To Feel The Rain: Chapter Two

--- o For the Spooktober Prompt #7: Mirage o ---

   She was tired. It had been what, a week since she last slept? Even longer since she had a proper meal. Her body hurt all over, superficial wounds and shallow cuts masked the constant discomfort she felt, the occasional debilitating bouts of pain that subdued her. They always came at the worst times, though she was careful, they were becoming more frequent now that the seasons were turning colder. It had been days since she ran out of water, persisting on the light snow she could get her hands on, though it did little good and taking the time to boil it into clean drinking water was time wasted to her.

   The cold burned her lungs, furthering the sharp pangs she felt with every breath, every movement. She knew if she took rest, she would lose their trail again. But she also knew she was in no shape to fight once she did catch up to them, so perhaps a brief respite would do her good. At least, it would be had she any food left to eat, and sleep always escaped her so it would only serve to agitate and deepen the anxiety she felt.

   It was quiet. Far too quiet for her liking. She’d usually expect the typical rummaging of wildlife or ambient sounds of the environment beyond the downpour of rain that dogged her every step, for now gentle. Silence like this always preceded chaos, so, like always, she kept her guard raised. A hand firmly on a small pouch by her side, and the other, rolled her wrist as though shaking away joint pain, accompanied by a faint clicking sound of a blade retracted into her wrist, failing to answer her call.

   Adjusting her scarf, she carefully scanned the area around her, taking in every piece of debris and potential hiding spots for ambush or for strays to cover themselves from a stranger such as herself. She could call out to see if anyone was still alive, but that meant dealing with people, and, like always, helping them in some way. It could mean a hot meal and coin in pocket, but any trust she had for such offerings were long gone.

   But how long had it been since she last found a village? They were all mostly abandoned like this one, now a scattered husk of memories and silence. She preferred it this way, people were too troublesome and she avoided them as best as she could, and this one did seem freshly ravaged, so she may just find some scant provisions to take for her journey.

   She sighed, stepping cautiously through the cobblestone road, the only entrance, and exist to this remote village. It wasn’t on any map so she didn’t think it had a name, far on the outskirts of the Dutchy of Catriona in the Vena Abra. Something that did alleviate her frustrations was how fresh the destruction was, buildings  were still smoldering and she could feel the ambient heat scattered where buildings once stood. If she could use it to make a fire, that would be nice. But it also meant she was close to them, perhaps a day or so travel.

   Yet she had a creeping unease about why they had come here. It was so far removed from everything there was little to no point in making the trek, on her own it took three days, for them, moving such a large group would take well over a week. Unless they only sent a handful of them to catch up with the rest later. But why? What was so important here that they even considered making the effort? They never did things on a whim, and they were very careful about covering their tracks. Maybe it was a distraction, a means to shake her off and give them the advantage of time and distance.

   Spying a small clearing in what would have been the village centre, home to a now broken fountain that seeped water, black with soot and ash. What a shame. But that wasn’t what stole her attention; what did, was the crumbled remains of a statue, a totem of some kind that could perhaps shed some light on the context of this place.

   Taking no heed to the scattered bodies, burned and dismebered. Butchered like cattle to the slaughter. Nothing new to her, though she would take notes on their wounds later. There were surely members of the Cult among the dead, and any information she could glean from them would be helpful.

   She took her time to scan the area, periodically clicking her tongue as she oft would when deep in thought. Already parsing out what transpired, where the attack started, who died first. But her focus was paused by the sound of something shifting, the feeling of something beneath her foot which she promptly removed to see a small pendant, and knelt to inspect it.

   A look of surprise washed over her, mixed with a flash of realisation and something akin to fear. Yet she caught it, and breathed deeply holding it tight as her other hand patted down her chest, taking hold of the one she wore. The same one she held, she knew as much as she held them both out before her. Identical, down to the minute details, though the new one was more worn, clearly it had seen better days.

   ❝ What— ❞ She breathed sharply, her mind raced as she attempted to figure out why this was here of all places. There was no way it would be, she had the original in her possession. Was this a fake? No— The craftsmanship was too perfect to be such a thing. A perfect copy? But how, and why? Was it left by the Cultists by accident, or worse, on purpose? Thankfully, the onset of coughing broke the creeping panic that washed over her.

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