Chapter Text
Norrell led the two deeper into the facility, removing a set of keys from inside his shirt as he did so.
“Please understand, times are hard on everyone here, and Diwaniya is young. Before this the worst thing he had to deal with was a drunken fight or two. Just lock the guys in the stocks for a day and everything is fine afterwards. This... this is more than he can handle. More than most Shapers can handle.
“Oh, here we are.” Unlocking a door close to the end of a hallway, Norrell gave them each an appraising look. “You're about my size. But you, girl, you got any clean clothes to put on after?”
Whether they didn't know how to answer such a mundane question or were too absorbed by the occurances of the last hour, Norrell answered his own question. “I think Juna is about your size. I'll increase her pay this month to donate something to go under the armor. Nothing worse than salty britches after a bath. And don't worry none about someone bothering you in here. Only Diwaniya and I have the key to this door, now. Not much privacy from each other, but better than walking into the lab.”
Greta muffled a chuckle at that. Shapers all shed their concerns over bathing in public during their apprentices. You had to, given the structure of the clean rooms. That, and being quite literally tested on how well and how thoroughly you cleaned yourself in those shared chambers. Fortunately, the instructors also took care to teach proper behavior around someone who was washing themself. Letting your eyes linger on your fellow apprentice too long would earn you two days without food. A joke might get you locked up in the gibbets for a week. Didn't mean Shapers didn't value modesty or privacy, just that they were trained to understand when those were secondary or even tertiary concerns.
Alwan seemed to be thinking similarly, for as Norrell closed the door behind them he said “He's got a dressing partition we could move in front of the tub.”
As he said that, they both realized exactly how unlike their expectations this room was. The bed was of decent size, but the mattress was made of straw bundled together and the sheets were of worse quality than they had at Academy. A dresser, a large iron tub, a wardrobe with a serving platter mounted on it to serve as a mirror, and a desk. Commander Hevvigs room at Fort Kentia had been both more comfortable and richer than this.
There was certainly room for more, could easily fit thrice this much furniture into here and still have it comfortably arranged.
“I don't think anyone at South End lives this poorly. Is this by necessity or choice?”
“Doesn't matter, Greta. Are you bathing first or shall I?”
“Let me, my hair will take longer to dry than anything on you.”
They shifted the partition so Alwan could comfortably sit at the desk not see or be seen from the tub, which was full of cold water already. After squeaking when she first tested it, Greta ran a bolt of flame around the bottom of the tub until the first hints of steam rose, then sighed into the bath.
“Greta, something is wrong.”
“Fuck, NOW?”
“No. Well, yes, but not like that. Why didn't Diwaniya have us use the clean room?”
She had been working tangles out of her hair, but her hands froze when they considered the question. Clean rooms served as the entryway to any Shaping Hall. A few stone benches, a couple jars of a weak acid with sponges, two pools of water (one each for before and after the acid bath), and hooks on which to hang your exterior clothes or your working robes, depending on which way you were going. They were intended to prevent the accidental release of Shaped molds, insects, or smaller lifeforms, and as a precaution against bringing in unknown contaminants to the Shaping Hall. Shallow basins beneath the benches collect the used water and dirt from outside or viscera from Shaping experiments where it can be easily incinerated and then swept away, or collected to be fed to an Essence Pool. For visible dirt, metal strigils were available that could be dropped into the dirty pool and boiled clean again.
Taking her silence as failure to understand his concern, Alwan continued, “It would have been proper, even expected, that we clean ourselves there, where the filth from the road is contained and easily destroyed. But instead he had us directed here. Where we are likely to relax and spend time.”
“Maybe he has some experiment he doesn't want to risk being disturbed?”
“At a time like this? He is stretched thin enough just patrolling San Ru, and is facing open rebellion from the Commons. Not the time for experimental Shaping.”
“Alwan, who has the key to this room?”
“Norrell and Diwaniya… ONLY Norrell and Diwaniya.”
“Are we locked in?”
Greta watched his shadow move across the ceiling in the candlelight as he tested the door. It stuck slightly at one corner of its frame, but otherwise opened easily.
“No, he didn't lock us in.”
Greta returned to teasing the knots out of her hair, but never let both ears dip below the water at the same time. She trusted Alwan wouldn't let anything happen to her without a direct order and formal proceedings, but he would not be able to stop a full Shaper inside their own Hall. A knock at the door had her fill both palms with fire.
