The Bond - 22. Chapter 22

Ysabel and Marcus rode in their caravan through blazing heat, taking little refuge in the shaded – but stuffy – interior. The sun was shining high, and there were no clouds above the small stretch of desert that now fell outside the governance of Nabius. They were to the south of Yago Clarion’s territory, having taken a pass through the mountains that formed the lower border of Nabius into the lower provinces. Marcus’s village was in this small section of desert, built near an oasis that supposedly was placed there by the gods for them specifically. Like I believe that croc of shit, Ysabel thought. Just as she was beginning to wonder how much further they would need to venture into the wasteland, one of the few soldiers she had brought with her cried for halt, and the caravan door was opened for her to descend out of. Finally.

She stepped out onto the cracked ground and took the site before her in. Three enormous houses made of clay and straw… the one in the center must be their congregation point or chief’s – leader’s? I don’t know the term – home. And smaller straw huts all around, with the order of an army. All straight rows, front facing… I like it. She began to walk towards where a crowd was forming, on the edge of a small pool that glittered clear in the bright light. Ysbael couldn’t resist squinting and putting a hand above her eyes in an effort to block the sun – she noticed some of the tribesmen and women halfheartedly doing the same, as if they were thinking she was preforming a salute of greeting. Funny.

Marcus walked beside her, rigid and glowering as always. “General Clarion, they await your introduction.”

Ah, right. Marcus said that the speakers for villages here greet another with distinctive war cries. I’m not exactly in a screaming mood, but hopefully this will suffice. It works for my own people in battle, after all. She let out a long whistle, high-pitched and extremely loud. Almost at once the tribe members formed ranks, turning what looked like an ordinary village life scene into the quiet semblance of an army. Discipline.

A gruff yell that went up in pitch and then back down to lower than it was at origin came from the large, central building, and out stepped a warrior dressed in lavish silks. He was beaded and pierced all over, and Ysabel knew that this was the authority figure.

“That is Skorpa,” said Marcus. “He is king here, and the most revered by our gods in this land.” Ysabel noticed that all of the people there had turned 180 degrees simultaneously to face this leader, and their backs were now to her. Where there was skin exposed, she could see the odd, melted formation of scar tissue that fire leaves on the human body. Like Marcus, many warriors were covered in drooping, misplaced areas of flesh.

Revered, she thought, more like gluttons for suffering. While Ysabel agreed that there was practicality in ensuring a soldier could withstand pain, she wasn’t sure deep-seated nerve damage was the answer.

“Hello,” said Skorpa in the standard tongue. “And welcome to our humble home.” He smiled, and Ysabel fought the urge to recoil. His teeth were white, but it took Ysabel a moment to understand why she could see so many of them. Skorpa’s face seemed to be missing its cheeks; large rings held open circles on both sides of his mouth, and she could see almost his entire tooth structure plainly.

“It’s a great honor to be received here,” Ysabel said back politely. “You must be Skorpa; my name is Ysabel Clarion.” Ysabel tried her best to appear gracious and demure, but was quite sure she probably didn’t look that way.

“We are fully aware of who you are, General. We’ve been very excited to meet you.” As he approached closer, Ysabel noticed that the warlord was wearing a necklace made of human ears. She also saw that some of the embellishment on his outfit was comprised of teeth and bone, which she presumed also to be human.

“Have you?” She asked coyly. “Well, Marcus has told me all about you. I’m very interested in the history of your tribe, and your warriors. I think we might both find – “

Ouch, Ysabel thought, as Skorpa cut her off by grabbing ahold of her forearm and yanking her forward to walk with him. It made the demon flare up inside her, and rage began to creep its way into her mind. He’s lucky we don’t cut his fucking arm off for that.

“I suppose diplomacy is over,” she said starkly, almost with a hiss. Skorpa let out a cackle as he drug her on, towards the larger building.

“We can talk later. Now, we feast.” Ysabel looked at Marcus who was following behind her, and he nodded.

It must be their custom.

“I see,” she said. “If you insist.”

“The test,” he muttered, almost to himself. When they crossed through the entryway of the main building, his words began to echo. At first she thought they must be in a large open chamber, but she quickly realized that there were more people inside. They walked between two crowds of elders, men to the right and women on the left. These elders seemed to bubble with excitement, whispering “the test” over and over. Their accents suggested less of a command of the common tongue than Skorpa’s, but evidently this was something that caused commotion. “This way,” he yanked on, as they walked towards a massive table at the opposite end of the banquet hut. It reminded her vaguely of a Nabian reception hall, with a large table for the nobles at the head of the hall, and other smaller sitting areas and tables strewn about the rest of the room. This made her feel more comfortable, and she was glad to have some notion of familiarity in this new culture.

