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"Stacia," Leon said simply. "It's complicated. The simple version would be that she wanted to come this way, and I followed along." He gave a wry laugh. "But she's troublesome, and I have no idea where she is. Somewhere off with Garred." The name left a bad taste in his mouth.

* * *

Stacia felt enraged. "Give it back," she demanded fiercely. She was careful to keep her eyes on him while feeling around for a weapon, wondering if she had even thought to bring her knife along; but she couldn't make her mind focus on remembering.

Angrboda stood at the edge of the celebrations, watching the mulling bodies. The black linen was pulled tightly around her body, cut out strategically to show enough skin to appease the masses. Leather bands, decorated with beads and sharp pieces of metal were twisted into her hair and tied around her garment. She took a deep breath and let her eyes scan over the people. She watched Lavender for a few seconds, eyeing the male close to her with a surprising amount of venom. Alas, she sighed and moved to the brass bowl that held the blood and started to draw tribal markings on her exposed flesh. A burly man uttered a crude joke about doing it for her, to which she growled in response. He laughed and sauntered off. When she was done she returned to her spot and enjoyed the orange glow in which the fire engulfed everyone.

“Ah, the Chosen One, the Golden One. You’re still here, I see,” came a masculine voice from behind her.

Angrboda’s face hardened as she kept staring ahead at the festivities. “Yes, alive and well.”

“Something terrible will happen tonight. I had visions. You shouldn’t be so selfish, my dear. Your people need you.”

Angrboda snorted, “These are not my people.” Her eyes ran over the crowd, stopping at Warren, the royal family, Caleb. She clenched her jaw, and finally turned to face the priest. “What terrible fate did you conjure up for the people this time?”

“Destruction. Slaughter.”

“What hand dare lift itself against the people of Faerang? We are fighters. We are the hands that bring about destruction and slaughter. Who dares to stand against us?”

“They are not…” He hesitated. “Not from here.”

Angrboda turned form him and watched Caleb intently, she did not care to be caught staring at him. He was carefree, healthy, strong, primal. “Foreign invaders… well this is at least something I have not heard from you before. But we will handle them like we have always handles all our obstacles.” Her eyes melted to Caleb’s naked torso. Someone had to have done his markings, because it covered all of his back too. “They will feel all the raw power we have to offer,” she whispered.

“We won’t have time. Gather the royals and get them out of here. Warren listens to you.”

She faced him with surprise. Never had he made this suggestion before. Usually it was become our ultimate sacrifice Golden One. “He does not. Warren always decides for himself. And what exactly should I tell him?”
“The particulars are hazy. You’ll come up with an idea.” He walked away, leaning heavily on his cane.

Angrboda watched him for a few seconds before turning back to watch the fire. Something was troubling her, he was different than usual. The whole situation made her uneasy and she decided to mention something to Warren, she just needed a minute to figure out how to approach the matter.
Her eyes travelled back to Caleb. He was joking around with a few of the young women that were set on baiting him. The flirtatious touching would have been highly inappropriate if this scene was taking place in another setting, but not here. Sexuality was close to fertility, fertility was close to breeding, and breeding was good for Faerang’s people. No boundaries on physical displays of lust, it gave them an outlet for their endless amount of pent up energy and its accompanying hormones. It was the alternative for their usual displays of raw power. Fighting and sex, that was it yes. Angrboda laughed to herself, but stopped when Caleb’s eyes finally found hers. He had also been laughing with one of the females, who he had pushed from him by now. Caleb stood; he was one of the tallest males, and one of the most powerful. It was clear that he was bred of power and determination. Lazily, he made his way to her, a smile promising all sorts of fun on his face. She eyed him cautiously. Her body tense.

Caleb circled her closely, the paint on his chest smudging against her arms. She had to look up to look into his face, which she did not dare to do at the moment. A smile tucked at the edges of her mouth. He paused at her right shoulder and lifted some of her hair and sniffed it, letting out a groan.
“Why are you standing here alone? Everyone is having fun in the light of the fire. Something as marvellous as you should be there,” he motioned to a patch of earth where dancing had commenced in pairs. It was not the sort of dance that would have been danced by Imperials; or anywhere else for that matter. The dance was untamed, rough and involved lots of contact. The dancers were accompanied by fast, rumbling drums; shouts form onlookers and the occasional tambourine or rattle added to the thumps of the dancers’ feet. “I know from personal experience that you are very good at that particular dance,” he traced the back of his hand down her side, turned it at her thigh and hitched her dress up a few centimetres.

Angrboda grabbed his hand with her own, “Is this your way of asking me to dance?” Her voice sounded annoyed, but her eyes had a playful gleam in them.

