Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Though nothing was out of sorts, Clarimonde was very uneasy. She plucked berries and leaves off the tips of shriveling elder trees, tossing them into the various pockets of her red cloak.
Many of the elder trees were dying. The land had been cracking and fraying for centuries now, a dustbowl of rock and shrub and sand.
Despite the desolation she found a lot of beauty in this place. Looking east the cloudless vivid blue skies would sit parallel to yellow sands, a bright contrast of colors. The sand would be cut with juniper trees, and the rolling hills would shift and morph into multicolored plateaus.
In the west the fortified city Dominion loomed instead. From the outside only the red adobe walls were visible, but inside she knew crowds of people bustled about. Far more than she’d like to deal with today.
The wind whispered through the low–lying shrubs and flowers, as she let it pass over her. She never felt fully like herself unless she was alone in the wilderness.
‘We don’t have to go just yet.’ Clarimonde reminded herself.
She stepped deeper under the elder tree and rested on an ancient root. She was always frail, but time was taking its toll.
Frustrating.
She shut her eyes and pushed those thoughts to the side. In what way does being frustrated help?
“Mom!”
Clarimonde turned towards the voice. A young girl stumbled over a sandy hill, kicking a dead bush out of her way. Clarimonde lit up as she dragged herself to her feet.
“Iris, where did you run off to?”
“I found amaranth! Can you believe it?”
“Out here? There is hardly any water.”
“I know!”
Iris ran under the shade of the elder tree, holding out her handfuls of browning foliage to the shorter woman in front of her.
“Aye, those are a surprise. There must be a shallow water table around here.”
Iris shrugged and bit into one of the leaves. She was a scraggly thing, much like everything else in the mesa. Her skin was dark, with straight hair the color of coal. Her eyes were a striking pale blue, and she was adorned in the same bright reds that Clarimonde wore.
Clarimonde’s hair was the opposite in many ways. Though still richly black, it was wild and curly, puffing out in impossibly large ways. She gave up trying to manage it long ago. At least Florian always liked it.
Iris blinked as her mother touched her forehead. “Hmm. Still a small fever. Some more elder tea, just in case.”
Iris groaned, pushing her mom’s hand back.
“I’m fine. Can you stop playing doctor for just a morning?”
“I AM a doctor, little flower. And I will use my skills as I please. It will help.”
Iris sat down under the shade of the tree, a frustrated sigh coming out of her.
“If you’re not dressed like a bird, you’re not a doctor.”
Clarimonde playfully slapped the top of her daughter's head.
“I don’t forget my teachings when out of uniform! Also, call me a vulture, dear.”
“Gah! Why does it even matter?”
“If anyone else heard you talk like that, you’d be lashed in the square. You’re lucky I’m so kind.”
Iris crossed her arms annoyed, as Clarimonde felt her own frustrations return. How many times would they have to have this conversation? Iris was almost eighteen but still behaved so childishly. Almost her entire life was spent in Dominion after all. Why does she still act like this is a surprise?
“I’m looking out for you.” Clarimonde spoke tersely, looking through her bag of leaves. “Why do you fight me at every occasion?”
“I’m not fighting you mom. It’s just dumb. Who cares if I call vultures birds?”
“To be a vulture is sacred . To downplay us would insult our Goddess. And I worked very hard to get where I am today. More than you know. The trials to become one are severe, but worth it.”
“Worth it?” Iris questioned, stepping away from the shade of the tree into the blazing sun. “What did they do to train the fear out of you? Services are already bad enough, I can only imagine what joining the wake is like.”
“Iris.” Clarimonde warned as she took a few steps forward. “Enough. These are not my rules, you know this. No matter my rank I cannot protect you if you upset the wrong people. How many times must I tell you? Comply long enough until you can transfer elsewhere.”
Iris just turned away, the sun shining brightly off her dark skin.
“Why are you okay with obeying everything the Goddess says to do? Even if it’s horrible? Even if it hurts people?”
Clarimonde slowly stepped out into the light beyond the tree, the wind gently pushing through her unruly hair. Iris was so young… so rebellious. So ignorant to the ways of the world. She thought back to her own childhood. How tiny and frail she always was.
A perfect target.
How the other kids would shove her in the streets, or toss sand in her face. How they’d lie and claim she blasphemed, so she’d be lashed and humiliated in the square. They’d steal her books, and throw away the leaves she’d collect. Her bugs would be tossed over fences and her notes shredded. That every time she tried to fight back, it would get worse.
