Arda stood after finishing with the tent and saw Anuit watching her. The paladin smiled, their earlier conversation apparently forgotten. “I’m glad you came with us,” she said.
Anuit blushed, embarrassed at being caught staring. “I don’t know why I did,” she said.
Arda cocked her head to the side. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here. Danry said one of your servitors can keep watch for us?”
Anuit nodded and uttered the words that summoned the imp. Belham hovered in front of her with a flat expression. “Guard the camp,” Anuit ordered him. He made a showy bow in the air and then floated over to hover silently above the two tents.
Arda watched the imp for a moment, then shrugged. She proceeded to gather brush and tumbleweed into a fire-pit.
“We haven’t risked fire,” Danry informed her. “Yes, we have a watch, but why invite danger?”
Arda crouched and struck steel to flint. “Danry,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “You are the first people I have met since I left Kriegsholm that are neither vampires nor those trying to convince me that submitting to vampires is a good thing. I’ve cleansed a whole town from a nest, and since then I’ve slept in vampire-infested inns. It’s cold, and this is the first time I’ve had real company, and I intend to enjoy it around a hot fire with some hot tea. If the imp warns us of any encroachment, we can handle it.”
She struck the flint once more and the sparks caught. The paladin nursed the flame to health, and soon they had a crackling campfire. She then found some smooth, round stones and set them a few feet from the fire. The darkling returned to Dart, set the feedbag around his head, and then grabbed another pack. She set the pack beside her and sat on one of the round stones, finally looking up at Anuit. “Are you going to stand and stare at me all night, or are you going to sit down?”
Anuit felt embarrassed again. Something about this woman made her nervous. She half-expected her to grab her sword and condemn Anuit for consorting with dark powers before she removed Anuit’s head from her body. That’s irrational, Anuit told herself. She nodded curtly and sat on one of the other stones Arda had laid out.
They shared their food, what rations they had. Arda traded some rosemary-spiced trail-bread for their dried jerky.
“I’ll go get some more fuel for the fire,” Danry said once they had eaten their meager meal, and he left the two women alone.
The paladin fidgeted in her pack and brought out a small metal cooking pot. She poured some water in it and set it against the fire. She then drew forth a leather pouch from her pack. She opened it and held it to her nose, inhaling the aroma, and smiled. She pulled out a smoking pipe, and then took a pinch of tobacco, pressing it into the pipe’s bowl with her thumb. She did this a few more times and then tamped it with a small ivory tool. Anuit watched in fascination at the ritual. She had known men in Astiana to indulge in the tobacco pipe, but had never seen a woman do so.
Arda took a small stick of kindling and lit its edge in the fire. She held it above the pipe bowl, gently sucking the air in to pull the small flame onto the tobacco strands at its surface. She tamped the tobacco down once more and then sucked the flame again a few more times before it caught to her satisfaction. She threw the kindling into the fire pit, and then drew smoke into her mouth. She exhaled with a satisfied expression on her face. A thickly pleasant aroma of caramel and oily vanilla wafted past Anuit’s nose.
Danry came back to the campsite with a bundle of sticks in his hands. “I recognize that smell,” he said. “It takes me back.”
Arda nodded, letting another slip of smoke escape from her lips in velvety waves. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I forgot the tea!” She took the pot of boiling water away from the flame and dropped tea leaves in.
“I don’t suppose you have travel mugs,” the paladin asked.
“I did,” Danry replied. “But then we had to get out of town quickly.”
The orange light of the campfire played off of Arda’s thoughtful face. “Tell me about that,” the paladin said.
Danry relayed what he had seen of the vampire invasion of Rille and Anuit’s fight against them.
“It was the Covenant,” Anuit said when he finished. “They were there to convert the town. They offered safety to anyone who submitted when we left.”
Arda handed Anuit her mug. “Tea?”
Anuit accepted. “Thank you.” She sipped at the liquid. The warmth felt good inside her, and the aromatic taste soothed her nerves. She hadn’t tasted tea in years.
