|
|
| (One intermediate revision by the same user not shown) |
| Line 1: |
Line 1: |
| − | | + | Delete. |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The night deepens, and the Once Dead make their way through the cluster of overlapping tribes towards the camp of the Frost Bear Tribe. If the Rabbit camp was sedate, the Frost Bear encampment seems almost manic. Fire flickers, voices rise in song, and there is the sound of shouting, dueling, and gaming It is smaller by far than the Rabbit encampment, a gradually curving arc of hide tents lit
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] by guttering torches.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The Frost Bears move without apparent concern in the rising cold, their laughter forming great clouds of steam before their faces. At the far end of the encampment, a large aghar sits isolated, though not so much as the one among the Rabbit Tribe. The guards who kneel around it are laughing and throwing the bones.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grins. Knew how to live, the Frost Bears. For savages. Still, he wasn't above dice yet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal scowls. At least he had a pair of thugs at his back. They were Once Dead; maybe they could even usefully intimidate. He runs his fingers through his curly hair, then walks over to them, back hunched. "I'm Iscal of the Once Dead. Where's your shaman?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As Iscal approaches the guards, he can't help but notice that they're older than he might expect, grizzled men of at least forty or fifty, their beards gone to gray, their backs hunched but still muscled.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] One of them looks up from his game, grunting. "Once Dead, eh?" He elbows the man beside him. "What do the corpses want with our tribe? We like to steer clear of the dead. Unless we're making them."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Disease," Iscal says briefly. He hated this kind: ignorant fools who made a physicians job all the harder. "It's in your camp."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I wonder if old Hrogga is making many corpses," one of the other men says. "It's no fair, him getting to go kill the wolves while we tend Oleg's runt."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The first man grunts. "Don't let her hear you say that," he says, then blinks at Iscal. "Only a bout of the cholera. Nothing the Frost Bears can't handle. Even little Sihu."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "You're an idiot," Iscal says bluntly. He raises his hands and ducks his head, murmuring, "Though I am, of course, only a humble physician. It's gutwrack, it's contagious and you can all die stubbornly...or you can do as I say. Where did the disease start? Have you angered any spirits?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He glances down at his gloves, pulling them tighter needlessly. Seemed like the time to look a bit threatening.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The man sizes Iscal up, as if considering going toe to toe with him, and then shrugs. "The first sickness started a day ago. Sihu Swift got it first, then some of the other young ones. A few others. I know little more. Our Shaman is Kono Graybeard. He may be speaking with the water spirits now. If they are offended, it is not by us. The Frost Bears remember their loyalties and their duties."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "The Frost Bears do not fear this illness, though it comes among the old, the young, and the weakest of our tribe. The others are fighting the Winter Wolf. We, at least, will fight the shits." He growls laughter.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He chuckles himself, before cutting short glancing at Iscal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Snow Peacock blows a puff of exasperated air over her nose to warm her face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] cxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "How many have the illness? Are they confined within that tent?" He jerks his head at it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Only a few. They are within. They feel too ill for the revelry." He jerks his chin at the fires where the singing rises. "Else we would bring them out. It is not the way of the Frost Bears to lie ill in a tent when there is revelry to be seized. Not that you Greenfielders would understand that." He elbows the man beside him again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal had sworn an oath when he was a younger, better man, so he does not tell them they could shit themselves to death for all he cared.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "You may not enter. Only Kachina Strong-Shout can give that permission. She... leads us now, in her father's absence."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He cocks a thumb at a distant tent, lit from within by a steady light. "I believe she's in there with her pet. Enter if you will."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "What abou Olega?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Where is she?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Oleg leads our raiding parties against the Winter Wolf. We are not the Rabbit, to huddle in the lee of the Greenfields, or the Elk, to wait for the opportunity for glory. We shall seize it. Oleg, his wife, and his other children make war, with the able-bodied of our tribe."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "While Kachina does her sums," the man at his elbow guffaws, before a quick glance silences him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Ah. Then I will see the runt." He nods cordially to them, then turns to scan the rest of the settlement, calculating how many guards it would take to round them up and confine them. The problem, of course, was that then one might be compelled to confine the guards if they spread the disease.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] All told, there may be a hundred of the tribe gathered here at most. Sure -sounds- like a lot more, though.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] But most of them were old and weak. He smiles, thinking of the perfumes and silks and cosmetic complaints of his old practice in Great Forks. He trudges off through the snow to Kachina's tent. If she could count past ten, perhaps she would be useful.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He glances around. "Still need me? Think maybe I could learn something useful hanging around here." He says, hopefully
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal looks at him. If the 'chief' were a runt, how dangerous could she be?
