Taffer Notes: I've just mass uploaded a few of the chapters I hadn't cross posted to here (since uploading stopped working for a while). If you are landing on this chapter, check the other ones before (starting with Given Freely), you may otherwise miss them.
Chapter Thirteen
The Bruise Before The Storm
Where Aiden might not have kept a Pilgrim's journal by means of putting words to paper, his body certainly did. It recorded aches. Bruises. Cuts. Some deep, some shallow; some leaving scars and others fading given time. Each mark was a lesson—learned the hard way—and Aiden respected them.
Didn't mean he liked them. Or that he was thrilled over how they'd never truly stop; least not until he got one wrong at the worst of times and the lights went out for good.
How'd he think about lessons he got threatened with though? Lessons that got announced, and which he could have (theoretically) declined?
Undecided, that was how.
"Don't we have better things to do?" Aiden asked, even as he kept step with Crane. They were taking the stairs down by one level, where the Fish Eye was mostly empty. The people here flocked together, not giving each other a lot of space — or there didn't seem to be enough of them to fill up every single floor. "Like prep for when Frank is done deciding what he'll do with us and sends Lawan after us?"
"Eh, I have a good feeling about Frank. He'll come around."
"Why? Because you're so convincing?"
"Because he strikes me as the kinda guy who can't turn down hope when it knocks," Crane said. "Just look at this place." He indicated the Fish Eye with a vague gesture. Which, presently, pointed at piles of material storage stacked on the otherwise quiet level. Crates. Wooden boards. Metal scraps. Furniture. Cables and so on and so forth. And a chair's peg leg, apparently, which Crane swiped up from where it rested on the top of a stack like it'd been sitting there for years, waiting for him.
Aiden knew exactly what that peg was going to be used for.
"I'm looking," he muttered, void of enthusiasm.
"They're struggling to keep their canteen lit, let alone the whole damn hold, and I bet things'll get worse soon as winter comes and the snow and ice freeze their windmills and cover the few panels they've got. He needs that power plant online. Everyone does, and so now that he knows there's a non-zero chance we can pull this off, he'll have no choice. He'll help."
"Okay. Frank will help. But what about the part where it won't matter, on account of there being a Night Hunter?"
"Presumably," Crane said. "I'm not buying their Hunter story just yet, it—" A sigh. "It makes no sense. But either way…" He came to a stop and turned to face Aiden, the length of brittle wood pointed squarely at Aiden's nose. "The only thing you should be worrying about right now is disarming me."
"Oh, come on. This is ridiculous, you know I can fight. You've seen it."
"I have? No, kid. What I've seen is you fall on your ass." Flip the peg went. "And get thrown off a roof." Flip.
Aiden bristled. "No you didn't. See that last bit, I mean. You weren't there."
Crane's right brow had tilted at a challenging angle.
"You're being serious." Aiden looked around. There was no one here but them, a few empty picnic tables nearby, and the soft clink of two wind chimes made from bottle caps.
"I am. Unless you're backing out and I'm buddying up with Hakon, in which case—" Leaving the sentence unfinished, Crane outlined Aiden with a few waves of the peg before he pointed it back the way they'd come.
In which case you can leave, it all said.
Yes. Theoretically. There was nothing physically stopping him from turning around, and yet he couldn't. Because walking meant he'd turn his back on more than just his search for Mia, or his need to face Waltz (properly, not— do nothing or get thrown off a damn roof). He'd abandon Zofia, too. And the man in front of him, who knew him for what he was.
"No, I'm coming with you. But this?" Aiden indicated the peg with a nod of his chin. "This is stupid. You're still hurt."
They both were, truth be told, but Aiden felt fine. Fine-ish, at least. His ribs hadn't complained all morning and the Volatile bite had faded to a distant itch.
"I'll just mess up your arm again."
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
Crane's lips had curled into a grim smile. "Okay, hotshot. Time for you to put up or shut up." The peg gave yet another twirl. "Come get your damn stick."
The first lesson Aiden got written on himself that day involved the damn stick, a number of humiliating dives for the ground, and a fresh collection of aches whenever he didn't move quick enough to dodge the peg. They collected on his forearms. His wrist. His thigh. The back of his head (accompanied by a comical bonk). And, last but not least, on his bruised ego.
It sucked.
