n_wilkinson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
n_wilkinson) wrote2013-03-02 05:24 pm
n_wilkinson) wrote2013-03-02 05:24 pm
Entry tags:
[Infinity's End] Whispers of Yesterday - Ch 20
a/n: A shorter chapter. I hope to expand it in the rewrites. Enjoy!
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
------------------------------------
Chapter Twenty
-----------------------------
It was close to midnight by the time Gale stumbled into Edgewater, soaked with sweat and the smell of smoke. His hand tightly clasped on Naomi’s as Xavier slept without worry in Antoinette’s arms.
Edgewater, for all intents and purposes, looked peaceful with no sign that it now housed hundreds of refugees. Which made sense. Paragon’s plan was to send the non-combatant residents here. The fighters and those in command were due to report to another village, nearby but still separate.
Gale would head for there as soon as he got Antoinette and the little ones settled.
Their arrival was noted immediately. No doubt several watchers had been set in place after the first influx of refugees.
“Master Arlen!” A woman breathed as they approached, effecting a shallow bow before taking in the sight of the children and women with him. “It is wonderful to see you well.”
Gale didn’t bother correcting her. Formality had been so ingrained in the so-called lower class that it was a hard habit to break. Fear of retribution still lingered. And to be honest, Gale preferred they cling to the dying practice a little longer, at least until Grayshire had been destroyed for good. He’d rather not see any lives suffer meaninglessly.
“Their invasion was poorly executed,” Gale commented, and gestured Antoinette ahead of him, the poor woman looking both frazzled and exhausted. Worry pinched the lines in her forehead, making her appear even more aged.
“I’m not surprised,” the woman said as she crouched in front of Naomi, looking the young girl over. “They probably thought it would be a waste of time to bother with planning. Hello, dear. What’s your name?”
As Naomi divulged, friendly to the last, Gale allowed himself a quick breath of relief. Antoinette and the children would be in good hands. Now Gale just needed to join up with Azriel and the others, find Sabriel, and hopefully, reunite with Ione. The jittery feeling wouldn’t leave him until he could be certain she was alive and well.
Gale turned, staring into the dark, shadowy forest.
“Master Arlen?”
“I’ll send Sabriel here as soon as I find him,” Gale said, in answer to Antoinette’s brief inquiry. “Even if I have to drag the moron back by his ears.”
Antoinette sighed softly. “Thank you.”
He didn’t need or deserve her thanks, but Gale said neither. He simply inclined his head and stepped back into the shadowy embrace of the forest. It felt colder here, the damp chill of the air clinging to his skin. The sky was clouded; the air tasted of sulfur. It was going to rain, and soon. Gale would relish in it.
The rain would fall over what of Paragon was burning, would put out the fires, wash away scents. It would make it difficult for Grayshire to track the fleeing rebels. Still, Gale couldn’t help but wonder and worry how many of them had been taken. How many had been killed. How many had they lost?
He wanted to be angry. That fury he had felt when Ione was poisoned, one that promised he would raze Grayshire to the ground… Gale wanted to experience that again. But instead, he felt numb to the core. Too furious to be angry, if that even made sense. He couldn’t be surprised. This was war. They had expected it might happen some day. They just didn’t know it would be so soon.
Gale fought back a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, which was probably so covered in soot and blood and dirt that it scarcely resembled its pale shade anymore. He wanted a bath. He wanted a warm bed and to curl up next to Ione and just sleep. It was a bit like ducking his head in the ground after the storm had passed, but it was what Gale wanted.
“I’m sure they are fine,” Inari said from where she was trotting tiredly at Gale’s feet, her snow-white fur a dingy grey from the smoke.
Gale paused, stooping to scoop the tired fox into his arms. She all put purred as she nuzzled against his clothes, which surely must have offended her sensitive nose.
“Honestly, I wasn’t actually worried about Ione,” Gale admitted, which was new to him. It was strange. He felt so confident in her abilities that he hadn’t even thought to arrive in Woodlawn and not see her there. He fully expected her to have made it.
