"You stay hidden here. Your mother. She'll be back. Don't you dare come out. I promise. I'll bring you sweet things."
"Mama. Hurry back. I won't go anywhere."
The Self watched above the fire pit. Above the wooden ceiling. Above the storm and the screaming of hell. It was quiet. Not because it could not speak but because when it tried to part its mouth a multitude of sounds came forth yet no one heard them.
She ran from the house. Tears of anguish. Leaving the small boy whose body was covered in black. The smell of burned flesh rose from the innocent child curled in a basket of cotton blossoms like dried tulips.
A mass of scorched flowers covered the basket where he hid. He tried to follow her. But even as the Self chased after her through the cinder dust of the burning house it was as if nothing was there.
The loving mother wept a ragged sound. She turned back to look at the small house she had fled.
A mysterious shadow stepped out from inside. Now it stood at the door. Following her but it was not the Self watching. This shadow ran right through the observing Self as if it were only a dream a mere float across the vision.
The dark shape she saw made her weep harder. She knew she was wrong in all things. And the one who could only watch the shadow run after her wept too a torrent a stream connecting them yet no one saw.
"I am sorry" She cried out.
The shadow did not stop. Houses burned in the fire. She ran through a crowd of people who looked already dead. They drifted tired. Their bodies held nothing but old age though they were young. Roots of creeping wood pushed out from their eyes or their mouths. She wept.
Could only move her legs fast along the road running from the shadow that followed. The dark shape in the smoke began to take a clearer form.
"Stop"
The Self moved to block it but could do nothing at all. The shadow ran through. A clear form now. It was the small boy. His tears were blood. The stench of red gore trailed the length of the body. Not because of the clothes. But the bone joints that tore the child's flesh. He was in pain. The curse. The unvoiced evil of the Odaz. Bringing ruin to this city.
Everything burned out. The woman's body bore burn marks. She and her son suffered. Uncared for because everyone was already dead though still living by the hand of her son.
"My child. I am sorry. I was wrong."
Hush now. She forced herself. The Self could only stand and watch its child embrace the mother's form. The flesh was burning. But the bond between mother and son would not break. Though she wished to leave him so he might pass in peace. She had not sought to flee the problem. She only knew her wrong and that it could still be fixed. Only the thought of fixing it. But no. People died while they still drew breath.
The son cried a mewling sound. But the noise was that of a beast a moan in the midnight wood. She fled from this son. The one she had raised. Though she knew it was a terrible curse she stubbornly raised him still.Beyond the voices in the Self's mind the laughter of its master rang out.
Was he still in this nightmare. He saw a dark place a cell. The girl's role shifted from mother and son to a dark room. No one there but the slavemaster. The Self which had become a he stood stunned could not look away. The memory of the mother and child had not yet vanished in the mist. It was suddenly replaced by the damp smell of mossy brick. He sat beside the girl. Though she did not see him there. Eat something.
"I'm tired of seeing you thin and having to force feed you. You bitch."
She crawled. Her bones cracked with every movement as she reached for the bars. A few grains of pale green rice. A glimmer of light from the seeds. Could be counted in the bowl. Ready to cut her hand every time she reached. The girl swatted the bowl scattering it against the slavemaster's feet.
"I won't eat. Spit."
"What did you say. Won't eat. Then get ready for another round."
The slavemaster brought a hot iron branded with a dog's head the ears missing. He thrust the hot iron into the cage. Stabbing her cheek. Revealing her face behind the torn cloth. Scars marked her face. Black and blue bruises on her jaw. Teeth broken a painful sight. The slavemaster did not stop his assault. He opened the cage a large figure like a giant bear about to claw its prey. He shielded her but it was like the wind no one saw.
"You want this do you."
He slapped her again and again. The small girl tried to fight back with her deformed hands. Scratching him with her broken blunted nails. Her chipped fangs bit into the beast in human form. He threw her to the floor. She coughed up blood.
"Don't hurt her."
He. Caught in the snare of the dream a harsh reality that sought those who would find it. A memory no one regarded. He tried to grasp but passed through the scene. The mother with the cursed child of an undeserved sin.
The violence of man upon the small slave girl in its eyes not a life shared. Could he. Do nothing at all.
The Self's body began to feel the image was being sucked into a void beyond memory. He. Felt a body again. Eyes blinked open in the embrace of a large man in a bright light. Tears of faint blood. Nothing left but the sorrow of the sight.
At the Throne Room of the King of the Crassmere Kingdom
The knights leveled their spears at the visitors. They stood watching the situation a look of cunning upon them. The King sat on the Wave Throne. Chuckling in his throat a chilling sound. The two scholars ceased projecting their energy and the surrounding mana began to settle. But it had not stopped fluctuating. Pressing the air around making it difficult to breathe.
The knights guarded the door. Some were dizzy near collapse. But no matter. The visitors beneath the flickering passion candles overhead. The warrior who followed the sharp-tongued archer. The sole woman in armor like a man on the battlefield. Her sword still sheathed its edge unknown to anyone. Even the priest who carried him in his arms unaware of anything still stood unaffected.
