Jeshin sat alone in the woods, on an empty cloth bag, staring into the wilderness. The northern drop camp really was in a perfect spot. Well hidden, easy to remember, protected from the wind, and with a good amount of space.
It was an excellent place to just sit and enjoy the twittering of birds as they called to each other while on their afternoon patrols. To not think about anything. Especially not what it had felt like to have her very mind, her very being, torn into, twisted, and revealed to the world.
Not being able to lie, not even in her innermost thoughts, not even to herself... It had broken something in her. Or maybe it just revealed the thing that was already broken.
Jeshin would have to go back to Archon after this. Would still have to stick to the plan. Find the notes, doctor them, and give them over to the man who was probably going to find any excuse to maim Hazlet no matter what she did. Just to keep Jeshin hurting. Keep her sharp.
But there was no other option. She had to try. And maybe, just maybe, she could be clever enough and good enough to succeed. Maybe Archon would let her win. Just this once. As a treat for his favorite pet.
And in the future... She would stand up for herself. For the other soldiers of the Crimson Throats. Demonstrate how Archon was wrong to treat them this way, that kindness and compassion got better results. She would be the best damn Major he had ever had, and she would do it her way.
You really are good at lying to yourself, Jeshin thought, It’s practically your most practiced skill. Pathetic.
Ian walked into the clearing. He was carrying her halberd and dagger, but was otherwise unarmed. That damned pity was still plastered all over his face, but he was trying to hide it.
"So this is where you fought that demon," Ian observed. He ran a finger along a set of deep gouges in the ground. "It must have been quite a scrap."
Jeshin grunted. It had been the best scrap of her life, in fact, but she was in no mood to reminisce.
"You violated me," Jeshin said, "You asked Olorin for consent, but didn’t extend the same courtesy to me. That spell was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Just thinking about it makes me sick. Why the fuck are you even here? To rub salt in the holes you ripped in my very mind?"
"I did violate you," Ian said, "And I am sorry for that. If I could have protected the Ufriq in any other way, I would have.
But no, I am not here to gloat. I am here to return these," He placed her weapons on the ground near her, "And to fulfill a promise. You asked for a spar, after all."
"I hate you too much to hold back in a spar," Jeshin warned, "I want to kill you for what you did."
Ian just shrugged.
"Feel free to try." He said.
Wait. Really? Was this some sort of sordid ritual suicide by proxy? Or was he just that confident of his skills? Either way, a flame reignited in Jeshin. She wanted to test the man. She wanted to flaunt her skills. She wanted to beat Ian to a bloody pulp and watch him apologize for what he had done, beg for her mercy, before she killed him. Slowly.
Jeshin lunged for her dagger and stabbed upwards, aiming the tip straight towards Ian’s gut. Gravity fell away and her lunge turned into a leap, sending her tumbling head over heels through the air before it reasserted itself and dumped her to the ground on her back. Two lines of pain carved across her cheeks as blades of wind slashed the dirt to either side of her head.
Ian carefully adjusted a black glove on his left hand. The formula book, or well formula glove, shone with silver and golden threads. He must have been concealing the weapon in his sleeve, bastard was prepared for her attack from the start.
"You haven’t fought an adventurer mage before, have you?" Ian called, "Lesson one: Always wear your armor. We can target unprotected flesh like no one else."
Ian awkwardly picked up Jeshin’s helmet with his right hand and tossed it at her feet. Jeshin hadn’t bothered equipping it before going for the kill. She growled and put it on before charging the man.
A blast of force knocked Jeshin to the side, sending her stumbling towards Ian’s right. She quickly swapped the dagger to her left and lashed out in a wild sideways cut, catching Ian’s sleeve but only nicking the flesh. A small burst of magic sutured the cut.
First blood to me, Jeshin thought, then felt a faint drop of liquid pooling at her chin. Alright, second blood.
