Chapter 10

Emotions were something of a rarity to me ever since I created the [Safe]. However, just for this occasion, I decided to open the valves — just a little, so I could experience a bit of what Sophia’s feeling.

It wasn’t a pretty thing.

Sequestered into a corner of the building was a cot and above it laid a body. Feverish, the chest rose and fell weakly, a thin blanket laid over him. A wet tower covered his forehead and eyes, each shuddering breath betraying the pain he felt. Bandages were wrapped around seemingly every other inch of his body, blood-soaked fabric pooling in a bucket of warm water at the base of the bed.

Surrounding the bed were three figures. On the side, there was a small stove burning, a pot of water slowly simmering atop. Shelves lined the stone-bricked walls, small clay pots of undetermined sizes filling them weightily, the labels too small to be seen in the dark. Several candles shone their light into the room, flickering flames casting sharp contours to the shapes within.

On a nearby table were an assortment of ghastly metal instruments, pliers and the like. Pestle and mortar, the heady scent of crushed herbs and powders fluttering through the firelight. Threads, needles and spools laid in a laid lacklustre fashion across the wooden desk, seemingly exhausted.

There was a dazed and bruised atmosphere, so thick with tension that it was hard to even breathe. The tangy smell of iron, alcohol and herbal remedies perforated the air, making Sophia sick to the stomach. She was afraid that Finny wouldn’t allow her to follow along but evidently, she didn’t bother with that.

Not that she was here, standing within the building itself...

It was unreal, impossible. Uther had been indomitable, strong. The mere that he could even be wounded was difficult to imagine. Now, he laid upon the bed, unmoving save for weak inhales and exhales.

With each and every second that passed, it only served to pound in the fact this was real, that Uther was injured beyond belief.

So, she stood there, unmoving.

There’s so much blood.

“Miss Creighton, your sister! This is not a sight for the faint of heart —”

“She stays, healer,” Finny said, her voice hoarse.

In the back of her head, she could faintly hear Finny saying thanks to the watchman and bidding him to be on guard. All of that seemed to float away from her focus, however, as her eyes and mind were occupied.

“How long ago?” Finny was asking, some time now or perhaps a bit later, her facial muscles stiff as she stared down at the broken body of her brother, “When was he brought here, Master Heide?”

“Not too long, just before midnight,” the healer said gravely. He was a heavy-set man with sunken eyes, his beard neatly trimmed into a mutton chop. He was dressed in a neat, tidy-white robe, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tied back with string. When Sophia was younger, she had seen the man a few times from a distance but had never needed to approach.

Now, apparently even he was onto the secret, “The watchman claimed that he walked under the gates and collapsed where he stood, so they brought him to me as soon as possible. I’ve cleaned and bandaged his wounds as best as I can but… it doesn’t look good, Miss Creighton.”

“Where are his artefacts?”

The man gestured at another large basin of water. Draping over the edge was his armoured coat and help, large gaps clearly visible from where Sophia stood. Dark red had seeped into the cloth, draining away into the water in swirls. On the side and above a stool was a small satchel, the strap nearly broken.

Finny walked over, her fingers trailing over the items before picking one up.

It was a necklace of small, black rocks, one that Sophia was familiar with. However, unlike the one she owned, this one was broken, shattered. Cracks had appeared over every single shard — all seven had imploded, the writings illegible.

If it was even possible, Finny’s brow creased even harder. Her fingers clenched around the necklace for a moment before setting it down once again.

With a forcibly calm tone, she asked, “What kind of wounds can you recognise?”

“Bite and claw wounds, several broken bones,” Master Heide replied dourly, “Tears the length of my arm. The most grievous ones were on his right leg — the boy had managed to keep them from biting his neck. It looked to be the works of wolves but I know none of such prodigious size. If it was just that, it could still be treated but these… There’s something odd going on here.”

“What’s the issue?”

“Frostbite,” the man said, “Not across the entire body but around the wounds. Arms, legs, signs of these strange decay could be observed. Miss, I don’t think this is the work of common beasts.”

“It is not. No amount of common wolves would be able to pose a threat to Uther,” Finny said, “May I take a look?”

“The patient would need rest,” the healer protested, “I’ve sent him to sleep for now but I would still heavily recommend not disturbing him if it weren’t necessary. The wounds are grievous.”

Finny gave the man a look, “It may well be worse if what I thought is correct.”

“... Do you think it may be something magical then? I understand that you may think —”

“It could be.”

“If you insist,” the man walked over to the other side of the cot. Gently, he unwrapped a smaller bandage around Uther’s forearm, revealing just a glimpse of the ghastly injury. It was red and swollen, burning angrily. Veins of black had already started to lace through the broken flesh, the skin tearing around the stitches.

Sophia blinked.

For a split second, she thought she saw something writhing inside the wound, something cold and dark, interlacing with the flesh. The skin bulged and wiggled as if a worm had been coiling underneath, diving into the body.

Then, it was gone.

Glancing at Finny, it seemed that the older girl had noticed it as well, her face even harder than before.

The healer supplied helpfully, “There’s no sign of infection and I’ve cleaned the worst of it out. However, these wounds are clearly unnatural.”

