One Star to the Next
Chapter 11
Who the Hell is Rundeltia?
Kliff's fist faltered in the air in front of the door to Rune's home, dropping back down to his side as he puffed his cheeks out with a huff. He turned heel and started to walk away, but the twirled right back around and raised his fist once more. The sun had barely started to rise, but he hadn't slept a bit the previous night, certain that the beaked thing in the woods would be pressed against his window. Mycen's stories hadn't helped, that much was certain.
Just before his knuckles rapped on the door, it opened, leaving him standing with his hand hanging in the air as he finally met who he felt safe presuming was Rune's mother. She was short and frail as opposed to Rune's tall and robust, looking at him with blue eyes set in a porcelain face. If she was old enough to be a mother, she certainly didn't look it. With her long eyelashes and heart shaped mouth, her doll-like features were something that a man could easily fall for. And then she frowned, bringing to her face a full forty years of sadness, and the illusion of beauty seemed to flicker like a fading dream.
"Ah, hello… I was… uh…" He had no idea why it was suddenly so difficult to explain himself.
"Yes, I believe I know who you are." She answered for him in a voice that was frigid. "My Rundeltia speaks highly of a friend. That is, on the incredibly rare occasion that she even comes home."
"Who the hell is Rundeltia?" He blinked rapidly, completely confused. Was this the wrong house? The woman blinked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly before her mouth tugged into a smile. It unsettled Kliff; it wasn't exactly a friendly expression when it was worn upon such a wan face.
"You don't even know my daughter's name?" She stepped aside and motioned her arm through the door frame, offering him in. "You may call me Maria. Would you like to join me for tea? Don't think I haven't seen you before, shuffling about outside. Rundeltia never comes home, with the exception of showering and stealing food each morning before sunrise. Now that you know that, perhaps you'll stop pining about."
His eyes stared into the foyer, noticing the smell of cinnamon wafting from somewhere within. Her tone was insulting, and intentionally so. "I can catch her some other time. I should be goi-…"
"Nonsense! This house is absurdly out of the way. You might as well take a moment off your feet and wait." It was quite clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer. "It's been quite a while since I've been able to have a chat with an intellectual. I can't even bend the ear of my daughter." She turned to walk back inside, waving a hand over her shoulder as she turned her back to him. "Come, shut the door behind you, I can hardly stand the stench of the village. In the morning, dew seems to exonerate the cow patties and filthy sheep's wool. It's nothing like the oil and brick of the capital. You did know that, didn't you? Brick has its own scent. It's why I demanded that if we live here, the house at least be made of brick. Wood invites pests and the like."
"Uh, right…" He followed her reluctantly, pausing to sweep his eyes over the photos on the wall. Most were of a man garbed in red, a Rigelian general from the looks of it. His hair, though tucked back neatly, was a pale champagne color, curly and threatening to escape the efforts of the photographer to make the subject look as professional as possible. His eyes were a bright and knowing hazel.
"That is my husband, Lord Oskar." Kliff jumped at her words, embarrassed to see that she had caught him staring. "Quite stunning, isn't he? There isn't a more beautiful man that walks this world, save for Prince Marth, and he is of another kingdom. It's fair to say that my dear had no competition."
"He looks…"
"Like Rundeltia, I know." The woman interrupted Kliff, though it seemed she knew exactly what he had been about to say. "She was his child in every way. Sometimes it's almost painful to hear her speak in her father's cadence, as if she borrowed it with the intent to never return it. Rundeltia is also just as furtive and stubborn as her father, though she could never hope to match his grandeur. Oskar was born to be a hero through and through, not some pauper's knight. She believes I do not know what she does, but I certainly do. And if you've anything to do with it, know that I don't approve." Her thin lips were set in a fine line as she eyed Kliff, her glare accusatory.
Kliff blinked at the woman, at a loss for words. He wasn't sure what compelled him to follow her inside in the first place, except for sheer, unbridled curiosity. But now she was leveling him with a deadly stare, waiting for him to confess to something shady, as if this entire meeting were an interrogation. "I've never gotten into any kind of trouble, if that's what you mean?" His response was in the form of a confused question.
