Lombardia's great turbines slowed their oscillating rotations as the great bulk of her body shifted out of aeromech mode and into her draconic form, the reinforced steel armour and her protected metallic flesh pressing into the short-clipped grass of the northern midlands. Balloon monsters nearby scurried away to avoid being crushed, the fragility of their bodies making them easy prey to whoever developed an urge to hunt them. A low rumble formed from the dragon's powerful jaws, gradually cutting the power to her engines and saving energy. The growl was soon drowned out by a seething hissing noise, exhaust from the burnt stamina manifesting itself as an expulsion of white hot steam, filtering through the chinks in her armour. A jackrabbit popped it's tawny brown head out of the entrance to it's hidden burrow, noticed the dragon, and disappeared again in a hurry. It knew when to lay low.
A white plastic hatch emerged from Lombardia's side, and a small ramp extended to the ground, making an impression on the dried and faded green grass. Two figures emerged from inside the immense machine, stretching the kinks out of their tired joints and blinking a little at the brightness of the noontime sun, as if they hadn't been exposed to full sunlight for a long while. Virginia was leaning slightly on Jet's shoulder as they descended from the dragon, more than a little sleepy. The drifter knew she should have tried to sleep while they had flown from the Secret Garden to Baskar Colony, but though she tried, she just couldn't let sleep claim her. Virginia worried too much about the others to rest.
Jet had to keep an arm around the girl's back so she wouldn't fall over, guiding Virginia down and forward. Waiting for a second, he turned around and addressed the dragon, meeting the great beast's intense gaze with his own unique violet, and strangely apathetic eyes. Jet could look at Lombardia without fear, not because of the friendship they shared, although it did occupy an important factor somewhere along the road, but because he and her were fundamentally the same kind of creature. An artificial one.
Lombardia… can you stick around for a little bit longer? Just wait here, we might need you sometime later today…He said telepathically, the only outward sign that he had spoken, a small inclining of his head to one side. The dragon let out an affirming emotion over the android, not even having to answer verbally in order to get her message across. She rumbled, and Jet nodded, slowly walking towards the town, carrying with him the temporarily dead weight that was Virginia Maxwell. He didn't object as much as he should have, and even smiled a little.
Chickens swarmed around his feet for awhile as Jet entered the town, the borders of the colony indicated by a set of twin banners, decorated with white and brown feathers. The android narrowly missed treading on a tiny baby chick, fluffy and bright yellow, and the adult hens eventually understood that Jet did not bear any feed for them to snack on, ushering their little chicks to a safer area. Baskar Colony was quiet, as it always was, and if Jet spoke out loud, probably half of the town would have easily heard him. The Baskars were right to call this place a colony, there weren't even enough people around to formulate a single village.
Cordell passed him by and offered the youth a curt nod before heading off for his duties, whatever that might be. Though small, Baskar was a place filled with purposeful, yet quiet, activity. Jet felt a little bit more confident as he saw Mearas tacked to a post near Gallows's house, indicating that the priest should have made it back safely. Mearas was happily grazing on the front lawn, and whinnied a bit to show recognition to the two drifters. Jet stopped for a few procrastinating moments to pat the stallion's nose in silent praise, before moving to the door, still hauling Virginia along with him.
There was dried blood on the entrance to the household, frozen in mid-drip.
He pressed his left hand onto the patch of reddish ichor, the wood underneath it dry and abrasive, yet thick and fortified. Like a thin layer of paint, the blood did not come off as he withdrew his hand, still plastered eagerly to the door. The bright light of the sun must have dried the blood firmly to it's foundation, meaning that it had been spilled a long time ago. A sensation of unease glided though Jet's mind, not quite sure if he should be worried or not. Everything else looked tranquil, and no alarm had been raised. With such a closely-knit place, if there had been a fight, at least one other person should have heard it. Assured of this, Jet entered.
