Dehumanization
-Interlude-
Left to himself, Kratos decided to make good use of his time, and began to work his way through the files that he had pilfered from the Human Ranch. The light of the day was fading but, with his enhanced vision, Kratos had no difficulty reading them.
Actually making sense of what he saw was another matter entirely.
Like most documentation related to the Age of Lifeless Beings, all of the pages were densely packed with columns of data and technical jargon. Not even Kratos, one of the four Seraphim, could divine much meaning from the text, and in order to interpret anything he found himself reading at a monotonous, grinding pace. This was worrisome, because it suggested that Yggdrasil's plans had been in development for much longer than he had initially suspected.
Given the obsessive quality of Kvar's writing, it was clear that his interest in the A012 – Anna – was not purely academic in nature. The Grand Cardinal had accumulated a staggering amount of useless information over the course of his research. In fact, Kvar had been monitoring the human girl so obsessively that it was a wonder his superiors had not called his sanity into question. Deliberately skipping over a chart of statistical data which, as far as Kratos could tell, was somehow linked to the unfortunate woman's sleeping habits, the ordinarily stoic angel felt one of the first twinges of irrational anger that he had experienced in over a century.
Anna had departed some time ago and, for some reason, she had not returned. Kratos didn't really think it was his place to interfere, and in fact, he was a bit relieved to be rid of her. Not that it mattered. Humans were short-lived creatures. She would die one way or another, and if she should happen to do so in the middle of nowhere, all the better. Yggdrasil would have one hell of a time recovering the Angelus project then.
In an absent way, though, Kratos did hope that Anna would be alright. It was a little bit like prying a little mouse free from a trap and then releasing it into the wild. One could not avoid hoping for its survival, despite the tiny creature's unlikely prospects. Perhaps it was that sentimentality that had prompted Kratos to part with his knife, a token commemorating his initiation into a covenant of knights, so many lifetimes ago. To think that after carrying it for nearly four millennia, he would part with it so easily.
Perhaps, if the angel of Cruxis had not been waiting for Noishe, and if his business in the city of ruins were not so pressing, he might have sacrificed a few more days to ensure that Anna returned home safely. Time didn't mean much to him, most of the time. But he had no time to worry over the fate of a single woman. There were much larger concerns that needed his attention, and time was of the essence.
Kratos returned to his papers, only to be interrupted a few moments later by the sound of footsteps. At first, he thought the woman had returned, but when he focused his hearing, he knew that the steps were much too heavy, and sounded strangely off-rhythm. They were almost certainly being made by something with three legs, and padded feet… With a sick lurch, he realized that the sounds were almost certainly being made by his companion.
He was on his feet and running in an instant, extending his wings as he went to propel himself forward. His papers scattered behind him as he went, forgotten.
He found Noishe hobbling slowly in his direction, favouring one leg. The protozoan was heavily matted with blood, but, much to Kratos' relief, a thorough check revealed no external injuries. Just to be safe, he began to work his fingers through the fur on Noishe's neck and back, feeling the skin underneath for any wounds that his eyes might have missed.
Noishe snapped at him, growling, and Kratos jerked back, startled by his companion's hostility.
"What?" the seraphim demanded.
The protozoan snorted, hackles raised, before turning to move on his way.
"Are you saying that this is somehow my fault?" Kratos demanded, stomping after the disgruntled creature. Usually he had infinite patience for Noishe, (a virtue, given that conversing with the speechless creature was a great deal like playing a one-sided game of twenty questions) but seeing his companion injured had shaken him.
Noishe refused to look at him, which Kratos correctly interpreted to mean 'yes.'
The walk back to camp continued in stormy silence, both angel and protozoan uncharacteristically perturbed by the events of the day. When they arrived, Noishe limped over to his camping mat and sniffed it judiciously. Abruptly, he turned back to Kratos and let out a low, disgruntled woof, as if he had stumbled across some sort of damning evidence.
"What? Are you angry because I let that woman use your things? Is that what this is about?"
Noishe let out a high pitched whine, signalling his exasperation. 'You're missing the point," it seemed to say. With no further ado, the large dog-like creature tottered around the mat three times, and then plunked down on top of it, facing into the lean-to shelter.
"Would you at least let me examine your injury?" Kratos implored. The protozoan's large, bat-like ears twitched, but otherwise he gave no indication of having heard anything.
Kratos sighed, but did not force the matter. His instinct was to heal his companion, but doing so when the stubborn creature had explicitly indicated that he wanted no such thing would be an enormous breach of etiquette. In his opinion, Noishe was behaving like a spoiled child, but the protozoan's means of communicating with others was limited. To disregard his wishes, and to actually treat him like a spoiled child, would be unspeakably belittling.
"I don't understand," he stated frankly, "I haven't done anything wrong."
Noishe did not answer. Kratos waited for some time for the protozoan to acknowledge him, but eventually the large arshis' breathing slowed to a deep and steady rhythm. He was fast asleep.
