Anonymous 101: I have heard of Gravity Falls. Haven't watched it yet, though it looks fascinating and I plan to put some time into it one of these days! Thanks for the review!
Santi
It was with great reluctance that General Derek stood before the King in his study. He bowed on one knee, left hand gripping the pommel of his sheathed sword.
"Has Vara been found, General?" Garmadon asked. The King's eyes glinted dark and hard; it was difficult to tell if he felt more worried or angry about Vara's disappearance.
Derek stood. Took a deep breath. "No, My King," he said. "We have not found her yet."
The King nodded slowly. Elbow resting on the desk, he rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily, saying nothing. Definitely angry, then.
Derek became acutely aware of how precarious his position was. After his brusque treatment of the King only an hour earlier, and now his failure to find Vara…
"I take full responsibility, My King," Derek said. "I was distracted by my other case and failed to upkeep security as I should have. To think that she slipped by my men… I am mortified."
"As well you should be!" Garmadon snapped, looking up suddenly. "Imbecile! You, a High General, unable to find a handicapped girl half your age?"
"I know," Derek said, taking a deep breath. "I beg your forgiveness, My King. But the Princess' servant spent at least ten minutes searching on her own before coming to the Guards for help."
"I don't want excuses, High General." The King said Derek's title almost mockingly. Garmadon stood, face now red with rage. "What do you know so far? Where has she gone?"
"Both Adiva and one of the stablehands' horses are gone," Derek answered. "I think they left together, through the back gate. I lost the trail at the road."
"You sent Guards to search the roads, right?"
"Yes, My King. They have not returned yet. They may find her, but it could take hours: Vara had a long head start, and Adiva is a remarkably swift-"
"I don't need you to tell me how fast my son's horse is," Garmadon interrupted with a low growl. His expression softened slightly, and he rubbed his forehead again.
"Perhaps it is a good thing that she's gone, though," Derek ventured. "Her disappearance means one less problem on your hands."
"Vara is not a mere object to be used and disposed of on a whim!" Garmadon said, looking both offended and disgusted. "Whether or not she is important to my current agenda, she must be found before Zane gets his hands on her again. You understand that, don't you?" He held up his hand. "Zane cut off her fingers, Derek. How much worse do you think she will be punished for escaping him?"
Derek looked down resignedly. There was nothing more he could say, so he silently bowed at the waist.
"Find her," Garmadon ordered. "Dispatch three teams- one to go along the road to the west. Another will go north, and a larger team will go south. That one has my permission to cross the border if they suspect Vara has gone that way. They may use any and all force necessary to extract her."
"I understand, My King," the High General said. He started to speak, but the King cut him off.
"I don't want to hear of your other task until Vara is found," Garmadon said. "Go, quickly!"
The High General's blood grew hot. He bowed once more, stiffly, and rushed from the room before the heat could redden his face. Two Guards shut the door behind him, and he paused in the hall, shaken and frustrated.
For weeks he had been working on a case involving the kidnappings of nearly a dozen missing persons in the Middle. Next to Borg and his shady underground operations, this was the largest criminal case Ninjago had seen in a good many years. Understandably, the people were panicked and wanted the missing people found- and the responsible party brought to justice- as soon as possible.
And Garmadon is telling me to put this task on the shelf until his bastard daughter is found?
Swearing under his breath, Derek stormed down the hall to follow his King's command.
High General Logen Santi, Regent of the North, sat at a small table in the darkest corner of the warm, crowded tavern, an almost empty mug of pale ale in hand. With his hood low over his forehead to keep his face in shadows, he swept his eyes over the many patrons of the esteemed establishment, doing his best to appear bored as he emptied his cup.
Despite the commotion of the tavern's many patrons, there was a dark cloud hanging in the air. Men regarded their neighbors with shifty eyes, and laughter was infrequent. Santi couldn't blame them: there was hardly a family in Ninjago that the plague had left untouched. Those brave enough to risk infection and leave their homes always kept a close eye on their surroundings, prepared to flee at the first sign of illness from their fellow man.
Santi waved his mug at one of the serving girls, and she hastily wove around the full tables to take it.
