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This is it. Hashirama thinks as she races up the stone steps. Around her the landscape has given way from the Sacred Land’s lush forests and grasslands, the metal ruins of the Old Ones crumbling in the distance with the snowy peaks and corroding horror of the Grave Hoard beyond. Now the land loses its grass, the ground turning the same color as rust. Sparse plants spring from the rocky soil, harsh prickly things to match their environment. The steps curl around a cliff and a structure of stone opposed to the Nora’s wooden homes rises up, nestled in the mountains. Hashirama crests the top, staring through the welcoming archway. The sun rises in the distance, spilling light across the barren red land.
“Don’t get distracted. Enjoy the view and move on.” Tobirama’s irritated voice filters through her Focus. Hashirama ignores him. Her feet carry her across the encampment, past the strange people with odd accents and clothing. Past the fluttering red flags and bustling market. Hashirama is so captivated for a moment the whispers and stares slide off her back like water over a snapmaw. The blue glow of machine herds light up in the distance, mesa tops with their colorful stripes rising up above her. She made it. Out of the Sacred Lands, into the Sundom and all its possibility–
“Cowards, the lot of you! Nothing but sun-cursed cowards!” Yelling shatters the incredible moment. Hashirama turns to see a Carja woman with short spiky hair walk out from the main stone structure with two weary guards on her tail. A third man follows after them, aggravation plain on his face.
“Madara, my men are posted here for a purpose–”
“Like guarding a peaceful border is more important than this!” The woman snarls, pacing up and down.
The captain sighs deeply, his metal armor groaning, his bright red plumage drooping. “The machines–”
“Are exactly the same as yesterday! You will not even spare a handful of men–”
“No, I will not.” The captain interrupts, his voice hardening like metal. “This is a matter for the Sun Queen to handle.”
“If she can,” one of the guards mutters under his breath. The woman snaps straight, spine straight as one of the spires around them.
“What did you say?” Her voice is quiet, like a well-kept spear sliding free of its sheathe.
“You heard me, girl ,” the guard spits the word and now Hashirama’s hackles start to rise, “if the Sun Queen thinks she’s worthy of the throne, she should handle whatever problem she has herself. Not send uppity palace women in her place.” He sneers. “Track down whatever shiny object she’s lost yourself. Stop bothering the men about it.”
The woman puffs up, chest expanding like a longleg’s. The captain sighs again, glaring at his guard but he doesn’t admonish him for his words.
“Don’t do whatever it is you’re thinking of doing,” Tobirama hisses.
Hashirama steps forward and clears her throat. “You need a tracker?”
The second guard barks out a laugh. “There you go–a savage for a savage! Perfect fit.”
“If you had any steel in your spine, you’d face me in the sun-ring. We’d see how long you’d be laughing then,” Madara snarls and turns sharp on her heel.
Her eyes meet Hashirama’s and Hashirama struggles not to flinch. She’s seen dark eyes amongst the Nora, the faces and people had been a shock during the Proving, an abundance of newness that she tried to soak in after being deprived of it for eighteen years. But none of the Nora had black eyes, not like this. The woman stalks up to her, she’s a good two heads shorter than, without blinking once. The pitch-black eyes, flat and immutable as shadow are lined in red with smeared black marks on the outer edge. Madara doesn’t look pleased but she nods, a small sharp thing, before marching past Hashirama towards the opposite set of stairs that lead into the vast desert below.
Hashirama scrambles after her. She doesn’t regret opening her mouth but this might…complicate things. Tobirama is just waiting for the opportunity to give her a lecture, she knows. She can practically feel his frustration bleeding through the Focus.
“So, uh Madara,” Hashirama clears her throat as Madara marches down the rough-cut stairs, “what are we tracking? I’m Hashirama, by the way.”
Madara ignores her.
She doesn’t say a single thing until they reach the base of the stairs. She doesn’t say anything until she storms into a relatively clear patch of land, just off the main road, far enough away for no sound to carry to the out-post.
And then she starts to curse.
“Sun forsake those useless, spineless cowards!” She screams and kicks up a swirl of rocky dirt. Her tirade doesn’t stop there. Instead, it grows like a blazing fire, consuming her whole. Obscene Carja curses spill from her mouth as her cheeks flush deep crimson and she turns wild-eyed and feral and then she…stops. Madara freezes, takes a deep breath, and spins around to face Hashirama, hands clasped neatly in front of her.
“Um…”
“You are a Nora, correct? You said you were a tracker?” Madara asks, calm as a clear day. So we are going to pretend that outburst didn’t happen.
“Yeah…” Hashirama might actually regret this after all.
