Chapter Text
When boiling water meets frigid air, it freezes. However, with the water being so close to gas, it turns into little pellets of ice, floating in the air and turning it into a heavy, cold mist. In the mist it is difficult to see, breath even. It weighs heavy on you, forcing you to acknowledge it’s presence lest you get lost in it.
(Or is that the other thing?)
Caleb does not know what is wrong with Mollymauk. He had assumed they had a good thing between them, a sort of agreement perhaps that they had silently come to. Caleb had enjoyed it, whatever they had, though he found himself unable to describe it.
(He’s been in love before, he knows how to describe it, he’s just frustratingly bad at acknowledging it.)
The party skirts around the edge of a dense forest, rather than going through it. He sits at the back of the cart, Nott curled into his side, with Frumpking in his lap. He absentmindedly pets his familiar’s head as the tabby watches Nott intently, looking on as his goblin friend plays with a golden coin, tossing it from hand-to-hand, and hiding it amongst her person with a careful flick of the wrist. Frumpkin is quite entranced with her, just as Caleb is entranced with a certain lavender-skinned tiefling, who's up at the front of the cart, reigns of the horses in hand. He can hear Mollymauk whistle some sort of jaunty tune, and he finds himself leaning in closer to hear the notes.
It’s beginning to turn into spring once more, the leaves beginning to bud, and the grass finally turning to green. Jester finds a patch of flowers on the road somewhere and braids them together into little crowns she surreptitiously places on everyone’s head. It is a good day to be out on the road, Caleb thinks, better than their previous days of travel, somehow. This kind of peace is not something he’s ever known, at least not since his life went up in flames (I’m sorry) all those years ago.
They are interrupted by the near-silent sound of an arrow whistling through the air, followed by the sickening squelch of it piercing through skin and into Mollymauk’s left shoulder. He goes tumbling off the cart from the blow, the horses panicking at the sudden movement. Within seconds the rest of the Mighty Nein are called to action, weapons in hand and spells at the ready. They huddle around Molly as Jester gives him a quick heal and helps him to his feet.
The air is silent. There is no one in sight.
“Where’d it come from?” Molly asks, clutching his hand to his shoulder.
“Show yourself!” Fjord shouts at their abnormally quiet surroundings. A chill creeps into Caleb’s body, the air around them going cold and eerie. He can feel the aura of magic settle around them as their nice day quickly turns sour.
“Why don’t you come out and finish the job?” Molly continues to goad whoever’s attacking them, a hint of suggestion in his words.
Apparently it works, a second arrow comes from the trees around them, Beau catching it in her hand, stopping it from going any further.
“Found you, you fucks!” She hollers out, sprinting off into the woods. Everyone follows behind, only a couple steps behind her.
When Caleb passes the line of trees, everything becomes harder to see. He quickly loses track of everyone, dodging between tree trunks as he tries to spot their attackers. He holds a ball of fire ready on his shaking fingertips. He hears a cry from his left, and shifts to look in that direction, glancing around to see if he can see anything. He walks backward, jolting when his back hits a tree.
A bright light and a small explosion comes from behind him, he jolts and lets his fireball go in that direction.
“Hello?” He calls out, “Did I hit anything?”
Nothing replies. He hears a couple more shouts, a few groans perhaps, the sound of leaves rustling on the forest floor, or from the canopy above.
The sound of footsteps come running up behind him, and he turns to see Molly, both swords drawn and glowing. His original wound is still bleeding, there are a couple new cuts on his neck, and one on his cheek as well.
“Mollymauk,” Caleb sighs, rushing to meet him.
“Sh!” Molly puts his finger up to his lips, and Caleb stops in his tracks. Molly walks over to him, watching his step, until he’s right at Caleb’s shoulder, “They’re in the trees, and they’re quick too. Stay close.”
He conjures another wisp of fire to his fingertips, staying right on Molly’s shoulder as they continue their way through the forest. His entire body is tense and on edge, as he looks every which way for one of their attackers.
It lasts all of six seconds.
A cry, “Caleb, watch out!”
A groan as he’s shoved to the ground.
The soft whistling of arrows hitting their target.
The shifting of leaves as a body falls.
A plea for help, “Jester! Please, anyone!”
And only silence to answer.
He’s not dealing well with any of this.
He waited another five minutes for his friends to find him after they had hunted every one of their attackers and took them down. They found him sitting against a tree trunk, dazed as he stared into nothingness, Mollymauk’s head on his lap, arrows still stuck in his body. His hands shook with no place to go until Yasha tried to pick Molly up into her arms and they suddenly went to the silk of his coat, clutching at it like a child. It was Nott who pried them away, guiding him through the trees behind her and back to the cart.
