Private A Bad Place To Be

[Xenovia]

Some time ago in Crown's Hold...

It had been a hard winter. Most years were in The Sink. Wrapped up in a heavy cloak and thick winter clothes, Xenovia fought hard to keep her shaking limbs in check as she stomped through three feet of snow and ice. Towards what, she couldn't say. A blizzard had swept in from the North two nights ago, and it had yet to let up. It wasn't a concern if you lived in Crown Hold's wealthier districts. They possessed ways of combating the sleet and snow; magitech and shroud-shields, paid for and put to use by the capital's nobility.

The Sink's inhabitants weren't so lucky.

You either sink or swim down here, Xenovia recalled Old Bram telling her, a day before he was stabbed to death in alley over a handful of coppers. His killer had never been found; no-one had even bothered looking. The city's protectors gave the district a wide berth, for the most part, their patrols centred around the markets and what few escape routes still remained open to the Sink's denizens. The South Gate was one of them. It was where she had been heading before the night turned evil.

Coughing, the big Deva tucked her hands into her armpits. There was a faint glow up ahead - torches guttering in the wind. Figures huddled around them. Living shadows limned in ice, with swords at their hips and halberds leant against shoulders. Xen couldn't see their faces through the shiver and swirl of falling snowflakes, but she imagined their misery was much like her own.

Only difference being they hadn't been forced to kill anyone. At least not tonight.

'And where is it you think you're going this time of night?!' A voice called out at her approach. A human guard. Tall, intimidating, though not unkind, if the look in his eye was anything to go by. He shook his head, dislodging the snow that had formed there. 'Felt like freezing to death, did ya?' He asked. 'Ain't nothing waiting for you outside the city 'cept a wintry grave. You should turn around. Go home.'

It was Xenovia's turn to shake her head.

'Sorry,' she said, meaning it. 'Can't. Got business outside the city that requires my immediate attention. Bad weather be damned!'
'Oh, aye?' He doesn't sound convinced. 'And what's this business that's so important it can't wait til morning?'
'It's a-... a family matter. I'm sorry, but I can say no more. Will you let me through?'

'I shouldn't.' The guard murmured, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. 'But I can't stop you, if that's your wish. Just don't come back here crying about how it's cold as Hel's cunt out there, okay!' Stepping aside, the guard waved for his compatriots to let her through. There was a rattle of weapons, the crunch of fresh snow underfoot. She was beyond the gate in what felt like a heartbeat, though she could sense the cold seeping through her clothes, slowing hers legs and mind in equal measure.

Okay, Xen, you're out! Now what? She thought, stopping in place a dozen feet outside the gate, lost, and feeling oh-so very alone.

 

[Vyn]

It wasn’t often that Loneliness asked for things. The spirit usually took from her. Time and memories. And every so often, the moons would cross a certain way and it would take her body too. But requests were rare. So, when one came, Vyn humored it. She didn’t understand the message. It was gibberish in a language she’d never heard before. And the spirit had asked her to tell it to an old tree of all things. The whole experience felt surreal and useless. She noticed that she had feelings that weren’t her own when acting on behalf of the foreign being. Sadness in coming north. Rage at the tree. Couldn’t explain any of it. She still said the words. Left food in offering. Made her preparations for a return trip. This had taken her days, maybe even weeks off course from the Wagons. She’d need to ride hard to catch up. But it was only a matter of time. Elum were known for many things. Speed wasn’t one of them.

Morning here reminded her of the Pale. Only she wasn’t the caller. She was the one being summoned as the world became milk. Shades of white stacked so closely together, invoking blindness. Didn’t wait for light. Enough to worry about without the dawn making things worse. She knew it would get better further south, but that was ways off. It would be a long trek. Luckily, she had a midway camp down the route. An hour’s ride. Perhaps two. It would allow her to get out of this place before the morning made everything white.

