She stood in the grass, looking into the darkness, where the arid Divide gave way to the growth of the Mire. She hadn’t been back here since… 

She wasn’t superstitious, maybe a little superstitious, but she didn’t really believe there was anything mystical about the Mire. It was just a bunch of overgrown plants harboring irradiated monsters. She used to spend more time here, before…

The sun beat down on her back while the cool darkness beckoned to her.

She wondered what she’d find. Did the Mire reclaim him, or did he lay where he dropped, rotting like all the other forgotten people?

She closed her eyes and began walking, letting the darkness engulf her. Opening her eyes, she was still while her vision adjusted. The canopy above her rustled in the wind. The stream along the path gurgled. This wasn’t a place of death, this was a place of life. Vines sprung out of the earth…reaching…embracing.

She began retracing her steps, she knew the path well. His cabin stood as it had when she left it, a thick coat of dust settling from disuse. Her memories were a whisper in the back of her mind. She pushed the old bait shop cooler away from the wall. Reaching behind it she pulled out a bundle wrapped in hide, set it on a table and unwrapped it. Opening the plain box, she lifted the tray of chems spotting a braided bracelet lying in the bottom. She picked it up and held it up to catch the light glinting through the canopy. The red fibers were braided from the vines themselves.

She put the chems into her pocket and slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, tightening the cords with her teeth. At the edge of the swamp stood the entrance to his bunker, she unlatched and lifted the door, its rusty hinges squealing in protest. It smelled of damp and decay. The plants that had broken through the crumbling walls the last time she was here had continued to flourish. Pulling the cord on the generator, the machine coughed to life causing the bulbs hanging from the ceiling to cast a dull light in the room. 

She stepped carefully over the roots and vines, his body was not here, but someone was, she could feel them. 

She swung her rifle around and raised it, “Who’s there?”

No one answered, there was only silence. The plants cast shadows around the room, but she could see no one. There wasn’t anywhere to hide, it was only a small workshop and living quarters. The radio blared, causing her to jump. She spun around, aiming at the box. 

“We three

We’ll wait for you

Even till eternity

My echo, my shadow, and me”

She crossed the room, sweeping her rifle from side to side, looking under tables and shelves, but there was no one there. She grabbed the knob and clicked the radio off. 

Turning back towards the room she saw a figure on the sofa. The generator sputtered, the lights flickering off and back on again, but there was no one there. Her memories, shadows cast into the world.

A glint from the floor caught her eye. She crouched, freeing his knife from the grasp of the vines. She held it up in the light, turning it this way then that before sheathing it in her belt. The generator sputtered again and the lights flickered as she moved to the trunk by the bed. 

Not having a key, she used the butt of her rifle to break the lock. She pulled out the hat from on top and set it on her head and put the aviators that were underneath it in her breast pocket. Not much else inside the trunk was worth keeping, an old vault suit and gas mask, those were a dime a dozen. She put the loose ammo, his comics, and a bottle of whiskey in her pack as she hummed.

“We three

We’re all alone

Living in a memory

My echo, my shadow, and me”

His rifle was leaning by the door, well maintained and still freshly oiled. She grabbed the strap, catching a shadow cross the threshold, she readied it instead hoping it was loaded. 

“Who’s there?”

The only answer was the generator running out of gas and plunging the bunker into darkness. She held her breath. In the silence, her memories were whispers. 

“They know you are here. They take everything.”

She wasn’t alone, but there was no one there.

“You should leave before they take you too. “

She left the way she came, closing the hatch with a crash. She looked at the shack one last time, absentmindedly fingering the braids that now wrapped her wrist before setting out deeper into the Mire.

She fingered the bracelet as she walked, she wasn’t sure how long she had been walking, she wasn’t even sure where exactly she was, but she was suddenly exhausted and her feet were cold and wet. It was dark here, she was deep in the Mire where the moonlight couldn’t penetrate the lush growth to light her way. How long had she been walking through the darkness?

A cry echoed in the distance, it’s sound ricocheting off the trees and making it hard to tell exactly where it was coming from. She froze in place, listening, she wasn’t alone. 

“They are from before us, but not of us.” 

The voice was all around her, yet coming from within her. Her instincts screamed at her to draw her weapon but the presence she felt insisted she remain still. More cries echoed around her, there was more than one. She could not see them, but they were close.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she searched the darkness around her. There was movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head slowly. The figure was pale, so pale it nearly glowed, wearing tattered rags on its emaciated frame. She would have been convinced it was a ghoul but it’s movements were less rigid, more deliberate than the mindless zombies of the ferals. 

More figures appeared around her, all similar in appearance. They raised their faces and smelled the wind as one. 

“They do not know you, but you carry a part of this place.”

She touched the braided bracelet on her wrist and closed her eyes, struggling to remain calm.

