Chapter Four: Withering Flower
Fire danced and spun in the late evening breezes, the wind stretching out its scorching fingers in bizarre patterns. It performed like a gypsy, leaping and twirling in exotic movements, then settling into inaction for a few seconds when breezes ceased. As soon as the wind picked up again, however, it would explode in dance, stretching into the sky, reaching for the stars.
A chilling breeze wove its way through the Sacaen evening. The tall blades of grass quivered with the wind, bending and swaying with the rhythm. The whoosh of the wind was calming, and it provided a peaceful background for the crackling of the fire.
The ground where the group made camp was much rockier than other places in Sacae, due to the fact that they were so close to Bern and the Taliver Mountains. While that did mean that they were almost one step closer to Lycia and Caelin, it also created a very uncomfortable sleep.
The thought of Taliver Mountain did nothing more than give Lyn a severe case of insomnia. She had not tried to sleep yet, but she was sure that she would not be able to that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of her village that night six months ago, and before even seconds had passed, she could watch no longer and was forced to gaze into the present.
Kent had managed to get a fire going, but the most he could do without a good supply of firewood was start a meager blaze, supplied by piles of dry grass and a few logs they had managed to scrounge from some of the brush around them.
The horses were tethered to their respective tents; Kent and Sain's stallions to their tent, and Lyn's mischievous mare to the other. Ever since the incident at the shrine, Cynthia had refused to go within three feet of the animal willingly. She was perfectly aware of the lost time this cost them, but her decision would not be swayed, no matter how much Kent and Lyn begged.
The four were huddled around a fire that was far smaller than any of them would have liked. Sacae nights were painfully cold, a still-unwelcome change from the sweltering heat of day. It seemed the weather of the plains worked in extremes, never anything less that unbearably hot or piercingly cold.
Cynthia had volunteered to cook. Kent simply provided her with the material means to do so–a pot, a rig to hold it over the fire, and such– and she had done the rest. Her ingredients she carried with her in her rucksack and the variety of tiny leather bags at her waist.
As the young tactician tended their dinner, Lyn sat as close to the fire's warm embrace as she could without scorching herself. The Mani Katti's ornate scabbard leaned serenely against her shoulder, where it could be found often since she had acquired it. She fingered the tiny, golden tassel on the end of the hilt, and brushed it absentmindedly against her cheek.
She still hadn't been able to bring herself to draw it; it still felt so strange to be holding the most famous blade in Sacae in her hands. Her father's sword still remained strapped to her waist, ready to be used if ever danger reared its head. Lyn had not retired it simply because she worried that, if it came right down to it, she wouldn't be able to get herself to free the sacred blade from its prison. Yes, for right now, the Mani Katti remained on the sidelines, a silent, but ever present entity.
Cynthia knelt at the fire's edge, reaching gingerly over the flames with a dented, iron spoon. Her long cloak lay abandoned at Lyn's side, protected from the erratic behavior of the flames, and her long braid was twisted into a sloppy bun behind her head. She poked daintily at a black pot amidst the flames, the very tip of the blaze licking the bottom of the pot and cooking it slowly to perfection.
Smoke poured mercilessly from the fire, despite its rather meek size, clogging the air all around it. Cynthia coughed violently, tipping her head away and to the side. "Agh... Stupid smoke," she muttered, turning her gaze back to the task before her.
"If it's that bad, Cynthia, you don't have to sit there," Lyn said, watching the younger girl struggle with the fire. "We can eat something else you know."
The tactician shook her head. "I already got it started. It'd be a waste of food to stop now just because of a little smoke."
"... It's more than just a little."
Cynthia shrugged. She leaned forward again through the smoke, touching the edge of the pot delicately with her spoon. She tipped it, and squinted through the blaze at its contents. After a moment, she nodded briskly and gently allowed the pot to swing back to its normal position. She scooted away from the smoke and flame, taking her seat beside Lyn.
"It needs a little bit more time," she said, as the others gazed curiously at her. "Give it a few more minutes."
Sain groaned, flopping back onto the ground. "The smell is immaculate, my dear Cynthia," he moaned, "but every whiff of it is the purest torture, knowing it will be forever out of my reach."
"The smell is so strange, though, Cynthia," Lyn said, ignoring Sain's tortured pleas for food. She sniffed the air once, and paused to think. "It reminds me of something served at the Inn in Bulgar, but at the same time it's so... different."
