Chapter 21: Burning Questions

Starfall, be still in your passage across the heavens. Moonborne flower, my starfall, I know you hurt. Let my breath be your own, let my voice be your own. Let my body be your own. My spirit, my soul, my protection against the burning darkness around your mind. Let not this infection cloud your mind, but see the heavens for what they are. Each one around you, a glorious constellation that has yet to be realized. Let my words, for I, Vilorlith, will shield you from this, starfall. 

Year of Wrath 1232, Season of life D.68. Neaves

   Neaves sighed, leaning back against the stump in the middle of their camp. While the rest of the caravan had stopped for the night, Asha and Neaves quickly found a spot they could actually sit down at that wasn't just the ground. "Let's stop Asha, these lessons are getting harder." She told her. 

   "But look at how much better you are! Just that right there, it sounds so much more fluid than when we first met." Asha said excitedly. With a mischievous grin, she added. "Not unless you want to teach me more Elder Fae?" 

   Neaves paled at that thought. Asha always asked every question in several different ways, and every lesson always turned into a much bigger lesson that spiraled out of control and scope. Shaking her head, "Tell me about what you used to do in the Song of Bhal before you and Miceal had to leave."

   "But we've been over that story so many times," Asha whined. 

   "I just like the part where you were shirtless when they came knocking at your door." Neaves teased, she liked the way her skin flushed when she was embarrassed, turning to look at Miceal, who was working another repair job for the Caravan. He only rolled his eyes. 

   Without taking his eyes away from the silvery needles flowing in and out of the canvas tarp with far more dexterity than he could have done normally. His arcane needles doing his work with just a faint thought from him. "I've seen more of her than you have; she has a wonderful chest." He said absently. 

   "Miceal!" Asha covered her face with her hands. Just another cute reaction she had whenever Neaves felt like testing the waters, so to speak. 

   "I spoke no lies. But, Neaves, friend. As I have said many times already, she is my wife. I will not share her with you." He didn't even take his eyes off his work as he spoke; he only sounded mildly amused and tired. 

   "I didn't mean to imply," Neaves responded sheepishly. 

   "Yes, you did, you have a taste for women the same as a sailor who has been at sea for too long." It was Neaves's turn to look mildly offended now, until she saw the smirk on his face. 

   "Fine, fine. Asha, if I make you uncomfortable, you could just be direct with me." Turning back to Asha, her furious blush still not having left her face made her heart race just a little. "I've noticed something, though." 

   "What?" Asha said, trying to calm herself down a bit. "What is that?" 

   "I know Micael is a tailor, but you've never said what you used to do before you both fled the Caliphate," Neaves asked, quickly moving the conversation away from the awkward moment she had made, again. 

   "A dishonorable trade for the Calphiti. Unbecoming of a follower of the Great Sun." Asha answered, turning her head away from Neaves. 

   "I don't understand." Neaves began. 

  "She was a healer. Is a healer, a wellspring of life. Fewer still have her ability to heal the sick and injured like her. As much as she might not believe it, she does bring glory to Bhal by doing so." Miceal answered, the echoes of hundreds of past conversations being played in his statement. It gave Neaves the distinct and potent impression that this was a sensitive subject, regardless.

   "It is dishonorable to deny a warrior a rightful death," Asha answered, almost quiet enough that Neaves couldn't hear her. 

   Miceal answered her. "Ah, yes, because the terminally ill, the maimed and broken, the ones who never asked for their fate. Yes, they all wish to die in the name of Bhal." 

   While Neaves wasn't as fluent in the ways humans spoke just yet, even she could hear the vitriol and sarcasm in his words. They hadn't spoken as much about their beliefs as much as she did; she told them much about her own faith, the more literate she became in Common. Asking just as many questions as she had answers, but they had given her very little in the way of return. They always seemed to find something else to talk about when she asked about their own beliefs. "I don't understand. Healers are prized in the Clan. The ability to use the magic of life is rare." 

   Micael finally put his work down, sighing heavily. Shooting a glance at his wife, she pointedly looked away. "Bhal, our god, favors glory and ambition above all other virtues. To earn glory in his name by any means necessary, it matters not how it is accomplished. Only that great feats are done under his banner." 

