Chapter 10 – First Love / Late Spring
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“So please hurry leave me / I can’t breathe / Please don’t say you love me”

 

The Astor Valley was, for all intents and purposes, not the slightest bit unique from any other. It was characterized by grassy, rolling hills, rich farmland, and the slow, winding course of the Sittix River, which bisected it almost evenly down the middle as it snaked its way northwest. Its roads were well patrolled, but travelers would have seldom found trouble along them even without said patrols. This was not the place for excitement or grand adventure; even the towns which dotted the Sittix were nondescript as they come. 

 

The one thing the Astor did have going for it, and not coincidentally, the one reason Sybil found herself trekking along its well trodden cobblestone roads, was its proximity to the Vertis Mountain Range. As it so happened, the lowland regions of the Vertis Mount Range were home to what locals so creatively referred to as ‘lumbering dragons’—solitary oversized lizard creatures with rows upon rows of elongated fangs, and dense patches of brightly colored plumage to both warm themselves against the cold mountain air, and attract mates. They were impressive things to look at, packed dense with lean, bulging muscle and shimmering scales which easily caught the sun’s rays. One of their hides would fetch more than a pretty penny for any brave enough to hunt such game. 

 

Though Sybil cared for neither the hides, nor the money they might bring; in hunting lumbering dragons, she sought only one thing. The lizards’ saliva, when properly harvested and stored, made an especially potent magical catalyst; it was the sort that could easily fire off several spells at once, or one or two difficult ones. It had something to do with certain enzymes which they had evolved. The freshwater stone crab, aptly named for the absurdly hard shell they had evolved—incidentally, a fun fact about the the freshwater stone crab was that it had evolved  four separate times, in four discrete regions throughout history—just so happened to be a favorite prey of lumbering dragons; even their iron-like jaws and piercing fangs had little effect when it came to cracking such shells. And, apparently, the catalyzing agent Sybil sought had come to be in order to solve—read: dissolve—that exact problem. 

 

It was something like that, anyway, Sybil was no biologist. First and foremost she was a pragmatist—or a witch, perhaps—and cared far more for the agent’s utility than its origin. Naturally, the use of such an ingredient would go a long way toward streamlining the process of casting the sort of spell Sybil had found herself preparing for. And while it was certainly the case that the aforementioned oversized lizards were dangerous prey, they were not the sort to pose a challenge for an experienced magic user and a skilled fighter, even if the one she happened to have in tow had to have been made a skilled fighter. 

 

As such, no worries of harm befalling herself or her companion came to Sybil as she led the way down frequently traveled roads, onto well trodden paths, and into seldom-disturbed trails. There were no frightful thoughts of how the surrounding pale stones, or golden grasses, or crystalline streams, might look when stained with blood. When Sybil shut her eyes, she was not plagued by visions of mangled bodies in their final breaths, nor clouded eyes staring blankly up into the aether as recognition faded into hollow emptiness. 

 

All that went a long way toward convincing Sybil the danger was hardly worth paying any mind. She was, after all, a chronic worrier, and if the risk of serious injury and or death at the hands of their prey was anything other than negligible, well, obviously she would be worrying about it. And, since she wasn’t worried about it, there wouldn’t be much sense in making herself worry about it. But for some reason, fretting over the possible dangers that awaited her and her companion within the craggy lowland hills of the sky-touched mountain range that stretched endlessly before her eyes felt far more preferable to occupying herself with the thing that was really bothering her: a fucking name.

 

And why the hell did that void-be-damned name—Madelyn, her lips curled into a grimace at the mere thought of it—why the hell did it even matter to her? The name, or rather, the initial feelings Sybil had upon hearing the name, sang entirely with positivity, intensely so, even. The moment Madelyn had uttered it, Sybil felt something bubble up inside her. Madelyn was the sort of name that snuck itself between soft silken sheets following a long day’s toil, sealing itself in for the night with a gentle kiss to ensure it was the first thing that lingered on the lips of its bedmate the following morning. A name whispered lightly into a person’s ear as its speaker exhaled hot breath onto the neck of the one they sought to seduce. The sort of word uttered by glossy lips painted a deep cherry red—or perhaps a thalassic, abyssal blue, even a rich, umbral black—to gain entrance to the strange, smoky underground taverns Sybil had glimpsed in dreams of faraway places. It wormed its way deep within her, buzzed in every neuron, and, when spoken, the syllables beat in time with her heart. 

