On the Hills of Eden

Pallas opened her eyes, the soft glow of the evening sky above filtering through the off-white skin of the wagon’s canvas to greet her.

She groaned softly, adjusting her head atop Qingxi’s thighs as she turned over to her side.

“Good morning, Pallas.”

Pallas sighed, rolling back onto her back so she could look Qingxi in the eye.

“Morning,” she replied, knowing full well that that time of day had long since passed. “Where are Rumi and Soleiman?”

“They went to go bathe first,” Qingxi replied, setting aside the partially folded crane she held in her hands next to the several others sitting beside her.

“Really? Can they manage on their own?”

“Well, the seal in his shoulder has held fast,” she replied. “And thanks to you he can use his dead arm too. That alone made them confident enough to go together.”

“Hmm,” Pallas huffed, shifting up just so that the top of her head rested against Qingxi’s tummy. “Fair enough.”

She let her eyes wander momentarily, her brain still too groggy to make any real attempt at doing anything requiring even a modicum of effort. They roamed over the insides of the wagon– already arranged in preparation for the night–, over the few sacks of food they planned on using to make dinner, and finally onto the amulet’s small glimmer of purple that shone piercingly in the evening’s golden warmth.

Its silver form and flowing chain ribbons lying innocuously in the skylight.

“You know,” Qingxi said, running one of her hands through Pallas’ hair. “I’m surprised we managed to keep even one of the Instruments. Your brother’s a stellar negotiator, that’s for sure.”

“That’s how he usually is,” Pallas replied, her eyes returning to the wagon’s canvas before her. “When he’s set on something, that is. He can get most things done well, sure, but if he’s really passionate about something– he’ll get it done exceptionally.”

“Mm,” Qingxi hummed, her fingers stopping, as she stared blankly at the wagon floor. “Is that so…”

“Yeah,” Pallas replied. “Now all there’s left to do is hope it all works out.”

“I’m sure it will,” Qingxi replied, returning to caressing Pallas’ head. “Even if both Hibara and Aqsa al-Gharb were to turn their backs on it, the auditors would be there to keep them in check.”

There came a distant rhythmic squelching from the outside– the sound of bare feet against the dew-soaked grass.

“That should be them,” Qingxi said.

“Qingxi?” Rumi called, the loose end of the towel wrapped around her head swinging slightly with each step.

“Mmm?” Pallas hummed, sticking her head out of the wagon’s back to greet her.

“Oh! Pallas!” Rumi replied, almost bouncing with enthusiasm at the surprise. “You’re awake!”

“Woke up just a few minutes ago,” she replied, smiling softly in turn. “Where’s Soleiman?”

“He’s still drying off, I think,” Rumi said. “He said he wanted to spend a little longer in the water, so I left first.”

Pallas shot a glance back at Qingxi.

“You and Qingxi can go ahead!” Rumi assured her. “I’ll be fine watching everything– he’s not going to take long anyways.”

The water split and splashed about their feet, its colds shooting up their legs and into their spines as they stepped into the stream.

“Whew,” Pallas said, wiggling her fingers about as she headed deeper into the shallow waters. “Cold as ever.”

She stepped into a ray of light that had managed to breach the canopies of the forest’s trees, basking in its warmth as the crisp breeze that blew around them came to a stop.

She turned around, the golden water beneath her feet rippling slightly as she saw Qingxi shiver slightly, shaking her poofy tail and fluffy feline ears about as she did so.

“Yeah,” Qingxi responded, the curtain of still air she placed around the two of them now blanketing her too. “Do you want me to help you wash or are you okay on your own?”

“I wouldn’t mind the help.”

Pallas set herself down on a small, flat rock just barely tall enough to peek out over the stream’s surface. Rubbing her feet against the smooth stones and the grainy sand that lay upon the river bed, she heard as Qingxi dipped their bathing ladle into the river.

Clutching her own ladle with both her hands, she tightened her grip– the muscles on her back tensing ever so slightly in anticipation for the-

“Eek!”

“Whoops, sorry,” Qingxi laughed softly, placing a bar of soap against Pallas’ back as drops of cold stream water ran down it like miniature lightning bolts of ice upon her skin. “Should’ve warned you.”

