They were nearing Yolkshire, according to Erevan. After a few days of sleeping on cold and hard dirt with tiny twigs poking at his back, Ilias was looking forward to a town - with real beds. Or at least what passed for real beds in these parts. Not to mention that he wouldn’t be as likely to trip on roots, stones or his own two feet. He had noticed Erevan didn’t really have patience for that, so Ilias did his best to keep his attention on the ground and stay upright. It was shameful. The others seemed to navigate through the shrubbery so easily whereas he had to concentrate as hard as he could just so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face. He was slowing them down, he knew it.
He let out a small sigh as he lifted his gaze just for a moment to see where the ranger was going.
Apparently Erevan had superhuman hearing as the ranger had somehow heard the sigh and sent a withering glare his way. Ilias inwardly winced, muscles tensing ever so slightly. There was so much animosity in that glare. Ilias quickly dropped his eyes to the ground, but not too quickly. He didn’t want it to be obvious that he was avoiding eye-contact. Appearances were important.
It was also basically the one thing he was good at, slipping on a facade regardless of what he was feeling. Sometimes, when he was alone with his thoughts, he was disgusted by himself. He felt like he was nothing else these days. A fake. A fraud. Yet donning his mask was a role he’d played for so long it came naturally to him. An act as simple as breathing.
He didn’t even know if he’d want to shed it, especially now. Maybe he was just doomed to be fake for the rest of his life. Then again, the alternative was worse.
Ilias briefly wished that Master Imad was here. He would know what was the right thing to do. The Master would probably gently and patiently take him to his room, prepare some of that disgusting tea the old man seemed to love so much and give Ilias an endless lecture about morals and whatnot. While appreciatively sipping the off-putting liquid. Ilias’ heart swelled with fondness, as it simultaneously ached with longing. He would never see Imad again.
He glanced up at Erevan again. Something in the way the ranger looked at him reminded him of father. It was as if they both possessed the ability to see right through him. Like they could so clearly see all the pathetic, weak and useless parts of him that he so desperately tried to hide. His shoulders slumped a little as he tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was just going to end up as a burden, or make matters worse for the other two.
After all, his first meeting with Erevan had been a royal screw up. He reasoned it was probably the magic use - which, fair, he should have warned them first, or at least asked for permission. But maybe there was more to it. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
No. He couldn’t just give up. If he was going to do that he should’ve just walked right into the ocean when he had the chance. The whole reason he was here was so that he could change his legacy. Leave something good behind before he inevitably died.
He had gotten a second chance, for some bizarre reason, and not fulfilling whatever it was that the gods wanted of him would be equivalent to spitting in their faces. After all, it must’ve been some form of divine intervention that saved his life after “The Incident”. How could he be alive otherwise? Where else would his new magical powers have come from?
Or maybe the gods had made a mistake. Maybe they meant to help someone else and he got in the way like the stumbling fool that he was.
Ilias was brought out of his thoughts as he nearly tripped over a small rock. He frowned at his boots. Typical. He couldn’t even walk right. How hard was that? Just putting one foot in front of the other. Even babies could do it. Fortunately he managed to keep it as a stumble so he did not knock down Nalion, who was strolling in front of him. He didn’t want the older mage to hate him too. Thankfully the elf didn’t even seem to notice his narrow escape from being flattened by Ilias. Instead Nalion walked on, appearing to be deep in thought.
Ilias liked Nalion. The elf was kind, welcoming and by the looks of it - very smart. Erevan seemed smart too, but in a different way. Nalion, however, appeared to be on a different level altogether. All that seemingly endless knowledge about magic, and how on earth had he spoken to that small dragon? Ilias briefly wondered if it had something to do with the book. A small shudder went through his spine as he thought of the eerie eye on the cover of the book.
He didn’t know why he was so affected by it, but something about it just creeped him out. Ilias shook his head slightly and tried to concentrate on the ground again.
Regardless, it appeared that Erevan did not have similar book-knowledge as Nalion. What the ranger lacked in academics he sure made up in other areas. Erevan was keen, very little seemed to go unnoticed by his sharp gaze. The ranger seemed so confident and intimidating, he clearly knew what he was doing and had no time for nonsense. Maybe that’s why Ilias was reminded of his father when he looked at Erevan. Too bad Ilias was always full of nonsense.
He looked up as he noticed that Nalion had slowed down, Spiro sleepily peering out from the elfs bag. As they came to a stop at the edge of the lush forest, he could see the small town just a short stroll down the green hill. Further in the distance his gaze caught a tall white tower glistening in the sunlight, surrounded by three smaller towers. It had an air of importance around it, amplified by the ring of water surrounding it.
Right. Showtime. He slipped on a polite and friendly smile, subtly relaxing some muscles while straightening his back. Fake it till you make it. Though he never seemed to make it, so fake it it was.
