Chapter Text
—
I made a promise.
The little woman sat at the back of the crowded little wagon. Her head lolled on her shoulders and her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep– although she was as close to it as her body and mind would allow.
He made a promise. To me.
Still, sleep refused to take her entirely, and so her thoughts drifted through the haze in her mind like dead leaves floating on a pond, tormenting her. Reminding her of everything she was hoping sleep would allow her to forget for a while.
He lied to me.
The wagon jostled her to and fro, her small frame tossed against the other passengers. Her burgundy hair hung in loose curls over her face, her long, tapered ears limp against her cheeks.
He... betrayed me.
The stale air in the covered wagon, the stuffy miasma of the breath and body odor of other kith, combined with the wagon's insistent swaying– it reached her even through her dozing, making her head swim. Soon she began to squirm and groan, started feeling flushed and weak.
He betrayed... us. Both–
... All of us.
Even as another passenger gently gripped her shoulder, asking if she was feeling alright, she found herself unable to fully wake. All of a sudden her whole world was the pounding of her heart, the fever on her brow, the thoughts racing through her foggy, half-sleeping mind, whirling madly, a half-dream almost spoken aloud:
traitor– promise– liar– devotion–
She writhed, trembling, teeth chattering, as a nearby folk man trundled to the front of the wagon, hollering for the caravan master to stop. A dwarf seated by her reached across the gap between them and squeezed her hand gently.
"Hey, there. Come on now, you'll be alright. We'll tell the caravan master to stop for you, and we'll get you taken care of. We little kith have to watch each other's backs, after all." She winked, and the orlan only moaned weakly in response, dazed and frightened.
What do I do now? Without them? ...Him. Am I– I'm–
And finally, she shuddered violently, waking. Her violet eyes snapped open to stare blearily at her shaking hands in her lap.
I... I feel...
...Oh. Gods.
...I never should have done this. Any of this.
...
...Where are we?
The man who'd alerted the driver had returned, looking paler than before. The caravan had stopped, but not because of her.
—
"There." The hired guard gestured toward a large bush bristling with small, pink berries. "Berries Odema told y' 'bout. Let's get y' fixed up, c'mon."
Axa shuffled miserably behind the blond woman, shivering and panting as her cheeks flushed with fever again. It comes and goes, she thought, gritting her pointed teeth, wiping her brow. What in Hel is this malady?
The exertion from fighting off the local fauna wasn't making her condition any easier to bear, and although the caravan master had told her her illness was common and not very severe, it was bad enough to make taking down a single juvenile wolf a struggle. Been in the books too much perhaps, she thought grimly as she caught up to the folk woman. Another favor academia's done me: Now I'm out of shape and out of friends.
As she knelt before the bush, she couldn't help but heave a long, shaky sigh. Well. Maybe I ought to be a bit easier on myself. I've had a... difficult month. And now, this shit on top of it all. Maybe I should find a temple, make a sacrifice to Rymrgand... She tried to laugh, but it came out a weak cough instead.
Calisca side-eyed the little woman as they harvested the berries together, a slight smirk playing on her chapped lips. Maybe it was the orlan's small stature making her resemble a folk child, or maybe it was her stubborn, sulky silence, but she couldn't help but be reminded of her youngest brother. He was a studious, taciturn lad who had yearned to be taken seriously, but always pouted and whined at any little splinter or bruise. Not to say she thought the orlan was faking it, just that she seemed to be acting worse off than she looked. She knew orlans were intense by nature, so maybe she was just being dramatic. After all, she'd flirted with that Aedyre merchant back at camp easily enough.
But when she really thought about it, the fuzzy little redhead had been quiet and withdrawn the whole trip down, ever since they'd rolled out of Ixamitl. None of the other travelers had had much to say about her when asked, other than that she was apparently a former lore college student who seemed content to keep to herself. And Calisca had suffered the Rumbling Rot herself enough times to know that it didn't render a kith this out of sorts. So either she was exaggerating, Odema was talking complete horseshit, or she had something weighing her down besides the fever and chills.
Each answer was as likely as the other, and Calisca's response was the same either way: try and get her talking, lighten her up. Didn't need her bringing the mood down further for the other caravanners, making a bad situation worse. Better to try and make friendly, put her at ease. It'd certainly make this shitshow of a night pass easier.
