Lightning illuminated the yard, exposing her quarry. A blurry figure running at full tilt, hands raised as if holding a gun, a gun that Raerys didn’t see. Just that quick the visual was gone, now only the shiny wet ripples of the figure’s clothing caught the too-soft light spreading from the porch lights and the opened front door. “Just a few more steps…” Raerys thought, waiting, waiting for the figure to come clear in the ambient glow of the stoop.
His sacrifice would not be in vain however, she drew back the hammer with her thumb, and slowed her breathing. Whoever these people were, they had no idea who they were dealing with when it came to her. She felt ice-cold resolve in her veins, thoughts of Olivia foremost now, even as Ouro lay bleeding to death at her feet.Â
She would give no warning, only shoot, once she could see them clearly enough to make sure her bullet found its true home, deep in their brain. She had never shot another sentient being, but that wouldn't preclude her doing it now. Her daughter was inside and she'd vowed a long time ago to snuff the life of anyone who dared come for her or Olivia.
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“Fiddle,” Trisandrah sighed as she approached the far end of Dawning Lane. Though there was no rain here, the bubble of Silvermoon extending over the old ruins enough to protect it from the elements, she could smell the ozone of lightning and see the heavy clouds above obscuring the stars of the night sky. The temperature here was chill and the air damp, indicating that once she passed through the gate there was a full on gale out there.
She paused for a moment, considering waiting it out. She had her heavy laden cart full of boxes, paper bags and little this-and-thats which decorated her table at Menagerie. As she stood, weighing her options she spied a young courier who burst through the gate, soaked to the bone and making haste.
“You there! Hallooo! Would you like to make a bit of extra side coin?” She asked, slowing the youth: a boy of indeterminate age in the unmistakable livery of Falthrien Academy. He came up short, looking at her through rain traced lashes, nodding. “Sure, Lady… what you got? And where is it going?”
Tris wriggled the handle of her cart, giving him a winning smile. One of those sly and flirty smiles she was so good at, the entrapment smile as Raerys liked to name it. The one no one seemed able to say no to. “Oh, just this little cart here… if you could just take it up the way to the inn and leave it with Miss Delaniel with a word that Miss Emberstrom will be along in the morning to pick it up, I’d be ever so grateful.”
The youth’s momentary dazzlement at Trisandrah’s wayward grin melted as she gave the specifics. The cart would certainly slow him down and all he wanted just now was to make it to the Spire and then find a warm dry place to get a late super. A credulous eyebrow was his response, while his body fidgeted - ready to get back at it.
“I’ll make it worth your while…” Tris dipped into her purse, withdrawing three gold coins. She splay them like cards in her dexterous fingers and tried the grin again. The boy softened for a second at her expression and then squared his shoulders and pursed his lips. “Hrm… not quite it I see. Howsabout…?” Tris turned and rifled through the cart, bringing up the box of rose creams she’d saved aside for Raerys. “You can take this as well, and if they’re not to your taste you could gift them to your girl?”
It must have been adequate, for he extended a wet and dripping arm, hand palm up for the coin. “Alright, I’ll do it.”
Tris dropped the coins into his extended hand and then handed over the box. The youth, tucked the candy box under his arm and pocketed the change. Tris turned slightly offering the cart and the boy leapt forward and grabbed the handle from her. Without another word he bolted down the golden-cobbled street.The cart bounced and rattled with the motion, seeming to complain at the speed, but before Tris could offer a caution about it tipping, he was already too far away to bother.
With that bit of business concluded, she wrinkled her nose and cast a quick cantrip to provide some shelter from the rain. Above her head and down to her shoulders a shimmering arcane dome appeared, looking something like a carnival glass umbrella. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
Out into the wind and wet she ventured, feet picking up a swift track. The promise of warmth and shelter at Raerys, with little Olivia and a roaring fire sounded just perfect as a cap for her evening. Through the gusts of wind, which carried heavy drops of rain she persisted, her fine leather shoes soon soft as mush but for their spiked heels.
“Oh, Fiddle…” she said, yet again. She was almost to their lane, when she decided to stop and slip off her now destroyed shoes, preferring at this point the comfort and safety of bare soles. Just as she slid out of the left one, the right already in her hands she heard a sharp crack of electricity. The sky lightened, turning the inky landscape into a black and white photograph all around her.
