CHAPTER VIII: Ashes, Ashes

Even if one were to look away, the mere sight of such foul creatures would remain seared into your mind, to speak of bloodiness and to torment you until your last breath.

Their coats were rough and built upon dirt. Waxy skin glistened from where fur had been torn, and the patches held a texture like that of scorched flesh. With molten-black eyes they stared, jaws unhinged and gaping, their mouths a silent black abyss.

“Beasts from the underworld?” Vilja said, “You dramatic thing. Just admit you were practicing your necromancy on some poor dogs.”

“Must you blame everything on me?” Silas uttered. “Even if the world were ending, you’d point to my necromancy.”

Aurae let out a cry in warning, and a wolf had lunged in Vilja’s direction. Though before the huntslady could react, a wave of black magic washed over the beast like a sooty avalanche of sorts. It smothered the creature, quickly and quietly, and the hiss of burning could be heard as its flesh disintegrated down to ash. Aurae watched, her head plagued with disgust and confusion. Upon following the direction of which the wave had come, she saw Silas. The wind within his palms had now turned a frightful shade of black, and it moved with the consistency of ink in water, or smoke in the breeze: thick and suffocating air.

It was said that the soul was the source of every magic. That was why those who practiced the arts of magic were referred to as vefarié: the spirit weavers.

And it was said that the soul was a form of wind, for Veifa had breathed it into our beings; it was the very foundation of our existence, the construction of our conscience.

This very wind that the soul was made of, when twisted and warped during spirit-weaving, had the ability to meld with worldly elements. Some souls had a natural disposition to meld better with certain elements than others. Such as Florian, whose talents lay in warping water (like he had done at the Komidraya.) Or Aurae, whose soul attracted fire so very easily.

Every soul was unique: it had its own colour, its own sound. Some were clear as a summer breeze and whistled like wind chimes, while others were dark as storms and exhaled like roaring thunder.

But this? Aurae had not seen anything like it. This element, this blackened formation of Silas’s soul, with movements like that of a living smoke, she had not witnessed before. It was the thing of nightmares, of unearthly hallucinations. And the worst thing about it was that, despite it being a dark air of sorts, it felt heavy. Aurae could feel its density, the daunting energies that split the air around it. And if you looked closely enough, it was almost as though you could hear something… like the whispers of the damned seeping from its unnatural gloom.

There was a flash of red. Vilja charged forward, the bladed ends of her bow glinted in the dead of moonlight. They slashed through two beasts, then a third, and the forest floors were dampened with the very crimson that coloured her hair.

“The hounds of Helvar are the stuff of legend! Surely these are not them – you ought to be mad!” Vilja told Silas, who himself seemed rather busy working his magicks. With twirling fingers and swift gestures, he moved his dark spells in waves over the beasts that leapt from behind; while Vilja kept guard and attacked any threats from the front. Aurae, in the meanwhile, hopped around in the middle, her shifting gaze striking back and forth as the scene before her became a fine blend of blood and ash.

“Did I not tell you that death was undoing itself?” Silas replied, and a man-sized beast had darted out from the trees above, its claws lashed out like hidden blades. Aurae’s screams alerted Silas immediately, and he sent the black fog up and over the creature. Its body disintegrated mid-air, and it rained down in ashes that dusted Aurae all over. The girl coughed and rubbed clean her eyes, though her body was frozen stiff in shock. Not only from the beast that had almost attacked her – but that Silas’s odd magic had come so close to her being. If it had come any closer, hell, perhaps she would have turned to a pile of dust, too.

“What! Speak clearly, you strange man!” Vilja was struggling with one of the beasts, whose sharpened canines had grasped hold of her bow, “Does it look like I’m in the mood for your bullshit?!” with hefty boots, she kicked the beast back, swung her strong arms up over it and slashed the creature’s head.

The huntslady then forced her bladed bow right up against the throat of an unsuspecting Silas, who had just finished his work in perishing the last couple of wolves.

“Tell me this is not your doing,” she stared, eyes fierce, and her weapon pressed into his skin, “Tell me, for your life depends on it.”

