Maxwell

  “I saw something strange today, as we were en route to Barrowfalls Keep. It happened as we were marching through the woods, following an old trading route that had not seen use in decades. At first, I did not understand what it was, so peculiar was the sight. But then, as the distant shapes amidst the trees assumed form, I realized it was a young boy, surely no older than ten, sitting mounted atop the back of a bear, leading it around as one would a horse.

  No one else in my regiment bore witness to this, but when asked, one of my men told me that he had once heard tales of a nomadic tree-people living in perfect harmony with nature. Subsisting entirely on fruit and vegetables, they refused to harm even the smallest of insects, and as such, were welcomed by all woodland creatures as true friends of the forest.

  As we continued our walk, I found myself feeling jealous of the boy, and the connection he shared with nature. Surely his life must be free of conflict and strife, much unlike my own. As he plays in the woods, I march to yet another battlefield. It hardly seems fair.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2147 Post-Separation (PS).

  A pale hand came up to push away the hood, revealing her visage to the light.

  Long, raven-black hair cascaded over slender shoulders, framing an oval face with thin, rosy lips. A faint handful of freckles covered her pale skin, complimented by a small, roundish birthmark on her right cheek. As with her clothes, smatterings of dirt and mud clung to her face as well, looking distinctly out-of-place amidst her otherwise beautiful features.

  As I took in the sight of her, intense eyes suddenly locked onto mine, causing my breath to hitch in my throat. Her irises were a fiery orange, like twin sparks of flame burning upon a sea of white. They glinted in the light of the candles, captivating with their surreal allure.

  “M-Miss Harthway!” Rachel said, bolting upright with a start. “I-I was not expecting to be graced with your presence this evening!”

  “Good evening, Rachel. It has been some time,” the girl said, shooting a tired smile in her direction. “And please; how many times have I told you to stop calling me that? You are a dear friend of mine, there is no need for you to bother with such formalities.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist, Miss Harthway. It is only proper,” Rachel said. “My family is a vassal of yours, after all.”

  “You know I care not for such things,” the girl sighed, exasperation overcoming her features. “You are my friend; that is all that matters to me.”

  “… Very well, then,” Rachel nodded. “I will do my best to refrain from calling you Miss Harthway… in private, that is.”

  “Ahh… Well, I shall take what I can get, I suppose,” the girl breathed. “It is nice to see you again, Rachel.”

  “Likewise, Amelie,” Rachel said. The two girls shared a tender smile at that, before Amelie’s eyes once again came to rest on me.

  “Who is this, then?” she asked, regarding me much like one would a particularly bothersome housefly. “Your significant other, perhaps?”

  “No, Miss Har-… Amelie. This is Maxwell Balton. He’s a… well, a traveler, I suppose, newly arrived here in Galwen.”

  “A traveler?” Amelie said. “A traveler from where?”

  “He, uhh… He claims he can’t remember,” Rachel said.

  “… So he is a traveler that cannot remember where he has traveled from,” Amelie said. “Forgive me if I struggle to believe that.”

  “You think I’m lying?” I asked, doing my best to appear offended. She was right, of course, but admitting to it would not help much.

  “Of course I do,” she nodded. “Why would I not?”

  “T-That’s-…” I started, before stopping myself shy of finishing the sentence with: actually a good point.

  “There is something else as well,” Rachel started, hesitation lingering in her voice. “I am not entirely certain as to its legitimacy, but…”

  “What is it?” Amelie asked.

  “You,” Rachel said, turning to me. “Remove your shirt again.”

  “… Seriously?” I asked, eyeing the two girls. When neither gave any indication of backing down, I let out a sigh of defeat, and pulled my bloodied t-shirt over my head, exposing my chest.

  Amelie raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “His back, Amelie,” Rachel said, sensing her confusion. The raven-haired girl promptly circled around me, and nary a moment later, I heard her draw a sharp breath.

  “W-What?! But… But that is…!”

  “I had the same reaction,” Rachel said. Given that I was facing the other direction, I could not see what reaction she was referring to, but I guessed it to be one of abject shock and disbelief.