Even as she said it, snow covered everything. It was on the ground, in the air, in her eyes. Everpresent. Night masking its light was the only mercy. She was wrapped as tightly as could afford to be. Even her horns wore scarves. And somehow it wasn’t enough. This was cold of the bones. Of death. As she approached the gates, the guard already seemed distracted by something. He looked like was going to stop her, but took a second look and thought better of it. Horse seemed bothered by the slowing, digging itself out from the slump. Snow wasn’t made with people in mind. Almost like it was made by fiends for fiends. Winter was not for mortals. Her last thought felt almost warm inside. Was that approval?

It covered everything. Every step an extra effort. Every sound muffled. She wasn’t quick when she came upon the stranger. One of her kind. Shaking. Dying really. The horse would step too close for it to be anything else. “You’re dying.” She didn’t dismount. “You may not know it, but your knees do.” She looked at them clinking together. An instrument of death. Her heavily gloved hand reached out slowly. Not a greeting. An offer. “I have a camp a bit further south. We’re a tad big, but the horse can probably carry us most of the way without resting.”

Vyn waited for the woman to choose. But looking at the white death all around… was there really a choice?

 

[Xenovia]

She didn't hear the rider approach, but she recognised a spectre when she saw one. She looks like me, thought Xenovia, gazing up at the stranger through eyes bright with life. She could feel the cold sapping the heat from her bones, making her slow, clumsy. Her tongue was no less sluggish.

'Aren't we all?' She asked the spectre, as if the dead could talk. Or listen. 'Dying, I mean.'

Winter's weight pressed down on them both, almost too heavy to bear. And yet the spectre continued to speak. Of a camp called Salvation, and a ride south through the blizzard's teeth. Do I even have a choice? The Deva frowned. I can't go back. Not now. Not after what I've done. Snowflakes pinched at the exposed flesh of her face. Her head-hood had staved off the worst of the weather within Crown's Hold. Out here, though...

'I suppose "probably" is the best we can hope for right now.' Nodding, Xenovia took the robed figure's hand. She had never been on a horse before. Neither as the passenger nor the rider. But tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts.

The blood on her hands was proof enough of that.

 

[Vyn]

Not as fast as you dear. The thought reached as far as her lips and whether it was by wind or restraint, she was successful in suppressing it. World was bleak enough. She had no purpose in crushing the woman’s spirit. She took the heavy hand. Hoisting her up was a considerable effort. The awkward climb and lack of cooperation taught her two things. The woman was stronger than she looked. And she had never ridden a horse before. So she did her best to make it a safer ride for them both. “You should spread your legs around the animal’s flanks.” She’d nudge her own knees at that. As they settled in, Vyn did what she could.

She couldn’t offer her a coat, but she did take off her outer gloves and passed them back quietly. Once those were out of her hands, she’d slowly unwarp her horns. The scarves were slightly soaked from the oncoming snow, but they were still warm in most places. She’d turn around and help wrap the woman somewhat. Finally, she pulled out the spare horse blanket. Skipped smelling it. There was no luxury, only dirt and horse sweat boiled over multiple times. But tonight, it was warm. And that was the only thing she cared to measure. She spread it around the stranger and realized she had never asked for a name. And she wouldn’t. Not until they were properly safe.

Once she was happy with how tucked in her passenger was. She’d try to be soft, as the cold made her words choppy. “Hold the wraps close. And grab me by the waist strong enough to hold, but not so strong I lose my lunch.” She blinked at that, looking at the misfortunate creature. “We’ll eat at camp.”

“Don’t fall down and don’t sleep. Snow is greedy here and likes to keep what it grabs.” With that she nudged the horse forward, hoping the woman was well enough to heed her words.

“This will hurt.” Truth for the new rider.

The horse continued as best it could.

 

[Xenovia]

'Like so?' She asked, teeth chattering like the rolling of bones. The horse seemed a dainty thing in the face of the storm. And yet it made little complaint as she settled in behind her sister. Too cold to care, thought Xen, pitying the creature, and the woman who had taken pity on her.

