A yaka girl waded through the people like water, drowning as her head fell so far below their surface, young and small as she was. The silver of her fur glinted off the precious little sunlight that broke through the crowd and cloth shadings of the marketplace, her ears twisting back and forth, trying to parse uniqueness from the drone of multitudes of speech. The Caravan had stopped at their town, every single occupant come to behold the annual wonder, stock up on rarities, hear tales of far lands and magnificent encounters, and prepare for predicted shortages.
She'd done it all before— seen the wonders, bought spices and gallons of nutrient-sodden swill, and sat in on caravanners pouring forth stories that glimmered in their eyes like the crystalline detritus of Shimreth's rings when it eclipsed the distant sun. This year, though, she sought something else entirely, a precious water to slake a thirst that was marrow deep, a trapdoor to fall through.
The young girl frequently stopped at various stalls, talked to a multitude of merchants and caravanners, but none offered what she was looking for, sending her off. That was until she encountered a spider selling limestone carvings that told of ages past, fragments of karst he'd scavenged while passing by, he claimed (or so she interpreted.) Once he'd finished his spiel, she'd asked him if he knew of somewhere she could find what she was looking for. Thankfully, like most people, he held a strong understanding of her language. The young girl, however, still only held a fledgling understanding of his people's language, something he picked up on as he began speaking back. Through a series of patient, repeated clicks and hisses, mutterings and spatters, arms gesturing intricately, he gave her directions to a caravanner who might be both of interest to her and interested in her. She quickly thanked him and pressed onward, following his directions as best she could amidst the bustling crowd and seemingly endless stalls that had appeared quite literally overnight.
Still, she struggled to find what she was looking for, prying the crowd apart person by person. As she neared what she hoped was her destination, taking in the details given to her by the spider merchant, telling her of what stalls to look for, she accidentally jostled a kah-rehm man, walking into his elbow. A large, ornate terracotta vase fell from his hands and shattered on the limestone floor of the marketplace. The kah-rehm grabbed the young girl by the scruff of her neck, lifting her up, bringing her face-to-face. His long, curled horns told of his age— backed by the way his face sagged— with various medallions, ribbons, and pieces of jewelry hanging from them.
"Bumblin' li'l yaka! Jus' like yer kind ta not be lookin' where yer goin'," he snarled, his breath rancid. "D'you know 'ow much th't there piece a art cost me? Prolly more'n you'll see'n yer lifetime."
The young girl thrashed in his grip, trying to pry herself loose, apologizing.
"Y'owe me a certain debt now, one I es'pect ya ta pay in full. Where's yer mama at, huh? Yer papa? I need to have a talk with 'em," he hissed, grinning.
In her panic, the girl miraculously managed to slip from his grip, her slick fur giving her the chance. She quickly ran away, sliding a bit as she struggled to get traction on the limestone floor with its thin layer of sand, arms pumping.
"Oy! Get back 'ere!" The girl could hear the sound of hooves pounding on stone behind her. She wouldn't be able to outrun him for long, would have to try to lose him in the crowd and hope for the best. So she started ducking and weaving, slaloming between people as fast as she could, bumping into many people more as she did, calling out apologies behind her. Still she could hear the incessant, rhythmic gallop of the kah-rehm nearing her, people yelling as he shoved them aside.
In a desperate moment, the yaka girl looked behind her, wishing to scout out. Much to her dismay, she discovered that her lead was shrinking, and fast.
"HELP!" the girl cried out, still running. "HELP!"
Suddenly, she caught sight of a yaka holding a gun and blindly ran towards them. Close, she tried to stop, but ended up ramming into them as she failed to get enough friction, the sand impeding her once more.
Much to her surprise, she was the only one who tumbled, the proverbial wall she'd hit standing strong.
Blinking a few times, the young girl turned over from her side, catching a glimpse of the yaka she'd hit. She stood tall and proud, silhouetted by their blue sun, Taá, decorated in worn road leathers and cloth interwoven with shed yaka fur, wearing a few bandoliers and a belt, all laden with tools, pouches, and other trinkets, her eyes deeply sunken. Her top hands held a shotgun, made with matte gunmetal and dull wood. It was a strange little contraption, different from other shotguns the young girl had seen. It lacked a full stock, the wood ending at the back grip, and the foregrip beneath the barrel didn't slide, the gun bearing a lever action instead, like a longarm.
She met the exact description the spider merchant had given her.
"Watch where you're goin' runt!" She cried out as the young girl stumbled to her feet and hid behind her. "The hell you doin'?"
The kah-rehm man broke through the quickly dispersing crowd, stopping maybe forty feet away from the woman, hesitating at the sight of her firearm. "That girl, give 'er 'ere."
The woman turned to him, hands still gripping her shotgun. "You her kin?"
"Piss off, vagrant. This ain't got nothin' t'do wit ya. Gutter rat went an' shattered a piece a art I jus' bought! Gotta collect what I'm owed!"
The woman looked back at the girl. "That true?"
"It was an accident, I swear!" the girl answered, quivering.
"Well, seems like it was an accident then," the woman said, looking back to the kah-rehm. "So why don'tcha you let bygones be bygones?"
"'Cause that bygone's worth a whole lot! An' I ain't 'boutta get scammed by 'appenstance!"
"Look, you could afford that thing in the first place, you prolly ain't hurtin' for physical scratch."
"Y'don't know nothin' 'bout me, car'van scum. Leave me t'my business."
"Jus' leave it be," the woman said, making a show of looking down and fiddling with her shotgun.
He scowled. "Y'ain't got th' jurisdiction, missy."
"No one's got jurisdiction over nothin'. From the sand we come, to the sand we return, all belongs to it. Got any other head scratchers?"
"Not the moment, but here's what I am thinkin': I'm thinkin' I'll be walkin' outta 'ere ta 'ave a civ'lized discussion wit 'er kin. Now, 'f you don't mind—"
In a flash, she'd raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, a massive BOOM! sounding out as the muzzle flashed.
The sound of the shotgun's explosive discharge echoed through the marketplace, bouncing off the stonework, but quickly gave way to the panicking of the crowd and the kah-rehm man screaming.
The woman turned back to the girl and knelt down. "You good, runt?"
The girl could only nod. Now that she was closer, the girl could see that the yaka's eyes weren't actually sunken into her skull, she'd just smeared some thick, black substance in her eye sockets. The woman brushed the dust off the girl before backing up again, some of the tools hanging from her pack jingling. "Right. On your way then."
The woman walked off and took hold of a pair of long, stained needle-nose pliers from a bandolier. She crouched down in front of the writhing kah-rehm man and began digging around the entry wound in his chest. He screamed at her, crying out in pain, but she offered no sympathy, giving only a stern, "Hush." After a moment she let out a faint, "Aha!" and gently began tugging at the pliers, lightly twisting back and forth as she did. With some sickening squelches, the pliers fully came out, tightly gripping a malformed lump of lead. Standing up again, she wiped the blood and gore off the hunk of lead on her road leathers and dropped it into a small leather pouch that hung from her belt, a light tink sounding out.
"YOU BITCH!" the kah-rehm scream-hissed, saliva foaming at his mouth, tinged with blood.
"Shuddup, you'll be fine. Didn't hit nothin' vital," she dryly responded, not even looking at him as she cocked the lever on her shotgun— her bottom-right hand catching the empty shell as it was ejected from the top of the receiver— before holstering it on her left thigh. She closely inspected the casing, the brass covered in the remnants of black powder at its rim. The young girl watched her twist it around in her fingers, taking in every inch, before smiling to herself and dropping it into a second pouch on her belt, just behind the one she'd stored the lead in. Then, she started walking back to a stall, leaving the entire incident to rot.
For the first time, the young girl spoke up, desperate not to let the opportunity go to waste. "Wait! Ma'am!" she called after the woman.
The tall yaka turned and looked down to her, one eyebrow raised. "What?"
There was a steel in her eyes, an edge that threatened her if she got too close. The young yaka was suddenly far more nervous than she had been before, imagining facing down the dark interior of her shotgun's barrel. "Will you take me with you?" she meekly asked, her head dipping away from her cold gaze.
"And why would I do that?"
The girl thought about it for a moment, not realizing just how selfish a request it was until then. Still, all she could do was plea a reason, any reason. She bundled up all of the courage into her chest and met the woman's dirtied eyes again. "My clan used to be wanderers, like so many of us, but they settled, got complacent with work. My mom and dad want me to stay here, with them, learn their trade. But I still feel it, that deep wanderlust, like my ancestors did. I can't stay here, I wanna see the world. I wanna be like our people always have been and weave history between my fingers like twine. See it, smell it, taste it, feel it."
Expecting to be met with a scoff and an eye roll, the girl was surprised when the stony glare in the woman's eyes melted away, her head falling just a bit, barely noticeable. "Look, runt. It's a dangerous world out there, especially if you're runnin' with the Caravan. And I ain't no merchant, I work guard and muscle duty, so I'm gettin' my hands filthy with blood and muck. Do the stuff no one else wants to. And there ain't much room for failure or patience; there's a schedule to keep."
"I'll help you! Whatever you need me to do! Please!"
She sighed. "What about your folk? You jus' gonna up and leave 'em?"
The girl flinched. "They've got my two brothers, I won't be missed."
That was when the woman rolled her eyes, "See, you think that, but I guarantee it ain't the truth. You're history to 'em jus' as much as the kind you're seekin'."
"I know what the truth is."
The woman stared at her in silence for a moment, eyes flitting around as she thought. Finally, she let go of the breath she'd been holding in and knelt down, getting eye to eye with the girl. "Jus' know this: you're gonna have to pull your own weight, runt. And I won't be there to save you if you get your sorry rear into somethin' hide-tannin'. Understood?"
The young girl's eyes lit up as excitement jumped from nerve to nerve. "Yes! Absolutely!"
A small smile broke out on the woman's face. "Right, best we get acquainted then. What's your name?"
"Rees, ma'am."
"Good to meet you Rees, I'm Hashla."
Rees had been traveling with the Caravan for less than a few days, always close behind Hashla, practically walking in the footprints she left in the sand. She'd discovered that Hashla had a tendency to spend much of her time steeping in silence— likely used to being functionally alone as she walked adjacent to a wagon, animal, or dunewalker— but then would remember Rees and try to spark conversation.
"Met some spider crunchers a few weeks ago who told me somethin' really interestin'," Hashla said, a lit cigarillo in her mouth. One of the first things she'd taught Rees was how to roll them.
"Crunchers?" Rees asked.
"Math types."
"Oh. What did they tell you?"
"Said they'd been doin' all sorts a calculations and experiments, tryin' to see how they could make dunewalkers sturdier outside a jus' the material they're made of. So they'd been testin' a bunch a different shapes to see how they bore loads. And you know what they told me?"
"No, ma'am."
"They said that a triangle was the strongest shape. Could handle the most strain if used right." Hashla laughed.
"I don't get it."
"Don't get what?"
"The joke."
"Ain't really a joke in the traditional sense. Jus' think they've got it wrong is all."
