Imprudent: Chapter 3: Questions

Our observations have revealed that the planetary population is considerably lower than recorded, and has apparently regressed. The exact sequence of events is as yet unknown. At present, the planetary population is divided into numerous small polities spread across the planetary surface, with observed technological levels ranging from lithic up to pre-industrial. Black powder weapons have been observed, but only in crude artillery pieces, with archers remaining the standard missile troops; the reason for this apparent discrepancy in technological development is unknown at this time.

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Stylio of Kasmenarta

Stylio’s eyes opened, but she gave no other movement to indicate that she was awake. On top of her was a soft blanket—some kind of fine wool, by the feel of it, and under her head was a stuffed pillow. It had been some time since she had woken in such softness, but she didn’t let down her guard.

Instead, she reached over to her bag, which was right where she’d left it, next to the bed, and pulled out the bag of sand. Pouring it on the wide dish someone had thoughtfully left on the bedside table, she drew a line down the middle, and wrote with her fingertip, yes and no on it.

Producing a crystal die from her bag, she Breathed out into it. “Are we here in time?”

Then she rolled the glowing die.

It landed squarely on the yes in the sand, the face standing up showing the symbol for safety.

Relaxing as the glow faded, she inhaled and then exhaled, relieving the burning in her lungs. She was not the most skilled at this art, but seeing such an incontrovertible statement was enough to relieve her worries.

Rising from the bed, she looked around as she poured the sand back into the bag; Raavi had put her and Zoy into one of the spare rooms—apparently his sister’s. A smile rose to her face as she gently examined the furnishings. A small altar sat in one corner next to a desk with an overhead shelf filled with books. Perusing the titles, Stylio found her smile growing. A Naturalist’s Field Guide To Center Sea Birds. Songbirds of the Eastern Plains. Fast & Fecund: A Guide To The Small Mammals Of The Eastern White Mountains. Next to at least a dozen similar such titles were untitled spines that turned out to be sketchbooks. Raavi’s sister was still learning, to be sure—the proportions were off in most of the sketches, as were the colorations—but the birds were still identifiable, even without the titles underneath the sketches. And given that she was apparently younger than Raavi… well, that said a great deal about how their parents cultivated their children’s talents.

Good for them.

She glanced at the altar; it held a small carving of a bird-like blue and green dragon, with feathered wings, surrounded by piles of incense ashes.

With a shrug, she turned away and went for the door. She wasn’t Kalltii, and while part of her wanted to snort at their animistic spirit worship, it wasn’t as if she was a deep wellspring of faith herself these days.

Zoy’s bedroll on the floor next to the bed was empty, unsurprisingly; she had insisted that Stylio take the bed, after all. Hopefully her ward had gotten enough sleep, but on the other hand, Zoy hadn’t performed an extensive healing the day before. Meanwhile, if Stylio was reading the quaint clock on the wall correctly, she had slept for close to fourteen hours.

Finding the bathroom down the hall was easy enough. It was well-appointed, with a flush toilet and a bathtub that made her bones itch for a warm soak. But that would be for later.

After she relieved herself and did some cleaning up, she checked herself in the mirror, which was framed by finely wrought colored glass.

Her cheekbones stood out plainly, and for a moment, she let herself feel all of the years etched into her skin. Nearly fifty of them, now. Forty-eight winters and summers. Hair tied up into a bun that stretched out her face from some of the wrinkles. No scars on her face; her skills had seen to that.

She was who she was, and who she had made herself to be.

And hopefully that would be enough.

Going down the stairs and entering the main portion of the household, she found herself smiling at the warmth and life. Several other overwinterers who were staying in the house were present, and as she walked over the threshold into the main room, they stopped what they were doing and applauded.

Smiling back, she didn’t say anything, but motioned to dismiss them. They returned to their games and pastimes, many of them beaming smiles at her as they did so. Outside, it was dark, cold, and the wind whistled past the long row-house, carrying snow with it as it went, but in here, it was lit, cheerful, warm, and cozy, and that was blessing enough.

