Copé opened his eyes to blackness. There was a complete absence of light. Pitch black. Were his eyelids even parted? It mattered not; the end was the same. He could see nothing. A large part of him wanted to panic. Another part of him wanted to do nothing at all. Neither was a viable option, however. Father Toucan Veras had taught him well in his time with The Red Flux. The key difference between a normal person and a member of the troupe was that, when faced with adversity, a member of The Red Flux acted and survived.
Beneath him, he could feel the vibration and the rickety sound of wheels turning over uneven terrain. He was in a wagon of some kind. On his back, he squirmed and writhed. The first thing he realized was that he hadn’t been restrained. Whoever had abducted him clearly had no idea who they were dealing with or were so very certain that Secrat would be down for the long term. As his fingers scraped against the floor beneath him, he could tell it was wood. His body pivoted around like it belonged to a man trying to get comfortable. This isn’t the bed I left myself on, thought The Thief.
Copé arched his back up like a dead man resurrected and sat. An aching feeling became heavily apparent. His hand cradled the back of his head. He felt a large egg-shaped bruise but knew that was only the least of it. This was the aftereffects of a far worse head injury he was feeling. A lot of him wanted to drop back and slumber like he had never even awoken. He would deal with the problems when his mind sobered.
All it took was a bump to make him realize this thought was too foolish to consider. Copé felt himself lift into the air for a second before falling back down. His head ached even more, but beside the pain was the feeling of fear. Not only had he moved out of the home of Azlak Temps, but he was still in the process of being moved. The winnie of a horse made everything else follow. He could hear every stamp it made. The sound of the man at the front slapping at it with the reins to make it gallop faster, Copé could hear that as well.
He felt it when the wheels hit rock. He, himself, was in the bed of the carriage. Copé felt more assured after this. If there was one thing, he knew better than most, it was how to paint the scenery. Copé felt around in the dead of night. A tarp is what shielded him from the sky and kept him from the moon and stars. Although, Secrat could’ve easily thrown it off, that would have caught the attention of whoever it was that snatched him up from the merchant’s house. Or could it have been the merchant? Copé knew damn well he threw enough knives in the bastard to kill three men, but could Azlak Temps amount to four?
It didn’t matter to him. If the merchant was still alive, Secrat would kill the last of him. Or better yet, put a knife to his throat and give the combination code as his demand. Toucan Veras would never condone torture, but Toucan wasn’t there.
Copé felt around his environment, the walls of the carriage were wooden planks. Large gaps were between each of them, and Copé could feel a draft of cold air from the outside. He knew what he had to do. The Thief crawled slowly to the far end of the carriage.
Feeling around his waist, one of his many daggers remained strapped at his right side. How foolish could his abductor have been to have not confiscated him of his weaponry?
He placed the blade of the knife between his teeth before he lifted the left corner of the tarp. This act was done with care, so as not to attract the driver. Another big bump happened and once again, Copé’s head felt like it was on fire. He lowered his head down for a second, but only a second. It was time for action, and at that thought, Copé climbed over to the outside of the carriage, hanging on with his feet between the wooden planks.
The wind slapped hard against him. The sensation did very little to alleviate the pain he was feeling. The chilliness of the outside air caused by the carriage’s rapid pace felt both refreshing and without relent. There was no time to cringe or take enjoyment in anything, however. Instead, Copé poked his head to see if he could have a look at the driver. It was almost as dark as it was beneath the tarp, but the sky’s light lent just enough to distinguish the figures. There was nothing else he could see, only two heads and two silhouette bodies. They looked to both be about an average build. This meant that neither of them were the merchant.
Copé had one theory about who they could have been. It may have been his paranoid mind projecting his worst fears, however. The Red Flux wasn’t the only troupe in the Unprotected Wilderness. They may have been among the tamer ones, however.
He had the fear first when he saw the vials underneath Azlak Temps’ bed. There had been stories of human-trafficking, but they had largely been hush hush and built on gossip rather than fact. Why else would Azlak have had a door that only closed on one side? Those women were his guests, but, rather, his prisoners. If what he thought was true, he was in trouble, but he also had a chance at redemption. Maybe he would not leave his first outing with wealth, but he might leave with their heads on a pike. Toucan may not have liked murder, but even he would make an exception for the swine that riddled about the forests. Their deaths would mean more than coin.
Copé shimmied more and more toward the front of the carriage. The horses galloped at such a very fast pace that he struggled to keep his footing. At one instance, he lost it and had to rely on his arms to keep himself from falling off the carriage. The Thief steeled his nerves, taking a moment to regain his composure. Then, he continued.
