Palapar III - Rendezvous
The island of Tabu was a remote and wild place, far out to sea between Palapar and Avalu and in political limbo because of it. Politically, the island was part of the former, but it had traditionally been claimed by the kings of Avalu in years past. It was small and mountainous and north of the major trade lanes. Hence, it was not the sort of place that saw visitors... until now.
Two ships sheltered in a small cove as stormclouds gathered overhead. Revidian and Tarlonese, their vastly different designs and wary distance from each spoke to the fact that they were not allies, but the fact that neither had fled or fought seemed to indicate that they were not enemies either.
A gentle rain began falling, wrapped in a cool wind. The air was fresh but heavy: thick and damp but somehow invigorating. It was midday but it may as well have been approaching sunset.
That was just as well. Both ships were here as much for another reason as they were for the storm. In fact, this cove had become something of an open trade secret among those who plied this route. They called it various names in their various languages, but all equated to something roughly similar: The Last Anchorage. Between Tabu and the tangled coasts of Palapar, there was no other place where a blockade runner was safe from the Virangish navy or their Torragonese allies.
Both anchored here as the sky darkened for precisely that safety, and yet... a lookout on one had spotted a ship in the distance with heraldry of red, white, and gold. The Torragonese were snooping. Danger was near.
The familiar creaking sounds of the ship soothed Xiuyang's nerves. The muffled sounds of rain outside were pleasant. If it weren't midday, sleep would come easy. Instead, she was preoccupied with her reading.
—for if an entire people were to believe that the sky is falling because a prophet declared it, would not their way of life change such that the atrophy of that society would be inevitable? Why invest in the future if there is none? So you see, it is not the gods that shape the future, but the faith itself. It is the collective consciousness that determines the prosperity of a nation.
The essence of the divine no longer walks incarnate upon the earth, but in this age, the power to cut one's own cloth and weave one's own future is given to those who believe. If the gods exist, it is in a form wherein their power to perform miracles is contingent upon the acting faith of mortals. To fools, who preach that a man has faith because a god has acted on his behalf, this is known as a heresy called "reverse causality." I call it "Idealized Magic;" that is, magic that manifests itself as a consequence of spreading the ideals once embodied by the gods, who are no longer with us.
For if an entire people were to unite in purpose at the behest of a prophet, how does this differ from bending the manas of an entire nation to one's command? This, I argue— "What are you doing?" Maria interrupted.
"Reading," Xiuyang replied nonchalantly.
"That old ledger? You're not supposed to read that out in the open, you know." Xiuyang closed the book—a small, blue leather bound book, with a cavalier hat on the front.
"It's the autobiography of a certain Virangish sage who traveled a lot." "Another dusty old book from one of those dusty old crones you idolize. Most women are happy to stay in one place their whole life, so long as it's... civilized. You should get your head checked... and come move this cargo with the rest of the boys," she sneered.
"She has some eccentric ideas about the Darhannic faith. ...I found them interesting," she replied blithely.
"Why do I have to move cargo? Aren't you too important for that kind of work, daughter of Solari?" "I didn't ask what the old crone blathered on about. You're just the third daughter. Know your place. If that boyfriend of yours gets to handle Company affairs, it'll be because I like him and I allowed it." Her smirk widened.
"Now get your fat ass out here. The Torragonese are coming." Xiuyang stowed the book away in her medicine box and stood up lazily.
"You seem chipper." "Why wouldn't I be? I get to watch those knife-ears lose their shit. As for us... it doesn't matter whether the ship that delivers the goods is Revidian or Torragonese. We benefit either way. In fact, it doesn't matter who wins this war. We are Rettanese. We have friends in Virang and Torragon. We profit until both of them are drained dry, and then we go home with our riches. ...I guess you'll be sad if Revidia is razed to the ground though, since your boyfriend is there." "So you noticed. I'm so flattered." Xiuyang pushed past her condescending elder.
So rude... You think I don't see you batting your eyes at him? Too bad, he already knows our secret, you bitch. Don't you dare... Xiuyang fumed as she moved their cargo to the deck, where it would be easier to "confiscate" —or toss overboard, should it prove necessary.
Her interest was piqued as her eyes drifted over to the Tarlonese ship.
Isn't that... Her eyes met with the yasoi. She covered her mouth, thinking it might make her more recognizable at a distance.
She'd been awkward on the pitching deck: unbalanced. Perhaps it was a microcosm of her current life. Perhaps there was no metaphor to it. Regardless, she was happy that the rocking had ended.
The clouds mumbled vague threats of thunder and the crystalline water shimmered only faintly under a veil of grey. Still, it was that right mix of warm and cool. Still, the sand was a perfect pearly gold powder: soft and light between her toes, accommodating yet firm. She was Tyrel'yrash'dichora and, where others may have perceived a threat to their lives, she would surely not. These people were as insects compared to her power.
Dozens of eyes were on the Avatar of Vyshta as she made her way towards the Revidian galleon, and a handful of rifle sights as well. It was all rather bizarre out of context. Two ships of different designs and nations moored standoffishly in a single cove, not a soul having stepped free of either save this solitary one-legged woman. Her pants were rolled up to her knee and she waded at a rather leisurely pace until the water began creeping up her thigh. After a brief pause, she lifted free of its grasp and hovered there, some thirty yards from the
San Cristoforo and one hundred from the
Etuulano'iisca.
She took only a moment to consider her words, having been given ample time by her earlier beachfront stroll.
"Is that a Solari flag I see on that ship?" she inquired.
"Might there be a Solari to go with it?" Xiuyang lowered her scarf and smiled.
"You're in luck. There's a two-for-one deal today. Though, one of them is rotten." "Don't denigrate yourself like that, dear sister. It's poor form." Maria emerged from below, blunderbuss in hand.
"That's a close enough distance to admire your betters from. What business do you have with the captain of this ship?" Suddenly, Xiuyang reached her hand out and yanked the firearm from her sister's hands, pulling her forward onto her knees. There was a kinetic whizzing and the clanging of metal. The arms dealer watched in scandalized fury as the mere jewelry peddler disassembled her weapon into its individual parts and dropped them on the deck.
"How dare you?!" she screeched.
"The leader of a company of yasoi has come over to speak to a company of huusoi. If you cared to know anything about what that means... She doesn't care who's 'in charge.' I'm the strongest huusoi here. Far as they are concerned, that makes me both the captain of this ship and the head of the Solari household." Xiuyang didn't look at Maria, but there was a smirk on her lips. She was enjoying this.
"Be a good girl and stay out of the way." Furious, Maria scooped up the remains of her toy and fled below decks. The crew had mixed reactions. Some lowered their rifles with little surprise on their faces, but others seemed terrified that the chain of command had collapsed because two powerful mages wanted to speak.
"How goes the war, suunei?" she asked, as casually as one might ask "how's life?" She beckoned Tyrel aboard.
The moment that Maria spoke, a half-dozen rifles aboard the
Etuulan'iisca trained themselves on her form. The moment that Xiuyang made a fool of her, titters and wheezes could be heard from aboard the graceful ship. They were not so very far apart, after all.
Following a few more exchanges, the Avatar of Vyshta floated gently over and alighted on board.
"Well enough that they want me out of the way and doing the same thing I assume you are here." Tyrel's eyes darted around the deck and she flashed her best nonthreatening smile.
"Thank you for having me aboard," she announced, with a gentle inclination of her head. A bit more quietly and with a slight wrinkle of her nose, she added,
"Is that creature truly your sister?" Meanwhile, there was a slight break in the clouds, rendering the water, the jungle, and the ship's deck alike speckled with sunlight. It was accompanied by an incongruous rumble of thunder and the hooting of monkeys somewhere in the trees. The distant sails of the Torragonese man o' war brightened and shimmered under the sun, closer than they had been earlier. This pair of old friends had perhaps five to ten minutes to catch up.
"So Tarlon has useless politicians now, too. My condolences." Xiuyang sighed.
"Yes, it's sadly true. She is my blood. Feel bad for me. Actually, wanna take her on a tour of Yarsoc sometime?" The crew of the ship, which appeared to now be hers, seemed oblivious to the meaning behind the suggestion.
"No, no, I'm only joking. Actually... no, I'm joking. I hope you were thinking of me when you were taking out their trash, though." She smiled a bit ruefully. She wondered if maybe it made her a bad person.
"If I start owing you any more favors, it might become a problem, even for me. How about I help you out? We might be able to make the cove look convincingly empty if we start on it right now." Tyrel smiled, almost... puckish, at the comment, but her expression soon turned as rueful as Xiuyang's.
"That bad, huh?" She shook her head and took a half step, a bit of that yasoi restlessness showing through.
"I'd lend you my sister, but trading a treasure for a turd hardly seems fair, no matter how much I like you." The playfulness was back, but something still wasn't quite right.
The one-legged woman seemed an awkward thing on the deck of the
San Cristoforo, very unlike the graceful figure Xiuyang had previously known. Regardless, she continued.
"We could fool the Torragonese, I suppose, though my Etuulan'iisca is but a humble fishing boat. Is not yours something totally mundane as well?" Her eyes slid across the gathered crew and back to Xiuyang, and there was something about the movement that made her think of... Miret! It was her face, as well! While the two bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, save a missing leg, they were not exactly the same.
"What have we to fear, then?" she concluded meaningfully, their gazes meeting.
Xiuyang blinked and cocked her head, appearing to question if she herself were quite sane. It wasn't immediately apparent why.
"I suppose, nothing," Xiuyang replied blankly. Now, she was quite certain of what Tarlon appeared to be doing here. Interfering in human affairs was quite the paradigm shift, and she wasn't quite ready to decide how she felt about it. She'd decided that Tyrel probably believed in those good intentions Tarlon claimed to have, but their "leaders?" If this was how they were treating Tyrel, then...
Xiuyang pulled over a crate and wove together some spongy material for them to sit on, making a show of ensuring she was comfortable—but, it was really just an excuse to get closer.
"Then... what can I do to really help you out? Miss Avatar." She watched the Torragonese man o' war approach as she whispered, wearing an enigmatic smile.
It was nothing so obvious as a sonic bubble. In fact, it was a spell far more advanced: a sonic bend. People who made a point of listening in would hear the pair speak, but not their true words. Truly, was this Tyrel? The missing leg seemed, neither, to be an illusion; it was a genuine amputation.
"I can maintain this for perhaps a minute before people catch on," the Avatar said.
"All of this is a ruse, Xiuyang, as I'm sure you're aware - at least in part." She mimicked laughter with her body language but continued, dead serious.
"The Torragonese confiscate our cargo but it reaches its destination anyhow." She nodded as she spoke, the contrast between words and action uncanny.
"Most everyone in Tarlon believes in the rightness of what we do, but there is a rot at the very heart of our society that only exploits and will undermine all of our good work in time. Laugh as if I've just said something funny." She brushed some hair from her face.
"The people aboard my ship are my captors. They're watching me and ensuring that the Avatar of Vyhsta is dumped ashore, to be caught and humiliated later, to have no contact with the legions of soldiers in the Liberated Lands who chant 'Dichora'. I could kill them, but then I would be killed. I'm not strong enough yet." She pretended to consider something, expression lighthearted.
"There is a plan in place to sneak me out. I assume that this was a routine stop for you. I'm sorry you got roped into this mess. Just play innocent and it'll pass you over." She sighed and nodded and the magic disappeared.
"For what it's worth, it is good to see you, though. I'll be sure to tell my sister as well. Oh," she added,
"and whatever you want to do about our Torragonese friends, I'll follow your lead!" Xiuyang laughed when Tyrel told her to. Truthfully, it wasn't difficult. To hear that there was corruption in the Tarlonese government didn't surprise her, and the only valid reactions were to laugh or cry. So, she made the easy decision to laugh, because this was not Tyrel, her friends were aware and actively fighting against the political rot, and the correct people were to become the punchline in all of it. There was an unfeigned spark of joy in her laughter as she nodded along to the rest of what she had to say.
"The funniest part is, we're doing the same," she whispered with the tone of someone letting another in on a joke.
"Revidia, Torragon, ReTan... they're all Solari hands, anyway." She waved hers dismissively, smile full of mischief.
"Trade by any other name is still trade." She turned back toward the Torragonese man o' war, flipping her hair.
"Yes. I'm glad to finally meet you again. To be honest, I'm relieved to find that this kind of... pardon the expression, 'humanitarian' work isn't beneath you. You're still the same person who went out of her way to rescue little ol' me." Xiuyang's enigmatic smile returned.
"I'm happy to hear that," the Avatar of Vyshta responded,
"and I'm sure my sister will be too. It's all a family endeavour." She rose and cast about, eyes settling on the ship.
"Now, much as I'd like to stay and chat longer, I'm afraid my crew will expect me back before our... company arrives." She twisted on the spot and flashed a smile.
"It was good seeing you, Xiuyang and, who knows, maybe we'll find ourselves in the same boat sooner than we'd think." With that, the Torragonese ship, now well in view, began furling its sails and coming to a stop as it navigated the mouth of the cove. it would be mere moments before anchors dropped and boats were prepared. In theory, even as the Tarlonese representative disappeared from the deck of the
San Cristoforo, a boarding announcement should've been coming at any moment...
