Sheeva jumped as she stirred, feeling the fuzzy crawl of something across her skin. She swatted at the perpetrator and looked; a hairy, giant spider had decided to make its way across the warm flesh of her face. Unnerved, she stood out of the crevice of the tree and brushed the rest of herself off. Tazaro was asleep a little way away, and the sky began to lighten as dawn broke through the trees.
Her back ached from stiffness, and as she stretched, she winced as she felt a knot pinch along her spine. She reached for her backpack and took out a small pouch of water and a bag of medicine. She took out three small cubes and popped them in her mouth, chewing them up and then swallowing them down with the water.
She headed for Tazaro and shook him awake, and he jumped slightly.
After standing and stretching out the stiffness in his muscles, Tazaro blinked at the small, red pellet, slowly recognizing it as the same energy pellet as the night before.
“What’s in this, anyway?” He asked. “Is it illegal drugs?” He added as a small joke, but when her face soured, he regretted saying anything at all.
“Sorry,” He quickly offered.
“Crushed bread, mixed nuts, dried peas and beans, sugar, a small amount of coffee, and honey.” She answered before drinking deeply from her water pouch.
“Hm.” He pressed his lips together to prevent himself from saying anything offensive. He braced himself for the worst since he hated peas and put the entire thing in his mouth. He chewed it fast, then slow, surprised. He only tasted the sweetness of sugar and nuts. He chewed it thoroughly before swallowing the strange mixture. Even the texture was palatable, if a bit pasty like peanut butter. He swallowed it down with a few healthy gulps of the water she handed him.
“Huh. It tastes good. Did you make this?” He asked. She nodded. She grabbed her water pouch and chugged again, then laid back her head to rest some more. Her body still felt heavy, and she doubted her ability to walk it off, much as she wanted to.
Still, she crawled to her feet, set her hand on his head, focused, and determined their direction again. Curious, she plucked a piece of chestnut hair out of his head and tested out whether or not she could simply use that, relieved to find that it worked.
“So that I do not have to keep invading your personal space, I am going to take a lock of your hair.” She announced. He stood at her behest, holding still as she took a knife and cut off a lock of hair, then tied it together with the spare piece of twine she’d apparently still held onto from the gift he had given to her a couple of weeks before. She stuck it in her pocket, heading off deeper into the forest.
What felt like a few hours passed as they continued on their path. Tazaro curiously looked around at the view, wanting to memorize the way in case they needed to backtrack. The canopy of the trees was almost too thick for him to see the sky, the tree branches reaching as far as they could. If it were nighttime and foggy, they would have been something incredibly creepy.
Birds called for each other, and chipmunks skittered across the ground, chasing their mates or foraging for food. Tazaro was sure he’d seen a stag or two in the distance, and when they paused to watch a family of quail pass the road, he watched in awe.
His nerves grew as he wondered how his mother was doing, and it made his stomach taut and mouth sour. Hopefully, she was giving them hell and had maybe given someone a bite on their hand or a good bruise from a randomly aimed kick. He looked up in surprise when they stopped in a clearing, and he took a moment to look around. It seemed like a makeshift crossroads.
He watched Sheeva retrieve the lock of hair from her pocket to focus, and let her work her magic while he continued to take a look around. A large circle of twelve stone slabs, donned with tapestries containing the sigils of the gods, encompassed the clearing, and what seemed to be an altar made of rock stood in the middle of it. The tapestries fluttered in the wind, and Tazaro felt a chill run up his back, feeling they’d gone somewhere they shouldn’t have.
To his right, and what he assumed was north thanks to the status of the god on the stone, stood Hyles, king of the twelve gods, depicted by a regal, emerald tapestry and a gold crown, with gold trimmings and embroidery of his name. Typically, he was patron to royalty, though Tazaro somehow always felt that the people in charge were only on their pedestal because some ridiculously charismatic bastard had duped others into thinking they were “Hyles incarnate” hundreds of years ago, and no one dared to question the system.
When he didn’t see her beside Hyles, Tazaro looked for Hyperia and found her across from the god-king. Abnormality aside, here stood the goddess of fertility and life, though ironically a patron to hunters. Hyperia and Hyles were the first gods to give birth to any Sferrans, specifically, Vivroans, that populated the continent. Embroidered into a matching emerald tapestry, Hyperia’s sigil was a majestic bow, rumored to be crafted from beechwood with a fine thread that she’d crafted from her own fair locks and weaved herself as the drawstring. An arrow of holly was knocked on the line, signifying her unyielding loyalty to her husband as she swore to protect him even from the other gods, should they arise in revolt as Abraxas had.
