Naught But a Dream

Marcus’s lie had bought Cerise maybe a minute and a mouth and nose full of blood for his part. A distant part of him just bemoaned that he’d have to hide the shirt until he could beg off Andrew into finding a spirit that could clean it properly.

In the end, it was clear to everyone that the restaurant’s only other main exit was the back door, and it took one of the underling thugs pointing it out before half the group when charging through, while the leader ordered the other half to keep their wits and exit out the front as a precaution.

“We’re taking him along,” The man said, shaking Marcus a little from where he gripped him by the back of his collar. “The witch seemed just a little soft on him. He might be useful.”

“I have a name you know,” Marcus muttered.

The man scoffed, “I don’t care.”

That lack of interest was good – The men hadn’t bothered to search Marcus’s, so the weight under his armpit was a little comfort, but there was no way to pry it free without getting dogpiled by a group of men who could solve any problem he started with a good set of knuckles.

One of the scrawnier thugs burst through the front door, gleeful. “Darrel, I think we saw her! She’s traipsing along the river way!”

The thus named Darrel grinned in satisfaction. “Good.” Turning around he gave a quick, fierce glance at the restaurant and its patrons, just a few well-to-do customers who were busy ducking their heads and looking away, unfit and unable to intervene. “I trust everyone here knows better than to talk about us, lest we return?”

The silence in the room was answer enough.

Marcus was hauled up to his feet, and kept firmly in the grip of the larger brute.

“Well then, let’s get these two reacquainted, shall we?” Darrel laughed, and all Marcus could do was wait for his moment.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The Arnis Heart River was historical, but not necessarily natural. The story, as best as Cerise understood it, was that land the capital would come to occupy was more flat plain than anything, but as the need for water grew, the king of the era got together a bunch of masters of the Breath, and a few other spiritualists and priestesses to carve out a channel from the mountains to the land, paved with neat stone that would eventually come to feed wells at the edges of the city, and irrigation beyond it.

These days its commercial uses had superseded those old intents, and during the day it was a road for barges full of goods, while at night it was decreed that the river, a living thing as much as everything else in the world through which flowed Breath, be appeased by having its time to itself.

So then it was a place of romance at night, where the city folk would pass by and marvel at how the lamp lights would dazzle the black waters, not unlike how Cerise leaned against the railing and wondered about what tomorrow would bring.

She worried about her departure from Marcus. He struck her as the stubborn sort, which meant possibly giving up on the arena for a long while. What else could she do in the interim?

Cerise wondered what the creation of legally murky and misunderstood potions could offer, and found herself drawing a blank.

So she sighed. There was little to do except be an extra good doctor. Which meant that her home beckoned. Fixing her hair and straightening her hat, Cerise began walking through the throngs of the crowds who were making full use of the evening.

The noise of the city made it near impossible to pick up a certain heavy stampeding of boots until she was hearing men and women yelp as they were shouldered out of the way.

“Oi!” A man snarled at her.

That, the sound of a woman’s yelp, and the dregs of the Problem-Solving Drink in Cerise’s system were what let her turn around just right so her eyes could widen at the sight of a leather-wrapped cosh swing at her. She only had a moment to take just a few inches back so it snapped the side of her nose rather than her temple, making the pain bloom in an agonizing, but tolerable manner, as opposed to knocking her right out.

The pain was an excellent switch, and alertness filled Cerise, making her ignore the blood spilling from her nose so she could dart back until she hit the stone railing of the river’s edge, arms raised, while the civilians scattered in terror, allowing her to see the gang file out and surround her.

A too-large number. She should have run for it.

It only took a quick scan of the row of men for her to realize the largest and most leader-like of the group was holding onto Marcus, himself owner of an unflatteringly wounded face.

“You were following us?” Cerise could only guess aloud, more to herself, even if the leader was more happy to growl back.

“There’s no way some twig of a wench could have taken down Avery. He was a professional soldier. Either way, you cost us, and we’re getting something back.”

“Losing money on a bet is your own fault. You should have just guessed better,” Cerise retorted.

“C’mon, Darrel, let’s get at her before the guards come!” One of the men called out, and the leader nodded.

“Let’s get her!”

For an instant, everyone was focused entirely on Cerise, who was ready to box every man in front of her, even when their hands were reaching into their pockets and under their jackets for whatever weapon they had brought along.

In fact, that was why no one noticed Marcus matching their actions.

Among all the clubs, knives, and brass knuckles that came out, one metal wand joined them, a narrow thing with a green gem for a pommel.

Jerking in the air, and with a mental command, the device injected its imbued Breath into the air and filled it with a storm.

The dust and grit filled wind hit the gang just half a second before it did Cerise, who had seen Marcus turn his head and cover his face. She matched him just in time to hear the gang splutter, cough, and yell.

Marcus wasted no time wrenching himself out of Darrel’s grasp and ran towards his strange ally. Better her than anyone else.

“Cerise!” The researcher yelled. “Come on, we have to-!”

Someone else screamed, his voice growing louder in Cerise’s “You stupid–!”

There was a wet thump, and Cerise suddenly felt someone collapse against her, making her reflexively hold the body up.

