Chapter Ten: Devil's Thirst
Aloy sat across from him; a frown etching suspicion on her freckled face.
Nil smiled in return, her sentiment all too familiar. They were perched high in a towering ruin, a crumbling relic of the Old Ones. He could smell the rusted iron of its eroding girders, and it mixed with the earthy pine carried by the breeze. Below, machines patrolled the abandoned streets, their motors whirring and clicking. And above, the sun edged towards the horizon, casting it with the first hints of gold as evening approached.
He knelt on the concrete slab they shared with kindling piled in front of him. Tufts of dried grass filled the center, and he hovered over it with fletched agate in one hand and a piece of steel in the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her suspicion subtly transition to curiosity.
The pieces made a sharp tap as he struck them together, and after a few blows, sparks showered onto the grassy tinder.
"No blaze?" she asked.
"I'm not a fan unfortunately," he said huskily in between breaths as he blew on the smoldering flame. "The smell makes me nauseous, and the result would definitely spoil our meal."
"About that…" she said, and she crossed her arms against her chest. Her austere, Nora clothing, with its simple layers of suede and fur, suited her direct manner. She had no patience for pomp or flash. "I'm confused. Why are we having a meal together?"
Nil shrugged as he fed more kindling to the fire. "Is it so strange to share a meal with someone?"
"It is strange," she said, "You're a stranger. Someone who was lurking on the side of the road surrounded by corpses—"
"—Whose bodies you looted," he interjected jovially.
Her green eyes narrowed. "…And when I stopped to ask what happened, you started in on the hedonistic joy of bloodlust and battle as if you were reciting an ode to its glory."
"The Carja do love their poetry…"
"Then the next thing I know, we're fighting through a bandit camp. Arrows are flying everywhere. And when their heavy starts laying down fire in my direction, you let that one guy go and set off the alarm."
"Yeah, I know. Calling in their reinforcements," he said as he unfolded the legs of a standing grill and set it over the fire. "But as is often said, the more… the bloodier. It would be rude to deny them the wholesome honor of dying together with their friends."
Aloy shook her head, her jaw slack with incredulity.
"It was the right thing to do," Nil added, and he placed a cast iron griddle on top of the grill. The flickering flames surged up, lashing its underside.
"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard…" she muttered, then shook her head. "…Whatever. When they were all finally dead, and I turned to continue on my way, you asked me if I had eaten yet."
"Had you?" he said.
"I hadn't, but that's not the point."
"You could have rejected my offer," he said, picking up the overstuffed bag he had stashed in the corner. He loosened its drawstring and reached inside. One by one, he plucked out plump sacks knotted with twine and sealed ceramic jars. "All you would have done is break my heart."
"Ugh…" she groaned, disgust curling her lip.
Nil chuckled. Then he pulled out a large canteen, a steel bowl and spatula, and a pair of plates. The bag sagged, empty and deflated. He brushed it aside and plopped down cross-legged beside the grill. His fingers fluttered over the tops of the sacks, accounting for each of them, and then he picked one up. He undid its knot and poured out a heaping handful of large, flat seeds onto half the griddle, letting them scatter into an even layer.
"What are those?" Aloy asked, leaning forward.
He smirked. Curiosity was indeed her weakness. "Pumpkin seeds."
She frowned, and her hand absently rose to the triangular accessory she wore just behind her temple. Her fingers reached to touch it, then she winced softly, and her hand fell onto her lap.
"What?"
She shook her head, her hand gesturing to it. "With my focus, I can see what everything is, so I'm used to activating it whenever I want. Sometimes I forget that it can make others uncomfortable since it's a device crafted by the Old Ones."
"Making others uncomfortable is something I understand well," he said, catching her eyes. "Intense is usually what they say about me. Or disturbing." He thrust his chin towards her accessory. "Activate it. Do what makes you feel comfortable. I don't mind."
A smile ghosted across her face, and she reached up and lightly tapped the accessory. A ring of fluttering light encircled it, and she slowly turned her head, her gaze panning towards the griddle.
"Oh, they're very high in protein," she noted.
"Is that good?" he asked as he untied one of the larger sacks.
"It is."
He nodded, unexpectedly pleased. Then he lifted the sack over the bowl and tipped it gently to the side until the first few grains of flour spilled out. He shook it, teasing out enough to fill a couple handfuls. The flour filled the bowl like a miniature desert, and he quenched its thirst with a libation of water from the canteen and a swirl of yellow-green oil. His hands began to knead the mixture together, the thickening batter squeezing between his fingers.
Her gaze fell to the dough as he worked it like clay.
