Finale – Valeria, Abraxas, Malik, Crescent – An Ending, Of Sorts
Valeria
Valeria had been correcting the way Dimmian held his spear when the warning bells rang. Instantly, she looked up, towards the palisade, and saw curling smoke rising from the watch towers. Barely two days had passed since Nestor had returned. Pieces of the palisade had been repaired, some weapons had been handed out, some people had been given the most rudimentary of training. Whatever they had done, it would have to be enough.
Everyone stopped; a few began running.
Her hand began to rest on the hilt of the sword that always hung by her side. People began streaming in the other direction, faces fraught. It was not the orderly retreat she had hoped for, but it was not as bad as it could have been. Out the corner of her eye, in the back of her mind, she watched as unattended children were scooped up and carried, as doors were flung open and people were shepherded into the current of swift-moving bodies, as some began entering the designated safe houses.
But she could not dwell on such facts for long. She could only focus on the tasks ahead of her. Already she was nearly at the gate. Already it was closing. The palisade was a patchwork of burn scars and appended wood. It looked far less pretty than it had in years past, but Valeria hoped it would hold.
As she stared out ahead she could see the fury of hooves and the touch of bone-white antlers, coming close, drawing nearer.
And then, with a rumble like low thunder, the gate settled on the ground. Valeria held her breath as the sound of hoofbeats grew nearer and stopped in front of where the gate rested. She drew her sword, sweat beading down her wrists. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed others—Abraxas, Malik, Dimmian, even Crescent—gathering behind her. They would be ready if the wall fell.
Valeria moved closer, footsteps upon the earth. So close was she that she could have driven the point of her sword into the wood if she had wanted to. Valeria could faintly hear the sound of the deer’s heavy breathing. She did not look back, all that was were herself, the wall, and the deer.
Then came the sound of hoofbeats once again, not towards the wall, not charging, but moving away and to her left.
So relieved was Valeria that she almost let the sword spill from her grasp. But her training was too ingrained in her for a thing like that. She held the blade steady, even as she lowered it. The sound of hoofbeats was starting to wane.
Valeria turned back to her comrades in arms. “We need to follow them. With me,” she said, already turning and breaking into a run.
Valeria heard the sound of footsteps as the rest followed.
The outskirts of Verdant were as barren as ever. Scarred palisade walls watched over empty fields. Valeria hoped this was because the few people who lived by the palisade had left to hole up somewhere safer in the heart of Verdant—and not because they had decided to stay inside. If Hayward and his children— But Valeria had no time to spend on idle thoughts.
She remembered checking on the palisade with the Magistrate—how secure it was, where the weakest points were, where it ended. The bridge guild had built much, but with the time allotted to them they were only able to extend the palisade a furlong or so past where the refugees were camped. Valeria had not thought that the deer would travel there. She had had other hopes. But such was the way of things. And with her sword, she would do what she could.
The Refugee camp was now visible. Some of its people were streaming across the bridge—many others were still in the camps. Valeria had worried about this—so many people in so tight a space, with only a few narrow exit points over a dangerous river—this section of Verdant had seemed designed for blood.
But, if they could hold the deer there, they might give the refugees time to escape—and they might be able to spare the rest of Verdant.
Valeria and her company were at the edge of the bridge. Tilk Bridge, this one by the edge of Verdant, was much smaller and narrower than Hearthrawl. Valeria eyed the supports, wincing at the way it creaked every time a refugee set their foot upon it. But it still stood, for the moment.
“We are going to cross,” Valeria spoke in a loud voice, hoping that people would listen. “Keep to the right, let us pass.”
A grim sort of joy, but joy nonetheless, filled Valeria as she saw the people listening, all filtering to one side of the bridge. Galba had been wrong, it seemed. Everyone was not in blind panic.
“Follow me. Abraxas, you bring up the rear.”
Valeria looked behind herself, making sure everyone was in order. She watched as Crescent looked down, once, at the churning waters below. A strange kind of spasm rocked the Tivour’s face, skin pulling taut in all the wrong directions, muscles rippling under uneven flesh, before she rearranged each of her features back into that of a young human woman. Crescent nodded.
Carefully, but as quickly as she dared, Valeria. crossed to the other side. Then she looked as each other member of her crew crossed one by one. Malik, Dimmian, even Crescent and finally Abraxas made it safely to her side of the river.
Valeria scanned for any sight of the deer, but there wasn’t any yet. She supposed that she would be alerted by shouts before she saw them—as though that were a comfort.
Then a voice called from the other side of the water. “Valeria! Come back. This way.”
Valeria looked up. There, just on the opposite bank, stood Galba. “What’s happening?”
“There are more deer in the east section. We need you there.”
Valeria gazed back at the palisade and at the refugee camps. “What of the deer that went this way?”
“I don’t know. What I do know is that we need you on this side of the river.”
There was little time for consideration or arguing. “Dimmian,” Valeria said, “Follow Galba, aid him in whatever he asks.”
As Dimmian joined the throng of people scrambling to the other side Galba continued speaking. “I need you, Valeria. Please.”
There was a touch on her shoulder, and Valeria turned and saw Crescent shake her head.
“I’m staying here.”
Anger flashed in Galba’s eyes. “Verdant needs you, Valeria, don’t throw your life away here.”
“Throw it away?”
“Look at this place, connected to Verdant by a river, full of people for the Deer to go after instead. If the deer stay here, the rest of Verdant will be kept safe.”
“Galba, you wouldn’t.”
“I would do anything for Verdant. I would give my life for it, if it would change anything. Right now I am doing that which is necessary so that our people can live long enough to have a chance to make it through the next year. And, Valeria, they will have a better chance with you than without it. Do not throw your life away here.”
