Taffer Notes: In which Sadja wonders What if.. and Redfield remembers a crucial detail about himself: He does not like dogs.
We'll get to spend a little more time with Sinvik at the beginning of this chapter. Not for too long though, and then we're right back in with Sadja and Redfield.
Part 2: Rearview Mirror
INTERMISSION: Sinvik
The day I learn that Sadja yet lives, should be a jovial one. I should have clapped my hands together and shimmied on the spot, maybe even cooed a little. Make a proper fool of myself. Shed the stoic image of the Keeper and try myself at court jesting. In hindsight, not a bad choice of career. But I digress.
Alternatively, I could have simply sat down. Could have muttered her name under my breath, and enjoyed the fleeting touch of hope creeping into my heart.
"Where'd you get this?" I cock my head at the Pariah standing in front of me, two sheets of paper in my hand and the halls of my own home falling away in a din of despair.
"Where. Did. You. Get. This."
He arches a lopsided brow at me. Frowns. The man doesn't even manage to keep his scowls on straight. Nath vil' Paric, the most skewed individual I'd ever met, stands in front of me with his arms folded and my hopes dashed at his feet. Because what he's brought me isn't a silver lining, but the sight of a Reaper swooping in from Hell to devour the only sister— the only child— I've ever had. Right in front of my eyes.
"You know I can't tell you that."
I hack up a curse, tell him he can hike himself up a Reaper's arse hole, and swing away from him. The sheets in my hand tremble, and I slap them down on the table that I almost knock my knees into during my blind stomp through the room.
"Why can't she ever leave us alone, mh? Why can't she leave things be. Sadja 's done nothing to harm her, its me she wants. Not her."
"You love the girl," he tells me. Fact of the matter and matter of the fact— I don't need to hear it, I know it. "She can't stand it."
"Bitch." I glance down at the table, at two of Gale's charcoal drawings staring back at me, beautifully detailed with each practised stroke.
"Quite," he says, because at least this something we're in agreement about. The Nightingale is a terrible cunt.
My jaw sets itself and I hear my teeth grind together loudly, and all the while my eyes stay fixated on the image of my lost Fledgling.
She's fast asleep, curled awkwardly in an upright seat. I have no idea what she has squeezed herself into. A cockpit of sorts, a bit like the Seditio, but spartan in comparison. My barr, that well worn, old thing, is loosely wrapped around her neck, and a heavy coat folded around her shoulders. Her hands are wrapped around a tall cup, which she's forgotten squeezed between her legs before falling asleep.
She looks so bloody peaceful, I think. Except for the hint of a frown furrowing her brow, the one that I've failed to relive her off. No matter how hard I've tried, and I had bloody well tried.
Gale has sketched a second figure onto the page. A tall and scruffy looking man. He has one hand lazily resting against a wheel in front of him, and the other holding a smoke to his lips. The drawing caught him looking at the sleeping girl. It might be a sideways glance, or a long and steady stare. I have no way of telling. The whole story of the picture will forever be a mystery to me, I know that. But it shows me the man's confusion, plainly written across his weary features. Like he doesn't quite know what to do with my Sadja. Much like I don't know what to do with this.
"She's baiting you," Nathric says. Of course. It's all a game to her. And this time its Sadja that finds herself a pivotal piece on my board, with Gale's eyes turned to her and wanting to knock her off it.
Or so I think.
I nod lamely. Study the second page. Another drawing, the same pair.
My Fledgling is awake now. She sits perched on the front of a tall, snub-nosed vehicle of sorts, legs folded casually and boots resting against a pile of… snow? Winter. Sadja hates winters. I frown.
The front of the vehicle is thrown open, held up by a rickety looking stick. The barr remains wound around her neck, and she's pushed a cap over her ears to keep warm.
The man now bears down on her from the side, one hand grasping at the edge of the propped open top, the other waving a tool of sorts at her face. Sadja leans away from him and holds a map spread out in front of her, as if to ward him off. And while she grins widely behind the sanctuary of the map, he looks desperately furious.
I glance at the bottom of the page. Both drawings are signed with a flourish, and the words make my blood boil.
"Love, Gale."
