The Homunculus Knight

Chapter 6: Crossroads

“Sidhe is the name for the great nation of song and starlight that once ruled our world. They were bastards, each and every one. Fickle, spiteful, insane demigods who did as they pleased and left a legacy of suffering once we banished them. Sure, some of the other Fae aren’t so bad, but the Sidhe deserve nothing but hot iron inserted into every hole they have.” - Peregrine-Priest Matha, in service to Mistress Void.

:: Twenty-Eight Years Ago ::

Isabelle drummed her fingers impatiently on her polished ivory throne. Carved from Dire Whale bones, the throne was both gaudy and uncomfortable. Its ancient history and reputation were the only reasons Isabelle hadn’t replaced the accursed thing with some nice cushions. Still, seated upon the bones of a lesser leviathan in the center of her throne room, Isabelle had to admit the chair's effect upon cringing mortals was worth the discomfort.

Once a week, Isabelle allowed her subjects to come before the ivory throne and petition her justice, aid, or mercy. She'd discovered that the two hours she spent holding this public court were an unfortunately necessary investment. People tended to become stupid and uncooperative if they felt their rulers paid them no heed. So Isabelle let her precious time be spent listening to simpering petitioners and making her judgments.

Normally, Isabelle only paid half attention to her subjects during court, which was usually more than enough to sort through the stuttering pleas. Tonight was a bit of an exception; one of her villages managed to find itself in enough of a mess to actually keep her interest.

“My liege, please, I beg your wi-wisdom! Two entire olive groves have al-already been blighted! If it keeps spreading, the entire crop is at risk!” pleaded a hunched-over village headman with ironically olive skin and curly gray hair.

Continuing her rhythmic drumming on the throne, Isabelle asked. “And you say the Priestess of Mother Earth was no help in the matter?”

Bobbing his head, the olive farmer elaborated. “We wouldn’t bring this before you, my liege if we saw another option. The Priestess from Thoam said she’d never even heard of a blight like this. Please, my lady, I beg your aid!”

Isabelle considered her options for a time. She could, of course, just send a group of rattlers to destroy the infected fields and help the farmers with some petty labor as aid. But a crop blight even an Earth Priestess couldn’t help was abnormal. Isabelle’s work with pestilences was now secondary to her main project, but gathering samples and information about curious diseases was still an interest. She could go help the olive farmers, do her feudal duties, and maybe find something worth studying.

Snapping her fingers, Isabelle called upon her most favored servant. Icy vapor slithered across the court’s floor and coalesced into a humanoid figure floating beside the throne. With curly receding hair and a bookish countenance, Pavlos of Pleuron looked every centimeter the reserved counselor he was. Except for the fact he’d been dead for more than a millennium and existed as a soul bound to Isabelle’s castle.

Gesturing to her majordomo, Isabelle said. “I wish to examine this blight personally. Prepare an entourage for travel and some rattlers to do the menial work. I wish to leave tomorrow at dusk.”

Pavlos bowed slightly, a strange gesture where his body changed between standing upright and then showing deference. His bow held no actual movement; he simply changed from upright to bowing like a flickering flame as he spoke. “Of course, mistress,”

Pointing a finger at the petitioner, she added. “Ensure he has somewhere to spend the night as well.”

The olive farmer offered his own stooped bow and rasped. “Th-thank you, my liege, you’re kind-”

Isabelle cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Yes, yes, now make room for the next petitioner.”

Abashed, the farmer shuffled back until one of Isabelle’s masked wights took him by the arm and led him elsewhere. Leaning back on her ivory throne, Isabelle made short work of the remaining petitioners. Sorting out a messy inheritance, denying a request for undead laborers, and generally acting like the monolith of governance she was expected to be.

Once the final mortal left her hall, Isabelle let out a plaintiff sigh and stood up from the throne. Her body wasn’t really capable of experiencing aches and pains, but the accursed chair induced them psychosomatically. Playing with a strand of her dark hair, Isabelle asked her steward. “Is anything else pressing?”

