Those Human Hungers

Prologue

 

“Can you help me find Alexia Zhafaria?”

The words fell sullenly from my soul, if not from my lips. I have heard it said that Alagwayic monks sometimes chant their sacred scriptures for days on end. If the repetition of my own mantra persisted for long enough, perhaps I too would achieve enlightenment.

So tired was I of the question that I almost missed the answer. A quick darting of the eyes, a slight furrowing of the brow. The fog of apathy that had long settled over me abruptly evaporated, burned away by the intensity of my attention.
I was in a smelly dockworkers’ pub, seated across from two men. They were both dressed in worn wool shirts and trousers, their dripping wax canvas capes draped over the backs of their chairs.

It was the one on my right whose expression had quickened. About my age, but untempered. A boy, for all that he possessed a man’s body and strength.

Not so his senior companion. Though unprepossessing, with a balding pate and a shallow chin, there was a peculiar stillness to the old man’s face that was distinctly unpleasant to gaze upon.

“Zhafaria? Of the Unnatural Philosophers? Do we look like the kind of people she would associate with?”
His cultured accent belayed both his clothing and his protestation.

“I heard there was a gathering here, a couple days ago.”

“A gathering?”

“You know…” I leaned forward, eyes darting furtively, “a Unity meeting. I hear she’s joined up.”

He matched my conspiratorial pose, our eyes less than a foot apart. “That’s a dangerous word to be bandying about. Kaspoko agents 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.”

“Fancy. Doesn’t explain why you’re looking for Zhafaria.”

“I want to write her biography.”

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

“Why? Because she’s Alexia Zhafaria! She’s probably the most famous woman in Narik!” After a moment’s pause, I ladled on a healthy dose of self-interest. “An exclusive piece on her would make my career.”

“Only fools conflate fame and infamy. She is a wanted criminal. Surely there are safer ways to make a name for yourself.”

“Only if I seek a lesser name.

He sighed. “There is little more foolish then the pursuit of greatness for its own sake. But I can help you.”

“You know where I can find her?”

“I’m here to take you to her.”

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

He smiled, his pallid eyes predatory. “Your persistence has paid off, Kazimir. She, and the Unity, have decided to grant you the interview you so desperately seek.”

I considered making a break for it. But we’d known this might happen. The Unity of Wills was unlikely to let a stranger such as myself in without proper precaution. Like the demigod Jeno I needed to blindly enter the pit of snakes.

“Well marvelous! Lead me to her.”

“One thing, first.” The old 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. “No?”

“It’s a kill capsule. Filled with poison. I have been informed by a compatriot that you are a deepwalker. If you deepwalk with this in your stomach you’re dead in an hour. You’ll need to swallow it before we take you to meet Alexia.

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

“If you want to meet Zhafaria.”

I held my hesitation a moment longer, then swallowed the pill. It slid down my throat, a cold and lethal lump. I could only pray it was not of shoddy craftsmanship.

“Now, we are 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.” The old man picked up his cane and pushed himself to his feet.

I did as instructed, shadowed uncomfortably closely by the bulky youth. The cool evening air washed over me as we pushed through the door. The rain had stopped, and the last rays of evening shone over the snow-capped mountain peaks, piercing the industrial fog that hung over the southern bank. The Yesamine flowed placidly by, its surface glistening with factory offal.

As soon as I stepped outside, I sensed another deepwalker. A lean woman walked up to us purposefully, dressed in dark gambeson and the rather grandiloquent affection of a bandoleer lined with bone knives. The Unity of Wills must be more desperate then I’d though if it relied on such posturing youths.

“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 discern nothing else useful. 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, revealing my new boudoir. It had a bed, but 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 smelling of dust.

“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.”

He departed, and I was left to sit on a lumpy cot and watch my two guards play cards. With a forlorn sigh, I lay down for an uncomfortable sleep.

I was awoken by the sound of metal on metal. The old man stood at the door, rattling a spoon against the bars.

“Breakfast.”

I stretched, my back aching from the uncomfortable bed, before accepting the proffered bowl of  gruel.

“I’ll take you to meet Alexia once you’re finished.”

One unappetizing meal and a pat down later, I was led to a door guarded by a man who looked burly and surely in equal measure.

“Here’s the journalist.”

The guard nodded and pulled the door open.

“I’ve brought Kazimir.” The old man called.

“Thank you Galen. Send him in. Irus, please wait outside.

The guard gave a disapproving grunt.

“He’s been searched. If he attacks me with his bare hands, I’ll call for you.”

The guard shrugged and motioned for me to enter. I stepped through the door and beheld the subject of my 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 gray 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. The popular papers called her mannish, but seeing her in person I found myself unable to agree. She certainly would never have been the epitome of Narikian beauty, but even at her advanced age she radiated strength. She reminded me of a fertility goddess statue liberated from some distant jungle tribe I’d seen in a superior’s private art collection. Rough, raw, a shape that had been latent in the stone.

This impression may have sprung less readily to mind if it were not for her bizarre choices in accessorization. A series of disconcerting insectile 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 thing 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 cheese, 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 not expecting to be kidnapped.” I flashed her my most charming smile, and was pleasantly surprised to see a faint blush appear on her cheeks. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

She smiled in return, her teeth straight but tobacco brown, and gestured towards the seat opposite her. “Sit. Tell me why you have been searching for me so diligently.”

“Well,” I said as I took my place, “as I told your man yesterday, I want to write your biography. Surely that is why you had me brought here.”

She grimaced. “I do not have sufficient authority amongst the Unity to order your seizure, only to request it. But yes, I was intrigued. Perhaps a bit puzzled also. My story is well known in Narik. There’s even that horrid play which casts me as the villain.”

“There is a lot of propaganda about your life. Alexia Zhafaria, member of the Unnatural Philosophers, enemy of the state and eater of children. I think the public has the right to know your side of the story.”

She took a draw of the cigarillo. “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 seem fame, but you’ll most likely receive a jail cell.”

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

She rolled her eyes. “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 have nicer quarters?”

She laughed. “Soft boy. Your accommodations are little different from mine. I can probably get you moved out of the holding cell, but they’ll have you guarded at all times.” I suppressed my irritation at her condensing tone as she continued. “Shall we begin immediately? I have little else to occupy my time, so I welcome the distraction.” She held out her hand and we shook. Her fingers were calloused, her grip firm.

“Irus!” She called.

The door creaked open.

“Please send for writing supplies.”

A few minutes later, pen, paper and inkpot close at hand, I nodded to Alexia. “I am ready to begin  when you are.”

She nodded, her brows knit and fingers steepled contemplatively. A silence settled over us. I tried to shake off a sudden intense awareness of my own heartbeat as I waited, pen poised. I felt a scribe before the Oracle, awaiting her divine proclamations.

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