He sits quietly on Talia, eyes downcast. His head turns towards the trail to Montague and Brockman's, then swivels back toward Talantal, then back to the trail, then back to the city.
**Choose between two places I really do not want to go to.**
He has spent his life, after leaving the farm, avoiding cities like Talantal, well, quick revision, there aren't other cities like Talantal, so really just avoiding any cities.
He has also never returned back home since he left, to pay his respects, and he has more than a fair amount of guilt about that. Sure, he explains it to himself as a simple safety precaution to avoid accidents were he to cross a Montague 'press' gang, but that is becoming less and less valid an excuse each day as they get closer and closer to Brockman's and the road to his family's farm.
Finally, with a large sigh he reach into his saddlebag and takes out a large piece of burlap, He slides it over his shield, covering the new device he recently had painted on it.
He looks at Daxia and says simply, "We will stop so I may pay respects." It is not a question.
"It will be about a week's travel to Brockman's, perhaps another week or so to Montague lands."
The Heartwood The Highland Path Highside, West of Silk Creek Ravine After Sunset and then On the Road Attaday, the eighth day of Poet
Bekkah, Daxia, Darian, Mikal, Jankin, Dean, Cesare, Kadri... Morning Star, Longtooth, Kay and Romana
"My betters?"
it seems the youngling must have had practice voicing her views with her toes barely touching ground as she is hauled upwards; which is an easy task considering her relative un-sizeness.
"They didn't even bother to come to the fight!"
She bounced on her feet when dropped, which only meant the rap on her head ended up a solid one, though she didn't complain.
"Fine ...
"I'll go stand with the Hunter ...
"I won't talk ...."
With a farmer's disgruntled walk she retreated, though, halfway between Darian and Daxia she dood look back over her shoulder,
"Can I at least point and laugh?"
Upon her white horse Romana had to bite her tongue hard to keep her own composure.
The Knight listened and watched, looking down from his destrier, patient, proud and definitely showing that he is but suffering their presence.
"Your youngling is lucky that it is beneath me to strike a girl."
He paused, waiting for the little group to clear the road.
"Don't make me order one of my squires to do it for me."
(OOC - Other than a comment from Bekkah about needing to do something in Talatal, it seems everyone else would prefer to bypass the city and go towards Brockman's and Montague.)
“Of course we will, Mikal.” Daxia said that as though there was no other option in the world.
Then her mind raced, and Paths blossomed before her. Oh, how she hated when they did that! It’s not like she was as good at this as Kisa was. It could take her most of the evening to figure them all out. But they did have one thing in common...
“Lady Bekkah, might we step off to the side to say our farewells, and leave his good man in peace?” Dazi’s smile was a slightly less exuberant one than she might have shown her sister at home when they were growing up, but it conveyed all the mischief of another Dazi Scheme.
“Good sir, my youngling — luckily for her — is known for her good luck.” With that, the Dayalan urged Morning Star to join the others who gathered out of the way and off the road. Then, more importantly, she urged them all out of earshot of the Korie Knight... and all of the real people trying to get into Talantal.
She waited until Bekkah joined them, staring at Dean with a raised eyebrow the entire time. Then she looked at her sister with mischief in her eyes.
“Bekkah, it has just occurred to me, thanks to Mikal, that if we travel together on the road to Brockman’s and beyond... and then travel together back to this fine city, we would arrive here again at Midsummer.” Daxia paused to recalculate the timing. “Perhaps even a few days earlier.
“Visiting Talantal at Midsummer would make your task so much easier, with all the throngs of people about... the confusion and bedlam that is bound to exist when most of the world is trying to visit the grandest city of all at the very time the Noble Families are meeting for their Midsummer Council.”
Daxia tried to imagine it, and very nearly shuddered at the thought. Midsummer in the Vale was hectic, but it was home. She hadn’t liked Cragside, she hadn’t liked Brementown, she hadn’t liked Bordertown, and Daxia had to honestly admit to herself that she was predisposed — despite her training — to dislike Talantal, sight unseen.
“And it would be a much better time for me to visit Talantal.” She sighed. “Well, assuming our Khorall doesn’t send Dandy as the lone Allaine representative again. Though... if I think that would be a bad idea, surely Kisa figured it out months ahead of me. So I’m sure Kisa will be able to convince her mother it would be a bad idea.” Dazi smiled brightly again. “What better way for a Dayalan to enter Talantal than as a member of the Allaine Family guard?
“Yes? Yes! So, of course we’ll all travel to Brockman’s with Mikal to honor his family.”
