58th day of the 10230th year since the passing of Kriene
Sylviane’s eyes opened and for a moment, all was calm and everything was right in the world.
And then her memory came back to her and an uneasiness rooted itself in her chest as she realised that it was to happen that very day.
Gwenyth’s snores were barely audible over the deep breaths she took to try and steady herself.
She told herself that it would be fine but deep down she wasn’t sure of it so the self-reassurances were not helpful.
She went about her routine, barely paying attention to any of it.
Callie had already gone downstairs or outside, it seemed.
In stark contrast, Gwenyth did not stir in the slightest even through the light hustle and bustle of Sylviane getting ready.
It was not to be a particularly cold day and Sylviane wanted freedom of movement so she opted for a form fitting green waistcoat and grey shorts.
Sylviane grabbed a book and went downstairs to find Callie already reading there.
Over the seventh and eighth hours, Sylviane and Callie were joined by the others in lounging about as the drift assembled in the living room.
After an early breakfast, everyone went upstairs and did whatever packing they had to do.
Their vacation was being cut short by a day and the rent thereof forfeited but Sylviane did not think anyone was too torn up over it.
After this assignment, their individual net worths were going to go up by another considerable amount.
If the rest of her faring journey for this particular assignment was going to look like this, Sylviane imagined that she would take a long break – that is, if the others were taking one too.
Seeing entire drifts sticking together through even vacationing and acting as such integrated, holistic units really had an impact on Sylviane.
It felt like something even the Serendipity could have.
When they were all packed, they headed to the Rum Baxters’.
The walk was a quiet one, a bit gloomy since it was still dark and the weight of their situation was increasingly felt by Sylviane in their silence and hers.
The uneasiness in her chest was still there and just wouldn’t go, no matter how much she tried to distract herself with the beauty around her.
They reached the Rum Baxters’ a good half hour before Wairores – which was the agreed upon time for them assembling there.
Everyone at the villa was ready as well.
This nervosity which everyone seemed to uniformly be plagued by also brought with it an acute sense of punctuality.
The Windriders arrived not ten minutes later.
According to Moroj, the thirty-odd farers – all decent fighters, from drifts they had met with as well as from ones they hadn’t – who were to be at the harbour, would be in position at the eleventh hour and so the escorting party that would drop them off at the other end of the six mile stretch would take off with them in the next five minutes as well, so they would reach in good time.
All townfolk and lakefolk had been made aware and were advised to steer clear of the area for the three hours after Wairores.
While Sylviane had been aware of the sheer detailing in and elaborateness of the arrangements, it was something else altogether to see it implemented.
It all felt rather grand, even though it was for the benefit of a large group of people, not just her.
But in the isolation of her own perception, it felt too ostentatious.
But in this larger group, that uneasiness felt more shared than it had with just the Serendipity and she could breathe more properly as they took off from the Rum Baxters’, falling in with Alicia.
She was quite fond of the woman and wanted to talk to her a little before they said goodbye.
“So…” she said with a smile as Sylviane fell in with her.
“How was your time in Kinamel?”
Laughter, as if trapped within her, escaped a little shakily and in intermittent burst before it smoothened.
“As well as it could have, all things considered.” she responded with smiling lips.
“I’ll miss you, and all of the other farers.
You all give it a semblance of home and family, a more encompassing and holistic feeling than I get with just my drift, not that I find their company unsuitable.”
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, dear.
It is something we all have felt.
I know for sure that I have.
It is fine to feel this way.
Each connection and bond has in itself the potential to fill something and even bring out something unique in you.
The dynamism of living, and even non-living beings is such.
Life really is so beautiful.” she said smilingly.
“Non-living beings?
How so?” Sylviane murmured.
“Each view of the sky, every cloud, every tree, it may be the romantic and poet in me – but even every blade of grass.
The distinctness and their specialness – be it in our capacity or not to sense it – is very gratifying.
