Intermittent snowfall came down on the plateau despite the fact that it was already nearing the middle of the Season of Earth. Gwendith Devi Sharine glanced at the dark clouds overhead, then huffed and returned her stare to the ground. The tundra was covered in hard-packed snow that had almost transitioned to ice. The addition of lighter and fluffier snow didn’t help in her task and she despaired that she would be out in the cold for days this time instead of hours.
Then again, considering what she’d return to when she came back, she should stay out here instead. The northern Veil was only a league or so away, and if she had the courage to, she would dive into it and be disintegrated in the Chaos Sea.
‘No, that’s not courage, but cowardice,’ a stubborn voice in her mind told her. Sharines never gave up. Never.
Not even after all of that…
With a shudder, she wrenched her mind away from that dark hole and focused on the now. She had frozen in her tracks and her hair and shoulders were covered in a layer of white. She didn’t notice the cold. Not anymore. There were some…perks, to being stuck in the perpetual freeze. Especially for her Heritage and Facet.
There were clumps of evergreens on the plateau but what she was looking for wasn’t there. There was a type of grass with a single bluish vein that ran from the roots to the tip that grew in the tundra. The juice from it, when added to something nearly inedible like tree bark and pine needles, made them not only edible but nutritious enough to sustain life. They grew on top of the mountain wall and near the Veil, where the pulsating levels of ambient Chaos were necessary conditions for the blue-veined grass to grow. They also tended to get buried under the snow, and the only indications of their presence were the slight dips and their green tips. And they certainly never grew close to the evergreens.
Gwendith pulled her cloak around herself as the breeze grew momentarily stronger. Her forceweave clothing had long been stripped off her; not that they would fit now after a couple of years’ growth. The coarse hides of her clothes made her skin itch and rash. She was tempted to scratch but that would only make using Recovery later more painful and drawn out.
She plodded across the field, eyes sharp. There were others behind her, of course, mostly captive Imperial women. She was honestly the youngest of the lot but also the one with the greatest background. Still, they didn’t have enough time on their hands to do anything other than their duties, eat, and sleep.
The Iron Skin Tribe had captured nearly three hundred women, but of that number, only half remained captives. The other half…well, they were lost to the Empire and had become barbarians, too.
Gwendith shivered at the memory of that ritual. She would not go through that. Never. Thankfully, it would not have worked if she had not been willing in the first place. Then again, stripping the Heritage and bloodline from their veins was no easy matter and neither was it painless.
The rest of those who remained were put under the yoke of heavy labour. As for those who converted, well, they were probably popping babies out.
A glimmer of blue-green caught her eye and Gwendith turned in that direction, careful to ascertain that she hadn’t been mistaken. The place wasn’t dangerous, but it wasn’t completely safe either. Who knew if it was a swarmling, a Wanderer, or even a Hunter? Any of those would have probably killed her before she noticed it.
Upon closer inspection, she hummed in surprise and pleasure to realise that it was what she had been looking for. A quick glance back showed her that nobody else was close enough to see her, so she made a slight gesture with her fingers. Her fingertips glowed with pink Animus which spread out as threads that sunk into the snow. The frozen fluff moved to the side, baring a hole nearly a dozen inches across. It revealed seven blades of blue-veined grass. It was more than enough for her quota of the day. Well, she should only harvest five of the blades. If she took all, then the grass would die and no more would appear at least until the next year. Six meant that it would take nearly a Season to recover, but if she only took five, it should pop out new shoots in a couple of weeks or so. It would then grow to an acceptable height after a couple of weeks.
Her hands brushed the stone knife on her waist. It was a blunt implement that would probably waste a few drops of the life-giving fluid but it was the only sharp tool she had. As far as they knew anyway.
She grabbed a fistful of snow, crunched down on it with her fist, then kneaded with her fingers. About half a minute later, she had a straight razor in hand and with it, she carefully cut the grass blades near the root. The neatness of her cut would have given her ability away though, so she planned to use the droplets on some snow to eat on the way back. Then she’d cut the stems with the stone knife. It would leave about three or four drops of liquid in the blade.
It was in such a way that she avoided starvation though she wouldn’t have starved completely, the Iron Skin rotters would have made sure of that. The young chieftain, Thaer Surtsson, who had been the leader of the group that had captured her–and almost captured Yuriko Davar–had laid claim to her.
Gwendith bit her lip hard as rage billowed out from her heart. That nasty, rotting, oaf! Well, there was a silver lining to this, she thought to herself. Having laid his claim, no other barbarian so much as looked at her crosswise.
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A spot of blue spread on the frozen ground and Gwendith swore loud enough for her voice to carry. Thankfully, it had fallen on a clump of dead grass. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the affected parts then shoved them in her mouth, chewing thoroughly and ignoring the bitter taste, before swallowing. Following that, she grabbed some more snow, dribbled the juice into it then formed another layer over it. She carefully kept the nuggets inside her clothing. The others could use more nourishment.
They were on short rations now and had been for the past year. They had been fed on smoked meats early on but now, it was porridge with flecks of venison at most. More often than not, they had to subsist on stale bread.
