"Are you sure about this, Captain?"
Olonnais glared over his beer at his second in command. His dark eyes smoldered with annoyance in the dim light of the bar. His thick brunette hair was pulled back in a pony tail, and he leaned on his elbows. Taller than most Skyship Captains, he had a presence that denied others the chance to argue.
"We've been flying for two months looking for this prophet, Jean. I'm not giving up now."
Jean shrugged, his fingers tapping lightly on the sword in his lap. The blonde man was much his Captain's opposite, being both fairer of skin and rather dully minded. Furthermore, Olonnais had a much bigger appetite for blood than his companion, even if Jean was the one with the sword. Olonnais leaned back, carefully sipping his drink.
Finally. He was finally going to meet this damn woman. She was going to tell him how to get revenge for his fallen comrades — one way or another.
Six months ago, Olonnais's crew had been attacked and he lost his precious airship. With his airship went most of his crew — only four had survived, Jean and himself included. The danger and thrill of airships had always been the possibility of a deadly descent, he supposed. Olonnais had nothing to go on to exact his revenge except for a single logo, a torn bit of cloth he had managed to pull from an attacker before he fell.
Olonnais fought a sneer, choosing instead to take another sip. All the modern amenities and yet not a single person knew what this damn logo meant. He had even paid to have the Air Force database hacked to no avail. For a month after the hack, he had almost lost all hope, sticking to dens of the black market as he fervently hoped that someone, anyone, would tell him what the meaning of this damned logo was. In his desperation, he caught rumors that there was an ancient seer; for the right price, she could give you the information you sought even if nothing else had worked. He hadn't been one to believe in superstition, but desperate times and all.
The last two months had been them chasing their tails looking for this godforsaken woman. She had been practically a ghost, but their search had brought them to this tiny town on the outskirts of a city. Olonnais had only come here because it was a cheaper place to buy fuel than the nearby city, and the rooms to rent were easier to get for a decent price. Plus, he had heard rumors from a few people that he knew that this town was famous for being almost impossibly safe, and he'd made just enough enemies that he'd prefer playing it safe while he was sleeping.
Everything about his arrival in this town had been mere coincidence — a break to refuel and have a beer before they continued their search for the prophetic ghost.
It had all been rumor and speculation. Until now.
A townsperson had just confirmed her existence while getting drunk with his buddy — confirmed her existence and that this was where she was. Olonnais counted the seconds, forcing himself to drink his beer slowly instead of rush out to find this stupid, unfindable bitch.
Finally, enough time had passed. Olonnais stood up from his seat, tossing a few bills on the table as Jean stood to follow him. A single thought passed through his mind as Olonnais reflexively touched the scrap of logo in his pocket.
This bitch had better be worth it.
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Olonnais breathed in deeply, adjusting his black jacket and combing the fly-away hairs back into position.
"So are you gonna knock, or are you gonna preen, Captain?" said Jean with mock distain. Olonnais bristled, and finally knocked resolutely on the door. There was a sound of shuffling feet, and locking mechanisms releasing before the door finally opened.
The woman behind the door was old — very old. She had a scarf around her head, and a mystic look to her eyes. She smiled warmly to the two men, and ushered them inside.
"Come in, come in, I've been expecting you."
Olonnais glanced back Jean, for a moment unsure. Jean gestured towards the door, and Olonnais slowly stepped inside.
The house was normal enough, he supposed, even if the set up was not. This space was open, the dividing walls nonexistent for this combined front room, kitchen and dinning room. Olonnais had never seen a house like it. There was a TV playing in the background. He could only see the back of the couch, but it seemed that there was someone there with short, blonde hair — a grandchild perhaps? — sleeping with a book on their face. The older woman shuffled slowly, leading them towards the kitchen table and turning towards the kitchen. Olonnais took a seat as the older woman made them some tea.
After a moment, she brought the tea back, taking seat opposite of the two men and facing towards the rest of this weird, open space.
"You've been expecting us?" he began slowly. She sipped her tea slowly.
"Oh, yes. Been having dreams about it for a while."
Olonnais swallowed, trying to contain his excitement. She was real, she was really real.
