Amara

The flickering heat of a bonfire roused her from her slumber. Again, she lay in the snow, surrounded by the dark trees of Yarruk’s forest. Yet she slowly began to feel something new: the security of a blanket wrapped around her body. As she stirred, she could discern the shape of a figure sitting by a log whose face she could barely make out through the fire.

"Careful," the being said as it poked at the fire with a twig. "Those wounds still need time to heal."

She felt a stinging in her arm and lower body as she shifted to dislodge herself from the blanket wrapped around her. She looked down to see that the spots on her body punctured by arrows had been dressed and bandaged, with only the slightest hints of blood spattered across the wrappings.

She looked up in surprise to see the largest, most imposing being she’d ever set her sights on – he was a towering hulk of a Canis clothed in a hooded cloak and tight-fitting leather armor. By his side sat a greatsword that looked more like a chunk of unrefined iron than a weapon. His face was pensive, his breathing heavy and, Amara thought, tinged with melancholy. The thin wisps of cold air that played around his flaring canine nostrils with each breath showed the power raging inside his massive form.

She sat up slowly, eyeing him as a cat eyes a suspicious hound.

He looked back at her through the fire.

"Are you scared?"

At first, she said nothing and kept her eyes trained on his. She knew that anything about to happen to her would happen in those eyes first. She slowly shook her head.

"I believe you," he said. "Most girls would’ve screamed at seeing something like me. But you didn’t. Because you’re used to terror, aren’t you?"

She huddled closer to the fire, trying to take in what strength she could before the inevitable happened. Maybe she could get off a firebolt before he could draw that massive blade.

Glance: 0

She growled in anger. Still, she was spent and couldn’t hear Mother at all.

He was leveling his gaze at her like a predator. Why he didn’t just kill her now, she couldn’t understand.

"Yeah, you’ve seen terror, alright. That’s why you’re probably thinking about how you could off me right now. It’s easier to fight than talk, ain’t it?"

She clutched the blanket close to her, willing herself to take in its heat by osmosis somehow. But the dog-man didn’t move a muscle. Instead, he returned his attention to the fire that lay between them both.

"Y’know," he said. "I spent years fighting, too. I spent years not trusting – always killing, leaving the questions for later, for smarter men. I always believed that my sword was enough for me. It was bigger and sharper than all the kids that’d ever picked on me for looking different when I was a pup."

He sagged under the weight of his words. ‘Being different,’ he huffed. ‘You know what that feels like, too, right?’

She said nothing. Now she was contemplating running, even though she knew it was fruitless. He’d catch her with that blade before she managed a single limp.

He didn’t wait for an answer. He reached into his cloak and drew a small canister which he unscrewed and took a liberal drink from.

"Maybe it's old age talking," he said. "But nowadays, I prefer a good chat to a bitter fight."

He offered the canister to her, and she beat it away without thinking twice. Its contents spilled across the snowfield and instantly evaporated – just water, nothing more.

"Hm," he huffed. "Not thirsty?"

She held her head high and spat her reply at him.

"I want nothing from you, dog."

"Hah!" he chuckled, gruff and hoarse. "You remind me of someone. You’ve got her exact tone of righteous indignation down to a T."

He rose to his full height, towering over her, and picked up the canister with whatever liquid remained.

Only when he got up did she notice the other blanket behind him. Something was wrapped in there, too. Something big.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized the tell-tale signs of a face hidden under the cover.

"Curious?" the Canis asked as he seated himself down again, gesturing to the blanket. "Know what’s inside?"

"Your bitch mother?"

"An educated guess," he retorted. "But it’s actually the corpse of a Yok’ra."

Amara froze.

"Yep," the dog-man continued, taking another slurp from the canister’s dregs. "Freshly slain this afternoon. Don’t feel too much relief, though - it’s not the one that’s after you."

Amara wet her lips and tried to still the quickened pace of her heart.

"Then you know what I am?"

"I don’t know what anyone is," he replied, licking his fierce, glinting fangs. "How far can one person truly know the heart of another, or his own, for that matter? What I can say for sure is that I know why they’re after you. It’s the same reason I should technically be after you, too."

Amara was staring at him now, watching his pupils move as they tracked every last jumping ember that spurted from the crackling fire.

