Her past transgressions aside, Samara was a woman of her word, and she did as she told, retreating into her quarters from that moment on and working her golden-hued magic into the fibers of our broken dress. I had no such outlet. In the two hours since she’d left us to our own devices, I hadn’t moved a muscle, and that mildewed little room started to remind me of another that I’d known from Abdera. Whether owed to my outburst or the shame that came with it, neither I nor Cordella had spoken a word.
So, while our seamstress toiled, I had naught to do but sit and contemplate, to steep and let simmer the stew of information we'd been fed. Typically, I'd appreciate the chance—to put my head back and mull it over at my own pace. After all, keeping my own company for as many years as I had, 'thinking it over' was among the things I did best, but this was a different affair. I couldn't postpone it forever, and even if I could, no amount of time would brace me for the harsh reality. A reality I deserved no part in. A myth, a primeval power, and a man who lurked in its shadow—I didn't compare. I was nothing, no role to play, and yet, when the time would come to answer the call, I already knew what Cordella would say.
It came easier to her. She had strength that I didn't, physical or otherwise, and she was better off with or without anyone else than she was with me. I had nothing but doubt to plant in my head and hers, and why wouldn't I? To wander into the first pitfall—to trip and fall and find our way out: that was an accident, no mistake, and luck had a heavy hand in the outcome. But to seek out another? It was beyond foolish, and yet I faced tremendous pressure.
It was a lot that I had to take in. Too much, in fact. When I tried to focus, I found myself willfully distracted by everything but the issue itself. My body hadn't stopped hurting, the dirt and grime caked in the floorboards were suffocating, and my sound thinking was deafened by the thump of my chest. Saliva coated my tongue as the whirling in my head fell to my stomach, and I thought for sure I'd empty it, but there was nothing left to lose.
When finally I'd come to my tipping point, when all that filled my plate threatened to spill over, I stood up and looked for an escape. I was drawn to the door. Once an enemy, winter's wrath had come humming, knocking at the window to tempt me out of the cobwebbed coffin. Desperate, I answered, timidly creaking the door before the wind caught hold and wrenched it away. It hammered the stone wall once, twice, and then threw itself shut behind me.
It wanted me to itself, and it had me. Nothing but the thin, borrowed attire between us, it gripped me tight, and as the sobering chill squeezed out the last breath, the voice of reason returned to my ear. I could hear it better in solidarity, even if it didn't last.
Cordella stepped from the tower with arms wrapped around her shoulders. "Christ, it's cold out here. Mind if I walk with you?"
I could only offer grunts through the shivers that seized my chest, one of which she must have taken as an affirmation seeing as we then came shoulder to shoulder. We took short steps at first, walking in tandem for a while until our bodies warmed enough to keep a constant pace. It took longer to gain our voices, both of us hesitant to speak our minds until we put some distance between ourselves and the tower's watchful eye.
When I felt was no longer under its influence, I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout before, I was just—lost in the heat of it. I had no right to accuse you of something like that.”
“It’s fine, Kaiser, really. I’m not upset with you, I’m just upset, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know whether it’s with Sam or with myself. I keep thinking that maybe if I’d never left, some of this could have been avoided? Or maybe I’m being naive. What about you? Where is your head at?”
My feet started to drag, loosely rolled clumps of snow collecting between each step before I stopped altogether.
"Hmm?" She asked, walking a few steps ahead before noticing. "Kaiser?"
My chest was tight. I started to answer but had to avoid her somber gaze before I could regret what I'd comee to say. "I've been considering what she told us, and I think it's time that we part ways."
Though frozen stiff, her face dropped, and the shock in her voice cleaved my heart in two. "What?"
"Now that our business here is finished, I just don't think I can keep down this path."
"What?" she asked again, but more sternly. "You aren't coming? Don't you want see this through?"
"Assuming any of what she tells us is the truth, what's there that either of us wants to see?"
"Answers, the same as we sought when we left Ethelburrow. This is exactly what we’ve been looking for, and now that we finally know where to look, you’ve had your fill?"
"This?" I stuck a thumb towards the tower, "Is not what I signed up for when I took your paper. We—you—came within a hair's reach of death's embrace, and I'm not fool enough to offer him my other hand. Do what you will with yours, but I've got my life ahead of me to worry about."
On a dime, her blindsided tone changed to an accusatory one: "So all the lives at stake you'd turn your back on to keep your heart beating a little longer? If this keeps up, it's not just them, but the world that could suffer. Don't we owe it to these people to at least try?"
"I don't owe these people a damn thing, much less the world."
"And on me?" The words hung, colder than the air they traveled through, "Because I'm going regardless of whatever childish spite is telling you to do otherwise. I know the bitterness you feel for Samara, and for your kingdom, but to let them burn? Don't be selfish."
"And why can't I be? Neither of us should have to be the one to make this god-damned death march. We were thrust into this from the start, and now suddenly we're the only ones capable? Why should I think my sword will make the difference?"
"Because if not, then who? You've seen firsthand how pointless it is trying to convince people without ears; you think they'll listen to the harbingers of the world's end? Two people fed by the ravings of a mad woman and her stone scribbles? Even I don't believe it, and I almost died to the bloody thing!"
However much it stung to hear, I couldn’t deny her this, though it wasn't the words that made me wince, it was the image: her body, draped like a tapestry in the rubble. Whatever I chose, she'd just as soon do it again without me. Could I live knowing what I might have prevented?
I growled. Every time. At every turn along our journey, I was always the one needing reassurance. She told me she worried too, but I was the one who wore it on my sleeves.
My shoulders dropped. "I don't get it—how you can just accept all of this on a whim. You were seconds away from being a smear on the floor, but I'm the one with reservations? Aren't you afraid of death, Cordella?"