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] As the Once Dead draw near the tent, a pair of voices rise. One is loud and feminine, the other softer, and clearly male.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Far be it from me to order you about." He glances at Snow Peacock. "You stay with me."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Now, if the merchant offers you furs that are worth 6 obol, how many dinars should you offer him?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Uh... ah... fifty? No! Fifty two?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "No. Think."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "This is USELESS! YOU are useless!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "This may really happen to you. It is far from useless."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grins happily, and sidles over to a game of dice. One close to the tapped keg.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "If it really happened, I'd GUT the stupid Guild pig and be DONE!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The male voice heaves a sigh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock looks at Iscal, raising an eyebrow. "Can't wait to see what this is about."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "Hey friends, pass the cup to me on the next round." He hadn't dices with a cup for a while. Made it harder to palm them, which seemed rather tame for Frost Bears. Maybe they didn't want to have to kill each other over cheating too often.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The man that seems to be the de facto leader of the group looks Kekkonen over, squinting slightly. His left eye seems not to follow the other too well. Finally, he gives a grunt and gestures for the man to sit.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Won't be the first time we've stripped a corpse, eh boys?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grins. A bit of ribbing was nothing to start a fight over. "Like your corpses naked, eh? Haven't met too many of that sort afore."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Sit down and we'll cut you in. Give us something to tell Hrogga and the rest when they come back with their stories. Won't stack up, though."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He nods at the wisdom, and settles in for the game. He pulled out enough coin to about match the second biggest stack. No need to show his whole hand, but no need to play short, either.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The game goes on. The Frost Bears are canny bettors. Bold, direct, but not gullible. After a few minutes, the walleyed man asks. "So, you got a name? I am Dagga Ever-Ready." One of the others laughs. "Ever-Ready for a drink."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He laughs with the others at what was obviously a well used line. "I am Kekkonen, of the Once Dead." He flapped his raven at them, from the inside of his ring finger. "We're gonna be closing off your camp soon, but you come talk to me, I can make sure you can get some fun through he guards." He grins. Fish would be happy. Whore, beer and drugs would go for nice in a quarantine.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He plays a bit heavily, letting his stack dwindle a bit. Everyone liked a big bettor, long as he didn't win too much.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Quarantine? For this cholera? If you Greenfielders think we'll tolerate that, you're dead wrong." Dagga does not speak with malice, only calm certainty. The dice come up ones. "Damn it."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "Ah, thats just it," he says, leaning in conspiratorially. "It's not cholera at all." He takes a long swig at his mug, pausing artfully for them to ask.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "That's what curly said. I don't trust much that comes out of him, though."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "Who's curly?" Iscal might want to know about it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] A round of laughter goes through the group. "You tell me, you walk around with him. Don't blame you for not listening, though, do we, boys?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He nods, then leans in again to reply, lowering his voice a bit. "I saw a kid vomit blood a few feet into the air. One of the rabbits, yeah, but being stronger maybe just make you vomit farther, eh?" Flattery never hurt.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] A young man approaches the tent. He is tall, corded with muscle. Blond braids trail down his back, and a thick blond beard obscures his face. He nods to Dagga in welcome, then catches Kekkonen's comment.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He seems to blanch for a moment before darting into the tent. Several pairs of eyes follow him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Bad time to say that, friend," Dagga says, shrugging. "Manaba's brother's in there with the sickness."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "If it's as bad as you say, reckon he'll know soon."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] Kekk shrugs. "It was rabbit. I'm sure a Frost Bear'll have a few days yet before it gets near so bad."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I've paid whores that complimented me less," Dagga says, and more laughter follows. As it fades, a strangled sob comes from within the tent. The Frost Bears studiously ignore it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He scowls for a moment before letting it go. "If you pay for complements, I should talk with you more."