Vanya's Journal, 31st EntryVanya's fourth journal continues onwards into its sixth entry, and you continue dictating as you translate from her beautiful elven script. It seems that she wrote all of this at once - perhaps even on the same day. But you can only speculate as to why she would break it up into multiple entries, as she's as yet given no clues. The next morning we arose with the sun, eating a quick breakfast and continuing the journey. John seemed more distant than usual... almost ashamed. I didn't want to tell him, but I understood how he felt: I'd done horrible things in my past, too. I still considered myself to blame for it.
The day itself seemed melancholy, and that afternoon, blood began to rain from the sky as we walked – the first rain I'd seen since that night at the cave. I choked at the horrible smell as the thick, red liquid soaked my armor, and tucked Jack Magnus's woolen cap away in a pouch at my waist to keep it clean. Around me, the marching scythods raised their mouths to the sky, drinking the liquid almost eagerly as it trickled down their narrow, ashen bodies. I didn't find it nearly as refreshing. Before long, it was dripping down my hair and into my eyes. I hoped it would stop quickly, and that I would have a chance to bathe. Sadly, I didn’t have any choice but to keep walking; if I fell too far behind, my captors would sense it, and they'd come back to get me. They were always watching.
A scythod spoke suddenly from behind my shoulder, clacking and hissing through its teeth. "You do not like the rain, Spala," it noted carefully.
Its voice startled me, and I spun around, choking on my breath. The scythod was tall, and bore a familiar scar on its armscythe. "Warmaster Scylk, I... I didn't know you were there," I stammered in dwarven, trying to recover from my surprise. "Your warship," I added. It was the first time, besides the night before, that John wasn't there to translate.
Scylk laughed: he rubbed the serrated edges of his scythes together to produce a musical chirping noise. "There is no need to add such titles," he told me. "Lonne does it out of fear and regret."
"Sorry, Warmaster..." I said quietly. "And no, I do not like the rain."
"I can understand," he replied, stomping forwards until he walked beside me. He lifted his mouth for a moment, drinking in the falling liquid. I watched him, shielding my eyes from the weather with my hand. Finally, he lowered his neckstalk and spoke again. "To a scythod, this rain is like your 'can'dy'. However... if your can'dy fell from the sky, we would choke on it in disgust, for we cannot eat it, much like how you cannot drink this blood."
I nodded thoughtfully, and then clapped once to show my agreement. "Warmaster, why do we always march?" I asked. "Where are we going? No one will tell me."
"We seek Klascoryf soldiers," Scylk said. "We patrol our borders. Most of these young scythods that walk with you are only eight years of age. They are sons of this world; sons of 'Avarok'." He clicked his claws. "No, I say it wrong."
"Everoc," I guessed.
Scylk clacked his armscythes together in response. "Yes."
For a moment I hesitated, then made up my mind to speak. "Warmaster... You could defend your borders better if your people wore armor, and wielded weapons in their claws," I suggested.
The warmaster was silent for several minutes, but finally, he spoke. "Listen. What do you hear?"
I gave a prompt response: "I hear the rain."
Scylk chattered in stern disapproval. "No, Spala. Close your eyes. Trust your feet to keep you safe; focus on your ears."
As we walked, I closed my eyes, listening, and stayed silent for a moment. "I can hear the wind," I said slowly. "I can hear the distant rumbling of thunder. I can hear your footsteps, and I can hear mine and everyone else's. I can hear myself breathing..." Suddenly, I stopped and laughed softly at the sound Scylk was making. I opened my eyes, smiling and shaking my head. "And I can hear you clicking your claws again. What am I doing wrong?"
"Your ears are weak because you have never trusted them," he told me sagely. After pausing for a moment, he spoke again. "I hear my warriors talking about how they like the rain. I hear the muddy soil under your feet, and the babbling of a distant brook; I hear a dead tree crumbling to the ground, its rotten wood soaked with blood. I hear birds crying, unable to fly through the air with such blood-soaked wings. And to the east... I hear distant rumbling... but it is not thunder. Spala... use your eyes now. Look to the east. What do you see?"
I peered through the rain and mist, and far, far off, I could make out a distant mountain range. "I see the Amber Barb," I said carefully. As I watched, tiny shapes fell from the sky, leaving thread-like trails of smoke as they plummeted into the hills. "Something is falling onto the mountains from the sky."