As they descended to the town, a young woman dressed in simple, long white robes was waiting for them. She had most likely seen them make their way down the hill. Her hair was long and golden, shining boldly in the sun as the wind whipped it around on its whims. She raised her pale hand in a wave as they drew nearer. Ilias returned the gesture. He didn’t want to seem disrespectful or rude. As they got to the gates Erevan slowed his pace, inching behind Nalion with a sour look.
Nalion greeted the woman with a “Hello,” and an awkward wave.
After a beat of tense silence Ilias introduced them. Long silences usually didn’t bode well in his experience. He’d decided to step up since it didn’t seem like Erevan was going to do that and Nalion looked unsure of what to do next, shifting from one foot to the other.
“My name is Claire, I’m from the chapel of Yolkshire. I was expecting someone from the Kingsholds chapel, yet you are not dressed accordingly. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anyone sent by them, would you?” She asked politely. Her green eyes were earnest, betraying a hint of worry.
Ilias turned to look at Erevan who suddenly seemed very interested in his worn, brown leather boots while muttering something incoherent. Nalion, on the other hand, visibly perked up.
“YES! Yes, we were sent by the warrior priest, I don’t know his name though…” Nalion trailed off for a moment before resuming the conversation. “He had to go help our friend so we came here to help you.”
Ilias did know that the priest was in fact called Father Philip, though it felt impolite to point that out now. Instead he widened his smile a fraction.
“Well, as things are now we’re thankful for help, wherever it might come from,” Claire said, her smile fading into something more serious. “Did he let the cat out the bag or did he leave that to me?”
Behind him a concerned Nalion whispered loudly to Erevan, “Were we supposed to bring a cat here?”, before silence fell. Again. Ilias started to feel like he would suffocate from it, so he decided to continue the conversation. “Yes, he said that you were running out of food, that you had some solution but it was too dangerous for anyone in the town to try?”
“Yes, that is correct,” Claire nodded. “Come on. You can rest in our chapel and we can talk about it more there.”
Claire led them through the town, offering friendly smiles and nods to the people out and about. Many of them looked at them curiously. They must have looked odd, Ilias realised - a thin elf, a battleworn adventurer and a young member of nobility. Erevan was the only one who really looked the part of a saviour.
As they were closing in on the town square, a balding man in his late forties and pompous clothing strode towards them. Behind the overweight man there was another man, a leaner one, who yelled “Damn it Carl!” in obvious frustration as he clutched some broken tool in his hands. The shout fell on deaf ears as the first man continued towards them, a wide smile growing on his lips. His red hair was meticulously groomed and combed over, as if to try to hide his painfully obvious bald spot. His honey brown eyes looked at them eagerly. Almost greedily.
“Welcome to our esteemed town!” The man’s voice was grating as he stood in front of them to block their way. “Who might our visitors be, my dear Claire?”
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Claire’s smile tightened. “They were sent by the chapel in Kingshold. I’ll handle it.”
“The chapel! Then you simply MUST know me as I am very important!” The man proudly puffed his chest out as a sly look entered his eyes. “I am of course the one and the only Carl, the great mayor of this splendid town!”
Claire rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Self-proclaimed mayor. No one bears the title right now. There hasn’t been an election since the old mayor passed away.”
“I’m not seeing anyone trying to fill his shoes, and such trying times as these need a strong hand on the wheel!” Carl proclaimed loudly, striking what he was surely thinking was a heroic pose with his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips. The smile grew wider, showing his badly kept teeth. Ilias was getting the feeling of someone who was desperate to climb the social ladder and broadcast his own greatness. He’d met plenty of that type before. Though Carl’s way of playing the Game was quite amateurish. No subtlety whatsoever.
The mayor ignored Claire once again as his attention was glued to Erevan, Nalion and Ilias. Carl gave an all-important cough. “As the mayor, I should be delighted to fill you in on the plan!”
“Do you even know the plan?” Claire asked, despondent.
“Well of course I do, my dear Claire! I know everything that’s worth knowing, you know that!”
“If that’s the case then I don’t see why I needed to greet our would-be saviors, but sure, go ahead. Don’t forget their payment.”
Carl’s eyes bulged momentarily as he spluttered. “Oh, um, yes… Well, you’ve handled it exceptionally so far my dear! I’ll be off taking care of the really important stuff while you can take care of this… Business. Gods know the womenfolk need their little projects to feel valuable sometimes too, am I right?” The balding man winked at the trio.
Ilias made sure to smile back politely. Mother had always said, ‘If you have nothing nice to say to someone then it’s best to keep your mouth closed’. And there was nothing nice to say to Carl.
To her credit Claire merely sighed and shook her head dejectedly before leading them past Carl who now stepped aside. The man waved cheerily at them as they continued their way through town.
