Siege State
Chapter Thirty-Two: Rest and Relaxation

Tom and Val left for Corin’s Grove the next morning. Tom found he liked autumn in the Deep. The weather, while colder, was not unpleasant, and the light at dusk and dawn set the golds and reds and browns of the forest alight. Tom marvelled at the myriad colours, the all pervasive green, of course, but now a backdrop to the quilted change of seasons.

He was not looking forward to winter, about a month away now, however. They only rarely got snow, but the temperatures would drop once more, and he imagined he would be spending many cold nights in the forest, if Val had anything to do with it. Cold, and wet too, likely. And without even the reprieve of beautiful colours to distract him.

He sighed at the thought. At least there’ll be different plants and herbs about. Different monsters, too, though.

As the sun rose above the horizon, bathing the world fully in mellow light, they stepped from the Deep and onto the small path that meandered between apple and peach trees and into Corin’s Grove.

The path, rarely used except for Hunters, and the Reapings launched from here, was wide, though not well-trodden. It ended abruptly, some hundred yards before the trees, at a small earthen wall and ditch the villagers had made. It was barely chest high, but anything was better than nothing if something wandered out of the Deep Green.

The entire length of the ditch was staked, at least, bar a small gap at the end of the path. Each outer-ring village, on top of their usual work, was tasked with holding back the forest itself. The regular supply of lumber provided more than enough surplus. It ensured the villages could stake not only the entire ditch, but place them in tight, bristling rings around each home in the village proper.

Once again, not much use against a drake, or an old enough golem, or anything even approaching village-killer status - but better than nothing. The illusion of security is often as much an aid to morale as enchanted stone walls.

As they walked down the path between orchards, Val turned to Tom. “You might want to sub Sesame, now I think about it. The villagers will shit themselves if they see a six foot bear wandering in.”

Sesame sent a mildly confused query to Tom. He couldn’t understand Val as well as him, but enough to get the gist of what she’d said. Val had explained a few days ago that being partied up helped a little with party members’ familiars understanding other party members.

The issue here was not one of translation though, but of perspective. Sesa seemed to think of himself as being rather small and cute, and humans simply as being even smaller, though spindlier and knobbly.

Tom snorted at the sentiment, and drew Sesame over to him. He sent the bear a feeling of regret, and a promise to be summoned again soon. Sesame sent him a feeling of aloof dignity, and when Tom hiked the left legs of his pants, he touched his nose gently to the bottom of the tattoo there.

There was a strange, not flash, but distorting, and for an instant it appeared as though Sesame was composed of the tattoo lines, or perhaps that the lines of the tattoo had spread and snatched him. In either case, the big bear was there one moment, and gone the next.

He spent the next few moments reeling as scents assaulted his nose. He could smell the earth, dry and hard and dusty, having been without rain for over a week. He could smell the apple and peach trees, light and fragrant and woody. There was smoke from the village, laced with iron and meat and baking bread. He could smell Val, a homely scent, leather and cotton and soap, and Scorn and Smitten too. He could even smell villagers working in the orchards nearby. It was overwhelming. He had no idea how Sesame managed it all.

“I think you should sub Scorn too, he’s scarier than Sesa,” said Tom, once he’d collected himself.

Val just chuckled, though whether at the joke or at his discomfort was hard to say. Scorn looked as though he was making a particular effort to show the comment was beneath his notice. Smitten turned back to them with a happy grin, her tongue lolling out one side of her mouth. Within another quarter hour, they had reached the village proper.

They didn’t seek out the mayor, her being too busy with her day-to-day business for interruptions. Instead, they headed for the meeting house, which doubled as a sort of tavern. Extra care had been taken to reinforce the walls and foundation of the large space, so that it could be used as a shelter in a pinch.

There, Val had a brief talk with the proprietor. They left all of the various goods they’d brought in with them, to be distributed out to the village, or ferried back to Wayrest, depending. He handed Val a few fat gold coins, set on one side with Wayrest’s concentric rings, and the other, with the sun of Truth. She also got a handful of coppers too.