"Yes," said Scylk in a solemn manner. "I can hear it, but cannot see it. I use what I am best with, and so do you."
"If I practiced with my ears, I might be as good with them as you," I pointed out.
The old warmaster seemed to do a double take, and he halted, as scythods continued to march past us. "Young Spala," he spoke finally, a hint of approval in his voice, "Well said..." Slowly, he started to walk forwards again, and I followed.
"What is falling onto the mountains?" I asked.
The warmaster seemed to curse, hissing out several words I'd never heard before. "They are the weapons of Klascoryf. Klascoryf seeks to kill my people, to keep us from joining 'Parasol', to strike at us for quitting their service and turning on them. But we will
not join Parasol, for they are dwarves and humans, too."
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Do not be, young one," Scylk responded quietly, clicking his claws distractedly. "My people will be fine. Boulders always fell from the sky on Piscyth, and they were harder to hear... but these cause more damage..." He paused, lost in thought. Suddenly, he clicked his claws and spoke again. "No, let us speak of something different. I overheard the story of Lonne last night, now let me hear the story of Spala." He tapped me on the shoulder with a claw. "Do not leave out anything."
As we walked, I told Scylk how I'd grown up in a fortress of dwarves, and how dwarves hated elves. I told him of how Ballpoint and Parasol had altered my mind; I told him of how I'd thought my sister died. I told him about Talvi, and about Mr Frog, and Urist, and Wari, and I told him of that hope I'd had... that hope that my sister had still been alive. I told him my memory of her, when Ballpoint had altered our memories together, and how I'd promised I'd get her back... and of how I'd failed... of how she'd died in my arms.
Though I tried my best not to, I started crying, a gesture Scylk didn't understand, and he halted his pace. Salaia's death still pierced my heart, but I'd pushed it aside the past six months, trying to ignore it... I'd tried to forget
everything, really. Now that I was talking about it to someone, it seemed all too recent again.
It was painful.
At some point, it had stopped raining, though the red clouds still hovered darkly overhead. The air stank with the scent of blood, but in the west above Spearbreakers, the sun hung low, and the clouds above glowed with bright-red linings as it cast its warmth towards us through the gap near the horizon. Despite the macabre surroundings - trees with heavy branches, bloodstained rock, gnats in abundance, and the scattered bones of long-dead animals - the golden sunset lent an almost peaceful feeling.
"I am sorry for your loss." Scylk spoke in a quiet, clicking hiss. "Your sister had a cruel death. I, too, lost someone close to me, in much that way."
I looked at him, wiping at my tears with bloodstained hands. "What do you mean?"
But he was silent, and though I waited, he didn't reply. After waiting for several minutes, I gave up.
As I began to walk back towards the rest of the scythods, I heard him whisper, so softly it was but an echo in my ears: "You remind me of my daughter, Spala."
I slowed my pace in surprise, turning back to him. "You had a daughter?"
"I do not like to speak of it." He turned away, facing the sunset and letting the sunbeams warm his chitin for a moment as he stood in silence. "I have a wife and son," he said finally. "My son remained on Piscyth. My wife lives in the mountains. But my daughter had a cruel death." Scylk's voice was quiet, almost melancholy, if that could be said of a series of clicks and hisses.
I stepped closer to him, coming up to his side. "What happened?" I asked softly.
He gave a long, unhappy hiss, and began to explain. "Klascoryf held my people in the bloodplains, readying our forces to attack Parasol. They intended that we should attack with them, but that morning, the wind came from the east... For the first time, we could smell the stone of the mountains. We were trapped within the camp of the Klascoryf by a field of force - a wall you cannot smell. We decided to bring it down and escape. It is sad that Klascoryf discovered our plans, and that my daughter, Kiba, desired to bring the wall down herself. She had studied their technology, and so I gave her what she wanted, assigning her and a few others to disable or destroy their electric generator."
Skylk hissed again sadly, and it was a while before he continued. His soldiers were already far to our north, crossing the crest of a low hill, almost out of sight. "Our plan became one of desperation as the soldiers of Klascoryf marched into the camp with their weapons. Some of the younger scythods attacked Klascoryf's men and dwarves, and a battle began. I didn't want a battle. I didn't want my people to die. I hadn't wanted anyone to die.