There was no hesitation in Valeria’s reply. “No.”
For three moments the only sounds came from people scrambling over the Tilk.
And then Galba turned to people behind him and said, “Cut the bridges.”
And then all was pandemonium. The people surged forwards, desperately trying not to be the ones trapped on the wrong side of the bank. Valeria saw Crescent among them, saying something to Verdant that Valeria could not make out.
And then, whatever mechanism Galba had demonstrated came to fruition. The bridge cracked and tumbled into the water, everyone on it falling with it. Valeria’s hand shot out, grasping at someone’s arm. They were heavier than Valeria had expected, and she almost felt herself pulled in.
But bracing herself—and pulling—she was able to raise the figure from the water and haul them on to the bank. It was only one person that Valeria had saved, but they were still a person. Valeria would be thankful that she had saved even one. Settling the woman on the ground as gently as she could, Valeria glared over at the opposing bank.
She decided that she would kill Galba, if she could.
But there was nothing she could do to him at the moment.
And, from behind her, there came the sound of shrieks and hoofbeats, loud enough to drown out even the panic at the bridge. Valeria turned, and raised her sword.
Abraxas
So many people had fallen into the water. Abraxas did not know how many would make it out and over to the other side. Even Crescent’s form had been lost beneath the water—Abraxas remembered how he had to guide her as she crossed. At least Dimmian seemed to have made it across—but he was only one person.
But Abraxas knew he needed to attend to the people on this side of the bridge. Triage, Illoc had told him, was vital in times of crisis. An apothecary needed to focus on the people on those that most needed help—and on those that could be saved. If they were able to hold off the deer and save the refugees, they would later be able to bury the dead.
And then Abraxas saw a shape splayed out on the dirt next to Valeria, their form shaking wet. And Abraxas recognised it as Joan from Willowbrook—the old women, their leader. Pain marred her face, and her leg seemed to be bent at an odd angle, but still she was alive.
“Joan? Can you hear me?”
She gave a grunt in response.
As he stooped down to attend to her when he heard Valeria speak. “Abraxas, Malik, with me.”
Abraxas looked up and, faintly in the distance, he could see the form of the herd. He grimaced.
“Valeria, it’s Joan,” he said.
Valeria turned and looked at the woman she had just pulled from the water, recognition finally flitting across her face. “Oh,” Valeria said. “That changes things.”
“Can you and Malik hold the deer without me? If I can get Ms. Joan well enough to speak, we’ll be able to better coordinate. It shouldn’t take long. And she needs me.”
Valeria barely nodded at him before she darted away, sword held aloft. “Malik, follow. I’ll depend on your support then.”
And the two of them departed. Abraxas turned his full attention to his patient.
“Alright, Joan, I’m going to touch you. I need to see how bad the wound is. If I start to hurt you, I want you to make a sound, alright?”
Joan made a grunt in the affirmative.
Abraxas knelt down beside her, and traced his fingers along her leg. Her shoes had fallen off in her fall and her clothing was torn, all sopping wet and stained with mud. But her leg, looking at it he could clearly see where it was unnaturally bent—just a few inches above her ankle. He touched it faintly, and heard Joan squeak in pain.
“Sorry! Alright, I think I know what’s going on. Thank you, Joan.”
Carefully, he tried to move the fabric covering up her calves without causing her too much agony. And he realised that rivulets of dark blood mixed with the water and grime. It did not seem to be a grievous wound, Abraxas decided—far less bad than Nova’s burns. With some careful splinting he knew he would be able to secure her. But if he did not clean the wound first there would be a large chance of rot in the future. He would have to see how much he could do with the time allotted.
“Ms. Joan, can you wiggle your toes for me? It might hurt, but I want you to try.”
The woman grunted as her toes twitched. That was good, at least. They still had some sensation.
It was time to clean the wound. There wasn’t much around, but that was fine because they didn’t have that much time anyway. Even if he had all the supplies from the apothecary, he would be limited in what he could do.
Abraxas took the water from his bag and poured it over her leg. Later, if he was still alive, he could worry about being thirsty. And soon he fell into his easy practiced rhythm, giving her tinctures, bandaging her leg and making a rudimentary splint. He even used glimmers of Vapor from within the gemstones on his wrists to help clean the wound. Even the tiniest of things he could do would help.
He spoke softly as he worked, trying to keep Joan focused on his voice and not on the pain. Abraxas held the old woman’s hand, rubbing the back of her hand to keep her centered.
As he elevated her leg on a large, flat rock he spoke to her. “Alright, Ms. Joan, do you think you can speak? After that tea the pain should be starting to ease. Squeeze my hand if you still can’t speak.”
“No, I— I can speak now. Thank you, lad.” Her breath was far too ragged, but Abraxas couldn’t dwell on that. It would ease with time.
“Alright Joan. Well, we need your help. Is there anything you can tell us about this section of Verdant and the people here? Anything that might help us get people to safety?”
Crescent
Crescent was drowning. She had fallen from the bow of a ship and was sinking into cold, deep water. She reached upwards, straining for anything that she could hold onto, but the waves pushed her back down. Water filled her lungs and the darkness claimed her. This was what death felt like, and every single piece of her was screaming, like flesh held in the crucible.
She could not see, could not even form coherent thoughts.
Crescent felt her body brush against something. Had she reached the ocean floor already? Why had she not yet died, as all the air had been stolen from her lungs.
But… no, she had died. She had died long ago, hadn’t she? Tossed from the bow of a ship. That was then. Crescent floundered, trying again to move her limbs, trying to reassert her control over the vines that rippled over her Root’s—no, her—flesh. She hadn’t just fallen from a boat, had she? She had fallen from… what was it… a bridge?