“Shapers?” came Norrells almost grandfatherly voice. “I'll need to head to the barracks to grab the rest, but at least I've got fresh robes for you. Might be a bit long on the smaller one, sorry. Been three years since a woman was in this part of the hall.”
With the flames in her hands, Greta couldn't even watch shadows on the ceiling, only listen as Alwan took the robes and shut the door again. A few moments of silence passed before she cursed aloud in pain and jumped halfway out of the tub. Instantly Alwan towered over her, his sword half-drawn and the partition thrown aside.
“Nothing, I burnt myself by heating the water too much.” She snuffed the twin balls of fire and hid her embarrassment behind scrubbing her face as he awkwardly turned around and tried to set the partition back into place. A few moments later she gave up on her hair.
“I think this past week has made us both a bit paranoid. Pass me one of those robes.”
Trading places, Greta looked at herself in the make-shift mirror. She had changed. Not in any way an artist could capture, but seeing herself in the red robe of a Shaper, with the experiences of the past week behind her, she could feel the differences. She barely recognized the woman who stared back at her. Hard. Powerful. A threat. Not the girl she had been in South End, hiding pain behind a smile. This was a woman. A woman who was fighting the end of the world as she knew it. A woman with a chance to win.
“Screw it. How long are you going to be?”
“Trying that trick you used with the hot air on our socks. Failing. Why?”
“Cut off my hair.”
“Why?”
“Because what you've got will be less hassle.”
“Okay?” Grabbing a skinning knife from one of their packs, he methodically and smoothly sliced away her hair until it wasn't long enough to lay down.
“Do you know why Guardians keep their hair short like this?”
“Easier to clean blood out of?”
Alwan chuckled “That too, but mostly it's one less thing for an enemy to grab, or to catch fire.”
She looked at her reflection again. Gone were the waves that had cupped her cheeks, which she once thought were adorable and attractive in a homey way. The woman who looked back at her, the woman she now saw in herself, was a warrior. A powerful mage with just the barest hint of Essence-fueled power peeking out from the depths of her eyes.
Yes, she could be this woman.
Looking at her companion, however…
“What?” He asked with mock petulance.
The robe stopped barely closer to his ankles than his knees, and he couldn't properly close it around his shoulders. He was a very large man, after all, even before his martial training. The belt of his robe at least managed to keep it closed at his groin, but then it nearly comically split as it rose up his chest. On a woman of the night it might even have been provocative, but on a warrior like he was?
“You need a much bigger robe.” She managed to say after choking down a minute of laughter.
The two sat for another half hour, the first time since the attack on the school that they'd been able to just sit and wait. They didn't know enough to plan their next move, they were in relative safety assuming this wasn't a trap set by Diwaniya, and they weren't exhausted or injured. Tired, yes, but neither was in danger of falling asleep while walking, or sleeping through the next day. This was merely a moment of calm, bizarre for its contrast to the last week. Eventually another knock came from the door, both of them surprised they hadn't heard an approach. Opening it, they found Norrell and a Servile, both overburdened with armor and clothes. Norrell dumped his load onto the bed while the Servile gently unburdened herself onto the desk. After looking at them, Norrel began laughing which caused the Servile to shrink against the wall.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Shaper. Maybe a cape instead? Renriel only wore her robes for ceremonial purposes as well, preferring a blue cape on her armor. This might be why.”
“Renriel?”
“Oh, she was the Guardian who was Shaper Master here before Diwaniya. This is her armor. Nothing like the Shaped metal of Lord Rahuls, to be sure, but good trusty metal. We should be able to adjust it to fit you properly. You're a bit broader of shoulder than she was, but if you'll forgive my crudeness she had a much larger chest than you do. And for you, I figured since you were wearing that apron you wouldn't want anything heavy, so some simple brigandine. Almost a corset, really, but it'll stop a bite or an arrow coming at your chest and won't slow you down. I also grabbed both of you some clean clothes to go underneath. Milla, if you would grab the other side of this we can split the room a bit and get them both dressed.” As he spoke to the Servile, he was already lifting half the partition.
The Servile barely needed the instructions, already moving to fulfill her expectations of the man's commands. With that in place, the two were separated by a finger's width of wood and stripped. Greta had never been assisted dressing before, and while Milla was undoubtedly practiced and fully appropriate, the young woman found the entire procedure discomforting. A minute of adjusting straps on a new pair of thick leather cuisses and the vest itself, and she was ready. Alwan and Norrell took much longer, testing and adjusting the straps holding his segmented armor together until it moved with him without pinching or binding. Norrell has planned for this delay, it seemed.
