The days passed, and Castile quickly faded into a distant memory, along with any semblance of a language Julien could understand. Up until that point, the cities and villages they passed had names that were close enough to his own language - places like Burgos and villages like Santa Maria felt quite familiar, almost like a different accent. But as soon as they crossed into Navarre, the names grew stranger, and Julien found himself struggling to even pronounce them.
“So, now we’re in Gis… Gip…” Julien attempted, failing miserably to wrap his tongue around the name of the county they now traversed.
“Gipuzkoa,” Tariq corrected effortlessly from atop his horse, “and if the snowfall gets any worse, it might take longer than I expected to reach Zugarramurdi.” His pronunciation was once again so smooth it almost felt like he was mocking Julien’s attempts.
Though the snow still lay in a thin layer, making the area rather easily passable for now, the looming winter promised to turn this land into a cold, white nightmare; beautiful to the eyes, certainly, but nearly impossible to cross. The sparse houses they passed already had snow delicately blanketing their roofs, the fields lay untouched for some time, and livestock huddled in their sheds. Not a single soul walked the roads since they left the relatively large city of Gasteiz, where they had stocked up on better clothes for the weather and enough food for the final leg of their journey.
“At least the lakes and rivers aren’t frozen yet,” Urraca remarked, her breath steaming in the cold air, “we’ll need to bathe soon.”
With traders becoming rarer with each step they took, and mistrust gnawing at both Tariq and Julien, Urraca’s return to León became an increasingly evasive goal. Instead, her continued presence with the Enochians had become their new, unspoken objective. Still not a word about Urraca’s corruption… Julien thought to himself, casting discreet glances at an increasingly irritable and distracted Tariq.
And yes, they did need to bathe: Ever since they entered Navarre, Tariq had been focused on getting through the region as quickly as possible, causing them to miss several opportunities to properly clean themselves. While going unbathed for a couple of weeks wasn’t too daunting for Urraca or the Enochians, it posed a different problem with Robert - though his rotting flesh had improved, the decay still lingered, and the smell of putrid skin was definitely beginning to offend everyone’s nostrils.
In a fortunate twist of fate, the sun began to shine a little brighter just before sunset. They came upon a grassy patch of land by the riverbank, where the melted snow revealed the perfect spot to set up camp - too perfect to pass up. No one wanted to miss the opportunity, and they unanimously decided to settle down for the moment. By now, the cohesiveness of their small group was such that they barely needed words to understand each other’s intentions.
…
As had become routine, one person would bathe while the other two stood guard by the camp, keeping a watchful eye on the bather and the surroundings to allow them a modicum of peace during their brief moment of cleanliness; Urraca always went first, followed by Tariq, and lastly Julien, who took longer since he had two bodies to wash. While the sun still shone warmly, Urraca bathed peacefully in the cold river.
She is truly easy on the eyes, Julien mused as he stood guard, his gaze lingering on her. But without her cape and fibulae…
Her aura, though not yet fully tainted, was undoubtedly worsening with each passing day. It had reached the point where Julien began to wonder if Emerita, his loyal horse, might also be starting to show signs of corruption - a quick glance, however, confirmed she remained untainted.
Turning his attention away from Urraca, Julien took in the river, which was neither wide nor swift, its calm waters surrounded by a stunning landscape untouched by human hands. There was no sign of any iric energy, and even the distant, malevolent eyes he had grown used to sensing seemed almost ominously absent; it was as if this place was completely pure, untouched by any malignant force. I couldn’t imagine a place like this harboring even a single drop of iric energy… He thought. But then, as his eyes drifted back to Urraca’s unclothed form, he was reminded of the nature of iric energy. She might be corrupting this region right now…
After Urraca, Tariq took longer than usual to bathe. His behavior had shifted from serious to laconic, and from laconic to silent the deeper they ventured into Navarre. The approachable energy he once exuded had been replaced by a distinct coldness, and their casual conversations had dwindled, becoming rarer and more direct. Arnau’s beckoning certainly changed Tariq, Julien pondered, but since he stepped into this region, things have gotten so much worse.
By the time Julien finally had the chance to bathe and tend to Robert’s rotting blemishes, the weather had already turned colder again, and this forced him to prioritize Robert’s needs over his own hygiene. The truth was, he also needed to clean his ‘own’ rotting flesh – or the arm Robert had ceded to him, more specifically. From time to time, it too emitted a foul stench; Julien wasn’t sure if he should count that as time spent washing Robert’s body or his own.
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As nightfall approached faster than he had anticipated, Julien returned to camp much sooner than he had expected.
…
The darkness arrived with icy but weak winds and a fresh, thin blanket of white snow, making the effort to light a bonfire utterly futile. Supper became an unpleasant affair - a meager combination of stale bread and sour apples. “Apples here range from unpleasantly sour to deliciously tart,” Tariq remarked during one of his now-rare moments of friendliness, “we were truly unlucky with the ones we bought in Gasteiz.”
The cold bath, surprisingly, greatly aided Julien’s ability to rest: Perhaps now that his body was clean and Robert’s rot and stench were under control, he had more mental clarity to find some respite, or maybe there was something more to the cold water of that river...
