Chapter 44 (Patreon)

Day 11

“Without further ado: I’d like to commence the next official meeting of Zamira’s Rangers,” she said.

“I thought we were called Rob’s Rangers,” Orn’tol remarked.

“That was never agreed upon by anyone except him,” Zamira stated in a matter-of-fact way, her arms crossed. “He can contest the name next time he deigns to attend.”

Her attempt at levity fell flat. Partially because Zamira being sarcastic had the tone of someone reading off a shopping list, and it took Vul’to and Orn’tol a moment to realize she had been trying to make a joke. It was a moment that didn’t go unnoticed by Zamira as she uncrossed her arms and cleared her throat, mild embarrassment spreading into her cheeks.

And partially because no one was in the mood for lightheartedness. Vul’to couldn’t help but be amazed at how his low expectations, bordering on unbridled pessimism, had turned out to be the naive optimism of a fanciful dreamer. If even half of the gossip spread around by the witnesses was true, then the meeting between the Village and Seneschal’s forces had been doomed from the start. Considering how negotiations had ended with four more graves for them to dig, it certainly couldn’t have gone any worse.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. The Seneschal’s forces could have won. Keira and Elder Alessia would be dead for the crime of mercy, and Rob for the crime of existing.

Logically, Vul’to understood why it had happened, but emotionally, he was in a mild state of disbelief. Perhaps everyone was right, and the clash had been a foregone conclusion, but why? Trusting Humans was hard – he knew that as well as everyone else did. The Scouring and The Cataclysm had extinguished the light from so many peoples’ lives. His included. But just as not every Elf was the same as their neighbor, not every Human was one of those who had caused so much death and destruction. It didn’t hurt to extend an olive branch.

And even if the Seneschal’s soldiers were incapable of trusting a Human, their hearts locked tight in cages of hurt and sorrow, surely they could have placed some degree of faith in their fellow Elves. They all shared that same pain together, and a bond of mutual suffering could be as strong as one made of happy memories. If the people of The Village could find it in themselves to look past that pain, then others could as well – and failing that, one would expect that an act of kindness wouldn’t result in the Village being condemned wholesale. But that’s exactly what Seneschal Sylpeiros had decreed, and his soldiers had been all too eager to carry out his will.

It was a mentality that confused him, and likely always would. He could understand the roads they’d chosen, but not why they’d elected to traverse the thorny, crumbling mountainside instead of the gentle plains. The latter led to serenity, while the former was liable to send you falling as you dashed yourself upon the rocks below. It just resulted in more pain, and there was enough of that in the world already.

I may have been putting too much stock in racial bonds, Vul’to admitted. The Scouring, in its own perverse way, brought us all together. Common foes tend to do that. I only wish that those bonds had lasted longer than eight years before returning to the old ways of posturing and infighting.

That was the moment when Vul’to realized that he shouldn’t have had so much time to think on those matters. But neither himself, Zamira, nor Orn’tol had initiated the discussion; each of the three eyeing the other and willing them to speak up first. Sadly, none of them were Mind Mages or Gellin, so their fervent wishes that someone else would pick up the social slack had gone unnoticed and unanswered. In the past, Alia had often been the one to jumpstart their group’s small talk. Recently, after Rob had grown more comfortable around them, the Human had revealed his true nature as an ever-flowing fountain of words and bad jokes. And if Tarric had been there, Vul’to might have been able to bounce off of him to get the flow of conversation moving.

They were missing so many people. Two of them lost temporarily, and two of them lost forever.

The awkward, oppressive silence that left him alone with his thoughts had become too much to bear. Vul’to opened his mouth and began to talk, hoping that by speaking of current events, he would be able to pull himself away from his memories of the past that were crawling out of the woodwork like Rodusks towards a rotting carcass. “Which issue which you like to address first?” He asked, looking at Zamira and then Orn’tol. “The Village split, and our choices regarding it, or our wayward friends?”

“My choice has already been made,” Zamira replied, “But I would be more than happy to help talk you through yours.”

