Don't Panic (Ulric)

[Naama]

Timestamp: 60th of Winter 511AV She felt terrible, both emotionally and mentally. She didn't know how or why she had debased herself to this; caught in a web of love and loyalty, where the scars still remained, as fresh as if it had only been a day. To love meant to hurt again. And why would she ever want to repeat the past? Yet she had retreated from Ulric's abode for a night, for he'd been gone, and in her excursion into the shady, dank taverns of Alvadas, Naama had come across a familiar face. Her heart felt heavy with old emotions, long since buried, and through the drinking and laughing and weaving of tales both glorious and mythical, the Myrian found herself drawn to him again. By the end of the night, she found herself entwined in the sailor's arms, her head tipsy and light-headed, and her mind plagued by a sickening guilt. What have I done? The creaking of the door echoed like a screech in the quiet, dawn hours. She winced at the sound, hoping for some sliver of a chance that he wasn't home. But she knew by this time, Squirt would have stumbled in and woken him already, for she'd forgotten about the boy and his tendencies to wander off. Her vision swirled around her, blouse and hair disheveled, the scent of liquor pungent on her person. She managed to smash into the table as she stepped inside, nearly sending the prized mugs toppling. "Petch," came the curse, and yet she continued to tread further in.

[Ulric]

Ulric sat on his rickety bench, gazing intently, somberly at the red glow of the ember worms. They squirm, he thought, watching the coals writhe in the inky dark, bringing a clay jug to his lips. He forced himself to take a tepid draught, but the dull, sinking feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. There was something wrong. The tempest of fear was rising, pounding through his head.

Vaguely, it dredged at forlorn wounds, barely scabbed over by puckered purple, tormented by skeins of angry, pink doubt. Naama. Even now, her musk pervaded the close, dingy chamber. The warmth of her tawny flesh was a specter coiling over his chest, crueler than a dagger. He felt. He longed for her. He was caught up by the glint of her eyes, her saucy tongue, the sultry sway of her hips.

But she was fled.

Vanished, like everybody else.

Ulric jerked the jug away, vaguely aware that he was shaking, his bearded jaw clenched so tautly it could crack nuts. Though he didn’t want to doubt her, he couldn’t keep the crimson tide from rising forever. There was no going back. There was no fleeing from her, from what she was. He’d known she was a savage, prone to crazy bouts of rage and lust. He’d known, but he’d petched her. He’d felt for her.

And yet, in spite of her presence, he just felt even more lost, more bereft than he’d been before, after he’d destroyed the only woman he dared to love, wrecked his dreams of fishing his life away. He felt sick, uncertainly churning sourly in his gut, making him cringe faintly, gnaw at his fingers.

Everything he touched turned to cinders. What kept you going, he thought, bringing up the visage of the dead man, the gaunt, sneering warrior who’d kept him safe from betrayal. Except, of course, from the abyss of his heart, swiftly flaying away to sulky, bitter despair.

And then, the creak of the door, a squeal of the rusty hinge, the thump of her flesh on timber.

Harshly, he regarded her, a glint of red in his dark, smoldering eyes. He growled, taking in the tense, uneasy jerk of her body, thy way she drew away from him. “Where have you been?”

[Naama]

The knots in her stomach tightened at his sour words, as if he suspected all along, as if he knew she was capable of such infidelity, and he was right. The thought alone made her want to retch, to flee through the rickety door and vanish into the shadows of the wild. But she remained where she was, rooted to the floor, succumbed to his icy glare. "I--" Her tongue locked up, as if refusing to utter the words meant the bout of betrayal had never occurred. If only that were true. "I was with an old friend," She said finally. Damn you, Hawkins, damn you to the depths of the sea. She chanced a step closer, casting sidelong to the small bundle of blanket and body in the corner, the curved swords resting where she'd left them. He deserves better than this. "We drank, told some tales, and things got carried away." And all I ever manage to do is petch things up. "I never meant for this to happen, Ulric. I drank too much or--or... Gods, petch. I can't do this, I was never good at apologies."

[Ulric]

Her words were like a slap. He just stared at her, the fire in his eyes growing duller, vanishing under a pewter haze. He barely jerked at his jaw, trying to keep down the surge of burning bile scouring at the ridges of his throat, the fevered clenching of his heart. The betrayal was tearing him asunder.

