In a simple summation of the natural universe, its state, and all entailed within, I could say one thing; I was surrounded by morons.
Killing vampires didn't necessarily make a person a moron. I had spent many years searching for and disposing of Sethan's mistakes—but I'd been a Sin, and despite the vampires' speed and strength and their penchant for swarming their prey like a riled pack of hyenas, they had not been capable of killing me. Any confrontation between us had only one possible resolution: their death.
For a human to think they could do the same was moronic. No matter their skill or their weaponry, they would come to a violent, bloody end.
"Okay..." Saule replied, a thin line appearing between her brows as the skin about her eyes tightened. It was a small, inconsequential thing, but the reaction proved the witch shared my sentiment on vampire hunters, which was odd because I'd been convinced Saule and I shared no common ground. Considering the dens in Verweald were substantially more dangerous than those outside the city, I guessed her coven had problems with the fanged creatures in the past and understood the dangers in dealing with them.
"Since you two ain't screaming and one of you did that—." The huntress tipped her head toward the gunk dripping from the car roof. "—I'm guessing you ain't human?"
Saule shook her head, dirt falling from her curly hair. "I'm a priestess. He's...."
The witch chanced a look in my direction, the motion frantic, unsure. I said nothing, only held my features in a firm, unyielding expression as I stared into the woman's red-rimmed eyes. Tell her and you're both dead.
"He's just a human," the witch said with a wave of her hand and a tight, painful laugh. "A friend of mine."
I still wore the mage coat. Given that the huntress didn't see anything strange about a human wearing part of a Blue Fire Syndicate uniform, I gathered she was either ignorant of mage culture or that her knowledge of them was generalized. Yet another mark against her. Her profession wasn't sanctioned by the syndicates and, had she been caught by them, the huntress's memory of magic would've been wiped. She should have been able to recognize a bloody Blue Fire Syndicate coat.
"If you're a witch, did you come from the coven?" Connie asked, tossing a hand toward the west, where the blip of firelight remained on the horizon. "Something big's going on there tonight. It's gotten the attention of these blighters." She toed one of the dead vampires.
"No, I'm not one of the La Voisin girls, but we're—um—visiting." Saule scratched the back of her head—then jumped to pull her mutt away from another corpse before he could take a bite out of it. "Y-you said the vampires were drawn here?"
"Yeah." The woman lowered the crossbow until it rested against the dirt. Only now did I ease my posture. "Not sure why. I think the magic attracts them, as they'd been riled up for a few months now. You probably noticed that if you've been out traveling." She sniffed, glancing over out filthy clothes and the ruined state of the car. "I was tracking that group from when they left their den at sunset—but I lost sight of them when I noticed the fire and whatnot....Anyway, I'm glad I found y'all in time. Like I said, I'm Connie. And you are?"
"I'm Saule, and this is Bram." The witch gave her dog a friendly pat on the head. "And this is Da—."
"David," I interrupted, taking one of Cuxiel's standby names. When I didn't elaborate more, the witch continued.
"Yeah, David, and—uh—we're on our way to Itheria."
"Itheria?" The huntress was confused if the sudden wrinkling of her nose was anything to go by. "You're a long way off. Why don't you just fly or take a train or something?"
"You think we haven't thought of that?" Saule stomped her foot, the action ridiculous when coming from such a half-pint. "You see what's going on over there? Don't you see that the witch coven is in flames? We're being targeted. Captured. Our Mistresses are being stolen and taken to Itheria by mages!"
The huntress gaped. "We haven't heard anything about this."
The witch's went to retort, but I stepped up and leaned toward her ear. "Hunter or no," I whispered, hand upon her shoulder. "Remember she is human. Her knowledge will be limited." Then, I was past the woman, standing at the front of our defunct vehicle. With a grunt, I slammed the hood closed.
"I should take you guys to meet my mentor." Connie hefted the crossbow again, the muscles in her deceptively skinny arm contracting to balance the weight. "He'll want to hear about this, and you can phone someone to come get your car."
Seeing as our own means of transportation was ruined, there was little choice but to follow the huntress. She rounded the Jeep, lifted the rear trunk, and then opened the compartment concealed in the floor inset, acting as if this was all in her normal schedule. My brow rose as I took in the messy array of weapons stashed in the compartment.
Well, at least the human came prepared.
"Oh, shoot!" Connie exclaimed as she dropped the crossbow atop the rest of her items. "Wait, I need to get those bolts...."
She set off at a quick pace, her footsteps setting loose small clouds of red dust as she disappeared into the dark of the desert. I leaned on the Jeep's side and eyed the accumulated weaponry.
