Mark Newton - The Book of Transformations

‘No, I guess I don’t.’ Warkur stood to leave, his mannerisms full of uncertainty. He inched towards the door. ‘Fulcrom, don’t be foolish — just think about it, yeah?’

‘Let me get this clear: you’re threatening me with dismissal, because of my relationship with Lan, and what you don’t like about her is that she does not fit into your neat little view of the world?’

‘It isn’t like that, and you know it. It’s about perception, it’s about the law.’

‘The law’, Fulcrom growled, ‘says nothing about a situation like this.’

‘They’re saying once you’re a man, you’re always a man no matter what cultists say. That means you’ll be drawn into this. Get out of it while you can.’

‘You’re right — I’ll get out of it,’ Fulcrom said, sliding back his chair. He rummaged around his neck to unhook his medallion and sent it clattering across the floor by Warkur’s feet.

‘What’re you doing, Fulcrom? Don’t be a fool.’

Fulcrom gathered his cloak and bundled a few items in a satchel while Warkur assaulted him with trite reasons as to why he should reconsider this move.

‘You’ll regret it,’ Warkur concluded.

‘No,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘All I’ll ever regret is working with people I no longer have faith in. It’s been a pleasure, sir.’

Fulcrom offered his hand, but Warkur merely gave him another world-weary look. ‘Fulcrom, you’re our best investigator.’

‘Will you get the others to reconsider their views? As my superior, will you help to find clarity in our legal system?’

‘Those things can take years…’

‘Will you?’

Warkur sighed and shook his head. ‘The others, they’ve dug up old Jorsalir texts about the souls of men and women… I don’t think it could ever happen.’ He stared at the floor, and Fulcrom pushed past him, through the old, dusty hallway, past the offices of the other investigators and past the receptionist, Ghale, who was staring dreamily over her desk at some other rumel, and he headed right out of the door, past the guards and down the steps into the snow, where he wondered just what the hell he was going to do.

Tired and relieved, Lan strolled back with Ulryk out of the library, down the main steps and into the beautiful courtyard. It was daylight, though she didn’t know which day it was, and the snow had just ceased, leaving a light dusting that had yet to be absorbed into the warmth of the buildings, be cleared by cultists or trodden into mush.

Ulryk hugged his books in his satchel while Lan was watchful, concerned for his protection. It wasn’t long until someone called out to her, the words echoing around the stone. ‘Hey, Lan! You’re Lan, one of those Knights, right?’

‘Yes!’ she shouted back, trying to find the person speaking.

‘You fucking freak, man-woman!’ the voice called. ‘We know about you now. We’ve seen the truth. You’re disgusting.’

Like a bolt through the heart.

Her world ready to implode, Lan spun round to see three middle-aged men in thick coats, one of whom was shaking daggers from his sleeves.

‘What the-?’

‘I am assuming this recognition is not always a good thing?’ Ulryk cautioned.

The three men moved closer, continuing with their obscenities. She began to shake. She could feel her heart beating at an incredible rate, suddenly bringing her to a state of alertness. She closed her eyes and blocked their words, then located her powers once again.

Opening her eyes at the sound of feet scuffing stone, she saw one of them — a heavily built man with long hair — run at her, a long blade in his hands. She lunged back and allowed him to fall forwards. The other two, skinnier, followed suit, attacking simultaneously. She side-stepped, air-stepped and stepped over them, their knives narrowly missing her feet.

‘Get down, weird bitch,’ one snarled.

‘Man-woman!’

She landed hard, spun, and realized she had had quite enough of this. She ran at them — burst into an absurdly quick sprint — shouldered the thickset one and sent him tumbling over on the cobbles, cracking his head. The other two came at her then, viciously swiping this way and that. She grabbed one arm whilst shoving her boot in the other’s stomach — and while he buckled over, muttering ‘Certainly fights like a man’, she broke the arm she was holding over her knee, sending his blade skittering across the ground.

Then a blow to the back of his knees sent him face-first into the stone.

The final assailant regarded her with such an expression of disgust she was taken aback. How could anyone look at her like that?

You’re not a monster, she reminded herself. People like him are.

He tried one final attempt to lash out, but she jump-kicked him, sending him tripping over the bodies on the floor — not dead, but certainly out of action.

Ulryk stared at her in surprise, but never questioned her. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We should find Fulcrom.’

And maybe I can find out just what the hell I’ve missed.

*

Lan entered the Inquisition headquarters but was blocked at the front desk. Guards asked her — politely but with caution — to wait.

The black-skinned rumel called Warkur headed out to meet her, his face cracked with stress, his tail wafting about with agitation. She knew something was wrong when he tried to get her to step into his office.

‘Is it Fulcrom?’ she asked. ‘Is he dead?’

Warkur laughed nervously, eyeing the priest, the guards behind, never seeming to look her in the eye. ‘Nah, Fulcrom’s not dead. But he’s no longer part of the Inquisition.’

‘What?’ she asked. Ulryk’s peaceful face could offer nothing.

‘He quit.’

‘Why?’

Warkur reached into his pocket and gave her a crumpled-up copy of the People’s Observer, and thrust it at her. When she took it he put his hands in his pockets and waited for her reaction.

Lan read it and stood there shocked. More than once she opened her mouth as if to say something, but couldn’t. There were bad things about Tane and Vuldon, too, but she couldn’t help but think of her own problems the most. ‘I… I-’

‘You can’t believe it,’ Warkur said. ‘I get it.’

‘But why did Fulcrom quit?’ she asked, wary now of the scene presenting itself: the presence of several investigators and aides, the bulky looking guards looming ever closer.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Warkur said. ‘What matters is that you get yourself back to those cultists who gave you a bunch of powers you don’t deserve.’

Her thoughts connected quickly: she was exposed and she was to be stripped of her position in the Knights, but Ulryk seemed a step ahead: he was chanting something, slowly, the words seeming to hang in the air. Suddenly the gathered throng on one side began to grip their ears as if hearing a deafening noise, and some began to scream.

Ulryk, still chanting, tugged at her sleeve and pulled her away and out of the building.

*

They found Fulcrom in his apartment, and when he opened the door Lan buried herself in his chest, almost in tears. He held her there for a moment, while Ulryk lingered without comment in the doorway.

‘We went to the Inquisition but they said you quit,’ she said, as he guided them into his home.

Fulcrom turned to Ulryk, eagerly asking, ‘Did you get it — did you find the book?’

Ulryk patted his satchel.

‘Good.’

Lan looked around the room. Everything was in boxes, his clothes, his personal items, and paintings were off their hooks. ‘Were you planning on running?’ Lan asked.

‘Not exactly, no. I was going to put all this in storage,’ he gestured around the room, ‘but I have a suspicion I’ll be a wanted man, so it’s-’