Chapter Text
Aloy is holed up in her room, organising her craft supplies. That is her default reason for sitting in there for hours on end, alone. Who wants to watch someone bundle up wood into bundles of ten, or organise wire by length? Varl and Erend can pretend Aloy is fine, Aloy can pretend Aloy is fine, and Zo can bite her lip and try not to interfere too much.
“Aloy, an unknown Focus is trying to connect to the network,” GAIA announces.
“Block it,” Aloy says automatically.
“The handshake data indicates this Focus has a linkage to yours.”
Aloy jumps to her feet. “Fashav! Let him in, let him in, GAIA!”
“Access granted, Aloy.”
The red head immediately opens her Focus to initiate a call.
“Fashav, is that you? Where are you?” she demands as soon as the call is answered.
“My name is Unnecessary Chitchat, actually. As to where I am, somewhere in Utaru lands, south of Plainsong. Where are you? What is this Regional Control Center Network I’ve joined?”
“It’s GAIA, Shav. Well, not exactly. We’ve got part of GAIA running and she set up a way to link Focuses which are farther apart than we’re used to being able to connect.”
“How very useful. Is this in the mountain base you’ve got? I’m travelling with Talanah, by the way.”
“So you know the way here? Good. Good. How long do you think it will take you to get here?”
“Hey, Little Red. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. I need you, Shav. I need you.”
“Where is Kotallo?”
“Not here, not with me. Never going to be with me.” Aloy’s voice breaks, and she chokes back a sob.
There’s a pause. Aloy can see Fashav’s considering expression in her mind’s eye.
“We’re going to pick up our pace, be with you as soon as we can manage, my darling.”
“Thank you, Shav. Thank you so much.”
Marshal Fashav pounds up the mountain path like he’s running for his life. The Sun Hawk is at his side, keeping pace stride for stride.
“You are much fitter than you used to be, Fashav,” Talanah says, a bit short of breath.
“Not as fit as I should be - all that time wasted ‘resting’ in Barren Light,” he replies. “Not much further now, you think?”
“Ten minutes, maybe less.”
“Excellent. I don’t know what’s happened to my little Aloy, and I need to know so I can kill whoever is responsible.” He hears a tiny noise and looks at Talanah. She has an expression Fashav can only describe as ‘fond’.
“Am I allowed to help, oh mighty marshal?” Talanah asks.
“Depends on how fast you are,” Fashav grins at her. “You can call me that again, by the way. Mighty Marshal – I like it.”
As soon as the metal door opens, Fashav springs through it. Aloy is waiting in the corridor. She throws herself into his arms, crying. Fashav picks her up, cradling her like a child. The corridor opens into a large room, where Varl, Erend and a woman he doesn’t know are sitting round a table.
“Oh thank the Forgewife!” Erend exclaims. “The General is here.”
Aloy is clinging to Fashav, her face buried in his neck. “Where?” he asks.
Varl points. “Behind you. That’s Aloy’s room.”
“Right. Thanks, Varl. We might be a while.”
As the metal door closes, Fashav hears Talanah.
“Hi. Any chance of some water? We’ve been running for hours.”
Fashav doesn’t look around the room any longer than it takes him to see a chair. He sits down and settles Aloy across his lap, holding her tightly as she nestles against his chest.
“I’m going to talk nonsense at you until you feel able to talk, Little Red. Then you’re going to tell me who has hurt you so I can kill them,” he says in a soft voice.
“It was the Big Lump,” she whispers. “He’s hurt me.”
“Right. I might not kill him, merely break his thick head and remaining limbs.”
“His head is exceptionally thick, Shav.”
“I know an Oseram with a big hammer. So do you.”
As Fashav tells a silly story about the cook at Salt Bite, his mind doesn’t stop turning over what could have happened between Kotallo and Aloy. What has Kotallo done? Is it anything that can be fixed? Because Fashav does think these two are made for each other. They are both broken, but their broken parts fit together, he believes. Together, they could heal.
