Waking together with someone in a bed barely wide enough for one had never felt so good.

  Ana couldn't think of a single place where she’d felt like she belonged as much as in that tiny apartment with its narrow cot. The way she felt right then, she was pretty sure that as long as Messy was there, a closet would have felt like home.

  They’d brought Ana’s few belongings from Petra’s the previous night; Ana’s gun and its magazine and single bullet were now hidden at opposite ends of the room. Moving in together after three weeks was pretty damn fast. They both recognized that. But Ana knew a good thing when she saw it, and she wasn’t going to deny herself this because of conventional wisdom. And Messy wanted Ana there; she never missed an opportunity to show that.

  As much as Ana would have liked to stay in bed, enjoying the comfort and safety that she felt with Messy’s arm around her, the sun was rising, and she really needed to get up. There was an early town meeting, for one, where Pirta would officially declare her, and thus the Guild’s, support for Ana’s plans. Then she needed to check on the woman from Earth. She really should have done that the day before, but there had been so many other people to talk to, and she hadn’t been sure how to handle it. She didn’t even know if the woman spoke any English; last Ana checked, Earth was a big place. But if they could speak to each other, anything the woman could tell them would be invaluable.

  Assuming that she remembered anything, that was.

  Then there were Jancia and the others. Each of the five rituals had been successful, though they’d worn out the mages doing them, including Ana; Touanne’s potions to help fight off mana depletion were effective, but they tasted absolutely vile. Now Ana felt she should check on the patients. For Suren and the other three fighters it was simply that they were part of the militia, and she felt a responsibility to them. That was clean and easy. Jancia, though… Ana wasn’t sure of her own motivations there. Morbid curiosity, perhaps? A need to know what Jancia had gone through, and what they could expect from her in the future?

  Maybe she just wanted to be there to support Tellak and Touanne. She hoped that was it.

  She needed to get up. But nothing was so urgent that she couldn’t just lie there until Messy’s breathing changed. Until the arm around her tightened just a hair, and she felt a nose burrow into her hair. Until she got a kiss to the back of the head and a grunted, “Morning, Angel.”

  She couldn’t imagine anything being that urgent.

  “Thank you all for coming.”

  Pirta stood patiently, waiting for the murmur of the crowd to quiet down. She’d eschewed the podium this time and stood on the plinth, just in front of the Waystone. Again, it looked like the whole outpost was gathered. Again, Ana had no idea how word had gotten around. It was two hours after sunrise, and Pirta had only decided to call this meeting the previous evening.

  “I’m aware that rumors have been going around about a disagreement between myself and Miss Cole. Some have gone so far as to call it enmity. Where the disagreement is concerned, the rumors were true.”

  She let the crowd rumble for a few heartbeats before continuing. “But no longer. Anastasia, would you join me, please?”

  That was completely expected. It had been obvious even before Pirta had explicitly asked Ana to stand near the Waystone. Ana climbed onto the plinth and took her place beside the captain, sure that she looked like a child next to the towering elf.

  “Miss Cole has more than proven herself as a leader in combat. And under her, you, the members and volunteers of our militia, have proven that the enemy outside our walls can be beaten. You have successfully rescued the inhabitants of four farms—”

  There was loud cheering and clapping from one side of the square, where the farmers and their friends were gathered.

  “— and have taken no serious casualties in the process. That does not mean that we had no serious injuries. The worst of those were taken by Miss Cole, Mister Tarlantari, Miss Frista, Mister Vasp, and Mister Suren. As you may have heard, they were all infected with the same disease as our enemy and Miss Jancia Versil. And yet, Miss Cole stands here now, hale and hearty. I can tell you today that our esteemed midwife, Mistress Touanne, has successfully developed a ritual to cure this disease and reverse its effects. Miss Cole standing before you is proof positive of its efficacy. The others are resting and expected to make a full recovery under the care of Mistress Touanne. Even one of our enemies has been healed, and though she is confused and afraid, she shows no sign of aggression or sickness.