"They do?"
"Mhmm."
"Then what's the strongest shape?"
"A circle."
"A circle?"
"Nigh unbreakable, you use it right."
"Really?"
"Honestly and truly."
Rees stared forward for a moment, now walking abreast of Hashla. The flat wastes they were making their way through were slightly discolored by the goggles she wore, their lenses tinted to fight off the incessant and overbearing sunlight, reminding her of a question she'd been meaning to ask Hashla. One that could keep the conversation alive.
"Why don't you wear anything to protect your eyes?"
"Hmm?"
Rees pointed to her goggles, nestled tightly over her eyes. "You don't wear goggles."
"No, I don't. Your point?"
"Why?"
"Don't want 'em."
"But what about the sunlight?"
"Y'ain't noticed?"
"Noticed what?"
Hashla bent down, bringing her face closer to Rees'. "See all this tar I got in my eyes?" she asked, putting a finger to the black gunk pasted onto her eye sockets. This close, Rees could see that her sclerae were tinged red, the veins pronounced.
"I just thought you were dirty."
Hashla laughed. "You're right to a certain degree, but it serves a practical purpose. The black absorbs light, fights off glare. Does double duty for yaka like us too. Silver fur does a good job a helpin' us stay cool by reflectin' the light, but can makes glares at inopportune times." Hashla bent back, facing forward again. "Old trick a friend taught me."
"How do you get it off?"
Hashla sighed. "Well that's one a the downsides. Don't really come outta fur. But then again, I need it jus' about every hour a daylight a everyday. So, it don't bother me none."
"Say you don't need it, though? What then?"
"Then I'm either returnin' to the sand or I'm retired and all alone and wouldn't have to worry about someone seein' me with a partly shaved face."
"But still, why not just wear goggles? It seems like the much more convenient route."
Hashla nodded lightly. "Sure, sure, but look straight ahead," she said, pointing into the distance.
Rees complied, staring out into the horizon.
"Now tell me: how much a your periphery's obscured?"
A surprising amount, Rees found. It was something she'd never thought about or noticed before. "Some, but you can still see plenty."
Hashla clicked her tongue. "Death hides in that margin sometimes," she muttered gravely, taking a deep drag of her stumpy cigarillo before throwing it into the sand.
Rees stood next to a grand dunewalker, the mechanical beast of burden that drug along Hashla and another caravanner's wagons. It was far, far taller than her, its wooden frame— a monstrosity of shapes and metal joints, held together with various resins and fibers— reached up towards the distant stars of the night sky. Normally, much of the front of it was covered with sails, large sheets of canvas like those on the rare waterskipper on the coast, utilizing the winds to pull it forward, causing the "feet" of the beast to lurch in time. During the times when the Caravan stood still though, the sails were brought to rest, leaving only the skeleton of cactus ribs as the monster slumbered.
Dunewalkers, while no longer in their infancy, were still a newer invention in the grand scheme of the little moon Rees called home. They unnerved her, wooden and metal constructs that mimicked walking as they were pushed forward, that mimicked breathing as their flexible frames undulated. As if at any moment the thing would kneel like an arcanist and pray to the winds that it so dearly relied on.
Maybe five years ago, when the Caravan had arrived in her town, she'd seen one for the first time. And in the years between then and now, she'd only ever see them again when the Caravan passed through. She'd watch them from a distance, imagining the sounds of their breath, their pants as they drug people, their stories, and things across the moon. Even then, she knew they weren't alive, but distance gave them an unnerving quality— one that was now deeply imprinted in her, that she still couldn't shake even as she was close enough to touch one. It had only been a little over a week since she'd entered her new life, and already she was staring down things that once felt so rare as to be foreign wonders, now rendered mundane, even if her inane convictions still had roots.
Rees reached up to the skeleton, gently placing a hand on it. She found herself surprised at how cold the wood felt, some deep part of her still expecting the warmth of life. Even as she worked to pry that notion from her mind once and for all, she found herself unconsciously and gently petting the thing, the great beast, to keep it docile and comforted.
"I wouldn't be doin' that I were you," Hashla called out to her, leaning on the side of her wagon. Like just about every wagon in the caravan, it had a thick covering of canvas over it, stretched upwards by an interior framework, giving a yaka her size enough room to reliably crouch inside it. Hashla's wagon was hitched onto another, larger wagon, which itself was hitched to the dunewalker she was petting. "People don't much like folk touchin' their dunewalkers."
Rees drew her hand away quickly, shuffling off to the side. "I didn't know, sorry."
"S'alright, won't go snitchin'. Have a good enough relationship with Klethckt, would hate to sour it over somethin' so trivial." Klethckt, the spider who owned both the first wagon and the dunewalker. "C'mere, got somethin' important to show ya." She turned, headed for the back.
Rees quickly ran after Hashla, following her around the corner. She was already climbing inside, pushing the flap aside. Once she was in, Rees climbed in after her. The interior of the wagon was tight, the three walls filled with various kinds of drawers and cabinets of equally various sizes, each of which was secured with a small sliding bolt to keep them from opening and spilling their contents during travel. There was just enough room in the middle for two thin bedrolls, each big enough for an average yaka, a category both Hashla and Rees fell into— for now. Rees was still young, had growing to do. She was half the height of Hashla at the moment, but there was no telling how much that would change in the future.
At that moment though, the bedrolls were rolled up and tucked away in one of the many cabinets. A lantern hung from one of the wooden struts that helped to keep the canvas roof and siding stretched out and aloft, shedding a golden light on the interior. Hashla sat near the backmost side, back against the cabinets.
"What is it you wanted to show me?" Rees asked, settling herself against the rightmost side, sitting crisscrossed.
Hashla drew her shotgun from her left thigh, cocking the lever multiple times, eight unfired shells ejecting from the receiver and crashing loudly to the floor of the wagon. "One a the essentials for livin' in the wastes, travelin' with the Caravan. Somethin' an old friend instilled in me was to respect your fifth arms," she began. "She taught it to me, it was taught to her, and so on and so forth. Words're 'specially important for your weaponry, initiator for and preventative measure against the second half a the greatest cycle. In both ways, a harbinger."
Rees stared, mesmerized.
"This harbinger's name is 'Sél', and it's sent many a creature back to the sands from which they once arose."
"Sél?"
Hashla nodded as she began digging through various drawers, procuring various tools and setting them aside. "Tzic word for the special diet they put a girl on when they're makin' her a queen, 'ccordin' to Klethckt at the very least."
"Klethckt told you that?"
"Mhmm."
"How does he know?"
"Used to be some kinda diplomat with his old folk and some nearby tzic. Somethin' happened and now he's here. Ain't ever gotten soft enough with me to tell his tales. Or drunk enough."
"You two aren't friends?"
"I'm the closest thing to a friend he's got."
"But you aren't close."
Hashla settled back down, picking up a few tools and beginning to disassemble her shotgun— Sél. "Right. Now, you best be payin' attention," she said, pulling away from the topic.
"Yes, ma'am."
Hashla grunted. "Don't like you callin' me 'ma'am,' ain't no need for formalities."
Making sure to still be watching closely, Rees tried giving the line of conversation a tug back. "So if you and Klethckt aren't friends, how'd you two start working together?"
"Wouldn't call it workin' together, more like I prioritize his safety and he gives us food and water."
"Was he just looking for a gunhand then?"
"Prolly, dunno." Hashla kept her eyes down, kept disassembling and cleaning. She'd shored up again, refusing to budge. Rees silently accepted it and watched in silence as Hashla finished cleaning Sél.
Rees lay on her bedroll, trying to occupy her mind with anything that would lull her to sleep rather than the disruptive and painful thoughts that saw it fit to dominate her consciousness.
She thought of her home. Her gut was filled to the brim with a desire to stand in familiarity, smell familiarity, but her heart was plated with a steely desire to never return.
She thought of her death. She'd hopped aboard the Caravan to get away, but everyday she feared that she would suffer the same fate as her father.
And she thought of her brothers— Laies and Droes— who she'd abandoned. They were self-sufficient and smart, they would be physically okay, but what of their hearts? She missed them dearly, but she couldn't imagine facing them. Even in her mind's eye, they were turned away from her.
Outside the wagon, she heard a rough cough, almost choking, followed by mutters. Rees knew it was likely Hashla, sitting awake, staring off into the night. She'd hadn't slept much in the few days the Caravan had been traveling through a dead forest, grey, dried trees as far as the eye could see, branches looming over the wagons like the fingers of the damned, come to pluck souls free of their lively bodies.
The few hours Hashla had rested had been fitful and restless, filled with whimpers. Her waking hours were spent perpetually on the lookout, carefully scanning the interior, eyes wide, darting every-which-way, Sél drawn. It was by far the most watchful and careful Rees had seen her in the month she'd been with the Caravan, crossing the line into paranoia.
A crash sounded out, glass shattering.
Unable to sleep now herself, Rees silently climbed out of Hashla's wagon. She soon spotted her, sitting by her lonesome a few feet away from the Caravan, surrounded by bottles, some empty, some full. Sél sat in her lap, her hands laying on its frame, fingers tapping.
Hearing the crunch of the detritus under Rees' feet as she stepped towards her, Hashla whipped her head around, eyes wide, Sél drawn, finger on the trigger. Rees was forced to stare down the dark bore, a jolt of fear stabbing through her chest. Once Hashla saw it was only Rees, she relaxed, letting a tense breath out, Sél falling back to her lap. "Scared me, runt."
"Sorry."
Hashla turned back to the forest as Rees sat down next to her. "All good, runt. All good. Did I wake you up?" There was a slight slur to her words.
"No, couldn't sleep."
"Sorry to hear."
"It's fine."
Hashla picked a full bottle up and held it out to her. "Thirsty?"
Rees gently took the bottle, uncorking it, a stench like ethanol assaulting her nostrils. It was the liquor a merchant a few wagons down produced, running a still out of a second wagon attached to his homely one. It was strong stuff and Hashla had seemingly already downed three bottles, counting the shattered mess of glass that sat at the foot of a nearby tree. Quickly changing her mind, Rees handed the bottle back to Hashla. "No thanks."
"Suit yourself," she said as she took it back, taking a strong pull from it.
The two sat in silence for a moment before Rees broke the quiet. "Are you okay, Hashla?" She knew the answer, but still wanted to ease into the conversation.
Hashla cleared her throat. "No. Not particularly. You noticed?"
Rees nodded. "You've seemed a bit more… I dunno, paranoid?"
"Paranoid?"
"Cautious, I guess. Scared."
Hashla slowly nodded. "Guess I have been. Always get like this 'round here. Hate this region."
"Why's that?"
One of Hashla's eyes twitched. "Personal weight, nothin' you need to worry 'bout. Goes back to a time 'fore I was with the Caravan."
"Couldn't hurt to talk about it."
"Could hurt quite a bit. My job is to protect others, keep caravnners goin'. Sharin' my mess' only good for hurtin' others. Then they start thinkin' 'bout you, start focusin' on the wrong stuff, ain't important."
