~Chapter 3~
Exposure
Yellowman and Bradán kept a firm eye contact with each other, broken when the injured man brought his good hand up to wave dismissively from side to side. In the sort of tone that adults often take with young children when they say something silly, he replied in a slow drawl.
“I wish I were lying, wee youngwan, but hiding from the truth when it is scary will not help anyone.”
The traveler scowled harder as Yellowman’s lips curled back into the slightest hint of a sneer. Most of the villagers laughed at that and the tension in the feasting hall all but evaporated. As they returned to their quick goodbyes, the villagers already considered the matter settled. Arms crossed over her chest, Bradán brought her voice to a not-quite-shout.
“Wind your necks in!”
Many of the villagers fell silent in surprise. The coppery haired Caoireoil laughed loudly, however, and the wide man called over as he brushed his fingers across his impressive mustache.
“Wind your own neck in, youngwan! You’re calling an important man a liar.”
Stéig quickly stepped in, moving from his spot with his hands up in front of him, one palm towards Caoireoil and the other Bradán. “Settle, settle, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. The youngwan here is a culchie so-”
“That’s why I know the melter is a bleeding liar! You ever met someone from the craglands? Or been near the border?”
Stéig paused at that, brow furrowing and his raised hands sank lower towards his sides. Some of the other villagers looked confused, or even a bit embarrassed, but quite a lot of them crossed their arms and huffed and scowled right back at Bradán. Caoireola, next to his father, was among the latter as he fired back.
“Have you?”
“Only grew up there, eejit.” Bradán’s immediate response was punctuated by a roll of her eyes. Whatever response he had planned on died in his throat, but even if it hadn’t it likely would have been cut off as she continued with a thumb jabbed over her shoulder in the rough direction of the craglands. “Hiked here by myself, on foot, and if you couldn’t guess I don’t have the biggest stride in the world. Took days and days just to get here, and I didn’t see or hear anything about a big battle the entire time.” Bradán paused to flick her hand forward in a gesture at Yellowman. “Some Orange Orchard Company gombeen spins a scary story and you’re all eager to run off with him to pick a fight no questions asked?”
Stéig rubbed at the side of his singed beard, and many of the villagers seemed… reluctantly skeptical now, if the way many of them scowled a little less certainly at her. Yellowman himself simply pursed his lips, then eyebrows narrowed, and brought his good hand up to cup his chin between his thumb and index fingers as if in thought.
With a roll of her shoulders and arms held out at her sides, palms flipped towards the ceiling, Bradán added in a calmer, more casual tone.
“They’re not horned devils either, only children would fall for that. And who cares if they think someone else is the Manafest anyways? Whoever it ends up being is whoever it ends up being, no matter what anyone wants or thinks.”
Sparkles of yellow sprang to life in the orange light of the feasting hall, hissing and crackling embers spread out across the entire table Bradán was behind. Still mid-shrug, the traveler’s expression wavered and she gave a quiet “Eh?”.
Then the embers exploded one after another in a series of bright yellow flashes and black smoke.
A sneer stretching across Yellowman’s face, the blonde started to turn away before the explosions had even finished when a ball of sparkling orange fire lazily floated over beside him. Slowly he turned to regard the ball of fire floating next to him, and murmured a “Eh?” of his own.
An explosion of orange lit up the feasting hall, arms coming up to shield eyes and bodies turning away from the blast.
Outside, the black smoke from the first set of explosions drifted through the open doorway and up into the sky. Yellowman sprinted out through it and turned sharply on his heels with a click of his boots on the stone pathway. Outfit singed and smoldering, the blonde grit his teeth and snapped his good arm up in front of him. Thumb at the back and fingers and palm curled in an ‘O’ shape, he took a deep breath and blew.
Yellow, crackling embers flooded from his hand and back through the doorway. Exploding one after another, the walls and floor and ceiling of the feasting hall all burst into yellow flames. Black smoke poured out the door even more, and panicked voices called out in confusion. Bradán zipped out from the burning building, covered head to toe in black soot and yellow fire smoldering away at the fabric across her shoulders and her baggy sleeves. Orange embers sparkling in her wake, she gave a hop, skip, and a jump that brought her right in front of Yellowman.
