Whisper of the End

by Held, Maximian

  All I can do is scream, pulling at my hair and rocking back and forth from the inescapable pain. I can barely breathe, as hard as my chest heaves I find no succor from the wet air. Every gasp only blows away what little breath I have left. My world is spiraling away from me when suddenly my vision returns and the pain in my head vanishes. I slump against the side of the alley, breathing deeply and trying to steady myself. I don’t know how long I sit there shivering and alone, even Kearika’s pain seems distant.

  A burning sensation snaps me out of my fugue. Something hot drips from my neck down to my arm, I stare unsteadily at the flow of crimson coming from my palm. Blood? With my throbbing right hand, I feel around my neck and wince away in pain when my fingers come across a large gash, the source of the blood running down my arm. My left hand has a similar cut across the length of my palm, as if I had slit my palm with a knife for an offering. There is a growing blood stain over my ribs and my breathing becomes labored again.

  Just what is going on in this town? I sit slumped over in the alley, slowly soaking in the rain that I never noticed starting. Kearika! I jolt upright, my hands scrabbling over the cobblestone until they find my new staff, levering myself to my feet with it. Leaning heavily on the staff for support I plod down the street, my head pulsing in pain with every passing wave in the aether. I finally happen upon a sign for the Reedy Horseman, and blearily turn down the secluded alleyway that leads to it.

  What I find instead, is the smoking ruin of a tavern, burnt to charcoal in an ungainly heap. Kearika is alive at least, or I wouldn’t be feeling this pain. She’s close too, I can at least sense that much. I scan the area, spotting a pair of furred boots sticking out from some barrels under an awning. As fast as I can stumble I over to her, terrified of what I will see.

  Typical. Well, at least she is still alive. Kearika is flanked by two empty jugs of mead and working on a third. An absolutely massive man is curled up next to her, hugging another jug of mead to himself as he snores.

  A pained look crosses his face and he cries out, his face contorting in a snarl before returning to the placidity of sleep. Kearika has only an empty stare on her face, her normal reckless grin gone. I have never seen her like this before, she is normally full of fire. She doesn’t appear to be aware of my presence, all she does is stare at the smoking wreck of the tavern before taking another drink.

  “Kearika, it is Caius. Are you alright?” I say, tapping one of her feet with the staff. She does nothing but take a long pull of her mead. I lean in closer, pull back my hood and kneel down in front of her. I reach out and shake her leg with my hand this time

  “Kearika, I am here now. What happened?” This time her head moves slowly as she stares at me with empty eyes.

  “They killed them. All those people, dead. All because of me.” She says in a whisper.

  Her shoulders begin to shake as she cries, tears rolling down her torn furs. I wince as her sobs cause a flare of pain in my collarbone, and I notice the extent of her injuries for the first time. An ugly purple bruise the size of a dinner plate has spread over her right shoulder and collarbone. Kearika’s forehead is swollen, enough to partially force her left eye closed. Two ugly hand prints wrap around her neck, her lips are split and scabbed over. My mouth turns to ash as I look her over, a cold rage sinking into my stomach.

  Without the fierce war paint obscuring her face and covered in bruises, blood and tears she is suddenly vulnerable seeming. Her larger than life persona has been stripped away. As gently as I can, I embrace her until she stops crying. I shuffle over to the prone man to look him over as well, unsurprisingly his wounds are even worse than Kearika’s. Most of these could not have been caused by her.

  Surprisingly he’s still alive, despite the colossal amount of blood pooling around him. Most of it must have been washed away by the rain, but even so it’s still an impressive puddle. His neck has a bruise on it, which from experience, I know is the same size as Kearika’s booted foot. Both of his arms look like he fed them to a wolf, blood still flows out of them. His left arm is slashed and torn at the elbow, long gashes and deep punctures reducing it to a collection of bloody scraps. His right has a variety of stab wounds, ranging from the very deep to ones that barely knick the skin.