That felt right in Crescent’s mind.
There had been something she’d set on, some purpose. Yes, she needed to keep moving forwards, to find her Root, to find herself. Crescent tried to surge out of the water, but still she floundered. She could feel the water in her lungs, even if it did not harm her. And her every cell was screaming as though death was upon her.
Why had she been on the bridge? She avoided water, she thought. She wasn’t careless.
Crescent cast her mind back. She had been running, hadn’t she? She’d been trying to find—oh, what was his name? Her mind landed on something: Galba. That was the bastard’s name.
Why was she going after him? Her mind felt so heavy and so full of water. Right, because he had tried to drown her. Crescent would see to him for that. Only, that couldn’t have been right, could it? He had cut the bridge after she had surged after him. But—she reminded herself—his attack on her was all the valid reason she needed. Crescent would pay him back, debt for debt.
Her debt… and others.
One of her hands reached out of the water. Frantically, Crescent reached out, scrambling for anything to hold onto, any hint of safety or freedom. She wanted to be out of the water, safe from the clutches of death. She wanted…
A hand reached out and grasped hers. She felt herself being hauled out of the water slowly and painstakingly. Her body then heaved onto the safety of the shore.
She barely had time to look at Dimmian… her savior, before she collapsed.
For a moment she sat on the side of the riverbank and decided she would have to leave Verdant soon; she was growing soft.
Malik
Malik held his hammer in both hands and braced himself as he felt his weapon meet bone antler. There was an unpleasant sound that one never quite got used to, and the deer screamed. He and Valeria fought back to back—she with her swords and he with his hammer.
It was not the end of the world, though, perhaps, it felt as though it were—as though all that existed was himself, his hammer, Valeria, and the deer. Perhaps he would die here, and finally leave Verdant as he had planned. And he’d even recently been gifted some Smoke by Abraxas so he’d have more spirit than when he’d come. Malik almost laughed as just barely escaped the antlers of one of the deer.
There were fewer deer than Malik had remembered seeing at the gate and he wondered where the rest were. But the fight hadn’t been going on for that long, as tired as Malik felt. Perhaps the others were only waiting in the wings. Perhaps these were only counts. What joyous thoughts. But the jolt as one of the deer strained their antlers against his hammer left him little able to think about anything other than the fight ahead of him.
There was one step, and then another, as he swung his hammer in a low arc, always moving. Both he and his hammer moved in the same rhythm, never ceasing. Sparks flared where steel met bone, like a mockery of candlelight.
Malik and Valeria fought four deer—a paltry number, but still a challenge for the two to take on by themselves. His hammer was slick in his grasp. Malik swung hard and felt the handle shift a quarter inch in his hands.
“Any ideas?” Malik’s voice came out as a harsh grunt.
“None that are any good.” Valeria seemed similarly light on pleasantries.
“Bad ones?” Even as they spoke, they fought. Malik swung his hammer in long arcs, each swing ending with his hammer striking antler, throwing sparks.
And then finally Valeria spoke. “We— won’t make progress like this. The antlers. If one of us— gets out of the circle—we can.”
Malik understood. If one of them was to escape from the center circle, they’d be able to attack the deer from behind, where their antlers couldn’t defend them. And the person in the center would be left without someone to guard their back. Valeria was right. It was not a good idea. “Go, now. I can hold them.”
He felt the presence leave his back.
Immediately Malik spun around, weight shifting from his forward foot to his back, not letting the deer that now had access to his back make use of their opportunity. He brought his warhammer a wide circle, keeping the deer at bay with its head. As soon as he did so, he thrust backwards with the butt of the hammer. He could not let any of the deer go without his ministrations for long.
He thought, perhaps, as his muscles strained and sweat beaded down his arms, that he could hold off the deer if he gave everything he had to defend himself. He had little strength for anything else—for even the barest attempt at aggression. All was focused on keeping the hammer between himself and the deer.
He heard a scream from below him. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, sidestepping, bringing his hammer towards his chest, dancing, he was able to reposition himself to see Valeria where she had cried. In a singular moment, for there was no time allotted for anything else, he captured the scene.
Valeria—on the ground. Her hand—crushed. Blood—trickling down her arm. Her shoulder—torn open. Her sword—still held in one hand.
Though he had only glanced at the scene for only an instant, the momentary distraction was too much. He moved, with just a modicum to little grace and a modicum too little precision, and Malik felt the glass on his right shoulder splinter as it was struck by an antler.
Malik didn’t cry out; he’d long learned to keep his silence and show no weakness.
He needed to get himself out of there. He did not plan on dying yet. Malik swung his hammer. Steel. Bone. Sparks.
Something came to him. Perhaps— if he could… Spirit did not come easy to him. He had not yet mastered the power that everyone had since birth. Nor was he versed in its applications. But he had seen smoke coalesced to spark fires.
It was not a good plan. But still a plan it was.
Malik swiped at the deer. He was less capable now, and the four were too much for him. One scraped his side, another his forearm. Malik swung the hammer again.
Steel. Bone. Sparks.
He dropped one hand from his hammer and snapped. A brighter spark shone for a moment, before winking out.
Malik joined his hand back the hilt of his hammer and swung.
Again. Steel. Bone. Sparks.
Malik brought his hand together and thrust downwards. And then there came a flicker of flame and it felt as though a new star began to burn in the place where the hammer met the deer’s antler.
The deer screamed. And it staggered.
Valeria
Valeria was on the ground and Valeria was in pain. She could bear it, she knew. There were many things that she could bear for Verdant. It was not a matter of a lack of will. And yet—her sword still hung limply. She did not seem to be able to move. Valeria wondered, then, what Abraxas would say to her when all of it was over.
