Aya had the distinct feeling of being courted around like a sack of flour. Almost as soon as Lillian had taken her rest, they were being moved again. Despite Niche’s indirect answer to the question, Aya knew that it was the monsters.
She had felt the cold as soon as she had entered the town. At first, she had hoped that it was just the chill morning air, made worse by swirling mists that seemed to drag themselves across the cobbles. But no, this cold was something deeper, and more malevolent than mere morning mist.
Yet, it was not the same as the icy panic that had clawed at her breast and drove her to flee through the northern panic. It was not less threatening, but perhaps more placid - it oozed towards her, rather than stalked or charged, thick not swift, and more odious than predatory.
That was, until the early morning, when that now familiar horror began to clutch at her insides. She tried to ignore it, to push it down and hope that it was merely a side effect of that awful river, but she knew that it was nothing that simple nor comforting. The creatures were back, and now, she thought, as she walked briskly up the cobbled streets, they had surrounded them.
In the trees beyond the houses, she could see the fog rolling in the dull mid-morning light. She was certain it was part of the same mass that had pursued them, somehow, all the way from the Giant’s stair. Beyond that, it was impossible to tell what number or of what kind these pursuers were, but Aya didn’t need to imagine.
The misshapen, bulging bodies, the contorted limbs, the shambling, jerky steps, the teeth, the claws. All burned bright in her memory as she squeezed Sorore’s hand. It was smaller than hers, and for the first time, Aya considered the fact that she was probably not much older than herself.
There had been no real time for introductions, or a proper discussion. Aya found that she wanted to know about the girl, although she wished that it would not be under the fate they both apparently shared. There were no words as they marched up the hill and out onto a rise, turning into a high wall and then they came to a church.
It was not all that much different from the one in Visaya, save a good deal larger. They found themselves inside, among a press of people, as one speech was delivered from a knight. Aya wasn’t really listening, at least until Efrain marched in and loudly declared that they would have to hold out for two days further.
The prospect of fending off an attack at night from the creatures disturbed her more than she could say. After the speeches were completed, Efrain came over to the paladins, and Lillian went with him to investigate… something. Aya couldn’t quite hear what it was, and found herself unwillingly being herded towards the altar as Niche insisted that it was good for the Bequeathed to take a special position in this holy place.
Either tired or oblivious, he failed to notice Soroe peeling off, and quickly vanishing into a side door. They reached the altar with no further issues, save for Niche sitting heavily on the steps of the dias. Frare sat beside him, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wood of a small pulpit.
Aya looked around at the people beginning preparations, most likely for a siege, though she did not have the knowledge to see exactly what they were doing. She didn’t like the waiting, and quickly, she began to pace, slowly at first, then in increasing circles.
“What are you doing, my lady?” said Niche.
His eyes were baggy, with a thin bloodshot quality that informed Sorore that he’d not been sleeping much, if at all.
“Go to sleep, Niche,” she said, “you’d better rest up for whatever is ahead.”
Niche was going to protest, when Frare cut in.
“Nothing’s going to happen to us here,” he said, “at least, not yet, I don’t think. They don’t like attacking outside of night.”
Niche argued with Frare about how exactly he was sure of that, and what knowledge he had of such creatures. In that moment, Aya began to edge away, but she was not subtle enough, nor was Niche as unaware as he’d been about Sorore.
“I can’t allow you to slip away, my lady,” he said, “there may be a battle at any moment.”
“As it happens, paladin, I might be able to mind her,” said a voice from behind.
Damafelce walked up from the central row, and gestured at Aya.
“I’m sure that you wouldn’t mind a respite,” she said, “and I wouldn’t mind a second pair of eyes to search the area.”
Aya looked imploringly at the Paladin, whose mouth was set in a grim line.
“I promise not to take her beyond the church’s bounds. Surely that would not present much more significant danger,” she said.
Niche, whether it was because he was glad of the respite, or genuinely trusted the knight, relented. His head lulled, and within moments, he had fallen fast asleep. Frare waved his hands in front of the man and returned to his sitting position.
“Go on, do what you need to. I’ll keep an eye on him,” he said.
Damafelce chuckled at that, but offered no comment.
