I strummed-
No, Kit strummed-
No. No.
It’s in so many pieces. Far more than there should be.
----------------------------------------
My right hand’s fingers brushed across the three gut-strings of the lute, while their alternates clamped and released the ends of the chords affixed to its neck. The feedback of the material was blunted by my calluses, transforming what had once been sharp into a far more muted sensation. Sound and sensation wound themselves together as I tried to feel out the music I once possessed. A discordant twang told me plainly I’d failed, and a quiet scoff quickly followed, but I buried my urge to smash my lute across Jana’s head. It was too precious to lose.
Using my fingernails, I strummed into a simpler song. In another time I’d shot straight to the most difficult tunes, spending hours each day attempting to master them. Father had stopped me. ‘Same as any exercise, Kit,’ he’d said, ‘you gotta warm up first.’
Being back at the beginning again was infuriating, except unlike all the other times I was angry there were no cocky arseholes I could stab. All the ones around remained off-limits.
Someone tutted again.
“You gotta godsdamned problem?” I spat, opening my eyes. Crumpet yelped, then huddled behind Jana. I turned to the older woman, the burn-scar running down the right sight of her face casting it in a mocking light. “Yer teachin’ her t’get stabbed.”
She raised a shaped eyebrow. “I’m teaching her good from bad.”
I scoffed. “So yer hemmin’ and hawwin’ s’a learnin’ tool, huh? Not jus’ bein’ rude?”
The woman widened her eyes – one green, one clouded – in carefully cultivated surprise. “Oh, so we’re talking about impoliteness, are we?” Jana squinted, as if in thought. “Is it… rude to scoff at someone who yanks out an instrument and causes a racket without the consent of those around her? Is it?”
I sneered. “S’it rude t’talk around yer point like yer some sorta vulture?”
“Well, it’s certainly- “
A cleared throat stifled the onerous woman’s retort. My eyes flicked around the dusty storage room we were sat in – benches and barrels positioned to create raised surfaces for our bedrolls. Jana sat atop the one opposite mine, sliding beads around her abacus in what must’ve been an attempt to distract me. We’d arrived at the abandoned farmstead yesterday afternoon, and opted to stay for the night instead of push on. Place had walls, and though the derelict village up the hill had better fortifications it was also likely overrun by monsters. Whining from the caravans and Ol’ Snapper falling ill had Tully’s kid convincing her to stay for an extra day.
All the workers’d been shoved in a barn – sagging roof, spongey walls, and full of stiff breezes – but I’d brow-beat Aron into letting the poor, motherless children stay in the place he’d been allocated. Man had a bespoke wagon to sleep in, but the little snake would’ve refused, had I not asked in front of everyone.
Finally, I set eyes on Vin, who stood in the doorway of the room I’d commandeered. Tippi had scrambled behind his trousers, and the kid kept his gaze firmly away from mine.
“Vin,” I stated. “Didn’t notice you sneak up.”
I must’ve been concentrating too hard: an amateur mistake. But for a man so large, Vin could be quieter than a rat if he put his mind to it. And he had been; ever since we’d killed the bandits a few days back. The only time he’d spoke much were those when he’d put on a mask and gather a crowd.
He thumbed beneath his bandana, staring at my lute. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”
Jana’s voice swum from where she sat atop her bedroll. “You’re a rude one, too.”
“Oh, shut up,” he snapped. “Go back to your bloody counting.”
Silence. My fingers fell onto my sword’s hilt, then released when the Lizardblood sighed.
“Sorry.” He looked at Jana, shrugging. “You’ve just been an exceptionally poor audience.”
I nodded in agreement.
“She didn’t have to play here of all places,” the old woman complained.
The large man inclined his head. “Well, I’ll take her away from you, then.” Before I could open my mouth to complain, he continued. “I’d like to hear more.”
She grumbled, but waved her hand. The ensuing gap in the conversation allowed Tippi to tap him on the hip, and Vin squatted down to let the child whisper in his ear. Crumpet scurried over immediately, and shoved her ear in the mix as well.
