Chapter 104
Hush, Hush
They’d finally made it, Sylas realized. After a journey that felt a year-long, they stood at the far-edges of an asymmetric village lain gently between two forests, one of the same trees that stuck up far behind them, and another with cradling canopy in the shape of a dome. Further beyond the village, he saw a plain stretch out for miles on end, white snow disappearing in the distant mist.
The two currently stood some five miles or so from the village itself, perched on top of one of the taller hills that rolled out between the forest before and the village itself. Though ‘taller’, it was still but a bump, and he felt if they approached any closer--especially during the day--they might be easily seen as the terrain turned completely flat onward and out.
As such, they camped out, partly to recover and partly to figure out how they’d get into the village. From the looks of it, Sylas counted some hundred, perhaps hundred-fifty homes sporadically strewn about with very little rhyme or reason beyond the fact that they seemed not to go past a certain point from what looked to be a statue of sorts, though it was difficult to see from the distance.
“How many people do you think live there?” Sylas asked.
“Around a thousand, perhaps,” the woman replied, biting on some cashew that they just ‘happened across’ yesterday. “I think? Maybe? I don’t know. Why’s it matter, anyway?”
“It matters because if it’s just a smaller village, everyone would know each other,” Sylas said. “And we’d stick out like a campfire in the night.”
“Right.”
“So, if that’s the case,” he continued. “We’d have to approach straight-on. That’s a problem as well, considering that we don’t really have a story. Can’t as well say ‘ey, we traveled from Ethwar Castle’, since they’d strap us on a stake and burn us.”
“You have a strange relationship with being strapped to a stake and burned. I’d look into it if I were you.”
"Thank you for the advice not asked," Sylas said. "But in case it's a larger village, there's a chance we can sneak in and just blend in. That'd be optimal as people would be less guarded if they thought they knew us, however little."
“... for someone who seems to hate all human contact, you know a lot about it.”
“Hate it?” he chuckled, glancing at her. “I love human contact. What I hate is contact with you, specifically.”
“Ugh...”
“You’re getting better at taking the stabs,” he added with a gingerly smile. “A few more months of training and you might just be able to take a punch without wincing.”
“Shouldn’t it be you who should be learning to hold the said punches?!” she grumbled at him.
“That aside--”
“--hey!!”
“A thousand people... hmm... it’s on the cusps,” he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It’s unlikely that everyone knows absolutely everyone, but... it’s unlikely we can just blend in. Especially with miss white-snow over here standing out like a third arm on a person.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she mumbled. “I can disguise myself. How do you think I ventured into settlements before?”
“I figured you didn’t which aided your communicative... troubles.”
“Shove it, asshole.”
“No, no, no,” he sighed. “When I punch, you don’t bend over and ask ‘harder daddy’, you punch back! That’s the spirit of communication!”
“Perhaps yours! I believe communication is an act of dignity between two equal persons!”
"Well, then, you're an idiot. Anyway, we'll wait for the complete nightfall," he added quickly, not allowing her to butt in. "And sneak in. Worst comes to worst, I'll just die. But if we're lucky, we might learn a few things that will help me prepare for the future runs."
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“Just how many times do you plan on doing this?!!”
“Hm? Hundreds, at least,” Sylas said nonchalantly.
“H-h-h-hundreds?! Isn’t... isn’t that literally hundreds of years wasted?!”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess.”
“YOU GUESS?!!”
“Hush.”
“Hush your mother.”
“Pfft.”
“There’s no way you’re serious,” she said. “Nobody could stay sane throughout it all.”
“There’s a trick to it, actually, one I’d learned too late.”
“A trick?”
“Hm. Drink. Drink a lot. Your memory gets fuzzy and the number of days becomes unclear.”
“... spoken like a true alcoholic.”
“Anyway, I’m gonna take a nap,” he said. “To recharge. You should do the same. I won’t be able to protect you if the fight breaks out--no, what am I saying. A random bird will likely poop a bomb at whoever attacks you and kill ‘em. Tsk. ‘effin bias...”
