The Mark of Gold

by A. S. Etaski

  I kept watch, shifting my weight nervously. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yes. Though not… how I remember pain.”

  *New pain is a bad sign.*

  I cleared my throat. “Will it… grow worse?”

  Gavin arched a brow. “Am I infected, do you mean?”

  I shrugged.

  *Yesss, you do. Say it!*

  I kept my mouth closed as Gavin’s icy eyes shifted over to the shriveled corpse I’d stabbed turning to a grey ash or powder. He looked held out his wounded arm, holding the long sleeve back. I was at a loss.

  “You said Soul Drinker once found Deathwalkers ‘unpalatable,’” he began.

  *Ohhh, nooo…* The dagger groaned like it covered a face.

  “Perhaps it would like to suck out the ‘maggots’ of Vitas which this corrupted tongue left behind?”

  *Bah! Best friends, his maggots!*

  “What should I do?” I asked.

  “Press the flat of the blade against my skin.”

  *Hah! What a hideous palate!*

  “What if…” I waved with my free hand. “It turns the edge on you.”

  Gavin shrugged. “Then we shall find out if Soul Drinker would attempt to steal from the Grave Mother. That would be interesting to see.”

  *Grrrrrr.*

  One corner of my mouth lifted as I checked around us again and approached Gavin’s arm, taking firm hold of his wrist to lay the naked blade against the wound blistering my ally’s skin. I heard grumbling; it wasn’t Gavin.

  ~There will be many more of these things, dagger. Keep us both strong, and you’ll feed well today.~

  Several of the runes flashed red as the poison-scorched blisters dried up. *You’d best find full sentient offerings, Davrin. This is demeaning to my true power.*

  ~You want it all the same, I notice. Drink.~

  Grey flakes began falling from Gavin’s skin, and while a fresh rise of black blood concerned me, I could also see the Deathwalker’s skin healing.

  Or, closing, at least. Renewing, somehow.

  *Hsssss…*

  “That is good,” Gavin said.

  Lifting the black metal from his skin felt like trying to pull an eager lizard away from his meal too soon. I took a step away for added assurance, watching as the man’s long fingers prodded and traced over new pale skin, quickly turning dark and smooth in the daylight.

  He nodded in satisfaction. “It worked.”

  I breathed out in relief.

  “However, I would not recommend this remedy for anyone not sworn beyond death to a higher being.”

  *Pfeh.*

  I smiled dryly. “Noted.”

  “Do you need a hand up?”

  I turned to look at the deepening forest beyond the stream and shook my head. “I will walk beside you. Fastest way to act with a dagger.”

  Gavin dismounted. “Then let us both walk and use the mare as a shield.”

  “Good idea.”

  The mare’s flesh was breaking down, anyway. If Gavin did not come up with a way to mend or preserve her, then acting as moving cover would be her final service in our journey. This thought would dismay Tamuril, for this wasn’t much different from Sarilis’s grinding down of animal corpses.

  Even our present task echoes from decades ago. Sarilis and Rausery. Gavin and me.

  Though the black dagger had suggested longer. Deathwalkers, Desert Queens, and lost wars were why we’d come here.

  Still cleaning up someone’s mess.

  CHAPTER 2

  Soul Drinker stayed naked in my hand, not only to improve my response to threat but because we discovered the dagger detected concentrated Vitas somewhat like Gavin’s eyes. My arm moved without conscious effort as the tip of the blade pointed at living creatures like ferrous shards drawn to a lodestone.

  The dagger did not control the hand which held it; I could resist and override it for now. However, its voiceless tug provided spare moments for me to react to the plethora of mindless tendrils and viny pseudopods quickly thickening the forest, so I gave the red rune dagger this slack.

  Gavin had noticed these instants of warning which spared him having to speak; he did not protest and focused on casting to undo the warped creatures accosting us. Like me, he accepted the aid of the relic despite shared misgivings that its feeding on this simple essence soon wouldn’t be enough.

  *You’d best find sentient offerings, Davrin.*

  At the same time, Soul Drinker was generous in sharing what it drew off the environment. After confronting the amphibious canines, I had been growing hungry. Now, I wasn’t, despite not having eaten. No sharp pangs, no light-headedness or weakness in my limbs as I kept moving. No distraction.

