Lauryn doesn't clearly remember how she got here. The last thing she is certain of is running across the square to the astikan in a little town, with feline raiders beseiging it on all sides. She has flashes of memory since then: several raiders crowded into a narrow hallway. Skotonys with blades flashing, silver and red. War cries. Agonized screams.
She can still hear the fighting from without, but it's muted by walls thicker than the paper ones she's used to in Laosian houses. These remind her of the thick stone walls of the Astikos she visited briefly in Theolosis. Near her, a wide-eyed human woman kneels on a mat. She holds out a cup to Lauryn. "Asem," she says. It's a Laosian word that doesn't really mean anything, like 'hello'. "How are you?"
Lauryn, who is feeling her own version of war-shock, looks up at the woman and blinks. It takes her a moment to register that the human spoke to her, but she answers in time. "Ria Lauryn is well enough, considering the circumstances. This is my first war. It is not like I pictured it would be," she says. Accepting the cup, she wraps both her hands around it and drinks heavily, finding herself somewhat dehydrated after all the physical, magical, and mental strain.
The cup has lukewarm tea in it, strong and spiced with cinnamon. The woman nods to Lauryn. There's blood on her face and her clothing is torn; Lauryn can see ripening bruises through the ripped right sleeve. A human toddler is curled up next to her on a mat, sleeping fitfully. "Osaon has been raided before," the woman says, "but this is the first time they have breached the walls, since they were built ten years ago."
Thinking the tea is too nice a thing to be present in this hell, Lauryn continues to sip like a starving woman. She finds the cup rattles, and she looks at it -- it's not the cup, but her hand shaking. She frowns at this, wondering when it started, and wishing it would stop. "I saw the large machines at the doors -- did they not have those before? Archon Skotonys said they were 'battering rams.'" She glances off now, suddenly worried for the Archon, wondering where he's gotten off to and if he still lives.
The woman nods again. She looks vaguely familiar, and Lauryn suddenly realizes that it's the same woman and child that the archon and his men rescued earlier. "They have come with rams before, but the shield set above it is new, I think. Before we have been able to slay them before they could break down the gate with it. Not this time." Lauryn shakes, and this time it isn't just her -- the entire building rattles. The woman talking to her puts one hand on the floor for balance.
Lauryn's eyes widen when she recognizes the woman, and is about to ask when the building shakes. She steadies herself and looks towards where she thinks the door is -- the rams must have come. "Ria Lauryn should go," she tells the human woman, uncertainly. She begins to rise unsteadily, feeling her muscles shaking. She isn't sure if the shaking is from exhaustion or fear, but she ignores it just the same. She's used to fear. "But I am happy you are safe -- it if the first time Ria Lauryn has ever helped anyone with her hand or with her /isityros./ But, ... " Once up, she considers returning the cup, but can't quite muster the will to part with it yet, so retains it, " ... but it is not enough. Ria Lauryn is no mathmatician, but even she knows if the door would not hold with all the town, the inner one will not hold with less of the town. And so ... and so ... " She begins to head off, letting her words trail. /And so Ria Lauryn must pretend to be a soldier or a mage again, and hope the only one who die
... dies is the enemy./ She /tries/ to feel confident, and curses it for being so hard to do.
"Wait." The woman stands too, and puts out a hand. She doesn't actually touch Lauryn, though. "The Archon Skotonys asked that this one watch over Ria Lauryn. Please, this place is safe. Do not go."
Lauryn pauses. She couldn't say what she found so absurd about the woman's words, but they struck her in a most peculiar and amusing way. Grimly amusing. Perhaps it was that the Laosians now wanted to protect her, when so many of them seemed more than happy to spit on her and see her put to the sword. Maybe it's the way the injured, suffering woman wanted to watch over her, when she deserved to be watched over, not Lauryn. Or maybes it's the plain absurdity that this place is safe, especially for her. It suddenly makes her laugh, a slightly crazed, unsteady laugh that also makes her want to cry.
And she laughs, putting her hand to her head to steady herself. She wishes the laughter would stop, because it hurts. Her muscles are sore and don't appreciate the jarring, but worse, she doesn't want to cry right now. Not now, when it's so important to keep on. Though it feels lie forever, her laughter lasts but seconds. Once she has calmed, she simply says, "No where is safe where Ria Lauryn walks." It only takes her a few steps from the poor, bruised woman and her child for her to suddenly feel guilty about her actions, so she looks back and adds, "You deserve to to be safe. Ria Lauryn will be fine; this is something she must do. Please let Ria Lauryn do it." She waits for the woman to respond before she continues.
