Florette I: The Warrior

Stay away from those Villechart kids, Florette. Their sage will bring nothing but misfortune to all who know him.

The alderman’s words echoed in her ears for a laughable moment as she reached out slowly, carefully, for anything to fight the beast. Fernan was shouting at it, which was bad, but it did keep it distracted while she grasped around.

Her hand found purchase on a large, pointed rock the moment the flame erupted from its mouth.

Perhaps he was right, she thought with a tinge of dark anger.

She didn’t even need to think. With a lunge, she swung the rock down at the creature’s tail as hard as she could. The squelch was at once satisfying and unnerving, its blood splattering as it yelped with pain.

Fernan was slumped to the ground in front of it, holding his arm over his eyes as his body shook. I should have called out when it crawled up from under the bridge. It might have provoked the creature, but even that would have been better than this.

If she hadn’t lagged behind, they might have been able to run at least. If those putrid Avalons hadn’t occupied the inn, Fernan might never have encountered the monster at all. If… But those thoughts went nowhere. I have to focus, she thought as she gripped the bloody rock tightly.

The gecko turned its head back to face her, whimpering with pain as curls of smoke drifted out of its mouth. It let loose another blast of flame, but Florette was already jumping to the right of the bridge in anticipation.

It still caught on the edge of her tunic.

Those soulless eyes followed her movement as it turned its head to face her. Opening its mouth, it spat forth a third jet of flame in her direction.

This isn’t working. Evading yet again, Florette tried to pat down the fire, but to no avail. She stepped back as the gecko crept closer, noticing the trail of blood its tail left on the wood of the bridge. But I’m not going to let it win.

With a deep breath, she jumped into the raging stream. The cold was a shock like none other, something she could feel deep in her bones that made it almost impossible to think. But she had to act quickly or be swept away, dashed against the rocks below.

She gasped for air as she pushed her head above the water, fighting the current to stay afloat. Still upstream of the bridge, at least. That was good. It meant she wasn’t dead yet.

Jerking her hand above the water, Florette barely managed to grab onto the underside of the wooden arch, pain lancing through her hand as her grip tightened around it. It wasn’t a stable position, but it gave her a second to catch her breath out of reach of the flames.

She shook her head to clear the strands of wet hair from her face, blinking the water out of her eyes as she did. She saw the gecko circling back in on itself, nosing at its injured tail. With any luck, that meant it had lost interest in them. If it fled, she could take Fernan to the village and get him help. She could be a hero, instead of a miserable failure.

The gecko flicked its tongue to its lidless eye as it opened its mouth once more.

Florette prepared to duck under the water again, but not so much as a spark spewed forth. Only the cry, a shrill hiss far louder than the noise it had made crawling out from the under the bridge.

Was it in pain? Surely it would have cried out earlier, if that were all there were to it.

Cautiously, Florette hoisted herself up onto the bridge, ready to jump back if the gecko attacked. But it remained there, mouth open, emitting that ominous call.

She risked a glance back over to Fernan, who was still lying on the ground, unmoving. She couldn’t see his face, but tendrils of smoke curled up into the air from his head.

“Fernan?” she called out hesitantly.

No response. The gecko remained focused on whatever it was doing across the stream. She made sure not to turn her back to the creature as she slowly walked over to Fernan. Gingerly, she flipped him over onto his back, pushing past her dread.

His boyish face was nearly a ruin, the burns spread from his nose to his forehead. His pathetic attempt at a mustache was still smoldering, and the eyes… The green flame still burned within them, but there was no recognition beyond it. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest conveyed any life at all.

As Florette suppressed a wave of inescapable rage, the gecko stopped its call, shutting its mouth and fleeing down the side of the mountain, shedding its injured tail behind it. Small mercies.

With a moment to breathe, she cupped her hands together and scooped up water from the stream to pour lightly over his face. It probably wasn’t the best way to treat a burn, but it had to be better than nothing. It would cool him down, if nothing else.

Fernan didn’t even respond. He certainly wouldn’t be able to walk, so Florette did her best to sling him over her back. The first step was painful, agonizingly slow. She nearly collapsed on the second.

He’s too heavy. I’m too weak. Florette took a deep breath and began to drag Fernan by his arms, further up the path at a speed far too slow to make it anywhere useful in time. Every pebble on the path felt like a dagger in her feet, her lungs desperately gasping for air as she struggled on. Anything to reach Fernan’s village while there was still hope for him. To turn this disaster into a triumph.

If she could get Fernan to Villechart in time, their alderman might be able to heal him. He was a spirit sage, according to Fernan, and they held all kinds of strange abilities, power granted by their spirit patrons. If Jerome had sworn allegiance to Soleil, the sun spirit, he might be able to grant life back into his eyes, to heal the awful burns across his face.

If she could even make it there. Her back was already screaming from the awkward crouch needed to keep dragging Feran. The trail of disturbed dirt stretched out below them showed a pitiful measure of progress, so slow it felt like she wasn’t moving at all.

