There's a period of downtime after an intense fight which Eje likes to call 'teatime'. The adrenaline wears off, the magic fades, and Trila appears with a fresh pot of calberras tea. Eje looks around, then remembers Trila is back at Lakeview and wouldn't find them out here. Out here, nothing is pleasant. The night weighs down on her, black as a bear. Ahead, Salaya and Ariel lean on each other, a three-footed disarray shuffling behind Amiel and Irprinon who carry an unresponsive Brant between them. Arrigos lurches at the front, sweeping for rocks with a scabbard like a blind man with a pole. Eje tries to get her mind to wander again, and with some difficulty, she brings her thoughts back to home. After tea would be a time to rest in the garden: afternoon sun, relaxation, maybe some early strawberries. “Salaya, are you alright?” Ariel asks. Salaya slumps down lower and lower, then hits the ground, pulling Ariel with her.
“Salaya, we told you not to sleep.” says Eje. She bends over and helps Ariel pull Salaya back to her feet.
“Sorry.” mutters Salaya.
“You stay awake too, Brant.” says Amiel, giving him a shake. Strangely, Eje isn't tired. She passed that long ago. Her mind has shut off and her legs move independent of thought. No soreness, not even fatigue. She plods forward. Just changing direction is a chore, and it could be ten minutes or ten hours to dawn. There's no difference at this point. She can measure progress only in footsteps, but every time she gets past five, she loses count and has to start over. How many times has she started over? At least five. Now she's on her second step. Ariel whimpers as she bangs the toe of her thin boot against something solid. Now her third step. Brant coughs and tries to break free, but can't. Now her first step. Arrigos gives a halfhearted curse as he steps in a pool. Isn't she missing something? Too late now; she's on her third step. The shadow of a mushroom looms on her side. The mushrooms are getting smaller; this one is only neck-high. If she doesn't keep counting, she'll never know how long they've been walking.
Something has been bothering Eje about that fight. Orcs are not capable of magic. On that point, everyone is in agreement. So how does she remember them using it? Of course it was fire: it's the perfect branch of magic for orcs. Simple and unsubtle, it's got the explosions, heat, and searing flames that all the children want to start with. She was no exception either, but colour magic never sat well with her, and fire was unpleasant. She always felt so angry after using it, as though the flames could feed only on rage. Meanwhile, conjuring required a deft flick of the mind, an ability to see possibilities that didn't exist and make them reality. Orcs certainly seem angry enough to use fire, however colour would still require some sort of imagination. Moreover, learning magic would require a teacher. Even if they learned from each other, there would still need to be someone who taught the first orc. No person would do such a thing even if orcs and people could communicate. What if they weren't real orcs casting magic? Eje's mind swims, but her body troops on.
Up ahead, Arrigos curses. “It's a mountain. We have to climb a fucking mountain.”
“I can't go on.” groans Salaya. She lies down on the ground. “Let me sleep here. Go on yourselves.”
“Don't give up, Salaya.” Ariel pulls at her arm. Eventually she gives up and sits down beside her. “I really need to rest too.”
“We don't have time to waste.” says Amiel. “You girls can die here if you want. We're giving Brant a chance.” They drag Brant by the armpits up the incline. Pebbles and loose dirt cascade with every step.
Something clicks in Eje's head. If the dirt is falling, that means it's dry. They must be at the edge of the desolation. “Come on. If I see you sleep, I'll fall asleep as well.” Eje gropes in the dark until she has Salaya by the arms and hauls her to her feet. “You too, Ariel.”
“Just give me a minute.” mutters Ariel. “I'm so tired.” Her head nods toward her chest.
“No.” Eje grabs at her. Salaya slumps back on the ground, but Eje can make out the gold in her hair. She grabs it along with Ariel's tasselled locks, plants her feet, and pulls.
“Ow, ow. Stop it.” The girls protest, unable to fight back.
“Get moving.” snarls Eje. “It's bad enough that Octave ran off. If I have to leave you two idiots behind as well, I'll be a laughingstock. I may as well hide underground and eat roots.” She gives a massive tug, forcing both girls upright. “Let's go.”
