Synnecrosis - Part 7

The light tremble that persisted despite his efforts did not make it easy to navigate the half-bay, half-cavern beneath the convent in the dark of night. The water lapped quietly against the steep shoreline reminiscent of its demonic counterpart.

He had tried to will himself to calm, but the world that had been a home to him for a year and scant few months reeked of a deathtrap. Perhaps this was a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps they'd simply attacked him in the heat of the moment and meant him no harm. But his gut refused to acknowledge the possibility, instead twisting on itself in nausea as he let his right hand guide him to steady ascent of the stairs carved into the rock, effectively blind eyes full of fright as they jerked in saccades through the darkness ahead of him.

His entire breath was a shallow, almost soundless, erratic jitter.

Long moments ago, he'd crouched silent as a thief on the wooden floor of a cargo vessel, and delicate hands had settled against anchoring ropes - but he couldn't do it. His terror of another shipwreck outweighed his terror of his brethren turned enemies. He was no sailor. To man another ship alone, let alone one of medium size as opposed to one actually fashioned for a one-man crew, in the middle of the night, even? He'd wrestled with himself, cowardly pacing from one end of the anchored vessel to the other, wiping away fresh tears at his cowardice. His other fear had kept it from being an audible weeping as much as it had simultaneously sought to spur choked sobs.

For a long while, he'd crouched in the shadows on deck and rocked, trying to summon the strength to act. The most foolish part of him tried to bait him with the fate of his spiritual brothers that had not betrayed Julian. What was to become of them? But he couldn't bring himself to care, too deeply chilled by the vivid memory of Julian's death to find heroics appealing. The child in him did not want to die - and was convinced that if he did not get off this island, a deeply horrifying death was inevitable.

It was that same child that whimpered at the so impenetrable darkness that he dared not puncture with a torch as he pursued a feeble, suicidal back-up plan: Hope that there were still living Pandawans amongst the sacrificial cargo delivered and trade their freedom for his own.

There was absolutely no way that could possibly result in eyes getting pecked out; nor was there means for him to be discovered and tortured and killed, not necessarily in that order. Additionally, there was everything stopping the Pandawans from simply letting him free them and then abandonning him as a clearly untrustworthy, possibly dangerous fool. Those were the thoughts desperately clamouring for his attention, meek attempts to convince him that he was going to get out of this alive.

After having shirked the affliction earlier at the beach, he was back to being hyper-aware. It had crept back into him during the past hour uninvited - and unlike last time, it helped him little but to make him aware of the texture of the wall and the subtle uneven heights of the stairs. When he entered the convent's cargo hold, a maddening place where the stench of trapped animal met the sickly sweet smell of victuals.

It was here that the darkness actually began to be soothing. There was no light bleeding in from any source, suggesting that he was reasonably safe from discovery.

The serenity was shortlived. An angry squawk pierced the silence and with its sheer relative magnitude caused Azur to nearly cry out in fright, himself, jerking to the side and away from it, narrowing avoiding impact with another cage as a sweeping hand seeking means to steady him brushed across bars.

The subtle sounds of feathers, skin and beaks on metal made the life all the more tangible, and his own breathing seem part of a greater whole. "Quiet!" he hissed both angrily and desperately, voice barely audible.

"May the marrow rot in your bones and your wretched heart achieve its goal of freezing, you monster!" The source of the squawk spilt forth both the venom of words and a clack as a beak guided by a graceful, curving neck missed its target in the darkness by a wide margin - if only by distance rather than by lack of aim. The voice was only marginally quieter than the squawk.

"Will you hush already?" Azur struggled not to raise his own voice, his heart pounding in his chest, a claustrophobic feeling seizing his throat at the thought of running out of options in all physical directions. "You'll alert the others and then none of us get free!"

An awkwardly absolute silence settled for a moment. Then, a tentative, much softer enquiry riddled with a distrusting tone: "You wish to save us?"

A hiss of frustration escaped Azur. "No, I clearly want to drag you up to the abbey proper in complete unaided darkness," he retorted in bitter, flimsy sarcasm, feeling his fear throb in his skull like a tangible manifestation. What if someone had heard? What if the light would go on in the corridor ahead in a moment and spill clarity across the smears of black, and he was discovered? "Listen, listen," he prompted as relative silence from the shifting 'monkey bird' permitted. "I," he began, feeling his coherence threaten to break up and trying to pave way for fresh tears. "I need a favour," he uttered, addressing the captive creatures of which he had no grasp on how many there were. "Your freedom for my freedom. Okay? I let you out, you get me off this island?"

