//------------------------------// // 709 - Confusion and Clarity // Story: Lateral Movement // by Alzrius //------------------------------// It was quiet for the first time in days. Of course, Lex knew that there had been prolonged periods of silence over the last few days. Hours had gone by as everyone had trekked through the wilderness, first through the remainder of the mountain pass and then into the forest, without saying anything. Long stretches of night had gone by where no one had been able to bring themselves to make a noise. Even the periods when someone had been forced to speak – casting a spell or shouting warnings during the intermittent periods of violence – had been comparatively brief. But not once, during all that time, had his tulpa ceased to broadcast his own failures and regrets and self-loathing back at him. It had been utterly relentless. Hour after hour, day after day, its voiceless words had slid across the forefront of his consciousness, dragging his thoughts back time and again to the events of the last several days. His inability to adequately protect Thermal Draft. His disturbing new bond with Solvei. His failure to find out if the mares he loved were still alive or not. His being forced to go on a profoundly dangerous detour instead of putting all his effort into getting home. And then the newest, most recent low that he’d sunk to, where not only had the secret that he’d worked so hard to keep buried been casually unearthed to all within earshot, but had subsequently broken the most inviolable prohibition that he’d set for himself; the single constraint that he’d sworn to never, ever break. He’d killed somepony. This wasn’t his having failed to anticipate some situation or circumstance that had led to pony deaths that could have otherwise been prevented. This wasn’t him having lacked the power or the resources to stop a tragedy, whether natural or engineered. No, this was his having launched a deliberate attack that had slain another of his own kind. That he’d been aiming at someone else made no difference; the intent of his attack had been to kill, and because of that a pony was dead. Maybe. That Woodheart’s death hadn’t been confirmed – and that there was circumstantial evidence to the contrary, according to what he’d Mystaria say – brought Lex no solace. If anything, it made him feel worse rather than being a source of hope. Just like how he hadn’t been able to find out if Sonata, Aria, Nosey, and Feather Duster had survived, the uncertainty surrounding Woodheart’s fate was paralyzing. Each time he dared to hope that she might still be alive, the presence lurking in his shadow mocked him viciously about being too weak to face the harsh reality of what he’d done. And when he found himself sinking into despair over her Woodheart’s likely death, his tulpa had spitefully pointed out how she might have survived, preventing him from even beginning to work through the moral ramifications of his actions. It had been all he could do to keep functioning in the face of such vitriolic condemnation. His thoughts had been filled by it – and his dreams had been so much worse – leaving him struggling to maintain his resolve in the face of such overwhelming bitterness. Everything else had received the minimum attention necessary, from the hostile environment to the periodic attacks by monsters. Even the adlets had required only a fraction of his consideration, since the threat of giving them the same inedibility curse that he’d put on Toklo made them easy to control. But Shadow Star’s antagonism toward Thermal Draft had been different. Unlike the monster attacks, he hadn’t been able to pass that one off to Solvei. For whatever reason, the masked mare’s attacks on his character had upset the winter wolf severely, to the point where she would have escalated the situation if he’d sent her to intervene. Nor had he been able to stomach the thought of using his black crystals to separate the two mares...not after the shameful way he’d lost control of himself earlier. And with Shadow’s own friends unable to call the mare off, taking action personally had been the only recourse. “Leave her alone.” Stopping the enraged earth mare’s attacks had been easy enough, but just for an instant he’d needed to think about what to do if she’d continued to press her attack. For a split-second, he’d had something to focus on other than his own misery, a task that couldn’t be outsourced to Solvei or avoided by turning into shadow. None of those earth mares were what he considered to be strong, but they had just enough power that he couldn’t afford to dismiss them completely, especially given what would happen if Thermal Draft were to lose her life. It hadn’t come to that, however. Although she’d been prepared to press her attack, Shadow’s friends had regrouped, taking advantage of the distraction he’d inadvertently provided to drag their friend away. It had only been when Lex had turned to confirm Thermal Draft’s well-being that he’d realized that he wasn’t being bombarded with negativity anymore. Inside his head, it was finally – finally! – quiet once again. The respite was a small one, like a single swallow of water after weeks in the desert. But it was enough to send a rush of relief through Lex. While the anguish he felt over everything that had happened hadn’t gone away, putting it out of his thoughts had allowed its intensity to lessen just enough that the rogue portion of his consciousness had at last fallen silent. But that would only last so long as he had something else to concentrate on; some immediate circumstance that required his personal attention. Otherwise he felt certain that, with nothing else to occupy his thoughts, he’d find himself focusing on his recent failures again. Which meant