It had been three months since she joined the Iron Lords.
She'd almost earned the status of "Lady". But this... this was her proving ground.
Skorri ran forwards, and slammed her fiery palm into the chest of a Vandal, sending him away in a flash of crimson fire. With her other hand, she underhand tossed a grenade towards a group of them, and didn't look at they were blasted into the air; she was too busy pulling out her weapon, turning in the opposite direction, and shooting at the Captain that had loomed up behind Lady Bretomart.
Their goal: get the refugees to safety. There was a canyon nearby where Takanome and her Rangers were holed up, and that was their destination. Once they reached the Rangers, the villagers would finally be safe for the Iron Lords to leave them; anyone who was anyone knew that no Fallen could escape the Ranger's searching sniper scopes. The final leg of the journey to the New City would be the smoothest, safest part. But until they reached that part, it was up to Skorri, Bretomart, Perun, and Saladin to defend them.
So far... they had lost three people. And Skorri refused to lose any more.
"Lady Perun, how many can you see on the west ridge?" she called out through her Ghost. Bretomart gave her a nod of thanks, and then charged at a group of Dregs with a rock-cracking battle cry, sending several of them to death with the mere force of her body in a move most likely taught to her by Jolder.
"There's a crew approaching, Saladin and I can't hold them for long; they've got a Baron with them! There are more Skiffs incoming, and I'm not sure how many shots Timur's new-fangled energy bazooka has left in it." The huntress's voice replied. The last obstacle between them and the Takanome's was an old, wide stone bridge spanning the gap over the rapids of a large river who's name had been lost to time.
"Alright, Lady Bretomart and I'll finish up here and see what we can do to help." she told her friend.
The Skorri of three months ago was gone. No longer could the slightest gust of wind cause her to sway dangerously, no longer did the bite of hunger haunt her stomach constantly. No longer did she wear tattered cloths, and no longer was she paranoid of her possessions as she once had been. No longer did she travel and sing for her food and shelter.
Now, she sang in her home, for her friends, while enjoying a hearty meal nearly every day. Now, she wore pristine robes with ornate colors and wolves and trees, and she knew very well enough that her possessions were safe(well, mostly; Timur liked to hide people's things every now and then, he claimed it kept things "interesting"). Now, she knew there was a warm bed and safety waiting for her back in Old Chicago. Now... she was a warrior of the Light.
"Be careful. I still can't shake the feeling we're being watched; and I don't mean the Fallen." The Hunter's words of warning came through the comms, as Bretomart snapped one last Vandal's neck before picking up her rifle again and joining Skorri. Perun had been complaining of this sense for the whole trip; roughly a week, and Perun's senses were rarely wrong.
"Got ya!" she responded to their leader, nodding to Bretomart and running in the direction of the bridge. This particular village had sent a call for help when the Fallen had begun to increase their activity in the west of their settlement borders. Personally, Skorri thought it was a miracle they had made it this far without an attack; there were no Warlords presiding over their borders, no known Chosen in the area. Perhaps there was someone out there...
They made it to the top of the rise, and saw two Skiffs encroaching on Perun and Saladin's position. Saladin had as many people as could fit gathered within a Ward of Dawn, and Perun was at the turret of Timur's new energy weapon, mounted on a mutilated Sparrow chassis that had been armored. She fired, and one of the Skiff's hulls was ripped through. Saladin's Ward was flickering, about to give way. Those not in the Ward were backed against the trees behind it.
Skorri raised her pulse rifle, and began firing at the Fallen that were jumping out of the damaged Skiff with evacuation prejudice. Beside her, Bretomart's auto rifle filled their air with the song of flying bullets.
"Perun!" Skorri yelled. The Hunter gave a flick of her head below in acknowledgement. "There's to many of them! We have to get these people across the bridge!"
The only obstacle between them and the Rangers was a wide river whose name had been lost in time. Over arched a stone bridge, pockmarked with crumbing holes along it's length, crumbling holes eager to send people ten feet down to the rapids where watery death awaited. Once they were over the bridge, they would be in signal range to contact Takanome's men. They would be safe.