“It is not my doing.” Silas raised his eyebrows, and stood still awhile. “You know I could cremate you this very moment, don’t you?” he spoke, gently.

“And I could slit your throat just as quickly,” she asserted, to which Silas sneered at in such a way that seemed almost as affectionate as it was mocking. He raised a hand, dark magic flickering between his fingers. And with a simple gesture, the black air lashed forward… and incinerated a final wolf that had leapt at Vilja. The creature let out a pained whine and its half-ashen corpse slumped to the ground.

“I see. So this shall be a test of speed then? Are you challenging me, Vilja?”

“No!” Aurae butted in. She had walked over, hands brushing off the dust that cluttered her hair and clothes. Her face was ashy and greyed yet her eyes were bright as doves, and she looked to the fighting pair with much frustration, “Then you’ll both be dead! What then? Is that what you want? To die, pathetically, over some stupid rivalry?” she shook her head, her hands trembled and her legs weighed heavy, “Please… I just want to go home. I don’t know what’s happening. I just want to leave.”

Silas and Vilja looked to the girl, then at each other. Despite their temper, stubbornness, and apparent necessity to fight at any given opportunity, they seemed to (for but a moment) reach a mutual understanding.

The two lowered their guard, awkwardly.

“Home it is. Let’s go,” Vilja said. She walked over to the girl; her hands softly brushed the dust from her face. Despite her dislike for being treated so tenderly, Aurae did not pull away, for she had other matters on her mind that kept her worries elsewhere. “You still have a lot of explaining to do,” Vilja spoke to Silas after a few seconds of quiet, and with visible hesitation, she turned to look over her shoulder. “For Aurae’s sake, come with us. Until we reach the village,” her brows furrowed, “Then, we will speak properly.”

“A rational choice,” Silas agreed, “I shall gladly accompany you.”

“And don’t assume it’s because I need your protection,” Vilja started, “I only seek answers from you. Nothing more.”

The man smiled then, “But of course. I wouldn’t underestimate your strength for even a moment, Vilja.”

“Keep your flattery to yourself,” the huntslady grumbled. She took Aurae by the shoulder, and with the guidance of Silas, the three made their way back.

On their walk to the village, Aurae tilted her head back and looked up to the sky. The bitter cold of winter washed over her features; snow sprinkled over her dirty, dampened clothes. In this rare-found peace, she breathed in the night air, and let it fill her lungs. Though instead of being refreshed by the smell of pine trees, the potent scent of decay lingered all around. And it would be a scent she would not easily forget.

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Upon returning to the village, all was quiet. Moonlight shone over the empty stone streets, it shone into the wide wells where still water glistened like starlight, and over the silent homes where families slept away the night. The creaking of an inn sign could be heard up ahead, and the wind whistled a solemn tune.

Silas, despite the far journey, seemed quite alright and tidy in appearance. The ends of his cloak had been dampened by the forest snow, but all in all, the only tiredness about him was the nonchalance that always sat in his expression. Vilja was of course quite the mess, for her fumbling through the forest in search of Aurae had left her stained and muddy, but she did not mind, for her strength allowed her to push forward.

Aurae, on the other hand… she did not look too well.

Mighty thoughts weighed on her mind. If her body had not given out, her head definitely had, and the hollow in her eyes revealed her weariness and loss of vigor – and a certain somebody quickly took notice of it at the moment of their arrival.

“Where in the devil’s name have the two of you been?” a black figure stood out from the streets, it was quite small in height and had a tall, pointed hat that shadowed its face. The figure had previously been pacing back and forth anxiously, though upon seeing the others, the hat was briskly removed to reveal sage-green curls and a concerned expression.

It wasn’t like Florian to reveal his care for others, though upon seeing Aurae’s condition, it seemed it was harsh enough to move even the most aloof people.

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“What happened?” he insisted. Florian observed the dried bloodstains on Vilja’s dress in disgust.