that it was time to talk to Thermal Draft about what had passed between them that night at the inn. There was no guarantee that he’d like the outcome of that conversation, but at least it would give him something new to think abou- “Where is he? Where is the pony who killed Panuk?” The female voice – not one he recognized – caused one of Lex’s ears to twitch in mild surprise, even as Solvei, ever protective, interposed herself between him and the speaker. It seemed he’d have plenty of things to busy himself with for now. “What are you doing here, Akna?” Having learned years ago that nothing demoralized a group faster than seeing their leader lose his composure, Yotimo kept his voice neutral, despite his surprise. Nor did he outwardly react when the shaman – their tribe’s only shaman ever since Akna’s grandmother had passed away in the war against the yetis – turned to glare at him. “Give me Bloodletter,” she demanded, pointing at his spear as she drew herself up to her full height. “I’m going to deal with Panuk’s killer myself.” Pausing to make sure he’d heard her correctly, Yotimo took a deep breath. But instead of answering her, he instead glanced around. Sure enough, everyone – or at least, all of the warriors he’d brought; the bulk of the ponies seemed preoccupied with their hysterical friend, while the other two were being covered by the winter wolf – was watching them. Even the members of their band who had been sleeping were wide awake now. That wouldn’t do. Morale was already low because he’d made a bargain with the pony leader to save Toklo. Getting into a fight with their shaman, let alone allowing her to put herself in danger, would only make things worse. Which meant that the first order of business was giving himself some cover to figure out what Akna was thinking. Fortunately, long years in command had taught him how to do exactly that. “I’m sure everyone here would appreciate the entertainment.” He nodded at the rest of their people, letting the barest hint of a wry tone enter his voice. Akna didn’t miss it, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t think I can do it?” “Oh, I think it would be a spectacle,” he replied evenly, making sure not to dodge the question, “one that’s dearly needed since our perimeter guards are so bored that they’re not bothering to keep watch for forest creatures.” Several adlets grimaced as a round of self-conscious looks were traded. Shuffling their feet in embarrassment, the guards turned their attention back toward the forest, knowing that they were responsible for the safety of their fellows. The rest of the troops settled back into their hammocks as well, though Yotimo had no illusions about them going back to sleep. Instead, he glanced at Akna – and over her shoulder at the ponies again – before nodding his head in the opposite direction. “Walk with me.” “I’m not one of your warriors,” she shot back, still glaring at him. “I don’t take orders from you.” “Suit yourself,” he replied, again keeping his tone light and unconcerned. “I’m going this way, you can come along if you want.” He didn’t wait for her to reply before he turned and started walking, knowing that she’d follow if she really wanted the spear. Sure enough, he heard her mutter an oath under her breath before moving to catch up to him. When she spoke next, her voice was thick with anger, but at least she kept it down. “How dare you treat me with such disrespect! And in front of the others!” “I apologize if I made you look foolish,” replied Yotimo easily. “I’m afraid I’ve never been skilled at making the bad decisions of others appear wise.” She could almost hear her teeth grinding. “You old-” “What are you doing here, Akna?” he cut in, not interested in her temper tantrum. She might have been the tribe’s only shaman, but she was still young, which meant that her outbursts needed to be managed rather than indulged. “I told Silla that you should ask the spirits about the ponies’ shrine, or prepare to repeat your vision quest. Not come out here on your own.” “And I told you that I don’t take orders from you,” growled Akna. “For that matter, I also told you why I’m here: Panuk must be avenged!” Yotimo came to a stop then, turning to give her a flat look. “And yet you never once responded favorably when he tried to court you.” Frustration clouded Akna’s features then, as it often did when this topic came up. That their shaman was an object of desire for most of the tribe’s younger males was no surprise to anyone. It wasn’t simply that being the mate of the shaman was prestigious; it was that Akna herself was a beauty. Her legs were long and lean, as though all the fat in them had been moved upward to her bottom, which was pleasantly full, making it a perfect match with the wide flair of her hips. Despite that, her waist was compact, as was her trim middle, something that only made the swell of her breasts – already more generous than those of most females even when nursing – stand out all the more. Throw in her soft features and white hair that looked like it was spun from snow even when it was pulled back in a braid, and she was pretty enough that even Yotimo couldn’t completely ignore her looks, despite his carnal desires having died along with his beloved. Even her name was suggestive; “Akna” was their language’s word for “fertile.” Akna herself hadn’t seemed to mind the attention that her looks and her name had brought her – what young girl wouldn’t? – but her grandmother had been adamant about teaching her to speak with the spirits before she’d allow her granddaughter to be courted. Even so, Akna had been a terrible flirt, and on several occasions fights had broken out among boys over who she liked more. That had all changed after war had broken out with the yetis, however. That