The woman hesitates, looking between Lauryn and the child. "I cannot leave my nephew," she says in a whisper. Then she bows with her arms crossed, her head low enough that all Lauryn can see is the waterfall of her brown hair. "This one cannot stop the ria. Please, be safe."
"Thank you. Ria Lauryn hopes she may talk with you when the war is over," If Ria Lauryn is not a corpse and everyone isn't dead or ... worse. It then strikes Lauryn she should maybe say something encouraging right now, but she's hardly full of encouraging thoughts. She does have endless gloom to share, but that's hardly a help right now. "Ria Lauryn thinks ... thinks what you are doing is very important, too," she offers, awkwardly. Then she bows, before hurrying off to find the Archon.
No one else stops Lauryn from leaving the chamber, either. The corridor outside is ill-lit by a few smokeless oil lamps; most of the lamps are extinguished, however. The corridor runs to the right and left; to the left, the sounds of fighting are more distinct. The battering ram noise -- which hasn't yet been repeated -- was to the right and ahead.
"To the ram then," Lauryn tells herself, finding her own voice as comforting as it was in the asylum. She takes a deep breath and tries to steady herself. What did the Archon say about fighting? Steadiness? Don't give in to an uncalm state? She tries to eb steady. She tries a new approach. Closing her eyes, she opens herself to the winds of magic screaming around her. She reaches, trying to grap it and hold it like a vice, while trying to not let it sweep her away. In previous attempts, she had let it in like a flood, and like a small woman in a flood, eventually she had lost her footing and been carried away, until exhaustion took her. Now she would try something diffrent. Make a stream from the torrent, or at least try and shield herself from the greatest of the river's flows. She extends her hand, thinking of the Archon and his sword, grasping the air, grasping magic ...
The tide rushes into her, a silent force to natural sense and a screaming tsunami in her mind. She gathers it in like a ball, compacting it down, trying to contain it. For the moment, it seems to work. She can feel the pressure building behind her vise-like grip, pushing at the edges of her mind while she tries to keep it checked.
Okay, now she has the power, but she fears it may escape ehr soon. She must do something with it, give it an outlet, if previous attempts -- disasters -- are correct. She quickly searches her mind for something to create, some horror to visit upon the world. As odd as it is to her, she fears the isityros earlier may be 'old hat' by now, that even a terror lessens in time as people grow used to it and adapt. What would scare barbarians who rape and pillage, who murder children? If I only knew more about them, I could shape this better. She considers what needs to be done, as well, and gets an idea: the door. If the door falls, they're all doomed. But the door is their focus, too. If the door were to become as horror ... Yes! That is what I shall do. Hold tight, storm. I will release you soon. She hurries off, to the door.
Lauryn doesn't remember the layout of the Astikan from when she entered; she barely recalls what it looked like from the outside. With the pressure of magic building in her mind, she feels even more disoriented. After what seems like a long time of frantic search, she finds herself on one of the balconies. In the kyria's home, the balconies had decorative rails of lightweight wood. The one here is of bricks, three and a half feet high with slits between it. A scattering of vulpine and human defenders are crouched behind the rail, some armored and most not, armed with bows or slingshots and shooting through the gaps. It's growing dark outside; the sky is indigo, the sun a bloody slash on the horizon.
I'll never find the door at this rate and ... ugh ... I can't hold this much longer. I need to do something, I have to think before my skull splits and all this power pours from it like a broken water gourd. Lauryn clucthes at her head with her free hand, her other hand still holding on to what appears to be air. In Lauryn's mind, it's a sword of magic, the invisible avatr of her restrained power. She looks around frantically for inspiration; soldiers, bricks, walls, the sky, the sun ... She searches for the enemy, maybe seening one might give her an insight.
She's at the railing without remembering crossing the balcony. A middle-aged man with a slingshot grabs for her free arm. "Get down!" he hisses. But Lauryn is looking over the edge, at the scores of armored feline warriors and a spreading -- sail? Sprouting arrows? -- that's below her. Oh! That's the shield over the battering ram. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a couple of ladders going up against the wall, and defenders trying to push them off.
