The walk home was long and loud. The revelers carried on conversation as passionately as possible, some simply hollering nonsense into the night. They clattered together metal and wooden sticks as well to make even more of a racket. All of this ceaseless noise was made to push away any malevolent spirits that could have dared visit on this night. Hundreds of stomping satin covered men and women with their drunken roaring would have been a bizarre sight to a spirit sleeping the ages off.

We were often terrified by mothers and nannies, with legends of what would happen if you did not follow the decorum of Nimium. I followed it simply because it was enjoyable, without a doubt. Drinking a cask of ale or spiced wine while screaming at the top of one's lungs is never a dull evening. I paid no heed to tales such as the Burum.

A thin creature whose skin hung off its bones like a draped sheet of ornamental paper, so thin that you could see its missing lung through waxen skin. My mothers maid had said that was what made it so terrifying. It wasn't particularly strong and cruel, it needed desperately to take. It was a creature of necessity tossed into an unfamiliar world, nothing is more dangerous she said. It manifested itself through some cruel curse or spell, and had to kill and harvest a suitable lung before its breath ran out.

The way people who had very little in life could find a way to create a whole new world in the confines of their skull was fascinating. Though terrible stories never really suited me, I preferred the ones without any gore and hackings.

“Dremm do you remember that disgusting story about the lung stealing old lady that pops out of the ground?”

Dremm began walking backwards, “Of course I do. I nearly pissed myself when my sister told me, our parents had gone off to Luant to meet with some silly dignitary, she was trying to terrify me so I didn't go running off into town. “

“And it worked you damn fool? It should be the cutthroats you should worry about, they’ll steal your lungs and whatever organs aren’t properly secured.”

Snorting Dremm almost stumbled into someone while walking blindly, “You’re telling me that even as a child Bevyn, you were not scared of anything even the damn Burum or the Screaming Bagwan?”

“You know too much about those horseshite stories, you are too close with those servants of yours.”

Dremm scoffed at this, clearly used to this accusation I had leveled. I kept my momentum going, “You are too close to them and you know it, they are apt to steal your bread from under your nose and a flagon from your ass. I have never been frightened of such outlandish things and I am perfectly -” Just as those words were uttered a horrifying apparition with colorless and shapeless eyes lunged out. Grunting like an invalid in pain, it grabbed onto the lapel of my shirt.

I let loose an involuntary exhale of terror as starved hands brushed my skin. Certainly a denizen from the beyond come to steal one of my precious lungs. Yet once the terror had lost its kindling I realized it was not a woman with sheet-skin like the legend. It was only a man. And a blind one at that. I heard the chuckling of Dremm and Iona who had caught up with us through the crowd. The man still had a loose grip until I shoved him away like an alley cat. He dropped to his knees with a harsh sound. His hair was blanched white and quite long, yet with a moat of dry skin at the top of his skull.

His unknowing pupils were lolling about in his face at random, and he wore what must have been an emptied sack of grain stained the wrong color. He had the subtle lumps at the front of his skull that marked him other. His sun beaten lips cracked open to speak plainly, “Please my friend, I felt your clothes and know you could help me. My daughter has not been well for many nights. Please could you spare anything, this festival turns eyes outward more often than not, and that is not where charity lies.”

My initial fear overcame me. I glanced at the sorry state of the man, and further onward into the alleyway at a heap of limbs that was the man's supposed daughter. She did not look long for this world or any world to be truthful. An immense and unfamiliar state of discomfort overtook me. But then I felt the pitying eyes of my company upon my back. “You should not even be here this high in the city. I could very well have you thrown in the Winding Cells or hanged. Now scuttle away please.” Dremm and Iona grew uncomfortably quiet, I am not entirely sure why as I had not shown any weakness except for my moments of shock.

“I am horribly sorry my good lord, I do not know how I found my way to this place. I will leave you to this happy occasion, may Addia bless you with strength.” I simply grunted in what I hoped was a gruff and dismissive way, motioning for my party to head off. On our retreat I heard the rasping questions of the young girl to her father, and the slow response “not just yet” off the dim alley walls.

I do not know if I should have spared a coin or two for the man, but kindness always seemed to be full of deep tunnels towards weakness, vulnerability. Hardening yourself was often safer, and far easier.. It was odd as the crowd’s noise returned, I do not believe it ever stopped, yet I heard the man’s feebly tainted voice clear through the racket. Dremm made a half-hearted attempt at humor, “One would have thought that tales from our youth were real, when we saw your eyes, like dishware they were!”

“He caught me off guard… that is all there is to say.”

Iona breathed quietly “You had the coin, Addia knows it. Why did you not at least hand him something for a roll of bread.”

“You cannot know what that means, you are from somewhere away from here. Someone from so far away would think the fools were kings, and beggars were merchants.”

The snapping tone certainly put a damper on conversation as Iona became intent on the cobblestone and Dremm began to scratch at his own nails. The walk toward my home was quite outlandish in its silence. Three youths walking amongst the fervent screaming made to ward our childish nightmares away - and perhaps blind beggars too.