"But you’re not," she said.

He nodded. "But I’m not. If I were, I wouldn’t have fixed you up and be talking to you right now."

She sat silently watching him, waiting for him to resume the conversation. When no words were forthcoming, she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out the question that tore at her mind:

"What do you want with me?"

She said it with hatred, like a branded slave making a demand of its master. If he noted her hostility, he showed no signs of returning it.

"Hm," he snorted. "People always have to want something, eh? No one can just be a good person."

"All the good people are already dead," she whispered back.

"If that’s the case," he replied. "Then we should all be down there."

She looked at him in confusion and considered whether he was a drunkard or insane. He seemed far too lucent for the former, so she assumed psychopathy to be the best explanation for his constant pontifications. He spoke in aggravating riddles that did nothing to alleviate her anxiety, but it did effectively waste time. She could use time to recharge her powers or at least ask Mom what to do when she returned.

"What do I want?" he asked. It seemed more of a question to himself than to her. "I want to talk with you."

"Well, congratulations, dog-man. We’re talking right now."

"I’m talking," he replied calmly. "But you ain’t listening."

He poked at the fire again absent-mindedly, twitching his nose as sparks flew up his nostrils.

"In polite company, we need each other’s names before we speak. Mine is Dimedrious. What’s yours?"

"I told you I want nothing from you," she spat back at him. "Not your name, not your words, not your 'company'."

"So, what do you want, then?" he asked her, narrowing his eyes at her through the flames. "Death?"

She looked away from his piercing gaze. Somehow, even though this beast looked at her through the fire, she never felt the embrace of its warmth at all.

"Not anymore."

"No," he said quietly. "I know what you want. And I know where you’re going."

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She cast a sideways glance at him as he spoke those words. She knew in her heart that they were true. As he sagged again, overcome by some hidden burden, she decided that she’d listen to his ramblings this time.

"I knew a girl just like you," he said. "A girl who was small, and alone, and afraid. A girl who had all this huge power and potential hidden deep inside her, and who was hated for what she was. Because that was all she was ever used to, she assumed that everyone in the world must hate her. But what she couldn’t know was that the first time I saw her, crying out for her dead mother in the snow – that was the first time I decided to save a life rather than take it."

He closed his eyes as though willing himself to picture the memory – to be transported back into his past.

"Those little blue eyes weren’t the eyes of a demon. Her tiny hand gripping my finger as I held her wasn’t the act of some ravenous beast. The way she’d sleep in her cot at night, her tongue lolling out her mouth, breathing as gentle as the morning breeze – none of this was the mark of a monster. But right till the end, I couldn’t convince her of that."

He opened his eyes to see Amara staring at him, her attention fixed this time.

"I couldn’t ever convince this girl to stop seeing the world as her enemy. But then, I’m an old dog-man who’s grown sentimental. Maybe even senile at this point. I’m not what she needs anymore, and I can’t help her where she’s gone now."

His face grew grim at this memory. Amara could see a shadow come over him.

"I tried", he whispered. "I tried as many times as I could. I threw myself at that pit with more strength than I knew I had in me. I hacked at those diabolical tentacles till my arm went limp and still I slashed at them some more. But it was useless. I was useless. It didn’t want me following her."

"Where is she?" Amara asked impatiently. Her focus on the story was so intense that she did not hear the rustling of the bushes nearby her and Dimedrious’ little camp.

"The same place you’re going now," Dimedrious said with another heavy sigh. Then he rose, took one look around, and bore his fangs.

"Show’s over. Come on out now, all of you."

There was silence that cut through every breath of the Canis and Amara felt her eyes shift around, trying to keep herself from panicking. She saw no movement around them. She had felt nothing shift but the trees as they slightly swayed in the dead wind.

But this Dimedrious’ senses were sharper: from out of one brush came a Tigran armed with a bow. From behind a tree stump came another Canis wearing a leather trench coat. She knew these two – they were the ones who pursued her. The other two hybrids that had bound her to Anna’s bed.

Which meant…

"Glad to see you again, Captain Dimedrious."

Her body reacted to his voice on impulse, her knuckles clenching and lips quivering as she looked up to see him emerge behind the upright Dimedrious.