The mermaid behind the curtain and the throne breathed slower in her tank. Taking a deep draw. The noblewoman beside the arrogant king. Some gasped for breath their voices rough needing to regain their composure.
"Those who have always lived in their own mud will never find the ground others concede to them. Like you warriors. You too Phrorson. I was so gracious. To grant you a position alongside my right-hand scholar Migailros. Yet your reward is to conspire with those who were once in the mud like you. Unruly indeed. You filthy dog!"
"Your Majesty. I don't mean to contradict you. But. Why the sound of waves from behind your throne huh."
"What right have you to argue with our King you archer."
Helm moved forward. Stepping past Vionnier whose hand rested on her scabbard. He simply stood proud. Looking past the two scholars who had stopped their rivalry and spoke on ignoring the nobleman's warning.
"I have no right. Or you choose not to grant me the right. For fear of the truth you highborns refuse to admit. Oh you people of morals. Your exquisite arts. Don't be ridiculous. You're angry we interfere with your. Uh. What was it called. Oh right. Sanctity. This is a borderland for religion. Where the Church often visits. Yet it has a King so utterly perverse."
Armor clashed hard. The King's hand clenched glowing azure in his wrinkled palm a stark contrast to the face beneath the mermaid gem crown he wore. This King slammed his fist on the seat. Migailros glanced over. Before retreating to brace himself. His scholar's senses told him a clash was imminent. He gripped his staff firmly.
"Helm. I think whatever we say these people will only get angry. Because they don't even dare to kill us since the center of the city. Our potential is heaven and earth apart. They can't do anything to us."
Vionnier said softly. She had not drawn her sword. Only walked toward the scholar who had been dismissed by the one who granted the position. Phrorson. As if to shield him from the empty armor surrounding them that seemed ready to stab their bodies at any moment even if a thousand more were brought in.
Migailros stopped short of the steps. He looked back at the visitors. His face a mixture of irritation and disgust. He spat a word toward the only woman warrior present.
"You all see these savages. Your Majesty you don't need to say anything to them. These people. What would they know. Our laws already dictate. That we should not meddle with such filth. What woman carries a sword on the battlefield. Never. They are but an aberration. Leading one of our own whom we graciously promoted. And originally I sent the knights only to bring the Cornerstone Scholar back. But judging by his eyes now he has already abandoned the name of scholar."
Migailros sighed speaking bitterly. But the one who was cast off remained unfazed. Instead there was only silence in the suffocating room. Contrary to its immense size. Everyone watched each other warily. Even the King who had calmed his temper. Still clenched his fist glowing blue like the sea. Directing the knights' spears at the visiting group.
Phrorson looked on calmly. He understood the situation well. No different from the warriors who led him toward his dream. He brought both hands together. Raised them above his head and let them fall. Vionnier gripped her sword tight within the steel scabbard. If anything moved she was ready to strike.
"Many people. Come here. To trade fine goods from the fishmongers. Or to inquire about finding and harvesting the magical fibers from the grass around the kingdom. Asking about weaving it through the old wooden loom. Or shaping it from the surrounding mana into masterworks of art. Some just pass through to enter the inner city church outside this throne room because they are pilgrims who sailed by. But strangely one thing no one outside ever knows. Is the children born cursed more than in the region near Mount Asura. Which I the doer of sin know well from my post at the Blighted Church. The silent invasion by the Vybaris savages. The indifference to women raped outside the walls along the sea behind the kingdom. You are truly unbearable. And one thing I always thought. Is that all true scholars see the same dream. Yet you refuse to remember that dream and follow it. You choose to deny the dream. And you still call yourself a scholar. Migailros."
The King's right hand dared not reply to what Phrorson had said. Or perhaps he simply knew well. That all that had happened as spoken was something he could do nothing about. The only thing this right-hand scholar could do was endure and listen.
"Who do you think you are Phrorson. This Migailros. He was entrusted by me. The leader of this kingdom. To grant you a position some will never receive in a lifetime. You deserve to be called a traitor. You filthy dog."
"Grant it. Or just want to corrupt him your Majesty. It's clearly about self-interest isn't it. Huh."
Helm drew his quiver from his back. He laughed after speaking. Ready to loose his arrow. Vionnier did not stop him. Everyone dared not move. Except the King who crushed something in his hand. The source of the azure light. And when the crushing sound like stone breaking rang out the surrounding empty armors began to rush forward one by one. Surrounding their group to prevent. But who truly had no way to escape.
"Well well. Not befitting a King is it. Is this the one who sits on the Wave Throne of Crassmere. A port kingdom. Elegant only in the palace. Admit it. You only want to open the church. To break the curse. A Blighted Church. It exists everywhere. But because this is a borderland of religions. Without the church the Church would have abandoned this place."
"Do you think you know the truth archer. Warriors like you. Your duty is at the kingdom's frontier. Without even a name in the history books of the religious tablets. True heretics. Waiting to die in towers. Some wander following the orders or will of a King you think still exists. Utter nonsense. My kingdom. Has vast lands. Righteously granted by the Church and deemed good. What do you know. Other than shooting arrows that consume others. Killing the innocent no different from a vulture. Waiting to feed on carrion."
