The Space Between Stars
Chapter 1: Encounter
When Claude had asked Marianne to help the Golden Deer deal with a skirmish between the Empire and the Alliance, it was worse than she had imagined.
Early in the Pegasus Moon, the Empire had brought a massive army to take over Welland—a small territory on the Alliance border—and the worst of the fighting was taking place in the middle of a crowded city. The citizens had been caught completely unprepared when the Empire unleashed Demonic Beasts, and the city was burning as mages blasted buildings to shreds.
"I can't lie to you all," Claude said to his former classmates as they hunkered in the remains of a castle, "Things are looking pretty dicey for us."
"We're not going to cut and run, are we?" said Raphael.
"Oh, I intend to!" said Claude with a wink. "The Empire very much wants me dead—if I die, the rest of the Alliance falls into their hands."
"I'm still here, you know," said Lorenz. "I'll be happy to take your place."
"And perhaps someday you shall!" said Claude. "But they'll have to kill me first." Then more seriously he said, "If I'm seen fleeing, the Empire will follow. There's been too much bloodshed at the expense of regular people. I don't want to surrender now if we can salvage Welland, but we have to move the fighting out of the city."
Claude took Marianne aside as the other Golden Deer bickered over strategy.
"Have your healers scope out the city where the fighting has passed. Heal as many soldiers and civilians as you can. Avoid combat if you can help it." He shot a glance down to Blutgang. "But I know you're more than capable," he said before Marianne could protest that she was not.
Then he put a hand on her shoulder. "Marianne, if this territory falls, I need you to escape. Take any survivors who can still walk to the rendezvous point. Come back to us in one piece."
Swallowing her doubt, Marianne took her battalion of healers into the city, splitting them off into groups as they combed through the rubble for survivors. Her stomach felt like it turned to stone every time she came across a dead body, each with injuries too gruesome to process.
She questioned again why Claude should trust her with this task as she gathered up the wounded in the ground floor of a half-ruined building. The room had once been a bookshop, long ago that same morning, before the battle tore the city to shreds. Rows of wounded men and women were laid out on the floor of the ruined building for Marianne to attend to, and more than half of them weren't soldiers at all but civilians caught up in the crossfire.
Marianne held her hands above an unconscious soldier's chest, allowing the flow of healing magic to pass through to the organs damaged underneath. A weeping woman held the soldier's head, cradling it on her lap. Marianne feared her healing would not be enough to save him, but she had to move onto the next injured soldier.
She tried not to be distracted by the distant roars of Demonic Beasts, rampaging somewhere on the front lines—the Empire was winning.
This next soldier would pull through with enough rest, though Marianne had to ignore the voice that warned her that he might not get that chance. She took a look at the next patient, an elderly woman who had suffered a blow to the head. She was already gone, and none of the able-bodied citizens who crowded into the building were attending to her. She had died alone with no one who knew her.
Marianne wanted to crumple to the floor, but she couldn't afford to fall back into her old habits of despair. Not here. Instead she quietly instructed another healer to have the body moved while she continued her work.
She was not sure she trusted herself to lead this wounded group to safety, but she pushed that thought aside along with her other countless doubts and fears, all of them incessantly whispering in the back of her mind that she wasn't capable of saving anyone. She had made a promise to Claude when she pledged herself to him and the other Golden Deer; even if she proved useless in the end, she wouldn't abandon her herd to fight this war alone.
But her fears pushed tauntingly against her resolve when one of her battalion members appeared at her side with an alarming report.
"Imperial scouts are searching buildings," said the healer.
A hush fell over the entire room; the sniffling of confused children and the moans of the injured quieted. Even the stray dogs and feral cats who had followed Marianne into the building fell silent as her Crest pressed upon their instincts.
Beyond the broken doorway came the scuffling of boots, the calling out of orders in the Imperial accent, and the occasional scream of whoever they caught. The civilians crowded themselves against the back wall, too scared to whisper prayers that their building might be overlooked. The backdoor had collapsed into rubble and was now useless for escape.
Marianne stood by the door just out of sight, knowing full well that she held the only true offensive capability left in the room. She raised Blutgang in one hand, with the other hand poised to spellcast. She only hoped that she would be able to cause enough damage that a few of her flock might escape in the confusion. She said a silent prayer. For forgiveness. For conviction.
Soft scrapes of footsteps filtered into the room; an Imperial was just beyond the door, not yet visible through the thick smog that cloaked the ruined streets.
Her Crest continued to pulse faintly in her veins, and she took a deep breath to keep it in check. She had Blutgang now—her Crest had to respect her wishes and remain silent.
The Imperial scout stepped inside, bow raised, and Marianne felt like ice struck her lungs at the sight of him.
She recognized him at first by how dear a friend he'd once been to her heart rather than by appearance, because at first glance he looked differently than she remembered. He was taller, and his silver hair had grown out smoother than the wavy fluff he used to have during their academy days. His face was leaner—sharp with the poised expression of a marksman—but he still had enough freckles to remind her of the softness he once possessed. And his green eyes, once docile, were trained on her while every limb was coiled and ready to strike.
