The wind battered Cedwyck with the heavy rain and mud kicked up in the storm. With every passing moment the ground grew softer and more hazardous. He fought viciously against the sinking desert sand, clawing desperately for purchase as it dragged him ever deeper.
Blinded by impenetrable sheets of rain, and deafened by incessant thunder, he struggled with all his strength to survive an onslaught powerful enough to subdue a god.
"Irikhart!" he shouted, but not even he could hear his voice against the storm.
Weakening, he felt the desert begin in earnest to drag him beneath the volatile sands, a futile battle already lost. His strength failed with his surrender, and the mud swallowed him, his face passing beneath the surface as he held onto his last breath.
It felt as if he was floating, sailing through the heavens on a home-made concoction of exotic herbs. He gazed up at the stars, restlessly wandering through the skies. He saw one in particular that stood out, that shone bright against the faded sky. Irikhart, god of fools, high above, watching over him.
A hand clenched tight around his wrist, and pulled him up with god-like strength. His face burst through the surface of the swirling mud bath, and in his clouded vision he saw a figure, strong and powerful before him.
"Irikhart," he yelled. "You have saved me!"
As the rain pounded against his face his vision momentarily cleared, and he saw the figure's mouth moving, inches away from his face. He couldn't hear the words, just the panic woven deep within. He focused on the figure, and saw it was not Irikhart, but the acolyte that gripped his arm.
Cedwyck clawed desperately as he realised they were both sinking beneath the mud, grabbing onto the acolyte's shoulders, and pulling himself from the savage desert. With his last strength, he lifted himself higher out of the greedy sand, putting his full weight on the acolyte. He saw the desperation grow in the man's eyes as the mud swallowed his ears. Cedwyck managed to lift his knee clear, and planted it on the acolyte's chest, raising himself well above the turmoil.
He felt hands gripping frantically at his legs as he lost sight of the man, but their strength soon failed, and the old druid kept himself high enough to breathe, having found something solid to stand on beneath the dirt.
As quickly as the violent thunderstorm had hit, a burning hot sandstorm crashed into him from the side. He squirmed against the vicious bites of the desert sands whipping against him, his arms clenched tight around his head as the ground soon dried below him. Ripping his legs from the cracking desert, he rolled over and kept his face low.
Coughing up sand and trying to clear his eyes, Cedwyck became aware of the commotion around him as the winds died down. He remembered that he wasn't alone, wasn't the only one to get caught in the storm.
Vague figures materialised in the settling dust, but his ears were ringing, and he could barely hear anything at all. He stood slowly, trying to gather his thoughts and his wits. And that's when he saw her. The demon-goddess herself, in all her beauty, standing right before him as real as his own hand that groped desperately at the air before him.
"Lytette?" he croaked, his voice not yet recovered. "Is it really you? In the flesh?"
She smiled the sweetest of smiles as she greeted him. Time stilled as he began his approach, oblivious to the events that had transpired, ignorant of the people surrounding him...
"You?" demanded a surprised voice beside him.
Cedwyck followed it to find Abbikson standing there, a surprised, if slightly aggressive expression on his face. A sudden moment of recognition flashed passed him as he realised why he had recognised Abbikson before.
"You?" croaked the druid, recalling the last time he had seen Abbikson at Lytette's oasis. "You?" he repeated with sour tone, remembering the smug smile of the man. "You? I challenge you—"
"Calm down, boys!" interrupted Lytette with a hint of a chuckle.
Cedwyck glared at Abbikson in silence as the voices continued around him. He had seen the old man at the Dreamer's Oasis more than once. He'd always known that Lytette entertained other guests, but—
"Cedwyck. What happened to your acolyte?"
It was Ryleine. The girl was odd to say the least, out of place. Cedwyck briefly searched around for any evidence of the acolyte, but found none.
"He didn't work out," he said. "I had to let him go."
"What? Out here?"
Cedwyck glanced around at his audience, realising none of them would understand. He searched his mind for an explanation that wouldn't result in aggressive retribution.
"Well," he began cautiously, not knowing where he was going with it, "you see—"
Lytette cut him off just in time, and the attention of the party was turned to her. She explained the attack using few words. The Three had been after Irikhart; they wanted him alive. They had intended no such thing for the rest of them. Cedwyck knew enough about the gods to not get involved in their disputes, but it seemed he had somehow been dragged into a fight by escorting Irikhart. Who would have thought that the god of fools would attract so much attention?
"We should proceed with haste," said the demon-goddess, interrupting Cedwyck's thoughts, "before The Three return. They will be watching us, and their strength will only increase with time."
"Increase?" queried Irikhart. "But surely they are mortal in this realm?"
"You truly are a fool, aren't you? Have you not seen your reflection recently?"
The god of fools glanced around hesitantly, a little confused. Lytette chuckled and shook her head.
"The descent takes it out of you, damn near kills you. In fact, it has killed many who have tried it. But once you land, your strength returns quickly, and you return to your former glorious self. Immortal."
"So, I didn't give up my immortality? Sacrifice everything for the mortal I love?"