He smiled and shook his head. “No, not tonight. One was enough for today, and I need a bit of time to find the next story anyway. Maybe your, uh… protector can help me with that.”
I hummed to myself, and tucked my instrument underneath an arm, yanking Vin along as I walked past him. “C’mon. Let’s go.”
Outside of the room waited the cold of dusk, unmitigated by walls or fire. Around us were the ruins of the farmstead, the carts and wagons creating a reluctant semi-circle between the house and the small barn, while the Ien River’s burble emanated from behind the house, as constant as it’d been for the last two weeks. Atop the wagons were two of the guards and Gast, who’d uncharacteristically chosen to take a shift. To get away from the noise of oxen in the barn, I suspected.
Several chipped and beaten stumps sat in the small yard, coated with dried blood: the remnants of some butchered bird, which the owners must’ve been too lazy or too hurried to use as a sacrifice. It smelled of nothing but the sharp musk of the Heartlands, though – they’d been butchered long enough ago that wind had carried away its scent. Crimson weeds crackled beneath our boots as we walked the small distance between us and the makeshift wagon-wall, then slipped through its gaps.
Stretching before us were several wide fields, ringed by rotten fences and filled with small shrubs and red grass. Past that lay a stretch of heartwood stumps, of equal size to a field. Half of them had been uprooted, and sat along the edge of what must’ve been intended as more farmland. Further out sat the heartwoods, kept at bay by the axes of whatever family’d lived here and the Aching’s recalcitrance. Throughout it all, the occasional speartree jutted upwards, their angry pale forms unmindful of human artifice.
Vin and I spent a minute walking across the fields, eventually arriving to the stumps and sat upon them. Loitering so close to the heartwoods was generally a bad idea, but I wasn’t coward enough to say so. Surprisingly, neither was the man opposite me.
Once stillness set in, the cold sunk into my skin. Bite season was turning to Frost quickly, and already the shadow of snow had fell across the Heartlands, freezing the dew on grass overnight to be melted come morning. Donning my fur armour had seemed too much of a hassle, but even coupled with my chest-bindings my shirt was too thin to offer any comfort. I stuck my hands into my armpits to warm them.
“Do you want my jacket?” Vin offered.
“I’m fine.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You sure? The cold’s never done much to me.”
“I’m sure,” I snapped. “Now’re you gonna let me play or what?”
“That, and I, uh, have another favour to ask.” I frowned. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t laugh.”
“Course you do.” Flecks of spittle flew from my mouth. “’f it’s funny I’ll laugh. Stop toin’ ‘round it.”
The Lizardblood tapped his fingernails against the wooden stump. It seemed absurd that such a large man would be so hesitant. “I want you to teach me how to play.”
For a fraction of a second, my eyes widened, before I concealed it with a long outward breath. My initial impulse was to accept immediately – that kind of authority over the man was tempting – however before the word could travel from brain to tongue another thought struck me.
I hummed, as if mentoring him would be unpleasant. “I dunno, Vin. It’s a lotta work. Whadda I get?”
He shrugged. “I could pay you.”
“Yer bleedin’ chits like a stuck pig.”
His eyes rolled backwards. “Ox’s balls, Kit – I’ll get them back. It’s my- “
A scoff forced itself from my throat, and hung in the air for several seconds. “You won’t. Gimme somethin’ I can use.”
“I could carve- “
“I don’t need gods-damned carvings, Vin.”
He threw up his hands. “Help me out, then.”
“A favour.” The words slapped against the air like a winning hand of cards.
I was offended by how quickly the man shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“What?” My brows crumpled. The cold’s encroachment drew a shiver from my body, delaying my answer. “Why?”
He clicked his tongue. “You’ll make me beat up some poor sod that looked at you wrong.”
“No.” Legitimate dismay entered my voice. “You think I’d do that?”
After a short pause, Vin snorted. “No, you’d do it yourself.”
“Damn right I would. No battle you can fight’s one I can’t.”
“Look,” he said, opening his hands. “It’s still no. I’m not getting involved- “
I groaned loudly. “It’d be somethin’ jus’ between you an’ me.”
A beat passed. “No one else’d be involved?”
