A/N: Bit of a shorter chapter this time. I was running out of steam, but transitioning directly between Chapter 5 and 7 felt too abrupt.
It had been nearly a week since the three of them had left Savaur, traveling northwest towards the smaller mining and logging towns in the north of Kazdel. Those towns had been more dramatically affected by the civil war than those they'd traveled through before. Shining herself had participated in one of the major battles to the north, and knew the area well, so she took the lead, taking them off the roads and through the broken plains towards the forested mountains.
The off-road travel was grueling, but also safer than the roads. It wasn't that bandits lurked around every corner here, so much as that Shining was almost certain she'd been recognized in Savaur. She couldn't say by whom, but she had sensed someone watching her, only to disappear every time she tried to identify them. That meant someone who knew who she was, and who was good at disappearing, which spelled trouble. There was also the matter of Nightingale. The guards at the facility had certainly recognized her, and that meant that even if there hadn't been a Redeemer informer, or a Redeemer, in the town, they would know she'd been in the area soon. That meant it was time to take a more circumspect route, to avoid towns and cities for a while, until they reached the small towns in the north where they could provide more help.
She had to moderate the pace she would otherwise have set, though. Nightingale, though she'd gotten much stronger in the town, was still fairly weak, and though she was light for a fully-grown Sarkaz woman, carrying her for any great distance still made for slow going. They had, at the very least, managed to figure out a version of their technique for Oripathy treatment that let them help each other, and her Infection's progress had been halted for the most part… though it was still bad, and because Nightingale had to use her own Arts to suppress the Originium's activity, it wasn't as effective as it was when healing another person. Margaret's infection had also been tended, though, and was barely noticeable anymore, her strong constitution combining with the treatment to make it almost entirely controlled.
Thinking of Margaret made Shining sigh, though fortunately she was far enough ahead of the other two that they didn't hear. She didn't really know what she was feeling or thinking, but… there was something about Nearl. She'd first realized it after Margaret had nearly died when the beast attacked them outside of Savaur, but there was a part of her that wanted to be even closer to the knight. She wasn't even particularly sure of what she meant by that, but she knew it was true. She'd never seen anyone in a romantic light before, but she was fairly certain that her feelings towards Margaret were somewhere in that neighborhood.
Well, if it's meant to happen it will, she thought resignedly, continuing onwards, slogging over the hill ahead. She paused at the top of the hill, catching her breath while Nearl, carrying Nightingale, caught up to her. "Where next?" Margaret asked, catching her own breath and looking out over the landscape. Shining gestured towards a broken gully leading towards a river.
"At the bottom of the gully there's a ford, where we'll cross the river. Once we're across, we should look for somewhere to camp out for the night. It'll have to be well-sheltered; I can smell a thunderstorm in the air. We wouldn't want to be caught out in that."
Shining's prediction proved to be quite accurate, and later that night, the three of them sat in the cover provided by an overhang of rock and their tent, watching the rain beat down as thunder roared overhead. A lightning bolt smashed a bent, twisted tree they could see about half a kilometer away, the sound astonishingly loud. As the echoes died down, Nightingale snuggled closer to Shining, tugging on Nearl's arm until the three of them were huddled together, comfortable and warm.
"What are we running from?" Nightingale asked finally. The question had clearly been on her mind for some time, and she looked from one of them to the other. Nearl nodded slowly.
"You aren't wrong, Nightingale. We are running, right now. But it's not my story to tell." She looked at Shining, eyes serious. "It's hers."
Shining sighed, then started. "Yeah. We're running because of who I used to be, and because we saved you." She explained, telling Nightingale much the same story that she had told Nearl when she had asked, laying out the truth simply and plainly. "When we saved you from the facility, the captain of the guards recognized me for who I was. And in Savaur… I think I might have been recognized there, too. The Redeemers will be coming for me, for a certainty. And that means they will be coming for you and Margaret, too… I know how they operate." She grimaced. "And that's why we're cutting across country like this. They might be willing to accept me back into the fold… but I don't want to think about what they might do to the two of you. Hopefully, we'll lose them in the barrenlands."
