Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Sunday didn’t linger much longer after healing himself. Learning the true Black Breath was a large undertaking and he was in no rush to face the second hound. Not before finding out what was going on.

Waking Arten and removing the ropes and rusty chains binding him proved to be a slow task. The human in his delirious state was much less than helpful.

Arten eventually opened his eyes while he was being rolled and thrown around like a sack of uncooperative potatoes and lazily looked at Sunday.

“Am I dead yet?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and low, barely perceptible.

“Unfortunately for you, no.”

Sunday helped him stand up and gave him a drink. There had been an old waterskin of semi-clean water nearby, possibly prepared for the prisoners.

The human drank only a little bit.

“Why’d you stop?” Sunday knew the answer, but he was no longer human and it was a decent conversation starter. He had gone thirsty before. It was not pleasant.

“It’s bad if I drink too much. Don’t expect a dead bastard to know.” Arten groaned and sat up further. His eyes were bloodshot and his pupils were pulsating in a strange pattern.

Sunday ignored the insult. If it was even an insult. He was both undead and a bastard, after all. “Are you high? Poisoned? Dying?” he asked.

“Vela’s medicine has… side effects.” Arten hesitated, “There was poison for undead in it.”

“I knew it!”

“Don’t hold it against her.”

I sure as hell will!

Arten groaned and squeezed his eyes shut before pouring some water into his palm and washing them.

“You a mage now?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Fast. The undead bastard? The other one?”

“Gone.”

“Dead?”

“Fucking hope so. The monster that attacked us took him and most of the ghouls out.”

Arten exhaled loudly at that, but his face remained unreadable. His fist lightly clenched to his side. “I thought the beast was a dream.”

Sunday remained silent. He didn’t feel obligated to explain.

“So, what happens to me now? I have no spells to offer but the one. I’m still alive so I guess you have a use for me? Are you taking charge?” Arten asked.

Am I? He hadn’t considered things from that angle. He certainly wasn’t in charge of anything other than himself. Did Arten mean the ghouls?

“Now, I bring you to little Pearl safe and sound, and in return, you guys will show me how to leave the swamp.”

Arten’s eye twitched, but whatever was going through his head was a mystery. He opened his mouth to speak but coughed instead. The cough lasted a while, giving the human ample time to think things through. He took another sip of water before speaking.

“As much as I want to return to the village quickly, I’m not well enough to move fast,” he said.

Sunday nodded. The man was red and beads of water were leaving trails on his dirt-covered skin. The thought of using a white moth briefly passed through Sunday’s mind but he quickly dismissed it. He didn’t know these people, and for all he cared they would prepare to kill him once he outgrew his use.

“We can go slow and steady. The remaining ghouls seem afraid to attack.”

Arten grunted with disgust. “Figures. They’re only dangerous in large groups. They thrive in numbers. Pathetic little rot munchers.”

A sound made Sunday turn sharply and reach for the sword hanging by his side. He figured swinging it around a bit was all he needed to do. How hard could it be? The toad creature he had freed stood there, looking at him with its strange large eyes.

“You freed the ranun?”

Obviously. “I didn’t think it would refuse to leave.”

Arten examined the newcomer in silence, then relaxed. “This one’s female. Young. Probably helpless in a fight. We trade with them from time to time, but they’ve never allowed us to find their village. Their warriors can be a pain.”

A few strange sounds left Arten’s throat and the toad creature responded to him with apparent excitement. Sunday didn’t like not understanding what was being said and took a defensive position, just in case. Arten must’ve sensed it.

“Relax. She’s going to follow us to the village. She can find her way back from there safely. If that’s fine, I mean.”

Isn’t that convenient? Sunday didn’t like that, not at all. It gave them the numbers advantage and who knew what a toad person was capable of? However, he didn’t want to refuse either.

“Fine. I hope you understand my distrust. And tell it—her— no sudden moves! I’ve already been surprised enough for a lifetime.”

Arten struggled to stand up. The ranun didn’t move to help, nor did Sunday.

