Azu is Playing Iron Valley: Linney’s Campaign — Let’s not get drenched anymore, please

Previous Part: Your New Life Is About To Begin…

I don’t.

I’m not even halfway there when a thunder roars overhead and tons of water fall down on me. I’m drenched in seconds, the cold making its way through my skin to cling to my bones.

The entrance to the valley, an arch with the name written meters above the ground, disappears behind a curtain of water. Right in front of my eyes. If I hadn’t seen it in front of me, I’d be lost.

I stumble the next few steps, the sudden insecurity eating me from the inside out at the possibility that ahead isn’t the right path, as if I’ve somehow changed direction without realizing it. But it is possible. Is it possible? With all this water blocking the view.

I stretch out my arms, hoping to brush against the pillars of the arch or the wall of the building behind them or something that tells me I’m close to being close to a shelter. Is it too late to try to return under the forest’s leafy canopy? What tells me that I won’t end up walking through the wildflowers field instead, not knowing what’s on the other side?

At least I’m not carrying anything other than my existence, just imagining how difficult it would be to move with bags or suitcases makes my legs feel heavier, as if I were wading through the water instead of just going under -through- it.

… I’m not wading through water, am I?

A bolt of lightning lights up the sky and no, I’m not wading through water. I am in the middle of a valley, on flat land, there is no way -well, that it exists, it exists- to wade through water in this situation -that it is what is happening at this moment, it’s not.

The lightning didn’t just light up the sky for a second, and yes, that was the first thought that crossed my mind, but not the last. I ran to the valley, even though my clothes and my hair and the torrential were against me, and stretch an arm for the arch pillar, the light fading for an instant before I brush it.

I exhale in relief because that’s one challenge less.

I circle the pillar until I brush the wall of the building behind and follow its lead to the front. I stumble over something, not being able to hear the chorus of noise or my own complaint above the water, returning my hand to the wall as soon as I can to continue to the door. Somehow, I feel the heat emanating from the inside despite being in the freezing cold outside.

I open the door, lightning flashing just then, a thunder following two seconds later. I should take at least one step inside to get out of the storm, but how dry and fluffy the entrance rug looks makes me reconsider all the decisions I’ve made in life. Having visited a couple of inns in the last few days helps me to identify what my eyes see as one, though I have even been to others with more luxury and decoration in apartment receptions in the city, but this interior looks so warm and cozy, so rustic and natural, that despite being the first time I see it, I feel like I’m already home.

Or would be if I took just one more step, one inside.

The reception is to the left. An empty space with tall individual tables and reclining chairs piled along the wall to the right. Closed curtains in the back, two more on the wall to the right.

“I knew the weather altered the proper functioning of their devices, but that they dismissed my concern without even paying attention to me? They’re going to listen to me!”

The spheres of lights that brush the ceiling increase in intensity, some descending near the walls to illuminate other areas, such as the space behind the reception.

“I knew the alarm activated for nothing! It’s just a matter of this rain stopping, I’ll make them check each and every one of their devices- For the divine grace of Serket!”

A tall fair-skinned woman leaps halfway in front of the reception desk, her long wavy hair falling from under a wool cap, dark brown on the right side and blond on the left, with one of her long-nailed hands resting on her chest, but the surprise in her face is quickly replaced by concern and she hastens to close the distance between us.

“What are you doing? Come in, come in,” she waves and I finally take a step inside, the storm stops falling down on me just before her warm hand closes around my arm, pulling me to take more steps inside so she can close the door behind me.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wet the rug…”

“The rug will survive!”

She immediately lets go of me, moving around in a frantic search for something. She’s dressed against the cold from head to toe, even though she’s wearing a strappy blouse under the giant sweater. And she’s pretty tall without the shoes, but she wears heels anyway. A voluminous purplish scorpion’s tail, taut and with the lethal tip pointing at the ceiling behind her.

I look down, a puddle of water growing under my feet, the rug definitely ruined at the entrance.

A heavy warm towel surrounds me, doing nothing against the chill under my skin.

“Come on, you have to dry yourself. You don’t know how dangerous these storms are.”

Up close, her eyes are like chocolate.

… Maybe I’m hungry.

I stop her efforts by moving my hand, trying to dry my hair a bit. But the towel must be magicked, because the heat that it emanates remains in the lock of my hair, on my soaked clothes.

I look at her. She smiles.

