apassingafternoon | Don't Leave Home

Don't Leave Home

The day before Claude had shown up at the doorstep Nariko had been something of a mess. It was true that she had always been a mess, had been since her grandmother died, since the feeling of being abandoned had begun to eat away at her in a manner that Kaine couldn't do anything about. After all, Nariko didn't feel abandoned by her best friend, and Nariko wasn't here to confirm what was happening. In a sense Kaine didn't need it. They'd had an extra day, she had the morning with Bert to let him sleep in a little while before people came looking for him and he needed to be woken up. She took her place just behind, beside him, and tried to do her best.

But that feeling of being a mess, of something bad coming this way had been unbearable. It had forced her to make sure that Yonah was fed, all of her things were gathered up into one big bag and ... She found somewhere to hide her. It was off in lower town with Eunyce, Kaine had argued with her often but in this they seemed to be of the same mind. If something terrible happened Eunyce would take the baby back and run to Arcadia, if everything panned out Eunyce would come back with Yonah and they would figure out some way to move forward. Of course the younger cousin hadn't enjoyed the idea of leaving her family alone on the battlefield, especially with her skills, Eunyce had agreed. Though Kaine didn't feel right saying it out loud they both knew that baby was important to the one person they had in common. She was worth protecting above all else.

As the beating started up Kaine found herself relieved that soon Eunyce would be gone with baby Yonah who, despite how much she tried to avoid it, instantly reminded her of Nariko.

Kaine didn't know these people, didn't know Farson, the history, the need to fight this until the last instant.

She knew she wanted to live above everything else, and that she needed to find Bert.

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Cuthbert smiled, hard and sharp, and rested back against the wall, pausing in his barrage just long enough to break off the arrow still sticking out of his belly. It was getting in the way, and he was too pumped with adrenaline to really feel it. Besides, it wasn't like he expected to live long enough for it to get infected.

Up on the wall, Alain sounded the horn again to signal the second wave. Cuthbert hooted like a boy at play, laughing, and went right back to firing. "Come on, you maggots! Fatherless sons of bitches! Come choke on it!"

One eye, though, was always on Kaine, keeping careful watch for the moment her strength failed her. That distraction was, in all probability, part of the reason he didn't dodge in time to avoid the swipe of a knife across his face. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he drew his gun in one smooth motion, firing point-blank through his attacker's chest, and laughed. "That the best you've got?"

She didn't notice at first. There should have been some romantic instinct that went off in her, an indication that he was hurt and in pain and she needed to help. But there wasn't. This time she pushed herself longer and harder, was stronger for it. The moment she left this again it would hurt, her bones might snap under invisible weight and she might give a terribly human scream, but that wouldn't be enough to stop her. Nothing would.

After ripping something in two, and impaling another five on a spear she turned and caught sight of him, felt the tinge of blood in the air. Which was a funny thing because if there was one constant of war it was blood, everyone's, hers. But she knew Cuthbert's, somehow, and that was a vaguely terrifying new ability.

With another one of those howls she cleared out those nearest to him just to be careful. Without reverting to normal Kaine pushed her hand into his chest so hard that it threatened to slam him back into the wall. Losing the arrow in his stomach and even regaining his eyesight wouldn't feel good, it had been described as hot liquid being seared onto muscle, but at least it would fix him. It would also give her the exact same wounds, a transfer rather than a real miracle, but it was better than nothing.

Cuthbert let out a choked little cry at the sudden, unexpected agony, almost dropping his weapons. Up on the ramparts, Alain took a half-step back, paling as he hadn't throughout the rest of the battle, and had to force himself to focus again.

Staggering back, Bert blinked, put his hand to the wound no longer on his stomach. For a moment, pure relief thundered through him - he was only human, after all, and he didn't want to die that way, gutshot like a poorly-butchered animal. But then he saw the wound on her, and he cried out again, this time in anger.

"Don't you dare, Kaine! Don't you dare!"

She couldn't see. She blinked, tossed her head but the process of it couldn't be sped up any. It would just take a few seconds for her to be able to see again, to make up for what he had dealt with, but she would be fine. It was difficult to tell if he understood that, or if he was just angry at her for the act of it in general. Really, what else had he expected?

There was no speaking like this and Kaine wouldn't risk going back to normal yet. She shook her head at Bert and motioned to the fight around them. Pay attention. She had already gone through all this goddamned trouble, was he really going to insist on wasting her effort?

Probably.

She turned and went right back to it even as her body chugged along, failed to clear up her vision or the ache in her stomach. But it didn't matter. She had resigned herself to his anger and her own death, because he didn't get to do that on his own. That wasn't being maybe-heroes together.

