At the Altar of Dragons

Session 25 | Chapter 2

After a short time, my arm is bandaged, the area is tossed and covered in fresh snow so no attention should be called to this spot if someone ventures out this far. I tug on the cuff of my shirt sleeve, checking for the third time it’s secure and the bandage isn’t peeking out.

The warmth of the lodge hits me like a tidal wave, encircling my body and immediately setting siege to the frost in my veins. I shiver involuntarily, kicking the snow off my boots in the entry before composing myself and heading back to the parlor.

Last night, this room felt unreasonably large. Two people and a drake laid out on an enormous rug and with a fireplace larger than most I’ve ever seen. But as I enter it again, it feels like the space has shrunk to a quarter the size. It’s full of our party, everyone sitting in a circle devouring a full breakfast of biscuits, breakfast meats, roasted vegetables, and eggs. There’s even pots of different jams and seasoned butters to top the different foods. I’m in awe–we’ve never had a spread like this before let alone in such a setting and it takes a moment for me to pull myself back to reality.

Two plates remain beside the blanket I folded this morning, a note laid on top of it. An unseen force pulls me towards them and I read my name scrawled in an elegant lettering on the piece of parchment. I’d recognize her artistry anywhere and the ache in my chest thaws a little more. Without hesitation, Goose begins consuming the other unclaimed plate.

My fingers tremble as I reach for the card and I clench my teeth in an attempt to hold them steady. On the inside, she’s written a message.

“Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I wanted to make breakfast.” The next part of the message is scratched out and a smile plays at the corner of my mouth as I read the final line, “I hope you slept well.”

After breakfast is complete, it takes an hour or so to get all of the party’s supplies loaded into a carriage that Alba found in the barn. While Zeref and I harness Goose and Blue, the minotaur is ripping every adornment off of the lavish exterior. She pries the final piece of trim off and turns to us to say, “We’re traveling through the forest in cult territory. We need to fly under the radar.”

I nod shortly as my response before turning my attention back to the buckles around Goose’s midsection. I triple check them before feeling comfortable that they’re snug without being too tight.

He looks back at me and asks, “How’s your arm feeling?”

The base of my neck tingles and I tug the edge of my cuff down slightly, checking the bandages are concealed. “It’s fine. Let’s not talk about this,” I respond in a hushed but firm tone. Before he can push the subject further I take my spot at the front of the carriage. The feel of the soft leather reins in my hand soothes me. Not completely, but my brain hasn’t stopped racing since last night.

The look on her face at the fire when Eva stopped the game…am I kidding myself that there was disappointment on her features?

How can I even put that thought in my head?This is why Bahamut won’t answer me! He knows my focus is shifting away from my mission. Well not away entirely, but distractions are no better. If anything, they’re worse. Distractions lose battles. Distractions get people killed.

I grit my teeth against the cold. I might be used to this weather, but outside of meditation, sitting still in the cutting wind is miserable. I glance a look at Zeref as he settles in next to me. He wraps a blanket around his torso and shell and suddenly I’m jealous of the tortle. To have an excuse to not torture myself in this weather would be nice. Instead, I pop the collar on my duster and settle into my post.

“Before we head out, I wanted to give you these,” Zeref interrupts my thoughts. He’s holding out a bundle of arrows with a small vial filled with a greenish liquid at the head.

I cock an eyebrow, and he explains, “See this vial is filled with that frog poison. It’s crafted so as soon as it hits the target these spores will be released. Then bam! Hallucinating enemy.”

A smile plays at the corner of my mouth and my gaze softens. “Thank you, Zeref. These are amazing. I can’t wait to see them in action.”

He nods, “Me either. It should be fun to watch.”

After stashing them in my quiver, careful to keep them separate from my other arrows, everyone else is aboard the carriage and we are on our way heading towards Parnst. The next three hours are filled with an endless stream of trees and the sound of creaking wood as the wheels propel us along the dirt path. Every few minutes I feel Zeref’s gaze slip to me and I get the sense he has something on his mind. Just when I think he’s finally going to blurt out whatever is on his mind, he turns back to the road and our strange silence continues.

I’m not going to push him. If he wants to ask me something, he can come out and ask it. He and I have never had secrets or confrontations, so I’m not going to push him. Not when I fear that his question will force me to keep something from him. Our friendship is a simple one and I don’t want to do it the disservice of corrupting it. So our silence continues, lingering like a bad smell and neither of us want to admit to being the source.