"The Zybtine Caliphate is far more mercantile than the previous regime." He was interrupted by one of Neaves's many questions when it came to language. 

   "What does regime mean?" 

   He thought for a moment, after having listened to many of their lessons, he had a very good idea of the vocabulary she was learning. "Like how your Mother and Father, the Priestess and Hierophant, enforce the faith. Their methodology, their power structure through the Clan and through the Shrine Guard. That would be a regime. It is how a people is governed, to put it in overly simple terms."

   "Alright, but how does that mean that Asha feels, what, ashamed of being a healer?" Neaves directed her question to both of them. 

   "I deny people their fate," Asha responded despondently.

   There was a long moment where Neaves simply stared at Asha, trying to process that statement. Looking back at Micael, he wore a face that bore the scars of a thousand arguments on the subject. "Deny people their fate?" It wasn't really a question. 

"Yes, denying them the fate of being unable to walk toward the sun. Denying them the chance to earn themselves glory for your god." Asha returned Neaves’s look now, seeing an odd expression on her face. "Seems to me like you give them the opportunity to bask in the glory of the sun. What is the point of strength in a warrior if he's lying dead on the ground? What is the potential of a child wasted while buried in a box underground? Deny them their fate? What an asinine delusion of self-indulgent pity."

She didn't need to see the raised brows on Micael's face to know this wasn't an angle he had ever taken. "Asha, have you ever held a blade? Have you ever been wounded and unable to stand? Have you ever felt the rage of knowing that you don't have the strength to rise again to the defense of those around you?" 

She was on her feet now, a rage she didn't think she could have had. "A healer who pities herself for healing? A healer who thinks that leaving those unable to rise again are not worth saving?" Fire danced across her skin, singeing the hems of the dress she wore. Taking only a single step toward Asha, she felt someone grab her wrist. 

   She felt a pull on her fire, snuffing it out. Whipping her head back, Micael held her wrist tight as her fire soaked into his skin. He held one of his needles, glowing white with heat. In an instant, she understood that he was funneling her fire into the needle, seeing the skin on his fingers blister from the incandescent piece of metal. Suppressing her fire, he dropped the needle to the ground, where is formed a puddle of molten metal.

   He simply looked at his fingers, his face completely smooth. "Asha, would you mind?" He said hoarsely. 

   Asha, to her credit, barely gave Neaves a second glance as she rushed to Micael. The air grew warm as the soft glow from her pressing her lips to his hand filled the small camp. The burned skin sloughed away, the blisters decreasing in size until only the smooth skin remained. Still pink like it had healed from a burn on its own, it stood in stark contrast to his slightly brown tones. Neaves couldn't pull her eyes away from it; the sheer amount of anatomical knowledge to do that, it baffled her. 

   "Asha was one of the most well-known healers in the Song of Bhal." Bending down, he pressed his lips to hers. "A beautiful flower in the middle of the sands of our vast desert. There wasn't much she couldn't have fixed or cured. Even gave a blind man his sight back, once, regrew amputated limbs. You know, the things she says aren't glorious." 

   She spun from his arms with an annoyed look, sitting back to where she had been before with a petulant look on her face. Neaves strode over to Micael looking at his hand, taking his hand in hers. Running her fingers over the new flesh on his hand, wide eyed. Quickly letting go of his and turning away. 

   "You were angry with her, yes. But, you needn't feel bad about me; it was my choice to vent your fire that way." Micael rasped, setting a hand on her shoulder. 

   "But what did you do?" Neaves spun on him, searching his eyes.

   "The fire?" He seemed genuinely confused for a moment before realizing what she was asking. "Ah, well. I wasn't always a tailor. A past I would sooner like to forget." 

   "But my fire shouldn't be so easily snuffed like that." Neaves wouldn't let up on the subject. Striding toward him until her full height exceeded his, while she wasn't particularly tall for a Mistwalker, she was still slightly taller than he. 

   "Fire, heat, light, cold. They all play similar roles; it's a matter of perspective. Strong enough light will dry and burn, but a bright sunny day is pleasantly warm, no? Your fire is light, not quite true fire, but a pure one." She didn't exactly know what to say to that; it echoed with many of the same lessons Mother Afjie had been teaching her. 

