It took only a few minutes for Hop to gather the rest of his belongings before the trio were out the door and slipping into the surrounding woods once more. At Whisper’s insistence, they avoided traveling along any established road systems. The chances of attracting attention were simply too great. Rasp shifted in the stiff saddle as the surrounding light grew dimmer, obscured by the thick treetops overhead. The earthy fragrance of sweet pine and forest rot clouded the air so thick, he nearly choked on it. Other than the occasional warble of a bird in the distance, the only sounds he could hear were the steady footfalls of the mule below him.
Rasp had protested the idea of traveling via mule while the others were allowed to walk–loudly and vigorously, as often as possible, regardless of whether or not anyone listening cared. He was a Stoneclaw, after all, and riding a beast of burden came as naturally to him as a fish took to long, romantic walks on the beach. Rasp was so adamantly opposed to the idea that he chose to stumble along beside the mule in protest instead. He made it an entire day and a half before conceding that perhaps riding might decrease the number of times he tripped and nearly broke his neck. Riddled with tree roots and unseen tripping hazards, the forest floor was simply too precarious for a blind man to navigate on foot with any efficiency.
Thus, the mule stayed. Rasp even awarded her the loving name of Bonecrusher, on account of how many times she nearly broke his foot stepping on it. Hop tried to convince him to give her a more pleasant name, but Rasp refused. He would be damned before he, a mighty and formidable Stoneclaw warrior, the former Iron Devil himself, would be caught dead riding a Buttercup into battle, or through the forest, or wherever the fuck they were currently headed.
Come to think of it, that was probably something worth knowing. Rasp opened his mouth and his tongue flopped uselessly over his lower teeth, producing a babbled string of nonsense. “Where ‘e ‘oin’?”
“That’s lasting longer than I anticipated,” Hop said, failing to fully disguise his snort of laughter.
It was a shame the faun’s tall, blurry outline was just out of kicking range. For this exact reason, probably. Rasp was considering jumping from the saddle and tackling him, when Whisper disrupted his poorly plotted revenge.
“We are headed east, little bird.”
As if that answered anything other than what direction they happened to be traveling. Hop, fortunately, could always be counted on to press Whisper for additional details. “What’s east?” he said. “Do you have an actual destination in mind or is this another case of ‘we’ll know it when we see it’?”
“Supposedly there’s an old realm settlement out that way.”
“Supposedly?” Hop’s tone shifted from inquisitive to disheartened in the span of a single word. “This isn’t going to be like your last lead is it? Fruitlessly wandering the wilderness for weeks on end to no avail?”
Rasp fought the smile that pulled the corner of his lips. It was a nice change of pace having someone else around who pestered Whisper just as much as he did. Unlike Rasp, Hop was also capable of getting his point across without relying strictly on copious amounts of profanity. A method that often left Whisper with no other alternative but to actually address said concerns.
Whisper grunted in response. It was the sort of sound that was equal parts frustrated and annoyed. “According to the villagers I spoke to, there’s been a surplus of realm activity in the area as of late. A large caravan passed through some months ago, headed east, in the same direction as the old settlement.”
“That’s all they told you? No names, no places, no ‘stop when you see the secret fortress, if you hit the river, you’ve gone too far’?”
“That’s it.”
“East it is then,” Hop said with a resigned sigh.
To no one’s shock, Rasp’s ‘surprise relocation’ was not for the sole purpose of apprenticeship, after all. In addition to forcing Rasp to actually learn to use his gods awful powers, Whisper was dragging him along on what was swiftly becoming the magical equivalent of a wild goose chase. With iron poisoning slowly sapping their lifeforce, the fae was in a race against time to recover a lost magical item–insisting it alone possessed the power to make everything right again.
Whisper believed their item had been bought and placed in a collection possessed by none other than the infamous Geralt Lazuli himself. For years, the fae searched the capital high and low without success. Geralt kept his secret treasure trove well hidden, however. Whisper may not have ever found it had it not been for the recent uprising. With rebellion breaking out across the United Territories, and the threat of an attack on the capital looming in the distance, rumor was Geralt had moved his collection to a safer location.