“Are you any good?” Madara asks bluntly.
“I’d like to think so.”
“Fine. We’ll start with something small so I can get a measure of your skills,” Madara says and turns north, eyes scanning the canyons and mesas in the distance.
“I volunteered to help you and now you’re going to determine whether I’m good enough to do so?” Hashirama asks, hand on her hip. She can feel Tobirama’s gloating I told you so, waiting to erupt along with a lecture about how reckless and naive she is.
Madara huffs and turns back to her, scowl firmly in place.
“Of course! I don’t know anything about you. My mission is vital to the Sundom and highly dangerous. I won’t have your blood on my hands if you’re incompetent.” She pauses. “But I…thank you,” the words are so awkward leaving her mouth even Hashirama arches a brow, “for your assistance with the idiocy of my clansmen. I truly appreciate it.”
“Alright, that sounds…more or less reasonable.” Most people Hashirama met in the Sacred Land were so desperate for help they were willing to speak to a former outcast, even one marked as a Nora Seeker, they didn’t have time to question her skills. “So what’s the test going to be?” Despite the rude delivery it made sense. And would be a good indicator for Hashirama too of how much weight she’s going to have to pull between them.
“On my way here, I encountered a runner who said Sun’s Edge was plagued by glinthawks. He went on to the nearest garrison, but if we’re quick, we should be able to make it to Sun’s Edge first. We’ll destroy the glinthawks terrorizing the encampment and then you’ll track them back to their scrapnest and we’ll kill whatever we find there. Does this sound like an agreeable test?” Madara asks, raising her chin. “You will, of course, receive a reward if I deem you competent and we complete my mission.”
“Oh yeah, what kind?” At this point Hashirama wouldn’t be surprised if it was another awkward ‘thank you’ and an invitation to do something other chore Madara had lying about.
“You’re traveling to Meridian.” Hashirama startles at the guess. “Oh don’t look surprised, every outlander ends up there. Be it looking for work, interest in the Hunting Lodge, or whatever else, Meridian is everyone’s destination. The city has been open since Sun King Avad’s reign but…tensions are building in the Sundom again,” Madara’s eyes dart away before settling back on her with that same unnerving intensity. “I have connections in the city because I work in the Sun Queen’s court. Whatever business you have in Meridian, I will see to it that it’s done.” Madara promises with a surprising amount of conviction.
This…this might just work. The people who attacked the Proving wore a variation of Carja garb. Hashirama hadn’t even known that until she stumbled upon Tobirama in the Grave Hoard and showed him the images. Still, their clothing was all Hashirama had to go on as Tobirama refused to help her any further until she helped him first. She could spend months trying to track the mysterious Carja down alone but…if Madara’s words were true and she did have connections…
“Including an audience with the Sun Queen? Or someone knowledgeable high up in the city?” Hashirama asks, excitement burning through her veins. A lead, she finally has a lead.
“Stop it. Never show someone how desperate you are, you’ll lose all advantage in the negotiation,” Tobirama snaps. “I cannot believe you fail to grasp something so simple!” Hashirama ignores him.
Madara’s eyes narrow with suspicion before she hesitantly nods. “I could arrange it. If the Sun Queen is amenable or with Blameless Hikaku if she’s not. However, if it’s information about the Carja you desire, I am willing to answer any questions you have. Your reward should be that, a proper reward ,” Madara stresses and, despite herself, Hashirama feels a little bit endeared.
“Alright, I can agree to that.” Hashirama holds out her hand. Madara only hesitates a moment before reaching out to clasp her arm. “Let’s go.”
Sun’s Edge is a tiny encampment nestled in one of the taller northern mountains, on the edge of the vast desert with the Oseram’s territory beyond it, Madara tells her as they set out. It’s almost a seven-day journey at a normal pace, but they’ll push and do it in six. It’s a doable, but daunting prospect. One that becomes much easier a little into the first day when Hashirama spots a herd of striders grazing in a rare patch of grass by the road. She had no idea what to expect from Madara but so far the woman drove a punishing pace. A reprieve was much needed.
“Come here,” Hashirama whispers and crouches down in the nearby tall grass. Madara purses her lips, but ultimately complies, squatting down next to her.
“Why are we hiding? Those are just striders. One well-placed blast bomb and they scatter.” That was another thing Hashirama learned very quickly traveling with her companion–Madara wasn’t subtle. Not that she was surprised given the outburst with the guards but…unsubtle was an understatement.
“I know, but you want to get to Sun’s Edge as fast as possible, right? Hashirama asks. Madara grumbles but nods. “I have a faster way than walking. Stay here and don’t fling a blast bomb, please.” Hashirama takes the spear from her back and sneaks closer to the herd.