"We're stuck together, though," Rees argued. "I said I'd help you when I joined on."
"I'll think about it, but don't expect nothin'," Hashla muttered.
Rees nodded. "Alright, I understand."
The two sat in silence again, this time for much longer. Unlike the previous time, however, Hashla was the one to break it.
"Starts back in my hometown, little shindig by the name a 'Fallow.' Wouldn't be able to find it on any maps, Caravan never ran through it. Small, close-knit community a yaka, includin' my Ma and Pa. Grew up together, real good pals. 'Ccordin to Ma, Pa was somethin' of a 'hard to love' kinda guy. Wasn't mean or nothin' jus' wasn't got by most folk, y'know? Made their relationship all the more important to him, made her all the more important to him. 'Ventually started hittin' on one another all romantic-like as they got older 'til they mated and spit out a horde a five, includin' yours truly."
Rees was stunned. The alcohol must have loosened her lips. She quietly sat and listened, letting Hashla tell her story, never interrupting.
"Everythin' was good for a nice while, idyllic quite honestly. Had I the wisdom I do today, I'd've seen the poor tides incomin', but I was still jus' chasin' my tail and wrestlin' my brothers and sisters, didn't quite realize that life had it out for happiness yet. Well, the tide started creepin' in when we got a letter from another town a bits away, Ma's sister was real sick, already a foot in the sand. Now, Ma's family was real unfortunate in gettin' hit with a wave a illness after her ma'd spit out a horde a her own, killed all a the little'uns 'cept her and that sister, so, needless to say, she was real broken up and in distress over the whole thing. All she wanted to do was go see her, comfort her even if she can't help her.
"Both of 'em knew the path was dangerous, full a beasts and nature and the like, but Ma was a shell a the yaka she'd been, was breakin' down nearly every second a the day. Her own ma and pa had returned to the sand not that long before then, leavin' her sis as her only blood-kin left. The safest option woulda been to wait for the Caravan to 'rrive at a neighborin' town and hitchhikin', but the Caravan'd jus' visited maybe a month before and it didn't seem like her sis had the time to spare. No one else was headed out any time soon either.
"So Pa screwed up his nerves tight, dedicated to helpin' his mate however he could, steel-willed as he was. Nipped his fears and said he'd take us to her sis, that Taá would stop shinin' before he failed. So we packed up for the journey and got to makin' tracks. Weren't rich enough to have any kinda animal, so we were hop-skippin' the old fashioned way. Goes surprisin'ly well for a bit, Pa and a few of us kids skilled enough with a blade managin' to keep things at bay. Killed my first livin' creature on that journey. Don't remember what it was, jus' remember the blood.
"Anyways, we find ourselves in this dead forest, I think, somewhat lost. Pa's checkin' the stars, checkin' his map, Ma and a couple a runts are panickin', the rest a us either helpin' Pa or calmin' the others down. Somethin's amiss with Pa's charts. To this day I dunno what the hell was happenin'. Stars didn't match perfectly, were off jus' 'nough to throw us outta whack. It was an old, old thing though, his little book on navigatin' with the stars. Prolly some irregularity with us orbitin' Shimreth.
"But I digress. I looked over to one a my brothers, Jeusa, and I ask him if he wants to go with me to find a vantage point, somewhere high up we can hopefully look for a landmark with. Big rock, cliff, whatever. We didn't know the area enough to predict anythin', jus' hopin' 'gainst hope. Now we weren't stupid by any means, we took a hunk a red pastel with us— Ma was artistically inclined— and we made big marks on the trees as we went, leavin' quite the obvious trail back to where the rest had set up camp.
"We ended up gettin' a bit out, but we never got to findin' that vantage point. 'Stead, a pack a wild bakan found us. Bein' as small as we were, we were real easy prey, so they got to chasin' us as we fled back to camp where the others could help us defend ourselves. Somewhere along the way, Jeusa hit a root and bit the ground. Time I turn 'round, he's already bein' drug away, nothin' I can do, so I jus' keep runnin', hollerin' like the end a days is snappin' at my tail. End a my days certainly jus' about were. Whole time, bakan're squealin' up a storm, I assume at the time to try to psych me out.
"Finally make it back to camp, dive into the light a the campfire. Don't even have time to explain, bakan already swarmin' the camp. Turns out all that squealin' they were doin' was them callin' others to join in on the hunt. Somethin' like ten or twelve plowed into our camp, front legs gorin' maybe one or two a my siblin's right off the bat. Me, Pa, and another siblin', Phira, start fighin' 'em off best we could. Our unfortunate advantage was that they're so caught up in tearin' into everyone else that we managed to take most of 'em out, the rest fleein' once they didn't like the odds no more.
"Us three were the only survivors, it seemed, but Phira'd gotten hurt somethin' real bad, bleedin' all over the place. He wouldn't live to see Taá's light kiss the horizon.
"Afraid a the bakan comin' back with others, we up and left quick as we could in the direction we best could tell was right. Maybe if we'd stopped for the night or two, Phira'd have pulled through. Then again maybe the bakan woulda come back and finished the job. Who knows.
"Luck finally decided to grace us and we ended up stumblin' into the right town a few days later. Ma's sis had been in the sand for a few days by then, which jus' made the whole thing that much worse. And Taá kept on shinin' nonetheless, ambivalent to Pa's promises.
"But, anyways, that's why I hate these woods, why I'm so on edge. Get like this every year when we pass through 'em."
"I'm sorry that happened to you," Rees managed to say after a period of quiet.
Hashla sighed. "Ain't your fault. Used to think it was mine, but don't think that no more. Ain't no one's fault. Jus' the nature a life, that second half again: life to death." Throughout her speech, Hashla had taken swigs from her bottle, finishing it by the end.
"You should drink some water," Rees said, standing back up. "I'll be right back." She quickly walked back over to Hashla's wagon and climbed inside, snatching up a canteen. When she came back, Hashla was murmuring to herself.
"Cyclical, all a it. Everythin' in nature's a track we're runnin' 'round, 'round, 'round."
Rees crouched down next to Hashla and handed her the canteen. She took it with a nod of thanks, unscrewing the cap and drinking deeply.
"I'm a coward, Rees," she said after she'd taken a few gulps.
Rees blinked, confused. "You're a willing guard for the Caravan, you make the trek through these woods annually. That's pretty brave."
"No, no. I'm a coward in a different way. Got the kinda cowardice that inclines me to bravado."
"What do you mean?"
Hashla shook her head. "Ain't nothin' important. Drinks talkin'." She brought the canteen back to her lips and drank some more, eyes closed. When she'd gotten her fill and lowered the canteen, she stared down into it for a moment. "Y'know, even this water's a part a some grand cycle."
Rees raised her eyebrows. "It is?"
"Theory goin' around in cruncher circles is that the water we're drinkin', spittin', pissin's the same water's been here forever."
"Really?"
"Mhmm. You boil water, it steams up. It gets hot enough, water disappears from the ground. Water comes back down in rain from clouds. So, the logic goes, the water's simply movin' up, down, up, down, up, down."
"Huh."
"Weird, I know. But seems right to me, falls in line with what I know 'bout life."
"That it's cyclical?"
"Mhmm. Every damn part of it. Some we can break, some we can't."
"What ones can we break?"
"Interpersonals."
"Interpersonals?"
"Honestly and truly."
There was a weariness in Hashla's eyes, one Rees couldn't attribute to the tar making them seem sunken. She soon joined Hashla in staring off into the woods as the night waned, rolling the idea around in her mind.
Rees watched Hashla dig through the various drawers in their wagon, pulling out a handful of items: a slug mold, a hammer, and a cast iron pan. Once she'd gotten all she needed, she set them on the wagon floor and leaned over to a small metal tank, peering at a glass strip that ran up the side. She turned to Rees, "Our water tank's low, can you go talk to Klethckt?"
"Sure," Rees answered as Hashla crawled out of the wagon with the things she'd just pulled out. Pulling out one of the larger drawers that sat on the bottom of a cabinet, Rees grabbed a coil of rubber tubing before exiting the wagon herself. She watched as Hashla sat down in front of a small campfire, placing the pan into the middle of the burning wood.
As they'd been drudging through a wooded stretch, Hashla had given Rees a machete, instructing her to gather a hearty amount of tinder. Apparently their stash had been running low. Not surprising with how often Hashla built a fire, already plundering the refreshed cache for that night, it seemed.
Walking to the front of their wagon, Rees climbed up to a small flap in the canvas and pushed it aside, feeding the tubing into it, right above their water tank. With another hand, she reached through the flap and attached the end of the tube to a small fixture embedded atop the tank, turning a small knob on its side to open the hole. Finished on that end, she walked the coil to the wagon they were attached to, letting it unwind.
Klethckt's wagon was a bit larger than theirs, accounting for his size and the water filtration system he'd installed in the interior. "Klethckt?" Rees called out to the flap at the back, "It's Rees."
A hairy limb pried the flap aside from within, Klethckt peering out. He was a spider on the larger side, covered in bristly sandy brown hairs, adorned with colorful cloths and a set of specially made goggles that sat as one piece over every eye, though they hung loose on his head at the moment, being both within the shelter of his wagon and with the sun having long set. "Ah, Rees. It's good to see you, my dear. Is there something you need?"
Rees held up the end of the tubing. "Our tank's near empty."
"Of course. Here, let me see it," he said, reaching an arm out. Rees passed the tubing to him and watched as he connected it to a spout that hung from the ceiling of his wagon. With his tank sitting up higher than theirs, all he needed to do was turn a key and let the water flow, gravity doing most of the work. Soon, clear, clean water moved through the tubing, headed for their water tank.
"Thank you," Rees said.
"Of course." Klethckt looked over to where Hashla was, pouring malformed lumps of lead into the pan sat in the fire. "That time again, I see?" he remarked.
Rees looked over. "Guess her pouch got heavy enough."
Hashla had three regular routines she engaged with: cleaning Sél, making new slugs, and reloading spent shells. If she felt she needed to perform one of these tasks, she would be on edge until she could. If something kept her from doing them once Taá set and the Caravan stopped for the night, she would get upset. The routines, it seemed to Rees, meant a great deal to her, and she wanted them to mean a good deal to her too. Hashla had been sure to sit Rees down and show her how to perform all of these rituals herself, occasionally making her perform them in her stead while she supervised.
"And what's that you have there, Rees?" Klethckt asked, pointing to her sheathed machete.
"Oh, Hashla gave it to me. Originally it was for gatherin' some lightin' material for campfires, but she told me to keep hold of it since I'm a guard and all."
"I see."
Once their water tank was nearly full, Rees gave Klethckt a thumbs up and he closed the valve. As the last of the water drained out of the tubing, Rees pulled it free at her end and began rolling it up again, Klethckt disconnecting it at his end too. Still peering from the flap of his wagon, Klethckt called out to her, "Would you care for some tea?"
