“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
“We need the laboratory of Margramus,” Vanessa whispered, and Iseret nodded slowly. Both were in the master bedroom; no one else had thought to claim. Large and ornate furniture rose in the near darkness, and where the light caressed the wood, there were ornaments and inlays made of silver and brass.
The night was coming to a close, but even the sun could not fully disperse the thick void magic hanging over the town. Good thing that nearly all dead things were already under control. How long that would last was anyone's guess, but for now, it would suffice.
“Mh. Are you better?” Iseret asked lazily, gazing at the vampire sitting crosslegged on a large cushioned seat, her small form looking like a child in the overly grandiose furniture.
“Yes. Cold blood is not something I relish, but with all the energy in the air, I should be fine come evening. And how about you?” She hesitated, “I did not take too much?” There was an undercurrent of embarrassment, and Vanessa had to consciously keep herself from biting her lips.
Slit-yellow eyes blinked from the shadows calmly regarding her. “It was my choice, and I would do it each and every time. I will be fine.”
Vanessa curled in on herself, catlike in her demeanor, blue-green eyes shining from the folds of her cloak, which was slowly mending itself as the magical inscriptions gathered ambient energy.
As the deathlike sleep of day claimed her, the last sensation was of strong hands tucking her into a nest of blankets before she lost herself to unconsciousness.
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There had been no big celebration, no jubilant crowds after the victory. How could there be? Dead friends and neighbors stood together with livestock and fallen enemies slowly swaying on the spot. Sometimes groaning as if in pain. They had simply stopped where they stood after the last Nordmark soldiers had been chased away. Those chasing them had...naturally...not stopped. Those in the town- when they lost sight, they lost all motivation.
Silence reigned, only broken by the wind- the creaking of wooden beams and branches. Where once the night watch would have announced the dawn and carts, and people would have made a ruckus, there was only the quiet whisper of the night breeze.
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The morning came, and the girls and Calvin ate some dry travel rations before venturing outside. Alea regarded Alyssa with some trepidation. The illusion anchored in the amulet covered her most obvious changes, but she was thinner, and there was a stillness to her that was disconcertingly unnatural.
And Alea could feel the absence of light, like an emptiness in the fabric of life where her friend walked beside her.
Mireille seemed mostly relieved and teased Cyrus, who was still very grumpy and not completely himself.
Calvin was silently eyeing them as they walked to the town center. He had intended to talk to Brecht in private, but Mireille had insisted, and the rest simply followed along.
“There you are.” Brecht smiled, but seeing the falseness in the cheer wasn't difficult. “Care to explain what happened yesterday?” He had been talking to Isolde and Rolf, accompanied by a small group of rebels while inspecting the marketplace.
The sun shone on them, and the trampled snow glittered in the bright light. There was an undercurrent of decay in the air, a faint smell of cold death. At the corner of a street stood several corpses swaying in a nonexistent wind. Undead rodents formed a mound beside an empty market stall. One of them burst into tiny golden flames as the sun shone fully on the bleached bones, and with a soft crack, the skeleton fell to the ground inanimate once more.
Calvin took the lead and answered, “We had some difficulties. The enemy was well prepared, and some powerful undead accosted us. So Alyssa thought it necessary to force matters.”
“Mh. She had to force matters, you say. If I had not been there, I would simply nod and smile. If anyone gets wind of what happened, she will be hunted by the churches and us, us they will ask some pointed questions...when, not if, that happens.”
“I honestly don’t think you could have survived without her intervention. And if it helps any, she told of a vision by Charys. And I believe her.” Calvin winced at the way that sounded spoken out loud.
Brecht and Isolde made a warding symbol at the mention of the goddess. “Don’t blaspheme her. Not here, not now.” Brecht looked serious for once.
Alyssa frowned, then straightened and raised her right hand, on the palm of which a stylized tear shone like liquid silver.
Isolde took a step closer, and a look of wonder came over her features. “That is her symbol. Charys symbol.”
