For a Song Pt. 08

"Water," moans Gawain, "Water."

"Don't talk," groans Eliza, "Wastes energy."

I say nothing, because I'm doing more or less alight. Little thirsty, sure, but nothing to complain about. Probably a blister or two and a nice sunburn to go along with it, but nothing that a few hours off my feet and a song in my heart won't fix. I'll be right as rain in no time.

We wind through a deep canyon, sun overhead, beating us with bats and bricks and molten fire pokers. It's not great, but nowhere near the level of suffering they seem to think we're in. It's all the black heavy clothes. Layers, that's the key, to dress in layers. Layers and good socks will see you through the worst weather that the skies can pour down. My jacket is open and loose and tied around my waist. My new bandana is doing a wonderful job of keeping the sun out of my eyes. Really, it's all their fault for not dressing sensible.

Nevertheless, I think it's time to pull over for a break. They don't argue, although I think Eliza feels like she should. Her feet are too sore to give her any pride. And anyways, being slow is still faster than being dead.

Gawain's almost dead. The way he hogs the waterskin almost sets Eliza on him, but he stops just side of being a gluttonous pig. He's just a normal pig now, water dribbling down his chin, face flushed and panting. Fun ideas, but not the time or the place.

"How much farther," he gasps. It's not a question, more of a plead for mercy. It better be right around the next bend. It's not.

"About another day or so," I say with all the chipper sweetness I can muster. Judging by Eliza's face, that's quite a lot. Good. A positive attitude can do wonders. If only they saw it that way. Gawain flumps down on his perch and pouts. His lips can certainly do so many wonderful things, all the shapes they can make. I'd give him something to drink, but that would just tucker us both out and we can't have that right now.

"You have five minutes," Eliza says, "Before we move again."

"Slave driver," mutters Gawain.

"No, just disciplined. Thank the Gods you weren't one of my soldiers. Flogged to here and back again just to give you something real to complain about."

I let them vent. All that heat has addled their brains and it has to go somewhere. Might as well be done in harsh words and tone. Just so long as it stays under blows. It should be fine. Neither one of them has the energy for it, despite some peoples' façade. I have my turn with the water skins and they are getting empty. Going to be a rough morning tomorrow, but that's tomorrow. We'll get there and then we'll be fine. It'll all be fine.

I'm eager to get back to it. Gawain's massaging his feet. Eliza's eyes are closed, and she might even be asleep. But that eager little beaver in me walks right up to her and pokes her cheek. That gets a grimace and murmur. That same finger goes to her boob and pokes just the same way. That gets a hand to swat and slap. I poke it again and she grips tight.

"I will break it," she murmurs in her sleep. Gawain's back to giggling and if he has the energy to do that, then there's nothing keeping us here.

"I'm sorry. I'm just excited," I say. She's not gripping very hard. Really hard, but probably not enough to break it. She could. She could do it and that once more sends an odd thrill.

"You're nervous," she says.

"I'm not."

"You are," Gawain chimes, "You are and it's kind of cute. It would be cuter if it wasn't final layers of hell hot."

"I'm not nervous. I just don't want to be in the sun any longer. So, we should go to Blood Rock and see what's going on there."

"Totally nervous," Eliza sighs, "Give us five more minutes. If you want, my legs could use a rub down."

She lets go of my hand and puts a foot to my sternum. She almost, knocks me over. Her gown falls open and I get a glimpse of some very fun things. It seems odd to me that she refuses any small clothes, but I'm not complaining. It still works for her. The fabric settles and I go back to her legs. That's the important part of her right now. All of her is, but the calf on my shoulder, pressing me down into an early grave is calling.

The muscles are hot. It's the first time I've actually felt something on her be warm. The work and the sun, the blood moving in the veins, the muscles twitching and pulling and dancing in the rest, it's all warm. I don't mind it in the shade of the canyon wall. I feel her pulse and it is on time with the world. It is grounding, that weight, that strength. Just having it there is enough to settle and quicken and calm. Power and strength, that is all she is. Power and strength and stone laden will that has been forged in tempered in cold graveyards and bloody battles. She is a testament to the power of physical bodies. She is a testament to everything tangible and real and crushing pressure exerted into dust.