Rees looked up to him and smiled. "I'd love some." Hashla had always said he was something of a recluse, which Rees had seen some of the evidence of over the last few months, Klethckt speaking generally only to those whose wagons were nearby, having only really talked to him herself for the first time maybe a month and a half ago. Since then, the two had held brief, amicable conversations somewhat regularly. Klethckt, despite seeming like a quiet, asocial hermit, proved to be someone Rees heartily enjoyed talking too and who seemed to take a similar pleasure with her. His demeanor was a more genuine kind of calm and relaxed compared to Hashla's. He was very well spoken and eager to delve into a variety of subjects, no matter how much or little he knew.
In a few minutes time, the two were sitting by a small fire, across from one another. A little metal kettle hung on a spit over the fire, Klethckt carefully watching over it. They sat beside his wagon on the opposite side of where Hashla was making lead slugs. Rees had asked if Klethckt simply wanted to boil the water at her fire rather than make a new one, but he'd insisted on having one of their own, off to the side. Now Rees sat on a small, dusty cushion, holding two terracotta mugs, a small cotton pouch in both of them. The mix of leaves inside the pouches was something Klethckt had thrown together from various unlabeled containers, carefully measuring out spoonfuls.
As they waited for the water to boil, they made their usual amicable conversation, things of little consequence, daily observances. It wasn't until Klethckt had poured the scaling water into the mugs as she held them that the question that had been brewing in Rees' mind found its way out. "I'm curious, how did you and Hashla get to workin' together?"
"Have you not asked her before?" Klethckt asked as he took his mug from Rees.
"A few times, but she's always been a bit stiff on the matter. So I thought I'd ask you."
Klethckt thought for a moment in silence, gently cradling his mug. "That isn't too surprising, I suppose," he said. "I can imagine it's something of a tough subject."
"How so?"
"Well, Dephn is a major player in our history."
"Dephn?"
Klethckt tilted his head at Rees. "She hasn't even told you about Dephn?"
Rees shook her head. "She doesn't talk much of her past. Only tends to dump stuff when she's drunk."
"She really has become her spitting image," Klethckt sighed. "Dephn was Hashla's mentor, for lack of a better word. She was to Hashla what Hashla is to you."
"Really?"
"Indeed. Hashla had nothing to do with your wagon getting hitched onto mine, it was Dephn. It was a good few years ago, I had just joined up with the Caravan. At some point, we got assaulted by wild animals after some fools who'd wandered off into the woods that night trampled on their territory. I don't quite remember what they were as they assaulted a part quite behind me, but a good handful died, including the woman Dephn was traveling with. Apparently guard duty runs in your metaphorical lineage as she'd been killed defending a merchant who also ended up dying at the animals' tusks. I was very paranoid at the time, afraid that there were people out to get me due to my past, so I was looking for a gunhand I could hire on to babysit me, and Dephn, now the owner of that shotgun Hashla carries around, was looking for someone to protect."
"So Hashla inherited you?"
Klethckt laughed. "Yes, that is certainly one way to describe it."
The obvious but weighty question spilled out of Rees, landing in the air with a thud. "What happened to Dephn? Did she leave the Caravan?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Klethckt sighed. "We ran into the rare bandit group at some point and Dephn was killed in the assault. I did not witness it myself, but I've heard that her throat was cut. Likely bled out from an artery."
Rees stared down into her tea, the bag leaching brown and caramel, long having taken over, the clear subsumed.
"So it goes, I suppose," Klethckt muttered. "But that's the past. Your tea should be finished steeping by now," he said as he took a reserved sip.
Rees nodded, bringing the mug to her snout, letting the warm brew within run down her tongue and throat. She was surprised by the flavor, a strange mixture of herbal and floral, a dew-ridden mountainside landsliding across her palate, yet somehow earthless, only the foliage brought along. She savored the warmth as it crawled down, the dry air of the desert exacerbating the remnants of flavor as she breathed deep.
"What do you think?" Klethckt asked expectantly.
"It's really good!" Rees said, smiling. "I've never had anything quite like it." She hadn't ever had many nicer teas before, but withheld that detail. It was largely irrelevant anyways, she figured. She was happy to stroke Klethckt's ego a bit, kind and reserved as he was.
"I'm very happy to hear that," he said brightly, his mandibles twitching. "It's a mixture of herbs I developed myself. The sky islands of the kah-rehm are truly full to bursting with the most wonderful leaves."
"Thank you for sharing with me, Klethckt," Rees said, taking another, much longer drink.
"It's my pleasure, Rees. You have made for wonderful company."
The two sat in quite observance for a handful of minutes, savoring their drinks. Once Rees had drained her cup, only the small pouch left at the bottom, she spoke again. "You mentioned earlier that there'd been a bandit attack on the Caravan. I was wonderin' how often that kinda thing happens, haven't seen one since I hopped on. Mostly wildlife and disputes between caravanners."
"A fair question. The Caravan being what it is, it must seem like its something that gets attacked quite often, but in truth, bandit assaults are a rarity."
"Why is that, do you think?"
"I think that most are smart enough to know they won't be able to pry anything from the Caravan. Too well guarded, too, eh, cosmically important to be stopped, if they're more superstitious. Mostly wild animals and internal conflicts, as you said. Of course, some still puff themselves up full with delusions of grandeur, begin to believe that they'll be the ones to successfully rob the Caravan or destroy it forever, but it never happens. One would likely need a standing army to put an end to the Caravan as it is at this moment, so the tzic are the ones with the best odds to do so, but they never will."
"Why not? Are they pacifists?" Rees asked, unfamiliar with much of tzic culture outside of the supposed religiosity of many colonies.
Klethckt chuckled, "Spirits, no, they can actually be quite the warmongers. But what purpose would it serve? The colonies that are capable of doing it would have no reason to conduct such an assault. The Caravan as a whole or as a concept has not slighted them, likely never will. And that is not to even speak of the usefulness of the Caravan to many colonies."
"On the topic of tzic, Hashla told me used to be a diplomat of some kind?"
Klethckt bristled a bit. "Yes, yes I did. But don't build grand visions of wondrous peace-making between multitudes of clans, I simply helped to work out the differences that would arise between my people and the neighboring tzic, and facilitate cooperation where it was needed."
"And something bad happened? You said earlier you were running, something Hashla also said about you."
"It's a very long and complicated story, I'm afraid. We'll say I quite heartily fumbled negotiations before absconding and end it there."
"I'm sorry for prying."
"No, no, there is no need to apologize. And I am not angry with Hashla either for telling you, I'd be a hypocrite for such a feeling. We all have our stories."
"What is the rub between you and Hashla?"
Klethckt looked at Rees, eyes subtly flicking about. "The rub?"
Rees grimaced. "It's no secret that you two don't really get along all that well."
"No, it's true that we don't."
"I understand that she can be a bit abrasive, but did she do somethin' to mar your relationship? You two hardy ever talk, much less with any pleasantness."
Klethckt closed his eyes, waving a limb. "No, nothing like that. Hashla has not personally slighted me in some major way. It's simply a difference in temperament. A… clashing of personalities."
"Then why keep her as your guard? Surely there's other people who'd mesh better with you."
"It's a complicated affair, I'm afraid. The simplest answer is that Hashla is good at what she does and is very dependable."
"And the more complex answer?"
Klethckt sighed and thought for a moment. "I can still remember the Hashla that was, I suppose. We had a relationship akin to what you and I do now. Very amicable, conversational. We quite enjoyed each other's company, I think. Her enthusiasm and lust for life was something of a point of inspiration for me at times, I must admit. I'll never deny that I'm something of a recluse, but she encouraged me to push my comfort. Many of the friends I have today came to be because Hashla would drag me back and forth between multitudes of campfires."
Rees struggled to imagine a lively Hashla, one with exuberance to spare. At times, Hashla seemed to be hiding her cynicism and weariness from Rees, but it regularly broke through. "What happened?"
Klethckt collected his thoughts before answering, taking a deep breath. "Back when I was a diplomat for my people, there were times where an exile from the tzic would come to us for shelter," Klethckt said, digressing. "Something I consistently witnessed whenever we would house such refugees is that they would steep in their fate. Of course, one cannot fault them for doing so, but the fact of the matter is that they never let go of that weight and it only led them to sink further. It was their life, after all. Gone in a flash.
"And from that misery there arose a profound numbness. One that chilled their soul. The past became their present, their present a wisp of smoke. There comes an emptiness behind the eyes when one falls into that pit. They no longer simply drag their weight, they utilize it like a polearm, keeping others at a distance."
Rees nodded. "Suppose I just learned to dodge." She stood up, holding her mug out to Klethckt who gently took hold of it. "Thank you for the tea."
As she turned away, Klethckt made a final comment. "The strangest thing I ever saw Dephn do is take in Hashla. And the strangest thing I've ever seen Hashla do is take you in."
Rees only stopped for a moment before walking away, back towards her and Hashla's wagon. When she turned the corner, she was surprised to see Hashla leaning against the side of their wagon, staring at her campfire, comprised now of only glowing embers caught beneath cooled ash, smoking a cigarillo. Hasha turned her head to look Rees in the eye, steely as ever.
"Oh, Hashla," Rees said quietly, jumping a bit. "You finished makin' slugs?"
"Been finished for a while," Hashla muttered, reaching into a pouch and pulling a lead slug out of it. She rolled it between her fingers. "Thought I'd come see what you two were chattin' 'bout."
Rees gulped. "We were just talkin' bout things generally, nothin'—"
"I ain't mad. You deserved to know at some point."
"I'm sorry."
Hashla rolled her eyes. "Said I ain't mad, runt. Get over yourself."
Rees nodded, her eyes falling to the ground.
"Dephn was near and dear to me, but she's gone now. Jus' figured there was no sense in gettin' thigh-deep in that muck."
"Right," Rees muttered.
Hashla pat her on the back. "'Bout time to get horizontal anyways. You go on ahead, I'll be in there in a few."
Rees nodded again, slowly trudging to the back of their wagon, climbing in through the flap on the back. She silently set out their bedrolls before lying down on hers, tucking into herself a bit, savoring the comfort and security of tightness. She didn't know how long she laid awake for, at one point hearing Hashla quietly bid Klethckt goodnight.
Drifting into sleep, teetering on the precipice, the last thing Rees was cognizant of was the vague notion of the sound of quiet, held-back crying somewhere outside. But she didn't think much of it, didn't get the chance. She fell over the edge and sank into the seas of sleep.
The Caravan was abuzz with conversation and excitement, as alive as Rees had ever seen it since she joined up nearly eight months ago, and for good reason: by the end of the day, they would reach Yearhome, marking the halfway point of the Caravan's circuit. According to Hashla, it was a time of great celebration. Song, good food, and drink would abound, the town already prepared for the event, having become a tradition in the untold years the Caravan had been making its year-long journey.
But there was still desert to get through before they reached the coast, and the day was young.
