Broken Parts

Avii wasn’t certain how long he sat in the silent cavern until they found him. How long he remained at the side of Jonas, allowing the man’s blood to soak into the seat of his jumpsuit. The blood of the last Maldainian now that Avii no longer saw himself as such. For him, Maldain died with Jonas, and all that remained now of the once proud nation and its people was a spectre. A revenant. A monster wearing the face of a mule.

For all Avii knew, it could have been hours that he remained beneath the surface. Or maybe in those moments he sat there, his hand resting on the man’s shoulder as the body grew cold, hours could have bled into days. It was impossible to tell as eventually even the glow of embers disappeared, shrouding him in the very darkness he felt in the pit where his soul had once rested. It was then that time became meaningless. Whether or not sleep found him didn’t matter because all he saw was darkness. It had consumed him. Broke him.

The only thing he knew was that he had screamed long enough to strip his voice, leaving it raspy and shredded. He had demanded Harbinger answer his questions. But it was quiet. He begged. Plead. Cried out for someone, anyone, to hear him and answer him. He wanted to know why. Why he had lived for so long, just to kill the first Maldainian he rested his eyes upon. Why he had been born and thrust into a world of such pain and torment. Why he was forced to keep living, when everyone else around him died.

But his calls were left unanswered. Just darkness and silence embraced him.

Then, some time later, with his voice shorn and body numb, they came. When he was at his lowest, broken and lost in the abyssal darkness of his mind, a single beam of grey light shone from above. It washed over him, reminding him of the world beyond. Of his mission to lead his captors to his home. To the mountain where it all began. But all he could think was how he hoped, somewhere along the way, it would become his time. That he may have the chance to go the way of Jonas. To be reunited with his family once more.

—ooo—

Nearly a week had passed since the assault on the prison camp. In that time, the limited remains of Ragart were found and laid to rest, as were the dozens of Estarian prisoners that perished in the fight. Rites of passage were whispered in prayer over the mass grave that the swamp had become, where thousands of souls had been discarded like waste for the carrion to feast on.

But more than Estarians were present in the camp. Others were also found enslaved by the Koviks. Strange beast folk from neither nation, who were nothing more than nomads that once wandered the vast plains. For those broken people, it was not freedom that came for them but merely a shifting of hands. Their chains passed along to the ones they previously toiled alongside, as the surviving Estarians were armed and sent north back to Sigil Stone.

As they were hauled away, Avii watched them from a distance. Their defeated looks, having thought they had finally found salvation, only to be marched towards a new mine or field. Heads hung low, tails and ears limp, they were nothing if not Maldainian in spirit. They too did not have a home. Destined to always be the slaves of nations that fought for every scrap they could take. And as one particularly broken vulpine-looking girl stared his way, with deep blue eyes that looked on from cracked, ashen skin, he merely turned his head. There was nothing he could do for her. Nothing he could do for any of them. For he was them. And they were he. Slaves.

Eventually their group too began their march south. Now short two soldiers, they took the updated map of the territory and treaded carefully. Taking up a new cart and filling it with everything they could find, Avii pulled them along. And though they continued as if life could return to normal so quickly, Avii remained changed. No poking at Sebastian. No trying to persuade Ostave. The mule simply followed orders, starting and stopping when commanded, and sleeping just long enough to stave off exhaustion.

It was one particular morning, shortly after departing south from the camp, while Avii stared down at the food he had been given, that he felt someone approach him from behind. Not bothering to look up, he tracked their steps by sound as they moved around his blindside. Drawing near, they took a seat close to him, atop the fallen tree that he had chosen to rest while consuming his porridge in solitude.

“May I sit with you?” Priestess Vivat spoke, her voice soft and concerned.

“I have no say in the matter,” Avii replied numbly as he scooped a mouthful of slop up with his hardtack. "Priestess."

Quietly chewing, as to not disturb the priestess, Avii stared forward. He listened as she stirred in his blind spot, adjusting her posture. Then, slowly creeping into the vision of his one good eye, he could see her extending something towards him. With a subtle twist of his cheek, he beheld a red-skinned fruit. It was firm, and from what he remembered of his childhood, the flesh of it was crisp and sweet.

“Apple?” She asked, holding it before him.

“From what I remember.” He answered, turning away.

“Uh-no,” Vivat corrected, pushing the fruit closer. “Would you like an apple, mule?”

“Keep it, you need your strength, priestess.”

“We have plenty. Please, take it. As a thank you.”

At these words, Avii lowered his bowl of food and turned his face to the woman. He stared at her soft features, dirtied by travel and worn by war, but still youthful. Still holding hope, a faith bestowed upon her by the Gods she believed in. His vision shifted down to the apple, its unblemished surface polished enough to catch the dull sheen of the world around it.

Avii wanted to say no, but he feared the repercussion of rejecting her gift. So, with a cautious reach of his hand, he gingerly plucked the object from her palm and brought it to his chest.

