Chapter Forty-Two

The sepia glow of Solas entwined with Luna’s pale lavender rays in their usual midday waltz. Deep violet flower blooms nearby suddenly became more akin to a soft cerulean blue when Solas gained ground, faded back to violet in Luna’s sweet rebuttal. Noctra was just a speck beneath their willowy dances, tests of faith, and love to one another. Inconsequential. That was exactly how Heria felt standing out in the Wilders as the two moons matched each other's steps far above her. Inconsequential.

Unimportant, Heria. Just like meek little Helena when it came time for athletics; always picked last, always given the least important position. Inconsequential, little ole me. Korrin. Mezir. Ta’K. Amberosin… they’re all actively doing something… I’m just holding a rope. I’m just standing here hoping they all make it back alive, hoping that they at least find news of Ragoth’s fate. Holding out hope and onto a rope. Pathetic.

Korrin had been gone for over two hours already. Their master cast air-rope started to go slower and slower until eventually, it stopped moving altogether. Heria thought that would mean some relief for her hands, but somehow, they’d only started to hurt more. The rope was constructed with moving currents of air beneath a thin layer of essence, after all, and Heria could feel their vibrations humming against raw gashes on her thick palms. She found herself wishing she knew how to cast onto others' essence, like Ta’K. Heria would abandon her physical self to ride the essence of their tether and check on Korrin in a heartbeat. Even if it meant never getting back to herself.

Not knowing was killing her but just like with Ragoth, she could only wait. And hope. And cry, which she did, silently. Heria battled ferociously with herself over whether or not to give two quick tugs on the rope,” come back?” Even if Korrin only sent back a solid, solitary, resounding yank to indicate she wouldn’t be coming back just yet, it would ease Heria’s mind.

But then I could go from simply being inconsequential to the team, to becoming detrimental. What if Korrin is battling Lili-Bon? Can’t imagine it would be much of a fight, but still! If Ragoth dies, I… I may already be in danger of being cast out as is. Aside from Korrin, these people do not know me. Based on my looks and prior associations alone… Why would they want to?

Mezir saw her as a weapon to be used, that much was clear. She imagined everyone in their group had already been designated a specific purpose in his mind. The man was simultaneously a stupefying degree similar to his father, and the exact antithesis to Lord White and all he stood for. An enigma.

A Legend. Rope holder. Ah, Heria was growing tired of her own company.

Luna was dominating in the battle-like waltz between both moons by the time Heria heard something snapping through entire trees like they were simple twigs in the Wilder’s to her left. Something massive. Her eyes instinctively flicked to the fresh puddle of blood at her feet and Heria began to shuffle up dirt in order to hide her scent as much as possible. She wasn’t going to let go of that rope, she needed both hands to cast more air-thread, but she’d fight like crazy with the rest of her body if it came to it. Heria really did not want it to come to that. She held her breath, concreted her focus, and scanned her surroundings.

There were no shadows darting through the thicket of trees and undulating vines that hung down from high above. Nothing at all. Except for the thriving, breathing, living… everything. Everything down to the underbrush, to the dung, trampled into the tunnels of vermin below, was teeming with life. With variety and vitality, humankind could never hope to know. Even through Heria’s prey like alertness, she was beyond humbled by all that she saw. Enthralled to the point that she found herself wishing she could drop the rope and disappear into the unknown, into the jade sea of bark and stone that consumed Noctra. It was only a brief thought, one to distract her from the tension that nestled in Heria’s spine, but she had never felt more guilty.

I could never let go. Not of Kori. Not now. No. Hold your rope Heria. Hold your hope. It's all you’ve got left.

She squeezed the invisible rope in her hands so tight that it tried to thread into her skin, she swore, it tried to meld with her flesh- at least it burned severely enough that she believed it would forever remain engorged in her palms. One breath at a time her heartbeat's tempo began to climb. It was silent all around except for the continuous crashing of massive trunks and shattering of age-old bark. No crying animals or maimed beasts, no sentient plants left to wail, they’d all left long ago, it seemed. Heria longed to know how they knew, but it was too late for that now. An orchestra of destruction circled around her. While she saw no felled giants or trampled bushes, Heria knew it was getting closer. She only wished to see it before it was upon her. Not knowing would kill her, she was sure.

