For the first time in days, Aya had managed to stop trembling. Everything that’d led up to this point - the flight from her village, the attack on her mother and herself, being taken away to some far off place she’d barely heard of, the second attack…
All of it had sunk deep into her bones, leaving her a shaking mess, barely able to talk without teeth chattering. But as she took Frare’s hand, the one not stained by whatever blood the monster possessed, she felt something pass through her. Calling it a wave might’ve been too violent - it was more like a ripple, leaving calm water behind it as it passed.
She was yanked to her feet, the movement solid if rather unceremonious.
“Thanks,” she managed to say, as she took a moment to catch her breath.
“No problem,” Frare said, oddly nonchalant for someone who’d just slayed a monster moments before.
The grunts from Damafelce as she managed to slide out from the still kicking and screaming horse brought Aya back to earth slightly. She rushed over to help the downed knight, getting her back onto her feet with a groan.
“Ħoojr meħ hreek,” the woman said as she limped to over to lean on a tree.
“We need to leave,” called one of the paladins from on top of their horses. Through the muffling of the mists, Aya had difficulty judging which one had said it.
“No telling if there will be more,” Damafelce agreed, nodding toward the pair, “Lady Aya, go with the paladins. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get the mare up again in time.”
Before any of them could respond, however, there was a great pfoom from the battlefield behind them, a flash of orange light glaring once, then twice, then three times. Distant as they were, the little group could hear shouts of surprise and alarm. Aya looked around, wondering if there was some new monstrosity that had emerged, but found nothing but placid air.
The two paladins looked to and from one another, equally as confused.
The shouts and the clatter of sword had begun to drop noticeably and within minutes the trees began to appear from the receding fog.
“Is it over?” said Frare, cocking his head in the direction of the battlefield.
“Niche, stay with them,” said Lillian as she wheeled around and galloped towards the encampment. A handful of minutes later, Lillian came up the hill, now visible from a good distance away.
“It would seem that most of the fighting has ended. Only a few stragglers,” she said, “it should be safe to return.”
The charger fortunately was only spooked - no limbs were broken. Once they’d cajoled it up onto its feet, Damafelce was helped up by Lillian onto the horse. Cautiously, they pathed up and down the hill until they broke out onto the divet in the land where the combat had taken place.
The after marks were obvious - tracks of kicked up snow, dark blood splattered in streaks across it, and bodies, many, many bodies. The line of soldiers milled around as they approached, driving blades through the misshapen horrors to ensure that they were well and truly dead.
The main line still held formation, and at its front stood Naia, conversing with a tall, thin figure dressed in black. The group dismounted, Lillian walking forward and pushing through the lines to get to the front. Frare was surveying the scene, tugging at his sister’s sleeve.
“I want to see the battlefield,” he said, pulling her along as Niche pursued.
“Who’s that?” said Sorore as she caught sight of the figure, and began to outpace her brother. Aya hung back at the edge of the group, walking past the soldiers streaked with sweat. She could only hear fractions of conversation that passed at the front of the line, where the mysterious figure, the paladins, and the commander conversed. At one point it seemed Niche was about to draw his sword, only to be stopped by Lillian.
She almost wanted to run again as a horse-like beast emerged from the woods, with the new person swiftly mounting it. She managed to catch a glimpse under his hood as the paladins escorted her away. It was too still and dark to be made of flesh, with some bright highlights around the lips, eyes and cheeks. Some kind of mask, she thought, as she was led up the hill and onto a horse.
It took sometime before all the troops had collected the dead and injured, and more until they were loaded onto horses. The troop made their way up to a flatter, albeit higher piece of land and soon fires and tents were going on again. In the distance she could hear the cries of wounded men, every call making her skin crawl with the reminders of the pale monsters that had hounded them.
For the most part, the paladins remained silent, their mood obviously sour at whatever conversation had taken place. If she hadn’t been afraid of them, perhaps she might’ve even asked a question about what had taken place. Sorore was too busy tending to her brother to answer any queries, the latter having fallen into something of a stupor.
They frightened her as well - the gaze of Sorore made her uncomfortable, the way she seemed to be taking her apart and putting her back together in her mind. Aya couldn’t look at Frare with the memory of his blood soaked hands and unnaturally green eyes. As it was now, she was left frustrated and alone in the heart of the camp, soldiers milling about as they prepared some sort of breakfast for themselves.
