That One Time I Went on a Quest

Kaishen

The roaring River Hei winds around the jutted cliff, dashing against the yellow-red granite, struggling with all its might to leap over the confines of the crooked canyon. White vapour rises all about us, glittering in the twilight sun like stars crystallised.

The snow is subsiding. The mountain winds had brought it down during our ascent and now the hilltop is covered in yellowish slurry. What could have made it stink like sulphur and sting the skin? Because of this snow, none of the cultists had seen us coming. They were all hiding under the trees, afraid of getting their clothes tainted.

It had taken Kathanhiel five minutes to run them down.

The last body is still somewhere in the thicket, in two pieces, with guts all over the forest floor. Don't want to be anywhere near that. All the others I have rolled over the cliff, and Maker knows if I see another corpse with terror frozen on his face I'll jump into the river myself.

If only that one guy didn't go at the headstone with the hammer. What a stupid move. Everything these people do is aimed at provoking her. They all laughed like lunatics as they were struck down. I don't understand.

It's in pieces now, the headstone of blue marble. Kathanhiel had said that it doesn't matter, that there is no body here, but she has not moved from that spot for two hours. Kneeling bare-shinned in the snow must be killing her skin – something she cares about very much – but even that is trivial now. Nothing will get her to stand up. She wouldn't even hear me talking.

I have to wait. I can wait. She can take as long as she needs.

We make camp amidst the forest pines, and as night falls a bitter wind descends from the distant peaks, carrying more of that putrid yellow snow. In the dark, pine needles are falling thick and fast; seems this poisonous stuff has only appeared recently, or all these branches would already be naked.

Footsteps. Kathanhiel, with snow heaped high on her shoulders, has finally returned from her vigil by the broken tomb. She sees the nook in the tree that I've stuffed with our driest blankets and falls into it with a sigh. I hand her hot tea in a mug; she cradles it with both hands.

'This filth comes from the dragon aeries to the northwest,' she says, and begins the impossible task of cleaning her hair, strand by strand. 'They roost on literal mountains of their own lithified excrement, and for several weeks a year the wind spreads it all around.'

I dig out the jar of chrysanthemum oil and hand it to her. 'Is that where the Apex could be?'

'No the...it should be alone. It loathes the company of its own kind.'

'Oh...why is that?'

For a while she ponders that, her fingers twirling into her hair until they bunch up in a knot. 'Do you ever envy the happiness of others, Kastor?'

My heart skips a beat. 'Uh...'

'Rutherford does. He grows jealous of us humans and giants, for when he turns to his kin there are only echoes of himself – the lesser dragons lack even the self-awareness to perceive their lack thereof.'

'Is...is that a big deal?'

Kathanhiel raises her eyebrows. 'You think it is not?'

'No I mean...it's a giant lizard, not a person, so it shouldn't think about these things the same way we do...right?'

For a moment she looks amused, then with a sigh the smile quickly disappears. 'What a strange question. I suppose I've always considered its mind to be similar to ours. It...simple gives me that impression.'