48th day of the 10230th year since the passing of Kriene
Quite the awkward silence filled the space between Venedir and Sylviane as they walked to their drain.
There was no reason that it should feel awkward, and yet it did, despite Venedir’s best efforts to not feel it so.
The rains kept the silence from getting too loud.
That respite was lost as soon as they entered the drain and Venedir lost little time before suggesting that they should split up to search for the prison entrance.
The one the others had gone too was more centrally located so Venedir was not so complacent in his search.
He hoped Sylviane wouldn’t be but he did not voice that as they parted ways.
He turned once towards Sylviane, watching her retreating figure for a few seconds before he sighed and turned away.
It had not been long in their exploration of the complex tunnels and pathways when Venedir heard a commotion in the distance.
That was one thing about these drains.
The acoustics really were lovely.
But his appreciation for that could be delayed some since the commotion was increasingly sounding like fighting as he ran towards the source of the sound – detecting which and navigating toward was not the easiest, especially because the source was changing spatially.
By the time he happened upon the source of the noise, it was not great.
Sylviane was cut up and bleeding – knife in hand and fighting a hound reaching around five feet in height.
In rushing to help Sylviane – aiming to slash at the hound’s leg – Venedir did not realise that there was another entity in the fight and it hit Venedir in full force (at least, that’s how it felt like), slamming him into the wall.
Fucking water spirit.
That would be hard.
But he had at least given Sylviane some respite who could take down the hound in one-on-one combat if his judgements were accurate.
As he got up, he ducked under the next splash he was hit with and yelled.
“Lead the hound inward!”
“There’s a third standing guard back in that direction.” She gestured down the canal with her knife before bringing it in sharply, slamming it into the hound’s side, with enough to make it stagger and hit the wall, in which time she took off up the canal.
That left Venedir with the water spirit and Venedir promptly started retreating into the tunnels, away from the water.
While nature spirits could control the aspects of nature they were associated with, there was only so much they could conjure from their essence, from within.
They needed external sources for larger attacks.
Flowing water – like that in the canals – was perfect for it -for harnessing water in a state of activity for another active state was easier than to do the same for still water- and while Venedir might just cope with it at canal side, he certainly could not defeat it.
Attacks still hit him hard for the initial minutes of his retreat.
He was tunneled so there was not much room for dodging the attacks, though he did his best, slashing with his sword’s flat edge to block the remainder, though he still was getting knocked further back.
His senses were not in their best state.
His hearing was muffled by then, his eyes blinking away water and his vision blurry.
There was water in his lungs, and it felt like it was even in his brain.
It physically hurt his head to have that much water in his system.
He was coughing and heaving to get the water out while his mind wandered, thinking if he should have brought another weapon, the immediate thought being that his hammer would have been equally – if not more – useless than his sword in fighting the spirit.
He then thought whether he should have chosen more conventionally – like a sword and shield.
It seemed to work for Callie.
He then reminded himself that he wasn’t even supposed to be the fighter.
Mighty help that was.
And so he was just as angry at his own self as at the spirit as it approached.
But he retreated further as more waves brought out of the canal were flung at him.
They were weaker now.
As the spirit closed the remaining distance between them – having to engage since Sylviane would be on her way to assist him any time now-, Venedir yelled – in anger, frustration and the high of adrenaline – and engaged the spirit in melee.
For a lot of it he slashed through water without significant effect.
There was still a lot of water around, though it was not as much an inconvenience as he was able to distract the spirit well in melee.
And bit by bit, he chipped away at its essence.
No new waves of water came flowing in from the opening of the tunnel.
Eventually he did slam it hard enough to throw it against the wall.
Dazed enough, Venedir kicked him hard enough to make him pass out.
Though he did still retain his form.
Lovely, would make it easier for him to bind him.
Venedir did that and dragged him to the entrance of the tunnel – not before giving him a couple more kicks for good measure.
He certainly could not have him waking up next to the canal.
A couple minutes later Sylviane also appeared, dragging the hound in tow.
She was not great, but not much worse than when he had found her.
“Sorry.” Venedir said as he took in the state of her properly.
Maybe they shouldn’t have split up.
She grunted.
“That’s not something you should be apologizing for.” She said tonelessly though it made Venedir feel that there was something else she expected him to be repentful for.
But that was not possible.
Nor were her words clear enough and their situation suitable for that discussion.
