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Ren found herself lost in the darkness of the linked wagon, her vaikal cowl removed and blade unsheathed. She ground her teeth, and her knuckles whitened as she grasped at her blade. She slowly stepped through the bedroom wagon, finding the destroyed cot and smatterings of shattered boxes tripping her up.
“So… you come.” A raspy voice whispered all around the warrior, sourceless in the shadows. “You are… brave… and foolish.”
A shattering noise caught Ren’s side, and she ducked out of the way as a crate, lobbed by the force of a whipping tendril, flew through the space her head had been moments before. Ren steadied herself again. “I will give you one chance.” She called into the shadows in her accented Dunespeech. “Release your barrier and allow me and my friends to leave.”
As Ren made her way through the inky darkness of the wagon and into the larger front chamber, she heard the bone-chilling pulse of harsh notes echo around her, arhythmic and abrasive. She stepped back, sliding herself into a defensive stance. But, as the bandit braced herself for a magical attack, she realized that the strange notes were… laughter? A broken thing, harsh and raspy. The smell of rotting fish sunk into the air, and Ren nearly gagged at the scent.
“Confident… little girl.” This voice was not echoing, but in front of her.
Ren slashed ahead, but her blade only felt the faintest resistance. A phantom hoop then yanked her leg backwards harshly. Leaning back with the assault, Ren twisted around and slashed through tendril wrapped around her leg. The swordswoman felt squirming gusts of cold air leaking out of the severed cloth as she righted herself on her feet, and she heard a distinctive gasp of pain as the sand-shifter lost another catalyst. And all the shi leva she stored inside it. Ren noticed with self-satisfaction.
“You are weakening. I will kill you.” Ren’s voice was a calm statement to the frigid shadows, but her heart pounded through her chest. “Do you accept my offer?”
The Nightmare did not respond, but the swordswoman blinked as she thought she saw… light? As Ren squinted towards it, her blade held ready by her side, the outline of the sand shifter appeared. The orange bulbs which had covered her body had blossomed into bright orange flowers, with their petals like an octopus’s beak and its sepal a ribbon-like spiral. Inside those strange flowers, a dull orange glow illuminated the once-warlock’s outline. She was kneeling on the hide floor beside the black chair, doubled over herself. Ren heard the storm begin to resume its flickering white noise outside as the Nightmare’s barrier fractured and began to fail.
The monster’s back bobbed up and down as she tried to suck in air, and looked up at Ren with angry eyes ringed by exhaustion. “I know you, criminal, doku ora!” She labeled the bandit as an escaped slave with fast, Dunespeech growls as she backed up on the floor. She spoke more clearly now, no longer needing to speak between her magic breaths. Ren tensed as she approached the glowing woman, blade by her side. “Your kind has killed many of my conclave. My brothers. My sisters. You- augh” The woman doubled over again. She trembled. “Yet, I’m afraid you will finish the job.” As the sand shifter folded back up defiantly, a deep red splotch had seeped through the cloth around her abdomen, to Ren’s surprise. She thought she had missed that strike.
Ren said nothing, but looked down at the woman, who had cold fire in her eyes. “You refuse my offer?” She asked simply.
“Ha!” A sharp burst of laughter popped the air pressure around Ren, and she braced for magical attacks that did not come. “Your kind do not know mercy.” The sand shifter declared. “Strike me. You hate me, don’t you? You hate us monsters? You hate those who captured you, who sold you, sent you through hell!”
The Nightmare’s words pulled her fears, her trauma, into the front of Ren’s mind. Ren gritted her teeth. “You don’t need to die here. Leave. Now.”
However, the haunted shadows beneath Ren’s eyes was the only response the sand shifter needed. Suddenly, the sand shifter’s face peeled through its cloth mask- the salt-battered face of a scarred pirate. “You hate me, you hate my people! And I hate you!” She lashed forwards with a bare hand, the last catalyst tendril of cloth slashing limply towards the bandit, who stepped away from it easily. The Nightmare collapsed onto her hands and knees, and coughed up crimson. Its form warbled like the air above a stove top on a cold night. “I hate you people!”
“And I hate you.” Ren admitted. “More than anything.”
“Then, strike me!” She shouted, her echoes sending a cold wave of air throughout the room, throwing papers and sand up against the walls. The tapestries flew away from the walls. They fluttered around the room like ghostly, white leaves.
Ren didn’t raise her blade, shaking her head. “This is wrong.” She finally said. “You’re throwing yourself away. Even a Nightmare should have more self-preservation than you.”
“I am a slaver.” The woman’s false, pirate face said bluntly. Her teeth were red. “I am the reason you are hunted through the desert. I have killed before!”
Ren frowned. “You weren’t looking to stop us.” She realized. “You want me to kill you. To take on your curse.” She stepped back, away from the wounded woman, and coughed out a small laugh. “You don’t deserve that honor.”