Tazaro turned around to look for Abraxas’s slab if it was even present, but his place wasn’t on the left of Hyles. He stopped as he saw a shattered, toppled stone to the east with a faded, once-crimson mudded tapestry that had housed respect for the trickster god. He supposed the craftsman had set Abraxas toward the east thanks to the pranks and outright criminal wiles he’d committed overnight as dusk fell over Sferra.
Regardless of the reason for the traditional break-away, according to the myth, three brothers, Hyles the God-King, Abraxas the Ravager, and Vokken the Wise, were born to the cosmos.
Abraxas was originally destined to be the first-born of the twins, but was cheated by Hyles in the womb, and ended up being born second, so instead of being crowned as king and tasked with instilling organization to the mess of the cosmos, Abraxas was forced to take up the torch in dealing with the fallout of chaos–a balanced system of order and entropy, of checks and balances, of life and death, and so on. Beccause of this and his brother’s deceit, Abraxas became inconsolably bitter, though begrudgingly carried out his job.
Once enough order and chaos had been balanced and the sun, stars, and planets were formed, the cosmos then gave birth to triplet sisters: Giovina the synergist, goddess of the waters; Hyperia, the sentinel, and goddess of the hunt; and Tovah, the saboteur, goddess of the winds.
Both Hyles and Abraxas wished to woo the beautiful Hyperia, and when the two brother’s frustrations threatened to destroy the foundations of what they had all built, Vokken suggested that each god be granted nine days to convince Hyperia to marry them–a week on Sferra, a planet designated to foster life. Deterred by Abraxas’s spite and and anger towards Hyles, Hyperia chose to marry Hyles. Within five weeks (one month in the Sferran Calendar Year), they were expecting, and after twelve months, they gave birth to the first of the five races of Sferra: Vivroans.
Although Hyles had called Abraxas to be their godfather, the fact that it seemed out of pity fueled a fire in Abraxas’s heart. Jealous, blind to Tovah’s confession of love, and driven to uncontested hate, Abraxas visited the land to unleash the chaos he’d been in charge of controlling.
Angered that their peaceful creations were sullied and heartbroken by the hardships their children now faced, Hyles and Hyperia denounced Abraxas as godfather and banned him from the court.
As scorching fires, splitting earthquakes, and raging tornados destroyed the singular mass of land and eventually broke the continent into five, several Vivroans stood out to the gods with their accomplishments in struggle as the remaining gods watched in interest: Alkurik, Zira, Lucassen, Fidelia, Valrigard, and Alena. Impressed, the six were plucked from the world and set among the cosmos as champions for the remaining five; Giovina was granted a selection of two, since it was her control of the oceans, lakes, and rains that eventually calmed the raging fires and eruptions of volcanoes that terrorized the lands.
Alkurik, champion of Hyperia, was given the title “God of the Harvest.” He was a man who’d harnessed the earth to grow, mix, and select crops resistant to disease, pests, and drought in order to feed the hungry.
Zira, champion of Giovina, was given the title “Goddess of the Home and of Family.” She was a woman who worked to rally communities together and lead them into more positive circumstances, uniting and convincing people to turn over a new leaf to improve their quality of life.
Lucassen, champion of Tova, was given the title “God of Entertainment.” He was a blind minstrel who roamed Vivroa and preached and sang the tales of the gods to those who would listen, and distracted the people from misery as he regaled them with jaunty tunes from a lute. His songs and melodies filled her with hope and reinforced the unrequited love she held for Abraxas.
Fidelia, champion of Vokken, was given the title “Goddess of Justice.” Though she was an acolyte of Vokken, her breakaway and desire to help settle matters of dispute were commended. Honest, fair, and just, her ultimate decisions were generally met with overall agreement by the people, and communities held her in high regard.
Valrigard, champion of Hyles, himself, was given the title “God of strength,” though it was later changed to the “God of War” following the uprising and squish of Abraxas and his army of Ta’hal.
And finally, Alena, the second champion of Giovina, was given the title “Goddess of Healing.” She was a woman who roamed Vivroa in search of healing methods and remedies, which she would, in turn, use on those who were afflicted or injured.
As the new gods and goddesses mingled and settled with partners, the remaining four races of Sferra were born.
