Hubris - 46. Caemyth

When they awoke, stiff but well rested, Crowe had hoped they would find that the refugees had done the smart thing and moved on ahead of them. You already lost your daughter once. Do not squander the second chance you have been given. Not for me. Naturally Monad's kindness only went so far. The refugees were still there and seemed to have recovered from their crisis. And they were trundling up the coast having formed a sort of train. Gone was the shroud of terror that enclosed them the night before. Broad grins were plastered on faces thinned by starvation and pocked with weather sores, but resilient happy grins all the same.

“What idiots,” Barghast grumbled. His tail sliced an agitated arch through the air. “We still have a ways to go before we reach Caemyth, do we not? Anything could happen between now and then. We could be beset upon by a squadron of torchcoats…”

Crowe laughed, his eyes darkening. “Aren't you always reminding me that doubt is the boon to faith, Okanavian?”

The lycan swatted him on the rump with his tail. “And now I hear my own words reflected back at me.”

The mischievous tilt of the sorcerer’s mouth soured into a grimace as the shadow of the lead caravan fell over them.

“Good morning.” Edward beamed down at the herald and the barbarian from atop the wagon. He wore a straw hat on top of his bare sunburnt pate. Claudia and he looked like different people with their faces scrubbed free of grime. Felisin was not in appearance. She was most likely tucked in the back of the wagon where she would be the safest should misfortune befall her family once more. “Monad smiles upon us on this most beautiful morning. Hopefully yesterday's woes were nothing more than just a pitfall that shall not be repeated.

Were he here to speak for himself (or any of the people that had been strung up on the walls as living incubators) Crowe wondered if Corporal Lask would have called his fate a pitfall. While he could not begrudge the man his ignorance, the acute understatement stung. The practitioner tried on a grin and hoped it did not appear as a grimace.

“He does indeed though it begs the question of what interesting developments await us today.”

He tried to sound good-humored but his heart remained as heavy as lead. The illusion must have worked because Edward’s grin only widened. “You speak the truth, herald! We are barreling the rest of the way to Caemyth. We are determined to reach its armored walls no matter what it takes. After what happened on the beach yesterday we do not want to take any more risks. While we are more confident than ever Monad will see us safely to the end of our journey, I am sure we would all feel safer if you accompanied us the rest of the way.”

She was quite beautiful. Eyes the same gray-green as the ocean water accentuated her high cheekbones and the rosiness of her lips. Her apparent uplifting in spirits after her display of agonizing grief was enough to lift the practitioner’s spirits fractionally. If I fail at all else I can say I reunited a family. If I keep helping people by the tens, by the thousands, by the hundred thousands…town by town, refugee by refugee…maybe I can bring this nightmare, this world that is not supposed to be to an end.

“We would love to hear stories of your travels if you would so entertain us,” she said in a voice that was both raspy and musical. “It’s hard to find amusement when you’ve been staring at the same horizon for the past three days. We have roasted boar. While you and your lycan companion went into our caves to rescue our daughter - a quest you didn’t have to make your own - the men went hunting in the jungle. Monad has proven bountiful in more ways than one. They brought back enough to feed us all enough meat to last until we reach Caemyth.” She pulled out bundles wrapped in cloth from a bag at her side. Barghast’s nose twitched. He let out an audible whine when the smell of fresh meat touched the air. “Take it. Take more. We have plenty. Make sure your traveling companion is fed as well.”

Crowe felt he had no choice but to accept the parcels. He feared they would spoil the meat by dropping them in the sand had he not raised his hands to take the offering. He fumbled them back into Barghast’s eager paws, forming a haphazard assembly line. The practitioner thanked them with a grateful bow of his head. He told them Barghast and he would prefer to ride the back of the train where it would be easier to spot an advancing torchcoat patrol. Edward and Claudia accepted this offered truth without too much disappointment. However, the reason he’d given was not his true motivation for distancing himself from them.

It has been Barghast and I alone together for so long. Almost a year now. We have been through so much together. Whatever other cards may keep us bound together, we are also bound by the experiences we’ve survived together. Long before we could talk the way we do now, I learned to understand him through touch and action. A single glance from across the room could contain a thousand words. Now the cords bind us together tighter than ever. I was never good at talking to others to begin with.

He lifted a hand in farewell. “We’ll come back up to the front once we see the gates of Caemyth,” the herald assured them. “Until then may you find splendor.”

Crowe felt conflicted as he steered Mammoth to the back of the try; eyes peeked at him through moth eaten holes in the drapes of the wagon, tracking his progress with wonder. The whispers of herald floated on the air, bringing sweat to his brow.