"Another round?" she asked, and Santi nodded.
I'll take all the drink I can, he thought with an internal sigh as the woman hurried to fulfill his request.
According to law, if no nobles were available to take the Lordship title after the respective leader's death, the High General of that realm was to act as Regent until the King could find a suitable replacement. And so, Santi's life had been nothing but chaos since Lord Julien's death two days ago, God rest his soul.
Being a High General seemed like such a great idea up until about two days ago, Santi thought wryly. I still have to write Lord Zane a letter with the news, too. That won't be pretty…
He examined the patrons again. There had to be nearly two hundred people currently in the building. More came and left every time Santi blinked. It would be difficult to find the person he was after, but this was his best bet. So he watched the door, examining each person as they entered and left the tavern.
If his sources were to be trusted, Cyrus was sending his Nurses to this tavern tonight at a quarter to eight. He had no idea what these Nurses would look like, or how many of them there would be. But after many tiring weeks scouring the North, Santi was running out of options. This was the best lead he'd had all month, and moons, he was going to pursue it, even if it turned out to be a dead end.
The serving girl returned. Santi took his mug with a nod and drank a mouthful of the strong, bitter draught inside.
Santi had spent many sleepless weeks preparing for this task. He needed to catch one of Cyrus' men tonight. If he failed…well, that would be unfortunate. Weeks of his life down the drain, and the country would sink even further into its plague-riddled mire of destruction.
Santi wished he could have brought a few Northern soldiers with him to help make things go smoothly. The more eyes searching the tavern, the better- and extra hands if things took a wrong turn wasn't a bad idea, either. But it wasn't possible. Sure, he knew many trustworthy men that would have leaped at the opportunity for this mission. But Santi needed stealth for this to work. Stealth, and likely some divine intercession by God Himself.
Santi let the thought fade as a new man walked through the front door on the far side of the room. The man was alone- which wasn't so unusual- and carried a large knapsack on his back. Slightly more unusual, but still not entirely suspicious. What caught Santi's attention was the fact that this man wore no cloak. It's wintertime, after sundown, in the Mena-cursed North. What are you doing up here without proper protection?
The man absently shook snow from his hair with an ungloved hand as he searched the room. He was here to meet with someone, then. Santi leaned forward and folded his hands on the table, his ale forgotten in his eagerness. This could be who he was looking for.
The wide-girthed barkeeper finally noticed the new visitor. They made eye contact from across the tavern, and then the barkeeper nodded in Santi's direction.
Santi nearly jumped out of his skin. But his training quickly took over and tempered his racing heart: he slowly looked away from the new stranger, pretending that he had been sleepily- maybe even drunkenly- surveying all of the patrons, not just this one man. He picked up his cup and looked out the window to his right, though there was nothing to see now that the sky was dark.
"Hey," said a voice directly to Santi's left, hardly audible through the chatter of the warm building. "Stressful day?"
Assuming that the voice belonged to the man with no cloak, Santi grimaced, then forced a smile onto his face and turned in his chair to face the speaker. His pleasant reply died on his tongue as he realized his mistake: the barkeeper had been gesturing to the patrons of the table to Santi's left, not Santi himself. The uncloaked man had been talking to them. The High General quickly covered his abrupt turn by stretching his arm.
The man with no cloak slid into a seat beside an older man and a woman who wore her blonde hair in a loosely-woven braid.
"Naw," the elder man said, touching his stubbled cheek as he nursed a half-empty mug of dark beer. "Just tired. These last few months have been somethin' else, huh?" He gestured to the man with no cloak. "You lose your cloak, Kieron?"
The man Kieron looked confused for a moment, then touched his snowy hair again. He chuckled. "Ah, well. So much for not standing out." He leaned back in his chair as his two companions shook their heads in wry amusement. "What have we got tonight?"
"Less than usual," the woman answered Kieron so quietly that Santi had to strain his ears to sort their murmurings from the rest of the voices and clanking dishes around them. "It looks like the plague's finally hit its saturation, and the numbers are going down. In the North, at least."
They're talking about the plague, Santi realized with excitement. This had to be them! And sitting right near him, too. The High General could hardly believe his good fortune.
