Spire's Spite

Meals of bread and dried fish came to Fritz and the other prisoners sporadically, carried in by gruff, vicious and short tempered gaolers. As the hours wore on more and more people were brought into the cellar. There was no sun to set the time by Fritz could only guess at the actual time passing, though it couldn't be more than a couple of days.

Each time they had added captives to the cell Fritz would cajole, coax and wheedle the men in oil-coats. Bargaining with them for light until finally one of them caved and left Fritz with a new black eye and a bronze lantern hanging on the wall outside the heavy door, shedding a low flickering light through its barred window.

Fritz had settled in to the damp cellar, sitting in companionable silence with his crew. There were near on thirty people crammed in the cellar, that was now starting to get uncomfortably warm with all the heat they radiated. Some of the prisoners waited in silence, but many of the ne’er do wells knew each other in some capacity and congregated in small huddled groups while whispering, forming plans, scheming schemes and cursing their gaolers.

The separate gangs took and held territory in each corner of the cellar while those without such strong ties mingled between them. Even imprisoned as they were they would fight for any advantage, any comfort and any security they could seize.

Steve often glared at Fritz and his crew, his beady brown eyes seemed to probe them for whatever weakness he could pounce on. His rodent-like features screwed into a feral scowl whenever Fritz met his stares with a dull look and a bland smirk. When Fritz kept up the eye contact dismissively Steve would inevitably look away angrily and run his hand over his curly mop of brown hair.

Steve’s gang sat opposite of Fritz's crew and that’s where he liked them, not that he actually liked them. Really, Fritz held no particular love for his fellow street rats, save Bert. And perhaps Jane, Toby and Greg. Although there was always a distance there, like those three didn’t accept him fully. Which didn’t surprise him as he never really opened up to them or told them the full truth of his past as he had with Bert.

Greg had come around sometime after Fritz’s small speech, and was just as surprised as everyone else in his gang that this abduction wasn’t his fault. It was during one of the lulls in whispered conversation that Greg picked up on his favourite pastime these couple of days: blaming Fritz for everything.

“Are we sure Fritz didn’t piss off the Nightshark? Maybe ran his mouth and called him or one of his harem a skulg-rammer or something worse?” Greg asked sceptically.

“Yes that’s right, I strolled right into the harem of the Nightshark. The man who runs the whole underbelly of this sublime, soaked city,” Fritz replied, his voice rife with condescension. “Interrupted whatever it is he does with his harem, and called him a squid-sucking gutter cleaner with all the personality and brains of overcooked porridge.”

“Oh, and then I kicked his favourite dog right in its dumb dog face. Which I would do to you too Greg if I thought it would make you ask less stupid questions, and if you wouldn’t just enjoy it,” Fritz finished in exasperation.

“Don’t worry Fritz, you can find out what happens in a harem when you’re older, better looking, better smelling, and overall less Fritz-y,” Jane mocked. Greg guffawed while Toby snorted along at the jibe.

“Fritz couldn't handle even one girl let alone a harem, and I bet he’d bring Albert along for each either way,” Toby said as he joined in on the teasing.

“Hey! What lady could hope to resist the double deal of Fritz and Bert? Nay what mortal could ever hope to elude the charms, the deliciousness of a Fritzbert sandwich?” Fritz responded to the mocking in false outrage.

Seeing an opportunity to raise the spirits of his crew and dispell the brewing tension in the air, he stood suddenly and spoke to the whole cellar, projecting his voice into the stony corners.

“I’ll have you know if we weren’t so busy meeting our quotas we’d be a romancing maelstrom, the womenfolk of the Sunken Ring would never know another night's unsatisfaction,” he stated, opening his arms and slowly turning, a gesture that addressed the whole room.

“Alas for us! We poor folk that are burdened with both our beauty and our duty, and although the flesh is willing, enduring and as unceasing as the tides. It is an unfortunate reality that as capable as we are, there are but two of us,” Fritz hung his head and clenched his hand to his heart before continuing.

“It is but a limitation of time, not of spirit. There are sadly simply not enough hours in the day or night to please all comers. Worry not dear ladies, we will try! We. Will. Try.” Fritz boasted, channelling a fervent bravado, a sort of manic performance. His head upraised as if challenging the Final Spire and all the Gods themselves.

It was obvious to Fritz that the others were now listening to them and had been all along, since even before he stood. The quiet and whispering were broken by the obvious tittering of some of the girls and the scoffing and boos of all the boys as Fritz put on his little show.

Show no fear, act a little crazy, get them on your side, wait for an opening.