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Your curly-headed mate's been in with Kachina a long time. I think I hear her shouting from here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He shrugs, getting back to dicing. They'd come looking for him when the camp was about running out of booze. No need to say more about it now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't believe that line she gives about her name coming from her war cry," Dagga confides, winning a roll of the dice. "Unless you count a child screaming when she dropped her father's sword on her foot a war cry."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "They teach bears to dance. Why not count?" He pushes his way into the tent. "And vastly approve the tone of the surrounding neighborhood, I'm sure" he tells the one who looks like hte owner of the voice suggesting Guild-gutting.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Mind, the Guild may take offense, but who minds a little fight now and then?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The interior of the tent burns with the steady light of sheltered reed lantern. It contains the snarl of war trophies, weapons, and ragged furs one expects in a Haslanti tent. Along one side a huge writing desk stretches along the side of the tent, as out of place as Soldas among the officers of the Once Dead. Two people sit side by side. One is a woman, perhaps twenty, with a snub nose and
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] red hair. The other is an older man wrapped in layers of fur, a pair of spectacles perching on his nose.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The woman looks up as Iscal and Peacock enters, releasing a loud shout of surprise.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "WHO enters the tent of Kachina Strong-Shout? Have they come to release me from this pain?" She disgustedly closes a heavy ledger book in front of her, knocking it off the desk. The man flinches.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "My lady, that is indeed my profession." Iscal puts his hand on his chest and bows slightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Why is there gutwrack in your camp?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He aims the question at the older man as much as at Kachina. He looked the more intelligent of the two.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Where does this curly-headed little man come from?" Kachina says it almost conversationally, as if asking the man beside her. He looks up at Iscal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "An inspector from the city, most likely. If he's here about the gutwrack. You do not need to be so argumentative."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "LIES, Volyas!" Kachina smiles, revealing that one of her top two front teeth is missing. "Meet your enemy with the open hand, and he will bury his knife in your throat. Meet your friend with the knife, and he will stay your friend for ever."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Certainly the more intelligent of the two. "I am sure you are perfectly right, madam. I am Iscal, of the Once Dead. This is my assistant, Snow Peacock." He indicates her with a wave. "What spirit did you offend? I need to speak with the first victim, the child, then the shaman, and then discuss quarantine procedures."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He looks at her as he says it, but then his eyes flick to the scholarly barbarian.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "We offended no spirit!" Kachina rises, and Iscal sees she stands well over six feet tall. "Enough that I have to watch over this band of children when I should be in battle! Do you question our honor, Iscal and Peacock Once Dead?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] After a moment, Volyas speaks up, clearing his throat delicately.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Truly, we know of no offense. The Frost Bears draw all their water here from the Deepwell that was granted to the Frost Bears when the Broken Stones Covenant was made. Wellfather Yokol is said to be given to the occasional prank, but he has never inflicted a malady such as this. Is it truly gutwrack?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Forgive me, forgive me." Iscal bows his head and raises his hands placatingly, as he sees the size of her. "I misspoke." He looks at Volyas. "It is gutwrack. I hear a child- Sihu?- was the first victim. What is the child's character? Its parents?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The more Volyas speaks, the more it becomes apparent that his Skytongue is strangely accented. "Sihu-"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kachina speaks over him, nodding fiercely. "Sihu is no child! He has survived fifteen winters already, near enough to be wed!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "A dangerous age," Iscal says, smiling. He glances at Volyas.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Sihu is cared for by his older brother, Manaba," Volyas continues. "Sihu was to perform the sacrifice to the Wellfather two days ago. He had been bragging about it for weeks. He says it was done, and we have found the incense at the edge of the Deepwell."