On the Hills of Eden

“Eugh…” Qingxi groaned.

She squinted her eyes, her head slowly tilting as the visible discomfort scrawled upon her face began to leak through her bandages.

“You know, it kinda suits you,” Pallas said. “The framing looks quite good with your hair and bandages.”

“Thanks,” she responded, her brows furrowing as she squinted her eyes shut and took Soleiman’s glasses off of her face. “It just hurts too much to wear.”

She handed the glasses to Pallas, rubbing the palm of her hand against her forehead in some attempt to rub away the pain.

“You okay?” Soleiman asked. Behind him, Rumi sat at the driver’s seat, the view of the forest surrounding them on all sides spilling in through the openings in the wagon’s canvas.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I’m fine. It’s just a little strange how one eye’s lens is so much stronger than the other.”

“Ah, well,” Soleiman laughed. “My right’s just a little lacking, I suppose.”

Qingxi hummed, and the conversation died there.

They felt as the wagon gently tilted upwards, the horses straining ever so slightly as they made their way onto the gentlest of hills. They had spent a week and a half entirely on the road, and they had not once taken the time to rest in the handful of Shrines they came across on their journey to the north.

Mainly because they had no funds. Though that would change soon enough, if they managed to complete what was expected of them by Shirobanegawa’s Head Master.

“At least,” Soleiman began, trying to break the monotonous rumbling of the wagon’s wheels on dirt. “We won’t have to worry about running into anything today.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Qingxi responded.

“What about what the guys back in Ezomatsu said?”

“Remember why we were sent here in the first place?”

Soleiman paused for a moment.

“Ah, right,” he eventually said. “To pick up the slack for the fringe Shrines?”

“And what is Ezomatsu?”

“...A fringe Shrine,” he said. “Right. Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” Qingxi assured him. “I understand.”

The wagon trundled on its path, winding about a large rock, the distant sound of birds chirping beyond its form being the only thing accompanying the grumble of the wheels.

“Wait, what do I do from here?” Pallas asked.

Qingxi turned away from the view of the outside, facing Pallas as she slid on over with a partially folded bird– its blocky, incomplete form still lacking anything even remotely resembling wings. Or a beak. Or… anything bird-like, for that matter.

“Just open up the middle,” she responded, scooting across the bench to press herself up against Pallas.

“Like this?”

“Mm, yeah,” Qingxi responded. “Then push that edge bit there and fold it in using both sides.”

“Mm…”

“Here.”

Qingxi reached over, placing both her hands against the outside of Pallas’, guiding her fingers to grab the end of the little folded-up rectangle she held in her hands and folding it in place. She wedged it in between the rest of the paper, effectively forming the very beginnings of the brown bird’s beak.

“Oh, I see,” Pallas said, pulling herself away from the canvas she leaned against and sneaking a glance at the Chitite hovering mere centimetres away from her face.

“Let me show you how to do the rest.”

Soleiman shifted not too far away from them. He’d already finished the few origami pieces he had been rationed for that day, the several variations of flowers now lying quietly by his side.

It was reassuring, in a way, that he was already able to use his dead arm to a degree where he could engage in– albeit rudimentary– origami. But reassurance alone wasn’t going to stave off his boredom.

His eyes rose from the flowers, landing on Rumi, the two tightly bound hair buns sticking out from under the hand-knitted woollen chullo Qingxi had let her wear glowing a brilliant gold in the light of the noon sky. From where he sat, she almost looked like a Chitite, the two spiky ear-like protrusions on the top of the chullo very closely resembling the body part they had been specifically created to cover.

“Hey, Rumi.”

He slid on over to her, hopping the wagon ledge to have a seat on the driver’s seat beside her.

“Ah,” Rumi responded, bouncing slightly as his voice reached her ears. “I was starting to get a little bored.”

“Me too,” he said, reaching for the flowers behind him. “Look what I made!”

She took her eyes off the thin trail their horses tread, the fluffy ball ends of her chullo rolling against her collarbone as she turned to look at him.

“Flowers,” he said, presenting the assortment of origami creations to her with his blackened arm. “For you.”