“It’s alright,” Pallas responded, she too reaching to ladle some of the stream’s water onto herself as she felt the gentle push of Qingxi’s soap on her back.

“Uh uh,” Qingxi objected. “You just rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

And so she sat back, letting Qingxi work her way around her upper body, the sud-covered luffa and bar of soap Qingxi held in her two hands working in tandem to scrub every last bit of dried blood and dirt that still remained on her from the Defense of Hibara.

For the moment, she felt peace. With the wind now entirely still, all that met her skin were the warmth of the day and the sensation of Qingxi’s hands. And all that met her ears were the sound of scrubbing– flavoured with the gentle bubbling of the stream below and the distant chirping of the forest’s birds.

Now, with the Gravitas and Hashashiyyin that had been pursuing her having been put to death by her upon the blood-soaked soils of Hibara, she was safe. Within the depths of Houzen itself, there would be no one pursuing her. It would just be her, Qingxi, Soleiman and Rumi.

And all they had to do was keep pushing.

“Hey, Pallas,” Qingxi asked, lifting up one of Pallas’ arms so that she could stick the luffa into her armpit.

“Mm?” Pallas hummed, entirely untickled.

“Are we really going to hunt down Al-Muqayad?”

Pallas felt as Qingxi’s hand ran down the length of her arm, the luffa following closely in pursuit; the softness of her palm and caring firmness of her grip thoroughly massaging her skin.

“Sure we are,” Pallas replied. “We won’t fight it until my mother gets back, but until then it’s not like we can stay at Hibara anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone and gather as much information on the thing as we can.”

“And what of liberating Minerva?” Qingxi asked, finishing Pallas’ left arm by rubbing the tips of her fingers. “Won’t that set you back a bit?”

“No issue,” Pallas replied, raising her other arm as Qingxi moved to her right. “I think having our hands on an Artefact and the few extra months of training that comes with fighting an Artefact bearer might give us a good leg up in the war to come.”

“Mm.”

Qingxi finished off her work on Pallas’ arm, setting her hands on Pallas’ bare back to tell her to put it down. Then, without warning, she grabbed the bar of soap again, placing it and her left hand around Pallas’ neck.

“Ooh!” Pallas exclaimed, suddenly jolting off of the stone, her water-soaked cloth short pants squelching slightly as she sat herself back down.

“Are… are you okay?” Qingxi asked, her hands frozen in place and her wide eyes peering out from the bandages on her face.

“Y-yeah…” Pallas managed. “I’m just a little ticklish around the neck, that’s all.”

“Oh, sorry,” Qingxi said. “Do you still want me to wash your legs for you?”

Pallas paused for a moment. Usually, she took care of herself whenever it came to bathing; her and Qingxi taking turns pairing up with either Rumi or Soleiman to help them given that they each only had one functional hand. But now that she’d felt the softness of Qingxi’s touch, the tenderness of her rubs…

“...Yes,” she responded, still in thought. “Yes, please.”

After a few minutes, though it certainly felt like an hour to Pallas, Qingxi finished washing her legs.

“Alright,” she said, Pallas sitting down again facing her. “Want to do your hair now?”

“We’ll do that later,” Pallas responded. “Together.”

“Oh,” Qingxi said, hesitating momentarily. “Alright…”

“Okay now turn around,” Pallas urged her jokingly, taking the ladle, luffa and soap bar from her hands. “It’s my turn to wash you.”

Now rubbing her hands against Qingxi’s back, coursing her fingers over the seals of blood she’d put in place to protect Qingxi’s arrow wounds– which were recovering nicely–, Pallas felt a question come to mind.

“Say, Qingxi,” she asked, pouring some water over her back to rinse off a few suds.

“Hm?”

“Once… this is all over,” she started, pausing slightly to gather her thoughts. “When Minerva is free and you get to see your mother again, what do you plan on doing?”

The question floated in the still air for a moment, drifting alongside small droplets of mist that shone like fireflies in the now orange light of the ageing sky.

“I want to live peacefully,” Qingxi eventually responded. “With mom and the other maids. I want to help them retire early so that they can pursue their dreams. Like one of the older girls– I call her Sister Yijing–, always talked about how she’d like to write her own music.”

