Need (Sister Lashan) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
hasapoint) wrote in lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
Do not be afraid of light
They smelled the battlefield long before they saw it. The apprentices and little Sisters who hadn't been on this kind of excursion before covered their noses and exclaimed. Vena didn't. As the child of a camp follower she would know to expect this, but her tread slowed and she looked repeatedly at Sister Lashan, especially as the sound of incredible numbers of crows cawing grew louder.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
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Swearing totally is cool, and it's not his fault that he doesn't understand that. Vena watches Guts' face intently, what she can see of it in the dim light. "And seal it - let me touch your thumb - okay." She lets go and solemnly says, "And if you lie all oaths to you are null, every man's hand is against you, the gods turn their faces away and you will be eaten from the inside out by your own darkness until the reckoning comes."
Which isn't something you say after finger-swearing, but a promise to not kill the Sisters or walk off with a sword that represents a considerable chunk of their income seems like it calls for something bigger than break your fingers if you lie, stick a needle in your eye. She's probably not quite got the words right but Lashan always says the intent is what's important.
"Okay," she says conspiratorially. "The armory's locked up and I don't wanna go in the bunkhouses or dorms." Most of the people who didn't go to service are in those. Also, the women who'd keep weapons for themselves outside of the armory would notice if they were missing. "But I know there's some finished ones in the forge and everything's done for the day. We just have to..."
Vena looks down the roof and at the ground. "Wait, how do we get down?"
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He watches her incredulously as she finishes off the rest of the swear. Some superstitious part of him felt a little unnerved by that, as if this kid was going to really go up and curse him if he ran off with the sword. He really didn't need any more bad luck after what the last string of years were like.
Guts is sure he will prefer his own over the sword they have when it comes time to depart, so whatever. He happily unlocks his finger before she adds any more weird incantations to the deal.
"You jump down."
He says this as if its the most obvious thing in the world. Shaking off his momentary apprehension, Guts walks over the same wood beam towards the low end of the roof, and hops off. Getting down was easy - he only had to rely on his legs for that part.
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Vena peers over the edge of the roof and cautiously makes her way along it. "You just jump down!" There's a tall pile of hay slated to be replacement bedding when the stalls get mucked out. She peers at it, balling her hands into fists, and hesitates for a moment while she sways indecisively back and forth. "I'm not a little kid," she mutters, imagining Guts coming back up and getting her like she is, again, a kitten.
So she jumps before she can stop herself, and with a rustle disappears completely into the hay.
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He leans over the pile, brushing a few clumps of hay away to look for the girl buried inside. She guessed correctly that he would have offered to at least catch her - though given his wounds, it may not have ended as gracefully as he would have hoped.
If he finds a hand or limb, he'll help pull her out with a shit-eating grin on his face. Around Vena, it was easy to lighten up and act a little more his age.
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She is a mess, not that she'd been completely clean or put together to start. Overlaying scorch marks on her clothing there's some water and oil and who knows what else from the dishes, the decomposed thatch from the roof, and now she is wearing a good portion of the haystack. Vena, largely unselfconscious, takes down what's left of her updo so she can fingercomb her hair and get some of it out. She does of course neglect her scalp. Pieces of hay stick out at wild angles.
"Where'd I... oh!" And she's going to go pick up the tray again.
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"They're gonna make a bunch of noise if you bring that with you. Not exactly stealthy."
He would rather avoid a situation where they're caught in the forge stealing weapons. This kid was awfully determined to finish her chores, wasn't she? Seems like she has a lot to learn about being a proper miscreant.
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She hugs the tray and its contents to her chest in a way that muffles them. Vena's strong for a kid her size, she's been working the bellows for Lashan and the lesser blacksmiths for a year. The lungs of the forge take some strength to operate properly. But also, she's absolutely not going to keep this up for the whole way to anywhere.
There are fewer eyes about now. The majority of people are at the temple still, or taking this chance for a long hot soak at the bathhouse, and most of the rest have gone to bed. Those who are left are clearly much more wary of Guts and if anything seeing him following Vena makes them more alarmed, until she's close enough or the torchlight falls such that they recognize her.
