After twenty years hunting and getting caught in things most hadn't even heard of, I wasn't a stranger to pain. It was like the occasional ache I'd sometimes get in my shoulder that comes and goes; I didn't like it, but very rarely did it ever prevent me from doing what I needed to do. If I had to rate it on a scale, however, I'd say the worst thing to come down from would be the aftereffects of enchantments. Stab wounds, burns, blisters, sicknesses . . . None of it bothered me nearly as much as the damage that came from using forbidden things.
The next few hours were an agonized blur, with me falling in and out of dazed, fever-filled dreams. My injured arm was hot with infection that was quick to take root, my hands trembling anytime I moved my fingers to tug at my hair.
Bogdan had helped me through the mines until we reached a hidden cave tucked securely behind a tight wedge of stone and wood. It was torture, the lot of it was. Bright, bioluminescent fungi coated the stalactites that hung from the cavern ceiling, sending light glittering off of sharp, clear crystals that were multiple different shades of color.
So while I was gradually regaining my sight, the particular spell I had used retaliated against the light. Angry, harsh whispers rose around me, and though I knew it was all in my head, it did nothing to stop the feeling that I was about to be dragged into the darkest pits of hell.
It didn't help that I had been there long ago, and the thought of going back didn't sit well with me.
"You called us to guide you," they accused. Repeating themselves like awful mockingbirds.
"Let us guide you!" As Bogdan all but dragged me to my usual spot.
Sometime between the madness and my moments of lucid clarity, I found myself hunched over a large, fur pelt, aggressively tightening the bandages around my arm and finding the pain there a lot more comforting than what was coursing through my mind. Blood continued to seep its way through the cloth. It was going to hurt more when I was clear-minded enough to clean it.
Bogdan stood motionless behind me, his shadowy eyes watching my shaking form. I didn't need to look at him to know he was disgusted, nor did I want to. A part of me knew that I'd chosen a horrible spell to deter the grayvers.
But maybe I deserved it, after what I did to Igna. That was something I did not feel like explaining to Bogdan. Let him think I was becoming addicted to the dark arts, that I was going to slip away into the very madness that generally took all those before me.
It just might, whether you want it or not.
"Shut up!" The words ripped their way through my throat, startlingly clear even to my own ears.
The voices faded. The fever wracking my body increased for a few intense seconds . . . And then it was gone. I could faintly hear the whispers, so soft and low that I could almost mistake them for wind if I wasn't currently deep inside a cavern.
Tired, I leaned my head forward on my knees, a broken, choking sob tightening around my chest.
The worst part was over.
"What are you doing?" Bogdan asked when I stood, walking over to a wooden chest I'd kept filled with a few changes of clothes. I stumbled as I walked, hair sticking to my face from the mixture of blood, sweat, and tears.
"Where's my sword?" I mumbled, all but falling to my knees when I bent to open the chest.
"You don't think there's more beasts waiting for you outside?"
I scowled at my selection of clothes, glancing over at my bandaged arm. I couldn't be dressed the way I was now - not where I was intending on going. I was fitted in clothes meant to sneak around shadowy areas; a short black tunic tucked in equally dark sheepskin pants, topped with a vest and belt that were both layered in folds and pockets of small glass vials that could easily make someone's life miserable. Two daggers were strapped to the sides of my ribs, hilt down, followed by one on my left leg and another on the right side of my belt. My cloak generally helped hide the weapons, but I wouldn't be able to wear it, either, unless I wanted to get robbed.
It was inevitable for your name to circulate around society when you've spent decades killing and hunting beasts older than most kingdoms that stood today. However, I've learned that while it paid well, it was best practice to keep your identity as much a secret as possible. The ones that lived the longest were the ones that worked in the shadows.
I could change my name as often as I wanted, but it would be useless if I strolled into a town or village wearing better clothes than a highway robber and blades forged of metals found deeper than most could fathom. I didn't want to alert my prey any more than I had to.
But how am I going to hide the arm?
I bit back a frustrated sigh. I could wear a dress slightly better than a burlap sack and a dusty old cloak patched with odd pieces of mismatched cloth. It would certainly give me the appearance of a poor woman, and if I bandaged my arm correctly, people would just assume it's one of many casualties that came with living on the streets.
The shoes would have to go, unless I wanted to spend time convincing a guard that they weren't stolen. But I could still sow a couple pockets on the inside of the hem for powders and material-
No, it's not worth the risk if they have dogs or decide to pat you down.
Well, good thing I knew where all the safe havens were.
"Where's my damn sword?" I repeated, standing to full height and looking around. "Did you leave it out there?"
"It'll be here when you wake up," Bogdan said simply. I finally turned to face him, the first time I've seen him clearly in a while.
The wayguard spirit wasn't tall by any means; he stood around my height at five-and-a-half feet, and when he decided to solidify himself, he was rather on the slim side.
Today, he was a mixture between the spirit and the living dimensions - which meant looking at him was like looking at an upright, three-dimensional shadow with puffs of dark, angry smoke catching on his silhouette. His facial features were somewhat distinguishable; if I squinted, I could make out his nose, mouth, and jawline, but his eyes were just two dark, hollow abysses.