The ascent is gruelling on a level they've never experienced before. Eje goes first, Ariel and Salaya her unwilling followers. They're still complaining and slapping feebly at her, but Eje's grip on their hair can't be broken. She tows them up. And up. With each step they move closer to freedom or futility. And up. A crack in the sky opens above them. The faintest grey light shines through, just enough so Eje can see the colour in Salaya's glaring eyes, or Ariel's watering from the pain. And up. The pain is good. It keeps them awake. If only someone would pull her hair as well. And they keep going up. In better times, Eje would be relaxing somewhere. She can't remember where anymore. Something about tea and gardens. Maybe a rabbit hopping through the vegetables, its little nose wrinkling as it sniffs for the ripest strawberries. There'd be someone with her, no? In a pretty dress with a calming smile. What's her name? Eje keeps going up.
And up.
And up.
And up.
They pass Team Four, gathered around Brant, whose once-imposing frame has fallen on its face. Amiel and Arrigos grab him by the armpits and lift while Irprinon puts his shoulder against his chest for stabilisation. “I hope Brant makes it. Ariel, can you do something again?” says Salaya.
“It's too late for that.” says Eje. “Let the boys deal with it.” She tugs harder. Ariel and Salaya's protests are almost coherent, but they follow her up.
And up.
And up.
And up.
Hours and hours pass before Eje can see the end. Team Four is just behind them. Eje feels her hands slipping. “A little more.” she urges. She loses her grip on the girls' hair, but they trudge on, too tired to stop. Snow dusts the rocks on the peak.
Then they've summited. Morning sun peeks through a sliver in the clouds. Eje rubs her eyes and reevaluates the situation. Looking back down, the mountain they fought so hard to climb is nothing more than a ridge several stories high; the castle at Lakeview is taller. Even the snow is merely pale sunlight on the rocks. The blue growth of the desolation lies behind them, and before them–
“There it is.” The greatest sight lies ahead. Past the downward incline of the slope: greenery. Trees spring up in the distance. Cracked lips open and parched throats let loose a weak cry. They've made it.
Salaya awakens as though no time has passed. The only telling detail is that the clouds have left the sky. She rubs her eyes, throws the blanket off, and looks around. The sun breaks through the trees where they eventually made it to and collapsed into a makeshift camp. The events of the desolation form a blurry haze in her mind, running, fighting, walking, crying. They all happened at different points. The more she thinks about it, the more it comes into focus.
When she stretches, her limbs don't ache as much as they should. Nobody else is awake yet, but the pink flowers around the camp are the most vivid of any she has seen. The grass is so green she could eat it, and there isn't a mushroom around. The soft breathing of the others, the birdsong in the distance, the hum of insect wings; the quivering desolation is out of sight and earshot. Brant lies on his back between his teammates. Thankfully, his chest is rising and falling. Even the strongest and most arrogant of fighters bleed, and Brant's rent shirt has absorbed an awful lot of blood. There's something comforting about seeing his pale face, safe at last. There's also something comforting about teammates who look out for one another. It's like having a second blanket at night. Salaya's lungs expand with the sweet scent of a thousand birches, then contract and expel the air back out. Speaking of arrogance and strength and looking out for one's teammates, Octave is missing. Salaya looks around, as though expecting to see her surly face poking over a clump of rosy flowers or around a tree trunk. No such luck. She's on her own, and hopefully successful.
Stale water from a leather flask tastes just as crisp on her tongue as from a mountain stream. With delicate fingers, Salaya extracts the team logbook from Eje's pack. She settles down against the smooth bark of a birch, inhales the leafy forest again, and starts her report.
It isn't long before Ariel awakens with a yawn and belch. The sunlight has reached her face, and she sits up to avoid it. Soon the others wake up, scratching themselves and rubbing sleep from their eyes. “Gods, it feels good to smell trees and flowers instead of rot and swamp. How long has it been?” asks Ariel.
“It's early morning, so we've been asleep for at least eighteen hours.” says Salaya.
“I've never slept so much in my life.” says Eje. She pulls her blanket over her head. “Let me get a bit more.”
“How's Brant?” asks Salaya as they prepare breakfast. “He's going to make it, right?”
“Sleeping like there's naught wrong with the world.” says Amiel, giving Brant's hair a toussle.
Ariel puts a hand over Brant's chest, then screams as he opens an eye and winks at her.
“Good to see you're still giving the girls a shock.” laughs Irprinon. “How's the chest?”
“Hurts.” says Brant. His arms try to push himself into a sitting position to no avail. “Shit. My arms are still a mess and I need a piss.” The rest of Team Four cheer and help him to his feet and off behind a grove of elms.
“Which of them do you think is going to take it out and aim it?” wonders Eje.
