Traversing the wastes is difficult for any traveler. Iroshi isn’t any traveler. Even so the danger isn’t in walking the cracked, black-grey dirt. Instead it’s all the other things that walk it too. Or burrow underneath. Or fly above.
Did you have this much trouble Alkara? Are you even-
Iroshi snaps the thought off, not letting it solidify into something real. So much for staying out of trouble. Can’t believe that girl. He’d wondered who’d opened the emergency stash. The surprise evident in Dre and Chiron left only one option.
Well, two. But it wasn’t Guen.
“Where’s Alkara? I thought she was with you?” Dre had asked.
He shakes his head. Regretting how flippant he’d been. “No, why would she be with me?” He’d been so sure he’d known what had really been going on. “Are you sure Sengmar didn’t finally pluck up the courage to ask her out on a date and they’re just too embarrassed to tell you two?” The memory of the chuckle is sour.
Dre’s eyes had widened, her breath had hitched. Her lips had started trembling. She’d looked at Chiron, and Chiron had looked away. Iroshi’s chuckle had sunk and landed heavily in his stomach. “Dre, what’s wrong? What happened?”
It’s now a month past. And Alkara has been gone for just as long since Sengmar’s death. Murder. Execution might be closest.
The foul creature is well known to Iroshi’s people. Both Reäsin and Forsaken. The blood magic of his people is terrible when stored in one of their brain sacs. And the stores of knowledge from a Reäsin mind aren’t any less so.
The pair hadn’t known where Alkara had gone. She was supposed to have been on Iroshi’s trail. She likely won’t ever be good enough to go without his notice.
Iroshi grimaces. Sengmar dead and Alkara missing. The Brain Thief marauding free of any challenge. He knows better.
I’ll flay each of its stolen minds while it suffers in paralyzed dread.
The sky darkens for the fifth time since he entered the Wastes. Ahead, some black quadruped moves with graceless steps. Its form is misshapen. And it’s drawing nearer.
Iroshi shifts southward, giving the creature some space in its passing. Though small, it would still be dangerous. Creatures in the Wastes are unpredictable. The next question is whether or not he should magically hide himself.
The quadruped continues its awkward lope. Something so clumsy won’t last long unless its strength is equal. Its hump undulates with each stride. The movement is disjointed. Stuttering. It is unnatural.
As silly as it is to ascribe a native of the Wastes. Everything here is unnatural. But underneath there is something familiar.
Iroshi slows, squinting. He removes the scarlet feather that serves as an avian epaulet from its shoulder loop. A bird-of-prey, as large as a hound, erupts into existence with a cloud of feathers. Its red plumage extends to its rump, where the tail sports a golden sheen.
“Rowan.” Iroshi’s voice is low, hidden among the rustling wind of the Wastes. The affectation is meaningless. The bird’s summoning generated more than enough noise. “Go,” He points at the quadruped, “Observe, return and report.”
Rowan wastes no time. It beats its wings once and bursts into movement. The bird sweeps above the cracked dirt in a shimmering flash.
It wheels above the aberration, which doesn’t slow. Rowan arcs back and returns to Iroshi. It alights in front of him. The bird’s violet eyes bely its intelligence. “Cat with female person.”
Iroshi exhales. The breath is sharp and abrupt. “Thank you. Please, return to your slumber.” Iroshi takes two quick steps forward.
The bird bows its head as it bursts into another cloud of feathers.
Without skipping a beat Iroshi plucks one from the cloud and breaks into a run. He had been focusing on this aberrant, now certainly Guen. From behind the panther, something gives chase.
Iroshi growls, pushing himself to his limit. He dares not shout a warning. They don’t need to attract any more attention in the Wastes at night. He notes with grim satisfaction that he’s gaining on Guen much faster than the other figure is. Guen looks over her shoulder at the lumbering monstrosity. Her face twists into a snarl as she moves toward Iroshi. Each step is more labored than the last.
Guen is exhausted. Alkara’s bow is clamped in her mouth, broken. The great cat’s chin is damp with sweat. Iroshi has never seen her exert herself so. He’d never thought cats sweated in the first place.