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I am certain the boy would give no deliberate offense."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Kono Graybeard has gone into the well to speak with the Wellfather," Kachina says. "I should be with him. Instead, I wait, and Volyas teaches me sums and sad stories of weeping, perfumed women." She narrows her eyes at him. "The maiden should not have taken her life. It is a foolish tale, meaning nothing!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Volyas sighs deeply.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "If this is truly gutwrack, my lady, I fear things are much worse."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "There was an outbreak in Juche two decades ago. Thousands died before the Immaculates could contain it."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I am sure you are right," Iscal says to Kachina, nodding as if eager to please. He glances at Volyas; better to approach him about quarantines, perhaps. "Perhaps this is a night for men and women to tell one another braver stories around the fires."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I heard a a celebration, did I not?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "The Frost Bears tend to mourn and fret in their own way..." Volyas says. Kachina nods, clapping him on the back.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "With vats of beer, eh?" Iscal smiles. It does not come naturally.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Maybe he could drug the beer.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Indeed! We grasp life, wring its neck, drink its blood! It is the only way to live." Kachina seems to see Iscal and Peacock anew. "What do you want of us? To speak with Graybeard?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Yes. And the boy- Sihu." Iscal bows slightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Then go! Speak to the boy if you will. Do for him what you can. Then!" She smiles her gap toothed smile again. "Then you and I and the Peacock Once Dead will go into the Deepwell together, to see Graybeard and the Wellfather."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Volyas drums his fingers on his thigh in agitation.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal bobs his head up in down. "If it is no trouble to you, my lady, perhaps your man Volyas can take us to the boy's tent? There is little time to waste asking directions."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kachina narrows her eyes slightly, a hand going to her hip as she tries to decide if this offends her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I am uncertain, sir," Volyas responds. "After the sums, we must practice the major letters of Riverspeak once more, as Oleg requested."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kachina gives a braying laugh. "Go on, you old plotter! Spare me your sums, and I will spare you!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal tries to look extra deferential, hunching his shoulders. He conceals a smile beneath a ducked head.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Let's be quick about this, then," Volyas says, sweeping from the tent. He swears as the cold hits him. "Bloody freezing out here!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "It always is." He glances sideways at Volyas. "How long have you been here?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Five years." Volyas pulls his furs tighter around him. "Oleg was visiting Cherak, and he made a handsome offer. I think I was cheated. You never get used to this damn cold."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Tutor?" Iscal laughs softly, but genuinely. It had been along time since he talked to a Southlander; the handful in the Once Dead despised him, same as the rest.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Of course," he sniffs. His little spectacles are already frosted over. "Surely you didn't think I was - well, nevermind. Oleg was determined that his youngest child be wise enough to beat the Greenfielders at their own game."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's smile flattens slightly. Not a slave, then. He supposed not every southlander heading north would be naive young fools with grand ideas. "I wish you all the best in your endeavor." He looks at him seriously. "Do you think the Frost Bears can be cajoled into behaving rationally?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yes. For all her... foibles, Lady Kachina will listen to reason if it is clear to her. She is merely angry because she wants to be negotiatig with the spirit. Above all, you must not wound their pride, for the Bears are a prickly people." He places a hand to his mouth, as if aware he's said too much, as the trio draws near the tent from earlier. Kekkonen sits outside, dicing with the
