Gods my head hurts.
It's dark out as far as I can tell, but even opening my eyes is somehow painful. My body feels tingly, weak. Nothing moves when I tell it to, and even when I try to my head pulses its resistance and begs me to go back to sleep.
I remember falling asleep, only being conscious long enough to only have seen flashes of light, muffled noises that sound a mile away, and more darkness. I fell asleep before, but I can't this time. There are too many things to do and not enough time for me to do them all.
My head gets dizzy, temporarily blocking out my vision which only makes me want to fall into sleep even more. I'd shake my head awake if I wasn't sure that doing so would only have me hurling up stomach contents and blood. The metallic taste of blood is already in my mouth, and Gods know I hate the taste of bile and blood.
My vision clears up slowly, though the blurriness still sticks to the edge of my vision, only allowing what's directly in front of me to be visible. It's still hard to see with such little light in here...
Where is here, exactly?
I focus on my hands, feeling what's beneath them. It feels like some kind of fabric. Wool? Cashmere? Either way, it's odd. I don't remember wearing nor bringing anything made of wool or cashmere - though I would've paid a pretty gold coin for it. That, and a way out of this fucking forest -
I jolt upright and instantly regret it. My vision goes out again, along with whatever horribly tasting liquid was rotting at the bottom of my stomach. I turn to avoid splattering it all over myself, only turning has me suddenly falling before slamming into the ground.
By the time I'm registering my surroundings once more, my head pounds, my lungs hurt from the vomiting, and my whole body is shaking uncontrollably as my knees and hands struggle to keep me from falling face down in my own filth.
My stomach finally stops contracting, but my lungs still burn and my body is still shaking. I can barely see the dirt beneath my nails, but I do notice that the ground isn't dirt or rock, but wood. Before I can try and lift my head to take in my nearest surroundings, my whole body starts to tilt one way.
I don't even stop myself from falling sideways, thinking that the ground would be a bigger comfort. My body never touches it. Instead, I fall into something warm and strong. I feel an arm wrap around me, and that's all I feel before letting my eyes fall closed.
I wake up what feels like a month later. My head still aches but not as furiously, my body still tingles but not so pointedly, and the wool is still beneath me, though now there's some on top of me as well, tucked beneath my arm. I'm on my side this time rather than on my back, and one arm is folded beneath the pillow under my head.
I open my eyes. The edges of my vision are still blurry, but I can see enough to find a blurry fireplace, a small table, and wood paneling of what must be a house of some sort. There's a window, only showing the azure blue sky and a few cirrus clouds.
The sun's setting and I have no idea what day it is.
I test my limbs, flexing and stretching in slow, small movements. I won't go far, but I only need to sit up. I use both arms to lift my torso, stopping halfway when my head goes light. My vision stays, thank the Saints, and I keep going slowly until I'm sitting up. Out of breath but up and mostly conscious.
That's when I notice that I'm on some kind of sofa, old and worn. The fire's warmth suddenly feels as if it's in my body and I throw the blanket off. My feet hit the comforting cold ground and I sit for a moment, feeling every inch of me go heavy and feel as if I couldn't even snap a twig. I wait for my stomach to quiet and my heart to settle before turning my neck which is sore too, to see about the room.
It's a cabin. No doorways except two, one leading outside, the other to a bedroom, most likely. The kitchen is open, its countertops filled with plants, fruits, vegetables, bowls, meat, and knives laying next to some cut and crushed herbs. Nothing smells as if something's been made recently, nor does it look like someone's been here in a while. Just the tang of the fire burning and the whisper of pine from the forest.
The fire's dying slowly, the wood halfway burned. There's no other furniture, no pictures or signs of the space being occupied by a family. Whoever lives here lives alone, and they've been healing me.
I glance down and find I'm not wearing a shirt...or pants. All my warning systems go off, trying to feel any kind of hint that whoever has been helping me, has also been violating me. Nothing feels off or strange or sore, and I'm pretty sure I would know if they've been down there. Or at least I hope I do. I mean I still have my undergarments on, but they're thin pieces of fabric. Anyone who can get me out of my disgusting clothes that have hardened in some areas and stayed abnormally soft in others can slip off a tiny piece of fabric.
I lean over and yank the blanket back over my lower half, taking another look around the room to make sure there's still no one there. The scars on my stomach and arms have sealed nicely, and the ones on my back don't ooze unnatural liquids anymore. I can even feel the slight tug of neat stitches when I pull my shoulder forward.
My skin is still sickly pale, but my fingernails aren't so blue and purple as I remember them being. They still look Gods awful, but nails take longer to grow back, and the blood clots and scabs will protect the tender tissue there for now.
I touch my face, finding it clean and patched up as well. My lips are less cracked, my nose is no longer dry and my eyes are no longer itchy. I can feel bags beneath them that are most likely an ugly bluish-purple. Even my hair which was once a rat's nest of a not is brushed through and smelling of coconut and honey. Where in heathens did they get coconut and honey? I couldn't even find a single blueberry.
I look down at the small table in front of me, finding a slightly bloody towel hanging off the edge of a bowl full of water. There are two smaller bowls next to it. A mortar and pestle with some kind of a grayish paste in it, and another with a needle and thread sitting in a clear liquid. Likely something to keep them sanitized.