Valrigard, with his red eyes, and Alena, with her dark hair, placed their children on the south-eastern desert island, Cruinia, with the expectation that the harsh, desert land would make them tough, but compassionate to others.
Vokken, with his black hair, and Giovina, with her blue eyes, placed their children on the north-eastern rainforests of Tarrakk, where pools of knowledge and a vast range of wildlife would keep their children well occupied with things to learn about and see. Of course, the island had been a complete, singular mass before the distortion of the war between Cruinia and Tarrakk left the island in parts, with some chunks of land floating in the air.
Lucassen, with his cloudy, lavender eyes, and Fidelia, with her tan skin, placed their children on the north-western island, Pacem, with the expectation that the tall mountain would remind them to remain humble, kind, and level-headed in times of adversity.
Finally, Alkurik and Zira, both with green eyes, placed their children on the rich, fertile lands of Pyurita, soil enriched by the ashes from the volcano that now lay dormant. They had mastered the art of crop rotation, as well as hybridizing a variety of multi-seasonal crops, so that their people could be fed continually throughout the year.
Excommunicated from the court of the gods, Abraxas roamed the lands of Sferra. When he happened upon a pair of brothers–princes, and as the younger of the two wished for unbeatable power and undeniable access to the throne, Abraxas found himself sympathetic to the man’s wishes, made a deal, and thus, the first Ta’hal was born–a creature of insurmountable power that served Abraxas not in life, but in death.
From then on, the mad-god slowly amassed an army of Ta’hal made from the five races in an attempt to overthrow and force Hyles from the court and demand Hyperia as his own. The attempt was mercilessly squashed, and Abraxas was instead banned and forced to wander the universe in loneliness and exile.
Or so the legend goes, Tazaro reminded himself.
Curious to know who’d claimed the west-facing slab, Tazaro had to admit that he was surprised to find, amid a matching crimson background, the thunderbolt sigil for Tovah and not Valrigard. But, as he thought about it with his chin in his hand and fingers drumming against his cheek, he supposed it made sense; Tovah’s unrequited love for the once-witty Abraxas surely still counted as a “love.” Being the goddess of the winds, when windstorms would rage across the land, and the skies would pour buckets of rain, it was said that she was mourning her loss in a hysteric rage.
Discarding the typical lineup, Tazaro looked to Hyperia to see who the architect had chosen as her right-hand. Here stood Alena, Hyperia’s right-hand assistant and maid, who became a healer to Valrigard’s armies out of a reluctant necessity, though fought to uphold her core beliefs through the horrid war. She healed friend and foe with an open mind, even going as far as to voice her understanding of Abraxas’s plight in the hopes that he might feel heard and give up his losing battle. As such, she was patron to clinics, hospitals, and even the apothecaries. Her sigil was an infinite spiral of stars.
As he followed the intended pattern, across from Alena stood her husband. The great Valrigard, commander of Hyles’s armies, took Hyperia’s usual spot to Hyles’s right, depicted by his broadsword, made of unbreakable metal and with an edge so sharp, they told stories of the giant barbarian cleaving groups of enemy Ta’hal in two with one swing. It was said that the monstrous behemoths were bred by Hyperia in agreement that they needed something “bigger and more dangerous to hunt.” Due to cockiness and inflated ego, their foe proved too great and escaped into the world to wreak havoc on Sferra. As Alena tended to Valrigard’s wounds, he learned his lesson in humility.
Lucassen’s slab was sandwiched between Tovah and Valrigard, and Tazaro assumed the entertainer’s wife stood across from him. While they had not done much before the war, they had worked to help restore efforts afterward, channeling souls back into the world. Lucassen’s sigil was a white lute against a slate-colored fabric, and he had even gained a tree named after himself that Tazaro rarely got to work with, Lucassen Birch, whose heartwoods were often used to craft instruments. With his wife Fidelia, they would spectate as Sferrans lived their lives, and Tazaro wondered how many times they’d probably laughed at his.
Fidelia’s sigil was a pair of scales. Fitting, considering that, upon death, a spirit was said to be weighed against an icon summing up whatever greatness they had achieved in life. A pen for an accomplished writer. A sword or shield for a mighty warrior. Tazaro felt a chill sweep over him as he briefly wondered what he would be weighed for. He sighed, supposing that, whatever the decision, it was just and true. Fidelia’s caricature was often seen hanging around those in positions of law and order.
