"They're whisperin' again." Marik said as he casually vaulted over the rotted log blocking their path.
Astrid was following behind lost in thought. Her distant expression slowly dissolved into one of bewilderment.
"What?" She looked around, confused.
"What whispers?"Marik stopped, turned, and spoke slowly for her benefit.
"On my honor, I swear I'm a patient man." There was a tired, amused grin on his face.
"I'll wait." Long sibilant whispers and echoing growls filled the air. Admittedly, she hadn't noticed them until now. Yet, the more she focused on the eerie cacophony the more distant the sounds became.
Oh. "It's me..." She mumbled quietly, dumbfounded.
"I'm sorry. I must be more tired than I thought." Blood rushed to her cheeks as she struggled to keep her expression neutral. Her magic, which until now had been enjoying its time outside the cage, collapsed into her with a sad whine.
The two had known each other for two years now, but their relationship was a strange one. Most mercenaries would burn their contract and run after spending a few days with her. Some people snored noisily when they slept. Astrid let out predatory growls fierce enough to soil a season warrior's pants. This gave some of her acquaintances the distinct impression she was werewolf, or worse, a demon. But it was when they heard strange, incoherent whispers and persistent ringing that they began to suspect her to be some kind of abomination in disguise. They also didn't like how easily see could see through their lies, even the little white ones that didn't cause trouble. It drove most people mad.
Marik wasn't
most people. This was mixed blessing for Astrid. He claimed to have signed on for the glory and the coin, which they both knew was a lie. She didn't question it at the time because she was desperate for money, and her mission needed at least two people. Yet, after all the adventures they had been on together, that was the one lie she couldn't never figure out.
He didn't hate her. He didn't secretly love her, or even lust after her. The fact only confused her more because she knew he had two wives and eight children between them, but he spent months in the wilderness with her and never even gave her a look. It baffled her.
She had learned very quickly not to ask about his family because he always answered with a soft, wistful look in his eyes. It twisted her up inside every time. He looked after her more than her more than he did his own family, which made her both angry for their sake and incredibly guilty. She didn't force him to tag along. She knew it wasn't her fault either, but it didn't stop her from feeling awful about it.
"Are you done daydreaming? We still have work to do." He barked, sounding slightly annoyed.
"Lie to me." Astrid said in a breathy voice. She was exhausted.
Marik's brows crept up with a hint of concern, then relaxed. He cleared his throat with some effort and adopted a serious tone.
"If you keep talking nonsense, I'll kill you myself and leave you for the wolves." He tried sounding angry, but his words didn't have any bite.
Even without her abilities, she knew he was lying. His eyes weren't hostile at all. Yet, the dull chime of her Truth Seeker magic hummed in the back of her mind all the same.
"Touchy." She teased.
Marik smoothly unsheathed one of his daggers and ran the blade across his hand. A fine red mist emerged from the wound in long, sinuous streams. The blood aimlessly groped its way through the air towards Astrid before turning into lifeless, gray motes of dust. His flexed his hand instinctively and the wound began to heal.
Astrid's pale complexion brightened a little and the thin, dark circles beneath her eyes receded. Now sated, the spectre of her magic slept peacefully.
"Thank you."Marik nodded blithely. Astrid was fairly sure this motion translated to
'You're Welcome'.
An avalanche rumbled in the distance. They both turned towards it and watched a wave of snow break against the slopes. Then the world turned upside down. Astrid felt the world bend around her as a shrill chorus of torturous noise drilled into her head. Pain exploded in the back of her head and her vision went white.
The uncomfortable, rhythmic thumping of her head against hard leather eventually jostled her awake. She wasn't sure how much time had past, or why she was staring at a strap of leather, but dull ache pulsed through her skull and she could feel a knot bulging on the crown of her head. A robust arm held her so firmly in place, she thought she had been chained up at first. She soon realized, however, that Marik had draped her over his shoulder and was plodding along casually as if he were carrying a basket of laundry. She squirmed under his grip.
“I’m awake..." She croaked.
