An act of rebellion. An act of defiance. Insubordination. That’s what I’d call this. Breaking every code, every law we wrote once the Witch invaded our village.
The rain splashes on my face, washing away the remnants of that reindeer’s blood. I wash myself in a small puddle, although it does little more than replace the blood with mud. There is a grueling pain in my leg, leaving me nearly unable to stand. I may have fractured something when that animal kicked me.
Getting up using my sword, I slowly stumble out of the treeline. Behind me is a large, smoking campfire. We use these to communicate with our other soldiers; in this case, I have all but guaranteed that my fellow soldiers will assume I am dead. They will not come for me. Not this deep into the woods. I need to leave this place regardless, in case they deem it wise to investigate. I will go out on my own terms.
The fungal disease is already coursing through my veins. It will only be a matter of days until I am either enthralled, or dead. Consuming fungal honey might elongate my life, but will leave me vulnerable to the witch’s charms. In other words, I have to act quickly. My target is about three days north. Once there, I will have to contest their guards, possibly with only one functioning leg.
But I have an ace up my sleeve. I will not go down without a fight. To slow the spread of the fungal disease, I have to keep myself warm. The natural warmth of my body should counter its spread… for a while. Therefore, I’m keeping my thickest clothes beneath my armor.
Ravens circle overhead. They have smelled my weakness, seen my infection firsthand. They know. And if they know, then she does too.
I eventually manage to find myself on a well-traveled road just outside the forest. In years past, this was a popular trade route. Now, though, it’s only used by the locals to forage and scavenge for animal corpses that couldn’t survive the Tender Rust. It’s a miracle they survived this long, living like parasites to the land.
As I continue stumbling on the road, I see some figures in the distance. To my surprise, they seem to be traveling towards the village. Their gab suggests they came from afar - far outside this land, in search of something. A cure to their illness, no doubt. Many such travelers came through here to discover the truth about these far-reaching rumors. I wave my hand towards them, trying to get their attention. The moment they spot me, they seem to increase their pace into a light jog. The way they move towards me looks somewhat odd, as if they aren’t used to running much. They must be a real novice, and yet they managed to get all the way out here. How strange.
She looks to be in her late 20’s. She’s meager, almost malnourished. Her clothes are torn by the seams and have plenty of holes in them, suggesting that she’s lacked the funding to equip herself for this long journey. Her eyes look weary, and tired. Her fingers are dirty and muddy, as are her bare feet. She looks ill and weak.
“I am Captain Leonard, of the border patrol. We’ve had outposts along this road… how did you slip past them?” I ask her with a gentle, calming tone. Although it is true she has seemingly snuck through the guards to get here, I can’t exactly be mad at her. Rumors of a panacea would be enough to drive anyone desperate enough to such extreme actions.
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She shuffles uncomfortably. I can’t tell whether she’s afraid of me or just hiding something. Her eyes shift between making eye contact with me, and looking concerned at my leg, on which I am still limping. I put the sword back in its sheath, which I’ve been using as a crux until now.
“Well, now that you’re here, you can at least help me out. I was attacked by something, and my leg gave out. Can you help me get seated somewhere?” I invite her to help me, hoping she’ll feel more comfortable once she realizes I am no threat to her. Acting as my support, she guides me towards a tree stump nearby, where I finally sit down. She shares some water with me, and offers to disinfect the wound on my leg. I refuse the gesture, knowing full well she might get infected if she does. Throughout all of this, she doesn’t even say as much as a word. She goes through the gestures quietly, like a ghost.
“So… looking for a cure, yeah? All the way out here?” Attempting to break the silence seems futile. Her face flushes, and she looks away. Seems like I won’t get much out of her.
“Look, lady. Whatever you may have heard, it’s not worth your life out here. It’s dangerous, and the rumors of this place are verifiably false. We wouldn’t be keeping the border so locked up if we believed it to be true ourselves.” Coaxing her to leave may yield better results.
Again and again, I try to make her talk. Each time, her response ends in silence. Silence prevails. Frustration boils over.
Soon, I find myself weary of attempts to make her talk. Every one of them is thwarted by an oblivious, shy, or otherwise withdrawn response. Everything seems to indicate some form of fear. I withdraw from her, sequestering myself to ponder my plan for the days ahead. I can’t exactly go on limping like this, can I?
I need to make my way to the village. Once there, I will likely be forced to contend with the remaining knights, who now work for that witch. After sneaking past them or killing them, I must behead the witch. I must prove her seduction to the world at large, dispel the magic spell she has cast on them. Then, I must remove the scourge of the fungus from these lands. We must burn it all to the ground, and begin anew. Death, and rebirth. This is how Lady Coudraig would’ve wanted it, if she were here.
… At some point, I must’ve fallen asleep. The weariness and the wounds having taken their toll, I closed my eyes and simply dozed off. I had the strangest dreams, visions of the scorching sun flaying my skin and boiling my blood. I was only roused from my slumber by the strangest itch. Sweating profusely, covered in scratches, blood under my nails. My skin was ruptured, and a stinging pain pulsed through my limbs.
My sword lays unsheathed, my armor is scattered all over the place, and bugs are crawling over me. Instinctively and panickedly, I slap them away, but each one of them buzzes and flies around me. Some of them bite into my flesh and tear off pieces from my skin, devouring it. Ravens caw, flying up around me and scattering with their spoils.
The lady is nowhere to be seen. Her camp is gone, alongside all trace sof her existence. There is an awful rumbling in my stomach. Something vile. I throw up, but all that comes out is bile and mud. The beetles and the ravens surrounding me leave my body alone, once they realise I am far from dead. My hands tremble. Beneath my skin, I see what look like strands of fungus working their way up. They are hungry for me. Parasites, feasting on ym body while it yet lives.
It seems I might have less time to go than I thought.