“Vintalla told Hekarro that I tried to kill Kotallo because he’d lost his arm. Hekarro believed her, told Kotallo it was true,” Aloy whispers. “He believed that I would kill him because he was only half a man. Dekka made him promise not to contact me. When I got to the Grove, he rejected me, walked away from me.”
Fashav can imagine all too easily the conversation between Hekarro and Kotallo. Hadn’t they had to have similar conversations when the lad was trying to deal with Tekotteh’s abandonment?
“I overheard him talking with Gottam. He said he’d thought he loved me but it was only lust.”
“And what about you, my darling? What did you say to Kotallo?” Fashav knows his little redhead. She will have issued some hard words of her own.
“I told him my mission was too important for me to risk being hurt by him, that we were done. This was before I overheard him. Shav, I’ve been taking his pain and he never said a word about it. How mean is that?”
“What did Gottam say?”
“Gottam tried to knife Kotallo for leaving me at the Bulwark on my own. Marggit stopped him. Then Kotallo apologised to them without clothes or paint but Marggit told him he wasn’t forgiven. I don’t know what Gottam said about Kotallo saying his feelings were only lust. I ran away.”
“You are terrible at giving reports, Aloy. I’ll investigate for myself when we’re at the Grove for the Kulrut.” Fashav drops a kiss on her head.
“How did you know they haven’t had the Kulrut already?” Aloy looks up, tears sparkling on her eyelashes.
“I wasn’t sure. I thought it might have been delayed because of Tekotteh being an arsehole, and if Hekarro had sent you and Kotallo to the Bulwark, the commander was definitely playing up. This is the next full moon, Hekarro needs more marshals. But tell me, Little Red, what did you do to Tekotteh?”
A huge grin splits her face. “I blew up the Bulwark. Tekotteh’s precious cliff is rubble.”
Fashav bursts out laughing. “Of course, you blew it up. How could I possibly think you would do anything else? Aloy, you are a menace!”
Her face is tired and drawn. She’s thinner than she was back in Barren Light. When Varl came to collect Erend, he had said Aloy had gained some weight while she was laid up with her broken ribs. It looks like she’s lost that and more.
“I need to rest for a bit, Aloy. Can I borrow that comfy looking nest you’ve got over there? Would you keep me company?”
Aloy nods, climbs off his lap. She lies down first, and when Fashav joins her, she snuggles in. However, Fashav knows Aloy will sleep hard, won’t notice when he gets up. Didn’t he have to trick her into sleeping over and over again while they travelled together? Fashav closes his eyes and waits for Aloy to start snuffling. He finds it difficult to keep still when he wants to vent his anger and confusion. What the fuck had Kotallo been thinking? Didn’t the tosspot know Aloy at all? He is going kick Kotallo’s balls out through his arse for being so stupid.
Once he joins the others in the common area, Fashav rubs his hands together.
“Right. Any of you know what happened at the Memorial Grove?” he asks, briskly.
“Something very bad,” Erend replies. Fashav rolls his eyes.
“Aloy wouldn’t say anything to me or Erend,” Varl says. “Just that she had made a mistake with Marshal Kotallo.”
Fashav turns to the woman, regal, with an elegant neck and jawline. “You must be Zo? Varl spoke of you.”
She smiles, nods. “I am indeed Zo, a Gravesinger of the Utaru, Marshal.”
Fashav drops to one knee. “I am honoured to meet you, Gravesinger. Varl didn’t mention your status. Forgive me for addressing you casually.”
Varl and Erend exchange panicked looks.
“You are most welcome here, Marshal. Please, address me as Zo. We’re going to be friends, after all.”
She holds out her hand to Fashav, who takes it and places a light kiss on each knuckle.
“You are most gracious, Zo,” he says.
“I take it being a Gravesinger is a special thing,” Talanah comments.
“I suppose it must,” Varl replies. “I hadn’t realised.”
Fashav rolls his eyes, stands up. “Would you go around introducing a junior matriarch by her name only, Varl?”
“Ah! Oh! Sorry, Zo.”
“I knew you didn’t know, and Gottam knew me when I was a budding Gravesinger, not fully bloomed. If I had needed you to know, I would have told you, Varl.”