It will. Have to. Do. Lauryn releases her magic against the ram itself, channeling as much of it and of horror as she can trust forth. Any horror is not too great; she's too bewildered to pick and chose. Let is be ... a beast ... to devour and ... defile the barbarian. Thoughts of her first horror in this town emerge, of the slaughter and rape, the children crying -- the screams. Let them have it ... have it back ... all of it ... Power released and shape in mind, she lets herself slump against the inner wall, in to a half-drowsing state with her here and her horror down there, yet both connected to each other. She'll guide it herself, she can't afford to let it go wild this time. She'll just have to endure, as long as she can.
From her new position, she can't see the results of her handiwork. But she hears a fresh tumult from below, and the panicked screams of the invaders. There are horrified gasps from the defenders around her as well, shocked prayers to gods unknown to Lauryn.
Let them ... pray, Lauryn thinks bitterly. She holds on to her magic as she can, gudiing it more as a nebulous force than as a being she can truly percieve or witness. As long as it doens't try and enter the astikos or harm Laosians, she lets it rage. After a while, the screams and prayers become too much, so she presses her ears to her head with her hands.
From the corner of her eye she sees the defenders who are several yards away from her along the balcony rail fall back. Armed raiders stinking of fear swarm over the rail, swinging wildly. An armored vulpine -- Skotonys! -- rushes past her towards the breach with his silver blades flashing.
Lauryn peeks through a half-closed eye at the invaders, noting the fear on their face and in the air. She hadn't expected she'd drive them in to the astikos -- she hadn't exactly been sure what to expect at all. She wonders if she should try and drive her horror away, or end it ... somehow. But by the wild swings, she can't help but feel she struck home; they are afraid, and they're not fighting like she once saw them fight. Maybe it will be ... be enough. Or maybe I'll just ... die ... here. At the moment, both options sound good to her. The horror and the fighting render her spirit, making her half-wish it would all just end. And in it all, the gnawing reminder that she causes some of it remains. Forgive me, Archon. Her eye tracks him, and she thinks about how noble and respectable he is -- so unlike her.
Skotonys fights without sign of fear; the mask on his helm hides his face, but she imagines him with the same calm he wore when stopping her nightmares. His style is a study in contrast with the raiders: swift, sure thrusts against their wild rage-fueled swings; graceful, balanced footwork against their headlong rush. The feline raiders look so powerful, so terrible in their battlelust, putting all their strength unconstrained behind their attacks.
But it's the archon and his men who have the advantage. Three more armored Laosians back him up, along with frightened Laosians wielding hatchets and swords inexpertly. The Laosian warriors glide between the wild swings. Skotonys parries and redirects the force of one invader towards the rail, then knocks him over it with a well-timed kick. He sways out of reach, and thrusts in to skewer another. Another soldier knocks back the ladders; then the rest of the invaders on the astikan are repelled.
A horn sounds in the distance. Cries of hope and relief rise from the defenders in answer.
Lauryn watches from where she rests, or cowers; she isn't sure which it is now. All she can do is watch, holding on to her horror takes all her concentration, and even that's a gamble that risks overwhemling her. So as the tide begisn to turn, she wonders if she should really feel hope, but then the horn sounds, and the cheers arise, and think thinks, could it be over? Did she really help at all? Or did she simply add a vile, horrible thing to a already torn and defiled village. She doesn't know; she can only hope for the best and watch.
When the last of the invaders are cleared from the astikan, Lauryn risks rising. She stands unsteadily, feeling worn and drained as she always does when she uses magic, eroded like a bank against a rushing tide. She doesn't dare look towards the doorway to the astikos, not wanting to see the results of her work. Instead, she calls out in a weak and unsteady voice, "Archon?"
Archon Skotonys has sheathed his swords and taken out his short bow. He's crouched beside the rail again, along with the other Laosians. Unlike the others, he's not cheering. Instead, he aims an arrow through one of the slits and releases it. "Ria Lauryn." He raises his voice without shouting, so that it carries across the balcony and over the sound of the fighting. "Are the isityros under control?" He doesn't turn to look at her; he's nocking another arrow. The horn winds again.
"Ria ... I ... think so. Do not ... no not exit the astikos, Archon, or approach it. Ria ... " Standing seems to be harder nad harder, Lauryn thinks, so she shifts to learn heavily against the brick wall. "Ria Lauryn can try to ... to rid us of the isityros, if the war is over." She watches him fight as she speaks, and still, as ever, he is calm. How she envies him, and at the same time isn't sure she could do any of this without him. For better or worse, the Archon is her stability in the storm.
