GRP Chapter 14

Mariaeks turned away and looked out through the darkened window. Snow clouds had settled over the sky, and the mountains were invisible. The master of Heimdrykze would be buried somewhere in that darkness. The window—like a canvas painted black—stirred her imagination. A scene drew itself across it: him waking at any moment, calling her name.

But the master of Heimdrykze had slept for more than a hundred years. There was no sign he would wake. She had spent a night in an unfamiliar land, had greeted its morning, and nothing had happened. Even so, that fact alone was not enough to quiet the unease. This being the first time she had ever left Heimdrykze, she could be certain of nothing. Mariaeks knew well that the worst does not announce itself before drawing near.

"This is... remarkable."

Garthe's voice came at last—low, quiet—from the one who had sat with his mouth shut through all of it, only listening. Mariaeks's fingers gave an involuntary twitch.

"I’ve been speaking to you quite nicely. And now? It seems that’s led you to the quaint, little delusion that you have the right to refuse me."

The cold, sardonic words cut through her. A chill crawled up the nape of her neck.

"Mariaeks."

Warm in its resonance. Cold as the wind cutting outside.

"What do you think would happen if you said no?"

Mariaeks remembered the force that had swept out of the man like a blade—that pressure, built to drive another into the ground. Garthe was right. The answer was already settled.

Garthe rose from his seat and came around the bed toward Mariaeks. Her eyelids trembled faintly.

"Still, you are an honored guest—I suppose your pride must be preserved. You don't have to answer. So."

Garthe came to a stop directly before her face. A deep shadow fell over her. The man narrowed his eyes as he smiled.

"Just nod."

In that instant, an invisible force poured out of Garthe and crashed down over her. Under the crushing weight, Mariaeks could not even breathe. Before she could think to resist, she slumped forward with a heavy thud—squashed flat, as if ground into the earth by an invisible hand.

The moment Mariaeks lowered her head, the room—which had been howling as if caught in a gale— went still. The force that had been tearing at her body and spirit, sharp and relentless, evaporated in an instant. Mariaeks pressed her forehead to the edge of the bed and drew ragged breaths.

A rough, large hand lifted her face. Cold sweat on her skin; she couldn't properly open her eyes and had no choice but to lean her face into the man's hand.

Garthe lowered himself closer. Mariaeks looked up at his face—now nearly pressed to hers—and could only exhale in ragged, wheezy whistle—saek-saek—with every desperate exhale. Garthe gave a short, quiet laugh and tilted his head. Then his warm breath and slightly rough lips touched her cheek, lightly. Plip. The soft, distinct sound of it hung in the air. She had seen humans do something similar to each other before. A greeting of welcome.

"Welcome to this fortress, Mariaeks."

The greeting, which almost sounded warm, settled at the edge of her ear.

From outside, a bell sounded in measured, even intervals. Sharp and urgent—enough to put even Mariaeks, who understood nothing of this place, on edge.

"Five rings?"

"Yes. A large formation. Nocturnal, too—that's been a while... Regardless, you'll need to go."

"Quite the welcome."

Garthe turned and left the room. Samthyeon followed at his heels. Thunk. The door closed. Mariaeks propped her trembling body up on her arms and stared at the shut door.

'What now?'

They hadn't tied her anywhere. Hadn't warned her to stay. They'd simply left. Mariaeks sat there, stranded, until the strength began to return to her body, and rose. She pushed the window open a crack; a cold gust rushed in immediately. Against the dark of night, a fierce blizzard raged. Wind carrying familiar smells from somewhere distant.

The smell of blood.

Mariaeks's eyes cut through the curtain of night and mapped the scene below with precision. People were running, frantic. Some emerged from buildings; others rushed in. Large, rough-looking humans carrying weapons to match crossed the square.

Somewhere in all of it, Mariaeks found Garthe. She couldn't have said how she'd picked him out so easily. Garthe, who had been speaking with someone, turned his head abruptly. Their eyes met. A great distance between them—and yet, in that instant, they saw each other with perfect clarity.

She couldn't think to close the window, couldn't think to shift her gaze away. There was a strange power in the man's eyes. Whenever those grey irises turned toward her, Mariaeks felt herself become prey caught in a trap.