“Amiel.” says Ariel without looking up. Salaya and Eje swivel their heads toward her.
“Well, well.” smirks Eje clapping Ariel on the shoulder. “You didn't even hesitate with that. Justify your answer.”
“Haven't you seen the way Amiel looks at Brant and checks on him? He's practically in love.”
“Ariel, what are you talking about? That doesn't seem appropriate.” hisses Salaya.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“What's not?” asks Eje. “What do you think we're talking about, Salaya?”
“The, you know, stuff. The way he, you know.”
“Pisses?”
“Yes.”
“How does he do that?” Salaya crosses her arms, distinctly aware of the scrutiny she's under. Eje says “I've never seen you so red, Salaya.” she says, wiping away a tear. “Ariel, my apologies. You're far more interesting than I gave you credit for. At least more interesting than this prude.” She doubles over with laughter. “Don't give me that look, Salaya. You've been eyeing Brant for the last few days. I know you've thought of it.” She grins at Salaya, who has half a mind to get up and run. “I was going to guess Irprinon. He and Brant are vigour buddies, after all. But you've convinced me, Ariel. Ooh, here they come. See if Amiel wipes his hands.”
They watch as the boys walk back to camp and settle down. “All right, Amiel?” asks Ariel.
“Never been better. Why?” says Amiel. Eje and Ariel stiffle laughter. “What's this about?”
“Don't mind them.” says Salaya, furious at how high her voice has gotten. “They're just...stupid.” She jumps to her feet and marches off as Eje and Ariel break down, howling into each other's arms. She can hear the boys' interrogatory questions and the girls only laughing harder no matter how far away she flees. It's really outrageous. Especially from Ariel whom she always thought of as a close ally. She kicks a tree, sending white petals showering down onto her. She's an adult, by law, not some lovestruck girl. She is fully capable of acknowledging that Brant is attractive, while further understanding that he's not the sort she's interested in. That's all. She's about to turn back and tell them this, when something catches her eye. She looks at it, and it looks back. Curious. Then it stirs. The hunter rises from the foliage, brushing white petals off his head. The girls at the camp have stopped laughing. Shadows stir from all sides until Salaya stands surrounded.
Their captors are remarkably lenient for Gaskaback hunters. Salaya, Eje, and Ariel walk together ahead of Brant, who still needs help from his team to keep the pace. How many hunters there are is unclear. The one Salaya found walks alongside them, knife in hand. A couple others flit in and out of the trees, parallel to them, holding the teams' weapons. The main body stay hidden, appearing only with the occasional rustle or shadow. Salaya looks over at Eje, glaring at the ground. No doubt she's mulling over what's occurred to all of them: they might outnumber their assailants. If only they could outrun arrows.
“We're really sorry about this.” Ariel tries to explain to the man beside them. “It was an accident. We didn't mean to trespass.” He doesn't respond.
“Ariel. Don't talk.” says Eje.
The hunters' camp bustles with activity. A couple hunters fletching arrows don't so much as look up from their work. Others walk around them with annoyance, as though the presence of prisoners is a disruption to regular camp life. Deer are being trimmed and skinned, fires started. Salaya shudders at the tents. They're spread out in clusters almost like the desolation mushrooms. A soldier, the only person in armour hails the party, and has a hushed discussion with a hunter before examining them up and down. “Put the prisoners in the communal tent for now.” Salaya makes out. It takes a few seconds for her to remember that she is one of the prisoners, as are her teammates.
The communal tent is a circular affair of canvas and leather, large enough for a fair-sized company to sit on the packed earth and chat. A funnel leading to a hole at the top allows for smoke from a potential fire to get out and sunlight to shine in. “I want to go home.” groans Salaya. Images of Three Peaks bound through her mind, tantalizingly close. Trofeia is standing at the front doors again, holding them open. Dinner on a linened table, clove effervescence by a late-night fire, a down quilt and a fluffy pillow. Trofeia would tell her to make the most of life. This hardly seems it.
Eje kicks her feet against the ground. “If only I could teleport. Just a little bit. I still can't believe you all surrendered without a fight.”
“There's no fight to be had.” says Irprinon. If it were a bunch of soldiers, of course. One or two hunters and some soldiers, maybe. We'd at least have had a good chance. Not against so many hunters though. I counted at least ten, and they're covering themselves well.”
“Don't fight hunters in a forest.” agrees Amiel. “And we can't leave Brant behind to die.” Brant grunts and rolls over, having fallen asleep the moment he lay down.
