Shade: **curled up into a little ball in the corner of her room, frothing at the mouth and chewing on the carpet**
Zion: **Perched uncomfortably atop her dresser, poking at her with a long thin stick** Jeez, is she rabid or something? What's up with her?
Garren: **sitting nervously on a very wobbly three-legged table** She just found some screenshots for Xenosaga II that she hadn't seen yet. She was on a high for a couple of hours, then realized that she still has to wait for the release.
Zion: That's stupid. Who on earth wastes their-GAH!
Shade: **having chewed up the carpet, she has now begun to maul the end of the stick, gnawing viciously and spitting out splinters as she goes**
Garren/Zion: 0~0;
Urrgh. I absolutely hate having to wait for the next installment of a series. 'Tis akin to pulling someone's teeth out through their nose methinks. Xenosaga II Japanese release date has been set for early June, but does that help? **twitch** A bit. I'll be happier when the NA date is released. I'll be happier yet when I'm frittering away the hours plowing through the game in order to get to the overly-long cinemas.
Me, Obsessed? You really think so? :P
Dart's POV:
The ocean stretched in an unbroken line from horizon to horizon, white-capped waves tossing and foaming under the shadow of the grey-bellied clouds that scudded across the sky and hid the sun and moon. The guiding wind whistled morosely, carrying a few far-ranging seabirds spiraling over the waves as they hunted for some of the smaller species of fish that lived closer to the surface. Between the sea and the sky the schooner skimmed over the heave and pull of the breakers, running up the side of one wave to crest the cap and plow down the other side in a shower of foam and spray.
Leaning over the rail, I clasped one of the taut, salt crusted lines with raw fingers. Though fall had only just come to the land, the sea was already being frequented by the brief but savage squalls that were so much a part of the colder seasons and the air was sharp with a perpetuating chill. But above the sail was stretched to the limit, filled with the steady wind, and behind us the calm of the wake was broken up by the rollers. During the calmer months of the year steamships made better time, but with the wind and waves working against it one would have floundered in these waters. Besides, steamships were reserved for naval warfare or emergencies. While they couldn't be stalled by a change in the winds, the dragon fire that fueled the furnaces was expensive and difficult to come by; one vat of the violet flame could cost as much as a small wind-powered boat. To make matters worse, the oil that sustained it took up much of the cargo room and made any pipe-smoking crewmember a hazard. The immense cost, coupled with the loss of cargo room, was enough to make most merchant captains to turn away with a shudder. As a result the sailing ships were still in heavy use out of the general wish to preserve the buyer's wallet. Though, I mused as I watched a grey-winged gull keeping pace with the side of the ship, there may be a certain amount of preference involved in the choice as well.
//My, aren't we pensive this morning//
/The ocean does that to me sometimes/ I let go of the briny rope and stepped away from the rail, the threadbare hem of my coat snapping in the wind behind me. Under the soles of my boots the deck's dark timbers were slick with wet from the spray, and I tread as carefully as one could across a rocking deck toward the lean-to that protected the hatch leading into the cabins.
//Four days now. How much longer do you think until we reach Fueno?//
/Captain said it would be at least a week and a half in good weather. After making up for all that ground that we lost with that bad wind yesterday, probably closer to two/
//Wonderful. If I have to put up with Zion's complaints about his stomach for another night, I think I might throw him overboard//
/He seemed to be feeling better this morning. If not, we can always get the cook to give him something that'll put him low for the night/ Ducking through the low door, I turned around and began to back carefully down the steep stair.
//Just so long as it works// Ark said as my heels thumped onto the floor. At the same moment the hull lurched alarmingly to the left as the boat skidded down the side of a particularly awkward wave, sending me stumbling hard against the wall. The little room above continued in a way into the cabin below, forming a small space that was separated from the rest of the cabins by a narrow plank door. Steadying myself against another violent pitch, I grabbed the iron latch and squeezed, pushing the door open and ducking into the room beyond.
I was hit immediately with a welter of confused scents; salt, damp cloth, tar, stale sweat, and riding over it all the heavy savory-sweet smell of frying onions. I wrinkled my nose, recognizing the last immediately. While I'm not particularly adverse to fried onions, the cook seemed to think that every sort of food short of gruel should be garnished with the stringy things. Not that the crew seemed to care; sugar didn't keep well for long before it clumped up and became unusable, so the sweet onion juice gave the otherwise bland fish and pork something of a flavor to counter the boiled cabbage and grainy meal.
Stumping along the narrow hall with my head just brushing the beams overhead, I stopped at one of the close doorways spaced along the walk. A heavy canvas curtain hung from the top of the frame in place of a door, and the bottom had been splashed with tar at some point in time. Pushing it aside, I stepped up onto the sharply tilting floor of our quarters.
I use the term 'quarters' in the sense that there were four bunks, a floor, and a ceiling. The bunks were lumpy narrow things, only just long enough for a short man. Two bunks atop one another on either side of the room, the floor sloped sharply away from the wall as it followed the angle of the hull. Thin bars of wood had been hammered horizontally to the planks to provide some form of traction, and sand filled the cracks between the boards. Because of the slope the height of the room became less and less as one headed toward the far wall, so that when you finally reached the small circular window that was the room's only source of light, you were on your knees. This was no real problem, since most of the time in the cabin was spent lying down in the bunks, but it didn't make the accommodations any more comfortable.
At the moment, two of the four bunks were occupied. The first was laden down with the little gear and supplies that we had been carrying when we took leave of Bale; noticeably less than I might have preferred given the choice. Zion lay splayed across the second, one leg crunched under him while the other dangled off of the side of the bunk. He looked up blearily as I entered, then dropped his head back onto the flat pillow when he saw who it was. "Shoot me. Please."
