Claude de Lune

Charon

Ten days. Ten restless days.

One would think that hiking through a region with no netherborne biting at his ankles would make for a pleasant experience. But no, these ten days were more miserable than the journey to the coast with Amadeus and Undine.

Because the netherborne were still here, but instead of lurking in the trees, they lurked in the edges of his mind. Every rustle of grass woke him, and he'd sit up with his sword in a white-knuckled grip and come face-to-face with some curious woodland creature that had wandered into his campsite.

Then he'd lie there until he either dozed off again or the sun lighted the east. He spent his mornings and evenings walking, and stayed sheltered from the unbearable heat during the middle of the day when the sun was at its highest. When nightmares didn't trouble him, his hand did. The cramps lessened, but the pain did not, and it left his hand so sore, he could barely drag his trunk.

Now here he stood ten days later. In Jibari. In front of what he was told were the necromancy archives. The building stood flush against a man-made cut in the mountain. Massive stone pillars held up the portico, which atop sat statues of creatures he had no name for. Arched windows stared down at him like scores of judging eyes. He'd arrived shortly after the sun silhouetted the range to the east, and stood there in the shadow of everything he'd dedicated his life to.

And he hadn't moved since.

There was nothing special to Jibari, just a cluster of buildings along a single foot-beaten road. No market, no industry, no government. Just homes. Residents had peered out their windows and doors, but no one bothered him. This windswept valley was quiet, save for the constant whir of the breeze and the occasional birds passing overhead. The mountain range shadowed it from the sun in the morning, but said sun was quickly encroaching on his back.

Foot traffic was heavier at the Archives with people flowing in and out the building. Some nodded at him, others regarded him with a frown. He guessed most of them assumed he'd become a permanent feature of the garden. The tall trees had kept him cool along with occasional breeze blowing off the valley. Every time he tried to take a step forward, his heart would flutter like a caged bird trying to escape and his legs would seize up.

Claude swore softly to himself and sank to his knees on the garden path. He'd lied to himself. He couldn't do it. But turning around and going home was the coward's choice, and he'd promised Amadeus. Damn it.

"What are you doing down here on the ground, sweetheart?"

Claude looked up at the elderly woman towering over him. Greying hair spilled from the wide-brimmed straw hat shielding her hair. Her smile was sincere as the lines cut into her face by the wisdom that can only come with age. Behind her stood a much younger, wiry man, the handles of a wheelbarrow burdening both his hands, and his glasses slipping down his face. A bush with blooming yellow flowers took up the entirety of the tray.

"I apologise," Claude said. "I didn't mean to get in your way."

"Oh, you're not in my way." She adjusted the bag on her shoulder and a set of gardening gloves peeked out. "I'm just on my way to plant this new bush. My son got it for me. He always finds such nice varieties. But enough about me, what's got you down?"

"I..." He shook his head and stood. "It's not worth your time. I just have someone I need to find, and an important message to deliver."

She nodded and brushed a stray leaf from his shirt. "Well whatever it is troubling you, I'm sure it'll work out in the end."

"What if it doesn't?" He blurted out the question before he could think better of it.

"Whether it does or doesn't, you'll never know if you stand here forever, child. My son is in charge here. I'm sure he can help you with whatever you need. He's a smart boy." She gave him one last serene smile and continued down the path.