“Oh?” Pallas mused.

“Mm, mm,” Qingxi hummed twice, excitement slowly overtaking her as the memories of a time long gone began flooding back. “Once, she was caught slacking when she went to go listen to one of the dojo’s disciples playing his guzheng. But when he caught her, instead of scolding her, he let her try it out for herself.”

“Ooh.”

“He even let her play it in her free time when he wasn’t around,” she added, the smile on her face visible even through the several layer thick wrap of bandages. “Thanks to him, she managed to learn the entire instrument all by herself. Though, once he left, she never again got the chance to play one.”

“Dang,” Pallas said. “Did the dojo not at least try to find her a used one?”

“No. I even asked my father,” Qingxi replied, the smile quickly disappearing beneath the bandages. “But he told me to never again make such a request.”

“...I see.”

There was momentary silence.

“Well,” Pallas said, finishing off the last of Qingxi’s fingers. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll get you back home to your family, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

Qingxi sighed softly, relief permeating the air she breathed out.

“Thank you, Pallas.”

“Mm,” Pallas hummed. “Now stand up. You washed my legs, it’s only right that I wash yours.”

Soon after, they were done with that, too. All that remained to wash was their hair and their faces.

“Okay,” Pallas said, tapping her hands on Qingxi’s thighs as she rose back to her feet. “Let’s finish up now.”

“Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

Pallas paused midway through undoing her hair bun, the jet black strands that stretched down to the middle of her back swaying gently in the air as she turned to face Qingxi.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ah, well, usually when I’m bathing with Rumi or Soleiman I leave them to wash my face.”

“...Why?”

“Mm,” Qingxi hummed, wrapping an arm about her body. “The same reason I wear these bandages.”

“You… don’t want us to see your face?”

“...Yes.”

There was a splash in the water, a series of ripples as a streak of silver slipped past them headed downstream.

“You know, Qingxi,” Pallas said, moving slightly closer to her. “It’s alright. I’m not going to judge you or anything.”

“I… I know,” Qingxi replied, turning her back to her. “It’s not about judging. I just don’t want you to go through seeing it if you don’t have to.”

There was a second splash, and another streak of silver quickly shot by in pursuit of its fellow.

Pallas stepped forward, the scarlet waters beneath her rippling as she wrapped her hands around Qingxi, hugging her from behind.

“Oh-” Qingxi jolted slightly, the sensation of Pallas’ warm skin and soft chest against her back taking her off guard. “Pallas?”

“Qingxi,” Pallas whispered, her voice so close it felt as though it was in her ear. “It’s alright. You can show it to me. I won’t mind, I promise.”

Qingxi sighed.

“Alright then.”

Pallas let go of her embrace, allowing her to turn around, slowly undoing the large ribbon bow at the back of her head and freeing her face of its cover.

And as the hair in her bun fell to her shoulders, her brown eyes slowly rose to meet the crimson irises of her companion.

“Awh,” Pallas said, tilting her head.

Qingxi’s eyes broke their gaze, falling back down to the glistening waters beneath them, the reflection of the melted mess of flesh that once was her face meeting them as they did so.

At least until she felt Pallas’ warm palms against her cheeks, carefully lifting her head back up so that she would look at her.

“Listen, Qingxi,” Pallas said, placing her face even closer to hers. “Your face might not be the same as it used to be, before what happened in Kardia. But that doesn’t matter to me. It’s still you after all, isn’t it? That same caring, protective girl I’ve grown to know and love?”

“Mmh,” Qingxi hummed, her eyes breaking away once more. “I suppose so.”

“Look,” Pallas added. “You can keep the bandages on if you want to. But I just need you to know that no one– not me, not Soleiman, not Rumi– will ever love you less because of your scars. Because at the end of the day, deep down, you are you. And that’s all that matters.”

The wind blew softly against them.

“Okay?” Pallas asked.

Qingxi’s eyes glanced at Pallas’, though she turned away once more, Pallas’ hands falling off of her face.

But the wind stopped again. And she dove towards Pallas, wrapping her arms about her as she rubbed her scarred, mottled cheek against the supple skin of Pallas’; their hearts beating in gentle harmony.

“Okay.”