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[>>Now replaying: Log 1.3 - Feel their haunting presence]

Date: Error

Location: Zephyro’s Domain

//^%^-iller, Demon!//

//Back to the river A—//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E2 %Um…Voni?%

E1 %Just do what it says. Slowly.%

I took another moment to study the long, winding path that snaked around the side of the small mountain and toward the city. The path kept the wall to its left, and while the precipice to the right—facing the open desert—wasn’t quite a 90-degree drop, it was still steep enough that if you fell off the stairs, you’d arrive at the bottom a rolling heap rather than a walking woman. Luckily, the path broadened quickly as it wound down the mountain, and two people would be able to comfortably walk beside each other relatively soon.

Ultimately, I gave Zephyro what I hoped was a confident smile and jerked my head toward the city. “Let’s go and save your kingdom, Vizier,” I said, as if it were as easy as he made it sound.

In reality, I still had to be cautious. Sure, he played the loyal servant to perfection, but that didn’t mean anything. I was becoming more and more certain that this wasn’t just some intricate plot to entrap me, and that he really needed my help. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to plant a knife in my back once we reached the palace, however. Even if he didn’t, not even the Vizier guaranteed that I could use the power Zephyro kept talking about to return home.

This was all getting so damn complicated.

After only a second’s worth of hesitation, Zephyro got going again and his relief was so obvious I could almost feel it, like liquid warmth easing my muscles. It made for much easier walking on the uneven stairs than my earlier nervous tension.

In the end, I was glad I’d been able to keep it together and found a semblance of balance. I didn’t particularly like being off-center and bitching at everyone, like the asshole I had been when I first arrived on Tobes. On the one hand, it was understandable. I’d just died and hadn’t met any of my friends yet, not even Chris. So all my pain, anger, and frustration couldn’t find any other way to express themselves than lashing out at anyone who got close. It had taken Chris to get me out of that rut, and later on, Patti had begun to teach me how not to fall into it again. I wondered what she’d say if she were here right now. Probably something soft and encouraging that brought out the best in me. Most of the time I wasn’t even sure if she used her Gift on me, or if she was just that good of a friend.

Even so, she wasn’t here, and so I had to try to be—

A memory slammed into my mind. It was so vivid, for a second it shattered all sense of what might be real.

> A dark room. A narrow window, showing Ophilum in winter. Cold stone. A warm hearth.

> Olre, sitting in a recliner, wearing that goatee that makes him look like a comic book villain. He won’t shave it off. Says he likes the look. Doesn’t get it, even after I explained it 5 times.

> His eyes are intense, as always. Driven. Driving me.

> “You’re not just some Hedge Knight anymore, Sam. You’re the Torchbearer. You’re a symbol. You’ve got to act like it.”

As I blinked rapidly—the memory fading as quickly as it came—I took two steps at once. It wasn’t a stumble per se, but I had to put a hand on the wall to my left for safety.

“Sultana?” the Vizier asked, reaching out to steady me if necessary.

I moved out of the way of his hand, shaking my head.

“It’s fine,” I said. “Just some memories.”

“You must be feeling unwell. Is there something I can do to be of comfort?” Zephyro replied, clearly not believing me. I would have found that rude if I hadn’t been staggering still, bracing myself against the mountainside.

Still, I kept walking, staring ahead to try to keep my eyes on the horizon, which kind of helped steady my thoughts and steps. I didn’t mean to admit it, but all of this stress was starting to get to me. What would Patti say if she were here? Probably some bullshit about how, while Zephyro had pulled me here, my feelings were my own problem, or something equally right, true, and infuriating.

I noticed that I was starting to fall back into old patterns, however. So instead of telling Zephyro to fuck off, I resolved to make Patti proud, took a calming breath just like she showed me, and smoothed my expression as best as I could.

“Look, Zephyro, I know you want me to do what you believe is best for me, but I can handle myself.”

He gave me a dubious look but nodded before I had to keep him in line.

“Tell me about this threat you’re facing,” I said to distract myself from the memories and fading nausea. “The monsters… What are they called again?”

“Ferals, Sultana. They have already begun to appear on the outskirts of the city.” He trailed off, and for a second and it seemed as though he was concerned about something he saw in the distance, but then he went on. “They should be of no concern to you, Sultana. As long as I draw breath, you will be safe in my Domain.”

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I raised an eyebrow at that. I was hardly some damsel to be carried in strong, muscular arms.

“You know I can handle myself, right?” I asked.

“Indeed, Sultana. However—and I must ask of you one thousand pardons—In our haste, we did not manage to equip you with suitable armaments to fight in my Domain.”

He stopped when he glanced at my face, which I hoped showed a confident smile and not an arrogant smirk.

“That won’t be an issue.”

I really didn’t want to waste what amount of Wish I managed to save up, considering the remote possibility of a battle tomorrow morning, but I could spare a bit of my Wish to make our trip a little safer.

Pulling the scepter I’d woken up with from its loop, I was just about to reach for my Wish when another memory doused my every thought with ultrarealistic violence.

> “Sam!” Chris yells, desperately trying to block the bandit attacking him with his bow.