To Hyles’s left, the twisted maroon yoke for the god of harvest and the earth, Alkurik, stood, suggesting that, despite their hardships, maybe Hyles wouldn’t abandon Sferrans to simply die of starvation. He had to admit, he was surprised that Alkurik’s sigil wasn’t the rich, red, nutritional Abelas Root, but when he considered that the banner hanging here was pretty red itself, perhaps it was a subtle nod to the god’s favorite snack. He was the patron for farmers and herders, who tended to be incredibly, stubbornly devout.
Because, surely, without Alkurik’s blessing, the crops would fail. Tazaro thought sarcastically. Of course, this was all based on the silliness of the ancient times, he reminded himself.
Across from the farmer was the farmer’s wife, Zira, goddess of home, love, and family. Her trilithon, with one post a maroon and the other green, with the lintel across the top an interwoven mesh of the two colors, signified the trust and supports needed to raise any situation towards success. She was said to assist the goddesses in the birth of their children and helped Alkurik in his work by tending to his flocks of animals. Of course, this made her the patron of midwives, marriage temples, and even orphanages. It was, supposedly, why doorframes mimicked the trilithon: to remind everyone inside that the space they occupied was home, even if a home away from home.
To Alkurik’s left stood Vokken, and Tazaro felt a flash of gratitude that this partnership had carried through, considering Vokken was the god of wisdom and wine.
Who better to have as your buddy than the one who could supply you with the materials to get wasted?
His sigil was a bright, silver goblet and a thick, parchment scroll on a lush, purple background. Libraries across Vivroa were adorned with the criss-cross of scrolls, though everybody knew that, if they could have gotten away with it, they’d probably have a big wine-goblet instead. Most sages catered to Vokken, though some dabbled in prayers to Alena and Fidelia, and Tazaro figured this to be a form of enlightenment, if not a peacock’s flaunting of: “oh, how wise and pious we are!”
Finally, Giovina, wife to Vokken and sister to Tovah, whose sigil was a pair of koi swimming playfully at each other’s tails, resembling the teeming masses of fish available in fresh and saltwater bodies. Giovina was said to catch her sister’s tears as they wet the land, collecting the billions of drops and placing them in the world’s lakes, rivers, and oceans. He didn’t know if the oceans stretched beyond the thick, dense fog surrounding Vivroa and the four islands, but he assumed that Giovina dumped the excess tears there, too. Naturally, sailors and fishermen would pray to her for a bountiful catch and implored her to assuage her sister’s outbursts for safe travels.
He had to admit, he was interested in the new take on the alignment of the gods by whom they loved, unrequited or not, and wondered if the craftsman was trying to make some sort of point.
An eerie feeling welled in his gut as he thought that, maybe, they’d interrupted someone’s final resting place, and he turned sharply to look at the shattered construct in the middle of the circle. Instant relief swooped, and he sighed. It wasn’t a stone casket.
Instead, it was definitely a stone altar, cracked and caved in at the middle.
Tazaro secretly hoped they hadn’t stumbled upon someone’s sacrificial altar, and as he stepped forward to get a better look, he heard a twig snap and jerked his head towards the sound, watching the underbrush carefully. He told himself it was an animal of some kind to downplay the adrenaline that pricked down his spine and into his feet.
When nothing bounded off, he feared it was not an animal and looked at Sheeva. She was putting the lock of hair in her pocket and checking the time. With her being so nonchalant, he doubted she heard anything at all. Maybe when she focused like this, she was vulnerable and needed to be in a safe place. Taking a deep breath, he stepped in between Sheeva and the direction the noise had come from and turned to face her.
Stolen story; please report.
“Sheeva, I think there’s someone out there. Hiding somewhere behind me. Behind the slab with the crown banner.” He warned, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible, unsure whether she knew or cared about the twelve gods. Probably, she cared less than he did. She gave a curt nod and grabbed the handle of Abraxas, peering around his torso.
Four knives shot out from behind a nearby tree, headed for them. Sheeva pushed Tazaro aside and knocked two of the blades out of the way with Abraxas. The two she blocked fell to the ground, the third narrowly missed her head, and the fourth drove itself into her shoulder. She yanked the knife out and cast a minor healing spell on the wound.
“Find someplace to hide. Stay down!” Sheeva commanded. Tazaro crawled out of the way towards the broken slab for Abraxas, looking around for something he could defend himself with if need be. Spotting a decent branch, he grabbed for it and held it, ready to swing it like a hefty bat.