They were in a more mountainous region, rocky cliffs rising and falling all around them, a thin layer of sand over it all. They slowly trudged through valleys, climbed and descended gentle slopes, and crossed great plateaus, all under the burning blue eye of Taá. Rees' goggles were pulled down over her eyes, letting her stare forward as she put one foot in front of the other, the vague shape of Hashla walking before her, blurred in her loss of focus, her mind wandering just as she was.
Around midday, the Caravan found itself worming its way through a narrow canyon passage, swallowed whole as the sides rose up far above them, casting it in complete shadow. Sand was piled up high at the margins of the path they walked, collected after having fallen into the crevice. Rees was grateful for the shade hiding her away from the raging sun, but still kept her goggles on, knowing that she'd just be slipping them back on in maybe less than an hour once they emerged from the passage.
Suddenly, a handful of gunshots rang out, coming from above them.
Desertwalkers and beasts of burden stopped in their tracks, the train coming to a stuttered halt. Caravanners screamed and yelled, guards drew their weapons and took defensive positions. Hashla dove forward and slid under their wagon, drawing Sél. Rees stood still in the open in shock, gazing upwards, spotting the silhouette of multiple people maybe forty feet above her.
A single word suddenly pierced her ears, breaking through the panic and gunshots.
"BANDITS!"
Mere moments after the call sounded out, its echoes still bounding about the canyon, Rees was rammed to the ground, landing with a dull thud, her spine taking the brunt of the hit. As fast as she was on the ground, a spider skittered over her, looming. They were adorned with some form of road leathers with plates of chitin lashed to it in vital places, sand permeating every nook and cranny, still spilling off of it as it stood over her.
Rees quickly reached to her machete with her top-left hand, but the spider was faster than her and slammed two of their limbs down on her left arms just as she had wrapped her fingers around the grip and began to draw. A sharp pain bolted through her arms when they did. A flick of her eyes down revealed that the spider had spurs strapped to the end of many of their limbs, sharp steel, a single bolt, a cock fighter's weapon of choice.
Following their first strike, the spider ran another spur through her top-right arm, sending another flash of pain up and through her shoulder.
Acting on impulse alone, Rees took advantage of their mistake and reached her bottom-right arm over, taking hold of her now loose machete and slashing as she brought it back. The blade dug into the spider's thin exoskeleton, unprotected by leather or chitin on their bottom.
The spider shot back, pulling their spurs out of Rees' arms, hissing and swearing. Before she could reorient herself, they dove forward, fangs reared out, venom soaked. Rees dodged to the side as best she could, craning her neck. She managed to dodge the killing blow, the fangs smashing into the sandstone ground, eliciting a screech from the spider as they stumbled back.
Adrenaline coursing through every inch of her form, Rees scrambled up and swapped her machete to her dominant hand, trying to get into a defensive position. She suddenly became aware of a sort of numbness on her neck, rapidly spreading, like a cold pool of water. A quick finger to her neck came back wet with blood. She must have gotten clipped by one of the spider's fangs and didn't notice in the rush.
She didn't have time to wrestle with the implications as the spider charged once more, spur-armed front limbs and broken fangs pointed viscously at her. Likely too angry to be thoughtful, the spider could do little to defend themself as Rees swung her machete from her torso up, lopping off one of their fangs and the limb it was attached to. Hemolymph drooled from the wound as they screeched. Rees exploited the moment of opportunity and thrust the blade between the spider's many eyes, embedding it deep. Collapsing to the ground, the spider was still, hemolymph leaking out of the wound still plugged with Rees' machete.
Rees tried to pull the machete free, but her arm wasn't responding, her fingers only lightly wrapped around the grip. She tugged back and her hand came free, causing her to stumble. Rees only just barely managed to regain her balance, the numbness spreading down her torso into her legs, her head fuzzy, mouth ajar.
All around her, the sounds of gunshots and fighting continued on, though not as loud as before, not as chaotic. Rees felt a creeping dread rise up in her throat through the numbness, pervading her every senses, filling in gaps now empty What if the bandits are winning?
Before she could think about it any further, the sound of galloping broke through the din of combat and her vision suddenly flashed white as she fell to the ground once more, her head shrieking in pain. Stunned and rapidly losing control of her limbs, she couldn't catch herself and dropped like a stone, the white replaced with a haze as her head took another major blow.
Her vision clearing, Rees could make out the form of a kah-rehm standing above her, dressed in the same chitin-leather armor as the spider, rearing a bloodstained wooden club over his head, ready to pulverize her skull. None of her limbs worked, none followed her mind's commands. All she could do was watch as he reached further and further back, the world moving slow as her death hung over her.
BOOM!
A spray of organic matter misted into the air as Sél's distinct cry drowned out all else for a brief moment, wet chunks falling onto Rees, catching in her mouth. The kah-rehm bandit slumped forward onto her, his club falling from his hands and clattering to the ground. Where his forehead and skullcap had been was now a gaping hole, blood and viscera drooling out and onto Rees' face as it lay atop her. She was forced to stare into his eyes, half-lidded, empty. She couldn't blink outside of her autonomic instincts, couldn't screw her eyes tightly shut.
The battle raged on without her, though she didn't know for how long. All she could do was lie on the ground, try to block out her sight mentally, pray and pray that the feeling would return to her limbs and she could wriggle out from under the corpse.
Mercifully, the fighting gradually died down, and a voice cried out, ALL CLEAR! BANDITS CLEAR!
In an instant, the kah-rehm man was dragged off of her, revealing a bloodied Hashla who quickly assessed Rees for damage. "You good, runt?"
Rees couldn't respond, could only lay there. Hashla swung her head around and connected the dots when she spotted the spider's corpse, machete still stuck in it.
"I NEED ANTIVENOM!" she cried out, dashing out of Rees' field of vision.
It wasn't long before Hasha returned, but those moments of being alone again felt horrifying. When she came back, she had a glass syringe in hand, quickly crouching down and jabbing it into Rees' elbow at a vein, depressing the plunger. Once all of the antivenom had been injected, Hashla fell onto her rear, breathing deep.
"You're gonna be alright, Rees. Weren't the innards-liquidin' kinda venom, I don't think. Jus' some paralysis and other stuff you ain't gotta worry 'bout no more." She placed a hand on Rees' head and gently stroked it. All Rees could do was cry, still utterly incapable of movement. She stared up into the sky, the walls of the canyon leaving only a strip for her to see.
She could still feel her machete sinking into the spider's head, could still see the kah-rehm's eyes staring into hers, taste his blood in her mouth.
"It'll be okay, Rees, ain't no more bandits. The few up top booked it or got shot. Rest of 'em that jumped outta the sand piles and took us by surprise're dead."
And she hadn't seen them. She'd been pounced on from the margins and nearly walked the other half.
"Might get some serum sickness in a couple a days, but you're gonna make it."
She was lucky.
Rees stepped out from their wagon, still adjusting to the strange sensation of the tar on her fur, afraid of it getting into her eyes. There was still a faint numbness that pervaded her body, but it was waning. Across the way, she could see Hashla, Klethckt, and a few other caravanners she'd met sitting around a large bonfire, sharing stories and laughter. She slowly made her way over to them, taking a moment to gaze up into the sky.
It was a beautiful sight, pinpoints of light streaking across the night sky, Shimreth's rings framing every inch as they passed through them. The Caravan had made it through another half of its journey and now they were sitting just outside of Yearhome, celebrating. Many were in the town, partaking in the local delicacies and festivities, but Hashla and a few others had chosen to stick to the outskirts, the excitement from the bandit ambush enough fanfare for a day.
"Ah! Young Rees, there you are!" Klethckt called, the first to notice her. "Come, come! We're more than happy to have you at the fire!"
Hashla stared at her for a moment. Rees hadn't told her that she'd planned on using some of her tar. She prepared to be scolded for using her supplies without asking first, but instead she plucked a bottle from a little group of them and held it out to her. "Welcome to Yearhome, Rees. You made it."
"I'm good, thanks though," Rees replied, sitting down next to Hashla. Her stomach already felt queasy enough, her mind separated from her body by five inches of ethereal twine.
"Eh, suit yourself." Hashla uncorked the bottle and took a generous swig.
Klethckt approached Rees and gently tapped her with a front leg. When she turned to him, he seemed to notice the tar for the first time and wavered a moment, but quickly put a kind tone onto his voice, enthusiastic once again. "What's it like, huh? Reaching Yearhome for the first time? Spirits, it's been so long since my first time that I can't quite remember it. Though that may have more to do with how much I drank my first time!" He let off a strange, warbling hiss that Rees had come to learn was laughter.
"It's fine," she answered. "The meteor shower's beautiful."
"Ah, that it is. That it is. Any special plans to celebrate the occasion? Peruse the town festivities perhaps?"
Rees looked over to Klethckt for a brief moment, but quickly turned her head back to the bonfire. "I— I dunno. Was thinking that I'd jus' stick 'round here with you and Hashla." Klethckt was normally a very easy creature to talk to. Rees enjoyed talking with him. But now whenever she looked at him, all she could see was the spider bandit's corpse in her mind, hear the sound of her machete embedding itself into their exoskeleton.
"Well, nothing better than good company, I suppose," Klethckt responded.
"Awfully rich comin' from you," Hashla spat at him with a smirk.
Klethckt bristled a bit, his mood rapidly sinking. "Forgive me for not leaving my wagon much. I quite despise the sun."
"Sure, pal. You can keep pretendin' to be some exuberant socialite all you like, but I know your jus' a shy little fella at heart," Hashla added in a mocking tone.
Klethckt spat onto the dusty sandstone near Hashla. "Go dig a hole in the sand and piss into it, wild animal."
Hashla threw an empty bottle at him, wildly missing in her inebriation. The glass shattered, silencing every other conversation. Klethckt regarded Hashla for a moment before letting off a resigned hiss and walking away back to his wagon.
Eventually, the tension amidst the other abstainers eased and they went back to their merriment. Hashla returned to her drinking, telling jokes and old stories. Rees spent the time sitting in silence, watching Hashla and the others celebrate. She wondered when her callouses would come in.
As the night waned, the others returned to their wagons, leaving Rees alone with a drunk Hashla. The two sat in silence for a time, Rees laying down on the cool ground, staring up into the meteor-washed night sky while Hashla stayed sitting, watching the fire wane.
Desperate for something else, anything else, Rees spoke up. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"How'd you meet Dephn?"
Hashla sighed. "Endlessly fascinated with my life ain't you, runt? What's it matter to you, anyhow?"
Rees shrugged. "Guess I'm jus' curious. Wanna get closer to you."
Hashla was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Well, already told you 'bout how I got to losin' most a my kin, no?"
"You did."
Hashla rubbed her eyes. "Jus' tryin' to remember. Damn headaches."
"Head hurt?"
"Yeah, happens a bunch. Eyes hurt too. Dunno why. Besides the point. Where'd I end the tale?"
"You'd stopped when you and your pa'd gotten to the town and found your aunt'd already gone to the sand."
"Right. Well, yeah, so we got there and found out she'd been gone for a few days. 'Course, Pa was heartbroken. Not 'cause he really knew her— he'd never even met her— but because she'd meant so much to Ma. Was another stickin' point to an already real pointy journey.
