northclifflogs | OPEN | Blood And Ice

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OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

The story of why gets twisted and distorted between its departure from the Crags and its arrival in Northcliff Pass, but the town criers maintain consistency on a few points: Althea of House Jessamy, Duchess of Black Rock, has at last thrown down the gauntlet against the Duke of Cliffside, and has called on her vassals to rally their bannermen. It seems there will be war within the borders of Maireglenne for the first time in a hundred years.

Given the state of the roads leading through the pass, it is understandable that the news is a few weeks’ stale by the time armed soldiers sporting Duke Galein’s colours march (or gallop, if they are astride a horse) past the village walls and garrison themselves on the festival grounds. Anyone objecting to this new arrangement is encouraged by the soldiers to bring their objections to the garrison commander (who, rumor has it, personally oversees the flogging of objectors himself).

Like it or not, the regiment is here to stay, at least until they receive orders instructing them otherwise. On the bright side, the soldiers did the hard work of clearing the pass for the season; travel between Northcliff Pass and the city of Cliffside just got a heck of a lot easier this winter.

II. Cold Snap

And it’s highly likely that those orders will be as delayed as the news, for the regiment has hardly been within the city walls a week before the temperatures plunge to dangerous lows. This is not the seasonal frigidity accompanied by blustery blizzards that encourage snowball fights and a bit of ice fishing down by Sands Creek, but a cold so biting and bitter that any prolonged period spent outside in it runs the very real risk of hypothermia and death. This is the kind of cold that leaves the air clean and clear, with nothing to impede the watery white light of the sun for the few hours it spends above the horizon each day before setting again; it cuts the lungs when inhaled and bites straight through to the bone. Many of the village’s poor are brought within the sturdy walls of the Town Hall and the chapel, because the alternative is finding them frozen solid in the streets.

The silver lining to this development is bare indeed; avoiding the cold means that, for a time at least, the village residents and soldiers are too preoccupied hunkering down to endure the cold to be at cross purposes.

III. A Howl in the Night

On the third night of the deep freeze, an animal’s piercing howl shatters the oppressive silence that has settled over the village.

It’s not a wolf’s howl; it is far too shrill and keening, and comes from a great distance away, that much is clear. The few villagers brave enough to risk exposure to the cold will find nothing of immediate danger within the city walls--but should they lift their eyes and look to the gossamer clouds near the summit of Gods’ Reach, they will glimpse the dark silhouette of a massive winged beast circling the mountaintop in search of a safe place to roost.

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Elena blinks in surprise. Huh, that's new. What kind of place could she be from that doesn't have even one lute? Probably a pretty boring place.

"It's a lute. Or I've sometimes heard it called oud. Or strum-boy. Well, I sometimes call it a strum-boy."

A small expression of contemplation passes over her face before she smiles sweetly.

"Do you want to try it?"

He holds his expression and stands unmoving even as they head past him and out the door, exactly like his uncle did when he would similarly scowl away ruffians. Once the door's closed, however, he clutches at his chest in relief.

The relief is short lived as he realizes the weight of what he's done. Usually he's embarrassed by the power behind his name, and half the reason he's in Northcliff Pass is that he wants to distance himself from it. While he's not disowned, they probably wouldn't appreciate him pretending he's acting on their behalf. And if any of the soldiers he met back in Cliffside hear of it...

That could go bad. Real bad. The fear coming off him might not be very reassuring to Colin as Faro kneels beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder to try and reassure him, "Yyou're okay. We're okay."

Kadi goes back and forth, nearly ducking out from fear of utter humiliation, but what pushes her over the edge is knowing how angry it would make her parents if they knew. A twinkle comes to her eyes and she nods happily.

Tuo regards Vervain with exceptional fondness as he recounts the time he spent near 'Thwaite all those years ago, and scoffs softly when he mentions the parson. "I imagine I tried her patience," he says dryly, then shifts his gaze towards Dain. It's impossible for him to truly offer his friend the reassurances he doubtless deserves, but he tries to convey as much as he can through his eyes--that he did not disclose the Night's secrets, nor anything about Saaristemori that would matter, to either the boy or his grandmother.