"Second lesson," Ian said, "Always move erratically and keep at a medium range. Spells originating further from the mage cost slightly more and take much longer to form. They are most dangerous at range with magical projectiles, or up close with precise, fast attacks. Never stand still to listen to an old man doddering on, though."
Another hammer blow landed on Jeshin’s back, tossing her to the ground. That one would have pulped anyone without armor. She rolled to the side and jumped back to her feet. Her halberd was close, but fuck listening to the man’s lessons. This wasn’t his fucking classroom, and if he didn’t take her seriously he wouldn’t live to regret it.
She charged him again, and when the hammer blow came from her left Jeshin leaned into it. It hurt, yes, but she didn’t stumble. She threw her dagger at the man in response, and when he blocked it with a spell she dove into a sliding leg sweep. Ian tried to jump over the sweep, but stumbled and fell hard. Jeshin moved to snatch her dagger out of the air but missed and had to grab it off the ground before jabbing it towards Ian’s side.
The dagger drove in, and space itself warped. Ian disappeared from the ground before reappearing a few steps away. He swayed with fatigue at the spell, eyelids fluttering, and before he could recover Jeshin grabbed her halberd and drove it towards Ian in a series of classic high-to-low thrusts.
The mage parried the first four thrusts, then stepped past her next, she had been sloppy with returning to guard between attacks, and whipped a finger towards her nose.
"Boop," Ian said. Then he disappeared and reappeared in the boughs of a tree. "Third lesson: The touch of a mage is death. I don’t think you kept track of how many times I touched you this spar, so I’ll tell you. It was three."
He yawned.
"And the final lesson: Fights with mages are short. You die or they get too exhausted to continue. Never try to kill a mage before they are exhausted. They have too many tools at their disposal, and no stamina to use them for long. The spar is over. Class dismissed." Ian said.
He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tree and closed his eyes.
Jeshin looked up at Ian with a mixture of awe and hate. She had never seen a combat mage even close to his prowess. The artillery mages in the Crimson Throats slung spells with greater destructive power, yes, but much more slowly and not nearly as flexibly.
She would have ripped most mages she knew to pieces, but Ian had been toying with her the entire time. He was also the asshole who ripped open her mind, and he looked about to pass out while she was just getting started.
Jeshin had a halberd. She could chop that tree down. Ian was amazingly skilled, yes, but Jeshin had been able to catch him off guard once, and he had obviously used more of his alertness than he had wanted to. Jeshin could murder the man here, if she wanted. And if she tried he would pull out some magic he held in reserve, some trick or trap that would turn the fight into just that, a fight and not an execution.
I hate the man, Jeshin thought, But he doesn’t deserve to die. No one does.
"Allright, old man," Jeshin said, "Thanks for the unwanted lesson. Let’s get you home before you drop from those branches and break your fool neck."
PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]
For the second time in as many days Jeshin carried an exhausted mage out of the woods and into Pleurian on her back. She hoped it wouldn’t become a habit. Probably not, Jeshin had disassembled the drop camp after all, packed up the remaining supplies from where they had lain scattered about from the night before and slung the bag over her left shoulder, while Ian got her right.
The food was gone, birds had gotten to it. Jeshin’s stomach growled.
At least Ian was conscious, which meant she could pass the time in some way other than counting her footsteps or listening to incoherent babble. Jay talked in their sleep.
"So did you end up figuring out who resurrected Brig?" Jeshin wondered.
"Yes, actually." Ian said. Then he chuckled. "And no."
Wow, that was very helpful. Prick.
"So?" Jeshin prompted.
"So," Ian said, "it turns out that Brig wasn’t the only one resurrected. A man from Oinspring to the west died during the night but was alive this morning. And a person from Firhome to the north died soon after dawn, but was fine a couple of hours later.
We couldn’t get any more examples than those, most of Achlin and Thovin’s divination spells weren’t working. But we managed to whip up something that worked, and found those three.
