As the morning sun turns over to the afternoon and the dry desert heat begins to make Jade feel as if his hair is burning, he finds Wit at the docks, gathering information.
Already, he feels heartened. They may have a complete liability in the form of one clueless, obnoxious noble on their hands, but he's assessed what he's got to work with, and none of the others are anywhere near matching Luke fon Fabre in function or form—which is to say that they are assets on this mission, civilian or not, and considering the way this assignment has gone thus far, Jade will take what he can get.
It says something, he thinks, that a ragtag bunch of misfits are the best chance of getting to Baticul that the Fon Master has had yet.
"'Fraid the ship won't be in working order for a few more days yet," the old man with wispy hair and a flyaway beard is saying, putting the crate he was about to lift back down and looking Wit in the eye. "Sand's gotten into every crevice, and the boys say enough of it has gotten into the engines that they'll need to inspect it all thoroughly before gettin' on the move again. Safety 'n all that."
A short distance away, Jade watches as Wit shrugs with an easy smile. "Shame," she says. "I suppose it's the way of things, but I'd hoped for something different."
The old man chuckles, shaking his head. "Hope, eh? A man's got no time for that 'less he makes it himself. And that's what we're doin' here, puttin' the rest of the ships back in workin' order. Be seein' ya around, I expect. Heave ho!"
With that cheerful rallying cry, the man hefts the crate up onto his hip and strides in the direction of a gaggle of young sailors eyeing the sand-encrusted riggings with uncertainty. Wit watches him go, gaze thoughtful, but when the man starts giving the younger men a tongue-lashing she rolls her eyes and makes her way over to Jade. With a somewhat self-conscious smile that pulls at the scar below her lip, she adjusts the high collar of her jacket.
Interesting that she appears unbothered by the desert heat, despite wearing a long-sleeved sweater and a jacket—though, Jade supposes, it does make sense if she works for a blacksmith. "Well, there you have it, Colonel. Sorry to make you wait. What brings you here?"
"You," he says, setting an easy pace toward the stairs up to the city. As they walk, he notices that her eyes constantly flicker from place to place. Not nerves—intentional awareness. That will be useful. "It appears that Ion has something he'd like the whole group to hear."
What it is he doesn't know for sure, though he can guess. Ion had been listening rather intently as the innkeeper went on about the weather and the Planet Storm, and the only thing in the whole spiel that hadn't been irrelevant drivel had been at a point where the old woman came back from dealing with a customer and mentioned that they'd mentioned a rumor about the Zao Ruins out in the desert.
Apparently, during the sandstorm there'd been a fonic disturbance in the ruins. Whatever it was, it caused an earthquake and caused some of the surrounding portions of the desert to cave in.
Apparently.
The old biddy had also said that there'd been an entire caravan there at the time and they'd been swallowed up by ten metric tons of sand. Given that the sandstorm has prevented travel across most of the Chesedonian desert, Jade is very nearly certain that she had been exaggerating for the "benefit" of her audience, which had included Ion, Luke, and a gaggle of small children, but further investigation at Malkuth's local military offices proved that there was at least a kernel of truth in what she'd been saying.
Ion, he knows, has been troubled by the weather and its oddities; most likely, he'll ask to investigate. With the ships out of order, they might as well.
Anise hasn't shown yet, after all, and if her prolonged absence is due in part to her taking the time to send Kain back to Grand Chokmah as Jade suspects she has, it will be a few more days yet.
Wit gives him a sidelong look that returns his attention to the present. "Me, huh? I feel special. But that works out pretty well, since I'm going to have to be the one to break the news about the ships to Luke."
Jade smiles. It's a nice smile. "You have my sympathies."
"He's not that bad," she ventures. He regards her with a single raised eyebrow. She makes a valiant effort, but in the end, she deflates. "…Yeah, he is. I've heard some crazy stories about nobles, but he just takes the cake."
"If you'll indulge my curiosity… how is it that you came to accompany such an august personage, Elisa?" he asks. At the sound of her name she jumps and gives him a wide-eyed look; he ignores it and waits, though he does file away the reaction for further examination later. Even if she had actually been trying the other night when she'd said her name change was merely for professional purposes, there's obviously something more to it—though it isn't his business to pry.
Wit runs a hand through her hair and laughs, the sound of it only slightly nervous. "Funny story, actually. I was camped in Tataroo Valley, left my spot to help a man whose carriage had broken down, and came back to Luke eating my stew."
