Lesbians Fight the Demon Queen Chapter 8

All through the night, the city stayed silent save the occasional rhythmic pounding of boots across stone streets, through alleyways, from doorstep to doorstep. Byron had been awake, tossing and turning for the better part of the night. He lay on a cot in Thread’s study, trying his best not to allow the intrusion of unwelcome thoughts. He was not doing a particularly great job at this. Put plainly as possible: Byron didn’t want to die. For that matter, he also most certainly did not want to end up rotting in some dungeon or jail cell. He didn’t want to be executed, didn’t want to be killed in a skirmish with some enemy he knew next to nothing about, and he had absolutely no desire to be smote by a mysterious and powerful demon queen.

It just wasn’t fair. For all intents and purposes, Byron had not even been alive a full day; whoever Byron was, he was completely cut off from whatever had come before his awakening that morning on the outskirts of Geld. And now, there he lay in a stranger’s home, hiding out from a military force he knew next to nothing about, his only friends a handful of radicals hellbent on throwing themselves into some unknowable danger. To say his future was muddled and his options seemed limited was the great understatement of whatever century he found himself living in. But either way, that future, muddled as it may be, was out there, and it was well on its way. He could do nothing to stop it from coming, ready or not, wanted or not.

When Byron asked himself what he wanted, he came up short. Mostly he simply wondered what his options even were. Was he skilled in some way? Did he have a family to return to? A farm somewhere, or perhaps a business? If so, were they even his anymore? Was he the same person as whoever he had been before waking up on the side of the road? The sad truth was, he simply didn’t know. And he could ask himself questions like that all night, but he would get nowhere. With time, Byron might create a life for himself, something mundane and safe. But, truth be told, for some reason whatever future he imagined himself felt wrong. He was out of place in some fundamental way, thrust into the life of someone who may well have been a complete stranger even to himself.

There had been a moment when he was readying himself for bed; a moment he had tried to put out of mind. Byron had caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, and seen a stranger. Tired eyes had gazed back at him, sinking into a gruff, bony face. His dirty blonde hair was matted and greasy, thick eyebrows seemed to be permanently knit in a look of distressed confusion. In that moment, he had lifted a large, hairy hand to run along the coarse skin of his cheek and jaw, and watched with detached curiosity as his reflection mimicked the gesture. “Like looking at someone else,” he had muttered to Nina later that night. She had given a sympathetic smile, and shrugged, suggesting he would get used to it. Byron doubted that. He was out of place, existentially so. And how was someone like him, lacking any past, blind to any possible future, a strange passenger in his own body, to know what to do with himself?

And yet, somewhere out there, possibly alone, possibly in pain, possibly quite frightened, was Zelle. A friend, or the closest thing he had to that. In many ways they were just as much a stranger. The person they truly were was just as much an enigma as whatever future Byron would find himself caught up in should he continue to help his newfound companions. But it was undeniable that despite—or more realistically, because of—what he’d been through with Nina, Kesh and Zelle, Byron felt a strange sense of duty, of obligation and attachment toward them. They’d helped him in a time of need, taken him in at no small risk to their own interests. They had shown him kindness, treated his wounds, saved his life twice over, to put it plainly. Anyone in their right mind—including, Byron might add, his own newfound friends—would point out that their kindness did not mean he was obligated to risk his own life for them. But Byron couldn’t help but think back to what Zelle had said only moments before things had broken bad: that he could rely on them, and the others, whenever he needed them.

In Thread’s parlor just below him, Kesh and Nina were doubtless spending their entire night planning a rescue for Zelle. They were loyal, they cared enough about their lost companion to risk their lives, and their own mission. Then there was Thread, eccentric fellow though he was. He had, without question, opened up his home. He was risking his own safety to harbor fugitives, one of whom was a complete stranger.

There wasn’t any way around it, the people Byron found himself in the company of were good. They wanted to do right. And Zelle, a person who had shown Byron only kindness, was in trouble. Byron didn’t know a lot about himself, but what he did know was that didn’t sit right with him. Admittedly, very little sat right with him. The idea of traipsing off with a group of people he’d just met to make a deal with a woman he knew nothing about, but who presumably wielded tremendous power, didn’t particularly sit right either, for example. But on the other hand, living in a city that seemed to actively persecute people who were “tainted”—whatever the specifics of what that meant were—also didn’t sound like a great time. That only sounded worse when Byron took into account the fact that he, himself, apparently fit into the aforementioned category. His choices were, ultimately, a selection of bitter, misshapen pills, one of which he’d need to gulp down, many of which might kill him.

