Meadowlark Prairie waiting on the planet to turn to me, dark side

it was colder here, colder than the balmy bays qiao had just fled from. even then, this cold compared little to the place qiao had been born; where whole lives rose and fell among frostbit chunks of meat and mountain, where fields lay fallow for years and the sun swirled beyond a cold and unknowable horizon for hours beyond imaginable time. 

she closed her eyes and listened under an ancient oak, whose sighing leaves stirred and hissed in the tongue of the old world. a brogue qiao had learned to pull from the dark earth, unearthing it like a fat and squirming grub to be pried between knifing teeth and thick, swollen tongues. 

she was spent from days of running. the oak she rested under was the last sentinel of the forest before it petered out into winterbleached plains. in the morning she and her sisters would continue heading northwest; for now, qiao recovered.

The cold had settled on them like a thick blanket.

The redstone wolf had ventured from the mesa that day in search of food for the queen. It was one of the few moments when he was able to sneak from her side. The pace that he’d set was swift and he crossed the mesa grounds in no time at all.

Once he was upon free terrain, his gait become easier. The tension in his frame loosened to a simple trot. Arsenio searched the plains with scrutiny. It seemed hushed, soft. The light that glimpsed through the clouds overhead glittered before disappearing again. The Greek man drew his gaze to the heavens with a deep breath that filled his lungs with crisp air.

Ahead of him was a sweeping tree. Arsenio approached to see a figure resting beneath it. He chuffed a greeting and drew his head up to meet their eye.

long ago qiao had learned to read the birds. their song fell silent, announcing the approach of another well before his chuff met the wintry air. 

a soldier. qiao’s gaze roved him without shame. hard eyes, muscular figure. a man with tension chasing along his shoulders. 

greetings, traveler. qiao sat upright. where are you going?

I had hoped to hunt, Arsenio answered with an easy smile. No scent of prey.

The ice of his gaze settled on her fair features. She looked to be like the Fellahin that the Pharaoh coveted. She was slim and sharp, earthy in color with a few striking highlights of auburn. If she did not smell of the wild world, the Greek might have assumed she was a new addition to the mesa. There would be no mistaking the foreign fragrance that hung upon her coat, though.

And you?

Arsenio made a place near to the woman and sunk to a sitting position. The man allowed his shoulders to ease, relaxing with unfamiliar company.

he was comfortable in her presence. was this because qiao was a little disarming old shrew, or was this more of man's natural born arrogance? qia studied arsenio impassively, coming to the decision that he did not seem arrogant.

she motioned to her wares with a thin paw. "i came this way for comfrey and stinging nettle." her paw upturned, qiao presented arsenio with a dark pawpad which had recently been pricked by thorns. "i found both."

it was up in the air now whether this man would be friend or foe. qiao truthfully trusted very few creatures, and men were often lowest on the list -- for their bullish pride and tireless sense of self-importance.  "were you hunting for yourself?"

The slim woman stated that she’d ventured in search of herbs. Arsenio drew his ears to a point and nodded his head, though he did not understand what such medicines might do. The curiosity pricked for a moment as he considered Tamar and the leafy scents she carried on her flame-touched figure. For a moment, the redstone guard wondered if this woman was of the same desert sands as the Queen’s maid.

She asked him if he had been hunting for himself. To this, Arsenio smiled and shook his head.

For the Queen of Akashingo, his nose swung to motion toward the mesa in the distance. The ice in his gaze lingered there, surprised that he had drifted so far away from it. When his eyes shifted back to his company, he offered her another smile.

What do comfrey and nettle do?

hunting for the queen. so noble a string of words together. what ideal in this world could conjure in its singular essence a more vibrant and rich culture whose ancient tradition lay in blood: from the pale rosepetal to the butcher's block -- all for the single whim of the queen. qiao had met several queens in her life, but her true experience lay with the men that adored them: behind every soft-eyed and soft-spoken woman was a killer who would die to protect her.

qiao wondered if this man too, would die for his queen.

"comfrey has many uses, but its best is in helping wounds heal. nettle is for me." qiao allowed a little smile. "steep it in riverwater for two weeks, and it becomes quite different from its living cousin. now, who is this queen?"

The woman was versed with herbs. She spoke confidently about both things she had gathered – comfrey for wounds, nettle for her own personal uses – and the way she spoke left Arsenio with a burning curiosity. When the slim figure had moved past her leaves, she wished to know of the queen. The redstone guard squinted softly at her before finding that he did not care much whether he shared information on the queen or her husband.

