Chapter Twelve: Shattered Kiln
Nil leaned forward and smiled toothily.
He sat on a flat rock, his forearms resting on his thighs. A large, cast-iron pot hung on a hook in front of him, and the eager campfire swathed its blackened underside with flame. Golden-brown broth brimmed inside the pot, bubbling as it simmered. He reached for the ladle hooked on the rim and dipped it in. Slowly, he stirred it, churning up the pureed pumpkin and minced garlic and onions which had settled at the bottom. A fresh wave of aromas saturated the air; their savory flavors made brighter by the dreary day.
Fog blanketed the mountain pass in limitless gray. The forest, teeming with birch and oak, turned eerie and silent, its silhouetted trees fading into nothingness as they reached into the sky. Drizzling rain pattered overhead, and he glanced up at a stolen banner, its corners tied to trunks and saplings, transforming it into shelter. Rivulets trickled down its sloping, red canvas and collected along the edges. There they swelled into fat droplets until they broke and dripped onto the ground.
His camp perched on a low rise, and to the north lay the smoking ruins of a bandit camp. He looked down into it. All jagged lumber and twisted iron, it was an ugly scar amid the rolling meadows and snowmelt. A thrilling, wretched place that excited his blood more than an idyllic forest ever could.
He still felt it. The postcoital satisfaction of plunging his dagger hilt-deep into the last bandit and the staccato melody of the man's rattling gasp that followed. But it was more than that. Because when the bandit slid lifelessly off the blade, he was the last one. The territories were clean, every camp sanitized of their filth.
Nil's new purpose fulfilled.
And now his thoughts simmered like the broth in the pot, roiling around the words of the shaman he captured in The Cut years ago. He felt himself consumed by the contest between the hunter and the hunted. Their positions in battle shifting with every arrow loosed, and he wondered with restless fervor which one he'd be at the end of their story.
An ending which promised to be a fitting farewell to her.
Aloy sat across from him, her gaze on the camp as well, with a bowl of mushrooms cradled in her lap. They were clean and quartered, ready to be added to the broth. Her contribution from the dark places she delved.
He could only see the curve of her face, but it was enough.
"What's wrong?" he asked warmly, burying the excitement that thrummed in his chest and set his teeth on edge. "Do you already miss the feel of your spear splitting the enemy's ribs?"
"Ugh…" she groaned, then turned back to face him, her nose wrinkling.
"Or do you yearn for the feel of their hot blood spattering your face?"
She groaned again, though this time a fleeting smile spoiled her grimace, warming her cheeks before melancholy returned. "That's disgusting."
"So," he said as he picked up a plate of diced bell peppers and swept them into the broth, "If you're not mourning for your unsated bloodlust, now that the last bandit camp has been defeated, then what are you grieving for?"
She gave him a flat look. "I don't have any unsated bloodlust, and I'd be happy if bandits never existed at all." Then her expression softened to something wistful. "But I am going to miss this."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're going to miss this?"
"Yeah, this," she said, gesturing to the bubbling pot and the bowl on her lap. "It's been nice sitting down and sharing a meal with someone."
"It seems too simple a thing to be grateful for."
She sighed. "You'd think that, but a lot has happened since the massacre at the Proving. I'm tracking down these Eclipse soldiers and learning about what happened to the Old Ones and how their mistakes still threaten our world. I'd spent years wondering why I was cast out at birth and called motherless like it was a slur, and now everything is coming so fast. I'm constantly on the move. I don't sleep. Barely eat. And everyone needs something from me everywhere I go."
"Isn't that better?" he asked. "To be valued and have a purpose rather than be cast away?"
"I suppose. People used to ignore me, pretend that I didn't exist. Or they whispered assumptions about my character. Then again, I guess that hasn't changed. They still do that in every courtyard and marketplace I pass through, from Meridian to Mother's Heart. The only difference is the tone."
"I understand that," he said as he sprinkled a generous pinch of thyme and oregano over the thickening soup and mixed it in. "There are places where my reputation looms large, as brilliant as the noonday sun or as dark as a moonless night depending on your perspective."
His thoughts flooded with memory. Summer in Meridian. Brick walls that pressed in like a tomb and narrow windows that glowed gold with sunlight. He stared at the simmering pot and quietly added, "And there's also a place where I am nothing. Where no one even whispers a curse to condemn me. I was just a bit of detritus my mother failed to toss out."
She watched him, concern pinching her brow. Her mouth parted, and a question perched on the tip of her tongue.
He continued, not sparing her the chance to ask, "You're surrounded by all these people who need you, and you don't share a meal with them? You don't let them provide you with comfort and friendship as you risk your life for their satisfaction?"