Kieron's shoulders relaxed a bit at the woman's words. He slung an arm over the back of his chair and asked a question Santi could not hear.
The woman withdrew two sheets of paper from her pocket and set them on the table. Kieron and the older man both selected one.
Kieron read his paper, nodding to himself, then stood and thanked his two companions before darting back out of the tavern. The older man set a few coins on the table to pay for his drink and followed right behind their younger friend. The woman stayed put, hands folded on the table, eyes dark with thought.
Absolutely no subtlety, Santi thought, suddenly mortified that it had taken him as long as it had to find these people. But then again, I didn't know what exactly to look for until now… He dropped three copper coins on the table, drained the last of his cup, and left the tavern as quickly as he dared without looking as suspicious as the two people he was now trying to tail.
Once outside, Santi took a deep breath of the brisk winter air, relishing the quieter, cleaner atmosphere of a town settling in for the night after a long day. It wasn't that the tavern was unpleasant or rank; he simply didn't enjoy crowded, noisy places.
As he donned his gloves he heard the soft snort of a horse from an alley on his right. He ducked behind one of the horses tied to the hitching posts in front of the tavern to hide himself from whoever was approaching.
The man Kieron and a young woman Santi did not recognize rode from the alley with lanterns in hand, riding at a slow but purposeful trot away from the tavern. Santi quickly located his horse from the several dozen tied in the row and mounted, following from a safe distance.
Once we're out of town, Santi told himself calmly, touching the sword at his hip for reassurance. Then, hopefully, all your hard work finally pays off.
Kieron and the woman- who did wear a cloak, Santi noted with a small smile- spoke amiably just out of earshot, making no attempt to hide themselves as they rode down the street lit by bright windows on both sides. Of course, there was no reason for these spies from Cyrus to hide. To the residents of this small Northern town called Lanta, the two Nurses and High General looked like nothing more than regular late-night travelers; silhouettes embraced by wintry darkness.
As they rode toward a busier part of town, the duo's conversations because quieter and more scant. At last the woman asked something, and Kieron withdrew the paper from his pocket and scanned it before murmuring a reply. They looked to their right at a wide, two-story apartment building, likely shared by four or more tenant families. Kieron cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder- thankfully, there were a few other people on the road, so Santi didn't think he looked too suspicious- and dismounted, tying his stocky brown horse to the hitching post. The woman followed his lead, and soon they were entering the apartment.
Santi stopped his horse in the long, shadowed stretch between two lampposts and waited for the spies to reemerge. If the intelligence he'd gathered was to be believed, these people had been distributing the antidote to the plague secretly for many weeks now. How Cyrus knew which houses were infected, Santi did not know. But once the information was gathered, it was compiled into lists and given to the Nurse pairs, of which there were likely dozens working all across the North every night. The Nurses would follow the lists all across the countryside, secretly healing the people for little or no charge.
This whole operation is so…Cyrus, Santi reflected with amusement, rubbing his mare's shaggy withers. But it also immensely confused him: Why would Cyrus, now supposedly a dangerous public menace, be pouring all of his money and manpower into a project that could very well cost him his life if the King managed to catch him?
Of course, Santi of all people knew that healing people was the least of Cyrus' so-called "crimes." But this information hardly made him feel better.
After about ten minutes the Nurses returned. They appeared to be in good spirits as Kieron stuffed a small sack- presumably filled with foodstuff- into a deflated saddlebag behind his seat. He helped the woman mount, and then they were off again.
Three more stops on various streets were made before the Nurses reached the edge of town. As the houses and shops became more scattered, and the trees denser, their conversation returned. They rarely looked behind them now. Which was good, because if they did they might have become suspicious of the lone man tailing them.
Though, that hardly matters anymore, Santi thought. He prayed one last time to the Creator for success, then took a deep breath and kicked his horse into a canter.
The noise quickly attracted the attention of Cyrus' spies, and they looked over their shoulders. Santi could make out their alarmed expressions as he came close.
"Sir!" Santi exclaimed, looking as distraught as he was able. It wasn't too hard: being a High General largely meant being a good politician, and acting was just a part of the job. "Sir! You- Please, can you help me?"