The embers drifted into the yellow flames and turned them orange too, and the glittering fire hopped off the feasting hall, skipped across the stone pathway, and jumped clear over Bradán’s head in a pillar of flame to land right where Yellowman stood.
Yellowman swept his good arm up and a spray of yellow embers fanned out between him and the oncoming flames. Rapid explosions and black smoke filled the air, orange flames scattered and faded into wispy motes wherever the explosions hit. Black smoke hung above the pair and cast a heavy shadow across the stone path, and Yellowman leveled his arm down towards Bradán with his jaw squared and eyes narrowed and a deep breath prepared.
Only to pause, confused, as the short girl stood there covered in soot with one hand on her hip, a pearly white grin on her face, and a finger pointed up.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Streaks of orange fire burned through the black smoke and rained down on Yellowman. The man hopped backwards, then left and right and this way and that, forced to dance about in an effort to avoid the flames. One caught on the shoulder of his good arm, and the other on one of his boots. With cries of “hot, hot, hot”, Yellowman patted himself with his good hand in a panic.
Raising a soot-covered eyebrow, Bradán calmly pulled the little bits of yellow fire clinging to her clothing off into a ball and snuffed them out in the air in a small puff of orange glitter.
“You’re not any good at putting out fires, are you?”
A series of coughs behind her drew her attention. One after another the villagers stumbled out of the feasting hall, waving smoke out of their faces. Murmurs of surprise at the feasting hall no longer being on fire, and still standing, worked its way through the crowd. As confused as everyone was, and with Bradán momentarily distracted, nobody seemed to notice Yellowman’s frantic attempts to put himself out.
At least until Stéig separated himself from the crowd, dropping a heavy hand on her shoulder and giving a tip of his head in the direction of Yellowman. Head twisted up to glance at the concerned look on Stéig’s face, Bradán puffed her soot stained cheeks out in a pout.
“Bradán.”
“Fiiiiine.”
The traveler let the pout go with a puff of air and walked over to Yellowman and reached out as if to grasp a long piece of cloth. With a gentle tug, the flames pulled away from Yellowman and gathered into a ball between her palms. With a light clap her hands closed together and the fire went out in a harmless puff of orange glitter. Keeping one eye on Yellowman, Bradán glanced back at Stéig and asked.
“Happy?”
“For now.”
Stéig’s brow was furrowed as he approached Bradán and Yellowman, the latter gingerly patted himself down and winced when his hand landed on a minor but unpleasant red burn across his tan chest. Most of the damage had been done to his now thoroughly charred and tattered uniform, and with a few more pats to confirm the fire was out Yellowman gave a sigh of relief. Then with a sudden start, Yellowman took a few hurried steps away from Bradán and raised his good arm again - only to pause as he took notice of Stéig and the other villagers.
Yellowman’s face fell for a moment in an almost disappointed grimace, only to quickly switch to a grateful and too wide smile as he tried to smooth out the remains of his uniform. Nose turned up and away from Bradán - though he glared out of the corner of his eye at her just the same as she was currently doing to him - he brought his good arm out to his side.
“Ah, thankfully none of you were hurt by this blasphemer! Thank you, Stéíg, if I wasn’t injured by that bleeding horned devil, I could have easily dealt with her myself.”
Stéig brought his free hand up to his bare chin, one eyebrow quirked.
“‘That’? Surely you mean ‘those’, Ginearál?”
“Hm? Oh, yes, of course.”
Yellowman waved his good hand from side to side dismissively, and Bradán opened her mouth to say something - only to get interrupted as Caoireola stumbled over with a series of loud coughs and coppery hair stained black with soot.
“What happened? You all were talking, and then everything started exploding.”
Caoireola ran a hand through his hair, only to scowl as his hand ended up stained with soot too.
Yellowman was quick to jab a finger towards Bradán, with a yell of “This huair,” that had her eyes go wide and freeze up in the midst of carefully burning the soot off of herself with small sparks of orange fire on her fingertips. “Attempted to blow us all to bits, along with the feasting hall, after spouting her blasphemy!”
Caoireola blinked in surprise and glanced down at Bradán, and Stéig simply crossed his arms over his chest in thought. The rest of the villagers though were quick to shoot her nasty glares, their disoriented confusion quickly replaced by outrage. The orange sparks of fire on her fingers going out, Bradán glanced around with a flat, unamused look on her face as the crowd towered over her.