The once-warlock gritted her teeth. “NO!” She bellowed out a primal gale, and leapt forwards. Her last tendril shot forwards with incredible speed, punching into Ren’s side and knocking her into the side of the wagon’s walls, knocking away her breath. Before Ren could react, the sand shifter was over her, breathing heavily in between her loud, chanting incantations. “Ikvaro, Ignaci orea Forscita IKREAL!” Bloody froth flew from the sand shifter’s mouth as Ren felt the magic spell she wove slam into her as a crushing, cold wind.
Ren was pinned by the pressure and the bloody body of the grey warlock, as if pressed down by a solid sheet of lead. “I. Hate. You.” The sand shifter howled as she raised her arms above her head. “Fear me! FEAR ME! Sul, Ickraso!” Frosty mist escaped the sand shifter’s mouth with her words, and coalesced around her arms. With an unnatural glint of light, the icy mist condensed into a jagged dagger of black ice, its un-polished hilt cutting deeply into the warlock’s hands.
The Nightmare brought the spiteful shard of frost down on Ren’s head, but the warrior found a renewed strength. Twisting her head to the side, she felt the jagged ice slice open a small cut on her forehead, and the Zandai bandit slammed a palm into the monster’s wrist. The ice knife fell free. Ren twisted her hips and shoved from the ground with her elbows, thrusting the sand shifter away, and Ren found her own hand grasp around the bloody hilt of the ice dagger.
When the monster had leaned forwards again, her tendril wrapping up beside her head for a final strike, Ren pushed up to meet her. The pressure of the grey warlock’s spell shoved against Ren’s torso and she felt like she was sitting up with a midship anchor tied to her chest. But, a cloud of adrenaline descended, and the sword master rose, meeting the sand shifter face-to-face. The pale, bloody face twisted with surprise.
With a swift movement, Ren jabbed a palm into the Nightmare’s wounded stomach, doubling her over. As the animated tendril of cloth shot forwards, Ren slashed at the shoulder blades at the woman’s back, the icy dagger slicing through the base of the last green tendril. It wrapped loosely around Ren’s neck, but unraveled itself as the shi leva stored within it burst out, causing it to spasm uncontrollably through the air, reminding Ren of a runaway dragon kite she saw so often during Diver festivals.
The Nightmare slouched forwards onto the bandit’s side, a limp and cold body. Ren shoved her off roughly. Almost immediately, the sand shifter’s crushing wind faded away, and the icy knife began to melt away in Ren’s grasp. As Ren picked herself up, she noticed the slightest, rasping breath echoing from her. With so much shi leva gone, Ren realized. It must be difficult to breathe. But she would live, Ren knew. She would have to face the consequences of her failure as a living warrior- and Ren would be spared the potential corruption of slaying a Nightmare.
The bandit scoffed, as she picked up her blade, and the green length of tendril that she had severed at its base. She guessed it to be about three yards of green cloth with a hollow center, woven from a strange fabric with texture that reminded Ren of dried kelp or seaweed, but she noted its durability. In the dim light of the unconscious warlock’s glowing flowers, she noticed that the unusual catalyst had symbols woven in gold thread at regular intervals along its side, and realized that it may be worth more than it let on. She tied the catalyst around her waist, and stepped back to the back wagon as she felt the front wagon creak from the movement of a large creature. Looking back slightly, Ren noticed the hulking form of the Coralla mercenary Yvrik pushing through the jingling bells, muttering in his fluid language. Ren stepped swiftly through the hole in the wall and away into the sandstorm. Behind her, she was only pursued by a disbelieving bellow of anger that was soon lost to the swirling sands.
The horses of the mercenary caravan seemed suspicious, but relatively silent, when they saw the newcomers file into the cave. One clad in yellow wrappings, the rest clad in dark black cloaks, the three women pushed quickly into the makeshift stables through the fast-failing sandstorm. The cavern was small, but held a dozen of the tawny horses, tied up in a line, with basic feed and pink, Fangling water laid out in troughs before them. The bandit sisters said nothing as they slowly approached to unhitch two of the mares.
The first seemed like it would whinny or buck at the two, but a delicate hand soon found its way to the beast’s face, caressing its cheek. The desert horse’s flat face, drooping eyes, and long snout sagged drowsily as the unfamiliar woman whispered in Saraer, its melodic tone flowing through the cavern beneath the din of the sandstorm. Ren and Mi looked both with surprise as the escapee, covered in Ren’s black cloak with her long hair wrapped in a grey veil, hushed and soothed the large beast. With the woman’s soothing touch, the two Zandai girls managed to saddle the two desert horses in a matter of minutes. Then, the hearts of the three women dropped as a low, ominous warhorn sounded from inside the camp, setting the horses to a nervous chitter. The angry, wasp-like buzzing of the rousing caravanners rumbled up through the camp.