The informant shuddered nervously as he arrived at the foot of the Citadel. A pair of guards, carrying halberds and clad in the black-and-white of the Redeemers, glanced at him with sharp eyes, before one of them approached. "Dismount and state your business," the Redeemer stated, his voice rasping and quiet, but all the more intimidating for it. Not that the intimidation was necessary; the Citadel's towering spires and vast gate were an ominous backdrop, even without the dread reputation of the Redeemers.
He slid off his burdenbeast, glancing nervously at the Redeemer, then found his voice. "I have news that the Confessarius may wish to hear." Despite his best efforts, his voice still wavered with fear. "I believe… I believe I have seen the Absolutor."
The Redeemer looked back at the other guard. "I will take this one to the Confessarius. Watch the gate until another can be sent." The other Redeemer inclined their head slowly, shifting their position with a disturbingly fluid motion to stand in the center of the staircase. "You will come with me, now. The Confessarius will wish to hear of this news."
The informant had been to the Citadel before, of course. He was part of the network of informants that the Redeemers maintained, giving them orders and relying on their eyes and ears to pick up the information that the Redeemers simply were not numerous enough to acquire. That knowledge didn't make it any less terrifying a place, though. The halls were nearly empty, made of black, white, and grey marble. He knew that the parts where the truly monstrous things were done in the name of the Sarkaz people were far from where he walked, but the mere knowledge seemed to taint the very air.
Even more terrifying, though, was the surety with which each and every Redeemer they passed walked. All of them knew, deep in their bones, that what they did was for the greater good of Kazdel, and it showed, even with their faces covered by masks. The informant could see that absolute fanatical certainty, and it was almost the most terrifying part of the Citadel to him.
Indeed, it would have been, save for when the Redeemer walking with him stopped outside a door made of polished, utterly unembellished ebony. He grounded the butt of his halberd, then raised a fist and rapped firmly on the door twice.
"Enter." The voice that came from the other side was deep, velvety, and somber. The Redeemer set his halberd aside, then pushed open the door. "What brings you here, Redeemer?"
"This one," the Redeemer said, bowing deeply to the unseen occupant of the room, then gesturing the informant forward. "He claims to have knowledge of where the Absolutor has been, Confessarius."
The informant bowed deeply, stepping forward into view of the Confessor. The tall figure was seated behind a desk made of plain white wood, enameled with some kind of clear substance. "One of the informants," he noted, his voice quieter than it should have been to carry through the door. "Leave us, but remain outside until I call you." His golden mask swiveled, the dark hollows of its eyes locking with the informant's. "And you claim to have seen the Absolutor? How is it that this came to be?"
"Sir," he said, standing as straight as he could. "She came to Savaur not two weeks ago, in the company of a Kuranta woman calling herself Margaret Nearl, and a Sarkaz woman, possibly crippled or very ill, who both of them called Nightingale. I first thought I recognized her in the inn, where I was having my lunch. I slipped out right quickly, though she may have noticed me in passing." He found himself seated in the chair opposite the Confessor, with no memory of having walked over or of sitting down. "She was wearing a dark, ragged cloak over her Redeemer's robes, and had altered them to be less immediately evident. She was wearing a horn ornament on her left horn, some kind of leather and bone. She was carrying a long cruciform sword, with black fittings and scabbard."
"That is an excellent description," the Confessor said, a carefully metered amusement entering his tone at the statement, as if at a joke he was making to himself. "How are you certain that it was she, though?"
"Well, sir… she's your daughter, and the resemblance was just striking, couldn't be missed." The informant stopped speaking. Something had just come to his mind. Why was he speaking so volubly, so easily? Why was he providing so much detail and answering directly, without even asking about a reward.