Someone darted out from behind the slab for Tovah at Sheeva's left, trying to hit her in the head. She grabbed his foot as he passed and threw him across the way. The person collided headfirst into the slab for Hyperia and fell to the ground. He held his head in dizzy pain.
Tazaro watched in horror as the man’s face seemed to shift, stretching and pulling in some areas or shrinking in others. Big bushy eyebrows replaced thin ones, and a receding hairline reflected the light as the man’s dark brown hair fell out. His nose stretched out, and so did his chin, and his thinned lips curled at them in a yellowed, rotten, long-toothed grin. His green eyes faded to a piercing yellow. They were more unnerving to look at than the man’s teeth.
"Llyud? How-how did you--Sheeva began, interrupted by his spiteful cackle.
--Yup, Llyud! The one and only! Though it’s no fun if I have to tell you.” He countered, barking with taunting, high-pitched laughter. She grabbed his collar and pulled him to his knees, reared back her fist, and punched him. Dark, fresh blood flowed from his long nose as she broke it, and he cried out from the pain.
“What did you do to Mildred? How did you disguise yourself as Cecilia?” She barked, punching him in the jaw, earning another pained groan. His head lolled against the tree, and he laughed at her, licking up the blood that flowed past his lips.
“Oo, you think I disguised myself, huh? Tee-hee!” He grinned. “How dirty!”
She shook him and slammed his back against the tree.
“Answer me!” She insisted.
“Vilg oui!” He said, spitting blood at her face. She wiped it off on the back of her hand and punched him again, this time on his eye, shattering the bone. Tazaro wondered if she could hit hard enough to squish the man’s eyeball and cursed his imagination as he felt his stomach wrench.
“Fine, what about Mildred? Where is she? What did you do with her?” She repeated, grabbing her knife and holding it against his throat, digging it into his neck to draw blood.
“Oh, come now! You don’t wanna do that.” He explained. She growled and stabbed the knife in the man’s shoulder. He cried out and called her the equivalence of a whore, but Tazaro knew better than to intervene on Sheeva’s behalf. Considering the knife in her hand, she’d probably stab him.
“And why the fuck-” She twisted the blade. “-Not?”
He only laughed at her, a high, crazy, deep-chested bellow of a cackle.
Neither Sheeva nor Tazaro noticed he had grown a tail that was seeming to vine its way around Sheeva’s ankle; Tazaro was too focused on the horrifying facial reconstruction Sheeva was giving him, and Sheeva determined to get information.
“I did nothing!” He stated, sickeningly sweet and innocently, with a wide, lying grin on his face. “She pleaded with me not to kill you two. Out of the kindness of my heart, I agreed to the deal.”
“Why bring Mildred into this?” Sheeva demanded.
“To piss you off, why else? Besides, you almost got me got me in Anidelle,” He answered, referring to their last fight, where they’d beaten the snot out of each other. He had only managed to escape after paralyzing her with an electric shock when the town guards happened upon their bellows of fury in the forest, and intervened. She’d been forced to watch as he fled.
Sheeva raised her fist to punch him once more, but he broke out of her hold, tightened the tail around her ankle, and tore her feet out from underneath her. She fell backward and hit hard, gasping for air as the impact knocked the wind out of her. Llyud rushed Tazaro and grabbed him by the collar. He slammed Tazaro’s back against the slab for Hyperia, causing Tazaro to wince from the collision of his head with the stone.
In fury and desperation, Tazaro delivered a kick into the man’s chest, but as the bastard merely grunted at the contact buffered by a thick piece of leather armor, Tazaro realized it didn’t do a thing. With the mutter of a spell and quick sign of a sigil, Llyud shocked Tazaro, further aiding his pain as Tazaro shuddered and convulsed, feeling the needle-pricks in his fingers and toes and the hair on his head stand up.
Tazaro gaped for air like a fish while his lungs failed, aware of the malfunction of his chest and diaphragm as they spasmed from the disrupting current. The first breath of air he managed felt like life itself and helped reign in his panicking mind.
“Fascinating thing about loopholes; they’re so much fun to exploit. I may not be able to kill you, but it doesn’t mean you can’t kill each other!” He barked, laughing madly as he grabbed a scalenohedral black crystal; long, sharp, and pointed on both ends, and drove it into Tazaro’s chest.
Tazaro’s cry was a short, sudden gasp as the wind was knocked out of him once more and pain strangled his brain. He was barely aware of the pressure of something foreign in his gut, too terrified of the silky threads of indigo that began to spread over his skin. Those horrifying serpents that covered his hand and the sound of his horrified shriek in his ears as the pressure of the crystal shifted against the lobe of his lungs were the last thing Tazaro registered before his world went dark.