Finny didn’t respond. Instead, she gently laid her fingers across the exposed flesh, prodding for something. For a few moments, her eyes seemed to roll back, a long breath drawn out of in a sigh.

Then suddenly, she said, “The injury is cursed.”

“Cursed?” The healer said, both eyebrows raising.

Sophia’s thought mirrored that, stuttering to a stop as the words were uttered.

The books that she had read a few days prior hadn’t covered that. The first book that she had chewed through was akin to a primer, giving a brief description of the various magical effects in the world, meant to introduce the reader into the absolute basics. It was a difficult read — not only because she wasn’t used to reading lengthy texts but because the writing was written as a short collection of things.

Almost like some sort of diary, the writer obviously not used to writing and have had pieced it all together. As such, many of the things within were an absolute pain to understand. Even with my help, it was difficult to decipher its meaning.

The book started with the introduction of the writer who was apparently called ‘Eid Vathlaus’ or however that was pronounced. He, or at least that was my impression, seemed to be some kind of traveller from ages past, jolting down things relating to the supernatural within this book in hopes of deciphering them.

Notably, it was lacking in many things that Finny had told Sophia or things that I had seen such as Spirits and the like. Even though that Eid wasn’t part of these Covens he had claimed to have had dealings with, he had spent a considerable amount of time deducing and consolidating a book about the subject. Or perhaps, he was attempting to write a novel — its structure was more akin to one than anything purposefully educational.

As to how the Creightons got their hands on his book, which looked old enough to crumble when handled roughly, I had no idea but I wasn’t about to drop everything to find out.

With some effort, we flipped through the pages of my [Library] and dug out the relevant piece of knowledge, scanning through to see if we remember what we had seen.

Curses.

What are curses? In my travels, I’ve seen magic performed, both great and small but few are as notorious as the ones commonly referred to as curses. There’s always that one farmer that believed cutting down a tree that grows above a grave would curse you, or that some wasting disease or two came from their jealous neighbour nailing an effigy rather than having drunk sewage water. In most cases, happenstances and superstition mixed together into these caricatures of truth that were known as curses.

So what exactly are they? In my perspective, as one that deems himself knowledgeable in these matters, there is always some snippet of truth within these rambling tales of the common folk, Most of them, if it’s possible to, can be broadly characterized as being malevolent in nature and is harmful to life.

Of course, it couldn’t be that simple. During my interview with my dear friend Svanhild, I’ve taken the chance to ask her about the subject in detail. The first thing she did when I proposed my question was to immediately inform me that nearly everything I thought I knew was wrong. In her words, ‘There are many incarnations of magic in this world that can be called curses by the common folk. A child born in the darkness of an eclipse may lead to a twisted life as he or she lacks the Sun’s blessing, for example, but that is by no means a curse. A true curse must be filled with intent to cause suffering, made with pure volition and malevolence. A curse is ruinous, corrosive, but it is also vulnerable to various cleansing methods unlike pure circumstances such as the example I gave earlier...’

Our conversation was unfortunately cut short when…

The writing derailed from that point on. I had to consciously drag us back from that particular memory before we lose track of the now. One problem of being able to perfectly recreate and relive memories was that at some point, every single instance of the past becomes indistinguishable from the events that occurred now, five seconds ago or perhaps years.

They are all so vivid.

That didn’t matter, however, as we both immediately located a relevant word. Suffering, as it went, was key to a curse. What we know, obviously, was that the other speaker within the writing named Svanhild was referring to the Sufferings in forms of Spirits. In this case, it didn’t take too long for us to conclude that one of those had somehow found its way into Uther’s body.

While I regarded this with an academic calmness, Sophia was an entirely different matter. “Finny, isn’t that—”

“Yes, the attackers had something in the wounds that your medicine cannot touch, Master Heide,” Finny said seriously, “The wounds will only get worse, much worse.”

“How bad?” Steinoff frowned.

“Very, very bad.”

“Then—!”

“I’ll have to attempt a blood cleansing ritual,” Finny bit her lip in consternation, “But… There might be drawbacks.”

“Drawbacks? Whatever do you mean by that?” the man seemed lost, not quite comprehending the words that the girl had been mumbling out.

“It — it doesn’t matter,” Finny shook her head, “The wounds must be cleansed regardless or the curses will continue on eating away at him. There are no other options.”

“Well,” the healer waved his arms helplessly, “I suppose I must trust you on this matter. Is there anything that you might, uh... require?”

“Master Heide, please start up a fire and get a pot of clean water boiling, I’ll have to retrieve some reagents before I can cleanse the wounds. I’ll also need some space to lay Uther down before I can begin,” she quickly spoke, “And Sophia—”

The girl snapped out of her shock-induced fugue, stuttering, “Y-Yes?”

“You are staying here. Do not leave, do you understand?”

Sophia could only nod back numbly at that. She wasn’t sure why Finny would think that she was about to go anywhere in this stage at all but that was against the point.

“I’ll be back soon,” Finny said as she hoisted her coat and cap around her, “Keep him warm in the meantime.”

In a flurry of motions, she was gone through the door in the adjacent room. The next thing that Sophia registered was the brief draft of cold and wind before muted silence descended back onto the healer’s house.

A moment passed.

“Well,” the healer stood up, “I better get that water boiling then.”