"She's too trusting," the witch muttered as she picked up a knife between two fingers and held it away from herself. "I mean, she leaves two perfect strangers next to her cache of weapons. Who does that? A kid. She can't be any more than nineteen."
Actually, the huntress was older than Sara had been, as I could tell by the nascent lines forming around her mouth. "She has a gun in an ankle holster," I said with a lazy flick of my wrist, sorting through the deadly instruments without care.
"What?! How do you know?"
"It's simple to see, if you aren't a blind witch." The bulge beneath the faded denim of Connie's pant leg was obvious, though the fabric was too tight for her to actually draw the gun. It was the novice mistake of someone who'd never had cause to retrieve the firearm before.
My hand folded around a worn scabbard in the mess of blunt objects and sealed bolt quivers. I extracted the short-sword and observed it in the lusterless red glow of the taillights, drawing the blade from its sheath. To the untrained eye, it would seem a phenomenal weapon. The pommel was decorated in fine gems and hand-crafted filigree, the haft wrapped in new leather while the blade itself shone with unrestrained brilliance.
I scoffed. The balance was poor, the bedazzling on the hilt and pommel outweighing the cheap, light metal of the blade. It may seem beneficial to have a light blade, but swinging it would have little momentum, and I would wager a solid blow from a sturdier sword would shatter it.
I spared a thought for my own sword, long abandoned in the floorboards below my bedroom of Crow's End, made with shined Valian iron too heavy for a mortal to wield with any finesse, the edge keen enough to sunder stone and steel. I wondered if it was still there, rusting in a manor slowly decaying without its owner.
I tossed the blade aside.
Connie returned and tucked the bloody bolts she'd retrieved into the weapons compartment. "Okay! Let's go. My mentor's not far from here."
I retrieved the duffle bag of money and miscellaneous clothes from the sedan, then returned to the human's vehicle. The Jeep only had two seats, which left the dog to clamor into the back and for Saule to sit on the console between the huntress and me. The rank book ended up far too close to my face and I curled a lip as the huntress put the Jeep into gear and pulled away from the scene. I would have to get a message to Amoroth or one of her people to come get the sedan and have the area cleared.
"What is that?" I demanded of the witch, scowling at the text she held against her knee. Following my gaze, the witch drew the book up against her chest and held it fast, her face paling ever so slightly.
"It's better if you don't know."
I would have pressed the issue because I did not like having such a dubious object shoved in my face, but I didn't care enough. I slouched on my arm and felt the tender, not-quite-recovered muscles quiver from the strain. I didn't care about Saule, her smelly tome, this huntress, or her aforementioned mentor. I cared only about finding transportation to Itheria and the main road.
In the bag was enough money to bribe this huntress or her mentor to part with a vehicle, and—in the event of their foolish rejection—I could force the witch to subdue them while I stole a car. The latter wasn't the preferred option, as we'd need the car for an extended period of time and the huntress could report it stolen, involving the mortal authorities.
What a bother.
Connie snuck several surreptitious glances in my direction that I pointedly ignored. "You don't say much," she commented.
"I'm a man of few words."
She laughed, thinking I was joking, and sobered when I didn't return the sentiment.
"So...." Saule ventured with a small cough. "You're a vampire hunter?"
The woman nodded, giving the witch a grateful smile. "Yeah. Have been for most of my life."
"How did you...." Saule paused in search of the right words. "You know. Find out about vampires? It's not exactly common for normies to know about them."
"My mentor is Fae," she replied with a measure of pride, sitting straighter in her seat. I noted the smears of blood on the visor and the headrest, as if she commonly forgot to wash her hands after working. "He's taught me all about witches and mages and vampires."
Her mentor was not Fae; he was Aos Sí. During my years of residence at Crow's End, I'd shared space with a fair measure of their kind. Tuatha Dé Danann, Fae, Seelie, Aos Sí—these were all terms derived by the mortals of Terrestria to group their collective populations. In truth, they were descendants of the Valian species trapped here when the realms stabilized after the Isle's collapse. They were pseudo-Wraiths and demi-Asrai, water-downed nymphs and eighteenth generation Gwyllion. Many were barely more than human and, one day, their kind would cease to exist entirely.
I had to consider whether or not I'd crossed paths with Connie's mentor in the past. Crow's End had been a mecca for the Aos Sí, a place where they congregated for the "exalted privilege" of meeting Valian kin who happened to journey to this plane. Since I could count the amount of real Valians I'd encountered on two hands, I doubted those idiots had much luck—though, their perceived misfortune was for their own benefit. Valians believed the Aos Sí to be little more than country-bumpkins, far-flung relatives they had no interest in getting to know.
