“Wake up, Sashki. Shite, I’m the one who should be swooning, me being a dwarrow and you being a trow. And me with my bollocking foot peeling off.”
Gasping on the floor, Saskia became aware of Ruhildi’s face gazing down at her. “What…? I saw…” Then she remembered what had happened just before she had the…vision. “Are you okay? How long was I out?”
“Just a few breaths,” said Ruhildi. “As for me, I could still use a bit of your juiced-up blood…” She pointed at her foot, still resting in the bowl of water. Some of the skin was sloughing off, revealing yellowy ooze beneath.
“Oh…oh crap. I’ll just…” Saskia suppressed a wave of nausea. “…I’ll go ready my…blood.”
She swallowed, the vision of Ruhildi still raw in her mind. So much blood…
It was a bad night. Not even a dose of Saskia’s regenerative blood could knit all of the charred flesh back together in one go. Ruhildi couldn’t sleep because of the pain, and Saskia couldn’t sleep because of what she’d just seen…and felt. The experience of being bound and helpless and…
Come morning, she decided that now was as good a time as any to do some more pseudo-alchemy experiments. If she could find any way to further accelerate Ruhildi’s physical recovery, it’d be worth the effort. As for her friend’s mental state…well that would have to wait. Saskia didn’t feel ready to have that conversation.
These alchemical experiments were really quite simple. She just needed to vary the types or quantities of ingredients she put in the blood-boosting concoction, whether and how long to boil them, how much water to add, and so forth. Then she’d tear open a gash in her flesh and measure how long it took to close up. Rinse and repeat a bunch of times, and she got a pretty good idea of each brew’s potency.
There was the slight complication that each time she healed a wound, her flesh grew back a little tougher than before. It became harder to cut—but also took a bit longer to regenerate. Her math nerd friends might be able to account for the changes by analysing datasets and subtracting biases or some such statistical hocus pocus, but bog that. Saskia just cut open a slightly different spot each time.
It had occurred to her that if she kept this up for—oh, a thousand years or so—her skin might eventually become as hard as diamond and impervious to swords and spells. Tempting though the prospect was, there would be some pretty big downsides. If she couldn’t draw blood, there’d be no more healing anyone else with it. And if something did manage to damage her in that state, she’d take ages to heal.
Also, she’d be a statue.
Probably shoulda led with that one.
Anyhow, she’d discovered that not all of the plant materials she used in her blood-boosting concoction were created equal—and not all of them were necessary. The crapberries, for example, had pretty weak concentration of the…whatever it was that fired up her blood. She called it petrolleum. Given the other unfortunate effect those little suckers had on her, she’d been quick to toss them out, and hadn’t looked back.
Even more important than the type of tree or plant supplying the ingredients was its location. She’d discovered this just the other day when she’d plucked some wannabe-pinecones from a tree that wasn’t marked on her map. These specimens had proven completely worthless for the purpose of improving her regeneration speed, although they’d made pretty good firewood.
This led her to the theory that the stuff she needed grew in certain places in the ground and was absorbed by certain types of plants that happened to grow nearby. So maybe—just maybe—she could harvest it directly from the ground, in a more concentrated form? Of course, it was just as likely that the plants formed some other compound from this hypothetical substance, and that the substance alone was of no use to her. Still, it was worth investigating.
And she knew exactly where to start looking: the spot with the highest concentrations of ‘alchemy’ ingredients marked on her map. That spot was smack dab in the centre of the valley, a short distance from the river.
Arriving at the designated location, she pushed away piles of twigs and dead leaves, and began to dig.
It wasn’t long before she hit paydirt: a clump of ochre-coloured soil that sparkled brightly in her oracle interface. Or maybe it sparkled for real too. It was hard to tell. Either way, this stuff was lit up like a Christmas tree. With the recent changes to her interface, she was now also seeing text labels over highlighted objects; this stuff was called arlithite. She gathered some of it into a bucket and brought it back to Ruhildi.
Her friend glanced down at the bucket, and said, “That’s a bucket of dirt.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” said Saskia. “Can you see what’s in the dirt? It’s something called arlithite. Maybe you can tell me what that is.”
