The face of a liar,
is a map of deceit.
~Unknown
***
It didn't feel right yet, she still asked. If there were one thing Ravenna learnt, it would be knowledge.
There was once a time she knew nothing, once a time she was only a little girl who thought her little brother was merely suffering from a normal nightmare.
But not when his nightmares started killing people. Not when he predicted exactly what would happen in the future.
Yesterday was the first time she'd seen him struggle to relate a memory. And when he didn't say all, Ravenna knew it was bad. But what she failed to understand was how bad it was.
But then, there was another. Something about that pair of red eyes gutted her feelings. That feeling he had something to do with this.
The man's face fell for a moment before his expression turned thoughtful. "Which of them, if I may ask?"
Ravenna hesitated, choosing her own words carefully. "Those from… darker times, who left legacies of darkness, fire, death, and… steel?"
Thorne's eyes narrowed and Ravenna had to quickly add, "That's very stupid of me to ask—"
"Those Lords who drank the tears of the innocent and danced with darkness. Burnt the flesh of the cursed and uncursed, and whistled with the notes of their pains. Caused havoc and created destruction between death and the dead," he said. "I know not of wings. What do you seek to know?"
Ravenna's gaze locked onto Thorne's filled with curiosity and hesitation. "Did they truly hold such powers?"
He took in a breath. "Some say their pacts are still blind. Others say their darkness is just a tale. One can't look with both eyes holding different tears,"
"But it remains… tales and history, doesn't it? There would be no way their influence still lingers," It had to be. There were histories, one which many swore to have never occurred but a few whispered.
"Tales and histories don't originate from imagination, child." He said as his face grew grave. "It had happened, and it could still happen." He looked at her.
Ravenna's unease grew at that look as she held her breath for quite some time.
"Without food or water, a man cannot survive. Without breast milk from a mother to her newborn, the child wouldn't stop crying. Without blood smeared on a sword, he wouldn't be called a true knight with honor. What difference does it make, when darkness is deprived of its vessels? When do these vessels reject their bond to feed? To breathe? To survive?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he smiled. A wary one. "What is dead may never die."
The sea's rhythm lapping filled the silence that both created. What is dead may never die?
"Don't overthink it, child. People tend to behave worse when they do," he said, rowing the oars. "Curiosity drives us, but the end is always fatal. I have warned many, but few listen with ears open but attention sullen. Handful pays attention but the darkness is stronger. Many, on the other hand, leave shadows that are quite easy for the wind to pick up traces. You may be the lucky one to dodge these fates."
"I thought you preferred gods?"
He merely smiled, "Your faith is strong. Keep it handy, you may need it someday."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"What do you wish to know?" he retorted. "It would be rude to have said, 'No, you may not,' when I knew the answer to your daymares."
"Daymares?"
"I don't tell what we both can see—"
"What do you see? What do you know?" Ravenna asked impatiently. The man was speaking in riddles she couldn't understand. What was there to see when she didn't know?
"What we both see and we both know," he answered again. "I have told you,"
"All you have told me are things spoken in riddles. Histories and pas-"
"Histories and past?" he asked. "Be careful of what comes out of your mouth, one. The winds aren't merciful for the ignorant."
Ravenna was silent.
The sea's rhythm filled the tensed atmosphere when the silence did as the air thickened, heavy with foreboding and the ride was suddenly silent all through.
She drew her cloak's cap, shielding her face from view finding another knowledge beneath the water.
"I had a son," he said, grabbing Ravenna's attention as she slowly turned to him. "He was just a little boy who merely knew the world, but carried a giant knowledge of what it was made of. Life and death. But the servants of darkness took him," He said and looked away.
Ravenna's heart clenched at his confession.
She could understand the feeling of having someone you cherish taken away from you. The pain still lingers and still haunts you. She felt that way when her parents passed away. And even when she thought Alaric would be too.
"Do you know why he was taken?" he asked her, his voice grave and distant. No, she wanted to say. "He never wanted to know what he already did. But he did. And he was taken."
Her brows knitted in perplexity. She was confused. "What do you mean?"
"Shadows cast long silhouettes. Those who avoid the shadows get eaten by darkness. Food for thought, befriend death," He said, speaking in parables that confused her.