I hear dirt crunch beneath a pair of footsteps outside, getting louder and louder with each step. It soon turns to a thud as they climb the steps leading to the door, and then the door opens. A man in a dark coat and hood walks in, a pack held in his hand, a longbow and quiver across his back, and a few knives peeking out at his waistline. I try getting a look at his face, only he completely ignores my presence and keeps his back to me as he enters and heads to the kitchen.
I debate sneaking up on him, but his every step makes the floor creak and groan despite his quiet feet that don't go with his rather large form. He's a large male. Wide-set shoulder, likely six foot four, and large, strong hands from what I can see. The length and thickness of the longbow indicate he's a stronger man as well. Heathens, he could probably shoot as far as four hundred yards-
Saints. He's the Sulus Umbra. The shadow that's been following and watching me from the trees. The stranger that helped me escape the Fiend.
My memories start coming back. His arrow sinking into the Fiend's eye and pinning Hiss to the wall. Him taking on the brute Fiend and me having to save his ass, only for him to leave me to fall off the cliff. He found me in the forest and cut off my clothes...dear Gods. I remember what he looks like. The silver hair, green eyes, absolute fucking ripped body...
Meanwhile, I look like I went through a fucking cheese grater. Fuck my life.
I pull the blanket all the way around me as I watch him toss his bow and arrow and pack on the dining table, and his coat on the chair. To my disappointment, he's wearing a looser long sleeve today.
He empties the pack, pulling out more herbs and a rabbit. My anger suddenly rises, annoyed that the Gods have graced him with more than a sustainable amount of food and supplies to survive this Gods forsaken place. I've been looking for cycles on end to find some kind of food, yet, somehow, I never seen a single hint of a fucking rabbit - and I looked! Everywhere!
He goes to the counter, his back to me, and pulls up his sleeves to start skinning the rabbit. My stomach starts to make its current emptiness known, and I decide to try my current strength and stand. It takes a few tries of rocking my body back and forth before I actually get up. My legs nearly buckle, but I grab hold of the couch before I fall to the ground.
Pulling the blanket around my shoulders, I take a breath and start walking. The floorboards creak and shift under my own feet despite the weight loss. He likely knew I was awake when he walked in here, so I don't see a point in trying to sneak up on him and put a knife to his throat. That and the fact that he could probably easily overpower me in my current state.
This blanket isn't necessarily an ideal cover-up. I mean it only goes to my mid-thigh, and I'm only ever this exposed when I'm bathing, and that's usually always in private or with Rohana who's busy venting to care for my nakedness, but I've seen all my sister's bodies and them mine, it's nothing new or unusual. This is definitely outside of my comfort zone, but he's been seeing and healing my body for...however long, so it's not necessarily a necessity that my body be covered.
I make it to the island in the kitchen and grab hold of it for support before I fall over.
Saints he's got everything. Tomatoes, strawberries, cucumber, mint, blueberries...everything freshly gathered. The herbs and plants lay on one side of the island, along with vials of different colored liquids and another mortar and pestle. I sniff a few, perplexed as to what they are. They're nothing I've smelled before, which makes me question what it is, exactly, that he's been putting into my body. I'm grateful that it's working, but what is it?
I snatch a few berries while ensuring that his back is still turned. Saints I've missed them. Their sweetness and their juice that make my mouth water more and more. I even take a piece of tomato and shove it in my mouth. I keep swiping food as I make my way around the island, and let me tell you, trying to keep in my moans from starvation is an incredibly hard thing to do. I don't know if I'm allowed to eat his things, but he was kind of an asshole when we first met, so we'll call it compensation.
I peek around him and watch him skin the rabbit. He's fairly quick with his work, easily getting one leg done in a minute. I get distracted by a plate of biscuits that sits on the counter to his left. I debate whether or not to try to be stealthy about it, but I've been standing here for more than a minute and he heard me walking over here, so there's really no point.
I eye him for a second more before reaching for the biscuits, only to be stopped by him slapping my hand away. "Ow! I just want one!"
He gives me an unreadable glare before going back to his rabbit. I reach again, and he slaps me away. "What the fuck? Can I not have one?" He doesn't answer, which only annoys me further. "Have you forgotten how to speak?"
He still doesn't say anything, so I lean my back against the edge of the countertop and look up at him with crossed arms. "I may be injured and slightly disoriented, but I'm not stupid. I know you know how to speak my language, Pepito." He glares, which means I'm getting somewhere, and he clearly does understand me.
"Speaking of which, how long was I out for? A day? A few days? A cycle? Two cycles? For Saint's sake. Look. I have an important message for an important someone that I need to deliver in a rather small deadline, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd help me out just one more time, and tell me how long I was out, and in what direction I can find some kind of civilization in this hell hole."
He doesn't give me so much as a glance.
"There's a war about to begin - a war which will burn everyone and everything in this world unless you help me and my own rulers fight to put out the spark before it turns into an unstoppable force. Trust me, the man behind it won't spare you or any child. He'll just feed him to his creatures and watch you beg before torturing you to death. Slowly. This is important, and it's not something I can ignore, and - for Saint's sake will you put the fucking rabbit down for one fucking second!"
He drops the knife and rabbit, but he just turns around and starts chopping up the other tomatoes. I get angry, and before I can stop it my power rises in my chest and makes the knife in his hand disappear. He stops, searching his hand for the knife that was just there. He isn't too fazed and reaches for another. Half a thought and that one's gone before he can touch it too. He keeps reaching and I keep taking them until I get fed up and snap my fingers. Everything on the counters is now gone. Including the biscuits.
His own anger has every muscle in his body clenching. He yanks his coat from the chair and heads for the door. "Where are you going?"