Kieron's hand- which had been in his pocket, likely touching a knife or other small weapon- fell to his reins, and he turned his horse to face Santi. "What do you need?" he asked. Santi noted then that no condensation left his lips as he breathed. What on earth…?
Santi dismounted and approached Kieron's horse, touching his hood to make sure it still concealed his face. "My son," he said. "He has the plague! I-I saw you leave the house of one of my friends, and I knew they had the plague and-"
"Yes," Kieron said, relief easing the wrinkles on his forehead. He looked to his partner- a pretty young woman with staring blue eyes- and they both nodded. "Yes, of course we'll help. Where do you live?"
"Thank you." Santi bowed slightly at the waist, working as much emotion as he could into his voice. "Oh… Thank you, sir. Um, my home's on Kerohae Street. Right on the corner; you passed it on your way here. Thank you."
"Of course," said the woman softly. She smiled. "Lead the way."
Santi straightened, a relieved smile on his face, and evaluated the woman. Slight, and bundled in thick furs, she carried no visible weapon. And judging by the way Kieron's hand had traveled to his pocket first, he was carrying a small weapon. Does Cyrus arm all of his spies so scantily? Santi found that suspicious.
There was also the fact that this man seemed unaffected by the intense cold. And more than that, his breath released no moisture. A Nindroid, then? Hopefully that didn't complicate things. Santi took a deep breath and lowered his hood.
Kieron and the woman both stiffened, and the Nindroid's hand dove into his pocket again, this time drawing out a strange, shiny cylinder and pointing it at Santi. The High General got a strong impression that this thing would do something unhealthy to his body if he didn't tread carefully.
"Easy," Santi said, raising his hands. "I'm sorry about the subterfuge; I needed to be sure that you really worked for the Doctor. And I couldn't risk confronting you in the tavern, either. It wouldn't be good for us to be caught together in public."
"What do you want?" the woman asked lowly. Santi ventured to look away from Kieron and saw that the woman carried the same cylindrical weapon in a now ungloved and steady hand.
"I don't want to hurt you," Santi said, eyes moving back to the man, arms still raised by his head. "I just want you to carry a message to the Doctor."
"Why would we do that?" Kieron snapped, thumb sliding back a small switch on his weapon.
"Because we both want the same thing," Santi explained in a calm voice, though his heart was doing odd little somersaults in his ribcage, eying the dark, hollow center of the cylinder with more considerably more concern than curiosity. "My son isn't sick- come to think of it, actually having a son would a prerequisite for one falling ill. But many other children are falling to the plague in staggering numbers each day. I want to heal them, just like the Doctor. Please believe me."
The High General hardly dared to breathe as the Nindroid stared at him with narrowed blue eyes.
"What's your message?" the woman asked at last. Unlike her partner, she had not touched any switches on her weapon- which Santi assumed was a good thing.
"Sara…" Kieron began in a warning voice.
"The High General knows Cyrus' code name," Sara said. "So either he's really on our side, or he knows enough to ruin us anyways. Either way, I think it's wise to listen to his message."
Kieron hesitated, then nodded, but kept his weapon raised.
"Thank you." The High General pivoted slowly on his heel to face the woman, raising his hands higher. "I would have written a letter for you to give him, but I decided against it." He chuckled and shrugged. "Oral communication may not always be the most reliable, but it's good when one doesn't want any tangible evidence of his dealings with enemies of the King."
"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?" Kieron said.
"Once or twice." Santi grinned impishly. "So here's my message: the Doctor and I were friends before he pulled that stunt a few months back and stole Lord Julien's blueprints to build…" He nodded to Kieron. "…these Nindroids. And, seeing as we're both followers of the Way, I'm a little offended that he hasn't brought me in on whatever his plans are.
"There's an abandoned barn six miles northeast of Lake Laoki, in a clearing at the bottom of the hill. You can't miss it. I want to parley with Cyrus there tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. Kinda short notice, I know, but another person dies of this plague every few minutes, so I'd like to get this done as swiftly as possible. I'll be alone, but as a sign of my goodwill Cyrus can bring as many of his own men as he'd like for an escort."