It’s possible that a wandering mystic resurrected Brig for unknown reasons and is now messing with divination in this area. But I find that unlikely. My working theory is that some aether snapped and is preventing all deaths after the new year."
Jeshin thought about that for a moment.
"So you knew that even if I killed you, you would come back," She accused, "That’s why you were willing to spar. That’s why you goaded me."
"No," Ian said, "I don’t know enough to be comfortable dying right now. Besides, that sounds very painful. I goaded you because you wanted a fight. And because I knew you wouldn’t kill me. You are a good kid, Jeshin."
"I’m 24," Jeshin spat, "And actively worked to hurt the Ufriq. I punched Thovin in the face."
"Still a good kid," Ian said. Then he fell unconscious, which prevented her from retorting. Even if she had wanted to.
A couple minutes later, Jeshin felt a trickle of blood run down her leg. She looked down and saw that the entire right side of her skirt was covered in the stuff, and Ian’s white robes were soaked through. The mess of red started just below Ian’s fifth rib and continued well down the entire right side of his body. Shit.
Your thrust must have done more damage than you felt, Jeshin thought, And Ian didn’t realize he was losing blood because he used too much magic.
She cast a diagnosis spell to take a good look at the wound. It was short but deep as her thumb and had scratched Ian’s lung. Thank Ishtar it wasn’t punctured. The surface had been sutured with magic, but the sutures were shallow and had failed. They had either torn open through jostling, or stopped when Ian fell unconscious.
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It should have stopped bleeding by now at least, Jeshin thought, And while infection is a risk it is one I can deal with later.
Then she sensed the culprit. A small, sharp bit of bone had been chipped off a rib and now sat directly on top of a small artery, preventing the blood from clotting. She would have to remove it, and maybe tie the artery shut.
Jeshin lay Ian down and got to work.
PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]
Jeshin expected Yeon to chew her out thoroughly when she finally hauled Ian through her manor’s door and plopped him unceremoniously on her massive bed. He was unconscious and looked like a butcher’s yard, after all. And it didn’t take a genius healer to see that Jeshin’s dagger had done the deed. She hadn’t even bothered to wipe it clean.
Instead Yeon just observed Jeshin patiently as she went to wash her hands, fetch a clean linnen, and boil salt water. Yeon finally spoke as Jeshin returned with the equipment and began working.
"It took me four years of enduring his antics before I shanked him," Yeon mused, "You accomplished the same feat in less than three days."
"Training accident," Jeshin grunted, "He thrashed me in a spar."
"Adventuring accident," Yeon said, "He got between me and a giant spider."
This was... weird. If Jeshin had done this to anyone else, stabbed their friend then plopped them onto the foot of their bed, they would have been screaming for her head. Would have ran for an authority, demanded an investigation, anything to assuage their fear and anger. Even if it had been a genuine accident.
If Yeon had been that normal person, Jeshin could have told her to shut up and let her work. Bullied her into silence, used her mainstay staples of threats and bribery to keep the law away. But that wouldn’t work here. Yeon was powerful, and Jeshin couldn’t threaten her if she tried. But she didn’t seem especially bothered by Ian’s state either.
It unnerved Jeshin. What was Yeon’s game here? But she fought through her nerves and managed to finish cleaning, suturing, and bandaging the wound.
"Can you safely wake him?" Yeon asked, "We need to talk."
"I’d rather not," Jeshin admitted, "I think I know what you wanted to talk about though. I can relay what he learned from the Ufriq."
Yeon frowned but nodded, and Jeshin relayed what Ian had told her to the best of her abilities.
"I see," Yeon said, "I think Ian’s hunch is correct. A rogue aether would certainly explain a lot. But it wouldn’t explain what we experienced here. We’ll discuss more when he wakes up. Thank you Jeshin.
Before you go and rejoin your cohort," Yeon continued, "You should apologize to anyone you may have harmed during your stay here. Amber is in the downstairs parlor and asked not to be disturbed, but Jay is resting in their room upstairs and is receiving visitors."