The whisper of the wind faded away. There was only a faint, sulky hum, a sharply echoing ringing in his ears. Harshly dissonant, jadedly keening. He wanted to cuff at his head, to make it go away, but it wouldn’t. The cruel drone, dredging up a primal fear. The vapid puddle in the bowels of his gut, whorled by despair.

The eyes that gazed at her were dead.

“Sucked his cock, did you?” Ulric growled lowly, the words laced by a hush of menace.“You would.” The barb lancing at her tawny face, ugly with the truth of her betrayal. The surge of rage, swiftly fading. There was regret in her voice, and that was something.

But he couldn’t forgive.

“Then don’t,” he rasped glumly, brusquely reaching for the jug with shaking fingers. He brought it to his lips, took a deep, sucking gulp. He drank too deeply, choking on the sour, honeyed wine, so the beads caught in his short, spiky whiskers, traced down the contours of his neck. “You can’t mend what’s broken, anyway.” Even as he stared at her, he was thinking of another woman, with fiery hair.

Profoundly bereft, drowning in grief.

[Naama]

Out of the overwhelming surge of guilt there grew an unbridled rage. She looked at him with black eyes pained and brimming with fault, but his words drew a spark, a fiery inferno that raged in her; baseless, abrupt and irrational. Her voice grew, laced with a thick accent. "You deyhan are all the petching same. Human women suffer such folly under the iron fist of their men, and for what? To clean their underthings and maybe enjoy a nice fist to the face? A man in your place would never dare question me in my homeland. You would be insignificant, inferior, worthless." Her tangent brought her closer to him, her hands balled into fists, as if meaning to take his jug and smash it, but the action would not will itself to come as she gazed at his shaky hands, his pained eyes. "You cannot say you've never petched a whore in your life, Ulric. It was the same, I felt nothing with him, nothing." Not as I felt everything with you. She wanted to shout, she wanted to scream that she loved him more than he knew. He saved my life, and this is how I repay him, by petching another man. Suddenly, she felt visibly ill. The myrian turned quickly, making for the door, jutting it open just in time to choke up the toxins in her stomach. The crisp morning air was a refreshing change. A soft breeze caressed her ebony hair, tossing it across her face and along her shoulders, but her eyes remained transfixed on the horizon.

[Ulric]

Jaded by her frequent rages, caught up by sour, biting regrets, he nearly let her slither through the door. Nearly. But he just couldn’t. If she fled, he’d have nobody to clutch at to keep from drowning. He’d just be here, with a power he didn’t want, and a handful of clay mugs that didn’t mean anything in the depths of his heart. Not compared to her.

“The only thing I ever wanted from you,” he choked out a whisper, “The only thing I truly care about… is your love.” He got up, crudely swept his palm over the warped shelf, knocking the mugs away. They broke in a hundred tiny shards. There was regret. Their sundering hurt, but she was just walking away.

Vaguely, the breakers crashed over his chest, darkly unyielding, threatening to consume everything remaining to him. The husk of a man, vainly hanging on the verge.

Ulric lurched after her. He was badly drunk, clumsy. He caught her shoulder, perhaps more roughly than he’d intended, jerking her to his chest. Her dirtied flesh scorched at his fingers, until he thought they’d just slough away. He just gazed in her eyes, his own cloudy with agony.

“I’d be your dog, you know.”

That was, surely enough, the truth of who he was. He’d sprung of dirty seed, was scoured by betrayal. He’d been crushed to a jelly, cut to lank, ruddy ribbons of flesh. He was just scars.

Another won’t matter, he thought, knowing that she'd just do it again, that her infidelity would drive him further to drink, and he'd end up hating her in the end. He didn't have a choice. He loved her, even if she kept flaying at his heart. No, another wouldn't matter.

But it did.

Because she was everything.