"I rushed to the force field and prepared to sever all the cables with my scythe, but as I did, I heard a loud crackling of electricity and a horrible wail of pain from the far end of the camp, past the Klascoryf - the voice of my daughter." He clicked his claws. "I had a choice. The soldiers were shouting for reinforcements, and if I rallied my people to save Kiba, we would all die. If I told everyone to stand down, I would save her, but our deaths would be for nothing, and we might never escape."
"What did you do?" I whispered.
"I severed the cables by the force field with my armscythe, one after another. They spouted lightning, searing my arm, but it was not nearly as painful as the loss of my daughter's life. My people escaped... and Kiba's death was because of me."
Silently, Scylk held his right armscythe out towards me, stained with blood from the recent rain. I cautiously brushed my fingertips over the dark scar I'd come to recognize him by, feeling the smooth chitin where it'd been burned. "Does it hurt?" I asked softly.
"Sometimes," he replied quietly, "but I would sear it a thousand times more if I could get my daughter back." He grew quieter, taking a few saddened steps towards the sunset, blood bubbling from the damp earth around his legspikes. "She was a sweet girl," Scylk said thoughtfully, lost in the memories. "She always refused the privelieges and rights of being a Warmaster's daughter, saying she should stand with our people. If anyone died, she was the first to comfort the survivors, even of the enemy... and she had odd little habits, like wanting her meat to be cooked before she ate. Much like you, Spala," he said, turning towards me. "She, too, always seemed sad... she missed our home, and the loss of her sibling. She did not fear death, either. You are more like her than you realize."
"You miss her," I whispered, wiping a stray tear away.
"I will always miss her."
Without thinking, I stepped forwards and put my arms around him - a humanoid gesture. Slowly, hesitantly, he returned it with his lower arms, and for a moment we held this alien embrace; an understanding of each other's pain.
Finally, I stepped back, and he spoke softly. "You see now why I have become fond of you... Your story both heartens and troubles me, Spala... You speak of dwarves that are not cruel; dwarves that are not evil, but kind."
"We're not all like Ballpoint," I tried to reason. "Klascoryf, I mean.
I'm not like most elves. I was raised by dwarves..."
"Yet, you are not as cruel," Scylk pointed out, tapping me on the shoulder. "You do not share their hatred."
I looked east at the emerging stars, which grew brighter as the sun sank below the horizon. "I dislike my own kind..." I said thoughtfully. "I hate Urist, and I hate Ballpoint, but they have good people, too... What a person does, or feels, or thinks, isn't defined by who they work for, or what they are. People define
themselves. Ballpoint is a heartless company, so it more easily attracts heartless people, but that doesn't mean that all Ballpoint employees are like that." I paused for a moment, puzzling on what I'd said: I'd never thought about it before.
"You are wise, Spala," he said quietly. "Perhaps, as it sounds, wiser than you know. But Aris't is not to blame for your sister's death."
I hadn't expected that. "What?? What do you
mean, Urist isn't to blame?"
"You blame Aris't," Scylk said, tapping me on the shoulder with a claw. "He saved your life."
"Scylk, he killed my sister!"
"If it had been a Ballpoint soldier, would you have tried to save them?"
"Yes, but -"
Scylk silenced me. "You said Aris't did not know it was your sister. He had no reason to think it, as 'is'tir F'rok - No, I cannot say it well."
"Mr Frog," I suggested, wondering what he was getting at.
"Yes. He said you would not talk to your sister while you were there. Aris't would not have thought it was her."
"Are you saying it was my fault?" I asked hotly.
Scylk clicked his claws reproachfully. "Calm yourself, young one. He knew you would try to save the soldier's life, and he knew that if you stayed you would be killed. To him, killing the soldier was the correct thing to do, even if cruel. Even had he not fired the first shot of the three, you would not have been able to move your sister quickly enough, with her torn between allegiances. When he entered the room, he saw your sister holding a gun at your chest. He tried to save your life in wounding her, and in killing her, he did." He turned, as if to walk towards the north.
"But he
killed her! She was my
sister!" I protested, running after him, trying to get him to understand.
Halting, he faced me one last time. "How do you think he felt when he discovered that fact for himself?"