He pats her head, “Good girl, Guen.” Iroshi sets down a few berries and strips of meat. “You can rest now.” He draws his rapier and steps past the cat, interposing himself between her and the advancing figure.
The monstrous form is mostly limbs. All sorts. Human, animal, even other aberrants that can’t be identified at a glance. Iroshi shudders and swallows. His stomach tightens in a knot.
The creature doesn’t slow, its focus is on Guen. And Alkara. Iroshi waits, only a few more strides before it gets to them. He springs forward and thrusts his rapier through lower limbs, slicing connective tissue, aiming for anything that keeps the creature upright.
First one leg gives out. Then another chitinous limb. Everywhere Iroshi strikes erupts in pustules and blood. The musculature sloughs from bone and flesh drops in pieces. Iroshi stares at the unmoving creature.
It never took note of me.
He shakes his thoughts clear, the danger passed. He dashes to Alkara and slides the rapier back into place.
Alkara is alive. But only just. She’s in worse shape than Guen, her breathing ragged. Blood drips from various cuts, where the wounds aren’t clogged with poison. Purple blossoms of bruises cover her.
Iroshi slides Alkara from Guen. He searches through the pack. Items are identified and tossed aside as he probes. She might not have taken it. Rations. A whetsone. A small cookpot
She’s so disorganized. Here!
Iroshi pulls out a canvas folded into a small triangle. He murmurs a strange word, that which matches the sigil on the canvas, and places it on the ground away from his adoptive daughter. With that accomplished, he picks Alkara up and steps into the magically pitched tent. Inside he can dress her wounds in the safety of the protective cover.
Tears threaten Iroshi as he looks over Alkara. He grimaces, his face contorting with pain. The cursory view outside only revealed a fraction of her wounds. Burn mark after burn mark. Her left hand is crushed. He feels the wound with careful touches. The wrist feels okay. But the fingers are like porridge. Splinters from the bow are embedded in the palm.
He takes the splinters out one at a time, careful to avoid stressing the fingers. He binds her hand. Without the care of an accomplished surgeon she’d never use it again. Using the indiscriminate healing magicks might fuse her bones improperly.
The bite wound continues to ooze a seeping pus. It runs from ribcage to hip. Her tunic is damp with the substance and clings to her torso. Iroshi intones, seeking Urdima’s guidance. It’s a paralytic. Probably the cause of her ragged breathing.
Iroshi takes a portion of dried horse liver from his pack. He places the organ against the bite wound and chants. Each word soaks into the wound, binding the venom coursing through Alkara. Like dredging bread through grease. The dried liver engorges to three times its size. Alkara’s breathing sharpens, no longer the haggard breath from before. It quickens, as though she can’t catch her breathe. A good sign.
Iroshi tosses the liver into a corner of the tent. “Do not eat that Guenwyvar.”
She looks at it with bored eyes, panting between licks of her fur.
Iroshi grasps Alkara’s right hand, deciding it is furthest from the left, and speaks once more to Urdima. “May the lifeblood of Urda flow through this your child. Please grant to us your blessings.” Healing magick flows through her prone form. Iroshi touches her left forearm. When the cool wash reaches it he retracts both hands, careful to keep the restorative magic from fusing the finger bones.
Alkara looks up at him. Her eyes twitch back and forth, unfocused. She lifts her head before falling back.
Iroshi sidles to her head. “Shh, shh. Please just rest. Here.” He soaks a cloth with water and squeezes it into her mouth.
Her eyes flutter once before closing. Her breathing smooths. A moment later her body relaxes as she falls unconscious.
Iroshi heaves a deep sigh and falls back onto his rump. The immediate danger is passed. He chews the inside of his cheek as he looks at her hand once more.
Traversing the Wastes at night is dangerous. Even more so with wounded.
“What do you think, girl?” He says to Guen, “Should we sleep a bit?”
The great cat closes her eyes.
Iroshi nods. He lifts Alkara onto a cot and moves to the other.
An hour. That’s what he’ll allow. They need to get back to Three Rivers and a proper chirurgeon as soon as possible.
He leans back and closes his eyes.