My hands find her thighs and it is rock hard. The skin nis soft and supple and taut, but the underlying muscle is so incredibly demanding. Each little twitch from the rest is enough to move my entire body. She is dancing and staying still, she is rising and falling in the endless silent moment. She is staring me down with ice daggers, trying to goad me into actually getting risqué. It is so momentous to be standing under her in any regard.

My fingers dig into her muscles, and I feel the twitch and wright push back. She flexes and I pretend not to notice. She's not showing off. She's not doing anything like that.

"I'm next, by the way," Gawain sighs, "So long as we're doing massages. I might have a flask of oil or something in here. Give me a sec."

Gawain busies himself with rummaging through his shadow cloak. He has an entire armory in there and I have no clue as to how it works. Probably some bullshit. The leg taps my shoulder, and I am back with her. I wish he would find that damn oil so we could anoint ourselves and be all slippery. Later though, in town with plenty of water and food and so many better things than a canyon wall.

I creep up and the gaze sharpens as I get closer to her entrance. Then I dance away. It's confusing, that push and pull within us both. Going further and further and further, while knowing with everything rational pulling away and trying to coral us back on the path. Gawain swears and I switch legs.

The second is just the same as the first, toned and tree trunk strong. Everything about her is. Everything about her is strong and stalwart and incredible. The twitches start fading as I work the knots from her. She leans back and deepens her breath. She is where she has to be, on a throne being worshipped and adored by a lovely servant. It's where I need to be, roles reversed or the same. It's where everything needs to be all the time.

"Ok," she says as she taps me away, "Still got a long way to go. Get a move on."

"Wait, no," Gawain whines, "I just found it. It even scented."

"You heard her," I sigh, "Places to see. Things to be. People to do. Or something like that."

Eliza rolls to her feet and shakes everything out. I watch her chest bounce and roll and rock while she does. The little shot of arousal hits me, and I want to tackle her back down. But by the time I am all centered and ready, she's a dozen paces down the way. I'm getting hard and that's going to slow us down but dealing with it would slow us down even more. I just shrug and keep moving. Gawain weighs the oil bottle in his hands. It certainly could do some damage to one of us, but then we'd be out of oil. I watch the colors swirl and fight and come to a terrible conclusion. It's back in his pockets and he's shuffling along behind us. We'll make it up to him later.

----

Blood Rock is quiet. Mostly by design, but as we pass the sign I can't help but feel the silence creep into me as well. It's a smothering thing, not even the wind or the creak of a door or a beat of a heart. A wagon sits in the dust to our left and its missing two wheels. A dusty bottle full of grit sits unworried on the bench under the canopy. It might be a good place to take a little break, but we are close, so close.

Gawain's barely hanging on. Poor thing is too suited to wagons and boats and palanquins to carry his nubile form on official business. Eliza is doing a bit better. Drills and discipline are applicable everywhere. But I watch the steps falter and sway. The sun isn't helping. The endless plain of dust and bushes aren't helping either. Only the promise of water and shade and rest.

The town lies in a basin, a hole in a rock, really. A blood red rock providing shade at all hours of the day, except high noon. Which is now. Unfortunate, really. We're descending into it though. I promised them both a law oasis under the sun and it will be there.

The first buildings come along formed from dry bleached wood. And they are abandoned. The ghosts slipped out in the night for green pastures. A lone door bangs against its frame and sends a welcome shiver up my spine. The rocks offer no comment.

"Are you sure this place is still around," Gawain says, "I mean, I thought it would be a small town, but I'm not seeing anything."

"Tracks aren't fresh," Eliza buts in, 'No wagons or prints. No one's been in or out for a while."

"It's fine," I say, "They'll be there. We're almost in the hollow."

No one believes me, but they humor me, myself included. The wind might have blown over any tracks. I can't even see the ones we made behind us. The edges grow taller, and my hand goes to my rapier. At eh very least, it's something to tease and play with. It gets out the energy.

We pass a few more abandoned homesteads before some of the homes migrate into the rock. They have one thing in common though. They are just as empty.

"Yeah, people might not be here anymore," I say. I grip my sword tighter. There's something in their air.

"Not quite right," Eliza whispers, "We're being watched."

A lone pebble dances down the rock ledge and tumbles to our feet, the noise echoing down into the maw of Blood Rock.

