Marie shivered violently as she tossed another log onto the meager pile in front of her. Alone in a bare clearing by a large outcropping of rock in the middle of a stunted and blighted forest, she felt her optimism swiftly waning. She was so cold, though the remnants of blood and gore on her was long dried and flaked off in irregular patterns. She stretched her fingers to the fire and stared at the space between her knuckles. They had sprung from there; those long knifelike daggers.
"Claws" said a voice helpfully in her mind. Marie's hands flew to her head, cradling it as her fingers dug into her hair. "I'm sorry. None of this is how it was supposed to be." The deep, almost rumbling voice seemed as real as she was. It was though, and it would be with her forever. Eirene was a calming presence, faint in some ways. She kept to herself. This new voice, Logan, was more vocal, more…helpful, in a way.
Now that her mad flight ended, Marie was able to think more rationally. But without fear fueling her, she was left with nothing. Her stomach rumbled plaintively and for a moment she was afraid. What knowledge was hers of the wood? "Ladies are not expected to forage," came her mother's crystalline voice in memory. Logan and Eirene both snorted, unimpressed, while the northman's lifetime of foraging, hunting, and wood craft slid into the front of her mind. A gift, plainly, offered as penance, or solace, or restitution. She took it gladly, and a short time later, her lean-to looked as good as hands unused to such labor could provide.
Game was in short supply, and her previous movements around the wood were enough that whatever was in the area went to ground hours before. However, there was a small stand of tart berries, and she ate her fill. Exhaustion took her after the small meal, and she found herself drowsing. Curling into a tight ball inside her camouflaged shelter she banked the fire and slept deeply.
Hours later, a hand clamped over her mouth and held it tightly. The thick leather gloves kept her affliction from activating as well as her ability to make any noise. Marie writhed like an egret to get away, but the man was much, much larger, and she was swiftly pressed into the ground. "A housecat thinks it's a mountain lion," the voice peeled off into a howl as Marie's claws dug through one forearm. "Bitch!" the voice hissed before the free hand struck her over the head. She went limp, and the next voice she heard some indeterminable amount of time later was higher, but still male. "Can't fuck 'er, but she's noble. Might make some coin."
Marie kept her eyes closed and tried to slow her breathing. She had to do this through her nose; as her mouth had been gagged already. Casting her mind back, she tried to realize if she had been accosted physically – there! A small memory, quick, furtive, barely there, of another's perspective as they touched her in this wood before letting go with a yelp and a curse. It must have been the smaller one.
Marie was terrified; who were these two? Were there others who worked with this pair? Would they know her by sight? As blooded Lodes she could fetch a high price, if these cretins got her to someone who could pay. Then again, Marie knew that to Nur, she was a threat to be neutralized. After all, that was why Logan was sent. For now, she decided that the best route was to remain silent and supply them with no help.
A huge hand grabbed her shoulder and brusquely shook her awake. "Up cunt," the voice said in a rough tone. Whoever it was that had her shoulder in his grip was massive, and her feet dangled off the ground. She kicked wildly, her skirts tangling her feet. One boot fell off in her struggles to make purchase. The huge man laughed in amusement. "I said a housecat, an' she hisses and spits like one too," the man remarked. He was covered in furs, and it was impossible to determine his real shape.
"Who d'ya think would pay best for the chit" the other voice asked before a loud crack echoed through the woods. The taller man had struck her across the face again with his free hand.
He let his grip relax so she fell to the ground in an undignified heap. The skins-clad man knelt on the small of her back, and effortlessly pinned her. "Get the rope and irons, Mort. No need for her to be wandering about."
As Marie's arms were pulled up high between her shoulder blades, the smaller man knelt in front of her and she got a good look at her aggressor's accomplice. A small man, he had a thin, strained voice, and no other discernable feature. That is, until he smiled, and Marie saw he had not a tooth in his head.
"Don't worry," the toadlike man soothed as her quickly gripped her hands in a tight fist. "S'long as you don't try to pull the ropes, y'won't feel much pain." His free hand was quick and efficient as it wound the rope around her arms and knotted it securely. The cuffs went on her wrists, while the rope was to keep her arms pinned painfully back.
"Shut up, you miserable lump." The taller man leveled a kick at the smaller, sending him sprawling to the ground by her banked coals. The smaller man yelped at being struck, and again as he realized his face was so close to the smoldering remains of the fire. "Fucking toadscum, hurry up. We're wastin' daylight."
This began nine days of a long march. From sunup to near sundown, they marched single file, with the taller man, Victor, in the front. Marie was right behind, her bound hands on a leash that Mortimer in the last position, held. They gave her a portion of the rations, but it was hardly filling. She never once voiced a complaint. In fact, she never said anything to them beyond a limp request to use the bathroom, which she could while on the march only once a day, and just before they set off in the morning. Day in and day out was met with only the trudge until her entire focus was on the ground and putting one foot in front of the other. With only her cloak, every movement was ensconced in cold. She thought she was slowly being metamorphosed into a pillar of ice.