At least there are some semblances of civilization here… it’s actually quite a nice arrangement as well. This food looks like a real cook prepared it. She scanned the table, finding many dishes she recognized, and many she did not. And the centerpiece… what… Ysabel held her breath for a moment and paused briefly when she realized what it was. This made Skorpa yank on her to continue, keeping his iron grip around her forearm. Interesting, she thought, hesitantly. How beautiful, whispered the demon, eagerly.

On the center of the table was a headless human body, with the flesh opened up and peeled back towards the table. Bone and ligament was pinned down with sharp stakes to reveal the insides plainly, and bowls containing dishes that Ysabel could only assume were made with organs in their corresponding locations filled the carcass. The skin was lighter than the people of this region, cluing that it must have come from Tomacia, Nabius, or Ironia.

“We sit,” said Skorpa, leading her around to the other side of the table. She was in a large chair that sat next to Skorpa’s throne, at the center of the table. Marcus was next to her, and several dignitaries of the tribe filled the rest of the seats. Skorpa finally let go, and her claws sprang forward unintentionally. The warlord looked down at them, laughed, and called for silence.

“My people, this is General Ysabel Clarion, from Nabius.” The guests all shouted in a singular syllable foreign to Ysabel. She assumed it must have been an acknowledgement.

I wonder where the head is? She thought while glancing down at the table before her.

“She comes asking us to fight for her – this, we know.” Ysabel looked over at him and then at Marcus, wondering what exactly he had said. “And this, I know,” Skorpa continued on. “It is always our duty to serve the gods. One living goddess already honors us. Karna is known to us all, and she has been merciful in providing us children, relief, and comfort in the aftermath of war.” Ysabel raised her eyebrows at this, looking towards where Skorpa had gestured with his left hand. To his other side sat a young woman who was entirely naked, save some jewelry and intricate scars that seemed placed on her body to emphasize the breasts. Ysabel had assumed she was his concubine or wife, but apparently she was a living goddess.

She must be very good in bed to have him thinking that. Ysabel resisted rolling her eyes. Good for her. At the mention of Karna’s name, the people cheered and murmured with raised glasses in agreement, and Skorpa waited until the noise died down to continue. “Today, should our Marcus be correct, we are blessed beyond measure.” The crowd began to hush and buzz excitedly once more, and Ysabel felt eyes on her.

“General Ysabel Clarion is said to be the Goddess Nymeria made flesh once again!” Skorpa shouted proudly. “And Marcus has found her for our glory!” Ysabel whipped her head around to face her captain, instantly on high alert. While the people below her were near celebrating and were talking excitedly in a language she did not understand, she hissed at him.

“What did you tell them?” Marcus raised a hand to calm her, looked her in the eyes, and nodded. He was signaling for her to trust him, and Ysabel sat back a bit more cautiously.

“General Clarion,” said Skorpa, now facing her. “If we find that you are indeed our goddess alive, it will be our honor to follow you. For a goddess never truly leads her people to doom.” Ysabel smiled, feeling stupid for not having any faint notion of knowing what to do.

“I… Yes. That’s… good to hear.” Skorpa cocked an eyebrow, but turned back to face the villagers, who almost all had now congregated into the great house.

“We may now begin the test.” The crowd instantly hushed, and a young girl stepped out from the crowd carrying an ornate platter on top of which sat a human head.

“I suppose that answers that question,” Ysabel muttered dryly to herself.

“Come,” Skorpa urged the girl forward. He lifted the platter with the head from her smaller hands, and turned it to face Ysabel.

Huh. He was Tomacian.

“Inside is the lifeblood of our people and our deities.” He nodded down towards the top of the head, which Ysabel could see had been hollowed out and formed into what amounted to a goblet. Inside was what looked like a mixture of blood and wine.

Lovely.

“The test,” he said again. “One sip, and we will know.” Ysabel paused, looking doubtfully at the warlord, and then at Marcus.

“You want me to drink that?”
“You must,” spoke Marcus. His soft tone of voice told Ysabel that she didn’t really have a choice, and she was quite sure that her visit might end badly if she refused to do what Skorpa said. She sighed, and grabbed the head off of its tray with both bladed hands.

Fuck it. I’ve probably done worse. She lifted the fleshy cup to her lips, and took a long, straight-faced swig. After swallowing she took a breath, trying not to gasp but still reveling in the awful taste that coated the inside of her mouth. Vile. She set the head down on the table, and looked up to see all eyes on her in hushed silence. No one was reacting for the most part, and she felt a small prick of concern. Did I…. do something wrong?

