Chapter 49: Bright Arrows (Patreon)

The world had devolved into a riot of fire, screams, and the ringing of steel on steel. Elliot sprinted through the haze of smoke, doing his best to avoid the densest clusters of fighting as he tried desperately to keep his feet.

The husks were like bright arrows through the night, appearing from nowhere to deliver death before shooting away. Alys was the only one he'd seen hold her own against them, and he'd lost sight of her struggle minutes ago.

Crouching in the recessed entrance of a small building, Elliot panted for breath. The most straightforward path to the Northbranch had been blocked by heavy fighting—the Sunsguard and local soldiers against a crowd of figures in gray and orange, who Elliot assumed were Talessi regulars—so he'd detoured down an alley and criss-crossed his way closer street by street.

Twice now he'd seen husks drop from the sky, grab someone, then jump away. He wasn't sure if they were tossing them and using the fall as a weapon, or if something else was going on, but seeing the panicked faces of the victims as they arced away upset him as much as the killing blows.

Several times he'd almost turned back. The city had devolved into a war zone, and his delving experience in no way prepared him for the crushing fear that came from watching human beings die right in front of him, over and over again. Between the fierce pounding of his heart and the full-body shaking that wouldn't stop he felt constantly at risk of tripping and falling right at the worst possible moments.

But every time, he forced himself to keep going. Yehi might already be dead, or taken, and a part of him screamed to go back and hide for Rowan's sake, but Yehi had been nothing but kind to him. What if she'd been burned, or was stuck in the rubble of her home? That explosion was huge. He couldn't leave her alone in the darkness. Hrolf’s words from back in Bastogne, after the warehouse fight, echoed in his mind: ‘friends help friends. Words, do not need’.

The Northbranch drew ever closer, Elliot practically inching his way along, staying as close as possible to walls or other forms of cover. There were still some glowstones to provide light, although it was a pale and flickering thing with the smoke now blocking the moon and stars.

Yehi's home was intact, windows dark. Elliot sprinted the last thirty feet or so, then pressed himself to the door and craned his neck frantically to see if he'd been spotted. "Yehi," he hissed, knocking softly, "it's me, are you in there?"

There was a shuffling from inside, followed by a muffled crash, and then he heard, "Elliot?"

"Yes," he replied, eyes still darting through the dark sky. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" The door opened, and Yehi reached out and yanked him inside before shutting it swiftly. "Are you mad? Why did you come? You must have escaped death by a hair!"

It was tough to make out her expression, the only light coming from a faint chip of white glowstone sitting above the doorframe, but he could imagine it well enough.

"I saw the explosion," he said, still breathing heavily, "it was so near your house.”

Yehi threw up her hands. "The city is under assault. No houses are safe, Elliot. You must develop a stronger sense of self-preservation. All there is for those like us to do in times like these is hide, and hope. And you are doubly foolish, because you already knew of this assault and were not taken by surprise! What could you have done to help me, if one of the enemy were here?"

“I’m—” he coughed. “I’m, ah, scrappy.”

“Scrappy,” she repeated flatly. “I am glad you are alive. We must be silent. I have a space in the corner.”

Elliot followed her to the far side of the room, and watched her squeeze below the table that she’d tilted against the wall. He supposed it had been foolish to come, in retrospect. At least now whatever happened would happen to them both, and he wouldn’t have to wonder.

The next stretch—who knew how long—was one of the most harrowing of his entire life. Every distant crash and scream made his heart race, and the occasional slap of passing boots on bark outside sent violent shivers through his whole body. It was rare for someone to come close, and rarer still for ringing metal or choked-off screams to be nearer than the central district, but both were still frequent enough to keep him twitchy and faintly nauseous.

At a certain point, despite the adrenaline, he could feel his eyelids drooping. Yehi was still hunched in the corner, watching the entrance steadily. No one had made any sounds nearby for at least a few minutes, and even the intermittent explosions had stopped making him wince. As his head started to tip toward his chest, he let the fatigue take over.

Then he was back on the rocky plain, black clouds swirling in the distance. The figurine was on its plinth, eyes cold and silent. Why wasn’t there any wind? He frowned. It was a dream, so it could be whatever it wanted to be, but something about the wide space felt like it should have wind. 

Any other night, it would have been nerve-racking to be back here, with the knowledge that it could have a meaningful impact on his waking life. He’d been so worried about the mark, and what it meant for it to change. Not tonight, though. Tonight it didn’t really seem to matter.

All three heads of the statue faced the same direction, six eyes intent on something in the distance. Elliot tried to twist himself around to look the same way, but all he got for his trouble was a view of the dark clouds roiling at the edge of existence.

“Why am I here?” he asked softly, not expecting a reply. It had been poor luck that brought him to the warren where he’d received the sigil, but something in his head was responsible for actually making the connection. Not something, the thing. The thing that was blue, or maybe green. 

It was simple to rationalize anything that happened on this world. Merchant skills he could convert to combat abilities? Sure, magic was magic, and if he didn’t understand the rules at all, nothing could feel like cheating. But the thing at the back of his head was strange. Even with the little context he had, that much was obvious.

