When Silver Burned: Chapter 43-44 (Patreon)

43 - The Captain

Kalsin gasped like a man pulled from deep water. His eyes snapped open, breath catching in his throat, and found himself staring at the roof with something soft pressing against his ears and keeping his head locked in place.

Ringtail’s face came into view and blocked out the roof, looking down at him. The soft things keeping him in place were her thighs. Covered thighs. She had dressed, Kalsin absently noted to himself.

“How long was I out?” Kalsin croaked.

She just kept staring. There was a hint of redness around her eyes.

Kalsin slowly pushed himself to a sitting position, her headlock letting him go with a reluctant smush. He rubbed his ears. They were still warm.

“You were hurting,” she said finally, voice low. “Not asleep. Not daydreaming. Convulsing, like, like you were locked in a nightmare.”

Kalsin scrubbed a hand down his face. The vision lingered in his mind—Ringtail, a younger Ringtail, running rooftops, her brother’s scream, the sound of a body breaking somewhere far below. And he felt everything that she did as it happened.

The imprint of her despair clung to him, still.

“How long?” he asked again.

“Hours,” she said. “I don’t know. Noon has passed, probably. I didn’t go outside. I thought you were dying.”

“I wasn’t.”

Ringtail slammed a hand against the pillow. “Thanks, Kalsin! That’s real fucking comforting!”

Yeah. She had every right to be upset, he figured. It would have been better if he actually told her what to expect. But as it stood, Ringtail wasn’t the only one around here with a talent for reckless decisions.

Kalsin opened his mouth to speak, then stopped, wincing as another flicker of her pain passed through him. Scar absorbing powers or not, he had no interest in repeating this experience anytime soon. Maybe it was time to set a new rule: one fresh trauma per month. Two, if he was feeling in a particularly heroic mood.

“I’m sorry, Rin.”

She answered with silence. Her frown didn’t ease up one bit.

“...I like it when you call me Ringtail,” she muttered eventually.

“Ringtail, then.”

Kalsin looked down at his stomach. His new scar sat exactly where hers had been. He suppressed the shiver of disgust that wanted to run across his back, then bent down to retrieve his shirt.

It is what it is. He had made his choice. If he wanted to walk this path, a tiny scar like that would be the least of his problems.

“What are you doing?” Ringtail asked, watching him swing off the bed and start pulling on his boots.

“Hm?”

“You were— You just—” she stuttered. “You can’t just perform a… a miracle like that and decide to leave without a word!”

Kalsin decided to play dumb. “What miracle?”

Ringtail scoffed, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and yanked it up with an aggressive move. “This miracle, Kalsin! This fucking miracle.” Her belly was nothing but a smooth expanse of toned skin.

Huh. In retrospect, there was not much point playing dumb.

He just shrugged, pulling on the strings and starting on his other boot. “It’s a long story, and not all that interesting. What you need to know is that you’re Clenn now.” He pointed with his chin toward the door. “I recommend you join the Clenn camp and disappear before the company finds out your scar has mysteriously popped out of existence. I think they have a Fény with them. They’ll chalk it up to some administrative error on their part, I’d bet.”

Ringtail stared at him, shirt still hiked halfway up her chest, like he’d just suggested she grow a second head and take it for a stroll in the town square. She then slowly let it drop and scooted closer to him on the bed.

“Are you a god?” she asked quietly.

Kalsin lurched back. “What? No!”

“Then, then what…”

“What am I? Uh,” he muttered, tightening the second boot. “Been asking myself the same question for a long time. Since it became apparent that I would never come into my…”

My surge, he bit off the sentence, finishing silently. There had always been something off about him. He just never realized to what extent.

Kalsin stood up and gave the room a once-over. His scabbard had landed against the far wall, belt coiled next to it in a heap. He walked over and began strapping it on. His fingers fumbled with the buckle at the back.

He heard paper crinkling, sheets ruffling, and then boots on the floor before someone batted his hands away and started fastening the strap. Kalsin stood with his head down, letting Ringtail help finish the loop. A cold breeze blew from outside. The sounds of faint chatter drifted through the thin overhead window.

“Thank you,” Ringtail said, finally. She leaned into him from behind, hugging his waist. “You gave me my life back. Thank you.”

Kalsin swallowed something heavy in his throat. “I… I’m not a good person, Ringtail.”

“You were good to me. Even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He let out a small laugh. “Liar. We were awful to each other.”

She smiled into his back. “Well, you just evened the score on your part, miracle boy. Which means that I owe you now.” Her hands started wandering southward. “And I think I know juuuust the way to make a small part of it up to you…”

Kalsin grabbed her hand. He wanted to speak, but didn’t know what to say. That healing her had not been part of the plan, that it had been foolish and impulsive? That they were likely never going to see each other again? None if it felt right to say. So he just stood there, relishing the sensation of someone holding him in the moment.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” she whispered.