Stretching his arms, Sophia watched as the man hoisted a kettle off a cabinet and walked out the front door. She could hear loud scrunching noises before the man returned, a fresh cover of white adorning his balding head and a kettle full of snow. Languidly, he left it above the stove and sat back onto his stool, arms crossed.

Sophia didn’t say a word, her hands on her lap.

She couldn’t decide which one was worse — the palpable worry that made her head hazy or the cold outside.

“So, you’re Sophia then,” the man suddenly said, “Don’t think that we’ve officially met before.”

She nodded again.

“Well, my name is Steinoff — Steinoff Heide. I would have hoped to meet in a more pleasant occasion but… ah,” he rambled on, “Would you like to wait in another room? I realize that this may be a bit disturbing to look at...”

Sophia shook her head at that.

There was a thin veil of sweat on his forehead, him wiping it away with the hem of his robes. He waited for a second before slumping back in his seat, looking distinctively uncomfortable and muttering, “Very well…”

Another moment of silence passed.

“How bad is it?” Sophia found herself speaking, her throat dry and raspy. In a moment of clarity, she found her courage to ask the question that wasn’t answered.

“Uh…”

“Tell me, please.”

“Not… life-threatening at the moment. I’ve done my best to stave off infections but the wounds themselves are severe,” Steinoff replied after a few seconds of thinking, grimacing “Even after he heals, there is no saying if he could even — Well, I’ve seen the Creightons do miracles before but even them — but this… If it were any other man, they would have already lost a limb or two. Even now, the injuries dealt to his tendons… they might heal, but he wouldn’t regain their full use.”

This was just about what she had expected but hearing it was another matter.

“So he’s — he’s not going to…”

“... I don’t know. The injuries themselves shouldn’t be life-threatening anymore but… Well, magic is nothing something I know a lick of,” the man gave a pointed Sophia pointed glance, “I dare say that you probably know more than I do about that sort of matter.”

“... Not really,” she admitted, pressing her hands together, “I only learned about it about seven days ago.”

“Truly?” Steinoff looked surprised, eyebrows raised, “I had thought that the Creightons were all… well versed with these things.”

“No,” Sophia whispered sullenly, “Uther didn’t want me to know, said it could be dangerous and it… is.”

“Ah,” the man replied, “That it is.”

Silence returned again, smoggier than ever.

Obviously, Steinoff was no stranger to Uther being here and knew of the one thing Sophia didn’t know just a few days prior. She couldn’t help but to wonder if everyone else knew of magic but her for a few seconds before her thoughts derailed.

Under better circumstances, Sophia might have been curious but as of that moment, she did not incline to speak.

In the awkward lull, Steinoff chose to stand up again, pace around the room and started clearing up the room. The basins of bloodied water were pulled to the side to be disposed of later, especially with the lack of a gutter. The metal instruments were all carefully sanitised in the fire and wiped with alcohol before being put away in a roll. The remaining bandages and wraps were returned onto the shelves or chests and the herbal remains were dusted into a small bag.

Then, methodically, he went back to the main room — it was bigger. Scratching sounds could be heard as the man presumably began rearranging the pieces of furniture. The table was moved to the side, chairs stacked up above it. Teapots and cups were placed away to make room as candles were lit.

Sophia watched him work, not quite sure what to say. It was late at night and exhaustion was quickly creeping up on her but the worry kept her nerves flaring.

It didn’t take too long before the man was done with his cleaning, returning the room to some semblance of normalcy rather than the war zone it resembled earlier. Now that his sole occupancy was finished, Steinoff had no choice but to sit down again.

Again, after a few more moments of silence, the man said, “So. Magic, how’s it?”

Sophia looked up at the man. It was obvious the Steinoff was getting on with his age, his hair salt-peter grey and a bit of a gut forming. Despite that, there was an unabashed glint in his eyes as he asked that question along with some measure of wariness.

She found herself giggling nonsensically at that, momentarily breaking her out of her misery. Me, a girl that served table made a grown man that deals with blood and death feel wary. That thought was somehow absurd to her, almost as incomprehensible, a joke.

Somehow that particular errant thought was just the lynchpin needed to set her off. With all the built-up stress that had built up over the past days and weeks erupting in the form of hysteria, Sophia broke into uncontrolled laughter for a few minutes, curling upon herself. Some part of her probably knew that Steinoff may be rather disturbed by her sudden display of hilarity but she just couldn’t care.

When she came to her senses and wiped her tears away, there was a particularly perturbed expression on the healer’s face, eyes wide. Slowly, he asked, “Did I —?”

“No! No, it’s just that it’s funny,” Sophia waved him off, gasping for breath, “I don’t know. Magic is… its…”

She coughed out and schooled her face as best as she could. With that brief outburst, the clouded emotions suddenly felt washed away, distant. With a bit of a hiccup, she said asked, “Sorry. Its… Please, can you ask that question again?”

“... Should I?” the man muttered to himself before saying, “Well, I was interested in what you think about all that but it seemed that you’ve answered the question already. I myself only had limited experiences with it but it hadn’t been… kind. But you are their sibling, so pardon me if came off as rude.”