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] guards there.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He glances up and nods at Iscal. "Who's he?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "A guide. We have been generously granted permission to question the boy."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Volyas, eh? She's lending you her most valuable toy." Volyas does not respond. "Go on in."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I hope you enjoyed your dice game, Kekk," Iscal says carelessly. He pulls aside the canvass flap and slips inside, pausing a moment to let his eyes adust to the poor light.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grumbled, but Iscal had made it clear the game was over for him, and he wanted back into the Tomb's good graces. He finished off his beer, and left the game to the guards, following Iscal into the sicktent.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I'm staying out here," Peacock says. As the guards leer, she crosses her arms defiantly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Volyas, too, lingers at the entrance. He knows gutwrack too well.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Within, the tent is small, cramped, and foul. Fewer patients are here - only a half dozen, most of them children or old men. A gray-haired woman with her hair held back by a headband moves among the sick.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "As you like. Don't let the guards frighten you." Iscal glances at Volyas and smiles. He could be infected already; he could hardly blame the man for his caution.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] In the corner, the man Kekkonen saw enter the tent kneels beside the body of a teenage boy. The boy has the same long, blond hair, but his face is free of stubble. His eyes gaze sightlessly at the leather folds above.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The man beside him sobs quietly, pushing the older woman away when she draws near.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] No need to ask which was Sihu- he was the only one of the right age. Nevertheless, Iscal scans the pallets as he passes them, evaluating the quality of the treatment they've recieved. He's sees a thin little girl turn over on her side and dry heave, her body shaking with the effort. He leans down to pull the fur over her up again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Is the boy dead then?" he asks the old woman sharply as he turns away from the child.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The woman only nods. A fresh moan of anguish comes from the man beside the body.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Damn." Just like that potion-analyst, whatever her name was, to die just when she was needed to question a corpse. "No helping it I suppose. Did he say anything before he passed about how he may have offended the spirit?
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He didn't," the sobbing man says quietly. "I did."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He slips to the other side of the boy's body, leans down, and looks him over for any marks a vengeful spirit may have left that could identify the offense. He drops the boy's hand as the man confesses. "How?" he asks sharply.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He turns to the man, and backs away slightly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "It was the Sun's Day. I knew Sihu had to make the sacrifice, but I made him go with me to the city. I told everyone I was taking him to the Deepwell."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "W-we were there too long."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] They'd all suspected that a vengeful spirit was involved, but that was wholely different from knowing. And standing next to its target.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He had to make the sacrifice late, but he still did it. I don't- I didn't think the Wellfather would get so m-m-mad." He begins crying again, tears seeping down into his beard, his enormous frame shaking violently.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The old woman studiously ignores this outpouring of grief.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He used to play with us, when we were young. He used to pull f-frogs out of Sihu's ear."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "Any other family you have?" They'd probably be the next in here.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "No. There is only me. It was my fault, and I didn't even get sick. I should be dead, not Sihu. I was the one who wanted to go to... to the city."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Never trust a spirit. Get to your feet, boy. You're coming with us to Deepwell." He goes to the old woman who seems to be in charge, and quietly offers some advice above treatment. He gives her some of his redroot. Hopefully it would all be superfluous, but better not to take the chance.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Keep them clean of the vomit, if you can," he concludes. "It can nurture an already powerful illness." It was almost like being a doctor again. He nods brusquely to the boy. "Come along." He could only hope the Wellfather would be appeased by a sacrifice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Manaba looks up at Iscal miserably for a moment, then nods. He stands, wiping away tears with hands big enough to crush skulls. He might look a man, but he is still a boy. He doesn't even ask who Iscal is.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] The old woman bends to boil the red root, and a girl who seems to be her assistant runs to fetch more water. Iscal quietly drops a yellow stone into the pot, and a spicy smell floats up. Once ingested, it would send the children into a deep sleep. A better way to die.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Once, Iscal might have even been sympathetic. In Great Forks, the gods would have laughed and forgiven him for a kiss. But this was the wretched cold pit of the North, and Manaba should have known better.
