Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 43 - Concessions

*** CAUTION! This chapter contains depictions of severe injuries! ***

The smell hit Ava first.

Before they had left, Trygve and Gytha had mentally warned her to brace herself for what to expect once they left the mists of the portal behind. The metallic sweetness that now filled the air had been one of the aspects.

"People imagine the sight of it to be the worst," Trygve had said, "in truth, it is more than that. It is the sight of blood and suffering of course, but also the smell of blood and excrement, the noises of misery and suffering and the general atmosphere of despair that makes the aftermath of a battle lost so hard to bear. Think of something that serves as your anchor, something that steadies you when faced with all of it."

"Also," Gytha had added, pragmatic as ever, "try to breathe through your mouth."

Ava had nodded, grateful for their advice and more determined than ever to do whatever she could to help those that had fallen victim to Dunstan's darkness and the horrors that dwelled within them.

Although she had tried her best to push the feeling aside, she couldn't help but feel partially responsible for what had happened. After all, it had been her cleansing ritual that had triggered this violent retaliation. While she wouldn't cry a single tear on Frode's behalf, it wasn't so easy to not feel guilty for the other victims.

Pushing the lingering feeling of guilt back, doing the same with her shoulders, Ava made the final steps out of the portal and into Dathal's headquarters.

Outside their mystic causeway, the smell was even more intense, making her nauseous. The air was hot and suffocating and while the small of metal was still predominant, it was now laced with the stench of stale sweat and faeces.

Stars. This truly was worse than she'd imagined.

Heeding Gytha's advice, she opened her mouth the slightest bit, determined to not let the other Alderman or his males see any of her discomforts. Trying to keep her breathing steady, she thought of the home they had made for themselves, of the discussion they had over breakfast their joined evenings in front of the fireplaces. The place where she belonged, her anchor.

Walking closely behind Trygve, with Gytha forming the rear of their little party, it was the sounds that Ava registered next. 

Ranging from soft murmurs of those suffering more silently, over the groans and winces to startling cries of agony everything could be heard at once. The cacophony of it all made her heart clench painfully. So many wounded and hurt.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly as dry as paper. Her fingers itching to unleash her ability, to take away the worst of the pain at least, to help those in need. For that, however, she needed Dathal's permission, and she needed to be careful as well, Orla had been very adamant about that before their departure.

"Make sure you don't act out of pity and burn all of your energy at once. Help only those that can be saved and only with Dathal's permission. He may have asked for your help but being who he is be certain that he expects you to help on his terms and his terms alone. For him, death is preferable to dishonour. So be careful, darling."

Her train of thought was interrupted by Trygve stepping aside, letting her see what she'd only smelled and heard before. They were standing in what seemed to be a large dormitory, something one would expect to find in a barrack, Ava thought. It was hardly surprising to find that Dathal's residence looked like that, given his nickname "the Commander".