“I only started last week. Didn’t even know about it before then,” Sophia shook her head, “Finny told me that it’s dangerous and just knowing about it can make it worse. I… Well, I knew that it could be, but at the same time it's just so… magical?”

“Aye,” Steinoff grunted, “It is. When I first saw it, I refused to believe my eyes. As a man in pursuit of understanding, the idea that there are these things that no one can see flying about was maddening. Was it a full moon? Something like that, I think. Could have been a random stroke of luck during that night that I saw — well, I knew not what I saw that night but I thought myself insane! Lunacy — do you know the word?”

“Eh…”

“It is odd how the origin of this word, lunacy, is so intrinsically tied to the moon. What exactly is the link? I had to wonder. But, I digress. Indeed, magic is a mad, mad thing, no matter how wondrous it seems at first,” the man was monologuing, “I wasn’t one to say, but I must say that all of this was beyond me.”

Sophia blinked.

Slowly, she asked, “Mast Heide, you are not a user of magic, are you?”

“Gods, no,” he chortled, “I’m a healer. I crush herbs into pastes and hopes it does more good than bad, though to the common man it would probably make to difference.”

“Then, how do you…” Sophia made a vague gesture at the sleeping body of her brother, her words failing her.

“Know about this or…?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s a long story. I didn't intend to set up shop here at all when I came over.”

“You weren’t from Bvurdrjord?”

“No, I came from Zweutaland,” Steinoff explained, “About fifteen years ago, I think, during the Fourteenth Succession. I had boarded a ship here on academic research, you see. The properties of native fauna and flora were poorly documented and I thought it would be prime material for writing. I’ve always taken an interest in the unusual and Bvurdrjord was still relatively unknown back then.”

“You don’t look like a Zweit,” Sophia noted.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“What? Is it because of these?” the man patted the side of his cheeks, ruffling his beard, “I grew it out to blend in a bit more, though my accent often gave me away during the first few years. It’s hard to go about the isles when everyone hates your guts.”

“Huh.”

“As I was saying, my scholarly pursuits were… interrupted when I went on a late-night expedition to collect the rumoured glowing flowers that can only be found under the moonlight. Such a thing would be invaluable, I thought back then and had mindlessly plucked a stem,” he continued with a shudder, “Turned out that they objected to being picked quite vigorously. Nearly died there in the meadow if it weren’t for your mother.”

For a split second, Sophia opened her mouth to say something before she remembered she too had only recently found out about her true parentage. Or to say, she didn’t even know their names — Finny didn’t say. So, instead of blabbing out, she decided to carefully say, “... Mrs Creighton?”

“Yes! If it weren’t for her intervention, the roots of the flowers may have gobbled me up instead,” Steinoff was oblivious to her disappointment, “One could say that the experience left me changed. After my survival, she bid me to settle down instead of careless trapezing through the wild like that. Turned out that the wildlife in Bvurdrjord are much more magically inclined than the ones from the land I came from. One thing led to another, I decided to use my gifts for healing instead.”

Sophia tried extremely hard to care but despite her valiant attempts, the tale of the healer just didn’t catch her attention at all. She was sure that it would have been fascinating on any other occasion — Steinoff certainly thought so, but the words just slipped off her mind. With that, she gave a tight smile and said, “And when Uther started his… hunt, he came to you when he’s injured?”

“Aye,” the man replied, “Your brother had taken more wounds than most warriors would in a lifetime. Even with all of my skills, I was hard-pressed to preserve all of his faculties intact at the end of the day. Now this time, he seemed to have bitten off more than he could chew. Even with all I’ve seen, this is beyond me.”

Sophia desperately wanted to imagine — Uther sitting here, bandages around his arms and torso. Uther coming home late at night, bloodstains hidden under that heavy coat of his. Uther being out there, alone in the cold, against the encroaching beasts of the night.

She shivered.

“But yes, that would neatly summarize all my interactions with this world of yours,” Steinoff said softly, “I believe that perhaps I would have lived an entirely ordinary life if I hadn’t been there under the moonlight.”

There was quietness in the room again. Neither one spoke as the wind continued to blow through under the door, whistling sharply, the atmosphere sullen black. Sophia was reminded of the fact that she too would have had known nothing — absolutely nothing if it weren’t for that day at the beach.

For the briefest moments, she was back under the rotting wooden beams, the tangy scent of salt, the suffocating weight of the ocean above her.

Then, in a blink, she was back.

Steinoff spoke with his head down, “Ah, I apologise for unhinging my mouth like a fool. It’s been difficult to live such a life and yet speak nothing to every man, woman and child to visit. When someone as willing to sit and hear…”

Wait no, this is actually kinda interesting, I thought. With a flex of my will, I prod Sophia to say, “No, no. It's fine. Aside from the Creightons, I don’t know anyone else knew of… this.”

“It’s a big world,” Steinoff said, “Not too sure if I should count myself as lucky or not. People here are quite a bit more spiritual than those back in Zweutaland. Praying, weaving, gods. My people were all too preoccupied for that sort of thing.”

The man gave a short laugh at that.

“What about the soldiers? Sophia found herself asking, head tilting to the side, “The ship that came in the bay, you saw them, right?”