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"No. I'm afraid of dying before I have a chance to live. You told me you wanted a second chance to start over, right? This is your chance. This is worth living for."
Just like her to be so resolute, and just like me to lean on her to stow my fear. Deep down, I knew she was right, but I cowered at the thought of what lay past the horizon. I couldn't imagine a pleasant end to what had begun with both of our near deaths. I stared down the bridge of my nose, the snow flurry wavering to a hot breath. "If you've got yourself a death wish, I'll follow, but I'll have to ask that you refrain from dying for the sake of it."
She returned the grin following my words of resignation, down to the concern bubbling just behind. Ultimately, I don't know why I still resisted. Like it always did, chaos would follow me until I turned to face it, and I could either do it alone or with her at my side. That woman would be the end of me no matter my best fight, so whether she sought the world's end or just her own, I knew I'd be right there behind her.
"Where would you be had I never followed you this far?" I asked as we resumed our walk.
"Other than dead?" she laughed. "Who knows? Maybe in Ethelburrow, or maybe I would have eventually thrown myself at that thing regardless. I told you I didn't plan ahead, but I knew when we met that you were a decent man. You could never really say no."
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It was a dour morning, the next, dark and overcast as it had been every day since our arrival, but it was all we could trust would come next, the rest unknown. As promised, we were awakened with the fruits of Samara's labor: clean garb, free of any tear or trace of grease from our trip to the abyss, save a persistent smell that may or may not have been there since. They fit just as they did the day we bought them. At least, they would have had they not been delivered with a massive breakfast assortment—sweet pastries and fruit galore to distract us from an unsavory reality. Even Cordella delighted in this diversion, filling her plate with fare enough to challenge my own reckless indulgence.
“Everything to your liking?” asked the cook to two full faces, both grunting out their answers.
As it turned out, Samara had lied about something else: she told us she had two pastimes but neglected to mention her prowess over the hearth, everything on the table cooked to buttery perfection. As the warm fig jam coated my taste buds in its succulent divinity, I wondered silently if Cordella had learned more than just magic from her old aunt.
Samara was content enough to watch us, taking short sips from a steaming cup of tea. Between the dishes and cutlery on the old wooden table she had sprawled an old map, torn lightly at the ends. She traced it with the fingers of her free hand, a line drawn from here to there with nothing in between but blank canvas. Were it not for the inky little villages on the top and bottom of the scrap piece, I'd hesitate to call it a map at all.
"Have as much as you need! You have a week of travel ahead of you at minimum, and a blank passage between here and your destination. Best you aren't peckish before the two of you get a move on."
On the contrary, after cramming the umpteenth consecutive tartlet down my pipe, a wheezing inner voice hinted that it might do me well to exercise restraint. The plumpness in my belly was a nice enough feeling for now, but a few miles on horseback was all it took to teach me the meaning of regret. After all, whatever we didn’t finish would happily join our newest stockpile. Cordella too eventually lost her gusto and with a satisfied smile stacked her plate onto mine.
Delightful as it was, it couldn't last forever. The words we shared that dawn would be the last for some time, and no matter what fleeting happiness filled our faces, the dread remained. After surveying the table, Samara waned, looking for what more to say as she folded her hands in her lap.
“Well, then. Shall I see you off?”
The two of them stood first, Cordella and I thanking her for the food as she gathered up the parchment in a neat little roll. Having no prior connection to the woman and a tumultuous introduction at best, my feelings were reserved. In contrast, Cordella struggled to conceal a doleful look. In different circumstances, they'd made peace with forgoing their goodbyes, only to open old wounds and repeat the process. Regardless of any lingering animosity I had towards hers, I was sympathetic.
In addition to a clean wardrobe and a full stomach, Samara had on offer the last of her funds with which to fill our bags with enough food for the days ahead. Our next destination was Mochada, a sole village in the wasteland south of us, and we'd need every last scrap to get us there.
"I leave the map to you in case you find yourselves too far off the beaten path or you merely want to find my tower among the snow. Whatever happens, I want you both back here some day to tell me all about it!”
With the rest of the belongings, the scroll was given its place, and the final preparations were made for our departure, not the least of which were farewells. The two of them locked in a tight, parting hug, and this time, I had no doubt the feelings between them.
“Oh, Corda. Even if it wasn’t long, I’m ever so happy I could see you again.”
“I’ll be back here, Sam. You have my word, this time.”
I turned, letting them to their privacy until her hand brushed my shoulder.
"Don’t think I’ve forgotten you, Kaiser. Before I lose the chance, I want to offer you one more apology, and another thank you for holding your end of the promise."
Beside the entryway, she had laid my sullied armament, but when it rose, it shone like never before. "I'll have you know it wasn't easy scraping off the gunk and grease, but I appreciate the challenge. May it keep you both safe, and please, if I haven't already asked too much of you, protect each other. You mean much to me, and more to one another, so keep close."
"Thank you, Sam. I'll do everything in my power."
Before it opened for the last time, we took a moment to acclimate to the unforgiving breeze that squeezed itself through the door jamb. Then, with a throw of latch, we were plunged into the icy waters by the strings on our backs. It was nothing new; we'd tread them before, yet they seemed unfamiliar this time, bluer and vaster as we swam the rim of the abyss. A connection severed, we were a step closer to the edge, and a step further from the comfort of shallower water. I had one more line to hold onto, but for how much longer until the rapids took hold, and everything familiar disappeared behind me?
No matter how bitter cold, our time in the city was a fresh breath. In the terror and tumult, I'd found a new, powerful acquaintance in Cordella, alongside whom I'd discovered a greater sense of purpose, complete with the crushing weight of impossible expectations. Somehow though, the weight did seem more manageable with her by my side.