The Column of Ash [Epic Fantasy]

They stood upon a small outcrop of rocks atop the rolling hills west of Novakrayu and watched the sun rise over the distant city. It had been a day away now, and Emalia already felt the itch to return. She had come to love the hustle and bustle of a city—all the people leading their own independent, unique, and interesting lives in an ever-changing environment. It was almost impossible to be bored in such a place. She shut her eyes and opened them, willing away that melancholy sensation of longing tinged with regret.

"They'll manage on their own," Sovina said, mistaking her mood for worry.

Of course, that was another thing: she had a job to represent the people there to the Han who'd conquered them. "It's running smoothly now. There is no reason for any more misunderstandings to arise like before. They don't even notice the Targul's rule," Emalia replied, mostly to convince herself. "Yes, the city will continue on just fine…"

"It's something else?"

"What if we're making a mistake? Leaving when there's so much yet to do?"

Sovina nodded, squinting into the brightening orange light, her beautiful, stoic face like a painting deserving a spot on a grand voivode's wall. "You did good work there, it's true. And though I don't mind a bit of adventure and mystery, I also like knowing that we're safer in Novakrayu than out here… But yes, I think this is the right thing."

Emalia looked back over their camp and thought of all the nights spent in ones just like it over the past year, almost two. Has it really only been that long since we left the Column? This time, at least, they had horses—gifts from the Black Han Taraz for their journey. Neither of them was an experienced rider, but they managed fine enough. And in the saddlebags of Sovina's horse were four Artifact necklaces. Wracen had given them away somewhat reluctantly, for they were quite expensive, but they needed them to get close to Maecia and her project without being seen. The extra was for Protis, for one didn't quite do it for such a large creature, the priests had observed. The Soulborne roamed the perimeter now, taking its duty of keeping them safe quite seriously.

"Maybe we shouldn't be so clandestine," Emalia said, fishing out a piece of compact, hardened bread they'd brought in ample supply. "She's Daecinus's sister, after all, and we're his friends."

"Some sister to not save him from the Rotaalan."

"He thinks she calculated he would awaken the priest inside in pursuing Demetria. And, for what it is worth, he did just that."

"Doesn't matter. You don't abandon your kin like that."

Emalia frowned, both at Sovina's stubbornness and her own confusion at Maecia's reluctance to come to Daecinus's aid. "I don't know… Maybe she feels responsible for New Petha, and she'd be putting them in harm's way by releasing the priest?"

"A hundred years to think of a strategy to counter the priest, and she's got nothing? I don't buy it. If you ask me, she's hiding something and doesn't want him to find out."

"Why assume something so sinister?"

Sovina shrugged and stood to pack up camp. "It's a good explanation."

Emalia followed her, putting out the fire and scattering the ashes to hide their trail. "They were close, Sovina. The only thing I see outweighing her loyalty to him is that to her people."

"Yet she searched Merkenia to find them before coming to his aid. A long time to commit to a search over your own blood." She folded up their tent and lashed it tight. "All I'm saying is there may be something else to be wary of. So, I think proceeding with caution isn't a bad idea. Besides, Protis killed a few of her men and left a piece of her project in the mountains for thieves to nab."

"If they're dead, she won't know who did it."

Sovina set the lashed fabric on their horse's back with a sigh. "Em."

"Fine. Okay. I agree with the cautious approach, but I worry it might hurt our chance at a good rapport should she spot us. And if she's as powerful as Daecinus but with a hundred years more experience, I think she'll see us."

"Maybe. The necklaces worked for the Sorcerers, though."

They were somewhat macabre items, to tell the truth. Four chains wide enough to clasp around most necks with links made of ivory. She didn't want to think about what those bones belonged to. Or who.

"I'm sorry for worrying so much," Emalia said after they finished packing up and set west on the thin dirt trail, once a main brick-laden road. They were arranged with Sovina ahead and her following behind, Protis circling somewhere distantly before them.

"Don't be. I usually do."

"That's not true. You're a lot better at taking things in stride. It's remarkable."

Sovina looked over her shoulder. "I just bottle it up. Not always a good thing."