Well, that was new.
Quetz, languid with fatigue, made a hissing noise that Gale knew to be a chuckle. “Finally starting to see it, Gale, dear?”
“Oh, be quiet you,” Gale retorted, knowing that Quetz only wanted to hear him admit that he had been wrong.
Quetz cuddled up next to him, her scales cool against his skin. “It's not unlike watching one's youngling grow up? Right, Inari?”
As the fox purred in agreement, Gale rolled his eyes, warmed to the core. If nothing else, he had his girls, and that was cause for a measure of relief. It remained to be seen, however, what he would find in Marietta.
For all that it was meant to be their rendezvous, the place where the higher echelon of Paragon would regroup, Marietta wasn't hidden. No larger or smaller than any of the other villages, it was nestled in a serene corner of Talemar, at the branching of Talemar's Eastway river into the faster, strong Lynx and the broader, sluggish Toise. There were perhaps fifty structures in all – homes, buildings, and businesses – clustered on the rivers' banks, with bridges scattered everywhere connecting the three sections of Marietta.
On the outside, it looked innocent. Marietta was notoriously neutral in the ongoing feud between the nobles of Grayshire and the rebels of Theravada. No one, not even Wyndham himself, could have guessed that Marietta actually housed Theraveda's backup plan.
It was approaching two in the morning when Gale arrived, more a consequence of his wariness and caution than a result of the length of the trip. He would have been quicker if he hadn't taken the time to watch his step and conceal his movements and aether. He couldn't chance anyone from Grayshire discovering and following him. Marietta was the only refuge that was left for them, save the unsavory option of venturing beyond Talemar's orders into land unknown.
Between the banks of Eastway and Toise were most of Marietta's businesses and Gale headed for one in particular. It was a smithery, owned by one Oleander Havern, a cousin to Talya. If Grayshire knew of such a connection, perhaps then they would become suspicious of Marietta, but it was a familial relation so distant that only Talya and Oleander knew of it. Besides, it wasn't the smithery that was important, but the tunnel beneath it, that led to the underground caverns of Paragon's hideaway – the Catacombs as some of the more imaginative members of the rebellion had taken to calling it.
Gale thought it a fitting epithet.
This late – or early depending on how one viewed the time – Marietta was silent and still, with no sign of the dozens of refugees surely streaming into the town. Gale's only clue that other members of Paragon had already arrived was that the small side door into the smithery was unlocked. He let himself into the dark smithery, skirting around the forge with whispered directions from Inari, whose eyes were more accustomed to the dark than Gale's own. He racked his brain, trying to remember where the entrance had been hidden.
“Lord Arlen?”
If he hadn't recognized the voice, Gale would have surely started. He peered through the darkness, turning toward the query. “Siobhan?”
A snick echoed in the darkness, a small lamp coming alive and chasing away the shadows, outlining Siobhan where she sat perched on a crate, looking ragged and worn but very much alive. “You're the last to arrive,” Siobhan said, or whispered more like. She sounded hoarse, as though she'd spent the night screaming.
Gale hadn't realized he'd lagged so far behind. “Did everyone make it?” he asked as he fell into step beside her, Siobhan leading him around the stacks of supplies and the equipment necessary for blacksmithing.
Siobhan's eyes darkened, her face troubled. “Grayshire's attack was unexpected, swift, and massive,” she said, and chewed on her bottom lip. She drew to a halt beside the anvil, watching him closely. “Talya was killed.”
Gale hid his reaction by focusing on moving the anvil aside, lifting the lining beneath it and revealing the hidden trap door. Inside, he was seething with anger, intermingled with grief.
“How?” he asked, trying to sound composed as he lifted the wooden hatch, the upper edges of a ladder visible.
She shifted, her own grief palpable. “We're not sure. I suspect Lord Hadley will explain things tomorrow. He wanted to give everyone a chance to heal and regroup before he called for any sort of meeting.”
Gale nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said quietly, and took the lamp from her, gesturing that she should precede him. He tucked Inari into his robes so that the vixen wouldn't have to attempt climbing the ladder.