She thought, perhaps she’d heard a yelp, but then it was whisked away by the thunder that followed the lightning strike. Looking down toward the little house with blue shutters she saw one of the aspen in the yard glowed, a seam of fire running down its paper-white bark.
“Gracious! That’s close…” She fretted a moment, then headed off again, picking up her pace as much as bare-feet would allow. The closer she got the more attention the front facade of the house took. During the brief flashes of light, she thought she saw two figures in the yard, very close to Raerys’ stoop. They appeared to be clashing, but as the darkness filled the void of momentary light, she chocked it up to Raerys’ hydrangea bushes out front being ravaged by the howling coastal wind.
And then just before she let out a soft sigh, glad to be within the slight glow of the little house with the blue shutters, she heard a scream. A masculine scream of agony. Something had happened, was happening! The little chocolatier broke into a run, bare feet pounding down the path to the house, splashing through puddles that soaked the hem of her dress.
As she ran, she squinted into the night, trying to make out what slowly came clear the closer she got. A crumpled form on the doorstep, another swaying in the wind just beside it and the growing sound of gurgling and sobbing. She lifted her hands on instinct, the words and gestures of a spell coming without effort as she leapt over the little garden gate.
The scene went bright, as if another strike of lightning had landed amidst it, but it held steady and only then did Tris see Raerys’ figure backlit by the lights in the house and framed in the open door. Raerys had her pistol and Tris could make out the swaying form was Ouro. Blood, lots of blood ran through with rainwater seemed to flood the stoop and roll down the face of that little stone step.
Was it Ouro’s or the other man’s? Questions, a billion of them suddenly crowded her mind, but they were all eclipsed as she heard the hammer of Raerys’ revolver click and realized she was staring down its barrel. She would not be able to stop the spell now, no… she could feel the fire singing her fingertips, smell the rank odor of infernal magics as they crackled about her aura.
She did the only thing she could, she screamed and swung her hands left, forcing the magma like-ball of fire she’d accumulated out over the side-yard.
“RAE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
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Tris' sodden features grew steadily closer, running full tilt toward the house. Tris was likewise poised, her hands and fingers curved into arcane forms, her mouth already muttering against the howling wind a spell of fiery destruction. Raerys leaned into the shot, head tilting just a little to fix her gaze down the sight, her hands re-gripping the weapon as she prepared to unload the contents of the pearl-handled revolver into the second assassin.
In the haze of wrath and terror, Raerys didn’t make out Tris’s face, nor the soaked frilly frock that clung to Tris’s legs as she ran toward the house. All she saw was the figure advancing and the churning pyroclastic mass that was forming in its fingers. She knew in a moment, she, Ouro and the house would be on fire, a fire that even the wet of this storm would not quell. It was now or never, her finger slowly curled, pushing its soft pad to the trigger.
And then the second scream, Tris’s voice, Tris calling to her, and then Tris’s horror-widened eyes burning from the rushing figure. Raerys dropped her arm, shaking so hard that she thought she too may end up a lump on the stoop, next to Ouro’s dying body and that of the now dead assailant. Sobs, heavy and all encompassing surged through her, as she tilted and then sagged forward, catching her shoulder on the blood smeared pillar of the porch.
The stench of demonic magic filled the air as the pyroclastic mass shot out like a cannonball, followed by a fiery tail that arched out and over the garden, headed for the garden gazebo that Raerys had labored so long to erect. But it mattered not a wit, for it would not take a life or burn down a home.
There was no time for shock, no time for questions or recriminations or anything else extraneous in that moment. The two women locked eyes, one bend and winded with exertion, hovering over the bleeding figures of two men and the other bent and sobbing, leaned against a bloody post.
“Fiddle, fiddle, FIDDLE FUCK!” Tris finally exclaimed, pushing herself up to standing as she surveyed the mess.
“Exactly that… ok, I think Ouro is still alive… we got to get him inside.” Raerys un-cocked the revolver and tucked it into the waistband of her pants, naturally sliding the safety on as she did so. “You grab his feet and I’ll get his shoulders, hurry and then we need to get Lyne on the com and check on Olivia… ohmyfuckingsun…”
Tris nodded, quick to scoop up Ouro’s feet and long legs as Raerys slid her hands under his arms, securing him about their pits and began to drag/lift him over the threshold and into the little house with blue shutters. He felt like a sack of flour, lifeless and limp, heavy and awkward but the two managed with a few sworn words and a near slip of Tris’s feet as she stepped wrong in the puddle of viscous blood on the stoop.
