Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha Fan Fiction ❯ My Road, Your Road, Our Road ❯ Ｐｉｌｇｒｉｍａｇｅ ( Chapter 5 )

Back on the road. Another trek. It was slower because his leg was still recovering, but it seemed the wound on his shoulder was the least of his concerns, so it didn't hinder them too much. They had not spoken about last night, but there was no tension. Maybe even less distance. He took the journal with him, and the black-covered book was in one of his vest pockets.

The morning air was cool but humid, but thankfully not as chilly as it could've been. Still cold. Her breaths formed clouds. What few trees were skeletal and barren, and some were lanky and black, standing against a slate gray sky. There were fences and power lines along the road, the iron rusty and twisted. She almost paused to observe a bird—it seemed to be watching, gaze frozen on her as she passed it, silent like the rest of the landscape. Not too far away was a dead campfire, with a pair of polished boots left lying by a fallen log near it, and more birds staring at them. He paid them no heed but waited when she paused.

Far beyond the horizon, a plume of smoke rose high like a gray banner. Maybe it was just her imagination. Or just a mirage. But he saw it, too.

"A battle," he said when she pointed it out. "Or a town being attacked."

He didn't elaborate, but they picked up pace.

Near another fork, he made way for a caravan of weary civilians on foot. They had bags slung across their shoulders, and one child was being carried in a tattered backpack. Another, older boy, maybe ten or twelve years old, had a gun in his hand and a determined, wary look in his eyes. The father nodded at them in acknowledgment, and they continued on. But he kept his hand near his sidearm until they were well out of sight.

"They are taking the longer route to avoid the forest. May they make it," he whispered. For the first time, he sounded...concerned? Was this...regret? Something like it. Not pity, though.

They met more people along the way, but it wasn't a reassuring sight. A hooded elder was hunched before a tree stump, lighting candles, before silently passing them by with his gaze averted. A woman was herding sheep. Thin, skinny things. The herd was small. She was holding onto a handful of grass and didn't greet them, only watching with something like sadness in her eyes before turning back to the meager flock. He gave the shepherdess two tins of dried fish from their meager supply without saying a word. He did not turn back to check, but she knew the woman would eat.

More birds, perched on posts and rocks, were following them from the sidelines with unblinking eyes. She wondered, briefly, if they even remembered what singing sounded like. Sometimes they would swoop down to peck at a bug before flitting back up and watching again. Carcasses of cars and trucks, rusted beyond recognition, littered the road and the wayside, the asphalt marred by long, shallow gashes, as if someone had gouged at them, and black, ashy craters, small, round, and dark, lined the highway, the scorch marks spiderwebbing and radiating in the earth like veins.

While navigating the dreadful maze, she kicked a toy by accident, the rattler ringing as it rolled out of sight. She could only watch it disappear as the sounds faded into silence. An empty stroller was overturned against a pothole, and in it was a bundle of clothes that, for the briefest moment, she imagined to be a small body. It hurt, the ache in her chest growing, so she didn't let her eyes linger. He noticed her unease, and while he did not stop walking, he would check on her, his expression seemingly softening for the slightest moment.

"Can you keep going?"

That question again.

And the same answer.

And the same assurance.

***

The sounds were faint, but they were unmistakably explosions. Gunfire. A distant battle, the echoes of which were carried on the wind. In front of them was the aftermath of a smaller conflict, with corpses scattered about, drained of color, part eaten and part decomposing. Some wore the black uniforms of her attacker, but the opposing side, with a red cross on a field of white on their sleeve, was unfamiliar. He stopped her when a pair of crows emerged from a mound of flesh to feast, pecking and tugging, tearing away strips of skin with their beaks. A pair of teenagers, unfazed by the spectacle, shuffled past them to loot the fallen soldiers, one holding a pipe and the other a dagger. They saw him and hurriedly gathered whatever they could find into their sack and pockets, but left behind a few cans of food. They took off down the road in silence, glancing back only once.

"From the nearby village. We're heading there. If you want to close your eyes, I'll tell you where to step."

She shook her head, and they continued onward. A small flock of blackbirds swooped overhead, cawing as they flit across the gray sky, disappearing beyond the hills.