“In any case, has Aloy said anything to you, Zo?”
“Aloy asked me if it is possible to heal a broken heart and then cried herself to sleep in my arms. She has not said anything else. I hoped she was speaking to the men but apparently not. I did not want to push as we are only beginning a friendship.”
Fashav nods. “Aloy is very difficult to push, in any case.”
He paces round the room. “Has she said anything about what is expected of her at the Kulrut?”
“The chief expects the rebels to attack. If Aloy helps fight them back, she’ll get access to where the next thingy she needs for GAIA is hidden,” Erend says.
The marshal surveys the room. “I can’t take any of you with us, not with rebels expected. It would be too easy for you to attack the wrong Tenakth.”
“I fought alongside the Tenakth in the Red Raids,” Zo says, quietly. “I should be able to tell the difference, and if not, my healing skills will be useful.”
“If you would be willing to accompany us then, it would be appreciated.”
“I will pack my supplies.”
Varl speaks up. “Are you sure, Zo? It’s going to be dangerous and if I can’t come with you....”
The beautiful face hardens. “Did you miss my saying, several times, I fought in the Red Raids. I was fighting at Barren Light when it fell. I do not need to be protected, Varl.”
Fashav’s lips twitch as he sees the dismay on the brave’s face, and Erend trying to pretend he’s somewhere else. Varl had spoken of Zo as if she was his lover or would be as soon as made no difference. It all seems rather unlikely now Fashav has met Zo. The marshal decides Varl’s antics are going to be a good distraction for Aloy. Fashav wonders what Varl’s thought when he kissed Zo’s hand.
“Talanah, I’m afraid I’ll have to introduce you to Chief Hekarro another time, as soon as I can arrange it, though.”
“I’m fine with that. Quite happy to stay out of another tribe’s civil war, thank you very much. I can hang around here, or I might go investigate some of the tracks we sprinted past.”
“Then, we know what we’re doing. I hesitate to call it a plan when we lack so much information. I’d better get back into bed with Aloy before she realises I’ve tricked her into napping again.”
Dekka curses the grit between her toes. She hates the desert. It had been a relief when the clans made peace and she didn’t have to fight here any longer. She always ended up with half a bucket of sand glued under her tits. This will be the third settlement she’s visited to find Jetakka. The chaplain hopes he’s here because she doesn’t have any more time. She needs to get back to the Grove to aid preparations. A child points her towards a shelter where she should find her fellow chaplain.
Dekka taps lightly on the wooden door frame, waits to be acknowledged.
“Come in, come in!” Jetakka calls.
When she enters, Dekka keeps her eyes lowered. She doesn’t want to see the welcome she heard in Jetakka’s voice vanish from his face.
“Dekka, is that you?” he asks, sounding confused.
“Yes. Greetings, Chaplain Jetakka.”
“You look… different.”
The light in here is dim, and Dekka has a piece of cloth draped over her head, partly as protection from the sun. She swallows, removes the cloth. She hears Jetakka’s sharp intake of breath, and she pulls out his length of silver hair and offers it to him.
“Oh, you fool. This wasn’t necessary,” he says. Jetakka moves to stand in front of her. He strokes his calloused hand over the fresh stubble covering her scalp.
“It was necessary,” Dekka retorts. “I was having trouble living with myself. I needed to show I knew how wrong I’d been.”
“We gave up all that nonsense long ago. Did Hekarro approve?”
Dekka laughs. “Of course not, you know how we Lowlanders used to be about our hair, what he’s like with his. He gave his permission anyway.”
“How did my daughter get on with Tekotteh? I assume his champions are on their way.”
Dekka looks up, grabs at his chest armour, giggles. “Aloy blew up the Bulwark.”
Jetakka’s mouth drops open. “Aloy what?”
“Blew up the Bulwark cliff face. While the commander was standing at the top of it.”
The pair of chaplains collapse against each other, howling with laughter.
When they calm down, Jetakka takes the tail of hair from Dekka and throws it into his unlit hearth.