“Aww, thank you,” she responded, kissing him on the cheek.

Keeping her left hand tight about the reins of their two horses, she took the bouquet of paper from him, gently setting it in place atop her lap.

“Ah, it might be better to keep this in the wagon, actually,” she suddenly said, transferring the entire bundle into the space behind her. Except for one, a red dandelion that she decidedly let stay upon her lap.

They made their way up the relatively straight path, taking what turns they had to and encountering little in the way of wildlife.

Very little, in fact. Where they would usually have seen enough roaming squirrels or fluttering birds to have played several games of animal-focused ‘I Spy’, they saw exactly zero.

The forest was simply quiet, the oppressive silence broken only by the huffing of their horses and the slowly approaching sounds of pleasant chirping in the distance.

“Done!”

Pallas presented the completed bird to Qingxi, having spent the past ten minutes or so meticulously creasing and folding its wings to near perfection.

“Oh, very well done,” Qingxi said, her eyes affixed on her craftsmanship. She offered Pallas her palm, gently cradling the paper creation as Pallas handed it to her.

“Can we fly it now?” Pallas asked, her eyes widening in excitement as she hurriedly slipped her mittens back on.

“Of course-”

“Oh, gross!” Rumi yelled, she and Soleiman recoiling in synchrony as a breeze flowing from the hill’s crest not too far away from them blew towards their wagon. “What the hell is that smell!”

“What smell-”

Qingxi cut herself off, retching suddenly as the wind hit her too.

“What is that smell?” she asked, her voice entirely nasal as she caught sight of Pallas putting a finger to her nostrils in the corner of her eyes.

“Smells like bird poo,” Soleiman suggested, his face buried in the fabrics of his muffler.

It was then that they crested the hill, arriving onto its largely treeless plateau. No, instead of trees, what greeted them were sizable white rocks speckled with black dots; each one nearly a metre in diameter. The largest of the rocks was one that stood at a height of two whole metres, its uniquely spire-like form distinguishing it from the mound and boulder shapes of its shorter, stouter cousins.

More importantly, though, was that each rock reeked of faeces, the putrid malodour permeating the very air that clung to the top of the hill. The same air that was now being blown straight through their wagon.

“Come on, guys,” Rumi said, flapping the reins about gently in a half-attempt at getting the horses to speed up. “Move faster, please!”

“You have to do it harder, Rumi,” Soleiman said. He took the reins from her, flapping it with enough force to physically exert a noticeable sensation on the horses’ skins. Strong enough to not be misconstrued with a random movement of the reins, but not too strong to cause the two of them any actual pain. “Else they won’t know if you actually want them to speed up or not.”

They hurried along across the plateau, and soon they left the stink of the strange rock formation behind them as they disappeared once more into the forest depths; Pallas bidding the distant view of Ezomatsu– the last Shrine they would see in a while– farewell while Qingxi curled up in an attempt to hide from the stench.

“It’s okay, Qingxi,” Pallas said, placing a hand on Qingxi’s back as the lowlight of the forest smothered their wagon once more. “The smell’s gone now.”

Qingxi slowly pulled her face from her knees, her eyes left weary by the toll the stench had taken on her nose.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice slowly returning to normal. “Alright. Do you want to fly your bird now?”

“Yeah!”

“Alright, alright,” Qingxi said, smiling. “Hold on, let's go on over to Rumi and Soleiman so they can see it too.”

“Hey, you two!” Pallas called out, she and Qingxi soon standing just behind them. “Want to see Qingxi fly my bird?”

“Do what now?” Soleiman asked.

Qingxi presented to him and Rumi the piece of origami.

“Oh, okay.”

He took a closer look at the little brown piece of art, adjusting the glasses upon his face as Rumi shot a quick look at it while she could.

“Yeah, sure, that would be nice.”

“Soleiman!” Pallas grumbled.

“What? What did I do?” he floundered, turning and putting a leg up on the driver's seat as Pallas put her hands on his shoulders.

Her eyes bore into his, those pools of crimson singing his pupils with their burning intensity.

“Oh, oh yes, of course,” he managed. “You did a very good job, Pallas.”

