When the boy burst into the tavern, he did not immediately see the unfamiliar woman sitting at the counter, nor did she pay him any mind while he ran to Marty and began crying heavy tears through his words.
“Marty! The elf lady…The magic elf lady got taken! There’s a body and, and…” His tears overtaking him, he sobbed into the innkeeper’s coat. The words alone caught her attention and, as Marty left to investigate the boy finally acknowledged her existence.
He could see her. Like all children could.
She was an imposing if not entirely unsettling character. Thick black tattoos covered her visible skin. A black line had been needled into her bottom lip. When the boy noticed her, the Marrow of Night only smiled.
“Hello there, little boy. Where did you say this ‘elf lady’ of yours was ‘taken’?” She asked, sliding off her seat to stand at her full height. She towered over him—a slender, skeletal figure dressed in black.
“Uh…Uhm, out in the alley by Norma’s confectionery…”
He was trembling.
She put on her kindest face as she passed him by. Her long black nails brushed through his hair. In that moment the boy only felt calm.
“Stay here, sweet boy. Where it is safe.”
Outside, she followed what the boy told her until she found Marty investigating a female body crumpled atop the cobblestones. The deep crimson pooled around her told the woman all she needed as to her status.
With a hand—adorned with silver rings—held below her chin, the Marrow of Night glanced around freely until she saw them. As they were, Marty could not see or hear them. Or her.
Only children could. They, and one foolish, self-destructive man that she had not spoken with in many years.
“This woman was wearing your mask.” She said plainly.
Beside her, silent, stood the God of Many Faces without their usual disguise.
“Astute as ever, Bonecarver.” They replied, although without a face their voice didn’t carry any hint of gender, instead sounding as an amalgamation of stolen voices.
“I no longer go by that name, no thanks to you. We agreed on Marrow.”
“Yes, the Marrow of Night. Your title has no bearing on what I ask of you.” The faceless being beside her shrugged. “Have you begun your work?”
Marrow sighed.
“Indeed, although I certainly hope it will merely end as it started. Pointless labor. In what situation would you have need of so strong a barrier for this town?”
“In the situation that a fool of a wizard decides to destroy it.”
“What?” Marrow looked at them quizzically. “Are you worried about Giarmund?”
The deity tapped their fingers against the leather on their upper arms. Marty passed by while they spoke, corpse in his arms, intent on returning to his tavern and prepare to speak with the authority in Lindow.
“You interfered,” said the God of Many Faces. “In doing so, you made the story less engaging.”
Marrow narrowed her eyes.
“I wasn’t going to stand around in this town, doing your pointless bidding, with Giarmund in that state!” She spat on the stones at her other side. “What good is a state of nonexistence if it can’t be used to fuck around time and again? Consider it an act of defiance, Ezra.”
“Suffering builds character,” said the deity, Ezra.
“Conquering your demons also builds character,” Marrow sneered. “If you weren’t such a half-baked author you would know that.”
She walked away then, her gaze drifting towards the house where both Adrian and Veleria were now held captive. While she had no qualms with her assisting Adrian with his nightmares, she was no longer allowed to intervene with Veleria present. It was too dangerous with her wearing the mask, and Caellach as a potential hazard.
Still, she prayed that all would be well, now that the Red God had finally arrived.
Even if she wasn’t supposed to “take favorites,” as Ezra often said to her, she still wished for Veleria’s victory in the face of unknowable odds.