"It's a Bernian recipe," Cynthia said, rising again to check their dinner, "Some of the ingredients are hard to find in Sacae, so I had to improvise a little." She dipped her spoon into the broth, stirring the contents to distribute the heat evenly. She scooped a small test from the pot, blew on it gently, and lifted it to her lips.
Her face scrunched in dissatisfaction. Sain groaned in dismay, misinterpreting the look on her face, and collapsed back onto the grass. "Even if it is terrible, Fair Maiden, I implore you not to begin again. I don't think my poor stomach could take the disappointment."
"No... it's not that..." Cynthia paused to stir her concoction again, "It just... it does tastes a little off, now that I think about it."
"That's most likely because you are used to it tasting a certain way," Kent suggested, "With a few different ingredients, it is understandable that it tastes off to you."
"Yes, I suppose so," Cynthia said slowly, but still her voice sounded unconvinced. She continued to stir the soup, pausing every now and then to taste a small sample. Finally, she tipped the pot towards her for a moment, then nodded briskly. "Have you starved to death yet, Sain?"
"I don't believe so, Maiden," Sain replied weakly, "But I am hovering dangerously close, I fear."
"Well, you're in luck," she said, "I think it's ready."
Sain whooped with newfound energy, springing forward. "Ohh, truly?" he cried, "Ahh, you are my life-saving angel, dear Cynthia!"
Cynthia laughed good-naturedly, and grasped the rod supporting the pot above the flames. She lifted it gingerly away from the fire's scorching fingers, and twirled, setting the pot on the ground. "Dinner is served, my friends!" she announced, seating herself directly behind the pot, her back to the fire. She collected bowls and spoons from a small pile beside her, and slowly tested her concoction one last time.
Her face scrunched again. "Ah... It still tastes so odd to me," she admitted, setting the spoon aside in the bowl she had designated for herself, "Tell me what you think of it."
"I'm sure it's fine," Lyn said, scooting forward and scooping a good amount of the soup into her bowl. "Thank you, Cynthia."
"Not a problem," the tactician said, doling out servings for the knights and herself. "Aunt Maya would be angry with me if she knew I'd been shirking my cooking."
Sain leaned forward eagerly for his bowl. "Be careful," Cynthia warned dully, handing a noticeably more controlled Kent his dinner. "It's hot. You'll burn your tongue off if you aren't careful."
"Hush, Cynthia," Lyn said with a vague smile as the tactician took her seat beside her, "It would be an enormous improvement."
"Such harsh words from so lovely an angel!" Sain whined, clutching his bowl close, "You will shatter my heart into a thousand tiny pieces one day, Angel."
But Lyn only rolled her eyes and dipped her spoon gingerly into the still-steaming soup. She lifted it delicately, blowing lightly to banish most of the heat from it. She touched the spoon to her lips, and cautiously tipped the liquid back into her mouth.
It was one of the most perfect blends of herbs, spices, and vegetables that Lyn had ever tasted. However, it was also so noticeably Sacaen that Lyn would have never questioned it if Cynthia had not informed her otherwise. She could pick out every Sacaen herb from the mesh of tastes swimming on her tongue.
"Exquisite!" Sain said brightly, staring into his bowl as if it were suddenly piled with gold. "Your magnificence never ceases to amaze, my Fair Maiden!"
"Do you really like it that much?" Cynthia said, looking down at her own serving doubtfully, her spoon tapping her lips. "I don't know why, but it still just tastes so..."
"Nonsense!" Lyn said, dipping her spoon eagerly back into the broth. "It's delicious!"
"Agreed," Kent said, gently stirring the contents of his bowl to release the heat. He smiled. "I assure you, I never thought I would have such a wonderful meal in the middle of a journey."
"Well, if you think it's this good now, wait until you taste it when we're in Bern." Cynthia grinned, chasing a slice of carrot around with her spoon. "It'll be easier to get some of the spices, and that'll really give it the flair it was meant to have."
"I'm surprised that the herbs found in Bern would differ so greatly compared to here," Kent said. He was eating with all the manners befitting a knight, a harsh contrast to Sain beside him chugging down every drop straight from the bowl. "But you seem to know every detail of them. Did you grow up there?"