But in a heartbeat recognition lit up in his gaze, and his posture fell hesitant if no less guarded.
"Marianne?" Ashe said, his thin voice dredging up once-happy memories. "What are you doing here?"
Marianne couldn't respond, for Ashe still held his bow high. The dissonance between the warm and friendly classmate she remembered and the man who stood before her now in crimson Imperial colors had her too shocked for words.
She couldn't retaliate either, because as soon as she did, the sound of combat would bring every Imperial on the block racing into the building. Her battalion knew it too, waiting on her orders to attack and bring the axe upon them all. She could feel the gazes of the civilians she was supposed to protect boring into her back.
Ashe's own eyes flicked across the room before settling back on her. She had no doubt he took in every detail, missing nothing. After a few painful heartbeats of silence as they stared each other down, a call echoed through the door.
"Ubert! Anything?"
Ashe's brow furrowed, but he lowered his bow.
He called back out, "Nothing!"
Never dropping his gaze upon Marianne, he inched his way back to the open doorway just as more footsteps reached the building. Then he blocked the sightline of whoever stood beyond.
"Anything to salvage?" said the other Imperial.
"Completely ransacked," said Ashe. "It's a shame. I might have liked finding a new book to read."
"That's no way to celebrate," laughed his companion, and his voice started to drift away. "Come on, we need to hit the next block."
"All right," said Ashe. "Mark this one off."
Ashe ducked back into the building. Everyone in the room flinched, and he frowned. He pulled the arrow out of his bow and his voice dropped low. "After dark the southwest wall will be lowest priority for us. You might have a chance then."
His eyes were on her alone, his expression grim but non-aggressive. Marianne could feel her fingers and knees trembling, but she still couldn't muster a response.
Ashe opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then he gave a little sigh and darted back through the door. The clack of his boots echoed through the smog until they faded.
Only once all was still did Marianne remember to breathe again. She dropped Blutgang and fell to her knees, gasping. She couldn't stop shaking.
The last she'd heard from Ashe was almost three years ago, when he had used to send her letters about his time with House Rowe. Then House Rowe broke away from the Kingdom, and his letters stopped.
What had happened to him during that time? As she patched up the remaining wounded, Marianne wondered how the Ashe she used to know seemed so at odds with the one she had just met fighting for the Empire. But he hadn't attacked—in fact, he had hidden her—so did that mean the kind soul she remembered was still in there?
As she worked, she organized the able-bodied and infirm in groups, deciding who was best suited to guide those unable to walk. Those who could still move had been crafting splints, crutches, and makeshift stretchers out of leftover tables, cabinets, shelving, shutters, planks—anything they could use out the wreckage of the hollowed out shop they hid in. There were over six-dozen living people crammed into the room, and Marianne was determined not to leave anyone behind.
As for the dead… Marianne's heart was heavy, but the best she could do was arrange their bodies in rows, hands folded across their chests. She began to pray over each body; she kneeled by their sides with her forehead bent over their closed eyes. Then her grief weighed on her all the more when she realized she did not have enough time for a full sending prayer for each of the deceased.
She dabbed away the first real tears of the day with her sleeve and begged their souls for forgiveness. In the corner of her mind, endless what-ifs and failures plagued her, but she had to keep attending to the living.
The process took all afternoon and well into the evening. By the time night fell, Marianne steeled herself and began to guide the group out of the city. She didn't know the city very well to begin with, and the ruined streets and demolished buildings didn't help her get her bearings.
She had little choice but to lead them mostly on instinct. At least most of the fires had died down, so the smoke wasn't as thick. She could make out the pale wink of stars above, anchoring her sense of direction.
They had to move slowly, as even those with lighter injuries had wobbling gaits and many folks weren't used to carrying stretchers. Crutches clattered across the stone-paved streets, and shoes stumbled over rubble. People smothered their coughs from the ashy air as best as they could, but each tiny sound echoed jarringly in the empty streets. Marianne and her battalion were on high alert, and every noise made her chest clench.
One of the stray dogs that trotted alongside Marianne with the group stopped before a corner, its hackles raised. A moment later, the sudden clip of boots nearly sent her heart straight into her throat. But then a Faerghus accent drifted around the corner of the building.
"Marianne, it's me."
Ashe stepped out of the deep shadows into view. Marianne lowered the casting stance she didn't realize she had assumed. She exhaled sharply through her nose.
Finally she whispered his name. "Ashe."
His eyes passed over her to the limping group that trailed behind her. He looked back at her with a strained expression.
"There's so many of you out in the open!" Ashe said. "I could hear you from three blocks back."
Marianne glanced back at the people she had rescued and wondered if she had healed them just to deliver them into the Empire's hands.
Ashe said, "My shift changes at the end of the hour, and other scouts will comb through the area." He motioned around a corner. "You can take this back alley. It's unguarded all the way through. I'll lead you to a gap in the city wall where you can slip by unnoticed."
He began to sink back into the alley.
