Chapter Six : The Flight

“Make for the treeline,” was all Flash said over his shoulder as they ran, Morgan again at Armenise’s side as the Amazon half-ran, half-limped her way as fast as she could. Flash had scooped Nerea up again – although the young doctora looked to have regained consciousness – and even with the added weight, he was still much faster than the general and her friend.

Morgan followed; Flash had chosen a beeline for a nearby forest, and Morgan knew that their only chance was to lose themselves somehow and figure out the wheres and hows later. Armenise was groaning in pain, but the General knew they couldn’t dare to stop until they were well-hidden in the trees. She only hoped that their captors hadn’t searched her armor entirely; she always kept a spare potion or two tucked into a pocket in her armguard, and this would allow Armen some freedom of movement until they found a real healer or greenwitch.

Greenwitch. The thought reverberated in her head, and Morgan swallowed hard against the rising of hope. If Nerea was really a greenwitch, even one for as small a village as her own, she should be able to brew a real healing poultice: Morgan’s drugs wouldn’t heal the wound completely, merely take away from the pain.

Beside her, the Amazon stumbled and fell, and Morgan’s fingers wrapped themselves around her upper arm, hauling her upright again.

“No,” Armenise panted. “I’m holding you all back – go on – I can hold them off if they come -”

Morgan shook her head grimly, knowing as well as her friend that it was not an if, but a when. “You come with us,” she said sternly, but with the hint of a knowing smile. “I know you and your self-sacrificing ways all too well.”

The ghost of a smile passed over the other woman’s face briefly. “As I know your loyalty all too well,” she replied softly. “Morgan, it is not worth it.”

“You saved our lives,” Morgan said firmly, “you and Nerea. Come.” And as Armenise grimaced again: “Would it be better to carry you?”

Armenise wavered on her feet for a moment, shaking her head violently, but Morgan set her face decisively and scooped up her friend in her arms, settling the Amazon’s weight against her breastplate and forging on. Armenise tentatively wrapped her arms around Morgan’s neck; the situation was too dire for any awkwardness. Besides, Morgan had carried plenty of soldiers in her time, male and female.

“We must at least get into the trees,” Morgan said, running again. She’d be tired later; for now they had to catch up with Flash and Nerea before they all became separated.

Flash had realized he was moving too fast – he’d always been fast – but he had no choice: he wasn’t strong enough to carry anyone for too long, and he knew they needed to find shelter, and quick. Nerea had awoken; he could tell by the way her arms were now clamped around his neck in panic as he wove his way through the trees. He spared a thought for the humour in the situation – him, the gallant knight, carrying the fair lady to safety – and then ducked around a low-hanging branch, hearing Nerea gasp and clutch him even tighter.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice breathy from running.

Nerea swallowed, hard. Of course she wasn’t okay: she was terrified. She was on some continent in gods-only-knew-where, with people she didn’t know chasing her, in the company (and the arms) of people she only knew a few hours’ better; and on top of it, she’d just changed for the first time in almost a year, and it had knocked her out. She was scared, she was hungry, and she wanted to go home and –

“I think so,” she replied faintly.

“We need – to find water,” Flash panted; trying to make conversation while running may not have been the best idea, but for a man like Flash, every situation was a good situation for conversation. “Cross water, break up the trail, follow it downstream and hide.”

“Stop, then,” Nerea said, and let out an involuntary squeak as he did immediately; her arms tightened around his shoulders, and she flushed in embarrassment. He was looking down at her and she suddenly realized how utterly humiliating it was to be carried by some man she’d never met – first things first, Nerea.

“I can – I can always find water,” she stammered, and closed her eyes and thought. It was true: she’d always been able to find little streams and brooks in the woods around her home if she’d been wandering too long. There was something about the water itself, and whether it had to do with her powers or not she’d never known; but if she took a couple stationary seconds, she should at least be able to get a bearing.

