Crash Site

[moonshadows]

“It’s all…up to you…”

The gnome’s small fingers tightened around mine, pressing the ring into my hand, then relaxed in a way that was unmistakable. Before I could string my thoughts together, however, crunching footsteps emerged from the crackle of flaming debris. I slipped the ring onto my finger, turned inwards to hide the face, and grabbed a bit of something broken and sharp enough to serve as a makeshift knife. A figure was approaching through the smoke, outline blurred, but moving with speed and deliberation enough to make my hand tighten around my weapon. There had been one passenger that moved like that, as a restrained predator among the flock, and I had avoided him lest he recognize something of himself in me. As the newcomer came closer, however, I could see that it was not the half-orc. Brown robes concealed almost everything, but I was confident in assigning the figure a male gender. He knelt, one hand checking the throat of the lady not far from me, and then he turned in my direction.

He was young enough, late twenties, with sideburns that did not suit him and the beginnings of a beard on his heavy, square face. I would have counted him a predator of the streets, a hardened man, but then his eyes fell upon me. They widened, his mouth falling open, and the hand not holding his long, wooden staff flew to his chest.

“I can’t believe it! I mean you, and…and then the zeppelin, and…and the fire! And the altar says that – do you have any idea what all of this means?”

The voice was a higher timbre than I’d expected. He’d been educated; of that, I had no doubt. There was a certain naiveté about him, the way he held himself in his shock, that told me he had not been born a hard man, but rather learned it lately. The hand holding the makeshift knife did not relax, but I moved the weapon just out of his sight.

“What are you going on about?” I asked him, more sharply than a well-bred lady should, but he didn’t seem to notice or take offense.

“You speak!” He shook his head like a dog, as if shaking his voice down from the surprised squeak it had been. “I-I-I mean, of course you speak. What am I, a blathering idiot? Wait! Wh-what did you say? Maybe I should be writing all of this down…” He fumbled in the pockets of his robes, nearly dropping the staff. Finding nothing, he wrung his hands, somehow managing to become even more flustered. “I…am at a loss here. I-I don’t quite know what to do! Uh…I mean…you are the…the…oh, of course you are, I mean…you do know who you are, right?” The words spilled out in a rush. Not waiting for an answer, he hurried on. “Of course you do, wha-what sort of brainless, half-baked question is that for the, the uh, the uh… wh-wha-wh-what do you call yourself?”

“Vorak.” The syllables left my mouth instantly, and once again I gave thanks for the human custom of introducing one’s self by giving the family name first, and then clarifying. “Clarisse Vorak.”

 “Please, forgive me, Miss Clarisse, I’m making a bloody mess of this whole affair.” He took a deep breath, centering himself in proper etiquette. “My name is Virgil, madam, and I’m new to the Panarii religion – er…your religion – and I…oh, oh! Wait!”

Bemused, I watched as he scrambled to kneel in front of me, mouth working as he tried to remember something.

“Ah…I, uh, hereby dedicate – no, no, uh…commit my life to the Living One! I, Virgil, am at your service, madam.” Virgil bowed awkwardly and waited.

Well, at least he wasn’t a threat. “Good,” I said shortly. “You can help me check for any other survivors and gather supplies.”

Virgil followed like an overgrown puppy as I stood and walked briskly to the next body, and the one after that, and the one after that. In a depressingly short time we had confirmed that we two were the only ones alive, and the grim work of gathering what goods we could find began. I gathered food first, not that there was much of it, and piled what little there was in a singed tablecloth. Virgil watched silently as I rifled the pockets of the dead, removing coins and personal effects and more than one sturdy dagger. Those, I secured to ankle and hip. If I chanced to cross paths with the loved ones of my fellow passengers, I could give them closure along with the assorted baubles, but for the rest…well, I needed the coin and assorted useful items more than they. When nothing useful remained, I dragged the bodies into a pile and covered them with anything small enough to pick up. It was no shallow grave, but it would have to do.

Although he had helped in silence, either out of respect for the dead or because he had expended his flow of words earlier, he spoke up when I began gathering some red flowers and pulling up ugly weeds to harvest their roots.