First came the gloves. They wouldn't fit over her mitts, so she took them off, tucked them through her belt. 'T-thank you!' She stuttered, working her hands into the finger holes before they turned to ice. Scarves followed.

'P-please, don't!' She tried to force the warm fabric away. 'Your horns will freeze off! Then where will be?' She gritted her teeth behind her head-hood in what was meant to be a smile, mask crinkling in the cold. The blanket she accepted, lending the stranger a hand when it came to wrapping it about herself. She tried to adjust it so that it encompassed the both of them, but there was barely enough blanket to go around.

Slipping her arms about the devahni's waist, Xenovia tried to make do with her body heat.

'Then, we'd best hurry.' The sooner they reached camp, the sooner the hurt would go away. 'Thank you again. I don't think-... I would have made it much further on my own.' We may not make it anyway, she thought, but at least I'll have company.

 

[Vyn]

She tried to sigh, but the cold had her misaligned. It sounded more like she was sucking in air instead. The other Deva could protest all she wanted; she’d still leave her one of the scarves. “One each!” wrapping the one she kept awkwardly around her horns. Too little fabric to cover everything, but you did the best you could with what you had. “And have no fear. If one of my horns falls off, people will be even more impressed. Not every day you see a unicorn!” Cheer was a skill, much like everything else in the world. Conspiratorial, she continued. “Imagine the gasps when I tell ‘em how Unicorn Bay was named for my handsome face!” She pondered how the shape of her horns was wrong for the tale. Actually, wrong wasn’t the word. It was just a plot twist. Unicorn’s horn curved backwards due to some curse or another. She would tell that story to the fire when she remembered how to be warm again.

She allowed a couple nods. The passenger wrapped. Her grip solid enough. The horse was yet to kick them off. Things were going as well as the situation allowed. She nodded at the stranger’s hopelessness too and decided against it.

“You know there’s a story from the Road. About two travelers lost in the desert. A great empty place much like this one. Only the snow was yellow and warm.” And she held that last word for a bit. It was nice to have it in your mind even for a moment. “No trees. No water. No life. Nothing but the yellow snow and Sun in your face.” She paused for effect and added “Some say the silence was so strong it could peel the memories from your bones…” Whatever that meant. She hadn’t figured it out yet. But she liked the weight of it. She would never finish that story. For it was one of the best sort. Ones that haven’t happened yet.

 

[Xenovia]

'Begs the question... what were they doing journeying into the desert to begin with?' Getting lost was one thing. Xenovia had lived in Crown's Hold for nigh twenty years and still the city managed to turn her around. But to go willingly, to a place where water was scarce, where trees did not grow and no life could prosper? It was foolishness of the utmost order. Like heading out into a blizzard, without a plan or supplies, with nothing but blind hope to go on.

'Aye, I know. Silly me.'

Her voice was but a whisper on the wind, there and gone. For a moment she was grateful for how loud it roared. The last thing she needed was her saviour believing her mad. Though she likely thinks that already. The thought brought with it another question: what was she doing out here?

'It's strange,' she said, deciding it could wait until they reached camp. 'I've almost forgotten what silence sounds like. How the world sings in the springtime.' A little light and warmth to make up for winter's cruelty, she mused, smiling behind her head-hood, her eyelids growing heavy now that she had something to cling onto. 'I miss Spring. Do you?'

 

[Vyn]

She wouldn’t tell her what they were doing out there. Each person could hold their own story abreast. She knew them both to be careless. You could always prescribe meaning to your madness, but never make it any less insane. Such was life. The woman seemed to appreciate the irony of her own question. “Some tales only make sense as you sit in their middle” she wanted to gesture back to the city, but was worried she’d slap the passenger off the animal. “Back there they sound as madness.”

Sound of silence. She liked the way that story was told, so she let her companion appreciate it a while longer. Too long almost. And at the very last moment she’d snatch a word out of the pit of sadness silence often brought. “I have learned to carry it with me” It was true, in a sense. “Spring I mean.” But she knew how to pack silence for a long trip too. Spring of the Empire was not the same as spring of Altalusia. Different again from the springs of the exotic Miraj’Dah, the ones she’d only heard about in stories. When your whole life was the Road, spring stopped being a season. It became a memory. A promise even. New life. And a death defeated.

