The Brightest Shadow, page 44
A mansthein woman lay on the table, screaming and digging her fingernails into the wood. Her body was horribly bloated with multiple lumps. Though this time he didn't see it in the harsh light of the Hero, it still struck him as grotesque. He told himself that it must be natural, just the mansthein form of pregnancy, yet something about the way her skin stretched thin around each bulge...
Iralin was using a knife to carefully cut open one of the sacs. It oozed blue fluid, then as it collapsed it released a rush of green slime that hit the floor with a wet smack. In the process, Iralin deftly pulled something out of the sac - clearly a mansthein infant.
She handed the baby off to Laeri, who hastened to wipe it off. In the process Iralin spotted him. "You! Use your sein for something useful for once and boil some water!"
"I'm sorry, I don't know the technique t-"
"Just get it boiled!"
Slaten nodded and accepted the pot of lukewarm water she shoved in his direction. Boiling water was a simple technique, merely one that he'd never learned. Extending his sein beyond his body was difficult for him, and using it to create heat nearly impossible. Had she actually needed it done that way, he couldn't have helped.
Putting a pot over a fire, he could do. Slaten set the pot in place and stirred the logs so the embers blazed higher. Once that was done, he looked back toward the work.
Iralin was cautiously cutting another one of the sacs. His gaze shifted instead to Laeri, who appeared to be working healing arts on the infant. Beside it lay another mansthein infant, half-bundled in a rumpled sheet. Slaten walked to examine it more closely.
Though the method it had come into the world was far from human, the infant looked almost normal. Head and eyes too large for its body, tiny fists clenched. When it cried he saw that it had a full set of teeth, though the pointed nubs didn't look like they could do much damage. The infant had pure gray skin, which struck him as odd because the mother had mottled blue and green. Perhaps it would change over time.
Eventually the water finished boiling and he brought it closer. Iralin acknowledged it with a grunt and kept working. More of the babies had been... Slaten wasn't sure if "born" was the proper word, but they were out and crying at one another.
As Iralin cut into one of the deeper sacs, the woman let out a louder scream and thrashed on the table. Iralin hissed and glared at Laeri. "Hold her down, will you?"
"I'm sorry, I can't!" Laeri winced as the woman's clawed hands dug another furrow in the wood. "I-I'm not trained in earth sein..."
"Dammit - Slaten, pin her shoulders. Laeri, let the brats cry and focus on her hips. If she doesn't relax more, the last one is going to be hell."
Though he'd had no intention of getting involved with anything like this, Slaten moved to obey. The woman thrashed violently, but she didn't seem to be trained in sein, so it was easy to overpower her. She managed to rip open one of his injuries, then he got her shoulders pinned and she thrashed less.
Even being in the same room as a pregnant woman was extremely inappropriate in Oken culture, but Slaten felt that he had passed that point a long time ago. He'd killed several women, so there could be nothing shameful about helping one to live. Even from his limited experience with birth, this seemed much more painful and dangerous than he had expected.
Cleaning off her knife between each extraction, Iralin slowly cut open all the sacs and removed the babies. One of them was a shade of blue that wasn't natural even for mansthein and didn't seem to be breathing. After she and Laeri cleared its throat, thumped its back, and tried several sein techniques, Iralin cursed and set it aside, returning to the mother.
Her form was much deflated, though covered in slime and flaps of skin. Though he thought the core of her body was intact, it looked as though her flesh had been shredded by some kind of explosion. There was still a large swelling by her hips, which Laeri had moved so that her legs spread wide. Iralin moved to examine between her legs, then breathed a heavy sigh and leaned against the side of the table.
"The head is the right position, but he's taking his time." She rose and pointed between them swiftly, first to the woman, then Laeri, then Slaten. "You, scream less and breathe more. You, keep her relaxed but don't interfere with the muscles around the canal. You, stay alert in case she thrashes again."