But Crane had two things going for him that Aiden lacked: too much reach and way too many years' worth of experience. Did it frustrate Aiden when he had his arm twisted for the fifth time and got sent off in the other direction with a kick to his ass? Yeah. Did it nearly bait him into forgetting his manners and throwing himself at Crane without restraint?
Maybe a little, but before the temptation had time to grow into intent, Aiden's body finally remembered how it'd been treated in the past few days. A familiar fatigue set in. It convinced him to fling an arm up and take a step back.
"Timeout?" Crane asked and moved out of the way, opening a clear path to the nearest picnic table. The benches over there were beautiful and empty and seemed to call for Aiden with a siren song promising comfort and rest.
Aiden nodded, shuffled past Crane, and then sat down with enough enthusiasm his tailbone complained when it hit the wood. "I can't believe it's not even lunchtime yet and I already feel like an idiot," he said, all while scrubbing his hands down his face.
There was a noise not unlike a laugh; except short and grim. "What? Because you were holding back?"
Aiden grimaced and peered out between his fingers. Crane had sat down opposite of him, where he could stick to the shade and lean against one of the Fish Eye's supporting pillars propping up the level above them. He regarded Aiden with an impassive look.
If the session had winded him at all he didn't let it show.
"Where'd you learn how to fight? The road?"
"Yeah," Aiden answered with a shrug. "That's what you do, right? Get out of enough fights and figure out what works and what doesn't?"
"Never tried to sign up for a camp militia? Pick up a technique or two?"
"No. I, ah— you know these books on martial arts, the ones with the pictures and the step-by-step guides?" He gestured on the table as if he'd opened one of them and was leafing through the pages. "I'd try and copy the moves in them, but I never really figured out how to translate them into proper action. Like, I get the theory, I guess. But applying them? That's harder. And then there's remembering them while there's someone with a big knife trying to cut my head off. At that point I usually just… improvise."
"Repetition." Crane's eyes briefly skipped past Aiden, focusing on something beyond his shoulder, but before Aiden could look, he'd fixed them on him again, pinning Aiden's attention. "You repeat the motion over and over again until you're not thinking about it any longer."
"Yeah, I get that. But remember that dude about to cut my head off with his big knife? He isn't going to let me practice."
The impassive stare Crane had held Aiden with softened at the edges. His brow gave a conspiratorial wag.
"Right," Aiden said with a huff. "Yeah. Of course. That's what we're doing."
"Mhm. Look, I don't doubt you can fight, alright? You're quick. You got good instincts and reflexes. And, yeah, you're stronger than most, there's no denying that. All those are advantages which'll put you in front of the average Pilgrim out there, let alone a hungry roadside thug. Advantages given to you. By Waltz."
Aiden grumped unhappily. Yeah. He knew.
"It got you this far and it's why you managed to go toe to toe with a Hound, while everyone else in this shitpit would piss themselves if they had to face one. Especially unarmed like you did. But none of that means you won't bleed. All it takes is one good cut or one good swipe and something comes off. Doesn't need to be your head."
"I'm aware. You said it yourself, I made it this—"
Crane poised a finger. His eyes sharpened again, and Aiden's mouth snapped shut.
"Roadside thugs, kid. Shamblers. Biters. Speedsters. This? This is other Yous. Folks just like you, who've had years of combat drills. Yeah, sure, they might've been sloppy drills from what I've seen so far, but eventually you're bound to run into someone who's competent. Plus, you know. Volatiles. Can't disarm those MOFOs, but you can stay clear of their claws and teeth."
"Don't forget the Night Hunter."
Crane's lips pinched into a thin line. "Yeah, well," he said, his voice rough. "If it turns out we're not dealing with a local myth, then— don't worry about it, okay? I'll deal with it."
Seriously?
"You don't just 'deal' with a Night Hunter," Aiden said with a scoff. "I might not have been around anywhere near as long as you, but even I've heard the stories of how these bastards wipe out entire settlements. Well fortified ones, with good walls and weapons, all gone in half a night."
And yet here you are, willing to risk it, aren't you, so why argue?
"It won't be easy," Crane admitted. "But it's doable."
Aiden shifted his weight on the bench (a bench which might have started out looking beautiful, but had now turned uncomfortable). He crossed his arms. "So— what? I'll keep trying to—" He mimicked air quotes with a tap of his fingers against his biceps. "—get my damn stick until I either get lucky or break something on either of us?"
