Sylviane was lounging in one of the sofas in the guys’ room – half sunk into the soft cushions – when Mr.
Corroway arrived.
She did not get up when he joined them in the living area – nor did she think he expected them to.
When all were assembled, Sylviane deigned to sit up a little.
Mr.
Corroway set a handbag on the table.
He surveyed them with an expressionless look on his face.
Sylviane could only her gaze on him for a few seconds before she felt tired of his countenance and averted her eyes.
“The bonds.” he said shortly.
Gwenyth – who was carrying the bonds at the time – reached into her pocket just as Callie replied.
“The gold.” Her tone mirrored his and Sylviane’s gaze lifted again, a smile coming to her face.
Mr.
Corroway sighed, muttering something about a lack of respect and reaching down to lift his handbag up, taking out exactly seven bars of gold and setting them on the table.
“Exactly equally divided for the each of you.” he said with visible pride which faltered in the face of indifference.
Gwenyth handed the bonds to him.
“So what’s the deal with the walls?” she asked casually with such an air of omniscience that the government official lost some colour in his cheeks before regaining his composure and shrugging.
“I do not know what you’re speaking of.”
That was enough to incite protests from everyone apart from Linny and Sylviane couldn’t help but smile as she spoke, seeing Mr.
Corroway being bulldozed by six people at once.
“Fine, FINE!” he shouted over them and they quietened down.
“By god, you have to be the worst drift I have ever had the ill-fortune of knowing.” He huffed and looked around at their room as if to seek some support from the emptiness, or at least be relieved of the hostility.
He kept his eyes averted from them as he started speaking in a rush.
“It started around two weeks back.
Our… I mean some of the undead of the island are trying to break into the city.
We don’t know what has provoked them or what their intentions are but they definitely want to enter Jalakide.
The city’s physical and magical defenses are under immense strain.
What you heard today while in the city was the third wall going down.
The fourth is under attack at this very moment.
We are losing defenders by the dozen to desertion every hour.
Once the fifth wall goes down, the city and the fortress will fall in deep peril.
That is why I am here, on time with your money.
I hoped to persuade you to leave Jalakide while you are still able to.
There is no knowing to what degree of chaos the city will be thrown into.
It is for the best that you are as far away from this mess as possible.” He said, his voice thinning and straining towards the end of the monologue and he had to take a deep breath to replenish the air that had spilled out of him.
Mr.
Corroway – who had not particularly enjoyed their prior uproar – looked even more irritated at the overlapping voices that broke out before he had completed his restorative inhalation.
“Well, if there’s nothing else.” he said loud enough to overpower the commotion and in a tone that conveyed clearly that there would indeed be nothing else.
“I have to get going.
I have said my piece to you and now am needed for more important things.” None of the driftfellows bothered saying anything to his retreating figure, not even goodbye.
“Can you toss me my bar?” said Sylviane to Gwenyth once he had left.
Gwenyth obliged her and Sylviane’s eyes lit up slightly as she examined the bar, small enough to easily fit in her hand.
“Shiny.” she murmured inaudibly before her attention was pulled back to the conversation.
“I mean, how could they not tell us that the city is literally under siege?” Finley was saying.
“You know how.
They’re all a bunch of information hoarders, what’s more weird is how no one was talking of it in the city.
It’s as if they don’t care.” Callie said.
“To be fair, it seems to be business as usual in the fortress as well.
But then we haven’t seen the city when it’s not under attack.” said Zander dryly.
“It’s fucked up is what it is.
We should be getting the fuck out of here tonight itself.” said Sylviane.
“No!” said Finley loudly and Sylviane thought she’d seen Zander say the same thing, though his voice had been much softer and gotten lost on its way to her.
“It’s too soon.” said Finley in a milder tone.
“This city is under attack and all you can think of is your romance?” Sylviane said incredulously.
She had straightened up and her voice had grown in volume and pitch towards the end.
“These government people are a magnet for trouble and nothing else.
I can’t stand to put myself at risk like this!” she exclaimed.
“Well” Venedir started placatingly.