Before long, Secrat Copé was in arm’s reach of the man holding the reigns. In earshot as well, but neither of them said a word. Copé looked at the scenery around him.
It was too dark for him to see, but something seemed familiar about the place. At the very least, he was certain they had long since left Acera.
The blade sat, tightly clenched between the thief’s teeth. His eyes could vividly see the outline of the man’s neck. Everything felt clearer than ever. The adrenaline flowing through his veins. All the pain and anguish this night had given, it all ceased to matter. He plucked the knife out of his mouth and looked at it fondly. He held a certain fascination with the knife, like he had never seen it before, reflecting over what he was about to do.
In his hands, he drove the small dagger to the side of the man’s neck. It went into his skin so easily that it was like fate meant it to be there. Two star-crossed lovers long since separated, but now brought together: blade and flesh.
“Ah, fuck,” were the only words that the man could utter.
They would be his last words.
The man flinched, however, and that was enough to make all the difference. His forearm rudely struck Copé in the side of the skull. Never so weak and fragile had Secrat’s skull been before now.
Copé fell off of the carriage and onto the hard ground. The Thief rolled aimlessly, feeling his body scrape and bruise along the way. The landing was painful, but it wouldn’t be fatal. His head had just about had it though. After all of this, all Secrat wanted to be back at home with the Flux.
It wasn’t over though, not yet. There was more to this night. Another man was in that carriage. And the element of surprise was gone.
Secrat fought back to a vertical position. It was an act becoming much too hard for him to do.
He felt around for a blade. There was none left on his person. Like a man who couldn’t perform in bed, he felt awestruck, “This has never happened to me before.” Hand to hand combat wasn’t his specialty, but if he could fend off the man long enough, he would be able to pluck the knife out from the other guy’s neck and end this once and for all.
The horse’s gallops silenced. Copé readied himself. His stance was firm, and his fingers were tightly clenched into a fist. With everything he had overcome in this night alone, there was no way that he would let it end now.
“Secrat!?” the voice of the man in the carriage cried out. “Secrat!? What in the hell were you thinking? Do you realize what you have done?”
Those all sounded more like statements than they did questions. Secrat Copé started to realize why this area seemed so familiar. The voice of the man belonged to Lukas Lewis, a fellow Red Flux. But why was he in that carriage with that bad man he killed?
Lukas and Copé came face to face. Lewis seemed terrified and anguished with fear, but Secrat struggled even to keep his head up.
“Secrat!?” Lewis yelled for a second time.
All Copé did was smile at him.
After all, … he was home.
2.
Secrat Copé sat handcuffed to a chair.
His head still hurt, but it was doing much better after a day’s rest. He hadn’t the faintest idea how he had gotten himself into this predicament. Lukas Lewis had tried to explain it all to him earlier, but his head had ached far too much to listen. Since then, his mind had sobered up from stupor and he was once again ready to hear rhyme and reason. Unfortunately, as it stood, ‘reason’ appeared to be giving him the silent treatment.
There had never been one true home for The Red Flux. In some ways, that was kind of the point. They traveled as a troupe and that meant, when they were together, they were home. That wasn’t where Lukas Lewis had brought him, however. This wasn’t The Red Flux, wide open and free. This was a small, desolate, and dreary cabin. It smelled damp with the odor of mold and cedar, and there was fungus sealing the jamb of the door on the other side of the room. The chair Copé was shackled to was placed on the wall opposite the door. The thief tilted his head, resting it some on his shoulder. A small window partly engulfed by moss was to his left, there was a small crack in the top-right corner of the glass. His boredom had made him observe every eccentricity as though it were the most interesting thing in the world.
Over time, Copé forgot about it and laid his head back against the wall. The action brought a stinging sensation, but he didn’t care. It was worth being able to rest his head.
The door to the cabin started to be cracked opened. The force it took to push it open meant there was no way it could have been done discreetly. Secrat flinched fast, rattling the handcuffs as he did so. He wasn’t afraid. It was more to say that he was caught off-guard.
The man entered the room, taking very little note of how grimy and smudged the walls looked. He walked with a purpose. His dark black boots damn near worn to the sole.
It was Father Toucan Veras.