   "You are going to tell me what you know of pyromancy later." She said, sitting back down, a newfound respect for the tailor forming in her mind.

   "Well, back to another aspect we haven't exactly been open with you about." Not answering the question, Neaves noted. "Asha and I were going to be conscripted into the military of our homeland. Asha is one of the best in the Caliphate; she would be considered a military asset during times of war." 

   "What would you be?" Neaves pointed out. 

   Asha turned to look at him, while he found something else to keep his attention, turning his own focus back on the canvas he was mending. Needle zipping through the material without any resistance. She wondered where that one came from; she had, after all, just watched the other melt. "A past I would rather forget. Suffice it to say that Asha and I are considered deserters by the Caliphate. When Arbiter Amir was killed in Galus, something snapped in the Sultan. He withdrew from public view for weeks, and when we saw him again." He sighed heavily. 

"Well, he was eager to grease his blade in blood. He put the entire nation under martial law, using the military in ways that we had only ever seen during the Romach." He paused for a long moment.

   Long enough for Asha to finish his thought. "The drums of war thundered across the desert. The glory of Bhal was awoken in the Sultan, and he is seeking retribution. While we can only speculate, we think he might be thinking that Bhal would wish him to capitalize on the flat-footedness of the Federation. He never seemed the type to be happy to see his friends’ deaths as an opportunity to increase his own power. We fled before the military seized us to force us back into service." 

   Neaves noted more than a few things in their explanations. Chief among them was that they both seemed to have a more intimate insight into the situation going on with their homeland than they were letting on. They seemed like they had lived through this before, but the Great War that she had been hearing about had happened a bit over two decades ago. One thing stuck out to her the most. "Back into service." She thought to herself. 

   Standing back up, Neaves stretched her back, the tops of her wings poking out of the dress. The soft fuzz along where her wings connected to her back stuck up in a far more noticeable way. "Asha, I am sorry. For the way I acted, you two seem like you have lived through much. I didn't mean to question your beliefs, or to bring up such a long-term argument between you two." 

    "It's fine," Asha said without adding anything else. 

   "There is a nice outcrop just beyond the tree line, can't see the top without climbing up there, seems to soak in the sun all day though," Micael added without looking up from his work. 

   Neaves mentally wished she could kiss him for that bit of information. Instead, she smiled brightly at him. She had maybe four or five hours before the sun was completely down. Making her way toward the forest, she found the rock he had mentioned quickly. Shrugging out of the dress and bundling it in her arms, she flew up to the top of the rock. Enjoying the sun against her back, the way her wings drank in the sunlight. 

   Landing on the summit, she took a quick glance around. While it was true that someone couldn't have spotted the top without climbing up, that wouldn't stop anyone from seeing a naked Mistwalker with wings of fire and bright crimson hair while she stood tall. Smiling anyway, they would have gotten a nice show if she had remained standing, "Best show of their life." She proudly thought to herself. 

   Lying on her stomach while getting comfortable, she splayed her wings out, lying them flat against the rock. Soaking in the heat from the day already, and funneling that heat into her own fire to heal the deliberate damage she had done to them. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep with that smile still on her face. 

   Her dream started without preamble, almost the second she shut her eyes. A familiar laugh echoed through her mind, Azu. Or was it Syn? She almost couldn't tell them apart now that she knew there were two of them inside the same goddess; still, whatever her Lady was about to show her, she looked forward to the reward. 

   That woman again, the little goblin. She was as beautiful as the last time she saw her, only this time she was wearing significantly less. That is to say, instead of the odd military uniform she last saw her in, she was wearing a thin shirt that exposed her midsection, and a skirt that dragged along the ground. Her braid trailed behind her, almost as if a tail were there instead, as she spun slowly with her arms outstretched. 

   Her green skin wet with the falling rain, a harmonious set of voices coming from her as she sang to the open air. Neaves noted a few things in that moment. The first was that there seemed to be an old man playing some kind of string instrument that she had never seen before, and a trio of other goblins thrumming along on drums to accompany both her voice and the odd string playing. Though the star of this show was the woman herself. 

   The clouds above spun with her rhythm, the rain falling to the beat of the drums. Her voice was everywhere, everything. While it sang no words, she was merely singing what she wanted. A soft crescendo that spun the sky above, thunder sounding off at regular intervals as flashes of light lit the area from the lightning. 

