Saint Dane felt the stirrings of excitement as he watched Aria and the Milago girl emerge from the mine.
After their encounter in the forest the previous day he had returned to the Bedoowan village, resuming Sawil's form and giving his men their dire orders. Having spent the remainder of the day in the village tending to the various tedious duties of Sawil's life – it would not do to be defaced now – he had left for the Milago village only late that morning, when he was sure his absence would not be missed. He'd given up on hunting the Milago girl down. Any information she'd had would have been divulged right away. No, he'd come to seek his adversaries and sound out exactly how much they had discovered.
Then, as he had been flying over the large expanse of forest between the villages, he had felt the slight tug at the edge of his senses which divulged the presence of a fellow spirit of Solara.
It was a subtle thing, this connection, usually only useful when being actively applied – it made searching out his quarries so much easier – but alone in such a quiet environment, senses unburdened by any throng of life, he had felt it like a tuning fork on the back of his skull. The slight vibration of a soul that he could not ignore.
Immediately he had honed into the sensation, wondering what could possibly have drawn a Traveler all the way out here. There was nothing around for at least a mile in any direction, and as he scanned the sparse foliage his curiosity intensified. There was no one in sight, yet his senses pinpointed the presence directly beneath him.
A thought had occurred to him, and he had flown off to the nearest mine entrance to wait. Sure enough, he had not spent more than a few minutes circling overhead when the Milago girl emerged…followed promptly by the object of his attention. The girl. Aria.
He shivered slightly in anticipation. Could it be? Had she found what he had been searching for? The last pocket of resistance, the only shard of hope that this faltering territory had to grasp its potential?
Perhaps.
His eyes tracked her closely as she stood, conversing with the Milago girl. The two seemed to be at odds on something, but at last they began making their way back to the village. He would have liked to follow more closely, to see what could be garnered from their conversations, but this would be delicate. He would have to trail them closely for the next day or two, and he dared not risk being detected. No, with any luck, what he had been seeking these last few months would be in his grasp shortly.
All he required would be his…and she would be the one to deliver it to him.
Again, he shivered in anticipation. Oh, how he loved it so when his enemies were the instruments of their own destruction. In her haste to help the people he sought, she would likely return to them soon, hoping to avert their destruction. When she did, said destruction would follow on her heels. He needed only be patient.
Back-lit by the second sun, Noab, he followed the pair to the village. He watched in mild interest as an exceptionally brawny Milago girl caught sight of Aria…and clicked his beak sharply when she was struck.
Oh, that had to have hurt, he thought wryly.
Rising lazily on the thermals drifting off the dusty ground, he surveyed the impasse and its resolution, and continued to trail them until they made it at last to the inn. He watched the girl stagger up to the door, and converse with her irksome Milago ally.
He clenched his dully glistening talons. The Milago girl and her elephantine friend seemed to be leaving Aria at the inn. He wheeled around in the sky, making a wide, sweeping circle as he pondered. Leave the girl at the inn and follow the other two, or wait to see what rewards the Traveler might yield with enough patience?
He considered. The girl was not in any fit state to be moving about, whereas the Milago peasants were far more energetic. Already they were beginning to make their way towards the marketplace while Aria stood outside the inn, watching their departure.
It was far more likely that he would discover something of use following the Milago pair. And yet…
His eyes were drawn back to the girl. It irked him to know so little about her. Not for the first time, he cursed Press for that surprising turn. Saint Dane had spent months on First Earth tirelessly searching for her when he had sensed Solara's retaliation to his attack, but to no avail. The child had been well hidden, and now that child had grown into an unknown entity.
He watched the Milago disappear around a corner. Aria, too, disappeared, into the inn that had no doubt housed her on her first night on this territory.
Tilting his wings gently into the wind, he descended, alighting on a now-dormant light post outside of the rather utilitarian building. Peering in the window, he could see her conversing with the innkeeper – Kran? Kern? Something along those lines.
He sat and watched as she paid her dues, ate her meal, and got shakily to her feet. His eyes followed her until she disappeared from his line of sight.
She did not emerge from the inn, so he lifted himself from the light post and glided smoothly down the row of windows. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement one of them, and cut sharply into a turn, wheeling back around to pass by again. He took care to maintain some distance.
She was dragging an end table over to the bed, and once she had it situated, she pulled out some papers and began writing.
A journal? He smiled inwardly as he recalled the opportunity he'd had to read one of Pendragon's so long ago. The boy always had been good at telling stories, though not all of the Travelers had been as literate. He wondered if this new girl had as much flair for the written word as her predecessor.