“What are you doing? We have no time to be picking flowers! I have to get you to Elder Joachim!”

I turned to glare sharply at him, my calm splintering now that survival was not a pressing need keeping my reactions in check. “Look,” I snapped, “I don’t know who exactly you think I am, but I nearly died in that crash and everything I had in the world has gone up in flames. I can’t just go haring off with you willy-nilly – I don’t know where we are, or where the nearest town is, and I don’t…” My anger dissolved under the twin burdens of my own helplessness and the wounded expression on Virgil’s face. “I was training to be a doctor,” I said, quieter, keeping the tears under iron control. “Everything I had was on the zeppelin. How is a lady to make her way in the world with nothing but the clothes on her back? I must think of my future. I can make a salve from these plants that will heal wounds. Assuming I don’t use it all keeping myself alive, I can at least sell it for a few coins.”

Virgil sighed, deflating. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of that, and I should have. There’s a town just a day’s journey away – Shrouded Hills. My mentor, Elder Joachim, and I are staying at the inn there. Look, Miss Clarisse, you don’t…you don’t have to do this alone. You’re the Living One, and I’ve dedicated my life to you. Whatever I can do for you…I will.”

This unearned devotion was making me uncomfortable. I turned back to searching for herbs. “What exactly is this whole ‘Living One’ business? Could you explain it a bit for me?”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Enthusiastically, he said, “You see…you’re him. I-I mean, the, uh…the reincarnation of…er, uh, what’s his name? I can never remember...and I'm always getting him mixed up with the other fellow…the…the bad one.  You, uh...well, you know how all of those old elven names sound the same...heh, heh...er...hmmm..”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow,” I said politely, hiding my smile at how flustered he’d made himself again.

“Yes. Right. Ah...just- give me a moment here.  Y-You see...the Panarii...that's the religion that was formed around the things that he said – I-I mean that you said...oh, forget it.” Nearly dropping his staff again, he gestured as if wiping away his fumbling words. “Le-let's start at the beginning.  Or…this beginning, since there is a lot more that came before this.” Virgil chuckled at himself. “You are the reincarnation of a powerful elf, who the Panarii worship, and whose name is, ah...”

This time, I did smile as he trailed off. “Is…?”

“Right…yes, ah, the name…oh, wait…I remember something! It is written in the scriptures: The Living One will live again on wings of fire!” His arms spread wide in his enthusiasm for the imagery, then drooped. “No, no, no, wait, I think it says…reborn!” Enthusiasm undimmed, his arms spread wide again. “On wings of fire! Oh, blood and ashes!” he spat, arms dropping to his sides. “Why d’elves always have t’be s’damn cryptic?” He turned a pleading look on me, seemingly expecting to be chided for his irreverent complaint.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” I said gently, “but I’m not who you think I am.”

“Look, I understand this whole thing sounds ridiculous, especially with you being human, and…female besides-”

“What’s wrong with being human?” I interrupted sharply. “You’re human.”

Alarmed, he waved his hands at me, palms out as if warding off blows. “Nothing, i-it's just that the Living One is the reincarnation of a powerful elf wizard...I can't, uh, remember his name, but I'd have thought you to have been an elf. Or perhaps a half-elf...”

“Well, that proves it, then. I’m not this Living One you’re seeking.”

His eyes traveled to my ears and, self-consciously, I brushed my hair back over them.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

He grinned. “As far as I can remember, the scriptures make reference to there being something unusual or…or unexpected about you when you return. Forgive me, madam, for not seeing that you are a half-elf.”

Inwardly, I cursed at how my deception has neatly trapped me. “I’m telling you, Virgil, I’m not this elf that you’re speaking of.”

“You’re not…actually him,” he said awkwardly, “just the…uh…spiritual embodiment of his…essence, or- or something like that.”

Dryly, I said, “You don't seem well versed in the scriptures.”

“I told you I was new at this!” Virgil wailed. “Imagine the way I must feel! Here you are, the Chosen One, er, Living One, and I can't even remember who you're supposed to be.  Please...just follow me to Shrouded Hills and we'll talk to the Elder Joachim.  He's very knowledgeable about the Panarii, and will know much better what to do.”