At the back of the train he found relief. The only sounds he could hear was the crash of the waves and the trundling sound of the caravans marking trails in the sand. If torchcoats do choose to pursue us, they’ll know exactly where to go. But there was nothing behind them. If there had been, Barghast would be able to see it. At the moment the lycan seemed content to simply be on the move again, his shoulders relaxed. Occasionally he would exchange a glance with the practitioner, the corner of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth.

Edward did not keep his promise about charging ahead and the sorcerer was grateful for this. The air around the train had changed from one of anxiety and doom to one of calm wonder. The sky was a soft blue above them, the waters of the Gaulhill Sea crashing against the banks. The white underbellies of gulls soared beneath white clouds. They were traveling at a slow enough pace that refugees could get out and stretch their legs beside the cabin. Crowe and Barghast chose to join them; both led their horse with a hand on the reins.

After several miles the trees slowly gave way to fields of green vegetation. Grass grew beneath their feet. Bushes with fat spade shaped leaves bounced in the warm breeze that had yet to weaken. The sea was still at their backs, ever present. Dogs loped through the field, tails wagging with joy now that their masters had let them free. A small pack of them barked in greeting, sniffing at Crowe, nosing and licking his hand, only to be chased by an over-possessive overprotective lycan. “Get away from him!” the barbarian roared in the desert language. “Only I get to mark him! He is mine!” He pulled a rag from the saddle bag and took Crowe’s hand in his paw. He wiped at the practitioner’s soiled hand with the rag. His ears twitched with annoyance. His scowl twisted into a grin when he looked up to meet his beloved’s eyes. He turned his hand this way and that. “All better now.” He raised it to his lips. “And all mine.”

Crowe grinned. “You’re a brat.”

The Okanavian’s ears twitched. “What’s a brat?”

“A misbehaved child.”

Barghast swatted him teasingly with his tail. “Are you saying I’m a misbehaved child?”

“No, I’m saying you’re acting like one.”

Barghast’s voice dropped into a low growl. His eyes fixed on the practitioner with a predatory glow. “Why? Because I do not want anyone to touch you? Because I want you all to myself? Because I want to be the only one you need?”

The practitioner’s expression turned grave. “It’s okay to want other things, Okanavian.”

“It’s in a lycan’s nature to be easily content.”

“Are you content?”

The barbarian’s tail wagged. “Very.”

The practitioner studied his companion with intent fascination. “How old are you, Barghast?”

“It is hard to say. Lycans do not measure time the same way you do, but I cannot say for sure. We do not count the days by seconds, minutes, hours, and days the way we do. We know how many days pass by when the moon goes down and the sun rises. For your people there are how many days in a year.”

“Three hundred and seventy-two,” the herald answered without hesitation. “The moon goes down and the sun rises three hundred and seventy-two times in a year.”

“I’ve seen the moon fall and the sun rise thirty-eight-thousand-three-hundred-and-sixteen times.” The barbarian looked away sheepishly.

“That means you’ve lived a hundred and three years by my measurements,” Crowe said. His cheeks flushed.

“Is something wrong, twin o’rre?”

“Not exactly wrong. It’s just…you have quite a few years on me. And it amazes me that you can keep count of how many days you’ve seen…even if you don’t measure time the way we do.”

“How old are you, my beloved?”

“Nineteen.”

“What does it matter to us, twin o’rre? We will live to be hundreds of years old. We may even see thousands. We are babies right now. Babies with a lot of growing up to do. Everyone we know in this century will have long turned to dust by the time we see our first wrinkle.”

                                                                                …

When the great walls of Caemyth appeared after two days at a constant trot or walk, the practitioner could see why so many of Monad’s people traveled thousands of miles to reach the sanctuary. The walls were taller than the shortest cliff Crowe had seen and the spires, while not the impressive heights of the architecture from Vaylin, was still impressive enough to inspire awe. His hopes were slightly dashed but not completely sunk by the sight that awaited him.

Refugees by the thousands waded before the wall forming a human tide. The clamor of voices raised in desperation, pathos, and fury rose over the walls like alarms that corrupted the early morning light and shattered the illusion of safety. The euphoria Crowe had felt at the thought of finding a place where torchcoats and the servants of Hamon did not tread crashed around him, swatted away by an altogether new reality. A reality that was hard as steel and burned like a bullet in between the shoulderblades: Until we are behind those walls, we are not safe.