"Sorry. I don't carry a crossbow." Sidling the rest of the way into the room, I sat with some difficulty on the bunk across from his, my spine scraping against the planks of the one above.
He groaned, then pulled the pillow from beneath him and plunked it onto his head. The ship lurched again, and the pillow went tumbling in accompaniment to another groan.
Kaelin shook her head. She had seated herself at the high end of the floor in preference to the beds, her feet braced against the bars of wood. "Zion, you're pathetic. Guardsmen don't bother you, but a little bit of seasickness is enough to send you cowering to your bed."
"You wanna try…urp….and fight your own stomach?"
"Why don't you go above for a bit," I suggested. "The air might clear your head."
"All I'd do is clean out my stomach. Seeing the waves just make things worse." He started to stretch, then winced as he bumped his head. "Why do they have to make these bunks so damn small?"
//Dump him overboard// Ark suggested again.
"Sleep on the floor again then."
"Not if Kaelin's going to step on me like she did the other night." Easing himself slowly out of the bunk, Zion stretched his legs out in front of him before getting to his feet. It wasn't difficult to see the source of his misery. The low roof forced him to stand almost doubled over, swaying back and forth slightly with the motion of the ship. The slant of the floor didn't help matters much either. Sandy-eyed and slightly peaked, he had the distinct appearance of someone who hadn't slept well or at all for many nights. Rubbing his eyes with one fist, he squinted at me. "What time is it anyhow?"
"Getting on toward dinner. The cook's starting to re-fry onions." I fiddled with the knot of my bandana, letting the red strip of cloth fall away and shaking out my hair. It was stiff with brine from the ocean spray, and felt almost resinous to the touch.
Zion's face took on a distinct greenish-white cast. "Maybe I will go up on deck."
"You do that."
When the curtain fell back into place after he left, Kaelin shook her head. "Poor boy. Next time, why don't you hire a better ship? This has to be one of the worst I've ever seen."
"The options were sort of limited at the time. Is he still upset about his sword?"
"A bit. He did say that he thinks he could get a new one forged in Fueno, but I guess it means more to him than that, huh?"
I nodded absently. "His brother gave it to him before he died." With our quick leave-taking of Bale, Zion's sword had been left behind in Lyke's mansion. I supposed that we could always come back later to retrieve it, assuming that Lyke didn't sell it off, but in the meantime the kid was going to go without a blade. Kaelin on the other hand had managed to purchase a curved fencing saber from the surplus of the ship's cargo. The captain hadn't been overly pleased about it, but after taking a good look at the crew, Kaelin had quite adamantly stated that there was no way she was getting on the ship without one. It lay on her bunk now, the twisted wires of the basket hilt gleaming dully in the light of the window.
//At least we're getting somewhere now// Ark muttered as she got to her feet and pulled the saber from where it lay.
"I'm going to go above and practice for a bit."
"Uh huh. Don't cut any ropes." /As long as the cult doesn't send any of their ships after us, we should be out of reach for the moment/
//That's something// The curtain fell back across the door and I slid of the bunk and onto the floor.
/So what when we get to Fueno?/
//Get your shoulder patched up. If there's a potential dragoon in the area, the spirits should respond and we can track them down//
/What makes you so positive that one will come through there?/
//Nothing really. But it's a major seaport, especially at this time of year with the fall harvest and all. There're a lot of people moving through there//
/Gotchya/ I lay back, trying to ignore the slats of wood that bit into my back. No sooner than I had closed my eyes then a particularly large breaker pitched the boat, causing me to lurch painfully and crack my head on the base of one bunk. I sat up, groaning.
//One more week then//
/One more week/ I agreed sourly.
Maybe I would go above deck after all.
Solana's POV:
The sun beat down like a hammer overhead, baking out what little moisture remained in the cracked and sandy ground after last night's rainfall. The day was near spent; the blue-brown shadows cast by the low foothills could be measured in miles with the sun sitting nearly on their peaks. The foothills themselves looked cracked; old ravines, filled with boulders and ancient detritus creased the surface, so that a distance they seemed to be veined. What water had once carved them into the rock was long gone. At one time far, far in the dim past the foothills that made up what was now known as the uplands of Tiberoa had been fertile, a haven for the primitive people of the day. But the Dragon Campaign of lore had left a broken land in its wake, magic sapping the life from the land until it had become a waste to rival the natural deserts of the Death Frontier in the lands to the west. Barren and all but fruitless, the land's inhabitants had retreated to the coastal regions were some life remained.
Roads, far and few between, wandered aimlessly across the scorched landscape. Along the most westerly of them dust, quick to rise but slow to settle, hung heavy on the air, stirred by dozens of horses hooves in passage. Even after the little crowd had passed it hung suspended for long minutes, a shapeless mass of brown hovering over the trail.
I wiped my forehead with a linen handkerchief, grimacing as the white cloth came away covered in grime. Sweat and dust rarely make a good mix I've noticed, and the thin reed parasol that I carried over my shoulder did little to reduce the heat. The thin cotton riding dress I wore did help some, but there is really very little that you can do to fight heat. This was really no day to be out for a ride, but sometimes there aren't any choices attached to the situation.
An energetic queen isn't really a bad thing, provided that that energy is guided by good sense. Unfortunately good sense is a gift, and one that had passed Queen Cassandra IV by while she still lay in the cradle. As a result her energy was put toward the fulfillment of a host of random whims, for the most part childish and selfish. Her husband had passed away shortly after she had given birth to her first and only child, leaving her in power until the boy was grown. In truth she was queen in name only; the ministers of the temple had supplanted what power the throne normally occupied normally, advisors to the queen who in effect ran Tiberoa from behind the scenes.
