The Underbelly of Seffervayiim
Chapter 6 of To Those Who Hear the Call
I’m Lydia Woodward and I write fantasy stories about redemption and forgiveness. To learn more, you can read my bio here or the about page here.
Welcome back, starling!
Today’s chapter is almost exactly 2,000 words (just 13 over) so it should be a short respite from the holiday busyness.
At this point in the draft, I’m having so much fun learning how my two main characters are learning how to interact with each other. If you’ve been following along on TikTok or Instagram then you’ll finally get to see how some of those funny quotes come up in this chapter. 🤣
If you haven’t read Chapter 1 yet, you can find it here:
When we were younglings, Wodahs had told me that there are certain times when information about you is sure to spread to the wrong sort of people. His eyes had shone with a mischievous twinkle as his face twisted in his signature grin, “That is when you make absolutely sure that you are the one who tells it first.”
The winding backstreets and unlit passages of the underground are rife with backstabbers and slave traders. Death is not an uncommon occurrence here, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t certain people who expect to be told about them.
Xof is one such man. A member of the clan of the huntress all his life, working his way up the ranks of greed and corruption that keep the cogs of life down here moving. He is nothing if not clever and cautious, knowing full well that there will always be someone else waiting to take their turn at the seat of power. The white shimmers and gray streaks in the sides of slicked-back hair tell a tale not many of his profession live to tell: Xof is in power because he has managed to instill a greater loyalty than mere fear and greed. There are many men in the underbelly of Seffervayiim that consider themselves a family, and Xof is the only person that they all admire and respect.
Still, one can never be too careful when living life in the shadows, and there are but a handful of people that Xof would consider to be his true family: the inner circle of power in this gray arena. I just so happen to be one of them.
Deep lines mark his face when a smile causes his eyes to crinkle at the edges. Sitting behind his mahogany desk, he leans back in his fur-lined chair and motions me forward with jeweled fingers reflecting the warm glow of the fireplace in brilliant jewel tones across the room. “Now this is a surprise. I did not expect you again so soon. Should I be concerned?” He lifts one eyebrow before removing his thick-rimmed spectacles, polishing them with a vibrant red cloth, and looking me over with a keen eye that never misses much.
“Truth be told, Xof, that remains to be seen.” I help myself to glass off his side table before joining him at the desk, sinking into the less ornate chair across from him as he uncorks the ever-present bottle of burning spirits and leans over to fill my glass for me. I take a deep gulp of the fiery drink, burning its way down to my gut and spreading warmth to my fingers and toes, while Xof watches me, patiently waiting for me to get to the point. “It would seem that Milpho is getting pushy. He had a warlock follow me here.”
He taps his finger on the smooth surface of his organized desk and leans back. “Hmm.”
“He was young - stupid - tried to shock me. One of the boys will find his body in Old Dim’s place.”
Xof gives a nod and refills his own glass. “Good to know. I expect he’ll be mighty precious about that.”
Shaking my head, I drain the rest of my glass before setting it on the desk and leaning forward. “That’s just the thing, Xof. This one was already supposed to be dead. Milpho claimed he was stealing from him.”
That succeeds in getting Xof's full attention. His eyes widen, and both his eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. "You think he means to cross us?"
"He's too clever for that," I tread carefully, keeping my cadence steady, uninterested even. Having Xof and Milpho at each other's throats too soon and I'll be the first one in the grave. "Perhaps clever enough to find some more dealers on the side. Now that I imagine is more his level of thinking. Why split shares over every prize when you can have a few to yourself?"
To my surprise, Xof grins and leans back in his chair, looking relieved and a good deal smug. "You're probably right. You usually are." He shrugs. "But in this case, I think there are some blood trails we can leave for the smaller predators. Milpho can have his little prizes and the guile of thinking he has a trick ahead of us."
“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, allowing the edge of my lips to draw up into a grin. “Anything I can be of assistance with?”
“Actually,” he smiles, his dark eyes twinkling with delight, “it is the favor of the huntress that has brought you here at such an opportune moment.” He rings the bell and a young, baby-faced lad walks into the room, he wets his lips nervously and his gaze darts over me for a moment. There’s something about those eyes that feels unsettling and I find that I must fight the impulse to look away.
“He’s new.” I nod at the boy before he can speak.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, quite. Aeadys here was recruited after you left. Bright enough, that’s for sure.”
The boy himself waits for his orders, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet and both hands clenching at his sides. He has a curiosity to him, his light eyes reflecting the firelight while they drink in every detail. I imagine his ears are strained for the faintest sound from Xof, ready to jump into action the moment he’s called upon. That uncomfortable feeling still lingers, wriggling under my skin while I try to forget those I can’t afford to remember. A boy who once used to rock much the same way, with the same burning curiosity in his much darker eyes. Whispers of a daymare cling to the edges of my cloak, long fingers reaching for me, their hissing tones repeating one name: Thad. I shake it away and reach for the bottle of spirits, refilling my glass while I tune back into whatever Xof is trying to tell me.
