Exalted: Chainbreaker

[blueJane]

Content Warnings

Chainbreaker contains depictions and descriptions of slavery of many kinds, PTSD, reference to sexual violence, and scenes of both real and fantasy violence.

Chapter 1: Shatter

All she could do was run.

"Sister Petal! One of the Princes of Earth has asked for you! I had no idea you had such exalted connections!"

The moment her fellow monk had mentioned one of the Princes, she had taken off. There was a hot spring on the hill looking down upon the monastery, which was said to be sacred to the Immaculate Dragons. She had fled there as fast as her feet could take her.

Cherry blossoms drifted past her on a cool breeze as she panted for air, running along the dawn-warmed stones leading up the hill. The month of Ascending Water was coming to an end; the height of Spring would soon be upon the Monastery. The gentle riot of color from the mid-morning sun passing through the artfully arranged cherry trees did little to assuage her panic.

By the time she reached the stony pebbles surrounding the gently steaming waters, she'd lost a sandal and could feel a twinge where a sharp rock had bitten into her bare foot. She limped to the shrine behind the spring and fell to her knees, plain monastic robes splaying around her, and prayed more desperately to the Dragons than ever before.

"Come with me, Petal," The monk whispered. She stared in astonishment as he pulled the key to her manacles from his robe and unlocked both sets. His face was kind and smooth, and his calloused hands were gentle as he helped Petal back onto her feet.

"The Dragons have shown me your path does not lie with Cynis Kallas," The monk continued, keeping his voice low. "The Immaculate Order welcomes all who take vows."

"Take the razor, and the Order will protect you."

"Please," She whispered to the Dragons as tears streamed down her cheeks. "Let the Abbot turn him aside. Let him forget me. Guide him away from here. Please."

Petal kneeled before the Abbot, who looked kindly upon the newest initiate to the Order. "You are welcome here, sister."

Her hands had turned white as they were folded in prayer, marred by splotches of red where her nails dug into her skin.

"Please."

She had woken up crying again, thrashing silently in her bed. The Abbot was seated next to her cot, and she had rapidly tried to collect herself, but stopped moving when she saw the Abbot make a gentle motion of concern.

"Many come to us bearing pain from their old lives. It will take time to release. But you are safe here. All things have their place in Creation, and yours is here,"

"There you are."

The voice was full of mirth, relaxed and joyful. It made Petal want to scream in terror.

She whirled around and scrambled back. Cynis Kallas stood at the opposite end of the springs. He was tall and willowy and had rakish good looks. His hair was the glossy black of sable, his eyes the dappled green of deep forest, the sort of features that would draw the gaze of any man or maiden. Once, those features had even enraptured Petal.

Exactly once.

She could tell he was dressed for a hunt, in a silken green jacket embroidered with gold and silver depictions of Sextes Jylis, the Wood Dragon, weaving between the decorative toggles along the jacket's front. As expensive as his clothing always was, it had still been carefully trimmed to allow for the maximum amount of mobility. Petal had handled clothing of that sort often enough to tell. Though she could see no bow on him at the moment, that mattered little; Petal had seen him command a tree to sacrifice a limb to him before when he needed a weapon at short notice. Petal's eyes were drawn to the black cotton sash around his waist, and a shudder of disgust ran down her spine. How many times had he used that to bind her, when the 'amorous' mood took him at those times when his other tools hadn't been close to hand?

She couldn't see any sign of his horse. He'd have left it back at the monastery, or at the base of the hill…

"Did you really think I'd be delayed by the Wyld Hunt forever? All you gained was a bit of reprieve. Honestly, you've wounded me. All that time without my favorite slave… the stress was almost too much to bear." He started to saunter forward, riding boots clinking against the stones.

Petal tried to edge along the shrine, to get some more distance from Kallas. He tutted in response.

"Really, my pale flower? Well, not so pale now… we'll have to do something about that… but really, trying to run again? You know you'll only exhaust yourself and excite me more," His grin was growing, and his words made Petal's stomach churn. "Run or submit. Either way, you will be taken back to where you belong."

"The correct action can only be performed by the correct person, at the correct time, while they occupy the correct space," It was the Abbot's favorite mantra, the Immaculate philosophy condensed into a conveniently pithy beat.

The farmer should mind his fields, not waste time hunting vermin. The fox should hunt, and not prey on the farmer's chickens. It was the duty of each being in Creation's hierarchy to care for the beings below them and respect and serve those above them.

What Kallas was doing was wrong.

It was a thought more inescapable than Kallas himself, still walking towards her with the easy gait of one who had never been denied. And as if to compound that abrogation of his responsibility, the Abbot had not stopped him, or been able to stop him. It was one thing for a Dragon-Blood to fail to cleave to the teachings, however spiritually pure they postured themselves as, but for one as studied and compassionate as the Abbot to fail in their duty…

It would fall to her, then.

Petal took up the first stance of Fire Dragon Style, raising her fists and adjusting her feet in preparation to charge forward, despite the twinge of pain in one heel. Kallas stopped.

"Are you really…" He blinked, and studied Petal's stance carefully. "...you are. That's an honest-to-Dragons martial stance."

He burst out laughing.

"To walk the path of Hesiesh is to utterly master your anger and your fury, to behave with perfect restraint until the ideal moment to strike is upon you. To cultivate the fire in your soul, stir it to a fever pitch, until it is time to unleash it upon the deserving." The Abbot spoke as Petal balanced above the burning coals. "Like Hesiesh, you must pick the moment of your strike with utmost care, and when it is time, unleash everything you have."

"Dragons strike me, I can't believe it! What ideas has that Abbot been filling your head with? I'll have to have a word with them when I'm done with you. They actually bothered to teach you to fight… It beggars belief. We have quite a bit of work ahead of ourselves to help you regain your former beauty. To think you'd choose to shave off your hair… It was so beautiful. So… useful."

Even after becoming a monk, the nightmares would return every so often, especially at the height of summer. Even in the darkest shade and coolest nights the temple had to offer, the heat would stifle Petal's breath, reminding her of Kallas' suffocating embrace. After fitful nights of torment, daydreams of vengeance followed, fueled by the kindling of Immaculate Philosophy that admitted, in its very scrolls, that the Dragon-Blooded were not completely infallible.

Petal's hand tightened into a fist, and she slightly adjusted her weight. Going purely by appearance, she had become bulkier than Kallas; her robes hid her well-trained muscles, from her hands to her core to her legs. She knew that was no guarantee she could outmuscle him, however; he was an archer, and she didn't doubt that the same muscles that could draw a jade greatbow could potentially overpower her.

Kallas' next step took him within reach of Petal's stride.

The left punch was wild, but it was just a decoy. Petal had expected Kallas to deflect it; her right foot was already in motion on his other side, swinging up to catch the side of his head. He parried that as well, catching the blow on his arm with ease.

"Fine, fine. I'd prefer you express your passions in my bedchambers, but if you insist on this unseemly display-" As Kallas spoke, he casually deflected another seven blows, turning them aside with his arms and even his hands.

"The overconfidence of your enemies is as much a weapon as your own fists. An enemy might look upon a smoldering flame and view it as inconsequential, beneath notice." The Abbot spoke as Petal practiced each of the katas of Fire Dragon Style. "They fail to comprehend the surging heat beneath the smoke, building, drawing essence into itself. The moment to strike is not something you need wait for: you may cultivate it, lead your enemy to that moment through your own actions. And when the moment comes-"

"KIAH!!!" The shout leapt from Petal's throat, formless and defiant, as she swung wildly with one fist directly at Kallas' face. With a grin, the Dragon-Blood caught her fist in one hand, tightening his grip on that hand with a cruel glee.

She was already making her next attack, leveraging Kallas' tightening grip into a whirling kick at his other side.

Kallas' grin widened, and he caught that kick in his other hand without even looking. "Is that all the thorns you have, my flower?"

Petal met his gaze, misty gray eyes staring into his green. She gritted her teeth. "N-not quite, y-you… rotten yolk of a tainted egg! Smile wide!"

Kallas' nose caught the brunt of the impact as Petal used the limbs he was holding tight to brace herself and kick him with her other foot, her injured heel springing up and forward and smashing directly into his smiling face.

Petal had hoped Kallas' grip might have slackened, or that he might at least be stunned for a moment. She had not expected an explosion of pink and golden dawnlight to completely flood the shrine with blinding radiance, or for Kallas to be flung up and back as if he'd been struck by the foot of a god. There was a great crash and snap as he careened through the branches of the cherry trees spread throughout the springs, a flurry of bright pink blossoms tracing the parabola of his descent.

