Lesbians Kill the Demon Queen etc Ch 13

The only indications that life was even possible in the grey, craggy wasteland that was once Thaylene were the crumbling ruins of the civilization itself. Plant life was sparse, weedy and tough, the soil doubtlessly worthless for anything resembling proper crops. Despite being a two day’s ride into enemy territory, neither Lyra nor any of her traveling companions had even so much as seen evidence that any of Selian's soldiers had set foot in the area of late. The only company in the long, lonesome journey down ruined, crumbling roads was the decrepit skeletons of behemoth architectural marvels.

Despite the apparent desersion of the place, fear of ambush hung fat in the air like overripe fruit. Ren had Priscilla scry the area for hours a day, scouring for any indication that they were not alone. It was doubtlessly taxing on the witchblade, but any attempt by Lyra to offer her own magic to scry with was quickly shot down. It was frustrating, the rejection; at the same time, the weight of Maya’s discovery sat heavily upon Lyra’s thoughts. At first, she’d tried to deny it; what could possibly give anyone that impression, she had wondered. Yet some nagging doubt within her could not let go of the notion. Ren seemed to believe it; what other explanation for his sudden distance could there be? And, if her lifelong best friend were so convinced by whatever evidence was within those scrolls, then perhaps there was something to them.

Much of Lyra wanted desperately to see this evidence for herself, to look at those top secret scrolls, huff, and know deep in her heart that every word was a lie. The rest of her couldn’t help but ask ‘what if?’ What if they were right, what if there was some little piece of information contained within that parchment that was irrefutable? Would Lyra ever be able to look at herself the same again? That would make them right, wouldn’t it? All those people who thought she was a freak, a monster, she’d done her best not to listen to them. It hadn’t worked, not entirely. She would be lying to herself if Lyra tried to say that getting the stares and disapproval to stop wasn’t some part of her choice to go along with all this.

There had been a hope, a hope that had Lyra come home a hero, people wouldn’t want to poke and prod at her. That the undertone of wanting to ‘fix’ her which permeated so many of the studies, interviews and experiments Lyra had endured with so many mages, scholars, church officials, and the like would disappear. If she were fouled by Selian’s magic, though, that hope was pointless. Could Lyra even come to see herself as anything but some kind of corrupted wretch? Was she even fully herself? Over and over again through her life, Lyra had been spiteful, derisive, even cruel to those she saw herself as at odds with. Was that by choice, or design? ‘Nobody can decide your fate but yourself.’ The words from her dream surfaced in her mind, and Lyra barked a bitter laugh. What did he know? Who even was he? The fuck kind of person based their decisions off of what some random person in a dream told them? Lyra, apparently; she’d ‘trusted Maya’ and, for all the grief the prickly little thief had caused, that still hadn’t really come back to bite.

“Something wrong?” Speak a wretch’s name and it comes running. For her part, admittedly, Maya did sound genuinely curious. The two had been growing closer, though neither would be caught dead admitting that.

A quick glance about, and a jerking of her head signaled Maya closer. With Trevor driving, Ren up front with him and at the ready in the event of attack, and Priscilla deep in meditative concentration to maintain her scrying, some small privacy was easy to find, but neither Lyra nor Maya were in a position to exercise frivolity. Maya silently scooted closer, and leaned in close, her breath tickling Lyra’s neck in a way that made her shiver. Blinking hard, she shoved away the feeling and focused. “A hell of a lot is wrong. I mean, assuming you’re telling the truth about the scroll—which I’m not saying you aren’t—what the hell are we doing here? Or, more importantly, what the hell am I doing here? Why send me off on this mission?”

Maya exhaled, pursing her lips in thought, then shaking her head. “Listen, I am always one to exercise caution and suspicion. Especially in circumstances like these. But there comes a time when one needs to accept that they are in over their head, and to focus less on finding answers and more on keeping afloat. Keep your ears open, feel free to try and pry the info out of your friend if you’re so desperate. But whether you like it or not, I’m sure your part to play in all this will come to light. Don’t lose sight of your most important goal: survive.”