Kalsin remained silent.

“I don’t want you to go.”

He didn’t want to go either. But sometimes, you had to choose a bad option to avoid a worse one. He raised her fist clenched around him to his mouth, kissing her knuckle. He didn’t know what Jack had planned. But it sure as hell didn’t involve another woman coming along with them.

“Goodbye, Ringtail.”

She let him go, and he pushed through the door without looking back.

The air had grown colder since early morning, the gray clouds gathering in strength on the horizon. Sudden gusts of wind tossed Kalsin’s hair, coming and going in short tosses and carrying a scent of salt with them. Men jogged around the edges of the training grounds, carrying baskets and rolling up straw mats to protect them from the looming storm.

Kalsin pulled his collar tight around his neck and started toward the storehouses. First thing’s first—he needed to fetch his éj-lantern. No traveler worth a damn wandered into the wilds without protection from Blindlight, ‘specially with the end of the month creeping closer. He’d also need rations, a sturdy bedroll, and oil for his steel. Came with the territory now, being a proper soldier with shield and chainmail and all.

He nodded to Crux as he walked past, the man in the process of disassembling the cooking station. There was still some broth left in the pot, and Kalsin slowed his steps as the smell hit him. He could grab a late lunch first, maybe.

“Sir.” 

A voice pulled Kalsin from his thoughts. He looked up to see a woman standing before him. Her silver hair was woven into a single braid that ran down the front of her shoulder, and the armor she wore was less army-issue plate and more a hunter’s flexible leather gear. She stood ramrod straight, holding a spear nearly as long as her planted in the mud. 

“Reporting for duty, sir,” she said, smashing a fist against her chest. For some absurd reason, her armor had a cleavage. And just a size too small to contain her prodigious proportions.

“Um,” Kalsin said. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering if a lieutenant was standing behind him. But no such luck.

“Permission to be at ease, sir?”

Kalsin’s hand fidgeted with his scabbard. “Er… yes?”

The woman’s stance relaxed, her foot set lightly apart and her free hand coming to rest behind her. Her eyes quickly assessed him from head to toe, gave herself a private nod, then focused back on him. “You are taking steps to arm yourself. That is good, sir, and I respectfully ask you to keep this habit. I can’t be with you at all times, and the Scout can only do so much in a scuffle.” 

What the hell was she on about?

Kalsin looked to the side at Crux questioningly, but the man only shrugged and resumed scraping leftover broth into the next bowl.

“Sir, are you listening? Do you not…” the woman trailed off, tilting her head. She watched him for a moment, searching his eyes in a way that was more than a little awkward.

Kalsin shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, miss, but… do I know you?”

Her eyes widened for a moment. She then snapped her heels back together, coming to attention once again. “I apologize, sir. I see this might not be the most opportune moment for debrief.” She thumped her chest again. “May I take leave for now?”

“Uhuh. Sure, lady. You do just that.”

“Thank you, sir. Your will is my desire.”

The woman then turned on her heels, her braid flipping around like a flag, and marched away in lockstep with the butt of her spear hitting the ground.

Kalsin watched her retreating form disappear behind one of the distant clay huts.

“You saw that too, right, Crux?” he said.

“Why the hell would I have not?” Crux said. He scratched his nose with his arm and then extended a bowl of steaming broth toward him. “Heated some for you, Ghost.”

Kalsin accepted it with an absent nod. “Huh. ‘Preciate it.”

“Maybe she’s an older gal from somewhere down the wall? It’s not uncommon for folk to get a bit shuffled around after an assault. And you do sorta look officier-like,” Crux said, dangling a spoon idly.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.”

Kalsin stared into the distance for another second before he took the spoon, blew on the broth, and started shoveling.

At any rate, older boy business was no longer his problem. He would get his stuff, he would wait till midnight, and then he would be off.

It was time to stop playing soldier, and start whatever the next chapter held for him.

Together—with Jack by his side.

44 - Reunion

Sap gave a low neigh as Kalsin led him farther out from the stables, his saddlebags softly clanking in the cold evening air. It was dark outside, with no sign of the moon breaking through the stormy sky any time soon. Distant thunder rumbled across the plains.

Few men were out at this late hour, and Kalsin didn’t try to avoid them. Almost far enough away to blend into the darkness, a fellow with his cap pulled over his eyes snoozed next to a fishing line. The grass around him was cut low enough to show a hint of the bottle peeking out from between the strands.