“So, that was Carl,” said Ilias conversationally. Claire grimaced.
“Yes, sorry about that. Don’t listen to what he says, he’s not the mayor,” Claire said, nose scrunched up in distaste before her features softened again. “He’s not dangerous or anything, but thinks way too much of himself. Any power will go straight to his head. In fact, I think it already has. Despite the fact that he doesn’t even have any.”
Soon they stopped in front of a modest temple in honour of all the gods. Ilias suspected that this was the chapel where Claire worked. His suspicion was proved correct as they walked inside, heels clacking on the unyielding stone floor. Claire led them through the simple yet spacious entrance to a small private chamber off to the side and closed the door.
“So,” she said, eyeing them up as they sat down. “I have some chores to do before the sermon, but you can rest here for a while. I will come by shortly with some bread. We don’t have much to spare, unfortunately, but we’ll get into that later.”
Ilias nodded politely. “Thank you, that sounds wonderful.”
With a small smile, Claire was off. True to her word, she soon returned with a simple wooden tray carrying a few thin slices of bread. It tasted slightly sour, the texture tough and dry, as if it was getting quite old. As they quietly ate their respective stale slices, Ilias looked around the room. Besides his companions - Nalion already had the book in hand and Erevan deliberately not looking at him - the room was mostly empty. A table, with a few chairs, where they sat. A small bookshelf containing scripture based on the titles of the books and a wooden bed with a lumpy hay mattress.
He sat still, outwardly calm and collected, choosing to endure the awful quiet between them. Erevan already hated him and disturbing a reading Nalion might make the mage hate Ilias as well.
After a while Claire returned.
“Alright then,” she said, re-entering the room. She sat down gingerly on the remaining empty chair by the table. “There is this legend here about a powerful sorcerer that used to live in those towers in the distance. You surely saw them on your way in,” Claire pointed in the direction of the towers and paused as they nodded.
The lack of pleasantries and small talk felt very odd. It was so direct, so blunt. He didn’t know how to feel about it. Hopefully this was just her way of communicating and they hadn’t offended her somehow.
“Well, legend says that the sorcerer had a magical staff which, among other things, was able to make crops grow within a day. It is said that the sorcerer used to help the townsfolk in times of scarce harvest. In exchange, the townsfolk would give any surplus to the sorcerer. Now it’s only a legend, but it might just be our best bet. We don’t have enough food so it’s this or starve. We are already running low on the meager supplies we had left and all game has left the area for reasons unknown. It doesn't help that we are mostly farmers and inexperienced in hunting. The only body of water close by is the lake which surrounds the towers and there has been no fish in it, well, ever as far as we know.”
Immediately he felt bad about judging the staleness of the bread instead of appreciating the kind and generous gesture it had been. He was an awful, awful person.
“What happened to your harvest?” Nalion asked, sounding somehow equally concerned and curious.
Claire's face fell somewhat. “We don’t know.”
She paused for a moment, looking forlornly at the small bookshelf. “It was some kind of sickness… Or disease. It spread from plant to plant, until all withered. It even managed to affect some of the supplies we had in storage. It happened so fast. We couldn’t stop it...”
Ilias felt his heart clench in sympathy. It sounded awful. To go so suddenly from normal to catastrophe. He could empathise.
“Regardless,” her strength seemed to return to her with every word as she continued. “It is rumored that the staff is still within the main tower. However, the towers themselves are said to be cursed. No one from the town has been there in years, and those who have entered during the past centuries have not returned,” Claire spoke in a matter of fact manner now, even as a faint glimmer of sadness could be spotted in her eyes.
“I can’t promise you anything, but we can at least give it a try,” said Nalion with a sombre tone. Erevan sighed loudly, though the ranger didn’t protest any further. Ilias gave Claire a reassuring smile. Nalion and Erevan seemed to know what they were doing, so it was probably going to turn out for the best. He hoped.
They soon bid their farewell to Claire, deciding to trek to the towers the next day as dusk would soon be upon them. Claire had given them instructions on how to find the local inn, where they could rent a room for the night. They made their way through the town, and came to stand in front of a medium-sized wooden house. It seemed sturdy and cosy in a way Ilias wasn’t used to.
Erevan knocked on the door. Or more like banged, as Ilias feared that the hinges would give in anytime. He could let out the breath he was holding soon enough. Another middle-aged man, this one slightly overweight and with a full head of light brown hair, came to open the door.
“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, standing in the doorway and effectively blocking their entrance.
“Beer,” answered Erevan, equally gruffly.
“And a place to rest! And maybe something to eat?” peeped Nalion from behind Erevans larger form.
The innkeeper ushered them in, looking tired. “I can rent you three rooms as there is no one visiting us. Beer I can fix but that’s about it.”
