Health = 17/42

Mana = 3

That was Frank’s condition as they opened the hatch up into their home, and dragged themselves up. There was no ladder, to deny leverage to anything trying to break it open. Frank had a feeling he’d regained a mote of mana on the way back. It would take him three days to get back to where he was, Health wise. But they were both alive, and could recover.

As the warriors on patrol told them, this was not a usual patrol. Running into Bones in ones, twos and threes, that was normal. The foul smoke demon harassing them and just waiting for one of them to make a mistake, or go chasing after it? That was normal. For a party of five, they were no trouble.

A full on ambush by four Bones, an Ice Shade, and a Demon wasn’t. Demons did ambush parties, but that was reserved for when one decided it could take a real swing at a party. When it thought it could win. Other patrols had gone past that tower multiple times with no trouble, some in the last day. Those things had to have been there for a while.

It had simply seen a party of two, and decided they were easy pickings.

“But you won’t have to worry about that again.” The on-duty Reclaimer had gruffly told him, looking pleased.

Frank had wanted to glare at him but managed to keep his response to a polite: “And why is that?”

“Because with a room that open and Demons being Demons, some of them were watching from the rafters, or the tower edge. None of them will underestimate you again, Mageling.”

Frank was in two minds on it. Easier patrols would be nice. While neither of them had gone below fifteen Health, that was a lot more exciting and dangerous than Frank expected from a first patrol. He needed to adjust his expectations for this place.

Again. “I’m getting real tired of that.”

Frank didn’t miss the implication that other Demons had been there and could have attacked if they’d shown weakness. He was too used to territorial monsters, or fighting people. The combination of snakes, dead and Demons had blindsided him.

Frank started the fire, and set the water for the stew to cook in the kitchen. Deli was gone, her furs dropped carelessly on a chair in passing. He went after her, picking up her boots, pants, shirt, folding and setting them down by her bed. She’d already crawled under the covers.

“Thanks, Frank.” She said, exhausted. Between the exercises, and the long patrols, she was done.

“I’ll wake you for dinner. You don’t want to sleep on an empty stomach.”

She’d nibbled on travel rations during the breaks, but fighting on a full stomach troubled her. Moving around at her top speed with a full stomach could make her sick. Just another problem with Body one. At least that wouldn’t be a problem for long.

And it was an easy way to cheer her up. “How long?”

She glanced up at him from bed, the covers drawn up to her neck, her eyes already half asleep. The question still made her smile: “Thirty two.”

“Thirty one.” He corrected, smiling back, as this day was over.

She gave him an impish grin. “I already counted it.”

Frank nodded, gave her a half-hearted wave and turned back, going to the kitchen. He readied some mushroom bread, cleaned some carrots (not really, but the vegetables reminded him of them, like a cousin of the plant), and got a small strip of meat out to add to the stew. In the cold pantry, he found a freshly skinned hare, and a bag. Ignoring it for a moment, he tended to the stew until he was sure it was doing well.

Then he went back for the bag. It clicked. For a moment, his imagination ran away from him and it was replaced with other bags, bribes he’d been offered clinking with coin.

When he spilled it on the table, it was not coin that filled it. It had only been a day, and already he had results. The table was covered in stones. Blanks, and a note asking him to report to the scout commander in the morning.

The thing about his warmth runestones was, they only lasted a little while. But if he was around to replace them, manage the supply for a company wintering in one place? Then they could be planned around, used for deployment. And no one needed them as much as the scouts.

It was their job to be on the lookout for Greater Dead, and True Demons. Things that might breach the barricades. That meant going out even in terrible weather conditions. Thing was, once it got that bad, his stone couldn’t keep up, not for a normal person. But for someone that could already handle it, it would give them an edge. More range, a margin of safety.

If they could depend on it.

Frank did worry about that, just a little. He hadn’t given his runestones to anyone really powerful to test, or tested one alone in whiteout conditions. He’d survived one such storm with six on him, but that was with him there to balance them, something no one without magic could do.