EGITA
"Why'd you break it?" Sadja stuck her head into the gaping jaw of the stranded vehicle. Tubes. Boxes. More tubes and then a few more boxes. Redfield grunted. It was an angry grunt, and she lifted her eyes from the dead beastie's engine to meet the muddy blue stare desperate to squash her on the spot.
"I didn't." He claimed.
"You must have done something."
Sadja perched herself onto the edge of the vehicle and stretched her legs out in front of her. Her boots pushed into a pile of dirty snow. He chose to ignore her chafing at his patience and turned his attention back to the engine bay, a flashlight in one fist and the other gloved hand rooting through the messy innards.
Dusk had crept up on them half an hour ago, just in time for their metal beastie of burden to go splutter and die at the side of the road. It had waited until they'd been nice and clear of the town they'd passed through too.
It was a Shielding thing; Wrong spot at the wrong nick in time.
Up and down the road spread flat, snow packed land and neat rows of barren trees. A hard wind pushed inland, carrying salt and a whole lot of cold with it. She pulled the woollen cap a little tighter over her ears. Heavy clouds covered the skies from horizon to horizon, and once the sun hiding behind them set all the way, it'd be pitch black. That'd be soon, Sadja knew.
"Can you fix it?" she asked while she unfolded the map she'd pinched from inside. The headlights of the vehicle were just about enough to let her read it. Redfield had traced a red line along the coast. It followed a single road, which eventually drove into the mainland where the red pen had concluded its journey at a dot labeled Riga.
"What's Riga?"
Something snapped in the engine bay. Redfield growled.
"Is that where we are going?"
She snuck a glance to the left. Elbow deep in the thing, he was either fiercely focused on the task at hand, or doggedly ignoring her.
Try both.
Sadja pushed her tongue against the roof of her mouth and clicked it in an idle rhythm. The fledgling Keeper had never been good at doing nothing. Though it wasn't her fault, she liked to think. They said a shiftless Cad'his was no Cad'his at all. With her soul flitting restlessly in-between the folds of Elaya's hem, eager to taste every facet of the world around her, who could blame her? A barr helped, and so did her sturdy gates, but there was no shaking the itch, no releasing the pressure. No, idle was not her forte.
"Where we headed next?"
She followed the road as it wound itself through the map, crossing country lines as it went and dotted by cities along the way. Way down at the bottom, South as Redfield had said, more coast. It'd be lined with beaches, Sadja hoped. Soft, white and very warm beaches. But there'd be a great deal of ground to cover before they'd get anywhere near them, and that would mean sitting still, with nothing but her thoughts to keep her occupied. They were a mess too. Questions floated freely about, and each answer she thought to catch only served to stir up more mud for her to sift through later.
"Po-land?" Sadja asked, trying to vest herself in something else than the riddle that was (or had been) Torrian Thunderstep…
May you rest in pieces on Nivans' dissecting table, you knob.
She had already scraped up the scattered remains of her thoughts on what had happened back at the crib, but no matter how she piled them together, no stack felt right. If the Nightingale knew where she was, then why only send Torrian after her? That wasn't like her. Gale did not do things half heartedly. She'd have set Locke on her tail, that ever faithful Fetcher. Or come herself and snuffed her out right there.
The Wasting. Sadja thought, while she tilted her head and tapped at one of the dots near the road. "Kra— Krakauw?"
The Marked Wasting would give Gale pause. She wouldn't risk Locke, wouldn't be willing to lose the only Shielding that had oh so willingly thrown himself into her pot of mischief. She'd rather not tell Torrian about it and have him deal with his own demise later, for the Wasting was not easily tasted on a Sare's soul. The man had been distracted.
Sadja kept turning her thoughts in her head and her eyes darted farther south on the map. "What's San Marino? Do they have beaches there?"
Stoic silence. Who would have thunk?
So then, what are you going to do, stupid girl? Keep going? Stop and hope Sinvik had caught a whiff of Gale's efforts?
And then what? It's not like she can just pop right through. There's rules to follow. The Cataract won't let her. Fucking thing.
"Where's Amsterdam? I rather liked that. Can we go there?"
