Chapter 7 – A Dead Harvest
Cordelia and Ricken walked along a road they had managed to find in the Feroxian wilderness, weariness and homesickness filling both of their hearts, rendering any ideas or threats of conversation null. It was horribly cold; an almost unwelcome contrast from the sweltering heat of Plegia, and with the inevitable dropping of the sun came the worry of the even colder night. A swirling of miserably gray clouds loomed overcast above them, potentially holding rain or even worse, snow. Though the path itself was free of many noticeable signs of the frost, the scarce grasslands around them were unfortunately affected by the bitter cold, the normally green layer replaced by a smooth white blanket. Though there weren't many trees, the ones there were had bare branches, no type of foliage on them. There was a distinct lack of natural noise, instead just mostly being silence punctuated with heavy footfalls. It would be almost a scene from a painting, if not for the movement of the two Ylissean travelers, who walked with purpose, albeit with less speed than they had done, owing to the fatigue from recent events.
Days later, and Cordelia and Ricken were still walking. They'd managed to acquire some supplies from the village that they'd helped to save, although Cordelia worried that they'd run out soon. She guessed they had maybe two weeks worth left, perhaps a little left, and although she knew that was quite a sizable amount, she was also painfully aware that it would have to last them the trip back to Plegia - a trip that she was mostly definitely dreading. Even though the frost was cruel here, her armour protected her against the worst. But there would be nothing to help her in Plegia. She sighed, forcing herself to keep going, trying to stay in the present, instead of letting her mind drift off to dark futures. Glancing at Ricken, she took a small comfort in the fact that at least he hadn't been hurt yet under her care. Though the time they had traveled together still had not endeared him to her, she could at least tolerate his company more now - he didn't fill her with an empty feeling of regret much any more. They hadn't discussed much in their time together, but even this didn't phase her. She was just glad she wasn't in constant argument with him. The journey was hard enough without that. She sighed again, aware that she was heading dangerously close to despair. If she didn't keep herself sane and healthy in mind, she would never find home again. Wiping a strange tear from her face, she focused on the path in front of her. Surely it wouldn't be long until she found something of interest, would it?
Another few days passed. Now Cordelia was seriously beginning to develop an almost feverish thirst for home, her body weary of trying to fight off the constant attack by the frigid air, which seemed almost determined to break her. And she was feeling much better about the situation than her companion, who was starting to develop aching pains all through his body, so much so that he eventually stopped.
"Ricken. We need to keep moving."
"Why? We're not going to find anything here."
"Ricken..." Without really realising, Cordelia had taken on a condescending tone, as if she were speaking to someone below her.
"I'm not being childish here. I really think we have to leave."
"And if you're wrong? You want to take the blame?" Ricken didn't seem to be able to come up with a response to that, other than the angry glare of steel in his eyes. "We have to keep going."
"Our supplies are running out, aren't they?" She froze. "But do you even care? You're desperate to prove yourself! Desperate to pretend you're capable of doing something other than running." She froze. For all of three seconds, before she threw a punch. It missed, but the motion was clear, and Ricken swallowed slightly. "Don't threaten me. You've killed two of us."
"...Why are you saying these things?" Cordelia's voice was full of tears. "I don't..."
"Because I can't trust you." Ricken also had tears seemingly in his throat. He was shaking slightly, and she didn't know if it was from anger or fear. "I don't want you pushing me so hard. You might be trying to be make up for what you've done, but I don't want to die here, starving and freezing."
"...I won't let you die. But at the same time, I won't run and hide. And I don't expect you to want to either." Cordelia shook her head. "I doubt you'll understand me, Ricken. But we have to keep going, whether you want to or not. It's our duty. It's part of being in the Shepherds."
That incident shook Cordelia. She was barely able to sleep that night. Her mind was a mess, and she was unable to figure out if what she did was right or not. Wrapping her arms around herself, as if they were a blanket, she felt a tear fall down her face as she looked at Ricken, who seemed to be asleep. Was it her fault or was it his? It would be easier to fully blame him, she knew that, but she just couldn't bring herself to do such a thing. Laughing softly at her stupidity, she suddenly felt a familiar surge of anger flow through her. Was she going to do this to everyone? Was she going to push everyone away? Sumia immediately came into her mind, and she wondered if she was going to reject her, too. She shook her head softly. Though she wanted to make amends, really badly, she was scared that she would worsen the situation. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the stream of negative thoughts pouring into her brain, praying for a peaceful sleep as tears leaked down her body.