"The Ward is failing!" Bretomart informed, eyes locked on Saladin, who was now leaning on one of the villagers for support as he fought to keep the bubble up for as long as possible. It flickered and shrunk and grew and shrunk again and again as the Titan's light strained. Saladin will hurt himself if he keeps that up much longer! She tapped her comms.
"Perun, tell Saladin to move when we give the signal! We'll give you guys cover, try to get everyone to the other side." she said. She saw the Nightstalker nod in acknowledgement, and Skorri looked at Bretomart.
"Ready?" she asked. The Titan cocked her gun.
"I was reborn ready." she said.
"Perun, now!" She shouted, running down the hill, pulling inside of herself for her inner fire. Warmth spread through her, drying her from the dampness of the rain, as fire sang around her. Perun drew her bow as the Ward collapsed, Saladin slumping to the ground. Three arrows sang through the air, each of them hitting their mark as the villagers ran for the bridge, two of them dragging Saladin between them.
The tethered foes were made short work of between Skorri's fire and Bretomart's gun. There came a point where she began to feel a heavy exhaustion tugging at the back of her mind. She bade her fire goodbye, not wanting to end up like Saladin. A chosen could only tap into their powers for so long before suffering the effects of Light over usage. Too much of anything was a bad thing; even the Light.
Drawing her gun, and backing up towards the bridge with Bretomart, they gave cover to the last of the villagers going across the bridge. Perun stood at the midway point, Dusk Bow still draw. Oh, Perun; don't take a forth shot! We don't need you collapsing on a bridge, let alone this rickety old one. She thought she could see lines of exhaustion on the Hunter's face, even from here; she needed a rest from using her light, her and Saladin both.
Skorri turned and ran truly as she reached the bridge. She needed to be facing forwards to watch for any holes she might step into. Timur's cannon had been left abandoned, but before she could point out that they probably shouldn't let the Fallen get their hands on it, Bretomart threw a grenade at it, destroying it.
"Timur's going to kill you for doing that!" she yelled playfully.
"Better I blow it up, than the Fallen reverse-engineer it." the Titan replied, facing the bridge with her. However, as they were running, another part of the bridge began to crumble.
A part directly beneath a small boy of about twelve. Skorri's heart lurched.
The woman near him, most like his mother, screamed as he was sent down towards the water. Forgetting that Awoken were not the most fantastic swimmers, Skorri leapt in after him.
Hitting the water was like hitting a sheet of ice. Instantly, the cold reached down to the marrow of her bones. It occurred to her that she probably should have let her Ghost out before diving; after a certain amount of time after a chosen died, Ghosts were automatically booted from their armor... no matter where they were. If Skorri drowned, her Ghost would come out underwater, and could be swept away and killed by the rapids before he had time to revive her.
She tried to swim none the less, eyes searching for the boy. Her head broke the surface for a brief, teasing second, before she was pulled back under again, the water spinning and tossing her so that she couldn't tell up from down. She thought she saw a shape in the water, and she grabbed it. The child! Clinging to him, she fought for the surface, but the water kept toying with her. She was slammed against something hard, and she thought she felt something in her chest go crack. The breath was knocked out of her, and water rushed into her mouth before she was thrown to the surface.
She coughed, gasping, before being sucked back under again, liquid invading her mouth once more. It was all she could do not to suck it into her lungs as her vision began to go dark from lack of oxygen. Her chest burned with the effort, and just when she though her lungs might finally give out, she was spat out into the air once more. Gasping for breath, she kicked and tried to swim, still clinging to the boy, coughing and gasping for life. her head kept ducking under as she somehow maintained some sort of stability for a few seconds, before she was slammed into another boulder. She coughed, winded, and the water sucked her back beneath the surface. Awoken were not good swimmers. What was she thinking? Bretomart couldn't have done it... her armor would have made her sink like a stone...
The water slammed her against the bottom of the river with the force of a hammer, her lungs failing, vision starting to go dark. She kept her hold on the child. She couldn't let go... She couldn't let go... water rushing into her lungs, burning... everything fading around her...
An arm caught around her chest and yanked her to the surface.
