“Understood, sir. Just feels … something’s wrong about these woods. Feels like … like the air hates me. Wants me to die.” She shook her head. “I know. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s how I feel. I just don’t like this.”
Ramesh laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Me neither. But we’ve got a job to do. Misgivings will keep.” He hesitated, then added, “That said, one hand on your weapon. And an eye to the woods.”
They rode on in silence, and Lesha’s expression of unease deepened, became grim. The air grew heavier, the trees thicker, and even the sounds of the wind through the trees became muted, as if the outside world wanted no part of these woods.
Twenty-three years Ramesh had been a Warden. His Calling was nearly upon him—and if he’d been alone, if only he had felt the palpable sense of dread that filled the woods, he might have thought it was that. It reached every Warden differently. But Lesha had only been a Warden for two. If she could feel it—if she sensed what Ramesh did—it was something real.
They’d gone another several miles down the muddy trail when, without warning, Lesha’s horse reared violently, throwing her from her saddle and galloping madly back the direction they’d come from. Ramesh cursed and leapt from his horse. Lesha got to her feet shakily and met his inquisitive expression with a nod. She was fine, then. He leapt back to his own horse, and wheeled it around to chase after Lesha’s.
Minutes passed. He rode hard, following the crushed underbrush that marked the horse’s path, and from the crashing and snapping ahead of him, seemed to be gaining on it.
His own horse reared suddenly, danced backward a few steps, and Ramesh gripped the reins tightly, avoiding his own tumble into the underbrush through sheer bloody-mindedness. Patting the horse, he whispered to it, calming it, when he realized that the noise of movement ahead had completely stopped. Tugging gently on the reins, he turned his own animal back toward the path ahead and started forward.
The noise came suddenly and filled the forest. It was a tremendously large sound, and somehow palpably fleshy at the same time. There was a soft and liquid quality to the roar that sent gooseflesh crawling up Ramesh’s entire body. It was a roar that marked cleanly the delineation between predator and prey—and it was accompanied by a terrified whinny that was cut off by a sickening crunch. There was another loud crash, a rustling noise, and then silence.
A full minute passed before Ramesh was able to get his breathing under control, and another minute before his horse would even move. But slowly, inevitably, they pushed forward toward the source of whatever that horrendous exultation had been.
Trees had been snapped—not sideways across the trunk, as if by an ax, but vertically, struck from below by some tremendous force. In the middle of the clearing, a massive mound of dirt had been displaced. Recently, too, judging by the dampness of the soil, while smaller disturbances were visible around the edges of the clearing.
Of Lesha’s horse, there was no sign—and no evidence that it had left the clearing at all. The pattern of destruction had a clear edge, and beyond that edge, the woods seemed undisturbed, the only evidence of any creature’s passage being the trampled underbrush on the makeshift path that Ramesh and his own animal had followed into the clearing.
There was something else, too. The by now too familiar scent of decaying foliage, sickly sweet and pungent, certainly, but something else, too. Something sharper, saltier. It smelled like the sea on a stagnant day, the smell of brine and seaweed. Neither smell was unfamiliar to Ramesh, yet here, leagues away from the nearest ocean, there was a menace to it that troubled him.
And what exactly had happened to Lesha’s animal? The tableau in front of Ramesh suggested it had been dragged underground. The Deep Roads were nearer to the surface here than they were in most parts of Thedas, but the speed with which the animal had been taken suggested something other than darkspawn.
Tapping his own horse’s flank with his boot, he spurred it forward, through the gap in the clearing that he had entered, and back to where he’d left Lesha.
* * *
He found her off the side of the trail in a small clearing—and she wasn’t alone. A third figure lay in front of her, a crumpled form in the blue and silver. A Warden. One of Jovis’s, more than likely. Dismounting his horse, he sprinted forward. Lesha half turned to speak.
“She came stumbling out of the woods. She’s raving mad.” She looked back at the wounded Warden. “I’m doing what I can, but I am not a healer. Something’s wrong with her on the inside. More than just cuts or bleeding. Won’t tell me what’s wrong, though. Won’t even look at me.”