"I’m awake! Can you put me down, please?”He hoisted her up and gently set her down on a flat patch of dirt.
Astrid wobbled on unsteady legs. Her muscled screamed in protest just to keep her upright, and her limbs felt like wet noodles. It was then she realized something was terribly wrong.
“Marik. Where are my clothes?” A hint of rage made her tremble.
“What even is this? A blanket and some rope?” She waved at at herself frantically. A ream of burlap had been wrapped around her and served as a makeshift dress. Well-worn strands of rope knotted the fabric in a few places to keep it from falling open. It was shoddy job by any measure.
“Mhmm.” He grumbled testily. His expression was that of granite.
“It’s all I had.”“What happened?” Her face flushed red with anger. When she pointed an accusing finger at him, the translucent tendrils of her magic crept into her surroundings, looking for something to strangle.
Marik glowered at her, eyes bulging. The stark silver-white visage of a grave spirit flashed across his face and he inhaled sharply through flaring nostrils.
“QUIET. DOWN.” He boomed with all the terrible authority of an enraged father. Each word escaped through bars of gritted teeth.
Astrid withered.
“Don’t you start that with me, girl!” He unsheathed his accusing finger from a tightly balled fist, and jabbed it her sternly.
“You were turning into a mess of fur and spines. The ground was boiling, Astrid! Boiling” He shouted.
“I won’t sit by and watch whatever abomination you keep locked in there throw a tantrum like some spoiled child. I knocked you out for your own good, and mine. Gods only know what would have happened, if I let you stomp off into the Devil’s Spine as some crazed fiend...” As she was bombarded with words of scorn, her face paled further and further. She wanted to crawl under a rock and die. She had seen Marik angry before, but this time was different. Behind his furious exterior, there was a note of fear. He was terrified of something, of
her.
The verbal thrashing continue for awhile longer. Astrid endured it bitterly and pieced together the events from Marik’s shouting. After the weird sound struck her, she lost control of her magic and began to transform. Most of her equipment had been destroyed in the process. Only her sword and a few trinkets survived. There was a storm brewing, some explosions, and more landslides. He didn't stay to find out more, and carried her down the mountain and through foothills to put as much distance between her and the weird lights as possible. He was clearly worried about her, so she didn’t even try defending herself, but she did tune out the parts where he began repeating himself.
“...We’ll find you some new clothes soon enough.” He sighed. His voice was softer now that his fierce tirade was over.
“I know the Jarl hired us to find that damned tomb, but there’s no sense in going back to look for it now. There’s a village nearby. Vescarim, I think. We’ll rest there for a few hours and figure things out when we both have cooler heads, ah?”She nodded cautiously.
“Good” He smiled, and, for the first time in weeks, there was warmth in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he spoke of his children.
“We’ve still got a ways to go, so let's keep moving. If we’re lucky, we’ll be there in time for breakfast.”For some reason, and despite all evidence to the contrary, Astrid sensed she was being doted on. A cloud of mirth rose in her chest, lifting her spirits out of a pool of bitter resignation. When he turned to lead the way, Astrid permitted herself a small, knowing grin and followed. She wondered how many times he had lectured his other children like that.
Calm waters gently rocked the fishing schooner back and forth. The lugsails were drawn into neat, tidy bundles, and the anchor had been dropped since they started. Five sturdy women crewed the ship. Two were tending to fish traps, while the others were efficiently sorting the fish into separate barrels.
Being on the the border of the frost giants' lands, where the Godsfall disappeared under the sea, was a nice boon to the small coastal village of Sundnig. Seasonal upwellings made the stock of fish in their waters plentiful throughout most of the year. However, they were at the edge of Herrvael, a warmongering province loyal to a the “great fat man on the hill”, King Sevenfinger, and the people of the heartlands bore a tense hatred for giants. The village often found itself swept into some terrible conflict between its closest neighbors and stubbornly refused to take sides.
Many of Sundnig’s men were often busy patrolling and fighting raiders, big and small. It was a full-time inconvenience. As such, several jobs within the village, had long been the task of women. Most chores therefore were mindless, backbreaking, and highly social, including fishing.
