The Trial: Journey's End
Written by: AtheistBasementDragon
Edited by: The Usual Gang of Drunken Perverted Idiots
Chapter 32: Homeward Bound
...Crescent Lake...
Bertra gave a weak smile. "Ten years ago... five years ago... I'd have wanted you dead for existing... now you're the only friend I've got, and the only one I can talk to about this. What a world." She held out her hand over the table and the arachnoid limb touched it. "But... you won't seriously eat him, will you?" Bertra asked as she second guessed the question.
Maskless, Entoma's monster face was on full display, "My kind would usually wait till 'after' mating. I am ignorant of both elves and humans' intricate, intimate ways. I have some knowledge from the elves that live with Mare and Aura, and know that what almost happened to you, and what did, is terrible. But... I don't really grasp it. I only know that my friend is hurt, so? Here I am."
"I'd say you'd make a very excellent human, but... I know enough about humanity now to think of that as an insult." Bertra looked down. "What do I do? Did I make him do this?"
Entoma looked at her with all eight eyes... "Did you mind control him? Did you use some special martial art or scripture skill?"
"What... no of course not." Bertra replied, in so much dismay that her eyes snapped up from their downward posture.
"Then he made his own choice." Entoma replied, and asked, "Do you want to go see a healer, are you injured? I'll go with you, if that is what you want." She then reached for her bug mask that concealed the monster she was, and Bertra shook her head.
"He did stop, though if he hadn't, I... I thank you, I would say yes, just the thought... I... you know, I almost went with it just to make it seem OK, like I could have pretended I'd 'chosen' to give in when I didn't want to, when I had decided at least, that I didn't want that to happen. Not then, not like that. I'm still a goddamn Cardinal of the Theocracy, a scripture member, how could I even consider deluding myself?" Bertra reached for one of the lemon biscuits she'd made earlier, and took a bite.
"Is that strange for elves?" Entoma asked, "I've met the playthings Vanysa punishes, she gives me pieces of them to eat, sometimes, do you know she has a special rule that she never reveals to her prey?"
"What's that?" Bertra asked, filing away the 'eating pieces' part for later questioning.
"That if they ever admit, genuinely, that what they did was wrong, that they were wrong, for some reason other than fear... she'll end the punishment, it's part of why she never targeted the Pope, because the Pope has never denied that she was wrong. There are... other reasons, but do you know how many of her prey she's ever released?" Entoma asked in a hushed and almost conspiratorial voice.
Bertra shook her head.
"None. They just can't admit it, the man who stole from the Sorcerer King, the priest who extorted sex from desperate peasants, the king who tortured her to suicide, the brief monarch fool who took the throne out of petty greed and arrogance... and many others, they all have their excuses, justifications, for why what they did was perfectly alright. Why they're not really wrong." Entoma couldn't smirk, but Bertra heard it in her voice and saw it in the way the maid demon leaned forward.
"What's your point?" Betra asked uncertainly as she sat back in her chair and held her shaking hands together in her lap.
"Nobody likes to admit unpleasant things, easy to deny, easy to pretend, it hurts less, I guess, maybe that goes for the one the predator targets as much as the predator themselves?" Entoma suggested tentatively, waving her arachnoid arm in an all too human gesture. "The important thing though is... what do you want to do? If you don't want me to eat him for you, then what do you want? Isn't that what matters right now? Or am I making some mistake about your kind's behavior again?" Entoma added the question in a pragmatic sort of way, but Bertra looked at her like it was the rising sun after a gloomy night.
"I want... for starters... to get an apology. I trusted him... let him in here, let him drink with me, let him close to me... I deserve an apology god damn it! And that's what I want first." Bertra's hands became fists as she spoke, and though Entoma's expression didn't change, couldn't change, her voice perked up.
"That's more like it." The maid demon replied pleasantly. "Then can I eat him?" She asked hopefully.