For the past four months, Rasp and Whisper had been chasing down every two-bit lead without success. They’d met resistance along the way. Their attackers ranged from common bandits, to realm patrols, seekers, and a few unnamed magical groups that, for whatever reason, all thought it was a grand idea to take their chances against a highly powerful fae and a half-trained witch with anger issues.
That’s how they encountered Hop, actually. He’d been traveling with a party from the Division of Divination. Whisper seemed to have a soft spot for those forced into a situation not of their choosing and let the faun go. Free of the division’s control, and without a home to return to, Hop just sort of stuck around. Rasp hadn’t minded that part, actually. Whisper was, by all accounts, as conversational as a cactus. It was nice having someone else around who understood the merits of companionship. Plus, as it turned out, the prospect of raiding a super secret, magically guarded stronghold would be infinitely easier with someone who possessed functioning vision.
“Little bird?”
Rasp flinched at the use of his nickname. It was better than ‘fuck for brains’ he supposed, but not by much. A part of him wondered if the title would change as his abilities improved. Would he eventually graduate to large bird? Was there a middle bird? A mediocre bird? Increasingly disappointing bird? The possibilities seemed endless.
The wind picked up, blustering the hood from his head as a burst of magic filled the air. Seconds later, he felt the familiar pain of tiny, clawed paws scrambling up his leg and over his back, nestling into the fur-lined hood of his cloak. You seem in better spirits today.
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In other words, ‘you’re no longer an inconsolable lump refusing to get out of bed. What changed?’
You spend half your days as an inconsolable lump, Whisper said, that is nothing new. Is the new potion working?
Hop had been experimenting with various potions in an attempt to stop the spread of the dark magic burrowed within Rasp’s veins. It was a kind yet futile effort. Rasp didn’t have the heart to mention that he’d managed one sip of the most recent concoction before pouring the vile substance into the chamber pot.
The potions might work better if you actually ingested them.
Gods dammit. It wasn’t fair having a mentor who could read his every thought on a whim. Rasp groaned, concentrating inward as he composed his internal monologue into a coherent reply. You know it’s a lost cause. No amount of witch’s brew is going to un-curse me.
Have you told him that?
What kind of asshole do you take me for? Taking care of me is the only reason Hop gets out of bed.
And here I thought it was because you enjoy being doted on. Now that you no longer have your best friend to depend upon, you’ve gone out of your way to replace hi–
No, I haven’t! And you can stop right there because we’re not talking about it.
Fine. Whisper’s heavy sigh rippled through Rasp’s mind. May we discuss that other thing you’ve been avoiding then?
Rasp sank lower in the saddle, dread pooling in his stomach. Naively, he’d hope to avoid this conversation. As if not talking about what happened the night of the Hanover Harvest Festival would make the event itself cease to exist. Unlike his memories, Whisper could not simply be pushed into the back of his mind and forgotten about. Rasp reached up and scratched the base of his neck with a trembling hand. The skin itself didn’t feel any different. And yet, the way everyone had been treating him with kiddie gloves lately spoke of a different story.
He supposed there wasn’t any use avoiding the inevitable. How bad is it?
The branching has spread considerably. It now stretches from the top of your neck past your ribcage.
After months of training, it had taken but one moment of weakness to shatter any former illusions he’d held regarding his control. Not only that, but doing so had increased the spread of the parasitic magic hitching a ride beneath his skin as well. Rasp gritted his teeth, hands clenching uncomfortably tight around the reins. Fan-fucking-tastic.
I will continue searching for a cure, as promised. In the meantime, as disappointing as it is, you cannot allow one minor setback to–
Dread transformed to rage, its blistering heat swelling inside of him. Can we skip the niceties and you just get to the part where you yell at me for being a complete fuck up? You haven’t mentioned it once in the last three days. It’s probably eating you up inside.
