12. Arisen Once More
12
ARISEN ONCE MORE
Staggering in darkness between two tall armed men was another new experience. Ari was just glad no more of those huge robot-things were in view, and all she had to worry about was putting one foot in front of the other. The thought that she was being dragged along by a quartet of male strangers, with no idea of destination or route, paled beside the relief of still being alive—not to mention having a working hypothesis about this place and its inhabitants.
She was too busy staying upright and conscious to spend many brain-cycles on it, but the very presence in the back of her mind was reassuring.
Unless they happened across something that upended the theory, of course.
The group walked swiftly for a long while, until a silvery smear widened before them, tree trunks transformed into vertical black bars fencing soft light. The men veered slightly toward this new illumination. It was a familiar glow, and when they reached the clearing she was almost happy to see a few scattered pearl-cabbages, their big soft-furred leaves cupping globes which brightened as the group passed, sending up streams of that delicious, powdery mimosa-tree smell.
“By the Moon,” one of the men—it sounded like Sarle—said in a hushed, wondering whisper.
Nestled in the center of the clearing, a mirror-smooth pond reflected more pale light. It couldn’t be the one Ari had started at—this pool was larger, its rim starred with smooth white stones at irregular intervals. Her head tipped back, and she gazed at the sky.
There were stars, too. But hanging among them was a white plate, pearly and perfect. The ripe silver disc held no scars, no craters or gouges; stainless-bright, it gazed somberly at the forest below.
“Oh, God,” she said, a long despairing breath. Perhaps she just had to be at her wit’s end before she could speak in English—or they had no approximate word for God here.
Dante Alighieri had put a frozen lake and all sorts of other fun stuff in his Inferno . If this was her own personal hell, why was it so… well, so pretty ? No, the hellfire and brimstone theory didn’t wash. Even a Jungian-coded breakdown or swelling hematoma pressing on her grey matter didn’t cover this.
Were all of her new companions native, or had they ‘arrived’ from elsewhere? If so…
The guys were suddenly all business. Jazarl let go of her arm and approached the water cautiously. He sniffed, catlike again. “I cannot tell. Sarle?”
“Is it my turn?” The stocky brunet approached the pool and bent, thrusting his hand quickly into the liquid before yanking free with a muffled splash. Ripples spread, dying almost immediately as if the water was heavier than it should be. He sniffed deeply, grimaced, and his nose wrinkled as he straightened. “I would not, my friend. It burns, and the naryin are scarce.”
The word translated into pearlflower . Ari swayed; Majan’s grip tightened.
“I’m fine,” she said, and his hand fell reluctantly away. “Is something wrong with the water?”
“’Tis tainted.” Jazarl sighed. “Were it not, we could fill our flasks. The flowers have not been seen in a long while and the Moon is returned; soon enough this place will be hallowed. But we cannot linger.”
“Let her try.” Alzarien had turned, intently watching the woods they’d just left; Ari had a horrible suspicion of why. His left sleeve flopped, a rough bandage knotted around his arm, and he was pale even in this ghostly light. “It does little harm.”
Try what? But Ari suspected what had to happen next. Once she ruled out the impossible, the thing remaining—even if absolutely bonkers—had to be treated as fact.
Or at least, tested.
“No need.” Sarle shook his hand, hissing a little as if it stung. “And in any case we should not risk injury to a lady. We are still knights enough for that.”
Ari took one step, then another. “Try what?” The reflection on the pond’s surface was almost warm, the light far nicer than reddish sunshine or the vicious reflected darts from bright yellow robot-things. “The water’s bad?”
“The Golden seemed to be after her, but…” Jazarl hesitated. “My lady Ari, do not. There is one who could purify such things, and the naryin will in time. No need to risk a burn or griping.”
She stopped next to Sarle, and took a deep experimental breath. It smelled just like the other pond—a mix of mimosa cabbage-flowers plus a trace of minerals, as if from a well. The water’s surface ruffled again, expectant or simply brushed by a stray breeze.
Well, no time like the present to find out . Ari’s knees were none too steady anyway, so it was no trouble to kneel. She reached out, ignoring Jazarl’s short exclamation.
Her fingertips met coolness. She pulled back, expecting something like a chemical burn, but there was just a bit of damp on her skin. Ripples intensified, overlapping, and oddly, the reflection on the water brightened. A faint breeze rustled the pearl-cabbages; she found she liked their word for the plants. Naryin , pretty and fluidly accented. It was certainly more musical than cabbage .
She sniffed at her fingers. Nothing but the faint unscent of water—no chlorine, no other chemical tang.
“Should it hurt?” She craned to look up at Sarle; the stocky man was tense, peering down at her. “Did it burn you?”
He knelt beside her, and she caught a hint of leather from his clothing, a breath of male-smell oily and slightly acrid with hard exertion, though clean enough. He turned his head, his dark gaze locked with hers, and plunged his entire hand into the pond once more.
“Fool.” Jazarl strode toward them, halted as Sarle raised his arm.
The dripping was very loud, and the stocky man shook his fingers. “Moon guide us,” he said, quietly.
Then he bent and, quick as a wink, carried a palmful to his mouth. He drank, and Ari was suddenly afraid she’d just tricked him without meaning to, and into doing something awful.
So she bent and cupped her hands, drinking as well. The water was cool and fresh as before, sliding down her throat and warming as it settled behind her breastbone. A strange haze of well-being spread in her chest, and now she suspected the stocky man been playing a prank on her instead.
“No.” Jazarl descended on them, reaching down to grip Sarle’s shoulder and squeezing. “Are you crazed, or worse? Stop!”
“Sweet,” the man beside her said. “By silver, Jazarl, she… Fill your flasks, my lords. There is nothing unhealthful here, now.”