He narrowed his eyes. She would likely be writing for at least another hour or so, assuming she had anything at all of note to write down.
He supposed he would have been better off following the Milago; they would no doubt he difficult to find by now, so he disregarded that option. He had some time to spare.
He flew once more by the window, but wheeled away sharply when he saw her looking out at him. It would not do to have her seeing large black birds everywhere now that he intended to use his cover for something useful. He rode the thermals up a short ways, his gaze reaching out over the town. He would do some reconnaissance and make sure everything was going to plan. Nothing awry that should be stable, nothing stable that should be awry.
He dropped down to ground level behind a large house when he was sure no one was watching, and took on a less conspicuous form.
A lithe brown and black cat slunk out from behind the building, trotting purposefully towards the southwestern end of the village. A young child took an interest in him as he passed by a small hut with a garden out front, and tried making its way over to pet him. He hissed briefly at the child before bounding away, leaving it looking disappointed.
After a few more minutes, he came to the path that led to his destination, the town hall where the Milago counselors spent most of their time when not at home or away visiting their Bedoowan counterparts.
He approached the entrance, pausing to dart behind a signpost when he heard someone about to exit the building. Two Milago men walked past, and Saint Dane twitched his ears in their direction to pick up on their conversation as they did.
"…Will return soon. I don't know what they're thinking about, running off at such a time as this."
A sigh from the other one. "Indeed. There will be hell to pay when they return. If not from the rest of the village, then from Kore for sure."
"You would think they would be…"
The conversation trailed off again as the two drew out of earshot. With a flick of his temporary tail, Saint Dane spirited into the building, taking care to avoid the attention of the few people roaming the halls. Unless he was mistaken, the absences of Grail and 'Maal' had been noticed. He purred as he trotted up to the third counselor's office.
Kore was sitting in his study, fuming. He was poring over various papers, a quill in one hand, an inkwell off to his right. He was jotting something down, seemingly absorbed in what he was doing, but Saint Dane could clearly see the tension the man believed so well hidden.
Gathering himself, he hopped up directly onto the councilor's desk.
He started when the large tabby leaped into view, but calmed down immediately as recognition lit his features. "Well, if it isn't you again. Haven't seen you around for a while…"
He reached out and scratched the cat's soft black scruff. A deep rumbling came from deep within its chest.
Kore sighed, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. The cat's false purr became less forced as the aggravated man before him began muttering absentmindedly to the only other living creature in the room. Saint Dane had discovered, quite on accident, that Kore – who was generally very anti-social – was quite inclined to speak to creatures that didn't have voices of their own. One day he had been discovered creeping about the counselor's room and, rather than being tossed out the window or beset with a chair, the man had coaxed him over and began chattering to him most uncharacteristically. Ever since then, he had taken care to return from time to time in the same form – a short-furred black and brown tabby with glowering green eyes.
He had become almost as fond of this persona as Kore was. It was terribly useful.
"I honestly don't know what to do. Blast it if Maal and Grail don't pick the worst possible times to go missing. Maal I would expect this from, he's always running off! But Grail? Curse the man! He's meant to be a voice of reason, a steady and reliable figure amongst the people. And here he is, gone for more than a day, no sign of him. For all anyone knows he may have been assassinated, though in all likelihood he's just waking up in someone's bed with a blasted hangover wondering where in the world he is…"
Saint Dane sat patiently, amusing himself by intentionally knocking the man's quill onto the floor repeatedly until he finally moved it out of his reach. When at last he decided that he had divined all he could of Kore's current state of mind, he stood, stretching.
Kore trailed off as the cat turned about and jumped back to the floor, sending several things underfoot flying as he did so.
Kore watched as his companion ambled off, then sighed heavily and bent low to pick up the various implements that had been knocked to the ground.
Saint Dane flicked his ears smartly and, arching his back as though to get away from the lingering feeling of that hand on his skin, he bounded towards the door out. A woman he passed as he streaked by an open door squealed in alarm, then poked her head out to be sure he had gone. He had.
He glanced up at the sky overhead. Late afternoon, and no doubt Aria would be finished writing her journal. He slunk over into the shade of a deserted building and, glancing around to be sure he was alone, changed and took to the air.
There was not much utility in what he had heard outside of the first few sentences. Maal and Grail were missing, the villagers were growing uneasy, and a search party was to be sent out shortly. Though it wouldn't do to have Grail found before the plan dictated it, Saint Dane doubted that that would be a problem. He was nothing if not thorough.