“Among other things,” he whispered close to her ear. Without waiting for her answer he pulled her towards the other dancers, turned her back towards him and trapped her against his chest. She did not stay like that long, fighting to turn around. When she finally managed to loosen his hold on her, she turned to face him. He pulled her closer, lifted her chin and kissed her. During all these exchanges, their bodies kept in time with the rhythm, swaying with the music. They danced together well, looked magnificent; it was obvious that they have done this before. The dancers did not stop until their bodies was covered in a thin layer of sweat, as they sauntered away to refresh themselves, others took their place and continued this wild fight-dance.
Caleb led her to where the trees were growing a bit thicker. Angrboda was pulling against him half-heartedly. One moment she was walking, the next she was lifted as if she was a feather and her back was being crushed into a tree. First, she clawed at him to get off of her, but then the intent turned. It was hard to differentiate; both were tainted by a fierce need. Her legs were bound around Caleb’s hips as he held her up with his body. He was trying to wrestle the dress off without tearing it, but some of the metal cut his hand and a pause, in which Caleb let out a curse, and Angrboda needed occurred.
“Stop, not now. I really need to speak with your father,” she pushed him from her and started to make her way back to the feast.

“If it is for his permission, I know he would be glad to give it,” Caleb joked, but he followed her. He knew that she would not been deterred in her plans when she got that edge in her voice. She eyed him amused and he hit her shoulder playfully. They walked back into the circle and approached Warren. Caleb walked off to sit down and have a drink. He winked at Angrboda and motioned to his smudged markings and laughed as he saw the realisation hit her.

[[Worked out via PM with m i s s Rieux]]

There was a call, a horn blown into the wind, echoing off mountains and tree tops.

“Uh, oh.” Aleron smirked, finding amusement in ignoring her question, and placed two fingers on Stacia’s forehead, causing a clicking sound in her mind as though a key had turned and unlocked a door, whispering, “Come find me. I can help you with that. Power, all of it, can be yours.” In the blink of an eye, the scenery changed. She was at Garred’s side and the red-haired man was gone.

“Stacia!” Garred hugged her, holding her close. His heart was beating wildly, with worry and the shock of relief after being grief-stricken. “Thank the gods, you’re alright. How did you...? What happened?” He held her at arm's length, giving her a once-over to check for any broken bones or scrapes.

***

"Oh?" Frey seemed confused. There was a glimmer of secret hope in her eyes, of promise, but this was expertly masked with curiosity and liveliness. Before she could hope for an explanation, the horn was blown. Curiously, some women and children were led away. She frowned, quizzical. Warren was nowhere to be seen. The ram's horn sounded a second time and the people gathered for the praising chant.

"Leon," Frey started in a serious tone. "Chant with us. It might not be your scene, but try to forget about your troubles. Just for one night, let it all go. You'll feel better, I promise." She gave him a warm smile and gently dragged him into the crowd by the hand.

Frey led Tannim into the ocean of bodies, holding onto his fingers with hers so that they wouldn’t be swept away by the gentle wave of the singing crowd. As all the Faerangites sang the praise of the moon into the heavens, celebrating life and the beauty of raw primal instinct, two specks of light appeared in the sky. At first, they seemed like ordinary stars, but they brightened and grew tails. The fall was majestic and frightening, and the village quieted to observe. The children were excited. The dogs barked.

About half an hour passed in excited chatter, two figures emerged from the fringe of the forest. A woman and a white dog walked side by side, engulfed by a white glow. As it faded, people turned to watch them. Some welcomed them. Some shied away from them. The dog barked in greeting. Its face transformed, twisted into a ferocious snarl. The woman sighed, seemingly bored and a little annoyed, and it attacked. People screamed and ran for safety, and some charged into the battle, but it was selective. It tore remarkable warriors to shreds, its power unlike anything they’ve ever seen. Fangs pierced into the flesh of the old, scarred man who dropped an axe towards the dog. It dodged the attack skilfully. Finishing off its last prey before looking up, eyeing another potential victim.
“Enough!” The dog pulled its lip back into a bloodied snarl at the brunette. She cocked a brow at it and the creature disappeared.

“Right. Now, then.” She approached Tannim, void of emotion. “You,” she said, recognition evident in her eyes. “The first Guardian.” She touched his forehead with her index finger. It left a lulling sensation that seared into his brain, unlocking something within him. Then, she disappeared before the guards could reach her, the wind stirred in his hair, cool and smelling of heated earth after a drizzle, then dust and heaped moss as the warriors slid to a halt to refrain from crashing into him.

***

The woman found Angrboda wandering around beyond the edge of the gathering, and greeted her with a large smile. “Our Golden Soldier.” She cupped her cheeks with both hands and kissed between her brows. Warm, glowing lace-like patters stretched across her skin and faded away. “Find the other Blessed and tell them, She has not deserted you. We are counting on you. Your sister will meet you in her room.” A flurry of wings, and then she was gone.

***

Aleron stood in a small meadow, staring up at the sky, fear dancing in his eyes. The comets crashed, but he still couldn’t move. Then he heard it. Screams: women and children and the war cries of the warriors. He could smell the blood, the fires. It was war. A white dog appeared behind him, growling.

