Chapter Text
Courage and skill walk a fine line. Even the bravest of hearts can fail or lose their nerve–but not in the Embrace. Losing your way or hesitating is deadly, even over-confidence can kill as fast as the machines. The strange device Aloy had found in the ancient ruins as a child offered her a unique view of the surrounding area. Tapping her ear, the tiny device illuminated around her its high-pitched whine dissipating. She scanned the field; within a thin-lined webbed matrix, the focus identified her foes. Machines outlined in violet light until the scan revealed the vibrant yellow glow of fuel canisters and weak points.
Aloy swallowed a sigh. Watchers and Striders, she thought, still no Sawtooth, might as well stock up here.
Neither machine carried what she needed, but Aloy never shunned the opportunity to keep her reserves stocked. Never know when it might come in handy, she reminded herself.
She waited, learning the paths of the three Watchers. Apart from their ability to blind her, Aloy had no fear of the Watchers; removing them usually the first step in her hunts. Crouched low in the tall grass, Aloy watched the Strider. Clomping metal hooves carried the machine closer. She kept an eye on the Watchers, far enough away to take this stray down without incident.
High above on the ridge, Rost watched. “That’s it Aloy, slow and steady.” All-Mother and the High Matriarchs had chosen him to guide and mentor Aloy, both outcasts of the Nora tribe, he’d dedicated his skill and knowledge to training her.
Down below, Aloy shifted; measured movements allowed her to pull her lance free of its strop. The Strider snorted; a strange affectation of a living beast. The sound cautioned her to remain silent. Small moves. She recalled Rost’s lessons when she was far younger.
“Aloy, stop wasting time. Follow.” He waited for her to catch up before continuing into the valley. “It’s one thing to hunt a beast, Aloy. It is another to hunt a machine,” Rost explained leading her through the tall grass. “A beast you can fool; but a machine learns. Take down one; others will come for you.”
“Yes, I know.” Aloy’s attention wandered to their right. Her eyes widened at the metallic creature plodding toward them. Balanced on two legs by a long, articulated tail, the compact machine had no face, only a large eye lens that shined a brilliant blue. “A Watcher,” she whispered.
“Good, Aloy. You must learn to avoid its gaze if you wish to survive in the wilds.” Rost reached out to prevent her advance. “Small moves. Hush. Listen.”
He’d done this before; taken her out into the valley to learn the sounds of the machines. The Watchers, although small, walked heavy; their wide feet displaced dirt and rocks as they moved. They chittered and groaned while walking. Stopping to search the surrounding area, the machine emitted a series of clicks and whines, its neck craned high, swiveling from left to right.
Rost kept still, his voice barely audible. “The Watcher whines long and low as it prepares to move on. When the machine turns, strike.”
Aloy shifted, the Strider moving closer. The beast snorted again, bending his head toward the grass. It didn’t need grass to sustain itself, but again like its unnecessary sounds, the machine grazed on grass and plants.
A slow exhale to steady her hand, Aloy locked her eyes to the Strider. A little closer, she cautioned herself, almost there. The Strider so close Aloy could hear parts move under its armor. Pulling her hand and arm back, Aloy ground her teeth and stabbed the lance into the Strider, the machine shaking as sparks elongated into widening arcs. Limbs caved and sounds slowed, the Strider’s eyes lens dimming as it expired.
From his vantage point on the ridge, Rost nodded his admiration for her advancing skills clear as he spoke aloud. “Well done, Aloy. Well done.” Confident in her skills, Rost turned his steps toward home, Aloy could hunt without his hovering. The kills were hers, she’d need the resources soon enough. Once she faced the Sawtooth, another step toward whatever destiny All-Mother had chosen for her would be complete.
The sun hung low as he crossed the bridge, the day slowing dying. There was a time he would have searched for Aloy to bring her home before last light; he’d accepted she knew the way home and when to rest.
Rost climbed the cliff to the overlook. The valley had lost its beauty to Rost years ago, and only though Aloy’s eyes had he reawakened to the splendor of All-Mother’s gifts. The late hour painted the sky in pink and orange tones that melted into dark blues and purple; Una’s favorite sunsets. “You would like her Una,” he spoke to the wind, addressing his long-dead wife. “If I think on it, perhaps she is more like me and far too stubborn for her own good.” Thinking on Aloy and her ability to find trouble in the most benign places coaxed a laugh. “She reminds me of you. Soft arguments, never harsh and as with you- I almost always give in.”
The heavy mantle of Una’s spirit rested on Rost’s shoulders; he allowed the long-shunned memories to envelop him as All-Mother soothed the day into night allowing her children rest.
l-l-l
Mother’s Vigil- 3018 (Two Years before the Derangement)
The wooden door slammed open and Rost carried his morning hunt across his shoulder. Una knew the routine well. Every morning before sunrise her mate woke and hunted in the early hours of the dawn he hunted for food, returning with enough for the day and for Una to prepare dried strips of meat he preferred.
“Alana,” Una called out to her daughter of six years. “Time to wake.”
Shifting her attention to Rost, Una caught his wide grin as he held out several wild turkeys and a few fish. “Enough to share if needed.” It was then she realized the squirming creature on his shoulder resembled their child, her long dark braided hair flopping around as she struggled. “She followed, but I did not know until I’d crossed the river. Alana knows she was wrong and heard my harsh words.”
A disbelieving brow met his hopeful eyes as he lowered their daughter. “You mean you spoke calmly telling Alana this was the last time you’d allow it. How many last times have you cautioned Rost?” Una sent Alana to her bed and tried not to laugh when Rost shrugged.
“A few.”
