XXVII.…BUT HOME IS NOWHERE
The mountainside was no more than a smoldering hillock, it gushed forth magma as a festering wound issues forth pus. The basin was fractured and aglow in firelight as the magma mixed with underground canal water, creating new land and a billowing cloud of steam to compete with the ash for dominance over the polluted air over Rhode. The wounded lay scattered on the fire plains overlooking the holocaust as the members of The Order scurried about, performing healings, trying to bring them back from the brink of death.
Clarissa embraced the Dawn, her skin sizzled and smoked as she was devoured by the very Light, she drew upon to heal. She forced herself to endure the pain as she performed a healing on Ashe. Finally, able to do no more, she released her grasp and allowed Emarosa to relieve her. She shakily stood, brushing ash and hair from her face as a gust of hot air blew past. Her eyes began to roll back as she fell, fortunately right into Séverin’s arms. She quickly recovered, embarrassed at the moment of weakness.
“You push yourself far too hard Clarissa.”
She broke away from his embrace and stumbled over to an empty bedroll and another wounded soldier. She plopped down and took several deep breaths before embracing the Light of the Dawn once more to mend the soldier’s broken arm.
“And what would you ’ave me do Séverin? Stand by as dzose around me die?”
Séverin grabbed her shoulder and shook her, causing her to break the connection. She glared up at him as he thrust a flask into her hands.
“No, I would have you realize you have limits and accept that you can do no one any amount of good if you die in the process.”
“I’m fine…” she replied curtly, focusing on the task at hand as sweat dripped from her brow.
She took a reluctant swig of the acrid elixir within, a strange concoction of various herbs and alcohol meant to revitalize magic users when they have used too much. While effective with wielders of the Dawn, its efficacy was limited. Only a day of rest spent in the sun was truly able t recover a cleric who had overextended themselves in pursuit of their duties.
“Then why do you pale so?” Séverin wiped away the mud that had formed on her face with his sleeve.
“I… I just need something to occupy my mind with. If I’m performing zee’ ealings, dzen all of my concentration is in connecting to zee source of Dawn. I ’ave no room for zee thoughts to stray. To be reminded of all we ’ave lost…”
He gently turned her face to look him in the eyes. “And the more you push yourself, the more concentration is required. You are not alone in this Clarissa. For one who has never had to witness the horrors of war, you are holding up admirably.”
She shook her head and swatted his hand away, turning her gaze back to her patient. “No, I’m just numb. When dzis is all over… when we leave ’ere for wherever we go next… nothing will change. Kielan and Aichlan will still be dead. But I will still see dzose, dzose monsters. I’ll still see zee death and ruin, every time I close my eyes, I’ll see Io, alone on dzat mountain, to die with ’er unborn child.”
Her eyes were wide and devoid of the life they once held. Séverin sat down and embraced Clarissa, she made no move to resist or return the embrace.
“What was zee point Séverin? Why did I even bother? Why do I continue to try? Why Séverin, if dzey will only die regardless?”
“We can’t think like that Clarissa, it—”
“It’s useless.” She interrupted, her anger and frustration briefly overpowering her despair. “They were so ’appy Séverin, Eth and Io. When dzey learned that she would finally ’ave un enfant…”
“Would you really be able to let them die?” Séverin jerked his head in the direction of the wounded and weary strewn around them.
“Could you tell them it is futile? Or would you do as you have been, and do your damnedest to save their lives?”
“But what will we do now? Aichlan is gone. Kielan is gone. Those were zee two real leaders.”
“Eth could step in, or Órfhlaith…” Séverin’s faux optimism did little to lift her spirits as he trailed off. “Anyone really.”
Eth stood on the lip of the basin, overlooking what remained of the Colby-Nau homeland, a radiant feather in his hands as he stared mournfully into the chaos below. He had shunned all consolation after awakening, turning inward and sullen. He had refused proper treatment, seeking to wear the scars of his “failure” as penance. Clarissa stared mournfully at him, her lip quivering before she finally shook her head and buried her face into Séverin’s chest.
“But not you?” she asked sadly, looking up into his eyes, callous and as red as the blood that stained his hands. “You plan on leaving us. I can tell.”