A single figure approached carrying a crude knife and began circling her. The other figures watched with interest. The figure was now so close she could feel its breath, the smell of damp and clay and rotted meat. Fear gripped her as it leaned in.

“You smell like the outside but are connected, they don’t understand.”

The figure remained close to her for several moments, then screamed. She startled involuntarily and snapped out of the trance she was caught in, swinging her rifle around into her hands. The figures recoiled, screaming as one, then disappeared back into the darkness. Her heart was racing as she flipped her pip-boy light on and searched the darkness for any sign of the figures but she was alone. 

The exhaustion she felt was causing her to be delirious. With all the recent turmoil between the Free States, Brotherhood, and Vultures, she no longer had safe passage in the Mire and she really needed rest. Ait Foraoise was marked in her pip-boy. She had never been there, never even formally met the fellow Vulture Boss called The Cavelord, but she had heard the legends of his ferocity and heard the tales of his tribe of Fianna. They were rumored to be primitive, mystical warriors to be feared but it was her only hope for refuge until she was out of the Mire, she didn’t have a choice.

“It’s not far now.”

The voice was back.

“Thanks, I have a map.” 

Great, now she was answering the voice. 

“Maybe they can help you understand.”

“Understand what, pray tell.” 

“Understand who you are”

“I know exactly who I am.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I think you need to shut the fuck up.”

She must be in withdrawal, she thought to herself. When was the last time she had used any chems? It was at least before walking into the Mire. Definitely withdrawal, that would explain all this crazy shit. She reached into her coat pocket for the chems she had picked up at Mac’s old place and pulled out a syringe. Holding it up and squinting to identify the contents she figured it was probably Med-X. Probably.

“Let’s see you talk over this” she said out loud as she injected the entire contents in one go. The powerful painkiller rushed through her system. She had a high tolerance after years of use but it had been long enough, and the dose high enough that she felt it almost immediately. She sighed and relaxed as the chems pushed all the noise from her mind and the tension from her muscles and left her floating. She was nearly there.

She moved down the shattered highway, the roads had fared the worst here. Shards of concrete jutted out of the water like jagged stone teeth, the swamp slowly swallowing them. Organ music wafted on the air from an abandoned church, a theme of madness for a long dead god. She took off the hat and tugged her hood back up to ward off the sudden chill. Not much further, they would spot her soon if they hadn’t already.

She knew she had been seen by the time she herself could see the twinkle of light ahead. She could feel the eyes on her as she shouldered her rifle, but continued forward. Huts rose on short stilts scattered in the low water, treehouses sculpted into the gnarled branches above, Áit Foraoise. She stopped and waited. 

A figure dropped from a tree and approached on silent feet, its bow ready but lowered. As they neared, Jules could see she was painted in blues and whites in various patterns on her exposed skin. Swirls and lines danced across her face and her arms, the colors intertwining and separating again. Twigs and leaves were woven through her matted hair in a perfect camouflage. 

Raising her arms, she lowered her hood again, “I am The Eagle, a Vulture, I seek sanctuary.” 

They stood there for minutes, neither moving nor speaking. Her Med-X was wearing off and she was dead on her feet but impatience would do her no favors. The figure motioned to follow and turned and continued into the town. The longhouse rose before them, torchlight flickering on the wooden walls, shadows moving like dancers.

She followed the other woman into the longhouse, her boots the only audible footsteps on the raised wooden lath. 

“Wait”, they said with a voice like boughs moving with the wind. 

Sliding off her pack, she sat on a wooden bench, the rough wood a welcome reprieve from however long it was now that she had been on her feet. The gentle lapping of the water against the piles and the torches sputtering as they burned were a threatening lullaby in her exhaustion.

Shadows moved above her along the rope bridges within the trees. Like the woman who had led her in they wore blue face paints, from simple eye smudges to more intricate spiral designs. Spears and axes were strapped on backs, the warm bronze of the metals twinkling in the light of the torches. They watched her with distrust, their voices whispering a strange language she had never heard and was unable to decipher. Her eyes were so heavy.

“It’s dangerous to approach him when you are in this condition.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “It’s less dangerous than camping alone in the swamp. I’ve proven my worth to The Vultures, I am not a lackey and I am allowed to be tired,” she muttered to herself. 

She snapped herself out of her reverie and saw the antlered silhouette approaching, dragging herself back to her feet. This was his domain, and a lack of respect would only serve to hinder her. As long as she had been with the Vultures, she had never formally met The Cavelord. She had kept herself busy in the Divide, busy with work for the raiders, anything to keep her memories of the Mire pushed aside and her rage burning bright. There had been rumor and speculation as to which side he was truly on, but rumors such as those serve to make reputations even more feared. There was no such thing as bad press for The Vultures. 

She swayed on her feet as she stood, “Don’t think we’ve met, I’m The Eagle, I hoped maybe to catch a rest here before returning to the Divide.”