Most acted like nothing had even happened - were their lives always like this? Aya wondered. The prospect of constantly being chased by those things in the fog was already blooming a flower of regret within her. That feeling only deepened as the hours went on and the sun began to climb over the mountains to the east.
These weren’t her mountains, they were the far off peaks that she’d gazed off towards when she had a lazy day or a moment’s rest. A small ember of defiance glowed as she decided that she might as well get a closer look. A passing comment made to one of the paladins, checking their gear, and a passive affirmation on the condition that she stay in sight of the camp, and she was off.
It only took her moments to get through the trees, but an overwhelming sense of dread plagued her as she did. She pushed on, frustration building as she felt pain begin to criss-cross her arms and crawl up her elbows.
“Why me?” she said to the empty woods, pushing aside a brace with such force that it broke and dangled. The world began spinning and twisted, pockmarked by regret at the damage to the tree, until finally, she managed to stumble out onto a jut of the land.
The space behind her eyes ached as she clutched at a rock for support, feeling her fingers sink into moss. When she opened her eyes, she was still standing on the spur, much to her surprise. There was some relief in that - at least she wasn’t somewhere entirely different.
As she turned, however, she found that things had indeed changed. The forest that’d stretched around them was larger, thicker, with trees that came up to the spur and above it. The trees themselves seemed younger, an impression that drew her hand away from the rock, leaving behind a coloured hand print.
The lichens that covered the rocks were denser too, multicolour rivulets dotted with occasional delicate, but vibrant flower. She walked up, feeling her bare feet sink into the furry plants, warmed by golden sunlight that streamed down from the peaks that just barely rose above the tips of the pines.
At the crest of the hill, a single large… thing bloomed. Its body was a criss-cross of thick green strands, looking more like a cage than anything else, covered with thick plates of fungus streaked with a sheen of colours as if they’d been glazed with sacred oil. At its head, there was a single, monstrous flower, layers and layers of crimson petals folded into a tight tear-drop.
As she approached, the bloom unfolded outwards with an eruption of glowing pollen. It took the shape of a symbol composed of thick, twisting lines and dots. Aya reached out to touch the ‘flower’, but just as she felt the velvety softness of its edge, the scene vanished, leaving her alone on the spur, forest now smaller, thinner, and bare rock beneath her feet.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
She looked around, not exactly sure what had happened or where she was. To her surprise, she found two creatures behind her. One was the tall, cloaked figure from earlier, a mask’s empty eyes staring out at her from beneath a deep hood. The other was a cat, larger than any she’d seen, thick black fur and eyes like globules of amber. Both were regarding her in silence, almost perfectly still, as she looked around.
“Oh, um, hello,” Aya said, “uh… where am I?”
“You’re on a hill. The camp’s down that way,” said the man, gesturing to the collection of tents slightly visible through the tree cover.
“Right,” she said, her teeth refusing to keep still, “I-I guess I’ll go back.”
The man was silent for a moment, as he seemed to be taking a further measure of her.
“Are you Aya, by any chance?” he said.
She felt something bolt up her spine - it was all too much, the strangers, the monsters, the dreams. All she wanted was a warm fire, a soft bed, somewhere to sleep a dreamless sleep, where she could forget about all that she’d seen and be safe.
“No need to be afraid,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. You must be cold.”
“No, it’s not the cold,” she said, noticing her uncontrollable shaking, “it’s… something else.”
“Oh, do tell. I love mysteries,” said the man, sitting on the rock behind him. Aya thought the look he got from the cat was almost… angry.
“Why not?” she sneered, feeling a tidal wave of frustrations rushing from her chest, “everything’s a mystery. I’m a mystery. My dreams are a mystery. My mother and I were nearly killed by monsters, and no one will explain a thing.”
She regretted those words as soon as they exited her mouth, despite the relief that she felt at their passing. Rather than any expression of anger of distaste, the man seemed to be… enjoying this?
“I was just thinking the same… well, a similar thing.”
“Oh, really?” she huffed, turning away from her.