She landed before Kallas did, feet touching the ground with such reflexive grace she didn't realize exactly when it had happened. It was as if Kallas was drifting lazily through the air, a leaf on a careless breeze, body framed in the glorious pinks of spring as he finally impacted the ground like a stone and let out a gasp of surprise and pain.

Traitorous, ill-trained cur. Teach him his mistake.

Petal was already moving forward as Kallas jumped back to his feet. His anima, a burst of autumnal oranges and greens, flared up as Petal threw her next punch. With a supernatural burst of speed, he parried the blow with his forearm. "Anathema! I should have expected- gah!"

His declaration was cut off by Petal launching a flurry of blows at him, every single one aiming for an eye or pressure point. She could barely feel his anima, even as it grew in strength from stinging nettles to slicing razors. Leaf-like wisps of essence whirled around him like knives, but they glanced off Petal's skin like spring rain as her assault continued.

Petal suddenly twisted and tried for a lashing kick. It went a little wide, and as he ducked under it, Kallas finally reached behind his back and pulled out a steel knife that seemed more like an ornament or tool than a weapon. Trying to seize the initiative, he wildly lunged forward, aiming for Petal's neck. She twisted once more, flowing around his arm like a flickering flame, and caught his forearm in the joint of her knee, trapping him there and leveraging herself forward.

Her fist smashed into his face with desperate strength, sending him flying out of her grasp once more. He tried to leap to his feet, but the hand holding his knife found itself caught by the wrist, with Petal's other hand going straight for his throat. His own hand shot to her arm, stopping her from simply chopping him in the windpipe, but his neck was still within her grasp. Petal clinched and rolled, bringing both of them to the ground, this time with her on top.

It was effortless. She hadn't even needed to move with his weight, something the Abbot would no doubt have lambasted her for. Petal had simply lifted him into the air and forced him to the ground, planting one knee on his chest as she held each of his wrists in her hands.

For the first time in her life, Petal looked into Kallas' eyes and saw a fearful expression there. And… a light…

She could see her face in his eyes. There was a light shining on her forehead. There was light shining all around her, golden and pink. It tangled with Kallas' anima, a swirling riot of autumnal leaves that continued to swarmed around her, slicing at her skin. There was pain, but it was distant, unreal compared to the golden light.

The moment was broken as he tried to slip from her grasp. So she squeezed, her hands filled with inhuman strength, and realized with surprise that Kallas was calling out in pain.

"Stop! Stop! By the dragons, let go!"

"Please stop."

The first time she had used those words, Kallas had laughed, and struck her across the face hard enough to leave her with spots in her vision.

"Stupid girl. Either enjoy it or be silent. Don't ever presume to tell a Prince of the Earth what to do."

Petal's grip tightened, and she twisted. There was a satisfying crack from Kallas' wrists, and as he gasped in pain she slammed his hands into the ground. The knife went flying, splashing into one of the springs.

Fully in control, Petal gripped his hands tightly, and slammed them into the ground. Again. And again, and again, and again and again and again

Some nights, he would simply beat her. At first, she assumed that she must have done something wrong. She would obsess over her tasks for the day, believing she must have set something in the wrong place, been less than perfectly punctual, or offended some sensibility of the dragon-blooded lord. There must have been a reason.

Finally, one night, she cried out for mercy, asking for guidance, a reason, anything. He laughed.

"Because it pleases me,"

Petal looked at Kallas' broken, mangled fingers. He was still trying to struggle out of her grasp, but the amount of pain he was in was clearly making that difficult.

"Does this pain not please you, master?!" Petal spat at him. She struck him across the jaw, and he cursed at her, or tried to. One arm, its mangled and broken hand dangling limply at the end, was raised in a futile attempt at defense.

The Princes of Earth may express their power with but a word, or a shout, calling the elements to heed them.

So she hit him again. And again. Her fists descended like the hammer of a master smith onto a favored anvil, falling rhythmically again and again and again. Kallas' head was starting to make a dent in the ground, his skin mottled red and black from bruising and cuts, blood streaming out of his mouth as Petal drew back her hand and paused. The only sound coming out of Kallas' mouth was a thin groan.



Not enough. This is less than what he deserves. Kill him.

Kallas' eyes were still open. Staring at her. Afraid. He was afraid of her.

"I won't kill you," She finally said, voice strained. "But you will never touch me again. You will never look at me again."

Petal struck him with a final blow. It was perfect. Surgical. Directly between the eyes. His head snapped back against the ground and his eyes rolled up. For a moment, she'd wondered if she'd misjudged the blow, before she felt his chest shift under her knee. He was breathing. He would live.

She stood, and after a few moments realized she was breathing hard mostly on reflex; the fight hadn't even winded her.

What had she done?

She stared down at her hands, knuckles coated in blood. At Kallas' broken body, shattered against the pebbled ground.

She didn't need to look into one of the pools to know what must have happened. She had welcomed an Anathema into her body. She had called terrible, demonic strength forth in order to defeat a Prince of the Earth… a cardinal sin, the worst sin one could perpetrate. She, an Immaculate monk…

Her hands balled into fists. But wasn't it the Immaculate Order's duty to help guide and reprimand the Dragon-Blooded when they faltered in their moral duty? If… if anyone was going to be blamed for what she had become, surely Kallas should shoulder some of that responsibility…

No. Down this line of thought was clearly madness. She was an Anathema. She… she needed to present herself to the Abbot. They would know what to do. Surely there was… something.

---

The Immaculate monastery had been built using local stone, and hugged the walls of the valley in a way that let it meld seamlessly with its surroundings. It was a beautiful and abstract structure, carefully organized into a succession of courtyards, gardens, and living quarters where monks could train, study, and contemplate the resplendence of nature.

At the moment, it resembled nothing less than a hornet's nest that had just been struck by a rock.

Kallas' retainers, who had been waiting for his return from the hilltop shrine, had already fled with his steed. They would be taking the path away from the monastery to seek out other Dragon-Blooded and report the Anathema's presence.

"You must wait here until the Wyld Hunt comes." The abbot spoke firmly. They were of nondescript appearance, forsaking even gender in their study of the Immaculate Texts, but always bore a quiet dignity that Petal took comfort in.

Petal could… hear the abbot trembling. She could smell the sweat beading down the back of their head, sense their hands shaking beneath the sleeves of their robes. The Anathema's power made every sense more acute, elevating her abilities beyond those of a mortal. It made Petal's heart want to break.

A monk under the abbot's tutelage had fallen so completely as to become Anathema, in the space of a single moment. It was a shame second only to that belonging to the monk who had become Anathema in the first place.

Petal's hand clenched as her head lowered, fighting back tears. She should stay. Pray to the Dragons to grant her soul mercy for her sin, or pray for a swift death in the hope she was not yet completely lost.

These were the things her mind told her, but her heart raged. It had to be the Anathema's influence; it spoke of Kallas' torments, of how he deserved all Petal had done to him and more. It spoke of how the Immaculates had failed to protect her. It spoke of how, even now, there were others like her on the island laboring under cruel masters, beyond the reach of any monk's aid, with no one to defend them…

"I… if I stay, I don't know if…" Petal choked out. I don't know if I'll be able to accept my fate. I don't know if I'll be able to do what needs to be done. I don't know what I'll do to you if I stay.

For a moment, deafening silence reigned, the air utterly still beneath the weight of regret.

The Abbot broke that silence. "Then run. Keep to the wilderness. Speak to no one, so that you do not spread your madness. If you feel that you cannot restrain the power that has taken hold of you… then, when the Wyld Hunt does find you, ensure it is someplace where others will not come to harm."

"Mastery of one's body is one of many paths to mastery of the self, and from there, mastery of one's spirit. Through rigorous training and contemplation, even a mortal may emulate the will of the Dragons."

The Abbot was not one to teach a single lesson when a student was capable of learning two at once. Even as Petal balanced carefully on top of the pole, they listened attentively to the Abbot's lecture.

Both the words and the effort to keep herself balanced helped keep thoughts of Kallas at bay. It was as if every effort to master herself helped her to forget the chains.

If she were honest with herself, it was the first time she'd found peace since she had first left her mother's home.

The Abbot's newest words stung her heart so deeply, Petal felt tears stream down her cheeks. What was worse was… they rang true. She needed to run. She could feel her feet itching, her heart was screaming at her to find shelter, to exert her power, and her head knew that if she stayed… she may try to convince the Abbot that what she had done was right.