"I don't know what she was thinking, ordering a ride in this heat."
My mount snorted and I glanced over. Cai rode by my side, his eyes shaded by a broad brimmed hat. Tall with pale blond hair and green eyes he cut an imposing figure, if not quite a handsome one, as he sat easily to Dyanne's rough trot. At one time in his youth he had served as a captain in the King's guard; through outstanding service he had been appointed a minor rank and given permission to marry into one of the noble houses. My husband of five years now, he had not given in and gone to seed as so many retired soldiers do. He glanced at me, his eyes shaded from the sun. "Are you okay? You've been quiet lately."
"Just thinking," I replied, shifting my grip on the reins. "The heat sort of slows the mind down, doesn't it?"
"I've noticed," he said dryly. "Even if her majesty decides to turn around soon, we'll be spending the last leg of the ride in the dark."
"It wouldn't be the first time." As the column slowed to a walk, I reached up to wipe the dust from my brow again. One of my red-blonde pleats fell loose as I did so, and I absently tucked the narrow braid back into place. The column in which we rode was composed of forty or more horses and mules of every size and description, carrying everyone from the queen herself to the personal servants of the higher courtiers. The dust train behind us stretched for miles, an insubstantial snake writhing in the air after our passing. Near the front of the line we were clear of the worst of the dust; I hated to think about what it must be like further along. Normally the only time that the courtiers gathered together was during a particularly important meeting or on one of the more noted days of the year, but since the queen had decided that we all could use some exercise, well… there wasn't all that much help for it but to tack up and join her on her ride.
The horse in front of me came to a stop and I drew rein, Keighli dancing nervously beneath me. "What now?" I wondered aloud, reaching down to pat her sweating neck.
Katia Charde, who sat on the dappled animal just ahead of us, turned slightly in her saddle. "I imagine her highness has decided that this outing has lasted long enough," she said, a slight frown creasing her forehead as she did so. Heavyset and wearing a green silk dress belted at the waist with a paisley sash, she cut a figure not unlike that of a squat hourglass when she turned to face forward again.
Beside me Cai scowled, but I kept my face smooth. I knew what the frown was for; even though the King had rewarded his services with a barony the other members of the court had never accepted him, seeing him as a rough, unschooled peasant. Which he was, and still is I suppose, but it was that rough charm that drew me to him in the first place. There still were lingering feelings of disapproval left over from our marriage, but I'd long since learned to ignore the looks of disgust we often received from the other members of the court.
It's a good thing I'm a goodly way down the list for succession; otherwise, they might have decided to force a divorce on me before things had even gotten going. Fortunately, the last time any of my line sat on the throne was nearly a thousand years ago.
For several long minutes the line remained still, the horses alternately shifting nervously or dozing off, grateful for the chance to rest. As the sun slipped behind the hilltops I took down the parasol, handing it to one of the servants as he scuttled past on his mule. Without the sun the temperature would be dropping quickly, so there was really no need. Pulling my shawl out from beneath my seat, I shook the dust out of it before slinging it across my back. It slid down almost immediately, catching in the crooks of my elbows.
Swinging one leg over his horse's rump, Cai slid down from the saddle to carefully pick up one of the broad, dinner-plate hooves of his animal. While he inspected it I steered Keighli out of the line to where a brittlebush grew next to the road. While she snapped off twigs and stripped it of what few leathery leaves remained to it I sat back, my attention focusing on the little group at the head of the line. My view was almost uninterrupted, and so I had a good vantagepoint to watch the proceedings.
They had broken away from the rest of the group, and now stood clustered as close together as the horses would allow a ways to the side of the road. The most immediately noticeable of the three was Cassandra herself, fanning herself anxiously as she sat astride and impressive white gelding that looked more suited to life as a war horse than a palfrey. Though she had discarded her heavily embroidered and elaborate gowns in favor of something lighter out of respect for the heat, it still would have been impossible to mistake her for anything other than a lady of high station. Long silk skirts, brilliant turquoise and of the finest weave, dangled halfway to the dusty ground, slashed with bars of yellow near the hem. The pattern repeated itself again at the waist with a broad yellow sash, and again as the chest and wide sleeves had been gored and paneled with more of the marigold silk. Over this all she wore the thin blue dust cloak, hardly more than a film of delicate gauze. Her hair hung down her back in a loose cascade, held back at the temples by a broad silver torc. The end result was of the appearance of a garish butterfly, and one ill-suited to the rigors of the desert at that. She was a woman deeply concerned with her outer appearance and not much else, much to the dismay and displeasure of the court. In truth the only reason her right to the throne remained as yet unquestioned was her ties to the Moon Temples, embodied in the nondescript man who sat on an aging bay to her right.
Saimon Ketheral was hardly a high priest; he rarely left the palace except for his daily sojurnes down to the temple in the city, or during occasions like this. He was the palace deacon I suppose you could say, but his only real purpose for remaining in the palace so close to the queen was to act as a messenger and intermediary for the high priest Malion who resided in the city temple. So plain as to look common, he could hardly have differed more from the woman to his left. With a neatly cropped blond beard and hair of the same color caught in a tail at the nape of his neck, he wore plain clothes of blue and brown linen and high leather boots that nearly reached his knees. Soft spoken and trustworthy, he was one of the few truly honest men in the palace. It was his honesty that probably landed him the position in the first place. Because of his close friendship with the queen Malion was provided with an easy tool with which to manipulate the poor woman, and Saimon, too innocent to question his superior, went right along with it.