Pushing the front door to the Caradine household wide open, her waited a moment before stepping in himself, years of experience learnt as a drifter prompting him to see if he would get jumped, first. He looked left and right, the room inside darkened a little by cloth sheets pinned to the walls, covering up the permanently opened windows. The fire was lit, and a weird-looking workbench was set up over the top of it. Jet was intrigued by the indescribable smell of herbs in the air, not unpleasant, just notable. With caution, Jet tightened his hold on Virginia by the slightest notch, and stepped up, closing the door behind him. All seemed to be well.
But Gallows sure didn't look like it. The priest was leaning up against the wall while he stirred whatever it was on the bench with a large wooden spoon, the hand he was immediately using twitching a little whenever he performed a movement with the other. In incredibly small amounts, tiny patches of burnt skin along his bare arms and cheek were red with irritation, some of the more severe ones having been treated with gauze and adhesive tape. His hair looked like something from out of a nightmare, all frizzed out worse than usual and sticking up in the wrong places, the white lock of hair that normally hung near his face just a white streak in an afro horribly gone wrong. Gallows looked troubled as he mixed up the weird concoction, then after a few seconds of Jet and Virginia just standing there, the two were finally noticed. Realizing that he had his hand wound gently around Virginia's waist, he suddenly let go and pulled away, going red.
Gallows greeted the youth heartily, slapping Jet on the back after he had set the spoon down, grinning. As the rough contact was made, Jet could feel the quivering of the big Baskar's frayed nerves through the movement, knowing that Gallows had recently gone through something incredibly painful. He guessed that it must have been Gallows's blood that was staining the front of the door outside, though Jet could see that the man was no longer bleeding. "Good to know you were luckier than I was!" Gallows crowed in his usual cheerful tone, feeling a hundred times better now that everyone was here together. He looked at Virginia, practically asleep on her feet. Then, his grin became more mischievous. "Heeeeey… Nothin' happened while I was gone, did it?" He winked. "You know what I mean…"
Jet shot the grinning man a disgusted look, throwing a small cloth parcel at him, where it bounced off the gauze stuck to the Baskar's face and landed in his open hands, tied loosely with a piece of string. Not using as much care as he should, he picked up the package and shook it, wondering what was inside. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Gallows." Jet sneered, looking away. "I'm not a hopeless womaniser like you are." Jet indicated the parcel half-heartedly, his violet eyes tired with exertion and lack of sleep. Still, they bore the unmistakable hint of pride. "We got you the aconite herb, flower, or whatever. Our job is done. I hope you managed to do the same." He said.
Gallows unfolded the cloth wrapping of the package and slowly revealed the light purple flower within, every bit as small and as frail as it looked. The purple petals were beginning to fade, which meant they had gotten it here just in time. When removed from the soil, aconite would wither and die within a matter of hours. "Yeah, I did." He replied, setting the plant with utmost care on the table. "Roykman gave it to me for free, he's a really nice guy sometimes. That was right after I got electrocuted, not that I'm complaining or anything…" He took the pot off the shelf, housing the rare herb, and showed it to Jet briefly before putting it away again, leaning against the wall. "Catherine already put it in the potion, now it's my turn to watch until everyone else gets back." He noticed Virginia. "Is she gonna be alright?"
The youth shrugged. "She'll be fine, just imitating a walking zombie, for now. None of us got much sleep last night, eh?" Gallows, chuckled, then nodded. Virginia looked unsteadily at the two men and climbed the stone stairs, back over to where the beds were located. There was a brief pause, then the sound of somebody hitting something soft and yielding, with finally silence and peace for the girl upstairs. Jet blinked a few times and turned back to Gallows, who was now stirring the mixture once more. "So, uh, where's Halle, Shane and Catherine?" The boy asked.
"Getting the last few parts of the antidote." Gallows answered readily. "They're in the storeroom on the other side of the colony. That's where all the prepared remedies and medicine are stored. I hope," He scratched the side of his nose, "That they find what they're looking for. And even more, I hope Catherine can do what she's meant to do. This antidote will be useless without it."
"Catherine?" Jet echoed, puzzled. "What can she do?"
