Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Jishu waved a bony hand, “I had guessed that much. It’s the smell of your flesh and skin. After a few centuries of undeath, we begin to reek of dust and old books. You smell of fresh dirt and morning dew as if you had just crawled out from a newly dug grave. However, there are no burial grounds around.”

The strange turn of the conversation almost made Sunday break his composure. He’d done just that. He was not sure when it happened as the time in the city might as well have been another life or a blink of an eye. He hid it by tilting his head and stabbing his spear into the ground, then leaning on it. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

“It is. You are a strange one. I’ll teach you my art after you awaken, as it’s suitable for undead such as us, and will give you a higher chance of success in using the spell. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to assist by helping you sense your essence due to my injury. Preserving my little strength is of the utmost importance,” Jishu said. “I’m sure you have your own plans and purpose, and I won’t pry out of respect. However, I hope you don’t hold what I’ve done to bring you here against me too much. I’m quite out of alternatives.”

Before Sunday could answer, Jishu continued with a smile. “Thankfully, my little friends brought another guest to me days ago. It is indeed very lucky that they didn’t eat him on the spot as they like to do with the living. And it is even luckier that I’ve kept him safe and secured. He has a particular spell that has made this place a bit more… habitable. Don’t you think?”

“Hm?” Sunday looked around. There was nothing special about the area except that it was quite dry compared to the rest of the place. He had passed a few places that were oddly devoid of moisture too.

Dry like the village. Little Pearl’s uncle? They mentioned he was their only mage. What are the odds? It wouldn’t be that strange for the supposed uncle to be human. It was strange Sunday was finding him so soon, without even trying.

“I was getting sick of all the mud too. This is a good change of pace,” Sunday smiled.

“Isn’t it? I’d say, humans can be quite valuable for how stupid they are. I’ve heard from… other passersby that undead and humans live together now, pretending to tolerate and even love one another. I’ve even heard there is such a situation in the nearby village. Bah! Is that much true? Surely, you know?”

Sunday’s mind went to the skulls propped up on the way leading to Jishu’s place.

“Yes, it’s true. Although I’ve never quite understood why we tolerate them. I’m not big on humans myself,” Sunday lied and put on a repulsed expression – similar to those rich and perfumed people made when a street rat begged them for some change. It was a good one to mask the fact that he still saw himself as human, even if he held no particular attachment to humanity. Racist fucks loved nothing more than other racist fucks to tell them how right they were. Or was it speciesist in this case?

Jishu smiled wider at that and his hand clenched on the flimsy armrest. “Yes! Exactly. I think we’ll get along well, friend. I hope that allowing you to awaken and become a novice will be enough repayment for all the suffering my little companions have brought upon you?”

Allowing me? It’s not like you’re leaving me a choice in the matter.

“Of course! I couldn’t ask for more,” Sunday smiled. “I guess it is fate that we met, isn’t it?”

Something in the recesses of his mind groaned at the words, but Sunday ignored it. He liked to think of himself as an artist, not a double-faced lying son of a bitch. He was the latter too, no doubt, but perspective was important.

Jishu smiled wider. “Come, let us meet our resident human mage. I’m sure he will be delighted to receive the honor of teaching one as bright as you.”

He’ll be positively beaming.

Jishu stood up and grabbed a second crutch before leading Sunday behind his chair. It was not a long walk, only stretched by the difficulty the undead was having with moving. Sunday didn’t offer any help. The ghoulish monsters followed them, pushing at each other and growling like tussling animals.

The walk was short, as they weaved between a few trees. In places, the path they followed seemed to have been patched up where it had been too muddy or uneven. All adjustments were made of dirt, stones, and old wood.

They reached a small wooden cage on another patch of dry earth. It housed a man so caked in dirt that a mud bath would only be an improvement to his looks. He was sat, staring at them, breathing in short raspy breaths. His clothes were rags sticking to his body. Long bloody gashes covered his arms and feet in different stages of maturity – a sign of the claws that had dragged him around, possibly quite a few times. Sunday dreaded to think what sort of infections were brewing in those wounds. His hair was long and oily, having been on the lighter side some time ago. The only thing that still held some dignity about him were his eyes as he looked up.