  Clearly, he was trying to kill Kearika, and she fought back. So, what stopped him? Further inspection shows several thin streams of blood leaking from his chest. One in each lung, and a few to the stomach. Around his wounds the skin is ashen with the veins having turned a deep black. Black veins are never good, something foul is afoot. Why is the tavern a pile of ash? Kearika enjoys fighting, not mass murder. Stopping for a second to focus myself, I turn my gaze inward to the aether again.

  It rakes uncomfortably against my thoughts, but I can draw enough of it into me to mend these two. A gentle glow snakes beneath my skin, illuminating my veins from within. The frigid writhing of the aether beneath my skin is a familiar feeling, just as the warmth of it leaving is. Muttering a small chant to help focus my thoughts I guide the energy into Kearika’s battered flesh.

  She gives a small gasp as the pain begins to subside, the dancing blue light flowing down my fingers and sinking into her bruised and broken skin. The light glows from beneath her skin, dwindling as it knits her back together.

  The hair on the back of my neck is stands up, I can feel someone watching me but my furtive glances reveal no one. I shift my attention to the large man, exhaling as I push more magic down my arms and into his body. The energy hovers around the strange wounds, almost nervously, before sinking into him. Slowly the black fades from his veins and the color returns. I keep chanting under my breath, and concentrate on seeing into the aether. If it were calm, I could pick out whoever is watching us in a heartbeat.

  The aether offers tremendous insight into people, there are mages who specializes in reading it above all else. Diviners could see everywhere in a city at once, locate anyone at a moment’s notice and even pluck thoughts out of someone’s head. I however did not have that kind of talent, what would take a dedicated Diviner seconds would take me minutes under ideal conditions. The man stops bleeding, his breathing is no longer shallow and unsteady.

  His skin flushes as the magic finishes its work, as his eyes flutter open I push a wave of energy into him, knocking him back out. No way to get them somewhere safe without drawing on the aether some more. I dislike using my gift unless I have to, some mages may enjoy flaunting their power over others but I do not. Mages are supposed to help people, not set themselves apart by floating around as if the ground is too good for them.

  After a steadying breath, I shut my eyes and slowly open my mind fully to the chaotic aether. I grit my teeth against the pain as I pull in the power I need. The familiar feeling of the aether worming its way through my body, the ice-cold tendrils forcing their way through me. Frigid worms slip through my veins, my arms and legs shaking from the cold. More, I will need more to carry them both. Shivering I concentrate on spreading the aether throughout my body, allowing more to flow through me.

  As it snakes its way through me it repairs the sympathetic injuries I still have. Finally, I open my eyes, looking myself over and checking for any defects or deformities. The rain hisses and turns to steam where it strikes my skin, I wait a minute or so while I cool off. Working with the body carries risks, it doesn’t handle being shaped and molded kindly. There is always the risk of aethershock, the body violently rejecting the power being poured into it. The side effects of Corporomancy are never pretty, sometimes crippling and usually dangerous in the extreme.

  Working with the body is my specialty though, even if it is considered a waste of time. One day the others will recognize just how useful this is. I easily lift Kearika and the unconscious man over my shoulders, the veins in my body giving off a bright cyan glow. Raw aether flows through my veins, lending me an inhuman strength. I can see it burrowing around under my skin, and evaporating off me into a mist. I begin walking towards the inn I’m staying at, try
ing to stay off the busiest streets.

  ***

  I slip in through the back of the inn, a wide eyed stable boy helpfully holding the door for me. No one else sees me carry two unconscious people to my room, which is a relief as I don’t know what I would have said if someone had. I lay the two of them down on my bed, and settle into the comfortable chair by the window. Sinking into the soft, well-worn leather I release the aether from my body. The glowing, winding snakes float free of my skin before dissipating into the air. The arctic chill is replaced in turn by a familiar aching, my muscles crying out at the abuse they’ve endured.

  My whole body is weak, every inch exhausted without the sustaining aether and crying out for it to come back. Lethargically I pull one of my tomes from my pack propped up against the chair, attempting to pull my mind from the cravings of my body. It is almost palpable how badly I want to let the aether back in, and how badly it wants to be back.