“Them? Ah. Hunters, they call themselves. They… well, as I’ve said, the stuff of magic on the continent is quite different. Less rabid, you can put it that way, most people can live their entire lives without seeing a single damn thing,” the healer considered for a moment before continuing on, “The Hunters serve under the Crown. Had been there for centuries, defending against monsters and such, you know how things go.”

Sophia probably didn’t, but I did.

“Finny said they weren’t liked,” Sophia stated.

“Yes… Turned out that being around for hundreds of years meant there would be less magical creatures about. Most think that the entire order had been obsolete since they’ve probably all but forgot about the things just a century or two ago,” Steinoff explained, “Could be why the Hunters are here now. Expanding their horizons or something like that.”

The man gave Uther a meaningful glance, “Things here are a tad more dangerous, I think, more than anyone expected”

Sophia had nothing to say about that.

“Either way, I’m not too familiar with them. Though, I doubt their motivations could be anything other than nefarious,” the man said as steam began to pour out of the kettle with a whine, having been brought to boiling. The man deftly stood up and move it off the stove, busying himself with his duties.

Then, there was a jingle, a flash of cold, the door opened. From the darkness stepped a figure — it was Finny, a bulging satchel slung across her shoulders. A breath was let loose from her chest as she recognised the familiar face,

“Finny!”

“Yes, I’m back,” her face was grim, her hands gripping around the letter strap, flecks of red dying her finger crimson. With a brush of her hand, the door closed behind her.

Thud.

“Is that—?” Sophia asked tentatively, her eyes focused on —

“Not my blood, I assure you,” Finny said, “Just that precautions should be set before we begin. Where’s Master Heide?”

“Here!” the man peeked out from behind the separate room, “You got everything that you need?”

“Yes,” Finny walked over, “Please help me move Uther to the main room, please.”

“On the floor?”

“On the floor,” she affirmed.

Sophia watched helplessly as the figure of her brother was picked up with a huff by Steinoff, legs and arms dangling from under his shroud-like cover as he was moved. Gingerly, he was laid down on the wooden floor, bandaged limbs spread haphazardly across the planks.

Like a corpse, she noted that in her mind as she watched Finny started doing whatever that she does.

“You sure this is what you need to do?” Steinoff motioned at Uther, “I don’t want to impose but you had said —”

“The alternative is far worse, I assure you.”

“Is there anything I could do?” Sophia found herself asking, desperately wishing that she wasn’t so useless. Next to her, Steinoff too could only watch with his hands crossed, not a word out of him.

“I’ll take care of it. You will watch and learn,” Finny ordered.

Despondently, Sophia could only step back and away from the body, her small fists clenching powerlessly.

Firstly, she retrieved yet another basin and laid at Uther’s feet, pouring the boiling water into the wooden container. She spent some time unspooling a long coil of red-coloured thread from her satchel, carefully creating a perfect circle around Uther’s immobile form and letting the strings pool within the water. When that was done, she started overlaying a complicated-looking weave over the initial circle.

As she continued her work, Sophia gradually realised that Finny was forming words with the text, symbols appearing in the mess of threads until it became legible. As words that consisted of ancient Bvurdrjordian text, it wasn’t one that she was used to. Even so, she could make out phrases such as, “Bring Purity to the Unclean”, “Entwine the Thread of Life” and “Let Loose Evil from Flesh.”

Of course, it was probably phrased much better in its original language but I shall make do with what I had. While Sophia might not understand what was being done, I, on the other hand, could utilize Elst’s shared memories and techniques to interpret it all.

It immediately became obvious to me that the red threads symbolize life — probably a mimicry of arteries and veins. With the water serving as a medium for ‘cleaning’, it’s probably some sort of cleansing ritual that’s based around literally scrubbing the evil out of the blood.

I wouldn’t argue if it works, though I kept that particular line of thought from Sophia. It’s perhaps best if she didn’t realize how ridiculous it sounded. I, on the other hand, focused on memorizing the procedures of the ritual. One would never know if this ever came in handy.

Even if it doesn’t, I’m sure that Elst would enjoy this gift of mine.

As the text’s done, Finny stood back and withdraw a small pouch of stuff from her satchel. With a spread of her arms, the stuffings went flying into the basin — flowers, salt, small crystals that I couldn’t recognise. With a small fssssh, the water gradually turned blue.

She stood up for a second and took a deep breath. Casting her gaze around the room, she asked, “Can you bring me a knife?”

Wordlessly and without complaining, the healer went into his back room and produced what looked suspiciously like a surgical scalpel.

The man’s having the time of his life, I thought to myself. It would be rather unfair for me to judge him, however, since I was scarcely better.

Gingerly, Finny took the scalpel. Inspecting it for a moment, she said, “I will begin the ritual. Fair warning, however, that what I’m about to do would probably be very strange or disturbing. If you are to stay, I will ask you to not interrupt me no matter what happens, am I clear?”

None of the other occupants moved.

“Very well,” Evelyn breathed out, rolling her sleeves up. There was a tangible tension in the air as if it was growing thicker, each action becoming more difficult to take.

The candles flickered.

Kneeling down, she brought the scalpel to the bandages around Uther’s arms. With a swipe, she made a small incision. Immediately, blood began to well up and I felt Sophia stiffen.