“What do you mean by raving? What exactly is she saying?” Ramesh asked.
“Nothing that makes even a bit of sense. Hear for yourself, though,” Lesha said. Ramesh moved over to where the wounded Warden was lying, her head propped up by one of Lesha’s saddlebags. Her skin was a ghostly white, and her breathing labored. A hole had been torn through her armor at the stomach, and a wound gaped.
“We didn’t know. Didn’t know … and now we do.” She giggled, a high-pitched noise that sent a shiver down Ramesh’s spine. “Got to know, though. Oh, yes—we know better. They taught us, gave us a lesson.” A coughing fit interrupted her, and she spat several times as if to clear a foul taste out of her mouth. Ramesh gave Lesha an inquisitive look, and she shook her head.
“Whatever toxin’s in her system is one that must work its way out naturally. No response to my magic. I can make her comfortable. Nothing more,” she said.
Ramesh crouched beside the injured Warden and leaned forward.
“Warden-Recruit Friedl, is it?” She nodded once, slowly, still refusing to meet his gaze. “Senior Warden Ramesh—my name, I mean. We’re here looking for Jovis. You part of his group?” She nodded again, this time faster. “Good. Tell us what happened, then.”
“We went too far. Too deep. Something’s down there, something bad. We thought it was darkspawn but it’s worse. Because it’s different, you see? Not the same at all. Not twisted but made—created. Three died. They were lucky. I wasn’t. Escaped. But not really.” She met Ramesh’s gaze then, and Ramesh recoiled in horror.
Her eyes were gone. Clawed out. Beside him, he was dimly aware of the sound of Lesha retching into the bushes. Friedl began to weep, tears streaming forth from the empty sockets.
“Don’t make me go back. Not there, not where they are. I will not. I cannot. We must leave. This place to her, to them!” She began to hit the ground; sobs turned to screams that grew louder and louder. “They build it for her! They wait for her! I am free—I paid the price!” She started to scream once more, then came shrieks of pure terror intermixed with a laughter that contained not even a trace of humor. The screams grew until the volume was painful.
With a suddenness that caught Ramesh off guard, she leapt forward, knocking him to the ground and running past him into the woods. She’d nearly made it out of the clearing into the trees when blue light streamed from Lesha’s hands, surrounding the Warden, enveloping her. She made it another dozen steps before staggering to her knees, and then collapsing to the ground, blessedly silent.
“Sleep magic. I should have done that sooner.” Lesha paused, and then added quietly, “It is a small mercy, but the one that I can give.”
“What do you think it is?” Ramesh asked, massaging his wrists. They were purpling and bruised. Tomorrow they would hurt more.
“Fear. Whatever she has seen, it has broken her. Poisoned her mind.” Lesha looked at Ramesh. “We cannot take her with us. If we do, it will break her beyond all repair. Right now…” She gave a helpless shrug. “She will live. And with time, her mind may heal. But if we take her back to where Jovis was—is,” she corrected herself hastily, “we may as well strike her down ourselves.”
“Leaving her is not an option. We must press forward—but if we leave her like this, food or no food, she’ll die.” Lesha began to interrupt, and Ramesh held up a hand. “A day, maybe two. By then, may
be we can leave her with supplies while we venture on.” He looked her in the eyes. “Any questions?”
There were none. They worked quickly, building a makeshift litter out of several fallen branches and the canvas from a spare bedroll that Ramesh’s horse still carried. Placing Friedl on the litter, they tied her to it with several ropes. It was not a step he relished taking, but the way her eyes had been torn out suggested to him that she’d done the deed herself. Who was to say what else she would do if her hands remained free?
They pitched their tents, working quietly and competently. Ramesh set his own small one across the clearing from Lesha—an extra tent, normally meant for keeping supplies dry. He’d given his other tent to her, to replace the one that had been lost with her horse. Warden Friedl’s litter they set under the canopy of a large tree, tying the remaining horse to a tree on the opposite side of the clearing. They built a small campfire and lit it with flint and steel—unspoken agreement had Lesha saving her energy in case it was needed.