Séverin averted his gaze; something about her look filled him with guilt and doubt. Her eyes were once bright, almost glistening, pure and warm yet determined and powerful all at once. They held a deepness that mirrored his own; however, she was infinitely better at hiding the scars. Now, they dulled from the sorrow clearly written upon them, and for whatever reason Séverin could not help but to blame himself. He found himself thinking of ways to return their sparkle, most absurd or illogical. He would do anything to return their shine, kill anyone for her. He was unnerved and annoyed by these feelings, he desperately wanted to leave and return to what he knew best. Nevertheless, he still wished to give her something, anything, though he knew he needed the power to give life if he was to truly make her happy.
He lifted her chin gently with his finger, looking into her eyes. “Clarissa…”
“Will you leave?” she asked flatly, knitting her brow in concern.
“I was. I am.” He admitted, finding himself unable to lie for what seemed like the first time.
Clarissa pushed him away and stood shakily. “Then what’s zee point?”
* * *
Aichlan climbed up onto the lip of the basin, having returned to this state of existence on a slab of rock jutting out over a pit of lava. He held a vague notion of a dream, though unsure of where he had been or how he came to be where he was now. Before him, the majesty of the Colby-Nau was in ruin, as its citizens were laid to bear as refugees in their own nation.
He walked through their midst unnoticed as he searched out his companions. Their faces were like his own, human, their emotions like any other displaced people. Sadness, fear, grief, numb despair, all found purchase on the faces of the huddled masses. He didn’t know why it was so shocking to him, they lived, they bled, just like any other mortal. So too did they have dreams and desires, dreams that were shattered in an instant. They had no more than the clothes upon their backs, not even a tent to shelter them or a mat to lie upon. Everywhere he went there was the same sad chorus of weeping and curses for them who took so much for so little.
He had been so sure, so certain things would be different, that he could slay the monster and gain a hero’s reward. Yet he had failed, for the second time. He felt the weight of their deaths settle upon his shoulders and quickened his pace. He needed to escape the reminder of his failure, the reminder that a happy ending is never guaranteed.
He weaved his way through the devastation in search of some familiar face in the crowd. The still smoking mountain rumbled and belched forth lava and smoke behind him. Pain wracked his body; blood seeped from his numerous wounds. Several times, he stumbled and fell, each time certain that he would bleed out and finally find peace. It was sometime before he spotted the horses of Maleah’s unit and the rest of his companions huddled nearby as the clerics healed the wounded. He expected a warm greeting but was met with horror and surprise.
“Hello…”
“Where in Dawn’s name did you go?” Taryn barked. “One minute you was standin’ there, next you’re gone an’ I’m stuck fishin’ your lass outta the pit.”
“Where have you been?” Órfhlaith questioned as she attended to Ashe.
“I wouldn’t know where to start. How is she?”
“Fine. No thanks to you.” Maleah snapped, concern and fear beneath her front of anger. “What the hell are you?”
Aichlan fidgeted under Maleah’s scrutiny. His eyes met hers, and for the first time, there was a kinship of sorts. The kind found among survivors of tragedy or witnesses to atrocity. An understanding. A shared terror.
“You saw one, didn’t you?” Her words were almost a whisper, but clear enough to Aichlan.
Aichlan looked away; he could not explain it, as he did not understand it himself. The child with eyes like the sun against infinity was a fever dream as far as he was concerned. He saw Ashe nearly swallowed by the crevasse, but he could do nothing. It was as if he were truly a ghost. It was reminiscent to the incident in the Wraith Wood. He still did not know where he went, merely a vague memory of home and his mother’s cooking.
“I could tell you, but I doubt it would answer any of your questions. The truth has only served to compound my own.” He replied as he knelt beside Ashe and caressed her cheek.
“Aichlan?”
“I’m here Ashe…” he took her hand in his own and squeezed with the intent of never again letting go.
It was frightening, in that moment, he realized something he had been dreading. He loved her. He had always used those words somewhat liberally in his past, but now, they held a deeper meaning. Without her, he would have no reason to try and complete this mission or whatever the hell it was, because his life would be meaningless without her. Had Renata evoked the same in him? Or was that simply lust exacerbated by the need for secrecy?
“Try us dzen.” Clarissa stumbled over to their huddle, leaning on Séverin heavily in her weakened state. “You did dzis before remember? We can’t keep ’aving you fade in and out at will like dzis. What would we do without you? What if the next time you don’t return?” She wiped away tears and sweat with a handkerchief as she was eased to a sitting position.
“How do we make sure there is no next time?” Alice added, with equal hurt and passion in her voice. “How could you be so selfish as to keep something like this a secret? Do you really have so little trust in us? Do we mean so little to you? Me of all people Aichlan!”