He reaches for the door, so I turn it into a wall. A second later one of his knives flies for my head. I catch it and send it back, followed by another I formed. He catches the first and ducks beneath the second. We go back and forth another time, me ignoring the pull of the stitches at my shoulder and the tightness against my ribs. The bones must still be trying to heal, but it's his fault that they're likely spiderweb cracking.
"Gods just fucking talk to me!" I yell, chucking another two. There are five lodged in the wall behind him, another three in the cabinets behind me. "Is that so much to ask - ah! Fuck!"
One of his smaller blades lands in my left thigh and I fall to the ground. Everything I made disappear reappears, only it all comes back jumbled and wrong, which means everything either fell to the ground or on the countertops and made a big mess.
There's a curse and then the sound of running footsteps.
"Fucker."
I stretch out my leg and don't even think about it before yanking out the blade and throwing it aside. Blood starts pouring out as he comes around the island. I start putting pressure on the wound while he opens a few drawers before finding what he needs.
"Why is it that everyone on this stupid continent has to give me some kind of fucking wound." He leans down and lifts my hand off my thigh before putting a clean cloth on it and putting my hand back over it. He puts one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees. Normally, I'd sock him in the jaw and tell him that I'm no damsel who needs a knight to carry her to safety, but he just seems so frantic about having injured me that I don't stop him.
I still hate him for not letting me have a biscuit though. This could've all been avoided if he had just let me have one.
He carries me back to the couch and sits me down. Then he goes to the kitchen and comes back with a strip of cloth. I let him tie it above the wound, biting my tongue when he tightens it to slow the bleeding. I let him move my hand and the cloth, replacing it with the wet one from the bowl. My leg twitches at his touch, and I keep my hands hidden in the blanket I'm still deathly clutching to so that he doesn't see how tightly they grip it. My nails would be digging into my palm if I still had them.
The pain isn't that bad, but my leg still shakes on its own, weak from the toxin and the overtime my body is now doing with so many wounds and the last of the venom in it. His touch is gentler as he tries to clear most of the blood away. It's not going to stop, but at least you can see the width and how deep it is now. It's nowhere near one of the worst wounds I've gotten, but it's always the small ones that hurt the most.
"Is this why you know so much about healing? Because you stab everyone who tries to eat your biscuits?" He glances up at me. I suppose it's meant to be a glare, but there's too much concern in his eyes for him to hate my attitude.
I'm allowed to be mad. He fucking put a knife in my thigh.
He moves onto the gray paste, stirring it a bit before dipping his finger in. I look skeptically at it as he lowers it to the wound. There's only a small smear of it on when it starts to burn. I catch his wrist before he keeps going. "That fucking hurts."
He looks at me blankly, then raises an eyebrow when I still won't let go of his wrist. It's like he's saying, "do you want it to heal, or not?"
I definitely hate him.
I let go of his wrist and take a deep breath as I turn towards the fire. I've been through worse, felt worse pain than a sting that won't last too long. Hopefully. I try distracting myself, thinking about what Rohana would say if she saw me now. None of it works though, and my whole body tenses when he continues to smear the paste into the wound.
"Motherfucker."
It feels like hours before he's done, and by that time I'm pretty sure that I'm going to pass out again, only I find him threading the small thread through the needle when I go to check my new wound. I groan in dread, knowing that this is going to hurt. I may be immortal, but stitches are still a bitch. He looks up at me in askance.
"Just get it the fuck over with," I groan, and let my head fall back to rest on the edge of the couch.
I stare up at the ceiling, covering my mouth with my hands which are still wrapped in the edges of the blanket as he threads in and out. Each stitch is more painful than the last, and the tenderness of it doesn't help as he pulls the two sides of the skin together. This wouldn't normally phase me, but this on top of the bite, scratches, ribs, illness, and the cold, makes its entirely worse.
Soon enough it's done, and he wipes away the rest of the blood and access paste. I look down at it, impressed with the stitching and how it looks so nice despite my leg still shaking. Fucking thing won't stop. It's annoying the shit out of me.
"Gods and their Saints. Next time, I'm letting Rohana take the hard mission. Thank you," I say quickly, feeling bad that I threw a few knives at him when he's done nothing but care for me and keep me alive.
"I didn't mean to make you angry. I'm sorry about your food too, I've been told that I'm rather obnoxious when I'm hungry - though to be fair, I haven't eaten in at least a cycle. Fucking forest hates me," I mutter more to myself than him, but a corner of his lip twitches up.
Part of me wants to tease him for it, but I somehow find a way to hold my tongue. He moves his finger in a circular motion, and I squint at him in question. He just does it again. I suppose my poor effort to get him to talk isn't going to work. I turn around, knowing that he's asking me to because some of the stitches he put in my shoulder are torn. I should probably apologize about getting blood on his blanket too.
Later, I decide. When I get a biscuit.
The shoulder doesn't hurt as much as my leg did, which most likely means that it's healing properly. He checks my ribs too, and I let him, along with tilting my chin up to look at my throat. My voice is back for the most part, but after yelling I can feel my vocal cords aching. My throat must still be bruised. He touches one part that still seems to be really tender and I flinch. He stops after that, picking up the bowls and towels and going back to the kitchen. I try to follow him but he gives me a look that suggests he'll tie me down if he has to. I don't blame him, I tend to be a busybody when I'm being told to rest. I can never just sit still. I have to be doing something unless I'm tired, then I'll happily do nothing.