If Bahamut turned from me for this indiscretion, I can’t allow there to be another slip. I need to focus…but my gaze drifts so I catch the barest glimpse of the carriage wall behind me. She’s so close and yet my heart fractures looking across this chasm between us.

So I will hold in every word threatening to escape from my mouth. Nothing good comes from allowing my emotions to get the better of me–from letting them be spoken into reality. Instead, I will bury them, bury them deep, beneath the weight of duty, beneath the weight of denial, before I spit on their grave and seal my heart.

A banging comes from inside the carriage and a little window slides open between Zeref and I. Silvyr pops his face into view and declares, “We need a break– stretch our legs and use the bathroom.” He trails off, whispering something under his breath along the lines of “or someone’s going to die…”

I flash Zeref a questioning look but he seems unconcerned. My brain can’t compute the idea of actual danger amongst the four inside the carriage. How could Crimm, Silvyr, Perona and Raesh get that heated? Silvyr has to just be acting dramatic.

Everyone disperses, radiating out in different directions with the carriage as its central axis. My eyes dart around, trying to detect if there was something Zeref and I missed riding in the front of the carriage. Zeref is still unbothered, so I rub my palm across my face accepting the concern must be in my head. I toss it aside, jump off the driver’s platform and walk over to Goose and Blue.

Goose nuzzles his head into my chest and I breathe in the earthy smell of him. The tension in my shoulders evaporates and the pulsing in my forearm eases. Despite our short time together and him being a spirit, he feels like home. Not the conclave or temple, but an actual home–or rather what I imagine that to be as a concept. I feel peace in his presence. That must be what home is right?

A low rumble from deep in Blue’s chest pulls me from my reverie and I peek around Goose’s form to see the blue drake looking annoyed that we've stopped moving. Over my shoulder, I call, “Zeref?”

“Yes?” he replies.

“Does Blue like Goose? Do you think they’re friends?”

He laughs and retorts, “Can’t you speak to Goose? Why don’t you ask him?”

“Yeah but you know Blue better than any of us. What’s your thoughts?”

He climbs down from the platform and walks over to us, still with the blanket wrapped tightly around him. “I think he likes Goose,” he nods.

“That’s nice for them to have each other,” I remark.

Zeref hums in reply as he checks over Blue’s harness, making sure the buckles aren’t rubbing against his scales. I smile before I have a chance to catch myself, but there is something so comforting watching him with Blue. The relationship they’re building right now is different than Goose’s and mine, but there’s something pure about the work and care he puts into Blue that makes it uniquely special.

“Would Blue like some jerky?” I ask, pulling a handful of dried meat from my pack and starting to break it into chunks. Goose’s mouth cracks open, and drool starts to pool along the rim of his jaw.

We both look at the other drake and see that his expression mirrors Goose’s, albeit with a little more menace to his expression. “I think that’s a yes,” he replies.

Laughing, I give a handful of the provisions to Zeref, and we each tend to our drakes.

It isn’t long before the rest of the group starts to return. Zeref wraps the blanket around him tighter and starts to walk back towards the carriage. Before getting too far, he turns and says, “I’m going to ride inside this half. Blue should be fine with you and Goose.”

A slight pang in my chest builds, but I nod casually.

Goose answers my thoughts, “The poor tortle was shivering. Let him warm up and don’t over think this.”

I swallow the knot that had begun to form in my throat and nod. When did I become so insecure thinking that he simply didn’t want to sit with me anymore? Do I really care if someone likes my company? I tilt my head to face the sky, letting the gentle caress of the sun wash over my windburnt face.

The sound of someone walking up beside me catches my attention and I see Perona. She smiles softly and asks how Goose has been doing.

My mouth hangs open slightly, not quite knowing what to say as she starts to scratch the drake on his neck. The edge of her flowy sleeve brushes against mine and my breath hitches.

This is why Bahamut hasn’t responded to you yet, huntress. His voice enters my mind like a sharpshooter, He knows your ritual was a farce. You don’t care to repent for your actions.

His scoff echoes in my brain, lingering, bouncing off the walls of my mind creating a slowly building cacophony. My mouth gapes like a fish trying to gasp for oxygen in water, but I’m stuck on dry land, suffocating inside my own skin.

“Goose likes jerky,” I blurt and then immediately hold out the bag so I don’t look any more ridiculous than I already sound.

Her smile falters for the barest of moments before she laughs, “Can I feed him some?”

