“—you fuck!” Herah shouted, spat out into a new world. Her back to the ground, the artist gazed upon a clear, blue sky with a red star sat above.
Never knew it could be blue, and I thought red stars would be brighter.
Before any more thoughts about the strange sky, Herah felt the pull of gravity and realized her body had appeared midair.
WHOOSH!
Unfurling her wings, the artist flipped and beat them once to arrest her momentum then kept beating them to hover. Sensory information flooded her mind, and the new environment demanded her body adjust to it.
Said body felt lighter, her weight halved on this new world. Her skin felt cooler, so cool in fact Herah shivered under the new temperature.
It must be, the artist licked the air to be sure, Two hundred seventy-nine degrees out, what a miserably cold place.
Another lick of the air and Herah’s clear sight revealed no airborne toxins or poisons.
Sickeningly clean, the artist thought with a grimace before her nostrils flexed and smoke shot from them. I can’t believe life exists on planets like these.
Then, the smell finally registered.
Fresh, rainy, and earthy. Herah thought as the dense scent of billions upon billions of living and non-living things blended together entered her nose. And as her brain began breaking down all of these separate smells, the artist recognized a fourth general scent. One that Herah smelled only once before in her life, when her father brought home a pot of dirt.
Greenery.
The artist looked down and discovered a sea of green that ran on for miles and miles all around. It took a few seconds to realize that all of this color came from treetops, so densely packed that they created a bush thick enough to keep her sharp eyes from seeing the forest floor.
Beautiful. Herah thought, witnessing plant-life in person for the first time.
Slowing her flaps, the artist began a slow descent into the treetops.
I always wondered how leaves tasted or the feel of bark. If they’re anything like all of these smells, it’ll be wondrous.
More thoughts of the pleasantries of this new world came and went, but as they all flew by and thousands upon thousands of scents were broken down and classified, Herah felt something off.
Sweetness of sap, spice of bark, freshness of grass, staleness of air, rot of wood, death. But no droppings, no sweat, no meat, and no fear or bliss. Where is the fauna?
Before the artist could ponder further on the subject, a black mass appeared to her right, and out of it emerged Alex.
The pair made eye contact for a single second, recognition and realization forming in that instant. Then, the soothsayer’s eyes turned pupilless and glowed white as his light-like will beamed down around himself. Empowered, Alex stepped on the air, his feet finding invisible holds to keep himself up.
Herah hovered.
The soothsayer stood.
And both finally took each other in fully.
The artist’s nose twitched, more smoke shooting from it before Herah started breaking down Alex’s unique smell. Thick, earthy like mud, and irony like blood, his scent made the artist think of her father. Something about how strongly it registered told Herah of the countless experiences the soothsayer possessed.
Far more than herself for sure.
And the artist found the spices of anger present even now, as if his rage burned forever and only shifted in how hot.
Kinda like Herah’s.
The artist frowned at that comparison.
I don’t want to be anything like this lâche.
Alex returned the frown before crossing his arm and letting loose a scoff.
“What?” Herah growled out in response.
“Just pissed I gotta work with you." the soothsayer answered before his eyes moved from the artist and began darting all around, surveying the land beneath. “We both know we don’t mesh well.”
“Agreed.”
Alex’s eyes snapped back to Herah.
“So how are we going to handle this?”
The artist smiled and popped her claws.
“Fighting works for me.”
The soothsayer rolled his eyes before they went back to darting around.
“Of course it does.”
“Meaning?” Herah asked, huffing a small burst of green flames then some more smoke as her anger began to rise.
Alex crossed his arms, not returning his flitting gaze to the artist but noticeably dipping two of his fingers into his blade carrying pocket.
“I know a brute when I see one is all.”
The soothsayer’s tone of voice told Herah his words were meant as an insult, but the artist couldn’t help but grin.
“Brutes are honest,” Herah inclined her head, “And we Cendreux never claim ourselves elegant.”
Alex turned his back to the artist, still looking around.
“Disappointing.”
Herah bared her fangs.
