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Chapter Text

You are a dead thing made by a dead power in the shape of the dead. All you will ever do is kill.  -Legend: The Black Garden (Legends and Mysteries)

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Jolder and Saladin lie at the crest of a hill, observing a group of soldiers pick their way through a lightly-wooded area below them. Jolder studies the group through a high-magnification scope.

“How many?”

“About a dozen.” Jolder passes her scope to Saladin. “Perun’s sources said there’d be a Lightbearer among them. Any ideas which one it is?”

Saladin studies each of the fighters in turn. They’re lightly armed, a mix of auto-rifles and pistols, nothing too heavy-hitting. Not that they need it. Their target is a small farming settlement, they mean to raid their winter stores. The presence of a Lightbearer would be more than enough to cow their victims into submission.

“Hard to tell from this distance,” he replies. “I don’t see a Ghost anywhere. Might be the one taking point?”

“Maybe.”  Jolder chuckles softly. “Kinda stupid, just strolling along the low ground for all to see, like that.”

“Or arrogant. They think they’re untouchable.” He turns to her, smirking. “I mean, who would dare take on a Warlord’s forces?”

Jolder points to Saladin and then herself. “We would.” She grins widely. “You’re talking about us, right?”

“How do you want to play this?” He  already knows what her answer will be. Charge. Rush in without a care in the world. Scare Saladin to death.

“We’ve got the element of surprise. I’ll rush them-”

Saladin sighs and doesn’t quite manage to suppress a roll of his eyes.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Jolder chides. “Don’t fuss, you’re like an old hen. I’ll be fine.” She packs away the scope into her utility belt. “As I was saying, I’ll rush them, let them think I’m lone-wolfing it. I’ll draw out the Lightbearer, then you flank him or her. Shut ‘em down. Sound like a plan?”

“It sounds like, ‘you stand back while I hurl myself headlong into danger.’ As usual.”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “What’s your point? I’m faster, you’re a heavy-hitter, it makes sense to do it this way.” She pushes herself up into a kneeling position and puts on her helmet. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll mop up the rabble, you just concentrate on that Lightbearer.”

Saladin follows suit and dons his helm. “Stay in contact, keep your Ghost linked with mine.”

“Yes, Mom.” With that, she readies her gun and sets off at speed.

He watches her run, no, gambol down the hill. She allows herself to slide on the snow, seemingly for the fun of it. There’s so much joy in her gait. If Saladin didn’t know she was hurrying to intercept a raiding party, he could be forgiven for thinking she was rushing to challenge them to a snowball fight. She makes for the footsoldier at the back of the group and she shoulder-charges into him, knocking him into another before they even realise what’s happening. The others take a moment to rally, in which time Jolder has raised her machine gun and begun firing into the group. As much as she worries him, as much as he thinks her reckless, Saladin can’t help but marvel at her. She uses the trees for cover, moving between them with a fluid grace that would give any Hunter pause. The shots she manages to get off while she’s out of cover are precise and never wasted. She keeps the group too off-balance to formulate a decent defensive formation. Not for the first time, Saladin thanks the Traveler that they’re on the same side. If he ever faced her in battle, he’d probably be too transfixed to fight her.

The rumored Lightbearer in the group finally makes his presence known, yelling at his men to rally to him. He raises a Void shield and the soldiers that haven’t been felled by Jolder scurry towards it. Saladin picks his way along the hill, moving into a flanking position. He stays low, but he needn’t worry, they’re all far too focused on Jolder. Her plan is working. Why does she always have to be right?

Jolder unloads the bulk of her current clip on the shield and the caster stumbles backwards. He’s having trouble maintaining the shield. Saladin feels a stab of pity. This one’s Light isn’t strong; he’s inexperienced, that or his Lord has been remiss with his training. Saladin suspects it’s the latter and deliberately so. Why let your lackeys reach their full potential when you can keep them weak and use them as cannon fodder?

