by Kyle Johnson
One of the cats leaped slightly too far forward, and Geltheriel responded instantly. Her blade came down in a deadly slash across the back of its neck, followed by a shadowy copy of the blade. The creature flashed into mist, but as the shadow blade passed through its body, the mist shivered. The creature’s body coalesced with twin thumps, its headless corpse gushing blood that looked silver in Aranos’ Night Vision.
Geltheriel smiled as she dodged the next creature’s attack and thrust with her sword. The charkla swirled into vapor, but it froze as a shadowy clone of the woman’s thrust appeared within it. Geltheriel held her sword in place as the cat’s body reformed, her blade still buried in its side, then tore the weapon free in a rush of blood. The cat took a single step, faltered, and dropped to the ground.
Aranos finally released his Spell and nodded to Geltheriel. “Go finish it.” The woman nodded back and vanished into shadow. He turned to see her beside the last charkla, her blade tearing open its throat. As the creature bled out on the ground, Aranos shook his head and sighed.
He hadn’t planned that encounter as well as he could have, with what he now knew about the creatures, but he’d laid his plans with the idea that the four cats would each attack individually, not as a cohesive unit. He could almost see what their intended strategy was: the ones in front would continue to attack and retreat as vapor, holding their attention, allowing the ones at the flank and rear to infiltrate the group as vapor, appear suddenly in their midst, and poison most of them. Once they were all poisoned, the creatures could toy with them, waiting until the venom did its work.
Had he not been able to see the creatures, that plan might even have worked, although he doubted it. Since they knew that they were facing four charklas and that the creatures could turn into vapor, they’d have been watchful for the second pair. Still, it was a cunning enough strategy, far too cunning for a mismatched group of lone hunters to have been able to use it.
Aranos shook off his thoughts; he’d think about that later, after they’d all gotten healed. He hadn’t taken a single hit, but with the LP he’d lost to the Deadly Vapors Spell, he was down below 50%, and he was pretty certain at least some of the others were poisoned.
He felt a warmth spread through him as his health bar began to rise in the corner of his vision. He glanced over at Rhys and nodded a quick thanks for the healing Spell; he was back over 50%, and even with his admittedly low LP regen rate, he’d be fully healed in about a minute and a half. That gave him time to take care of something else important: he needed to try mending a soul.
Chapter 2
Aranos closed his eyes and reached out for the first time with his Soulmending Skill. His probing tendril touched the soul of the charkla closest to him, guided by his Lifesense. He felt the creature’s pain and rage, but he also felt a wave of confusion; something about this had surprised the charkla, and he idly wondered if it might have to do with how the cats were attacking as a cohesive unit. He put that thought aside, though, and sent waves of comfort and calm down his tendril, easing the pain of the creature. Power flowed from him into the cat, and as he felt its pain and terror fade, a greater rush of energy returned to him. The new energy swirled into his body, settling somewhere within him that didn’t feel like it was a part of his spirals; he’d have to investigate that later.
The process took longer than he’d thought it would, and Aranos could only Soulmend one other charkla before his Lifesense told him the others’ souls had departed. Still, that gave him almost 40 Soul Points, which was enough to add a single point to his Mental Stats. It wasn’t much, but now that he couldn’t train his Wis and Int very well, every point counted.
“Okay, who’s poisoned?” he asked quietly, opening his eyes at last to see the others staring at him. He shook his head. “I’ll explain later. For right now, who needs an antidote?” As he spoke, he reached into his pack and withdrew several herbs, wincing as he saw everyone raise their hands while Silma barked. Aranos wasn’t really surprised that most of the party was poisoned. Saphielle, of course, had been grappling with the charkla, and Silma had bull-rushed one. Geltheriel must have gotten poisoned when she flung her opponent into the mist near Silma; none of those surprised him. Rhys tentatively clearing his throat, though, caught the Sorcerer off-guard.
“Wait, how did you get poisoned?” he asked the Druid in disbelief. “Did one of them get past Saphielle or Silma when I wasn’t looking?”