Unbidden, I thought of those Valians I'd known—the Druids most notable among that number—and the Vytians, Anzel and the servant neither Cuxiel nor me could ever recall the name of. Vytians were not Valians, despite the common misconception, as they did not originate from the Vale, but rather from Vyus. Valian was often an umbrella term, much like my tongue-in-cheek way of referring to humans, witches, and mages as "mortals" or "Terrestrians." They were not alike, but often grouped together.
I thought of the Vytian princeling and his idiotic quest to free Sara from my brother, understanding only pieces and not the whole, throwing his lot in with Balthier because he'd been driven to desperation by centuries of Cuxiel's intentional sloth and neglect. I thought of Sara's parents, the father I was certain hadn't been born here, and the Druid my host had tasked with their safety. Neither Amoroth nor I knew what had become of them, as Lionel hadn't returned them to their house. It was sitting empty, Amoroth's retainers sowing the seeds to make their disappearance viable.
The witch and huntress exchanged words while I sat in silence, rubbing the grotesque bruise the mage's strike had left on my wrist. Mobility had returned to the arm, but my grip was flimsy. I was only grateful he hadn't managed to hit me with the same spell Saule had been incapacitated by.
In time, a low ranch house appeared on the desolate plain, its plastered walls given shape by the light spilling from the square windows. There was a dilapidated truck rusting in the driveway, its paint peeling like so much sun-burnt skin, the wheels all but melted into the packed dirt below. The red clay tiles on the roof were cracked, the uneven overlap allowing chinks of light to escape.
As the huntress slowed the Jeep to a stop by the house's entrance and we disembarked, I gave the sun-roasted truck in the driveway a brief glance, then returned my attention to Connie's vehicle. It was the only viable mode of transportation available in this waterless patch of Terrestrian hell. I hoped the huntress would part with it willingly, but I doubted it.
Saule tried to leave her abnormal dog outside, but he insinuated himself into the group and refused to remain put. The two women and the indignant mutt preceded me into the waiting structure, the screen door opening and closing with an angry whine of ungreased springs. I paused in what passed as the domicile's foyer, standing in a half-step depression between the door and the living room's archway. There were military boots and a pair of flip-flops on the floor, and a polished shotgun leaned against the door's dirty jamb. The air smelled of incense and spent gun powder.
In the living room we found the huntress's mentor, the Aos Sí, sitting on a floral-print sofa and watching television, his fair hands restringing a bow without his eyes having to follow what he was doing. Based on his light hair and deep complexion, he was most likely of Asrai descent. A collection of grisly scars crosshatched his bare neck and one cheek.
"Looks like you brought strays home, Con," he said with a twisted smile, part of his face too stiff with scar tissue to allow the lips much movement. I noted that he didn't release the bow. "Any special reason?"
"I saved them from a bunch of vamps on the old coven trail," the huntress explained, propping her hands on her hips. "This here's Tiber. Tiber, this is Saule and David."
The Aos Sí inclined his head in greeting.
"Tell him what y'all said about the mages," Connie instructed as she sank into an easy chair, kicking her legs onto the coffee table. Tiber chastised her with a warning look, and the woman put her feet back on the floor.
"What is this about mages?" Tiber looked to me standing aloof in the archway, his eyes on my ripped coat, then to Saule, who had walked much farther into the room than me. "Is your friend here a mage?"
"No, that's a whole other story." Saule inhaled, small shoulders rising and falling with the exaggerated action. "Okay, so here it is...."
She regaled the pair with the story of her escape from Baba Yaga's Inkwell, the arrival of the Absolian, and our departure from Verweald. She emphasized the utter importance of freeing the Mistresses without ever mentioning why it was so important, only that it was paramount in her quest. She swore in that vulgar way of hers that the witch covens would cease to be without their leaders.
The huntress listened to the witch with wide, guileless eyes, bewildered and fascinated by what Saule had to say. The Aos Sí was more critical of the witch, his mouth set in a hard grimace as his fingers tapped his chin in thought. When the witch at last finished, his response was immediate.
"I have to admit, we do not get much news this far out from the cities. We concern ourselves mainly with eradicating Wrath's children—." My eye twitched. "But this doesn't bode well for us any more than it does for your kind. We trade and bargain with the La Voisin women, and you're telling me they're...?"
"Either picked up or picked off by the syndicate." Saule scratched Bram's head, soothing the ruffled feathers there. "I don't know what happened to their Mistress."
Tiber shook his head in pity. "But what do you plan to do? If you are able to find your coven's Mistress, what then? What is to stop them from simply reclaiming her and you?"
Saule froze. "I—."
"There is little any of us would be able to do against an Absolian. That is an issue best left to the Kings, have they the heart to listen. You must concern yourself with the covens, but if you do not find a way to undermine the mages, to challenge the authority of the syndicates, there is little point to your journey."
