Ashera removed the bandages from her unlucky silver eye, its power could see through them, but the crimson mirage was a faint illusion, a will-o-wisp of malice that winked and shifted. In the morning dawn it seemed to be ahead of her, only to fade to the north by noon, and saunter through the evening dusk to end up in the south.

No wonder the Seraphim are always on the move, I can’t make any sense of this eye!

It needs more power, you lack the strength to wield it. Whispered the Soul Sphere.

Sure thing boss, i’ll just nip on down to the soul market and pick up a few thousand extra mage souls, i’m sure they have those just lying around. Grumbled Ashera.

The Sphere quieted, with so many disparate souls bound within it, there was rarely a consensus on any course of action. Gathering souls and increasing its power seemed to be the only unifying purpose behind its constant nagging. But it still pissed her off when the damn thing kept repeating orders she was trying to follow! There were no nearby souls, her unlucky eye could see clearly enough for that.

Until the crimson haze began to fade once more, this time the cloud shifted with her thoughts, settling over a distant hillock. Two unassuming hills smashed together, with a faint animal trail piercing the cleft. Ashera paused her march, waiting for the haze in her left eye to shift or clear. A half hour later it was still there, staunchly settled above the two hills.

Movement broke the statuesque silence, as a brown wolf trotted down the narrow trail. It stopped, raising its snout into the air. Immediately the wolf’s demeanor changed, eyes flick open and tongue running across exposed canines. Saliva dripped from its maw. Crouching low the wolf unzipped the hills with its tail, dashing out of sight between them. A yelp of pain echoed to Ashera, and the wolf reappeared with an arrow sticking out of its hide.

Thunk

A second arrow impacted the wolf’s skull, piercing into the creatures’ skull.

On reflex the beast fled, sprinting away from the crimson hills, no doubt to die under a bush soon after. Ashera’s curiosity piqued, demons and thralls preferred to see their victims bleed, eschewing bows in favor of blades. Meaning Asher had found a human camp.

Lorelai and the four cardinal traitors were not skilled in archery. Rowan was the best archer among the Seventy Seven, Ashera grit her teeth. Rowan had been the best archer.

Not wanting to spend another second thinking about her dead friends she marched towards the hills. The crimson fog faded as she approached, fading into invisibility as she entered the fugue. When she glanced back the way she had come the haze loomed to her left and right, a bloody igloo of malicious clouds.

Hmm, the closer I get to the target the harder it is to find it. Feels like the back alley discount angel vision.

Or you lack the power-

Ashera interrupted the Sphere by reaching up and flicking herself in the black eye.

Shut up. Lorelai could be in those hills, do not distract me or you’ll never get your souls.

She would be a better-

She flicked the Sphere again, channeling it’s magic to empower her flick. If I die, the last thing i’ll do is shatter you with your own mana.

The Sphere crunched into her skull with the force of Chuck Norris’ roundhouse, finally silencing the purgacious souls as she hit the world with her cheeks. Ashera was thankful for her undeath, knowing the pain would have been unbearable, if she could have felt it. Rising from her ass she strode between the hills. Her fingerless hand found the hilt of Vesper’s dagger, making Ashera snarl. Determined not to erroneously use her crippled hand she stuffed it into pocket, locking her elbow and gripping her dagger with her left hand.

Blood coated the ground in front of her, a crimson arrow pointing at a young girl -no older than seven- holding a crossbow. She was looking down at the blood, eyes focused in wide eyed enthrallment. Ashera’s shadow fell across the object of her obsession, startling the girl. She jumped in surprise, leveling the crossbow at Ashera with a shaky hand.

“Who are you?” She cried, voice more a whimper than a challenge.

“I’m Aaaaayaaaaa.” Groaned Ashera.

Her cleft tongue garbled her name, failing to communicate anything other than her first and last syllables. The girl’s grip on her crossbow tightened with fear, accidentally sending a bolt racing through the air. Close as they were, she had no time to think, no time to duck or dodge or evade. A half second and the bolt pierced her hood, narrowly missing her throat.

She raised her hands, showing that she meant no harm. The girl’s mouth quivered with fear, she thrust the crossbow into the ground, cranking on the inbuilt wheel to cock the string. Her little arms struggled with the mechanism, taking more than a full minute to rearm.

I could take her soul… I should…

1. She’s a child! If she were a mage then there would be no choice, but a powerless girl? I can’t.

you should… Whispered the Sphere.

Ashera snapped her fingers, drawing the girls attention back to her.