He closed the door behind them, leaving the fireplace as the main source of light in the room. Ilias was relieved to be inside and warm instead of out in the chill. The weather had been quite cold in his opinion even though summer was supposed to be nearing. Erevan too seemed relieved, but that seemed to have more to do with the prospect of beer than anything else.
“My name is Robert, but most people call me Bob or Bobby,” said the innkeeper as he cleaned out a glass pint with a rug dirtier than the pint itself. Ilias’ hands twitched involuntarily. The desire to use his magic to clean out the glass properly before the beer was poured into it was very strong. He restrained himself though as Erevan would probably not appreciate it. And what if he would insult Robert at the same time?
Erevan nodded his thanks to Robert as he took the pint full of fizzling amber liquid, holding it in his hands as if it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in this world. It was slightly unsettling to see such an expression on the formidable, frightening ranger.
“How much?” Erevan rasped.
“Three coppers. Though if you want to eat you’re out of luck,” said the innkeep wistfully as a crooked and sarcastic smile faintly adorned his face.
“OH!” exclaimed Nalion with wide eyes as a thought struck him. The elf then scrunched his face up in concentration as he lifted his hand in front of him. The hand began glowing gently as several red berries materialised out of thin air in his thin palm. Nalion beamed brightly as he wordlessly offered the berries to the innkeeper. Robert was staring at Nalions palm very intently, his face drawn, eyes wide and mouth agape. The innkeeper rapidly blinked a few times. He then finally closed his mouth as he lifted his gaze to meet Nalions.
“Balls…” he muttered, dumbstruck.
“No, berries,” said Nalion, clearly confused by the perceived change in subject. The older mage then recovered and enthusiastically rushed out: “Don’t worry, we have a permit!”
Nalion turned his head ever so slightly to give Ilias a very slow, very obvious wink.
Ilias resisted the urge to drop his face to his hands as there was no way Robert had not seen that. Erevan, however, had no such qualms. A loud slapping sound echoed in the room as Erevans palm made violent contact with his forehead. Nalion might be smart, but he was definitely not street-smart.
The sound seemed to shock the innkeeper out of his stupor. Robert visibly shook himself, resuming a more neutral expression as he walked over to take the offered berries. He popped one in his mouth even as he looked at the others in suspicion. Based on the pleasantly surprised expression on his face they were deemed edible. He turned his gaze back to them, assessing them. He then nodded to himself.
“As long as you help out I don’t care about any permits. Consider the beer paid,” Robert said curtly, yet not unkindly.
Erevan looked extremely satisfied with this and plopped down on a chair near the fireplace. The ranger finally took a sip, savouring the taste of his beer. Nalion appeared to be fondly amused, sitting next to Erevan and pulling out the book with the creepy eye from his backpack. The eye no one else besides him seemed to be able to see. Maybe Ilias was losing his mind. Now wasn’t that a comforting thought.
He decided it would be for the best to leave them be and retire for the night. Who knew, perhaps that would earn him some goodwill with Erevan.
Later that evening he lay still in his bed, wearily staring at the nondescript wooden roof above. He’d spent many sleepless nights in a similar fashion. Though now the roof was different. There was a small crack in the wood right above him. It was odd.
He blinked slowly, feeling tired. His limbs were heavy, weighing him down, yet he couldn’t seem to be able to fall asleep. His mind kept worrying. Repeating his mistakes and plaguing him with his own incompetence. He could hear his fathers voice in his head, clear as a bell and cold as ice, criticising his choices. Pinching himself in the arm as hard as he could, Ilias tried to focus on the pain and drown out the thoughts. It worked momentarily, but soon the spiralling began anew.
Ilias let out a defeated sigh as he rolled on his right side and gingerly curled into a ball. He hugged his knees close to his body, feeling alone and unloved. He could feel the beginnings of tears burning in the corners of his eyes but he didn’t let them fall, even as his eyesight went blurry and his throat tightened uncomfortably. He wasn’t a child anymore, he was supposed to be stronger than this. But then again he did always manage to disappoint everyone. Screwing things up just seemed to be in his nature.
He lifted the blanket over his head with shaky hands, missing home. He didn’t know which hurt more, knowing he’d never be back or knowing that no one there missed him. It was his own fault too. No one had forced him to be a selfish coward, he’d chosen it all by his lonesome. If he was stronger, if he was braver or smarter or simply better, he would have... He probably would have never been in this mess to begin with.
He shut his eyes tightly as his body betrayed him once again and the wet, salty drops began to soundlessly roll their way down his face, falling on his pillow. Just another weakness he couldn’t seem to rid himself of. He sniffed. At least Nalion and Erevan weren’t there to see how pathetic he really was. Small mercies and all.