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footpaths (final)

[START] [Ao3]

Instead of setting you down, Atlas turns towards the entrance of the cavernous tent, slowly shifting you and Beech to face Caelum with him.

“Mr. Caelum Salvius,” Atlas says soberly, his low bass echoing off the tent walls. “I believe you have something to say to our guest before they go in for the night.”

Caelum stiffens, his huge hazel eyes darting between Atlas and the exit and the floor before finally landing on you.

“I… can't express-” his voice cracks, strangled into silence. “I am so sorry, so so sorry. I will do anything I can to make the rest of your life happy and safe, and if that means leaving and never speaking to you again, then that is what I’ll do. You won't have to see me anymore.”

“Caelum can be reassigned,” Beech confirms, nodding his head. “All you have to do is say the word.”

“No,” you blurt. “I… need time? I don't want to see him right away, but he doesn't have to- to leave.”

Caelum bows his head, letting out a shaky breath and closing his bloodshot eyes. Beech nods up at Atlas, the motion mirrored in grand scale by the giant holding you as he turns to a low table in the center of the room. You keep your eyes on Caelum, fingers digging into the ridges of fingerprints to steady yourself, you rise on tip-toe to peek over the wall of Atlas’ curled fingers.

“Goodbye, traveler.” Caelum says softly, meeting your eye and waving one sail sized hand. Your face does something that feels close to smiling, and Caelum smiles back, crinkling the corners of his eyes. Then he is gone, turning away and leaving with a rush of cool night air that fills the tent.

“Going down,” Atlas murmurs once Caelum is gone, and the hand holding you and Beech sweeps slowly downward. “Hang on.”

The giant lowers himself to one knee and settles his hand on the ground, setting it into a stable platform on the floor. The sensation of stillness after so much movement is jarring, as soon as Atlas lifts his thumb you are scrambling down from the heated skin, brushing off shuddery chills. You turn, craning your neck to look up at the towering shape of the crouching giant as Beech hops down from his perch. You watch in stillness Atlas shifts, hear his muscle creaking, a joint in his knee pops like stones falling, until he is a giant’s-arms-length away and the two of you are out of reach. Beech clears his throat, regaining your attention, and when you turn you see him starting toward one of the human-scale structures tucked under the giant table. You’ve never seen a building like the one Beech is walking towards, a cylindrical structure that seems to be made from one huge sheet of bent metal. You shudder to imagine the strength it would take to create something like that, and hurry close to Beech. The man reaches a door inset into the metal wall, a line of yellow light glowing from beneath it. He doesn't open it, instead turning back to you with dark, serious eyes.

“I’ll keep Mouse and Oxbow from houndin’ ya too bad,” Beech says, his hand waiting on the doorknob. “I doubt they’ll let you get past em’ without sayin’ hello, but I’ll make sure ya have time to get settled before they play twenty-questions.”

“Thank you,” you mutter, unable to return Beech’s sad smile. He opens the door, his broad back interrupting your view of metal walls and white floor for a moment before you both step inside. The room feels smaller around you than it seemed from the outside, not unpleasantly so. The domed ceiling and the low orange lights are almost comfortable, aided by the half-circle couch and plush armchairs in the center of the room that have been arranged into a ring. Your wide eyes trace the fine pieces of furniture- perhaps the finest you’ve ever seen, before they drift to the wall-length shelves stocked with thick, colorful spines of expensive-looking books. Your eyes rove over the spaces without books, filled instead with seemingly anything; little figurines crafted from wire and clay, dusty glass bottles with flowers sprouting from the necks, long hanging vines, somehow flourishing and green without sunlight. Your investigation of your surroundings is cut short when a bundle of thick fabric wraps around your head, blacking out your vision. You throw your arms up, yelping and flailing to free yourself from the cloth blinding you.

“Mouse, be nice.” Beech grumbles before you can work yourself into panic. You yank the fabric from your face, recognize your coat, and tie the sleeves around your waist with shaky hands. Mouse shrugs with a sly smile, unperturbed by your frown, and holds your boots out to you, dangling by the laces from his fingers.

“Thanks for getting my things,” you say hesitantly, taking the boots and letting them swing from your own hand. “And for earlier. In the tree.”

Mouse shrugs, sniffling and looking away from you.