The woman sat back in her chair, brushing her fiery red hair away from her blue eyes. Sea travel had its unrelenting way of leaving everything just a little bit dishevelled, from hair tossed by the wind, clothes rumpled by the sway and roll of the ship. Still, Ayla carried herself with practised ease, as though she were unbothered by such trivialities. She unfolded a napkin at her side, revealing a powdered Lion’s Mane mushroom. Carefully, she poured the powder into her steaming mug of coffee. She swirled the mug, the dark liquid sloshing as it mixed, before she took a deep, deliberate sip.
The meaty texture of the mushroom was an acquired taste, but one she had long since grown accustomed to. After all, there was a reputation to uphold. Arslan women were known for their sharpness, and their ability to stay one step ahead of friend and foe alike. Staying alert, focused, and unshakable was a vital part of that legacy.
She glanced toward the sound of muffled voices just beyond the door. The chatter was louder than usual, and there was a tone of tension that drew her attention. Before long, there was a sharp knock at her cabin door. Ayla set the coffee down, already reaching for her long blue jacket as the messenger entered hastily.
"Señora, sorry to disturb-" But Ayla was already on the move. She strode past the young man with a nod, her jacket swirling behind her as she ascended to the deck.
“So,” she began, her voice dripped with dry humour,
“we have a sale on in the cove: buy one, get one free.” The corners of her mouth twitched upward in amusement at her own joke, though her gaze remained fixed ahead to their destination.
She walked to the railing, her boots clicking softly on the polished wood of the deck. Once there, she stopped and raised her hands, forming a box with her thumbs and index fingers as if framing the scene below.
“The caption would read: ‘Tarlon’s and Revidia’s secret tryst under the moonlight.’” She tilted her head and moved her hands slightly, mimicking the act of capturing the best angle for a mental picture.
“If only there were a way to preserve and transmit this moment,” she mused, shaking her head,
“it would do so much good for the cause.” The messenger, Ruban, hovered nearby, clearly unsure how to respond. He squinted toward the scene in the cove. There were two ships, one Tarlonese, the other Revidian, nestled suspiciously close together under the shadow of the cliffs. To him, it might have seemed like nothing more than an unusual coincidence.
“Ruban,” she said sharply, snapping him out of his stupor.
“Pass the message. Announce our arrival and have the men prepare the cannons.” She turned her head slightly, the faintest hint of mischief gleaming in her eyes.
“If they so much as think about raising an anchor without permission...” She extended her hand, forming her fingers into the shape of a gun, and whispered,
“Pow.” The almost girlish giggle that followed appeared chillingly out of place, and Ruban swallowed hard before scurrying off to relay her orders.
The man-o-war slid gracefully into position, its imposing hull blocking the cove’s narrow entrance. The sound of horns blared, a fanfare of authority that echoed off the cliffs. On deck, a Torragonese officer began ceremonial flag signalling, relaying the order for the two other ships to prepare for the arrival of a boarding party.
The ship’s crew moved swiftly, lowering a small rowboat into the water. Ayla stepped aboard, her commanding presence unmistakable as she positioned herself at the head. Her red hair gleamed in the pale light, cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall, and her long buttoned blue uniform coat was both practical and elegant. It fell just above her knees, revealing a hint of black leggings tucked neatly into polished leather boots.
She was flanked by a team of rowers, who began to propel the small vessel toward the ships. Their first target was the Revidian vessel, that was no doubt carrying cargo of questionable legality. The tension in the air was palpable, but Ayla remained calm, the faintest smirk playing at her lips. She was a predator, a Lion sizing up her prey, and she intended to enjoy every moment of the hunt.
Now, you come to me with earnest please, thought the Avatar of Vyshta. She had alighted on the deck of the
Etuulan'iisca mere moments before the trumpets. Count on the Torragonese to conduct themselves with such over-the-top dramatic flair. Her jailors had started begging for their
vith'doi, their
etuulan, their
dichora. They weren't throwing themselves at her feet -
foot - quite yet, but they may as well have been by the urgency of their entreaties.
She felt for some of the lower echelons: green recruits, her age or younger and genuine believers in the sanctity of this 'mission'. The others were creatures, and how
easily Tyrel'yrash might've crushed them. Alas, the one-legged woman would at least enjoy watching them squirm.
She settled her stump upon the gunwale and crossed her arms as she observed the display. The idiot crew were working frantically to cover up signs that this was a ship of importance. Only Captain Aldenraax and a few key personnel were in on the deeper plan, and none were in on
her plan - the only one that truly mattered. Any of them could scupper it with but a misplaced word or action. This could all go south so easily.
For a moment, she nearly got a cold foot. There was a Venomhand - she could smell his blood type - who might decide to be a hero. There were eager young sailors who'd lay down their lives for the goddess. The cache she'd built in Yarsoc and Parmoy now permeated much of the lower reaches of the Tarlonese command structure. 'Finally,' they rejoiced, 'an Avatar of Vyshta who was not just some pretty tripod who waved and smiled and never did much of anything.' She managed an ironic smile at that, but her mind was afire.
Please stick to the fucking plan, she urged them inwardly,
Or I'll be stuck like this - stuck forever. They were busy turning the
etuulan'iisca into a Tarlonese trawler, of the sort that popped up from time to time in regions such as these, usually just outside of a nation's claimed waters, harvesting the bounty of their shoals. Some aboard hinted that she might blast away those subyasoi desert rats with her awesome power. Some of those were her jailors, but most were the dupes. She watched the boats lower and Ayla step into one, so wonderfully playing the role Dami had now assigned her. She headed first for the galleon, and the Avatar had no intention of doing anything, not unless it should become necessary.
Xiuyang winced at the echoing bellow of the trumpets. Maria re-emerged from below decks, making a twisting motion with her finger against her ear.
"They can't do anything quietly, can they? Fucksake." Maria glanced overboard at the approaching redhead.
"Looks like she's not a knife-ear. Guess that means I'm in charge here." She jabbed her sister's thigh with the butt of her prized, state of the art rifle, knocking her down.
"You ever do that again, I'll kill you. I'm serious as a heart attack. I can still hear their infernal snickering," she hissed.
"I just saved your dumb ass!" Xiuyang hissed back.
Maria jerked her head, motioning for a member of the crew to throw a rope ladder overboard for Ayla to climb as she composed herself and prepared to bring her rosebud manas to bear on this situation. Her sister was as hopeless a case as the yasoi, and the crew's impressions of her personality held no weight, but it wouldn't do to have someone of Arslan pedigree see her in a bad light.
"Maria Solari welcomes you aboard the San Cristoforo, señora Arslan. It is a pleasure, Ayla darling," she added, much less formally.
"I've heard so much about you from my sister, Salome?" She said her name as if asking if Xiuyang was a memorable person to Ayla. Xiuyang, for her part, was quite sweaty and disheveled.
"Good day, Ayla," she offered, with much less pomp.
As Ayla approached the Revidian vessel, a rope ladder was lowered over the side. She grasped the wooden rungs firmly, her boots pressing against the hull as she climbed aboard with practised ease. Once on the deck, she patted herself down, brushing off the faint traces of seawater that clung to her coat.
A wide smile spread across her face as she was greeted by the Mistresses of the ship.
“No, no, thank you. The customary bread and salt will do,” she said with a polite nod, as she dismissed the offer of salami. She waved it off gracefully before turning her gaze to sister.
“It’s good to see you as well, Xuiyang.” A part of her was quietly amused at the sight of the two women, especially the stark contrast in their attire and demeanour. The difference was striking, yet somehow it seemed to reflect the curious partnership between them, the brains and brawn of the operation? Still, Ayla quickly refocused, and caught herself before her thoughts wandered too far.
“You can imagine our surprise,” she began, her voice light and teasing,
“at finding a Revidian vessel sheltering so cosily beside a Tarlonese one. We do hope we didn’t disrupt anything with our sudden appearance.” She let out a soft, playful giggle and added a wink, as if sharing an inside joke with the pair.
“Of course, it’s only a tease. We know you would never consort with them. Why, you’d have likely fired upon us to keep such a little tryst a secret.” Her tone carried an edge of playfulness, but her expression remained disarmingly friendly, even as her words probed for any reaction. Behind her, several Torragonese guards began to climb aboard from the rowboat, their presence a silent reminder.
Ayla turned back to the Mistresses, her tone softening as she spoke again.
“Would you be so kind as to offer us a tour of your fine vessel? It’s not every day one gets the opportunity to step aboard a proud Solari ship.” She gestured casually to the surrounding deck.
"...Whut?" Maria replied, not getting the pun. Xiuyang snorted, but didn't seem amused.
"Bread and salt? At least take a handful of biltong, my dear." She looked at Xiuyang as if to say, "hop to it."
"Fire upon our fellow Torragonese? We would never do something so crass. Your presence is quite welcome, in fact. Relaxing with their sort around is like trying to sleep when you know there's a spider." "At least a spider keeps the mosquitoes at bay," Xiuyang remarked as her sister and guest followed her below decks.
"Too true, dear sister! I would much rather sleep with a spider than a yasoi, wouldn't you?" she remarked back with a smirk. In less polite company, she might have dug more deeply into the implication behind those words.
Xiuyang offered Ayla some strips of dried, salted meat. The spices were simple yet exotic. Nothing but the height of luxury for sisters Solari, it seemed. As they toured the vessel, it became pretty clear that all the cargo which was intended to be sold was already on the top deck. Luxuries for the girls aside, everything kept below was essential to the art of sailing and running a crew, only noteworthy in its mundanity.
"That is about all there is, my dear. It is nice to have respectable company during this spot of rain, but we really have little else to entertain you with." Ayla smiled warmly, nodding along as she listened attentively throughout the tour.
“You run a very tight ship,” she remarked with genuine-sounding admiration, as she worked the charm.
“It’s good to see such expertise out here on the open seas.” As they returned to the deck, her gaze drifted toward the assembled items already prepared for transportation. With practised ease, she pulled a parchment from her coat and began jotting something down with a quill.
“So, these are all the rice shipments destined for Palapar, then?” she asked, tapping the side of one of the crates lightly with the feathered end of the quill.
She nodded to herself before continuing,
“As you know, the embargo doesn’t permit Revidian ships near the islands. Don’t worry, we’ll take excellent care of them on your behalf.” She offered a reassuring smile. With a subtle gesture, she signalled one of the guards, who immediately stepped forward to begin preparations for moving the goods, and the quiet efficiency of the Torragonese soldiers left little room for dispute.
Turning back toward the sisters, she fixed her attention on Xiuyang in particular, her smile softening into one of disarming charm.
“Your presence here is most fortunate,” she said smoothly.
“We hoped to have your assistance in a delicate matter. Perhaps your expertise with the Yasoi could help make them a little… more amicable for what needs to happen next?” She paused briefly, allowing her words to settle before adding with a subtle tilt of her head,
“Naturally, you shall be well rewarded for your efforts.” Maria smiled pleasantly, or perhaps venomously, or perhaps she was only feigning the latter. She made no moves to stop what was happening, especially the part where Xiuyang was leaving her ship. To be sure, it was
her ship, and she intended to own Ayla's compliment, and nothing would make her ship more tightly run than removing their biggest wildcard.
Xiuyang blinked.
"Sure," she replied simply. It didn't make much sense, for a multitude of reasons, but it's not as if Maria or her crew knew that, nor needed to. Indeed, perhaps it was better that they didn't. Maybe Ayla had other intentions, or just wanted to talk without the bitch taking the wind out of their sails. Her face settled into an easy smile once she had descended the rope ladder, but she didn't say anything yet. She would let Ayla speak first.
Ayla smiled broadly as she settled into the boat alongside Xiuyang, letting out a little squeal of excitement.
“Isn’t it terribly thrilling, meeting like this?” she said, her voice light.
“Just imagine, running into our classmates out here in the real world, as it were.” She gave Xiuyang a playful nudge with her elbow, her grin widening.
“Of course, that kind of situation has its perks… especially like this one.” She gestured toward the Tarlonese ship, her tone growing more thoughtful.
“Our friend, the Avatar of Vyshta, Tyrel herself, is supposed to be on that ship. She’s the leader of the Tarlonese in this area.” Ayla paused for a moment, searching for the right words.
“We need to convince her not to… well, let’s say, not to go Ingrid on us.” "Y'yash'cud'op ya leth pa'laaz!" Shouted the lookout, retracting his spyglass.
"Pa thelo nar'op ya tox tuum," he added.
"Elii?" the 'goddess' prodded, using arcane bending to magnify what she saw.
"Pa yaya," the sailor called back,
"Pa taca el'dii'pen duul elaaz." "Liin," she replied. Xiuyang was... something like a friend. Her sister most definitely was not.
"Nax'etuulan," came the captain's voice,
"Yim pa thiilo rey luum vem'al." He bowed stiffly at the waist. Of course, she knew that she was supposed to decline the offer and assure them that whatever happened was the will of fate, so that was what she did.
"Qitoip, Aldenraax'tando, cip luum voi'it thuula liing pa weiluu p'edya." Protests and entreaties alike died on the lips of more than a handful of others. The Avatar of Vyshta nodded approvingly and made to prepare herself for their arrival.
