jaskoleczka | { pfsb } a test

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{ pfsb } a test

Avallac'h was meant to follow me, but something went awry...

It's a quiet night, and the Scottish skies at the end of the universe are filled with to the brim with soft gray clouds. The waters of the little inlet and around the lake lap lazily at the shore. Deep in the lake, the giant squid cruises idly for food, trailing its tentacles like smoke through the water. In the stables, the horses whicker quietly to each other. All is peaceful, and perfect.

Until some of those soft, contented sounds turn sharp, and anxious. Wood rattles as nervous horses begin pawing and kicking at their stalls, tossing their heads, wide-eyed and alarmed.

And then a flash of light splits the clouds with a horrible sound as of a great deal of air being displaced all at once, and then: nothing.

The horses calm. And somewhere, far out in the lake, there is a splash.

***

Ciri surfaces with a splutter and gasps for air as she turns her head, taking stock of the situation.

This is...not Velen. At least, it's nowhere in Velen she recognizes. "Avallac'h?" she calls, her voice echoing strangely over the water, but just inflating her ribcage to project her voice has her wincing. The water is too dark to see through, but she knows what she would find if she could: a faint dark cloud that is seeping from the wound in her side and the tear in her shirt.

"Wonderful," she says to herself, and eyes the distance to shore. It isn't far – fifty yards, perhaps – but she's exhausted from the ambush, the flight, the portal, and she's already lost a lot of blood.

But there's nothing for it: she grits her teeth and strikes out for shore, hoping against hope that this lake is not home to drowners...or worse.

In the end, she almost makes it. There's the shore, only twenty yards, ten. A few feet. Everything goes black, and when she comes to, she's washed onto a sandy beach that makes no sense with the cold lake water she's just escaped – but that's all she has time to determine before exhaustion and pain told firm hold of her reins, and she collapses into a heap on the shore at the end of the universe.

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That's worth a smile; a real one. "Nice trick," she says, and glances in the direction he'd mentioned.

She looks behind her, too, and her smile fades, replaced by a frown that tucks itself between her brows until she turns back to him. "Alright, then. Lead the way, Lan Wangji. I'll buy you a mug of ale for your trouble; it's the least I can do."

"It was no trouble."

He gestures in the direction of the inn, and paces along beside her.

"You are a swordswoman?"

"In a manner of speaking."

But there, above the tower, you see? A swallow. The symbol of hope. Take this sword. And may what is to come about, come about.

The glance she casts his way is easy but reveals nothing, the casual wariness of a life spent on the road, of a waif who has been lost many more times before this. "You must be, with a blade like that. I've never seen anything like it."

"Its name is Bichen. It is a spiritual blade."

He lifts the sheathed sword up higher as they walk, so that she can see it more clearly.

"Yes, I am. It is part of my cultivation practice. Use of the sword, to train the body, in balance with the spirit."

"It's beautiful," she says, honestly. "I've seen a lot of things, but I've never seen anyone fight with a blade which shares their own living energy."

(For those who have the eyes to see, Ciri herself is a glowing font of magical energy...but it is passive. For now.)

Their conversation takes them to the door of the building Lan Wangji had indicated, and she pulls it open without waiting, only to gape at what she sees inside:

People. People – and...creatures? – from a dozen different worlds or more. All sitting in quiet conversation, or milling about, or laughing with companions. She sees men with swords and leather armor that remind her of...and she sees women in long dresses and women in trousers, like her. She sees the young and the old, all marked by their own unique world, all communing comfortably together.

And then, there's the window.

Her eyes glued to the explosion and waves of fire through the glass, she feels as though she's falling directly into it. "What is this place?" she whispers, as softly as if she were in a chapel.

Bichen vanishes in a flicker of pale blue light as he returns it to its hidden storage and moves past her to stand just inside the door. He waits quietly while she absorbs the sight, letting her get past her initial shock.

"An inn. Although a very strange one."

She is staring at the window much as he had, much as he figures anyone must. Remembering what Gaeta-qianbei had told him and how it had helped, as much as anything could, he says,

"What you see. It is the end of all things, but it is not -- real. Or not here. If you watch long enough, it starts over again, and repeats."

If she had seen him vanish the sword, she would be all over questions about how and where, but she's too busy gaping at the window.

"Tedd Deireádh," she whispers.

Verily I say unto you, the era of the sword and axe is nigh, the era of the wolf's blizzard. The Time of the White Chill and the White Light is nigh, the Time of Madness and the Time of Contempt

As if in a dream, she walks forward, toward the end of all things, and reaches for it – only to be met with cool glass against her palm, and to blink herself back into the present. "Incredible," she says, softly.

"Mn."

Agreement, in a single sound.

