CLEO – On the road from Ankratur to Lethanas

  Cleo secured her backpack under the seat of the second-last wagon. She hauled herself up and sat on the hard wooden boards, hands folded in her lap. Already she wished she had at least a thin cushion for the journey or her bottom was going to get sore. Maybe someone would have a spare? But knowing her luck, she’d be perched on the rock-hard seat for the entire three or four weeks.

  She coughed at the dust drifting in the air and tugged her new kerchief over her nose and mouth. The guards were bustling here and there, checking gear and the cargo, and ordering people around. It looked like the wagons were full and final preparations were being made. She craned her neck and could see some other passengers sitting on the wagons ahead, but their backs were to her. The guards and merchants ignored Cleo, except for a tall, pale-skinned man talking with Rivett, who stared at her for an extended moment. He was long-limbed and wiry, with untidy brown hair that reached his collar. There was a sheathed dagger at his waist, and his leather armor was adorned with blackened, flat metal rings. He grinned at her and winked, and then went to sit in the first wagon beside a merchant woman and a driver. His offhand familiarity didn’t sit right with Cleo, as if he knew something she didn’t and thought it was amusing. She marked him as someone to watch and avoid, and hopefully she could steer clear of him. But the journey to Lethanas would take weeks, and there was plenty of time for things to go wrong.

  Maybe she was paranoid, but then that might not be a bad thing here in a strange world which was losing a war with the undead. She took deep breaths to calm her mind, reiterating to herself that the trauma of the Defiled Lands was behind her, she had a goal, and she could now focus on getting stronger and finding out more about the world and the card system. And magic! She’d started to become more comfortable with the strangeness of the world and adjusting to its weirdness.

  Or maybe it’s the painkilling effect of the lozenge? She could definitely feel the medicine working, as her bodily discomfort had almost faded and her muscles and joints were no longer aching. Touching her fingers to her cheeks, she sighed as she could still feel her rash.

  [Party invitation from Rivett received!]

  Cleo hesitated for a few moments. So, Rivett was carded, and if she was in a party everyone would know she was, too. At least the other carded people would. But she could also see their names and details.

  Hide my class and abilities, please. And accept.

  [Party joined with Rivett (hidden), Neridur (Witch Healer),

  Aldrikur (Dark-iron Duelist), Zane (hidden)]

  Two of the carded were cautious. Rivett, she could understand because he was probably wealthier than average and responsible for the entire caravan, including the people and the goods. The other, Zane, she had a sneaking suspicion was the discomforting man who’d winked at her. All of them would see her class as hidden, but she was sure Rivett would tell everyone she was an Aura Mage, anyway.

  It was best to be prepared, and she’d better pull her weight or Rivett might come around asking for more coin. Cleo felt a surge of excitement at using her magic again, and activated both her Energy Shield skill and Regeneration.

  Well, it’s actually a mana shield rather than an energy shield, but who am I to question whatever system the gods have set up for this world?

  * * *

  Rivett set a punishing pace, the plains-elk—plain-elks?—and the ovis hauling the wagons with relative ease. Tied to the back of the wagon in front of her, the massive pack goats were content to follow along, and their long leads allowed them to dart off to graze whenever they wanted.

  The teamster next to Cleo, Kobie, sat on his own—albeit stained and tattered—thin cushion which she eyed enviously. When she’d asked if he had a spare, he shook his head in the negative and gave her a sympathetic smile. The dust near the end of the wagon train was thick and grimy, unless there was a strong wind to blow it all away, and she soon found herself covered in a light coating. She’d need a long shower at the end of each day, but had a feeling there wouldn’t be one unless they stopped at a village. She wasn’t washing in a stream or river in front of a caravan full of men, especially jerks like Mikkel. But honestly, things could be far worse—she could be back in the Blighted Lands, or in hospital again.

  She watched the massive stepped-pyramid of Ankratur slowly recede into the distance as they traveled between fields and farms on either side. Maybe one day she’d be back to explore the dungeon. Her curiosity was piqued, but she already had so much to do she felt dungeon delving was way down on her list of priorities. Still, would there be good loot? Maybe a wand or two?