But Malik still was fighting. And she had left him alone. That was something Valeria could not bear—to see another die in her stead. To see another die from her failures. Her fingers moved. Her hand twitched.
A hoof trampled on her leg. She did not feel the leg snap or the bone break. So she was fine enough. All she needed was to strike. Valeria tensed. Again the sword twitched.
She heard a sharp crackle and a deer staggered forwards. Valeria decided that if she was worth anything she would rise. So, she did. Never having been burdened with a lack of will or desire, Valeria felt more surge within her at that moment.
Her sword pierced the underbelly of the deer, and it fell. There was another swipe and her sword dug into one of the creature’s ankles. It too fell to earth. And Malik, with his hammer, took care of one more. The final deer, bellowing, charged back the way it had come.
Somehow Valeria found itself within her to slowly rise. Of course, it was still not done without effort. She had not yet fully risen when she found herself starting to topple and needing to be supported by Malik. It was good that someone was there, she decided—even if she should have been able to stand by herself.
Valeria cast her gaze back toward where the deer had gone. She was under no pretenses. It would soon come back with the rest of its herd, and there would be many more than either she or Malik could deal with. Even with Abraxas’ help, whatever he would be able to give them, it would be a struggle. No, defending this section of the river was untenable. They would have to secure safe passage for the refugees across the water before the deer were back upon them.
Valeria hoped that Abraxas would have good news for them. They had little time for anything else.
Abraxas
Joan looked at Abraxas for a moment, eyes unfocused. He worried, for a moment, that she was fading. But, slowly, she began to speak, saying, “Mary’s Bridge. I do not know how large of a chance we have. But I think that we might be able to use Mary’s Bridge to get across.”
“Mary’s Bridge? Didn’t that collapse?”
“Yes. It did. But this one collapsed several days ago. The bridge guild wasn’t much help, but we’d had some people working on it. I don’t think it’s fully repaired, but it might be able to hold us while we scramble across.”
“Alright then. It’s not too far away, let’s see if we can rally the people,” Abraxas said. “I don’t want you standing, but do you think you could project?”
“If I speak… I think people will listen.” There was courage in the old woman’s eyes.
“Wonderful. I suppose we’ll try to rally them.”
Abraxas, at last, stood and looked about him. So focused had he been on attending to Joan that he had not noticed what was happening about him. Illoc would have scolded him for this—again—had she been there.
But the past was a thing already attended to. People had gathered, finally collected and roused, panic having summoned each of them in turn. They stood before the riverbank like rushweeds. Some were lost and purposeless, others seemed ready to do anything. A few desperate people had tried to swim across the river. Abraxas spied one or two making it across. Others did not. And so fewer people were attempting to swim.
On the other bank, of those who had made it across before the bridges fell, few stayed. So many took off, heading down towards the heart of Verdant, where safety and refuge might be sought. Abraxas did not know what would happen if they made it there. Still, they would fare much better than any on his side of the bank.
The people were restless. Whispers and shouts flowed among the people like water.
Abraxas needed to collect each of those people and point them to Mary’s Bridge. Somehow, and for some reason, things far too often depended on him.
Feeling foolish, Abraxas summoned what strength there was within him and called out. “Everyone.” And again, louder. “Everyone!”
Eyes were set upon him and Abraxas did not like it. Looking down at Joan, he said, “Joan has something to say. Everyone, listen to her. We may still make it out of this.”
He stood aside, letting Joan speak to her people. Abraxas, meanwhile, saw Malik and Valeria returning from battle. They were wounded, but they were alive.
Crescent.
It was some minutes before Crescent was able to stand again. The vines that puppeted her body were oversaturated and tired. Each of her attempts to pull them taut, to push any of her limbs, came to naught. It was humiliating and disconcerting to lie there helpless on the ground while Dimmian watched over her. Still, if one could not be graceful in loss one would never be able to ready to reap their rewards. No great man lived their life free from hard times.
Crescent only wished that her voice was available to her, even if she had nothing else. But forcing dead lungs to move and contract to make a facsimile of speech required such fine control.
So she only lay collapsed on the dirt. Soon she would be able to move, and soon she would be able to compose herself once again. She was her own person, after all.
“You doing alright?” asked Dimmian, not for the first time.
Perhaps he would soon get the message that she was not, in fact, doing alright. But Crescent decided not to begrudge him his speech. He had pulled her from the depths, after all. And Crescent supposed she owed him a debt of sorts. She would settle it, as soon as she was able. It was not good to let things fester.
More immediate was the fact that Crescent had someone there to help her. With a friend at her side and a promise on her lips, Crescent knew that there was nothing that could undo her.
And soon she felt well enough to stand and to speak.
Valeria
Valeria, luckily, did hear good news from Abraxas. Anything else may have broken her, but Valeria had something to hold onto. And that was enough. For now she stood in front of the wreck that was Mary’s Bridge.
Mary’s Bridge was smaller and less well-traveled than Hearthrawl Bridge. But it was stronger than the Tilk. At least, it had been before it fell. It seemed to be good fortune that Mary’s Bridge had fallen when it had, that one bridge had been partially rebuilt and saved from Galba’s treachery. The stars smiled upon them in this event.
Valeria stared at the wreck in front of her and wished that it had been rebuilt more.
Mary’s Bridge was not insurmountable damage. If it had been in such a state Valeria would have had nothing to hold onto. Parts of it even breached the surface of the river. It seemed that the attempts to fix it had been focused on setting to the right of the supports on either bank. All that was needed to fix the bridge would be to raise both sides, hold them fast, and then mend the connection.
