Stations and signal cabins had been built along the track at regular intervals, so following the track meant they’d never want for a relatively safe place to spend the night. Along this route, they’d always have a roof under which to sleep, and the water lines servicing the buildings would enable them to drink and wash. According to Sol, only major stations were likely to see any upkeep and use as proper outposts, but even so, a tiny, unnamed signal cabin would serve well enough for one night’s stay.
In the control room they were currently occupying, they found some tableware and folded blankets tucked away opposite the levers for the rail switches. There was even a small kerosene heater. A fine layer of dust coated everything, but aside from that, it was all in good enough condition to use.
Sol lit the heater, filling the tiny building with warmth and the reek of kerosene. Lunafreya, suddenly overcome with fatigue, realized that if she sat down, she might not stand back up. Better to take care of everything that needed to get done before resting.
“Shall I heat some water?” she asked.
Sol grunted in response, and Lunafreya began combing through the contents atop a set of small shelves. She found a small pot in which to heat water, as well as utensils for the night’s canned meal. Then, her eyes happened to fall on a teapot hiding at the back of one shelf.
A teapot, she thought. What an unusual find. And if there was a teapot, then perhaps . . . Lunafreya’s hands and eyes continued to search, eventually coming to rest upon a familiar rectangular metal shape. Loose-leaf tea. A bit of rust had begun to form on the outside of the tin, but when she popped off the top to check the contents, the tea itself seemed dry enough.
She turned back to face Sol at the heater and asked, “Would you mind if I put on some tea?”
“Tea?” Sol seemed surprised.
“I found some on one of the shelves.”
“Sure, if you want.”
It would be her first cup of tea in what felt like ages. Her heart leapt, and she offered silent thanks to whatever tea-loving engineer it was who had been stationed here in the past. Waiting for the pot to boil was an agonizing exercise in patience.
When the water was finally ready, Lunafreya poured a small amount into the teapot to let it warm. She dumped that water out, put in a few spoonfuls of the curled black leaves, then poured the hot water over them, this time filling the pot. Normally, she’d have used a bit of water to warm the teacups as well, but she decided it was better to place a limit on luxury. They’d boiled only so much water. Warming the teapot alone would have to do.
She looked inside the pot once to check that the leaves had properly unfurled in their scalding bath. Then when the brew was ready, she poured it into the cups. The unmistakable scent of rich black tea filled the room.
“Well, give it a try,” Lunafreya said, and Sol lifted a cup to her lips. The younger woman’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Kinda bitter,” she said.
“Forgive me. I couldn’t find any sugar.”
Sol was right. The tea was rather strong, probably a blend meant to go with milk. Of course, to Lunafreya, even the bitterness of tea was a cherished taste.
“But it smells nice,” Sol added. “Y’know, brings back memories or whatever.”
Yes. It did bring back memories. This was a scent that reminded one of a world over which the sun still shone.
For a while, the two continued drinking in silence. It was a comfortable quiet, falling pleasantly in the small space. When the cups were empty and Lunafreya began to pour another serving, Sol suddenly spoke up.
“Where’d you learn that stuff?”
“How to brew tea?”
“No, no. The way you fight with that thing. I can tell you’re not a complete beginner.”
Sol pointed to the polearm resting against one wall. Lunafreya had found it among the items stored at Wael and had decided to allow herself to make use of it, fully intending to return it at the adventure’s conclusion. It had an unusually stout shaft, probably designed as such for the sturdiness required by forces as mobile as the Hunters. But she’d quickly grown accustomed to it. They’d run into enough daemons in the course of the day to make sure of that.
“It was part of my training. All who serve as Oracle must be able to wield the Trident.”
The Oracles of old had at times been asked to help quell or drive off daemons, and in fact, her physical training had extended beyond the use of weapons alone. She’d also been expected to build strength in her arms and legs. She’d not enjoyed it at the time, but afterward she was grateful. It had been crucial preparation for her role in aiding the True King.
The training had imparted both physical stamina and an ability to defend herself. She’d needed both while rousing the unruly gods and facing them on her own. She had a duty to fulfill and could not afford to collapse from fatigue. Still, she had not expected those skills to come in handy now, long after the fact.
Practice with a weapon enabled her to battle small daemons physically, without relying on the mysterious power of that first day. Lunafreya did not doubt the Draconian’s gift, but each time she used it, a faint sense of dread accompanied the use. It had become all too apparent that the essence of the daemons was being drawn into her body.
Moreover, she’d come to understand something else: “daemons” weren’t really daemons at all. They did not exist as their own separate class of beasts or monsters. Rather, they were host to other organisms within them, in thrall to the strange black miasma. Daemons didn’t come into existence on their own. Other creatures were made into daemons. And it seemed most likely that the underlying cause was some manner of parasite―a scourge.
When Lunafreya used her power to pull the source of the disease into her own body, the daemon she faced would return to its former self. Yet perhaps because of weakness due to prolonged infestation, or perhaps because the infestation had begun in a corpse rather than a living creature, the creature’s restored form lasted for but a moment. Purged of its infection, it would quickly turn into a cloud of dust and disperse.