  “T-These lines… I have never seen… It should not be possible!” Amelie continued. I felt a cold finger trail down my back, tracing the symbols there with delicate finesse. It did not hurt as much this time. Her movements were slow and careful, as opposed to Rachel’s.

  “It’s crudely drawn,” Rachel said. “As you can see, the sigil appears to have been carved directly into his skin, as opposed to being a natural part of his body. This should in theory mean that it won’t function, as we all know that alchemical sigils only work if they’re passed down from parent to child.”

  Amelie remained silent, continuing her exploration of my back. Her finger danced across my skin, eliciting a shiver from me.

  It tickles, I thought to myself.

  “I know all this, but still…” Rachel said. “I can’t help but think that, maybe… just maybe…”

  “It could be the real thing,” Amelie finished, ceasing her examination. “Hmm… Only one way to find out, I suppose.”

  I turned around just in time to see Amelie close her eyes, and extend her arms towards me. Her lips moved in silence, stringing together unspoken words that I could not make out. For a moment, it almost looked as if she was praying. Before long, however, a faint light flickered into existence in the palm of her hands, shining with a soft brilliance.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked, feeling my eyes go wide at the sight of such spellcraft.

  “Shush. Don’t disturb her,” Rachel chided, putting a finger to her lips. “This is delicate work.”

  “O-Okay then…”

  We stood in silence for a breath longer, until… A terrible burning erupted across my back, seemingly without preamble.

  “Ahh!” I screamed, falling to my knees. “It hurts!”

  Amelie ceased her chanting, and opened her eyes again. As soon as she did, the burning sensation subsided, and I was left a shivering mess on the ground.

  “So it’s true then…” Rachel whispered, shock etched on her features. “He really is the bearer…”

  “So it would seem,” Amelie said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Stonefather knows how any of this is possible, but… his alchemical sigil is the genuine article. If it was not, he would not have felt anything from the connection.”

  “Next time… I would appreciate… a heads up…” I forced out through gritted teeth, rising from the ground on unsteady legs. “That was… seriously painful!”

  “This changes everything,” Amelie said, disregarding my complaints entirely as I slowly got dressed again for the second time that evening. “I must take him to my father in Benadiel, at once. No one must know.”

  “Understood, Miss Harthway.” Rachel had seemingly reverted to using formal language on instinct upon hearing the tone of Amelie’s voice. “Rest assured that the secret is safe with me. I shall arrange transportation at once.”

  “Thank you, Rachel. As for you…” Amelie said, turning to address me. Before she could finish the sentence, however, she suddenly froze in place, her eyes narrowing into slits.

  “What are you-” I started, only to be cut off by an outstretched hand.

  “We are not alone,” she whispered, her gaze darting across the room. I promptly closed my mouth shut, and peered into the darkness around us. The room we were in was fairly well-lit, but anything beyond lay in utter shadow. For a long moment, we stood there, still as statues as Amelie scanned the interior with watchful eyes. Just as I was about to call out once more, something… changed.

  I sensed the creature before I saw it. Akin to a weight settling on my shoulders, I felt it in the darkness of the room next to us. Some presence that… could not be explained, nor understood. A sulphurous odor wafting through the air, mixed with the scent of bile and rotting flesh. The muted thuds of bare feet against wooden floorboards, and the faintest wheezing for air.

  My breathing grew stilted and anxious as warning bells went off in my mind, alerting me to the imminent danger. A nervous glance to the side revealed equally tense expressions on my companion’s faces.

  At last, the unknown creature emerged from the blackness, revealing its visage to the light. Lean muscles wrapped in grey skin staggered into view, followed by a rusted knife clutched in a rotted hand. Bloodshot, veiny eyes stared at me from a malnourished, decayed face, whose lips had been drawn back into a twisted smile, stretched wider than humanly possible. A closer look revealed two iron nails driven into the apex points of its lips, forcing the perpetual grin to never waver. Yellowed bone peered out from a withered ribcage, protruding from the skin to form an imperfect arch.

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  I felt my limbs freeze in terror, rooting me in place. My eyes refused to look away from the hideous grin on the creature’s lips, and the unblinking stare that accompanied it.

