NOVEL NEXT Chapter 150: Kaim and Akim
"Shoot it!" declared a nomad still in pristine and un-gouged bark armor.
"You guys sure about this?" Jelena asked.
Her gun was drawn. She only had two bullets left, though. Doing this on a lark was, quite frankly, insane. To say nothing of how it would positively ruin their relationship with their gracious hosts if the bullet cut through this armor and killed its wearer. Still, the man standing in a full wooden shell continued to implore her…
"Your funeral." Jelena shrugged. "Literally."
She prepped one of her two remaining bullets. Aimed it at the center of mass, then angled down somewhere around the fellow's lower torso. Better not to go for a kill shot.
If things go south, we'll just wing it like we always do. Jelena checked her aim, then pulled the trigger.
A blast went out over the snowy wastes. They were aiming out of camp, with no chance of the shot flying through a tent. The man in bark armor stumbled back, off balance. He toppled over and rolled on his back in the bulbous shell.
A cheer went out over the crowd of assembled nomads. They rushed forward and helped their target dummy to his knees. The bullet sat embedded in the side of the bark armor. The fibrous wood had absorbed the blast.
With the crowd placated by the strength of their armor, Jelena made her leave.
Calaf was recovering in the tent. It was unlikely that his amputated arm wound would open at this point. His first proper battle off the Menu had gone well enough. They couldn't have chosen a more dire beast to test out, but they'd survived.
In time, they would have to depart for the south. There was unfinished business, after all. She could hear Calaf crying out for Bede's head while they slept. It was an almost nightly occurrence.
The elder's tent sat to the north overlooking that icy sea. There was nobody left to inhabit it. Still, it was maintained and cleaned out by those who stayed behind during hunting parties.
Previously, Jelena described her situation as having 'free rein of the camp.' This was… not entirely accurate. Outside of whiteout conditions, there was always someone snooping around the camp. Keeping track of Jelena. Keeping track of the other nomads, too. It was how small settlements like this kept order: Legions of tattle-tale aunts.
Just like Japella prior to the arrival of the mission. Oh, the old folks that remained in that desert abode were still plenty nosy. With all the now-Branded youngsters who made up the lifeblood of the town running off to pursue levels and ranks in Firefield, however, the village stagnated.
"Hey, I'm going in." Jelena pointed at the elder's tent.
With surprising speed, an older figure hobbled over to escort her.
"In," said the old fellow.
Jelena ducked in. The tent was small, as if meant for a child. The interior was sparse, and not because it was regularly cleaned.
They didn't let Zilara have much, Jelena realized. Brought her out of the tent to use Menucraft or perform ceremonies. The position of elder was not necessarily one of privilege.
"This is all the items your holy child is allowed?" Jelena asked, skeptical.
The old man had trouble bending down. He pointed in vain to a goddog-skin rug on the floor. It took a moment of miming out actions for Jelena to guess what he wanted her to do.
"What, lift it up?" she asked, and received a nod.
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Jelena did so, revealing a natural cave jutting up through the ice. Just big enough for a grown adult to squeeze through. The sides and floor were weathered and worn from generations of use.
"There's no taboo about unbranded or mortals venturing down here, is there?" the relic thief asked.
"None," replied her handler. He handed her a torch.
With a nod of acknowledgement, Jelena ventured into the cave.
Whalebone etchings lined the walls as Jelena crouch-walked into this domain. Some dire-beast had likely used this cave as a den at some point in the ancient past. The further Jelena ventured, the more she began to suspect that this previous use occurred sometime prior to the dawn of the church. The nomads likely reserved this rocky outcropping looking out over the sea of ice floes precisely because of this cavern.
Human modification had transformed a natural dead end into a wide but short circular chamber with a ritual altar at its center. Within was a hoard to make Jelena's relic-thieving heart flutter. All the relics of Acim, forsaken holy child of the ancient heroes, lay strewn about. Tattered garb left over from when the church's higher-ups were of a more secular bent. Basic weaponry from when this child was cast out of the grand cathedral before they were even an adult. Their sibling had gone on to be archpope, while Acim survived only by being picked up by a group of snowfaring nomads.