"I've traveled through more worlds than I can count," she says, turning back to him, "but I've never seen anything like this."

There is, at least, one familiar sight: she'd recognize a bar no matter how many fripperies surround it. She smiles, and claps a hand on Lan Wangji's shoulder. "Come, I'm hungry and thirsty and I wish to thank you for your aid. Let me buy you a drink, and perhaps we can exchange stories of how we both came to the end of the worlds."

He has never been a person that people have casually touched, and he is startled at her quick camaraderie -- but not disconcerted by it, and is then surprised at himself at how much easier it is for him to accept than it used to be.

She is recovering swiftly indeed. Perhaps she will not need to see Ford-daifu, or another such. He, for one, will not press.

A faint, faint smile touches his lips in answer, and he nods to her.

"All right. If you insist. But I do not drink alcohol. I will accept tea, however, and would willingly share tales."

"Good!" she says. The magic he'd done – the spirit he shared, it hasn't healed her fully, but she feels almost good enough to be on her way. A little food and companionship should get her the rest of the way there; she doesn't have time to sit here in this inn at the end of the universe and convalesce. The longer she stays, the more she endangers not only herself but everyone around her.

But she really can't go without food and water, so when she finds an empty table and takes a seat, she looks for a server.

"Where are – oh!" A knee-high rodent has appeared next to her; it bobs its head politely and watches her expectantly. She glances to Lan Wangji.

"Is this...a server?"

"Yes."

He sounds resigned.

"I know it is strange. But they are very polite."

This one is, certainly. It even has a crisp white napkin hung over its forearm and is waiting with the very soul of manners.

"Very well," says Ciri, and turns her attention to the rat. "Bread, cheese, and soup, if you have it; a mug of ale and glass of water for me, and some tea for my friend Lan Wangji, please."

The rate bows, and scampers off, leaving Ciri laughing in a startled sort of way before she turns back to her companion. "This place grows stranger and stranger."

"It takes some getting used to."

There is something incredibly dry about that simple sentence.

"You said you had traveled to many worlds. Have you not seen another place like this?"

"Not...precisely like this, no."

She looks around as she speaks, absorbing as much as she can, curiosity alight in her clear green eyes. "I've never seen a nexus like this before. The only thing I can think of that's even remotely similar is the Conjunction of the Spheres – but that was a catastrophic event that led to the slaughter of millions."

The waitrat has returned with the requested ale, water, and tea: she offers the tea to Lan Wangji and drains the glass of water in a single draught. "I assume you hail from elsewhere as well. Is your world anything like this?"

"I do," he says, as he accepts the tea and takes a sip.

"I have only known my own world, before here. It is different. I expect that is because of the many influences of several worlds that are felt here."

"Mm."

A small sound of agreement, before she wraps her hand around the mug of ale and takes a long swallow from it. "And how did you arrive here? I gather not everyone falls from a portal directly into the lake. At least, I hope not."

"Not everyone," he agrees.

"The portal I came through led from a cave in my world through the front door here."

He nods toward the door. Whether or not she can see it will be telling, he knows.

"It was-- a surprise."

She turns, casting her glance along the direction he'd indicated, and frowns.

"Door?" she asks. There's a familiar feeling beginning to bubble up in her stomach, and she tries to push it away, keep it from her voice. "What door?"

Ah.

"If you do not see a door," he says, very steadily, "there are two possible reasons for that."

"One is that the powers which run the inn have decided it is your fortune to remain here for a time."

"The other--"

Is far worse, of course.

"-- I am sorry. I must ask you a difficult question."

"Ask," says Ciri; no stranger to difficult questions she. She tears her eyes away from the wall with no door and tamps down hard on the panic beginning to push adrenaline through her system.

"I will not hold it against you."

Very gently, he asks,

"Is there a chance that you could have died in the fall from what you were fleeing?"

"Died?"

Startled, she looks again at the occupants of the room around them. They all look hale enough, but...

Eredin. The Hunt. Fleeing for the portal. A flash of light.

She shakes her head. "How would I be able to tell?"

"If you do not know--"

He looks around, but does not see either Wei Ying or Harrow, the two who would be most likely to be able to discern the truth.

"-- the healers here might be able to tell."

"Right, then," she sighs. "A healer it is."

She doesn't understand how she could be hungry or thirsty if she's – but Lan Wangji hadn't mentioned it as a way to tell, so perhaps the ghosts inhabiting (haunting?) this place look and act just as if they were still alive.

The waitrat has come with her food; she picks at a piece of cheese, moodily, and presses a hand to her side to see how her wound is feeling.

(Still sore. Very. It will probably need stitches.) "Is there one nearby you could direct me to?"

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