   Palms to the sky, she seemed to be just enjoying the sensation of the rain on her skin. Ears open wide as if she were trying to listen to the entire world around her, with a rising pitch, she opened her eyes as the three voices coming from her were just slightly offset from one another to give the impression of a full trio of other singers mirroring her voice. Popping her hips to the sound of the music around her. 

   She didn't hide much as her clothing clung to her like a second skin, not that Neaves was going to complain about the show even if she could. She strung words into her melody the longer she danced to her own song. "Flickering, the skies dance to the world below." The lightning responded to her command, bolting down to wrap around her fingers. 

"See and hear the call of these unworthy souls, see, hear, and call with me!" She smiled as her eyes seemed to stare right at Neaves. Bobbing her head to the thrumming rhythm, her skin seeming to absorb the lightning she called, like a sailor hearing a siren's call, Neaves was enthralled. Her hair stuck to her face as her braid bounced around her. 

   An opening in the skies cleared like the eye of a hurricane, the wind whipping around her as she continued to spin in place. More bolts of power arced down to crash around her, drowning out what she said next, only the melody of her song being immune to the storm. Her voice was this storm, her voice was the command, the alpha and the omega. She couldn't take her eyes off the woman, Neaves barely perceiving the bells along her skirt. Jingling with each movement of her hips. 

   The longer she watched, she reached out with a scintillating gesture, calling a ball of electricity that appeared in her hand. Letting the ball of lightning fall, Neaves watched as it too danced with her. Pulsing with the song, arcs of power running from it to her. Leaving glass where it struck the ground, as the woman danced around each molten path. The eye of the storm was only growing as her song grew louder. 

   Neaves finally noticed the sky, prying her eyes away from the woman just long enough to see the clearest night sky she had ever been blessed to behold. The stars shining brightly as the constellations began to pulse with her music, the familiar nebulas she had grown up knowing, out of place. Being drawn closer by the goblin woman, "Illy, that is enough!" The old man yelled over the roar of the storm. Their music had stopped, Neaves realized belatedly. 

   But, this woman's, Illy's? She continued to sing, dancing to a rhythm only she could hear. The ball of power soaking into her skin as the rain turned to snow. The clouds above fading away as the wind began to die down. Eventually, as Neaves's own enthrallment began to diminish, she watched Illy close her eyes again. The small music troupe ducked behind cover as they prepared for something that was apparently coming. 

   With a blinding light, the world went silent, moments later after Neaves's vision began to return, she saw something she had difficulty putting to words. All around that woman were arcing bolts of power, a sultry grin on her face as she looked right at her once more. Each electric blue bolt grounding themselves from her to the earth, her voice finally having gone quiet. As if the world itself was waiting for an encore, but denied one, the sound of the world came back. 

   The wind, the birds in the trees, the sound of fire starting to ignite the grass around her. With a deep breath and a soft hum, the fires around her grew still. She pulled the air away from the fire, snuffing them all out. "What the fuck was that!" It was the old man's voice again, "Do you realize how reckless that was, girl?" 

   Her voice was like music to the world, soft and sonorous. "I'm sorry, it was just so intoxicating." 

   Neaves's eyes snapped open, sitting up slowly, she checked her wings. They had fully healed from her crumpling them again, and the fires that danced across them made her smile. She had just begun to walk when she felt something on her thighs, looking down, she blushed furiously. "Well, that's embarrassing. I haven't had a dream like that in a while, huh?"

"Well, cleaning this up with the dress is out of the question." Neaves thought to herself. "Would never hear the end of it from Micael." Shaking her head, she flew back down to the bottom of the rock. Slipping the dress back over her head, taking the time to kill the fire in her wings. Taking even more time to put her wings away in a way that didn't feel awkward. 

   Walking back to the caravan as the sun began to sink low over the horizon. The smell of cooking food filled the air, and her stomach growled like it hadn't just been fed once already today. Micael spotted her right away and burst out laughing. Asha only took one look at her and turned away just as quickly. She left, going toward her and Micael's tent. 

   "What?" Neaves asked, not quite understanding. 

