Sally found herself coming back not to the feeling of ice-water shooting up her nose, but the smell of stew.

  She opened her eyes and saw Lucy standing above her, a mixed look of anger and relief in her eyes.

  “So, is the Demon dead?” Sally asked, mood still buoyed by the victory.

  “About as dead as you,” came the deadpan reply.

  She groaned. Her last stands seemed doomed to fail.

  8. Death and Rebirth – July 27, Year 216

  The ‘stew’ turned out to be more of a porridge made of dissolved hardtack, with a thrown together mix of salted pork, carrot and yam. It still tasted fine – more than, even, since she felt hungrier than she’d been since the seventeenth, the day she woke up.

  And wasn’t that a thought, that everything had only been ten days? It felt much longer, though she figured last night’s battle was a large contributing factor. The adrenaline, the feeling of dueling a true Demon, the feeling of victory turning into a near death– well, certain death experience, before waking up to a feeling of victory once more…

  It was a lot to take in, a repeat of her first revival in the waters of the arroyo combined with the bone-deep exhaustion of the bloodfiend battle, multiplied tenfold. Sally honestly doubted she would be moving this day at all. Even scooping food from the bowl in her lap and into her mouth took effort, let alone walking.

  All this compounded with the presence of another person, a woman she’d met only four days ago and now wanted answers she didn’t know she should give, even if she could. Thankfully, Lucy had staved off questioning after seeing her lay still on the ground, sweating and panting from the exertion of both the battle and subsequent revival.

  Sally wasn’t sure what answers she should give anyhow. She’d figured she would until Lovesse before spilling her experiences to her brother, and from there they could figure out to getter what was going on, fix what needed fixing and exploring the breadth of her changes.

  But something in her did want to let the pilgrim know about her. The woman was a mystic, and whatever had happened to her definitely fell more within Lucy’s expertise than her own. It was likely her companion had more of an idea on what was going on than Sally herself had. Lucy had even seen her in a vision. Surely the woman must have seen something that could help her understand?

  But there was also the question of trust. They’d spent only four days together, and while they’d had plenty conversation during the journey, she’d only just begun to get a grasp of the woman’s personality. Deeply inquisitive to be certain, and a light-hearted, joyful demeanor most of the time. Simultaneously, she was a true believer in her religion, though thankfully without any of the rigidness, preachiness or zealotry that often came with the type.

  But there was also an ambition and an anger of some sort buried within her. Lucy had occasionally, though never directly, spoken about her dislike of the Praesidium, the elders tasked with ‘overseeing’ the Dekantist holy places. There’d been a fire in her then, and though she kept the tone light-hearted and her smile bright, sometimes it had a vindictive, anticipatory edge to it.

  Could that ambition, that anger or desire for revenge or whatever it was, turn against Sally? See her as a tool to reach her goal? Beyond the tirelessness and other physical blessings, her revival – now more than a one-off miracle – combined with the visions Lucy had already received before, could certainly be twisted into a religious statement of some kind. Perhaps it didn’t even need to be twisted, but simply told and let the truth do the rest.

  She doubted Lucy was that cold, it would go against the rest of her character, but fear and uncertainty were rarely logical. Sill, they’d fought a damned Demon together. That has to count for something, right?

  So, she made a decision and halfway through her breakfast, and began the conversation with a soft opening.

  “You said the Demon survived, right?”

  Lucy, seated just a few feet away from her under a linen cloth stretched out on tentpoles, turned to face her. For a second she remained silent, eyes scrutinizing, before turning her head back to her own breakfast.

  For a moment, Sally thought she’d get the silent treatment, until Lucy replied.

  “That explosion you were caught in… It wasn’t a suicidal last strike or something. It was to launch its sword into the sky and take off. It certainly didn’t come down again.” Lucy said.

  “But how do you know it survived?” Sally asked.

  Lucy gave a shrug in response. “Those attacks I did– we both did, meant very little to it. That Demon’s either too stupid or not alive enough to accurately guess at how much damage we could actually do to it. It was why I knew that last attack would cause it to flee so abruptly. It wasn’t that it was strong, it simply looked overwhelming.” The woman scratched her cheek, tone softer and mildly embarrassed. “Didn’t know it would do it so explosively, though.”

  Lucy turned her head again and, seeing Sally’s questioning look, explained further. “Encounters with the Kispan Dalqa are rare, yes, but memory-visions about it do the rounds in the clergy, added by the not-so-tall tall-tales from travelers. I’ve heard of it fleeing from such magic attacks a good dozen times, and surviving much, much stronger ones.” This time, Lucy’s gaze remained on Sally, urging her to talk.

  She stalled for a few moments, before carefully beginning her story.