Flash looked up as Morgan approached, carrying the Amazon in her arms; they exchanged a glance, but whether it was concern or camaraderie Flash couldn’t say. “We need to find water,” he offered to answer the question in Armenise’s eyes. “She” – glancing down at the doctora’s pale blue hair – “claims she can find it.”

“Put me down, Morgan,” said Armenise quickly. “I can help with this.”

Nodding, the general carefully set Armen’s feet on the forest floor. The Amazon crouched, burying her fingers into the ground, calling out to that magic: mother earth, hear your daughter, and feeling the response burn through her. It came all too quickly. She dug her fingers deeper into the earth, sending out thoughts, trying to map the area around them.

Nerea’s eyes opened and her gaze met Flash’s: “There’s something that way,” she said, lifting one arm from around his neck and gesturing. “A stream of some kind.” Her gaze fell on Armenise and she said curiously: “What is she doing?”

“The same thing you are,” Morgan said. “It’s not the Amazon forest, but earth is earth, and Armenise can map it.”

The Amazon stood up, swaying a bit, and gestured in the same direction. “There is stone that way, and water,” she said, her voice faint, “and we should be able to hide there for a while.”

“Waterfall,” Nerea said, closing her eyes again and nodding as she mixed the new information with her own. “It should provide cover.”

Armenise nodded, weary, and Morgan rushed to catch her, saying: “Come then. We must make haste.” She reached one hand up beneath her breastplate and pulled out a small vial, and Flash’s eyes grew wide: this was the potion-magick of the alchemists of the Fire Clans. The drugs they made were dangerous: they would ward off pain and give strength, but they did not permanently heal. They were also expensive, although the Maridian Army would certainly have kept them in stock.

“Drink,” Morgan said, handing the tiny vial – the length of her pinky finger – to Armenise. “One sip only.” The Amazon drank dutifully, grimacing, and Morgan herself took a half-sip before handing it to Flash. He took a tiny bit, dubiously; he’d only used these once or twice, and warily. Nerea sniffed it before finishing off the last couple drops and tucked the small bottle into a pocket in her skirts: it would not do to leave this behind.

They set off, Flash leading, Nerea in his arms still with her eyes closed, feeling for the water with that strange sense of hers; Morgan following, carrying a silent Armenise. They were all silent, as if they’d finally realized how exhausted they were, and every iota of strength had to be saved for moving forward. Morgan’s arms were weary, but Armenise’s eyes were flickering open and closed, and the general recognized the first signs of woundfever, and pressed on.

They found water: a broad stream, ankle-deep. Flash strode right in and Morgan followed, the water rushing around their boots, a shock of cold as it splashed them. Walking midstream, they continued a while – Flash had stumbled once or twice, but Nerea said nothing – until the stream broadened and dipped over a drop perhaps the height of Nerea’s villa.

Flash carefully set Nerea down and told her, “Wait,” and scurried over the rocks – he was still light and lithe, although they could all see in his eyes how tired he was – and leapt from one rock to the next until he was out of sight behind the waterfall. When he appeared again he was soaked, but his eyes were bright and fierce. “If you can make it down here, there are some caves we can tuck up in,” he called.

Nerea followed, slipping a few times on the slick rocks, the edges of her long skirts soaking the water up; Flash extended a hand for balance, and she took one last large step into the darkness. Morgan was helping Armenise, who was finding balance particularly hard with her wounded leg, over the rocks; the general was standing in the water itself, waist-deep now, her hand steadying Armen’s as the Amazon made her way around the outcropping and Flash grabbed her, now carrying her back into the cave and laying her down to rest.

Morgan stepped in herself, soaked through to the core, and immediately shed her armor and breastplate. “We need a fire,” she said, glancing at Armenise, who had curled up in a ball on the ground. “The potion won’t keep her from fever for long.”

“I’ll go,” Nerea said, surprising even herself; the general’s eyes swung around to look at her, and she said tentatively, “If I – if I can find a couple of things I can make her something that will help with the wound, they should all grow around the stream, I spotted tresfole a little ways back, actually, and …” Her voice trailed off.

