It was a week later that Exill rolled up to the familiar western perimeter wall.
An intricate silver ring restlessly tumbled through his fingers while the overnight fast coach turned into the dusty yard. It was late morning, and the sky was an overcast grey as he stepped out into the familiar streets of the Outer City of Ark.
Exill’s eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, tormented by what he would find back ‘home’. Call it guilt… maybe atonement, but the moment the divination runes had imparted the knowledge of her demise, there was no choice but for him to return.
The imagery of Tsarra’s slowly decaying corpse lying alone in the clinic wholly consumed his mind.
The city was the same as he had left it half a month ago, but it might as well have been a different lifetime because he no longer recognised the place. Soon, he stood in front of the Clinic, and saw a familiar figure knocking at the front door. Iris turned around in surprise when he approached the building.
“Exill! You’re back, but where is Envy?” she asked, searching behind him for her friend. Hearing no immediate answer, she held his familiar hands before continuing on, “I checked on Tsarra each morning as you asked but around a week ago, she stopped responding. I’m worried she might have gone somewhere.” There was a look of concern in her grey eyes while massaging his cold dead hands.
“Thank you for checking up on her. You should go now; I’ll take it from here.”
Iris tried to refuse. There were so many things that didn’t feel right. However the words died in her throat when she saw the pain tormenting the young man as he peeled her hands away.
“Are you okay?” she asked carefully instead.
Exill shook his head. Her gentle question had broken something within him, and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He had dreaded this exact moment and Iris standing here only made things worse.
“You need to go. Now.” He said hoarsely, firmly pulling away from her grasp.
She stood aside as Exill approached the Clinic, and watched him hesitate for a few seconds before unlocking the door, quietly closing it behind him. Staring back over her shoulders with worried eyes, she hurried off to the Guild to start her shift.
Meanwhile, Exill covered his nose as he entered the Clinic. He opened the windows and summoned a breeze to direct the faint smell of decay outside. Not prepared to face his nightmare, he climbed the stairs, spotting a half-eaten plate of bread and cheese on the table, spots of mould adorning its surface.
He paced the upstairs area, searching for clues of how Tsarra had spent the last of her days. The only hint of her daily routine was the clay tablet he had gifted that had been inscribed with her name. It held a short shopping list of herbal ingredients that needed restocking.
Cradling the tablet in his arms, his body was wracked by silent sobs. He sat there for several hours, staring at her last meal until the tears finally dried up. Heaving a trembling sigh, he carried the tablet downstairs, carefully stowing it away in his satchel.
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As he bent over, he spotted a familiar white card on the floor that had been blown off the counter from the summoned breeze. Picking it up, it took all his effort to avoid scrunching it up in anger. Instead, he placed it in his pocket.
‘I don’t want to do this.’ He lingered, frozen outside the partition door to the treatment room. The sound of decay was evident from the faint buzzing of flies inside.
Holding a deep breath, he opened the door, and an involuntary sob escaped his lips at the sight of what they had done to his apprentice and friend. The beautiful hands he had painstakingly restored had been mangled beyond recognition, evidence of the torture she had endured.
Her skin had the pale grey pallor of death where she lay obscured and curled up on the treatment table, a stake driven through her torso. Exill tentatively approached the body, hoping against hope that it wasn’t real, that an elaborate body double had been used to draw him back.
He opened the windows and channelled a light breeze to draw out the decay, before collapsing on the stool. Softly brushing the auburn curls aside, he confirmed with heartbreak that it was Tsarra, her cold blue lips stained in blood.
“I’m so sorry…”
Knowing what awaited him at the Clinic, the past week had been spent agonizing over what he would do once he arrived. The two options were to leave her rotting here, or to deliver the corpse to the graveyard. In the latter case, she would be one of many bodies, stacked among orphans, beggars and outcasts, carted off to be burned and buried in some distant pit.
In the slow, agonizing stew that had been the journey back, he had realised that neither option was acceptable to him.
He searched the rest of her belongings, and in the end, it was a paltry pile. A green hair ribbon, a copy of ‘Herbalist Koncoctions’, and two clay tokens to the theatre he had gifted her months ago.
‘Why do I feel so angry that she never got to watch the play?’
Countless guilty thoughts on how he could have done better ran through his head, but in the end, only one final thought remained.
“What a waste.” He breathed.
The next hour was spent chilling her body for easier removal. Then he took an imbued mana potion to accelerate his recovery, crafting and imbuing several more vials for the journey ahead.
When he was ready, he picked up the mithril spear then paused, returning it with the rest of his belongings. It was unlikely they would let him through to the Inquisitor with a weapon. Taking one last look around, he discovered the farewell letter that had arranged to be delivered stuck in the letterbox.
‘What was the point,’ he sighed. The intended recipient was long gone, its contents damning in their hubris. Bursting the letter into flame, he locked the door and shivered as he trod towards the Cathedral.
***
“I’m here to see Inquisitor Deroch.”
Exill flashed the embossed card to the Priest, who quivered upon witnessing the Witchdoctor’s bloodshot eyes that were devoid of any emotion. He gestured a young boy over to him.
“Escort this esteemed guest to the Inner Sanctum.”
Exill followed the boy listlessly down a series of twisting and turning passageways where they drew deeper into the depths of the complex. They emerged into a large corridor, at the end of which stood a heavy studded door guarded by a single man.
As he approached the Paladin, Exill whispered to the young boy beside him.
“This is far enough, run away from here and don’t look back.”
The boy was already spooked from escorting the man who exuded a deathly aura and didn’t need to be told twice to turn tail and run.
The Paladin’s eyes never left Exill’s as he approached, a hand resting gently on the pommel of his sword. His gaze was wary when the young man raised Inquisitor Deroch’s card for him to inspect. Call it a premonition, but the Paladin’s hand never left the pommel as the door was opened to the Inner Sanctum, and followed the Witchdoctor in.
Exill stepped through the archway into a quiet cloister surrounding a small garden with the overcast sky visible through the branches of the Eld Tree.
Inquisitor Deroch looked up from the report he had been reading, seated on a bench adjacent to the Oracle. He slowly approached Exill with a satisfied gleam in his frosty blue eyes.
“You got my message.”