“No big deal,” he throws a glance over his shoulder to the woman seated on the end of the circular couch, her attention fixed on a book pinned open under her elbow. “Hey Oxbow, you up to meeting the newbie?”

The woman’s eyes flick up from the book to fall upon you, and you watch her mouth curl up at the corners in an empty greeting, one meant for a stranger. The stranger-smile freezes on her face; and it occurs to you how unusual this woman looks with that smile. Warmth does not reach up to crease her big brown eyes, the shape and color so close to your own, those eyes that grow wider, wilder, brighter, chasing around your face, desperately seeking. Neither of you say a word, staring at one another in dumb, rapturous silence.

“Breeze?”

When you break the quiet, the woman- this woman with your father’s dark curls and your mother’s bright eyes who they had called Oxbow but to you had always been Breeze, your eldest sister. Breeze tries to rise and falters under her own weight, which is enough to break you from your stupor. You stumble forward, half bent in front of her, clutching the points of her elbows with all the tenderness you can manage. Her own hands reach up and cup your face, hands that have not touched your skin in ten years. Hands you believed you would never feel upon your cheek again.

“Lore,” her voice is older now, greyer, choked with tears; but it still carries the same tone, and says your name, a name so few have called you. Your brow falls upon her shoulder and you are overcome too. “You're actually here. Lore. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive,” your voice does not sound like your own, you've never heard yourself so reverent, almost laughing through your tears. Your name in your sister’s voice warms you like the first breath of spring, joy flooding like a river through a dam washing out all your pain. She is here, she is alive, she is safe, she is-

“You're going to have a baby!” you cry, rearing back in shock to get a better look at her.

Her thumbs scrub tears out from under your eye, she is laughing, and it is like no time has passed; you are eight years old again, being goaded away from a terrible nightmare. Breeze sighs, wet with tears but joyful. Familiar.

“Yes. In three months. And you-“ her voice breaks and you squeeze her hands between yours. “You’ll be here.”

You nod, a sobbing laugh bubbling in your throat.

“I thought-”

“Woah, hold the fuck up- holy fucking shit- you’re Lore?” Mouse sputters, jabbing a finger at you. You startle, having forgotten about your audience.

“Yes?”

Beech’s dark eyes scrunch in a fond smile, a restrictive hand pulling Mouse back by the shoulder.

“I wish we could’a known your name from the start.” Beech says, his warm voice colored by his lingering smile. “Would’a saved us all a lot of grief.”

“Well I... I could have done with a warmer welcome.” Sitting beside your sister, it sounds like a joke, and your little audience laughs.

“Giants aren't really known for their bedside manner,” Mouse quips back, smiling. You smile too, something bright uncurling in you like a fern. “This team is one of the best groups you could have run into, though. I’m glad you wussed out on leaving.”

“Me too,” you croak. Your sister’s presence chases away the nightmarish danger of this place- softens the deep shadows, and shifts your perspective so entirely that it leaves you dizzy. You turn back to her, still clutching her hands between yours. “You… trust them? You’ve been safe here?” You ask your sister, quiet and trembling. She nods, closing her eyes as a fresh wave of tears overtakes her.

“Yes,” she says. “I trust them.” “The giants…” “Yes, I trust them too.”

“Is…” The question fills your mouth with dry ash, sticking to your tongue. “Is Verity with you?”

Her agonized flash of teeth answers you. “She…” Her watery gaze flickers to the far side of the room, where Beech and Mouse still stand side by side. “Could we have a minute?”

“‘Course,” Beech mutters, grabbing Mouse’s shoulder and directing him to the door. “C’mon, kid.”

“Wait, what?!” Mouse protests, digging in his heels. “Hey! Beech!”

“We’ll see you in the mornin’.” Beech assures them, strong-arming Mouse through a set of metal doors in the back of the room. “It was nice meetin’ ya, Lore. Glad we’ve finally got everything settled. Say bye Mouse.” “Bye…” Mouse grumbles, casting a baleful look at you and Breeze. Then, the metal doors snap shut, closing the two of them off from your view. You wait for a moment, but the circular room is silent but for your sister’s tearful breathing.

“Are we alone?” “Yes.” She wipes her face, and stares at you with wide, transfixed eyes. “The giants can't hear us, and the others went to the second floor.”