“Let’s fi—”
A black mass appeared in-between the pair, spitting out Max. The liar’s eyes met the artist’s, Max grinning at the sight of Herah.
“Hey—” the liar’s words faltered as her body suddenly plummeted. “WAAH!”
The artist raised her arm to snag Max, but a sharp shift in the soothsayer’s scent and a twitch of his finger gave Herah pause. The liar fell shrieking into the tree-line.
The artist frowned after Max but still made no move to follow, her attention on Alex and his scent. Feeling her eyes, the soothsayer turned back to Herah and raised a brow.
You would’ve attacked if I touched Max.
Alex nodded as if hearing her thoughts. The artist frowned, bothered both by the soothsayer’s reading and his possible reasoning.
Still thinking me a threat? Good, the feeling’s mutual.
“Not getting Max?” Herah asked, glancing down and sniffing out the falling liar now beyond her sight. The greasy smell of surprise trailed in Max’s wake, not a twinge of fear coloring it.
Alex shrugged.
“Fall is only a thousand seven hundred feet, she’ll be fine.”
Feet? Why are you measuring distance with your feet?
The artist shook her head and looked back up, the soothsayer matching her stare again.
“Why are you still up here?” Herah asked, her nostrils flexing as more smoke jettisoned from them.
“Why are you?” Alex responded.
“I asked first.” Was the growled answer.
A moment of silence passed, both just staring before the soothsayer nodded.
“True. I don’t care to go down while you’re still up.”
The artist frowned.
“Same.”
Alex crossed his legs and sat on the air.
“Guess we’re at an in-pass then.”
Not a word more passed between the pair, their friction taking shape as they floated across from each other with not a shared thought of trust or confidence. Like two wild beasts forced to share the same territory.
One of us has to give. Better to handle it sooner than later. Herah thought, and once again the soothsayer nodded.
The artist flexed her fingers, and Alex withdrew his wavy blade from his weird, blue shirt.
POP!
chink-chink!
Another black mass appeared, spitting a befuddled Owen out into the space between Herah and the soothsayer. The binder cursed and flailed his arms in shock, a harmonic jingle filling the air before the artist snatched Owen by his wrist and held his body up.
That wasn’t the only reaction to occur, however.
“Annoying.” Herah grumbled out, teeth bared as Alex’s blade sat right against her throat and his will brushed across her skin.
Instinctively, the artist had moved to save the binder, and in the instant right after, the soothsayer moved to respond. More importantly however, Alex didn’t blur from Herah’s sight in this attack.
So, I can blame losing track of you earlier on the room. The artist smiled to herself. Good, you’re not that fast.
“Why’d you catch him?”
Herah’s smile died as her attention went back to the soothsayer, now standing with his blade still at her neck. A nod of her head towards Owen preceded the answer.
“Might get hurt.”
Alex quirked a brow up, intrigue flashing across his face.
“Interesting.”
Glancing down to the blade next to her throat, the artist asked her own question.
“Why’d you stop?”
The soothsayer shrugged.
“You were catching him.”
Herah repeated Alex’s earlier reaction.
I don’t get the impression you care much for Owen, and we both know we’re going to fight. So, what about the gnome or our situation gives you pause?
“Interesting.” the artist responded.
“Goddesses protect me,” hearing the binder’s tiny and nervous speech sent Herah’s eyes down to Owen’s frowning face. “Would you two hammers not do your whole thing while I’m hanging by the limb?”
“Hammers?” the soothsayer questioned, unwittingly voicing the artist’s as well.
The binder looked between the pair frowning before reaching up to his hat with his freehand and crinkling it. Owen smelled nervous and scared, though annoyance stood out the most powerfully in his scent.
Odd your words don’t reflect it though.
“Judging off earlier and now, you’re both the type to beat your problems till either you give out or they do.” The binder smiled meekly, shrinking into himself while looking between the pair. “So, I deem you hammers.”
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Herah grinned, the new nickname an amusing and welcome addition to her list.
“What about Max?” Alex asked, his scent peppered with annoyance and curiosity.
Owen let out a hmm before knitting his brows and making his frown turn inwards. After a few moments of silence, the binder nodded.
