Nec-romance

We'll Switch Along the Way

Night was closing in. The last of the sun bled copper through the trees, low and slanting. There was a slow, grumbling thunder in the distance; a warning that the storm was drawing near. The air smelled like wet bark and mud.

Isolde marched forward without stopping. Birdie struggled to keep up. Her steps had grown shorter, breath uneven. But she didn't complain. Not once. Not even when she stumbled and fell.

- Birdie!

- I'm okay. - she said, brushing mud from her hands as Isolde helped her up. - I just need to watch where I'm going...

Isolde guided her to a nearby rock and sat her down. That's when she noticed Birdie's left shoe. It was completely torn underneath, and her foot was wrinkled and pale from the wet ground.

- Your shoe. Why didn't you tell me, silly?

- I told you I'm okay.

- No. You can't go on like this.

Isolde knelt and began unlacing her own shoe. She slid it off, then gently tugged it onto Birdie's foot.

- No, wait. You need shoes too!

- I am fine. It's not my foot that is half frozen. We'll switch along the way, until we find another pair.

Birdie watched her. Isolde's fingers were quick, practical, but there was a gentleness in the way she avoided touching the bruised skin. Birdie looked down. Her throat tightened and lips trembled despite her best efforts.

- You always took care of me. - she said, whispering. - Ever since we were kids. Do you remember?

- Well, you did get in a lot of trouble. - Isolde said without looking up.

- Where would I be without you?

Isolde stood up and turned her back, fiddling with the skull tied to her belt as if it needed adjusting.

- Not here. Running with a murderer. - she said. - I'll look around for something to start a fire.

Without waiting for Birdie's reply, she disappeared into the thick shadows of the trees. Silence was quick to follow.

Birdie pulled Isolde's shoe tighter around her foot, tucking in the frayed laces. It was too big, but warm. Warmer than her stubbornness about not keeping it.

She leaned back against the rock, letting her head rest for a moment. Her legs ached in a way that felt deep. Not just muscles, but memory too. Like she'd been running her whole life and only just realized how tired she was.

Somewhere high above, a crow gave a slow, ragged call. The forest had settled, and the usual rustling had gone still. No wind, no insects. Just the approaching storm and the soft drip of melting fog.

She closed her eyes. For a second, she imagined the bakery, back in the village. Abandoned by its owners, it was the only home Birdie had ever known. Somehow, the place had always kept its smell of flour.

A branch cracked behind her. Birdie opened her eyes, but didn't turn. Probably Isolde, coming back already. She smiled faintly.

- That was fast. - she said.

Silence. No reply. Birdie sat up straighter. Her eyes searched the trees, but the mist was curling thicker now, clinging to the trunks like fingers. She listened, but there was only that silence.

She stood slowly, leaning on the rock for balance.

- Isolde?

Still nothing. There was no flapping of wings anymore. No movement at all. Birdie's breath caught in her throat. At that moment, she had realized that wolves were silent too. Were they preying on her?

Then a hand clamped over Birdie's mouth before a scream could rise. Cold and rough, fingers dug into her cheeks, pressing her head back against a chest that felt like stone. Her eyes went wide with panic, heart racing into her throat.

- Shhh. Quiet, little sparrow. - a voice hissed in her ear. It was low, breathy, almost amused.

From the fog ahead, a second figure stepped out of the shadows like a nightmare grown from the forest itself.

Tall, wiry, cloaked in dark rags. The storm flashed, just enough to illuminate the deep lines on his face, the hollow eyes and the twisted grin. A wolfish man, old but strong.

- Looks like we missed a party, Gabriel. - he said. - Only the skinny one's left. The pretty one must've slipped away.

Birdie thrashed in first man's grip, but it only made him squeeze harder. Her breath came in short bursts through her nose.

The old man took a slow step closer, squinting at her with curiosity.

- Where'd she go, hmm? - he murmured. - The one with long, black curls. Sharp little voice, like a blade.

The lightning flashed again. His smile didn't move, but his eyes did. Darting side to side, scanning the trees.

Birdie forced herself still. She didn't answer. She wouldn't.

- You are scared. - he said, looking into her eyes and grinning. - Because you know I'll do something very, very bad if you don't give away your friend.