"...Maybe. I'll think about it." Bertra said dryly while she reached for another lemon biscuit. She chuckled a bit at the dark humor, "But seriously, no, when important people disappear, questions get asked, and it might come back to His Majesty, or it might lead to me getting exposed… I have a life here, I don't want to risk losing that, and I don't want to risk hurting the king who gave me a new life. But… thank you for the offer." She said with a grateful smile turning up the corners of her lips ever so slightly. "Now how about another biscuit?"
"That, I can eat." Entoma answered, and reached for it as Bertra held the plate out to her.
...Highway of Tears...Devor Side...
The walk back was pleasant enough as far as Neia was concerned. She retrieved the skeletal mount from the side of the road she'd set it on, and remounted it, placing Mu'Trieu in front of her. Mu'Ulm however, chose to walk beside her. "At least I'm eye level with you now." Neia said with a mild laugh that was somehow more terrible given her uncleaned and bloodsoaked state.
Mu'Ulm shrugged, "Better you in the saddle, than me. I will need a lot more time before I'm comfortable with something like that... and I don't think I'll trade my dignity away just now."
Neia mentally rolled her eyes, 'Nobody ever laughs... was I always this bad at jokes?' She wondered before shrugging it off.
Mu'Trieu looked down at the skeletal horse with quiet fascination, while the body of peasants that walked behind looked at the bloody demon on the back of an undead beast, and kept their own thoughts to themselves.
"How long do you think we'll have before they come looking for their raiding parties?" Neia asked Mu'Ulm cautiously.
He brought his finger to his snout and scratched beneath his mouth, he huffed a few times as he thought, "Hard to say, in the stories I heard growing up, they used mostly catmen for raids, those are fast and can run hard, at least for awhile. This force used bearmen as well, so they're probably not expecting a quick return. Call it a few days before they're suspicious, unless that fire alerts someone important. Even then it won't be considered urgent just yet. We should be fine, even if they notice before then, they won't know what to make of the scene." Mu'Ulm replied thoughtfully.
"Alright, but I'd still rather not waste time, we won last time in part because they were expecting no trouble, if anyone comes after us, they'll come expecting it." Neia replied to him, and then looked over her shoulder at the following peasants. She kept her doubts to herself. While there were some who could have managed, there were the very aged, and the very young. She looked down at Mu'Trieu and gently stroked her head with bloody fingers.
They didn't stop for a rest for the next four hours, at which point Neia said flatly, "Relieve yourselves, rest for a few minutes, and we move again." Her command voice brooked no argument, and some of the minotaurs simply flopped to the dirt where they were.
"Eat whatever food you've brought with you, we won't stop again till we reach the water." Neia said gently, but firmly. "Then and only then will we rest, and then only for a few hours, we've got to make sure we get you home... before they come looking for you."
That made terrible shivers rise, and the hairs on most of the minotaurs stood on end.
"Can't you kill them again if they come after us?" A gray furred minotaur asked anxiously as he walked over to her.
Neia shrugged. "Maybe? Between Mu'Ulm and myself I'm fairly confident we can kill any handful they send our way, but we're not gods, and there are a lot of strange and terrible powers in this world. Who knows what they might send? Someone immune to fear? Someone with supreme physical strength that my arts won't allow me to surpass? Powerful golems? Or even if they don't, and just send numbers, some might get past us to come for you. Unpredictable chances are to be avoided if possible. I won't risk your lives due to my own overconfidence." Neia replied with a professional analysis, but a more gentle voice than one would expect out of someone whose skin was red from bloodshed. 'No... I won't make that mistake again...' She thought as she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder, "Listen old man, I'm doing my best to get you all home alive, I'm proud of the faith you place in me, but it is for that very reason that I'm not willing to risk you all over my vanity."
The old man's evident anxiousness with her initial reply, seemed to melt away as she spoke compassionately, and his eyes twinkled a bit. "Thank you, Angel of Kiril. To think that I should live, to see a miracle..."
Neia sighed, "Just get some rest for now, it's a long walk still, you'll need your strength for when we start it again, and miracles take work too, you know. You don't get them by slacking off."