  Not like when I’d been running from Gavin’s killers.

  As we climbed, the scent of the darkening forest shifted to something foreign and upsetting. Sour, bitter, sweet, and unnamed. All at once. I’d expected “rot” but knew well the scent of bodies and plants decomposing, and this was not it. As Gavin had explained, this was not happening; change was unchanging, its escalation worrisome for anything living.

  Interrupt the cycle.

  The warp rot had enfolded us completely, and I tightened the strings on my spiders’ pouch, despite their protesting chimes. ~No. Be still.~

  I did not want to discover what warp rot would do with venom like theirs on compromised creatures, or how their little bodies would change. Tree limbs swayed like long slugs, dripping mucous and weaving in a nonexistent wind. We stabbed or engulfed these in magic, creating a path out as the writhing branches dropped off, but left the tree standing.

  Constant yips and cries sounded within a purpling brush while we worked, sometimes fleeing, sometimes charging us. Gavin’s ethereal fire flowed along the ground in waves, leaving barren dirt and chirping roaches in little piles of ash. It was slow going for a long time; estimating that we’d reach our goal by midday was a useless measure. I lost track of time as the light filtering in was sickly green and greyish blue. Leaves turned shades of red and purple but unlike what Rausery had described in the falling season.

  “Must we stab every tree in the forest, I wonder?” I muttered aloud.

  “No lasting good there,” Gavin answered. “We must purge the center.”

  We still didn’t know what that looked like. I wanted to ask why there was a “center,” how it began or how he knew it existed, but these curiosities were only to distract from my dread.

  In truth, I feared what we would see. I hoped Gaelan had somehow resisted the Queen’s curse and escaped from here after the Witch Hunters saw her. She clearly hadn’t succeeded in her mission before I arrived.

  *If we find her, and she is corrupted,* whispered the blade, *we can cleanse her. Free her essence from warp rot.*

  I swallowed. ~Liar.~

  A menacing hiss. *Not one bit, you arrogant Elf.*

  I weighed that. Indeed, freeing her essence from warp rot was true regardless of what happened next. My stomach roiled at the thought of communing with Innathi and Gaelan at the same time, born millennia apart but somehow dead in the same time.

  *Hehehe! We like this thought!*

  ~Quiet.~

  *Maybe? No. No, I think not.*

  I went out of our way to stab another snail-limb, for Soul Drinker tended to talk the longer it waited for the next feeding. It rumbled with contentment as Gavin watched me curiously, his pale hand resting on the horse’s neck. I returned on the path we were making as branches fell off, landing in a black poof on yellow-red grass.

  “Relic speaking again?” he asked.

  “Nothing helpful. Continue.”

  We used Gavin’s mare for the first time to slow a pack of bare-backed wolf-rabbits covered in warty pustules, so we could take them one or two at a time. The undead mare made no sound, but we saw afterward that she had numerous bites. As with Gavin’s arm, Soul Drinker grudgingly sucked the Vitas “maggots” out of the bite
marks while the death mage again let her lap at his blood.

  The relic stopped the moment it encountered whatever strength Gavin’s blood extended to the horse. *Yech! Tough as Orc hide!*

  I smirked, absently patting the torn animal’s withers as if she could feel it. ~Good sign for us.~

  *Pfeh.*

  Deeper into the hills we went. Gavin and I had long since pulled our hoods up against frequent drips of slime from high in the branches. Neither of us dared look up to confirm, but the sky could have been overcast or we could have entered a greenish fog bank that nestled in the upper canopy.

  Either way, it was dark enough that Gavin tripped over a tendril or arching root in the deeper shadows. The lighting began to remind me of wild, glow worm caves in the Deepearth.

  Ahead, it was growing stronger.

  *Sssirana…*

  I frowned but focused, wary of what might lay over the next hill.

  *Sssirana?*

  ~Quiet, dagger.~

  I ignored my name a third time.