“Do I get a choice in this? Or am I just getting swept along in this ro-maelstrom? Because I prefer the expression love typhoon,” Bert rejoined. Adding his own considerable flair as he also stood up, opposite Fritz, and spun in a twirl, whipping his matted blond and bloody mop of hair around to emphasise the word typhoon.

“Unluckily for us, I’m sure the Scale Guard would put out a hurricane warning, or rather, a sensuous storm warning and all the virtuous will hide behind their tightly closed doors and barred windows, so as not to be blown away,” Bert grinned into the gloom as he pretended to dash his friend's fantasies.

“Bloody madmen!” Steve yelled. "Shut up the both of you!"

As the rancour of jeers and giggles died down and the quiet was starting to renew its hold, the cellar and all its inhabitants went suddenly silent. It was as if all the air had gone out of the room. There was a sharp rise in tension, then a great pressure bore down on them, causing some to stagger. Fritz felt a great foreboding and he could read the same suspicion on the fearful expressions of his crew.

It started with a high whine at the edge of hearing, then came a low note that shook his bones, then he was struck with a terrible peal that rattled his entire being. A cacophonous ringing like three thousand iron bells rung in unison, harmonising in an identical, overlapping, excruciating note.

This is worse than the last toll, much, much worse.

The sound struck at his mind and body, racking it with pain and causing the whole world to tremble. Fritz curled into a ball hugging his legs to his chest. He screamed, adding his voice to the overwhelming clamour. He could feel the bone-deep, soul-deep vibrations altering him. In a moment of agonising clarity, he realised the ringing was forging the final painful changes, completing the work the Spires had wrought in his being in the previous Tolls.

Fritz clenched his teeth as he attempted to ride this clarity as far as it reached. He felt a bright vibration in his brain, one that was completely dwarfed by the burning in the centre of his chest. A small star searing right next to his stilled, no, held heart. It was an eternity and an instant of infinite potential, endless knowledge and unlimited power. And then it was gone.

Left behind in the wake of the sublime resonances was a fuzzy feeling, a dizziness but also a new tiny space. A winking star the size of a flea that Fritz could feel coolly radiant right beside his heart.

Fritz listened to the soft groans and pained whimperings of his fellow prisoners before Greg growled, “Argh, that really, really hurt, am I going as crazy as Fritz or was that way worse.”

“Of course it's worse, The sixth toll grants you a connection to your Sanctum. It marks your passing into adulthood. It’s … an Ascension,” A quiet gruff voice lectured.

Fritz recognised that voice as Sid. In the dim light, Fritz could see a fairly tall man, with bright blue eyes and short, light blonde hair. Sid’s face was bruised but underneath the swelling his small nose, weak chin and high cheekbones were apparent. He wore a loose-fit, faded blue shirt accompanied by his ever-present scarlet scarf, versatile in both keeping him warm and as a makeshift garrote.

Sid was skinny but had a noticeable amount of whipcord muscle and was probably the tallest there at around 6 feet tall with Fritz being the closest contender at around five foot eleven inches. Sid possessed surprising wiry strength and a quiet fury that Fritz had been on the receiving end a few too many times. They always seemed to be at cross purposes out on the streets and Fritz hoped that wouldn't continue in their current danger. He already had to watch out for Steve and his crew and having Sid on his back too would be a true nightmare.

“The Spires Sanctum,” A woman protested Sid’s comment.

“Lives in you. Grows with you. Your sanctum,” Sid’s gruff voice argued rhetorically.

“No religious arguments right now, please. Feel like me brains trying to escape my skull,” Greg pleaded.

“It’s looking for a less confining home I'd bet,” Fritz added.

“What does ‘connect to your sanctum’ even mean?” One of the boys asked.

Fritz nudged Bert and whispered, “You know most this stuff, explain it to them would you, I’m gonna check out my Sanctum.”

“Yeah but you’re the one who taught me, shouldn’t you take the lead here?” Bert suggested obviously a little reluctant to teach.

“Nope, it’s better coming from someone born on the street like you. They respect you, and will listen all the more for it,” Fritz refuted while placing a hand on Bert's shoulder.

“Diving in, won't be long,” he said.

---

Albert sighed as he watched his friend close his eyes and turn his attention turn inward.

“Alright, listen up!” Albert’s voice rang out above the small arguments breaking out over the meagre advice, rumours and outright lies the newly Tolled men and women had heard about their Sanctums.

The room quieted almost instantly.