   "Did you enjoy your, ahem, nap?" He asked as he ladled a bowl of stew for her. Several of the other caravan members were also giving her amused looks. "Did you perhaps spend this nap with someone?"

   Someone handed her a mirror, and another one of the women came up to her and started correcting her dress. Finally, understanding dawned on her. Only blushing slightly, she thanked Micael going to sit by herself just outside the light of the campfires. Asha joined her not long after. 

   "Please tell me he was at least handsome." Asha laughed as she began brushing Neaves's hair for her while she ate. 

   "It was just a very enjoyable nap in the sun," Neaves answered without looking at her. 

   "Mhmm. I bet your fingers got the job done wonderfully." Neaves just stared at her; it wasn't like her to make crass jokes like that, at least until she saw that grin plastered on her face. 

   "Seems like you and Micael share a sense of humor at times." Setting her empty bowl down, she got up and wandered toward her tent. 

   "Where are you going? I was hoping to learn a bit more about your language tonight!" Asha called back to her. 

   "To finish my dream the way I wanted it to end," Neaves called back. 

   Neaves spent the next few days awkwardly avoiding the gazes of the caravan as they got moving again toward the west. They were moving slowly enough for her to carry baskets full of foraged plants to bring back to the mess cart. Baskets full of flowering dandelions, burdock, and a few other plants could add to just about anything. She was overjoyed when the caravan crossed over a hill to reveal a field of poppy flowers. She took a bucket from one of the carts and began spending the next hour filling it with the seeds. 

   Sowing the meadow with handfuls to ensure the field would still be there next year, but still finding enough to bring a smile to the cook's face. While Sid was the only official cook for the caravan owner, they had numerous other cooks as well, from the refugees that accompanied them. Neaves and her party included. 

   She traded the bucket for a pound of dried meat from Sid. She had made herself uncharacteristically scarce around Micael and Asha the last few days. She wasn't used to being embarrassed by them like that; she was still trying to figure out how to talk to them about it in a way that wouldn't come across as hostile toward them. As it would seem, fate decided that for her. 

   "Neaves!" It was another of the caravan workers, whose name she had forgotten just as soon as they had told her. "Can you help Micael with taking down one of the canvas tarps this evening? The Merchant noticed a tear in it during the last gust of wind." 

   "I can do that." She answered, but even as she said it, she heard the call from the lead driver. It was time to start to settle in for the night despite the sun still being hours from setting. The driver had pulled off the main road to form a circle with the other four wagons. The caravan worker dragged her along to find Micael. 

   Asha was in the middle of treating another worker who had managed to get a long gash along their arm. Bandaging the wound up, she set a hand on the injury and whispered something as a soft glow came from between her fingers. Micael turned toward the two when the worker called his name. Explaining quickly what was needed, he pointed to the wagon that needed attention. 

   As Neaves and Micael walked over to it, he spoke first. "I didn't realize you would have been so flustered over that teasing. You just didn't seem the type, given your disposition. I am sorry for my behavior." 

She didn't know how to respond to it, so her training kicked in like an old wound. She stayed silent. As she climbed up to the struts holding the wagon's top together, she began undoing the knots holding it down. Micael climbed up the side opposite, mirroring her movements. "I understand that we have offended you; you don't have to forgive us." 

   She sighed. "It isn't that, I just don't know how to respond. Being asked for forgiveness was never something I was trained for." Asha's grammar lessons were being put to good use now. 

   "I don't understand, friend," Micael said with a confused look across his face. His hands moved far quicker than hers, already pulling up the canvas from his side and moving to her side to help her. 

   "Forgiveness," She searched her lessons looking for the words that Asha had given her. "Isn't something I know what to do with. I was trained as a servant, not something to be apologized to." 

   They both descended from the wagon, but she didn't particularly understand the expression in his eyes. She wondered if it was a human emotion that she might not have. By the time they reached their spot in the caravan camp, Micael already had his needle working the canvas, the glint of the sunlight off it as it stitched the piece back together with his mind. "Come, sit. I think I have questions for you, Neaves." 