She became very serious, and turned to Mikal. “It is a difficult thing you do, and you should do this surrounded by your friends.”
Turning back to Bekkah, Dazi continued, “And we’ll all venture further into Montague lands to chase down my harebrained idea. The point being, of course, that we’ll be together.”
Then Daxia looked down at Kay and sighed.
“I know they didn’t come to the fight, Kay. But I obviously haven’t impressed upon you yet that the Kories are the most powerful of the Noble Families this side of Snowgate Pass. Or that the most powerful of the Noble Families who isn’t Korie is the Noble Family that sponsors the Dayalans. You do not need to be an Allaine to be considered an ally of the Allaines when you are a Dayalan... even a Wild Dayalan.” Dazi shook her head. “Not that any of them would know the difference.
“And I obviously haven’t impressed upon you just how much the Kories dislike the Allaines, or the Allaines the Kories. Well, in general,” she added, thinking about young Dominic. “So would you please try not to antagonize the nice Korie Knights... or anyone else, for that matter? Thank you. I appreciate it. And I wish I had a leaky bucket for you to fill up every day.”
She shifted her eyes to the westering Sun. “I suppose it’s too late to profusely apologize to Kassia for every annoying thing I ever did that I didn’t even know was annoying, isn’t it, My Lady? Yes? Well, of course it would be. Just as long as You understand I have no idea what I’m doing, which of course You would.”
Then Daxia tapped Morning Star on his neck. “You, O Magnificent One, can stop laughing, too. I’m not sure I can find apples for a laughing unicorn.”
Well it seems like they are all going.. and then all coming back here. It suits him. They have a strength together and that is worth preserving. And he will get to see the city later.. even though Darian will probably hate it.. though there could well be the compensation of a comfortable bed amongst other things to give some compensation.
He looks over at his lover with a grin. She can probably tell what he is thinking.
The Heartwood The Highland Path Highside, West of Silk Creek Ravine After Sunset and then On the Road Attaday, the eighth day of Poet
Bekkah, Daxia, Darian, Mikal, Jankin, Dean, Cesare, Kadri ... Morning Star, Longtooth, Kay and Romana
The black unicorn would simply stomp his foot, whuffle and clip clop his way down the path, heading along the cliffy ramparts that rose over the way they had previously passed. The stallion had an agreement upon apples, serious business, and then, as he looked ahead his ears did, however, fall back.
And he turned his head, just giving his rider a look.
"Oh ... I've seen that look before."
Kay turned her head up, dark eyes sharp.
"Well I have. And I'll be good."
She did, however, follow obediently as they began their first steps back in a westerly direction.
"And aye, I know my lessons. You have to obey Yrick, never try and out fox an Allaine, always keep a Korie happy, never hurt a Kierkegaard critter, never try and hide from a Corliss, never make one of Brockman's angry, you just can't hate Larsen, its impossible to keep a secret from a Konstantin and if'n you are hurt, find a Terilanquel.
"He was just a guard ... like me. Kinda. Maybe. Not a Noble. Probably grew up on a farm just like me and weren't the oldest who would actually get the farm ...
"And you heard that? Cor ... if'n you folks start rubbing my head too, I'll be bald by winter. Then catch my death of cold. And you'll all feel right powerful guilty.
"YIKES!"
Someone had reached down to playfully tossle the young sword sister's hair.
The Montague Trail
It was a very strange and somewhat familiar ride.
One could see how this trail was valuable, and why it was a prize sitting between the rich farm lands of Talantal and the rocky quarries buried deep upon the Highside. Every eve there was a tavern, but there was also a true stone watch tower, one set at the very edge of the broken stone cliffs. Their path doubled back the way they came; but while the Highland Path was cut into the side of the ravine this one overlooked that road. From the top of the cliffs one could look far far down and see anyone trying to approach the western lands.
It took a couple days ride to leave the influence of the Kories; and one could easily tell when that was. The colors changed, and it was not that of spring. The greening farms were left behind and replaced by harsh stretches of burnt yellow, of heather barely able to break the rocky soil. There was wildlife; or at least the signs of it. Perhaps this was once cattle country ... perhaps this is where sheep were raised.
But if there were ranches ... they are mostly empty, their herds now wild.
Darian and Longtooth found the truth of this; in the carcasses discovered, here and there, off the trails but near where there was abit of grass for grazing.
The only critters that seemed to prosper in the lands of Brockman were the wolves and nighthawks.