But the rest, unfortunately, was short-lived. Not long after Julien closed his eyes in complete relief, he heard footsteps crunching on the thin snow outside the tent, followed by a delicate clap of hands. At first, Julien ignored the sound, attempting to resume his rest, but the clapping persisted.
Failing repeatedly to drift back into slumber and seeing no other option but to investigate, Julien stood up and commanded Robert to do the same. Though the weak claps didn’t sound hostile, the young Enochian decided it was best to leave the tent armed, with Robert covering his back, sword in hand.
Outside, the deep darkness was dotted by the flickering light of a resilient torch, held by a comely middle-aged woman draped in pelts; her long, wavy hair was damp from the snow, but still, she wore a friendly smile.
With the hand not holding the torch, she made a gesture of greeting. Such an encounter would have been strange enough on its own, but what truly surprised Julien was the peculiar layer of iric energy surrounding the woman. Instead of the foul, repulsive stains one would expect from iric corruption, her aura was evenly spread, thin, and more akin to a glistening layer of grease than the usual cesspool-like presence. It was almost not repulsive, yet still unmistakably iric in nature.
Suppressing his instinct to attack on sight, Julien instead sheathed his weapon and allowed her to speak. Unfortunately, everything that came out of her mouth was barely comprehensible.
“Wait, do you speak Latin?” Julien asked in the only language he hoped the woman might understand - and that he could speak fluently. But nothing came from the attempt. She tried once again to communicate in her foreign tongue, but to no avail.
Fear began to creep into the young Enochian’s mind, and his hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword. The gesture startled the stranger, who leapt back with a small yelp, nearly losing her footing in the snow.
“Julien, wait,” Tariq’s calm but commanding voice cut through the tension as he emerged from his tent, “don’t attack.”
He then began speaking to the woman in her language, to which she responded with a bright smile, immediately engaging in an animated conversation.
“Tariq,” the young Enochian interrupted, his confusion evident, “what exactly is going on?”
Tariq raised a hand to Julien, signaling him to wait a moment longer as the woman continued speaking. Not a single word she uttered was comprehensible. Meanwhile, Urraca remained in her tent, likely unaware of the situation unfolding outside.
The conversation flowed effortlessly between the mysterious woman and Tariq, both of them seemingly understanding each other perfectly. The woman spoke with a pleasant, amiable smile, her words in the strange tongue sounding like lyrics of a song, almost hypnotizing Julien, though her gaze remained fixed on her interlocutor. Tariq, on the other hand, listened attentively, his expression serious as he nodded along, occasionally making brief sounds - probably a ‘yes’ or ‘I see,’ Julien guessed.
After what felt like an eternity, the conversation finally ended, and Tariq immediately turned to Julien: “This woman’s name is Uxue, and she saw Urraca bathing earlier today,” he began, his tone serious, “she claims that, together with her brothers and sisters, she can teach Urraca how to control her ‘arima.’”
“…And what exactly is ‘arima?’” Julien asked, his confusion deepening.
“As far as I know, it means something like ‘soul’ in Basque,” Tariq tried to explain, “I asked if she saw any ‘arima’ in us as well, to which she said she did not. So I strongly believe this Uxue woman is referring to Urraca’s iric energy.”
Julien chortled, which momentarily startled the smiling woman. But when he looked at Tariq, he saw a stern face staring back at him. “She can’t be serious,” the young Enochian said incredulously, “is she trying to trick us? Maybe planning to rob us?”
Tariq’s response, however, was as straight as an arrow: “I thought so too at first,” he replied, “but I believe she genuinely thinks she can do it - She seemed motivated and confident enough.” He cast a quick sidelong glance at Uxue: “And you can’t deny it’s at least intriguing how different her iric energy looks compared to what we’ve seen so far, right? Furthermore, the fact that she sees a ‘soul’ around Urraca but not around us… You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?”
It would have been foolish to deny any of those points. “Then what do you suggest?” Julien asked, his voice laced with concern, “that we just let her take Urraca with her?”
Tariq’s lips curled into a sly smile - perhaps the first since they had entered Navarre. “Where there is smoke, there is fire, Julien Mazars,” he said, his words dripping with a hint of malice, “she claims to live with a community of people like her, and that we’re also welcome there, together with Urraca. I say we visit this community of corrupted people, find the source of the corruption - and eliminate it, along with them, before the corruptions spreads further.”
“All right, that does sound exactly like something Enochians would do,” Julien responded, though his voice carried a note of doubt, “but what about our current mission? We both know Arnau needs our help, and urgently.”
“According to her, visiting this community would barely be a detour,” Tariq explained, “they live in a meadow slightly northeast of here, which, as you know, is the direction we’re heading anyway. And it’s not in my nature to ignore the threat of an Elioud, or possibly even a Nephilim.”
Julien was nearly convinced, though he still harbored some reservations. “If you believe this is the right course of action, I won’t oppose it,” he said, pausing briefly before continuing. “Should we leave at dawn, then? Is she staying with us for the night?”
“In fact, she asked us to leave as soon as we can, still under the cover of night,” Tariq concluded, glancing at Uxue once more, “her community isn’t particularly fond of working under the light of the sun.”