At the hight of summer, it's pleasantly cool along the mountainside. She's pretty sure she passed the border today, not that it matters much, all that matters right now is the sheer drop in front of her and how far she'll have to backtrack to get around it. Off-path hiking can be challenging at times. Gabriel would say she has a death wish, doing crazy shit like this, except he won't and that hurts, no matter how much time passes.

Right, the cliff. Turning, she decides to walk along the edge to see if it leads to a more reasonably steep area. It's not like she's lost or anything, when she pitches her tent in the evening, she'll get out the GPS to locate herself more accurately, but until then it remains switched off to preserve battery, same goes for her phone.

She learned first hand how terrifying it is having to navigate without the help of electronics during last year's Christmas vacation in Greece, when her GPS fried due to what she later learned was a freak solar flare. Hopefully there won't be any more of those, considering how far she's trekking from civilization here.

Idly, she scans the path ahead, looking for any treacherous ground. There is some, but nothing she can't maneuvre around. When leaning over slightly, she can see the bottom of the cliff, where it evens out a little. She's not especially high up in the mountains, much preferring the foothills, so there is vegetation creeping up to the the cliffside, a few gnarly little trees but mostly scrub and bushes. Thick enough to catch her fall, she estimates, not that she particularly wants to find out.

Leaning back again, her gaze wanders ahead, searching for a trail down. It's then that she spots a glint in the underbrush down below. Like a yellow light, probably a reflection of some sort, from the low sun. Huh, is it that late already? Checking her watch, she decides to pitch her tent once she gets down from the cliff. And check out that glint while she's at it, maybe it's a spring or something else interesting.

Some ten minutes later, her eagle eyes spot a slope she could slide down, the loose pebble and stone treacherous to climb, but safe enough to descend. It takes her less than two minutes to make her way down the twenty-something meter incline and another three to empty her shoes of all the annoying little stones they collected. Then she's ready to check out the reflection, if she can find it again.

As it turns out, she can. Find the reflection, that is, though it's not water as she expected. Or, it's not just water. There is a hole in the landscape, as if some giant had taken a scoop right out. It looks decidedly weird. The sides are overgrown with plants and at the bottom water has gathered into a clear still pond, somehow void of algae and animals. She could just fill up her water bottle, pop a pill in and be set for the next day or so, no filter needed. In fact, that's exactly what she'll do.

Using the vegetation as handholds, she climbs down into the subterrane, curiously noting the too smooth quality of the stone beneath the plants. Her feet splash into water once she lets got of the helpful shrubbery. It really is exceedingly clear, more something she'd expect in some tropical paradise and not in some literal hole-in-the-ground in Sweden - or Finland, one of the two. Shaking her head at the absurdity, she drinks the rest of her water, before filling the bottle again.

It's when she's refilling her second bottle, that she realizes something has changed. Looking up, she finds her eyes pulled to the over-grown side of the subterrane to her left. Something is shining through a wall of very-out-of-place ivy. Stowing away her bottle, she stands and approaches the ivy curiously. The only sound she hears beneath the whisteling winds is her boots splashing through the water, all else is eerily still.

Behind the ivy overhang lies a passageway down that opens into a cavern larger than she'd expected so close to the surface. Once she enters, the walls and ceiling light up with bright golden streaks arranged in strangely alluring designs. After a moment to appreciate the alien beauty of the spectacle, she approaches one of the walls and reaches out to run her hand over one of the designs.

The light becomes unbearably bright, searing into her eyes and burning itself into her mind. From beyond the blinding glare, she can hear an etheral voice talking at her.

That is how she learns of the Isu and Minerva's Prophet and of one long-dead, yet still very annoyed, semi-deity looking for a champion to install a glorified anti-virus program on an ancient artifact of power. In the past, of course, because that which is to be prevented has already happened. First she doesn't understand the need to go back that far, but after having the Prophet's life burned into her memory, she sees no harm in arriving a little earlier than strictly necessary.

-o-

Petruccio isn't sure who his savior is. He remembers being in the middle of a fight, his brothers and father crossing swords with the city guards, then he had just been there, pulling Petruccio onto his back like he's a little kid again. His savior had just taken him and run for the hills.

At the city gate, Petruccio had to dismount and walk alongside the man to avoid suspicion from the guard. They still got narrow-eyed glances, but luckily the bells had only started ringing after they were already out of city bounds. With the guards distracted, they were able to hurry out of sight.

Unfortunately, that little bit was as far as Petruccio could walk before succumbing to yet another coughing fit. Much to his embarrassment, the unknown man had to pick him up and start carrying him again. He tried to explain himself, he hadn't been feeling well even before getting arrested and that brief moment of the noose choking him - well, it hadn't helped matters. But the man didn't answer any of his babbling, so Petruccio gave up on it after a while and simply rested his head on the man's shoulder.

They had stopped again only to pick up a huge bag, which the man threw over one of his - and Petruccio's - shoulders. It wasn't comfortable, but Petruccio didn't dare complain, not when the man had just saved his life. Instead he tried to calm his relentless coughing to no great success.

It took until well after midday for his savior's breath to become laboured. He ignored all of Petruccio's questions for his wellbeing, as well as his offer to walk on his own again, merely tightening his hold on Petruccio's legs when he made to get off. Then another hour later, the man began wavering in his steps and finally let Petruccio slide off his back.

Immediately rounding the man, Petruccio is shocked to find his front stained with fresh blood. The man grimaces and presses a hand to his chest, pulling it away and staring at the bright red blood on it.

"You have to go to a doctor!" Petruccio exclaims, before falling into a cough again. He still manages to hear the man repeat "doctor" to himself, seeming thoughtful. Then he shakes his head, and thumps a hand on Petruccio's back not-quite-helpfully.