“What are you–” Madara cuts herself off, looking between Hashirama and the herd. She gestures aggressively for Hashirama to come back. Instead, Hashirama moves even closer until she can hear the machine’s mechanical breath, the hiss and whir of its metal organs pumping. She flips the spear around, override core forward and darts out, slamming it into the strider’s neck.
“Override initiated.” A tinny woman’s voice says and blue light seeps from her spear into the machine. It’s over in seconds, the rest of the herd still unaware.
“Shh, quiet,” Hashirama whispers and leads it back towards the tall grass and Madara. Madara whose eyes are bulging out of her head, shifting from the strider to Hashirama and back.
“How–what–you– how –” Her voice starts to climb.
Oh boy. The strider herd spooks. Four of them run off immediately, but two turn their way, wary yellow lights turning a hostile red.
“Now you’ve done it. Get on.” Hashirama abandons all measures of stealth and climbs onto the mechanical beast’s back, reaching down to haul a protesting Madara up behind her. So much for getting two. I guess we’ll have to share. Madara’s finally more or less seated behind her, cursing all the way.
“Hold onto me!” Hashirama shouts and knees the strider on as its former companions charge.
Madara yelps but grabs onto Hashirama’s shoulders.
Luckily for them, striders are defensive machines, uninterested in pursuit. If it had been a ravager or sawtooth…Hashirama urges on the strider until it starts to gallop, hooves eating up the road.
“You’re mad. Scorching mad!” Madara yells, but there’s a giddiness in her voice.
“You were amazing! The way you…you tamed the strider! How did you do it?” Madara asks when they make camp for the night sitting side by side on the ground as the strider grazes peacefully across from them.
“Do not tell her. The override is far too precious to risk falling into the hands of a–” Hashirama reaches up and mutes Tobirama’s voice.
“Ah, with my spear.”
“Can I see it? Can you explain how it works?” Madara asks, leaning closer to her. Hashirama makes the mistake of meeting her eyes–unnerving now in how awed and impressed she is.
“Uh, sure.” Hashirama scrambles for the spear to distract herself. She’s…unused to this. Admiration. Awe. Openly shunned and abandoned as an outcast were the normal and Butsuma was many things but overly affectionate wasn’t one of them. Any other Nora in the Sacred Lands who’s seen her override the machines had been warily impressed. If not for the Matriarchs’ blessing and the Seeker’s paint around her forehead and eyes she’s certain the reaction would have been even colder, if not openly hostile. Madara was the first one to react…like this. Even Tobirama hadn’t been impressed, not really. He made snide little remarks that she did a good job with her pitiful tools and immediately lectured her on how to make it stronger and better. No one ever looked at Hashirama like she was someone to be admired instead of mocked.
It does strange things to her heart. Hashirama is half-worried she'll throw up before she can show Madara the spear.
When she returns to her spot her hands are shaking and she simultaneously wants Madara to stop looking at her but also to never look away. Were her lips always that red? She painted the skin under her eyes but–
Madara looks up at her and Hashirama makes a strangled sound, shoving the spear toward her.
“You see this thing here?” She points to the strange mechanical cylinder attached to the end. “I pulled it off a Corruptor and it…talks to my Focus here,” she taps the side of her head, careful not to unmute Tobirama, “and then to the machine if I insert it properly…” Hashirama babbles on, explaining the mechanics as best she can. Tobirama knows more. Knows frustratingly more than she does and only explains things he deems useful or relevant for her to know, but Madara doesn’t seem to mind the gaps in her knowledge. She pokes and prods at the spear, asking questions about the machines Hashirama has overridden, listens in awe at her story of climbing the tallneck in Mother’s Embrace, of descending into the cauldron and making her way to its mechanical heart. It’s only when Hashirama starts yawning between every word, the moon rising in the sky, that Madara banks the fire and suggests they settle down for the night. Madara throws her sleeping bag far too close for proprietary, their edges practically touching.
Madara smirks and settles beside her. “This is your first night in the desert. Without the fire, the temperature will plummet. It’ll be like one of your snow-capped winters.” Hashirama stares at her wide-eyed. Isn’t the desert supposed to be hot ? That’s what she had prepared for, light clothes and camping gear after she came back from the Grave-Hoard.
True to Madara’s words, the temperature plummets, dropping degrees by the second. After Hashirama takes her armor off to sleep, she’s shivering, teeth chattering loudly as she pulls up her thin blanket, staring at Madara’s furs in envy.