Llyud dropped Tazaro and turned to Sheeva, flicked his hand, and fixed his face instantly. Sheeva ignored Tazaro and rushed Llyud, slashing at him recklessly. Llyud dodged the attacks, and as a darkened shine of energy amassed in the center of his chest, Sheeva dodged as he unleashed the terrifying beam.
The beam shot out and carried with Llyud’s turn as he tried to capture Sheeva in it, but as the beam faltered, Sheeva took her chance. With a reach in, grasp around something squishy, and a fierce jerk as she snatched her hand back, she watched in horror as Llyud’s body began to collapse into a pile of dirt, twigs, and leaves.
“Wh-what? I-I could have sworn–
She looked at the heart in her fist, finding herself clasping a clump of dirt, instead.
She opened her hand in surprise, and the dirt fell through her fingers. She rolled a chunk of root between her forefinger and her thumb as she tried to grasp the idea.
“It was…a dummy?”
She looked up and around at the forest, finding that, wherever the beam had shot through, a leveled area now rested, stretching for at least a mile. It had even pierced through the stone slabs, which now lay in shambles.
“That beam did all tha–
She grunted out a surprised “oof!” as Tazaro tackled her to the ground, a knife held above his head.
“Tazaro, what are you doing?” She asked, trying to struggle her way free.
The whites of Tazaro’s eyes were red, and he seemed almost feral, like he’d been stricken with rabies and left untreated. Sigils burned into his skin, emitting strands of shadow. Sheeva tried to push him off of her. She caught his wrist in her hand as he brought the blade down.
“Tazaro, don't!” She pleaded, though he still didn’t seem aware that she was even talking to him.
In desperation, she reached for his throat. Perhaps she could choke him to unconsciousness before he stabbed her. Terror gripped her as her fingers barely brushed his Adam's apple. She redirected the blade, and he thrust it into the dirt by her head instead, sending a pit of fear into her gut as she screamed.
“Tazaro, stop!” She commanded as she hit his forearm with her fist, trying to break his grasp. When that failed, she looked around for something to grab hold of and hit him with. A branch came into her view, and she reached for it, took hold, and swung it at his head.
The branch gave a dull, wooden thunk that reverberated into her hand and elbow as the improvised weapon met his head and sent him off to the side. Wanting to get her distance as quickly as possible, Sheeva rolled over and scurried away to safety, stopping beneath a slab. She stared at his body across the way as she heaved for air, hoping she hadn’t accidentally killed him as the worry strangled her chest. Tazaro lay there, appearing to be knocked out, chest rising and falling with his breaths.
A large blood stain on his chest snared her attention, and, worried, she crawled to him as quickly as she could. She flipped him on his backside and pulled aside his shirt to examine the damage. A gash as wide as her hand rested on his left side. Immediately, she traced the sigil of the leaf of an herbal plant, rested her hand on the wound, and with a bright, flash of green light, attempted to heal it as well as she could.
The attempt left her dizzy, and she slumped to the ground, swimming with vertigo. Trying to focus on how much of the wound remained between eyelids she had to peel open, it took her a moment to see the extent of her spell. Though it was now pink and quickly on the way to forming a scar, the wound had healed enough that it wasn’t bleeding any longer.
She closed her eyes and sat there as she swam in dizziness, weighing her options. Leave the man unconscious and defenseless? Forfeit chasing Llyud?
Blinded by bitterness, she made her decision. Even though he had crafted a dummy, she now had a means to track him, and she refused to let Llyud get away from her again, especially after pulling innocent bystanders into their life-long feud. Immobilizing the bigger threat seemed far more serious.
She struggled to get to her feet, barely able to crawl on her belly.
This would not do.
“Vilg!” She swore as her elbows buckled when she tried to push herself up. After taking a few deep breaths, she tried again, managing to barely get to her feet before she stumbled forward and fell on her face as she clambered back to the muddy ground.
She held her forehead in pain and cried out an infuriated “fuck!” of seething anger.
Aware that her tantrum could potentially draw a predatory animal, Sheeva balled her hands into fists to vent her fury and breathed through gritted teeth as she rested on her hands and knees. After a while, she calmed, feeling the cool of the first floor on her forehead and inhaling the scent of pine needles and dirt.