Like Edward, Claudia, and the rest of their group, the sea of exhausted refugees were a massive collective of farmers who had fled from their villages and parishes out of fear of Drajen’s tirade: a flame that threatened to consume the last of Monad’s people. Had Crowe ever seen so many of his ilk gathered in one place? They were never my ilk until the Seraphim fell from the heavens and crowned me their savior. The thought rose up inside him tasting of bitter stomach acid. It surprised him. An old resentment he’d hoped to drive out when he’d burnt his childhood home and abandoned the town that should have accepted him but had not.

Even they shunned me. Not because I’d done anything to wrong them…not directly…but because of who I lived with. Because of their fear of him. They feared his madness and by proxy they feared me. Never mind that I was a child who lived with fear so much of the time he was used to it, never aware of the black tumors of fear and resentment that grew in the well of his denial. Are any of them down there now, hoping Monad will turn their savage hopes into a reality? Perhaps Bennett’s father, Jebediah, is down there, waiting amidst the masses. Does he know that his only son is dead? Does he know how he died?

“Monad help us,” Edward whispered beside Crowe. The sound of his voice parting the air made the practitioner’s spine jolt. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t heard the man come up behind him. He held a slumbering Felisin in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulders. Claudia stood at her husband's side, her face shadowed by exhaustion. They were all exhausted and the fact that another leg had been added to their journey only added to their fatigue.

Barghast’s ears twitched towards the city’s gates. “Something’s getting ready to happen!” His paw closed around Crowe’s hand. His tongue hung out of his mouth. His tail streaked excitedly through the air from left to right.

A second or two later a metallic shifting sound silenced the mad clamor of the crowd standing in front of the wall. For a moment the human wave parted, momentarily cowed into uncertainty. The claxon of turning gears beat in time with Crowe’s heart.

An opening appeared in between the two thick stone doors that opened like a jaw. A column of guards pressed through the opening amidst the shattering calls of whistles and horns. What had to be over two hundred guards formed a small band that spread out before the crowd of traumatized refugees.

Soldiers riding atop towering mounts advanced towards the mass, warding them back. Blue diamonds flashed on the back of their armor, waving banners. Their formation did not suggest aggressive intent to the refugees who were back to thrusting their fists into the air. They’re like rabid animals, Crowe thought. He held his breath. Monad must watch us from his prison in the Void and feel only shame towards what he has created. No wonder our nightmare existence repeats itself. Look at how low we continue to fall.

The thought saddened him, but it was true nonetheless. A truth that drove a hard point home. None of us get to wash our hands free of this; all of our hands are covered in blood. Monad’s children, Elysia’s children, Hamon’s. We all wave our hands and our moral flags and shout in each other’s face to be heard…Our self-righteous act of hubris is what keeps us locked in this purgatorial loop.

The crowd at the front of the line were starting to calm, forming a straight line. Husbands corraled their wives ahead of them, who held small children to their bosom, escorted by armored horses through the archway into the city. Of course not everyone was not happy. Rocks were thrown at the back of soldiers. Shells, rotting food. They rode on, seemingly unaware of the maelstrom starting up with renewed vigor around them. Man or woman, it didn’t matter, their faces were set in the same stony expression. We bring control to utter chaos, those faces said. We keep the world from coming apart at the seams.

Crowe envied the confidence they displayed. Like a brick wall which no arrow, blade, or bullet could penetrate. He knew it was simply an illusion - but the illusion of strength could be the difference between victory and defeat; between life and death. He wanted their armor. To shape himself into something that was not so easily influenced by his environment. You have your armor. He's standing right beside you.

The refugees standing in line were disappearing through the archway. More started after them only to be intercepted by a raised fist. The meaning was clear: You'll have to wait your turn.

Crowe turned his back on the gate. He'd seen all he needed to see. “We could be here for a while,” he said to Barghast.

The Okanavian's lips curled in a relaxed smile. “Are we in a rush?”

Crowe was already at Mammoth’s side, pulling out the bedrolls. He tossed them down into the sand with airy thumps. “Not particularly. If the world tilts off its axis what are we to do about it? I'm not going to say no for a chance to relax while we wait for the line to go down.”

Barghast touched the practitioner’s lower lips. “Your lips are cracked. You are dehydrated. You should drink some water.”

“You’re like an overbearing parent, always worrying over me.” Crowe grinned, rubbing the lycan’s arm to show that he was merely teasing.

