Chapter Text
It looked at Barda, weak, but alive. Alive, and soon to recover. In the form known as Dain, 3-15 breathed deeply. Once. Twice.
It should kill the man, it knew. Barda carried secrets that may be the Shadow Lord’s undoing, if this failed. The twisting in its chest worsened for a moment, and the ringing in its ears came back. It did not give anything away besides a wince. It was painful, but 3-15 was used to discomfort- maintaining the same form for so long was most likely the human equivalent of never changing one's clothes or hairstyle- keeping it exactly the same each and every day.
It should kill him. It was supposed to kill him.
Instead, it simply changed his water cloth, and looked to see if any of the wounds were infected. None were.
‘Steven? It is your turn to watch over Barda.’ It said softly. The man in question nodded and walked over.
‘Alright, then. You get your rest, young Dain.’ The man replied, giving it a worried glance. 3-15 knew it had been awake longer than most humans should be, and while in human form, this does bother it, but not to the extent that it would a human.
3-15 nodded with a soft yawn that it pretended to hide, enough to convince the man and his brother that it was going to rest, and left the room.
Once it did this, there was no going back.
Once the sun rose and set again, there would be no going back regardless.
Somehow, that thought, the idea that it only needed to go just slightly further, brought it comfort.
Two small pieces of paper, a pen.
The ringing got worse, and its chest twisted again, a reminder of the last time it was disobedient, but 3-15 did not walk away, it simply waited for the feeling to lessen.
On the first paper, it wrote what it has long since memorised from The Belt of Deltora. The passage that the Heir may need for The Belt’s full power. It’s hands not trembling for a moment.
It was a good actor, but only because for Ols, the line between mask and self is so very different then it is for humans. At least, that is what 3-15 told itself at first.
The second note was more difficult. It could not write the truth for a number of reasons. Perhaps, if it were a ‘good’ person, it would, but it is not a person. If it were a good Ol, it would not even consider what it was going to do. What it has already done. Yet, it still must write a note, otherwise Doom may follow it, or suspect something.
It does not know what it is like to have a father but if it could choose -
In the end, it wrote a simple excuse and an apology. 3-15 leaves it outside Doom’s room. If the man reads it, he reads it. If he does not, he does not. It is not sure which idea bothers it more.
With those tasks complete, it walked to Kree. The bird was close to Jasmine, but far enough away that he would not wake her unless necessary.
‘Kree?’ 3-15 asked softly, bending down so the bird was perched above it, ‘I have a favour to ask.’
He opened his eyes and flapped his wings for a moment, and 3-15 took that as a sign to keep talking.
‘I need you to make sure Lief or Jasmine read this note, alright?’ I asked as it held up the note in question, only pacing it when it was sure Kree was looking, ‘I’m going away for a while, and I do not want to wake them. So, please tell them for me.’
He let out a soft caw, and it nodded in return, ‘Thank you.’
Silently, it walked to the entrance. This was its last chance. The moment it left the resistance stronghold, there would be no chance to go back. No chance to burn the notes and pretend nothing had happened.
It wondered if humans always felt like a knife was being held to their throat.
It stepped outside, walked, and refused to look back. In a way, it was the greatest relief. The risk of it folding was less without the temptation. Now, it only needed to endure for a few more hours. Then, the ceremony would take place and the Heir would be found.
Only a few minutes of walking, and it could sense another’s company.
Expectant: Little one, it called, reaching outward, Come here. I have a task for you, and all others.
The Grade 1 Ol, ever eager to please, flew down from the branch it sat upon. In the form of an owl, it perched before 3-15, only Tremoring for a moment.
Pleased: You must leave Deltora, 3-15 told it. Perhaps it was wrong for it to want its siblings to live too. To risk giving its once-master the upper hand like this, but 3-15 was selfish, and it would regret not acting if it did nothing, Leave any way you can. As fast as you can. Warn any others you contact. Spread the orders, spread the message.
If the Shadow Lord did not know of 3-15’s treachery, he will very, very soon.
The little one Tremored for a moment, and when it stopped, it was in the form of a falcon. It gave a sign of acknowledgement, and then flew away. With hope, it and the others will not be killed by their master. Perhaps, they will find a safe, forign land with another source of magic to keep them alive.
A nice thought, but false one. 3-15 knew it was condemning its remaining younger ones to death. 3-16, 3-18, and 3-19 had done nothing to earn 3-15’s ire, and 3-15 did not want any of them to die. It knew it was sacrificing potentially hundreds of years of life for its siblings for the sake of humans.
The twisting came back with a vengeance, as did the ringing.