“Won’t you kill me already you rotting rogn?” the man rasped before falling into a fit of coughing. It sounded wet.

“He’s a bit mouthy and disgusting, but I’m sure he will be quite compliant,” Jishu said to Sunday. Then turned toward the man and switched languages, “Human, I want you to teach my friend all you know about awakening and essence. Guide him on how to sense it, and if he succeeds, I’ll free you. You have my word.”

The man tried to laugh at that but started coughing again instead. It was a while before his raspy voice reached them again.

“Want me to comb his hair too?” the man groaned, “I’d rather die than help one of yours get stronger.”

Jishu didn’t seem angry. “Now, don’t be like this. I guess you don’t care about that little village of yours? There are a few young ones there. Tasty ones. I let my little ghouls scout it out recently,” Jishu said baring his teeth. His tone was mocking and something in it made Sunday want to slap the remaining flesh off of the undead. He found him repulsive on quite a few levels. However, he was interested in becoming a mage, whatever that entailed, no matter the cost. Sunday rubbed his palm on his leg as it suddenly grew itchy.

Is it another facet of one of my talents? Do they have a will of their own, or is it my new body? I hope I’m not brainwashed like in those movies – a sleeper agent. That would suck.

The man responded by yelling out and coughing again. Sunday was worried he’d die. “Can he even teach in his condition?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t worry. Human magi, all magi, even those of the first rank, are quite resilient. Now human, do we have a deal? All you have to do is help my friend sense his essence. I’ll teach him a suitable art after. Then, you are free to go. Surely you wouldn’t want all those innocent humans to become ghoul food? And that little girl…Pearl, was it?”

The mention of the name shocked the human and Sunday saw the internal struggle in his gaze. Then the man’s shoulders slumped and he gave a barely imperceptible nod, “Don’t touch the village, and I’ll do it. Honor your word.”

“Splendid! Don’t worry, I wouldn’t fall as low as a human and lie.” Jishu signaled with his hand – a small movement that sent the ghouls to work. The man hesitantly stood up and stepped back. His hands were bound with rusty chains. The monsters opened the door by removing the pieces of wood barring it and entered one by one. Jishu motioned for Sunday to step into the cage.

This is so strange. What could this man do that Jishu can’t? I need this, but all of this seems wildly rushed and… awkward.

Sunday stepped in with no hesitation though, making Jishu smile and nod.

The human was shorter than Sunday. His skin was flaky and his cheeks were hollow. He was unstable on his feet and swayed in place, using the wood around for support. However, there was no fear, only rage and disgust in his eyes.

“I’ll leave you to it. It might take a while, but I’m sure you’re a fast learner, Sunday of the Wanderers. Don’t worry, his one spell cannot harm you. I need to prepare the rest,” Jishu said. Sunday could feel the hunger behind the toothy smile. Jishu turned to walk away, flanked by his minions.

“Why didn’t you have him heal you?” Sunday asked before the undead was too far. Nothing made sense.

Jishu stopped and turned. He quickly hid the strange expression written on his face, but not before Sunday noticed it.

“That which heals the living may doom the undead, as that which heals the undead may doom the living. Death and life seldom walk together,” he said. Then, without any more explanation walked away.

That didn’t answer anything. Figured he was one for mysterious nonsense.

There were ghouls everywhere around them, some seemingly working, others sitting on the ground and swiping at each other with growls from time to time, like children. They kept their distance. Sunday was left alone with the human man in the now open cage. At least the door had been left alone.

Things were happening quite fast. Jishu treated both of them as tools to be used and didn’t seem to think resistance was possible. Maybe he was simply confident in his overwhelming power in the face of the ghoulish swarm.

Now, how to go about this. I have a lot to gain from meeting this creepy bastard. Maybe I can save this guy too, and get in the good graces of the village? All I want is a city, a pub, and some people to rob. Then I’ll be set to start establishing myself. Or maybe I can go into honest work? Become a baker or something.