Eating me up inside? Even in thought, Whisper somehow managed to impart this with the verbal equivalent of an eye roll. Why would I need to? Seems like you are doing a far better job of tearing yourself apart all on your own.
Great. Good talk. Glad we finally did this.
I could yell at you if you think it would help, but that is not the point I wanted to speak about. I was there, little bird. I saw what happened. You touched on powers you did not know existed.
A fragmented memory flashed before his eyes. Rasp recalled how effortlessly the magic had bent to his will, as if the ability had been there all along, buried deep out of sight. There was something else, too–a moment Rasp swore he had been able to see the magical auras of the witches around him. What came next was harder to explain. It wasn’t so much an ability as it was a feeling. An insatiable hunger that damn near overtook him.
Rasp snapped his eyes back open, scattering the memory back to the far corners of his mind. Those powers weren’t mine.
How do you know?
I wanted to eat you, Whisper. I’m all kinds of fucked up, but even I have hard limits.
The hunger was not your own, no. But the powers were.
Rasp wasn’t sure whether or not to feel relieved by that.
Don’t you see? This is what I have been pushing for. I’ve known what you were capable of from the first day we met. You’ve barely scratched the surface of your potential and the only thing holding you back is yourself. You are on the cusp of a breakthrough. As I said before, you cannot allow one setback to destroy all of the progress you’ve made.
A Setback? Rasp fired back. Is that what we’re calling it now? It nearly took control. I was on the verge of caving the whole city in! If you hadn’t been there, I would have… His thoughts trailed, unwilling to finish what they’d started.
You might have done something horrendous, I know. That is the whole point of training, little bird. You were woefully unprepared for that situation. You were never supposed to be there. I told you to stay with the bags, remember? You ignored my instructions and put yourself in danger.
There it was, the inevitable tongue-lashing. The last few days Rasp had felt trapped in a bizarre state of limbo, trying to avoid the impending lecture whilst seemingly doing everything in his power to provoke it. He had hoped getting it out of the way would make him feel better. It didn’t, though. Instead of the sweet kiss of relief, he had the sudden urge to tip over the side of his mule and become one with the forest floor.
He yelped when a set of needled jaws nipped at the back of his neck. Fall off of the mule after I have finished.
That’s what she said.
Oh good. Apparently some parts of his personality were still functioning normally. It didn’t do anything to make him feel better, but at least it was still there.
Once certain they were not about to suffer a traumatic fall, Whisper rearranged themself into a more comfortable position and went still. As I was saying, the blame does not fall entirely on you. Pushing you to resolve the situation when you weren’t ready was short sighted of me. Hopefully what happened will serve as a reminder to both of us to finish your training before attempting something like that again.
Rasp didn’t know what to say to that. Unfortunately, his indecision allowed the thoughts to slip out unobstructed. I’m sorry.
Figures, Whisper muttered.
What?
The one time you muster an apology just happens to be the one time you don’t have a working tongue.
Is my repentance not good enough for you?
I suppose. But gleaning it from your thoughts is not nearly as impactful as hearing it said aloud.
It probably wasn’t meant as a challenge, but Rasp took it as one anyway. He released the reins, throwing his hands out from his sides as he sucked in a lungful of dingy forest air. “Whith’per, I’m th’orry!”
“How unexpected,” Hop murmured from somewhere alongside the mule. “Is what I would have said only two months ago. Oh, how traveling with you two has changed me.”
Right. There were other people capable of hearing him. He’d sort of forgot about that. Rasp’s smiled sheepishly. “Th’orry ‘op.”
“Truth be told, I was starting to feel a bit like a third wheel. I can tell you two are having one of your secret conversations. And here I am, stuck on the outside, no way of knowing whether or not it’s me you’re talking about.”
Rasp hooked his right foot in the stirrup to ensure his balance as he leaned out over the left side of the mule, just far enough to pat the faun’s shoulder. He certainly hoped it was the shoulder anyway. “Tha’s all we ‘alk about.”
“I knew it.”