Bright light flicked into her direction, caught her square in the face. Sadja squinted and looked up at Redfield.
"Do you ever shut up?" He growled and she lifted the map to ward herself from the fiercely jerking beam of light. She allowed herself a quick grin as a spurt of anger flared against her gates, all mouth and no trousers this time around, with no intent to bring her any harm.
So when he grabbed the edge of the map and pulled it down harshly, Sadja stood — or more so leaned — her ground despite the broad shouldered crossness bearing down on her.
"We—" His voice still carried more bark than bite "—are not going to go anywhere until I get this shit bucket rolling again."
"And can you do that?"
"I—" Redfield glanced back into the engine bay, flashlight dancing along, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A sigh later his shoulders slumped and he gave his head the faintest of shakes. "No, I don't think I can."
He looked up, around the vehicle and into the night settling over the road, then over his shoulder down the other way. Didn't like what he was seeing one bit, Sadja concluded, and liked the thoughts between his ears even less.
"Fan-fucking-tastic," He muttered and turned his attention back to the map on her lap. The flashlight followed. She watched him study the thing, eyebrows drawn together in concentration. Plotting, thinking and being all serious about it. Did that man ever lighten up?
"We can get a new one," Sadja offered while he traced the road with a gloved finger.
Don't do it Redfield, Chris tried to convince himself, despite how badly he wanted to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze. Even if just a little. That'd be enough, because her throat must have been hurting fiercely by its own.
Just.. just don't.
He kept his eyes on the map splayed out on her lap instead and curbed the urge to strangle cocky little shits. Her legs moved, shifted the paper at the tip of his finger. He tapped it gently, indicating their approximate whereabouts.
"We're in the middle of nowhere. Twenty minutes drive up the coast to get back to the town we passed. Same the other way."
His eyes cut to her and the flashlight flicked back up. Sadja squinted.
"You don't happen to have a phone on you?"
"Nh." She tried to swat the beam of light out of her face and he dipped it to the side.
"What was that?"
"No, Sir. And I still think that's a moronic word."
The strange girl who insisted phoning was a ridiculous choice of word, brought her left hand up to slip underneath her scarf and rub at her throat, and narrowed her eyes at him in warning when the beam of light danced back around.
"How's your leg then?" she asked, her melodic voice heavy with the unspoken challenge. Didn't take a genius to see where this was headed. Chris sighed.
"My leg is just fine, thank you."
"Good, then let's start walking."
She slide away from under the map and past him, her booted feet crunching across the frozen ground as she headed for the back of the van. There she went right for the sliding door and gave the handle a tug. It didn't budge.
Despite himself, Chris smiled. Couldn't sit still to let a minute tick by, could she? Couldn't plan ahead either, and definitely couldn't stand not getting the hang of something as simple as a door. She quipped with frustration and gave the handle one more yank. When that didn't work she twisted about, headed for the driver side door and crawled inside.
Chris snapped the hood of the van back down and followed her. She was halfway in the back, with her rear end sticking out and her hips firmly lodged between the seats. He paused, wiped the dirty glove on his coat.
Should probably help, Redfield.
A strained little mutter started bouncing through the cab.
Nah. His lips twitched. Might as well enjoy the show.
By the time she'd pulled everything to the front, he'd lit himself a cigarette and was halfway into finding new appreciation for her narrow back and the delicate curve of her hips. Not too wide, not too straight— just right, even wrapped in the heavy coat. Just right. And incredibly distracting.
He cleared his throat.
She hefted one of the duffles up and caught him looking. Looking and standing idly by, which earned him a glower no-where near as fleeting as her smiles. If he'd believed in looks that could kill, he'd expected himself a moment away from a smiting.
"Arse," she said and swung his knapsack from the van. "Tosser," she added and threw the second duffel at him. He caught it. Then she started trekking, and Chris followed.
There were upsides to walking, he admitted.
For one, there was a measure of peace to it. He took a long drag from his cigarette (the third one since they'd left the van behind) and readjusted his grip on the duffel in his other hand. Sadja walked ahead of him, one bag slung lopsided over her right shoulder, and kept mostly to herself.
Mostly.