"I have to finish this contract," I said slowly.
"Don't know if you know this, Songbird," Bogdan clicked his tongue, glancing over his shoulder. "But there's a least three packs' worth of grayvers surrounding us right now."
"Good thing we're not travelling on land, then," I quipped, turning my back on him. A little way forward, a small pool was tucked inside the stone, its water clear and shimmery. I hadn't been able to figure out how deep the pool went, but I knew there was some sort of ancient magic at work based off the smell - a fresh, clean aroma with a hint of something smoky. Given the location, I often wondered if this was something the miners used as a water source. There were other little places like this cave, wedged in between tight spaces or buried beneath loads of crumbled rock and splintered wood.
Maybe there had been a people here, before the miners, but something had run them off. And seeing as the only living thing I've found in these caves in the past six years lurking here is the fungus coating the stalactites above, whatever drove them away was either sleeping a heavy slumber or it, too, had taken its leave when there was no more prey.
I had a keen tendency to constantly toe the line between life and death.
Damn, but I really wasn't looking forward to this next part. My arm was a throbbing mess, still oozing blood through my bandages. Bogdan had found my stash of sterile strips of cloth and tried to replace the piece of tunic I had used, but there was only so much matter of success a spirit of any sort could have when dealing in the physical world.
Just as there was only so much success to be had wrapping a limb with one hand.
"How did this happen?" I grumbled, taking a seat next to the water. For there to be this much blood, it was a wonder how I was still able to flex my fingers.
"You can't use the wayfolds."
Bogdan had said it like he was merely making a statement. I grunted, peering at the bandages, then swore. There was a fair amount of dried blood caking some of the edges.
"Sure I can," I replied instinctively. It's infected. Doesn't matter if it gets wet anymore . . .
"You already used it this week to bring the nymph here."
"Doesn't matter."
I slowly lowered my bandaged arm in the water, watching the clear surface turn red as I did so.
"You'll piss Gonvo off."
"He's always pissed off."
"He'll try to kill you."
"There's more than one way through."
Bogdan scoffed. I didn't need to look at him to know he was folding his arms over his chest. I supposed that was one characteristic I should be appreciative of; most spirits and undead things eventually gave up being alive over time. Bogdan never told me what he had been when he was still drawing air - I never asked, either - but he acted far more human than most people I knew that were alive. Even if that meant his human tendencies were more obnoxious than not.
"You want to use them illegally."
"Not illegal," I corrected, slowly peeling off the bandages. "Just difficult."
"You need a guide."
"No, I need to register."
Right before I could see the wounds embedded in my flesh, I turned my head to look at Bogdan. Sure enough, he had his arms over his chest.
"You can let the Circle know. Just tell them I'm trying to finish a contract."
He sneered.
"With what money?"
"They can take it when I get my cut. Oh shit," I hissed when I finally braved enough to observe my arm.
I was really, really lucky to still be able to move my hand.
Chunks of skin had been ripped out of my forearm, as if something big had managed to bite it and started tearing before it had been thrown off. The only reason I was able to tell where the marks were at all was because dark, thick blood was still seeping through. And when I managed to scrape away the dried blood, exposing several tooth marks on all sides, I saw that the surrounding flesh was an ugly, swollen black and blue aside from the unnerving streaks of yellow surrounding the open wounds.
If someone had to judge what color skin I had from my arm alone, they wouldn't be able to tell.
I clenched my fingers into a fist, then released it to wriggle them testily. It hurt, sending sharp pricks of pain up my arm - but I could move them. How?
All too aware of the pounding in my skull, I closed my eyes. What was the purpose in using an enchantment that could very well send me into a permanent string of madness when I could still get mauled, anyway?
"Is my sowing kit over there?" I mumbled, unsure of how I was going to do this. I wasn't one of those people that could drag a needle through bare flesh without wanting to hit someone.
"I have a better idea."
Bogdan's light, mocking tone was enough to send me to my feet in an instant.
"Don't you dare come any closer," I hissed, all but falling back in the water behind me. The old spirit ignored me, walking across the cave in calm, collected strides. Instinctively, I reached for where my sword should have been and cursed when I came up empty. "Bogdan, I swear-"
He stopped in front of me and held out his hand. I stiffened, knowing that I was cornered.
"Hand me your arm before you bleed out."
"No."
"That wasn't a request."
"I'm still affected by the spell," I lied. I didn't want those hands wrapped around my arm. Bogdan tilted his head.
"The arm, Songbird."
"What happened to leaving me for dead?" I shot, attempting to sidestep him. He followed my movements with an annoyed sigh.
"Give me the damn arm-"
I didn't say anything. Instead, I grabbed the dagger sheathed upsidedown on my side, unclipping it from its hold, before swinging it around to Bogdan's head.
Just before the hilt could make contact, I dug my thumb into a notch on the hilt, opening a small latch that had a powdery substance flying out of it and into Bogdan's face.
~ 2218 Words ~
What is this mysterious powder, I wonder? ;)