Petal turned, and she ran from the monastery without a word. The only other occupants of the monastery were mortal monks, who Petal had stayed well away from while going to speak with the abbot.

There was nothing more she could say that would not poison the abbot's heart with sympathy for her. With each step, a teardrop fell from her cheeks, staining the ground beneath her with a spark of golden light.

---


The forests near the monastery were tranquil and verdant. Their fiercest predators were, for the most part, human hunters, more dangerous beasts having long been hunted down and driven away. Even so, it was in the nature of hunters to bring their young with them to better train them; and thus, the tranquility of the forest was for a moment disrupted.

"Mama! Mama!"

Yana glanced up from the snare she was preparing, jolted out of focus by her daughter's voice. "Maya? What is it?"

"There's a person, Mama! A monk!" Yana told her breathlessly as she ran up to her.

In a moment, Yana had scooped her child into her arms. "We're going back. Hold on-"

"Wait mama! I think they might be in trouble!"

Yana frowned at her daughter. She was already walking in the opposite direction from where Maya had appeared. "Monks are trouble. To them, we are outcasts at best, bandits at worst."

"But this one was just sleeping and wouldn't wake up!"

Yana halted. "...Sleeping?"

"Yeah! They were laying in the grass and their robes were all torn up but they were definitely sleeping. I even poked them with a stick to make sure and they just rolled over."

Yana took a moment to let her heart stop hammering. "...Maya, if you ever find someone sleeping on the ground, do not poke them with a stick. At best, it is a very rude thing to do, and at worst, they might be dangerous." Despite the intimations of danger, she turned back in the direction Maya had come from. "Fine. Let's find this sleeping monk of yours."

---

Author's Note: Thank you all for checking out my first (public) attempt at an Exalted fanfic! I'll be posting chapters every week or so until Part One is completed. Big thanks to Pale Wolf and Scia for providing editing, writing advice, and double-checking setting information. All of the art in my posts is drawn by myself.

 

[Half Moon]

This is looking very good. I like Petal, and I'm quite interested in seeing just where it leads.

 

[PA2]

Ooh, this is a fantastic start! And the art just makes it that much better! Definitely excited to see where it goes!

 

[TaliesinSkye]

Looking forward to reading!

 

[alexthealright]

This looks very interesting

 

[blueJane]

Thank you all for the interest! I'll try to keep up with any questions, and post new art or a new chapter every couple of days as my schedule allows.

 

[TaliesinSkye]

Thank you all for the interest! I'll try to keep up with any questions, and post new art or a new chapter every couple of days as my schedule allows.

Click to shrink...

If I may offer some unsolicited advice, there are big benefits to setting a release schedule for yourself that's regular, but loose enough that you're sure you can do it. Every two weeks is a relatively relaxed pace that I think most people can keep even if they've got a job and life going on, weekly might be more ambitious.

The schedule does two things for you that irregular updates don't. First, it encourages you to keep writing. Deadlines, even self-imposed ones, are a powerful psychological tool, they work really well at motivating you. Stories with scheduled updates are way more likely to see the author keep to them. You'll also benefit from the regular writing practice, you really get to see your mastery of the craft grow quickly, and that's also a great feeling. Second, it builds your audience like nothing else. People get way, way more invested in regular, predictable drops. It's a huge boost to a story's audience and engagement. That in turn is also very motivating. You will also potentially be able to build up a backlog to keep things going when you're not as productive and to make editing and plotting easier.

Up to you, of course, but I encourage you to give it thought.

 

[Grytorm]

Nice story so far. I enjoyed how you handled Petal's relationship to the Immaculate Faith and her new status as Anathema.

 

[blueJane]

If I may offer some unsolicited advice, there are big benefits to setting a release schedule for yourself that's regular, but loose enough that you're sure you can do it. Every two weeks is a relatively relaxed pace that I think most people can keep even if they've got a job and life going on, weekly might be more ambitious.

Click to shrink...

I'll stick to one a week for part one, then. I like a little pressure on my projects.

To tide y'all over until next Saturday: A Kallas!



Hold on, there's something off here. Let me adjust this...



There we go.

 

[blueJane]

Chapter 2: Flake

Petal awoke.

In an instant, she felt as if she understood where she was, and rather importantly, it wasn't where she'd finally collapsed from exhaustion. She could feel the heat from a nearby fire, hear the occasional snap and crackle as it consumed its fuel. As her chest rose and fell, she could smell and taste dust in the air, and feel the woven mat she was laying on. But that was just her immediate surroundings. Beyond that… she must be in a cave. Her left hand was brushing against bare, unhewn stone covered in dirt right next to the mat, there was a gentle flow of cool air in one direction, and there was something about the acoustics that called to mind the handful of mysterious caves near her childhood home that she'd always been warned against venturing into.

There were at least two people near her. One was tending the fire and humming… they sounded like a child, using a stick or something to stir the coals. The other was almost entirely silent, but somehow Petal could distinctly feel their presence… Their heartbeat. Whoever the other occupant of the cave was, their back was against the wall, and Petal could feel the steady, slow beat through where her hand was resting on the floor.

Petal swallowed. She had known Anathema had terrible, destructive powers, but she had no idea how to feel about this instantaneous sensory cascade. The Princes of Earth were supposedly gifted with expanded senses by their connection to the elements; the earth would speak of those who trod upon it, or the wind whisper of the words of others. But this was more like…

She kneeled on her mat in the room next to Kallas', trying to remain still, her ears straining for a hint of movement. The bruises she'd earned from her previous failure were still fresh, even the fine silk fabric of her robe chafing against them, but she could not rest. She had to remain alert for when he called for more drink, or for the telltale clink of dinnerware so that she might clear it off the table before it troubled Kallas and his guests.

Petal hadn't even opened her eyes yet. Whoever these people were, they'd seen fit to move her, and hadn't bothered to tie her up. Perhaps they could be trusted.

She made a show of stirring restlessly.

"Finally awake?"

The larger occupant's voice was husky, feminine, and thickly-accented. Petal wasn't very familiar with the lands beyond the Blessed Isle, and had no idea where to place it, but it was clear to her that they weren't a native peasant like her.

"Ah… yes." Petal finally opened her eyes and turned around to take in her… host.

The woman was tall and had the musculature of a seasoned and skilled hunter. Her skin was an orangish brown, with chalky white tattoos in abstract patterns along both of her upper arms. Her hair, roughly tidied by a knife, was the color of sand, her eyes were yellow-brown, and she had the severe gaze of a harrowed survivor. That gaze was currently fixed on Petal with the same suspicion one would give a wounded animal.

Petal watched the woman with a slightly different kind of wariness. More details became clear to her as their gaze held; the woman wore leather and fur that had clearly been taken from the native beasts of the Blessed Isle, but those materials had been tanned and woven into clothing that seemed… well, as foreign as the woman herself.



The other occupant of the cave was a young girl, and she couldn't have been more than six years old. Her skin was a darker shade of brown, as was her hair. She had bright yellow eyes, and while muted by the softness of childhood, the beginning of the same features as the older woman. She was nearly drowning in a tunic and coat that were too big for her, and she stared at Petal with curiosity and fascination over the top of half a loaf of bread she was currently eating.

"Um… thank you for… helping me," Petal pushed herself up into a sitting position. "I'm not sure what happened. One moment I was running, the next, I… everything went black,"

"Mm," The woman nodded at the younger girl, who offered Petal a small clay mug; it had been sitting next to the fire and was quite warm to the touch, and seemed to contain tea of some kind.

Petal drank it gratefully. It was bitter and refreshing… not as carefully crafted as the tea in the monastery, but nothing to sneeze at in her position.

"For what reason does a monk go running in the wilderness?" The woman asked Petal when she was finished drinking. She was still eying Petal suspiciously for the moment, but had imperceptibly relaxed when Petal had accepted the tea.

"I… It is complicated…" Petal began, before hanging her head in shame. Silence reigned as her thoughts swarmed behind her lips, begging to be let free.

Complicated? You beat a Dynast near to death. You welcomed demonic power into your body when you wished to defeat him. She deserves to know exactly what you are. What she risks by you even being near her.

"...No. No, it is very simple. I am Anathema, and I am running from the Wyld Hunt. I appreciate your kindness, but I must leave shortly. The longer I am here, the more danger I present to you," Petal spoke, voice creaking with grief. She began to rise, before the other woman grunted.