“I’m Aaya.” She said, sticking to phonetics that did not require the front half of her tongue.

Now I know why Queen Lily told me to get patched up by an artificer. I sound and look like a ghoul.

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“Aaya?” Said the girl. She looked down at her half cocked crossbow, then up to Ashera’s hands. “What are you holding?” She asked, looking at Ashera’s fingerless hand.

With the sun to her back, her fingerless hand appeared closed. She twisted it back and forth, so-soing her appendage so the girl could see the truth. When she did her face fell, confusion evident in her next question.

“Why did you eat your fingers? Those are important!”

Ashera’s dead throat rattled with laughter. She nodded and pulled back her hood, displaying her bandaged head and awkwardly trimmed hair.

“Eemuus… eee mmm nnn.” Ashera groaned, trying to pronounce ‘demons’.

Fear brightened the girl’s eyes and she cranked desperately on the crossbow, finally reaching full draw and loading a bolt from a quiver on her belt.

“Are you a demon?”

Ashera shook her head, no, wondering how much a crossbow bolt would hurt her. Probably not much, but it would be another hole she would need to fix, and Vesper would be pissed that she put a hole in her dress…

“Show me your face! Why do you talk funny?” Demanded the teenie tyrant.

Ashera considered a sleep spell, or an illusion, something small like a bird flying at the girl’s nose could distract her long enough to… Kill her? Deciding against violence Ashera gestured to her severed fingers then back to her mouth and covered eye. Her silver eye was uncovered, but there was nothing she could do about that now. With enough time –read as mountains of gold, and years of magic– Artificers could create prosthetic limbs, but she had never heard of a prosthetic eye.

The girl’s face softened –crimson light surrounded the girl in varying strength, collecting heaviest around her torso– mouth forming an ‘O’. “The demons cut your face and ate your fingers?”

Ashera nodded ‘yes’.

“I’m sorry Aaya, my name’s Sara. Come see Grandpa.” Ordered the girl.

Her hand found Ashera’s and the girl half led, half dragged the woman along the thin trail, chatting as they entered a forested valley. From the exterior it had appeared as though there was nothing of note within the hills, but now Ashera could see the underground creek that dumped water into a hidden calley, shielded from the wind trees and shrubs grew freely forming a dense valley with a dozen wagons at it’s center. Men moved around several fires smoking white meat and drying local fruits.

They watched Sara and Aaya with hungry eyes that wandered across her padded bosom and wide hips, though what surprised her was how their eyes lingered on her distended belly. She had tried to hide it, but bandages and belts could only conceal a small portion of her paunch.

Men were simple creatures, when they lacked companionship they became feral, crimson light collecting around all of them as Ashera passed. No women were visible, maybe it is a custom of theirs? The women of Keresh conceal their faces around anyone who isn’t their family. But they did not know I was coming…

An older man tended three fires, roasting large slabs of rump roast from what appeared to be a large boar, filling the air with the aroma of well cooked meat. Sara bounced with glee, licking her lips at what would be her dinner. It was then that Ashera realized how thin everyone was, no, not thin, gaunt. Sunken cheeks and knobby elbows peeked at her from every angle. Sunken eyes were lusting after her fat, jealous of her apparently healthy body. If only they knew I’ve been dead for a few weeks.

“Sara, why did you bring such a strange stranger to us?” Asked the elderly man.

Several men slowed their work, keeping a surreptitious eye on the stranger with the silver eye. Gazes flicked across her hands and belt, noticing the multiple daggers and shortsword there.

Sara pouted, stomping her foot. “You told me I should help people grandpa! Aaya needs help. Demons ate her fingies.”

The old man looked expectantly at Ashera, she knew what he wanted but feared to comply. There were dozens of men in the village, and she was a lone woman, showing weakness could lead to unfortunate misunderstandings that would see more than one hole put in Vesper’s dress.

Thinking quickly Ashera weighed the cost of lying to them, at best they would kick her out, at worst… they would peek up her skirt and realize she was undead, or try to use her and discover that fact when they tried to bump uglies. Truth it was, just how Ashera preferred it. After all, half truths made more mischief than a lie.

Reaching to her face with her fingerless hand, Ashera lowered the bandages covering her mouth, when she stuck out her shredded tongue ‘grandpa’s’ already sad gaze winced in sympathy, dispersing the crimson cloud that had been gathering around him.

“I see…” He said, stroking his unkempt beard. “And the bandages over your eye?”