And so they dragged the two down the canal and then into a tunnel that led away from the canal, inward for a hundred yards or so when a door came into view and along with that, its third guardian.
“Forest spirit.” she muttered.
“We can take him.”
She said and rushed without further notice.
And so Venedir sprinted behind her.
The spirit was twice as tall and broad as the man, thrice as wide – having made her essence strong enough that she was less dependent on external sources .
A half dozen branches and as many roots shot out from her.
The walls of the tunnel were not at right angles with the floor.
They inclined up and Sylviane had the idea of using them and ran along the inclines.
Venedir – more focused on maintaining his distance and stripping the spirit’s essence, having a lot more space to do so – after slashing and dodging for a minute, realised what Sylviane was doing.
She wasn’t heavily armed so it was easier for her, to be sure, but it was a good tactic regardless.
She was running in circles around the spirit – though getting fairly cut up and bruised in the process – and was trying to entangle it in itself.
It was certainly not the path Venedir would have chosen but he was concerned for Sylviane’s safety.
Having slashed enough to create a buffer from himself, he could get close enough to start doing more damage.
The spirit was becoming slower and awkward in its attacks due to Sylviane’s efforts.
And Venedir’s relentless slashing, now at a closer distance meant that he was getting pretty bruised but was making the spirit lose a lot of its essence with every passing minute.
And with it a fraction of its self, dead branches and roots scattered all around them, Sylviane finally managed to land a hard enough blow to its head, felling the being.
Venedir’s eyes met his driftfellow’s and he wanted to voice his concern for her.
But he could not, so he didn’t.
His eyes fell down to the spirit and he tied her up as well for his personal peace of mind – rope really wasn’t going to do any good against a nature spirit.
Sylviane volunteered to call the others then.
Venedir nodded.
He was in a better condition to fend off their new friends should they awake.
He kept guard over those whose erstwhile role had been quite similar.
The irony was enough to make him smile.
* * *
228th day of the 10225th year since the passing of Kriene
Loudness filled his years.
His nose and lips were wet, annoyingly so, more mucus and blood dripping down his nostrils.
His eyes were going out of focus and even still, he refused to go down.
In front of him was a hulking monster of a man, a couple inches shy from seven feet.
While he couldn’t make anything out of his figure – which Venedir had made stoop from his targeted attacks – he could hear his heavy breathing.
Everyone was yelling in the background, it seemed – Zessar loudest of all.
His eyes barely catch his opponent’s movements as he moved to land a kick on his chest.
Venedir staggered back, barely avoiding the hit.
Another kick was thrown, he moved back again, losing his balance and falling on his back.
Laughter.
His opponent was laughing.
Zessar seemed to be yelling directly into his head now, making it ache more than it was priorly.
He had no comprehension of it.
He slowly got on all fours, getting up on his feet, his legs shaking as his hands curled into fists, only for his opponent to become all but invisible and something slammed into his temple.
His eyes saw red and he collapsed to the floor. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Stay down.” said the opponent.
The referee had come to his side – probably to inspect whether Venedir had died or not – and had started the counting at quite the faster pace than usual.
He could not make out the numbers but tone and rhythm of voice was unmistakable.
It was all going by too slow.
He heard every word stretched out, every bit of pain in every part of his body.
And then, Zessar was in his head completely.
His mind flew into chaos instead of pain as he felt every intense emotion Zessar himself was possessed with.
His hands slammed down into the floor to push himself up somewhere during the latter half of the referee’s count.
His vision was clear save for the red.
And he wasn’t sure that all the red was blood.
His opponent did not attack him, as if uncertain, looking at the referee.
“LOOK AT ME!!!” He yelled in the most charged and deranged voice, the sound echoing through the cavern-like structure of the arena.
Venedir was simultaneously an observer and in control.
He had never felt anything like this.
His feet moved of their own accord, springing into action as he leapt towards his opponent.
His hands moved towards his wrists to block the blows which never came as Venedir slammed his head into the opponent.
He instantly saw stars and yet was slamming his head once again.
The second hit sent his opponent staggering to the floor.
His grip on his hands loosened and now Venedir straddled his abdomen, landing blows on his head without abandon.
The referee sprang to action instantly and as a result, he only got four blows in – which Venedir regretted before his thoughts caught up to his actions and he realised that his opponent had passed out in the first blow only.
The feeling of pain returned within the next few seconds, just as Zessar departed his mind.