"Ahhhh… so clever," the Confessor said admiringly. "A shame, really. Clever enough to notice, but not clever enough to realize." The informant had but a moment to feel an icy shock of fear course through him, before a blur of movement in front of his eyes sent a sharp, biting pain through his chest.
He looked down and saw his clothes staining dark red, blood pumping out of a wound in his chest. As his vision began to turn grey and tunnel, he saw that the Confessor was standing now, a twisted, misshapen sword of black bone in his hand. The informant slumped forwards in his chair, bouncing off the table on his way to the polished marble floor.
"Redeemer," the Confessarius ordered. "Enter." The door swung open, and the Redeemer's black mask bent in a carefully precise bow.
"Lord Confessarius. How may I serve?"
"Remove his body." The Confessarius gestured, and the Redeemer hefted the corpse up, struggling with the weight a bit. He watched the soldier leave, then picked up a dark cloth and wiped up the blood staining his office floor, his mind elsewhere.
So, my daughter. You have found companions, indeed. I wonder what use you see in them. Margaret Nearl, certainly, would be useful. A knight, the scion of one of Kazmierz's great houses, and an icon to the common people; what an asset she would be. The other, though… I would have thought you would have left her as quickly as you could. He had received the report from the testing facility not long ago, that a Kurantan knight, working with the Absolutor, had assisted one of their more valuable subjects in escaping. No, daughter, I see. You use the subject as a way to demonstrate your sincerity, your goodness, to Nearl. And she is valuable, too, in her own way. I wonder what your endgame is, daughter. Surely you would not have turned against me without a deeper plan.
He straightened, folding the cloth against itself. So be it, daughter mine… Naaldlusi. Whatever plan you may have… let us see what comes of it. You know I will pursue you… so I shall. And we shall see what your true design is.
The trio had reached the forested foothills of the mountains they were heading to, and decided to take a day of rest after the grueling pace they had set crossing the barrenlands. No mobile cities came here, so the forest was untouched by the civil war. They took the time to prepare a lean-to shelter, large and well-insulated with conifer branches and fallen leaves, sturdy, and altogether well-suited for resting in. Of course, Nearl and Shining's idea of rest was somewhat different than Nightingale's.
Nearl heaved herself back onto her feet, brushing leaves and dirt off her back, then picked up her mace from where Shining's counter had flung it. "Well done," she admitted, ungrudgingly. She knew that she was a world-class fighter. Had she not proven that in the Major? But Shining was something else, an opponent who felt more like a force of nature than a warrior. Nearl was stronger physically, had trained every day since she turned five in the traditional martial arts of Kazmierz, and her Arts were some of the best-suited for combat that she'd ever even heard of… and yet their total count of wins and losses was still firmly slanted in Shining's favor. "Again?"
Shining saluted, then flowed into a high guard position. "When you are ready, Margaret." Margaret grinned fiercely, unleashing her Arts, and leaping forward… only to have her radiance flicker and dim as she approached Shining. Her first blow glanced off an inclined plane of light, and she barely caught a shadowy flicker on her shield as Shining lunged, from a completely different direction than she'd expected. A flare of brilliant light flashed in front of her eyes as Shining struck again and she flung herself backwards, then lashed out with a foot… there! She was rewarded with a solid connection and a cough, and lashed out with her shield, following up and using the momentum from her kick to speed her attack.
Her blow crashed into another flash of light that sent it skimming off, and she whirled, trying to make herself an impossible target. She almost succeeded, and a slash glanced lightly off her armor. The blow was too light to be troublesome… and it gave her an opportunity. Her mace whistled around in a flat, whistling arc… and then went sailing out of her hand as a brilliantly shining blade entangled it and used its force to lever it out of her grasp. But she'd expected it this time. The counter clanged off her shield, and she hurled herself forward in a flying tackle. Her shoulder thumped solidly into her barely-seen opponent, and they both flew to the ground, Nearl landing heavily on top of Shining and driving the wind out of her. Before the Sarkaz woman could recover, Nearl twisted and rolled, leaving Shining out of reach of her sword and pinning her firmly to the ground. The darkness of Shining's Arts disappeared, light returning to the clearing, and Margaret let her own power slip away, relaxing.