She does notice that, and pauses at an intersection. Lashan's ideas about misdirection and distractions and throwing stones such that they kill two birds come to mind. "Actually..." She lowers her voice and impatiently twitches her head back in a 'come closer' gesture. "You wash the dishes. I'll go on to the forge, because I forgot a cloak there. Then I'll come get you and we'll go back to the infirmary."
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He acquiesces to her, despite not entirely buying the reasoning. The plates clatter irritably in his ears, but he lurks close to Vena as she navigates the streets.
It was strange, being so visible to the villagers here. In peacetime, he could move about relatively disregarded. Just another soldier with no war, another wandering sword for hire. They were common enough with all the feuding lords.
Here, all of the residents were looking at him like he had some contagious disease. Was one fight in the mud really enough to acquire that much infamy?
By the time Vena shoves the tray into his hands, he accepts the new plan with no complaint.
“Yeah. Sure. That way, right?”
He points towards the general direction of the scullery - his mental map of the place was pretty good.
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He does actually get less suspicion carrying the tray. Somehow, it's less threatening for a man with resting bastard face to be seen with something so domestic.
"I should walk you. They're not close close, but there's..." She pauses, trying to remember the phrase. "Line-of-sight. If it was cold these'd go to the enclosed one at the refectory but the summer scullery is open planned and you can watch me. Long as you're not really obvious about it."
Like the stables, the forge is away from the center of the compound. The noise of it in operation, the smoke, and in summer the heat are not things other people want to be that close to, especially since it's not particularly enclosed. The scullery, which doubles as a communal laundry space, is less removed and even less enclosed than that. It has a roof and no walls, just a long basin with some of the same warm spring water that goes to the bathhouse going through it.
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Memories of his first home surface in his mind. Feed the chickens, cook the meals, clean the dishes… Gambino had always been so high and mighty, making sure he knew he had to earn his his stay when he could barely lift a sword. Thankless, domestic work. Killing and the money it brought was the only thing that brought kind words on him.
Cleaning wasn’t so bad, though. A bit boring, maybe. It was easy to fall in a distracting meditative state, once he got into the scrubbing. Compared to the grime and muck of his job, it hardly churned his stomach. And what’s not to like about having something nice and spotless at the end?
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Over their shoulder Vena trots carelessly into the dark forge. If Guts pays attention he'll see her crouching by some floorboards and prying them up but otherwise it'd be hard to tell. After a few minutes she comes out with a cloak-wrapped bundle that's probably supposed to look like the cloak is just rolled up longways and no change in expression or demeanor, and veers off towards the refectory and out of sight.
The parent washes their hands, hangs their linens up on a rack with various other damp articles, and hesitates... then very shyly offers Guts a piece of cloth with a mumbled "To dry with."
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Wordlessly, he finishes his task. The clean plates are piled up where he spotted a few other ones near the trough. It does not escape him that the girl was taking a while to 'come get him' as she suggested. His first thought was wondering if she'd lied - promises meant nothing, after all - and she'd just gotten out of her assigned chore while he stood around like an idiot. He feels annoyed with himself, wondering if he'd really been duped by some kid.
With that embarassing thought on his mind, face slightly flushed, he gives back the linen. He still manages a curt and grateful 'Thanks' while avoiding proper eye contact. He decides to saunter off in the same direction to see where the girl had gone.
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Tiny Nerine of the rope tricks hauls herself out with her hands and uses them to hop out, bringing her legs up in time to land rather gracefully and is swarmed by even smaller kids. It's not light enough to be sure of bruises but there's a split across her eyebrow. She reaches into pockets and passes what appear to be bread rolls out only to see Guts and go furiously rigid. Various of the others follow her gaze, with mixed reactions.
Then Vena tumbles out the same window with much less poise as a chiming sounds from the direction of the temple, and children scatter. Vena mock-screams and hikes up her skirt to sprint scullery-ways, looking back as if someone leaving the temple will see and pursue her. If he doesn't watch it she is going to run full tilt into Guts and end up on the ground. There are some different mysterious lumps about her person, nothing that could be a sword.