His head felt like Zessar had torn in and out of it.
The last thing he remembered was being laid on the stretcher, his head hurting even against the softness and “Is he dead?” being said – with a lack of subtlety and quietness which he had enough energy to find rude – by one of the spectators as he was carried past them.
* * *
49th day of the 10230th year since the passing of Kriene
“Is he dead?” asked a voice in an amused tone and Venedir felt a familiar flash of annoyance – so familiar so as to give him a hint of deja-vu – pass through him.
Then something happened to which the voice said.
“It’s only a joke.” The navigator.
Venedir’s eyes – wet and raindrops falling on them – fluttered and spasmed a little.
“It seems not.” Environment guy.
He turned slowly to his side, his head turned down.
His eyes squeezed shut and then blinked open, his eyelids moving rapidly to dispel the water.
He was on the deck of the Oaty.
He knew the surface well enough by touch and sight by now.
As he lay there, he recounted the events of the evening, more specifically what all had happened leading up to their escape – or at least until the part he was in his senses.
Venedir started to push himself up with deliberate slowness, not wanting to slip or injure himself more.
He wasn’t sure whether he had any broken bones or not.
He was aching all over, that much he was sure about.
Zessar would surely have some words to say about finding strength in pain, but Zessar could go fuck himself.
Venedir just wanted to take painkillers and then drink himself to sleep.
Zander and Finley came to help him up as he staggered to his feet, taking him to the railing a couple feet away.
“Don’t fall off.” said Finley with a smile and patted Venedir, his mildly pleasant expression falling back to solemnity when the man winced upon the contact to his skin.
“It’s fine.” He said, and then quieted as he realised his voice was hoarse and raspy.
It was unnerving.
It seemed he had managed to hurt his larynx as well.
Oh well.
Finley realised Venedir could not be one for verbal speech and spoke what he thought Venedir should know.
“Everything is okay.
We have Linny.
Sylviane is the only one injured majorly, that too not as bad as you.
I’m surprised you’re even standing right now.
You’ve lost a lot of blood from your head.”
Venedir could only shrug in response.
If he could exert his throat he would have told Finley that he was no stranger to head injuries (or any injuries for that matter).
Finley seemed to get some inkling of insouciance Venedir was trying to portray and promptly continued.
“Anyway, we’ll get you into the medical room and have Callie and Zander tend to you and Sylviane – who Elyria has gone to pick up.
She and Gwenyth are still up there.”
A look of concern must have passed over Venedir’s face because Finley shook his head and started in a rush.
“No, no.
We are in no hurry.
We managed to make our escape in the ongoing chaos.
One good thing about it being in the outskirts, eh?” he smiled.
“We had to run, of course.
The ruckus was as if half the town had woken up.
I imagine they’ve gone to the harbour or the surrounding woods.
Nowhere close to our location though.”
Venedir then looked down at his body – by no means petite – and then looked up at Finley, raising his eyebrows.
“The demon, of course.
He could easily keep up with us even while carrying you.
And the rest of us were making very good time, mind you; running as fast as the mud would allow us.
The weather has been a boon, I now realise – despite how much I slipped and stumbled while running.
It certainly helped in concealing us during the initial minutes of our escape.
Hardly anything was visible.
Still isn’t.”
Indeed it wasn’t.
Venedir turned to where the cliff was – hardly visible to his eyes.
It seemed to him that the only thing confirming that he could make out the cliff was the fact that he knew that the cliff existed.
The duo quietly sat as observers as the wind picked up around them – and with it brought Sylviane.
She had a few more cuts and bruises than when he had last seen her.
He certainly felt that Sylviane needed more attention than him and went over to Callie – albeit at a slow, hobbling pace.
“Take her… tend.” Venedir said.
Callie had turned in surprise at his first word, her surprise fading quickly.
“And you?” she asked, though Venedir thought she already knew the response.
It was kindness and courtesy to still ask.
Venedir managed a small smile.
“Later.” Callie nodded and took Sylviane into the lower levels of the Oaty where the medical room was.
It was right about then that Venedir found that the seas were really turbulent even this close to the shore – and that his condition was not suited to keep his footing.
And so he staggered and stumbled and slipped his way back to the railing, having an added consideration now of slipping or falling overboard.