Her glare softened only for a second as she turned back towards the kitchen, busying herself with her attention focused on the stove. "If you don't know, then I won't be the one to tell you. Perhaps you don't know Rundeltia at all. Though I'm sure you already know she's a girl who doesn't like to share her business until she's fit to burst from withholding it. So you know nothing of my family?"
'I've known her all this time and have never even seen you, so you might be right about that…' Kliff thought to himself, standing a fair distance away as Maria found two teacups and placed them on the table. They were a stark white porcelain lined with gold, rubies dotting the curve of the handle. 'Is it a sin to actually drink out of that?'
Apparently it wasn't, as she was dropping a teabag into each cup and fetching the golden kettle from her stovetop. The thought of sitting across from this lady and sipping at tea that cost more than all of his school books was almost anxiety inducing, and it would be much easier to just escape.
"Actually, can I… use your restroom?" He inched away from the table as she gave him a glare of disbelief from under her dark lashes. Shaking her head as if he had committed a crime, Maria waved a pallid hand towards the staircase arching out of the darkness of the den. It seemed she was adverse to light in every way, if the darkness of her house were any indication.
"You aren't well versed in the proper etiquette of teatime, are you? Go on ahead, and don't touch anything. And wash your grimy hands before and after!"
"Yes ma'am, fine!" He darted past her, trotting up the stairs and away from her oppressive aura. This whole house, quaint as it was, was brimming with items that only rich folk could appreciate, things that made him feel out of place. Just the little bit of space he had put between the two of them removed a heavy weight from his chest.
The bathroom door stood open, revealing stacks of towels teethed with lace and porcelain as white as the teacups at the kitchen table. There was also a large window, conveniently already open, a perfect escape. Instead of bothering to push the door open all the way, his eyes wandered and fell to a pair of rugged boots outside one of the only two other doors in the hallway. Unable to resist, he slowly twisted the handle and peered one eye inside, scanning from left to right. He was hit with the scent of cherry blossoms, apple, and something else, like the earthy scent of black tea. Without a doubt, that alone made it obvious to him that it was Rune's room.
Checking over his shoulder and straining his ears for the sounds of Rune's mother, he pushed the door open and inched inside. Bookshelves lined the walls on three sides and made the room look significantly smaller because of it. The shelves were teeming with hardback copies arranged in an obsessive order, not a speck of dust on their well-worn bindings. Feeling as if he were intruding (which, he admitted shamefully to himself, he was), Kliff shuffled across the hardwood floor towards a mahogany desk, one littered with parchment paper and streaks of black, perhaps ink or charcoal. His eyes flitted over an unmade bed, an open window, a pile of books that was dangerously close to tipping over. The one on top laying open was one that he recognized as his own, one on Rigenlian history that she had borrowed at some point. It seemed to have gotten more use than it ever had in his care.
Curious enough to be now unashamedly nosy, he shuffled the papers on her desk, lifting one after the other. They were drawings; black and white sketches of the village, her own house, the town's well, Mycen's sheep field, the market in the middle of the day. There were people as well, messier though the attention to detail was obvious despite the fingerprints and smears of the charcoal's dust. A boy with a sword in his left hand, perhaps Alm? Rune's mother, sitting at the table with her head in her hands, a dark shadow hiding her features. A thin man with curly hair dressed in armor, a black haired woman in a kimono with her arm outstretched. There was one of the man on the wall in the foyer: Rune's father, though he was smiling in the sketch. Beneath this was an envelope, and from beneath the other papers he could read a KLI in the place for an addressee.
That was simply too tempting.
He nudged the other papers off of it tentatively, as if leaving fingerprints behind would incriminate him. Yes, it certainly was made to him, and it was unsealed. He opened the top flap, seeing folded papers tightly packed with words written in a script that he only recognized as Rune's due to her penchant to leave notes in the bindings of all of his books. The first time she had done it, he considered it a crime against humanity and wanted to beat her over the head with the book for it, but she shifted to leaving scraps of paper stuck in every page as opposed to writing in them. Still, it defeated the point when she wrote "hey, read this!" and then underlined whatever it was that she meant for him to read directly onto the page itself.