“Are you still asleep?” he said, voice ringing out louder than before. The statue was still, and unchanging. “If you marked me, shouldn’t you care about what happens to me? It would be nice if a supremely powerful being—on my side—could show up in Tular right now. I don’t know if you could be much worse than what’s already happening.”

Silence stretched in the wake of his question. The crystal bull remained crystal, and Elliot began to feel a bit silly, which was a nice change of pace from terrified. Silly was actually better than most emotions he’d been feeling recently.

He looked up. It could have been any cloudless night back in the Gerrwood, with stars bright enough to light the sky almost as if it were day. What a strange thing, to not know if he would wake up from this dream. Maybe Yehi would shake him and tell him reinforcements had arrived and it was safe to go outside, or maybe whatever was causing the explosions would hit her house and everything would snap to black. There was a catch in his throat. Hopefully wherever Rowan had ended up was more peaceful than this. He had to believe that part of the bargain, at least, would hold.

Something cracked behind him, like a hammer striking glass.

Spinning, he saw a hairline fracture running down the figurine’s side, from the site of its last rib to its thigh. It was new, he was utterly sure of that, but as he kept his eyes fixed on the imperfection it stayed completely stable, with no movement at all. Elliot held his breath.

Instinct, born of curiosity and hours and hours of repetition, took over before he had a chance to think. He activated [Eye of Niamh], and the vortex was pulled into motion without prompting. Even as the skill began to siphon its cost from his core the realization of what he’d done was hitting him, and he remembered the last time he’d inspected the statue. “No, wait—”

Images flooded his mind. A black spear the size of a redwood tree, plunging into his side. Degradation, rot, decay. A sphere of white light, wreathed in a network of golden filigree, shining like a newborn star. A woman, features indistinct, draped in robes like seafoam, reaching out to touch his face. 

His eyes snapped open, although he had no memory of shutting them. The figurine was larger than before, a faint light shining in its core. As he watched, the almost-invisible crack stretched an inch farther. On his palm, the purple mark began to burn.

“Elliot, wake up.”

His eyes opened again, this time to the indistinct sight of Yehi’s haggard face in the deep shadows.

“Someone approaches,” she whispered. “Make ready to run.”

A cold shiver passed through him, and he fumbled around for his staff. “From which way? Trunkwards?” he whispered back.

She raised a finger to her lips, and pointed towards the central district. The smell of smoke was harsh, and he could still hear faint screams in the distance.

Holding his breath, he tilted his head and tried to make out the sound of boots, or anything else that might indicate an attack. There was fighting somewhere, although it sounded at least a few hundred feet away. The mark on his hand still burned, and it felt tight, like a mold being overfilled with liquid steel.

Yehi reached out to grab his arm, her fingers clamping down like a vice.

The door shattered.

A husk walked in with a slight hunch to its spine, eyes vacant, flowing smoothly across the floor. Its silver core was bright, pulsing softly, almost like a true heart. Elliot and Yehi both froze. The thing paused, still looking off into the distance as if it couldn’t see them, then its hand shot forward to grip the front of Yehi’s shirt.

Elliot activated [Combative Bartering] without thinking. Even as he felt the energy circulating, his thoughts were catching up. Did this have a chance of working? Breka had said that husks were all physical attributes; no skills, no mind. Would that give this a better shot, or worse?

The skill locked on to something, then shattered into nothing. Elliot’s body spasmed from the blowback, and he realized that Breka had been sparing him some pain during their practice. Testing the husk’s defenses felt like slamming into a cliff face at full speed.

“What an interesting skill.”

He whipped his head up and saw the speaker in the doorway, backlit by flames rising high above the Northbranch. It was a man, clad in combat leathers dyed in the orange-gray pattern of the enemy, face covered by a hood. “It won’t work on a Mindless. Their cores are too powerful, certainly for—what are you, a [Merchant]? And a weak one. An interesting skill indeed. Secure the Yatiri, then kill the boy.”

An instant passed before Elliot understood that the last had been addressed to the husk, rather than him. By that time the thing had already slung Yehi under its arm, ignoring her thrashing completely.

It was the pain in his hand that made the decision for him, more than any conscious thought. The mark had burned hotter and felt tighter with every passing second, and as Elliot activated [Combative Bartering] in a desperate attempt to stave off his approaching end, a piece of his mind tried to shunt the energy from his palm into the skill, just to be free of it.

An inferno blazed to life within his core. The hurricane of energy was only present for an instant, passing immediately into the activation of the skill, but that instant was enough to scour all thoughts from his mind and leave his senses screaming.

The skill targeted the husk, and this time it was like there were no defenses at all. Elliot tried to pull himself together, tried to think. The figure in gray and orange had tilted his head, as if surprised. Barter. You need to barter. Don’t over-ask, make it as strong as you can.

“Kill that man,” he choked out. “Spare her. In exchange, you may take me instead.”

Like a deadbolt slamming into place, the bargain sealed. Elliot saw a flash of silver, and the Talessi man folded to the ground, headless.

Yehi screamed. Elliot opened his mouth to yell at her to run, but a glowing arm wrapped around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

Then they were out the door, shooting through the sky, and gone.