They should still work. They were made to absorb motes of mana from the air and the person carrying them. Most warriors had no way to access their mana, and relied on Stamina Skills. But it was still something to test, if he could get the commander’s support.

With lunch on the way, and a fire lit, Frank went back to their room to change himself. He found multiple tears in his outer shirt, and several in the inner. He’d have to take them to one of the firekeepers to mend. He knew Deli was up for it, but it wasn’t her job, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her. Whatever time and energy she had, should be spent on training to be a better axemaiden, not sewing.

It’s what she wanted.

Back in the room Deli had turned towards the wall, and wasn’t moving. Maybe asleep, maybe just resting.

Once back in the kitchen Frank found himself at a loss. He’d been throwing himself into getting established, finding a place and securing their Wintering Quarters.

But after this patrol, he knew they’d made it. No one would expect them to perform on the same level as a five or six person party, but they’d shown they could at least handle themselves.

His mana wasn’t out, he could carve. He wanted to.

It was still foolish to totally exhaust it with Snow Shades and Bones and who knows what else out there, hidden in the storm. Frank tried to keep at least two Mana ready, in case of an emergency.

Carving was out. The meal was cooking, he just had to watch it.

…

These were the moments he avoided. When everything was still and quiet, and no one was around. No one to talk to, nothing to do, to distract him.

They hadn’t talked about it. Him being a Hero. His past. Not since she brought it up. Deli was considerate that way, it wasn’t just some Oath nonsense. If he asked her, she’d tell him she was waiting until he was ready. That they had all winter.

Except they didn’t.

She wasn’t a party leader. Nor trained for it. Communication was important in a fight. Coordination. His academy teachers would rip him a new one for that poor performance.

That was something he could do. Go over each fight, and think of ways to do better. Come up with a training plan for Deli, a regular schedule that maximises her progress, like the Academy had for him. Work some orders and coordination training into their days.

Not formation fighting, which he was more familiar with. That took more than one party. Lower officers were the ones leading parties in a company, usually. He was one of them now, kind off.

Mind made up, Frank took out his notebook, and got to it. With the way he was going he’d need a new one soon. It was the one thing he’d give the Empire: they made paper and pencils cheap.

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***

It felt like she’d barely fallen asleep, when she was shaken awake. Deli was used to it. The weight in her bones, dragging her down. It was bearable again, at least she could walk. Coming back from that patrol, everything had ached.

Her mother had warned her that once they started treating her like a warrior, things would change. Quickly. They had. No one would give Deli credit to buy a weapon. But a party? A party that was going out on patrol?

That was different.

Her butt slapped into the chair, as she yawned again. Once winter started for real, the storms could last for days, quarters. There were reasons why every town was built on a hill, with plenty of space for the winds to blow snow away to lower attitudes. Blighttown builders had chosen their place well. She remembered the scare Frank had gotten and giggled.

Frank raised an eyebrow in question, something she was starting to pick up on. It was an interesting look, doing it with only one. She still needed practice.

“Earthquake.” she reminded him. He snorted, and went back to his meal. The first time an avalanche had gone past the town he’d mistaken it for an earthquake.

It was nice stew. Not nearly as nice as back home, or some she could make herself, but all the better for it. She hadn’t had to make it. Wasn’t expected to.

It still felt a little wrong for her leader to cook for her, but “to each according to their Skills and Abilities”. Deli was a new member, new warrior with low Stamina. Her duty was to train and rest. Not cook. And while she could almost hear her Father’s voice telling her to “Be a good girl and stich this up” for the shirts and pants, she refrained. The bells spent on that could be more rest, and lead to more training.

It wasn’t so bad. Shocking, in how many repetitions he insisted on. Far more than her parents. Frank didn’t treat her like a child; adjust the exercises for her Stamina. No, when she was heaving and dripping all over the floor, he’d tell he to take a breather, and then continue where she’d stopped.

When her legs failed her, Frank had helped her to a cot, and let her sleep, waking her for their patrol.

And so it went. She’d never slept so much in her life. Or been so exhausted. Deli finished her stew quickly, and went right back to bed.