Making her way to the kitchen, she found Zoy and Raavi waiting for her. The boy—and he was just a boy, for all that he was legally an adult—grinned at her. “Did you sleep well?” he asked energetically, practically bouncing over to the stovetop where a large pot of something was cooking; his braid was swaying like a feral pendulum from the back of his head. “Here, I’ve got some breakfast for you! I hope stewed oats with honey and fruit is all right?”

Zoy caught Stylio’s eye and grinned, motioning with her head towards Raavi.

Stylio rolled her own eyes and nodded back before speaking up. “Yes, that will be more than fine, Raavi. Thank you, dear host. And I slept quite well.”

He got out a bowl from one of the cabinets and filled it up with the aforementioned waking food, and handed it and a cup of steaming milk to her, then sat back, like he was waiting to see what she had to say.

Resisting the urge to laugh—it would destroy the poor boy—she spooned up some of the oats and ate them. They were decent; not terribly exceptional, but quite fair and palatable. Swallowing, she nodded at him. “Quite tasty, thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Do you need anything else?”

Stylio considered for a moment; Raavi was wonderfully straightforward, and she doubted that being subtle would get through easily. “Yes. Can I have a moment alone with Zoy?”

“Oh, oh, sure,” Raavi said, not looking upset at all, thankfully. “I’ve got some projects to work on.”

After he left, Stylio spooned up another mouthful of the oats, and looked at her ward. “So?” she asked in Dormeli.

Zoy scoffed and replied in the same tongue. “I kind of want to put him in a headlock and muss with his hair, to be honest. He’s so earnest, it’s almost sickening.”

Scoffing in turn, Stylio said, “He does seem to be that way. I find it refreshing.”

Rolling her eyes, Zoy leaned in and said, “So… did you do a forecast?”

“I did.”

“And?” Zoy asked, folding her arms and giving a small huff.

“We’re here in time.”

“Well, that’s good, assuming this turns out like you thought it would.” Zoy said with a shrug, her earlier skepticism still showing.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“No, I did, and you know it,” Zoy said, and, leaning back, did a flamboyant stretch, her foot touching the back of her head as she balanced on the other foot.

“Did you do that in front of Raavi?”

“Maybe a bit,” Zoy said with a twinkle in her eye, even as she contorted herself against one of the kitchen counters in a way that still made Stylio’s spine cringe in sympathy, despite the years Zoy had spent as her ward. “He’s nice, but he’s not my type.”

“And that makes it all right to tease him?”

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. It’s this or the headlock.”

With another sigh, Stylio got back to her oats. “Just be kind to him.”

“I am!” Then Zoy leaned in and said, in a much more serious tone, “Besides, I think he’s practically the first man in this kingdom who hasn’t treated me like a criminal of one sort, or another.”

“Yes, I noticed. It’s the hair, dear. You know I could help you grow it out. With the food available here, you wouldn’t even have to deal with that much hunger.”

Shaking her head and sending her golden fringe whirling, Zoy responded, “No. I don’t want to give anyone I fight with a handle on my head to grab. I’ll deal with it.”

Before Stylio could respond to that, the house shuddered as a series of powerful gusts of wind hit, strong enough to make the milk in her cup ripple. A chorus of groans came from the living room.

“How many shingles do you think we just lost?” someone asked.

“Enough. We’ll have to go around and do a check,” another person said. “Last thing we need is to have leaks this early in the winter.”

A smile growing on her face, Stylio looked over at Zoy. “Shingles, hmm? Fortunately, I know someone who likes to climb up high…”

Zoy gave her a disbelieving look, followed by a rueful nod. “I guess. Are you sure?”

“Sure that you get into high places that you shouldn’t like some kind of cat? Only as sure as more than ten years of warding you can make me. I think you’ll be helpful.” She leaned back in her chair and picked up the cup of warmed milk. Lifting it to her nose, she took a deep sniff, followed by a contented swallow.

“All right. I guess it’s better than staying cooped up inside all winter,” Zoy said, and reached over to steal a spoonful of Stylio’s oats with a grin.

#

Raavi ava Laargan

“Bucket going up!” I called, and started to haul down on the rope. In front of me, the packed bucket filled with shingles and nails went up, but only half as far as I hauled, due to the block and tackle. Not that I minded so much; it weighed nearly as much as I did, so having the mechanical advantage was helpful.

