Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Jishu led him down another path cutting through the swamp and the trees. The two walked slowly flanked by the many ghouls creeping in the darkness. The creatures’ yellow eyes were like unblinking lanterns that followed Jishu’s every move.

Sunday had time to examine this side of the swamp further now. It was gloomy and silent and smelled of wet rot that reminded him of the large horned alligator’s breath. The warmth didn’t help at all and he did his best to stop himself from breathing out of habit. Smelling was an important tool that gave his brain a lot of helpful information, but not having to breathe had its charms too.

Sunday imagined the army of ghouls constructing the paths under Jishu’s instructions. How was the man controlling them? Would it be rude to ask? He quickly decided that his usefulness would greatly outweigh any lack of tact on his part in the eyes of his gracious host and kidnapper.

“Why do they listen to you?” Sunday asked, breaking the silence. He was at the man’s mercy so trying to get out as much information didn’t matter. If Jishu believed he was in full control he could answer for the sake of running his mouth. Living among the less-than-bright ghouls didn’t seem to have done the undead much good.

Jishu didn’t stop or turn to look at him at all. His makeshift crutches sank deep into the earth with each step of his one good leg.

“A question I’ve never had to answer. It is no secret, but it surprises me you haven’t figured it out yet. Let’s turn this into the first lesson I’ll give you before you step into the ranks of magi,” the undead said. “From all I’ve told you, you should know I’ve lost quite a lot of my power. An injured body can be healed, or even replaced. An injured soul, however, is a different matter. It reflects upon the body and it is largely the reason the petty plagues of this place can affect me. Even humans can survive them with a bit of medicine, but here I stand rotting like a lowly wretch!” he spat the last words with indignation and anger as if there were poison in his mouth.

Sunday remained silent until Jishu continued with a calmer tone, “I can hold only one spell in what is left of my soul space, and even then, I cannot use it unless there is grave need. It’s very special so it circumvents some limitations and helps me continue on this path I’ve chosen. In a way, it’s already a permanent part of me… Not to mention that a spell that would allow me to control so many ghouls in my current state would be a thing of legend,” Jishu grinned and stopped walking. “As I’m sure you know, we’re not born equal. I don’t mean you and me,” he waved a hand, “I mean everyone. The dead that crawl out from the burial grounds or the graveyards, the humans breeding like ants, the stupid goliath born of living stone, or the other various races plaguing this cursed world. Some of us are special…”

“Talents,” Sunday whispered, allowing some reverence to seep into his voice. He had gleaned from the villager’s reactions that it was a special thing, and from what he had seen on the golden page it really was. He had yet to understand the implications behind them fully.

“Yes! Talents!” Jishu repeated with unconcealed pride. “It is talents and spells that make us stand on equal footing with the Divine and those bearing their awful gifts. The great equalizer, the two tools given to us so we can taste power and ascend further and further. Some say talents are inborn spells, remnants of past lives, or simply gifts of a higher power. Something from beyond the accursed divines. I’ve yet to find proof of any theory.”

Sunday had to admit that both were a pretty impressive thing. Despite his dislike for the undead man Sunday felt himself get excited at his words. How much power could a single person hold? The mention of the divines did make him feel a bit strange, but it was only natural for a world of sentient beings to have various religions. However, the way Jishu spoke about them made him curious. Back in the village, there had been mentions of believers, betrayers, and worshippers. Were those all referring to the same thing? Even if people were fine with explaining the most basic concepts to him, they always assumed he knew everything when the topic was mentioned.

He decided that asking that would stretch his act too far, even if he was being genuine.

“Of course, I hope you understand that I won’t share the full extent of my talent with you. However, it has never been a secret that I have one, and it has been instrumental in my survival in this decaying place. It is why I chose the swamp despite everything.”

The rest of the walk was silent as Jishu seemed to reminisce. Their destination turned out to be quite close, but Jishu was slow and Sunday kept pace alongside him.

It was another mound; larger than the rest he had seen. There was a small opening on its side, enough for a hunched-over person to walk through. Or a ghoul. A large number of the monsters were skittering around or standing like guards.

Almost immediately to the right of the mound was a wooden hut, its walls lined with rocks and thick bark, while the roof was a mess of clay, reeds, and wood. It was a messy thing as if whoever had built it had no clue what they were doing. Sunday briefly imagined the ghouls trying to build a house.

“My home, and all my worldly possessions and mementos,” Jishu stated as they passed by it.

The entrance of the mound was small and both of them had to lower their heads to pass through.

He’s sharing everything with me so freely. That means that even if I get my hands on the spell my chances of running away are next to nonexistent. I doubt he’s grown that attached, although he might just be a weird old guy. Racist too. But I’m pretty sure I’m dead once I’m not useful anymore. I’d kill me if I was him.

Sunday looked around not knowing what he was searching for. He had no idea what could save him from his predicament short of the Chaotic Step. However, the weird skill had brought him here in the first place either because it wanted him to suffer or because it was presenting an opportunity to him. That would support Sunday’s theory that the Talent had a way to judge or make choices on its own. A worrying thought.

Turning a corner revealed the center of the mound.

Sunday took a breath and a stench of death and decay hit him like a truck. He visibly flinched, but Jishu had eyes only for the light in the center of the small cave before them. The cave’s corners were filled with corpses in various stages of decay and bare skeletons of many different species.

Something rattled in a distant corner and Sunday squinted. A short tubby humanoid creature with toad-like features was sat in the corner, bound in ropes and chains. It was dressed in ragged clothes and leathers of various colors and its strange reptilian eyes were almost human in how they expressed emotion. It silently stared at them.