Perhaps it was a blessing then, that one option, no matter how unpleasant, nagged at him, tugged at his conscience. At the very least, helping Kesh and Nina save Zelle would make Byron feel good inside—assuming his insides stayed intact. It certainly was a lot to ask, but he could—he would—do that much. And then, when Zelle was safe, Byron could decide whether to continue onward with his newfound entourage from there. A sigh escaped his lips, and apparently that was that. For better or worse, his mind was made up. In the distance, the synchronized clatter of dozens of boots marching through the streets broke the silence which had fallen over the city. Byron wondered just how much truth there had been to Kesh’s claim that the armored automatons weren’t the best of fighters. For better or worse, Byron would be finding out soon enough. He closed his eyes, he needed rest. His mind wandered for a time, and, just as sleep took him, he entertained the idea that he might awaken the next day as he had started this one: lacking any memory, lost and alone. He decided that, ultimately, that would be kind of funny, and just his luck. At the very least it would give him one hell of an excuse to not throw himself headlong into danger. Byron drifted into unconsciousness, his mouth upturned in a somewhat grim smirk.

- - -

Byron awoke with a start. He was sweating, panting, eyes wide. His mind reeling, grasping at the crumbling memories of his dream. There had been a castle, a woman. She had wanted to kill him. And he -- he had wanted something else from her, something worse. He was losing details by the second, but whatever had happened in the dream, it had been terrifying. His eyes adjusted to the light; morning had come, daylight streamed through his window. He took some comfort in the fact that he did, at the very least, know who he was. Which was to say, he knew who he was just as much as he had the night before. He breathed slow and deep, heart pounding in his chest. With a weary groan, he stretched, and sat upright, shaking his head to break free from the vines of sleep which still clung to him. As he rubbed his bleary eyes, the sound of a throat clearing across the room caught his attention. His head turned to follow the noise; standing in the doorway was Kesh, his head ducked lightly to avoid hitting the frame. He looked on stoically. Next to him, just inside the makeshift bedroom, was Nina; she was against the wall and leaning forward, gazing intently, her brow knitted with worry.

“Byron, are you alright? You look, well, you look about ready to jump out of your own skin.” Nina took a step forward, but Byron held his hand up as he caught his breath, and steadied himself with his free hand.

“I’m fine, really. Just a nightmare. I’ll get over it.” He breathed, shaking his head. His explanation seemed enough to calm Nina, though, if he were being honest with himself, he couldn’t seem to shake that fear.

“Well, you remember us at least, right?” Apparently Byron wasn’t the only one who had considered that possibility. He gave Nina a wary smile and nodded. “Good,” she said. “In that case, we’ll be heading off soon and—”

“And even though I told her it wasn’t fair to ask you to risk life and limb for a bunch of people you barely know, she refused to leave without talking to you.” Gently, seemingly apologetically, Kesh shook his head.

“Well,” Byron said, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s a good thing you waited. Shall we get going, then?” He forced his mind off the nightmare, and focused on the task at hand.

Even Nina seemed surprised at that, “You don’t have to, Byron. Kesh and I aren’t in disagreement there,” she said, suddenly looking rather tense.

“Yeah well, I’ve nothing better to do. Besides, It doesn’t sit right with me to know Zelle got themself in trouble helping me. I’m at least helping you get them out; once that’s said and done, I’ll decide what to do with the rest of my life.” It seemed Byron could at the very least speak with a degree of stubborn finality, as neither Kesh nor Nina made any attempt to argue.

Instead, Kesh gave a curt nod, then looked from Byron to Nina. “Well then, we’d best give you some privacy. Thread left you some clothes, they’re folded in the corner. I took the liberty of leaving a spare warhammer with them, just in case you wanted to come after all. It’s well made, balanced, and effective at taking those automatons apart. Not sure if it’s what you’re used to but, I guess you’re probably not used to much of anything.” He paused, eyes sweeping the room, seeming to search for something to say. When he found nothing, Kesh sighed, nodded, and left the room without another word. Nina followed suit before looking back. Her eyes met Byron’s.

“He’s grateful, you know. Kesh can be a bit gruff, but he means well. Zelle means a lot to him, they mean a lot to me as well but Kesh, well, you know. Just... thanks. You’re… a good person. I’m grateful to have run into you yesterday.” A blush crept over Nina’s face, and before Byron had the chance to reply she walked stiffly from the room and down the hallway. Byron crossed the room, his hairs still on end, the pit in his stomach weighing him down. It felt impossible to shake that feeling, the fear that had gripped him the moment before he awoke, but he would need to find a way. He grit his teeth and did his best to push through it.