Saphielle snorted. “The foolish Druid panicked when his Spells were not dislodging the charkla from me and tried to attack it with his club. Of course, this merely resulted in his getting bitten by the creature and knocked to the ground.”
“It left Saphielle and attacked you?” Aranos asked, still incredulous. The Warrior had several Abilities that encouraged enemies to focus their aggression on her, and he couldn’t believe that the cat had shrugged those off.
“Oh, no,” the Druid grumbled. “She kicked me. That is the reason I fell. I am deciding if I will forgive her.”
“I kicked you because you were hitting me with your ridiculous weapon as often as you were striking the charkla, and the blow was well deserved. Next time, keep to your Spells and let others far more capable – such as Silma, who dislodged that creature in an instant – handle combat.”
Rhys cleared his throat and looked at Aranos, who eyed him archly. This had been an issue long before, but the Druid had seemingly come to terms with his role as a healer and secondary magical support. “She is not entirely incorrect,” Rhys admitted. “I was not attempting to fight it, though, Liberator. I was hoping that it would turn its focus to me for a moment, as I knew that a single instant of inattention on its part would allow the Lieutenant to deal with it. It was, as she said, somewhat foolish, and I have learned from it.”
Aranos nodded silently and knelt at the edge of the clearing, forging a mortar and pestle out of mana and using them to grind his leaves into a paste. He added a few seeds to the mixture, crushing them into the sweet-smelling concoction, then added the whole to his waterskin. He shook it up, making sure that it was well-mixed, and handed the skin to Rhys with a smile. Herbalism was his highest-ranked Skill at Master 4, and while Herbalism itself wasn’t a magical process – that was what separated it from Alchemy – his unnaturally high Skill level allowed him to create medicines that were almost magical.
“That should take care of any toxins in your system,” he told the Druid. “Take one swallow, then pass it around.” The Druid gratefully accepted the flask and took a large gulp from it, handing it to Saphielle afterward.
The Warrior looked at the skin with distaste and produced a rag. As she wiped the spout of the waterskin clean, she glared critically at the Druid. “Observe, Druid, how it is customary to share a waterskin with comrades.” She tilted her head back and poured the liquid into her open mouth, taking a large swallow without ever letting the spout touch her lips. “This will be important for you to know, as water will likely be scarce upon the High Roads, and we will no doubt be rationing and sharing it as we travel.”
“Forgive me,” the Druid replied wryly. “As I can call water with a Spell freely, I have never been in the position of needing to share it, nor do I think it will be as dire as you predict so long as I am present. However, if you would prefer to share a waterskin rather than allow me to fill each daily, that is certainly your choice.”
“That sounds like a useful Spell, Druid,” Geltheriel said calmly as she took the waterskin from Saphielle and poured some of the liquid into Silma’s waiting mouth before handing it back to Aranos. “I wonder, though, how such a thing works. I have seen from the Spells my Oathbinder casts that magically created water does not last long before vanishing. How do you bind the liquid permanently into existence?”
The Druid shook his head. “You would be correct, if the Spell merely created water, Shadedancer. It is fortunate, then, that the magic is designed to draw water from all around – the air, the land, even the plants nearby – and simply conc
entrates that water into whatever location I choose.”
Aranos snorted as he realized the point Geltheriel was making. “That’s clever, Rhys, but what if the land is hardened stone and there aren’t any plants nearby? You know, like how it’ll probably be on the High Road? Can your Spell pull enough liquid from the air alone for all of us to drink?”
“No…no, it could not, Liberator,” the tall man admitted. “You all raise valid points that I had not considered.”
Aranos shrugged. “This is going to be a new experience for us all, really, so we’re all going to have to be open to new things. The more things like this that we can think of beforehand, the easier this trip is going to be.”