Every few minutes her head would turn, catch the stare he had levelled at her back, and he would lift the flashlight to catch her honey coloured eyes with it. She'd squint at the light and she'd huff, and then she'd get back to marching with a perfect beat of left and right and left and right.
Then there was the silence.
Scarcely any traffic ran north or south, with only three vehicles rattling past since they'd started walking. Chris had contemplated sticking his thumb out, see if one of them would stop, but the steady rhythm of their feet crunching on snow and gravel had grown on him.
And no radio.
Now there was a blessing.
It had been his damn fault, too. He'd woken her by turning up the volume inside the van, jolted her right out of an uneasy sleep which she'd spent twitching and whispering to herself. Her hands had jerked up, flung the still halfway full coffee cup from her lap. She'd yelped, tried to catch the thing as it went over her legs, and promptly slammed both her knees into the dash. More yelping. More cursing. And then she'd glared at him, but that hadn't lasted since the radio drew her attention away from him and soon after she'd started fiddling with it trying to find a station she liked well enough. Half an hour later he'd been ready for a pitstop, and while he parked the car by the side of the road and went in search of a suitable bush, she'd gotten bored and went for the hunt again, once more back to twisting and turning the worn out knobs with determined fervour.
He'd stayed outside, stretched his legs and looked across the January sea foaming against a frozen, rocky shoreline, and behind him the strange girl found her fancy for Rock.
It hadn't bothered him at first, even once he'd been back on the road. Not until she'd been the one to start turning the volume up, anyway. The music had blared from the poor quality speakers, pops and crackles of static mixing into guitar riffs, and she'd tapped her feet to the rhythm and let her fingers dance across the dash.
Each time he'd turned it down she'd glared at him and promptly turned it back up. Then he'd started switching the damned thing off, but that hadn't deterred her one bit either.
Rinse and repeat until the van gave a buck and the engine stalled.
Probably saved her life, Chris confessed as he watched her follow the beam of light he cast ahead of her. He'd been quite close to cuffing her to the door, or throw her from the moving car right then and there.
Yes, he thought again. There were definitely upsides to walking.
Another car rolled by. Once past them the break lights flared and it pulled to the side to come to a slow halt against the shoulder. Sadja stopped. Her left hand dropped to her side, fingers twitching, and her head swivelled enough to throw him a stumped glance. Waiting for a cue? For him to tell her what to do?
Chris shrugged as he caught up to her.
The driver side door popped open. "Sveiki! Sveiki!" A woman's voice. Friendly, too. Welcoming. Not like the warning bark that followed promptly, or the dark nose with its narrow muzzle covered in short, black fur and the row of white teeth grinning at him from the back window.
Great.
"Don't like dogs?" Sadja murmured by his side. His eyes cut to her and he just about caught the fading twitch of a quick smile.
Apparently you don't, Redfield.
The woman hushed her dog, climbed out of the car and looked at them from across its low roof. "Sveiki," she repeated and met them with a genuine smile that creased a weathered face.
"Evenin'," Sadja called out next to him. A slim shoulder bumped into his chest, and before he could do as much as take one step to the side, she hooked a hand into his elbow and pulled him along.
"Try not to frighten her, Redfield," she murmured and snuck her arm into his.
The woman hesitated. She threw a question at them that neither understood, but that didn't break Sadja's stride. She wore a steady smile. Innocent and honest, pale lips lifted just right. Her voice played the same game, with a tremble of uncertainty thrown in that he might have believed hadn't he stood right there with her fingers clutched around his arm. There wasn't anything uncertain about the grip.
She retold the last few hours of their trip down the coast, how their car broke down and left them stranded in the middle of the night. All the truth too, except that she left out the duffel at her back stuffed with a fortune of cash and a loaded gun. Or why they'd hightailed it out of Edonina. The woman didn't need to know.
A minute later, Chris felt himself being navigated around the car, dragged along behind a chatty Sadja as she followed the broken English of the woman urging her to get in so she could take them to Riga.
So much for the peace and quiet…
Redfield looked miserable back there. And so did his company, a large black and brown dog lying curled on the backseat next to him. They were quite the pair. All gruff and quiet, with the dog's pretty golden stare not once leaving Redfield out of sight. Whenever he looked at the animal it let out a muffled whine and the tip of its tail gave a tentative wag. A peace offering, Sadja thought, one Redfield sternly declined.