I glance at the mess I made and chew on my lip. My mother would beat me if she saw what I did. My power is harder to call up, but I do, and then everything's off the ground and restored to its original place. He stops mid-stride and looks back at me.
"It's called void manipulation," I explain. "I can turn something into nothing and nothing into something, and I can return things to their natural state or alter them. It's not magic and I'm not a witch. Just someone who was given a gift."
He squints at me for a moment, then walks back to his rabbit and continues to cook. I stay on the couch and look out the window, watching the sky grow darker and darker. It starts to get colder, so I make more wood appear in the fire and keep it big enough to warm the cabin and chase away the cold. I fucking hate the cold.
Soon my thoughts wander and my body grows heavy. I end up curled in the blanket, my uninjured leg folded beneath the other one so that I don't move it and tear the stitches, but also to keep pressure on it. I watch the fire and think of home and all that I miss about it, and then I'm dreaming about it.
The cold winters, warm summers, vibrant springs, and fall festivals. The people thrived in any season at any time, trusting that The Ginerva and Elemental rulers would always protect them. In the winter in the western mountain range, there'd be snowmen and snow angels everywhere, igloos in front yards, trees covered in snow and some cut down and decorated with candies and streamers and little pictures of family members.
Spring brought flowers around every corner. Flowers people would pick and tie into flower crowns like the one the Mater would wear. Everyone wore bright clothing and made sweet pastries for their neighbors.
Summer was the best. We'd go to the coast and enjoy the salty sea waves and play in the sand. There'd be sandcastles and picnics along the coast, and in the towns, kids ran and caused trouble in the heat.
But Gods the fall festivals were the best. You'd wear all the fall colors and stomp on the orange, brown, and yellow leaves. Some even collected them and formed them into crafts of all sorts. Murals of people, some painted on them, and others would gather a whole pile and jump in it.
Home was perfect until it wasn't, but home isn't just a place, it's the people. I fight for the people of Thralia, not the chunk of land that was named that. The people will still smile in the seasons and walk in their flower crowns and jump in their leaf piles. That's the home I miss, and that's the home I dream of.
I wake up to someone tapping my shoulder. I find Pepito - that's his name until he tells me his real one, and he's gonna just have to deal with it - waking me up, a bowl in his hand with bread on top of the oh-so-good smelling soup. He doesn't have to tell - or rather say with his eyes - me twice before I'm sitting upright and taking the offered food.
The soup is like heaven. The tomatoes, carrots, potatoes, beans, and chunks of tender rabbit meat all make my stomach dance its happy dance. And the bread dipped in the broth is a fucking Godsend. I start eating so fast that he has to stop my hand from continuing to just shove more and more into my mouth. I end up apologizing with a full mouth every time, which makes a ghost smile appear on his face.
He takes the bowl when I'm finished with the soup, and I do a little happy dance as I finish off the bread and curl back up in my blanket. He's back a second later, holding a bowl of that paste again. He gestures to my leg, and I whine.
"Again?" He reaches in his pocket and pulls out one of those biscuits. I eye it longingly, then glare heavily at him. "I hate how you already know my weaknesses."
He just raises an eyebrow and I look at the biscuit before sighing and taking the blanket off my leg. He sets the biscuit on the table and sits himself in between the two of us, that way I can't get to it. I debate telling him that I could just make it appear in my hand, but I think he knows that, and I think this is a test.
Reluctantly, I keep my power to myself and try to keep my leg from shaking as he rubs the paste on.
Once it's done he hands me the biscuit, and I laugh evilly like a little kid who stole a cookie from their mother's cookie jar that they're not supposed to go into. The biscuit is gone too fast, and then I'm left with its cinnamon and sugar aftertaste to torture me the rest of the night. I fall asleep with it still in my mouth and the fire still burning brightly.
Sometime in the night I slightly wake up to the sound of a door opening, but I'm fast asleep a second later, this time dreaming of my mother's special cookies and the cinnamon raisin bread she used to make by hand. Nothing beats food like my mother's.
It's been nearly two days, and I've been stuck on this fucking uncomfortable couch the entire time. Pepito refuses to let me go anywhere unless it's to use the restroom, and even then he waits right outside the door until I'm done, and then carries me back to the couch. I tried making a break for it earlier, and it didn't go so well. Let's just say that he was picking up glass pieces from the bowl he broke for a good fifteen minutes.
I was fed up with him, so when he tried to leave to go hunt before the sun was gone, I made the door disappear. Then reappear, then disappear again when he went to reach for the handle. And then again. And again, all without having to actually look at the door. I did it again when something hard slammed into the back of my head. I launched the apple back at him, but by then he was outside and the apple hit the closed door.
We haven't had any conversations, as Pepito hasn't spoken a lick despite his clear tells of fully understanding the words coming out of my mouth. Maybe he's like Clarice in the sense that he can understand the Common Tongue as she understands Thralian, but he can't speak it. She can remember how to, and I doubt he's got memory loss as an excuse.
I have used it to my advantage to piss him the fuck off for the lack of answers and communication by talking non stop. I've taken the liberty of talking about utter nonsense of my past. Funny stores, stupid decisions, even mine and my sister's rise as the Ginerva.
Fucker tunes me out though. I was talking about how we won the final trial in Canp Daleka that ended up getting us chosen for the next Ginerva, and when I realized he wasn't listening what so ever I made up the rest of the story and told a gruesome story of how I murdered Clarice's mother and the babe in her womb.
