Chapter Four: Journey to the Waste
The journey through town goes as expected. Elizabeth weaves her way through the streets with minimal interaction, many people not batting an eye at the female as she crossed their way. Even when she crossed over the bridge, the one the stretched over the train's canal, and the black smog of the train's funnel spilled into her face, only a slight 'are you ok?' and 'do you need help?' were supplied in response to her profuse coughing.
Things got a little harder when it came to getting out of town. Elizabeth knew that she couldn't walk along the winding country roads, the rural hills being very difficult to navigate by foot. As a result, she had to rely upon a ride - which was very hard to come across.
Many of the drivers turned her down, accusing her of being untrustworthy and yet another crazy girl planning to look for Meliodas in the Waste. Others tried to make her pay through her body, her services, which of course Elizabeth rejected instantly. She may be desperate for a ride, but she was not that desperate. Selling herself to get to Waste was not something Elizabeth was willing to stoop to, especially with her background.
So the goddess spent a good chunk of the morning negotiating with different drivers, trying to catch at least one ride heading toward the Waste. Time and time again, she ended up empty-handed. But luckily, someone heading towards a small settlement that sat right on the border of the Waste, overheard her small squabble with the latest driver. He was driving a wagon piled with bales of hay, a small boy balancing on the front beside him.
"You can hop on if you want," He offers her kindly, noting how she only had a tiny bag. "I'll have to warn you though, I'm not going directly to the Waste."
"As long as it's close, I'm fine," Elizabeth responds, thanking the driver profusely. She then climbs onto the back of the wagon, noting the scratchiness of the straw that was behind her, and waits for the journey to begin.
For a solid two hours, the goddess sits perched upon the wagon, her bag in her lap and the cool country air kissing her skin. Her legs dangle from the vehicle, shaking with every little stone it passes over. Fields of fresh green grass roll by, sometimes speckled with flowers, other times running with rushing crystal rivers. It would have been a pleasant experience if Elizabeth was not worrying about the cubes of hay all stacked above her. With just the slightest wrong movement, those huge cubes could fall and crush her - ultimately making her not fully enjoy the experience.
Soon, the time came to depart from the wagon. Thanking the driver once more, Elizabeth gave him some of her bread, giving him quite a generous hunk of it. He thanked her in return and advised her to ask around if she wanted to know where to head next.
Taking the driver's advice, Elizabeth did just that. She worked her way through the village, asking anyone she saw if they knew how to get to the Waste. They all told her to ask a farmer who lived at the northernmost point of the settlement, high up the hill, who knew all about the Waste and its inhabitants. That led to her walking up the faint dirt roads, her target set for the little cottage located further out from the close-knit village centre.
The farmer was a kind man, giving Elizabeth the directions she needed but also heeding her of the dangers she would face. He watched as she continued along the path leading up the steepening hills, still warning her and telling her to turn back. Eventually, his wife came out and asked what the commotion is about.
"She's looking for her sister."
That was Elizabeth's excuse for all this. She told every person she asked about the Waste that her sister was lost there. That was her supposed motivation for travelling so far and seeking advice on how to survive the Waste. After all, who could turn down a unfortunate young girl looking for her sister?
Carefully, Elizabeth walks up the steep paths of the gradually rising land. Grass tickles her ankles, long and green and wispy, like tendrils of hair that dance in the breeze. Flowers bloom to stretch and wave at her, pointing in the direction of her desired destination. Constantly, she watches out for the light grey rocks, covered in fuzzy moss and grass, that sometimes protrude into the pathway. She knows that with her accident-prone nature, just one small stumble on those and she will end up rolling down the hill.
Rumbling fills Elizabeth's ears and she knows that it's her stomach telling her to eat. Finding a nicely cleared spot in the grass, already neatly flattened, she sits down and opens her bag, taking out some of her provisions to give herself lunch.
As she eats, Elizabeth stares at what she'd passed, what she left behind. Green spread like a textured sea, dotted with small specks and lines of brown and white - flowers, rocks and roads. A few rivers danced in between, thin and slim and shiny. They were spread sparsely, like the rocks, but built to form a network between each other. They matched the sky above, dotted with the puffy clouds of a clear sunny day.
Breaking the view of green and blue was a huge patch of reds, grays and browns. Elizabeth's town. The buildings rose higher than the other shapes, the thin cylindrical cones of the factories' funnels standing out the most. A few bushes of green sprouted from between the buildings - the local greens and parks - only to be broken again by another set of red and reddish-brown. Shining strongly, gleaming silver indicated the train tracks as well as the bridge.
