[Tree] Chapter 646: Telling the Truth (Patreon)

"Ferrin, you're limping with the wrong leg," Elder Maren said as they left the lighthouse. Grunting in response, Ferrin shifted his limp to his right leg and hobbled down the cobbled path on the basalt hill.

Nothing of the Ferrin she'd seen within the lighthouse remained. He had gone back to his salt-stiffened robes, the ones with the burn along the hem from the last Red Tide. His beard was still damp from washing, and he had not bothered to braid it. Hunched over the driftwood cane he had not needed since dawn, he looked exactly like what the entire Saltstone Sect believed him to be—an old beggar of a Patriarch who had gone to the Wavescale Sect and come back with nothing.

"Yer staring at me," Ferrin muttered without looking at her.

"It's hard to believe you're acting," Elder Maren said quietly. "Though you're overdoing the wheeze."

"I am not."

"You sound like a bellows with a hole in it."

Ferrin coughed and adjusted his breathing as they walked on through the fog. The array that hid the island from the sea swallowed everything around them, and it swallowed sound, too, so the two of them descended in silence, broken only by the tap of the cane on wet stone.

Somewhere lurking in this fog is the Archdemon, Elder Maren thought, but kept her eyes forward. After Diana had appeared on the windowsill and claimed to have heard everything, Elder Maren assumed the Archdemon was forever watching over them.

Oddly, that realization wasn't as unsettling as it should have been. Perhaps it was because for the first time, Elder Maren felt protected. She was the attendant to the Archdemon's champion and had even been allowed to pick out treasures.

For the first time, she was wanted.

***

The Elders' hall sat on its outcrop above the rest of the sect. Warm flickering light spilled from its windows, as someone inside had already lit the fire pit.

"Looks like I won't have to call for the meeting," Ferrin mumbled a few steps ahead. "They are already waiting for us."

Elder Maren frowned, though it was unsurprising. A Wavescale Sect airship had loomed over the island unannounced, only for a flock of Wavescale disciples to have fled to it, screaming of murder and war minutes later. The Saltstone Sect island was one of the smallest in the isles, so rumors traveled fast despite the fog.

The two youngsters from earlier guarding the Patriarch's residence stiffened when they saw who was limping toward them. One of them opened his mouth, looked at Ferrin's face, and closed it again. Elder Maren allowed herself a tiny smile of satisfaction as she passed them in the Patriarch's shadow.

Inside, four of the five other Elders of the Saltstone Sect were already waiting.

The hall had been built in a richer century, when the sect had seated twelve Elders around a great slab of black stone. Now six dark wood chairs and the Patriarch's throne sat around the stone table, with the other six having been broken up for firewood decades ago.

First Elder Brannoch sat nearest the door, his hands clasped around a giant harpoon leaning against his shoulder. He was older than Ferrin, with half his face knotted with scars. He idly tended the fire pit with a poker and nodded once at the Patriarch and Elder Maren as they entered.

Of the Elders, he was the only one who never showed open hostility toward Elder Maren, though that didn't reveal his true thoughts, as he showed little emotion to anyone. He was a hard-headed warrior from before Ferrin's time, and compared to Elder Maren, he was an ancient fossil.

Third Elder Vessa Kelbrand, Fourth Elder Dagrun, and Fifth Elder Corwen sat together on the far side, as they always did, with a gap where the Second Elder should have been.

"Patriarch," Vessa said smoothly. "We are relieved you have returned to us, though we heard a rumor that you were dying."

"I certainly feel like it," Ferrin grunted, lowering himself into his chair with a grimace that Elder Maren knew was theatrical. "It's been a strange few days."

"Strange is certainly one way to describe your recent actions," Corwen said coldly. He was the youngest of them, barely two centuries old, and considered a prodigy. "I've received word that half of Wavescale's serpent-riders will be at our shores by nightfall. You killed one of their Elders in cold blood, Ferrin. A possibly excusable act, as they showed up unannounced, but their disciples say you used his death to declare war, Patriarch, and I would very much like to hear that this is an exaggeration."

Ferrin looked at him for a long moment. "It isn't."

The fire pit crackled as the room fell silent.