Ashera drew her dagger and aimed it at her eyes, she spun the blade in small circular motions aimed at her right eye, then her left, sheathing Vesper’s dagger immediately after. The message was clear, ‘my eyes were cut out’. Grandpa circled Ashera, noting that she was following his movement with her blind gaze.

“They were cut out, but you can still see through that silver one?”

Ashera nodded, pinching her thumb and index together ‘a little’.

“Intriguing, I have seen the Seraphim artificers manufacture replacement hands and feet, but an eye? Never in my life! We do not have much, the siege at Juyoma was only lifted a few days ago so we are on our way to Gerscav, but we have been blessed today,” He indicated the roasting meat, “and would be happy to have you for dinner.”

If Ashera had still been alive and not numbed by undeath, her skin would have crawled. Everything about the man, the caravan, and the pocket orchard felt wrong. As if she were viewing the world through a mirror, movements were normal, but twisted in a facsimile that was no less accurate than the prime subjects. Ashera nodded, accepting their good will a millisecond before she cursed her birth. What the hell happens if I try to eat?

Sara left them, returning to her post between the hills. A few hours later two men relieved her, sending her back to Ashera with a jackrabbit, two squirrels, and the dead wolf. Every man applauded her efforts, warmly encouraging her like a dozen uncles. Two of the men finished their duties and joined grandpa, taking over his fires.

‘Grandpa’ spent the time conversing with Ashera, her damaged tongue leading to hours of inquisitive charades. His annoyance at their game finally peaked when Ashera held her fists to her head with thumbs sticking up, her attempt at warning him of Lorelai’s succubus nature.

“Bah, I’ve had enough of this hullabaloo! Come here and stick out that damn tongue.”

Ashera’s spine tingled, glancing at the two nearby men before complying. Her magic had not yet recharged, if it came to a wrestling match, she would lose. Badly. She swept aside the bandages, sticking her tongue out for the old man to see.

“Kneel.”

Her legs tensed as her fears came true.

Let them touch you. Said the Sphere. Skin to skin contact is the second best way to absorb their souls.

Loathing every second of life she, Ashera knelt in front of the old man, tongue extended. Grandpa’s hands touched her cheeks, lifting her chin as his fingers slid to her mouth. Ashera’s hand found the hilt of Vesper’s dagger. Grandpa closed his eyes, remaining motionless for several moments. Air ionized, converting into ozone that stung Ashera’s nose, making her taste buds tingle. Mana flowed from Grandpa into her shredded tongue, cells –energized by a living soul– found the memory to repair, joining sister cells they had not seen in biotic eons.

Ashera blushed with self disgust. These people had been nothing but good to her, they had welcomed her, put up with her dumb pantomime, and offered her their last rations. Why did she suspect them of being capable of assault?

One word rose from the depths of her id.

Lorelai.

Stinging mana faded, Grandpa had exhausted his magic, the two men who had stood alongside him stepped forward, catching their patriarch as his body collapsed. They had come to lend their strength, not suppress Ashera’s. Red shame shattered any vestige of pride. Broken did not begin to describe the state of her soul.

I’ll kill her.

“Thhhhank you.” Ashera said, feeling out her healed appendage.

It strained and ground against itself, Grandpa wasn’t half the healer she was, he had stitched her tongue through its center, creating a sort of soft skeleton that would press the torn ends of her tongue together. A crude but mana efficient healing spell that would have been sufficient if her body had any ability to repair itself.

“I’m alright, Kai go grab my reserve.” Said Grandpa.

Kai frowned, opening his mouth to protest.

“Don’t give me no backtalk boy.”

“Fine.” Grumbled Kai, disappearing into the nearest wagon, sounds of a metal lock clinking open and a trunk lid slamming open echoed shortly before Kai re-emerged with a jewel wrapped in silver bands.

Ashera recognized it as a mage’s reserve, its size and silver banding meant it was most likely an import from distant Jaflin, city of artisans. How it ended up in Oathinao a continent away was beyond her imagination, but she didn’t care. Grandpa was a mage.

He breathed easier the moment the reserve touched his hands, mana flowing from the storage device into the mage who had charged it. Within seconds the man was glowing with blue power, his had found Ashera’s cheek and the stench of ozone filled the air once more, knitting her tongue together once more. Now knowing what to expect, Ashera channeled her own mana, Grandpa’s body tensed at the interference then relaxed, allowing her to guide their combined mana. In seconds her tongue was unified, made new by her knowledge of undeath.

“Euugghhhhh meh.” Ashera worked her tongue, blabbering incoherently for several moments to try and remember what speech felt like.