Ch.12 – Cracks
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Marcus and Clair stepped into the Faerie's Folly holding the head of the ghoul he and the others had slain. "This is one of those things that attacked us yesterday. One of the things that took Heward from us." He held it aloft for the townsfolk to see, there were gasps and cheers throughout the building. He waited for them to calm down before speaking again, "they will take no one else from us." Marcus tossed the severed head to Erich who had joined them from outside. "Figure out what to do with this." Marcus walked towards a table nearby.

Erich held the head awkwardly. "Uh, sure." He looked to Clair. "You should probably warn them about your friend so they don't get feisty, uh who is she anyway?"

"Her name is Harlowe, she's a good person," replied Clair.

"I'm willing to believe that, just her appearance is a little…" Erich gestures to the head.

"I think she's beau–" the door opened behind Clair. 

"I'm what?" Asked Harlowe as the townspeople gasped.

Oh Goddess, she heard me.

She held her iron mask in her right hand and scanned the room. Many of them stared with their mouths agape at the dark ichor that coated Harlowe's lower jaw and sharp fangs. She used her left hand to pull her hair up then slung the mask over the back of her neck and locked it into place. 

"I told you all earlier that I'm not here to hurt you." She glared at those who would meet her gaze then nudged Clair. "I'm no good at defusing situations, a hand?"

Clair blinked a couple times as she cleared her head. "By my station as a cleric to Isette I promise you, she is telling the truth." Remember, commanding voice. "She caught the ghoul before it could enter the building and assisted in slaying it."

The murmurs of dissent in the crowd grew quiet. "Nice job and thanks for dinner." 

Clair looked up at her with a brow raised. "Oh you're going to try something from here?" 

Harlowe shook her head. "No, outside."

Oh.

"Anyhow, if the people here aren't going try and run me out of here I need to go take care of the corpse outside." She smiled beneath the mask and her eyes softened. "I'll be back with something special."

Clair nodded. "I'll be at the table with Marcus, the big guy over there." She pointed at him and he waved back. 

"Got it." Harlowe headed out into the cold.

Shortly after the door closed there was a snapping sound from outside as Clair took a seat opposite Marcus. He looked over to the door. "What do ya suppose that was?"  

Vance's head popped up at the edge of the table as they hopped up onto a chair. "Dunno, Da." 

"Hello again, little Vance." Clair smiled. "Erich not joining us?"

Marcus waved a hand. "Probably not, he's got some other responsibilities. Gerd asked 'im to see about getting a militia ready and not one that attacks random folk like earlier."

Clair nodded. "I could help too. I helped put together a peasant army in Lhoric some years back." 

"How'd that go?" Asked Marcus as he took a swig of his drink.

"It worked for a good while, held off several lords in a few skirmishes." Clair's lips drew into a thin line. "Then one of the lords brought in a War Chimera." Her eyes became distant. "What's a farmer with a spear and shield meant to do against several tons of alchemically made killing machine?"

"Die, they're meant to die," said Marcus flatly. "That's the whole purpose of one of those beasts, to kill those the one controlling it wants dead."

"Yeah, it killed most of the forward lines." She sighed. "I'd have died too if one of our archers hadn't landed an arrow between the lord's eyes." Clair tapped the bridge of her nose. "The kid was a great shot."

Marcus looked from Vance to me. "And then what happened?" 

It wasn't clear to her which of them he was asking for. "Then the chimera ran back into the lord's army, grabbed the lord's corpse and left the battlefield."

"Ya, but what about the army and you?" Asked Vance, their elbows on the table as they leaned closer.

"Well, it's a lot less fun of a story, Vance." She looked to Marcus who nodded back at her. "I'll spare the details, but most of the force I was with ran or were captured." Clair cast her eyes down. "Some decided to assimilate into the other force under their new leader and others ended up imprisoned in the deceased lord's dungeons." She tapped her fingers against the table. "Was in that cell for about half a year before some other army took the keep and I managed to escape with the other survivors."

Harlowe came up behind Clair as she was speaking and put her clawed hand on the woman's shoulder. "Hard to imagine you in prison for long." She set down a hefty pack on the table. "Got back here as fast as I could.” She lightly squeezed Clair’s shoulder. “The spearhead’s still frozen in the ground.”

“You two don’t mind if she joins us, right?” Clair asked.

Marcus waved a hand dismissively. “Even if I had an objection, I don’t think Vance would let me. Look at this kid.”

Vance was halfway up onto the table as they stared at Harlowe. They were as enraptured as they had been during the time when Clair was telling a story from her past. 

Harlowe took a chair and sat down to the left of Clair. “Thanks for having me.” She flipped open a flap on her pack and removed a set of tools. “Don’t hold off on eating because of me.” Her eyes fell on Clair. “Someone already got me dinner.”

Marcus laughed and stood up. “Alright, the lady has a point. Anything specific anyone wants?” 

“Something warm, a stew?” Clair raised a finger. “Oh, and some of the mead, please.” 

Vance pounded their fists on the table. “Deer!” 

“If they have any gin, I’ll have some,” said Harlowe without looking up.

“Got ya, be back in a little.” Marcus walked off and tried to hide the limp he still had.

Clair looked to Harlowe. “Gin?” 

“Some things get around the curse,” she said without turning her head. "It's not even all spirits either."

"Oh?" Clair watched her set out her tools.

"Yeah, most exceptions are things that are closer to rot, like fermented foods such as blue cheese." She pulled a trio of metal spikes from a pouch and set them on the table. "Dunno how gin made it into the 'close enough to rot' camp, but wines didn't." 

Clair raised a brow. "I thought you were unable to eat food." 