“They found the Nightmare.” Ren explained swiftly. “Let’s go!”
Though she had only hooked on one of the beast’s storm-blinders over its eyes, Mi tapped two fingers to her head, signing a Zandai agreement. She swung onto the light yellow pony she picked out for herself in a practiced motion.
Ren grunted with a sore ache as she hooped her foot through a stirrup, gracelessly yanking herself onto her larger, brown and black steed. She gingerly pulled away the wraps above her right hip, and found a nasty, green bruise that ran up into her chest. And, judging by the aches all throughout that side, she would find plenty more. Fucking warlocks. She grimaced as she thought back to the sand-shifter with the green wraps that gave her the wounds. Stupid fucking icy magic fucks.
The older bandit tensed suddenly as a heavy form pressed up onto her back, then moved only the slightest hint away. An awkward pause elapsed as Ren’s thoughts blurred, filled with the distracting buzz of the beautiful escapee’s hands resting on Ren’s hips, and her warmth pressed against her back. The woman peered over the shoulder of the paralyzed girl curiously, a hint of amusement tugging at her lips. She whispered, “Ride?”
“What?” Ren asked instinctively, realizing that Mi was already working her pony into a trot, falling away into the southern reaches of the sandstorm. Instinctively, Ren clenched her fists, frustrated with herself, then gasped and unfurled them again as she jammed her nails into the jagged cut on her palm. “Augh! Shit, fine.” She muttered angrily to herself as she prodded the desert horse forwards.
The women rode for a long while into the sandstorm, never moving faster than a soft canter, despite the lingering fear that they were being followed. Mi kept veering her small pony away from the larger steed, laying tracks and dropping a few of the more worthless baubles that she had picked up in Yvrik’s wagon, hoping to lure pursuers away from their southwards goal. But, after a short while of riding, Ren felt the strength of her mount beginning to flag under the weight of its two riders. She raised her fist beside her shoulder for a halt, and the three began to search for shelter.
The sandstorm’s oppressive roar had begun to dull, and Ren counted herself lucky when the veil of yellow and white dust began to thin away. They must have ridden into the outer reaches of Dra’angel’s hold, because as she looked around, Ren noticed the signs of the coastal state’s land around her. Previously, the white sand dunes they had ambushed their caravan from was all fine white and yellow dust, with dark orange outcroppings and salt-bored caverns poking up sporadically. As the three looked around now, the sea of sand had been replaced by loose brown dirt and splotches dark grey grasses, alongside the large deposits of gravelly sand that the storm had thrown around. Bright purple buds of raza flowers timidly popped their heads out of the spiky grass patches, and Ren spotted the grey, stone foundations of a long decayed and forgotten castle atop one of the distant hills. Mi slowly began to lead the group towards a cluster of jagged salt pillars that she thought would give enough shelter for the night, and Ren’s eyes drifted upwards habitually.
They were far from any trodden path, and the night sky above was painted with the brilliant pinks and blues of lunar clouds, a wispy, ephemeral thread floating in a cotton-like ring around the world. Stuck in-between them were the three lumpy, scarlet moons, studding the sky-ring like rubies. And just behind the flashy astral clouds and red moons, a legion of white stars awaited, ever present and reliable, watching the surface of Caldaea with a contented gaze.
“Beautiful.”
Ren looked back to see the raised chin and arched head of the woman behind her. Her face mimicked the night’s own beauty, for her eyes sparkled like the moons. She smiled widely and reached up, as far as she could, bending her wrists and straightening her arms into a full, shuddering stretch. When her arms drifted slowly back down to Ren’s hips, the woman’s face was alighted with a soundless, singing joy. A free joy.
“Yeah.” The agreement drifted autonomously from Ren’s lips. The older bandit barely managed to break her gaze from the woman in time to swerve her exhausted mount away from a jagged boulder.
The group created a small camp inside a cluster of pillars- a dozen white and yellow uneven spikes of salt rock, most which had been weathered down to haphazard columns of white stone. Mi tethered the horses to some of the more sturdy white blocks, but even those may have crumbled if the horses decided to flee. Luckily, the beasts seemed to like the relative shelter from the buffeting winds, and stayed neatly beside the semicircle. Ren and Mi habitually set about making camp.
The two pulled the meager supplies they could muster from the horses’ saddlebags and Mi’s impossibly full bandolier. The small tent consisted of little more than two haphazard windbreakers, set up using the horses’ blankets. They set no campfire. Mi had placed all the alcohol and other useful loot on a small cloth. The young bandit then set out to organize and disperse the loot as needed, though Ren noticed that her sister kept most of the black, Justic coins for herself. Once the aftermath of the day’s heist was all laid out, Mi plopped down against one of the wobbly towers of sand. She cradled an ivory canteen of fruity liquor whose syrupy scent had nearly made Ren gag. The young thief pointed to Ren, then to the lean-to tent. With a few silent gestures over her veiled eyes and head, Mi insisted she would keep watch. Ren, bruised from the fighting and riding as she was, didn’t argue.