  “Fellow members of the Bluesky Guild: this disease can be beaten. This enemy can be beaten. And our friends in the expedition, whose absence we all feel so keenly, still live. For these reasons, I am placing my support, and that of the Guild, behind Miss Cole. It is time to strike back. It is time to end this. This outpost will go on the warpath.”

  The low background of people talking among themselves swelled to objections, shouted questions, and above all, cheers.

  “We will pack up all of our necessities, we will arm ourselves, and we will move south. We will rescue our friends. We will destroy those who sought to destroy us. The day after tomorrow, we are moving out!”

  Pirta stepped down from the plinth and turned around to face Ana. Even then Ana had to look up.

  Pirta raised her voice so that it echoed through the square. “Miss Cole!”

  Don’t blink, said the Wayfarer in a voice that only Ana could hear.

  “I do not have the authority to promote anyone to my own rank, even temporarily. However, from this moment on until this crisis is resolved, or Captain Falk returns to duty, I am proclaiming you Marshall.”

  The crowd grew silent. A pearlescent light illuminated Pirta, glinting off her eyes, and she hesitated long enough for a shout of “Chosen!” to carry from somewhere in the crowd. Others took it up, and it became a reverent background as Pirta continued.

  “You will organize our forces. You will see to their training and lead them in battle.”

  The light grew brighter, and Ana bit her tongue as she swore that she felt her heels leave the ground, leaving her weightless with only her toes touching the plinth. Then, out of the corners of her eyes she saw two giant, ethereal wings beat once, and her perspective shifted as she rose two feet into the air, putting her eye to eye with Pirta.

  “You will lead us to victory!” The elf’s eyes were wider than Ana had ever imagined seeing them, but she didn’t stutter or falter. “Do you accept?”

  “I do.” She said it softly, but Ana’s words carried like a sudden wind across the square.

  “Chosen!” A hundred voices rose again, followed by all the rest.

  “Chosen!”

  “Marshall!”

  “Victory!”

  “Anastasia!

  “Ana!”

  “Angel!”

  Hah! Oh, gods beyond, that was exhausting! The Wayfarer laughed in Ana’s head, and it was all Ana could do not to grin at the sheer absurdity of it. Grinning could be badly misinterpreted as smugness or triumph, and she needed to be the calm, collected leader. But it was ridiculous, wasn’t it? A goddess had just spent whatever meager allowance she seemed to have for directly interacting with the mortal world to… what? Hype Ana up? People had just started calming down since the “wings” incident, and now they were going to be insufferable!

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  She suspected that was part of the Wayfarer’s motivation. Because despite looking like a middle aged woman, and being a who-knew how old deity, she apparently had the sense of humor of a teenager. And Ana couldn’t even find it in herself to be mad.

  It wasn’t funny the first time, she said inside her head, directing her thoughts to the goddess.

  All she got back was a sense of distant laughter.

  She sighed to herself. She appreciated the support, but the lightshow was excessive. There was no way she’d be able to go back to anything resembling anonymity around these people now. Everyone was still staring at her in silence. Some with apprehension, some with religious fervor, many with awe. Messy looked like she wanted to drag Ana off into the closest shed or shadowy corner.

  She hoped Messy would agree to come with her when she inevitably bailed to find some new place to settle. She didn't mind being Messy's angel, as long as everyone else left her alone.

  The light slowly faded, and Ana slowly fell until her weight settled firmly on the soles of her feet again. And everyone was still just standing there!

  “Well?” Ana barked, and half the crowd jumped. “You heard the captain! The day after tomorrow! You think you have time to waste? There’s shit to do! Go do it!”

  Somewhere above a quarter of the crowd — most of the militia — immediately started moving, with mixed calls of “Yes, Chosen!” or “Yes, Marshall!” The rest weren't far behind. Only a handful made no move to leave, Messy and a couple who bore a clear resemblance to Torden Barlo among them.