"'Course, first thing Pa wanted to do was go out and find their bodies, give 'em a proper burial, but no one in the town was willin' to make the journey. Told him the honest truth that there prolly weren't much to find at that point. Once he'd finally accepted that he couldn't go out and get 'em, he suddenly didn't even wanna leave. If he'd gone home, he'd have had to face his failure, tell all a 'em what'd happened to her. Couldn't face the shame a it.
"I didn't blame him, mostly blamed myself 'cause I was the one up and ran off, but he whipped himself like a martyr, minus the glory or honor. Guess he jus' whipped himself, nothin' extra to it. Jus' a sad man who was slowly turnin' to a sad old man. Not 'fore he could screw up his own life even more, though. Was almost like a competition he had against himself, seein' how low he could stoop, low enough that he'd maybe finally find forgiveness, find that he'd finally felt like he'd punished himself 'nough. Or he'd find the cold sands. Didn't have the guts to taste gun oil so he took the coward's way out. Hogged space another soul coulda taken.
"'Ventually fell off the deep end for good, lost himself in drugs and drink, whiskin' his consciousness away to somewhere the world didn't hurt so badly. Eventually did it so much it started to kill his brain 'stead a his body wholesale like he'd intended, I think. 'Round that same time, he decided it wasn't fair he bear the burden alone, started ropin' me in. Day and night I'd hear 'bout how I shoulda never run off with my brother. That I was a heartless daughter for not weepin' like he did, weepin' till I vomited up all I'd stuffed myself full of. 'Course I was devastated by the event, but I never showed it outwardly 'nough for him.
"Ironically, it was his bashin' me that got me to reexamine the whole scenario and forgive myself a the blame. Honestly, was lookin' for a reason to hate him, shift the blame to him 'stead a myself. Turns out all there was was two pathetic yaka sufferin' from misfortune. Couldn't bring myself to hate him at the time, jus' wanted him to get well again.
"So I put up with it for a few years more, tried my best to help him back to his feet. But even if I didn't hate him right then, there was only so much I could take a it 'fore I ended up jus' like him. Next time the Caravan made its way to town, I searched every stall for a way out and Dephn took pity on me. Decided she'd take her chances with a mangy failure and brought me on."
"D'you know what happened to your pa?" Rees asked.
"Yeah. Next year when the Caravan stopped there, found out he'd quite literally drunk himself to death. Fell over dead in a bar, still had half a glass left to drink."
"How'd you convince Dephn to bring you on?"
Hashla turned to look Rees in the eyes, her face stoic. "Told her I was sick a the town and wanted to see the world." She turned back to the fire. "She prolly knew it was a lie. Maybe she saw somethin' in me, I dunno."
Rees laid in silence for a moment, a torrent of emotions running through her mind. "D'you ever tell her why you really left?"
"'Ventually."
The two quietly watched the fire for a few minutes.
"So why'd you really leave?" Hashla asked, still gazing into the bonfire as it slowly began dying out.
Rees tried to speak, but found her throat stuffed with emotion and had to clear it before any words would come out. "Dad was a journeyman, ran with a little caravan a his own. Supplies between areas, nothing huge, nothing valuable.
"One day he goes out and then don't return in the week or so it usually takes. Mom starts worrying, asking if anyone's heard anything, but no one had. Turns out, a whole lotta people in town were also looking for their kin, not jus' her, and all a their missing were caravanners too. Same caravan. Was around the point everyone started putting two and two together and sent letters to the other town and pleading with the guard a ours. Once the guards realized that all a the missing people were with the caravan, they made a coordinated effort to find 'em.
"And find 'em they did. Got 'bout halfway to the other town 'fore something happened to 'em. Wagons were tipped and cargo everywhere, broken into. Mostly foodstuffs. They said there weren't no bodies left, jus' bones and some shriveled gore. They suspected wild animals, maybe antlions. Didn't have nothin' all that valuable and the food they were carrying was messily dug into, so they felt pretty safe in ruling out banditry. Me personally, still can't help but think it was, then animals went and picked at the corpses.
"That was it. Search over, mystery solved. Broke Mom's heart, jus' shattered her. Come next monsoon season, she caught something bad, fluid in her lungs, 'ccording to the doctor. She was a hearty one, blown through all kinds a illnesses 'fore, but it was like she'd lost her fire. Jus' lay on a cushion day in and day out. One night she took to coughing really bad, then suddenly stopped. Come morning, brothers and I found the cushion stained with blood, but Mom nowhere in sight. Searched around town for her for a few hours. 'Ventually found her on the outskirts, in the graveyard. She was all curled up 'round Pa's headstone, jus' as cold as it."
"How long ago was it?"
"'Bout a month 'fore I met you. Jus' couldn't stay there no more. Easier for my brothers anyways, not having to worry 'bout me."
"Mm."
"Sorry I lied to you."
"I'd be a hypocrite if I was mad at you. Seems to me we're all runnin' from somethin' sometimes. You talk to enough a the people who hitch onto the Caravan and you'll find that out. Some folk find peace, find belongin' in the Caravan, some jus'… keep movin'."
"D'you think we'll be running forever?"
Hashla shrugged. "I like to think no. Believe there's a horizon."
"You really believe that?" Rees asked, remembering Hashla's pessimism.
"Honestly and truly," she answered, monotone.
Bitter.
Sél was unsteady in Rees' hands, still not used to the weight of it, the feel of it, even after all of the times she'd practiced wielding it in the year and a half that she'd been with the Caravan. Hashla was insistent that she get a feel for the thing, learn how to handle firearms, how to shoot, how to aim. Rees had been reluctant, putting a hamper on how often they'd practice during the brief times where the Caravan rested.
"Deep, calm breaths, Rees," Hashla whispered. "Aim whenever you're ready."
Rees lifted Sél up and closed her right eye, staring down the barrel. About fifteen feet away, an empty bottle was sitting on a long dead stump, roots protruding from the cracked ground.
"'Member, this ain't a scatter, gotta be precise. But that precision's rewarded dearly, delivers a helluva punch."
She took a deep breath, trying to follow Hashla's instructions.
BOOM!
The ground to the left of the stump kicked up, a small cloud of dust puffing out.
"Sorry," Rees apologized.
"Ain't nothin' to be sorry for, still learnin'."
"Jus' can't seem to get a hang a it."
"Anythin' botherin' you? Impedin' you?"
Rees paused, licking her lips. "Well, can't say I'm still all too comfortable with the power 'hind it."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Think it's a real work of art, intricate mechanisms and such, but don't like the idea a deliverin' its message."
Hashla nodded. "Fair 'nough. It's a death-bringer, after all."
"How'd you get over it?"
"Killin'?"
"Yeah."
Hashla sighed. "Sorta conned myself into it, I suppose. 'Course the big thing is that I ain't never killed outside a self-defense, either a myself or some other folk. Lotta peace to be found in not wantin' to be dead yourself. 'Course, there's still some reservation, know I dealt with it quite a while, so I started thinkin' 'bout the other half a that great cycle, the part Sél don't touch."
"The other half a life to death?"
"Mhmm, death to life. Every life's unique, by my understandin' a the world, and there ain't a whole lotta room on this little moon a ours. Sometimes one a them uniques decides he's gonna be a rat bastard, start killin', rapin', thievin', whatever. So when you come 'cross them and you put 'em down, all you're doin' is savin' everyone else from their works and makin' room for another soul. And odds are good that you're gonna make someone who's at the very least alright in the heart. Feel like I've met more decently-good-at-a-minimum people than I've meet real villains, and that ain't even to speak a the real good ones.
"Works in a weird vice versa too. I consider myself to be pretty good, know you can be a real bleedin' heart yourself sometimes, so what's better: some bandit pissant gettin' sent back to the sand or you?"
Rees thought about it for a moment, weighing her sins.
"Ultimately, though," Hashla whispered with a sigh, "it don't matter much what you're thinkin'. Others are dependin' on you to save their asses. Remember that."
Rees nodded, though slower this time.
"Take aim again," Hashla instructed.
Cocking the lever, the spent brass shell falling to the ground, Rees complied, closing her right eye.
"That there bottle's jus' 'nother highwayman come to wreak havoc," Hashla whispered. "And he ain't gonna give you no second chance 'fore he puts you in the sand, put someone you love in the sand. You only got one shot at him. But that don't mean you gotta rush, it means you gotta be patient. Take a deep breath and remember who he is and who you are. If your heart's waverin', don't shoot."
BOOM!
The bottle was blown to pieces, shards littering the ground and stump. The smell of burnt black powder filled Rees' nostrils, overwhelming her other senses as her ears rang. A grey ghost drifted upwards from Sél's barrel, promising to see Rees again, again, again.
The day marked three years that Rees had been with the Caravan, a fact she felt all too close to as she stood in the marketplace of her old home, keeping a watchful eye out for miscreants and helping people find what they needed. It was the first year that Rees had actually been back inside the town, spending the previous two years' residencies camping on the outskirts.
The crowd was thick, anxiety rising in Rees' chest. She'd grown to prefer open, less populated spaces as she grew acclimated to the conditions of the Caravan and found herself deeply uncomfortable in the cities and towns and villages they stopped in. This was different, though; it was a new kind of tension, one that kept her eyes wide, bouncing around the crowd, scrutinizing every face she saw, fervently searching.
"You good, Rees?" Hashla asked, leaning casually against a wall, smoking, for once on the opposite side of the contrast between the two.
Rees shook herself from her stupor, looking at Hashla. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good. What's up?"
"Nothin', you just looked a little outta it."
"I'm fine," Rees lied, turning away.
Hashla narrowed her eyes. "You can talk to me, I know this is hard."
"I'm fine, Hashla," Rees snapped.
"Fine, fine. I'll leave you be," Hashla said, going back to pulling from her cigarillo. Though she'd relented in voice, Hashla still reached to a small wooden box slipped into a space on one of her bandoliers, pulling it free. She opened up the little case and plucked a cigarillo out before returning it to its slot. She gently held one end of the cigarillo to hers, lighting it, before holding it out to Rees, silently offering it.
Rees accepted it just as silently, sticking it into the side of her snout, taking a deep drag.
For hours, people walked through the marketplace, passed right by her. Rees recognized many of them.
Dr'ahd, a kah-rehm, the town's butcher, still wearing his blood-stained apron over his torso, horns decorated with bones.
Jeesth, a yaka farmer who'd helped Rees and her brothers when their mom had first gotten sick.
Shck-Thak, the physician of the town, a spider so well versed in anatomy that people had spread rumors she'd learned it all by torturing folks when she'd first arrived.
And on and on and on.
None of them recognized Rees.
They all passed her by without a second thought, just another Caravan grunt.
Time slipped by, Rees getting lost in her thoughts, trying to hide away from the marketplace, Hashla occasionally passing her a new cigarillo. She was only somewhat successful, frequently brought back to reality by her subconsciousness spotting someone she recognized, yanking her free from the succor of dissociation.