She managed to resist the urge to yell out against all odds and instead watched with her eyes wide.

The blood, however, instead of pooling around the body, it snaked its way into the circle of thread around him. Like a hundred red tendrils, fresh crimson soaked its way into the fabric, colouring it to a more vivid shade, coiling down into the strings in a clockwise fashion.

After making the cut, Evelyn hobbled back over to the basin and kneeled there. The water was still hot and steaming, a haze of strange, bluish steam rising up from its surface. Even the candlelight had taken on a strange hue within the steam, a melancholic cerulean glow casting itself across the room in shimmering waves. Without further warning, the girl plunged her hands into the water and gripped the thread.

Each hand holding one end within the basin, she began methodically squeezing the water out of it like some kind of wrung towel. Despite the blood travelling down the circle, none of it seemed to dissipate into the water, passing on unaffected onto the other side and circling upward.

Sophia watched with astonishment as the blood left the thread all on its own and seeped into the other cut Finny had made, pumping into the veins with each beat of Uther’s heart, surging in tandem.

Then, from the fresh wound, something peaked its way out. A dark shape, formless and yet substantial. A pair of pale, white eyes revealed itself, a gaping mouth wordlessly carried down the current of blood, its body seeping out of the flesh like a maggot pulled. The smoky entity clung to the crimson thread as it was forcefully brought down to the water, its form sizzling the moment it made contact.

Ruthlessly, Evelyn grabbed it and forced it down, throttling it with righteous anger. With weak and hapless flails, the Suffering that had been drawn out by the ritual found itself forcefully cleansed and broken down by the hands of the girl, its remains whisked up and evaporated into the steam.

Sophia silently cheered when that happened, her eyes wide and any notion of sleep had been thrown out the window. Next to her, Steinoff too was watching with his mouth agape, the candle he held in his hand kept undulating to the beat of Uther’s heart.

But then, a noxious fume could be smelt.

Instinctively, Sophia knew something was wrong — and I knew just as well.

In a flash, grey began creeping across his body as if he was turning into stone, as if part of his being was being traded away. At his extremities, his pale fingers and toes began to shrivel, the flesh sinking into itself with each thump.

To her horror, the skin on a finger peeled back, revealing the finger bone underneath. Crack it went as it split apart, falling onto the ground in a spray of fine ash.

“What’s happening?” Sophia cried, “H-his —”

“Don’t interrupt her!” Steinoff held her back, an arm grabbing her bodily as Sophia unconsciously stepped forward.

“He’s dying!”

“And it would be worse if you do anything!”

Helpless, Sophia could only watch.

Evelyn didn’t appear to even register the scene around her as a second, third and fourth Suffering were expelled similarly. It seemed that with every injury that Uther had received, a curse had lingered in the wound like the venom of a spider. As they were exorcised one by one, however, Uther’s breathing visibly gets easier, the rise and fall of his chest becoming less erratic.

A third finger had dried up, withered. An ankle fell apart as the skin and bones dried up as if a thousand years passed by in an instant.

The heartbeat thumped on.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Then, sometime later — could have been a few minutes, a few seconds, Sophia couldn’t tell as it all dragged out in a horrifying, surreal form. But, it appeared that no more of the dark beings could be found.

The last wisp of smoke evaporated.

During the process, Evelyn had been scrubbing none-stop, her arms moving almost mechanically as the continued on the ritual. As she understood that her work was nearing its end, she shakily stood up from her kneeling position. Hobbling to the other side of Uther’s form, the blood still cycling from one arm to the next, she folded the circle of threads.

Then, something curious occurred.

As the words from the other side overlapped onto the bloodied side, the text merged together to form entirely new words and phrases. All of a sudden, a new syntax came into being as the blood flow stopped. With a rapid squelch, the liquid surged up their respective cords and back into the wound.

Then, the thread pulled itself apart into two pieces, slithering its way to the wrists. In precise movements, it pierced the skin in loops, hooking unto itself and sewed the wound shut like a suture.

Within seconds, the incision that Evelyn had made disappeared, the threads melting into skin and flesh. The nubs of the fingers and feet that had been taken apart amid the spell had new skin pulling itself over them, scarred and an angry red, The steam cleared, the water cooling down as the last remnant of its blue glow faded away.

It was over.

I applauded on my own.

There was a stillness where no one dared to move, not even to breath.

Finny let out a long breath, her face pale and drained, her hair clinging to her forehead at sweat streamed down the side of her face. With a weak, hollow voice, she whispered, “It’s… It’s done.”

And with that, Finny collapsed at where she stood.

Of course, I knew what happened. To create such an elaborate ritual, the amount of [Glow] needed must be immense. As Uther had been in battle probably just hours prior, his supplies of [Glow] had been run low to the ground.

It was my theory, anyway.

To attempt a ritual on something like that… To not have the entirety of him disappearing off the face of existence would have been lucky. As of now, it seemed to have settled for taking away things. His fingers, his ankle.

The colour of his skin, his hair, his vitality.

But on the bright side, whatever that remained of him looked healthy. Even just a cursory glance through Sophia could reveal that there weren’t any more Sufferings inside his flesh. One could threaten to spawn from her own despair — which would have been ironic, so I snuffed that out before it could blossom.

I’m nice like that.