The third member of that particular little party stood his horse a short distance apart from the other two, a long-backed roan with a decidedly nasty temper. His was a unique position; neither a noble nor a commoner by definition, he wore a deep red tunic belted at the waist, the long sleeves unlaced so that his arms were burned and peeling from exposure to the sun. Faded grey trousers, loose and worn from hard wear, clung to his sweaty skin and flopped over the top of his high boots. A one-time miner, he sat starring into the distance as he scratched absently at the fringe of a red beard that had sprouted from his chin. Every now and then he would reach down to touch the long javelin tied beneath his stirrup, as though to make sure it were still there. If one were to walk by him in the street, he would appear no different from the next man. And yet this seedy-looking fellow had in a very real way more power than most people could ever hope to grasp in a lifetime.
Rian Golaan, born among miners and now dragged among nobles, was a dragoon. A pet dragoon to the temple to be sure, caught up in an involuntary oath to serve the Moon Child, but a dragoon none the less. In a way this entire idiocy of a ride could be set squarely on his shoulders: before his appearance, Cassandra would never have risked venturing out into the monster-infested barrens without an escort of at least a score of armed guardians. Her fears seemed to have vanished with the appearance of Rian however, and with his family currently residing in the bowels of the temple under the close guard of three dread knights at any one time, his absolute obedience was assured.
The entire situation made me sick, but there was nothing to be done. My own rank in the court is relatively low, but even if I was the Queen's high advisor I doubt that there would be anything to be done about it. The Moon Child wanted all dragoons to be loyal to her, and her priests would go to any lengths to make sure that her wishes were fulfilled.
At last the conversation broke and Saimon rode forward, raising his voice so that it could be clearly heard by at least half of the line.
"We are to head back now, before the twilight deepens. Cutting across country should save us some time, so the ride will be a little rough," he said apologetically, "But it should allow us to return home at a reasonable hour."
"If he calls the middle of the night a reasonable hour, I'd hate to see what he calls 'late'," Cai grumbled. He had since remounted, and now worked the stopper out of his wineskin. Taking a long drink, he handed it to me. "It's quite warm," He apologized, "but it's got more flavor than the swill the servants picked up at the river."
"You're a dear, Cai." Taking a swallow, I replaced the cork and passed it back.
Tucking it under the stirrup, he grimaced as the line started to move haphazardly out into the countryside. "C'mon. We'd best get moving."
The last traces of daylight faded from the sky to be replaced with the blue-black of night, and the landscape was bathed in the eerie blue-white light of the moon. The mountains in the distance became blotches of black; jagged peaks cutting dark silhouettes against the stars. Often we passed fingers of rock that rose from the ground without rhyme or reason to their shape, disconcerting pinnacles which shadows twisted into frightening shapes in the mind's eye. The line moved slowly across the rocky ground, snaking cautiously down steep slopes and speeding into a canter as we funneled through some of the safer ravines. Soon though my forehead was once again clammy with sweat, in spite of the chill in the air. The stress combined with the physical strain of guiding Keighli over the difficult terrain was wearing me out, and I could clearly see the flaw in Saimon's reasoning of our route. While cutting across country was the shorter route back to Fletz as the crow flies, the terrain- and the darkness- would make it infinitely longer. The road on the other hand, though it twists several miles to the north and is the greater distance, is clear and reasonably smooth, making it the quicker ride. With the opportunity to turn back long past though, I bit my comments and settled in for the ride, which fulfilled its promise to become more uncomfortable with each passing moment.
Gradually the mountains fell away and the shoreline rushed up to meet us, screened from view by a narrow band of broad-leafed trees. Gradually I brought myself to relax. The footing was better here; the rocky soil had changed to yielding earth within a few steps and the twisted, disconcerting rock formations had disappeared as we approached the fertile strip. Patches such as these rimmed the coast in many places, a tangible reminder to a time when the waste was green.
Since areas such as these quite obviously cannot thrive on the salty water of the ocean, it wasn't any great stretch of time before we stumbled on a shallow brook cutting its way through the trees, its banks overhung with clumps of grass and weeds. After Keighli had taken her fill I took her a short distance away from the horses crowding the stream and dismounted, grateful for the chance to get out of the saddle and stretch my legs.
The night was clear and the moon particularly bright, the blue-silver light filtering down through the broad leaves of the canopy and dappling the grassy floor with a play of light and shadow. The little wood was not dense, and I could see the ocean through gaps in the trunks. Drawing my shawl closer about my shoulders I tied Keighli to a springy sapling and began to make my way through the dark wood toward the shore. It would take some time for all of the animals to get their fill of water after the hot ride, so I was in no particular rush. An onshore wind whispered through the trees, filling the air with the quiet rustle of leaves.
As I drew closer to the shore the trees grew sparse, the distance growing greater from the first to the next with each step. Now and then I had to step over the bone-white trunk of a fallen scrag, the dead branches clawing and catching at my skirts like bony fingers. Not until I tripped over a root and stumbled up against one of the standing trees did I realize something was wrong.
They were dead. Before I had thought it a trick of the moonlight, but leaning against the one I could see that the trunks were smooth and clean of bark, as pale as the skeletons they so closely resembled. Breath catching in my throat even as I furrowed my brows, I stepped back to get a better look. I had been so intent on reaching the water that I hadn't noticed; the change from the healthy to sickly happened abruptly, as though an invisible, semi-circular perimeter had been drawn up to protect the rest of the forest from whatever disease had so blighted this part of the wood. And blighted it was; turning slowly until I was once more facing the ocean, I noticed several stumps off to my left; when I bent down to examine them my fingers came away covered with char and ash.