  *Heh. Should I stop shielding you, then, from what’s been trying to gain your attention?*

  The dagger’s handle cooled in my palm to an extent I could feel it through my glove. At the same time, a will and endurance I had thought was mine was instead leeched from my limbs. My armor felt… thinner in body and mind. The cries and laughter were loud, no longer muffled. I choked on the scents of decadent madness tumbling past me. Unseen threats enveloped me, closer to getting through my clothes, into my very skin!

  ~No!~

  “Sirana!”

  I spun around to hear a female voice, keeping the mare at my back. Gavin stopped.

  “Don’t,” I pleaded aloud.

  “Don’t what?” he asked, preparing to anyway.

  I might have been speaking to him, not to the imposter mimicking Gaelan.

  Her smile was frightful. “Sirana. You came here.”

  Goddess. It’s not her. It’s not.

  “Sirana?”

  “Gavin!” I yelped, pointing with the black dagger. “What is that?”

  He paused. “I see a corrupted corpse.”

  “What kind of corpse?” I snapped. “What race?!”

  “Human. Paxian.”

  Gaelan’s three-eyed face wrinkled with disapproval, her head shaking in disappointment as one ear curled in on itself like a bark worm. Her black boot took a step closer in the slimy muck. And another. Uncoordinated, jerky and without grace.

  “Kiss me,” she said, holding out her arms.

  Frozen in place, I felt Shyntre’s pendant warm up as the gap between us closed.

  *Shhhall we, Red Sisster?*

  My arm lifted, brandishing the weapon in defense as a broad, skewed grin split Gaelan’s face in half.

  Then Gavin’s shadowy fire flew past me, engulfing the first two-legged warp victim we’d seen, and sending Soul Drinker into a whirl of demonic insults about the Deathwalker’s private pastimes. I didn’t repeat them, only watched Gaelan’s face peeling off, falling like the dull flakes of an extinguished fire. My vision blurred before the body crumpled, bones click-clacking against the ground.

  *That was mine!* Soul Drinker roared.

  “Sirana?” Gavin asked.

  I took a breath to speak, coughing on the thick, sickening haze.

  “What pains you?”

  I hunched over, hacking up a glob of spit. ~Everything!~

  “That wasn’t a Davrin. I assure you.”

  *Tell him we get the next one! Me! Tell him!*

  ~Argh…~

  “Th-the relic,” I choked out, “wants the next two-legged one.”

  “Only if it doesn’t waste time,” Gavin replied with indifference. “Act quickly, and it may have all it can take.”

  *Good! I shall beat you to the horde, I will!*

  “Alright, yes!” I answered, and my next breath was easier.

  And the next.

  My limbs no longer shook, and my head cleared as the incessant crying and face-clogging scents dampened into the background once again. I felt strong. Glancing over, I saw the bones turning into black mulch. Gavin was right about it being Human. The skull, rib cage, pelvis, and femurs were far too thick to be a Dark Elf.

  It was not Gaelan, and I was seeing things.

  My heart hammered inside my chest when we took up opening the path again. No twisted vision of Gaelan popped out from the brush, though a cluster of naked, screaming Humans did.

  Former Humans.

  The dagger and I quickly acted this time. Using the horse as a spacer, we took three down with only one stab each to the chest, regardless if I hit the heart or not. Gavin destroyed the fourth one coming too close. Thankfully, the relic didn’t have another fit over this “theft,” but hummed with delight following each body dropping, ultimately content with the Priestess’s share.

  Meanwhile, the ice blue of Gavin’s irises disappeared as he stared ahead. A trick of the shade could suggest he had no eyes, those sockets empty as a skull.

  No, no, of course he can see.

  Probably more than I ever wanted to.

  The Deathwalker put a long finger perpendicular to his lips, suggesting no talk, before he motioned to me but put his palm out toward the horse. I wanted to sign to agree on the farthest distance we’d go from her, but that was too complex for his crude sign language.

  Very well.

  Hunched over, we took the next crest with caution, stepping over writhing roots and crushing yellow plants like they were made of glass. While I grimaced at the unavoidable noise, there was enough wailing and shrieking ahead to cover it as we reached the top. Below us there was movement, but we couldn’t see detail from here.