Saladin charges down the hill towards the shield, readying his battle-axe as he goes. He leaps from the base of the hill to within striking distance, smashing the axe on the ground, sending a gout of flame towards the shield. The Ward shatters and many of its denizens scatter to find more reliable cover. Saladin draws himself up to his full height, but doesn’t attack straight away.

“Yield,” Saladin calls out. “No one else needs to die.”

The Light-Bearer draws a gun and snarls. “You’re outnumbered.”

“And you’re outmatched. Don’t be stupid.” His opponent raises his weapon and Saladin leaps out of harm’s way. Stupid it is then , he muses to himself as he lands, making another ground attack with his axe.

“Forge!” Jolder’s voice comes through via his Ghost. “Stop being a bleeding heart, put him down! He won’t hesitate to do the same to you.”

As if to prove Jolder’s point, the Lightbearer hurls a grenade in Saladin’s direction, who raises a Ward in response. The Light grenade batters uselessly off the shield and the Lightbearer stares in dismay. Saladin takes this unguarded moment as an opportunity to rush him, swinging his axe in a figure eight pattern, not letting his oppontent regain his compsure. The Lightbearer stumbles backwards, until he falls over a tree root and in the next moment, Saladin’s axe falls, caving in his chest.

Saladin steps backwards and steels himself for what he has to do next. This was too easy, he would have felt better if had been more of a fight. Saladin wonders how long this, poor, soon-to-be-permanently-dead lad has been a Lightbearer. Not long, probably. He was woefully unprepared. His Warlord had obviously never given him the chance to hone his Light. He was good enough to intimidate a bunch of farmers but to take on an Iron Lord? There was never any contest. He paces back and forth, warring with himself. It’s a waste. He didn’t stand a chance. But he chose this. He was being used. He’d do the same to you, Jolder’s right.

But it’s such a waste.  

He hears the tell-tale whirr of an emerging Ghost and swings his axe. The blade drives the little robot up against the tree its master fell over, before slicing through its shell. Its light fades and it drops to the ground with a sad little clinking sound.

“I’m sorry,” Saladin whispers to the dead shell at his feet. “I wish you’d chosen better.” He yanks his axe free of the tree, shoulders it and begins walking towards where he last saw Jolder. He draws his sidearm when he hears a rustling off to the side. A footsoldier stumbles out from behind the tree, cowering on his knees. He’s young, his skin is chalk-white and his trousers are wet. That could be from falling in the snow, it could be from something else.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, please don’t shoot,” he babbles with one of his hands up. “I’m not armed, I threw my gun away, I didn’t even get off a shot, please…” He scrabbles away from Saladin on his backside.

Saladin stomps towards him catching up easily. He growls wolfishly, deep in his throat. “How old are you?”

The boy just whimpers.

“Speak!”

“Nineteen.”

“Traveler’s Light…” Saladin shakes his head in disbelief. “Nineteen. This your first raiding party?”

The terrified boy nods.

“Is it going to be your last?”

He nods again, vigorously.

“You still have family nearby?”

“My parents.”

“Go home to them. Now, before I change my mind. Don’t let me see you out here again. Run!” The boy scrambles to his feet, and tears off just as soon as he can find purchase on the snow. Saladin waits until he is out of sight before turning to search for Jolder again. He thought she would have caught up with him by now. He expects to see her standing behind him, calling him a bleeing heart again, with a smile and a shake of her head. She’s nowhere to be seen.

“Jolder?” There’s no response. He casts around, listening for any sign of her. He calls after her again, his voice and the soft crunch of his feet in the snow the only sounds breaking the silence. He begins to quarter the ground, half expecting her to leap out from behind a tree any moment, she’ll find his concern amusing, no doubt. She’ll laugh, punch him on the shoulder then go through a routine of gentle admonishments; ‘ You worry too much’ and ‘ I told you so,’ until she’ll manage to coax a smile from him. His frown deepens. He tells himself she won’t stir him from his mood, not this time.