I glanced between his puppylike expression of pleading, and the pile of roots and flowers I’d gathered on a square of singed cloth. “Alright, I suppose we’d better get started before it gets dark. You have a camp, I presume?”

“Yes,” he said eagerly. “The path out of here leading down to Shrouded Hills is to the southeast. We’ll stop by the Panarii shrine on the way out – see if it makes any of this any more clear.”

Unfortunately, we had wandered quite a ways in my herb gathering, and attempting to go straight to the wreckage – and what little supplies had been salvaged – led to nearly tripping over a young boar minding its own business. Threatened, it charged me and I yelped, fumbling for one dagger while trying to back up. Virgil came in from the side with a deep shout, fetching the beast a solid whack on the snout with his staff, only to give a yelp of his own and flail when it turned on him. That gave me time to get the dagger out, aim, and lunge.

With a horrid squeal, the boar turned its head to bite at the blade buried in the back of its neck. I let go, and Virgil and I both backed up while it spun in confused, angry circles. Then, panting, it stumbled to its knees and fell over.

“Good hit, madam,” Virgil said shakily, voice high and tight with the remains of fear.

I nodded my thanks and cautiously approached the beast; it did not respond. A toe in its ribs got no reaction, and a moment later its breathing stopped. Quickly, I reclaimed my weapon and then butchered it roughly, hardly more than slicing slabs of meat off its bones and wrapping them in its skin while Virgil averted his eyes, repulsed. I added it to my small bundle of foodstuffs once we returned the wreckage, the herbs going in the bundle of other useful items I’d scavenged. With the light starting to fade, I hefted the sum of my worldly belongings and we headed for where Virgil thought the shrine might be.

“There.”

I followed Virgil’s pointing finger to an altar of wood and carved stone. "And His spirit shall be reborn on wings of fire in hills shrouded in fog,” I read. “Do you suppose the shrine came before, or after the town was named Shrouded Hills?”

“I don’t think it matters,” he replied slowly. “The zeppelin…for it to crash here…why did it crash, anyway? I-I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bring up bad memories, but…the shock of you being the Living One…I completely forgot to wonder why…”

“It’s alright.” I frowned, thinking. I had been in my room, avoiding the real half-elf woman on board. There had been a shudder, a sound shooting past…I’d looked out and seen… “There was another craft. Something small. I saw it fly past, then come back again. Then…it crashed, too.”

Excited again, Virgil looked around. “Over there, Miss Clarisse! There’s another column of smoke, you see?”

We hurried over to the smaller bit of wreckage, Virgil examining the very dead half-ogre pilot while I dug out my notebook – practically the only thing of mine to survive – and roughly sketched what the thing must have looked like intact. There was a small plaque reading ‘Maxim Machinery, Caladon’ and I wrote that next to the sketch.

Virgil’s voice interrupted my contemplations. “Do you see the strange amulet that he's wearing?”

When I looked up, he was pointing to a glinting bit of metal on a chain. Quickly, I added a drawing of the six-pointed star to the page.

“That symbol on its face...I don't recognize it. Do you?”

“Can’t say that I do,” I murmured, double-checking my work.

He uttered a sound of frustration. “Something isn't quite right about all of this.  I don't remember the, uh...scriptures talking about flying ogres and the like.”

The signet of the gnome’s ring pressed against the flesh of my hand. “Do the scriptures speak of a dying gnome and a ring?”

“Dying gnome?” Virgil looked at me oddly. “What are you talking about?” A howl sounded in the distance, and he frowned. “Never mind, Miss Clarisse. We'd better get to Shrouded Hills and find Elder Joachim as soon as possible...those wolves sound none too friendly.”

“You’re right.” I shut the notebook with a snap and tucked it away. “We can talk later, maybe around a nice fire, and you can tell me all about the Panarii and this elf I’m supposed to be.”

We had just passed the Panarii shrine again when we came nearly face to face with another figure in a hooded robe.

