1 Nevermore

"Nevermore."

Salem Farsight mumbled to himself for the hundredth time as he limped down the corridor. The walls were stone. There was a seedy feel to the place and a smell of old dirt. There were no windows, as the hallway was deep beneath the ground, and the lanterns cast slow-flowing shadows into every corner.

'Nevermore.'

Salem's walking made a steady rhythm on the grimy tiles of the floor. First the confident click of his right heel, then the tap of his cane, then the endless sliding of his left foot, with the familiar stabbing pains in the ankle, knee and back. Click, tap, pain. That was the rhythm of his walking.

The dirty monotony of the corridor was broken from time to time by a heavy door, bound and studded with pitted iron. On one occasion, Salem thought he heard a muffled cry of pain from behind one. Maybe the ghosts of the dead still haunt this fortress? What crime they are guilty, or innocent of? What secrets are being picked at, what lies cut through, what treasons laid bare? He didn't wonder long though. He was interrupted by the stairs.

If Salem had a hatred for man he never met, any one man, anyone at all, he would surely have been the inventor of stairs. When he was a little child, before the diseases made his body weak like thin glass, he had never really noticed them. He had sprung down them two at a time and gone blithely on his way. No more. They're everywhere. You really can't change floors without them. And down is worse than up, that's the thing people never realise. Going up, you usually don't fall that far.

He knew this flight well. Sixteen steps, cut from smooth stone, a little worn toward the centre, slightly damp, like everything down here. There was no bannister, nothing to cling to. Sixteen enemies. A challenge indeed. It had taken Salem a long time to develop the least painful method of descending stairs. He went sideways like a crab. Cane first, then left foot, then right, with more than the usual agony as his left leg took his weight, joined by a persistent stabbing in the neck. Why should it hurt in my neck when I go downstairs? Does my neck take my weight? Does it? Yet the pain could not be denied.

Salem paused four steps from the bottom. He had nearly beaten them. His hand was trembling on the handle of his cane, his left leg aching like fury. His ankle gave way with a horrifying wrench and he plunged into space, twisting, lurching, his mind a cauldron of horror and despair. He stumbled onto the next step like a drunkard, fingernails scratching at the smooth wall, squealing in terror. You stupid, stupid bastard! His cane clattered to the floor, his clumsy feet wrestled with the stones and he found himself at the bottom, by some miracle still standing.

'And here it is. That horrible, beautiful, stretched out moment between stubbing your toe and feeling the hurt. How long do I have before the pain comes? How bad will it be when it does?' Gasping, slack-jawed at the foot of the steps, Salem felt a tingling of anticipation.

'Here it comes…'

The agony was unspeakable, a searing spasm up his left side from foot to jaw. He squeezed his watering eyes tight shut, clamped his right hand over his mouth so hard that the knuckles clicked. His remaining teeth grated against each other as he locked his jaws together, but a high-pitched, jagged moan still whistled from him.

'Am I screaming or laughing? How do I tell the difference?'

He breathed in heaving gasps, through his nose, snot bubbling out onto his hand, his twisted body shaking with the effort of staying upright.

The spasm passed. Salem moved his limbs cautiously, one by one, testing the damage. His leg was on fire, his foot numb, his neck clicked with every movement, sending vicious little stings down his spine. Pretty good, considering. He bent down with an effort and snatched up his cane between two fingers, drew himself up once more, wiped the snot and tears on the back of his hand.

'Truly a thrill. Did I enjoy it? For most people, stairs are a mundane affair. For me, an adventure!'

He limped off down the corridor, giggling quietly to himself. He was still smiling ever so faintly when he reached his door and shuffled inside.

The ceiling was not too high, not too low for comfort, the room too brightly lit by blazing white lamps. Mystic lamps created from Runecraft. Despite having not much of amplitude for the Mystic Arts; it always intrigued him. How the runes absorb ambient heat from the surroundings and turn it into white light? How does it all work? Of course, commoners couldn't afford such luxuries much less a cripple. But Salem Farsight was no ordinary cripple, he was one of the sons of the most powerful houses in the Uther Kingdom; House Farsight.

