seen in a superior’s private art collection: rough-hewn, yet infused with a certain primal dignity.

This comparison may have sprung less readily to mind if it were not for her bizarre choices in accessorization. A series of disconcerting hieroglyphics ran up her left arm and under her military leather shirt, reemerging from her collar to climb her neck and terminating in a claw-like pictograph cradling her left eye. On a string around her neck hung thin wooden charms engraved with intricate blocky patterns.

Her arthritic fingers tapped on the table. A jug of wine and two drinking bowls were set upon it alongside a small plate with dates and figs, a surprisingly inviting display given the inhospitable reception I’d received thus far.

“Hello Kazimir.” Her voice was low, with an undertone of smoker’s gravel. “I have not been pursued so relentlessly by a young man in many years. You are impressively tenacious.”

“Thank you, though, I admit, I was a bit surprised by the abduction.” I flashed her my most charming smile, and was pleased to see a faint blush appear on her cheek. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

She smiled in return. “Sit. Tell me why you have so diligently sought out this old woman.”

“Well,” I said as I sat down across from her, “as I told your man yesterday, I want to write your biography. Surely that is why you had me brought here.”

She grimaced. “Your seizure was not my call. I admit, though, I was intrigued when I heard reports of you. Perhaps a bit puzzled as well. My story is well known in Kyklos. There’s even that horrid play written by Paragido.”

“There is a lot of propaganda about your life. Alexia Zhafaria. Left Scalpel of the Unnatural Philosophers, traitor to the state, deviant and eater of children. I think the polis has the right to know your side of the story.”

She took a pull of her cigarillo, then exhaled the pungent smoke. “And you’re the man to write it?”

“It’s not like you’re Elkysia, courted by both men and gods. I appear to be your only suitor.”

“You must know there will be repercussions. You seek fame, but you’ll most likely receive a jail cell - one far worse then you currently occupy.”

“I have connections. Worst comes to worst, I’ll lay low for a few years.”

She shook her head. “The optimism of youth. If you are to write my biography, I’m afraid you will be confined for the duration of your visit.”

“I can work with that. But, is it possible for me to be moved to more hospitable quarters?”

She laughed. “Soft boy. Your accommodation are little different from my own. But, I can probably have you moved out of the holding cell.” I suppressed my irritation at her condescension as she continued. “Are you prepared to start immediately? I have little else to occupy my time, so I welcome the distraction.”

“Yes, certainly.”

She held out her hand and we shook. Her fingers were calloused and her grip firm.

“Erma!” She called.

The door creaked open. “Yes?”

“Please send for writing supplies.”

A few minutes later, pen, paper, and inkpot close to hand, I nodded to Alexia. “Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, her brows knit and fingers steepled contemplatively. A portentous silence settled over us. I sat, pen poised, blood pounding. I felt a scribe before an oracle, awaiting divine proclamation.

Finally, Alexia broke the silence. “I remember, one summer when I was eleven, investigating the inner workings of worms…”.