Crownless Consort-Chapter 37 - : Red Oasis

She trailed the camp, trying to spot where they could have been keeping her mother. Coriel had been sure to follow them at a quick pace, there was no chance they could have done anything to her mother yet. She must have been in one of the many tents that littered the area.

Dozens of figures waltzed about, conversing and enjoying meals together. It was still early in the morning, despite the storm clouds that had darkened the sky. It might have been easy for her to sneak past them if they had still been sleeping, and she were able to determine where her mother had been kept. But the more she delayed, the higher the chance that they would hurt her mother would rise.

They weren't even that deep into the forest. How could they not have noticed their presence before? Of course, this wasn't a trail that any of the merchants used to cross into Selsch, but that shouldn't have mattered! A group of this size should have been spotted hunting or gathering, or gained attention when they traveled into the village!

And since word spread like wildfire in Selsch, everyone should have become aware of them. They didn't take too kindly to strangers, after all.

How could this have been allowed to happen?

Coriel gritted her teeth as she ducked underneath a wreath of ivy, appearing closer to the camp. However, it seemed like many of the figures in the shadow of the canopy had disappeared suddenly.

"Are you the little rat that old lady keeps prattling on about?"

A gruff voice behind her caused Coriel to whip her gaze backwards, reaching for the knife tucked in her skirt. However, her wrists were quickly grasped, and her shorter form was raised high up into the air. She was met with the rough and sharp gaze of a young man who had a scar over his lip, scowling at her.

"Hey, Regres! Look at this!"

Several other men appeared behind him. They were all dressed in various lightweight armours or cloaks, and many words hoods to obscure their faces.

Damn it...

Coriel cursed and shouted as she was dragged into the center of the camp, struggling against the man's grasp over her wrists. Her legs became bruised and cut by the rough rocks on the ground, mud staining her boots.

F-ck! I didn't mean to get caught... do I really have to fight now...?

"Here, Leschel." An older man trailing behind them spoke out. This was one of the men that had been present when her mother was taken! Coriel grimaced as she spotted him, hate filling her gaze.

"Regres, what should we do?" The younger man, Leschel, asked.

Suddenly, the older man, Regres, hit her in the back of the head, knocking her onto the ground, cold. Her vision blurred, blood streaming down her forehead as everything began to turn black.

"We'll take her with us, too."

—

An illusory voice echoed in the darkness that held her upright, like water embracing her very form. It was gentle, it was pleasant, like the contours of this darkness had been carved for her from the very moment it had been formed, she had a place within it, and she had only just found out that it was where she belonged.

The voice, in comparison, was a bit rough, like the sand within the desert. Coarse, but as soft as wind, which often carried it endlessly, and so the words spoken echoed endlessly through that same, gentle darkness.

"Do you often miss it?"

Coriel opened her eyes. In front of her, a woman with rugged, flaxen hair knelt down, staring at her with her deep crimson eyes. They were like rubies, and they took in the sunlight around them like they really were gemstones. They sparkled, they were gorgeous. Coriel reached out a hand to touch her cheek, it was rough and callous, covered in wounds from blades, pock marks from sandstorms, and it was kissed by the sun; it made her pale skin seem bone-white in comparison.

She retracted her hand in an embarassed fashion, still gazing upon the woman.

It was Aramis. It was her.

But why? Wasn't I just in the forest? My mother is in trouble, I'm in trouble! I need to wake up!

"You look wonderful like this." Aramis spoke in a soft tone of voice.

"Like what?" Coriel was wildly confused. Why was this image of her past self speaking to her in such a way?

The woman let out a laugh.

"At peace."

Aramis wore the soldier's attire of the Southern Continent. Thick-plated panels over woven cloth, and a hood with a cowl to keep the sun away from her, with a blade tucked in its sheathe at her waist. Southern soldiers didn't often use firearms, they hadn't been quite common at the time that she had lived there.

"Am I really dreaming?"

Amaris leaned on her hand, looking lovingly at Coriel. "How would I know that? If you really were dreaming, wouldn't I only be to answer to your own knowledge? I couldn't tell you anything you didn't already know..."

Coriel reached out, ruffling through Amaris's hair. She had a calm, simple look on her face, the sort of expression that had been modeled through a life of determination, a life where one had thrown away all of their cares in the world.

"Did you know that all those who die get to choose, Coriel?"

"Choose what? To become a Spirit? Wasn't that what Master told us?"

Amaris nodded her head. "Yes, they get to choose whether to become a Spirit, and live here, or move on. Before Master was killed by that Red Prince, he was the King of the Oasis."

Suddenly, the mixture of light and darkness coiling around them warped considerably. The sun burst out from behind peaks of sand, and an expanse of glimmering crystalline water lapped at their clothes. Canopies of branches and vines extended high above them, cloaking them in shade, and the chirps of birds echoed through the environment. The creaks of insects, and the buzzing of dragonflies sounded out in a symphony, causing Coriel to exhale exasperatedly.

In its peaceful embrace, she suddenly forgot the urgency of her situation, relaxing slightly.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

"This is the Oasis? Why am I here? Is this Communion?"

"We never signed a formal contract, I was only for your personal use. Now that we have the opportunity, you've been summoned here."

Aramis tapped her left arm, grinning.

"You're a Spirit! The one residing in my prosthesis? But... aren't you, I?"

"Aren't I, you?" Aramis corrected.

"It's the same thing..."

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

Coriel's eyebrow quivered in annoyance.

Aramis looked off in the distance, her gaze growing despondent.

"That Red Prince, Master said he is involved in the peculiar matters occurring in the Underground Region, the Blackbaast... those storms and such, they might be influenced by whatever is occurring currently."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I think the life you live is wonderful." Amaris smiled gleamed. "I want you to be careful, and protect your wonderment."

"Do you really think so?" Coriel seemed a bit surprised. Then, in a solemn, contemplative tone, she continued. "Am I doing the right thing? I can't protect anyone this way..."

Amaris shook her head. "You are doing the right thing, this is how life should be lived. But I want you to live it without worry. I'll protect everyone for you, I'll stain my hands. Just worry about keeping everyone happy."

She suddenly seemed distant, apart from Coriel. Like their proximity had fallen away, she was suddenly kneeling across the oasis.

"Let's sign a contract here. You live, and I'll make sure that others die."

And it had become rife with crimson, a sea of rubies.

—-

Coriel suddenly snapped awake. Her gaze shook violently, and her hands trembled, causing her to drop the blade that she held in her hand.

The grass around her was stained bright-crimson. Blood pooled like a red sea, her boots had become soaked in the viscous liquid.

Bodies littered the ground, the people that had attacked her separated of their heads, limbs, and lives.

She keeled over, the remnants of her breakfast spilling onto the ground below.

F-ck... no, no! No, damn it! Please... why this...?

Not this...

Coriel stared at her hands, tears falling down her cheeks as she bit at her lip to stifle the sobs that choked up in her throat.

When will I finally be able to get rid of all of this blood on my hands?

This isn't what I want...

Coriel glanced over towards one of the bodies beside her. Underneath the dimming embers of the fire in the center of the camp, she finally caught sight of what the figures had been wearing. On each lightweight breastplate or cloak, there was a small silver insignia embroidered or inscribed on their surface.

It was the insignia of her husband's murderers.

It was a triangle with the shape of a round-bottomed flask in the center.