Damn silky moonshine haired asswipe didn't even fault in his dicing of the vegetables. I've made it my mission to annoy him until he talks, but I swear his lips are sewn shut.
He came back with another rabbit which I tried annoying him into telling me where he got it. It didn't work, just like any of my other attempts didn't work. It's like he thinks that not answering me will get me to be obedient. If he knew me at all, he'd know that I'm never obedient. Just ask my mother and my sisters.
I tried refusing to eat, but he just left the meat, vegetables, and bread on the table to get cold. My stupid stomach and returning appetite didn't let me last long, and he took the empty plate away before dragging me to the bathroom.
I've been sitting on the floor in the tiny room for five minutes now, watching from the opposing wall as he tries to open the door now barricaded by the vanity and washbin I pushed in front of it. He could easily break the door, but he doesn't seem to want to crack the cedar. Shame. For how will he ever manage to get to me now with a metal tub and heavy wooden vanity blocking his path? I suppose he won't.
He manages to open it just enough to get a hand through, then his head a few minutes later. He glares like no other, though I only smirk with my crossed ankles and arms. "Something wrong?" I taunt.
He looks down at the barricade, then up at me, and then his head disappears behind the door again.
"I don't suppose this is the right time to tell you that I don't-"
He rams into the door, breaking the vanity and flipping over the washbin. I barely roll quick enough to avoid getting crushed. "Well, that's just great. You broke the vanity and tore the door off its hinges. Feel better?"
He just stomps over and grabs my wrist, pulling me up. I let my body weight grow heavy, keeping my legs limp. It doesn't do much, and I end up being tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. "I could kick your ass, you know. Or at least take the stick out of it for you while I'm over here."
He throws me on the couch, clearly not caring about my stitches reopening now. They're pretty much useless now. With my strength back up my healing has grown faster and gotten rid of all bruises and closed most of the wounds. My nails are halfway grown, and they don't look so scabby anymore.
Fresh skin glows on my body, and Gods have I missed it.
I tuck my legs into the large shirt he's given me to wear. That's it though. A shirt. Part of me thinks he's a pervert, the other part thinks he's an idiot. I despise how I let him toss my clothing into the river. Then again, I wasn't necessarily lucid in those few minutes of being nearly killed by the Fiend. Nor was I focused with only a short covering his impressive-
Saints, I need to get my vagina out of brain.
I pout while he finishes cleaning, then he goes to his room where he doesn't come out of until morning. I stay on the couch forming a plan while listening to his movements. He settles into his bed and I wait for his breathing to even out. He's out for another hour and I wait for one more to make sure he's actually asleep.
After two days of sitting on my ass, jealously watching as he walks about, I've learned which floorboards creak and which ones don't. I map out my steps and wake my tired limbs, and then I slowly lower my feet to the ground and stand up. I keep an eye on the bedroom door as I walk step by carefully placed step until I reach the door.
Now I can only open the door so much before that too makes a groaning sound. It's a small window, but it's just enough to let me slip through. I do so carefully, also watching where I place my feet again as I step onto the porch and close the door behind me with a barely audible click. I forgo the steps and hop over the railing of the porch, landing on grass. I stay crouched down, looking around to find us in a small clearing in the forest.
The mountains lay about ten miles ahead of me. I have nothing but a shirt for supplies, and I seriously did not think this through. I'm functional enough to be able to get there and hopefully over it, and my energy is sufficient to summon things in the meantime, but I shouldn't waste it on things not necessarily needed.
The moon's high in the sky, lighting the earth up enough for me to avoid stepping on anything sharp. I make it to the tree line, taking a glance back. I should probably stay and convince him to help me, but he seems resistant to doing any sort of helping aside from food and a warm place to stay. It's all nice and good, but I need the food and warmth of a whole city with a gigantic castle in the center of it. A castle holding a ruler I can talk to and get to help our sorry asses in the real world.
Pepito has been generous, but he's a silent asshole.
I look up at the moon and stars and then walk towards the mountains, my feet already being poked and stabbed and my body trying to stay warm. I walk long enough to where my feet go numb and my body stops shivering.
I'll have to make myself warmer clothes soon to make it through the mountains. It'll take me about four hours to get to its base, so I'll rest there until dawn and then form clothes and start the climb. I'll have to keep an eye out for food as I walk too, maybe hunt in the morning before climbing. Hopefully, wildlife will be more populated in the mountains. It's where they would've likely fled to with the Fiend hunting the woods.
I keep walking for about an hour based on moonlight positioning. Just three more to go, then sleep. I stop and lean against a tree for a second, taking a moment to look around and see if I can spot anything in the dark. Nothing moves, nor does anything make a sound.
I hate this fucking forest. It likes to play tricks and cut your feet. I can't wait to get the fuck out of here. To be done with this whole thing and just...rest. To lay in the sun and bask in its warmth with my sisters by my side and the world at peace. To just be lazy and get to live life without the fear that someone's going to die and I'm going to have to hold a sword and slit someone's throat. I don't want that. I want to be free.
Sighing, I push off of the tree and keep walking. I pick up a few rocks here and there and chuck them into the forest ahead. I make a game out of it, seeing how deep I can them get to indent into the bark of a tree. They hit the wood with loud clicks that turn into deep thuds as I throw harder and harder, testing the strength of my shoulder.
I have one more rock in my hand, and I launch it so hard my shoulder pops. It hurdle for the trunk and buries deep within its side with a loud thunk and croak as the tree fights to stay rooted.
