Days later, Thepa found herself crouched low, her reflection rippling in the small babbling brook as she cupped the cool water in her hands. The small stream broke among the loose rocks, creating a waterfall a little more than a foot off the ground. Its crystalline spray scattered, striking the mound below, sending thin tendrils of water spiraling off in all directions. At the base, a shallow pool formed-large enough to submerge her head if she dared. But she wouldn't, of course. She knew better than to surrender her senses to the jungle's depths, where unseen predators lurked. However the back of her throat begged for sweet release and she greatly desired to meet its request.
It had been hours since Thepa entered the jungle. Once, she would have marveled at its natural beauty-the thick air rich with the scent of moss and earth, the whisper of petrichor rising from the damp soil. The jungle had always been a place of quiet calm for her, a sanctuary of sorts, but lately it annoyed her to no end. At that time of day, the sun's light penetrated the top of the canopy, so much so, that even the lush branches which would have normally protected her from its scorching rays were doing little to dampen its beat down against her bronze-kissed complexion. Dense vegetation, little foot traffic, and a festering bug population poked at her every nerve as she briefly considered burning the whole thing down.
After she finished her drink, Thepa sat down on top of a rock careful to avoid the splash of water. Wet clothes would only stoke her annoyance. As the water gently trickled and dripped its way down, she stared across the small clearing and considered her next move.
To go back now would be an embarrassment.
The Council of Sisters had seized upon her words, taken them to heart. What had begun as a cry of fury in the heat of loss had become a mandate. Her call for the jungle's eradication had spurred them into action, and now everybody Matron was sent into its shadowed depths, armed with the directive to purge every wolf and lizardman that dared to lurk there. No mercy was to be shown, not that any Youngling of the Mountain had any to give. The jungle itself was seen as the enemy, its beasts guilty simply for existing in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
By day, the Matrons scoured the thick underbrush and by night, their work was celebrated-or rather, consecrated-in brutal ritual. The severed heads of wolves and lizardmen were dragged back to camp, thrown into the ceremonial firepit, their faces contorted in death. As the flames consumed the bodies, a solemn chant would rise from the gathered sisters, a song of victory, of defiance, of shared bloodlust.
""For the Sisterhood!"
Thepa remembered the chorus, how the words echoed in the depths of the jungle, carried by the wind and reverberating in the trees.
"For the Beachwick!"
Each repetition was louder than the last, as if the chant itself was a spell, binding them together, feeding the fire not just with flesh but with fervor.
"For Sister Sonia!"
And that was the crux of it all. The injustice that had sparked her endless hunt.
The three guilds had even made a game of it. By the third day, someone had set up a tally near the firepit which really ramped up the competition. Every night hundreds of matrons would bring back dozens of body parts, repeat the chant, count the tally, and celebrate before doing it all over again. Thepa tried to remember who was winning, but she normally left after the chant wondering more and more if she had made a mistake.
At first, the anger had consumed her. The revelation of what happened to Sister Sonia ignited a wrath so fierce it had driven her into the jungle's belly, thirsting for vengeance. Its siren's call boiled her blood so much that as soon as the horn signaled the end of Shoel, she was the first to go into the jungle's bosom. She wanted everyone of those beasts to die. Good or bad, she didn't care. Sonia was barely a soldier; she had done nothing to deserve the beast's wrath.
But now...now Thepa wanted to grieve.
Like Zuna, like Claudia, like Wilran, and most of all like Rory...another senseless loss in this pointless war of killing and anguish. And look, here you are, an instrument of death. Perfectly crafted to bring about an endless display of destruction that nobody could match; no one except for Sister Sonia.
Pointless death had a funny way of bringing that title back to Thepa.
"Rory?" she whispered into the stillness, her fingers absently tracing the small moon-shaped pendant hanging around her neck.
She wanted to pull out the bow, the first of the gifts Rory had given her, but that too was gone. The weight of her back and the force of the fall had snapped it in half as she landed to save Keylee's life, puncturing her lung in the process. Truthfully, she was lucky to be alive. If it wasn't for Matron Efos walking by with the younglings and the unused healing potions from Sulak, Thepa would have bled out on the jungle floor. As it was, she still felt an odd stiffness in her joints, but by the time the hunt for the beast had started, she was largely over it.