| |
| − | | |
| − | -----
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Volyas agrees to keep Kachina from the Deepwell for a little longer, knowing well that the tribe is best served by keeping her out of the negotiations. Manaba, for his part, says nothing, weeping quietly all the way to the Deepwell about a mile distant. From time to time, Peacock prods him in the back for a reaction, getting none.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "The way this guy's crying, you'd think he was dying," Peacock mumbles to Kekkonen. It might be the first time she's willingly talked to him all day.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Maybe Mabana wasn't as stupid as he looked.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Finally, the Deepwell appears before them, strangely untouched by the snow. It is an octagonal opening perhaps twenty feet across, disappearing into the earth. Walls of glossy stone rise to waist height around the rim of the structure.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] A small shrine has been constructed in the middle of one of the sides, for the burning of incense and various other sacrifices. The smell of burned offerings wafts in the punishing cold. A staircase winds down into the deeps, disappearing into darkness below.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "W-we made the offering here," Manaba says. "But the Wellfather never came up."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grimaces. If it came down to beating the spirit out of its revenge, a staircase round a deep drop seemed a bad place to do it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "He's not so far off, I guess," he replies to Peacock. The simplest way to appease the spirit would be to give him the lad. Or at least the best start.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "If he won't come up, we go down." Iscal stands at the edge of the well and peers down into the darkness. "You go first."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock moves up to the side, bending at the waist to look down into the depths. "I'd prefer not to go at ALL."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "The shaman's supposed to be down there already. Maybe we'd just be getting in the way."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Yet people are still sick. We're going." Iscal unsheathes his sword and grimaces when Manaba flinches. He hacks off a branch. "Light this," he says, handing it to Snow Peacock.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock sets to, and soon the branch is crackling, throwing out a circle of faint light. "Great."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] It was well, Iscal reflects as he walks down the stairs, that Kekk was thick as a brick. Otherwise he might have had argument. He pulls his jacket tighter around him as he brings up the rear and thrusts his hands in his sleeves. Odd winds blew up and down the well, and eerie musical notes sound as gusts blow over holes cut in the wall. Iscal steps quickly to stay near the puddle of light, occasionally
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] throwing glances over his shoulder to make sure nothing crept up on him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] His mouth is dry. As the nominal leader, he had appropriated the safest, rear position for himself. Soldas would not object, he was sure.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The stairs down terminate in a narrow walkway that hugs the wall. At the bottom, the well opens out into a tunnel, stretching forward into darkness. The fitful circle of light from Peacock's torch doesn't reach far, but the walls themselves glow faintly, covered with a luminous lichen.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Alongside the walkway runs a stream of water. A foul, stagnant smell rises from its surface, and it runs black and foul. Certainly unfit for drinking, and you probably wouldn't want to fall in it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal wishes they had brought another torch. He scuttles close enough to Peacock that she jabs him with her elbow. This is what he hated about the Once Dead. One of the things.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Fuck," Peacock hisses. "Smells like shit. You don't drink this. Tell me you don't drink this."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "It doesn't usually look like this," Manaba says softly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal watches the back of Manaba's head. Water...Drowning, perhaps? Or evisceration? He hoped for the former; so much less unpleasant for all concerned, and the Wellfather was a water spirit, after all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He sets a slow pace, moving quietly, for all the noise of those behind, and stretching his senses into the openness below. Another time, he would be trying to cover his nose, but he wouldn't rob himself of anything now. He was stalking this spirit into its layer, and he would find it. And Iscal would commend him to the Tomb for it. he repeated that to himself in his mind as they descended.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Something's very wrong here," Manaba states the obvious quietly, following uncertainly behind Peacock. "I w-want to go back."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I'll just make the Wellfather m-mad."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "You sure the Wellfather would do this to his home? Even if he was mad?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I'm sure the Wellfather only wants an apology." Iscal stares grimly at the black water. And if something had cannibalized the spirit, blood sacrifice was universally popular. He sees a snow owl feather floating gently down the black water, twirling this way and that. A blue bead- Frost Bear color- is still attached to it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "An abject apology."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I don't know why he is mad. It was only an hour. I just wanted to see Milly." He trembles at Iscal's suggestion. "I wanted to say I was sorry, but he wouldn't come up, and-"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Yeah, you were too scared to come down here," Peacock finishes. "Color me surprised."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Footsteps echo loudly as the group advances, the tunnel narrowing gradually. Soon the taller members of the party are walking hunched at the shoulder, and the walkway has narrowed so that one must hug the wall as one advances.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The tunnel curves gently, spiraling gradually down and outward. The Deepwell is more wide than deep.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] At least it wasn't a blasted ship.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal hums tunelessly as he descends, an old Great Forks melody, about a maiden and a boy.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He walks forward crouched over, with a hand to the wall to keep his balance, still peering into the shadows more than paying attention to his footing. He was more sure of the latter.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He had used to sing the song to Red. It seemed days ago.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kekkonen sees it first. The walkway suddenly slashes inward, shrinking to a ledge barely six inches wide. Below, the tainted water seethes and pops. Perhaps twenty feet ahead, the walkway and the chamber expands again, but that's a long way to creep on tiptoes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal is the last to cross. He fights the urge to