"Yes!" I start to run to see just how deep my victory went but stop short at the sound of an all too familiar screech.
Saints, why can't the Fiend just leave me the fuck alone?
Another yell echoes out, and I note it's a rather far distance, but I know how quickly they move and how that large distance can turn into a small one within minutes. I can run fast, but they'll just keep chasing until they have their dinner. So I listen, hoping they're going to go in another direction.
Their calls don't get quieter though, they get louder, growing closer and closer. I don't take the chance to see if they're coming for me, I just dig my fingers in the bark and climb up the branches until I'm at a decent height in a thick tree.
I suppose there's one good thing about the forest. Its trees are large and filled quite fully with leaves. A perfect hiding place.
I listen to them get closer until I hear their footsteps and snarls. They're running, and all stop directly beneath me. There are six of them, all with their claws out and teeth bared. I don't make a sound or move, hoping this branch won't give out from under me and give me away. That wouldn't be good.
"The air smells sweet," one of them growls.
"Another redling?"
"No, this scent is familiar." He sniffs the air, turning in circles until he catches a scent, follows it to a tree, and pulls out the rock I threw in its side. He sniffs the pebble, then faces his companions. "It seems our little friend has returned to us once more. Find the trail, and bring her back alive. Draven has special plans for her."
They all scatter, each with their own growl and hiss as they run. Draven must be the scrawny leader Pepito shot in the eye and we forgot to kill. Another thing I'll just add to my list of things I fucked up yet again.
I wait a moment, listening to if they're close or far enough for me to make a run for it. I could go jumping from tree to tree, but that'll make too much noise and leaves will fall when I step on the next branch. My ground is a safer bet, and I have my power to help.
Right. Let's just hope I don't fuck this up too.
I take my time getting down, pausing every time I go down a branch to listen again for their locations. They all ran different ways, which makes it hard to really pinpoint where each of them is. I wait until the forest is once again silent before letting my feet hit the ground softly. It's easier to keep my steps quiet without shoes.
I get around a few trees then pause and listen. I repeat that over and over, always keeping quiet so I don't make my location known. I guess I should've thought of that before I went throwing rocks at trees like an idiot. I just get so fucking bored.
I find a cluster of boulders and climb on top of it to get a semi-higher advantage point. I watch the shadows for movement, not even finding the wind blowing through the leaves. The mountain takes rain to grow just a tiny bit closer, so I pick up my pace when I'm more confident that they haven't followed me.
I'm walking for about five minutes when I hear a twig snap. I freeze entirely, listening, waiting. I turn and look in the shadows again, yet still nothing. Nothing moves and no more sounds reach my ears, but something doesn't feel right. It's quiet, even for this forest. The air feels stiller, thinner even. Another step and that's when I see it. The slight shift of a shadow that's all too quick to stop to be the wind or an animal.
"You should know," I call to it in a low voice, my power humming in my hand and against my back. "I know your weak spots now, and I never miss."
A low growl rumbles through me, followed by another and another until the shadows move and separate into six different figures. They step into the light and form a half-moon in front of me. It must be their clan's hunting tactic. I remember my first encounter with their dead friends. They did the same thing before biting me twice and chasing me into that cave. I won't be doing that again.
"You are foolish for returning to the wood." I look at the one who spoke earlier, sizing him up and keeping track of all six of them. "Draven wants you dead."
"I thought you said he wanted me alive."
"Only to kill you himself, and yes, you are to be brought to him alive, but he never said anything about you being without a limb or two."
"Funny. I was thinking of giving him something far grander than myself." Some of them start to get anxious, lowering into crouches and taking small steps forward. I mark them, putting my right foot angled behind me and readying for the fight. "Each of you. Dead."
I move before they do, knocking the arrow I draw from the summoned quiver and hitting the first right in his left eye. The second is already flying for another, landing in her right socket. I duck beneath another's arm and shove the arrow in the back of his skull. A fourth goes for the tackle but I flip over him and land with a roll, another arrow knocked by the time I get to one knee and fire. The fifth goes to the ground wailing.
The quiver and bow are gone in a second, replaced by two fighting blades as long as my forearm. I duck and roll again, cutting into a thigh and spearing his abdomen. He bends forward and I shove the blade into his eye and yank it out.
With one down I move on to the next. I shove one blade into the ground and catch the other female's fist, twisting, and flip her over my back. She's dead before she can claw my own eye out.
I turn just in time to roll before arrowhead sinks his nails in my back. He pivots so quickly that I have to summon a shield to block his secondary blow. I kick his legs out from under him and shove the blade in his shoulder, all the way through and into the ground.
"Say goodbye to your friends." I leave him and go to the closest Fiend who's still crying out in pain due to the arrow in his eye. He's too busy yelling to sense me near, making it that much easier to grab the arrow and yank it out.
"No!" The arrowhead pulls the blade out and jumps to his feet, the toxin pouring out of his mouth. "You're gonna pay for that."
"Doubtful."
He leaps forward with a scream on his lips. I don't move nor summon a weapon, just stand there and wait. With every step he takes, I feel the world slow, feel the night still and quiet. My power thrums through me, vibrating along my veins and singing in every bone. It zaps down my arms like lightning, pure energy snapping to get free.
I wait until I can feel the stench of his breath against my face, his hand mere inches away from the heartbeat in my neck. It bursts from my hands. Two chains appear on his wrists and his whole body gets yanked backward. He stands and tries attacking me again, only to be hauled back once more by the chains anchored in the ground. The chains won't break, and the line goes far deeper than he likely thinks.