  “Stonefather be with me!” Rachel gasped, taking an involuntary step backwards. “A daemon!”

  “No,” Amelie responded, her gaze hard and resolute. “An Umbral. And not just one, either.”

  A panicked look into the darkness beyond revealed the truth of it. More of them were slithering into the light, bloodshot eyes emerging from the void. Two… no, three living carcasses, wearing grisly smiles that would haunt me for the remainder of my days.

  “They are here for me,” Amelie said, facing the monsters with unyielding resolve. “You must run, and not look back.”

  “N-No!” Rachel said. “I cannot! I will not!”

  Before our eyes, the first creature began to open its mouth, exposing the vacant obscurity behind the smile. There was nothing there - no tongue, walls of flesh, or uvula - just a darkness so vast, it seemed to swallow the world.

  “You do not understand,” Amelie said. “These creatures will-”

  A sound I could only describe as distorted radio static suddenly emerged from the creature’s throat, cutting Amelie short. It clashed against my hearing, forcing me to cover my ears in a desperate bid for protection. To my right, I saw Rachel do the same thing - but not Amelie, who merely stood there, her gaze locked on the screaming monstrosity.

  And then… she called upon the elements, conjuring writhing flames in the palm of her hand. At the same time, a faint light emanated from beneath her clothes, concentrated around her back.

  “I will send you all to the abyss,” she said, eyes alight as the energy coursed through her. “May you find peace in the Everafter.”

  As soon as the group of mutants laid eyes upon the open flame, they emitted shrieks of such volume, it caused my ears to ring, despite the protection provided by my hands. And then, they charged at Amelie, rusted knives swinging wildly from their rotted limbs.

  Amelie allowed the chaotic power in her hand to reach its zenith, before she unleashed it upon the monsters in a wave of fire. It washed over them in a billowing flood, melting their skin like candle wax, setting fire to the walls and furniture beyond. And yet… they did not slow. Running at her with their bodies in flames, their abominable smiles shone through the inferno - the devil’s grin wreathed in embers.

  “Run!” Amelie shouted, turning on her heels to sprint for the door. I followed her lead, letting my feet carry me away from the madness and the searing heat. It was not a long dash. We were out on the streets in moments, the screams of Hell following close behind.

  “Split up and head for the northern gate!” Amelie said, pointing at a nearby side path that ran between two buildings. “I shall meet you there!”

  “W-Wait, I don’t know-” I started, but she was already off, waving her arms to attract the attention of the Umbrals streaming out of the now burning building. Rachel was nowhere to be seen. She must have taken off as well, no doubt in the direction of the garrison to call the guards.

  What the hell is going on?! I thought to myself as I set to running down the path Amelie had indicated, thoughts spinning in my head. I don’t even know where I’m going!

  My panicked flight took me down abandoned alleyways, past houses with darkened windows. It was the middle of the night, after all, and so most people would be fast asleep in their beds. A few curious night owls stuck their heads out of their doors to see what was going on, but I paid them no heed.

  Behind me, I could hear shouts begin to rise in the distance, as more and more people woke and took notice of the blazing building. Whether the Umbrals were still there, however, was anyone’s guess.

  A guard dressed in a simple gambeson of padded cloth stepped out into the street in front of me, waving his arms. An iron spear lay slung over one shoulder.

  “Ho there!” he said, forcing me to slow down. “What’s going on?”

  “There’s… a fire!” I replied, heaving to catch my breath. “In the… lamphouse.”

  That was what the sign out front had read: Galwen Lamphouse.

  “In the lamphouse, you say?” the guard said, eyes drifting off down the street. “How bad is it?”

  “Entire building,” I gasped, yet struggling for air. “You should go.”

  “Alright, I will. Thank you, sir,” the guard nodded, before brushing past me to rush off in the direction I had come from. I was about to let him go, before a sudden burst of inspiration made me call out to him once more. He turned to look over his shoulder at the sound of my voice.

  “Sorry, but… what’s the fastest way to the northern gate?” I asked, putting on an apologetic frown.

  He looked me over for the span of a breath, before jerking his thumb to his left. “Keep going in that direction until you get to the main walkway, then take a left. Follow that road to the end and you’ll reach the gate.”

