“Deventh.” Echoes of his name, scattered and fragmented, swelled and bounded throughout his skull. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, centering him in reality, and he shook the fog from his head. Looking behind him, he found the face of the man-pig, devoid of any human expression in contrast to his worry-laden voice.
“Are you all right?” asked Julien.
“Yes,” Deventh blinked, and his eyes wandered around the massive geodic cavern as he returned to himself. “I am.”
“Is that… Is that your friend?” Julien asked, pointing a shaking finger to the blood-soaked body on the floor.
“It is,” said the Dronvar, before repeating in a lower tone, “It is.” Without further explanation, he moved forward to examine the corpse. Julien trailed behind him, keeping his distance as Deventh knelt beside his friend. Another memory flashed before him, of standing over him, cold and remorseless as he gasped for air. Deventh’s breaths shortened, his head shaking with what traces of denial he could still muster – but he had done this. Perhaps it was by the influence of the same creatures responsible for Julien’s condition, he reasoned with himself – yet nonetheless, Ardmy lay still and lifeless by his hand.
He reached for the wound on his neck, but just before his fingers made contact, a sudden shrieking penetrated the cavern and tore through his ears. When he covered them, the immobilizing noise ceased. The blue glow from his gloves emanated brighter than before as they leaked energy from a much stronger magic.
Behind him, Julien still struggled, crying out in pained squeals. His face wavered in a soft, undulating blur between man and pig. Something teased the corner of Deventh’s eye, which traced its glare to the far side of the room. There, he looked upon a crevice in the wall about three feet in width and an unknown depth, where no crystals had formed. Round, feathery motes of light tumbled out from the darkness, bouncing against each other and dispersing as they touched the floor. Curiosity rising, he removed his hands from his ears for just a moment; the shrieking continued, and the rolling motes vanished.
With one hand over one ear, he found the noise to be a tolerable volume, albeit no less irritating. He drew in a deep breath as he reached again to touch Ardmy’s throat, yet the wound remained present, unchanged, bearing no signs of illusion. Hope had spited his knowledge and reason, and he sighed with self-disappointment. As he withdrew his hand, the colored specks which reflected across the floor faded out one by one like stars dying in the night sky.
A hungry shadow stretched over the crystal walls, growing as it swallowed the light. Faint spirals of purple and spots of turquoise drifted in the darkness, casting their dull luminance over the stone floor. The air buzzed with magic more potent than anything Deventh could ward off. Even the screams had grown louder in his open ear. Whatever force resided there, he assumed its intent was to overwhelm him.
When he uncovered his other ear, the extent of illusionary flooding was far worse than he’d imagined. Pitch blackness enveloped the entire room, and the swirls of light which interrupted the shadows were so lustrous and saturated that it was impossible to discern any details. The shrieking rended his ears, creating a tightness in his head as if coiling around his brain. Chasing the only idea he could hear over the noise, he fumbled through a pouch of his less-frequented poisons.
He clenched his jaw and tried to hold his breath, half believing his willpower might leave with it. Still it trickled out between his teeth as his face scrunched with excruciation. It was not long, however, before he located the correct vial, and he took out his dagger, his arm tensed and shaking. He applied the poison to its edge. After a moment’s hesitation steeped in doubt of whether his plan would be efficacious, he made a shallow cut in his forearm. Red droplets began to pool, and he released the last of the breath he still held.
Everything fell silent. Deventh’s jaw unclenched as all tension left his muscles. Relieved of the burden of piercing screeches, he heard only his own thoughts as he held one hand to his forehead. A tunnel of clarity bored itself through the center of his vision, revealing at its end the crevice in the wall.
Below it, among the wispy haze of colors, his eyes moved across a shaggy blanket of coarse brown hairs until they lay upon the tusked face of a porcine creature. Though far beyond the bridge which joined the gap between platforms, the wooly boar appeared massive, reaching halfway to the ceiling in height. Its snout wriggled as it sniffed the air, and it turned its head to face him. A peculiar glint of intelligence swept across its ferine eyes. It lifted its hoof and, with its head bowed, it charged.
Moving with beastly abandon, the boar headed straight for Deventh. As hooves pounded against the wooden bridge, he raced to an open area, hoping to lead the beast away from Julien and the body of Ardmy. With no hearing to rely on, he gauged its closing distance by vibrations in the ground. The button on his glove expanded his crossbow. Futile as his weapons alone would be against such an enormous creature, hoping to buy some time he groped through his quiver until a particular tip grazed his fingers. The beast neared as he grasped the bolt in his hand.
The boar skidded to a stop. Deventh jumped to the side as it swiped with its tusks. It turned to him and swiped again, and he jumped back while removing his hand from his forehead. Illusory magic swelled in his head and took hold of his equilibrium, but through his stumbling he managed to draw his crossbow strings. Once he loaded the bolt, he returned his free hand to his forehead. The beast was preparing to swipe a third time. His balance not yet recovered, he staggered to the side, but he caught himself and rolled to safety.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
Using his distance from the beast to his advantage, he took aim and, with his middle finger he pressed a button at the base of his thumb. The crossbow fired the dull-tipped bolt, which bounced off the swine’s forehead and cast an ethereal net over its entire body. It solidified into tangible rope, and the creature thrashed and swung its head about trying to free itself. As Deventh sprung to his feet, the guise of the wooly boar shuddered and faded, revealing a truth beyond his imagination.