"I don't like being watched," Gawain murmurs. He has his knife out. I can feel his urge to let it dance across his fingers. It does the same thing as me polishing my pommel. Eliza goes for her scythe and lays it across her shoulders like a yoke. Not even the sight of her lovely back clenching and shifting can quell the kernel of my anxiety.

I whistle with the wind, and I find the colors of the world. They are on the ledge, bits of red angry and yellow caution. Just scouts, trying to ascertain our intentions. If there are scouts, then there's a main force in the town. I count to find, ailing my own hue and keep moving forward.

"You're going in there," Gawain asks, "Even though you know?"

"If this is my brother, then we're fine," I say, "If this is the people that killed my brother, I would like to have a word with them. That word being 'die.' So, yes, I'm going."

"You can stay," Eliza says.

"Oh no, I just wanted to make sure we're supposed to be this stupid."

That gets a little huff from me, and Eliza rolls her shoulders. We're still tired and hungry and thirsty, but that thought of violence does get us something in our belly. Some fire in us that slips down and numbs everything. I glance up at the canyon wall. No bodies or forms or heads poking over. Nothing at all, except a circling buzzard that's lost its way.

Something creaks and Gawain jumps. Eliza does as well, but she is a bit more proactive with her threats. I just keep walking. The town gate hangs open and I pass through without a problem. The wind stops in the basin, and we are in the town proper.

Wherever people went, they moseyed on out not too long ago. Everything's still new here, with fresh wood and paint that might even be wet. I hear a dog bark in the distance and that's a good sign. If one of those could survive, then I'm at least a coin flip. Eliza's a dice roll, and Gawain's a good deal. My mind keeps wandering and it shouldn't. We are here, and we have a problem. But if my brother is hurt, then I need my head on straight. I walk past a general store with boarded up windows and I draw my blade. It makes me feel better, if nothing else. I give it a circle in the air and then it settles.

Someone hollers in the distance. A laugh follows with a gust of frigid air.

From down the main street. I hear horses gallop and ride with the mounting laughter. The herd corners and we seem a trio of women dancing on the edge of an endless ice field, barreling down the thoroughfare, bulging saddle bags the only thing slowing them down. The thin rapier won't help. I reach for my guitar, but I'm too slow on the draw.

Winter, cold and icy and harsh, comes for us. My breath fogs in the air before falling to crystal and shattering. The strings on my back shrink and tighten. One of them snaps. That's out of the picture. I only have steel and iron shared among the three of us. The horses circle us, and I can't open my eyes. My tears are ice. My eyes are solid. I drop my sword. I can't stop shivering and I've lost Gawain and Eliza to the cold.

"Huh," says the first one, "New friend. Yay. Was getting a little tired of the old friends. They weren't any fun."

I try and say something clever. My teeth chatter and that's all that I can do. None of my usual charm or wit, but I do manage to put my hands up. That might do something to someone. A light tap to show them I mean business. My fingers are turning blue and not in the way they should be.

"So," says the woman on the horse with ice white hair, "You can just stand there so one of my girls can frisk you down and make off with all your shiny things."

I shake my head and I think I meant to do that. I want nothing on me stolen. She could ask politely, and I might part with some of my baubles, but she would have to ask. I see the first part and a scythe cut a path for a friendly shadow.

An arrow comes through the fog and lands at my feet. The woman laughs and wheels her horse around. Winter leaves and we have our endless summer left. Eliza has a cut on her cheek. Gawain's gone. I kneel to my dropped blade.

"Stay right there," calls a voice on the wind, "Otherwise, you're going to fit in better with the porcupines."

I do indeed, stay right there. I also settle my weight and get everything limber and loose. Something else is coming round the bend and that means a fight. Eliza comes to my side and becomes still, the scythe in her grip. I lost my Gawain. He's in the shadows. That's a good move on his part. A little bit of surprise.

"You aren't Safon's gang. But we still don't know you. Lay down your arms and we'll take you in for the sheriff to sort," says the wind. Voice is on the roof of the schoolhouse, woman, fairly young, maybe a few more years than me. My guess is one or two older than Eliza, but at that point it's splitting hairs. Eliza follows my gaze, and the shadows seem to reach in that direction.

"And tell your shadowy friend to stay put too. We don't want anyone to be startled, do we?"