  “You know about the Erling incursion, right? And the destruction of the Villas?” Seeing Lucy nod, Sally continued. “I didn’t, until ten days ago.” Her voice was softer than she meant to, but Lucy caught them nonetheless. Her gaze sharpened with interest.

  Sally cleared her throat, though her voice remained softer than she wished.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Over six months ago, in the second week of January, we – my mentor Niall and another pair of Wardens from the Guhas – went on an investigation.” Visions of the day played through her mind, still raw. “Some herd had gone missing – happens all the time, of course – but one day a farmer was taken as well. In broad daylight, that close to the Villa itself? That’s a problem.”

  Sally took the last bite of her porridge, staring at the metal container’s bottom.

  “We speculated on what did it. What creature had the intelligence to take make a person disappear? Were they bandits? Skinners? Shykes?”

  “Erlings?” Lucy interjected.

  “That was my guess, but not what we found. We spotted skinner-wolves attempting to lay an ambush for us – we had set ourselves up as bait, you see? But we weren’t prepared to fight a group of skinner-wolves and would’ve left, if it weren’t for one of the other wardens bringing explosives with him.” Because of me-, she halted the thought.

  Taking a deep breath, she continued. “The new plan worked great. We lured them with the sheep we brought into a gully while the two Guhas provided overwatch, ready to drop the grenades. Niall and I waited in the gully for the signal. The demons went in, they blew them up and dazed them and we began shooting them. Like sitting ducks they were, really. Until the Erlings attacked from the rear, having laid an ambush for us. Like we were the ones supposed to be hunted!”

  Sally suppressed the shakes going through her hand. She remembered the surety with which she fired her rifle – Ancestors, a rifle would’ve been handy yesterday! – and the feeling of a job well done, before everything went wrong.

  Suddenly, she felt something draping over her neck and left shoulder. Lost in memory, she tensed for a second, cold shock crawling up her spine and her fight or flight choosing to freeze instead, before she remembered where she was.

  Lucy had sat herself down beside her in the red sand, arm over her shoulder in a side hug.

  “I was later told by the Grandie soldiers – they own the former Guha compound, now. Turned into a whole military base! They told me that the leader of the incursion was some kind of shaman, and had some magic that could control them. Course, we didn’t know that and the slaughter reversed. Niall threw his share of the grenades and it all became chaos.”

  Lucy’s hug became tighter. “Was that when you died the first time?”

  “I did my best, but there were just too many! Both Erlings and skinner-wolves surrounded me, and when I noticed that at some point the Guha Wardens had stopped firing, I knew I was done. When I got stuck under a skinner-wolves corpse, I drew my grenade and took out whoever I could along with me.” The retelling done, a weight was lifted and she began breathing easy again. “Then, I woke up six months later, in the same gully but filled this time, flowing with water.”

  They sat for a while in silence, listening to the winds caress the dunes, until Sally had calmed down.

  “Reborn from the water, huh?” Lucy mused, giving a last reassuring squeeze before standing up, moving towards her side of the camp.

  That was what she took from it? It was an unfair thought, but still. “You see any water around here?” Sally asked, hackles raised.

  Lucy turned around, showing a roll of her eyes. “Yes, I can see that, but not what I meant. There was water involved in your first revival, and the first time is always more significant.”

  Sally’s deadpan stare in response elicited a scoff from Lucy.

  “Not what I meant. It’s just– You died in a dried-out rive, and then renewed with the coming of new water, nourishing new life in the harsh desert. Its symbolic, you know, and with magic and miracle, that’s important.” Lucy had found what she was looking for: two canteens. “Would’ve been even better if it were spring, you know?”

  She offered one of the canteens and Sally took it, twisting off the cap and taking a mouthful.

  “Well, I’ll promise I’ll time it better next time we fight a demon.” Sally joked, her earlier spite gone. She didn’t know about that symbolism stuff and unless it answered some questions, she didn’t care.

  Lucy snorted before falling into silence. They sat together in the heat of the morning sun, Sally undoubtedly more comfortable than Lucy if the past days were anything to go by.

  “It was strange, you know? Watching you survive that. Be revived.” Lucy broke the silence.

  “How so?”

  “You were nearly completely gun, a burned-out fleshly husk with bones. Then, I saw you be constructed bit by bit by these small rivulets of blood, crawling upward and carrying smaller chunks of you into place.” Lucy scrunched up her face. “It was… blegh, and kind of amazing. Where did the blood even come from? Seemed to just rise from…”

  Without warning, Lucy seemed to have an idea. She stood up and got in front of Sally, canteen still in hand and an odd look in her eyes.

  “Can we try something?” Lucy asked, a pensive look on her face.

  Sally’s eyebrows shot up. “Sure?” she replied, unsure.

  “Cup you hand for a bit, will you?”