This earned her a long stare from Ruhildi, who then took hold of the bucket, swirled it around, and sifted the dirt through her fingers. Finally, she said, “I thought you were tweaking my nose, but you speak true, Sashki. There is arlithite in this here soil. Not a lot, mind, but more than I’d expect to find under the open sky.”
“So…what’s arlithite?”
“It’s an altered form of arlium. Very valuable, and quite rare up on the surface.”
“Well there’s plenty more where that came from. I think this stuff may be the key to brewing a better blood-booster…” Saskia explained her theory that the plants and trees had been absorbing trace amounts of arlithite, and it was that substance, not the plant materials themselves, that had been affecting her. “So my thought is…why not cut out the middlemen—er, middleplants? What if I just take this arlithite directly?”
“You…want to eat dirt,” said Ruhildi.
“No! Well…yeah, kinda. I was hoping you could extract the arlithite from the dirt though. With your magic.”
“Aye, mayhap I could do that…” said Ruhildi.
“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here.”
“But…only if you promise to be careful, Sashki. This bucket of dirt will yield less than a thimble of refined arlithite. You can surely imagine how potent it must be, compared to the tiny traces you took afore. I don’t ken what might happen if you take too much…”
“I’ll be careful,” said Saskia. “I’ll try just a tiny pinch of it.”
So that’s what she did. Even after swallowing a miniscule amount of the stuff, the result was quite spectacular. When she made a small incision across the back of her hand, it snapped shut almost instantly, and the scar was completely gone within seconds.
Saskia decanted some of her blood for Ruhildi, then watched in satisfaction as new skin rapidly spread across the burnt patch on her foot.
“Are you okay?” asked Saskia, watching as the dwarf swayed on her seat.
“Aye, it’s just a bout of the tummy shakes. Rarely have I felt so famished.”
Saskia nodded in understanding. She always felt ravenous after regenerating. But in this instance her friend had regrown a lot more flesh than she herself had.
After they’d eaten, they spent the rest of the day gathering and refining more of the miraculous substance. By the time they were done, Saskia had a small pouch of the stuff—enough for her to heal an army. She didn’t even need to add water.
So much for alchemy.
Throughout that day and the following morning, Saskia agonised over whether to talk to her friend about what she’d seen in the vision. The word vision didn’t do it justice, but she couldn’t think of a better one.
At first she’d worried that she might have witnessed a future event—a prophetic vision. If that turned out to be the case, talking about it would only make things worse, just like in every time travel story ever written.
Then she remembered the medical overlay she’d seen on the first day Ruhildi showed up. It had revealed an object deep inside her chest; an object very much like the one in her vision.
So the vision could only have been one thing: a memory. Or a delusion, but she’d set that possibility aside for now.
It was a pretty big invasion of privacy to have seen Ruhildi at her most vulnerable. Not just seen—been. Well, it was kinda the same with the elf she’d been spying on, but…no it wasn’t! He’d tried to kill her!
If she told Ruhildi what she’d seen, she’d be digging up old wounds. Then again, sometimes old wounds needed to be dug up for them to truly heal. Ruhildi’s symptoms didn’t seem to have gotten much better over these past weeks, except for the fact that she no longer raised zombie goats in her sleep.
Finally, Ruhildi settled the internal debate for her. “Something’s gotten your mane ruffled, Sashki. I amn’t blind. Just out with it. I’ve had enough of your sidelong glances and pacing about.”
Saskia gave a strangled laugh. “Okay Ruhildi, but be careful what you ask for…”
As Saskia described—as delicately as she could—what she’d seen and heard and felt, the woman’s face slowly drained of colour. Ruhildi was silent for almost the entire morning, and Saskia worried that she’d made a terrible mistake.
Finally, while Saskia prepared lunch for them, Ruhildi began to speak.
“What you saw…that were the final time he tormented me. He’d been at it for so long I lost count of the seasons. It didn’t happen all the time; just often enough that I never slept soundly, except following a beating that left me senseless. That last time, I were laid low with a fever for days after. My kin…my fellow slaves took care of me, and whilst I lay thrashing and moaning in a pool of my own puke, they tried to overthrow the forge master.
“It didn’t go well for them.
“You ken, all greenhands have some power to shape living trees, but a rare few can also shape living flesh and bone. Most of those few become tenders; ones who pledge to use spells of flesh only to heal others. But some, such as the forge master, take no such oath. His ilk are called cruorgers. They are to greenhands what necrourgists are to stoneshapers: the darkest facet of the jewel.