"Wait," Marianne said. She balled her hands into fists so tight she felt her fingernails dig into her skin.
"We don't have much time," said Ashe, but his expression had softened.
"Why?" whispered Marianne. It wasn't the question she meant to ask, but it was all she could manage then. She searched his eyes for an answer, all the while wondering if the dear friend she had once known was still in him somewhere.
Ashe seemed to understand, and a familiar kindness passed over his gaze. "Because I envy your position. You're saving lives rather than taking them. I'd like to help you."
She didn't feel like she had much choice in any case, but the way he looked at her now gave her a flicker of hope. She followed him into the shadows.
The group began making their way through the alley. Ashe led them, gesturing around another corner. Marianne lingered at the back, waiting at the edge of each block until the last of the group passed through.
At the end of the trail of winding alleys was a long stretch of field, filled with tall grass, old barns, stacks of wood and stone, and vacant buildings in various stages of construction. Marianne wondered if any of them would ever be finished now—perhaps they would under a new regime, or perhaps they'd be left to rot once the Empire hollowed out the territory.
A cobblestone wall lined the edge of the city, barely taller than an adult, and it bore a gap wide enough for horse-drawn carts. The wall didn't appear damaged, but Marianne supposed it had just been left unfinished at some point during its construction. A worn dirt path, somewhat overgrown with weeds, led beyond the wall into the dark forest beyond. The peeps of spring frogs and the music of nightbirds told her that all was safe in the woods.
Marianne checked the stars—the sky was clearer here at the edge of the city, so she hoped she would be able to find Claude's rendezvous point before morning. She wondered who else in the Golden Deer had made it there, worry budding in her mind about who she might have yet to lose.
As her group of refugees cautiously made their way past the wall, Marianne lingered at the edge of the forest. She watched Ashe help a cluster of young children through the opening. He moved gently, so different from the warlike posture he had faced her with back inside the city. Now he was kneeling, giving reassuring words she couldn't hear to the smallest child—parents nowhere in sight, Marianne realized.
But Ashe had always been good with children, she remembered. An almost-happy memory stirred of watching him playing ball with the choir children in the cathedral courtyard on free days, of how he had invited her to join them but she had declined and hid away. Those days felt like a lifetime ago now.
When the last of the group dragged their exhausted feet into the forest, Marianne stepped out from beneath the trees to the edge of the wall. Ashe had started to turn back when she caught his eye.
Marianne stumbled over her words when he faced her, his expression calm but otherwise unreadable.
"You…" She pinched her lips. "You're with the Empire now."
"Yes," he said. If he understood the question she didn't ask, he didn't answer.
She wrung her hands, twisting her fingers while she sifted through her brain for the right string of words to say. Ashe rocked on his heels as if impatient to go; she was running out of time, and she wanted to understand.
"You stopped returning my letters," she said quietly, dropping her gaze.
"I'm sorry," said Ashe. He paused, then with an anxious clip to his voice he spoke again. "I hadn't wanted to stop. Your letters made me so happy. But I couldn't write to you after…" He sighed. "House Rowe serves the Empire, and I serve House Rowe. But the choice to do so was my own."
His words didn't feel sufficient, but she was unsure of what else to say.
"And you?" Ashe offered after a moment.
"And me?"
"I hadn't expected to see you out here," Ashe said, and now it was his turn to drop his gaze. "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me after Claude assumed leadership, but I'd hoped that the Margrave wouldn't put you up to it. That you would sit this war out."
Without meaning to, Marianne rested her palm on Blutgang's hilt. "I chose this as well."
She didn't think she could put into words how deep yet fickle that choice ran within her, how her dread of bringing failure and misfortune upon her friends put her at odds with her intensely selfish desire to stand by their sides with her head held high. The ancient sword she now wielded was a symbol of that commitment.
Ashe looked backed up at her, and a flicker of familiar warmth passed over his features. His eyes crinkled with a smile so subtle that she might have missed it had she not been searching for it from the start.
"I understand," he said. "I'm glad for you, Marianne."
The smile passed as quickly as it had appeared, dashing the warmth that had bloomed in Marianne's chest.
"I need to go before I'm missed." Ashe said, angling himself to the city.
With a small gasp, Marianne took an impulsive half-step toward him. He turned once more in confusion, but she shrank back when she realized what she was doing. What exactly was she doing? The words wouldn't come to her.
As he once had so often in the past, Ashe found the words for her, though it seemed painful for him to say. "It was wonderful to see you. Truly. But I do hope we don't see each other again."
Then he was off, neatly disappearing through the cluttered field as if he had never been there. Marianne swallowed back the lump in her throat. The encounter was over, and worse still she knew that Ashe was right.
If she ever saw him on the battlefield, she wouldn't be able to hesitate again.
Notes: Marianne acquired Blutgang during the timeskip with Claude's help. Claude knows about her Crest. It's addressed later, but I want to avoid any reader confusion. Cover image illustration drawn by me, which you can find here: /_goblin_mom/status/1460318964140199939