“You three, you and the two other children that were with you, are a mystery. In fact, I'd say you are the most interesting conundrum that I've happened on in a long time.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aya said, partly in curiosity, partly in anger at being described as a ‘mystery’, and partly out of genuine confusion at the unfamiliar word ‘conundrum’.
“Well, I don't think I can explain it to you in a way that you would properly understand. Just how curious your situation is, I mean. Not that that's an imposition upon your intelligence, mind you,” he quickly added.
Aya planted herself on a rock across from the man, and looked him straight in the face. The smile she managed to muster took more effort than she would’ve thought.
“Try me.”
“Well, I suppose I might as well try,” he said, lacing his fingers and quickly craning his neck around, as if to check for unwanted persons, “in that case, what do you know about magic?”
“Magic?” Aya said, feeling yet another pang of homesickness as she heard her mother’s voice, “ not much, just stories.”
“Like?”
Aya thought back to the tales passed around the fires of the village - myths of witches weaving curses in the depths of the forest, and decided that perhaps this wasn’t the answer the man was looking for.
“My mother always told me that there were a group of mages in Karkos. I think they have a proper guild, or they did anyway.”
“That’s it?” said the man, sounding rather surprised.
“She said that they kept to themselves, and that I should leave them well enough alone,” she said, emphasising the last little bit.
“Anything else?”
“No, nothing.”
Although she’d said no jokes the man chuckled slightly, before continuing.
“I doubt you have much to fear from mages in Karkos, except maybe boring lectures.”
“Wouldn’t be too different from the sermons,” she said, teeth proving utterly incorrigible.
She could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down her back as a wave of anxiety began to roll through her.
“Interesting,” he said.
“What’s ‘interesting’?” she said, as she rolled her shoulders to dispel the sudden discomfort.
“Did you know it's possible to ‘see’ magic?” said the man, gesturing around him, “not a common skill, although in theory most people should be able to learn it.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she said, growing more frustrated by the moment.
“You and your… siblings? Compatriots,” he corrected when she shook her head, “have the most unique magic I’ve ever seen. It looks like…”
The man held out his hand after a moment's consideration, and the air above began to ripple, as if a puddle on a hot summer’s day.
“That’s what most normal people’s magic looks like. Like… a sheet of water over your body. Blurry, almost. In general, the more defined it is, the more precise the flow, the more bright it is, the more power it has. Hardly an in-depth gauge of magical power or skill, but it gives a broad indication. Yours… looks like this.”
If Aya was stunned before, then she was flabbergasted as he drew apart his hands to reveal a line of white between them.
“Like a glowing cage.”
His voice rippled and echoed as the tremors reached her eyes, the whole scene liquefying before her. Her arms were burning once more, the sound of her own teeth chattering taking over the world as she descended down and down and…
Fragments of conversation became more intelligible, scraps forming into words, which formed into sentences. She emerged from blackness as she cracked her eyelids.
“…lease tell me you actually learned something useful,” came one voice, a female voice. Had there been another person with them on the hill. Aya’s cognition was coming through a fog now, maybe there had been.
“W-What happened?” she said, voice hoarse.
“You know, I'm not entirely sure,” said the man, now sitting in front of her, “ I can tell you that I've never seen a case like yours.”
“What do you mean?” she groaned, feeling the soreness of her muscles as she attempted to relax.
“The scars on your arms, they resemble a practice I know,” he said, drawing back, “it’s a technique used to preserve knowledge and stories in some cultures. A bit of an oversimplification, but think of tattooing with magic instead of ink.”
There it was again, another word that she didn’t know.
“What’s ‘tattooing’?” she said, yelping as she attempted to loosen her shoulders. It felt like someone had stuck a hot poker between them.
“The point is,” he said, “yours isn't that. It’s not a projection of memory concentrated within the surface of your skin.”
“What is it then?” she said, trying to rise, and plopping back onto the rock as her legs trembled and gave way.
“I have absolutely no idea. And that is the first time in a long while that I’ve said that,” he added, his long, gloved fingers drumming on the rock.
“Great. Thanks for the help,” she said, with a little more sarcasm than she’d meant.
She managed to struggle to her feet, this time with her legs trembling every step. She’d barely made it a handful of steps towards the camp before anxiety started to tear through her again.