Barghast pulled him in, leaning in for a kiss while his other paw slid into the bag for the waterskins. “And you are like a child who is always distracted. If I did not remind you to eat food and drink water, you would simply not do so. You would waste away to nothing and there's already too little of you as it is.” He pulled the cork of the waterskin from the waterskin with his incisors. Resting a paw on the back of his head, he brought the waterskin to his lips.

Crowe’s eyes hardened into a look of intense scrutiny. “I can hold the bottle with my own hands, lycan. I promise my fingers shan't fall off.”

A wicked glint entered the barbarian’s eyes. “I know, twin o’rre. You are stronger than I give you credit for and I fear for anyone who underestimates you. I don’t do this because I don't think you can do it for yourself. I do it because I want to. It brings me joy to do things for you.”

Crowe's face softened. He accepted several sips from the waterskin. Not once did he look away. For the moment it was just the two of them. “I'm sorry, Barghast, I don’t want you to think I'm angry.” He rested a hand on the lycan's paw. “I just worry…”

Barghast cut him off with a growl. Three of his fingers covered the lower half of the practitioner’s face. “You worry too much, twin o'rre. You worry about everything…even things you have no need to worry about. I don’t know who proves to be more of a danger to you: the Theocracy, Hamon, or yourself.”

Crowe felt all the blood drain from his face. Not for the first time he was taken aback by the Okanavian’s level of insight. Just when you think he doesn't know you…couldn't possibly know you…he lays down his cards and leaves you speechless. He wanted to turn away again. Wanted to turn away as he had on that night in Roguehaven. Barghast hadn't let him turn away and so he knew he wouldn't let him do so now, so Crowe didn’t. He looked up at him. You've earned my trust. You've won my heart. And so I let you see me, exposed nerves and all. “I'm not good at this. Romance.” Saying those words alone was like spitting out cement so he stopped.

Barghast’s shadow blotted out the sun. His paws felt warm and heavy on Crowe’s hips. He leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed back. He laid his ear back. “I'm not very good at it either. You are my first. You are my only. We are both pups with much to learn, just starting out in the world. There will be growing pains. As long as we are together there is no storm we cannot withstand, no mountain that can climb higher than us. Do you want to make me happy, twin o’rre?”

“Yes.” The herald sniffed, blinking away tears, fearing that Barghast would mistake them for tears of hurt. “Please tell me.” He tried to tighten his arms around the lycan’s waist, but it was impossible; he could hardly get his legs around him when they were in bed together. “I'll do anything!”

“Sit with me,” Barghast rumbled. Already he was lowering himself to the bedroll, pulling the practitioner down with him. “Let me smell you. Let me touch you. Let me kiss you. Whenever I want. That's all I want.”

“You weren't lying when you said you were easily content. Considering all the times you've saved my life and stolen my heart, I think it's only fair.” A wicked glint entered the sorcerer’s eyes. “There's one thing you forgot, though. One thing I know you absolutely cannot resist.”

The barbarian cocked his ears inquisitively.

“Belly rubs!” Crowe’s nails dug through the lycan’s fur into his chest. Holding the practitioner by his hips so he didn't fall off, the Okanavian dropped back into the bedroll with a deep groan of pleasure. The sorcerer straddled him, scratching and rubbing with fervor. The dopey look of utter happiness was worth the effort.

“You are utterly shameless, twin o'rre.”

                                                                              …

Over the next two days the gates of Caemyth opened, letting in the growing thread of refugees an inch at a time. The wailing of horns marked the quarter hour of each day. Seven times each day a small battalion of soldiers marched out on horseback to escort a thousand refugees at a time. Those who waited outside the walls waited with dogged patience, stretching out on bedrolls or pallets made from whatever scraps and sewings they could put together.

After months of constant travel, much of that spent in terror for their lives, Crowe and Barghast recognized a small blessing when they saw one. During the first two quarters of the day, Barghast would roam the beach and jungle, hunting for fish or game at the beach or in the jungle. Crowe had made what he called a trammel net, made of finely cut strips of linen Barghast had made under the practitioner’s stomach, filling in when the sorcerer’s bad hand grew tired. In this way the lycan’s beloved proved himself to be a patient teacher. Not once in the hours they toiled, overlaying thread twisting and braiding, and pasting over with the sap Barghast was instructed to extract from tree trunks.

While Crowe volunteered to hold their place in line, Barghast took the net with him. He’d run out of ammo for his rifle, so he made spears fashioned from tree branches. Upon his return scores of refugees would gather around him with cries of thanks. It was not their faces of joy that pleased him, but his twin o’rre’s. He would find Crowe grinning at him as hands snatched fresh fish from the nets or whatever beast Barghast had hunted in the forest. Sometimes he would return to find the practitioner dozing under the sun.

