Chapter 11: House of Nul

“How are you feeling?” I had to lie down for a while, a measure of time that might have spanned anywhere from five minutes to an hour. Overwhelmed by everything that had just happened, my mind decided to shut down, and not precisely fast and painlessly. The fight had left me exhausted, our escape drained my last drop of energy, and the news regarding my Inkpot had delivered the coup de grâce. I had already experienced a headache before, but the migraine that all those events boiled inside my head was on another level. I felt nauseated, my temples were constantly stabbed by invisible needles, and the whole world spun.

I waved one hand, slowly closing and opening my eyes. “I can at least see only one Spare.” I jokingly said, immediately regretting doing so, as the movement that my laugh produced made me feel light-headed.

“Are you ready to talk about it?” There was only one thing we could talk about, and Spare’s voice perfectly reflected the topic’s urgency.

“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be,” I honestly replied. Just thinking of all the implications and ramifications that my blood-red Ink carried made my headache flare-up. “But I have to know, and it can’t wait.”

Spare nodded and, sitting right next to my side, opened his heart to me. He only saw one possible explanation, and it was nowhere close to my version of the events, where my mother miraculously got a hold of the Inkpot. She must have stolen it, that much was clear, but there were several holes in that plot.

First, nobody should be able to steal from one of the big houses and exit with their life, not to say any Royal building. The security around those was tight. Not only every few meters there was a soldier stationed, but the Inkpot should have been locked under strict watch, possibly in a safe only the head of the house could open.

But, let’s suppose for a moment that she, somehow, got hold of that Inkpot. She could have lived the life of a noble if she sold it; she could have run far away and lived a good life. Yet, she decided to give it to an abandoned child she found?

I didn’t like the direction his argument was taking because I knew what it implied. My sweaty hands and ever-changing posture made evident how restless and fazed I felt. As much as I hated it, I swallowed all my anxiousness and listened to the rest of his story, to his hypothesis.

My mother, in her youth, had a kid with a noble, an important one probably. His house didn’t approve the lowly union, or maybe they even knew about it. The father might have tried to leave the family, but either he failed or simply- he’s words turned softer at this point, trying not to make me feel bad- he decided to stay. Whichever the case, he smuggled the flask to guarantee she could survive on her own, without his house’s protection.

“Then…” I hesitated; my sedated mind was still processing all that information. “That would make me a noble?” The words came out of my mouth like water would out of a dropper, stagnant, one at a time.

“If you could ever prove it, that is…” Spare reminded me of my reality, but he didn’t understand what I meant with my previous question.

“No, no. I am from the House of Nul.” My voice unintentionally rose. “My mother raised me as a commoner! A commoner!” My cheek felt wet, tears bounced on the floor. “She adopted me when everyone else had abandoned me, I-” I was pure rage by this moment, I didn’t hear my own voice. “-I have no father!”

I saw Spare’s afflicted face, the paternal pity reflected on his eyes, and I broke down in tears. I hugged my own knees, wetting the trousers, but I couldn’t care a bit less. “She died for me…” my voice was a whisper, a ghost of the former fury. Spare’s arm wrapped around me and his bodily heat warmed my heart. He was the closest I had to a father, to a family since my mother… since she died.

I wept for a long time, keeping Spare’s body hostage, tightly pressed to my own. I felt safe, a kind of safety that Ink can’t get you, one that not even all the Royal army could give. He didn’t protest; in fact, he didn’t say anything. And, although I didn’t hear him crying, I knew he was heartbroken. I had never properly mourned my mother, failing to realize how much I needed the closure, how much I needed to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he broke our silence, letting go of me and standing a foot apart. I shook my head, still too fragile to voice my thoughts. It’s not your fault Spare, I am grateful you told me. I took his hand with both of mine, emphatically squeezed it, and nodded with my eyes closed.

“Teach me.” I said after catching a few deep breaths. “I want to get to the bottom of my story; I want to know who would go to the extremes of killing me.” It was a strange combination of braveness, fear, and curiosity that spoke for me. I meant it.