Pavlos’s head flickered no. “The rest of the evening is yours, mistress. If that changes, I will, of course, inform you.”

Isabelle left the audience room then and delved deeper into her citadel. A chimeric bone golem scuttled out from a nearby alcove and followed after Isabelle. She grabbed the simple robe clutched by the golem and started stripping off her own jewelry and clothes as she walked. Tossing them onto the golem without care. In a testament to Isabelle’s magical skill, the golem caught every article without issue. Holding court required the full regalia of power, with a ridiculous dress and precious ornaments, something Isabelle was eager to shed.

Now only wearing a comfortable robe, Isabelle ascended a spiral staircase heading towards her laboratory tower. She was making excellent progress with her current project and wanted to get in a full night's work before next dusk’s distractions.

Stepping out into the warm summer night, Isabelle reached the stone walkway separating her laboratory from the rest of the castle. The Thoas Citadel, Isabelle’s seat of power, sat upon a cliff overlooking the Atredian Sea and was connected to two towers that jutted out of the water. While one of the ancient towers was little more than a crumbling ruin, the other held Isabelle’s more… volatile experiments.

Striding across the walkway, Isabelle sent out a mental command to the Gatekeeper. A huge shape emerged from underneath the stone bridge, pulling itself up from its nest in the walkway’s structure onto its span. The Gatekeeper was a four-armed and four-legged flesh golem of considerable strength, created mainly from two trolls that once bothered Isabelle's lands. Moving with fluid agility rendered disturbing by its size, the Gatekeeper approached Isabelle and bowed, supplicating so its bulbous malformed head was at waist height.

Mouth opening up, it wheezed. “Ki-kill me”

Isabelle rolled her eyes and pressed on her control of the flesh golem. It twitched and lumbered toward the entrance of the tower. The two trolls weren’t the only components of the Gatekeeper; she’d added in some ape neurology for dexterity and trapped the consciousness of a particularly annoying bard. The stupid man performed for the court as a pretext to rob her. Well, now he’d now spend the next fifty years animating the golem until Isabelle replaced the Gatekeeper.

Lumbering forward on its knuckles, the flesh golem reached the huge metal door of Isabelle’s tower and started lifting it. Hoisting the door onto one shoulder, the Gatekeeper held the door open for Isabelle to pass. The heavily fortified entrance and its guardian were, unfortunately, necessary additions to the laboratory tower’s security. Isabelle already lost one tower to an experiment gone wrong; she was loathe to lose the other.

Isabelle then remarked to the Gatekeeper. “Just thirty-two more years to go.”

It let out a pitiful whimper, and Isabelle passed by it entering her laboratory. Stepping onto the cold stone, Isabelle heard the gate crash in behind her. Wincing, she turned around, preparing to rebuke her golem, when the whole tower shook. Eyes widening in horror, Isabelle felt the floor start to give way. As everything collapsed around her, Isabelle tried to change form, growing wings or maybe armor plates, but her body didn’t respond. As the floor fully buckled, Isabelle tumbled down into darkness and an ocean of warm sticky red.

Stunned and disoriented, Isabelle tried to fight the sudden current dragging her down. It was useless; she couldn’t call upon her blood and was helpless against the riptide. As the pressure around Isabelle started to build, she looked down to see a bright light in the distance. Her descent was speeding up, sending her toward the light faster and faster. Until she struck the shimmering brightness and the world inverted.

Isabelle exploded out of a river of blood and landed on a flower-strewn shore. Despite everything, Isabelle landed with cat-like grace and tried to get her bearings. Understanding grew as Isabelle realized where she was. The prison of memories faded, and Isabelle turned to face her host. “What do you want, Natalie?”

The young Vampire sat upon a large boulder nearby, staring at the river Isabelle just emerged from. Walking over toward her student, Isabelle did her best to hide how unsettled she was by this experience. Natalie’s previous summons were subtle, weak things inviting Isabelle to enter her student’s mindscape. This time Isabelle was violently dragged from her own dream and deposited into Natalie’s. Something that spoke volumes about the young Alukah’s growing power.