“It’s a long story,” Vilja replied simply, too tired for lengthy explanations. Florian stared at the two ladies in contemplation for a moment longer, although his attention was suddenly switched over to a third person that stepped into the light. The darkness of his hair and clothing had made him almost impossible to spot at first, but the moment Florian’s gaze landed on him, his eyes squinted, but then lit up.

“Silas?”

“Ah, Florian. It’s been a while,” the man gave a polite bow, “I see you haven’t grown much since I last saw you.”

The light in his eyes dimmed “And I see you haven’t lost your attitude. Jokes aside, whatever are you doing here? The Arakya condemns necromancers from stepping into the village; you know that.”

“I brought him here,” Vilja interrupted, “I take all responsibility. If Mei finds him, you can tell her that.”

Florian sighed and shook his head. He looked at Silas, thoughtfully, and the necromancer only returned his suspicion with another one of his polite smiles.

“You’ll be gone by sunrise?”

“Most certainly,” Silas reassured.

“Very well,” Florian decided, “Come.”

Within the village’s solitude, there lay a building with windows lit in warm shades despite the dark hour. A couple silhouettes could be seen moving to and fro, the sound of clinking dishes and female voices brightened the scene, and the walls were laced with vines and odd plants.

This was the Witch’s Brew, they called it. A herbal tavern that sold teas and potions alongside its alcoholic drinks. It was a bit of a comedic name for the villagers, for nobody here actually referred to magic practisers as witches. That was a word outsiders used, and it was considered a rather shallow term – perhaps even an offensive one.

An iron bell chimed as the four entered one by one; Silas entered last and had to duck a little to get through the door. Inside, the warmth of the building was like that of a gentle hug, for a large fire burned at the hearth, where a lady with bright hair kneeled besides to tend to the firewood.

Like Vilja, the woman’s hair was red, though it was a different kind: like that of carrots and peaches, rather than blood and fires. The sound of the bell caught her attention, and she looked over, her expression warm as the moving fire.

“Vilja! You are returned! How ar–” her words were cut off at the sight of Aurae, who looked to be in quite a worn-down state, “Oh my goodness! What has happened to you?” She made her way over in a hurry, and took the girl from Vilja, “You are cold as ice, you poor child… please, come sit by the fire.”

Aurae said nothing for a moment, but eventually looked up and shook her head, “No. I’m alright, Freya.”

“Alright? Then why do you tremble so? May I at least offer you some soup – a cup of tea? Something to bring the warmth back to your fingers?”

“The only thing I need right now is a hot bath and some quiet,” she grumbled, and pushed Freya’s support aside stubbornly, “Please. I don’t need your help, I can take care of myself.” And without another word, Aurae ascended up the staircase alone.

A hot bath was subsequently prepared. Though Aurae had planned on preparing it herself, Freya insisted on helping, and in her weakness, the girl didn’t have the energy to resist.

“Call me if you need anything,” she told her, “I’ll be downstairs.” And once she finally left, Aurae was alone, just how she wished to be for a while.

She peeled the dirtied clothes from her skin, and sank into the hot water. The day and the night had been long; she felt disoriented, with no sense of time or memory. When had she passed out, when had she awoken? How long had she spent at Silas’s strange abode, how long had they been in the forest? What time was it now? How many days had it been? The answers eluded her. She let out a long breath of air, and tried to silence her mind.

The room was quiet. Her body felt weighed down like ore. Though the warmth had been brought back to it, there remained a certain coldness somewhere within her; a bitterness in her soul. The world was cracked and splintered, no longer a clear looking glass, but much rather a confusion between what was real and what was hallucination. Everything that had happened this past day felt unreal, as though it were an odd dream that she longed to awaken from.

She leaned her head back, and rested. Steam brushed over her skin. Her eyes gave in to their weightiness, and slipped shut. From the lower floors, she could hear the chatter of familiar voices, all faded and blurry in sound. Vilja, her direct and sharp words, Silas, who spoke like an enchantress of sorts. Freya’s was sweet as spring, and Florian, when he did speak on rare occasions, was painfully logical and distant in his tone.