"This battle is won. Dimiss your warriors, Ria." He delivers the command like a captain to a lieutenant, with that cool assurance of being obeyed, but also a certain something else -- a respect for the subordinate. Her stepmother might have ordered a servant around with words like those, but her voice was always full of condencension or annoyance. When the archon commands, he never sounds like he's talking to an inferior being.
Lauryn's ears perk a little at the respect in the man's voice. It makes her heart glad, instilling her with some measure of courage and strength she didn't know she had left. She nods, a bit akwardly, never having received a military order before and unsure how to respond. She hasn't time to think on propriety though, for she quickly turns her mind to the matter of the isityros that now ravage the the outter city, and their presence is a puzzle she doesn't have a clear answer to. Lacking a concrete means to dismiss them, she begins to try and work the situation out.
First, Lauryn tries to simply unmake them, the opposite of hwo she brought them forth in the first place. She releases her hold on magic, no longer calling it to her, letting it free to flow where it will rather than in to her like water flows in to a crater. Then, she tries to stiffle horror with peace, fera with victory, thinking on the cheers, the Archon, the survivors and their gladness -- including her own gladness. While this first attempt is more positive in nature than she's used to, she's prepared to fall back on a more forceful dimissal.
The air changes. The sun has sunk beneath the western horizon, but nightfall carries the feel of a new dawn with it. Lauryn did not realize how oppressive, how charged the air around her had been until that charge dissipates. Around her, the worries in the defenders fade. A hushed gasp arises, Laosian hands pointing outwards. "Look!" When Lauryn dares to looks up and across the little town, she sees pinpricks of light dotting over the scene of carnage and devastation. The spots of light rise, like falling stars in reverse, and ascend to the heavens.
The horn winds a third time, closer now. With it comes the sound of hooves, and Lauryn knows that they are safe now.
Lauryn exhales a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her whole body seems to untense with the release of the isityros, a night cast away by day. How great a miasma they are! She turns her head slowly to see what all the cheering is about. The rising lights seem divine to Lauryn, like spirits, free of their earthly shackles, now able to ascend to a promised peace. "It's beautiful," she says. She watches it for a time until she hears the approach of hoofbeats, knowing the Tyr's forces have come. They're safe, and her, well ... she's as safe as she ever is.
The reinforcements from Theolisis mop up the rest of the routed feline raiders. Lauryn learns afterwards that the messenger who'd told them "Neyemen raiders" was mistaken -- they raiders were Yemenos. She doesn't really know what the distinction is, except that it's important to Skotonys and he is concerned about it.
What's more worrisome still is that there were riots in Theolisis at the same time as the attack on Oseon. Because of that, Theolisis hadn't spared much for Oseon's defense; it's as well that they had mostly dealt with the threat already.
The lead archon for the reinforcements is anxious to get back to Theolisis. His troops rode hard and fought at the end of it, so prudence dictates they spend the night in what's left of Oseon. Skotonys expects that the attackers will return, or strike at one of the neighboring towns. He persuades the other archon to send mounted patrols to scout the region. But the at dawn the body of the force decamps to return to Theolisis.
Skotonys and Lauryn remain behind. Rio Imiros, the human soldier who came with them, is dead.
Rio Kathiko has his left arm in a sling, but is well enough to ride. Ython, the boy who played games with Lauryn when they were stuck together at the Katharsi House, was badly injured in the fighting, and a stomach wound he took is swollen with infection. He's feverish and too sick to move. Lauryn wonders if they are remaining behind because of him.
Even in victory there seems to be pain and sadness, another fact of war Lauryn has now learned the hard way. From the books she read and from the stories her brother spoke of, wars were supposed to end with great acquisition of treasures, feasts, and glory. This war seemed to end with nothing but dead people, pain, and misery. She can see little gain from this, save that maybe she made a good impression, which her pragmatic side tells her is priceless in her precarious position. Still, she might ahve been just as glad for all this to never have happened and for Laos to continue to have hated her.
Lauryn sits across from the Archon now, in the main hall of the astikos. She's stuck by his side since the invaders were routed, feeling more useful than she ever has. She's been listening to every report the Archon recieves, trying to make sense of both the information and its greater meaning. Politics, as she knows from her family, is a game everyone must play if they hope to be anyone, and Lauryn homes to some day rise. "Archon Skotonys, I know you will speak plainly to me; was I of any use to our defence? Was I simply a nusance?" She had been avoiding this question for some time, half-suspecting the Archon's kind orders were meant to be mroe encouraging than because of any real success.