Don’t you think?”
Sylviane could only nod.
“I had never thought about it that way.” she murmured.
“Consider it the uniqueness I bring to you.” Alicia said with a twinkle in her eye and nudged her with her shoulder.
The tightness in her chest had dissolved into nothingness.
It was just upon the closing of the eleventh hour that they arrived at the point where they were to say to each other their farewells.
Sylviane – and the drift’s in general – last and longest goodbye was with Alicia.
“You know I’ll come to the shore to see you off, right?” she had to say laughingly as they lingered near her even as the Windriders had started walking.
That appeased the drift sufficiently and they started walking as well.
As they walked further and further, Sylviane grew a bit tense and tried to be increasingly aware of her surroundings, especially their back.
Wairo seemed to be a lazy riser and did not illuminate the field all too very well, though Wairo himself would have blamed the clouds, she was sure.
They were all shades of red and orange, as if to signal the bloodshed – hopefully only the unnaturals’, though it was also something to ponder upon whether they had any blood within them – that was coming.
Under the dim lighting, the grass appeared to be a dark dull colour, almost as if they were walking on ash.
This train of thought led to her thinking of her own death and whether she would have any regrets, whether she had lived a full life.
She was not sure whether an eighteen year old was supposed to feel this way and felt some self-pity, this little bit of aching sadness in her heart and head.
Eighteen years was no small amount of time and she tried to think of all the good things she had experienced to ease the sadness.
Her first pizza, the first time she swam in cold waters, the first miniature building she had architected and made with her own two hands, her time with the drift, singing and partying on the Opaline Tide, the sense of community in Kinamel, Xara – all through it, Xara…
All these thoughts allowed her to think more objectively about her life – not so coloured with the lens of sadness while also thinking of all she had accomplished.
The regrets of not having made good friends in school – rather not being good enough for their companionship (regardless of the irrationality of the thought) -, of not being able to handle social rejection better, not being able to do even that and not being able to be better for young Sylvie – who needed it so much – were all heartbreaking.
And so weighing her life with the limitations of her critical and cognitive ability was a trying deliberation to be sure, she was not so mature so as to have no obscurity with regards to the question.
But the comfort of knowing that she did as well as she could, never caused much harm to any other nor led her life with malice, bitterness and hatred brought the answer to her eventually, which turned out to be in her favour, much to her relief.
It made a sense of calm wash over her and made her mind clear.
This revelation was none too soon as not five minutes later – when they would be nearly in the middle of the isolated stretch – Coslac screamed out.
“THEY’RE HERE.
ASSUME POSITIONS!!!”
Brina spoke then.
“There’s a gentle slope just ahead of us.
Frontline! Get faster updates on g.com.
Assume positions halfway down that slope.
Second-liners!
Take your places at the edge of the slope.
Keep your ranged weapons with you, people!”
Sylviane’s heart took off at a hundred miles an hour, she quickly let her backpack slip off her shoulders, bending a little to set it on the ground, unhooking her shield and straightening quickly, looking at the others to get a sense of where the unnaturals were coming from as she drew her sword.
They were all looking ahead but not in the same direction and then Sylviane realised that they were spread out in an arc from north-west to north-east.
The core quickly retreated back to the south.
The nine forming the front line were quick in rushing forward and assuming positions.
The second line was a bit slow to form but formed well in time, at the peak which was around ten metres behind the front and around thrice that in front of the core.
Once in position, Sylviane realised that it was perfect.
The high ground afforded not only a fighting advantage but also enough of a height difference for the second-liners to get their shots off without visual interference from the front.
Her heart slowed a little as the unnaturals approached at walking pace, though the tension of the moment remained palpable.
Around a hundred metres from the front line they stopped at the same moment.
There was this eerie uniformity to them – short dark hair, unarmed, wearing simple clothing – just a t-shirt and pants, those too in dark colours -, lacking any body hair, having a heavy build, all of a similar height: around six and a quarter feet.