She frowned. "Rost… my guardian, raised me to rely on myself. The Nora reinforced it when they shunned me or treated me like an abomination. I spent nineteen years being reviled, and now I'm suddenly revered. I don't know how to deal with it."
"Is that all there is to it? Discomfort? Resentment?"
"No, it's more than that. I think it's because all these people need something from me. In the Embrace, the only time anyone talked to me was when they were afraid. Sometimes they were injured or lost. Maybe they had a loved one who was missing and feared dead. Or they were under siege from enraged machines and desperate to survive. I'd always help them, but I knew in my heart that if our circumstances were reversed and I was the one in peril, they'd leave me to my fate."
"So, why do you sit with me?"
She shrugged. "Because you asked."
"And these others haven't?"
She opened her mouth, but words failed to come out.
He added a flourish of salt and pepper to the soup and waited.
Then she shook her head and breathed out a sigh. "Rost instilled me with a profound sense of duty. When people are in need, I can't refuse them. Except for my time with him, every interaction I've ever had has been transactional. I do something to help, and they give me a reward. And sometimes they extend friendship or a meal, but it's always after I've risked myself for them first."
"If you serve their purpose, then you'll be accepted."
"Something like that," she agreed, "Only it's different with you. I know I'd clear out these bandit camps whether you were here or not. They're a blight in every territory, filled with slavers and murderers. I can't allow them to exist and ruin lives. And while I've never taken this partnership thing you go on about very seriously, it's good to know that if I wasn't here cleaning up the problem, you'd be doing it instead. You didn't need a partner. You wanted one. That's a big difference."
"And now you'll miss it?"
"Killing bandits? No. But I'll miss sitting down, even if it's only for a few minutes, and watching you cook some meatless wonder."
"As long as I don't I add any more little, fiery peppers to it?"
She laughed. "I will never forgive you for that. My sinuses were burning, and snot was pouring out of my nose."
He grinned. "It's not my fault that you kept eating it."
"It was good," she insisted. "It's just too bad my face was on fire."
He laughed.
Her smile softened. "Yeah, I'll miss this. I know you've got this farewell deal you want to do at the top of that mesa in the Spearshafts, but even this right here is a needed breath of normalcy for me at a time when everything seems to be spiraling into something bigger and more monstrous."
He looked away, and his barely concealed excitement transformed into a hard lump. It sank to his gut like lead, and there it weighed heavy, corroding him from the inside out.
"Everyone is depending on me," she continued. "And from what I've learned, that means the whole world needs me. There's no one else who can do it. It's in my blood. All I wanted to know was where I came from and who my mother was. I didn't ask for any of this."
He swallowed dryly. "Mushrooms?"
"What?"
"Mushrooms," he repeated, his hand gesturing to the bowl she held.
"Oh?" she said, and with a smile, she offered it to him. "I saved a few from every cauldron. Makes it a meal from every corner of the map, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does," he replied, accepting the bowl. With a gentle shake, he emptied it into the pot. The mushrooms bobbed and swirled in the broth, and he stirred them in.
She leaned forward, inhaling the steam through her nose, and her smile broadened into a grin.
He stared at her, his silver eyes cold like frost.
She was wrong about him. He did need something from her, like everyone else she knew. For two years he rusted in Sunstone Rock, and yet it hadn't dulled his edge. It hadn't cured him of his purpose. He was a weapon. And slaughtering bandits hadn't satisfied his bloodlust. They were nothing but a soft whetstone to him. No better than clay to his arrows and dagger.
But she had the vibrance of diamond, and when the sunlight caught her hair, it burned like forge fire. Whether she could see it or not, others saw it in her. The weapon she was, and they aimed her at the enemy knowing she couldn't refuse. And knowing that she would always strike true.
It was how he knew they were the same. A spear and a dagger destined to clash. The hunter and the hunted circling atop a lonely mesa, neither knowing which role they played.
The weight in his gut vanished, smothered by the ratcheting eagerness surging in his chest.
His army days were behind him. He was both the archer and the arrow now, and he knew where he wanted to aim. Where he needed to aim.
"Nil?" she said, looking into his eyes.
"Yes?" he replied, his teeth sharp.
"I just…" she began, biting the inside of her lip, "I just need to know that this farewell in the Spearshafts isn't some ruse where you intend for us to fight. I can't be there if that's the case because no one can replace me if I die. I'm the key. The world will end without me."
He smiled, and then with brimming warmth, he lied, "Don't worry. It's just one last feast. A final celebration of our partnership and nothing more."
Relief washed away the nervousness that creased her brow, and she smirked. "Good."
"Ready to eat?" he asked.
She nodded.
And he took the bowl and started to ladle the soup inside.