The Forsaken Hero

I tossed and turned, slipping through dreams like a fish through water. Some were quick and easy, mere glimpses of past experiences, while others depicted horrible battlefields and slaughters. The fiery halls of the Divine Throne stalked me through the cracks, where I could only flee from the shadowy faces of those dead by my hands. The old, familiar ghosts were there, the priests who attacked me in the Divine Throne and the men of the Last Light Company, but a host of new faces joined them. It took me nearly the entire night to recognize them as the innocent citizens of High Valley.

As their claw-like hands closed around me, I jolted away, soaked in a cold sweat. I lay curled up on a soft, feathery bed, curled in a ball with my tail twisting anxiously about me. A thick woolen blanket tightly bound my shaking body, wet with tears I had shed in my sleep.

They were all dead. It wasn’t my first time realizing it, but the thought had hovered at the edge of thought, never truly making itself known. Perhaps I’d been avoiding it, or simply unable to process it at the time. But now, with a day between us, the dead of High Valley tormented my thoughts.

The mysterious demonkin had killed them all. Not only the monstrous Lord Byron, but his citizens as well. The entire region for dozens of miles in all directions burned with the power of her star. Who knew how many died from the shockwave alone? And what about the following winter? Hundreds of thousands of acres of farmland were nothing more than scorched earth now. Would they still be able to stock up enough when the fields lay fallow and covered with snow?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push away the ghostly condemnation. If the staff hadn’t summoned her, then...then...

I would be dead.

There was no question of it. Lord Byron made his intentions clear, beginning with killing those I loved and deciding to rape me until my mind broke. It would have been the same as my previous life, where I was nothing but a tool whose entire purpose was to be taken advantage of, where I had to go to the darkest depths of misery to pay for scraps and a place to sleep. I had already escaped that once, by the only means available to me. If I were to fall into that again, there was no doubt I’d make the same choice.

My heart was filled with darkness, but I couldn’t allow myself to give up. Not anymore. Aurle had given herself for me and died with the hope that I might live. Even when it became clear what would happen, she refused to break and always had a smile for me. I awoke many times in the night to the sound of her whimpers or gentle sobs, and often joined her, for the punishment inflicted by Byron and his taskmasters was too great, often keeping us from even sleeping.

After a few shaky breaths, I managed to calm down and unwrap myself from the blanket. After trying to sit up a few times, I gave up and collapsed onto the bed, trying to soothe the burning pain in my leg. The wolf’s teeth had bitten deep into my flesh, tearing through muscles and tendons to the bone. The wound had been dressed in soft, white linen bandages, which seemed fresh, as though they’d been changed several times.

Once the pain simmered down, I slowly opened my eyes and peered around the room. It was plain and simple, with no ornamentation or furniture aside from a small wardrobe and the bed. A spent candle, little more than a blackened wick in a pool of hardened wax, rested on a nightstand beside the bed. Faint evening light oozed through the thick, gray curtains, bathing the room in a viscous red glow.

My staff was gone, nowhere to be seen in the room. But, for some reason, I couldn’t find it in myself to worry. It would be there when I needed it.

Scarcely had I awoken than the creak of a door, followed by muffled voices, drifted through the floorboards. There were two of them, matching my patchy memory of the adventurer and the big man who carried me inside. But their words were hazy and indistinct, spoken in a tongue I couldn’t understand.

I creased my brow, rifling through my scattered memories. The hero’s blessing of tongues was gone, but I was certain I’d understood them before I fell unconscious. Were they speaking a different language now for some reason?

”How is she?” asked Helron, the adventurer, in words I could suddenly understand. His tones held more curiosity than concern, and sounded rehearsed, as though he’d broached the topic many times before.

”No change, though I wish she’d wake up,” Bilev rumbled in his low, gravely voice. ”Then we can ask her what the hell happened. I’ve never seen anything like that! Any luck finding whatever monster did it?”

”No, although that might be sheer luck. I found another three corpses almost a mile away, killed with a single bite or blow like the others. Thirty wolves; the entire pack, if the tracks outside the village are something to go by.”

Bilev whistled. ”Sounds personal. It must really hate wolves.”