“Yeah. Nothin’ you’d be against doin’.”
He sighed. “So what is it?”
“I dunno yet.” I did know, but it was better to ensure he was already in my debt. “I’ll figure it out after th’ lesson.”
“Fine.” He straightened. “Are we starting now?”
“Yeah. S’long as yer oaf head’s not actin’ up.”
His head turned sideways, but not before I saw the curl of his lip. “Blood, Kit; I’m fine.”
“Vin,” I snapped, “you couldn’ walk fer half a day, an’ couldn’ hold anythin’ fer another half.”
“And I’m better now,” he stated flatly.
A huff escaped me. “Alright.” I took my hands from my armpits and strummed a few chords of my instrument experimentally, then handed it to Vin. “Show me yer best.”
----------------------------------------
After shivering in the freezing air for the better part of an hour, I finally figured his best wasn’t good enough. In spite of all his skills, Vin wasn’t learning much better than a particularly stupid dog.
“Duh. Duh. Dah. Dah.” My teeth chattered slightly, but the sounds were of the correct pitch.
“What does that even mean?”
“You jus’- “ I curled my fingers in the air, miming the notes as I drew my hand down the neck of an imaginary lute. “Do that.”
“Agh. Like this?” The man’s hands copied the distance almost exactly, but sat on the wrong chord.
“You piece of garbage,” I yelled, smacking him across the head. “Wrong chord, dumbass.”
He snarled. “You didn’t tell me what chord!”
“Someone with talent woulda figured it out!”
Vin tossed the lute to his side, where it landed in a patch of grass. “Well, I guess I’ve got no talent.” He stood and began walking back to the farmstead.
“Oh, you’re gonna give up? Weak,” I called. “Weak. Yer really that spineless?”
I snatched the instrument from where he dropped it and flipped its form into my lap. A quick tune was coaxed from its strings: the most complex I’d managed since picking it up. At the edge of our patch of stumps, he stopped and half-turned his body back. The notes leapt over one another, dancing to my own flickering fingers, and though it felt like my playing was a single step away from a fall, I managed to finish the song without a stumble.
Gently, I leaned the lute against my stump. Vin’s eyes regarded it. His hands groped at air, before slipping beneath his bandana to rub at his forehead fiercely. But like a man fighting against some immense weight, he turned away.
“If you taught me like that, it’d be easier. But I’m not going to sit there and let you beat me for it.”
My jaw hung open. “Yer really gonna leave?” I’d never entertained the possibility he would. I had always come back, no matter how harsh training got.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“I’ll find someone else.” His words were clipped; terse.
I stared at the ground, processing that. Before the information seeped in, I leapt to my feet, snarling. “Get back here,” I growled. “You still owe me.”
He turned, revealing the contorted fury of his features. “You taught me nothing.”
“I did th’ best I could,” I retorted, rising to my feet while a hand gripping the hilt of my sword. A finger jabbed at him accusingly. “And you chose t’quit. Not me.”
“That’s- “ His words cut off, replaced by a strangled groan. “Fine. What did you want?”
I licked my lips. “Spar with me.”
Another roll of his eyes nearly had me gutting him. “I already spar with you.”
“Hah!” I barked. “That’s Oxdung an’ you know it.”
He rotated his body to fully face me. “We’ve sparred.” The Lizardblood swallowed, then carefully continued. “I don’t understand.” His words were enunciated with a bizarre precision.
“We’ve fought… two; three times? When I first joined. An’ I won easily.”
“So what?”
“Yer a godsdamned liar.”
The shadows of night could not hide how he recoiled.
“I know yer better than that; I’ve seen you be better.”
He tilted his head, lowering it to my level. “I don’t know what you think you saw- “
“Shut up,” I snapped. “You lie. Yer like a man o’ sand: big ‘n heavy, an’ turned to nothing in th’ wind.”
His eyes shone like a frozen flame. “And you’re the only one that noticed this?”
My gaze fell to the sword on his hip – tethered there since our first monster attack. “I’ve no clue.”
“Don’t tell them.” A plaintive note hung in his request, all but smothered by the monotone it was wrapped in.