"How do we know this isn't a trap?" Kieron asked. "You could be working for the King."
"This isn't a trap," Santi said. "If any harm comes to Cyrus or any of his followers tomorrow, I will take personal responsibility. I swear it."
"The word of the King's pet isn't good enough for us," Sara said.
"I wouldn't expect it to be." Looking at Kieron with the best disarming expression he could muster, he reached for his belt and unbuckled his sword carefully with one hand. Grabbing it by the sheath, he pulled his most precious treasure free and handed it to the Nindroid. "Tell Cyrus to bring it back to me tomorrow. Please."
Counting on Sara to keep her weapon trained on the High General, Kieron placed his cylinder on his lap and pulled Santi's sword from its sheath.
The swords of the three High Generals were unequaled by any but the King's himself. Inlaid with precious metals and stones in the hilt, Santi's sword glittered colorfully in the light of the lanterns. Kieron turned it in his hands, examining the engraved blade with a careful eye.
"What do you plan to discuss with the Doctor that is so important that you would risk losing this?" Kieron asked.
"The fate of the world," Santi answered gravely, lowering his hands at last. "I want the end of the plague. And unless we're not thinking of the same Cyrus, I think he'll agree with me. We need to meet."
Kieron and his companion exchanged a look. She nodded. Santi felt a great weight lift from his shoulders.
"We'll deliver your message when we're done with our rounds," Kieron said, sheathing the sword. He handed it back to the High General.
"Um-" Santi began, but Kieron cut him off.
"If you really don't want any tangible evidence of your dealings with a so-called criminal, you'd best keep your weapon," the Nindroid said with a slight smile. "Come on, Sara. Let's get back to work."
Sara nodded and pocketed her weapon. She regarded Santi with a respectful bow of her head and followed Kieron down the road.
Only after they'd trotted around a bend did Santi allow his enthusiasm to bubble to the surface.
"Yes!" he said as loudly as he dared, pumping his fist and looking up at the starry sky. He quickly remounted his horse and cantered back up the road in the direction he'd come from. Yes, yes, yes!
He could not wait for tomorrow.
The escape from Garmadon's keep almost seemed too easy. Zak led Varasach on a path through the trees behind the stables at a fast trot and unlocked a small, unguarded gate about a half mile from the stable. Guards do patrol down here, he'd assured her as he pulled out a key from his coat and undid the lock. They come through every five to fifteen minutes. It varies from day to day. Come on, let's get out before they come by…
Hours after their escape, the sky was dark above the road to the South. Varasach kept her hood up, more to ward off the frigid breeze than the weary eyes of the few travelers they passed. She was grateful for Adiva's endurance: they galloped for over an hour before slowing to a trot, which both horses maintained without complaint despite their labored breathing.
Adiva's an active beast, Zak commented at one point, flashing a warm, friendly grin that was barely visible in the dim sliver of moonlight. Look at her, pulling at the reins like that. She wants to go faster again.
But Varasach was too weary and cold to ride at that pace any longer. She took to tucking one hand at a time under her arm to warm it up, holding the reins precariously with the other: she was not inclined to lose more fingers to the cold. Hosts, though, it was hard to keep her balance with only one hand! Despite her efforts, her fingers began to hurt, then eventually went numb. Her dress, which had been a little damp from her time outside with Senai at Lloyd's tree, had become frozen as she rode. But, blessedly, her cloak, boots, and gloves were dry. Cold, but dry.
Every so often Zak would gently critique her posture. He'd tell her to stick her legs a little farther forward, or to dig her heels downward. And though it helped smooth the ride a bit, it was difficult to maintain the position. Zak would also tell her to sit up a little straighter, and to square her shoulders- whatever that meant. But slouching offered her core more protection from the wind, and, somehow, the constant shivering started to make her shoulders and back hurt when she sat straight. So she was forced to reject Zak's advice to preserve what little heat was left in her blood.
Despite all this, she pressed forward. Not only for the sake of her own freedom, but because she needed to warn Zane about Garmadon's intent to massacre the South.
And just because some of them believe in the Way! she thought angrily. Who would ever dare to hurt those who stood in the Way? Didn't they realize just how big God was? And how much he cared for his people?