He was relieved to see she had survived but wasn’t too surprised. During their travels thus far, she had proven herself a very capable fighter, though it was a role he desperately wished to shield her from.
“No Alice, Clarissa. In fact, the exact opposite is the reason I carried this burden alone as I did.”
He took a deep breath and searched the faces before him, preparing for the inevitable reactions once his tale was complete. He was relieved to see Eth still amongst the living, though in a morose mood at the moment. Among the other survivors were Enyo, Donough, Hratchouhi, Órfhlaith and several units scattered amongst the refugees. For a city of nine million, there were far too few survivors. Aichlan looked into each of his companion’s faces, faces he no longer recognized. The burdens they now carried would mar them permanently, and here he sat ready to add onto it with absurdity.
“As Maleah may well know, none survived the massacre at Arlien. I myself was slain as I lead seven survivors in an attempted retreat. For reasons unknown, I was granted this state of half-life to complete some task and was cast into the river Tear. I know not the specifics, but I do know that Osric must be stopped.”
“And then?” Ashe asked as she forced herself to sit up. “Once your task is complete, what will become of ye?”
Aichlan avoided her gaze, the hurt evident in her voice was enough, and he could not bear to look upon her beautiful eyes to see them tarnished by the pain his own selfishness had caused. His selfishness and confliction led to her pain and despair at the loss of someone she gave her heart to entirely. The realization and acceptance of his fault made him ill. Emarosa reached out and lay hands upon him, sending forth soothing waves of healing light that allowed him to continue.
“I don’t know. I could remain as I am, having gained the much coveted second chance, or I could…” Aichlan could not finish, but in his silence, everyone knew what it was he was unable to put to words. He could disappear; he could die for the last time.
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“So ye were just going to carry on and nae tell me?”
“No Ashe, I…” he stammered and faltered, unable to lie, he would have carried on without telling her; despite what he told himself.
“So how was I to find oot Aichlan? One day ye’d just up and disappear? Be gone forever and I’d be none the wiser as to the cause?”
The injury was clear in her voice; her genuine concern and fears for him brought back his previous guilt and shame. Here was a woman who deeply loved him, and he was willing to throw it all away for nothing it seemed.
“Why didn’t you tell us? What about the rest of us Aichlan?” Alice blustered through tears. “Why did you not tell me?”
“Alice, please…” Fiora pleaded halfheartedly.
“We already lost Kielan!” She shouted, shrugging off Fiora’s hand. “What would we do without you as well? It’s not about the bloody war!” she cried with newfound fervor. “Not just peers and countrymen, are we not friends? By Dawn, I don’t know how many times Garrick carried me around on his back as a child!”
Alice took a seat on the stony ground, wiping tears on the back of her bandaged hands. Her face was as dirty and grimy as when they had found her and Fiora at Nole. They had bonded, Aichlan saw Alice as the younger sister he had never had, especially when she was her most challenging. He wanted to do anything and everything to spare her what their current path would inevitably net.
“And you promised me Aichlan of Westfaire Towers, son of General Garrick and Grandmaster of The Knights of The Order of Dawn,” she sniffled and wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. “You promised you’d see me home on your honor as a knight and I bloody well intend to keep you to your word Sir.”
“I think emotions are running a bit high regarding the loss of family and friends, I believe Aichlan is gettin’ more than his fair share o’ the blame.” Órfhlaith added with her usual calm curtness. “If he came to us with that story when this whole mess began, I’d think he’d be locked up with the Xanaviens. I doubt any o’ ye’d have reacted any diff’rently.”
A silence fell over the group as they reflected on her words. He was grateful that she came to his defense yet again.
“Leave it to Órfhlaith to be the voice o’ reason then…” Eth rose from his boulder perch, eye still fixed upon the glowing feather in his hand.
“She’s right, none of those things matter now.” Fiora added pleadingly. “All that matters is that we make it home together, wherever that may be.” She drew idly in the ash as she stared off into the haze and fires of Rhode. “We make it home together, or it’s not worth returning at all…”
“But home is naewhere.” Eth furthered her implied sentiments. “The devastation o’ Rhode should show that much. When families fled, wha’ did they bring with ’em?” he asked, gesturing to the refugees. “They have nothing, nothing but each o’her. Nae belongings, nae extra clothes… Nothing. Jus’ each other. Tha’s home, family. We can rebuild, so long… so long as we have each other…”
Órfhlaith made a move to embrace or comfort Eth, but he shrugged her off and returned to his perch, looking out over the rapidly filling basin. Millennia of history and culture had been destroyed in a matter of hours. Though the nation of Rhode was expansive, much was inhospitable, either far too hot or too cold for the Colby-Nau. The outside worlds opinion of them was ignorant at best, genocidal at worst. Aichlan feared for their survival, wondering where they would go.