When the crashing stopped, Heria thought her wish was going to come true, that the beast or deity of the Wilder’s would reveal themselves, that she would at least know her predator. Heria suffered no such luck.

Luck and wishes are for children and those unable to reach their goals themselves. Is that a quote from a Slib volume, or something Lord White said? Ugh. Definitely White. That prick. She’d escape his clutches and still couldn’t manage to truly get away from him.

“Hello?”

Heria almost forgot how gruff her teeth made her sound, how much she hated the resulting tenor. Talking to Korrin always made her forget, though only because sweet, petite little Korrin acted like it wasn’t there. Heria couldn’t expect the same of others.

“Oh, right. I know I probably look and sound… aggressive, but I promise, I won’t hurt you. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

Heria was really banking on the creature, or creatures, being sentient enough to understand her. She figured since they’d yet to attack, chances were pretty good. Wild beasts, trained hounds, even messenger falcons, and sparrows; damn near no untamed animals reacted to Heria well.

Kind of like Amberosin. Korrin would have thought that was hilarious, despite her entirely random affinity for the young woman. Heria smiled. She’d smile at the thought of Korrin happy with anyone. So long as she was happy. The grin sent a sharp underfang into her cheek, colored it red with a mock laugh line. She’d smiled so much the past few days she was worried it would scar extremely deep, no matter how much she healed it, but somehow…. It didn’t matter much.

“Uh…. Can I see you? Just, ya know, for curiosity's sake?”

Once more, no one, nothing- not a damn thing emerged from behind the malachite green veil which encircled her. Heria’s palms, now crusted with blood from her unhealed wounds, suffocated the invisible rope in her hands until she wanted to belt out in unadulterated agony. A concoction of pain and worry tensed her shoulders and transformed her dark-brown leathery knuckles into the second most ominous shade of white she’d ever laid eyes on.

Breathe Heria. Remember how you look to others, how dangerous, how monstrous you appear. Speak softer. Stand looser. Don’t spook them. Whatever is out there isn’t just some drunken asshole in the guard’s quarters. Dreadbeast, Derafae, Wilder-folk- the plants alone out here are much more powerful and dangerous than your average person, An average person could even get lucky and kill a great one, odds are against it… but why bet on them here? You are the rope holder here. The weakling who can only hope. So breathe.

She closed her eyes and inhaled, a quick count of four, just to relax those tight shoulders, to ease her smelting-iron grip. Better. Much better. The pain in Heria’s hands receded only slightly but it was enough to curb the agony and worry substantially. Now it sat gingerly against her palms, as light as air itself, though sturdy as full force gale. She hoped. Heria hoped ceaselessly, holding on to her rope of wind with eyes closed, far too deep in an unknowable jungle, untamable land of Legends. She hoped; and more importantly, she listened.

What Heria had mistaken as silence following the awful, unseen crashing of bark covered colossus’ was no silence at all, just very deliberately quiet rustling. As if the leaves themselves were whispering on their own hallowed winds, nigh imperceivable to her ears. There were no rushing footfalls or sliding bodies to be heard, but something was absolutely moving with purpose. Closer. Closer still as she tried to discern which direction it came from.

Everywhere. It's everywhere! She kept her eyes closed. Closer. Closer. Closer it came. She could hear what sounded like young bark groaning in a balmy storm and… breathing. Heria opened her eyes just as the world disappeared. No beasts. No moons. No wilders. No trees. No Noctra. No Korrin or Ragoth. No rope. Only darkness, as if she had never opened her eyes, to begin with.

Accompanied by a crippling, stagnant silence.