“Bah. Could be a simple counterfeit to impress us and divert attention from her.” Rolf grumbled but without much heat.
Brecht regarded them for a moment, then nodded, “I don’t think it’s fake. And if it isn’t, you are very close to blasphemy yourself.”
“I think we could be more thankful being alive and able to argue about it,” Mireille interjected with a glare. “It sounds like you had everything well in hand, but you didn’t.”
Isolde pointed to the living dead at the street corner. “Those were some of the folks who died from the branding. What do you think their families and neighbors think about them coming back to life and rotting on some stretch of road.”
“It would have happened with or without me,” Alyssa said quietly. “The void magic that the Nordmarks unleashed would have raised them sooner or later. Only when it happened that way they would have tried to kill you.”
Brecht and his men eyed her warily.
Isolde nodded, “You might well be right, but desecrating the dead, even when done to help people, will only rarely win their goodwill.”
“Your undead riders were quite helpful,” Rolf said, surprising them. “They held off some of the Nordmarks that had climbed the walls.” He raised his arms in exasperation. “What? I hate that she did what she did, but I can see why. With their power…” he nodded at the girls and Calvin, “...they could have simply left. That I personally don’t like them does not mean I can’t see what they were doing.”
“Right you are.” Brecht sighed. “What do you intend to do now?”
“We will need some time to heal and recuperate. Then we will see if we can find a solution to the undead and then we will leave.” Calvin said.
Alea took Alyssa’s right hand, turning it so she could see the symbol. “Good.” She whispered so that only Alyssa could hear.
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Lieseleta stood behind the large table of her late father's study. Big bookcases reached for the distant ceiling, and smaller tables held everything from an astrolabe to a glass decanter containing spirits. The ceiling featured a painting showing the arrival of the first king of Margrinar on the shores of what would become the kingdom.
Heloise was beside her, looking out of the window.
“What do we know about the situation in Nordmark?”
“They have rebelled and allied with the lich queen. At least, that seems most likely with the reports of undead we have been getting. Couriers have reached the northern army and found it in open warfare with the wolf tribes. We put an end to that and commanded them to retreat into and fortify the encampment at the border. The wolf tribe seems to have used that as an invitation to raid deep into our, or to put it better, rebel territory.”
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“Do we know anything about the academy group that was to train there?”
“They seem to have gotten between the various warring forces. Reports are incomplete and contradictory. I’m sorry, Liese.”
“We have to end the rebellion of the coastal cities. We cannot afford to divide our attention. Have all the lords brought their levies?”
“No. We still have many that want to wait and see, citing the danger to their fiefs and responsibilities to their people as excuses why they still did not follow our call for muster.”
“Can we make an example of one or two of them?”
“I think that is what might be needed.” Heloise's golden eyes gleamed as she turned to regard her niece.
“Then we do so. Who should we target first?”
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Calvin stayed to talk to Brecht and his group while Alyssa, Mireille, and Alea went back to the inn.
Entering, they found the common room deserted but for the innkeeper absentmindedly sweeping the floor with a broom.
“Ah. You survived.” He nodded, but there was a bit of added worry in his gaze as he spoke. He nervously brushed back his greying hair and then smoothed his apron.
Rachel nodded at them from the door to the kitchen. “Do you want some breakfast? It’s a bit cold by now, but I can heat it and have it ready in a minute.”
“That would be great!” Mireille answered enthusiastically. Alea nodded.
Together they took a seat at ‘their’ table. Alyssa rubbed at the glass panes in the window, cloudy from condensation, trying to see outside.
Alea sat down beside her and shuffled closer before taking her right hand again.
Alyssa looked at her curiously but then let her have her way.
“I’m cold and hungry. I hope they have some honey.” Mireille complained.
“Where is Iseret?” Alyssa asked.
“No clue. She was gone as soon as we got into the house last night, and I did not see her in the morning. Why?” Mireille stretched like a cat, then winced and looked pitifully at Alea. “Alea...could you have a look at my leg again? It still hurts.”