"Sit, monk. I know a thing or two about moving around this island unseen. The Hunt isn't going to find you for a while yet," She stared at Petal. "...My name is Yana. I was brought to this place from the South. This is my daughter, Maya,"

The younger girl smiled at Petal gently, and Petal found herself sitting back down in spite of herself. There was something about the way Yana had said "brought" to this place…

Yana's forearms were covered by armored bracers, but between what she said, how she carried herself… Petal wondered if she was no stranger to chains.

"My name is Spring Petal. I am… I was… a monk of the Immaculate Order,"

"Well, Petal, if you run without knowing where you're going, you'll only die tired. I know of safe places to rest and hide, how to move without being noticed,"

Petal shook her head furiously. "You don't understand! I… I'm not even supposed to be running. If I were truly virtuous I would have waited for the hunt to find me in the first place, to purge me of the Anathema and allow my soul to move on-"

"Your soul seems to have other ideas. None can be blamed for wishing to breathe free in the little time we have here," Yana grunted. "You said it yourself: If you were truly virtuous you'd have stayed behind and let them kill you. If you're going to sin, at least do it competently."

Petal went silent, staring uncomfortably at the ground. It was an unavoidable truth. There was a part of her that wanted to go on living, and it was stronger than the duty she felt towards the Immaculate Truth.

"So," Yana said once the silence had stretched on a touch too long. "There are others like us, like you, who wish to avoid attention from the Immaculates and the Dragons. You look strong enough to help them survive-"

Spring Petal shook her head. "No. It's… safer that I leave the Island entirely,"

"Oh? And how are you planning to do that?" Yana's eyes narrowed.

Petal opened her mouth to answer, and stopped.

She had no idea where she currently was. She'd studied the basics of geography under the Immaculate monks as a child, but she'd only ever left her home village to enter Kallas' service, and after that had lived at the monastery for years. She didn't even have the beginnings of an idea how one was supposed to leave the island. As far as she understood it, the Dragon-Blooded houses controlled all shipping to and from the island, ensuring the safety of its occupants.

"That's what I thought," Yana stood and dumped a bunch of dirt onto the fire. "Follow me. It's going to be a day's hike. But first…"

She proffered a strip of cloth from her bag to Petal, who stared at it.

"A headwrap. To cover this, when it's shining." She tapped her forehead.

Right. You will know them by the mark upon their temple…

Petal reluctantly accepted the cloth and tied it around her head. She had no mirror with which to check her face, to see whether it fully obscured the mark she knew must be there. Yana simply nodded, either in acceptance or approval, and Petal released the breath she'd instinctively been holding.

"If you see something, tell me quietly and we'll go around it. Otherwise, stay low, stay quiet, and follow my steps," As Yana adjusted her pack, Maya scampered over to her and Yana lifted her up into her arms. "We can get you some less suspicious clothes once we've reached our destination. Let's move."

---

Despite having run so hard she'd collapsed just the previous day, Petal found that she kept outpacing Yana. As it was hardly ideal for her to be running ahead of her own guide, Petal volunteered to cover their tracks. After being shown a few tricks by the hunter and given a leaf-laden branch to brush away footprints, Petal set about that task. Even with that extra effort occupying her supernaturally expanded attention, she never fell more than a few yards behind Yana. Their path took them over ridges covered in foliage and into valleys where they needed to ford creeks and rivers, BUT Petal never lost her footing, and easily kept pace with the pair of hunter and child.

This meant she was within Maya's sight range, and after an hour of shy staring, it was clear that curiosity had won out over politeness in the child's mind.

"Miss Petal, what happened to all your hair?"



Petal found herself unexpectedly flushing. "Have you never seen a monk before, child?"

"I seen 'em on the road sometimes, but mama says we should stay away from 'em. Does being a monk make your hair fall out?"

The question was so innocent, so absurd it slipped past every safeguard Petal had, and she let out an undignified snort of laughter that felt like it rattled the trees around her.

"N-no, Maya. We… monks shave our heads as part of our vows. It is part of our asceticism-" She noted Maya's blank look and rapidly tried to downshift her explanation for a child's vocabulary. "That is, by forgoing hair we can spend more time focusing on our spiritual deve- on honing our spirits,"

"Why?" Maya asked.

"Er…" Petal stopped as she once more navigated the mental furrow the child had placed in front of her. Was this child completely unfamiliar with the Immaculate Philosophy?

Petal tried to catch Yana's eye, to get a hint of how she felt about her daughter's questions, but the hunter's eyes remained fixed on the hill they were currently ascending together.

"If you mean… Why focus on honing our spirits… it's so that we may reincarnate into a more holy and spiritually pure form after we die."

Maya appeared to think about this for several seconds before she focused on Petal again and launched her next form. "So shaving your head makes you more holy?"

"It… helps us focus…" Petal began haltingly, trying to figure out how to rephrase it again.

"I don't know if I would want to be holy. I like my hair," Maya patted her own hair, which practically bounced with fluffiness. "Mama says it looks pretty."

"That's… that's nice, Maya," Petal said, feeling utterly adrift. Why wasn't Yana saying anything?!

"I bet you would have pretty hair if you let it grow. Like your eyes. They look like a sunrise."

Petal was even less prepared for that comment than she'd been for another question. Her eyes were gray! What was the girl talking about?

"You can see the edge of the vale from here," Yana finally spoke up. Petal nearly collapsed from relief at Yana interrupting Maya's conversation.

"Where?!" Petal ran up to join Yana at the crest of the hill, and followed Yana's arm as the hunter pointed.

"Two more days hiking in that direction," Yana said as she pointed. In the far distance, just barely visible, was a forest-coated ridge. "There are a few rivers to ford but that will help break up our trail," She took a moment to turn and examine the path they'd traversed so far. "...no sign of any followers yet."

Petal followed Yana's gaze herself. Everything was sharper than it used to be… her distant vision had never been this strong before … but the only sign of movement was a doe and her offspring at the edge of the forest nearest to them, as well as assorted movement of birds, a hawk diving and snagging a rabbit out of a field a few miles distant, the sway of leaves with the wind…

Okay, a lot of movement, but all of it natural. No disruptions to the rhythm of the wilderness.

"...Hopefully our fortune holds," Petal finally spoke. "Surely the Wyld Hunt must be delayed, if they are not already on our trail."

Yana simply grunted and set off down the hill. Petal followed, and continued to cover their tracks as best as she could. Perhaps it couldn't fool a Dragon-Blooded tracker, but it might still buy them a bit of time.

 

[Scia]

I only had this Maya for 2 Pieces of art, and I would Killy everyone in the fic and then myself if she gets hurt /meme

But I also like the part where we can see the idiosyncratic perspective of different mortals , as its all to easy to go for a perspective of someone inspired by the truth of the rulebook.

 

[Bohnenpflanzer]

@blueJane, you forgot to threadmark chapter 2.

 

[blueJane]

@blueJane, you forgot to threadmark chapter 2.

Click to shrink...

Thank you for catching that, I completely forgot!

 

[blueJane]

Kallas drifted into wakefulness, his jaw and hands screaming in protest at the indignity of consciousness. He could not remember exactly why they hurt, at first. Memories drifted up in piecemeal form from the receding darkness. He'd been on the road… he'd been speaking with that Abbot, demanding information on his escaped slave… he'd picked up a fresh hint of an old scent with the aid of the wind itself… He'd been… ascending a hill, up to the springs overlooking the monastery…

And then, a flash of dawn…

Well, obviously there had been a fight, and he'd lost. Badly. Kallas couldn't remember the last time he'd been in a fight he actually had a chance of losing. No doubt his fiance Rakel would lambast him for neglecting his training, but Kallas had always seen himself as more of a hunter, not a fighter, and his preferred prey dwelt in the social circles of the Dynastic elite and amongst the masses of his family's slaves, not in the filthy wilds. Kallas had more important things to do than dirty his hands with the grit of melee.

His vision was starting to clear, although it was still fuzzy and filled with spots. Kallas was fairly certain the delicate geometry of the ceiling above him belonged to the monastery he'd been visiting, in order to… yes, he was retrieving a slave. His favorite slave, one who's surpassing beauty and vulnerability rivaled the rarest of blooms his family plucked from the Threshold. He blinked and tried to turn his head, although a twinge of pain and the softness of his pillow convinced him it wasn't worth the effort. He must be in an infirmary; monks wouldn't keep soft beds like this around unless they were for convalescing patients.

"You're finally awake. Fool. What were you thinking, confronting an Anathema alone, when there was an entire monastery of Immaculate Monks behind you? What happened to your so-called 'Disdain for Vainglory'?" The clipped, airy tones of Kallas' sister-in-arms brought him into further wakefulness, mostly against his will.