It's debatable how successful he is.

"Well, as he won't be coming down anytime soon," he goes on, gesturing up to the magpie, "shall I go make myself comfortable in the sanctuary?" He does not relish losing his privacy for the night, but he's resigned himself to it.

"Which is," Tuo interjects, stepping nearer to try to make eye contact with Elena, "an incredibly important job. I myself am prone to exactly the sort of trouble that requires that skillset. But who shall sew our physician up if he is injured?"

He raises his eyebrows at her expectantly. Well??

Tuo may not be able to put words into his gaze, but the very fact he gives Dain any sort of look communicates well enough. It's all right, that look says. I trust him. Evidently not far enough to speak freely in front of him -- which is oddly reassuring. Tuo's trust is not a thing so easily won, without common ground, and Tuo's obvious fondness for Vervain puts a warm smile on Dain's face. It's good to know his friend continued delighting others during his travels, trying the patience of families everywhere -- that he didn't enforce loneliness on himself.

Dain resolves to talk more with Vervain later. An open-minded acolyte of the church is perhaps not quite safe, but he can't say he's not intrigued.

"There should still be some room left," Dain muses, glancing up at Alvi in the rafters. "But if you don't want him to think you're abandoning him..." He really knows nothing about birds. Or about how the vicar would feel if someone human slept back here.

If Adhemar feels compelled to keep a close eye on this interloper, the instinct is mutual. The physician's interest in the chapel population has vanished for the time being; he watches instead the vicar with the intensity one might favor upon a particularly large snake of indistinct coloring. And he certainly isn't going to take the first step.

"I am glad to hear it," Volodymyr dryly replies. He has, thankfully, ceased to smile, but the corners of his mouth still twitch with indeterminate emotion. He briefly bows his head. "Of course. After you, Vater. Lead zhe vay, as you must do in all zhinks."

Perhaps Adhemar will be extremely lucky, and the physician will take an unfortunate tumble on the ice on his way home. A man can dream.

He turns without hesitation and leads the way back through the maze of sleeping forms to a small office/vestry attached to the back of the sanctuary. The narrow corridors in the vicarage lead to different places: a library, a meagre kitchen, a dormitory for the priests and laymen, and a small private bedroom for the vicar himself. Everything is shrouded in darkness at this time of night, but a single candle burns on Adhemar's desk as he opens the door and gestures Volodymyr through.

"Please make yourself comfortable," he says with as much false sincerity as he can muster. "And tell me what I can do for you at this late hour." What could not have waited until daylight?

Volodymyr follows Adhemar quietly and peaceably into the vestry, glancing with brief interest into the unlit corners of the vicarage. As he settles himself in a chair opposite the vicar's desk, however, he takes rather more interest in the arrangement and content of the office. The observation lasts only a matter of seconds. Folding his hands comfortably over his stomach where Adhemar can clearly see them, Volodymyr returns his full and undivided attention to the vicar.

"I do apologize for zhe hour, Vater," he begins in a low voice, "but zhere are thoughts zhat vill not let a man sleep." He pauses a moment, contemplating the candle flame between them as he carefully collects his words. "It is a metaphysical qvestion regarding zhe nature of sin und... its connection to zhe Vice." The physician's gaze returns to the vicar, searching.

Elena's grin widens, and a bit of a mischievous glint enters her eye as she moves to sling the strap of the lute over Kadi's shoulder. Immediately she moves close behind Kadi and softly grabs the young woman's hands to position them properly. Once situated, she speaks low in Kadi's ear.

"Go ahead, give it a stroke."

And that's how Elena's lute ended up crashing to the floor (unharmed), Kadi's head turning to look at the other woman with wide eyes.

Since coming here, she has seen some couples about where both are men or both are women. It's not common, but she has seen it. And she has always found her eyes lingering on people from both sexes, and lately come to realize what it means. It's the sheer audacity of Elena, how very forward she is, that has Kadi's head spinning, but she doesn't peel away or look put-off. To the contrary, she's suddenly finding that the closeness of the other woman isn't unwelcome at all, perhaps even a bit relaxing.

