Episode Three: Dreams of the Dead, Section II
Outside the hollow church doorway, the forest danced slowly with dark emerald hues, afternoon sunlight filtering through layers of translucent leaves. The ground was clear of underbrush, just soft grass and the smooth, wide trunks of Ycengled Phuurst’s trees. And the crumpled ruins of a village that had always feared these woods. The forest was quiet, except for the rustle of branches high overhead. Only snakes lived here, and they were always silent.
Then, at the base of the chapel’s hill, two figures appeared and approached, talking. They reached the old chapel quickly, and stood before its open door for a moment.
Allar said, “The church has taken a beating.”
David said, “I’m amazed this place is still standing. It has to be at least a thousand years old.”
Allar gestured forward. “Let’s go inside, then. The door’s open for us.”
David scoffed. “The door rotted away centuries ago.”
“This place looks dead,” Allar sighed.
David smirked. “Really? I would’ve thought an old abandoned church would’ve been a fun, lively place.”
Allar glared at David, then sighed and laughed weakly. “Well, is there at least something to make holy water with?”
“Yes,” David said, pointing to the pulpit, at the far end of the church. “Over there.”
The old church was roughly cross-shaped, forty feet wide with a north and south wing just before the pulpit. The walls had cracked or eroded away in many places, and the ceiling was all but gone. There were no furnishings or decorations, nothing living, not even weeds. At the axis of the church, between the two wings, a massive decayed tree lay rotting, blocking the path to the pulpit, so they had to climb over it.
Allar made it over quickly, but David had trouble. At one point he lost his balance and fell into the damp mulch of what had used to be branches. He caught himself with his hands, but he sank in to his elbows, and felt something solid in his hand. Then that something squirmed and David pushed away, pulling his hands free in fear. In the hole his hand had left in the mulch, a pale green serpent writhed for a moment, then slithered up out of the hole and fled to a different part of the tree.
David shuddered for a moment, then jumped his way to the other side of the tree, sprinting to Allar.
“There’s a snake in there,” David said, still shuddering slightly. He rubbed his hands on his robe to wipe the mulch off, then took a deep breath.
Allar asked, “It didn’t bite you, did it?”
“No.” David shook his head. “It just . . . just surprised me. Come on. No worries. It was just a snake, after all.”
David headed over to the pulpit, where sat a cylindrical stone basin, filled with rainwater. It was covered in carvings, now all too worn with age to decipher. David pulled up a talisman and dipped it into the water. The talisman flickered briefly with light, then faded.
“This is it. Allar, come over here.”
Allar followed, but he looked over his shoulder at the tree, nervous.
“David, did you see anything alive out in the woods? Any birds, or even mice?”
David shook his head. “No. Come on, could you help me out? This thing’s deeper than my arm, and we have to clear out all the leaves that are stuck in the bottom, or else it’ll be harder to sanctify.”
“I’m just asking,” Allar continued, “because it’s a little suspicious, right?”
“Whatever you say. Just reach down there and scoop up any muck.”
Allar shrugged and rolled up his sleeves, then reached in. “So we’re actually going to figure out what the sword’s magic is? I thought this was just an excuse to talk.”
David smirked and nodded. “We do need to talk, but I also want to learn about the sword. You’ve been hiding things from me, and so has that sword, and I want answers from each of you.”
Allar pulled up a handful of brown muck from the bottom of the font. He looked at David for a moment, expressionless, then tossed the muck on the floor.
“What do you want to know?”
“What happened back there, with the dragon and the ‘trillith’? Everyone else is pretty convinced you were just being mind controlled, but-”
“You think I attacked her on purpose?” Allar growled with disgust.
David waved a hand uncertainly. “I know there was a time you would have been happy to fight a dark elf.”
“God dammit, David. I-” Allar stopped, nervous for a moment as he looked around the church. “David, I don’t want to talk about that. I already told you what happened back in Tundanesti.”
“Yes, and it took you a year to do it. How can I not be worried about you now, Allar? I was supposed to bring you back home eight years ago, and instead we’ve been running around in ancient tombs nearly getting killed. You can’t tell me you’re doing this because you want fame and glory, because we haven’t managed anything close to that yet.”