Siobhan moved past him, gingerly grabbing hold of the ladder and climbing down. She paused briefly, thoughtful. “At least something does,” she murmured, and then continued.
Gale had to agree. Fatigue was drawing down on him, pressing spindly fingers into his muscles and causing his eyelids to droop. The smell of blood and smoke had soaked into his clothes; he could feel it wafting around him.
He waited until Siobhan hit the bottom, grabbing another lamp and lighting it with a snap of her fingers before Gale blew out the wick of the one he carried and set it off to the side. He, too, climbed down, pausing long enough to close the trap door above him. He assumed that someone would come along after him and return the anvil to its rightful place. Oleander, most likely, or one of her sons.
Of course, Azriel was not so stupid as to have no other means of protecting Theravada's hideaway. The tunnel directly beneath Oleander's smithery was not a staright path to the Catacombs. Instead, there was an entire labyrinth of narrow corridors that branched and joined together in a seemingly random pattern. It was not so simple as following the tunnel that sloped downward or taking the right-hand wall. One could easily become lost here.
Gale, however, trusted Siobhan to lead him. Down here, beneath the surface, Gale's own instincts were muted. He felt disoriented, here in the dark in a tunnel that smelled so strongly of earth and vegetation, even if the hewn walls were reinforced by magic. A part of him would always be uncertain with the knowledge of hundreds of pounds of dirt serving as their ceiling. It just didn't feel as stable as the solid rock walls of Paragon. Especially since Gale could press his fingers to the softly crumbling earth and feel the power of the rushing rivers on the other side of the walls. He trusted in the magic of his fellow Theravada, those that had helped construct the Catacombs, but here would always be a part of him that would be uneasy.
“You didn't come to harm, I hope,” Gale said, his voice echoing softly in the dark tunnel.
Siobhan shook her head, offering him a small smile, a mere turn of her lips. “No. When they attacked, I was already on the lower levels. I was one of the first ones out.”
A relief. Grayshire had already done too much harm to Siobhan. Gale didn't need any more reason to despise what the noble-led city had become.
He folded his arms into his sleeves, intently absorbing the soft sounds of their footsteps and that of Inari padding alongside him. “I'm glad to hear it.”
Many twists and turns, that Gale knew he would have to memorize at some point, later and they stepped through a warded tunnel and into another, one that was actually lit by torches in staggered intervals. Their light had not been visible until he and Siobhan passed through Kieran's barrier, one keyed to certain members of Paragon alone and similar to the one he'd used at
Paragon. To an enemy, it would have just appeared as a dead end.
The Catacombs was neither as elegant nor as well-stocked as Paragon had been. It was nothing like a home. It was a honeycomb of sorts, of rooms connected by tunnels, all designed with space conservation in mind. Privacy was rare, if it existed, with no more private rooms for separate members There were two large rooms stocked with beds for sleeping, another cavern connected to an underground river for bathing, and a combined eating/common space as well. There were a few smaller storage rooms as well where the Theravada stocked supplies, but otherwise, it was cramped and confined.
No one had ever expected a need to use it. They had believed themselves well protected in Paragon.
How foolish they had been.
Siobhan turned in the middle of the main hallway, sharing another tired, half-smile with Gale before she dipped her head in a shallow bow. “Lord Hadley and Master Kieran are in the common room, last I checked, and I think Ione is in the second bunk, but I can't be certain. Good night, Lord Arlen.”
“Goodnight,” he said, and watched as she blew out her lamp, set it aside on one of the many crates that lined the hallway, and made a beeline for the door to the first bunk. On her feet, she wavered with fatigue.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Gale was immediately surrounded by silence. The Catacombs resembled nothing of the hustle and bustle of Paragon in motion. The whole rhythm was off and Gale didn't like it. This place didn't feel like home, as Paragon had become to him. It felt too much like starting all over again, fleeing from Grayshire and stumbling into the wilderness, hoping to find refuge with a bleeding Sabriel at his side and a determination to do something. It felt like starting over.