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Guts spots her early on enough to think of stepping out of the way and maybe scruffing her by the back of the blouse again. But no, he was annoyed enough that he just lets Vena bounce off him and spill the misbegotten bread all over the ground. No treats for liars!
"You didn't tell me about this part," he says stiffly, arms crossed. This didn't look great in front the other children, but his business wasn't with them. This little twerp made a big deal about her honors and her stupid swears!
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"It's called," she hisses, with what she considers great dignity and gravity, "sub-ter-fuge, stupid!" Remembering her own priorities she darts a glance around - her friends have gone but yes, people are starting to come out of the temple. Vena scowls and picks up the rolls she can see, even if that's tricky with a back stiff with outrage. It's just ground food, it's still perfectly fine.
With her utmost sarcasm she says, "Let's just get back, to the infirmary" and jerks her head. Obviously she didn't forget, and obviously she's too smart to be seen carrying a sword near the most obvious non-Sister here since Ilse tried taming a leucistic elk.
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He looms above with an unamused expression on his face. Annoyed, but not in any particularly serious way, he reminds himself that kids were easily distracted and that’s most likely what happened here.
Regardless of whether or not the heist worked, he’d have to make it back to the infirmary before Lashan gets too suspicious of him.
So once the girl gets back up on her feet, he will make his way back with her. He lets her take the lead, retracing his steps all the while, and giving a good eye at the forge when they pass it. He’d have to learn this place inside out whether he was staying or planning on escaping. His sword was in there, somewhere.
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Here in the summer most work involving high heat is done in the morning and late afternoon, avoiding the hottest part of the day. A stultifying warmth still radiates and there is a dim glow of banked coals from the forge. What can be seen in that dim light in passing is that it's definitely larger than most village smithies, with space and tools for multiple smiths. The most prominent anvil is on a taller base than the others. If his sword is there, it's not somewhere obvious.
Even with the slatted windows and door allowing air to move through it, the infirmary is stuffier than outside. Vena starts working on using a taper to light some ceramic oil lamps with bright metal backings that cast pretty good light considering. It's hard to treat someone if you can't see them. As the darkness lifts it becomes possible to see that one of the beds has had something long hastily shoved lengthwise under the covers, like it's a patient.
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"How'd you have time to run back here and go get treats?" he asks incredulously, looking at the poorly-hidden sword under the sheets. So she hadn't been taking him for a fool, after all. Guts had an idea for how to store it more securely, but first he wanted to examine what it is she brought from the forge.
Unwrapping a bit of the cloth where he can feel the hilt, Guts pulls a few inches of bright steel free of its scabbard. The edge looked good. The handle was a little more elegant than the riveted metal and fabric on his preferred weapon. The blade was on the smaller side for him, but that was perfect for keeping it hidden. This would do wonders for his nerves.
He doesn't stare for too long, resheathing the sword and parting the linen of the mattress where it was stuffed with straw. He slips the sword inside near the bottom, sandwiched between layers of thin fibers, where it was least likely to be discovered while they changed the sheets. All he had to do to pull it free was reach inside.
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Some of the girls yesterday had carried short swords almost exactly like this one, shorter than Lashan's old longsword. In the lamplight the live steel is faintly veined or marbled like woodgrain, a mark of the many small pieces of metal that went into making it without simply being melted completely together. It's very new, no chips or scratches in the blade, the leather-wrapped wood of the grip pristine. The materials are common and the ornamentation is minimal, including on the very new and beltless scabbard, but there's a certain moderately expensive quality to it.
He doesn't hold it for long enough to activate any of the particular effects, though those are meant to be hard to really pick up on. It's dangerous to call attention here by selling overtly magical items, though the affinities associated with Lashan's work do still compel higher prices from those who know about them.
"She's gonna sell twelve of those at a market in the fall," Vena says around a mouthful of sausage roll, glancing at the door as if expecting the old woman to have appeared in it. "Does it every year. These're the most expensive things we sell to anyone."