Father Toucan Veras walked with a certain stature and poise that couldn’t be taught or rightly explained. It couldn’t be very well mimicked either. The man simply had it, while others simply did not. Toucan walked the way Copé wanted to walk. The Thief’s ego may have kept him from admitting that fact aloud, but it was the truth. The leader of The Red Flux had a presence about him like no one he had ever seen before. When the man entered the room, all eyes lent themselves to him. They belonged to him, like a showman thief, stealing the attention off whoever else was in the room and putting it on himself.
Veras had a thick black beard and a bald head, he carried a large sword at his side in a scabbard. Olea is what the weapon was called. There was an important detail about Olea, in that, it was called Olea, but not by him. How did it get its name, if not by him? Secrat didn’t know. Any time he asked, Veras would silence him with a pair of shrugged shoulders. The sword was enormous, shaped and structured like a scimitar donning a deep curve at the end. Gifted with an enormous blade, Toucan made the sword look like one of Copé’s knives.
The statement was hyperbolic, for certain, but the statement stood, nonetheless. Father Veras was a giant of a man. He was the type that was wise about concealing exactly how big he was as well. Whereas the rest of The Red Flux wore armor pillaged from either one of the five major cities, often accentuated by red dye to honor The Red Flux name, Toucan opted instead for baggy robes. By doing so, no one had too much of an idea of how muscular he truly was. Concealment made him easy to underestimate, but also made it easy to assume the most ridiculous possibilities.
Toucan shut the door behind him before he turned his attention over to the restrained thief. Copé wanted to rub the nape of his neck or clasp his hands over his head out of distress and discomfort, but he could do neither. Toucan’s eyes were cold and serious. The white of his eyes were bloodshot and the rest looked black as night.
“You’ve really outdone yourself on this one, Copé.”
There was no inflection in his voice. Toucan’s temper and intimidation were well noted. He rarely showed it, but when he did, it was bad enough for nobody to soon forget. Copé felt no fear, not particularly. He felt discomfort and vulnerability. Which was almost the same.
Everything was starting to piece itself together for him. His recent traumas blocked some of it out, but he had no doubt the reason he was keyed to a chair was for the murder of a fellow member of The Red Flux. Lukas Lewis brought him here after and confessed Father the sins of his adopted son, and now, Toucan was here to pass his judgment. Lukas Lewis had always been a narc, even when they were kids, so that came as no surprise.
“Why, Father, it is fancy meeting you here, very, in fact. I wish you had mailed in a letter about your arrival, I haven’t cleaned the place in ages! Over there, you will notice the lovely décor, most vivaciously inscribed walls, marked and scrawled with sharp precision by mushroom!” Secrat offered up a cocky smirk.
His heart wasn’t in the sarcasm, but he tried his best not to let that show. For his father’s sake, of course. Even beyond all the other responsibilities Toucan had to contend with, like keeping the troupe together or being a strong leader, Copé was his son. The young thief was born and readied before them, poised for greatness, and Father would fight above all else to protect him.
However, Toucan looked at Secrat Copé with a strange look on his face, a look that signified confusion or bewilderment.
Copé maintained his smile.
There was simply no way his father could stay mad at him.
Then, in one loving swoop, Toucan proved otherwise, bringing a closed fist to Copé’s face. This wasn’t the smack a father gave his son when he stepped out of line. The punch felt more like something Copé might have expected from a sworn enemy. The chair flipped over to its side off the impact, and with Copé handcuffed to the back of the chair, everything came down, crushing his hand. Copé let out a cry of anguish.
“Elson Mans, does that name sound familiar to you!?”
Some inflection was in his voice now; it was anger and brewing frustration. Copé continued to whimper at the pain in his left hand. He had confronted a lot of pain in a day. He hadn’t enjoyed any of it.
On the bright side, thanks to a newly discovered “maneuverability” to his hand, he was able to free himself from one of the handcuffs. The bottom of the chair leg was thicker than at the top, had that not been the case, he could have freed himself from the other.
Toucan mumbled something under his breath. He didn’t seem at all amused by his son’s master escape.
“Put out your hand,” Toucan whispered softly.
Secrat feigned a look of shock.
“I will not,” The Thief cried, hiding hs hand like an animal would hide meat from a rival pack.
“Put out your hand,” he repeated.
The statement carried more weight than it should have. If Toucan wanted to hurt Copé, he would have. This was his way of letting Copé have the choice. Copé put his hand in the air in front of Toucan.
“Uh-ah, on the floor,” Toucan said, almost sounding nurturing and loving. “Flat.”
Copé did as he was told. He put his hand down on the floor, flat. The old lefty had certainly seen better days. It looked like his thumb and index finger were already badly swollen.