  Sally did as asked and held up her hand. Lucy began slowly dripping water from the canteen into it, reciting something while doing so.

  “With thy blessing, Saint Prior. Through thy rite, Prophet Ante. To thy ward, Unknown Angel. Through thy line, Ancestral Palters. By thy will, Water Spirits. Reveal the instrument, repair their snares, restore their form and let their destiny echo through their spirit.”

  Each drop added weight beyond the ordinary, a metaphysical one that her hand felt nonetheless. The water turned a blue deeper than even the deepest part of Lake Prior. The small puddle remained remarkably static and stable, refusing to slip through her fingers or overflow from the edges of her hand, even as more and more was poured into it.

  Sally raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t lake water, I hope?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Tricking someone into taking the Sip can’t be done. It is warded against deception, forceful feeding and even accidental intake.” Lucy raised the canteen back up, closing it with the cap. “Besides, do you think I would trick you like that?”

  Lucy’s eyes widened and an exaggerated pout on the pilgrim’s lips. Sally snorted in response.

  She looked back at the water, forebodingly heavy and dark in her hand.

  “So, just drink it?” She asked, looking up and seeing Lucy nod.

  She hesitated for a moment. Even by Villa standards, she was only barely religious, participating in the rites honoring the ancestors that build the Villas more by social convention than true belief. Her thanks during the rites were genuine, but more because it was deserved than as some form of worship.

  She simply didn’t care about the Evergraced. They were too foreign, too removed from life in the Circuits to be anything but a legend of another land. Likewise, the Dekantist religion never attracted her. She didn’t live around Lake Prior and while she could accept the water was special, it was just that: special water. She felt no connection to their Prophet, their reverence of water – beyond it being fundamental to life, of course – nor the teachings it espoused.

  She narrowed her eyes at Lucy. “This isn’t some kind of ‘join my religion’ thing, is it?” She certainly wasn’t looking to join.

  “No, it is more of a… how to explain it? Like a test to see if something is cursed, how and why and by who, but instead focused on blessings connected to water? Specifically, water related to the Ante, but also the lineages of sainthood and angels, and one’s ancestors?” Lucy shrugged, dissatisfied with her own explanation. “Look, it’s a vague thing, but it either works to your benefit and tells us something, or it does nothing it all.”

  Well, nothing ventured…

  She drank the water.

  It was an odd sensation. It felt slimy, yet not. Thick, yet like inhaling air. A weight like molten lead flowing down her throat, but with the taste and velocity of water. Slow and fast, hot and cold, light and heavy, mental and physical; it felt like all these things. It left her feeling refreshed, an energy that had been lacking restored.

  But that was all.

  Lucy kept staring at her, watching her like a sheepstealer does a goat, eyes tracing her body for any change or movement. Then, she asked: “Well, what did you feel?”

  Sally explained, after which the woman just scratched her chin, then shrugged.

  “Well, it certainly has nothing to do with the Ante, at least not directly. Maybe a tenuous connection to or through Lake Prior? Nothing to do with the Unknown Angel, but a clear connection to water, if only because it worked at all. But strangely nothing about to do with the Palters?” Lucy shook her head.

  A second of silence reigned as Sally watched with anticipation, only to be left wanting.

  “What, that’s it?” Sally asked, incredulous. She’d certainly expected more.

  “Well, it was a longshot. You can at least cross the Ante off your list, and the Unknown Angel and your ancestors. Has something to do with water, as I thought. That narrows it down somewhat.”

  Lucy went back to her place in the shade, Sally watching her with some amount of incredulity.

  X

  The rest of the day they barely did anything, only moving to the other side of the road – leaving the Red Wastes – and walking a few miles toward their destination. Sally’s exhaustion was lessened by the ritual, but not gone until the end of the day. Lucy had a harder time recuperating, saying that the mental exertion of the last spell had cost her much.

  Thankfully, very little had been lost in the battle with the Kispan Dalqa, despite all the fire. Only her knife was slagged and the clothes she’d worn had been burned, but she’d brought spares. Her pistol had been buried deep enough and located far enough in the sand that it hadn’t been affected by the blast. Apparently, the feeling of it melting in her hand had been more mental than physical, a spell focused on her perception rather than the weapon itself.

  Their stuff had been outside of the final blast’s range, along with Lucy, so nothing was lost there.

  Still, despite the day being unproductive, she felt good about it. Even if the water ritual left her confused.

  It wasn’t that she expected great answers, but this was, like, the inverse getting answers; they’d answered questions she hadn’t asked. And what did it mean that her ancestors had nothing to do with it? She hadn’t known they could have had something to do with it. Were the Villa elders right? Were they something to be worshipped?

  Still, she supposed the pilgrim was right. It did narrow things down. Hopefully her brother could provide some answers.