  “That was quite a display,” Pirta said before she herself turned to leave. Her voice held an artificial calm, but there was an excitement in how the elf held herself. “I hope you do not disappoint.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Ana said wryly. Pirta nodded and moved off, making her way to the exchange rather than Administration.

  “Miss… I mean, Marshall Cole?” The two people who could only be Tor’s parents approached once the captain had left. They both held themselves with a natural authority, though that was seriously tempered by the little display they’d just seen. They were each carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle and were well dressed. Not ostentatiously by any means, but their clothes fit them well and were obviously of high quality. It was the mother who’d spoken, a sharp-faced woman a little shorter than Ana, and a foot and a half shorter than the man beside her, who looked like a somewhat older version of Tor. Logically, Ana thought, they must be at least twenty or so years older than their son, but Vitality apparently made you age slower, so them looking like his older siblings and not his parents made perfect sense. Probably.

  “That’s me,” Ana said, stepping off the plinth. “But please don’t call me marshall.” She didn’t need to make any kind of petty power plays here, trying to put herself higher than them. The Wayfarer had done more than enough already. Instead Ana put on her most pleasant, sociable face; it might clash with the way she’d just dismissed the crowd, but people could be different in public and in private, and she considered Tor a friend. She wanted his parents to like her, or at least not think poorly of her. From her right, Messy was approaching, and she acknowledged her girlfriend with a smile. “Would I be correct in guessing that you’re Tor’s parents?”

  “We are. I’m Enira, and this is my husband, Voren.”

  “Hello.” Tor’s father had a very pleasant bass voice, and gave an awkward little wave. “Torden told us a little about you. He seemed to believe that you had potential, and what we’ve seen has certainly not disappointed on that count.”

  “Thank you. For the compliment, and for your help with evaluating the sword he brought you. It really helped me when I was in a bad place, financially.”

  “Oh, we were happy to,” Enira said, though the way she said it somehow suggested that it had been for Tor’s sake more than hers. Which was fair; they’d never met Ana until just now, so they’d probably agreed to Tor’s request to make their boy happy.

  “I hope you negotiated a good price for that sword,” Voren said. “The Engravings were well made, and the etchings as well!”

  “I did, thanks to your note.”

  “That’s very good to hear. But, we don’t want to take up too much of your time.” There was an undercurrent of weariness and grief to the Barlos, and it got stronger now. “We know how you’ve been championing a major effort to find the members of Captain Falk’s expedition. That, of course, includes our son. We talked, Enira and I, about what we could do to help and show our gratitude, and she suggested that we put our skills to use. So, we spoke to Miss Mestendi.”

  Voren gestured to Messy, who blushed and looked away guiltily.

  “She doesn’t need a blow-by-blow, dear,” Enira said. She unfolded the cloth package she held, and there lay Ana’s buckler. At least it looked just like it, except that it wasn’t a dented mess anymore, and its metal surface was covered in intricate, decorative patterns. Voren had done the same, and there was Ana’s hammer-axe, similarly decorated from handle to head. “We convinced Miss Mestendi to let us borrow these for a few days. I hope we didn’t overstep; we’re both quite satisfied with our work.”

  Ana took the buckler, then the weapon. She turned them over in her hands, admiring the smoothly flowing Engravings, delicate blue silver lines against the steel. They reminded her of Arabic calligraphy, inlaid in the metal. “Not at all,” she said, allowing some reverence to creep into her voice. “They’re beautiful. I’m just worried I can’t make full use of them.”

  “Not to worry. We’re aware that you’re a novice and took that into account. Once you learn to properly channel through weapons, they’ll serve you as well as any other Engraved items. For now, though, simply channel any mana through them, and they’ll become orders of magnitude more durable.”

  Ana smiled wryly, thinking of her first buckler. The one that a revenant boar had folded like a taco. “That will be a huge help. Thank you.”