  At one stage, they crossed a bridge over a river, and Cleo had to stop and stare in awe. The bridge looked to be made of a translucent marble, with two rune-carved pillars anchoring either end.

  Kobie noticed her staring and snorted.

  “Empire created the bridge,” he drawled. “Roads coming soon. Though soon’s been a few years now.”

  Created, not built. “Maybe the Empire has its hands full with the Scourge.” And maybe she should feign more ignorance, and portray that persona for the trip: a young, ditzy woman just happy to be carded and on her way to attend the Institute. It was worth a try, and might help to make people disregard her.

  Kobie grunted but didn’t reply. The hours rolled by, and the farms gave way to grasslands and forests. As he drove the wagon, he chewed on almost-black leaves about an inch long, and often spat a stream of murky saliva over the side. The leaves must be a stimulant of some kind, but she was sure it was common knowledge and she shouldn’t ask. Unless… this was an opportunity to try out her ditzy—or maybe carefree—persona.

  “What are you chewing?” Cleo asked, affecting a cheerful tone.

  Kobie side-eyed her and took a few moments to reply. “Leaves.”

  “I saw they were leaves, but what kind? I know a little herbalism.” She didn’t, but he wouldn’t know that.

  “Then you should know of kakino leaves. They’re good for what ails ya.”

  “Ah… aches and pains, I assume?”

  Kobie nodded. “Teamster’s hard work and I’m not a spring chicken anymore. I’m lucky to have this job with Rivett. He’s a hard man, but mostly fair.”

  She should find out more about the kakino leaves, just in case she needed a medicinal something extra to supplement her lozenges. “Well, I’ll only be your traveling companion until Lethanas. I’ll try to stay out of everyone’s way.”

  “Good. You carded?”

  “Yes, nothing spectacular, though. I’m an Aura Mage.”

  Kobie grunted. “What auras?”

  “Oh, just a protection aura and regeneration.”

  “What do you regenerate? The landscape?”

  Cleo narrowed her eyes as she suspected that Kobie had just made a joke. So, he wasn’t just overdoing the strong silent type, and had more depth to him. She’d do well to keep that in mind. “No plants,” she replied. “Just people. It is a card, but a weak one.”

  “But it is a card. You’re lucky. And you’re wise enough to join the Adventurers’ Guild I see.”

  Kobie then went back to staring ahead at the wagon in front of them and chewing his leaves. Cleo decided not to bother him anymore, and also kept to herself. The guards had brought out crossbows and were warily eyeing the nearby tree line. A few got off to walk, and Cleo looked away as they pissed at the side of the dirt road. She vowed to drink as little as possible until the evening when they would make camp, that way she could do her business without rushing and everyone watching. To her chagrin, as evening approached, Kobie stood to stretch, and then right in front of her unlaced his trousers and pissed over the side of the wagon.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  For the first few days there were no encounters with scavs or bandits. Nevertheless, each night the guards set a double watch, and kept their fires low and alchemical lanterns lit around the camp of circled wagons. Cleo was glad she had a wide brimmed hat to keep the scorching sun off, and kept mostly to herself, sleeping beneath Kobie’s wagon under a thin blanket he gave her the first night. The teamster had a hammock setup, which she looked at with naked envy; one end tied to the wagon and the other held up by an iron bipod and a rope staked into the ground. Each day she ate from the communal pot, which mostly comprised a bland barley-like porridge with the addition of nuts in the morning, and ham and beans and weird purple peas at lunch and dinner. Would it have killed them to add some salt and herbs and spices? She found herself craving koko-mateh, and wished she’d had the foresight to bring some of the ground bean mixture along.

  In the evenings, Cleo took half a lozenge, and the remaining half the next morning. Her body aches didn’t fully disappear, but the anti-inflammatory and pain-killing effects were good enough that she thought she could last until Lethanas. If she got desperate, she could always ask Kobie for some of his kakino leaves.

  At night, the guards kept relatively quiet, though there seemed to be a lot of drinking going on around their fire. At least, by those who weren’t on a stint to watch the makeshift camp.

