Tit for Tat

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The wind was a little too biting. Seems like winter wasn’t ready to give up her hold on things quite yet. But it was a welcome feeling for Marto as he closed the door to the modest private rooms on the ground floor of the Fort. His new plate armour fit snugly on him, but it was still something entirely different to the splint he had been wearing the week before. He needed to get to Daring Heights early if he wanted to go to Samed’s Smithy to sell his old armour and look at getting a new shield.

He waved to Jacque who was leaning against the wall of the stables, carrot in his mouth, as he walked by before setting his eyes to the open entrance of the Fort. That was when he spotted her, Zola. His mind flashes back to the night before, a comforting warmth trying to fill the hollowness in his chest at the sight of her crystal crowned beauty. He debates whether he should say anything to her but then she looks over and then he’s smiling and waving a hello.

“Zola! Hey, wait up,” Marto calls out to her, jogging over towards her. “Where are you off to? Daring?”

The drow woman stops in her tracks and turns to face him fully. “Marto, hi…” she greets back, her voice coming out sounding hoarse. Marto sees now that her eyes are a little red and her cheeks slightly puffy, as though she had been crying the previous night. “I’m visiting home for a bit, in the Witching Court.”

The smile rapidly fades from his face. “Are you okay? Zola…” intense worry colours his blue eyes making them bright. Marto reaches out towards her but stops just before he lays a hand on her arm. “What happened? You can tell me. Please?”

Zola withdraws a little from Marto. She looks away and grips her elbow with one hand. “I…I had a really awful nightmare last night. It felt so real… The Flesh-eater — she spoke to me and…and…”

Her voice breaks into a small sob.

Marto looks away, a sweat, both hot and cold, brakes over him as he tries to get his breathing under control. Balling his hands into fists, he shakes his head, and comes up beside her. Glancing around he speaks softly, voice shaking, and takes her hand.

“Do you-… Did one of them mark you too?” he asks looking up at her.

She glances back at him, fresh tears running down her cheeks now. Her hands go to part the V-shaped neckline of her white dress to reveal the mark of the Heralds of Blade and Ash right in the centre of her chest, just below her breasts.

His breath catches in his throat as if Adhyël’s hand holds him in another deadly suffocating embrace. Marto feels his lips burn at the memory of his own dream last night. The guilt and shame surge to the surface and it takes everything in him not to want to run away. His hand reaches out looking like he is going to touch it, but then Marto guides Zola’s hand holding the v-shaped neckline open closed. He keeps hold of it as he looks up at her, the guilt and shame painting the hard lines of his face in bright colours in his eyes and on his cheeks.

“Zola, I-...” he reaches up to brush the tears from her eyes, unaware there are tears in his own. “You aren’t alone in this. I’m here with you.”

Zola sniffles as she gazes into his eyes, and she drops to her knees and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. He feels her tear-streaked face bury itself in the crook of his neck.

“This really sucks, huh?” she mumbles in his ear, in such an off-handedly blasé manner that it brings an ironic smile to her lips.

The simplicity of the statement makes him chuckle. “Yeah, it really does.” Marto holds her closer, the soft woodsmoke of his armour encircling them in a bubble of tranquil peace one finds deep in the woods. It’s a long moment the two stand and kneel there, drawing stares from onlookers. But neither seem to mind or care.

“I didn’t…exactly suffer for nothing, though,” Zola says, pulling away and smoothing down the skirt of her dress. “I learned her name, Zah’Ranin, and where they all come from — Phlegethos, in the Nine Hells.”

“That’s… incredible,” Marto almost didn’t know how to say that but he got the words out. “I can tell the High Diviner when I get to Daring. I have my own, minor piece of information too.” He unconsciously runs a hand through his hair. “I saw Adhyël last night. As we talked, he made it sound that though we got the book he wasn’t phased at all… It’s got me thinking… The Heralds want these items. Khaós said they can’t collect them themselves. But if we do the work for them, trying to be helpful, doing this for ‘the greater good’, then who’s to say Adhyël, Zah’Ranin, and the rest won’t take these items once they’re found?”

“That’s a good point, but…we can only hope and trust that Khaós and the champion have means of securing the artefacts. We don’t even know what either side plans to use them for, and I don’t know what else to do…unless you have any ideas?”

He shakes his head, frustrated. “No, I don’t. Yet. But I’ll keep thinking, try to come up with something.” The confidence that was building in him suddenly collapses. “If I can. If I’m not-…” He gestures to his ribs where his own mark is.

Now it is Zola’s turn to comfort Marto. She rests a hand on his shoulder and gives him a weak smile. “Hey, you’re a smart guy, Marto, definitely smarter than dumb old me. You’ll figure something out.”

“You’re not dumb, Zola. Far from it,” he says, heartfelt. “I, on the other hand, may be smart but getting myself into trouble has always been my thing — intentional or otherwise.” He tries to smile but it looks a little forced.

“That only means you’re good at getting out of trouble too, because how else would you be standing here if that isn’t the case?” She cups his face with both hands, the warmth radiating from her palms. “Talk to the High Diviner. I have a feeling we’re gonna be hearing from Kháos again soon too, so talk to them as well. Don’t doubt yourself.”

He closes his eyes, allowing the warmth from her hands to smooth the worried lines from his face. Then Marto takes a breath, opens his eyes, takes her hands in his, and kisses the back of Zola’s hands.

“And remember you are not alone in this either. I’ll be standing by your side through this. I will do what I can to make this right.” His eyes fall down to where her mark is before looking up again. “To help free you.”

“Free us.” She smiles at him. “Thank you, Marto. This is a horrid, horrid situation, but I’m glad to have you with me.”

She leans in to plant the lightest of kisses on his cheek, before standing up and brushing the dirt from her skirt. “I’m afraid I’ve got to postpone that naked moonlit dance I promised you. I don’t feel too good doing that with this on my body,” she says, gesturing at the mark hidden behind the fabric of her dress.

With a slight flush to his cheeks Marto says, “Yeah, of course! No, that makes total sense. Yeah.”

“Oh, did Adhyël say or do anything else to you in your dream by the way?”

Like gravity, the hollowness in Marto’s chest opens up and begins to pull him in, the brightness he felt from Zola’s kiss vanishing before it could be much more than a spark. He holds onto himself, hiding what dark truths he carries behind his blue eyes, pushing them down as he tries to stay afloat.

“No. No he didn’t.” He half smiles. “I’ll not keep you from visiting your family any longer, Zola. Get some good rest. I’ll see you soon.”

Marto steps away, walking briskly through the main entrance of the Fort. He looks back once and sees Zola waving goodbye. The sadness is almost entirely gone from her expression, replaced with a radiant smile.

“Bye, Marto! I’ll see you soon, friend.”

She turns around and slips inside one of the towers. The wind tugs at Marto’s cloak, urging him onwards, as the emptiness within continues to grow.