Lux Tenebris: Widowmaker Bay - Part One

Physicality returned with brutal suddenness.

Malora found herself on hands and knees, gasping for breath, trying to remember how to breath and process sensory information.

"What in the Twelve Hells is that?"

The voice was feminine and nasal, the kind of voice that could strip paint off of a wall. Malora had heard such voices before. It centered her.

Raising her head, she saw a tall thin human woman standing over her. She wore a long black dress and leaned on a mahogany walking stick. Her hair was pulled back from her face and secured in a tight knot. The woman's face was powdered and thin, with black tinted lips and a beauty mark at the right corner of her mouth. She peered at Malora with suspicion.

A figure moved forward, brushing past the woman. The man was tall and thin, wearing wizardic robes, and a blue cap. He bent and helped Malora stand.

"Please forgive, Mistress Stark," said the wizard. "I am Aldoral Dusk, Master of the Widowmaker Bay Circle Station.  Mistress Icefire sent word that you would be arriving today, Lady Malora."

"Lady?" Mistress Stark's nose wrinkled in disapproval.

"Yes, Mistress Stark," said Aldoral Dusk. His tone was firm and cold. "This is Lady Malora of Fallen Baramir. You will address her by her title and show her proper respect. Am I understood?"

The pale woman shrank back from the wizard's tone and she bobbed a quick curtsy. "Yes, Master Dusk. My apologies, milady."

"Come, Lady Malora." Dusk offered her his arm. "We have a private lounge nearby where you can recover from the circle."

Malora took the wizard's arm, somewhat reluctantly. "I've traveled by circle before but it was never like that. Like . . . ."  Words failed her.

"Aye," said the wizard. "It's a unique experience. Fortunately, once you've been through our circle network once, subsequent journeys are less upsetting."

He led her away from the circle. Malora let her gaze wander over her surroundings. The circle occupied a large, dim room. The walls were made of unadorned wood. Light was provided by a trio of large oil lamps, set in the corners of the room.

Dusk led Malora through a set of double doors, into a corridor painted a ghastly shade of green. Framed paintings of sour-faced men and women lined the wall. They bore a strong resemblance to Mistress Stark.

Aldoral Dusk led Malora into a side room. It was small and furnished with a fainting couch that had seen better days. There was a side table with a bottle of spirits and a number of small glasses. He poured her a glass of something thin and green.

Malora sniffed it. The glass smelt strongly of licorice.

"A restorative, milady," explained Dusk, and poured one for himself. "Would you like the window open?"

He nodded at the narrow, shuttered window at the far end of the room.

"Please," said Malora. The room was stuffy. The couch smelt of dust and neglect.

Dusk waved a hand and the window opened, revealing a gray sky. A cool, wet wind blew into the room. Malora inhaled, smelling the familiar scent of the sea.

Mistress Stark appeared at the door. "I've had the lady's belongings taken down to the hall, Master Dusk."

"Thank you," said Malora, but the woman had already gone.

"She's never met a drow before, has she?"

"I'm afraid that Mistress Stark has led a sheltered life," said the wizard. He tossed back his drink, and smacked his lips appreciatively. "Ah! But what she lacks in the social niceties, she makes up for with her expertise in spirits."

Malora took a tentative sip of the drink and almost choked. It smelt like licorice, but burned like strong peppermint.

"Demon's teeth! What is this?"

"It's called heartsfire, I believe," said the wizard. "Very popular around these parts."

"And it's a restorative?"

"I believe they give it to drowned sailors, to get them back on their feet."

"Yes, well, if someone poured that down my throat, I would probably get to my feet just to run away from them," said Malora.

Dusk chuckled.

"Mistress Icefire said you were heading to Moontree. Will you be traveling by horse or carriage?"

"Horse, if I can find one."

"There's a livery stable in town," said Dusk. "I can put in a word with the owner if you like."

"That would be very appreciated," said Malora.

"I'll write a letter." Dusk hesitated. "Were you planning on staying in town overnight?"

"Do you advise it?"

"Honestly? No, I don't. Widowmaker Bay is a small community, milady, and not the most . . . egalitarian. If you understand."

Malora chuckled. "I understand perfectly."

"The folk in Moontree are much more open-minded," said the wizard. "Especially since the Sybrows were chosen as the new leaders."

"What happened to the old leaders?"

"Killed during the war. There's supposed to be a son up north somewhere, still alive, but no one's heard a thing from him. And, well, if he came back now, I doubt he'd be welcomed with open arms."

"What about the city?"

"Sacked," said the wizard. "But they've rebuilt, and trade has never been better."

Malora nodded. She took another tentative sip of heartsfire. It was less shocking the second time.

"And the road between here and Moontree?"

"Fairly safe, milady. I would avoid the villages between here and Gullcliff, if I were you, and, er, there is an elvish settlement called Elawor. . . ."

"I'll avoid it," said Malora. "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, milady. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go and write that letter for you."

He bowed and withdrew, leaving Malora alone.

After a moment, she stood and walked to the window. The breeze was constant and cool. From the window, Malora had a vague sense of the house that circle station occupied. It was large and weather-beaten. The exterior walls and shingles were black and she identified a widow's walk on a nearby roof.

Beyond the house, the ground appeared to slope away, ending in a dense cluster of similar black-shingled rooftops that made up the town of Widowmaker Bay. Beyond the town, the waters of the bay slapped ferociously at a gravel beach.  Arms of rocky land could be seen jutting into the waters of the bay. On the nearer arm, the one to the south, Malora saw a lighthouse rise like a defiant soldier, facing down gray sky and blackish water.

It all looked very quaint, but if Mistress Stark was an example of the locals, Malora had no desire to linger in this place. Better to get a horse and start south, to Moontree deliver the letter and then get on with her own affairs.