   Asha noted the slightly somber tone in his voice. While she finished patching up her patient, the fact that she was working as a healer for the caravan wasn't missed in the wake of their previous conversation. The merchant was overjoyed to hear that she was a skilled doctor and surgeon, as well as having an aptitude for the magic of life. He even paid her whenever the patient she worked on was one of his own workers, the fellow refugees she tried to tell that she needed no recompense. They gave what they could. 

   "Neaves, what did you mean by raised as a servant? You have told us of your people's faith and the history, but you have conveniently left out any mention of your place in your own culture. Were you a slave?" Micael asked without looking away from his needle. Neaves, out of the corner of her eye, noticed Asha stiffen. 

   It was a long moment before she answered. "I am an Ember. My wings were torn by my parents during my Kiss of Sunlight; it was an accident, I was told. My baptism of light. But they were exiled for destroying my connection to Azu by defiling my wings. I was given to Mother Afjie to raise as an Ember. A flame to never catch light, a child cast aside by the goddess." 

   Memories of her childhood flashed by her eyes, the good, the bad, especially the bad. She remembered the bruises, the cuts, the vileness of children parroting their parents' virtues. She remembered the burns she gave them, the Mother and Hierophant having to step in on their behalf. The jeers, the mocking, the challenges, the hatred in the eyes of those she was sworn to protect. She shivered at the memories, flinching when Asha set a hand on her shoulder. 

   She continued anyway without needing to be prompted, her training taking hold, suppressing the emotions without her meaning to. The concerned look in Micael's eyes was well missed by her. "I am, was, a member of the Shrine Guard. We protected the Shrine, our home, from outside forces. Our hands were the blades of the Clan, our voices were the will of the Clan, our actions were decided by them." 

   Micael's needle moved in a rhythm that worked to the beat of its own drum, working far faster than any human hand could have managed. Asha sat next to her, resting a hand on Neaves's leg. "We never had a choice, trained to suppress the fire in our eyes, trained to vent them at our enemies. Don't show emotion; it is only a weakness they could exploit, don't give them the satisfaction." Even as she said it, she had to keep her wings from burning; it would only ruin the dress or outright destroy it. 

"Mother and Father did their best, we all did. We tried to slowly change the minds of the Clan, that our wings were not broken, only damaged. That our faithfulness was more than theirs, but no matter how long the forests burn, the ground remains."

They were silent for a time, the sound of the caravan all around them. The soft swish of Micael's needle moving in and out of the material. She sat up straighter, her former fire in her eyes once more. "Besides, I don't know how I feel about the clan any longer. Azu visited me several times before I left, and once more when I had left before meeting you two." 

Neaves opened her hands, staring at them for a moment. Noting the calluses, the rough skin on the backs of her hands from the years of heat exposure. A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she answered. "Our wings, the source of our own misery. Broken! Syn had told me that we needed to damage our wings to grow stronger. It makes so much sense in past sight."

She wasn't entirely sure she was using the term right, but continued anyway. "It would explain why we, the Shrine Guard, were always more powerful than anyone else in the clan." 

   "Bittersweet, isn't it?" Micael said somberly. 

   "What?" Neaves responded, flicking her eyes between Asha and him. 

   "To know the collar around your neck is there, to see the chain in the hand that holds it. It's familiar, no? What you've lost, the freedom you have gained. You are lost, happy that the collar is gone, yet still looking for the chain." He said that commentary even got a few looks from those walking past us. 

   "How would you know?" Neaves didn't know why she was being petulant. Was it Micael saying she missed her own suppression in the clan? Was he saying that she was homesick? Was he saying that she didn't know that her own faith was the thing that held her down for so long?

   He sighed before answering, "Because that was the way I felt." 

   That statement caused Asha to rise and sit next to her husband. Neaves began to wonder just what his past held, that he found something so similar in her own situation that he could say that? "I don't understand." Neaves said slowly. 

   "A story for another time. Just know that I know." 

   "You said a name I didn't know. Syn. Who is that?" Asha asked, completely redirecting the conversation. 

    It was such a sudden turn that Neaves didn't particularly know how to answer right away. Leaning her back against the side of the wagon, she breathed in slowly, controlling the flames in her wings; her dress was just beginning to smell like hot cloth. "Syn is another name we use for Azu, the Ascendant Butterfly. It was only recently that I found out that they were, sorry, are two different things." 