"Corn flour?" Aloy asked with one eyebrow furrowed.
"Masa," he gently corrected. "But really the same thing."
"And olive oil? What's olive oil?"
Nil laughed, patting the dough into a firm ball. "It's from a fruit that grows on a tree. They press it and get the oil."
She eyed him skeptically. "They get oil from this fruit? And not juice?"
"Yes," he said, grinning. "You don't believe me?"
She pursed her lips, her doubt apparent.
"I'm telling the truth."
Her gaze rose to stare at him, the ring shimmering as it spilled secrets only she could see. She lingered there, reading them, her critical expression unwavering.
"Your distrust aside," he said, unperturbed, "Being Nora has made you sheltered despite your little, ancient device that gives you all the answers. There's a whole world beyond your Sacred Lands, and it's filled with food."
She scoffed under her breath and tapped her accessory. The ring vanished.
Still grinning, he plucked up a jar and unsealed its cap. An orange paste brimmed inside, and he lifted it to his nose and sniffed.
"What's that?" she asked.
"The pumpkin that went with the seeds," he replied with an approving nod to the jar. "I cooked it up with some seasonings a few days ago. With the colder weather, it keeps pretty well. We'll finish it off tonight."
She watched as he tore off a knot of dough and flattened it into a disk in his palm. His fingers scooped out some pumpkin and dolloped it onto the center. Then he folded the dough around it, pinching the ends together and reforming it into a ball. Once it was smooth, he flattened it again until it was a little thinner than his fingers.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's called a pupusa," he said, wetting it with a dab of oil. Then he threw it onto the griddle. It sizzled brightly as it slid across the smooth iron. He quickly turned out three more, his hands moving fast and light with practiced ease. And as the last one hit the griddle, he picked up the spatula and flipped the first one over, revealing a crispy crust with spots of toasted brown. The nutty sweetness of the masa and the savory pumpkin wafted in the air, and he could hear her breathe it in with a deep sigh.
"Oh!" she said, and she turned to undo the clasps on her satchel.
He looked at her expectantly.
"I just realized," she continued, rummaging through the bag, "We don't have any meat. I killed a boar this morning and dressed what was left after I butchered it. It's sliced thin enough, and we could sauté it quickly after everything else is done."
"Ah," he said, grimacing as he began plating the pupusas, "There's a reason why there's no meat. I don't eat it."
She blinked, and her satchel slid slowly back onto the ground. "You don't eat meat? Like all meat? Not even eggs or fish?"
"Not even eggs or fish."
"Is that a Carja thing?"
"No," he sighed, nudging the toasted pumpkin seeds with his spatula, assessing their readiness. "It's a me thing. I personally don't eat meat."
Her chin found her palm, and she stared at him thoughtfully.
"What?" he asked as he scooped up the seeds and piled them onto the plates beside the pupusas.
"It's just unexpected," she shrugged. "You delight in battle and slaughter, and judging by your skill, you've probably killed dozens and dozens of people by now."
"Hundreds might be more accurate."
She rolled her eyes. "Hundreds then. So, how do you end up enjoying battle that much and never eat meat."
"Well," he said as he unsealed more jars, revealing dark-skinned dates and briny olives. "They're not unrelated to each other. I'd also say my disgust for blaze comes from the same place. Roasting bodies on the battlefield can put into perspective how much we're all simply animals and made of meat. Sometimes just the smell of it over a cooking fire will make my stomach turn."
"Is that the difference?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"I was trained to be a hunter," she explained, "And the purpose of the kill was for the resources, animal or machine. But you were a soldier, weren't you? You weren't killing for the sake of harvesting a resource. You were there to destroy it."
"Or capture it," he said, and his warmth chilled, turning distant. "And drag it back to the Sundom, bloody and in chains."
She swallowed.
He stared at her, his silver irises cold like mercury. Then he shrugged it off, his softness returning with a friendly smile that reached his eyes, and he sprinkled salt over the pumpkin seeds, "Though every soldier I've ever met has had no problem stuffing pork roast into their face right after a fight. So, my distaste for meat might be just me."
"Maybe…"
He held out a heaping plate for her to take. "Dinner is served."
She hesitated for a moment, then accepted it politely.
He gave her an encouraging nod. "It smells good. And tastes better."
She eyed him, then brought it up under her nose, letting the steam from the pupusas wash over her face. Her expression brightened. "It does smell really good."
His smile broadened into a grin. He nudged the open jars towards her and gestured to them respectively. "Dates and… olives."
She smirked. "The fabled fruit that makes oil instead of juice?"