She was fascinated by Arda’s solid black eyes. She hadn’t seen many darklings before, and she had never been this close to one for long. Arda’s eyes reflected both the fire and the stars on the horizon in their black pools. Anuit couldn’t help but think how perfectly strong and self-assured the paladin seemed.
“What about you,” the sorceress asked. “What about since you left Hammerfold?”
Arda stared into the fire, slowly sipping through her pipe. She didn’t answer for a long while. She exhaled a stream of smoke from her nose before she spoke. She told them of Traversham, but was vague on what happened to the townsfolk. She told them of the inns in between, and how the vampires had said she was forbidden to them.
“That’s disturbing,” Danry said. “That means they know you.”
There was something else Arda wasn’t telling them. Anuit sensed it, and she guessed Danry did as well. “That’s not all, is it?” Anuit pressed. “There’s something else. Something with why you’re seeking judgment.”
Arda met her gaze. “Yes,” she said. “But I won’t speak of it. Not until Tulley hears it first.”
“I know what it is to live with regrets,” Anuit said.
Arda raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I suppose you do.”
“I respect your wish to not discuss it,” Anuit replied. “But it is good to have a friend, too. I know what it is to bear guilt alone, and I would not wish that on you.”
Arda regarded her, and the corner of the darkling’s lips turned up into the hint of a grin. “You’re right. We just met, though.”
Anuit blushed, and was thankful that they couldn’t see it in the darkness, even with the orange campfire light. “Oh! I didn’t mean—no. I know we’re not friends.”
“Have you decided this already?” Arda’s voice held a tone of amusement.
“No, that’s not what I meant either,” Anuit stammered. She held the tea to her mouth and took another drink.
“I suppose some music won’t hurt,” Danry said. “As you pointed out, we’ve seen nothing out here for days now.” He lifted his guitar and placed it on his lap. He did not sing, but softly plucked a haunting melody from its strings. There was more to his art than just music. The notes moved through her heart in soothing waves.
They sat for some time without speaking, each contemplating their own thoughts while Danry played. Arda’s pipe added its sweet aroma to the wooded smoke of the campfire. There, in that moment, Anuit felt more at home with the three of them together than she had in the nine years of pretenses she had lived since she left Windbowl.
Arda emptied the ashes of her pipe into the fire. She cleaned its bowl with a brush, and then put it away. “You’re right about one thing,” she agreed. “Companionship would be good.” She shot a meaningful glance at Danry. “I think I’m done for the night. I’m going to turn in.” She stood, took her pack, and disappeared into her tent.
Danry extinguished the fire with sand. “Me too, I suppose.”
Anuit grabbed her bedroll from her pack. She assumed she would be sleeping in Arda’s tent, it being the only proper arrangement with the three of them and only two tents. She started towards the sleeping area, but was cut short when Danry winked at her. “You won’t have to worry about funny ideas tonight.” He then disappeared into Arda’s tent.
“Oh,” Anuit said, disappointed.
She crawled into the larger tent and spread her bedroll in the dark, able to see by the art of her sorcery. She pulled off her gown an
d bunched it up again into a pillow, sliding beneath the covers of her bedroll in her undergarments. As the cold air fell in the night she bunched the sleeping bag tightly around her body to keep warm.
The night was silent save for the wind that tugged at the shelter’s canvas. When it died, she could hear whispering from the other tent. She dozed off.
She started awake to find Bryona lying beside her, dressed in a full cotton nightgown. The succubus stared at her with her green eyes. Her tail was curled up in front of her and her wings pulled in tight against her back. She absently played with her tail tip with her fingers.
Anuit could still hear the others, but they no longer whispered. In the lulls of silence between gusts of wind she heard panting, and little gasping whimpers and pleasured sighs.
“I wish they would just go to sleep,” Anuit muttered.
