Good Hunting Chapter 4
Chapter 4
The sickness spreads.
Embrace it.
Find salvation within it.
For its origins are divine.
Book of Humanity, Verse 43
Ossawa was exhausted.
She could not tell why, or how she might have come to feel this way. Her life aboard the Dragalge involved little physical labour or mental strain.
Still, she felt it in her bones, and Ossawa knew better than to question those. She needed a holiday. Somewhere warm and low to the earth, with no sign of sea or sky in sight. Perhaps those Diglet-dug baths she kept hearing about at port would work.
Ossawa was getting old. Each morning she felt her breath run ragged, accompanied by that ever-present whistle of air moving in and out of the torn, fleshy ring that encircled her neck.
But such was life, she supposed. No rest for the wicked and all that. Nothing to do but get on with the job at hand.
Besides feeling more and more like a living fossil with each passing day, Ossawa's morning routine always began with a trip into the depths of the Dragalge. This was not an expedition to be taken lightly. Her preparations were as extensive as her trips were short.
First came the gloves, shaped from a rough, thick rubber that left a sour smell on her fur. Considering the stench of decay rising from below, this was preferable.
Next came the stained white gown. She had it commissioned especially, made to tightly bind her in cloth from head to toe, like a cocoon, leaving only her head exposed. If anyone were to see her like this, they might have found it a ridiculous sight, but nobody ever saw Ossawa like this. It was far too dark for that, down below.
At last, Ossawa fastened a heavy mask of grey canvas around her face. It was a crude thing, little more than a glorified bag with holes poked in it for Ossawa's mouth and eyes. Each of the eyeholes was filled with a thin disc of smudged glass, while the space for her mouth was filtered with a heavy mix of herbs and spices, designed to overwhelm any ill humours drifting on the air.
A few moments further were taken to secure any gaps in her outfit; any cracks by which her skin might be exposed. Once all was settled, Ossawa would gather up her tinctures – small vials of lavender-water, vinegar, and salt – alongside a needle and coiled thread, before at long last heading down, down below, until all light was snuffed out.
She rarely spent long down there. In truth, there was little Ossawa could do besides apply her medicine, spare a few words of comfort, and make her escape.
Such was the ordinary routine. Business as usual, except today was different. Before Ossawa had so much as opened her bleary eyes from a short, dreamless sleep, her ears were filled with the loud clatter of darting feet. Opening her eyes, Ossawa spotted something green flitting across her cabin.
"What –", she sputtered, rising to her feet in a sudden panic. "Who's there!?"
Before she could finish that sentence, the green shape was gone, having disappeared above deck.
Ossawa's first thought was to check the hatch. Forcing her aching limbs to move, she hurried over to the scarred wooden chest that sat in the corner of her cabin. As she had feared, the lid of this chest was flung open, revealing the dark shaft beneath.
With a stifled wail of frustration and fear, Ossawa slammed the chest shut. Someone had gone below. No, not just someone. Who else could that green shape have been other that Kiwi?
The Dragalge – her Dragalge – had been violated: the secrets of its hold plundered. Kiwi might not have known it, but she had made a terrible mistake from which there would be no returning. Ossawa was furious, not just because of the trust Kiwi had betrayed, but also the terrible fate the Kirlia had now ensured for herself. Some things were best left well alone.
With a grim resolve, Ossawa began walking towards the trapdoor with a slow, relentless step. Climbing up the ladder and emerging out onto the top deck, she found the rest of the crew to be sound asleep. Corrin was curled in his bed, still hiding his face under the hat Ossawa had lent him, while Darow remained perched on the deck railing, his eyes closed. But one crew member was noticeably absent.
"Where is Kiwi?" Ossawa asked, masking her fury with a calm veneer.
Darow was the first to awaken, lifting one eyelid, then the other.
"Kiwi? What's wrong with Kiwi?" The Noctowl replied, stifling a yawn.
Choosing not to answer, Ossawa began searching the shelters that littered the deck, to no avail. Kiwi's own shelter seemed remarkably untouched, as if it had not been slept in for some time.
Fully awake now, Darow was growing concerned. "Captain, what's wrong?" He asked gently. Darow had never seen Ossawa act like this before.
"We need to find Kiwi," Ossawa replied, "I need to speak with her."
Only then did Corrin awaken. Before saying or doing anything, he instinctually felt around his scarf for something that was not there. His movements became frantic for a moment, before the Marowack seemed to forcibly calm himself. Carefully tying that same faded blue scarf around his mouth and repositioning Ossawa's hat to better cover the rest of his face, Corrin rose to his feet.
"My book," he said, "has anyone seen my book?"
"Not now", Ossawa rebutted him, "we need to find Kiwi first."
"Kiwi is missing?" Corrin wondered, "How can Kiwi be missing? We're on a balloon. There are only so many places she could be."
"The below decks. She could be down there?" Darow suggested.