A hint of color in the distance had her pointing. “We’re about to remember some spring of our own.” Hand down. She only ever kept one on the reins. Alternating. Sheathing the spare one in her armpit. Whoever made winter had little sense of humor. “Fire seems to still be going steady” She wouldn’t offer an explanation as to how the fire remained strong while she was away and the snow kept trying to get it to take a rest. Some stories were best told only to yourself.

 

[Xenovia]

Madness. They were all susceptible to it. Xenovia supposed she was too. It was the only explanation she had that made any sense, to the Law at least. Murder is murder, she thought, staring at the stranger's hand as she gestured towards the city. Clean where hers were bloody.

They had been bad men in life, those she had slain. Maybe in death they would get a chance at redemption, though Xen doubted it.

Their souls will be burning in Hel by now, she mused, a thin smile playing across her lips. It was no less than they deserved. 'Oh?' Perking up at the promise of warmth, the big Deva peered over the stranger's shoulder, the glow of firelight like a beacon in the night, guiding them safe into port. 'It still burns,' she agreed, 'but how?' Shroudweavers were welcome in Crown's Hold, but magic was strictly regulated via guilds and other such establishments.

The last thing anyone wanted was a wildfire inside the walls, or a stray lightning bolt knocking an airship from the sky.

'Are there more of... well, you?' Xen asked, recalling the recent gossip surrounding a group of nomadic devahni and their erstwhile adventures.

 

[Vyn]

As they approached the small camp, something moved in the snow. White on white. Shades refusing to match in the faint firelight. She had given clear instruction. It should avoid anyone other than her. That should’ve covered anyone passing close to the camp. It apparently didn’t cover Vyn arriving with company.

Tsk.

Without a word the creature would waddle away awkwardly. She wasn’t sure what the other woman saw. Even if she saw. No matter. “Fire’s been tended to.” She would nod at that. As for the other question… Well, there were many ways to answer that.

“Oh yeah – a whole bunch of us! We travel around Ilica on Wagons.” She would stick with that as they entered the clearing.

The snow was cleaned out in a wide circle. A tent pitched, and fire recently fed. Smaller twigs lay in neat clumps. Beneath, larger sticks that didn’t give up gently – torn at the edges. Footprints scattered in the area. Larger feet, tracks of uneven depth. A pot hung over the flame, steam rising. Brown liquid with hints of onion. She was impressed. It understood cooking. It picked the sack and chose well. It didn’t seem to grasp peeling yet, but a great effort nonetheless.

She dropped off in a short half-motion. Careful not to knock the other off.

“Do you need help?”

 

[Xenovia]

Xenovia thought it a figment of her imagination, at first. The cold did things to a person, made them slow and weak and prone to delusion, like when a person suffering from hyperthermia started to feel warm and fuzzy. Is that what's happening? She blinked, arms tightening around the stranger's midriff, as if to show the world and her saviour she was still alive and kicking, despite how numb she had grown, outside and in. There it goes again! The child. The little lost soul swaddled in white.

Xenovia watched them wander away into the nothingness. So small and innocent and...

Unreal, the devahni decided, gaze lowered, head bowing against the wind. Had she grown so weak, that she could not even trust her own eyes? It sure seemed that way as they neared camp.

'No, no, I can manage.' Waving off any help, she lifted her left leg over the saddle, let gravity do the rest. Deep snow cushioned her fall, and she straightened up, eyes like lantern bugs in the night. 'Where is everyone?' She asked her fellow Deva, feet moving of their own accord towards the fire. Someone had fed the flames recently, stoking it higher and higher, so as to produce enough heat with which to warm their bones. 'You said there were a bunch of you, but all I see are footprints.'

Glancing around, Xenovia turned to face the stranger, a faint sense of unease building in the space between them.