…

The demon woke her up before dawn to do another round of practice blows. This time, he made it worse. During her breaks, he’d teach and question, work out fights as pretend. She wasn’t sure of the point of it, but she tried to keep up as best she could.

What to do, what not to. How to call out what she was doing, and recognise his calls. Charges, retreats, how to scatter, keep away while chipping away at the enemy. Time their blows together and not get in each other’s way.

She’d been aware of the dance of a hundred swings, where faster, weaker warriors wore down a larger monster or dead. Edge walking, as the high Agility folk called it. Getting in range for just enough to take their swing and retreat.

She’d thought she might be one, once. Before she got Strength three, but missed out on Body two.

But there was only so much exercise, so much training, and lessons she could take. Deli had been worried about his habit of reading and retreating into himself. Now, these were the only times she had peace while awake.

For three days he pushed her, and she knew it was for her own good. It was all she’d ever wanted. But on the fourth, she just couldn’t. They’d come back from a second patrol, nowhere near as perilous as the first, and he wanted to train the morning after?

She couldn’t.

For the first time in her life, Deli had the Stamina to get up. But not the Will. She told him as much. He was her teacher. He needed to know.

He’d looked so unhappy, Deli feared she’d failed him. But only for a moment.

Frank sighed, deep and heartfelt. “So long as you’re honest about it, speak up Deli. I’m not a Skilled teacher. Just doing the best I can from what lessons I remember.”

She nodded in agreement, but her back stayed glued to her bed. She felt… drained. Like she never had. Like the world had dimmed. Even her Oath was somehow… less important. For peace, for rest… if there were dead in the room, she get up and defend herself. Her Body was fine. But if a Demon came in with them and offered her a deal to fight them in her stead, she’d be tempted.

And that was wrong. Something was wrong.

“I think there’s something wrong with me.” She admitted to him.

“It’s not.” Frank replied, pensive.

“There’s things, conditions one can suffer that aren’t Stamina, or Mana exhaustion. You’re familiar with running out of Stamina.”

Some tired part of her perked up, but only for a moment. She was more than familiar with it, but it seemed a petty thing to get upset about.

“Come on. Get dressed.”

She didn’t.

“We won’t be going training.” He snorted. “Well, not that kind. This will help.”

She looked at him doubtfully. He came up to her bed and grabbed her hand. Started to slowly pull. She’d end up on the floor. It was easier to get up, than fight him.

***

Frank had helped her dress. Made breakfast. The whole world was still dim around her. Quiet. She was always curious about the world. Wanted to learn, travel it. The wish, the urge was quiet. Almost unheard.

He cracked open a window on the top and they got out of it. Her furs felt heavy. The axestaff, still a tiny ember of pride, even now, dragged on the roof behind her. She wasn’t tried. It was just too much work to lift it.

It was a clear night out. Full of stars. Silent. The air was calm. The wind gone.

“Did this ever happen to your parents?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” He asked gently.

Slowly, Deli made herself think about it. He’d only keep pestering her until she did. This was easier.

“Maybe.”

“What would they do?”

She remembered.

“Mother or Father… they’d come back quiet. Go to their room. I’d listen in.” A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “One would sing. And sing, and sing.” She leaned back as Frank broke a Snow Shade behind her. She wasn’t worried.

“Would you like to sing?” He asked.

Looking up at the stars? It wouldn’t be too bad.

But it was not words of songs they sang. She remembered, a night, dark and cold, in a winter like this.

“The wordless prayer.” Deli told him, softly. She didn’t want to bother anyone. But…

Slowly, she raised herself from the slouch she fallen into. Made space, an upright posture, for her breath, for room. Took a deep one, the way you’re not supposed to in winter. Felt the cold air crawl down her neck and into her chest. It woke her up, just a bit. She took another one, deep, deep, all the way, until it hurt. She did her best.

It was a prayer, a song. Without words, but not without meaning.

She sang, a single note, a letter, a tone, a wish. Wail and prayer in one.

It rang off the town walls and the sides of the mountain. She held it as long as she could, and when she was done, she had nothing else to give.

It was answered.