“I’m already teaching you,” Spare answered with confusion, his eyes squinted while looking at me.

“To fight.” I burst out. “That assassin… I can’t always depend on you, if you wo-”

“No.” He’s answer interrupted me. It was not an open answer; there was no room for discussion. He had made his decision, and he was only informing me of it. “It is not my place to teach that. You would only get yourself killed!” There was no trace of compassion left, he spoke with the certainty of someone who has seen the future.

“Not if you teach me! If y-”

“No! Absolutely no!” He was shouting, a rare event for my teacher, one I only recall seeing that time he slapped me after the incident with the rat. My body shrunk, my cheek preemptively became red; I hid my head between my shoulders. “You won’t go back to the association.”

It was like a jug of cold water thrown all over me. It permeated my skin and my bones until it froze my very soul. Everything I have been working for… I… I am an Inker. “But. Wha-” A finger right in front of my mouth made me hold my tongue.

“Until I deem you are at the level of a Ga’ar, you will go from shack to shack, hide in the sewers, and do everything it takes to stay alive. Learn, you have just started The way of the Ink; you have yet to understand its message. Study until glyphs become your mother language. Draw until you can convert a knife to a sword. Capture until light itself bends to your will.”

He paused, taking a moment to breathe and to arrange his thoughts. “Your future is vast; given your ability and your young age, you could become the best Inker this Kingdom has ever seen. Don’t…” His eyes were full of consternation, “don’t cut your life short…”

“It will take me years to become a Ga’ar!” My words were not the most appropriate for the moment, even I realized it, but bursting with a sentiment of urgency, I got carried by my internal desire to find and destroy the nobles that abandoned my mother and even had the guts to plot my death.

“So be it,” was his only answer. His eyes, though, sent the diametrically opposite message- do you dare defy everyone’s expectations and return as a Ga’ar in but a months’ time? Mines, in exchange, responded-I am Tarar, of the House of Nul, Spare’s proud apprentice, Ga’ar Inker. Of course I wasn’t a Ga’ar, yet, but I took his challenge to heart.

In retrospect, he had just cleverly fooled a child who still didn’t understand these subtleties. It was for good, I’d like to think, otherwise, I would certainly have rushed back to the inn, searching for clues I most likely wouldn’t have found. Instead, what would have been waiting there for me was, without any hint of doubt, death. It was a good thing that I still was a naive and inexperienced kid.

The early morning, rapidly becoming dawn, was coming to an end. We got on our feet again and resumed our escape. “See that mold by the door? That means no one has stepped in or out of the house.” Spare continuously pointed to some of those ruined houses, telling me why he knew they were empty or occupied. That plank looks newly installed; stay away from it. Here, touch these ashes; they are still hot. Nobody would leave his shack without taking with them their pots and casseroles.

I tried my best to absorb all those clues and hints, but my mind was busy wondering something else. The only reason he must be telling me all of this is because he won’t be staying with me. It was a daunting perspective, but no matter how I looked at it, it was obvious I was going to be alone for a long time.

“We will use our underground shelter as a stash.” He suddenly said when we reached the sewers’ entrance. “I’ll leave books, food, and whatever I think might be useful down there. Do you remember how to get there?” I nodded. It was not difficult to reach as long as I was at the correct entrance. “Good. Don’t live there; we can’t risk someone following either of us.” I nodded again. “If you ever need anything, leave a note, and I’ll try my best.” I nodded once more.

“You are leaving, aren’t you?” My tiny voice barely managed to come out. I was afraid that saying it out loud would somehow make it real, but of course, it already was.

“I’m afraid so.” He hesitated. “I have jobs I can’t refuse, they can easily track me to you, and I wou-”

“It’s fine.” I dejectedly waved my hand. “You’ve already done too much. You took me in, taught me, helped me become an Inker, and even protected me. And I-” I felt a knot on my throat. “-I haven’t done a single thing for you.” I blinked four or five times in rapid succession, hoping to stop myself from crying. There had already been enough tears for today.

