Against The Cold ~ Alberose

Chapter 9

Timaeus took a long drag from his pipe, gazing around at their camp. He'd done well -- the cots were neatly perched on a smooth stone floor, a small pit holding Sucrose's pot dug in the corner, warming the small space, and all their equipment lay on a dry patch of rock near the cots.

Albedo coughed, pushing aside the ragged curtain. "Could you not smoke in here?" he snapped, opening the curtain and waving all of the putrid haze out. "The fire makes it already congested, I don't need your tobacco to make my brain go numb."

Timaeus wrapped his coat around himself tighter. "Damn, moody much?" he mumbled, breathing in deeply from his pipe and exhaling outside the cave.

The two alchemists had set up camp in Wymrest Valley so they could study a little closer to the source. Albedo had created an alcove underneath smooth stone so their shelter was invisible if one did not know it was there.

Again Albedo wheezed. "In the name of Barbatos, Timaeus, what did I just say?"

"Sorry," Timaeus uttered, rolling his eyes and stepping out into the cold. "Someone put salt in your chili, didn't they?" he called through the curtain.

Timaeus heard Albedo scoff. "That's a stupid phrase." He sunk into silence until a good three minutes passed and Albedo cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm just . . . nervous."

"What for?" Timaeus prodded curiously.

"Just . . . nevermind. Forget I said anything." Albedo returned to his silence, leaving Timaeus out in the night air.

Albedo was settling himself inside, slipping into his thermal wear and crawling under his animal skin covers. It was a cold night, even for Dragonspine, and Albedo was glad to have Sucrose's fire-pot invention with them. It warmed the small space without fire taking up all the oxygen in the air.

Archons, Sucrose. Again and again, Albedo couldn't stop thinking about her -- how she always helped him, given him tips, shown him better organization tips (although they never worked). His assistant -- no, his friend, best friend -- was consuming his thoughts, altering his perspective, changing his habits, What had changed since he took on the job of mentoring her all those years ago?

Albedo rubbed his hands over his face and let out a quiet groan. He had to stay focused.

The red orb thing.

Right.

The only orbs Albedo could see in his mind now were Sucrose's vibrant amber eyes, sparkling with joy whenever they locked eyes or gazing at something with such fascination that it was impossible not to feel her curiosity.

Dammit. Albedo rolled over onto his side and gazed at the red-hot metal of the fire-pot. He watched the red glow fade in and out, reminding Albedo yet again of the blood-red orb that hung in the air just meters away in the nearby cave.

It matched the red glow of his eyes in his nightmare. It matched the red blood on his hands and the red fog that cloaked him, shadowing him, coaxing him forward into a dark and dangerous destiny, one of peril and threat, one Albedo knew he could never handle, especially on his own.

And, as he sat in this cave with no one -- not even Sucrose -- beside him, he felt that he was enormously, spectacularly, helplessly alone.

☆: *᯽* :☆

The next morning Albedo woke with a start, breathing heavily, drenched in a cold sweat. He rubbed his face, trying to erase the memory of his nightmares out of his mind.

Timaeus lay on a cot next to him, snoring loudly. He reeked of something foul, probably some new alcohol from the Dawn Winery.

Albedo scoffed and sat up, giving himself another shake. He pulled on his coat and struggled to braid his hair back. It was either Sucrose or Klee who'd always done it, and his fingers seemed to turn to icicles in the chilly air.