  With a weary sigh I resume reading a treatise on the effects of long term exposure to aether, a subject of great interest to myself. None of the others really seem to care, they act as if this weakness of flesh is somehow acceptable. Shifting in my seat, trying to sink deeper into its embrace, I hear the ring of a silver bell once in my head, echoing back and forth between my ears. Not good. Kearika and that man are here, which means someone else is here to finish the job.

  The first thing I do when staying anywhere for long is set up alarms. While I cannot read minds, I can very easily read bodies. Years of study have taught me how someone’s body reacts to what they’re thinking. People act differently when they are about to kill someone, an increase in respiration and heart rate. Their muscles tense and relax, adrenaline floods their system. All of this implies a certain murderous intent, though it did produce some false positives. More than once Kearika has set it off when she enters my quarters, and whenever I would ask why she would reply “I’m always ready to fight.”

  A silver bell means murderous intent, but I did not even hear the door open. A quick glance confirms that Kearika and her friend are not going to be waking anytime soon. I should not have knocked them out for so long.

  One killer in the room, my bodyguard out cold and myself still dealing with the after effects of my magic. I totter out of the chair, keeping one hand on it to support myself, trying not to stoop too much. There is no one here. I jolt upright, cold adrenaline leaking into my stomach. The door is open though, so someone must have come in. Someone who is still here, and who I cannot see.

  “H-hello?” I ask nervously, whetting my lips.

  Empty silence is my only reply. Someone is watching me, I can feel it.

  The floorboards behind me give a small creak, I spin far too quickly and tumble to the ground. Shaking my head, I glance up. Nothing but the window and empty air. The door slams shut with a resounding bang and I nearly jump out of my skin in surprise. I whip my head back and forth, heedless of the way it makes the world spin, trying to keep as much of the room in my view as possible. As long as I have my wards, nothing can hurt me. I am safe. Crawling over to bed, I shake Kearika, trying to wake her. Completely safe.

  “Kearika! Wake up, I need you!” I loudly whisper, shaking Kearika’s arm. A soft moan is all I get back.

  I do not want to have to do this, but it is my only option. I dip back into the aether and a blissful tearing sensation floods my mind. Even as it scrapes against my thoughts and body, it fills me with that satisfying chill. All my fear drops away as I float away on a cerulean cloud. Concentrate Caius! I shake my head, I do not want to go back, I want to float here forever. Concentrate! The cloud blows away into mist and I fall, screaming back into my body.

  Spots swim before my eyes and the room wavers back and forth, I can feel the cool tug of the aether pulling at the back of my mind. My hands glow a feverish blue, sparks of aether jumping between them with little snaps and pops. I reach out one shaking hand and touch Kearika’s head with just the tip of my finger. The aether violently ripples down into her forehead, leaving an ache where it once was. It sinks under her skin and makes her eyes glow brilliantly from the inside.

  With a huge gasp Kearika lurches upright her arms outstretched, eyes wide as saucers and flickering all over the room. I fall back in fright, smacking my head into the windowsill. She gives an unearthly moan and doubles up, clutching her head with both hands. The moan quickly turns into a scream, one that rises higher and higher in pitch with each passing second. The scream dwindles and is replaced by rapid chanting in her native tongue. I have tried to learn the it before, but Kearika always balked at teaching me.

  Still, I’ve picked up a few words, but not enough to understand what she’s saying. Her chanting ends with a wracking breath and a single choked sob. She finally looks over to me, eyes glazed over and seemingly sunk into her head. Her normally tan skin is pale and covered in sweat.

  “Wh...what did you do to me Caius?”

  Chapter VII - Kearika

  Duras - The Town of Hurendale

  30th of Herras, 1873 MD

  I remember crawling away from the fight and dragging that lummox with me out of the rain. I remember thinking I was going to bleed out in this wretched town. I remember Caius calling my name, worry etched into his face. So weak from pain and blood loss that I couldn’t speak, tell him how I felt. Then, nothing but a warm, close darkness. An arctic chill running through me, like when the winds from the mountains would sweep across the tundra back home. Home...I was with my clan again, running across the icy tundra, chasing down a gelid with my brother Liander. But, he’s been dead for over a decade now.