Once again, Grayshire had stolen his security.
Gale's lips thinned, hands clenching where they were tucked into his sleeves. At his feet, Inari bumped against his calves like a cat seeking affection. “Are you going to find Azriel first?”
He shook his head, turning toward the second bunk. He trusted Siobhan's memory to be accurate. “No. I think he has the right idea. Sleep now. Regroup tomorrow.”
Certainly, his brain didn't feel like trying to focus on anything else.
Luckily, his girls were willing to agree with him.
Gale stepped into the second bunk with shallow breath, blinking into the dim. A few small, glowing lights hovered near the ceiling – Kieran's creation or magic Gale didn't know – and provided a soft illumination that didn't disturb those sleeping but would also keep Gale from tripping over anything. True to form, the bunk was little more than a rectangular room lined with beds, nearly all of them occupied with sleeping forms. Gale recognized Malcolm, sprawled out over a bunk and claiming every available inch. He recognized Grayson as well, tucked on his stomach with blanket wound around him, tight enough to be a problem come morning time. More amusing was the fact that Bastet was curled up in the middle of his back, seemingly comfortable despite the awkwardness of the position.
And tucked into a corner, between a wall and Malcolm's bunk, was Ione, curled on her side with room left on the other half of the bed in obvious invitation. She'd kicked off nearly all the blankets, until they hung down the end of the bunk, draping over Fenris who lay curled up there like a devoted pet. The small measure of concern that had threaded through Gale instantly melted away. She didn't appear injured, he commented to himself as he stepped whisper-quiet across the floor, shedding his outer robe as he did so. He couldn't sleep in the heavy fabric.
Inari moved on ahead of him, nosing Ione's fallen blankets aside to curl up next to the sleeping wolf. Fenris stirred briefly, only golden eye slitting open in curiosity, and settled when he recognized Inari. Gale tilted his head to the side in curiosity himself. When had they become so close, he wondered, but then pushed that thought to the side. Sleep now, questions later.
Gale carefully reached down, tugging the fallen blankets up so that Ione was once more covered, and leaving himself enough space to crawl beneath them as well. He tried his best not to wake Ione, but she woke anyway, a small murmur leaving her lips as she turned toward him. Her eyes were dark brown in the dim light, glazed with sleepiness.
“Gale?” she murmured, reaching out for him with one hand. This close, he noticed the healing gash on her cheek, and the bruise growing around it.
His fingers stroked the cut, which seemed to be the worst of her injuries at first glance. “Yes, it's me.”
She smiled sleepily. “I knew that,” Ione retorted, and scooted over another half foot. “Come on. It's late.”
Ione was the very definition of uncomplicated, Gale mused to himself, doing as she commanded and sliding into the bunk that was warm with Ione's body heat. She didn't fawn over him with concern, or demand answers, or force any kind of explanation. She trusted him as much as he trusted her, which was still a dawning revelation. He didn't need to protect her; he just wanted to.
Her hand curled around his face, dragging him close for a lazy, soft kiss that spoke volumes without saying anything at all. Her lips moved against his gently before she drew away, without ever introducing her tongue.
“You smell like smoke,” she said quietly, and for once, snuggled against him. Gale knew that she wasn't the sort to sleep pressed together; Ione hated being hot.
“So do you,” Gale said, and chuckled lightly as he reached out, attempting to adjust the blanket over both of them and giving up when he realized it wouldn't settle the way he wanted it to unless he got up completely and started over. Gale was too tired to do such a thing.
Ione said nothing in return, just breathed softly with every intention of returning to sleep. An easy task since she had never fully wakened in the first place.
Gale curled one arm over her, his hand shifting up to tangle in the loose length of her hair, letting the softness of it drift through his fingers. He breathed – in and out – and felt the last of the day's tension run out of him. Tomorrow... tomorrow they would have to face the repercussions of Grayshire's attack and try to rebuild what they had left of the Theravada. But for right now, Gale could curl up next to his lover, breathe, and get a little rest in the process.