“With a twitch of his wand, a cruorger can snap necks and stop hearts; make blood pour forth from eyes; even take control of living bodies and turn them against each other.
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“The forge master did all of those things to my kin, and more.
“I awoke in time to witness the last of it. And something else awoke inside of me in that moment. It had been lurking there a long time, growing stronger with each cut. But now it were mine to wield. The first manifestation of an awakened magic is rare powerful. I ken not how I did it. I weren’t even fully aware at the time. All I remember is the rage.
“My kin rose up off the bloody floor…and in death achieved what in life they couldn’t. A cruorger is impotent against those who are already dead, you ken. He can’t stop the heart of one whose heart no longer beats in his chest. Dead blood and bone falls outside the domain of the seed of life. Death is my domain.
“I watched them cut him down. Watched the light fade from his eyes. And then I brought him back, just as I brought back my own kin.
“My kin and me—and the shell of the hated master—fought our way through the guards and any other leaf-ears foolish enough to stand in our way. Those who fell, I raised them to fight beside us. On that day, there seemed no limit to my power.
“To be true with you, I didn’t expect to survive. I didn’t truly want to survive. I just wanted to hurt them.
“Yet when I fled into the night, the alvari didn’t chase me. I ken not why. Mayhap they think I fell with the rest. Aye, that must be it. Elsewise these mountains would have been swarming with our enemies, even in the midst of mildwinter.
“I wandered high into the hills, still half-hoping to die. But death didn’t claim me as I claimed it. And that were when I met you.
“You brought me back, Sashki, my friend. You made me want to live again. And for that—I ken not if I ever thanked you truly, but I’m thanking you now. Thank you.”
Saskia dabbed at the tears spilling silently down her cheeks as she finished chopping vegetables for the soup.
Damn these onions, she thought to herself. Except…this world doesn’t have onions. What kind of a world doesn’t have onions? And what the hell is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about onions after listening to a story like that!?
“You’re…uh…” Saskia coughed. “…you’re welcome, Ruhildi. So the crystal shard thing that…that fucker put in your chest…it’s still in there? Is it dangerous?”
“Och it’s in there,” said Ruhildi. “I ken not if it’s dangerous, but without it, I’d not be casting any real spells.”
“What, really? That would mean he…basically handed you the weapon that killed him.”
Ruhildi snorted. “He were a fool, alright.”
“But…why? It makes no sense. What was he planning?”
“Long afore he did this to me, he larned to channel a portion of my dormant magic for the shaping of metals, and later, bone as well. That were how it began…” Ruhildi shivered, looking down at her feet. “’Twere not enough for him. He wanted more, fool he were.”
“A while back you told me the greenhand—the keeper—can’t use magic without his staff, and that’s why he’s so dead-set on hunting me down. The staff also has one of those crystals in it. So it’s the crystal he needs, not the staff? That’s what you use to cast spells?”
Ruhildi nodded. “You nearly have the right of it. But what you saw weren’t just any old crystal. ’Twere arlium. Yesterday I told you arlithite is a form of arlium. To be true with you, it’s not quite that simple, but it’s easier to think of them that way.
“Spellflingers bind our magic to an instrument shaped around a very specific piece of arlium, which we call our focus. Without our focus, we are near powerless—though he were still able to draw some power from me. That arlium shard the alvar put in me, that were taken from the same wand they confiscated from me when I were taken. I thought it broken, lost, until…” She paused for a long moment, eyes distant. “What he did to me…such a thing has not been attempted since the days of old Ulugmir. The arlium were fused to my body; to my animus. I am become my own focus.”
“Okay, wow, this is a lot to take in. I guess that makes you one-of-a-kind then? That’s kinda fantabulous! As long as it doesn’t kill you.”
“I ken not this word fanta-bu-lous,” said Ruhildi.
“It means great.”
“My focus is…not without its advantages,” admitted Ruhildi. “But I’d give up every speck of power to be safe back in the ’Neath with my… To have Nadi back.”
Her daughter, remembered Saskia. There was a story there too, but she sensed Ruhildi wasn’t yet ready to talk about that one. Still, she felt like they’d made great progress today. Surely it must be a weight off Ruhildi’s mind to talk about this stuff.