Something burnt these? I rubbed my fingers together, feeling the grit. Something was wrong here; my spine prickled as I gradually became able to put a name to what it was I felt. Malice lay over the dead forest like a blanket; a moldering leprosy that clung to the splintering trunks of the scrags. Still crouching next to the stumps, I let my gaze wander out to the calm waters of the inlet. Something immobile reared out of the water there; something as huge and twisted as the rocky pinnacles we'd seen inland, but at the same time not…
A heavy hand landed on my shoulder and I nearly jumped clean out of my skin. "Solana? What are you doing all the way out here? The horses are almost ready to move again."
I sighed as Cai pulled me to my feet. "Sorry. I just felt like stretching my legs a bit." Dusting off my skirt, I straightened. "Isn't it odd though?"
"What's odd?" the reply was gruff.
"The forest you dolt. Look-" I gestured at the trees surrounding us "-isn't it odd? They're all dead."
"Make good firewood then."
"Cai, I'm serious!" A panic was starting to build in my mind, though I could not for the life of me understand why.
"So am I. We have to get going dear. Whether a bunch of trees live or die really isn't of any concern to us." Taking my hand, he pulled it gently back in the direction from where we'd come.
I let him stretch my arm out to its full length without moving, thinking fast. Something was obviously wrong here; something more important than a bunch of dying trees, but how to get him to see? But before I could open my mouth to test out an explanation, a shadow detached itself from the darkness, stepping in close enough for me to see the feathery red beard sprouting from his chin, the color leeched away by the moonlight.
"Excuse me if I'm intruding," Rian said in his deadpan voice, "but the Queen says that you're to return to the group now, unless you fancy spending the night out here alone."
I peered at him through the enshrouding darkness. "As her majesty wishes," I replied meekly, though my mind worked quickly. He was a dragoon; surely he could feel it too? But even as I opened my mouth again the air was split by an inhuman scream that echoed endlessly in the clear air and sent my eardrums to throbbing. Spinning around, I felt the half-formed sentence die on my tongue.
The thing out in the water was alive. The tranquil ocean waters churned into a white froth as it rose it straightened with a grinding of rock beneath it's massive feet, hunching shoulders and awesome, lanky limbs pale against the dark sky. For a moment it simply stood there with water streaming from it's bulk; thirty feet of seeming rock looming up out of the water, dark red eyes glinting in the faint light. If I'd been forced to put a name to it I may have called it a golem, but from somewhere in the depths of my memory a second, more fitting name born from a childhood of plowing through history books wormed itself into the light.
Virage.
The titan screeched again, and the very earth seemed to tremor with the sound. It took one step forward, then another, swirling water sucking and rushing as it rushed to fill the space where the monstrosity had stood a moment before. With some difficulty it lifted one clawed foot, stepping with one great lurch over the rocky bank that fell steeply away into the water and onto solid land without breaking stride.
The ground trembled as it moved forward, and behind me I heard Rian utter an oath. Seizing my shoulders roughly, he jerked me out of my paralysis and gave me a shove toward the forest. "Get out of here! Hurry back to the others and start them running!" When I didn't immediately move, eyes still locked on the virage, he barked "Now!"
"C'mon Lass!" Grabbing me by the elbow, Cai half led, half towed me into a run. Able to move at last, I tore my eyes away and followed.
Bone white trunks of trees flashed past as we ran, racing for the relative safety of the living forest. Before we reached the boarder between living and dead however I risked a glance back over my shoulder- and immediately wished that I hadn't. The virage was stumbling across the uneven ground in a shambling run, its long arm- the right one seemed to be missing- swinging back and forth in front of its knees as it ran. Rian stood alone between the creature and the forest, looking small and insignificant by comparison, even as his form enveloped in emerald light…
I stumbled and Cai caught my arm, pulling me upright and along without breaking stride. Dark, leafy trees rose up around us, closing in and effectively obscuring the view into and out of the dead patch. The path that stretched out before us, which had before seemed so stark and clear now appeared overgrown, thorns and branches pulling at our clothes and tree roots and snarls of grass and weed tripping and tangling our feet even as we ran.
"Where?" Cai shouted, hands raised to cover his face as we bulled our way through the undergrowth. "Where are they?"
"I think-"
There was an indescribable rushing noise, followed on its heels by a soundless explosion of searing, blinding white light. When it finally died I was lying on my back on the cool, loamy earth, blinking in confusion as sunspots danced across my vision, jumping to follow my eyes wherever I tried to look. Something warm was running down my forehead, pooling temporarily in the hollow between my right eye and the bridge of my nose before following the line of my cheek, running over my lips to drip to the dirt. I was bleeding? I could smell it; the heavy, iron stink of blood filled my nose as it dribbled over my upper lip. I could smell other things too; disturbed earth, burning wood…but oddly no smoke. Just ash and charcoal. Sound was difficult; somewhere people were screaming, and there was the awful crash and snap of wood mingled with panicked squeals; horses stampeding into the undergrowth.
Slowly, gingerly, I sat up, waiting patiently until the moment of dizziness passed. The sunspots were fading and I had a clear view of the forest; at least, as clear a view as one could have in the dark of night. Reaching up to dab blood away from the split on my forehead with my sleeve, I waited for what my eyes were telling me to make sense.
