Marked, Chapter Thirty

I'm lying on my back under open sky. Above me, stars shine in a darker night than any that has graced the Eastern seaboard in the United States in the last hundred years. Wispy clouds mask patches of the sky, their sullen charcoal tones subtly visible against the background pitch black. The most striking thing, though, are the five moons in the sky of varying sizes and colors, none of which is quite so bright or large as Earth's moon, although the pale lavender one is almost as big, and a light gray one closest to the horizon is nearly as bright.

Wispy grass pokes haphazardly through my wig into my scalp and the back of my neck, grass that's been trampled and rained on a few days past before being left to dry. The musty smell of dirt and mildew and moisture is underlaid with a more distant scent of horse manure. The thought that I might be laying in horse crap has me scrambling to my feet, but my fears are quickly laid to rest.

Since I have no idea which way to go to find the Hidden Lodge I made last time, I settle for remaking it. It remains a slow process, slower than calling up the Mansion, but I find it comforting to have a concealed space to arrive in from my Mansion's portals. Maybe a holdover from the security I feel when I'm in the church?

The earth beneath my feet jolts slightly, as it swells up in front of me. I never got too good a look at my Hidden Lodge power in action before, but in the moonlight even at this close I can't tell exactly where it transitions from natural terrain into magical tent. The slope and curve makes it look like another mound of dirt and plant life, the vegetation seamlessly continuous.

I carefully scale the side of the Hidden Lodge; while it wasn't my first intention, seeing it rise up made me realize that the top of it would be a good vantage point to survey the surrounding area, and maybe give me an idea of what direction-- was it Muckertown?-- might be. But instead of the reassuring sights of campfires in the distance, I catch sight of something large prowling in a hunched over posture. I can't accurately tell how far it is in this light even with my glasses, but it's a good way off. Meaning that to see it by moonlight, it has to be pretty big. I drop to my belly, heart pounding, but after a few seconds, it's clear that it doesn't see me. I saw no signs of city or camp lights anywhere near, and presumably I popped up where we were when I disappeared, since I'm not in a cave. And therefore, since there's no sign of the mobile research city, I can safely assume they have moved on, meaning that I'm best off establishing my Mansion, preferably from inside the Lodge, until I can get back in contact with Nax. I stifle a nervous titter as I go back down to ground level, shaking my head at myself.

No sooner do I get within a few feet of the door, but my instincts begin screaming at me that something is wrong. Did I hear something just now? I can't be sure; my imagination is working overtime, and I'm now a hundred percent certain that there's no civilization in reach or support. Wildlife on Earth is already plenty dangerous for an unarmed human, and wildlife in Eberron has to contend with things like young dragons.

For the first time since all this began, I've arrived in Eberron outside of Nax's presence. This fact sets my skin crawling and my ears straining at the sounds of the night bugs and critters, trying desperately to identify anything that might qualify as dangerous which might be sneaking up on me. I scurry inside the Hidden Lodge, lower the bar to block the door, a paranoid gesture, admittedly, but it makes me feel a little better. Safer. I know it's absurd, but I'd swear I felt eyes on me out there.

Once inside, I try to relax. The fire is lit in the fireplace, giving me a good view of the interior. On reflex I made the layout the same as last time, with the large pool intended for Nax. For safety's sake, though, I follow through with the decision to call up my Mansion, to give myself something more secure to flee into. Even as I'm concentrating on it, I hear a sudden, energetic ringing noise like someone vigorously shaking a handle bell. It's coming from the door I barred behind myself less than thirty seconds ago, and I feel icy warmth flood my veins centered on my sternum, my throat, my scalp.

I try to shut out my panic even as the door thumps, then is rattled hard in its frame. Something WAS out there, watching me, something fairly large. Despite my best efforts, the next bang of the door breaks my concentration and I feel my power fizzle, the use expended to no effect. I didn't even know that was possible. Wait, hadn't Eranil said something about that during his lecture? About intent? Focus, intent, will. Something like that. Oh, crap, I barely studied that, didn't I? Eranil's gonna be pissed.

The something-that's-probably-trying-to-return-me-to-the-food-chain scrabbles at the door like it's trying to dig through it for several seconds. I force myself to shut out the sound as I assess my options. What resources do I have? I have the contents of my haversack, and my powers, none of which are really that great for fighting. Of which I have something new. No, no, focus. There's an animal out there trying to dig its way into my place, what can I do about it?

Let's look at it logically. After all, of my last three days two of them were spent with Naxylotriam hammering logical thinking into me, and while it was irritating and smug, I'm not so stupid as to be blind to its usefulness. By implication, it's why dragons live long enough to no longer be vulnerable, and that's something kind of relevant to my current circumstances. What can I do about my situation? I've got a secure space, although how secure is anyone's guess right now. Can whatever it is dig through my door? And if it can, will I hold its attention long enough for it to do it? I don't know how hungry it is, or-

Hungry. It's hungry. The realization is as mundanely obvious as it is profound. Assuming that it does, in fact, want to eat me, the important operator of that premise isn't 'me,' but 'eat.'

