Unveiled Shadows: Tales of a Lich

Chapter 19 - Tales & Liches

"Everything ached—his feet, legs, sides, back, head, and even the arm that was no longer there. "I knew my hand was bad, but... I didn't know it was that bad," he thought to himself as he stared at the empty, bandaged shoulder. "How will I be of any use if I can't even lift a blade?" He scolded himself for his decisions. "If I had just pulled my arm out, maybe I could have backed off and come back at it."

"Mutius, it's good to see you awake again," said the only familiar voice in his life. He lifted his heavy gaze towards his friend, the sight taking him aback a bit.

"Dun?" he asked.

"Who else would I be?"

"Sorry, you just look... different, is all. How long have I been asleep?"

"Different how?"

"Your face... it's different," Mutius observed, his voice barely more than a whisper. Dunstan's once ruddy complexion had paled to a ghostly hue, his features sharpened into a visage of stark angles and shadows. His eyes, once warm and familiar, now seemed like pools of obsidian, with only the slightest glint of sapphire in the depths of his irises. They bore into Mutius with an intensity that made him feel like prey under a predator's gaze. Unnerved, Mutius found himself unable to hold his friend's gaze, his own eyes flickering uncertainly, searching for a safer focus.

Dunstan stepped closer, reaching out a comforting hand. Mutius flinched instinctively, then paused, a flash of recognition crossing his face. "This is Dun, it's Dun... Dun... right?"

"It's okay... I get it... I know what I am now, I don't blame you," Dunstan's voice was heavy with sadness. "You were asleep for almost a fortnight," his voice softening with concern. "You woke briefly when Esenora was... She was telling me things, Mutius, things you ought to know as well when you're better."

"What kind of things? Tell me now!" Mutius demanded, his voice tinged with urgency, feeling a sudden, sharp pain where his shoulder once was, as if a hot blade had been stabbed downward through it. The intensity of the pain caused him to thrash back and forth, landing him on the rough wooden floor.

Esenora stormed into the cottage, her droopy grey robes giving her the appearance of a ghostly pile of laundry. "What's happening in here?" she demanded, her eyes locking onto Mutius writhing in pain on the floor, with Dunstan by his side. "I told you to leave him alone! He'll talk when he's ready!" Esenora screeched, frustration evident as she began to slap Dunstan's shoulder repeatedly.

Through the haze of pain, the sight reminded Mutius of back when he and Dunstan were mischievous young boys, sneaking into the kitchen to pilfer the royal family's prized pumpkin tarts. The last time, Gertrude had caught him and Dun red-handed, unleashing a fury of scolding blows with an open hand.

Esenora went into a cupboard and retrieved a small vial. She approached Mutius as he lay on the floor. "Who is this woman?" Mutius's thoughts swirled in confusion as Esenora knelt beside him, then gently coaxed him to drink from the tiny vial. Her face, once stern and imposing, now seemed almost motherly in its care. The pain subsided gradually, replaced by a warm, comforting numbness as she gently stroked his hair, repeating soft soothing words.

With Dunstan's help, Esenora guided Mutius back onto the bed. As he lay there, the world around him began to fade. The last thing he heard was Esenora's voice, soft and soothing, before everything went black.

Days passed where Mutius drifted in and out of consciousness. His existence was a cycle of pain, followed by brief moments of relief and then sleep, all orchestrated by Esenora's administration of a thick, milky liquid that tasted utterly repugnant. Despite its bitterness, he welcomed it eagerly each time, as it was his only respite. One day, he woke almost forgetting that there was nothing but an empty socket where his arm used to be, for the pain did not come.