Pallas smiled, patting him on the head before letting go of him.

“Thank you.”

“Alright, here goes,” Qingxi said.

Slowly, she called upon her winds, the tiny eddies and miniscule gales gently lifting the piece of paper from her palms. Undulating them up and down, she was able to get the thing’s wings to lightly flap, its near weightless form dancing through the air above their horses.

Before disappearing.

Qingxi furrowed her eyebrows.

“Where’d it go?” Rumi asked, her eyes flickering to where she last saw the little brown bird before hastily returning to the downhill road before her.

“Yeah I… can’t see it anymore,” Soleiman added.

Qingxi remained silent.

“...Qingxi?” Pallas asked, peeling her eyes from searching for her bird to look at the blankly staring Chitite.

“I… don’t know,” she responded.

The three of them turned to look at her, Rumi quickly returning her gaze to the road.

“What… what do you mean you don’t know?” Soleiman asked. “Did something happen?”

“It just left,” she responded. “Like something snatched it out of the air.”

There came a chirp from behind them.

“Alright, hold on,” Qingxi continued. “We need to move around.”

“Huh?” Rumi asked.

Qingxi made her way back into the wagon, grabbing her blade before returning.

“We’re not alone,” she said. “We need to get into position.”

“Standard?” Pallas asked.

Qingxi nodded.

The ‘standard’ position was one they had previously established as a sort of general response to an unidentified threat. In the front, Rumi and Qingxi would personally ride their two horses, Rumi riding on the left with the Xiafan Blade while Qingxi carried her axe while she rode on the right– on Strapi.

In the wagon itself, Soleiman sat just behind the driver’s seat, serving as their third set of eyes and guarding the tongue of the wagon from possible attacks. Just behind him, Pallas kept herself hidden, providing ranged support if Rumi and Qingxi so needed it whilst still being able to defend the rear in case of hostile intrusion.

They kept themselves in this position, all four of them now put on edge as they trawled their way towards the forest’s edge. Ideally, they would’ve spurred on their steeds to speed up the process, but the lingering fear of having to possibly outrun a pursuing threat instead convinced them to preserve their horses’ stamina.

As they continued on the path, descending further down the hill, the forest grew more lively. Skeletons of squirrels and small birds decorated the canopies that stretched overhead, the critters frozen in time and skewered in place upon the tree’s branches.

Nests became more commonplace, each one empty. Yet they were the only sign of living habitation, the little bundles of sticks and hairs of long since dead animals littering the trees that now besieged them on all sides like fungi to a corpse.

The lowlight around them soon rose in volume, breezes blowing more frequently through the rustling leaves, short bursts of panicked flapping occasionally breaking in to cut up the relative silence.

Most salient of all, though, was the chirping.

That distant chirping, once far and beyond the hill, now entirely surrounded them; loud, chaotic, cacophonous, screaming all at them like a city of rioters to a fresh band of naive travellers.

It didn’t take long for them to begin getting brave.

“Agh!” Rumi yelped, her face suddenly darting to the floor, as she raised a hand to her cheek.

“Rumi?” Qingxi asked. “What happened?”

“Is…” Rumi began, slowly rising to reveal the three thin streaks of red on her face. “Is there something on my face?”

Qingxi mouthed a silent ‘shit’.

She furrowed her brows momentarily, closing her eyes as she projected her magic into the air around them. In response, the winds fell silent, almost as if a blanket had been thrown over the two of them and their horses.

“We should be alright now,” she said. “At least from small-”

A dash of orange blipped into view, slamming into the wall of wind and fluttering about frantically. For a brief moment, the two of them caught sight of its shimmering black-and-orange body, the vibrancy of its feathers so great it toed the line of being incandescent.

Then, it blipped away.

“-attacks.”

Back in the wagon, Pallas had gotten to soaking the wagon’s canvas with her blood after Soleiman made the suggestion. Her mittens set down neatly beside her, she leaned against the stretchy fabric as it slowly turned crimson.

“Careful, Pallas,” Soleiman said. “Don’t overdo it.”

“I know, I know,” she nodded softly. “Don’t worry.”