“She will behave. And so will I. You’ve done more than you had to by releasing us. Say…” Arten’s voice trailed off and his gaze turned toward the side where the hut and the large mound rested, before stopping on Sunday’s backpack. “You looted the place, right?”

Wouldn’t you like to know? “I did. I found some books and the clothes I’m wearing. There’s a bunch of bloody rags and broken weapons, feel free to help yourself.”

“I see.”

They all fell silent after that. The toad lady, as Sunday started calling her in his mind, spoke from time to time. It sounded vaguely like a language, but it was too difficult to separate the words from one another. It was a drawn-out sort of speech, not quite a long croak, but not far enough from it for comfort either.

Arten, on his part, didn’t look to be fully proficient in it as he only replied with the same few words which sounded wildly different from those of the toad lady. That gave Sunday some peace of mind. He was just being paranoid because of Jishu’s strange behavior. The swamp was starting to get to him too.

He gave the human and the toad some time to rummage around. Once Arten was outfitted with more torn rags, a crusty wineskin of drinkable water, and one of the broken swords from the hut, they were on their way. The conversation was kept to a minimum as the human seemed to be suffering from the worst of hangovers, muttering under his breath and swaying dangerously.

Despite that Arten didn’t seem to have a problem with navigating the treacherous terrain of the swamp, taking only short stops to catch his breath or examine the surroundings.

Sunday had done his best to memorize the map just in case, but walking made it difficult for him to determine the right direction. He felt as if he was in a maze, and everything looked the same.

While Sunday was somewhat interested in how the human was navigating the wretched place, he didn’t plan on ever returning to a swamp so he didn’t ask. The toad kept close too. From time to time she would turn to Sunday and say something, but he shrugged her attempts off after pointing to his ears and shaking his head.

“She got a name?” he asked.

“Yes, but I can’t pronounce it.”

I’d be worried if you could.

The walk continued through the day until Arten could walk no further. They had almost left the decaying parts of the swamp. The stench still carried over, but it was more of an unpleasant whiff of something disgustingly sweet, rather than a punch to the senses that took over and permeated each aspect of one’s life.

“I need a rest,” Arten said eventually and plopped himself next to a tree. Sunday watched carefully as the man touched the soil beneath and all the moisture seemed to leave it, creating a cloud of steam that dissipated. The earth became solid and dry.

It was a neat trick. Sunday didn’t stand on ceremony and sat down too wondering if it could be used on a person. Jishu had alluded to that.

“It takes a lot out of me,” Arten said out of nowhere.

“What does?”

“Using the spell to attack. I have to maintain physical contact for at least twenty or so seconds, so don’t look at me as if you’re ready to kill me. Plus, it wouldn’t work properly on undead bastards.”

Of course, I believe you, why wouldn’t I? I feel ashamed and I’ll immediately abandon my paranoid ways. Sunday gave an innocent smile.

“Speaking of killing… Will your people attack us?” he asked.

Arten threw him a look but didn’t answer immediately. “Perhaps.”

“Alright. Let me rephrase that. Will they attack me, or you, or both of us?”

Arten remained silent for a while. He seemed to make a habit of that and Sunday found his hand itchy again.

“You’ve met Pearl. You know what she is.” He eventually said. It was a statement.

“I know. Are you like him? Jishu?” Sunday asked, allowing a small note of anger to seep through his voice. He was getting sick of everyone he met in this swamp despite his attempts.

“In what sense?”

“Are you planning to use the girl for some plot?”

The two stared at each other for a while, until Arten turned away. He sighed loudly and for a second, Sunday wondered if saving him had been the right move. With his spells, he could’ve bullied the village out of a map. He didn’t like it when children were used for the games of adults, though, even if he had thought of doing the same. This felt different. Worse. As an orphan, he knew how it felt well – even Old Rud hadn’t been innocent.

