Where Spirits Dwell

“Jordan get down here! We aren't paying you to sleep all day!"

Jordan awoke to the sound of Mrs. Tanner yelling at him. He groaned, got up and stretched lazily. He smacked his lips sleepily, then remembered why he was being yelled at. Jordan sprang from his bed, stumbling towards a pile of clothing in the corner of the room. He scrambled to put them on, then raced down the stairs and into the bustling part of the inn. He dodged a few waitresses that rushed past him and looked around for Mrs. Tanner. He knew she had found him when he felt a sharp tap on his shoulder.

“Jordan! About time you're up, you lazy boy! We need you to go to the market and pay Old Jack. Mr. Tanner forgot when he went to pick up stock.” With that, Mrs. Tanner slipped a small pouch into his hand and shoved him towards the door, shouting over the noise of the inn, “And no dawdling on the trip either! We’ve got plenty of jobs for you when you get back!”

He ignored her and slipped out onto the street.

It wasn't as busy as the inn; the fact that it was early morning meant everybody was preparing for the start of their day. Jordan knew that Old Jack would be doing the same, so he headed in the opposite direction of the market.

He strolled down the mainly empty streets, nodding at anyone that he passed. Until he saw one particular group of individuals; they wore dark robes with heavy cowls and anyone who saw them would bow, and then move quickly out of their way.

Jordan scowled at them but quickly shifted his head to the side to hide his distaste. They were part of The Brotherhood, followers of Aeron, necromancers. When they walked past he snorted, even the air around them held the scent of decay and death.

The Brotherhood was a religious faction that ruled over this town, and Jordan hated them. They messed with people’s heads, using their abilities for their own profit and gain, claiming their power of death came from the great goddess Aeron. If anyone failed to appease her, death itself would set upon the land.

He shook his head; that was a load of horse dung. He knew their powers came from no god, but he was also smart enough to not show it. They might not have a goddess on their side but they were powerful enough without one; anyone who stood against them became their next rotting plaything.

He didn’t relax until he could no longer sense the necromancers around him. With the distraction gone, Jordan realized he had arrived in front of the tavern Old Jack frequented for his morning pick-me-up. He braced himself before entering the rather drab, melancholic atmosphere.

The tavern was rundown, dirty and seemingly empty due to it being early morning. Jack was the only customer there, sitting at the end of the bar, a drink in his hand. Jordan walked up to him with a slight smirk; Jack was… an interesting character. Wiping his smile off at the last minute, he grabbed Jack’s arm, to get his attention.

Old Jack turned and said with a drunken slur, “Whadaya want?”

Jordan rolled his eyes, maybe prolonging this encounter wasn’t the best idea, “Jack I’ve got money for you from Mr. Tanner, he forgot to pay you the other day.”

As Jordan handed him the pouch of money Jack swept him up in a huge hug, “You’ve always been a good boy Jordan. Such a good boy…” With that he let go of Jordan and toppled onto the bar, passed out, the remainder of his morning drink dribbling onto the floor. Jordan shook his head, laughing and walked out of the tavern. He looked down the road and decided to take a few side streets on his way back. It was always better to avoid The Brotherhood.

Jordan went on his way but before long the hairs on his neck began to rise. He felt like he was being watched. He looked over his shoulder, but saw nothing. Trying to shake the feeling, he continued walking. Minutes later the feeling came again, stronger than before and continued to grow. He swung around violently, searching for the stalker. No one was there. Nervous, he turned back and began to walk more quickly, soon the swift trot turned into an all out sprint.

Panicked conclusions jumbled through his brain, desperate to make sense of his fear.
He glanced over his shoulder while he was running; he hadn’t realized gangs made their lair down here, in fact he had never heard of this happening before. But it was happening, and he had to deal with it. As he rounded a corner he tripped, and fell face first into a puddle.

Jordan began to scuffle to his feet, but stopped as he noticed something in his distorted reflection. There he was, raven haired with the boyish face of an older youth, looks impaired by the mud covering him. It wasn’t this that made him stop, behind him… was an apparition. He turned quickly to face the image, but nothing was there. He looked back at the puddle, to be sure of his sanity. The ghostly figure was now even closer than before. That was enough for his already shot nerves, he took off running.

Jordan continued at his despair driven pace until he was left panting, gasping for breath. Still struggling for air he looked into a clear window to his left. His reflection seemed to laugh at the desperate, filthy boy that had cast it. He gave it a halfhearted glare but then stumbled back, astonished. The window was fogging as if someone was breathing on it, but... He looked down the deserted alleyway. Impossible! Yet…

Captivated, he continued to stare it. Words began to imprint themselves on it in a messy scrawl. ‘Show me.’

Show me? What the hell! He angrily tried to wipe off the smog ridden window. All he got for his efforts was a chilled hand; the window was as cold as ice.

Jordan frowned; “Leave me alone!” he screamed and ran the opposite direction.

When he tumbled around the next corner he found himself back onto the busy main street, the inn directly across from him. It welcomed him, as if waiting for him to realize what a fool he was. He walked across the street and entered its safe halls.

Mrs. Tanner saw him immediately and started her usual screams, but fell silent as she noticed something different about him. Perhaps it was the fact that he was pale, or the mud covering him, or even the chill that seemed to cling to his presence, but without another word she hurried him up to his room, got a bath ready and left him to his own musings.