"No. 'course not. First round was me getting a baseline of what you're capable of. And now I'll show you what to do."
Aiden couldn't help it. Or maybe he could have if he'd wanted to, but throwing a pointed glance at Crane's arm at that very moment was just too damn tempting.
"That? Ha. That sling'll come off tomorrow, you wait and see."
"Not if you—" break it today.
"Kid."
Aiden's pointed glance turned into a scowl, which Crane met by leaning forward, his one good elbow knocking against the picnic table as he propped himself up.
"Child."
Aiden's scowl etched itself deeper, but somewhere along the line it struck out and hit a jittery, hysterical nerve in Aiden's chest. The hit landed close to where Aiden kept the fear he'd cultivated over the years; the fear that'd grown with each step as he'd walked his muddy roads full of 'roadside thugs' and emptiness.
It had a name, that fear.
Isolation.
And right now, Isolation had itself challenged, poked fun at by a dude who might as well have been a relic; a leftover from a lifetime Aiden had no hope to grasp. It was stupid. Almost as stupid as the wobbly smile Aiden had to fight.
"Junior. Pipsqueak. Small Fry. Kid Flash—"
"Okay," Aiden said and twisted around so he could hop off the bench. The names kept coming, peppering his back. "I'm good for round two."
In hindsight, sitting still for a bit longer and letting Crane tease him until he'd run out of nicknames might not have been so bad. By the time round two was over, Aiden needed a nap.
Class continued through the day and picked up again the next, leaving Aiden with another layer of bruises; lessons recorded right atop of everything he'd learned yesterday. And, yeah, they got harder once Crane took his arm out of the sling. For a while, anyway. It went back in at around noon, followed by a lot of wincing and a few colourful words Aiden had trouble deciphering on the spot.
Things also got a whole lot more embarrassing. Not that he fell on his ass more frequently or anything, no. Worse. They'd picked up a damn audience. Children. Lots of them. They'd begun to flock to the picnic tables like magpies to a shiny mirror. Sometimes, those children gaped. Sometimes they clapped. Or giggled.
And sometimes Aiden threw dirt at them when he'd landed on his back (again) and they laughed.
Ha. Ha. Fucking hell…
But, hey, it was working. The repetition began to pay off, and soon enough Aiden would get the damn stick before Crane managed to crack it against whatever body part he'd aimed it at.
Great. Right?
Right.
All the way up until Lawan interrupted them and summoned Crane back into Frank's office. It threw whatever distracting routine Crane and Aiden had managed to build out the proverbial window — and, suddenly, Aiden's world had refocused and he was reminded of what was at stake.
Two lives.
His vengeance.
And his own future.
Not that he'd forgotten.
He'd just kind of… not thought about it, even if Crane's impassive stare backed by something dark and urgent often tried to remind him. Instead, he'd thought about his footwork and where he placed his weight and— so on.
Anyway, Aiden didn't go with them. He sprawled out on the nearest bench, his face turned to the early afternoon sun, and his heart thumping wildly. From exhaustion, yeah. But anticipation, too, which got him all wrapped up in an uncomfortable limbo as he waited.
By the time Crane returned, the sun had managed to wander and Aiden'd had to push himself upwards with his heels to keep his face properly blasted by its rays. No, of course he wasn't worried about a little bit of shade. That'd be ridiculous.
He sniffed.
Okay.
He was.
But anyone would be in his situation, wouldn't they? And—
"Get up," Crane said, throwing himself between Aiden's (sort of) newfound fear and his general nerves.
"We getting tossed out?"
"No. Frank'll back us."
Before Aiden had a chance to allow himself relief, Crane let the wooden peg drop from his raised arm. It fell and landed with a painful thump on Aiden's chest.
"Your turn."
What remained of the second day of classes passed in a blur, driven forward by an unsettlingly quiet Kyle Crane and lesson after lesson after lesson. Before Aiden knew what'd hit him, night fell and he was back in his cot, where sleep dragged him under without warning and without giving his body a chance to properly pick up on all the new bruises it'd collected since morning.
He didn't even dream.
Not of Mia. Not of the dead; the nameless faces he'd met but never known. Not of being bitten. Not of turning. He just slept. Like a rock.