"The one and only. Actually, both olives and dates are come from trees. But where one is produced by an evergreen that can live for hundreds of years, the other grows on a palm tree that rarely survives to old age. And yet, they have one important thing in common: you must be wary of their pits when you bite."
She laughed, then plucked up a few of each before piling them onto her plate.
He followed suit, and together they devoured their meal, appetites sharpened by the rich flavors and a long day filled with battle. From time to time, she tapped her accessory, its flickering ring casting blue light over her cheek. Her hand would raise, manipulating invisible apparitions. Then she would tap it back off and continue to eat. They demolished their plates and emptied the jars until only the discarded pits remained.
He took a long pull from his canteen, the refreshing water dribbling from the corners of his mouth and down his chin.
"Thank you for the meal," she said, dusting the crumbs from her plate. "No one has ever asked me to eat with them before. It's not something the Nora do with outcasts, even former ones. It really threw me earlier."
"I'm glad you took the risk and joined me," he said, cleaning up the sacks and jars. His empty bag lay beside him, waiting to be filled.
"And I didn't break your heart."
He chuckled. "And you didn't break my heart."
"But I do want to share something with you in return," she said, glancing away, her cheeks flush with fleeting bashfulness.
It reminded him of how young she was. How young they both were. Adults long before they were done being children. That is if either of them had had the luxury of being children to begin with.
"Just to express my appreciation to the chef," she added.
"Oh?"
OOOOOOOOOO
"So," Aloy shouted over the rhythmic thunderclaps that shook the ground, each one growing louder and more violent than the last, "When it passes in front of this concrete outcrop, make a running leap for the lowest spine on its neck. They're flat on the ends, so you should be able to land directly on it. From there you can follow me up as we climb to the top."
Nil nodded his readiness, though his wary glancing suggested otherwise.
"Don't worry," she assured him with a wink. "It'll be fun."
A glimpse of gleaming, white steel passed by a gaping crag, and over the jagged walls of the collapsed building, he spied the curving outline of the tallneck's head as it approached.
Its massive hooves thumped, and the pebbly rubble rattled.
Then the beast filled the gap in front of the outcrop, its reticulated plates gliding together as it ambled at a gentle pace.
Aloy took a step back, and then sprinted over the outcrop, fearless as she threw herself off the edge. She landed lightly on the first spine and made an easy hop to the next one protruding beside it.
He blew out a breath and ran after her. When he reached the end of the outcrop, he pushed off hard, the tallneck nearly out of reach in one of its strides. He sailed through the air after it, nothing between him and the distant ground.
His body stretched.
The spine was so close.
The beast took another step, thrusting forward.
He felt the beveled deck on the spine brush his fingers.
And he grabbed on.
The momentum slammed his legs into the tallneck's back, but his grip held. He dangled, his body swaying, and then with a grunt, he hauled himself up onto the spine. Aloy watched him from her perch, her arms resting on her thighs and a curious smile on her lips.
Then without a word, she jumped to the next spine, working her way up the beast's elongated neck towards the massive disk that was its head. He followed, vivid memories overwhelming him. He remembered icy gusts buffeting against him as he scaled a glacier in The Cut. He remembered the black chasm looming below, eager to swallow him. And he remembered the woman he chased, only now she had red hair instead of glowing, blue cords.
The hunter and the hunted.
Aloy reached the crest and disappeared as she climbed on top of the disk. He leapt for the last handhold and clambered up behind her.
"You made it," she said, grinning as she looked back at him from over her shoulder. "You cut it a little close with that first leap."
"I have some climbing experience," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with mild embarrassment. "But usually on things that aren't walking away."
She chuckled, and then lowered herself to sit on top of the tallneck's head. Her hand patted the panel beside her, beckoning him to join her.
He obliged.
She leaned back, resting on her elbows. The beast's smooth, rocking gait caused her hair to sway softly from side to side, and he watched as she relaxed, her body in rhythm with the flow.
"I love tallnecks," she said, her eyes heavy-lidded, "Their whole purpose is to explore and share knowledge. Massive giants who walk wherever they please. No malice but not fragile either. Sometimes I think the whole world could end, but they'd still be here, ambling through the ashes and broadcasting their stories."
Nil hummed thoughtfully as he reclined onto his back, his hands pillowing his head. He felt the beast's rhythm, too, soothing his muscles. "They're peaceful, I'll give them that."
"And the view is hard to beat," she said, her gaze on the setting sun as it touched the horizon, ripening the sky in tones of gold and magenta. The colors warmed her skin and set her fiery hair ablaze.
He stared at her, entranced.
"You're right. It's beautiful."