“What next?” he asks.
“I need your help in understanding how to march a tricky route, old friend. I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s the situation?”
“My grandson came to see me.”
They ride up to Memorial Grove like something from a story. The Carja general turned Tenakth Marshal, returned from the dead. The veteran soldier, the healer, the Gravesinger. And the face born from the distant past – seeker, saviour, clone. Everyone in sight gapes as the chargers halt and their riders dismount. Fashav make a summoning sign, and guards rush to help.
“Take these packs to the marshal’s area,” he orders, pointing. “The Seeker and the Gravesinger need an escort to the family area. Gravesinger Zo wishes to reunite with her old comrades, the Terror Twins. I want billets made ready for all three of us. If my old billet is available, I’ll take that. Set up something close by for our honoured guests. Any problems, I’ll sort them. I will be with Chief Hekarro. Questions?”
The guards shake their heads, saluting.
Fashav looks round at the crowd wanting to greet him.
“Comrades, I must speak to the Chief urgently. We can talk tonight, round a good fire, with drink in our hands and food in our bellies. The mission comes first.”
People nod, salute, or thump their hearts. The mission always takes priority. It is an essential tenet of their tribe.
Fashav lowers his voice. “I know neither of you like using your titles. I understand that. Play along for now. I need you to make a certain kind of impression.”
“Fine,” Aloy replies. “I’m going to hold a grudge though.”
Fashav grins at her. “I’d expect nothing else, Little Red.”
He marches through the Grove, ignoring the shocked expressions around him. Yes, they had all heard Fashav wasn’t dead. Seeing him march past with That Glare on his face is a different barrel of blaze. No one ever wants to get on the wrong side of that expression, and today seems a particularly bad day to risk it.
Hekarro is in his quarters, Fashav finds out, and he makes his way there. The guard at the entrance reacts unprofessionally, sticking his head through the door to shout.
“Chief! Marshal Fashav is here.”
The guard pays for his casualness by getting swept out of the way as Hekarro charges out. From his grin, he doesn’t object to the chief knocking him to the floor.
Hekarro grabs Fashav, lifting him from his feet and swinging him round.
“I never thought I would ever be so glad to see your ugly Carja face,” the chief says. Then he roars, “A marshal has come home!”
Hekarro’s voice resounds across the Grove. Fashav can hear the words picked and shouted by new voices, cheering as well. It is far different from the welcome he received in Meridian; a far better welcome.
“Can you please put me down, Chief? You are making me dizzy,” Fashav whines.
Hekarro drops him, laughs. “Ah, you are such a delicate flower, despite everything we’ve done to harden you.”
“I’d like to say that at no point have you ever hardened me.” He brushes an imaginary piece of dirt from his chest.
“Stop flirting and bring that boy in here!”
It’s Javveh. Fashav’s stomach flips. He hadn’t dare to ask Aloy about the casualties. This is tremendous news.
“The High Marshal,” he breathes.
“In title, yes. Much of the duty will remain out of his hands for the foreseeable future,” Hekarro advises.
Inside, Javveh is reclining on a pile of pillows and cushions the size of an average Tenakth adult. He looks shrunken, unwell. There is no mistaking his smile or his pleasure at seeing Fashav.
“Come here, boy. I am forbidden to stand more than a few times a day, and this is not one of those times,” the High Marshal says.
Fashav has not permitted anyone to call him boy since he left the military academy. Javveh has always been an exception, and always will be as far as Fashav is concerned. The High Marshal is solid and true; he has done nothing but earn Fashav’s respect since the day of the Carja’s Kulrut. Fashav takes a seat at Javveh’s bedside, squeezes the giant hand that reaches for his.
“I don’t have the words to say how happy I am to see you,” Fashav says. “I could try for poetry if I didn’t know you hate it.”
“Maybe now I have to loll around in bed all day like a Carja lord, I might enjoy it,” Javveh replies.
“Now, that hardens me,” Fashav quips. “First though, I need to shout at your husband.”