Toucan raised his large boot up. Copé braced himself but didn’t pull away.
At last, his father brought his boot down on Copé’s mangled hand. The yell from Copé was loud. He whimpered loudly soon after, hyperventilating and tearful. His head lying manically twitching against the floor and the chair carried on his back.
There was no reason for Toucan’s statement. He wasn’t looking for signs Copé wanted to be forgiven or felt remorse. He merely wanted to hurt him some more.
“I don’t want to hear your comments!” Toucan yelled. It was a wet-yell, unrestrained and crackly. He talked plainly after: “I don’t want to see that smirk on your face. I don’t want to see any of it. Last night was the most disgraceful night for The Red Flux. Do you know?” Veras stopped.
He couldn’t seem to find the words in his blind rage. “I sent Lukas to finish stealing one of the biggest hauls we’ve ever had. Do you know how many mouths that would have fed? Of course not, in fact, that doesn’t ever even cross your mind. None of that benefits you, and thus, it doesn’t faze you.”
If Toucan would have made eye-contact to Copé, he would have seen that Copé was too busy whimpering over his gestating anguish to give a damn.
“Lukas, little Luke, … we’ve known him since he was a small child, since you were a small child,” Toucan stopped once more and looked over at Copé for the first time since beginning his little speech. Apparently looking to obtain some sort of emotional effect, his eyes looked even more haggard and bloodshot up close. “He woke me up to tell that my son, who I picked up off the streets when he had nothing, was responsible for the death of a fellow member.”
Copé stopped trying to squirm free from the chair for a moment and looked up at Father.
“If they were supposed to be doing this ‘big haul’,” Copé tried to stress the part with hand-gestures but failed terribly, “Then why did they become involved in mine? I was there for Azlak Temps.”
Toucan continued to look at Copé as he spoke: “They found you in the house of Gruff Helms. His bloody remains lay not far away.”
He turned his back from the young thief and walked over toward the window, transfixed on the moss.
“You never bothered with names or specifics, you just acted, always have,” he said, and then, with finality added: “But this time, you went too far.”
“I made a mistake.” Copé admitted. He didn’t like that, admitting fault. “You know how many mistakes others in The Red Flux have made? Tell me how many times someone went looking for coin and came back with nothing more than the horse they left on? In fact, you should be thanking me, I killed that son of a bitch! A feat that I shall stress was no easy task, and only made it easier for them to steal the riches off the bastard. They ransacked the place, sooner or later, they found the combination … they found the treasures. You are welcome.”
“They couldn’t find it. They were sent to extort the riches from him. We had something on him. As it turns out, his money wasn’t exactly the cleanest, and if the rest of Acera had wind of that, he would have been ripped apart and had his head put on a pike. Lukas said that they were really concerned about you. All you had was a concussion, but you looked worse than that. Like you were about to kill over and weren’t in your right mind. But that doesn’t excuse what you did, Copé.”
“That merchant won’t be missed.”
“That isn’t the fucking point!” Toucan yelled.
His eyes grew wider, redder with rage more than disappointment. Copé could even see the veins in his neck beginning to pop out.
“We don’t kill in The Red Flux. This isn’t something to keep us from finding misfortune. It’s a matter of morals, something that I am starting to feel like I failed to stress while raising you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that in one night, you killed a brother. Then, you killed two people before that. You don’t belong with us.”
Copé’s ears pricked once he heard those words. An influx of fear started inside of him. There was nothing else for him. A thief was all that he knew how to be. It was his home. The Red Flux was his home.
Toucan Veras turned his back and started away from Secrat, but The Thief wouldn’t accept that. He couldn’t accept that.
Copé crawled with the chair still attached to him.
He grabbed Toucan’s ankle with his uninjured hand and pleaded with him. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” it was lies, and Copé knew it, he bet Toucan knew it as well, but he didn’t care, all he cared about was having his way.
He couldn’t deal without the troupe.
His father seemed to have little sympathy for him. His eyes seemed apathetic and uncaring, but Copé knew there had to be something beneath all of that. He had to be hiding his feelings. Copé was his son, dammit.
Secrat looked in his eyes. Tears streamed down Copé’s cheeks, dripping down his chin and dampening the wood floor. Almost entirely because of the pain that he felt in his left hand. Toucan didn’t know that. To him, Copé felt deep remorse for his actions.
Toucan dropped to one knee and looked at Copé.
“Find a way to right your wrongs,” he said somberly. “I don’t know how you’ll do it, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. This is your mistake, and now it is up for you to find your way.”