“Fight me, then,” I demanded. “With everythin’ you got.”
He shook his head. “You said the favour would be nothing I’m against doing.”
I felt like screaming. “Why? Why’re you so…” My rigid fingers raised, poised as if they could catch some ghostly idea.
“I can’t,” he stressed. “I can’t. Just… understand that. Please.”
Nothing about his request was comprehensible. Everything I knew about Vin sat in my head wrong, the notion of his character seeming like a bird that refused to fly. He didn’t make sense.
“I’ll tell them,” I threatened, weakly.
His head fell downward, directed towards some point on the ground. “I’ll leave,” a hoarse voice replied.
“You…” Sudden exhaustion filled my body. A stiff gust of wind carried an icy chill, and I fell back onto the remnants of dead heartwood. The stump was cold and stiff. “Whatever.”
“Thank you.” His gratitude was a weary thing.
The cold’s fingers had stretched through flesh and into my bones. It shook my hands, and I angrily clasped both together. Yet a moment later I noticed my feet beating the ground impatiently, while some low, angry creature beat the walls of my chest. My hands found their way to my pouch and pulled a cigarillo out, placing it between trembling lips. I’d already had one today, but sometimes the itch was too much not to scratch.
Flint and steel struck one another, and according to whatever laws governed them my cigarillo was lit, slowly turning ashen between my lips.
“The favour,” I stated. “Thought o’ one. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
He rubbed his arms, waiting.
It was a strange thing, that the second favour I’d demand revolved around Whip. When the young woman’d approached me with a request, just two days after she left, I’d thought she needed me to hurt someone. The assumption wasn’t baseless; in the past few years, I couldn’t recall a single time I’d been sought out for anything else.
But instead of violence, she desired advice. On feelings, of all things. Never had language felt so much like a fist to the gut.
We’d stumbled onto the answer nearly an hour into the discussion. Our strategist liked Vin. Non-platonically. My knowledge of romance comprised almost entirely of drunken rolls in the hay and old people screaming at each other. Ballads about love’d rarely made much sense to me, so I’d begged off.
Whip’s chances weren’t great, though. Spineless as he was, Vin’d never even conceive of making a move. Beyond that, I didn’t know if he even liked women. Man obviously had military experience, and from what mother’d told me House Blooded kept to their own type of meat, because pregnancies got them beat and cast out. He might’ve already been sampling his side of the dish for years. Neither side seemed most likely, though. Vin never seemed interested in bodies.
I’d frequently catch Whip staring at him, and no sign of the oaf noticing. Or if he did, no sign of him comprehending. It seemed like such garbage.
As I exhaled, a thick plume of smoke fled my mouth. Its broken form held no answers. “You spend a few days helpin’ our strategist.”
He squinted. “Whip?”
“Yeah. Keep her company.”
“That’s your favour?”
“Blood,” I swore, withdrawing the cigarillo from my mouth, “lay off it, alright? I’m askin’ you t’do somethin’, so do it.”
I didn’t have the tools to solve that riddle, and all the theorising had ate a hole in my brain. Losing a favour was a small price to pay to get the whole thing out of my sight.
He turned away, raising his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.” Immediately, he turned back. “Seriously?”
“Ox’s balls,” I swore, “Kit can’t ask a favour fer someone else, huh? S’that how it is? It’s like I’m a…”
My voice trailed off. Vin’s body had gone entirely rigid, every part of it coiled and prepared to spring. In his right hand was at the hilt of his sword, its onyx blade a quarter-bared for the first time since the day we’d gotten it back. His eyes were directed towards the shadows of the woods.
“Vin?”
“Keep talking.”
“What?” I attempted to follow his gaze, but suddenly he had seized my shoulders.
“There’s nothing wrong with that!” he bellowed, spittle flying in my face. Before the last drops could land, he whispered something into my ear. “There’re people in the woods.”
I froze. “How many?”
“Over a dozen at least. Act natural. They know we’re here.”
“We can- “
“A dozen and counting, Kit; we need to go.”
