The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  “Ah.” Gavin considered. “Interesting.”

  My ally fell silent, and I gave him time to ponder as I kept close study upon the moon-shadowed road so we would not stumble again.

  “If this is true,” he said in time, “this relic is your best defense should you be confronted by a natural creature infected by warp rot.”

  I arched my eyebrow. “You recommend I use it against them?”

  “In defense, yes.”

  I made a face he couldn’t see but he could hear the rise in my tone. “Sharing warp-tainted souls with this demon blade would corrupt me, would it not?”

  “No,” Gavin replied. “Souls can’t be ‘tainted’ by warp rot.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “Vis and Vitas are immaterial essences, neutral in power. This essence follows the ebb and flow of Existence. Those who study or feed on it may use it for any purpose, for currency or vitality, yet none corrupt the order of things even if they may imbalance resources around them.”

  I scowled at the passing ground, prompting my scholar to continue. “What is corrupted, then?”

  “It is how Vis and Vitas are re-bonded with the material of a single plane. It ignores natural processes as we know them. If you could pluck a sliver of light from a bolt of lightning and use it to weave a cat to a candle—”

  Weave a cat to a candle?

  “—the result is illogical and mad. But due to the corruption of the very rules by which we are, it works. At the same time, it isn’t sustainable without constantly changing and feeding those altered processes, an escalating imbalance seeking to correct itself. Thus warp rot grows and eventually alters things beyond sustainable function, beyond where the cat or candle should exist. The cat should have rotted away, and the candle melted and guttered out. Yet they remain as something that may be neither and both.”

  The image in my head spread to the trees around me. Shaking off a shiver, I huffed. “What happens if I stab this ‘cat-candle’ with the rune dagger to take the essence?”

  “The mal-bonded threads of lightning would sunder. The mad process and cycle are interrupted, forcing the transition.”

  “Transition? If that is so, how can any but death mages and relics accomplish this?”

  “Mages perform similar effects with other talents. The importance is not life or death, but altering the essence using the rules of our home. Resetting them. With corrupted bonds cut, these chaos bodies self-destruct to become their simplest parts again, accessible to the material and no longer warp rot.”

  I took a slow breath. “That… does not sound like a beautiful process.”

  “Indeed, it may be terrifying. Pure madness for the weak of will. Generally, a trained mage has the will to withstand it.”

  “Noted.” I scowled to think only a cursed dagger might put me on a level like Gaelan or Gavin, to accomplish something like this. “So, why will Sarilis’s vials work as well?”

  “Its design is a catalyst, inducing a surge in a well-known Ley site, potentially making it unresponsive or unfamiliar to the Bishops who have controlled it for three centuries. What I did not know then but could guess is how far this surge may reach along the Ley Lines, and what it may disturb in doing so. If the Deathless warned you that we would not get the chance to find out, then he likely has some idea what would happen.”

  Another frown. “But? He is well with using it on the warp rot, even though he’s causing it somehow?”

  “A catalyst,” Gavin repeated, “and a surge of power using the known rules of magic. Yes, I agree with Brom that it would sweep clear a lot of corruption in one or two waves. Perhaps all of it if we release the vials near the center of its influence.”

  “I see.”

  In contrast, I had stolen a method to stab my way closer to that center and undo the same corruption. To think how useless I would be otherwise because I was not a mage.

  Unless ‘mind mage’ counts.

  I did not see how. Everything my Elders had said, everything I’d experienced in fighting the Ornilleth and the Tragar, everything Phaelous had said about my saphgar pendant…

  These do not seem to follow the ‘known’ rules of magic.

  Did that mean psions were corrupt by their very nature? Is that why so many Davrin mistrusted them? If mages were crucial to “resetting” these boils of warp in our home plane, then where did a psion fit? If one were present amid warp rot, would this fact make it worse or neutral? I did not see making it better. All the psions I knew were hidden far, far below.

  Perhaps they didn’t have a place on the Surface.