Darkness fell and swallowed the world, and the lights of the village that were flickering until fairly late dimmed, turning completely barren. Sylas watched in both awe and bitter envy how the woman's white hair turned black, the hue of her eyes then matching it, with her entire attire changing into a proper one for winter this cold. It all happened within a few seconds and it looked like one of those magical transformations he'd seen a long, long time ago. Just without the pretty lights and mist instead.
Clicking his tongue and cursing something out under his breath, he set down all of his non-essential gear and the two departed. Their boots belted against the snow, the crunchy sounds unavoidable. However, he’d hoped that the snow would thin out near the village and wouldn’t alert anyone.
It was likely that they had at least a couple of guards, but as to where they were stationed... he had no clue. After all, there seemed to be no watchtowers anywhere, no outposts, no nothing but straw-roofed houses with wooden frames and dirt roads connecting them.
Though the two were relatively slow, largely because she couldn’t walk through the snow without Sylas dragging her along as he didn’t allow her to melt it. Though she complained and grumbled, she kept moving forward, bit by bit, sporting a look of determination. He suspected it was born from the desire to prove him wrong more so than anything else.
The long trek took much longer than Sylas initially anticipated--nearly five hours. They often had to actually pause for a while for her to rest, and even he felt it in his calves and thighs. Walking through the thick snow for nearly six miles, even if the land was flat, was not easy, making him reconsider whether they should have used magic.
Nonetheless, they managed to reach the dry land around the village, at last, quickly scurrying to the back end of one of the houses, sitting down and gasping for breath. Her lips had dried up and turned blue, he realized, and her usually rosy cheeks had lost a lot of their saturation.
“Use magic to warm yourself up,” he whispered softly.
“I can’t,” she responded resolutely. “What if there’s someone in the village who can sense it? All of this would have been in vain.”
“It’ll also be in vain if you catch hypothermia and die.”
“Hypo---what?”
“... nothing,” he said, taking off his cloak and putting it on her. “Let’s wait until you warm up.”
“Aren’t you cold, too?!”
“No,” he shook his head. “I wore it mostly as a camouflage. I am tired, however, so I could use some rest as well.”
“...” to say that he wasn’t cold wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t unbearable. He, too, had minimized the use of energy, but there was only so much he could do as his body naturally ‘circulated’ it, so to say. It was quite minimal, though, so much so that even someone as attuned to magic as her was unable to perceive it. That was also the reason he wasn’t worried about being discovered.
That lack of worry was dashed, however, the very next second when the blood in his veins chilled. It wasn't a horrifying sight or even a dangerous sight--in fact, it was part tragic and part adorable. Standing in front of the two and looking at them curiously was an eight-nine-year-old boy, black-haired, draped in holed drags, barefoot yet not freezing. In his hands he held a wooden doll of sorts, his head tilted to the side slightly. What stood out the most, among all else even, were the boy's eyes--they were violet, almost shining.
The woman also seemed to notice the boy, gasping in shock. All around, the moment prevailed--silence lingered on, with both Sylas and her expecting the boy to cry out and alarm the village. Ah, whatever. I’ll prepare better the next time around, Sylas mused inwardly, having already given up. His only hope was to delay his death for as long as possible and learn as much as he could about the place. Just as he was about to say something, the boy lifted up his left arm, extending his index finger, and pressing it against his lips.
“Hush,” the boy mumbled in a low, emotionless tone. “You’ll wake them.”
“...”
“Follow me,” he added, further confusing both of them. “Hush your lips. Hush your eyes. Hush your feet. Hush your lies. Hush. Hush. Hush.” it was then that Sylas noticed the strangest oddity of them all--the boy’s lips... didn’t move when he talked. Nothing changed, yet the voice was projected. He heard it. She heard it too, judging from her reaction. They both the voice unspoken, and it was then that Sylas realized how. It wasn’t the boy’s voice he heard. It wasn’t a voice at all, so to say. His own thoughts spoke to him. In his own, inner voice. Chills bled across his skin but the boy didn’t seem to care, cradling the doll and walking toward the village, merely glancing at them and pulling them forward with his gaze.
It’s another one, innit? Sylas realized as he grabbed her arm and dragged her up. Another weird, whacky, fucked-up thing I’ll have to figure out, eh? Shit...