Part 3: Payon
The alchemist looked at the drunken man before him with growing distaste. True, he had proven before that he could be trusted with the guilds secrets. but couldn't the knight have looked for a more respectable person? Cylade tried to imagine himself traveling to Payon with the drunken man on his shoulders, but failed. He gave the person one more glance before standing up.
" Hey, you goin' now?" the man said, voice so slurred with the drink it was all the alchemist could do to understand him. " Wait up, man. You're not going to leave ol' Rummy here are you?" he tried to stand up, levering himself onto the counter uncertainly.
" Here, let me give you a hand." said the alchemist, looking around the pub to ascertain that no one was paying them attention. Satisfied on that account, he swung his walking stick at Rummy's head with the expressionless face one who was used to tricking others, which he was. You couldn't attract too much attention. And the ticket was to keep calm. He took out his purse and counted enough money to pay for what he had drunk and then some. After all, he might report abuse to their Guild Master, once they've found him, and Cylade had no desire to incur the demon's wrath. It was no wonder their Master could control a bunch of lawless people when he was the devil reincarnated himself. " Sweet dreams, then, little guy."
And with that, the alchemist left the pub.
..
She leaned against the tree wearily. She knew it would be weeks before anyone would venture out so far into the woods. Nobody knew she had gone there, perhaps nobody even cared. She knew only a few people, those whom she considered her friends were gone to her, and so she loved nobody. She was used to looking out for herself, and she had survived all right… until now.
Her gold bracelet caught the dying sun's light and reflected the illumination in its slender surface. It used to be what kept her going, as a child, alone in the gutters of what even then seemed to her a foreign city. Payon never was the benevolent mother town it was to others of her class. She didn't belong there, perhaps she didn't even belong anywhere. That she had to stay there as stated in their vow made her angrier than she had ever been in her life. Except perhaps when she found out that her mother had left her in the woods because there were already too many mouths to feed in the family. The memory came back gradually, as did her hatred. Imagine a woman giving up her own daughter like that! And she was helpless then, couldn't even protest or protect herself. It wasn't fair. But then again, nothing ever was fair.
And the bracelet, it was a dim memory of a family to her. Her mother had given it to her, unbeknownst to her father. It was an heirloom, and he was planning to sell it for some food, they were that desperate. She could hear her mother's voice now…
I'm sorry, my child. But there's no other choice.
No choice! She couldn't speak, hadn't yet learned the language then, even. She was that young. But her green eyes spoke for her the hatred she couldn't express verbally. She was too angry then to be afraid. Too angry to be hurt.
Here, this belongs to the family. My family before this abominable poverty struck us. You see, our name is written there. If you survive this, if you can remember what I have done, then come back. Look for me. And you can kill me, then if you want.
It will serve you right for doing this to me. I want to feel your blood flowing down my body. I want to bathe myself in your blood and look at your face as it slowly loses its vitality…
Like mine now.
She wanted to look at the setting sun, but her position beside the tree made it impossible. Her blood was forming a dark pool by her side, and she could see the beauty of its ruby glow. She was past all pain, thank God, if He could see her now. But why would He be paying attention? There was nothing even He can do. God doesn't work in miracles nowadays. He uses mortal intervention. And she was too far away. Too far.
So, her detached mind seemed to cling to consciousness when she would rather have hidden in oblivion, this was Death. It wasn't as painful and morbid as she had thought. Wasn't even the frightening force that she had been dreading. It was almost…
A friend.
So much for looking for revenge.
" Don't die on me now, Crycelda."
His voice. That was familiar enough. Funny what your mind can do when you let it loose. But why his voice in particular?
" Drink this."
Something wet. And sweet. Light, unlike the heavy trickle of blood. She could feel the pain now. What a fickle mistress Death could be. But no. she was not dying. He was there.
The alchemist was there.
" Cylade?" her voice sounded far away, too feeble. But she was conscious now. And the pain. Was it not true that to obtain something, you have to give up something of equal value in return? She could feel the pain now. But was it enough to wish that she was dead? Probably not. But humans always did avoid pain. They couldn't help it. The opt for the easy way out. But she never had. She had some purpose in life that some will never have, and that was what makes her live on when there was nothing else.
" I'm here. Hang in there, dear." he was a friend, wasn't he? One of her few friends. Had they been different, she would never have liked them. Tolerated them, even. They were too human. Too weak. And so strong, as well, in their weakness. But they treated her like she was someone. A person they needed. A friend they liked. And that was what won her. Especially Vanraillyn. He had befriended her when everyone else had given up, the priest hasn't even tried. And that led to the thawing of her heart that made her easier to get along with. Easier to like. Respect after all, had already been gained. It was easier to respect one's enemies than to like them, wasn't it?
" But why?" she wanted to know. After all, forgiveness had already been given. " I don't long for vengeance anymore…."
" We need you, Crycelda." He whispered, softly. She had never had anyone whisper to her like that before. So tenderly.
" I don't see why I should live…" she answered, she would forget about this later, if there was later. She had never answered as honestly as she did now. And a part of her would want to forget that.
" Don't you want to? Don't you want to find a new reason for life? Don't you want to know what life is all about outside your search for revenge?" he was going to vanish anytime. He wasn't real. Couldn't be. They all parted ten years ago, hadn't they? She was talking to a vision. Her conscience maybe. The little voice inside everyone's head.
" Maybe." The idea was tempting. But she was going to die anyway.
" Then open your eyes."
He was looking at her. Green eyes detached, still, but warmer. Holding her head gently, so close that she could feel his breath on her face. He smiled. It was as if for the first time. Perhaps she had never seen him smile. But that was impossible, she had worked with him so long ago. Knew him like the back of her hand.
" Welcome back, Crycelda." He said.
" What's up? How did you find me?"
" We used to hunt here together. You said you loved this place, remember?" ah, yes. That was it. She could remember telling him that. " We need you. Troubles have arisen."
She drank more of the white potion he had given her. Her wound had already been treated with the herb he uses to make the same potion. But it was less potent that way. She could still feel a dull throbbing at her side where the monster had wounded her. " What is it now?"
" Our Master had vanished."
" Bully for our Master."
Author's note: Crycelda is an AgiDex Huntress. You now see why the alchemist is more of a supporter. The Midgardians usually work in pairs. Lynn works with the wizard, Crycelda is supported by Cylade and the priest and the assassin, whom we will meet later on. Rök on!