A slight sound echoed the words. The pearl-cabbage naryin brightened. Ari blinked, reflected silver light filling her head like the glare of headlights on a rainy night.
The fear fled for a single glorious instant. It would return, certainly… but for a moment, she was without its weight, and the relief was intense enough to make the crashing disappointment when it flooded back seem small by comparison.
For once, she’d guessed correctly and nobody was hurt. It was enough.
They took turns filling oddly shaped leather waterskins and drinking like parched camels. Alzarien dabbed at his arm with the wet bandage, his cut sleeve flopping heavily as it soaked up excess, and let out a sigh. “Finally,” he breathed, and Ari almost gave a guilty start.
He sounded a little like the chained man.
“Perhaps Darjeth and Naithor have met with some success as well.” Sarle kept stealing little glances at Ari, and she wasn’t sure she liked the renewed interest. “Do you think he will…”
“Best not to wonder.” Jazarl took a long drink from his canteen and sighed, a satisfied sound. There was a bubbling noise as he refilled, and a faint squeaking as he capped the waterskin once more. “They might find the remnants of battle, and track us. Or meet us in Gesthel.”
“The Fox will be glad of this. His lady may speak again.” Majan grinned, looking at Ari like she should share the joke. “Even in strange raiment, the gift will delight her.”
Gesthel, Fox, Bright Prince, Grey Lady . She recited the names inwardly—a place and three people, or ceremonial titles. She was a slow student, but a thorough one; Ari just wished she could take notes. Her backpack was probably lying under half a hillside, buried in mud, but she’d been thrown somewhere else, a place obeying fairytale rules. Nobody was offering her poisoned apples or glass shoes, so maybe she could simply continue being quiet and watchful, gathering every bit of context and inference possible, avoiding any truly horrendous mistakes.
It was a good goal, perhaps even an achievable one.
Ari’s hands glimmered, pale in the moonlight. Maybe it was just the water; she rubbed at her forehead and touched the back of her head gingerly, glad that the chained man had done… whatever he’d done, to remove the landslide filth. All in all, things were going far better—though weirder—than she could have dreamed while jamming clothes into her backpack and trying not to think about the crumpled shape on the bedroom floor that had once been…
“My lady?” Jazarl, tentatively. “What ails you?”
She was shaking, Ari noted with almost clinical detachment. The trembling passed through her in a wave, and her lungs threatened to seize up. Oh, a panic attack.
Her heart thundered, but no sweat greased her skin. “Nothing,” she said, dreamily, in the cramped little voice that was all she could manage when Wanda asked, again , who she thought she was . “I’m sorry.” The words were English, sounding harsh and unhelpful after their lovely rolling tongue.
“What does she say?” Sarle sounded anxious. “Is it the water? But?—”
It figured, just when she was feeling halfway competent her body had decided to register a complaint at all the bullshit she’d put it through. Still, this could be a good sign. Lungs and heart didn’t usually go wonky on her until the worst was over. All she needed was a few quiet moments, but there was no bathroom door to lock—even one with Wanda Lee cawing on the other side would work, or Mike banging because he just had to have her attention all the time.
Maybe her husband was afraid he’d vanish if someone wasn’t looking. Who knew?
“Hold her steady.” Jazarl was good at managing things. He sounded a little like Mom when there was a crisis to deal with—firm, calm, no-nonsense. Someone had Ari’s shoulders, keeping her upright, and at the moment she didn’t care that she was alone with a group of strange men.
If they were going to do something awful, now was probably the time. She could just disconnect, let whatever would happen wash over her.
“ He would not like this,” Sarle commented darkly. “I swear to you, the water was?—”
“We all drank, ’tis not the water. You see the light as I do, my friend.” Majan, quiet and practical. “She is but recently mortal, and bore the appearance of the Golden with much courage. No wonder she is faint—but we should move. I like not how quiet it has grown.”
Recently mortal. Golden . Thank goodness for the invisible translator, Ari thought, dreamily. If she had to resort to drawing pictographs, this entire situation might be even more bizarre, not to mention terrifying.
Though it was certainly winning awards on both fronts. The real question was if this was truly better or worse than what she’d left behind?
And would she be catapulted back if there was another rainstorm?
What a gruesome thought, thanks . Another wave of galvanic shakes poured through bone and muscle, her heartbeat blurring like hummingbird wings. She tried to focus on breathing, achieving steady sips of cool, night-fragrant air.
“The forest renewed, the Moon arisen once more,” Alzarien weighed in. His voice was near her left ear, so she knew who was holding her up on that side. “The faithless accursed will know what has happened as well. He does not lack eyes.”
Silence. Ari fought to even out her breathing, telling herself there was enough oxygen, she just had to keep dragging it down her windpipe. Thankfully nobody was yelling at her. In fact, they all seemed to regard being a bit shaky as a reasonable response to current events, which was… nice, she supposed, if not exactly comforting.
“We make for the Road, and Gesthel,” Jazarl said, heavily. “We will hear the abominations if they approach. Our aim is not to offer battle but to protect our lady. If she cannot walk we will carry her.”
That would be so fucking embarrassing . Which meant Ari had to force her eyes open, finding a moon-silvered clearing, a ring of anxious faces, the sound of wavelets lapping at a pond’s shore, and a breathless hush among the tall grey pillar-trees. “I can walk.” She had to say it slowly so the invisible translator would work, and the words slurred as if she’d been at whiskey shots instead of pondwater. “I’ll go.”
Being left in the woods with those metal things was too much to contemplate. So she stiffened, leaned into Alzarien’s grip, and told her legs they were just going to have to get with the program, however outlandish it turned out to be.
This entire lunatic situation was indeed better than what she’d escaped, Ari finally decided.
But not by much.