Private Tales Scorched Earth

Kerone's graphic end didn't rattle her as hard as the Empath's slow look up at her. Shit. She clenched her teeth like that could keep the lid on her emotional responses. At the very least, it kept her grounded. Fife didn't need to see the whole power move to know she wouldn't be getting a third chance. But the tip had sort of technically entered his body. A little through the hand plus that already in his shoulder… It would have to be enough.

She had to get him moving, get his blood pumping so the paralyzing agent could work its mundane magic. And the further she drew him away from the town hall, the better -- the less fuel he would have against her. Fife just had to outlast him like Lawrence had outlasted Raigryn.

Thankfully she was good at making trouble and then outrunning it.

Springing to her feet, she opened her mind just far enough to sense the other Empath's and ran along the peak of the roof. The burst of shadows at his feet were a damned godsend. Fife's feet went out from under her and she slid down the roof, one hand stealing her descent and the other still gripping her bow. Sliding right over the eaves of the building, she dropped down in plain sight of the temporarily restrained man.

Desire was still a new skill in her repertoire, but she managed to make it look effortless as she eased her descent. Her chest fluttered, the excitement of lips against her neck that made her body light. She landed lightly and jogged a few steps to stop in the center of the lane.

There was something bittersweet about his question, rationalized by himself with his next breath. Fife didn't reply -- couldn't -- but she watched him. Empaths felt their feelings just as powerfully as anyone else, and the flicker of his beneath everything else was a sobering reminder that even in madness he was human.

Not a reminder she really wanted in their present circumstances.

His hand came forward and the air hissed. She dodged, her own hand swiping to counter Avarice with Avarice, and her much stickier green crystals adhered to his. They missed her. Barely. But if she was going to outlast someone who didn't have to worry about balance, she had to be frugal.

Fife paced back several steps, keeping her eyes fixed on the other Empath.

He was not happy. She didn't need Empathy to know that. Any shred of the brief surprise and sorrow he had felt before was gone. She saw only his anger as he picked up one of the chains left by the vanquished assassins.

Fife was reckless, but she wasn't stupid; she knew better than to go running into a fight where she was at such a steep disadvantage. Her expertise was in close combat, and he still had too much reserve to risk it right now.

Biding her time, Fife dropped the crossbow. Her fingers flexed at her sides and she stepped back again. A patient denial of his taunt.

Fife was silent -- simultaneously frustrating and inconsequential. She didn't back too far, was still just outside of his reach. At least, she thought. She wasn't quite certain of that until the chain hit the ground again and she judged the distance.

Her mind reached for Joy and Tranquillity, gently enhancing her speed and clearing her mind of its apprehension. Time felt almost sluggish around her hastened mind. Dancing out of the way of the chain, a small grin crept onto her face unbidden. Her eyes were wide and alert, always watching him as she deftly avoided his strikes. Fife's pulse was beginning to race but she remained calm, cautious. All the while, she kept him coming away from the center of the village. She kept looking for his openings, learning from the way he moved.

He was quick, but she was quicker, less encumbered. She bounced out of harm's way always on the balls of her feet. Keeping her mind closed off from him meant she couldn't feel for his mental state as clearly, but she could see his body lag. She allowed him to press her back. Fife waited until he repeated an opening.

He gave it to her. His arm crossed his body to strike the ground opposite of his dominant hand.

The young Empath drew Joy and Fury as she bent her knees and leaned forward. Everything had slowed except her. The chain recoiled on the ground beside her, the links clattering like chimes. Her opponent's arm flexed as he moved to begin his next strike. His side was exposed.

To him, perhaps, her movements might have been more than a blur. She exploded forward with a puff of dust and a wide grin. Her hand moved to the sword at her back and drew it from its sheath. She swept the blade upward, Fury powering a blow much stronger than a woman her size should have delivered, and aimed under his arm.

It landed. It was the grim execution of every lesson Aretta had impressed on her. Her sword passed through him as faithfully as an oar through the water before biting into the dirt at the end of its arc. She was breathless, the fire of Fury igniting her limbs with adrenaline. The Empath's blood was hot on her skin in the cool morning air.