Of course, doing all that with the time allotted to them would be nigh impossible. But, according to Joan’s reckoning—and to the concurrence of Malik and Valeria—if some sufficiently strong people were to hold the bridge up, that might be enough to grant the refugees safe passage across. It was as clean of a solution as they could hope for in their situation, and Valeria was willing to attempt it.
“Malik, how many people do you think we’ll need to hold the bridge?” she asked him.
“Perhaps five of us. We might be able to manage with four,” Malik said, already grabbing one of the ropes.
Valeria turned and spoke to the crowd. “I need four volunteers. If we are to get to the other side, we’ll need five people to hold this bridge.”
One by one, with prompting and cajoling, four people joined Malik in raising the bridge. Slowly, laboriously, Mary’s Bridge lifted from the river, water spilling over its sides. And there it was, safe passage across. All that was necessary was to guard the refugees until they made it across and the trial would be over without any more loss of life.
There were grunts and taut muscles as each of them held the bridge in place. As it settled the effort seemed to ease slightly; keeping it steady was less strenuous than lifting it in the first place. Hopefully they would be fine when people started crossing. They looked strong. And yet…
Valeria gazed back at the place where the palisade ended. She did not know where the deer returned, but she was sure they would, and sooner than they hoped.
“Let’s cross everyone. Children, parents, the elderly, and the infirmed should cross first. All of you, keep it together. We will live and die by the same throw of the dice. If we squabble now none of us will make it.”
The people began to assort themselves into something more closely resembling order. Still they pushed and jostled, all intermingling with each other. Several children were crying and Valeria wished that she could help them. But the most important thing was ensuring that each of them remained living.
Valeria whispered to Abraxas beside her, ensuring that no one else could hear them, “I want you to make sure your matchlock is loaded. Stand a ways away from us and be ready.”
Abraxas gave a tiny nod before walking away.
But Valeria’s attention was again diverted away, back towards the people crossing the bridge. Voices, still clamouring—full of fear and anxiety, began jostling against each other. They had taken on a slight hint of malice. Turning towards the bridge, Valeria saw a group of young Sculos pushing their way towards the front of the crowd. The group was hard pressed to do so, so tightly had the people begun to pack themselves. But the Sculos continued making their way forwards, cutting a gash through the throng of people.
Valeria raised her voice at them, summoning her authority. “Every one of you stop. Right now.”
They paid her no heed.
Valeria followed them, pushing through the people left in their wake. Her hand closed around the shoulder of the one nearest her. “I really don’t think you want to be doing that.”
The Sculos elbowed her away, turning towards her with his expressionless glass face. She did not recognize the clan symbol carved into it, but she did notice that it was the same symbol that adorned every other member of their group. Some of the markings, however, were familiar to her; one symbolized the virtue of service. And she noticed that his face was much less clean than that of other Sculos, his face marred by scrapes and gashes.
Valeria’s hand tightened around her sword-hilt. “Stand back and step aside. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“And do you bear the mantle of command? Does anything you say have any kind of relevance here? Why should we, the people of the outskirts, listen to you?”
“You will listen to me because all of us want to make it out of this. I am ready to draw blood for this, if need be. But I will make sure that every single one of us crosses, and that those most in need cross first. Do you really want to issue a formal challenge right here? How would such a thing be of any help?”
The Sculos shook his head. “You are not a Sculos. I do not owe you a challenge. Now unhand me.”
From somewhere beside her, Valeria heard the voice of an old woman. Joan was speaking. “Jereth, not now, please. I trust Valeria, and listen to her as you would listen to me. She helped get us out of Willowbrook, and helped mediate between us and Merc. I promise you that the honor of your clan will not be marred by giving her your assent.” As she finished, Joan’s gaze slipped towards one of the Sculos towards the front of the group.
The Sculos that Valeria had touched, presumably Jereth, looked to them as well.
The leader of the Sculos pondered for a moment before she spoke. “You would have us wait?”
“Yes,” Valeria said, “I would.”
“And you would be willing to fight me if I did not comply?”
“I would prefer to fight you after we are across the river. But if I must raise my sword I will do so.”
“And you will not be crossing yet yourself.”
“Stars forbid it. I do not want to cross until the last person has made it safely to the other side. I- don’t want to lose anyone else. And the best way to ensure we all pass safely across the river is for everyone to go in an orderly file and to let the children and the elderly cross first. If you do not, then their deaths will be on our hands.”
The Sculos stared at Valeria, the glyphs on her featureless face seeming almost to stretch. At last she spoke again. “Clan Kieth, with me on this side of the bank. We will do whatever this human asks of us.”
Relief trickled through Valeria, but she did not relax her posture. “Would one of you be so kind as to help hold the bridge steady? I don’t want it breaking under us.”
The leader of Clan Kieth directed her people to take up positions at the ropes, and Valeria felt greater hope well up within her.
And then came the sound of a gunshot.
Crescent
“Are you sure about this, Crescent?”
“Yes, I am sure,” Crescent repeated, doing her best to assuage Dimmian’s fears. “Galba ordered the bridges cut, leading to all of those deaths. He tried to condemn the people of Willowbrook as a sacrifice. It cannot be allowed to stand.”
“Alright but, are you sure you can face him? I mean no offense to your person—really, you are quite lovely and I’m thankful for all of the things you’ve done for Verdant, you’ve been quite excellent—but I really don’t know if you can hold yourself against Galba. He’s been powerful for as long as I can remember and I hear he’s got himself a sword. For cutting people, y’know. And you just got pulled from the river. And I know you don’t like fighting. And Pret would be mad if I didn’t offer to go in your stead. And—”
They were nearing Galba’s building, and soon Dimmian wouldn’t be able to continue prattling on. “Dimmian, don’t worry on my account. I promise that I’ll be fine in there. Trust me. Like I trust you.”
