I've witnessed wars before and I find this new version novel, if still as unpleasant as the rest. I sit underneath a darkened sky, clouds covering the moon. The thorns from my hiding place dig into the backs of my arms. The bites keep me focused and sharp. I have the knives at my side and the plan in my head. We're waiting for the moment where the guards change so we can slip inside and slit some throats. For all the energy dedicated to violence, I am doing none of it. There is a terrible pulse under my palms and it is calmly mastered. My companion does not have my discipline.
"Gaisgeach," I whisper sharply.
She does not take to the title well, but it does still her for a moment. She glares at me, those predatory eyes shining in the scant light, flittering through sparkling green, burning umber, before settling on a clear silver. She is calm.
"I know, Dorrin," she says, "And you can call me Laoise. I don't mind."
"We're in the field, Gaisgeach. We don't want to disappoint Finn and Cam."
Those names bring her in line more than the order, but her hands go back to tugging on her handwraps. She needs to stop. She needs to focus on the bite of the thorns and how that should give her focus. That will help. But she won't. We've been over this before and she never learns.
A dancing lantern breaks through our shadows and forces us low. The Gaisgeach is antsy. She smells blood in the air. The cold rush in my core merely condenses into a tighter pearl. I time my breath with the wind and the Gaisgeach shivers in anticipation.
The lantern passes and we are left alone. I tap her thigh and wait for the next gust. As the thorns rustle, we pull ourselves free and slither from the grass.
Through the trees, more of those dancing lanterns play like shooting stars. A cluster here, a pair over there, a straight line across the rampart gazing down into the empty space between the tree line and the fort, all shine, looking for us. We skirt the line, the Gaisgeach close on my heels. It's annoying how easily she can keep pace with me. Her breath's still so carefree while mine has to labor. We come to the next patch of thorns and embed ourselves in the shadows.
The Gaisgeach is closer this time, pressing her frame over my body. She's taller than me. She's wider than me. Not quite the extremes I've seen, but that discrepancy does tug at the back of my mind. I can even feel her heart beating in her chest as she gazes at the lanterns. I brush off the hand she has on my shoulder. I do not need that level of coddling. She takes the hint and gives me a bit more space.
She's clingy. I don't know if that's a universal trait or a personal one. Finn and Cam certainly have their moments where they cannot become unraveled. I give her a quick glance and she turns away, shy and meek. Back to the lanterns, I force myself back to the lanterns. We have another stretch of shadows and we take it.
Old stronghold.ds always have the worst wear and tear, and the scouts found a gash on the east side big enough for something to squeeze through. It also so happens that the forest has crept so close to the gash, allowing for a bit of climbing to take us to the top and then we go to the next step. Our path leads to the base of a grand old tree, where the ants in their hill have had to the foresight to cut away the obvious foot holds.
I signal the Gaisgeach and she dons her mitts. They are just plain mean, hardened leather topped with sharp iron spines. She tests them out and they sink into the bark like flesh. She tests her weight and it holds. She taps her back and our weight holds as I take my position.
And just like that we're in the trees, safe among the pine needles. These have so much less bite than the brambles down below. The lights keep bobbing in their routines, forward and back and round and round, but they're getting sloppy. We've officially hit the point where everything can start slacking off. The relief is coming and we keep climbing. I see our entrance stare out at us with a crack of bleeding light from inside. I refuse to look down and so does she.
One last moment of stillness on the branch as we check everything we have. The knives are right where they should be. The rope, the flares, the cloth wrapped flasks with the long fuses, all is as it should be. She does her own preparations, working out the slight bits of stiffness that come with the bits of work. Easy stretches in tight spaces, nowhere near enough to actually get anything done, but the routine itself is worth the half-assed attempt. She glances back to me and I nod. I take my position again, feeling her entire body shift and locked together. There's so much under her and even now, my focus wanders. More bits than I have, I think, or even put together in a different way, a supposedly better way. I can't say. I just know how she holds me and keeps me steady. A bit of preparation and I give her the go ahead.
For a moment, we are flying through the air, wind tugging at my clothes. I chance a look downwards. My stomach drops at the height. But the grip is strong, and she is made for this. The claws sink into the soft stone and we start again like flies on the wall. She reaches the gap first and I clamber to take my position. We're clear. I push myself through and into the room beyond while the Gaisgeach struggles to do the same. I take her hand and help her through as much as I can. It may not be an exact help, but it is something.
The room's small with a torch burning low. The Gaisgeach's eyes shift t to the low light, shining like a cat's. They turn to me for a moment and stare back. The moment breaks and I nod along. We're now officially flying blind, but her senses can pick up the things we've missed. She turns down the hall and I follow.
She can be quiet when the need arises. All of her moves and shifts with the shadows, blending to the stone walls, all of her turned to being something big and unseen. I watch all of her. She's back to tugging at her hand wrappings again. She complained the entire time, but I would not let her out unless they passed my inspection.
I catch our next stumble by dragging her around a corner as a dancing light shows in the distance. The light is laughing. The light is drunk, probably. And we are stashed in a small pantry, near sacks of flour and bottles of oil. The Gaisgeach's attention turns to the shelves before snatching a box and stuffing it in her pack.
"Cam likes chocolates," she whispers. And I can't really chide an opportunity to get in those good graces. I scan for another box, but only come away with a jar of pickles. That works too. I take a bit of honey for myself and she gets some jerky. Really, we just excused our entire trip without the actual goal. The laughing stumbling steps meander onward and we are back to moving.
She takes us up the stairs until we come to a tower, overlooking the world. Behind us is the mountain to protect the fort's rear. In front of us stretches a sea of darkened pines. And beyond that is our campsite, with our horses still waiting to carry us home. The Gaisgeach almost looks wistful for a moment at the stretch of vast wilderness to disappear into. I tap her forearm and she comes back to me, those silver eyes inquisitive and sharp. She cocks her head and points deeper in. There's another crag just a bit up. We will use that to get into the caves. The caves lead us to the operating cells. And then we retrace the steps, vanish into the night and never speak of this again
With this at least, I don't need any help. The rocks are rough and strong enough for me to carry my own weight. She still outpaces me effortlessly. She is still there at the lip, pulling me up like a mother cat. Her eyes keep shining as she stares at me.
I don't like where her gaze wanders. I tap her arm again and try to pull her out. It's getting harder. Something in the air, something she's tapping into, I don't know. But I need her here with me because I noticed something she didn't.
I shove her against the wall. Or at least I try. There is so much muscle on her, so dense, so strong, but the surprise does the work for me, even allowing me to get a hand over her mouth as something small and jolted tries to bubble through. There's another lantern deeper in the cave, another set of meandering steps. She picks it up and she's back with me, quiet as a mouse.
But that doesn't stop the light from turning the corner as we break apart.
The Gaisgeach is swift and brutal. With a wayward thought, she throws off my hold and rushes the lone guard, plowing her fist deep into his chest. The breastplate caves into the indent of her knuckles as every breath he took is knocked out of him. A strangled gurgle comes from his throat, her hands already wrapped around his neck. A bit of effort and his eyes grow dark with a sharp crack. Just like a cat with a baby bird. She gently lowers the body to the ground and looks to her hands.
She shouldn't be surprised. This is what they are designed to do. Every bit of concoction they are force fed, every salve rubbed across their blistering skin, every injection in their veins, every second of treatment is designed to make them like this. But her hands are shaking. Her breathing's just the same. She looks to her palms, the body, the shadows, back to me, as if I am going to take out a sewing needle and stitch the life back into his soul.
"By the stars," I whisper as I take her hand in mine, "he wanders home."