They ate, and then Ramesh had first shift on guard. Midway through his shift, a sharp inhalation of air and slight rustle of cloth told him that Friedl had awoken. He looked across the clearing at her, waiting for her to move, but she remained silent and nearly still, showing no sign of her previous aggression.
Then she began to whisper something to herself, over and over, a nearly silent litany. Ramesh came closer, trying to hear what it was she said. But his presence quieted her, and he returned to his seat. A few minutes passed, and the litany started up again, nearly silent, unsettling.
The next several hours passed unremarkably, and soon it was time for the change of the guard. Stretching, her hair tied up behind her with a leather strap, Lesha came out from her tent and exchanged nods with Ramesh. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the injured Warden.
“She’s awake. Not doing much, though.” Ramesh stood up and fatigue flooded his limbs. It had been a full day since he’d slept, riding hard toward where Jovis had disappeared. “Wake me up if anything interesting happens?” Lesha nodded, and Ramesh vanished into his own tent, closing the flap.
He did not fall asleep—not immediately. Instead, from his boot he pulled a piece of parchment, tied with a long, waxed string. A message from Jovis—fifteen years past. Telling him to wait. That they would find each other again—that duty, that sacrifice, could mean a whole lot of things.
Ramesh had been too proud, too foolish, to acknowledge what that time had meant to him. Twenty-three years was a long time, long enough to gather many regrets, but few had the same bitter taste to Ramesh as that one.
He stared at the paper, reading the note again, and again, and again. A mantra, across the decade. He hadn’t said what he should’ve said then, but this was another chance. If it wasn’t already too late. Folding the paper up, he placed it back in his boot carefully, and pulled his blankets around him. Sleep took longer to come than he wanted, but finally it did.
* * *
In his dream, Jovis, as he’d been nearly fifteen years ago, was walking away, down the path, through the thick Nevarran woods. But no matter how fast Ramesh ran, no matter how quickly he covered the distance between them, Jovis was always just out of reach. Finally, he caught up with him and, grabbing his shoulder, turned him around. His eyes were gone, clawed out, and a sickening grin split his face. He reached toward Ramesh, toward his eyes, and pain erupted. Ramesh screamed.
The sound came again, but this time from right outside his tent. He leapt upright, his blade in his hand before he had properly and fully awoken. The scream came again, quieter, and somehow wetter, and then tapered off. The sound of horses whinnying in panic, in terror, replaced it, and then a snapping sound and quickly receding hoofbeats.
Nothing moved. The remains of the previous evening’s campfire, a few embers still glowing faintly, sat in the middle of the clearing. Lesha’s tent was still there, intact. And the litter that had carried Warden-Recruit Friedl …
The restraints were torn—no, not torn. Chewed through. A thin, grayish fluid traced a path through the underbrush, toward the edge of the clearing. He followed it, into the bushes, away from the camp. And there, a dozen steps into the trees, lay the crumpled remains of Warden Friedl.
She’d chewed through more than her restraints. Her wrists were torn open, tendons and arteries gone. Like a wild animal had savaged her—but the blood around her mouth told the truth of the story. Whatever had happened to her, whatever she’d seen with Jovis, it had done its work. Lesha’d been half right: Friedl had been broken.
Something else. Her mouth—mixed with the blood, a trickle of something else. That same thin, grayish fluid that traced her path from the litter. The reek of brine, of the ocean, was stronger. More present. He cast around the clearing, finding what he was looking for—a small branch. Whispering an apology, he forced it between her teeth and pried open her mouth.
The gray fluid came out in a rush. Gallons and gallons of it spilled forth into the clearing, and he leapt back. It seemed to come for minutes—far longer, and far more, than should ever be inside a person. Finally, the flow abated, the stench of the ocean overpowering. Throwing the branch to the ground in disgust, he took several steps back, making sure not to step in the gray effluvia, and looked around.