Sharp definition. But wrong on every count. Should I shoot a round at that hellspawn.
The voice ended. Helm drew his bow releasing a red arrow mixed with a scream but not firing yet. The noblemen scattered running in all directions. Fleeing the madmen's fight. Even some of the door guards trembled. At the screaming from the arrow of this sharp-tongued warrior. Simultaneously. The silver-blooded woman warrior. Who had been silent for a time. She lunged drawing her sharp blade from the scabbard revealing a red and silver light. Reflecting the sunrise through the window. Out of Vionnier's steel scabbard. She said nothing. Only leaped ready to strike a bloody flash. Past the perverse King's Wave Throne.
"Kneel at my feet. You evil spirits."
But she saw in her own eyes. The shadowy spirit of the mermaid whose body remained. The surrounding mana was twisted and squeezed airless. The King spread his hands. Migailros's stone fell from the King's hand. While the empty armors were controlled by the unwilling humming of the mermaid in the tank. Behind the throne. The numerous suits of armor leaped to stab her. But she parried with her light-emitting blade a murderous glint. She raised her sword above her head turning back to Phrorson. The one who had escaped the kingdom in the name of a religious traitor. She screamed aloud thrusting her sword down onto the rug. Creating a ring of fire around her. The smell of blood fierce.
Helm smiled beneath his deer skull helmet. He laughed loudly. Drawing his bow to absorb the soul energy of the tortured mermaid. The king on the Wave Throne who used her as a medium. He trembled. Nearly fainting immediately. The surrounding mana returned to normal.
"Chant the spell Phrorson."
The Cornerstone Scholar clasped both hands to his chest. Migailros seeing the King's stance pointed his staff toward the group of warriors who were now ready to kill them completely though they never could. The spell being chanted was almost complete. The woman warrior fought the empty suits of armor a clang of steel like a small war. She drew them in. The spears of the armors did not hit her not even the tip. She danced with the sword fiercely. The sound echoing throughout the outer city beneath the false sacred throne room.
If I die. You will never find peace. I swear. You will be hunted by the Church in everything you do from now on.
The King stood straight. His hand gripping the crown on his head. And raising it high. Looking toward Migailros who now held another piece of stone in his fist. He hurled it toward the center where Vionnier was fighting. But Helm fired an arrow into the stone causing it to ricochet skyward a blinding white explosion. Shattering the surrounding glass above.
But then. While everything was in chaos. No one knew. No one cared. Only the spirits answered. Many spirits within. Tearing apart the Self. Creating an he incomplete in every way. It opened its eyes seeing everything in Red Black White and Gray.
"Phrors—"
Suddenly the voice of the Chain-bound Priest. The one as if forgotten. Shouted before the sound cut off. Everyone there hadn't even turned yet. He. The blood from the severed neck of the priest. Flowed soaking the body of the weaponless he. The arrow was still lodged. The rope was torn. Black feathers. Flew from Vionnier's side. She turned seeing it along with Phrorson and Helm. The scene. The door guards. When had they died without a sound. The accompanying warrior. Torn apart. Did no one notice.
"Aarrgghhhhhh."
It did not stand still like the first time in the Forest of Lies. It screamed. A body drenched in blood. Long unnatural hair. It was not human from the start. It roared like a beast. Every warrior including both scholars. Not even excluding the King. Who was now trying to explode the mermaid's soul with the crown above his head. To end everything with himself.
But the plan in his head would never come true. No matter what.
Vionnier broke away from the empty suits of armor. Which now themselves could barely move due to the King's fear.
"I understand you now Phrorson."
Migailros said his voice shaking. He was simply stunned by the body that stood far away. At the very back now. Which no one had paid any attention to at first. Did not even care who or what it was.
But nothing made sense anymore. It ran faster than a woman. Stronger than any large man. It roared. Moving its two legs like a beast. It. Ran through everything. Helm though he wanted to speak was also shocked. And darted aside as it ran past with a hawk's speed. Vionnier tried to use her sword to stop it. But the blade was snatched from her hand before she could react. It ran past her. Destroying the empty suits of armor completely. Phrorson seeing the back of the he that ran past. He knew well this entity was the image of a dream. That everyone in the kingdom. Or even across the continent. Across the land knew. Though in a twisted way. The two warriors could only stand still. Except for Helm. Who drew his bow toward it.
"I—"
Thwack. The foot of the Wave Throne was trampled. By something lower than the ground itself. Its foot rested on the throne. The sword of the blood woman. Used by it. Stabbed into the King's chest. His eyes now extinguished as if he never knew what happened next.
Everything fell into a silence like the deep woods. Everything as if they were hunters watching a beast. Dangerous. Ferocious. Cruel. More than any creature they had ever hunted. Helm drew his bow no light consuming it. Black feathers. Flew throughout the space.
Thunk. And it fell from the throne. After the sound of the taut bowstring.