Not far away, Isolde crouched low in the underbrush. Her heart was slamming against her ribs. The shadows flickered with every flash of lightning. She saw the two of them: one holding Birdie, the other talking like this was nothing more than a relaxing stroll through the forest.

She should move. She should act. But what would she do?

Perhaps she could grab something, run at them, throw rocks? She watched, helpless, as Birdie shook her head, refusing to answer.

And then a twig snapped behind her. Before she could turn, an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her up hard. A second hand closed over her mouth.

- Found her. - a voice called out from behind her. - She was watching.

He dragged her out of the trees and into the open, feet scraping mud and wrists pinned behind her back. Lightning cracked across the sky.

Birdie saw her, and something broke in her eyes.

The older man let out a pleased, rasping breath.

- Ah. - he said. - There she is.

He crouched in front of Isolde, with his face now inches from hers. His breath smelled of smoke and old teeth.

- I was beginning to worry I'd have to disfigure your little friend here. - he said. - She just wouldn't cooperate. Admirable loyalty, that.

Isolde didn't flinch. On her knees, wrists bound, her hair stuck to her face in damp coils. But her eyes looked like they could close around his throat and squeeze.

- What do you want with us? - she asked with low voice, hot with fury.

At that moment, the old man's grin turned into something colder. He straightened, brushing off his coat like a man preparing for church.

- I want you to die. - he said, tilting his head slightly. - But will you? That remains to be seen.

He then turned to his men.

- Pack them up.

One of them stepped forward and grabbed Birdie by the arm, yanking her to her feet.

- Izzy! - she cried.

Her eyes were wet and wide with panic.

- Birdie! - Isolde lunged forward, twisting against the hands that held her. - Leave her alone! Don't hurt her!

A dull c***k rang out against the back of her skull. Pain burst behind her eyes. White, hot, drowning her consciousness in darkness. And then, nothing.

***

Darkness shifted behind her eyelids like smoke. Then, pain. There was a throb at the base of her skull, rhythmic, like the echo of a hammer against bone.

Isolde groaned and turned her head. Cold stone met her cheek. Her hands were bound. She blinked hard. Once, twice. Shapes swam in and out of focus. The ceiling above was vast and cracked, painted once in color, now flaked away by time. Stained-glass filtered moonlight through shattered panes, casting crooked shadows across the floor.

A cathedral. Or what was left of one.

She jerked upright with a gasp. Her vision reeled, but her instincts screamed ''danger''.

- Izzy!

The voice cut through the shadow. Birdie.

Isolde turned toward the sound. There, just a few feet away, Birdie sat against a broken pillar, with ars behind her. Her cheeks were wet with tears and eyes red.

Isolde tried to scoot closer but couldn't.

- Birdie, are you okay?

- I'm okay... - she said, shivering in fear.

There were two others, likely of the same age as them. A young man with long hair and a noble posture, even though he was tied up just like the rest of them. His expression was tight and guarded, and he looked disturbingly calm about all of this. Next to him was a girl who couldn't control her panting in a panic about what might happen next. A fresh wound on her cheek may have been a proper reason for her reaction. She flinched when Isolde's gaze met her.

- Where are we? What do they want with us?

Her voice rang through the vaulted chamber, swallowed a moment later by the weight of the walls.

The girl with the scar snapped her head up.

- What do you think? - she shouted. - They will bleed us to death!

The echo clapped against the broken pillars and stained-glass, hung there like smoke.

- Who will?

The young man spoke then, calm and unnervingly steady.

- The Inquisition of Nyrr.

He didn't look at her. He didn't look at anyone. As if reciting a fact from a book, not a death sentence, he just stared ahead.

- We're in one of their churches.

- By all means, sound more enthusiastic, Luka! - the scarred girl snapped at him. - Goddamn rich kids.

Birdie let out a soft whimper, then a rising squeal.

- No, no- We need to leave, we need to-

- Why? - Isolde cut in. Her voice cracked through Birdie's panic like a whip. - Why would they bleed us?

Luka turned his head to her now. His eyes were dull and tired, but his words were carved with certainty.

- To see if we're necromancers.