An answering call came from the roof as I kept hauling on the rope, and Zoy’s scarfed face appeared over the edge. Reaching out, she snagged the rope and hauled the bucket over to the rooftop.

Footsteps crunched on snow nearby, and I turned to see Stylio standing there, her arms folded with her hands in her armpits.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I mostly came out to keep an eye on Zoy, and be on site in case of any injuries.” She craned her neck to look up at the row-house that had lost a large patch of shingles in the wind. “I just hope that nobody falls on their heads.”

I shrugged. “They know what they’re doing, and they’ll be careful.” The wind whipped up again, making the rope quiver enough that it banged against the side of the house. If I hadn’t been holding on to it, it would have gotten blown away from me. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite fine. Thank you for asking, dear host. But I just worry that they’re choosing speed over safety.”

“Bucket coming down!” came the call from above, and I gripped the rope. The weight settled in a moment later as Zoy or one of the others let the bucket dangle from the block and tackle above. Letting the rope slide through my hands at a steady pace, I had the bucket, filled with broken shingles and bent nails, down in a few moments, and then dumped the contents into a waiting wheelbarrow.

“How many more do you need?” I called up.

“At least another dozen! A whole patch tore loose!”

I winced. This early in the winter? I knew that it was typical for an average roof to be completely replaced every ten or so years, but they’d already used up a whole crate of the ceramic shingles, and we only had so many. And it wasn’t like we’d be able to get more, even though the town that specialized in making them was only about forty miles away on the canal. Shingles were heavy, and the limited winter traffic wasn’t going to be able to transport them—even though the town in question was undoubtedly making thousands of shingles at this very moment, just as we were melting iron and casting glass.

Still… it wasn’t like we had a choice. Well, technically we did. We either fixed the roof… or dealt with water damage and weather damage inside later.

So fixing the roof it was.

I loaded up the bucket and started hauling on the rope. The wind gusted, sending the bucket swaying, and I hurriedly pulled faster before the bucket could smack into a window.

“You know, as attractive as it is, I would think that the curved walls and the waves in the roofs would be more trouble than they’re worth,” Stylio observed after the wind had died down and the bucket had stopped swaying.

“They help divert and channel the winds,” I said as I focused on hauling on the rope. “Same reason as why we build the houses together in a long row shaped like a wedge.” The long streets ran north to south, so that the wind could pass down them unimpeded, and the east-west cross-streets were wide so that the wind coming off of the buildings wouldn’t make giant vortexes.

“I know. I just think that there has to be a better way.”

“Well, unless you know how to make a copy of the King’s Tower and the other crystal spires, we’re going to have to make do with this,” I said. “At least we’re not any of those crazy nobles who want glass shingles for their homes, though.”

Stylio smiled, judging by the way the skin around her eyes crinkled through the gap in her scarf. “Indeed. I’ve seen a few of those. They’re quite the rich man’s folly.”

“Exactly! No matter how much they want it, we can’t make the crystal—”

A shout from above cut me off, and I jumped out of the way just as a hammer and several other tools fell from above, plummeting right where I’d been standing, followed by one of the men who had been up above.

He hit the ground with a sickening thud and wet cracking noise.

Above I heard swearing; looking up, I saw that Zoy and another man were dangling from the pulley for the bucket, with Zoy holding onto the rope for dear life, and holding the man with her legs. Another man was dangling from the gutters.

Even as Stylio rushed to the man who had hit the ground, I tried to think of what I could do to help—but I was too surprised, too stunned to think of anything. It had all happened so quickly—

“Don’t let go!” came from above, and I tried to think of what I could do; the pulley was useless, as I couldn’t do anything with it without dislodging Zoy and the other man, but I could see the man dangling from the gutter was slipping free.

As I stared, Zoy started swinging back and forth, trying to get the man she was holding in reach of the other—but she wasn’t fast enough.

He slipped free, and fell, hitting so close to me and Stylio that I felt the air shift from the impact and some of the snow that was thrown up hit me.

I ran over to him; Stylio couldn’t do anything, as she was already in the middle of singing the spell for the first man, and I tried to assess the damage, even as I identified him. Shattered leg bones, broken ribs… my mother would have been proud of how I tried to focus on the medical emergency, instead of going into shock.

