16 Vhalar 722
Evening
Following these events.
All the candles burned out. The darkness had swept the room with nightfall, even though the time of trial was imperceptible from Sabrina's room in the underground brothel. The sounds of life outside the locked door stirred. The business continued with odd murmurs of disappointment in the absence of its star. The crowd pittered out just as it had trickled in, coming and going like the moon in the sky over Etzos. The light of the next trial arrived. Still the Rusalka statue did not rouse.
She was glued to the chair she'd been ordered to sit in. Loose, mostly cut through bindings looped over her hands that clutched the knife. Her dark eyes seemed to both stare at the gleaming edge of her weapon and yet through it. Her shoulders hung. Her eyes blinked slow and infrequently. There was more than the smell of tired out wax and smoke in the air. All commands for her to remain where she was had dissipated a very long time ago. Yet she remained.
Maxine had been here before.
A quickly curable sickness had started to creep into her veins. She could feel the sweat beading on her forehead. For now it was uncomfortable and itching. Before long it would be insufferable and a cruel punishment when held against death itself. A timer could've been set to accurately predict when she would finally break, rifling through every drawer and tearing the room apart until she found her fix. For now she just wallowed in the shortening purgatory. Her vice had taken her by the hand and led her to a familiar place once more.
Rock bottom.
No. Time and again she had proven, without fail, she could always sink lower. To call this the deepest depth of the valley would be folly. It would invite relief, a hope that the incline was all that could reasonably exist if that were true. She could never take the shovel out of her own hand.
Maxine had been here before.
The more she refused to face the hazy events of Ashan 720, the more the mirror was forced in her face. The denial of history dictated that she was cursed to repeat it. The lesson that would not be learned would be taught over, and over, and over to its most unwilling pupil. The blight would not vanish. The medicine must go down.
Maxine was starting to see it now.
She found herself wounded by a giant, and she swore to hunt him and everyone around him until justice was wrought with blood. Earth Mask and Orrick were first. Tristane provided her next excuse. Whether her affections were genuine or not, his ties to the suffering inflicted on Sabrina bolstered her warpath.
In her quest for vengeance there was no line she stumbled upon that she was unwilling to cross. At every opportunity she sought to prove herself the bigger threat, the bigger monster by acting with impunity. The Rusalka had selfishly, purposely drenched her hands in the blood of the innocent without the decency to try to wring them afterward.
Tristane's sister Quinnley. The Kimber family.
Or Orrick's baby, sleeping in its crib while she held a knife to compel its mother to summon the bastard father.
Two arcs ago she used drugs to self medicate in two directions. In a sense it eased her suffering, dulling her senses, rescuing her from the nightmares that waited if she slept, and soothing her despair. In another, it emboldened her and quieted inhibitions to grant her the ability to do the unthinkable time and again. Maxine was wont to believe, very eagerly, that she could control her addictions. They so obviously controlled her.
She became a slave to her vices, and over-indulged until her mind was a wasteland so detached from reality she could not exist on the same plane of reason as the rest of the world. Her recklessness in concert with her descent into psychosis distorted her world.
Convincing myself allies are my enemies.
Confusing now with then.
Mistakes led to deals with devils out of spite and necessity. Ellasin held her under the knife, promised a contingency to spare those she cared very much for, thwarted an attempt on her life all in the same moment, and offered a chance at desired reprisal in exchange for alliance. Tristane held her under his control, pressed a knife to Sabrina's throat, and suggested a brutal end for them both if she refused him. The ghost of "self" she could squander chose an opportunity to protect people she deemed "hers" both times. No matter the detriment. Though there were consequences.
Burned all bridges. Saved no one. Lost everything. Got cursed.
Fell further from whatever grace I had left. Failed my mission. Threw her to the lion and let him devour her.
Orrick and Tristane both slipped through her fingers and existed only in the wind. Victories and sins were each for nothing. Only the self authoring of her own dishonor and misery remained. The difference this time was that Tristane still had Sabrina.
Coins spilling from her fingers, he thoroughly wore her out while he forced Maxine to watch where she sat in the chair she still sat in now. It would continue, where it was he took her as collateral to ensure the Rusalka's cooperation. Sabrina industriously worked her way to the main burlesque act, and in a swift season or so, Maxine had thrust her back into the role of the addict whore the woman had so desperately clawed her way out of.
That was not all.
Sparing their lives, Sabrina's life, meant Maxine had to make a deal. Tristane wanted to use her to undo the damage she'd done to him, and bolster him above the station even she found him in. Like a phoenix he intended to use her curse and her abilities to rise from the ashes. She was no stranger to the type of work his agenda would entail: intimidation, violence, and killing. Without the Kimber mine in play, thanks to her, he would have to firmly secure a host of other avenues of wealth that were already taken up by others. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He would secure and then rapidly diversity, building a new and more robust empire than the one he inherited until he was untouchable.
