18.3 Good Odds

General Summary

Day 222

It’s about midday and we are two days’ travel from Afan when Puddle returns from scouting ahead with a small, unconscious elven girl cradled in their arms. Puddle tells us that she was wandering about two hours away and was saying “He needs help” in elvish. Puddle’s slow pronunciation is unmistakable.   She’s so young, barely 50 years old, and malnourished with poorly bandaged wounds. After some attention from Camellia she slowly wakes and repeats again, “He needs help,”   She’s strong enough to be carried along with us as we travel back towards where Puddle found her. She huddles close to me and Alder, seemingly afraid of all the non-elves in our group. She’s so young...I wonder where her family is, if she was born here or carried across the Barrier. Thankfully Whisper cuddles up to her and she lapses into silence hugging the small furry creature.   A few hours later we come to a copse of trees with a dying campfire and a heavily wounded warrior unconscious on the ground. There’s an assortment of weapons strewn around him and the bandages cover blackened veins. As Camellia and Bran dismount and tend to him, I peer at his face and my breath catches.   This is Caravel. His face is lined and aged, as befits an elf of nearly 1000 years who retired nearly two centuries ago to raise his grandchildren and teach younger elves how to fight. The smile lines are deeper than all the others...I remember him laughing and pulling me into a sweaty hug after sword fighting lessons. Not duelling but actual, practical sword-play. It’s been years since I saw him and I’m not pleased to find him in this state.   I insert myself into the healers’ conversion and ask if there’s anything I can do. Those black veins look like blood poisoning if I ever saw it. Camellia has me help draw the toxins out of him and then sustain him while she tends to his wounds. It’s much harder than I expect and I feel enormously drained afterwards. But he’s alright. The black has receded and he’s breathing easier, though still unconscious.   As we set up camp Bran remarks that he shouldn’t be here. Ominous words but I’m grateful to have found him. It’s an enormous coincidence...I can scarcely believe it.   The girl, Zidi, curls up next to me by the fire and I coax a story out of her. She’s from the Frontier and monsters attacked her town, burning it. She fled with her mother and big sister and escaped. They were preparing to cross a river when Caravel showed up and told them he would hold off the monsters. She and her family had made it further to safety when her big sister turned back to fetch Caravel (despite the protests of the adults). He had taken a major blow to the head but she still managed to drag him to safety. Then they headed towards the foggy mountains and got separated. Zidi found the wagon that was holding Caravel and they’ve been sticking together ever since. It’s been about three weeks. Then they were attacked by the biggest monster she’d ever seen and that’s when he told her to run while he held it off.   I wrap her into a hug as she shivers at the memory. Only three weeks out of the mists...fleeing the Collective who continue to strike at my home. And defended by Caravel, inner family to Mistress and my own teacher. Fate spins in strange ways.   Leaving her in the care of my family Alder and I take a moment to prepare something sweet for her to snack on before bed. I nod at the still-unconscious Caravel and mention that he taught me how to fight. Almost on cue his eyelids flutter,   “Little one, is the tea ready yet?”   It’s a relief to hear his voice and I immediately retrieve a mug for him, holding it for him to drink. He feels frail, like a wizard who has over-extended himself.   Over our respective mugs of tea he tells me a story that comes with fragments of news from home.   Mistress received a letter from me and he says that it lit a fire for her. She has knocked the Collective back further and now Doraal is at her side as well. Alwen was instructed by the Empress herself to lead the Imperial Research Corps, which he accepted in my stead. He says he’s only holding the position until I return. This makes me laugh.   Caravel received a letter from one of Doraal’s inner family saying that he’d been badly hurt but was recovering and that they needed support. Of course Caravel went himself rather than send any of his own people. He was on his way when he came across a village where the Collective had struck and only 60 of 600 had survived.   He recounts the same story that Zidi shared and laughs at the prospect of being rescued by a little girl twice. It’s so good to hear his laugh...and there’s no shame in being rescued by a little girl, I tell him with a wink.   When he and Zidi made it through the Barrier they were in rough shape with not much food. It seems that he never did figure out how to manage a camp alone. Makes sense...that was always my job. The second monster was a dragon, he says. Enormous, brown and knobby, and its scales absolutely destroyed his sword. And it was collared and chained, he tells me. How annoying.   Once the story is shared, I introduce him to the rest of the group. I feel so young and gentle around him and there’s a thin strand of nervousness in showing him this new branch of my family.   Around the fire alone once again, Bran tells me that he thinks that Zidi and her sister were what Thalien would have called fatebreakers. Caravel’s thread should have ended but now it continues on because of their actions. Sometimes all it takes is one person refusing to bow to fate.