Morgan nodded. “Just be careful – if anyone is chasing us, and they spot you, they’ll recognize you immediately.”

“Tell you what,” Flash said, adjusting his twin daggers in their sheaths. “I’ll come with you. I’m fast enough to get away, we’ll be okay.” He grinned at Morgan. “I’ll get wood while she gathers up whatever she needs.”

Morgan threw a calculating glance between him and the girl who was poised at the edge of the cave, shivering slightly – but a moan from Armenise focused her, and she nodded grimly. “Nerea, Flash, be careful. Flash, bring back firewood as soon as you can, and then assist Nerea.”

“Yes, general.” Flash gave her a cheeky salute – however, it was the correct one – and followed Nerea out of the cave.

The girl managed to fall in the water twice before Flash caught up with her, fastening a hand around her small forearm for balance; her teeth were chattering in her small face as she looked up at him, and her eyes – behind filthy glasses – were terrified and tired.

“T-thank you,” Nerea said as Flash guided her over the rocks and to the banks of the stream. “I – I’d be scared out here by m-myself.”

“It’ll go faster with two,” Flash said with a roguish grin. “Besides, if anybody finds us, just change into a tree or something.”

The girl’s face flushed bright red, followed by pale white, and Flash sighed inwardly as the hair – damp and ragged as it was – fell before her eyes again, hiding her. “It doesn’t work like that,” she whispered fiercely.

“So how does it work?” Flash asked curiously. “You really one of the old changelings? A nymph?”

She looked up at him sharply, but her face was not angry, merely curious. “That’s one of the old names for it,” she said, softly. “Nymph is what they called us in -” A gleam lit her eyes as she put two and two together – “but you are from the South.”

“Changeling, then,” Flash said jovially, tucking more wood into his arms. “What’s it do?”

But Nerea shook her head, pale lips pressed together, as she bent and plucked a few leaves off a plant before her.

“Aw, c’mon,” Flash urged, flashing a charming smile and attempting puppy-dog eyes; Nerea looked up, quizzically, and then ducked her head behind her hair again. “Tell me a bit about it?” His voice was full of curiosity, but Nerea seemed overly shy.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, surprising himself.

“You…” She trailed off, fingers resting in the midst of a festoon of greens. “You’re not … mad about it?”

Flash almost let his astonishment show for a moment. “Mad at what? That you turn into a snake? No way. That’s sexy. It’s awesome.”

Nerea, however, was ignoring his words. “I – I mean - that I – that I didn’t say anything.”

Flash simply shrugged. “Your secret,” he said. “We’re not soulmates yet, sweetcakes. And what – you think nobody else here has weird things going on?” He leant toward her as if in confidence and whispered: “Morgan’s nickname is the Raven. If anybody should be ashamed of anything, it’s her!”

Nerea glanced up at him, complete confusion written across her face.

Flash shrugged again. “Shouldn’t be ashamed of it,” he said bluntly. “Saved our lives. Not a big deal anyway. Look, lemme take this wood back to the cave, I’ll be back here before you can spit.”

Nerea nodded stiffly, her long fingers digging up the tresfole root as her mind whirled: not a big deal anyway. Not a big deal. Right. And I’m the King of Maridia.

Despite her fear – or perhaps because of it – Nerea worked quickly and efficiently, so that by the time Flash returned she had gathered up a skirtful of herbs and roots; she’d hiked up the top layer of her ruffly dress to carry these, revealing a pale underskirt. They made their way over the stream and back into the cave, where Morgan had a small fire going. Armenise was sitting up, leaning back against the cave wall and looking pale.

“Right,” Nerea said, her voice small but sure. “I will need boiling water and a plate to put over the fire.”

Eventually they’d rigged up a makeshift lab, using a cup Flash had in his pack to boil water and bracing Morgan’s shield atop two rocks over the fire – “Don’t fret,” Morgan said sternly when Nerea balked at using the general’s ornate armguard to mash up leaves, “it’s only a piece of armor.” And Nerea got to work, quietly but efficiently, mashing and mixing herbs and roots and steaming them in the water until she had a poultice, which she then wrapped about Armenise’s wound and bound with a length torn from her underskirt.