Phasing in and out from the fog of illusion were pale, manlike creatures, each no more than a foot in height – dourlings, territorial tricksters of gnomish origin, with generations of corrupt magic embedded in their essence. They joined together with hands clasped to form the beast’s shape, red and yellow irises beaming against the black backdrop of their eyes. An aura of murky black and gold surrounded them, but it disappeared into dull brown fur as their magic prevailed over Deventh’s resistance. Staring with bewilderment, he thumbed through the poison vials in his bandolier straps and hurried to uncork the right one. As he reached for his quiver again, a sudden jolt in his lower back knocked him to the ground.
His teeth clacked together, a raw nervous pain shooting through them. A gust of wind rushed out of his lungs. As he struggled against the writhing body that tried to pin him down, his eyes overflowed with uninhibited illusion. He mustered up his strength, though, and tossed the weight off his back.
Deventh touched his hand back to his forehead. Julien crashed to the ground, absorbed in his animalistic stupor once more. Arms shaking, the already injured man-pig struggled to lift himself up. Deventh glanced at the giant boar, which had nearly freed itself from his net. He stood, and once upright he found just enough time to dip a bolt tip into what was left of the poison which spilled in the impact.
Deventh aimed for the eye and loosed a shot. A pair of paralyzed dourlings fell from the amalgam and split their skulls on the hard stone. The dour-boar did not change in appearance, but the tunnel in his vision widened. As he turned around, Julien charged again.
“Julien!” he called out, short of breath. His deafness was waning, and he thanked Ghol the screeching had subsided. “Wake up!” His words did not reach the man-pig’s conscious side, and Julien came in swinging wildly. Though Deventh found little difficulty in dodging his punches, his mind raced in pursuit of a plan to dispatch the much larger beast while holding him off.
Now is not the time to falter, he reminded himself.
Reluctant as he was to hurt him, he reached for his weapon. His hand patted his hip only to find the dagger was gone. In the moment he was caught off-guard, Julien tackled him down.
The dour-boar tossed the net from its body and prepared to charge. Julien swung at Deventh’s face, but Deventh drove his fist into the man-pig’s gut and rolled them both out of the path of the beast.
Hooves rushed past their heads, and Deventh flinched at their closeness to trampling them. Julien squirmed and flailed beneath the Dronvar’s weight as he set himself upright and locked his arms behind his back. Frantic squeals resounded against the cave walls as the sound of water splashing up from the stream drew Deventh’s attention.
He looked over and spotted a figure lying on the ground, propped up on an elbow with its other arm outstretched, and the beast nowhere to be found. His vision no longer tunneled, he moved his fingers away from his forehead and used both hands to secure Julien’s arms. When met with no struggle, he realized the he was no longer conscious – and no longer piggish. As he let go of the man bruised and battered by his own frenzied unrestraint, he locked eyes with the figure across the room as it rose wobbling to its feet.
“Deventh!” Ardmy called out, falling into uninhibited laughter which burst with every emotion possible. Touching a hand to his throat only intensified this release. A smile twitched at Deventh’s lips as he placed his forehead in his palm and laughed with his friend.
“Ardmy,” he said as their bout died down, glancing at the still-unconscious Julien before he stood and approached him.
“I believe you dropped this,” Ardmy said, handing Deventh his dagger. “I knew you wouldn’t kill me, as much as you seem like the type.”
“Perhaps if it was necessary,” Deventh mused in jest, placing the blade back in its sheath. “Where’s the pig?”
Ardmy smirked, pointing to the edge of the platform. He led him a short distance to the gap, where they overlooked the stream to see dozens of dourlings floating in the blood-tinged water. Most, if not all, were dead, with broken limbs, twisted necks, and bodies impaled by rocks.
“I found the right moment to neutralize their magic,” Ardmy explained. “Fortunately, they happened to be running at full speed towards a rocky stream.”
“You can do that?” asked Deventh, nettled by the regret of doubting him previously. “Even against gnomish magic?”
“Of course, when I’m aware of it and not trapped under any horrible traumatic illusions,” Ardmy swept back his hair with his fingers, letting out a sigh with puffed cheeks. “I’m sure you can imagine that dourling tricks would test my limits, though. That said, I hope you’re not hurt. I may not have enough reserve to heal you.”
“I’m fine, but I don’t know if I can say the same for my friend,” said Deventh, pointing a thumb to Julien.
“Your friend?” Ardmy looked over Deventh’s shoulder, squinting. “Who is that?”
“The man-pig, as it happens. It’s a long story.”
“Is that so… All right. I may be able to help him.” Ardmy started towards Julien, intent on doing what he could. When he realized Deventh was not following him, he turned around to find him in the same spot. “Are you coming?”
Deventh stood still, frozen in time like a statue with his hand lingering over a pouch on his belt. His chest did not move with breath, nor did he rest the weight of his arm or respond to Ardmy’s question. The Gildvar returned to him and, with increasing confusion, looked him over. A few small rips in his clothes revealed nothing of particular concern, save for the cut on his forearm. His face wore no expression, and his eyes did not blink. Only his timekeeping device still moved, ticking away in his pocket to the same slow beat as his heart.
Ardmy examined him for a length of time, trying small bursts of various healing spells, and still nothing resulted from his efforts. He conceded that he was at a loss and moved on to Julien in hopes that something would change, given time. Pangs of nervousness bubbled up in his stomach as he swiveled his head in search of more dourlings.
A sense of dread loomed over him. Whether or not any immediate danger lay present, he was alone with two companions to protect, and would be forced to stay long enough to find out.