Salem limped over to the other chair, leaned his cane carefully against the edge of the tabletop and slowly, cautiously, painfully sat down. He stretched his neck to the left and right, then allowed his body to slump into a position approaching comfort. If Salem had been allowed to shake the hand of any one man, anyone at all, he would surely have chosen the inventor of chairs. He has made Salem's life almost bearable.

The opposite side of the chair was his desk and beside it was his bed. He placed his cane beside the desk. He sight moved to his desk where his work laid written on paper beside the quill and ink bottle. Poems. He wasn't much of a warrior with his crippled frail body, wasn't much of a mystic with his amplitude for the arcane, but he was a poet. Poetry and stories didn't increase his status or respect within the family but it made his days better, his life bearable, his imagination enjoyable.

He looked down from the window at the training grounds where his cousins trained with the soldiers and guards. Block, strike, slice, stab. The move-set he followed with the sword when he could still properly walk. His gaze moved to the thick stone walls that surrounded the castle, the guards on the guard towers performing their daily duty. Salem sat and waited for the daily guest's visit which he appreciated. Instead, a knocking sound greeted him from the behind the closed door.

"Come in, " said Salem while he grabbed his cane and turned with its support. The door slammed opened and a boy around the same age as him entered. The boy's gaze met Salem's and Salem smiled.

"Ah... Cousin, how are you doing? I am happy to learn about the result for your amplitude test results. Didn't expect you to be revealed as a top-class talent." said Salem gaining a proper balance with the cane, half his body numb. There was the smile of genuine happiness on his face.

Alder didn't expect this reaction from his cousin when thought about visiting him. He had a frail body just like his Salem's but not crippled. He wasn't much of a talent when it comes to weapons or any good in other subjects that demanded the use of the mind, unlike Salem who was almost good at everything that wasn't mystically or physically demanding. From his grasp of medicine, common knowledge of around the around, management of money, basic chemistry and his speciality literature. He was a genius in his own right, but still a cripple.

Salem trembled, his body numb. Stumbling with his cane he walked towards his cousin. Alder smirked, he expected mockery that could easily return to the cripple with the new insults he learned. But things didn't go as he accepted.

The crane dropped on the ground and Salem threw his body onto his cousin. Before Alder could back off in surprise Salem's arms wrapped around him, holding him in a tight hug.

"I can't describe how happy I am for you cousin. Both in spoken and written," said Salem burying his face where Alder's neck and shoulder and met.

"Cousin..." Alder gasped in surprise. This was certainly something he didn't expect.

Salem grabbed Alder's shoulders for support and stood opposite to him, face to face while laughing.

"They looked down on you. They mocked you as a failure. Now prove them wrong. Show them who Alder Farsight truly is." said Salem with determination in his eyes.

Alder stood mouth agape unable to say a thing. In his mind, he screamed: 'YOU ARE THE ONE WHO ALWAYS MOCKED ME AS A FAILURE!'

"Cousin you..."

Before Alder could even start, the sound of heavy footsteps from behind interrupted him.

"You are here," said Salem. Alder turned his head to see an armoured guard standing behind them.

"Why are you here?" Salem asked. "Can't you see my cousin- Not cousin--my brother and I are having an important conversation?"

'WHAT?! NOW, I AM SUDDENLY YOUR BROTHER!' Alder screamed inside his mind once more but didn't let his thoughts being displayed on his face.

"My apologies young lords. Elder Bennett has called for the presence of the young lord Salem." explained the guard apologetically.

Salem's face turned apologetic as he looked at Alder. "Apologies brother, I can't leave Elder Bennett waiting."