Every so often, Fernan would groan as she dragged him over a rock or a bump, which was at least an assurance that he was still alive, though not of much else. Florette did her best to clear the path behind them, but every moment her back was turned was another delay, and only so much could be done to smooth the rocky path.

Already, the sun was declining in the sky, the temperature falling in turn. Springtime seemed to be running warm again, but this high up, evenings were still far from pleasant, especially without bulkier clothes. The shock of the initial attack that had propelled her so far had long worn off, leaving Florette aching, tired, and cold.

Not that that was any reason to stop. She could still fix this.

A true hero fights to the bitter end. No greatness ever came of giving in.

So exhausted she needed a moment to rest, Florette lifted her head for another glance back down the path, hoping it would show some measure of progress. The bridge was hidden by the mountain now, the path curving around it. That meant something, at least, even if reaching Villechart before nightfall seemed utterly hopeless.

Whenever she had the days to spare, more and more common these days with the state of the Enquin mines, Florette would lurk around the First Post, hoping for any stories from worldly travelers and traders. She had even learned to read, mostly the books her village would occasionally trade for from Guerron, which had supplied her with even more tales of adventure.

There was always a pattern to the stories of grand feats and heroic valor. The deeds that captured their hearts were decisive, uncompromising: the dashing rogue Robin Verrou stealing his advanced ship from right under Avalon’s nose, the shadowy figures of the Malin resistance hiding in the old capital, emerging only to strike fear into the hearts of the occupying curs.

Almost never was a word spared for the likes of Duke Fouchand, the capitulating craven who had surrendered to Avalon before the Foxtrap had even properly begun. To hold onto his own power, he had thrown away the lives of everyone lost in the war. He had made their sacrifice worthless out of selfish cowardice.

She would save Fernan, would take her place among those fighting for righteous glory. It was that simple.

Just as she was about to resume moving, a writhing shape caught the corner of her eye, far down the slope. Like dark grass, swaying in the wind. Or…

Florette pounded her fists against the side of the rock, cursing every great spirit whose name she even knew.

Nearly two dozen geckos were gathering at the base beneath her, smaller than the one who had burned Fernan but no less fearsome for it. He was calling out to the others. They’re all coming after us…

Florette began laughing, tilting her head towards the sky at the sheer misfortune. One gecko was more than a match for the two of them — this many made for a challenge so grossly insurmountable that their mere appearance beggared belief. Entire caravans accompanied by village guards had been massacred by less than half the number staring her down.

What did they even want? Geckos were dumb beasts, but they normally understood enough to feed themselves. Attacking villages or caravan for coal made some twisted kind of sense, but sending this many after two people? Even the both of them would make for a meager meal with a crowd that large, not that that was much consolation.

No one would blame her for leaving Fernan now. She probably should have left him behind already. Slipping away as geckos feasted on the fallen was one of the few opportunities one might ever get to escape a horde like this. She was doing him no good by staying here, not if he was doomed in any case. All the miners and caravan guards would say the same thing: save yourself.

And yet she remained. The thought of those horrific creatures biting into his flesh because she let them was too much to bear. Would the Captain of the Exiles give up? Would Robin Verrou?

A deep breath. She had to believe there was something she could do. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Stepping away from Fernan for a moment, she tried to get her bearings.

Could she roll a boulder onto them? Not without any in sight, no. Especially when one would probably fall off long before it collided.

The mass began to move up the path, assembled in its entirety.

“Khali’s curse,” Florette swore. They would be here in minutes.

Up the path lay the village, with its spirit sage and some measure of safety. It wound around the side of the mountain, weaving through gaps in the rock.

Florette flicked her eyes to Fernan, only a little ways back.

Gaps in the rock…

She ran up and grabbed his arms once more, a faint trickle of hope fueling her as she pulled him further up. This time she kept a keen eye to the side of the mountain, looking for any fitting spot.

The geckos scurried closer, a green fire burning in their mad, uncomprehending eyes. But Florette kept her attention on the path ahead, craning her neck over her shoulder as she dragged poor Fernan around the bend and momentarily out of their sight.

She found what she was looking for not a moment too soon: a narrow alcove in the side of the mountain, barely large enough for one person.

“Up you go, Fernan.” Muscles screaming, she hoisted him in feet first, pushing him back until only his head was visible. Without time to do better, she wedged some of the larger stones in front to block him in, hiding behind the rocks. Sorry.

She dragged her foot along the dirt for another dozen feet, as far as she dared, before breaking into a full sprint up the path, not looking back. With any luck, that would deter them enough for her to get help from the village.

Once she had put enough distance between herself and the horde, Florette pressed herself low to the ground and looked down over the spot where Fernan was cached.

It felt like only moments before the geckos caught up to the hiding spot, crying and hissing in a cacophonous blast of sound that overwhelmed all else. It sounded almost like they were yelling at each other, driving the noise into her skull as they emitted their awful cry.