“It’s been raining for days and while it’s not a solution, it’s a pretty good quick answer, don’t you think?”

I smile a little, feeling at ease. Or maybe three days of travel have been too long for my body.

“Maybe you’ll want to take off your shoes,” she advises. “Oh girl,” she gently pulls the strap of the crossbody bag across my chest, “would you like to put it out to dry with whatever you have inside it?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I nod anyway.

She walks to the far wall, dragging the nearest table and reaching to grab one of the lowest light spheres. I follow her, throwing the towel off my shoulder to disengage myself from the bag. I leave it on the table and she waits for my consent to take out the contents, meanwhile, I take off my boots, and stockings, to leave them at the foot of the table.

I know that it would make sense to no one else, but she doesn’t express anything when she arranges a packet of pasta, a Fabergé egg, a book, and a sodden envelope that seems about to fall apart next to the backpack. She leaves the sphere of light in the center and I can feel the heat that it radiates from here. She takes two more spheres to slide into my boots, clapping her hands together in silent applause as she straightens up.

“Now it’s just you.”

“I don’t think I can warm up even by putting all the spheres together…”

“You can talk!” Her face brightens before darkening. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! That was so rude! I don’t know why I said that! I mean, yes, I know, but that was not my intention at all-“

I can’t help but smile and that seems to be reason enough to relax her.

“You’re of my vibe,” she points to me with the index fingers of her joined hands, “that’s amazing. I can” — she reaches out a hand to touch the towel — “get you another, but that’s the best I can do. The hot springs are not going to get warm up in this weather.”

“It’s fine, I think that may be enough…”

At least for the moment.

She smiles at me before disappearing down the hall at the end of the reception counter, from where I couldn’t see her coming with the door open. There are two other closed curtains, one on each side of the main door. And the wall behind the reception is a mural with different bulletins and a calendar.

I stay put, finishing using the heat of the towel with the rest of my hair and rubbing it against my pant legs.

“Now at least you’re going to be dry,” she smiled at me when she came back and we exchange towels, wrapping the new one around me again.

“Even though I’m still freezing inside.”

She makes a small face, folding the towel between her arms.

“How did you get there in this weather?”

“I just went through the forest,” I point to the curtains, behind the table with my things, “it wasn’t raining when I get out,” I raise my shoulders, “and it seems that it’s only raining in this region.”

“Yeah,” she nods, “but it’s heading into the interior,” she props her weight up on one leg. “It’s strange that they didn’t tell you anything in town,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, how strange…”

Although I remember their frantic refusal, not only to accompany me, but in my lonely dive into the forest, too determined to listen to anything.

“But here I am.”

“Yeah. What brings you to Iron Valley?” She smiles at me. “You’ll see, when the storm passes, that we are warmer than it seems.”

I smile softly, looking at the envelope that was already crumbling enough before of also being drenched.

“A letter,” I look at her. “I assume that since you had no idea of my arrival, you also have no idea who might have sent it to me.”

“Oh,” her expression drops a little, “no. I had no idea.” She holds up a hand to wiggle a finger. “But maybe you can ask Orion, they’re our mailperson. They must have sent the letter to the town for them to send it to you.”

I nod a little.

“I understand. Orion. Thank you.”

“Wasn’t there more information in the letter?” She tilts her head.

“The only thing I could salvage is that it came from here, Iron Valley, but nothing else,” I swallow at the memory of the letter’s other legible content, but it won’t do any good to mention it if she doesn’t even know anything about the letter itself.

“Well, I really hope Orion can help you,” she shakes out the towel and starts to fold it. “Quite unlucky enough is to have arrived in this weather.”

Do they consider this kind of thing a matter of luck?

“Uhm, this is an inn, right? Do you think I could-?”

“Oh,” her expression falls again. “Well, yes, this is an inn,” she nods, “but the storm has leaked most of the rooms and the ones I had free are occupied. As much as I want to, I don’t have a space you can stay in.”

“It would be enough if you could let me stay right here,” I spread my arms to encompass the reception in a gesture.

She smiles at me, a little fondly, if I can trust the twinkle in her eyes, and she leaves the folded towel on the counter.

“Come on, sweetie,” she walks around the side of the furniture, “I’m sure I can at least get you a couch. And I know perfectly well who can help us with it,” she smiles at me, looking up from whatever she has there that might occupy her attention. “Just give me a moment.”

Next Part: Who’s this?