fulloftricks
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Jesse called up the magic, the taste of the Mistflower still bitter on his tongue and bits of its petals caught between his teeth. The wound on the woman’s leg closed up under his fingertips, skin knitting together over rejoined muscle and repaired bone. His patient opened her mouth in a soundless scream of pain, too cautious and too weary to let the noise escape her lungs. The bed she was perched on was stained with sweat and spotted with red, the sheets twisted from her tossing and turning. Whatever she had been attacked by must’ve been poisonous; Jesse could see that in the sweat that beaded along her hairline and the sickly paleness of her skin. Jesse straightened up from his crouch, and began gathering up his medicine and treatments into a black leather bag. “There, take it easy now,” he said, “Penelope, was it? Could you tell me what happened?”
“One of those… things got to me,” Penelope said, collapsing onto her back and pulling a ratty quilt over her torso. The one bedroom hut they were in stunk of sickness and the metallic tang of blood. It was made of wood, constructed with care and craftsmanship. Scattered about within it were the tools of her trade, a bow laid out on a table alongside the implements for skinning and packaging animal meat. “I’m a hunter,” she told Jesse, “I thought I could protect myself out here, you know? I mean, I can. But this thing got the better of me. It would’ve gotten the better of the king himself. One of those abominations that have started turning up, I think, but it barely looked human anymore.”
The bitter aftertaste made Jesse’s stomach turn. Magic itched under his skin, desperate to be used. With a noticeable shake in his voice he said, “Could you describe the abomination for me, please?”
“It was in the shape of a man,” Penelope said, “But much larger than anything human. I can’t remember the details… I thought it was a bear at first. It had the fur of a bear, and the teeth. Have you heard of it? You look faint.”
Jesse stood up, slinging the strap of his leather bag over his neck. The power of the Mistflower always left him feeling drained and out of himself, though he had heard the opposite from other practitioners. An insistent vision nudged at him, making the sight of the hunter swim before his eyes. Underneath the fresh smells of Penelope’s illness he caught the scent of dead animals, taken apart for their meat and hide and bones. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I’m sorry, I need to go. You live within the Garden of Doctor Elen, I believe, yes? Never mind. If you set out a blue flag, she’ll see it and provide you with further care. Do not tell her about my visit.”
Penelope accepted his instruction with ease, not saying a word about his oddness or his blatant panic. Jesse got the sense she was used to strangeness, and to taking kindness where she could. As he left her hut she was still on the bed, staring at the ceiling, kneading the area where her wound had been with faint wonder on her face. It was worth it, Jesse reassured himself. One dose wouldn’t turn her into the monster Owen had become.
Outside the thick door of Penelope’s home, the forest grew thick and confident in its age. The light that came through the tight lacework of the canopy was tinted green and fell softly onto the undergrowth that Jesse crushed underneath his boot. The mask he wore dug into his cheekbone, though he no longer had the right to wear it. His vision stole over the forest, the Mistflower showing him the location of the thing he was fixated on. These days, the visions came to him without his will, latching onto anything his mind lingered on. Owen was in the forest still, covered in the thick bear-like fur the hunter had described. The magic tugged at him even as his sight returned fully. With quick, stumbling steps, Jesse followed its call, disorientated and desperate to stop the abomination he had made.
——
The retinue moved slowly through the forest. Five knights and a saint, all on horseback, did not make for a quick and light travelling party. Delores felt the ache of long travel and the weight of her armour, trapping her in a swamp of her own sweat and body heat. This early on in the journey tradition valued more than it should be; Delores comforted herself with the knowledge that soon the heavy ceremonial armour would no longer be insisted on. It was pointless, she knew, to wear the engraved and flashy steel in travel through dangerous areas. The knights were partaking in a useless pantomime, meant to flatter or comfort Gabrielle.
The forest smelt different than any other Delores had been in. The whole kingdom of Anische had an odd quality of scent and taste in the air. It felt damper, heavier somehow, and carried an undertone of rot that made Delores sit uneasily on the horse. Bird calls were quiet and furtive, scraping along the edges of Delores’ hearing. Her horse stepped delicately over the roots and trampled on the fragile new growth, guided by her light hand. Light filtered through the canopy overhead in distorted and weaker form. The other knights were silent, surrounding the saint in a protective formation which faltered in the density of the forest. There was no terrain like this in Lisilite.
Delores was kept the back of the retinue, in part due to her skill in combat and in part to keep her distant from the saint. Shame had curdled in her stomach at the beginning of the journey, and sat there to rot now. Sir Paul, the commander of the retinue after Gabrielle, had made the distinction clear between her and the other knights.
Carefully, Delores studied the forest to either side of her, squinting into the darkness. There was something wrong, more so even than the alarm bells that had been ringing in her mind since they crossed the border. With a gauntleted hand clenched on her horse’s reins, Delores rode closer to Sir Paul. Instincts were valued highly in knights. If she told him to put the retinue on high alert, he surely would.
The other knight was inferior to her in combat, diplomacy and all other areas they had been trained in. Prior to her brother’s treason, it would have been Delores who commanded the retinue. Delores could accept this. She had been learning to accept many more than she had previously. But shame still stung her when she recognised the disgust in his eyes, though it was familiar now. “Sir,” she said, riding close by his side, “I have to warn you-“
“Return to your position,” Sir Paul told her, and turned to face in front of himself, dutifully ignoring her. Delores fell back, focusing ahead so she would no see her fellow knights. It was no so far that she could not see what happened to the knight closest to the saint.