During these occasions, Barghast took advantage of the opportunity to wake him with kisses. To see those blue eyes flutter open sent his heart into a fresh dance. “I bring you a feast, my beloved,” he would say each time and he would pull Crowe up into a sitting position. Together they would build a fire, often with help from Edward, Claudia, and other refugees. Each night they stretched out beneath a blanket of stars, their bellies and thirsts sated.

“Soon it will be our turn,” Crowe told Barghast one day. “The bell after this next one the gates will open and we will get to see it.” He’d pulled off his boots and stockings, resting on the bedroll with his feet bouncing in the air. Barghast’s eyes tracked their back and forth arch with fascination. When he could stand it no longer he halted their progression with their paws. He began to knead the tension from the practitioner’s heels. The sorcerer continued, pretending to ignore the Okanavian, but Barghast had been searching for the small curl of his lip and found it. At last Crowe looked at him with a full unabashed smile. “Bennett and I used to keep each other up all night with fantasies of coming here. I don’t think I’d ever thought we would actually go…the fun was in the planning, if that makes sense. But I’m here and I’m here with you.” He laced his fingers through the lycan’s. “I’m so glad it’s you. I’m so glad that it’s you here with me, that you and I get to share this experience together.”

Barghast’s ears twitched. His curled muzzle downturned. “Bennett? I’ve heard you say that name before.” The Barghast listened for the slight stall in Crowe’s heart and heard it. It always happened when he mentioned Bennett and when he mentioned Petras.

When they stood before the gates of Caemyth and the arches parted to let out the resistance’s greeting party, the two travelers exchanged grins as cries in thanks to Monad sounded from the refugees behind them. By now the feral panic that had ridden the refugees had fled from their bodies. They milled into formation, docile before the horse men and women. Crowe felt an eerie sense of calm as the thread began to push through the opening in the wall. He had no real plan for how he would get in contact with Matthiesen - this he knew was his next task. Without it he would not be able to advance to the next step of his journey. The next task. The next test. The next burden.

He forced his thoughts away from the sinkhole that threatened to pull them down. He glanced hastily at Barghast from the corner of his eye. It had taken time for him to pick up on it, but he’d surmised that the Okanavian could smell the changes in his body chemistry. He may not be able to read my thoughts, but he can sense the change in rhythm my body makes when my feelings get dark. And like a canine he seeks to appease and comfort me. He can’t help himself. It’s in his nature. Just as I suppose it is in my nature to be bitter. I wish it wasn’t so. I’m trying, my loving lycan. I’m trying to smile more. I’m trying to lower my walls. Just give me more time.

He needn’t have worried. For the moment the typically fastidious lycan was distracted by all that was happening around them. His eyes were wide as they passed between the stone archway, leaving the never waning tide of refugees behind them. Crowe was glad when the doors folded shut behind them with a heavy thud. The clamor of angry voices and shouts that had risen behind them like a living wall had been silenced like a commanding hand clapping over an angry mouth.

Crowe and Barghast had ridden up to the front of the train to join Edward, Claudia, and Felisin as they’d promised. Now they rode behind them. The raw press of unwashed bodies that had assailed them outside the gates of Caemyth gave to a new reality. A new world. A world Bennett and he had only read while poring over books or talking excitedly about over a shared aether joint and a flask of whiskey.

The avenue up which they traveled was narrow. Throngs of people moved at a snail’s pace before horse or bull drawn carriages weighed down with goods that had fallen behind due to one disastrous circumstance or another, or sentimental items refugees simply couldn’t leave behind. The smell of horse and cow and pig shit hit the practitioner from all directions in one second, making his stomach roll, only to be replaced with the smell of frying sausage in the next, a whiff of perfume that made him feel as if his head was floating. Brightly colored awnings only seemed the more vibrant beneath lanterns strung up from silk drapings.

