Chapter Twentythree

Three days into the trip, Obi was still giving Siurad the silent treatment.

 There was a noticed absence in the back of Siurad’s skull where a judgmental cosmic tyrant was supposed to be complaining about tree placement.

Alexander was still struggling to survive the wild outdoors.

And Yona had officially had enough of both of them.

“Stop brooding,” she snapped, kicking a loose rock down the dusty hill they were descending.

Siurad frowned. “Why does everyone think I’m brooding?”

“Because you look like your puppy died.”

Alexander tripped over a stray branch, caught himself on his staff, and looked genuinely wounded. “Is the unfortunate passing of a canine companion truly something to be so callous about?”

“Yes,” Yona said. “Nine hells, yes.”

She threw both hands into the air and spun around to face them while walking backward. “I can’t take it anymore. He’s brooding, you’re one small step away from grievous injury, and the haunted jewelry has decided to become emotionally unavailable. We need to lighten the mood before I start robbing trees just to feel something.”

“I am perfectly fine,” Alexander said, immediately stepping into a shallow hole and windmilling one arm for balance. “I am simply wondering why Grumpy has ignored us for three whole days.”

“You should be happy he finally stopped talking,” Yona said. “I had to deal with him for a fraction of the time you did. Siurad, I was going to throw myself into a ravine. I mean it, I was going to end it all.”

Siurad let out a soft chuckle despite himself.

“You know what?” he said, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking off the weight. “You’re right. All that Fanie shit can wait. We’re on an adventure.”

“That’s the spirit!” Yona skipped ahead with a little extra pep in her step. “Now that we’ve settled that, Saint, why do you act like you’ve never been outside a day in your life?”

Alexander tried to show as much dignity as a man could while feeling as though everything outside was actively trying to kill him.

“I have been outside plenty of times,” he said, lifting his chin. “Who do you think I am?”

“A shut in,” Yona said.

“An introvert,” Siurad added.

“Agoraphonic,” Yona said.

Siurad blinked. “Agora-what?”

Alexander coughed into his fist. “Agoraphobic.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, it was not.”

“Meh, it was close enough.”

Siurad let out a tired laugh, and for one brief moment, the silence in the back of his skull felt less heavy.

Alexander glanced at the obsidian ring on Siurad’s hand. His expression softened in that careful, priestly way that always made Siurad feel like he was about to be gently stabbed with concern.

“Do we know anything about this Fanie?” Alexander asked.

Yona’s face scrunched into a growl. “Drop it, Saint. The big guy literally just said he wasn’t worrying about that right now.”

“He can hear me anyway,” Siurad muttered.

He looked down, his jaw clenched. “She was someone who helped betray him. Maybe converted the others. Maybe lied to everyone. I don’t know.” He exhaled through his nose. “Who really knows?”

For a few steps, none of them spoke.

Then Yona stopped.

The change was instant. The laziness melted away and soon she was crouched low, one hand slipping beneath the edge of her coat as her gaze fixed on the path ahead.

“Listen,” she whispered.

Alexander froze with one foot still raised over a root.

Siurad’s hand drifted toward his sword.

Yona pointed up the road.

“Someone’s coming.”

Siurad squinted into the gloom, following the line of her finger. He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

​“You sure?” he mouthed.

​Yona didn't look back. She just gave a single, sharp nod and pointed at Alexander.

​“Brush. Now,” she whispered, gesturing toward a thick tangle of scrub off the side of the path.

​Alexander didn't argue. He scrambled over, barely avoiding tripping over his own robes as he ducked out of sight.

​“Sounds like a group of four, maybe five,” Yona murmured, melting into the shadows of a nearby boulder. “And they're dragging something heavy.”

​Siurad craned his neck, straining his senses. Just as he was about to accuse her of hearing ghosts, the sound drifted up the path. A steady, ragged drum of boots. Beneath it was a wet, brushing schhhk, the sound of dead weight being hauled through the mud.

