The faint chirps and warbles of birdsong seemed strangely far away when Oralia awoke. Other than the birds, there appeared to be an overwhelming absence of noise. Which was odd, considering Mul and Lingon argued so frequently their quarrels often carried over into their sleep. It was not unusual to hear one grumbling something unintelligible at the other in the dead of night. Something was off. Tentatively, with eyes still stubbornly screwed shut, Oralia drew air in through her nose and out the gap between her tusks, confirming her mounting suspicions. The surrounding aromas were not the usual ambience of wet soil and forest rot, but of dusty, leather bound books and the sweet undertones of burnt incense.
Oralia’s heavy eyelids eased open. The blistering light pouring in around her convinced her to snap them shut almost immediately. Head swimming, Oralia felt around her with her dominant hand, intent on piecing the clues together regardless of whether or not she had the full use of her vision. The nest of warm, fluffy blankets piled beneath her was far too soft to be her own. There was a pillow as well–a commodity unfit for life on the road.
Wherever she was, Oralia concluded, it was certainly not camp.
A part of her wanted to ignore this revelation and drift peacefully back to sleep. The larger, more stubborn part of her promptly squashed the idea out of existence and set about attempting to assess her situation once more. This time, when Oralia forced her reluctant eyes open, she realized that the surrounding brightness was not from the spirit realm calling her home, but from the large bay window to her right.
Not dead. Good start.
Her eyelids clamped shut once more, allowing the noxious boiling sensation within her gut to die down to a simmer. The logical parts of her brain slowly stirred back to life as she waited. Both the sunlight and the window from which it poured through indicated she was inside a dwelling, which also explained the overwhelming scent of old books and incense. Unfortunately, in order to learn anything more required opening her eyes again–a task which seemed far more difficult than usual. After a few steadying breaths, Oralia turned her head away from the window and took in as much of her surroundings as her weak vision could bear.
She lay on a wooden floor, propped up on a makeshift cot of patchwork quilts and pillows. Oralia’s proximity to the ground gave the illusion that the room was large but, at her full height, she was quite certain the top of her head would have grazed the ceiling. The walls were painted a faded yellow and adorned with homely decorations of dried flower wreaths and aged parchment framed in wood. A myriad of potted plants hung from hooks on the low ceiling above, suspended by artistically woven hangers made of knotted hemp rope. There was an ancient green settee behind her. Beyond that, she suspected, was the open entryway leading to the rest of the house.
What Oralia found most peculiar, however, was the lack of people.
Her nose told her that there had been multiple persons in the house recently. Fauns, primarily, based on the lingering presence of musk and fur. There had been at least one orc in the past day or so, and what might have been a number of humans as well. Despite the overwhelming evidence that the home was occupied, Oralia could not hear anyone moving about. An opportune time, perhaps, to be on her way before said residents returned.
Unlike opening her eyes which had, admittedly, been a struggle, sitting upright proved downright torturous. Every muscle in her swollen abdomen seized the moment she attempted to lift her shoulders from the pillowy cot. Stifling a snarl, Oralia eased back down, allowing the spasms to run their course. When the worst of it was past, she stubbornly unclenched her jaw and attempted once more.
Oralia’s forehead was coated in a hot sheen of sweat by the time she’d managed to gather her knees beneath her. Sucking in a final gulp of incense-infused air, she planted one bare foot against the cold wood flooring and heaved her unwilling body into a wobbly stand. She managed two shaky steps before her legs gave out. Oralia caught herself against the green settee, saving herself from a more painful fall.
“I’d tell you to stop being an idiot and sit your ass back down, but listening to reason never was your strong suit.”
Oralia’s shoulders bristled. Lifting her head, her gaze followed the voice to its source. A brown and tan faun leaned against the archway, stirring a cup of tea with an unamused expression hovering over her fuzzy eyebrows.
Oralia’s voice came out dry and gruff. “Briony?”
“Hello, Protector,” Briony replied, still stirring her tea, looking every inch the epitome of boredom. “Although I suppose you probably don’t go by that anymore. Do you fancy Oralia these days or is there a new title I should call you by?”
“What are you doing here?” The words had the misfortune of leaving Oralia’s mouth before she realized her energy would have been better spent on something more along the lines of: where am I? How did I get here? And why in the seven realms of chaos am I as weak as a newborn?
“This is my home. I live here,” Briony stated matter-of-factly. “The better question is, what are you doing here? Last I heard, you and your ilk were causing havoc along the Adderwood border. So strange of you to pop up in Lonebrook without warning.”
Her team! For the gods’ sakes, why hadn’t she asked about her team? Tearing her eyes from Briony, Oralia searched the hallway beyond for any signs of her people. She forced her mounting panic down with a difficult swallow. “My team is not here, are they?”
“Gods no. We found you all by your lonesome in a most unusual situation. I’ve got eyes and ears all over these woods, though. Your crew isn’t far. I was reluctant to extend an invitation without knowing what sort of trouble would be walking through my doorway first.”
Fatigue got the best of her. Grasping the wooden frame of the settee for support, Oralia twisted around and eased her trembling body to the floor. The couch would have been undeniably more comfortable but, given its size and apparent age, wasn’t worth the risk of it breaking and further upsetting her already irritated host.
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The resonating click-clack of Briony’s hooves grew louder as the faun moved from the archway. Her tan and brown shape appeared moments later on the opposite end of the settee. Briony sat on the edge of the green cushion and crossed her legs at the ankles, keeping her steely amber eyes locked on Oralia.
Suspecting the faun was not going to offer anything more on the location of her team without having her own questions answered first, Oralia obliged her the best she could. It was a shame she was too weary to remember what the original question had been. “What is it you wish to know?”