But the bow was gone-just like Rory, just like Sonia, just like everything else she'd failed to protect.
"Rory...I really need you right now. I need your support because I can't stand on my own two hooves. I need your wisdom to help fix the mess of things I've made. Most of all I need my friend...my sister that I miss so dearly it breaks me every single day."
She listened, desperate for any kind of response, but all that she received was the splashing sounds of the water making its way down hill and the chirping of insects signaling to their prey, all oblivious to her grief. Even the pale glow that once illuminated the pendant remained dark, as if Rory's light had abandoned her, too. Desperate for anything, she thought back to the words she had spoken during Shoel and found herself choking back sobs, her tears quietly mingling with the water below as she cried alone among the stones.
"Younglings, Matrons, Sisters.
"Today, we face a harsh reality; a fact no Matron young or old can escape: a sister has fallen. Our hearts and minds may try to rebel against it, but no one can escape death's icy grasp no matter how far they run; no matter how hard they hide. So, as Sister Sonia's spirit returns itself back to the Beachwick, we the Sisterhood pay tribute to her life and grieve over our loss.
Her voice had cracked then, but she'd pressed on, clinging to her duty as the Matriarch.
"Sister Sonia was worthy of tribute. At such a young age, she became the second Matron to ever win against a champion at Sulack. Her gifts rivaled my own. Had she lived, she would have had a future among the Sisterhood where she would have undoubtedly led a guild someday as a tried-and-true sister. Instead, we're left with a hole in our ranks and emptiness in our hearts that crave for comfort in our time of grief.
She had paused there, barely keeping it together. It was by far the hardest thing Thepa had ever had to do as the Matriarch.
"And grieve we shall. Shout with me at the volcano to the east of the island. Let our voices echo through the canopy. Cry out to the shores of Esha. For our loss is incalculable and our souls yearn for a healing comfort that can only be found in each other and in our home. For when the Beachwick grieves, we all grieve.
"Most of all, show each other love," she had urged them. "Put aside petty differences and past squabbles. While the Sisterhood has suffered, the Sisters of the Beachwood have suffered more. Support them in their grief, surround them with love. For with loss comes grief and the magnitude of that grief should not be underestimated. It is a grief we all share, for as long as Sister Sonia's memory rest in our hearts, we will never truly be rid of grief's pain.
"Still, life must go on. The fact that it does, does not diminish the hurt and tears brought out by a memory, a song, a mood, or an experience. Though we may ask why, a struggle better for the future, now is a time to grieve."
As she ended her speech, the Sisterhood had bowed with outstretched hands toward the funeral pyre and repeated the ancient line from the Call of the Beachwick:
"Our loving mother,
The Matriarch of all,
We the Sisterhood serve your call."
Thepa's own voice had broken as she concluded: "We will serve our duty; we will give our sacrifice."
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Now, sitting on that moss-covered rock, the memory felt distant, when only a few weeks had passed. She felt small, like a youngling crying for her mother after a scraped knee, yet the truth was undeniable. She was turning into her mother, her mother the Matriarch, whether she liked it or not.
How many times did mother disappear into the jungle? Surely, too numerous to count. Did she go to find solace in its leafy greens like I am doing now? Perhaps mother had even sat on this very rock, weeping over the choices she'd had to make, before wiping her face clean and returning to the Beachwick's wooden walls as stoic as ever.
However unlikely that scenario was, every day her mother left was a day she returned, and that more than anything motivated Thepa to keep going. But unlike her mother, she was still an instrument of death and had a job to do.
As the sun dipped beneath the canopy, its scorching rays no longer pierced the leaves, leaving the jungle bathed in a cooler, more comforting shade. Thepa let out a breath, grateful for the brief reprieve from the heat. But as the jungle quieted in the fading light, her senses sharpened. In the stillness, she noticed movement ahead. Her prey had emerged in a small clearing, gnawing on some unfortunate creature sprawled on the ground.
It was a wolf. Mighty and majestic, it stood at almost three times the height of the ones that had attacked the Beachwick the month prior. The beast's wolves had been small, sickly, and all black, while this one was gray that blended into white. Whomever the wolf belonged to, it was well taken care of and while she considered leaving it be, the possibility of a new species was not a future she wanted to risk so close to home. Seeing only one course of action, Thepa brought up a bow she had borrowed from the armory and prepared to fire. Hoping she was right about its origins, she slowly took in a breath and started to release.
