17: Reverie I

Chapter 17: Reverie I

The Time: 14 years ago (706 A.E.)

The Place: Central Saimr

“Sahan…” Ari begins in her most weaponized I want something voice: gentle, sweet, just a little whiny, paired with a hopeful glance up through her lashes and a soft, pouty moue upon her lips. She’s deployed this tool to good effect in the past, precisely because it’s so obvious. Ari has not wasted the countless hours she’s spent ogling her master, thank you; she’s taken the time to study Sahan properly!

To wit: Sahan despises anyone who thinks they can manipulate her with a few clever words and a syrupy smile. She despises feeling as though anyone is trying to manipulate her, period. The best and most efficient way to ask Sahan for anything is to do it clearly and directly, but Ari has discovered, to her great delight, that Sahan is additionally quite susceptible to fake tears and pathetic cajoling! As long as Ari is the one doing it, anyway, which makes her feel more than a little smug.

If Ari is willing to beg and plead and cry, she can, mostly, get whatever she wants. And since these are Ari’s preferred tactics upon the conversational battlefield regardless, she’s had ample opportunity to hone her skills in direct combat.

Sahan, who has spent the last few minutes resting against the trunk of a massive, gnarled oak, opens her eyes with a sigh.

“What, child?” she asks irritably, but with Ari’s extensive experience she knows to read this tone as I am open to negotiation rather than I am going to make you wish you were never born if you don’t shut up right now.

While Sahan enjoys the late summer breeze, Ari has been tasked with setting up camp—usually, on temperate evenings like this, Sahan deigns to take her rest with Ari rather than disappearing into her private demiplane to do… important Sahan things. She doesn’t actually need very much sleep herself, but Ari’s favorite way to bed down is by listening to the comforting sounds of Sahan flipping pages in some tome or idly tinkering with the enchantments on a new project or murmuring to herself so softly she might as well be humming along with the night-time insects.

Anyway, “camp” tonight consists of a couple of bedrolls, a fire, and a cookpot; Sahan is the one responsible for setting the protective wards since Ari… um, can’t, and so she finishes in plenty of time to sidle up to Sahan like a dog begging for scraps while the False Sun is still bright enough to see by.

Sahan glances down at her with a single raised brow. As is always the case when she’s permitted to look upon Sahan at ease like this, Ari’s stomach flips, not unpleasantly. Gone is her light traveling cloak and the no-nonsense braided updo she wears while they’re on the road; the belted and ruched tunic and trousers beneath are of characteristically fine make but far more form-fitting than her typical robes of office, and her night-black hair is a little sweat-damp, a little mussed, and smells strongly of Sahan’s scented oils and soaps. Ari’s throat aches with how badly she wants to nuzzle into the soft dip of her temple and breathe in that scent until she’s full and flushed with it.

She glances away quickly, praying her warm cheeks might be passed off as a side effect of the long day and warm weather. These… feelings, these urges, they’re… she shouldn’t have them. She’s not sure why she’s having them at all! Sahan is a woman, and Ari is also a woman. It’s… it isn’t done. Or, it shouldn’t be done. Yes, alright, there were the girls back home who practiced kissing with their friends sometimes (not that Ari was ever invited), and maybe Ari had woken up once or twice in the shared dorms at the sect to the sound of her sectmates doing… things together, but Ari has enough personal failings without adding such debauched, perverse desires to the list!

And… besides all that, Sahan is Sahan and Ari is nobody at all.

So maybe she has a crush! A little one. It’s dirty, but it doesn’t have to mean anything. It isn’t like she’s going to act on it.

A long-fingered hand reaches out and tugs on a loose strand of coppery hair, freed from Ari’s plait by exertion. It very effectively snaps her out of her wool-gathering trip.

“Do you want something or don’t you?” Sahan asks caustically, though her grip isn’t tight enough to be truly painful.

Ari squeaks anyway, her face heating right up to the roots of the hair Sahan is so carelessly pulling. It only stings a little. She can’t explain why that bright, sharp pain lights a strange sense of urgency in her, one that starts in her throat and melts down to the pit in her belly.

“Sahan!” she yelps, greatly aggrieved. “This disciple–! It’s just that this disciple couldn’t help but notice that Sahan’s Varul is a little smudged!”

Smudged is certainly a word for it. Over the past several days, the two of them have had more than one run-in with Prince Tavishem’s bannermen as Sahan traveled from manse to manse courting the support of the local lords. Most of the lords they’ve sought out have been only too eager to offer Sahan their aid, in no small part because Sahan turned those unwitting bannermen into a bloody paste in her wake.