Cynthia lifted her bowl to her lips as he spoke, and gulped down the last of her soup. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and shook her head briskly. "Oh... Heh, no. I'm from Lycia myself. ... My Aunt Maya lived in Bern. She... brought us recipes every now and then when she came to visit."
"Did she?" Lyn said brightly, setting her spoon down in her bowl. "Was she a good cook?"
"Wonderful." Cynthia smiled wistfully at the star-spotted sky. "She was truly a baker for a living, but she could cook all sorts of things. She would bake cakes and things for us when she visited." She laughed. "Never pies, though,"
"Oh, 'tis a shame, my dear," Sain cooed, satisfied now that his stomach was full. "Pie... I cannot even describe it. It is second in sweetness only to that of a beautiful woman."
"Yes, well, that may be," Cynthia said with a smirk, "but whenever Aunt Maya would leave it on the windowsill to cool, one of the boys in town would come and swipe it." She sighed, nostalgia clouding her chocolate gaze. "I don't blame them. Aunt Maya's pies were magnificent."
"I'm curious, though, Cynthia," Kent said, finally finishing his dinner and setting his bowl aside. "Which part of Lycia did you live in?"
"... I grew up near the border between Lycia and Bern." She shrugged, "It's been such a long time since I've been home, though. It will be wonderful to just be back in Lycia's borders."
"Ah, yes! Lycia!" Sain cried, brandishing his spoon with every last bit of heroism one could give a spoon. "Ever the perfect picture of unity! Ah, Lycia, I know no other." He pressed his spoon to his chest, sighing dramatically, "And I am humbled to be a servant of its greatest province, the magnificent territory of Caelin!" He laughed triumphantly and again brandished his spoon, which Kent immediately seized and stuffed away, muttering about foolishness. Sain pouted at him momentarily, but his spoon was gone, and he was never getting it back.
"I... Have never been to either, myself," Lyn said slowly, "I've lived in Sacae all my life." She set the Mani Katti flat in her lap, running her fingers up and down the hilt nervously. She had not thought much about how different the world might be outside of the rolling plains of Sacae. In truth, she had not much wanted to think about it. "... I wonder if it will suit me."
"Have no fear, my lady, for Lycia is a most magical place," Sain said seriously, "It contains every environment imaginable, from salty ports to freezing mountain-peaks. But, of course, nothing can match to the evergreens of Caelin"–he again sighed wistfully–"Oh, Caelin, how I long for thee."
"Regardless," Kent said irritably, giving Sain an icy glare, "milady, you should not worry about such things. I assure you that you will love Lycia every bit as much as we do."
Cynthia laughed and glanced at Sain. "Well, as much as Kent and I do. I don't believe I've met anyone who loves Lycia as much as Sain does."
–;.;–;.;–;.;–;.;–
The fire grew dimmer as night lumbered on, the hours passing between the companions easily with light, joking conversation. Eventually, however, no one could deny the need for rest in preparation for the next day's journey. And so, the group bid each other good night, and departed to their respective tents.
The tents were small, but relatively cozy. They easily housed one, but two was pushing the limits of the structure. In any case, Lyn had managed to fit the necessary items for both Cynthia and herself with relatively little trouble, and now slipped into the warmth of her own bed.
She sat up, reaching high behind her head and gently letting her hair out of its tight ponytail. Waves of emerald green cascaded down her back, lapping gently at her shoulders and curling on the ground behind her. Lyn yawned, and laid down onto her pillow, snuggling away her dull headache in its soft embrace.
Cynthia, however, wasn't about to go to sleep just yet. She was dressed in her night clothes, and her hair was let loose just as Lyn's was, but she had not yet slipped into the warm embrace of her bedding. She was seated on top of her bed, her legs crossed beneath her. Her black, leather-bound book lay open in her lap, and she read it slowly, a content smile gracing her lips. A small candle sat flickering beside her, casting a stream of dim light over her lap.
Lyn propped herself up onto one elbow, watching Cynthia read with mild curiosity. She hadn't looked at the book when she had first found the tactician out of respect for the older woman's privacy, but now, seeing that Cynthia was reading it in plain sight without any qualms that Lyn was in the room, she felt her curiosity rekindle.
"Cynthia," she said slowly. The tactician glanced up from her reading, meeting Lyn's curious gaze with her own mahogany eyes. "What is that, if you don't mind me asking?"