  In the mornings as soon as they set out, and in the evenings once she’d eaten and had her lozenge, Cleo sat on her folded blanket and settled into her new habit of mana cycling, at which she’d improved considerably already. As Rosalia had instructed, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, pulling mana from the air and ground around her, gathering it in and circulating the mana around her body. At first, as in the Blighted Lands, her blood boiled like liquid fire, and the excruciating pain caused her to lose concentration and the mana to scatter. But slowly, as she practiced, she was able to hold on for longer as the essence of the world seared through her whole body and scoured her mind. She didn’t know if she was doing the cycling correctly, as there was no one to guide her, but each time it became easier, and so she persevered as best she could.

  Cleo became better at sensing the surrounding mana, and at gathering and drawing it in. Ever-present was the agony of the vitriolic energy, and as she spent hours in a cycling-meditative state, both the mana and the pain became easier to handle. With nothing else to catch her attention, Cleo spent a good deal of time pushing herself, drawing in and cycling as much mana as she could, until the excruciating agony caused her to stop. Each time, left panting and shaking, she was relived she had her lozenges to take the edge off the painful experience.

  In the mornings, Kobie seemed to know what she was doing and left her alone. But he spoke little anyway. She really wanted to question Neridur the Witch Healer, and Aldrikur the Dark-iron Duelist, about their classes and ability cards—and mana cycling—but she was trying to keep a low profile and not flaunt her ignorance. There would be libraries in Lethanas, she was sure, and probably a huge one at the Institution. Once there, she could do as much research as she needed so she wouldn’t feel like she was stumbling around in the dark. Well, she still would be, but just a little less so. Of Mau, there was still no sign.

  If Mau wants to act like a stupid cat, then I’ll treat them like one.

  Cleo only saw the researchers in the wagon train traveling to the Gravelands from a distance. The three of them kept mostly to themselves, and were on the second wagon. From what she could see, there was a fit looking young man who the other two deferred to, and those two were both older and had more of a look of hardened bodyguards than scholars. Maybe the younger man was a genius or savant, because she couldn’t think of another reason why the others would defer to a younger scholar. He didn’t look like a genius, though—he was tall, somewhere in between six and seven feet, with wide shoulders, and dirty-blond hair. His companions both wore black pants and dark-gray shirts, and hip-length leather coats; they were watchful, always scanning the area and the nearby people. She decided to keep an eye on them when she could, without making it too obvious.

  On the sixth night, they heard creatures howling nearby—and the guards grew nervous and slept little. Cleo had no idea what they were—animal or monster—as they sounded like a cross between a wolf and a hyena, and with the guards anxious and the unnerving noises she couldn’t fall asleep.

  After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, she sighed heavily, rose from her thin blanket under the wagon, and moved to one of the night fires. Someone had recently added a short log to it, and the flames sent shadows dancing around the camp as Cleo poked at the coals with a stick, trying not to think of howling monsters in the dark and undead children with blank eyes. For some unknown reason, she found herself reflecting on Gill’s unexpected murder. Even the cities weren’t safe, and she’d have to be extra careful dealing with people and making sure she was secure at night. The Institution would be a secure area, she was sure.

  All of a sudden, the overly friendly, pale-skinned man sat across the fire from her. Even though it was the middle of the night, he still wore his flat-ringed armor. The orange light cast by the fire made him seem demonic, but she knew that was just a trick of the light and her own animal-brain fears.

  “Working hard today?” he said.

  What a strange thing to say, since it was nighttime. “Er… no. I’m just sitting on a hard wooden seat all day, and my wagon seems to find every bump and rut in the road.” Cleo shrugged. “Though Kobie says the Empire will build a better road soon.”

  The man wrinkled his nose and stared at her for too long before glancing away. “The Empire’s engineers are exceptional, and the Empress has made roads a priority. It’s easier to move the legions around, then. Kobie is…?”

  “The teamster. Of my wagon. Well, it’s not mine. It’s his. Probably Rivett’s.”

  She checked the covered pot on the side of the coals and found it contained the remains of their barley-porridge dinner. There was also a kettle full of tea, and Cleo poured herself a mug—wishing it was koko-mateh—and looked around to make sure the guards were still alert. The tea was over-steeped and bitter, but she drank a few mouthfuls anyway for warmth and so she had something to do while this Zane guy did his best to creep her out.