He pulled the spoon out of the antidote and shook a few lingering drops off the tool with a couple of sharp and deft flicks, setting it on the table. The Baskar smiled, but it was a front for his own amount of uncertainty. He only knew what Shane and his Granny had told him. And even that was hard to understand. From what he could figure, this concoction was not really an antidote at all, it was merely a trigger to set the real cure in motion. The real cure was the only thing that could save him.
And that cure, was Catherine.
xxx
Halle had no problem sifting through all the many articles of junk and expired medicine in the dim storeroom, because she had personally memorized exactly where everything was meant to be, so as long as nobody had tampered with the placement of the items, she'd eventually find the object being searched for. The old woman's eyes worked poorly in the lack of light, so she navigated almost solely on her razor-sharp memory, not degraded one bit from her great age. Small boxes and pots were moved aside, and Shane helped her with all the heavier ones, while Catherine stood near the entrance and pondered on how she could help best. It didn't look like they needed much help at all.
Under his Grandmother's direction, Shane pulled out a small shoebox-sized container made of a thin and pale wood, lidded with a darker and older kind of timber. The two parts must have come from two different places in time. He opened it, took a brief look inside, and then smiled and nodded, resealing it and passing the box to Halle as she leaned her walking stick against the wall. It must have been very light, because no strain was placed upon the seemingly frail woman as she casually, rapped her knuckles on the lid, as if expecting a reply from inside.
"Sleeping." Shane said mysteriously. "Still potent." Halle agreed silently, before opening the container again and passing it to Catherine, turning the lid upside-down and slotting it under the base of the box so it would sit snugly in the ex-drifter's hands. It was very light, like she was holding a box filled with nothing at all. The atmosphere dimmed by the departure of proper light, a few seconds had to pass for her to focus upon the contents of the box, becoming surprised as a faint formless shape took proper form.
It looked a lot like a small carved wooden doll, with the skin flaky and peeling in many places, a little like a bizarre kind of potato, with feathery and green leaves sprouting from the top of it's small head. It was no bigger than the length of a human hand, and rested snugly in a small box stuffed with sheep's wool, cushioned quite comfortably in it's confined space. Catherine looked at the unique plant with the lid of the box resting under her free hand, in a bewildering way, it nearly seemed as if the plant was sleeping, like a tiny little baby. But it was only a plant, it could not possibly be alive in the way she was considering, could it? Unnerved, she meekly gave it back to Halle to hold.
"Shane, could you leave us for a while?" Said Halle, turning towards her grandson. "There are some things that I need to discuss with Catherine. Go and see if the potion is still brewing, make sure your infantile brother has not tampered with it." Catherine watched Shane shift a glance between both Halle and herself, before bowing politely and leaving the room, hardly making a noise. The Baskar elder set the box with the mandrake inside back on the shelf temporarily, clearing her throat. "I suppose you've been wondering why we have been letting you prepare the antidote, instead of a more capable individual?"
"Now that you mention it, I have." Catherine replied, more curious than she sounded. In her perception, she was the least qualified for the job. After all, the only things she could do for others now was to just be a simple housewife. It was hard enough for her to try and revive the drifter inside her, when it had been shocked into a deep slumber that nearly killed both the Aegis, and herself. Until only yesterday, Catherine believed that Ravendor had taken that part of her to the grave with him. To know that Aegis was still capable of living once more, after eleven years of repose, it was like the past had rushed forward into the present. And for once, it frightened her to think that her own definition of the present might change forever. It had all started with that awful, dreadful letter…
"There's a reason for it." Halle reassured her. "Apart from all the physical ingredients that comprise the antidote, there is also another one that only you can provide, dearie." Slowly, Halle hobbled over to a shelf nearby, where she had previously left the notes that Shane had translated. Reaching her gnarled hands upwards, she took them and shuffled the paper into a particular order. This motion had no meaning, just an effective way to busy herself while she spoke. "That is the exposure of your aura into the cure, it will leave an imprint on the mixture and give the true power that it needs."