  Should I tell him? Try to explain what he’s seen? What I’ve done?

  My mind blanked, at a loss how to begin, especially as we were so close to our goal, with the warning of pursuers catching up.

  The sky had brightened considerably while I’d been brooding, the dawn rapidly turning blue. I noted continuing, cross-growing trees along the slopes and sickly green bits growing like toadstools through brown leaves. The birdsong was weak and mournful. Uneven and unsettled.

  I thought someone weeping.

  Or laughing.

  ~Slow.~

  She responded, dropping from a canter to a trot.

  “Sirana?”

  ~Stop.~

  From a walk, the mare obeyed, holding in place with her ribs unmoving. Gavin was looking around us.

  “Did you hear anything?” I murmured.

  “No. What was it?”

  “A voice. I could not tell if—”

  The abrupt cry came again, and my eyes snapped left where the road’s bank swelled up and disappeared over a crest. I waited to see if anything would come sprinting over the hill, leaping down from the high ground.

  ~Walk forward.~

  The mare carried us around a bend to where we could see more of the forest floor on either side of us. I felt marginally better.

  “Did you hear it that time?” I asked.

  Gavin hesitated but answered true. “No.”

  Great.

  “Am I hearing tricks of the wind?”

  “Perhaps not. Your hearing is keener, and you are sensitive to sleeping thoughts.”

  “Only when I’m sleeping.”

  “Up here. You said you were injured below. Was this different before?”

  I didn’t respond. I couldn’t say then how it was below. I’d never fully discovered what it was…

  For a moment, I couldn’t remember anything before Kerse.

  Nothing before Reishel.

  “Sirana. Your aura is warping. Be calm.”

  ~Easy for you to say.~

  “We needn’t discuss it.”

  “Thank you,” I croaked.

  The Sun was full in the sky, and Gavin’s hands had shifted tar black as my eyes began to ache. I gave up resistance and donned my sunblind, unable to tolerate intense light with the increasing rustling around us, the distant crying, and the disturbing cessation of insects and birds.

  It helped me that Gavin’s mare could not be startled, that none of my tension transferred to her, that she would not rear up or bolt unless I commanded it. My companions’ cool bodies and calm supported my lead, kept my actions deliberate, my impulses numbed. If any predator here smelled my fear, sensed my spiking body heat, perhaps my not-living companions muffled it.

  Mere months ago, that would have seemed strange.

  Nothing approached as we climbed the fading road. The forest merely… watched us.

  Something watches us.

  “Do you see the green auras?” Gavin asked.

  “I see nothing,” I replied irritably. “Even without the Sun. I am not a mage.”

  “Very well. Shall we trade places for the day? I would prefer you focus on what you hear.”

  This exchange was normal between us; the one with the better eyesight guided the mare. Still, I regretted giving up the task, reluctant to trade it for the vaporous wails and incorporeal la
ughter, sounds better suited inside the Sathoet chamber of the Sanctuary than a vast forest upon the Surface.

  We stopped, I swung one leg forward and over the mare’s neck, turning to slide and drop off the side. I noticed how much weed and grass lay beneath my boots, how the colors were off through my blind, and the abundancy devouring the dirt road. The sky was visible, but I wondered how far before the shade deepened and the contorted trees closed in.

  I clasped the grey mage’s hand and the saddle pack, springing up to drape myself across the wide rump and eventually wriggle upright moments before Gavin silently urged our mount to a brisk walk.

  “We expect to approach ‘the center’ by midday?” I asked.

  “Unless something delays us. Will you pass me one vial?”

  Carefully, I withdrew the wrapping which contained Sarilis’s vials and passed Gavin one. “Where do we drop these? What do we seek?”

  “I do not know its form. I will recognize it by its aura.”

  Something unseen tickled along my ear, and I shivered, scratching the itch. “Do you imagine there will be resistance?”

  “Probably. Unpredictable to say what or when, however.”

  “Brom said warp rot mimics fears.”

