» 11 – The Witch «
MARCHLANDS. WÙ-PAILOU.
Despite the thick smoke hanging as a harbinger of danger on the horizon, Meilin and the three offcomers press forward towards Wù-Pailou. The sun has dipped low in the sky, the mist building again after dissipating for most of the day. The grey clouds forming in the distance threaten a deluge of rain, but that might be fortunate, given how the air is now almost overwhelming with the scent of ash.
The walls of Wù-Pailou—a monument to the work of ancient Sympathists—are unmanned, arched gateways not even closed.
“Careful now,” June says as they near the entrance. Whispering under her breath, she unsheathes a sword of light from thin air, holding it out in front of her with gloved hands.
Meilin tries not to flinch. Definitely Charter magic.
She places a hand on the hilt of her—Lei’s—dao, as much for confidence as protection. It’s eerily quiet as they cross the threshold, more the aftermath of tragedy rather than any present danger. A light rain makes the ground slick, turning any remaining blazes into pillars of smoke. The skeletal remains of houses and buildings jut out of the landscape, their stone bones black.
“Where is everyone?” Ewan asks, glancing around.
Meilin was wondering the same thing. She stoops, examining the tracks crisscrossing the ground. Some of the prints seem like they belong to barrow geists, but that wouldn’t make sense. They wouldn’t dare attack an entire town, and it’s not like they could have started any fires.
It would explain the lack of bodies, she notes, though she pushes away that thought away before she heaves.
“They fled, I think,” Meilin says, eyes following the myriad human tracks leading out of the village. “They must have known they couldn’t deal with whoever attacked them.”
“Makes sense,” June replies, then raises a hand to command silence.
Nothing but the gentle licking of flames and hissing of rain and smoke reach their ears.
“I think whoever did this has moved on too,” she finally says. “That means we need to find the gateway, see if we can get it working ourselves before whoever—or whatever—did this comes back.”
Meilin nods in agreement, though she bites her lip to keep focus, not boil in anger that someone—fellow Marchlanders—would do something like this. Skirmishes between Marcher Lords she understood, that was the sort of behaviour she expected them to lower themselves too. But Wù-Pailou was only nominally bannered to the Marquis of Wildflowers; civilians lived here, peasants and merchants just trying to live out their lives. Her hand tightens on the dao’s pommel, continuing her careful watch as they move through the deserted streets.
In the distance, something—a voice?—cries out.
“You hear that?” Kyra says, stopping to scan the streets to their left and right.
June nods but doesn’t halt or change course. “Let’s keep moving.”
“But what if it’s someone hurt?” Kyra says, straining to hear the sound again.
“Too risky,” June replies, more firmly this time.
“How about Kyra and I check it out?” Meilin says. “Just scope it out, meet you at the gateway.”
June pauses, turns around. “I don’t know if I—”
“If it’s dangerous we won’t engage,” Kyra promises. “And Meilin has a sword, remember? You said you trusted her to know how to use it.”
June’s grimace makes clear her real opinion, but she still relents. “Be quick about it. We’re out of here as soon as the gateway will let us.”
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Kyra grins at Meilin, and she wished she shared the Hero’s confidence. In reality, she’s trying not to shake in her boots, but the idea of leaving a fellow Marchlander—someone trapped beneath a fallen building, perhaps?—just doesn’t sit right with her.
The two groups give one another parting “Be careful’s”, June and Ewan moving towards the town centre while the two girls head in the direction the noise came from. As they pass through the streets, the silence is broken only once more by the noise. Knocked over carts and abandoned stalls rise out of the mud around them, but no sight of whoever tended them a day ago at most. Meilin notes that it’s a miracle the entire town isn’t a husk; a testament to some ancient magic, perhaps.
Eventually, they reach the large double-door for a large stable, debris having fallen across the doors. Kyra nods towards the largest beam of wood, and the two each take one side. Meilin feels winded just moving it several feet, but Kyra seems unfazed—or at least, more fazed by the ease at which she moves the plank than the effort itself. As they let it clatter to the side, the barn doors crash open, enormous bodies racing out.