Speaking with a hushed voice that Greta knew was deliberately loud enough for her to understand, he spoke more of the local rebellion.
“The Shaper can't afford to be seen as weak by sending a messenger to the hiding gatherers. But you could go to them as part of your investigation. Most of them haven't officially done anything wrong. They're just swamp foragers, out foraging in the swamps.”
“They ignored an order to shelter in San Ru.”
“But what's the punishment for that? Just not being protected. If they were to return, if someone could convince them to surrender, the only one who'd need to be punished would be Lankan. A desperate man, angry and scared, did a stupid thing. A month, maybe two locked up in a cell. It'd maintain Diwaniyas power, while keeping the peace and protecting all of them. Those so-called rebels haven't attacked any of my men.”
“Are you suggesting the Shapers parley with rebels?”
“Not at all, I'm simply saying that someone could convince scared people to come to the Shapers to protect them from Rogues.”
“He makes a point, Alwan.” Greta stepped around the partition, her robe unbound to reveal dyed leather as she moved. Every bit the image of an Agent, the silent enforcers of the Shaper Empires will. “With the quarantine, only the people on this island have heard of this so-called rebellion. If they're willing to return, then there wasn't ever a rebellion. Just some people who were scared stupid enough to fight Rogues without the Shapers, and a young Shaper who prepared for worse.”
“They have defied the Shapers!”
“And done what? They haven't attacked anyone, they haven't stolen valuable secrets, they aren't raising an army. They're just hiding. With Hoge wandering the swamps, that's smart. And even if we can't convince them to return, we could use a guide through all that muck.”
Norrell was finishing up tinkering with some strap on Alwan’s right arm, then made a show of dusting off the whole thing.
“Alright then, let's get this cape on you and see what you look like.” He took the cloth that the armor had been bundled in, a blue so dark it could be mistaken for black in a less well lit room, and looped it onto two small pegs on his shoulders.
“Yes, that's a figure to inspire confidence. And hope.”
Greta had to agree. The metal was clean, but not polished. Hard, heavy, and dull. It was armor for doing war, not for leading from behind. The simple gray, the beaten bulges where the layers connected, and the spots of beige padding at his joints all led to a single thought: this was less a person and more an engine of destruction. Topped with a simple helm that concealed his nose, and even Greta admitted he was intimidating. The vambraces he had been given back on Greenwood didn't match the rest of the armor, but somehow that made it easier to believe this was armor designed to win, not to look good. The cape off his shoulders was the only thing that softened his appearance, and even that was harsh. Thin, it looked to provide little warmth and less comfort. Even knowing who was inside that appearance, Greta felt a desire to fall in behind him and his authority.
“Yes, a proper warrior Shaper. This will give the people hope.”
Norrell led the two back to the main hall, leaving the Servile to tidy up the room. Greta noticed that this time he did lock the door from the outside, trapping the woman therein.
Diwaniya even appeared to relax slightly on seeing them, though he scrutinized them severely.
“You didn't arm them, Norrell?”
“My apologies, Shaper Diwaniya, but for very nearly the same expense, I thought it might be better to give them a coin purse and have them purchase their weaponry this evening. Allow the people to see them, let the story grow a bit before we parade them out of town on their mission.”
Diwaniya rested his head on one fist, considering. “Yes, they likely would be tired tonight anyways. Do it. I can't spare the thoughts to handle our stores right now. Maybe, with this, we won't fail.” In a whisper meant for no one to hear, he continued “Maybe I won't fail.”
Norrell unhooked a pouch from his belt and handed it to Greta. “I'll have some rooms made up for them, then. Wouldn't do for two Shapers to fight over floor space in the inn or a tavern with the gatherers and fishers.”
Diwaniya didn't seem to have heard him. The young Shapers gaze was fixed somewhere in the distance, likely communicating with his numerous Creations. While simpler Creations like Turrets required no attention whatsoever after their Shaping and others could be instructed to obey another person or even another Creation, the Shaper did still need to occasionally reinforce those commands and had to direct the Creations leading others. And from what they had seen, Diwaniya had six or seven dozen Creations patrolling his town, to say nothing of any he had sent into the swamps.