 

But Sybil wasn’t supposed to feel that way. Or, more accurately, there was only one person Sybil was supposed to feel that way for, and she was somewhere on Earth, going about her business while Sybil, naive, childish woman that she was, toiled over her feelings for someone else. And that was the problem. She’d lied before. At least, mostly lied. It wasn’t entirely dishonest to say she’d felt a strong connection to the name, only, in reality, the real reason she’d felt so strongly as she had was that the moment she’d heard that name, with its gorgeous sounding everything, something had clicked into place in her mind and Sybil had finally seen Madelyn for who she was: a woman. Or, at the very least, a feminine person who was most certainly not a man. Sybil wasn’t certain what, exactly, Madelyn had meant by ‘something in between,’ but it was probably some kind of Earth thing. 

 

Regardless, the mechanics of what, exactly, Madelyn was didn’t seem to matter to Sybil so long as she wasn’t a man. And, like a fateful little chip in an old, worn-down dam, coming to that understanding had set something off in Sybil. Feelings she’d been trying to keep locked away had the burst hinges on that delicate lock which held them at bay. Raw emotion, the kind which brewed in the dark, musty corners of her heart’s cellar, unprocessed, unfiltered, the sort which made one as blind as they were drunk, rushed to her head, flushing her cheeks and cleaving all rationality. 

 

The simple fact that Madelyn had made Sybil feel that way, continued to make her feel that way whenever she let her guard down, was enough to infuriate her. Because that name did mean something to Sybil, something beyond it simply belonging to the person it belonged to. It had been someone else’s; she didn’t know who they were, or what role they had played in Sybil’s life, but they were important to her. Hearing it called to faint, foggy feelings of happiness, of contentment, of lazy mornings stretching into idyllic afternoons and peaceful evenings. Hearing that name felt like her, like the woman who would fall asleep on Sybil’s shoulder after a long day, who always fit so neatly and comfortably into Sybil’s arms when they settled down for bed. Perhaps she and Madelyn even shared a name; there were certainly more absurd coincidences in the world, but also, perhaps not. Either way it would change nothing in the here and now, she had more important things to worry about. The other Madelyn may just as well have simply been someone from her childhood; in retrospect Sybil’s life may have felt like one of strife, but she knew there were far-off days in which her younger self may have felt love from some friend or relative. 

 

But genuinely, in the moment It didn’t really matter who the other Madelyn was, what mattered was that this one, the one she found herself drawn to, was also Madelyn. And for some reason she felt robbed, like this person, a person who shouldn’t even matter all that much to her, had eclipsed those important feelings and inserted herself into Sybil’s thoughts and fantasies, all while she had more important things to worry about. Of course, none of that was Madelyn’s fault; she didn’t deserve Sybil’s ire, which of course just made Sybil feel worse, and when Sybil felt bad she loved to reach for anger instead of anything helpful, so the fact that she was mad at Madelyn without any legitimate justification just made her more mad at both herself and Madelyn. 

 

And Sybil didn’t want to be angry; she was, but she hated it. So naturally, the way forward was to stop letting any matters of Madelyn rule her thoughts. Her resolution was simple; until her task was done, Madelyn was an asset, a business partner, one to be treated with professional courtesy and consideration, but nothing more. Nothing against Madelyn personally, but while Sybil had undeniably grown more than a little fond of her traveling companion, she could not allow herself to be distracted from her real goal. 

 

Once she achieved that goal, everything would be better. All the strife Sybil was living would end, it had to. That was the whole point of all she’d been through, wasn’t it? She would struggle through the here and now to achieve a better then and there, and when that then and there arrived, things would simply stop being so difficult. It felt foolish and naive to see the world that way, but Sybil had seen the future she was working toward, and in that future, little about her life was different save the presence of her, the way she would taste, the twinkle in her eyes when she gazed up into Sybil’s, the sound of her voice when she was lost in the throes of shared passion. 

 

When that future came, all the difficulty with Madelyn could come to an end, hopefully on good terms; Sybil would have no need for frustrated, complicated feelings if she had all she wanted. So naturally, when faced with everything she was going through, all the dissatisfaction, hurt, and misplaced anger, the clearest course of action was to press forward into that hopefully quite certain future. That would be what was best for Sybil, and what was best for Madelyn, she was doing neither of them any favors by wallowing in unjustified anger over feelings she couldn’t have. Worst of all, she might give Madelyn the idea that things between them might work. The idea of hurting her in such a way tore at Sybil, tore at her in the way that only fed her misplaced anger, so she shoved those feelings aside as well. There was a task to be done, and she would worry about that, even if, all in all, said task carried little to worry over. 