“All o’ us. Nae a moun’ain, nae a piece o’ land, nae a nation. It is us. We are Rhode, Sorn, Elysia, wherever the fuck ye two are from.” He said gesturing to Séverin and Maleah. “So nae more secrets, nae more politics.” He glared at Donough and Enyo as he spoke this last part, glancing over Aichlan.
“We go forth toge’er, as one bloody unit, and we make the bligh’er pay. We make ’em pay in blood for his assault upon oor families, oor home. We make ’em pay for the sacrifices, for… for Io’s sacrifice at the temple. For the destruction o’ my family, my unborn child…” he clutched the feather in his hand, tears spilling from his eye. “An’ fer makin’ me melt me fuckin’ sword!”
He suddenly leapt from the boulder, lifted it with some effort, and hurled it into the lake of fire that was once the fertile basin of Rhode.
“An’ who dya expect tae lead this ‘unit’ ’en? Eh?” Donough countered. “An’ where d’ya s’pose we begin?”
“I say let Aichlan lead.” All eyes turn once more to Órfhlaith. “He brought it here; I say have him lead it away.” She teased. “Do any object?”
Enyo seemed ready to object, but Donough silenced her with a brusque gesture. “Daen’t quite know what to think o’ yer story, bollox if ya ask me, but I do know ya got the respect of some good folk ’ere. Ye ain’t the threat, Osric is. Ye fought fer us mate and that puts ye in fair standin’ wit’ me. We will aid ye in huntin’ him down.”
Enyo swore and grumbled in her native tongue, pouting as a child might.
“Enyo is wit’ me.” He added upon seeing Aichlan’s expression. “She goes where I say and follows me. T’ain’t nothing’ personal mind ye, lass just don’t like bein’ called out fer bein’ wrong.”
“I got some men up in the Port o’ Romance,” Taryn said as she organized and inventoried supplies with Tlalli. “At least they should be. They fled from Sorn af’er tha’ collapse o’ the gov’rment, lookin’ to parlay with Duvachellé's new king. Peasants and farmers that took up arms mostly, but we got a few soldiers in our ranks.”
“We were going dzat direction, anyway, weren’t we?” Clarissa asked, some of her former zest returning at the prospect of returning home.
“If you’re going to that neck of the world, then you’ll defiantly need my, shall we say, expertise.” Ransom said with his usual slyness, though his eyes showed a hurt and empathy not seen before.
“As will I.” Séverin said, causing Clarissa to double take in surprise. “And if you will have them, Maleah offers her support and that of her soldiers.”
Aichlan nodded as he stared off into space. Though he no longer feared treachery, not after the brutality he saw Osric confer upon his own kin, he was wary of the soldiers she commanded. Where and to whom did their loyalties lie? When the time came, would they fight or desert? Could they be counted on to defend those they fought alongside? However, at this stage, such thinking would get him nowhere; they needed every sword-bearing arm they could get. He would just have to be sure they were closely watched.
“Rhode will rebuild.” Órfhlaith said distantly as she stared at the still smoking peak of their once majestic home. “As the Great Phoenix, we will rise from the ashes once again…”
Eth dropped to his haunches, still sullen. Órfhlaith looked at him, thinking of words that may console his insurmountable pain, ultimately deciding against it and turned her forlorn gaze back to the burning mountain. Aichlan knew his friends’ pain, and also knew the best remedy would be a little time and space.
“Sister Clarissa.” Aichlan broke the silence, startling the one he addressed.
“Yes?”
Her spirits had lifted slightly with his return, yet sorrow at the massive losses still weighed heavy upon her, he saw it in the lack of shine to her once bright eyes. Aichlan hoped she would recover; he did not know what they would do without her. He saw those who were at deaths door before his disappearance now up and about. He was certain it was her doing; no one could survive the thrashing they took and be recovered so quickly. Most healers on a battlefield were only there to stabilize the injured; it usually took days or weeks at an infirmary before they were good as new again. Yet she seemed to effortlessly snatch people back from the brink of death. He wondered if she was even aware of her importance in all of this. Aichlan stood with a groan, refusing Emarosa’s attempts to help him up.