   "What do you mean? Azu to us is the goddess of sun and moon, an endless search, the goddess of love and beauty." Asha answered quickly. 

   The memory of Syn filled her mind, made of pure sunlight, stumps for wings as if something had chewed them off. But, even then, she stood in such stark contrast to Azu, who looked like a shadow of her. The only thing radiant about Azu was her wings, the same sunlight that made up Syn. She shivered at that implication, refusing to think about it. 

   She was simply the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, like every golden sunrise that the universe had ever created, existing in a single moment. Azu, now that she had the chance to meet the real Azu for the first time, seemed wrong. Where Syn radiated comfort and strength, while attractive, Azu seemed entirely made for the carnal side of attraction, like she was nothing but raw sex appeal. She tried and failed to suppress another shiver from the predatory look in Azu's eyes. 

   The two noticed her reactions, looking at her in a curious way that she didn't understand. "Syn and Azu are the same person, well, at least they share the same body anyway." 

   "What an odd custom, that certainly is a unique take on the goddess," Asha said brightly. "Well, it's time I should go look at my patients once more. I'll leave you to your work, love." Sitting up, she gave Micael a quick kiss on the cheek. 

   When Asha turned back to Neaves, she was already gone. A quick word with her husband offered her no explanation; he only continued with his needle, moving far faster than she had seen him in a while. "Pushing his limits again," She thought. 

   Neaves wandered the sparse woods around the area, picking out various plants and quickly testing them. A few baskets already full, her fourth still clutched in her hand, looking down at a patch of what smelled like mint. While she was happy to see that Asha had started using her arts again, despite the reservation clear in her eyes, she would think that not poisoning the rest of the Caravan with misidentified plants would be appreciated. 

   She had taken to the Caravan quickly, while Asha and Micael were slightly more reserved about the whole thing. Micael had spotted the Merchant from a distance that even Neaves was impressed by, quickly explaining to Neaves that fleeing a country with a larger group was a slightly better option. Easier to blend in, easier to get through border posts with official paperwork behind them. She still remembered the smile on Micael's face when he found out that it was a merchant with some diplomatic weight. He hired them as workers, ostensibly, despite the several other refugees also in his "employ". 

   Micael quickly made himself an asset as the tailor, able to fix the wagons as needed, as well as a small benefit of being able to repair the boots of the workers. When Neaves offered to forage for them, the merchant told her that he would need to see the quality of her ability before agreeing to the same terms he gave Micael. The mint had lobed and toothy leaves, not exactly what she was looking for. It certainly wasn't spearmint. 

   When she came back with enough food to sustain the caravan for a week in only a few hours, the merchant had the cook go over them all. As well as his own guards inspecting the plants for correct identification, he was impressed enough that he offered her a cover story as well. Her red eyes were too much of a giveaway; the merchant had never seen her wings, nor her ability to use magic. He offered to forge documents of a passport from Fuhjimi as long as each day she brought back enough to make him a small profit to sell once they reached Galus. 

   Since then, she had focused more on finding spices and medicinal plants rather than food. The mint had a slight sage smell the longer she spent identifying it. It wasn't the right color either; the stem was closer to white than green, though the leaves were correct. Oracle mint. She knew it was useful for treating fevers and infection, but it caused vivid hallucinations. 

   She picked as much as she possibly could, filling two more baskets with the mint. When she finally made it back to the Caravan before sundown, the merchant was sorting through her haul. "What is this?" He held up the mint. His accent was odd, lilting in a pleasant way; he sounded like a guitar in the middle of making love with its musician. Well, it sounded that way if Neaves's own opinion counted for anything. 

   She put a hand on his wrist as he brought it up to his lips. Shaking her head, she searched for the words. "Medicine treats fever and infection. But." With a finger to her lip, she couldn't think of the word for the side effects, opting to see if her own language would convey the message. "Hal'cians."

   "I don't know that word. I don't think I even recognize the language. But, if it's medicine, how potent is it when it's dried?" He asked. 

   She thought for a moment once more. "Strong, preferred method. Dried stored in smoke." 

   "What is it called? Medicine is always something smaller towns need." He stood back up, giving a quick order to one of the workers to begin drying the herb with an impromptu smokehouse.