“If you say so, Crescent.”
“I do. Now, if you will leave me, I have business to attend to.”
Crescent walked with purpose towards Galba’s door. She acted as though she had been given special permission to be there, for, of course, she had been. Crescent did not even knock at the door, trusting for it to be unlocked, she flung it open and slipped inside.
With practiced ease she made her way through the hallways, to the third door on the left. His would be his office, and Crescent would have bet her left femur that Galba would be inside of it. This door, too, she thrust open without hesitation.
She did not have any worries about what would happen inside.
Abraxas
Abraxas crouched, his gun loaded and cradled in his hands. He did not want to fire it; he never did. But the gun has long since become a trusted companion and a memory of home. So he would fire it, again. And if it was an aberration and not a person, all the better. Still, he would much prefer not to need to use it. But then there came the sound of hoofbeats and Abraxas knew both that he was called to act and that he should answer.
The deer, there were many of them this time, more than the few that had assailed Malik and Valeria only just prior. Abraxas held both his breath and his matchlock.
He aimed, focusing on the closest deer. Abraxas let out a breath in a rush of air and pulled the trigger. For a moment, there was nothing. Then came a bang and Abraxas needed to brace himself against the recoil. There was a scream as a deer stumbled and fell. Purple blood poured from its side like a river. There was a noticeable change to the other deer’s gait. But it was not enough and they continued moving.
Hastily, Abraxas tried to load another bullet, but the chances of him doing so in time were slim. Behind him, he knew, people would be moving, having been alerted to the threat by the gunshot. Abraxas hoped that it would be enough.
Malik
Malik felt fire in his skin as he held the bridge steady. The rope burned in his hands. It had been one thing to hoist the bridge into position. That had been a doing but he was long-since used to manual labor. Holding the bridge in place afterwards hadn’t been that bad either. But then people started walking across it, each footfall placing new pressures upon it, tugging at his straining muscles more and more. It was not quite overwhelming; Malik was holding steady, but he did not know for how long he would be able to.
And then someone asked to take his place. Malik was grateful enough that he did not ask questions, only ensuring that his new compatriot had a firm grasp of the rope before sliding out from under it. When he did so, he suddenly felt as though he could continue carrying his burden.
Only then did Malik look at the newcomer. They were Sculos like him, all glassen and smooth. A Sigil for some clan Malik didn’t recognize was emblazoned upon their face, though it was slightly obscured by scratches and abrasions. Malik waited, for a moment, for some jibe or response. None came. And so he nodded his respect to the one who had taken his place and received a nod in return.
And then a gunshot rang out, clear against the empty sky.
Malik whipped his head in that direction, but he already knew what he would see: Abraxas with his gun, and a herd of deer—one fallen.
The people were surging forwards. Order was kept somewhat, and Malik assumed it was due to Valeria’s ministrations. But still there was the patter of many footfalls upon the wood. Malik winced for those that would still be holding up the bridge.
Few were still left on their side of the river. Malik had not realised it but over the course of the last—how long had it been he did not know—almost every single one of the people had passed from the wrong side of the river to the right one. There was only a little last bit of work to be done, and it would be over. A joyous thought.
But, before such a thing could come to pass, there was work left to be done. Valeria was doing her best, directing the last few handful people across Mary’s bridge. Still, she needed help.
One man was stumbling. Based on his limp and the slowness with which he walked he should have gotten across earlier. For whatever reason, he had been left behind, not helped along with the first to cross.
Malik, no longer feeling quite so tired, walked up to the man and helped him to stand. “You doing alright?”
“Y-yes. I think so,” said the man.
Malik nodded and said nothing more as he helped the man to cross, watching the man’s footing and ensuring he did not stumble on the cracked and uneven wood. There were many things that Malik did not know how to put into words.
Crescent
Crescent had barely stepped inside to Galba’s office when the man looked up at her, a smile spreading over his stately face. “Ah, Crescent, my dearest protege.”
The man sat behind his desk, hands steepled, ring on his finger. There was no hint of surprise, nor of unease. He was skilled, Crescent knew, in the game of playing man against man. She did not trust any of the reactions he feigned to show. All of them were masks, especially the real ones.
“Galba.” Crescent inclined her head to him.
“I’m glad you made it safely to this side of Verdant.” Here his voice broke, just a hint of emotion seeping in. “Truly. I would have been beside myself if you had…”
“I could tell by the way you let me fall into the water.”
Galba did not meet her eyes as he spoke. “That was never my intention, Crescent. I swear to you. Only with regret did I cut the bridge.” Here he raised his head to look at her. “But, I knew that you would somehow find your way to safety.
“Did you?”
“Of course. I would not have employed you if I didn’t have full confidence in your abilities. Whatever situation you found yourself in, I knew you would master it. And here you are.”
“You still dropped me from the bridge. I- do not like the water.” Crescent cursed herself for her weakness. She was capable, in control of herself and of her speech. She was better than to admit to vulnerabilities such as that. But, if a play to emotion could help her, she would make use of it.
“And again, I am sorry. Truly, Crescent. But I had to do anything I could to safeguard Verdant.”
“I know, that’s how you operate.”
“Yes. It is.” Galba’s voice was filled with neither pride nor shame. “And aren’t you the same?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know if I would do everything for Verdant. That seems rather excessive.”
“Right, of course. But, Verdant isn’t your aim. I’m sure that if you set your mind to something you would see that it got done. And it would happen. You understand the way of things, Crescent.”