“What happened to Vera?” you rasp, shoulders bowing under this heavy miracle that has been thrown onto your back,.

“I don't know,” Breeze sighs, taking your hand once more. “I hoped you two were together somewhere when the fire came.”

“How did you get out?”

“I smelled smoke on the wind, bitter smoke, like death. I told Mom in time, but we spent too long searching for you and Vera, and then the fire was on top of us. It was so hot and bright- it was like another world. We couldn't keep searching. I’m sorry.”

“Mom’s alive?” “No,” Breeze’s head falls, tears like rain behind her lashes. “She was burned in the fire… I tried to keep her alive until we could find help, but we couldn't travel, we weren't anywhere near a main path… I had no supplies. Nothing.”

“You did everything you could.” she lets go of your hand, wiping her eyes furiously.

“It’s never enough…” She grits. “I lost Tracker too.”

“Tracker?”

“My husband,” she leans against you, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around herself. “Raiders ambushed us- they set a trap, they wanted the horses, the van, they wanted us. They broke into the caravan and lined us up against the wall, tied up most of us. Tracker distracted them, I ran while they… they beat him. I left him; I left all of them.” Her breath hitches, her fingers digging into your shoulder in agony. “He could be dead. Worse than dead.”

“If he’s alive…” you , lay your hand over hers, trembling. “Then we will find him. Him and Verity.”

“I can't leave until the baby’s born,” Breeze rubs a hand over her stomach. “And even then… I… I can't rationalize taking an infant on a search like that. I don't even know where to start looking, even if he is alive.”

“Can’t the giants help you find him?” “No,” Breeze shakes her head. “Not without terrifying every human that sees them. If Tracker is free and able, then he’s searching for me- but he’s miles away from here, and he’d never approach a camp of giants.”

“Can't they send out one of their ambassadors on the search?” “Beech and Mouse have a bad reputation with most of the bigger human settlements out here. I don't think anyone would be very eager to talk to them.”

The two of you sit in silence. Something is ticking, somewhere in the room, ticking like a clock. A sigh shudders from your lungs, and you cover your disbelieving eyes.

“...It’s late,” Breeze says finally, shifting her weight. “And you’ve been through the wringer. I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

You nod and follow your sister to the sliding metal doors that Beech and Mouse had disappeared through. Breeze jabs a button, which glows an eerie red as the doors slide open on their own.

“It’s safe,” she assures as soon as you step into the tiny room the doors open to. You furrow your brow at her, but she ignores your dubious look, pressing another button on the inside of the tiny room. “I hated this thing when I first got here, but it really is the best way up.”

“How would this-” you cut yourself off with a terrified yelp as the room quakes in place and starts to lift of the ground with the two of you still inside. “BREEZE!”

“Ow! Let go of me!” you release her arm with a breathless apology, still staring in horror at the little room shuddering all around you. “Calm down. We’re in an elevator; it’s a box being pulled on metal cables.”

“What if they break?”

“They won’t. I’ve ridden this thing hundreds of times, do you think I’d be stupid enough to ride it every day if it wasn't safe?”

You shift anxiously as the box lurches to a stop and goes still, an unseen bell chiming cheerfully. Her question is rhetorical. After so many years, she still knows your answer.

“No,” you sigh. “I trust you.”

The doors slide open, revealing a scene so surreal that your eyes start to strain, unable to make sense of so much green. Atop the table, where the elevator had taken you, there is a tiny, idyllic settlement. The tiled roofs of little wooden houses poke behind shallow green hills, sloping down into an imperfect ring of trees circling a burbling stream.

“Are we still… in the tent?” you ask, jogging to catch up with your sister, already disappearing down one of the shadowed footpaths worn into the grass. She snorts, nodding her head as you pull up to walk beside her. You look around at the dimly lit area, frowning as more details of the strange space emerge from the darkness. The leaves in the trees are totally still, the grass they walk on is perfect and green despite being hidden from the sun. You frown as you pass the little stream, of which you can now see is drawn up from an invisible source to cascade down a cairn of black stones. When you turn your gaze up, trying to peer past the trees and low hills, you see the shimmer of a wall netting surrounding the table, almost invisible in the dark.

“This is an enclosure.”

“You can leave through the elevator,” Breeze says, turning around to squint at you. “Unless you’d like to try falling fifty feet twice in one day.”