“You’ll need to buy a proper traveling kit when we reach Sun’s Edge. I’d hate to have you freeze,” Madara says and throws part of the fur over Hashirama’s body. It’s blissfully warm, almost unnaturally so. Madara’s hardly been covered for five minutes.
“How are you so warm?” Hashirama asks, inching closer. It’d be inappropriate to touch her, but she can practically feel the waves of heat emanating from Madara’s skin, as if she were a fire herself.
“I am–” Madara starts in a proud tone and then abruptly clears her throat. “I am Carja, the sun burns in my blood.”
“More like you’re hot-headed,” Hashirama mutters and Madara’s bony elbow jabs her in the side. She’s laughing though, a high strange noise that sounds exactly like a fox.
Hashirama holds still, breath caught in her throat. I think, she starts carefully, almost too afraid to think about it even in the privacy of her own mind, I’ve made a friend.
The trip to Sun’s Edge improves drastically after that. Madara relaxes and Hashirama finds her surprisingly pleasant to be around. She’s still Madara–her first assumption of being loud, hot-headed, and unsubtle as a thunderjaw was an arrow that easily met its mark–but she’s…kind. She tells Hashirama about life in Meridian, answering her questions and explaining things Hashirama doesn’t understand. She only has her brief time in Mother’s Heart before the Proving to compare it to and a whole city full of people is mindblowing. How did they have enough space? Enough food? Madara has a younger brother, one she loves but complains endlessly about, voice loud in Hashirama’s ear. She imagines what it’d be like to have a sibling. Someone older to look after her, someone younger for her to look after. It’s a stone lodged in Hashirama’s throat, her sudden longing, the same to know her mother and why she was made into an outcast.
Madara notices when she slips into sullenness on their fourth day of travel and her hands slip from Hashirama's shoulders to wrap around her waist as the strider plods along. A hug. Hashirama can’t remember the last time she’s been hugged. She doesn’t lean back into it, but she can’t help the whimper that slips between her teeth when Madara starts to pull away. Her hands pause, warm through the leather of Hashirama’s armor, and stay.
Madara doesn’t say anything about it, but when they mount the strider the next day, she wraps her arms around Hashirama’s waist, like she had done it a thousand times before.
Hashirama is almost disappointed to see the desert and mesas fall away, the sharp mountains rising up like craggy fingers above them, a small settlement nestled above on a high ridge. A settlement, Hashirama notices grimly, still being attacked by glinthawks. The light bounces off their sharp, shiny bodies, blasts of chillwater raining down from the sky.
“Ready?” Hashirama asks, reaching for her bow. She knees the strider and its metal hooves eat up the steep path, chest bellowing between their legs. Madara’s response is a laugh and Hashirama smells the acrid stench of blaze as she pulls a bomb and her blast sling from her pack.
They leap from the strider’s back as the settlement’s gate rises in front of the amateur hunters shooting dull arrows at the glinthawkes, others ducking for cover and pulling children and the elderly into homes.
“Men! Gather your bows!” A Carja captain yells to his division of heavily armored men. He doesn’t spare Hashirama or Madara a second glance as the glinthawks swoop down, leaving ice and frost in their wake.
“Do you want to make a bet?” Hashirama asks as she draws back her bow, the tension taught and familiar under her fingers. Three hardpoint arrows line up the sight of one of glinthawk’s chestpiece.
“A bet?” Madara asks, launching her first blast bomb. It clips another glinthawk’s wings, not quite downing it as the concussive force booms and echoes from the mountains at their back.
“A bet to see whoever can bring down the most. I’d challenge my own personal times when I was a child.” It was too lonely not having anyone else. But Hashirama could talk to herself, make all the imaginary bets in her head, track the progress she made as her times shortened, her arrows finding their marks easier. She looses the arrows and watches the three sink deep into the protective cover, cracking the metal and revealing the glinthawk’s heart beneath.
“Oh, you’re on.” Madara grins, eyes red in the light of her pulsing blast bomb.
They make quick work of the glinthawks. It’s supposed to be a competition between them, but as the machines dive and swarm around them, they find a rhythm of Hashirama shooting her arrows, knocking the protective components off and Madara following it up with a blast bomb straight to the exposed heart.
The glinthawks fall around them. They’re quickly identified as the main threats by the rest of the flock, who swoop and dive, trying to kill them. Madara is just as nimble as Hashirama, maybe more, and kills two of the glinthawks in quick succession as she rolls to safety.
Amazing. Hashriama thinks and notches three more arrows on her bow. She’s fought with others before, even if it was rarely. Technically she won the Proving before everything descended into nightmares. Hunting with the war party was the first time she was part of the Nora in any capacity but it’s…it wasn't like this. Not as easy and natural as hunting with Madara. They take down the glinthawks with the ease and expertise Butsuma used to tell her two life-sworn Nora hunters had together. It’s breathless and exciting and right.