For a moment, Ossawa's calm air cracked. "Nothing is down there," she shot back with a growl. Taken aback, Darow buried his head into his feathers, shrinking away from the captain.
"Take flight, check everywhere you can think of." A sudden thought struck Ossawa mid-order. "If you find Kiwi, keep your distance and report back to me."
Knowing better than to question the captain, Darow lifted his wings and leapt into the air, soaring away and around the Dragalge in his search. Before his talons had so much as left the deck, Ossawa turned to Corrin.
"Tell me if anything happens," she commanded, "I have an urgent matter to attend to, below decks."
With that, Ossawa began retreating down to her cabin before Corrin could object. She just needed a moment to collect herself. Once safely inside the dim confines of her cabin once more, she felt a sudden lurch of despair well up in her stomach. She hastily squashed the feeling as well as she could.
Despite everything that had happened, she could not quite bring herself to take her morning trip down into the hold. Ossawa simply did not have it in her to face what was down there right now. She could only hope Kiwi had not done any real damage to the Dragalge's most precious cargo.
Collapsing back into her chair, Ossawa felt her mind spinning. She needed to find something to occupy herself with, and quickly.
Lighting the lamps would be a good start. Only allowing herself a few seconds of rest, she got back to her feet and began circling the cabin, carefully lighting each of the oil lamps and candles that dotted her cabin until the perpetual gloom had receded a little. It was honestly a miracle that Ossawa had not yet knocked over one of these candles, setting the balloon ablaze. A miracle Ossawa did not deserve, she thought to herself as she struck match after match and lit light after light.
Navigation would do next. Ossawa needed to check the bearings of the Dragalge to ensure they were still on course for the Divide. With almost as much care as her daily preparation to descend into the hold, Ossawa began readying her navigational instruments: a small compass with a spider-web-shaped fracture on its face, a worn wax tablet upon which had been noted Darow's observations, and a once-brilliant map that had long since faded.
Each of these instruments were laid out on Ossawa's desk. In that moment, all the Scarlet Frontier stretched out before her, inscribed onto smudged, golden parchment.
Lingering amongst frozen seas, Precipice kept its stubborn hold to the north, already so far away from the Dragalge. They had been passing over ice-shod ocean for the past day or so, but this would not last for much longer. Only a few hours of flight away, the Divide seared its ruptured scar across the land in the form of a mighty ravine that swallowed the ocean whole and gave rise to a bustling colony, forever toiling in that steaming basin.
Beyond was a swampish, sickly mass of land, pockmarked with salt cliffs rising from the earth of which the Ivory Plateau was only one. It would be many moons yet before the Dragalge passed this harsh frontier and saw the warm forests of the southern lands and the gentle slope of old hills, where the Festival of Humanity was to be held.
Yes, this map was a good enough distraction, Ossawa thought. It would not do to linger on what had happened. Still, looking again at the journey still to come, Ossawa could not help but feel a lingering sense of dread eating away at her insides. This passage was dangerous enough – she of all people should know – but Kiwi's trespass had added in a whole new set of… complications. Ossawa only hoped she could handle them. If only Ossawa had kept better watch, this would never have happened.
From across the cabin, Ossawa heard a shrill creak as the trapdoor to the top deck was carefully opened. A stream of raw sunlight came into the cabin, and before long, Corrin poked his dusty head inside, tightly gripping the captain's hat to keep it from falling as he did so.
"We found her, but she won't come down," he reported, still more confused than anything. "Darow says she's atop the balloon, curled up on the canvas."
"He didn't get too close, did he?" Ossawa asked, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
"No, I don't think so."
Well, that was one thing at least.
"Let her stay up there then. We've nearly reached the Divide." The captain decided, thinking aloud, "Once we reach the colony, she can take her leave of the Dragalge."
Corrin paused. "Has… something happened, captain?"
"Something best left unsaid," was the only answer Ossawa provided.
For a moment it seemed as if Corrin would push the issue, but as Ossawa'a deafening silence persisted, he seemed to reconsider.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he said at last, before leaving the captain to her thoughts.
With a thump, the trapdoor closed, once again encasing Ossawa in darkness.
She could not keep this up forever. Rather than thinking about that, she pressed her ear to the rough bristled wall of the cabin, hoping to catch any stray rumblings of conversation from above.
Instead, Ossawa felt a deep vibration reverberating through the wood. It was low, quiet, but steady. Not the sound of talking, that was for sure, but what else could it have been? The burn of the brazier above decks, heating the air beneath the balloon? No, Ossawa knew that sound well, this was different. This sound was deep, grand, and only growing louder.
It was the sound of the Divide, and there was nothing Ossawa could do to prevent its relentless advance.
Just a moment longer. That was all she needed, just a moment longer, to think things through.
Ossawa curled up in the corner, pressed her head once more to the hull, and waited for the Divide's endless roar to drown out her thoughts.
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