  Maybe she should have her Despair curse ready? But it wasn’t fast-acting by any means, so she would probably be better off just activating her Energy Shield and screaming. Either way, if the man tried anything, he’d find her ready and he’d be in for a surprise.

  “Are the Scourge keeping you awake?” the man said.

  Cleo’s hands trembled, and she gripped her mug tightly. “The Scourge?”

  “That’s what’s making the racket; what’s got all the guards jumpy.”

  “They’re noisy, for undead.”

  “Oh, they’re not undead, not these ones.”

  “What are they?”

  “Now there’s a question that would gain you notoriety if you knew the answer. Or an execution.”

  “Zane, isn’t it?”

  The man nodded.

  “I’m Cleo. You seem to know some things, so perhaps you could stop beating around the bush and enlighten me.” She pretended to drink her tea. She’d finish up soon and return to her blanket under the wagon.

  “Beating around the bush?”

  “Not getting to the point. Being indirect.”

  “Ah. Apologies, it’s a habit. Have you encountered the Scourge before?”

  “Yes. In the Blighted Lands.”

  “And what’s a young woman like you doing in the Blighted Lands?”

  Shit, I’ve just made him more curious. “Helping some friends who’d lost one of their party. I’ve only been in once, and I don’t plan on going again. The undead were—”, she shuddered, not having to feign disgust, “—unpleasant, to say the least.”

  “A wise decision. Did your auras come in handy?”

  He’s suspicious of something. “Not really. A little, I guess. I’m only a shitty Aura Mage after all.” Cleo willed her class to be unhidden in the party interface. “See?” She checked herself, just in case.

  Class title: Aura Mage.

  Class title, Legend, hidden.

  Class title, Aura Guardian, hidden.

  Zane’s eyes unfocused for a moment, and he cleared his throat as his eyes narrowed in disappointment. “I do see.”

  Cleo willed her class to be hidden once more. “You can’t be too careful,” she said by way of explanation. “I’m sure my caution will be well rewarded in Lethanas. I can’t wait to see the city for myself. I’ve only read about it, and though some books do a good job of portraying the city, nothing is as good as seeing things for yourself.” Maybe she was talking too much, but better to ramble on and have him think she wasn’t overly bright.

  “I completely agree.”

  “Anyhow, I’ve had enough of the Blighted Lands even if it was only one time.”

  “I’ve felt your auras and they’re stronger than your typical Aura Mage, but nothing special. I guess adventuring isn’t for everyone. And survivors of the Blighted Lands often have a fear. The place stains their minds. Did you find anything interesting?”

  Would he know how much mana her Energy Shield used? Cleo didn’t think so, but wasn’t entirely sure. And if Zane wanted to think she was afraid, then she wouldn’t dissuade him. “I found Undead. And despair.” Huh, a pun. And the Silent Legion. “It’s a hostile place, and not something I want to dwell on.”

  “I don’t doubt that. The Blighted Lands aren’t for the fainthearted. So, why are you traveling to Lethanas?”

  With a force of will, Cleo kept her breathing steady. This Zane asked too many questions. She recalled what the herbalist had said and decided to use that for her reply. “I’m following my dream. Lethanas is such a big city! Why, anything’s possible there! Though I’ve been warned to be careful and not to end up destitute, or fall into… unsavory practices.”

  “There’s a lot to fall into, in Lethanas.”

  Cleo let out a giggle and hoped it wasn’t too fake. “I’m sure I’ll be fine! I trust in the goddess to keep me safe.”

  “Which goddess is this?”

  Far, far too many questions… She blinked daintily and tried to channel what she remembered of women in the English Regency era novels they’d had to read in school. “Zane, you’re being awfully forward. Are you perchance in possession of a large fortune and in need of a wife?”

  Zane leaned back and frowned. “No, to both.” He stood abruptly, then. “Goodnight, Cleo. I doubt we’ll see each other again.” The man walked off and huddled under his own blanket by a different fire.

  Cleo tossed the dregs of her tea into the coals, where they hissed and sizzled. Then she made herself as comfortable as she could under her own thin blanket. Over the last few days, she’d noticed all the guards trod warily around Zane, as if he were a venomous snake with a temper.

  She wasn’t sure what his game was, and didn’t care to know as long as he left her alone from now on.