The villages, the ones they passed through were quiet and withdrawn; the dust rolled through them instead of ruffs and children. Those who lived within seemed to be old; as if they had passed the age where moving on was possible; tied to their land by pragmatic economics or unpragmatic pride.
"Cor ... looky ... an ridin in and not ridin outwardsly ..."
"That's nothin' but trouble ..."
"That's three crown for the hard tack an' water. Conversation. Look around lassie, what is there left to talk about?"
"What do you expect. First you can't keep your own guards ... then you cant keep those bought ... where there's nothing but death, of course the vultures come flyin' round."
That was a simple and harsh explanation; of why this trail was not watched over by those in Brockman's livery. A day out and the guards wore the colors of Rames and Korie. For both bekkah and Dean this should have been perplexing; if one hold allegiance to to Lords and Lady of The Imperial Court they should not be beholden to any mortal rulers, Noble or not.
Two days out the road patrols bore only Korie heraldry ... and then, for a bit, as they approached the Keep, the roads were empty save; not even merchants took this trail it seemed, or at least not often enough to kick up the dust or cause any traffic.
Passing by Brockman's Holdfast was haunting.
In tall honey marble, finely cut, it watched over both this trail and the Highland Path; one could almost imagine that someone with sharp eyes might even see the battered bridge from here. There was the remnants of a town at the keep's feet' but it seemed sluggish, it was not abandoned but there were many shops boarded up. Here there were children; to look up at their horses in awe, to point at a unicorn and run away, to race circles around Kadri wondering if she was just a big kid and how did she get such a pretty horsey.
They were covered in dust and their garb screamed how poor they were.
"... a princess on a pony ... a hand of pretty shells ... dark man ... dark man ... where is my princess now ..."
The children skipped in the dust, singing their silly sing song ... only to scatter when the keep's guardian clomped down the rough path leading to the keep. They ran in all directions, vanishing like snow upon a frying pan.
These guard were not confused in their livery.
They wore gray.
"Move on. The Keep ain't takin' any appointments, especially the likes of you. Get on with it"
"Sure... go ahead."
"They'll love you up by the lake.
"Heard the Lord's thrall has a likin' for redheads."
Rough laughter would follow them as they continued east, riding into a bleak sunrise.
The further east, the rougher and more inhospitable the land would become. Brown grass and moss seemed to be the only thing grown naturally and what farms there were seemed to only harvest dust.
The land was sick, it was dying. As if it shared the grim and heartless soul of those who now ruled here.
One of the travelers could not help but to see this, to feel it.
It was like walking through a nightmare.
Finally ... the wind slashing it was a wild beast, sending clouds of brown into the air, sending worn bramble rolling, they came upon a farm long abandoned - the house now gray and shorn with holes and fallen timbers - the wattle and daub nothing more than broken brown dirt. What were fields now sported thinning hay, like a mangy dog. There were a few trees here, mostly leaf less, struggling each day as if it were their last.
He had started in good spirits but as the days passed and the countryside turned to gray death, he becomes more subdued. Something definitely wrong here and he didn't like it.
It is like the land is under a curse.
He is unlikely to find Rhoni on this trail, not that he is expecting any but Rhoni follow fruitful paths, not this bleakness. No bounty to be found here.
He felt as if the land was crying out, and entered a sort of walking meditation, where each footfall of his on the earth carried with it a prayer, a blessing, a hope.
She looked back longingly at the city as they started away. She would have loved to have spent some time there, but being with her little sister meant far more to her. So once decided, she continued on without complaint. Which was really no surprise to anyone since Bekkah rarely complained.
"Perhaps we shall see it at Midwinter little one. But I suspect that our current path makes future planning somewhat unpredictable. We shall see what happens and take it all in stride."
Her spirits dropped as they crossed into this barren land. It was not a place she had traveled to in her years amongst the people. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself to ward from the chill although it was probably equally as much to ward against the feeling she had in this place. She would be glad to be elsewhere and as soon as possible.
Kadri frowned as they traveled. This place was ... Oppressive. Stifling.
"Evil is, where evil lies, evil lives where hope it dies. Hope and grace here lie entombed in ice, imprisoned by the grey device."
She pauses, then attempts a low lilting song, more a nursery rhyme almost, just to keep the oppression back a peg.
"Day is grey', day is gray, she's away, she's away. Darkened sky, darkened heart. Looks as soon, rain may start. Still the sun, she shines away, ever bright, behind the grey. Shining on, never gone, light breaks through, afore too long .."
She pats Lisica on the neck and gives her a quick hug.