Now, when a band of armored men stumbles across two hapless-looking women wandering the roads, perhaps they’ll be more cautious in their approach.

Anyway. Varul has seen plenty of gore and grime recently, but as far as Ari can tell, Sahan hasn’t given it more than a cursory wipe-down after. (Admittedly, this is probably because any blood or viscera left on Varul’s surface seems to melt away in short order, but still!). Surely Sahan won’t mind if Ari tidies her spiritual weapon up a little…? And maybe admires it some? It’s very lovely to look upon! And she’s never gotten to handle a spiritual weapon before! Sahan has said that, with her new mekhode in place stabilizing her core, she should be able to cultivate her own spiritual weapon in a few years. Still… wouldn’t it be nice to see one up close? Especially Sahan’s spiritual weapon, which is surely peerless throughout the realm?

Sahan regards Ari skeptically as she (thankfully) releases the lock of hair trapped between her fingers, allowing Ari to sulkily nurse her sore scalp. She looks suspicious, but thoughtful. Almost there… Ari tilts her eyebrows up a bit more, widens her eyes minutely. Any wider and she risks summoning a sheen of tears, which she’ll only whip out under dire circumstances.

After a long moment, Sahan’s cynical frown eases into something like amusement. The tiniest smile curls the corners of her lips.

“You want to polish Varul?” she asks mildly.

Ari restrains herself from celebrating her victory. “If it’s alright with Sahan.”

Sahan tips her head, setting the simple, delicate chains twining up her long, slender ear a-jangling. Her smile widens another degree, but it also gains a sharper edge. “I’ve no objections, but I’m afraid my permission alone won’t suffice.”

Ari leans forward eagerly, suddenly beside herself with excitement. “So—So it’s true? Sahan’s Varul can really think for itself?”

She’s seen how Sahan wields Varul. The saber is incomparably elegant in her hands, its arcs so swift and vicious in motion that it looks alive, looks cunning and hungry.

Sahan closes her eyes again and leans her head back to rest against the big oak’s craggy trunk. Above her, chirruping insects and drowsy songbirds harmonize with the sighing breeze and rustling foliage. Her hair dances gently with the wind; above the lower and more forgiving collar of her tunic the long gracile line of her neck is exposed. Ari looks down at the hands now fisted in her lap and counts backwards from twenty.

“Some years ago,” Sahan starts, and Ari sneaks another glance at her, “when I was a girl not much younger than you are now, a relative of mine professed some interest in examining for himself the extent of Varul’s power.”

Ari sits up straighter. Younger than–

“Sahan could already cultivate a spiritual weapon back then?!” she wails.

Sahan cracks one eyelid. “What have I told you about interrupting me, girl?”

Appropriately chastised, Ari shrinks a little. Still, it’s just not fair! Some people really do get everything!

But Sahan isn’t genuinely upset, and a beat later she waves a hand, lazy but domineering. Ari immediately perks up, a giddy rush quickly swelling under her sternum. As fast as she can, as though she’s worried the invitation will be rescinded, Ari dives down and plops her head onto Sahan’s lap, exactly where the hard muscle of her thighs is softened somewhat by a layer of smooth flesh. Blissfully, she nuzzles her face into the fabric of Sahan’s trousers in a tried-and-true squirmy wormy maneuver until she’s perfectly comfortable, and Sahan reaches down to fish out Ari’s plait from beneath her shoulderblades to begin the work of untangling her hair.

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Ari smushes her cheek harder into Sahan’s thigh and barely muffles a purr of contentment.

“As I was saying,” Sahan continues briskly as her slim, clever fingers make quick work of what remains of Ari’s braid, “this relative was exceedingly average in all respects, ashamed of his own failings but too foolish and too gluttonous to behave appropriately for his station. One evening, when all of House Napharos convened for a ceremonial feast, he sought me out in front of an audience and implored me to allow him to admire Varul up close, since he’d heard so much about it.”

Just from these scant details, Ari’s mind is racing. She can just picture it: her sahan, hardly more than a child but already draped in exquisite finery and thronged with kin both awe-struck and venomously jealous, bearing the weight of all that attention with nothing but contemptuous boredom. Even when she was a little girl, her family must have realized what a marvel she would become.

Sahan’s smile widens and cools in equal measure. It’s… not a disagreeable look on her. Contrasted with the occasional soft scrape of her dagger-point nails against Ari’s scalp, that expression makes her breath catch in her throat and sends a shiver down her spine that isn’t exactly from apprehension.