“You’re heading north, right?” Orn’tol asked, in a tone that was less a question and more confirming a fact.

“I am.” Her earlier awkwardness had melted away, resolute conviction straightening her posture and hardening her expression. “I will not leave Keira and Rob to the whims of fate, and I cannot abide by the Seneschal’s will. It won’t be a path easily walked, but it’s the only one I can follow if I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and be proud of what I see.”

Vul’to suppressed a wince as shame spiked within him. “I...” he said, before his brain had caught up to his mouth. But it was too late: Zamira and Orn’tol had turned their attention to him, and he had to provide them with an answer.

Just say you want to head north. It’s what your heart desires. Open your mouth and speak the words.

“I’m still deciding,” Vul’to said. Zamira and Orn’tol nodded, their faces bereft of judgment, which was a relief, as Vul’to was judging himself enough for all of them combined.

“I have to go to Reviton,” Orn’tol blurted out, like he had to say it in a hurry or else he’d never be able to get it all out. “It’s not...” He grimaced. “It’s not what I want to do. But it’s necessary. Those heading north will be cut off from civilization. They’ll be hunted by the Seneschal’s forces, traveling through monster-infested lands, heading into territory that may have been infiltrated by the Fiends, and working on a timer as they start to run out of food and drink without being able to stop and properly replenish their supplies. Those are all risks I could take, were I alone, but I’m not.”

He put on a mantle of resolve. It fit him well. “I can’t put Malika in that kind of danger. She will be safe in Reviton. That takes precedence over all else.”

Vul’to couldn’t disagree, although the prospect of making a break for the Human territories wasn’t as risky as it might have been. Out of the ~6800 remaining civilians and the 32 remaining Rangers, around 2000 civilians and half the Rangers had cast their lot with the deserters, a far greater number than anyone expected. Were it not for the inherent dangers of the prospect, Vul’to suspected that nearly everyone would have chosen to head north. Turns out that the people of the Village took umbrage at the news that the Seneschal was planning to punish everyone without bothering to listen to a word in their defense, and that his forces had already tried to execute the Blightkillers. Most of the Rangers heading to Reviton had openly stated that they were only doing so to escort the civilians the rest of the way, and were circumstances different, they would be joining the Deserters.

In fact, The Deserters had come up with the moniker themselves, and were already starting to wear it as a badge of pride. The camaraderie that had sprung up among those who were willingly making a communal decision that would likely end horribly was the main reason that Vul’to thought they had a chance at surviving. They would support each other through thick and thin, and if nothing else, they had nothing else to lose. A cornered wolf would bite back; a cornered pack would swarm their enemies until either them or they were torn apart.

“I cannot fault your logic or your choice,” Zamira said in response to Orn’tol. “Were my parents insistent on heading to Reviton, I myself might have had second thoughts. Although I have to ask: have you discussed this matter with Malika?”

“Yes, dear brother, have you discussed this matter with me?”

Orn’tol jumped half a foot in the air as his little sister appeared from behind a tree. The poor boy audibly gulped as Malika hovered over towards them, her feet a few inches off the ground. She had an expression that was perfectly pleasant and promised punishment should she not receive an adequate response to her question.

“Orn’tol...” Zamira sighed. “Surely you knew this couldn’t have turned out any other way.”

The young Ranger drew himself up and put on a mask of determination. “Perhaps. But I thought it was necessary. Were Malika to make the decision herself, she would have chosen to go north.”

“Putting aside that you thought to make my own choices for me – and that is a very large aside – why are you so convinced of this deduction of yours?” Malika narrowed her eyes, challenging him to answer.

“Because the attack committed by the Seneschal’s forces incensed you,” Orn’tol stated, in an even tone. “And once that initial emotional response occurred, your decision had already been made, whether you realized it or not. That feeling of annoyance would have driven you to work backwards to invent reasonable arguments to support your choice, one that had been made without regard for any such logic.”

Malika pointed at Orn’tol and opened her mouth to respond. A few seconds passed, after which she closed her mouth and returned her hand to her side. “That’s beside the point.”