"Well, who does handle any of this easily? All this deception, maneuvering, and risky guesses?" Emalia asked. "I've never met someone who could. It's a lot for anyone. But you do better than most, and certainly me."

"Maybe, maybe not. But you've nothing to apologize for."

Emalia smiled to herself as they rode through the rocky plains, woods, and, eventually, low foothills dotting the lands north of the Nadya river. Unlike northern Merkenia, the land here was far more open, free of the dense brush and thickets that made traversing those initial forests so unnerving. You could scarcely see a thing until a walking corpse jumped out to grab you. But here, she was generally afforded a view of the landscape and surrounding area, which Sovina surely liked, as perceptive and watchful as she was. Emalia was lost in thought for good portions of the ride, thinking of the Sorcerous construction Maecia could be working on out in the frontier of Pethya. It was a dreadful place, Hazek's Fields—what everyone called Daecinus's homeland now. It was a barren waste, cracked with fissures and sharp, rocky outcroppings. The only thing close to life there were the countless Dead. Mostly just the slow, simple variety, but there were a few Greyskins among them. Their party had not ventured deep inside Hazek's Fields, but the two Pethyans wanted to see what became of their homeland. It was a sobering visit.

This, combined with the fact that she thought Maecia hated Sorcery, made it all the more confusing why she would be working on some great project in that ruined landscape. Even a site like the Grand Observatory was surely destroyed and abandoned of any potential.

And yet, despite the odds, Maecia was there.

On that second day, they passed the site where Protis had encountered the wagon and men. Both were gone. All that remained were bloodstains, bones, and a few broken remnants of the cart. She sat atop her horse, which stepped anxiously as she studied the remains upon the cracked, ancient road with a frown. Sovina circled the site, watching the hillside and trees as Protis stalked a path briefly into the woods, then came back and rumbled out, "Dead took them. Days ago."

"We should keep moving," Sovina said. "I don't like this spot. It's prime for an ambush."

Protis grunted, and Emalia nodded, saying, "Forward it is."

They ventured deeper into the hills where the forest grew thick and eventually thinned as the days drew on, replaced by a quiet rockiness that reminded her of Hazek's Fields. Indeed, the hills here were named after the same mysterious name. It was touched with Sorcery too; even she could tell that. Days slowly climbing the hills with not a Soul in sight. Dead trees, bent and scraggly, reminded her of the cold wastes in the north near the Sinking Cities. A churning in her stomach.

They slept under a granite overhand in a sprawling stretch of bluffs cut through with thin, stinking streams. They smelled like sulfur, tossing her back to the alchemical rooms in the Column.

"Sorcerous wars were fought near here. Perhaps a disaster," she muttered over a small fire. "These hills were desecrated with Sorcery. It's deep in the land, even."

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Sovina shook her head. "How did they forget what happened here?"

"No one to write it down, I would guess… But they do know one thing: somewhere here is a Ruin that contains something evil."

Her partner adjusted the saber at her side, worn even in the comfort of camp and the safety of Protis keeping guard. "Of course there is."

The night was uneventful, but Emalia still struggled to sleep. Sovina held her for some time, and that helped, but she woke in the middle of the night from a nightmare and saw the other woman seated with her back to the stone, staring out into the night. Sovina looked over and gave her a small smile.

"Go back to sleep," she said. "It's alright."

Emalia nodded, rubbing her eyes, and lay down to rest, trying not to think of the feeling of cold that crept over her from her nightmares. The touch of necromantic death that haunted her. A sensation of dread as they pushed closer toward this strange evil.

…

There was something sick and sinister in the mountains. She felt it whenever she stopped and focused, sitting atop her horse like a strict priest who'd caught the sound of someone breaking the nighttime hours of rest. She'd been caught many times by such a disciplinarian. There was the scent of decay in the air—the kind of tomb, long since stowed away in the confines of a stone sarcophagus. Her mount didn't like it, occasionally whinying and stamping its hooves when the wind caught it just right. If it was the wind at all, of course, and not something more metaphysical. Sorcery was odd like that.