“How could I refuse him? He only wanted to bask in my power, after all. He only wanted to touch what he could not himself possess.” Her voice is quiet, almost meditative. Long, dark lashes shield her too-pale eyes, dull the piercing edge of her gaze. At this scant distance, her serpentine pupils look like shadows hovering just above the surface of a frozen lake. “And so I let him draw Varul from its sheath. I let him experience, intimately, the strength of a true god.”

Sahan laughs softly; she refers to herself as a deity with no humor and no hesitation. Lying here, looking up at her, Ari thinks she could be.

“He did not see death. Varul’s flame scattered his soul like ashes to the wind, and he screamed and begged for mercy all the while. I’m afraid it put quite a damper on dinner.” Her eyes flick to Ari’s, the expression there almost teasing despite—or perhaps because of—the gruesome nature of her little story. “Varul refuses to be handled by anyone it deems unworthy. Are you sure you still want to try polishing it?”

Sahan sounds amused still, but also quite assured—like she’s certain this story has frightened Ari off her silly request. Stupidly, on the way down, those words bounce off of Ari’s neglected sense of pride.

Unworthy… Well… maybe she is (she definitely is), but Sahan likes her well enough, right? And Varul is part of Sahan, right? So maybe… maybe Varul will like her too.

Ari’s chin juts up. “I’m sure, Sahan.”

Unexpectedly, Sahan pauses. Her hands stop fussing over Ari’s hair. Her morbid amusement fades, leaving behind a still canvas that’s blank save for the strange intensity in her eyes. For a long moment, she just… looks at Ari, without conveying much of anything.

Her hands slowly retract from Ari’s scalp. A bit unnerved now, Ari sits up properly, her hair now no more than a messy sweat-matted curtain down her back. Her tongue darts out to wet her suddenly dry lips. Beneath the thin skin of her neck, her pulse feels faster than it should. “So… Can I…?”

Another long moment of silence. There’s a lot of activity going on in Sahan’s eyes and Ari can’t decipher any of it. Ari awkwardly scratches her neck where her linen collar has rubbed against her skin all day. Does Sahan… actually not want her to, then? Should she not have asked?

Finally, after a period of unbroken quiet that leaves Ari as jumpy as a grasshopper in a hot skillet, Sahan abruptly lifts her hands and forms a sword seal. When she exposes her palms, a long dark leather scabbard drops out of thin air and into her grasp.

Ari blinks.

Slowly, Sahan extends the scabbard towards Ari.

“Go on,” she says. There’s no inflection to her voice. Her eyes are dark and still eerily focused.

Ari looks at the scabbard. It’s as fine as she would have expected: sturdy, uncompromising, banded with swirling silver and tiny inlaid purple gems that glitter like trapped stars. But the raw power emanating from it…

All around them, a biting wind picks up—not cold, but flaying nonetheless. It cuts through Ari’s thin overshirt with ease, startles the birds above into shrieks. Ari shivers against it even as sweat builds low in the dip of her spine.

Ari leans forward excruciatingly slowly, like she’s approaching a snarling dog that at any moment might lunge forward and rip off her face. In a way, that’s… not an inaccurate comparison. In Sahan’s hands, Varul looks luxurious but no less deadly for it. Ari doesn’t reach out to take it yet.

“Hi,” she whispers to the scabbard instead, and then she realizes she’s speaking in Saimerian and makes the conscious decision to swap to a more regal and fitting language. The unfamiliar words of the Heavenstongue sting and soothe in equal measure as she forces her lips and tongue and cheeks to form them. Theoretically, without any power poured into them they really are just words, but the potential simmering beneath the surface of them leaves her feeling scraped raw inside even still.

“Hello, Varul,” she tries again, glancing up at Sahan to gauge her reaction. She shudders a little to find Sahan already watching her, eyes burning with some hidden emotion she can’t name. Ari clears her throat. “I’m… My name is Ari. I belong to your master, too,” she says, because it sounds a bit nicer than saying she’s just a disciple.

Almost imperceptibly, Sahan’s fingers tighten around the sheath.

The breeze hisses in her ears and whuffs across the back of her neck, hot and oppressive like the breath of a great beast.

“I think… you’re very beautiful,” she says honestly. “Is it okay if I hold you?”

There’s not… any kind of reply, and she feels a little silly for expecting one. Sahan still doesn’t say anything, and the scabbard is still held firmly in her outstretched hands, waiting for Ari to dare taking it for herself.

Well. If she dies in fiery agony, she at least hopes Sahan remembers her fondly!