That decided, Iralin cleaned off her knife again, then began cutting at the broken flaps of skin. They barely bled at all and Slaten realized that it seemed possible to cut them away. The flesh underneath was scarred and looked thin, almost as if he could see organs within, but it seemed the skin from the sacs was now unnecessary.
"Umm, Iralin..." Laeri shuffled beside her, eyes down. "Is it okay if I just focus on the major muscles?"
Iralin waved her knife vaguely. "Just do what you can. Weren't you Estronn-trained? You should have a deeper relaxation technique. Help the body mend without going too far."
"I know it, but my sein... I'm used to using sunlight, but starlight is still difficult for me and I can't use sky sein at all..."
Since Iralin just shook her head and the operation seemed to have passed the dangerous point, Slaten decided to ask. "What do you mean by sky sein?"
"Oh!" Laeri blinked her large eyes at him. "Have you read about Estronese views of sein before? No, that's foolish, of course you wouldn't. Sein is divided into five elem-"
Iralin stabbed her knife into the table. "Is this really the fucking time for that?" Laeri put her head down and apologized profusely while Slaten accepted that she was right.
Before Iralin finished cutting off all the excess skin, the woman gave another scream and bucked again. Immediately Iralin set aside her knife and moved between the woman's legs. After examining the baby for a time, she shook her head.
"Not yet. Keep breathing." She moved back to the woman's side and cleaned her knife again.
Though he knew Iralin wouldn't want questions, Slaten felt that this was his only opportunity to ask. "Are all mansthein pregnancies like this?"
For a time Iralin didn't answer, just continued to work, and he wondered if she would ignore him entirely. Eventually she spoke in a low voice. "There was a time when this was normal, but that is in the distant past. It only got this bad because Safakiv is a bastard and because she hid instead of coming to me. When things are done properly, it-"
She cut off as the woman's arm lurched up and grabbed her front of her shirt. "Shut up, Seinan bitch." Though her words were choked with pain and her Futhik strongly accented, Slaten heard the meaning clearly. "You have no idea how..." Her words turned into another growl of pain, her teeth clenching together.
Iralin stared down at her, then carefully made the woman's fingers unclench from her shirt. "This is the one circumstance I'll allow you to speak to me that way. Be quiet and focus on finishing this - you don't have strength to waste."
Though Iralin seemed controlled as usual, Slaten saw real hatred in the other mansthein woman's eyes. He kept his questions to himself for the rest of the operation.
Looking between the two mansthein women, he thought he could see differences that were more than just minor variation. Iralin's ears were short and pointed, while the other woman's were long and thin. They almost paralleled the thin horns that he noticed emerging from her messy hair. He wasn't sure if the differences in skin and hair color meant anything, but noticed that where her skin wasn't shredded, the pregnant woman had subtle striping. He thought her eyes might be different as well, but couldn't get a good look.
Eventually the last mansthein baby emerged, causing many more screams but without dangerous complication. It was substantially larger than the others and had two nub-like horns on its head. When it was cleaned, treated, and set in a blanket with the others, Iralin finally let out a long sigh of relief. Slaten remembered that sound from their days in the clinic and knew the work was over. The mother seemed to be hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, too weak to move.
Slumping to the other side of the room, Iralin began to brew the unusual tea she preferred. Though Slaten wanted to ask more questions, one look at her eyes convinced him that this wasn't the time. Instead he retreated to the entrance, where he found Laeri as well. She spoke to him quietly.
"I, ah, thank you for helping. Did you come to help us?"
"No, I was actually going to ask you..." He raised his arms, which were now covered in dried blood. Some of the slime had gotten onto them as well and he resolved to clean them thoroughly. Laeri saw them and shook her head apologetically.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I won't be able to heal you tonight. Is that okay? I've just used so much sein, and I always try to be careful with your injuries..."
"It's fine." Slaten looked back into the room: Iralin slouched in her chair, the woman flat on her back and bloody, the new mansthein wailing. He felt as though they should lead him to some conclusion, but he found nothing. "I'll see you tomorrow, Laeri."
