The Headwoman's Mercy

With her eyes fixed on the ashen form of Malakor as he navigated the canopy above, Jianna forced her way through a dense barricade of tangled vines and thorny bushes. His movements were a spectacle of spectral fluidity, an unnatural grace that was both mesmerizing and unsettling. A film of sweat glued strands of her hair to her forehead, and the oppressive humidity of the jungle wrapped around her like a hot, wet blanket, leaving her feeling sticky and miserable. She counted it as a small mercy that she had chosen her comfortable athletic shoes that morning; the stylish but impractical combat boots she’d almost worn would have been a disaster. Ordinarily, one's choice of footwear shouldn't matter in a dream, yet the ache radiating from the soles of her feet felt distressingly real. What was decidedly less real, and far more irritating, was the incessant, high-frequency whine of insects that seemed to be buzzing directly inside her skull. If only she could will that away.

A shadow detached itself from a high branch, and Malakor descended, landing with a soft thud just a few feet in front of her. The suddenness of his arrival sent a jolt through Jianna’s system, and a startled squeak escaped her lips. For the second time that day, she found herself deposited unceremoniously on her backside in the dirt, her legs twisted into an awkward knot beneath her.

Malakor loomed over her, his crimson eyes pools of deep, unreadable emotion. "We're almost at a village," he announced, his voice a low rasp, the gravelly texture of his accent as pronounced as ever. "We'll need to acquire some provisions and a meal. I had little time to gather supplies before my departure." He paused, his gaze intensifying. "While we are there, you will speak to no one. And you will do nothing that might attract unwanted attention. Understood?"

Shoving herself to her feet, Jianna vigorously brushed the loose earth from her jeans and offered a curt nod. "Lead the way, demon-dude."

A sneer of pure disdain momentarily twisted Malakor’s features. Without another word, he turned and resumed his trek, though this time, much to her relief, he remained on the ground.

He had been right about the village. It was a modest, primitive settlement, consisting of no more than ten huts arranged in a crude circle around a large, communal fire pit. The dwellings themselves were simple structures, fashioned from packed mud and interwoven branches, their thatched roofs looking precarious at best. Several women, who had been tending to bubbling pots over the fire, fell silent as the two newcomers emerged from the treeline. Their conversations ceased instantly. The men, who had been clustered in small groups chatting or mending tools, likewise stopped their activities, their expressions hardening as their eyes settled on the travelers. A handful of curious children, both boys and girls, began to trail them from a safe distance as they advanced.

The man who stepped forward to greet them was colossal. He was a veritable giant, browned by the sun, with a massive barrel chest that spoke of a life of relentless labor. His arms were so thick with sinew and muscle they resembled the thighs of most men. There was very little fat on his powerful frame, only cords of raw strength. His dark, narrowed eyes lingered on Malakor’s otherworldly appearance before flicking to Jianna’s strange clothing, his scrutiny both intense and unwelcome.

A knot of dread tightened in Jianna's stomach. She shot an anxious glance at Malakor, but the demon appeared unnervingly composed, his face a placid mask and his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His calm in the face of this silent challenge offered her a sliver of comfort, yet she still found herself inching closer to him, subtly positioning his body between herself and the intimidating villager without betraying her mounting fear.

"Who are you, strangers?" the man’s voice rumbled, deep and resonant. "And what business brings you to our home?" The directness of the question took Jianna by surprise.

He certainly doesn't seem like the type to mince words, Jianna thought, taking in the man's rugged face, framed by a wild mane of matted blond hair and a thick, unkempt beard. And Malakor wants to ask this guy for a handout? This should be good.

"My companion and I were… foolish," Malakor began, and Jianna was stunned to hear that his heavy accent had completely vanished. He spoke the Trade Tongue, but haltingly, as if the words were foreign objects in his mouth. "We failed to pack adequate provisions for our journey to Kaur-Koram. I would humbly ask if you might spare some for us." With that, Malakor bowed his head respectfully toward the giant. After a moment's hesitation, Jianna awkwardly mimicked the gesture.

The man’s eyes narrowed further, and a snarl crept into his voice. "My village is poor," he stated flatly. "As you can plainly see. We have scarcely enough to feed our own children. Why would you imagine we have anything to spare for—"

"Oh, come off it, Torvin!" a sharp, feminine voice sliced through the tension. A woman bustled forward, pushing her way through the gathered villagers. She was diminutive, yet the formidable frown on her face was aimed squarely at the huge man, who suddenly seemed far less menacing. His eyes widened slightly as he looked down at her. She punctuated her words by jabbing a finger into his broad chest. "You know perfectly well we have a surplus! And look at them! The poor boy is nothing but skin and bones, and the girl isn't much better! For shame, turning away children in need!"

"But—but, Kaelen!" the large man whimpered, his threatening demeanor utterly dissolving. With every passing second, Jianna found him looking more and more pathetic. "The Troggs have raided us seven times in the last two weeks! These two could be scouts, trying to map our stores."

Smack.

The woman delivered a resounding slap to the side of Torvin’s large head. "Do these look like Troggs to you, you numbwit? Honestly, if you had half a brain in that skull, you might actually be a decent leader. Instead, I have to clean up your messes!" Her piercing eyes then swiveled to Malakor and Jianna. "You two. With me. I’ll get you some stew and enough rations to see you to Kaur-Koram."

Jianna watched, bewildered, as Kaelen turned and marched away. She glanced around at the other villagers, who were now poorly concealing their laughter behind their hands or grinning openly. Her gaze finally met Malakor's. His strange face was contorted in a stoic effort to suppress a chuckle of his own. A slow smile spread across Jianna’s face. She had to admit, the entire spectacle was undeniably hilarious.