"Where did they take Windquill?" a sceptical voice rumbled immediately behind him, and he felt a surprisingly strong grip lock around his right wrist, tugging him slightly toward the cage he'd nearly leant against before.

"...I- I don't know," Azur stammered softly, tugging instinctively at his wrist. "I don't partake in- I don't- this isn't a place I ever go to, I try to stay out of it, I really do." The terrified child from before gripped him fast and wrenched a soft sound of surprise and fear from him as the grip intensified. "By Kunda, just let me help you, please," he whined desperately, voice still a whisper. "This is not the time to discuss moral reservations, please!"

Magically, the grip relented, and he let himself fall forward and stumble toward where he knew the door to be, and the hook with the key to the cages. Each time his path was deflected by an unexpected obstacle, a jolt travelled through him, arms lashing forward to secure whatever he'd bumped into. They'd made enough noise already. Things noisily clattering and crashing to the floor was not going to improve the situation.

The key chimed softly against its ring and hook as he acquired the crude item. Guided by stubborn rigor and caution, both, he felt his way blindly through the room, too scared to prompt for verbal aid from the captives, and descended into the eternity of unlocking cages. The fear of discovery greatly outweighed his fear of assault from the Pandawans, so while he jerked back slightly each time a lock clicked open and was slid off bars by deft fingers, he simply continued his quest, feeling the quiver of stress slowly seep back into his demeanour.

Finally, the last lock opened and he leant in exhaustion against the wall, his stomach twisting in on itself, right hand fisted around the now-useless key, left flat, but both raised above him against the wall in desperate attempt to steady his shivering body. A dark, self-deprecating chuckle spilt from him. The only physically taxing thing he'd done all day was his earlier flight, but he hadn't eaten all day and the barely abating stress was beginning to take its toll, his body insisting he was burning far more energy than he actually had at his disposal. A vivid fear for his life did not lessen the shivers, either.

"You, human," one of the Pandawans addressed him in the darkness, hushed. "Stay here. We will seek Windquill and then come back for you."

What. What, no. Despite being effectively blind in the darkness he twisted to look behind him with an aghast expression. "No, no, don't, you'll alert them, and your friend is surely dead," he blurted out, tone pleading.

"You cannot possibly know that," hissed the monkey bird. With no appearances to associate with the coives and the whispers rendering them almost uniform, Azur had trouble diffentiating between them, but he was fairly certain it was the one who had initially uttered the squawk.

"They'll have fed him to the Dark Water, listen to me, please, we have to go!" Azur carefully but determinedly pushed extended fingers through the darkness in hope of grabbing the errant creature. He found soft feathers. An instant later, a slender hand lashed itself across his face, prompting him to let go.

"Don't touch me, you filthy beast," the Pandawan hissed, before the sound warped itself into a threatening growl, presumably realising the full implications of all evidence before him. "These people are ill," he remarked, self-assuredly and with determination. "We cannot cure this disease of their mind, but we can help our friend, and with no bars to contain us, we can take them, should we be so misfortunate to attract their attention. And we will not leave Windquill behind if he is alive."

"Naold, perhaps the boy is right?" a meek voice spoke up. "If we risk our lives for one who is already dead-"

"We owe it to him to make sure," Naold snorted dismissively. Soft noises suggested he was turning, perhaps even walking toward the door, motions dictated by caution and a sense of duty, both.

"But we are only four," the submissive tone continued, tone bizarrely apologetic.

"Three if you insist," Naold snorted softly, reaching the door by the sound of his voice, and the other soft shuffling suggested he was not alone in his quest of stupid bravery. "Now quiet," he instructed, and began to handle the door.

Azur steadied his shaking shoulders with an abrupt iron grip of will, setting the key down on the nearest flat surface in silent discard, and using his left hand to guide him in careful backward motion along the wall. As the door opened, the light situation did not improve - the darkness was still as inky as before, which was both a curse and a blessing, latter since it made it likely the whole convent was currently resting. It was possible they had only set up guards aboveground, if they had thought him a menace at all.