His face was a charred mess of its former self – scales blackened and broken, revealing coagulating skin underneath. His hands – the hands that held his undamaged scimitar – looked similarly debased.

"Can’t say the feeling’s mutual, Arekis," Dimedrious said. "You look like shit."

"Occupational hazard," the Yok’ra replied, his eyes darting to her and holding her gaze with silent fury.

"Thanks for the assist, Di," he said. "We’ll take it from here."

He stepped forward, brandishing the scimitar with her own dried blood still smeared across its edge. Just as soon as he made to pass the hulking Canis, he was stopped by the beast man’s firm paw on his chest.

"This one’s with me," he said.

Amara could barely even register her own shock, never mind the incredulous look of rage burning in the toasted face of the lizard.

"You’ve misunderstood, Di," he said calmly. "This here’s a Glancer. A rogue one that murdered at least six able bodied men down South."

The dog-man didn’t lift his hand or his gaze. "I know what she is."

The Yok’ra stared back at him, showing no emotion at all.

"My squad’s been tracking her under the orders of The Prophet for the past fortnight. She just killed another in Yarruck – a Tigran girl. Body’s toast. She’s the one that did this to my face."

When Dimederious still didn’t move an inch, the Yok’ra stepped in closer, breathing deeply in the Canis’ face. She saw his blackened hand finger his scimitar’s hilt.

"Are you obstructing the hand of Argent here, Dimedrious?"

"Arekis," the hulking hound growled. "I was serving Argent while you were still shitting in your bog."

The eyes of the lizard still didn’t falter. Instead, they turned to the blanket that lay at the Canis’ feet.

"What’s under the blanket, Di?"

"That’s none of your concern."

"Give us a reason, old man," the Tigran with the bow said, already taking up aim at Amara. "My arrows are hungry for another bite of this one."

Instinctively Amara touched her bandaged wounds, keeping an eye on the other hound that was creeping up from her right-hand side. Too much was happening for her to keep track of. She needed mom now more than ever.

"How is Yelena, Di?" Arekis asked with a mocking smile.

"Call your men off," Dimedrious replied.

The silence of the frozen grove stretched on unbearably. But everyone could hear the Tigran knock his arrow and tighten the bowstring.

"Arekis," the dog-man said. "I’m telling you: don’t do this."

Amara barely registered the Yok’ra’s subtle nod to the Tigran archer. She turned just in time to see the loosed arrow trailing towards her face. She brought her hand up instinctively, knowing it was hopeless, knowing she’d never be quick enough to block it. But in the same split-second that she saw it fly, something cut through the air and split it apart mid-flight. This bolt of light then slashed across the archer’s hands, and Amara saw the Tigran fall to the ground with a bellow of pain.

Both its hands had been severed clean from its body.

The light materialized just as soon as it had made the cut – the dog man was standing over his prey with his greatsword now smeared with fresh blood.

A cry of fury came from Amara’s right, and she heard the footsteps of the other dog-man on the snow. He drew two daggers and lunged for her throat, but was caught by the muscle-bound arm of the larger Canis and smashed into the pearl-white earth. His body twitched, then stopped moving.

All this happened in the space of maybe five seconds – the attacks, and this Dimedrious’ lightning quick counters. He was too fast. Far too fast to be called mortal.

He held his blade out before him and aimed its tip at the sneering serpent who hadn’t moved a muscle in the short time the ‘battle’ had taken place.

"Try anything else," the grunting Canis snarled. "And I’ll finish them both before I take your head."

The Yok’ra Arekis didn’t even spare a glance at his companions – one reeling back in agony and one totally unconscious.

"This is really the path you’ve chosen, Di?" he asked. "Shackin’ up with some kid Glancer? You know what happens when Argents go rogue."

Dimedrious said nothing.

The Yok’ra sighed, sheathing his blade. "Well, I’m no marsh-licker. I know the eyes of a crazy when I see ‘em. I just never thought I’d see ‘em set in your ugly mug."

He glanced at Amara, barely restrained rage building in his parched throat.

"Looks like it’s your lucky day, little murderess. Big daddy Di’s here to save you. Make it worth his while, eh? Use what your barbequed cat friend taught you."

With nothing more than a casual step forwards, Dimedrious smashed the pommel of his sword into the Yok’ra’s stomach and delivered a stout punch to his face that sent him flying back into a waiting tree. He slumped forward, apparently comatose.