Kratos spent the rest of the evening searching through the dark, fumbling on hands and knees for the papers that he so carelessly discarded before. He felt that he had been subjected to a great injustice, but still made certain not to disturb the creature slumbering underneath the tarp. He was not bitter enough to take out his frustrations on an injured old friend.
He considered building a camp fire in order to continue with his reading, but eventually decided against it. Although his body did not require sleep, his mind needed rest. Surely everything would seem much clearer in the morning.
-End Interlude-
The interior of caravan was cramped and poorly lit. The only source of illumination was a small lantern, suspended from the ceiling by a chain, which swayed and flickered in time with the movement of the carriage. Anna suspected that even during the day, the small round windows set in the walls would not let in enough light to diminish the cave-like quality of the room. The vehicle's powerful motor rumbled enough to shake the floor, rattling the contents of the cupboards and drawers.
Even so, there was something homey and inviting about it. After all the time that she had spent in a hostile, prison environment, Anna could not help but feel charmed by the hand-crafted wooden furniture, the earthy colours, and the loud, mismatched patterns that decorated the cushions and drapes. There was a domesticity about the place that made her feel safe, even though the sensation of being in motion was a bit nauseating, at times.
The head of the caravanning family, Alden, had informed her with no small amount of pride that the caravan was a relic of the Sylvaranti dynasty, powered by magi-technology, and that he himself had had a hand in its restoration. She was surprised to learn that he was a scholar of sorts, and that his family had actually been commissioned by the University of Palmacosta just to travel in it, to learn more about the way that the inhabitants of the past might have lived.
Anna found her gaze wandering toward the front of the room, to rest on the door of the cockpit, a separate room that was set low in the front of the carriage. Alden, his wife Maria, and his eldest son were all on the other side, perhaps discussing Anna's strange appearance in privacy. Above it, there was a bunk set in wall close to the ceiling, and she glanced up just in time to see the young boy from before peeking out over the edge, obviously unsure of what to make of this strange woman's presence in his home. The boy, (whose name, Anna had learned, was Eric,) hid his face when he saw her looking, and hastily pulled a curtain shut around him, to hide from view. Anna did not blame him.
After the scene that she had caused at the lake, the former prisoner had scrambled to find her clothes and then chased him all the way back to his family's caravan. The sight of her - wild-haired and covered in dark, crusted ogre blood - had thrown the child's father, Alden, into an uproar, and the commotion had drawn another, younger man out of the caravan, sword at the ready. Confronted, Anna's first instinct was to flee, but the men's aggression was quickly abated by a ruddy faced woman with a thick waist and square hands.
"Nova, for heaven's sake, put that down!" she had exclaimed, in a high voice that did not match her heavy-set figure, "Stop terrorizing her! She's wearing a prisoner's uniform! That girl is from the ranch!"
The large woman had taken Anna aside, cooing nonsense at her as if trying to sooth a frightened animal.
"You're safe now," Anna remembered the other woman saying, "Everything is going to be alright. You're safe now."
Even after only a few hours, the memory had taken on an unreal quality, as if she were recalling the events of a dream and not something that had really happened to her. Anna could only vaguely remember the discussion that had followed. She had apologized, of course, and then the caravanners had decided to break camp, for fear that the Desians might be on her trail. She had begged to be taken to Luin, and they had agreed, though not without reluctance.
While the men were stowing the family's possessions in the caravan's cargo hold, the ruddy-faced woman, Maria, had herded Anna into a small tent where she could wash and change in privacy.
Now Anna was seated at the family's small table, a half-finished plate of potatoes and roast beef on the table in front of her. In their rush to depart, the family had only been able to provide her with the last of the dinner they had prepared earlier in evening, and a relatively fresh mug full of tea. The latter had long since gone cold. With the way the caravan rumbled as it moved, the liquid inside the mug sloshed violently back and forth, and splashed Anna's face when she tried to drink from it. Normally, a little mess would not have deterred her from eating or drinking, but she was worried that she might dirty her borrowed clothing. Not a fine way to say thank you.
The former prisoner shifted in her chair, hands twisting into the faded red fabric of the dress that the caravanning woman had given to her. It was several times too large – a testament to the impressive girth of its real owner. This only served to emphasize the dilapidated state of Anna's figure. Even though she had done the best she could to cinch up the fabric, wrapping the other woman's belt twice around her own waist, the end result still left her looking rather like a writing stick in a flower pot. The neckline of the dress hung low on her shoulders, drooping down to expose her exsphere.
"Does it hurt?"
Anna looked up sharply, to see that the eldest of Maria's two sons, a heavily tanned, gentle-looking young man with dark curly hair. His name, she remembered, was Nova, and according to Maria he was in his early teenage years.
Absently, Anna realized that her hand had strayed to her collarbone.
"No, it's not painful," she told him, which was partially true. "It feels cold sometimes though."
"I can't imagine what it's like," said the young man, with genuine compassion. "You must have been through so much."
"Hmm," Anna responded. Deliberately, she filled her mouth with a forkful of potatoes so that she would have an excuse not to say anything. She knew that Nova was trying to be kind, but she was not entirely comfortable with the direction that the conversation was taking.