She frowned.
Dogs were much like sheep. Or cats, or chickens. And horses. Humans, too. The list went on and on. Sadja leaned her cheek into the seat and watched man and dog stare each other down. You'd find them almost everywhere, as if someone had seeded a handful of realities with a set of standard crop and let them bloom as they saw fit.
Redfield's muddy blue eyes cut to her.
And they'd bloomed nicely here, even without Reapers watching over them.
No, she corrected herself. Its the freedom they've been given that let them grow. No one to hold them back. No one to correct their mistakes.
A strange thought, that. One she'd not considered until now, and one that had itself muscled from her head as she held Redfield's quiet stare. It wasn't important. She could get back to it later. Maybe.
What are we doing here? he seemed to beg.
Getting a ride, is what. she returned with a lopsided smirk. His brow furrowed, since naturally he had no idea why she'd started grinning at him, and he leaned himself heavily into his seat.
Redfield had been hesitant to throw the bags into the back of the vehicle when the woman opened the hatch, and even more so when she made him slide into the back. But the old Lady, Egita, had been insistent.
Egita was a stubborn woman at sixty-something, with clumsy English and a happy bright smile. Her skin was well tanned, her hair long and dark, and her eyes bright and grey. And she had a whole lot of things to say. She had three daughters (a picture of them sat wedged into a folded blind above the driver's seat), all grown up and far away, and an ex husband in some place called Germany. Her and Rex, the dog stubbornly eyeballing Redfield, had been on their way back home from work when she'd found the wayside couple. They'd both decided that the unlucky pair wouldn't have to walk another step through the cold that night, even if that meant she'd have to drive them all the way to Riga.
How very sweet. Sweet, and incredibly curious, broken English or not.
Egita wanted to know their names, where they'd come from, where they were headed and how they'd liked Latvia, her wonderful home. Redfield willingly spun a tale in the backseat, including a place called London and a New Years adventure across Europe that conveniently failed to mention all the good stuff.
For a man with his noggin' in five different ways of disarray, he still thought quick on his feet, Sadja marvelled. And then Egita's happy smile faltered and she mentioned a conflict that had rattled the area, further up North and edging along to the East, ravaging the country hugging hers. And how it was good they'd not gotten into any trouble because of it. Redfield's creativity failed him then, so Sadja told Egita how terrible all of it was, and how they'd been lucky not to notice it much.
His creativity wasn't the only thing that fled Redfield on the mention of the conflict. Even with the barr still keeping her soul reigned in, Sadja felt the violent tug. To him it was just another headache, a reminder that he'd not had a drink for a while, most like, but the discord of his soul told a different tale.
He let out a slow and shake breath, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back. Next to him, Rex, the ever-watchful dog, wagged his tail and let out a sympathetic whine.
Yes. Dog and man. They really were the same no matter where you looked. So damn closely knit together, as if their souls had been made to match, even if they'd never truly understand each other.
Sadja pondered that, too. She'd never wasted much time considering philosophy of any sort. Too busy trying not to get herself caught. Then too busy trying to do the right thing, for the right reasons, and the wrong things because she had to. No time to stop and ponder why souls did as souls did and why some slotted together easily, while most couldn't care less.
She held on to that thought too, and stashed it away for later consideration.
It's not like I've got anything else to do. Just a lot of time to think while the Furnace burnt close by and the Wasting had itself a good nibble.
Egita's questions eventually turned to more detail, and when she asked where they'd met, it was Sadja's turn to draw a blank.
Where did you meet people, she wondered. You met them out of necessity, because you'd had your life assigned to them. Much like she'd been handed to Ceat. Or you met them as you fought for your life, and they'd pluck you from the fire as Trindram had done for her. And when Elaya fancied you, you might even find the sister life forgot to grant you as you sit bound and doomed at the Ward's mercy once again. She might call herself Sinvik Shielding, with a keen soul and a heart so sturdy it beat for the both of you.