“Hold there,” he demanded as we made to edge around him. “What are you doing up here?”

“Who are you to ask?” I shot back, temper fraying. “What are you doing here?”

He gave me an oily smile, and I could hear the wood of Virgil’s staff creak as he gripped it tightly.

“I mean no disrespect, Miss Clarisse,” my erstwhile companion whispered to me, “but I don’t trust this bastard one bit. Bloody convenient he happened to show up here just now, don’t you think?” Suddenly, the edge slipped off of his tone. “Uh…excuse my language, madam, but I’ve, uh, dealt with buggers – er, individuals like this before. Perhaps you’ll let me talk with him for a few minutes…?”

“Of course,” I murmured, taking his staff as he strode forward.

The predatory aspect had returned to his carriage, and almost belligerently he stopped just short of the newcomer. “You there! What exactly are you doing up here?” he demanded brassily.

“I'm from Shrouded Hills...a town not far from here. I saw the crash and came here as fast as I could...”

Virgil took a step closer, voice dropping to a skeptical sneer. “Oh, really? I came from Shrouded Hills myself. It’s at least a day’s journey from here. There’s no way you could have traveled here that fast,” he continued in a dangerously soft voice, nearly a hiss. “I think you’re lying, sir.”

“I...uh...I didn't come from Shrouded Hills just now.” The man took a step back. “I was camping not far from here, and saw the blaze.  Why are you questioning me?  I've done you no harm...”

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Virgil said as he closed the distance again. “I’m asking the questions here…and I don’t like your answers. I’m going to ask you one more time: why are you here?”

“I don't recommend you speak to me that way, friend,” the stranger said coldly. “I've just asked a question, and I'm expecting an answer.” His gaze darted to where I stood, holding the staff as if it could hide both me and the bundles behind me, then back to Virgil. “We can make this simple…or more difficult.”

Virgil clenched and unclenched his fists as if warming them up, and I sidled around to flank the stranger. “Oh, I think difficult is the best way, sir,” he said almost cheerfully. “I find that there’s fewer questions afterwards.”

That, as far as I was concerned, was my cue. The staff isn’t my weapon of choice, but it made a satisfying thunk as it crashed into the back of the stranger’s head, sending him sprawling on the rocky path while Virgil yelped.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, panicked.

“I thought we were doing this the difficult way!”

Virgil grabbed his staff back and eyed the fallen man warily. “It was all bluster! I’m no bloody warrior!”

The man twitched and lunged at Virgil’s feet. He yelped again, flailing at the grasping hands with the end of the staff and backing up frantically while I freed both of my daggers and planted one booted foot firmly on the back of the still-groggy man. Virgil tried to hit him in the head, but the man grabbed the end of the staff and in his panic, Virgil let go. I thrust one dagger at him, hilt-first, and he darted forward to take it. With my now-free hand I kneeled on the man’s back, groped for hair under his hood, and pulled his head up. A flash from the other dagger, and I pressed his head back against the ground now red with blood from his slit throat. The hand not holding Virgil’s staff flailed blindly, an ugly knife falling from its weakening fingers. Virgil snatched it up, then dropped it as if it were a venomous serpent.

“Poisoned,” he said shortly as the man bled out beneath me. “This man was a hired killer. Someone doesn't want anyone walking away from this blimp crash. He must have been working with the half-ogres in the flying machines...that’s the only way he could have gotten here so fast.”

“Perhaps it has to do with the gnome,” I said absently, working at a chain around the dead man’s neck until a familiar six-pointed star amulet swung into view.

“That may very well be the case,” Virgil said grimly. “You’ll have to tell me about this gnome.”

Carefully, I stood and re-sheathed my dagger. When I held my hand out for the other one, I found Virgil holding it with much greater confidence than he’d had with the staff. “Perhaps you’d better keep that,” I said. “You seem more familiar with it than with this.”

Virgil looked at the blade in his hand, shuddered, and thrust it back to me. “No, you take it. I’ll be okay with the staff.”

“If you’re sure,” I murmured, suddenly remembering that I should be acting demure.