Giving her three shallow nods, I try to focus on anything else right now. Anything other than the flour from breakfast that's still dusting her clothes. Anything other than the way she smells like flowers and strawberry jam. Anything other than the way I wish this could be every day.

After feeding him a couple handfuls, she asks me, “Mind if I join you up front?” Her sing-song tone blends with the echoing din of my brain and I can’t even hear myself reply yes.

My body is on autopilot, pushing me through the motions in order to survive the next few hours. I can do that. It’s only a few hours. I can keep myself from straying further from Bahamut for a few hours.

We settle into our seats on the driving platform and the reins feel slick in my hands. It’s cold…use the weather as an excuse and put on your gloves dammit, I curse at myself and pull them out of my duster pocket. Anything to keep her from noticing my anxious energy. As I adjust my grip on the reins, Perona flicks her wrist in a slight flourish and all the flour vanishes and the scent of strawberries and a spring garden fills my nostrils. My heart immediately starts racing. The window at our backs scrapes open, and it startles me so badly I nearly fall off the platform. Layna sticks her head out to ask, “What are we waiting for? Let’s get on the road!”

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“Right, sure,” I mumble and click my tongue to urge the drakes forward.

After five minutes of silence, my brain starts to scream at me, Say something! Literally anything is better than this never ending tension!

Perona fidgets with her shirt hem and smoothes out a nonexistent wrinkle in her pants and I inform her, barely allowing for a pause in between the words, “Zeref made me poison arrows. Poison frog arrows actually.”

“Oh?” she hums, seeming surprised but maybe interested. I can’t let myself think she’s interested in what I’m saying.

“Yeah those poisonous frogs we ran into in those caves? Zeref took a vial of their goo. Attached a bit to each of the arrow heads, so I can make enemies hallucinate. Should come in handy, yeah,” I ramble, not fully sure if I’m making any sense but just speaking to fill the silence.

“That’s nice he made those for you,” she responds politely.

I nod and continue, “Yeah. Goose liked that jerky you fed him. He really likes jerky. All kinds of jerkies. We’re running a little low though so need to find some more.”

“Maybe we could make some?” Perona muses, turning her body slightly towards me and truly engages with this ridiculous conversation.

I swallow the memory of saliva down my dry throat and continue before she can say anything else, “Maybe someone knows evaporation spells? That’s how you make jerky. You have to evaporate the moisture out of the meat. That sounds complicated though and could take a while if no one has a spell.”

Perona hides a giggle. Is she enjoying this? Why is my mouth so dry? I swear these reins are slippery even though I have damned gloves on!

“I bet this town has a jerky store. They probably have a lot of types of jerky too.”

She gasps and grabs my arm–thank the gods it’s my right arm. Still I wince, but try to transition the expression into a startled smile. “Do you think they have jerky for specific diets? Like if a creature or humanoid only eats certain things?”

My brow furrows, “Like dietary restriction jerky? Maybe. If they have enough inventory, that would seem only natural.”

Silence. We start to slip back into the tempo of the creaking sounds of the carriage and with each turn of the wheel, my tolerance gets thinner and thinner. Perona starts looking around the forest, admiring the scenery. I mirror her, looking for anything that might spark an end to this insufferable silence. She is sitting inches away from me, closer than she was last night in front of the fireplace, and I want to scream.

Everything in my body is telling me to grab her hand, to brush the hair back from her face and tuck it behind her ear, to slide over on the bench so our thighs are touching. My body is screaming at my brain to listen, to not fight against this urge, but all I can hear is the silence. The silence from Bahamut. The silence after getting my ribs cracked in training. The silence between the two of us right now! Nothing but godsforsaken silence!

If I start screaming, at least it won’t be quiet anymore.

Our carriage continues along the well worn dirt road, the wheels slipping into the grooves of previous travelers and making it a little easier to traverse. We’ve been heading down the mountain, so the snow has begun to thin and the air temperature is more mild. A bush ladened with winter berries catches my attention and I grample on the story that comes to mind, not allowing this opportunity to pass. “Goose also likes berries. One time he got drunk on fermented berries out in the woods.” A laugh bubbles out of me amidst the panicked speech as I remember the scene and continue, “He was laying face down in a pile of leaves and said he could see the cosmos.”

A grumble sounds from ahead of us and Goose turns his head to the side to level me with judgmental gaze. Perona’s eyes widen and I continue, afraid to let go of this shred of a conversation and surrender to the silence again. “I tried some after that, thinking it’d be fun to join him. I ended up vomiting. They tasted horrible.”

