Sano and Beaten Dog ran for twenty days and nights on the Road. When they could no longer run, they walked. They kept a quick pace to outrun Swordmaster, but after a while it became clear that if they had ever been pursued, they weren't anymore.
For the first few days Sano cried and cried. Ugly tears burst from her like a leaky faucet and dragged loud coughing sobs from her lungs. She couldn't stop, she didn't know why. Beaten Dog seemed to understand. He curled up and let her use his bony but warm form as a headrest and that helped a bit; sometimes he cried with her and that helped a bit too. They took many long breaks on the Road for this and when they were done they began to walk again.
They subsisted on the few root-plants they were able to scavenge from the sand. It was like chewing bark, but they managed to gnaw precious drops of moisture from the stems, and the bitter taste kept their minds sharp under the searing sun.
Beaten Dog used his sword to dig the roots out - he hacked at the ground haphazardly and pried them up with the blunt end of the blade. Sano couldn't help but boggle at his indifference, and ended up asking a question she'd been biting back for a while:
"Did Swordmaster really teach you how to use that?"
Beaten Dog paused, then nodded.
"Why..." Sano mulled over her words. "...why don't you use it the right way, then?"
Beaten Dog merely smiled, tail wagging slowly, and returned to poking pockmarks into the sand, leaving Sano to her bafflement.
They made camp on the rare occasions night rolled overhead, sleeping on the roadside wherever they found shelter. It was easier to rest with company compared to the miserable, paranoid nights on her own; easier not to be set off by errant noises when Beaten Dog was breathing a few feet away. Easier to look up and truly notice, for the first time, stars dotting the sky.
—
They came across a strange figure on the road, gangly limbs splayed across the brick. Dotted across its wingspan were several green birds, some pecking at their perch, others preening themselves, all ignoring the strangeness of their circumstance.
The duo gave it a wide berth before Sano noticed it was totally immobile; the head was nothing but a stump. Carefully she approached it, holding her sword out before her.
She noticed, now that she was closer, many small circular holes throughout the flesh which poked through to expose the ground - they did not look like natural formations, but pieces that had been carved out. The birds were the most likely culprit.
One of the birds chirped and tilted its head as Sano came near. Sano stared, before cautiously reaching out with one hand. It nibbled gently at her fingers with not nearly enough force to pierce her skin, much less tear away her flesh.
Opening its beak, it sang for her the following poem:
"The old man knew he was to die,
and didn't want to fade,
and thus to forty kakapo,
he gave away his name.
Pick - of - me - flesh, he chortled,
Pick - of - me - flesh, he cried,
and so flew forty kakapo
away with his name in rhyme."
And then the bird spread its wings and took to the sky, along with its companions.
—
The two were trying to hunt a passerby mouse when they stumbled across the Road's next oddity.
A strange platform of haphazard construction made of bone-plank intersected the Roadside (violating a great many traveling-rules), dividing the path forward into two. On the left side, a winding line of travelers shuffled towards a bubbling cauldron; some tall, some squat, some spindly, most wrapped in some manner of rags or gauze.
On the right, a masked proselytizer stood atop a raised stand and preached towards the crowd in rhythmic, bellowing chants. People grumbled and shot him dirty looks, but begrudgingly continued their wait.
A banner flew overhead - SATAN'S ARMY TAKES CARE OF HER CHILDREN.
As Sano and Beaten Dog circled closer, they caught a whiff of the cauldron's contents - sumptuous slow-cooked root vegetables broiled in spice. Sano's stomach let out a loud, grotesque gurgle.
The two abandoned their conquest to clamber towards the line. They looked for an opening but the crowd moved sluggishly, and any spot where they could cut was vehemently defended by claws and teeth. One passerby shouted a colorful threat about placing a curse on their digestive systems.
Finally, Sano approached one of the figures who seemed to be running the operation - maybe they could bargain for their labor.
The guard stood at the edge of the podium, clad in a strange white uniform. As she came by, they made a strange motion with one hand and said, "Mother Satan bless you."
Sano blinked hawkishly, unsure what to make of the gesture. She had no idea who Satan was either. Grown-ups were strange. "What is this place?"