Those thoughts kept him distracted in amusement and anxiety till Gwenyth arrived and Zander – after bidding goodbye to Elyria, who seemed to have had her fill of human and vampire business for now – rushed quickly to the control room.
Venedir – with the help of Gwenyth and Finley – made his way down to the medical room.
Xara was also there, in the form of an animate doll, though very much human in her features.
When Xara noticed him, she walked to the other side of the bed that Sylviane was being treated on, now closer to Venedir as she looked him over.
Venedir managed another smile for her sake and then moved to sit on the bed beside Sylviane’s.
Finley then left to check in on Zander as Gwenyth started tending to Venedir.
“I wish I’d have gotten to her earlier, you know.” She whispered to him.
He wanted to tell her that there was no way for her to have known and that she had done her best, but he did not have what it took to do so.
Despite the aching, Venedir’s face couldn’t help but light up into a small smile when Zander came and they were all six together again.
The first thing Venedir did was gesture to his throat.
“Yeah yeah, Finley told me.” He said.
“Where is the ice?” Gwenyth asked Venedir and Callie, who pointed and spoke respectively in the same instant.
It was all in their cold storage unit, even medical supplies that needed to be kept cold.
While that may be inconvenient during medical emergencies – which was not the case that night, luckily – it meant that there needed to be only one cold storage.
Zander went promptly and was asked by Callie to fetch some for Sylviane also.
Venedir was very sure that he would need to rest his voice for a day or two, which really was a pity since he had been looking forward to interacting with Linny Kiane and talking to Sylviane.
The latter conversation was not so pleasurable to think of and so Venedir brought his thoughts back to the demon.
Alaric had remained quite objective in his description of Linny but even that unfeeling account had leaked aspects of Linny’s nature.
It was visible from the countenance, tone and body language of the demon that he was a cheerful kid, despite them not having conversed really and despite his time in prison.
But any and all talks with the demon would have to be postponed till the morning because none of the driftfellows – especially not him – would be able to due their condition.
Venedir imagined that it would be a late breakfast tomorrow and that Zander or Gwenyth would be taking up the charge for it.
Zander soon returned and Gwenyth started tending to Venedir’s neck.
Finley arrived in the meantime and seated himself on the bed beside Venedir.
“Nice weather out there.
No sign of any life, nor the vampire.” He said with a dry smile.
“I hope we don’t get roughed up more during the remainder of our assignment.
It’s already so crowded.”
While the thought had not crossed Venedir’s mind yet, he now found himself thinking whether things could get so bad as to require more than the two beds they were given.
He thought it unlikely.
With this mission done, each of them had earned more money than they would in the entirety of this faring mission.
And with the state it had brought (some of) them to, he hoped the drift would not be motivated to take on more such assignments.
With Venedir and Sylviane sufficiently tended to, it was Callie’s and Finley’s turn, which Gwenyth did promptly.
Venedir and Sylviane were both handed insulated packs of ice by Gwenyth for all their respective bruises.
Venedir almost let out an audible sigh when Zander reminded him (for the third time) to not indulge in alcohol till his voice was fixed.
His only respite, snatched so cruelly.
And so the tender, having been tended to with such lack of empathy, sullenly made his way back to his room in a tantrum-like manner that would befit a child half his age.
He iced all major bruises, applied lotion to them, and then drifted off to sleep.
Dreams and nightmares alike evaded him that night.
* * *
It was as Venedir anticipated.
People were still stirring from bed when his eyes opened, the sounds of lethargic shuffling and yawning being heard in the corridor a few minutes after Venedir had sat up on his bed, looking out quietly at the sea as they made their way north.
Wairo was on the horizon, a deep beautiful red, a shade more enchanting than a rose gracing the surface of the hundreds of miles of seas before it reached him.
Venedir was aware that on the other side of the ship, the cliffs of Fluviale might still be visible if they had not drifted too far apart.
His condition last night had not permitted him to know the intricacies of navigation, nor would it permit him today.
He was resigned to a vow of unwilling silence.
He shuffled out with less sullenness as he had shuffled in, starting his day and reaching the kitchen in a quarter of an hour – where Zander was working on the food.
When Venedir caught his eyes, he raised his eyebrows.
Zander seemed to understand and Venedir seemed to think that maybe he was meant for non verbal communication.
“Omelettes, breads, chicken and whiskeys – apple juice for you, mister.” Venedir shook his head, not wanting to be reminded of his deprivation again.