“She’s tongs.”
“Tongs?” the artist questioned with a slight laugh and more smoke spewing from her nose.
Owen frowned at Herah, his face now shaped into a cute pout.
There it is. the artist thought, watching the binder’s true feelings slip through.
“She’s good at handling others, like tongs do hot iron.”
“And you’re basing that off of…” the soothsayer let his words drag off so Owen could fill the silence.
“She got me to overlook you two being human, and I noticed how she can calm Herah.” The binder looked back at Alex, his pout gone and replaced with trembling lips and downcast eyes. “P-plus, she’s nicer than you.”
Why are you hiding under a fearful disguise? Herah thought, frowning at Owen.
“Fair.” The soothsayer looked to the artist, then drew his blade from her neck and slid it back into his weird shirt pocket. “Why don’t we head down?”
Surprise struck Herah for a moment. The artist hadn’t forgotten that the pair still needed to fight, but the binder’s appearance shifted her priorities. Herah knew not why his appearance also shifted Alex’s.
Not important at the moment. A fight between us right now would endanger Owen.
“Sure.”
The soothsayer’s eyes reverted to normal and his will shrunk until no part of Alex glowed. Then the soothsayer fell, plunging into the treetops with nary a sound nor care.
The artist didn’t immediately follow, instead choosing to study Owen.
“Why are you hiding?”
“What?” the binder asked, blinking back at Herah.
“You’re hiding,” The artist tapped her nose, “I can smell your emotions.”
“Oh…” Owen’s eyes widened, and his scent shifted, the grease of surprise quickly followed by fear finally becoming the dominant emotion.
The binder said nothing for a little while, instead frowning and studying Herah. The artist didn’t mind the silence; Owen’s changing scent more than enough to fill it. His emotions shifted slowly, from afraid to unsure to ashamed, then finally settled on a faint, fresh acceptance.
“I’m scared of the humans.”
“Why?”
The binder opened his mouth then paused before staring into Herah’s eyes and squinting again.
“If you can smell my emotions, I’m sure you can smell my profession.”
The artist smelled much more than that, her attention finally drawn to the uniqueness of Owen’s scent. Sweet and smoky, Herah couldn’t help but think of one of her father’s homemade treats in smelling the binder’s core smells. After that the emotions coloring his scent took precedence. Then finally, the smells of his work registered.
Steel, soot, sweat, and grime.
All together that created a singular smell that the artist knew well. A smell that Herah one day dreamed would stick to her body like it did Owen’s.
The smell of a forge.
“You’re a smith.” the artist spoke the words with a quiet amazement and subtle reverence. Meeting another living her dream warmed Herah and brought a smile to her lips.
The binder nodded, though Owen stayed shrunk in on himself, still guarding something.
“I once made arms, good arms, so I dealt with dangerous people. The most dangerous were always humans. And they got even worse when I stopped.” The binder looked down, towards where Alex and Max surely landed. His frown deepened as fear became heaviest in his scent. “I don’t have the safety of my mother and the rest of my village now, so I especially don’t want to give any reason to be treated as a tool or threat.”
Watching and listening, the artist knew her earlier impression of Owen correct. The binder felt scared and weak. Owen needed someone to defend his safety.
And Herah would do exactly that.
Because I’ll have no ally of mine feeling as I once did.
“I’ll protect you.”
The binder’s eyes went wide again, surprise greasing his scent as his mouth opened and closed a few times. After a second, Owen found his voice.
“R-really? Why?”
“Because you’re weak.” the artist said without pause.
“Uhh,” the binder flinched at the quick response. Then Owen sighed, smiled to himself, and shook his head. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Herah responded before inhaling air and gathering flames in her throat. The artist puffed out three red rings of fire, each floating up to the binder. Still hanging in Herah’s grasp, Owen blinked at the incoming flames before looking at the artist who stared back silently, waiting to see his response.
Your reaction is the most important part of Décantation des Cendres.
The binder took a few moments, clearing trying to figure out Herah’s goal, then reached out to the fire and allowed the rings to harmlessly dissipate against his hand. Owen blinked, his scent now speckled with confusion as light frost formed where the fire touched him.