The next day passed in complete silence. A sort of horrible, suffocating tension had corrupted the air, and had smothered all fears of talking about recent events. Instead, the two Shepherds moved without words, their minds not focusing on the tasks ahead, but rather sadly remembering the recent argument. Occasionally, a regretful look was shot by Cordelia to Ricken, or from Ricken to Cordelia, but no actual eye contact ever happened. Instead, once again, all that was heard was a constant, almost droning sound of foot hitting road, of flesh meeting boot meeting path. Tears may have fallen on the floor, but they were of no consequence, and were treated as such. The weather had not cheered up, instead seeming to indulge in the misery, with an almost gleeful manner. Rain occasionally hit the ground, splashing, but once again this was of no real consequence – no amount of unfortunate weather could seem to worsen the already gloomy atmosphere.
They continued in this depression for several days, the weight of the argument still hanging over their heads. The worry of one of them snapping was becoming a more and more major concern, and as ever, Cordelia knew she had to be careful about her food supplies. Part of her realised that soon she would have to head back, or risk starvation, but there was a selfish part of her that did not want to do this – she felt like doing so would just be another form of failure – and she knew failure was the worst for her. As well as this, there was a form of ominous foreboding in the air, and she couldn't figure out what was causing it. Part of her had thought about asking Ricken if he had felt it too, but she didn't want to risk talking to him again. Not yet. The wounds were still there. Mostly, she tried to pass off the sensation as her being too paranoid, but it was hard to just dismiss like that. She hoped that she wasn't walking straight into danger, but she realised that even if she was, it might lead her to where she needed to go. Certainly she felt that she wasn't finished in Regna Ferox just yet.
Cordelia was right. It was about a day later when her fears came to light. She could smell the danger - long before she would have had a chance of seeing it. An overwhelming stench of putrid flesh raced up her nostrils, trying desperately to choke her, constricting at her windpipe. She gagged slightly as she moved forwards, her eyes suddenly more alert than they had been before. Risking a look at Ricken, she noticed that he seemed to have sensed something too. Her mind was racing. What could it possibly be? Moving forwards in a sort of disgusted eagerness, she tried to shut off her sense of smell, covering her nose with one arm, the other firmly gripping her lance just in case. Tears dropped from her eyes, as if somebody had slaughtered an onion nearby, and she could hear the pounding of her feet slamming against the floor beneath echoing again and again in her mind. As she increased her pace, she made sure not to fall over, steadying herself everytime she nearly went off balance. Though the clogging stench was all around her, she was able to identify locations where it was more prevalent, and headed towards those locations. Though she was barely able to see, partly due to the tears drowning out her vision, and partly because the pure power of the smell was addling her brain, she was still able to make sure that Ricken was following along with her, and she gave him a small smile - the first smile she had made for days. There was no reply from him, but this did not phase her, as she forced herself to keep going.
Cordelia's face paled. Bodies. That was what she could smell. At first, there weren't many. Maybe a dead person here, a couple there. They had expressions of terror on their face as blood was pouring out of them. The smell they gave off churned her stomach, and she had to fight to keep back the vomit. As she progressed, she saw a wider array of victims. Men. Women. Children. She felt tears fall down her face as she passed by the broken body of a young boy. What could have been doing this? Her mind was racing. This could only be the work of bandits, but there was a horrible odour that seemed almost inhuman. But this was too large a scale a massacre to be the creation of some wild beast. Next to her was Ricken, and she could see the same anger she was forcing back in his eyes. Again, she offered him a comforting smile, but it was ignored, possibly out of accident, possibly out of spite. Either way, she decided she didn't care. There were more important matters for her to worry about. Forcing herself to keep going despite the growing bile in her throat, she felt her heart start to race, faster and faster. A growing urge to turn tail and flee was rising in her, but she suppressed her survival instinct, determined not to let the perpetrators of this get away with it. Memories flooded back through her, almost breaking her, but instead she used them as fuel to overcome the surging pain in her body. Following the trail of bodies, as if it was some grotesque, obscene treasure hunt, she kept going, hate in her heart.