Kalsin clicked his tongue quietly, nudging Sap to avoid the hairline fracture just wide enough to trap an ankle if you stepped wrong. The thunder growled louder overhead, and Kalsin glanced up toward the horizon, seeing only darkness and distant flashes that lit up tiny pockets of the skyline. Normally, he might have called it pleasant weather. Just not when there was distance to cover. 

He rechecked the knot holding his shield to his saddle, gave Sap’s scaly flank a reassuring pat, and continued walking further inland.

The wind picked up the farther he went. It came in steady bursts from the west, tugging at his coat and pulling loose grit into the folds of his collar. The red grass here was denser than near camp. It shushed underfoot, the dark plains dancing in a uniform pattern, leaning, bowing, revealing scattered rocks half-swallowed by the earth on occasion.

The plains sloped downward into a basin where old irrigation ditches had left behind shallow grooves in the ground. Like scars on a close-shaved pate, no grass sprouted inside the grooves, giving the basin an artificially checkered pattern. Kalsin guided Sap down the slope, then back up toward the other end. The leather of his gloves creaked as he adjusted the reins.

Up ahead, the silhouette of the rock rose like an upside-down tooth jutting out of the earth. Half-tilted, worn smooth from centuries of wind, and just wide enough to blot out the flash of distant lightning. It was one of the few natural landmarks around this part of the border region—a small break in the flatlands.

Kalsin slowed Sap to a stop and listened. He glanced back the way he came.

Nothing. Just the faint roll of thunder and the flapping end of his coat.

From up close, the rock formation was large enough to tower over a man his height eight times over, and maybe half that in diameter. Kalsin circled the rock once before settling into the lee side, where the wind broke against the curve. A nook beneath the outcrop formed a crude shelter, just enough room for two men to sit and keep dry if it started to rain.

“Sorry I haven’t been there for you lately,” Kalsin murmured, rubbing the side of Sap’s muscular neck. The rock pressing against his back was cold. “They’ve been feeding you alright?”

His bahten snorted quietly. Kalsin smiled. Not a big conversationalist, the scaly chap.

“Look,” he gently nudged on the reins, back toward the Republic proper. “Look, there. It’s dark now, but thataway is where the fractures are wide and the swimming is easy for a fellow like you,” he said. “If you have a horse-memory of a horse-childhood, it’s probably there. Past the Inner Line of Defense, from Újtavak and Grenstel, to Határ and Araz… it’s a good place to be a horse. At least, I hope it was for you.” 

Kalsin let his eyes blur out of focus for a bit. “Hm. The source of my woes lie thataway, too. Where I’m hunted for what I could be and what I believe in. Hunted for what I am, now, I suppose.” His fingers felt the little grooves between Sap’s scales as he scratched idly. “I did something today. Something impulsive. Something irreversible. You know? I took a risk with little to no payoff. And here I am now, left wondering if I really have what it takes to become someone people will want me to become. I didn’t heal her because I’m selfless, Sap. I healed her because I simply happened to grow a bit fond of her,” he whispered. “The plight of the innocent doesn’t move me. Not as a concept, I don’t think. Do you understand? It was selective, and transactional, and, and self-indulgent. How can—how can anything noble come from a bastard like that?”

Sap offered no answers. The lightning had crept closer in the night sky. The man and his beast listened to the thunder that followed.

It was some time later when a snap of gravel caught his ear.

Kalsin stepped away from the rock and moved toward the sound, his hand resting on his scabbard for a moment before dropping to his side. Even if it was someone else, he was confident he could talk his way out of any trouble.

A shape approached from the western plains. Tall, wide shoulders, and leading something four-legged behind. Kalsin waited until the figure neared the rock formation and caught the spill of lightning-glow for a moment.

His bodyguard had ditched the golden Clenn uniform for her old hunter’s gear.

She came to him slowly, stopping just out of arm’s reach. Her hair normally pulled in a tail was down on one side, covering half her face in a way that almost hid her uncertain expression. She gave him a hesitant little wave, barely more than a twitch.

Kalsin calmly extracted his hand from the reins. He stepped forward and silently embraced her.

Jack stood stiff for a heartbeat before leaning into him, arms wrapping around his back. One of her hands climbed to his neck, and her towering height meant that when she pulled, it smushed him right between the valley of her breasts.

Kalsin snorted right into her, struggling with the squishy pair before pulling back enough to say, “Suffocation by my favorite pillows. Not exactly how I pictured going out.”

Jack tilted her head down disapprovingly and flicked his nose. Then back into the boob-grinder he went.

Kalsin let it happen. It’s not like he had much room to complain. Literally or figuratively.