He heaved a large sigh as they turned up the trail and rode along with the others. He was cheerless and spoke little. It was only as they stopped at inns or passed by villages that he seemed to rouse from his stupor, smiling and pausing to exchange a word or two here and there with people he obviously recognized.
In the evenings it was virtually impossible to draw him into conversation, his replies typically consisting of little more than a bare minimum reply or a grunted acknowledgement.
As they passed Brockman's holdfast, and the marble walls and outlying village came into view a flicker of expression crossed his features. An odd combination of both hope and hopelessness.
When the children come running out in natural curiosity, mostly to see the unicorn, but also as strangers not dressed in Gray are by themselves unusual enough to draw attention, he smiles at them and hands Talia's reins to them, one by one, asking them to lead her along the trail and offering each one a few small coins in return for the chore.
The encounter with the Gray clad Montague guards bring clenched teeth and whitened knuckles, but he does not overtly react. The children wisely have scattered by then and he reaches down to retrieve Talia's reins from where the last one dropped it.
As they move past Brockman's, the wind picks up, howling in an appropriately mournful sounding tone. It continues this way until passing over a small rise they come upon the scene of a lone, abandoned farmhouse.
He stops Talia at the top of the rise and simply sits and stares. The fields show long abandonment, and seem as if they practically resent the thought that anyone ever even tried to make something grow here.
A shutter, hanging by a single hinge bangs repeatedly in the wind, offering an almost surreal audible metaphor of the still continuing abuse the former owners of this place endured.
After several minutes of silence, Mikal points to the barn, which looks in as bad shape as the farmhouse. "Stable the horses there. We will be spending the night."
He finally glances around at the others with a crooked twitching of his lips. "Don't worry. I know it looks like it will collapse at any minute, but my father, uncle, and I drove every nail and turned every screw. We cut every board that sits here by hand. It is stronger than it looks."
He clicks his teeth and nudges Talia forward towards the barn. Dismounting silently and leading her inside.
The barn looks as bleak and as lost as the rest of the land, fitting in a way. Knowing that Mikal had a hand in its construction though does take away some of the bleakness and its walls will at least restrict the view of nothingness that surrounds them here.
And he'll be glad to be under shelter out of the wind and rain.
"Myself, I tend to think that I prefer something that seems shabby on the outside but is straight as steel than something which has the look of solidity but is instead rickety and weak. Many things are not what they seem. I trust your hands. "
Daxia had her reasons for venturing into these dreary, desolate lands. Each step they took only seemed to underscore the hopelessness she felt about the fate of Innocence Allaine. Was this particular quest anything more than simple intellectual curiosity? And was learning the fate of her kinswoman — however distantly related she might be — worth the journey they were making? Was this purely hubris on her part, thinking she could learn everything, solve every riddle? And even if she found the answers to her questions, what then? It would only be information to tuck into the space in her mind that itched for completion, for closure.
Perhaps, someday, she could tell this tale to Kisa. But as fair and kind, as intelligent and clever as her Khorall was, it was not a story that could be told to Linnell. That was a Path even she could see was one to be avoided at all cost. Not knowing what happened to her sister those many years ago, or believing her to be dead, was certainly better than the truth... for knowing the truth could — perhaps would — set Linnell on the very Path Kisa had foreseen, the Path Daxia and her friends had eliminated in Cragside.
Before they’d ventured too far down the road from Talantal, she’d asked her friends to speak with... well, whomever they wished about stories of the red haired wife of a miller. She knew each of them could ask the same question of the same person, and not only would a person hear eight different questions, but there would be eight different answers. Who was Miller McLaine’s mysterious wife? Did she still live? Was it true they had a daughter who had run off one day? Or had the child been kidnapped, perhaps?
Something the guard said... about their lord’s thrall having a liking for red haired women... made her wonder if Poppy hadn’t known more than Dazi knew now, and knew it years ago. Had Poppy’s young initiate run off... or had Poppy known what fate was before her if the girl stayed with the miller and her mother? Had Poppy known who the miller’s wife was? Maybe it was wishful thinking or maybe it was obvious now that she walked into the lion’s den, but Daxia suspected Poppy knew the part of this story that she was now trying to verify. If what she suspected was true, Poppy could no more have revealed the truth than Dazi could. That Path led to war. It was no wonder Poppy was rarely seen in the Vale... assuming, of course, she knew the truth that Daxia only suspected. How could anyone with an ounce of compassion not want to ease the heart and mind of a woman who’d lost her sister? And yet, how could anyone with a shred of intelligence be able to ease Linnell’s pain... for to do so would lead to retaliation against the Kories and Montagues. And with what evidence?