Dagger once again sheathed at my ankle, I hefted my bundles and followed Virgil down the mountain path. The place he’d camped wasn’t far, and it only took a few minutes to get a fire going. My stomach growled as I crudely spitted chunks of boar and set them to cook, and wordlessly, Virgil offered me half of his leathery loaf of bread. I took it with a murmur of thanks, and for a few minutes we sat chewing in silence. I told him everything the gnome had said about ‘the evil one’ and ‘the boy’, and even showed him the ring, and a few more minutes passed while he turned this new information over in his head. When the meat started smelling done enough to eat, his stomach grumbled and I offered him a slab in thanks for the bread.

“I don't know about the ring,” he said around a mouthful of hot pork, “It might be a good idea to find out who ‘the boy’ is and see if it’s his... But this business about the evil one returning...as I've said, I don't know a whole lot about the Panarii prophecies, but I think you were supposed to return and... Bloody hell!  I should know more of this...if only Elder Joachim were here...”

“Who is this Joachim you keep mentioning?” I asked between dainty bites of my own.

Virgil stared into the fire for several moments. “Joachim...well, gave me a hand when I needed it, showed me the truth of the Panarii and its beliefs. I met him in a small village, at a Panarii temple. I was...uh...a bit down on my luck. He showed me that you don't always have to take what life gives you...that there's always a better path, and that it's always your choice to travel it...I, uh, I don't want to fail him. He is a very wise man, well-versed in the ways of the Panarii, and also in the ways of the world, and will know what needs to be done.”

It would have been unforgivably rude of me to pry into another’s history, particularly when I didn’t want my own past brought to light. I changed the subject. “And the Panarii are…?”

“The Panarii are a religion, based around the belief that you will return to destroy evil, or something like that.” Virgil scowled. “No, wait, I think there's someone you're meant to fight.  You know...that other fellow. The evil one...oh, it's all so elven...wrapped up in fancy language and metaphors and all that...” He sighed.

“Who is this evil one, exactly?”

“Well, that part is a bit blurry... Oh, blast it all!” Angrily, he thrust his makeshift spit into the fire and prodded the embers. “The whole bloody thing is blurry! I don't know and that's just the way of it!” He took a deep breath, forcibly centering himself. “Forgive my temper...I'm a bit frustrated here.”

I returned his awkward smile with one of my own. “If this is confusing to you, imagine how I must feel. Who was this elf that I’m supposed to be?”

“Nasrudin,” Virgil announced suddenly. “That was his name. Let's see...he was, er, the leader of the...the...Elven Council during the Age of Legends, at least I think that's what it was called.” A more gentle smile lit his face. “He was the greatest being that ever lived, to hear Elder Joachim tell it.”

“It sounds like you aren't quite convinced,” I said gently. “What do you think?”

Virgil sighed. “After seeing what I just did, I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought this was all allegorical until I saw you crawl from that flaming zeppelin wreckage unscathed.” He gestured with the now-burning stick. “A week ago, I would have laughed at all of this. But now, I just don't know... It seems the Panarii were right after all.” In silence, he watched the fire. “Listen,” he said suddenly. “I really do believe in what the Panarii have to say, and I chose this life because...well...the life I had before wasn't what you'd call a noble one...believe me, I'm no saint, friend, but please...you must trust me. I know all of this sounds ludicrous, and I would like to be able to clear up your confusion, but I am new to the Panarii religion myself. If you'll just speak with the Elder Joachim, I’m sure he can answer your questions.”

“Of course I will,” I said soothingly, and he looked up at me with naked hope. “Whether or not I believe in the Panarii prophesy about the Living One, I would be lost and without hope if not for you, Virgil. Meeting your mentor and listening to what he has to say is the least I can do in return. Besides,” I added, remembering a six-pointed star on a man who knew exactly where to go, “I can’t deny that something strange is going on.”

“Thank you, Miss Clarisse,” he said gratefully. “Here, it’s been a long day for you. Why don’t you get some sleep, and I’ll keep watch. In the morning, we’ll make our way to Shrouded Hills.”

I smiled at him with equal gratitude. “Thank you, Virgil.”