With so many parts maimed, however, I had to wonder if Uther could ever fight again. I wasn’t one that wished to build on other people’s misery, I think, but this ironically served as a good inciting incident for Sophia to actually contact me.

Either way, it seemed that this particular situation was handled. While it was certainly not optimal, this ritual did seem to be rather necessary to save his life. As Finny too had probably drained her own stores of [Glow] for some while, Sophia would be placed under some fair amount of pressure in the near future.

She had been half-assing her connection to me lately and I was getting impatient. But, that’s an opportunity for another time.

Something else required my attention anyway.

Outside and in the snowstorm, and an entirely different battle was occurring. The Wall held strong as its glow reached up high into the sky like a shimmering shield across the more physical walls of Ansvil. I do not know what part of me could be considered human enough to let in, but I was surprised by the ease of my Minions entering the village. It was a dark and sleepy night, every single window boarded shut as the wind howled through the darkness.

The watchman of the night too found themselves standing inside whatever shelter their guard posts offered them, their eyes glazed over from a spell that Finny had cast. I presumed that it was to keep them away from the conflict rising all around Ansvil and that was a decision I could applaud.

The wind wasn’t the only thing howling in the dark.

At the very edge of the forest that laid some distance away from the gates, many pairs of eyes could be seen, burning a glacial cold. Clawed feet pawed the ground in agitation as their cloaks of formless dark Spirits swirled around the lot.

Wolves, much like the ones I’ve seen in Skjra. I could spy their hulking forms lurking within the shadows of the trees, baying for a chance to strike. I could smell the coppery scent of blood off them — Uther’s, a prey let slip, along with their own wounds.

At least two of the original pack hadn’t made it here. Even so, there were many.

I counted, one, two… seven, eight, nine.

So many of them.

However, they weren’t attacking, merely staring back from the dark, their bodies obfuscated by the constant snow.

A boy with a spear pretending to be a man wasn’t the only thing to stand in their way.

There was a fire burning within the creature’s chest, a brazier ripped from the ground of a tavern that now served as a heart. Dark, red cords formed powerful muscles that constantly dripped red, wooden shards poking out from its mass like the teeth of a massive worm. Bulk arms and legs skewered the snowy ground like the sentinel of hell itself, standing resolutely at the gates of the village.

Its faceless visage peered into the dark without motion, without weakness. It was tall, at least two to three meters in height, its powerful form emanating a subtle yet powerful aura of menace as the area was lit up in flickering shades of orange and red.

Thread.

That was the name that Finny had given to it, the monstrous guardian of the house. It merely stood there as still as a sculpture but that was enough to drive weariness into the heart of the wolves.

Even if it hadn’t done anything, the wolves grew agitated, froth spilling from their maws like snow, their voices echoing within the storm, snarling with frenzy.

In response, Thread strode forward, pulling himself up from its hunched position to its full height. Four meters and counting, the red giant walked into the snow, its heavy foot-falls sinking deep into the white. Its arms rippled as the implements within rearranged itself.

Slowly, its arm rippled as shards of bleached white pushed themselves out. Spikes and hooks formed from the twisted flesh until it as so much resembled an organic lawnmower. Its cavernous mouth gaped open as the rows of teeth unfurled, the red, metallic oil spilling down its cheek and into its fiery heart.

It was a blatant challenge.

The wolves narrowed their eyes — all so eerily human. One by one, they too stalked forward, emerging from the shade of the woods. Only the shifting wind that billowed against their frozen furs revealed their silhouette.

Their jaws dangled, a dark mist emerging from inside as the lips peeled back into a smile. With an echoing howl, the pack broke into a sprint, charging through the field of snow that separated the village and the wilderness, their legs blurring intermediately as their forms flickered.

Wordlessly, Thread mirrored the charge, its own steps speeding up as it marched.

I watched from above, circling around the clearing in the borrowed body of an owl. It was a simple matter to capture some of the local wildlife to serve as my eyes and ears — even if Sophia and the egg weren’t present. There was no chance that I would leave the survival of the village to be up to fate.

But until then, I decided to take this opportunity to figure out what Thread could do.

The two sides met at the centre of the field in a calamitous charge. The leading wolf leapt for Thread’s throat — even though the guardian had none. Thread responded to the attack with a downward strike, its left arm arcing downward into the skull of the wolf.

Even though Thread was literally made of fabric, there was no mistaking its monstrous strength as I saw how the body of the wolf was immediately halted mid-air, brought down and crushed under the fist with a deep thump. With a thunderous crash, a spray of fresh crimson decorated the snow as the skull was immediately caved in upon the soil like an overripe tomato.

The body exploded into a cloud of black and white as the Spirits contained within erupted from the flesh like a fountain, blasting outward as the concept of the wolf became undone under such physical trauma, the taste of cold and wind blasting out uncontrollably.

With inaudible cries of despair, the Sufferings attempted to flee but to no avail as they were drawn back into Thread’s maw and down its gulet. The fire in its chest flared in response as the Spirits were burned up to fuel its power, disappearing into the haze of heat with sizzling pops.

There was hardly any time to celebrate, however, as the rest of the pack rushed in to avenge their overzealous sibling.