Gawain is startled, but apparently, he doesn't count as anyone. Eliza grips her scythe tighter and tighter. That is hers and hers alone. That is everything she is housed in iron and wood. I put down my rapier, sticking it into the earth I can't see Gawain. I hope he's done the same. Eliza refuses to comply.

"C'mon big girl," says the schoolhouse, "Don't be like that. We want this nice and clean. Just put it down and we'll deal with you. Just stay there. The sheriff's on his way."

She mumbles something to herself, and I think it's something along the lines of 'come and take it.' I should not have put the idea of revenge in her mind. She has her set path and now we're on I, regardless of what the world wants.

The world shifts and I feel the earth rumble like an earthquake. I keep my hands off the weapon. That's a dangerous move. The shakes are growing stronger. They're footsteps. Heavy day footsteps with the sky-high collapse. A soft shake and jungle of spurs reach my ears and I suppress a laugh. It's such a light sound that comes out of it. Such a small insignificant thing when collected with the whole. Eliza brings down her blade and draws a line in the sand. She steps over it, and I stay behind. That's what lines are for.

The footsteps come around the corner and it's a massive man, taller than me, but not quite to Eliza's level. He's wide, fat even, a long length of chain tied around his massive belly. A heavy weight hangs on the end, hitting his thigh with each and every step. He's a hellion, like me, black skin fading into a shiny metallic gold. I like his hat, especially when he adjusts it, so it sits better atop his needle-sharp horn.

I brush past Eliza and dodge the hand that wants me to stay back and stay safe. There's a hurry in my step now. My counterpart is doing the same, almost running to collide.

We meet in the middle and embrace. It's a strong hug, with a clapping hand that might crack my spine.

"You got fat," I say to him.

"And you're scrawny now," my brother says, "Come on. Your Greaycrown friend is already in. Tell your Cout friend to calm down too. I don't want any more headaches."

"Hey, I'm here now. There're only headaches from here on out."

---

Kaydod sits in his chair, and I refuse to make any jokes about how it looks like it's going to break. It does, but that would be rude. I don't want to undermine any of his authority right now. That's for when the clear and present danger is gone. Then I can be merciless. Weight problem aside, he looks good. Grew out a beard with neat lines, a nice twirly moustache, and some very, very nice boots with very, very shiny spurs. He's also tired as all hell, but that seems to go with the territory. Everyone's tired. I try and bring a smile and all the wonderful things that come with it. I get a nice cool cup of spring water and a mug of beer. That ain't bad.

"Can't give you all the whole royal treatment, but we have enough for now," Kay sighs. He's old. He's tired. He's the same age as me, but I feel like a child next to him. The shiny star badge on his lapel might do it. I have nothing to signify my authority other than a winning smile and a handful of lies.

"We're dipping into the stores aren't we," Eliza says, "Siege, plain and simple."

"Yes and no. No formal armies at our door. No blockades as you saw. But harassed caravans and some fields burned down. I've had everyone move into the cave systems for now. Lot of kids and I don't want to run the risk of anyone getting hurt. We're tiny, Eliza. I had two deputies and then I had one and now I have zero. That's it. That's all the arms we have."

"Not good odds," she says. Kay just gives a halfhearted shrug.

"We've been keeping them out of the town square at least. And we haven't lost anyone after the first raid, but we have a ticking clock."

"Any attempt to reach out to the Weavers?" Gawain asks. He has to two hand his mug and it's adorable.

Life jumps back to Kay's eyes and a terribly familiar smile finds its way across his lips.

"Who the hell do you think gave Safon the idea?" he chuckles, "She's with Gluhna as far as we can tell. Every one of her gang is."

Gawain goes quiet and I go back to my drink. It's not great, but it has been sitting in a cave for a while. It's pleasantly cool and refreshing. That's enough.

"That's part of the reason I'm playing this one so safe," Kay continues, "I don't want to piss anyone big off. Wanted to give them what they deserve, but they flashed the seal on the way out with half our crop."

Gawain's looking to me and I don't have any answers. I really don't. They did this and I don't see any reason that they should be treated any different. They were told to do this, and I believe my brother.

"This has happened before, hasn't it?" I ask.

"Not quite the same. Had an old Warren guy try and muscle in but we kicked him out. One of Finchwing's covered us in a dust storm lasting a fortnight. Gluhna's first turn was fun, kind of. Lot of people seeing snow for the first time. Even built a snowhellion."