“I want for you and Emma to lead those of The Order.”
“I’m…I’m flattered my Lord, yet you must realize I am but a nun…” she looked down at her lap, twisting a handkerchief in her hands. “Please, find someone else…”
“Yes, Sister Clarissa La Roux.” He replied in Elysian, causing her to look up in surprise. “I know you are ‘just a nun.’ And knowing this, I hereby elevate you to the office of Cardinal with all responsibilities and duties entailed therein.” Aichlan finished with the sign of The Dawn.
Clarissa hastily rose to her feet and bowed returning the gesture, still taken aback by the suddenness of it all. She glanced nervously to Emarosa, who seemed nonplussed. While by all accounts she should be given the title, he was unwilling to stock his ranks with the old guard responsible for his death to begin with. He gently guided Clarissa away from the group to speak semi-privately.
“My Lord Aichlan, I cannot…” She replied in angelic Elysian, giving the already songlike language more beauty and grace.
“Emarosa is of sufficient office to act as your second.” Aichlan finished definitively.
“I do not mean to offend Aichlan, but that isn’t how it works…” Clarissa argued, still reeling from the shock of it all.
“It is if it is a time of war, and since I hold the highest rank of any knight. As Grand Master, having been the Priestess Renata’s personal guardian I can do as I damn well please and have it hold in her absence.” Aichlan reverted to the familiar Aes Sidhean tongue for emphasis. “The highest office under your command would be a bishop and several high priests that served directly for Renata. None of whom I trust in plain sight at high noon; daggers are far too easily concealed, and tongues used to praise are often forked in circles of their peers. I shall need for you to rein in the serpents.”
“I am honored Aichlan, though I am afraid I don’t much know what said office implies—”
Aichlan brushed the dust from her shoulder. “Continue as you are Clarissa, and you shall do well. If any opposition arises regarding your new position, send them to me. If you have any questions regarding duty and responsibility, contact Archbishop Emarosa. That is all, Your Eminence La Roux.”
Clarissa was truly shocked by the title given to her, but slowly a grin spread across her lips.
“Don’t let the position get to your head Clarissa.” Aichlan warned, though he realized the effort was futile.
“Why Aichlan, I’d never.” She smirked and wiped perspiration from her forehead.
“Let us hope not. Now get some rest, you look ill.”
She blushed, though the act did little to color her death pallor. “I may haps overexerted myself dzese past twenty-four ’ours. By your leave dzen.” She replied with a curtsy, halting upon remembering such an act was no longer required of her standing.
“Let me help you set up a bed.” Séverin stood, offered her his arm, and lead her away.
Aichlan dismissed them with a brusque wave of the hand. It was not his intent to be curt, but his mind was elsewhere at the moment. He looked for Ashe’s reassuring smile, only to have guilt and shame wash over him as he further lamented the way he had hurt this woman who cared for and loved him so. She would not even look his way, her eyes fixated on some point in space as she held her knees to her chest. Like Eth, she had lost her family on Rhode as well.
As loathe as he was to admit it, he was all she had left. He sighed and looked back towards the smoldering mountain, he was all she had left and was distressingly unworthy of her. Hratchouhi rubbed Ashe’s shoulders reassuringly before standing. He caught her approach from the corner of his eyes but made no move to acknowledge her.
“I’ll leave the smithing clan at yer disposal; at least those that remain…Seems mine might be the only one…”
“Thank you.” He mumbled curtly.
“I’ll go ahead and get everyone started on refitting and outfitting.” She continued, undeterred. “Send those Xanaviens over ta be sized up.”
“What? We’re doing this now?” Alice shot to her feet, outraged at the perceived callousness. “A great blow has been struck! You need—!”
“To strike while the iron is still hot.” Hratchouhi interrupted. “Grief, rage, sorrow, all of those can give purpose and direction if acted upon while the wound still stings from the initial cut.”
“She’s right. We need to move on as soon as possible.” Aichlan said as he dragged his hands across his face.
Ashe abruptly stood, paused as if to say something, only to change her mind and run off into the camp. Aichlan visually tracked her in the sea of refugees but did little else. What else could he do? Words are meaningless.
“You just gonna sit there then?” Taryn asked tersely.