"My, my. That's quite the first impression." Admittedly, her experience really isn't any better than the introduction he'd gotten to Luke—who the hell are you, indeed, and first thing in the morning too—but a noble being that terrible with social skills? Much like everything else about the boy, those poor interpersonal skills are highly unusual for his background. Added together, well, it's very suspicious indeed. Suspicious and annoying.
She snorts. "I know, right? I found out that the two of them were headed to Baticul. Not sure what they were doing in Tataroo, but I wasn't sure they could find their way out of a paper bag, carrying on like they were. I felt bad, so I offered to help them out." With a shrug, she sidesteps a man carrying lumber on his shoulder. "By the time we got here on the forty-fourth, Guy and Ion were already at the inn, and that was that."
"It took three weeks to get to Chesedonia from Tataroo Valley?" Jade raises his eyebrows at that. For civilians capable of combat, it should've only taken a few days.
Wit gives him a look. Head tilted, eyes disdainful and half-lidded, eyebrows slightly pinched—it all goes together to create one of the most profound looks of derision Jade has ever encountered, which is quite impressive considering his friendship with the Emperor. "Luke insisted on fighting every single monster he saw, at least half of the ones he didn't, and got us lost in a forest by running off and tripping into a river."
"Ah. Naturally."
"We also had to stop in a village for a few days so that Tear could instruct him on the use of fonic fields," she says, briefly leaning her weight against the sandstone wall of a house to avoid a dusty child dashing out of the street that leads to the marketplace. She pauses, looks at him for a long, inestimable moment, then continues. "…It was very strange."
Jade also pauses. "Was it, now?"
"I don't know, I've never met anyone else whose fon slots felt entirely unused," Wit says lightly as they move past the market streets and drift into the less-crowded residential areas. They're headed toward a shortcut back to the inn, he knows; he'd seen her leave through the alley next to it this morning. "Bit funny, that's all. He's a seventh fonist, y'know? Usually, the Order snaps them up quick."
"Well, he is a noble. Perhaps Duke Fabre didn't want to send his son off for training. After all, there was that kidnapping attempt Malkuth was blamed for a few years back." Though he presents her with an argument, he isn't terribly surprised to find that her assessment of Luke's situation is sounding very similar to his.
It doesn't take much for the cracks to start showing, apparently.
She shakes her head. "See, I'd thought that might be the case, but the Princess is a trained seventh fonist; I've seen her heal people on the streets in Baticul. He's ostensibly her fiance. Surely they'd receive the same treatment? The danger presented by an untrained seventh fonist is very well-known. And as much as I hate to say it, Luke's got raw fonic power in spades—but absolutely no finesse. It makes me wonder."
"Should a Kimlascan citizen really be informing a Malkuthian colonel of this?" Jade wonders, stepping over a sandy pile of wrapped-up rugs.
"Ah, I'm still Malkuthian. Passport and all," Wit says, diffident. "I've just got a work visa."
The plot thickens. He shakes his head, smile wry. "My, my. You're full of surprises, aren't you, Elisa?"
"Says Colonel Jade Curtiss, foremost scientific genius of the modern age," Wit tosses back, living up to her assumed name—though he isn't sure he likes the way she says his name, like he's especially famous outside of Malkuth.
Infamous, maybe. He's certainly butted heads with more prominent researchers in both Sheridan and Belkend enough times, and that's ignoring the exploits that earned him the name "Necromancer".
Still, there's no reason for her to know how he feels about that. So he lets that go without comment and leads the way through the alley. They pause on the inn porch, glance at each other—here goes, her smile and raised brow says—and he opens the door with a marked lack of enthusiasm.
"Damn, it's hot. And sandy. Man, I hate sand… Wish we were going to the oasis…"
Silence.
Luke looks back at the group when he feels the weight of their stares on his back. "What? What is it?"
"Oh, nothing," Wit says, and the unappreciative look he sends her tells her that her expression is a tad too open to lend any sort of pleasant neutrality to her words. There are only so many times one can tolerate minute variations on sand is so sandy, especially when those variations are accompanied by things like Luke flipping his hair and whipping half of them in the face with it; just because she and Tear had managed to teach him that travel was rough in the preceding weeks unfortunately does not also mean that he learned not to whine about it.
When even Ion has a strained air about him, it means you've gone too far. Wit smiles back at Luke and tells herself she only takes a little bit of pleasure in the way his scowl intensifies.