Two curious and spooked eyes greeted Ren as she crawled into the small tent. A grey sphere of a candle dimly illuminated the tent, its flame burrowing the wax ball into a bowl. The freed woman had been sitting inside the makeshift tent for almost as long as it had been constructed, and the Zandai bandit had assumed she had fallen asleep long ago. The woman had removed her shawl from her head, and she sat cross-legged on the ground. She quickly tucked something small away, into the silk pouch she had taken from her captor’s wagon, and met Ren’s veiled gaze like a guilty child.
Ren froze a moment, then pointed to the space beside her. “May I sit?” She asked in accented Dunespeech.
The woman blinked, then nodded. “Yes.” As she spoke, the look of surprise and apprehension that had framed her round face faded. “Please, sit.”
Ren winced. Her kindness is so practiced. Though the fear drained from the ex-slave’s face, her back was still tense, and her legs were ready to flee. The position was painful for her- a fool’s mockery of relaxation.
Regardless, the older bandit forced herself to sit as well. She leaned against the salt pillar, only a hand’s length away from the tense woman. Ren forced herself to relax her posture. A moment stretched on between the two, their two breaths arrhythmically grinding against each other over the windy night. Finally, Ren pulled away the vaikal around her head and tucked it away.
Ren heard a small gasp from the woman. “Hmm?”
“You hurt?” The woman replied softly. “Your face.”
Ren gingerly felt her face, and realized she must look terrible. She could feel her right eye welling closed with a bruise, and her cheek had been cut deeply. She also knew the older scars were unnerving. They crossed across her lips and by her eye, scars from blunt impacts and one jagged slash across her nose. “Yeah.” Ren finally said. “It hurts.”
The woman looked down at her knees, dejected. “I am so sorry.” She said. “You… you are so young.”
Ren twisted her head, her eyes squinting in surprise. “What? I am not.” She said defensively. “I am a full daikun, you know- with all three island marks at that! I, uh,” Ren ruffled her short hair, which had roughly covered the tattoos on her scalp. “My hair’s grown a bit since then, but they’re honestly there.”
“Oh, sorry.” The woman smiled politely, but the misunderstanding bled into her face. “You look young. Not meant as a… a…” She shook her head. “Gio? What is the word… Yach-re. Um, Giota? No. Hapte-ze, Yariza-cho.” The woman sighed and shrugged apologetically. “Saraer is so different. I mean it is not meant a… a hurt to you. A giota.”
“An insult?” Ren offered.
The woman nodded her head as soon as she heard Ren’s first syllable. “Yes! Insult.” She agreed, absently moving the wild, long hair out of her face. “Your young is not an insult. Your color, your form, are thought as rare and beautiful.” Ren covered her mouth and broke her gaze away. “To my people, the Sar, I mean!” The woman hastily added.
Ren poorly masked her disappointment. “Oh. Thanks.” The Zandai girl began to unravel some wrappings around her joints and arms, where they had become tight. “You can call me Ren.” She said suddenly. “My sister is Mi, the girl outside. We never gave you our names, did we?”
The woman nodded. “Ren. Mi. Easy names.” She decided as she rolled them around, trying out the unusually curt Zanrush pronunciations she had heard the sisters use with each other.
She opened her mouth to speak when Ren held up her hand. “You don’t need to give me your name.” The bandit said. “You are no slave. If you want to keep your name private, then it should stay that way.” Ren smiled in what she hoped was a disarming way. “You can do what you wish now. You do not need to obey us, or follow us, though I would suggest you do so until we get back to civilization. You are free.”
The immensity of the words slowly sunk into the escapee. “Free.” To Ren’s surprise, her voice was an equal mixture of exhilaration and fear. The woman’s face dropped, and her practiced smile fell into a wide-mouthed, overwhelmed stare. This lapse lasted only a moment, though. When she spoke again, her face rose back into her neutral mask. “Then, name me Liera’ze. A name meaning, like, ‘free’.”
“Liera’ze. Alright then.” Ren liked it. “We should sleep then. It will be a few days to journey back to Dra’angel. When we are there, we’ll be safe from bounty hunters, and from Yvrik.”
Liera’ze glanced at Ren’s bruised limbs and cheeks. “It is a lot of riding.” She noted sympathetically.
The young bandit groaned. “I don’t want to think about it.” She complained, more childishly than she had intended.
Ren saw the free woman involuntarily smirk out the corner of her eye. Then, Liera-ze leaned over. With a quick puff, she blew out the candlelight, and windy darkness overtook both their senses.