But this, it was crammed with hurried scrawl like a research paper, words along the folded crease scribbled out in exchange for others. He had finally let his curiosity direct his fingers and pull the papers free when a loud noise from the hall caught his attention.
"Young man! I would appreciate it if you'd get out of my house! An unexpected guest will be visiting soon, and I'd prefer there not be a boy with a stomachache keeping me from cleaning up!" Maria's voice caused his heart to lurch painfully; her voice seemed to be coming from the bottom of the stairs. He had completely forgotten to silently escape. "I apologize for cutting your tea short, but I have to get things together for a luncheon with a… a friend."
Spooked and sure that she was going to trot upstairs and catch him, he dropped the letter back on the desk and moved as catlike as possible, sliding past the door while trying his hardest not to risk the hinges squeaking. He peered around to the bottom of the staircase to make sure that Rune's mother was gone before stomping down them. She was back in the kitchen again, much to his relief.
"Perhaps you can come back another time, I would love to learn more of the customs of common-…" she caught herself, instead taking both teacups and dropping them into her sink without thinking. Kliff winced at the clinking of porcelain, cringing as she uttered a word that would get him slapped by his mother (though it was a favorite of Gray's). The pile of dishes in the sink gave him the impression that she had no idea how to actually wash them on her own.
"Do you need any help?" He wasn't sure why he asked; he had no intent to help and didn't want to. It was almost a relief when she waved him away without another word, clearly at her limit for pretending to be nice. Without another word, Kliff let himself out, snagging another glance at the smiling portrait of the nobleman on the wall before meeting the blinding sun outside. He squinted his eyes; he hadn't realized that there hadn't been a single light on in the house except for distressed daylight through heavy windows.
"Did you enjoy that experience?" Blinded as he was, he didn't need to see to recognize Rune's odd, articulate accent. He blinked rapidly, orange spots running across his corneas as he picked up the scent of coffee.
"I, uh… experience, yeah," he grumbled, moving away from the cobblestone stairs, finally able to see again. "Geez, it's dark as hell in your house. Are you both vampires?"
Rune blinked once, taking a sip of her coffee from the village café's recognizable paper cup. Steam obscured her face as she gave him a peculiar smile. "I don't know, I'm never home. You're one to talk, my pale little friend."
Kliff swatted her hand away as she pinched his cheek, glancing over his shoulder at the open door that seemed to swallow the light. "I'm taller than you, at least," he snapped, following her as she started to walk away from the lonely house. It struck him that she was wearing gauntlets and greaves made of a thin, flat leather. "What's the-… what are you wearing? What were you even doing?"
"Hunting. I killed a boar." She stated simply.
"You need armor for a boar?"
"Tusks."
"Then where's the boar?" He took it from her lack of a quick response that she didn't have an answer to that.
"Don't you think I should be the one bombarding you with nosy questions? Just what were you doing in my house?" She actually sounded annoyed with him, quite a challenging feat.
"I didn't know I had to give you a reason for my every move." He snarked, nearly trotting to match her quick pace. "Your step-mom is… very beautiful."
"I'm glad you had a good time. She's single, just in case you were going to ask that next." Rune's tone had soured, her pace quickening evermore so. "Not a man has met Maria that doesn't throw down their arms and lavish her perfect porcelain face." Coffee sloshed out of the cup and over her hand, but if it burned, she didn't say so. "That included my father."
"I thought I was being nice…" Kliff sighed, feeling a stitch growing in his side. "Could you stop practically running? Do you have somewhere to be? Or are you mad at me?"
Her gait slowed to that of a normal walk as her furrowed brow returned to normal. "I'm not mad…" The grumble in her tone said otherwise, but pointing it out would only set her to dramatically denying that she was angry until he accepted it. Pursuing the accusation was never worth it with someone so adamant.
"Anyways, she talked almost exclusively about your father. You really look like him, from what I can tell. Especially…" He stopped himself, feeling his face grow hot. "You both have… uh, a smallish, pointy… with the sun freckles… forget it."