Sylviane did a quick count: three..
six..
nine of them.
Of course.
Worst case.
One of them – third from her left – spoke a few seconds after they had stopped.
“Hello.
It is nice to meet you.” the voice was markedly devoid of any emotion.
It was human sounding – but somehow absolutely not so.
No one from their group responded and so another unnatural continued.
“I thank all yous farers for drawing out these people.
They are marked for death and we request you for your cooperation in this regard.
Just say the word.
We won’t make a mess.
What’s more you each get to walk away, that too with more money than you’ll earn in a year.”
No one – not even Zander – asked about the exact monetary amount, though it would have been at least a little bit funny if he – or anyone else, for that matter – did.
“No, thank you.” said Raelene.
“We have a counteroffer for you though.” The unnaturals did not reply and she continued.
“You leave us be and we’ll forget you were ever here.
You get to spend the rest of your eternity living your shell of a life – pathetic, unfeeling.”
The unnaturals seemed to find this amusing.
“Farers.
So beautifully ignorant.
Our capabilities surpass the best specimen your species can conjure.
If there is nothing else, shall we begin?”
The only response they got was a mixture of extension of melee weapons towards them and adjusting of grips to be as ready as possible.
The ranged weapon wielders nocked and drew their bowstrings.
The kind of arrows that were ready to rip through the unnaturals were not ordinary hunting arrows.
The tips of these arrows were made of the highest quality hardened steel available.
Not only that, it also seemed that the bodies of the arrows and the base of the tips were physically engineered for this very purpose as well.
In the absence of a heavier arsenal, they were their best weapons and kept hope alive and well.
“And so it begins.” said all the unnaturals in eerie synchronization and the arrows were loosed.
The government officials had been sufficiently forthcoming about the engineering of the unnaturals during their strategy conversations.
Unlike the human body which had its head as one of the vulnerable spots, it was a decorative body part for the unnaturals, housing the necessary sensors and otherwise serving no purpose apart from cosmetic and aiding their disguise in common society.
Theoretically it could be used for fighting but their limbs were so much stronger, that the head would hardly ever be used.
The unnaturals’ weak points were in their chest and torso, as well as their joints, especially the one at the base of their skull since it was connected to a lot of crucial input sensors that could not be damaged by attacking the head itself – which was akin to a very tough sphere.
Their trunk included their thinking system and crucial mechanical engineering systems for their limbs (which had to be avoided during combat with them).
And hence the massive flat surface area of the trunk (as opposed to narrow curving joint areas) was to be the sole focus of all projectiles.
The arrows zipped by faster than even a flash.
One moment fifteen arrows were drawn and the other they were buried inside the unnaturals’ upper bodies.
The results were almost instantly visible but not enough.
Two of the nine staggered while walking while another’s right arm swung considerably less than the other as it moved.
The frontliners who had ranged weapons realised they could not get another shot in and discarded those weapons as the second-liners nocked and drew again.
Instead of the unnaturals taking one frontliner each, they seemed to cluster together – focussing on the government officials, which were luckily distributed evenly across, even in the second line.
Sylviane instantly realised that this first and second layer formation was not going to work.
It seemed that the front line did as well as the farers moved slightly backward in the hope of bracing themselves and the officials moved further back to break the brunt of the focussed charge.
The second volley was loosed and due to the clustering, they got another set of good shots in.
Another unnatural was now staggering and another couple had lost some control over one of their arms.
The unnatural who had been staggering from the first volley – now pierced with six arrows – suddenly burst into a small flame and crashed to the ground around twenty metres from the frontline.
Sylviane surged forward as the six farers clashed with the unnaturals and to her horror the frontline instantly broke ahead of her as she clashed with unnatural coming towards Faera.
The unnatural and had only its right arm as operational but despite that, Sylviane was soon able to experience why it did not need any weapon.