To my surprise, Perona doesn’t seem to react to the last comment, and instead pivots the subject, “If we get time at our next camp, I’d like to train you with swords.” My words get stuck in my throat, choking me and cutting the momentum my brain felt like it had gained.

She changed the subject.

This isn’t something I can ramble my way through to keep the silence at bay. My heart races and my chest tightens again, feeling a weight so all encompassing press down on me. The noise creeps back in at the edges of my brain–screaming, mocking, the sound of cracking bones and gusting wind.

I’ve waited too long to reply and she continues, “You’ve been using that new sword lately, and I think it could be helpful for me to brush up as well.”

Her training is with swords, you ignorant flea. How do you not remember these things? If she’s important enough to remove your eye from your mission at least have the decency to remember details about her.

His voice hits me like a torrent, crushing my focus and my grip on the reins slip ever so slightly. I cough out the air in my lungs, emptying my body of breath, before proceeding into another cough and another.

Pathetic.

Sucking in a deep gulp of frigid air, I swallow down the next cough, willing my body to relent before I end up vomiting off the side of the cart. A sip of water from my waterskin helps cool the burning sensation in my throat, and I respond, my voice gravely around each word, “That would be nice. I never trained with swords. I always preferred axes.”

That’s a simple enough answer, just let the conversation pivot to swords and her training with the Bards’ college.

Her brows wrinkle though, picking out the last statement in my response, and latching onto it. “Really? I’ve never seen you use axes.”

Shit. Why did I have to say that? Just speak. Get the conversation moving again.

“Yeah, that’s what I primarily used in hand-to-hand. They chop better–it was more effective than slicing with swords,” I state, barely pausing between each statement, placing no emphasis on any particular word, careful to keep my voice neutral.

She faces forward and observes, “You haven’t told me much about your training.”

“There isn’t much to tell,” I blurt, “Staffs hurt when they hit you. Axes are great for throwing and chopping.” Shrugging my shoulders, I let the comment drift off onto the chill air passing us. Gods let this conversation end.

How can I speak of my training to be a warrior of Bahamut when his favor could be turning from me at this very moment? When every drop of sweat, tears, and blood went into only him? A time when everything felt so much simpler. A chill runs down my spine and tears start to burn at the corners of my eyes again.

Gods when did I start crying so damn much!

I blink hard and mask the movement like dirt was kicked up from the road below. Simple. No emotions. But I feel the cracking in the coffin holding every feeling, the screams threatening to explode through the dirt packed on top of my chest.

“What do you mean ‘Staffs hurt’? Didn’t you use training weapons?”

The noise comes to a screeching halt. My brain is silent. The Priest’s presence, ever threatening to creep into the edges of my mind, is absent. There is nothing. Only the creaking sound of the wooden carriage traveling over dirt. That and the obvious change in Perona’s tone. I must’ve said something wrong…but what?

“What do you mean training weapons?” I dip my toe in the inky depths that I fear this conversation has become. There is an unseen foe lurking beneath the surface and I can’t prepare for this. I can’t avoid this.

Her voice is even, delicate, like she too is treading very carefully, “Training weapons…they aren’t as heavy or sharp. So they don’t hurt as you’re learning.”

My forehead creases. This can’t be what changed her tone. My shoulders relax a little and I feel my jaw pop as it loosens. “What would be the point of that?” I reply, cool and matter of factly.

“So you don’t get hurt as you’re learning!” she repeats, a little louder and firmer.

I shake my head–clearly she just doesn’t understand Bahamut’s teachings or the principles of the temple. “No, that's how you prepare yourself for fighting in battle. How else would you know how your body is going to react when you have a slice in your leg? A gash in your forearm?” The blood pulses beneath the bandage hidden under my shirt sleeve. “This is the way that a warrior of Bahamut prepares for our missions.” A little laugh escapes as I finish explaining our values, astonished that I thought this was actually a dire situation. Why I haven’t explained our teachings and principles to Perona earlier is surprising. There were so many moments when she sat with me as I meditated or we simply spent time with Goose as the others talked around the campfire.

Gods, how did I not think to share this part of me with her sooner? What if this is why Bahamut has been silent? I should have been sharing his wisdom as we’ve embarked on this mission to vanquish his arch-foe. It feels so obvious to me I can’t help myself–I shake my head, truly perplexed by my nativity.