One golden eye traveled over the town in the midday sun and he watched the people scurrying about their lives, willingly blinded to the imminent destabilization of their fragile society, and the ultimate causes of that destabilization. He thought back on many of the confrontations he had started in the few months. Any logical person could look at the facts and see who was instigator, and who was clearly victim. Yet still they insisted on seeing only what they wanted to see. For of course, that was the true secret to deception. People will see what they expect to see, and to hell with the facts of the matter.
He clicked his beak sharply. He wondered how people could listen to tales of outrageous injustice and absurd confrontations, yet still stick steadfast to guns that were relics of a time long passed. Because the Bedoowan were once conquerors and overlords, any confrontation between a Milago and a Bedoowan was inevitably the fault of the Bedoowan, and the Milago was – in all circumstances – completely exonerated. This is what the villagers were comfortable with, this is what they chose to believe. He had used this utter disregard for logic time and time again, and it had become one of the greatest weapons in his arsenal.
Oh, how it sickened him.
People wondered how he could be so cruel as to deceive and mislead hapless innocents. He would argue that they deceived themselves.
As he drew within sight of the village's inn, he realized that he was seething with anger. He checked himself, taking as deep a breath as his slender form would allow, and attempted to release the bitterness on the exhale. That particular flavor of anger was ancient. He had eons of practice at disregarding it.
The suns' light gleamed on his ebony feathers as his outstretched wings bore him down to the windowsill of Aria's room. He had already checked to be sure that no one was watching, and he heard no scribble of quill on paper, so he swiftly poked his head through the curtains.
The Traveler lay sprawled on the bed, mouth slightly open, her breathing deep and rhythmic.
As Saint Dane glided quietly to the floor, taking care not to rouse the girl, it occurred to him that she had spent a rather disproportionate amount of her time on this territory unconscious thus far.
He clucked silently, and in an instant had resumed his human form. He glanced down at the girl sleeping soundly on the leather-clad hay, and decided she would not wake lightly.
The journal lay on the table near the bed, pages neatly stacked and ordered. He picked them up and gave the front page a cursory glance. She had a pleasant sort of handwriting, a clear print touched here and there with minute signs of personality. She enjoyed adding a bit of flourish to her p's, and her i's were generally dotted off center. Her j's were beautiful. Her z's were abhorrent.
He put the girl in his periphery and began to read. The journal was unfortunately short…but highly informative. He had long suspected Steric of playing a major part in the tak-light operation, but this woman, Kahlin? He only vaguely recognized the name. His irritation was tainted with admiration. He could not help but admire someone who could hide their secrets so well that he didn't even realize they had secrets.
He softly clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he read through the extent of the scientists' success. They were further along than he had anticipated. As he read her description of her journey to the laboratory, he nodded in understanding. He had assumed that the labs were in the mines somewhere, but the mines were far larger than any one man – or spirit of Solara, for that matter – could hope to easily and thoroughly search in their entirety. Given this information, he could no doubt locate it on his own now. But why would he, when it would be so much easier, and infinitely more satisfying, to allow simply enter on the girl's heels?
He grew absorbed in the story over the next several minutes. Her writing style was different from Pendragon's – subtler in some ways, but clearly less experienced overall. Nonetheless, when he was done he found himself wanting for more. He quelled the disappointment, but silently resolved to press his advantage if he ever came across an opportunity like this again. The writing itself left something to be desired – understandable, and he was sure she would improve in time – but the insights into her character were…
The corner of his eye twitched. They were useful. Nothing more. One needed to know their enemy in order to defeat them, after all.
With that thought firmly rooted in his mind, he carefully set the papers down precisely as he had found them, and turned once more to the sleeping Traveler. Once again, he pondered at her identity, the sense of familiarity he had felt about her. Her journal had revealed nothing that could help him place her.
He took a step closer to her and bent down to study her features.
Her expression was slack with sleep. He could see her eyes moving beneath the lids. Her breathing consisted of a slightly hitching whistle on the inhale, and a quiet, steady stream on the exhale. Her eyes twitched slightly, and he tilted his head curiously.
What monsters capering just behind that ridge of bone…?
He knew that was a quote from something. What, he couldn't quite recall.
He straightened, transformed, and flew from the room without further pause. There was work to be done, and he did not wish to be in the area come sunset. Alder would certainly recognize him, even if the others did not.
Credits:
What monsters capering just behind that ridge of bone…? - Quote from Stephen King's The Shining