The old minotaur went over to a large tree trunk and sat with his back against it, wearily closing his eyes.
Twenty minutes later, she was checking the Sun's movement over the sky with her fingers, and declared, "Alright, time to go!"
Groans and grunts and little cries from those too small to understand why the red lady was yelling again and they had to move, echoed briefly in the air. Neia held out her hand to Mu'Trieu, and the little girl relaxed while Neia picked her up and put her on the front of the skeletal horse. She mounted behind the girl and looked over her shoulder, the old minotaur was still asleep at the tree. "Hey, old man, let's go already, the border won't come to us!" She shouted half jokingly, again annoyed that nobody seemed to find that even slightly humorous, but he didn't wake up. "Mu'Ulm, would you?" She asked her behemoth companion.
He grunted and went over to the old gray minotaur, and crouched down in front of him, he shook the sleeping form at the shoulder, "Hey, come on, oldster, we've got... to... oh."
He trailed off and looked over his shoulder, the grass making a small 'whish' noise as he turned his body partially to one side to raise his gaze up to where Neia sat. "He's gone, age took him, I'd say." Mu'Ulm said passively.
Neia's face stayed relaxed, "Damn." She said sadly, with her lips pursed.
"Anyone know him?" Mu'Ulm asked the gathering group.
There were a few nods, "We can carry him." One of the younger minotaurs offered.
Neia frowned, "Can we keep the same pace?"
That brought them up short in midstep.
"We'll have to slow down..." They said slowly, and stopped when they saw the expression of blankness on her bloody face.
"It's one thing to carry bones, but another a whole body, we can't risk slowing down. I'm sorry for the old man, but he died free and going home, and the dead don't have a right to put the living at risk. You can't accomplish anything by dying for the dead." Neia said with pity in her voice as the lowing and mournful huffing that passed for mournful sounds among the minotaurs were slowly taken up.
"Can we at least hide his body? So we can come back for him later, when the danger is passed?" A sizable minotaur woman asked as she approached Neia's horse.
Neia idly stroked Mu'Trieu's head, enjoying the feel of her tufts of fur between her bloodstained fingers. The pope thought it over for a moment, "What do you do with bodies?" She asked as a thought occurred.
"We bury them." The minotaur woman said simply.
"So worms eat them... alright, there is nothing better about worms than wolves or other beasts. Deflesh the body quickly and leave that for the beasts, and you may carry his bones with you to bury in his homeland. Bones are all we leave behind anyway, so let that be done, so he does not rest in the land of his enemies." Neia suggested the compromise on the fly, and for a moment stunned expressions of wide eyes and open mouths looked blankly at her.
She stared back, the bloody incarnation of war, telling them to honor the bones and abandon the flesh. Mu'Ulm was quick to interject, "You heard Kiril's Angel! To die is to pass beyond the power and bonds of flesh, only the bones endure, and only those need rest when the end comes! See to it! Quickly! Let the beasts be honored by his flesh, while we honor his bones!"
'I didn't say that... at all. But... it wasn't half bad, and it got them moving, I'll take that win.' Neia thought to herself as the minotaurs defleshed the body with the speed of those used to taking care of livestock, and within minutes, the grass was stained red, flesh was abandoned, and the bones were distributed among his friends and family to be carried back as one.
Without noticing it, those who bore the bones of the dead home, took central positions within the walking group, and those around the bearers of the dead, began to speak more deferentially to the bone bearers.
"I think you've just started a new tradition among the minotaurs." Mu'Ulm said as he walked beside Neia.
"It's a practical one at least. My people often deflesh the dead, we raise the skeletons of those who bequeath their labor to the living, so there are some who use knives, others who boil, others who burn, the flesh away, leaving only the bones of the dead behind with which to work. The flesh, that useless burden that impedes the will with fear of its fate, we use to keep the fields fertile, so that the living may benefit from our lives even after they end." Neia explained quietly.
"That is how you honor the dead?" Mu'Ulm asked curiously.