Everywhere there was one form of music or another: the frustrated braying of a donkey as it trundled indignantly over the cobblestones away from an unhappy merchant who chased it while shouting at the top of his lungs; the bittersweet wail of a violin followed by the rhythmic crashing of a drum that made Crowe’s blood feel hot and boiling. He kept shooting glances over at the lycan. Part out of worry that all the noise and stimuli - children chasing one another through the press of caravans when the wagons stalled, the hiss of angry curses when a crate fell, spilling goods or spices onto the street, sparks spiraling out of a sizzling grate - would overwhelm the Okanavian, but Barghast was every bit of as fascinated by the activity as Crowe. As if sensing the practitioner’s anxiety, the lycan pointed excitedly as they passed a tiny square where a crowd of people gathered around a brimstone stage; traffic had stalled, providing the perfect time for a pleasant distraction. On top of the stage a man danced amidst applause and the wail of violins and the bashing of tambourines. He juggled empty mead bottles as he danced about. His face was painted in an exaggerated leer. His movements were both graceful and contorted.

“Look, twin o’rre!” The lycan barked excitedly. He jostled the practitioner awake as if he’d dozed off at a crucial time. “It’s just like the shows we used to put on in the desert I told you about!”

The lycan’s enthusiasm was infectious. He started clapping in time with the crowd, the sound powerful and resounding, his golden eyes dancing beneath the swaying glow of the lanterns dancing in the breeze sweeping in over the walls from the coast. He seemed unaware that he was an outsider in a world of strangers. That is one of the reasons why I love him even if I am not yet able to say the words aloud, the herald thought. In spite of his more primal nature he is innocent in a way. Easy to please. Some might think he’s simple…he’s not. He’s simply a man who knows what he desires and therefore is driven by them. He strives courageously into the dens of foreigners and murderers and torturers under the pretense that I am his guide, but it is he who guides me. It is he who gives me the strength to keep going. Without him and the guiding hand of Monad I would have given up a long time ago.

With this thought, Crowe lost all interest in the dancer even as the Okanavian held him on the saddle, rocking him back and forth in time with the bounce of his shoulders. The practitioner’s attention was absorbed completely in his companion. His anchor. For all our similarities, we are also different. He is not as bitter as I am. He’s able to enjoy himself more. I learn much from him. Perhaps more than from anyone else.

Like a magnet, Barghast must have felt the weight of his gaze, for their gazes met through the rising tendrils of smoke curling from the burning tip of Crowe’s joint. His expression turned from one of utter joy to one of cautious amusement. He pressed his ears flat. He inched his muzzle forward, nuzzling at Crowe’s cheek with his snout. “Twin o’rre, you have the oddest expression on your face. That expression you wear when you have a thought that you’re trying to hide. I can always tell when you’re trying to hide something from me because your heart speeds up.” The tips of his fingers closed over the practitioner’s chin. “Your heart always betrays you. But this time it sounds calm. Sometimes…it is so difficult to tell what you are thinking. What you are feeling.”

The practitioner smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry. I know I can be difficult.”

Barghast growled. The sound was not aggressive, but it suggested the sorcerer had said something he did not approve of. He pressed his lips to Crowe’s in a brief but deep kiss as if to stop him from saying anything else foolish. “You are not difficult. You are complex. Your mind fascinates me. Just like that puzzle box I told you about. Each part is intricate, crucial to the whole design. Like that puzzle box I enjoy unfolding you. I know you don’t believe me, which is why I’m happy to reassure you as many times as you need…”

“I was just thinking how magnificent you are.”

“Magnificent…? Another new word.”

“It’s just another way for ‘beautiful.’ ”

Barghast’s head dipped low with a whine. He looked away. “You say the sweetest things, twin o’rre…even if they’re wrong.”

“I thought you said what I think is the only thing that matters.”

“It is.”

“Well then I think you’re beautiful.”

This earned him a rumbling laugh. “You are blinded by aether.”

“And you are not blind?”

“Blinded by what? My affection for you? My undying devotion?” Barghast’s face loomed large as he leaned forward again. Sparks flew and glass shattered against the cobblestones but it was a wash of white noise that meant little to the both of them at the moment. “I was never blind! I knew you for what you were - who you were - the moment I saw you. I was searching for you, but you found me first.”

Crowe shivered at the thought of what had happened if he hadn’t found Barghast in the clearing; how different things would have been if he’d kept moving on as he’d intended. “I just don’t see why you find it so hard to believe that someone might feel about you the way you feel about them…”

The Okanavian silenced him with another lingering kiss. “We’ve discussed this, twin o’rre,” he said firmly when he pulled back. “Gaia, help me. The incessant chatter in your mind is most insistent today. Where does it come from? Each time you start, I will just silence you with kisses! That seems to be the only thing that does the trick…”

At last the procession moved on.