The greatest and final tug came as evening settled onto the market. It wasn't her eyes that rang bells in her mind, but her nose. She'd been inundated with familiar scents since she'd stepped foot into the town, but this was something much more intimate. Against what she considered her better judgement, her instincts not listening to rationale, her eyes darted around the crowd until she saw him.
Laies.
He idly wandered the marketplace, gaze swinging around, taking in the sights, the stalls. Rees couldn't see Droes with him, couldn't smell him either.
It took all of her power to not sprint to her brother and hold him close. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until that moment. Still, something injected venomous paralysis into her body already so sick with deja vu. It wouldn't be long before he stumbled onto her if he kept his path, kept his senses about him. Rees always kept her guard up, but had especially been on edge today. It would explain why she'd taken notice of him far before he did her. He wasn't looking for her.
He wasn't looking for her.
Why would he be?
Rees ran through her options, facing the inevitable collision. Should she run? Should she hide? Should she wait? Should she—
The line of thought was interrupted as a single question erupted in her brain, burning hot, scalding her.
Will he even recognize me?
Rees' joints locked up, keeping her still as her breaths shallowed.
Laies' nose twitched and he looked over to Rees. Familiarity had finally pierced the veil of time and tobacco smoke.
He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide. He didn't seem to recognize her by sight, but still he smelled the air.
He took a step forward and Rees' body acted on instinct. She pulled her lips back and bore her teeth, snarling at Laies.
The step forward turned to a stumble back in surprise. Laies blinked a few times, breaking eye contact with Rees, before shaking his head and walking away. Before, his posture had been casual and relaxed, but as he fled, it was slouched, his tail sunk between his legs. He radiated disappointment, thinking himself so close to something he missed, but surely mistaken. Simply a matter of confusion, desperation on his part. It was easy to mistake a stranger for a loved one sometimes.
Laies disappeared in the crowd, leaving Rees alone once more.
The iron that had been holding Rees stiff collapsed, dissolved into nothingness alongside the rest of her form, her mind disconnecting. She was dizzy, overwhelmed with so many emotions that her body just stopped responding. She was angry, but she didn't know who she was angry at. She wanted to cry, fall to the ground like her mother had. She wanted to bite and tear, rip the world and herself to shreds.
But soon, all of it was washed away, a tide of numbness coming to shore.
What would she have done? Gone home? It wasn't her home anymore.
It's better this way.
Slowly, the Caravan trudged through the floodlands. The water had receded only a few days ago, perfectly before the Caravan arrived, and the sand was still packed and damp, patterned like the waves of the sea, the shallows filled with thin pools of water. Rees was caked in mud and wet sand up nearly to her knees as she walked behind Hashla.
The two had been doing much more work than usual, occasionally having to lay planks of wood under the wheels of wagons as they rolled so they could cross softer stretches of the sand without sinking and getting stuck. Even then, they found themselves sometimes pulling wagons out of mires with the help of others. Fortunately, they were nearing the end of the floodlands, if their maps were to be believed. Hopefully, by the end of the day they'd be free, riding on harder ground.
"You doin' good, Rees?" Hashla called out.
"Best I can be."
Hashla laughed. "Fair 'nough."
"How many more times you think Klethckt's wagon's gonna get stuck in some mud or sand trap?"
"Well, I'm thinkin' I'll be bettin' on zero more times, if only for my own sake."
Rees laughed. "And for my sake too, right?"
"Sure, sure! Whatever lets you sleep at night!" Hashla joined Rees in laughing.
It was pointless, frivolous talk, but it kept their spirits up when it would be far easier to let them sink just like so many of wagons kept doing, much to their chagrin.
"You ever wonder what it'd be like to be livin' here when the tide comes in?" Rees asked.
"Not particularly."
"Can't imagine it'd be all too pleasant."
"Suppose that's why no one lives over here."
"Good reason not to."
They continued talking for hours, the day slowly waning.
Near evening, their spirits were genuinely lifting knowing that they were nearly out of the floodlands. Still, they made conversation, talking about how much they were looking forward to getting the muck off of their bodies, cooking something over a campfire, then falling into a well-deserved slumber.
"Now that I think about it though," Rees said, "I ain't too sure I wanna go to sleep."
"And why's that?"
"'Fraid I'm just gonna be dreamin' 'bout floodlands all night."
Out of the blue, a loud, shrill whistle broke out, interrupting them.
"The hell was that?" Rees asked as Hashla got into a defensive position, Sél already drawn.
"Ain't no kinda whistle I've heard with the Caravan 'fore."
In the moment before all hell broke loose, Rees registered movement in her periphery and threw her head right, watching as mud and sand sitting just off the Caravan's trail erupted and gave birth to an amorphous beast of muck. Hashla had noticed something too, though to her left. Before Rees even had a hand on her machete, Sél was shouting. All around her, shouts and gunshots rang out, filling in the air's idle space.
As the muck gave way with gravity, the assailant already dashing towards her, Rees drew her machete and held it up defensively. In a short few moments, a yaka bandit was revealing, sloughed free of mud, his dagger crashing against Rees' blade as she started ducking away, skidding over it, the yaka's body following through towards the ground, having not expected Rees to react so quickly.
The bandit caught himself with a roll, orienting himself quickly enough to beat away Rees' slash as she arced her machete downwards, desperate to utilize her brief advantage. Rees backed away, repositioning herself as the bandit leapt to his feet.
As he bent his knees, preparing to strike again, Sél sounded out and he fell over, grasping at his ribs, gasping for breath.
"C'MON REES, GET IN THE WAGON!" Hashla shouted out as she cycled Sél's action. "AIN'T GOT NO COVER OUT HERE!"
Rees obediently turned heel and ran for their wagon, diving into the flap and landing hard on the wooden floor. Hashla was right behind her, throwing Sél through the flap, the beast skidding to a stop right next to Rees. Hashla's four hands grabbed onto the canvas and began to pull her up, one foot on the edge, but before she could, four arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her back, her head slamming into part of the wagon's frame that kept the canvas stretched out over it. She vanished as the flap fell back into place, Rees crawling back out in a panic.
When she poked her head out, she saw Hashla wrestling on the ground with the yaka bandit, fighting for control. The bandit was on his back, using three of his arms to keep Hashla from struggling as she lay atop him, her back to his chest. She writhed, trying to slip free, but to no avail as the bandit brought his fourth arm up, holding fast to his dagger.
Before Rees could even scream out, he'd dug the blade into Hashla's neck and yanked back, slashing her throat in one swift motion.
Rees recoiled, scooting back into the darkness of their wagon, the flap falling in front of the scene, a curtain call. Her mind was filled with static, her muscles buzzing, other senses dulled. With little thought, she took hold of Sél and dove out.
The yaka bandit was crawling away, leaving a trail of blood behind him, satiated in his vengeance. Rees took hold of his shoulder and threw him on his back, crashing down onto his chest with one of her knees. She felt something beneath her crack and the bandit gasped. She shoved Sél's barrel under his chin. For that brief moment, the world was still, quiet. Her hands were steady, her breath even.
She pulled the trigger.
The slug blew out the yaka's skullcap, spraying the sand behind him with blood.
Rees cocked the gun, throwing the lever forward and back, hot brass flying from the ejection port on top of the receiver. She looked down the Caravan line and found another bandit dashing for Kletchckt's wagon. With an untold calm, she stood and took aim. With but a flex of her finger, she hit them squarely in the back, sending them to the sand as their spine shattered with the force of the slug.
Another bandit held a nearby caravanner by the wrist, aiming a pistol at their head.
Aim, breathe, flex.
A third, dashing, kicking up sand, blade in hand.
If you're heart's waverin', don't shoot.
Fourth in line, a spray of blood. Then a fifth.
Sél sat tucked into her shoulder, red hot, bloodthirsty, and angry. The call of "ALL CLEAR! BANDITS CLEAR!" rang out and Rees' adrenaline plummeted, Sél slipping from her hands, landing silently in the wet sand. Her stomach dropped out of her body, panic taking its place. She sprinted to the back of the wagon, falling to the ground as the wet sand refused to accommodate her sharp turn, collapsing under her. Her hands dug into the ground, crawling the last few feet.
Hashla lay on her back, her throat a gaping trench, deep with blood that soaked into the already sodden sand beneath her, running down the sides of her neck. Her reddened sclerae stared upward into the reddening sky, empty and dull.
Rees put a hand on Hashla's chest, her still, still chest. She buried her face in Hashla's neck, seeking motherly comfort, but found only lukewarm blood and cooling skin, fur growing stiff as her running vitality dried up.
She fell onto her side, sobs wracking her body as she clutched Hashla's form.
Rees stared silently off into the night's horizon, in the direction of a long lump of sand, Hashla's final resting place. Klethckt stood next to her, looking up at the night sky, into the blues, aquamarines, and teals of Shimreth's storms. The bandoliers and belts on Rees felt too heavy. It wasn't meant for her, wasn't hers, but someone had to carry it. Everything seemed to want to be in the sand with their old master, reaching downwards with leaden hands.
Heaviest of all was Sél, holstered on Rees' left thigh.
"'Wild are her tumults, whipping in passion, hurricanes of e'ry emotion, thus marking her both frightful and beautiful, furious,'" Kletchckt whispered to himself. "'A grand eye that watches o'er her darling, wondrous rings 'round her waist, adorned with the charms and gemstones of the cosmos, encrusted, glimmering. Eternal in strength, eternal in bond. Look up, ye weary traveler, and rest.'"
"You jus' come up with that?" Rees asked, still staring ahead.
"No, I'm afraid not. It's a passage from an old book I read once. I thought it a beautiful thing."
"Y'know, most a my life, never really understood the whole 'Shimreth's a big sis' thing, but nowadays it's makin' more sense."
Klethckt looked down to Rees. "I'm very sorry for your loss, dear."
"Not like it was your fault."
"It was no one's fault."
"Prolly what she'd have to say 'bout the whole affair."
"Shame she had to go, hm?"
Rees looked over to the spider, tears in her eyes. "Had to?"
Klethckt sighed. "We all die eventually, I'm afraid. Was simply her time, it seems. The end of her thread on the great tapestry web."
"Make room for a new soul."
"She did have her strange little philosophies," Klethckt chuckled.
Rees tensed up, fists clenching. "Ain't the time."
"I meant no offense," Klethckt apologized.
"I get she wasn't your style, but you ain't got no right to be criticizin' her now. Had all the time in the world before. Maybe if you two'd spoken to one another after Dephn died you'd have understood her ideas a bit better, but you jus' sulked off in your own corner."
"Rees—"
"I don't wanna hear it, Klethckt. Don't need none a your fancy speeches 'bout life. She dedicated herself to savin' your ass, savin' the Caravan's ass where she could, didn't ever let no one think a her!"
"There's a fine line between selfless and selfish," Klethckt said. "Perhaps we should have had a better relationship, but she never gave it a chance. Forgive me for not engaging with stone, Rees."