  Black blade out, mottled hood up and lightly glistening with yellow sap, I used cover to descend, peering through trees bleeding violet and red from carvings made beneath their bark. I stopped in a low crouch with a better view, and my eyes widened.

  Ohhhh… shit.

  Gavin joined me in a similar position, his shoulders higher than mine and sloped forward. Soul Drinker pointed down the glistening slope, I tapped Gavin’s shoulder with my free hand and mouthed with eyebrows high, “Center?”

  The death mage nodded solemnly.

  We had found it, but I didn’t know how to begin this, much less where to end it. Below us, several hundred running paces away, was a fresh scar of the earth filled with wandering and rolling bodies, mostly Human and forest animals. They numbered in the hundreds, drifting, knocking into each other, attempting to keep in the orbit of a crude, mildewy quartz pillar which had broken through the raw earth.

  After I stared at it longer than three ticks, it resembled a stocky, Dwarvish torso with four arms and too many curled fingers shredding the flesh-like moss from its face.

  I whispered, “Gavin.”

  He didn’t answer at first, void-black eyes staring at the source of the warp rot. I tugged on his robe sleeve, and his neck popped when he turned it to me. All that time riding to Troshin Bend, and I hadn’t thought to suggest learning some Davrin sign as he had taught me Trade with a Manalari accent.

  “Overwhelming,” I whispered.

  *No-o-o-o,* Soul Drinker cooed sinisterly. *A valley of plenty! Go on.*

  “Must have drawn whole villages,” Gavin replied, pondering.

  I held still, without ideas for the moment. We couldn’t pitch the vials from here, and I would not wade my way down there only to be overborne, no matter how hungry the black dagger was. The Witch Hunters had been right; this needed as many mages as one could conscript.

  According to Gavin, there had been two mages following us.

  Maybe three.

  I glanced behind me, confirming that the forest had not reclaimed or hidden the trail we’d made this far. It was easy both to follow the powder-grey line of trees to the road, and for someone to follow us in.

  “Gavin,” I whispered, tugging on his sleeve again and
motioning away from the crest. “Must talk.”

  He shook his head. “Must observe. See if any leave.”

  “If Ma’ab behind us, could get caught here. Need a plan.”

  A swelling chorus of agony erupted among those dancing wildly around the warped quartz, and for an instant I thought we’d been noticed. It settled quickly, however, and for the moment we were undetected, but it was enough to spook Gavin. He agreed to withdraw for now.

  Cautiously, we made our way to the horse, but I heard too many creatures where we were. They would be drawn to us eventually, so we mounted up on the mare with me guiding in the shadow and strange light. We walked calmly at first, only to dismount in a hurry to take care of a skittering clutch of ducks with pointed teeth.

  “Even the demons make more sense than this!” I barked once.

  “Good to know,” said Gavin dryly.

  Once we were mounted again, I urged our horse to a brisk trot along the clear grey path, eager to be some place we could relax a little. The next time we were accosted, we’d kicked up to a gallop before I could properly see what they were. We flat outran them.

  *Aww. Coward.*

  ~Innathi wants her story told. I can’t do that if I fight without plan or heed.~

  *By your touch upon her soul, I’d protect you amid that festering pocket, warrior.*

  ~You didn’t before when I saw something not there. I don’t trust you.~

  *You doubted me. That was only a taste of how strong I can be for my wielder. You are the fool if you see only punishment.*

  “Gavin,” I said aloud, my voice uneven from rolling with the horse’s gait as I worked to sheath a grumbling relic.

  “Yes?”

  “Talk, please.”

  “About what?”

  “Pick something. Um. Who taught you Ma’ab in the Greylands?”

  “That is difficult to describe. A scholar and keeper of tongues for my Lady.”

  “No name?”

  “I wasn’t provided one, nor did I ask.”

  I exhaled, guiding the mare along a lumpy stream, somewhat slowed as we loped beside it. It was enough to take hold of the black hilt again so it could eavesdrop as I formed my next thoughts.

  “Very well. Your thoughts on backtracking to seek Castis and Amelda instead of waiting to be cornered? We could bargain for their service.”