***

Korrin stared down at the ground where Heria had been when she left. She couldn’t keep her eyes off of the dried blood. It didn’t help that every inch of the Wilder’s around looked exactly the same to her. There was no way for Korrin to tell if a gap in the foliage was from Heria’s body or some beast that made a daily trek. She’d only tracked in cities, save for when she tailed Ta’K, and at that time there was no need to forage for survival really or track anything, Korrin had simply mimicked the bandaged man’s actions.

Ta’K had torn out a huge leaf from a tree to form a shelter, she did the same ten minutes later. He killed an animal to eat, said a prayer over the body, and cooked it using some essence and a few twigs. Korrin, eventually, found herself able to hunt down small animals with ease after copying his techniques, and cooking was nothing new to her, so she’d nearly flourished, despite how much she hated it. Looking back now though, she was sure she hated White’s estate more.

Out here, she could breathe.

Alright. Okay, Kori. You can do this. What would that bandaged fuck do now? Likely he’d just sit down and ask Noctra real nicely for some help, which she would oblige without hesitation. Wonderful, mystical, majestic bastard would probably just have Noctra scoop him up close to her earthen bosom and transport him to where he needed to go. Korrin knew her animosity mainly stemmed from jealousy and anxiety, but something about the thought was nagging her. He would just sit down, wouldn’t he?

Korrin sat. An action she barely remembered enacting. She was standing and then sat. No thought. Is it possible my jealousy is really admiration? Korrin smiled and shook her head. Whatever it is… it just may help me out a little. Alright… tune in to my inner Ta’K. No talking. I’m going to cross my legs and close my eyes. I’m going to let myself feel Noctra flowing in one arm and out the other…. I’m- shit does he cast when he does this? Ah fuck.

Korrin tried her best to mimic Ta’K’s meditation that she’d seen over a thousand times from her various perches, coves, shadows, and bushes over the course of the past year. When she had thought Jorrick was there, that she was a loyal legionnaire to Lord White who was none other than her knight in shining white armor, Korrin believed Ta’K was senseless. Always sitting. Always praying over kills. Petting things around him like there was no danger of them melting, eating, or clawing his face off. Now though, she realized, he was the opposite. In a world that had eradicated and erased his people, he proudly, openly shared his bonds and attachments to them; Korrin found this especially impressive since she now knew that he’d known she was skulking around behind him at some point.

He was always himself… at least, the part of himself that he knew. Hm.

Korrin opened her eyes and relaxed her back and legs. She wouldn’t sit that way naturally, so straight-backed and rigid. She uncurled her legs, leaned back, and looked around her seeing if the perspective from down lower gave her anything. Truth be told, it helped to calm her greatly, until her eyes found the puddle of dried, dirt-caked blood once more, just out of arm's reach. Korrin drug her ass across the ground to move closer. I wouldn’t be silent either. I like to think out loud. “What the fuck, Heria.” Her hand barely floated over the top of her friend’s crimson waste and a chill shot down through Korrin’s spine. “Oh. So… if essence somehow deals with emotions and life force and… stuff.” She let herself touch the tar-like mush of blood and grime, willed some essence into it, and closed her eyes. “Heria? Heria, can you hear me?”

There was a tingle, a response through her essence, but she didn’t know how to read it. “Fuck, come on! Find Heria! Take me to Heria! Now…. please.” Korrin didn’t know when the tears had started but they sure were not going to stop now. “I… I just want to know that she's okay!” Imposing all of her will on her essence, the essence of the blood, and on Heria, wherever she may have been, she demanded that they connect. That they share senses. That they do anything.

She heard the gasp of fading essence. She’d cast too much at once for her abilities and it was all gone. “Fuck. Heria..” Korrin looked around her, from left to right, begging the tree, the ground itself, to part and reveal her path. “Open up to me damn it.” Her sobbing caught in her throat and pitched her forward into a coughing fit. Retching onto the ground in dry heaves and spilling only snot and tears onto the soil, she barely heard a quick shuffle over her own myriad of noises. Like a gust of wind, she just couldn’t feel. Korrin wiped her eyes and looked at the leaves above and around her in all directions.

“There is no wind, so then what-”

And then, the ground rose up in four parts around her and swallowed Korrin whole.