“Perhaps. I suppose there is a reason why I am still alive, why I am still here on this side of the bank.”
“Indeed there is. So tell me, why did you come here? I presume it wasn’t a casual discussion of axiology. Aren’t there more pressing matters to attend to?”
“If there were, would you be in your office?”
“For you to attend to,” Galba amended. “I have already done what I can for Verdant. Anything else that needs doing—it can be done here. I would not do well in a fight, I fear.”
“No you wouldn’t.” The vines that snaked their way beneath her skin pulled Crescent’s lips into the barest ghost of a smile.
“Ah, and so we start to get to the point. Are you threatening me, Crescent? Is that what this is?” Galba smiled as though he were getting to a moment in a play that he was particularly fond of.
“Of course not, Galba.”
“Of course not,” Galba repeated. “Just as you have not answered the question. You must remember, Crescent, it is a different game when both sides know they are playing. There is no point in pretending with me.”
“Because you are being fully honest.”
“I am as honest as I have ever been.”
“Perhaps so am I.”
Galba laughed, real mirth breaking over his face. “That is probably true. So, tell me then, what do you plan to do with me? Surely you won’t kill me right here. I have enough faith in you to know you would not be so shortsighted.”
Crescent nodded, smiling in turn. “I suppose a dead advisor is hard to explain. Now, there could always be an accident. Especially in chaos such as this. It would be unfortunate.”
“And still you aren’t threatening me?”
“I’m just exploring our options. I promise I do not want to kill you—even by accident.” Crescent spread her arms in a wide gesture.
“No, it would be a rather inelegant solution.”
“Death only follows when words have failed us.”
“Those are very pretty words, Galba.”
“No less are they true for that.”
“I suppose not.”
Valeria
Hoofbeats.
When there came the end of times and when she closed her eyes for the last time, Valeria was sure that it would be heralded by the sound of hoofbeats.
Abraxas had left his post. Somehow he had felled a second of them, but there was no use in his staying. Valeria watched him run to her, eyes sharp, voice acting if there was anything he could do. Valeria looked out, and saw that the only people left on the wrong side of the river were herself, Abraxas, and those holding up the bridge.
The time was upon them now. She bid Abraxas cross.
And a terrible realization hit Valeria. Perhaps she should have thought of it sooner, but so many things had been heavy upon her mind.
The bridge needed to be held aloft in order for them to cross. And to cross one could not continue holding up the bridge.
Valeria looked at the few people who still stood by the bridge, their arms straining. She had consigned their deaths, had killed them every bit as much as Galba had. She had told herself that no one else needed to die, that she would not make anyone a sacrifice while she still drew breath. Valeria did not want to compromise now that relief felt so close to her.
Sword held in her hands, Valeria stood by the bridge, ready to take on the deer. Perhaps she would die—probably she would die—but some things were more important.
“Let’s drop the bridge. No use holding it for the moment,” she said.
One of them let go of their ropes, as did another. But a few still hold their positions, one of them being the leader of Kieth.
The leader looked at her clan-members and said, “Go. I will stay here. I order each of you to get the gift of hope carved upon your face. You have done our small clan an honor.”
Dark, deep blue swirled across their skin, a darker shade than Valeria had seen on the Sculos. Each whispered something to their leader and departed across the bridge. The Sculos strained as she held the bridge aloft with her remaining fellow.
“Valeria, you need to go,” her words were marred by pain.
“No, not yet. Not while there are still people on this side of the bank. I will always stand with you. I- I’m sorry.”
“They’re coming, Valeria. We will not hold it forever. Some of us will be left behind.”
“Then we will try and hold out.”
“You already have saved many, Valeria. When the bridge falls you can be the last across the water. I think that Verdant will need you, in the coming years.”
“I-” Valeria did not know the words to convince the Sculos. Valeria would not let her die. She could not.
“Go. There is no malice on my part. You have done more than enough for us.”
Valeria stumbled. “Thank you. And— I’m sorry.”
“This will not be a bad death, sacrificing myself for others. If you survive along with the others we have saved, I will die happy. Just… look out for my clan, if you are able.” A few inches of rope slipped from her grasp. “Fare well.”
“Fare well.”
Valeria staggered forwards, bracing against the tears. But the deer were upon them soon, and she broke into a run.
She turned back, at the last moment, to watch them as they fell. Valeria had promised herself long ago that should have the ability to do more than bear witness. But she felt like a child all over again, surrounded by people she could not help.
It all became too much for her, and she looked back towards her side of the bank, and those that welcomed her to it.
Crescent
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Galba said, his eyes calculating. “I enjoy this dance with you, but I am more interested in finding out what you want of me.”
“And what makes you think I want something,” Crescent said, her voice still playful.
“Then tell me what you want,” Galba said again, “If it is not death, then what is it? A confession, an apology, a public humiliation? I can almost see the crowd now — you, radiant in virtue, me undone and contrite. It would suit you. Oh to think what you could do with such adoration. Of course, I do not think my position is as weak as that.”
“You would be tried and found guilty.”
“I will answer,” he said. “To the Magistrate. To Verdant. To whichever tribunal the city demands. I do not think it will matter much.”
“You think the Magistrate will reward you?” She laughed once. “Do you trust the Magistrate that much?”
“Yes,” Galba said simply, “I have been his advisor for this long. Now, strike a bargain for something within your power. I want to see how well you play the game.”
“Humor me and stand trial. I wish to see how you fare.”
“Even though I will emerge from it with my position intact, why should I?” Galba leaned back in his chair. “This will be far too much hassle in a time when Verdant needs me. And even though I will escape reprimand, the loss of goodwill could be detrimental for us. What is your bargaining chip?”