  “Thank you,” I bowed, before making to leave. This time, however, it was the guard who stopped me, and not the other way around.

  “What’s your name, young man?” he asked, eyes sharp.

  Oh shit. He thinks I did it. He thinks I’m fleeing the scene of the crime.

  “William, sir,” I said, keeping a neutral expression. “William Gottsby.”

  And then, I was off, racing down the street again. The guard said something else that I could not quite make out, but made no move to follow me. I supposed he considered the fire a more pressing matter.

  My flight slowed once I made it to the boulevard. A gathering of confused villagers dressed in nightgowns and lounging robes stood in small circles, debating with each other as they pointed to the skies. Following their gaze, I saw a column of blackened smoke rise from the western part of town. It seemed too big to be caused by a single house, meaning other buildings in the vicinity must have also caught fire.

  To my surprise, I found myself wrestling with this revelation, unease squirming its way into my chest. What if the fire grew too wild, too indomitable? What if it leapt from building to building, wreaking havoc until the entire town was nothing but a smoldering ruin? What if people were caught unaware in their homes as the flames rose up around them?

  A strange pressure started building in my head, and it was not before it grew to a pounding that I realized I had forgotten to breathe. Forcing my lungs to draw air, I hacked and coughed as my body shivered on the brink of panic. I fought against the sensation, but it was a futile endeavor. Hysteria would soon overwhelm me, blotting out any trace of rational thought as my mind was torn into-

  “What are you doing?!” a familiar voice said, causing me to lift my head. It was Rachel, standing in front of me with a wildness in her eyes. Her white nightgown was singed in multiple places, blackened spots painted upon the silken fabric. “Snap out of it! This is no time for panic!”

  “B-B-But-” I started, my voice frail and uncertain.

  “No buts! Come here!” she said, wrapping an arm across my back to support me. “The northern gate is just up ahead! Miss Harthway is waiting for you!”

  Spurred on by her insistence, we began a hobbling walk down the street, past frightened villagers and scurrying guards. The entire town was waking up now, as the sound of the fire grew too loud to be ignored. Wooden buckets were passed around as barrels of water were rolled out from darkened cellars. Lines were formed, orders given, and tools distributed. Everyone wanted to help save their home.

  My heart yearned to join the rescue efforts. To line up with the others and grab a bucket, ready to do my part. It was strange - I did not owe these villagers anything. I was not even from this town, let alone this world. My thoughts should lie with me, and me alone. Yet, there was an urge… or perhaps even a need welling up inside me. A need to act. A need to help.

  My thoughts were cut short by a sudden jostling from Rachel, which nearly tripped me over. A confused look to my right revealed a pained expression upon her face, teeth grit against some unknown agony.

  “A-Are you hurt?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she breathed as we came to a halt. “One of the daemons got me in the leg. It’s not a deep cut, but it hurts, especially when I’m carrying you like this.”

  “I can walk on my own,” I said at once, disentangling myself from her. A grateful sigh escaped her lips as soon as I did.

  “Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes and breathing deep. “I just need a minute.”

  Stepping back, I inspected her legs for signs of damage, and immediately noticed the dark patch of blood staining the lower back of her gown. I had not been able to see it before, but now that I did, I felt a sudden onslaught of guilt for having let her drag me along like that when I was not even hurt.

  “You should have told me,” I said with some chagrin. “I wouldn’t have put so much weight on you.”

  “Yes, well…” she grunted. “You looked like you were having quite the panic attack. I just did the first thing that came to mind.”

  A thin stream of blood trailed down her right leg, forming a crimson puddle on the flagstones below. It was not before then that I realized she was barefoot; there had not been any time to put on some footwear in all the commotion. The soles of her feet must be hurting something fierce after sprinting through the town like that.

  “You’re in more need of help than I am,” I said, offering her my arm. “I should be the one carrying you, not the other way around.”

  She looked at me then, her caramel eyes latching onto mine with relentless intensity. There was a cynicism in them that surprised me. A deep mistrust of kindness offered too easily, without pretense or palpable advantage. The look of someone who had chosen trust before, and been let down.