Breaching the threshold they were bathed in warm light, the quaint little house suddenly christened with blood and violence felt different, its hard edges in sudden relief. Laboring together Raerys and Trisandrah managed him to the couch, a fine silken thing with hand painted blue and green finery. The trail of blood behind them was troubling, doubly so as they lay Ouro down on the silk and the blue turned to purple and the green to a muddy brown.
“Fuck.. ok, I’ll get Olivia, you call Lyne.”
Before Tris could contest, Raerys was gone, running down the hall toward the bathroom. Trisandrah dug into her purse and found her comm and with a touch she made the connection. It was Lyne’s private code, direct line to their friend and healer. Tris relayed what she knew, which wasn’t much, that Ouro lay bleeding badly on the couch and they were in dire need of Lyne’s gifts.
And while the conversation took place, Raerys found Olivia, blessedly asleep, having had a full belly and the warmth of her blanket lulling the infant into the land of dreams. She looked so peaceful, swaddled up and eyes closed that for a moment, Raerys froze. The air in her lungs gone in that instant, her heart in her throat and beating in her ears.
“Livi…?” Raerys whispered, terror coloring what should have been relief with uncertainty. Bending down to scoop up the infant as she spoke, her unspoken fear melted away as a soft curl of lips resulted from the caress of the child’s name, uttered by her mother’s lips. She didn’t wake, but stretched and kicked lightly before nuzzling into Raerys’ arms.
The breath Raerys didn’t know she’d stifled slid out, her shoulders suddenly sagging as that primal fear and tension slid out of her. She wanted very much to take Livi to her room, to sit in their rocking chair and fall asleep. Everything felt heavy, her limbs and lids, her heart and mind, but she could not.
Ouro was dying.
Gathering herself, Raerys tightened her grip on Olivia and joined Tris in the Living Room, wide eyed at the amount of blood that continued to seep from Ouro’s wounded body into her silken couch. “We need to um… bandages or something…” Panic returned, reedy and awful in her voice.
“I’ve got a little something to tide him over until Lyne arrives.” Tris took charge now, like a switch had flicked inside her. A steady calm came over her as she made her way to the couch, in her hands a small vial of a healing draught the sort they passed out to soldiers. “It won’t heal him totally, but it will buy us time.” Kneeling beside Ouro, Tris tilted his head gently, then with her teeth pulled free the cork in the vial.
She poured slowly, making sure not to choke him, letting the glowing red liquid flow over his tongue. He coughed once, both potion and blood spattering his lips, but then he swallowed and swallowed again as Tris emptied the vial into his mouth. Tris nodded as she leaned back, seeing the color rise once more to Ouro’s ashen-skinned face.
“Alright, the first aid kit is where we agreed yes?”
Raerys nodded, looking back over her shoulder toward the bathroom. “Uhhuh… should be just to the left on the top shelf.”
She would muse later on the cool, almost cold detachment in Trisandrah’s manner, the methodical and calm surety of her actions. But not now. Shock had come to visit and burrowed itself into her bones. Tris went off, and when she returned she held some linen bandages which she quickly wrapped into a pressure bandage.
Setting them on the couch arm, Tris leaned over the Gunman and tore open what remained of his shirt, exposing the ugly dark stab-wound in his gut. Raerys winced, her head shaking as she watched his vitae dribble from it and saw the ugly growing stain under his skin where blood pooled in his flesh.
The chocolatier took the wad of linen padding and placed it over the wound, then wrapped Ouro’s midsection tightly with the tails of the bandage, lifting him easily and working carefully to make sure it was good and tight. “Might help, might not… I guess we’ll see.” Her voice was almost mechanical, devoid of true feeling and it lent a cold crispness to the air of the house.
All Raerys could do was mutely nod her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. She felt useless, utterly powerless in the face of this. About Olivia’s little body she tightened her grip, lifting the sleeping infant to her cheeks and lips, where she could draw in that precious scent of life and love. “Daddy is going to be ok, Livi… he is, I… promise…”