Befriend death?
"Listen to the wind carefully. Sometimes, it carries what you wish to know. All you wish to know. But don't listen too much. It could deafen the ears," He warned, holding a gaze that terrified her of the unknown. "Beware of the darkness that watches, lest you become its eternal snare especially for what lies ahead,"
Ravenna was confused. Why did it feel like this was an end? "What lies ahead?"
His eyes were lost in the horizon. "Shadows, light," and he looked at her. "…and death."
HORN BLOWS!
"We're here."
Ravenna didn't realize she had arrived at Cartwild, until he announced. As the cargo ship sailed into the dawn, its outline emerged clearly. Was it just her or was the journey faster today? "How much for this?"
He smiled. "For you, a token. Five silver coins."
Ravenna handed over the coins with a small smile. "Thank you, Thorne." She said and disembarked, still troubled within her but filled with gratitude outside.
In sincerity and a pitiful gaze, "I'm deeply sorry for your loss."
He gave a small smile. "You are very kind," he said. "Farewell. We shall cross paths again," He wished and Ravenna smiled, walking away, leaving the old man counting the coins.
***
Shadow, light, and death?
Ravenna recited in her thoughts as she walked down the familiar streets in the village as Hannah Maere. The breeze rustled the trees and took her robe, but she held still to protect it.
She would dodge the villagers as she passed by the inn where travelers shared tales. However, she was in no mood to listen to one today.
Her mind was a tale of its own, deft to the disturbing words of Thorne and thought of Alaric. Was this what he talked about? The seven sins. The seven Lords. The igniting flames of hell and darkness? Was this even real?
"Gwyneth!"
She heard someone yell a name, and she turned to look at the young girl running towards a man, her fiery red hair dragged by the breeze as she ran into his arms and laughed at whatever he told her.
Ravenna sighed. She was exhausted mentally, and didn't choose to pry on the matter. Now, she was only Hannah Maere in the village of Cartwild.
She navigated the winding streets, the familiar noise in contrast to the day bright and warm on the cobblestone path. The stone houses of the village were ordinary and dull, made grimmer by the bleakness of the season. But it was market day, which meant the tiny square in the center of town was full of whatever vendors had braved the brisk morning.
From a block away, the scent of hot food wafted by—spices that tugged on the edge of her memory, beckoning and a sigh escaped her lips. When last has she taken a proper meal?
Maybe after work, she'll stop by and buy some for herself and for Alaric back home, she thought. That's if the money would be enough to pay the magistrate off before the end of this week.
As Ravenna walked away and into another street, the sign of 'Evermore Brothel' creaked along the breeze just as soon as she neared her destination.
Hesitating, she inhaled a deep breath, before taking a bold step, walking towards the brothel.
As Ravenna pushed the door open, a bell above it rang out and she glided through the velvet curtains.
"Hannah! You are late!"
"Madame Lorraine," Ravenna acknowledged, watching a lady who looked about in her thirties, approach her. "Pardon my tardiness. I didn't mean for this,"
"You're so lucky I'm in a good mood today, young lady. And thank your gods I'm pleased upon your arrival," Her usual stern voice didn't sound pleased, although her words did.
Ravenna forced a smile, "I'm sorry for the trouble I might have caused the other day," She apologized, shedding her exhaustion.
"You have Lord Thorold who awaits you and other clients as well. Hurry," She waved her hand, ignoring her. "Today is a new day."
"I'll go get ready," her stomach twisted when she said. But she was used to it. She only took a few steps when Madame Lorraine's voice stopped her.
"And Hannah," Ravenna turned to her. "No trouble. No report. You do well, you get paid, understood?"
"Yes, Madame," she replied, watching the lady walk away. And with a sigh, she did too.
Such a way to start the day as Hannah Maere.
As the day went on, she donned her mask, becoming another person where in her room, she transformed into Hannah. A whore.
She slipped on a flowery gown, its silk rustling when she put it on. Her brown wig cascaded down her back, entwined with pearls and pins, and decorated in a captivating fashion.