“Mh. Bones are difficult.” The dark-haired girl nodded as she continued to inspect Alyssa’s hand. “Later when we are back in our room.”
“And now you have a holy symbol in your palm. Can you make water into wine or something nifty like that?” Mireille kicked her feet and smiled a bit mischievously.
“Ask Alea. I’m no saint, at least not that I’m aware of anything like that. The symbol was quite a surprise to me too. I found it in the morning when I washed my hands.” Alyssa shrugged, then gave an inadvertent giggle as Alea brushed her small fingers over the center of her palm, tickling her.
“I’m glad you can still laugh like that,” Mireille said softly with a more serious look.
“Me too,” Alyssa replied with a pained smile.
“We have to get a laboratory.” Alea finished her inspection and let go of the hand she had been holding. “Without some tools, I can do nothing.”
“What could you do with those?” Alyssa asked interest and a bit of hope in her eyes.
“I told you that I had some notes. I also have more memories, and I think I might be able to help stabilize your condition.”
“You think it needs that?” Mireille asked, a bit alarmed.
“Yes. There is a blessing and something else helping her. But it will not last forever...might not even last a few months to a year.”
“Why?”
“Why, what?”
“...not make it last? She is a goddess, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know enough about religion, but there was always that bit about the gods working through us and helping without intervening directly. Something about a covenant of the elder gods.” Alea answered. “I think she stretched that quite a bit already.”
“And you mean that what she did was what she could get away with?”
“Something like that.”
“Bringing me back even as I am now was not a small favor,” Alyssa interjected quietly.
They ate and went back to their room. Mireille helped Alea mend some tears in their clothes, and Alyssa used water magic to clean and polish their dirty laundry and boots.
Cyrus remained downstairs, begging some food from the kitchen. As Alyssa raised an undergarment against the light falling in from the window, inspecting it for stains, she saw the eyes blinking at her from underneath the bed, and she smiled wryly at the Alp in the form of a cat nesting in the darkness.
Whiling away their time with mundane chores eased by magic, the day passed, and the sun sunk toward the horizon.
“Are you really, really okay?” Mireille had grown bored of sewing, even using the magic her grandmother had bestowed on her, and was lying on her back on the bed behind Alyssa, who read the books on void magic she had bought that day long ago in the market.
Putting the book down, Alyssa turned and regarded her friend. “What should I say? I really don’t want to think about it too deeply.”
“You laughed.” Mireille scooted closer and hugged her waist from behind. “Can’t be so bad then, can it?”
“Maybe.” Alyssa lowered her head, and her white hair fell down, obscuring her features. “It's like standing before a river, and you can’t see the shore. What if there is no shore? And you swim and swim, and you can no longer turn back?”
“Then stay and don’t swim?”
“I fear I stepped into the river some time ago.”
A knock sounded on the door. Shouting for whoever it was to come in, Rachel opened the door and brought a platter with some sliced meat, potatoes and beans. “I thought you could maybe use some more food. You did not come down for lunch, so I wanted to bring you at least dinner?”
“Thank you!” Mireille perked up. “That’s really nice of you.”
“The least I can do after you saved me.” The young woman blushed and put down the platter on the small table, grabbing a rag stuffed into her belt to clean a bit of dust.
“What do you think of our victory?” Alyssa asked.
“I...I’m glad that I’m free and not burned to death in the garrison. And that my father is healthy.” She looked shyly to the side and bit her lip before continuing. “But the dead scare me. I only heard stories.” She quieted down and then blurted out, “They are not in pain, are they? They groan like they are.”
“They shouldn’t,” Alyssa spoke up. “It's complicated, but there should not be much left that could feel pain.” Secretly she felt a bit unsure as their studies never touched on the mechanics of necromancy that much.
“Could you….could you let them sleep again? I know it is too much to ask when you helped so much, but I know some of them and…” She bit her lip again.