As her senses returned to her, she looked over at Tazaro again, who was still knocked out. She chided herself for her immorality. Had she seriously considered leaving him behind in the forest, and with who knew what possessing him? Life was life, regardless of how much she wanted her revenge.
She grabbed her bag and dragged it with her as she crawled to him, and checked his head to fully assess the damage the branch had done. There was a swollen lump, but as she formed some seals and rested her hand on the spot, she saw no further damage. Rummaging around for her ball of twine, she retrieved it and forced Tazaro onto his stomach, then tied his hands behind his back and his feet together. She hoped it would hold against whatever thing had been controlling him.
Sheeva looked to the sky, searching for the sun. As it crept closer to the western horizon, she realized it was past mid-day. She checked her watch. It was only about one in the afternoon. Considering Llyud had taken Mildred yesterday, Sheeva hoped she was still alive and strictly being used for bait. Still, as the information that Mildred made a deal with Llyud fluttered in, she found herself fearful. Perhaps, Llyud had been a Ta’hal the entire time.
As her adrenaline wore off and she began to settle, her shoulder pinched at her, and she looked at it. It was still bleeding, forgotten about in their struggle. She placed her hand on it and attempted to heal it. A weak light glimmered, and her hand dropped, arm disabled. Her head hung in dismay, and as she felt dizzy again, she shuffled back slowly to lean against the slab and closed her eyes as the forest around her spun.
Forcing herself to think, her brain seemed to latch onto the first thing it could. Llyud was certainly not Sferran, and she hoped that meant that she’d still be able to kill him. Sheeva herself was half-Sferran, and through training, was able to withstand most damage thrown her way, but she did not think she was invincible. It would be too conceited of her to think so.
Leering in the direction that Llyud had walked away to, Sheeva found herself in a spot of remorse, wishing that their circumstances had been much different. That neither Tazaro, Mildred, or the children she cared for had witnessed any of the events they had, nor been put in harm's way of any of the dangers they now faced. She found that, despite her bitterness, a kindling of hope lingered that they would somehow forgive her.
Her lips hardened in the frown on her face as Sheeva realized she might not find the same level of peace among people in the next town she would need to travel to, assuming she failed in her task with this twisted opportunity. She certainly wouldn’t find another person in the outside world that would accept her abnormal Sferran state with such interest and awe as Tazaro had.
She peeked at the man across the way in contemplation of the level of comfort she found in solitary conversations with him, and her reluctance to part ways surged. With a sad sigh, she crossed her arms over her chest, yearning to know how much more comfortable they might have become. Perhaps, she might have become comfortable enough to ask him to give her her first kiss, as another...secret they might have learned to share.
She scoffed again and pressed the back of her cool hand against her warm cheeks, mildly furious with herself.
“You’re an idiot, Sheeva.” She grumbled to herself, sulking. “You even ruined that, too.”
With another heavy, sad sigh, she let her head fall forward to rest it on her knees, tire making her eyelids heavy.
Five minutes of rest. Just five minutes, and then I’ll–
She opened her eyes and jerked her head up in worry as she heard Tazaro, or maybe even the thing controlling Tazaro, come to. It struggled against its bindings, then hissed at her, saying something in its language.
“I do not understand you.” She told it. It stopped, struggled at the bindings once more, and growled.
Worried that this just might be how it all ended, Sheeva glanced up at the slate-grey banner of the slab she rested beneath. The scales embroidered in the banner waved at her, and, while she had never prayed to any of Vivroa’s gods before, perhaps now, some miracle of magic might happen so that the two of them could survive this ill-fated encounter.
While Tazaro never deserved to be roped into such miserable circumstances, Sheeva couldn't say the same for herself, and her chest ached as she pleaded for him to at least make it out of the situation alive and unharmed.
As the banner continued to ripple in a stronger gust of wind, she fought a scoff at herself and scowled.
Honestly, what had she been thinking to offer a desperate prayer to some character in stories for children?
As the being across from her struggled to stand and fell thanks to Sheeva’s restraints, she realized she would have to take matters of survival into her own hands. Subtly, Sheeva reached for her sword. If it managed to break the bindings, she had to be prepared to kill Tazaro if need be. She tried not to think about how unfair it seemed as her heart ached for her sudden, dramatic loss.
“Release me, Sheeva Jules.” It commanded.
Sheeva blinked and narrowed her eyes at the thing, hoping it didn’t notice the glint of fear in her eyes.
“How do you know my name?” She questioned, raising Abraxas.
The creature sneered at her from across the way.