Xiuyang watched Ayla's facade melt away like so much warm butter, and she savored the moment as though it were exactly that.
"Having the next generation of leaders socialize young is a good way to promote peace. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Ersand'Enise might be the most important place in the world for maintaining that careful balance. I hope these chance meetings continue to be on good terms." Of course, "perks" also included the opportunity to use old friends for one's own gain, but it was a little early to wax so cynical. This was the sweet and innocent Ayla, and an ally of Tyrel she was dealing with. The latter had even declined the offer for a favor, ostensibly.
...Oh. She'd forgotten to play innocent and wait for this to blow over, didn't she? How easily Ayla had tempted her into action with the promise of reward. She was almost a little embarrassed.
"Tyrel, huh? Interesting. But you know the Tarlonese care even less for 'tree-riders' than Constantian yasoi, right? I'm happy for this chance to talk to both of you, but I'm afraid my 'expertise' is of little use to you. Actually, I owe Tyrel my life, remember?" She pointedly ignored the remark on Ingrid. She had recently been attacked by a demon who had stolen Xiuyang's likeness, and it would be in bad taste to have a joke at her expense.
“Peace? Good. We knew we liked you.” Ayla offered a playful smile as the rowboat cut through the water, its oars rising and falling rhythmically.
“That’s exactly what’s on the line here. A historic peace between Torragon and Virang.” She raised a finger to her lips and leaned in slightly, as though sharing a secret.
“But don’t speak its name above a whisper, for there are those who would crush such beauty under the weight of an iron fist.” “The great powers are balanced on a seesaw, each perpetually moving away from the other to maintain a fragile balance. But the danger lies in the beam breaking under the strain, then conflict becomes inevitable. Yet,” she added, her eyes flicking back to Xiuyang with a hint of cleverness,
“moving apart isn’t the only way to balance the scales. There’s another option: we meet them in the middle.” She tilted her head slightly, the edge of a grin returning.
“Virang is like a rich man clutching his jewels, its greed knows no bounds, and it guards its treasures with a ferocity matched only by its need for self-preservation.” Ayla clicked her tongue, shaking her head lightly.
“Virang has no desire to part with its pearls. And that, my new friend, creates a very interesting opportunity.” Her hands lifted, palms facing each other as though weighing invisible scales.
“Both sides are evenly matched. Guns for guns, mages for mages. No clear advantage on either side. And for Virang, the cost of war far outweighs any potential benefit.” She smirked, her voice taking on a light, conspiratorial tone.
“As our dear Maura so eloquently puts it, the price of peace is at an all-time low, it’s practically wholesale. Now is the perfect time to sit down, stamp out an agreement, and bring an end to this looming conflict between our nations. We just need to play nice until the ink is dry, and then a new chapter can begin: one where Torragon and Virang choose peace over war.” Ayla turned her attention to the Tarlonese vessel they were approaching and gestured toward it with a graceful flick of her wrist.
“Which brings us to our current predicament.” Her voice lowered slightly, though it still carried a note of amusement.
“According to our information, Tarlonese High Command isn’t too fond of our friend Tyrel. She’s got a little too popular with the riff-raff, as they're practically worshipping her. They’d prefer her rotting in some Virangish prison, or worse, while they find another Avatar of Vyshta to fill her boot. But we have a better idea.” Her smile widened, sharp and cunning, like a Cheshire Cat’s.
“We need to convince her that coming with us, as a free woman, is in her best interest, not as a prisoner of war, not as a pawn in their game. And that’s where you come in.” Ayla’s gaze softened, and her tone grew warmer, and coaxing.
“Your bond is perfect. You look like someone who keeps her word, and Tyrel knows you well enough to trust this isn’t some elaborate ruse. She’ll see this for what it is: an opportunity to help her escape their trap, and to protect herself. She can use this to play a role in something far greater than the fate offered to her.” Ayla gave a friendly, cheerful wave to the Yasoi watching them from the rowboat.
“You want in?” her tone light as she turned back to Xiuyang, and added with a mischievous grin,
“Your family has quite the network of trade connections with Torragon. We could insist on you being their representative.” Her gaze dropped to Xiuyang’s worn, dirty overalls, and she shook her head with a mix of bemusement and disbelief,
“Your talents are clearly being squandered.” Xiuyang listened intently, weighing Ayla's words, but without the gesticulating of the other girl.
"Yes, making war more expensive than peace is a sound plan," she replied, pretending that she previously had no role in any such endeavor, for she could not afford to make such an admission, even to a presumed friend in Ayla.
"A merchant's means and ends are the same in the end. Our greatest enemy is the almighty ledger. Virang adopting this mindset wouldn't be so bad." Xiuyang made a point of re-checking that, between the three of them, at least one of them had the presence of mind to lend some privacy-enhancing sonic magic to their conversation.
"But if it's like you say with Tarlon, it's not as simple as just sailing away into the sunset. They will call her a deserter and she will lose support. Their leaders must at least have the appearance of getting what they want. It will keep them complacent and predictable, because at the end of the day, they don't want to crush morale completely. They will have fewer protests if they can try to pretend that their new avatar is only a temporary replacement. They will set themselves up to either be forced to accept her return, or else betray the one true Vyshta, showing the people who they really are. Checkmate." “That’s why we might have to fight her,” Ayla said, shaking her head from side to side with an exaggerated sigh.
“But considering how strong she is, it might be more convincing if it’s the two of us.” She grinned widely, her expression almost too casual, like someone who had just signed Xiuyang up for a death wish without a second thought.
When they arrived after they had both spoken all they needed to say, Ayla tapped her nose, signaling a shift in the conversation.
“...And the sound of these monkeys reminds me of that tall, red-haired friend of yours.” Xiuyang didn't seem too concerned about her safety, for some reason. But then, it was like she suddenly realized something.
"Oi, oi. I have a reputation to uphold, too. I can't be seen betraying the avatar of Vyshta like that!" she hissed.
"Kiss all the good will I've worked so hard to earn goodbye, for what? Are you offering me half of Torragon?" she whispered urgently.
But the Tarlonese vessel was upon them, now, and they would have to think on their feet.
"Oh, I'm sure these fellows are gentlemen compared to him!" she japed back good-naturedly, though her face betrayed a hint of irritation.
There was no ladder offered. There were rifles trained on them. Energy levels spiked: a warning from the yasoi that they now entered the mouth of the dragon and had best step lightly lest they cause it to bite.
The flank of the large craft loomed above them, its graceful lines scarce disguised by some recent and hasty work. Its gunports stood open. The captain did not step forward. there was the distinct sense that they were unwelcome to the very precipice of open hostility.
Then, suddenly, a familiar face appeared over the gunwale. The woman who wore it was dressed in sheer flowing white and black silks, her blue-green eyes bright and piercing and... more than a bit wary despite the hidden friendliness behind them.
"Oira, heicoex," she greeted.
"joith ya zexii, cip joi'hiing leth joio'aruuz duul pa seiluu." An unctuous-looking man in an officer's uniform translated in heavily-accented Avincian.
"Her radiance, the Goddess Fortuna, greets you and decrees that you are welcome aboard, but you must leave your weapons in your boat." A particularly close look might've revealed the hint of a blush on the divine one's face.
"You have my personal promise that no harm shall come to you unless you should first bring harm to us." She glanced over her shoulder at the captain, who merely scowled.
The yasoi would not have to wait long. Xiuyang was the first to comply, placing Ahn-Dami's Second Chancers on the bench next to her.
"Unless her radiance the goddess Fortuna requires that I forego this mortal coil and be with her in spirit, these are all the weapons that I can leave behind." She smiled pleasantly.
Ayla was just about to declare that they didn’t have any weapons when Xiuyang began placing her guns on the bench. Her whisper came out as an exasperated hiss:
“Wait, you brought a weapon? Now we look suspicious for not bringing one.” She glanced around quickly, then an idea struck her. With a theatrical wave of her hand, she gestured toward the man-o-war looming behind them.
“Mine is that one over there,” she said, grinning as the flag bearer aboard the Torragonese vessel awkwardly waved back, clearly unsure what the gesture meant.
Ayla turned to Xiuyang, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially,
“You know consoi, don’t you? If you can translate anything, it might make us look, you know, less ignorant.” Her expression was hopeful, as if banking on Xiuyang’s talents to salvage the situation.
Clearing her throat with exaggerated politeness, Ayla straightened and announced her intentions with an air of diplomacy:
“Torragon welcomes you, distant travellers, and is willing to provide aid for your safe journey back home. These waters can be treacherous, especially with Virangish patrol ships prowling about.” She gave Xiuyang a not-so-subtle nudge, signalling her to translate. Once the translation was done, Ayla continued with a bright smile:
“Please grant us entrance so we may discuss this further.” "Neither of us bringing weapons would be even more suspicious, though..." she replied flatly. Then, at Ayla's insistence that she knew "consoi," her eyes widened.
"Uh. I don't think..." was about all Xiuyang managed before she was suddenly thrust into translator duty. She did not, in fact, confidently or fluently speak any yasoi language.
It was at about this point that Xiuyang realized that she was at risk of being made the straight man of their comedy duo, and that just wouldn't do. So, she began translating Ayla's speech... into sign language. A very made-up sign language that very much didn't exist.
"I thought maybe they were hard of hearing," she suggested innocently as she looked back at Ayla.
While Xiuyang played the "funny and stupid yanii," though, if Miret paid attention to her aimless gesticulating, there was a pattern—a pinch pattern mixed in with the other nonsense.
F r i e n d. It had to be simple, in case someone else noticed. If it could not be written off as a coincidence, it would be suspicious.
Tyrel narrowed her eyes at the fiasco below. The crew glanced among themselves. If the yanii were trying to be disarming, they were... somewhat succeeding. None of them understood much of anything, and so they looked to their Avatar of Vyshta, even the ones who were essentially here to be her jailors and sell her out.
All were paying so much attention to the show that she decided she could get away with the most basic tethered pinch message of all to Xiuyang:
<Received.> She twisted to regard the captain and nodded.
"Joi'etuulan yim tet yax a duul'elaaz" She stepped back from the gunwale.
"Oh," she added in Retanese, for the humans' benefit,
"I told them to let you aboard. Pretend that you didn't already know so they feel useful." With that, she made her way towards the rear cabins, where she would await them and the trio might speak with at least
some semblance of privacy.
Xiuyang looked back to Ayla and gave an encouraging nudge of her elbow, like she had accomplished some kind of objective, but it wasn't clear what, precisely.
Ayla outranked her, socially, and this was both yasoi and technically enemy territory, so Xiuyang took point. Only when she reached the deck did she realize that, the last time she was surrounded by so many yasoi, her life had been in grave danger. She wasn't terrified, but she had to be a little anxious. She found herself rationalizing that some of those toothy smiles were approximately welcoming. Perhaps they appreciated her defusing the situation with her sister before it could turn violent. Perhaps her joke about the yasoi being hard of hearing had been passably funny. Perhaps a friend of Tyrel was a friend of Tarlon indeed.
Those thoughts carried her as far as the rear cabins, where she could feel some semblance of safety.
"So... We've had our goods confiscated, and we're being sent on our way. It's a shame, I had business with someone currently in Palapar, but what can you do. It's probably much the same situation, here." Xiuyang deferred to Ayla.
“The Tarlonese are like… Torragonese Yasoi. We should feel right at home,” Ayla said with a warm smile toward Xiuyang, who had already taken the lead and climbed onto the ship first. What caught Ayla off guard was the greeting: was that Retanese? Or perhaps Nikanese? Maybe it was Tyrel’s idea of a joke, mocking their earlier, disastrous attempt at translation. Ayla was half-tempted to mimic a few phrases she’d overheard from Ashon but wisely thought better of it; knowing her luck, she’d end up offering her ship in exchange for a banana and calling Tyrel a teapot, or something equally absurd.
As she passed the Yasoi crew, Ayla nodded politely, her smile restrained but courteous. She straightened her posture, adopting the air of a confident noblewoman. With a deliberate, graceful stride, she moved across the deck, her half-lidded eyes drawing attention to the fierce orange eyeshadow adorning her lids, bold as war paint. She carried herself like someone meant to be noticed but not trifled with, gliding toward the rear cabins with measured poise.
In response to Xiuyang’s remark,
“We requisitioned goods that no longer served a purpose. Really, we were doing you a favour,” she began, her tone formal and even, each word carefully chosen. She paused just long enough for the weight of her statement to settle before continuing,
“Additionally, we may have also… requisitioned you. Your crew was preparing the sails as we docked.” She let the implication hang in the air, her expression unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of amusement at the corners of her mouth.
Then, with a subtle flourish, she lifted a handkerchief to her nose, a seemingly innocuous gesture but one that signalled the weaving of her sonic magic. The faint, invisible vibrations began to shift the air, as she turned her attention to Tyrel,
“Our little trick to obscure our conversation.” Her lips curved into a smile, adding,
“You’re gesturing as you insult me.” "Pai duul pa temii'yaya," remarked one to the others,
"Eth broas, eth suuuugan, eth broa'soi." A few of them nodded in admiration. Some even bowed their heads.