There was no fire. Puzzled, feeling as though my thoughts were packed with wool, I peered ahead. The trees before me were gone, nothing more than a swath of charred stumps of perhaps fixe or six feet across. There was a method to it; at the far end the trees had been lopped off about a quarter-way up the trunk, steadily decreasing until when the 'slope' reached the other end the remaining stumps were hardly higher than my ankle, cut through as cleanly as molding clay split by a knife. Beyond that was only scorched earth, a deep trench of torn up dry soil. There was no sign of anyone, though the panicking screams of human and horse still echoed through the little woodland.
Slowly, like molasses draining through a sieve, coherent thought came seeping back, and with it no small measure of panic. Cai. Where was he? Bile rising in my throat, I scrambled to my feet, staggered, and nearly fell as pain stabbed through my ankle. Gasping out an oath, I reached out and took hold of a nearby tree branch to support myself. It must have been sprained during the concussion from the Virage's- the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that was what it had been- attack. But if that was all that had happened to me, what then…
My thoughts cut off abruptly as I spotted a dark figure sprawled on the ground several yards to my right. Hobbling over a tangle of roots, I slumped to my knees and rolled Cai over onto his back, holding my breath. There was really no need to be anxious -he stirred at my first touch- but I felt him over anyway with shaking hands, not missing the dislocated shoulder or the shallow cut that was slowly bleeding out over his ribcage. Painful maybe, but nothing life-threatening. Letting my breath out in a gasp of relief, I half lifted him, cradling his head in my arms.
"Solana…" He groaned, and tried to sit up. He got about halfway before his shoulder forced him down again, and he gritted his teeth. "Solana, you have to get out of here."
"I'm not leaving you." I know, that line's probably been said half a million times if it has been said once, but it was the truth.
"Don't be an idiot. Grab one of those horses and…gah!"
"Did I just poke your shoulder? So sorry." My voice hardened. "I'm not leaving without you, Cai. I'd rather have that virage step on me before I ran off and left you for dead."
"Virage?" He struggled into a sitting position, and this time he managed to stay there, though he was sweating bullets. "Is that what it was?"
"I think…" my voice trailed off as the creature in question blundered into view, clearly visible over the burnt off swath of trees. It was staggering back and forth almost drunkenly, making broad swipes at the air with its only arm. The object of its agitation was spiraling about its head, bright sparks falling in his wake as he dodged and feinted, dived and spun as he fought to get close enough to use his fantastic looking spear on the monster's stony hide.
I had seen pictures of dragoons on tapestries and paintings before, but the most fanciful interpretation of the dragon knight fell far short of the reality. Rian literally seemed to glow as he fought; whether this was natural or if he was under the influence of some sort of spell was impossible to say. Gossamer wings flared and tucked as he danced nimbly around the virage's clumsy blows, chancing a strike at the small face and vulnerable eyes. The creature flinched back, countering with a surprisingly swift blow that sent Rian spinning away.
"What…how is…" Cai seemed to be at a loss for words; even the pain in his shoulder, which should have been at the point of unbearability, seemed forgotten as he watched the spectacle, stunned.
Rian righted himself and turned, green and gold sparks spraying around him like a firework. The green glow had faded and his armor now gleamed a faint green-grey in the color leeching moonlight; the effects of a spell after all. He was almost level with the treetops now; indeed, at this distance, it seemed that he must have been stepping on their crests. As the monster turned to face him once more he lifted his spear, holding it before him like a knight's lance. And as the huge, blunt claws of the virage swept toward him he ducked low and charged, blurring from green to grey under the cold moon.
"For the love of…!"
The spear drove the length of its blade into the soft tissues of the monster's face and the virage screamed, an ear-splitting shriek that was probably heard clearly the next continent over. But even as the sound was still echoing off of the distant mountains there came a second, smaller sound; a crackle in the air that was as good as lost in the repercussions of the first. For a moment the scene seemed frozen, cast in a surreal light. Then time reasserted itself and the dragoon was blasted away, caught at point-blank range by one of the blasts of raw energy that had so neatly burnt away a swath of fully-grown trees.
I had started to my feet without realizing it; the dragoon arched backward and fell out of the air, disappearing amidst the trees to our right. For a moment it was still, save for the rumbling groans of the wounded virage. Then there was a brief flicker of emerald light, like the last flare of a torch caught in a gust of wind before it dies.
Behind me Cai surged to his feet without warning. "Solana, go!" He barked. For all that he's supposed to be retired, he still hadn't lost his officer's bearing. Staggering over to the nearest tree trunk he set his elbow into a divide between two branches and with one, painful gasp popped his shoulder back into place.
"Cai…"
He reached for the long knife that he kept sheathed at the back of his belt. "Get out of here Solana. There's nothing you can do."
"And there's something you can?" I felt like screaming at him for being so dense. "What are you going to do? Attack it with a knife! If you try that, then all you're going to do is get yourself flattened!"
Cai said nothing, starring over the treetops at the colossus looming overhead.
For a moment I stood, caught in agonized indecision. And then I turned and ran- sprinting with all my might for the part of the forest where I'd seen the dragoon fall. Cai's shout of protest rose and fell behind me unnoticed, and I bulled my way through the undergrowth. There might not be anything that I could do for the fallen man, but if there was something, anything at all…
It wasn't difficult to find him, though the light from the flash had long since disappeared. His impact with the earth had plowed up more than a sizeable amount of soil, and as I climbed over a fallen branch toward the shapeless mound I tried not to think of how hard he must have struck. Gritting my teeth and bracing myself for what I knew I was about to see, I took a few cautious steps into the small clearing in which he lay.