Can I just make, like, meat or something with Create Food and Water? I test it.

Yes. I can. And there's what looks like a twenty or so pound slab of raw beef on the floor of my shelter, now. I've never been a fan of the idea of beef tartare, or, for that matter, bulk handling of raw meat in general, but my Hidden Lodge comes with a free invisible minion. "Pick that meat up and take it to that window, open the window, shove the meat outside, then shut the window!"

As the meat laboriously bobs through the air, I rush over to the stacked fire wood and pick out the most sturdy length of wood I can readily swing, before facing the window. As expected, the sound of the shutters opening quickly causes the scratching at the door to stop; I edge my way closer to listen. For a second, my own breathing is all I hear. Then, a distant sniffing; I peer through the gaps of the shutter, angling the slats to give more visibility.

The moonlight gives more than enough light to see by, although my eyes need a second to adjust after the firelight from the shelter's hearth. For a brief moment, I only see the meat, barely illuminated by gray and lavender tones. Then, what looks like an animal out of nightmares pounces on it. It's the shape of a jaguar, as best I can tell, but bony spurs and plates seem to completely cover it, like armor. Huge, horrid fangs extend past its chops, looking almost impractically aggressive, but the ease with which it tears into the meat leaves me no illusions about their effectiveness. A sharp, acrid stink wafts in the slats, making me recoil with revulsion, before I cover my nose and mouth with my jacket.

I've seen, and smelled, enough. I hurry across the interior of the Lodge and call up another portal to my Mansion. And next time, that's the first thing I'm doing when I arrive.

Stepping into the Mansion, I actually do relax, this time. The next order of business should be Nax and Chalmer; until I find them or they find me, I'm not likely to be doing much useful here.

Wait. What was I doing before I fell asleep? Last thing I remember was walking with them with the intent of taking them to the Shell station I used to shortcut the walk to the library. Except I don't know how far we got. I must have fallen asleep at some point, hopefully not mid stride.

Oh crap.

I begin a hasty search of the Mansion. To my dismay, I quickly confirm that the only population of the Mansion consists of myself and the spectral servants, a few of which appear to be actively watching me. I don't have time to dwell on this; I reshape the Mansion to bring the portals all into a single wall in front of me. Having actively been reminded of Eranil, I start trying to find parallels to the seven basic principles as I do so.

First principle: symbolism. Where does symbolism come in with my mark? It doesn't. Unless I count the mark itself, which is some kind of symbol? Okay then, second principle, similarity. Which I don't really use either. Contagion, doesn't seem to apply either. Okay, I'm quickly realizing that my mark's powers don't appear to really follow the rules of spellcraft as Eranil lectured, which now that I think of it, Nax has already observed and complained. Which means... what, exactly? I can't say. Although intent does seem to be a huge part of my abilities, and I can probably count the expenditure of uses as sacrifice. Even if it seems a particularly stingy sacrifice on my part, unless I count the loss of my hair.

All of this runs through my head as I search through my portals. Two portals to Eberron, one into a lit Hidden Lodge, the other into pitch darkness. Of the others, one leads into the church bathroom, empty and dark. One into the back seat of an SUV. One behind a Shell station. I'd thought I had more than this. But I only started being able to get multiple portals when I first tried to remake that one Mansion I specifically made for Nax. If I were to deliberately try to make one that wasn't this one, would I be successful? Moreover, what would happen to this one? I actually feel more than a little investment in it, and I wouldn't want to lose it. I suppose I could ask Nax or Chalmer, but from what Nax has said so far of my mark and powers, all they'd likely be able to do is guess.

I don't see an additional, unfamiliar portal, so I must not have made a new one before I fell asleep. For the time being I'm going to work on the assumption that they're both stuck in Brockton Bay. They already know where one of the portals is: the church. I'm willing to bet that without me with them, they'll go back there. Because caution becomes habit, or something like that, and both of them were more than a little surprised by the size of the city. Besides, I'm sure they'll be able to find their way back. Nax's memory is as close to flawless as it gets. If nothing else presented itself, she's likely to just do that invisibility thing and fly back.

Of course, that's not taking Nax's dragon pride into account. If they decide to walk and get mugged? For that matter, if they stray too close to Empire territory, there could easily be an incident. Even though both of them are beautiful, Nax and Chalmer would be considered at most ethnically ambiguous, which would be a target for both the Empire or the ABB, and just because the gangs have been quiet doesn't mean they're gone. Traveling anonymously with my Eberronian friends will be a little more complicated if they have to break cover and blow up some attackers with lightning or something. Law enforcement tends to be a problem for capes who do that sort of thing, even in self defense.