“Shout at him for me as well, will you, Fashav? I don’t have sufficient strength for the volume and ire Hekarro has earned.”
“As you command, High Marshal.”
Fashav stands, looks at the Victor of Memorial Grove, Chief of all the Tenakth. “Here, or somewhere else?” he asks, mildly.
Hekarro shrugs, sighs. “Here. Javveh deserves to witness this first hand.”
Fashav nods, stretches his neck from side to side, rolls his shoulders, stalks up to his sworn chief.
“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?” he yells into Hekarro’s face.
Aloy hears cheering, people shouting. She can’t make out the words; a quick enhancement with her Focus helps.
“A marshal has come home!”
She smiles. She’s glad the Tenakth appreciate the Carja fool. They reach Marggit’s billet as the woman practically tumbles through the door.
“Aloy! Is it Fashav?” the Tenakth shouts.
Aloy’s smile widens into a grin. “Yes, it is! There is someone else here to see you as well.”
She moves aside so Marggit can get a clear look.
“Fuck the Ten! Zo, little Zo.”
Marggit pounces on the Utaru woman and lays deliberately slobbery kisses over Zo’s smooth cheeks. Zo makes a disgusted expression and pretends she wants to escape, pushing at Marggit.
“Ugh, you Tenakth are repulsive, always with the drool,” Zo says.
“My drool is only for you, my Bloody Blossom,” Marggit replies.
They embrace and laugh.
“My brother told me how he stole you to heal Aloy. You do good healing, for a Gravesinger.”
“Oh, don’t you start as well, Maggs. Gottam was bad enough. I try to be lowkey about it.”
Marggit’s face turns serious. “It is an important role. Take your due, Zo, you’ve earned it.”
“One day someone is going to have to explain to me exactly what a Gravesinger is,” Aloy comments.
“Today is not that day, Aloy,” Zo replies. “We have other seeds to plant.”
Marggit rolls her eyes. “Gardener talk. Where’s Fashav? Reporting to Hekarro?”
“I’m not sure reporting is the right word,” Aloy answers. “He was mumbling about the best way to kick the arse of a giant tosspot.”
Marggit chokes. “Let’s stay all the way over here then, and not meet Fashav at the chief’s billet.”
“I want to meet your children,” Zo demands. “Gottam was very sly, wouldn’t tell me anything other than you have three.”
“Twins, and a single, barely a year younger than the twins. They’re shaping up to be the Terror Triplets, Zo. Come inside, I’ll introduce you. We’ll leave the door open so you can run for it.”
Fashav’s initial torrent of rage has calmed, somewhat. Hekarro’s wise decision to not argue with him helped.
“You had doubts about Vintalla before I came back from the east. We talked about her, several times,” Fashav comments.
“I did. We did. Javveh and I, we tested her loyalty, it seemed firm.”
“Did you test her loyalty, or her feelings about Regalla?
“That is a fair question. However, Vintalla maintains she is loyal to the Tenakth, to the peace, to me. Her actions were to support the tribe against weakening by outlanders, she claims.” Hekarro lets out a short, sharp sigh. “I was not myself, Fashav. How could I have doubts about the only marshal who returned on their own feet? I needed to trust Vintalla.”
Fashav glances over at Javveh, who is watching them keenly. “I understand that. I can’t understand why you didn’t trust me, Hekarro. I spent months with Aloy. I came back here and told you to give her a home here, that she would be a worthy addition to the tribe. I told you Aloy was the best match for Kotallo, the kind of match we’d hoped his Reflection would be. How, in the name of the sun, could you think the Aloy I’d briefed you on was capable of what Vintalla claimed?”
The chief shake his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Fashav. Vintalla teared up when she spoke of having to save Kotallo from his soul mate. She seemed genuine.”
“She was being genuine,” Javveh interrupts. “As far as Vintalla is concerned, she did save Kotallo from Aloy, but not in the way she told you. She was saving Kotallo for herself by getting rid of a rival.”
“A speck of truth does strengthen a lie,” Fashav comments. “Did Kotallo believe you easily?”