“No. No, no, no, no, no. Not again,” she said, her head throbbing more and more with every step.
The pain only grew, bringing scalding tears to her eyes as she knelt in the grass, trying to shake free of it, to do anything to combat the oncoming rush of suffering. As her surroundings began to blur and fade, she realised that the man was squatting by her side, offering something that glinted in the palm of his hand.
“What are those?” she slurred, the words thick and slow.
“No idea. But it might just help you,” he said as he pressed the hard, cold things into her palm.
Her skin stuck to whatever they were, like cold metal in winter. The coldness spread beyond her, through her arms, soothing the incessant throbbing. The environment began to settle around her, the ache in her head with it.
“It… helps?” she said, feeling her body loosen, although the soreness was more than enough to make her wine.
“Ah,” he said, earning him a quizzical expression from Aya.
“That’s not etching,” he said, seemingly not to Aya, “that’s flooding.”
“What?” came another voice, older and female, prompting a startled yell from Aya.
She could not be certain, but she thought that it had come from the cat at the man’s side.
“Yes. The cat, it talks,” he said, before turning to the cat, “that’s flooding. Its effects were more-or-less abated the moment the magic was drained.”
The cat came closer and sniffed at Aya, who withdrew her hand nervously
.
“That doesn’t make any sense. She should be cooking from the inside out.”
Aya felt a bolt of horror arc through her at the words, and pulled her hand into her chest, clutching at whatever the man had given her. But that was nothing compared to the horror of seeing Lillian stalking up the hill towards her at a frankly inhuman pace.
“Well, a mystery I said you were, and a mystery you remain Aya,” he said, “now, I’m sure you’ll want a explana-”
Aya opened her mouth, trying to warn the man, trying to raise her hand to point past him at the approaching warrior, but that came too late. Lillian ducked down low, and rose into a punch that sent the man sailing over and down the hill.
Aya cried out again, this time in horror as Lillian pulled her to her feet, and shoved her behind her
“Stay here,” she said, with an almost snarl as she drew her sword, wielding the large blade in the same way that Aya might’ve used a twig.
The cat, or whatever looked like a cat, was now glowing with a shower of embers, and drifted down on trails of flame to her compartment. The man was getting up from the grass, seemingly unsteady, but unharmed as Lillian walked towards him, sword raised.
“You,” the paladin said, steely calm, “what did you do?”
“What was I doing, you mean,” said the man, “I was attempting to-”
“Save it,” Lillian snapped, as she gripped the sword with a second hand, moving into a far more aggressive stance.
Aya couldn’t risk it, one of the few people that had shown any interest in answering her questions, someone that had actually provided a measure of relief for her.
“Wait!” she called out as she began to clamber down the hill. Just before she reached Lillian, she felt the ground give way under her. What happened next was almost too fast to comprehend, but Lillian somehow managed to catch her, wheel her around, and keep her sword in the other hand at the same time.
“He wasn’t doing anything,” Aya said between breaths, “he was helping, I think.”
“Explain,” said Lillian, her expression slightly softening from the death mask that’d been there before.
“Well, as I was about to say before you interrupted,” the man began, brushing off the dirt that had accumulated on his clothes, “I was attempting to help her modulate the magic coming from within.”
Lillian looked far from convinced, and turned back to Aya.
“The visions. I couldn't see, I could barely walk. I didn't even know where I was. He gave me- er… he gave me this,” she said, opening her hands.
Dark dust slipped through her fingers, where she was certain there’d been something hard before.
“Uh, it doesn't matter. He gave me them and I felt better. I felt… in control,” she said.
Lillian was evidently not happy, but the resulting conversation, while terse, felt far less dangerous than before. It ended with a definitive announcement that the man was not meant to make any contact with Aya or the other bequeathed, the pain of death being implied.
Aya was promptly led by the wrist back up the hill to the camp, looking back every step of the way at the man, who appeared to be chatting with his cat. The sight was so absurd that she had to chuckle just a little bit. It hit her that it was the first time that she’d laughed in days, and felt free of the ‘curse’ that he said gripped her.
Aya promptly wrenched her hand free of Lillian’s grasp, the latter seemingly confused as Aya walked ahead of the paladin. For the first time in weeks, she was free of the whispers, and actually felt happy.