“Those hunters were just lucky. Anyway, this tent won't hold for long.” Eje pulls at the bottom. “I can tear this up and slip out once it gets dark.”
“They'll have guards watching the tent. Just rest and see what they have in mind.” Irprinon leans back against the taught canvas and closes his eyes.
Eje spits on the ground. “You can rest all you want.” she fumes. “I'm not rotting in some Gaskaback prison for the rest of my life. I won't be ransomed back home. I won't die here. They want me? They'll have to catch me. Properly, this time. See how their fucking plodder hunters like it when they're the ones being stalked in the shadows. It was pure luck they got me. If you hadn't been plodding around alerting them, then gotten in my way, I would have been out of there without a problem.”
“And done what?” asks Irprinon, eyes still closed. “Cursed at them from afar?”
“Sabotage. Hit and run. Hide in the shadows, strike at night. Anything's better than surrendering and waiting to die. You can capitulate and beg for mercy. I'm better than that.”
“You're all talk.”
“Oh? You're afraid to fight because your precious vigour buddy Brant might get hurt. Cut the dead weight loose, plodder. You might find yourself useful if you do.”
Irprinon opens one eye. “Don't tell me to abandon a teammate. And don't ever call me that again, you bitch of a runt.”
“I won't. Even a plodder can be useful.” Both Eje and Irprinon are on their feet at the same time. “Go ahead. Let's see what you've got, vigour boy.”
“Cool it, you two.” grumbles Arrigos.
“Please don't fight.” says Salaya. “Not after everything we've been through.”
“I don't want to fight.” says Irprinon. “But I don't take disrespect well. And speaking of useless, where's that fourth teammate of yours? The so-called mercenary? Shouldn't you be angry at her for running away?”
“She's finishing our job.”
“Right. Or ran away. Went home, mayhaps. What sort of person abandons her team?”
“Enough. You two can settle it when we get out of here.” says Arrigos. “Now isn't the time for a rumble.”
Irprinon glares at Eje for a few tense seconds, then sits back down. “Someone's coming.” he says.
“I hope I'm not interrupting.” says someone. A new voice. Salaya grabs Eje by the arm and pulls her down before she does something rash. A man enters the tent, a bearded man in an immense cloak collared with white feathers. His boots give a metallic ring with each step and the hilt of his sword is fashioned like an eagle taking flight. He stands in front of them and nods in respect. “Forget the formalities. I am Captain Yorn. How did you come by our humble camp?”
“It was not our intention to trespass, captain.” says Irprinon as the oldest among them. “We were lost in the desolation with wounded and found ourselves with no other choice.”
“The desolation? Are you mad?” He sits down. “Very well. Tell me the whole story. In fact, we'll have something to pass the time.” He signals to a guard standing at the entrance, and soon lunch is brought in. “No fancy supplies, I'm afraid. But there is some passable wine.”
They chew on dried venison, brightberry preserves, and camp flatbread as they tell him the story. Salaya takes a sip of the wine and nearly throws up. It's even worse than what Eje stole from the kitchens on their first mission. This time she forces herself to swallow it, seeing everyone else imbibe the stuff without remorse. They leave out the details of their operation at Lakeview, but spare none about the village, the battle, and the desperate trek north. Captain Yorn listens cross-legged the entire time, not uttering a word between mouthfuls. Eje refuses to speak, even to take credit for her kills against the orcs, only taking furtive bites and drinks. When they finish, he leans back and looks up at the narrow opening in the tent. When he looks back down at them, it's with a broad smile. “That's an incredible tale.” he says.
“We're telling the truth.” insists Salaya.
“Oh, I apologise for that.” Captain Yorn says. “I entirely believe you. I've seldom known the orcs to enter the desolation, but it has happened on occasion. And one of your teammates just walked off on her own? I'll have to tell my hunters to keep a lookout for her.”
“Can you help Brant?” asks Amiel. “He needs a medic.”
“Of course. How foolish of me to forget.” Yorn looks to the entrance of the tent. “Get a medic!” he calls out. Soon a short man with a bristling moustache is applying a poultice to Brant's wounds. Ariel catches Salaya watching them remove his shirt and smirks. Salaya whips her head away before anything can be said. The little wine she's drunk has made her head spin, and she nearly falls onto her back.
“One thing is bothering me though.” says Yorn. “You say the orcs used magic? That shouldn't be possible.”
