Chapter 4 – Whispers

It was a beautiful night, and he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it.

Sidan was in a large grassy field, sitting close to the entrance of the hidden bunker, that he had teleported into minutes ago. He stared forward, almost motionless, as he slowly chewed on rations that he’d found in there. Time was of the essence, but he had to recover some strength before starting the six hour walk towards Dordox.

Valronia Forest was on the other side of the kingdom compared to Estrellis, close to the border between Morance and Korelon, and he had teleported far enough that the sun had already set. The moon was bright, and almost full. This far from the lights of civilization, the sight of the stars should have been breath-taking. On any other night, he would have admired the show, and enjoyed the warm summer breeze, but right now? He had other things on his mind.

He could barely spot Valronia in the distance, an amorphous band of darkness that stretched from horizon to horizon and contrasted sharply with the unassuming plains in Sidan’s vicinity. Valronia wasn’t really the kind of forest you would go to have a pleasant morning stroll. It was large, dark, didn’t have any well-travelled trails, and was populated by dangerous wildlife both mundane... and monstrous.

The term “monster”, in casual language, referred to any wildlife (as well as the occasional plant or fungus) that possessed dangerous magical abilities. In academic terms, it meant mostly the same thing, with the added specificity that monsters were anomalous magic users that belonged to otherwise magicless species. This was opposed to the Gifted, which referred to entire species that could use magic. They tended to be rather limited in that regard, however, with the exception of humans and drakes.

In any case, the average monster tended to be more threatening than the average Gifted, and Valronia Forest was full of the former. It did lend some weight to the Queen’s theory that the Daughter of Light’s sword was in there, as monsters tended to congregate in great numbers around powerful magic items. He’d heard once that there was debate from experts on whether the monsters were created by the artifacts, simply attracted to it, or a mix of both, but that was beside the point.

The point was that Valronia was dangerous, people went missing in there all the time, and Sidan didn’t fancy his chances of getting out in one piece even if he had an adventuring crew by his side. And that was without counting the task of actually finding the damn sword. He wasn’t even sure if the bribe Queen Estrel had given him would be enough to tempt some poor fools to accompany him.

He… well, he could deal with that later. He’d done enough delaying already.

Sidan got up, then flipped shut the trapdoor that led to the underground bunker, and the now-broken teleportation circle. The camouflaged hatch blended in so well with the surrounding grass and dirt that no one would have been able to spot it if they didn’t already know it was there. He’d also seen a few faintly glowing diagrams on the walls inside, which he assumed warded off against magical detection.

Taking one last look around to make sure he was in the right direction, Sidan started the walk towards Dordox. If he continued south for a few hours, he was supposed to find a river that would lead him right to his destination.

He’d found replenishing potions in the bunker, and took the opportunity to completely heal all his injuries. He’d eaten his fill as well, and felt energised enough to make the walk in respectable time. He was still exhausted, of course, and would have loved nothing more than to sink down into a warm bed, but he’d just have to deal.

So why was it so hard to put one foot in front of the other?

The first tear surprised him. By the time the fourth came, he couldn’t fight it anymore, and sank to his knees.

“Fuck…” he muttered, quiet.

The enormity of the situation ahead fully dawned on him. What was he even doing?

The Queen hadn’t chosen him because of his capabilities. He knew it, she knew it, she knew he knew it, and that strange Archibald fellow knew it. On the contrary, it was precisely because he was a nobody that the Queen chose him. He understood her logic, and didn’t hold it against her. But this understanding was not going to make his task any easier.

He wasn’t a thrill seeker, or a glory hound. All he had ever wanted to do was protect his city. He loved Estrellis. He loved Morance. He loved his friends, his mother, his family, and all the people living there. Joining the City Guard had been his way of doing whatever he could to protect those he cared about. It had been a way to bring stability into his life at a time when he really needed it.

Strange, faceless monsters that could break the rules of magic, personally meeting the queen, being tasked with retrieving a legendary artifact… it all sounded like a fairy tale.