The decision was made for him as the man wheezed and sat next to the cage’s wall, trying to cough his lungs out. Sunday decided to earn the human’s trust first, plus he didn’t want him to die before doing his job. Sunday opened his bag and took out the few satchels and the vial. He knelt and extended them toward the man.

“Here, might help,” he said.

The human didn’t react at first. Then, once he saw what Sunday was holding, straightened his head and his eyes bore into Sunday’s.

“These are Vela’s things. How do you have them?” he rasped making no move to take the offered bags and vial.

“Some lady gave them to me before I was sent into the swamp to look for little Pearl’s precious uncle,” he whispered. Sound carried far in the eerie silence, and he was sure that Jishu wasn’t as trusting as he wanted to seem. Could ghouls understand him? “I hope it’s not poison. I’d hate to kill you before you teach me and we get out of here, but I can’t stand your attempts to spit out a lung either. Can it help?”

The man stared for a few more moments then nodded. He took the small satchels and looked inside of them. He sniffed the contents before taking a pinch out of one and uncorking the vial. He put the dried herbs directly into his mouth and then took a small sip from the vial. Whatever it was inside smelled foul to Sunday, but the man sighed with relief. In bare minutes his breathing stabilized and his voice didn’t sound like that of a hundred-year-old chain smoker anymore.

“Is Pearl fine?” he asked.

Sunday nodded earning a sigh of relief from the man.

“Who are you?” the man continued, calmer.

Sunday sat next to him, but not too close, and stretched his legs, “Honestly, if I tell you the truth you will either try to kill me or send me on a suicidal quest, and I’ll completely understand both. However, entertain for a second the possibility that I’m a demon summoned to save a lost uncle, of sorts. That seems to calm people down.”

The man’s eyes widened in shock and he coughed again. There was true fear in his eyes for a moment.

Did I make a mistake?

“Did the villagers do something to her?” the man asked loudly. His voice carried far and Sunday quickly shushed him.

“Fuck, man. Be quiet. I said she’s fine.” Why would they do something to little Pearl? They seemed to care a hell of a lot about her despite how sketchy they were.

The man paused, then seemed to calm a bit.

“The villagers sent you then?” there was a hint of something in his voice – distrust, and something else. Not trusting me is natural, but if he has a problem with them... If it’s them, why did he take the medicine once he knew of its origin?

“Kind of? I mean, it was not my first choice but things happen to me for some reason,” Sunday responded. “Listen, I’d love to chat over a drink, but can we get this over with? I’m having something of a shit week if you feel me, and I’d rather learn how to do magic before our host decides that we’re both useless.”

The human fell silent for a while, his eyes studying Sunday. Just as the silence became a tad too thick to bear, he spoke again.

“Name’s Arten and I’ll trust you for now. Our situations don’t seem to be that different, or you’re an outstanding liar. I’ll teach you what I know but it’s not much. I only know the pattern for one awakening and no soul-forging arts. I can introduce a strand of my essence to yours to help you sense it. It’s a harmless process used to help people feel energy faster, rather than spending years in meditation. It’s easier to learn to sense something new and invasive rather than what’s always been there. I’ll need physical contact.”

“Sure. But don’t get carried away. You’re not my type.”

The joke seemed lost on the man as he kept gazing at Sunday. Then he stretched a dirty hand – both of them, as they were tightly bound.

“Give me your back,” he said.

Sunday hesitated for only a moment. What other choice was there? He obliged and turned to face away. Arten’s hands came to rest between his shoulder blades, and seconds later Sunday felt something change. It was nothing like the warmness from the yew tree – more like an offending tendril he could crush with a thought. Just in case, he tried to exert some pressure and felt Arten stiffen and gasp behind him.

“Just checking my options if you decide to fuck around,” Sunday said.

The man didn’t seem to be paying attention to his words, “You can sense it already? And your essence… how could this be?”

“What’s wrong?”