"This is a checkpoint," the guard replied. "For weary travelers such as yourself, the army of Satan is providing free food and sermons." He pointed at the line. "You are welcome to join, little one."
Sano looked down the serpentine, winding line. The howling proselytizer was raining down a torrent of spittle upon the unfortunate passerby. She grimaced. "Is there... a... faster way?"
The guard let out a chortle. "One gets into the line for a reason, no? Satan blesses all her children, and everybody has waited. Be patient, little one."
It patted her on the head frills and pushed her gently in the line's direction. "Off you go."
Reluctantly, Sano shuffled towards the end of the line. Beaten Dog followed (deemed so beneath notice that the guard did not note his presence at all).
Time passed. Sano, who was not particularly disciplined or patient, fidgeted uneasily.
A sun came and went. Sano hopped over the long shadows that came and went.
There was a commotion up ahead near the cauldron. Sano swore to herself that if she had to wait any longer to taste that stew, she'd bite her way through the crowd until she did.
Up ahead, the guards in white were manhandling a slumped figure - to Sano's shock, it was the three-armed beggar from the desiccated marketplace, just as filthy and unkempt as the last time she'd seen it.
The shouting guards pushed the beggar, shoving it roughly to the ground. It offered very little resistance, laying there in a pile of spindly limbs. One guard brandished a gloved finger towards it.
"You're not welcome here, deserter," he proclaimed. "The army of Satan feeds her children and her children only."
"Lie in rot," replied the beggar, masked head lolling back. "I'd desert again if I could."
Then it reared up and spit a glob of black gunk at the guard's feet.
The guard responded with a retaliatory kick into the beggar's ribs before marching off. The beggar curled in on itself and coughed up a spatter of oily black, then lay still. No one around seemed to notice.
Unsettled, Sano kept her head down and tried to shuffle forward in line. She wished to simply move past. Unfortunately the beggar's mask tilted towards her as she passed.
"...it's you... the girl who knew nothing of war." A strange, croaking laugh emitted from beneath the carved wood. "Ha ha ha."
Sano shuffled in place uneasily. She did not want to be here, but the line wasn't moving any faster.
"Running away again?" the beggar called after her. "The swordswoman stopped coming by when you left. Nothing left now. How're you going to make it up to me, girl?"
Sano's stomach did a queasy flip as the beggar laughed.
"To think," it said, "All this to kill some dėvąr who's gonna crush your skull without a second thought."
The unfamiliar term caught Sano's attention. "Dėvąr?"
"A devil. One of the highest echelons, below Satan Herself."
"How do you know I'm looking for a dėvąr?"
"I heard the swordmaster describe it. Six arms, eight tusks, a great blade and wings of fire..."
The sound of fire echoed in Sano's mind. The smell of burning flesh.
"That's a dėvąr,1" said the beggar, "Or I'll eat my own tail."
Sano immediately ran to the beggar's side, pushing past several demons in line who gave her dirty looks.
"You have to tell me how to find him," she demanded, shaking the beggar by its spindly shoulder. "What else do you know?"
The beggar simply grinned at her.
Sano shook it again, frustrated. "Tell me!" She did not have much leverage. The beggar was quite heavy despite its thin stature.
"You're the one who owes me, girl. Your fault I'm hungry." The beggar licked its chops. "You get me some stew. The more I eat, the more I talk."
Sano fumed. She did not want to give up her hard-earned, painstakingly-waited-for food. But the need for more information outweighed her indignance. She was starved for answers after her years in Swordmaster's house, the morgue of curiosity that place had been. "Fine."
Another round of waiting, shuffling forward, waiting more. Finally, Sano was allowed to fill her flask with stew - its aroma made her eyes water with hunger. She held it far from her beak so as to not immediately scarf it down her gullet. Returning to the beggar, she tipped a couple drops into its open maw, not unlike what she'd seen Swordmaster do with grain alcohol long ago.
The beggar gripped at the gourd-flask like a newborn spawn as it gulped the stew down. It seemed to regain some of its strength. Slowly, it pushed itself to a sitting position. Sano watched with her hands wrapped around her knees.