It seemed a ludicrous sum to Tom, but then again, the goods they brought in could either not be found elsewhere, or were outrageously expensive to import. Still, it was far, far more than they would need to restock. He quietly reassessed his estimate of Val’s wealth. She already had a mansion’s worth of essence stones in the chest under the oak. If all her trips back to civilisation were even half as lucrative, then she must have a king’s ransom stashed away. If they ever rescinded her exile, she could wreak absolute havoc on their economy. As they left the meeting house, Val noticed him watching her with a ponderous expression, and gave him a sly grin.

“Time for the best part then, let’s go get some food,” she said with hearty cheer, and she led the way across the village square towards the bakers.

They were halfway across when Tom froze mid-step.

“Is that a Tom-fucking-Cutter, I see!?” came a shriek from behind him.

He turned to see none other than Rosa Raventos striding across the square towards him. She was dressed in the uniform of the Guard, her jet black hair pinned in a bun, dark green-enamelled breastplate shining in the morning light. It seemed she had finally graduated from the Academy, and been posted to Corin’s Grove, no less. Her face, as usual betrayed no emotion, other than her hooded eyes trending slightly towards boredom or disapproval. Two more Guards, both men, one an officer, trailed her across the square. She stopped in front of him, hands on hips, looking him up and down.

“Hear you manifested a fall before me, you fuck. Congratulations!” The corner of her mouth might’ve twitched, ever so slightly.

“Ooh, looks like you’ve got your hands full, Tom,” Val said, chortling at him. Then she stepped around them. “Officer Dale! Good to see you! Seems as good a time as any for a chat about the Deep. You don’t mind having Rosa here keep an eye on young Tom do you? New to the Hunters, you see, don’t quite know what he’s capable of. Yes, yes, good. Now, about three days ago, up north more, mind you, I saw drake tracks, not too big yet, but…” She trailed off as she led two amused Guards away, back to the meeting hall.

Rosa simply stared at him, one eyebrow arched. Not a single hint of her having noticed the by-play. Tom wanted the ground to swallow him up. Dealing with her always made him feel like he’d turned up to a dance and forgotten all the steps, but he’d never thought of her in that way. He’d never had the time.

“Uh, hey Rosa. Good to see you?” he managed.

“Fuck’s sake, Tom,” she sighed, and gave him what might have been a pitying smile. “Come.”

She led him to a small green just off the village square, situated around the village well. The whole area had small apple and peach trees planted at alternating intervals, with a small, figure-eight path leading under them, the well at its centre. Low wooden benches stood under each tree. Rosa chose one for them and sat, arranging herself as though she were a queen set to conduct court. Tom perched beside her, feeling like a scarecrow in a seamstress’ shop. She regarded him for a moment with liquid dark eyes.

“I heard about your Reaping, Tom. I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you. I can’t imagine.”

“It’s done now,” he said quietly. “And there’s no changing what happened. I just …wish I could have saved people. Clairvine, the Guard with me, she…” he trailed off, suddenly unable to continue the thought.

Rosa gave him a moment, saying nothing. She just gave him a look full of compassion, and gently patted his knee.

He marshalled himself. “Idealists, they’re supposed to make a difference, you know?”

“You can’t help where Goddess sets your feet, yes? That would be putting yourself above her, and I know Tom Cutter is not stupid,” she said with some conviction. “You must trust her. Now, tell me about these orcs.”

Tom stared at her, looking for some hint of mockery in her eyes.

“Fuck you, Tom. You think me stupid!?” she flared, “I know a liar when I see one, and I know you, Tom. These two things are not the same. Now, tell me. I must know more if I am to prepare.”

She waited impatiently on a response while he gathered his thoughts. He hadn’t expected someone to not only believe him, but to actually want to act on it, and so it took him a moment to form a coherent reply.

He told her of his capture, and how they were dragged through the Deep. He told her of his escape, and how Gad had been tortured to death in front of him. How Sam, and the two soldiers had died. How he had been chased, pursued, hunted, endlessly, all the way back to mere hours from where they sat now. She listened attentively the whole time.