  “That may not be deliberate. A frightened sentient offers many possible shapes once the cycle of corruption has begun.”

  My hands clenched where they rested on my thighs. “Hmph. It still bothers me I have not seen evidence of eighteen horsemen having come this way in the last week.”

  Gavin shrugged. “The massive storm which caught us was moving North. The downpour would have erased it for leagues.”

  “And any sign of Gaelan. I do not know where to begin looking for her here.”

  The Deathwalker turned his head somewhat. “Help me purge the warp rot first, and the field will be clearer afterward. We will have time then to seek what became of her.”

  “Will we? Your mistress warned of the Ma’ab closing in on us. Say we accomplish this cleansing quickly. We may be forced into a hit and run game of chase.”

  Gavin did not speak for a while. “Do you suggest we somehow search for her first?”

  I grumbled, “No. Seeing her mission complete is wiser. I am only… regretful.”

  “Regretful of what?”

  “That I did not kill them and be done with that filth.”

  “Hm. I assumed you prioritized escape.”

  My mouth tightened. “Hm. What did you ‘prioritize’? It wasn’t escape until Jacob was dead.”

  Gavin grunted as well. He may have been pondering an answer, but I had no patience for anything cryptic.

  “What of Rithal and Mathias?” I asked instead. “They said they would meet us later.”

  “They did, but I find it unlikely. I think they will turn around if they run across the Ma’ab, or once they see this place. Neither had goals this far North nor are they mages, so their help is doubtful anyway.”

  Just the two of us, then.

  Us and those who stalked us.

  Gentle breezes began to pass by my ears in odd ways, not brushing past but bending to collide with us like we were the heaviest boulder on the mattress. With them came moaning and giggling, snarling, and screaming. Tremors rippled through the air as the sounds grew loud enough for Gavin to hear as well.

  “Closer,” he confirmed.

  The road had disappeared as shade deepened, and I removed my blind to free my periphery as chills spread over me. I saw yellowish haze collecting in several copses of trees, always positioned near the top of a hill, with bluish hazes unreliably flowing into dips and depressions on the forest floor. Gavin was sure to guide us in a wide berth around them.

  Had the Witch Hunters reached this far? Or were we in the unexplored region no one sane had seen in however long?

  “Do you see a situation where we would retreat?” I murmured. “Perhaps recruit mages at Augran, as Brom suggested?”

  Gavin was silent long enough to give me his answer. I waited for him to collect his thoughts and speak.

  “No,” he began flatly. “The Ma’ab siege at Manalar will be in full rush by the time we travel to Augran and return here. The corruption will only be worse. I have died once; I’ve lost that fear. I will not retreat.”

  “Fortunate for you.”

  “We’ll see. You did not have to come with me, but you are capable of aiding this task. Our trade was my effort to find your sister in this region before the Ma’ab or Deathless might, correct?”

  “That has not changed.”

  “Indeed.”

  I paused to observe the twisting forest in despair before bursting out in frustration, “Why hasn’t anyone done anything before now?! Why did an ancient sorcerer ignore it on his own border for over than a season? Why not Osgrid or… or anyone?!”

  The death mage shook his head. “I do not know. But we are here now. As an Elf, you may feel this threat more invasively than I do, but we agree it cannot be overlooked any longer. If anything, your Queen assured this before you came to the Surface.”

  I sneered. Yes, at Gaelan’s expense.

  And Jael’s, with her standing in the path of that coming siege. How much did she know about what she sought? If her contact with the Valsharess was like mine, it wasn’t enough to survive without resisting at every turn. My hope for her there lay in knowing that resisting was all she’d ever done.

  My arms had tightened around the death man’s waist; I did not realize it until he leaned forward. I let him go, felt my face flush in irritation that I’d been clinging at all.

  As if he can shield me from my doubts.

  I summoned a deep, deep breath, releasing it with my hands on my stomach.

  You are capable of aiding this task.

  I will not retreat.

  “We are here,” I spoke in Davrin. “No demons but us.”