But most of the time she couldn't tell friend apart from foe. They tended to look the same at first, and then again by the end when all 'd been said and done you were left with ashes and hurt.
She tilted her head to the side again, rested her cheek against the tough fabric of the seat. Redfield kept his eyes closed. He hadn't fallen asleep, had he?
So. Yeah. Where did you meet people?
Well, you met them when they were still in one piece, soul and all. They'd box you out of trouble and fret over nothing while you lay squashed under a fresh corpse. He'd been worried then, hadn't he? There'd been genuine concern in his muddy blue eyes. Compassion. Heart. A good heart, a stalwart heart, one that beat true. And if she'd paid attention, if she'd not been all absorbed in her own selfish greed for a fairness she didn't deserve?
Sadja frowned.
What then? What if she'd looked, looked close and without the hurry she'd been in? Instead of a furnace bleeding dark agony, what would she have seen? Something sturdy and righteous? Something worthy ? Would it have given her pause, convinced her not to fight? Would it have made a difference? Maybe not to her, but to him?
Was this her fault? Was he her fault?
Irrelevant.
She hadn't wasted a thought on him back then, only on her own self-serving flight. And so he'd gone and tried to shoot her to bits.
Friend or foe, Sadja. How do you ever tell them apart?
"At a bar," Redfield offered, cut right through her thoughts with half a whisper that took the edge off the usual gruff. His blinkers remained stubbornly shut.
"Mh, a pub," Sadja echoed the only truth known to him. Maybe forgetting things wasn't such a bad thing after all.
What if?
She would really fancy meeting someone in a bar, with all the bluster, thick smoke and golden swirl of alcohol turning in a glass. Not while crossing swords, or while death nipped at her heels. Not while you bled, or cried. Not while you clawed at the world with fingers encrusted in mud and filth. No, just shoulder to shoulder, at the edge of a bottle.
At the edge of something simple.
Egita seemed to agree. The cheerful woman went to retell how she'd met her husband at her sisters wedding, God bless her eternal soul, and how they'd gone and done that and then how, and… Sadja really wasn't paying attention.
Instead she watched the first man she'd ever met at a bar, how his shoulders rose and fell with each steady breath, and his eyes remained closed to the world around him.
What if, she wished.
It took them an hour, Sadja guessed, until the scenery passing the windows changed from snow crusted land and sad skeletal woods to concrete and bright lights flitting through the night. They crossed a river too, one much wider than the one she'd grown used to in the past twenty days. Ice clung to its banks, but the black waters still flowed steadily. A few minutes later and Egita brought their ride to a stop in an almost empty, brightly lit lot.
"We here," she informed them. "Good place. Taxi and hotel are close."
Redfield was out even before Egita snuffed out the vehicle's engine. He headed for the back of the car and popped the hatch open. That amused the old lady for reasons unknown, and she winked at Sadja before reaching over and grabbing her hands. Egita had a firm grip, unyielding and very much eager to give her a good shake. Sadja complied.
"Atā," she said. "Goodbye."
"Atā," Sadja echoed, and Egita tittered happily.
"And Good luck," she added. "Veiksmi."
"Thank you." Sadja pulled her hands free, inclined her head in her own honest thanks, and joined Redfield as he stood by the side of the vehicle with the bags around his feet. A freshly lit smoke had appeared between his lips. The bead of embers danced listlessly up and down.
Sadja lifted her eyes away from him and took in the bleak concrete all around them, one blocky building after the other, all illuminated by bright white lights. There were green lights too, and red lights, and yellow ones and tall and wide panes with pictures on them showcasing all sorts of things peculiar to her.
No beaches. Still cold. Her stomach rumbled.
Sadja slid her hands into the pockets of her coat and looked up at Redfield. His eyes darted across the cityscape ahead of them, searching, thinking.
Where to then, Sir?
She turned to face him. "What now?"
He shrugged. "You hungry?"
"Starving."
Redfield offered her the faintest of nods, snatched up two of the bags, and started walking.
Might have been your fault, the fledgling Keeper thought. Might be you're just flotsam and jetsam and it really wasn't. Either way… She hefted up the last remaining duffel and hurried after the man she met at a bar. '… what if?