He cares for Garmadon, too, a voice told Varasach. She silenced it, gritting her chattering teeth.
"So…" Zak said at last, breaking the long silence. "You're Garmadon's…daughter?"
"Yes," Varasach answered. She didn't care anymore about what kind of lies Garmadon would try to come up with to explain her green eyes. It was wrong for him to lie, and she would not play his games.
Zak nodded slowly, pondering this new information. "You are Prince Lloyd's half-sister?" he guessed.
Varasach had no desire to talk to him about this, so she said nothing. Zak didn't push the matter.
Thinking about Lloyd left a strange, empty feeling in Varasach's being. Like someone had reached into her chest and pulled out a chunk of her heart. But somehow, the wound was completely numb, like her fingers right now, and she examined the hole in her heart as if from a distance, impassively. As if the wounded heart were not her own.
Though she hadn't known it while he was alive, she had been Lloyd's half-sister. It made her simultaneously wish she could have known him better, and wish she hadn't known him at all.
Without her full consent she found herself wondering how different her life might have been if Garmadon had accepted her as his daughter instead of shipping her off to the Keitorin. She would have been a Princess from birth, with a half-brother nearly her own age to grow up with.
Visions of another life in the West filled her mind. A modest, simple life in a small home with her mother and uncle, growing up oblivious to Overlord, or Garmadon, or stone warriors… A good, safe life, with friends in her neighborhood, working to take care of livestock and tending the gardens and orchards.
Would Kaeli have ever told Varasach about her heritage? How would Varasach have felt about that information? Would it have shaken her as much as it did now?
"So…" Zak began again.
Varasach looked at him.
"Why are you so eager to get away from the King, if you don't mind me asking?" Zak shrugged. "You don't have to answer. I'm just curious."
Varasach did not answer. She felt bad treating him this way, but at the moment she didn't have the emotional energy to think of caring for other people.
Eventually they heard the loud sound of several horses trotting toward them. This was the largest party they'd encountered so far, and Zak leaned forward warily in his saddle, squinting to get a glimpse of them as they rounded the bend. He muttered a curse under his breath.
"Who is it?" Varasach asked softly, unable to see anything from this distance but the faint glow of a lantern held in one indistinguishable man's hand.
"Soldiers, I think," Zak said. He pressed his lips together and looked around. "Follow me." He turned his shaggy horse off the road. Varasach urged her mare after him, and they lost themselves in the dark trees.
About thirty feet from the road Zak stopped and motioned with a finger to his lips for silence. Varasach pulled on the reins and observed carefully, unable to see anything but a faint bit of light through the heavy brush. The soldiers apparently had not seen them, because they trotted right past the hiding pair without slowing, and were soon far in the distance. Zak let out a breath of relief.
"Let's go," he whispered, and they went back to the road and continued their journey. Varasach noted that their pace was slightly faster than before.
"What will we do if we get caught by Guards?" Varasach asked, suddenly more nervous than she had been since the beginning of the escape.
"We're almost there," Zak assured her. "Another mile, I think."
"To Sheshin?" Varasach asked hopefully.
"We haven't even reached the border yet, Princess. No. To a place where we can rest safely for a little while. You need to warm up, and I wouldn't mind a hot meal myself."
"An inn?" Varasach guessed.
Zak's lips twisted in a wry grin. "Not quite."
Varasach could not divulge what Zak meant by this, but she did not dwell on it long: her thoughts were consumed by images of a fire and hot food. She hoped there would be warm bread; though at this late hour she doubted anyone would be working the ovens.
Still, these warm thoughts energized her, and she pushed her horse a little faster, wishing to get there as soon as possible.
"Over here," Zak said after a while, and turned left down a narrower, less maintained road. They passed several farmhouses, each on long plots of land, before turning again, right, and slowing to a fast walk.
Breathless, Varasach gripped Adiva's mane to keep her balance and looked around her. The trees were large and dark, overhanging the road like disfigured giants, reaching toward her with large arms to…
To…what? Embrace her like an old friend?
…Or were they waving their branches fretfully in the light breeze, telling her to beware?
