Chapter 107

Nomadic Plains

“When we arrived, there was nothing left; plains of ash stretched into the horizon, everything burnt to a crisp. Ten thousand men… gone… just like that.”

Fragments

The plains… stretched on endlessly. Freya gazed off into the distance, into the faraway horizon, yet saw nothing but the green and occasional stretches of flowery colors decorating the lands. Nomadic Plains… she had lived her whole life just a few days of a journey away from them, yet knew as little as she did of the peninsula's far-northern shore. It was a mystical land, a region of the unknown, of people much like her, yet wholly different.

The wind blasted against her, causing silver strands of hair to flutter back, her cyan eyes staring expectantly. She stood tall, at six feet altogether, armored in full plate, a robust shield strapped to her back and the precious sword of her Family resting in an ornate scabbard tied to her belt. She had finally managed to rip herself away from the damned walls of the castle, from the frosted and snowed lands of the east, and made her way over here, to the lands that always left her quizzical.

Despite the numerous protests from her mother and calls for her to abandon the uniform and instead marry, she hardly cared for the domestic life; she was nearing forty and would be a miracle to conceive a child to begin with, so she instead chose not to waste her time. There was something in the massive stretch in front of her, one that ran all the way from the Lumina Kingdom to the Misted Veil, to the peninsula’s heretical enigma.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly stripped her armor off, keeping only the shield and the sword. While they knew little of the plains, they still knew some – heavy armor would be too cumbersome as most animals here were quick and nimble, well-acquainted with the terrain. She would need to become just like that, foregoing years of training and fighting thus far if she were to have any success.

“… are you really doing this, Lady Freya?” a young woman, Tasha, walked up to her and slowly began sorting the heavy armor that dented the earth as it fell. She was fifteen, at least as far as Freya knew, her golden hair swirled in locks, a pair of brown eyes looking at her.

“I am,” Freya replied in rhapsody, clutching her hands into fists, turning toward the plains once again. “I am going, Tasha. As for if I return… well, only the Light knows.”

“Don’t’ speak like that, Lady,” Tasha said quickly. “Of course you will return. And, when you do, we will hold a feast over your discoveries.”

“… many people ventured into these plains, Tasha,” Freya said. “Quite a few of them were far stronger than me, and I wager that the vast majority were far cleverer than me. If I don’t return… I have already tasked Ollera to take care of you.”

“I don’t care about that—”

“Hush,” Freya interrupted, pressing her finger against the young girl’s lips. “Pray for me, Tasha. And… wait for me.”

“… I will, Lady Freya.” The young girl said, her eyes growing teary. Freya sighed as she caressed the girl’s cheek for a moment, leaning in and giving the girl a deep kiss.

“Until my return, then…”

**

Swirls of smoke arose from the ground toward the sky, forming a strange canopy above a small and narrow valley stuck between a set of rather small mountains. Lined around a hundred-feet deep lake were numerous beasthide tents, some larger than others, some coated in peculiar dyes, but most blending into the knee-high grass of green.

Two hundred or souls mingled in the midst, some soaking in the lake’s cool waters beneath the scorching sun, some throwing dice and yelling when it rolled wrong, and some smoking ground leaves from thin pipes. Off in the distance, a herd of robust beasts, each around five feet tall and eight long, three-horned and two-tailed, grazed slowly, mowing down miles of grass.

In contrast to the relaxed atmosphere of the world outside, inside one of the tents nearest to the lake, the air was stuffy and heavy, four figures sitting cross-legged on the dry, dirt floor, their clothes made of animal skin. Three women and a young man, the latter awkward-seeming and out of the place.

Of the three women, two appeared almost identical in the make – black hair and black eyes, sharp chins and flat jaws, tall and lean. The sole difference was in their bodies, with one being a layer wider than the other. The remaining woman stood out amidst the four, her hair colored in deep emerald, a pair of lime-colored eyes sticking out against her black skin. Her expression was placid, though turbulence spoke vividly inside her gaze.