There was a kind of resentment in his eyes, but he did as he was told, turning back to the battle, his slingshot back in his hands. But his attention didn't entirely leave her, even then. As before, he kept her in his periphery, for all that Cort's voice was shouting at him for it.

Given just how frustrated he was, though - with her, with Roland, with this whole bloody mess - it was satisfying beyond belief to fall back into that oasis of calm fury that was being a gunslinger at war. His attention slid away from her, and he fought as he had before - fiercely, and gracefully, and with no thought to anything else.

If resentment was the last of what he felt for her before she died then it only meant her plan worked. Kaine went on for as long as she could, suffered shots and stabbings and arrows, but didn't give in until she was forced to. Again, and for the final time, she returned to normal. Her body felt feverish and angry, ready to collapse on itself and the only reason she stood was determination. A nap wouldn't have been so bad.

She had eliminated maybe ... Maybe just a third of them or so this whole time? God, that was so fucking insane. If she'd had her sword, if Nariko was here, they could have had knocked out half of these fucks. But Nariko wasn't here. Roland wasn't here. It was just them, just Kaine, who was suddenly very afraid of dying, if such a thing was even possible for her. Despite how little sense it made she tried to look for Alain. She didn't know what the fuck the Touch was, if it was mind reading or not, if it was something else entirely, but he had said it best: Everyone was just doing what they had to. But if he could keep Bert alive, if he could just tell Roland and Nariko to stop being so fucking stupid and love each other, then that was all she really needed. Why hadn't she thought to tell him all of that before?

Oh, well.

Kaine vomitted black ooze and felt her bones before she heard it. Her skin shifted unnaturally, lengthened in a way it shouldn't have until her human body became an amorphous thing that eventually burst into tiny black pieces. Those same pieces hung in the air like black snow before they converged inward, swirled, and formed the massive, unmistakable frame of a Spectre far larger than any one that Claude could have ever summoned or even dreamed up.

There was no howling like a banshee, she - it - roared, raising arms the wide of Gilead as a whole up into the air in some thing that could have been mistaken for a war cry. In reality it was nothing but pain, pain, and more pain on top. It stomped forward, crushing everything, bending down awkwardly and opening a gaping maw to close around anyone who couldn't run away fast enough.

Kaine was gone, and that was why Alain needed to take everyone who mattered and run. They could win a war but they couldn't handle this.

Cuthbert watched all this with an equanimity which seemed frankly impossible. Admittedly, that was mostly because he didn't have many options. Even without an arrow in his belly, he was in no state to run, and fighting hardly seemed like an option in this case.

Instead, tucking his slingshot back into his belt, he shouted back over his shoulder, "Fall back! Back to the inner walls!"

And that left him, and the dead. And even then, he laughed, on the edge of hysteria. Of all the ways he'd expected to die today, this hadn't even made the list.

"Come-commala ka," he said again, under his breath, and started to hobble towards the Spectre, or rather towards the routing army beyond it. There was still work to do.

Alain didn't run, either - but nor did he stop to stare. He'd felt a sharp twinge of what was about to happen, and with it, the places had fallen into place.

He hadn't known why he'd brought the book with him. It hadn't been a conscious thought; it had been a passing gut feeling, but he'd learnt long ago to trust those. And so there it was, buried in his pack behind the wall, wrapped in oilcloth and carefully stored. He cursed himself for being so careful now... and yet it seemed to jump into his hand as easily as his guns did, and just as drawing his guns did, opening the book made everything else fall away, not gone but distant. He had time. There was always time.

"Cry pardon, Bert," he said quietly, and began to read. He'd cautioned Kaine against saving Bert, said she didn't know what it would cost him. Well, nobody knew what it would cost more than Alain did. But their tet had always been destined to break today. Jamie's cold body was proof of that. Let it be in anger, if it had to be. Only let something of it survive.

That was what he was thinking, heart and soul, as he aimed the spell at them both. Pull Kaine away, take her home, hope she would be reborn. But leave Bert here to die? Now that it came to it, he couldn't.

He'd never felt magic like this before. It wasn't the Touch, wasn't even the Prim-strength of Marten or the orb. This was something older and more delicate, something that wove with him and responded to him, not with brute force and strength, but with an echo of himself that seemed to grow stronger, until it was the voice and he the echo.

He wouldn't remember it afterwards, and wouldn't have understood it if he had, but the last thought to go through his mind before he pitched forward, letting the darkness take him, was It sounds like roses.

Mystic was very aptly named. It was a village made of trees, where people created their homes by gutting out the base of immense, thick trees. The very small town with a population no greater than fifty people was constantly blanketed in a thick mist, the only phenomena that preceded the trees. It was a strange place to be absolutely sure, but all together benign. Many would have considered Alain and Cuthbert lucky to be found by someone as open-minded and giving as Trish. She had found the door in the middle of town and helpfully taken them back to her house.