“Oh is it, now?”

“It is, as reasonable arguments are made no less reasonable by the emotion that inspired them. For example, while you’ve given great thought to my safety, have you given a fraction of that consideration to your own?”

Orn’tol grimaced, slightly, enough that it was plain to see a mental blow had been dealt. “Of course I have. Reviton is a much safer option than seceding from the Elven lands and striking out into an uncertain future.”

“Safer for me,” Malika said. “But not for you. Elder Alessia and Elder Duran have stated that the Seneschal’s punishments will be minor towards those without close relation to the Human, but you don’t fit that criteria. You were on the same trainee team. You went on a Dungeon Crawl together. You were and are friends. Everyone knows it. And even if 99% of the people heading to Reviton swore to secrecy and upheld their oath, it would take only one ratfink wishing to curry favor with the Seneschal to put a target on your back. They would separate us, citing you as a potential corruptive influence on my upbringing, and that would be the best-case scenario.”

Her voice hitched. “The worst-case scenario would be that they execute you, and I never get to see you again. You’d leave me just like mom and dad did.” Her eyes started to water. “Is that what you desire? To abandon me like everyone else? After you swore to me that you would take greater care of your own life?”

Orn’tol rushed forward in a Step of the Wind-infused sprint and embraced Malika in a gentle hug. She returned the hug after a moment’s hesitation, hitting him on the back with weak punches as she muttered insults that lacked an equal amount of punch.

“I will never leave you,” Orn’tol stated, in a tone that was soft but resolute. “Never. And now that I think about it, as a sister of the Human’s friend, there’s a high risk that you will be targeted by the Seneschal as well. We have no idea what the depths of his lust for retribution are. You’re entirely right; Reviton is out of the question.”

Malika wiped her eyes and spoke in a voice that was still a little shaky. “You’re already agreeing with me?”

Orn’tol laughed. “One unsaid factor in why I hid my decision from you is because I knew you would be able to convince me to change it. My sister is too smart for her own good. I’ll win against her one of these days, mark my words.”

Vul’to found himself immensely impressed at how quickly the mood of their conversation had been turned around. He felt like he had just witnessed an experienced lion tamer exhibiting mastery of their craft.

A smug grin spread across Malika’s face. “Keep dreaming.” She peered over Orn’tol’s shoulder and pointed at Vul’to this time. “Most of what I said applies to you as well. You should strongly consider what may befall you – as another of the Human’s friends and allies – should you head to Reviton City.”

Vul’to nodded. It was a fair point, although one that only would have mattered if concern over his personal safety had at all been a factor in his indecision.

It wasn’t himself that he was worried about.

Vul’to and Zamira gave Orn’tol and Malika a minute to compose themselves. Once they had, capping off their reconciliation with a High-Five, the meeting resumed, this time with Malika included. She’d inducted herself as an unofficial member of Zamira’s Rangers, and no one wanted to be the one to tell her otherwise.

“Let’s move on to our next subject of import,” Zamira said. “Keira and Rob cannot be left in their present state. Rob has gotten even worse at masking his pain behind his laughter, and Keira is so lost in thought I worry she might never find her way back.”

She tapped her foot on the ground. “It is hardly unsurprising that they’ve been unable to overcome the anguish of their first kills in but a single day. Riardin gave fair warning that the deed would haunt us, but no mental preparation can ever be sufficient for the real act, and Rob didn’t get the same training we did. Unfortunately, there is little extra time to spare; the northern procession sets out tomorrow morning, and if the two of them can’t retain their mental faculties by the time the Seneschal’s forces attack us again, I worry that they might make a grievous error in a crucial moment.”

Zamira looked at each of them in turn. “What are our options? I’m open to suggestions.”

Malika tilted her head in confusion. “Why aren’t you...well...talking to them?”

Zamira averted her eyes for a moment. “I’m not the best orator. Neither on a personal level or a Skills Level. I highly doubt I have the capacity to pull anyone out of their mental mire.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Vul’to interjected. “You’ve been talking to Keira more than any of us throughout the expedition. If any of us can get through to her, it would be you.”