He had, of course, fantasized about being given a quest like this, once. What child didn’t?. But to actually live it? The Queen expected him to accomplish all this, and then… what, use the sword against the Slicers? Against that thing in the throne room that had actually seemed intelligent, and could supposedly defeat eleven of the world’s best mages, all at once, in just minutes?

Part of him wanted to make the Slicers pay. To do whatever he could to take back his homeland. The bigger part told him to run as far away from all this as possible.

But he couldn’t. He had a mission. A mission that may have been doomed from the start, but one he would try to finish regardless. He needed to get a move on. And besides, crying had made him feel a bit better.

He took a deep breath, wiped his tears away, and found the strength to take another step.

You poor soul… It is a great burden you carry on your shoulders. I’m sorry that I’ll have to make it heavier.

The whisper, quiet, yet so clear, startled him. He grabbed his sword’s pommel, ready to unsheathe it at a moment’s notice, his eyes digging holes in the shadows draped between the trees.

“Who’s there?” he shouted.

Please be quiet. Think, and I will hear you.

He did just that, replying to the voice that was apparently in his head.

Who are you? What do you want?

We do not have much time, it replied, ignoring him. The leader of the ones you call the Slicers, she is after the same thing you are. If you do as the queen told you, she will get there before you.

His heart sank. He had absolutely no reason to believe this strange voice, and yet… he knew it was telling the truth.

Sidan. Listen to me. It’s not hopeless. It will be hard, but you can win this. I made sure of it. All you need to do is let me guide you, and then to wield my sword.

His thoughts screeched to a halt. “My” sword?

No fucking way… Are you…?

Not quite. I am a shadow of a shadow, a whisper of a whisper of the real Luciel Anwar. But she created me specifically for a situation like this. If you let me, I can show you where the sword is. You can get there before your adversary. You will figure out the rest.

The rational part of his mind told him to ignore this voice. But none of what had happened in the last few hours was rational, was it? Was it that farfetched that the ghost of the Daughter of Light was asking him to follow in her footsteps and wield the same weapon she had used to seal the demons away?

…Okay, maybe it was, but his gut feeling told him the Queen’s plan had been doomed from the start. If there was even the slightest chance this voice was telling the truth, then he had to take it. Even if it meant braving the depths of Valronia Forest alone. Even if it meant taking the fight against the Slicers by himself. It might have been just based on hope, yes, but hope was all he had left. Besides, if this was some sort of enemy ploy to divert his attention, he imagined there were much more plausible ways to go at it.

I’ll do it, he told the voice, really hoping that he wasn’t making a mistake.

Good, it replied.

The next moment, his mind was flooded with new information, and he knew how to get to the sword. He tried not to be too bothered by the mental intrusion. It wasn’t exactly a mental map, but he had a good idea of the path he needed to take, communicated in something other than words and images. He noted the path wasn’t a straight one, and took a significant detour. Before he could ask, the voice answered.

Follow the path closely. Before getting to the sword, you will find a house. Explain the situation to the woman living there. It will become clear why later. I wish I could tell you more, but I am almost out of time. He is currently distracted, but not for long. Once his attention turns back here, I won’t be able to talk to you anymore. I’m sorry.

He? Who is “he”? Sidan asked.

I cannot say. Even telling you this much is dangerous. Which brings me to my final point. Do not tell anyone about this conversation. Do not write about it, gesture about it, or hint about it in any way. If someone asks you how you found your way to the sword, lie, and play dumb. Understood?

He mentally nodded.

Thank you, the voice said, its quiet whisper fading by the second. You have a good heart, Sidan. I believe you will make a fine hero. When the time come, I hope you can find the strength to do what Luciel couldn’t.

At this point, the voice was so quiet that Sidan had trouble understanding its individual words, even when projected directly into his mind. Still, the last one uttered by the voice before it faded completely was unmistakable, for it was communicated more with raw, real emotions, than imagined sounds.