That's what all of this would become about: being untouchable. Once Tristane won his seat on the Council he would turn his ambitions higher. More wealth. More power. More authority. He would have it. Once he was confident enough, he would turn on the shadow handlers he once relied on that sought to cast him aside in this current era of vulnerability. His hands would remain oh-so clean now that he had a strong, new servant at his disposal. It wasn't like there wasn't some incentive in it for her, too.
Maxine had been here before.
In Arc 720, Ellasin had wanted the Augustins, especially Faith. Maxine had wanted a contingency that kept the chink in her armor, the people she cared for, alive. The Zuuda lunging to cut her throat, before she had a notion toward real betrayal, made her amenable to the idea. The slew of delusions her drug-addled brain had spun coupled with the fact she blamed Faith for putting people Max saw as hers in harm's way, only further sold her on an act of retribution whether it was genuinely just or not. Now Tristane held Sabrina's life over her like a guillotine. A chance to really uncover and destroy The Guardians targeting the Etzori council was the carrot on the stick.
Protect the ones you want protected. Forget your real enemy to taste a sweet, petty dish of revenge that can be placed within reach.
The choice needed to be made again.
The blade of the knife worked through the remainder of the ties that bound. The rope slipped from her hands to the floor. Slowly the Rusalka rose from the chair with the weapon in her hand. Her knuckles around the handle of the blade were white. A small tremor existed in her tensed arms. She could taste the blood dried in the corner of her mouth, the sting of the side of her face when she loosened her jaw. After a couple ambitious steps forward she stumbled into Sabrina's vanity where a single candle burned down to the end of its wick.
The flame danced precariously while melted wax spilled wide from the candle base. It provided just enough light that the Rusalka could make the mistake of seeing her own face in the mirror. There was swelling on her cheek where Tristane had struck her. Dried blood smeared under her mouth, but she didn't raise a hand to rub it clean. The face in the mirror was not one she would've recognized as herself over two arcs ago. Maxine looked into her own dead eyes. She wasn't confused any longer. She knew herself better now. What she was.
In this chaos and this misery, somehow, things had never been more clear.
Maxine had been here before.
The choice needed to be made again.
The Rusalka glanced down at the mess of wax that covered the vanity. Her finger dipped into a cooler section of the warm, melted wax and she raised it toward her eyes. She rubbed it between her fingers and tilted her head.
Then the candlelight went out.
----------------------------------------
Lyle and Chuck were friends for as long as they could remember. They grew up in the same neighborhood, got into the same trouble, and in adulthood found themselves as armed lackeys for the same sorts of upper class pricks. As much as they bickered they were a complimentary pair. They were tough and hardened brutes. Come rain or snow, blistering heat or ice cold, they didn’t so much as whisper complaint. The only time they whinged was when they weren’t paid on time.
An old military friend of theirs had put them on this particular contract. The story was like any other: influential or rich douche needs protection, and they provide it. The Dorrick name didn’t have the same ring of wealth it once did as of late. For as much as he fell from recent grace though, they still recognized Tristane as a prominent and powerful man. Moreover, a man still worthy of respect and their services.
Their respect for the legendary figure was enough that they didn't bawk when the first pay trial came and passed without compensation. This trial marked the second though. Their ire grew with their complacency.
"Damn me," Lyle moaned. "This is what I get for listenin’ to the likes of you. Lots of talk, nothin' to show for it. I feel like yer ex wife!”
"Oh, piss off!” Chuck scoffed. "Been a trial or two. Man just lost his whole family except for his wife. Can’t cut him some slack?”
"Slack? Have you seen his wife? That man don’t need no slack from me. He’s blessed with that beaut. I’d take a night with her as payment and call it even, and then some!”
"Shut your trap before someone hears you! Disrespectful wretch, you are.”
The pair quit their chirping when they finally noticed the odd wraith trudging up the path. Lyle narrowed his eyes through the dark of the night at the odd silhouette. The lithe thing, a small woman, swayed and stumbled toward them. Chuck clicked his tongue and shrugged when Lyle looked his way.
"Ay!” Lyle hollered at the stranger. "Turn back! Go back to wherever you came from!” He frowned when the shadow continued to draw closer. "Ya deaf?! Turn around and wander off back that way! Next warnin' comes with a right bolt to yer chest!”
"Maybe she is fuckin’ deaf,” Chuck mused quietly. He drew his sword.
"Last chance!”
Lyle sighed and raised his crossbow when the woman meandered within a ten foot range. He could allow her no more slack than that. At the leveling of the bolt at her chest, Maxine’s dragging feet came to a halt.