“We were discussing swords,” Zamira said, with a hint of petulance in her tone. “Not the emotional aftershocks of a first kill.”

“Then don’t talk to her about her first kill. Talk to her about swords. Give her a sense of normalcy.”

Zamira blinked. “Is it really so simple?”

Vul’to carefully considered her question. “People’s emotions are complex, willful things, and no one solution fits every dilemma. I could be wrong. But Keira, as I understand her, is the kind of person who will speak her mind when and if she wants to. By engaging her in casual conversation, you’re opening a door and leaving it wide open. Whether or not she walks through it is up to her, but either way, she’ll appreciate that the option is there.”

He hummed as he thought further. “Rob, on the other hand, may require more of a push. He’s very up-front about his emotions...except when he’s not, and locks them in a cage that is not as well-hidden as he thinks. Left to his own devices, I doubt he’ll ever address this issue outside of his own head, and Lothren herself might struggle to figure out what goes on in there. Whoever talks to him should be direct. Not forceful, but willing to address the issue at hand without dancing around words.”

Everyone was quiet, watching him intently. Vul’to’s eyes darted back and forth. “What is it? I didn’t think I was that horribly misconceived about our friends. Did I get something wrong?”

“You should be the one to speak with Rob,” Orn’tol said.

“No, what, I don’t-”

“He won’t want to burden me with his feelings on this matter,” Orn’tol said. “And after everything you just said, I believe you’re up to the task.”

“Indeed,” Zamira grumbled. “I have half a mind to have you talk to Keira as well. But I must admit that I’m marginally better-suited for that particular endeavor.” She looked up at the sky, her muscles tense. “Lothren, please grant me the wherewithal to not fuck this up.”

Vul’to clapped his hands loudly. “Pardon me, but for Lothren's sake, everyone just...slow down. I believe my input still matters, yes? You can’t just unilaterally decide that I should be the one to speak to Rob.”

Malika tilted her head again. “Who else is going to?”

Vul’to frantically searched for an answer. The one he settled on was something he regretted before he was even finished saying the sentence. “We should at least put it up to a vote.”

They did. He lost.

–

Keira soaked the washcloth in water once more and resumed wiping down her greatsword. The blade appeared gleaming and spotless, but she was making sure to excavate every nook and cranny before she was satisfied. She’d heard of similar behavior from some soldiers after their first kill; they saw blood where there was none, and would scrub their weapons until their fingers were rubbed raw as if trying to cleanse the guilt from their souls.

In her case, the action was more practical in nature. Clean as her sword appeared to be, she actually was finding blood and bits of Audin in places one wouldn’t expect. Hardly a surprise, considering the pulpy mess she’d turned the man into.

Keira went over the incident in her head once more, reviewing it from start to finish. Should she have stayed back and silenced herself? Given Elder Alessia more opportunities to talk them down before inflaming matters further? Held off from taking the first strike despite Danger Sense not telling her that an attack was imminent?

Would anything have changed regardless?

The answer to all those questions, from her perspective, was no. Were she bestowed some divine intervention that allowed her to re-do the scenario, she wouldn’t alter a single action she’d taken.

She wasn’t sure what that meant about her.

“Still at it?”

Keira smiled a little as Zamira walked over. She moved over to the side to give Zamira room to sit down. Technically unnecessary, considering they were in an empty clearing – the Villagers had possessed enough tact to give the ‘Blightkillers’ some space after their harrowing ordeal – but it was the intent behind the gesture that mattered. Keira was aware that Zamira put great stock into body language, and might have hesitated to join if the invitation wasn’t made perfectly clear.

“I should be about done,” Keira said, as Zamira sat next to her. “Every inch has been cleaned twice, and while I still find the occasional speck of red staining the washcloth as I rinse it off, this much will have to do. It’s gotten dark, and tomorrow will be a long day.”