She is the lady Satsu. Newly wed to the Pharaoh Ramesses, who rules the mesa, the Greek answered with a small shrug of his shoulders.

Are you looking to meet them?

A playful smile replaced the focused expression on his face. Arsenio chuckled and wondered what the Pharaoh would make of another woman who had a talent with herbs. She was fair enough to look at.

qiao would have been delighted to know of arsenio's interest in herbs, but the conversation sailed smoothly past comfrey and nettle, landing upon the heavy topic of a queen. ah, what queen did not have a king to her name? for in this world it seemed women drew their power not from their own merits, but the men which gave them their little titles, their soft furs, their full stomachs and roundling children.

"no." qiao answered honestly. "i have had enough of kings and queens." she waved them off with a little paw. "they care not for the little man or woman; they move on through life with heavy feet, stepping on the heads of all that were born beneath them. and were you not useful to them," qiao's eyes turned upon him knowingly, for she had seen the playful smile that chased away the serious shadows in his face: "they would bleed you dry, too.

do you love your queen, huntsman?"

The herbalist spoke to him in a curious way. There was no political toying, nothing that bordered on questionable or uncertain. The sharpness of her gaze was plain sparked with an intelligence that spoke of her years on the land. Arsenio relaxed a bit more in the woman’s presence.

She spoke of kings and queens who bled their people dry. The Greek man thought of Tamar and Sayf with an ache in his heart. She said that he would be bled dry, too. Arsenio looked to her with a weary glint to his gaze. He smiled, only halfway and then breathed a huff of a sigh into the chilly air. What the woman said was correct and he would not argue it with her.

I would not care if the queen were killed tonight. I care even less for her husband, he remarked with a smirk and a shrug of his broad shoulders. You and I share these beliefs, fýllo mágissa.

The cool blue in his eyes shifted to her features, inquisitive and searching.

Is it only nettle and comfrey that bring you to these lands? Or are you seeking more?

qiao could appreciate one thing about arsenio: he shared her directness. a laugh fluttered from her throat inappropriately at his answer. "how treasonous." she observed, finding his glacier-blue gaze was now turning inquisitively upon her.

"ah, i came here because the road lead me here." this was a half-answer, qiao knew -- turning to her companion, she decided his company was pleasant enough he deserved better. "not so long ago, i served a king and queen myself. they're dead, and here i am. i followed a fox here." and that fox had proven challenging to kill -- but the fruits of her effort could be seen by the glinting foxfire pelt that now hung the border of her den. "tell me of your home. you are not from here either."

The woman’s answers reminded him of the other mercenaries he had met on his journeys. There was a familiarity in the sharpness of her tongue, the direct edge in each of her words. Yet, she spoke plainly to him and did not falter with her words. Arsenio did not have to know her to admire it. He joined her small laugh with his own chuckle and eased into a seated position to better converse. The snow on the ground did not bother him.

You are clever. I imagine the fox was better company than the king and queen you served, hm? Another chuckle rumbled from his throat. The redstone figure flashed her a swift grin, toothy and boyish in its appearance. If her rulers had been anything like the rulers at Akashingo, he did not blame her for seeking a better path. It was what he intended to do for himself.

I am from a mountain far away. Rhamnus Peak was its name. It overlooked the darkest sea waters I’ve ever seen. I was not there for long. I could not call it home. The words were honest, but he did not feel a risk in sharing. Perhaps it was instinct that told him to trust the herbalist. Perhaps it was apathy.

arsenio would do well to not trust qiao too closely; like anything else in the world, she was only ever knowable to herself. she liked this man for what he presented her with - easy going company and amusing anecdotes; surely there was a darker side to him, as there was to her, that she was not yet aware of.

he grew up on the slopes of a mountain home near a dark sea. how extraordinary a vision he must have seemed, a flame of red against a backdrop of dark stone and stormy waters. no wonder he had not felt at home. "why's that?" qiao questioned, the corners of her lips gently pulled up in a light expression: "too clever for the simple country folk? or run out for sleeping with the pretty little maid?"

The woman was sharp. The thrust of her words was like a blade between his ribs.

Arsenio laughed and shook his head nervously. He did not like feeling as though he had been watched, been found out in any way. This woman smelled nothing of the Fellahin at Akashingo, but she had the beauty of one of Pharaoh’s favorites. The sharpness in her gaze had unsettled him. Nevertheless, Arsenio could not help but to admire it with a gleam in the ice of his eyes.

You are sharp with your guesses, herbalist.

Then, with some modicum of humor upon his lips, are all men the same, then?