The artist smiled and nodded before bringing the binder into a cradle. Owen yelped but any further reactions were smothered by Herah smiling down.
“Through the act of Décantation des Cendres, I recognize and respect you. And I deem you my charge, Owen. Until we part ways, I shall protect you.”
The artist felt her vow in her fire, and shivered as a binding power followed her words. The binder apparently felt this power too, worry now dominating his scent as his alarmed eyes ran up and down Herah.
“What did you just do!? What is Decantation de Cendre!!?”
“It means Ash Settling, an old tradition we Cendreux use to help determine how we are to treat any sentient life we encounter. And I’ve made a promise,” the artist huffed more smoke, “Simple as that.”
Owen opened his mouth then paused before shaking his head.
“Something tells me I can’t make you take it back.”
“Nope.”
The binder sighed.
“Then let’s get down, can’t work a forge without all its tools.”
It took Herah a moment to grasp Owen’s words, but once the artist understood a giggle left her lips, her wings tucked in, and her head dipped.
“Woah! Hold up!” the binder shouted as the pair plummeted head-first, piercing the trees and falling through the leaves like anvils. Bark tore, branches broke, and leaves flew into the air as the duo smashed through the foliage. The tickle of moist leaves and scratch of wood swarmed Herah’s body; each sensation odd but welcome. Glances towards Owen revealed the binder with his eyes closed and teeth clenched, ignoring the strikes from the plant life they plowed through heading towards the forest floor.
Soon, the pair broke out of the tree line, and the artist met a wondrous sight.
“Wow.” Herah said to herself as her eyes laid upon the light, fuzzy red bark of the trees, then the massive blanket of green grass covering the ground broken up by the occasional dark brown holes that were patches of dirt. The artist’s nose twitched, taking in and distinguishing the soft and subtly distinct aromas of the hundreds upon hundreds of plants and bushes that dotted the forest floor from the denser and spicy smell of the trees’ bark.
The liar and the soothsayer stood waiting, both looking up at the falling pair. Alex with his lips thinned and eyes narrowed, while Max grinned up and winked. At who exactly, Herah wasn’t sure.
“We’re about to crash!” Owen shouted, causing the artist to flip upright and tighten her hold on the binder.
“Prepare for impact!” Herah responded with a laugh.
Not a second later, the artist’s feet struck the ground and her knees bent as her full weight came down. The area rumbled as the force of her body expunged dirt and plants into the air, a noticeable dent formed in the ground from impact.
Owen quivered in Herah’s arms before giving her limbs a few small squeezes. The artist understood and placed the binder on the ground, who stumbled away in a light daze, murmuring about falling too fast and feeling his heart in his throat.
“Dramatic much?” the soothsayer asked, while walking over to the duo and waving his arm through the cloud of brown, “You may weigh over half a metric ton, but those wings of yours mean you can land with a little less noise.”
“Metric ton?” Herah questioned before flouring her wings and dispersing the remaining cloud of dirt and plant debris surrounding herself. That done, the artist folded her wings back in and shook her head. “Fuck that, how do you know my weight?”
Alex waved a hand at Herah and the ground.
“I’m good at math and measurements.”
“Meaning?”
The soothsayer grinned mockingly and shrugged.
“I’ll let you guess.”
The artist growled.
“Please no fighting you two,” the liar asked, having walked over to Owen and caught the binder by his shoulders. Max held Owen up, aiding in his hunt for balance. “We’re supposed to be a team.”
Herah flared her nostrils, smoke leaving them as her glare remained. Alex looked up his expression the same.
“Come on, plea—” the liar paused just as the artist felt a sudden shift in her perception of time.
Herah realized thirty minutes went by while in Norwe’s subspace. Then the artist realized her ignorance of the fact beforehand.
Time was so fucked it makes sense I didn’t realize it. But why am I now realizing this? And is everyone else doing so as well?
chink-chink
A dramatic shift in both the binder’s and Max’s scent knocked Herah out of her thoughts just in time to hear metal jingle and a body crumple.