"People're talkin' about you at camp, like kith will. Word is you're a loremaster from the Plains." Calisca paused her berry picking to glance around, scanning for any movement from the underbrush. "Or somethin' like that anyway. What was it you used to study?"
Axa snorted and winced simultaneously. She could understand and appreciate an attempt at small talk, but the other woman had chosen the worst possible avenue of inquiry. Maybe if she had asked about her love life, that would be worse...
"Loremaster? Hardly. Scholar. ...Of history." The orlan's response was short and clipped, but her voice was deep and rich, clearly accustomed to song and public speaking. Her Ixamitl accent was only partially obfuscated by her easy proficiency in Aedyran. "Well. Linguistics, really. And naturalism. Studying cultures and languages, you know. History is more of a catch-all term..." She gestured vaguely, waving one hand about, dropping half of her harvest in the process. Calisca snorted this time, and she couldn't deny the relief she felt when the little woman laughed along with her instead of getting offended.
"History and language, huh?" The fighter bent down to collect the fallen fruit, a wry grin on her ruddy face. "Come out here to study how we Dyrwoodans been butcherin' Aedyran with our accents and cussin'? ...Truth be told, I might like to read that paper." She rolled her head around on her shoulders, stretching her neck. "Well... maybe have someone read it to me."
"I'm... No, I'm not here on behalf of any college. I'm not here for anyone." She wasn't smiling anymore. Another awkward silence. Calisca was getting ready to just change the topic to something less incendiary when Axa looked away–
Just explain before you have to suffer the humiliation of being asked –
– and sighed. "I was expelled. I... made a poor choice, trusted someone I shouldn't have, and I was forced out of my community." If the fever hadn't reddened her face, this confession certainly had. The berries bled juice from between her fingers, smashed in her shaking fists. "I lost my academic standing, my career, my... everything. So now I'm here. Because it was this or killing myself, and with my luck that would probably just piss off Berath."
There. That's all. You've said the essentials, you've admitted it out loud, it counts as the truth, and you don't need to say it again if you don't want to. Axa looked at the ground, angry at herself, at her shame, at the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. It wasn't that bad, wasn't that bad, wasn't...
If Calisca was at all shocked by the former scholar's outburst, she hid it well. "Damn rough turn, that," she drawled, shaking her head slowly. "...Well, gods know we've all done shit we ain't proud of. Made moves we've regretted. Important thing's to learn from it. And considering you made a living at it once, you're probably pretty good at learnin'. Ain't that right, scholar?" She tried a heartening smile, and found it came more easily than she'd thought it would. "That's what the Dyrwood's all about. Second chances."
Self-pity and gratitude washed over Axa in equal measure. A complete stranger had to be the one to do it– a mercenary at that– but at long last, someone had finally sympathized with her, taken her at her word, and given her a few words of encouragement. How had this taken so long?
"I... yes, I suppose you're right." She wiped her hands on the grass and groped for another berry-laden branch. "I have to admit, it does help to hear someone else actually say it. Academia is infested with egoists who refuse to back down, who never learn from their mistakes. It's refreshing to be reassured by a fellow kith of the universal truth that we are all fuck-ups from time to time." She grinned. "And that the point of life is to learn. A cool hand on a hot brow." Axa looked up at the other woman. "Thank you, Calisca."
And with that, Calisca finally felt herself relax. Despite the blocked road, the sick passenger, the dangerous ruins, the threatening weather– despite it all, she had actually managed to get through to this girl and turn a potential shitshow into a manageable little fiasco. Not bad at all. And Odema thinks he pays me more than my work's worth! She chuckled to herself as she turned back to the task at hand.
"So. Have a destination in mind?" She plucked a few more of the riper-looking berries. Her hands moved at a leisurely pace; they were nearly finished already.
"Gilded Vale. Local lord is practically giving away land." Axa picked slowly, too, still groggy and fatigued from fever and chills.
Calisca nodded. "I heard about that. Got a sister in Gilded Vale myself." The mercenary smiled at the thought of Aufra, but her stomach twisted with anxiety when she remembered that letter. She pushed it out of her mind.
"Any idea what you'll be occupying yourself with? Bein' honest, don't know what kinda life a professional book reader might carve out for herself in a little farming community like the Vale." The blonde woman smiled at her to reassure her that she was joking, but Axa was staring into the middle distance and didn't notice.
The orlan woman sighed, long and slow and heavy. "I have... no idea what I'm going to do next," she murmured.
This was not an exaggeration.