Of course Ruhildi wasn’t the only one with secrets. Saskia still hadn’t broached the topic of her own origin as a human. At first, because she didn’t know how her friend would take the news, or whether she’d even believe it. But now she felt like she’d missed the opportunity. It would be all awkward, like, “Oh by the way, I’m from another world, and I’m not actually a troll. Nice weather we’re having, eh?”
Once again, it was Ruhildi who gave her the lead-in she needed. Saskia was bathing in the river one afternoon when she noticed a blue marker approaching on her minimap. Looking up, she saw Ruhildi stepping through the trees on the riverbank.
Spotting Saskia lurking in the water, Ruhildi jumped. “Sashki, I didn’t ken you claimed this spot. I’ll find another pool downstream.”
Normally, Saskia was very self-conscious about her body. She’d been that way even as a human, and becoming this huge misshapen creature hadn’t improved her self-image. But Ruhildi was a friend, and a woman, and kind of a different species, so it didn’t bother Saskia overmuch today. Besides, she’d seen Ruhildi naked, so it was only fair.
“No problem, Ruhildi,” she called out. “But this pool is big enough for the both of us. If you wanna join me in here, I won’t bite.”
Ruhildi bobbed her head in what Saskia had learned was the dwarven equivalent of a shrug, before coming down to the water’s edge. Like the elves, Ruhildi didn’t seem to have any hang-ups about nudity. It was Saskia who was normally the prude. Ruhildi shucked off her furs and washed them in the shallows, before spreading them out to dry in the sun. Copping a sidelong glance, Saskia noted that Ruhildi was looking a lot better these days. Her older scars would never fully heal, but her skin now held a more healthy hue, with no cuts or bruises in sight. Saskia wondered if there might be something they could do to remove that ghastly slave tattoo from her friend’s cheek.
Done washing her clothes, Ruhildi paddled out to where Saskia crouched awkwardly in the water. Scenes like this were an embarrassing reminder of their height difference. Her little friend could swim freely here, while Saskia couldn’t even fully submerge herself. If she stood upright, the water wouldn’t even reach the spot where her bellybutton wasn’t.
It wasn’t long before the icy water got the better of them, and they waded ashore, shivering. It was then that her friend drew in a startled breath, and Saskia saw that Ruhildi’s eyes were locked on a particular part of her trollish anatomy. Feeling a little unnerved, Saskia covered the smooth skin of her navel area with her hands.
“Great dracken’s breath, you’re a demon, Sashki!”
Saskia stared down at her friend, bemused. The word Ruhildi had used was almost exactly the same as the English word; far too similar for it to be a coincidence. “I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a compliment, or an insult.”
“’Twere neither,” insisted Ruhildi. “You really are a demon. Unless you’ve some other account for how you came to have no bellybutton…”
“Oh that,” said Saskia. “I thought that was just a troll thing. I mean, we regenerate, right? So why not regenerate birthing scars too?”
“That’s not how it works,” said Ruhildi, narrowing her eyes. “And if you were truly a trow, you’d ken it. Trow little’uns don’t heal any faster than the rest of us.”
Saskia let out a sigh. So much for that theory. “In that case, it must be a side effect of… Look, could we like…get dressed first? I’d rather not have this conversation with my lady bits exposed.”
They donned their still-damp furs. As they sprawled on the riverbank, soaking in the afternoon sun, Saskia told her story. She didn’t say much about Earth. Human technology, her job as a game developer, the complexities of city life; these things would be almost incomprehensible to the dwarf. She just kept to the basics: she was an artist, she’d been injured in a fall, and one night after a particularly bad seizure, she’d woken up in a strange new world, with a strange new body. When she described the clearing with the elves and the thing in the tree, Ruhildi immediately caught on.
“The seed of kenning! You’re fortunate the alvari didn’t kill you on the spot for laying eyes on it.”
“Oh they tried,” said Saskia. “I got away. And I laid more than just eyes on the seed thing. I tapped my claw against it, and it kinda…broke…”
“You touched it?” exclaimed Ruhildi, then she started to laugh. “That must’ve riled them up good!” Then she frowned. “You say it broke.”