He turned and faced the grim, towering form of the jubokko tree before them. These trees, he had learned, were once the patriarchs of the forest, before the Feast of Virnal had left most of the Lands of Light nothing more than a Corrupted wasteland. Force-fed blood and agony until the tree became dependent on life energy for its existence, the jubokko now spread the Blight through some mechanism that Aranos hadn’t quite deduced, yet. He knew that the Blight drew life and vitality away from the forest, funneling that energy through the earth into the jubokkos, but that wasn’t the entirety of the process, since that would have simply left ground that was dry, sterile, and barren of life.
Instead, the Blight didn’t just drain life energy away; it replaced it with something dark and foul: Corruption. Somehow, these trees were converting the vital energies of the forest into a Corrupted essence that insidiously soaked into the soil and steadily eroded the surrounding plant life. He wasn’t sure how that worked, exactly; at first, he’d thought that Corruption was a parasitic process, but he’d come to realize that it was actually a conversion of sorts. Corruption, as best as he could tell, was how the Darkness converted the Light into itself. When it happened to a person, the process was highly disruptive and weakened them considerably – at first. Once the conversion was complete, though, the Corrupted individual was empowered significantly, becoming something that was generally much more powerful than they had been before.
While Aranos didn’t know how the Corruption worked, he had managed to develop a Spell to undo it. It was an Ascended Spell, one that transcended the normal limits of magic, and like his other Ascended Spells, it wasn’t something he had truly, consciously created. It was a construct of emotion, desire, and will that he didn’t really understand, but somehow, it worked.
Taking a deep breath, he glanced at his companions. “I’m going to try to Redeem the grove,” he told them seriously. “Silma, stay alert for anything that tries to interfere. Everyone else, please keep that thing off me.” Silma sent him a silent message of understanding, and the others nodded their agreement. They knew from experience that the Corrupted tree was not going to respond well to what was about to happen to it, and that Aranos was going to be completely immersed in his Spell.
He walked into the grove, reaching out with his magical senses toward the towering tree. The massive bole felt dark and repulsive in his mind, as if it was filled with a kind of energy that was wholly inimical to him. As he neared it, though, he could sense the pain and rage radiating from the tree, and he knew that this jubokko, at least, was not sleeping. It was awake, aware…and it had been waiting for them.
Roots erupted from the earth as the jubokko’s branches burst into frenzied activity. Aranos felt a heavy impact as one of the roots tore through the soil right in front of him, slamming into his chest. Fortunately, his Composite Armor easily took the impact – currently, the Armor could absorb thousands of LP damage before failing – and he bounced off Saphielle rather than falling to the earth.
The Warrior didn’t even seem to take notice of him as her shield rose to block a massive branch that slammed down toward the party. She’d discarded her spear and had drawn a sword with a wide, heavy blade and an elongated handle. It looked like it should be used with two hands, but the powerful guardswoman swept it about easily, chopping through roots and hacking deep into branches.
Aranos started to gather his mana to defend the others but stopped, allowing the power to drain away. Compassionate Renewal couldn’t be used during combat; like his other Ascended Spells, it required him to be in a specific emotional state to cast it. In this case, he had to feel pity, sadness, and a genuine desire to Redeem the place he was casting the Spell. If he was feeling threatened, angry, or aggressive, the Spell would fail, and he didn’t really want to know what would happen if it did. Normal Spell backlash was pretty rough; he assumed the backlash from an Ascended Spell would be deadly.
He walked closer to the tree, ignoring the roots that reached for him and entwined around his Armor. They wrapped tightly about him, holding him fast, and he could feel the tendrils scraping against his conjured protection as they sought to drain him of his blood and life. Rather than fighting, he relaxed in their grip and closed his eyes, turning his thoughts inward.
He reached out once more, connecting to the jubokko, feeling its anguish and hatred. He could sense the tree’s lust for his life, for the blood of his companions. It needed their pain, their fear, simply to exist, and it hated everything…even its own existence. A pang of sorrow swept through the Sorcerer as he thought of the terrors inflicted on this ancient creature and the tortured existence it had to lead, and a surge of glowing power ignited within him.