"Hmph,” Chuck affirmed. "Looks like we’re finally speakin’ a warning she’ll heed.” He whistled toward the woman. "You!” He annunciated each word and made equal gesture with his hands. "Turn. Around. You. Walk. Away.”
"There’s just one thing about a crossbow," Maxine said oddly out in space. Her eyes rested at the men’s feet and had not strayed. "If you miss, you’re fucked." She drew her sword from its sheath beneath her cloak. "Don’t miss."
"Last warning!” Lyle declared as he moved his finger to the trigger.
"Stupid fucking girl," Chuck frowned.
"Walk away!"
Maxine started to walk forward again and the bolt did not yet fly. What was Lyle’s hang up? Was it because she was a woman and he was raised a certain way? Was it the disbelief that she so brazenly defied his orders? Had he grown too used to people falling in line when he pointed his crossbow at close range?
Whatever his folly, Lyle tensed when she was within a few feet and then pulled the trigger. The tell was large enough Maxine caught it in her peripheral, and stepped off his line just before the bolt soared by. Lyle cursed while Chuck moved forward. He didn’t expect the speed at which she parried his stab for her middle, and that surprise was permanently upon his face when her steel slipped beneath his chest armor deep into his guts.
Lyle was still fiddling with his crossbow when her gladius dashed across his face. He fell with a cry to the ground, wide eyes taking in the sight of Chuck while he writhed briefly before shock took him. Then he was back on the move. His blistered hands scraped across the ground away from the woman, finding a large hunting knife on his waist to pull.
Her gladius took that hand before it took his head. Maxine paused before the outpost ahead. Her eyes spied an opened window, a curtain blowing in the freezing breeze to suggest someone had been looming out of it. They were gone now. Or, running from wherever they stashed a weapon and preparing to confront her. The Rusalka pressed on.
Three guards spilled from the opened door of the jeweler outpost. They were yelling something that the Rusalka could not hear, threatening or ordering someone that her adverted eyes could not read on their lips. She welcomed their charge with her own blade swings.
The first man hacked toward her head while another looked to follow with a downward slash from above. Maxine stepped off the first line, parried the second attack, and raced her blade edge across the throat of the first man. By the time he dropped in a bloody spill, the third man had taken his place and the second already recovered.
A shot of acid to the face forced the third man back. When the second rushed him, Maxine blocked his flurry and he felt her counters dash across the protection his chest armor provided. When he raised his arms high to hack her from above her sword drove into the pit of his arm. His breath caught in his punctured lungs and he was falling before she even pulled her blade free. The last man standing rushed too slow to save his compatriot. In his rush to commit he was slow to adjust to her level change, and he felt her sword sever his hamstring before she popped up behind him and drove her weapon through his back.
Five men laid dead or dying before she reached the front door. She moved toward it, frowning at the lack of auditory information she was receiving on her approach. Max entered the outpost with caution, eyes quickly darting around the dim inside. Her silent steps moved her through the threshold and into the hallway. A flash of movement caught her attention. Her head snapped in time to see a back door fly open and a body race through. She was full tilt after the escapee in an instant.
A guard she never heard coming emerged from a door in the hallway in her path, and instinctively she barreled through him with her sword driving into his pelvic girdle. He fell backward and she nearly tripped over him as she continued forward. The back door smashed her in the face, but she drove through it anyways and emerged back into the twilight.
Shit. Where did he…?
She turned on her heel just as the longsword came swinging for her neck. With wide eyes, the Rusalka leaned far back so quickly she lost her footing. Her back smashed against the earth as the longsword divided the air she once occupied. She rolled, the longsword coming down to dig deep into the earth she laid upon a moment ago.
Tristane’s eyes were wild and his chest was heaving. While Max found her feet out of his range as he reclaimed his sword, Tristane was repeatedly shouting something at her. The more she moved on her own accord the more he seemed to shout. Maxine kept her eyes fixed lower than his waist.
"I said ‘stop’, you cursed bitch!” The Dorrick man howled, teeth gnashing. "You must obey! Stop!”
As the Rusalka turned to face him with her sword in hand, his brain seemed to catch up with what his eyes observed. Maxine didn’t react to his commands. Now that he had paused, he noticed the clothing she fashioned like a head wrap securing something to her ears. The wax she used to plug her ears that she secured with fabric so it wouldn’t fall out, wasn’t all that comfortable but it was evidently working.
She couldn’t hear him, and if she couldn’t hear him, she didn’t have to submit.
Tristane blanched. The Rusalka smirked. She circled him like a hound, giving her gladius a twirl in her hand while she watched him prepare his longsword before him. Then, like a viper, she snapped toward him and their deadly dance began.
Steel sung in vicious volleys of voracious swordplay. Tristane was a veteran, even if his legend was a farce, and he was proving now that combat was no estranged kin to him. He couldn’t keep her held off for long.