It could have been worse, but the sight still turned my stomach. The armor seemed to have protected his body from the worst of the impact, but his neck was caught on an impossible angle and eyes closed, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of his open mouth. That wasn't what had killed him however; a small hole, perhaps the size of my fist, was burnt through his chest.
I've never pretended to enjoy a sight such as this, so I don't feel in the least ashamed to admit that the sight sickened me. More than that tough, I felt a heavy cloud of dismay settling over me. The cries of the maddened virage still rang out across the night sky, and the forest floor trembled with his steps as he staggered about. Rian was dead; without the dragoon, there was nothing left for us but to flee or die. Choking back a dry sob, I started to turn away from the broken body. And that was when I saw it.
It lay nestled in the earth some distance from Rian's body, shining gently in the weak moonlight. It was small, hardly larger than one of the big marbles that I'd seen the crown prince playing with a few weeks previously, but still much larger than any gemstone that I had ever seen. As I gazed at it the thing began to shine with a different light, a soft, misty green that pulsed and grew stronger with each passing second. Then, as the shine seemed to reach its zenith, the stone lifted silently out of the earth, drifting upward like a phantom.
What? I stared at the thing, not really registering its movement until it was hovering almost directly in front of me, still throbbing with that emerald light. As the light washed over me so did something else; a presence unlike any I had ever felt before, as gentle and protective as a father's touch, and at the same time infused with a towering will that would not, could not, be shaken. It brushed gently against me, and for a moment I felt myself relax in spite of myself. Then it was gone; leaving me standing alone and cold with the luminescent spirit.
Apparently the spirit's awakening had not only caught my attention. Somewhere far above me the virage shrieked again, but the scream was no longer infused with pain. The forest floor started to shade and jump beneath my feet as it lumbered forward, smashing a path through the trees with its club-like arm. The spirit. Of course; the virage and the dragoon are ancient enemies of old. It was no surprise that it was the stone's presence that drew it in.
Almost at the same instant Cai burst into the clearing, gasping and panting. "Solana! What do you think you're…" he trailed off, green eyes widening as he took in the scene. For a moment there was only the crack and rumble of impending destruction as our eyes met, his pleading and mine defiant. Then, as the virage's blocky shoulders rose into view over the crests of the treetops I turned away.
Something had to be done, whether he liked it or not.
Soa protect me. Steeling myself, I reached out and seized the hovering stone with one shaking hand.
It burst joyously into life, the light brightening until the whole clearing had dissolved in a shower of green, leaving me alone suspended as the fantastic armor shimmered and consolidated over my trembling limbs. A moment later the light died away, leaving me crouched in the center of the clearing next to Rian's still corpse, the long pinions of my wings folded protectively over my body. Experimentally I flexed them, flaring them to their extent and beating the air tentatively once or twice. Then, once I was sure that I had all of my limbs defined from one another, I kicked off, spiraling crazily up through the latticed tree branches and into the open moonlight.
No, I still hadn't completely come to accept what had happened, but I wasn't about to sit and brood about it while there were more pressing things at hand. In life you can do one of two things when confronted with something new; sit around and gape and gawk over it, or simply accept it for the moment and set the consideration aside for later. And while I usually prefer to think things over before I jump into them, I felt that I had already been pulled headfirst into the deep end of the pond.
Leveling off some thirty feet above the treetops, I turned slowly, taking in everything around me. The mountains, a long blue-black shadow stretching away in the distance; the forest and the badland, both reaching out to meet the ocean in a sinuous line; the ocean itself, stretching away as far as the eye could hope to see, wave tops glittering in the moonlight. And of course the virage itself, which had stopped its wonton destruction of the forest to stare balefully up at me, Rian's spear protruding from the center of its triangular face.
The attack came without warning; a thin bar of blazing white light lanced past my shoulder, leaving the air crackling with the scent of ozone. Heart hammering I rolled away, gliding in a broad circle around the monstrosity. It lashed out with its single arm, but twisting to follow my movement had sent it off balance and so the blow was clumsy and wildly off target. Backing off slowly, I watched as it followed. If I could draw it back toward the ocean, that should give anyone who might have been left in the area time to escape.
Again it swiped at me and missed, obliterating the trunk of an ancient oak. I ducked, lifting one arm automatically to shield myself. Unlike Rian I had no weapon with which to defend myself. But if I could find away to bring out the power that came with the form, cast an offensive spell as opposed to Rian's defensive, I might have a chance. But only one.
The eyes. Rian's spear had penetrated, but not quite deep enough to damage anything really vital. Rolling to avoid another burst of white energy, I found myself wishing or a blade or stake; anything that could possibly be long or sharp enough to finish the job. Unexpectedly, the spirit guiding me seemed to interpret that as a request for magic. Almost before I knew what I was doing I felt myself drawing the air into focus around my right arm, until the air itself seemed to have come alive and taken a material form.
It looked something like a jouster's lance, translucent green and composed of swirling blades of the living air. I stared at it for a moment, locking exactly how I'd done it into my mind for future reference, then leveled it with the beast's head; fourteen feet of focused cyclone, keening like high winds screaming though a mountain pass. Then dodging one last lumbering swipe I plunged forward, streaking for the monster's exposed face with my lance held out before me.
It wasn't much of a contest. The swirling air of the lance cut through the leathery skin like a hot knife through butter, and my impulsion carried the blow in so deep that nearly the full length of the shaft had sunk in before it burst out the other side. The virage stiffened, and then as my lance disappeared in a gust of wind, fell, not so much toppling over backwards as collapsing inward upon itself.
