Chapter 42

“What? That’s absurd!” Carrack retorted. “Why on earth would I have done such a thing?”

“You did.” Alaina’s words were like venom. “You played me like a pawn, using my desperation against me. You ensured I’d be sent back to a fate worse than death unless I complied. And when I did, you reveled in ignorant bliss, while my torment was only beginning.”

“Alaina, what did you do?” Carrack’s voice softened, a mix of dread and need for understanding coloring his tone.

She fell silent, the only noise being the twitching and gurgling from her malformed body struggling to hold itself together. Finally, she whispered, “I made you forget the monster you are.”

As Carrack grappled with the revelations, a chilling thud echoed through the air, halting his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a shadow standing ominously beyond Alaina in the center of the street. The figure was motionless, its features obscured by an inky darkness that sketched a mere outline of a man. Yet, it exuded an aura of sinister intent so palpable that Carrack felt his blood chill, his heart slowing to a heavy, dread-filled rhythm.

The shadow stood there, its presence a silent scream in the quiet of the street. Carrack found himself rooted to the spot, fear gripping him as he began to realize that he felt a connection to the shadow. This was the entity that had been haunting his steps, the lurking predator that stalked him in the waking world and in his dreams.

“That …” Carrack’s voice faltered, his eyes turning glassy as they fixed on the shadowy figure before him. A ghastly smile, faint but unmistakable, spread across the shadow’s face, triggering a cascade of terrifying memories. The riverbank in the Elsewhere, the lurking shadows, the strewn bodies, the unspeakable horrors—all of it flashed before his eyes.

“That’s me? That is me,” he whispered, the realization washing over him like a cold wave. The figure, with its sinister smile, left him reeling in shock and self-loathing. “I don’t believe it,” Carrack muttered, his voice echoing back as if in mimicry. Yet, the echo came from behind him.

Turning, he was confronted by a spectral scene, a memory playing out between two phantoms, one bearing the frustrated timbre of his own voice.

“Believe it, Carrack,” the other shot back, a voice laced with authority that stirred faint, begrudging recognition within him.

“Helena is in the middle of nowhere. I know how this works! It’s a damn exile you’ve sugarcoated as a promotion. What about my request for another tour in Vodanar? I’m probably the only one who’d go back to that shithole,” the wraith that was Carrack argued vehemently.

“Helena is an exile,” Carrack whispered to himself, the words falling like pieces of a puzzle he was only now beginning to solve.

“Carrack,” the authoritative phantom gestured with a spectral arm, urging calm, “your request was denied. The higher-ups felt a twelfth tour would be … excessive.”

“Excessive? Since when is the twelfth time special? No one batted an eye the previous eleven,” the spectral Carrack retorted, his voice dripping with scorn and disbelief.

“You’re well aware of why things changed this time,” the authoritative wraith growled, a note of warning in his voice. “You ought to be thankful for the medals, the recognition. The amount of silver you’ve kept flowing to the republic is—”

“What you’re really grateful for are the results I’ve brought,” Carrack’s spectral self interrupted.

A tense silence fell, the air charged between the two specters as they locked in a steely gaze. Finally, the authoritative figure broke the stillness with a grim finality. “Those ‘results’ are the only reason you’re not standing before a firing squad right now… now get out.”

The wraiths lingered momentarily before dissolving into nothingness, like dust caught in a sudden gust. Carrack’s hand reached out instinctively toward the fading apparitions, a futile attempt to confirm the reality he felt resonating within him. Yet, as the scene vanished, a profound sense of familiarity remained, blocked by an unseen force that loomed over his every thought, barricading the pathways into his deeper memories.

Turning back to Alaina with a heaviness settling in his chest, Carrack asked with a hollow voice, “I asked you to take away my memories?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“And that?” Carrack’s voice trembled slightly as he gestured toward the persistent shadow that loomed ominously beyond Alaina.

“That,” Alaina replied with a solemn weight in her voice, “is the part of you that also had to be forgotten.”

“So,” Carrack turned back to Alistair, “I’m the monster here. But why is she the one who suffers, if I forced her to cast this hex upon me? I understand the immorality of hexes, but—”

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“Her sin lies not in what she did to you,” Alistair interjected, his gaze shifting back to Alaina.

“Purging, that’s what I performed on you …” Alaina’s voice was a whisper of regret and resolve. “I delved into the darkest recesses of your mind, where those memories clung to the monstrous part of your being. I couldn’t just sever the memories; I had to remove the monster itself, a fragment of your very soul. A task only possible through the foulest of sorcery.” Her words conveyed the horrific enormity of her deed.

“Blood magic,” Carrack murmured, the term falling heavy with dread.

“Scarlet Sorcery itself,” Alistair confirmed.

“And once you dabble in such dark arts, it becomes like an addictive drug,” Alaina confessed, her voice laced with a weary acceptance. “I grew up with tales of blood magic’s corruption, how it fundamentally alters your body. Instead of being a typical conduit for magic, I became something like a malignant growth, dependent on a constant supply of blood to stave off a painful decay.”