She caught her breath quickly, panting lightly. Shining took longer to catch hers, and Margaret could feel her chest heaving, even through her armor. Shining's cheeks were flushed with exertion, her eyes half-shut, and her body relaxed, and Nearl couldn't help feeling a brief flash of desire at the sight. She couldn't help but pause momentarily at the thought, gazing down at Shining speculatively. I wonder if… no, best not. I don't know if she even views me romantically, and I wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable. Shining's eyes opened, meeting hers. The Sarkaz woman blushed lightly, breaking eye contact, and smiled slightly. "If you wouldn't mind, Nearl… you're making it a bit hard for me to catch my breath."
Nearl smiled, the expression wry with mild embarrassment. "Sorry." She rolled off of Shining, but her mind was busier than before. It was probably only referring to me pinning her down, right? Was she… flirting? Trying to call me breathtaking? Surely not… right? But that moment, when their eyes had met, kept making her think that she might be wrong about that.
Nightingale had clearly missed the subtext, but she hadn't missed the rest of the fight. "Why do you two do that so often? It really looks like you aren't holding back at all… couldn't you hurt each other like that? It worries me." Her voice was gentle, yet insisted on an answer in some undefinable way.
"Because, Nightingale," Margaret said, "much as we may be here to aid others… there is evil in this world. I am a knight, sworn to render aid and comfort to those in need… yet, as you saw the day we rescued you, sometimes the only way to save one person is to fight, to place myself in harm's way, weapon in hand, to protect those who need it. And the only way I can be sure I am ready to do so is to practice for the day I must do so again."
Nearl's speech was plain, straightforward… and noble, and it tugged at Nightingale's heart. She knew of the evils of the world, how could she not after her time in the facility? She met Nearl's eyes, tears filling her own. How could she say what she meant, that every time she thought of Shining or Nearl in danger it frightened her deeply, not for herself but at the idea that something might happen to them.
"And the wizard stood alone on the bridge, his friends staring past him at the terror of shadow and flame that had pursued them for so long. 'Orcrist,' one of them called, 'with us, come swiftly! We can still escape!'
'I defy thee, Flame of Khagan!' the wizard cried, as if he had not heard. A molten sword of fire descended upon him, but his upraised sword threw it back, though the force of the blow drove him to his knees. He thrust himself upright once again. 'You shall not pass!' And he struck down upon the bridge with his staff. The blow and his will shattered the bridge, and the monster began to fall, the span collapsing under its feet. Yet as it fell, one of its hands flew out from the cloud of shadow surrounding it, seizing his foot. Its fall drew him after it. 'Fly, you fools,' he shouted, and then was gone.
Indoro fled with the rest, tears staining his cheeks."
"Mama! What happened next?" Nightingale clutched at her mother's leg, frightened. "Was Orcrist okay? Did they get away from the demons chasing them?"
"Now, now, Liz. You know that we're only reading one chapter a day, right?" Her mother patted her head. "I know you're worried about Orcrist, but sometimes… sometimes bad things happen, and someone needs to stand up to them. He was very brave to do that. And maybe… maybe he'll be all right."
Nightingale shook her head at the sudden memory. "Liz…" she said, thoughtfully. Nearl looked concerned.
"No, I'm Margaret, remember?"
Nightingale laughed gently. "No, not you, Margaret. I just… What you said… it triggered a memory… I remembered my mother reading me a story about a wizard fighting a monster. She called me Liz. I suppose that must be my name… but then how can I be Nightingale, too?"
"Well, I'm Margaret Nearl," Margaret said, laughing too. "Why couldn't you be both? Liz is usually short for Elizabeth. Elizabeth Nightingale doesn't sound bad at all as a name, does it?"
"No, it doesn't," Shining agreed. "Liz for short. Did you remember anything else?"