“Very kind of you, priestess.” He replied, not indulging in the apple, but instead placing it beside his food. “But if I may ask, for what reason am I being thanked? It is my purpose to pull the cart and lead you towards your goal.”

“Yes, yes, it is.” She softly replied with her gaze still locked on Avii’s face. “But you didn’t need to save me in the forest. Nor did you need to rescue Sebastian or Rag—”

She choked on her words, looking away as Avii did the same. His memory flashed to the night of the raid. Ragart’s pleasant demeanour in the moments before he was gone. The group hadn’t asked Avii about what had happened. In fact, he doubted they knew. All they found of the dwarven serjeant was his forearm resting in a pool of blood and his broken hammer where the explosion had lit the sky. They didn’t know that his death had been in no small part because of Avii’s presence. Because he had gone against Ostave’s wishes.

“You know,” Vivat continued after a moment of silent prayer. “Ragart had shown interest in talking to you. Curiosity about your time before the war. Allegedly he had relatives there as well, Estarian dwarves aiding Maldain in the mine. He had been curious if you had run into them.”

“I never knew.” Avii lied, having overheard the very conversation she spoke of a few nights before the events of the camp. “What was his clan’s name?”

“I-I—” She stumbled over her reply. “He and I weren’t terribly close. You see, I was a recent addition to his squad after the sudden death of High Priest Drasdent. Unfortunately, I only ever knew Ragart as Serjeant. And he, me, as Priestess. I-I-I was only selected to be on this mission because of my favouring by the Lieutenant. But since he left us, I wonder every night why I am here.”

Avii remained quiet, his head tipped down to the apple. Yet another death that weighed on his soul. Another man saving him from the Koviks. With a clenched fist, he could feel his armour tightening around the apple, threatening to crush it.

“You are here to complete a mission for Estaria.” He spoke softly, his raspy voice barely audible. “You are a priestess of the Gods. You walk in Their light to heal this fractured world.”

“Yet,” She spoke, her hand reaching out and taking Avii’s chin to pull it towards her. “The one who is the most injured, most broken, refuses my healing. Will you not let me mend your eye?”

Allowing Vivat to control the movement of his face, he met her gaze once more. Concerned eyes took him in, inspecting the dirty bandage that he had applied using Jonas’s tattered cloths. She reached up, her hand touching at his temple and causing him to flinch. Not in pain, but in fear that she would steal away the memory. She would heal over the wound that reminded him of his sins.

“No,” He breathed. “I wish to keep it. To remember.”

“What happened in that cavern, mule? What occurred that has left you so subservient these last few days?”

“Why do you care?” Avii snapped without thought, quickly quieting himself before looking away. “My apologies, priestess. I just do not see a reason why the likes of yourself would waste a morning with a mule.”

Vivat adjusted herself, standing for but a moment as she walked before Avii. There, the priestess knelt so that she could look up at his face, her eyes glimmering with something different. It wasn’t compassion, but faith. A religious conviction that he saw in all Estarian holy casters in the moments before they spoke of their Gods.

“The Gods whisper to me, you know?” She cooed as though she were revealing a profound secret. “They guide my hand. Tell me where to go and who to aid.”

“The Gods care not for the mules.” He replied coldly.

“That is where you are wrong. The Gods have spoken to me. Not in words, but in dreams. They come from on high, telling the tale of one who would save us all. And when I asked Them in these dreams to show him to me, so that I may aid him, it is not the face of Knight Ostave or His Holiness Grantuurin or even that of Emperor Pirth. They show me the face of a familiar mule. They show me your face. For, to Them, you have a purpose.”

The words chilled Avii to the bone as he heard the voice of Harbinger in those words. Though it had been silent for many days, just the phrase spoken aloud made him remember it. Remember its pestering reminder that he has purpose. That he must live. That he must kill.

“Dreams are dreams,” Avii whispered, lifting the apple to behold it. “I recommend you see them as such, priestess. For I have no purpose. I am merely a mule. Now, thank you for the apple, but please leave me. I wish to finish my meal before we depart, and it is uncouth for a mule to eat before an Estarian.”

“Will you not at least let me change the bandages of your wound?” She breathed a final request. “So that it does not grow infected?”

“It will be fine.”

With a defeated frown, Vivat stood, dusting herself off before taking hold of the amulet around her neck. She silently held her ground, bowing her head in prayer before acknowledging Avii a final time.

“Very well. May the Gods watch after you and protect you. Also, Ostave wished me to tell you that we leave in an hour. Prepare yourself, for we progress deeper into Kovik territory.”

And with that, Avii watched as she walked away. He followed her with his gaze, waiting for her to step back beyond the veil of the spell that shrouded the soldiers and their cart.

Looking down at the apple in his hand, he sighed and, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the fruit over his shoulder. Avii was not interested in divine pity. Even though he was surrounded by magic, both arcane and divine, he held no belief in holy beings. Especially those that would say they cared for him. He wanted something real. So instead, he continued to eat the slop he had been provided. For at least he knew what strings came attached to that.