Avishraa Reloaded

When An-uxhwi awoke, he might almost have been back in the mine again, though it was not nearly that gloomy; from somewhere out of sight, the Gentle Eye shone obliquely through slits in the wall, casting narrow bars of light on the floor outside the cell.

The cell itself was simply an extension off some larger chamber, separated from it by bars; these were made of stone, fused into the ceiling and floor, but a slightly different color than either. One might guess, given their captor's abilities, that he might have made the bars on the spot, solely to contain them.

Both An-uxhwi and Evrith had been deposited on spreads of cloth - some kind of wool, it seemed - on a floor that had somehow been polished smooth, and stone bowls, filled with water, had been set just inside the bars.

Evrith appeared to be in the midst of some kind of troubled sleep.

There was no lingering pressure in his skull when An-uxhwi came to, making him suspicious of the reality that contained him, as though it were all merely an elaborate ruse - although for what purpose, he couldn't guess.

Only slowly did he accept the truth of his circumstance.

Only slowly did a dull panic about Evrith's state creep into his thoughts.

Unharmed but for the bruises of battle, he shuffled over to Evrith, keening very softly, carefully easing her head off of the wool to cradle it in his arms, lightly resting his own muzzle against her neck just under her jaw, making soft mewling noises, like someone whose most trusted friend was slowly dying in their arms. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Evrith didn't wake, though she shifted slightly at his touch. Her forepaw wandered, making twitching grasping motions.

An-uxhwi shifted the least problematic arm into a slightly more strained posture, letting his fingers grasp for Evrith's forepaw as he refused to loosen his sorrowful embrace, fingers finally closing in around and squeezing the reaching paw.

And then…

Evrith had been right in that it wasn't really sight. The mind was not really seeing. It was sketching into the imagination from knowledge of some other source; what was seen wasn't the true image, but a imagining of a description, flowing in and always being refined with other detail. Not just imagined sights, either, but smells and sounds.

There was the desert, in all its vastness. But the stars and the Burning Eye wheeled backward overhead, impossibly fast, and the desert turned green with grass and little streams began to meander across the land.

Then the vision erased itself, and was replaced. It was the same set of rooms he and Evrith had just been in, but filled with Soakers, most of them in armor. Racks of spears and javelins stood against a wall. There was a sense of tense alertness in the air. From somewhere out of sight, someone barked orders in some unfamiliar variant of Imperial.

This, too, was erased, and now the vision became blurred - or perhaps there were many visions, superimposed. There were witches fighting Soakers, calling down fire and cracking the ground, summoning visions of horror both real and illusionary. There was an indistinct figure, a brief flash of white in the darkness, that was then obscured. There was disease. There was something that fell from the sky, and darkness.

Another vision. A little Soaker girl, whose rusty color mirrored that of Evrith, tugging frantically at her parents' arms. “You have to come too!” “No. Your brother will get you away. We'll come looking for you.”

Evrith was no telepath. An-uxhwi could not share her thoughts. But it seemed possible to share her visions.

An-uxhwi let go almost as quickly as he'd touched the paw; it was enough to be flooded with causally disconnected impressions, their bewildering clarity cutting through his own thoughts, drawing on the same resources. By the time he realised he'd sucked in a breath and jolted in instinctive response, his fingers had already freed themselves.

For a moment, he held himself still, shell-shocked by the visions, the imagined after-images still so vivid as to leave him effectively blind, oblivious to his surroundings. Then his emotions caught up to the tide and he clung to Evrith, his anchor in the here and now, and sobbed, issuing a sound part howl, part whimper, temporarily overwhelmed.

Whether it was An-uxhwi's touch or his mournful vocalizations, Evrith apparently perceived his presence on some level; she shifted very slightly, curling toward him. But, for the time being, she remained asleep and otherwise unresponsive.

Their attacker, by contrast, had evidently heard, for it was not long afterward that he entered. Though he carried his cloak with him - he had evidently been using it as a blanket - he was not wearing it, and most of him was visible for the first time.

He was lean, though not nearly as skinny as Evrith; he apparently got enough to eat to maintain himself. He was a light green all over, save for odd patches of a darker green on his left foreleg and the left side of his muzzle, and there was a perpetual look of suspicion in his blue eyes.

He was slightly taken aback by the way An-uxhwi clung to Evrith. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but probably it would've been something more… defiant? Sullen?

All things considered, An-uxhwi rapidly recovered from his shock, the sob morphing into laboured breathing, then into a calm sadness at Evrith's state. As time went on, the temporary wounds the visions had torn into his mind were forgotten and his focus shifted back to fussing quietly over Evrith.

He was less distressed now that he knew she still fundamentally had her ability and thus likely her mind, but still presumed her to be damaged to a degree he felt himself incapable of assessing. The result was a deep, paternal concern, a gentle, respectful, soothing petting of her neck and head, with his gaze locked on her, searching for signs of lucidity.

When their captor arrived, An-uxhwi took a moment to notice the presence. Too worn out by the visions and his worries, his expression barely darkened as he looked up at him, leaving him with an air that would register to a fellow xtauh as a deep disappointment and wariness rather than anger.

Of course, their captor was not a xtauh.

On the other hand, he was a telepath. He had certain advantages in interpreting An-uxhwi's state of mind, even where empathic shielding might render it opaque to another.

When their captor spoke, it was in a dusty, slightly halting voice, weary and long disused. “She is… temporarily unable to direct her attention. It is not permanent.” He glanced at Evrith, and twisted his head in a shrug. “And it will give her some uninterrupted sleep, apparently.”