Not unlike the two of us, Jelena thought with a slight bit of self-flattery.
Acim had integrated into the nomadic society, assimilating fully. They most likely would not; Calaf was actively bouncing up and down in their tent for an opportunity to get back to the south and reap righteous vengeance upon the archpope. Jelena would never feel at ease in this cold. It was funny: she could acclimate well to the temperate weather of Autumn's Redoubt or Riverglen, to the humid extremes of the swampy river basin or the sparse air of the Plateau. But cold snow proved warm sand's polar opposite, an irreconcilable difference. They were both deserts, but Jelena could feel her complexion turning pallid and clammy the longer they stayed here.
Even if Jelena and Calaf did call it quits and lived out their lives Brandless amidst the barren wastes, that was no guarantee their lives would be quiet. The church had to be looking for where that portal Zilara had whisked them through led. Archpope Breakspear's influence could only rise. Maybe there'd be missionaries arriving at this nomadic village one day, as well? There were holy relics to appropriate and souls to Brand. It was as good a motivation as they'd had to found the Japella Mission.
A long, slender rod sat wound up in a frayed bit of cloth. It was a piece of a parchment scroll with one of Cleric Mia's Deepwood sermons upon it. Text had long since faded into illegibility; the nomads not keeping to church doctrine even as they did track Acim's bloodline. Within this frayed and delicate scroll awaited an artifact Jelena was quite familiar with:
A branding iron, rusty and unlit, sat within the scroll. The familiar etchings of the Brand sat on one end. This older model had no proper heat-resistant cloth holder on the back end, or perhaps it had frayed away with time.
Menu-compatible users would have to examine the relic to ensure it was still magically endowed and capable of a proper Branding. Still, it ought to be a matter of heating up the 'Brand' end and applying it to a person's skin.
Thousands of willing converts voluntarily underwent this procedure each pilgrimage season. To think its origins were as a demonic slave shackle…
Jelena held her hand up to her eyepatch. She hadn't known that when she'd converted. Calaf's parents and their parents before him had lived and died under the Brand, ignorant of its purpose. Altering the Lord's Shackle from a symbol of slavery under the oppressive demonic yoke to a voluntary outward expression of faith was, well, quite the rebranding exercise.
It was only because the Menu was objectively quite useful that such a poly had ever worked. Jelena would admit that, and she'd blinded her Branded eye to escape the power. Crouching there, holding the branding iron… she couldn't help but admit the temptation was there to have at least one Menu-compatible member in their band. They'd both inherit the levels they'd had prior to their respective Scourings. Level forty-eight for Jelena, and level seventy-plus for Calaf.
Would Calaf go back to being a Menu-vaunted Paladin given the choice? The Interface would help with combat even without his missing left arm. Tempting, yes, but Jelena didn't have the heart to bring it up to her beau.
The last artifact was nearly missed as Jelena assumed they were round stones carpeting the floor. Level up baubles! Many baubles, of many kinds, littered the floor. They would not have been banned as a heretical cheat item in Acim's time. The exile must have taken a hoard in their Inventory upon being cast out. That haul now sat in the ritual cave, to await the use of the next adherent in the holy bloodline.
Another reason they couldn't stay in this place. Even if they integrated fully into the nomadic lifestyle, Zilara was still out there. Calaf and Jelena owed it to themselves to resce the holy child. For the good of Zilara, for the good of her nomadic people, and because they were her caretakers, Menu-damnit. They'd failed to keep her safe.
Jelena turned to crawl-walk out of the cavern.
"Find what you need?" asked the older nomad.
She looked back to the Branding iron, and to the baubles on the floor.
"I think I have," she said, and hurried out of the narrow cavern.