First by roars and shouts by the night guards. Then by horns, whistles and drums. All over the living came out of their buried homes, out of the snow. Warriors and firekeepers raising their voice in song.

Deli knew it, she’d seen it done, had participated. But she’d never started one. A warrior always did that and she’d never known why.

Now she was one.

A wordless choir rose to the empty heavens, the living throwing their defiance back into the face of the dead, for the Winter Winds had come and past. They’d be back again, no doubt. But for now, they’d survived.

***

Frank had never heard anything like it. Wordless voices all raised together, some perfect and practiced, reinforced by otherworldly Skill, mixing with offbeat and off tone, cracking shouts and screams. All creating an aria unlike anything heard back home. No one mixed such incredible vocals with such base and terrible ones.

And yet, all of them raised together made a song that rang in his bones, like the mix of an aria and the chanting of football fans somehow reaching harmony together. It lifted his heart as if it could soar right out if his chest. More, as the living rose up, the dead were fleeing. Frank saw it then, little bits of light flaking off each warrior. And a river coming off him. All around, upon each roof, Every wall, invisible runes lit up as every warrior there started leaking light in some kind of communal spell. A prayer, the likes of which he had never seen.

He was used to priests charging for donations for their gifts, not this.

“Were they lighting up, or being born?” For he’d never seen faith runes before, and each felt alive.

At its centre, core, stood an old man with an upraised staff. It twirled and whirled around him in the air, in song, in faith, mana leaking from everyone turned to something else. Something Frank couldn’t see but feel, as it washed out of the priest and lit up the runes in waves visible only in the lighted symbols they left in their passing.

As more and more voices joined in, Frank stood entranced, the tip of the staff becoming a star. It jumped, rose to the sky. And everywhere the song and its light touched, the dead burned. Snow Shades ripped themselves from their hidden places in the snow all over town, Bones jumped down wells and chimneys. Or perished in the light.

He felt something grasp and cover him, like a warm blanket, as the wave of light struck the walls and they lit up like Christmas trees, covered in runes come alive. There weren’t supposed to be any there.

The Worldvoice spoke for all to hear, loud enough it should have echoed off the mountains:

Wordless Prayer

Thou have endured the first Winter Wind, Mortals. The storm abates. Rejoice, for respite is upon thee. Thou stand beneath the light of the Heavens, for we’ve heard thy call. Today, no dead, nor demon shall disturb thy rest. Thou have earned one.

The glowing ball of light burst, and high above a shining figure came into being. As translucent as any ghost or incorporeal dead, but filled with warm inner light. The Angel was a warrior in heavy furs, and had no wings. But that hardly slowed him down as he plunged towards the town streets, glowing axe raised high. He passed not far from Frank and Deli, heading towards the centre of town. Disappearing with his light right through a roof without so much as stirring the snows upon it.

A passing warrior waved them on, giving Deli a sympathetic look. Frank and Deli were still new to town, to the Reclaimers they worked with. He expected to be kept to the outskirts of the celebrations that were starting. But he was pushed forward until he saw them and understood.

He helped Deli into the middle of a large circle of warriors, who all shielded the seats within, and took his place in it. Within, while others sang and celebrated, a large roast was starting.

In time, it was mouth-watering, but Frank held himself back. The Captain of the Reclaimers cut the first bit of meat himself. Not for himself. The five best cuts went to five dull figures seated around the fire. Three men, two women, Deli among them.

Will out, his spear tutor had called it, in a hushed private lesson. Not something to be spoken of, as it concerned mental Abilities. It was intimate, private. And apparently, kept from firekeepers and children. Frank had come close, himself, at times. Even now, no warrior actually spoke of it, or of what they were doing and why. They just did it, pretending like the five just happened to be there. Following custom and tradition.

It was like a sudden onset of heavy depression, but temporary. Temporary, if quickly treated. Which they were. They cooked and ate and sang and danced until the dawn, keeping the five inside the circle, among them, but not forced to participate.

Letting them rest, bathe in the celebrations. Breathe air filled with life.

When dawn broke and Deli finally smiled, Frank knew she’d be alright.