Norrell walked the two newly christened Shapers to the road, and pointed them towards the blacksmith. Not that he needed to, it was the only other stone building in San Ru. He also recommended a pair of drinking holes, one more popular with traveling merchants and his own guardsmen and the other more popular with the working men and women of the island. He then turned back inside to have a brief conversation with the human guard at the entrance of the Shapers Hall while they strode forth into the Commons.
Their arrival in San Ru had been largely unremarkable. No one seemed to care about two people, overburdened with packs and caked with mud. But now? Conversations dwindled in a radius around them. People pointed and stared. Some even took off running the direction they were headed, presumably to spread the word before they arrived. As they got close though, all lowered their heads. This wasn't South End where people saw multiple Shapers and Shaper-Apprentices every day. This wasn't Fort Kentia, fighting back an onslaught and overburdened with people sleeping in the streets. The people here were desperate, but they weren't dying. These two Shapers wouldn't save their lives. But they still respected and feared the Shapers.
The blacksmith was pounding away on some small, sharply curved blade when they entered. He hadn't seen them when he yelled over his back, warning them to not touch anything and saying he'd be just a minute. When he finally did turn around, the blood drained from his red face, then he hardened his expression.
“What can I do for the Shapers?” If his words were respectful, his demeanor was anything but. And Alwan completely missed it.
“A shield, a stone, and some blade oil. A brace of javelins, if you have heads ready.”
The smith showed Alwan three shields he had ready, and all were tested. Satisfied, the larger man selected one and asked Greta for the coin pouch.
“I can't charge Shapers. If you're going to use these to do something, then do it.”
Alwan thanked the man and walked out, but Greta remained behind.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I've seen a lot of nothing for the last month. Some of my good friends are out there, dead for all I know.”
“A MONTH? But the attack was just last week!”
“What attack? Lankan threw a fistful of dried herbs at your master.”
“Then things here started before they did on Greenwood.”
“Don't know nothing about the other Isles.”
“We will fix this. Same as we did there.”
“So long as you do something, I'll be grateful to the Shapers.”
“Does San Ru have an herbalist? I could use a new baton.”
“Does San Ru have an herbalist? Shaper, look around, we got nothin BUT herbalists! But if it's batons and thorns you're after, find Dammy by the pond. Assuming he's still alive. Has himself a nice setup out there, and he grew most of what the scouts use.”
“Do you have a map?”
“I don't, and none of the people who do will show you. A gatherer's maps are their lives, you understand, and they’re children's inheritance. But there's a hill in the middle of the island, can't miss it. Pond there doesn't dry out even in fall. Dammy there has a trail lined with his thorn bushes going straight to it.”
After thanking the man again, Greta followed Alwan out. They spent a little more time out in the town itself, but gained nothing valuable. Returning to the Shaper’s Hall, they were greeted with a meal and the promise of rest. Finding themselves alone in one of the chambers prepared for them, it was impossible not to notice that these rooms were smaller but far more richly furnished than where they had bathed. Alwan said it first: “Something’s wrong here.”
Greta couldn’t disagree. “What have you noticed?”
“He still hasn’t offered us the use of his Shaping Chamber. A show of force would want us flanked by a few Creations at least.”
“More than that though. Did he mention when his problems began?”
Alwan thought for a moment. “No. I assumed the timeline matches Greenwoods.”
“A month ago, Alwan. Diwaniya has been waiting for reinforcements for a month.”
“That makes no sense! Why didn’t he call for reinforcements?”
“Maybe he did? Or maybe a missed regular message would be a desperate enough message on its own. But it’s worse than that.”
“How can it be worse?”
“What did we eat?”
“Steaks.”
“See any ornks on this island?” Greta was familiar with Alwan not noticing the daily parts of Common life by now, but he would have seen their absence. And once pointed out he’d realize the significance.
“Of course no- Where’d he get the meat?”
“And why not feed us any plants or fish? How is he feeding his people?”
“Is he Shaping tonight's meal every day? For the entire town? Even if the rebels return, how long can he feed them?”
“Until his Essence Pool runs dry.”
“How much longer does he have? We have to get into his Shaping Hall.”
“Agreed, Alwan, but how?”
“Let’s look around. There is probably a back entrance. You wouldn’t want to walk every Creation out through the main hall. Especially since these halls are shorter than some common types.”
“Now?”
“They haven’t taken our muddy clothes yet.”
Her grin of agreement unnerved Alwan. No one should take that much pleasure in planning to violate a Shaper’s lab.