You swallow, kneeling down to peer closer at the running water. She has a point and you know it, but there’s only so much that knowledge can do for you. Any giant, in a moment of blinding rage, could lash out and kill all of you in a moment, even accidentally. Unconcerned, Breeze continues down the path, pulling you out of your investigation of the brook-- or whatever it’s supposed to be.

“Would they let you leave, if you wanted to?”

“I can't leave,” she says easily, pushing a bent sapling up and out of the path. “Not until the baby’s born and I have a lead on finding Tracker.”

“But if you wanted to, you could?”

Breeze slows to a stop outside of a small wooden cabin and turns to look at you.

“I can’t think like that, Lore.” she tells you, shaking her head. “I don't want to leave, and when I do want to, they’ll help me. Going out on my own would be a death sentence. I can't find anyone if I’m dead. I never would have found you if I was dead.”

She turns to the little house and opens the door, shouldering loose when it sticks. It opens onto a simple room with raw wood walls. There is a bed and a bookshelf and a shiny nightstand. There is a glass oil lamp sitting on top. The room is featureless, and the nicest place you’ve stayed since you lost your first home.

“They really do want to protect us, you know. Protect all of humanity.” Breeze says, pulling open a drawer and lighting the oil lamp. She sits in an armchair, gentle lamplight flickering over her face. She watches yours, smiling at your silence . “Atlas was the one who found me. I’d say I wish he’d been the one to find you instead of Caelum, but then you never would have come here.”

“Did Atlas take you here?”

“He convinced me to come,” Breeze says, settling back in the armchair. “Wasn't a very hard sell. My other choice was to go on drinking from puddles.”

You drop your coat and boots in the corner by the door, your eyes roving over the intricate bedspread, the creased leather books, the shining rectangular frame that you perceive as a painting- then a window, and then rear back in shock when you recognize your own face within the little frame.

“A mirror!” you blurt, stepping closer to the little sheet of glass. There had been a mirror in your mother’s room. An old silver mirror that stood as tall as she was. “Oh. I look… bad.”

“Well, I wasn't gonna say it,” says Breeze’s reflection behind you. You draw your gaze up to meet your own eyes, bloodshot, exhausted, older. You look… not like a stranger, although that’s what you see at first. Your face has gotten a little longer and your cheekbones more defined in a way that makes you look more like your father. Your hair has grown, falling in dark rings around your hollow cheeks and long down the back of your neck. It clumps together in places, thick with mud and sweat and blood. There is a long streak of black across your brown skin. With the neck of your shirt, you scrub at it.

“I’ll show you where the washrooms are tomorrow,” Breeze promises. “A good night’s sleep will be enough for now.”

Your frowning reflection doesn't change much, dirt still streaked over your brow. “I won’t be able to sleep,” you admit, brows furrowing over your dark eyes. “This is crazy, all of this is impossible. What if when I wake up…”

The words fail you. You can see your fear in her eyes, and you know that she understands.

“When you wake up, I’ll still be here.” Breeze rises from her armchair, the floorboards creaking under her as she makes her way across the little room to you. “I’ll take you to get a hot bath and some breakfast, I’ll show you around, introduce you to everyone properly and I’ll tell you about everything you’ve missed.”

She puts her hand on your shoulder, dark eyes teary and fervid.

“And one day… once this baby is born, we are going to leave this place and find what we lost. But right now you need sleep.”

You sigh, skirting your sister and sitting down heavily on the foot of the narrow bed. It bounces under you with an odd metallic creak, but it is beyond comfortable all the same. Your hands tremble as you sigh again, smoothing over a quilt too intricate to exist. Something trembles inside of you like an animal.

“…What if I read you something?” Breeze suggests, whisper quiet, pausing by the low bookshelf. “Like when we were little. I’ll stay here until you fall asleep.”

You lay back stiffly atop the sheets, shutting your eyes. The lamplight glows through them, illuminating your world a dim pink. You trace winding red paths of the thin veins in your eyelids, feel the soreness in your chest pulling tight on every breath.

“Sounds nice,” you mutter, cracking open your eyes. “I haven't read much since the fire.”

Breeze stoops down to investigate the sparse shelf in the unadorned room, silently flipping through a few small leather bound books. “Do you like plays, poems, or novels?”