Bryona continued to look at her. She didn’t have the usual grim playfulness in her eyes. Her face relaxed into unguarded compassion, something Anuit had rarely seen in the demon woman.
“Is it that surprising?” Bryona asked. “They are old friends. It is war. They find comfort in each other.”
“I’m tired,” Anuit answered. “I’m tired of being alone. There’s something about her…”
“You had a chance with the bard,” Bryona said. “He wanted you.”
Anuit sighed. “I’m not looking for a lover,” she said. “Just a friend. A sister.”
“Ah!” Bryona’s dark green eyes sparkled. “You still miss Seredith.”
The succubus referred to her adopted childhood sister from Windbowl. Seredith’s mother, Marta, had taken Anuit into her family and coven and taught her the ways of sorcery. Marta had turned out to be pure evil and much older than they had thought. She had achieved a kind of immortality by stealing and inhabiting the bodies of her daughters over generations. Anuit had interrupted the ritual that would have ended Seredith, and killed Marta to defend her sister. But the consequence of the unfinished rite cursed Seredith with undeath, turning her into a revenant.
“I… it should not hurt so much any more. It’s been nine years.”
Bryona brushed Anuit’s cheeks with her fingers. “You loved her deeply.”
“She was more than a friend,” Anuit affirmed. “She was my sister.”
“More than that, I think,” Bryona speculated. “Did you and she ever sleep together?”
“We shared a bed,” Anuit said. “We weren’t wealthy.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” Bryona replied. “Did you ever do with her what I did with you that night I displeased you?”
Anuit’s nose crinkled and she felt a wave of disgust. “Eww. No. You don’t do that with other women. Just men.”
“Then why haven’t you? Why do you have me seduce men in your stead? Why did you not reach out to Danry? He’s fetching.”
“You know I don’t like people touching me,” Anuit said. “And I’ve no desire to touch a man.”
“Do you not want a child?”
“What a cruel thought,” Anuit replied. “Why would I want to bring a child into this world? My parents hated me before they died, and Seredith’s mother… well, you know what she did. I don’t want children, and I see no need for sex.”
“Are you sure? You could use some fun.”
“I don’t want fun. I want something real.”
“You mean love.”
Anuit thought for a moment. A small wave of irritation rose in her, and then it passed. For the first time, Bryona’s voice did not carry a hint of cruelty or amusement. She seemed to be just… talking. Like a sister. Bryona was trying to learn to be whom Anuit needed her to be.
Anuit was too tired to fight it. What harm could there be in just talking? “Yes,” she finally answered. “Love. But men don’t want love. I’ve seen the way they look at me. All they want is to satisfy their lust. They may as well be vampires.”
“You hoped Arda might be a friend.”
“She seems so strong, but she’s broken inside. I think she’s done something that would help her understand me. I saw it in her eyes when she apologized earlier.”
“You hardly know her.”
“She’s so…”
“Pretty?” Bryona prompted.
Anuit’s eyes widened sadly. “Yes,” she said. “Why does she have to be so damned beautiful? Why should that affect me so? She’s a paladin. I thought she would be different. But she lets men use her, just like any other common whore.”
“I think she enjoys it,” Bryona observed, noting the soft whimpers from the other tent that cut into a single loud intake of breath before giving way to the completion of silence.
“Well, why can’t I then?” Water formed in Anuit’s eyes. “What’s wrong with me?”
Bryona curled her hand around one of Anuit’s fingers. The dark-skinned woman rubbed her eyes clean with her other hand. She recalled once in Astiana she had gotten drunk with her friends. Not thinking, she had tried to kiss one of the barmaids, anything to keep her friend from going home with the man who had been grabbing at her all evening. She just wanted company and thought if she gave her friend what she seemed to want in the man—well, that hadn’t ended well. She’d been no longer welcome at the tavern and moved to another part of the city after that.
“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “Women like men. Someone like Arda would never see me that way.”