"What on earth are you talking about? Small?!" Subtly she folded her arms across her chest.
"Ugh, don't put me on the spot! You have a cute nose." He turned his glare down at his feet, face burning fiercely. "Stop smiling like an idiot, Rune."
She dropped her arms with a relieved laugh, thankful that the conversation hadn't taken an uncomfortable turn. Instead her face lit up, the aforementioned dusting of pale freckles vanishing into her reddening features. "I-I have certainly never heard that before…"
"You're awful at taking compliments, really."
"Was that a compliment?"
He ignored her backhanded remark, itching to interrogate her on other things that Maria had said. "She really doesn't like whatever it is you're doing when you aren't home. And she thought it involved me. What have you been doing? How come you never go home?" He stopped walking, hit in the face with a sudden epiphany. "Wait… are you a prostitute?"
"Excuse me?!"
"Why else would you be gone all night? And you didn't even tell me about it. That's the only thing I can figure that you would want to keep secret from a boy…"
"Do I look like a prostitute to you?!"
"How would I know? I've never seen one before! Besides, it's not like they'd dress like one during the day, so how would I know—"
"Enough! You'd best stop before you bury yourself in a hole that you'll never be able to climb out of." She hissed, jabbing at his chest with a dangerous accusatory finger poke. He cleared his throat, cutting his eyes aside.
"Ow. Frankly, it's not my business how you make your living…"
"Kliff…" Rune pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off an incoming migraine. "I'm not a harlot. Though I'll thank you for assuming such as opposed to anything else. It truly speaks volumes."
"Would you at least explain? The more I know you, the less I actually know. What are you actually up to?"
"It's quite a mouthful. And besides, curiosity killed the cat."
"Yeah, well, satisfaction brought it back. I think you owe it to me to tell me. You're clearly up to no good." He shifted to the arch of the grassy hill and sat. "If you don't tell me, I'll stay right here. And be devoured by coyotes come nightfall." He narrowed his eyes into an adamant glare. "And it'll be your fault."
"…Stubborn brat…"
"My mother will probably wonder what happened to my body…" He deadpanned. "And you'll have been the last person to see me."
"Will you-! Alright, fine!" She shuffled about for a moment, unsure of where to start. Defeated, she sat down beside him, fidgeting hands turning one of the rings on her left hand around her finger in circles. A full minute of silence passed. "Where do I even start…"
"At the beginning."
"Let's see… my grandfather on my father's side was a noble of Rundeltia, a small city-state on the coast of the border between Zofia and Rigel, along an area known as the bastion of the Divine Decree." Rune paused to clear her throat, fussing her arms out of the thin gauntlets and setting them on the grass.
"That's what Maria called you."
"Indeed. It's where I got my name. My father was raised there, and it's where he also met my birth mother. Unfortunately, these borders were the breeding grounds for witches; Duma Faithful could easily abduct farmers, their daughters, and the impoverished from their homes and have a quick trip back to Rigel to perform their experimental rituals. Do you… believe me?" She trailed off, hunting Kliff's face for any signs that he doubted her.
He rolled his eyes, anxious for her to continue. "Why wouldn't I?"
Rune hitched a sigh of relief. "I wasn't sure, I've never told anything this before. I'm still always surprised by how much Zofians reject the very existence of the darkness of Duma Faithful. I'm sure there are good people who follow Duma, but corruption runs rampant. I suppose that could be said of any religion."
He cleared his throat impatiently, urging her to continue.
"Right, sorry. My birth mother was one of many who met this fate. She was taken in the night and came back a couple of days later, rotting before our very eyes. At first she didn't try to hurt us, but was just… off. Empty. My father resorted to going into the den of Duma's darkness with the intention of begging for her soul back. He offered his own life, and it was rejected. Of course, someone who has turned can't be turned back. As punishment…" she stopped again, shaking her head.
