The Shards Of God's Eye

The Festival of Light in the town of Anvien celebrated the one time the scholars of the town marched into battle and helped win a victory against an invading navy. The king of the time built a college in the north of the town to honor those scholars.

The Royal University of Anvien, along with five other institutions, held a monopoly on higher education in the country.

How nice, to get an introductory spiel without even asking for it.

Leon forced a smile at the passel of drunken students who had inadvertently pulled him into their revelry. Half of them were still proudly bragging about their school. He wished he'd never told them he was just passing through.

He endured a slap on the back and a cup of stale wine pushed into his hand. He wet his lips on the wine, pretending to sip.

Ugh. It tasted as bad as before. The smell alone was enough to make him dizzy.

The festival lasted for three days. The two days after the festival were town holidays as well so students of the university drowned themselves in a week-long party.

This, the first night of the first day, was when most of the setting up and entertainments were ready. It was when the festival started to get into its swing. This year, new streetlamps were added to the town's major streets; the markets and feasts were expected to last well into the night.

He willingly gave his cup to another wild-eyed student, who tossed him a coin with a slurred but loud thanks.

Leon looked at the coin he reflexively caught. Was he a waiter?

A thought stopped him from tossing the coin back in pique. A smirk crossed his face.

Sure, brother, let me be your waiter for this night.

An hour later, he had more than two dozen assorted coins in his pockets in addition to the five shillings Old Falk had paid him. There were a couple of the inn's workers looking at him suspiciously. He had also slipped on the floor about a half-dozen times.

It was enough for now.

[Ezelred Moch. Werefox, aged 44, male, common, excellent constitution. Angered.]

[Coat. Aged 3 years, good wool, excellent integrity, enhanced.]

[Marianis Moch. Werefox, aged 20, female, common, excellent constitution. Annoyed.]

[Shawl. Aged 1 year, common silk, good integrity, endhanced.]

[Lyallon Berson. Demonkin, aged 32, male, uncommon, excellent constitution. Content.]

[Waistcoat. Aged two months, good wool, good integrity, enhanced.]

Three people walked toward him.

Enhanced clothes? That was possible?

He slipped between the woman and the man labeled 'demonkin' with a tired yawn and deactivated Observe.

Around one in twenty people had labels other than 'human' on the information flashes that appeared when he had his Observe activated. He'd seen people labeled spiritkin, shifter, emovore, even one blood-drinker.

The shock was slighter than before. Even more now that he just wanted to sleep.

Posson Street, which he was asking about when the rabid pack of students swept him into their wake, was just one street over. He still remembered the landmarks that were tossed at him.

The town was not so big that he would get lost easily.

"Thanaturge, you think you can escape us so easily?" The voice, despite the noise of the still strong revelry, was clear and strong.

Eh?

Leon glanced back.

The three non-humans were looking at him, tense.

He was surprised. "You're talking to me?"

He didn't think he had met them today.

"Even a word sent in your direction disgusts me, corpse-seeker. But for the justice owed those you wronged, I would not be crossing within a hundred leagues of your path."

Deja vu struck Leon. "Huh. Doesn't this scene look somewhat familiar?"

"What?" The older werefox seemed to be the leader.

"You have the wrong person, sorry." He turned to leave.

That was a mistake.

He felt a sharp pain on his head and his vision darkened. The last view he saw was the street rushing up to meet him.

* * *

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{The place between worlds looked like one of those tea shops, complete with steaming samovar with a fragrant pot of hot zavarka on top. There were at least a dozen empty tables around them. The view outside the window was pure shining white.

"Is this where my soul is weighed and measured?" He sat down before the person offering him a cup. It was one of those bowl-shaped cups in the Mongolian style. "I don't actually drink that much tea."

The being in the shape of a grey-haired woman only smiled. "You will not know my name, nor remember it after you leave, so just call me as you would."

He leaned back against the chair. It was very comfortable. The third seat was empty still.

"Hah, I really died?" He fell into hysterical laughter. "What kind of stupid death was that?"

The being reached out and gently patted his head. "It's been a bit difficult. Most people write their own deaths, though."

He laughed harder.

The dream picture changed.

A shadow formed where the empty seat was.

"You…!"

She lunged.

The picture dream –or was it a memory-- fractured with a scream.}

* * *

"Idiot."

Leon woke up to that ruthless evaluation. His eyes sought the speaker.

Her face was pale, bloodless against dark hair and dark clothes. Her fine features were cast for gentle smiles but took to the hard lines of grim anger beautifully.

It was an unforgettable face.

He retorted immediately. "Who's the bigger idiot, the idiot or the idiot that got stuck to him?"

"You seem to have had some interesting dreams," observed a new voice.

Leon whirled, almost subconsciously triggering Observe.

[Mary Cetran. Werefox, aged 61, female, rare, excellent constitution. Curious.]

Smooth unwrinkled features, creamy skin, a full figure clad in fine wool, a hat sat elegantly perched on her head, fingers curled gracefully around the handle of a teacup.

This ravishing beauty was sixty-one years old?

"My dreams from now have definitely become more interesting," he blurted out. He immediately wanted to take the words back.

What. What just came out of his mouth?!

A man across the table puffed up in outrage. "You know not to whom you speak!"

"I don't," he agreed.

The man sputtered.

"So clarify," Leon continued calmly. He twisted his shoulders, trying to ease the cramped muscles. "By what right and laws do you detain me? I've never woken up tied to a chair before."

How long had he been unconscious? The room was lit by lamps. There was no clock to tell him the time. From the state of his muscles, it may have been a few hours.