Ben has given his greeting (such that it is), and seems content to listen silently as Kit does all the talking.
The detail he's putting on the chair legs is decidedly lovely: a carefully swirling vine pattern, each leaf and blossom meticulously etched.

"I don't," she agrees and it has a note of challenge to it as she peers at him over the edge of her mug. She is uncertain why she feels the need to defend herself, why that statement has raised her hackles, and that uncertainty just feeds that small note of irritation.

"They're fine enough," she adds before he can speak again. "But I don't care for crowds."

That is a lie and a bold-faced one. She has come from a place with a much greater population that this sleepy village. She thrived there and had loved conversing on the street, arguing and chatting with people...but that was in Haugenne. This is not Haugenne and people in Maireglene are not quite as open and boisterous.

She doesn't know how to speak to these people, so she has opted to avoid it when she can.

"Between you and that young mad, I've quite enough friends I think."

Ver, dear blind thing he is, remains utterly oblivious to the silent conversation going on around him; he's lost instead in considering the practical logistics of where Tuo's going to sleep. (And what to do with a stubborn magpie occupying the vicar's office.)

"He's not perched above anything important, is he?" he asks suddenly. "Nothing we can't clean if he messes on it?" Birds, man.

"And there's only space in the sanctuary if you'd like to be closer'n the gods ever intended to Bert." A man who smelled like that no matter what he did was absolute if alarming proof of Divinity at work in men's lives. "You stay here; I'll fetch a blanket."

This line of inquiry could go in several different directions, none of them pleasant. Adhemar lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows, politely inquisitive. "Go on."

He has not wished to speak of it directly, lacking both the experience and the vocabulary for such things, but she has provided him an avenue for exploration and he can't avoid it. Already it wears on him when his mind is idle (which is not often, but it does happen), and if these unanswered questions keep distracting him, it is only a matter of time before his carefully constructed performance for the rest of the village begins to slip.

He turns the mug of mulled wine slowly between his hands, regarding it as he asks his question. "Is that what we are?" When he lifts his eyes to look at her, his gaze is uncharacteristically unguarded. "Friends?" Friends who fuck on a mountaintop after desecrating a saint's shrine.

"Not at present," he answers Vervain dryly, inspecting Alvi's proximity to anything that looks important. The magpie looks back down at him reproachfully, evidently not yet ready to forgive his caregiver either for the cold or for the blustery walk to the chapel while bundled up in a bunch of blankets. Tuo can't say he blames him.

"Thank you," he adds as Vervain goes in search of a blanket... which means he's left alone in the vestry with Dain, even if only for a few moments. Hardly enough time to unpack what happened in the wagon, but just enough time to be keenly aware of his close proximity. He resolves not to speak of it, and instead lifts his chin to smile, sly as usual.

"Well, this shall be cozy," he remarks. "Best not tell your vicar though."

"I'll leave that to Vervain," Dain agrees, lightly amused. He hasn't, after all, met the vicar yet.

Then he falls silent. He's similarly decided not to speak about anything deeper than surface concerns, at least for now, since Vervain won't be long with the blanket; but it makes for precious little to discuss, and for the ensuing silence to feel far from comfortable. Dain lets it stretch a moment longer, then: "If you need anything overnight, let us know. You or Alvi."

Dain was the one to create this situation, however preferable it might be to finding his friend frozen to death; it's only right he accept responsibility for all the outcomes.

Volodymyr, again, mulls over his vexatious thoughts in silence before selecting one for presentation. "Let us speak of sin alone," he begins. "We know it alienates us from zhe gods; zhere is no doubt on zhat point. Now the separation it causes..." He pauses, then gestures impatiently. "I know vhat theologians have said on zhis subject, but I am curious in your thoughts, Vater. Does zhis separation result from zhe sinner's intent to do evil, or from zhe actual... one might say physical effects of the sin itself? Or... is zhere another view perhaps I am not seeing?"

He keeps his voice as low as it had been in the chapel. Though it is unlikely anyone in the vestry would be up at such an hour, it would not do to be overheard.