Jeshin narrowed her eyes. What had Jay told her? Would they be brave enough to tell Yeon about her plan? She knew the two had spoken under the seal of Gula, but not about what. That was sort of the point of the seal.
"You are treading awfully close to breaking the seal of Gula," Jeshin said, fishing for information, "The seal prevents a holy from disclosing anything said, through word or deed. Like giving advice based on anything under seal."
"Oh, so you did harm Jay then. I suspected that, but didn’t know," Yeon said, "do go apologize to them.
And no, my advice was in no way related to any information I received under seal. It was merely general advice I would give to any young idiot fool enough to stab my best friend and pretend they did nothing wrong. I don’t plan to hang you for it, and that is more charity than even Gula would ever ask of me. Dismissed."
So it’s not a unique talent of Archon’s, Jeshin thought, That ability to make you feel like a wretched ant.
But somehow, the only thing Jeshin felt as she walked up the stairs to Jay’s room was a deep, bone-saturating sense of relief. This entire nightmare was about to be over, and she hadn’t messed up enough to get herself hanged. That was something.
The relief lasted about two heartbeats into meeting Jay again. Jeshin knocked, Jay called for her to come in, she entered, and Jay looked at her like she was about to kill them. They face went blank and bleached of color, gone white as the sheet they were laying under. Their eyes opened wide, almost popping from their sockets, and they trembled slightly. Beads of sweat formed on their brow.
"I’m not going to kill you," Jeshin said, "Stop that."
"I didn’t tell anyone, I swear by Ishtar," Jay babbled, "And Archon didn’t ask me anything. Yeon tried to pry but I didn’t even say anything then. Please don’t kill me."
"I said I’m not going to," Jeshin snapped, "Shut up and listen to my apology."
Jay shut up. Good.
"You don’t need to keep quiet anymore, or support my story," Jeshin continued, "I should never have asked you to do so. I’ll just claim that any discrepancies were a result of you hallucinating due to the hypothermia. I’ll get the evidence against the Ufriq another way."
"That’s not an apology," Jay said, "That’s just you gloating over my powerlessness, another way for you to manipulate me into silence."
"Maybe I wouldn’t need to manipulate you if you weren’t such a shit person." Jeshin retorted.
"Fuck you," Jay said.
"No, Fuck you!" Jeshin said. "I’ve been trying to help you, Jay. Keep you out of this mess entirely. As much as I could.
You don’t have the faintest clue how dangerous Archon is. He would kill you in a heartbeat if it benefited him. But no, you just keep sticking your fucking nose into every damn thing, painting a target on your back. And I have to be the one to jump in front of the arrow."
"I never asked you to help me," Jay said, "You just butted in."
"Because you were killing yourself, Jay," Jeshin pleaded, "Chasing after an armed mercenary at night in the cold? Attacking a demon when you have no combat experience? Insisting on a six year old’s concept of justice in the face of one of the most dangerous people in Varmyr?"
Jeshin threw her hands up.
"I guess I’m sorry that I saved your life. Three times!" She said.
Jay sneered at her.
"Your comrades were the reason my life was in danger in the first place," They said, "Hazlet, Archon, Amputation demon. Congratulations, you saved my worthless life from three of your own. I would gladly give mine to see those three monsters brought to justice or banished."
"No you wouldn’t," Jeshin countered, glaring at them, "No one values their own life that little."
Jay met her stare with their own.
"Try me." They said.
Jay’s voice had a cracking tang to it that Jeshin had never heard before. And that look. Jeshin had never seen that look before. It scared her.
"Fuck you," She said.
"No, Fuck you!" Jay retorted.
Jeshin fled the room, and those eyes. For the second time she wondered what those eyes had seen.
PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]
A few minutes later Jeshin found herself loitering near the smithy, trying to think about nothing in particular. And failing.