The witch's expression sunk at his words, as if whatever buoyancy she'd recovered from her coven's capture had been leeched out. I'd gleaned that Saule could think well enough in the heat of the moment—if she wasn't screaming like a wounded child—but she lacked critical forethought, and didn't consider the repercussions of her actions. She worked to solve an immediate problem, but hadn't considered that it was only a single knot in an entire net of knots.
I didn't blame the thoughtless woman, though I didn't have to tolerate her shortsightedness, either. Her lack of insight and naiveté were byproducts of a sheltered, exclusive life in a community of like-minded women. Living in the coven meant relying upon her sisters and having a hive mentality, never needing to become self-sufficient—thus the reason why the mages were concentrating on removing the Mistresses, the leaders. Like a child, Saule's logic only went so far.
If she wanted to survive this journey, she would need to learn better.
The witch bit her lower lip, the hand upon the tattered book tightening. "If I release all of them..." she said as she thought over each word. "If I release all the Mistresses, not just Mistress Voronin, then the flash-bangs lose their edge. The covens will resist if they know their leaders are free, and the Mistresses will want to fight back. We won't be easy targets."
The Aos Sí nodded and Connie worried at the silver ring on her thumb, twisting it back and forth. "That sounds an awful lot like civil war," she whispered.
"It's not a civil war." The sharpness of Saule's voice was unexpected, exciting a growl from the dog. "They are not our kind. They are nothing like us."
Silence followed her statement, silence in which Tiber inspected the witch, and the huntress watched Tiber like a well-trained pet waiting for instructions. The Ao Sí's gaze flickered to me and the lines about his brow deepened.
"What is your stake in all this?" he asked, shifting so the bow lay across his spread knees. "Why are you so intent on reaching Itheria?"
I smirked and didn't answer. I directed my reply toward the huntress as I leaned a shoulder against the archway's cool wood. "I only want your car."
Connie laughed, realized yet again that I wasn't joking, and stopped.
"Huh," Tiber pondered as his eyes brightened. "Do I know you?"
Saule started to cough, but I remained composed and undeterred by the Aos Sí's question. In truth, even if he had seen me at Crow's End, I wasn't the same man. The inability to reconcile with my identity as the Sin of Pride played in my favor as I rejoined with a simple, "No."
Tiber didn't appear to believe me, but he was clever enough to not push the issue. "Connie," he said, eyes lingering just a moment too long before darting toward his apprentice.
"Yeah?"
"I want you to take them to Itheria."
The huntress stirred, sitting up in the lopsided chair. "You want me to go with them? What about you?"
"I will be fine here on my own. I believe they will need your help to get to their destination, given how unruly the leeches are." He reached out to touch her hand, squeezing it in his own. "The downfall of the witches doesn't just threaten them, my girl. All that stands between the syndicates and the miscellaneous creatures in Terrestria are the covens."
He spoke the truth. The antagonism between the witches and mages was long-lived, though the latter hadn't launched such a large scale operation against the women in many, many years. The covens advocated personal freedom while the syndicates wanted collective order, both systems rife with inherent flaws and benefits. Personal freedom allowed the witches to live however they saw fit but led to a breakdown of order and infrastructure, heralding their current predicament. The syndicates were better prepared, individually more secure, and generally more world-wary—but they lacked the community and liberty of the covens.
Nevertheless, the freedom advocated by the covens extended to the Aos Sí, the Valians, and people like Sara and her family. The syndicates would see them all brought into the fold, as it were, and subjugated to mage law. To some extent, the witches prevented that inclusion, though they were forced to obey the will of the syndicates.
Their laws were little of my concern. Aside from the threat of an Absolian setting fires to entire cities to purge their populations, the war unfolding between the witches and mages was also little of my concern. I didn't even care if the huntress came along on this folly of a trip—I just wanted her vehicle.
The witch was speaking, telling the woman her presence would be very much appreciated, and I straightened, turning to the door.
"We leave at dawn," I said over my shoulder, quieting their polite exchange. The Aos Sí's eyes again flickered in my direction and I sneered, unimpressed. "Not a moment later."
I left the house, though I didn't venture far. I remained on the broken patio, minding the rotted portions of wood, and found a place against the plaster wall where I could lean. Lowering myself to a crouch, I braced my arms atop my knees and glared toward the east, where the black of the sky was burning with the incipient blush of the waking morning.
Alone, I tugged upon the chain hidden in the collar of my ripped shirt. The mana ampoule spilled out into my waiting hand. It shone with dim silver light like a drop of moonlight forever preserved in a cheap glass vial.
I stared at it, not saying a word, and waited for the dawn.