“They’re still on the fourth wall, right?
And it took them a couple weeks to reach it.
We can wait till Wairores at least.
Even if we were to leave right this instant, we would not be able to catch a train.
It’s too late.” he said and then glanced at the clock, Sylviane’s gaze turning with his of its own accord.
She let out an audible exhale when she saw that it was already nearing half past twenty-five, slumping in defeat.
“Tomorrow Wairores, then.
I mean it when I say that I will not stick around in this city a moment longer.” she said firmly and retreated – both physically into the couch and mentally from the conversation, though she managed to keep track of it just fine.
They essentially talked of nothing, because they knew nothing.
The Windriders came to them around half hour later and suddenly the room had a bit of interest for Sylviane.
She was curious whether it was just her who felt this way or if she was in the presence of other rational people then – she certainly had not been before.
She found sympathetic souls aplenty, especially Perisone – who seemed to take the occurrences in Kinamel and Jalakide just as badly as Sylviane was, if not worse.
“This is exactly the problem when one is not at home.” Perisone was saying as she sipped on a cup of coffee.
Sylviane herself had opted for a fruit-flavoured tea – some berry or the other.
“Lament is the familiar evil, I understand.” said Sylviane.
“And it’s not that evil either.” added Perisone.
Sylviane could only nod courteously in response, but Perisone noticed it.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe.”
“It is!
For me, this is supposed to be the familiar evil.
Yet it has been so alien – not as much as Lament but still…”
Perisone patted her shoulder.
“I know.”
Sylviane smiled a little and took a small sip of tea.
“You know, there is something I wanted to ask.” Upon receiving an encouraging look, she continued.
“How are the unnaturals in Lament?” she asked a bit tentatively, apprehensive of her answer – more so of the fact that whatever it may be, her mind would distort it in the worst possible manner to haunt her.
“Oh, harmless really!”
Whatever her subconscious expectations were with regards to Perisone’s answer, they were subverted.
Sylviane looked at her blankly for a moment before enunciating “Harmless?” in disbelief.
“I know how that may sound to someone who’s never been in Lament.” Faring schools never counted as Lament territory in such contexts.
“But they really are.
They are like pets – helpful, foolish sometimes, even cute…” Perisone babbled on happily before trailing off and Sylviane realised that the repulsion and contempt she felt were more plainly visible and the one whose words had brought that ugliness out in Sylviane felt that she herself was deserving of the grotesqueness so childishly and hatefully shown.
Perisone averted her gaze from Sylviane.
“Excuse me.” Perisone’s voice faltered and trembled.
“I’m sorry.” Sylviane said in a rush – then chided herself because an apology would just confirm what Perisone had perceived – but the Windrider just shook her head and left with haste.
Sylviane made to follow her but saw her approaching Finley and she stopped in her tracks.
She had no intention of interacting with her driftfellows at that moment.
She was tired of their laid-back manner in times of crises – that behaviour was already established as a vicious pattern in her mind.
She was especially annoyed with Finley.
He was supposed to be on her side!
He had no formal fighting experience and should have understood the kind of peril they were in.
But no… he had to go and find someone to blindly follow around.
Sylviane didn’t even have that distraction to fall back to!
And as if to drive it home, really putting the fucking cherry on the cake: the familiar dull ache arose in her left arm.
Fucking- Her fingers clenched into a fist, a compulsion driving her to hit something – anything – close to her.
That had often been her own self on many occasions until she’d realised her self-hatred could contribute to her ruin little by little.
And so she prevented those physical damages borne out of the detestation – but the emotional toll went unacknowledged, maintaining its hold.
On that occasion, it was especially powerful and her fist pummeled the side of her thigh.
It went by unnoticed, but Sylviane punched her thigh another couple of times in false casualness as she turned around to find a place where she could just be alone.
Failing to do so – there were more than fifteen people in a room meant for four, after all -, she returned to her room.
It was upon being alone that Sylviane felt the weight of everything transforming into a force of exhaustion – one which could not be denied.
She anyway felt like the day had been one of those where she just had to get through the hours.