A thin, white haze blurred the deep red of the rising sun and appeared as one enormous, eye which watched the girls work. The shaman said it was the Lord Beyond the Horizon keeping an eye on the faithful. This unsettled a few, but Myrra found this vaguely comforting.
She was a middle-aged woman with striking features: bright, blue eyes, a fair face with high cheeks, and small tusks protruding from the soft curve of her jaw that hinted at an orcish heritage. She heaved slick, wooden cages from the water and spilled their contents onto the deck, so the others could sort them into barrels or throw them back into the water. It was a tedious affair, so her muscles did all the necessary thinking while her mind wandered to more interesting places. The other women jovially gabbed amongst themselves.
They had been working for a few hours when the haze began to clear, revealing a shaft of swarming lights stretching into the sky. It was far to the southeast, Myrra could tell, but the base of it was occluded by the nearby cliffs. She wouldn’t have noticed it at all, if her absent-minded gaze wasn’t already looking in that direction.
Concern twisted her expression. The others, noticing the change in her demeanor, looked at Myrra warily.
What’s wrong? The youngest girl ventured.
”Nothing to worry about. Myrra shook her head.
”Mind the fish. There’s still work to do.”The others briefly exchanges puzzled glances and carried on.
On their return trip, she was tending to the battened sails, when a silver-breasted gull alighted on one of the lines. In truth, she had summoned it. The bird’s small, beady eyes gleamed with hidden intelligence. Many witches had familiars, but Myrra had kept hers very discreet. Old superstitions, not gods, were the centerpiece of Sundnig spirituality. Unfortunately for Myrra, the villagers had a dim view of blood magic, and by extension witches, regardless of how the magic was used.
”I need you to deliver a message to Our Silent Lady.”The ivory-feathered bird tilted its head curiously.
Myrra whispered a few instructions to the gull and, with a graceful push of its wings, it left.
I can feel the Dragon Veins shifting. If they keep changing course, the fish will move and this village will die. I must find out what’s happening.On the other side of Norden...Beneath vine-choked archways of stone, two cowled figures stared thoughtfully at the sharp peaks in the distance. The Devil’s Spine had always been home to countless horrors and the Carnivorous Mist, but the column of lights was new. They had been silently observing the changes in the land and the sparks of magic at the edge of their domain.
“I have a wonder, Néffení, if you will indulge me.” One of them started. He spoke with a long, condescending drawl.
“Honestly, Nihil, do I have a choice?” Néffení retorted. Her voice was strangely immaculate, despite her annoyed tone. It possessed a quality of stylized perfection one might expect from a talented musician or singer.
“Of the two Sirens that remain, are you not the senior authority here? I find it curious that you allow another to lead, while you follow.” Nihil continued, ignoring her quip. He spoke as if he already knew the answer.
“You find that curious, do you?” An eyebrow twitched angrily beneath her cowl.
“In fact, you defer to a newborn, barely a few decades old. Is this a cultural policy among Sirens? Or simply a personal one?”“What would you like to hear? That I prefer to follow?” A sigh of resignation followed.
“Given that you are, I must assume that you do.” A row of perfect teeth gleamed sharply.
“Could you crawl into a bush somewhere and die? I would be forever in your debt.” Her words dripped with venom.
“You sound so very defensive, Néffení.” A sly grin smeared across his beshadowed face.
“You’ve been at my side for… what? Two? Three decades now? You should know better than anyone I’m much too stubborn to give into to death.”He stepped forward and eyed the mountains critically. His nose slowly wrinkled with derision as his gaze fell upon the unnatural aurora.
“Besides, I find death’s quality of work lacking. The dead don’t stay dead, which either reflects incompetence or negligence. Needless to say, I will correct His mistakes.”"There's still many preparations to make." She tried changing the subject.
"Must you make everything boorish?" Nihil sneered. He abruptly turned on his heel and walked into a nearby tree, melding into the gnarled whorls of its bark.
“We’re leaving.” Néffení quietly followed the disembodied voice and vanished into the woods.