Elder Maren slipped into her seat opposite the First Elder and folded her hands in her lap. Nobody acknowledged her—their attention was all on Ferrin. Though she caught Dagrun's eyes flicking over her once, lingering on the blood she hadn't quite scrubbed from her collar, before dismissing her.

"Where is Ossian?" Ferrin asked, staring at the Second Elder's empty chair. Vessa, Dagrun, and Corwen kept quiet, leaving First Elder Brannoch to answer.

"My disciples found Ossian's residence cleared out. Apparently, his airship left the eastern shore in the dark, long before the Wavescale Elder even arrived at the lighthouse." The old man's scarred jaw clenched in restrained rage. "He took his three closest disciples and the oil stores from the east tower. Nothing else."

Before the Wavescale Elder arrived. Elder Maren frowned. That means he knew.

Ferrin had gone very still in his chair. "Ossian was the one who told me to go to Torvun for help," he said. His knuckles whitened on the cane's head. "That bastard knew what they'd make me drink. He knew, and yet he sent me to fucking die."

"That is a grave accusation against an absent Elder," Vessa said calmly in the face of Ferrin's anger.

"He's absent because he ran, Vessa," Ferrin said, his cold gaze settling on the Third Elder.

"He only ran because he can count," Corwen cut in. "As can I. The Wavescale can field twice our number, and every one of them rides a serpent that can match our youth. We have six hundred war-ready cultivators left: a third are Soul Fire youths, and the rest are greybeards who won't listen to us. The Red Tide is rising in days, and you have just handed Torvun Wavescale a reason to come wipe us out before it does. What exactly was your plan, Patriarch? Enlighten us."

Ferrin let out a rattling breath, exactly like an old man whose body had failed him. Elder Maren watched him let his shoulders drop and kept her face straight. He was putting on this show to weed out the weak and treacherous, and she had to do her part for these crafty Elders to buy it.

"My plan," Ferrin said, "was to come here and tell yer the truth, so yer can each decide what to do with it."

And then he told them plainly, leaving little out. He told of how he was made to kneel, was humiliated by the Wavescale Sect they had been partners with for years, and made to drink Uldrenneth blood. He spoke of his sacrifice, how he had done it for the continuation of the Saltstone Sect and for them.

What he didn't tell them was that an Archdemon lurked, or that he had not only been cured but restored.

"I hoped my death would save you all," he said, hanging his head in shame. "Instead, I've started a war we cannot win."

Vessa, Dagrun, and Corwen met him with cold, judgmental looks that pained Elder Maren's heart.

"So once you die, we all belong to the Wavescale Sect by the law of the isles," Dagrun said slowly. He was a careful man who always seemed on guard. Out of all the remaining Elders, Elder Maren suspected he would be the first to leave.

Vessa leaned forward and interlocked her fingers, her gaze calculating. "Then let us be honest with each other, Patriarch, as you have been honest with us. You have declared a war we cannot win, with the Red Tide coming that we cannot survive, all while dying of a poison no one has ever survived."

"That is correct," Ferrin said, his gaze sweeping over those present. "Yet, I still selfishly ask if anyone will stand by my side in this trying time. I promise you won't regret it."

Elder Maren could see the faint pain in Ferrin's eyes. Despite their coldness toward his story of sacrifice, he was still trying to save them.

But Elder Maren knew it was hopeless, and so did Ferrin.

Vessa snorted. "What value does your promise hold? I will not watch as my disciples die because of your weakness." She looked down her nose at the disheveled Ferrin. "I will take them, and my share of the sect's food and oil stores, to the Coralspear Sect. Myself and an Elder there have been in discussions, and I believe now is a good time to make the move."

"Wavescale Sect for me," Dagrun said, not quite meeting Ferrin's eyes. "Despite what Torvun did to you, his Elders and I have always been on good terms as I handled the trade between our sects—or at least used to. I'm sure he will welcome a Nascent Soul Realm Elder with the Red Tide on the horizon."

"And you, Corwen?" Ferrin asked with chilling calmness, no doubt knowing the answer. Corwen was a prodigy whose talents had bloomed because of Ferrin's personal tutoring and resources. A century ago, he had called Ferrin master and followed him around with earnest devotion.

