"Damn, it hurts. My leg. Ahh. Let's stop for a while. " The wounded man groaned.
"We don't have time. We'll arrive soon, I promise," said the woman who had pried herself under his arm to assist him in walking, but even then he couldn't walk straight.
"Please," said the man, before taking a step that crooked his leg and he stumbled off balance, but the woman kept him standing.
"This is unusual," said Kestrel who had noticed strange symptoms beginning to appear in the man. They had been walking on this road for a couple of hours now, and though light had not yet broken, the woman had been ensuring them that they were getting close. Kestrel wondered how she knew, but because she might have been lying for the sake of their morale, he didn't want to find out. It was easy to cling to hope. Perhaps that is why they were still dragging the man along with them, hurt as he was. Could barely walk now. Weird rashes had broken out on his neck and face, and his eyes had become bloodshot. Kestrel thought that maybe it was blood poisoning, but he wouldn't be deteriorating this quickly if that was the case.
"Could be sepsis," said Kestrel, murmuring a bit to himself as he inspected the man. "Let's stop. I'd like to check his symptoms."
"Make it quick," said the woman, and Kestrel helped the man sit down for a spell.
"What, sepsis? What's sepsis?" asked the man, grabbing ahold of Kestrel's shoulders with his fatigued hands.
"A type of infection. Don't worry, I have remedies for it."
Thinking about his symptoms, it made sense to be sepsis: weakened muscles, trouble with walking, high levels of pain, slight deliriousness. What wasn't explainable was the rashes that had begun forming. Kestrel hadn't seen anything like it.
"Do you have any illnesses that run in your family?" he asked.
"No, no I don't, I don't know."
How troublesome. Kestrel peered down at the man's foot and noticed it was unnaturally twisted. But, it seemed off. Typically he would have just assumed he broke his ankle when he tripped just now, but that in and of itself wasn't likely, even if he was weak. But furthermore, it wasn't broken in that way. No, it looked like it had sprouted outward, somehow.
"I'll provide you with some lactucarium to dull the pain, and chew on this," said Kestrel as he shoved a handful of dried garlic cloves into the man's face. While he was preparing a drinkable mixture in a small vial, he looked up and saw the woman shooting hurried glances into the forest and meandering around.
"We've got to stop," he said. "He has to rest, or he'll die."
"We have no time," said the woman, yet she seemed hesitant after seeing the man, half-broken on the ground.
"He's going to die," said Kestrel again, this time with evident seriousness.
"Alright. We can trail into the forest and make camp. If we make a fire, perhaps it will last long enough for the sun to come up."
Kestrel made the man swallow his concoction before helping him back up to his feet. The woman once again pried herself under his arm, and after Kestrel pried himself under the other, they dragged him off into the forest. It was difficult to navigate in the pitch-black darkness. Many roots were tripped on and many trees walked into. But it was quiet, like the cries of a painting.
"Let's make camp here," said the woman. Kestrel could hear her poking around the ground with her foot. "We've got to find fuel for a fire."
"I can fix that," said Kestrel. He knew his time at the academy would come into use eventually! He aimed loosely his palm toward the ground and began chanting, "grena, avor, ekus, skapa," and suddenly from his palm streamed a flow of thin branches that clattered onto the ground.
"What did you do? Is that the sound of firewood? Wait, don't tell me. . ."
"Magic," said Kestrel softly. He could hear the woman fumbling with something of her own, and soon a spark lit up the forest floor momentarily, and soon she had set fire to the branches, tinderbox in her hands.
"You studied that too? Who are you?" asked the woman. She looked at Kestrel, her lips cracked open slightly.
"My name is Kestrel," he said as they let down the man so he could sit leaning on the tree. "I'm an academy student."
He could see the woman's face more clearly now compared to before; the firelight coming from below, illuminating her features. She had quite rough and long blonde hair. A savory blonde that almost looked red in the light. He had thought her eyes were green before, but now that he saw them more clearly, they seemed amber. She must have come from the far east, he thought. Faint freckles painted her cheeks and nose, and her red lips were clearly only such a red shade because she had been biting them. All of her features would usually be shaded by her big, wide-brimmed hat that sort of tilted to one side.
The woman began placing some rocks around the young fire, before glancing up at Kestrel who was staring absently at the flickering flames.
"You've got pretty blue eyes," said the woman.
"Uhm, what? Oh, yes. Thank you."
"Aren't you going to ask what my name is?" she asked cocking her eyebrow.