Then, the Constantian duo was in the Avatar's chambers and Tyrel was sprawled out languidly on a divan, one arm slung over its back.
"I am, as you know, very insulting... bruja." She threw in a couple of emphatic gestures before launching right into things.
"It's good to see you both," she assured them, expression matching neither words nor tone of voice.
"Though I wish it might've been under better circumstances." She straightened abruptly, body language becoming suddenly aggressive.
"Oh, and don't mind the crew. They're you're typical brainwashed Tarlonese and most of them are dupes, the poor fuckers. They don't know the higher ups' plan, much less ours." She suddenly glanced down at her shoe and reacted with disgust to whatever it was that the others were saying.
"Has anything changed on your end, Red?" Xiuyang's demeanor changed abruptly. Her smile was wiped clean from her face, something which may have been satisfying to see if she and Ayla were enemies. Slowly, she paced over to a window and peered back at the Revidian vessel. Sure enough, they seemed prepared to depart, but they hadn't done so just yet. She scoffed.
When she turned back to face the duo, it very nearly seemed for a moment that she had become her sister. Her face bore the same sneer.
Do you feel like you're in charge, little cub? her eyes seemed to suggest darkly. Fortunately, she, too, was acting. It was an act, right?
Slowly, she made her way to Ayla's side, as if to whisper in her ear. Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She played at comforting Ayla in response to whatever Tyrel had said. She placed an arm around Ayla's shoulders and ran tender fingers through her hair. Xiuyang's skin seemed to crawl as though there were a chill, but both the cabin and the girl's body were warm. In fact, her hand seemed unusually warm. Still, she retained an absolute silence as the other two spoke.
Ayla raised an eyebrow as Xiuyang moved to check through the window, her formal-sounding tease serving its purpose in setting the stage. Though, soon enough, everyone was playing their part in this unfolding performance. Improvisation would undoubtedly be required, but Ayla felt confident she could weave a convincing narrative.
“Patha Lexelei’tet” the yasoi whispered as he squinted with his face pressed tightly against the peephole. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the wooden panel, trying to make out the gestures of the three women in the cabin.
The Goddess definitely looks displeased about something, he thought, his mouth twitching in excitement.
“toitoi’senii, diiax!”.
The other yasoi gave a low grunt, sitting cross-legged on the floor with one ear pressed firmly against a glass tumbler balanced against the thin cabin wall. His free hand lazily scratched the back of his neck as he listened, his lips curling in a mix of confusion and amusement.
They’re talking fast, hhe muttered under his breath, straining to keep up with the rapid conversation. After a moment, he tilted his head and added,
something about… horses?. His brow furrowed deeply as he focused, struggling to piece together the torrent of words before offering his translation:
“joi labii yashtii’nar’thal” The yasoi at the peephole snorted, his grin stretching wide enough to flash his teeth.
A short joke?” His thoughts practically buzzed with delight,
This is already the most interesting conversation we’ve overheard from the Goddess all voyage. His grin only widened as he watched their expressions shift inside the cabin.
Xiuyang’s voice rose, as they listened.
” Irex’ismax yaya joi jam’siin?”, the translator hissed. The yasoi at the peephole glanced toward the Torragonese noble, his grin barely contained.
Oh, she’s offended. he thought gleefully. The translations continued to flow:
“nash vailgeth”, And then, after an exaggerated pause:
“aly vailgeth”.
The translator clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, shoulders shaking as he fought to keep quiet. Meanwhile, the peephole watcher gestured wildly toward him as Xiuyang moved to whisper to the other yaniii. The other yasoi adjusted his tumbler, muttering through a barely suppressed snicker,
“et eliid suuluun broas, He delivered the line with mock solemnity, his composure crumbling seconds later.
This gets better, he thought, barely able to contain his own amusement as the words tumbled out:
“Suuluun’dii, nan’dor.” The yasoi at the peephole perked up, leaning closer as Tyrel looked down at her shoe. He squinted, barely believing what he was seeing.
“pa’dor?”, the translator whispered incredulously. As he watched Tyrel stare at the shoe, the next absurd translation came:
“ta, nash pa’dor, suuluun yuula dor”.
Wait… she wants her shoe now? Did I hear that right? The two yasoi exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions equal parts baffled and entertained. The peephole watcher bit down on his knuckle to suppress his laughter, shoulders shaking as he tried to remain quiet.
“Joi muul pa etuulan’dor?”, the translator choked out, his voice trembling with barely-contained mirth. The tumbler nearly slipped from his hand as he tried to compose himself.
This yanii too much. Too Much, he thought.
“Joi geth irex’ismax”. The peephole watcher wiping at the tears streaming down his face as he continued to watch.
“We want to help you get off this ship,” Ayla continued, her tone smooth,
“and how you choose to experience your newfound freedom is certainly a conversation we are happy to entertain, hopefully to our mutual benefit.” She extended a hand toward Tyrel as she looked toward her shoe. The gesture was deliberate and demanding. As if expecting to receive something.
It was tucked inside of the Avatar's boot.
"They will expect you to offer something in return or they will not accept this." She stood and held the accessory out, eyes narrowed and resentful, dignity threatened.
"I will walk away on my own, having sacrificed myself for the sake of the ship's survival. It will be clear that I could resist and win, but I will not with an eye to the greater strategic picture and because I can always break out later." She was solemn as she made the exchange. Nothing had been said about matters going belly-up, so she'd have to assume that everything was in place. If not, Tyrel was strong enough to do something about her impending captivity.
Tyrel would've been, anyhow.
Ayla nodded thoughtfully for a moment, slipping the ring from her finger and holding it out as she made the exchange.
“We can swap these trinkets back later on the ship,” she said, glancing toward Xiuyang with a small, musing smile.
“You could even have an escort to Palapar, if that’s your destination.” She shrugged, spreading her hands casually.
“Then later, you could have a nice, heroic tale of a great escape, ‘rescue’ the confiscated goods and deliver them. All we’d ask is to take credit for your capture. Or, if you prefer, we could deliver you to Tanso or another territory you call home.” She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers lightly on her elbow as she continued.
“Ultimately, you’d be free to walk, hop, or jump away as you please.” Ayla’s gaze sharpened as she leaned forward ever so slightly.
“So, what do we need to do to make this work?” Just as expected, you're not the one, Xiuyang thought as she played with a lock of Ayla's hair. Then, she acted as though she'd grown bored of it. She nodded at Ayla's suggestion, but her words wouldn't match.
"The one who captured a Solari? You don't want that reputation. Our family always repays a favor, but it also repays a slight," she replied gravely. She looked between the two girls, pondering.
"We have a common goal, but also our own separate reputations and agendas to consider. I propose a rumor mill approach. Nobody will know what to believe, so they'll just agree with the narrative they like best, which should be favorable for all of us, on average." She looked between the two girls once more.
Tyrel nodded slowly, face becoming pensive.
"There a lot to explain and precious little time," she replied.
"I can save you the trouble of an elaborate plan, though." If she couldn't smile outwardly, she did it with her eyes.
"Follow my lead and it'll all be okay, even if it doesn't look like it." Outside, the eavesdroppers heard something very different, however.
"What sort of imbecile do you think I am!?" roared the Avatar of Vyshta.
"If you insist on making things worse again," came Xiuyang's voice,
"then you only prove her right!" "Do you think us yasoi so simple that I would take a sealing ring and place it on my finger!?" "You'd have saved us all a lot of trouble," they heard Ayla grumble.
"Well, time for the big guns, we suppose, though we regret it had to come to this." Tyrel turned to Xiuyang.
"This is your chance to escape as well," she warned the Revidian before pivoting back to the Torragonese.
"Your ship will be hard-pressed to defeat two others in combat. She narrowed her eyes.
"Tread very carefully." "Whoa whoa whoa!" interjected the Revidian,
"who said anything about me taking sides?" Ayla, meanwhile, sounded utterly unfazed.
"And who said anything about a ship?" she rejoined.
From the distance could be heard the screech of a dragon, and the attention of all three crews was inevitably drawn to the beast: a handsome - and unusually large - young froabas.
There was a surge of energy and it was not two seconds before Ayla was sent violently hurtling through the cabin wall and off of the ship.
"You threaten me, that's one thing. Threatening my crew is another entirely!" The Avatar of Vyshta stormed out just as Ayla recovered from the bone-rattling kinetic blast and came to a stop, hovering above the waves. Sailors scrambled about. gunports opened on all three ships.
Xiuyang stood stunned, looking out of the broken wall of the cabin for a moment before leaping into action.
"M-My Goddess Fortuna bids me escape, and who am I to argue?!" she said, laughing nervously as she pushed past the yasoi crew and made her way back to the boat to reclaim her weapons. With a kinetic kick, she sent the boat flying towards the beach bordering the cove and away from the incoming crossfire.
"Part of me hoped it would come to this," remarked Maria with glee.
"The Avatar of Vyshta is a fine prize indeed," she mused, leveling her rifle with the side of the ship.
The hammer would release, but the powder did not ignite. Xiuyang would not allow it. She, too, was now aboard the ship, making her way to Maria's position.
"Constant interference! I've had enough! Men, this woman is a traitor of the Solari!" "Maria! I must accomplish my mission in Palapar! The fate of the Solari depends on it!" she roared back, leaving no room for debate.
The crew were confused, aiming their rifles in an uncoordinated standoff. Miret, Xiuyang and Maria all saw the muzzles of hired Solari guns pointed their way.
"...For real?" Maria inquired, as she often did when they were yet children. If the situation weren't urgent—or at least appearing to be so—it could've been nostalgic.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Xiuyang replied. It wasn't a code phrase, but it may as well have been, between them.
Maria's face scrunched up in rage, but she swallowed.
"Hoist anchor like you're hauling ass, boys! Ready the cannons to fire!" she shouted.
"...Who are we siding with?" "...Tyrel, I think." "You think?" Xiuyang evaded Maria's eyes.
"Oh, for fuck's sake..." This was not what we had in mind. As Ayla smashed through the walls of the cabin, hurtling across the surface of the water. Her feet skimmed the waves as she skated backward, slowing to a stop. Thankfully, she was a maestro with kinetic magic, but with all three ships now poised for combat, this could easily spiral into a bloodbath.
She flicked her fingers, amplifying the sound of the gesture with sonic magic. The enhanced noise drew the attention of everyone present, her voice carrying clearly to every ear. There would be no excuse for anyone to claim they hadn’t heard her.
“Tarlonese ship! This letter holds the arrest warrant for Tyrel'yrash'dichora, the so-called Goddess,” she announced, pulling a piece of parchment from her breast pocket and holding it aloft.
“Your application to land an invasion force on the human lands of Palapar has been denied by the Kingdom of Torragon. You have one chance to surrender peacefully.” She gestured to her crew, and moments later, several cannons fired. Warning shots that landed perilously close to the Tarlonese vessel, sending water spraying high into the air. Above, Arman, the red-and-black-striped frobas, launched into the sky, spewing fire into the heavens in an awe-inspiring and intimidating display.
Ayla turned her attention to the Solari vessel and issued her next order.
“Under the auspices of the Central Alliance, and in honour of our shared blood, the King of Torragon requests your assistance against the enemy. Train your guns on the Tarlonese vessel to intimidate them into surrender. Should they refuse, commence military operations.” The proverbial beacon had been lit.
The high howling scream of the young dragon was enough to give everyone pause, but the Tarlonese were battle-hardened, unlike most of their huusoi counterparts. They had fought both against and alongside dragons like this. They knew them, they knew what they were capable of, and they knew that this one was but a juvenile.
"Count on a Torragonese to make this about species," Tyrel's voice rang out.
"The people of Palapar are oppressed. We bring them food, training, and weapons so that they might fight their jailors and throw off their shackles. You deny them these boons, lickspittle!" She turned in the direction of the
San Cristoforo.
"Stand with me, suunei. Stand with me, people of Revidia who have not given up on their convictions. Side with us this day and it shall not be forgotten!" The last of Arman's blast of flame mushroomed in the sky, curling outwards, cooling, and turning into smoke. Ayla regarded the others enigmatically. The
Furia Roja's guns pointed at the
Etuulan'iisca.
"You threaten me!" Tyrel roared,
"that is one thing. To threaten all aboard this vessel is another. We don't fear your little dragon. We fight!" Ayla's gaze was intense - serene but intense.
"Little? Perhaps you should look again, Goddess." They felt it, then. The air itself grew heavy. Storm clouds crackled with thunder and the very mountainside seemed to tremble.
Trees sloughed away, dirt fell in curtains, and boulders tumbled and shattered down the slope. An enormous new cloud of dust and soot billowed out from the wounded mountain.
They did more than merely hear what followed. The sky trembled and sails fluttered from the force of the
roar. Even the froabas took anxious wing and made haste for somewhere a bit further from the epicentre. It was a volcano in all but literal truth. A gargantuan burst of flame and black smoke filled the sky. Chunks of rock as big as boats splashed into the water.