Sleeping was just as good an activity as any to that end.
She quickly changed into her night clothes, kept the balcony door open to have the room be pleasantly cold for when she would get into bed.
As she brushed her hair and then her teeth, her thoughts returned to having a non-platonic relationship.
As there were souring elements to her companionship with Xara, in that phase of mind she felt that those elements – and more still – were applicable to a romantic entanglement as well.
In her pathetic ruinous state, how could she make anyone fall for her, be with her?
She would be an infliction, nothing more.
To her, the state of decay felt particularly unique to her own self.
Surely no one else was in a condition like hers.
They were so easy-going and happy and perfect.
It was unfair but Sylviane also felt that her condition was her fault.
Maybe she had been doomed from the very beginning.
Though she had never gotten it checked out, she knew that the colour of her eyes was likely due to some form of internal bleeding sustained as a baby.
Tears came to her eyes at the thought of her young defenseless self being thrust into such disrepair.
There was no hatred to summon for little Sylvie, no bitterness to alleviate the weight of what she had likely been subjected to.
The baby girl had done nothing wrong and all that was there to feel was sadness, whose dearth could not be reached even if she were to mourn for days.
Sylviane took a deep breath, blinking the blurriness away, suppressing her thoughts as she winded up whatever still needed to be done in the bathroom. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The room was pleasantly cold by then and she closed the balcony door, opening one window in its stead before she slipped into the blankets, shivering slightly and pressing herself snugly against the mattress, the warm weight over her body lulling her to sleep.
* * *
69th day of the 10230th year since the passing of Kriene
The air around her was a familiar one.
It was that of sweet apples and cold salt.
There were exactly four trees before her, not more nor less.
And on the shoulder of their larger friend, she saw the steely blue waters of the sea – rushing towards her.
They never did meet her, despite their teasing promise and false passions.
A grey shore gave way to the greenness which was eclipsed by the red-headed dwarves.
For all their faults, they did have a good head of hair.
Her gaze would have continued to draw inward but she realised the greyness had been too empty and her eyes flashed back only to find the rusty crabs scuttling about.
It was a view that was so well known to her that she could materialise the very spot she was standing on and colour filled around her as if spilling from her very dress.
Her gaze grew inward then.
My dress!
It was a blue one – one she had outgrown when she was fourteen.
But at that moment it fit her perfectly.
The hem of the skirt brushed exactly that part of her leg – just below the part of her knee that jutted out slightly – as when she had first been given it.
And then she was smiling happily, showing all her brilliant teeth which outshined Wairo in his geriatric redness.
Sylviane spun around in glee and conceit.
It was during her third turn that she realised her radiance was no more, and Wairo had sunk.
A darkness came over her eyes but she did not shriek in panic – not yet.
She had the good sense to realise that she knew the lay of the treehouse and slowly made her way to the other side where the opening would be.
She descend and on the ground would be her bag and in it her torch.
My green torch, yes!
she thought excitedly just before she tripped over something hard and heavy – her breath knocked out of her instantly and she felt uneasy, irritated.
Her foot felt like she had slammed it into a wall of the Oaty.
She turned back with a contemptuous look just as a deep and cruel pain flashed through her left elbow.
In that moment when she was experiencing every torture possible, her sight cleared to find a terrible face looking up at her.
She screamed and fell backward, down and through the opening – no.
She was not small enough to fall through it like so.
With her chest still empty and devoid of any fulfilling presence, she stood up from the floor that was a dark pool.
She had only just straightened when a hand – shot up from the very roots of the apple tree – gripped her ankle and pulled her down.
This time she fell and her insides dropped from within her.
It was the end.
She was on the very brink of peace when she her back hit the ground and she groaned.
She had not died.
The subversion made her cry but no tears came.
Why?
she shrieked but her vocal cords did not comply and the last dregs of air in her lungs – possession of which she knew not of – also escaped.
As her moribund self curled into its brokenness, a spirit came to her.
Mother?
she asked pathetically in her thoughts.
The apparition heard her and laughed.
“Don’t insult me.