It took Aichlan a second to realize she was addressing him. “Here we must leave behind all hesitation, here; every cowardice must meet its death. For my deception, I offer profuse apologies and my heartfelt regrets, but know it seemed a necessary evil. We must pursue this man and end him.” Aichlan ignored Taryn’s dirty looks. “How do we reach Duvachellé from here? Surely another route leads to our destination other than that damn marsh.”
“Vergas, human town north o’ here. Do a lotta tradin’ with them. Did anyhow. We can get a ship and sail up to the Port o’ Romance.” Eth’s words were quick and spoken with a distracted, heavy heart, his eyes red from both hidden tears and acrid smoke.
“Let’s move out away from this forlorn place then,” Aichlan began somberly, wishing for some way to ease his friends’ pain, but knew there was none. “We shall rest for the night, or day, whatever lay behind this veil of smoke and ash.”
“I’ll handle the logistics; ye handle yer, o’her obligations.” These were the first non-derogatory words he’d heard Tlalli direct at him.
“It’s appreciated.” Aichlan paused to look out to the horizon before he forced himself to address a subject he’d do anything to avoid.
* * *
The Xanavien army had taken a halt in a small clearing amongst the mangrove forests of the Death Marsh. Upon a log, Osric sat and carefully dug into his chest with a knife, trying to remove the arrowhead. He finally managed to dig it out with a considerable amount of pain; and held the bloody tip up to the light, examining it with disgust before he tossed it into the underbrush. The strange woman bandaged besides him, dressed in rags, and playing with a twig in an anthill.
“Do you know who you are?” he asked, wincing as he stuffed the wound with herbs. “Do you know what you are?”
The woman stared dully at the anthill as she prodded at it, not acknowledging his questions.
“Are you dumb woman? Or merely dense?”
She gurgled in response, blowing spit bubbles.
“Idiot.”
He swore aloud as he stood with considerable agony and stumbled over to the resting place of the stolen phoenix egg. Hopefully, all of this effort would be worth it. His forces were in shambles and the creatures were uncontrollable. If he were attacked now, no matter how unlikely, that would be the end of his ambitions. He leaned on it to catch his breath, clutching the bleeding wound that had gone deeper than he initially thought. To his astonishment, the herbs fell from the gaping wound and the blood ceased to flow as the wound closed up, leaving his skin as if it were never broken to begin with.
“And thus, I shed my mortality.” He said to himself as he examined his flesh, all pain and fatigue lifted as if by the hands of an expert healer.
The woman smiled and giggled gaily, as behind her a soldier called weakly for help in Xanavien. Osric turned and saw a soldier as he clawed his way towards him, bloody arm outstretched as the woman poked and prodded at him with her stick. The soldier was missing his lower half, his intestines trailed behind him like a bloody rope. The woman poked him in the eye, testily at first, then more forcefully and intentionally at his agonized cries of pain.
“Enough,” Osric barked in disgust. “Kill him if you must…”
Osric trailed off as she bashed the soldier in the head with a fist-sized stone. She then proceeded to beat him repeatedly until his cries ceased and the twitching ended.
His army of Dusk Spawn feasted upon the remains of the Xanavene soldiers scattered amongst the clearing. Those left alive cried in agony as they tried in vain to fight them off. He watched with a blank expression, for most of them it was a far better end than they deserved. Most all of them he had taken on this campaign were convicted rapists and murderers, marauders, and thieves. They deserve this he thought to himself. After several moments, the agonized screams did not cease and he looked away, unable to believe the words he now repeated in his mind. They deserved this…
He looked down and Renata, who was bound and gagged near the egg. Overcome with the familiar surge of contempt and hatred, he knelt to address the woman. She too had been healed by the power of the egg it seemed. She looked at him in horror, trying to back away as he leaned in close to her.
“Feeling better, are we?” He asked cheerily.
“What do you want with me!”
He smacked her, frowning as a soldier let out a particularly bloodcurdling scream, as he was torn limb from limb mere feet away. In a moment of lucidity, he looked back and was prepared to render aid, but the clarity replaced confusion and soon followed indifference. They deserved this.
“Are you ready to talk? Or do you need more interrogations?”
“I can tell you nothing if you insist on torturing me without telling me what you want to know!”
He stood as the strange woman approached with a look of curiosity upon her face. She kneeled down and poked at Renata, fondled her gown and made a general nuisance of herself. Renata swatted at the woman as best she could with her hands bound before her.
“I want to know about the man that impregnated you, and fucked with my plans.”