"No, you just foolishly smashed into the dirt on Renryre Island for the love of a beautiful girl that has never heard of you, and likely will never be interested."
Even Cedwyck saw the demon-goddess glance longingly at Abbikson. His heart felt heavy as he understood: he was the other guy.
"But, Ryleine..." protested Irikhart. "She will be mine, once I have proven my love."
Ryleine, evidently, was preoccupied with studying the desert. The sands themselves, every grain, unique and interesting. Kyrnrie, on the other hand, was following the conversation intently.
"If you had spent less time watching pretty girls, and turned your attention to me," said Lytette, "you may have realised that it's not quite as simple as it seems from above."
"There is no way back?" asked Ryleine with a soft, pained voice.
"There may be," answered Lytette thoughtfully. "But now is not the time to discuss it. We must move on. We must find the coins before The Three regain their strength."
"Will you come with us?" asked Kyrnrie. "We will be safe with you as our protector."
"If only that were true," sighed the demon-goddess. "But yes, I will escort you to Fools' Escape."
* * *
Cedwyck's legs ached, a day of strenuous survival in the desert heat, followed by another night of marching through the desert, had left him weak, irritated, and generally regretting his decision to join the futile quest. As morning broke, they arrived at a precipice: a twenty-foot drop that curved as far as the eye could follow in either direction.
The druid peeked nervously down the sheer rock face, considering his chances of surviving the descent. The surface was hard and cracked, with sharp edges accentuated by the lack of rain.
"Are you sure about this, Lytette?" asked Abbikson, a warning in his tone.
"It will take too long to go around," she said. "The Three are close behind. We should camp here, sleep during the day. Tonight, we cross."
"We could sleep down there," suggested Cedwyck. "It will be in the shade of the afternoon, much more comfortable."
"No!" said Abbikson and Lytette in unison.
"Fine, alright," said the druid, reluctantly dropping his pack.
The party began extracting the linen sheets to erect covers to protect them from the sun. A light meal was rationed out as they sat on dry sand in the shade. A welcome breeze brought fresh air flowing beneath the sheets, even if it was no cooler than the stale air.
Cedwyck sat next to Lytette. Very close to her. She felt different; more real than ever, yet she still wore the tattered clothes of a woman stranded in a desert. She was beautiful, even more than he had ever noticed, more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, but something had changed. She was... sad.
"So," he began, "you and Abbikson?"
"There is no me and Abbikson."
"Right, but—"
"There should have been, yes."
"And—"
"And he wasn't interested."
"But how could—"
"Because that is not how the heart works," said Lytette, her eyes fixed on Abbikson. "He loved another. A woman he could never have. That is why he still pities me."
The camp was quiet, intently listening as the sombre mood drifted through the silence.
"Right," said the druid. "I see. That means that... you and I...?"
Lytette smiled and laughed quietly, the tear in her eye softening his heart, and as she looked at him, a playful longing danced across her face. She put her hand on his leg and caressed softly.
"Right here?" she asked. "In front of everybody?"
Cedwyck glanced around in panic, seeking any form of privacy.
"Who was she?" asked Ryleine, breaking Cedwyck's momentary excitement.
The girl was looking at Abbikson, intent. Lytette's hand vanished from Cedwyck's leg. The silence stretched for an age.
"Tell her, Abbikson," said the demon-goddess.
"She was far too young, and far too beautiful for me. And she was my friend's daughter."
"My mother?" asked Ryleine, after another patient moment of silence.
"She was your age, perhaps, as was your father," said Abbikson, reluctantly. "Together, we sailed the coasts of Renryre Island, and well beyond in search of the mainland. But it wasn't really their quest, it was ours – Gerylde's and mine, persistent to the end. Your grandfather was much loved, and your mother wouldn't allow him to sail without her."
The silence stretched out as Abbikson searched for words; digging up the past was clearly distressing.
"There was a storm one day," he continued. "It wasn't a particularly bad storm. Gerylde and I insisted we could push through it, as if the mainland lay just beyond. In our foolishness, the ship became damaged, and we struggled to keep her afloat. The storm strengthened, and while you were securely harnessed with your grandfather at the tiller, a massive wave wept over the deck and took your parents with it. We watched helplessly as the sea swallowed them. But it was our stubbornness that killed your parents, not the storm. That was the last time we ever sailed. Gerylde took you into Rordynne Forest, and I made for the desert."
"My grandfather never told me about that," said Ryleine after a few moments of thought. "He never even mentioned the sea."
"No. I believe he has forgotten it," said Abbikson. "When last we met, he had forgotten me too. And I don't blame him. I sometimes wish I could forget."
Cedwyck noted the two men on either side of Ryleine; Kyrnrie and Irikhart both trying to decide whether to give her space, or to comfort her. Ryleine was smiling softly. A pained smile, her eyes damp.
"What were they like?" she said. "What was she like?"
Cedwyck lay down and blocked his ears, bored with the conversation, not particularly interested in finding out more about the girl's parents. He vaguely hoped that Lytette would follow him, hold him perhaps. But it was a silly fantasy.
Cedwyck's Tale continues in Dead Girl's Crater part 2 >>>