“That would seem a whole lot easier if I didn’t suddenly feel like we wouldn’t even be out here if it weren’t for—”

“Ambush!” Priscilla’s cry split open the quiet around them, a split second before a crossbow bolt punctured clean through the carriage’s window covering, whizzed through the air directly in front of Lyra’s face, and embedded itself in Maya’s right shoulder.

Credit where it was due, Maya kept her head, growling in pain and leaping to her feet, immediately drawing her flamberge with her free hand as she shouted all manner of colorful insults. Maya took a step toward the door, and Lyra barred her with her arm. “Lay down, you’re not fighting with only one good arm and a bolt in your shoulder.”

“Fuck off, I’m finding the bastard who shot me and carving my name into his skull,” she snarled.

“Do that after I pull the bolt out of your arm and patch you up. Lay down.” She left no room for debate in her tone, pushing Maya back into her seat. Begrudgingly, she complied, lying back on the carriage’s bench. Outside, the sounds of steel on steel rang through the air, accompanied by Ren barking orders, and persistent whoops and hollers from the encroaching enemy.

“Don’t you need to get out there?” Maya asked through gritted teeth as she examined her wound properly for the first time.

“They’ll call me if they need me. ‘Til then, I’m not allowed to use magic, remember?” Was she being spiteful? Perhaps. But part of Lyra truly was nervous about getting on Ren’s bad side.

“Suit yourself,” Maya murmured as Lyra rummaged through their supplies, taking and opening the group’s medic bag.

“No more talking. You’re probably going to want this.” Before Maya could respond, Lyra shoved a bite-stick into her mouth, and leaned in for a look at the wound. Gently, she inspected the entry point, estimating its depth by what remained of the shaft still outside Maya’s body. It had gone deep; this was no ordinary bolt from an ordinary crossbow, it had to have been fired with tremendous force to have punctured the carriage’s window and embedded itself this deep into Maya. “I think it’s pierced in the bone,” Lyra sighed. “Listen, don’t move your arm, okay? I’m going to try and pull it out, but full disclosure, this is not going to be pleasant.” Removing a scalpel from the bag, Lyra gently brought it to the surface of Maya’s skin, then gave her a stern look as she poised the scalpel at the ready. Maya nodded, shut her eyes, and clenched her first hard.

Three more bolts punctured the caravan. One again piercing the window and sailing inches above Lyra’s head, the other two getting stuck in the thicker armor of the carriage door. “Fuck,” Lyra murmured, whipping her head around and catching sight of a black helmet peeking over a crumbled wall atop a fallen building, just visible from where she knelt. Groaning in frustration, she again dove back into the expedition’s supply cache, removing a sling and a powder-bomb. Praying she still had the slightest sense of how to use it, she loaded the bomb in the sling, peeked out the window, and hurled the bomb toward the sniper. A moment later, a deafening boom drowned out all other sound. She’d been just short of the mark, but the blast proved enough to send her target sailing through the air as the building he was perched on collapsed entirely.

Satisfied, Lyra turned to Maya. “Sorry, may have just robbed you of revenge.” She placed the blade against Maya’s skin, and took another moment to confirm her readiness. Gently, Lyra drew the blade along either side of the bolt. Maya squirmed in place, shutting her eyes tight as muffled groans of pain rose from the back of her throat. Reassuringly, Lyra lay a hand on Maya’s good arm, and squeezed. To Lyra’s surprise, Maya seemed to settle. Withdrawing the scalpel, Lyra set the blade aside, and retrieved the other tool she would need for this operation.

Lyra held it before her grimly, then lowered it to ensure Maya could see it and ready herself for what she had in store for her. Mercifully, the metal rod was at least very thin, the main trouble was always making the wound large enough to fit the wire loop at the end inside the opening. Breathing slowly to calm herself, Lyra paused, looking Maya in the eye. “Listen, I don’t think you need me to tell you how much this is going to hurt.” Again, she paused, giving Maya a chance to prepare herself. “Once the bolt is out, I can use magic to mend the bone and flesh. Just... don’t tell anyone, alright?” There was a silent nod, and Lyra began.

With the steadiest hand she could manage, Lyra slipped the loop into the wound, and down to the bolt’s point. As soon as it entered, Maya’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling heavily as her eyes began to water and her hands began to shake. Again, Lyra laid her hand on Maya’s arm as the loop rached her clavicle. Immediately, Maya gripped Lyra’s forearm tightly, digging her nails into Lyra’s wrist as she panted heavily and her eyes screwed tightly shut.