I hung in the air for a moment, watching incredulously as the monster crashed to the ground, the sound probably causing rockslides on nearby cliffs. Gradually I became aware of a leeching tiredness; the transformation was wearing off. Dropping back below the treeline, my feet had hardly touched the earth before the armor disappeared in a flash of light, leaving me alone and weak-kneed in the middle of the clearing, the world spinning slightly before my eyes. Taking a step backward, I felt my legs give out. Before I could slide to the ground however, someone caught me from behind and hoisted me gently back to my feet.
"Hold on there lass. Are you alright?"
Cai! I could have cried. Instead I turned and buried my head into his chest, trying to regulate my breathing, which was coming in short, hoarse, gasps. "You saw, didn't you?" Stupid question. How could he have not?
He stroked my hair, then held me out at arms length, forcing me to look him in the eye. "Solana…"
"We have to get out of here," I said. Reality was restoring itself slowly, and so was the realization of what would happen if the Temple discovered what had happened. "If anyone comes back…I mean…"
Cai, bless him, caught my meaning immediately. "There have to be some horses left around here somewhere. I'll see if I can't catch one or two of them. If we cut across country-" he winced at his words, but continued "-we should be able to reach Doneau without being seen. If we can catch a boat to Fueno, then you could stay out of sight for a while."
I shook my head, still unsure of what to do, but voiced my approval anyway. Cai embraced me once more, kissed me lightly on the forehead, then let me slide to the ground before dissolving into the darkness to search for horses. For a time I just sat, staring at the spirit that lay on the ground between my feet.
I wasn't sure what made me decide to run. If I returned to the city, then I could probably have my fortune made. But one thing I did know was that I would never, ever become a pet on a leash to the Moon Child.
Ragnarok's POV:
Ropes and hawsers hissed overhead as the flapping sails were furled and tied by agile sailors, scurrying up and down the lines like spider monkeys. Still carried by the wind's momentum the schooner rode the crest of a long wave past the breakwater, a large man-made promontory constructed from timber and stone that jutted out partway across the mouth of Fueno's harbor. The wave died and the ship coasted slowly into the wharves, deckhands tossing lines to waiting hands on the dock.
As the men between themselves wrestled the vessel into its berth Dart shook his head and sighed somewhat wistfully. In spite of the horrid conditions below the decks, I knew that he had enjoyed at least the sailing element of the two-week voyage. Zion the other hand stood next to him bouncing almost eagerly on the balls of his feet as he shifted his grip on the canvas bag that contained what remained of our gear. His face was haggard from frequent bouts of seasickness, but he looked much brighter than he had previously. In fact he looked so eager to get back on solid ground that I thought it a wonder that he hadn't simply abandoned ship and struck out for shore when we had first sighted land that morning.
"You already paid the captain, right?" Kaelin stood with her back to the rail, keeping a wary eye on a crew member innocently coiling lines nearby. Her saber was in full evidence now, swinging from the broad belt that she had picked up somewhere. Silver hoops jingled in her ears as she shook her head. "I don't want to have to deal with being tailed just because you didn't pay your debts in time."
"It's already been taken care of, Kaelin," Dart said mildly. "Just because you're a thief doesn't mean we're all dishonest."
"Ex-thief," she corrected ruefully. "Somehow I don't think that I'll have much time for that stuff anymore." She shrugged. "I wasn't making much off of it; taking things people worked for never really sat well with me anyhow."
"So why'd you do it?"
"Good question." She looked back over her shoulder at the dock. "It's a living of sorts, I guess."
Approval surged faintly through Dart's mind. /She's an odd one/
//Look who's talking. Just try to keep in mind who you are; let too much slip and they'd probably turn you in before you could turn around//
/I haven't said anything!/ Dart protested.
//No, but I'm warning you anyway. You tend to get too comfortable around those you find to be friends, and they aren't exactly the same as Garren and Nova//
/Whatever/
Further opportunity for argument was cut short as Zion seized one of the lines and, as the boat brushed up against the buffers, swung up onto the rail and leapt across the intervening space between the ship and the pier in one smooth movement. He stumbled slightly as he landed, and the sack went rolling across the planks. Ignoring the angry shouts of the dock workers, he brushed himself off and retrieved the bag. Grinning insolently to all present, he waved jauntily. "Well, are you coming or what?"
The kid certainly felt better without a pitching deck beneath his feet.
The gangplank thudded into place and we crossed over onto the wharf. Drawing away from the seamen, we made our way to the crowded street beyond. Sidestepping around a boy carrying a basket of fish, Dart pointed toward the stairs which led to the upper tier of the town. "There should be an inn somewhere up there. Book a room or two, but please don't break the bank, okay?"
"Why? Where're you going?" Zion had calmed down slightly, but the puckered scar pulling up one corner of his mouth gave him the expression of one perpetually amused.
"Hotspring clinic." Dart replied gruffly. "Got to get this shoulder patched up properly."
Angling away from the pair, he paused to watch them climb the stairs. /You're right, I guess/ He admitted.
//All I'm saying is to watch yourself//
/I don't think you have to worry about that too much/ He chuckled to himself, starting to walk again. /The past couple centuries have pretty much pounded that into my head. But really…/
//Hm?// The clinic loomed before us, whitewashed sides bright in the noon sunlight.
/Neither of them pushes the issue as to why the cult wants me so badly. I don't think they've even asked as to whom messed up my shoulder/ Joining the short queue of people waiting to be admitted to the clinic, he followed the line into the shadows of the building while I thought on it.
//Maybe// Nothing more.
HAH! THE JADE IS A GIRL!
**Is hit with multiple objects- pointy and blunt alike**X.X+