Hashirama pulls back her bow, arrows notched but there are no more glinthawks.
Madara picks herself up from the ground, brushing dirt off her clothes. “I think, technically, I won.” She grins, eyes alright as she makes her way towards Hashirama.
“You’re going to be unbearably smug about that technicality, aren’t you?” Hashirama grins back, heart still beating fast against her ribs.
Madara opens her mouth to retort, but the Carja captain interrupts, clearing his throat before she can. His dark eyes dart from Hashirama to Madara and then back to her.
“Thank you for your assistance, outlander.” He addresses Hashirama, completely ignoring Madara.
“O-of course. I couldn’t have done it without Madara.”
“Yes...” The captain glances at Madara again, a pained expression on his face. Madara’s playful grin has vanished, eyes stormy in her anger. The Carja have started to emerge from their houses, picking through the glinthawks’ scrap and scavenging any useful components. “Outlander, if it’s not too much trouble, could I request a bit more of your time? You see, there’s a–”
“You want me to find their scrapnest?” Hashirama guesses, swinging her bow on her back. That’s usually what people asked, what Madara asked when first setting up this test. It had been the same in the Sacred Lands.
“Y-yes.”
“Fine.” She turns away, ignoring his spluttering about directions and rewards.
“Madara?” She turns to Madara and whistles for their strider. Surprise flashes across Madara’s face before settling into some kind of bitter vindication. The people of Sun’s Edge startle as the strider trots up from behind them. They ready bows and spears but Hashirama waves them down before she climbs on the machine’s back and pulls Madara up behind her.
“We’ll find the nest and clear it out,” Hashirama says and doesn’t look back at the captain.
“How are you going to–”
“Why do they treat you like that–”
Madara and Hashirama speak at the same time as the encampment falls away behind them. Hashirama considers dropping it, but the memory of how quickly Madara’s smile vanished, how she didn’t seem surprised at all, and the fact that this was the second time Hashriama had seen it happen…
“Why do they treat you like that, Madara?” Hashirama pushes on as her eyes scan the surrounding cliffs for signs of the scrap nest or any good path for them to climb up for a better vantage.
“I’m a woman. That’s it,” Madara spits, hands clenching into fists against Hashirama’s waist.
“But the captain didn’t treat me like that–”
“Because you’re an outlander,” Madara interrupts. A sliver of hurt embeds itself into Hashirama’s heart. “That’s not–Ugh!” She presses her cheek angrily against Hashirama’s shoulder. Any thought of tracking and climbing disappears from Hashirama’s mind. She nudges the strider to a stop as Madara collects herself. “To the Carja, especially the men ,” the word is a curse as it leaves her lips, “you’re an outlander first. You’re from a different tribe with different customs. But me …They see me and think I’m violating sacred traditions and spitting all over our proud culture. I’m a woman, my place is in the home as a wife, not a hunter under the sun’s burning rays.”
“But there’s a Sun Queen ruling the Carja, isn’t there?”
Madara laughs. It’s not a happy sound.
“Oh, she’s more proof of how far the ‘noble Carja’ have fallen. Sun King Avad had no sons and his brother died young among the Carja In Shadow. Some took it as a sign of the Sun’s disfavor. Kou was crowned the first Sun Queen in our history and the Carja In Shadow, which had been a small dying light roared back into existence to oppose her. The Carja…have changed since then. All of Avad’s progress went up like smoke. Meridian is welcoming and the borders are still open but…there has been increased tension with other tribes. If Sun’s Edge hadn’t been under attack and you saved them, there was a good chance they’d turn you away at the gates. It’s all falling apart. My people were supposed to embrace Avad’s change and lean into the Sun’s light. Instead, we are only going further into the darkness,” Madara whispers, her breath warm against Hashirama’s neck.
For a moment, she doesn’t know how to respond. That’s a big problem. One without an obvious solution. Hesitantly, Hashirama reaches up and pulls Madara’s fists forward, coaxing them open until their fingers are intertwined.
“Does your mission have something to do with this?”
“Yes,” Madara sniffles before clearing her throat. Hashirama pauses, biting her lip.
“The Shadow Carja…would they leave your land to attack another tribe?”
There’s a pregnant pause of silence.
“I’m so sorry, Hashirama–”
“It’s…what it is.” Her throat grows tight. It’s not fine, it’ll never be fine. Butsuma died protecting her. All of the Brave candidates were slaughtered except for her…“You didn’t send them.”