He thought it was high time he was due such a moment.
***
a/n: One more chapter to go, making room for me to get my aft started on Nycthemeron.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated! :)
Title: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
Chapter Twenty
-----------------------------
It was close to midnight by the time Gale stumbled into Edgewater, soaked with sweat and the smell of smoke. His hand tightly clasped on Naomi’s as Xavier slept without worry in Antoinette’s arms.
Edgewater, for all intents and purposes, looked peaceful with no sign that it now housed hundreds of refugees. Which made sense. Paragon’s plan was to send the non-combatant residents here. The fighters and those in command were due to report to another village, nearby but still separate.
Gale would head for there as soon as he got Antoinette and the little ones settled.
Their arrival was noted immediately. No doubt several watchers had been set in place after the first influx of refugees.
“Master Arlen!” A woman breathed as they approached, effecting a shallow bow before taking in the sight of the children and women with him. “It is wonderful to see you well.”
Gale didn’t bother correcting her. Formality had been so ingrained in the so-called lower class that it was a hard habit to break. Fear of retribution still lingered. And to be honest, Gale preferred they cling to the dying practice a little longer, at least until Grayshire had been destroyed for good. He’d rather not see any lives suffer meaninglessly.
“Their invasion was poorly executed,” Gale commented, and gestured Antoinette ahead of him, the poor woman looking both frazzled and exhausted. Worry pinched the lines in her forehead, making her appear even more aged.
“I’m not surprised,” the woman said as she crouched in front of Naomi, looking the young girl over. “They probably thought it would be a waste of time to bother with planning. Hello, dear. What’s your name?”
As Naomi divulged, friendly to the last, Gale allowed himself a quick breath of relief. Antoinette and the children would be in good hands. Now Gale just needed to join up with Azriel and the others, find Sabriel, and hopefully, reunite with Ione. The jittery feeling wouldn’t leave him until he could be certain she was alive and well.
Gale turned, staring into the dark, shadowy forest.
“Master Arlen?”
“I’ll send Sabriel here as soon as I find him,” Gale said, in answer to Antoinette’s brief inquiry. “Even if I have to drag the moron back by his ears.”
Antoinette sighed softly. “Thank you.”
He didn’t need or deserve her thanks, but Gale said neither. He simply inclined his head and stepped back into the shadowy embrace of the forest. It felt colder here, the damp chill of the air clinging to his skin. The sky was clouded; the air tasted of sulfur. It was going to rain, and soon. Gale would relish in it.
The rain would fall over what of Paragon was burning, would put out the fires, wash away scents. It would make it difficult for Grayshire to track the fleeing rebels. Still, Gale couldn’t help but wonder and worry how many of them had been taken. How many had been killed. How many had they lost?
He wanted to be angry. That fury he had felt when Ione was poisoned, one that promised he would raze Grayshire to the ground… Gale wanted to experience that again. But instead, he felt numb to the core. Too furious to be angry, if that even made sense. He couldn’t be surprised. This was war. They had expected it might happen some day. They just didn’t know it would be so soon.
Gale fought back a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, which was probably so covered in soot and blood and dirt that it scarcely resembled its pale shade anymore. He wanted a bath. He wanted a warm bed and to curl up next to Ione and just sleep. It was a bit like ducking his head in the ground after the storm had passed, but it was what Gale wanted.
“I’m sure they are fine,” Inari said from where she was trotting tiredly at Gale’s feet, her snow-white fur a dingy grey from the smoke.
Gale paused, stooping to scoop the tired fox into his arms. She all put purred as she nuzzled against his clothes, which surely must have offended her sensitive nose.
“Honestly, I wasn’t actually worried about Ione,” Gale admitted, which was new to him. It was strange. He felt so confident in her abilities that he hadn’t even thought to arrive in Woodlawn and not see her there. He fully expected her to have made it.
Well, that was new.
Quetz, languid with fatigue, made a hissing noise that Gale knew to be a chuckle. “Finally starting to see it, Gale, dear?”