[Naama]

The shattering felt like an elegy to her ears, but she did not fear, nor did she run. The land had brought her the sea with its soft, crashing waves, beckoning. And though she meant to approach it, a strong hand pulled her back, and she found herself looking into his eyes, feeling no painful dread any longer, but a mild solace she had not found that night until now. "You have my love," She said, but the word felt alien on her tongue. Then her eyes betrayed her; betrayed what facade she held to contain the tears. They trailed down her cheeks and jaw, and with a tawny hand she quickly swept them away. "I love you, Ulric." The words I was afraid to say. To love meant to hope, and hope is always crushed in the end. But as she looked at him, she could not foresee his demise. If only it'd remain that way. "Come," She said, taking his hand in her own, leading him towards the sea, "I'd like to tell you my story." Naama didn't wait to see if he'd approve. She had already lifted her blouse above her head to toss aside, wading into the cold, frothy waters with little regard to the leather she wore. The cold of the waves was a refreshing change. The betrayal that seemed to cake her skin began to wash away, smothered by the gift of the sea god. "I was married, you know, if you could call mating a marriage. But I loved him. Neum... That was his name." That brought a smile to her lips, a sorrowful smile, "It was all many years ago, regardless. But this thing here," She gestured at her sternum, displaying a small ingrained mark shaped like a wisp, "Is just one of the many reminders of what I lost."

[Ulric]

Her love. He had her love. He wanted ecstasy, to take her in his arms and cradle her head to his chest, but there was sour tang of fear. The problem with loving was feeling. That he was not alone in such regards was far from his thoughts. They’d try to kill her again. They’d do it to get to him. They, and the others. The crawling whispers that desired his power. To love him was an augury of death.

Vaguely, he dragged after her. Her fingers firmly twined with his, pulsing slowly. He was out of place. The dark ridges of the breakers, the rush of foamy spume over the waves, were strange to him now. He was just a bystander, vacantly gazing into an unceasing curtain of night. I go where you go, he hushed, quietly trying to draw what he could from her presence, fearing that she’d just tear away from his grasp, forced away by dire presage, and flee forever.

And yet, she’d slid those same fingers over another man’s back, had taken him in a firm grip and clung to his back. He was shaking, badly hurting, acidly consumed by a jealousy that he’d have to suffer. He was so uneasy, he couldn’t even be angry. He couldn’t forgive her. No, he just couldn’t.

Ulric would bear these scars.

Though his hands were grimy with worse transgressions, nearly putrefying through their heavy calluses, he felt tainted. He didn’t know if he could lay with her again. But he went.

To the sea, they forged through eager chimera. The city saw his ignominy, and it laughed. The raving of crows a harsh reminder. The mocking rustle of dry brown leaves, desiccating to nothing. To the sea they went.

Naama broke away then. Her tawny flesh bared under the stars, as though biding for the gods’ judgment. The same skin so many men have seen, he frowned wanly, trying to sunder the demons. He waded after her into the breakers, yanking his leather jerkin away, as if the frigid surf could purify their souls.

Probably not.

As ever, faith eluded his frantic grasp. He gazed into her inky eyes, mostly obscured by the gloom, and heard her speak somberly of her mate, hardly aware of just what she’d lost. He reached for the mark, tracing it with a finger. “What does it mean?”

[Naama]

It's funny. I've become so jaded by time. I can shed no more tears for them. Long, slender fingers caressed the waves, while her dark eyes studied the dimly flickering stars, the colors of dawn seeping into the horizon. For a moment she was silent, because no matter how much she wanted to tell him of her life, of the reason she was who she was, it still pained her to relive the experience through words. But he deserves to know. As he deserves so much more. She looked at him. "It means that our vow to Cheva has been broken. It means that by the hands of a cruel, demonic snake I lost my mate." She swallowed hard, trying to forsake the memories, to prevent the horrific visions from engulfing her mind. "I had a daughter, as well. Her name was Kohi, and she would have been about three years old now, but she was taken from me as well." She saw the blood, the screams, those terrible terrible screams, and for a moment, her heart felt heavy. When she spoke, her voice was thick, choking. "They were tortured, Ulric. Right in front of me, they were mutilated and broken, no matter how much I begged and begged. I prayed and I cried, but my prayers were answered with screams and blood. It was my fault that they died. It was my fault, and I couldn't remain where I was, because no matter what I do, or what I said, I will always believe I should have died with them." She took his hand, pressing it over the mark that signified her failure, as if hoping his touch would scorch it away. "It was not long after when my sister was taken from us. Kidnapped during a scouting excursion to the fringes of Falyndar. Under Myrian culture my sister is the heir to our family clan, she is all that's left for my mother. Thus, I was left in Taloba with no mate, no daughter and no sister, so I fled. I vowed to my mother I would return with my sister or I would not return at all, and to this day I have kept my vow." Then she smiled, a soft, bittersweet thing. "I traveled to Sunberth on the best lead I had. Always wondered where humans kept their most vile, filthy little scoundrels. But I think I could honestly say that city saved my life. It was there I met a man named Hawkins, and through him I managed to pull myself out of this... this ignorant perspective of life. To throw away these aspects of my Myrian heritage that would only hinder what I wanted to accomplish. And we sailed for many weeks across port to port, listening to captivating tales and getting into fights, living a life of true freedom." Naama lifted her hands and placed them on either side of his face, "And through all of that, Ulric. I was afraid to love again. Because there was always that fear that if I let myself be attached, if I give my broken heart to someone to hold once more, and that person perished before my eyes as so many others have, I don't think I could survive it." "But there is something in you that called to me. You're strong, stronger than my mate ever was, and you give me this hope that I haven't felt in years. You make me want to go on, Ulric. You make me want to fight and live and love." Abruptly she dropped her hands, the waves lapping at her forearms with little resistance. "Oh, but look at me, rambling on about silly, pathetic dreams."

