A short figure in a gray robe sat on the lip of an ornate fountain in the center of Riverstop’s central square. Just ahead of him loomed the towering Riverstop Keep, a massive six-sided castle perched atop a hill overlooking the Barrier River. Though he couldn’t see it from here, he knew that just behind it was the Ivory Bridge - the only crossing over the Barrier River that wasn’t in the snowy lands. He also knew that within the keep awaited Chernicotl, an ancient living artifact of Danet, tasked with protecting the Ivory Bridge with his life. Excisors, they had once been called. Chernicotl had been quite successful at his task, holding the bridge from intruders for the past six hundred years.
The robed man had been named before as well, but he had lost that name hundreds of years ago. Cantimorelius had taken that truth and chewed it into oblivion, just as he had done to dozens of other truths the robed man had offered him after each unfortunate encounter with death. These days his current master had taken to calling him “Little One,” as he was incapable of remembering any name given to him.
Little One held a small stone carving in his hand, along with a stonecutter knife. It was an artifact of his long-lost civilization, and when activated could cut through any stone as if it were butter. The carving was of a small animal with four legs and floppy ears. It seemed to smile through its open snout, trying to tell him its name, but its words were frozen in time. He could not remember its name, or if it had ever had a name, but its visage was clear in his mind. This animal had followed him around on a farm once, a very long time ago.
Little One rubbed the black band on his left finger. It was unnaturally smooth, like stone embedded into his skin. He could no longer remember the circumstances of his first death that had led to the ring dissolving into his skin - another casualty of Cantimorelius’s curse. At least he still had enough context to understand that such an event had once happened to him. The worst things he had forgotten were the ones that he no longer remembered forgetting. Sometimes his mind lost itself these days, like a map with a crucial path missing, and he would find himself stuck in place, unable to function until someone filled in the gaps. Though, even then, he would quickly forget what they had done to help him.
It was really no wonder there were so many Lost Ones. Greys, the people of Havan now called them. They still had not discovered that the Greys were the remnants of the citizens of Danet, their sanity lost to time like an effaced plaque. When they finally discovered the truth, would they continue their exploration deeper into Danet, searching for the forbidden powers that had consumed his people?
He knew that somewhere, deep within the bowels of Danet, the cavern to the Deep Gods still existed. The Last Prince, in his desperation to live forever, had awakened them from their slumber, unknowingly dooming his people to this eternal and slow descent into insanity. Although, he had gotten his wish, so Little One wondered if he actually felt any regret over his decision. He would have to ask the next time he saw him.
It worried him some days that the hordes of Greys were just like him at some point, before Cantimorelius drove them to madness. Though he lived a safer life these days on the other side of the Barrier River, he still awoke some nights in a terrible sweat, imagining the giant Deep God Cantimorelius devouring his brains.
A man in metal armor entered the square from behind Little One. The men that had accompanied him to Riverstop were slow and weak. “Unbonded,” they would have been called in Danet. Redden, or “The Red King'' as he took to calling himself these days, had only managed to bring a few excisors with him to Havan, and could hardly spare them away from Capira these days. That meant Little One was alone on this expedition with that damned Rolakk, Alastair. He gave orders to Little One despite still being unbonded. But Redden trusted him, believing his intelligence to be useful, so Little One tolerated his arrogance. For now.
“Sir, our targets approach from the east, along the river,” the man in the metal plate announced from behind. Little One did not stir.
“From where? I do not recognize that word,” he said tersely. The men were stupid, too, taking ages to get accustomed to his lacking memory.
“Sorry, not the east, I mean from the direction of Havan,” the man quickly corrected himself.
“Very well. Gather the rest of the men. You remember our orders, yes?” Little One said.
“We’re to capture the one with the black band and the Venit boy. Everyone else is expendable,” the armored man said.
Alastair’s instructions echoed in Little One’s mind. In addition to interrogating and eliminating the Venit boy, you are to seek out the scav named Ioren Cedars. He travels with the Venit brat to Riverstop. Keep your wits about you, he is bonded. If we can find the source of his bond, perhaps we can attain new allies in this fight.
“Good. Find your places near the gate,” Little One ordered as the man left the square. Little One pivoted from his seat in the fountain and stumbled backwards, stunned by the incredible sight before him. A massive ball of light hung in the sky above the armored man’s head, illuminating the entire world around him. The light it emitted was hot; Little One felt its warming energy on his bare hands. The armored man walked in the same direction as the hot, bright ball of white light, seemingly oblivious to the immense power threatening him from above. Was he oblivious, or have I forgotten?
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Little One shivered, feeling that a stranger had taken up residence in his head.
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Violet Quindlen was drenched in sweat. Thorne had assured her that it was still morning, and that the dry land of Danet would heat up even more as the day progressed, but she wasn’t sure it was possible. Kneeling over the bank of the Forked River, she splashed another handful of icy water into her hair, darkening the purple sheen to a near-black as it wet. After rubbing her face clean of sweat, she unscrewed her empty canteen and filled it again with the mountain water. It was her second refill already.