Huh, guess Fritz was right. About the listening that is. Everything else… well. He let the thought hang for a second until he came back to himself cleared his throat and continued speaking.

“Your sanctum is a kind of ‘mental construct’ you use to view your spire gained Abilities and Attributes as well as Techniques and Traits.”

“What in the Final Spire is a ‘mental construct’,” one of the ragged men asked.

“It's like a dream, but it's always there, you can enter it if you focus on that point next to your heart,” Albert informed the listeners. “It's a little tricky at first I heard but it’s supposed to become second nature. It’s also personal, your dream won’t look or feel the same as anyone else's. It's part of you and it will reflect that.”

“There is one other thing, you shouldn’t do it while in danger or you need to be watching out for something. When you enter your sanctum the outside world is still going. You can still feel your body, but won’t notice a knife stabbing at your gut, or a monster lunging to tear out your throat, until it’s far too late,” he continued.

“You all might as well try entering it now, not many distractions in this gloom. I’ll keep a lookout and I’ll shake you if something goes down. I’ll take questions after you’ve all done that.”

People were attempting to dive into their Sanctums, when there was the sound of multiple sets of footsteps thudding down the hall. The lock thunked, and the bar creaked up. The door slammed open swinging with immense force and cracking against the stone of the wall like a hammer blow.

Jagged Nic walked through the doorway with a spring in his step and a crooked smile up one side of his notched visage. He stood there for a time taking in the room and its inhabitants.

Albert shook Fritz. And he awoke quickly, even if he looked unusually melancholy, with tears starting to form in his grey-green often all-too-intense stare. His usual wry, self-satisfied smirk had been replaced with a small bittersweet smile as he turned and looked at Albert. He ran his hand through his short black hair in a familiar gesture, one that Albert knew belied Fritz’s distress and bottled fear, and anger.

Albert was once again struck with the thought that if Fritz ever got enough meals to put some flesh on those gaunt features, he would look as handsome as any dashing noble. With that cleft in his chin, his high cheekbones and that annoyingly regal bearing to his features. Well, maybe he would look dashing if he stopped getting beaten into a bruised mess like he was now.

But Albert had little hope for that to happen. That would require his infuriating friend to use even a modicum of sense, which he seldom exercised, much to his crew's chagrin. Albert was broken out of his thoughts when Fritz wiped some still-forming tears away. The idiot had a habit of letting his emotions run hot, one extreme or another. Never just 'fine' or 'okay'. It would have been exhausting if it weren't for his ever present, mad, hope. Or was it greed?

“You good?” Albert asked.

“Fine just saw something… nostalgic. We can talk about it later,” Fritz deflected.

Albert nodded, then drew Fritz’s attention to the door and to the scarred man in front of it. Jagged Nic began to speak, that same tarred gravel voice grinding out again, “Well boys and girls, or should I say men and women,” he said, grinning horribly at the crowd.

“Time to get moving, the ladies come with me,” Jagged Nic ordered his eyes darted over their scared faces with a cruel glee. “Now!” he barked as they were slow to comply.

There was a scraping beside him, Fritz had been sitting but now he was standing with fists clenched. Albert stood up to join him, and as he did so Fritz flicked his gaze to his, their eyes locked.

His eyes told him, I’m not letting them take Jane or anyone else if I can help it.

Fritz was hopelessly chivalrous sometimes, but Albert was of the same mind in this matter. They nodded in silent agreement. Same plan as always then. Fritz and Blitz.

---

“Oi Nic! You snivelling squid for brains, do you shave with a bloody hatchet?” Fritz yelled out while striding straight toward Jagged Nic, who for his part only looked mildly annoyed. “Obviously you’re just as bad at shaving as you are at thinking 'cause you missed a spot here.”

When Fritz was within arms reach of the man in the oil-coat, he threw out a left-handed jab at Nic’s jaw and followed up with the strongest right hook he could muster in his dishevelled state. Right into the man's side. It didn’t go as Fritz planned.

Nic barely reacted, he just watched, disinterested as the fists came at him. When the punches landed it was with a crack and a thump. Fritz felt like he was punching a solid pillar of rock wrapped in an oilskin. None of the sponginess you would expect of skin and muscle, the man was an unyielding slab of stone.

“What the Spires was that? Are you such a coward that you even wear armour to kidnap a bunch of levelless kids?” Fritz said while shaking out his battered hands dramatically in an attempt to distract Nic.

Bert swept into the fight with a brutal low kick to Nic’s knee from behind. Fritz was tempted to smile when he heard the thud of it landing. But was horrified instead when Bert howled in pain and clutched his shin. He hopped away, gritted his teeth and flanked Nic. Fritz and Bert prepared for another rush.