Without Ferrin, he would be nothing.

And yet, the Fifth Elder smiled as if he were enjoying Ferrin's downfall.

"I go where I may further my talents, not the afterlife. I'm sorry, Ferrin, but I will not stand beside you and drown." He shook his head in fake sadness. "Though I feel bad for Elder Maren. Vessa, perhaps you should take her with you? I'm sure you could offer her up as a servant to the Coralspear Patriarch to earn his favor."

Elder Maren shot Corwen a death stare across the room.

"I will gladly remain here, at Ferrin's side. As you should have."

"You fool. Loyalty can't be rewarded by someone who can't even save himself," Corwen spat. "You should rejoice I even thought of you."

Elder Maren managed to remain silent and took solace in knowing the fate awaiting Corwen.

"That's three of yer," Ferrin said heavily and turned his head. "Brannoch?"

First Elder Brannoch stayed silent, his scarred hands still clutched around the shaft of his harpoon as if it were his lover. His expression was as unreadable as stone despite the Saltstone Sect falling apart around him.   

"Four hundred years ago, the fog array failed. I held the overrun southern tower alone after all my disciples died around me. After taking a poisoned spike to the arm, I sat in the dried blood of my disciples, expecting to die there." His eyes shifted to Ferrin. "Yet, as I closed my eyes, ready to pass on after a lifetime of battle, yer heavy footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Yer were the only one who came to my aid, despite being covered in blood and with a tooth sticking out yer leg."

"I remember," Ferrin said, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Then there's yer answer." Brannoch spat into the fire pit, and the coals hissed. "I'm old, and I'm tired. I'd rather die on this rock than live on another accursed rock in these Isles. Fight yer war, Ferrin. I'll stand where yer put me."

Relief passed over Ferrin's features, and only Elder Maren knew why. "Thank you, old friend. I didn't want to say goodbye to you so soon."

"Touching," Corwen said, rising. "Is there anything further, Patriarch, or may the sane among us go and see to our—"

"Sit down."

It was not Ferrin's chilling voice that cut through the room.

The voice came from the Second Elder's empty chair, and Elder Maren's stomach dropped through the floor, knowing who it belonged to.

The fog thickened around the empty chair.

It poured upward in a slow, deliberate coil, captivating everyone in the room as the fog condensed into a shape. A leg crossed lazily over a knee and a clawed hand draped over the armrest. Two finger-length horns rose from her brow, and a pair of feathered wings unfolded until their tips brushed the granite pillars on either side of the room, throwing everyone but her into shadow.

Her cold gray eyes opened last.

"I said," the Archdemon repeated pleasantly, "sit down."

Corwen sat without a word, and Elder Maren didn't blame him. She was also frozen in her chair as the Archdemon's words carried an authority Maren hadn't felt from her before.

This wasn't the Diana she knew. The Archdemon sitting in the Second Elder's seat was the monster the legends spoke of.

The three Elders, forced to sit under the Archdemon's spread wings, shot Ferrin desperate gazes, but Ferrin didn't rise from his chair. Elder Brannoch was the only one who dared to partially stand, his harpoon pointed toward the smiling Archdemon, but he seemed unable to commit.

"Elders of the Saltstone Sect," Diana said, and Elder Maren realized with a distant sort of horror that the Archdemon was enjoying this. "I want to thank you all for laying your treacherous intentions out so bare. It's made my and Ferrin's decision far easier."

"W-what—" Dagrun's voice cracked. "What is—Patriarch, what does this mean? Are you working with this demon?!"

Ferrin straightened.

The hunch left his spine. The cane he had relied on for so many years fell and clattered loudly across the granite floor. He rose slowly from his chair like a mountain rising from the sea. The fire pit light danced across his massive form as he pulled his shoulders back, and his spiritual pressure rolled out across the room like the tide coming in, crushing the three Elders who had tried to leave back into their seats.

"She is my savior," Ferrin said heavily, "and I am now her champion."

He raised his hand, and Monarch Realm pressure, mid-stage at the very least and heavier than anything Elder Maren had ever felt from him in his prime, pressed down upon the room.

His gifted spatial ring flashed with silver light, and all the items he had accepted from the Archdemon's hoard decorated him. The battleaxe commanded awe, the armor draped his shoulders, and artifacts adorned his fingers in gold.