The ruse didn’t fool them for even a second. It was like they could see through the stone, immediately stopping in front of Fernan and clambering up to dislodge the rocks covering him.

All for nothing.

The largest among them stepped forward in front of the rest, half again the size of the one which had burned Fernan, and wrapped its jaw around Fernan’s head.

Clenching her fists, Florette forced herself not to look away.

Slowly, the beast pulled Fernan from his hole, dragging his body down into the center of the gecko gathering. When it withdrew its mouth, Fernan lay there, looking no different than before.

What?

Four of them picked Fernan up with their mouths, moving him onto the back of the largest without appearing to bite. Once he was secured, the mass of geckos began making their way back down the path.

Florette blinked. She had never heard any mention of geckos abducting instead of killing, any at all. If it had ever happened, none had lived to tell of it.

What was there even to do now? She doubted anyone from Villechart could make it back here in time to do anything for Fernan, no matter how fast Florette might make it there. This was her chance to escape the geckos. It would at least mean that she could inform Fernan’s family.

That’s sure to be a joyous task.

His father had died young, he had said, lungs black from work in the mines. Not an uncommon way to go, but it wouldn’t usually catch up to a miner enough to kill them until at least their fifties. Fernan had guessed it was because his father was such a hard worker, and Florette hadn’t had the heart to tell him it was probably because he had been careless with the cloth covering his face to block the dust.

Even so, Florette would still have to break the news to his poor mother. Soleil only knew how she might react, how she might blame Florette for what had befallen her son. Not only the tragedy of the geckos, but the uncertainty from the fact that he had still been alive when Florette left him to his fate like a worthless coward.

Why hadn’t they killed him? Florette dared not hope that he might escape, but the only time a gecko would pause their attack would be to consume the fallen people they had slain. And that large a gathering certainly would not be inclined to leave the survivors alone, as they had for her.

The bewildering uncertainty was nearly as bad as the awful truth of what had happened, maybe even worse. At least death was certain, inevitable.

Florette left her hiding spot and began walking, her feet softly touching the dirt as her heart began to slow. The calm was no true relief, but a deep unease, a dread lodged deep in the pit of her stomach.

The setting sun threw long shadows behind her, towards the village where she knew she ought to be headed. Where she would finally have no choice but to give up on Fernan, give up on herself.

The geckos were not hard to see, moving in such a large pack. With Fernan captured, they couldn’t even seem to clamber up and down the mountainside as they might normally.

She didn’t even know where they were taking him. With the snow melted, there was no way to spot their lair amidst the rock. Once they left her sight, they would disappear into the mountains, forever out of reach. Fernan would be lost along with them.

No. She wouldn’t let it end like that.

Following them at a safe distance was trivial, even as twilight descended. Whenever one opened its mouth, the flame inside acted as a beacon even from so far away.

She could almost hear Fernan’s voice in her mind, asking her what in Soleil’s name she was doing, what brazen idiocy would drive her to follow when she had every chance to escape.

But really, it was simple. If she could track where they took him, she could leave and return with caravan guards, probably with Villechart’s alderman too. No need to take all of the geckos on herself, then.

And if they don’t want to come? To risk all of their lives to save a boy who’s already dead?

Florette shook her head at the thought. If no one would help, then it didn’t matter anyway. But if she couldn’t find the latest spot where they’d made their lair, there would be no chance at all. Doing it this way was a small risk for a huge benefit.

Dragging Fernan had been exhausting, but she felt a new vigor as she crept behind the pack of geckos, following them up and down the rough mountainside with careful deliberation. As night fell, she had to pick her path more carefully, testing each spot with a tap of her foot to be certain it had enough traction to walk across.

By the time they reached the lair, darkness had wholly fallen.

The cave was on the side of the mountain, blended right into the rock. Only the heat emanating out and the slight shimmer in the air marked it as anything unusual. Even at her safe distance, the warmth was unpleasantly soothing in the night air. It felt wrong, imbalanced.

Fitting enough for a cave of monsters, she supposed.

Cautiously, Florette crept closer, trying to get a better view of the mouth. With the ripples in the air, it looked almost alive, pulsating like a beating heart, tinged ever so slightly with the same dark green color as the geckos’ hides.

Now I know. If Fernan’s villagers refused to help him, then Florette could at least know that she’d done everything she possibly could.

Carefully committing the area to memory, she turned around to begin her trek back. It would be dangerous in the dark, but nothing less than she could handle. Certainly less threatening than a pack of vicious beasts, and she had pushed through that.

The route back could afford no less caution. Without the flames from the geckos, her eyes adjusted more easily to the darkness, which helped as well. It was almost easier, headed this way.

Her foot slipped slightly, causing her to pull it back and look more carefully at the ground beneath her.

Florette blinked. It almost looked like a message, scrawled into the dirt in large, blocky letters.

“STOP.”

She tensed, jerking her head back and forth until they settled on the source.

A single pair of glowing eyes stared back.