"Mmmfffhorl-" Kallas tried, before realizing his jaw was so heavily bandaged he couldn't speak clearly.

"Don't speak. Your jaw is so broken and fractured it's basically gravel. I've never seen anything like it. Your hands were similarly pulverized, so no writing or moving them. I have you on the most powerful pain suppressants I had on me, but if I dose you any further they'll quickly shift from balm to bane." Finally, the speaker entered his field of vision. Ledaal Cumula was one of the most beautiful, imperious women Kallas had ever known, with a dignity to match the Empress and the severity of a thunderstorm. She had pure white hair the color of mountain-capping snow, stern blue eyes delicately adorned with only the slightest hint of cosmetics, and pale skin that seemed to have only rarely been graced by the touch of the sun. While she wore robes of a gorgeous sky blue silk, befitting one who led her own branch of a Great House, they were severe in their aniconism, adorned only with an abstract pattern reminiscent of white clouds.



"If you can bring yourself to sit upright, we'll set you up with something so you can write with your foot. You're beyond my capacity for first aid, but your family has a master surgeon on the way."

The clinical details poured past Kallas' ears. He could scarcely believe he was already on painkillers; he hurt so much that the idea he could be hurting more felt distinctly unfair.

Cumula gestured at someone outside of Kallas' vision. He felt someone with a soft touch piling up pillows behind and around him, before he was gently pulled into a position where he could sit upright. From there, the servant moved into Kallas' view… plain and homely, not worth noting further… and gingerly moved one of his legs off of the bed. "Now, I didn't find any major bruising or breaks below your waist, so hopefully you still have some motion there. Can you move your foot?"

Kallas took a deep breath through his nose… and oh, what new pains this brought to his face! He would need to breathe more shallowly. After the pain dissipated, he shifted his leg back and forth.

"Excellent. Now, let's see here…" Cumula gently dipped one of his bare toes in a waiting bowl of dark ink, sending a cold shiver up Kallas' leg. She then guided it to some paper she had ready next to it. "Can you write on this?"

It took him a few moments, but eventually he managed to get a character down.

Yes.

Kallas would have frowned if his face had been capable of it. The calligraphy of his feet was unacceptably crass, but he'd have to live with it for now.

"Good." Cumula beckoned at an open door, and a waiting servant scurried in, carrying a tall sheaf of paper. "If you could, take your time and describe your encounter as clearly as you can. A Wyld Hunt is already being mustered. An Anathema on the Blessed Isle cannot be tolerated, and it's critical we confront it with as much information about its abilities as we can."

Kallas' mind raced as more servants entered and set up the writing equipment in as comfortable a position as they could for his foot. How to explain what had happened… Well, it was simple, wasn't it? A runaway slave of his had embraced the power of the Anathema rather than return to her rightful place in his service, and he had been grievously but heroically injured attempting to put it down…

No. Wait.

An Anathema in the Threshold, in Kallas' experience, was a significant problem but one which rarely called for much investigation into the Anathema's origins. You just called on all the nearest legions, maybe a few Exalted, and threw them at the problem. One appearing on the Blessed Isle was likely to draw significantly more scrutiny into its beginnings, on the off chance some heresy or another had infected the heart of the Scarlet Empire. And it was possible, however unlikely, that some of the responsibility for that Anathema could be attributed to him. There was no hiding that he had owned her. There were court records stripping her of her freedom and transferring ownership to him. But he would rather the bribes he'd paid to those judges not be looked too closely into. And it would be best to make it eminently clear that she had not been under his stewardship when the spiritual collapse leading to her descent into Anathema had happened.

With as much care as he could muster through his foot, he began to write. It took a few attempts to get all of the characters down legibly enough for Cumula to interpret them, but eventually after much ink and time, he managed an explanation he felt would pass muster.

The Anathema was once a slave of mine She was obedient and served in her station faithfully but when we went to the South on the Wyld Hunt I had to leave her behind Apparently a monk convinced her to leave my estate and took her to this monastery I suspect there must be some kind of heresy at work here She would have never dared raise a hand against me before I don't remember the fight clearly but she definitely seemed proficient in Immaculate martial arts

Kallas watched as Cumula studied the text, and he immediately felt a sense of relief as she nodded slowly upon reaching the last page.

"What you've written makes sense. I will make contact with my connections in the Immaculate Order as soon as I can. Get some rest, and if you remember anything else, please make sure to communicate it to us." She gestured at the servants. "They'll see to your needs until the surgeon can see to your injuries."

Kallas blinked in acknowledgement, knowing that nodding would probably make him hurt. With that acknowledgement, Cumula left him, and Kallas tried to relax.

His nose started to itch.

---

In Yu-Shan, The Heavenly City, Domain Of The Gods and The Most High, a pair of women walked down a glorious avenue of white marble, framed on either side by trees overladen with golden blossoms.

"Well, she's fucked," one of the women, dark-haired and with skin pale as milk, spoke glumly as she walked along. Her violet eyes, glittering with the fading light of dying stars, were downcast and sorrowful. She wore robes of purple and black filigreed with silver, and where her shadow fell, the fallen blossoms of the trees withered into dust.

"It's a regrettably knotty situation, I'll concede that," said her companion, a brown-haired woman in robes that would be of deepest green, except they had to compete with the woman's eyes. They were each a glittering emerald starfield, Where she walked, the branches of the trees leaned and tried to reach for her, offering their fruits. She reached for one and plucked it, taking a big bite, before speaking once more through a full mouth. "But I don't think it's completely hopeless."

"She's near the middle of the Isle, and the Hunt is already assembling. Wherever she goes, they'll have something waiting to slow her down until they can utterly overwhelm her."

"That may prove more difficult for them than they realize. With the Scarlet Empress absent, there is already disharmony within the ranks. And we do have an asset that could be in the right place, provided we can ensure she's there at the right time."

'The black-haired woman frowned, cocking her head in thought. "What asset?" Before her companion even needed to clarify, comprehension dawned on her face. "Wait, you can't mean..." She stopped and shook her head, utterly flabbergasted. "You want to risk Her?"

"My love, risk is her middle name. And she is already there."

"Wait, you mean she's on the Isle?!"

"In one of the ports, on business. If we can keep her occupied until we can arrange contact between the two of them…"

"You really think the new one will be able to make it that far?"

"Why not? New or not, she's still one of His," the woman in the green dress nodded in the direction of the towering dome of jade at the center of the heavenly city.

"...Fine. I'll see what threads I can pull. If we're getting her involved anyway, I know Cestmir will be eager to try something."

"You're lovely, dear. Mind if I treat you to dinner tonight?"

"I'll be working late."

"My love, when was the last time one of the Sidereal Exalted left work on time?"

"...Dinner sounds lovely,"

---

(Author's Note: I'm aware this is a bit of a shorter chapter, I'll see if I can't post more art to make up for it later this week.)

 

[NBBTCS]

This is a very promising start! Hope we get to se Kallas get his shit pushed in again/more. Yana seems really cool!

 

[blueJane]

Wanted to share the initial sketch I made for the cover art. This was made with the pens and highlighters I had on hand at work.



The biggest changes were with Spring Petal's Anima Banner, bringing the whole figure into focus and trying to capture that "Superman Shatters His Bonds" vibe.

 

[Grytorm]

That is pretty cool. I do like the hands surrounding her in the original bug having the full figure is a nice addition. Thank you for sharing.

 

[NemoMarx]

The cover art really drew me in, excellent work setting the tone.

 

[blueJane]

Chapter 4: Valley

Yana had built a small cabin into the edge of the valley, beneath the ridge overlooking it and a distance away from the main village. It was a humble place, although Petal could see how much work Yana had put into making it livable. The walls were covered in skins from a life of hunting, there was a fireplace built into one wall, and she'd built it near a small creek emerging from the wall of the valley, so there was even fresh water to clean off the dust and grime of the road.

When they'd arrived, Yana had rooted around in a chest for a bit and emerged with some threadbare robes and patchwork leathers. "Here. You'll look like just another travelling peasant. No one we aren't already avoiding should ask you questions about where you came from."

Petal took them and looked down at what remained of her own monk's vestments. They had become incredibly tattered and worn after several days of hard travel. With time and the right materials, she could repair them, but… did she even have the right to do that?

She nodded to Yana and went outside to wash and change out of sight of the hunter and her daughter. Alone for the first time in days, her thoughts immediately began to race.