All at once, Ysabel felt herself lose control of her body entirely, giving way to the control of the demon. My turn now, it laughed, while using her throat to scream out and her arms and legs to leap across the table. Her right claw slammed into the gut of the girl who had just presented her the head with all five blades, and she lifted the body above her head before throwing it down hard onto the dirt floor. All at once, her every instinct was heightened and she saw red. A throat was opened with a simple slap of her left and, and a man’s chest was punctured with a dart of her right. She was weaving her way through the crowd, slaughtering villagers all while the demon shouted profanity and spewed its disgusting thoughts. It took three men on each side of her to eventually get her to stop, though the demon wouldn’t stop sputtering out nonsense and raging noisily while they stilled her. Ysabel felt panic, and was completely unable to control her own body. She felt as if she were an onlooker in the back of someone else’s mind, restrained and unable to affect the situation in front of her.

What is this? I’ve lost control before, but never been completely helpless.

This is my body now bitch, said the demon.

Ysabel wanted to recoil with fear, but couldn’t do anything. The demon fought and struggled with the men holding on to each of her limbs, until it finally focused on the man looming above her.

“Finally,” said Skorpa with palpable glee. “You are back.” He almost looked as if he were going to cry with joy, taking in every inch of Ysabel’s face. Eventually he turned to face the people, who seemed entirely undisturbed by the loss of their fellow clansmen. “My people,” Skorpa addressed, “Nymeria is back. We fight with her to the end!”

***

Carl sat atop his horse exhausted, annoyed, and covered in grime. He had ridden hard at the head of Tomacia’s royal army, pushing both himself and his soldiers to make it to General Dmitri Orr’s border in a timely fashion. The road back to Nabius hadn’t been hard from the capitol, and General Laura Nandra had guaranteed their passage back. Into the country and through her lands The long trek across Elsa Torne’s territory was a different case, however. Nothing but fields and farmhouses, Carl mused.

Though Elsa Torne was arguably one of the more powerful generals in that she controlled the Capitol, her territory didn’t boast much after that. There was no shelter for the sun or forests to camp in, and hunting on the road was limited to the field creatures that roamed the farms outside of the city. Since Carl felt that it would probably be wise not to march the Tomacian army through a very divided, large, dangerous city, he and his companions were forced to travel the entire length of the central territory without much help in the way of resources.

Though I don’t blame her, no one could. For some reason, Carl felt confident that Elsa Torne was a reliable ally. She was always kind to us and seemed to be onboard with the cause. Now that I think about it, she actually really does seem to be less violent than the other Nabian generals. He thought to how she had only brought a couple of close guards to the summit that Alex had called for, and how she had never sent troops to either Tomacian or Ironian warzones. I mean I’m sure she sees her fair share of violence behind closed doors, running the Capitol and all… but still. Compared to someone like Ysabel, or even Alex…

He looked behind him on the massive parade of people that followed behind him, and sighed. Unfortunately that means she doesn’t have much to contribute now though. Elsa Torne had only sent 27 soldiers to head south, keeping her remaining 33 to keep the peace within the Capitol. Carl had been running numbers all day while he rode, and did so again.

Okay, okay, lets break it down. My army, minus those kept on the Tomacian front. Alexandre’s army. Devan Di Coteau’s, Laura Nandra’s, and the 150 men that Damien had sent. Wish he could have contributed more, but that’s what you get when they all rebel and you have to have your sister in law demolish your own men… what a poor excuse. Anyway. The 27 from Torne, and… and that’s it. Okay, not bad, not bad. And on their side… full armies from Generals Orr, Davora, La Croix, and Lafeye. At the moment, that’s about four fully-fledged armies versus another four. If approximately the same number of rebel Nabians were left to fight with the Tomacians that I had to leave to defend our borders… He frowned, not exactly liking that they were near even. And that doesn’t include if Giovanni Nandra decides to break his word and fight against us, or if Yago Clarion decides to join in. Carl didn’t know what Ysabel’s brother had in the way of an army, but then again neither did anyone. Yago Clarion had an extensive system of tunnels, mining shafts, and mountain paths and fortresses at the south of his territory. The generals that had occupied his territory before him had always used them to conceal their strength by setting up encampments there, and Yago was no different. Carl only prayed that Yago would not go into war against his nephew, but he doubted that it was completely out of the realm of possibility. Latest scouting reports and correspondence with Alexandre had indicated that Yago was still perched at home, but Carl dreaded the moment that might no longer be true. He turned to his right, where Laura and Almanita Nandra rode beside him.