An-uxhwi narrowed his eyes, lightly baring his teeth. “What interest do you have in our misery?” he asked. “We have done nothing to you. What do you hope to gain from our incarceration? Information? Slave labour? Desperate fealty?” Quaintly, his tone was not purely one of accusation - there was curiosity there, reflecting An-uxhwi's poor understanding of their plight.

Their captor's nostrils flared. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed at the latter two suggestions. “Mostly,” he said, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone, “what I hope for is to ensure that I don't get killed. But secondarily, yes, information. I want to know who sent her and whether she remains in communication with them.”

An-uxhwi shot the Soaker a look of deep scepticism, as though the ask was ludicrous for reasons other than his or Evrith's resistance to his prying. “If you truly believe she has been sent, then I question the sanity of whoever did so in first placing her into the hands of slavers, at whose attention she suffered illness and might nearly have died.

“I have seen my fair share of stupidity, but that I cannot fathom. Further, it fails to strike me as some clever ruse, done simply to serve as a plausible backstory - our journey alone has left her weak and battered, hardly in a 'useful' state to anyone, let alone equipped for some petty combat you seem to fear.

“Understand, I tangibly owe her my life and my only regret is that I seem poorly equipped to repay her. Yet you, not having suffered at her hand at all, deem it fit to judge her enough to… twist her mind, or strike her down. I am thankful that you haven't killed her, but I thank you for nothing else.

“You have deemed it fit to harm us without any provocation when we sought only shelter and safety; for that you have only my resentment.” An-uxhwi delivered his verdict with a verbal shrug, hardly expecting his captor to care about the assessment, but evidently wanting him to make no mistake about it.

Their captor appeared to accept the verdict. “Understand me, then: I have not escaped the judgment of the Citadel for this long by being trusting. They wish me dead, and I, I feel rightly, do not wish to be dead. They have sent agents after me before.

“So imagine this, if you will: I have found a place. It is isolated and forgotten. I have lived there for many turns. And then, while out gathering, what do I find but two individuals - one xtauh, and one Chosen - moving directly for that place?

“Chance, perhaps? Ah, but no: I see in her mind that the Chosen knows it is there. She leads the way there on purpose. How? She sees the future; she is an oracle. Oracles are rare, very rare. They say that generations pass before one appears.

“And what a strange fortune it is that such a rare breed, one of the only ones who could find someone who had deliberately lost themselves in this world, should be here - in this place, at this time. But I did not begin with violence. I tried to deflect her away, to make her destination unattractive. If she had no mission in mind, perhaps it would dissuade her. But subtlety did not sway her, at least not quickly enough.

“Because when you suggested that her mind was being affected,” he added bitterly, “she began seeking me out. And do not tell me that physical weakness would mean anything; she can kill from a distance. I saw that certainty in her mind. When she found me, she could have done it, and would have. And that, little one, is when I 'saw fit to harm you without provocation'.”

This last came with a near-snarl of frustration that their captor could no longer keep out of his voice. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and and continued, “Slavery, illness, weakness… you may well have witnessed her suffer through these. Why, indeed, one might ask, would she be sent into such a situation? But I would answer: why, of her own will, would she do so in any case? She could see them coming. If not some grave mission or purpose, what would possibly be worth it? Has she told you where she is going, what she is doing?”

An-uxhwi's expression remained impassive through most of the tirade, darkening only briefly at the insinuation Evrith's state was somehow inherently his fault in some preventable way.

Aware of the fuzzy nature of Evrith's future sight, he found the notion that she had meticulously planned this beyond ludicrous. Aware their captor at least claimed to have insights into their minds, he inwardly questioned why they were being questioned.

Indeed, either he was right about Evrith's intentions and there was nothing An-uxhwi could do to change the fact - or he was wrong about Evrith's intentions, but transparently unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that he had misjudged the situation. In either case, it was pitifully clear that there was nothing An-uxhwi could do.

When their captor finished his rant, he tilted his muzzle. “You seem to have made up your mind about this conspiracy theory,” he said, softly. “I suspect there is no merit in talking about it any further; since it appears we are at your mercy, I await your whim.”

Said, he closed his eyes, rubbing his muzzle along Evrith's neck. “I regret not having had the strength to protect you from this,” he whispered to her.

Their captor looked annoyed. An answer to his question would have been helpful. For everyone.

In truth, he was not quite as sure of his theory as An-uxhwi thought. Oracles were rare, and the Citadel knew it better than anyone. To send one away for any reason… but then, if not that, then why was she here?

There had to be a reason. There had to be a pattern.

The xtauh would obviously not be of any help. The green was quite sure that he believed everything he said, but that did not mean he was correct. He could be misunderstanding. The oracle could have lied to him, or at least hidden truths. There was no way to tell merely from conviction.

If the xtauh could offer no clues, then the oracle would have to.

“She will require more time to rest before I attempt to get answers,” their captor said at last, “and frankly, so will I. When she wakes, then I will ask her what I need to know. How unpleasant that will be will depend on how cooperative she is. If I am satisfied that safety and shelter are all she sought here, then the both of you will have whatever apologies and assistance I can provide. If not-” He gathered his cloak around him for warmth. “-I will have other decisions to make.”

Whether he had heard their captor or not, An-uxhwi made a semblance of soothing, fatherly noises at the sleeping and confused Evrith whose head he still cradled in his arms, if far less fervently and desperately now, convinced at least that she wasn't on the brink of death or non-existence.

Behind his closed eyes, he dared to dream of apologies and assistance. Grimly, he doubted any would be forthcoming.