He had to go. He had to go now. This was going to end in tears. There was no way they were not going to get noticed, because their friend was dead, and with their degree of stubborn heroics they were just going to search the entire abbey, not finding Windquill, and searching the entire abbey was right up there with the stupidest ideas ever conjured into existence.

Boat. This entire sidequest had been for naught and now he didn't even have the luxury of taking his time. At least that spurned him into self-preservation overdrive enough to at least consider it.

Nonetheless, his retreat back down to the cavern was still silent and by that necessity, slow, and a part of him clawed at his synapses insisting it wasn't anywhere swift enough to escape the metaphorical fangs of death that would no doubt rain down on him in a moment.

But the mostly open cavern came with starlight and discernable shapes. With another shiver touching him, but no hesitance, he pulled himself onto the deck and rested on all fours for a moment, trying to gather himself, to steady his breathing that was once more all over the place.

"Thank you."

The disembodied seeming statement caused him to twist to the side and fall onto his right shoulder. A subvocal curse escaped him for the foolish motion as the white, perched outline of one of the Pandawans became apparent to him. "...no problem," Azur responded after a moment's paralysis, automatically, without realising what a grotesque lie that made. Then the reality caught up with him as he twisted himself first on his back, then pushed to a sit on the wooden surface. "Didn't think you lot would be this keen on wasting your newfound freedom on a suicide mission, but, hey, what do I know, right?" he found himself bitterly ranting.

"You cannot ask them to abandon their kind," the creature responded, and with grace slid from his perch to a clasp of the edge of the boat, that body so awash with white colour that he seemed like an anecdote for purity.

"Yeah, well, I can't man this boat, let alone on my own, so the moment the others find them we're all dead," Azur spun fatalistically, only to sway as if weighed down from his sit to a groggy stand. Maybe if he went back to the rocky beach and hid, he could hold out for a few days. This island was as barren as if it had been claimed by Dark Water not only in spirit but physically as well, but with some effort, he was sure he could find some non-poisonous flora for at least minimal sustenance. Water, on the hand, was the bigger problem. What bitter irony that would be, to die of dehydration upon a tiny fleck of land in a vast ocean! Maybe he had pissed on a god's shoe in a past life.

Spidery fingers raised themselves in absent-minded gesture to a pale beak and traced the base of its jaw. "My brothers can fly," the Pandawan began, contemplatively. "But, if I may... I would like to help you with this boat."

Azur snapped his gaze around, surprise meeting the thrill of good news and the lurching realisation that he was going to have to make a feeble attempt at a sailor impression after all. Unless... "Can't you fly us out here?"

The graceful figure shrunk in on itself noticably. "No, master," he spoke, voice soft and full of regret.

The response stunned the ecomancer twofold, making him briefly uncertain which part to respond to first. The surprise was enough to knock some courtesy out of him: "I am not your master, Pandawan."

"You have saved my life, human. I owe you mine. So, I believe you are." The frail winged creature nodded once, decisively, tone one of surprisingly firm determination. In an effort to undo some of Azur's disorientation, he offered respectful guidance: "You must not mistake my servitude for slavery."

"...my name is Azur," Azur countered, struggling against the abrupt sense of responsibility and abstract dread, held still by tension all over again.

"And I am Sawdust," the creature responded, perhaps sensing that the title of honour should rest until they were clear of port and calm had been reacquired. "Now, let's steal this ship."

Rather than concur, Azur was jolted out of stupor long enough to remember his other enquiry, primal objection rushing back in. "Why can't you fly us out?"

"My wings can carry me, but not another. I was not born with the luxury of that strength, or much of any other. I am afraid I am not a very useful companion. For example, once the sun rises, I will need to retire, as it burns my eyes."

White feathers. White fur. Trouble with sunlight? Azur's brain struggled for a moment, certain the pieces fit together, but not quite grasping the context in its state. Then it clicked, just as he was about to dismiss the subject and focus on escape, like any fugitive ought to; Sawdust was an albino.

For a moment, that froze Azur in place, spawning at least ten other questions he wanted to ask his unexpected companion. Then he shook it off and forced himself to file it away for later. No amount of curiosity about Sawdust, be that his motivations or his biology, was going to get them out of here. "All right," he acknowledged, drawing out an exhale in an attempt to straighten himself out emotionally on short notice.

A moment later, he mirrored Sawdust's statement from before: "Now let's steal this jitatin boat."