“I care about Pearl,” Arten said. “I’ve been her guardian since the moment she was born.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“She’s what she is, and it can’t be hidden or changed. She will never know peace, nor will she know genuine care beyond what I can offer. Her blood is precious beyond reason and many would scour the world for a few drops of it.” Arten let out a bitter laugh, “You know? Her father plotted to kill everyone who knew about her, including his wife and other children, once she started showing signs of the devil blood. I’m barely starting to think you’re not one of his.”

That sounds fucking insane. “Just because of the contracts?”

Arten looked at him as if he was stupid. “Contracts? That’s the least of it! You know damn well that devil blood is poison to the Divine! It can feed spells and arts and make them more potent, and it can even be used to obtain spells of infernal origin! Do you understand the value of that? She is the key to weapons that can turn the tide. Plus, once she is older she can manifest talents beyond imagination. The older she gets, the more potent her blood will be. If she’s raised by the right people there’s even a chance to contact a true devil…”

The man’s voice was feverish with passion as he continued. “Her father was a fool struck by ambition! He wanted to give her to the highest bidder and secure himself a position somewhere safe where he could break his limits. We, the servants of his estate, didn’t want to die, so we stole one of the family’s spells and used it to escape the estate. It led us here.”

He has another spell then. Did he slip up just now or is he testing me like Jishu? Or maybe he doesn’t have the spell anymore.

“And you took little Pearl with you. I’m guessing not to save her?”

“As I said I care – we care for her. Most of us at least. Some think that it’s better to do what her father wanted to do. However, the chances are we’ll be silenced no matter who we deal with. Inferni are one of the treasures of the world and an important tool in the eternal struggle against the Divines. You can imagine the personal and political power that will come to whoever manages to control one.”

The Divines again. Aren’t people supposed to worship gods, build them statues, and pray to them for bullshit they don’t need? Still, referring to the child as a tool rubs me the wrong way. I suppose he is telling me all this because I know about her. Jishu died and here I am, sauntering around with the bastard’s very own sword and taking his place. How much does he know?

“What about the rest of her family? How come they’re not like her?”

Arten shook his head and didn’t think twice before responding. “Devil blood awakens seemingly at random. It is not a matter of lineage.”

Luck of the draw. So those children are like winning a lottery that can make you rich or kill you. I don’t want anything to do with that fucked up situation. I wonder if I was brought here because of Pearl though.

“And what do you think should be done?” Sunday asked.

“Many of us, myself included, think we should try to raise her. Given a few decades she will grow and with proper spells, she will be a force. Her blood will open many paths for her. We will teach her, and take only a few drops at a time to not weaken her. Among everything else, devil blood is a treasure for practicing the arts and can extend a mortal’s lifespan… at a cost.” Arten replied. “But her safety is paramount for our future.”

And you’re the village’s only mage, are you not? Why didn’t Jishu snatch her up immediately if she’s so valuable? He knew about her. Or was he biding his time and waiting for her to grow up some more? Seems risky. Was he that confident, or was there something else? The villagers hardly struck me as people capable of holding out against the horde of ghouls especially if their only mage’s sole spell is a fancy drier. Or just maybe… they were using her as a shield. Was Jishu afraid they would harm her if he moved? Would they? That seems plausible.

Sunday felt his head start to hurt. This was too much.

“You truly fell out of the sky, did you not? Most of what I shared is common knowledge.” Arten said.

Sunday nodded. “Don’t recommend it. And I seem to be lacking that common knowledge you speak of. Sense too.” Sunday stretched, “Unfortunately, now that you told me all about Pearl, you will have to get rid of me, huh?”

Arten seemed shocked, then smiled wide and raised his hands palms facing Sunday. “I assumed you knew most of it. You and I are the only magi that know of Pearl now. I think we can both come out of this better and stronger. Trust me as I trusted you. I want nothing but the best for the girl. How about it? Help me make things more favorable, and we will both get what we want.” Arten leaned forward, “I was after a spell when I left the village…”

Sunday slowly smiled and scratched his palm. Ah, but of course. Mr. Sunday and his many talents to the rescue once again. Let the honey flow you bastard. Bore me with tales of your scheming and sell me a place in your grand quest for… what is it again… custody of a devil?