“He didn’t want to believe. Dekka and I double-teamed him until he accepted what we were saying. It… took a while. We – I – played on his feelings about Tekotteh.”
Fashav spits. “That was low.”
“We thought we were doing it for the lad’s benefit,” the chief mutters. He can’t look at Fashav.
“And the result is someone we desperately need to live, to care about living, is a broken casing, her heart cracked.” Fashav wipes his hand across his face. “You remember what I told you about Aloy’s origins?”
“A fabricated copy of an old one. Made to rectify an error,” Hekarro says.
“I kept it simple because I didn’t think I understood it well enough. The full weight is that when the machines went mad, it was because the entity which made them and controlled them was broken. That is the error Aloy was born to fix. The entity also controlled the weather. Without the repair, the weather will continue to change, deteriorate. Monsoons, drought, blight – that is our future, and it is a very short future without Aloy. Babies being born this year won’t be alive long enough to learn to walk.”
The chief’s demeanour crumples. “Are you playing with me? Is this one of your Carja fireside tales?”
“Oh, how I wish it was.”
“Surely others could deal with the problem? What of the one you suspected of being a rogue Banuk shaman? Does he have the knowledge?”
“It isn’t a matter of knowledge. Aloy is a key, an actual physical key. That’s why the last act of the entity was to create a copy of the old one, because everything links to that person’s flesh and blood.”
Fashav stares at Hekarro, giving the man time to process the new information.
“We need to keep Aloy alive. We need to protect her with everything we’ve got,” Hekarro says slowly. “Without Aloy there is no future.”
“We certainly don’t need to make her dance to our fucking tune before giving her something she needs to save our arses from extinction,” Fashav adds.
Hekarro closes his eyes. “I thought she was trying to make herself seem important, trying to make a place for herself here. She said, something on which all life depends, and I smiled and talked of other things.”
“Do you understand now why I’m so fucking angry? What if those fuckers at the Bulwark decided to finish their work? What if Tekotteh had had her and Kotallo shot on sight? What if Aloy decides she might as well die because the one person she thought loved her – the one fucking person she had to live for, wants nothing to do with her?”
Fashav needs to vent his feelings. It had been simple, almost a lark. Head east, find Kotallo’s Hope, bring her back. Only Aloy isn’t merely Kotallo’s hope, she is the world’s hope. Without her, what choices do they have? Watch their children die of thirst, or give them a quick death? Choke on sand, drown in rain, freeze in ice, while crops wither and die. He pulls his blade and throws at the wall behind the chief. It bites into the stonework and then snaps from the force of the impact.
“Aloy takes her object and leaves before the Kulrut, before Regalla arrives. That’s the start. We build her a squad of the best we have – scouts, protectors, soldiers,” Hekarro says.
Fashav sees all the plans materialise inside his chief’s head and begins laughing.
Hekarro glares at him. “What?” he demands.
“You don’t know Aloy. She will stay here for the Kulrut and she will fight the rebels. She made a deal, gave you her word – she will not break that, Hekarro. As for a squad following her around, it took months for Aloy to more than merely tolerate my presence as anything other than a link to Kotallo. She crept out of Avad’s palace in the middle of the night to get away from the Nora seeker assigned to help her. You think Avad didn’t want to surround her with an army? He tried.”
The marshal picks up a bottle of wine, chugs down a generous amount.
“The embassy happened when it did because Avad knew Aloy would have to come west to search, and he wanted allies waiting for her. Avad knew about Kotallo, about Kotallo being a marshal, and saw a way to protect Aloy when she wouldn’t accept the Sun Kingdom’s help. ‘I suspect only the Tenakth can out stubborn the Saviour,’ he said.”
“Fuck,” the Chief of the all the Tenakth comments. “Pass me that fucking bottle.”
“Here you are,” Fashav says, handing it over. “Help yourself. I’ve got a marshal to kick the shit out of.”