“No, but I…” Madara trails off, squeezing Hashirama’s hands tight. “If this is the information you want from the Sun Queen, from the scholars in Meridian, I swear I’ll do everything in my power to help you. The Carja In Shadow are our shame, we should do everything in our power to stop them from hurting other clans and driving us into war again.”
“Thank you,” Hashirama whispers, voice thick in her throat. She doesn't know what else to say, the memories of a month ago are fresh and bleeding, barely scabbed over. So Hashirama nudges the strider onward and they fall into silence, Madara brooding at her back. The strider’s hooves eat up the short road and after a short scan of her Focus, Hashirama finds the path up the cliffs.
They dismount and before Hashirama can hoist herself upward, Madara scrambles through her pack for a rope to tie the strider up.
“I don’t want her to get lost and wander off,” she complains with a pout when Hashirama turns back to question her. “The other machines might hurt her now that’s she’s…” Madara gestures to the blue circuits and veins around the strider’s neck.
With a fond sigh, Hashirama waits until Madara is finished. Only then do they begin their ascent. It’s not the most difficult climb of Hashirama’s life but it is extremely unpleasant. They’re so far north the wind buffets them, threatening to rip them off the mountain as it tears and burrows into their skin. Hashirama’s fingers ache with frozen stiffness when she finally pulls herself up to the top of the cliff, rolling so Madara has enough room behind her.
“Why is this sun-cursed village so high in the mountains?” She complains, rolling to a stop next to Hahsirama and vigorously rubbing her hands.
“Let’s just find the trail so we can get down.” Hashirama pushes herself to her feet. She taps her Focus and buries her hands under her arms, trying to get some feeling back into the digits. Around her, the Focus’ geometric purple overlay comes into view. Information and numbers spiraling, every object Hashirama focuses on pops up with a box full of facts, only half of them comprehensible.
“Is that like your ‘override’?” Madara hesitates on the unfamiliar word.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Hashirama gestures to the Focus, careful not to tap it again or unmute Tobirama. He’s going to be furious when she inevitably has to. “It’s an artifact I found in some ruins. It allows me to see the unseen.”
“An enhancement for your eyes?” Madara sounds impressed as she shivers and follows behind. “My eyesight is unparalleled amongst the Carja. Even when the world is bright and burning from the Sun’s rays I can still–”
“There.” Hashirama points, the information in her display lighting up glinthawk residue. Follow it. Hashirama waves her hand and the device obeys, highlighting a purple trail, dipping through the sky before landing on the ground and back.
“I can see the scores left from their talons.” Madara pulls ahead of her, into the shrieking wind and snow as she crouches down on the cliff and runs her hand over the fresh scars in the rock. “But anything else…”
“I’ve got it. I can see their path.” She’d asked Tobirama once and he muttered something about chemicals and residue and particles smaller than the human eye could see. Another near incomprehensible lecture that he seemed unwilling to expand upon. Not that it matters now. Hashirama understands the end result and starts north, into the howling wind with Madara scrambling behind.
“Another climb?’ Madara grumbles as their small plateau ends and the rockface stretches above them again.
“That’s where it leads.” Hashirama flexes her hands and pulls herself up on the freezing rock, arms burning from both the cold and strain. It’s a shorter climb than the first, Hashirama barely pulls herself up over the ledge before a metallic shriek cuts through the wind. With a curse, she turns around to grab Madara’s wrists and yank her up, both of them hidden behind a tiny snowy outcrop of rock as the machine lands and drops chunks of scrap from its beak.
Hashirama peaks over the top and blanches. This is a glinthawk nest…one that’s been taken over by a stormbird.
The massive machine crunches the metal underfoot, including a few unlucky glinthawks who must have been in the nest when it first arrived.
The glinthawks made their nest on the mountain, but the stormbird took it over and forced the remaining few down lower towards the village. We got it backward, there wasn’t more glinthawks or new scrap, just a bigger threat. Hashirama meets Madara’s eyes and sees the same realization reflected there.
“We have to take it down,” Madara whispers, leaning close to Hashirama so her voice isn’t snatched away by the wind. “This close to Sun’s Edge, it’ll swoop down and destroy the whole village once it's finished making its nest.”
“Right. Guess we’re hunting a stormbird now.” Hashirama saw one once when she was climbing up the Grave Hoard, before Tobirama started speaking to her through the Focus. A machine ten times her height with lightning wings strong enough to paralyze her or blow her away. One snap of its beak would break her spine.
“I’ve fought one before,” Madara whispers. She rummages through her pack and Hashirama is shocked when she pulls out a heavy bow and arrows not ready to be lit on fire.
“You have?”