"Anyways we the two of us left. He married Maria, who had just lost her husband. Maria used to—and still does, I suppose—hate me. I suppose I can't fault her for it. She married for love and money, he married to stifle the pain of what he had lost. We were never a close family, but my father told me to say that Maria was my birth mother, and he built a name for himself all over again despite having such a lofty rank beforehand."
She paused, brushing at a stray invisible hair, something that she focused on so hard that she had to stop talking to do it. Her gaze was still tilted towards the river, not daring to look up.
"Any man who could stand on par with Desaix in terms of political power was a threat. They hid weapons and conspiracy papers around our home, desecrated Rigelian and Zofian monuments in the guise of his name, and sent spies into our home to look for any infraction possible against Desaix. I never knew about any of this.
Killing him was out of the question, as everything that they hated about his title would just be passed to me, then my step-mother, then her next of kin… locking him away meant preserving their enemy safely within their confines as opposed to just making a new one. I believe they knew the extent of my hatred towards their injustice. It's a wonder I didn't meet the same fate as my father." She paused, taking in another breath. "In the middle of the night, three Zofian soldiers broke into our home and took him into custody. One of them was in the right mind, at least. He saw the farce for what it was and brought Maria and I here, to safety. And that's that."
Kliff absorbed this tentatively, pulling at blades of grass as he calculated discrepancies in her tale. "There's obviously more to it than that. You've been gone more and more, and I've noticed for a while now that you've been acting off. You've always been kind of a worrywart but now you're… I don't know, really."
"There is one more thing." Rune nodded, though it wasn't particularly in agreement. Only moments before she seemed to be talking about her past with a detached recital, and now she was hesitant. "For years now I've done mercenary work for a Zofian soldier at the prison who claims to be on my father's side. That's where I go, and that's how I provide for Maria and I."
"What do you mean by mercenary work?" Kliff squinted suspiciously.
"They would give me the name of a prisoner or criminal that was spotted anywhere near here, and I would take care of them on the promise that my father would be treated fairly. When I was injured and couldn't work, I sent a letter informing them that I had died. I was afraid that if they knew I was useless, they would come eliminate me while I was regaining the strength to go rescue my father."
"You're planning to just walk into your own death, from the sound of it. You really plan to walk into a Zofian prison and break out a nobleman with your own strength alone? It's suicide."
"I know. But this is what I've worked towards ever since moving to Ram. Sometimes I think about how thankful I am to have made a friend like you, but then I think about my father and the sacrifice he made, and I feel disgusted with myself every time I catch myself enjoying my life." She didn't look up, perhaps knowing that her words weren't easy to digest. "I honestly shouldn't have spoken to you when I met you, but for some reason, I did. And when I came back, I don't know why, but I did it again. It was foolish of me."
Kliff could feel the first buzz of anger batting at the back of his head; a dull, pestering upset as his chest tightened. "Oh, great. Good to know that you regret knowing me. What kind of father would want his daughter to be lonely and miserable? You can't actually think he feels that way, not unless he was some kind of total bastard."
"He would never ask me to save him." She responded stonily. "But it is my responsibility."
He elicited a dark chuckle, one that was almost scathing. "Brilliant. So, assuming you even could break into a prison and get him out, then what? Then you would be a wanted fugitive and your family would constantly be on the run. What kind of quality of life is that? At least right now you can thank him for his sacrifice and build a new life. Any real parent would rather die than see his kid miserable, right? That's why they go first."
"Why do you sound so angry? It has nothing to do with you. I'm just telling you what you asked." She snapped.
"I'm angry because even you know that it's destined to fail. You're not the only one affected if you were to die like an idiot, you know. You can't just decide to throw it away on your own. I'm not kidding, don't even think about it."
She closed her eyes and let out a sigh, though it passed through a smile. "I know that you're right, but I'm also not going to let my father rot because one person might miss me. I should be the one locked away. But at your behest, you won't hear of it again."