Kotallo is lurking near the chief’s quarters. He knows Fashav is in there, both from the gossip, and the shouting. There is no mistaking the Carja’s style of invective. Kotallo winces at the thought of that ire being directed at Hekarro. If that’s how Fashav is dealing with the Chief, Kotallo has no chance of living through his next encounter with his brother. And honestly, he is almost fine with that idea. Kotallo would like the opportunity to… to what? He can’t undo the damage he has already done. He doesn’t expect or want forgiveness from Aloy. A chance to show her he is more than the shallow man she met at the negotiations, more than the angry man who walked away from her here, or the bitter man she met at Stone Crest? A chance to redeem himself? A chance to show her that whatever he said before, he is truly, deeply in love with her now?
As well wish for the wings of the Ten to aid Aloy on her mission, to deliver her into battle, and fight her foes.
When Fashav swoops in on him, Kotallo shrugs.
“I know I’m a dead man walking,” he says in greeting.
“Hug your fucking brother first, you ridiculous oaf,” Fashav taunts, throwing his arms wide.
Kotallo steps into the Carja’s embrace, tears prickling at his eyes. “Haven’t you spoken to Aloy or Gottam?” he asks.
“Of course I have. That’s why I said first. I’m going to hug the shit out of you, then we’re going to a training ring and I’m going to hammer you into the dirt like the fucking maggot you are.”
“Good. I deserve it.” Kotallo thumps Fashav on the back. “Thank you for coming home, Fashav. Aloy needs you.”
“Oh, you need me as well, Kotallo. You need my fist pounding into your face and my foot stomping on your bollocks.”
Kotallo laughs, he can’t help himself. “More of your fancy Carja ways, General Unsanitary Latrine?”
“I’ll always be your Unsanitary Latrine, lad. Have you got what it takes to clean me?”
Despite their banter, there is a tension between the two men. Kotallo feels it like the charge on a shock trap, waiting to burst into light and pain. As they make their way to one of the training rings, Kotallo tries to prepare himself. He knows the beat down will be physical and verbal, and it’s the verbal version he fears the most. He’s used to taking physical damage and walking away with a shrug. Having Fashav tear apart his choices and his behaviour – he doesn’t know how to walk off that kind of hurt, no matter how deserved it is.
“Mark of the Ten, I am glad to see you, Fashav. Whatever happens, you are my brother, and I rejoice to see you alive after grieving for you.” Kotallo grips Fashav’s shoulder briefly
“What you do think is going to happen?” Fashav asks.
“I think you are going to annihilate me for my behaviour, then you will turn your back on me, giving your support and loyalty to Aloy. She deserves you more than I do. I have failed you both.” Kotallo doesn’t try to disguise his emotion.
“Anyone who thinks the Carja are a dramatic people has not spent enough time with the Tenakth. Between Dekka shaving her head, you preparing to die or be abandoned, and Hekarro wanting to wrap Aloy in soft blankets and keep her in a cupboard, I am genuinely reeling from all the emotion.”
“Blankets? Cupboard?” Kotallo is bemused.
Fashav rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. Yet.” He stops at a gate. “We’ll use this ring.”
Kotallo realises why instantly. This is the ring where he went berserk – how long ago? Well over a year, nearly two? He hasn’t kept track. This is where the other marshals learned he had a Reflection, a link so powerful it could drive him into a battle rage when she was in mortal danger. Kotallo doesn’t remember the fight himself, the pile of marshals to keep him on the ground, or Vintalla darting him. He’s heard the story a dozen times or more, from all who saw it, and some who didn’t. He remembers a voice screaming for help, terrified, fighting to survive.
And then, when he had expected contempt and belittlement, his squad looked after him, supported him – trusted him.
“You need to visit Chekkatah,” he tells Fashav. “His legs are splinted, and the healers say it will be a while yet before they will allow him to walk.”
“What happened to him? Gottam and Aloy didn’t know.”
“A machine fell and rolled across his legs. He’s been lucky. There was talk of amputation.”
“Oof, that would have been bad. Both? Chekkatah would…” Fashav’s words trail away as he remembers Kotallo’s own grievous injury.
“I was refused permission,” Kotallo comments. “The chief said he had need of my brain, he had plenty of fools with two arms to fetch and carry for him.”