Soon, the road veered toward another path. The trees became more plentiful and larger in size, dripping dew like tears even though it was no longer morning, and the bark was glistening. A lone sentry was leaning against one of them. He wasn't wearing any uniform and didn't look like a soldier or even a hunter.

"Not dead yet, Bogatyr?"

A single nod was all he gave.

"Good. Been seeing things I shouldn't, just need to make sure. Babushka has been hoping you or your ilk would pass by. She is desperate."

Another nod, and a nudge for her to follow. She looked at him in concern, but he kept walking. She was a few steps behind when she noticed that the man, with his gaze averted, had been silently weeping. She said nothing and kept on following him.

More crows, black as the night, perched on the rooftops and power lines that were still standing, some perched on the remnants of a toppled clock tower, cawing.

But the rest of the village was mostly intact, the buildings in disrepair but still defiantly standing. She could make out people's heads peering out from their windows and doors, eyes wary. The church's bell was tolling without pause. They didn't seem to follow the teachings of the Saint King, but maybe this was their own way of sending out a prayer. Or perhaps a call for aid. The roads weren't cobbled, but made of worn bricks, and it felt strange to have her feet walk across something that wasn't dirt or sand or gravel. One by one, villagers stepped out of their homes. It wasn't an angry mob. Only curious, and a little hopeful. Some even offered small smiles when she met their eyes.

And then there was an elderly woman, wrinkled and weathered and wearing an embroidered headscarf, hastily approaching, with villagers rushing to support her on each side.

"O...Bogatyr...please...please," she grasped at his hands, holding on, almost as if to stop him from running. He didn't, though.

"Please...my little Masha. My sweet little Masha. They took her. As if her parents were not enough, they took her too...she...please..."

His expression shifted, the usual mask cracking just the tiniest bit. He did not let go of her hands and instead crouched to be eye to eye with the grandmother.

"Please...bring her back...or whatever is left of her. My son and his wife are dead...but...not her too. I can't...I..."

It was hard to watch. Hard to listen. But he remained patient and unblinking.

"I will try."

It was all he could give.

The elder wept and kissed his hand before stepping aside.

The tolling of the bell continued for another minute, and then it died.

***

Before departing, they went inside the church, which was dusty and cobwebbed, with pews torn apart and splintered but still standing. The altar was in shambles but not utterly destroyed. A saint she did not recognize was on the wall. He went to the rows of unlit candles near the altar and lit one. He wasn't praying, but the light flickered in the dark, and he seemed to stare at it as if it could burn away his memories. But she could still see the ghosts. The pain. She saw it in him, as she watched him from the pews, a statue of another saint staring down at her from behind, expression unchanging.

"I don't know if it's today or tomorrow, but I will see you again, and maybe by then I will be worthy," he murmured. A prayer? A promise? Last words? She didn't know, but at that time, she felt she'd been trusted with more pieces of him, fearful as it was.

He walked away, leaving the flame to flicker in the dark, and she followed.

Some villagers provided them with bread and provisions for the journey, and some even tried to offer coins, which were gently refused. A kid by the window, tin soldiers in her hands, shyly waved at them as they passed, the solemn herd of cattle in the yard staring silently. A baby was sleeping on its father's shoulder as he watched them leave. A dog with matted fur, its ears flopping, loped beside them for a moment before it trotted back into an open door, wagging its tail. The scavengers who looted the corpses earlier watched them from the roadside. The pair was munching on canned food, but shared some with a younger kid who was eyeing them expectantly.

Soon, the village was out of sight. The road they were taking now was unpaved. Dense forest loomed on the right, the trees towering like shadows. To the left were small, scattered groves of trees that grew from the bare fields and mounds of dirt.

"That girl is in the manifest," he remarked as he skimmed over the paper again. "These people...they will not sell their captives as soon as they get them. They will round up a certain number first and then head towards the border, to a...market of sorts. Your friends are likely still being held at their camp. The gaps between each sale have been growing longer. There are fewer people to catch now, so they must be really looking. So we still have a chance."

Sickening. Not the way he spoke of such things, but what those people did, and the image of her teammates being tied up along with the others, underfed, if at all, and scared, in a cage of steel, being shoved about with sticks.

Her fists had never been this tight before, not even when she was about to have that showdown with Nanoha-mama. She hated it. Anger, bubbling and hot and molten.

But no. She was far from powerless. Not now.

If he said they still had time, then she would trust him.