Why does Jay get under your skin so much? Jeshin thought, You went in to apologize and ended up insulting them instead.
True, her apology wasn’t very good. It was downright flimsy. But it was the best that Jay was going to get from her at the moment. She shouldn’t have involved them in the first place, but she wasn’t going to throw her comrades overboard just to appease the conscience of some random moralizing fop.
Even if they thoroughly deserve to be keelhauled, Jeshin thought, Jay was right about that, at least. This entire fiasco has been a deep stain on our honor as a company.
She would need to learn from this mistake and work harder to ensure discipline in her soldiers. Drills, maybe. Or enforcing a buddy system for a time. Maybe a presentation or two, a practical demonstration. Soldiers hated those.
Jeshin suddenly realized that she was tired. Dead tired. Physically and mentally. She had been awake since before the dawn of the previous day, and it was nearing night again. Nearly forty hours awake, and she had fought twice in that time. Plus she had used a fair bit of magic.
The effects of the exhaustion were pronounced. Her thoughts were crawling along at a sail’s pace, with plenty of jitters and detours, and her movements were noticeably weaker and less precise than usual.
Can I afford to wait for nightfall to steal Achlin’s notes? Jeshin wondered. She felt out the answer. Her body and mind groaned in protest, but it was a weak groan without bite. Yeah, I can endure for another day or so before I start making unsalvageable mistakes. It’s worth it to wait for nightfall.
Jeshin didn’t dare sleep, so she passed the time without attracting suspicion by asking the town smith to repair her armor, then busying herself with combat drills. She had missed grabbing her falling dagger during her fight with Ian, and tired or not Jeshin would not make that mistake ever again.
The sun was well set and Jeshin’s hair was dancing under the moonlight by the time her armor was repaired. She activated her tracking spell, and smiled at the result. A faint, brilliant light shone from within the copse of trees where the Ufriq were hiding. It pointed seemingly at nothing, but Jeshin walked straight for it.
And found herself booted back onto the square. Huh. She tried again, and this time felt herself wandering in circles. As soon as she took her eyes of the tracker and towards the surroundings she would deviate from her path. Ugh. She closed her eyes, and stumbled towards the tracker without opening them. She smacked face first into a tree, and tripped over a root, but made good progress and eventually got close enough she could reach out and touch it if she wanted.
Jeshin opened her eyes, and saw Thovin sitting on the steps of a Ufriq wagon, wearing Achlin’s patchwork coat and looking straight at her.
Jeshin stared back.
Thovin had an oval face with thin cheekbones and braided blonde hair. Her nose was slender, and her build was like that of a message runner. Long and lean. She had brown skin and pointed ears a bit too large to match the rest of her face. Her eyes were green like Archon’s, but without his purple ring.
Thovin’s cheek was swollen and bruised, and she had the beginnings of a nasty black eye. She was carrying a small parcel, neatly tied in string, in her lap.
"Gzoh said you would be back," Thovin said, "I told her I didn’t think anyone could be so cruel. Not even a mercenary. But here you are; Armed and armored."
"I’m not cruel," Jeshin said, "I’m saving a friend."
"Through evil methods," Thovin said, "Though I suppose it is no fault of your own those are the only ones you know."
"There are no other methods," Jeshin said, "Not for this situation. I wish there were."
"I’m sure you do," Thovin said, "But you don’t act like it."
She tossed the parcel to Jeshin.
"There," Thovin said, "We even doctored the notes ourselves, so there would be no evidence of the forging. Go."
Jeshin hesitated.
"Maybe," She started, but stopped.
Maybe what? Maybe fight me for it so I would feel better about this? Jeshin thought, That’s the most selfish thought you have ever had.
"Just go," Thovin said, "And know that you, yes even you, are always welcome on our path. We had to talk Gzoh down from stripping that right from you."
Jeshin nodded and left.