Garthe—who had been staring at her through the blizzard without so much as a blink—turned his head at last and walked away with the others. Mariaeks exhaled a breath mixed with relief, then closed the window.

She crossed the room and approached the door. She stared at the handle for a long while, then pressed her ear flat against it. She couldn't make out any specifics, but she could tell the interior of the fortress had become disordered. Bells ringing, blood on the wind. A battle had broken out, evidently.

Mariaeks turned over the exchange she'd overheard.

'Large formation. Nocturnal. Been a while...'

A large, unfamiliar type of enemy. The battle didn't seem likely to end quickly.

'Is this my chance?'

She reached carefully for the door handle. The cold seeping in through her fingertips conjured one particular man. The human hero Garthe, who kept a cold blade in his eyes. Even with him absent from the room, the fear she had felt at his hands did not leave her. Mariaeks hesitated for a long time. In the end, she pulled her hand from the handle and went back to sit on the bed.

She swallowed the fear-thick saliva that had been pooling in her throat—and only then realized how completely parched she was. Come to think of it, she hadn't had a single drink of water since entering the human settlement. Mariaeks touched her chapped lips and looked around.

Garthe's room, cool and sparse, was a similar size to Mariaeks's temple. But where her space was admirably practical—food store, kitchen, prayer room, storeroom for miscellany—Garthe's room held nothing but a bed, a bedside table, a table, and a sofa. Not a pouch with anything edible, not a jar with anything to drink, anywhere to be found.

As her thirst burned, her sense of crisis deepened. The prospect of dying of thirst or starvation before dying at Garthe's hand had begun to present itself as a genuine possibility.

She could not ask the humans for food or water. It was not a matter of pride. She believed she had survived entirely because they found her useful. If they had proposed the research under the belief that she was a perfect god—and then discovered the truth of her imperfect body—

Mariaeks shuddered. If you're no longer needed, you die. She had to keep it hidden.

'The longest I've ever gone without food was approximately thirty days?'

Mariaeks counted on her fingers how many days she'd been fasting. Roughly eight. Since Ullri and Baen had taken it upon themselves to bring offerings, Mariaeks had never gone more than three days without eating. The burning, hollow hunger she hadn't felt in so long was painful; she rubbed her stomach with her hand.

'Still manageable.'

She thought she could endure at least another two weeks. If she cooperated with what the humans wanted in the meantime, they might allow her to move through the fortress. Human habitation meant food somewhere—and if she took a little at a time, it wouldn't be noticed. Mariaeks laid out the plan step by careful step in her mind.

The problem was water. Having always lived surrounded by snow, she had never wanted for it. Which meant she didn't even know how long she could hold out against thirst. One additional difficulty: water could not be stolen and concealed inside an inner coat pocket. If only there were a protrusion outside the window where snow could accumulate—a crevice of some kind. When she had briefly opened the window earlier, she had seen no such thing.

As she looked around the room, Mariaeks's eyes landed on something welcome. On the table sat a vase that seemed at odds with the man himself. Evidence that someone had tried to bring a little brightness to this bleak room. The flowers in it were not fresh-cut. They were intricate carvings of painted wood—and yet, whether to suggest life, the vase held water inside it.

Mariaeks carefully lifted the wooden flower carvings one by one, set them on the table, and drank a very small amount of the water in the vase. A gentle rain fell on the thirst that had been drying her through to the bone. She closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. This was something close to being alive again. It could not compare to clean water melted from snow, but it wasn't so wretched that she couldn't drink it. A faintly metallic taste, but passable enough.

Mariaeks set the vase down and examined it at eye level.

'This should be... fine.'

The water line was barely different from before. Should she take one more sip? The unquenched thirst tempted her. She held it off by picturing the room's owner. That man probably paid no attention whatsoever to flowers and vases—but regardless, he was a hero who had surpassed the human condition. His senses, his thoughts, his memory would all exceed what she expected. Better to wait, and take another sip tomorrow or the day after.

Mariaeks gazed at the vase with a heavy, unresolved regret, then began reinserting the wooden flower carvings one by one. The arrangement of five flowers and seven stems of grass was no different from before. She wiped the water the carved flowers had left on the table with her sleeve. Something still seemed to remain—she pressed harder and wiped it again. And still not satisfied, once more.