Eventually, she loosened her arms and took a step back. Kalsin adjusted his coat, pretending he hadn’t just been smothered in a way that would’ve made a lesser man lose dignity and clarity both.

“Evening, Hollow,” Kalsin nodded toward Jack’s bahten, the warlander standing tall and enduring as Sap sniffed around his ears. He carried enough bags to almost count for another person in the saddle.

Jack pulled his gaze back to her with a finger against his chin. She raised a brow and patted one of his pockets.

“Yeah. I brought everything,” Kalsin said. “Took some liberties with the food and packed some fishing sets instead. So long as we have fractures to travel by, we won’t go hungry.”

Jack held up a hand and did some reading motions, then poked him in the chest. Questioning look, again.

“Uhuh. I mean, I’m no mathematician, but I can manage some basic arithmetics. Supplies plus income minus consumption, equals; we should be in the green.”

Jack opened her mouth, paused for a moment, but then just shook her head looking exasperated. She pressed a smooching kiss on his forehead and let him go.

“Oh,” Kalsin said, at long last struck by enlightenment. He rubbed at his arm. “You mean… You meant your letter.”

Jack’s expression was equal parts amused and vindicated. She watched him squirm with folded arms and a cocked hip.

“I uuuh… Right, so, about that.” Kalsin muttered, aware of the beautiful woman’s gaze. “You know, the thing is that, well. In light of recent events, when it comes down to it…” He thought of Ringtail on top of him. “All things considered, the reality is…” He recalled his power and his choice to play hero and the marital customs his high station might demand in the future. “That is to say...”

Jack massaged her temple.

“I would like to give us another try.”

When her hand dropped, it revealed the most shit-eating grin Kalsin had ever seen on his bodyguard's face.

“But. But!” Kalsin reflexively stepped back from the overly affectionate giant and her smothering peaks. “This is not, uh, an immediate thing. We can’t be playing newlyweds just when the hunt is about to pick back up.” Kalsin gestured back toward the way he came. “Right there, somewhere in those clay huts, sleeps an agent of the Civil House. Agents, maybe. And the moment they realize we’re gone, they’ll stop biding their time and come after us in full force.”

Jack’s face turned serious at that. She tapped an index finger against her throat and looked at him in question.

“They only tried once. Poison. I’ll… tell you about it later,” Kalsin quickly waved her concern away. He paced a few steps away from the rock, then back. The first few drops of rain started pelting his coat. “My guess is that they were waiting for the Veiled to do the dirty work. A man waking up with a slit throat is awfully suspicious. But when a soldier dies in the line of duty—nobody questions that.”

Jack huffed something like agreement. She made a magicky-exploding motion and shook her head, almost sadly. ‘None of the Clenn fuckers died’.

“Figures. We buried three in just our squad alone. They were good men, too.” Kalsin stood next to Jack, facing the storm slowly creeping closer in the night sky.

Jack gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and they watched the horizon together. She nodded east, absently arranged her loose hair to cover her face, then lifted it up as if unveiling a secret.

Kalsin gave her a curious look. “Nope. I never bothered to look underneath their veils. Why?”

The only glimpse he’d gotten of the Veiled during the battle had been bloodied, mangled, and sliced clean off.

Jack raised a forearm and used her pinched fingers to mime writing a long, flowing script on her skin.

Huh. They covered their bodies because they wrote on it? That was effectively the opposite of the Republic at large.

“Odd,” Kalsin muttered. “I can’t rightly imagine…”

He trailed off with a frown. Wait a minute. Script inked into your own skin… that sounded like something he had encountered before. Somewhere during Blindlight. Not too long ago.

He slowly whispered, “A Veiled inside the Republic?”

His musings were interrupted by a sound that was not his bodyguard, their mounts, or thunder. It was the sound of voices. Human voices. Speaking and coming closer.

In one swift motion, Jack pulled Kalsin behind her, faced the direction of the sounds, and rested her dominant hand on her sheathed sword.

Kalsin cursed, trying to step around his brickhouse of a bodyguard. “Stay calm. We’re just two soldiers meeting for a quick lay. Nobody has a reason to suspect us of desertion. Play it composed and everything will be fine.”

Kalsin believed his own words, too.

At least, until the voices came closer. Until the figures—a damn near dozen of them—climbed up the basin and arrived at the rock.

Until the petite figure of Ringtail stepped into their rocky shelter, bag in one hand, something wet in the other.

“Found him!” she said over her shoulder, then turned to him with a grin. “Hey there, saviour boy. You really thought you could get away without letting me repay my debt?”

Paper. She was clutching wet paper. 

She had stolen Jack’s letter. Leading her right to him.