​“Hide or fight?” Siurad asked, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade.

​“Can we try talking first?” Alexander pleaded from behind his chosen bush.

​“Can't talk if you’re dead, Saint,” Yona hissed, her fingers wrapping around the hilt of her dagger. “You'd do well to remember that.”

​The brush parted with a violent, snapping rustle.

​Siurad’s sword cleared its scabbard by two inches, a silent ribbon of dark steel catching the faint ambient light.

​Four figures stumbled onto the dusty path. They wore the hardened leather and decorative plates of professional adventurers, but they were in terrible shape. One was limping heavily, supported by a mage in a singed cowl.

​The moment the leader, a broad-shouldered warrior missing half his breastplate, saw them, he froze. His wide eyes took in the towering, heavily armored frame of Siurad, and Yona’s hand resting casually on her dagger.

​"Gods damn it," the mercenary rasped, his voice cracking with panic. He tried to raise a notched broadsword with a trembling arm. "Form up! Formation! They're flanking us!"

​"Please, no need for hostilities!" Alexander shouted, stepping out from his hiding spot before Siurad could react. He raised both of his hands, his palms immediately radiating the soft, warm, golden light of healing magic. "Peace! We aren't bandits. Put your blade down please."

​The mercenaries blinked against the soothing light. The tension in the leader's shoulders broke, and he dropped to his knees, his sword clattering against the stone. The others quickly followed, collapsing onto the dirt covered path in sheer exhaustion.

​Alexander rushed forward, kneeling beside the man with the ruined leg. He pressed his glowing hands against the wound, knitting the torn muscle and fractured bone.

​Siurad watched them for a moment, his hand slowly falling away from his hilt. He reached into his pack, pulled out a heavy bundle of dried Tusker meat, and tossed it to the leader.

​The man caught it awkwardly, staring at the meat for a second before tearing into it like a starving dog. He passed the rest to the mage.

​"Slow down," Siurad said, his deep voice rumbling. "Or you'll choke. What happened to you?"

​"We had a job," the leader groaned, wincing as Alexander continued to work on his leg. He swallowed heavily. "A quiet one. A few days ago, someone with deep pockets offered us thirty gold to push into the caldera up ahead. They were looking for something specific. But they didn't know what it was. They just said it would be valuable. They said the sum was for discretion."

​Yona stepped out from the shadows. "Anonymous coin. Never a good sign."

​"We know that now," the man spat bitterly. "But we searched the area for days. Thought it was just a scavenger hunt. Yesterday, we finally found something near the edge of the lava bays. Something heavy, Menar our priest said, it was something strange. We bagged it and started the trek out."

​The mage pulled her cowl tighter around her face, shivering despite the heat of the nearby vents. "Then that thing found us."

​"Thing?" Alexander asked gently, moving his healing light to the mage's burned shoulder.

​"It was a demon," the leader whispered, staring blankly at the dark rocks. "It was massive, and made of bone."

​Siurad frowned. “Like undead?”

​"Like nothing i have ever seen before….there were seven of us," he continued, his voice hollow. "It didn't even use magic. It was so fast, too fast for it's size. It broke Limen’s neck before he could draw his shield. It took out Toris and Menar a second later. Barely even looked at us while it did it."

​"How did you get away?" Yona asked, her eyes narrowing as she calculated the threat.

​"We ran," the leader confessed, shame bleeding into his voice. "We dropped the artifact and we ran for our lives. It chased us to the outer ridge and then it just stopped."

​"Stopped?" Siurad asked.

​"Like it hit a wall of glass," the mage chimed in. "A hard boundary line it couldn't cross. It just stood at the edge of the black rock, watching us leave. If we had stayed in that zone a second longer, we'd all be dead."

​Alexander let out a long breath, the golden light fading from his hands as he finished closing the last of their wounds. He stood up, wiping sweat from his brow.

​"You're as good as I can fix you," Alexander said softly, "but you need rest, and you need to get out of here if that things come looking for you…."