Her lungs contracted, coughing, she felt water spill from her mouth. She could feel the young boy's sodden cloths still clutched in her left hand as she gasped and coughed, the person that had saved them dragging them onto the river bank, a branch of some sort catching on her robes and scraping her as she was pulled away from the water. Certain they were safe, Skorri let go of her death grip on the boy as she wretched, vomiting up river water.
"Is he chosen?" demanded a male voice. Her vision blurred, limbs shaking and unable to hold her up, she let herself fall onto her side, shaking her head. the man swore.
Through blurred vision, she made out his shape crouched near the child... who wasn't breathing. No! The man took his helmet off, throwing it to the ground, placing his hands on the boy's chest, beginning to push up and down on it. She'd seen this before. She fought unconsciousness, fought against the mind-numbing freezing cold and exhaustion that threatened to take her away. She closed her fist weekly on a tuft of wet grass. She had to see this through.
The man breathed into the boy's mouth twice, then started pumping up and down on his chest again. He was... he was a Hunter! Or at least, he dressed like one. He had sandy blond, short-cropped hair, dark hazel eyes, and a fair, human, middle-aged face with a jagged scar, in all likelihood received before he was revived, running from just below and to the side of his left eye, all the way down to his jaw.
Skorri tried to lift her head, but it fell back to the ground, her eyes flickering. The exhaustion and bone-reaching cold was too much. She was so cold, she couldn't even feel her broken rib. I failed. Those were the only words in her fading mind right now. I failed. She heard a sound that was probably her Ghost materializing in preparation to revive her if need be. he made a few reassuring clinking and whirring noises, but it didn't make her feel any better.
She was snapped back into reality by sudden and struggled coughing and sputtering. She tried to open her eyes, only succeeding partially, and saw through blurred vision the Hunter helping the boy sit up as the child coughed up water. She felt relief trickle through her.
"Are you a Sunsinger?" the man demanded again. She barely heard him. Much like the river, she could no longer fight the currents that tried to submerge her mind. She thought she heard muffled footsteps as reality faded. She thought she maybe felt someone shaking her shoulder, but that was when everything went black.
There were voices. Muffled, but voices none the less. She was cold; the kind of bone-piercing cold that could kill you, but she couldn't gather the strength to shiver. She opened her eyes groggily, but blinked blearily as the glare of a fire filled her vision. She let out a low moan.
"Skorri?" came Perun's voice. Suddenly, the Nightstalker was at her side, looking worriedly down on her. She place a hand on her shoulder. Skorri looked around. She could see Saladin nearby, beneath several blankets, chest rising and falling as he went through a Light exhaustion-induced sleep. Bretomart was sitting near as well, sharpening a combat knife. There were a few villagers, and men and women in cloaks and Hunter-like garb. A few of them had sniper rifles, or other sharpshooter weapons. Takanome's Rangers. They were safe on the other side of the river.
Perhaps that was who he was; a Ranger. Part of her believed it; but another part of her remembered her rescuer's armor being very different than that of the Ranger's.
"The child!" she gasped. Her voice caught in her throat, and she was sent into a fit of coughing. She could feel an illness stirring deep in her chest. She tried to remove the layer of blankets covering her, but Perun stopped her.
"He's fine. He'll be even better once Weyloran gets here. You and him both." She told her gently. Skorri relaxed, giving in to her body's screams for rest.
"What happened?" she rasped.
"Some Hunter came from downstream with you hung over his shoulder, kid at his side, all of you soaked to the bone. Gave you to us, then he he left. Even when we said he'd freeze to death out here; he said that was what Ghosts were for. We insisted he come back here and get dry, but he ignored us. Weyloran's got Haakon and Ashraven with him; they'll try to find him. Would've helped if he wasn't wearing a helmet; at least then we'd know what he looked like." She explained.
"I saw his face." Skorri managed. "He was.. blond... middle-aged... had a scar, on his... left cheek."
She ran a finger along the indicated spot on her own face. One of the villagers, an older man, dropped his tool, jaw dropping, shock written on his features.
"Did she just saw he had a scar on his cheek? His left cheek? the Hunter?" he demanded urgently, almost desperately, hastily coming up to them.
"Do you know him?" Bretomart asked.