"Oracle T'jy," She answered. 

   "Oracle," He chewed the word, "You said it had side effects, and stopped me from tasting it. Is it hallucinogenic? Psychotropic? Psychedelic?" But those words only made her look confused. He laughed as he simplified it into easier, broader words. "Bad dreams or visions?" 

   "Both." His smile only broadened, looking back down at the other things. He already recognized the handful of saffron, the basket of vanilla flower, regular mint, sage, and mustard grass. He handed her a leather-bound booklet with a few sheets of paper in it. Opening it, she only understood a few words: passport, Island, and Fuhijimi. An ornate seal and various other identifiers were also on the papers. 

   Smiling, he offered a hand to her. She took it by the wrist; he returned the gesture. His eyes looked her up and down, and when his met hers again, she left no subtle hint that she had just appraised him as well. "I think you will be a valuable asset to the Caravan, Miss Neaves." 

   The next morning, she was unceremoniously woken up by Micael flipping her tent flap open. His hand on his face, he spoke. "Neaves, you need to start wearing clothes when you sleep. What if we need to move quickly? What if another man walked in on you?" 

   Stretching, wiggling her assets at him, she just wished he wasn't so stoic. He never gave her any reaction beyond what he just gave her; the only time he had given much else was when she first met him and Asha. Bending over in front of him to retrieve one of the dresses, she complained. "I don't like wearing them; they make my wings so stiff at the end of the day."

   "You and I both know that isn't a good idea," Micael said, crossing his arms. 

   "You sure do like to look at me when I'm disrobed, however." She turned back to him, still not putting her clothes on, and she waggled her eyebrows at him with more than clear implications.

   He ran a hand over his face, the tired look on his face killing the mood. "Neaves, I am married. Yes, you are very pretty. While I may be considered liberal amongst my peers, you are also not human. I will not break my vows with Asha for a passing moment of pleasure, no, my beliefs in Bhal's teachings." 

   Nonplused, she stared at him, noting the look in his eyes as she pulled the dress over her head and let it fall on her shoulders. Turning her back to him, she said. "Would you mind helping with my wings?"

   She felt him shift the cloth over her wings as she adjusted the hem so it didn't drag on the floor. "Does me being a different species bother people that much?"

   His hands paused for a moment before he finished helping her. "To the vast majority, yes. I would say I do not harbor such feelings, but it would be a lie. I enjoy your company, your personality, and you are physically attractive." 

   "But, I am not human." She finished for him. 

   He made an uncomfortable noise in his throat before speaking again. "You should still start wearing some kind of sleepwear, even if it is that skirt and wrap you told us about before. I won't touch you, not without your permission to do so. But, the other young men in this world?" 

   "Are you claiming to be a young man?" Neaves grinned back at him, "I always liked an older man."

   He rolled his eyes, "I just worry about you. Asha worries more." 

   She turned before he could react and pressed her lips to his cheek. While he reeled back a little, she spoke. "I appreciate your concern, I really do. But, the last time a man laid a finger on me without my permission, he left less of a man than before." 

   The motion she made, tossing something imaginary to the ground, left surprisingly little amount to the imagination to fill in the gaps. Micael responded with a laugh, though a touch of genuine fear in his voice as well.

   Asha listened to the two banter while she read the already well-worn copy of a newspaper that they had picked up when they passed the last town. Dated a week ago, she read with wrapped interest. "The airship that was destroyed by a Mistwalker is still under investigation. Though this Mistwalker was sighted using a few attacks that have been widely reported by travelers in the Valley of Mists. The general population has been ablaze with rumors and conjecture that The Witch of Ash has taken up arms against Huron. While it is suspected that the Witch may be involved, no official reports have been given to the public. 

   A general order from the City Watch has been given by the High Marshall to detain any Mistwalkers that are found outside the Valley. Talks of sending a delegation to speak with the Clan have been put out for public opinion. Though that seems to be only a first step, as more attention has been given to seizing the Valley to ally with, or neutralize a potential threat to the Huronian defenses. Public opinion has been moving toward a less than tolerant attitude as the war has begun ramping up, the loss of the airship has..." 

   Asha stopped reading when Neaves and her husband returned. Neaves paused when she saw the look in her eyes.