Swallowing pointlessly, Natalie asked. “What do you know about pestilence?”

Eyes narrowed, Isabelle smelled a trap. “A term for magical diseases, both natural and unnatural. They are extremely dangerous to mortals, especially those without access to magical healing; why do you ask?”

Natalie sucked in a breath and started to relay the evening’s events. How infected corpses were dropped upon Vindabon and Cole’s fight with the Wyvern. Isabelle listened with intense focus, feeling a mix of romantic and professional pride upon hearing of Cole’s latest feat. These petty emotions were quickly replaced by genuine curiosity. The plague Natalie described was familiar yet exotic, clearly meant to sow strife among its creator’s enemies.

Pacing through the flowers, Isabelle mused on this new information and said. “It’s obviously a variation on the bubonic plague, but the extreme rage is a novel symptom. Cole will be fine, but I wonder how much of Vindabon will be left by next winter. I suggest once he dies and recovers, you make plans to leave the city. Watching a metropolis be eaten alive is never pleasant, so spare yourself the discomfort.”

Natalie looked affronted. “I’m not going to leave Vindabon!”

Isabelle shrugged. “Once the plague reaches a certain threshold of infection, you won’t have a choice. With every incapacitated Priest, it will be harder to keep up the wards, and fear of the disease will isolate the city. Eventually, the wards will fall, starvation will start, and the ghouls will feast. By then, the best option will be to just start burning entire boroughs; I don’t recommend being in the city when that starts.”

The younger vampire’s face went through a variety of emotions. Shock, confusion, and anger before settling into grim understanding. Glaring at her mentor, Natalie stated her conclusion. “You’re trying to scare me, painting a worst-case situation and hoping I get impulsive.”

Again, Isabelle shrugged, torn between pride and annoyance at her student’s growing wisdom. “If the First Preceptor acts quickly, then I imagine the death toll will be in the high hundreds. Unfortunately, he’s teetering on the edge of mundane existence and might not be able to interfere. As for the Temples, they will probably manage to get the plague under control, but a little poor luck could unravel all their efforts.”

Calling up a chair, Isabelle sat down facing Natalie and made her offer. “I can help; I’ve studied things like this in the past, and with your power, finding a cure should be easy. Let me walk in your skin for a time, and I’ll save this city.”

Baring her fangs, Natalie snapped. “So that’s it? You’re holding an entire city hostage to get what we discussed?”

Leaning back and tenting her fingers, Isabelle said. “It's been months, and you haven’t given me an answer! If you made up your mind in a timely fashion, I wouldn’t be forced to do this!”

Twelve days and twelve nights, that was Isabelle’s request; now it was her price. Natalie, so far, hadn’t acknowledged the plea to borrow her flesh, something that ended today. Lips pricked by her fangs, Natalie spat. “All these lives in danger, and you are using them to bargain with me?”

Isabelle nodded. “I’m personally not invested in anyone in Vindabon aside from you and Cole, both of whom are not at any serious risk. Besides, if I were to work on a cure, I’d need to borrow your flesh anyway. So it would be better for both of us to strike a clear agreement.”

Natalie asked. “Can’t you just tell me what to do? You could ride in my head but not possess me.”

Clicking her tongue, Isabelle shook her head. “It’s too complicated; the ritual work and alchemy involved aren’t something an apprentice can do, even with a master guiding every step. Working with me is the best option for both of us. I get to touch the physical and keep myself sane while you get to save the city.”

Practically growling, Natalie snapped. “I don’t like being pressured like this.”

Isabelle just rolled her eyes. “Then you should have negotiated with me when the leverage was in your favor. I consider you a friend and pupil, so I am willing to offer much for little. But this is too far; I need to secure my own survival, and if that means using the options available to me, then I will.”

Natalie’s body language was still closed off, but not quite as much as before. She was painfully easy to read when distressed like this, which was partly why Isabelle was pushing on her. It was a dangerous game Isabelle was playing, manipulating Natalie like this, but it needed to be done.