And when he woke, it wasn't because he'd gotten spooked by a noise in the middle of the night or his heart rattled him awake, but because a rooster went off somewhere nearby.
Central Villedor's morning calls joined it a moment later. Bells. Ratchets. Pots meeting pans. And whatever else people could knock together, clamouring on and on while Aiden got to his feet and made his way to the door.
He wasn't the first one up. Not like he'd ever been since he'd arrived at the Fish Eye. Or in Villedor, for that matter. But at least he'd stopped being last. Hakon was still lying on his cot, his arms folded over his head and a lumpy pillow squeezed to his ears.
He smelled of alcohol. Stale, yesterday-evening's alcohol, to be precise, a stench which made Aiden's stomach lurch and got him to pick up the pace to escape into the fresh air.
Outside, Aiden found himself nearly assaulted by a ball. It flew by in a blur, missed his head by an inch, then smacked into the porch wall off to the right and came bounding back with the same malicious intent. It was a tennis ball. One of those fuzzy, yellow types, though fuzzy or not, he thought getting hit by one would hurt anyway.
Crane caught the ball after it'd shot back in his direction. With his bad arm, no less, which made his face twist into a pained scowl.
"Morning," Aiden tried, unsure if Crane had been out here all night (standing in that spot where he'd disabled the UV light), or if he'd come in to sleep at all. His bedroll had looked suspiciously unrumpled.
He didn't look tired, though.
Angry, yeah. But not exhausted or run down, both qualities you'd expect of someone who'd spent the last few days and nights doing a lot of things that did not involve sleep. That, and scowly. And real damn adamant to keep throwing that damn ball, until toss number four ended with him snatching it out of the air with his right arm when the other wouldn't move quick enough.
Then he glared at his left hand, his fingers shaking, and the most uncomfortable silence imaginable barged in and made itself at home.
"Ah." Overwhelmed by an awkward sense of duty to make conversation Aiden nodded to Crane's shaking hand. "We should probably take a break today, right?"
Crane's eyes slid over to him, the motion slow and deliberate and doing a great job getting the hairs at the back of Aiden's neck to stand at attention.
Then Crane chucked the ball at him, giving Aiden just enough time to grab it out of the air before he told him, "No."
Kyle feared many a thing.
Most of the shit on his list was exactly what you'd expect, such as Losing Fi, Losing himself, and Losing just about anyone he cared for. The big three, you see. But there were small fears, too. Reasonable, everyday bullshit that gave him lowkey anxiety and liked to switch it up depending on the time of year. Food supplies. A leak in his roof. A flat tire on the bike.
If she'd still love him if he was a worm.
And today?
Today, Kyle feared idle.
No, scratch that. He dreaded it. Every fucking time he wasn't putting his mind to work, his imagination spun the fuck out and showed him about a thousand unspeakable things happening to Fi while he was here and she was there and he hadn't fucking saved her yet and what the fuck was he doing not doing shit—
His throat would clamp shut.
His heart would clench.
It'd all hurt so goddamn much.
So Kyle stayed the opposite of idle whenever he could get away with it, redirecting all that anxious energy into speedrunning Aiden through an impromptu Crane(tm) bootcamp.
It went well, too. Save for the bit where the kid wouldn't quit holding back, no matter how often Kyle made an effort to get him to throw his actual weight around. Show him what he got, ya know?
But what else did Kyle get up to in those long hours between waking and convincing himself he had to catch a few hours of sleep? Wasn't like he could slap Aiden around with a stick the entire day long.
Well. He planned. Kinda? He'd gotten Hakon to point out the most likely locations where Waltz would've taken Fi to, marking them with a fat, red pen on a newly acquired map of Central Villedor and its neighbouring districts.
And that map was what Kyle was currently hunched over, a pen (not the fat, red one) wobbling in his mouth and his eyes constantly hopping between map and scenery. He'd hiked up the stairs wrapping around the Fish Eye, where he'd found a small table on a platform up high enough it afforded him a decent view past Villedor's skyscrapers and let him make out two of the landmarks Hakon had pointed out.
A castle.
And a cathedral.