The parade of activity and light gave way to tightly compacted brick buildings. The smell of sawdust dusted the air, making Barghast sneeze; he’d managed to turn his head away before he could cover the practitioner in a downpour of snot. Workers filed through the double doors of a factory. Men and women and young men a few years younger than Crowe. No matter their age they all seemed to wear the same expressions of weary exhaustion. The empty casts of their eyes reminded him of how he felt in those quiet moments when dark thoughts took a hold of him. Thoughts of the past. Fears of the future. I know what it’s like to carry a burden that makes your shoulders groan and your knees buckle.

Vagrants huddled under ripped awnings that flapped in the wind, their faces paled and shadowed. Stray dogs and cats scrounged through overturned trash bins churning with maggots and flies. Everywhere he looked Crowe saw signs of a once great city straining to protect its citizens and those who sought refuge from the Theocracy’s ruthless tirade. Crowe no longer felt the wonder and joy he’d experienced with Barghast while watching the dancer on stage. That was just a smokescreen to hide the truth of what’s really going on. People need a distraction…something to hold onto. But if you walk no more than a block or two over you see that no one is exempt from suffering and that the vermin are the ones who truly rule the streets.

Crowe was not the only one who took notice of the change in atmosphere. The guards up ahead had tensed, their horses wickering nervously. Atop their caravan, Edward wrapped a hand protectively around Claudia’s shoulders. Felisin was still hidden behind curtains, tucked away like a pearl in a clam. She had made few appearances since leaving the cave. If I could, I think I would hide from the world, too. Barghast growled at the shadows stirring past murky alleyways, the hackles along his shoulders and back raised.

Even here you can feel the lurking presence of Inferno, the herald thought. Nowhere is free from the corruption of this nightmare. We are all bound by its web. If only we could stop killing one another long enough to come together and do something about it. Drajen keeps feeding the warmachine with the blood of Monad’s people and the Black King devours their souls. It seems like a good business arrangement.

A turn and two blocks later they passed a street sign that read GRAND STREET. Here the buildings transitioned from crumbling brick and wood tenements gave way to pillared mansions and apartment buildings guarded by black iron gates and thick stampedes of rose bushes and ivy that perforated the air with the savage perfume of pollen and rotting fruit. Not for the first time the practitioner had the feeling he was wandering through a world he did not belong in. A sensation that did not feel him with the same sense of wonder that used to turn his blood hot and make his eyes flash during those nights alone with Bennett.

They stopped at a large round compound with marble pillars that reminded him of the sketchings of colosseums he used to gawk at from Petras’ books when he’d gathered the courage to sneak into his study - architecture reminiscent of the Second Iteration. The sight of it pulled at Crowe, stirring something hidden inside of him. The feeling was not unlike the deja vu that had plagued him in the Mirror Expanse. This time it was weak enough he could shake his head at it in denial. You’re just exhausted. While you and Barghast have been able to rest it, sleeping outside isn’t the most restful. Not to mention you are over-stimulated and in a place that is completely unfamiliar to you. You need a bed, food, and ale to soothe the nerves. You will have those things soon enough. All who remain patient shall prevail.

Lucijan, the man Crowe had seen in a vision talking with the governor of Caemyth and the great cities beyond, awaited at the bottom of the steep stone steps. The practitioner recognized his grizzled face immediately. He watched the caravans approach with affable indifference. A dozen guards, six on each side, formed a formidable barrier around the man. Lucijan snapped his arm into the air in a halting motion; the scars on his face darkened. The practitioner did not miss Barghast’s answering grimace or the deepening of his own facial scars as a response.

A man with white tassels lining the shoulder seams of his uniform marched forward. He raised a bull horn to his lips. He raised his voice in a shout that brought the horses to an instant halt. Lucijan barked a command that was lost on the practitioner, but he did not miss the waving motion of a gauntleted hand. Crowe wavered in the saddle. A mysterious but irresistible urge rose in the pit of his stomach.

The guards parted at the commander's behest. The painful limp in his gait did not detract from the confidence in his stroll. This was a man who had struggled with pain for much of his life and fought through it; perhaps it was part of his mask. “Are you Edward Coltrane from Visage County?”

“Indeed.” Since leaving the beach Edward seemed to have gained a new confidence or regained the confidence he'd had in his old life.

Lucijan scowled, his nostrils flaring. “We expected you days ago, Commander! We sent a scouting team in search for you and your family! Where in the Void have you been?” He didn't sound overly angry, only mildly perturbed.