"The Archdemon sitting between you cured me of Uldrenneth blood, and in this new life provided to me, I've seen the darkness and selfishness of the human heart."

"Ferrin," Vessa desperately whispered, "we didn't—we couldn't have known."

"No. Yer couldn't." He turned his head away from her. "That was the point. Yer betrayal was unfortunate, but expected given the circumstances."

"Then—" Corwen began, only to be silenced by Ferrin's glare.

"I think you've forgotten everything I've sacrificed for you," he snarled, stepping forward with his battleaxe ready. "To turn tail and leave me to die? Logical or not, you have no heart."

"Now, now," Diana said, uncrossing her legs and standing. She had to duck her head slightly to keep her horns clear of the low beam above the chair. "Don't get too worked up, my champion. This was always going to happen, one day or another. Isn't that right, everyone?" She began to walk around the stone table, wings folding neatly behind her. "It is simply that the Saltstone Sect belongs to me now, and I'm not as forgiving as Ferrin has been over the years."

She stopped behind Corwen's chair.

"You in particular," she said, laying a clawed hand almost gently on the Fifth Elder's shoulder, "I knew you would betray Ferrin from the start, as I can taste your heart demon from here, and it smells delectable."

"Please," Corwen begged. "Allow me to be your servant—no, I'll even be your slave! Just spare me."

The Archdemon didn't respond to his pleas. She simply leaned down, tilted Corwen's head back with one finger under his chin, and the demonic mist that made up her body flowed. It went in through his open, screaming mouth and was drowning him. He thrashed against his chair, but the Archdemon seemed surprisingly strong for a being made of nothing but mist as she kept him restrained.

Elder Maren felt her stomach churn at the sight of Corwen dying.

His eyes were wide in fear, his thrashing drawing blood as he tried desperately to survive. Nobody moved to save him as the Archdemon's misty arm reached down his throat and pulled something free.

The life left Corwen's eyes, and his body slumped over.

Diana inspected the wiggling ball of tainted darkness in her palm and smiled in amusement as it desperately tried to claw its way back toward the slumped body.

Tilting her head back, she opened her mouth wide and dropped the darkness into her throat. Gulping it down, she licked her lips and glanced at the other two Elders, still seated and white with fear.

Before either could plead, Diana surged forward as a living mass of fog and decapitated them with her claws. The same balls of tainted darkness were ripped from their bloody necks and consumed with vigor.

"Ahh, that's the good stuff. Corwen's death really marinated their fear," Diana said, returning to the Second Elder's seat and crossing her legs while picking between her fangs. "Though Corwen's tainted soul was still the juiciest of the three. A real twisted person." Her attention landed on Brannoch. "You can put that down, old man. I'm not going to eat you like these three cowards."

Brannoch was still frozen, his harpoon pointed at the Archdemon. It then lowered a little as he surveyed the blood-splattered room and the three dead Elders slumped in their chairs.

"Having second thoughts about staying?" Diana said, narrowing her eyes. "Out of respect for your history with Ferrin, I'll allow you to leave."

Elder Maren knew that was a lie. Diana valued loyalty above all else, and if Brannoch turned tail now, he wouldn't make it out the door with his soul intact.

Brannoch shook his head and dropped to one knee with a grunt.

"I'm nothing but an old warrior who will stand where Ferrin needs me," Brannoch said hoarsely. "Though I never said I'd like where that was."

Diana laughed in an oddly human way.

"I like you," she said, and rose from her seat. "Keep him around, Ferrin, and on a tight leash. I will see you three again soon."

With that, she dispersed into a cloud of mist out the window and disappeared into the fog.

For a long moment, nobody in the hall spoke.

Ferrin bent, picked up his cane, and looked at it. Then he snapped it over his knee and dropped the pieces into the fire pit.

"Right," he said, and sat back down heavily in the Patriarch's chair. "Brannoch, get up off the floor. Maren, fetch yer slate. We've got six hundred people to arm and not long to do it."

Elder Maren stared at the three dead bodies across the room before standing to fetch her slate, leaving Ferrin to fill Brannoch in on what was going on.