READ WEBNOVEL Chapter 41b: Sosima
Lady Sosima Aulamaxa crawled atop the rocky outcrop, giving her a clear view of the horizon. The burning sun prickled unpleasantly on her skin, but this was one of the few places she could go to check for visitors and a relatively safe place to read. She was intrigued to see a ship struggling towards the northern shore, potentially offering her an escape if they managed a safe landing.
This one will be different, she thought, it’ll work this time.
The intellectual exercise of planning her escape with a total unknown was unbearably tedious, and her belly began to growl at the thought of all the wonderful foods that might be found on the Rahadoumi trader. It had been so long since she’d eaten anything but scavenged insects or the occasional fish.
Stop. The hunger isn’t real. She reigned her gluttonous impulse in, focus on escape. You can eat all the real food you want if you can secure their aid.
They were at least a day away. She could prepare tomorrow morning.
Sosima settled with an old, beaten almanac. It was a decade out of date, scavenged from a shipwreck, and incredibly dull. She remembered having favorite books, once. She supposed she did still have some she preferred over others; she’d chosen this one because she did not care if it were damaged in the rain.
I’ve just read them all too many times. Anyone would grow tired of reading their favorite books eventually. I’m still okay.
Most days she made a pact with Marat, an absentminded guardian spirit who loved reading. She let him control her emotions, just a bit, so she could still feel happy. It didn’t matter what she read. As long as her eyes ran across the text and her mind comprehended it’s contents, Marat rewarded her with a trickle of joy.
It was the only joy she ever experienced anymore, especially now that Officer Ivey refused to speak to her. There were so few survivors, it infuriated Sosima that he refused to cooperate. Their last meeting had left her with severe burns. She hated summoning Forash to heal; the ritual was not difficult, but it was extremely time consuming.
Sosima shook her head; another byproduct of Marat was that he made her mind wander. Rarely towards anything pleasant; reminiscing did nothing but aggravate the void growing within her gut. That always made her feel hungry. With studied dignity, she forced her eyes back to ten year old weather predictions.
••••••••••
Hours later, Sosima felt Marat’s influence draining away. She knew it was time to proceed with her plan. Attempting to call upon a new spirit before the old one was banished was a tricky process, prone to backfire. Better to let the spirit be washed away with the new dawn.
She felt the void clearly, then. The gnawing hunger, which she covered up with borrowed wishes. She held it off alone for a time, while she finished her preparations. She pinned on her earrings, magical baubles her parents had given her to hide her shameful tiefling heritage, and donned a filthy black dress. The earrings allowed her to disguise her ravaged body, filling out the dress properly and presenting a painted face and styled hair. They had once been her most prized possession, and were still her most valuable tool.
The man she called forth was a ghost long dead, who refused to be forgotten. He thrived on praise, on admiration, on glory and success. He did not simply want to be loved, he needed it more than life itself. His weakness would be her strength, and his magic would aid her in seeking the approval they both desired. He was a perfect match for her current situation.
Things will be different this time.
She sloppily etched the old warrior’s seal in dirt. She didn’t want to control the spirit, so she had no need for precision. She wanted to be possessed, to escape the gnawing hunger. Thankfully, his ritual was fairly easy, requiring no external tools. Only a name, and the right intent.
“Jacques Gaston,” she breathed, barely audible.
“Jacques Gaston,” she croaked, her tongue heavy with disuse.
“Jacques Gaston,” she whispered, the words forming more easily with each repetition
“Jacques Gaston,” she chanted, as whispers echoed all around her.
“Jacques Gaston,” she cried, as the echoes thrummed within her.
“Jacques Gaston!” she shouted, her body vibrating with the invisible crowd.
“Jacques Gaston!” she roared, and the crowd roared with her. Her body was enveloped in cleansing light, burning away the accumulated grime to leave her skin, hair, and dress spotless and radiant. Jacques Gaston never appeared in public dirty, and saw to it that she would not do so either when acting as his proxy in the world.
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She straightened, and examined herself in a broken mirror. Cleansed of grime and shrouded in beauty, she was a vision of a happier time. It would make her a far more effective hunter.
No. No, not a hunter. She reminded herself that she was going to speak to the crew of this ship, and secure her escape. Things will be different this time.
••••••••••
Sosima ventured through the quiet woods, seeking out the northern shore. The island was ringed with reefs; every successful ship she’d seen had landed upon the sandy beach.
She constantly maneuvered her skirts, keeping them from catching on branches or trailing through mud. Thankfully they were short, meant to display her calves. Her fashionable shoes were all ruined, of course, but these boots had been snatched from one of the officers after their unfortunate demise. They were sturdy enough to remain intact after all these years, and Jacques had restored them to a freshly polished black. She might have simply gone barefoot; her hooves were easily sturdy enough, but they needed to be hidden. Ladies did not have hooves, and her earrings couldn’t hide the clicking of her hoofsteps. They were only a visual illusion, after all, so Sosima laced the boots tightly and filled them with prosthetic feet that her hooves could slot into.
She knew she wasn’t the only one that would notice the visitors. She hoped she reached them first; people were always more on guard after the first assault. She prayed to Abadar that this ship would be intact, she could hop on, and they would whisk her away to civilization.
Unfortunately, her movement was impeded by her efforts to maintain a respectable mien. She wandered upon a gang of ruffians gathered around a high tree, a lookout calling down information to the others. The men and women were pale and hairless, their limbs disturbingly thin from the ravages of hunger, chattering about the ship. Their tongues lolled out, panting with excitement, their heads filled with nothing but the desire to strip the ship of anything edible.
“Looks like we missed our chance in the night,” the lookout called down, “they’re all moving about. Only one scouting party, though. It’s leaving now. We need to be fast, before the others notice them.”
Sosima sequestered herself behind a rock. She avoided the gangs whenever she could. This one in particular was led by a Garundi sailor from her most recent attempt at escape, who maintained a spark of resentment along with his intellect. Marooned individuals inevitably joined the gangs, and it had an unhealthy effect upon their psyches. They became increasingly feral and clannish, losing all capacity for long term planning within a few short years and following whoever among their number maintained the most sense. Unlike Sosima. Sosima could still think about the future. It was just boring to do so, when one had already considered so many possibilities. She was different. She was still fine.
Like right now, she was planning to follow this gang. Not because it felt nice to be around people. She still wasn’t that lonely. The gang leader had just happened to have a good idea, and this was the most expedient path to food… and escape. Mostly escape. She needed to get off this damn island.
Sosima shadowed the gang, keeping back from the pack. She smelled like the island, so they likely wouldn’t notice her. She suppressed the urge to draw attention to herself with some difficulty; she was quite good at stalking her prey, but without someone to watch her excel what was the point?
The scouting party will be so impressed with me when I join the battle on their side. They will surely love me. They had better; the whole plan hinges on it. It will be different this time. It must be different this time.