The moment only lasted a few panted breaths. Fife stepped back, still a streak of color as she maneuvered out of his reach once more. He cursed and collapsed, a black puddle quickly forming in his shadow.

It wasn't over yet. She knew that. Fife gripped her sword and began to move forward to end it when she felt the shift. It gave her pause where she had felt confident. Uncertainty washed over her, a feeling as unpleasant as blood thickening between her fingers.

She knew this feeling. Raigryn had combined all of his Aspects at once. It burned brightly in her mind's eye, blinding.

Any mental stability she had been keeping tipped suddenly. She felt the sudden slide toward panic, pulling the feet out from under the bravado of Joy and Fury. This was bad!

Fife's sharp whistle cut the thin, cold air, a shrill warning to Lawrence and the others. Instead of running, however, she thought of the people around -- the people in the hall just down the street who couldn't close their minds to the effects of Empathy.

She had only an instant to make up her mind, and she did. Scrambling to stand between the dying Empath and the town hall, she called on her Avarice to form what might have been the best shield she had ever made over his body. She dig deep, feeding the green sheet with everything she could, braced against it, and squeezed her eyes tight.

She held on, even when the ping of magic bounced around inside the shabby green dome she had fashioned to the tune of a similar pain in her skull. Hairline cracks and fine fissures were forming in the glassy green surface. Fife only put more Avarice into it. The act summoned awful feelings of resentment and jealousy, stuck to her mind like the crystalline bits clinging to her fingers.

Whether or not she had done anything to help, Fife didn't know. Her shield shattered like glass as the light burst outward. It peppered a second shield she didn't make, but that was quickly overwhelmed. She heard Lawrence call for her to get down. Fife crossed her arms in front of her face, turning to drop to her knees and cover her head.

It did not help. Lawrence's shield ripped apart in the flash of white and the Aspects shot through her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream and her body undulated in shock.

Fife had felt the numbness of imbalance and overexertion. She knew what it felt like to pull too much of one Aspect and to be caught in that odd halo of unreal feelings lingering in the mind.

This was neither of those things. Her mind caught fire, filled with the Aspects that surged through her. Her stores were brimming over with pieces of people stolen by another and now seeking refuge. The overflow ran into her mind, an excess flaring out to fill every crevice.

Eternity passed in an instant. Fife opened her eyes and the world spun. She gasped for air in lungs that hurt to fill, labored against sobs and laughter that tangled in her throat. Tears stung her eyes and her hands balled into fists. She rolled onto her side and, wobbly as a newborn foal, pushed herself into a sitting position.

She was shaking hard, unable to make her body still to stop the swimming of her vision. She felt everything at once -- pain, rage, happiness, fear, bitterness, nausea, worry, longing. Fife didn't tip from one to the other, but was overwhelmed by them all at the same time. She dwelled in agony and euphoria simultaneously.

Colors danced around the vibrant silhouettes of houses and buildings. Her eyes were wild as she slowly turned her head to look up at Lawrence -- glassy with tears beneath furrowed brows. She hardly recognized him through the sudden clarity of things. Had he always had so many lines in his face? Gods, he looked a lot older.

Laughter bubbled out of her, sudden, unexpected. She covered her mouth to stop, then withdrew her hand to look at the blood and dirt, felt the same smeared across her face. Her gorge rose and she turned around in time to chuck up her last meal. She had barely finished before she started laughing again in hitching hisses between coughs.

She managed to stop laughing and stand on her own, swaying on her feet before walking toward her sword. Five steps happened too quickly. Joy was still making her faster. She stopped, teetering precariously before an overwhelming sense of grounding made her body feel stiff and heavy. Fife bent to pick up her sword where she had discarded it in a hurry. Normally a weight that burdened the mind, it was now light as a quill. It was dirty with gore and grass. A flurry of thoughts and possibilities flew through her head, each too quick to fully process before the next slid into its place. The amusement had slipped from her face. She looked across the village at the other members of the Steel Coin. She saw them going into the town hall but was too disconnected to feel them or the people inside.

Fife looked back at Lawrence, contemplating for a few silent heartbeats, her expression slack. Her knuckles turned white and the wrapped wooden grip groaned in her grasp.