The desert is hot. Water is wet. They were never going to go anywhere near the oasis, despite what Luke seems to have believed; if he's irritated about the sand in his boots and every seam of his shirt rubbing against grimy skin heated by the sun, well, everyone else is too.
She breathes in and tries not to let the way the skin of her back is chafing against her customary long-sleeved shirt visibly bother her; it always aches at times like these, but she'll be damned if she goes anywhere in the vicinity of behaving like Luke.
"It's just… we know," Guy says, diplomatic. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and shakes it with a brief frown. "Most people don't appreciate being reminded of it at every turn."
"Yes, who was it that started an argument with me every time I checked our location because, and I quote, 'it's so damn annoying, stop it already'?" Tear asks dryly.
Luke's cheeks, already flushed pink from the heat, turn red. "Shut up!"
"My, my. That's not a very polite way to speak to a lady, Luke," Jade says, a distinctly taunting note in his voice. "What do they teach nobles in etiquette classes these days, I wonder…"
"I didn't take any stupid etiquette classes!" Luke yells, walking faster.
"Explains a lot," Wit mutters, exchanging a glance with Jade. Guy just sighs and pulls one of the shirts meant to protect them from the desert heat out of his pack, shuffling into it as he goes to catch up with Luke.
Ion coughs. Tear falls back some, putting a hand on his shoulder, and he gives her a brief smile. "My apologies for interrupting, but… I've been seeing animal tracks on the surrounding dunes for the past ten minutes or so."
"Indeed," Jade agrees, ever the observant one. "There are also human tracks. I do believe we'll be running into some sooner or later—"
Around the next dune, Luke screeches in surprise. Guy yells something Wit doesn't quite catch, sounding exasperated, and the clashing noise of metal against metal grates against her ears. The breeze that carried the sounds to them dies down, and the noise grows fainter, but there's no mistaking the beginning of a battle.
"—Or now," Jade finishes, dry. Tear gives him a suspicious look. He smiles.
That's not innocent at all, Wit thinks, but whatever his reasons, Jade wouldn't have let any sort of ambush sneak up on them if he didn't think it could be handled. She rolls her eyes at him and breaks into a jog to catch up to the action.
"Colonel…" Tear starts.
He adjusts his glasses. "Yes?"
"Did you let them sneak up on us on purpose?" she asks, arms crossed.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he says with a somewhat reproving look. "Come now, we'll miss the battle. And wouldn't that be a shame?"
He makes his way across the sands sedately, hands in his pockets. Tear shakes her head. "Incorrigible."
"Oh, it's not that bad," Ion says. "He's very reliable, you know. I trust him with my life."
"If he left you with me, I suppose he's trusting me to take care of you," Tear says. "I think I'll sit this one out; they're probably going to need healing afterward."
A loud boom sounds. Nothing comes for a short moment after that-then Wit swears loudly. A responding cackle, feminine and unfamiliar, is cut off by an alarmed shriek as first fonons swirl visibly around the site of the battle and strike downward with what sounds like a faint roaring.
"Oh my," Ion murmurs, eyes trailing after the residue left by the fonons. Though it would have been hard to notice if he hadn't been looking for it, patches of darkness remain in the air above.
Tear follows Ion's line of sight and frowns. "…What does that mean?"
"I think that if neither of us know, perhaps it's best that we don't," Ion says, the robes of his office trailing against the sand as he walks. His words are punctuated by another explosion. "Shall we go see the damages?"
"Let's wait for a minute, Fon Master. It sounded like bandits—if they're not all killed and they catch sight of you, it could put the mission in jeopardy. Plus, you need to keep yourself hydrated." Tear hands him her canteen. Ion opens his mouth to protest, but she frowns at him. He takes the canteen and drinks without comment.
When Tear doesn't scold him further, Ion is distinctly reminded of Anise's missing presence. She would fuss him into oblivion if given half a chance, and he finds that he misses the way she hovers and presses and pries, annoying as others seem to find it. He clasps his hand to his chest and bows his head.
I pray for her safety, he thinks, a small smile finding its way to his face when he pictures her face scrunched up into a scowl at the thought of needing divine protection. And that we'll be reunited soon.
The sound of the battle dies down. He hands the canteen back to her. "Thank you, Tear."
"Of course, Fon Master…" She catches herself, gives him an apologetic look. "I mean—Ion. My apologies."