Briony gave her tea another thoughtful stir. “Why you’re here.”
That much was easy at least. Oralia didn’t even have to lie. “To find Faris. We have reason to believe that the realm is going to use him to lure Rasp out of hiding.”
“You sure you’re not here hunting witches?”
That was probably meant as a verbal jab, but Oralia answered truthfully on the off chance it was a legitimate question. “We are not here hunting witches.”
“Then why was it I found you with a fire elemental?” Briony lifted the teacup to her chin and took a breath, inhaling the warm steam though her nostrils. “At least that’s what I assume it was. Hard to tell given the state of the remains.”
Warm bile pooled in the back of Oralia’s throat as the memory of burnt flesh and crackling flames flashed to the forefront of her mind. She sank lower to the floor, feeling an inexplicable chill roll across her bare arms. She used her palms to rub the life back into the forearms, but the cold persisted. The sensation spread until the remaining warmth in her bones was replaced by ice.
Something soft descended over her shoulders, causing Oralia to flinch in surprise. She settled back down once realizing it was nothing more than a blanket. Confused, her wary stare returned to the faun beside her.
“You were shivering.” Briony tilted her horns in the direction of the unlit hearth. “I can get a fire going if you want.”
“No.” Oralia squeezed her eyelids shut, attempting to drown out the sounds of the hungry, lapping tongues of flame that danced along the edges of her frayed memory. Through clenched teeth, she gritted out, “No fire, thank you.”
“That witch did a number on you, didn’t they? How in the gods did you manage to defeat a fire elemental?”
“I…” The cold writhing beneath Oralia’s flesh flared once more. “I do not know. My memory of the incident is foggy at best.”
Although she couldn’t see Briony’s expression, the faun’s words sounded utterly unconvinced. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with that curious looking rash you’ve got on your chest, would it? Or the powerstone you carry around your neck?”
Instinctively, Oralia reached for the pendant. She didn’t know why she felt a rush of relief when her fingers made contact with the stone’s cool, smooth surface. By all rights, she should have wanted it gone.
“You nearly broke my hand when I tried to remove it,” Briony continued. “Which was alarming, considering the tonic I’d given you for the pain was supposed to have put you under.”
Oralia eased her eyes back open, fearful she already knew what direction Briony’s line of interrogation would be taking. “Did I? My apologies.”
The withering look the faun imparted rivaled even Oralia’s best ‘don’t fuck with me’ glare. Briony’s tone was as cold as the ice rampaging through Oralia’s veins. “In case you have forgotten, I was on the mountain with you when all the shit went down. I know what that stone is, Oralia. And know what is in it. Your wounds are identical to Daana’s. Which means whatever is afflicting you, was caused by the dark entity. I think all of this would go a lot easier for both of us if you were up front about what is going on.”
Right. Oralia actually had forgotten about Briony’s involvement on the mountain. If she was not mistaken, trapping the dark entity into the powerstone might have been the faun’s idea. With a pained sigh, Oralia pulled the collar of the billowy nightshirt–not her own, might have even been a bedsheet at one point in its life–and exposed her collarbones. “We did not defeat the spirit on the mountain. Not completely. While Daana was able to contain the dark entity within the powerstone, a small piece of it burrowed into each of us.”
Briony interrupted her recount, raising one eyebrow in concern, “Even Rasp?”
“No one has had any contact with either him or Whisper since the incident. I do not know for sure, but would not be surprised. Rasp was in closer contact with the spirit than any of us.”
“That’s not good.”
What little energy she possessed was already beginning to dwindle. Oralia forewent a verbal reply in favor of a less taxing nod of agreement. Briony was right, of course. If the dark entity was having this much of a toll on her, a non-magical person, she hated to imagine what sort of consequences it would exact on an overpowered, highly unstable witch. Hopefully Whisper was faring better in their efforts to cure the infection than she was. Having no desire to say any of this aloud, Oralia drew a breath and picked up where she had left off.
“On its own, the infection is mild. I feel more drained than usual, but it is not unbearable. When paired with the powerstone, however, it can,” she paused, reluctant to share this part as the only other people who knew were those closest to her. “...It speaks to me.”
Briony’s eyes went wide. “It what?”
“Here.” She pressed her index finger to the side of her head. “Telepathically. In the same way Whisper used to.”
“So why wear the stone then? Why not delegate it to someone else, or just, I don’t know, not wear it at all? Keep it confined somewhere safe?”
“Ralizak would tell you it is because I am an unwavering martyr that enjoys making myself suffer.” It wasn’t wrong, Oralia supposed. “The truth is, I cannot afford to have the stone fall into the wrong hands. Between the constant travel and rearranging and repacking of bags, having the pendant misplaced or stolen was simply too great of a risk to gamble. Carrying the stone comes with its own downsides, which is why I took on the task personally.”
Sascha and Rali insisted on taking turns as well, but that was not something Oralia felt the need to share. Briony had the information she needed. And, judging by the pinched look on her face, she was sifting through it very carefully for all the little details Oralia didn’t say.
“Gods, woman,” the faun muttered at last with a disapproving shake of her horns. “You are the living epitome of pigheadedness.”
“So I am told. Quite often.” Oralia eased into a sitting position a little less murderous on her back, pausing to wait for the room to stop spinning, before speaking through her tusks. “Now that I have satisfied your curiosity and, hopefully, reservations as to why I am here, I would appreciate it if you would point me in the direction of my team.”
Briony’s attempt to withhold her laughter resulted in a choking snort instead. She dipped forward, holding her shaking sides as if Oralia had told a particularly humorous quip. “Oh you precious thing. You’re just not accustomed to anyone else being in charge, are you? You may as well make yourself comfortable. Neither of us are leaving this room until I learn how you killed the fire elemental.”