I would not mother such a pitiful creature.” she spoke in her thoughts in the voice of her mother and Sylviane shrunk into herself – trembling with dry, heaving sobs.
When they dissipated – after what could only have been several hours – her eyes returned to the spirit.
It was still standing, looking at her with a curious expression.
“Hello.
Do not be afraid, child.” It’s voice had changed.
It was a male voice, with a kindness and condescension that her teachers had used in the early years of her schooling.
“I mean you no harm.” There was no falseness in its voice but Sylviane could not bring herself to acknowledge him.
She simply watched him with wary, drooping eyes.
“Listen closely now.
The patrons of this city – the human government – have defiled the sanctity of the dead through monstrous invasions into resting places and sacred grounds.
This breach is of a magnitude which cannot go unexcused and the defilements brought by their word and hand shall be avenged.
Soon enough, our forces will overcome their last standing wall to enter the city.
We will not harm anyone outside the fortress – or as you all colloquially call it: Old Jalakide.
But those within will feel the swift strike of justice.
It is our mercy that they shall not suffer.
The only respite I can offer those who have made themselves the object on which vengeance is to be exacted upon is leniency should they give up the fortress, give up control of the city and never return.
The spirits will not forget and so even your pathetic presence is intolerable this moment forth.
The next few hours will be more precious to every resident of Jalakide, not only our enemies.
Choose your actions wisely.
And those within the fortress who intend to fight – the first wave of our attack will be the proof of your obscene greed, malice and cruelty – inflicted upon you to give you a generous taste of what you loosed so benevolently upon us.”
When the spirit stopped speaking, it came closer to Sylviane: who did not look at it with as much aversion as she had.
He – or at least his words – had been a welcome prospect, even though they heralded war.
But because Sylviane adjudged every member of the government as guilty she saw the devastation to their establishment on the island as a blessing.
I wish I never have to see another official again.
she thought as the spirit stared at her and she stared back emptily.
Sylviane thought it wanted to say something to her – but could not.
After a few seconds – just when its lips seemed to move, it faded and the world spun until she was back in the treehouse.
But she had become restless by then – and could not hold the memory of it.
There were too many distractions – loud voices, ringing sounds and thuds.
She felt a hand on a her arm and her eyes flashed open, heart racing.
Gwenyth was standing over her, looking cross for some reason.
“Did you drink or something?
I’ve been trying to wake you for so long.”
Sylviane sat up groggily.
“Sorry.” she said to Gwenyth’s retreating figure and fell silent, needing some time to get used to being awake – which did not take her so long as the dream rushed to the top of her mind and she quickly sat up.
Callie was just a few feet away from her, throwing her stuff into her bag.
“The spirit came to you too?” Sylviane questioned.
“To everyone, I’d wager.” she answered.
“So we’re going now, right?” she replied in a voice of desperation and triumph.
“Sooner rather than later, I imagine.
Gwenyth and Finley are checking on it now.”
Sylviane changed into a t-shirt and shorts and quickly packed what little there was only to find that she was left all worked up with no outlet for it.
Even the very air was charged.
She could hear thunder so frequently that it almost serenaded the incessant downpour.
She imagined it had continued through from the afternoon of the day before.
And so the energy within her was directed to curiosity about how it looked outside.
It was much to her surprise that she found the streets flooded with what must have been at least a foot of water.
She could not see clearly beyond a dozen or so metres but could make out that there was increased activity in the lower levels, especially given the early hour.
Gwenyth did not take very long to return and hearing her Sylviane went back inside, giving her a questioning look that did not need any words to embellish its meaning.
“They will be running vans out of the lower levels.
The focus is on those who are in a sick or fragile condition, but it sounds like there’ll be plenty of space for you people, especially if you leave soon.”
Sylviane started to nod but she froze suddenly.
“You people?” she said in a slightly loud voice and Gwenyth looked… intimidated, almost.
She fidgeted a little and shrugged.
“Yeah… it’s just that Zander and I… and Venedir and Linny also!…
were thinking of sticking around, just until those who need to be evacuated are out of the woods.