"My aura?" The woman echoed, placing one hand on her chest. "Like the spirit that manipulates an ARM? The existence of aura is highly speculative, but it does account for the abilities of a medium-equipped individual. I watched Jet summon lightning yesterday, it was amazing…" She shook her head in polite denial. "But I have no mediums equipped, my aura would not be of any use. Besides, would it not require a great deal of training in your faith to call forth aura without channelling a Guardian's power?" She hated to be cynical, but there were some things she just couldn't believe herself into being true. The thought of herself having such power was a little ridiculous.
"It most cases, yes." Halle said without hesitation, aware of things that Catherine wasn't. "But this case is special, very special." She began to fold the papers gradually, in half, and then in half again. "A lycanthrope needs something other than just a chemical antidote to bring them back to humanity, it takes much more than that. Even if the body does return to a human form, there is no telling if the mind will follow the same pattern. If it fails, you may just wind up with a mentally shattered human, or even one that will be permanently catatonic for the rest of his life. There is a chance," Her expression became grim. "That he could stay a wolf in mind with a human body. It would be tragic."
It wasn't enough just to assist the making of his cure, Catherine wanted to save him, to take away the foul curse and abolish it forever, no matter what it took. If it were possible to transfer the curse to herself and free Clive from it's clutches, she would have done it gladly. Nobody deserved what he had been given, and like a poison from a wound, she was prepared to draw it out, even if it killed her. That was the extent of her love for him, and that was what made her aura strong, medium or no. "Tell me what my role is in the prevention of such a thing." Catherine appealed, the dim light of the room masking her conviction. "You are implying that my aura can help him to purge his curse. I do not know how, or why that is possible, but I really do not care. It is not what is important, just… bringing him back. If I can do anything, anything that would be useful, I will."
"You already have." Came the plain answer as Halle opened up the carefully closed wooden door to the storeroom, letting sunlight stream through the entrance. "Simply working on the antidote and pouring your emotions, feelings and thoughts into it's creation will infuse a portion of your aura into the cure, call it an imprint, if you wish. The lycanthrope… your husband, he would be desperate for any kind of human contact, because even as he shrinks from humanity, he still wishes to be close to them. Yet, he will be afraid to hurt them, and will continue to evade the contact, to the point of lashing out at who could be considered his closest friends. He requires a bond, an incredibly powerful one. If it is strong enough, he may just recognize you, and he may even come back. You and he have a daughter, right?"
"Yes, but she has been taken hostage by an old…" Catherine came up at a loss on how to finish her sentence. What could she say? Friend? Acquaintance? Boyfriend? "… By a rogue drifter who bears a grudge against my family. That is where Clive has gone, on a journey to bring her back safely." She finished off sadly. "If I had known he was… like this… I would have never let him go…" A pregnant silence, where all she did was stare at the floor. "But he would have left anyway, he values Kaitlyn above anything else."
Halle walked out of the storage room with focussed deliberation, while Catherine grabbed the mandrake box and carried it with her as she followed, keeping the old woman's pace. "Then there would be no doubt that you have been intimate with him before?" She heard Catherine stop walking as soon as she had registered the awkward question, her shoes no longer scuffing the ground. Halle turned around to face her. "He would then continue to consider you his significant other, even if it may be placed in a different context than before. You are still his life's mate, and perhaps, just perhaps, you might be able to keep him calm long enough to administer the antidote. Nobody else has that advantage over him." She smirked. "You are his bond, his last tie to his former self. Only you, dearie. Only you."
"If that is what has to be done, I will do it." Catherine assured her solemnly. "I will protect him. I swore an oath many years ago that I would." Something tiny and fluffy bumped into her ankle, and she reached down and picked up the clumsy little yellow chick, patting it lightly on it's feathered back. It made a weak 'peep-peep' noise, and pecked at her hand, looking for the food expected to be inside. Catherine wasn't really paying much attention to it. So, she was his bond. It must be true, it would be the only way to explain her fearful dreams, and the constant sense of anxiety. She knew Clive was scared, she could feel it, but that fear was not for himself, or those he could truly harm, or the chance that he may never be cured….
No…
The fear was for Kaitlyn.