 

With all that in mind, their trek was made in relative silence. A tension hung over both of them; Sybil could feel Madelyn’s eyes on her as she led the way, and, despite herself, she felt the same desire that Madelyn doubtless felt: the desire to break the shared spell of quiet which had overcome them both. Neither managed it though, they simply pressed forward, a stiff discomfort blowing between the two of them, the metaphorical distance they felt matched in turn by the way Madelyn walked uncharacteristically far behind. She put on the airs of someone biding their time, using each and every moment to take in the new sights around them, but Sybil knew better. Madelyn was like her in the sense that she seemed far more in her own head than present in the world around her. The performance of curiosity and interest was there, but behind those eyes lay a mind as preoccupied as Sybil’s.

 

In fact, both were lucky Sybil had sent Lady Hissruuk ahead to scout, as, if not for the sudden appearance of her favorite snake, coiling herself around Sybil’s leg and eyeing Madelyn with suspicion and malaise, the two would likely have wandered uncomfortably close to a particularly mean-looking lizard. Grateful for her familiar’s intervention, Sybil ran her middle and index fingers along the python’s head, in turn ‘Ruuk nuzzled herself tighter, bringing a much needed faint smile to her Mistress’ lips. Sybil held up a hand behind her, cautioning Madelyn; it was an unnecessary gesture, ‘Ruuk had done more than enough to stop her right in her tracks. And even if that weren’t the case, the great ungainly beast which wandered the clearing just downwind of their vantage point certainly went to no trouble to hide its movements. If she had the capacity for such vexations, Sybil might have scolded herself, but her brain was working in overdrive just trying to stay focused on the big dumb lizard before her instead of the cacophony of conflicting feelings she felt toward the person behind her. 

 

“I take it that’s what we’re here for?” Madelyn’s hushed voice rose from behind Sybil, who only deigned to nod in response. “So what’s the plan?” 

 

“Simple: I cast a spell which will put it to sleep, you walk right up to it and kill it; a quick stab through the eye will make it quick and painless. After that, we harvest its saliva.” Without waiting for a reply, Sybil began mentally preparing the spell she was about to cast. She would, of course, get confirmation from Madelyn before actually casting it, but there was no sense wasting time; keeping something that big asleep would take effort. She was just lucky it was still a simple enough spell to avoid the necessity of any additional reagents. 

 

“Do we really need to kill it if all we need is the saliva? You’re putting it to sleep, right? I could just collect some while it’s unconscious.” The apprehension in Madelyn’s voice was palpable, but clearly went beyond the unspoken issues between the two of them. 

 

“Not killing it would be too risky; it might wake up, and those things are no joke when awake.” That, at the very least, hopefully was fairly obvious. This particular specimen of lumbering dragon stood around three meters high from its feet to the peak of its arched back. It was easily seven meters from the tip of its heavy but agile tail to its fang-laden mouth. Its long, lean legs flowed into talons the length of Sybil’s forearm, and despite the name lumbering aptly describing the way it plodded through the clearing below, when threatened it would become agile and deadly at a moment’s notice. “It’s us or it, Madelyn. Letting it live is a recipe for this whole thing blowing up in our faces and us not getting what we came here for. I’m not letting anything get in the way of this spell working. Especially not some oversized gecko.”

 

“Look, I’m not eager to tangle with whatever kind of weird dinosaur that thing is, but I’m also not keen on the idea of killing something we don’t need to kill. I’ve never really killed anything bigger than a bug; that’s not to say I won’t be able to do it if and when the need arises. I’d just prefer to avoid it, if possible. Honestly even when spiders come into my apartment I put them outside instead of killing them, but regardless—” Madelyn paused, and Sybil found herself unable to keep from turning to face her companion. Shining, pale blue eyes met hers; Sybil managed to keep her legs steady. “I trust you, Sybil; I don’t know jack shit about magic, but whatever you need to do to keep it from waking up, you can manage. I know you can.” And for some stupid reason, Sybil believed her; she felt warmth building inside her at the reassuring smile Madelyn afforded, and she nodded.

 

“Fine, we’ll do it your way, I just, I don’t want to see you hurt.” This was the exact sort of bullshit vulnerability Sybil was supposed to be avoiding; what did she care if Madelyn wanted to go get herself shredded by that thing? She knew the answer to that question, she cared a lot, obviously, but that was beside the point. Madelyn would get her opportunity. 