It’s just a matter of a few hours.”
“I can’t believe t- no actually, you know what?
I don’t even have the mental bandwidth to explain to you that your efforts will yield nothing in comparison to what this entire fortress of people can do without your benevolence.” she said, gesticulating in exasperation.
Gwenyth – to her credit – did not get mad.
“Look, I’m sorry.
We’re not stopping the rest of you from going.
You’ll be perfectly safe aboard the ship – or even in the city!”
“The city that all kinds of spirits and undead will be traversing to get to this fortress!” Sylviane tried to maintain a little composure.
The feeling of being completely different had surfaced again and she could not help but think that it was her own fault.
Her driftfellows should not have to suffer through her tantrums.
She was an adult and should behave like such.
“Why would they harm anyone in the city?” Callie said.
Sylviane could only shrug.
“I just can’t take the risk…” she said earnestly.
“I also think it is very good of you all to want to help.” she added a little timidly.
“But I’m better off on the Oaty.”
“That’s okay.” Gwenyth said and turned to Callie.
“Finley wants to leave as soon as possible.
I should count you in, right?”
Callie nodded.
“Wait, I’ll come too.” said Sylviane.
“Grab your bag.
We can leave directly from the guys’ rooms.
They could be through the walls any minute now.”
Callie nodded and in a matter of seconds the two women were in the other room.
Finley was just saying goodbye to Linny and Sylviane realised it could be her last time seeing the demon.
When her turn came to say goodbye to Linny, she couldn’t help but feel a little ashamed.
Though he was more powerful than her, he was also younger and had even less to do with all of this than her.
And yet he had it in him to help.
“Take care of yourself.
You’re strong but don’t go putting yourself in too much danger.” she said and hugged him.
“I’m never in any danger.
You don’t need to worry.
I’ll try and see you three one more time if I can.” Sylviane nodded, her chin bumping into his shoulder.
“Everything will be alright.” she said – more to herself than him – as she parted from him.
“See you soon.” she said to Venedir and Zander as she walked out of their room.
Getting to the area where the vans were was a chore in itself, though the anticipation of leaving Jalakide and the island as a whole had begun cheering Sylviane up already.
Even not having umbrellas felt like a respite and even though the rain was uncomfortably cold on her skin, the happiness caused within her from the marginal increase in freedom of movement it afforded outweighed the inconveniences.
“At least now we have sufficient reasoning for our delayed arrival at Rhefalt.” Finley pointed out.
It was mutually agreed – though never verbally stated – that they were getting the best of both worlds: not having to volunteer services in a warzone and shirking off their assignment for yet another day.
The only unfortunate thing – no, in a situation like that one, there could hardly be only one unfortunate thing.
Another unfortunate thing was that the increased buffer they had been afforded due to ‘official government business’ could not be utilised a great deal.
There were no stopping points on the way.
The mining towns of Rhefalt were all obscure and buried deep in systems of caves and paths going through and around mountains and mid-hills – though they should be pleasant enough once one had completed the gruelling journey, at least in Sylviane’s imagination.
She happened to be of the opinion that any place in the whole world could be either easy to reach or pleasant to live in – but it could not be both.
If it were easy to reach, everyone – or damn near enough people – would turn up and ruin the damn thing.
Such was the tendency of their species.
She felt that the wisdom that had so naturally blossomed within her by own virtue had been imparted to a handful of higher-ups in the government who had decided to form the Faring.
They kept the places which were hard to reach for the new institution and the others for the assimilators.
Such shorthand philosophies have a way of giving a view of the world which is easily understood – though not so perfectly applicable.
But there was no philosophy – for all the useless talk and flimsy writings on the matter – that was perfectly applicable.
Might as well keep it simple so as to not strain the delicate contents of one’s earthly instrument.
They reached the plaza some time into the sixth hour, all soaked to the bone though not as irritable as they should have been.
Callie was still yawning every couple minutes and instead of being bewildered at her capacity for producing such sounds an hour after awaking, Sylviane hoped serenely that Lee would get some much needed sleep in the van.