“Raavi…” he muttered. “I… I don’t want to die…”

“You’ll be fine, Beeno,” I said, even as I started to try to sing a spell to stabilize him. But I didn’t even know where to begin. He was just so broken—

“Don’t…” he coughed, with foaming blood coming from his lips, “don’t lie to me. I… I just want to see Biianka married…”

Desperately, I started to hum, trying to come up with something to help him—but where did I even start?

Stylio finished her spell, sending a stream of blue-white Breath into the man lying on the ground in front of her. She turned, and looked over Beeno…

And shook her head.

“But, but, but—” I stammered. “You’re the best there is!”

“Not in time,” she said, and reached down to take Beeno’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I just wanted to see Biianka married…” he repeated, his eyes going glassy.

Stylio looked at me. “Who is Biianka?”

“His daughter. She’s engaged to be married in the spring…” I said softly.

Before Stylio could say anything more, though, Beeno seemed to tense, and his lips moved one more time, repeating his plea—but this time, something I’d never seen before happened.

Purple-black Breath came streaming out of his mouth, and his back arched, even as it seemed that the Breath sank back into his body.

“What just happened!?” I blurted.

“I… I believe that Beeno here is a man of uncommon Will,” Stylio said, and motioned towards his eyes.

They were alert and moving.

But his chest wasn’t.

I almost jumped out of my skin, and did go sprawling in the snow. “Revenant!”

#

“…and the shingle was loose. I stepped on it and slipped. I fell, knocking Beeno and Daagoberht down the roof,” Geerd said, his head bowed as we all stood in front of the Mayor, who sat behind his desk with his hands together, fingers interlaced.

The Mayor looked at Zoy. “And what about the Dormelion girl here? Could she have had something to do with it?”

Geerd shook his head. “No. She caught me, but we couldn’t catch Beeno or Daagoberht before they fell.”

“Hmm. So this was just a stupid accident because you didn’t take proper precautions when repairing a roof in winter?”

“Yes sir.” Geerd didn’t look at where Beeno was seated in a chair, half of his body broken… and still quite dead, even though he was looking around as much as he could.

I shivered; he was the first revenant I’d seen, and it was just… wrong, seeing a body that broken still moving, but not breathing. His skin was purpling like a bruise in just the time it’d taken for us to first get Daagoberht fully stabilized and handed off to the hospital, and then be escorted over to the Mayor’s offices.

“And Beeno ava Leohaart paid the price for your negligence. I was informed that Daagoberht will make a full recovery, which is good… but, well…” He motioned to Beeno’s body. “You killed him.”

Geerd cringed. “It was a stupid accident!”

“Yes. It was. And now I need to hear Beeno’s petition.” Mayor Laarthan turned to Beeno, and in a voice much quieter than I had ever heard from him before, he said, “Beeno ava Leohaart. What is your purpose for remaining past your time?”

Beeno coughed, and his chest inflated slightly. In a rasping voice that I could only describe as ‘broken,’ he said, “I need to see Biianka married…”

Mayor Laarthan closed his eyes for a moment, and then nodded. “You understand what you are asking for, do you not? As soon as your purpose is fulfilled, you will die. Your daughter will have her wedding marked with the final death of her father. Do you truly want to go through with that?”

Nodding, Beeno said, “It’s all that’s left for me.”

The mayor closed his eyes again and drummed his fingers on his desk a few times. “Yes, it would be, wouldn’t it? Well. Given the timespan… it is unlikely that you will go mad before then. Very well. Your petition is granted. But I do not envy your family for their heartache when the sun rises.”

“It’s… better than just telling them that he died in the winter, right?” Geerd offered.

“Ah yes, because knowing that your father will die at the end of your wedding day will certainly not put a pall on that!” snapped the Mayor. He scanned the group of us. “And I understand that I have you to thank for Daagoberht not also being dead?” he said, looking at Stylio.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s two of my people you’ve saved from serious injury and death in the time since you’ve arrived. Believe me, there is a part of me wondering if it was… coincidence. But accidents happen.” He leaned forward. “I just hope that there will not be any more.”