"Oh, right, where are my manners?" he said, forcing a chuckle. "What's your name?"
"Eyleen."
Kestrel paused for a moment, waiting for her to continue with some story or monologue about who she is or was or whatnot, but when she didn't continue he began to feel awkward.
"That's a nice name. You're from the east?"
"Maybe, what's it to you?" she answered, sitting back down from her rock assorting.
"Oh, no, nothing. I meant no offense."
"None taken."
Kestrel looked over to the man who was slumped down but still breathing.
"How are you feeling?" Kestrel asked as he put his soft hand on the man's arm.
"Whatever you gave me works. Kind off," said the man, still slumped. He looked up with heavy eyes. "Name's Marquis. Just a sellsword."
"I knew it," Kestrel spurted out by accident, before covering his mouth. "I mean-"
"What gave it away?" chuckled Marquis, grabbing his chest in pain and coughing.
"Careful," said Kestrel.
"It's fine, really. I've survived worse."
"You'll survive this, I'm sure!" said Kestrel, pumping his fist as a sign of assurance.
"We'll, survive this," retorted Eyleen. "Let's not forget what's out there, okay?"
Kestrel's face turned to gloom. The reality of the situation was hard to grasp when it was all happening, but now that they were sitting down, relaxing by a campfire, it started weighing on his mind. "Relaxing", was soon going to be implausible, he reckoned.
"But, I'm sure you'll be fine," said Eyleen looking away into the darkness.
"So, Kestrel, was it? How come a schoolboy like yourself chose to travel all the way out here to the most cursed place in Midland? Or, was it not by choice?"
"Well I've. . ." began Kestrel, but he didn't want to share his whole story. About who he truly was. A prince of house Shebac. He didn't even tell his closest classmates. Not even Ouna, who he quite fancied. And he certainly wouldn't tell these people who he just met. Nor why he truly came here. But he wasn't sure what to say in place of the truth.
"I've thought about it as well. Never made sense," said Eyleen, looking Kestrel up and down. "Take off your cloak."
"What?" he blurted. "No way!"
Eyleen moved across the flames and tugged at his cloak, revealing what was hidden beneath.
"An academy uniform. How interesting," mused Eyleen as she inspected its desaturated red and white coloring and the silver insignia that sat perched upon Kestrel's chest.
"So what? You already knew I was an academy student!" said Kestrel.
"Must've come right from one of your classes, I bet," said Marquis. "You must have a story worth its wine."
"I'm just a student who's looking to earn some money, you know," said Kestrel crossing his arms.
"Folk who come here don't usually just come for the money, and if they do, they're not silvershone like yourself," said Marquis.
"Silvershone!?" Kestrel was shocked to hear that word. It was quite a derogative term for high-born scholars and other high-class citizens.
"You're so silvershone that you're wearing silver on your clothes, taking it with you wherever you go," said Marquis. Kestrel cowered behind his cloak.
"Yeah, alright. Fine. Are you going to hate me for it?"
"I didn't say that."
"I knew you weren't like us the first time I saw you," said Eyleen. "You looked fragile."
Kestrel felt insulted. Sure, he was fragile, compared to them. At least in the physical department, he thought. When he felt at his most vulnerable, Eyleen continued.
"You looked fragile, and reasonable. Unlike the other men."
"I guess being reasonable isn't going to help me survive," said Kestrel. He felt warm hearing her say that, but what use was it when, however frustrating, he truly was fragile? His knife wasn't going to slay monsters like the thing that had attacked them. He doubted it could even pierce its ugly hide.
"You've survived this far, unlike those so-called tough men," said Marquis. "Let me tell you something, schoolboy. All men are fragile. But being reasonable, that's a rare quality. It will do you good. I promise."
Kestrel didn't expect the gesture. He'd already likened the man to just another thug ready to "use" women and grease his palms for coin. But he had been given respect instead. Marquis had curly hair that framed his weary face, but only now did Kestrel think that he looked similar to a certain folk hero he knew of. Curly, brown hair, rugged armor of leather, and a cape of black. The handle of his sheathed sword was tinted gold. Fitting for a hero. Silver was the color of royalty, but gold was the color of bravery and goodness.
"You remind me of Sir Grathe, the Wraithslayer."
"Who?" asked Marquis.
"He's a local folk hero from where I grew up," said Kestrel.
"I see. That's nice to hear, I guess. Marquis the Hero," said Marquis, his breathing becoming more strained.