Carefully, he pulled out the frayed bit of fabric from his jeans pocket.
"Then can you tell me what this is?"
She blinked slowly, setting down her cup and reaching out for the fabric. She studied it for a moment, turning it over in her hands and pursing her lips.
"Hm. I'm afraid not."
Olonnais froze. He had planned for this possibility, but…
He had really thought that she would know.
The woman leaned towards them, her face awash with confusion. "Don't you have someone else with you?"
He shared a confused glance with Jean. "You mean, besides him?"
"Yes. Someone new to your life, perhaps?"
Olonnais stood up quickly in anger. "Look, lady, I'm not here for your typical romance reading, I'm —"
"Well that's strange. Normally I only dream about guided. But you don't have a guide." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, completely unperturbed by the menacing Sky Captain before her. "How did you come here?"
He growled. "I'm here to see the rumored great prophet, although clearly I've been mistaken—"
The woman stood up slowly, chuckling as she did so. Olonnais deflated as she tottered over to the couch with the person sleeping under the pages of a book. The book was resting open on the face of a young woman, her arms crossed and legs splayed out in front of her. The old woman pulled the book off of her face, and tapped the young woman with it gently. "Mistress, do you know this image?"
Olonnais blinked. Mistress? Was… was the young one the seer? But wait, it was the old one who claimed to have seen him in her dreams, wasn't it?
The young woman groaned. "I was sleeping, Marie. I don't give a damn about your stupid piece of — Oh. Huh. Interesting."
She sat up, snatching the cloth from the older woman's hand as she stared at it. Olonnais carefully observed this mystery woman while she considered the scrap of cloth. Looking closely, there were streaks of black in her short, blonde hair. Her face was pretty enough, even if the tilt of her chin was a bit strong for his liking. The streaks of black were continued in a haphazard pattern down her much revealed skin — she was only wearing a low-cut t-shirt and shorts, after all. It was an interesting and rather intricate tattoo, he supposed, but he couldn't fathom the reason for getting such a widespread and rather random one.
She suddenly cackled. "10,000 beri and I'll tell him."
The woman chuckled. "Don't you mean credits, mistress?"
"Right. Whatever. Something like that." She seemed to daze off, muttering silently to herself.
Jean had stood up in anger, but Olonnais held out a hand to hold him off.
"So. You're the real seer then?" he said suspiciously to the young woman seated on the sofa. She didn't seem to hear him, leaning forward and bobbing her head.
The old woman approached and touched his shoulder. "We are both seers — I see things sometimes in dreams. But you are correct in saying that she is more powerful than myself."
Olonnais grinned. Fascinating. Something about her was sparking his interest. "What did you mean by guide and guided, Madam?"
The old woman shook her head, a far away look in her eyes while she spoke softly, "Sometimes other gifted people come to us, asking for help. I had assumed you were one of those — most people do not know of my lady's gift, and rarely seek her help. It is even rarer that she responds to their requests."
He considered both women for a moment, before reaching for his purse. He'd have to forgo an inn tonight, and for many nights, but the price would be worth it. He counted out the coins she needed, and the old woman took them gingerly, wrapped them up in a small cloth bag that reminded him of ancient pirates and medieval times. She wandered back to the other one, gently putting the bag in the other woman's hand.
For a full minute, nothing happened. Then the young woman seemed to suddenly notice that something was in her hand, and jiggled it, giggling.
"The logo, mistress," the old seer gently prodded.
"Right." She immediately stood up, and began to leave the room, barefoot and all.
Both Jean and Olonnais looked at each other before they followed her, as she walked barefooted out the door, down the street, turning right…
And walked straight into a butcher's shop.
Jean was chomping at the bit. Naturally, Olonnais supposed that he should also be furious — he should burn the woman alive for ripping him off, but he supposed that she wasn't done with him yet. They followed her into the store.
She dropped the bag on the counter. "Pay up, bitch."
The young male attendant sighed, clearly both exasperated and unsurprised. "Madam, that's not how it works…"
"Oi, I'm a customers. Customers are always right."
The attendant gave another sigh before leaning around a door and calling out, "Dad! She's back!"