“If I do, they will become like they are now, only without any control. The only thing we could do is maybe bless them…” She looked at Alea, who nodded, “...or burn them. That could be a bit difficult in winter.”
“We could manage,” Rachel said, brightening a bit. “I will tell Father, and he will speak with Brecht. I think everyone would like them to be at peace again.” Turning and leaving the room in a hurry, she swallowed and added, “Thank you again.”
Footsteps descended the wooden stairs, and then it was silent again.
“I could bless them.” Alea adjusted her blindfold.
“We could burn them that would end any undead shenanigans for good.” Mireille shrugged.
“I think we should go with what Alea said. Perhaps we could burn the animals.” Alyssa mused.
“Let's eat first and let Brecht and Calvin decide what they want to do...tomorrow.” Mireille yawned. “I’m still wasted from the fighting and healing.”
Eating the meal, they found it surprisingly palatable.
“This Rachel girl is really nice. And she is a good cook.” Mireille praised before looking at Alyssa's empty plate. “Why don’t you eat?”
“I can’t. I no longer get hungry.” Alyssa looked uncomfortable.
“Why?” Mireille looked at her with a stubborn set to her mouth.
“You know why. Please don’t make me say it.” Alyssa frowned.
Alea put a hand on Mireille's shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you, of all people, sorry ?” Mireille rubbed at her eyes. “It’s me that was thrown from the damn gatehouse like the idiot I am. What I did most was lie on the ground and be useless. If I had been better and not such a cursed fool, she would not have had to cast that spell.” Tears dripped from her eyes as she stood up and quickly walked to the door.
“No! Stay,” Alyssa grabbed her friend's arm as she passed her by. “You did do nothing wrong.”
Mireille struggled to pull her arm out of Alyssa’s grasp but did not put any strength into it.
Alyssa stood up and embraced her. “I was not going to survive that anyway. If there is an idiot among us, it's me. I could have renounced the void magic, used the cumbersome techniques of the academy, used fire, water, summoning. Anything. But I used void. It was easier, much more powerful, and it was special. I was special. I could be someone, and I mattered. I’m glad that my last spell was to protect all of you. To save you. It could have been something silly like killing some wildlife, training a new spell, or simply the void magic accumulating in this sorry land. But I did it for you. I would not want it any other way.” The burning in her eyes grew, but there were, as she was getting used to, no tears.
Mireille gave up on removing her arm and hugged Alyssa back for all she was worth. “I…I will never give up on you even when you are…” she whispered, “...no longer alive.”
Alea stood and walked closer, trying to hug them both but with her shorter arms only half-succeeding. “Me too.”
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Margramus rubbed his hands and grimaced a bit at the lingering pain from the blood crystals embedded in his skin. Even healing magic had not been sufficient to remove those. He gripped the bell pull before realizing its uselessness. Sighing, he moved toward the kitchen. Some stale bread and dried fruit would tide him over until he got to one of the inns or taverns that were still open for business.
The kitchen was dark and silent as he grabbed the bread and put some butter and preserved pears on the platter. Balancing all of it, he returned to his study, pushing the door open with his foot. As he entered, he felt a cold bite on the skin of his neck.
“Quite arrogant, are we? You leave the correspondence with the Nordmarks lying around for any spy to see. Tsk, tsk.” A husky woman's voice with a slight hiss on the consonants sounded in his ear.
The platter with the food fell from his weakening grasp, shattering on the carpeted floor, spilling bread and pears on the fine fabric.
“W..who…” While trying to distract his assailant, he tried to get his wand out of his sleeves, only to see the object of his desire waved before his eyes.
“Are you looking for this little piece of wood? Seems like it could be dangerous in the wrong hands. I will be keeping it for now.”
“What do you want? Is it gold? I have some in my strongbox.”
“No. Not right now. Now I’m in the mood for some answers.”
With surprising strength for the slender arms gripping him, he was slammed against the wall, the dagger still at his throat. Slit-yellow eyes regarded him coldly set in an angular, beautiful face.
“And do take your time. I want to know it all.”