It could always get so much worse.
“They did not train the fear out of me.” Clarimonde spoke softly, as she gently took her daughter’s hand.
“I fear for you, Iris. That is why I tell you to comply. Humans cannot compete against the Gods. Please… do what I ask of you, for your own sake.”
Iris slowly turned to face her mom, as Clarimonde’s heart ached. It felt like only yesterday when Iris came into her life. And now she was nearly a woman, standing so much taller than Clarimonde. How time passes so quickly.
Clarimonde tried to compose herself.
“Florian would be so proud of you.”
Iris squeezed Clarimonde’s hand.
“Thanks, mom.” Her voice shook as she pulled her hands back. “...sorry. I’ll try to tone it down.”
“Thank you. Please remember, that such rebellion will not help you. I do not know why you lash out with so much fear, but you must let it go.”
Iris looked over as Clarimonde noticed… pity? A small breeze blew past the two as Iris stood a little taller, staring down to her mother in resigned calm.
“I’m not scared, mom. I’m angry . I wish you’d stop pretending that you’re not angry too.”
Dominion’s walls were stacked high against invaders, banners blazing across its clay bricks. A clear sign that this was the domain of Fear and all her dearest followers. That to pass through these walls unwelcomed would mean your death.
Their foraging grounds lay thirty minutes outside the walls of the city. Every time Clarimonde and Iris went back into town, the barricade would expand like a lung in all directions, towering over the small humans who approached it. The massive wrought iron gate would slowly raise as if a giant predator had opened its jaw. She would always imagine herself as a tiny mouse, trapped between the fangs of a snake, while the gate would slam shut behind her, shaking the sandstone beneath her feet.
The city was hectic and loud unlike the calm of the desert. As a holy city of Fear, red dominated the fabric worn by the people. Long bright red robes would drag along the ground. Some women hid their hair behind blood colored wimples, while others braided theirs with ribbons dyed in chokecherry. If someone could not afford a full dress of the hue, they’d wrap their wrists and waists in wine soaked rope. The sea of red was particularly vivid in the energetic market today as the burning sun sat high in the sky.
Nestlings grouped together to discuss their teachings in the market, while fledgelings stood like statues and observed. Merchants from Joy would peddle their seafood from the coast, as Rage-crafted weapons would gleam in the sunlight on wooden tables.
Fruit was a rarity as the rain refused to fall. Instead, most spent their money elsewhere– beef and chicken, birds and goats. Sometimes a coyote would end up for sale as well. Anything people could eat, they would buy. Even so… Clarimonde noticed the catches were smaller. The food stalls were thinner on supplies. Even meat was starting to run low… Her unease returned once more.
In this city of Fear’s most devout subjects, why would she not just release rain? It felt as time passed food was getting harder and harder to come by. She handed over a small bag of elder leaves to Iris. “I better head to the volt. Go help Tabitha with the laundry, will you? Also, brew some tea for that fever.”
“Alright. Be careful mom, I heard there’s an outbreak of waste. Don’t get sick.”
Clarimonde smiled as she kissed Iris’ forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. May fear never blind you.”
“Mom! Don’t do that in public!” Iris flustered as she pulled up some fabric to hide within a hood. “What if Baius saw that!?”
“Baius? Who’s Baius?”
“No one, bye mom!” Iris scrambled away down the street as Clarimonde frowned. Oh no… now she’s talking to boys?
She shook the sand out of her hair, before turning and moving quickly down the street. At barely five feet she was practically invisible to the giants around her. People would push past her and mutter out apologies, or even run right into her and nearly knock her over. It was always a bit of a battle to struggle through the chokehold of the market.
She hustled quickly into a sidestreet kicking up dust in her wake. Gripping her hands nervously, she passed men in green attire, who laughed and gambled in the shadows around her.
It didn’t take long to reach the volt, a tall two story structure colored with white adobe. The waiting room was clearly already full. Clarimonde stepped quickly through the back door.
Her bright red cloak was traded out for a feathered one of brown. Strands of hair were pushed from her face before shoving on her beaked leather mask. Her shoes were changed, and she pulled on black gloves before stepping out of the locker room.