“… Chief—”

"We'll move against them," the woman interrupted the young man. "Strike at night, kill as many, and steal as much."

“They will retaliate.” One of the two identical women spoke out in a calm tone. “It is unwise.”

“We didn’t survive thus far by being wise, Esora,” the woman said, frowning. “We’ll do what we always do – flee. The supplies we steal should last us enough until we find another place to settle.”

“… this is a good place, Annoa," the other woman said with a faint sigh. "People are… happy. Beasts are happy. We have freshwater, we have food, and even warm rains. We might never find a place like this again.”

“… they will come again, Hehoa,” the woman said. “And again. And again. If we take this lying down, we’ll forever become their target.”

“…” silence fell inside the tent once again, a heavy and desolate one. It wasn’t until almost fifteen minutes later that the young boy broke it.

"… can't we… mislead them?" the three pairs of eyes that suddenly focused on him startled the young man, Enoh. After all, the three women in front of him combined had over three hundred years of life on him, despite what their appearances might suggest. He, on the other hand, had just recently turned seventeen, and wouldn’t have even been allowed inside this tent if not for the recently-discovered shamanic abilities that he inherently possessed.

“What do you mean, Enoh?” Annoa, the Chief of their small tribe, asked the boy gently.

“You have said, Chief, that during the last Convergence of Tribes,” Enoh continued. “That the Outsiders have started flooding in more frequently and in greater numbers. I am fairly certain, as well, that the corpse we found outside the Bylic Woods was of the kingdom-man.”

“… so what? You are suggesting we pin the raid on the Outsiders?” Annoa quizzed. “That would never work. Not only do we not have Outsiders’ tools, but despite their increased numbers, finding more than ten of them this deep is impossible.”

“No, not the raid,” Enoh said. “We make it seem as though there is a large advent of Outsiders near Rehos’ temporary site. Light the torches at night and such. Then, when their main force leaves to investigate, we can send in some of the Freshbloom to steal their reserves.”

“… it could work,” Esora, one of the twins said with a strange glint in her eyes. “But… we would need to send at least half our Freshblooms. If something went wrong…”

“… we’d become crippled for decades and would definitely need to hibernate,” Annoa said, taking a deep breath. “We’ll do it – I’ll personally lead the charge.”

“Chief—”

“Don’t dissuade me,” she interrupted quickly. “I can cover for the unexpected, and if we are found, I can ensure we flee safely. In that name, prepare everything for quick departure; if we are discovered and identified, we need to be able to leave the moment we return. Right, Enoh… did you see or hear any more from the Veil?” Annoa suddenly asked as though having just remembered something.

“… no,” the young boy shook his head, sighing. “But the dreams of that shadow are increasing in frequency and vividness.”

“If we manage to secure the provisions,” Annoa said, her expression turning serious. “Our next focus should be locating Ecfigies’ Child.”

“… is it wise, Chief?” Hehoa asked. “We do not know whether the Child will honor the Pact. After all, if Enoh’s dreams are true, the Child is young and ignoble still.”

“We have to,” Annoa shook her head. “Birth of Ecfigies’ Child is a direct result of Igneus finding Her successor as well; our only hope of surviving that infernal wrench’s wrath is to seek asylum. Otherwise, not even our ashes will remain.”

“… it really is happening, isn’t it?” Enoh asked. “The Resurrection.”

“It was bound to happen,” Annoa said, glancing at the boy with a smile. “The Fake Ones were always living on borrowed time, Enoh; unlike the Forefathers, they cannot drift amidst the aether and absorb their essence. What they had when they betrayed the Forefathers, is what they were always going to have. Go, now. Make preparations. We strike when the Mother appears in full.”

“Yes, Chief!” the three quickly departed from her tent, leaving Annoa alone. Her expression quickly turned hardened, a sigh escaping her full lips. The day she had feared for one hundred and thirty years, from the day she became the tribe’s Chief at the mere age of fourteen… has arrived. And, she knew, there would be no escaping it, no matter how far away they flee. The Reckoning… is near.