Forgive.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

* * *

Valronia Forest was even darker than he had imagined. Not only could he barely see a thing, but there was also an oppressive atmosphere permeating the whole place. Was this shape that had quickly flown over him a minute ago a harmless owl, or some sort of flying monster that would have sucked his blood had it been hungry? Did him stepping on and loudly breaking a twig earlier wake up a predator that was now quietly stalking him?

He thanked the stars that the moon was out, or else he might have truly been blind.

Sidan was moving through the dense trees at a brisk pace, keeping his ears trained, and furtively looking in all directions for potential dangers. Though he tried to stay completely alert, he couldn’t help but replay his conversation with that whisper of a voice. More specifically, that last word: Forgive.

Assuming it had been telling the truth, then that meant… what, exactly? That Luciel had desired to forgive the demons after having already dealt with them? Or that she had wanted to forgive them before that, but couldn’t? He found that hard to believe. Accounts from that period had been so distorted and exaggerated over the centuries that it was hard today to separate the facts from the truth. Still, one thing was clear: the demonic invasion had been an absolutely horrific affair.

The winged, horned humanoids had indiscriminately slaughtered humans and drakes alike, not caring one bit about if their victim was a soldier or a civilian. They seemingly had had no long-term plan for conquest and subjugation, just pure and simple genocide. Interrogations on captured demons had yielded no information either.

Luciel had supposedly ended the war by travelling to the Underworld, the gigantic cave complex from which they had originated, and defeating their queen in combat. Then, she had completely sealed the caves from the outside world by encasing them in a cage of pink crystal, of the same kind that made up her sword. Nobody knew exactly how the material worked, but nobody had seen a demon in over six hundred years either, so they couldn’t argue with the results.

As far as Sidan was concerned, this fate was much too kind for them. If even a tenth of the stories were true…

The Slicers had already started off on a slightly better foot, by focusing their killing on people who were actively resisting them. That didn’t mean he was very keen to forgive them either.

And even if the demons or Slicers somehow had a justification that made their slaughter forgivable, why did the voice even care?

In the end, Luciel had taken care of her problem, forgiveness or not. And, stars be willing, Sidan would do his damned best to take care of his. If that demanded violence, then so be it. And if it demanded violence against the spindly bastards that had invaded his home and possibly taken the lives of people he cared about? He wouldn’t do it happily, but he could certainly think of worse targets. The voice wanted him to find the strength to forgive? He’d use his strength towards more productive endeavours, thank you very much.

Still, it had to be significant somehow. Why had the voice bothered to tell him this as its parting words? Was this related to the “he” that it had mentioned, that was apparently the reason why it could only divulge limited information, and why he could not tell anyone about this conversation?

…He needed to know more.

Preoccupied as he was, he failed to notice the dry branch under his foot. The crack echoed through the trees, piercing the gloomy silence.

He stopped, breathless, cursing himself for his inattention. The last time he had done this, nothing had happened. This time, he wasn’t so lucky.

A few seconds later, a pair of glowing eyes emerged from the trees, and the rest of the beast followed soon after. It was squat, robustly built, and its back covered in spikes. If it wasn’t for the three pairs of legs, it might have been mistaken for an oversized hedgehog or porcupine. Though he couldn’t see it in the gloom, Sidan knew that the arrangement of its digits was also different from that of four-legged animals, looking more like a tree branch, with the fingers originating at various points along a central bone.

It was a piqueswine, a normally mid-sized herbivore that was actually more closely related to drakes and other six-limbed creatures than to its mammalian lookalikes. They were supposed to be harmless to humans, unless threatened, in which case their spikes could put on the hurt. Of course, this one was no normal piqueswine, and was clearly on the more monstrous side of things.

For one, it was massive. A piqueswine would normally be barely able to reach his mid-thigh with all its spikes raised. This one was almost standing eye-to-eye with him. Its spikes were dripping an opaque fluid whose colour he couldn’t quite discern. He couldn’t imagine coming into contact with it would be good for him.

Another kind of fluid was dribbling from its mouth. From the smell, he had a good idea of what it was. It appeared that this particular herbivore had acquired a taste for meat.