On the tenth day, the sun was overhead and partially scudded behind clouds when Victor stopped them and dropped to a crouch. Mortimer pulled her aground as well. "What is it, Victor?" the toadlike man – looking more comfortable squatting than he had ever when standing tall – asked his ill-tempered compatriot.
"The wind changed; something's out there." He turned to the other two and looked around, scenting the air in short chuffs like an animal. "Can't get anything else; we need to hide, now" he broke off as he snarled, and the other man leapt to obey. Victor led them over to a small rise where a large tree had been partially uprooted at some point. The two men did all this in practiced silence; perhaps they had escaped brigands or road patrols in the past.
The larger man left them, and Mortimer seemed to be a different person than the cautiously appeasing lackey he had been before. He seemed more tense and alert, and more careful around her. He had even wound a portion of the rope to a stout, broken limb of the tree.
Marie was miserable crouched in this mud; she heard nothing at first except the usual sounds of a large forest. A bird sang, once, before going quiet. That seemed odd; didn't birds sing longer than that? Logan's persona within her stirred, but when she tried to prod it for more information, she couldn't get another remark. So involved in her study, that she practically jolted out of their hiding hole when Victor's body came crashing through the undergrowth, thrown by some invisible force. He came to ground, and shook himself free of the forest floor's debris, before crouching on all fours and going to attack once more.
Mortimer pulled her back under the tree and wound more of the rope along the branch, leaving her with no further room than a single step would allow. Her eyes darted to him, as he pulled one long spatulate finger to his lips. "Quiet now, lass. Make no trouble, 'n no trouble will come to you. I'll be back." He smiled and eyed her lewdly. It made her want to shrink away; but there was little enough room with both occupying the small foxhole.
Victor roared once, but it was cut off almost immediately. Marie couldn't tell why; all she could see was a small portion of the copse in front of them, and nothing above or behind. Mortimer leapt – literally leapt – away in a huge bound that covered the entire length of bare ground. He gripped a thin tree, which swayed back and forth due to his movement, before leaping to another. It was astonishing to see someone Afflicted use their powers in such an overt way. He seemed more natural this way, leaping as frogs and toads might from mudbank to water.
She heard nothing for several more minutes, and in that time she tried – futilely – to free herself from the tree limb. Before she could get very far there was a sudden series of loud noises – screams, shouts, and some use of power in some audible way, before the very last person she hoped would find her did. Victor had returned; and he had shed some of his furs.
He was bigger and more muscular than she had expected. His square jaw, neck, and chest were covered in blood, whose she did not know, and a long boil from a burn was healing before her eyes. He grabbed her by the shoulder once more and slashed through the remains of the leash that kept her locked to this spot. Her own work had only made it easier for him to rip her from the hidden location. Hoisting her easily onto his shoulder, she struggled and bucked against him as she tried to wriggle free. She wasn't going to let him carry her off so easily.
Victor kept up a broken stream of curses and threats as they crashed through the undergrowth of the moderately crowded forest. He seemed to be running from something, but what, she couldn't tell. Bouncing on his shoulder wasn't fun, in fact it seemed to strike her in the solar plexus on every down thrust and she was soon winded as if she too were running from the unseen foe.
Before she become even further miserable, Victor skidded to a stop. He tumbled her off his shoulder and gripped her tight by her neck before her knees hit the leave carpeted ground. The gloves were still on his hands and they did not keep him from a vice-like grip on her throat. She gagged – or as much as she could with that disgusting rag in her mouth – as his voice rose to address someone.
"Know you're here," Victor half-growled, half-shouted. "You can stop tracking me; the instant you fire is the instant I relieve the chit of her throat. Y'wanna be responsible for her death? Ah, there's a good lad," he said as a man – his eyes were set on the two in the center of the small opening – stepped forward, melting out of the woods as his clothing, well suited to moving stealthily in a forest, kept him from being immediately perceived.
The man was dark, with dark eyes and his head shaved smooth. He had a crossbow knocked and ready, and oddly enough, a long club that was hollow. That hung at his waist, and down one leg. He made no move towards it and merely trained the bolt on Victor. His mouth was set in a grim, determined line as he stared down the enormous man and his captor. "In the name of Lord Xavier; you are to come with me peaceably – " before he could say more, Victor began to huff a low, amused laugh.
"You know as well as I that I won't come with you anywhere, lawman." He sneered, and Marie could see that he was right; the man wore an armband that included the device of Xavier; he must be one of the many in her uncle's employ. "Done nothing wrong, 'n I'll continue to do so the minute you leave."
The shorter man stared down the hulking beast with courage that Marie found admirable; she knew she wouldn't be so composed if roles had been reversed. Even without her skin she knew, before their first day of marching, that Victor was a rapist and a murderer. She would have likely experienced one, if not both if it hadn't been for her Affliction.
