The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 5: The Chosen One

He'd almost run into them.

Arran froze, forcing himself to count his breaths in order not to take to his heels at once. The mind warpers wore the same appearance as last time: cloaked, hooded, no faces or even a flash of skin to hint at their identity. Their posture was rigid, unnatural. If he hadn't sensed their proximity like a dagger twisting into his stomach, he would have believed them to be but a figment of his imagination.

"So you have decided to join us." It was impossible to determine which one had spoken; the booming voice reverberated in the air around him as if the four of them stood in a hermetic cocoon. "That is good. Maybe you are the one we have been looking for."

Arran swallowed. Zohra's words, still fresh in his mind, echoed within his ears, Best-case scenario, you never come across another mind warper again in your life.

So, what was the chance of running into the same ones twice in a day?

He was screwed, all right.

"I don't understand. What do you want from me?"

The mind warpers seemed to have stepped closer without actually moving. Although Arran was well over six feet two himself, their dark presence towered over him with the menace of an apocalypse. "We want you to do what you do best. To steal."

"Ah." He wrung his hands, his body bending back from their wickedness on instinct. "What do you want me to steal?"

The one on the left handed him an envelope with a gloved hand. He made sure not to touch their long, serpent-like fingers. His own hands trembled while he fidgeted with the seal, which broke with a loud snap that sounded more like a thunderclap. Arran winced and pulled out the letter inside the envelope.

The parchment showed a simplistic drawing of a triangular amulet attached to a fine, thin chain, meant to be worn as a necklace. Though the image wasn't colored and lacked detail, he recognized the amulet in an instant.

"You're mad," he whispered, his feet backing away before he could stop them. The parchment fluttered out of his hand. He stifled a startled yelp when it caught fire before it could touch the ground. "I can't steal that!"

"Yes, you can, and you will."

"Didn't you hear me?" He was starting to sound hysterical, so he lowered his voice before any of his neighbors decided to come out and check what was going on. "I'm not going to steal that for you."

A deep, ominous silence ensued, only broken by Arran's sharp, strangled gasps. He could sense the mind warpers poking around in his head again and growled, resisting their influence with all his willpower.

"You long for a life of wealth, free from the rusted chains of poverty that bind you to this filth." The one in the middle gestured at the alley around them. "You wish for better, for a decent house to share with your mother and sister, and for a large pantry to stock food so that none of you will ever be hungry again."

He pressed the palms of his hands to his temples. "Stay out of my head."

They pretended not to have heard him. The one on the right continued, "We can make that wish come true. If you do what we ask of you and bring us the Amulet of Doom, we will compensate you for your troubles with a million gold coins."

His head snapped up so fast his vision turned black for an instance. He squeezed his eyes shut to get rid of the vertigo, although his mind kept spinning with the mind warpers' impossible offer. "Excuse me? A million gold coins?" All three of them nodded in that creepy, simultaneous fashion he had begun to associate with them. "Gods, I shouldn't even be considering this. No wonder you're willing to pay me such an enormous amount of money. You're goddamn asking me to rob Onshra's temple!"

"We are aware of the risks."

"Sure, you are. That's why you're delegating the job to an insignificant, disposable, poor criminal like myself, right?" Arran scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. The anger and indignance boiling his blood had swept his previous unease out of the door. "Who's to tell you're actually going to pay me after I bring you this amulet?"

From the way their hoods turned to each other, he concluded they shared exasperated looks. After a few moments of silent deliberation, the one on the left grabbed another sheet of parchment out of their cloak and drew a symbol on it with their bony finger. Several paragraphs of text, written in blood red ink, popped up on the page. Arran's mouth dropped open.

"This is a contract," the mind warper explained. "It states that you will receive the agreed amount of one million gold coins in exchange for the successful completion of your job as our burglar. Retrieve the Amulet, and you will be generously rewarded."

One million gold coins. Habi Onshra, where would he even stack all that money? His family's angst, his own frustrations about the cards fate had dealt him ... All of that would disappear into the closed-off box of the past. It was tempting ... so, so incredibly tempting.

No. Stealing from a holy temple, not least the temple of the city's patron deity, was an unforgivable crime that contravened even Arran's wobbly principles. The punishment? Death. No further questions asked. The perpetrator wouldn't even be committed to trial.

It's dangerous to let greed drive you, Arran.

I know, maia.

With trembling fingers, Arran took the contract for inspection. Not that he had the slightest knowledge about legal writing, but he was glad to understand more than just the articles. As far as he could tell, the contract was solid.

That meant it was his turn to make the next move.

He bit down on his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. "Why me? There are countless people in the Copper District who pursue the same kind of clandestine career as I do."

"Your exceptional talent to bend light makes you the perfect burglar," the middle one answered. "We have been watching you for a while now. You are the best candidate for the job."

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. How long exactly had these mind warpers been stalking him? Why had he never noticed?

Stay calm. Don't show them your fear. Ah well, it's probably too late for that anyway.

"I'll admit it boosts my ego to know you've singled me out for this particular job," he said, forcing a fake grin onto his lips. "Yet, before I make my decision, I want to know whether this is still a request on your part and not ... an obligation on my part."

A grating chuckle bounced against the decrepit walls of the houses around them. "Of course you have a choice. If you refuse, we will leave you alone. But this is a one-time offer, dear boy. Don't waste a chance like this. You might never get another one."

The sigh that left Arran's mouth carried the weight of his dilemma. "Do I have some time to think about it?"

"No. You have to decide now."

His heart and his conscience fought to gain the upper hand in his decision like two ropes pulling him in opposite directions. On his heart's side stood Zohra and his sister, both of whom encouraged him to chase his ambitions and his dreams. His conscience, however, manifested itself in the shape of his mother, hands placed on her hips in a manner that warned Arran she was about to scold him. Merriam begged him to be reasonable, not to endanger himself for the sake of coin. Not to let his greed control him.

As always, Merriam—and with her, reason—lost that specific argument.

Arran looked down at the contract in his hands. His fingertips tickled with the familiar excitement prior to a challenging job with a bountiful treasure at the end.

Though hidden under black hoods, he felt three pairs of expectant eyes on him when he held out his hand. "Where do I sign?"