The
thing that spread its wings - for there was no word to truly describe it - was vast and ancient beyond belief. Waves churned and ships rocked and sails ripped from the flap of its mighty wings. With a laboured heave, the enormous elderly dragon lifted into the sky and its shadow rendered fully half of the cove in darkness. Its eyes were clouded and blind and it was slow, but the sheer
size was... insane.
"You are not dealing with a simple Torragonese patrol vessel and a bored noble, Goddess. We are Torragon's fist." Ayla raised her voice once more, and spread out her arms as she announced
"¡Vamos, Anochecer!" The Torragonese erupted in cheers and war cries. Arman swept nimbly around the cove and accelerated, his spiny tail nearly lashing the
San Cristoforo as he whipped overhead.
"Your move, extranjeras." "Y-You ask the impossible!" Maria shouted back, aghast. Whatever Xiuyang had to deal with in Palapar could never compare to the crisis before them, or the dire consequences of going against someone with the full backing of Torragon's might.
"We are leaving, Xiuyang!" she said, leaving no room for debate.
"You see what I'm telling you, sister?! You just try and remain loyal to every friend you've made, and see how quickly you come undone! ...Xiuyang?" she prodded, having degraded to using the name she used when they were children.
"...Yeah. Fall back, Maria." Her sister let out a breath in relief.
What happened next appeared to Maria in slow motion. Her younger sister placed a foot on the rail of the ship, the corner of her lip curling slightly upwards. Maria's eyes widened in disbelief, and, to her own surprise, fear; fear of her own sister. Courage did not run through Solari blood. Who was this person? Was she really little Xiuyang?
I wonder why. Am I so readily trusting of these two? One who is impersonating a friend, and changes plans on a whim with little explanation... and one who changes faces as readily as the Solari, smiling so easily as she tells me she holds all the cards? ...No. It's more like... Like the spirit of Eshiran had filled her.
She landed in a boat and cut the tether. Kinetic and chemical magics augmented her meager strength as she rowed towards Miret, the very air around her seeming to tremble in unison with her adrenaline-addled body as the dragon flapped its massive wings.
I wonder what Eshiran saw in a little Solari coward like me, she pondered as she looked at the massive beast.
Well, me dying here after making a false goddess bleed would be rather poor storytelling on the gods' part. There must be some reason I'm still here. The dragon roared, as if to challenge such a flimsy notion with every iota of its colossal authority. She flinched as the stench of death blew like a hurricane at her face, whipping her hair back 90 degrees.
"Compared to the knower titan or the dragons of ReTan, you aren't so big," she assessed numbly, as if her very emotions had been blown a million miles away by the dragon's roar.
"It seems my Revidian comrades intend to slip away like the Eel," she said to Miret.
"I may not be of much assistance, but regardless, I'm still here." Xiuyang was coming - racing over into peril on behalf of Tyrel. She wasn't even
Tyrel! That singular notion screamed at Miret in her head in that moment. She was all in on this plan. It was their opportunity to seize the reins from the mortal Gods who'd held them in a deathgrip for as long as most anyone could remember. It was their chance to save Tyrel and how many other girls and perhaps... even
Tarlon. For the love of Oirase, she'd sacrificed her
leg for it, even if it was only temporary.
But Xiuyang was a good person: her sister's friend. She was good and Miret hadn't trusted her because she didn't trust Ciro Volta, not since she'd faced him in The Trials. Now, the Revidian was off-script - an easy thing to be when she hadn't been told everything! They'd had so much more planned: A mock fight, a clash of ideals, Ayla's big villain speech, the (completely fake) killing of a well-trained dragon. They'd sorted it all a week ago in Sawand.
"Oap!" she shouted, moving to step forward instinctively. She nearly stumbled. Despite how the Bodybender had changed her - the new muscle in her leg and atrophy in her stump, the imitation muscle memory - it hadn't overridden her basic instincts.
"Stop!" she shouted, bucking a second instinct. This time, she strode forward, leaping from the ship and hovering there, toes a foot or less above the water.
"It's me you want, right!?" Yes, she'd have done it for the 'innocents' on her crew regardless. She'd have been scared of the dragon regardless, and found that the sheer scale of the beast in person actually
did seed a deep discomfort somewhere atop her stomach. Xiuyang had suffered enough. Xiuyang had dreams enough. Xiuyang could
actually get hurt here. Tyrel would not have allowed it. Neither would Miret.
Xiuyang was taken aback, but it might not have shown well on the emotionally stunted expression that was currently replacing what ought to have been sheer terror. Miret's plan seemed to have taken a turn that required swift correction.
Xiuyang couldn't be certain where she stood with these two. Were she and Miret planning something, and in sending a pinch message to Miret, she was letting Ayla in on it? Or were Miret and
Ayla planning something that Xiuyang may or may not ever be let in on? Who was in on the true plan, and who was "out?"
Truthfully, she'd felt a bit duped. Ayla had been dragging her along at her own pace, roping her into this so easily right after Miret had told her to stay out. She even seemed to mock her for it. The way she waited for her words to sink in, it seemed more like a genuine threat than simple acting. If it were anyone but Ayla, it
would have been, of that much she was certain. Now, though, as she looked up at Ayla, she thought she caught a wink.
Xiuyang wasn't sure if she'd been "in" the whole time, but fumbled the ball at some point, and Miret was acting to salvage things, or if Miret's reaction to her act of temporary insanity was proof that she was intended to stay out of this, but her courage had earned her the right to be "in." Xiuyang resisted the creeping urge to feel relieved as she waited to see what Ayla would do next.
Ayla stood at ease, gesturing for the dragon to hold its position as she calmly raised her hand. Her fingers moved to tap her breast pocket, patting it lightly where the aforementioned arrest warrant for Tyrel’yrash’dichora was kept.
“Are you willing to submit yourself to Torragonese law?” she asked, her tone firm yet inquisitive. Her gaze flickered momentarily to Xiuyang to appraise her, before returning to study Tyrel's response.
The Avatar of Vyshta turned briefly to the captain, gesturing him close and leaning in.
"Joi rey p'oilanx,", she said quietly,
"qaaleth p'anteiluu. Tyrel tajuup de'loi sil tuumo hyco soiyan seth eyda nax muul.". She pursed her lips and thought for a moment.
"Pa metaar eleiz pa tiiro siizuu. Senas soansoi el'yca tuu jey ytiic eleiz et rey voi Tyrel pen..." She shrugged.
"Leiz pelosh nax se pa zoap sil pan yashtiil'cudop loi yecan Tyrel'o coleth." It was only a few seconds. She turned to face Ayla.
"An artful evasion of my question. I recognize no laws of Torragon in the waters of the sovereign nation of Palapar, but I do recognize a threat to people who've done you no ill and the means to carry it out." She projected her voice. It was best that this carried.
"Say you attack, elar. Maybe I die. Maybe you die." She levered her gaze up to the massive hovering figure of the dragon. Despite its gargantuan size, its flying appeared laboured at the best of times.
"Perhaps that great terrifying relic of yours expires as it probably should've a couple centuries ago." She shrugged.
"Either way, plenty of the little people die: mine, yours..." She gestured in Xiuyang's direction.
"Maybe Siin Solari's." She shook her head.
"So, I ask you once again: Is it me that you want?" Her crew remained ready, guns trained. Nobody seemed to be backing down, at least... not yet.
Xiuyang looked exhausted, like the adrenaline spike of facing a dragon had been the last straw in a long line of exhausting things that had happened on this journey. Her sister was surely responsible for most of it. Somehow she had managed, barely, not to snap at Ayla earlier.
Most exhausting of all was the dance of keeping one's dignity intact while acting in everyone's mutual interest.
Is this what bureaucracy feels like? Maybe this will work if I capitulate first. "Does the said Torragonese law..." she began, with some semblance of courage.
"Afford the daughter of Solari and her very close friend some small dignity, as political prisoners? If not, that would be quite unfortunate." She hated it: the subtle jabs and warnings required of their stations. If she was intent on marrying Ciro, she would have to take these responsibilities seriously, but she didn't have to like it. If she were forced to be born into a family of snakes, she'd much sooner choose to wear bright colors rather than bare fangs, hiss and rattle her saber.
Ayla smiled as she held out her hands.
“These are contested waters, but if you truly wish to surrender to Virangish law, we can make those arrangements, and you can petition their inquisitor directly for fair treatment. However,” she continued, her tone deliberate,
“as the arbiter of Torragonese law here, we can settle this here and now.” She gave a subtle wink, gently encouraging the latter option, before turning to respond to Xiuyang’s question.
“Political prisoners are treated well for good reason. Their release is negotiated directly with their nation or a suitable representative, usually in exchange for a ransom fee or an appropriate concession,” she explained matter-of-factly. Gesturing toward Tyrel, she added,
“As the third daughter of a prominent trading family and… a very special friend, you would receive comfortable quarters and treatment befitting a prisoner of noble standing.” Ayla then turned her attention back to Tyrel's initial question.
“We will take both of you. We see no reason to involve your... fishing boat, provided the crew agrees to return home.” A drop of sweat rolled down Xiuyang's cheek.
"I got an A+ answer straight from the textbooks. I'm glad she's studying," Xiuyang quipped, low enough that only Miret should hear it.
"I'm not sure if my assessment of the danger here is, ah, entirely accurate. I would like to not die, for what it's worth." The Avatar of Vyshta's voice sunk low to match Xiuyang's.
"We've had to improvise a bit, but don't worry. This is all according to keikaku." She considered.
"'Keikaku' means 'plan' in Nikanese." There was a momentary pause and a note of sincerity to follow.
"I'm, uh... sorry you got roped into this, suunei. Thank you for playing along. It could mean everything, for me and T-Miret." She smiled weakly. Then, she turned to Ayla.
"I'm the big fish you want. Take me, give her a good slap for being where she shouldn't, and we don't need to test who's got the scarier weapons, luuca?" Nimbly, she hopped up onto the gunwale, the wind taking her hair and her robes and making them dance.
"That's my offer, amiga." She spread her hands.
"I'm all yours if you take it, or we try to kill each other." Ayla looked thoughtful as she watched the figure before her subtly manipulate the air pressure, causing her outfit to dance precisely as she intended.
Nice touch, she mused.
“You’re ours,” she chimed back, before glancing down at Xiuyang.
“And a slap? You’re going across our knees.” She tossed a pair of cuffs toward the two, letting them land on the little rowboat. Then, with a quick gesture to the ship behind her, she signaled for the anchor to be taken up, allowing the Tarlonese vessel to pass.
“Business concluded: one avatar and her friend, in exchange for a Tarlonese vessel’s safe passage home.” "And a Solari vessel's safe passage," Xiuyang reminded her as she snatched the cuffs out of the air.
And I'll get that reward you promised out of you, one way or another. She turned to Miret, her face slightly unsure if she would consent to having her hands cuffed.
"If she follows through on that threat, I don't mind if you blow up the ship," she whispered, deadpan.
The Avatar of Vyshta raised her hands.
"Sadly, if I wear your huusoi symbol of confinement, I do not walk." She suited words to action.
"You will have to trust me." She saved a small smile for Xiuyang -
"If she does, I will." - and then it was a done deal.
The dragon settled on the mountain, its landing a tenuous affair until it finally let out a relieved puff of smoke and returned to quiet watching.
The
Etuulan'iisca did not depart the bay, however. A rather fierce wind had whipped up and, after a few fat drops to speckle the decks and sails of the three ships, the rain came down in sheets and lightning flashed across the sky. A long tired moan echoed beneath the thunder and rainfall from Anochecer behind the mountain.
Beneath the umbrella of this energetic barrage, there was much that could be concealed and, perhaps, much
to conceal. It went on for a good couple hours before it cleared, as tropical storms always do and, by that juncture, Oraff had given way to Eshiran and the jungle steamed as shadows stretched across it.
It was under this sky that two of the three ships: the
Furia Roja, and the
Etuulan'iisca parted. If each could each claim a victory of sorts, either openly or in secret, the
San Cristoforo had left earlier, as the storm was still dying down, merely an unfortunate interloper mostly - though not wholly - let free from the noose and eager not to have to face it again. Finally, the
Furia was alone.
“Well, that almost got a bit too exciting for our taste.” Ayla plucked a cinnamon-sprinkled churro from the pile on the sharing platter set beside the three of them.
“We were worried you were really going to make us fight out there on the water.” She took a bite, chewing happily as her eyebrows rose in delight. Gesturing toward the others, she encouraged them to indulge while they sat comfortably.
She turned to Xiuyang.
“So, Palapar is your destination? We can arrange to drop you off.” "Yeah. Anywhere you can conveniently lose track of me without losing face is fine. I'll just tell my father I stowed away on your ship, and it can all be swept under the rug." She bit into a churro and chewed it just a bit too long, as if the act could produce thought.
"You can rest easy. My business here has nothing to do with Palapar itself, or the war. I just had really bad timing to run a very urgent errand." "Had to put on a convincing performance," Miret replied with a shrug,
"And you were totally fuckin' method acting." She took a bite of one of the pastries and rolled her eyes.
"Tica!" Then, Xiuyang spoke, and her curiosity couldn't help but be piqued.
"Do tell?" She leaned in conspiratorially.