There was no sign of the horses. The trees that they had been hitched to, sturdy saplings, had snapped in half, and the crushed underbrush told the rest of the story. They’d escaped, then, and with them went most of their supplies.
Lesha came sprinting out of the woods, staff aglow and ready to use. She saw Ramesh, came over, and her eyes widened. She ran off several feet and proceeded to throw up. Ramesh did not blame her. He’d had to fight back his own nausea.
She returned, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her robe. She forced herself to look down at what remained of Friedl. Swallowing again, making an effort to not lose her meal a second time.
Ramesh turned to her.
“Report, acolyte.” The words came out more forcefully than he’d intended, but he didn’t bother correcting his tone. She spoke, eyes still fastened to the litter.
“I went to fetch more wood for the fire. But she was still alive—still here—when I left.” She looked at Ramesh and made no effort to conceal the fear in her eyes. “What’s going on?”
“Tell you when I know, acolyte.” The sky had already started to lighten, on the cusp of dawn. He looked around the ruined camp, the few supplies that they had taken from their horses, and felt a stab of despair.
The rest of their rations were on his horse, and Maker only knew where it had run off to. Between the two of them they had two, maybe three days’ worth of food, and it was another half day to where Jovis had disappeared. Not to mention water—their skins held enough for two full days, a little more if carefully rationed, but Ramesh had no desire to drink from any of the brackish streams they’d seen.
“Build a pyre. Let’s at least give her a proper end. She was one of us. Died in the line of duty.”
But what duty was that? Something she’d seen, something that had happened to her. And—he blinked away sudden tears—something that could have happened to Jovis. Almost certainly had happened to him. No. He would not let despair win. Would not believe that all was already lost. He dashed the back of his hand across his eyes, wiping them, and waved off Lesha’s concerned look.
“’Least four days back to town. Could look for our animals, sure, find our rations, but could be we never find them. And then we’re worse off—more than we are now, I mean. Jovis was fully supplied. Enough for a party three times the size of his. We’re likely to find something there.”
He shook his head. “I don’t like this, but I don’t see any other option.” Lesha nodded at that. There really was no other option than to press forward. Deeper into the unknown.
* * *
No more banter. No more words. They walked down the path toward the mine, each in their own private world with only their thoughts for company. The
silence was thick, oppressive, broken only by the muted sound of their boots on the muddy ground. They moved with purpose, Lesha lagging slightly behind and beside Ramesh, ready to act if necessary.
The ground became rockier, harder, and the trees began to thin. The mountain that the path now led toward unerringly loomed in the distance, its three asymmetrical peaks twisting around each other. Yet still that oppressive feeling, that smell of decay, remained, and seemed to grow stronger as they left the forest—not weaker. And over it all, that faint hint of brine.
The path began to rise again, moving upward at a slow rate, toward those three spires of rock. And along the path, they began to see the first signs of civilization, albeit none that were recent. Mushrooms grew on a broken wagon at the side of the road. Houses, their windows dark and gaping, spotted the woods on either side of the path. Even, at one point, a village, long abandoned.
They picked through the ruins of the latter but found nothing useful. Whatever supplies had been there were long gone, either with the people who had fled, or perhaps more likely, claimed by those who had business at the mine.
There was one other thing that Ramesh noted, though he did not mention it to his companion. Large mounds of dirt, similar to the one he’d seen upon the disappearance of Lesha’s horse, were scattered throughout.
He’d thought of telling Lesha about what he’d seen and heard—yet what, truly, was that? Disturbed dirt and a loud noise. He’d seen nothing else, not even the remains of Lesha’s horse. Anything he told her was conjecture and would only stir her already fertile imagination.
Finally, the woods fell away altogether, and they found themselves at the crest of a ridge. Ahead of them loomed the mountain, its three peaks surrounding each other in an almost serpentine fashion. A single path led forward, its destination obscured by the hills on either side of it. They followed that path then, and turned the corner to a scene of destruction.
Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights Page 8