What the hell is that?

Sunday tried to remain calm and focused on the most important thing in the cave. For a brief moment, all else lost meaning.

A crude rock pedestal sat in the middle and upon it was a small misty bead that looked as if it was about to disappear into the air. Two large moths circled it. One was white as snow, while the other was black as night. There was magic in them – that was certain even if they did not glow like the previous spells Sunday had seen. The small bead itself was a clue enough. The moths flew around freely but always followed a circular pattern and kept their distance from one another. From time to time another pair would appear for a moment, as if an echo of something that had once been.

“Life and death, the great cycle, the duality of it,” Jishu whispered with reverence and unbridled desire, then turned toward Sunday with a grin. “Of course, our very existence changes their meaning, but it doesn’t make it any less impressive.”

Sunday nodded, his eyes never leaving the bead and the moths.

“What does it do?” he asked. He was impressed. The sensation the spell was giving him surpassed anything he’d run into by far. He wanted it.

“Ah, that is a great question. In the hands of a human or any other living creature, it would be a great weapon against any of our undead brethren. The white moth is life given shape. It can heal the living, and poison the dead. However, if the spell is in the hands of an undead…” he left the sentence unfinished, staring at Sunday.

Is he testing how stupid I am, or is he just showing off?

“It can heal the undead and poison the living,” Sunday guessed.

“Yes!” Jishu exclaimed. “If I gave the spell to our resident human, and he summoned the black moth, his soul space would be invaded by death energy. Even if the first cast didn’t kill him midway, it would be a poison to him. The same is true for the white moths and us.”

“And if a human used the white moth, he’d have a weapon against you and the ghouls.”

So, he needed another undead mage. I just came at the perfect time. But why does such a spell exist if only one of its facets can be used depending on who holds it?

Jishu nodded then sighed loudly. “There are spells out there that are unique and powerful. Spells that can raze cities or feed a nation. Spells that can change the senses and allow you to taste colors or hear the songs of the spirits. Some spells can change who and what we are.”

Jishu clenched his fist. “I once read of Ikadia, a city high in the mountains where spells were bred and grown in tubes. They wanted to change the world and create a spell that would redefine the meaning of existence itself and unite the races in our struggle against corruption. All they managed was the mass production of copies. It was a grand accomplishment nonetheless, even if they were lesser imitations of the originals.”

“So, what became of their initial quest you may ask? Forgotten, buried by the mounds of wealth thrown at them by nobles who wanted to get spells without effort! Of course, the city didn’t last nor did their fakes. As it turns out, tube-grown spells carried dangerous defects, and some of the consequences might still roam this earth. I’m mentioning them because their initial goal made me think. While humans are dirty and pathetic, they do get to enjoy quite a few pleasures we don’t and some spells prefer the living. A pursuit to have the best of both worlds is something I took to heart. However, I did not believe that what I wanted could be grown in a tube. I needed something. I need a way to master life and death. And where to begin such a quest, but by changing oneself?”

“I spent hundreds of years studying and hunting spells, seeking for the one. A spell that could give me life without the weaknesses inherent to the humans. I was hailed as a great hunter and scholar at that time. I found one other on my own. As for this spell… I couldn’t say I found it with my efforts alone but it ended in my hands regardless, and it is the closest I have ever come to what I seek. It has the duality I sought to bring into myself.” Jishu sat on a stone near the entrance, staring straight at the spell, eyes glistening with something bordering love and madness. His voice became a coarse whisper at the end, “I did terrible things, horrific things. I silenced friends and family. It broke me apart. And all of it was worth it! This spell is much more than medicine or poison. Ah…the time finally nears.” He fell silent at that.

Moments turned into minutes as Jishu continued reminiscing silently. Sunday on his part stood still as a statue. Whatever doubts there had been about Jishu’s mental state were melting faster than an ice cube in a pizza oven. When he spoke next, the undead sounded collected.

“The black moth will fix my body and allow me to start healing my soul. That’s what makes this spell so special. Sure, it doesn’t directly heal the soul but once the body and the soul are united, the connection can go both ways.” Jishu suddenly laughed and his laughter bounced around. The toad creature shuffled deeper into its corner, shaking. He calmed down after a while and stood up, turning toward Sunday. “Forgive me, I got carried away. I hope this stays between us after this transaction is done, my friend. I trust your word as you should trust mine.” He smiled in a way that made Sunday want to kill himself then and there.

Can you be more obvious? I mean, at least try to pull some wool over my eyes for God’s sake. Butter me up, lie, make me trust you before you have your little monsters tear me up limb from limb. Did you even have to give your villain monologue now? Sure, killing me later will be faster if you got that out of the way now, but come on…

“Y-yeah. I’m honored to be in the presence of such a rare spell. It sure sounds like you did what you had to; I understand. But why all the death around it?” Sunday said, allowing himself to show some nerves. If he hadn’t been sure he was dying at the end of it, he was ready to all in on that now.

“Once tamed, a spell loses part of its ability to sustain itself and must be maintained through a soul forge art and proper placement within the soul space at higher ranks. However, I lost the ability to do so. This is the best I came up with, creating a place filled with death energy for it to feed off. Life… I don’t understand.” He shrugged, waving a hand at the chained creature, as if performing sacrifices to a spell was the most normal thing. “Alas, despite my best efforts this is what remains of its former glory. Forgive me.”

Sunday was sure the last two words were not meant for anyone but the spell itself, which for some reason made him even more uncomfortable.