She nodded and moved away, letting him walk out into the night. Slaten rubbed at the scars on his arms all the way back.
Chapter 32
-
"I understand why everyone here is required to stay, but effective officers are essential for the continued operations of Ith Ire. I have received credible reports of sexual aggression, but under current restrictions my response options are limited. This problem could be resolved with the ability to screen officers or extended ability to issue court martials."
- Commander Kolanin, head of operations at Ith Ire
-
Veron sat in the bar, not drinking.
It did seem to defeat the purpose, and the longer it went, the more it irritated her. But she trusted her instincts and she liked having her guts on the inside, so she kept her head. She brought the glass of water to her lips and didn't drink any of that either. Partially because it tasted awful, partially because she didn't want to piss again soon.
After so long crisscrossing the Chorhan Expanse, robbing a few travelers for old times' sake, she finally had a nasty twinge in her gut. Something would happen soon, or so she thought.
The first thing she noticed was that the man tending the bar disappeared. He had been moving about, doing his work to get ready for more customers, but then he had gone into a back room and not come back. She was completely alone, which would have been a good time to steal things... but she was waiting for the footsteps that meant she wasn't actually alone.
She heard them soon, two distinct patterns behind her. Probably two men, one heavier than the other. They didn't seem to be preparing to attack, just splitting up and moving toward her from opposite sides. Veron took a drink of the water, slammed the mug to the table, and gave an exaggerated sigh.
"Damn good day for a drink, wouldn't you say?" She turned back and glanced at them, putting her hand near the hilt of her sword without making too much of it.
On her left stood a short man built like a wall. Had an eyepatch partially covering a nasty scar. Pretty decent beard the same blond as the hair on his head, all of it cut short. His light tunic didn't cover his arms - maybe just to show off his big strong muscles, but given his confidence while moving unarmed, she suspected he could use them.
On her right approached a taller and thinner man. Wore a green robe with gold trim that was pretentious as fuck. It took her a while to get past that and see that he was a little older than her. Not Coran, maybe Estronese. Had a slick goatee that she kind of liked and kind of hated. Striking, anyway. Also unarmed, though she didn't think he'd be winning any wrestling matches.
"You've been asking a lot of questions." Muscleface spoke gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest. Veron shrugged.
"I'm overflowing with youthful curiosity."
"We don't have to be here to fight you. This could end well for everyone."
"Maybe." Veron shifted as Goatee moved, keeping track of him. But to her surprise, he sat down on the chair beside her, leaning against the bar casually before speaking.
"We've noticed that you ran into some people who... chose to give you their valuables." Goatee had a nice, resonant voice, the kind they wanted for storytellers. Having seen him up close, Veron was sure that he was no storyteller.
"Generous folks in these parts."
Muscleface moved to sit on the other side of her, though he hung back instead of abandoning all subtlety with the threatening. Meanwhile, Goatee continued. "If you had robbed any of our agents, this conversation would go much less pleasantly. Well, you did rob one of our informants, but that can be forgiven. We're here because you don't seem to be hiding anything - are you interested in joining our movement?"
"Oh, good. We're not going to fuck around and pretend you aren't from the Co-" She cut off as Muscleface scowled. "Alright, I won't say it. Just so long as we all understand."
There was a pause, then Muscleface cleared his throat and spoke. "My name is Hanfel. Let me tell you upfront that we're not interested in hiring mercenaries. I used to be one myself, I know how loyal we are. There's too much at stake to risk it."
"Whoever said I was interested in joining you? Maybe I'm just wasting my time with all this."
Goatee shook his head, pretentious cowl shaking back and forth. "I doubt that. You look like a woman who would spend extra time with a good drink, not chasing after a group like ours."
Veron smirked at him. "Yeah, come to think of it, this was a terrible plan. What's your name, by the way?"