Then, behind that, there were the mountains. The tall, towering and white-tipped mountains. They separated Camelot from the neighboring kingdom. They were all that kept the kingdom safe if there was any ever a chance of an invasion.
"It looks like I won't make much progress," Elizabeth sighs, chewing on some bread and cheese. She frowns as she looks at the squared-off shape of her town. "I thought I was walking much faster than this."
Her eyes drift to a bush nearby, a thick branch seeming peculiar to her. Normally, bushes would not have sticks that were so large within them. They only needed closely-knit, thin branches to hold their small leaves and berries. Bigger sticks and branches often came from human intervention or someone placing it there. Plus, a big stick would be useful. For what, she cannot say, but something tells her that she may need it in her travels.
Frowning, Elizabeth gets up, dusts off her hands and heads to the bush. Now that she is closer, she can see that the stick definitely doesn't belong there. It isn't attached to any particular part of the plant, and most definitely looks as if it has been cut and sanded down.
"Let's see what this is," Elizabeth hums, yanking on the stick. It doesn't budge. Burning fills her palm and the goddess figures that she most likely gained a splinter - perhaps a small cut. But the pain only makes her want to try even more.
Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth firmly fixes both hands onto the stick, and instead of pulling, places her weight on it, using it like a lever. She pushes once, twice, three times. The stick budges a little, lifting from the bush to reveal green-covered fabric. So with a final huff, Elizabeth heaves all her weight onto the stick and pushes again. Once, twice, thrice - and a scarecrow bursts forth from the bush, covered in bright emerald leaves. They scatter to the ground.
"Gah!"
Elizabeth falls back, her behind landing onto the grass. He was tall, very tall, and stood very easily upon his single pole. Large and round, his head was a large, white turnip, covered with a faded top hat and given a ridiculously smiling face. A pipe was fixed into his mouth - as if he would ever use it - and he was dressed in a now grubby white suit with silver buttons. Now that Elizabeth had gotten a proper look at him, he appeared to be a very fine scarecrow. Very dandy, indeed. But why was he here out in the Waste?
"I thought you were the witch's henchmen," Elizabeth blinks, getting up onto her feet. Carefully, she dusts off her dress and studies the scarecrow closely. His suit made him look akin to those blobby creatures - a trademark of that scary witch. "But if you're just a scarecrow, how are you standing up by yourself?"
As if understanding her, the scarecrow's smile twitches slightly, spreading. It makes his pipe shift and move, causing the goddess' eyes widen. Now, that is not normal. Not normal at all. Only magical creatures can move like that.
"Your head's a turnip. I've always disliked turnips," Elizabeth states, trying to keep the conversation normal. As if talking to a scarecrow can ever be normal. Nonetheless, it would do Elizabeth well to not get attached to this odd creature. Knowing witches and wizards, he could be one of their many ploys to lure in innocent people. But knowing herself, he could also be just another scarecrow. "But at least you're right-side-up now."
Despite her obvious wariness, a kind smile settles on Elizabeth's features. Even if it could be a mistake further down the line, she was glad that the scarecrow was free to move now. It gave him access to do whatever sentient scarecrows did.
Leaning a little in the breeze, the scarecrow responds to her, his own turnip-head smile stretching even more. Elizabeth brushes it off as just another coincidence - something that happened because of the wind.
Dutifully, she gathers her small bag, "Well, good luck with whatever you're doing."
Without a second glance, she then turns and continues on her journey, leaving the scarecrow behind and focusing on her mission to find Meliodas.
The wind grows stronger as she goes higher up. At first it is bearable, the sort she would face when the omnibus passed by at high speeds; later it is intolerable, pulling at her clothes and making her shield her eyes from its strong blasts. Clawing gusts grasped at her form, dragging her body backwards with as much force as they could muster. They brought chilling shivers, the cold being an avid follower of its more fierce companion - the wind.
"It's too cold up here and I've made barely any progress," Elizabeth frowns, twisting her red scarf around her neck once more. Against the brutal winds and nipping cold it doesn't help much, but it is all she has. "I should've been wiser about this."
Stopping her battle against the winds, Elizabeth turns to peer over her shoulder. Similarly to when she had stopped for lunch, her town was still visible in its square of red, grey and brown. Towering and prominent, the funnels of the factories stood and the faint glisten of the train's tracks told how far she had really come - not much. If she had a guess, Elizabeth would say she had managed to cover just little over a mile.
Dropping her gaze from the town, Elizabeth follows the path she had taken up the rolling hills. Covered by the wind, her footprints in the dirt path had been erased. Grass still bent wildly in the brutish gusts and the only sign of her journey was the odd stick that had been crushed beneath her boots. Oh, and the scarecrow.