"What secret nefarious dealings are you up to these days?" If she understood the plan, they would soon be at their second rendezvous and that was the make or break moment. Much of what had already occurred had done so with more official support, but they were now about to enter waters charted only by themselves. All the better to talk and learn and enjoy the company until that time, if only to reassure herself of the plan or at least take her mind off of it.
"Well, when you put it like that, how can I possibly live up to your expectations?" Xiuyang replied with some humor.
"I need to exchange correspondence with someone I also need to apologize to. If they know I'm here, they'll probably try to avoid me, so I'll just have to find them. You'll have to figure out who it is later." If it was someone Xiuyang could find easily, they were probably someone of significance. She had apologized to Penny, of all people, in person, so even though coming all this way to do that seemed absurd, maybe it was actually true.
Ayla winked at
Tyrel before turning her attention to the other conversation.
“It’s a long way to go for an apology,” she mused.
“If they’re a student, you could have simply waited for them at the academy.” “We’ll be reaching the second rendezvous point soon enough to offload these supplies. You can travel with them, Xiuyang, we believe you’re well acquainted with the captain.” She turned to
Tyrel.
“And you? Have you made your final decision?” 'Tyrel' tilted her head to the side an arched an eyebrow.
"Was I ever really going to choose otherwise?" She took a deep breath and nodded.
"Let's do this." Ayla nodded as the three of them continued to talk and dine, the day gradually giving way to evening as the moons began to rise. Each of them moved freely about the ship without much interruption, enjoying the calm.
It was during one of these quiet moments that the ship came to an unexpected stop, steady and slow, but still otherwise unplanned for the pair. The night crew had begun organizing the confiscated cargo onto pallets for easier transportation.
Ayla sought out Xiuyang and gestured for her to follow.
“It’s time,” she said with a smile, leading her to the deck, where something unexpected had made its appearance. Well, less of a ship and more of a…
“Olá! Você está sendo convocado para a companhia Arslan-Mercador pelo restante desta viagem. Bem-vinda!” Xiuyang was greeted by a familiar face near the cargo hold of the submersible. The auburn-haired girl smiled brightly at her.
“You can start with some of these pallets. Did you really have to pack so much rice? I guess the Palapeese won’t be going hungry,” she joked. Around them, the unusual and varied assembly of puppets typical of Maura were assisting the crewmen in transferring the goods aboard.
“We would’ve asked Tyrel to help, but, we know… free hands.” Ayla gave a shrug and mimed holding crutches with her hands.
“She’s already on board and ready to go. The faster we finish, the sooner we can depart.” With combined effort, the submersible was finally loaded, and the
Schwarze Alice set out, leaving the
Furia Roja behind under the cover of the night sky, as Ayla waved them off.
As soon as Xiuyang heard the voice, she threw her head over the rail and looked below. Her face was in shock, looking at the strange craft, but then she smiled.
"It's a fine surprise, Ayla. I like it." She waved eagerly.
When the work was finally done, Xiuyang wiped her sweat and offered Maura a hug.
"It's good to see you, Maura. How are you faring these days? I know trade is unforgiving right now." She looked tired, but happy.
Maura accepted the hug.
“Welcome to the crew,” she said with a wink,
“albeit temporarily, we fear. You really should come over to this side, we’d treat you better.” Answering the question, she added,
“You know how it is. Rule 34 of the manual: war is good for business.” She patted the confiscated goods from the
San Cristoforo and placed a finger over her lips in a shushing gesture.
“But we like to think of it as redistribution of assets.” Maura led the way to the shared space where
Tyrel was already seated.
“Still, we never thought so many people would want to be smuggled onto the island. The demand almost rivals that of those trying to get off it. What brings you there?” Miret Tyrel did her best to help anyhow. Now that she considered, it, it
did feel strange, not being able to reliably carry things. She had the Gift, though, and that would suffice, so she busied herself, for idle hands were Levidan's workshop.
The thing was that she didn't really
know these people. They were friends of people she knew well - people she cared about, and she was comfortable enough with them, she supposed, but anxiety still gnawed at her nerves over the entire situation: the great gambit, the adaptations on the fly, the prospect of someone turning coat or an enemy getting wise or the entire thing just going awry somehow. Plus, it would've felt strange to just butt in conversationally between friends and classmates. She said her polite hellos and followed along like a little one-legged duckling.
Tyrel was itching to get out.
How she was itching! She had paced, rocking deck and all, almost since the moment that she had been put aboard. Given enough time and opportunity, she might've actually worn grooves in the floor where she'd been walking. Now, if these precious yaniis would just... truncate their smalltalk, she was mere moments from release, from seeing a loved one for the first time in over a month. She stood and stretched for at least the third time, performing a final check of her rucksack, her pockets, her satchel, and the pouches strapped to either side of her thigh.
She was as ready as she'd ever be.
"I know you would, Maura. But as they say, home is where the heart is." Her smile was weary.
"I'm here for the same reason you are. Business. I'd like to get it over with as quickly as possible, so I'll be one of those waiting to leave before long." The submersible craft reached its destination, the girls emerging onto the scene of Torragon's own covert operations in Palapar, evidence all around them that they too were supplying the rebels with weapons, rations and funding. If anyone gave Xiuyang a second glance, her simple air of having known about this all along caused questions about the Revidian's arrival to fade away into irrelevance. The more stubborn types would have their questions answered by Maura. There was always at least one self-important supervisor on any scene.
"I suppose here is where we part ways, suunei," Xiuyang said to 'Tyrel.'
"I'll look forward to meeting you again. It's nice to have such loyal and reliable friends." She smiled enigmatically and winked so quickly that it could have been dismissed as an involuntary twitch of her eye. Had she realized it?
She checked her pocketwatch, and turned to leave. She really did seem to have no interest in how the supplies Ayla had confiscated were going to be distributed, intent on going on into an uncharted path through local foliage on her own. Though, it also seemed like she was heading in the same general direction. Did her business involve a student from Ersand'Enise as well? Perhaps even Zarina?
She hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with the yasoi as they'd surfaced, and so the last bit was meaningful. She'd been below decks, speaking with someone and changing outfits, apparently, and she'd only reappeared right as they were surfacing.
Now, as they moved, Tyrel'yrash seemed, somehow... nimbler than before. She bounded after Xiuyang, dressed in a simple white blouse and black leggings, very much
not the Avatar of Vyshta.
"Relax, you lil' yaya!" she called, striding over a fallen log and catching up.
"Thought you'd get rid of your 'reliable friend' so easily?" She elbowed the smaller woman playfully.
"I was just adjusting this Oirase-damned backpack." She breathed in and out deeply and released the last in a sigh.
"Damy, I feel so much lighter already." She shook her head and there was an indelible grin on her face to match the bounce in her step. She weaved unnecessarily in and out of the undergrowth, hopped up on rocks and logs, and peered down every little side trail. It was, in all, a textbook example of yasoi nature on display.
"It's you and me, suunei," Tyrel chirped, as they made their way through a set of picturesque ruins,
"all the way to..." She pursed her lips in thought for a moment.
"Just north of Kalingnan, I think." She hopped a step as she patted a rolled up parchment strapped to her backpack.
"It's in here anyways." She nodded, resuming her normal gait.
"I have all our stops planned out, by the way, and backups." She rolled her eyes.
"Shiin knows I had nothing else to do in that cabin forever." Xiuyang giggled, in a manner that was almost unlike her. She'd really cheered up lately, and it showed in her bright smile in moments like this.
"I was talking about Miret, being your reliable friend. Not just anyone could take someone else's place and face danger in their stead. I wonder if I could do that sometime," she joked. Tyrel was one of the few who could appreciate the joke, since she knew her secret.
She had to speed up to keep pace with Tyrel's nearly boundless energy.
"I'm glad one of us has a plan. I was just going to rough it," she replied, surely joking as she always was. She was a Binder, she had her little medicine box, and she'd survived in Yarsoc on her own for a while... but still, letting the little yanii wander off into the jungle on her own might be a bit much.
"Gonna show me just how reliable you can be then, suunei? I'll tag along as long as you'll have me." "Well, now that you mention it..." Tyrel considered,
"We could probably use a fake Miret." She grinned, only half joking.
"Might require a bit more commitment to play my part, though." She quieted a bit after that, but it wasn't a melancholy silence. Pensiveness changed to peace, and peace to the steady repetition of footfalls and chittering of a hundred birds in the trees.
They continued on in good-natured silence for a bit, the yasoi traipsing through the forest like an excited child, twisting on the spot every once in a while with either an expectant glance, hair flick, or grin over her shoulder. The sun-dappled path continued indefinitely as shadows stretched and mosquitoes began to buzz about.
All at once, Tyrel came to a stop, resting her stump on a crutch handle and swinging her pack from her shoulders. She pulled out and unrolled the map, biting her lower lip in concentration and tucking a strand of hair behind one ear.
"You any better at reading this than me?" She looked hopefully to Xiuyang.
"Are we actually as far as it looks?" Xiuyang had to jog to keep pace with Tyrel, something she had fortunately made time to do most every morning and evening at Ersand'Enise. Doing it with a friend in an unfamiliar place was invigorating, and her excitement was infectious.
This energy, this is why she enjoyed hanging out with the yasoi so much. They had a love of life that she had desperately needed to find herself, back in those days, and it was still just as welcome now as it was then, even though she was doing better now.
Suddenly, they both stopped.
"Uh, maybe? We did run a bit." She inspected the map, and their surroundings. She did take a cartography class once, though she wasn't exactly
used to this sort of land navigation. She was more of a "navigate by the stars" kinda girl, having essentially grown up on the sea.
She tried measuring something with her fingernail.
"I think we're... good. Yeah," she said, her confidence founded on almost no knowledge whatsoever.
Tyrel continued to nibble her lower lip for a moment, eyes flicking down the trail evaluatively. She shifted on the ball of her foot and shrugged.
"Think we can make Angkidnon by sundown?" The way that she was already starting to roll up the map, stump sliding off of her crutch handle, told Xiuyang that the yasoi had already made up her mind.
She tucked the roll into one of the bag's pockets, slid her forearm through the crutch's cuff, and was moving.
"What's that huusoi song about the ninety-nine bottles, again?" she inquired with a hint of mischief and a bounce in her step. In truth,
"Surely, we can make it there before we finish, no?" Xiuyang giggled heartily.
"I'm sure we can. That song is longer than you think. Nobody ever finishes it, even at sea. Someone always gets bored and starts singing something else." Tyrel arched an eyebrow.
"That sounds more like a wager, suunei." She winked and, with only a little more discussion, they were on their way. Thus began...
Tyrel and Xiuyang's Excellent Adventure
It was decided that, should Tyrel actually managed to finish the infamous "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," Xiuyang would fess up and tell her the real reason why she was in Palapar. Thus began the sprint to that last bottle of beer, and the closest town. To Xiuyang's slight embarrassment—but
only slight—Tyrel ended up slowing down for her on multiple occasions. As dusk neared, they were accosted by a
very large herd of goma cats. While Tyrel attempted to scare them off by creating the illusion of a coming storm—complete with sound effects, no less!—Xiuyang took the much more straightforward approach of using the sound of her twin pistols, now her favorite weapons by far. Having proven her worth as a companion, she took the lead over Tyrel's pace as they arrived at a camp of locals, which they stealthfully approached.
"Twenty-two bottles of beer on the wall, twenty-two bottles of beer..." Tyrel whispered as she ducked behind the underbrush.
"If one of those bottles should happen to fall..." One of the drunk men sitting around the fire dropped his jug while trying to pass it to another, causing everyone to go on alert. A man went to investigate, or perhaps take a piss. Tyrel silenced him with a sonic bubble while Xiuyang knocked him out with chemical magic.
"Twenty-one bottles of beer on the wall," she continued, holding her hand up for a high-five. It was then that Xiuyang realized something.
"...Can you understand what they're saying at all?" "Twenty-one bottles of beer." Tyrel replied, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Xiuyang was trying to get her to slip, she knew. Xiuyang repsponded with a facepalm.
"Me neither. Let's leave." "Twenty bottles of beer on the wall," Tyrel whisper-sang,
"twenty bottles of beer. If one of those bottles should happen to fall..." She looked over expectantly at Xiuyang as they walked, grinning and hopping a step as she pointed finger guns at her shorter friend. Xiuyang narrowed her eyes.
"You're really gonna do it, huh?" Tyrel waited, drawing out the final note until she ran out of her breath and continued to hop sideways. She had to be made wholly of springs and enthusiasm. Finally she scowled, took a deep breath, and continued.
"Nineteen bottles of beer on the wall!" They continued down the path in this manner until, suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. She twisted about and pulled a piece of paper from it,
"Seventeen bottles of beer on the wall..." she murmured as she wrote with a lead.
"Seventeen bottles of beer." Her finger tapped idly in time with her singing even as her face remained a mask of concentration. She fliped the note over:
Angkidnon for the night, or press on to Tebu? It's only 3 more miles... "Let's not push our luck. We might run into something worse than goma cats." Tyrel shrugged and offered a thumbs up.
Now, the lights of the town—lamps and hearths, mostly—were well within sight, and Tyrel began to falter, or so it seemed.