He just shook his head. If he was trying to be enigmatic, Veron considered punching him in the face. Then again, it was reasonable not to give his name when they didn't trust her. Hanfel struck her as the more straightforward type who had probably been a shitty mercenary.
"Earlier, you said you didn't want to fuck around." Hanfel leaned closer, irritated but not threatening. "Do us the same courtesy. Why did you get our attention like this?"
"I was happy with my life before, but things are getting rough." Veron thought about three smiling faces with white eyes and took a drink, a real one this time. "I'm guessing that your goals are bigger than really interests me. But you're the only ones who have a shot at kicking the Deathspawn out. If you're looking for more fighters, I'm in."
Goatee nodded. "We do need more agents. We're spread thin on guerrilla missions and we lack the forces for the direct confrontation we need." When Hanfel glared at him, Goatee rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. We don't need to worry about her. We may have to kill her, but we don't have to worry about her."
Veron laughed and slapped him on the back. "You're not so bad. I'd buy you a drink, but I don't buy drinks for mystery men."
"I'm Graenin. And I'd take a drink." His name was even close to her nickname for him - perfect. Veron frowned at the bar, however.
"Might be hard, since you ran off the bartender."
"We'll manage." Hanfel vaulted over the bar, surprisingly smoothly given his size. He set down a few Easterns on the back table, then began looking through the drinks. As he moved, he glanced over his shoulder. "What's your poison?"
"Give me one of those gourds of whiskey. The whole thing."
He tossed it over to her without any signs of tampering. Veron smelled it briefly just in case the bartender was one of them, then took a swig. Meanwhile, Hanfel gave Graenin a glass of wine - also kind of pretentious, but she'd let it go. After pouring a large mug of beer for himself, he sat down on the other side of the bar.
"So..." Veron took a longer drink, savored it, then regretfully began flowing sein to neutralize the alcohol just in case. "How is this going to work?"
"We're going to need a bit more information about you first," Graenin said. "We don't care that you were a bandit, but we do need to know why. I don't suppose you only preyed on Deathspawn?"
"And gave it all to little old widows? Nah, I took whatever I could get. But it's hard to live that way and no one stays young forever except crazy old masters. Since all the biggest caravans hire strong guards, there's no way to get a big haul and retire. I figured I needed another way out. That was when the Deathspawn started marching everywhere and my job got a hell of a lot harder. I got involved in some messy stuff."
Hanfel frowned over his beer. "Messy stuff?"
She needed a couple more drinks for that. Once she was done, Veron wiped her mouth and started slowly. "You know all those stories about the Hero? It's not entirely bullshit. The guy was really something, had the Deathspawn shitting themselves."
Veron told them a heavily simplified version, cutting out most of the suspicious parts. They still didn't buy it. Hanfel listened with obvious skepticism on his face, while Graenin quietly drank. He actually finished off a couple glasses without hesitation - the man knew how to drink after all.
When she finished, Hanfel shook his head. "We've heard a lot of stories too, enough to believe there was something like that. But it seems like a mess to me. We don't want to get involved."
"Told you it was messy. What are you after, then?"
The two of them glanced at each other, then Graenin spoke. "There's no single answer to that, because it's an alliance of necessity. It started with soldiers in East Corah angry that the king surrendered the northeastern hills. They tried to fight back and fragmented into several groups. Our group is the only one that's endured, because we strike where it matters most instead of taking them on directly."
"Pretty vague. What do you actually strike?"
"I can't answer that because it would give you too much information about current assignments. But we pursue more than one goal. What matters is that they support East Corah or hinder the Deathspawn."
"Especially Aryabaus." Hanfel scowled into his drink. "He won't rest until he's destroyed us. Some of the other Deathspawn are willing to live and let live, but he's aggressive."
"Smart, too. We won an early victory against him, but he's adapted since then. Only moves his men in groups too large for us to strike. If we want to have any chance of taking back East Corah, we need to go through him first."
"Got it." Veron tapped her fingers along the bar. "I get that you don't trust me, so what do I need to do to change that?"