'I mean, they've abandoned the broth and everything! What if it bubbles over?'

 

[Vyn]

Vyn didn’t argue when the other woman slid off the mount like a sack of potatoes. Pride had many forms. She crouched by the fire, coaxing a bit more life with a stick that had lost most of its bark. When the other woman spoke, she didn’t look up right away.

“They’re around.” She gestured to the pot. “The broth’s smart. It’ll hold.” She stirred for a moment as if to prove a point. It did not bubble over. Her eye caught the knife in the pot as she stirred. Food is in the sack. Of course. She would have to be more specific next time. She plucked the knife out with the ladle and spilled it into the snow.

“But you’re right. No one should leave stew unattended. That’s downright criminal!” teeth chattered as a smile was attempted. She wouldn’t ask. Instead, she fished for bowls. She filled them more carefully than she’d normally consider. Eyes scanning for any other irregular ingredients.

“Eat!” She’d offer the bowl just before it became too hot in her grip. “Plenty of time to think about others later.”

 

[Xenovia]

'Exactly!' Xenovia smiled back, her nerves fading away as feeling returned to her limbs. Criminal. The thought brought a lump to her throat. Bad memories flashed across her mind's eye, blinding her to the fire and the soup and the stranger whose kindness had most likely saved her from a wintry death. Plenty of time to think about others later, she had to remind herself, nodding gratefully as a steaming bowl was pressed into her hands.

Onion broth to fill the belly. Eat, she did, though drank was perhaps more apt.

Warmed up, and calming down, Xenovia huddled close to the fire as she slurped up the last bits from her bowl. No doubt her clothes would stink of smoke come the morn. But it was still a damned sight better than freezing.

'Thank you.' Peeling the stranger's gloves off, she wiggled her fingers before holding them up to the flames. 'I owe you. A great deal, it seems.' Smiling, Xen's expression soured, twisted as her nose began to tickle. Uh-oh. Sneezing -once, twice- Xen sniffed, chuckled an apology. 'I, uh, should probably ask your name?' The smile returned. 'Not like heroes to not have names.'

 

[Vyn]

Wheels stop for no man. But Vyn always did. Usually to her regret. But one couldn’t cure nature. As long as you didn’t put anyone else at risk, each problem warranted at least a slowing, if not outright stopping. She hoped years would make her harder. They never did.

“Wasn’t going for heroic.” She warmed by the fire as she spoke. “Just didn’t wanna be the one that passes by.”

The name part was easy enough “Vyn. Of the Elum.” The woman was sneezing. So she looked closer. She still had red in her cheeks. Eyes seemed awake. Shivering wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t a fever yet. “Sides, if you stayed in the snow, we’d have to throw away half the broth!” She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. “Can’t have that! Oh no!” Few people understood that cheer too was a skill.

The woman was dangerously close to the fire, but she understood. It was better to be a smoked ham than a frozen one. If that meant a couple of singed fabrics and a stinging nose – the price was acceptable.

“You alright enough to share yours?”

 

[Xenovia]

'My... broth?' Blinking, Xenovia looked down at her empty bowl, confused. 'I, um, well-' Fidgeting, she showed the bowl to Vyn, as if to lend truth to the words that followed. 'I would share, but there's none left. I guess your kin had the rest?' The broth hadn't been anything special. Water and onion and maybe a little thyme. Xen felt guilt twist in her stomach all the same, like a bad case of the cramps.

Then it struck her.

'Oh! You meant my name!' Eyes widening in realisation, she swept the guilty feelings away with a smile. 'Xenovia. My name's Xenovia, though, you can call me Xen, if you want.' Putting her bowl down atop the thin blanket of snow, she offered Vyn her hand. 'It's nice to meet you,' she said, meaning it. 'There aren't many devahni in The Sink, let alone heroes such as yourself.' She wasn't going to let that lie. Oh no. 'I like your robes!' Xen nodded, once, thrice.

'They look cosy. Do all Elum wear robes like that?'