As Cordelia ran further and further along a sloping path, she could start to hear their screams. She wasn't sure, at first, whether or not it was a trick of her mind, if she was just hearing hallucinations or flashbacks. But they sounded too real, and as she kept going, she felt the cold hand of dread on her back. Gripping her lance, stopping the sweat that was forming on her hands from letting it slip, she looked around. No sign of anything. But a horrible sensation of being watched.
"Do you feel that?" She spoke in a whisper.
"We should get out of here. Leave while we still have the chance."
"No!" She almost spat. "We're not letting people get away with this. I've seen too many innocents die to let this happen again."
"But-" She didn't even bother listening, instead deciding just to walk ahead in disgust. Shaking her head, she didn't bother looking back, or listening to Ricken's attempted justification. What she was doing was what she had to do. A cold shiver shot up her back, as she increased her pace due to hearing the screams again and again. Part of her wanted to collapse, as memories flooded through her, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable, like she was just a child. But she had to progress forwards. She wanted to break down and cry, but she didn't let herself, instead charging across the road, the pestilent smell assaulting her again and again, trying and trying and trying to push her back. Fighting through it, she felt anger start to build a barrier around herself, and she took comfort in this, using her hate as a shield for herself. It was safer than letting herself think about painful memories.
Cordelia had nearly made it to the village before she saw one of them. Her eyes widened, and her face paled, her throat constricting as she felt sick rise to the surface. A twitching, gibbering, imperfect imitation of a corpse stared at her with twitching and gibbering red eyes. It held a weapon in its' hand - an old worn blade, likely older than it, and struck out with it, giving Cordelia only a little time to block with her lance. Stepping back to avoid a follow-up attack, she quickly glanced around her. Ricken was someways off, due to her rushing ahead in her angry urge for her angry justice, and she doubted he would be able to hear her. She'd have to win this fight by herself. Another sword stroke came towards her, and she deflected it, twisting her weapon so that her opponent was forced back a little. Striking with force, she gave the creature no time to defend itself from her attack, slicing into its' chest, albeit with not enough power to kill it. In fact, her brutality and lack of regard for personal defense allowed the monster to strike back, cutting at her chest armour. The pain struck her, and she flinched, instinctively stabbing out, managing to hit at her target's leg. Putting some distance in between her and the next blade attack, she then dashed forward, aiming for the throat, her spear securing the kill. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to carry on, not wanting to waste time waiting for Ricken - it was a stupid, stupid idea, and she knew that even then, but she found she could not muster the restraint needed to stop herself from continuing.
Villagers. Running. Spears and arrows cutting into them from behind. Villagers. Dropping. Cordelia's face paled, and she fought hard not to flee - fought her survival instinct. Her lance was in her hand, and her eyes were moving quickly from side to side, looking out to see if there was anyone coming. Or anything. She could still smell the stench of the rotting dead, and it filled her body, churning her stomach, and bringing bile to her throat. Low growls mixed with the screams and shouts and wails of the dying, creating a cacophony of utter horror. It wasn't long before she located the first enemies - two corpses lurched towards her, and she prepared to fight. Quickly reaching for a javelin that she hurled into the face of one of the enemies, she stepped back, hurling another one, slowing down the advance of her foes. A sword reached at her, and she took a strike on the arm, wincing slightly as it cut through her armour. The foe that attacked her followed-up, driving forwards with its' blade, but she managed to avoid the strike aimed at her waist. It tried to stumble at her, but she cut off its' advance with a swift and devastating lance to the throat. Turning around quickly, so as not to be flanked, she defended against a sword stroke, pushing her enemy away from her. Gritting her teeth, she felt a sudden surge of energy, allowing her to stab into the enemy's flesh, forcing her lance through its' stomach, out of its' back. Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued forwards, raising her weapon as she saw another gibbering monstrosity charging towards her. Its' axe smashed down, but she maneuvered out of the way, catching it with a strike to the leg. Avoiding the next blow, she wasted no time in aiming for the throat, her strike scoring a kill.