"I have to ask though…" Nova began, hesitantly, "how did you manage to get all the way to Lake Umacy in your condition?"
The young woman nearly choked.
"Wh-what did you say?!" she demanded.
"I'm sorry," the young lad shied away from her immediately. "It was an invasive question."
"No," Anna tried to calm her voice, calling her numbers to mind, "I meant that I didn't hear you properly. Did you say Lake Umacy?"
"That's right."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, yes. We followed a map."
Anna was at a loss. Logically, it was impossible that she had traveled so far south of the ranch in such a short time, but the caravanners were obviously quite familiar with the territory, and certainly, the lake that Anna had seen matched any description of Lake Umacy that she had ever heard. With a peculiar sense of self-satisfaction, she wondered what the old pastor in Luin would have to say if he learned that Anna had tainted the sacred spring with the blood of an ogre.
Kratos was telling the truth, she realized, we were a long way from the Human Ranch. The revelation had only a dull impact on her, compared to the questions that this new information had presented to her. How had he moved her such a great distance from the Human Ranch by himself? How long had she been unconscious? Who – or rather, what – was he?
"Miss?"
"I'm sorry," Anna said, remembering that Nova had asked her a question, "I don't know how I got all the way to Lake Umacy. There was someone else with me. He… cared for me when I was sick. He must have carried me a great distance."
"What happened to him?" the tactless question emanated from above, where Eric was now unabashedly leaning out over the edge of his bunk. Anna felt a surge of concern for the small boy, with the jostling motion of the caravan, she feared that he would be shaken from his perch.
"We parted ways," Anna told him, hoping to avoid the question. The small child was not deterred by her efforts.
"Why?"
It was a question that had been lurking on the edges of Anna's thoughts for some time now. Snug inside the traveling family's caravan, the suspicions that she had held against the man now seemed groundless, paranoid. She weighed several possible responses before choosing one to say aloud.
Because I thought he might actually be part of a rebel faction of Desians, who planned to use the Angelus Project as a weapon.
Because I saw him use magic.
Because he's a half-elf.
"We had different destinations in mind. I wanted to go to Luin, and he wanted to go to Asgard."
Nova was incredulous. "So he just left you?!"
"Well," Anna faltered, "it wasn't that simple."
Fortunately, a high, familiar voice interrupted their conversation before Nova could press her for any additional information.
"You boys mind your own business. Can't you see she's tired?" Maria lumbered gracelessly to the table, examining Anna's unfinished plate with an air of disbelief. "What's the matter, dearie?" she asked, "Are you feeling sick?"
Anna shook her head. The truth of the matter was that the woman had presented her with a larger portion than Anna had ever seen in her entire life, let alone her time in the Human Ranch. Even if she had not met Maria's two children, it would have been obvious from the way that she served food that the sturdy woman was accustomed to feeding growing young boys.
"I'm just tired," she said, trying to be diplomatic about things. She decided that she rather liked Maria, and she did not want to say anything that might inadvertently point towards her eating habits, (a subject about which Anna's own mother often displayed great sensitivity.) The robust woman laid a hand on Anna's shoulder in a tender, familiar gesture.
"Well you can just use my bunk. Alden and will be in the cockpit all night. If we keep a steady pace, we should be in Luin by tomorrow afternoon."
Anna nodded again, as the feeling of being in a dream gripped her more powerfully than ever.
She allowed herself to be guided gently across the floor, to an alcove in the back, a compact bed just large enough to fit two people. Maria tucked her in, like a child, and then pulled the curtains closed around her with a soft 'goodnight.' The curtain left Anna in the dark, but at such close quarters she could still hear the movements of the caravanners on the opposite side quite clearly.
Now that her mind was no longer fixed on immediate problems, like survival, thinking about Luin made her feel slightly anxious. A lot could change in a year – there was no guarantee that her friends and family would still be there. And then there were the others, those who had lost friends, lovers, sons and daughters in the raid the year before. All of them, missing their own loved ones. All of them wondering why, of all the prisoners who had been taken, only Anna had been spared.
And then there was the rumbling noise of the caravan's engine, the sound of magitechnology a disturbing reminder of the Rheaird, and Kratos by consequence. Anna's mind refused to stay still, swinging violently back forth like a pendulum. Kratos. The Ranch. The prisoners left behind. The people of Luin. The prisoners left behind. The Ranch. Kratos.. Sleep did not come easily, and when it did, it seized her only in fits and starts.
(A/N): Man, I write about Anna going to sleep a lot. Gotta find a way to break this habit. :l
I was originally planning to make this caravan a sort of dragon-wagon set up, but then I reviewed some footage of Nova's caravan, and I realized that that thing is A FRICKING MONSTER TRUCK. Seriously, look at those wheels!
Sadly, the only game footage I found was in German, so I sincerely apologize if I messed up on Nova's background. I know he's into zoology, but I couldn't work it in. (I didn't think anyone would be particularly interested if I threw a butterfly hunt into the middle of this chapter, anyways.)