“I’m not so sure,” Bryona answered. “You never know.”
Anuit sighed. The wind had picked up, and nothing else could be heard but its flapping against the tent walls. She lay content in the knowledge that Belham watched from above.
She looked up at Bryona for a moment. The demon’s eyes still shined with compassion.
Anuit gave into the desperate loneliness. “Hold me.”
Bryona sat up and cradled Anuit’s head against her cotton-covered bosom. Anuit slept peacefully through the night as Bryona stroked her hair, holding her against the gentle rising and falling of her breath.
Anuit awoke early the next morning before sunrise. Bryona still slept beside her. She pressed her fingers on the demon woman’s forehead and said a few words of unsummoning. The succubus faded and disappeared.
Crawling out of the tent into the crisp air, she took a few moments to freshen up and cleared her mouth with the cold water from the water skin. She then walked to the top of the small sand ridge beside their campsite and waited to watch the sun rise over the desert.
Belham floated beside her.
“Have you ever thought of it?” he asked.
“Of what?”
“Of surrendering. Becoming a vampire.”
“No.” Anuit’s voice was soft. “The hunger must be terrible.”
“But some have controlled it,” he said. “To have eternal life…”
Anuit shook her head. “At what cost?”
“Is there a price too high?” he asked. “You know even better than other sorcerers that souls die with the body.”
“There is no afterlife,” Anuit murmured.
“You channel the waste of dead souls. You power your sorcery with necromancy. You know the truth. There are no such thing as ghosts.”
“Begone,” Anuit said.
Belham vanished.
“Is it true?” Arda asked, walking up the ridge beside her. The darkling wore silk clothes. She looked soft without her armor and weapons. “I overheard. Not just a sorceress, but also a necromancer? I thought the covens had lost the secrets of necromancy thousands of years ago.”
“They had,” Anuit replied, eyeing the paladin suspiciously. “Just me.”
“How is that possible?”
“I found a way,” Anuit responded. “It’s not important how.”
“I suppose necromancy is effective against vampires,” Arda commented.
Anuit gave a dry chuckle. “One would think, but it’s not especially. Necromancy allows me to tap into dead soul-matter. Undead are living souls trapped in dead bodies. I can
not touch them. For all the power it was supposed to grant me, it is the larger art of sorcery that serves me against today’s enemy.”
“They are both of the Dark?”
“They are,” Anuit stated. “Our demons teach us to connect to the Dark in the Void. With soul-dust, I don’t have to reach out as far to capture Dark energy. It’s somewhat the same, but necromancy is easier, so my sorcery is stronger. It’s a matter of effort and energy.”
Arda regarded her calmly. “The priests of the Old Gods always teach that we will join them in heaven when we die. My teachings are silent on the matter. I had always thought the old necromancers of the Darkling Empire spoke with the dead.”
Anuit shook her head. “When we die, our souls die. Souls decompose in the air around us, becoming nothing more than dark strands of energy. Much like cobwebs. The thoughts and feelings of the people they were are long gone by the time I touch them.”
Arda stared at the sand for a moment and then looked towards the lightening sky in the east. “That is a sad thought. Life is pointless.”
“No, it means life is even more precious,” Anuit replied. “I understand why Marta stole the bodies of her daughters. I don’t defend it, but I understand it. She was a sorceress. The thought of truly dying, ceasing to exist completely after death, was too much for her. This knowledge haunts and consumes most sorcerers.”
“I’m sure the demons don’t help,” Arda commented snidely.
Anuit faced the woman. “I am what I am.”
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend you.”
“You’re right,” Anuit conceded. “The demons don’t help. Will I be twisted by fear of death and their seemingly innocent words? Will I try to find a way to live forever and cheat someone else out of life? I had never considered what the vampires might offer until just now, until my imp put the idea in my mind. That is the danger of imps. Now, I will think on it.”
“I have thought about it,” Arda confessed.
“That surprises me,” Anuit remarked.
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