There was a church on the list too, along with an underground military outpost near the shore of a lake, and no one (absolutely no one) knew where Fi was at. You'd figure Frank'd have spies embedded with his rivals (no, apparently that was a PK thing and the PK and Kyle weren't exactly on speaking terms). Or that Hakon'd have friends with his old Church buddies, but, no. Hakon apparently hadn't had friends in the Church, though at least they'd paid him enough to dull the sting of that.
That was Kyle's interpretation of Hakon's drunk rants from last night, anyway. The rants that'd interrupted Kyle's nightly vigil under a disconnected UV lamp. Hakon was a chatty drunk, Kyle'd had to find out, with a tongue so loose, it'd gone off about how Kyle had kinda ruined his life and how all of this better work or else Hakon'd be (to quote) screwed more severely than Villedor's fav whores.
It'd been weird.
Anyway. Planning. Kyle pushed the chair back, got up, and leaned his hip against the fence separating him from empty air, the pen still wobbling in his mouth and his eyes fixed to the castle perched on a hilltop beyond Villedor's ruined outskirts.
This one'd be the bitchiest of places to get to. Its whole purpose had been to be defensible and it had too much open space around it, meaning anyone who'd try and sneak up to its walls was gonna get caught. Not to say it was impossible; Kyle had infiltrated a stronghold much like that one before. Except, uh, it'd ended with him locked in a cell with a certain Jasmin; Rais's very own pet Volatile lady.
He frowned. Whenever she crossed his mind, Kyle's conscience had a bit of a moment. He'd left her there. For all he knew, she'd died there. In the dark. Alone.
God. This was exactly the kind of shit he didn't need to think about right now and so Kyle focused on the cathedral. It was a hulking beast of a building and filled out a good portion of the backdrop beyond Central Villedor's stubbier skyscrapers. This one was an easier target than the castle. It had lots of cover around it and he'd fantasised about no less than five ways in while he'd sat here.
Yeah. Fantasised being the operative word here.
Sighing, Kyle's shoulders drooped.
He needed to get out there. To see these places up close, one by one, because all that theorising was getting him absolutely nowhere. Frustrated, Kyle tore his eyes away, only for them to land on Aiden, who had yet to leave the shack behind after Kyle had told him that class was adjourned for the day and he should try and, like, relax. Have fun. Mingle.
Instead, the kid had decided to do homework. Which was to say he'd given Kyle a sheepish look and (very politely) asked just how much Kyle would mind should Aiden want to try his luck with Fi's slingshot. Hypothetically.
Well, Kyle's first reaction had been to tell Aiden that he'd, hypothetically, defenestrate him if he as much as looked at Fi's stuff, but— that'd have been harsh, right? 'sides, she'd let the kid try it out already once.
Fucking hell, she'd liked the punk. In her own charming way where you didn't know if she was about to scratch you up or start purring. Not that Fi purred. Just...
God damnit.
So, there Aiden was, slinging pebbles at makeshift targets he'd set up against a fence, his aim having gone from ass to tentatively impressive. Dedication, that's what that was. Dedication to survival. Good on him, right?
Right.
Kyle's lips slanted down.
Thing is, life liked to get small when surviving was all you bothered with. Tiny. And he couldn't help the feeling that Aiden's life hadn't had much of a chance to grow beyond the necessary, squeezed in tight between his drive to find Schrödinger's sister and keeping himself breathing.
Just look at him. Focused on lining up shots and scrounging for ammunition, rather than coming up for air long enough to notice how he'd grown a fan club in the past three days. Yep. Aiden was popular. Specifically with the Fish Eye's young women, which was about as surprising as finding out fire was (drumroll) hot.
He had a lot going for himself, after all. Young and traditionally handsome? Check. Upright and alive? Low-ish of a bar, but important and cleared. Mysterious Pilgrim Vibes? Uh-oh, multiply the score by ten and suddenly you were the Fish Eye's hottest bachelor, catching those eyes and those whispers and... doing absolutely nothing with it.
Not a thing.
Hell, Aiden hadn't even gone back into the canteen since they'd talked to Frank (granted, neither had Kyle, but something-something do as I say, not as I do and this really wasn't about him). The tragedies just kept piling up with this kid.
Once this was over—and it would be over, it'd work out—Kyle would have to make good on his promise that he'd buy the kid a beer and maybe that'd get the ball rolling. Or, maybe, all it'd take was someone else getting in the way of Aiden's focus and Kyle wouldn't have to do all the work.