Dammit! I’m only a few minutes away from the house. I just had to let my guard down.

Berating himself was not going to solve the problem, so he started thinking of a solution. The altered piqueswine had definitely spotted him, and considering the low growls it made, as well as its threateningly raised quills, it probably wasn’t here to demand pets.

He hesitantly took a step backwards, trying to make himself as harmless as possible. The monster took a step forward.

He switched tracks, and unsheathed his sword, holding it between himself and his foe. The oversized hexapod only growled louder, and further raised its quills, making itself appear even larger. Sidan would be lying if he said that trick had no effect on him.

He turned tail and ran. He was almost at the house, and if he could make it there, he’d have shelter. At least, he hoped. He had no idea if it was a proper house, or a rickety little cabin, but it would probably be safer there than here.

The monster had other plans, and with surprising swiftness considering its size, circled around him, blocking the way within seconds. He wouldn’t be able to outrun it.

“Alright, if that’s how you want to play it,” Sidan muttered, steeling his nerves.

He felt he had a pretty good shot of killing the beast. Doing so in one piece was another story, however. Whatever that liquid on its spines was, he didn’t want it anywhere near him. Monsters were generally meaner, bigger, and stronger versions of already existing animals, and many of them possessed unpredictable, and often lethal magic abilities.

The piqueswine turned around, and showed its back to him. For a second, he let himself hope it was about to run away, before his instincts screamed at him to drop down.

He did, just as the monster fired a volley of quills out of its back. They flew, barely missing him, and embedded themselves in the trees behind him with a dull thud.

That… was definitely not something normal piqueswines could do. He rolled out of the way of another volley and ran, trying to keep trees between himself and his foe. The monster had to turn around again to give chase, which bought him a precious few moments.

Sidan had to end this fight quickly. His foe wasn’t about to run out of quills any time soon, and if that liquid was some sort of venom, it might only take one lucky shot to take him out of commission. He had his regeneration magic, of course, but there was no guarantee it would work against a toxin of magical origin. And the longer this went, the more likely it was that this scuffle would attract other monsters.

He had to hope the piqueswine didn’t have any other trick up its sleeve. The magic that monsters could use was often powerful and unconventional, but also not very versatile. And thankfully, he wasn’t powerless himself.

Still running, he bent down and grabbed a hefty looking rock. Glancing over his shoulder, he waited until he had a clear line of sight to his opponent, and threw the rock using enhanced strength.

It struck the piqueswine on its back, producing a satisfying crack and snapping off a large number of quills. The monster howled in pain, but continued its chase with a slight limp, barely slowed down.

Sidan didn’t have time to repeat this trick. He dove behind a tree, and the piqueswine was there a second later. He slashed at its face with his sword, producing a shallow cut.

It hissed in pain, and backed away, showing him its quills once more. He dodged another volley, but this time, instead of running away, he took the opportunity to get closer to it with a burst of speed. Startled, the piqueswine couldn’t fully escape his next slash, and received a deep cut on its back, as well as many severed quills for his efforts.

It thrashed, insensate, blindly firing its quills all over the place. Whatever it was that made them different from the spikes of a normal piqueswine seemed to have made them pretty sensitive to pain.

Sidan took cover, waiting for an opportunity. When he felt it was safe, he burst out from behind his tree, and stuck his sword down the monster’s throat. With a gurgle, it went limp.

Sidan breathed a sigh of relief, and took his sword out, backing away from the unmoving beast.

But his victory was premature. Using the last of its strength, the piqueswine opened its jaws, and stuck out its tongue, revealing a single quill that emerged from the tip. With one final muscle contraction, it fired it, and then dropped dead.

The quill flew slower than the ones that had come from its back, but it didn’t matter. Sidan was too close to dodge it. It embedded itself between his thumb and index.

As soon as he realized what had happened, he ripped it out, but it was too late. Whatever strange liquid the quill was covered in was already working its effects. Sidan’s entire left hand went numb, and hung limp, no longer responding to his nervous system. The effect quickly spread towards his arm. He activated his regenerative magic, and the zone of numbness receded ever so slowly.