For their part, most of the Laosians have been avoiding or ignoring Lauryn. She's gotten used to that since she came to Laos Enosi, but it feels different now. At the archon's fort and in Theolisis, Laosians avoided and ignored her as if she were a noxious rodent: annoying and unpleasant, but too much trouble to dispose of. In Osaon, they avoid and ignore her as if she were a rabid beasthound. Or maybe a pet beasthound -- Skotonys's pet. They don't seem to know how to deal with her.
Archon Skotonys tolerates her much as he always has, but there's a reassuring respect in his manner and attitude. When she's with him, he seldom looks at her or speaks to her -- he's busy with this or that bit of work or thing that needs to be managed. But she never feels like he's ignoring her. When she wants his attention, he will give it to her. As he does now in response to her question. "You did well, Ria Lauryn." He sets down the brush in his hand, putting the report he'd been writing to one side. "We would not have been able to reach the astikan without the distraction of the isityros. We might not have escaped the house we were trapped in. I do not think the attack would have lasted the night even if you had not come to the balcony to inflict a fresh horror upon the enemy, but the isityros summoned at dusk broke their morale entirely. Osaon owes a debt to your aid. The tyr will learn of your service."
"Oh." It's really all Lauryn can say to the Archon's assessment of her intervention; she's never been praused so high before, and she can't even find a weakness in it. He was clear and honest, as he always is, making her self-worth in this venture difficult to undermine. It's rather stunning to Lauryn, and for a time she is quiet again, ruminating on it.
Minutes pass, and Lauryn watches the Archon write. Some day, she intends to write just as well as he does in this strange language, but that will not be soon, she thinks. As she watches, another question comes to her, then another. "Archon Skotonys, I have two questions for you. One, who were our enemies? I had heard they were 'Neyemen,' and then 'Yemenos,' but I do not know the different between them, and the difference seems important?"
The archon sets down his brush again. "Neyemen are prodotis without civilization. They are not a state or a people. They are viris. Wandering people. They live by hunt and war. Yemenos are of the same race, but they are a state. They farm their lands. Laos Enosi has been at peace with the Yemenos for the last three years. I do not know the reason for this attack."
"That is unsettling," Lauryn says with a nod. "Perhaps one of the scouting parties will capture one, so that we may know why they have done this." For better or worse, Lauryn considers Laos her country now, and she a member of its ranks. They may hate and fear her, but she has nowhere else to go, and for what it is, it's not so bad. When she says 'we,' she means it. "Ria Lauryn does not look forward to fighting them again, but I have thought of ways to do so, if we must." Lauryn pauses to study the Archon a moment now; her next question sis somewhat peculiar, but has interested her ever since it occured to her shortly before they entered the city. And, given her sucesss, it seems ... polite? Prudent? ... to look in to it. "Ria Lauryn ... has also wondered, but could not know early, about the isityros god?"
"The name is Usulos. Usulos is not of the Five today," the Archon says, as if that were an answer. "During the battle, Ria Lauryn was not in partial, but not full, control of her isityros. You could not direct them to a particular place. But the isityros attacked only the Yemenos, with few exceptions. Was this luck, or skill, Ria Lauryn? Would you be able to do it again?"
"Ria Lauryn asks, because it seems prudent to recognize the deity of one's powers, and to know more about how isityros are seen and known. Ria Lauryn will look in to Usulos, by Archon Skotonys's permission," says Lauryn. She tilts her head to consider the Archon's qustion, pursing her lips a moment as she struggles to recall the hazy memories. "It was will," she offers, after a moment of thought. "Will with cost, Archon. Ria Lauryn thought of the Archon's advice, but could not completly be calm or direct perfectly, so Ria thought of what was most important, and focused on that. Ria Lauryn thoguht protecting the Laosians was most important, as well as defeating the Yemenos." Another pause, and Lauryn tilts her head the other way, then adds, "Isityros are like a river of fear, a flood, and Ria Lauryn stands in this river and tries to direct the flow. But, Ria is growing better with her control, better with her direction, and has learned how better to use isityros, both in control and in finding the
... finding the enemy's fear. Ria Lauryn has learned a greta deal today."
One more pause, and Lauryn nods decidely. "Ria Lauryn thinks she can do it again. Better, Ria Lauryn thinks she knows how to do even better with research and practice. There are things she would know."
Archon Skotonys gives Lauryn a long, considering look. Then he nods once. "When there is opportunity, we will resume practice." He picks up his brush once more.
"Thank you, Archon. I want to do my best to serve the Tyr well, and with skill, as you do, Archon." Lauryn even smiles a little.