Chapter 20 Araphi
Araphi
The knife digs into Araphi’s neck as Bramble shoves her forward. They move step-by-step toward Sage, who’s unsheathed her dagger and assumed a fighting stance before Araphi has wrapped her mind around the fact that they’re in a fight.
“Bramble, what are you doing?” Araphi grits out through her clenched teeth.
“Just keep walking.”
They stop a few feet from Sage and the water’s edge. Bramble pulls Araphi closer, one arm across her chest, the other hand holding the knife. “Don’t try anything, either of you. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“That seems wildly untrue, since your blade is at my throat.” Araphi fights her every impulse to push the dagger away, to save herself somehow.
She left her own weapon by her bedroll, thinking she’d not need it among friends, but no matter.
Sage will stop them, if only Araphi can keep them talking, distracted.
“Let her go, Bramble.” Sage’s voice is steel. Fury churning beneath it, barely held back.
Araphi meets Sage’s amber eyes, which have gone dark in the moonlight. Sage looks murderous. “Don’t kill them, Ranger. They don’t want to do this, do you, Bramble?”
The knife at Araphi’s neck trembles for a moment. “I don’t want to kill you. I like you, Phi, I really do, but I need that tooth. It’s worth any cost to me.”
“Not if my blade finds you first,” Sage growls.
“What’s so important about the artifact, Bramble?” Araphi whispers. Implicit is the other question: What’s worth killing me for?
Bramble expels a long sigh, but despite the anguish in their voice, the knife doesn’t waver.
“I didn’t sign up for the party with plans to turn on anyone, you know?
I thought my share of the pay could provide a little relief for my village, at least. It’ll only get worse there once winter comes and the fishing gets harder.
With the temple destroyed by the storm, I can barely channel my god for their blessings; most of the time, my prayers don’t even get through.
And that was before I left Tule. Out here, I can’t feel him at all.
But with a divine artifact this powerful, that could change.
My people have so little, and there’s no one else coming to help us. With the tooth, I could save us.”
“How?” Araphi can’t keep the curiosity from her voice.
“An artifact from a great creature can open a doorway from their spirit’s plane to ours, allowing their power to flow through. No prayers or bargains or begging necessary. I’d have my own power source, like that of a natural caster, with magic greater than any deity or devil could grant.”
Araphi feels an unwanted pang of sympathy, chased by the cold bite of the blade at her throat. She swallows hard against both. “But you’ll never find your way back to Briarwall without Sage.”
“She’s right, you know,” Sage chimes in. “You can die here, on the riverbank, or you can die in a blizzard in the Northlands before you ever make it back to the gate. Or you can put the knife down.”
“I can make my way,” Bramble insists stubbornly. “I’ve survived in hard terrain before, and I paid attention to the landscape while Sage led us north. Give me the tooth, Sage, and take the bard.”
“Let her go, and I’ll give you the tooth.”
Araphi believes her. And perhaps this is better than letting the artifact fall into Clauneck hands.
But then, there’s no guarantee that Bramble won’t panic and slit her throat to stop them from raising the rest of the party to chase after them.
Araphi doubts the healer could best Sage with a blade, but they seem desperate enough to try.
Maybe she can charm their way out of this. Somehow. If only she had her lute, which is still by the fire.
But what is she going to do, play a ballad with a knife at her throat?
The thought is so absurd a laugh bubbles up, but it comes out as a choked sob.
“Steady there, Bard. You okay?” Sage’s voice carries the calm of someone who’s faced far worse dangers than a knife-wielding salmon acolyte, but the frown between her eyebrows tells a different story.
“I’m fine, because I know my friend. They’re funny and smart and kind and as talented as any with their herbs. They’re not a killer, are they?” she insists, willing all three of them to believe it.
She can feel Bramble’s struggle as they answer. “I know this is bad, Phi, but it’s not wrong. Sometimes you have to do something bad to achieve something good.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Araphi says softly. “I’m not sure the end justifies the action—especially when that means hurting anyone in your way.”
The knife in Bramble’s hand wavers for only a second, but it’s enough. Araphi’s lessons with Nura from early in the party’s adventure come back to her in a flash.
Quick as lightning, Araphi grabs Bramble’s wrist with one hand, steadying the knife so they can’t drive it into her neck or anywhere else. Then she slams her other elbow upward into their ribs.
A loud grunt of pain flies out of them, and she turns, spinning from under their grasp. The Swallow now burbles at her back, and Bramble stumbles in front of her. Araphi drops into a fighting stance, lowering her body and bending her knees. She doesn’t have a weapon.
But Sage does.
Sage steps forward, whirling to parry a desperate blow with her dagger. Bramble catches her in the forearm with the hilt, and her fist loosens reflexively, the artifact falling to the snow.
Araphi dives forward to grab the tooth, but her foot slips. The rocks along the edge of the Swallow are ice-slicked, and her boots have no purchase. Bramble slams into her at that moment, their momentum against her already-falling body forcing her backward.
With a cry, she falls toward the Swallow. Her hands seek for a grip against the cold night air, but they grasp nothing. Bramble’s eyes widen. A few steps away, Sage is on her knees, one hand around the tooth.
“Araphi!” she shouts, fear written across her face. But it’s too late.
Araphi’s back hits the freezing, fast-moving waters of the Swallow. Cold slices into her shoulders, her neck, her ears.
She has one second to draw a deep breath, and then the river pulls her into its churning depths.