“Owen!” the liar screamed, her scent ripe with fear. “Oh god, what’s happening!?”
The soothsayer and the artist whipped around towards Max and Owen and found the binder on his back while the liar kneeled with his hand in hers. Max turned to Alex and Herah before barking out.
“Alex! Get over here now!
The soothsayer and the artist ran over, crowding around Owen. Both dropped to their knees, with Herah straining her senses to figure out the problem.
The binder’s natural musk had grown heavier to such an extreme degree that Owen smelled as if his body hadn’t been cleaned for months. His face sat sunken in with skin clinging to bone. His heartbeat sounded faint and his breathing so shallow that the artist knew only her ears heard it. A touch revealed his skin cool and his body lighter than when Herah last held it. A lick of the air revealed a rankness to his taste that spoke of lots of dead skin and general body deficiency.
“What the ash?”
The binder laid there with his eyes wide open and slowly blinking, clearly still conscious just now unable to say a word or move but centimeters.
Trapped in his own body, and quickly dying.
A sharp but weak crack caught the artist’s attention, causing Herah to turn to Alex and notice how his hand hovered right in front of his nose with his index finger and thumb pointed towards Owen.
That same noise happened earlier when you pointed like that.
“More time passed for him than us.”
The artist blinked, her brows knitting and frown tightening as the liar turned to her brother and did the same.
“What?” Both asked together.
“The amount of time that’s passed since each of us arrived at the room and left it is different.” the soothsayer answered, his own frown deep and disturbed. “It felt like five seconds for me.”
“Four minutes for me.” Max responded, her smell colored by amazement and horror.
“Thirty minutes.” Herah said, before rising up and walking over to a nearby tree having connected the needed dots.
“And two months for Owen.” Alex supplied for the gnome, his smell reeking of annoyance and frustration.
Intent on helping the binder, the artist studied the tree in front of herself.
It’d be better if I made a wood sculpture but no time nor the tools for it. This is going to at least cost me a foot or a hand.
Herah popped a claw and started carving into the bark.
“Can you use Tara to help him out?” the liar begged the soothsayer, worry now the dominant emotion in her scent.
“No,” Alex replied, Herah hearing from his words the shake of his head,
“Tara doesn’t heal remember? She rewinds things back to normal. Damage to the body from disease and physical trauma isn’t normal, malnutrition when not fed or given water for two months is.”
“Then leave! I can put in a stop gap while we figure out food and stuff!”
“No.”
“What do you mean no, asshole!? He’s going to die if we don’t do something soon.”
“I think Ashbrain has something in mind.”
The artist finished her carving just as the soothsayer said that, a growl rumbling from her throat as more smoke jetted from her nose. Still no move to attack or confront her offender followed.
Lager priorities right now!
Herah placed her right hand atop her fresh carving and began imagining it in its full glory. The elongated snout, like that of a lizard with a mouth filled by teeth sharper than her own. The white, almost metallic gleam of its bone. The dual, ringed horns that protruded proudly from its skull like hooks.
The artist imagined all of this, felt it become solid in her mind, then commanded it to be.
Herah’s left hand and seven of her toes felt like static, then the artist didn’t feel any of them at all. Something wet and thick dribbled down the side of her left leg and pooled around her feet, as her right hand slowly rose, pushed up by the emerging piece of art beneath her fingertips.
Max let out a gasp.
“Herah, your hand and toes! They’re paint?”
Herah waved the liar off with the dripping stub of her left hand.
“That’s the price of my Gift.”
A second later, the artist held in her right hand the skull of a Cendre.
Herah walked back over to Owen and held the skull out towards the binder.
“Nourrissez votre enfant, mère.”
The empty eyes of the skull glowed for a moment, before a deluge of green lava flowed out and right into Owen’s mouth and eyes.
“Oh fuck!” Max cursed, flinching away from the violent torrent as the binder’s spine snapped up and his body floated for a few moments. As the green lava flowed in, the artist could see Owen’s body regain its color and mass.
And then it ended, the Cendre skull started to flake and dissipate as the binder fell back to the ground and let out deep breaths.