“Tarar,” his hand landed on my head, “the joy of seeing your pupil learn is one you can not pay for.” I felt like he was refraining from saying something, but it was nothing more than a hunch, and I didn’t want to be impertinent. “We will see each other again, and by that time, I expect to find a Ga’ar.”

We didn’t say anything else. Our eyes locked for a second, and that was all we needed. I stood, immobilized, as I saw his figure slowly disappearing. He was long gone, but my eyes still tried to find him. When I was sure they wouldn’t succeed, my body was freed from the spell. I considered going after him, but realizing how stupid that would be, I instead decided to reconsider my priorities.

First of all, I need my Inkpot covered. I took my shirt off, invoked my sword, and cut its right sleeve. There was a reason for maiming such a good piece of cloth instead of looking around for a burlap sack or stealing someone’s clothes; it didn’t fit anyone living in the sewers, or the shacks for what it’s worth. I tied the fabric around my ankle and ensured that not even the slightest bit of red could be seen. I considered for a brief moment if it was worth hiding my chest, but the original bright-red formation had already diluted to merlot-red, short of becoming dark grey.

Maybe I should find out how to get rid of the rat’s sigil? Typically, you would invoke the Ink and then dispose of the object. Given enough time and distance, the Ink, having lost its energy source, would lose its properties. But my case was far from ordinary. Could I even invoke the rat? Crap, I should have asked Spare when I had the chance. Although if I could, I bet he would have already suggested so.

Trashing that idea and assuming it would have to wait until I was much more knowledgeable, I tackled the next matter. Books, I need to study. I tried hard to remember if we didn’t take everything with us when we left the sewers. Clinging to that hope, I made my way towards the hideout.

As opposed to what I had believed, it took me a few tries to find the correct route. I couldn’t openly walk as we did when I left with Spare, I didn’t have any house backing me, so I had to avoid prying eyes. If someone took too much interest in my looks, I would be forced to run and could easily get lost down there. To that end, I had to retrace my steps on numerous occasions, but I eventually reached the small interjection where I had met those three addicts. That was a long time ago, I tried to convince my shivering body.

I actuated the hidden mechanism after ensuring nobody had followed me and entered my old home. It smelled funny, a merge of moldy and musty. I couldn’t help but smile at how refined my nose had become; a year ago, I would have never noticed. In fact, it might have always smelled like this.

The pile of books waiting for me on the table broadened my smile. Yes! I was elated I’d have some material to start with; who knows how long it would take Spare to bring some examples. I dusted off the cover of the topmost book and broke into laughter. The way of the Ink, it would seem I have a pending business with you! The list continued with Glyphs, Formations, and Sigils, a formal introduction, a book that brought back some bad memories, and Beyond Ink, tales of old.

I could carry all of those books, which would probably have been an awful idea, or I could tattoo them on my skin. The answer was obvious, I had to draw them all on my skin, trying to capture an angle that wouldn’t take too much space but would still preserve them. In the end, I carved my shins and quadriceps with their spine and a narrow perspective of their cover. I didn’t spend one more second than necessary inside, immediately going back once I was done.

Procuring food wouldn’t be a problem as long as I could bear eating cockroaches again, which, truth be told, I wasn’t so sure of. My palate had grown used to that inn’s high cuisine, and going back to raw bugs or rat meat was a bit too much. Luckily, there was little that my small flask of black Ink couldn’t buy, especially down here where even the lowest grade of Ink was a small treasure.

I ended up trading with one lone dweller, one drop for a week worth of bread. It would be parched, and maybe even mold by that time, but that I could tolerate. One more drop procured me a good supply of cooked meat, which I wisely refrained from inquiring where it came from.

It can’t be any worse than this, can it? I asked myself while observing the shack I had decided to occupy. It was hard to imagine I had been living in an inn a day ago. Now, my chambers consisted of a leaking roof and a bunch of metal and wood that impersonated a wall but dismally failed.

I took a loaf of that bread, some meat, and invoked the only book I hadn’t read yet. I’m home!