“... a good deal better than whatever meager pieces the goblin has accrued, that’s for sure. The Purge are certainly not scanty with their payments.”
Purge. The word slaps my consciousness back to the present moment, my body tensing. How did they get inside the city? My mind races and a numbing sensation creeps over my limbs. Dread. Fear. Two sensations I haven’t felt of my own accord in a long time and I grip the left armrest of the chair while I struggle for composure, taking a swig from my refilled glass.
“The way I see it, Daviraea,” Xof is standing now, shooing the boy out of the room and the door closes with a gentle thud, “they’re going to get their volunteers one way or another. It will pay handsomely to ensure we are the ones supplying them first.” He pats my shoulder, walking past to sink back in his chair with a wide grin and pouring himself more of the liquor. “In every phase of history, there are those who get ahead and those who fall behind.” He lifts his glass in a salute. “To staying ahead.”
Soft footfalls announce their arrival before the door swings open. Xof looks up expectantly and motions them in. “Ah! Good, you’ve arrived.”
There are two dark outlines wavering in the dim lighting of the entrance. But nothing could have prepared me for when they step inside the illuminated room we’re standing in, the light reflecting off of their bright, white cloaks. My stomach leaps to my throat in an instant, nearly choking me as I force myself to remain still, only moving my hand to my belt, close enough to Vigilant’s hilt to help quell my twitching fingers. The Purge is here.
The woman and the man lay back the hoods of their cloaks, revealing the glaring white smiles underneath, not a speck of color in their faces, hair, or eyes. Xof meets them halfway, reaching his hand out first with his best business smile. “What a pleasure to see you again.”
They smile back. The woman turns to me and stretches her hand toward me, ignoring Xof. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting you before. You are,” those glossy, white eyes scan me from head to toe and back again, “quite the specimen. What’s your name?”
I grip her hand in mine, shaking it lightly, without a smile. “I have had many names. You may call me…” I pause and then shrug, a light grin tugging at my lips, “Daviraea.”
This time, her smile is full of teeth. “Hmm, how lovely.”
“I rather thought so.”
Xof clears his throat. “Deviraea is my brother. He earned his place by the light of the huntress’ favor. Consider him my left hand.”
The man’s eyebrow rises in surprise, but he still nods his acquiescence. Having descended from the Akmads, Xof, and his people believed that the left hand represented their ancestor, who was born with Eshu’s fingerprint in his left palm and was the first of the Clessa to be left-hand dominant. Because of this, the Akmads claimed that the left hand was a symbol of their ancestor’s strength and it became tradition for someone in a position of power to call their strongest warrior their “left hand.” To question Xof’s left hand would be to question his authority.
For the first time in the many years I’ve worked for Milpho, asserting myself into the underbelly of Seffervayiim and obtaining Xof’s trust, I am surprised at Xof’s uncharacteristic lack of caution. No one who knew what they were truly capable of would welcome the Purge into their territory without being a complete fool or immensely arrogant. Up until a few moments ago, I had never believed Xof capable of either.
The woman turns her eyes back to Xof and I resume my seat. Her companion watches me, his eyes never leaving the side of my face and I tip my glass in his direction before emptying it again. Don't show fear and always remain calm. The words repeat on a loop in my subconscious while I try to force my body to lax into the seat cushions.
What are they?
Gritting my teeth, I repeat the mantra to myself. Now is really not a good time for Enaj to interject back into my thoughts. I need to remain focused.
They look like a vampire and a ghost had a baby. And then got zombified.
Got what? My mind spins. Her strange dialect growing ever more confounding by the second. Focus, Enaj. I need to focus.
Hmm. Pretty sure I don't want to be here when they eat your brain. Any tips on how to opt out of this?
Xof sits back down in his chair, motioning to two other chairs that the boy, Aeadys, must have brought in while I was lost in thought.
"We'll stand." The man's voice is monotone and nasally, his expression as void as it is ghastly. The woman smiles, much too wide and too full of teeth to seem anything less than predatory.
What did I tell you? Enaj's preposterous hushed tone is back to derail my concentration. Pretty sure you're about to be eaten by powdered sugar and her undead butler.
For some indescribable reason, her ridiculous assessment causes the corner of my mouth to twitch and I offer my glass back to Xof for another refill so I can look away from the pallid spectacle. I've never heard of anyone having the audacity to laugh in the face of the Purge, and I certainly have no intention of being the first. Now is not the time for distractions. Enaj-
Alright, I'll be quiet. But I reserve my right to an “I-told-you-so” once the knives come out.
I smile, turning to Xof. Something tells me Enaj is far closer to the truth than she realizes. Looks like I will have to escape sooner than I thought. I imagine you'll do as you like no matter what I say.
She doesn't respond, but somehow, I just know that she's smirking.
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