“I control this Sferran now. I have access to his memories.” It answered. Sheeva racked her brain, wondering if there was a spell she could use to free Tazaro from the spirit–if that was what it even was in the first place.
“What…are you?” She pressed, trying to keep Abraxas raised. It fell as her arm gave out. She made a face of despair, trying not to show she was afraid.
“Don’t you know? I’m a ta’hal. What, the foreign language wasn't enough for you?” It taunted. It laughed and snapped the bindings with ease, stood, and hunched over as it forced a pair of feathered wings out of Tazaro’s back, nails growing dense and elongating into claws. As it saw the fierce look replace the brief show of terror on Sheeva’s face, it began to laugh even more. She would go down fighting.
“I assume you still want to kill me? What will become of Tazaro?” Sheeva asked, raising Abraxas once more, bracing the hilt against her hip and resting the blade along her leg, treating her sword like a pike. The being across from her stopped, crossed its arms, and held a finger to its chin in mock thought, but as a minute passed, its stance changed as it seriously pondered something.
“You know, since you knocked me out, I’m honestly kind of impressed.” It answered. She scoffed, brushing off what she felt was a false compliment. “As for the boy, he is simply a conduit. A poor sucker caught in the middle.”
Sheeva silenced, thinking. She opened her mouth, then closed it, wondering if she should trust the ta’hal. It had not killed her yet and had only given her an ambiguous answer. If its focus was purely on her, perhaps she could barter to get Tazaro out of this mess. He was stuck in it because of his mother and because of herself. It was not right.
“He is a bystander. If you need a conduit, let me be it. I only ask that you allow me my revenge.” She offered. It looked at her, arching an eyebrow.
“Is that so, half-breed? Why would I care about a petty thing like revenge?” It asked, sneering at her. Mockery of her goal aside, Sheeva’s eyes widened as she wondered how he seemed to know about her circumstances of birth. Could he sense it on her somehow as Mildred could?
As she remembered it saying it had access to Tazaro’s memories, she cursed herself for opening up as she had; mind-reading was a new degree of terrifying vulnerability.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared herself. Maybe the thing could sympathize.
“You say you can access memories. Search mine.” She answered, snapping them open and staring the ta’hal down. It squinted its eyes at her in question, then held out its hand. A light formed on its palm, and Sheeva stared into it, mind going blank.
Sometime later, she blinked and looked around. It was still standing there, palm outstretched. She noted the sky had darkened and wondered how much time had passed. When she checked her watch, she learned almost three hours had passed. It made her stomach churn as she realized she had just lost a chunk of time and was unaware of it.
“Well?” She huffed, putting on an impatient act to mask her nerves. It held an amused glint in its eye as it smiled back with Tazaro’s face, unnerving her even more.
“I think you’ll be a source of great entertainment, Sheeva Jules. I’ll let the boy go and allow you your pitiful revenge. When you’ve got that, you’ll reap some tasty souls for me. I point, you kill. Deal?” It asked, holding out its hand for a shake.
She stared, mildly baffled, as she had expected it to cackle “no,” slaughter her, and leave her body to rot in the forest.
“Do you have a name, ta’hal?” She asked. It hummed at her, seeming pleased that she wanted to know a name.
“It’s Bartholomew.”
Sheeva gave a brief pause. Could she really consider becoming an assassin for such a creature, all for something that, apparently, was petty? Worse, could she allow the innocent people that had already been dragged into her mess to be even further disturbed and destroyed?
She scoffed, disgusted with a simple “yes” to the first question and a strongly determined “no” for the second.
“Very well, Bartholomew. I accept the terms.” She agreed, struggling to her knees, clasping its hand to shake. She groaned and doubled over as her stomach wrenched. Her breath caught, and her heart seemed to stop momentarily as an electric shock coursed through her and hurt her toes. Tazaro’s warm hand released her now clammy one, and as Sheeva caught her breath, stuck on her hands and knees, she felt a searing pain in the palm of her hand.
She looked at her throbbing palm. An unfamiliar sigil burned its way into her skin, sizzling as the red-hot spots died out and scarred over as her body’s healing factor began to do its work. She looked up at Bartholomew, who snarled and set its palm on her forehead.
Feeling as though a spear had impaled her skull, she fell to her side, unable to move or hardly breathe from intense pain. Her fingers twitched as she felt drool dribbling out of the corner of her mouth, and she barely registered Tazaro’s body fall to its knees and onto its side before her sight faded to black.