Looking at her student intently, Isabelle let her voice become softer. “You will, of course, be able to banish me from your mind at any time. Fighting you for control would be extremely risky, and I have no desire to fully possess you. I’m not asking for anything permanent or damaging, just a little time. That seems reasonable considering the aid and trust I’ve extended to you over and over.”

Isabelle honestly didn’t know how much she was lying. Stealing Natalie’s body was an option she wanted to keep open, but it was also a risky, messy proposal. So she’d just continue to worm her way into Natalie’s mind and confidence, gathering as many possibilities as she could.

Tapping her fingers on the cold stone she sat upon, Natalie said. “Pushing me like this isn’t a way to earn my trust, Isabelle.”

The older vampire nodded. “I know, I’d rather not do this, but you’ve left me no other option. If you’d talked with me about this anytime over the last three months, I would have been willing to negotiate. But you didn’t; you continued learning from me but never acknowledged what I asked of you. Trust is a bridge built from both ends and frankly, you’ve been eagerly leeching off my efforts without even considering my request.”

Putting her head in her hands, Natalie sighed. “Give me some time to think about this.”

Isabelle scoffed. “I’ve given you months, and now Vindabon doesn’t have much time to spare. But fine, continue your procrastination and return when you’ve decided. Just don’t expect any more lessons or help until you give me an answer one way or another.”

Without a word, Natalie banished Isabelle from her mindscape. Red flowers dissolved into a pool of blood, and Isabelle was sitting alone in her own mind. Tapping fingers on her chair in a pattern identical to Natalies. Isabelle smiled cooly; her student’s request for a little time was exactly what she’d expected. Give the plague a few nights, and Natalie’s qualms would be quashed by a quagmire of corpses.

Natalie spent the next day and night checking on Cole, running errands across the city, and generally trying her best to make a difference. Leaping across rooftops, she could go between quarantine zones, carrying messages and delivering supplies. With an entire city panicking, the Aether was crackling with stress, and only the strongest Seers could reliably communicate with their fellows. A weakness to the mental magic Natalie never even considered until she first felt Glynn psychically shove his way through panicked minds to communicate with her.

Acting as a courier gave Natalie an unfortunately complete perspective on the situation in Vindabon. The plague spread like wildfire through drought-touched fields; every attempt to quarantine it failed, and within twenty-four hours, all twenty districts were seething with infection. Magi and Priests were working themselves unconscious trying to cleanse thousands of people. The city guard was similarly being run ragged, working to keep some semblance of order. Natalie had already seen three fights between infected people trying to get treatment break out. After seeing roving packs of Screamers clash with plague wardens armed with nets and man-catchers, Natalie could understand the raw desperation worming into people.

The riot, at least, had been a single night of concentrated horror with a clear source and direction. This current crisis was just subtle enough to add the terror of uncertainty to the city’s suffering. To make matters worse, they were still missing a Wyvern; the beast was unaccounted for despite the efforts put into finding it. Something that had everyone aware of that threat on edge. The sudden violent resurfacing of a dragon-spawned monster might easily tip Vindabon towards utter chaos.

Now standing in the Temple statue garden, wearing a black silk veil provided by Glynn as a method of easy identification; Natalie was drowning in guilt. All this suffering, all this horror, it was within her power to end it; all she had to do was take Isabelle’s deal. Except Natalie knew her folktales, and this stunk like a crossroads deal with evil. Some instinct or apprehension made Natalie exceedingly wary of Isabelle’s demands. Even with their growing trust, this didn’t feel right to Natalie. It's why she’d put off answering Isabelle for so long. She couldn’t even fully articulate her worries and knew Isabelle would shred apart any argument based on a ‘feeling.’

Of course, the idea of surrendering her autonomy for even a little bit was distressing, but Natalie felt she should be able to stomach a little discomfort to save a city. Cole would happily die for others, and she was here, unwilling to surrender a little time. Intuition and principles warred against logic and duty in an internal struggle Natalie hated every second of.