I wonder if we should all get masks or something.

Okay, then. No more delays. I pull my phone out of my haversack, adjust the position of the Shell portal to ground level, and step through.

Stepping into the waking world makes exhaustion come crashing down on me. I stagger, and suddenly it's almost all I can do to keep my eyes open. I'm not sure why I'm suddenly sleepy, although I have a few ideas. I don't have time for idle speculation, though; with an effort that feels Herculean I force my eyes as wide as I can and give myself a moderate slap across the face. I know it won't last but it helps for now, and I march myself resolutely around the front into the convenience store.

The door opens into a fairly standard convenience store. It's well lit, the shelves are partially stocked, and I'm immediately aware of the smell of slightly overcooked hot dogs. Behind the counter stands a tired, disinterested guy with black hair and a red employee shirt, who can't be more than twenty two. He's stuffing cigarette packs into the display behind the counter with a methodical, steady pace. His perfunctory "Can I help you?" might be directed at me or the stack of cigarette cartoons next to him for all I can tell.

A movement at the corner of my eye draws my gaze. Down the tiny, cramped aisle, hovering by the coolers, a messy haired guy in a generic looking leather jacket is staring at me while taking a drag of a cigarette he really shouldn't be smoking in here. The way his eyes examine me makes me feel a little dirty. His head to toe examination apparently doesn't find what he's looking for, to my relief, before he goes back to looking through the selection of forty ounce bottles like he's deciding on what lager pairs best with the bag of Doritos he's holding.

I turn my head back to the counter as I hear the sound of heavy paper tearing. The guy in the red shirt is still looking at me as he pulls more packs from the newly opened carton. Oh. Right. He asked me a question. "I need caffeine."

"Tablets are bottom shelf, last aisle." He turns back to the rack of cigarettes and continues stocking. Grateful that he didn't direct me towards coffee, I shuffle wearily to the indicated shelf, bend down, and pick the smallest package of NoDoz, which happens to be a four dollar tube of twelve.

I go back to the front counter just in time to see the skeevy guy set his chips and two forty ounce beers down. He takes another pull on his cigarette, and his eyes flick to the pack of caffeine pills in my hand, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he pulls out a creased and slightly crumpled piece of foil from his pocket, lays it over the 'take a penny, leave a penny' dish, and stubs out his cigarette in it, before folding the foil over the stub and pocketing it. The guy behind the counter makes no comment about the cigarette, just rings up the purchase.

"I'll take a pack of Bugler, too," jacket guy says. "Thanks, Stevie." Huh. Do they know each other, or is this just jacket guy being observant and friendly? The stray thought drags my attention away from keeping my eyes open, and I feel myself sway before I force myself awake again.

My eyes flick to the cashier as he pulls a blue package from the cigarette rack, rings it up, and nods. As he does, this time I notice his name tag. Stephen. Maybe they do know each other.

As jacket guy pays and heads for the door, giving me one last look as he goes, Stephen looks at me expectantly. Belatedly, I realize I haven't even gotten my money out yet; I begin digging through my haversack for my coin purse. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

Stephen waits patiently as I dig out the change and pay, painfully aware of how long it's taking and grateful there's nobody else behind me in line. I set the coins on the counter, exact change. He looks at it for a second, at the register, then at the change again, before tendering out the purchase and tearing off the receipt.

I, meanwhile, am already opening the packet, shaking out a tablet that's dirty yellow in color, and popping it in my mouth. It's a sharp bitter flavor, instantly and insistently, and it starts to dissolve on my tongue, intensifying the flavor unpleasantly. I hurriedly fumble at my haversack, pulling out my almost full just of water and carefully drinking from it, swallowing quickly before the taste of the caffeine can get any worse. A few swallows take most of it out of my mouth but I'm uncertain how much of my immediate alertness comes from the caffeine entering my body via tongue absorption, and how much is from the bitterness.

"Do a lot of hiking?" Stephen says with more involvement-- and amusement-- than he's shown so far.

"A fair amount," I agree, capping my just and thinking of my overland journey with Nax... wow, technically last night if counted by Earth time. "Thanks for the help. Don't know how much longer I need to be awake and I'd rather not sleepwalk into a moving car."

"No shit," he says. "Nice ink, by the way."

I smile weakly at him even though the words send a chill through my spine. "Thanks." I pause. "While I'm here, you got a bathroom for customers?"

"Yeah, sure." Stephen hands me a brass bell on a handle chained to a key. "Down the hall before the employee only door, it's marked."

I go to the back of the convenience store, trying not to look rushed and to not adjust my wig. I open the door, go inside, turn on the light and lock the door. Turning to the mirror, I immediately see what I was dreading. My wig is exactly where it should be; the mark is not. It's grown down my forehead to my eyebrow, and another leg of it is halfway across my cheek.

So much for anonymity.