I started to speak, but stopped in astoundment as his words sank in, watching openmouthed as Scylk stomped away. I'd always been too busy thinking about myself, and it'd never occurred to me... not even once...
Urist would've been devastated.
Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I knew where I had to be. Though I didn't like to admit it, when I had a problem, I tended to run from it. I needed to stop running, for once, and face the problems at hand. I still couldn't forgive Urist, and I don't think I ever can... but I knew that at the very least, I should give him the chance to try to make amends... for his sake, if not mine.
"Warmaster, wait!" I called, sprinting to catch up. "
Wait!"
He didn't slow. "Yes, Spala?"
I slowed to a jog by his side as he quickly covered ground, his legspikes kniving into the damp earth. I didn't know what his response would be, but I knew I had to ask. "Warmaster Scylk, I need to go back to Spearbreakers... even if Talvi kills me."
He lessened his pace gradually until he came to a standstill, chirping with his armscythes. "Why is this, young one?"
"It's my home," I answered quietly. "It was wrong of me to try to run away, just to avoid Urist... in the end, he wasn't the one being cruel to me...
I was being cruel to
him."
"Are these the only reasons?" he asked slowly. It felt as if he was testing me.
I thought about it for a moment. "Everyone who knew me would be worried - Mr Frog, Wari, Draconik, Jack Magnus -"
Scylk interrupted. "Do you miss them?"
It was a simple question, but one that, for some reason, I didn't want to answer. Over the course of my life, I'd learned to push people away, almost as a reflex; if I ever let myself get close to them, they usually left when they discovered what I was. Pushing them away before I got attached just made things easier. I liked to tell myself that I was being independent, and I was a stronger person for it... but... Spearbreakers was different. "Yes," I said quietly, hanging my head. "Yes, I miss them." Then, "I miss my home."
Scylk clacked his armscythes together loudly in approval. "Then let us return you, Spala!" he said, lowering himself towards the ground. "Climb onto my back," he urged, and after I had, sitting between both sets of legs, he raised himself and started forwards at an incredible speed. The wind tugged at us as we ran against it, flying over the damp, red loam of the bloodplains, towards the rest of the scythods.
It occurs to me now that maybe the reason he told me about his daughter was to try to spur me into wanting to return to my home.
~~~
That night, Scylk gathered together his squads and stood before them; a mighty general before his soldiers. I watched from the back, eager to hear what he would say. Scylk didn't often make speeches.
"We are going to the West," the warmaster chattered loudly, his clicks echoing between the hills. "We are going to Spearbreakers." Not a sound issued from the gathered troops, but from their body language I could tell they didn't like the sound of it. "It has been said that the dwarves of Spearbreakers are unlike the dwarves of Klascoryf - we march to test this fact. If they accept us, then we will remain with them for a time. If they prove themselves to be like Klascoryf, we will kill them!"
I gasped, my eyes wide. "What?!" I yelled. A multitude of clacking scythes drowned me out.
A voice hissed at my elbow: "Vanya, shh!" Turning, I saw it was John.
"What do you mean, 'shh'?" I echoed in a quieter tone, trying to listen to Scylk as he continued. "They're going to destroy Spearbreakers!"
John shook his head and looked away. "If it's like what you've always told me, they won't."
I hated how distant he seemed. "You're coming with us, too," I said cautiously, watching him.
"I know." He hardly responded at all.
"You'll have to be careful not to let on who you are; nobody at Spearbreakers knows about the timewar between Parasol and Ballpoint," I added.
I got my reaction, but it wasn't what I'd hoped: John grimaced and started to walk away, hands shoved into his pockets.
"John?" I asked after him, worried.
Without turning, he halted.
"John, what's going on?"
There was a period of silence between us. Scylk had resumed his speech, and suddenly the scythods before him erupted in another burst of applause.
This time I said it with a little more force. "John??"
In a voice so quiet I could hardly hear him, he said, "They'll all know before long anyway."
I cocked my head at the back of his curiously, taking a step closer. "What are you talking about?"
"Someone hired Ballpoint to destroy them."
I was left staring in shock as John - head hung, shoulders slumped - walked away into the night.
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Topic: [34.11] Spearbreakers - It shudders and begins to move (Read 2197949 times)