Squawking and twisting, the animals racing to escape the smoke-filled stable; Meilin and Kyra only narrowly dodging the stampeding animals they’ve managed to free. Two meters tall and with hatchet-like beaks, the raptors are in a blind panic, smoke and ash clinging to their marred feathers. Kyra disappears on the other side of the stream of coloured feathers, though Meilin hears her cry out. Dodging one of the terror birds herself, she hits the ground hard and rolls out of the way of slashing talons. She stays down, only rising when the last raptor herds away its chick, the group beating a path down the muddy road.
“What were—?” Kyra’s eyes are wide, blood dripping from a graze on her forehead.
“You okay?” Meilin limps over to meet her.
“Birds,” Kyra says.
“You’re in shock,” Meilin says, holding the girl in case she passes out. “Just try and breathe normally.”
The cry sounds out again, though this time Meilin identifies it as coming from a small alcove inside the barn. Its owner, a pair of emerald eyes, watches them from the shadows.
She laughs. “Well, we saved some raptors from suffocating, and a cat from being eaten by raptors.”
Kyra manages a laugh too, keeping her breathing steady.
“You going to be okay?” Meilin asks.
Kyra looks up at her, close enough that Meilin can see the flecks of starlight in her hazel eyes. “I’m sorry. Not the sort of reaction one expects from a Hero, I imagine.”
Meilin frowns. “I asked if you were okay, not if you were sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be okay.”
“Good.” Meilin helps the girl stand up properly. “We were almost stampeded to death. You’re allowed to be a little shaken up.”
The emerald eyes above them meow in agreement.
“Can we take the kitty—” Kyra stops at the look on Meilin’s face.
“C’mon,” she says. “Let’s get back to—ah!”
Pain flashes through Meilin’s body, and she screws up her face, trying to fight it back. For a second she’s falling, but this time Kyra catches her.
“Sorry.” She takes a ragged breath. “I think I twisted my ankle worse than I thought.”
“What did you just say about apologies?” Kyra asks, raising an eyebrow. “You can lean on me, keep the pressure off, okay?”
#
The rain has drenched Meilin and Kyra by the time they’ve made their way to the town centre.
A torana stands in the absolute centre, a stone platform raising it slightly off the ground. Two columns supporting two transverse beams, it’s surprisingly simple for something so important, only the strange runic language of the Charter carved into either side of the beams. They reflect the link to Earth, part of the magic needed to utilise the gate.
Hopefully the Guide knows how to read it.
Meilin knows a little of the language, an incidental part of her training to be one of the cunning folk. Not that she could decode it herself without the small guidebook she’d brought with her.
“Are you two okay?” Ewan asks, spotting them before June does. “Did you—did you see the giant dinosaur bird… things?”
“They’re called raptors,” Meilin informs him, now curious to see a dinosaur—whatever that is—when she’s on Earth.
“Wait, those are raptors?!” He looks wild-eyed between her and June. “You ride those?”
“In theory.” She winces again.
Meilin and Kyra reach the stone platform, sitting down atop it side-by-side. They need to rest, but their eyes can’t help being drawn to the dark streaks of blood that show bodies had been dragged across the stone. A short set of steps descends to the muddy ground to their side, and June comes down to speak with them. Worry creases her face.
“It was people who set fire to Wù-Pailou,” she tells them quietly. “But they had barrow geists with them.”
For a second, Meilin wonders if she misheard. People couldn’t work together with barrow geists—they were soul-eating monsters. You couldn’t control them, even if you were addled enough to want to for some dark purpose.
“Surely you must be mistaken?” Meilin asks. “Perhaps barrow geists just came here for easy prey in the aftermath.”
June nods slowly, though Meilin is unsure if she agrees with her theory. “I hope so. Either way, we should definitely be going.”
“You can magic us back?” Kyra asks, looking up at the torana.
“In theory—”
THUD.
Something drops to the ground behind them from a great height. Meilin feels Kyra lurch, the two stumbling forward. Trying to still hold the other woman for support, she turns to—
Meilin’s blood runs cold.
A little way away, a barrow geist watches them, hollow lights staring out of its exposed, canine skull, serpentine tongue licking its jagged teeth.
~***~