Its fist came with freakish speed and strength, that too from a relative height and her shield barely raised in time.
Luckily she managed to angle the shield well and make the fist hit the center part of it before it deflected off the shield, enough distance between the two for it to not hit her as it deflected.
But the force of its fist was enough to jar her arm and even her body – she felt a little knocked out of it.
She knew she was lucky that it had not taken the brunt of it with a straight angle, else she would have likely broken at least a couple of bones in her limb.
Recovering still from the first blow, she had to get on its weak side.
Its left arm was not moving so well, and was blocked with her shield without immense difficulty as she utilised their height differential in her favour and thrusted up as hard as she could, thrusting her sword through the neck joint at the base of its skull, not waiting for even a moment before she twisted brutally and pulled back sharply, instantly creating some distance between the two in case it tried to reach back with her with that destructive right arm.
The unnatural seemed to loose a lot of its movement ability then but Sylviane did not relent.
After only a couple of seconds to gauge its revised physical ability she thrust her sword’s tip into its right elbow, twisted and pulled out again.
But it was all unnecessary as she realised.
In her adrenaline filled state, she had failed to realise that it had lost all movement after the neck thrust itself and was essentially forced into a vegetative state.
Sylviane was not sure whether to feel overly ecstatic or to figure out if anything else was left for her to do.
She could not help but put more distance between her and that monster, her eyes now flying around to take in the scene of the battle.
Only her own unnatural and the one Linny had been fighting were down.
While Linny was not there next to the dead unnatural, she remembered his position from peripheral vision.
That and the smoking sludge that used to be its skin, gaping holes in what used to be its body.
Sylviane’s eyes then darted to the rest of the battlefield, seeing multiple good fighters struggling to make headway against a single unnatural and she realised that she had been lucky enough to get one of the more weakened – most likely even the weakest – unnaturals.
But Linny with his towering size and fire was easing the workload of the fighters, having already relieved Xerlev, Denive and Pelina of the unnatural they were fighting to take it on himself.
Seeing him in action: shooting huge fireballs whose intensity extended for a fair few metres when they missed, Sylviane realised why he could not have others nearby as she rushed forward to assist Zander and Svena with the unnatural they were fighting, which was limping but had both limbs still in working order.
Despite its restricted mobility, the arms were doing a good job of keeping Zander and Svena at bay – who were cautious enough as well as aware enough (of the fact that the battle was good as won and it only a matter of time and level-headedness) to not get into its reach – which was in mild contrast to what Linny was doing in her peripheral vision.
Proximity to the target seemed to maximise the intensity of his blows and heat thereof.
But he was smart enough to burn the limbs first so that when did get close, he would not take a significant beating.
It was like watching a dance.
The colours of his fire were so pretty as well, giving a soothing vibrancy to the edge of her view as she dodged and weaved around the unnatural, looking for the appropriate timing to stab its wrist.
The opportunity presented itself after a minute or so – handling three distinct opponents was outside the capabilities that surpassed even the best specimen the human species could conjure.
Sylviane could not help but feel a flash of ego as she yanked her sword out savagely and triumphantly.
How’s that for an average specimen?
With the unnatural slightly more disabled now, it started losing more metaphorical ground against the three as they literally shredded it with well-timed and well-placed thrusts.
Denive – due to being shorter than the other two – was able to be the one to target its lower limbs and assist in disabling them.
By the time the three were done – Zander being the one to deliver the finishing blow to its neck with a guttural scream -, the rest of the battlefield had quietened considerably.
The last couple of unnaturals were being dispatched and done away with, which Sylviane was content to not participate in.
The two were already surrounded by five people each.
Linny was lingering in between both these fights.
His help had been resoundingly rejected as the humans seemed to have it under control and seemed to want to inflict some retribution of their own for all that the unnaturals had done.
When the final two fell, Linny started to make short work of every broken machine.