The mountain redoubt, which they called Ouera Bo, was spacious, but didn’t contain much in the way of supplies. There were underground springs that provided water, and if those failed, they could always melt snow. But supplies? Not enough for a single clan to last a year, much less four.
Gwendith carelessly cut the five grass blades with her stone knife, then rolled the jagged edge to retain the rest of the juice, before she stuffed them into a leather pouch. Inside, there were already another dozen blades. She glanced at the pale Radiant Sun. A couple more hours before she should return. With a quick gesture, the parted snow fell back into the hole and concealed the remaining two blades.
She wandered aimlessly across the field and by the time the sun dipped towards the west, she made her way back towards the plateau’s edge. An entrance to Ouera Bo was located just a dozen paces beneath, though she would have to walk down the steep and twisty path to get to it.
When she came to the edge, she looked to the south. The foothills were nearly a longstride down, and about a couple of leagues away, she could see a square camp, blazing with light. It might as well be on the other side of Rumiga.
Safety was down there but she couldn’t get to it. She couldn’t fly, of course, and any passes that led to the bottom were heavily patrolled. That was if she tried to go down on the cliff face. The inside of the mountain was even worse. The tunnels of Ouera Bo was filled with barbarians of all shapes and sizes. The Iron Skin weren’t even the largest of them; that honour fell to the Ravaging Claw tribe. Now those monsters were about as wide as they were tall and armoured with layers of muscle and fat.
The path was marked by a pile of stones and wood, carefully kept out of sight from below. The trail was barely a pace wide, with some portions narrowing down to a dozen inches. Thankfully, the edge was raised and even if she fell, she would have the chance to catch herself on the ledges below. Of course, if she bounced too much she’d likely go over open air. Seeking death was simple and many prisoners had already thrown themselves over the brink. The Iron Skin let them now. Before, they would not have. But since the siege…well, fewer mouths to feed. Gwendith wondered why they didn’t just kill the captives instead.
In short order, she made her way into the tunnel entrance. There were no guards here, thankfully. She couldn’t stand their sticky gazes. The tunnels didn’t have any sort of civilised lighting and instead relied on bioluminescent moss. That wasn’t really enough even if the path had been worn smooth by generations of feet. A bit of pink Animus gathered over her palm solved the issue. The density of the ambient Chaos here was enough that she could keep up the lighting indefinitely. Well, as long as she kept her focus.
The tunnel intersections were marked with Ikash letters. It hadn’t taken long for her to remember which ones led to the kitchens and storerooms. She hurried down the path and walked for nearly a longstride before she encountered other people. A barbarian man from the Fleetfoot Tribe, tall, lean, and covered in wiry muscle, smirked at her. She kept her gaze lowered, hoping that he wouldn’t press his attention at her. Her shoulders were slumped in defeat, too, and her back was bent. Her golden curls had long since lost their sheen and were bedraggled and dirty. She probably stank, too, of stale sweat and dirt. But then again, for these mongrels, they were probably used to that stench.
Thankfully, the braided cord around her left bicep was enough to ward him off, since it denoted her status as a servant to the Iron Skin leadership. It didn’t stop him from slapping her bottom as he passed by. She flinched and whimpered of course but she endured. She snuck a glance at his face and recognised him as already part of her kill list.
She arrived at the storehouse having only been smacked a couple of times by two other rotters, one was new so off he went into her kill list. The kitchen was right next to it and was the warmest place in the entire mountain, which was still rotting cold anyway. The other captive women who crewed the area were shivering in their rough hide clothing, though that didn’t stop them from performing their duties. Slackers weren’t fed after all. And if one fell sick, well, nature weeded out the weak.
Jamari Lucinde, a warder from Stormwalker Century, the troop that Gwendith, Ella-Mai, and Yuriko had shadowed during their internship, shivered wretchedly and coughed into her hand. The head cook, an Iron Skin woman, frowned at Jamari but didn’t do anything else.
Gwendith gritted her teeth as she walked past the stricken woman. Consumption. Recovery barely made a difference for the older woman now, lacking the skill to use it properly, but more importantly, lacking the Animus to keep it up. As she passed, she stumbled and knocked against the woman and as she murmured her apologies, Gwendith palmed an ice nugget into Jamari’s hand. The woman barely kept herself from nodding in gratitude, and instead coughed into her hand again while slipping the nugget into her mouth.
“Clumsy girl!” the head cook yelled but subsided when Gwendith bowed to her. She sniffed then puttered off to another corner of the kitchen.
Gwendith went to a corner table and laid down the blue-veined grass cuttings. The woman who kept count nodded, marked something down in her ledger, then shooed her off.
She retired to the captives’ kennels, collapsing into the pile of straw that served as a bed. Not even hers, really, but one shared amongst as many as could fit. They huddled together to save what warmth their bodies produced.
Gwendith closed her eyes and meditated. She couldn’t advance properly and was still a Low Apprentice. But what she could do was to improve upon her command of the cold and ice. It was the only thing she could do. Her fists tightened as she let herself rage.
Anger warmed her Anima. She hoped that her family and the Empire would hurry up and attack Ouera Bo. Even if she died in the process, she would see the rest of those rotters burn.