Well, Daxia had found the evidence in a grove where a demon was defeated and an Eastern princess saved. But fitting all the puzzle pieces together would make a stronger case against the Kories and Montagues, and retaliation no more reasonable an action today than it would have been eighteen years — no, nineteen now — ago. Then, the continent might have been set into a civil war, leaving a trail as wide as the High Tarn itself through which the East could ride. Now...
Now, Kisa was playing the game, as well. Daxia had no illusions that she was much more than a piece to be played on the board... and yet, at the same time, the very piece Kisa was least likely to risk. She had that much satisfaction. For all the trials and tribulations she’d been through since leaving Dawnview Vale, Daxia knew that she and Kisa were pivotal to the peace of the mainland. The Snowqueen’s heart had melted, and the Heir of Allaine, too, had been moved from one Path to another. Had Linnell Seen what might well have happened to her daughter? Had a fortuitous delivery of Doublebluff tiles been a Khorall’s opportunity to steer her Family and her people toward a better fate? Or had it been a mother’s love that nudged two young women toward a friendship that would tangentially lead to the same result? And being an Allaine, wasn’t it possible that Linnell could act as both Khorall and mother to use one moment on a snowy Midwinters night to give a better future to Dawnview Vale and her daughter?
Had she been manipulated that night? Oh, Daxia had always known she had been... but ultimately it hadn’t mattered. She’d been fascinated by Kisa’s pattern of tiles on the floor... which led to the most tenuous of friendships... which, over the next six years had deepened into the most solid friendship either woman was likely to have had. And had Khorall and mother not been rightly concerned about her Heir and daughter’s fate, the young Dayalan would have not had quite the same thirst for knowledge. Kassia had seen the potential, had done her best to teach Dazi not only what every Dayalan should know, not only what every Dayalan on the path to being a Priestess of their Lady should know, but what a Knight of Dawnview Castle should know. It had taken Kisa to push Daxia to that last bit of learning. And now, here she was, truly a Knight... though was she truly a Knight of Dawnview?
Bekkah’s and Dean’s subtly raised eyebrows on seeing the Knights of Rames in Korie colors didn’t escape Dazi’s notice. And that, too, made her think... perhaps more than she really need to think. It wasn’t until she saw the oddity of the Knight’s uniforms that she wondered at the relationship between her own order that the Noble Family Allaine.
Everyone knew about the Imperial Court, even those who served other Gods or Goddesses. One followed one’s Deity first and foremost, whether that Deity be Rames, Attera or Hastur; Dayala, Jvrill, Arylis, Khannish. And then, and only secondarily, would one follow one’s mortal leader. For many, especially in the far reaches of the High Tarn, it wasn’t difficult to do... their gods were ever-present, their Khorall and his vassals often much less so. But for those with close ties to a Noble Family, might that line, the distinction between service to one’s Deity and service to one’s Khorall, be blurred?
Daxia saw the desolation of this land around her, and yet it was a lesson, too. Was she guilty of the same mistake these Knights of Rames made? Did her loyalty to the Noble Family Allaine, her love of the Heir, blur the lines between her duty to Dayala and her duty to her Khorall? Dazi didn’t think so, but then she’d never had those duties tested, either.
And Gilly’s words came back to her then, from so long ago that Dazi hadn’t even grown to her full height yet, from a day when Dazi had asked her teacher about Brighteyes. They keep us honest.
Was that part of the unicorn’s role in a Dayalan’s life? To point at a place where his warrior might be blurring that line? Morning Star had obliquely made reference to the blurring on this Path she was taking. No, there were no apples to be found on this road... and yes, they did have an agreement about apples. Perhaps this meant — aside from the obvious that Morning Star had an unusual fondness for and obsession with apples — that she ought to examine the reasons for walking this Path, and in whose service she did so.
If she was honest — and in this instance, there was no point in anything but honesty — she sought answers on this road for neither her Khorall nor to right a wrong in service of Dayala. She walked this Path because she needed to know, she needed to look into the face of Innocence Allaine and see whatever it might be that she would see. After nearly a lifetime, Daxia expected... well, she expected nothing. She hoped to see a flicker of life left and she feared to see the abandonment of all hope.
But why was this so important to her? In the great meanderings of Paths she could see, it made no difference one way or the other. Knowing and not knowing what happened to the Lady of Snowgate Keep had the same effect on the Paths Dazi could see. Far into the future, perhaps the knowledge would make a difference. Only Kisa would be able to see that far, and Dazi still wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do to tell Kisa any part of this tale. Not yet. Most assuredly not in writing, not even in Ancient.