She burst into laughter again. Her hands trembled and she fought to see past the painful grin on her face to wipe her sword in her clothes and sheath it. Her shoulders continued to shake as her amusement slid towards grief. She wanted to go home. She wanted to run -- sleep, cry, scream. She was beyond overwhelmed but her mind moved too quickly past the feeling to settle into the panic twisting in her gut.

While she couldn't feel their emotions in this state, she plainly heard his tone of voice. Fife raked in a ragged breath and turned toward Lawrence. Her face had twisted up like she was in a great deal of pain, and in a way she was. For having rarely cried in front of even Raigryn, the act of reigning back sobs was infuriating, embarrassing, cathartic.

He was concerned. Fife was aware enough to know she must have looked utterly mad. She needed to reassure him she wasn't.

Moving deliberately, she offered Lawrence a thumbs up but could not muster anything similar to a smile. Then, as she began to manage her breathing better, she gestured to the blackened ground. She made a swelling motion with her hands, then shook them on either side of her head with a grimace that wasn't just for show.

Something she tried to convey satisfied him for now. Fife struggled to behave normally. Magic thrummed in her whole body; her feet were hastened, her arms strengthened, and her mind too sharp. It took a great deal of effort to even walk at a normal pace to collect her bow and go with the others back to her horse.

She didn't sleep. How could she? The world was as noisy as her head and she was too mindful of Lawrence's concerns to burn it off the way she knew it needed. Running right now would only alarm him more than her erratically shifting moods. In one of the rarest moments of her life, Fife was grateful that she was mute, her outbursts softened to raspy breaths and hisses.

On the journey back, the feeling of overexertion faded slowly. She was still swinging hard to the extremes of her emotions as they passed Elbion and journeyed onward to their temporary outpost. At least they were her own emotions, she reassured herself. There was some logic to it instead of the random madness that had seemed to possess her in days prior.

The sight of their complex was (oddly) a welcome one. Fife's eyes traced the towers, settling hopefully on the slender windows. Eager anticipation overwhelmed her mind and blotted out her exhaustion. She smiled, her happiness stretching across her face whether she willed it nor not.

She had fulfilled her end of the bargain. They could go home soon.

Fife did not bother with subtlety as they returned, doing her best to get Lawrence's attention. She didn't care how unbalanced she was; she was not giving him the opportunity to avoid her this time.

What was a few more nights after nearly two months? Fife swung down from the saddle, leaving the horse and bow and the assassins. She knew the way well, even if it had been weeks since she had last traversed it.

Excitement thrummed through her and her hands shook from a nervous anticipation. If he was being weaned off of the apathy, would he know she hadn't come to see him? Worse, would he be cognizant enough to understand her imbalance?

Grateful she was in the winding hidden corridors, she paused to breathe deeply and quell the overwhelming guilt that made her eyes well up and her ribs clamp tight around her lungs. She had made things right. They could go away together, like she had promised. They could put this ugly chapter behind them for good and never look back at it. It took several moments to focus on the excitement again, to feel the alarming jerk from gut wrenching sadness to butterflies in her stomach. When she made the transition, she sped up the steps.

The guards recognized her, and she waited as patiently as she could. She still rocked back and forth between feet and bit her lip to hold back a growing grin. They had hardly begun to swing the door open before she whistled Raigryn's name and hurried past them into the cell.

She sensed him vaguely on the spectrum of emotions, small bubbles of color that almost felt like a feeling. Her heart surged at the sound of her name on his lips -- a mad flurry of birds in her chest instead of a steady pulse -- and she hesitated just inside the door in the dim cell.

A little more Raigryn. He still wasn't all there, but it was some of him.

A weary sorrow threatened to kick the legs out from beneath her already tenuous mood. Fife held fast against it and only managed to tip herself forward toward an overwhelming sense of happiness.

I did it, she signed to him.

Crossing the room, she dropped to her knees and her slender, tired arms wrapped around him, still thinner than before. Both of them. She offered him no further explanations as she leaned into his chest. Fife's eyes closed. She held him tight and hid her face against him.