The manor had always been insistently bland in its outer appearance like all of the architecture of Malamus. Stone lacking in any pigment, clear cut shapes that did not inspire the image of anything from nature. Yet, on the inside it was nearly bursting with finery and shocking wealth, considering the plain, albeit large exterior.

"Goodbye...Bevyn." Iona spoke with hesitance. Dremm simply looked at me awkwardly, gesturing from behind with a shooing gesture.

Subtle Dremm. I sighed inwardly.

"See you all soon. I'm sorry for snapping Iona, maybe you're right. A few coins never hurt anyone. Be safe, lots of drunk folk around."

Dremm snorted lightly, "We should be keeping every safe from you, you dont know when to put the bottle down."

"Goodnight Dremm, never know when to quit do you?" I watched them as they retreated into the night, Dremm leaning into Iona with feigned drunkeness.

Upon entering my home I heard the customary crackle of the flames in the gilded fireplace. Something that normally is meant to inspire comfort in stories, something that should become one with the meaning of home. Yet it only inspired a low-frequency feeling of loathing and dread, small enough to smother but existing with the potential to break loose. The fire crackling so late at night meant that my father was still in the great room.

I motioned forward into the open space, the gold inlaid vacuum of a room still shimmered insistently, even though the fire was low. My father sat in the velvet chair, mammoth shoulders leaning forward. He was reading another war story, some book about dead men killing other dead men standing in rows. The undulating cast of shadow made him look like one of the spectral hounds we were told to be warding away on this night. The hound’s outline bunched up with frustration in being dropped into this strange world, baying into the air. I thought maybe he had fallen asleep due to his posture, and the wine stain on his coat but I was mistaken,

“Did you piss yourself boy?”

I was confused by this question. I nearly glanced down to my trousers as if I would not have noticed such a thing, but shook this off.

“I am not sure what you mean Father, are you having a laugh?”

“You smell like ale, I always thought ale smelled like piss, wine is what nobleman drink.” Light hiccup.

“Ah.” I said.

I thought perhaps I should mention that we are not really noblemen, just merchants who have done well enough to deal with noblemen. But it was a point I would not want to make even when we both were sober. I thought instead to bring up a different topic.

“There was a blind man in the upper ring, it was quite odd. He had a child with him, the girl was quite ill. I don't know how they must have made it there in that state, and avoided all the guards.”

Father looked at me as if he did not recognize me, it was a peculiar look he gave often. He slowly pondered this, the gilding of the room and the light bouncing off his broad face.

“You didn't give him any money did you?” Asked in such a way where he knew the answer but was reinforcing his thought.

“Of course not, though he surely could have used it, he was quite weak when he grabbed me. His daughter is likely lost to the world with him as a caretaker.”

“Hmph. Well maybe she should be lost to the world. Perhaps then they would not go places they aren't permitted. And you say they were weak, well weakness has to be dug out like a parasite my boy.” He coughed violently into his hand.

“That doesn't seem quite reasonable, I know giving money freely does a man no favors, but he was only a blind man.”

“Only a blind man you say.” He shifted up in his seat as though that made him appear more dignified in what he was to say. “Let me tell you something about weakness and the sick. The blind and the crippled are no more deserving of kindness than any of us. They all desire to be cruel and cunning, they simply lack the means. They are hopelessly confined to a life of gentleness. They were destined to die far before you saw them on this day. I am tired of giving you lessons boy.” He polished off the remnants of his wine and wiped his lip.

I surveyed this giant cell of ornate work, the commissioned paintings, the sculptures flanking us at all sides. And I had to conclude that he was right. That was the truth of it. The man had all there was to own, and that meant that he must know the secret of our lives. Weakness and power, wealth and destitution, that was the center of the universe. Even if someone wanted to protest this point, it would be fruitless. The men who have everything are the ones who get to dictate what is important and what isn't. That is how it is, and that's how it will be until the world shatters.

“I understand completely father. You should have seen the man, I shoved him away like a sack of vegetables.”

My father who had grown frustrated at the short silence burst into uproarious laughter, “Now that’s my boy! Come and have some wine, let's play a game of cards!”

“Actually that’ll have to be some other time, I think I had too much ale at the festival. I'm going to have a lay down.”

My father nodded reluctantly as I shuffled out of the great room. I walked through the spectacle that was my home, the servants quietly performing their duties at late hours. The portraits of our families past staring out endlessly. Even the drinkware in the kitchen, worth more than many could understand within the frame of their world.

Sauntering away from the bedroom where my father slept alone. My mothers body now sleeping in some extravagant graveyard where the tombstones were their own work of art. To my own bedroom, cloaked in fine drapery, wooden craftsmanship. I slunk into my overgrown bed and heaved a sigh of weariness.

And there amongst the silk sheets I laid and had trouble sleeping. I was nearing the level of drunkenness where I found sleep elusive rather than immediate. However, I did eventually fall into a deep sleep. And I dreamt of a man without eyes, searching for just one silver coin. And his missing lung.