Skara Braens

Part 31

Part 30 Vote Tally

Option A: 0
Option B: 2
Option C: 1

Onward!

The walk to the  meeting with Siona felt difficult.  The air was heavy, pressing on your shoulders and pushing back against every stride.  You rehearse your words in your mind, becoming so distracted by your imagined plea, you almost walk straight through the centre of the village, where a circle of people had gathered for the village meeting.  Only when someone giggles do you look up from the ground and abandon your imagined speech.  Blinking, you find yourself surrounded by people.

"Over here, Iolaire," Siona says.  You can hear the laughter in her voice.  You turn and smile at her in embarrassment.

"Sorry," you murmur.  "I was distracted."

"Clearly."

You walk to Siona and she points to a carpet on the ground in front of her.  You nod, and move to the carpet.  You feel Drest come to your side.  Turning to him, you smile your appreciation for his presence.  He offers you a small smile in return.

After a moment, Siona sits down.  You note that she is also sitting on a carpet.  You follow suit.  Sitting around Siona are Artair, Mordina and Gordon.  The rest of the villagers, though they were  surely tired from the events of yesterday, remained in a ring around you.  They, too, follow Siona's lead and sit down.

"So, here we are," Siona says.  "About to discuss what was once entirely unthinkable.  You want to go to Shapinsay."

A murmur runs through the crowd, and suddenly all eyes are on you.

"I do," you reply.

Silence follows your proclamation.  Siona simply sits, observing you.

"I am not sure," she says at last.  "That you understand what it is you claim to want.  Shapinsay is dead.  None of the living remain on that island.  Any who have tried to go have ended up one of the undead, or their food.  Good people have gone over.  People trained to handle situations like Shapinsay.  None of them survived.  Not one.  What makes you think you will fare any better?"

You pause a moment before answering.  "I don't... I might not," you admit.  "But I have to try."

"Do you?"

"Yes!"  You meet Siona's gaze evening.  "I know you don't believe me about the dream stuff.  I know you think that perhaps the vision I had may have been a fabrication of my psionic friend here."

Your words are met with an expression of surprise.  "How did...?"

"It wasn't that great a leap in logic," you reply.  "You clearly don't trust Drest."

"Alright then, Sherlock," Artair rumbles under his breath.

You look at him.  "Sherlock?"

"A fictional detective," Drest supplies.  "Whose powers of deduction bordered on the supernatural."

"Oh."  You pause.  "What's a detective?"

Drest smiles.  "I'll explain it later."

"Alright."  You turn your attention back to Siona.  "You don't believe the dream or the vision.  I can't make you.  Clearly my word is not good enough.  But Shapinsay is where this all started, isn't it?  It's where the plague began, isn't it?  In order to stop whatever is happening here, we need to know what happened and how.  If we can figure that out, maybe we'll be able to find a cure, or something.  Shapinsay may not have the answers, but it's a place to start.  It's the only place to start."

"There is no guarantee that Shapinsay will leave any clues," Siona says.

"There isn't," you agree.  "But it's something.  The alternative is what?  To wait around for the next attack?  To let time slowly whittle us down until only bleached bone remains?  I, for one, will not just wait around to die."

"David?" Siona asks, raising her voice a little to be heard over the crowd.

David stands, conspicuous in his dark green military uniform.

"You are military, yes?"

"I am."

"Are they not working on a cure?"

"They were."

"Were?"

David sighs.  "My latest attempts to contact my superiors on the mainland have failed.  The compound that served as my home base has been overrun.  I am getting no responses from any of the other compounds on the islands.  Ireland is not answering.  Lines to Europe and America are non-functioning.  I have no idea what happened to our scientists.  As far as I'm aware, my squad are the last remaining members of the military."

"They were the ones working on a cure!" someone cried from the circle of spectators.

"We're lost!" someone else wailed.

And then everything exploded into a cacophony of wails, despairing cries and demands for action.  Still, all Siona needed to do to silence them was to set her jaw and lift her hand.  She turns her gaze back to you once the crowd settles down.

"Prudence tells me that we will need all our strength.  I am inclined to advise us all to work on strengthening our fortifications, training our fighters, and planning our food stores, adn to forget Shapinsay."

"Prudence is calling for a slow death," you remark.

Siona raises her brows at you.

"Siona," you say.  "This is it.  This is the one chance we have to fix whatever is happening.  Even if the woman from my vision is not real, even if she left no clues behind, there will be something there that will help us figure out how this plague started and, knowing that, we might be able to figure out how to end it."

Shaking her head, Siona closes her eyes.  Everything falls into immediate silence.  You fidget as you sit, waiting for Siona to open her eyes.

Fear.

The word reaches your ears as if it was whispered immediately behind you.  You turn sharply, finding nothing there.  A movement raises your eyes to the roof of your hut, where sits a brown and white eagle, preening.  The bird stops nibbling its feathers and turns its head, looking at you.

Unsure if this is some sort of sign, you simply stare at the bird.

"You're afraid," you whisper, turning back to Siona.  She opens her eyes and looks at you.

"You're afraid," you say again.  You smile slightly.  "So am I."

"You will die if you go to Shapinsay," Siona answers.

"Maybe," you reply.  "But imagine what could happen if this is successful.  We're dead either way, Siona.  But I, for one, will die fighting."

""You've changed," David notes.  It might have been your imagination, but you think there is a hint of approval in his tone.

The shame of your cowardice, leaving David and Drest to battle the undead horde, burns on your cheeks and you drop your gaze.  What do you say next?

a) "Please. At the very least, let the others decide their own fates."
b) Say nothing. Siona needs the space to think.
c) Accuse Siona of cowardice.

Voting ends 02 March, 2017 at midnight.  Good luck, Adventurers. Next week I might switch it up a bit.