"If I just heard her correctly, it... it sounds like..." he shook his head, looking down, voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "Sounds like it could have been Gheleon."
"Gheleon? Who is he?" Perun asked. Skorri fought to stay awake, tried to focus on his words. He let out a heavy sigh.
"Our village wasn't always friendly to chosen, you know. We'd heard tales of the Warlords. Brutal tales. We took every precaution to hide our village from them and the Fallen." Skorri remembered the villagers helping Saladin across the bridge, and wondered what had changed. "Anyway, one day, long time ago, this man stumbles out of the woods. Starved, in rags of armor. So weak he could barely walk. And he dies at the edge of the village, and then before anyone can do anything, poof- his Ghost revives him. And he's laying there gasping for all the world he'd never breathed before. A chosen. Naturally, we were terrified. Turned him out, everyone. Put him out on the street. Wanted nothing to do with him. Worst of the winter months, storms nearly constant."
His slumped shoulders betrayed his guilt, his shame. "At some point his Ghost decided he was better off waiting until spring to next revive his chosen. Left the body in the street, covered in snow. Eventually, Daisy found him. She always had a kind heart, Daisy. Guess she was so old she wasn't really afraid of anything anymore. Not even dying. Not even the chosen. So, she gets him out of the storm, has his Ghost revive him, shames us all and the like. She took him to her inn, a bit of a rarely used traveler's stop, mostly used as a shelter for whoever needed it. Anyway, she takes him in, tends him for the next couple of months."
"I think Daisy was the only personal attachment Gheleon ever made. At least, in our village. I don't know, maybe there were others. She was a tough old woman. But not tough enough. The sickness spread through us like a wildfire a few years after Gheleon came. She was only one among many who fell to it." he shook his head sadly. "That was the last time anyone saw Gheleon; at her funeral."
"And when was this?" Perun inquired.
"Twenty years ago." the man replied witheringly. Skorri blinked. Twenty years? Has he been on his own all that time?
"We always figured he might still be around though." the man continued. "Seeing as the Fallen didn't dare show their faces until roughly a month ago. And we found bodies sometimes, cut up like they'd had a run-in with him. When they started getting braver, and we called you guys, we figured maybe he'd died or moved on somewhere else. I suppose he really was still out there and maybe... maybe there were just too many for him to kill. That's why they got through, I guess."
Perun snapped her fingers, looking at Bretomart. "He must have been the one who was watching us! I bet my bow on it!"
"Maybe." the Titan pondered. He's going to freeze to death so many times out there... he doesn't have Weyloran's fire to help him...
She tried to reach inside herself, summon her fire, but she was too cold. Solar Light was known to have problems in extreme conditions. She shuttered, curling deeper into the warm blankets. There were many things a Ghost could fix; injury, death. But starvation, sickness, and temperature differences were things that no amount of revivals could cure, if it was too recent.
"Well, let's keep an eye out for him." Perun sighed, rubbing her forehead. She cast a look at Saladin's sleeping form. I hope Gheleon makes it. Maybe when they find him, they'll convince him to join us. He must be awfully lonely out here...
Skorri shut her eyes, giving in to the pull of sleep. She sighed peacefully. The child was safe, the Rangers were here, and she would be just fine.
The only thing that bothered her, was the brief image that flashed through her mind of a Hunter curled against a cave wall, half-dead and covered in ice and snow.
And then there was Gheleon. Ghelorri shippers, this one's for you.
Huh. Well, she is a bard. Sunsinger seems right for her. Besides, it states Felwinter was the friendly neighborhood Voidwalker. And I know about wiki pages. I'm putting some of Jayfeatther's stuff on the Destiny Fanon wiki and... I haven't even gotten to Uldren yet. I've got most of Martin and Silverhawk, finished Della Tay. Mostly I'm doing it because there's a certain amount of satisfaction I get from making wiki pages. Like that satisfaction you get from peeling a cucumber or something(?). I pronounce it as gell-ori.
You are welcome for this. And I know the Wolves and Iron lords are the same thing; the Wolves were a generation of Iron lords. Says so on the wiki. That's why they're here.
Okay folks, we may be meeting Efrideet next chapter, and it's an eventgul one at that! Stay tuned!
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