When he got to his rescue, he found himself continuing. Something in her placid expression, a softness in her look paired with an understanding in her eyes, drew more from him. He told her of the Hearing, and of his sentence. Slowly, then, he ran out of words.

“Okay, I was worried, but this is simple. I will talk to mother. If the Council is too stupid to act, Raventos will not be caught lacking. Do not worry, Tom, this thing will be taken care of.”

Tom felt his throat get thick. It was a sweet thought, and he knew that the power and sway of House Raventos was nothing to sniff at, but it would not be enough by itself. Nothing would be enough, without the Council’s say-so. Still, her words touched him. He spent a long moment staring at the grass.

“Tom…” she said. The hesitance in her voice was so unlike her that his focus snapped back to her face immediately. “You mention Suffering… I always suspected. Your father, he is …not well liked. But this… it is too much. Know that you are not your Ideals, they are just one part of you. I know you are not this.”

Her perception surprised him, though maybe it shouldn’t have. Knowing how long his journey to manifest was, knowing, just as he did, the pressures of noble life, having access to the noble rumour mill, and knowing he had manifested Suffering for his troubles - the pieces were all there for her to put together. Hot tears stung his eyes.

Suddenly, Rosa pulled him into a hug. “It’s okay, Tom,” she hushed at him. “Like I have said, these things, they cannot be helped. I know you have a kind heart, even if you have a thick head.” He heard the smile in her voice. “You will make the best of this. You will be a good Hunter.” He pulled away, trying to dry his eyes as surreptitiously as he could. Rosa pretended not to notice.

“You don’t think Suffering is …strange, then?”

“It is certainly …unusual, but all Ideals are Goddess-given. To spurn them, to say one is above the other, to call one anathema - it is throwing the greatest of Her gifts in Her face.” She mimicked spitting to her side.

“Church of Truth indeed…” she muttered. Rosa’s family were originally from Horizon. There, they followed the Bloody Scripture. Their own take on the Goddess was as far removed from the Church of Truth’s as could be.

They believed that Goddess bestowed Ideals to us, and it was our holy duty as Idealists to use them to cleanse The World of monsters. They saw monsters and mana beasts that could use abilities without holding Ideals as heresy. It was for this reason that the monks from the Monastery above Horizon undertook their Bloody Pilgrimages.

The Church of Truth believed that The World was trying to bring us closer to Goddess through Ideals, and that only those Ideals made in the light of her image could do so. The Goddess was perfect, as their canon went, and so it logically followed that any unsavoury Ideals could not bring you closer to her.

Tom, for his part, took a different view on things, and had even before his manifestation and exile. He was …not necessarily atheistic, as he believed in higher powers and the inexplicable, but he found too many inconsistencies and flaws in any religious dogma he’d studied so far.

“So,” she began anew, straightening herself. “You’re not going to congratulate me then?”

He stared at her blankly.

“I have a pick now, you goat!” she punched him on the arm.

“Oh, that’s amazing news, Rosa!” he exclaimed, genuinely happy for her. “What did you manifest?”

“Smoke!” she said her chest puffing with pride beneath her plate. “To go with my Fire, of course!”

Tom let out a low whistle. Fire was deadly enough as it was - he had seen Rosa spar at the Academy every day for years. Smoke would add versatility to her skillset. Tough to pin down, harder to injure - his mind spun out the possibilities.

“None of that!” she shot at him, interrupting his thoughts. “I see your mind is still taking off with the fairies. Time for lunch, I think. Then I should be getting back.”

“Fire and Smoke are okay, I guess. But they’re no fall,” he told her as they stood, trying for humour as he summoned some of her icy imperiousness.

“Fuck you, Tom! Suffering? More like Insufferable! You think, just because…” And she continued to good-naturedly excoriate him all the way back to the bakers.

And all the way through lunch.

And on the way to the meeting hall after.

Tom had missed it.