Edited (because I can spell) 2020-01-27 23:50 (UTC)

It's good luck that even if Vervain could remember everyone who'd slept on the premises for the duration of the cold snap (which, truth be told, he's a fair chance of doing), he's no intention of sharing the exact disposition of them all and just who ended up using the vestry to bunk down. There'd be an explanation owed if he couldn't get all the magpie feathers up, of course. But that could wait until morning, or after--once he's fetched another blanket for Tuo, he's quick to bid both friend and Shepherd a good night and get back to his duties.

It wasn't, after all, like the dark makes much difference to him.

---
True to his promise to Alvi, though, he's back before matins with the bag of wormy acorns. Not having much of an idea where Tuo might be in the vestry, and not wanting to wake his friend besides, he leans just far enough through the doorway to set the bag on the floor--

And gets a look of absolute vexation on his face.

"Oh, Earth's bones," mumble grumble, "they couldn't just all be rotted, could they."

Now he's going to have to pick out the good ones. Couldn't give food fit for humans to the beasts--sorry, Alvi.

Sighing, he plunks down on the floor of the vestry--mindful of the doorway--and begins digging through the bag. Bird food to the right, people food to the left...

Edited 2020-01-28 05:23 (UTC)

"... they couldn't just all be rotted, could they."

Looking in on Tuo briefly was one of the first things on Dain's task list that morning, and he hesitates briefly when he hears that grumble -- seems he's been beaten to it. Curiosity carries him to the doorway regardless, because Vervain is sitting on the floor sorting through a bag, and it takes until Dain is standing by his shoulder for him to remember the promise made for wormy acorns.

"Good morning," Dain says softly, just to announce he's there, careful to make sure his voice doesn't carry and wake anyone. He glances up at Alvi in the rafters, then down at the acorns being sorted into two groups on the floor. "What are you doing?" he asks, kneeling down with some interest.

"H'lo, shepherd!"

For all the irksome nature of the task, it hasn't dented Ver's good cheer any. He smiles without lifting his head, taking out another handful of acorns and splitting them rapidly between the piles. Most of them go to the right this time; the left pile's only growing slowly.

"Getting the good acorns out of the bag--should still be plenty for Alvi, though. Didn't want to waste anything we could eat."

"That's wise," Dain agrees as he watches Vervain work. He's a little more accustomed now to speaking with someone blind than he was when they first met, and some of the minor behavioural quirks -- such as not looking up when someone speaks suddenly -- pass by without notice. Something that doesn't pass by without notice is how Vervain sorts through the acorns.

Of course, he wouldn't be using sight, but Dain doesn't know enough about the process to guess at what other senses he might be using. Smell? Sound? Vervain doesn't allow enough time for either. He seems to simply know. Curiosity momentarily drowns out misgivings, long enough for Dain to ask without thinking: "How do you tell which ones are good?"

Almost as he's speaking, he realises what the obvious answer might be. Torn between taking the question back with a somewhat blatant 'Never mind' and simply staying silent, Dain sits tensely on his haunches, not quite breathing.

Tuo, who has been drowsing like the indulgent housecat he is on the inside, stirs on his sleeping pallet. He rolls over onto his side and sits up just enough to prop his cheek up on one hand, sleepily blinking between both Vervain and Dain.

Vervain Gardener is many things: Sheltered, trusting, and painfully earnest.

But he's not stupid by any stretch of the imagination.

True to form, he's not in any way alarmed by Dain's question (if he's even got any alarms to go off), but it does make him pause, because--

Because he doesn't know exactly how he's doing what he's doing, and nothing Gram taught him about logic or introspection or reasoning seems to apply to figuring out the mystery. He owes a shepherd--especially a kindly one!--an honest answer, though; so he bites his lower lip and considers carefully before saying, "I don't know, precisely. I s'pose I'm hearing the difference between them when I pick them up."

Which feels plausible, at least, right?

Great. Now it's going to be bothering him the rest of the day (especially because it suggests things he's not dumb enough to ignore).

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Page 10 of 13

OPEN | Blood And Ice

Civil Blood

I. News from the West

II. Cold Snap

III. A Howl in the Night

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