A wolf sank its teeth into Thread’s right arm, dragging it back and pinning it down. The guardian stumbled forward, its fibrous limb loosening and stretching out to twice its length. Another attempted to bite at its side but there was nothing it could possibly strike at. The blazing flames of the brazier singed its fur as it got too close, the wolf flinching back with a yip.

Methodically, Thread’s captured arm began to unfurl itself, the individual strands of each muscle coming alive and untangled itself. Within moments, the red strings had lassoed themselves around the wolf’s head like a muzzle, coiling tight within its grip.

Surprised, the wolf attempted to pull back but it was useless, its very head chained to the monstrosity as its feet skidded in the snow.

Thread’s form soared through the air as it leapt at its foe, its own jaws opening wide as it chomped down at its tangle opponent. Impossibly wide, the rows of serrated teeth scraped and chowed through living flesh with ease of hedge trimming, decorating the snow with further splashes of red.

Another wolf took the chance to leap on its back, its claws digging into Thread’s back as it attempted to bite at whatever it could reach. The guardian stumbled forward at the unexpected weight, pulled to the side and away from the scattering body of the dead.

The others joined in, sinking their teeth into the legs of the guardian. At where they had bitten, frost began to build up upon the strands of wet fabric, ice shards lacing through and immobilizing the limbs.

Thread regarded this for a second before its other free arm swivelled in its socket, the yarn loosening and twisting until it faced the opposite direction. With a nearly contemptuous swat, it backhanded the wolf clinging to him with a fist the size of a rice cooker. The corrupted creature was sent flying into the snow with a yip, tumbling several times as spatters of red dotted its fur.

Ensuring that the wolf it was biting into was true and fully dead, it rose up to its height again and ripped the head of the animal off as its right arm retracted, the savaged neck too weak to hold the organic bits together. Another explosion of cold and malevolence erupted as the carcass collapsed, spilling across the ground like smoke.

At this point, the two wolves that were biting into its legs had retreated to a safe distance — just before Thread’s spiky tail smashed into where they just were a split second ago. Their intention was carried out, however, as a solid portion of the yarns that served as Thread’s legs were frozen to the ground, a bluish hue taking over the original red.

As the guardian shifted its weight, shards of the brittle yarn broke loose, scattering into the snow. Thread paused as it considered this new phenomenon, its sightless face regarding the remaining seven that circled around him.

After a moment, lines of flames began appearing in its form, travelling down the limbs from the brazier that served as its heart. Runes, I noticed, the sewn-in patterns of the tapestry Thread was made of lit up, words forming across its entire body. Within seconds, the frost that had built up on its legs sloughed off, melting away as the cursed ice was purified and dripping down the ground.

It was an impasse.

The wolves knew that attacking head-on would surely lead to their deaths, and attempting to breach the Wall of Ansvil would be a pointless endeavour with the guardian blocking the way. Against most enemies, the curse they inflict with their bites would surely be enough but Thread was no common being.

Two wolves had already fallen, one grievously injured. Even with their apparent apathy for life, they showed caution when facing this foe, their greatest weapons failing to leave a mark and their bites ineffective.

On the other hand, the guardian also understood that if it were to be the pursuer, the odds of it being able to catch them would be abysmal. Within the snowstorm, the wolves would be able to escape without a trace if they so desire.

Thus, they remained where they were, each unwilling to extend themselves.

Then, there was a change amidst the pack of wolves, a different [Presence] descending upon them. Instead of the indecipherable savageness that the wolves carried, the mindlessness in their eyes was replaced with a sort of sickening lucidity. They paused, each circling away from the village and away from Thread, careful to remain beyond its reach.

Something else was inhabiting these wolves — no, puppets. There was something else besides the Sufferings that infested them, something that directed them to retreat back to the edge of the forest.

Their master?

As limited as I was viewing through the eyes of the owl, I could see that there was something there.

Thread faced them motionlessly, waiting.

With one last backward look, the wolves vanished into the woods silently, slinking back to wherever they came from. Against mortal eyes, they would probably have appeared to simply disappear into the wind, their forms flickering and melding away.

Of course, I followed them. As one of the most interesting bits about this world so far, how could I leave this opportunity go to waste? I didn’t wait for Thread to head back into the village before I set off with a flap of my borrowed wings.

Several things were happening tonight and they were all oh so interesting.

Thread, evidently, was a supremely well-made guardian that was monstrous in all interpretations of the word. Each of its strikes was brutal — I would not doubt that most things of flesh and blood would fare poorly. More than that, it appeared that the bite wounds it had received did minimal damage — if at all. The rippling mass of its body obscured any laceration it might have had and if my intuition was correct, the being would merely restring itself once all’s well and done.

Needless to say, however, that attempting to fight this thing with physical force would be a terrible mistake. If I could figure out its construction and secrets without having to destroy it, it could boost the power my Iasgaireans wield by degrees.

The wolves, however, they intrigued me.

Who’s controlling them? Why? Why would they retreat? What are they after? Taking advantage of this so-called conclave?

Whichever it was, it would prove to be an opportunity to widen my net. Before the next sunrise, I shall attempt to collect a sample for myself. With so many of these wolves around, surely they wouldn’t miss one or two.

If I wanted answers, I will get them for myself.