“Oh, be quiet you,” Gale retorted, knowing that Quetz only wanted to hear him admit that he had been wrong.
Quetz cuddled up next to him, her scales cool against his skin. “It's not unlike watching one's youngling grow up? Right, Inari?”
As the fox purred in agreement, Gale rolled his eyes, warmed to the core. If nothing else, he had his girls, and that was cause for a measure of relief. It remained to be seen, however, what he would find in Marietta.
For all that it was meant to be their rendezvous, the place where the higher echelon of Paragon would regroup, Marietta wasn't hidden. No larger or smaller than any of the other villages, it was nestled in a serene corner of Talemar, at the branching of Talemar's Eastway river into the faster, strong Lynx and the broader, sluggish Toise. There were perhaps fifty structures in all – homes, buildings, and businesses – clustered on the rivers' banks, with bridges scattered everywhere connecting the three sections of Marietta.
On the outside, it looked innocent. Marietta was notoriously neutral in the ongoing feud between the nobles of Grayshire and the rebels of Theravada. No one, not even Wyndham himself, could have guessed that Marietta actually housed Theraveda's backup plan.
It was approaching two in the morning when Gale arrived, more a consequence of his wariness and caution than a result of the length of the trip. He would have been quicker if he hadn't taken the time to watch his step and conceal his movements and aether. He couldn't chance anyone from Grayshire discovering and following him. Marietta was the only refuge that was left for them, save the unsavory option of venturing beyond Talemar's orders into land unknown.
Between the banks of Eastway and Toise were most of Marietta's businesses and Gale headed for one in particular. It was a smithery, owned by one Oleander Havern, a cousin to Talya. If Grayshire knew of such a connection, perhaps then they would become suspicious of Marietta, but it was a familial relation so distant that only Talya and Oleander knew of it. Besides, it wasn't the smithery that was important, but the tunnel beneath it, that led to the underground caverns of Paragon's hideaway – the Catacombs as some of the more imaginative members of the rebellion had taken to calling it.
Gale thought it a fitting epithet.
This late – or early depending on how one viewed the time – Marietta was silent and still, with no sign of the dozens of refugees surely streaming into the town. Gale's only clue that other members of Paragon had already arrived was that the small side door into the smithery was unlocked. He let himself into the dark smithery, skirting around the forge with whispered directions from Inari, whose eyes were more accustomed to the dark than Gale's own. He racked his brain, trying to remember where the entrance had been hidden.
“Lord Arlen?”
If he hadn't recognized the voice, Gale would have surely started. He peered through the darkness, turning toward the query. “Siobhan?”
A snick echoed in the darkness, a small lamp coming alive and chasing away the shadows, outlining Siobhan where she sat perched on a crate, looking ragged and worn but very much alive. “You're the last to arrive,” Siobhan said, or whispered more like. She sounded hoarse, as though she'd spent the night screaming.
Gale hadn't realized he'd lagged so far behind. “Did everyone make it?” he asked as he fell into step beside her, Siobhan leading him around the stacks of supplies and the equipment necessary for blacksmithing.
Siobhan's eyes darkened, her face troubled. “Grayshire's attack was unexpected, swift, and massive,” she said, and chewed on her bottom lip. She drew to a halt beside the anvil, watching him closely. “Talya was killed.”
Gale hid his reaction by focusing on moving the anvil aside, lifting the lining beneath it and revealing the hidden trap door. Inside, he was seething with anger, intermingled with grief.
“How?” he asked, trying to sound composed as he lifted the wooden hatch, the upper edges of a ladder visible.
She shifted, her own grief palpable. “We're not sure. I suspect Lord Hadley will explain things tomorrow. He wanted to give everyone a chance to heal and regroup before he called for any sort of meeting.”
Gale nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said quietly, and took the lamp from her, gesturing that she should precede him. He tucked Inari into his robes so that the vixen wouldn't have to attempt climbing the ladder.
Siobhan moved past him, gingerly grabbing hold of the ladder and climbing down. She paused briefly, thoughtful. “At least something does,” she murmured, and then continued.