"Fine by me. I've never understood people who think they owe the universe something. You're not going to catch me running off to save the world instead of my own skin." Kliff stood up and dusted off his clothes. Of course, he had no way of knowing that very soon he and his friends would be doing just that. Irony and fate sometimes teamed up to write a co-authored comedy/tragedy. "Look, I didn't mean to sound like such a prick, it's just… you scared me. I don't know what I'd do if—" He stopped himself, grateful to a rooster's call to break any lull his abrupt silence might have caused. "Well, your father can blame me for talking you out of this. He lived his life, right? Shut up and live yours."
She chuckled at this, drawing in a deep breath of country air, her eyes sizing him up as she considered whether or not his statement was out of line. If it was, she made no notion of it. "A life among sheep and pigs. My, my. For one to speak to strongly about my father, whom everyone showered with respect… he would have found you interesting, bucking up to him to sputter your bullish opinion. I'm sad that in no world would you two ever get to meet."
A smirk was plastered onto his face, one that was a mixture of smug attitude and some kind of twisted pride at her comment. "You think he would have hated me, huh? That's a good impression."
"Not at all. I think he would have adored you."
"I'm flattered." He chided, watching her rise to her feet and stretch her arms over her head. A frown dropped to his face as he folded his arms, looking as if he had more to say. He had never known any of that. Someone that he considered a close friend had technically been a stranger. And now that he did know some of it, it was all to clear that there was more that she didn't share. "…I don't even know your favorite color."
"What?" She laughed, though it dissolved into a worried frown at the angry look set on his features. "Oh, I see. Kliff, I understand if you feel that you can no longer trust me-"
"Mine's maroon."
She cocked an eyebrow, finding his sharp tone at odds with such an everyday, non-threatening statement. "I like dark blue and green."
"Fair enough."
"DISGUSTING! Get it off of me AT ONCE!" Clair's shriek was loud enough to wake the dead, had Terrors not already been prowling the Deliverance Hideout as it was. She thrust her hand in Python's face, rousing him from a nap. A nap that he was taking while standing. It was a unique skill.
"Hnngh… uh… what in the-…" he blinked sleep from his eyes, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking at. Clair's flawless palm was open at his face, manicured nails all aglow.
"THE FOUL GOURD'S INNARDS!" She screamed, flapping her fingers at his nose. "Underneath my fingernails! Remove it at once, knave!"
"Oh, yer still workin' on that punkin' pie, huh? I've told you, Clive's not gonna want a bite of that no matter how many time you remake it." Clair ignored him, her other arm thrown dramatically over her eyes so that she wouldn't have to look at the sight of her own hands dirtied. Python, with no hesitation, licked the paste from her hand with a thoughtful head bob. "Damn, not bad! Maybe more sugar, that pumpkin's so big he's kind of… eh, earthy, I guess?"
"D-Did you just?!" Clair sucked in a shocked gasp, her face rising in color. "You just put my fingers in your filthy mouth!"
"To be fair, you put 'em in my face covered in food…" he grumbled. Whatever Clair was going to shriek in response was interrupted by the door of the military sized kitchen flying open and cracking against the concrete wall behind it. The frame was immediately filled by Forsyth's bulk, verdant and radiant as usual.
"HO, LADY CLAIR!" He boomed, snapping a salute. "TWO MORE STATIONS HAVE BEEN PURGED OF TERRORS AT YOUR COMMAND, SIRE!" His green armor was covered in foul smelling viscera. Oblivious to it, he inched closer to the smell of pie, folding his arms behind his back.
"Please wash your… self… before touching any of the food, sir," Silque gently warned, placing herself between Forsyth and the counter as a human barrier. "Your hard work is greatly appreciated, but you must not risk contaminating everyone's meal."
"Yes ma'am!" He saluted again, eyes following a counter full of real, non de-hydrated, actual food fit for human consumption. "If this doesn't get Sir Clive back into peak condition, there will be no true remedy for his lack of strength."
"He will be fighting fit within the month, though at Alm's suggestion, returning to Ram Village until he recovers is crucial. Especially should we be able to catch Lord Mycen along the way. The morale boost would be-…"
"Please, let's not talk about this…" Clair interrupted Silque, her voice wavering. "We are not going to Ram Village to deposit a broken Clive. We are going to wait out the Rigelian winter so that we may strike at full strength! He is… he is not a burden, despite his injuries!"