Cordelia saw a villager, pursued by an angry corpse. Racing ahead, nearly tripping over the ground several times, she considered trying to hurl a javelin at her opponent, but knew that to do such an act would perhaps result in the death of the villager. Instead, she held on to her lance, moving faster and faster. She could see the monster closing in on its' target, and her heart played the rhythm of a war-drum as she heard her foot collide with the road again and again and again. She didn't know if she was going to make it in time, but she was desperate - she was going to save as many as she could. She had no idea where Ricken had gone. He was most likely following behind, slow as he always was. Shaking her head, not wanting to worry about matters like that when more important things were at stake, she focused on what was ahead. The corpse was closing in on its' victim now, and she felt fear start to slow her down. A sort of feeling of horrible apathy was clogging her leg muscles, and though she tried to fight through it, tried to force her way forwards, she found it much, much harder than expected. Stumbling forwards, hatred filling her veins, she was nevertheless unable to prevent a sword from stabbing into the innocent man. He dropped dead, instantly, and she felt a scream surge to her throat. She choked on it slightly, and it manifested as a sort of angry growl, as she set her sights on the monster. Giving no concern to personal safety, she stabbed at it, leaving herself open to a strike to the chest, knocking her back slightly. Wincing in pain, she struck out again, and once again, she was punished for her recklessness, a brutal sword attack nearly winding her - only the rage inside keeping her going. Spitting a little, she instinctively went for the throat, sticking her spear into it, ending the movement of her foe instantly. Anger still burning inside her, she continued on her warpath, determined to track down the last of the risen dead.
Fatigue filled Cordelia's body, as she fought outside the village's gates. The villagers who hadn't been slain yet were hiding behind her, using her as their last protection and a bloody lance was in her hand. Though she didn't know how many more enemies remained, she knew that she wouldn't be able to last for long if there were many more, and as such, she was conserving the energy she had, fighting mostly defensively. Ricken was gone - though she was worried about this, she couldn't do much about it, unless she wanted the villagers to be slain. She would have to stay here and act as guardian, despite what she was feeling inside. Her eyes watched for any signs of hostile movement, and she felt a weird mixture of fear and adrenaline through her body. How long would she have to stay here for? She didn't know what was a sensible timeframe - her mind was still anxious about what had happened to Ricken, but she hoped that he could hold his own in a fight. She didn't want to leave the vulnerable people here. Not for him. Shaking her head, she sighed, not knowing what was right anymore. Then again, had she ever known what was right?
It had been about an hour with no more real signs of enemies to be seen, and as such Cordelia decided to head off in search of Ricken. Each step hurt her, her legs moving slowly and reluctantly, but despite her shakiness and the pain in her muscles, she kept going, aware that there was likely still to be reanimated corpses hunting for any stragglers. She had no idea where her companion would be - would he have tried to follow her up the road? She wondered if by leaving him to try and save the villagers, she had left him to die. A tear rolled down her cheek. She hadn't even been able to rescue all of the civilians. At least half of them, if not more, had died. If she had found this place sooner, the massacre could have been averted. But she didn't. Because she was always too slow. Forcing herself forwards, using the pain inside her as a catalyst for her speed, she let out a low growl as she felt another blast of anger rip through her. She didn't want to be slow anymore. She didn't want to be a goddamned failure anymore. Her hands were raw from the pressure she was putting on her lance, but this didn't phase her. The angry red marks left in her skin from her weapon didn't phase her. She was too focused, too concentrated on what was ahead of her to care. The burning desire to find Ricken, to prove herself worthy, was all that was inside her. Nothing more. Nothing less. No survival instinct. No thoughts of fleeing.
Cordelia found Ricken lying down, blood on his robe. Her eyes widened. Was he about to die? She had no medicine for him. He looked up at her, a smile on his face. Was it meant to reassure her? Or meant to try to stop her feeling guilty? Grabbing his fingers, she stared at him, horror on her face. Was this her punishment, for running ahead? But she had tried to do what was right. She cursed, a thousand curses under her breath. To hell with this. No matter what she did, it always seemed to be wrong.
"Ricken! Ricken!" She screamed, her mind envisioning horrific thoughts.
"Cordelia? You're here."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you. You're going to die because of me, and it's all my fault. I let someone else die again." He shook his head.
"It's not a serious injury. It's not even my blood. I'm just lying down because I'm too exhausted to carry on." There was a moment of silence. "Did you save the villagers?"
"Not all of them. As many as I could." She spoke quietly. "But not enough." A tear leaked from her eye. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."
"Cordelia..." She put her hand out, as if to silence him. Extending a hand, she helped him up.
"We should go. I think that's all we can do here in Regna Ferox."
"Back to Plegia?"
"I don't want to go. But yes. We have to go back there."