Why was Yana being so helpful? She had guided Petal, given her spare clothes, and helped her find food while they were traveling. Was it the power of the Anathema? Had Yana already been bewitched by the profane power Petal now hosted? She is strong and has made herself useful. Perhaps she will make interesting material. Petal grimaced and shook her head. She needed to part ways with Yana as soon as possible, lest she lead the huntress to ruin.

Petal washed herself as carefully as she could. It was… disconcerting. Her body was still hers, but old scars had faded, and fresh ones had simply disappeared. There was no sign of the rock that had pierced her foot when she'd been running from Kallas, and her body looked… if not different, then certainly… altered. She would catch the occasional glimpse of her reflection in the creek, and every time it disconcerted her. Her hair was growing back in, and it was certainly lighter than before she'd become a monk. It wasn't hard to mark the difference between black and blonde, after all. Then there were her eyes. She was certain they weren't the same color as they were before, but she'd need something more reflective than a creek to be certain. There was no sign of the golden mark on Petal's forehead that Yana had previously pointed out; perhaps it had faded away for now. Tearing her gaze away from the stream, Petal stood and stretched, feeling her muscles tighten and then relax in time with her breath.



The diet of a monk could never be called excessive, but it had still been significantly healthier than what she'd been allowed as Kallas' slave. That and her daily training had helped bring out her body's natural strength and grace. But had it made her *this* strong? It felt like all of her muscles were firmer, stronger. There hadn't been a trace of ache or pain anywhere in her legs, despite the days of travel and sleeping under the stars. If anything, she had to constantly suppress the urge to… express her strength somehow. As if at any moment she would punch a tree in half.

This was certainly the influence of the Anthema. It wanted her to use her power indiscreetly, flaunt it over others. She would fight the urge. Once she was away, and safe, she could…

Do what?

"You should wait here while I visit the village. If Jingles is in town we can talk to him and see what it will take to get you off the Blessed Isle."

Petal nearly jumped out of her own skin as she realized Yana had come around the corner and was watching her stretch. "I- some privacy, please!" She quickly darted behind a nearby tree, which… wasn't actually thick enough to hide anything, but was better than nothing.

Yana simply raised an eyebrow and turned around, leaning against the cabin. "...Does it trouble you that much?"

"Being seen in the nude?! Yes!" Petal yelled as she did her best to dry off and put on the robes Yana had provided.

Yana simply grunted in response.

Petal frowned. "...Why are you helping me, anyway? I… I am but a stranger to you. No, even worse than that. I am Anathema. Even if you don't believe I'm a threat to you myself, if the Wyld Hunt finds out you've aided me…" Petal did her best to dress herself, despite still being damp from washing. Better wet clothes than losing what dregs of dignity she had left.

Yana's shoulders seemed to tighten for a moment. Petal couldn't see Yana's face, but her question had definitely made the hunter tense. "I have my reasons,"

Petal frowned. "...Well, I'm dressed."

Yana turned back around. She didn't even glance at Petal's wet robes. "Like I said, I'll go into the village and make sure there are no surprises. And if Jingles is there, we can talk about next steps. I'm taking Maya with me."

"...Understood. Thank you, Yana." Petal bowed in gratitude.

Yana simply grunted once again, fetching her daughter before setting off on the path into the village. Petal sat out front of the house and watched her go, tracking her movement through the trees. She smiled as Maya waved back at her.

Yana must have some kind of grudge against the Realm, to harbor and guide an Anathema. And to do so while protecting a child… clearly she didn't understand the implications of my presence, Petal thought, nervously tracing lines in the dirt with a stick as she watched Yana finally disappear from view between the trees.

"She's an odd one, isn't she?"

Petal's fist lashed out at the voice that had come from nowhere, only to hear a giggle in response. She leapt away from the house, spinning around in a circle to try and find the source of the voice, only to see nothing.

"Oh relax, you silly little monk. I thought they trained you lot to negotiate with gods before attacking them!"

Sitting next to the spot Petal had just leapt away from was a glowing humanoid figure about half-again as tall as Yana and twice as wide. Her shining auburn hair was interwoven with flowers and leaves, and she had what could best be described as a bounteous figure, contained only barely by robes that looked like they belonged to a noble of scandalous tastes. Her eyes glowed with a gentle yellow light, more like buttercups than gold.

"Where are my manners? I am All-Welcoming Burgeoning Valley, and this place is my domain." She spread her arms wide, as if gesturing to encapsulate the entire valley, causing her chest to move in ways that enraptured Petal for a brief, breathtaking moment. "And you, madam, have caught my interest. I can't remember the last time a Solar visited me."



Petal flinched at the word 'Solar'. She'd never heard it unaccompanied by 'Anathema.' That was the least of her problems, though. This was clearly an apostate goddess. Studying in the monastery, she'd learned that many gods resented their place in the Immaculate Philosophy and continuously sought to breach its strictures, requiring discipline from the Dragon-Blooded or Immaculate Order. Still, Petal had never imagined one outright contacting an Anathema. Her concern must have shown on her face, because the goddess let out a wistful sigh.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. You're not the first stray Yana's brought home. This valley is full of those who don't particularly care for the way they've been treated by the Dynasty. Escaped slaves, the dispossessed and criminal, the dishonored… All are welcome to shelter here for a time." All-Welcoming beamed at Petal. "And such an august guest! You know, I once hosted another Solar here, a few thousand years ago. Magnificent lover."

Petal's trail of thought abruptly slammed into a wall, and she began to splutter before finally finding four words to put together. "What did you say?!"

"Not particularly experienced, are you? The other monks I've met aren't nearly so flappable." All-Welcoming smirked. "Perhaps I could teach you some things…"

"I must stringently decline." Petal declared, hiding her burning cheeks from the goddess with her hands. This only provoked further laughter, so Petal risked showing her face to glare at the goddess. "How long are you planning on bothering me? May I not have a few moments of peace?"

"Mm. Well, that hunter and her child probably won't be back for a while. I'd like to stay and get to know you better, but if it's peace you desire… well, I suppose I wouldn't mind providing a bit of it."

In a gust of wind, the goddess was gone, leaving Petal alone. A gentle breeze blew through the forest, stirring the canopy into a faint rustling. Somewhere, a songbird warbled sweetly. Petal felt her blush diminish, but only slightly. She still felt like the goddess must be watching her… and if All-Welcoming was the spirit of the Valley, Petal likely couldn't stop her from watching.

With a huff, Petal kneeled down by the cabin and closed her eyes. She could try to meditate for a while, at least.

————-

"Mama? Why are we helping a monk?"

Yana looked down at Maya, taking care to gently lift her over a root she had been about to trip over.

"Hmm. Why do you think we are helping her?" Yana asked.

"Um… because of the Tale of the Lost Traveller?"

"If it had been merely about helping a lost traveler, we would not have brought her all the way to our home. Shelter, food, and a fire are all that is owed to the lost."

Maya's face scrunched up in thought.

"...I dunno, Mama. You've always said that monks are dangerous and to leave them alone."

Yana nodded. "This is still true. I will ask another question. What did you notice about Petal?"

"Well… she's a monk…" Maya's face scrunched up further in concentration. "And she had really pretty eyes, like a sunrise. And… it was hard to tell, but when we first found her I think she had a smudge of paint on her forehead? Like a lil' burst of gold. Oh, and she never got tired, at least after we found her."

Yana nodded. "Very good, Maya. Yes. All of those things you noticed were important. Petal is not just a monk. She is Chosen… Chosen by the Most High. Though many of the people of our homeland no longer pay tribute to Him, many still believe that one day his Chosen would deliver us from our woes. If Petal is Chosen, it is our duty to help her escape the clutches of the Dragon-Blooded and deliver her to the South, where she may release our people from their bondage."

Maya looked awestruck. "Really? She was chosen to do that? But she seems so…" Maya hemmed and hawed as she tried to find the right word for it. "...afraid."

"Those feelings will pass, Maya." Yana lifted her daughter up onto her shoulder. "We're almost at the village. Promise me you will not speak of Petal. Others in the village may not see her for what she is."

"Okay, Mama!"

The village of the outcasts was like so many others of its kind across the isle… ramshackle, hugging the ground as if in fear of predators, and hidden amongst the trees. Plots for wild vegetables and barley sprung up in natural clearings, while every roof was thatched with branches and leaves from nearby trees. If one looked upon it from a distance, they might never suspect there were people living there.