Silque blinked, her mouth an 'o' of surprise. "Lady Clair, I did not mean to insinuate or offend-"
"Well, if you were a proper Saint, you would have been able to heal him already!" Clair's haughty tone returned. She delivered a hateful, teary-eyed glare at Silque before rushing out, wiping pumpkin off of her own hands. The door slammed, this time closed instead of open.
"Yiiiikes," Python commented, giving Silque a hard pat on the back. "Don't stress it, girlie. Clair's not brilliant, but she's no dumb broad either. She knows yer doin' all you can, so don't take it to heart. Rich folks like that just can't handle things that money can't immediately repair."
"Lady Clair does have a point. My staff cannot cure venom once it sets in, but had I realized that Sir Clive was nursing such an infected wound, treatment would have been simple. To think that a man may die from my own negligence…" Silque lamented, her eyes dropping to the deflated pumpkin pie that Clair had been crafting for her deathly ill brother. It only succeeded in making the saint wince. "Only the Mother can save him now, I fear."
Python rolled his eyes, scratching at his neck with dirty fingernails. "So what? It's just Sir Clive. D'ya really think we can't go on without him? I mean, what does he really do? Do we even count that as a casualty? Big boy in the way bites the dust… jus' leaves more room for Luke and 'Syth to get around in these narrow ass halls, yeah?" He laughed at his own joke, though he meant not a word of it.
"Python! Now isn't the time for your brand of dark humor!"
"Hey, don't worry! Clive can bunk in with my folks and my Ma's soup will have him 100% healed in no time flat!" Gray let himself in, tossing a ripe orange up into the air and catching it in his waiting palm like a baseball. "I can't believe we're actually going home, though. Maybe Alm got homesick?" As usual, Tobin was only a few paces behind him, his fine forehead lined with worry.
"Nope, tactically it makes perfect sense. Ram Village is one of the only places east of the Greatport that hasn't been ravaged. It's also a flat trek with little difficult terrain, and the Deliverance Hideout was right at the midpoint between the sluice gate and here. At this time of year, trying to enter Rigel would be the death of our horses to the elements. And if we're walking into Rigel… I think he wants to let us say goodbye to our families, and wants to catch Mycen at home." Python and Silque gave each other wide eyed stares of shock; for Tobin to speak so profoundly was rather rare. "It's harsh but it makes a lot of sense… and I think Clive encouraged him to do it. Uh, Sir Clive."
"You have the makings of a tactician yet!" Forsyth laughed good naturedly, his stomach letting out a loud growl even heard through his armor. He turned to a massive bowl of diced, boiled potatoes and considered striking, but Silque pulled the bowl into her bosom and moved it to safety.
"If you are all going to stand about and chatter, please at least offer a hand."
Tobin looked at the pathetic pumpkin pie, wondering if there would be any way to salvage it. There wasn't. Instead, he fished around for a can of pumpkin. It wouldn't be as fresh or delicious, but Clair had been going on about making one for Clive from the moment he fell ill. Wordlessly he dumped her attempt in the trash and set about looking for a dough to make the crust with.
"Tobin's a man on a mission," Python quipped, sitting well and far enough away to make it clear to Silque that he had no intention of helping. He watched Tobin mix flour, salt, sugar, water, powdered egg, and whatever other baking mysteries it took to make a fine dough. The archer was hopelessly lost on what he was doing, but he sure as hell seemed to be doing it with knowing hands. "Check this out. This man's got magic fingers!"
"Oh yeah, Tobin can cook up a storm!" His cheery tone was back. "My Ma and Pa worked sunrise to sunset, and I had mouths to feed! You learn to cook with what you've got. Gray can hunt you down something and gut it, and Kliff may have recipes memorized, but it takes a real man like me to do it all! Hunting, dishes, laundry, cooking, homework, stitching, sewing, smooth talking! And I can shoot an arrow, to boot."
"And usually miss…" Gray added under his breath.
"That makes me want to try harder! I need a secondary job!" Forsyth chirped, his working drive ignited.