The Amazon’s eyes flickered closed as the warmth seeped in. “Thank you,” Armenise whispered. “I had feared poison.”

Nerea managed a small smile. “The amsdale blossom will keep poison off,” she said. “The best thing you can do now is sleep.”

Armenise leaned her head back against the stone wall, eyes still closed.

“We might all sleep,” Morgan suggested, but Nerea had turned back to the hot plate over the fire, now tossing various amounts of certain leaves into the cup of boiling water. “What’s this?” the general asked.

Nerea didn’t even look up as she answered. “An infusion of amsdale and some kiri leaves; when you boil them, it makes a tincture of sorts which will relax muscles and help heal bruises.” The voice, this time, had the clear inflection of an instructor talking to a classroom; Morgan thought of Herman, and smiled.

Nerea stirred the cup one more time and held it out to Morgan. “Here. It may taste funny, for I have added no menthe, but it will help.”

Morgan sipped: the brew tasted strangely of greens, but she drank obediently, passing it on to Flash. He drank, then Nerea drained the dregs of the cup, wincing slightly at the strength of the bottoms.

“Sleep,” Morgan suggested again. “Not for long – only enough until Armenise has healed some, then we continue to move.” She arranged herself facing the mouth of the cave and, struggling slightly, cast up a defensive veil. “I will take the first watch.”

“I’ll take the second, if you wake me up,” Flash called, already comfortable against the back wall of the cave, and Morgan nodded once.

By their breathing, she guessed her companions were asleep almost at once. She didn’t blame them: the poor young doctora must be exhausted and confused beyond belief, and they owed much of their escape to Flash’s quick thinking. Morgan settled herself against the wall of the cave, feeling Nerea’s draught spread slowly through her.

They had, at least, confirmed for good that the Eastern Militia was at least somewhat involved in this. The man Jocelin’s words in the execution chamber came back to her: something about a list, and about soldiers of destiny? And he had known them all – called them all by name. It would not be surprising for someone to know Maridia’s youngest and most famous General, but what did the others have to do with this? Perhaps even the doctora had been well-known at some point, but why were Armenise and Flash on this man’s list? And what was the list?

Her mind tried to draw some sort of connections. She, Flash and Armenise had all been soldiers – but Nerea had no connection with the army. Likewise, she, Armenise, and Nerea all were connected to Maridia and the Northern continent; but other than Flash’s stint as a spy, he had nothing to do with the North. They had been born in four different places of the world: Nerea’s home was Maridia, Armenise’s Rothandra, whereas Morgan was an orphan of the Lucent Isles and Flash was, presumably, Southernborn.

In fact, Morgan thought with a chuckle, it would be hard to draw together four people more unlike each other. But what sort of list would collect various types of people? And for what purpose? And more importantly, what did it have to do with the East’s apparent goal of securing themselves a beacon?

A rustle behind her disrupted her thoughts, and suddenly Flash was beside her; his eyes were groggy with sleep, but his movements were still fast as quicksilver. “Hey, General Raven,” he said with a grin. “I changed my mind. How’s about you keep watch for a little while longer, and I go scout around a bit?”

Morgan fixed him with a look. “Running off on us, are you?”

Flash shrugged. “You’d be alright without me. Nah, I wanna go check something out. I noticed something when I was out there with Nerea, and I might know about where we are.”

“And if anyone finds you out there and asks about us?” Her voice was sharp and pointed.

Flash shrugged again, grinning. “If I’m right, the only soldiers wandering these woods will be ones from the South. And, if you remember, I am a member of the Southern Army.”

“When it suits you,” Morgan retorted, and Flash gave her a very cheeky wink.

“Sit tight, sweetcakes,” he said as he stood. “I’ll be back in a bit.”