“Adorable vessel, Ioath. Not going to upgrade to human? You were always such a self-righteous b***h.”
The dog gave a vicious snarl and leapt for his spine, but Aleron had already disappeared.

***

The slumber slowly dissolved. Lavender felt confused. Her head was throbbing and her body ached. With a careful hand, she touched her inner thigh: a dried clay-like substance, but the copper smell that mixed with the earth was unmistakable. Her face felt dry, her eyes pushed back into her skull and her throat raw. “Ani, help,” she croaked, hoarse, her voice gone. “Adraste.” The roots and twigs stuck into her tenderized flesh, but she hauled herself over to a small river and sunk herself into it. Blood and dead skin loosened from under her nails: remnants of the struggle. The dried blood soaked out of her dress, staining the river. When she could stand, she followed at its side – wonkily, unsure of her feet, wondering why. On the hill, leading to the village, she met a woman: brown hair, smoky features, with a white husky at her heel. Lavender was too tired to notice her lack of a mask. The woman said nothing, but embraced Lavender’s small, bruised body with a large woollen poncho that she was wearing, planted a kiss between her eyebrows and disappeared into thin air; a rustling sound. The red-collared dog looked at Lavender with its head tilted to the side. She lifted her shoulders to answer it and it trotted over to nuzzle her hand. She jerked it up. A finger was broken. Sighing, she bandaged it with as straight a stick she could salvage and a long leaf, and set off towards her rented room with the dog close behind.

The village was in an uproar, but she seemed to be invisible to its inhabitants. Snippets of conversation wafted towards her: “Who could have done this?” “How is this at all possible?” “Bloody Imperials, I say!” “They were such good men,” wailed a couple of women. The dog pumped her leg with his muzzle, urging her to walk on, tear her eyes away from the ghastly sight of boiled entrails and body parts scattered in oddly specific ways. The dog trotted off into the opposite direction as she unlocked the door and went inside. On her bed was a basket of berries and freshly baked bread. She indulged in these while wondering at the clothes and cloths that were bundled and strapped, ready for travel. They were different than her usual clothing. She found cotton trousers that had leather padding to protect her thighs from prickly horse hair, and a soft, loose T-shirt, and pulled them on after taking a long shower. Over this, she wore the poncho. It hid her form, most of her skin, and the weight of it made her feel safe.

***

“Knight.” The addressee seemed to be the dog.

“What is it, Ioath?”

“She carries the Tome.”

“And because she carries it, she must be forsaken?”

“She is unfit to carry responsibility – ”

“Blasphemy!” The brunette took a threatening step forwards and the dog whimpered a few steps back.

“We have done your purge, now let me do what we came here to do and shut the hell up!”

“Oh, yes, you’d know all about hell.”

“And here I am. Do you have a problem with Her wishes, pup? No? Good. Go.” The dog whirred away, surly, and the woman proceeded to search for Stacia. The pulse of the Tome sent shivers down her spine and she approached the duo with caution.

Garred regarded Stacia and then looked away, regaining his composure. "Please never do something like that again."

Frey was horrified and trembling. She had a few scratches her arms from trying to pull the beast into combat. She winced as they burned, but she seemed composed. "Did you plan this?" She narrowed her eyes at Tannim, stalking toward him. "She looked like she knew you." She clenched her fists as another surge of pain struck through her arms. "What a mess. Something's off. Terribly off." She looked over at the bodies and then returned her gaze to him. "Are you alright?"

***

Garred watched her. She made his skin crawl. He dug his fingers into his palms and his brow furrowed. The little scene played out in his mind: he pushed her against a tree and kissed her, felt his hands up her sides... He shook his head and took a deep breath, grinning.
"Since I'm never going to see you again, I might as well say it: Stacia, you're damn attractive when you're angry." His eyes were soft and gazed at the ground as he savoured the memory, filed it to remember. "Right. Let's get you out of here." With the same smile, he lead on.

"Why would I want that?" She shot him an exasperated glare. "Faerang is in contract with your king." She lifted her arms and shrugged. "Yes, I'm bleeding. Careful, I might infect you," she sneered, spun on her heel and spilled some of the contents of a surviving vat of beer over the wounds.

***

Garred burned to have her promise him, Never let anyone break your spirit. He looked at her from over his shoulder. "Coming?" He held out his hand, optional.

The woman remained in the shadows as they passed her, thoughtful. Her eyes rested on Stacia's bag that held the Tome. Her brow creased ever so slightly as she realised that there was no way to approach the girl now without causing a row. So, she decided to wait for her to be alone.

"We don't particularly like anybody. You honestly don't think that we'd kill our own men just to scare you, do you?" Uncertain, she added, "Spirits contain alcohol, so I thought it might help."

***

A lump formed in his throat. Her hand felt small in his and the desire to protect her, to be with her, was overwhelming him. He swallowed and gave her a reassuring smile. "For as long as you want me to." His eyes trained on the road before them, his thoughts swimming.