“Maire?” My stomach drops. Her tone isn’t lighter. If anything it’s heavier, weighted down with concern and fear. The waiver in her voice continues as she says, “That is incredibly reckless. Fighting while injured is dangerous.”

“I know that,” I begin, treading shallower into this conversation. Her tone tells me these waters didn’t clear up in the way I thought they might. I don’t understand what the issue is. “My training, the teachings of the temple–value in battle is placed on strength in adversity, to deal judgement no matter the cost. In battle, adversity can be an injury, thus we must train our minds and bodies to handle the strain. It is how we will rise above the evil of Dragonkind.” My words are mechanical, my brain retrieving the words preached to us day in and day out throughout my adolescence.

Perona sits straighter and looks at me squarely. I feel it out of the corner of my vision–I can’t bring myself to look at her at this moment. To see what I know is pity written all over her features. My training is unique–my people are a select group of Bahamut’s chosen. We aren’t meant to be understood by all. I repeat the words like a mantra in my head and with each recitation, the weight on my chest builds, pushing my emotions back into their grave, and the silence in my brain feels a little less unnerving.

Still looking at me, she states, “Would Bahamut rather have a weak follower than a dead one?”

Her words hang in the air between us and I feel the weight of this moment. I have two options–hold firm in my faith or allow for another wedge to be placed between us. I cannot allow for the silence from him to be strengthened and yet I fear that my response in this moment will also widen the chasm between Perona and I.

The revolting caress of the Priest’s chuckle tickles the back of my mind. Goose stands a little straighter and he holds his tail a little firmer–resilence and dignity oozing out of his posture.

So I choose–I willingly sink an axe blade in my own heart and I state, “I like my axes.” Her form deflates and she inches slightly further from me on the bench. My heart splinters out from the blade, chopping and gashing its way through my chest.

In a low, impassive voice, Perona pivots the conversation, taking this blow and spinning it in a dance, sending it in a brand new direction. “Maybe there will be a blacksmith in this village. I’ve been playing with different designs for new weapons for everyone–perhaps we could get a new axe fashioned for you.”

I open my mouth to respond, but am stopped by a horrific noise. A squeal of excitement comes out of the carriage behind us–Zeref’s voice exclaiming, “Really?!” My gaze shoots between Perona and I to the small sliding door that separates the driving platform from the interior of the carriage. My eyes fix on Layna and her face turns every shade of red before she disappears in a flash of stardust.

Silvyr quietly mutters, “Shit!” as he closes the tiny gap in the window and my skin burns. I jolt my head upright and forward, praying that Perona doesn’t notice that the rest of the group has been eavesdropping on our conversation–this gods awful conversation! Why couldn’t I have stuck with the jerky topic? At least then it would only be embarrassing and not like I’ve been caught with my pants down!

Red begins to pool at the edges of my vision and I urge the drakes forward, picking up their pace slightly. I don’t know if Layna is still inside and truthfully, I don’t care at this moment. I need to get out of here. Off this platform. Away from this conversation. Away!

A moment later, the carriage rocks slightly, and the outline of the shadow informs me that Layna is once again onboard the carriage–she’s on top of it, but at least on board. I click the reins again, continuing to push Goose and Blue into a steady trot and out of the smooth walk we’ve been proceeding at for most of this journey.

“A new axe would be nice,” I state–anything to end this silence, to ensure that her attention was not redirected to those listening in on our conversation.

Perona latches onto the topic of shopping like it’s the last morsel of food in the world and exclaims, “We could go shopping for more than just weapons! I’m sure we’ll be heading to the Feywild soon and it would be so nice to have fresh clothes before we’re back there.”

A hum of approval is all I can muster in response.

Sensing clothes aren’t grabbing my interest, Perona reaches into her pack and pulls out a sketch of her weapon ideas. She talks me through each of the designs, how the embellishment on each would help in the function for each of our party members. The conversation continues to armor ideas–she mentions that Layna is going to need new armor soon since hers was dissolved by the gelatinous cube we recently encountered.

“It could be nice for a few of us to get some new armor,” I muse, “We’ve been facing a lot of cultists and new armor could be useful in a lot of ways.”

Perona perks up again–armor is as much fashion to her as it is functional, and I can already see the pencils sketching out ideas in her mind. Her lines crafting every stitch and bend in the leather. A smile plays on her lips, catching my eyes and entrancing me for a moment before I try to regain my composure. “I think you would look beautiful in blue,” she confesses.

“Oh,” I squeak.