—
"Don't trust them! They mean to kill us all!"
It had all happened in a flash. The Glanfathans had appeared out of nowhere, slaughtered the poor travelers, gutted Odema, and Heodan had thought himself Berath's for certain. But he'd hoped against hope that maybe, maybe someone would discover the grisly scene and come charging in to save the day. ...Preferably before he got his throat slit.
He had nearly cried out with relief when he saw Calisca step into the light before him, sword raised high. Almost hadn't noticed the woman at her side, before recognizing her as the sick passenger he'd sold a dagger to not 40 minutes prior. But when the stinking savage holding him hostage responded to the women's presence by pressing his blade to Heodan's throat, he'd been shocked to see that timid, sullen little orlan suddenly leap to his defense.
She had recognized them as Glanfathans, and she had been clever enough to try to mollify them by explicitly stating that they did not disturb the ruins. But her calls for amnesty had fallen on deaf ears, and Heodan had warned her as a last resort. Now the orlan woman stood stock still, her eyes darting around frantically as she puzzled over how best to proceed.
superstition– passionate– Galawain– belligerent–
Focus, please. She drew a deep, calming breath.
They won't be pacified by words alone, it seems. So... time to push our luck.
For a few terrifying moments, Heodan thought she might actually surrender her weapon trying to appease the madman. But instead she stepped forward, lowering her sabre but not relinquishing it. "Tell me, man of Eir Glanfath. Do you truly think your hunter god smiles upon your deeds?" She stared steadily into his eyes, her face an impassive mask. "Protecting these crumbling stones, long after their builders have been reclaimed by the Wheel... seems to run counter to Galawain's tenet of the young and strong overthrowing and replacing the old. Wouldn't you say?" Axa glanced at Heodan, a clear "I'm trying, please hang in there" in her wide, panicky eyes.
The axe at Heodan's throat shifted slightly, the man holding it leaning forward in his fervor to defend his beliefs. Heodan winced against the assault of the man's hot, stinking breath on his cheek, the roar of his raspy voice.
"You know nothing of our ways, estramor! My people have followed the Lord of Beasts for centuries, known of his sacred decrees for longer than your miserable bloodline has stood! Galawain charged my people with the sacred task of safeguarding–"
Oh, horseshit! Don't let him–
"You call this holy work?" Axa cried, gesturing at the bodies surrounding them. "Brutalizing innocent travelers to 'defend' an empty temple? If you believe that, you'd believe anything– anything so long as it allows you to kill who you please, no matter how helpless." Her eyes bore into the man, disgust and indignance plain on her face. "I see what you really are, coward."
It only lasted a second, but a second was all he needed. The Glanfathan faltered under the woman's verbal assault, and Heodan took full advantage, dropping out of his grip and falling into an evasive roll. He heard the warrior scream with fury, heard Calisca roar a ragged battle cry, heard the orlan woman start chanting...
And after the deed was done, before they could even catch their breath, the bîaŵac was upon them.
—
I know him.
She stood, but only just barely.
How do I know him?
Calisca and Heodan... did not stand. Would not stand again. That man, the masked man–
...He did this.
Oh gods. Oh fuck, I'm in trouble.
She stumbled over the ancient, uneven cobblestones, the fever and chills a distant memory. She could swear she heard voices, and telling them apart from her own jumbled, raving thoughts was becoming more and more difficult.
He did this, he killed them, just like he killed–
...like he
The ghostly image of a woman burning alive on a wooden stake sprung up in front of her, and the little woman fell to her knees, covering her face, screaming–
i can't i can't i can't i can't i can't i can't do this i can't take this please–
–but when she lowered her shaking hands again, she saw only the grass, the stones, the ruins. The pillar and the machine.
Axa made a sound she didn't have a name for, something between a sob and a scream and a bark of crazed laughter. She had honestly believed, when she had woken up this morning, that her life could not possibly get any worse.
...I have to get out of here.
The orlan rose to her feet, slowly, stumbling toward the dirt road leading into the open meadows beyond. The path away from this place.
But she couldn't help looking over her shoulder one last time. At the base of the pillar, where that man
–Are you ready, initiate–
had stood.
What has he done...? Axa clutched at her head, trembling all over. Her thoughts, it seemed, were still not entirely her own.
What has he done this time...?
She mumbled a prayer to Wael, too exhausted to think anymore, as she stumbled away from the ruins.
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