I inclined my head slightly. Together, we stood and began casually walking towards the overgrown fields. Scarcely seconds after I’d grabbed my lute, a dull twang resounded from behind us. I ducked to the side and Vin’s arm snapped to where I’d been standing moments earlier. Though I intended to flee, a glance at Vin’s hand arrested my movement.
An arrow lay in his palm. He’d snatched it from the air.
Another sound ignited my legs. Vin thundered on my heels as I sprinted from the clearing of stumps. My path snaked drunkenly, every sound I heard signalling the beginning of another twist. I hurdled the rotten fence surrounding the field, managing to draw my sword from its sheath. Clearing the rest of the field was a matter of moments.
When I leapt over the opposite fence, a crash alerted me to my comrade breaking through its rotten wood. Glancing over my shoulder revealed the situation was worse than that: Vin had taken an arrow in the shoulder and fallen to the ground. While shadowy figures peeled away from the heartwoods, I stood still. My legs were full of manic energy, yet my head couldn’t figure out where to direct it. I found that after I ducked the next arrow, I was moving towards Vin, and not away.
By the time I’d arrived, the large man had thrown the scraps of rotten wood off himself. More projectiles flew from the woods, range and wind stealing their power. Any that came close were either the product of fortune or a brilliant marksman – and our assailants had enough of both to make helping Vin to his feet dangerous. Instead, I scooped up a piece of broken wood and, searched the shadowy sky and slowly judged the arc and speed of the single threatening arrow, used it as a makeshift shield. I could scarcely believe it when an impact ran through my arms, rather than my flesh.
He got up, and we ran again, snaking through the final field while hopping over shrubs, winding roots, and several sharp, crimson weeds. Soon, Vin’s massive form overtook me at a startling rate. A strangled growl was the only warning I got before he grabbed the back of my tunic and threw me over his shoulder.
Rather than stab him, I yelled “Shield!” in his ear. At that, Vin rapidly unstrapped his buckler and passed it to me. I held it in front of me like some spiritual deterrent; I’d never learned to use one, because shields were for cowards and got in the way, and so my contribution would solely rely on eyes, reflexes, and a shallow hope that neither of us would get nailed in the head.
Vin’s shoulder pounded repeatedly into my gut as world turned beneath us. Darkness made distinguishing our opponents from the shadows of trees difficult, but I was an old hand at counting foes. The result turned my stomach.
The caravan, saddled with dead weight as it was, had a limited fighting force. Six monster-hunters and three mercenaries – four counting the one wounded. Gast, Whip, and potentially Odrin were force-multipliers due to their abilities, but magic worked best with preparation. Off-guard as we were, we could maybe take an assault from a group of slightly larger size.
This was not a group of equal size. There were at least three-dozen soldiers emerging from the trees. They hadn’t caught Vin and I yet because they were marching in rank.
Foot-soldiers stomped their way through the stumps while a smattering of archers loosed their deadly payload from behind them. I could make out other figures even further behind. One silhouette was so large it had to be an Oxblood, and a strong one at that. If there was one Blooded, chances were there’d be more.
Two months ago, when I had last faced a force like this, I’d grabbed what I could and fled.
Doing so here meant leaving someone behind. My reluctance was funny. When I’d run the first time, I had barely stopped to lend a thought to the people I’d known my whole life. It had been, I realised, a relief.
Yet here, grouped with people I’d know for barely over a month, I didn’t want to.
And that was that. I didn’t want to, so I wouldn’t. Not unless the rest of my group came with me.
In the time it took for me to come to that conclusion, Vin had outran the arrows and was shuffling through the wall of wagons, incidentally slamming my head against the side of one. I swore ferociously and writhed until he put me down.
He didn’t pay me any mind. “We’re under attack!” he bellowed, somewhat redundantly. The guards and Gast had already notified everyone present, filling the yard with every member of the caravan: Growers & Smiths; Aron and his ilk; Jana and the kids; Maddie; even the three silent men who’d scarcely spoken a word this whole trip. The blue burn of bloodtech lanterns emanated from Tully and Odrin’s hands. The latter’s spectacles gleamed in the light, nearly concealing the panicked set of his eyes. The only ones absent from the yard were the mercenaries and Strains, who were peeking over the wagon-wall. Rita whispered quiet orders.