It would take them an hour to reach port – assuming there were no detours: which were Sylviane’s biggest apprehension in that moment.
And of course they had to be realised as the driver of the van they were allocated to – a wiry woman with slicked back hair, not even a single strand out of place – said that they were going to go on a run to some human dwellings in the city to get more people out since the residents of the fortress largely seemed to have some misplaced trust in their patrons.
Since their fate was sealed, Sylviane found growing in herself the hope that the people in the old city would be smarter.
If they weren’t, Sylviane got the feeling that the driver was supposed to convince them – which was all the worse for those poor souls.
The driver was nice enough in that she was the no-nonsense type who seemed to have no patience for any falsities.
Unfortunately, that also entailed that she would be the one – two if she felt particularly gracious – honk kind of person, waiting for a minute before taking off, having revved the engine the fiftieth second onward.
Even if her client had seen two full centuries and were crossing the threshold in her peripheral sight, no part of her conscience would feel a perturbation and would even indulge in a figurative ‘thumping of one’s own back’ for their contribution to heightening the prestige of the profession.
The van had fifteen seats, excepting the ones occupied by the driftfellows and an elderly couple who had appeared in front of the van just as the driver had started the engine.
Even though Sylviane was sitting at the very back of the van, she thought she heard a sigh travelling back to her, braving the din outside for the sole purpose of warning them how pesky their to-be fellow travellers were.
In the dim white light of the van, Sylviane could not see the front clearly, but she saw the driver shooting the couple a marked look of what she imagined was condescension and loathing.
She wondered if the woman would crash the vehicle just to get some sort of vengeance upon them – or worse: take them through a long and winding route so the fortress would be fallen by the time they reached the port, rendering the exercise useless and allowing her to proceed taking them back through – if it were possible – an even more meandering path.
Sylviane resolved to jump out of the vehicle (there was a door in the back as well) upon the very first sign of such shenanigans.
At least the flooding in the city could be of use then.
Luckily for her, the driver found a new outlet for her anger in cursing the rain and resultant waterlogging – which, annoying as it was, could not defend itself and passively bore the insults.
The couple looked mildly scandalised at the colorfulness of the driver’s language – which eventually receded into grunts, groans and scoffs as the van filled with more people.
Sylviane had no sense of direction with such poor visibility and with every passing minute felt as if three had gone by.
By her count, they were three hours into the journey (halfway, essentially) when a new kind of commotion was heard – which could not be caused by a phenomenon of weather known to her.
“It’s the fighting.” she heard an old man in front mutter to his friend – both portly and slightly hunched.
Sylviane had largely tuned out by that time and processed the word fighting only enough to deem it an undesirable constitution of syllables, chucking it out the very ear it had attempted to gain entry to.
The driver was as blissfully unaware as Sylviane, having put on a pair of headphones by that time.
Callie and Finley were not so complacent and snapped to attention.
“What fighting?” said Callie.
“What world are you from?” asked the man seated on the right, turning back to face them.
“It’s not that.” she exclaimed exasperatedly.
“Whatever are they doing, fighting in the city?”
“It seems that they are using robots to attack us – god bless their soul.
And of course they seem to have gone haywire and are attacking the people of the city.” The one on the left said, waving his phone in excitement.
While Sylviane had snapped to attention by then, she could not fathom the whitebeards’ indifference (which had an almost cheery quality to it).
Is this type of thing common in their world?
She shuddered from the morbidity of it.
“How do they have access to un- robots?” said Finley incredulously.
The two men indicated that they did not know, though it was not hard to guess that it was yet another fuckup by their great government.
Sylviane had not felt a stronger urge to get off this island than she had in that moment.
By that time they had gotten close enough to the fight that it was audible over the weather.
More than that there were visible signs of destruction around them, the most apparent one a burning building just down the road which – as a silver lining of sorts – had alerted the driver to the situation.
She braked and had begun to reverse when Callie spoke.
“I can’t leave the city.
I have to get off.”
“What?” Sylviane hissed as she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.
The high and mighty concepts of nobility and altruism had made themselves known to her.