Fledgelings moved through the cramped adobe halls, past rows and rows of rooms closed off by fabric sheets. Wash stations held dirty water in their basins, and the ground was thick with disease and dried vomit. Rasping breaths could be heard through the cloth doors. It was so loud she could tell the rooms must have been shared by three or more people. Some were throwing up, and others cried in pain from whatever ailment they acquired.
Clarimonde moved through the stagnating halls, as another vulture approached followed by her fledgelings.
“You made it.” The voice behind the beaked mask belonged to June, Clarimonde’s cousin and lifelong friend. “I was starting to worry! Things have been crazy today.”
“I can see that.” Clarimonde spoke with concern, as June handed her a small leather notepad. “We’re completely out of mullein. Did you happen to find any?”
“Not really. I managed to gather plenty of elder though.”
“That helps. Yerba santa is running severely low, as well. They won’t even let me take any. I did send out some fledgelings to try and find more. We’re running low on most things…” June trailed weakly, the strain and sadness in her voice evident. Clarimonde watched her with deep sympathies, knowing how hard she’d overwork herself to try and save as many people as she could.
A rat scuttled past their feet as June waved towards the west wing of the volt.
“West is understaffed, patients have been waiting to see people for thirty minutes or more. There isn’t even a vulture there to help right now. Can I take the elder?” Clarimonde handed over her bag as June pushed it off onto one of the fledgelings. “Bring this to the supply room, thank you dear.”
“I’ll take care of the west wing.”
“Thank you Clarimonde. May fear never blind you.”
“And to you.”
June squeezed Clarimonde’s hand before turning and rushing down another hall to continue her own work.
Iris was not wrong about the rumors. The white waste was tearing through the southern district, and a massive outbreak must have hit through the night. As Clarimonde was trailed by fledgelings desperate for orders, she’d push sheets aside and witness the illness herself.
Skin which was once vibrant and healthy now looked blanched and lifeless. The white waste had a tendency to suck the color out of people, turning skin into shades of pale grey and blue as they struggled to breathe. Some would remain like that until they'd most likely pass. Others would expel all the fluid in their body over the course of days. Each patient Clarimonde met had different levels of severity, as she did her best to stretch the supplies she had. Instead of teas to drink, she’d boil pots of herbs and fear-aligned insects, urging patients to inhale the steam. Sometimes it would work. Most times it would not.
Miasma was thick in the brackish air, and she was thankful that her beak was stuffed with herbs. One patient fell into a coma and would not wake up. Another was barely three, and had to be soothed from a terrible panic while she got sick into a bucket. Clarimonde would do her best for each one, but had no choice to turn certain tasks to the fledgelings. It was simply a job she could not do alone.
And as the hallways dimmed from the setting sun, and the lanterns were lit, she moved towards a final room. Her frail body was aching as one of her students stopped her.
“Vulture… um. Before you go in that one.”
“Hewel?” She turned to him, staring up to the taller man.
“Something is… off with her. I’ve never seen anything like it. She almost looks like a corrupter, but…”
He trailed, as she shook her head. “Thank you for the concern, I’ll handle it I promise. Can you please brew a pot of fireflea and desert lavender? I’d like it steamed for rooms twelve and thirteen. Do not let them drink it, just make them inhale.”
“Of course.” He bowed respectfully before moving off to do her request. Clarimonde stepped over to the door, and pushed the fabric out of her way.
The patient was so pale she nearly looked inhuman. Hewel was right. Her skin nearly looked like a corrupter’s but there was just enough yellow and pink to it to convince Clarimonde otherwise. Even as she laid passed out on the small bed she was staggeringly tall, and thin in a way that left her gangly limbs hanging off the sides. Her clothes had hues ranging from purple, blue and pink, a mishmash of colors that made it impossible to tell what cult she hailed from. She wore a long vest that dragged near the ground, stark black with a visage of stars settled near the bottom, while a blue bandana wrapped around her head and tied in the back.
The roots of her hair were jet black that faded into a pale bleached blonde. Pink glasses sat on her nose, and a massive jagged scar ripped across one of her eyes as well. She was extremely peculiar to be sure. Could someone so pale even be alive? Clarimonde adjusted her gloves before stepping up, immediately checking her vitals.
There was no pulse. The skin was warm so her death must have been recent. If only she could have gotten here sooner… she sighed sadly, before straightening her back.
And as Clarimonde turned towards the cloth to call for a fledgeling to take the body away…
The eyes on the corpse snapped open.