Vin’s hands fumbled over his back, coming near the arrow embedded in it but never touching. Running like that must’ve hurt. I considered it for a few moments, then grabbed its shaft and yanked it out.
I blinked. He’d barely flinched.
Tully’s voice sang out before I spotted her, striding from the crowd. “Who is it?”
“S’dark, but there’s least three dozen,” I reported. “We- “
“You rancid little insect,” Vin spat towards our scarred leader. Everyone present recoiled at the vitriol in his voice. “They’re soldiers wearing yellow.”
Tully’s eyes widened. After a moment, she responded. “There’s no horn- “
“Gods, why would they care about the Terms?” He paused. “Better question: why would House Baylar care about us?”
Immediately, the yard exploded. Ol’ Snapper and Atifi, and Aron threw wild accusations around, while others simply stood entirely still, horrified. Unable to stop myself, I threw a horrified stare at Vin. His eyes had clenched themselves shut, and his jaw ground itself down. His expression slowly contorted. In the lines of his face lay pure terror.
Tully let loose several harsh whistles; the quiet men entered their wagon. I watched Vin, and tried to comprehend what mechanisms ground within. It took a minute for his eyelids to reveal the orbs within. For the first time, I noticed one eye was a darker shade of brown that the other. Yet both were wide and trembling. They seized on Maddie, of all people. He muttered something.
I leaned closer. “What?”
“We need to go,” he repeated. “Whip!” the large man bellowed. “Ronnie! Gast! Davian! You need to go!”
The scarred woman strode forward and seized his shoulder. “I paid for your loyalty.”
He threw his shoulder away and whirled on her. “None of us agreed to guard your godsdamned Head!”
The voices around us gradually trickled away, leaving only the distant sound of boots.
“My Head,” Tully began carefully, “is Neelam Heltia.”
“Then what- “ Before he finished his sentence, Vin surged into the crowd and dragged Maddie out. The guards spun, turning their crossbows on him while Tully produced a dagger from somewhere. In response, I drew my sword, and Rita turned her crossbow my way.
Vin didn’t seem to care. Amidst the hooded girl’s quiet protests, he reached into her shirt and yanked something out. It caught the blue light of the lanterns briefly, but before I could get a good look he tossed it to Tully, who caught it in the fold of her cloak.
“Is that?” he finished. “Just some bauble? Amethysts set in the shape of a tower? Bloody runework down the side?” He held up a hand, showing them to the crowd. Each finger touching it had begun to smoke. “Burns at the touch of anyone outside the family?”
The silence stretched. Whether the questions were rhetorical or not, no one had an answer.
“Vin,” Maddie began, her arm still in his hand, “I can- “
“Shut up!” he screamed in her face, spittle flying from his mouth. The much smaller woman recoiled. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
He tossed her like a sack of grain, sending her to the ground. Her hood had fallen down, exposing a stream of curly orange hair and freckled, yet fearfully pale skin. He tossed the necklace to her, then clutched his burnt hand and growled. Tully quickly yanked Maddie upright, pulling her behind Rita, who had leapt to the ground.
“By the blood,” Vin swore, eyes wide. His chest fluctuated rapidly. “Gods!”
I slowly sheathed my sword. “Vin,” I said, showing him my palms. “What’re you talkin’ about?”
“She’s Heltia,” he spat. “She is Heltia. And they wrapped us up in this!”
“What?” The question was quiet. “What th’ blood happened t’the other guy?”
“I don’t know!” His words emerged as a strangled groan. “But that necklace means she’s the Head. That’s what it means.”
“How d’you even- “
“I read it. I know it.”
“Oh.” Finally, I caught up. “Raven’s bones.”
“What?” Whip called, limping her way down from the wagon-wall with the other Strains. “What?”
“You’ve got to go,” panted Vin. His gaze flickered around the yard, touching everything yet seeing nothing. “You’ve got to go; You all, have, to go.”
