They have come all this way, from the dying borderlands lands between Kazimierz and Victoria, all the way to the drab greens of the Leithanian border mountains. A hell of a journey, and the caravan only keeps picking up more Infected fleeing Kazimierz purges as they cross. Ifrit holds in the feeling that Leithania would be no different than Kazimierz, if only so that she won't upset Eyja. After all, if Leithania is such a safe haven for the Infected, why weren't more folks making a run for the border?
Eyja is very adamant about it though, that her people weren't like the other nations. Except… well wars have this funny way of making folks desperate.
'Once they know who I am, they will let us in.' Eyja kept promising. A groundless promise at that, made from flimsy things like "hope" and "trust", you couldn't feed starving people with those though, only keep them from turning on one-another… for a little while at least. Across the border though, they are safe from the Knights at least.
That big thrumming tower at the center of the village they were approaching didn't help Ifrit feel any more safe, however. The caravan slows, Ifrit and Eyja getting out of their truck to parlay. Well, "parlaying" for Eyja, "scouting" for Ifrit. She leaves behind her wand at her friend's request, but she still pulls the shield from the back seat before jogging to catch up to Eyja.
"Halt! Who goes?" A lone Caprinae calls out from the outskirts. He stands right in the middle of the road, staff brandished as if it gave him some sort of authority over the caravan. Well, it sort of did, but only because they wanted to seem amicable to potential hosts; they didn't answer to anyone.
"It is me, Adele Naumann," Eyja replies, raising her voice to a bird-song's pitch, "My parents and I used to live here."
The Leithanian regards Eyja for a moment before his eyes fall on the rest of the ragged caravan behind her… and then onto Ifrit. They narrow at once- Ifrit knows that look. Though she dresses in the Rhodes Island coat, that name held no meaning anymore. Though she wears the emblem of Rhine Labs, she had not the authority to embrace it...
"Begone, doom-walkers! There is no sanctuary for your kind here!" The Caprinae pelts out, slamming the staff against the road hard enough that they could hear its resonating impact. Or maybe he was using Arts, as the tower hums to life at that very moment.
"Eyja…" Ifrit, feeling increasingly unnerved, watches as more and more people come out from the village to see what the commotion was about.
"They are my people, Ifrit." Eyja smiles at her, warm and naïve before turning back to the village spokesman, "Please, if only but a moment of respite at the edge of your lands, perhaps trade for food and supplies?" She calls out, arms spread wide as if to show there was no animosity.
"Your silver-tongued lies will not work here, for we can defend ourselves from your Arts, witch! We have heard the news of a precession of Infected heralding the coming of a Catastrophe! Only death and ashes are left in their wake!"
Well, news travels fast apparently, or at least it seems like it travels fast when you are stuck walking the dead lands between nations. Funny how hardship and hopelessness makes time stretch out...
"Please, Speaker, we harbor no ill will nor harm in our hearts. We only wish a brief respite and we will be back on our way!" Eyja cries out, hands clenched together in supplication and perhaps a little bit of prayer. That cut in her voice though, that strain… Ifrit hates hearing that pain, hates people that make Eyja sound like that.
Though Ifrit left her wand behind for this little bit of mouth-flapping, she still has the focus in her shield if it came down to it.
And it just might come down to "it". The folks that gather at the edges of town... they are all wearing hooded raincoats or heavy jackets. Odd that they chose to wear those when there is no rain here in the middle of summer. At first Ifrit thinks them villagers, but under a more scrutinizing eye, she can make out the weapons, the crossbows, the staves, the wands…
"That will not be us this day!"
"Doomwalkers, Heralds of Catastrophe… I'll give it to this guy, he comes up with cool names for us." Ifrit mumbles, tightening her grip on the shield's handle and hefting its weight up. The burden was getting too heavy again, the voices were whispering to her that this was not going to end well.
"Ifrit, don't." Eyja turns the moment she hears Ifrit's hand twist on the handle-
The tower pulses, sending a horrid wave of Arts outward.
Crossbows raise from beneath coats, snapping bolts with indiscriminate aim.
The crack of energy, projectile arts of all shapes and sizes.
Ifrit hisses, feeling the surge course through her like a beast trying to burst forth from her very blood.
She is in front of Eyja in an instant, shield held up, Arts pumping through her and into the focus. Amplification, a controlled release despite the rush of energy that she jams into it.
Just like Saria used to... to protect.
White-hot flames erupt from the sides of her burden; a wall of fire blasting up from the ground besides Ifrit. Great protective wings of searing energy that incinerates bolt and Arts alike with overwhelming power. Shouts of surprise, screams, the fear in their confused voices even though Ifrit only cast out to sides and not at them. Yes, Ifrit is a walking Catastrophe, but she is a controlled Catastrophe. She plants the shield into the soft earth, keeping her connection to the focus channeling as she steps through her own flames and towards the terrified ambushers.
"Now that wasn't very nice, was it?" Ifrit yells, letting the anger and indignation fuel her further. The wall of fire behind her flares higher, casting her shadow long and hauntingly towards the ones who had ignited her. "You'd kill innocent people, huh? Just fire off into a crowd as long as you know they're Infected?"
