( STORY )
from: CHAPTER NINE ~ INTO THE WEST
characters:
VALKE, KIAN
After delivering the lost Armour of Saint Oran to the Archbishop of Oranda, the party travels northward through the Wenden Highlands, bound for the Torvarian province of Auspenheim. There, they hope to find the mysterious artisan named Amadeo Bronzanti.
Travelling a
disused mountain path into Auspenheim, they encounter a farmstead ransacked by
Spriggans. After rescuing the farmers from the Faerie bandits, they enjoy a
cozy (if crowded) overnight repose at the farmstead. But not all of the
companions sleep soundly...
GHOSTS and MEMORIES
Valke shifted on her roll. She found sleeping at night to be unnatural at the best of times but the circumstances of the homestead weren’t helping.
The wind was howling through the mountains, the shutters battered by driven snow and the grateful farmers snored loudly. Their slumber, born of relief to be freed from the spriggans, was augmented by the generous portions of pork -- roasted in their saviours' honour -- and a barrel of Fall ale rescued from the bottomless bag.
A new sound was now added to the insomnia inducing irritants. The fire crackled vigorously as new logs were added and a low voice mumbled. Rolling onto her elbow Valke made out Kian’s crouching shape, backlit by the hearth, retrieved a twig to light his pipe.
She rose silently, shifting her eye-patch so she could see him in the dark. Kian gave a sideways glance as she stepped lightly over a menagerie of sleeping animals and people strewn about the farmhouse.
She approached the fire, putting her hands out to warm them. The light seemed to sink into the scales of her black armour but reflected brightly off her ageless pale skin.
Kian gave her a nod as he settled back, picking up a shaft of wood to whittle. She gave him a questioning glance from her one exposed eye, in this case the red one.
“I interrupting something?” she asked in a low voice. She threw a glance roomward to make sure no else was awake or listening.
Kian raised his hands ever so slightly to show his carving knife and a piece of wood, and shrugged.
“No? I heard you muttering to yourself. Talking with your new friend?”
Kian put his twig down and picked up his pipe. He raised an eyebrow and looked reflective for a moment.
“I hadn't noticed. Which isn't to say it didn’t happen. I guess she’s a good listener.”
“She probably doesn't call you on your moody bullshit. Lucky you have me for that.” Valke flashed him one of her smiles, the one she used when prodding a comrade with a friendly gibe - or an enemy with a not-so-friendly jab. Her smiles were versatile.
“You might be surprised.” he said, looking into his smoke.
Kian hadn’t meant to be funny, but Valke chuckled anyway. He often was funny, in a sad kind of way. She ventured a few steps from the fire and found a couple of dirty cups with which to drain the end of the cask of ale. Sitting by the hearth she handed one of the cups to Kian, wondering if he knew what he was getting himself into listening by to a servitor of the gods... even a little one.
“I admire you...” Kian began saying.
“I know.” Valke interjected with a grin.
The archer continued unfazed. “You just don't seem to care. It’s all a big, fun adventure for you. I tried not caring for a long time. The best I could do was feign indifference, but it always gnawed at me. It must be nice not to feel this…” His face contorted and, clawing angrily at his chest, he concluded with frustration: “This thing”
“What, the weight of the world you're always carrying around?”
“The guilt of a failed promises.”
Valke was used to taunting Kian. Most of the time he seemed to appreciate it, but tonight his usual sullen demeanor was markedly more morose. She could tell from his face that he was determined to take this conversation in her least favourite direction. She looked at her already empty cup and turned towards the empty cask in despair.
The spent log shifted, the fire spat and hissed, and Valke resigned herself to a serious conversation. Sober.
She sighed heavily and sat down. “We all feel guilt.”
“No, we don’t. Jack doesn’t. Korvuus doesn’t.”
His quick reply confirmed her suspicions that he had been ruminating on this for some time. “Kuan does, and he’s feeling it pretty bad right now.” she replied, pleased with herself but not showing it.
"Yeah.” was all the brooding middle-aged man could muster.
“Hey... kid. You don’t have a monopoly on regret, so you don’t get to live your life like such a sorry sonofabitch.”
“I’m not. I'm out here. Trying.”
“I know, but you could be less goddamn morose about it. I thought we moved past all this shit when we sank your necromancer sword to the bottom of the Helicosian sea. Listen, I’ve been getting into scrapes twice as long as you’ve been alive, so I know a thing or two. Take my advice and live a little. Laugh, gamble, fight, drink a lot... and for the sake of all that's good in this world, get yourself laid.”
“I drink.” he said dejectedly, twisting back and pulling a wineskin from behind him and tossing it to her.