“Why did you ask for me?” Aya asked as she followed the knight to the side door.
“Why,” said the captain without turning around, “because you looked bored, ready to slip off and cause some trouble. Best keep you where I can see you.”
“I was going to follow Efrain,” she said, unimpressed that she was yet again on a leash.
“Hm,” she said, “well, perhaps he doesn’t want to be followed. Either way, I’m going to the roof. Perhaps he’ll be there.”
They emerged from the spiral stair onto a walkway high above the ground. Efrain was not there, but the tall woman and the large cat were both sitting on the edge of the platform, looking out into the forest.
“My apologies for disturbing you,” began Damafelce, drawing the attention of both of them.
There was a distinct satisfied air from the cat, but the woman just smiled blankly and returned to regard the forest, kicking her legs in the air.
“But,” she continued, “I don’t suppose you have anything to report.”
To Aya’s surprise, it was not the woman that responded, but the cat. Its amber eyes glinted in the sunlight as it padded up, the voice of an older woman resounding through the air.
“No. The fog remains where it is. Not hide nor hair of any creature has been seen, save for a shadow here and there,” it said.
Aya was stuck, yet again wondering at the marvel of such a being, but also more than a little afraid. Still, the voice sounded friendly enough, and it was familiar in an odd, almost dream-like way. Damafelce did not seem particularly surprised or shocked by the occurrence, but bowed her head in respect.
“As you say, my lady,” she said.
“Oh, some courtesy!” said the cat, in mock amusement, “I thought that it was all but forgotten in your ranks.”
“I am from Niethe, my lady,” said Damafelce, “all children are taught that spirits are best treated with respect. Those who fail to comply often face beatings.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The cat seemed genuinely pleased that there was someone that offered her a modicum of appreciation. The two began speaking about a whole host of things - observations of the forest, the defensibility of the structure, the nature of the enemy. Aya was very much left to her own devices, despite Damafelce’s portended ‘minding’.
She went over and sat by the tall woman, who continued kicking her legs over the edge. Aya waited for a moment, then another, then another, not sure how to give words to the hundred swirling questions in her mind. She opened her mouth, then faltered before she could even get the words out.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” interjected the woman, “you’re wondering about whether your guardians are right about magic?”
“Well, yes,” she said, “you are a mage, right?”
Without meaning to, her voice dropped to a whisper, a holdover from her village days.
“I mean, I guess so?” she said.
Claralelle, Aya thought her name was, tilted her head and looked up at the sky, considering the question.
“In the sense that I can practise magic, and have learned about it, sure!” she said, her kicks at the air picking up tempo, “but most people can do that if they really want to.”
“So, is magic bad, then?” asked Aya.
Clarallell lay back, still kicking her legs the whole time as she watched the overcast clouds roll on slowly.
“Sure.”
Aya’s brow furrowed at the surprising candidness of her answer.
“What do you mean, sure?” she said, somewhat indignant.
“I can hurt people with it, if I really wanted to,” Clara said, “really hurt them, in ways I don’t think you could quite imagine. Torture them. Kill them. Same thing with animals. I could steal, cheat, lie with magic helping me.”
“But that’s like saying iron is bad because it can make a sword. Or a spear. But it can be made into coins or a plough. Isn’t magic the same?”
Clara turned to her, with a searching look.
“Why do you care?”
It was not asked with the sort of searing sarcasm that would’ve implied hypocrisy on Aya’s part. It wasn’t really asked with much emotion at all.
Aya stopped, considering why she did care so much. She knew almost nothing about it or the mages that practised it. It was a world entirely outside her own, not really affecting her family or her friends or herself, save… save for the scars, the visions, the nightmares, the malformed creatures.
That was really the root of it, wasn’t it - she cared because she wanted it to go back to normal. Ordinary, boring normal, where she spent the days working in her home kitchen and hearing her mother’s stories. And magic, whatever it was and however it was used, was at the heart of it, or so she thought. In that sense, she supposed, it really didn’t matter whether it was good or evil.
She reached for some words to try to express this epiphany, and found herself rather lacking. Claralell instead, offered some for her.
“No. Magic works. It’s not any more evil than the iron in a sword. It just works,” she said, stretching out her limbs.
“You could’ve just answered with that,” she mumbled.