"Eleven bottles of beer!" she huffed.
"If one of those bottles should happen to fall," she puffed, slowing down to a fast walk from her previously bouncy jog. They didn't even notice the sign as they skipped right past it.
They reached the outskirts of the town: the darkened silhouettes of huts and thatched-roof houses rose into the night. They could see breaks in the trees with terraced fields and, as the terrain continued to rise, the sparkling waves of the increasingly distant ocean.
"Eight bottles of beer on the wall..." Tyrel panted, starting to fall behind in earnest now.
Then, the yasoi stopped dead in her tracks, gripping her crutch handles tightly.
"Five bottles of beer on the..." She trailed off. Hanging from the tree were three corpses, hung by their necks and being picked at by coconut crabs and crows, and a fiddler monkey.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
"Sooo... maybe Tebu after all?" "Uh..!" Xiuyang backed off from the sight, clearly shaken.
"Fuck. Yeah, let's scram." She'd seen pirates get picked at by buzzards before. These corpses were relatively fresh.
"I'd rather deal with a predator than a mob." Around the necks of each corpse hung a sign. They all seemed to have different writing on them. Tyrel paused, not yet noticing that she had broken her half-hour's worth of singing. She furrowed her brow and tried to make sense of it. The people seemed unremarkable: two men and a woman—they didn't look related either—fairly well-dressed. Surely, there was more to know. The yasoi, however, nodded in agreement with Xiuyang.
"We should skirt the edge of town." Xiuyang wasn't willing to get close enough to the crabs to inspect the signs, but she did see them.
"Their crimes are what's written there, probably. Definitely not sanctioned executions though." Tyrel was fixated, however.
"Poor fuckers," she murmured, shaking her head. She started moving again.
"But not something I'm too eager to get involved with." Incidentally, she was walking just as quickly now as she had earlier, before beginning to tire. Then, for the umpteenth time today, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"You know... if they catch us slipping past in the night, it mike actually look worse than if we just pass innocently through on the road," she decided.
"Maybe, but can you speak Palaparese? I doubt they'd take kindly to my Virangish." Tyrel bit her lower lip.
"I know a few choice phrases. I understand a bit." She swung her stump restlessly onto a crutch handle and fished something from her seemingly-bottomless pack.
"I had a week to study on that boat and we're both clearly foreign..." Xiuyang looked pensive, inspecting her colorful merchant's clothes. She seemed to be thinking that she looked more like those corpses on the trees than the locals.
"Fuck it. If they get aggressive, we just draw and they'll get the idea. Right?" Tyrel pondered for a second.
"Heh. I didn't think of that." She blinked.
"Well fuck me sideways. I don't think there's anyone who could take you, suunei." She grinned and strode forward. Xiuyang rolled her eyes. She'd been
told she was strong, but she didn't feel like it, especially not lately.
They went in and the entire town seemed to be near-empty. Tyrel had starting talking about a past adventure of hers, just to fill the silence and to make it clear that they weren't up to any skullduggery. "So, anyway, there I was: five alligators to one side and lava to the other." She paused for a moment, considering.
"Well, actually, I think one was a crocodile—poor lonely little guy—maybe that explains his behaviour." She tucked some hair behind an ear.
"Anyway, so: those five in one direction and the lava getting closer and all I had were my crutches and the clothes on my back and—" She paused and a silence built.
"Hey, suunei... I can practically smell the reek of self-doubt on you." For a moment, there was only quiet and footsteps.
"What's going on?" Xiuyang had been quietly giggling along to Tyrel's obviously made-up story. The rabbit trails, like one of the alligators being a crocodile, were just so charming.
"Huh?" The abrupt shift in topic caught her off guard.
"I was just thinking that I don't feel so young and indestructible anymore. Seems like everywhere I go, there's someone or something that would give a Zeno a run for his money, and I'm just... me?" She shrugged.
"But I feel safe with you, and I'm happier now than I ever was back then." Tyrel walked along beside her thoughtfully.
"It's funny, you know." She shook her head.
"I've always been a happy person." A handful of people peeked out into the street, but there weren't many about after dark.
"I don't why." She shrugged.
"I spend so much of my time being solemn and serene, strutting around in a fuckin' golden bikini that I guess I just have to laugh at myself or I'd go nuts." A head or two poked out. The silhouette of a child dashed across the street in the distance.
"I just can't wear the mask all that well," she admitted,
"so I don't." She rolled her eyes.
"Shiin knows I'm infamous for not taking my duties as a goddess seriously." She glanced Xiuyang's way and her voice dipped a little bit.
"But I think I do, you know." She shrugged again.
"I do my best. I never asked for this... role that became 'me'." They continued for a moment as some sort of light in the distance seemed to perch at the edge of the road.
"I guess what I'm saying is that people like you—" She paused.
"No, you, literally—make it a helluva lot easier. You keep me yasoi. You remind me that I can have fun and not be judged for it." She let out a breath that she didn't realize had been building up until then.
"So... thanks, I guess, for being a suunei." Xiuyang nudged Tyrel's arm with her fist playfully.
"You're a cool person, Tyrel, and fun to be around. It's so infectious. Goddess or not, I'd want to be your friend." Her smile was a light in their dark surroundings.
"Maybe it's a bit different for me, but I know how it feels to be sick of wearing a mask. I tried to yuk it up too, even if I had to fake it. When that didn't work, there was always booze." She took a sip from her gourd, which she hadn't done in a while.
"I always hoped that yasoi energy would rub off on me, I guess." Tyrel delivered a little hip-check.
"There's your rub." Or maybe it was a 'kick' with her stump. It was hard to say.
"The tug'll cost you a premium," she joked, holding back a shit-eating grin. Squeezing Xiuyang from the side, she hopped up and strutted ahead, before spinning halfway on the spot.
"But not much. I have such a girl-crush on you." She took a moment to flick some hair over a shoulder before turning her attention to the trail ahead.
"Anyway, things look..." There were figures rushing back and forth and so Tyrel'yrash reached out with her energy senses.
"You know, actually, speaking of booze," she added, in an intrigued voice,
"I think a... distillery? is on fire." She glanced back with eyes that seemed to say, 'should we?'
Xiuyang raised a brow, then blew a raspberry, taking it as a joke.
"Pfft." She too tried to sense out with the Gift when she felt Tyrel doing so.
"Seems someone kicked over the chamber pot. Do you really want to investigate?" She gave her a curious look, like she was wondering if it had anything to do with Tyrel's reason for being here.
The yasoi twisted to regard her.
"I'm headed somewhere for something... just so unfathomably... important that I don't even wanna think about it," she admitted,
"but I'm supposed to do random good deeds along the way." She bit her lower lip.
"We can at least investigate: a stealthy pair like us, luuca?" "Because that went so well the last time," she replied, but still smiled.
"All right. You've convinced me with your good deed spiel. Let's hurry." It was mostly Xiuyang's illusions and Tyrel's sonic magic that did the job as opposed to any real stealth on the pair's part but, as they drew closer, still unnoticed, they began to get a better picture of the situation. It was a mob. It looked like they had been willfully burning a distillery. They were shouting loudly in Palaparese and Tyrel recognized only a handful of scattered words. By the way that they were scrambling and the fire was starting to spread to a neighbouring shop and some trees, it appeared that their efforts had been a touch too enthusiastic and the blaze was out of their control.
A couple of untrained locals with a bit of the Gift seemed to be trying to counter it by drawing form it with their meagre capacities, or blowing it back with wind. The pair did not really have time to evaluate if the firefighters' efforts had come to much. Whatever trepidation Xiuyang had before disappeared once she saw the locals trying to put the blaze out. In a move that she hoped would cross the language barrier, she began to draw from the fire's heat and use a combination of her arcane and chemical magic to fight the fire from two fronts. She prioritized the shop, leaving the trees to Tyrel.
Tyrel did not need to be told. Of course the yasoi would be in charge of anything to do with trees. If she could not understand the exact words that the locals were jabbering rapidly, she could clearly sense their urgency, their wariness, and their willingness to let people who appeared to have the means to help do just that.
She began to draw.
When Tyrel drew, she
drew. Perhaps it was habit. She'd been trained for years to draw as impressively as possible. Stealth was not the purview of the Avatar of Vyshta. The fires winked out and the heat rapidly left the air until hoarfrost briefly formed on the crumbling branches. Xiuyang's success was virtually as spectacular. The distillery and the houses simply... stopped burning, and both women were filled with energy.
Then, from one of the houses came a mother holding a young child, and she was shouting near-frantically and pointing inside. Xiuyang didn't stop to think. Where there was a mother and child, there were more vulnerable people in need, and she was still a binder.
Xiuyang's dash inside revealed an elderly man who was trapped behind a formerly-burning piece of fallen roof that he could not manage to climb over. This also revealed, however, the condition of the building: something that the would-be rescuer would've been well served to take into account before dashing inside. As she made her way towards him, there was a loud crackling 'snap!' and a roof beam fell!
She didn't have time to think about the possible consequences. She attempted to use blood magic to destroy the roof beam. The beam disintegrated effortlessly into nothing, saving the old man's life. However, it was only a few seconds later that the two remaining beams, in a chain reaction, collapsed as well. This time, the very grateful elder wasn't the one in immediate danger, however—it was her. Taking a page from Trypano's book, Xiuyang attempted to burrow herself into a tiny hole, hoping the dominos would stop falling.
The old man doddered out, shooting her a quizzical look but also not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Xiuyang ended up rather snug in her little hideaway. It was a few moments later when the entirety of the ruin was removed, thanks to Tyrel.
A handful of villagers clustered around Tyrel by torchlight, some clutching their children fearfully, a few looking pained or shouting. Others milled about anxiously, a handful cleaning the destroyed buildings. The final group seemed to be people sitting or lying on the ground. There was vomit in evidence. They were ushering one nervous-looking young man forward. He peered at the pair of obvious foreigners.
"Hi," he began, "I am Alamon." His eyes flicked between the two as they came together, and the others continued to prod him to ask a particular question. He held up a hand and swallowed and a few drew back. "You... Virang?" he asked with an expectant wariness.
A slightly dirty and very sweaty Xiuyang smiled and shook her head.
"Salome, of Revidia," she introduced. Her name held the meaning of "peace," and if it helped, she would do her best to embody it. She gave Tyrel a one-armed hug from the side.
"Miret, my friend." She kept her phrases simple, so as many of them that had a little Avincian could know what she was saying.
"Bring hurt, we heal." She rubbed her arm as if applying a salve.
"Salome. Revidia." He nodded, looking a bit bemused, and a few others nodded and murmured and looked at her with new eyes. "Miret." More than a few glances went to the yasoi's missing leg. "Tarlon?" a few asked, and Tyrel exchanged a glance with her friend.
"No," she replied, shaking her head.
"Mycormii." If the villagers didn't comprehend everything that Xiuyang said in its most exact form, they seemed to understand that this odd foreign pair were not enemies. The questions flowed thick and fast, funneled through one man's very broken Avincian:
"You no..." he pointed to his eyes. "Revidia."
A few children kept shouting the same questions in Tyrel's direction and, finally, the man translated. "What..." He pointed to her stump. "Happen?"
"You see many man..." He motioned sleeping. "That-a-way?"
A few of the younger teens jumped up to try to be as tall as Tyrel, but none could match the yasoi. She blushed, slightly. Instead, the taller ones compared themselves favourably to Xiuyang, standing on their tiptoes, giggling, and grinning.
Finally, an old woman came shuffling over with a large bottle and began tapping the translator incessantly on his shoulder.
"Father, Revidia. Mother, ReTan, Torragon," Xiuyang replied with a patient smile and a nod. There were people of Rettanese ancestry in Virang as well, so his confusion was understandable. At his question about many men sleeping, though, she hadn't the foggiest notion of what he could mean. Perhaps he was referring to the dead men hanging, but it seemed like a stretch and she didn't want to scare the children, so she tilted her head in confusion, hoping he might try to elaborate somehow.
Tyrel glanced at her, equally confused. She had her own question to answer and not the slightest clue of how to answer it.
"Uh... shark!" she answered belatedly, mimicking big chomping jaws with her arms. She pressed her hands together above her head like a dorsal fin and bobbed back and forth as if she were swimming. A few of the children laughed. Other eyes widened. A few regarded her missing leg suspiciously, and some glanced out at the water.
Then, the old lady was there and the translator had her bottle of—well, both could tell that it was alcohol—thrust upon him. "This give you," he managed, in broken Avincian. "She give you." He motioned drinking. "Thank you. Her man." He pointed towards the splintered ruins of the building beside the still. Other people continued to tap his back and arms and repeat the same few urgent messages at him. With a shout of annoyance in his native tongue, he raised an arm and they backed off for a minute. "This very..." He trailed off, struggling for the word. "Stonk?" He thrust it into Xiuyang's hands. "You have." He nodded, smiling encouragingly. "Thank you."
Xiuyang blinked and nodded her thanks to both of them.
"I like it!" she said slowly and boisterously, smiling.
"Be well." She wasn't sure if they would understand, but she made the sign of Oraff along with a slight bow.