"No… I didn't," Nightingale said, regretfully. "I wish I could."
The Confessarius and his guards rode through Savaur's gates, the guards scattering out of their way. He cast a gaze over them. No threat at all. Hah, what a joke of a guard force. All locals, not one soldier worth the name. Half a dozen Redeemers swung down from their burdenbeasts, fanning out to check the various inns of the town. "You three," he said, gesturing to a trio of still-mounted Redeemers, "scout the northern road. See if you can find their trail."
He rode down to the square, where a dozen merchants had their stalls set up. The townsfolk made themselves scarce as he approached, and the merchants averted their eyes, trying to unobtrusively pack away their things so that they could flee at a moment's notice. Their fear pleased him. It was only befitting, after all. Besides, it was necessary, or so he thought at least. Others might disagree, but that disagreement was a sign of weakness. Only fear could deter those who would otherwise act against the greater good of Kazdel.
"My lord Confessarius," one of the Redeemers said, returning from where he had been asking pointed questions. "The Absolvarius and her companions stayed at the Hunting Horn for three days. They were set up in the square with a medical tent, providing healing at no charge to those in need. Some people are saying they were even able to help those with Oripathy."
"Intriguing," he murmured softly. "Helping those with Oripathy… perhaps she has grown tired of waiting for the King's return." He chuckled, the sound quiet and oddly humorless. Another Redeemer dashed up, coming to a halt and saluting.
"Lord Confessor!" he said quickly. "The three of them visited Varan's shop."
The Confessarius jerked in surprise. He had forgotten that Varan was in Savaur. "Did they?" he said, thinking furiously about the implications. Varan had been a great asset to the Redeemers long ago, and was still likely the best Originite-smith in Kazdel. If Naaldlusi and her companions had visited him… it certainly would make the task of catching them much harder. "Bring a detachment and follow me. We'd best pay him a visit."
Like his daughter, he disdained the warning sign on the door, pushing it open forcefully and striding inside. The old man was seated in a chair, and turned to look at him. "Ah. I'd wondered how far behind her you would be," he said, his voice thin and soft with age. "She slipped from your grasp, didn't she." It wasn't a question.
"Varan." The Confessarius' voice was cold and quiet. "I thought you would have known that you should just pass on quietly, instead of involving yourself again." He fingered his sword's hilt almost unconsciously. "What did you give them?" He didn't bother using his Arts. Varan knew about them, and would likely also know that it would avail him nothing to lie.
"The little bird needed a staff, something so she could find and use her power," Varan responded. "And all three of them needed my advice. You could use it, too, if you will pay as they did."
The Confessor snorted. "And how did they pay you?" Varan didn't answer verbally, but dug a pale disc of metal out of his pocket. The medallion glittered in the dim light of the shop, seeming almost to shine on its own. "Ah… I see." The old coin wasn't worth much anymore, in terms of its monetary value… but to someone like Varan, steeped in the lore and history of Kazdel, a coin from the age of the King would be precious almost beyond valuing.
"Heh…" The old man's laugh was soft and brief. "You do see… and yet, you don't. You've lost your way, Wenteiko. All your precious faith in your own rectitude… what has it brought you? The true king is still beyond your grasp, even though you took the Queen's body. You ought to envy your daughter… she, at least, has found something worth living for."
"Save your breath," the Confessarius responded, his tone hardening. "You have taken a side, and you know it's the losing one." He drew his sword. "It's a shame, Varan. You could have lived out the rest of your life here, quietly, if you had just turned them away."
"No… I couldn't have." Varan met his eyes calmly, then jerked, gasping in pain, as the Confessor's blow pierced his heart. The old man curled up, collapsing out of his chair into a slowly spreading pool of crimson.
The three Redeemers he'd sent to scout the road were waiting outside when he stepped back out the door. "We found their trail, my lord," the leader reported. "They left the main road about twenty kilometers to the north. We lost their trail in the barrenlands, but they seem to be headed for the northern mining towns.