Ari squeezes her eyes shut, turns her head away, and reaches out in one decisive move to stroke a single fingertip down the length of Varul’s scabbard.

She’s expecting to immediately feel her skin begin to warp and shrivel, her core to wail as it’s slowly, gradually incinerated until nothing remains of her soul. But… nothing happens. Her skin is chilly where sweat has started to bead, where the eye-watering wind has nipped at her. And yet, she’s perfectly intact! Not even a blister!

Ari opens her eyes and whips around to beam at Sahan, who she finds looking down at the scabbard with a visible blend of faint surprise and something stranger and darker.

Immediately braver than she was only seconds ago, Ari wraps both hands firmly about the scabbard and snatches it away (respectfully), holding it up to the fading sunlight to admire its engravings, the way its gemstones glimmer.

“Oooooh!” She turns the scabbard this way and that, delighting in the unexpected yet pleasant warmth beneath her fingers and the bright shimmer of refracted light across her face. “Pretty, pretty. Sahan, did you make the scabbard too?”

There’s no response. Ari looks away from the treasure in her hands long enough to eyeball Sahan, whose odd stillness has melted away in favor of a sort of… befuddled humor. She draws up one of her legs and loops her arm around it, tilting her head until the shining black mass of her hair tumbles over her shoulder.

“I did.” She doesn’t elaborate, and Ari doesn’t pry any harder, although she does practice engaging her Aethersight long enough to get a look at the enchantments baked into the leather. It’s… not actually all that helpful, since the spellwork involved is so subtle, intricate, and layered it would take her hours to discern anything useful, and she can’t maintain her Aethersight for longer than a few minutes at a time.

With her anxiety leaking away, Ari can’t help wriggling in barely-contained excitement. She did it! She’s worthy (or at least tolerated)! She’s holding a little piece of Sahan in her hands, physically, she can touch it!

For a long while, she just runs her fingers admiringly over all of those lovely embellishments, until eventually Sahan huffs out a disbelieving little laugh. “Weren’t you going to clean it?”

“Oh! Right!” Ari says, and then she realizes she doesn’t have a rag or a whetstone or anything and runs off to fetch one. She considers setting Varul in the grass, decides against it, and instead holds it as reverently as possible in one hand as she awkwardly rifles through her pack until she comes up with a suitably clean, soft cloth.

Unsheathing Varul for the first time fills her with a rush of… something. It sort of feels like someone has stuck their hands into her guts and dragged them all the way up to her throat, like they’re taking her measure from the inside out. It doesn’t hurt, but it makes her startle badly enough she nearly drops the saber she worked so hard to earn the favor of.

Even in the dim light of early evening, Varul’s blade is beautiful. Subtly curved and deadly, cold and shining, engraved with a single simple line of text that makes her head throb if she looks at it for longer than a moment. It is a bit dirty, but only a bit, and the edge upon it has not dulled even a little.

“You’re so wonderful,” she whispers to the saber as she very slowly and very carefully rubs away the smudges and smears on its face. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

She spends much longer than she needs to diligently wiping away every speck of dust, admiring the way the blade’s whorling energy curls almost curiously around her hands—never with enough force to hurt her, but just strongly enough that she’s aware of its presence.

All the while, Sahan just watches her, occasionally shaking her head with a wry little smile. She says something, presumably to Varul, in the Heavenstongue, but it isn’t anything Ari has learned yet. At Sahan’s address, the saber warms a few degrees under Ari’s touch.

Finally, reluctantly, she returns Varul to its scabbard and hands it back to Sahan, but not before bowing politely over her hands at it. “It was nice to meet you!”

Sahan looks at her again, but this time it’s warmer and more… well, just more than before. With one hand she dismisses her spiritual weapon, and with the other she reaches out to stroke a lock of hair behind Ari’s ear. Every centimeter of Ari’s skin tingles in the wake of that barely-there touch. She doesn’t withdraw immediately. Instead, the pad of her thumb rests as lightly as a butterfly’s legs on her cheekbone, stroking back and forth at a glacial pace.

Ari’s poor heart has been racing against itself all evening.

“Come on, girl,” she says eventually. Ari nearly follows her as she pulls back, only just manages to stop herself. “I assume you intend to fix dinner at some point tonight.”

“Ye-es, Sahan,” she replies breathily, and instantly she’s so embarrassed by her disrespectful tone that she scrambles away to do just that.

Over the next few weeks, Sahan wordlessly begins entrusting Varul to Ari in the evenings, smiling oddly to herself as Ari chatters to the blade in her lap as she worships it like a devotee at a shrine.