“No, that’s not it.” Allar weakly tossed another handful of sludge on the floor. “It’s just, what else am I supposed to do? By now, it’s been, what, ten years? I don’t really have any friends back in the caravan. I know more people in Elstrice than back home.”
David sighed. “I do understand that a little, and if you don’t want to go back, I can’t make you. But it’s not just that. I guess I’m worried that I’ll never get a chance to go home if I have to stay around to keep fixing your problems. I can’t leave you by yourself because, if this past week was any indication, you still aren’t over that time you spent with the Tundanesti.”
“Fix my problems? Is that why you wanted to bring me out here? Dammit, David, I’m twenty-six years old. We’ve been friends now for almost eight years, and you still treat me like you’re on a mission to rescue me.”
“Allar, you did try to kill the dark elf girl. I mean, goodness, normal people have a hard time coping with taxes and thieves, but somehow we’re completely fine with fighting the walking dead, unearthing some sort of evil fey, killing monsters we didn’t even know existed, and then
fighting a dragon. And the dragon did something to you that made you want to kill a woman a few days earlier you yourself had rescued. I mean . . . I think I must be crazy to be out adventuring with you. You think I might have a good reason to worry that you’re alright?”
“I’m fine, David.” Allar tossed two more piles of muck onto the floor. “There, the water should be clean enough.”
“You’re not fine, Allar. Nothing’s fine right now. I’m not blind. You’re hiding something. It’s obviously something that’s hurting you.”
Allar scoffed. “Honestly, relax. Let’s just do what we said we came here for.”
Allar drew the black scimitar, and for a moment David recoiled. Allar frowned at David’s fright, then placed the scimitar into the basin, so that only the hilt and the last few inches of the blade were outside the water. “I’m not going to talk about it. Just do your magic.”
David glared at Allar. “I’m just trying to help, and you won’t listen. I . . . I don’t understand you.”
* * *
“
Ne, chial zhu nosorres hadalis eyes from everyone else?”
Lacy blinked at Tri’ni. “What?”
“Sorry.” Tri’ni grinned sheepishly. She had just finished tying the translation charm in the middle of her sentence.
Tri’ni, Lacy, and Babb were the only people in Ventnor outside right now. They stood along the dilapidated gray fence that marked the border between the small town and the Elvish forest, waiting for Allar and David to return. Several hours had passed since they had left, and the sun would soon set. The atmosphere in the village was anxious, and now the three of them stood alone in the fading light.
Tri’ni, covered with a draping robe to keep her from sun-burning, pointed up at Lacy’s face. “I was trying to ask, if it’s not rude, why you have different eyes from everyone else? There’s no crease on your eyelid.”
“Oh.” Lacy laughed and smiled. “My family is Xaopin.”
Tri’ni nodded slowly. “And that means. . . ?”
Babb was grim. “It means nobody likes her.”
Lacy laughed again, weakly. “Damn, but I wish you weren’t right.”
“You’re not helping,” Tri’ni said.
Lacy shook her head. “Alright, I guess I do need to explain. Um, so, most humans are descended from a group called the Serens. They used to have an empire here three thousand years ago. My family, though, was mostly descended from the Xaopin. They were one of the native cultures here before the Serens arrived. I’ve probably got some Seren blood in me, but my face is the way all Xaopin look.”
Babb added, “And most humans think she’s funny-looking and uneducated. But my sister is very educated.”
“Thanks,” Lacy said, bitter.
Tri’ni was still confused. “So, are all Chowping people tall?”
Babb chuckled and grinned at Lacy. “Funny looking. I told you.”
Lacy ignored Babb and said, “No. I’m just . . . very tall.”
“Well I think you’re very pretty.” Tri’ni smiled to try to cheer up the six-and-a-half-foot tall woman.
“Thanks,” Lacy laughed. “It’s actually a little fun being the tallest person around.”
Babb straightened with pride. “It helps that she has me around to make her look taller.”
Tri’ni, just barely over five feet tall, looked up at the six-foot Babb. “You are positively tiny.”
Babb snorted.
After a moment, Tri’ni asked, “So . . . you and Allar both have yellow . . . wait, blonde hair. And everyone here has brown or black. Allar is a Tundanesti Elf, and you’re Xaopin. Dentalles was also Tundanesti, but he had very dark hair.”