So that was where they would wake. They had to share a bed because Trish lived alone and was unmarried, but it was comfortable and their weapons were near. Far as she could have said they were unharmed, just in great need of sleep. And that was just fine with her, it was the middle of the day and she hardly needed sleep, so she waited nearby, in her chair with her stitching in her lap in a small little home with no walls, that existed in a tree.

Not quite like a rose but better than nothing at all.

Bert woke first, with a great gasp of air, and reached automatically for his slingshot. The second it took him to realise it wasn't there, and to locate it on the table nearby, was just long enough for him to come the rest of the way to his senses.

He looked around, wide-eyed; saw Alain beside him and a stranger in the chair; saw a building that wasn't a building, in mists that hid the horizon. And, really, there was only one conclusion.

"...Some poor excuse for a Clearing. Where's Jamie?"

"Clearing?" Trish didn't stand just yet, but her hands paused mid-thread as she looked at him. Well, Ashley had been right - he was even prettier when alive and moving around. "Unless this 'Jamie' is the one next to you, then I wouldn't know any. There was only you two and the woman. I hate to say, it's usually the upstream folk who get the new residents. Where are you from?"

Or 'when' might be a more appropriate question.

"The woman? Kaine..." Cuthbert rolled himself out of bed, looking back at Alain, then at the woman in front of him, then back at Alain again. When he turned back to the woman, it was after he'd taken a deep breath and calmed himself down a little.

"He's Alain. I'm Cuthbert. Both of Gilead, though after today, I can't believe there's much of Gilead left." He felt a little better when he'd retrieved his guns and slingshot, buckling them back onto his hips. "And now you have the advantage of as both, so I cry you, tell me where is seven hells this is, if not the Clearing? Are we dead, or not?"

Trish was suddenly grateful that they hardly saw anyone from the outside, though maybe not all of them were so easily confused. Granted, it all made much more sense when he asked if he was dead or not. "Dead individuals do show up here, but I'd say neither of you fit the bill. The dead bleed black and feel cold, after all."

With that out of the way she freed her hands from the busy work and waved one in a simple, unambitious greeting. "Pleased to meet you, Cuthbert. You're in the Forest Town called Mystic, East of Arpagio. The woman seemed quite familiar with this place when she wasn't cursing up a storm and crying, said she was 'home', but I don't think I've ever seen a person so upset to return home."

So this was the world Kaine was from. Cuthbert wondered at it, but how they'd got there, what it meant, what had happened... all that was subsumed by the much more important question.

"Where is she now?" As he spoke, Cuthbert was taking stock of himself. His leg still ached a little, but it wasn't broken any more, or even splinted. That was a wonder, but mostly just a relief. His ribs, likewise, didn't hurt as they had, and none of the injuries he'd borne in the fight, even the minor ones, remained. All that was left was a dull, pulsing ache in his head. He could live with that.

He could, apparently, live.

"Couldn't say. Elder Johnson threw her out when we all found you." She said this amicably, as if it was perfectly normal to pick and choose who might receive help. "That was only an hour ago, probably didn't get far if you're set on catching her." But Trish's feelings on the matter were broadcasted clear as day: That Cuthbert might go after her just seemed plain wrong.

"You really should be careful, though, her kind are dangerous. I know she looks normal, but that's only a trick."

"We've seen how dangerous she can be, thankee-sai." Alain's voice was low and still muffled by sleep. Pushing himself up on his elbows, he put his hand to his head and cracked one eye open. He looked less baffled than Bert, but still thoroughly surprised, and it was written clearly on his broad features. He hadn't expected this. Many things, but not this. He hadn't expected to wake up at all, and he certainly hadn't expected it to be in the same place as Bert. That wasn't what he'd thought the spell would do.

But Bert was alive, and the clinging dread of ka-shume was gone. All that was left now was the tired, aching kind of grief that was starting to set in as he realised, slowly, that Jamie was dead and Gilead lost. That explained why, when he finally opened his eyes properly, there were tears in them, and his voice was husky.

"Bert. She needs you. And then we need to go and find Roland." He swallowed, his throat tight, his mouth dry. "That's why I sent you here, after all."

"Then you should know to stay away. Bad enough to deal with Spectres at all, worse to know that a halfling exists." The word abomination practically begged to be spoken off of her tongue but she held it back. No matter how much sense it made it was clear enough to Trish that they were determined, that they'd go after that woman. "I'm sorry but you can't bring her back here, and Elder Johnson won't take to letting you stay very long if he finds that you are friends with her."