“General, are you absolutely positive that – “

“Yes I’m damn sure,” snapped the older woman. Her hair was tied into a tight gray bun, and the wear of the journey was beginning to show on her as well. She and her army had joined Carl’s at the crossing of the pike, and the two banners had traveled side by side the entire way south thus far. Everyone in Nabius knew about the symbolic march by now, and it made the war all the more real for Carl. “Giovanni would never raise arms against me, his own sister. Besides, it’s not a cause he’s passionate about anyway. The only war he’s profited on has been the one with Ironia – he wouldn’t give two hoots if Tomacia up and floated off of the continent. Now stop asking boy, or I’m turning my army around and marching my ass home.” Her voice was gruff and impatient but reassuring in its grumpy determination. Carl smiled, making eye contact with General Nandra’s wife. Laura’s crankiness was endearing to him, and Almanita seemed to feel the same.

Okay, okay. So no Giovanni to worry about. I just… still. I hope that Alex has some tricks up his sleeve. He hung his head, exhausted, and ready to be comforted by the consolidation of the four armies. Maybe once I get a look at them all together, I’ll feel better.

Not half an hour later, Carl saw the Di Coteau banners rising above tents, makeshift stables, and rows of people. The tents were all red and black, and the order within the camp on the field before him suggested one thing to him.

Alex.

***

Jared Coyne felt awkward in the colors of Nabius. He had been constantly looking himself over, feeling that the greys, silvers, blacks, and reds he wore were too noticeable, or too different, or stood out to much against his lanky Ironian frame and shock of golden hair. But I’ve been assured they were pulled from a Nabian nobleman’s wardrobe, and are consistent with the fashions of modern Nabius… ha. Fashion. In Nabius? He had to admit that Nabians weren’t known for their superb choice in garb, as they namely only dressed up to show off or exert power. When it came to armor and battle-wear, they always just went with what worked for them on an individual basis. There’s something smart about that, but I think I’d prefer a regular suit of armor. Jared felt unprotected in his suit of scale, boiled leather, and chainmail. Whatever works.

He had successfully made his way through the territories of Marie Lafeye and Giovanni Nandra, and was now in Elsa Torne’s jurisdiction. His companions were two females, of entirely unknown origin. His cousin Marion had said to trust them as if they were his sisters, but somehow that just made Jared even more cautious.

“At least it hasn’t been a bad four days,” Jared said, trying to make small talk.

“Indeed,” said one of the girls. He called her ‘Tall’ internally – the other one was called ‘Short.’

Not much of a talker, are ya Tall? He sighed, and rode onwards silently. In the first three days, neither girl said a word to him save the essentials. They spoke to each other occasionally, always referring to one another as “sister.” He got the distinct impression that they were not actually sisters, which made their interactions all the more puzzling. The previous night, he was made aware for certain that they weren’t sisters. In the middle of the night, Short had wordlessly come to his sleeping sack and dropped all of her clothes. She mounted him, and Jared didn’t complain. At least she was a good lay, and it felt good to be buried inside a woman for a little while. Only when he had thrown his head back in the final moments of pleasure did he realize that Tall had been watching them, silently pleasuring herself to the viewing. He had tried to make conversation with them the morning after, but they continued on as if nothing had happened.

Very ‘duty first’ kinds of gals. I guess not opposed to fun on the side, but I really wish Marion had chosen more conversational traveling companions.

“This is as far as we go,” said Short suddenly, stopping her horse. Tall had stopped as well, and Jared had walked on just a couple of feet in front of them.

“Wha – what? I thought you two were supposed to get me into the Nabian army?”

“We’ve done our work. Your clothes and horse will allow you to blend in as the four armies under Di Cotaeau converge. We will inform our sister Marion that we have done what she has asked,” said Tall.

Sister Marion? What does that mean? The two women began to turn around, clearly no longer interested in Jared’s wellbeing.

“Um… okay? Bye! I guess.” He got no reaction, and turned around as well.

So fucking weird. He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. He could hear the faint rustlings of camp life on the wind, realizing that this must be what his escorts had heard as well. I guess they did get me all the way to the brink of battle… I can do this. His horse sauntered on, and the distinctive sounds of an army preparing itself for war became clearer and clearer. Yes, I can do this.

By the time he saw the first banners, Jared knew that he would have no trouble assimilating into the army. He saw the banners of Alexandre Di Coteau, Laura Nandra, and Devan Di Coteau; but only one for General Elsa Torne and just a few for Damien Di Coteau. Where is Ysabel Clarion’s army? He shrugged, and began to make his way in.

Your clock is ticking, Alexandre.