 

“I won’t get hurt, I promise.” For a moment, Madelyn seemed to want to reach out to Sybil; for a moment, Sybil wanted her to. Madelyn’s hand lifted, fists half uncurling to paw awkwardly at thin air as she made a half-hearted attempt, then caught herself. And though Sybil reflexively found herself leaning in, neither’s attempt made up for the distance. The moment passed. Madelyn turned, and took her position on the ridge overlooking the clearing below, vial in hand, crouched in a runner's stance—calf muscles bulging—sword at her hip in case things broke bad. With a slow inhale, then similarly tempered exhale, Sybil brought forth the magic she felt welling up inside her, and sent it outward, toward the beast below. A moment later, it was on its side, eyes closed and breathing slow, heavy breaths.

 

With practiced movements that seemed to surprise even Madelyn herself, Sybil’s companion ran both silently and blisteringly fast; hardly a moment had passed before she stopped at the beast’s mouth, and gently pried its lips open. It grumbled softly; Madelyn hesitated for only a moment, and the fear which gripped Sybil died quickly as she found her hold over the spell remaining strong despite the disturbance. A minute passed, perhaps slightly more, perhaps slightly less; there was little to mark the passage of time save tension as the vial slowly filled, but after an agonizing stretch of seconds, Madelyn withdrew her hand, wiped it on her trousers, and held the sealed vial aloft.

 

Sybil sighed with relief, only to immediately stuff that relief away as, somewhere higher up the mountain, a great rumbling could be heard. It may have been some larger creature, perhaps an avalanche, even some odd seismic occurrence; regardless, it was loud, it was distracting, and it echoed deep across the cliff faces and down into the clearing below. An arms length away from the smiling, waving Madelyn, an eye, disturbed by the noise and no longer so firmly held by the grasp of magical slumber, popped open. A second low rumble rang out into the otherwise silent air, and in a flash, the lumbering dragon was upon Madelyn, pouncing forward and landing with great weight, knocking her prone. 

 

To her credit, or, perhaps more accurately, the credit of the odd little curio she’d been blessed with, Madelyn reacted quickly and skillfully. She wriggled onto her back, slashing upward at the creature’s neck with her sword, then driving the hilt downward in a blunt strike to the clawed foot which pinned her in place. The dragon roared, rearing back just long enough for Madelyn to roll away and spring to her feet, then the dragon brought its full weight down into the empty patch of grass where she’d once lain. Despite her skillful maneuvering, the weight of the impact so close was enough to send her stumbling backward, swinging wildly to prevent any pressing advance. Her opponent made no attempt to follow, however, at least not right away. Instead, it leaned backward onto its haunches, coiling itself not unlike a cat, then pounced forward, knocking Madelyn onto her back once again.

 

For the briefest of moments, Sybil exhaled a sigh of relief. Madelyn had apparently expected such a response and driven her sword directly into the side of the beast’s neck. Its screams were deafening, but screams were all they were, howls of pain, not desperate death throes. Instead, Madelyn found herself once again pinned, a foot pressing heavily onto her chest, its longest talon hovering a hair’s breadth away from her throat. Sybil looked on, frozen in horror as that thing’s gaping maw crept closer to Madelyn’s terrified face. She felt the power to intervene well up within, the magic that would blow the stupid fucking lizard away and leave nothing but a charred silhouette in its place, but it was so close to Madelyn, she would surely be caught in the splash damage. 

 

As though hearing her pleas, Madelyn responded to the encroaching snout with a heavy bash from her armor plated elbow. Even from afar, Sybil could tell Madelyn had put everything she’d had left into that hit, all her might, as much of her body weight as she could heave. The point of her elbow connected with the monster’s nose in a sickening crunch, then, to drive the pain home, she once again brought herself down onto the creature’s foot, then collapsed backward. The reaction was far less dramatic than when she’d stuck the thing with her sword, but nevertheless, it gave Sybil her opening. 

 

With another roar, the lumbering dragon reared backward, preparing to bring the full weight of its body down upon Madelyn, who seemed too battered and exhausted to manage the same acrobatics as before. It never had the chance. Just as Madelyn had put everything she had into that elbow, Sybil poured all of herself into the magic that welled up within her. In that moment, Sybil felt that if she never cast another spell in her life that would be fine, so long as this one worked. Light erupted from Sybil’s fingertips, engulfing the creature in blazing energy, sending it rocketing a full four meters backward. It didn’t get back up. Panting, drained, she fell forward onto her knees. Madelyn sat up. Her gaze swung back and forth between Sybil, and the smoldering corpse behind her. They exchanged a look; Madelyn once again brandished the undamaged vial, then offered an awkward thumbs up. Sybil smiled. 

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