The Arts tower sends out another pulse, a horrid head-wrenching pain… but was it any worse than what she suffers daily? No… if anything it only quiets the voices in her head, letting her take another menacing step forward. What is that thing again? The Doctor… the Doctor had mentioned them before from an old operation. Gramophones? They react to Arts, don't they?
Ifrit can feel it, the weak Arts that hold control over the tower stemming from Caprinae who thought he had them all dead-to-rights. With one welling surge from within, she channels her Arts into the Gramophone, pushing out the other's presence instantly.
Like blowing out a candle- like flushing a toilet, she muses.
If Ifrit's initial display of power had shaken this group, seeing their little toy shut off breaks them.
"K-kill the devil!" The Caprinae speaker screams, dropping his staff to run, but apparently he didn't understand how "morale" works. Seeing their leader run shatters the rest, the rabble throwing down their own weapons and scattering to the proverbial hills.
Ifrit can feel the tower calling out for an owner. She can put more power into this thing, make it theirs. It seems pretty useful, after all, and it comes with a nice little village to call home to boot-
"Ifrit, stop! Heroes protect everyone! " Eyja screams.
Ifrit can hear the pain, hear the searing in Eyja's voice, and like that, her flames go out.
And she sees what Eyja 'sees'.
Villagers cowering, innocents fleeing with what they can fit in their arms, people praying that it would be quick…
They stare at her with fear and hopelessness, ready to be devoured by the holocaust that Ifrit brings wherever she walks.
'Ifrit, you have the power to save lives.' The Doctor whispers clearer than the other ghosts, 'Never forget that feeling.'
"I've never forgotten, Doctor." Ifrit mumbles to herself, turning her back on the villagers. She moves to pick her burden back up, her step faltering for a split-second as that question rears its ugly head once again.
"But… what happens when I have to take lives to save others? Isn't that…"
She never had the chance to ask the Doctor that when she was younger, how could she have? She hadn't realized… she hadn't ever realized what she was doing back then-
"We can't stay here. For their sake we can't." Ifrit whispers to Eyja as she passes, casting a glance back to the village.
"I… yes, you are right. Best not overstay our welcome… but do you think that they will-"
"They will negotiate." Ifrit winces, the throbbing pain in her head slowly drowning out the world around her. The haze was coming. "Make sure your people know that we will trade on fair terms, we're not here to exploit them with force."
"Iffy?"
"I need… I need to step away. Need to talk to them-" Ifrit waves towards the gathered leaders of the caravan. Like squabbling tribes folk, each used to being in charge… she hates them, but they were the ones that the refugees rallied behind, they were the only way to keep everyone glued together and safe.
Except Ifrit walks right past them. She needs to talk, but not to them. The ghosts in her head squabble too, and their words are far more pressing than any of the living around her. She could tell them all to shut up once she was in the sanctity of her and Eyja's truck. Eyes follow her, and she is never sure if they are real or not, so she always just assumes people are watching her; especially after that last display. She never can let them weigh her down though, never let them question herself any more than she already does.
"Did I hear them right? We're not staying here?"
"Ehh? Is your hearing that good?"
"Thats what the Sarkaz told Lady Eyja-"
"Why are we listening to a Sarkaz of all people? What does she know about finding a home that will take her?" Someone says from the huddle, in a voice dripping with contempt that had forced the words louder than he most likely wanted.
Those words. Those words bite deep.
Ifrit spins on her heel, stomping her way to the gathered group of gossips, with all scattering back to their carts and wagons except for one who had dared.
How did he know? How did he know that no one wanted her? Not even her real parents wanted her- sold her off to a lab. The only ones who ever gave a shit were all either dead or dying-
The fire burns inside, and all it would take is a snap of the fingers, a focus of her ire onto a single point, and this sad excuse for a person would be a pile of ashes-
And Ifrit pushes it down. Heroes don't… heroes don't give in to their emotions like that. She spits on the ground, physically expelling that vitriol with Arts, watching as the glob sizzles and steams on the ground.
"Guess my hearing is just as good." Ifrit snarls as a young Caprinae man stands his ground before her ire. "I'm not leading you. Eyja is." She points to where Eyja was trying to calm the villagers, the outline of her best friend helping her push the anger down further.
"But you talk to her. You're influencing her, demon." The young man says, puffing his chest all the more when he sees how Ifrit's face twists with confusion.
And then she snaps.
"The fuck did you call me?" Ifrit's head twitches, the anger ready to slip its already strained leash. Her hand spasms, a mote of fire kindling in her palm.
"Ifrit!" Eyja calls, those beautiful harmonic notes of Ifrit's name… low to high, a tapering tail of a hopeful crescendo-
"Peace, Luft." Eyja intercedes between them at once- how did she get back here so fast? She places a calming hand on the young man's shoulder before taking her place at Ifrit's side. "Ifrit is a counselor to me, that should be no secret. She's my best friend, nothing changes that." Eyja beams a smile so peaceful and proud that it damn near drives Ifrit's heart into the ground. The flame is gone, stamped out by the only person who knows fire as well as Ifrit.