A sneaky smile sparked life into his features that had not been there in some time. It was fun to speak in such words with unknown company. The woman seemed dangerous. Arsenio had never been one to shy from danger.

I do love her. The first he’d admitted it.

And I do hate the king, but I believe many would hate him… if they had seen his nature.

the unexpected knife sunk deep. how his countenance shifted, like a lake sprung into ice. it had not been her intention -- she had meant his past life, but judging by his reaction, she had hit something a bit closer to home.

"most are, aye." qiao conceded, the corner of one lip upturned in a knowing expression. arsenio's expression shifted again. this time, the frozen surfaces of the lake glinted dawnfire. love.

she knew that curse well.

"it was your life on the sea mountain i meant - but you refer to something now. who is she? does the this love come with great risk to your neck?"

Arsenio smiled, washed with the knowledge that he had made a mistake in her question. Still, her guess had fallen at a tender time in his life. It was something that he wore on his cloak, day after day. The life he had lived before was one that he did not care to share.

Being thrown from the peak had been enough to seal his past.

It does, yes. She was given as a gift to the queen. A present, one who had not been touched by the Pharaoh. She tended to the queen’s needs as a servant.

Arsenio’s gaze was cold. His smile had faded.

There was no real reason to lie to the herbalist woman. She was no Fellahin to the Pharaoh, and she seemed to have a sharpness about her that led the man to believe she would not become one. He had seen the way that he doted upon his little toys. The woman he spoke to did not fit well into that picture.

whatever mood it was that possessed arsenio, it stole away that smile and left his expression cold. qiao considered that divulging into his past might be the thorn that thumbed the wound. ah, weren't most of us like that.

now they talked of a woman made in trade: bitterly qiao reflected on this truth of the world, where women were worth only the flesh they provided men, and men were worth their words.

if she could she would take this world and shake it upside down: rattle those men in their skulls, and swallow the earth with a matriarchal might more terrifying than any man could muster.

"ah. kings and their toys. they do not like it when others play with them." qiao mused aloud, a knowing smile taking form. "what will you do?"

The man grunted at her musing, finding the resurfacing picture of Ramesses’ smug face in his mind. The longer that Arsenio had been in Akashingo, the more he had found himself drawn to the idea of spilling the Pharaoh’s blood for sheer enjoyment.

The herbalist smiled, knowing, sharp.

Arsenio eyed her carefully. She wished to know what he would do.

I will set her free. Perhaps, one day… I will wrap my teeth around the Pharaoh’s throat and tear his soul from his body. Not until she is safe, though. The Greek thought of issuing the woman a warning, that she should stay far away from the mesa and it’s troubles. Arsenio had found himself rather pleased with her company. He would have dreaded the thought of her in Ramesses’ ranks.

And you, herbalist? What will you do? The ice of his eyes rested on her.

qiao was pleased with this answer. the nine would support it -- any bloodshed at all, really.

in her minds eye she imagined the pharoah dangling between the bared teeth of the fisherman-turned-mercenary. another story of men's bloody triumphs -- the exploitation of souls and gristle and bone all to serve that heightened purpose.

all the same he was not the first man to envision a king's end by their own hand. "brave. if this king's servants are faithful, you will meet your end there." she fell silent, contemplating. "i go east. the nine speak of something important in the valley."

The herbalist believed he was brave, but that he would likely meet his end. Arsenio did not wish to correct her. If he was given the opportunity, he would not let it slip through his teeth. It did not matter how many of the Pharaoh’s beloved Fellahin stepped in to stop the bloodshed of their ruler. Arsenio believed that he could tear the throats from every one of them. It would be a fitting end, for all of Ramesses’ favored ones to die at his side.

The woman said that she would journey east. Arsenio drew his eyes in the direction she had mentioned, and he frowned thoughtfully. She spoke of ‘the nine,’ but he did not understand such things. The mercenary believed in his own gods. He was a Greek, after all.

I would like to see you again, the man offered her with a small smile. The mystery she carried in her gaze was enough to compel such a thing. Perhaps, I will see you in the east. Until then, Arsenio believed that he should return to Akashingo.

if you do not see me in the east, you will surely see me in the red-after. nï wega, traveler. qiao had already begun to collect her things — threads of gaultheria and stinging nettle. one last look at this man; copper like a desert sun, burnished — two tormented cerulean eyes. handsome, even by her account.

he was a man of duty — with many things besides the road on his mind. the road was all qiao had, and so she moved on with a bow.

only when arsenio was out of earshot did qiao murmur an old spell, weaving words of a dead tongue together so their fates were twined: he, his woman, and the strange herbalist he chanced upon one fine november day.