Gale had to agree. Fatigue was drawing down on him, pressing spindly fingers into his muscles and causing his eyelids to droop. The smell of blood and smoke had soaked into his clothes; he could feel it wafting around him.
He waited until Siobhan hit the bottom, grabbing another lamp and lighting it with a snap of her fingers before Gale blew out the wick of the one he carried and set it off to the side. He, too, climbed down, pausing long enough to close the trap door above him. He assumed that someone would come along after him and return the anvil to its rightful place. Oleander, most likely, or one of her sons.
Of course, Azriel was not so stupid as to have no other means of protecting Theravada's hideaway. The tunnel directly beneath Oleander's smithery was not a staright path to the Catacombs. Instead, there was an entire labyrinth of narrow corridors that branched and joined together in a seemingly random pattern. It was not so simple as following the tunnel that sloped downward or taking the right-hand wall. One could easily become lost here.
Gale, however, trusted Siobhan to lead him. Down here, beneath the surface, Gale's own instincts were muted. He felt disoriented, here in the dark in a tunnel that smelled so strongly of earth and vegetation, even if the hewn walls were reinforced by magic. A part of him would always be uncertain with the knowledge of hundreds of pounds of dirt serving as their ceiling. It just didn't feel as stable as the solid rock walls of Paragon. Especially since Gale could press his fingers to the softly crumbling earth and feel the power of the rushing rivers on the other side of the walls. He trusted in the magic of his fellow Theravada, those that had helped construct the Catacombs, but here would always be a part of him that would be uneasy.
“You didn't come to harm, I hope,” Gale said, his voice echoing softly in the dark tunnel.
Siobhan shook her head, offering him a small smile, a mere turn of her lips. “No. When they attacked, I was already on the lower levels. I was one of the first ones out.”
A relief. Grayshire had already done too much harm to Siobhan. Gale didn't need any more reason to despise what the noble-led city had become.
He folded his arms into his sleeves, intently absorbing the soft sounds of their footsteps and that of Inari padding alongside him. “I'm glad to hear it.”
Many twists and turns, that Gale knew he would have to memorize at some point, later and they stepped through a warded tunnel and into another, one that was actually lit by torches in staggered intervals. Their light had not been visible until he and Siobhan passed through Kieran's barrier, one keyed to certain members of Paragon alone and similar to the one he'd used at
Paragon. To an enemy, it would have just appeared as a dead end.
The Catacombs was neither as elegant nor as well-stocked as Paragon had been. It was nothing like a home. It was a honeycomb of sorts, of rooms connected by tunnels, all designed with space conservation in mind. Privacy was rare, if it existed, with no more private rooms for separate members There were two large rooms stocked with beds for sleeping, another cavern connected to an underground river for bathing, and a combined eating/common space as well. There were a few smaller storage rooms as well where the Theravada stocked supplies, but otherwise, it was cramped and confined.
No one had ever expected a need to use it. They had believed themselves well protected in Paragon.
How foolish they had been.
Siobhan turned in the middle of the main hallway, sharing another tired, half-smile with Gale before she dipped her head in a shallow bow. “Lord Hadley and Master Kieran are in the common room, last I checked, and I think Ione is in the second bunk, but I can't be certain. Good night, Lord Arlen.”
“Goodnight,” he said, and watched as she blew out her lamp, set it aside on one of the many crates that lined the hallway, and made a beeline for the door to the first bunk. On her feet, she wavered with fatigue.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Gale was immediately surrounded by silence. The Catacombs resembled nothing of the hustle and bustle of Paragon in motion. The whole rhythm was off and Gale didn't like it. This place didn't feel like home, as Paragon had become to him. It felt too much like starting all over again, fleeing from Grayshire and stumbling into the wilderness, hoping to find refuge with a bleeding Sabriel at his side and a determination to do something. It felt like starting over.
Once again, Grayshire had stolen his security.
