09 - Confusion
“Huh? Okay.”
“Well, first off, are you really a Sergeant Major of the Army?”
“Yeah. Got promoted about three months ago.”
“Oh nice!”
Reaching for the mug of cheap wine the bartender had just brought her, Skyla took a small sip of alcohol before going back to questioning Àndras, who was flustered from her flattery.
“So then,” Skyla started as she put her hand on Àndras’s which was aptly laying on the bar, “what brings a man of such high standing to a town like this?”
Feeling her warm hand slide down the bracer on his wrist, Àndras fought the urge to flinch backwards as his face dyed red.
“Uh, w-we heard that the rebellion might be stockpiling weapons here, so they sent me and my team to investigate,” Àndras answered softly. As he said this, Àndras thought for a moment that something was odd. Was it really okay for him to tell a stranger this?
“‘They?’ Who is they,” Skyla pressed.
“General Boreí, I think. He wasn’t there, but the Lieutenant Colonel mentioned him when he gave us the list,” Àndras replied. Hearing himself say this, Àndras briefly thought that something was wrong. Even when he was drunk, he never tended to be this loose lipped.
“List? What list,” Skyla curiously asked, looking at Àndras innocently. “It was a list of cities to check for weapons or anything related to the rebellion,” Ándras answered, taking a sip of his drink.
“Would you mind if I see it,” Skyla asked politely.
“Well, I’m pretty sure Megalo’s got it. It’s pretty late, so he should be in the room so I could go get it from him,” Àndras replied as he stood up before a flash of panic flew across Skyla’s face.
“Uh, no that’s okay! I don’t want to make you do anything, so don’t worry about it. Well, do you remember any of the cities on the list that you haven’t checked yet,” Skyla questioned, a forced smile plastered on her face.
“Hm… if I remember correctly, there were three left… Póli, Tou, and Chrysós I think,” Àndras replied, once again getting the feeling that something was off.
Apparently satisfied with his answer, Skyla reached into the hood of her cloak and rearranged her long, blonde hair back revealing more of her perfect, medium brown skin as she reached for her drink, the light from the torches dancing through her deep blue eyes. Noticing Ándras’s stare, she flashed him a light, yet enchanting smile. Embarrassed, Àndras looked down only to see his reflection in his half-drunk cylex. Seeing himself in such a state reminded him of the events that had transpired earlier that day, causing him to sober up quite a bit.
“Are you alright,” Skyla asked, noticing his sudden mood change. Hearing this, Ándras winced. Removing her hand from Ándras’s, Skyla sighed and turned her gaze toward his. Noticing her staring at him with eyes full of compassion, Ándras finally cracked,
A tear falling down his face, Ándras told Skyla about everything that had transpired that day; about going to see his family, finding out about Fíle, and, last and probably the worst, about Nazarius.
“Dammit! If only… If only I was stronger! If only my blessing wasn’t this shitty, defective one and something more useful, I could’ve saved them both! Why am I so weak?! Damn it! Why am I even here?! Mother must think I have abandoned her. God Dammit,” Ándras cursed, realizing yet another mistake he made. Thinking he needed to go home, he forced himself on his feet and turned towards the exit.
Fumbling, Ándras made his way over to the door. However, right before he opened it, he felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. Looking back behind him, Ándras made eye contact with the woman that was sitting next to him moments ago.
“…Tell me, why do you blame yourself for what happened to your brothers? Illnesses are natural, so there’s literally no one to blame for that, but for your other brother, wouldn’t it make more sense to blame the guy in a carriage,” Skyla questioned in a low voice.
“…”
Not saying anything, Ándras redirected his eyes to the floor. Was it really his fault? Yes, while it was true that if he had some sort of blessing that specialized in diseases he could have helped Fíle, but wasn’t that holding himself to impossible standards? And for Nazarius, didn’t she have a point? If the noble wasn’t there in the first place, there’s no way he could have killed him.
Noticing the conflict in his eyes, Skyla made a decision she hoped she wouldn’t come to regret.
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“Hey, from what you’ve said so far, you’re pretty weak, right? Well, what would you say if I could help you change that?”
…
Cold.
All that Nazarius felt was cold. A weak, numbing cold that seemed to encompass his entire body and seemed to last for an eternity. However, overtime, the cold grew sharper, somewhat snapping Nazarius back to reality enough to notice that it was not cold he was experiencing, but heat hot enough to fry every nerve in his body.
Eyes snapping open, Nazarius gasped for air only to be met with the feeling of extreme heat filling him to his core. Flailing around, he attempted to get his bearings only to realize that he didn’t know which way was up or down. Slowly drowning, Nazarius coughed out his last bit of air, watching it float sideways with darkening eyes. ‘Wait, sideways,’ Nazarius thought.
A light flickering on in his head, Nazarius started waving his limbs down, propelling him in the direction of the air bubbles. Without an ounce of oxygen to spare, he popped his head out of the glowing river and took in as deep a breath as possible. Not bothering to gauge his surroundings, Nazarius crawled up the river bank and flopped down on the red, rocky riverbed.
Taking a few moments to regain his stability, Nazarius carefully stood up and looked around. However, all he could see was the river that was giving off a slight glow and everything within a five meter radius of it. Beyond that was a complete and utter darkness that seemed to stare into the depths of Nazarius’s soul.
“Where am I,” he muttered, baffled by the random environment he had found himself in. Looking around, there was nothing but flat, red plains and darkness. However, he was quickly dragged back into reality by the extreme heat that consumed his body.
“Gah!” Freezing up from the pain, Nazarius fell back onto the red sediment, doing all he could to withstand the pain. However, not being able to endure, his vision started to double. But just as Nazarius thought he was going to lose consciousness, the pain instantly reduced to a mere buzz that came from his nerves from overstimulation.