"The Wraithslayer? I only know one place in Midland where wraiths are said to have existed," said Eyleen, and Kestrel averted his wide eyes involuntarily.
"The Swarth! So you're returning to your homeland, is it?" exclaimed Marquis in intrigue, but was almost interrupted by his own coughing.
"I, no, I mean-" said Kestrel, but was interrupted by Eyleen.
"Come now, young man, you don't need to feel embarrassed about it. We've all got our reasons."
Kestrel sighed in defeat.
"I guess the cat's out of the bag, then?"
"Indeed."
"I've just got to know if my family is out there, still alive," he said looking somberly into the soft flames.
"I'll help you look," said Eyleen hastily with confidence, as if she had already known of his motive beforehand. Kestrel was about to deny her request as he didn't want anyone to pry into his family matters (considering his mother and father were the King and Queen of The Swarth) but he understood that ahead lay a perilous journey like no other. He needed allies.
"I, uhm. . . thank you."
"Ah, screw it," said Marquis. "I'll help too. You'll need a sword hand like me, I'm sure. I'm terrible company around the dinner table, though."
Marquis laughed at his own quips, but it was clear his condition was growing worse.
"Hey, are you alright?" asked Kestrel getting closer to him.
"It's pretty bad. My legs feel like they're cramping up. It's hot down there. Damn, it hurts."
Kestrel brought out his satchel and began peeling off Marquis' boot, but what he found underneath could no longer be described as a foot. It was wrung and contorted and had stretched itself outwards like a growing plant, and the end of the calf bone was sticking out of his foot pad. Blood was coating the whole of the lower limb, but there wasn't much bleeding.
"What in the light. . ." muttered Kestrel.
"How bad is it? Is it gangrene? Fuck me," groaned Marquis.
Eyleen stood up to get a better look, and as Kestrel looked up at her face, she met his with one of great concern.
"You have anything for that?" she asked in a low voice. Kestrel just shook his head slightly and began looking around in his satchel from which he brought out a small orange-yellow branch. He snapped it in half and held it between his clasped hands.
"I can try to cast a healing spell, but I'm not very good at the restorative kind of magic," said Kestrel as he began chanting. "Yuus, frejdas, roa, nuod, laeka."
A golden light began seeping from his fingers and spiraled downwards toward Marquis' foot. The light seemed to straighten it out a bit, but other than that, it was wholly ineffective. However, he kept chanting, "yuus, frejdas, roa, nuod, laeka," over and over. After a while, he gave up.
"Did it work?" asked Marquis, breathing hard through his teeth.
"It's, it's a little better," said Kestrel.
"It's not better," said Eyleen sternly before sighing. "What the hell is this?"
Kestrel looked at Marquis' foot closer, and there he thought he saw something bumpy. He took a bit of cloth out of his satchel and rubbed off some blood, and there was the same rash that had broken out on his face, albeit, it was far worse here.
"You don't know, do you?" said Eyleen.
Kestrel simply sat on the ground without saying anything. He didn't know what to do. He had read nothing about this phenomenon during his time in the Asclepius Library, nor had he been taught anything like this in class. He was the studious kind, too. He pushed up his glasses and turned to Eyleen.
"Maybe we should move as fast as we can to Hedgelen, as you said. I, I don't think I can do anything but dull the pain, but maybe this has something to do with, you know. . ." Kestrel didn't even want to finish the thought, let alone the sentence. He looked at Marquis, almost with guilt.
"Are you saying I've been cursed to die by that creature or something?" said Marquis. "Just my kind of luck."
Marquis wheezed a chuckle, a chuckling that caught in his throat. Suddenly, he leaned over and began vomiting dark red. Consecutive streams of blood poured out of his throat onto the dirt, and the tinge of iron permeated the air.
"Fuck!" he managed to shout in between his fits. He eventually stopped vomiting and had to catch his labored breath. There was a large pool of blood staining the dirt, seeping into crevices and under roots.
"We have to get him to Hedgelen!" cried Kestrel.
"Leave me! Just go. . . my journey ends here," said Marquis. "Didn't I say? I've seen many dead men."
"Wait, do you hear that?" said Eyleen suddenly as she threw her gaze around the forest. "Shh!"
There was stillness and then silence, and even though you could hear the heavy breathing of Marquis, the rustling of leaves and the breaking of branches sounded in the distant dark foliage. Something was coming closer.