The fighting around them seemed to fade into nothing, Lyra’s single-minded focus completely blocking the sounds of combat. Slowly, methodically, Lyra nudged the rod to ensure its loop caught the end of the bolt, then tightened her grip on the tool. “Maya,” she whispered softly. “It’s coming out now. I need my other hand.” The grip on her arm slacked, and Lyra took a moment to allow blood to flow back into her hand, clenching and unclenching her fingers. Keeping her breathing slow and steady as she could, Lyra placed her second hand at the tip of the rod, and began to draw the bolt out with a slow, firm pull.

A long, low, distressed growl built from Maya’s belly out out her lips as she repeatedly clenched and unclenched her fist, her legs flailing wildly below as she did everything she could to keep her upper body still. And then, suddenly, the bolt was removed, glistening dark red in the dim light of the coach’s lantern. Lyra took a moment to breathe, sitting back and steadying herself, before setting aside the bolt and pouring a bottle of liquor onto a bit of gauze. Hastily, she wrapped the wound. “I’ll use my magic to heal you, but just to be safe I’ll wrap you up. I’m not as good at healing as some other mages, so it might take a bit longer than usual, and there’s a decent chance it’ll open back up if there’s still fighting left to do. I’ll be sure to at least numb the pain and then we can—”

Behind her, the door to the caravan was flung open and a pair of rough, clawed hands gripped Lyra by the waist, yanking her outside and throwing her to the ground. As her vision and shock cleared, Lyra found herself staring up at a hulking figure clad in black plate armor. A pair of menacing, twisted horns poked from a half-helm that left cracked, colorless skin and jagged, yellow teeth on display. In its clawed, gnarled hands was a perfectly polished headsman’s axe. Engraved on its chest was an insignia depicting a venom-tipped spear. Just as Lyra was about to spit venom at the creature, asking whether something that on-the-nose was really meant to intimidate her, the words died in her throat as it raised the axe above its head. Lyra found herself frozen in fear, the reality of how unprepared she really was for all this again making itself unignorable. She attempted to lift her arm and blast the thing out of existence, but found her body wasn’t listening to commands anymore.

A moment passed like that, her enemy ready to deal a killing blow, and Lyra too shocked to stop it. Then, another moment passed like that, and another. It was looking at her now, rather intently, almost searchingly; it nodded to itself, then muttered something under its breath. Without warning, the demon turned to find some new target; it never got the chance. Like a blur, Maya hurled herself toward the armored demon, knocking it off balance as she sunk her blade into its throat. She braced both feet against her opponent’s chest, then, with an acrobatic flourish, launched herself backward off its flailing, dying body. Maya landed gracefully, then, with menace to rival that grace burning in her eyes, plunged her blade straight down into the dying demon’s gasping mouth.

Panting heavily and clutching at her blood-soaked bandage, Maya collapsed backward against the side of the carriage. Lyra leapt to her feet and scrambled over to her, crouching down and laying her hands upon the bandages as she called her magic from deep within herself. So intent was she on healing Maya’s injury, that she didn’t notice the fighting had stopped. Behind her, Lyra heard the sound of Ren clearing his throat. She didn’t turn to face him. “I’m healing her, Ren.”

“I know, Lyra. But it’s best if you let me or Priscilla do it.” He spoke surprisingly gently for someone not minutes out from a life or death struggle.

“Neither of you know this wound like I do. I know exactly how deep it is, exactly where her bone was fractured, exactly how deep the incisions I made were. It’s best that I heal it.” A silent, ‘or else’ trailed her words.

“Lyra, you know we can’t have you—”

One look, that was all Lyra had to offer. A look that conveyed every last thing that both she and Ren knew she was capable of. One that was written in the alphabet of all her anger, all her frustration at being left in the dark, punctuated by the fears, the doubts that she needed to purge, and inked with a detailed illustration of all the potential consequences of standing in her way. There was also that fact that Lyra may or may not have lit her eyes on fire. Either way, Ren balked. Lyra returned to her work, and set to work healing the only person she was sure she could trust anymore.