Varasach suddenly felt wary as they passed a handful of smaller homes jammed between these trees. A few had lights behind the dirty windows, despite the late hour.
Varasach had been in neighborhoods like this before with Kyle. They always set her on edge: people who lived in small, decrepit houses like these tended to be much less civilized than those in Sheshin, or Cyrus' keep.
"What…" Varasach swallowed, looking over her shoulder. "…What place is this?"
"I have a friend in this neighborhood," Zak said. "It's late, but he should let us in, if we knock hard enough." He chuckled, coming to a stop before a home that was comparatively smaller than most others on this road. "If you listen hard enough, you might hear him snoring. Heh. That's probably why he doesn't have a missus yet, now that I think of it." The notion left him smiling as he dismounted and tied his horse to a tree in front of the house. Then he helped Varasach down and secured her horse, too. They went up to the front door together, Varasach following slowly, and not just because of her tired legs. Something about this place made her nervous.
But Zak is a nice man, she told herself. He knows Cyrus. And if he was going to hurt me, why would he bring me all the way out here to do it?
Besides, she had been in even worse-looking neighborhoods with Kyle before while healing people. She'd been safe then, and she would certainly be safe now. …Right?
No, she thought. Because Kyle isn't here.
"Oi!" Zak pounded on the door, startling Varasach more than it should have. "Alerik! Wake up!"
His voice echoed, then faded. Varasach's heart pounded so loud she wondered if Zak could hear it too. She tucked her hands under her arms, shivering.
"Hey! Alerik!" Zak pounded on the door again, then turned to Varasach. "This could take a minute. Sorry." He grinned. "He's a heavy sleeper."
It took a couple minutes of shouting, but the door finally opened, revealing a slightly overweight and disgruntled middle-aged man with frazzled hair. He opened his mouth to speak, but saw Varasach and faltered, eyes narrowing. Varasach looked away after a few seconds: she didn't like the way he stared at her, and thought more strongly than ever that she should go back to her horse and run away.
"Really, Zak?" the man, presumably Alerik, grumbled. "I hear nothing from you in over a week, and then you turn up with this? She's scrawny."
"She's more than she seems," Zak assured him. "Look at her eyes."
"Hmm?" Alerik held up his candle and leaned close to Varasach's face. She stepped back, pulling her hood lower.
"Hey." Zak said, firmly, but gently, grabbing her shoulder. "It's okay. He won't hurt you."
Reluctantly Varasach looked up at Alerik. The man raised an eyebrow. "Why should I risk my neck taking in a Blessed?"
"This'll be worth your time," Zak said. "I promise."
Alerik took a step back, opening the door wide. "Come on in, then. I'll warm up some food."
"Thank you," Zak said, stepping through the doorway. Varasach resisted.
"I don't bite," Alerik said, sounding amused as he lit a lantern and set it on the table. He yawned. "I might break protocol and take a chunk outa Zakari for waking me up, though…"
Zak chuckled- he seemed to be doing a lot of that- and led Varasach to one of three chairs around the small table. She sat slowly, examining the room with shifting, nervous eyes.
It was a small house, but warm, courtesy of the stove against the nearest wall on her left. Not much furniture: an old couch under a window without curtains. The table and its sturdy but equally old-looking chairs. Two closed doors that led to other rooms.
Alerik opened a hatch in the floor and climbed a ladder down to what Varasach assumed was a cellar. He returned a moment later with two large, wide-mouthed jugs, which he sat on top of the stove. "I get visitors pretty often," Alerik explained to Varasach. "I've taken to freezing batches of soup for these occasions." He sighed tiredly. "The middle of the Mena-cursed night, though, Zak?"
"Sorry," Zak said, sitting in a chair next to Varasach. "I didn't know I'd be coming this way until after sundown myself."
"Hmm." Alerik's eyes sparkled with amusement. "And how did you come to be here, girl?"