"You can be a tutor? Kliff got kicked off that spot. 'Ugh, why don't you get it? Get out of my face, I can't teach you'!" Gray mocked Kliff's voice with an accuracy that was almost scary, disinterested expression and all. "Plus, I heard that your folks were teachers."
"That's true, but I never hit the book as hard as my father. If I wanted to teach, I'd just have to relearn everything about history and math from scratch…" His enthusiasm seemed to wilt away.
"Don't sound so disheartened already, it was just a suggestion. Why don't you watch Tobe and learn how to bake like a real man?" Gray had only been kidding, but the knight was all for it. He crowded up to Tobin's elbow, watching closely over his shoulder.
"I am your humble pupil, ready to learn and ready to serve!"
"Whoah… I guess I could show you? I'm just putting dough in the pan to make a crust. Do you want to-… holy hell, you reek! What is that, Eau de Corpse?!" Tobin gagged, covering his nose.
"I was eliminating Terrors so that we can safely bunk without being atop one another. I also readied the correct number of cots and laundered blankets that we had in store. Then as I was sweeping, more Terrors emerged from a crypt, so I built a brick wall to keep them in there and tore down a wall between two barracks so that we can all be close by should more try to show up. I also took all of the feathers plucked from the chickens that Silque prepared and made as many feather pillows as possible for the ladies to put under the curve of their backs while they sleep! These cots can be horridly uncomfortable… Anyways, my point is, I'm covered in rotting flesh and spoiled blood."
Gray's mischievous eyes were dappled with exasperation. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, leaning on the table. "Forsyth… you make me feel inferior to you in every way."
"Hah, you, Gray? Imagine how I feel! I don't do jack squat and I always end up being compared to him. Be more like Forsyth, act more like Forsyth!" Python mused, letting out a huge yawn.
"Perhaps you wouldn't be in such a position if you would just try to accomplish anything! You'd be showered in praise just for brushing your own teeth!"
The blue-haired archer was flabbergasted. "What?! I brush 'em! It's the flossing part that's a hassle. Besides, all you gotta do is swish around some water real rough in your mouth and it does the same thing."
Silque silenced them by bringing a plate of fresh bread to the table and placing it down with a resounding thud, as if she intended to catch their attention. "Perhaps we could stop talking about such things and enjoy a meal together, yes?" That was all it took to have Gray, Forsyth, and Python gather around and become dead quiet, as if she had taken their tongues away just by putting food near them. As she turned to do the same with the potatoes, she caught a glimpse of Tobin's elbow out of the corner of one ochre eye, and moved closer.
"Is something the matter? You're shaking, Tob-…" Silque's gentle voice stopped as her eyes met the profile of his face. His eyes were glazed with tears, though he made no show of intention to let them fall or let the others know. Silque placed her palm between his shoulder blades, lowering her voice to a near whisper.
"I really am going to have to choose between my family and my country, aren't I? How am I going to be able to march in this army knowing I'll probably be seeing the faces of my siblings for the last time?"
"The decision is yours to make, Tobin."
"If I die, they go hungry… how can I choose Alm knowing that? He doesn't even see me anymore. He doesn't understand what I'm fighting for. What baggage does he have?"
Silque was at a loss, her heart moved by his words. Full lips parted to comfort him, to say anything to help, as was her job. Gray's sudden shout stopped her, calling Tobin's attention. He moved away so swiftly it was as if he was revolted by her touch.
"Toooobe, get over here! Your bread fetish is going to go wild over this!" Gray called, snapping Tobin from his stupor. He batted his tears away, forcing a laugh as he turned his back to Silque.
"Just because you don't understand our relationship doesn't mean it's a fetish! Bread and I have something special!"
Their loud, playful cajoling filled the sound of the mess hall, bringing the rest of the Deliverance off of their post to the sound and smell of food. All save for Clive, who was most likely unconscious beneath the statue of Mila, wracked with shudders and agony as he waited for his illness to either claim him or free him. And Clair and Mathilda, who were likely at his side, praying feverishly for his recovery.
Updated: 3/10/2018