“Maybe,” said the older woman, “are there any more questions you want answered?”
Aya thought for a while, and she asked a question that had been niggling in the back of her mind ever since Efrain had pressed the dark crystal into her hands. Dropping her voice even lower, she leaned over the girl and whispered.
“Do you think- Do you think Efrain would teach me if I asked?”
Clara’s eyes seemed to grow brighter at the proposal, and she smiled like she would like nothing better.
“I dunno!” she said.
Well, thought Aya, that was a waste of a question, wasn’t it?
She didn’t think to ask that much more, and Clara seemed content to simply count the clouds. The afternoon, despite the preternatural chill, still had traces of the summer’s warmth, so it was pleasant enough. Aya’s eyes began to slip down as the world before her fluttered. It was probably not a good idea to fall asleep up here, she thought, even as she was laying back.
Presently she slipped into that netherworld between sleeping and dreaming, where time doesn’t seem to pass at all, except the progression of her own thoughts. Even those quickly fell backwards into the mists of forgetfulness, and soon Aya was imagining lands unseen and sounds unheard.
There was the chirping of birds, she thought, even though she’d heard no birds in this place. It was strange that she was only realising this now, but there was no wildlife at all that she’d noticed. Still, there it was, birdsong, and something else between the wind of the churchtop and the quiet conversation of the cat spirit and Damafelce.
She thought it sounded an awful lot like cloth, rustling in the wind, but sharper, more warm. She quickly realised as she fell further into this bizarre half-consciousness, that it was the gentle crackle of a fire, of many fires. The roof of the church didn’t seem so hard anymore, and her feet were no longer dangling over the precipice.
Aya’s eyes cracked open, just slightly to reveal a blurry scene around her. Her vision’s edges were tinged with darkness, and the colours seemed to run and merge like dyes from the hot pools. The sky was the same, but the blue was richer, more vibrant, and hedged in with gently wavering stalks. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Aya knew that wasn’t quite right - she had been above the ground, not lying on the sweet, long grasses that danced in front of her.
Was this a memory? Perhaps, or some random vision? A dream, or a picture of a land somewhere far away? Aya could not tell, and could barely muster the thought to consider the concepts in the first place. Instead, slowly and with great difficulty, she turned her head.
She couldn’t even raise it to look above the emerald, gold and silver stalks that wafted around her. In between them, she spied the distant glitter of some great body of water, far away and downwards. A hill, she thought, above a sea, though she’d never seen the sea in waking memory.
Above, and to her left, there was a great canopy of lights, hovering in the open sky. Globes of fire, with their own hue, size and turbidity, were standing still, almost as if awaiting instruction. The largest of them had resolved into almost human-like-forms, with robes of long trailing flame, and the smaller lights, though still quite large, clustered around them. From across a great distance, there came a voice, raised in a song, a song unlike Aya had ever heard.
It sounded like several voices, each ducking into and out of each other, all saying the same words. When they came together, the resulting chords were of such purity and beauty that Aya nearly wept at the result. On and on, it sang, wrapping each phrase in different melodies and harmonies.
She was aware now, of an indistinct figure, half hidden by the curve of the hill, long hair flowing into the breeze. Aya strained to crane her head above the grass, to get a clear look at this singer. Alas, her efforts were only met with a further wash of exhaustion, pressing her head back into the earth where she lay.
With a final, long note, the voice closed off the song, or the instruction, or the order, whatever it was. The flame-beings took off in their groups, the great robed figures leading them in all directions. Aya watched as they streaked across the sky, like falling stars brought down so close that she could almost touch them.
The flames resolved themselves into the shape of a young child, younger than Aya, wrapped in threadbare clothes. The scene melted back into blue sky and grey stone and the distant pale fog, and Aya sat up, rubbing at her eyes. She had turned her head to the size and had been gazing out onto the church roof top.
She yawned, considering that this dream had lacked the same chaotic violence of the others, and looked back in the direction she glanced. Against the blue sky, where the girl had been, there was the faintest distortion, a rippled in the air where the sky was just slightly more saturated.