She stumbled back to Pleurian, to where she had ordered Arda to wait for her. The outrider was there, crisp and disciplined as ever, and Jeshin handed over the documents.
"Take these to Pussisolre," she ordered, "He will know what to do with them. Maybe he can save Haz where I failed."
"I was ordered to escort you, ma’am," Arda said, "Will you be joining me?"
Jeshin thought about it.
She wanted to. Oh how she wanted to go back to the way things had been. But she couldn’t go back to that; she couldn’t go back to Archon. Her thoughts of beating Archon at his own game felt so childish now. How could she teach him that her methods were better, when he was the one that taught her all of her methods in the first place?
Archon had been kind to her. Archon had been compassionate with her. He knew the strengths of each, better than she did. And that kindness and compassion were possibly the worst things he had ever done to her.
"No," Jeshin said, "I will not be joining you. Take the other horse and the drop bag."
"Yes, ma’am," Arda said, "And ma’am?"
"Yes?" Jeshin asked.
"I wish you the best of luck, Jeshin," Arda said, "You deserve better than this."
Arda left, taking Jeshin’s entire life with her.
Amber found Jeshin sitting on the side of the road just north of Pleurian, too tired to sleep, sobbing deep, ugly tears.
"Rough night?" The aether asked.
PIC [https://scythiamarrow.org/archive/SplinterGuard/Art/SectionMarkerJeshin.png]
"Yes", Jeshin said, "Rougher than you could even imagine. I just threw my whole life away."
Amber sat next to her on the ground. They were wearing loose, translucent silks in white and gold. And brown, now that dirt was added to the mix.
"Oh I can imagine," Amber said, "I may be the only one who can, right now."
Right. Aether. Jeshin felt a bit sheepish at forgetting that. She had never met an aether before, and Amber looked like any other human. Golden hair and bronze skin weren’t exactly unusual. The wings were, though. Those should probably have been a bit of a hint.
"Sorry," Jeshin said, "You are right. In my defense, I’m very tired."
"There is no need to apologize," Amber said, "I should not expect you, or anyone, to truly understand how I think. I was reminded of that quite sternly just this morning."
"So even aether make mistakes, huh," Jeshin said, "Even those people made of the divine are still people. Is that your angle here?"
"An angle?" Amber mused, "I suppose that could be one way of thinking about it, yes. I do wish for you to feel better. No one deserves to feel the way you do."
Jeshin nodded.
"Everyone has an angle," Jeshin said, "Something they want from you. Otherwise, why would they talk to you?
What I don’t get, though," she said, "Is why you want me to feel better. Don’t you have better things to do than talking to some deserter? What’s your game?"
"Angles, games," Amber observed, "Is all conversation combat to you?"
Jeshin shrugged. Every time two people interacted there was a winner and a loser. Someone who got more and someone who got less. Just because people didn’t like it didn’t make it untrue.
"I see," Amber said, "Well then, how about you let me win this one? I am an aether after all, if I win goodness wins."
Were they reading her mind?
"Yes," Amber confirmed.
That was so unfair.
"Indeed, I have an unfair advantage in this conversational combat," Amber enthused, "You really should surrender and let me bring you home and tuck you into a soft bed instead of lying in the dirt thinking no one loves you."
"Of course no one loves me," Jeshin said, "my family hates me for getting kicked out of the hospital, I just deserted my company, and the one person I wanted to pursue romantically is scared to death of me.
It’s not that bad though," She added.
And it was true. The dirt was soft. Amber was lying next to her, and it felt like cold refused to be in their presence. She was warm, and safe. Good luck to anyone who tried attacking her with an aether about.
"I did what I could." Jeshin mumbled. "I won, despite impossible odds. I did something not even Archon thought I could do. And I’ll win again. No bed for me, no soft forgiveness. You don’t get to win this one either, Amber. Just stay. In the dirt. And fellow worms. With me."
Sleep took her. And Amber stayed.