8.
Sarmenti watched her try to read her book a little bit away from the others, her crossbow set up against a tree. Completely focused and struggling. She whispered the words as she thumbed each page. Reading by moonlight didn't help. He took an unlit torch and sauntered over.
"Buona serata. Or should I say good night?" he took a seat in bed of moss next to her, "The others are asleep."
She tensed, bringing her book close to her chest as though someone would snatch it, "Can't sleep."
"What are you reading?" he asked.
"You're supposed to be on guard duty," Missandra shrugged, though the title on the spine betrayed something about the fantastic.
Sarmenti frowned and slid the unlit torch towards her, "Our journey is almost over. There is no need to strain your eyes."
...
9.
Junia collapsed into a chair. Sweat beaded her brow. The others went to rest and recover after they escaped from their ordeal in the ruins but the Vestal's work had just begun. For ten hours, she and Paracelsus hovered over the bed changing bloodied sheets, bandages, applying salves and, of course, pleading for reconstructive light. No doubt without those prayers Josephine would've perished long before they carried her back to the Hamlet. Paracelsus had trouble thinking of the light pouring from her hands as mere 'prayers' but tonight he was too exhausted to argue.
Junia started to cry.
He drew back a little, not sure what to make of it.
The soft cry became an earth-shattering sob.
Paracelsus hesitantly reached over to pat her on the shoulder, mechanical but well-intentioned.
Junia took deep, ragged breaths, "I put her... the... the Light put... her... back together," her shoulders shook as she tried to gather her composure again, "She's going to keep her arm."
...
10.
The sound was getting to be too much. Rustling chains, ripping skin, grunting. Barristan stared deep into the fire. He wasn't going to look this time. Nothing was going to stop the man's church-sanctioned self-punishment.
It just seemed so unnatural.
Sarmenti cautiously plucked a few strings of the lute.
"Not now!" whispered Barristan - setting music to the sound of whipping made his stomach churn.
"Bah. There is nothing we can do. He is on the mission from Light above. The Light, the most heavenly, noble endorser of blood and torture," Sarmenti put his lute down.
The Leper peeled off his mask and sighed. As upsetting as Baldwin's stricken face could be, there was something comforting about him being kind to himself, "The wind... it's..."
"I have become ONE with SUFFERING! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Go ahead and play some music," Barristan stood up and tested the weight of his mace.
Sarmenti nodded, "This will not stop any time soon."
...
11.
Everything is a delicate balance. For example, the log across the stream bed, capable of carrying two on each end. Leaves that must fall at the right time, to allow the tree to become dormant. Rabbits in the meadows a few unculled litters away from starvation. So too must humanity...
Dr. Alhazred tossed the essay aside, grumbling, "Another aspiring Malthus."
He carefully picked it back up and smoothed it out over his desk. There was a single space for papers on a surface otherwise cluttered with candles, nameless idols and other trinkets. Finally. A reason to use the red ink hiding behind a bronze paperweight.
Someone knocked at his door and opened it moments after. Rude. It was Josephine - she was the only one who sought his company while being brazen enough to do such a thing.
"Is that an essay?"
"I was granted leave from the university for the semester but I still owe a few... favors," he sighed.
"Favors?" she grinned, "Someone blackmailing you, Doctor? Should I send the university an evil amulet?"
"If I wanted to do that, I could've done it years ago," Alhazred murmured.
Josephine shrugged, "Mind if I sit down?"
"Why not? You've already let yourself in," he glanced over his shoulder, "You're prepared for the expedition tomorrow?"
"I think I'll be alright. It's a tough group but they still need someone who has an eye for expensive things. Heh," she laughed nervously, "Maybe the dark ones are telling you it's a bad idea."
The color drained from his face, "Don't joke like that."
...
12.
"You should keep a close eye on me," Audrey smiled and bet a small stack of gold on the Queen of Diamonds, "I'm afraid women just don't have a moral compass."
Barristan's brow furrowed as he realized he had no competing card, "You can say that all you want but..."
Audrey frowned.
"Josephine won't stop talking about what you did for her," Barristan nodded to himself, even as he lost his play.
...
13.
Dismas furiously loaded gunpowder into his revolver. Rustle. Rustle. Rustle. It's in the trees. Leaking through the branches, sticking like sap. Coming closer. Crawling. A stench like no other. Red. Black. Blood. Smoke. Shuddering gel, reflective as the moon itself. A stray bullet.
The gun clicked. Jammed.
What cannot be undone can never be forgiven.
Reynauld grabbed him by the wrist.
You'll do it again.
"Dismas! This isn't a place to lie down!"
...
14.
Dismas was brought back to camp physically unharmed. He sat close to the fire, smoking his pipe. His eyes dimmed and watered without blinking. Hands clenched, fingernails into skin. No facial expression, though his posture, tight shoulders, folded arms, warned to stay away. He took in more and more tobacco, no steady releases of smoke, no pacing himself.
Junia had a mind to snatch his pipe away from him when he dropped it and doubled over, coughing.
"Well, what did you think was going to happen?" she asked mildly, heart still racing in anticipation. Though she'd never admit it, she was often afraid of him.
He turned and looked at her with bloodshot eyes.
"Should we go back?" Reynauld asked gently.
"We have one more fight," Dismas started stuffing his pipe again, "And then it'll be over."
...