Exiting a statue’s shadow, Natalie walked toward the Temple, deciding it was time to speak with Cole about this. Fast footsteps and labored breathing caught Natalie's attention, and she turned to see Yara running toward her as fast as she could. The thrall looked terrible, her eyes puffy with sleep deprivation, face gaunt with fatigue, her hair lank and greasy. For a split second, Natalie considered bolting and escaping her unwanted thrall; she didn’t want to deal with this right now. But her better seraphs won out, and she went over to her thrall.

As Yara tried to regain her breath, Natalie asked. “Why aren’t you in the Temple? You should be with the rest of the infected!”

Sucking down lungfuls of air, Yara pointed at her forehead with a shaky finger. Natalie squinted at the strange mark and understood Yara wasn’t sick; somehow, she’d avoided infection. Still, the Yara looked terrible and tried to babble something through labored breaths. “Canna-canna, plag”

Taking her hand, Natalie gently led her living responsibility towards the Temple. Questioning her as they walked. “Where in the world’s name have you been?”

Yara used her free hand to gesture wildly at the surrounding city and then at the distant Ivory Tower. “Try-tried to… *pant pant* tired to speak with Preceptor Rellim. Couldn’t reach it, ran into cannibals!”

Blinking in surprise, Natalie asked for clarification. “You encountered Screamers out there?”

Yara considered that momentarily before saying, “I guess they did scream; yeah, they screamed a lot.”

A new pang of guilt washed through Natalie; she’d completely forgotten about Yara with everything happening. So her thrall had apparently been out in the city running from jagging Screamers for Pantheon knows how long. “Let's get you into the Temple; you look exhausted.”

A pitiable smile crossed Yara’s face. “When I was with Sir Dietrich, I went through worse. But Mistress, I need to tell you about-”

Holding up a hand, instantly silencing her, Natalie said. “My name is Natalie, and first, let's get you some food and water.”

Yara let herself be meekly led to the Temple’s dining hall but bridled when Natalie personally got some food for her. “Mistress! I can do that!”

Natalie answered with a flat stare, “It’s Natalie, remember; and you look like you’re barely standing. I was raised in an inn; I won’t let you go hungry on my account.”

Abashed, Yara bowed her head and started to sip the stew Natalie brought her. Looking over the dull selection of food she’d gathered, Natalie sighed. “I’m sorry the food is not better; the cooks have their hands full feeding so many. Fixed-stars, I could probably fix you something better if they let me.”

Yara almost spilled her stew, shaking her head so quickly. “No, no, it's more than I deserve, Mist-... Natalie.”

Natalie drummed her fingers on the table and glanced around the dining hall. The two women were alone in the large chamber. Conversationally, Natalie said. “It’s my birthday today.”

Yara paused eating and, after a second’s hesitation, said, “Happy birthday?”

Shrugging, Natalie asked, “How old are you, Yara?”

Scrunching up her face, Yara guessed. “Twenty-three? It’s 1448, right?”

Wincing, Natalie gently corrected, “It’s 1451. Does that mean you are twenty-six?”

A little stunned, Yara nodded, and Natalie laughed. “Then you are older than me! I just turned twenty-one today!”

Yara seemed a little shocked by that, and Natalie leaned in. “I’m not some ancient vampire you must bow and scrap for. I’m another girl from Glockmire, one even younger than you are. Hells, I knew your father’s favorite drink from memory.”

Natalie could almost see Yara closing herself down, eyes on her stew bowl, the thrall whispered. “But you aren’t another girl from Glockmire anymore; you are a Noble and one of the greatest.”

Rubbing her face and trying not to moan in exasperation, Natalie changed the topic. “How did you survive the Screamers? They are stronger and faster than normal people.”

Yara opened her mouth and started to speak, only to be cut off by the door to the dining hall bursting open. A quartet of plague wardens scrambled into the room, two carrying weapons, two carrying a bleeding Priestess, a very familiar Priestess.

Bolting up from her chair, Natalie yelled, “MINA!”

Her words were almost drowned out by the screams coming from the hall beyond. Rushing forward, Natalie reached the plague wardens as they frantically shut the door behind them. The solid wooden door shook as something smashed into it, and muffled shrieks could be heard from beyond it. The plague wardens set Mina down on the ground while the two with weapons frantically tried to lock the shaking door.