The two of them watched as the wagon’s interior gradually grew darker, the wave of red blood that remained dry to the touch soon coming down on the other end of the wagon.

Soleiman returned to his position at the driver’s seat, helping to keep an eye out for Rumi and Qingxi, the wind blanket about those two extending slightly to encompass him as well– at least partially.

Pallas slowly exhaled, sighing deeply as she put her mittens back on and let herself sink into the canvas behind her.

It was strange. She felt no fear, nor any anxiety. In fact, there was something oddly comforting about being sheltered by one’s own blood, the warmth of her vitality soothing her from the back as they trundled on downhill.

So comforting, that she began to feel herself being lulled to sleep. And so, giving in to the warm embrace of the wagon’s canvas, Pallas curled herself up, dozing off not moments later.

As they continued on down the path, the skeletons they came across grew larger in scale. Soon, there were rabbits, larger birds, foals and wild cats– all strung up upon the canopies that hung overhead.

But it did not stop there.

The chirping grew louder, more violent, and the skeletons grew larger in turn.

Wild dogs, monkeys, and then a whole deer. All impaled upon the trees that stood around them, their barks so black it appeared as though they’d been charred by some unknown fire.

And then the chirping stopped.

Entirely.

“Wait a minute,” Soleiman said, sticking himself out of the wagon slightly. “Did the chirping just-”

There was a sudden thump, like the beating of a drum, that boomed out from behind them.

They turned around, seeing as Pallas jolted from her sleep, some shadowed creature flapping frantically against the wagon’s canvas before slipping up to the top and flying away.

“What the hell was that?” he asked. “...Pallas?”

“Y…yeah?” she responded.

“Are you alright? Did you see what happened?”

Pallas shifted about, pulling herself off of the canvas and hunching forwards lazily.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded. “It was nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she added. “Just focus on the front, I’ll hold up the rear.”

“...Alright, then,” he said, turning back.

Right. What did he say she should do again?

Ah, yes. He had told her to soak some bandages in her blood. To… protect the wagon?

Oh, no, it was to protect them. Rumi did get hit, didn’t she?

…Right?

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try. She had bled far more back during the days leading up to the second encounter with the Protoataphoi, and even then she was able to fight perfectly fine.

She’d be fine now too.

She quietly opened one of the drawers by her feet, pulling out a roll of bandages. She took off her mittens, setting them beside her once more as she began the process anew.

Gently, she felt as what remaining warmth in her cold body melted into her hands, the viscous fluid spilling into the pure white of the bandages and staining it a dark red.

Yes, all she had to do was prepare the bandages.

Gradually, she felt as what remaining strength in her head melted into her hands, the last lights of consciousness spilling onto the wooden floor of the wagon as her head bounced against its hard surface.

“Pallas- Pallas!”

Soleiman leapt from where he was perched, scurrying over to lift his sister’s head from the floor.

“Pallas, Pallas, please!”

“What, what happened?” Qingxi looked back.

“Pallas passed out!”

“What?” He could hear, the incredulity bleeding into the volume of her voice.

“I don’t know what happened I just-”

The beat of the drum sounded once more, the wagon’s canvas rolling as a second bird flapped against its walls.

And then a third.

And then the fourth tore entirely through the red cloth, its blazing form leaving a trail of embers that simmered angrily against the smothering blood as it darted about the inside of their vehicle.

The world went dull, Soleiman feeling as the Instrument hung about his neck glowed a faint purple. Hearing as the wheel’s rumbles grew quiet and watching as the bird slowed to a more manageable pace, he drove his fist into its glowing form, the burled up fingers of his dead hand responding not to the heat of the thing’s feathers.

The world returned to normal, and the flapping bundle of fire shot out the back of the wagon.

Noise surged back into being all about the four of them, chirping and rustling and the flapping of hundreds of wings suddenly coming into earshot.

The drum sounded again, the bird this time sliding off of the canvas without breaking through it. Instead, though, it left a trail of embers in its path, smouldering more brightly against Pallas’ blood than those left by the previous one; growing brighter and brighter by the second.

Until they were smouldering no more.