Something had burst out of the forest with a speed and grace that did not suit its size. It reared up, and incredible thing of fur and distorted features, a human nose and jaw pulled into something resembling an animal’s snout. Another knight fell. Delores switched into action as swiftly as she could, attempting to ride closer to Gabrielle in order to protect her.
“One of those… things got to me,” Penelope said, collapsing onto her back and pulling a ratty quilt over her torso. The one bedroom hut they were in stunk of sickness and the metallic tang of blood. It was made of wood, constructed with care and craftsmanship. Scattered about within it were the tools of her trade, a bow laid out on a table alongside the implements for skinning and packaging animal meat. “I’m a hunter,” she told Jesse, “I thought I could protect myself out here, you know? I mean, I can. But this thing got the better of me. It would’ve gotten the better of the king himself. One of those abominations that have started turning up, I think, but it barely looked human anymore.”
The bitter aftertaste made Jesse’s stomach turn. Magic itched under his skin, desperate to be used. With a noticeable shake in his voice he said, “Could you describe the abomination for me, please?”
“It was in the shape of a man,” Penelope said, “But much larger than anything human. I can’t remember the details… I thought it was a bear at first. It had the fur of a bear, and the teeth. Have you heard of it? You look faint.”
Jesse stood up, slinging the strap of his leather bag over his neck. The power of the Mistflower always left him feeling drained and out of himself, though he had heard the opposite from other practitioners. An insistent vision nudged at him, making the sight of the hunter swim before his eyes. Underneath the fresh smells of Penelope’s illness he caught the scent of dead animals, taken apart for their meat and hide and bones. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I’m sorry, I need to go. You live within the Garden of Doctor Elen, I believe, yes? Never mind. If you set out a blue flag, she’ll see it and provide you with further care. Do not tell her about my visit.”
Penelope accepted his instruction with ease, not saying a word about his oddness or his blatant panic. Jesse got the sense she was used to strangeness, and to taking kindness where she could. As he left her hut she was still on the bed, staring at the ceiling, kneading the area where her wound had been with faint wonder on her face. It was worth it, Jesse reassured himself. One dose wouldn’t turn her into the monster Owen had become.
Outside the thick door of Penelope’s home, the forest grew thick and confident in its age. The light that came through the tight lacework of the canopy was tinted green and fell softly onto the undergrowth that Jesse crushed underneath his boot. The mask he wore dug into his cheekbone, though he no longer had the right to wear it. His vision stole over the forest, the Mistflower showing him the location of the thing he was fixated on. These days, the visions came to him without his will, latching onto anything his mind lingered on. Owen was in the forest still, covered in the thick bear-like fur the hunter had described. The magic tugged at him even as his sight returned fully. With quick, stumbling steps, Jesse followed its call, disorientated and desperate to stop the abomination he had made.
——
The retinue moved slowly through the forest. Five knights and a saint, all on horseback, did not make for a quick and light travelling party. Delores felt the ache of long travel and the weight of her armour, trapping her in a swamp of her own sweat and body heat. This early on in the journey tradition valued more than it should be; Delores comforted herself with the knowledge that soon the heavy ceremonial armour would no longer be insisted on. It was pointless, she knew, to wear the engraved and flashy steel in travel through dangerous areas. The knights were partaking in a useless pantomime, meant to flatter or comfort Gabrielle.
The forest smelt different than any other Delores had been in. The whole kingdom of Anische had an odd quality of scent and taste in the air. It felt damper, heavier somehow, and carried an undertone of rot that made Delores sit uneasily on the horse. Bird calls were quiet and furtive, scraping along the edges of Delores’ hearing. Her horse stepped delicately over the roots and trampled on the fragile new growth, guided by her light hand. Light filtered through the canopy overhead in distorted and weaker form. The other knights were silent, surrounding the saint in a protective formation which faltered in the density of the forest. There was no terrain like this in Lisilite.
Delores was kept the back of the retinue, in part due to her skill in combat and in part to keep her distant from the saint. Shame had curdled in her stomach at the beginning of the journey, and sat there to rot now. Sir Paul, the commander of the retinue after Gabrielle, had made the distinction clear between her and the other knights.
Carefully, Delores studied the forest to either side of her, squinting into the darkness. There was something wrong, more so even than the alarm bells that had been ringing in her mind since they crossed the border. With a gauntleted hand clenched on her horse’s reins, Delores rode closer to Sir Paul. Instincts were valued highly in knights. If she told him to put the retinue on high alert, he surely would.
The other knight was inferior to her in combat, diplomacy and all other areas they had been trained in. Prior to her brother’s treason, it would have been Delores who commanded the retinue. Delores could accept this. She had been learning to accept many more than she had previously. But shame still stung her when she recognised the disgust in his eyes, though it was familiar now. “Sir,” she said, riding close by his side, “I have to warn you-“
“Return to your position,” Sir Paul told her, and turned to face in front of himself, dutifully ignoring her. Delores fell back, focusing ahead so she would no see her fellow knights. It was no so far that she could not see what happened to the knight closest to the saint.
Something had burst out of the forest with a speed and grace that did not suit its size. It reared up, and incredible thing of fur and distorted features, a human nose and jaw pulled into something resembling an animal’s snout. Another knight fell. Delores switched into action as swiftly as she could, attempting to ride closer to Gabrielle in order to protect her.