Crescent smiled in good humor. “Why, the several sealed documents that speak of your sins.”
“I’ll just say all of them are forged. I was careful. Even if you found some, they bear no identifying works.” Galba waved a hand in dismissal.
Oh, surely, the ones that will be distributed have been forged. But still they bear the mark of your signet ring.
Galba reached for the ring on his finger, touching it. “Crescent?”
“Take it off, look at it. It is a rather good reproduction, isn’t it? Unless you were to have reason to believe it false I do not think one would notice its flaws. I wonder… how long you have sat with that false ring upon your finger.”
Galba did indeed take off the ring, examining it with furrowed brows. A wave of horror seemed to wash over him for a moment before he considered his position. “And these documents, do they exist? Can I see one? This seems like a very sophisticated bluff. I do not see how you would have the time to secure such documents in this brief time since the bridges fall. Still, I am impressed with your maneuver thus far.”
“Thank you.”
“Although, I do wonder why you’ve come to tell me this. If you were to perish before you left this room…”
“I thought you said that killing was an intelligent solution and that ‘Death only follows when words have failed us.’ Do we now amend that?”
“No, I do not, Crescent. And I would say that I very much prefer that you stay alive. I have grown… attached to you. It is nice having someone like me around. I just wished to warn you of the limits of your position. Do not ask for more than is your due.”
“My due. What a funny little phrase. We will come back to that. As for the limits of my position, I fear you misunderstand me. These are not documents attesting to your breaking of the bridges that I have yet to forge. These are documents attesting to rampant fraud and embezzlement that are already securely in place. If I do not leave this room, they will still be sent.”
“You had already prepared them? Just in case? I am impressed. But I must ask, why entreat me face to face? What price do you hope to extract from me? If it were really to come to a trial you would not have needed to come here.”
“There is nothing that you can give me, Galba. All I wanted was to stand before you and tell you that you would be put on trial myself. You almost killed me Galba. I always repay my debts. Blood for blood.”
“This is not how you play the game, Crescent, I can be useful to you.” Galba didn’t seem desperate, moreso angry and disappointed. Crescent found that she did not care.
“I thought you said that the two of us were both players in this game. I thought you knew: the only point of this game is to win, however that may come about.”
“You will regret this, throwing away a useful asset.”
“Perhaps. We can talk later if need be.”
“Do you know where you came from?”
“I have been on many wanderings. And I have been from many lands.”
“And before your wanderings? Do you know from where your Root came?”
Crescent stared at Galba in silence.
“That’s right. Release me from this rash injunction and I can tell you what I know.”
“I think,” Crescent said, considering her words, “that such revelations can wait. Consider what you want to say to me while you await your trial. I will be more than happy to strike a bargain later. We will talk soon, advisor to the Magistrate.”
Abraxas
There they were, those who had made it to the right side of the river. After crossing, Abraxas stumbled and fell upon the grass. He watched Valeria attempt to make a final stand and be rebuffed. She made it to the right side of the river. And Abraxas was happy for that. The deer came and the bridge fell, wood tumbling into swift moving waters. And so deer were trapped on the other side.
There were other things, perhaps, that they should be doing—gathering the people, seeing the Magistrate, looking for anyone else. But, for a moment, Abraxas just wanted to look up at the sky and bask in the fact that he was alive and so were many others. Life departed all too quickly, and every moment still in his possession was a gift.
Abraxas breathed in and out. There were so many not currently among them—some that had fled to safety, some that had drowned, some that had been killed by the aberrations. But, for the moment, some of them had been safeguarded. That had to be enough.
He hoped that Crescent was alright. He decided that he had to believe.
The sun, now, was low in the sky, almost dipping below the horizon, adorning the scene in rays of pink and yellow light.
Valeria stood beside him, put her hand on his shoulder, and bid him rise. Feeling different, he did so. There were no tears left to be wiped away.
Valeria
Valeria and the Magistrate sat in the Herald’s Spoon in. Usually their conversations would be undertaken in an office of some sort. But a more casual setting felt more apt in this case. They could all do with a familiar and comfortable setting.
The Magistrate looked towards Valeria, yellow clearly glinting across his glassen skin. “I hear that you are the reason there are still people living in Verdant.”
Valeria looked down at her plate. “It doesn’t feel that way”
“It never does.”
“Perhaps not.” Valeria gazed up again. “Is this what it is to be Magistrate? To see yourself escape from problems that are somehow always your own fault?
“I would like to say that I have grown beyond that. But yes.”
“Thank you for believing in me”
“You have more than deserved it.” There was a pause then, and a clacking of silverware. Finally, “I heard about Galba.”
“Oh,” asked Valeria, “What will happen?”
“I do not know. Dimmian presented me with signed papers attesting to his embezzlement. For all their legal splendor I do not trust them. But Crescent approached me afterwards and spoke of his involvement with the collapsing bridges, and such words were corroborated by Abraxas. I do not know if there is enough to convict him of the bridge collapse, and I hesitate to do something about the trumped up embezzlement charges…”
“And yet?”
“And yet I do not trust him. I cannot have someone who countermands me, who consigns the deaths of my people, in a position of power. I wish a trial would be easy. But I worry about the fear and suspicion it would cause. We cannot have divisions now.”
“Perhaps this would end divisions. It would show that you care about the people.”
“Perhaps it would.”
“You will make the right choice, Magistrate. Your ministrations have kept us alive for this long.”
“Thank you Valeria.”
“We will make it through this, won’t we?”
“I do not know. But we can have hope. There will always be a path forwards for us, if we can but find and take it. For now, a portion of our struggles have come to a close.”
“And still we persist.”
“Still we persist. From hand to heart.”
“From soul to deed.”