Lacy answered, “Allar’s a half-Elf. His dad was a human, from Kequalak, I think.”
Tri’ni squinted, confused. “You wouldn’t happen to have a map, would you?”
Lacy shook her head, and Babb shrugged.
The air suddenly grew chill as the first sliver of the sun slipped behind the treetops, and shadows stretched across them.
Tri’ni stood on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and turned her cheek to catch the fading rays of sunset. She smiled. “You have these every day?”
“Yes,” Lacy laughed quietly. “Don’t worry. You won’t miss it. They happen all the time. In fact, this one’s pretty bland.”
Tri’ni sighed. “It’s still beautiful.”
“Here,” Babb said, his tone serious, “it’s dangerous.”
Tri’ni lowered herself out of the sunlight and blinked. The forest beyond the fence was dark, full of dancing emerald shadows. Only a few spots gleamed with rays of fading sunlight, and together the three of them watched, hoping to see David and Allar return.
“Babb,” Tri’ni asked, “you’re a. . . ?”
“Geidon.”
“And your head? That’s normal?”
Babb swiveled his huge, bull-like head to stare at her, then snorted. He turned back to watch the woods.
“Yeah,” Babb said. “Normal enough.”
* * *
David concentrated on the black blade, mentally feeling all the blood, sweat, grime, and other less-physical presences that would interfere with the identification magic. It was taking longer than he had expected, and the sun was setting. There were so many conflicting magical auras on the sword, David could not imagine how old it must be, but he was almost done. The scimitar waited, its blade immersed in the font of blessed water, quietly holding onto its secrets.
Allar sat quietly on a rock that had once been part of the church wall. As the last light of the sun drifted into shadow, he stood and walked a path around the pulpit, tracing his fingers over long-eroded decorations that had once adorned the dead building. David wondered what he could be so interested in, but he had to focus on the spell. Then finally he sifted clear the last taint on the sword, and he could feel its real magic.
The church was dark, and the sun had set.
There came a rustling sound from the fallen tree, and Allar said, “David, what-?”
Then light rippled into the room, gleaming from the water’s surface in the holy font. The rustling sound stopped suddenly, and David gasped, looking into the water. There was an image in the water, and David furrowed his brow as he tried to decipher what he was seeing.
“Well,” he said, “the spell worked.”
“About time,” Allar replied. He was about to say more, but as moved to beside David and looked into the water, he couldn’t force them out.
The image on the water rippled between images, showing a string of people, each holding the sword. A woman’s face in silhouette, a sneering brown-skinned man, a dark-haired Elfwoman with her eyes closed and pained, a light-haired Elfwoman with a sundered mask in her other hand, an elderly man wearing a crown, and many more. There was no sound, from the font or from the enthralled Jispin and half-Elf.
The image faded to black, and again there was a hiss behind them. Allar and David spun, and the creature lunged. It was humanoid, with pale flesh, dull white fangs, and eyes that glowed gold. Its reaching arms shed the sleeves of its draping clothes like peeling skin, and it fell upon Allar, biting his neck.
Allar cried out and reached for the nearest weapon, pulling the scimitar from the font as if drawing it from its sheath. As he swung, sanctified water sliced through the air, spattering David’s face. The blade fell upon the creature’s back with a sizzle, and the beast pulled away. It staggered to the ground on its hands and feet, and Allar slumped limply beside the font. The scimitar clattered on the floor, and the monster spun to face David.
Screaming, David tore his talisman free from its cord as he drew it and evoked its power. Flames burst into life across the creature’s head and back, and it wailed a nearly-human scream, then leapt away. For a moment it clung to the high old wall of the church, and then it rolled across the top stones, trailing fire as it fled into the woods.
David dropped to kneel beside Allar, but Allar was not moving. Blood pulsed down his chest from the wound in his neck, lit by the glow from atop the font. Desperate, David scooped a handful of the blessed water into his hands and poured it upon the wound. Allar’s body tensed for a moment, and his head rolled to the side, but the bleeding did not stop. David pressed a palm to the wound to keep in the blood, then sagged upon his dying friend’s chest, terrified.
In the distance he heard the monster’s cry, and much closer, from the fallen tree, he heard soft, insistent hisses, growing closer.
) Was that the intention, or just a byproduct?