The antlered one stared down at her.

“He’s a spooky one isn’t he? Poke him.”

She frowned under her bandana and cleared her throat to silence this annoying new inner monologue. 

“Anyhoo, any old corner will do, you won’t even know I’m here, it’s just hard to keep watch with your eyes closed, ya’ know? I’ll be out of your hair lickety split.”

“It’s not the Fens you need to watch for.” he nodded to her bracelet. “War has come to this place” 

“Heard about the recent tumble in the Mire and your victory with the help of the Gravediggers. Tales are already being told of your victory over their paladins, opening them like a can of cram with your axe. Not gonna lie, I think I’d rather take my chances with the tin cans than the things I’ve run across the last… however many hours I’ve been out here.” She suppressed a shiver and readjusted her pack on her back. 

The Cavelord led her down into the longhouse where some pallets were set up in a makeshift alcove. She chose a spot in the corner and dropped her pack at her feet and flopped down. 

“I appreciate the hospitality, like I said, I will be outta your hair in the morning.” 

He watched her as she rummaged through her pack, pulling out a bottle and a syringe. She looked up at him and held the bottle out. “Little token of my appreciation?” she said, wiggling the bottle up at him. 

He took the bottle from her hand and gestured towards a group of passing Fianna as Jules twisted the cap off with her teeth below him.

The Cavelord turned to the passing Tribesmen, quickly exchanging words and handing the bottle to one of them as the group hurriedly made their way out of the Longhouse, he watched for a moment before turning back.

“The Gesture is kind. Though what brings a lone Vulture this far?” 

“I had some personal loose ends to wrap up and I enjoy some quality alone time. Honestly I didn’t intend to wander this far when I finished but somehow found myself deep in the Mire.” she replied as she slumped back into the wall, pulling off her goggles and mask as her chems kicked in. 

“He would know the powers of this place better than anyone, he’s one with it, ask him.”

Tilting her head and looking up at him she continued, “You’re surrounded by legends of gods and monsters, can the things here…I dunno how to put it… infect a person?”

His eyes widened for a moment, wiping his brow and crouching slowly.

“The Gods sit at different tables, they take joy from the mania of us, I know of such afflictions aye, there’s no bréaga in their power, that’s your purpose here then is it?”

“Tell. Him.”

“You wouldn’t know, we certainly weren’t anyone,” she shook her head. “But one of us, an Eagle, loved the Mire, wouldn’t leave it for the Divide. It consumed him. He left me with a warning and I figured it was the chems, but now I came back because I needed to know.” She looked up to meet his eyes, “I can hear them…I keep losing time… and I’m not so sure it’s just the chems. Is it contagious, like the scorched?”

“Not that sort of curse”

He spoke plainly, his painted fingers twisted and contorted in a strange movement, whoever this Vulture was, she was speaking of an all too familiar affliction, one he had known for some time.

“There’s tiny gods in your head, each one screaming louder than the next, harder to ignore by the day.. the cost of life, maybe it was born of this place in the before, maybe it was with you all along, It isn’t known by us.
For better or for worse they are with you, they are you”

She didn’t believe in gods, only the folly of men, but he was speaking honestly with her and she didn’t want to offend him with unnecessary arguments. It didn’t matter if it was scientific or supernatural, he knew of it, and that was enough. Her shoulders slumped with resignation, so this was the price of her curiosity? To slowly lose her sanity? 

“You are stronger than your brother. We were always here, little whispers in the back of your mind, driving you, pushing you in every choice you’ve made.”

“How do you keep it from devouring you?” she asked him, trying to hide the panic she felt creeping into her.

The man rocked his head slightly and moved his hand through his rough red beard.
His eyes, peering back like two stones.

“You don’t”

He smiled to himself chaotically, his eyes suddenly alight.

“Not enemy, not friend, topple a thousand kingdoms and they’ll still be with you. Yer only way forward is finding a peace in that, letting it be your Neart, your power” 

“Own it”, she mumbled to herself. “This is fine, it’s all fine; listen to the voices in your head instead of trying to suppress them, or basically die.” 

“Tad dramatic, little bird.”

She kinda wished she hadn’t given away her last bottle. “I think I’ll make a pitstop at Redemption, get out from under the canopy of the Mire, have a little visit with The Deliverer, maybe it will all clear right up. Do you think maybe we can keep this conversation between us?”

Beginning to stand he raised out his arms mischievously.

“It never was between us” 

Before leaving, he suddenly turned back towards her once more. The woad on his skin shimmering slightly in the auburn glow of the torches, his eyes burning with unknown purpose, piercing and strange.

“And while you’re at that..Pit.
Send this…Priest my..re-gards.
I’ve heard so much. about. Him”

Co-written with The Cavelord, many thanks to him for his contributions & assistance.