The boy was young but cautious and wise, systematically disintegrating the limbs before getting close enough to break the chest open and frying every system underneath.
The sight drew Sylviane among others like a moth to flame.
They were approaching the striking of the thirteenth by the time Linny winded up and Sylviane went to lie on the grass with a sigh, setting her sword and shield down before sinking to her knees – which were cushioned by the softness of the grass – and she fell into earth’s motherly embrace, another sigh escaping her lips.
In the distance, she could hear Venedir asking Welinger to fire the green flare so they could get some medical assistance and help with cleaning the mess the battlefield had become.
After a minute or so lying still, she stirred and rolled on top of her back, able to breathe more fully, her eyes half open as she took in the brightening sky.
Its blueness was returning, washing the crimson away little by little.
Before she could find it in herself to get herself up, she was joined by Gwenyth, who lay beside her with a sigh.
“You know, I thought Alaric was out of his mind when he exclusively trained me with a sword; he didn’t even allow me to touch my axe.”
“Alaric is not as diabolical as he tries to portray himself to be.
Slashing indeed is one’s own bane with unnaturals.” It seemed to be the universal rule with the chemical composition of the outer layer of their skin, which Sylviane herself had confirmed with accidental slashes as well as through feeling the resistance during her thrusts.
“Would be a difficult change of habit if I wasn’t a trained fighter.”
Sylviane laughed.
“Indeed.
You were the best fighter on the field today.” she did not see it but knew that Gwenyth had grinned in response.
“No…” she replied with a sigh.
“That accolade goes to the newest member of our drift.”
“I’m sure you’ll catch up to his prowess.”
“Not unless I start setting myself on fire, I won’t.” she said gloomily.
“And even that would be more detrimental to me than the enemy.”
“Have you ever tried?
Could be that you’re fireproof.” Sylviane said innocently but could not help smiling towards the end of it.
“Shut up.”
“Fine.
Just don’t punch me or anything.
I’m… a bit out of it.
My arms hurt.”
“Yeah no shit.
Mine do too.
But I don’t think anything is broken.”
“I hope so too.
Do you think they’ll let us stay here for another day?
I don’t want to travel just now.”
* * *
It turned out that with all unnaturals destroyed, the government officials were actually a bit at ease.
They needed rest and the two drifts collectively needed some time to recover as well.
After being tended to in the violet grassfields, the large group of farers and officials made its way back into Kinamel.
Sylviane was sure the news of the unnaturals in Kinamel would spread throughout the town, the isle and eventually the sixty-fifth.
The only question was how fast it would happen.
As soon as this information was disseminated to a critical level, the government – if not the Faring as well – would face immense repercussions, especially in Apricity.
But Sylviane did not think much of that future since it would likely not affect them so much.
If the worst came to pass, they would just have to change zones, likely to Zenith or Eventide.
After getting to know more about Lament, she was increasingly sure that she did not want to and would never want to reside there.
As they arrived at their villa, Sylviane couldn’t help but smile, even though the pain in her left arm persisted and she grew a little concerned whether this pain (however intermittent it became with time) would become a permanent source of distress.
The suffering caused in the anticipation and aftermath of the pain would be just as much – if not more – than whatever residual pain remained to haunt her for eternity.
The curse of mortality was not as bad as the curse of ruin.
Body parts would stop working as well as they used to, one would lose their good looks.
Harms and pains inflicted upon the self – by internally and external sources – would leave some scarring – tangible or intangible – and be a plague upon oneself to remind one of their pathetic ruination.
Sylviane thought of the Sylphs then, permanent in form, unruinable and unbreakable.
She would have liked to be an air spirit in that moment as she clutched her left arm with her right hand, squeezing it to do something about the pain, then thinking of whether it would make things worse and letting her arm go.
The triumph of the victory had turned into anger at the harm and ruin they’d dared to inflict upon her.
Was this ego or fear of ruination or a self-tormenting mixture?
Sylviane could not say.