"Thepa?"
Startled, her aim faltered, throwing the shot off by inches. The wolf, now alerted to her presence turned, locking eyes with her before charging. She scrambled to notch another arrow, aiming for the beast's soft underside, but just as she released, a dagger appeared from nowhere, knocking the arrow off course.
"Thepa, can you hear me?"
To her left, a man slightly taller than her charged towards her. She attempted to grab a third arrow, but the man threw the dagger at her, forcing her to block it with the bow. Her block was successful, but in her haste she allowed the dagger to strike the riser, snapping the string. She groan in frustration. Now the bow was useless, but she had little time to react. The wolf had closed the gap and the only thing Thepa could do was windup the riser like a club and swing with all her might. With a loud thwack, it connected with the wolf's stomach, the force bending the riser in half and sending its pieces crashing to the ground.
There goes another one, she thought bitterly.
"THEPA! DID YOU SAY SOMETHING?" the voice echoed again, overly excited.
Confusion and frustration continued to settle in, neither of which she could handle as she was too focused on the wolf and the man, regardless of how familiar the voice was. When the wolf limped away in pain, she used the opportunity to grab the two daggers tucked away behind her back and finally got a good look at her attacker.
She then realized that he wasn't a man at all, but a male satyr. Twigs and leaves tangled a mass of long black hair largely obscuring the small horns that protruded from the sides of his forehead. A deep chocolate skin tone stood out among a bushy beard, with the rest of his body camouflaged by the forces of nature. It was no wonder Thepa missed who he was, he was largely hiding it.
"Thepa, it's Gamma. If you're there, you only have to think it!"
By then the satyr had reached her and sent a thrust towards her abdomen Thepa deftly parried the strike, bringing her off-hand down in a swift counter. He reacted quickly, using his own blade to block her downward motion, their wrists locking in a tense struggle. His added height and the closeness between them gave him just enough of an edge to drive his knee into her stomach, knocking her back with a painful gasp.
I'm a little busy at the moment. I'm being attacked, she wheezed both physically and mentally.
The male started to charge again, but this time she was ready. As he closed in, Thepa grabbed her pendant and focused her thoughts of Rory, jumping into the cloudy haze just as he was upon her. Once again time stopped, the satyr froze in place. She reappeared behind him, swiftly grabbing him by the neck and pulling him down on top of her. The force knocked the wind out of her for the second time, but she held firm, locking her legs around his and pressing the tip of her dagger lightly against his throat.
"Do what you will with me, witch," he spat. "If I die, I join the Goddess. May her moon beams bathe you in forgiveness while you still have time to repent."
"What?" she stammered, caught off guard by his words.
Before she could react further, the wolf sank its teeth into her leg, the sudden pain loosening her grip. The satyr seized the moment, driving his elbow into her nose and rolling free as the wolf leapt on top of her. Blood oozed from her nose as she struggled against the snarling beast, its jaws snapping dangerously close to her face. Only when the satyr brought his dagger back up to her own neck did the beast finally yield to its aggression.
""I had to recast," Gamma's voice rang in her ears again. "What's your status?"
Poor, she thought bitterly as she stared up at the satyr, studying him.
Despite the rage in his amber eyes, they gleamed with a piercing intensity she hadn't noticed before. If she weren't pinned beneath a wolf, she might have found them oddly captivating.
"I'm on my way to the Beachwick with Wilran. Two days out. One cast left. Send help?" she replied.
Thepa considered her position, but the male was acting strangely. His eyes wandered to her chest, but not for the reason she initially expected. Instead, he used his dagger to fish out her necklace where his amber eyes widened and he spiraled backwards in shock.
"Madam Priestess! I'm sorry, I didn't know...Please, grant me clemency. Roan, heel!" he cried, his voice trembling.
Not sure. Maybe okay, Thepa thought, still confused. Contact Sister Vivian in case. She's in the Beachwick.
"Will do," Gamma responded.
Meanwhile the satyr dropped to his knees in submission, his daggers discarded on the ground. The wolf, obedient to his command, sat back on its haunches, watching its master intently. Still bewildered by the sudden shift, Thepa rose to her, wincing in pain from the wolf's bite, then collected the two sets of daggers.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"My name is Fokin, my priestess," he said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. "Like you, I serve at the pleasure of the Goddess."