And how long would it take to get back to Dawnview Vale? She had already been away for half a year. No longer on her Duksheviya, she was a Wild Dayalan whose responsibility was to remain in the world, and make an attempt to return to the Temple once a year. Given how long it had taken to arrive here, she didn’t see the likelihood of seeing the Vale before next Midsummer. And how could she return east until she knew Romana would be safe?
Dearest Dayala, how had her life become so strange that she worried about returning home, where her beloved waited for her, because it might leave an Eastern princess in danger? No doubt Romana could fend for herself. She was highly intelligent and extremely resourceful. But an Easterner alone in these lands? That, to Daxia, would put the woman at too much risk. It was better for her to be the shy, quiet, strange one in a group of many than a quiet and strange one all alone. Surely there was a place in the world where Romana could be safe, but Daxia could hardly think of one. Still, she hadn’t seen all the world yet... perhaps the Larsens of Talesan’s Village would welcome her. Dean was from that area... Poppy was said to winter there... Dean had hardly batted an eye at Romana, though that was probably because he’d been in shock about everything else that had happened when they’d rescued Romana. Still, in all this time on the road, he’d never seemed to mind her presence... or even notice that she was any more unusual than anyone else in the party.
Of course, he had been rather monomaniacal in his devotion to Bekkah. On the one hand, that was the task his Knight had set before him. Daxia knew a thing or two about doing what needed to be done. On the other hand, he had managed to drive her sister to the verge of not very Atteran-like behavior. Ah, well... perhaps his Knight had failed to mention that the Ladies of Attera — especially their priestesses — all had backbones... and that they were made of ironsilver. It seemed Dean had figured that out, though. Back at the gates of Talantal, when it looked as though they might split the party, Dean had very deliberately chosen to take this path rather than accompany Bekkah into Talantal. Oh, it had been subtle, there was no doubt about that. But thinking back on that moment made Dazi smile... not because of the nearly expressionless look Dean had given Bekkah, not because he’d perhaps come to realize Bekkah didn’t need his constant protection — though in Talantal, that might be the one place where even Imperials were better off not alone — but because he had obviously taken time, however great or small an amount of time it had been, to think about the task his Knight had set before him. Even if all the thoughts had been subconscious ones, and his decision had been entirely instinctive, it meant he was growing. And learning to think for himself, and question what his teachers had taught him. That was good. That was very good. Better to question a teacher’s words — and hadn’t she pelted Kassia with more than the woman’s fair share? — and understand them than to follow blindly the orders of one’s superiors. True, following orders was important. For many, that was all they needed. But those destined to be leaders — she didn’t doubt that Dean would reach that point some day — needed to understand the how and why in order to make better decisions themselves.
Dazi wasn’t sure she’d gotten to that point yet. Indeed, she was certain she was still fumbling her way through this job of leading the group, but it was possible that she’d managed to get one or two things right.
The mood of her friends didn’t escape Dazi’s notice as they traveled, despite her apparent preoccupation. For all the thoughts tumbling around inside her head, her senses were focused on the outer world. She hadn’t been this quiet since the trip down the mountain leading to Cragside. She hadn’t been this introspective for so long since living in the Temple at Dawnview.
She saw the desolation around her, but she wasn’t sure it affected her as it affected her friends. Perhaps it was because she’d had so many discussions with Kisa about the many and varied ways rulers’ decisions could affect their people. Given what she knew of the Montagues, the only thing that really surprised her on this journey was the melding of the Rames and Korie colors. Even that... even that made a sad kind of sense in light of what Dominic had said.
Daxia was even more quiet than Mikal, sitting with Bekkah in the evenings... or perhaps with Darian and Longtooth, silently scritching the ruff’s ears. She managed smiles more than most, but words had become a rare and precious commodity.
There was only one time she nearly broke what seemed a vow of silence... when the guards spoke of their lord’s thrall and his fascination with redheads. But she bit her tongue, because no matter how diplomatically she managed to phrase her question, she knew it would not be diplomatic enough. She was a Dayalan and, to the uninformed observer, an Allaine; her words would only antagonize. She could only hope that one of her friends would ask the questions as she turned away... who is this thrall? Have there been other redheads? And who have they been?
The song... yes, the children’s song almost seemed to verify all her fears.