“I understand what you are saying, and I hope the same,” Stylio said. She nodded towards Beeno. “I can help get him ready to walk again, if you would let me?”

The Mayor nodded. “Yes, yes. It’s not like he can heal on his own anymore, is it?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“All right. Dismissed. And try to keep any more accidents from resulting in deaths. Normally the worst we have to deal with are burns at the ironworks and hot shop.”

“I will do my best,” Stylio said.

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, and went out into the hallway, holding the door open so that they could carry Beeno out.

Stylio frowned as she examined him. “Well, this will be difficult.” She patted Beeno on the cheek. “At least it doesn’t hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t. I can barely feel anything,” he said, and then his eyes narrowed. “I can’t feel anything. Is this what drives revenants insane?”

Stylio nodded. “Yes.”

Beeno shook his head. “Just a few months. I won’t be like this forever, like you hear in the stories. Just a few months. Fix me up, and I’ll help for as long as I can.”

“I’ll do my best, but it will be a painful healing for me to perform,” she said.

Geerd said softly, “I’ll donate some Breath. It’s my fault he’s like this.”

“Nah. I wanted it done fast too,” Beeno said. “Just… just drink a beer for me, all right?”

Geerd nodded, and I looked away as I saw a tear go down his cheek.

“Well then. I think a place where we can work and set those bones and lacerations will be best,” Stylio said. “Raavi?”

“Yes?”

“You have been a most excellent host, and I hate to impose, but can I request that you get a hearty meal and a hot bath ready for me back at your home?” She motioned to Beeno. “I’m going to need it when I’m done.”

Grateful for the excuse to get away, I nodded. “Sure, sure! Any requests?”

“Whatever you have on hand. Thank you.”

I didn’t need to be told twice, and went off. Behind me, they were discussing on where best to heal… or would that be ‘repair?’ Beeno, but all I could hear and see was the sight and sound of his body hitting the ground in front of me, over and over…

#

Stylio of Kasmenarta

As the newborn revenant walked cautiously around the hospital room behind her on freshly repaired legs, Stylio made her way to the main doors. Her head was pounding, random spikes of pain sizzling like lightning bolts up and down her limbs and through her gut. It was not the worst pain she had ever experienced from a major healing, but it was certainly notable.

But for what was left of that man back in that room, the pain he had experienced at the end would have made what she was experiencing pale in comparison. It was a small thing to give him back what little she could of his existence. At least the bones, sinews, muscles, and other tissues remembered what they had been in life, and fitted back together without complaint. He would need to consume some meat and other foods to help provide some raw material later on, and drink water to keep from drying out, but for now, his needs were nearly nonexistent.

Zoy was waiting for her down the hallway. “How are you feeling?” she asked, falling into step with Stylio.

“I have felt worse. Back when we first met.”

Zoy winced. “Yeah, he was smashed up pretty good. Damn it that I wasn’t faster.”

“I just want to point out that you saved one man who would have otherwise plummeted to his death or serious injury, and did so with panache and skill, despite you yourself being in a dangerous position,” Stylio said. “I will also note that nobody has called attention to the method you used, due to the distraction offered by Beeno.”

“What? My legs are stronger than my arms, and I needed both of those to keep us from going splat.”

“Yes, you did. It was still impressive as a show of strength.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I wasn’t thinking of it that way. I was just trying to survive… and make you proud.”

Stylio paused as they reached the doors, turned, and cupped Zoy’s cheek with one hand. “You always have.”

Her ward’s expression softened, and then she pulled Stylio’s hand away. “Come on. You need food, rest, and relaxation after that. Knowing Raavi, he’s probably got a small banquet ready for you.”

“I would not bet against it,” Stylio said with a smile, and allowed herself to be led to the exit of the small hospital, dressed in her coat and winter gear, and then escorted through the streets to their temporary residence.

On the way, she noted that a number of the local overwinterers were giving them respectful looks, which was good, especially as the Kalltii had no reason to feel especially warmly towards Stylio’s own people. There was a great deal of history there after all, most of it etched in blood. So the fact that the ordinary men and women of the town seemed to accept them, even conditionally, was good.

Hopefully it would mean that, when whatever it was that they were waiting for arrived, they would be in a position to help.

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