Cynthia stared at Lyn, uncomprehending, for a moment. Then it clicked it in her mind, and she laughed, lifting her book from her lap. "Oh! This? This is my journal. My master gave it to me when we first started. I write battle plans in it."
"Truly?" Lyn asked, sitting up eagerly. The book was packed to the brim with paper, all of them ragged and rough at the edges. Even the corners of some poked out haphazardly from in between the pages, stained and bent from age. "It looks so old. How long have you been writing in it?"
Cynthia ran her fingers fondly over the pages. "Oh, it's been years. Ever since I was a little girl. If I had to count, though, it's probably been..." She frowned, going over the numbers in her mind, "At least ten years." She laughed, patting the pages proudly. "It's getting full. I keep stuffing it full of loose papers, it's overflowing. I should get a new one soon."
She extended the book towards Lyn, laying it gently on the strip of earth between their beds. "Here, have a look," she said cheerily, "I don't mind."
Lyn leaned forward, peering through the dim candlelight at the pages. Complicated diagrams covered majority of every page, the pictures bordered by long strings of mathematical computations. Below the diagrams were blocks of text, all in Cynthia's neat scrawl, of how and why each tactic would be used. Lyn turned each page in wonder; some of the diagrams were so complicated and covered in so many side-notes and revisions that it was a wonder Cynthia could still read it.
On many of the pages, there were tiny symbols scribbled into the top corners. Lyn could only guess what they meant; they seemed so complicated in appearance, and yet their structure was so simple. She pointed them out to Cynthia and she nodded sagely.
"... That was something my teacher used to write when he reviewed my work," she said, "He never did tell me what any of them really meant. Just that this one"–she pointed to a circle with several triangles inscribed inside it–"meant that he liked what I had done, and that this one"–she pointed to a square with a twisting design of lines outside it–"meant I was being foolish and I should change it. He gave me that one a lot." She shook her head, smiling furtively. "I never did, though. I liked my plans too much to change any of them."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Lyn said, turning a few pages in the journal. "These are amazing. I can't believe your teacher wanted you to throw some of them away."
"Yes, well," Cynthia said, her voice suddenly dropping uncomfortably, "That particular teacher expected only the best from me, nothing less. I had a few others who were a bit more... lenient."
Lyn tore her eyes away from the journal to look at her friend curiously. "You changed teachers? How odd. Everyone I knew who was learning a trade had one teacher for life. They would never even consider switching."
Cynthia shrugged, and laid back onto her bed roll. "Remember, I told you I started learning when I was very young," she said, "My father had an unstable job back then, and we moved from place to place trying to settle down. I had a different teacher in every place we lived, until we finally found a good home, and I got a permanent one."
"I see," Lyn said, closing Cynthia's journal with a snap and pushing it back to her friend. She laid her head back into her pillow, and pulled her blankets up over her shoulder.
"That's why I travel so much, I guess," Cynthia continued dreamily, studying the ceiling of their tent. "It was so much fun when I was a little girl, and it's even more fun now." She laughed and rolled onto her side, smiling brightly at Lyn. "... Oh, never mind, I'm just talking to myself. We should be asleep anyway."
Lyn returned her smile with a tiny smirk. "If I'm too tired to stand tomorrow, I'm blaming it on you, Cynthia,"
"As you should," Cynthia remarked cheerfully. She leaned over her bed, putting out the flickering candle with a wave of her hand. What little light they had dispelled in a second, plunging the entire tent into an inky blackness. "Goodnight, Lyn," she told the darkness, snuggling deep beneath her blankets.
"Goodnight."
a/n: As all my old readers (if any of them are here) have probably noticed that I changed the tactician's name (If you didn't, I would be shocked and hurt, but let's not get into that). I didn't like her old name, so I changed it, simple as that. Now, if you prefered the old one, tell me. I may or may not change it back, but I want to hear your outlook on the subject.
While I'm talking about it, I would also like to make it clear that I changed the tactician's age as well. I never blatantly stated how old she was in the last version, but let me assure you, she was much much too young. She's still a bit young for her profession (which is a must, considering that Hector tells you in the game that you're too young, and this is a novelization after all), but she's at least older than the lords.
Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you come back again when Chapter Five rolls around!
OceanRose