  “Your efforts to help us all, and our son and the others out there, are more than thanks enough. But let’s not take any more of your time,” Enira said. “I’m sure you have things you need to do.”

  There were still a few more rounds of pleasantries before the Barlos left, leaving Ana and Messy, if not alone, then at least with no one in earshot. Messy was grinning expectantly. “So,” Ana said. She carefully wrapped her weapon and buckler back up and put them on the ground, then advanced on her girlfriend. “You handed over my arms, did you?”

  “Yeah?” Messy twisted a few of her braids in her fingers. Her grin turned uncertain, until she looked away guiltily.

  “Were you planning to tell me?”

  “It was supposed to be a surprise, so not really? Unless you needed them, I mean. The Barlos said—” Her words died in her throat as Ana slid in close enough that they were suddenly pressed lightly together. “Sorry,” she whispered, looking down at Ana’s upturned face. “I should have asked. I thought—”

  Ana smiled. Her hands came to rest on Messy’s waist, before one slid around and the other up her back, pulling them close. “You thought right. And I’m very pleasantly surprised. Thank you, Mess. That was very sweet of you.”

  “Oh!” Messy didn’t hesitate to change gears, putting an arm around Ana’s shoulders and using the other to scratch the stubble at the back of Ana’s head. “You’re very welcome, then. Though I should point out that it was their idea, and they did all the work. Braggie and Sadie ran out and got your stuff. All I did was give the Barlos the weapons and suggest they do something that would be useful for a novice.”

  “You did plenty. You always do,” Ana said, catching Messy by surprise as she rose to her tiptoes and pecked her on the lips before pulling away and collecting her things.

  When Ana and Messy arrived at Touanne’s, Jancia and Suren were both still asleep. They moved on, planning to return in an hour or two.

  Ana did manage to talk to Tarlantari, Frista, Vasp, who were being housed at the guardhouse barracks, tended to — and kept awake — by their friends and regular visits by Touanne. They were all as exhausted as Jancia and Suren, so Ana basically gave them her well-wishes and left them to rest.

  The formerly crazy girl from Earth who’d proven that the ritual worked had been placed in one of the converted cells under the guardhouse. It didn’t feel right to Ana, on principle, but there had been some very real concerns that the confused and frightened woman would get herself hurt, or worse, try to escape outside the walls. Her cell was as comfortable as Toaunne and Tellak could make it, with considerable help from a number of people who’d donated pillows, blankets, and other creature comforts when the cells were converted.

  When they’d first cured the girl, Ana had worried that there would be resentment or lingering hostility toward the former enemy. Instead the pervading opinion had been that she was a victim and nothing else.

  She was still kept in a cell.

  Ana went to see her together with Messy and Tellak. Having Messy along at all times just felt natural at this point, a comforting shadow to distract her from the stress and uncertainty. Tellak was the one who’d had the most interactions with the girl. They seemed to have established some very basic communication through gestures, and she seemed more comfortable with Tellak than with anyone else.

  When they came into the cellar and approached the girl’s cell, she sat up on her bed and waved lethargically to Tellak. She didn’t speak; she’d apparently given up on that, since she didn’t understand anyone, and no one understood her. She looked much better than she had the last time Ana had seen her; her warm, dark skin had a healthy, youthful luster, and she’s been given new, whole, and well fitting clothes. Given how Touanne had fretted over her after the ritual, the girl was probably in the best health of her life. That didn’t change the fact that she looked frightened, depressed, and sleepless.

  Without preamble, Ana walked up to the bars of the cell and said, in English, “Hello. I’m Ana. Do you understand me?”

  The girl looked at her with absolute disbelief, then slowly collapsed into tears. Without warning she rushed the bars, pressing herself against them. When she spoke her accent was, though not thick, distinctly French. “Yes! Oui, je— I understand!”

  “Oh! Ah, nous pouvons parler fran?ais si vous—”

  “Oh, Dieu merci, vous parlez fran?ais! S’il vous pla?t, dites-moi—”

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