There was a hearty, deep laugh from behind the doorway, and a large brute of a man stepped out. Olonnais crossed his arms.
"Well, well, well, mistress, what will it be this time?"
She tapped her chin, while she thought, and the bearded butcher took a glance at the men behind her. "My son can help you, gentlemen—"
"No need." Olonnais crossed his arms. "She still owes us the information she promised."
The butcher sighed. "Mistress, did you forget that you hadn't told them."
"Arms this time, okay mister? Everything else is fair game. Meet you outside in 5, you better stretch."
With that she skipped back out the front door, and the butcher sighed, leaning on the counter and inviting the two young men forward.
"She'll give you what you need, it just might take a bit. She doesn't always see what's around her."
Jean growled out, "That bitch owes us—"
"What was the payment for?" Olonnais interrupted. The butcher sighed, scratching his head for a moment.
"Well, if you aren't in a hurry, you'll see for yourself. Clearly you aren't from around here. She pays for food monthly, and a… very special kind of sparring session. It usually happens whenever anyone new is in town, discourages raiders and robberies and the like."
Curious, thought Olonnais. He grinned at the Butcher. "This will be interesting. Out front, you said?"
The man nodded solemnly, before straightening and returning to the back room. Olonnais thought quickly — clearly she was communicating without the usual spoken prophecy. She did this display whenever new people were in town so often that no one seemed bothered. He stepped out of the butcher's shop and saw a small crowd of people gathering. He crossed his arms as he went down the steps. The young woman was currently stretching in the middle of the street, while the crowd quickly grew in size.
She hadn't even acknowledged that he existed. He frowned. No, it was different than that — she hadn't registered the money in her hand for almost a full minute. Could it be that she just didn't see the world the same as everyone else?
He thought about everything he had witnessed while he waited. Right on time, the butcher stepped out of the back entrance of the shop carrying a broad sword. The young woman grinned, and even from this angle Olonnais could tell that it was a maniacal one.
"Are you ready, mistress?" called the Butcher. She cackled, linking her hands behind her back as she ran towards him. He swung at her with a speed that impressed Olonnais. It was clear that this man was highly trained. She leapt out of the way, dodging his blade and turning to kick him, which he expertly blocked. Her arms remained linked behind her back as the attack sounded like a clap of thunder.
Olonnais began almost shaking in his excitement. Whatever he had thought about this mad-woman's attractiveness was overshadowed now by this incredible display of strength and speed. The two continued, each collision echoing in the air with it's force.
This was it — this town was peaceful because of these displays. No one would dare to attack with these two defending it.
The butcher finally got the upper hand, slicing a gash deep into the woman's quad, shocking Olonnais out of his thoughts. A wound like that could ruin any fighter — why was he fighting with a live blade? — only she didn't miss a beat and continued to fight.
"They'll be at this for a while. Tea?" Olonnais jumped. The old woman had somehow snuck up on him. Jean was so thoroughly enthralled with the swordplay he hadn't noticed anyone else existed.
Olonnais accepted the offered cup of tea, turning his attention back to the fight. "I'm not leaving until she tells me. If she doesn't, I'll kill you both."
The old woman chuckled. "I may be an easy target, but I'm sure you've noticed that my mistress would be more than happy to oblige in a death match."
"But how is she still fighting with that leg wound? Her leg shouldn't even be working right now, he sliced her quadricep in two."
"Are you so sure?"
Olonnais blinked, turning his attention back to the fight. There was still blood on the woman's leg… He squinted, then realized that there wasn't enough blood. "… Don't tell me. She's immortal."
The old woman cackled. "How'd you guess?"
"Oh something something ancient seer. Just please don't tell me that you played me. 10,000 credits is a great sum of money."
"I know. You'll get your answer."
He shook his head, sitting down on the steps of the butcher's shop as he watched the butcher continually slice into the cackling, immortal madwoman.
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Four hours later, the butcher finally pleaded for a break. After much whining from the immortal woman, he agreed to have another go tomorrow.
The old woman approached her. A few minutes prior she had finally left Olonnais's side to grab a wet rag and a bucket of water. She handed the wet rag to the young woman who used it to absentmindedly wipe the blood away from her skin.