Sovina was also on edge, hand always near her sword, reins tight in her other fist. She never took off her helmet anymore, even when in camp. It made Emalia sad to see her obscured somewhat, the fear of attack likely haunting her companion far more than she. Part of her knew Sovina still demanded that she fulfill her duties as a guardian, even if Emalia had told her she was free of such responsibilities and that they had to look out for each other.

The ship put an end to that, she thought with a grim frown, recalling the ambush when she was in their cabin, alone. Helpless. I should be able to defend myself. I shouldn't put so much responsibility on her. It was a thought she'd had before, but the intimidation of such a new and foreign thing as weapons and fighting had always been too much of a barrier. And so, that day, she asked Sovina to teach her how to fight. She laughed in response, then, upon realizing Emalia's seriousness, took to the task with all gravity.

That was how they passed the days of journeying deeper into the wilderness of Hazek's Hills: riding with an eye to the rocky surroundings, training, and nearly sleepless nights.

She figured it might go on like that, blessedly uneventful, until Protis growled in the dark of a half-mooned early morning. Sovina lurched to her feet with her saber out before Emalia even scrambled out of the blankets. Their fire was low and shed light on only the surrounding trees. They were in a copse of stout pines and firs. She thought Protis was out in the shadows beyond the camp, but wasn't sure. Heart in her throat and clammy hands shaking, she huddled with her back to a tree, staring wide-eyed into the night. Blind as the dead.

"Take this," Sovina hissed, shoving over her hand axe.

Emalia did, holding it close to her chest before remembering Sovina's training and holding it before her in two hands, knees slightly bent, ready as an untrained priestess could be.

Silence.

The fire crackled.

Sovina slowly turned, stalking the perimeter of the fire's light, back to the flames, facing the darkness. Her mail coat gleamed with the flickering glow, helmet slashing a gleam of warm light, blade catching it even brighter. Head cocked, shoulders tensed. Emalia mimicked her unconsciously, feeling her whole body tighten in anticipation and dread. Watch over her Rotaal. Give me courage and her strength. Raizak, Enlightened Folly, remove my ignorance and show me the truth. Prayers whispered in the back of her mind. Old grooves worn down over the years, she prayed almost automatically.

Everything honed on the moment, the most agonizing and crucial of brushstrokes to finish the manuscript. Don't make a mistake. Don't miss the details.

She saw it there in the trees. Something pale and large. Then, the sound of it.

Protis? she thought, not letting her guard down.

Sovina faced it and raised her blade.

What entered the outer reaches of her vision was not the Soulborne. It was shorter, wider, and charged on four legs instead of two. Humanoid, yet a twitching, crawling thing as long as she, broad as a wild boar. Its mouth opened and closed with gnashing teeth, almost clattering. Emalia gasped and pressed back against the tree as Sovina sidestepped its charge, slashing down. Her blade caught its shoulder, eliciting nothing but a raspy moan of relentless hunger from the Greyskin monstrosity. It turned to swipe at her, clawed hands scraping through the dead leaves and needles to find purchase as Sovina followed up with another cut, simultaneously retreating. This time, it dodged her strike, its rear clawed hand where a foot should be pushed off a tree to change positions. Its teeth missed her by inches.

Emalia stepped forward tentatively, shaking, staring.

Sovina and the creature moved so fast and powerfully that she thought joining in might actually get in Sovina's way.

"Stay back," Sovina shouted, confirming her fears.

Emalia hesitated, watching their duel unfold. The Greyskin abnormality charged relentlessly, taking swipes and glancing thrusts with ease as it pursued Sovina, who narrowly escaped every time. But she was starting to slow.

It launched from its rear arms to grab her with two hands, and as she ducked back, cutting up with the saber, Emalia heard the sound of claws meeting riveted mail. It should have fallen back down to all arms, then reared to attack again, but something went wrong. Sovina was yanked down with such speed and force that she smashed into the top of the Greyskin on her descent. A claw caught in a broken link in her armor. She pushed back, but the creature still had a grip on the broken section of mail and dragged her closer with horrid ease, strong as it was.