“Shit!” Soleiman gasped, carrying Pallas in his arms as he hurried on over to the driver’s seat. “Qingxi, the wagon’s on fire!”

“It’s what?”

“It’s on fire-”

There came a cry in the distance, not a chirp, not a caw, not a hoot nor a shriek. It was a great, terrible cry, one not musterable from the vocal cords of any bird. And it seemed the cacophony recognised that too, falling entirely silent mere moments after.

Before roaring back into being, swarming about their horses. The streaks of orange and red and yellow that burnt through the sky and spat terrible squawks ripped and bounced off of Qingxi’s faltering barrier of wind, the sheer number and volume and speed of their attacks very quickly melting the still serenity of her defences.

They needed a new plan.

And Qingxi had an idea.

“Oi, Soleiman!” she yelled, releasing her reins as she hopped onto her steed’s saddle.

“Yeah?”

“Swap!”

She jumped off of the horse, landing onto the driver’s seat.

“What?” Soleiman asked.

“Just go!”

She helped Soleiman along, essentially throwing him in place. Then, she picked Pallas up, placing her behind him.

“Wh… what’s the plan, Qingxi?” he asked, both he and Rumi ducking towards each other as the streaks of fire suddenly shifted their focus towards the wagon behind them.

“That’s a good question,” she responded.

The four of them sat about their dining table, the familiar sound of boiling water in the kitchen directly adjoining their Hibaran living room soon summoning Rumi to its side.

“I don’t think we can afford making any modifications to the sword,” she added. “Can we?”

“Realistically…” Soleiman began. “No.”

“Okay,” she said. “We’ll just have to live with it, then. At least until we can get some money from the Head Maiden.”

“We could always take on some jobs,” Soleiman said. “If I’m not wrong, hunting seems to be a pretty common source of employment for freelancers. We’d just have to… make do without the sword.”

“Mm,” Qingxi hummed. “We… we could still use it, of course. Rumi does know how to unsheathe it without firing its mechanism.”

“Would it be enough, though?” Pallas asked. “With the windblade she was at least strong enough to hold her own for a while. Without it, though… then it’s just any old sword.”

“That is true,” Soleiman added. “I suppose then the two of us would just have to hang back?”

“Mm, yeah,” Qingxi said. “Yeah. Unless, of course…”

“...Unless?” Pallas asked.

“The way it works now,” she began, struggling slightly. “Is that whenever the windblade is summoned, it calls forth the Serpent King’s flames, right?”

“Right,” Soleiman responded.

“And in doing so, it also calls upon his eyes, right?”

“...Right,” he responded again.

“So that means…”

“What?” Soleiman asked, tying the rope about him and Pallas’ waist as he looked back in disbelief at Qingxi.

“Are… are you sure, Qingxi?” Rumi asked, her right hand hesitating as it slowly reached for the Xiafan Blade.

“I am.”

She caught the blade as it flew towards her, quickly affixing it to her hip.

“Just ride on,” she said, tying the last knots that would secure the thing’s sheathe in place even in the thick of battle. “Go as fast as you can, and get out of the forest!”

“But, Qingxi-”

“Listen to me!” she yelled back, hurriedly rushing back to the driver’s seat, placing a boot against the wagon’s tongue as she balled up the roll of blood bandages Pallas had created around her right hand. The heat of the burning canvas now washing over her back, she watched as the circling firestorm of fluttering, flapping embers spiralled about them– shooting into and out of the trees to lunge at the blazing vehicle.

“Trust me, you two,” she said. “Go!”

She slammed her foot against the tongue, shattering it entirely. She let loose one end of the bandages, swinging it around to slap it against the horses’ behinds, sending them flying off into the distance.

“Leave the forest!”

She watched on, then, as the three of them faded into the distance, the living embers making no attempt to chase them down.

Slowly, the wagon began to lose its speed. Feeling as its burning wheels began to strain in their final resistive endeavour, she leapt from the vehicle, letting her windshield collapse into a small area entirely around her.

The surging sea of flame now mere metres from her body, filling her vision with eye-watering heat, she heard from amidst the pandemonium a distinct sound.

A harrowing cry, and then the thudding of claws.