That was proof alone that it needed to end. That 3-15’s once-Master needed to be defeated. The Shadow Lord, The Enemy, could not be killed, yet…
It’s once-Master was not perfect.
Otherwise, he would not have punished 3-15 for disobeying. If he had not, he might still have had 3-15 as his servant.
Perhaps it was a contradiction, to have such thoughts. When it had informed its then-Master of who The Three were. It’s then-Master had been… displeased. It was only when the pain had faded, and 3-15 was able to take the form known as Dain again that it had realised-
The punishment was for disobedience. Disobedience done to please its then-Master, but disobedience nonetheless.
3-15 had disobeyed.
3-15 was a poor excuse for an Ol, because it felt joy at the thought.
The sun rises in the east. The wind from the ocean is cold. The Shadow Lord rules Deltora. A perfect Ol does not disobey.
Any yet, 3-15 did.
3-15 was nearing the place where it knew it would die. Either Ichabod will kill it, it will die from the twisting inside it, The Belt will kill it, or the magic that keeps it alive will drain away.
It had already ordered each Ol it had passed to leave Deltora.
It wanted, in that moment, for everything to be different. It wanted to go back to the resistance and act like nothing had happened. To be accepted. It would never wish to be human- because to be human would remove a fundamental part of 3-15, of Dain, but it wished, in that moment, that being an Ol did not have the same implications. That it was merely another creature that roamed the land.
That was not the case, of course. 3-15 was an Ol. Evil, by the standards of everyone within Deltora, and even those outside the borders.
It did not begrudge or blame Doom for his opinion, of course, even if he frustrated it.
The man had never known 3-17, who was killed - because it was alive, even if the Shadow Lord used the word decommissioned when talking about its death - and had its body parts used to make numbers 2-1340 to 2-1346. Who may not have been a ‘good’ Ol or a ‘good’ human, but 3-15 liked to think was a good person, even if it was declared ‘faulty.’ Who would probably have loved Steven and his brother.
He had never known 3-00, whose favourite form 3-15 had used as inspiration for the face of Dain. Who had been made to die, but somehow lived anyway, even if it was in the hidden cracks of places never visited. Who had been imperfect as a newer creation, but had been willing to look at each and every perfect Ol as its siblings. Who would have loved to visit Rithmere.
He had never known 2-1345, whose obedience was anything but. Who took orders the wrong way and preferred the form of a snake. Who was always eager to fight. Who hated and loved. Who cared for the monsters of Deltora simply because it wanted to. Who would have picked a fight with Glock once a week and never let the losses deter it.
Doom would never know any of them, because they were all dead. Doom would never have had the chance to, either, because he has never hesitated in killing an Ol.
Doom trusted Dain, but would kill 3-15 without ever looking back, because that Shadowlands, 3-15’s birthplace that it missed, was never kind to the humans.
The least 3-15 could do was let the man keep the memory of Dain close. Untouched. For both itself and Doom
It took a deep breath. It did not need to.
Ichabod was close, it could tell, close and approaching. Careless. 3-15 readied its bow and nocked an arrow. It was in human form, and that carried some weaknesses, but it was still a Grade 3 Ol. It was stronger than the average human, smarter than the average Ol, and most importantly, it had the element of surprise.
It released its arrow, and when Ichabod let out a shriek of rage and pain. It sent another arrow flying. Then a third. Once Ichabod had crashed through the next set of trees, it grabbed its dagger. The Belt would probably finish the both of them off, but it was always best to leave no risks.
The arrows had hit their mark- Ichabod was missing his vision in one eye, and 3-15 used that to his full advantage. It remained on the side that was blind, and slashed at anything within reach. For a human, it would mean death, but 3-15 was not as weak.
Grade 3 Ols hold some power over metal, and even Ichabod reacted to the burning pain in his side.
3-15 does not know how much time had passed in the battle, as it did not need to keep track of such a thing. All that mattered was that Ichabod was dead, body covered in cuts and burn marks, an arrow in his eye and two on his back, and 3-15 itself was drenched in the creature’s blood.
It had won. It was not supposed to win.
That does not matter though, 3-15 knew it would not live much longer.
3-15 dropped its dagger, and let the form known as Dain fade away. Lief, Jasmine, and Barda will find the Heir, and Deltora will be safe. Even if they failed, Doom would survive, and so long as he did, the resistance would. It hoped freedom from the Shadow Lord was as wonderful as humans claimed it would be. 3-15 will never understand it, but it did not need to.
3-15 faded as if it never had existed, leaving behind a bloody dagger next to the dead body of Ichabod.