It was an awkward situation, being the center of attention, having a mix of gratitude, curiosity and possibly suspicion of people she couldn't communicate well with. It made a part of her anxiously want to leave, but she also didn't want to be rude. She looked to Tyrel, as if hoping for some kind of cue. Or an outright rescue.
Tyrel bowed deeply.
"Thank you," she replied to the translator and the old woman.
"We—" she gestured at herself and Xiuyang
"like this gift." She made a 'thank you' gesture in gratitude.
"We are happy—" She smiled in exaggerated fashion and pointed to Xiuyang's face as well
"—that her man is safe." She began nodding and bowing and, soon, she had started the entire clearing's worth of relatively short Rettandic-looking people doing the same. She leaned in to Xiuyang.
"Hey sistah, let's hightail it outta dodge while the going is good, huh? We'll camp out. You can carry the booze." "Sounds good to me," she replied.
"Probably a good idea to keep this away from you. He said it was... stonk." She grinned.
"Are you implying that my constitution is weak?" Tyrel replied, aghast as they began moving. Both had to stop multiple times to wave or shake hands. "Oh, friend," shouted the translator, hurrying up. "No safe. Okay?" He pointed to his eyes. "See all night. Many men walk Ceboyan." Then, with that warning, they made it past the outskirts of the town and into the darkness of the forest and its trail.
Xiuyang glanced back at the translator as he shouted. She had to admit, she was more than a little nervous. Yarsoc was many things, but devious was not one of them. She could see danger coming from miles away there, but here in the jungle, her eyes played tricks, trying to convince her that death was behind every tree.
"Think he was warning us to take turns sleeping?" "I think exactly that, suunei," the yasoi confirmed,
"but my delicate constitution requires a drink first in order to stay awake." She held out a hand, hopping a few steps as she did so, and arched an eyebrow expectantly. "I'm pretty sure that's not how alcohol works," Xiuyang replied with narrowed eyes.
"Pls?"
"Pretty pls?"
"With spratz on top?"
"It's mine, betch! Hand it over!" Xiuyang pondered for a moment that she was wanting for a shot glass, but Tyrel was insistent.
"Alright, alright! Just go easy on it!" "It is for yasoi," Tyrel said very matter-of-factly.
"Trust me. My uncle said so." She took the bottle, stopped on the spot, and uncorked it. She took one sip and nearly vomited.
"Vyshtii bubbex!" she exclaimed.
"That's some stonk stuff." She coughed a few times, sinking onto her haunch, one of her crutches clattering loose and falling to her side. She held the bottle up in Xiuyang's direction, blinking blearily a handful of times and grimacing.
"Here," she croaked,
"take it back. I'm plenty awake now." "I warned you. It's stonk." Xiuyang replied, smirking.
"Let's see if it's any good." It had been quite a while since she'd had anything stronger than a glass of wine. She threw her head back, taking a good bit more than a shot with it.
"Hey, it's not actually bad. Not great. I've had better." Tyrel blinked. Her cheeks were already turning rosy. She rose unsteadily, collecting her crutch on the way.
"Heh-heeeyyy, suunei," she laughed, reaching for it again.
"I think you're juss playin' hard-to-please." She winked, hand closing around it.
"I says the night's a failure if we don't get through it all. You're, like a... dev.. devolver, right?" She blew a raspberry.
"We'll be fine." "Well yes, I have devouring blood, but you're not gonna make it at this rate." She tried to play keep-away with the bottle, but she was too slow.
"I'll be our watchful eyes. You should get some rest..!" The yasoi got a second drink, but they managed to make it to a small clearing nonetheless. Tyrel plopped herself on the ground and began to pull things haphazardly from her pack.
"Six bottles of beer on the wall," she started singing,
"six bottles of beer..." There was a tent in there somewhere.
"Still coherent enough to sing that song, I see," Xiuyang observed.
"Are you really that curious?" "If one of those bottles should happen to fall..." Tyrel trailed off and considered, seeming infinitely more sober and thoughtful for a moment. She nodded.
"Well, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder, not when you're so close." She smiled and winked, taking over the task of setting up the tent. She could do that much with her survival class.
"Five bottles of beer on the wall!" Tyrel squealed, doing her best to help as she sung. If her balance was normally suspect as a monopod, it was absolutely atrocious here. Nonetheless, she managed to be of some service. Then, when they were done, she stumbled over to her pack and pulled out the hammock. This, she began to set up for herself.
"Two bottles of beer on the wall, two bottles of beer!" Xiuyang hummed along and tilted her head to the tune. She stayed busy, binding away to create a fire pit and gather things to burn. And then Tyrel was done.
"Sorry, suunei, Just needed to finish." She smiled and continued to fumble with the hammock.
"I think we should swap stories." "Alright," Xiuyang relented.
"I'm here to track down Raffie. The little pink one." She gestured as one would to indicate that she was small.
"I found her late mother's diary, and I have reasons to believe she stole some of my family's company paperwork. The two books look the same, so I think there was a misunderstanding. You can laugh if you want—it is pretty funny, out of context—but if I don't find that ledger, I'm totally screwed." She rubbed her arm anxiously.
Tyrel blinked.
"Little pink one..." She trailed off, face turning pensive.
"Does she... always eat sweets?" "Yes, that one! She's Virangish, though she doesn't look like it." The yasoi tilted her head.
"Suunei," she admitted, cheeks growing even rosier for a moment,
"I am... ashamed to say that I don't even know what a Virangish should look like, or a Revidian, a Torragonese, an Enthish." She shrugged.
"I was writing notes to boys I liked during geography classes." She smiled ruefully.
"I remember that pink hair, though, and that squeaky little voice." She furrowed her brow.
"You think it was an accident?" Xiuyang snickered at the mental image.
"She had help from Niallus and that compass that helps him find things, and I know she was looking for that diary. I certainly hope it was a mistake." She said it to convince herself more than anything. She had hoped to exchange them and leave as quickly as she came.
Tyrel considered.
"I have... my own purpose that I'm heading towards," she admitted,
"and it is a grave one." She tried sitting on the hammock and nearly lost her balance. After some squirming, she managed to pull her leg up and sit there 'cross-legged'.
"I have some time first, however." She smiled and held up an arm, flexing.
"I can be the muscle if you need." She considered.
"Can't help much with tracking, though." "She's not exactly a force to be reckoned with." Xiuyang giggled.
"But thank you. I am curious as to why you're here personally, though." Tyrel seemed avoidant for a moment.
"You know... don't you have any tethered friends who could help?" She shook her head.
"Would make it a lot easier." She regarded Xiuyang with a hint of anxiety—perhaps it was merely drunken paranoia. She
had promised answers...
"I get along alright with Marci, but... I dunno. Maybe not enough for a huge favor like this." There was also Abdel, but she wasn't sure they had left on good terms last time. She didn't push Tyrel any harder. It wasn't as if she'd been entirely forthcoming with what that company paperwork entailed, either.
They continued in a silence that was somewhere between 'easy' and 'loaded'. Tyrel's lone leg hung out the side of the hammock as she rocked back and forth.
"You know," she remarked,
"instinct tells me I should be higher up in that tree." She shook her head.
"How do yanii get any sleep on the ground?" She was circling around towards it, but not quite there yet. Xiuyang shrugged.
"I should have packed one, too, but this is fine. One of us isn't going to sleep anyway." Tyrel nodded.
"I don't think either will, to be honest." She swallowed, looking up at a patchwork of stars through the canopy of tropical leaves.
"My sister—really my cousin, but we're sisters," she amended,
"gave her leg to play my part. She is, this very moment, likely headed to rot in a Torragonese prison... well, one with nice cushions and good food but..." She shrugged.
"It eats at me." She held her hand out for the jug.
Xiuyang's eyes widened in surprise.
"I don't think she'll have too much trouble getting out. Wasn't Ayla in on the plan?" She handed over the jug a bit hesitantly.
"Still, that's dedication. Whatever you're doing here must be bigger than... I dunno." Maybe it wasn't bigger than the revolution, but she silently hoped that it was. The two of them must be very close, if Miret was willing to make that kind of sacrifice. She hadn't offered to take Ciro's place lightly.
Sound about them wavered for a moment, and then again before a sonic bubble fell around the pair. The forest around them grew eerily quiet.
"In Tarlon, they pick six little girls who've lost a leg and got too much of the Gift for their own good and bring them together on an island in the Tantas Sea for a weeklong sleepover." Her voice had taken on a funny tone.
"The girls have a ton of fun." She smiled, faintly.
"They stay up as late as they want, they eat whatever they like, they play a whole series of games against each other, they have musicians brought in to entertain them..." She trailed off.
"They know that they're competing against each other to be chosen as the next Avatar of Vyshta. They're too young to understand that it's a death sentence and their families don't tell them." There was an extended pause.
"Maybe their families are believers, maybe they don't want to anger the people in power, or maybe they care more about the wealth and status victory will bring than they do about their daughters." Tyrel took a sip from the jug and it took her a good few moments to recover. She breathed deeply in and out.
"The Avatar doesn't fail to ascend each time by accident." She looked up at the stars, eyes almost flicking over to Xiuyang.
"Ten years ago, three of those girls found out that they kill the Avatar of Vyshta before she can turn twenty-five, unless she declines to ascend and is willing to live in shame. That's because it's all a sham, and there's a chance she could be a real replacement. It's Esuul, the empress, who does it, because she and Cascal are often the only ones strong enough beyond a doubt." Her pulse pounded behind her ears. She'd come out and said it. She was endangering everything, but she'd said it. Xiuyang, her gut told her, she could trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It was done now anyhow.
"Miret will meekly play her role and follow orders and give all the right signals that she won't be a problem. I'm going to play with time. I'm going to be twenty-five." Tyrel nodded slowly, glancing at her friend.
"You've got more going on too," she observed from the other's drinking and body language,
"don't you?" Xiuyang took it all in, and her first instinct was to take a drink, but she didn't. She just held on to the jug, swishing the liquid around and contemplating what she'd just been told.
"Well, shit, Tyrel. Compared to that, my own troubles are pretty mundane." She considered for a moment.
"Well... The Doge might be trying to kill the man I love, and I'm planning to stand in his way. So I'm a bit scared about that." In the end, she decided to take another drink.
"And if I don't get this ledger back, the fallout might... no, any sensible man would leave me." Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed.
"But you, Tyrel, I can't imagine what you've been through." She shook her head sadly. Then, she looked her in the eyes.
"What do you want, Tyrel? Do you wish to ascend? Or live a long life down here with us mere mortals?" She said the last part with something like a cheeky tone.
"Well, you should kill the doge, simple as." Tyrel nodded as if this were indeed a simple matter, even though they both knew that it wasn't. She sighed.
"You and Ciro." She shrugged.
"He's strong, you know, really strong." She trailed off.
"I fought alongside him in the Trials, spax'yax that was." The yasoi rolled her eyes.
"Be careful," she concluded in a low voice.
"As for me, though?" She shrugged.
"I guess I just want the choice, you know?" She shook her head.
"Fuck these eternal god-fuckers and wrinkly old men making all the decisions for the rest of us. Get off the can so I can like... poop in it too, luuca?" Tyrel had definitely been drinking. Had her girlhood instructors ever heard the words coming out of her mouth, they'd have boxed her ears.
Xiuyang lowered her head. It was a complicated matter. He wanted to kill her husband-to-be, but his death would likely cause Perrence to begin their war in earnest while Revidia was disorganized. Setting aside if they could, whether or not they should was another question altogether.
She raised her head back up when Tyrel spoke of Ciro being strong. For Tyrel of all people to say that, it really meant something. She had a hunch, but to hear it from someone like her... Could she really take his place in what might be a suicide mission? She knew she was not a match for him when it came to the business world, but the thought of also being the weaker of the two made her feel conflicted. It was nice to feel protected and taken care of, but if she couldn't do the same, she'd feel... useless. Just like before.
"You're not the first person to tell me to be wary of him, but I'm sure he loves me," she replied, her confidence seeming sincere enough.
Tyrel's language made her giggle.
"I'll drink to that," she said, doing so.
"Let the old men retire, and stop robbing us of Damy's choice." She passed her gourd to Tyrel, perhaps hoping she was too drunk to notice the change. If she passed out, it would be bad for them both.
"I guess that's what I want, too. The freedom to live my own life." "Amen to that, suunei," Tyrel remarked, not noticing the difference at all. She fell back into her hammock, spread eagle, and took another drink, giggling.
"Hey," she remarked, almost offhandedly,
"think there was anything to those bunch of guys camping and that burning still?" "Just your regular party fire, probably," Xiuyang dismissed, thinking back to the group of passed-out ne'er-do-wells sitting in their drunken vomit.
"Hmm," Tyrel considered, thinking back to the encounter.
"Yeah, sounds about right." She took another sip and handed the jug to Xiuyang.
"Hey, suunei, I'm getting tired. I think we should sing the beer song again to stay awake." Xiuyang grinned and joined Tyrel in the hammock.
"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall..." Did they ever finish the song? Did it really even matter? Only they would ever know.
Heckno12
Noctis
Vyce
op2024
AHeartlessNobody
Azereiah
Sp00ki
Slypheed
Crimson Flame