Zamira nodded. “I’m glad you came to that realization of your own accord. Moving a mountain with your own hands is an easier task than convincing someone to sleep at a reasonable time.”

Keira raised an eyebrow. “You do realize that you’re awake right now too, yes?”

“As I said: convincing someone to sleep at a reasonable time is nigh impossible.”

Keira let out a laugh. It was a small one, but the first she’d had since yesterday, and she felt the weight in her chest lightening. “Have you ever had difficulty keeping your dual-swords pristine?” She asked. “I must admit that the one flaw in my choice of weapon is the upkeep required by its size. Cleaning, sharpening, reading it bedtime stories...sometimes I feel as if I’m taking care of a needy child. A metal, five-foot child.”

Zamira held up a hand. “Apologies for changing the subject, but do you actually read it bedtime stories?”

“Just the one time.”

Silence.

“I was lonely, alright?” Keira narrowed her eyes. “And since you dragged out an embarrassing detail from my past that was best left dead and buried, it’s only fair that you reveal to me one of yours.”

“I didn’t drag anything out of you,” Zamira said. Her face was impassive, but there was a smile in her voice. “But if you insist...when I was young and dreaming of future combat, I once taped two swords together under the impression that if one sword was strong, then two together would be twice as strong.”

“...I can’t fully fault that considering my choice of weapon.”

The light banter continued for another ten or so minutes. Keira was able to relax for the first time since yesterday, and it afforded her the opportunity to muster up enough courage to address the obvious reason of why Zamira was actually here.

“Do you mind if I talk about yesterday?” Keira said.

Zamira crossed her legs, sat up straight, and adopted an intense expression. “If you want to, then I am here to listen.”

Keira smiled. The degree to which Zamira was taking this seriously was heartwarming. It showed she cared. “Thank you. As a warning, what I’m about to say won’t reflect well on me. I’m trusting you to at least think it over once or twice before deciding you want nothing to do with me.”

“Of course. I promise.”

Keira believed her. She clenched her hands and took the plunge. “It didn’t bother me. Killing them, I mean. I know it looked like I was aggrieved by my actions, what with the crying and all, but what I was truly upset about was how things ended up. We were betrayed by the Seneschal, our brighter future we were hoping for was burnt into ashes and scattered to the winds, and lives were lost where simple dialogue would have solved all our problems. The situation we find ourselves in now – that is the tragedy that upset me so.”

She kept her eyes locked on Zamira’s as she spoke, searching for any hint of disgust or wariness. “But the deed itself? The act of killing them? It didn’t bother me in the slightest. I’ve tried to make myself care, thought about their friends and families and the sanctity of life, and none of it inspires any emotion outside of vague disappointment. I care far more about not caring than I do about killing them.”

No disgust or wariness yet. Keira pressed on. “Fighters aren’t supposed to sob and weep over every kill. A degree of numbness is to be expected over time. The key phrase there is ‘over time’. Shouldn’t I feel worse about my first kill? Maybe not wracked with grief, but a shiver here or a bout of self-loathing there is to be expected. And it’s not like I’m repressing feelings of guilt; those feelings just aren’t there.”

“Do you know why that might be?” Zamira asked. Keira looked again for disgust or wariness, and found none. That was starting to worry her. Zamira was taciturn, and Keira hadn’t yet mastered the art of interpreting her expressions. Maybe the condemnation was already there and she just couldn’t pick it out.

No, Keira told herself. Zamira came here to listen. I didn’t ask for help; she offered it freely. She deserves my trust.

“I suppose...whenever I wonder why I’m not guilty, the answer my mind produces is that ‘they started it’. Like a childhood argument is a sufficient enough answer. The only thing I feel remotely regretful about is how badly I disfigured Audin’s body, and it’s not like I was disgusted with myself. It was more like...if someone slaps you, and you slap them twice, you could argue it’s a fairly disproportionate response. But slap them three times and most would agree you went too far. I slapped him once by killing him, slapped him twice by hitting his corpse, then slapped him three times by crushing it into paste. It was uncouth of me. Otherwise, I honestly don’t give a shit.”