Akna had undertaken a vision quest had caught everyone by surprise, and her grandmother had argued against it, saying it was too dangerous. But, in a rare show of defiance to her mentor’s opinion, Akna had gone anyway. And the results had been beyond anyone’s expectation, coming back with a weapon of such power – far beyond Bloodletter, the spear her grandmother had spent years crafting – that she’d turned the tide of the conflict all on her own. But she hadn’t come back in time to save her grandmother, and the bright young girl who’d enjoyed teasing the boys hadn’t come back either. In her place was a grim, humorless young adlet who – despite having to return the weapon she’d saved them all with – seemed to regard the entire world as a hostile place, rather than a source of majesty and beauty. While Yotimo could relate, his own joy having died with Toklo’s mother and grandparents, he still mourned how such a joyful young girl had become so jaded. Worse, at least for the tribe, was that she’d lost all interest in mothering any children of her own. Despite having seen twenty winters, she still slept alone, and there was talk of asking the elders to push the issue. The tribe’s numbers needed to be replenished, and another shaman needed to be trained, and yet the adlet named for her fertility and in her prime breeding years showed no interest in any such thing. Which made it all the more mysterious that she was so upset to learn about Panuk’s death now. “It’s not just that the ponies killed one of our people,” she retorted at last. “They’ve trespassed on our lands, and put a curse on one of us – on your own son! – that offends the spirits! And yet you’re negotiating with them instead of making them answer for their crimes, even though you brought an entire war party with you!” But Yotimo refused to let her turn the conversation back around on him. “And you felt that the best way to rectify this was to come out here personally, rather than either finding that shrine the ponies are looking for or retrieving the means to wipe them out?” Akna, however, seemed to be tired of explaining herself. “Give me Bloodletter, and let’s see.” She held her hand out then, but Yotimo made no move to give her the weapon. “Bloodletter isn’t the sort of weapon-” “Do not lecture me about the spear!” growled Akna. “I watched my grandmother work on it many times when I was young! I know all about what it can do: that it turns even a slight scratch into a serious cut and a cut into a deep gash, but at the cost of inflicting matching injuries to the wielder! Now give it to me!” “It’s not matching injuries,” corrected Yotimo, still refusing to do as she said. “The wounds you take correspond to the location of the hits you land, but they’re not as severe, which means you need to fight carefully, rather than angrily. And nothing about it can remove curses, like the one that Toklo received, which that pony will put on you if you go through with this.” “He’ll lift them to save his own life,” insisted Akna. “And if he won’t, then he will to save the lives of his companions!” “That’s only if you can best him in the first place,” countered Yotimo, trying not to sigh. It was like talking to Ujurak all over again. “These ponies survived four days in this forest on their own. None of them should be taken lightly.” Akna lowered her hand then, apparently realizing that further discussion was pointless. “I’m doing this,” she declared. “You can either aid me or hinder me, but I’m confronting that pony. And I’m doing it now.” This time Yotimo didn’t say anything, trying to figure out what was going on. Even with how grim her personality had become, Akna had never been this aggressive that he could remember. So why was she acting this way now? Taking his silence as defiance, the young shaman snarled at him. “Have it your way, then. We’ll see how much longer you can take that attitude when everyone here sees me save your son.” She marched passed him then, stalking back toward the ponies. This time Yotimo did sigh, taking a few moments to gather his patience before moving to follow her. Hopefully, after she failed, he’d be able to confer with that winter wolf’s master and confirm that their deal was still in place. With any luck, her being humbled would bring Akna to her senses as well; they still needed her to find that shrine. But when he caught up to Akna a few moments later, she was frozen in place, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open, a look of shock on her face. Following where her eyes were looking, Yotimo got his first good look at the pony leader now that he was a pony again, rather than a black cloud with glowing eyes. Like Toklo had described, he was a unicorn, but whose horn didn’t match his coat, being blood-red where the rest of his body was grey. Even more strangely, his shadow fell against the light, stretching out further than it should have in the dim glow of the guards’ weapons. He was clad in robes and a cloak, though thankfully he wore no mask; Toklo had told him how one of his companions had destroyed it after he had temporarily gone mad and tried to kill him, hitting one of his retinue instead. Still, he looks only slightly less formidable now than he did before, Yotimo decided, glancing at Akna’s thunderstruck expression again. If Toklo hadn’t described him to me, I suppose might have been caught off-guard by his appearance also. Except, he realized a moment later, Akna wasn’t just staring at the unicorn, who was glowering back at them in a silent challenge. She was staring at his foreleg, where the sleeve of his robe ended just above his hoof. Frowning, Yotimo glanced at the pony's leg again, trying to see what Akna was gawking at. A moment later he caught a glimpse of barbed wire, of all things.