Page 64 of Runes To Rain
It is clear to me as I look down at the blade in my hand that it was made specifically for me. Whether by Malam’s hands directly or not, he was the force behind it. I suddenly wish I could call him back to thank him profusely for such a wonderful gift. I remember him telling me he wouldn’t makethe journey often, however, and decided to wait until I see him next. Besides, the best way to thank him is to put the sword to the use it was created to fulfill.
With that thought in mind, I pull on clothes I can practice in. I’m in pain, but at this point, I will take any opportunity to distract myself from the emotions I am feeling. So I sneak to the empty room and spend some time gingerly practicing withmysword.
DIO’S JOURNAL - ENTRY 338
Annum:5615
Entry 338 - lateo
It’s late in the evening, the day after Chaosta got back,and yet the reprieve I was hoping for has not yet materialized.
I’ll admit I was looking forward to working with the other guys on our magic tonight. It seemed like a positive thing to focus on in the midst of everything. I always find practicing magic to be centering for me.
At the start of my recovery, those who supported me helped me find a passion for boxing. It was at the first boxing gym that I met the man, my now departed friend, who eventually recruited me into a group that practiced dark magic. They supported the demons and took action to support the darkness. Being part of that group and having something to focus on eventuallybecame an even more integral part of my recovery than boxing, and I was glad to find this band and coven. I believe it is the right thing for me to put my energy into. I just wish we had more time to figure out this difficult magic. I also wish we had fewer issues distracting us from it.
Anyway, tonight when I arrived in the ballroom, I watched as Fem had a brief, tense conversation with Malam in the corner while I gathered our blood magic instruments. Out of nowhere, Malam just turned into fucking shadow or smoke or something and disappeared.
Poor Fem. He was ashen and needed to sit down. He was standing so close and said it actually hurt physically when Malam did that. I don’t typically encourage it, but I got him to drink some brandy to try to settle his nerves. None of us even realized demons could do that. I suppose it’s how he gets to Chaosta when she summons him? If so, she clearly has a steel constitution to deal with whatever that is.
It took a few hours to get everyone settled, but in the end, we decided to forge on and try to get some work done on our own. We weren’t even able to produce a single raindrop. I blame the fact that we were all still unsettled from what just happened.
We did try to ask Fem what caused Malam to disappear like that, but he refused to tell us. I think we’re all tired of secrets, but none of us were going to push him after that.
EXCERPTS FROM MALAM
Iam careful to be quiet when I get back to Lily’s home after delivering the sword. I don’t want to wake her. My poor love has been dealing with my volatile emotions recently, and she certainly deserves the sleep.
I should be in bed with her, but this task can’t wait. Instead, I pull on the clothing I stole from the center. My disguise from when I was there to remove Chaosta all those months ago. It is a happy accident that I still have it, one less thing to deal with on this mission.
I get ready to leave, but can’t help myself; I need to check on Lily. As I stand beside the bed and see her sleeping, I feel my emotions stabilize. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
I lean down and gently kiss her forehead. She mumbles and smiles in her sleep, and it takes all of my inner strength to pull away from the bed I’ve begun to think of as my own. I make myself leave the bedroom and transport myself to a dark alley outside the treatment center.
I shake off thoughts of her as I walk through the front door. She doesn’t belong anywhere near the upcoming violence.
I move confidently past the front desk and into the hallwaythat leads to the rest of the treatment center. The guard at the front desk just nods to me, recognizing my outfit if not me. My lack of hesitation makes him feel comfortable. Humans are stupid.
It doesn’t take me long to find an empty terminal, and I hack past the security screen and locate Chaosta’s records. I may not be a talented hacker, like some of our people. However, I am capable of simple hacking with small things like this.
When I was here last, I only scanned for one thing. Back then, I needed to know what medications they were giving her so I knew what care she would need as she recovered. At the time, I was distracted by the sheer volume of antipsychotics and other mind medications they had been giving her. I was careful to avoid looking at everything else since that seemed like an intrusion of her privacy.
Now that I believe portions of this record are a lie, it doesn’t feel as much like an intrusion as it did, so I read the entirety.
It takes nearly an hour, and while there are some inconsistencies, nothing here tells me what actually happened. I lock down the terminal, choking back the growl that wants to emerge from my throat. This is going to take more time than I had hoped.
I walk back out through the front door, still not raising suspicion. Once I’m out on the street, I light a cigarette and walk for a bit. The air is already poisonous, adding a little more to my lungs can’t hurt. Besides, I am immortal and not plagued by human conditions.
Smoking is a new thing for me, a way of coping with the increased stress I’m under in the race to try to save my people. As unhealthy as it is, there are many worse things I need help coping with.
FRANKLY, A SURPRISING REQUEST FOR ASSISTANCE
Ihave been able to sneak away to practice with my new sword twice. The first, on the night Malam gave it to me, went well. I enjoyed practicing with a blade so beautifully balanced and perfect for me. I took it easy, though, moving slowly through the patterns and stopping after a short while.
The second time, this afternoon, however…
I wince as I watch myself in the mirror. I’m pressing a piece of fabric I tore from one of my old skirts to my side. I’m trying to stop the bleeding where I pulled open a couple of the previously healing, knife wounds.
“Fuck abdomens and their fucking inability to stay stitched,” I growl quietly to myself.
