The Night Rider

Chapter 58 - Defiance

Fallblayze was her favourite season.

It was the only sentence Nivara could cling to even as the anxiety of what she had just done echoed like the thoughts in her mind. She could die. Right now. Without a word. Because of a word. She could lose it all with just a Russian roulette of a choice. A shuddering breath that ended quicker than falling asleep. Painted as a kindness even though it was never a choice and always came with regret. Not from her but from those she left behind. Those she dragged down with her.

She brushed her fingertips against the grooves of Kaldra’s scales, asymmetrical and closed her eyes. She never gave her mask a second thought. The little noises built up a picture of her mind, the smell of the lunch she just had with people she never met morphed into her mother’s home cooking just outside the Snake Huts. The smell of burning plants ate away at the smoke and concealed what treasures of smoked meat and vegetables, sending sand and chilling air through the home she loved. That desert wind was why the season was her favourite.

That desert wind reminded her of her mother: Fiora. She was more than a graceful squall of wind but the quiet fury of someone who could outwit a thief and out charm a proprietress in the space of an evening. Without so much as a drop of alcohol and several round sessions of Wyms and Wards she had successfully gotten the thief wrapped around her finger and enough coin to set up her own herbalist shop. After all, that very thief was once her father.

The memory of her mother’s steadfast nature made her thoughts a little sharper on the prospect at hand. She could move. Something that was a rarity in those who experienced it firsthand. Her senses were active, her thoughts racing but still present even as her anxiety threatened to overtake her. She had seen what the Eternal Death took from her family first hand long before any Mist Maiden had taken her in and shown her the cost of a healer. This was not it.

"Is that an accurate breakdown for you, Raven Lord?"

Nivara’s voice didn’t waver, still hoarse from all the explanation she had done prior but who could blame her after throwing her hat into the ring. She suppressed a wry smile, thinking of how her surrogate mother Odi would’ve appreciated her response despite her adoration for puns. Especially if she had seen how close she had been to a mental breakdown.

But she could at least relate to the amount of stress over just a single vision and how cautious every member faced whether they were included or not. Nivara had every right to still be pissed but she was involved now and this web was hers to weave whether she liked it or not and she'd be damned if she didn't earn her place. Regardless of how much of an orator she was.

“I cannot say either way, Stormkeeper. You know that. But I appreciate your candour in our cause. But you’re right about one thing. I did judge you too quickly and for that I am sorry.” Rayner dipped his head a little, his silver mask pinching at his nose even as the light glinted off it from the Sunspell globes above him.

But Nivara couldn’t focus on his apology, her hands still shaking at the reminder of the threshold she had just broken. The smell of incense ached at Nivara’s heart, the thought of a lone Tinker Mole praying just outside these four Charger Craft contained walls, her mind drifting to her days as an apprentice Mist Maiden and caring for so many patients.

The smokestack that used to be the main area to help the wounded was surrounded by riots and ransacked homes, the hot dust being masked with the overpowering clean, fresh smells to hide the sour smell of the Eternal Death. Nivara rubbed at her arms for comfort, rushing through the signs of the ashen disease as best she could with her time assisting matrons and fellow healers.

One moment a Traited could be coherent and the next they had begun to turn to ash in seconds before anyone could reach them. Nivara couldn’t forget the wails from the families returning only to see a pile of ash where the person they loved. The sudden, unexplainable events would send people flocking to the closest healer even as the rules were recited over and over that only a senior matron can perform the ceremony.