Alder sighed and said, "It's alright, we can continue this any other time. Oh, I came here to tell you that the Mystics of different clans have organised programmes to prepare the younger generation for the test of the Arcane Institute. The head of the house had sent me to invite you in."

"Ah... the head," said Salem. "How can I say no to him?"

"You can't," replied Alder. "Be ready at the training ground tomorrow at the sunrise, Mystic Turner will start ours before the other clans start theirs. Anyways, I am leaving."

'Another headache.' thought Salem.

"Don't make Elder Bennett wait." Alder left the room saying this. He was certainly disappointed with how things went. He didn't get to throw any of the insults he learnt at Salem. Certainly a disappointing day. But he did trap him in a stunt of mockery that left a smirk on his face.

'Oh, cousin. Like I don't know. Why would Mystic Turner call us straight to the training ground without teaching us the theories and laws in the first place?' thought Salem looking at Alder's back while he walked out. Salem already knew that the lecture was tomorrow at nine from one of the elders, but would he let his cousin off the hook so easily for his useful attempt to make a mockery out of him. Yes, he decided he would. Petty revenge wasn't worth it.

Salem bowed with one hand on his back to pick up the cane. Amidst the numbness, a sharp pain ran through his back like electricity. A mix of numbness and pain, one of the strangest, one of the worst sensation a man could ever feel. But Salem was used to it, the unchanging smiling merry expression on his face showed no pain.

"Let's go," he said to the guard.

They left the room door closed and headed towards the Elder's chambers. Salem walked with the same old rhythm of walking his leg throbbing. Click, tap and pain. Thankfully this time he didn't need to climb any more steps on his way. On his way, he nodded to one of the guards and the guard knew what it meant.

Elder Bennett was one strong personality within the household, he made anyone who broke Farsight's laws or ever went against House Farsight disappear forever. Being close to saved Salem from potential bullying.

The Elder's chamber was a large and richly appointed room high up in the huge castle, a room in which everything was too big and too fancy. A huge, intricate window dominated one wood-panelled wall, offering a view over the well-tended gardens in the courtyard below. An equally huge and ornate desk stood in the centre of a richly coloured carpet from somewhere warm and exotic. The head of a hunted beast as a trophy from somewhere cold and exotic was mounted above a magnificent stone fireplace with a tiny, mean fire close to burning out inside.

Elder himself made his office look small and drab. A vast, florid man in his late fifties, he had over-compensated for his thinning hair with his large beard. He was considered a daunting presence even within the House Farsight, but Salem was past scaring, and they both knew it. The Household members didn't know but Bennett knew.

Salem wasn't just under the man's protection, he was working for the elder. The men Elder Bennett wanted to disappear had a lot to talk about and making them talk required pain. Who knew more about pain than Salem who's entire life have been nothing but pain. Sometimes as the secret torturer of House Farsight; Salem himself made people disappear. All he needed to make sure that the disappearances couldn't be traced back to him, even the head of House Farsight didn't know about Salem and Elder Bennett dealings.

******************

Salem went into the chamber and took a seat. Elder Bennett's chamber was what could be described in one word: Fancy. A big, fancy chair behind the desk, but the Elder was pacing up and down while he screamed, his arms waving. Salem was seated on something which, while doubtless expensive, had clearly been designed to make its occupant as uncomfortable as possible.

'It doesn't bother me much, though. Uncomfortable is as good as I ever get.'

He amused himself with the thought: 'What if we replace the head of the beast from the cold lands with your head? How would it look? You old leech.'

'He's every bit like his fireplace, the big dolt. Looks impressive, but there's not much going on underneath. I wonder how he'd respond to a torture session? I'd start with that ridiculous beard of his.'

While in his mind he thought of this, outside Salem's face was a mask of attention and respect.

"Well, you've outdone yourself this time, Salem, you mad cripple! When the head of the house finds out about this he'll have you flayed!"

"How would flaying feel like? Maybe little tickles," said Salem. 'Damn it, keep your mouth shut and smile. Where's that whistling fool guard? I'll have him flayed when I get out of here.'