“Jolder! Jolder, this isn’t funny!” He lengthens his stride, anxious to find her. He glances to his left and right as he goes, checking the bodies scattered around, making sure she isn’t among them. He eventually spots a flash of silver and gold, and discerns a figure lying crumpled on the ground in the distance. He breaks into a run, nearly falling on his face as he loses his footing on the wet snow.

Panicked thoughts run through Saladin’s head as he closes the distance, She’s not moving. Why isn’t her Ghost reviving her? Where’s her Ghost? He slides to a halt next to her prone form and falls to his knees. He pulls off his helmet and tosses it unceremoniously to the side before gently turning Jolder to face him.

“Jolder? Talk to me.” He feels carefully for the seals around her neck and eases her helmet from her head. Her eyes flicker open and she regards him with a glassy stare for a moment, before looking down her right arm. Saladin follows her gaze to see her hand clamped over a gaping wound in her abdomen.

“Y’should see th’other guy.” She draws her bloodstained lips back. It could be a smile, it could be a grimace but if anyone could smile through such an agonising injury, it’s Jolder. Saladin glances over at the nearby corpse of a footsoldier. The knife that probably caused Jolder’s wound is now embedded in the unfortunate attacker’s throat. He should never have been allowed to get that close to her. Saladin should have been with her. 

“We need to be more careful.” Every trace of anger has gone from his voice, only the worry remains. “From now on, we stick together.”

“Oh, don’make those sad puppy eyes at me, I’ll be fine. I just need to…” She reaches awkwardly across her body with her free hand, which is on the opposite side from her sidearm holster. She doesn’t dare take away the hand on the wound to reach for the gun, Saladin suspects it’s the only thing keeping her innards from sliding out. He swallows hard, willing his gorge not to rise. This is the sort of injury that’s certainly fatal but she’d endure hours of pain before expiring, hours of agony before her Ghost could bring her back as fresh as the day the Traveller chose her.

Jolder stifles a sob. She’s twisting herself awkwardly as she tries to reach her gun. Saladin doubts she’d have the dexterity to open the holster even if she could reach it. Her fingers are curling up, her body is shutting down the blood supply to the extremities in a last-ditch survival attempt. Human nervous systems haven’t adapted to the idea of healing through Ghost-via-suicide.

Saladin catches her hand in his and lays it down. “It’s all right. I’ve got it.”

“‘m okay,” she protests in a faint voice. “I can…”

“Jolder. I can do it.” He unclips the holster, takes out the sidearm, checks the ammo and cocks it. He turns his attention back to her, brushing his thumb lightly across her lower lip to catch a drop of blood that threatens to spill onto her chin. She locks her eyes with his. He’s caressing her cheek now, softly running his knuckles back and forth over her skin. He speaks to her, comforting “shh,” sounds, barely audible whispers. The words are less important than the tone, it’s like he’s trying to lull her to sleep.

“Do you trust me?” He says this clearly, this is important. He’s asking her to allow him to oversee her resurrection, to trust him with her Ghost. He could understand if she didn’t, trust is a hard commodity to come by in Warlord territory. The sickening crunch of the Ghost he destroyed earlier is still ringing in his ears. She doesn’t say anything, she just reaches for his wrist and pulls weakly upwards until the gun is level with her head. Saladin takes a deep breath, readies one finger at the trigger and cups the stock with his other hand. He exhales slowly and presses the barrel to her forehead.

“I’ll see you soon,” he tells her earnestly. Jolder finds a smile for him but this time, it isn’t forced. There’s no bravado now, just warmth and faith. She nods once and screws her eyes shut. He pulls the trigger.

Saladin slumps backward as the sound of the shot dies away. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He replays the carnage they unleashed today in his mind and thinks on what it means to be a living weapon, on why the Traveller saw fit to bring back the dead to slaughter the living. When he opens his eyes, that soft smile is still playing on Jolder’s lifeless lips, while the snow is slowly turning into a scarlet pillow beneath her head. As he waits for her Ghost to bring her back to him, he contemplates what it means to live in a world where killing has become an act of love.