There were few villagers out and about at this time. On occasion, someone would creak their door open and greet Yana and Maya as they walked past, but for the most part the sounds of the woodland reigned. Wind through the trees, the occasional sound of a bird singing. The call of a sparrow…

Yana's lips twitched in a smile for a moment. Jingles was in.

It was certainly not his 'real' name, but it's what the villagers called the traveling merchant. While one would not normally put a village like this on any trade route, Jingles ostensibly specialized in providing his services to the disenfranchised. What the more canny of the villagers understood was that Jingles was probably a more wanted man than any dozen of them put together, and that he had to constantly travel amongst the Isle's wild places to avoid the attention of the authorities. Or he was a two-bit con artist, trying to take advantage of a market only he bothered to serve. Whatever the truth, it was rare that one of them had reason to request his services or barter for his wares, but nonetheless he'd periodically show up and stay in the village for a few weeks, maybe a season on occasion.

Despite this, Jingles did not seem surprised when Yana opened the flap of his tent and scrunched herself inside. He was barely five feet tall, with a dark mustache the length of his face and skin tanned leathery by long days on the road. Many of his silks were faded and tattered, but he still carried himself with the jovial energy of a master trader.

"Yana! So nice to see you once more, my friend, my savior. And so delightful to see your daughter as well, growing up so wonderfully!"

"Jingles. I have something I need moved off the island." Yana settled into a kneeling position that allowed her to look Jingles directly in the eye.

"Straight to business? Will you not accept some tea first?" Jingles gestured at a pot resting amongst some gently glowing coals.

"No. It's urgent." Yana leaned forward. "I'm calling in your life-debt, and offering another of my own in turn. I have someone I need to get off the Blessed Isle and into the Threshold. Preferably to the South."

"And this person is not yourself? Or for that matter, your daughter? Most curious…" Jingles poured himself some tea and looked over the cup at Yana.

"She is healthy, will listen to your directions while traveling, and knows how to stay quiet." Yana said brusquely. "That's what concerns you, yes?"

"My dear Yana, it is only natural for a merchant in… proscribed goods to treat with caution a request made in urgency. You have always been reliable… and, indeed, I acknowledge my previous debt to you, and know the value of what you now offer me… but still. This is… sudden. You would have me take this traveler with me sight unseen?"

"Not sight unseen. I will bring them here once I have provisioned them. But only if you are certain that you can depart at short notice."

Jingles sipped his tea and considered for a long minute, watching Yana stoically endure the discomfort of her kneeling position.

"Bring your traveler here. I am always ready to move, after all."

Yana nodded.

"Thank you."

"Do not thank me yet. I may still refuse your offer."

 

[Bohnenpflanzer]

Interesting. So the Immaculates didn´t manage to stamp out worship of the USun.

 

[Scia]

In later editions it is made much more clear that the incarna are stil worshiped as part of the calendar, but it is also mae clear that they should not be directly beseached.

 

[blueJane]

Chapter 5: Run

Petal watched her guide carefully as he led the way up a path out of the valley. Yana had introduced him as 'Jingles, a trustworthy merchant', which immediately gave Petal reason to pause. However, Yana had gotten her this far, and if Yana said that Jingles could be trusted, Petal was willing to at least wait until the man proved her wrong to act.

Yana had also seen fit to provide Petal with another set of traveling robes made of homespun cloth, as well as a cloak and headscarf that wrapped tightly around her forehead, to obscure the mark on her brow if it decided to start shining. She looked like a humble peasant on pilgrimage. She could even pass for a monk to the uneducated, but she hadn't been able to shave her head since leaving the monastery. Her hair had grown out enough that trying to make that claim would draw suspicion from those more familiar with the Immaculate Order. While Jingles had claimed to have a few razors on hand, Petal had blanched at the rusty and chipped shards of metal he'd subsequently revealed.

After a full day of walking in silence, Petal and Jingles had made it out of All-Welcoming's… valley and into the wide grasslands of the Dragon's Blanket, where the green and golden stalks came up to Petal's waist at their shortest. Jingles motioned for Petal to wait for him while he investigated a campsite for the evening. This turned out to be the entrance of an abandoned mine, one of many dotting the hilly fields in the northeast of the Blessed Isle. Once Jingles was satisfied it wasn't currently inhabited by a dangerous wild animal, or bandits, or some other threat, he bade Petal follow him to it, then instructed her to make a fire so he could prepare some food.

"So… 'Petal.' Do you actually have any idea where we currently are? I need to know how much you'll have to dog my heels." Jingles sounded a touch grumpy.

"I… know that we are currently in the Dragon's Blanket. Probably due south of Halcyon Prefecture, if I remember correctly?"

Jingles grunted. "Good. You have the bare minimum needed to understand what I tell you." He pulled a roll of parchment from his backpack and spread it out. It was a detailed map of the Blessed isle, heavily notated with backroads, notes about routes taken by both bandits and the Black-Helmed officers of the law… the sort of thing any rogue merchant would dream of possessing. Petal watched as Jingles jabbed a finger at a seemingly random point on the map.

"We're here. I've used this old mine as an overnight camp before. We're going here." He traced a line east, touching a spot on the edge of the Imperial River where it let out unto the Inland Sea. "Pangu. One of the biggest shipping cities on the Isle, and probably the most corrupt. The Cynis are willing to let all sorts ply their trade there so long as they receive plenty of bribes-"

"Pangu?!" Petal asked, panic immediately gripping her throat. "I can't go b- we can't go to Pangu!"

"If you want to leave the island without anyone paying you mind, it's the best choice." Jingles squinted at her. "Pangu is Cynis' home prefecture, and the city it shares its name with is where they bring in most of their slaves and drugs. Let me guess, you're a runaway of theirs?" He grinned wickedly when Petal flinched. "Well Miss, I'm afraid you're going to have to go back into the dragon's den if you want to escape the island. Relax… they bring in so many slaves every year, I doubt they're going to miss one."

Petal stared at her guide, trying to choke down the fear rising in her chest. There was something in the way he said it, a cruel bit of amusement that rankled her nerves. Was he the sort to take the opportunity to sell her back into slavery if the opportunity arose?

As suspicion coursed through Petal's mind, a new sensation hit her senses. The smell of heavy smoke on the breeze.

Petal stood and sniffed the air. Jingles tilted his head and blinked at her. "What? Don't tell me you're a bloodhound as well."

"I smell fire. Forest fire." Petal turned to follow the breeze, and realized it was turning her towards the direction they'd come. In the darkness of the night, she could see a distant orange glow. It was obscured by a ridge… the one they had crossed that very morning to leave the hidden valley.

"What? I don't smell… wait." Jingles rose to join her, and the moment he saw the glow in the distance he blanched with fear. "What in the Dragons' name…" Petal felt his gaze on her, suspicious once more. She knew what he must be thinking… coincidence was one thing, but if Yana had pressed a traveler into his care and sent them off urgently, and now the place they had come from was suddenly set aflame…

"...Someone may be coming for us." Petal spoke aloud, immediately scattering the ashes of their fire before grabbing her own pack.

"That may be, but you know damn well we can't travel at speed at night. We have at least a full days lead, we can afford to rest-"

"You can afford to rest. I cannot," Petal said, the certainty of fear keeping her voice steady. Jingles yelped in surprise as Petal bodily lifted him into her arms. "We're headed east, yes? I'll run. You sleep."

"Are you insane? You're going to run all NIIIIIIIIIIIII-" Jingles yelped as Petal sprung into motion with a speed he had never before witnessed. The tall grasses of the Dragon's Blanket whipped past them in a blur as Petal first sprinted, then broke into an easy lope of sublime grace that made the hills seem to melt past them.

"We have hundreds of miles to cross. I will traverse what obstacles appear. You rest, and when you wake you can assess where we are." Petal said bluntly, voice barely audible over the rushing wind around them.

Jingles' mouth opened and closed several times, utterly flummoxed and frightened by Petal's display of strength and speed. As seconds turned into minutes, he seemed to realize that Petal wasn't slowing. After a time, Petal glanced at him to find the merchant had indeed fallen into a fitful sleep, or at least closed his eyes.

For her part, Petal felt… exhilarated. She hated that the pleasurable rush of exerting her new abilities seemed to be stronger than her guilt at leading Dynasts to Yana and Maya's home, or the fear of pursuit, or that she was feeling it at all when, as an anathema, her power was born from forbidden and sinful forces. And yet… The wind whistling as she passed, the feeling of power and exertion greater than any she could achieve as a mortal was…



There was joy in it. She had to suppress the urge to whoop when, upon approaching a wide stream, she easily leapt across its breadth, landing on the opposite bank without even disturbing Jingles' slumber. The miles melted underneath her feet, any pain or fatigue a distant irritation at most.