It worried her that Bekkah was so... well, sad. Bekkah had never been sad, except when Marcus had died. But other than that dreadful wound to her heart, Bekkah had always been so cheerful, so upbeat, so optimistic. Dazi and Morning Star rarely left Bekkah’s side as they traveled, whether Bekkah rode Fern or led her along. There was something peaceful, though, about sharing a hard road with her sister. Though, in true Bekkah fashion, her dear sister did seem to be taking more of the emotional burden of this quest than was her fair share.
Mikal’s silence and behavior made complete sense, and Daxia wished she could do for him what Bekkah’s presence did for her. But this was Mikal’s home, and there was no way for her to completely understand his pain and sorrow. She could well imagine it, but there was nothing for her to do except be present... be a friend with an ear to listen and a heart to care. It hardly seemed strange to her anymore that she felt the same way about Mikal that she would about any of her sword sisters. He was a brother in arms, he was a friend... it was that simple.
She noted Kay’s silence as well. That wasn’t particularly surprising either. Kay was accustomed to seeing lands well-tended or ravaged by war. Had she ever seen something as foul as Montague... with lands ravaged by neglect and domination?
When they arrived at Mikal’s homestead, she looked at the barn and shrugged. They’d stayed in structures that looked nearly as unsound on their journey from Cragside to this place. If Mikal had a hand in building it, she would trust his word that it was sturdy.
Nudging Morning Star to follow Mikal, she dismounted and the two of them followed Mikal and Talia into the barn. His Pretentious Magnificence may not want to stay inside such a hovel all night, but his tack certain would.
His was a touchstone, though, and she managed to remove bridle and saddle and blanket without thoughts of despair flooding her.
She brushed his midnight coat, noting that the sigal on his neck needed a touch up. Most wouldn’t notice; but a single line of one star was slightly worn away. When she was finished, she sat quietly beside Bekkah. Just as he had had different rituals for the fallen Jvrillians in the grove so long ago, Mikal would have his own way of saying a proper goodbye to his family.
Daxia would honor them, and honor him, by following his traditions.
He had noticed, obviously, the Montague guards who'd come out of Brockman's, but considering the rate of decline of the family Brockman, the Holdfast, and the surrounding lands, he simply assumed that over the years he'd been away Montague had finally laid claim to the last vestiges of what was left. He does wonder what happened to Dag Brockman, his wife and daughters. Even the little son of Lady Tanna. But whatever it was, he doesn't expect there's too much he can do about it.
So he busies himself getting Talia settled alongside the other mounts. Giving her a good brushing and feeding and cleaning and oiling his gear.
After a time, he realizes he is making excuses, and taking a deep breath, he moves off to the main house. He pauses at the weather beaten front door, and seeing the boot scraper is still beside it he carefully cleans his boots of road mug. The incongruousness of the fact that it is probably dirtier inside than out is lost on him. He then grasps the handle and pulls it open, smiling slightly as the door open with hardly any squeaking.
Stepping into the entryway his gaze is drawn automatically to the hand crafted wooden bench against the wall, and he frowns as he sees the mirror that hangs above it is cracked and several pieces have fallen to the floor and shattered. He bends down and picks them up, holding them in his hand for a moment or two before letting them fall back to the floor with a sigh.
He then moves slowly through the house, from room to room. Pausing for a time in each room, the memories flooding back in a tidal wave. The meals in the kitchen. The laughter of his sister and the smiles of his parents and Uncle. The hand-built fireplace in the living room. His fingers unconsciously find the small chip in it's mantle from where he hit it with an axe when he was 5 and was pretending to be Mikal Allina, Hero of Jemminy's Hill. His hand reaches back to touch his butt. His father had paddled his bottom good that evening, although he realizes now it was from worry he might have hurt himself or his sister who was in the room watching and giggling more than the small nick in the stone.
He looks into his parents bedroom, remembering the laughter and giggles he'd always heard coming from it, and then the sobbing and silence after his father and Uncle were taken.
Finally, he reaches the bedroom he shared with his sister. He simply stands and stares. Tears rolling unashamedly down his face. His shoulders heaving with sobs. He sees the bed made for he and his sister by his Uncle, still standing in the corner, and he collapses across it, not surprised that it holds his weight, even after the years of neglect.
He lays there for a long time. Several hours pass since he entered the house. Eventually he sits up and placing his hands upon the remains of the coverlet to rise, he feels a bump underneath. Curious he turns the cover over and sees nothing. He feels again and realizes it is something that is inside the covers. Carefully he tugs at some loose threads, and with very little effort the seams part and a small ring falls out into his palm.