The golden energy rushed from his center, the place where his mana spiraled and twisted, and surged into the roots that were even now crushing his magical armor. He could feel the cracks forming in his protection as more and more of the tendrils entwined around him, squeezing inexorably, but he ignored the impending danger and concentrated on the energy rushing out of him and into the hate-filled tree.
The jubokko shrieked silently in pain and terror as the power rolled out of him, sinking into the earth and pouring into the plant’s roots. The tendrils entwining him convulsed sharply, and he felt his armor crack and shift in the tree’s grip. Aranos gave that no thought; his entire being was focused on the victim of Corruption before him. Power continued to surge from him, racing up the tree’s roots and into the mighty trunk. Aranos could feel the unhealthy fungi and parasites burning as gleaming flames crawled up the tree, leaving behind healthy bark and living wood.
The roots entrapping him seized once more, and pain lanced through him as his Composite Armor shattered. The tendrils tightened about him instantly, and he could see his LP bar, already draining from the Spell, fall even more rapidly. He paid it no mind; the power of his Renewal had reached the jubokko’s crown, and as it crackled into the branches, he could feel sprigs of new leaves unfurling and bursting from the tips. The jubokko screamed silently one, last time, and Aranos heard a far-distant shriek of rage that teased the edge of his mind.
Despite the agony that coursed through Aranos’ body as the roots continued to crush him, cracking bones and squeezing his organs, Aranos smiled. He was certain that scream, wordlessly threatening the vilest sorts of retribution to the one that had stolen away its minion, was the Darkness itself, and underneath its threats and imprecations, he could sense its fear. He was reclaiming what had been lost, and eventually, others would begin to do the same. The Darkness knew that, and its rage and hatred were only masks for its own terror.
As the power finally slowed and stilled within him, Aranos felt the roots encasing him slip away and return to the now-fertile earth. He collapsed to the ground, his entire body in agony. Every breath was torment, and he coughed up sprays of blood with each one. His stomach and chest were on fire, and none of his limbs seemed to be pointing in the right direction.
He glanced at his LP bar and blinked incredulously, realizing that it hovered at a single point. His eyes narrowed at that; the Compassionate Renewal Spell drained him of 90% of his LP. The idea that the roots had done exactly enough damage to him to bring him to a single point of health after that 90% drain seemed far-fetched; that was a nearly impossible coincidence.
He turned to the others and instantly realized that, in fact, that single remaining point of health hadn’t been a coincidence at all. Saphielle was down on a single knee, her helmet off, blood staining her armor and chin. One arm was wrapped around her ribs, the other was pressed to the ground, and her face was twisted in pain. Aranos tried to reach for her, but the movement caused a spike of pain to rage through his shattered arm. He glanced at his status and saw a whole list of debuffs, from broken arms and legs to internal bleeding, and he suddenly realized why he was still alive: somehow, Saphielle was absorbing the damage, keeping him from dropping to zero LP.
“Heal him, Druid,” the woman muttered through gritted teeth as another trickle of blood rolled out from her lips. “My health is not inexhaustible.”
Rhys scrambled over to Aranos’ side, and the Sorcerer felt waves of gentle energy roll through his body. The agony in his limbs and chest dimmed to dull, throbbing aches. The stabbing pain in his middle eased, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, glorying in the relief from torment. His LP bar rose slowly, passing 10% and 20%, at which point the last of the tearing pains subsided to a muted ache.
“That’s good,” Aranos told the Druid, struggling to a sitting position. “Go take care of Saphielle, now, please.” Rhys nodded and moved over to place his hands on the battered woman. As her face relaxed and her breathing eased, Aranos felt a tension he hadn’t even known was there flow from him.
“What was that?” he asked Saphielle a bit aggressively. “I’ve never seen you use that Ability before!”
“I did not possess the Sacrificial Shield Ability before, so it is no wonder that you have not seen me using it, Redeemer,” the woman replied calmly. “It is a new Ability granted to me by my Advanced Class.”
