[Ficlet] [Seven Beacons - PG] Day Eight Since
Title: Day Eight Since
Universe: Seven Beacons (see seven-beacons)
Genre: Fantasy
Characters: Nerea Levia, Morgan DeLumens
Word Count: 530
Rating: G
Theme: Daybreak
Summary: Nerea writes to her journal, one week after she awakens.
I woke today at daybreak. I cannot sleep. Morgan lies beside me, still unconscious and feverish. If I am to heal her, I need to have a working stove - which means I must build one myself. It’s funny - I judge this area as being somewhere near ViaNaturi itself, and yet there are no healers in this camp of refugees. I am all they have, and they were so happy to have a greenwitch - even one as inexperienced as I - that they gave me everything I asked for, including this parchment.
It is disheartening to see General Morgan so helpless. I am afraid I will not be able to help her - the equipment I would need to brew this potion is not available anywhere. It has been one week since the - explosion. The people in this camp tell me that the great monsters we released are plaguing any and all signs of civilization - none of the larger cities are safe, and none of the smaller cities will have the tools I need. I will have to improvise, and hope. I hope I haven’t forgotten my chimista - all of my texts are probably long gone, destroyed by one of the Sins that we… it must have been us. I have no other conclusion.
Later, after I have the potion boiling, I can interview these people and start building estimates. There was a great deal of energy released, and I am afraid of the radiation we may have caused. If I can estimate a couple of coefficients, hopefully I can determine how far away from the tower should be safe.
She paused.
I long for my Villa in Maridia, and my healing tools. And for Morgan to be awake: I feel so alone.
Nerea closed the book gently, glancing over to the corner. The general lay on her pallet, breathing shallowly. Even in sleep she looked mighty: the remains of her royal Maridia garb had been delicately mended by someone in the camp, and her precious armguard - now charred from what must have been the explosion - lay respectfully propped against a broken crate in the corner of their tent. It was a lucky coincidence that the two women had landed so close together - Nerea could not even imagine the force of the blast, or where the rest of their group of seven companions could have ended up - if they’d survived.
Nerea allowed herself one brief shiver and whimper. This new world - the one they had inadvertently created, one simple touch and everything had gone wrong, absolutely no warning, like an equation that had suddenly been reversed, or unsolved, or - or - it was so lonely and so dark, desolate like nothing they’d planned. She was only a doctora from the Scholarly - she was no engineer, like Forte, or an entrepreneur, like Flash - oh, gods and angels, how she missed them all… She was crying.
Wiping her face violently, Nerea stood. The sun was gleaming like gold and rose through the windows, and she thought fleetingly of Armenise and her sun rituals. Then she stood to head outside. Stoves and hotplates and glass beakers and measuring cups wouldn’t build themselves, and Morgan needed her.
Notes: Takes place during the prologue of Part II in Seven Beacons, after my 2006 NaNo wordvomit.
Universe: Seven Beacons (see seven-beacons)
Genre: Fantasy
Characters: Nerea Levia, Morgan DeLumens
Word Count: 530
Rating: G
Theme: Daybreak
Summary: Nerea writes to her journal, one week after she awakens.
I woke today at daybreak. I cannot sleep. Morgan lies beside me, still unconscious and feverish. If I am to heal her, I need to have a working stove - which means I must build one myself. It’s funny - I judge this area as being somewhere near ViaNaturi itself, and yet there are no healers in this camp of refugees. I am all they have, and they were so happy to have a greenwitch - even one as inexperienced as I - that they gave me everything I asked for, including this parchment.
It is disheartening to see General Morgan so helpless. I am afraid I will not be able to help her - the equipment I would need to brew this potion is not available anywhere. It has been one week since the - explosion. The people in this camp tell me that the great monsters we released are plaguing any and all signs of civilization - none of the larger cities are safe, and none of the smaller cities will have the tools I need. I will have to improvise, and hope. I hope I haven’t forgotten my chimista - all of my texts are probably long gone, destroyed by one of the Sins that we… it must have been us. I have no other conclusion.
Later, after I have the potion boiling, I can interview these people and start building estimates. There was a great deal of energy released, and I am afraid of the radiation we may have caused. If I can estimate a couple of coefficients, hopefully I can determine how far away from the tower should be safe.
She paused.
I long for my Villa in Maridia, and my healing tools. And for Morgan to be awake: I feel so alone.
Nerea closed the book gently, glancing over to the corner. The general lay on her pallet, breathing shallowly. Even in sleep she looked mighty: the remains of her royal Maridia garb had been delicately mended by someone in the camp, and her precious armguard - now charred from what must have been the explosion - lay respectfully propped against a broken crate in the corner of their tent. It was a lucky coincidence that the two women had landed so close together - Nerea could not even imagine the force of the blast, or where the rest of their group of seven companions could have ended up - if they’d survived.
Nerea allowed herself one brief shiver and whimper. This new world - the one they had inadvertently created, one simple touch and everything had gone wrong, absolutely no warning, like an equation that had suddenly been reversed, or unsolved, or - or - it was so lonely and so dark, desolate like nothing they’d planned. She was only a doctora from the Scholarly - she was no engineer, like Forte, or an entrepreneur, like Flash - oh, gods and angels, how she missed them all… She was crying.
Wiping her face violently, Nerea stood. The sun was gleaming like gold and rose through the windows, and she thought fleetingly of Armenise and her sun rituals. Then she stood to head outside. Stoves and hotplates and glass beakers and measuring cups wouldn’t build themselves, and Morgan needed her.
Notes: Takes place during the prologue of Part II in Seven Beacons, after my 2006 NaNo wordvomit.