The Pendulum's Scar

13. A Rock and a Hard Place

Ah, the rock fiend. Misunderstood by most, hated by all. Nobody is sure which compound within the green-veined sea rock causes such extreme euphoria, but it certainly works. I can attest to that, after spending more than my fair share of weeks giggling like an idiot, oblivious to the world. The thing people don't understand is that rock fiends don't usually try rock for fun. That first hit of the disgusting, exquisite substance is always preceded by a traumatic event. I can't count how many times I've heard a well-meaning friend or family member ask me "Why don't you just stop using it?" Hah - if only it were that simple. I'm not exaggerating when I say that it would be easier to cut my own leg off than it would be to quit the rock.

Extract from an unpublished paper by Eleius Reinhart.

Eleius leaned against the railing at the top of the clinic's steps. He watched the early evening crowds as they marched like mindless ants through the furrows of Tresil. A pleasant scent wafted down the street, from the honeyed bread being hawked by vendors. He kept expecting to see hooded figures mixed amongst the crowd, but it appeared that the assassins had given up for now. He found it hard to believe that Narcys nobles were working as killers, especially his ex-fiance and her beau. Eleius wondered if they had been married. He stroked the rock scars on his forearm as he thought of his missed opportunity. She had loved him. That was clear. He had loved her too, in his own way, but he had been too young. He hadn't known how to deal with her emotional dependency on him. That was the first time he had hit the rock. She tried everything to get him to stop using, but he had acted like an idiot. An oblivious, uncaring idiot. He imagined how his life could have turned out, him being a young, prosperous merchant from good stock, with a beautiful, caring wife. He gave a bitter smile as he realised that he still wouldn't have been happy. His mind was just playing tricks on him. Your problem, he thought, is that you always want what you can't have. A gentle hand on his shoulder broke him from his musing.

"You ok there, scribe?"

"Just fine." Eleius forced a smile. "How's Marn?"

"They're going to try cutting his arm." Nira shivered. "Rather him than me. It better work."

"I hope so," Eleius replied. "Are you two close?"

"He's a murderous thug, but we've known each other since we were kids, in Valrys."

"Ah," he smiled.

Valrys was the largest of the outer cities. The city centre was prosperous, but the surrounding slums were the most dangerous on the continent. Violent crime bred quickly in the frozen squalor. Even the nobles in Valrys made the Narcys nobles look like cowards; the city had a strong tradition of fighting culture.

"Yeah, you get the picture. We had three choices; stay and fight the other gangs, leave and fight outsiders, or stick to the shadows like little mice, stealing any piece of cheese the locals left unguarded."

"So you chose to leave and start your own mercenary band?"

"Eventually." Nira shook her head. "After too many stupid choices. That's why Marn can't die. Kaler was the one who kept us together all these years, but Marn is still like a brother to me."

Eleius found himself at a loss. He didn't expect Nira to be the type to bare her soul. She wasn't like most women he had met. He expected that if he gave her a comforting hug, she might get the wrong idea, and he would get a dagger in his side. Luckily, she helped him out of the situation.

"Anyway, just popped out to get some air. It reeks of poison and blood in there. What's next for you, scribe?"

Eleius honestly didn't know. Rock. He wanted rock. No, that was his past, it had no place here.

"Well, I've got my story. Might stick around for a bit to write it. Then back to Narcys to sell it."

"Sounds good." She smiled. "I don't read much, but I'll give it a look. I'm heading back inside."

She patted him on the shoulder and headed back to the clinic. He was left with the inner struggle between his sense and his desire.

He realised he didn't want to be around people. He wished an unconscious Marn the best of luck, thanked Elra and the mercenaries for the story, then walked back towards the inn. He was stalked by thoughts of Alsia. He had been able to cope when he knew she was alive. There was still the possibility of meeting up in the future, of fixing their past mistakes. Now that was impossible. He knew he didn't have time for this. He had to write his story, had to investigate the assassins, had to... he needed rock. Anything to stop these thoughts. He sat on the inn's steps and waited until the ragged peddler emerged from the alley opposite. The peddler leaned against the same wooden support as before. Definitely a dealer, then. Eleius approached with three silvers ready in his clenched fist.

"Evenin' sir," the peddler said in a gruff tone. His hood obscured most of his face.

"Evening. Got any rock?"

"Not one to mess about, eh? Aye, I got rock. Six for a pouch."

Eleius snorted.

"How big are your pouches? I know the going rate and I have three silvers for you."

The peddler eyed the sword hanging at Eleius hip and nodded.

"Fair enough," he replied. "Can't blame a guy for tryin', eh? Here y'are."

Eleius clasped hands with the man and made the exchange. The pouch felt a little light, but he was too desperate to complain. At least the sword was beginning to pay for itself. Eleius hurried into the inn.

He sat on the edge of his bed. His shirt sleeve was rolled up. The volcanic sword trembled in his grip. There were no smaller blades in the room, and he didn't fancy explaining to the innkeep why he wanted a knife. He rested the blade against his arm and drew it along a scar. Blood gushed forth. It reminded him of the blissful oblivion he would soon be feeling. Eleius sprinkled rock powder onto the fine stream of claret. He rubbed it deep into the wound. A slashed strip of fabric from his shirt served as a bandage. The rock was potent; it hit almost immediately. Euphoric waves pulsed from his wound, washing over every nerve in his body. He forgot about Marn. He forgot about Alsia. He forgot about his story. Only the intense pleasure of the rock remained. Voices whispered soothing words in his mind. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards to form an idiotic smile; the smile of the blissfully ignorant.