"Please, don't worry about it."
Tear and Ion round the bend nearly as soon as the last bandit falls. Luke is sitting down with his hands in his head, eyes vacant, while Guy crouches beside him with a frown. Jade and Wit are busily disposing of the bodies of the bandits they'd just fought; Jade's gaze rests thoughtfully on Wit, who waves at Tear and Ion.
"It was a good idea to wait," Wit says, stepping away from the nearest pile of sand. "They took themselves out when they lost the upper hand. It was… messy."
"I assume that's why Luke is sitting over there?" Tear asks, frowning.
Wit nods, brows pulled together. "Got a front-row view."
"He'll have to adjust," Jade says. "The Oracle Knights will likely have increased the intensity of their operations in Chesedonia by the time we return. There's no guarantee that we'll be able to avoid casualties."
"But I can't be that cold!" Luke bursts out, standing and facing all of them with wide eyes. "I… they… they were people, they were human lives!"
"Nobody's saying that they weren't, Luke," Wit says after an excruciating moment of awkward silence. This is a thread of conversation that has lain dormant for a week or so, and she wishes things were different. Irritating, obnoxious, unbelievably selfish—Luke is all of these things, yes, but when he lets his guard down enough to show it, like now, his heart is soft. Too soft for the world they live in. That sort of innocence doesn't have a place in reality, no matter how the selfishness that accompanies it manifests.
But could it? a small part of her mind asks. How many times have people had to carve out homes for themselves in a reality that seems to contradict their existence? How many times have you had to?
There's no time to think about it. The present demands her attention, and so she steps away from the bodies and fixes her eyes on Luke's horrified face.
Tear nods. She glances at the bodies—a teenage boy, a man, and a woman, all with hair a soft shade of purple, all thankfully face-down—and she looks away. "They were people. But as true as that is, they attacked you. They wanted to take your life away. There was no other way to get through. Would you have stood there and let them take that away from you?"
"But you didn't—!" Luke swallows, passing his hand over his eyes. He looks away, over the sloping sands. "I… I can't accept that."
"You have the choice not to fight, Luke, like we've said before. We can protect you, too, if it bothers you that much," Wit says.
Luke looks down. "I… I can't be a burden, either."
"Well, either way, we're wasting time," Jade says, hands resting behind his back. He looks out over the dunes at the horizon, where a dim, dark shape is visible. "I'd like to get as close to the ruins as we can today. Shall we have you move to the middle with Ion?"
"…No." He shakes his head and his hair bounces with the motion. "I can fight. And I will fight. It's just…"
"It's not wrong to care, Luke," Wit says, thinks of a time when she was younger, and closes her eyes. "In fact, it's very honorable of you. But it might do you well to remember that at least two of us are soldiers, and I myself was a mercenary for a few years. We have different responsibilities placed upon us… responsibilities we may not always like, but we're bound to them nonetheless. There is a divide between the heart and the mind that is necessary for us to do what we do every day."
Luke's eyes remain fixed on his feet. He makes no response.
"Let's get a move on. We can't exactly stay here," Jade says, no trace of levity left on his face. The last of the graves, sandy and shallow, are dug without comment by Guy and Wit; soon enough the bandits have been buried, and they set out across the sands with Ion alone in the middle of their formation. Silence reigns until Tear notices a loose button on the side of Luke's jacket, and normalcy slowly returns as Luke squawks and picks a fight with her, but his pallor remains and does not quite leave. Another piece of innocence tarnished forever.
Wit hums a short strain of a strong, earthy, ancient song that dances on the edge of hearing and does not mind when Ion joins in with the near-intangible melody of the wind that accompanies it. Together the song sounds far-away and desolate, and it quiets the others, who listen in with varying degrees of confusion and interest.
It fits the mood. The music always does; fonons vibrate in harmony with one another in every space of every place, resonating, whispering, telling stories about the essence of it—but usually, the songs can't be heard unless you listen for them. The desert is hot and grimy and endless, and the wind that whips across it is hotter and harsher, but it can be called quiet if one has the patience to listen.
It took her a long time to learn how to listen.
Up ahead, Luke is eyeing the dark shape of the ruins in the distance with trepidation. It makes her smile.
That part of Luke's innocence may be gone forever, buried beneath the sand with three bandit siblings, but he is young enough to be wary of the dark. What an interesting conundrum their fon Fabre is.