Amara looked on with bewilderment at the whole spectacle. Three hybrids knocked out by one of their own – another one of these ‘Argents.’

"Rope," the dog-man suddenly barked. "Get me the rope from the satchel."

At first Amara didn’t move. She was too fascinated with the blood dripping from his blade.

"Now!" he roared at her, indicating his satchel beside the bonfire.

Amara rushed to obey as he collected the three bodies together – noticing now that the Tigran had passed out from shock. She handed him the rope and he set to not only tying the three interlopers together, but bandaging the Tigran’s arms so carefully that Amara could have mistaken him for a practiced healer or priest.

"That’ll hold," he said once he’d finished. "For now."

"You’re one of them," Amara suddenly stated.

He turned around to look at her with weary eyes. "Not anymore. Not now."

"Why?" she asked. Her tone demanded an answer.

"You’re going to The Everloft," he stated plainly, and Amara’s pupils dilated of their own accord at hearing another being mention the name of her promised sanctuary.

"Yes," she whispered.

"That’s the place where I lost her," he said, though it clearly pained him to give voice to the words. "That’s the place I lost my Yelena. I want you to find her."

Amara noticed the desperation in his voice. Even with all his strength, and all his speed, this hound was asking her to do something it couldn’t?

"Find her," he said. "And help her."

She spared a look at the three unconscious hybrids tied next to him.

"Help her do what?"

"Survive."

She looked at him with suspicion, turning the thought in her head.

"How do you know I won’t just kill her the moment I see her?" she asked. "You heard them: I’m a murderer, and a Glancer."

"I think this world would be a better place if people put far less stock in what they saw and heard," he replied. "And acted much more on what they felt. Maybe then we’d have less blind hatred being tossed around."

He picked up his sword and planted it in the dirt before him. Though he looked down at her from on high, the desperation in his voice told him that he was pleading with her. He needed an answer.

"I’m asking you not as a hybrid Glancer-killer, but as a hound who never had a pup of his own and lost the closest thing he’ll ever have to one. I’m asking you – not you the Glancer, or you the murderer, but you the person – whatever you want that to be. I’m asking: If I take you to this place you need to go, will you find my Yelena and help her down there? Help her so that, one day, she can come back to me?"

She looked up at him with incredulous eyes. He must be a fool, or indeed senile, if he truly believed he could trust her words. She could lie to him, of course, and he’d never know the difference. Hell, she felt like consigning his precious Yelena to the flames just to spite him.

But there was something in this pretend-father’s gait that struck her as so uniquely pathetic that she felt she owed him at least a little bit of honesty. After all, she’d expected worse. She’d expected to be used as a meat-rag for this brute to try and snack on for days on end. What was the harm in promising him a baseless, meaningless pledge that he couldn’t even verify?

"Fine," she said. "I’ll do it."

"I want your word," he said back to her. "Swear it, by Holy Amarata."

She tried to keep herself from smiling.

Was this what you would’ve had me do, mom? She thought. Or would you have had other plans for this dumb mutt?

"Alright," she replied. "By Holy Amarata, I swear that I’ll find your Yelena down there and help her out."

"Till she finds her way back here," he stated.

"Till she finds her way back," she repeated.

He nodded at that, as though satisfied, and quickly poured the remaining contents of his canister over the fire.

"Come on," he said. "If we head out now, we can be there by nightfall. Then you’re on your own."

"I’m never alone," she replied, but ignored his confusion as she handed him his blanket and walked with pained steps away from the campsite.

"Northeast, right?" she asked.

His reply was slow and gruff as he gathered the blanketed body and followed behind her. "Yeah. How d’you know?"

She looked into the slowly descending darkness that was drawing itself over the trees of the frozen forest.

"I can feel it," she said.

It was no lie. The path she had begun to tread three years ago had taken her this far. Her goal was within reach, and her breast surged with power that was ready to burst forth to meet the raging conflux it had been birthed from.

As the dog-man followed closely behind her, she heard the Yok’ra shout at their backs, apparently roused from his slumber:

"You know what happens now, Di!" he yelled. "You can’t fight us all!"

The hulking beast ignored the taunt and crept forward with his charge.