Thepa frowned, clutching the pendant around her neck and glancing at its moon-shaped insignia.
I suppose you'd think this is funny, she thought, imagining Rory laughing at the absurdity of the situation.
"I am not your priestess," she said firmly.
Fokin looked up, his amber eyes gleaming once again as they caught the faint light filtering through the canopy.
"But surely, you're the Goddess's chosen one?" he insisted. "You wear her mark. Aren't you the one I've been waiting for?"
Waiting for? Thepa thought. How would I know whom you're waiting for?
She tossed the daggers down and sheathed her own. "I don't know who you're waiting for, but I serve no goddess. This pendant is a gift from a friend."
Turning away, she began to hobble back in the direction she had come. The bite wound throbbed with each step, making it difficult to move swiftly. She had barely made it a few paces before Fokin scrambled to his feet and hurried after her.
"Mistress, wait!"
Thepa turned sharply, weary of his intentions but unwilling to engage any further in his cryptic talk.
"Sister Thepa will do."
For a fleeting moment, an emotion flashed across his face.
Was that anger? Thepa wondered, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"My apologies, Sister," Fokin said, his tone carrying a faint trace of contempt. "I didn't realize you were one of them. I thought you were one of the free ones."
Heat rose in Thepa's cheeks, her temper flaring as her hand instinctively hovered near her dagger.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"I didn't mean anything by it... just-" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "Maybe I should start over. Sister Thepa, I'm Fokin. That's Roan over there. He's a big softie."
Thepa glanced at the wolf, who growled lowly in response.
Softie? He's anything but.
Thepa felt her face flush and her temper start to rise as she subconsciously reached for one of her daggers. However, the twinkle in Fokin's eyes returned so at the very least she assumed he was being sincere.
"I'm sorry I almost killed your companion," she said, still watching the wolf warily. "I thought he was part of the beasts we've been hunting."
"Roan?" Fokin asked, throwing his head back in laughter.
What an infectious laugh.
"Nah, they steer clear of us. Saw a large group come through here a few weeks back. Looked like they were up to no good."
"One of the reasons we're hunting them."
Fokin accepted her explanation without question, then shifted back to the reason he had followed her.
"Are you sure you're not the Goddess's priestess or chosen one?"
"I'm sure." Thepa tucked the pendant back into her shirt. "I'm not even a follower of Chandeidra. Rory, on the other hand-"
"You know Mistress Rory?" Fokin asked, as giddy as a youngling receiving an unexpected gift.
Thepa almost smiled at his innocent enthusiasm, but she quickly suppressed it before her expression betrayed her.
"Wait," she asked, her brow furrowing. "How do you know Rory?"
Before Rory's disappearance, she had mentioned visiting the Beachwick a few times, but Thepa couldn't imagine her ever crossing paths with someone as isolated as Fokin.
"She found me and Roan near that elven fort a while back-maybe a few completions ago. Saved our lives. Told me all about Chandeidra. I've been learning about the Goddess ever since. If you're Rory's friend, that means she gave you the pendant."
Thepa nodded cautiously. "Yes."
He might have been gaining her trust with his infectious responses, but she wasn't careless enough to give away any important information.
"Then you are the one I've been looking for!"
Fokin's excitement overwhelmed him as he reached out, grabbing her hand with a firm grip. The sudden movement agitated the bite wound near her knee, sending a jolt of pain through her leg. She gasped, unprepared for the intensity of it, hating the idea of showing weakness in front of someone who might turn on her at any moment.
"Oh, forgive me!" Fokin exclaimed, dropping to the ground.
Before Thepa could protest or pull away, he grabbed her leg with surprising speed, his fingers moving in tight circles as a soft blue glow enveloped them. The magical energy spread through the wound, healing it until fresh, unbroken skin remained where the bite had been.
"Better?" he asked eagerly, rising to his hooves with a hopeful smile.
Thepa looked down at her healed leg, then back at Fokin. His amber eyes gleamed once more, reflecting the dim light. A strange warmth spread throughout her chest and for the first time in her life, Thepa felt a prickling in her heart.
"Yes," she answered softly.