"So." With some effort, the beggar swallowed. "You want to know about Dėvąr. First you will learn about Hell.
"Is a strange word first and foremost. It means a thing and a place at the same time. So where is Hell? A barren rip in spacetime. Where they gutted the sky open. There used to be nothing in it, then they filled it with blood, entrails, and iron.
"What is Hell? It is the army of ul-Lucifer, Mother Satan, whatever you want to call her. They partake in her unholy campaign. When you join Hell, you become a devil. When a devil is deemed strong and violent enough to bear the transformation, they take shards of angel metal plucked from corpses and hammer them into nails on a great forge. Then they drive the metal into your spine and skull. After all that, if you survive, you become a Dėvąr - an angel-killer.
"They are said to be unkillable. Pushed beyond the threshold of death, kept from reincarnation by the presence of divine metal. Unnatural beings. A different brand of eternity from us. Infernal machines.
"So," the beggar finished, "that is what you have to kill if you want to avenge your family."
It plucked the gourd from Sano's hands, who was frozen in shock. "Easy, right?"
Sano couldn't even react - she was paralyzed and quickly succumbing to despair. She remembered now the titanic figure she'd faced all those years ago, how small it had made her. To it, she must have been an insect - smaller even, a speck of dust, so utterly unworthy of notice.
"What's wrong?" asked the beggar, a sarcastic lilt to its voice. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"How could I even face that? It would crush me in a second, or vaporize me..."
"Probably, yeah," replied the beggar. "Why do you think it's so funny to me that you're on this trek? I don't know why the swordswoman even entertained it. Maybe it was her idea of a joke. Or maybe she wanted to keep you in line."
Sano thought about her ruined home, the stacks of stones. Her cracked, bleeding feet walking miles on the road. Her years of training were nothing. Swordmaster was right. Her weapon was nothing more than a lump of metal.
Pain and anger and despair ran hot through her whole body. She could not stop the tears welling in her eyes.
The beggar finally seemed to hesitate in its amusement. It tilted its masked face towards her, giving her a gentle shove with its forearm.
"Hey girl. It's not so bad. Nothing wrong with giving up, you know, when what you're trying to do is impossible."
"But I made a promise," Sano sniffled. "To avenge my family. To remember them."
"The dead don't care," responded the beggar. "You can remember them without going on this insipid journey. Isn't it better to live?"
But Sano did not remember how to live, at least, if you asked her. She knew how to run, how to fight, how to strike killing blows, and how occasionally to steal. She had never had outstanding dreams or aspirations since she began to live. This had not changed.
"...look." The beggar heaved a long, dry sigh. "You understand they call me deserter because I used to be one of Hell's ranks?"
Sano did not respond, but listened through her tears.
"I left. There was nothing for me there. The holy mission, the crusade of destruction... none of it meant anything. The only thing that matters is our lives in the flesh. The present, before we all turn to dust.
"So you, girl, listen. Don't join Hell for all that bullshit. You want to find the devil that killed your family?" It let out a low cackle. "I'll see how much of the road I remember."
"Really?" Sano sniffled. Her heart swelled with hope, but also mistrust. "Why would you help me?"
"Do you see something better for me to do?" the beggar replied.
There was a shout from the sidelines. A guard in white began stomping towards the two of them, hands balled into fists.
The beggar sat up and stretched. Beaten Dog hurriedly scurried to Sano's side, grabbing her hand.
"Looks like the cavalry's here," said the beggar. "Meet me down the road at the red crooked tree, and we can talk more."
Then the beggar lifted one of its spindly legs and kicked over the cauldron of stew, causing an uproar amongst the crowd.
In the commotion, Sano and Beaten Dog were easily able to slip past any guards' notice. Sano looked over her shoulder to witness the onset scuffle. There was a flurry of movement - a blur of limbs, not from the guards, she realized, but from the beggar - tattered robes made way for long, sleek insectoid limbs ending in deadly hooks, effortlessly sending the surrounding men flying. It was a graceful dance of violence.
Sano could not bear witness for long, of course. With Beaten Dog in tow, she fled across the sand, only getting fleeting glances back at the checkpoint in chaos.
1 Rough translation from Abyssal.