Chapter 44
Cold
Sylas snapped awake, back in the forest, a background to the conversation between Valen, Tenner, and Ryne. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to what had happened. One way or another, he died after passing out and was returned here. The last thing he recalled… was his body shutting down, top to bottom, after the indescribable feeling swelled inside his chest, as though he was suffocating.
It was there, once again. It surged, like tidal waves, belting against his conscience. He’d killed someone. Even if, now, that act of his was reverted, he’d still killed someone. Twice, in fact. His face paled, lips quivering, eyes widening. It wasn’t long before others noticed something was off.
“Sylas? Are… are you alright? What’s wrong?!” Valen quickly asked, hurrying over next to him.
"What's wrong?" Tenner joined him, both crouching on either one of Sylas' sides. "Hey, can you hear me? I… I think he's out? What's going on?"
“He was fine just a moment ago!” Valen cried out. “Quick, we need to bring him to the castle! Master Audin will know what is wrong with him! Help me carrying him! Ryne, do you have some water left?”
"Y-yes, yes!" Ryne, recovering, at last, reached into her pouch and took out a small bottle of water, handing it to Valen with shaky hands. The latter quickly poured some on his hand and rubbed it over Sylas’ forehead.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Tenner heaved Sylas up and over his back, rushing forward. “Keep him conscious, no matter what!” he yelled back at Valen who forgot that the two were supposed to be carrying him together. Instead, as they ran, he continued talking and occasionally pouring some water over the slumped man. “Hey, hey, we’re almost there, okay? Master Audin will know what’s wrong, I promise! Did you know? One time, I had a really bad stomachache, and all he did was give me this one herb and, in a day, my stomachache was gone! It was a miracle…”
Sylas, however, was entirely unaware of what was happening around him. His mind kept replaying those two moments, over and over again, like a song on a loop. He couldn't escape them, the memories. He couldn't bury them, couldn't deny them. For the first time in his life, he was unable to ignore something that gnawed away at his soul. It overwhelmed him beyond reproach.
The feeling in his stomach heaved up and through his throat as he instinctively bent forward and let his innards out, unaware that he sprayed exactly toward Valen. Though it eased the feeling somewhat, it still burned. He’d killed someone, after all. Not one someone, but two someones. Two other people. He’d killed them with his own hands. Though he had been surrounded with death ever since he came to this world, it was usually his own—or, at the very least, death divorced entirely from his doing.
For the first time, his hands were stained with it. It was strange, he instinctively knew—he was readily keen on offing himself with no hesitation, yet… taking another’s life was an entirely different story. He knew, deep down in his heart, that he would likely end up killing someone at some point. After all, this world wasn’t Earth, bound by laws, unburdened by everyday struggles of literal survival. It was different, built with a different culture in mind, different perspectives.
But he always figured that day was in the future—far, far future. If he was lucky, he mused, he’d never have to stain his hands. But, at the very least, he was preparing his psyche in the case where he had to. Preparing being the key word.
He wasn’t ready—far from it. Once again recalling the sensation, he blew his innards out instinctively, heaving for breath. He was lost in the cacophony of voices, images, mirages, and flashing lights that he couldn’t make the sense of. He was lost.
Valen had just managed to somewhat wipe his face clean when he saw yet another projectile bubbling. Luckily, he spotted it in time and managed to duck aside just as he saw it. He didn’t understand what happened—one second, he was completely fine, even joking with the rest of them, and all of a sudden… he was ill. If a Prophet was ill, it wouldn’t be just some ordinary stomach bug and such. It could even be a sickness Divine. But Valen prayed that it wasn’t.
The group managed to reach the castle relatively quickly, mostly since Tenner didn’t take a single break, ignoring his crying muscles and lungs and beelining toward the castle walls. Once inside, they readily cleared the path and went immediately to Master Audin’s chambers, as per Valen’s instructions.
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Once there, Tenner didn’t even bother knocking, instead breaking the doors down and sprinting inside, startling an old-looking man into a screeching yelp of shock.
“What in the—”
“Help him, please!” Valen immediately said as Tenner laid down Sylas onto the nearby bed.
“P-Prince?” the elderly man was still shrouded in confusion, uncertain what was happening.
“Please help him, Master Audin,” Valen said, pointing at Sylas.