> In the second it takes me to look, the ugly bastard I am facing tries to sneak in a cheap shot, but I manage to dance back just in time for it to only graze me. What am I even doing here? I’m an IT manager, not some fantasy knight! Nobody ever taught me how to fight. Luckily, my opponent isn’t much better, probably just some farmer who fell on tough times because of the Lord’s recent tax hike.

> Oddly, I find it very hard to care about his plight while he’s trying to stab me with a rusty sword.

> “A little help!?” Chris yells again, and all I can do is grunt something noncommittal. I need to do something, and quick! That weird sound is swelling inside my soul. I promised myself I would never use that ever again.

> But the two bandits are already giving us enough trouble, and there are more coming.

> I still have nightmares about the last time I unleashed this weird magic, and I am scared of what will happen when Chris finds out I can use magic, but I’d rather have him alive and hating me than dead and me hating myself.

> With a desperate yell, I allow that weird bell sound to rise to my head, fill my lungs, suffuse my soul.

> “Shit! She’s a Mageling!” yells the bandit I’m fighting.

> “Then kill her, you idiot!” says the other as he finally breaks through Chris’s bow to disarm him. “She will fetch a fine prize if we claim she did mind magic!” He punches Chris in the face.

> As my only friend in this fucked up world goes down with a gargling cry and the bandit gets ready to end him, I toss my sword at the fucker to buy Chris some time. That’s a stupid move because that leaves me with my torch as my only weapon, and while it’s great that this thing never goes out, in the end, it’s just a stick on fire. Before I can even pass it to my main hand, the outlaw I’m fighting steps into my defenses for a sucker punch.

> The same moment his fist digs deep into my solar plexus, I silently wish my torch was a real weapon. A desperate gasp leaves my lips. The air shimmers like a rainbow mirage, and I ready myself to see horrors beyond comprehension.

> Instead, the damn torch flashes with power and unrestrained fury.

> A couple of moments later, the air smells of burned meat and despair, and I am helping Chris to his feet. God, I really like the guy but sometimes I wish I wasn’t the brawnier of us two, for what little that was worth.

> “Can you fight?” I ask, checking wild-eyed for more bandits to arrive.

> “Think so,” he replies.

> “Good, then take this,” I say and hand him his bow. Or, well, what used to be his bow. It was a broken piece of wood held together by some string before, and now it’s completely repaired, made of something I guess is carbon steel, and sporting enough pulleys to break a Guinness World Record for draw strength.

> “How did you…?” he asks, but I shut him up.

> “I have no fucking idea. Can you use this?”

> He smirks and grabs one of his arrows. “Better than you’re using that,” he says, pointing at the Torch that’s singing my gambeson.

> “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I frantically smack the smoldering cloth.

I staggered, holding my head to brace against the flood of memories. That had been so long ago, Chris had still been a “he” in my head. Of all things, why was I remembering almost getting my ass kicked by random bandits? Why now? And why so vividly?

“Sultana, are you alright?” Zephyro asked. He raised a hand to help me, but I waved him off.

“I… I think so,” I said, still blinking afterimages from my eyes. Not more than a second could have passed, but that memory felt like it had taken far longer than that. I looked up at Zephyro, trying to see if he was fucking with me, but all I got from his face was earnest compassion.

So I decided to gamble a little.

“I keep getting these weird flashbacks that make me feel as if I was really there. In a way, they feel even more real than this.” I gestured broadly at everything. “More immediate, you know?”

Zephyro grimaced, but his voice didn’t stray from its confident calm. “Ah Sultana, I must again offer you a thousand apologies. I do not know why this is happening, but I suspect that it might have to do with the haste with which we brought you here. Perhaps because you are different from us, the Domain reacts to you differently?”

“Maybe,” I said, straightening. The nausea had passed, fortunately. “We won’t find out by standing around here, though.”

“Indeed, Sultana. I just worry about what I can do, should this happen to you in a fight.”

“As I said, I can handle myself,” I said, squaring my shoulders to fight down the sudden unease I felt about using my Wish. That memory had been a long, long time ago, after all.

So I grabbed a tight hold of the scepter, took a deep breath, and searched for the Wish. Ever since I’d died on Earth, that power was my constant companion, a gentle force that suffused my entire being at all times of the day, whether awake or asleep. While I still wouldn’t go as far as saying I was comfortable wielding vast cosmic powers, my control these days was a far cry from the lucky fumbling that saved Chris’s ass and mine. It had taken some trial and error to figure it out, but in the end, the Wish had gotten me out of so many difficult situations that I’d long lost count. I’d become familiar with it, learned how it tended to gush out of my soul if it wasn’t used, like a reservoir constantly filling with divine energy that craved nothing more than to shape, create, advance.

It was ancient, powerful, and eternal. It was the thrumming void of space, the midnight hum of distant city life, the dusk-filled chitter of forests, and the dawn-soothed chirping of fields. More than anything, though, it was the raging song of bells at noon.

And now, in this strange, sand-swept world, with unknown dangers surrounding me and precious little time to stave them off, it was… gone?

In the center of my soul, where the Wish should reside, there was nothing.

I stared at the scepter, dumbfounded.

Where I expected the ringing of bells, filling my soul with solace, I only found a hollow silence.

It was like having a rug pulled out from under my confidence, leaving me in a free fall, and the certainty of hurt grew inch by plummeting inch.