A soft crimson lip stain colored her pale lips as Kohl eyeliner defined her eyes, sharpening their allure, her fingers deft and practiced. She was a whole different person from the Ravenna and morphed into someone else. Someone is hardly noticeable. Someone powerful in her own regime.
Half of the person she had become.
Lastly, she put on the elbow-length glove, covering the terrifying burn on her arms.
With a shaky breath, Ravenna stared at her reflection. The mirror reflected a woman transformed— confident, mysterious, and captivating—a whole different person from who she truly was.
Without thinking, she pulled out her cream pot. The sweet scent was not a makeup, per se. It was merely a special lotion to keep the skin supple and sweeten the body's smell.
She stood there, cream on her fingers then dabbed a bit on her face. There was one place where a woman's scent was the strongest, one place it was most needed to be sweetened.
She stroked a couple of dabs below, resettling her clothing, then out of the room.
The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows where the air pulsed with the promise of forbidden pleasure, and thickened with the scent of perfume and smoke.
As she descended into the brothel's common room, clients lounged on plush couches, sipping wine and enjoying the day's entertainment. Their faces were flushed with desire, and even more at their first glance at her, and her eyes gleamed with a practiced allure.
Madame Lorraine greeted her with her usual frown. One cannot tell if she was pleased or displeased. Her eyes and words were two bad companies.
As she neared, "You passed the first impression. Don't forget to please him. He's one of the most valuable customers we have here. If he asks for you specifically, he must have fancied your skill," She spoke in a whisper.
Ravenna managed a small smile and curtsied. "I'll do my very best, Madame." It was all she'd been doing. That was how she raised enough funds to become who she is today.
And the Lady was another part.
Lord Thorold awaited her in the designated room, and when she knocked, the words, "Come in," were a sign of acknowledgement as his eyes gleamed with anticipation when she walked in.
His dirty brown hair was perfectly arranged as he lay bare, an arm supporting his head, staring at her. He looked like he was in his late twenties, firm body shape aligned with blotches that denoted his years of swordmanship.
Her only reluctance was the fact that she knew who Lord Thorold was. He was one of the Lords of Vladoryn, recently married to Lady Fiona Witchell of Manchester.
Despite the brothel standing as an abode of pleasure and more as a confidential haven, the enigmas it held were far dangerous than the danger without it. It was a home for pleasure and truce, and another home designed as the Ears.
It was when customers spilled their crises or secrets either drunk or comfortable. At this point, no one knew who or what they were apart from a one-time or perhaps, a more businesslike.
A firm relationship between a whore and their clients. As long as they pay well, business prospers. But so far, another advantage Ravenna gained was the latest news.
The amount she learned was enough to scorch and bury a few nobles who caused more than enough harm to her family. And Lord Thorold was among.
At that moment, Ravenna's thoughts faded, replaced by Hannah's cunningness.
Her movements were like silk and fluid, but most especially practiced, as she swung her hip side to side, hypnotizing the man lying on the bed.
"Hannah," his eyes drenched in lust when he called.
"Milord,"
Ravenna first knew that capturing a man's attention is through action rather than words. But if you can balance both in your favor, you would do more than good. The man's reaction proved her theories.
She climbed on top of the bed, balancing her body between his legs. She did it in a swift movement, holding a fierce gaze between them. "I hear you request my presence?"
Her voice was smooth and alluring, a different melody compared to Ravenna's.
Lord Thorold grinned. "I've heard rumors of your talents never disappoint," He said, and expected thick with desire. "I expected worse but this is far better," he cupped his hand around her ass cheek and she jerked, masking her irritation with a fiery smile.
"What is it about the rumor that pleases you, Milord?" she asked, using the trick she had learnt. The art of communication.
He smirked, more of desire, and a challenge, "Apart from 'she fucks pretty well', I'll take the 'she has the sharp tongue' part," He clicked his teeth in approval.
"I'll take that,"
"The last time was a proof, and now, I need another. And if you prove them to me better than I thought…" he stretched, reaching for the gold jewel.
He watched as her eyes glistened at the sight, and smirked. "It's all yours,"
Gold?
Ravenna beamed, her body moving when she embraced herself, taking off the hand of her gown. "As you wish, my Lord,"
***