“I think my help is needed.
It’s not their fault that they are in this situation.” she said with such simplicity and earnestness that Sylviane herself was swayed for a moment.
She could not muster up a reply.
Finley slid out of his seat and stood up.
At first she thought it was to let Callie go but then she read the expression on his face.
“You have no proper weapons!” she pleaded, more for their sake than her own.
She had accepted that she was headed to the ship alone – but that did not lessen her disbelief at how one could be roused in the face of such great peril.
At least at the fortress they had protection and arms.
“We’ll have to manage.” said Finley with a grim kind of resignation.
It was only then that it struck Sylviane that his behaviour had been unusual.
For someone who did not want to leave even at Wairores – a close match of Sylviane’s in vehemence, though his efforts were poured in the direction opposite – suddenly wanted to leave hours prior.
And now, this revelation of goodwill and decency did not seem authentic, clutching it as a drowning man did the flimsiest of twigs for the simple virtue of it being the only item in the vicinity neither liquid nor gas.
But Sylviane felt too guilty to believe that rational thought should be enforced on her driftfellows.
“Take care.
Don’t go picking fights unprepared.” was all she said to them before falling back into her seat with a sigh, barely able to see the small ruckus her friends stirred up before being chucked out of the van.
Sylviane slumped down in her chair until her butt was hanging off the seat, then dragged herself along the width of the now vacant seats beside to lie down across them.
It was ironic and infuriating that sleep eluded her then, even though it was her own fault – rethinking the same thoughts, running them in an inexhaustible circle, hoping that the endless probing would allow her to break off into a tangent and be able to bring a satisfactory resolution to soothe her anxiety.
But the circle remained willfully closed and she felt like she had run for five miles when she had to strain to make herself get up and walk out of the van into the port.
Sylviane peered outside as she walked through the narrow corridor in the middle of the van , smiling a little as she saw that her days (it felt like days to her) of sloshing about in murky puddles were over.
The fighting – and any signs thereof – had long been left behind and the port was as peaceful as when they had arrived.
The fog was denser – if that was even possible – in the harbour and Sylviane had to walk slowly lest she end up injuring herself or in the water.
It was also then she realised that she had only a faint directional idea about the whereabouts of the ship, but the realisation did not occupy a space front and center.
She was mostly thinking of her driftfellows – sometimes even of the Windriders, who were all back at the fortress.
She did not know how long she had been wandering about when the outline of a familiar figure emerged.
She did not process it fully until they were a couple feet apart and her eyes focussed on the face before her.
“Xara!” she said as a smile formed on her face and she leapt into her, hugging her tightly.
“You know you’re a long ways off from the ship.
I had to come looking for you.” she said affectionately.
“I’m glad you did.
You are a welcome sight for sore eyes.”
Xara laughed.
“I can imagine.
Though I did not expect you so soon, even less that you would be alone.”
Sylviane pulled away to look at her, keeping her hands on her shoulder to prevent her from disappearing.
“You’ve been away.
A lot has happened.” I have been going through a lot.
“Yeah, I know.
The siege.” Xara said sympathetically but Sylviane’s expression told her that it was not all of it.
“What is it, Sylvie?” she asked with such tenderness and love that her eyes filled with tears of their own accord and pulled herself against her, burying her face into her shoulder.
Xara did not ask her again and merely consoled her with her touch and soothing whispers to calm the shuddering crying gasps she took in between her sobs and wails to catch her breath.
When she had recovered and steadied herself, they started walking and Sylviane started telling Xara all that had transpired.
It came to her mind that she could ask Xara to help her friends – especially Finley and Callie – in her stead.
But it did not feel right enough for the her to voice the request.
Xara did not take part in fighting nor did she want to.
It would be unfair and insensitive for Sylviane to even allude to it.
It would not ease her guilt and even create more of it.
She was relieved to reach that conclusion because she needed Xara for herself.
Besides, her driftfellows had made a conscious choice despite rational misgivings – voiced by Sylviane even though they would have surfaced intrinsically as well.
Choices and consequences.