​The warrior struggled to his feet, rolling his newly healed shoulder. He looked at Alexander with deep, genuine gratitude. "I'm Brundis. This is my crew. I don't know how to repay you."

​"Just get to safety," Alexander replied, offering a tired smile. 

​Brundis nodded, motioning for his battered squad to stand. They gathered their meager belongings and gave the group a final, respectful bow before limping away down the path, disappearing into the mist and ash.

​Siurad stood in silence, listening to their fading footsteps. The wind howled through the ravine, carrying the faint, distant scent of ozone and sulfur.

​"Well," Yona said, adjusting the strap of her pack. "A skeleton that kills in seconds and is bound to a specific territory. Thoughts, Shepherd?"

​Siurad looked toward the horizon. “Your guess is as good as mine, Yona. Whatever it is, I hope we never meet it.”

​“Does it seem wise to keep going that way?” Alexander asked, his voice tight, he adjusted his grip on his staff, his eyes fixated on the path ahead. “They were a group of seven, and there are only three of us. It seems…” he trailed off, searching for the gentlest words possible. “Irrational.”

​“Welcome to the great unknown, Saint,” Yona said, grinning. “If they were offered thirty gold for whatever that thing is, it means it's probably worth way more than that. If we can get our hands on it,” a shimmering flint appeared in her eyes “I can fence it for some serious coin. Just relax. We'll keep you safe.”

Alexander stared at her. “You heard a dying man describe a skeletal demon that killed half his companions, and your first thought was resale value?”

“My first thought was survival.” Yona held up one finger. “My second thought was resale value. I am growing as a person.”

​“So… not that I doubt your sentiment, but,” he paused, “what makes you qualified to say that?”

​Siurad grinned, his massive shoulders shifting under his armor. “Alex, you starting to get cold feet?”

​“Alexander,” he corrected instinctively. “And I wouldn't be exercising prudence without asking questions.”

​“Fair,” Yona conceded, leaning against a jagged rock. “I am an entrepreneur of sorts. I wear many hats. One of them includes keeping your ass alive. Good enough?”

​“Well…” Alexander started, adjusting his glasses.

​“I am like a bodyguard,” Siurad chimed in.

​“Like a bodyguard?” Alexander mulled the words over, not finding them particularly comforting.

​“Do you question everything, Saint?” Yona asked, raising an eyebrow.

​“If it involves me keeping all of my limbs? Why, yes. I do.”

​“Noted,” Yona said.

​“Ditto,” Siurad agreed.

​“Alright, enough pondrificating,” Yona sighed, pushing off the rock.

​“Pontificating,” Alexander corrected, coughing softly into his hand.

​“No, pondrificating, Saint. It's based off the word ponder. Nine hells, who taught you?”

​“Just let it go,” Siurad whispered to the priest.

“But that is factually incorrect.”

“Alex,” Siurad sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Alexander,” the priest corrected automatically.

“Right. Alexander. Listen, man, you’re still young. I understand that. But there is a survival rule you must learn.”

Alexander looked wary. “What rule?”

Siurad leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with the gravity of a man passing down sacred wisdom.

“It never pays to argue with women. Never.”

Alexander blinked. ​“Even when she is demonstrably, objectively wrong?”

​“Especially then. Never.”

“Even though she used the word in the wrong context? And then tried to explain the etymology of a religious term to an actual priest? The word comes from the priesthood, Siurad.”

Siurad paused, blinked, and then shook his head.

“I… did not know that.”

“Exactly.”

“And still, never.”

Alexander stared at him.

“Wow,” Alexander sighed, his shoulders slipping in defeat.

“I know.”

Ahead of them, Yona glanced back over her shoulder. “When you two are done bitching, may we resume?”

Siurad straightened immediately. “Sure thing, boss lady. Let’s roll, priest.”

Alexander closed his eyes for half a second.

“By the Light,” he muttered, following after them, “what have I gotten myself into?”