“Well that’s what it looked like to me at the time. When I saw it through the greenhand’s eyes, it looked different. Not broken, exactly, but changing. And the tree that held it looked rather sick.”
“I don’t ken what that could mean. A worldseed shouldn’t be so fragile as to wilt from the press of a claw, no matter your strength. Mayhap it were responding to your demon touch.”
“But as I just explained, I’m not a demon!” said Saskia. “I’m not really a troll, either. I’m just a human girl from Earth. My original body wasn’t all that different from yours.”
Ruhildi’s eyes bore into hers. “You say you weren’t born of this world, and this isn’t your true form. That, Sashki, makes you a demon.”
“But…I don’t have horns and a tail!” she protested. “My skin isn’t red. I’m not evil. I don’t wanna hurt anyone! I just want to live in peace, maybe see the world, and one day find a way home.”
Ruhildi’s expression softened. “You have some fair odd ideas about demons. Have no fear, Sashki. I’ll not hold your true nature against you.”
“But I’m not a…what, really?”
“What right have I to judge you?” said Ruhildi. “I’m a necrourgist. I already believed you were a trow. Think about it.”
Saskia thought about it. “Isn’t a demon worse than both of those things?”
Ruhildi was silent for a while, before answering, “Not really. The leaf-ears would take issue, but I’m no unctuous alvesse. I meant not to accuse, but to larn what’s true. You are a demon.”
Saskia sighed. “So you keep saying. I guess I don’t even know what it means to be a demon. In my world, demons are bad. Like, really bad. Actually they don’t exist in my world. But if they did, they’d be bad.”
Ruhildi gave her that look again. The one that told her the dwarf thought she’d stumbled into crazy town again. Attempting to salvage the conversation, Saskia asked, “So tell me, Ruhildi, what exactly is a demon?”
“In the stone tongue—and the forest tongue, and other tongues besides—the word demon means ‘not of this world.’”
Saskia waited for her to continue, but no further explanation came. “That’s it?”
“Aye.”
“Oh.” Saskia was struck by the realisation that what Ruhildi really meant by demon was alien. “I guess by that definition, I am a demon. But not that bad kind!”
“I never said you were bad, Sashki.”
Saskia slowly exhaled. It was like a great weight had lifted from her shoulders, now that Ruhildi knew the truth about her. Or as much as she knew herself, anyhow. And though she seemed a bit shocked, her friend didn’t hate her for it.
“Thank you, Ruhildi. For a while there I thought you were itching to have me burnt at the stake.”
“Of course not. I save the burnings for the leaf-ears.” Ruhildi squinted up at Saskia. “Unless you’re secretly one of them…”
Saskia shook her head emphatically. “I’m certified one hundred percent elf-free. Money back guarantee.”
Ruhildi looked at her blankly. “I don’t ken what you just said, but I’ll take that as a no.”
“Speaking of elves,” said Saskia, “I think it’s about time I check up on our pest of a greenhand, just to make sure he and his fellows aren’t headed our way with pitchforks and torches. He’s already murdered at least one troll. I’d rather not be next.”
At first, after taking hold of the staff, she started in panic. She was back in the torture room. Was she stuck inside another of Ruhildi’s memories?
No, that couldn’t be it. There were no sensations; no sound. Just vision and nothing more.
The room wasn’t the same as when last she’d been here. It looked like it had been flooded, with water lapping at the doorway, and muddy bootprints across the floor.
Surrounding her were several elves decked out in heavy plate armour. It looked more utilitarian than the ridiculous stuff worn in some games, but she could see a bit of that classic elven flair in there as well. No-one could accuse the elves of making anything that looked boxy and boring.
Impressive though they were, they weren’t the ones who drew her attention, or that of the druid whose eyes she looked out of. There was another person in the room; a willowy elf in flowing robes, whose mottled skin seemed to have been bleached of almost all of its colour. The elf was completely bald, and he wore an eerie porcelain mask, set in a perpetual frown.
She had this creepy feeling that the elf was looking at her. Not at the druid. At her.
The armoured elves shoved the druid roughly into the iron torture wheel at the back of the room.
The slender elf leaned forward, and for a moment, he seemed to flicker and shift, and she caught a glimpse of pale eyes, staring into hers.
She’d seen those eyes before.