16 Vhalar, 718
Previous: The Only Truth
Maron was as good as his word.
They were moving before the last light of the suns dipped below the horizon, picking their way by a sky still half-alive. They talked some. Making up for all the words he’d missed that morning, way she figured it. Him raising a finger to the sky, pointing out the Lady’s Breath, and the Broken Spear, and a half-dozen other patterns of stars, her nodding along like they meant something. One patch of sky looked much the same as another to her eyes, but the gaunt man was grinning like a fool at each one he showed her.
Might’ve just been the lightness that came with being alive at the end of a day that hadn’t promised it, but she found herself grinning back as he explained fixing points and checking bearings, honest and intent as a boy half his age. Been a long time, since someone talked to her just for the sake of talking. Found she'd missed it more'n she thought she would. So she stared, blinking until the stars blurred, and nodded at the speckled points as though there was some grand pattern to them. Wondered if that was what it was to be an Immortal, to see patterns where she saw chaos.
Silence settled as the light faded, close and heavy as a corpse’s shroud. Naught but the wind and the too-loud crunch of their passage as she scrambled on, following the dull grey of Maron’s leathers. The steady crush of feet, the hushed rasp of breath, a whisper made a shout by the night. She felt her grin slipping some with each one. Were a dozen beasts in the grassland that hunted surer by night than by day; moved by scent and sound and a feral intelligence. To be moving left them at the mercy of creatures with no mercy at all.
Was no small relief, then, when the old man’s voice drifted over the grass. They made for it, eager as children. A patch of light in a sea of black and silver; a fire smouldered in a sword-carved clearing, surrounded by nine familiar faces. Nine pairs of hands twitched towards weapons as they approached. Say one thing for the grass, say it wasn’t quiet.
Maron turned his hands, palms out, and she mirrored the motion.
“Easy. Easy! Maron, and the new lass.” A few grins crept into view, but hands stayed on swords.
“That so?” The old man’s voice, croaked like the fire. ”Come on out then, nice and slow.”
They did, delicate as babes.
Ryeth was already shaking his head, frown so deep that it wouldn’t have surprised her any to find a river at the bottom of those lines. He jabbed that stump of a finger at each of them in turn. “Pair of you are alive, then.”
“Just about. Had five of them come running, Chief. Left them to the grass, far as we counted it.” Maron started toward the fire, and the rough-looking pile next to it that might’ve been dinner. “Feel a bit more alive, if you’d pass me some of -”
“Aye, I’ll give you something to eat.” The chief stepped forward, companionable as an old dog. Set a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, heavy and intimate as a shackle. “Remember when I took charge of this fine ol’ company? Remember what I asked of you?”
Then he drew back an arm, buried his fist in Maron’s gut like a butcher gutting a deer. She heard the air leave the younger man. A wet crackle. A staggering pace. Eyes white and wide and wild.
Maron dropped, wheezing, to the grass.
They were moving before the last light of the suns dipped below the horizon, picking their way by a sky still half-alive. They talked some. Making up for all the words he’d missed that morning, way she figured it. Him raising a finger to the sky, pointing out the Lady’s Breath, and the Broken Spear, and a half-dozen other patterns of stars, her nodding along like they meant something. One patch of sky looked much the same as another to her eyes, but the gaunt man was grinning like a fool at each one he showed her.
Might’ve just been the lightness that came with being alive at the end of a day that hadn’t promised it, but she found herself grinning back as he explained fixing points and checking bearings, honest and intent as a boy half his age. Been a long time, since someone talked to her just for the sake of talking. Found she'd missed it more'n she thought she would. So she stared, blinking until the stars blurred, and nodded at the speckled points as though there was some grand pattern to them. Wondered if that was what it was to be an Immortal, to see patterns where she saw chaos.
Silence settled as the light faded, close and heavy as a corpse’s shroud. Naught but the wind and the too-loud crunch of their passage as she scrambled on, following the dull grey of Maron’s leathers. The steady crush of feet, the hushed rasp of breath, a whisper made a shout by the night. She felt her grin slipping some with each one. Were a dozen beasts in the grassland that hunted surer by night than by day; moved by scent and sound and a feral intelligence. To be moving left them at the mercy of creatures with no mercy at all.
Was no small relief, then, when the old man’s voice drifted over the grass. They made for it, eager as children. A patch of light in a sea of black and silver; a fire smouldered in a sword-carved clearing, surrounded by nine familiar faces. Nine pairs of hands twitched towards weapons as they approached. Say one thing for the grass, say it wasn’t quiet.
Maron turned his hands, palms out, and she mirrored the motion.
“Easy. Easy! Maron, and the new lass.” A few grins crept into view, but hands stayed on swords.
“That so?” The old man’s voice, croaked like the fire. ”Come on out then, nice and slow.”
They did, delicate as babes.
Ryeth was already shaking his head, frown so deep that it wouldn’t have surprised her any to find a river at the bottom of those lines. He jabbed that stump of a finger at each of them in turn. “Pair of you are alive, then.”
“Just about. Had five of them come running, Chief. Left them to the grass, far as we counted it.” Maron started toward the fire, and the rough-looking pile next to it that might’ve been dinner. “Feel a bit more alive, if you’d pass me some of -”
“Aye, I’ll give you something to eat.” The chief stepped forward, companionable as an old dog. Set a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, heavy and intimate as a shackle. “Remember when I took charge of this fine ol’ company? Remember what I asked of you?”
Then he drew back an arm, buried his fist in Maron’s gut like a butcher gutting a deer. She heard the air leave the younger man. A wet crackle. A staggering pace. Eyes white and wide and wild.
Maron dropped, wheezing, to the grass.