After re-capping her canteen, Violet looked up and stared across the river to the sand dunes on the other side. Not having snow and ice was understandable - during some particularly hot summers in her hometown of Haugar they could go days without snow - but here the ground was so hot it had turned to sand!
Violet splashed beneath her arms and rubbed the water into her hide shirt to keep her body cool. She had long since removed the Rolakk-style coat she had bought to conceal her foreign-looking clothes. Now, it hardly mattered if her attire stood out if she died of dehydration.
Violet retrieved a block of salt from her backpack and broke off a small piece into her canteen. It would help the ache in her muscles she had been feeling today. For a moment she felt a pang of guilt as she worried about her own pains while Thorne, the poor wounded man, stood just off to her side, being supported by Petra. Especially since he had been wounded defending her.
“You finished yet?” Petra asked in a clearly annoyed tone. “He smell like he’s rotting,” she added for good measure.
“Just when I thought I had taught you some semblance of tact, you regress back to a child,” Violet sniped at Petra as she walked back to the pair. Thorne seemed to be smiling at the child’s words, though it was obvious he was in pain. The wound had opened again, and despite her cleaning it and replacing the bandages, his face was turning red with fever.
“I’ve got him,” Violet assured Petra as she took Thorne’s arm and placed it around her shoulder. She had to stoop down a bit, as she was easily the tallest one of the entire group. The man was a mess, but Violet knew he could not return to Yasha’s Step, so it was up to her to keep him safe out here.
He had told her about his past already. The home in Temul, the death of his wife, his revenge against her father. A man rarely finds quiet after killing a prominent noble, and in recent days it seemed his chickens had come home to roost. Someone was asking after him in Yasha’s Step, and this job was his way of escaping deeper into Danet. He had never intended on returning from this trip.
He groaned slightly as they continued walking a ways behind the other half of their group. The two experienced members, the strong girl with the fancy sword and the Finder with the haunted eyes, had gone ahead to scout and now waited for them at the gate to town. The others were ahead as well, passing around a pile of abandoned white birch barges. That left Violet, Petra, and Thorne in the rear.
“You can really just leave me,” Thorne assured her for the hundredth time. “There’s nothing left for me in this world. Nobody would even notice if I died.” Violet stared at him with the stern look she had perfected when reprimanding her daughter and he stopped protesting.
She seemed to always become the mother wherever she went. Perhaps it was something in her lineage - a long line of great mothers, finally broken by Violet when she abandoned Lilith with her scoundrel of a husband, Keynes. She told herself it was for Lilith’s own good. Seeing her mother beaten, bruised, and in a constant melancholy was no way to grow up. Keynes was a Rolakk nobleman, and he had money, so he would see to it that his heir grew up respectable. Even if she lacked a mother. Violet could still feel the softness of Lilith’s hair, the same purple hue as Violet’s, as she caressed it in her bed the night she had left.
“Thinking about your daughter again?” Thorne asked with a gruff voice. He was a kind man, despite his murderous past. She inwardly cursed her face, which seemed incapable of masking her emotions.
“If I ever made it back to Haugar, do you think she would want to see me?” Violet asked, surprising herself with her frank question.
“Nobody really forgets anyone they once loved. If you were half the mother to her that you’ve been to me and this urchin girl here during this past morning, I’ve no doubt she will embrace you eagerly,” he answered. The sympathy he extended seemed to sap his strength, as he immediately squeezed at his aching side while he caught his breath.
“Look at me, feeling sorry for myself at a time like this,” she said in a low voice. Petra had turned around just in front of them and began walking backwards as she spoke.
“My mam was shit,” she said bluntly without a hint of sadness. “Your daughter’s lucky to have a good mam, even for a short time.” She turned and continued walking a few steps ahead of them, her hands clasped behind her back. Thorne and Violet looked at each other silently, and Violet mouthed a “wow” to Thorne, who smiled back. It was the most the Finder girl had spoken about herself in the many hours they had been traveling together.
The trio had made it to the abandoned pile of white birch barges. Violet noticed that the rest of the group had formed a circle near the front gate to Riverstop, discussing something.
“Wait,” Thorne said, stopping with Violet. “Walk with me over to the barges.” She abided by his request and aided him over to the pile. “Danetian birch is porous and weak, which is why you can’t build with it,” he explained. Violet had found it odd that Yasha’s Step was surrounded by forest, yet everyone still lived in temporary camps built against crumbling stone buildings, so it was nice to finally have an explanation. In Haugar everyone lived in long, single-floored log cabins. There was plenty of pine lumber to go around, and the single floor helped to trap the heat in.
“But, because of that, it also holds water for hours, even in this oppressive sunlight,” Thorne continued his explanation. He felt around the pile of discarded barges along the edge of the river, while simultaneously using them to support his weight. Occasionally he chipped off bits of dried wood from the barges and pressed his finger into the inner wood. He continued this until he found the one he was searching for.
“This one, beneath these two dry ones. It’s water-logged. They tried to hide it in the pile, but it is definitely from today,” Thorne said warily. He stared up at the town of Riverstop with a stone face, his dark eyes harder than Violet had ever seen. “Someone is waiting for us within.”