Already, I could see Aron, pulling his wife Willow and daughter Buttercup, sneaking towards his wagon. Ol’ Snapper frantically whispered at Odrin, then furiously kicked his son-in-law in the shins.
Tully’s voice cut through the noise. “No one’s going anywhere.”
Everyone turned. The boots marched closer. Time was running out.
“There’s a plan- “
“Oh, there’s a plan?” Vin barked a laugh. “There’s a plan? Are we going to fly away? Maybe summon lightning to their feet?” He paused in mock-thought. “Oh, I know! We’ll become gods.”
The crowd stared, jaws agape. This was not a man any of us knew.
“Your plans are nothing,” he hissed. “Nothing!”
But Tully had ceased paying attention. She tucked her fingers into her mouth and let loose a deliberate string of sharp whistles. The three men who I’d never learned the names of emerged from their wagon. They were supposed to be just another group caravaners. Yet the tallest and ugliest carried a massive collection of runeworked stone, while the two wide-eyed individuals had belts strapped with bulging pouches, and several more delicate components in their hands. All wore steel helms and breastplates, hastily buckled.
She jerked her head. “Get up there. Stop the advance.”
The trio clambered up the side of the wagons. Once they reached the top, the two smaller individuals searched through their pouches. One produced a small container; a little box made from metal, glowing a fierce purple. He tossed it.
Vin let loose a discordant snarl. “How did I not see this?”
I stared after them. “Wait. Yer tellin’ me- “
An all-encompassing sound rocked the world, thundering through the ears of all present. Light shone from behind the wagons, as if a sun had been born behind them. It vanished moments later.
Black spots swum before my eyes. A sharp whine pierced through an otherwise silent world, as if someone had plucked a string and let it vibrate endlessly. Before anything could coalesce, Vin’s massive chest was in front of me, his thick arms reaching for me.
I slipped aside and punched him in the kidney. He silently groaned and keeled over.
When cohesion began to return to the world, the large Blooded was speaking, now straigtened. “…need to get out of here!” His words were directed towards myself and the Strains, who’d gathered around him. I found Tippi and Crumpet weeping behind my back. Jana gathered them around her legs.
Ronnie’s hands gestured. Whip opened her mouth to translate. “There’s- “
“No?” Vin frantically interrupted. “No? What do you mean, ‘No’? We’re going to die if we stay here!”
The giant started signing something again, but Davian spoke before they could finish. His warped features revealed nothing. “Tully claims to have a plan- “
“She claims.”
He calmly continued over Vin’s interjection. “- and even if we suppose she doesn’t, this is worth it.”
Ronnie’s hands flashed. “This is better than it would be otherwise,” Whip translated. “We’ve got the House Head owing us. It’s almost certain we’ll find somewhere…”
The lame woman glanced at the baby-faced giant. “Safe?” Ronnie shook their head. “Legitimate?” Another shake. “Real?” A tilting hand. “True?”
A nod.
As if waiting for the two to finish had pained him, Vin immediately exploded. “It doesn’t matter if Heltia’s done for!”
Davian’s arms raised, revealing all the nothing he held. “It’s…” The Strain swallowed. “I believe it worth the risk.”
Gast’s eyes slowly drifted between us all. She nodded, then heaved her vast bulk back towards the wall of wagons.
“Whip? Come on. Help me out.” Vin’s plea was met with a slow shake of the head. “Kit?”
“M’not leavin’ if they’re not.”
“But. But- “ The large man coughed, then gagged towards the ground. A limp stream of liquid emerged from his mouth, curling around itself when it touched dirt; some grotesque crystallisation of his feelings.
Before he even fully straightened, he was backing away.
Rita raised her crossbow towards him. “Vin. Big man.” Her expression was dismayed; pleading. “Don’ leave. We need you. People’ll die ‘less yer here.”
“I- I’m not responsible for this,” he stuttered. “I can’t be. It’s not my business.”
My eyes widened as I realised what he was about to do. “Yer really gonna run from this?” Disbelief shadowed my words.
Two eyes – one brown, one darker – stared at me. While he shook his head from side to side, they watched. “You have no idea what I’m running from.”