Emalia ran forward, heedless to Sovina's earlier warnings, as her companion struggled, placing a mail-clad arm in front of its face, blocking a bite meant for her throat. Its free arm smashed down on her sword hand, pinning it, stamping around to get a better angle to bite. Sovina took the opening and drew a dagger, thrusting it into the Greyskin's belly, wrenching it out, then stabbing it into its arm. But it wasn't enough. The creature was too strong, too terrifyingly resilient. But before it could attack her again, Emalia was there, screaming, hacking down with the small handaxe into its back. The Greyskin moved so quick it had to see her coming, the axeblade missing its spine and hitting some bony protrusion, slicing off a chunk of flesh, then bouncing off. A clawed hand came for her stomach and ripped through the gambeson, knocking her off her feet with the piercing pain of something slicing her skin. She gasped and scrambled away from its claws. Axe held out, crooked.

The Greyskin turned back to Sovina. The saber entered somewhere below in the tangle of thrashing limbs and exited the creature's torso, where its collarbone should be. Sovina wrenched it, using the leverage of it to topple the monster, pulled free her blade, and before it could leap up for her throat, hacked halfway into its skull, dropping it, limp and lifeless.

Sovina stood gasping, covered in black, thick blood, her own arm bloody, a cut on her face streaming down her cheek. Emalia started at her and went to say something, then stumbled and fell. She looked down and felt her stomach. The gambeson was torn to pieces there, its multiple layers ripped up and splayed like fistfuls of cloth shown to curious fabric buyers. But wet. Her fingers found the wound. It was deep. She swayed and caught herself. No, Sovina did.

"Put pressure on it," she said.

Did Sovina say that? Or Emalia? "There's so much blood. Deep. Guh—" A wracking twist of coldness shot through her. Her hands were warm and wet.

"I can't help yet." Sovina stared, eyes wide and frightened, but turned to face the forest. There were more sounds out in the dark.

Emalia was terrified. She couldn't stop shaking. The axe. She felt for it. Where was it? One hand on her stomach, the other feeling around for it, somewhere there in the dead foliage. A wonder trees even grew here. Truly an oddity. Thin and feeble.

A handle in her grip; she brought it close and put it in her lap and put the hand back over her other on her stomach, pressing tight. Her mind rattled off concerns of infection, prominent with such wounds, but also the very plausible concerns of internal damage. She hoped not, prayed not. Would the gods forgive her transgressions? Doubts? She shook, cold, frightened, tensed. Gods? What gods? What beyond the whispers of mankind, fearing the darkness?

Something toppled out of the dark. Another Greyskin, this time tall and lanky with limbs like a skeletal spider's. Before it could rise, Protis leaped in, smashing its axe into the creature's torso, nearly rending it in two. Sovina followed up with a slash into its skull for good measure.

"Any more?" she asked.

Protis cocked its head, listening. "No." It looked at Emalia and seemed startled, running over with the kind of urgency one would expect from a human finding a friend hurt. Sovina was close behind, slower than the Soulborne.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

Emalia gasped and winced. "Poor. You need to observe the wound. Check for internal damage. That will inform your… ah…" The pain came in a wave that dizzied her head. Some don't feel pain when hurt this bad. Case by case. "Inform your… Your, uh… How to proceed."

Sovina knelt down and went to move her gambeson. Fingers covered in black much.

"Clean your hands!"

"Right." She did so with water, then some of their small ration of wine, and went to work. Emalia tried to study her wound as best she could, but it wasn't easy. Her vision was distorted, critical thinking flawed with panic and pain. Protis lingered nearby, still looking like the concerned friend, then grunted and stalked off into the woods. Watch for more. Smart.

Sovina was gentle and careful—enough so that Emalia had to shout at her to hurry up—but the wound they found was not as deep as they feared, fortunately. Emalia chalked her own dizziness up to fright rather than blood loss, for the cut didn't enter her stomach fully. It seemed the gambeson really did its job, for the most part. Sovina stitched her up and then saw to her own bandages. Cleared of any immediate danger, Emalia went to help but was still too shaky. I've had my brushes with death before, she thought, teeth clattering. Both the Column and the ship were worse than this. And yet… She still felt fundamentally weakened. This was more than a wound.

It wasn't until later, after Protis returned, that she discovered why she felt so wrong. It was not the wound itself but the patchy spot of dark, twisting veins around it that slowly grew out around the bloody gash.

Corruption.