“O-oh, let’s, let’s see,” though he had no idea what was happening, he did know that there was a man in need of help, at least—that much was enough. Hurrying over and kneeling near the floor-leveled bed, he took a closer look at the thirty-something seeming man. His face was as pale as snow, his eyelids were constantly fluttering, eyes rolling back and forward in their sockets as though he was slipping in and out of consciousness. Furthermore, his entire body was trembling but, after a quick inspection, it didn’t seem as though he had a fever. “What happened?” the elderly man asked, seeing if he could extrapolate some clues from the context.
“I… I don’t know,” Valen replied honestly. “One… one moment he was fine, and the next he… he became like that—delirious. He… he hasn’t been responding to us, at all.”
“…” Master Audin’s eyebrows furrowed—it wasn’t a good sign that he was entirely unresponsive. “Help me strip him first,” he said, noticing that the man was sweating immensely. “You, girl, see that bucket over there? Go outside and fill it with water! Fast!”
“Y-yes!!” Ryne, finally thankful that she had a purpose beyond worrying, raced out quickly with the bucket that was half her size, in fact.
In the meantime, Valen and Tenner helped the old man strip Sylas completely after which the man wiped him down, inspecting him further in the process. There were no bite marks evident anywhere, which ruled out a bite from a venomous creature. The man was still shaking, but it didn’t seem to be the cold-shake that Audin had seen frequently in these parts, especially during the seasons of sickness. These reminded him more of the ‘frigid chills’, a phenomenon that wasn’t entirely well-known yet. It happened, usually, to people who experienced something horrific, whereupon their mental state was reflected in their physical behavior. However, considering the Prince’s description of the events, it didn’t seem to be that either; after all, ‘frigid chills’ happen immediately and without delay.
By then, Ryne had come back with the bucket, hobbling left and right as she put it down. She was red in face and tired, panting for breath, immediately collapsing near the bucket.
“Bring the bucket over,” Audin instructed Tenner. “Prince, if I could ask you to reach into the second drawer of my desk,” he added. “And get me both sashes from the very front.”
“Yes!” both Tenner and Valen replied quickly, hurrying off to do their tasks.
Still unaware of what was happening around him, Sylas was drifting. It wasn’t the kind of drifting that he had any control over—in fact, he’d long since lost control of his actions. He was stuck in a strange delirium, a kind of haze that was neither here nor there. In truth, he had managed to calm down somewhat, with the initial onset of horror having subsided considerably. Remembering his actions, at least, didn’t send him into a spiral anymore—merely caused him to momentarily feel that suffocation.
Deep down in his mind, past the initial rejection, he knew that he had to be fine with what he had done. Even the erasure of the events notwithstanding, he had to be fine. If he wanted to survive and, more importantly, do anything of note in this world, he wouldn’t be allowed to bend and break each time he is forced to kill someone. But, at the same time, he didn’t want to entirely erase this reaction. After all, it was this sort of guilt, pain, and horror that held people back from committing heinous acts. If he simply ‘deleted’ it… what would become of him?
He didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But he hoped, at least, to never become the very thing he often condemned. He didn’t want to be a killer, even if he had to kill. Didn’t want to be a murderer, even if he had to murder. No, ‘had to’ is too strong of a conjecture—there is always, he believed, an alternative, but only in the perfect utopia. Sometimes, people feel at least, there is no choice.
“Ugh,” he groaned, coming to. Darkness in his vision subsided slowly as his eyes fluttered open. At first, everything was blurry, formless, with silence permeating his world. A few moments later, though, his vision sharpened and he managed to make out that he was in a room of stoned walls. It was an unfamiliar room—clearly not his own—though the walls spoke of the fact that he was back in the castle.
“He—he—he’s awake!! He’s awake!!” a shrill nearly startled him to his feet. It was clearly Ryne’s, though he never quite heard her reach that pitch before.
“He’s awake?! He’s awake!!” Tenner joined right after, two shadows immediately looming over him.
“Thank the God…” Valen’s exhausted and trembling voice was the last to arrive. “You’re awake… you’re awake…” their faces finally came into his focus, causing him to nearly shout himself. Both Ryne and Tenner looked… horrid. There were bags the size of Texas underneath their eyes—which were, quite frankly, twice as hideous themselves due to the prominent reddish hue—and their faces had clearly seen better days. Jesus, how long was I out? That cold feeling was, in a moment, replaced by a warm one. Those three likely stayed by his side, clearly sleepless, all this while. Yeah… he forced his lips into a smile as he looked at the two.
“You two look like shit,” he said.
“Aye, he’s back! Ha ha ha…”