Hopping on his one pole, he followed the path Elizabeth had taken like a loyal dog following its owner. Easily, he pushed against the heavy winds and climbed upwards towards the goddess. His single pipe dangled from his mouth, eerie with its unlit appearance, and his gloves and hat occasionally shifted in the wind. From afar he looked like a person, a normal traveler, but once he came close enough, Elizabeth knew exactly who it was.
"The...scarecrow?" She blinks, entirely confused by the approaching object. Lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the wind, she calls out to it, "Don't follow me! I'm going somewhere dangerous!"
Persistent, the scarecrow continued, ignoring the goddess. Her heart clenched within her chest. Why wasn't he stopping? Didn't he know what dangers lay out there in the Waste? Didn't he know that she was already cursed?
Spotting the basket dangling from his arm, Elizabeth feels her body seize with panic. Surely this scarecrow didn't mean to thank her. That would be ridiculous! She had only tipped him right-side-up because she thought the bush would benefit from it. It was nothing personal, nothing intentionally meant for the scarecrow.
"Really, you don't need to thank me!" Elizabeth begins to walk once more, picking up the pace. Her cheeks grow warm from the effort, bleeding from pale to pink. "Plus you might be cursed and I'm in no need for anymore of those!"
Gathering her dress within her hands, the goddess ambles over a large rock. One foot manages to get onto the surface fine, the female pausing to regather her balance, but when she attempts to lift her second foot, something goes wrong. In one fluid motion, Elizabeth slips off the rock and tumbles onto the ground, scraping her face against the rough dirt and grass. It results in dust flying into the air, gathering in a small cloud.
Instantly, the scarecrow, panicked, hops up to her. Thump, thump, thump - his pole collides with the ground, overpowering the wind in noise. It takes no less than a couple of minutes for him to reach her side, leaning in the powerful gusts to offer her aid to stand.
Sniffing, Elizabeth sits up and wipes her face from the grubby ground. Her cheek stings, her eyes burn and her temple is throbbing, but she is smiling. Grinning. She has no way to heal her now injured face, nor a decent place to sleep, but she is smiling. Beaming. Everything is going wrong, nothing is going right, but she is smiling. Twinkling.
Cautiously, Elizabeth places a hand onto the scarecrow's frame and uses his help to stand once more. He waits patiently, adjusting his odd stance in order to accommodate her comfortably. Not once has his smile twitched - in fact he appears concerned, worried, for the poor girl. An odd trait for a henchmen of the Witch of the Waste to have.
Once Elizabeth is standing and dusting herself off, the scarecrow offers her the basket dangling from his arm. Seeing no reason to object, the goddess accepts it and opens the lid. The first thing that jumps out to her is the coat within it, a thick one built for winter winds, and a walking stick.
"I can't take these..." Elizabeth peers at the scarecrow, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Already the guilt was seeping into her system, convincing her that she did not need to take anything. She places the objects back into the basket. "Really. I'll be fine by myself."
Tilting, the scarecrow pushes the basket back towards her. His message was clear: no, you keep it.
"I guess there is no arguing with you," Elizabeth sniffs, a small laugh escaping her lips. Here she was, cursed and wandering the beginnings of the Waste, having a debate with a scarecrow. If she had been told about this in advance, she would have never believed it. "If you can do me one more favour, though, I would be very grateful."
In a questioning manner, the scarecrow tilts his head. It makes his top hat slide, the brim of it balancing on the edge of his turnip head.
"It isn't very much, I promise you," Elizabeth assures the creature, "I just need a place to stay in for the night."
Without another indication of understanding, the scarecrow turned on his pole and began to hop down the path he had just come up on. With each bounce, his top hat jilted on his head, bobbing with the motion. Elizabeth watched, glad that her brains had not been lost with her wings. Her little favour should keep the scarecrow busy for a nice amount of time, meaning she could disappear further into the Waste without him finding her. That would keep her safe from any potential additional curses and would keep the scarecrow safe if he was innocent.
"That should keep him busy for a while," Elizabeth sighs, turning and continuing her way along the path. She doesn't get very far before the familiar thrum of engines fill the air - an indication of an incoming war vehicle.
Glancing upwards, Elizabeth met the sight of a sea of inky clouds. All of them, even the small, wisps that weren't yet puffs, were stained a deep, dark charcoal. Between the dark clouds settled the shiny body of the vehicle, silver, metal and hard. Using the clouds as a cover, it glided above the dark mass, catching the fading rays of the evening sun. The only evidence of it was the tell-tale thrum of its engines, the sound unnatural and entirely mechanical.