"No doctor," the man decrees, his words broken and thick with an accent he hasn't heard before.

"But, but you need a doctor," Petruccio sputters, yet the man merely shakes his head with another "no doctor" and looks around. They are on a smaller hillside road with no town in sight except for Firenze's looming walls behind them. There is, however, a small farmstead ahead, something the man picks out as well and starts making for.

Petruccio follows as best as he can, but is still lagging behind the man's long strides. By the time he catches up, his savior has already found the farmer's wife by the house, a baby on her hip and another child behind her legs, and tries to speak with her. It is apparent that she doesn't understand him at all and is disinclined to offer aid to the stranger.

"Por favor, por favor," the man says, gesturing with his bloody hand at the woman, unwillingly frightening her, "por favor" and clasps his hands pleadingly.

Oh, Petruccio thinks, he's trying to say "please". Stepping up to the pair, he takes over for the man desperately trying to ask for help.

"Excuse me, signora, we are merely looking to for a place to rest," Petruccio explains, trying to hold in another cough, "My companion doesn't speak very well, please don't hold it against him. We only need a roof for the night, please."

"Oh," the woman looks down at him as he loses his fight against the cough and has to turn away, "Oh dear, I don't think we can help you much. We have little to give and less to give away for naught but goodwill." At least she doesn't look as frightened anymore, but-

"We don't have any money-" In the moment he says it, he knows it is the wrong thing to say, her hopeful look becomes downright hostile. She scowls down at him with such a dark look, that he instinctively backs away, searching for aid from his savior. The man meets his gaze and turn to the woman again.

"Please," he says, having corrected his pronounciation, and clasps his hands pleadingly again. The woman turns her attention to him, but doesn't look any more friendly for it. It is only when his savior reaches up to his ear to remove the piece of jewellery stuck to its lobe, that she stops scowling.

In the man's hand is a bright blue stone shimmering prettily, set in gold with a shaft at the back where it had been stuck through the earlobe. It was a simple yet beautiful piece of jewellery, no matter the bizarreness of the manner in which it was worn. The jewel alone must hold some worth, though Petruccio knows little of such things.

"Would that be enough to house us until we are well enough to travel again, signora?" Petruccio asks cautiosly.

"What am I supposed to do with a pretty stone?" the woman complains, but seems too intrigued to decline the trade. "Fine," she decides and takes the jewellery, "You can stay."

Relieved, Petruccio lets his shoulders slump and looks up at his savior, who is nodding at the woman. Then he hefts his bag and walks behind the house, Petruccio hurrying to follow him.

Once they are out of sight of the farmer's wife, the man sets his bag down and removes his stained cloak. Beneath are a foreign-looking tunic and hose, made from a material Petruccio doesn't recognize, but then he's not really learned in fabrics either. How he wishes mother or Claudia were here to answer all the questions this savior of his raises.

Then the man pulls the loose tunic over his head with a hiss and Petruccio has to look away, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks for the man is not a man at all, but a woman. A woman whose breasts are held tight with another piece of strange fabric, but very clearly a woman still.

For a while he stands there with his back turned and occasionally coughing, until the woman tries to get his attention. "Auditore," she says and there is nobody she can mean than him, so he turns around hesitantly, carefully keeping his gaze on her face and not straying lower. She is smiling at him and he doesn't know what to do with that. It's just a smile, just a friendly smile, nothing to it.

"Auditore," she repeats and gestures for him to come closer, so he does, still hesitant. With a roll of her eye, she waves her hand around until he looks away from her face to follow it. She is holding a pristinely white cloth in her hand. As he is watching, she presses it to a part of her exposed stomach. There is a faded scar there, running the entire length of her midsection from her belly button up to the breast bone disappearing beneath the fabric around her torso. He doesn't know what kind of wound resulted in such a scar and he isn't sure he wants to know either.

"Yes?" she asks and Petruccio has no idea what she means to tell him, but he nods anyway. Then she pulls something away from the back of the cloth and maneuvers it gingerly to her other arm-

Oh, she is wounded there as well. There is a smaller but no less angrily red and lightly bleeding cut just above the elbow of her right arm which she now covers with the cloth. She holds it at an awkward angle before looking up to him. "Auditore," she demands, nodding her head at the piece of cloth. Petruccio comes around to her right side and then, very carefully, smoothes the cloth against her skin.

"Yes." It sounds almost like praise and it is so strange for how much she uses the word. How is her vocabulary so limited? Surely you needed more than a handful words to get this far into the Florentine Republic?

Stepping back, he observes that the cloth sticks snugly against her pale naked skin. She had also bandaged the wound running right unter the cloth holding her-

Blushing, Petruccio turns away again, trying to think of anything but what he has seen of the woman, of his savior, that's what he should be focusing on. His brothers would tease him endlessly if they knew he turned his back to a half-bared woman instead of enjoying the sight, like they no doubt would. What became of them? When they left, his brothers and father had been locked in battle. Did they still live? Were they harmed?

"Do you," he starts haltingly, staring out over the farmlands surrounding the homestead, "Do you think Federico and Ezio got away?"

A moment's pause, then she answers. "Yes. Ezio, yes."

Petruccio swallows. He should be happy if even one of them survived the encounter, yet he can't imagine what living without any one of his family would be like. "And Federico? Father? Do you think they still live?"

When a hand settles on his shoulder, he looks up into the sympathetic face of his savior. "Yes, yes," she smiles although it doesn't quite reach her eyes. She ruffles his hair and then speaks in a foreign tongue. "Alles wird gut, kleiner Auditore."

He doesn't know what it means, but he leans into the reassurance nonetheless, wishing he might see his family whole and hale again.

Index:

Alles wird gut, kleiner Auditore. - Everything will be alright, little Auditore. (German)