She thought listening to their conversations would bring her a momentary distraction, but they only spoke of what had happened, with Silas mentioning his side of the story by the lake.

“She was completely unresponsive when I found her,” the man was saying, “As though she were in a state of shock. I could not read the situation at first, though after a little contemplation…”

The following words were lost to the howling wind against the windows. The moonlight created shadows against the walls of the bathroom, and warm candlelights swayed in its silver glow. A momentary silence passed, and then, an energetic outburst of several different voices.

“Surely that’s not the only explanation,” one voice said.

“Not to mention that such an event is practically impossible,” said another.

“Oh but is it?” Silas continued, “Do you not, as spirit-weavers, believe in the existence of a barrier between the living and the dead? And if such a barrier exists, then it is just as possible for it to cease to exist, no? And if it ceased to exist, what would such a world look like?”

Another pause.

“...Living dead…”

“Just what are you implying here, Silas?!”

Aurae sat up. Again, the voices began to overlap.

The wind whistled on. Aurae cleaned herself up, rubbed her body dry with a towel, and dressed herself in a pair of fresh cotton clothing. The girl descended to the lower floor. The conversation within went on.

“Your theory would explain the strange wolves, too…”

“And the decaying crops at the farm!”

“Even if it does,” Florian interrupted, “I refuse to believe your proposal. You have no proof for it.”

“Oh, but I do.”

Aurae stepped into the room. Suddenly, the conversation halted. All became still. Everyone was gathered by a wide table, where Silas sat sipping at some tea Freya had prepared for him and some others. Once he had settled the teacup back down, his amber eyes moved to Aurae, and the necromancer reached his hand out to her as a way of inviting her to the table.

“Her,” Silas smiled up at the girl, and suddenly, everyone’s attention was on her. “She is my proof. Come, Miss Ivanko, take a seat. I’ve been waiting for you.” He gestured to an empty chair at the other end. Despite Silas’s kind countenance and polite manner, everyone else looked awfully grim, almost as though someone had told them the world was ending, or something of equal gravity.

Nevertheless, with slow steps, Aurae walked to the chair. She sat down. Silas offered her some tea, to which she gave a simple nod, and he gingerly poured her a cup full.

“Now then,” the teacup was handed to her. The beverage was darkly coloured and hot against her hands, “Tell me, Miss Ivanko, what do you recall? Before we encountered each other at the lake?”

“The ghosts,” she said immediately, “The ones you didn't want to explain to me.”

“The ghosts,” Silas exhaled sharply, “And why do you think they were ghosts?”

“That is what they looked like,” Aurae began. She paused. Retracing her steps in memory made everything come back: pictures of the dead and violent imagery returned to her mind’s eye. “They were bloody. Decaying, like corpses, it could not be any other way… why do you ask me? You’re not going to tell me they weren’t ghosts, are you? If not, then what? Nightmares? Did I dream something so ghastly?”

“If it were just a nightmare, then what led you to me?” Silas questioned, to which Aurae gave a quick, panicked shake of her head.

“No - enough questions! You speak as if you know, why don’t you tell me?”

“I think you know why I won’t tell you, Aurae.”

She scowled, “Because you think I’m weak? That I’ll be unable to accept what you say?”

“Precisely that, my dear.”

“You underestimate me.” She struck the teacup back onto the table and pushed it aside, for her appetite and thirst were now far gone from her. “I’m going to find the answers from you, whether you like it or not.”

Silas seemed to enjoy her determination. Indeed, the girl reminded her of Vilja, she shared the same fire, the same stubbornness; a willpower of stone. “Then I’ll have to ask you again, Miss Ivanko,” the necromancer spoke, and his voice was yet again gentle as a dying wind, “Do you value your happiness?”

Aurae looked at him, challengingly, her countenance was harsh and her decision was made. “I don’t care for my happiness. Give me the truth.”

The man smiled then, curiously.

“Much better,” said he, “Then a deal is made! An irreversible exchange, I’ll have you know. Your happiness… for my knowledge.”