Perhaps the Wyld Hunt would catch her. There was a part of Petal that could not help but hope they did, although that part seemed to grow smaller every day. But perhaps this could be a test for them. If they were truly the righteous Princes of the Earth, it should be no issue for them to catch a brand-new Anathema on their own Isle, yes?

—

"I'm surprised at your restraint, my friend. I think there are a few trees still standing."

Cathak Rakel turned to look at Cumula, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Really? I know it's a nest of dispossessed, thieves, and escaped slaves, but you did ask me to leave them alive." Her voice rose with irritation.

The fiery dragon-blood was a resplendent example of the Great House Cathak. Her fiery orange hair had roots of darker red running through it, her eyes burned yellow with a ring of red around each iris, and her skin was a scarred but handsome tan. Her features were sharp and beautiful, accentuated by smokey makeup carefully patterned in the style of flames.

Compared to Cumula's austere robes, Cathak Rakel was dressed in the full regalia of a dynastic warrior: red and white jadesteel armor with a gold filigree depicting rising flames, and a burning red daiklave in either hand.



"We still need to interrogate them, Rakel. We do not know if the Anathema had time to work its corruption on their souls." Cumula picked her way through the burning ruins. The black-helms had been successful in rounding up all the villagers driven from their homes by Rakel's flames. Now those villagers had been lined up on their knees, arms bound in manacles and eyes turned downward, avoiding looking upon the Dynasts in their midst.

Cumula considered them carefully, picking out one old woman to focus on. She stepped close to her and used the tip of her war fan to tilt the woman's chin up, forcing her to look Cumula in the eye.

It did not take a master empath to see the fear there. Any peasant of the Blessed Isle might tremble beneath the gaze of a Prince of the Earth. Cumula could see the subtleties beyond that fear, however. The woman believed she was looking her own death in the eye. As dispossessed, she did not even have the fig leaf of protection slaves enjoyed as the property of Dynasts. Every second of her life was a gift granted by Cumula's ongoing mercy.

"Tell me the truth, and know that no lie will avail you. Where is the Anathema?"

Tears of desperation started to stream down the woman's wrinkled face. "Please, oh gracious Prince, I did not see any Anathema, nor have I heard anything-"

"Take this one away." Cumula instructed a black-helm, sighing in irritation. The woman certainly knew nothing, or did not know what she knew. The dynast ignored the woman's pitiful cries of gratitude at being momentarily spared as she continued to walk down the line.

"This is where Kallas would have been useful. Man could talk any of them into betraying their own mothers." Rakel sounded bored as she leaned against the smoldering remains of a tree.

"I'm afraid your groom's golden lips are still recovering from the savage beating he endured." Cumula bantered back, enjoying the way Rakel winced. Kallas' fiance was a warrior with few peers, and Cumula knew it would be a minor embarrassment for Rakel that her husband had been so savagely thrashed. "Worry not. He will join us err long, maybe even in time to avenge his honor and dignity."

"Lady Ledaal! We have subdued the goddess of this valley!"

That got Cumula's immediate attention. She whirled around to find a quintet of Immaculate monks, one of them Dragon-Blooded, dragging a beautiful but singed woman into the village. The goddesses' arms were bound by vines of essence maintained by her dragon-blooded captor, with each of his mortal assistants holding their staves at the ready in the event she broke her bonds.

"Brutes! Malignants! Release me at once! I have done nothing to earn such treatment!" The goddess proclaimed, only to be silenced by a slap from the dragon-blooded Immaculate.

"Silence. You are guilty of harboring and liaising with fugitive mortals, let alone your possible association with Anathema." Satisfied by the goddess going silent, the monk turned once more to Cumula. "If anyone knows where the Anathema has gone, it is her."

Cumula approached the goddess, her eyes growing colder. Rogue mortals were one thing; they were easily misled by the lies and promises of Anathema, and could potentially be reformed in time. A rogue deity required a firmer hand.

"You are… All-Welcoming Burgeoning Valley. I remember your description from the Rolls of Divinity. " Cumula stated as she walked around the restrained goddess. "I cannot say it is surprising that you would welcome the dispossessed into your midst. But to harbor an Anathema on top of that?"

The Goddesses' eyes darted back and forth as she considered her position. It was clear she hadn't expected to be taken so easily by Immaculate monks, and the risks of further incurring their wrath were playing through her mind.

"Please… I only wished to guard those who asked me for sanctuary. This… 'Anathema', of yours was only a brief visitor, brought here by a hunter and her daughter. The last I saw, they had departed to the west. I heard them speak of making their way to Eagle Prefecture eventually."

As the goddess spoke, Cumula used her essence to filter falsehoods from the air, and was mildly surprised to find none. Her eyes narrowed. Even if the goddess spoke no lies, there was no guarantee she spoke the truth; perhaps she was omitting information, or obscuring her malfeasance through wordplay.

"Did the Anathema speak with you? What can you tell us about her?"

"Well she was a beautiful little thing, though you've probably already heard as much. Practically trembling with fear, and terribly awkward. I don't think she's used to talking to people who aren't monks." Apparently, gossip and speculation sprung from Valley's lips much more readily than concrete information.

"Did it speak with any of the other villagers?"

"Only the hunter and her daughter. Please, I don't know what you think she might have done, but she came and left without so much as being seen by any of the people here!"

Cumula folded her arms and glanced at Rakel, who shrugged.

"...Your position in this Valley will be brought before the Immaculate Order, who will determine appropriate sanctions for your harboring of escaped slaves. As for the dispossessed, their presence here is not technically against the law, though if it is found they have engaged in illegal worship it will be the Order's remit to reeducate them and administer discipline," Cumula finally spoke. Burgeoning Valley's expression took on the consistency of curdled milk, glaring at Cumula with hatred and resentment, while her Immaculate captor nodded at Cumula.

"Rakel, with me. I want to pick up a trail before the dawn breaks, and for that I'll need a light." As her companion snapped her fingers and conjured a bright yellow flame, Cumula passed her hands over her eyes, coating them with air essence to sharpen her vision and grant her sight of hidden things. It did not take the two of them long to locate the walking trails leading away from the village, first north before eventually branching into three directions… one west, one east, and one continuing north.

Cumula knelt and considered. There was a strong breeze this evening, moving from west to east, and the wind whispered to her of travelers on the western path… a pair of travelers. Possibly the hunter and the Anathema?

And yet… something didn't sit right with her. She knelt closer to the ground. "Rakel, can you make it brighter?"

As her companion's light brightened, she thought for a moment she saw the outline of a sandal-print on the east-bound path. That direction led further into the Dragon's Blanket, but beyond that was Pangu, domain of the Cynis.

There were no good options for Anathema who wanted to leave the island. Every known port had officials trained since birth to keep an eye out for runaway Anathema, and the Earth Fleet patrolled constantly in its quest to track down illegal smuggler ports, which would almost certainly be unknown to all but the criminals who ran them.

The path to the west led through territory belonging to Ledaal, Sesus, and Mnemon. An Anathema would find no succor there. Pangu belonged to the Cynis, and was their primary slave-processing prefecture. Wardens on the lookout for Anathema were sure to be on high alert by now. And yet… Pangu, the city, was known to have a thriving black market, which the Cynis put only a token effort into stamping out. If an Anathema in the Northeast of the Blessed Isle had to choose a port in the hopes of making it to the Threshold, Pangu might very well seem like the best of many very bad options.

"Let us return to our messengers and fetch our steeds. I'll be sending an alert to all stations along the coast to keep an eye out for Anathema, and that it may be headed either west or east." Cumula declared as she rose back to her feet.

"Alright. And where will we be heading?" Rakel asked as she snuffed out her flame.

"East. Call it instinct, if you must."

"As long as it ends with me getting to deal the deathblow, I'm more than willing to follow your hunches." Rakel said with a grin, falling in behind her battle-sister as they returned to the razed village.

 

[NBBTCS]

Methinks Pangu is going to be in need of serious reconstruction soon. I hope Yana gets out ok

 

[Twei]

Eager to see where this goes!!!

 

[blueJane]

Methinks Pangu is going to be in need of serious reconstruction soon.

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I'm sure they'll be fine, it's not like they haven't already seen their fair share of slave revolts

I hope Yana gets out ok

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You're gonna have to stay tuned on that one... but I'm definitely not done with Yana and Maya.