Maxine won the inside position and a gloved fist smashed into his jaw. Tristane stumbled, and the Rusalka capitalized with an unorthodox bear hug style tackle to drop him. The Dorrick was lifting his sword when her shins ground his wrist and forearm into the muddy earth. He groaned and found he couldn’t overpower her pin. She didn’t give him much time to contemplate the dilemma.
He yelped and ground his teeth while she burrowed the sharp bone of her shins into his limb, until he ultimately could retain his weapon no longer. Max tossed the longsword out of his reach and sheathed her own sword. Tristane’s other hand had reached for her, and he fought against her leverage in an attempt to wrestle up that she thwarted by moving to mount his hips.
The Rusalka allowed him no mercy. Her knuckles on both hands pummeled his face. She altered cadence, changed from straights to hammer fists, and her satisfaction grew the more blood sputtered from his lips. Sheer strength removed her from him for a moment when he bucked his hips. He created just enough space to move his hips away and work a hand to push him up, but she gave no quarter.
No sooner had he desperately slugged her did she return the favor as she settled them both down. She reared up, tall where she sat high and mounted on his chest, with her elbow loaded to crush him when she brought it down with wide, eager eyes.
The world went dark and her head swam.
Maxine groaned and peeled her face up from the mud. A shaky view of Tristane gasping and stumbling off toward the stables swam in her mind. She got up on her hands and knees just as he reached his horse. Her uncertain eyes hunted around her, finding a brute with a shield grimacing down at her. Tristane grunted as he forced himself onto the saddle and stirred the horse out of the stable before he was even rightly mounted.
Maxine spit. The new brute in her path lowered the shield he bashed her with, favoring the mace he lifted from his shoulder. Her Octopus familiar unpeeled from her skin and swam through the small space between, it’s beak clamping down on an exposed portion of shoulder on the man. He cursed and moved his mace to brush the retreating creature off. The Rusalka was standing by the time he realized something was wrong.
It was too late.
He took a step toward her with a befuddled expression. Maxine stepped back, watching both as the man crumpled down to the floor and as Tristane rode off down the path.
"Fuck,” Max murmured as her eyes and focus started to come back to her. She started to stumble toward the stable to find a horse of her own to run her quarry down.
Her gaze fell upon a suitable black stallion already saddled, and her resolve hardened. Her feet quickened beneath her. It looked quick enough that she could catch the Lion if she could get to the reins.
"Don’t take another step,” Yin sang her order as she stepped in Maxine’s path.
Maxine didn’t hear the words but her eyes watched the woman’s lips move. A grave mistake. Her feet froze where they were. Her expression fell.
"You will not hurt me,” Yin purred before the Rusalka adverted her eyes in time to avoid reading her lips. "You will stay still.”
When the Rusalka seemed to forget her war path on compulsion, Yin cautiously approached her. Only Maxine’s eyes followed her movements, muscles tense but unable to act on their impulse or anxieties.
Tristane’s wife was a tall, slender woman. Her skin was alabaster beneath long, dark hair done up without a strand out of place. She smoothed her perfectly pressed blouse with long, dainty fingers. Quiet and proper, Max had never paid her much mind despite how glued she was to Tristane’s hip at political events she trailed them to.
Yin carefully unwrapped the clothing Max tied to her head and removed the wax stuffed in her ears.
"Clever,” the Dorrick Lioness mused as she pitched the items aside. "It almost even worked. You didn’t plan for me though, did you? It’s okay. No one ever does.”
Maxine heard her loud and clear now. Her eyes drifted from the woman to the path, watching Tristane’s figure on his house shrink until it started to vanish around a bend. Yin’s soft fingers guided her face toward her for inspection.
"You were a pretty thing once, weren’t you?” She traced a couple of the scars that marked the Rusalka’s face. "Life has been unkind to you…but you’ve been unkind too.” Yin withdrew her touch and sighed. "My husband boasted at length about breaking you like a dumb little foal. He told me about your curse, naturally, and that you’re some kind of mage. After everything you’ve done he is so desperate to realize ambition, he sought to force an ally out of you. Men are fools but my husband is the largest of them. He should’ve killed you.”
Max would’ve agreed were she permitted to move. If it were for this hero damsel, Tristane would’ve been almost under her knife by now. She couldn’t hear the hooves of his horse anymore. Yin sighed and wandered over to the brute Maxine’s familiar felled.
"What’s this?” Yin crouched beside the man, finding his wide, panicked eyes following her. "Ah! You like to play with poisons, do you?” She turned over her shoulder to find the Rusalka still frozen in place. "It’s an interest of mine as well. Come! Follow me. You may talk as we walk, but you will do no more.”
Maxine had no choice. Like a dog, she was at Yin’s heels as she made her way for the inside of the outpost.
Tristane was gone.
And Sabrina was no where to be found.
Continued.