“That ain’t what I meant. Also, thanks. I mean I thought you’d be less cranky now that you've got your own personal guardian angel. Instead, ever since you started talking to Ingrid, your self-pity has just gotten worse. What’s the matter? You miss being tortured by the lost souls hanging around your neck in that amulet, so you’ve decided to torture yourself? ”
Valke squeezed the wineskin until her cup was full, threw the contents back in one long draught, and refilled again before tossing it back to Kian. He caught it with distracted ease, his mind elsewhere.
“She’s nobody, little one.”
“Hey... Kian?”
“Hm?”
“Are you just gonna talk to your ghost?”
“Uh... no. And we don’t exactly talk. I mean, I speak to her sometimes, and I think she speaks back to me. But other times she just kind of reads my mind, know what I mean?
She raised her left arm to wordlessly show off her summoning tattoo. She had an idea what it was to be spiritually bonded to another being. “Also, you can tell your little ghost I ain’t nobody.”
“I wasn’t talking about you, she was just asking about... well, nevermind.”
“Oh, no. You’re in some weird place, we have booze, and although you’re a sorry excuse for a human, you’re sort of a friend. Or maybe a pet, at least. Anyway, I can’t sleep so you’re gonna to talk to me. Who’s this nobody?”
Kian squinted at Valke, then to her right, and back at her, his expression growing even more cross. “Fine.” he said, exhaling smoke. Looking back to the empty space, he answered the question nobody else had heard. “They’re of the same kin, but the Lady is more...refined. Elegant and noble.” He seemed to trail off, and was looking nowhere in particular when a sheepish smile crept into the corner of his mouth. “Yes, she’s beautiful, too.” he whispered.
“Really?” Valke groaned sardonically. “I mean, I knew you were smitten with her. Hell, even with just one eye, that was plain enough to see... but you’ve got to know dela Vara is way out of your league. Are you asking the help of the gods, now? I mean, that might be the only way...”
“I’m not... I d-don’t think of her that way.” Kian stuttered through clenched teeth.
“Oh yes, you d-d-do. No wonder Ingrid was curious. It must be exhausting to read your mind, am I right, girl?” Valke closed her red eye and lifted her eye patch so that her other eye, the blue one, could make out the spectral presence at her side. She gave Ingrid a wink before letting the leather snap back in place.
“I don’t discuss... I don’t think about... oh, fuck off.”
“Well, why the hell not? After all she’s soooo beautiful.” Valke stifled a belly laugh, suddenly remembering why they were whispering, and checking she hadn’t woken anyone up. She wiped a tear from under her patch and gave a mocking pout of sympathy for Kian, who just sat there puffing his pipe.
They sat in silence as the fire died down, giving way to glowing embers. After a while Kian’s face seemed less red, his brow less furrowed.
“Aww... can you forgive me?”
“I can’t.” he grumbled, though his voice relaxed. “As I said before, you’re unburdened by guilt. Just like my sister. That’s who I was talking to... to my ghost about before you came over. Heh, my sister used to rib me mercilessly about my crush, too.”
“And I remind you of her, which is why you will always forgive me?”
“I forgive you because you’re a passable fighter, and you come in handy sometimes when we're in a tough spot.”
“Well, now you're just sweet-talking me." Valke retorted. Finally, he's loosening up, she thought to herself as she refilled both their cups.
“She was quiet and sweet. And also smart, so you’re nothing like her.” Kian grinned.
Valke shrugged, and raised her cup in salute.
“She died very young." he added. “And I still miss her.”
“Is that guilt I'm hearing? I think we’ve had quite enough of that. Or should we instead revisit just how beautiful the Lady dela Vara is?”
“Nah, it's not guilt. Just good old-fashioned regret.”
Valke nodded and smiled. “Well, if we aren’t going to talk about the Doctor-Curate of the Varantine Order of Ladroa, how about you tell me about this first crush your sister teased you about.”
A shadow quickly crossed Kian’s face, but he seemed to fight it off just as urgently. “Now, that’s more guilt than we have wine for tonight.”
Picking up his twig, he cleaned out his pipe and stood with a stretch, followed by a yawn.
“You can tend the fire and keep watch, I’m going to catch some sleep before morning.”
He squinted into the darkness of the farmhouse to readjust his eyes, then ventured a few tentative steps away from the fire, towards his bedroll.
Valke watched him pick his way across the sleeping bodies.“Kian, your sister... what was her name?” she asked, under her breath.
Kian settled down on the ground and drew up his blanket.
“Ingrid.” he whispered back, and closed his eyes.
* * *
