Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Porcelain Heart, Chapter 3 - Eloise

Eloise never thought she would meet a god. In earnest, she wasn't entirely certain she could define what a god was. She had met the necromancer Caona, a woman who used magic to achieve a state of undying. Caona had a cult of dedicated followers. Was she not a god? Older than Caona was Ponodurga, a demoness worshipped by ancient elves. Some still worshipped her. Was she not a god? Ralak was a being beyond form and realm, yet he was no longer worshipped. Ralak was a footnote in old books. What or who made him a god?

Eloise couldn't bring herself to fear Ralak; his capabilities were unknown. The dread wyvern, meanwhile, was foretold to scorch all of Einanlia, a giant physical flying beast. That threat was tangible, but Ralak was not. Ponodurga had foretold that choices Eloise Glass made left ripples that could move mountains. That too was a tangible threat, Eloise mused; perhaps Ralak feared her.

She sat on the topmost step in front of Magrite's makeshift ward. Keysta was speaking with Revelyn while Grael leaned against the wall in the form of a pot-bellied elderly man. Grael hadn't said anything for some time, but the chosen human form suggested that thoughts were on the tip of their tongue.

"I want to help rebuild this town," Keysta was saying. "There's still enough here for life to return. And if Shadow Elves come back, I could speak with them. Magrite is no military stronghold. There's no reason this should ever happen again."

"That's a noble goal," said Revelyn.

Grael emitted an intentional cough. Keysta and Revelyn gave them the sides of their eyes.

"Apologies," said Grael, "I do not disagree that the intention is noble. I disagree with the premise that warlords can be reasoned with. A force desirous of only death cannot be swayed to preserve life."

Grael's attention shifted pointedly to Eloise. She understood; the changeling was also warning of Ralak's threat. Before she could piece together her rebuttal, Bryn emerged from the doorway wiping blood from his fingers onto a wet rag.

"I, um-" he paused, noticing suddenly every set of eyes upon him. "I revived a master potter called Feyd. She has agreed to travel with us but needs some rest. I'm going to keep helping the injured into the evening. Shall we depart tomorrow at first light?"

Eloise nodded. Bryn smiled weakly and returned inside. His body language told a story; something troubling had happened to him. Eloise suspected he will keep it to himself. Bryn endeavored to never burden others with his problems.

"In that case," said Keysta. "I can show the rest of you to a place with beds for the night."

Eloise was quick to thank her. The girl had shown them nothing but benevolence despite her initial understandable caution.

They passed what Eloise assumed to be the market district. There, the streets were littered with felled wooden posts and tattered tarps. Among the scattered trinkets, she spotted several sacred eyes, a children's craft made of colored twine and intersecting sticks. They were said to bring good luck. Half-buried and broken in the dirt, they didn't appear too lucky anymore.

There was a stone building at the end of the street with its doors knocked in. The interior was filled with rubble, but an outside staircase led to a habitable rooftop. It was covered with a cloth canopy as its ceiling. Four cots surrounded a central fire pit. It wouldn't do much to protect from the elements, but it was more comfortable than any makeshift camp they had made along their travels.

"This home used to belong to a baker," said Keysta. "The bakery was downstairs. I'm told she made the most delicious millet rolls. She and her family slept here, but they no longer have use for these beds."

Keysta braced herself on the edge of the building as if the weight of her own words knocked her back. She tucked her hair behind an ear and found her strength once again.