Herah sighed in relief at this sight, realizing only now how scared the entire situation had made herself.
How dumb, we just met today. Well two months ago for you. The artist looked at Owen, laying on the ground and taking steady breath after breath as the skull finished disintegrating. The binder looked at Herah and smiled before sitting up.
“Thank you.” Owen’s thanks came soft and quiet. But not in the way of faux fear from earlier, but of gentle appreciation.
“No need.” The artist shook her head before offering her right hand to the binder, while her left hand and missing toes burned themselves back into reality. “I said you’re my charge and that I’d protect you. I keep my word.”
“Interesting Gift.”
Herah glanced at Alex, who studied Owen with a curious look to his eyes. The artist could see the gears turning in his mind and didn’t appreciate the sight.
“Thanks.”
“How does it work?” the soothsayer asked, turning to Herah.
“How does yours?” the artist responded reflexively before stepping off to the side and away from everyone. Something about how Alex asked the question rubbed Herah the wrong way.
Like the more you know about me, the more dangerous you get.
The soothsayer stood up and started to encircle the artist.
“I asked first.”
Herah never let her eyes leave Alex, turning with every step.
“Will you answer if I do?”
The soothsayer’s pause answered that question.
“When you’re willing to share, I am.”
“Ashbrain.” Alex said with a spat.
“Os de Bâton!” the artist shouted back, thinking up the quickest insult possible.
The soothsayer glanced to his sister, the liar and the binder in the same place and watching the pair with mirrored worried looks.
“Sh—” Max caught herself, “Herah called you Stick-bones.”
Herah smiled at the liar, getting a smile back.
“Funny, coming from someone who’s never seen sticks before today.”
The artist whipped around to face Alex again.
“How do you know that?”
The soothsayer grinned cheekily.
“You just confirmed it.”
Herah growled, her eyes glowing and green flames slipping from her mouth and nose. In response, Alex stuck his hands in his pockets again.
“Hey!” Max rose and inserted herself between the duo. Frowning, her eyes darted between the pair. “Come on you two, no fighting.”
Neither gave an immediate response, causing the liar to sigh and close her eyes. The artist could smell her rising frustration and annoyance.
If your brother wasn’t such a bâtard, we wouldn’t be here.
Then Max turned her smile on again and any anger fled Herah.
Fuck!
“How about we instead focus on sussing this place out?” The liar looked around, waving her arms. “Something’s clearly off.”
Anger gone and feeling a little defeated, the artist supplied her answer.
“Nothing but plants.”
“What?” Max asked, tilting her head to the side and blinking at Herah.
“Nothing but plants.” the artist sniffed the air and caught a distant whiff of decay that felt odd, “No animals, no bugs, no one like us.”
“Oh,” the artist’s ears and nose twitched, a new scent popping into her field of awareness, “But you’re wrong there my dear artist.”
Turning to her right, Herah found a small furry creature hanging from an unnaturally low branch on a tree as thick as the artist was tall.
About the size of a sack, the creature owned a fuzzy tan coat of fur, four long limbs each topped off with three claws, a tiny nose, and brown eyes. Sniffing the air and straining her ears, Herah took in the smell of damp fur and the near-silent rustle of their hairs in the light breeze of the wind.
It looked weak.
It looked like prey.
It looked adorable.
The artist walked over to the furry creature and wrenched it from its perch upon the tree, running a hand through its fur while tasting the air near it. The creature’s fur felt lightly wettened and tasted sandy and rough.
“So that’s how fur tastes and feels.” Herah said to herself, lifting the creature up and running her eyes up and down its form “Disgusting, but nice.”
“Ashbrain! Is your skull truly full of nothing?!” the soothsayer shouted, stinking of fear while running up to the artist. Once Alex reached Herah and the new creature, his eyes sharpened into a glare while sweat formed atop his brow. “You don’t just put your hands on a Maker. Even as a sloth!”
A sloth? Interesting name. The artist looked at the sloth in her hands, tilting her head from side to side while studying them. Such a weak creature to shape yourself after, Norwe the Sloth.