  It disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived, however, replaced by a muted acceptance that did not seem very genuine.

  “I would appreciate that,” she said, shifting her gaze to the road again. “The gate is not far.”

  She was right. I could see it looming up ahead; a large gap in the wooden walls, wide enough for two carts to pass side-by-side. The gate itself was closed, its iron bars blocking out the darkened woods beyond. A handful of guards milled around the inside, their eyes fixed on the column of smoke in the distance. It was clear they wanted nothing more than to rush over there and help put out the fire, but duty bound them to their post.

  We made our way towards them with slow, deliberate steps. I did my best to support Rachel as we walked, who left a trail of blood on the flagstones behind her. Every now and again, she would let out a soft groan of pain, indicating that she was most certainly not okay. It would not surprise me if the wound turned out to be deeper than she had led me to believe.

  At last, one of the guards spotted our approach, and rushed to help once he recognized Rachel. I remembered him as one of the men who had helped saved me from the Husks earlier that evening; the one called Marcus.

  “Miss Rachel!” he said as he met us on the way, mimicking me by placing an arm across her back for support. “Are you injured?”

  “That much should be readily apparent,” she grimaced, as a fresh bout of pain coursed through her. “I’m in need of a healer.”

  “Of course, Miss,” Marcus nodded, before waving his free arm towards the guards up ahead. “Hey! Miss Rachel is hurt! I need some help over here!”

  The others came at his call, leaving behind their spears to offer aid to the injured. One took off towards the middle of town, no doubt to fetch a doctor. I was left to my own devices as they took Rachel from me, and led her towards a nearby bench. Her safety seemed to be their number one priority, which once again made me question just who this woman was to them.

  Naturally, no answer presented itself, and so I left them to it, and started to make my way towards the gate. I was yet supposed to meet up with Amelie, after all… if she was still alive.

  “Are you looking for Miss Harthway?” a voice called, and I turned to find a man standing on the side of the road, his back against a lantern-post, arms folded in front of his chest. He had long brown hair tied up into a ponytail, and struck a regal sort of pose that had a touch of the elegant and noble to it. He was handsome, too. Chiseled jaw, high cheekbones. No older than twenty-five, at most.

  “… E-Excuse me?” I asked, taken aback by the sudden inquiry. “Who are you?”

  “A friend,” he said, lilac eyes opening to regard me with thinly-veiled suspicion. “One who bears a message.”

  “A message from who?” I said, confusion writ on my face.

  “Amelie, of course,” he scoffed, furrowing his brow. “Who else?”

  “O-Oh. Right,” I said, feeling stupid.

  “She’s waiting for you on the other side of the gate,” he said, pushing himself off the lantern-post. “You’ll also find a pack with some key essentials there. It won’t be much, but it was all I was able to scrounge up, given the… short notice.”

  “… Okay?” I blinked. “And what of the Umbrals? Did she manage to outrun them?”

  “Rest assured that the creatures have been dealt with,” he said, eyes distant and uncaring. “They were not supposed to be here, but… well, they hardly take orders from me.”

  There was a brief moment of silence as my mind worked to process all of this information.

  “Who are you?” I asked, with greater insistence this time.

  “I already told you; a friend,” he grunted, turning to leave in the opposite direction, before coming to a halt again. “Oh, and one more thing: hurt Amelie, and I’ll kill you.”

  I blanked.

  “Tell anyone we had this conversation, and I’ll kill you. In fact, if you so much as mention my presence here, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

  I remained utterly silent; my face frozen in a permanent portrayal of shock and bewilderment.

  “Got it?” he asked again, his lips curling upwards into a snarl.

  “U-Uhh, yeah, sure,” I stuttered, quite unsure of what I had done to warrant such grave threats.

  “Good. Have a nice day,” he said, before sauntering off like he had just engaged in a passing conversation with a neighbor or acquaintance. I stood in stunned silence for several moments after, my mind racing and my heart pounding.

  What… just happened?

  I gave the matter another couple of seconds to marinate, before I recognized the encounter for what it was: utterly nonsensical. As such, I turned my back on the Merchant Town of Galwen, and wandered off towards the gate, quite unsure of how I was going to get it open.

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