Kyle rolled the pen in his mouth.
Someone like Lawan. The other Waltz kid, who was currently making a straight line for Aiden and took the whole getting in the way bit Kyle had mused about literally as she walked right into Aiden's improvised firing range.
Aiden lowered the slingshot.
Then they talked. Kyle didn't know what about (no one's ears were that good, plus, it was none of his business), but oh God was watching their convo painful or what?
While Lawan was all enthusiastic hand gestures and forward momentum, Aiden was stiff as a mannequin in a too tight sweater and maintained his personal space by means of strategic shuffling. Was it the topic that had him retreat? Was she asking him to team up with her and put hot coals into Hakon's undies? Or was it Lawan herself? A mirror to the kid's past; someone who'd seen what he'd seen, felt what he'd felt, but come away so different?
Someone who'd ended up telling him news he hadn't wanted to hear?
Either way, whatever they were talking about eventually took a turn that made even Lawan take a step back. It went far enough she threw her arms up in exasperation and seemed about ready to storm off.
"Uh-oh. Whatcha say, kid?"
She didn't leave though. She jabbed a finger at Aiden, getting all up in the space he'd so carefully maintained, and then she thrust that entire arm aside and pointed at— uh— him. At Kyle. Up in the proverbial rafters.
Watching.
Like a creep.
He coughed quietly and winced.
Aiden didn't bother looking up and instead parted his arms in a gesture that might have said So what, Deal with it or any number of things, really. It got Lawan to shake her head, right before she turned on the spot and headed for the Fish Eye's stairs.
Aiden followed her.
It took a second before Kyle realised where they were going. Up here.
"I heard you're planning to go sightseeing," Lawan said as soon as they'd made it up the stairs.
Kyle eyeballed Aiden, the word snitch at the tip of his tongue.
"She thinks it's a bad idea," the snitch said, then sat at Kyle's table so he could scratch at his nose while he regarded the map with a thoughtful look. The slingshot he set down on the tabletop, his hand atop of it like he worried someone might might take it and leave him to answer for that particular loss.
"Recon only." Kyle nodded towards the cathedral. "Nothing more. But I need to know what I'm up against."
"Why? Isn't the whole power plant stunt supposed to get you what you want?"
"If Waltz honors his part of the deal, and if he lets me see her? Yeah. But there's no fucking way I'm walking out after that, not without her."
"You really have no idea what you're up against, do you?"
Aiden scoffed. "She keeps saying that, too."
"Yeah and you dumbos won't listen. Which is why I'm going to do you a favor and show you."
"How gracious," Aiden muttered.
Zing? What's with the bite? Kyle cocked a brow at him.
"Oh," Lawan went and folded her arms. "Now you don't want my help? You said—"
Aiden's head snapped up. "—I said we're—"
"Woah." Kyle raised his arms. Yeah. Both of 'em. They did that now, even if his left one continued to lag behind and wouldn't make it up as far. "Kids. Please."
They shot him a pair of annoyed looks. But at least whatever little spat they'd been about to have died on the vine.
"I want to hear what she has to say." And he did. Genuinely. Though, to be fair, at this point Kyle'd take whatever little help he could, even if it was just a pat on the back. Which wasn't to say pats on the back didn't have value. Everyone needed one once in a while.
"Thank you." Lawan pulled the second chair out from under the table and sat. That'd leave Kyle standing, but, hey. That was fair. She leaned back, her posture open as she sprawled out like she owned the place. "Frank seems to think you have a shot at pulling this off. Me? I think you're both full of shit. But!" She twisted on the chair, facing Kyle. "It doesn't matter what I think. Since Frank says I need to play nice, that's exactly what I'll do. Meaning I'm going to show you why you don't sniff around the Church's strongholds. Not for recon, not for anything, especially if you want to live long enough to get peeled by the Old Man at the plant. Or, you know, live and see your wife?" Her eyes cut to Aiden. "Or sister."
Aiden scowled. "Get to the point," he said, his voice hoarse.
"Tonight is when the Church'll hold a Concord. The Night's Concord, they call it. Which is exactly what you two need to see so you'll finally fucking listen and get into your thick skulls why you do not—" She knocked on the table. "—mess with the Lady."