“No armour, don’t need it, just me skin. So even if I shaved with a hatchet, it can't cut me, boy,” Nic said grinning an evil grin, all hard edges.

Suddenly, there was a blurring in the air that encompassed Nic’s arms for a moment. An immense force hit Fritz like a battering ram, he felt the air leave his lungs and his feet leave the floor. He crashed onto his back, the cold stone greeting him painfully.

Bert was similarly flung from his feet and landed in a sprawl. Gasps went out amongst the captives. Groans came from Fritz and Bert, as they lay stunned on the ground.

“As I was saying. Ladies with me, blokes with Jeb, dresses will just drag you down where you’re going. So, this way to get changed into something more practical. Unless you want to do it in here, with these ‘fine’ lads. I’m sure they’ll look away and at the wall if you ask ‘em,” Nic drily added as he spat on the ground near the fallen Fritz.

The women looked around the cellar at the men around them and made up their minds instantly. Standing up and gathering to where Nic directed, Jane promptly joined them.

“No trust, none at all. What have we done to deserve such a reputation?” Fritz managed to wheeze out of his bruised chest.

Jane merely rolled her eyes and said, “You know why. Mr.’s Romance Maelstrom and Love Typhoon.”

The women shuffled out behind Nic in a tight nit group. The men stood and followed Jeb. Fritz and Bert got to their feet painfully, but reluctantly followed along in the back of the group. Jeb was a short, sandy-haired, scarred and thoroughly unpleasant man.

That’s a reoccurring theme here, Fritz thought arms cradling his aching rib cage. They were led through a low-ceilinged hallway, walking towards what sounded like sloshing water.

What abyss have they got in store for us?

Dread and fear were really starting to get their hooks into Fritz. He had seldom felt so powerless, maybe his first days on the street, before he met Bert, maybe when his home was ransacked in front of him, maybe when…

No, no dwelling snap out of it, try to survive, survive so you can help them. They need you. He shook his head, drowning the unwanted memories trying to surface.

Fritz focused on walking, he didn’t feel like his ribs were broken but he did take a powerful hit, he wondered at that.

Was that magic? A spell? Or was he just moving so fast I couldn’t see his strike?

Fritz had heard tales of people who had completed a Spire having extraordinary powers far beyond even Pathers. Pathers were already deadly to levelers and they even far stood above the leveless.

The bits and pieces of information that he knew from memory told him there was a huge difference, he hadn’t really believed it though. But now, seeing was believing. Fritz wondered if he could attain that power, if he could use it, could it help him?

Or is that just the Spire's trap, another dead orphan, his blood spilled upon its floors? One thing for sure, if he could find out, if he could gain those same powers, he would risk it.

They left the hallway, pulling Fritz out of his thoughts and back into the present. When he looked around he found himself in a smooth, stone cavern with a huge domed roof. It obviously wasn’t natural, it looked too symmetrical, too perfect to be anything but shaped. Shaped by what or by whom he knew not, all he could guess was: it must be magic.

The others being led in were also looking around in wonder at this cavernous ceiling. Though eventually most had their attention drawn by the sloshing of water only to find its source just fifteen feet away and down a short drop.

There right before Fritz's disbelieving eyes, was an underground lake. Its surface rippled with unusual eddies and waves. Gone was the cobble or brick of the tunnel, they were standing on a small cliff of that same smooth stone of the roof with a lip that looked over and into brackish water. The smell of salt was heavy in the air undercut with a slight but lingering scent of rot.

In what must be the centre of the lake he could see the tip of a stone tower. No, a Spire, jutting out of the waves. It looked like the peak of a lighthouse, a shimmering glass cage glowing with an eerie blue-green radiance that twisted the shadows it cast into odd and disturbing shapes.

The Spire’s light had so captivated the whole group that they didn’t even notice the women arriving, joining them in their mute wonder. Their dresses were replaced with short trousers and sleeveless shirts, those with longer hair also had it tied back in ponytails, buns or braids using some coarse twine. It was only when Nic cleared his throat, spitting into the lake's eddies, that Fritz was shaken out of his reverie and could focus again on what was around him.

“You were wondering why you’re here? What we want from you? Look no further. Feast your eyes on the Sunken Spire,” Nic grinned, his scarred face a rictus of sadistic glee and of vicious remembrance.

Fritz knew then, looking upon that terrible expression, that few of them were to survive this ordeal.

He just hoped he and Bert would be amongst their number.