”Or maybe these specifically. Could it be the girl? What did Emrily say about her?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Bilev said in tones almost beyond my hearing, ”She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. Said she’s only a normal girl, maybe fourteen, fifteen, but there’s something off about her soul. There’s the scar, too. Emrily called it ’Sunpurge,’ but I ain’t heard of that before. I touched it, by accident mind you, and she screamed in her sleep, thrashing around like I’d dropped a hot coal on her. Cried out for someone named Aurle or something, but it was in the Beastkin tongue.”

”Ah, Sunpurge. She’s rather extraordinary to have something like that,” Helron replied knowingly. ”Only Sun Magic sixth-circle and above have a chance of creating it. But how’s a young, ordinary girl like her have something like that? Better question, how did she survive whatever magic might have caused it?”

Bilev started to respond, but his words were foreign, uttered in that unknown language. The two talked for some time in words I couldn’t understand before Helron suddenly switched to the Beastkin tongue again mid-sentence.

”-off to Heartland. I’ll swing by in a week or so and see if she’s got anything on that monster. I’d like to set the adventurers on it, but we’re short on gold ranks right now. Anyway,” he said, and the door creaked open, ”I’ll bring Sorrin and Tana back with me. They should be able to speak the same language, so maybe they’ll be able to learn what happened.”

”Very well, old friend. Ride safe and-” His words garbled into the unknown language.

The door shut, and silence followed. After a few minutes, heavy footsteps tramped up the stairs. I flinched as the door to my room swung open and Bilev strode through. He was dressed in soft leather trousers and a leather vest over a loosely-laced shirt. He smelled of alcohol, but his eyes were sharp and stride steady. A few loops of linen bandages were slung over one forearm.

He had nearly made it to the bed, reaching for my leg with practiced motions before he met my eyes. He froze, eyes widening in surprise, before a wide smile split his face. He said something excitedly, but I shook my head. Whatever it was that allowed me to understand him was gone.

He tried again, and the smile slipped into a frustrated grimace. Finally, he shrugged and motioned to my leg, and then to the bandages dangling from his arm. I nodded slowly, but watched him warily as he began to undress the bite wound. The bite was red and angry, and every motion sent lines of burning pain through my nerves. He tried to be gentle, but my tail flicked with every bump and jostle, and the occasional whimper made him cringe.

After changing the bandage, he left the room and returned with a mug of steamy liquid. He held it out to me, and I tried to grab it, but pain and weakness made my hands shake. He snatched it back before it slipped through my fingers and slid a hand under my back. I froze, growing pale in fear, but he only gently raised me into a sitting position, bringing the mug to my lips. He spoke in soothing tones as though addressing a frightened animal, and while I couldn’t understand a word, I found myself relaxing and accepting his administration.

The drink was bitter and hot enough that it nearly scalded my tongue. I tried to spit it back out, but he gently, if firmly, held me still. Only after the mug was empty did he ease me back onto the bed. It was probably medicine or some herbal tea, but I couldn’t help glaring at him resentfully. He only shrugged and muttered something under his breath.

Only after he left did I fully relax, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. Every touch and look caused memories of the countless beatings and torture to flow through my mind. It was clear he meant well, but a slight quiver gripped my hands for several minutes after he left.

I slipped in and out of consciousness the entire day, drifting through dreams and nightmares until the night fell. Bilev seemed content to leave me to myself, but around evening, there began to be a clamor below. Dozens of voices rang long into the night, joined by raucous laughter and the occasional off-key song. It dawned on me slowly. I was in an inn.

But the realization did little to soothe me, and I remained awake through it all, my eyes never leaving the door. Even as my eyes grew heavy and my breathing turned long and even, I forced myself to remain awake, terrified someone would break through into the room. It might be an inquisitor here to judge me, a slaver with a cracking whip, or even just a drunkard looking to have a little fun with a helpless girl.

I groaned, rolling over and forcing myself to close my eyes. What was wrong with me? These people had shown me nothing but kindness. It would be no exaggeration to say they had saved my life.

But...so had Soltair.

I realized it then, and tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over and wetting the old, patchy dress I’d been clothed in. The slave crest may be gone, but its shadow had never left. A chain as strong as any magic, as cold as any steel. A darkness as familiar as my own soul, and one I might never truly be free of.