  “Hm?” Gavin asked.

  I smiled. “Nothing. I will not run, Gavin. We shall reach the center.”

  The Deathwalker nodded, guiding his unshakeable steed deeper into the trees.

  “…Sirana…!”

  With nothing in front, cautiously, I looked behind.

  Nothing.

  The horse breathlessly heaved her way up a steep slope and then another. The clouds had thickened while the trees thinned, and for a moment I could see a glimpse of the old road not yet overgrown wending its way South. I should not have been able to see so far in the day, and yet I glimpsed a large, black horse and a man riding it. A few others who could be Castis and Amelda followed.

  “…Sirana…”

  “…coming for her…!”

  “…kus…”

  I looked away, taking a drink with my waterskin once the ground levelled out and my glimpse of road vanished. “Do you hear shouting behind us?”

  “No,” Gavin answered without hesitation. “I see something ahead of us.”

  What?

  I leaned around his long torso, familiar by now, as we slowed and stopped by silent command. At first, I could not tell if what sat on its haunches by a stream was a massive dog or a giant frog.

  The mottled green-black hide was speckled with warts and blisters, patches of fur sprouted but failed to make a coat. The long, sticky tongue panted, dripping a gooey mucous which floated in the water. Bulbous eyes were void black, staring across the way, not at us. It grunted, the bloated body bearing down, and expelled pearly green beads from a rear orifice. These spread across the soil in a fishy froth I could smell before blackening and become sludge before our eyes.

  “Let me,” Gavin whispered. “Be ready.”

  I pressed my palm briefly to his back for acknowledgement, unable to see what motions or focus helped him prepare.

  Better to watch the rest of the forest.

  A gravid frog could be solitary, but a mother dog may be part of a pack. Or it may follow no such logic at all, and we could only react as things arrived.

&nb
sp; I was certain I saw shadows of movement in the brush as Gavin murmured in the dead tongue, and we clopped a few steps closer. A strange buzz settled in my ear when Gavin lifted his hand in a similar arcane gesture to when he’d blocked Castis’s fire spell. The frog-dog jerked its body in a laborious hop, turning on slimy mud to face us; its tongue whipped out of the water and lashed out at us, crossing an impossible distance.

  “Ussgreyn!” Gavin barked, completing his motions, pitching his focus and his aura at one target.

  Black fire caught the bulbous end of the creature’s tongue and raced toward the demented wielder like its spit was an accelerant to real fire. The egg-layer gulped and bellowed a baying croak that sent every leaf to quake as it dove into the stream.

  “Sillhyenis!” the death mage added, intensifying his gestures with arm outstretched.

  The black fire did not turn to steam upon touching the water. Indeed, it wasn’t burning at all as it consumed the wailing warp rot. As any reality I’d been sure of crumbled before my eyes, I looked away in time to see the smaller, yellow-black version of this thing not five paces away.

  The creature lashed its tongue out and caught Gavin’s forearm in a sizzling loop. The death mage’s dark skin turned grey where the tongue held him, something oozing out. It started bawling, equal chance in pain or victory.

  I dropped off the horse, drew the red rune dagger, and launched straight at the canine amphibian, punching the tip through center mass as that familiar voice shrieked in joyful surprise.

  *Yesss! Yesss!*

  Staring at bulging, swirling eyes, I expected the unnatural body to explode and cover me with gooey filth. Instead, it shriveled and charred like a vegetable on a spear over a campfire. I choked and coughed, drawing back, gripping the handle of the dagger as if it kept me from falling a cliff. Surreal warmth swept up my arm to my chest and immediately my lungs cleared. I took a full breath.

  I felt well.

  Looked around for another target.

  *Nothing.*

  “Gavin?” I asked, looking to him.

  He’d rolled up his sleeve to inspect the black blood cooked into a crusty ring around his grey-dappled arm.

  “Hm,” he grunted.

  *Uhhh-ohhh. Hehehe!*