She rubbed at her eyes a second time, trying to determine if this was a trick of the light, or of tired eyes. But no, it was still there, faint, barely noticeable even, but still definitely there. Clara was still staring up at the side, and still kicking her feet off the edge. Aya tugged at her shoulder and pointed at the spot.
“Does that spot, the one near the edge of the roof. Does that look different to you?” she said.
Claralelle sat up, twisted her neck an unnatural amount without moving her shoulders, and stared intently at the indicated spot.
“How so?” she said, not seeming to take any notice of Aya’s aghast expression at the display of disturbing mobility.
“It’s very faint, but it’s blurry, wavy almost,” said Aya, “like the haze over a fire.”
Clara turned back to her, looked deep into her eyes, asked her to hold still, and put her hand on her face. It was a strong hand, very sure of its grip, though that didn’t make the impromptu examination any better. Aya squirmed at the intrusion, though it only took a quick look from Clara before she had what she needed.
“Your eyes look okay,” she said, “so I guess you’re telling the truth.”
“What kind of response is that?” said Aya, frowning.
Clara looked innocently at her with wide, blinking eyes, as if she didn't even understand the question.
“Nevermind,” said Aya, feeling the urge to get away from the woman, “I’ll ask the others if I can check it out.”
And so, she got up, and moved over to where the knight and the spirit were having a quiet discussion. As far as she could tell, the pair were hitting it off rather well, although the cat wasn’t exactly expressive with its actions. Damafelce seemed more relaxed than Aya had ever seen, odd considering there could be a battle at any minute.
“Excuse me,” she said, too quietly for her liking.
Still, both of them turned around to face her with inquisitive looks.
“I think…” she said, feeling rather abashed at the idea now - was it just a product of bleary eyes, “I think there’s something there.”
The two squinted at the area that she indicated.
“I don’t see anything,” said the knight, almost apologetically.
“You’re looking with just your eyes, little one,” said the cat, with an almost maternal tone, “but there is something there.”
The cat rose up, the fur on her paws glowing and she bounded across the rooftop in small hops. She walked across the air, circling the spot as she sniffed and looked at it, and tilted her head inquisitively.
“Strange,” she murmured, almost inaudibly from the length of the rooftop.
After a moment’s consideration she called back to them.
“You, girl,” she said, “come over to me.”
Aya glanced nervously down at the steep roof with its smooth slates, and the narrow ridge at its peak. The sides had a wall, preventing the worst, but it still was not an appetising preference. Damafelce also seemed hesitant at the idea, and was about to speak, before the spirit cut her off.
“Don’t worry about falling. I’ll protect you from any mishap, unless you should willingly throw yourself from the roof.”
Aya looked at Damafelce, who nodded, and gulped before stepping slowly, one foot after another, across the ridge tiles. She wavered more than once, teetering as she threw out her arms to balance. If she was ever in serious danger of falling over, however, she encountered a gust of hot air, righting her in a moment. Finally she made her way over to the edge, where the cat and the distortion hung in the air.
“You have good eyes, my dear,” the cat said, “there is something there. An echo of a person, I think, though it’s weak and… twisted.”
“What does that mean?” Aya said, clutching at one of the towers at the edge.
“You’re familiar with what a ghost is, surely?” she said.
Aya felt a chill of fear - she had certainly heard of ghosts and what they did to waylaid travellers or naughty children.
“You need not worry,” said the spirit, seemingly reading the expression off her face, “most spirits of that kind are harmless. Mere echoes left behind a person when they die bound together through magic. They are rare, mindless, and usually short lived. They stick around only when something anchors them to the world.”
Aya listened, steeled herself, and reached for the distortion.
“Wait, don’t-” the cat began.
Like cracks racing through glass, an outline of a young child bloomed into existence in the air before Aya. She was young indeed, perhaps not more that seven or eight, and was wearing a threadbare dress, and a necklace with some small shard of metal. The girl, the ghost, reached out for Aya’s outstretched hands, and for a second, their fingers met.
A confused rush of pain, misery, horror, and rage exploded into her mind, the fragment around the ghost’s neck, vanishing as her form began to break up. Aya had the distinct feeling of a desperate call for help, or perhaps some answer to a question that she needed to know but had not yet asked.
She could not spare a thought, however, she could only cling to the stone next to her as the emotions roared through her mind.