He knew it wouldn’t be enough. His reserves would run out long before the toxin was completely eliminated, even with the reserve potions he had grabbed in the bunker.

He- the house. He had to get to the house. He was almost there.

Sidan ran, no longer trying to be discreet. His first potion ran out, then his second. Soon, the entire stash he had been able to bring with him had disappeared, and the toxin spread to his arm, then to his shoulder. It was getting hard to breathe, and his vision was going blurry.

He burst into a clearing, and saw a small, one story house. He sprinted towards the door, and tripped a few meters away from it, his legs no longer supporting his weight. He dragged himself the last of the way with his still functioning right arm, and desperately knocked at the door. A few seconds later, it opened.

“Please,” the paralyzed guard pleaded, unable to even lift his head to look at his potential savior. “Help. Potions.”

He passed out.

* * *

Sidan awoke in a comfortable bed.

For a moment, he just lay there, unwilling to move, simply enjoying the sensations. Then it all came rushing back to him.

He shot up, and looked around in a panic. He was in a small, well lit bedroom. He might have described it as cozy, if it wasn’t for the full bookshelves that covered all four walls, offering a selection of likely hundreds of books. Not that he had anything against books, but the number just seemed excessive to him.

Oddest of all was his presumed savior, and likely the woman the voice had told him to seek out. She was sitting in a chair in the corner, and quietly reading. When she noticed him awake, she closed her book, and smiled at him.

Her skin was an odd shade of pale brown, almost bordering on yellow. Her hair, by contrast, was pure white, short, and messy in a way that seemed unintentional but still ended up looking good. Her facial features and thin frame combined to give her an overall rather androgynous appearance. Gauging her age was hard — she could have been twenty, or forty, and he would have been none the wiser.

Keeping in with the room’s theme, her outfit was one that felt inspired by a librarian’s, consisting of a stylish dark blue blouse and an ankle length brown skirt.

Where had she come from? The people from the island nations close to the equator sometimes had similarly white hair, but their skin was a lot darker. He’d never seen anyone with skin like hers.

“Finally awake, eh? I must say, it’s not everyday that I get a dying stranger at my doorstep. Or every night, rather,” she said.

Though she seemed amused, Sidan had much more pressing concerns.

“How long was I out?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Oh? About one hour I’d say. You heal quickly. Regeneration magic, I assume?”

He nodded mutely, relieved. Losing an hour was not ideal, but it could have been far worse.

He sat up fully, a little shaky, but otherwise fine. He experimentally opened and closed his hand. It felt a bit sluggish.

The woman observed him in silence, then spoke up.

“You were very lucky that I had magic replenishing potions on hand, as well as more conventional anti-venom. I wasn’t sure it would work, but I poured potions down your throat, and you activated your magic while unconscious. Unconscious magic use only happens with people skilled in that particular branch, so congratulations, I suppose. But if it wasn’t for that… I don’t think you would have made it.”

He looked up in surprise. He hadn’t known that was a thing he could do. He didn’t feel all that skilled at self-healing. Then again, the vast majority of the population only knew one or two spells that were required for their profession or hobby, or even no spells at all. To learn more, and more importantly, maintain them at an acceptable level was much too time consuming for most.

As far as magic went, regeneration was pretty popular with the general public, but few bothered to train it to the level where they could heal major wounds in minutes. Other than guards, soldiers, and jobs that regularly involved violence, of course. It wasn’t much of a stretch to say that he was one of the most skilled people alive in the art of regeneration, even if that wasn’t as big of an accomplishment as it sounded.

“I suggest you lay low for a few days,” his savior told him. “I don’t think you’ll get any permanent side-effects, but that toxin did a number on your body. You can never be too sure.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option,” he replied, shaking his head. “I really appreciate what you did for me, but I- we don’t have time to rest, Miss- err, sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Oh! My apologies,” she said, mortified. “You may call me Liv.”