“We thought so too.” says Irprinon. “But I recognised it as crude fire magic.”
“Are you sure they were orcs?”
“Very.”
Yorn shrugs at this. “Our understanding of the world is constantly changing. Perhaps it had something to do with the desolation. I've always been fascinated by these areas.” he continues. He stretches and refills his wine cup. “This one is especially remarkable for its size. Very convenient as a border, but we don't explore it as much as we ought to.”
“It's not a place I would willingly go to.” shudders Salaya. “Not again, not for all the blessings of the gods.”
“An interesting way to put it.” says Yorn. “The desolation owes its existence to the blessings of the gods.”
“A blessing?” Brant lifts his head off the ground.
“Look who's awake.”
“No, it's a curse.” insists Brant. “The gods cast the celestials down and burned them as they fell. Their dying breathe was the curse that caused the desolation to be uninhabitable to all but the most foul of living things.”
“Another good story.” says Yorn. “However, I am less inclined to believe this one The celestials were indeed burned, but they did not fall from the sky. They rose from the earth. When they burned, the land burned with them. The gods saw this and blessed the land to return it to life. And return to life it did, but only in half measures: the land could support life, yes, but only that which fed on fallen life. The desolation is the land that feeds on the dead. And in a sense, do we not all feed on that which has fallen? We have more in common with the desolation than you might think.” He pops a strip of venison into his mouth. “That being said, the day grows short. I enjoyed your company, so here is what I will do. Tomorrow, you will all be fit to travel. My medic has seen to it. I will grant you a writ of safe passage, return your weapons, and my hunters will keep their eyes on you to ensure there is no further trouble. You will follow the trail east, skirting along the northern edge of the desolation. It will grow smaller as you go, until you are able to turn south over the border back home into the Upper Realms.”
“That's very kind.” says Irprinon. “Almost too kind. Why not hold us here, or send us to a prison?” Salaya is certain no good can come from this question, but Yorn doesn't seem offended.
“I suppose I could.” he says. “And I would be awarded a commendation for my efforts. Seven spies from the Upper Realms captured by the keen Captain Yorn. Our superiors would have to send us better wine.” He stands with a smile. Salaya can feel Eje tense beside her. “That is not my way. I have no desire to stoke the tensions between our two nations. War may be coming, but it will not hang on my conscience.” He gives another small nod and leaves.
“I don't trust him.” says Eje.
“Just don't give him a reason to take it back, ok?” says Ariel.
The wind rushes over Octave's wings as she descends. As she lands, her feet hit the ground so fast she's forced into a run. “There you are.” The three orcs before her appear stunned. It's really their own fault though: she wasn't planning on giving them so much time. A quick nap, and she'd be after them. That was the plan. But though she's never felt so refreshed upon waking, she's also never slept for so long. If they'd gone north, they'd be fading into the forests of Gaskaback now, but they've kept west, staying in neutral territory. In the desolation. Don't they have to sleep?
Fire belches forth from two of the orcs. Octave smacks her lips. This one's flavour mixes with the swampy air. It's not pleasant, but it's different. The fire blows off her harmlessly and she waves a sword at them. It's quite a nice sword too. Nobody bothered to pick it up after Brant tossed it aside so carelessly, and Octave couldn't just leave the thing lying there to rust in the desolation. Some hapless metallurgist must have slaved over this thing, ensuring edges that wouldn't dull and a temper to resist all cracks. The sword sings in her hand, and the two attacking orcs drop. The third one eyes her instead of attacking or running. He coughs and groans as though his ribs are broken. He's carrying something. A bag with an unlikely shape inside.
“What have you got?” Octave advances on him. “You understand me, don't you? I'd like to see what's in that bag.” Her wings unfold then fold again. She puts them away and feels the wind once more on her back. The orc drops down to his knees. He puts his hands together and bows his head. Long grey hair spills over his face. The bag falls off his shoulder and two books fall out. Octave peers down, examining them. The village tomes. Both with titles written poorly, not by a scribe. Reconstitution, and On Solid Foundations. “What do you want with these?”
The orc looks up, looks into her eyes. He doesn't seem to understand her, but in that instant, she can understand him. Her chest contracts in a way she thought it would never contract again. She drops the sword on the ground and holds out her empty hands. “Go on then.” He stares at her for several seconds, then rises. He gives a short bow and clutches his chest in pain as he hobbles away toward the western sea.