“Don’t underestimate me now.” Madara grins and despite the fact that they’re about to fight a stormbird out of the blue with no time to prepare, Hashirama slightly, ever so slightly, relaxes against the rock.
“Alright, I’ve never fought one. I’ll follow your lead.”
“The first thing we need to do is take out the cannon on its chest. We’ll get fried and then blown off this sun-cursed mountain if we don’t. That’s what this is for.” Madara pats the bow. “The second thing is to tie it up. Have you ever worked a ropecaster?”
“No, only a tripcaster,” Hashirama says and watches Madara pull out another weapon, presumably the ropecaster. “You’re prepared.” Not that it’s a bad thing. Certainly not now when the terror of the skies is less than fifty feet away, but it is strange. Most hunters didn’t haul their entire stash around.
“Yeah, well…let’s just say I’m not expecting to return to Meridian anytime soon. Since you haven’t used the ropecaster, take the bow. The cannon is on the center of its chest.” Hashirama nods and takes the bow from her. It’s heavy, but not too different from her own sharpshooter bow. She’ll make it work. She has to.
“And what about after I’ve shot its cannon off and you’ve tied it down?” Hashirama reaches up and taps her Focus. It scans the stormbird, flashing a warning about approaching the heavyweight machine that she dismisses with a flick of her hand. Its components light up, a bright shining gold and Hashirama tags the one on its chest.
“After that, you torch it and I bomb it.” Madara grins and Hashirama is helpless to smile back.
It’s…nice to have a hunting partner. Someone to depend on.
“On the count of three?” Hashirama asks and notches two arrows on the string.
Madara nods.
Hashirama counts them down. On three, she rises from behind the ledge and pulls the bowstring back. The stormbird turns towards her, its massive eyes calm blue, then cautious yellow, before blinking into aggressive red. It shrieks, drawing its massive wings back.
Hashirama lets the arrows fly. They sink into the machine’s chest, dead center on its cannon. At first, they do nothing, less than nothing, but then with a whir, the arrows explode in a shockwave of noise. It barely hurts the stormbird, but it does knock the cannon from its chest.
The machine staggers back and then Madara is beside her, firing the ropecaster. Its solid arrow twangs out, sinking into the stormbird’s flank before Madara drives its counterpart into the stone beneath, anchoring it in place.
That’s going to take a lot of rope. Hashirama thinks as it creaks, already straining as the stormbird tugs against it. The machine’s eyes turn to Madara, who’s running around the small space they have, firing rope after rope to pin it down.
“Hey!” Hashirama yells over the wind and swings the sharpshooter bow over her shoulder as she pulls out her own bow and notches two burning, blaze-soaked arrows. “I’m your target, you giant hunk of metal!” She lets the arrows fly.
Once bounces harmlessly off its armored body, the other sinks directly into a blood-red eye. The machine screams and beats its wings. Wind howls furiously around them. A gust slams into Hashirama’s chest and buffets her back into the outcrop, driving the breath from her lungs. Madara clings to the ropecaster with all her might. For a moment it's not to anchor the stormbird to the ground, but herself.
The wind dies and Hashirama pushes herself to her shaking feet. The stormbird’s legs are pinned to the ground and Madara’s working on the left wing now. Only a few ropes snapped in the gust.
Heart pounding against her chest, Hashirama draws back her bow again. Fire-tipped arrows sink into the cracks between metal plates. The stormbird screams and tries to buffet her with its free wing. Hashirama rolls out of the way as the metal passes dangerously close to her shoulder.
Madara ties another anchor off and darts away as the stormbird flares out both wings as best it can. It tries to move, pumping the one free wing to get drag and lift off the ground but…it’s stuck. Anchored to the earth.
“That won’t hold it for long,” Madara pants, sliding to Hashirama’s side.
“Well, it’s almost–” Hashirama launches more flaming arrows, startling as the fire finally catches on the blaze running down the machine’s flanks and alights, “–on fire.”
“Great, now we can–” Madara reaches for her blast sling but the stormbird shrieks , its metal voice ringing out like steel clashing with steel. Hashirama winces and brings her hands up to her ears to block out the sound. The machine yanks on the ropes holding it down. They creak and strain, but the anchors hold.
It doesn’t stop pulling.
Hashirama watches in horror as the machine screams and yanks until half of its left wing is torn off. The remaining ropes snap as the heavy metal falls on them.
“Uh…” Hashirama looks at Madara. Madara looks back, wide-eyed.
“Run!”
There’s nowhere to run to! Hashirama thinks as all sound is swallowed up in her pounding head. The stormbird is severely injured now and missing its wing and cannon but still deadly.