Carrack’s head shook as the pieces fell into place, a sense of dread settling over him. “The corpses, you took from them,” he realized, recalling the times she’d shown him her methods of preparing bodies and the deceit surrounding her true intentions.

“Yes, that helped. But the blood of the dead is far less potent than that of the living,” Alaina continued, her voice cracking with the strain of her confession. “In fact, the most coveted blood is drawn from the living.”

“Not just any living,” Alistair interjected, pressing the point.

“No, not just any,” Alaina’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “But from those subjected to the deepest pain and agony.”

“The bathhouse …” Carrack’s voice trailed off as the breath seemed to be sucked from his lungs. The memories of what he’d witnessed there, once shrouded and disjointed, now struck with the clarity of a lightning bolt. “You tortured those people. It wasn’t just the work of some deranged psychopaths … They were being systematically harvested for their blood, their agony … all to sustain you.”

“Yes,” Alaina murmured. “I had no choice.”

“Lies,” Alistair interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “You could have let yourself die, rather than do what you did. It’s true, you are the victim of Lord Carrack’s selfishness, but there came a point where your deeds tipped the scales turning you from victim to villain.”

Carrack felt a deep conflict within him. He was angry, betrayed, and horrified at learning about what Alaina had done. But the fact that he was seen as the one who appeared to cause all of this and that all this was because of him. He wanted to scream at her, yell at her, even throttle her if he felt it could solve anything. But there was also pity in his heart for her.

“You don’t need to say anything, Carrack,” Alaina said. “I am beyond any remorse or even the effort of anger. Plus, I’m sure whatever you would say to me is nothing compared to what Weiss said to me.” Her mention of Weiss snagged Carrack’s attention, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. “He had found me in my quarters, apparently coming to ask for a potion that might aid him in keeping energy or increase his stamina before trying to rendezvous with the teamsters … He walked in right as I was … Well, he saw enough to confirm all his suspicions of me.”

“Goddammit, Alaina,” Carrack cursed, his voice a blend of rage and despair, trembling as he faced the grim revelations. “I’d end you myself if it would change anything. You deserve it for what you’ve done, but it’s my fault … my doing. Yet, what you did—”

“Don’t waste your breath with concern for me,” Alaina interrupted. “Death’s whisper grows louder each moment. Soon, I’ll answer its call and face what awaits me.”

“You’re dying?” Carrack’s voice faltered, a mix of shock and a sudden, selfish relief.

“She is,” Alistair confirmed with a grim nod. “And her death will lift the shroud from you, freeing you from the corruptive magic.”

“That sounds … good, but then,” Carrack’s realization dawned with a jolt of fear, “everything she removed from me will return, won’t it?”

“Exactly,” Alistair affirmed. “The monster will seek to reclaim its place within you.”

“I can’t let that happen!” Carrack’s panic surged, his gaze darting back to the shadow, the silent testament to his darkest self. “I refuse to let that monster back in!”

Alistair’s voice took on a cryptic tone. “Herein lies the grace of the Mistress’s intervention. She acknowledges the change in you, the distance between the man you are now and the creature you were. The world doesn’t need the resurgence of such a monster. Thus, she offers to rid you of that darkness, to take the shadow from you, liberating you forever from its grasp.”

“What are you talking about?” Carrack demanded.

“The Mistress proposes a deal, a chance for you to continue untainted by the past, free from the monstrous part of yourself. She’s willing to absorb that shadow, to keep you as the man you’ve become.”

“You’ll have to forgive my skepticism, but I find ‘the Mistress’ and her motivations rather suspect,” Carrack retorted, his voice laced with a wary edge.

“Makes no difference to her if you find her motivations dubious,” Alistair stated. “Your mage’s death is imminent, and with it, the return of your darker half. Alone, you will face the consequences of your reawakened monstrosity. We present you with an avenue of escape from this fate. The choice, however, remains yours.”

“If I were to agree …” Carrack’s voice trailed off, a hesitant curiosity underlying his words.

“You’d need a conduit,” Alaina said. “A physical token from your past, something that can facilitate the transfer to the Mistress. You’ve chosen such an object before, and I’ve been reminded recently of your selection.”

“My violin,” Carrack murmured, a faint glimmer of recognition crossing his features.

“Yes, the one relic you spared from destruction,” Alaina confirmed with a nod. “It will serve as the bridge for the transfer.”

Carrack stood motionless, a storm of thoughts raging within him. The revulsion at the idea of allying with an enigmatic entity, the guilt and horror of his past deeds, and the looming presence of the shadow all weighed heavily upon him. Yet, as he caught sight of the shadow inching ever closer, a sigh escaped him. He nodded, a reluctant acceptance written in his eyes.

“Fine,” he declared. “I’ll do it.”

“Very good,” Alistair responded, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Wise choice, Carrack. A hard one, but the wisest of them all,” Alaina added.

Carrack turned to leave, intent on retrieving his violin from the fort. But before stepping away, he paused and glanced back at Alaina, one last pressing question on his mind. “Alaina, was Lady Matilda trying to protect me?”

“Yes, she was.”