It looked like they used chains too.

He was almost amused. What in the world did they think he was?

He was just an ordinary, slightly unhealthy, modern citizen of the digital age, with trash luck and the ability to find out their deepest darkest secrets.

Not really an exaggeration. Less than five minutes and he'd found out that the werefox on the far end was sleeping with the wife of the werewolf two people left of him.

Actually, that was just a theory based on the similarity in the folds of their shirts.

He had nothing on them but trivial information.

He kept breathing slowly and regularly. He didn't know how enhanced their senses were, but hearing the speed of his heartbeat should not be possible, right?

He still didn't know why that werewolf toy seller stared at him like he was a preserved mermaid fetus in a circus display.

Oh, they may actually have mermaids here. That would make a mermaid fetus display more horrifying than fascinating.

Would that make people want to see it less? Or more?

You never knew with people.

"Insolent pup."

Oh, his thoughts had digressed again. He focused on the people in front of him. There were seven of them.

The man who had just spoken was Possibly Cuckolded Werewolf.

No wonder his possible wife would look for another possible lover. The sneer on his face was possibly permanently carved there.

He reminded Leon of a rather vitriolic aunt. He ignored Possibly Cuckolded Werewolf.

The room they were in was built to impress and awe. Over a dozen lamps were spaced on the walls. There was a crystalline chandelier above. While unlit, the light from the lamps still glittered within its refraction.

The lamps lit the room well enough to see that it was richly decorated. He had the feeling half the mound of things casually strewn around the alcoves and the walls would individually be sold for more than the average person's yearly salary.

Whoa, wasn't this just like the set-up of a high-stakes yakuza or Triad interrogation in some Asian drama?

Only there were six other people standing behind the only seated interrogator.

"Didn't you know the good-cop-bad-cop technique is best started with three people including the prisoner?" he helpfully pointed out.

Sixty-one Year Old Gorgeousness raised her brows.

Yeah that would've been cute but when people know you're sixty-one, the effect is somewhat lessened, granny. He forced himself to focus on the granny aspect rather than the beauty aspect.

"What nonsense are you speaking?" A number of people behind the Granny wore scowls.

"What nonsense are *you* speaking?" he tossed back. "Why was I abducted when simply going about my business? Does simply walking down the street offend people now?"

"You dare play the innocent? We know your crimes!"

"Good for you. Enlighten me, what are these crimes that are allegedly attributed to me?"

"Silence, corpse-seeker!"

That one was Possibly A.d.u.l.terous Werefox. No wonder he had a similar taste in possible women as Possibly Cukolded Werewolf, they had a similar kind of personality too.

"Oh, now you're telling me to stop talking? Isn't this an interrogation? Let me start then. That old guy on the street called me a corpse-seeker too. What precisely does that mean?"

Obviously, he'd already been tried and found guilty in their minds.

He felt a surge of bitter anger at that. He was not even allowed to say his part?

"What?"

"Define it for me. Or do you not have words to describe your insults?"

The man sputtered.

"I am impressed," continued Leon, relentlessly. "You have transcended language. Your face is a thousand shades of 'idiot'. You should contact a publisher to place your picture in the dictionary. It would enlighten a hundred generations of children. They will all want to not be you."

There were a few chuckles that did not come from the seven in front of him, though a couple flashed brief smiles.

He turned to the walls. The lamplight against the amount of stuff in the room turned the walls and alcoves into mosaics of light and shadow in various shades, like an abstract painting. He hadn't noticed, there were a number of people lounging in those shadows. They were outside the range of Observe.

Possibly A.d.u.l.terous Werefox reddened and stepped forward.

Leon ignored him. How many people were actually here?

What kind of monster were they looking for that they would need this kind of caution?

"Enrick." Gorgeous Granny spoke one word. The man who was menacingly moving toward Leon stepped back, his face ruddy with impotent anger.

Leon wanted to ask questions, but he had no foothold in this negotiation apart from his innocence and he couldn't prove that yet. He didn't even know the accusations, so how could he refute anything? All he could do was stall until an opportunity came up.

"Oh, the good cop steps in now?" he huffed. "Nice, but no cigar. Should I say I'm very grateful for your intervention? That would be a lie. But apparently I am not allowed to speak the truth or clarify your accusations; so what else would I use to answer your questions?"

"Do you truly not know?" Her eyes dug into his being like claws, ready to rip apart.

Only the years spent keeping his emotions even in the face of his relatives' scrutiny let him keep a nonchalant facade even when trembling within. It helped that the air around the woman was one of protective fervor and not casual malice.

He looked at her incredulously. "Isn't that what I've been saying all this time? Your ears must be shit. But they say other senses can compensate for hearing problems. If you are deaf then your eyes must be incredible, to immediately condemn a person for simply appearing in your sight."

He paused, then sighed dramatically. "Oh, I can't say that either. How can eyes as incredible as yours actually display something like *that* in such a prominent place?"

He jerked his chin to the woven tapestry on the wall behind them; the tapestry that his ghostly curse had spent all this time studying with a serious air of professionalism that caught his attention because he'd never thought it possible to see her make an expression other than murderous. She'd pushed a hand against the surface of the tapestry, almost hesitant, like a shy lover.

His brain curdled at that last image. Not computing. Please reboot.

But most importantly, he was just close enough to see the disappointment on her face.

"Do you even know what that is, you yapping whelp? You'll never see the like again."

He hoped his theory was the actual reason for her disappointment.

"I certainly hope I don't. Why give a reproduction any consideration when you could have the original instead?"