He screams his anger as he pulls against the chains. "Demon witch!"
I smirk and flick my fingers. His two companions which are still alive fly and land at his feet, clawing at their faces and the arrows still in their eyes. "No! No!" he yells as I kneel between the two.
One yank and the female is gone. I put my hand on the spine of the other arrow and pull it out, slowly. The smaller Fiend's painful cry is earsplitting, but I ignore it and keep my eyes on the arrowhead until the cry ceases. He falls to his knees, now at eye level with me. He looks at me with rage and revenge, and I bask in it, taking it as compensation for my two plus cycles delay from his companions blows.
"You should've heeded that warning I left in the cave," I whisper. A small obsidian needle forms in my palm. His head tilts down at it, then back at me with those depthless holes. "Let's hope the rest of your clan doesn't make the same mistake."
The needle flies from my hand and shoots all the way through his head, leaving a thin hole in its wake. His body falls to the floor, and I pull all the weapons and the chains back into me, feeling my power thrum with fulfillment.
Gods I've missed this feeling for cycles. I feel like myself again, aside from the fact that I'm only dressed in a damn shirt. We'll have to fix that.
Another group of screeches echoes nearby.
Later. We'll get pants later.
I walk towards the sound of the approaching Fiend, finding their running forms easy enough as they slow to a stop twenty yards from me. I let them take in the carnage behind me and count their numbers. Ten this time, but I'm not too worried.
"I assume you won't listen to me if I tell you to turn around and run back to your mothers?" I call out. I only get growls for an answer. "Didn't think so."
The ground starts shaking beneath our feet. I stand strong as peaks start breaking through the dirt around me. Spears of the same obsidian as the needle rise from the ground and hover vertically at my sides. "How about now?"
Five launch forward, each met with a spear that sinks in their chest and hurls their body back until it pins them to a tree. Two more go on the attack and I let them, bringing those fighting blades back against my forearms. I take them two on one, killing one only for him to be replaced by another. They attack primally, their movements complementing the others. I catch a nail on the cheek before I get them both down, a blade in each of their eye sockets. I look up to find that five more of the Fiend have joined the fight, all in that crescent moon shape again.
"You guys are getting on my nerves." More spears rise, and this time I only send one at a time, these ones drilling a single hole through their heads. I'm about to send another when a body rams into me from the side.
I twist before we hit the ground, taking hold of their wrists. I end up on my back but push the body and end up on top, their wrists pinned beneath my knees and a blade edge to their throat, another about to plunge into their head. They get an arm free to catch my arm, stopping the blade from killing them. That's when I catch sight of the starlit hair and green eyes.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I yell, ridding of the blades. A scream cuts off his answer and I look up to find the Fiend running for us. "Shit."
I spot an arrow a few feet away and roll off of him. I take hold of the arrow, the bow already forming in my other hand and I turn on one knee to find the closest target. I hate shooting with my left hand. The arrow finds its target and I draw another from the quiver returned on my back. Another arrow hits a Fiend before my second can fly.
I glance over to find Pepito shooting from his own bow. It hits the Fiend so hard that he goes flying back a good ten feet. We get the five down, their bodies still when they hit the ground. I let the bow and arrow go, along with four of the spears keeping the others alive. Pepito takes care of two with easy shots. I ignore the third and take the fourth one-on-one.
An easy sidestep, kick, twist of their arm behind their back, and their body goes limp with a dagger in her head. I let her fall and look up to the last Fiend still impaled to the tree. He wiggles and fights to try and get the spear out of him. Seeing as its other end sticks out of the opposite end of the tree, I don't think he'll be getting free so easily.
I walk up to him, running a hand along the spear. He hisses the closer I get, and I stop just far enough to avoid his kick or swing. "You're going to deliver a message to your dear Draven."
He freezes at the name, finally paying attention. "You're going to tell him to leave us the fuck alone, otherwise I'm going to take that arrow still lodged in his eye and pull it out. Slowly, and in front of your whole Fiend population, all of which will be impaled on a spear as you are now and forced to watch just before I put an arrow through their own skulls. You will leave us alone, or you'll die."
His head turns to look at all twenty of his dead brethren, then to Pepito and back at me.
"I'm going to let you down now. I'm choosing to let you live, but if you so much as twitch to hurt either of us, I'll snap your neck, drill two holes in your head, and spike it on a stick right in the middle of your dead friends. Choose wisely, because I'm in no mood for bullshit right now."
He doesn't answer, but he keeps still. I take it as an answer enough. The spear turns to dust beneath my hand and his feet touch the ground again. For a second I think that he's going to try and take his chances against me, but then he's turning away and running back into the trees.
Thank the Gods, because I really wasn't in the mood for trying to write out a message in the dirt. My power's no longer buzzing in my body, now worn and ready for a nap. Based on the way Pepito is pouting, I'd say a nap is far from close.
"What in heathens are you doing here?" He doesn't answer, just angrily retrieves his arrows to finish off the squirming Fiend. "I was doing perfectly fine on my own!"
"They were about to kill you!"
My retort takes a moment to come out. It's the first he's spoken since he yelled at me while I was laying on the ground after I fell off the cliff. His accent is thicker than I remember, but he speaks clearly enough. Must be the anger.
I knew the fucking could talk!
"I was about to kill them all!" I yell back.