“I don't care,” you sigh tiredly, pulling back the quilt to shuffle under it. “You can pick.”

“Alright,” Breeze says, sitting back down in her armchair with a palm-sized book. The spine crackles when she opens the little book to the first page, the papers shuffle as she flips through the title pages and stops, clearing her throat.

“Long ago, in a distant land, there was a castle owned by a great Baron. In that castle there lived a youth, whom nature had endowed with the most gentle manners. His countenance was a true picture of his soul. He combined a true judgment with simplicity of spirit, which was the reason, I apprehend, of his being called Candide.”

Your sister’s voice skates over the meaningless words, her tone so full of warmth and memories that you want to stay awake to hear the ending. It makes the span of ten years seem a little less vast.

“The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in all the land, for his castle had not only a gate, but windows. His great hall, even, was hung with tapestry. All the dogs of his farm-yards formed a pack of hounds at need; his grooms were his huntsmen. They called him "My Lord," and laughed at all his stories.”

Your lip twitches up in a half smile; your eyes had closed at some point. You open them, blinking in the low light, and try to count the slats on the ceiling, then the dark whorls of pine knots, even as your eyelids try to flutter closed.

“Pangloss was professor of metaphysico-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He proved admirably that there is no effect without a cause, and that, in this best of all possible worlds, the Baron's castle was the most magnificent of castles…”

When next you open your eyes it is to clean daylight.

You scramble upright, your hands reaching out to grasp at the world around you, patting down your body while your heart slows and your mind pieces together the events of yesterday. Your tingling arms fall heavy into your lap, fingers still numb with sleep. You had found your sister. Breeze. Oxbow. One missing piece of the family you once were. You turn to the chair she had occupied, the little book left behind, marked at the halfway point with a slip of paper.

You rise, sitting on the edge of the bed and running your fingers through your dirty hair, frowning at the reminder of your need for a wash. You stand, stretch, and scrounge around on the ground for a couple of seconds to find your boots and coat. According to Beech, the giants had transported most of your things here, so hopefully you’d have access to more than just this set of clothes. This set was probably unsalvageable from the moment you were shut in that horse pen two days ago. Regardless, you pull your coat and boots over your soiled clothes and ruffle your hair ineffectively in the mirror before opening the door into the strange settlement.

The grass is a vivid green, even more so in the daylight. It is cropped close to the ground, softer than any grass you’ve felt before. You lean down to brush your fingers against the strange carpet and feel that it is a carpet of damp moss. You hum, turning your attention to the trees that dot the little park, clustered in a copse near your cabin. The trees are varied, some leaves a deep wine color, some shockingly verdant, and a few sweet-smelling trees in full bloom, drifting tiny petals lazily through the air. Tearing your eyes away from the sprawling plant life, you tread over to the cabin your sister had pointed out last night as her own, stepping up the short stoop and knocking twice. No response comes, so you knock again.

“Hello?”

“Over here!” Breeze calls, not from inside the cabin but behind it, making you blink in surprise and circle back to walk behind the house.

“What are you doing?” You call to her as you approach her kneeling figure, watching as she rises slowly from a small plot of upturned dirt. She gestures at the little green shoots sticking out of the ground in even rows around her, smiling.

“Planting tomatoes,” she says, putting her trowel-wielding hands on her hips. “It’s supposed to be hot later today, so I’m finishing early.”

You kneel down where she had been, holding out your hand in silent request for the trowel, and start to dig little holes in evenly spaced rows. Probably better to get this done before you’re shown the bathhouse. The dirt is cool and wet under your hands, it feels rich; it smells like rain, it is dark and fine and easy to dig through. Back home, your cabin with the willow tree and the river, the dirt was hard, grey and sandy. For too many months out of the year, it was impossible to break through the frozen crust atop the soil.

“I had pumpkins growing at my… well, the place I was staying,” You muse, picking up a tomato plant in cupped hands and transferring it into the soil. “Animals have probably gotten into them by now.”

“We’ll plant new pumpkins.” Breeze assures you, passing you another young plant. “We can make pumpkin soup, pumpkin pie, and pasta and salad and risotto! Oh, you have no idea what we can do with food, Lore. There are whole shelves of cookbooks in the library.”

“There’s a library here?”

“I’ll show you after breakfast,” Breeze promises. “There’s a whole world you haven't gotten to see.”

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