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He motioned for a halt, then explained the hazard to those behind. It was dark and narrow, and he blocked most of their view. He was first to cross.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] As he sets out on the thin bridge, he wedges his hands against the ceiling, using that to keep him steady, only moving one hand forward at a time as he crept over the thin ledge.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Go on," Peacock says, almost shoving Manaba out onto the ledge. He trembles, inching along the wall behind Kekkonen. After what seems an eternity, he makes it to the other side, and almost collapses with relief.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I thought you were never going to get finished." Peacock says, stepping out onto the ledge and reorienting herself. "Why didn't you just set a tent up here and cam-" Her ankle turns and she falls, face first, into the drink.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He reaches a hand out, then thinks better of it, pulling back. Even if he caught her, she would probably still die, and get him wet with that shit in the process.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He was lucky she hadn't splashed his way.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Peacock breaches the surface, gasping for air and thrashing, before a powerful current strikes her, pulling her violently away into the darkness. He scream echoes back up the tunnel for a long time.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] *Her scream
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal is the last to cross. He has reached the verse of the song where the young boy "made a vow/ to win the heart of the lady most proud" when Peacock loses her grip. He closes his eyes- he had never much like her- and continues to cross, humming. Spurs of rock dig into his back as he clings to it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] He hums the last measure as he steps onto the wider ledge. "Soldas will understand," he tells the wide-eyed Manabas and the more composed Kekk, brushing bits of rock and dirt from himself.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He nods, still scanning forward. "Lets go." I am the hunter, he started in again.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Better you never dreamed you'd kill anyone so beautiful." He pushes Manabas forward after Kekk.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "I- I- I d-didn't-" The boy stumbles over a loose bit of stone as Iscal nudges him forward. "I only wanted to see the dolls."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Kekkonen feels circulating air on his face a moment before he steps off the walkway into a broad, circular chamber. The channel of water terminates in a broad, reeking pool that fills the center of the room. Around it are arranged a number of elegant pieces of furniture: pearlescent setees, chairs, and divans. The far side of the room is shrouded in darkness, but Kekkonen immediately smells blood.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] A body lies crumpled against the wall near the mouth of the tunnel, blood splattering the wall behind it and seeping in snail trails across the floor, further fouling the pool. It is the body of an old graybearded man, neck sharply twisted to one side. Blue-beaded snow-owl feathers lie around him like leaves scattered around a Southlander tree.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Maybe we should have brought Kachina after all," Iscal says thoughtfully into the silence.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Shaman!" Manaba staggers back, gnawing at his knuckles in horror.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "A lesson to all of us, I suppose, in the virtues of punctuality." He steps into the center of the room, by the body. "Ho! Wellfather! Great Spirit, honor us with your presence!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] It could hardly be worse than Ragged Red.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Iscal's voice echoes back to him from the other side of the chamber. There is only silence. The spirit may be on the other side of the chamber. Then again, it may be dematerialized, and watching their every move.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He was growing suspicious that the Wellfather had died first among the pack.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He crept along the wall, trying to make out what was beyond the veil of darkness.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal glances back at Kekk "Take the boy's arm," he hisses. Then he crosses to the other side of the great chamber, head lowered and arms held out wide. "Great spirit, we implore you! Grant us the glory of speaking with you and shower us with your wisdom, oh revered one."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He moves back and does what the man says. large boy, but he could handle him, if it came to that. A fist to the kidneys was even more effective when its spikes punctured the thing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] If it came to that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Manaba follows along piteously, still sobbing about how he only wanted to look at the dolls or Milly or whatever he's on about. Kekkonen picks his way across the chamber's perimeter. Suddenly, his foot slips in something.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] He looks down, and finds himself looking at a fan of slick, pearlescent blood. A robed body with long, gnarled praying-mantis claws lies crumpled nearby.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] At almost the same moment, Iscal kicks something in the dark, causing it to roll a few feet. An insectile head, neatly severed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "W-W-Wellfather?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He had been right!