  The icy tundra cracks beneath my wrapped feet, my furs trapping a delicious layer of heat against me. To my left is my brother Liander, younger than me by a year and going on his first real hunt. Killing a gelid with a bow or spear isn’t real hunting, real hunters use a knife, teeth and their bare hands. The gelid wouldn’t last much longer, we had been chasing it for over an hour now, loping behind it and forcing it to run. Soon it would tire and then we could close in for the final blow. The thought of it brings a smile to my face.

  A small flask bounces against my back, full of fermented blood from my first hunt. It’s tradition that the blood of the teacher’s first hunt be shared between teacher and student when the student completes theirs. Ahead of us the gelid stumbles and falls to the ice, kicking up a tiny blizzard around itself. Ducking my head I sprint towards the beast, I don’t want to give it a chance to rise again. Liander does the same, snow flying from our feet as we drive deep into the frozen terrain.

  Something is wrong. A frown creases my face, how could I possibly know that? Just turn around, go home, go back to Father. Before it’s too late. I shake my head, trying to clear the barrage of strange thoughts. Liander has pulled ahead of me, his long knife out and shining under the clear skies. With a wild yell he throws himself onto the Gelid, arm outstretched for the killing blow.

  I slow as he wrestles with the beast, a smile returning to my face. A flash of blinding cerulean light bright as the sun itself forces my eyes shut. Liander’s scream forces them back open, my grin falling from my face as icy cold shoots through my veins. Liander is one of the toughest people I know, twice I’d seen him break an arm and not even whimper.

  Once, in a challenge he was run through, and all he did was grunt. The kicked-up snow and ice begins to settle, I peer into it trying to see what’s happened to him. There is no gelid anymore, shaggy fur has been replaced by smooth skin. Great goring horns turned to pointed ears, flat teeth now long and needle sharp. Chestnut brown eyes become a mesmerizing gray with hooves made into elongated claws. What is that thing?

  “Hello again Kearika, it’s been too long.” The elf says in a sibilant whisper, a grin spreading across its face. Liander hangs limply by one arm, wheezing and leaking blood. “A hunt just isn’t the same if you don’t use your hands and teeth.” How does it know my name?

  Blood drips from three holes in his chest, mirroring three of the elf
’s talons that are colored deep crimson. “What’s supposed to happen next?” The elf asks, cocking its head.

  “Oh yes, he gives you that wretched dagger.” With a grimace the elf tosses Liander to me and his broken body falls to the ground in front of me. I cradle his head tears streaking their way down my face, bitterly cold in the wind.

  His eyes flutter open “Kearika, I’m done. Take my knife...give it...give it to the ancestors for me.” He weakly paws for the dagger strapped to his back, trying to free it with his undamaged arm.

  “No, Liander you’ll be fine. You have to be fine!” I shout at him, as I watch him bleed out all over the snow.

  “Kearika, you know I won’t make it. Besides someone has to fight this beast and it’s not going to be you.” He whispers and frees his knife from its sheath.

  “Now take this, and run. Run as fast as you can. This isn’t your fault. Run.” He gasps as he levers himself off the ground. His long blade hangs limply, blood running down his arm now.

  “Together, together we can kill this thing. Then you can go back to the clan and tell them how you’re the greatest hunter of us all” I say in a shaky voice “Please, don’t make me do this!”

  Liander turns his head a tiny bit “You have to go now, be brave like you always are. Speed me to the ancestor’s side. I’ll hunt with you from above.” He takes a deep breath and gives a long yell, building up into a howl.

  The death cry of our tribe, meant to shake our enemies and show our resolve. He sinks into a crouch, his cry becoming by a chant to the ancestors for strength. I turn and run, my tears falling to the ground, the sound of his chanting growing fainter with each step. Before long I can’t hear it at all, just the keening of the wind across the plain.