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She didn’t have to go up and get him the nicest sword. If there’s only twelve, Lashan may notice one of them was missing. Hopefully he won’t be around long enough for her to check.
Still - even if he wanted to steal this, such a nicely crafted weapon a felt a little out of place. Decently reliable steel was good enough for something that would be beat to hell and bloodied on a frequent basis.
He sits on the bed, getting comfortable. They shouldn’t spend too much time speaking about the sword aloud.
“Went through all that trouble for an egg.” he muses, mostly to himself. He doesn’t think to ask for her food.
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"This's the best place to steal food. They always leave that window open and they don't even beat you when they catch you! You just gotta do kitchen duty in your free period and then there's even more food." What suckers! her tone says. "Master says it's because the rule is really that you don't hoard food 'cause pests and everyone should be able to eat when they're hungry and we can also just ask when there's not services and everyone's not asleep but raids're more fun."
That all comes out in a burst before she dusts the most obvious dirt off a round of bread and jams it in. It's getting kind of awkward to be making her way through her spoils while someone is just sitting there, not eating. But she did also get Guts a sword that's a much bigger deal, and he was mean, and - it's annoying. Vena scowls and finds the other hardboiled egg, with a cracked shell because it broke when she ran into him, and pitches it his way.
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He catches the egg, observing with muted bafflement her explanation of the village rules. Gambino would make him pay, one way or another, so he never got much habit of stealing. Nothing good came out of giving other mercenaries a reason to be angry with you, by stealing or complaining of hunger. Plus, he was eager to please his teacher, to get any positive attention at all, and was given a rather straightforward way to do so. Be useful, earn money.
He realizes he must be the odd one out, being so obssessed with his sword, never really indulging in play with other children. Not that he ever saw any children in camp. Only in passing, and then in villages when he was older.
Of course, it wasn't all bad. He wasn't typically left hungry, because he wouldn't be of much use sluggish and weak. And when he was the one in the kitchen, he had ready access to whatever rations were around. He wordlessly picks open the egg, eating it with a thoughtful deliberation. This whole day had been incredibly bizarre.
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"I've just been here and at the soldiers' camps." She doesn't think of them as belonging to a particular lord who commands the soldiers. It was never relevant to her. "There's the men who fight and get all the best food, and the women who do all the cooking and cleaning and forning to keep them happy. And the kids underfoot, until something happens or their parents leave and take them. It was better when my ma was alive. She always shared and wouldn't let her men touch me. After that I had some aunties but, it wasn't the same."
Vena shrugs. She is not going to get into it all. Almost no one in the Sisterhood had had a happy life before coming here, or they wouldn't agree to live somewhere like this; all the stories have bad things in them, so hers doesn't stand out. She's not Lashan, with that burning awareness that the world should be better and that sense of betrayal that it's not. Frankly, it seems exhausting. "Do mercenaries do it different?"
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His world had been so centered around Gambino that he never formed particularly close relationships with the other women in the company. Shisu died so long ago that he barely remembered her, though he does remember that they were nicer to him than the men.
"Mercenaries only care about money, so you don't really see kids. If you're there, you work and you earn your place. That'll mean cooking and cleaning if you can't fight. With all the wars around, the loot and money never ran too short, so..."
There was a practical nature to it, in a way. War was business, and business was plentiful. Unlike a lord's army, they always had the option to turn away an unfavorable task and be hired by someone else. They weren't obligated to follow their employer's whims without good reason, and no noble wanted to anger a mercenary company wandering around in their territory. One way or another, they got what they wanted.
"Beats living in some village as a peasant," he decides.
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She holds the turnip up to peer at it and idly wonders which of the four Twins she'd call on to work magic and make it into something better. Hunter beforehand, for finding a different thing. Crafter for cooking it. Maybe Healer for turning it into a carrot? Vena's not actually going to do any of those, obviously. Doing magic in even small ways is tiring and can go wrong.
Plenty of Vena's Sisters come from villages and there are unhappy stories from them, too, but she doesn't buy it and casts Guts a skeptical glance. "Hunh. You mean, it beats being a girl."
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