As the wind cleared, the witch could see Marcus hanging off her, expression confused and stricken, especially about the knife in his back, and one of the men standing before the pair, partially confused, but mostly just angry.

Cerise kicked twice – one landed squarely between the attacker’s legs, and the next went straight into his face as he hunched over, gagging.

“Cerise…” Marcus choked, as his legs gave out from under him, making him fall to his knees, and the woman did all she could just to hold him up.

Darrel didn’t care that one of his men was sprawled on the ground, or that someone was bleeding out. He was more concerned about rubbing his eyes free of the irritation, before turning his attention back to Cerise, who was just staring down at her accomplice.

“C’mon guys…” He started to speak, but Cerise wasn’t having any of it.

There was a sort of fire rising up in the witch, and it only grew as she saw someone bleeding on the ground because of her. It burned and told her what to do while her pockets bulged with weeks of hard work that sat unused until now.

“...Let’s get–” Darrel began to finish his sentence, but paused as he saw Cerise looking straight at him, eyes so wide it nearly wiped out her humanity. He had never seen someone so locked onto him than now. That was what made him miss the fistful of vials until she raised it above her head.

“Watch out!” Someone yelled, and then the entire left flank of Darrel’s cohort was consumed by a red cloud.

The noises within were completely replaced by retching, choking, and wheezing, as men fought to breathe through the mist.

Darrel couldn’t even begin calling for his men to rally before the ground around him exploded in flashing, deafening lights and thunder. All the while, thumping noises from whatever concoction Cerise had unleashed kept snapping off all about, leaving panicked feet to run in all directions around him.

By the time he could see again, if not necessarily hear, Darrel saw Cerise and the wounded Marcus roll over the side of the railing and into the river. The gang leader staggered to his feet and slammed against the railing to see why the two were drowning themselves. Instead, he saw that Cerise had somehow conjured a sheet of ice on the warm river, allowing it to float down stream, while holding onto Marcus as his back turned red.

Turning one more time to the river bank, Darrel saw Cerise yell something at him, before she pulled her arm back to pitch a vial directly at the railing he was leaning on.

Darrel didn’t know what to expect, save to jump back, which did little when the shattered glass made the air shiver and vibrate, as the strange silvery substance within seemed to fizzle into nothing, right before pure invisible force swept out and smashed into his face and send him to the ground, out cold.

—------------------------------------------------------------------

Late night, some eternity later, Cerise abandoned her icy raft to desperately drag Marcus onto an empty patch of sidewalk that came low to the river.

“C-Cerise… m’dying…?” He slurred, drunken fear radiating from him as he clutched desperately at the witch’s dress, red hands leaving red prints.

“Shut up,” Cerise snarled, checking the wound. The very small consolation was that the blade had stayed lodged in, doing its small part to keep the blood in. Even then, the site was egregiously bloody.

The body was such a fragile thing. Any blade landing anywhere was invariably going to split some vital vein or puncture some organ. There was no time to waste, not even to preemptively check. Cerise saw the end of the road, and how little room there was left.

“Marcus, close your eyes,” She ordered, and didn’t even care if he obeyed.

For the second time that night, she used what she had inherited from the Breath of the World, long before Old Candlethumb had found her and taught her to use other skills.

Her power flowed into Marcus, and saw the split flesh and free flowing blood that could have both drained him and drowned him. She moved fast – knitting and fusing the broken parts, so that the veins were whole once more, sheathed in fat and meat. The stray blood couldn’t be saved, but she could at least have it spill out instead. As each layer was restored, Cerise felt safe to slowly inch the knife out bit by bit.

Eventually, a bloody knife was in Cerise’s hands, and at her knees, Marcus lay flat on his stomach. He was pale, and would need plenty of food to regain his blood, but the split on his jacket and shirt now only showed unblemished flesh and bad tailoring.

Marcus was exhausted, but it didn’t stop him from staring up at the witch in disbelief, while she hurled the knife into the river.

“Cerise… that was…!?” He whispered. “But… how do you…”

She didn’t answer of course. She just looked down at him and glared.

“Never, ever, look for me again. Never.”

Marcus was too exhausted to do much else than lie by that river, unable to follow Cerise as she staggered away, drained.

Here, the streets were darker and less interested in being well-maintained as she came closer to the edge of the city, where her old familiar haunts lay. Familiar enough that the eyes that would spy her would simply assume the blood she was painted in was merely from her medical work. Nonetheless, Cerise suspected the whole outfit would have to go.

Burn it, dump it, whatever would have her lose the trace of this night’s misadventures. Then all Marcus would have to tell were ghost stories and bad dreams – something she’d be more than happy to not corroborate.

But still Cerise couldn’t help but fear that she had finally pushed the limits of her anonymity. No one cared for a doctor to the poor, or a pit fighter catering to raving hordes. But this?

For once, Cerise only had blind hope that she wouldn’t be found, and that her comfortable hole in the wall, shared with her mistress (missing and traveling as she was) would continue to house her.

The witch grimaced and looked up at the dark night.

So all she had was hope. Unbelievable.