"Miss Eyjafjalla, I only voice the concern of many in the caravan. Not all of them are refugees from Rhodes Island, they don't know your friend." Luft shakes his head, pointedly questioning Ifrit's place with tone of voice alone.
"They fear me because I'm strong and they are weak." Ifrit snorts back, taking Luft by surprise that she so brazenly voices both her damning pride and his own unspoken accusation. Ifrit cocks her head to the scared Caprinae, her wild grin growing wider as she drinks in his panic, "They all saw how I fucking wrecked those Infected hunters back in Kazimierz, right? Today's show was nothing compared to that , so I bet they started thinking 'who is going to take us in when they have something that crazy strong with them?' Am I onto something here?"
"Iffy." Eyja whispers, tugging Ifrit back, but Ifrit gently shrugs her off. Another step towards her doubter, watching the Caprinae man shrink despite him being taller than her.
"Listen here, Luft." Ifrit growls, nearly nose-to-nose with him, "I'm fucking strong , but I choose to use it for others, not myself; and that means even for a sniveling ungrateful little shit like you and the people whispering behind my back. That's what separates a hero from a villain , right?"
Luft says nothing, his voice coming out as a terrified squeak. How Ifrit wants to laugh in his face, to taunt how he sounds like a little Zalak woman now…
She breathes it out, the vitriol puffs from between her teeth as vapors of smoke, a doused fire hissing its last ember.
"Who else would know the pain of being an outcast better than a Sarkaz?" Ifrit asks, channeling Vigna's words like a spell. It makes her heart rise up from the ashes, if only for a moment- she would thank the ghost of her friend later.
"Well, Luft? Tell me, who else?" Ifrit presses, glancing to where Luft hides his Oripathy crystals in shame, like he could somehow sneak his way back into the "real" world. When Luft squeaks again about how he doesn't know, Ifrit backs off, letting him breathe again. Poor fool just doesn't understand his own situation, still clings to that false hope.
"Fighting amongst ourselves, leaving people behind… such divides only weaken the us all, Luft. We must stand together; that is what Rhodes Island had done for the Infected." Eyja painfully says. Ifrit can see how Eyja bites back her own sadness, and for once it is Ifrit comforting Eyja with a gentle touch to the arm.
"They… will trade with us, as long as what we are trading them are not contaminated." Eyja says, glancing to Ifrit.
It makes Ifrit spit her contempt to the dirt. Though Eyja can't see Ifrit's scowl, her friend still frowns slightly.
"What do they take us for? Uncivilized vagabonds?"
"Not everyone has safety protocols like Rhodes Islands had." Eyja reminds Ifrit, "Their caution is understandable."
"Doesn't make it less rude-"
"C-can I go?" Luft squeaks from beneath the shadow of Ifrit and Eyjafjalla. Ifrit had completely forgotten about the little bug.
"Apologize to Ifrit. She saved lives today, Luft." Eyja turns her attention to Luft like a mother chiding a child.
"I'm sorry, miss Ifrit." Luft lowers his head, his voice cast low and supplicating. Ifrit didn't buy it one bit, but she accepts his hollow words and watches as he scrambles away. Eyja is too kind to two-faced opportunists like that one.
"He just wants to bang you, Eyja." Ifrit says, watching Luft disappear into his covered wagon near the back of the caravan.
"I-I-Ifrit!?"
"You literally cannot see the way he leers at you. Like, all the time when he thinks no one is watching-"
"Ifrit!"
"-maybe it's a power thing. Like, if he gets you then he gets control of the caravan?"
"Iffy!"
Eyja's voice cuts through the haze in Ifrit's mind, the whispering banished if only for the moment. Her eyes pull Eyja into focus… her friend was looking at her, those once bright irises now milky white save for the tiny black specks that dot them.
"Iffy, did you take your suppressants? You used your Arts." Eyja's voice is soft as a feather… as soft as Olivia's... Ifrit tries to push past her friend when her mind drifts there.
"I'll get to it, I need to-"
"No." Eyja grabs Ifrit's hand before digging into her own tattered coat to get her pills.
"I have my own, Eyja." Ifrit protests, but Eyja's grip is deceptively strong. Ifrit tries to pull away, like the pill that her friend puts in her quaking palm was a mote of the most painful fire. Eyja says nothing else, Oripathy-ravaged eyes blankly staring into Ifrit, waiting.
Ifrit reluctantly puts the pill in her mouth, swallowing deep. Eyja relaxes, the soft smile back once again. She says comforting words, tells Ifrit to rest until she has calmed, that she can handle the trading deals. Of course Ifrit lets her, Eyja was better with people… it came naturally with being a social adjusted individual. Letting a misanthropic train-wreck be in charge of negotiations had its time and place, but not when you wanted to be nice.
When Eyja is gone, Ifrit pushes the pill out from under her tongue, spitting it out into her palm. A quiet apology for lying to Eyja, but she needs to get something off her mind in the most literal sense.
She needs... she needed... she...
She needed to talk to them. She needed to hear them once more. The suppressants… they kept her head clear, but then she couldn't hear them anymore.
The voices that she missed so dearly. Even if only a little bit longer she would keep them.