He’s walking through fog, or perhaps a very cold mist.
He sits in the corner of the cart, legs curled up to his chest, silently shivering to himself. Jester has a diamond, a very expensive one, but she says she has to prepare before she can bring him back. She doesn’t want him to be scared, she says. He should feel like he’s waking up from a midsummer’s day nap, not…this.
She takes out the arrows and mends his coat, tries to clean out the blood stains to the best of her ability. She takes off his bloodied shirt and replaces it with one of Fjord’s, a little too big for him, but clean nonetheless.
She hasn’t done this before, so she makes it up as she goes along. She takes out his tapestry and lays him down on it, even though they all know he doesn’t worship or even care about the god it pays tribute too. She lights some of his incense, and places the burning bundles around his cold body, permeating the air with pleasant-smelling smoke.
“There,” Jester says, kneeling at Molly’s head. She grabs her holy symbol from her waist, weaving it’s chain through her fingers before she clasps the pendant between her palms, “Traveller, I hope you’re listening. Molly was hurt today, very badly, and now… well, he’s gone. But I know you can help me, you’ve helped me do so much before, and I know you--”
Her eyes go wide for a second before she gets up from her spot, going to dig through her backpack before she finds her sketchbook and rips a page out. She goes back to where she was, clutching the page in her hands.
“Molly… you’re one of my best friends. And I wanted to give you something, a present, I guess. I was sketching a few days ago, and I thought about your tattoos because they’re so pretty, and I guess I just started adding to them. So I just wanted to show them to you, because I think you should get more, and… well, you might like these. And so you should come back. ‘Cause I made them for you,” she places the sheet of paper on his chest as she rambles, nervously smoothing it out to show off what she’s drawn. The design is bright, coloured with Jester’s favourite inks. It’s obvious that she put a lot of work into it, and she’s proud of it too. She kneels back down and looks to the others.
“We need to convince him to come back, guys,” she explains as if it’s the most simple thing in the world as if she’s done this a dozen times before. She clasps her holy symbol once more, and goes back to her prayer, whispering under her breath.
It’s Yasha who goes next. She doesn’t say much as she grabs a book from among her person, binding worn and pages fraying at the edges. She seems to have a specific page in mind as she turns through the yellowed parchment. When she finally finds it, she pulls out a four-leaf clover, shrivelled and dried. She opens Molly’s hand and places it within, clutching his hand around it. The clover crumbles within his grasp.
“For good luck,” she explains simply.
“One more,” Jester murmurs.
The rest are silent. Curious glances pass between the others, wordless questions that ask who will be the next one to contribute to the ritual. Caleb mulls it over, trying to figure out what he would give up, what he would sacrifice to bring Mollymauk back. He assumes it must be something equal to what is returned, but what can he give that is equal to the cost of a person’s soul? His own life? His mind? His magic?
(If there was a way, he would.)
His breath catches in his throat.
Boiling water meets frigid air.
“I do not have much to give,” he says, all of the sudden, “despite all the money we make, I am still dirt poor. And I do not think you would enjoy many of things I already own.” He crawls over to Molly’s prone form, grabbing the hand Yasha had put the clover in. He threads their fingers together, “But I do have something to say… to you. Though only face to face. When you’re back. Then we’ll talk.”
He leaves it at that, looking up to Jester through his eyelashes. She nods at him and continues on.
It’s hard to describe what comes next. He’s sure he hears a second voice that joins in on her chanting, a man’s voice, one he’s sure he’s never heard before, but still seems vaguely familiar. The air grows hot and full of static, and every single hair on the skin of his arms stands at edge as Jester’s voice grows louder and louder.
In an instant, she goes silent.
And then five seconds later, a breath.
Jester’s completely tapped out afterwards, nearly fainting when she stands up, so they don’t wake Molly up. They place him in the cart and cover him in his tapestry and a couple extra blankets, placing his robe under his head as a pillow. Caleb stays next to him, eyes focused on the up-and-down movement of Molly’s chest as he breathes. There’s a lot going through his mind, a manic squall of thoughts and feelings and other things he cannot describe.
Emotions are hard. He’s doing his best, considering what he’s gone through in such short a time.
Molly shuffles in his sleep, and Caleb’s attention suddenly refocuses. His hand moves out from under the tapestry. It’s lying there, out in the open, just inviting Caleb to grab it.
So he does.
He swears he feels Molly squeeze back in his sleep, and some romantic part of him thinks that Molly must know he is here.
“We’re going to have a long talk, you and I.”