"Yes, we honor their lives, we remember them by their example, some ask to be buried, some ask to be burned, some offer their bones to work as laborers for their loved ones, or temples, or so on. The dead work for the living, the living work for the living, and because everybody is trying to help make things better for everyone, we get a better world." Neia explained in a slow, solemn voice as she kept her eyes focused ahead of her.
"What about you?" Mu'Ulm asked tentatively.
"What about me?" Neia asked with a bit more bitterness than she intended.
"When you die?" Mu'Ulm elaborated as he looked over to her, his shoulders rolled casually with every step of his hooves and he caressed his white ax as if it were a lover at his side.
"I told my father he could do with my body what he wants. Some want to do experiments on my body, to find a way to make more of me, some have proposed turning me into an undead, I don't know what I want for myself, given the probability that I won't be around much longer, I should probably turn a thought to that but... I'd rather just leave it in his hands, or my wife's, I doubt they'll disagree with each other." Neia shrugged dismissively.
Mu'Trieu craned her neck up, "Why?"
"Why what?" Neia asked, finding it impossible not to smile down at the wide childish eyes.
"Why wouldn't you be around?" She asked anxiously.
"I... did some bad things, when I lost my temper, lost control, some people got hurt, more than hurt, and it was my fault. Now I've got to pay for that. Some people say I was justified, or that it could be excused... but as the one who pushed hardest for me to pay for it, said to me, 'Some things you don't get to walk away from.' So... it is what it is. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it, Mu'Trieu, I'll make sure you're safe first, my wife is a very nice lady who loves children, and she's a very good fighter, better than me with a sword in fact, she'll teach you everything you need to know, to make the beastmen pay for what they did to your mother." Neia's voice was almost a sing-song tone as she spoke to the little girl.
Mu'Ulm felt his blood run hot in his veins as he pondered what kind of future the Black Paladin was seeing laid out before her as she went back to stroking Mu'Trieu's fur with her bloody fingers, unthinkingly matting some of the little minotaur female's fur with the blood of the beastmen.
...Kirakira Prison...
Raymond relaxed in the prison yard... sort of. It felt good to feel the sun on his skin. He watched as a minotaur fell forward when someone grabbed a horn and yanked it forward after the unfortunate overextended himself with an ax swing.
"Stop!" Raymond yelled at the ones he was observing. They paused and prepared to reset. "That was good, that was very good." He said as he praised the one who threw his counterpart off balance. "But if you can do it, it can be done to you, and beastmen are big enough that they can."
"Yeah? So, what do you want me to do, cut it off?" The defeated minotaur asked, "Would you cut off your cock, just because someone might grab it in a fight?"
Raymond stifled a laugh at the indignant tone. "No... but why not make it painful to do so?" He looked up at the minotaurs and stroked his beard. "Got it, come with me." He said, and led them both over to the area where instructors were teaching others leather and metal crafting skills, he called the elves over, and explained to hostile eyes what he had in mind.
The two teachers looked at him, listened, and looked at each other with wide and admiring eyes. Under the curious eyes of their prisoner students, and the watchful eyes of the guards above, they set to work.
A short while later, the minotaurs horns were measured, and the cutting, stitching, and securing of materials were underway, laces were affixed to the ends of their product, and then the first two pairs were presented with outstretched hands and proud expressions of masters of their trades.
"Here, allow me." Raymond said, and the minotaurs went down to their knees, curious eyes became profoundly interested, and watchful eyes became interested, as a glove like leather sleeve went over each minotaur's horns, and from those leather sleeves, sprang deadly and terrible spikes. "All you need to complete this, is a paralytic or deadly poison, and you've made your horns even more important to ignore, and even deadlier to use. Imagine five hundred charging minotaurs goring in with these on their horns, paralyzing or poisoning everything they don't just tear open?"
He spoke like the Cardinal he was, authoritatively and with projection, and clamoring for more of these deadly horn sheathes began in earnest from above and below.