Confused, Nazarius shakily stood up and once again looked around, this time taking the time to look at himself.
“I’m… glowing,” he muttered confusedly. However, only a brief moment passed before he realized that it was what remained of his clothes that had absorbed whatever was in the river. Aside from that, seeing the bloodstained cloth that was practically shredded to bits reminded Nazarius of something.
“My stomach! It’s… fine?” Gazing down at his torso, Nazarius was confronted with not a bleeding gut, but instead a scar that looked only slightly better. It was jagged and uneven, most likely from all the stress that had been put on it from being flung around on the tip of a spear.
Not knowing whether to sigh in relief or let out a gasp of horror, Nazarius looked up from his stomach to the river that sat a few feet away from him. Once again noting its strange yet sinister orange-ish glow that lit up the surrounding red plains, Nazarius wondered if it had anything to do with his wound being healed. Curious, Nazarius decided to throw a nearby rock into the river. With a dull thud, the rock hit the bottom of the river unharmed.
‘Then was the pain only caused by my injuries,’ Nazarius inwardly contemplated, slowly inserting the tip of his finger back into the stream.
Thinking nothing would happen since he was already fully healed, Nazarius was unpleasantly surprised to be met with the same mind numbing pain he had felt before, only a bit worse since it was concentrated in one area. “Why does it hurt so bad?! Didn’t it only hurt because I was injured,” he loudly groaned.
Instinctively, Nazarius put his finger in his mouth to numb the pain only to realize his mistake after it was too late. A small droplet of the liquid from the river dripped down his throat, causing it to leave a trail of pain and agony. Coughing ferociously, Nazarius lost his balance and stumbled against a large nearby rock that stood barely within the range that Nazarius could see.
Slowly calming down as the pain subsided, Nazarius reminded himself to never do that again. Leaning against the rock, Nazarius took a deep breath before freezing in place, a single question flashing through his mind.
‘Where did this rock come from?’
…
Nighttime had already fallen and Pierre was still hovering over the hole on the ground, which had grown noticeably bigger. Sweating profusely, Pierre took a deep breath and stuck his hands into the ground surrounding the trypa.
After rummaging around for about 30 minutes, Pierre took a deep breath. Stretching his arms out from his center, Pierre tensed all of his muscles and slammed his hands together as hard as he could, causing all of the matter between them to collide and compress in one horrific movement. Practically throwing himself backwards, Pierre landed on the street with a thud.
“Hah… finally. That took… way too long,” Pierre muttered to himself, looking upon the remnants of a pharmacy, no gaping hole to be found. Pushing himself upwards into a sitting position, Pierre looked upon the starry sky while thinking to himself.
‘It wasn’t easy to tell at first because of all the sediment and blood, but the smell of the sacrifice was familiar… have I seen them before? It didn’t remind me of anyone I’ve seen, so maybe I just picked up their smell in the marketplace earlier. Also, what am I gonna do about that noble? I know he had something to do with it, so I should go catch him, right? But what about the kid? Ah wait, Ándras!’
Jumping off the ground, Pierre looked around as if searching for something before grabbing one of the water bottles that was strapped to his tunic before once again pouring out the contents and using them to propel himself forward in the direction of Ándras’s and Fíle’s house. Sniffing the air once more, Pierre started to slow down at a fork in the road.
“It looks like Ándras went back to the tavern and the kid’s still sleeping,” Pierre noted. “And the noble… already out of the city. I should go after him, but I really should find Ándras first,” he figured.
Deciding to go and finally find Ándras, Pierre quickly skates his way to the tavern. “Oh, almost forgot to change,” he muttered before his entire body shape changed into a shorter, grouchier looking man while the water returned to its container. Opening the door, Pierre immediately noticed that something was wrong. The last place that had Ándras’s smell near it was the door handle, but Ándras wasn’t at the door. Cautiously walking inside the mellowed tavern, Pierre noticed a familiar face.
“Oh hey, you’re that guy that was with Ándras, right,” Pierre asked Megálo, who was talking to a person who was seated at the bar.
“Huh? Is that you, Lieu- uh, I mean, hello there sir. How could I help you today,” Megálo asked, correcting his mistake.
“I’m still looking for Ándras. You haven’t seen him, have you,” Pierre asked Megálo.
“You mean he wasn’t with you,” Megálo asked, causing them to look at each other dumbfoundedly.
“So he hasn’t come back yet? But this is the last place he’s been, I’m sure of it,” Pierre said, confused.
“Well sir, I was a little worried so I asked some people if on the off chance they’d seen him and,” Megálo hesitated. “They said he made a big fuss before leaving with some mysterious guy in a cloak. I thought that might’ve been you seein’ as how you don’t seem to like attention very much, sir,” Megálo uttered with a worried tone.
“Wait, he left? Then how didn’t I…” Pierre’s voice trailed off. Turning back to the door, Pierre’s nonchalant face contorted soberly, desperately hoping his intuition was wrong.
‘Was it… the rebellion again,’ he thought to himself. There had been a few times in the past when Pierre had been tasked with locating someone only to lose their scent along the way. However, these times were rare and usually only happened to the common folk, leading Pierre to believe that they had died somewhere with the decay causing their smell to change. That was, until, one of the rebellion’s weapons stockpiles was raided. Along with all of the normal weapons such as swords and spears and a few oddities, a box of mysterious vials with a clear liquid in them was found. While it was unknown what they did at first, it was later found that the vials erased all presence of whatever the contents were applied to.
‘I still can’t believe how thorough they are…clever bastards,’ Pierre cursed to himself. ‘Was he kidnapped? Ugh, dammit, what is going on,’ he screamed to himself as he sped to the exit. Fearing for the worst, Pierre threw open the tavern doors and once again ran into the night.