Mina was awake but hyperventilating; the left side of her face was a mess of blood, and ugly scratches covered her forearms. Seeing Natalie, she pointed at the door and gasped. ‘Y-you need to he-help!”

One of the wardens bolted past Natalie, heading for the kitchens and any aid to be found there. Looking down at her injured friend, Natalie felt powerless, for all the dark magic within her, she couldn’t do anything to heal.

Seeing her panic, Mina waved a hand. “It-it looks worse than it is. Screamers are still out there; you need to stop them!”

Swallowing uselessly, ignoring the ugly dry feeling, Natalie moved to the door. “Open it up; I can stop whatever is attacking.”

The plague wardens looked at Natalie and then at each other, exchanging masked looks. Baring her fangs, Natalie surged forward, knocked both wardens back easily, and let the door burst open. Half a dozen froth-mouthed Screamers surged into the room, and before they could even regain their balance, Natalie struck, not with her claws or her fangs, but with her mind. Meeting their eyes, Natalie sent a surge of raw will through her forged connection. Near instantly, the Screamers crumbled, their consciousness snuffed like candles in a maelstrom. All six hit the ground hard, rendered comatose by a Vampire’s wrath.

A little surprised by how easy it was, Natalie looked down at the Screamers and then back at the plague wardens. “Are there more?”

Stunned, one of the wardens nodded, sending his beak bobbing. Pointing at Mina, Natalie snarled. “Take care of her; I’ll deal with the rest.”

Quickly grabbing the unconscious Screamers, Natalie tossed them out of the dining hall and shut the door behind her. More pained howls filled the hallway, and a trail of blood showed where Mina came from. Quickly following the trail, Natalie heard screams and enhanced her speed. She found the trail's origin quickly; a storage room, first converted into an auxiliary ward, now an abattoir. The metallic stink of blood filled the enclosed space, and Natalie forced herself not to breathe.

Approximately thirty cotts were in the room, but only ten were occupied. More accurately, ten held bodies, or what Natalie assumed were bodies; it was honestly hard to tell once the Screamers finished feeding. Five of the plague monsters were clustered around one of the cotts, blood spreading out from the feasting Screamers. At the chamber's far wall were a dozen patients, huddled together and utterly terrified. A single wounded plague warden stood before them, holding out a cudgel with his single working hand. Occasionally one of the Screamers would look up from its ‘meal’ and sniff at the injured warden, weighing if attacking was worth it.

Natalie whistled to get the Screamer’s attention, another talent she’d been forced to relearn with fangs. They looked up from their victim, and Natalie swept her eyes across them, smashing their minds with ease. Each Screamer collapsed, sandcastles before a tidal wave. Baring her fangs, Natalie stalked over to the Screamers and pulled them off their last victim. Looking down, Natalie flinched; it was Aunty Alyssia, the innkeeper of the Final Flagon.

Flashes of her father’s lifeless body, a hole punched clean through his chest, assaulted Natalie. Shutting the innkeeper’s eyes, she went over to the survivors. “What can I do to help?”

The plague warden slumped to her knees and laughed nervously, the sound rendered eerie by the beaked mask. “You saved us, thank you.”

Natalie winced, looking over the scene of carnage; she knew the truth. These deaths might have been prevented; she hadn’t saved anyone; she’d merely mitigated some of her cowardice. That was what this was, she was afraid of losing control, and other people paid the price for that fear.

Shaking her head, Natalie turned to leave. “I’ll go get help.”

Reaching down, Natalie gripped the collapsed Screamers, collecting them awkwardly and dragging them from the room. As she worked, Natalie’s foot slipped on something; looking down, she felt revulsion rise within her. It was a child, or at least part of one, the little girl she’d helped on the wagon. Natalie wished she could throw up just to purge herself of the horrible feelings roiling inside.

Leaving the Screamers in the hallway and shutting the door behind her, Natalie made her decision. Isabelle wanted twelve days in her skin; well then, the old monster could jagging have them.