"Oh yes, that's good, that's very good, Salem, look at me laugh! What could go wrong now that one of the dead bodies have been found?" The Superior glowered down, whiskers bristling. "A DEAD BODY!" he screamed, almost spraying Salem with spit. "They're all at it! The other houses, the investigators, all of them! Every damn fool are on to us!"

"Elder, a mutilated dead body swollen in water, unrecognisable whether man or woman. I felt we had to—"

"You felt?" Elder was red-faced and vibrating with rage. "You were explicitly told to keep away from the tracked, away from the investigator, away from all the big powers!" He strode up and down with ever greater speed.

'You'll wear out your carpet at this rate. The house will have to buy you a new one.'

"You felt, did you? Well, he'll have to go back! We'll have to release him and you'll have to feel your way to a grovelling apology! It's a damn disgrace! You've made me look like a fool! Where do we do now?"

The huge door was kicked open and a guard entered carrying a wooden box. And not a moment too soon. The Elder stared, speechless, open-mouthed with wrath, as the guard dropped it on the desk with a thump and a jingle.

"What the hell is the meaning of…" Gaurd pulled open the lid, and Elder saw the papers. All lovely with royal seals on them. He stopped in mid-rant, mouth stuck forming the next sound. He looked surprised, then he looked puzzled, then he looked cautious. He pursed his lips and slowly sat down.

"Thank you, Linus," said Salem. "You may go." The Elder was stroking thoughtfully at his side beard as the guard strolled out, his face returning gradually to its usual shade of pink. "Property of the dead. Confiscated from him. The property of the house now, of course. I thought that I should give it to you, as an elder, so that you could pass it on to the Treasury."

'Or buy a bigger desk, you leech.'

Salem leaned forward, hands on his knees. "You could say, perhaps, that man went too far, questions had been asked, and example had to be made. We can't be seen to do anything, after all. It'll make the big clans nervous, keep them in line."

'It'll make them nervous and you can screw more out of them.'

"Or you could always tell them that I'm a mad cripple, and blame me for it. Anyway, they wouldn't be able to track me. They need to suspect me first to get to you."

"Why won't they suspect you, boy?"

"Because they think I was busy breaking Issac's legs. Crushing them to be more specific."

"Who is Issac?"

"A servant girl's fiance tried to mock me as a cripple. Gave me a title that I like: Salem the Broken. *Sigh* I had to turn the poor guy into a scapegoat." Salem Snickered thinking about it.

The Elder was starting to like it now, Salem could tell. He was trying not to show it, but his beard was quivering at the sight of all that money. "Alright, Salem. Alright. Very well." He reached out and carefully shut the lid of the box. "But if you ever think of doing something like this again… talk to me first, would you? I don't like surprises."

Salem struggled to his feet, limped towards the door. "Oh, and one more thing!" He turned stiffly back. Elder was staring at him severely from beneath his big, fancy brows. "Why don't you buy Nature's milk or something for your pain. You can borrow money from me if you like."

Salem smiled broadly. "That shouldn't be a problem, Elder. I don't want to be addicted to that, I have seen what it does to the soldiers. Turning sharp minds dull. Also, I wouldn't be able to meet my best friend with it."

"What best friend?"

"You know the time when I fell from the stairs and couldn't walk for months. All the clan members could hear my screams from my chamber to theirs."

"That must be a quite painful time for you."

"It was. I even lost my ability to think for a week leaving in a state of broken madness. That's when God of Pain and I became the best of friends."

The elder had an awkward look after hearing the boy's words. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry or show his empathy at Salem.

"I'll be leaving, I have to work on my new poem. For now, I just have the title and the ending word in mind."

"What's the title?" asked Elder Bennett.

"The Raven Rising?" replied Salem.

"And what's the ending word?" Elder Bennett asked further.

To this Salem quoth, "Nevermore."