“We had a delay,” Edward said. He dropped a kiss on Claudia’s hand before descending the steps of the caravan. He wiped a worn handkerchief across the beads of sweat that dappled his broad forehead. “We were attacked by the creatures we’ve seen roaming the beach. A crustacean the size of a train car attacked us, injured one in our party. My daughter became separated from the caravans in the onslaught. We were graced by Monad’s never wavering eye to have been able to get her back at all.

During this explanation the tension had been building in Lucijan's scarred face. The nerves beneath his flesh trembled like plates threatening to shift apart. “Damn it all to the Void!” he snarled, punching the air in ill-contained frustration. “We sent a team of demolitionists to blast apart the nest! What happened?”

At that moment, Crowe acted, stepping before the man. He kept his eyes trained respectively on the heels of his boots. “I went into the cave to retrieve the girl. I found Lask and the remains of your team inside the cave. They didn’t make it. I'm sorry.”

Lucijan rounded on him, his eyes wide and incredulous. “What do you mean they didn't make it?” he demanded as if Crowe knew of their exact demise. “They were the best we had!”

The practitioner could think of no answer that would give the man comfort so he didn't give one. Instead he pushed on, still being tugged onward like a dog on a chain even as he felt the urge to bite his tongue, to hide in the comforting shadows of obscurity; such a mercy was not to be afforded to him. “There are other matters that need to be discussed as well with the Governor. Like the matter of Loras Gyrell.”

He felt the reverberation of shock pass through the man before he saw it. “How do you know about that?”

“Because you're speaking to the herald of Monad,” a weary voice said from the stairs. Benedict Matthiesen looked at Crowe with a thin but warm smile. He stooped in a bow. “Welcome to the city of Caemyth. Your arrival could not come at a more dire time.”

The air around the gathering went heavy and still. Crowe stared at Matthiesen; Matthiesen stared at Crowe. Lucijan also glared at Crowe. Barghast drew closer to the practitioner, his shadow casting a long pillar on the cobblestones. A growl trembled in his throat. Crowe reached out, grazing his shoulder with the tips of his fingers: Stay where you are. Let me do what I do best.

Barghast stopped growling but did not relax. He fixed Lucijan with a glare that made the man draw a step back. Even for a man of his stature he could not compare to the gargantuan proportions of the Okanavian. Edward and Claudia backed towards the caravan. Edward called for Felisin to stay out of sight - don’t come out unless you hear me tell you to.

The practitioner did not feel tense. He did not feel afraid. That’s got to be a first. He only felt an eerie certainty that he was exactly where he needed to be when he needed to be here. The fire in his chest, still both dialectically familiar and unfamiliar, was not an unwelcome guest but a comfort. While almost every eye in the circle was trained on him, he only had eyes for Matthiesen. “And you are Benedict.” An inner part of him free of Monad’s influence balked at the smooth confidence he heard in his own voice. Lowering his head, he stooped in a bow. “It is an honor to meet you.”

Barghast turned his head to gawk at him in shock. His eyes narrowed. Apparently, he did not like his twin o’rre humbling himself in the shadow of another. I would be a fool not to show respect to one of my role models, the practitioner thought. Standing before me is the first person to stand up to Drajen and offer sanctuary to my people. A man with courage and integrity. A man who stands up to tyranny at the cost of himself and his constituents. A man I could learn a great deal from if given the opportunity.

Barghast was not the only one who gawked at him. Matthiesen cleared his throat, rubbing anxiously at the stubble at his cheek. He’d shaved since Crowe had last glimpsed him, but already looked unkempt in spite of his attire; his hair was unbrushed and there were dark circles around his eyes that the sorcerer recognized all too well. The eyes of a man who carries a burden greater than himself. “You do me, honor, herald,” Matthiesen said before flicking a hasty glance in Lucijan’s direction. “I have been looking forward to your arrival for a few days now.”

Lucijan made a sputtering sound. He started towards the Governor. The Governor shot him a glare that the practitioner also recognized - a look he’d given his lycan companion many times: Don’t say another word!

Once it was clear chaos would not ensue, everyone began to relax.

Crowe cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking, how is it you know I come to be here? I’m sure you have questions for me as well that I would be more than happy to answer.”

Matthiesen surprised him by smiling. “Are you consistent with making understatements as well as grand entrances, herald? I do have many questions for you, which I promise we will answer very shortly. Might you and your lycan companion indulge me long enough to return to my quarters with Lucijan here? I can assure you, you are in safe company.”

It was the sorcerer’s turn to exchange a questioning look with his confidante. Barghast nodded with a confirming wag of his tail. He’d relaxed completely.

“Lead the way,” said Crowe.