Finley entered soon after, silver hair shining under the golden and red light of the kitchen.
“Remind me again, Sandy.” Colour flushed to Zander’s cheeks, unmistakably more red now.
“Do you have any years of tending experience?”
Zander seemed to have regained himself and he answered casually.
“No.
But it is not that I am making something elaborate.
You don’t have tending experience either.”
“I don’t… but I am a jack of all trades.” Finley said, his eyes meeting Zander as he realised who he had said that to and the two burst into laughter.
Even a sound of amusement escaped Venedir’s throat as he grinned.
The next to come was Linny, greeting and nodding happily at everyone, expressing in particular his pleasure to see Venedir walking about with his bandaged head and icepack pressed to his neck – the weather wasn’t warm enough for it to have melted yet.
Venedir could only muster a smile.
Zander asked Linny whether their food would be edible for him and the demon – after a bit of inspection – had applied in the affirmative quite enthusiastically.
Then came Sylviane.
Venedir felt a little better in spite of himself because at least there was someone else there who looked half as bad as him.
Gwenyth and Finley arrived last, once their new chef had made the announcement ship-wide.
The drift members had not really started talking with Linny in much detail yet, as if having an unsaid agreement to have no conversation of substance and intrigue with the demon till all were assembled.
Venedir would not be surprised if it were an actual agreement also – one made after he had left.
Surely he was party to such agreements by default.
His self-indulgent mood was brought to a halt as Linny and Zander brought hot plates of food to the table.
Callie, who seemed least inclined towards the food out of the lot, started the conversation in the direction they all had been intending for it to go in.
“So, Linny.” The demon’s head raised with a jerk, his mouth full of bread.
“Mhmm?” He said in a muffled voice.
“How long have you known Alaric?”
The poor lad chewed in a sprint to get his mouth empty enough so as to speak.
“Seven years, give or take a few weeks.” He said and took a big bite of chicken to fill the space that had been created.
“Do you have any other powers besides those of fire?”piped up Gwenyth.
Another workout for the poor demon’s jaws ensued.
“I have some illusory powers also so I can appear in a few different forms.” He said cheerfully and then grabbed a glass of apple juice.
“No whiskey?” questioned Zander.
“We only kept apple juice for Venedir and a mixer.” Finley added teasingly and Venedir chucked a piece of bread at his face which the former promptly grabbed in mid air and ate.
“Alcohol messes with demons’ constitutions, makes our power unstable.
More so for me since I have not reached maturity yet and don’t have complete control over my powers anyway.”
“How old are you?” asked Finley curiously.
“Forty-three.” he said dismally.
“You have a long way to go.” Finley replied.
“Fifteen to eighteen more years.” he said gloomily and took a sip of apple juice.
“So you have stooped so low so as to encourage underage drinking.” Callie said dryly to Zander.
“At least I am not an initiator of a prison break.” he shot back and turned to Linny.
“Speaking of which, how did you end up there?”
“I was in the mountain range of Fluviale and the weather was a bit cold.
I was caught in the middle of a snow storm in one of the valleys.
At the depression of this valley was a stream of ice, snow and water.
In it were some fish.
Non-sentient in all regards.
I tried to set up a fire at the bank of the stream but inadvertently caused a minor explosion which apparently caused damage to the stream.
Soon after that a few elves appeared and took me in custody and after a few hours of deliberation, took me to the village prison and told them to keep me prisoner for a year.
Luckily I was to meet Alaric in sixty days on the island and he figured out where I was.” He said and then added the following in the defense, his childish voice a bit distressed – the guilt still seeming to weigh on him.
“While I did cause damage to the stream slightly, it really did not alter in its flow all that much and was only one of many tributaries to the main river that flows through the island.” He said and took a few seconds to become calmer and less anxious.
“I think it was more that the elves did not like an outsider in their midst.
Surely they had to be following me.
They showed up eerily quickly after the explosion.” He said.
The drift seemed to be surprised into silence, not really knowing what to say in response to what all had been told to them.
Linny, looking a little relieved that his interrogation seemed to have stopped, started making a sandwich of bread, chicken and cheese.
He had just taken its first bite when Sylviane spoke up.
“So what are your plans now?” The boy looked positively crestfallen at not being able to enjoy his food in peace.
He looked so pitiable that the table burst into laughter and Sylviane shook her head, waving her hand benevolently.
“Just eat.”