"I figured you wouldn't. Very well, let the girl go, and no harm will come to you this day." He said calmly, but at that Victor laughed harder.
"The only way I get out alive is with her, isn't it, lawman?" Victor spat. He took a step back, and haltingly, Marie was forced to follow. Her arms creaked with pain, and her fingers scrabbled uselessly for the millionth time against her back. Victor pulled her flush to him and she writhed in distaste, wanting to be free of the man; he smelled of his skins, sweat, and blood. He gave her a firm shake, almost taking her from her feet. "Put the crossbow down and walk away; you're not going to win this battle."
Surprisingly, the man did, setting the crossbow on the ground and smiling at Victor. "That's true. My bolt won't find its home today, beast. All I needed to do was wait for everything else to work out."
"Ever-" were the last sounds that Victor uttered. Suddenly she heard a loud noise like a high-pitched whistle, then the flesh around Victor's head burst like a rotted melon under an axe, and Marie was showered in gore. The hand at her throat relaxed suddenly and she found herself able to breathe…well…a little better. Then the body slumped forward, then fell atop her, crushing her with its weight. She wanted out, and her filthy skirts did her no service in getting free.
The dark man was talking as he shoved the enormous body off her, to someone she couldn't yet see. "Cassidy; you nearly killed her," he said in reproach as he pulled her free from the enormous man. "What took you?"
"Hadda stop the leaping menace from coming up on y'behind yer back," came the quick reply of another man, one with a slightly higher voice, but the obvious accent of those in the southern lochs. "'ey now, she's got fancy clothes. Wonder if we know 'er? Hard t'tell; looks like they had made her go a long way."
"Alright, well why don't we hear it from her – oh, sorry lass," he said in surprise as she pulled back from his ungloved hand. He had tried to take the gag from her mouth; but she had drawn back in obvious fear. "I won't hurt you, I promise" he said, his voice gentling. Marie shook her head vehemently, and when the other – his hair was bright red, nearly orange, moved to take the gag off, she shook her head even more so.
Perplexed, the men seemed at a loss before Marie decided to try to be more direct; she bowed low to show her hands in their painful position and cuffed fetters as if to ask them to remove that first. They seemed to understand. "Cassidy, d'ya mind if I do the honors?" the other man asked.
"Lucas, it's always a pleasure to see you work," the other man said genially as he walked over and steadied her with hands on her shoulders. "Don't worry lass, he'll take care of it. Just be still and let us do what needs to be done."
The other man, Lucas, moved around and unhooked the hollow tube from his waist. He set it above the few links between the cuffs that immobilized her arms behind her. "Cruel bastard," he said, spitting on Victor's corpse. A moment later something – she wasn't sure what – made a noise and thankfully, blessedly, her arms were free.
It took a moment for her arms – so used to staying that way – were able to move on her command. Stiffly they went up to her mouth and freed her from the gag that had become so common in the last few days.
Choking, she spat out the taste of the damp rag and managed a somewhat ragged "My thanks, goodmen." She gratefully accepted the waterskin Lucas offered her. The first mouthful was washed about and spat onto the forest floor. She thought she would never get that taste out. "My most sincere thanks," she said and took a steadying breath.
Cassidy's hands hovered about her, as if worried she might be overcome and faint in relief right in front of them. She did neither of these things, and merely took another swig of water. "I am Marie of Lodes Keep," It felt so strange to say that, alien on her tongue now that her father had emotionally, if not materially, disowned her. Even so, she was not yet cast out formally, or if she was even considered alive. However, it would be the only way to address her uncle, if she gave voice to her heritage.
"My uncle – "
"Your nuncle will be relieved that you live, lady," Cassidy said, knuckling his forelock. "I had heard that Lodes Darkholme was ransacked by Nur's foul abominations. Your mother, and your father, they…we've had no word of them, lady."
Cold dread gripped Marie's stomach as the ever-present companions in her mind offered her some solicitous words and emotions. She took a moment to gather herself, and she nodded. "I thank you, good sirs, not only for your rescue, but your words. They are most appreciated." Eirene in her mind seemed approving, perhaps she could play the part of gracious lady better now than she had even a few days ago. Logan, however, snorted derisively. He hoped that her contemptible mother and casually cruel father were indeed gone. It made for a strange place in her head; a part of her agreed with him – and felt ashamed to think of her parents so – while the other recoiled in shock at the northman's unconstrained feelings.
"Were you there?" Lucas asked, ever the lawman. It seemed that he was intent on getting her report on the attack prior to even bringing her to her kinsman. She started to reply but paused and looked down at the fallen body of Victor. It seemed to be enough of a reminder to the two men that they were still in the middle of the woods. "Never you mind. Lady, may we escort you to Greymalkin?"
She nodded, feeling brittle and easy to break but followed the men as they began to trek towards her uncle's stronghold. It would be a few days before they would arrive, but once they did, Marie knew that things were going to get better.