"What a large battleship..." Elizabeth frowns, knowing that battleships mean a very large war. Kingdoms did not request their finest arsenal for a petty squabble; armies did not get big vehicles for small attacks. This upcoming war, this conflict against Camelot, would be one to rival the war which drove Elizabeth from her native country.
Bombings had not been sparse in Elizabeth's old country. Everyday shrapnel rained from the sky, burrowing into the ground and throwing dirt, debris and bodies into the air. Magnificent buildings had been smashed into skeletal shells, long, winding roads had become buried in uprooted trees or dug out into trenches, even the country's historic temples, the ones dedicated to the gods, had been blitzed within the conflict. Nothing had survived the war.
If Camelot was lucky, it would be spared such a fate. Its buildings, people and history would be preserved even through battle. But Elizabeth was unsure about even that - especially with the sighting of this new battleship.
Sharp and numb winds is what cuts Elizabeth from her pondering. They pierce through her clothing and strike at her bones, making the goddess double over and shiver from the attack. Teeth chattering, Elizabeth pulls her scarf tighter around herself. Usually, she could use some of her invigorating powers to warm herself - being cursed now meant that she couldn't do that, that meant she felt the cold a whole lot more.
"I really shouldn't have taken my powers for granted..." Elizabeth blows into her hands, rubbing them together. Red and shaking, they were the most afflicted from the wind.
Deciding to find a way to stay warm, Elizabeth paused on the path. Instantly, she could feel the warm wisps of wind coming from further ahead. Curls and puffs of smoke followed, dotted with glowing amber specks - the embers and beginnings of a fire.
Her motivation renewed, Elizabeth continued along the path, following the woody scent of the smoke. The basket bobbed against her leg, squeaking a little in the wind, and the cane in her hand tapped profusely against the ground, but she didn't care. She could sense a fire, heat, warmth, and would do anything to reach it and beg to just spend one night, one hour, just sitting by it before braving her journey into the Waste once more.
Almost running at this point, Elizabeth stopped as she reached the crest of the hill. All of the breath was sucked out her lungs, her eyes wide as she came face to face with the scarecrow, the source of the smoke and fire.
Hulking and imposing, it took up most her immediate sight, towering high into the sky. Spurts of steam and smoke spilled from its many chimneys and columns, all grey and misty with heat. A thousand windows, all haphazardly dotted from left to right to front to back, all gleamed with the amber flame of what had to be the fire inside. But that wasn't what surprised Elizabeth the most - not the combination of what had to masses of houses, not the fact that it was gigantic - it was the fact that it was moving. The building was moving.
The scarecrow stopped before her, his grin wide to bursting, as if he were saying 'tada!'.
"This is Meliodas' castle, Turnip Head!" Elizabeth yelled over the creak of the castle's legs. "This wasn't what I meant when I mentioned shelter!"
Not at all phased, the castled passed overhead, still spurting steam and creaking. Elizabeth let out a small shriek, paling as she watched the building smoothly sail above her. The scarecrow, Turnip Head (as she called him), remained excited, hopping up and down as he gestured towards the escaping castle. At his gesturing, it paused a little, as if taking a tiny break to stretch and relax its legs, before continuing once more.
"Is that the way in?" Elizabeth frowns, spotting how the scarecrow kept hopping towards a certain crevice. Following him, she spots a door, a normal looking one, that has a small brass handle and two black iron rails at either side.
As she reaches towards the rail, the castle moves once more, shifting forwards at its steady pace. Determined to reach warmth, a fire, Elizabeth follows, picking up her own pace. It soon turns into a run, the goddess stretching her arm to reach the rail. Then, in one swift motion, she grasps onto the rail and pulls herself onto the doorstep. She lands with a small huff, her legs buckling from the unexpected strain.
"Why is it so tough to get into a moving building?" Elizabeth breathes, her cheeks red with exertion. Standing up, she dusts off her dress. "You'd think the door would be the easiest way in."
As she grasps onto the rail once more, her red scarf unwinds itself from her neck. Flapping, it disappears into the left behind land, waving like the little red flag it was. The scarecrow follows the scarf, not hesitating at all to retrieve the piece of fabric.
"Turnip Head!" Elizabeth calls after the scarecrow, thinking to tell him that it was fine. She would not miss the scarf. It was just a scarf.
However, after a few minutes of a missing scarecrow, Elizabeth decides to head inside and hope that he is fine out there. That is all she can truly do right now. So, sucking in a deep breath, the female fixed her hand on the door handle and pulled it open.