When Varasach wouldn't speak, Zak filled in for her, explaining how he'd seen her in the stables at the King's keep trying to escape. The two men had a good laugh over her incompetence taking care of her horse. Varasach looked at her gloved hands on the table, flushing, unable to hide the fact that she was shaking with fear. It was probably just paranoia- Alerik seemed nice enough- but she couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
I am overreacting, Varasach told herself, recalling a time many weeks ago when Kyle had smiled gently at her timidity, telling her she had nothing to fear from men. Not as long as he was protecting her.
But you're not protecting me anymore, Varasach thought bitterly. You are far away, on the Dark Island. Maybe dead. I am alone.
These thoughts did not help her any, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes to pray a quick prayer to God. Safety, for herself and for Kyle, if he was still alive.
Then, with some measure of guilt, she thought of Garmadon again.
Perhaps it had not been such a good idea to accept Zak's help after all. Or maybe she shouldn't have even left Garmadon. At least with him she had felt some measure of safety. Out here, anything could happen.
There was a clink of dishes, and Varasach looked up to see Alerik carefully pouring out a bowl of soup from one jar. Then he took another bowl and filled it from his other jar.
"Dinner-breakfast is served," Alerik said with an inviting smile, setting the bowls. "I hope it's not too hot…"
Zak dipped his spoon into the dark broth and tasted it. "It's perfect," he said. "Come on, Vara. Try it."
Varasach did. There were cubes of potatoes, onions, and some sort of brown meat inside of thick broth. Wonderful flavors burst on her tongue, and she ate hungrily, consuming half the bowl before her appetite began to wane. She felt inexplicably more warm and at ease. Feeling began to return to her hands. It occurred to her then that she should take off her cold gloves to speed up the thawing process, and she made a clumsy effort to take them off.
"How much do you want for her?" Alerik asked. He'd moved from next to the stove to a chair across from them.
"Nothing," Zak answered. "Consider her a gift of goodwill."
"There's no such thing with you," Alerik snorted. "Come on. What's your price?"
"I'm serious," Zak said. "I've already been promised generous pay by another…benefactor…to take her from the King's Keep. Just take her. And in exchange…" He chuckled. "Well, just don't forget me next time I need a favor. I'll have papers for her by tomorrow night. She just needs the tattoo."
Varasach looked up from her bowl at this, frowning as she tried to focus her eyes on Zak's face. What is he… Her vision doubled suddenly, and she swooned, pressing a hand to her head.
"I'll do that," Alerik said. Then he sighed. "There isn't much of a demand right now. Especially since the Dark Knight stopped coming to the market, and with the plague and the South's secession… People are paying less."
At the mention of the Dark Knight Varasach snapped to a somewhat better sort of fuzzy attention. The two men looked at her. Alerik grinned, and Zak managed something of a sympathetic grimace.
"Done eating already?" Alerik asked lightly, hands folded under his chin.
Varasach looked down at her bowl, components slowly sliding into place in her disoriented mind. She looked at the two separate jugs of soup on the stove; at Zak's bowl, and then her own. Her spoon slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the table.
"You look tired," Alerik continued. "Perhaps I should show you to your room…"
As quickly as panic gripped her, it slipped away. Casting a look of betrayal in Zak's direction, her head sank to the table, eyelids suddenly impossibly heavy. Her world grew dark.
Gosh, Vara. You can't manage to stay un-kidnapped for long, can you? T_T Unbelievable.
And...well. That ship sank fast. I feel like I should apologize for Zak. Sorry, y'all. Line starts here to give him a good punch. In the throat.
Last week I failed to mention Saer and Kolin when I was introducing new characters in my A/N. Agh, what a mistake. Sorry, you two! I'll introduce you right now, alongside Santi and Alerik! Welcome to the gang! I know, this is an inordinate amount of new characters to introduce at one time, but don't worry- I'm doing my best to make them easy to follow and remember. Some of them, at least, will be quite lovable.
Thank you all for reading! Reviews are appreciated. And if you aren't following my one-shot archive, We'll Start Here, yet, then now's a good time to start! I just uploaded a one-shot from Kaeli's POV, featuring Jay's father (!) and that one Western soldier mentioned in chapter 117. And later (today or tomorrow) I'm gonna be posting one with Cole and Lou on the Dark Island! Present day, sweet fluff! Not another depressing flashback, yayyy!
Have a great week, you guys!