When he was dressed, Byron descended the stairs to find Nina and Kesh quietly eating a meal of eggs and porridge. He silently pulled up a chair and took a helping for himself. The meal was quiet, somewhat tense. Byron couldn’t help but wonder what awaited him. While the answer of what he should do seemed rather obvious in the quiet of night, when faced with the reality, the consequences of his choice, Byron was once again reminded of the fact that he didn’t want to die. To make matters worse, he couldn’t shake that feeling of foreboding his dream had left him with. What he’d seen felt important, familiar. Was it a memory, perhaps? Or worse, a vision of a future yet to come? He hoped not. Still, Byron only saw one way forward. Maybe it was stubbornness, perhaps he had some unwavering courage buried deep inside him, perhaps he was just more scared of having no direction at all, but his mind was made up.

Breakfast finished, and Nina looked to Kesh, who gazed silently into his plate for a few long, tense moments, then stood. He looked from Byron to Nina. “Well then, Byron, I’ll have to give you the full briefing and plan on the way, but for now I’ll give it to you simple. Best I can figure, they’ll be wanting to move someone like Zelle out of the city as quickly as possible. They’ve been in and out of the jails here their whole life; the city guard know they won’t be able to keep Zelle for long. My best guess is they’re probably already being moved.”

“Moved where?” Byron asked.

“There’s a work camp east of here, not a nice place. I suspect they’re moving Zelle there, and I’ll know for sure soon enough, I already got in touch with a few informants while you were sleeping. If that is where Zelle is being moved, well, that’s actually somewhat convenient for us.” A small smirk played across Kesh’s lips. It was almost gloating, but Byron didn’t follow.

“Why is that convenient? Is this camp somehow an easier target?”

Shaking his head, Kesh continued. “No, nothing like that, besides, I was hoping to hit them while they were still on the move. it’s just -- we’ll be headed that way anyway. The border, the demon queen, they’re east too.” He chuckled to himself, as though the whole thing were some private joke. Byron looked to Nina, who gave an amused shrug.

“How much danger can we expect?” Byron asked. Kesh grew quiet for a moment, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

“Depends. There’s likely to be no shortage of automatons, which is good since they don’t handle ambushes well. But since they’re moving prisoners, there will definitely be human soldiers and officers as well. Our best bet is to get Zelle and whoever else is being transported free and armed as quickly as possible so they can help us fight off whoever comes next.” He paused again to think. Then, after a moment of quiet, he looked Byron intently in the eye. “Listen, I’m not going to sugar coat it. This is going to be dangerous, but it won’t even be close to the most dangerous thing you’ll do if you stick with us. I’m going to give you one more chance to back out.”

“I’ve made up my mind,” Byron muttered flatly. “I just -- shit, I can’t shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen.”

From across the table, Nina placed her hand on his and looked him intently in the eye. “Then don’t come, Byron. I’m serious. You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” Byron said. “But I’m going to. It’s just a stupid feeling in my gut. Probably nothing. And if it’s something, then I’m not letting you two go alone.”

“You barely know us, Byron,” she pleaded.

Sudden emotion boiled up within him, and before he even realized, Byron had slammed his fist into the table. “I have nothing else,” he growled. “Okay? Nothing. Else. No other options. I’ve thought about them all and I just. I can’t. I won’t. I don’t know why, for fuck’s sake I don’t know anything about myself. But I know that this is what I’m doing.” The table was silent, two pairs of eyes looked at him in shock, perhaps awe, maybe fear. He followed their gaze to where his fist met the table. The skin on his hand and forearm had turned a deep shade of purple. Beneath it, the wood was splintered and cracked. As though bitten, he quickly withdrew his hand, the color rapidly fading. “I’m… sorry,” he breathed.

“Save it for Thread, you broke his table,” Kesh chuckled, then leaned back. “Alright, you know what? Fuck it. Yeah, you’re in.” He glanced to Nina. Both nodded in agreement, then returned his gaze to Byron. “Let’s go then.” Without another word, the trio made their way to the front door. Waiting in his parlor, sitting comfortably in his chair, was Thread. He was again dressed in the same outfit as the night before. The high collar of his traveler’s cloak and wide brim of his hat obscured most of his face. When the three entered the room he stood, taking his cane and doctor's bag, and moved to the door, eyeing them patiently.

“Going somewhere?” Kesh asked.

Thread nodded. “I thought I might join you. I cannot leave a regular patient to rot in some work camp. These old bones might keep me from moving the way I used to, but I think you will find me useful. And I will not slow you down.”

Kesh seemed to want to argue, he didn’t. “I’d tell you no, but I know better than to try.”

“Good, it is settled then.” Thread unbolted the door, and with a creak, it swung open. Nina and Kesh walked through the door, and just as Byron was about to follow suit, he felt a heavy hand grip his shoulder. He paused, looking back to Thread. “You saw something last night, did you not? A dream.” Silently, Byron nodded. “When this matter is dealt with, we will speak privately.”