"I engaged with her jus' fine. Three years, I did. Day in, day out. Weren't that difficult! You jus' never tried. I dunno what you were so afraid of, but I promise you it weren't there."
The two stood in silence for a moment, staring at each other. Tears leaked from Rees' eyes as she heaved and hiccupped, trying to hold back. Sick of the sight of Klethckt, she turned back to the horizon, sitting down on the ground.
"What happens now?" Rees asked after a moment, her heart aching. "Where'm I supposed to go? Supposed to do?"
Klethckt sighed. "Well, I didn't intend to ask you this tonight, but if it would lend you any guidance, would you consider sticking with me as a guard?"
Rees looked over to him. "You'd hire me?"
He pat her on the back, "Of course I would, Rees. You learned from the best after all."
"Thank you."
"Please, this is hardly a favor from myself. If anything, I benefit more. Speak nothing of it, alright?"
Rees nodded. "Sorry 'bout lashin' out."
"It's alright, Rees, I understand," Klethckt said before turning and walking back to his wagon. Rees suddenly felt keenly aware of the emptiness of where he'd been standing and wished he were still there, even if he said nothing for the whole night. She simply wished for his presence. But she held her tongue.
Rees sat for a few minutes more, listening to the winds as they passed by, the whisper of the spirits in her ears, but found nothing in them for her. So instead, she thought of all the things Hashla had told her, had taught her. She encased them in soft amber, the kind she could reach her fingers into and pluck the memories out of whenever she wanted or needed to. Preserved, accessible, treasured.
Eventually, weariness got the better of her and she got up and slowly walked back to the Caravan. She quietly climbed into her wagon, attached to Klethckt's, attached to his desertwalker, the great dead beast with its sails drawn up. Rees set out a single bedroll in the middle of her wagon's floor and curled up onto it, running her memories of Hashla through her mind until she fell asleep.
When she wakes up, she continues her routine, the one so deeply engraved into her, but it feels empty at first. When she walks, she no longer finds the footprints she once did. The conversations have evaporated, the lessons, the inquiries, all of it. The commanding presence that once walked before her is gone and there's a vacuum in its place, sucking the air out of the environment.
It hurts.
Days turn to weeks, weeks to months, months to years.
Still she walks, still she guards, still she shoots, still she sleeps. She weeps too, though she doesn't let anyone see.
Sél sits on her lap at night. She stares at its frame, stronger than her. Its matte metal refuses to reflect any light, be it campfire or lantern or sun, only incandescent in fury. It's never long before a bottle or cigarillo is at her lips.
She so desperately wishes Hashla was still there. She would understand what she was going through. But she isn't.
She disassembles, cleans, oils, then rebuilds Sél. She plucks lead from her foes when she can, dropping it off into one of her pouches. When she collects enough, she melts them in a cast iron skillet and uses a mold to make slugs. She carefully reloads the viable spent shells, makes ammunition. She rolls new cigarillos. She smudges tar in her eye sockets.
Eventually, she walks in the vacuum, filling its space.
Rees stands in a busy marketplace near Klethckt's stall, a sea of people passing in front of her. The fingers of her bottom-left hand idly tap on her holster, Sél sitting snug inside. A kah-rehm scholar is talking fervently with Klethckt, discussing various tzic cultures with him. Like most scholars, he seems to have an aversion to interacting with the people he's studying, turning to a former diplomat instead.
Maybe one a the reasons why we all hate each other, she thinks, a top hand rubbing one of her eyes, trying to clear the chronic blurriness that had come to haunt her in recent years, a muscle in one of her eyelids twitching. 'Cause ain't no one talkin' to each other.
Out of the chaotic rumble of the crowd, Rees hears a faint cry for help. Others hear it too, many stopping and looking around. Rees pushes her way through the sea of confused and concerned people, a good head taller than most there, one hand already on Sél's grip. They easily part for her, seeing her steely, world-weary gaze entrenched in tar; scars and burns, where fur hadn't grown back. It isn't long before she breaks through into a clearing, where people have separated from the event of focus, standing back. A good twenty paces from her is a sight that rocks her with deja vu: a burly kah-rehm man is holding a juvenile yaka girl by the scruff of her neck. He's snarling something to her, fury in his expression, the fancy-looking woolen poncho he wears soaked with something red, a clay jar broken on the ground.
"Put the girl down," Rees calls out, tearing the kah-rehm man's focus away from the girl and onto her.
"This is none of your business, merc," he hisses, "Get on outta here."
"You got a clearly terrified yaka in your hands, you expect me to not do somethin'?"
"Little gutter rat spilled a whole jar of some paste-swill on me," he says, turning back to the girl. "All I'm looking for is a proper apology for ruining my nice poncho, cost me a whole lot."
The girl writhes in his grip, "I already said I was sorry! It was an accident, I swear!"
"Seems repentant to me," Rees said.
"I'm not letting her go until her apology gets monetary."
"Swill she spilled on you's poor-folk food. Cheap, nasty as hell, but nutrient rich. Used to sup on it myself back in the day. So she clearly ain't got the scratch to cover it, and if you could buy an artisan piece in the first place then you prolly ain't hurtin' yourself."
"I don't want to hear another word outta you, caravan scum!"
"Put her down," Rees commanded again, drawing Sél.
The kah-rehm's eyes narrowed. "You don't have the jurisdiction, girlie."
Already, Rees was choosing where she'd shoot. Somewhere nonlethal— she didn't want to get chased out of town, no matter how much of a prick the kah-rehm was being— but where it would still hurt, where he'd remember it forever. "No one's got jurisdiction over nothin'. From the sand we come, to the sand we return, all belongs to it." The words seemed to fall out of her mouth, almost on instinct.
"Real philosophical, sure it took a whole lotta thalo to come up with that one. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna be on my way to find this little bastard's parents."
Before he can even turn, Rees has already brought Sél up, aiming at his front, right at the space where his leg meets his body, full of dense meat and muscle. Serenity in her heart, she pulls the trigger and absorbs Sél's kick with her elbow, its roar with her ears, watching as the kah-rehm collapses to the ground through one eye, the other squeezed shut. Her top arms limpen, Sél falling into quiet once more, smoke drifting from its barrel. The kah-rehm man writhes on the ground, clutching his new wound, and the young yaka is shaking herself out of her stupor, having fallen on her head after being dropped.
Rees quickly runs to her, kneeling down and checking her for damage. The young girl looks up at her, eyes wide. "You good, runt?" Rees asks.
After staring for a moment, the girl gently nods her head.
Thank goodness. "Right. On your way then." Rees stands back up, pulling her lead-plucking pliers from a bandolier and shifting over to the kah-rehm man. She kneels down in front of him and shoves his hands aside, plunging her pliers into the wound, digging around for the slug. He cries out as she does, trying to swat and push her away, but she doesn't move, giving him only a stern "Hush." After a few moments, she finds it and takes hold, gently wiggling it free of his body, the now malformed lump covered in blood and viscera. Rees wipes off as much as she can before stowing it away in a pouch, the lump letting off a tink as it joins its brethren.
"YOU BITCH," the kah-rehm man scream-hisses, blood and saliva foaming at his clenched teeth.
"Shuddup, you'll be fine. Didn't hit nothin' vital," Rees says, only glancing briefly at him. He would eventually be fine, but he'd surely always remember today. Serves you right, she thinks as she cocks Sél's lever, her bottom-right hand catching the ejected shell. Bringing it up to her eyes, she closely inspects the brass casing. Once she's determined that it's viable for reloading, she drops it into another pouch, satisfied. Rees turns and starts walking away, the incident already leaving her mind, until a small voice cries out from behind her, sending shivers down her spine.
"Wait! Ma'am!"
Ice runs through her veins for the briefest of moments, but she's been quenched by the time she turns around to look, hardened steel once again. It's the runt she just saved, staring up at her, but quickly averting her gaze to the ground once she meets Rees' red sclerae, her deadened irises.
"What?" Rees asks, suppressing the snarl that comes so naturally to her. The girl is obviously nervous.
"Will you take me with you?" the girl asks, her voice soft.
Rees is shocked, but tries to not let it show. "And why would I do that?"
She sees the gears turning in the girl's head, her ears twitching, eyes darting from one section of the flagstone to the other. She takes a deep breath, mustering up her courage, her voice. "My clan used to be wanderers, like so many of us, but they settled, got complacent with work. My mom and dad want me to stay here, with them, learn their trade." By then, she's managed to meet Rees' eyes again, passion— desperation?— pouring forth, "But I still feel it, that deep wanderlust, like my ancestors did. I can't stay here, I wanna see the world. I wanna be like our people always have been and weave history between my fingers like twine. See it, smell it, taste it, feel it." Having finished her speech, the girl watches Rees closely.
For her part, Rees can't help but feel her steel become molten, searing her guts as she tries to maintain eye contact with the girl. In her mind's eye she sees Hashla, picking that constantly reforming scab, weeping vitality. It finally hits her just how alone she's been, stewing in the cruelties of the world. Klethckt spoke to her, but he'd taken on a reticence. Maybe it was the social anxiety, maybe it was her. He'd said she'd learned from the best, now he looked at her like he used to Hashla.
But she's a trigger. Put anything else into a trigger guard besides a finger and you run into issues. Misfires. Or— spirits damn the thought— a trigger you can't pull.
"Look, runt. It's a dangerous world out there, especially if you're runnin' with the Caravan. And I ain't no merchant, I work guard and muscle duty, so I'm gettin' my hands filthy with blood and such. Do the stuff no one else wants to. And there ain't much room for failure or patience; there's a schedule to keep."
The girl steps up to Rees, trying to show confidence, urgency. "I'll help you! Whatever you need me to do!" Then the wall crumbles, just a bit, "Please!"
Rees sighs. "What about your folk? You jus' gonna up and leave 'em?"
The girl flinches. Rees recognizes that flinch. "They've got my sister, I won't be missed."
Laies and Droes blink through Rees' mind, a flitting memory, one she thought she'd up and buried. She swiftly shovels sand back over their graves and rolls her eyes. "See, you think that, but I guarantee it ain't the truth. You're history to 'em jus' as much as the kind you're seekin'."
"I know what the truth is," the girl spits back.
Rees stares at her again. She realizes that the girl is leaving this place whether she brings her on or not. Only difference was how long it'd take for the sand to siphon away her little soul, make way for some rat bastard.
And she's a mirror, a memory. Rees can't tell if she hates or loves her for that. Time will tell.
Letting go of a breath she didn't even realize she's been holding in, Rees kneels down, getting level with the girl, more properly eye-to-eye. "Jus' know this: you're gonna have to pull your own weight, runt. And I won't be there to save you if you get your sorry rear into somethin' hide-tannin'. Understood?"
The young girl's eyes light up, suddenly shifting from foot to foot. "Yes! Absolutely!"
Rees can't help but smile a bit at her enthusiasm, as misplaced as it may be. "Right, best we get acquainted then. What's your name?"
"Strou, ma'am."
"Good to meet you Strou, I'm Rees."