He simply stares at it as even more memories return. His sister was at the age where suitors would soon come calling, and as was the tradition in his family she saved up her pennies and had a small ring of silver made. It was engraved with vines and flowers and had her name etched on the inside. Her suitor would wear it, to let other girls know he was hers and to keep their hands off. She often playfully gave it to Mikal when they played as she pretended he was her suitor and the serious expression on her face and her words to him at that time thunder in his ears: "Never remove this ring", she told him, "if you want my love to last forever."
He'd tease her by pretending to almost take it off, and she'd laugh and swat him. Holding it in his hand now his fingers tremble and he tentatively slips it onto his finger. Where it used to be so loose he had to clench his fist to keep it on, now it fits as if it was made for him all along.
His gaze is drawn out the window, to the small copse of trees in the distance and he smiles through the tears. He then strides out of the house, back to the group.
Upon reaching the barn, he says. "I have to pay my respects in the morning, at first light. We can head on after that." Those present can see his eyes are red and he wears a new piece of jewelry on his hand.
(OOC - I assumed no one would disturb him while he was in the house.)
Unobtrusively, as he often does when someone from their group goes off to collect water or on some other errand, Cesare moves to stand at the entrance to the barn, idly leaning there as if watching the oncoming night arrive. He usually has something in his hands, honing his daggers or cleaning a piece of kit, but his eyes usually watch outwards, listening to sounds and generally keeping watch.
He nods as Mikal returns, making no comment, just mentally ticking off his list.
Before going to sleep that night he carefully cleans and washes the best set of clothes he has and hangs them to dry for morning. He then performs his normal nightly rituals of oiling his leather and using a sharpening stone to remove any nicks in his weapons.
Early, well before dawn, he rises and dresses in the clothing on the line. He leaves all his armour and weapons in the barn and just before sunrise he heads out of the barn walking slowly towards the small copse of old forest growth. He doesn't say anything to the others. If they wish to join him he doesn't dissuade them and if not he doesn't make mention of it either.
As he walks, he stops periodically and reaches down to pick up small stones. Reaching the copse of trees he stops precisely at a spot about 10 feet or so from the base of the largest tree. It is ancient, with gnarled branches and roots that sometimes press above ground.
He stands there silently for some time. Any who have joined him can see there is little to distinguish this spot from any other nearby. Someone with extremely good skills in tracking and nature might be able to detect that the ground here was disturbed at one time, but it has been years since that happened and the grass and root growth have reclaimed the earth.
Kneeling down on the ground, he reaches his hands out to the earth, pressing them flat, as if trying to feel for something. His eyes are dry. He wept for his family last evening and he has made peace with his return. He is now simply honouring their memory.
Moving back up to his knees, he takes the small stones and lays them in a precise pattern on the ground. First is a circle, and beneath it is an upside down "v" shaped arrow point with a line across the top.
"Watch over them Krysta. Keep them safe until I may see them again."
He stands, dusting off his pant legs, and offers a small smile to any who have joined him. "I just need to change and we can get moving. Thank you for indulging me."
She had watched... no, she had carefully observed Mikal last evening both as he cleaned his best clothes and then, with occasional glances, his normal evening routine of caring for his weapons. And so in the morning, when she dressed before her prayers to her Lady as she rose to once again watch over the world, Daxia dressed in her formal attire of white tunics and the black surcoat with silver trim. It hadn’t been a conscious decisions; it had just felt right.
Unlike Mikal, however, her sword hung at her side. True, she was not a Starlord and therefore not required to carry it at all times. Still, since the moment Kassia placed the sword, scabbard and belt in her hands, she had behaved toward it as if she was a Starlord. After all, Starlords were the foremost warriors of Dayala who carried the ironsilver weaponry.
Daxia paused for her prayers to greet Dayala, then followed Mikal silently toward the ancient tree. The observer, the witness... she stood today as friend, as well. She added her own thoughts to Krysta, a prayer of sorts, silently echoing Mikal’s sentiment.
When he stood, she returned his smile, then extended a hand to clasp his forearm... so similar to that day so long ago when she had Sealed an agreement with a Jvrillian who was a near stranger.
“It is no indulgence, my friend. After all you have done for us, for me, it is an honor to bear witness for you this morning.”
He is not altogether comfortable in the rituals of others, and unsure as to whether his presence would be welcome. He has a more practical approach to things and tends to exist more in the present than in the past - the exception being the unknowns in his past which seems to ambush him from time to time when he least expects it.
So he gets up with the others but stays behind preparing breakfast and making preparations for the journey ahead, supporting in the background.
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