Now was his chance. He approached the immortal from behind, clearing his throat.
"Ugh. Go away," she groaned.
"Not until you tell me what that symbol was."
She paused, handing the towel to the old woman who wrung it out for her, dipped it in the water, and handed it back. Olonnais couldn't tell if this was because the old woman was her servant, or her helper.
"Didn't I tell you?"
"No."
"Ah. Opps. Well whatever, it's not gonna take you where you want to go anyway. This isn't the logo of who attacked you."
"What?" Olonnais seethed. Six months of searching, and it was all for not? No. He refused. He reached out to grab her wrist as he hissed out, "Look here, bitch, I—"
It was all he said before his skin touched hers and a sudden jolt froze his world. Time stopped as electricity flooded his veins, tingling down all of his extremities as he had a sudden acute awareness of this woman, how she stood, and how she breathed. Their eyes met, and he stifled a gasp at the marvel that was her eyes.
And then it was over. He dropped to his knees, glancing up to see the immortal woman shouting at the sky.
"—got to be fucking kidding me, you bastards! 500 hundred years of waiting, and this is the bastard that you give me? What the fuck is he supposed to be, he's fucking no one. And using Law's logo was a low fucking move, you asswipes, go fuck yourselves, I'm cursing your fucking names, see if I fucking help—"
There was a tap on his shoulder and the smiling face of the old woman as the young one continued cursing at the air. "Well now. It seems you are a guided one after all — my mistress will explain everything to you once she's a little calmer, as she is your guide—"
The irate immortal turned back to face him, pointing an accusing finger at him. "And you! Don't even get me started on you, you fucking bastard. Why the fuck should I guide you, worthless piece of shit—" At this point, Jean had sliced off her pointing hand, but it didn't seem to distract her in the least as she continued her tirade without missing a beat.
This was irritating and confusing. Olonnais glared at her. "Shut the fuck up."
She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She crossed her arms and glared at the ground.
That was interesting. Olonnais smirked. Was it a fluke, or…
"Turn around."
She glared daggers at him, but she turned.
He grinned sadistically. "Sit."
She sat while indignantly flabbergasted and muttering to herself. This certainly wasn't how he expect his day to go. He looked around for a moment, then watched in morbid fascination as her arm began reforming before his eyes. He glanced at Jean for a moment, who only stood there blinking in total bewilderment.
So. Here he was stuck in the middle of no where, his only lead on those who attacked him a dead end and with a immortal who he had absolute control over.
Definitely worth the price that he paid.
He walked over to her, crouching to get to her eye level. He studied her multicolored eyes for a moment. He'd never seen anything like it — her eyes were green as a base, but there were specks of blue, brown, gold, and veins of black. She glared at him for a moment, and it stole his breath — partially because she was still covered in blood, and partially because the anger seemed to only highlight the intensity of her gaze. He could definitely get used to this view.
"So. I'm Olonnais. What is your name?"
She sighed, deflating a little and seeming to resign herself to her situation.
"I suppose I've certainly waited long enough."
He nodded. "500 years since… what, your last 'guided' or whatever? That was back in the Great Pirate age, wasn't it?"
Her smile turned softer. "Yeah…"
"That logo then—"
"Was meant to bring you to me. It's my ex's."
"…Uh-huh," said Olonnais skeptically.
She didn't seem to notice. "Yep. Been too long since that bastard finally died on me." She sighed. "Whelp, I guess I get to help you track down your bad guys now."
He chuckled, a weight lifting from his chest. He would get those bastards after all. "You still haven't answered me."
She considered him for a moment. "Hm. Right. My name is Isabelle. I guess you're mine now."
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A/N
I've already started working on another story that I published yesterday (or at least I published Chapter 1). It's a different style, but y'all are welcome to take a look.
I've tried to answer reviewers as faithfully as I can. Even if you are reading this 6 months or years from time of posting this chapter, I honestly do try to reply to every review — ask me questions and I will answer. Especially because I love misdirection so much, there are many things that I'll never explain unless you ask. :) Don't believe everything I say!
Thank you all!
Jenny