"Oh, I can eat anything. It's the taste." Harlowe carefully picked up one of the metal spikes. "Enchantments are holding up well.” She put her right hand on the table and the slits between her knuckles opened up. “Just have to get the needles in there.” Her claws held one of the needles between the index and thumb, but as she brought it near the slot it slipped out of her grasp and clattered to the table.

The needle rolled off the table and into Clair’s hand. “I got it.” She held it gently, feeling the finely etched spellwork on its body. “I said earlier I’m not very skilled with magic, at least on a theory level. This seems very impressive.” 

Harlowe felt warmth in her cheeks. “I-it’s simple artificer work.” The ports on her right hand closed. “You make the focus and then write the spell itself into the object.” She paused. “It’s like a scroll or wand, but you put it on other things than parchment or wood.” She put the trio of spines back into a pouch on her pack.

Clair nodded and went to speak as Marcus arrived back at the table. He set a wooden tray laden with food and drink down. “Got everything you asked for, even the gin.” He chuckled and took his seat. “It’s a bottle of sloe from Winsch, got gooseberries in it.” 

Harlowe grabbed the bottle in question, a typical shape for gin with deep red spirit and the remnants of gooseberries settled at the bottom. She placed it next to her pack and handed Clair the stew Marcus had brought while he and Vance began to carve a roast of venison. Clair took the mug that had been filled with the Folly’s spiced mead and took a sip. The warmth and sweetness coating her tongue and throat. 

“Thank you, Marcus and you too, Harlowe,” said Clair.

The two of them nodded then returned to what they were doing. She looked at the stew and took a spoonful up to her mouth. It wasn’t exactly like the stew Berthold had made, but it had many of the same mountain herbs that warmed her belly as she ate. 

"So, what did you do all those years before you died?" Harlowe paused and raised her hand briefly. "Died the first time I mean! You didn't just soldier for those years."

Clair put her spoon down. "A lot of fighting, just not for lords."

"Learned yer lesson the first time?" said Marcus between bites of venison.

"Yes, I did." Clair pulled her pendant out of her shirt and held it in her palm. "I was… am a cleric of the Order of the Frost Queen." 

Harlowe raised a brow. "I thought only men of the Order were sent out to wander." She laughed. "Guess you couldn't stand being cooped up with the sisters."

Clair cast her eyes down. "Uh yeah…"

"What were they all into men?" Harlowe pounded a fist on the table. "Is that why you keep getting so flustered around me, a lack of experience?" 

Clair was silent. It hurts. Why does it hurt? She inhaled. "I–"

"You would have loved this one girl I met before I had to cut off my legs. She was…" she noticed small sounds coming from Clair. "Hey, are you okay?" She grit her teeth, making them sink into her gums. "Did I say something wrong?"

It hurts. I can't. Clair mouthed the beginning of the prayer. The area began to get colder. The top layer of her stew froze. 

Harlowe grabbed her by the shoulder. "Clair!" The air continued to cool as she said the first words aloud. "Damn it." 

Harlowe clapped her claw over Clair's mouth and nose. Without air she spluttered and Harlowe released her. 

Marcus leaned in. "Hey, you alright? His eyes were soft and his big bushy brows were pressed together. "Clair, hey." He reached over and put a hand on her other shoulder.

Just steel yourself, remember you need to be strong. Clair shook her head. "I'm okay, just some memories. Nothing more."

Marcus' face didn't relax. Harlowe didn't let go of her shoulder. Vance had hoppes off their chair and tugged lightly on her shirt.

"You three aren't going to just ignore what happened, are you?" Her gaze flitted between all three of them. "Please?"

"Clair, I know things are hard. You've been through a lot and not just in these past few days." Marcus rubbed her shoulder. "You told me about so much and that was over a decade ago. I can scarcely imagine what you saw after you left Imerre."

She remembered some things from her past clearly and others though, the ones where that man was involved, nothing but a blur and growing dread. The gaps in her memory were distressing. They were quickly losing ground to her inability to keep her cool around Harlowe. 

"I've been through some real awful crap too." Harlowe removed her hand. "Why don't I show you some of my scars, Clair? I'll be upstairs." She put everything back in her pack and walked off.

"Yeah…" Clair looked to Vance. "I'm gonna be okay, kid." She forced a smile then frowned as she looked at her stew, it was frozen solid.

"She forgot her booze," said Marcus.

The lights in the tavern filtered through the gin, casting the area around it in red. "Yeah, she did." Clair grabbed it by the neck and stood up. "I'm going up, can't really eat the stew now." She poked the frozen meal for emphasis. 

Marcus stood up and gave her a hug. It was nice, warm, safe. She had never really been touched before and even with her relationship with Marcus being platonic, it was a sensation that warmed her heart.

"Best o' luck," he said as he patted her back after releasing the hug. "As for your order at the smithy, give it another day or two."

Clair looked up to him. "Body still aching?" 

He nodded. "Getting up there in years, I'm sixty-seven next fall."

Clair smiled gently. "Don't push yourself too hard, old friend." 

"I won't," he replied as he sat back down. 

Clair briefly stopped to speak to Erich as she headed toward the stairs. He was leaning over a table facing a group of villagers. She recognized a good deal of them from the incident in the morning. 

"Erich, with these ghouls it's going to be important they know to limit their movement." Clair draws a line across her belly. "And keeping their stomachs inside their bodies. What I'm saying is get them spears."

Erich nodded. "Already seeing about getting as many as we can." 

"If you are going to have patrols, four or more would be the right number. It's not a competition either." She sighed. "Trying to be a hero will probably get you killed."

Erich raised a brow. "Then what were you doing when you were here the last time?"

"What do you think?" Clair left Erich and headed upstairs.

Hey, I just wanted to get around to thanking folks for reading Thaw and especially those leaving comments, it helps keep me motivated.

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