Keira ran her hands down her face. “One of the last things Riardin said to me was, and I quote: ‘Were we in different circumstances I would have put you under watch by several Rangers to monitor your mental state.’ It rattled me at the time, but now I’m wondering if he was correct. What if I’m some latent monster in the making?”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Wouldn’t even have Leveling High to blame. It’d just be me.”

Zamira was quiet. She was considering her response carefully, which Keira appreciated, but that didn’t make the silence any less nerve-wracking as it stretched on.

“Do you want to kill more people?” Zamira asked, in a neutral tone.

“No,” Keira answered, forcefully and truthfully. “Absolutely not.”

“But you would kill them, should the situation force your hand, and without remorse?”

“In a heartbeat.”

Zamira nodded. “Then I see no problem.” Keira was about to object when Zamira continued on, talking over the dissent before it had a chance to begin.

“In my honest opinion, the Village owes you a great debt for what you did. The Seneschal’s soldiers had you, Rob, and Elder Alessia outnumbered. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your war cry and subsequent charge is what distracted the soldiers long enough for Rob and Elder Alessia to get the jump on them, yes? That alone justifies your actions. Had you not struck first, I highly doubt the fight ends well. The three of you would have died, and Lothren only knows what they would have done to the civilians afterwards.”

She placed her chin on her hands. “I find myself imagining what would have happened if I had been there instead of you. Even if I possessed all your martial prowess, if I was put in the same situation, I would have hesitated. The fight would have occurred regardless, but without the advantage of surprise tipping the scales in our favor. You and you alone were the right woman for the moment. Anyone else would have chosen wrong.”

Zamira kept her eyes facing forward. Keira lost herself in them, just for a moment.

“I mean this as a genuine compliment when I say that we need people like you, Keira,” Zamira said. “Someone who can do the tasks that others would shy away from, but who at the end of the day, possesses a heart that is fiercely protective of those she cares for. And while I severely doubt it ever happens, should you trend towards becoming a ‘latent monster’ - your words, not mine – then we’ll be here to set you straight. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

Zamira stood up and held out her hand. Keira’s breath caught in her throat.

“Believe me when I say that there’s no one I’d trust more to have my back than you.”

Zamira was standing below the moonlight. It shimmered on her silver hair, giving her an ethereal glow, like a woman who’d hopped straight out of myth and into reality. The look was entrancing, but not nearly as much as her smile. Comforting, inviting, and accepting of everything who Keira was, good and bad.

She really looks beautiful like this, Keira wondered, absentmindedly.

Keira reached out and took Zamira’s hand. It was warm.

Zamira had just finished pulling her up when the woman’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Her mouth fell open like a fish out of water gasping for water.

“Are you okay?” Keira asked with concern. Zamira nodded her head rapidly and answered in rapid-fire bursts of sentences.

“Yes. Fine. Not your fault. Remembered something I have to do. You’re okay now?”

Keira nodded.

“Good. Very good. Very glad to hear that. You’re a true friend. Will talk to you later.”

And then she was gone, speeding off like a rabbit being chased by a wolf. Keira could only stand there and blink in confusion, cognizant of the fact that she still had a lot to learn about how to interpret what went on in Zamira’s head.

–

Oh god. Oh gods. Oh gods. I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to be a good friend.

Zamira re-read the system message for the tenth time, her heart beating a mile a minute.

Passive Skill Learned!
Name: Seduction
Prerequisite: Mind 15, noticeably increase someone’s degree of attraction for you who didn’t already possess at least a major crush on you.
Description: Become more adept at wooing others. Will not work on those who have no possible romantic interest in you.

Part of her was panicking.

The other part of her was elated.

She couldn’t tell which part was larger.

--

Author's Note:

To address a concern in the comments that the story is going to become a drama-laden harem fuckfest (which considering the genre, is not an unreasonable concern), I'd like to make this statement:

It won't. I have no interest in writing that sort of thing.

Thanks for reading!