She hummed in response. “A few, is it? You are far too lenient with her. I want our child to be strong of will not willful. Why do you allow it?”
He held back the sigh in his chest. Una understood what it took to live so far from Mother’s Heart and he hoped Alana would be more like Una than him. Alana should follow the teachings only a mother could provide, not join him unless she followed his path. He stepped closer, enveloping his wife in his arms. Breathing in the scent of her, he whispered. “She is a child; let her remain so for a few years more. Then we will guide her to grow older.”
Una wriggled free and held Rost at arm’s length, her voice carried her displeasure in a whisper. “No, you will train her to be like you. She is clever and can learn from watching. Take Alana on your hunt, show her, and teach her as you have guided others.”
He laughed, grey eyes holding hers. “I did nothing but show you how to hunt; a skill you had within you, and a few Braves seem to follow me only because they prefer me to their own fathers. I am no teacher.”
Una huffed through her nose, nostrils flared. “Learning to hunt led me on the path to become a Brave. Discipline and focus turned from providing food and comfort to survival. Those were your words, Rost. Alana will be a Brave, and you will see it done.”
He shook his head without speaking and turned from her toward the door. “She will learn to hunt in time. I have the watch through the night. Storms approach from the north, be wary.” The heavy sigh left him without permission, leaving with the argument still clinging to the air troubled him. “Will you keep me in your thoughts?”
“Oh, Rost.” Una’s quickened steps moved her between the door and his body. She rested her hand on his cheek. “Always. May All-Mother watch over your steps when I cannot.” She stared into his eyes and smiled. “We will be here waiting.” She brushed her lips against his before rested her cheek against him. “Until you return.”
l-l-l
Darkness fell quickly in the Embrace; the mountains far to the west blocked the sun’s path despite the height of the watchtower. The grassy fields and evening chill brought out the machines to their nightly toil. Earth and rocks churned under the machines as grazers mindlessly dug in the soil the lifeless glowing blue lights of their eyes dotting the wide field.
“Look at them,” said one awestruck Brave, leaning on his lance.
Rost pulled the weapon with a yank. “Your weapon is not a staff to hold your weight, if it breaks what will you use?”
The Brave mumbled a quick apology, but Rost’s attention on the machines below heightened, and he sank in slow movements into a crouch. One grazer stopped, lifting its head. The constant chatter from the Braves behind him added to Rost’s mounting aggravation.
“All of you, quiet!” His harsh words silenced the group as another grazer joined the first, and then another. Their heads swiveled illuminating the night in blue light as if searching for something. And then it happened, slowly at first a blue light turned yellow. “Something comes,” Rost whispered rising to his feet. He removed the bow from his shoulder and pulled an arrow from his quiver. “Ready yourselves. They hear something. The change in eye lens color signals a warning.”
One behind him whispered a question. “Why don’t they run?”
“They have not learned to fear us.” Rost notched the arrow and exhaled, searching for the cause of the machines’ distress.
Screams filled the night to the south. “The village!” One Brave cried out, Rost turning his attention toward the commotion. Fire. Stowing his bow he slid down the ladder and raced toward Mother’s Vigil, the Braves on night watch no doubt battled the blaze. Una, his heart called to her silently, legs pumping faster and faster scaling rocks and ledges until the river came into view and his heart stopped. Alana, where are you? Panting from his effort, Rost called to both his mate and child, his words barely audible. This is not fire, but an attack. Hovels burned, bodies laid where they had been struck, only a handful of Braves hurried from one person to the next searching for survivors.
Wails and screams of woe plagued the small village, the carnage he passed a blur to reach his home, finding his voice, Rost shouted for his family again and again, his eyes searching the lingering smoke for a sign of them both. “Una! Alana!” Three braves blocked his home, holding Rost back as he struggled. “Una!”
Frustration fought back and wrenched him free, but he’d arrived too late. He knew her even at the distance between them. Her dark hair was the same length as he held in memories, long enough for his fingers to caress in the darkness of their rest. Her clothes stained red, the last of her life leaving its mark upon her body. “Una,” he whispered, falling to his knees at her lifeless form. Despite the shouts around him, Rost heard nothing cradling his mate his arms, willing the tears of weakness to stay away.
His lips on her forehead carried his goodbye before placing her limp body on the ground to rest. Standing firm, he turned to face the men demanding an answer. “Where is my child?”
l-l-l
Rost and several others gathered at the fire while the few who survived prepared to travel to Mother’s Crown. The Braves tried to learn all they could from those who survived, most insisted on speaking to Rost directly. Twelve Outlanders attacked as darkness fell. Una and others stood in defiance, protecting the children and elderly from harm. One survivor thanked Rost for his mate’s sacrifice, but he could not offer a response. Not when my child is in harm’s grasp.
He learned that three Braves followed the Outlanders and likely had marked their path. Rost had seen Outlanders now and then, most who made it through the Nora’s patrols sought to hunt for pelts or boar teeth, but none had ever been this bold. Those that were captured had to be a burden, but Rost could see no reason other than cruelty for their capture, but the reasons meant little to him with Alana a captive.
“Outlanders did this? But why?” One man asked.
Rost’s jaw tightened. “Because they could. We need to go. If nine of our people still live, then we cannot delay. Who will follow?” Rost would not wait for first light; Alana’s return of deepest concern. He could track the Outlanders, but time would not aid their task. “We leave now before we lose the trail.”
Two would remain behind and see to their dead before guiding the rest to safety. Rost was sure the Outlanders would not return, but none wished to remain in the village. Taking only a few minutes to prepare, Rost and a small group of Braves followed the trampled grass north and east amid silent prayers to All-Mother for the safety of their loved ones.