Gale's lips thinned, hands clenching where they were tucked into his sleeves. At his feet, Inari bumped against his calves like a cat seeking affection. “Are you going to find Azriel first?”
He shook his head, turning toward the second bunk. He trusted Siobhan's memory to be accurate. “No. I think he has the right idea. Sleep now. Regroup tomorrow.”
Certainly, his brain didn't feel like trying to focus on anything else.
Luckily, his girls were willing to agree with him.
Gale stepped into the second bunk with shallow breath, blinking into the dim. A few small, glowing lights hovered near the ceiling – Kieran's creation or magic Gale didn't know – and provided a soft illumination that didn't disturb those sleeping but would also keep Gale from tripping over anything. True to form, the bunk was little more than a rectangular room lined with beds, nearly all of them occupied with sleeping forms. Gale recognized Malcolm, sprawled out over a bunk and claiming every available inch. He recognized Grayson as well, tucked on his stomach with blanket wound around him, tight enough to be a problem come morning time. More amusing was the fact that Bastet was curled up in the middle of his back, seemingly comfortable despite the awkwardness of the position.
And tucked into a corner, between a wall and Malcolm's bunk, was Ione, curled on her side with room left on the other half of the bed in obvious invitation. She'd kicked off nearly all the blankets, until they hung down the end of the bunk, draping over Fenris who lay curled up there like a devoted pet. The small measure of concern that had threaded through Gale instantly melted away. She didn't appear injured, he commented to himself as he stepped whisper-quiet across the floor, shedding his outer robe as he did so. He couldn't sleep in the heavy fabric.
Inari moved on ahead of him, nosing Ione's fallen blankets aside to curl up next to the sleeping wolf. Fenris stirred briefly, only golden eye slitting open in curiosity, and settled when he recognized Inari. Gale tilted his head to the side in curiosity himself. When had they become so close, he wondered, but then pushed that thought to the side. Sleep now, questions later.
Gale carefully reached down, tugging the fallen blankets up so that Ione was once more covered, and leaving himself enough space to crawl beneath them as well. He tried his best not to wake Ione, but she woke anyway, a small murmur leaving her lips as she turned toward him. Her eyes were dark brown in the dim light, glazed with sleepiness.
“Gale?” she murmured, reaching out for him with one hand. This close, he noticed the healing gash on her cheek, and the bruise growing around it.
His fingers stroked the cut, which seemed to be the worst of her injuries at first glance. “Yes, it's me.”
She smiled sleepily. “I knew that,” Ione retorted, and scooted over another half foot. “Come on. It's late.”
Ione was the very definition of uncomplicated, Gale mused to himself, doing as she commanded and sliding into the bunk that was warm with Ione's body heat. She didn't fawn over him with concern, or demand answers, or force any kind of explanation. She trusted him as much as he trusted her, which was still a dawning revelation. He didn't need to protect her; he just wanted to.
Her hand curled around his face, dragging him close for a lazy, soft kiss that spoke volumes without saying anything at all. Her lips moved against his gently before she drew away, without ever introducing her tongue.
“You smell like smoke,” she said quietly, and for once, snuggled against him. Gale knew that she wasn't the sort to sleep pressed together; Ione hated being hot.
“So do you,” Gale said, and chuckled lightly as he reached out, attempting to adjust the blanket over both of them and giving up when he realized it wouldn't settle the way he wanted it to unless he got up completely and started over. Gale was too tired to do such a thing.
Ione said nothing in return, just breathed softly with every intention of returning to sleep. An easy task since she had never fully wakened in the first place.
Gale curled one arm over her, his hand shifting up to tangle in the loose length of her hair, letting the softness of it drift through his fingers. He breathed – in and out – and felt the last of the day's tension run out of him. Tomorrow... tomorrow they would have to face the repercussions of Grayshire's attack and try to rebuild what they had left of the Theravada. But for right now, Gale could curl up next to his lover, breathe, and get a little rest in the process.
He thought it was high time he was due such a moment.
a/n: One more chapter to go, making room for me to get my aft started on Nycthemeron.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated! :)