The Followers had finally reached their destination, another mining town much like Clastorn. Fortunately, this town wasn't in the middle of a mining disaster, and rather than having to rush to an emergency, they made their leisurely way to the town's inn. Nearl haggled briefly with the innkeeper, and they were able to secure a room at a reasonable rate, without too much difficulty. Nobody had beaten them to the town, so their reputation hadn't spread yet. However, Nightingale had a suggestion.
"We should find someone to make us some kind of insignia," she said somewhat diffidently. "After all, if we're going to be the Followers, we ought to have some means by which we can be recognized."
"That sounds like an excellent idea," Nearl said, smiling. Her knightly sentiments were attracted to the idea of a heraldic insignia, one which could be associated with their deeds and themselves. Being unable to display the traditional House Nearl heraldry was more painful than she cared to admit out loud, but the idea of new heraldry that she had earned, made for herself, would be a way to fill that gap… and also to formalize their organization, at least in her eyes.
She looked over at Shining, and saw almost immediately that she was not in agreement. While she hadn't spoken, the Sarkaz woman's eyes were downcast, her expression concerned. "What is it, Shining?" Nearl asked gently.
"I'm against it," Shining replied quietly. "I don't mind the idea of us having an insignia… but…" She paused momentarily, then continued. "There's a chance, at the very least, that… that if they catch up to us, you could escape, even if I couldn't. And if that's the case… you shouldn't have anything to tie you to me. You should know that I want you to get away, if they catch us… when they catch us… I could be happy as long as the two of you are still free."
"Don't be a fool, Shining!" Nearl's tone was sharp. "You think we'll get away from them? You've told me enough about the Redeemers that I know they won't let us get away if they catch up with the three of us. Even if we were to split off, do you really think that a Kuranta woman and a crippled medical patient will pass unnoticed, and not be associated with the Kuranta woman who helped the Absolutor steal a medical patient from a testing facility?"
"Damn it!" Shining's curse was a rarity for her, and even more unusually her voice was shaking with emotion. "Margaret, I know, all right? I know better than anyone. But…" Her voice broke for a moment, before she could get it back under control. "But I need this. I need to be able to tell myself that you might live when they catch us. Otherwise… Otherwise I might not be strong enough to do what I have to, when the time comes."
"Shining…" Margaret's eyes prickled, and she stepped closer to the other woman. Nightingale looked up at her, her own eyes shining with tears, as the knight enfolded the ex-Redeemer in a tight embrace, pulling her down onto the bed with Nightingale. The two of them held Shining tightly. "I'm not going to let anything come between the three of us… not even you. Do you really think Nightingale and I would want you to sacrifice yourself for the two of us?" Shining jerked in Nearl's arms, and then began to shudder, silent tears running down her cheeks. "The three of us will stay together," Margaret promised, soft-voiced, "no matter what it takes. No matter what it costs us."
Eventually, Shining quieted, slumping in her friends' arms. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. The three of them simply lay there for a while, before Nearl finally disentangled herself.
"We ought to go," she said, standing up. "We need to resupply ourselves at least, and I'm making an executive decision. I want to have a coat of arms again." She grinned, and Shining sighed.
"Well, I can't stop you," she said, with a resigned grin. "You're both idiots for not wanting to run away now, but I'm glad you are. I'm glad the two of you are with me now, I wouldn't have done nearly as well by myself."
A/N: Chapter 7 is complete and will be going up next week. After that, however, it's worth noting that I'm officially putting Follow the Light on hiatus. I do intend to complete it, and hopefully the hiatus won't be long, but I've been traveling so much recently, with more travel scheduled through early September, that I have been having a hard time keeping my weekly upload schedule and also writing more chapters. It will probably be around a month or so. I'm not stopping writing, I intend to continue with one-shots, but I just don't have the mental energy to plan out the next major plot arc for this in detail yet, and I want to do it justice.