[Ulric]

Ulric gave a frown.

“Neum.” Though he knew the man was dead, the name was like ash on his tongue. “Kohi.” They were there, just like the specters in his wake, shackling both of them to the past, evoking a raging jealousy. The frigid waves lashed at his chest, around his thighs, threatening to suck both of them away. He felt a shiver run through his body. Her fingers were on his jaw, framing his face, and he circled his arms around her back, pressing her close against his chest. “Y’know, it was your fault. You weren’t fierce enough to fight off the serpent, Naama. You let them perish.” The whisper in her ear was soft. “Your life was taken away, just like so many candles errantly snuffed out, the drowning of a dreamer. Your broken heart probably won’t mend, not entirely. There scars won’t go away.”

Ulric held her, his eyes growing clearer, glowing inexorably in the light from the crescent of moon. “Yet here I stand, clasping you to my chest, gazing into the depths of your eyes and pledging everything to you. I see you now, more vividly than ever. I feel. I can’t remember the last time I did that, but I know that I want to cry it from the highest towers, the sharpest spires. I’d climb ramparts for your sake, fight entire armies even if it meant my demise.”

“Naama, you are my fire, the furnace that rages in my chest, giving me a reason to face the long nights. I don’t care for my augury. If a god is dead, who’ll ever miss him? I gave in to despair. I thought my entire life was clouded by delusion, that I was chained to some cruel, perfidious wheel, a captive of destiny. I forgot who I was, and then I saw you. I’d give up the nectar of divinity for a brush of your hair against my face, for the refuge of your embrace.” Ulric glanced away for a lingering instant, biting at his lip as though he couldn’t come to grips with the realization, and when he spoke again his words echoed fervently over the breakers. “I’d die if you weren’t by my side, for my heart would surely rupture in my chest. I know I haven’t been very kind to you. I’ve been selfish, too caught up in my own burden to consider yours.” Ulric rested the ridge of his cheek against her wet hair, gazing out to the sea. What have I done, he scowled, scouring through vague, snatches of memory, somber chords of a symphony. What have I ever done that wasn’t for myself?

Nothing.

“Naama, you’re the only star in my sky, and if you burned away, I’d have nothing. But there’s no such thing as freedom, not yet, when there are debts that require paying, wrongs that we have to put right. There’s your sister. The night we met, I pledged to find her for you. I wasn’t just trying to get in your trousers. The only way we’ll be truly free is when we rescue her from my city, and cut my mother’s throat so she’ll never come after us again. I won’t ever leave your side. I swear to you, as long as we love, there’s nothing we can’t defeat.” Yet again, the defiance glinted in his eyes, feral in its longing. He was done drinking himself to a wreck, barely caring as he grew rusty, badly complacent in his surly brooding. He was the bone hunter, the watcher in the night, luridly painting his presence, clasping on to her.

Ulric traced the contour of her jaw with a finger. “Your dreams aren’t silly. They’re my dreams, too, and they won’t stay dreams much longer.”