Another unspoken but still well meant warning, as if dissuading them from being friends with her would be so easy and simple.

Regardless of Trish and her words the very book that brought them to a new world pulsed with recognition and warmth. It disappeared from its place on the bedside table, and dropped near Alain, missing his head by a little half inch.

"I don't think we planned to stay very long anyroad, thankee." Bert's voice had cooled noticeably, and there was a hard determination in his eyes, but he nodded to her with at least a veneer of courtesy, turning to Alain. "What do you mean, you sent me here? It's your fault we're here?"

"Maybe you'd rather I'd let her destroy everything?" There was an acerbic edge to Alain's voice, which was perhaps unsurprising, given the situation. Sitting up, he reached over with some caution to pick up Maggie's book, only a little surprised to find it there. "She would have died, and so would you, Bert. Along with the rest of us. I figured sending her home might save her, and us from her. And someone had to tell Roland what happened." He rubbed the side of his head again, leaving his blonde hair in short, dirty spikes. "My being here wasn't part of the plan, I'll admit. I guess ka had its own ideas." Then, with a little frown, "Ka or this book."

Rubbing his eyes, he swung his legs down off the side of the bed, giving Trish an apologetic little smile. "You'll have to forgive us, sai. We've had a... trying day. Bert, if I were you, I'd move to catch up to sai Kaine before she gets too far. I'll find out what I can about this place." He winced a little. "Once my head stops feeling quite so like to explode like a rotten shell."

"It's nothing to me." And it really wasn't. Watching them was a lot like observing a new kind of animal, though it did visibly distress her to know that they wouldn't be around for too long. "I doubt you should be moving much at all, really, if you need to know anything you're free to know it from me. We aren't a big place, the knowledge would be the same."

To Bert she tilted her head at the little arched door, made up mismatched wood and a bright, silver knob. "We've only one way out and in to our Mystic, from there it's a straight shot. With the weather being as it is I doubt she's made it far." It still seemed foolish for him to go at all but if anyone knew better than to fight with stubborn men it was certainly Trish.

When Bert had thanked her (rather curtly) and left, Alain rubbed his temple gingerly and reached over to retrieve his own guns, buckling them on in silence. Now that he wasn't arguing with Bert, he had fallen back into his usual patterns, taking a while to consider what he said before he said it.

"I fear I slept through the part of the conversation where you told us your name," he said at last, sounding genuinely apologetic. "But whoever you may be, sai, thankee for your hospitality. I hope we haven't imposed."

"Not at all, and you shouldn't fault yourself for my bad manners. Trish Johnson is my name, the town Elder's daughter, as you might have surmised. We hardly see drop ins of our own but most everyone here is kind." Most.

Setting her busy work aside Trish finally stood. Her small, petite frame didn't take up much of the little home but her presence was unavoidable all the same. Very gently and cautiously she laid a hand on Alain's shoulder. "You should rest, you and your brother-folk, the weather won't clear any faster, and Arpagio won't be up and move itself."

"I can see you've never tried to make Cuthbert rest when he doesn't want to," Alain said, with a tired smile. He looked exhausted, pale and wan, dark circles under his eyes. "As for me, I'll speak you honest, sai Johnson: I'd sooner not sleep, and if I stay still too long in this state, then sleep I will."

And sleep, he thought, would bring bitter dreams with it. He was sensitive, more than most, to the bonds of ka-tet, and losing Jamie had felt like having his heartstrings broken. It still ached, that dull emptiness where Jamie's life should have been. He didn't want to dream, not now.

"Then do not sleep, but stay in bed." Which he obviously wouldn't do, judging by the weapons he put around his hips. "You talk about Cuthbert as if he is the only stubborn one of your pair." She noted this dully, and looked down at him with muted hazel eyes that were both knowing and mildly exasperated. "There are things that can keep you awake, or things that keep you from dreaming, the body needs what it needs for a reason."

Her eyes slipped over to the book, which seemed intent on keeping itself near Alain like a protective companion. "... Magic like that will wear out the soul if you don't mind it properly."

Alain nodded slowly, looking down at the book. "Most magics will, from what I've heard," he said at last, tracing one fingertip over the book's spine. "I kennit, but I thankee for the caution. I'm more frightened of it wearing out my conscience."

Because it had been... exhilarating, when he thought of it. Knowing that he had that kind of power. It made it a great deal easier to see how people like Marten or Rhea came to be as they were, and that frightened him. He'd rather it killed him than led him down that path.

Sighing, he set the book aside, settling back on the bed. "As for stubborn, it's a hard habit to break, and one we've all fallen into of late. But again, thankee."

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