Something the stormbird proves by thrashing out with its remaining wing, cracking their little outcrop before they can duck behind it. The resulting shockwave rumbles through Hashirama’s bones and sends both her and Madara over the mountain.
“Sun bless it!” Madara curses and fires the ropecaster in her hands. A bolt shoots out, sinking into the stone. It jerks her to a sudden stop. As soon as Hashirama catches the glint of metal from the corner of her eye, she reaches up. Madara reaches down. Hashirama latches onto her free arm, dangling in the open air.
“Don't let go!” Hashirama yells, tightening her hand to the point of bruising.
“Trying really hard not to!” Madara growls through gritted teeth. Her voice is distorted, barely comprehensible. The ropecaster shakes and the stormbird peers over the edge of the shattered clifftop. “Oh for–” The stormbird roars, drowning Madara out. It raises its remaining wing, balls of blue lightning crackling to life on its thrusters.
“Sling–my blast sling!” Madara yells as Hashirama’s ringing ears strain to make sense of the words. Everything is stuffed up, like she has water filling her ears. But slowly the words come into focus and Hashirama can see Madara’s pale panicked face and her blast sling, nearly about to fall out of her open pack. She had been reaching towards it when–
The lightning spikes, wispy hairs standing up on Hashirama’s head as electricity builds in the cold, dry air. The slingshot is useless, she only has one hand, but the bombs …
Hashirama reaches into Madara’s pack, hand scrambling until she brushes against a warm, metal surface. She pulls the glowing ball out and stares up at the stormbird.
Then, with all her might, Hashirama throws it as hard as she can.
The bomb sails upward and smacks the stormbird in the face. The resulting explosion blows it back, the lightning orbs detonating too soon and stunning it , instead of them.
The machine collapses in a heap with a screech of metal.
It doesn’t get back up.
They…did it. They lived. They brought down a stormbird!
Hashirama starts to laugh, a mad, high-pitched sound and Madara joins her. They only stop when the ropecaster creaks and drops them a terrifying foot through the air.
“Let’s get down. Now,” Madara says. Together they swing gently on the precarious rope until Hashirama can reach out and grab onto the edge of the cliff. Once she secures herself, she reaches back to help a still-swinging Madara. They climb down to the plateau below them and collapse in a small alcove, sheltered from the gusty wind. Hashirama's arms start to shake with latent adrenaline, her breaths coming too fast for her pounding heart. Images of the Shadow Carja dance on the back of her eyelids, Butsuma before them, and then the man who killed him.
Madara leans against her, hands curled tight together to stop their shaking.
“We need to go back and harvest its parts.”
“Yeah.” Stormbirds were rare, its heart alone would probably be worth more shards than Hashirama has ever seen. And if she could use them to buy better gear and armor…give herself a fighting chance against new machines and human enemies alike, she’d take it.
“Well, you’ve definitely proved yourself after this. As a tracker and a fighter.” Madara gives her a wobbly grin and Hashirama smiles back. “If you still want to join me…”
“Yes.” An audience with the Sun Queen and her advisors wouldn’t solve all of Hashirama’s problems, but it’d give her the direction she’s sorely lacking. “So what mission did your queen send you on?”
The smile disappears from Madara’s face. Her jaw clenches tight.
“Sun Prince Izuna has been kidnapped. The Carja In Shadow are obviously to blame but there are no leads. Nothing. I couldn’t just sit back at the palace. I had to do something, anything. He’s my–” Madara cuts herself off, squeezing her hands until they turn a bloodless white. “I have to find him. I have to.”
“And it’s a secret because…?” If one of the High Matriarchs had gone missing, the Nora would comb every inch of the Sacred Land. No stone would be left unturned.
“Because the Carja In Shadow kidnapped the only prince ,” Madara hisses. “You heard the guards, I told you our history. The Sun Queen’s position is precarious. If everyone knew, it could threaten to destabilize the entire Sundom. We’ll return to bloody civil war not seen since the Liberation. It’ll be chaos. I have to find Izuna and get him back before any of that can happen.” Madara looks up at her. In the shadows of the alcove, it’s hard to see but a beam of fading sunlight breaks through, shining over her black eyes. “Please, Hashirama. I need your help.”
Hashirama's heart pounds in her chest.
“You’ve ignored me thus far, but you are making a mistake, you ignorant child. Stop this nonsense and return to our mission–” Tobirama unmuted himself. Hashirama reaches up and plucks the Focus from her ear, closing it in her palm. And then, heart pounding for a completely different reason, she reaches out and grips one of Madara’s hands.
“Okay. We’ll find the prince, the Shadow Carja who attacked my tribe, we’ll do it. Together.”