"You see this?" he asks, pointing to a spear that isn't mine sticking out of the ground. "This would've hit your heart if I hadn't pushed you out of the way."
I didn't even see that spear coming for me. "What do you want? A thank you?"
"Why must you be so reckless?" He seethes, tossing the spear to the dirt.
"First of all, it's part of my nature. Secondly, I tend to get reckless when I'm being caged in a cabin and have far more important things to do."
"Ah, yes," he sighs. "The important message you keep talking about. The one about the end of the world and demons and monsters. It's just as stupid as your decision to run away."
"I'm not lying about the end of the world, asshole - and I was only running away because you weren't necessarily letting me out."
"And what was your plan, exactly?" He pauses his retrieval of his arrows to scowl at me. An expression that has my innards doing weird things because it confused about why the hearty accent makes certain letter suddenly sound sexy. "To climb the mountains without food or water or clothes?"
"Hey! This-" I gesture to the single piece of clothing he poorly provided, "-is your fault."
"How is it my fault?"
"You're the one who didn't give me pants!"
"Do you honestly think that my pants would fit you?"
I try to argue, but one look at his height and muscle mass, and the words die on my lips. "That's not the point."
"No. The point is that it was stupid of you to go running away in the middle of the night when the Fiend are the most active, and not consider the consequences. You could've died."
"I wouldn't have died," I sulk.
"Must I point out the spear in the heart again?"
I glance at the spear, knowing full well what damage that could've done. "I wouldn't have died."
He starts cursing in that other language again, turning away to rub the palm of his hand against his forehead. "Are you somehow a Goddess of some kind? Incapable of death? Because if I remember correctly, you were dying a few days ago."
Saints, I was asleep for that long? I shake off the though. "I wouldn't have died because my mother would've come for me."
"She didn't seem to come for you when you were sick and barely breathing."
"That's different," I whisper, feeling defeated from the night.
He growls, turning away to pace in between the bodies that are starting to make my stomach twist at the odor. There's too much tension in his shoulders, and the pacing shows his unease.
"I'm sorry," I apologize. He stops pacing to look at me. "I didn't mean to make you worry. I didn't even expect you to come after me once you found out I was gone. I didn't think you'd care."
Some of the anger goes out of his eyes, but his jaw still works as he looks at the bodies again. "We can't be here. They'll be back to collect their dead, and they won't take kindly to us being here when they do."
I nod, glancing at the mountains. "Look, I'm telling the truth about the end of the world. There are bad people out there who are looking to take every inch of this world and burn it. I need to talk to whoever's in charge here. By now they've received an invitation to attend a ball in the central continent, but it's not a ball. It's a trap. The man who sent the invitation is the man who will kill your rulers and then come for you next. He won't spare anyone - men, women, or children. He won't listen to your pleas and he won't hesitate to kill. If I don't get to them before they leave for the ball, then thousands of innocent people - your people - will die. I just need you to point me in the right direction. I won't ask for supplies or...pants. Just the location of where I can find the person in charge. Please."
He works his jaw, considering my words. I watch him look at the sky, then the mountains. "You won't last a day up there."
"You'd be surprised what I can survive."
He sighs loudly, running his hands on his face. I take in his appearance, realizing that he's not at all wearing a shirt, just the straps that keep his twin axes on his back. I thought his arms were impressive, but Gods and their Saints those abs could break every bone in my hand and wrist in one punch. And fuck me if I'm wrong but I think the Gods put an arrow to point me right to where I need to go just below them-
His hands fall and I snap my eyes up to his before I get caught drooling. I'm glad it's still dark out, that way he can't see me blush. Not that I'm ashamed. I can praise a good body that clearly deserves the worship.
"You're not going up there alone," he states.
His implication has me tying a noose on my dirty thoughts and hanging them. I have a mission and I need to focus. That comes first. "I'm not going to ask you to come."
He nods. "We go back to the cabin tonight - and you will rest until noon."
"No-"
"Yes. We'll gather supplies after that and then leave the following morning."
"I don't have that kind of time," I argue.
"Time moves slower in the forest. You've got time to spare."
I want to argue. I glance at the mountains and debate it. I could do it myself, but he's right. I need his help, I'm nowhere near supplied for a climb like that, and I do have some time to spare. I think. I'm still fuzzy on what day we're aligned with right now.
I sigh, looking to where he's waiting. "I still hate you."
The corner of his lip twitches upward but doesn't stay long. "You're not necessarily a likable person yourself."
I stick my tongue out at him and start the trek back to the cabin. A whole two hours of my life wasted. Yippie.
He easily catches up to me with his long legs. One step for him is two for me. I have a feeling that I'll be jogging here and there just to keep up. I glance over at him and say, "You're not too bad, Pepito."
"Don't call me that."
Oh I'm never not using it again. "What? Why not?"
"It's stupid."
"Then it's suiting," I shrug.
He glares harshly, and I smirk. "Unlike that shirt on you."
I glance down at the shirt. Indeed, it's more like a damn dress on me than anything. "That's only because you're a fat ass giant."
"I am not a giant."
"Yeah, you're right. Giant's have far bigger dicks."
"Why are looking at my dick?"
Oh fuck. "Well because I was trying to look for it. I wasn't sure you had one at first, but then I realized that it was just too small to tell."
"You are revolting."
I laugh, liking the fact that my vulgarness makes him uncomfortable. "I've been called worse."
If I didn't know better, I'd say this was the beginning of a rather fun friendship, and one where I get to have all the fun.