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Well, perhaps you didn't kill your friend and countless innocents after all," Iscal says. That made it more difficult.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He whirled around, searching. Not frantically, of course. Just hurriedly. "Backup?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] It could have been one word or two.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Wh-what's happening? What did this to the Wellfather?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal's eyes skitter across the walls and floor, looking for tell-tale signs of disease spirits. "Hush."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Don't be mistaken. It's still the boy's fault."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Is it?" Iscal turns slowly towards the sound of the voice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The voice is like the scream of steel upon steel, and seems to drift up from a deep place.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] It's impossible to tell exactly where it is coming from - some trick of essence, perhaps.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "He and his brother carried my sire back here, so I could be born."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] Across the chamber, Kono's corpse suddenly begins to shake back and forth wildly, as if it is full of eels that want to escape the confines of its flesh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Oh?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] "What the hell were you doing with the whores boy?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] There is a pop, and the head tumbles off in a spray of blood. A moment later, another head sprouts from his torn neck. It is round, bulbous, with elfin ears, burning red eyes, and glossy black flesh studded with sores.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] It bursts from the corpse like a snake sloughing off its skin, crouching on the stone floor. Its body is skeletal but wiry, the knobs of its backbone sticking up from its thinly muscled back. Blood drips incessantly from its mouth and the void between its legs.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "She's not a whore," Manaba says quietly. Then he spots the disease spirit and falls silent as if his voice has been robbed forever.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] Iscal twitches, but does not reach for sword. Perhaps it could still be appeased. "How is it that such a thing came to be?" Iscal asks politely.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He clenches and unclenches his hands rhythmically, unnerved. It was hard to think of this as a chance to prove himself and not a chance to die. A medal stuck on his chest while he shat himself to death over the next few days was not worth the cost. If they managed to kill this thing at all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Not for you to know..." the thing hisses. "Only to feel..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Perhaps we may offer sacrifice, great spirit." Iscal bows his head with all appearance of humility. "If you will only find it within your great beneficence to end the sickness."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] "Not my decision to make," the thing growls. "And your city shall be the sacrifice."
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He grits his teeth. Hindsight, he should have deserted. But if he had to be here, he'd bet on victory. "We will never let you destroy her!" he tells it, in his best tone of voice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Whose decision, then?" Iscal pursues.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The thing does not respond, giving a low, feral hiss.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Kekk, I don't think it will let us leave. Pass the torch to the boy." Iscal finally draws his sword. It is rusty from neglect.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Whose decision, then?" Iscal pursues.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [ST] The thing does not respond, giving a low, feral hiss.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Kekk, I don't think it will let us leave. Pass the torch to the boy." Iscal finally draws his sword. It is rusty from neglect.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Kekkonen] He nods, moving smoothly, with purpose, now that the die was cast.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "I was a doctor, once," Iscal says quietly to the spirit.
| |
| − | | |
| − | [Iscal] "Maybe I still am."
| |