Without discussion, they lay aside their weapons and collect practice spears. They work through their pre-practice routine, stretching and loosening their muscles. They face off, tap their spears together lightly, then begin to circle around each other. Fashav lunges, Kotallo dances aside, tags the Carja, steps back. The two marshals carry on like this for a few minutes, then Fashav crunches his nose. Kotallo tilts his head up, glances at the weapons racks. They walk over, straight to the heavy practice blades. No sharp edges perhaps, but such heavy chunks of metal landing with force can break bones. The men exchange glances, pick a weapon each, walk back to the centre of the ring.
This time they lunge at each other, battering blade against blade with fury and vigour. Fashav seems to be ignoring Kotallo’s left side, and this infuriates the younger marshal. Is the Carja going easy on him? This will not do. Kotallo launches a rage attack. Fashav dodges lightly and lays a flurry of heavy blows on Kotallo’s right arm and shoulder, the force and pain of which drive Kotallo backwards. The younger man grunts, takes a few moments to recover then flings himself again at the Carja. Fashav parries. They trade blow and parry, parry and blow. Finally Fashav strikes Kotallo’s left, blow after blow on his shoulder and upper arm. Again, Kotallo is driven back by the force of the hits.
Fashav drops the point of his blade. “Notice anything different then?” he asks.
Kotallo raises an eyebrow.
“Those last hits should have been fucking agony. Right on a healing amputation, hey? Barely hurt at all, am I right?”
Fashav is right. Kotallo compares the feel of his left upper arm against his right. One is significantly worse than the other, and it is the wrong one. He throws his blade to ground in a fit of temper.
“How long?” Kotallo demands. “Do you know how long she’s been doing this?”
His friend smiles. “Since she came to you at Stone’s Crest. Sneaky little devil, isn’t she?”
Kotallo knows his expression is contorted with anger, and embarrassment. He should have realised. He should have noticed. That night, when he heard Aloy sobbing, and he had his best sleep in weeks? Oh, he should have realised. He was supposed to be a highly trained observer. No, too busy being judgemental to notice the person he was judging was helping him at the cost of her own suffering.
“Fashav, just have at me. Just fucking beat me until I fall,” Kotallo says.
“Pick up your weapon.”
“I don’t deserve a weapon. Beat me down.”
“Weapon, Marshal Kotallo. Who do you think I am, to deliver that kind of punishment to an unarmed man?”
“Fine.” Kotallo bends over to retrieve the blade, and as soon he has a firm grip on the hilt, Fashav attacks, not allowing Kotallo time to straighten up.
Kotallo tries to not defend himself or to fight back; it’s too ingrained in him though. Fashav is again leaving Kotallo’s left untouched, and now Kotallo knows it isn’t for his benefit, he doesn’t resent it.
The fight is rougher than a practice bout, almost a challenge fight in how viciously they battle. No trick is too dirty, no blow too low. It ends when Fashav trips Kotallo to the ground, drops down on both his knees, square onto Kotallo’s solar plexus.
“Yield,” Kotallo groans.
“I’ll allow it, for now. I may come back for another helping,” Fashav says, rolling to lie at Kotallo’s side. “I am somewhat unsatisfied.”
“Fair. I do owe more than I can pay in one go,” Kotallo replies.
“More than you know. Aloy heard you talking to Gottam, heard you say you didn’t love her, that it was only lust.”
“Didn’t she hear the rest?”
“You think she waited around after hearing that?”
“She should have. I told Gottam I know I didn’t love Aloy back when we met for the first time, because the feelings I had then are nothing compared to what I now have. I thought I loved Aloy, then everything happened. I locked down our connection. When we travelled to the Bulwark together, I saw her properly, without the influence of the Reflection. I saw Aloy as she is, not as the person I wanted to see.”
“And?”
“And I fell in love with that Aloy, the real Aloy, not the one I’d imagined.”
“I’m going to cut your fucking knackers off, Kotallo.”
Kotallo spreads his legs, raises his knees. “On you go, Marshal.”