As Caoireoil brought a fist up into the air, about to make a declaration, Bradán chimed in.
“He started it.”
As simple a statement as it was, it caused the wide man to pause and stroke at his soot-stained mustache in a moment of contemplation. The rest of the villagers gave a few glances about themselves, murmurs about the order of events and different accounts of what had happened going around. Gritting his teeth, Yellowman raised his voice as loud as he could.
“The huair” Bradán’s eyes narrowed and her lips thinned into a tight line as Yellowman continued. “is deceiving you, and trying to undermine the protection Orange Orchard Company has always offered! Why would I put the people I am sworn to protect in-” Yellowman cut off into a high pitched shriek that trailed off into a whimpering squeak, legs tucked inward and his good hand contorted and twitching.
In front of him, Bradán had her cheeks puffed out and gave him a second kick for good measure. The entire crowd winced as Yellowman soundlessly crumpled to the ground, back first and expression frozen in wide-eyed shock.
“Fecker.”
“Bradán…”
Stéig gave a shake of his head, brow furrowed so hard that deep lines piled up across his forehead. Turning her head sharply towards the orchard tender, she snapped back.
“He called me a huair, twice.”
“Still…”
Caoireoil cleared his throat loudly, stepping forward and raising his voice.
“Enough of this! Even if Ginereál Yellowman was mistaken about some details, surely he fought with some forces of some kind! How else did he get those injuries? And you’ve gone and assaulted an injured man, an important member of Orange Orchard Company no less, when he had an important task! If these horned devils show up, what are we going to do?”
The man’s sheer size and outrage would have intimidated most, and Bradán had to lean backwards just to look him in the eye as he got close enough to loom over her. With a side-eyed look at the large man, prepared to hop away at any moment, she replied in a clear and firm tone.
“Orange Orchard Company are a bunch of liars and swindlers.”
Offended murmurs swept across the crowd and Caoireoil flexed his massive hands threateningly - only to pause as Stéig’s hand came down on his shoulder. With a confused glance at the orchard tender and a shake of the head given back to him in reply, the wide man reluctantly stepped back. With a heavy sigh, Stéig brought his hands up into the air in a gesture to draw their attention as he turned to face the crowd.
“I don’t know what the full story is myself or what would drive Ginereál Yellowman to such extremes, but there’s no mistaking that he didn’t hesitate to nearly blow the youngwan here and the rest of us to bits.” Many of the villagers seemed taken aback by Stéigs stance on the matter, and Caoireoil was about to object - only for the older man to shoot him a firm glance that prompted Caoireoil to stay silent save for a grumbled “harrumph” sound. “Best thing we can do now is get Bradán here to tell us why she’s said what she’s said, and to get the good Ginereál to tell us the truth once he’s back in working order.”
As the crowd seemed to settle, Stéig turned his attention to Bradán and stated in a low, stern voice.
“You were pretending you couldn’t tap into orange mana.”
Hands up, palms out and a sheepish, nervous grin on her face, Bradán shook her head from side to side.
“Not on purpose, really! Just… you kept assuming I couldn’t, and it would have been really awkward to correct you so…”
Stéig furrowed his brow at that, looking contemplative for a long moment. A loud, sudden laugh broke the silence and with a lighter expression he put a hand to his forehead and shook his head from side to side with a few lingering chuckles.
“Youngwan that picks a fight with a Ginereál and can tap into orange mana like its easy, and she’s shy about it!”
Bradán’s pale, soot-stained and freckled cheeks started to turn red, only for Caoireola to step in with a finger raised up and an uncertain clear of his throat.
“Ah, not to interrupt, but Ginereál Yellowman is making a break for it.”
Everyone turned to look down where the man in question had been lying moments before, only to glance up and catch sight of the man’s charred and tattered uniform and blonde hair as he sprinted down one of the village pathways. With a shout of “Feck!” and a quick adjustment to the straps on her backpack, Bradán broke off into a sprint after him.
One hand coming up to shade his eyes from the sun up above, Stéig watched as Yellowman bolted from the village and into the orchard surrounding it with Bradán hot on his heels. Caoireoil came to stand beside him, the other man’s face scrunched up in a squint as he wound his copper-colored mustache around one finger. In a quiet voice to keep it between them two, he asked.
“Any idea what the second best thing to do is?”
“Not a one.”