Well alright, the last update that I promised. Hope you people really like it. I do. I had more fun writing this part compared to the previous one because it depicts a mental conflict. Happy reading.

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Decisions V - A Song of the Dead

Upon this night so promising,

Forsooth, I hear the dead men sing.

They say the dead men tell no tales; that they have no tales to tell—

That dreams don’t dwell in silent wails, nor truths untold, nor secrets held.

Say, what tidings do they bring? Forsooth, I hear the dead men sing,

Upon this night so promising~

- The Deadman's Eulogy

General Cleya and her troops arrived to find their work done. Broken conifers stood at awkward angles among the burnt remains of vegetation. A smoky smell smeared the scene of destruction with overcooked grief. Cleya tasted death on her lips and frowned. She admired a good slaughter. It showed the fragility of life. Reflected the impermanence of the world. Inspired growth and erased weakness. But she did not like losing to her own schemes.

“There’s very few of them left up there,” Captain Brom informed Cleya. “Should we take the credit for this?” That was his way of asking if they should eliminate the witnesses, leaving no one to contest their claim. A smart move. Cleya would have considered that too, if not for Elaine’s presence.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a sharp, stilling voice answered. Brom froze and Cleya turned in surprise. A hellhound sauntered their way, its two heads proud and fearless. The same wretched beast the previous gatekeeper had allowed escape. Cleya found someone familiar riding upon it.

“What is an elf doing here?” she asked with venomous eyes.

“The same reason as yours,” Diana answered, her face calm and her eyes keen, “Admittedly though, I was more capable and less conniving about it.”

Brom broke out of his trance and drew his blade, prompting the rest of the Halberds to do the same. The hellhound growled in displeasure, a fire flickering up its tails. Diana calmed it with a brush of her hand and looked down at the Halberds with a provocative smile.

“You know,” she said, “I would not mind going at it. I must warn you though. I have not been in this bad a mood for a long time. Most of you will not live to regret it, and those who do, will wish otherwise.”

“Stop,” Cleya ordered Brom and the rest of her troops. “Sheath your weapons.” A dumbfounded Brom obeyed.

“You have your father’s wits, child of Yeralds,” Diana applauded, stroking her fingers through the hellhound’s fur. The beast crooned while Cleya grit her teeth in defiance.

“Don’t think you have won just yet, Silver’s Bow,” Cleya threatened.

“No I won’t. Now that you have demonstrated a speck of understanding inside that vicious head, I am willing to make you an offer.”

“Speak.”

“Leave some of your horses here and—

“Are you threatening us?” Brom interrupted with a solid voice, feigning bravery. His legs could barely move but he still held control over his arms.

“Keep shut. I am not talking to you,” Diana ordered. Cleya nodded and Brom retreated. “Well, daughter of Yeralds,” Diana turned her sight back at Cleya, “if you do as I say, I will tell you about the Cult’s hideout. They are all dead, I’m afraid, but I’ll let you take all credit for exterminating them.”

“For a few horses?” Cleya enquired.

“Those and a bit of your supplies, little things really.”

“What are you after?”

Diana scoffed at Cleya’s poor attempt to gauge her. Perhaps she was not all Diana expected her to be. Her father had been a sharper one. “I have already acquired what I was after,” Diana revealed, “I am exchanging the surplus with you.”

Cleya spent a moment in contemplation. She sized her army and calculated the number of dead lying on the hill. The actual hideout should have had a lot more. It was a good deal. “….We will take it,” she replied.

“And withdraw?” Diana added.

“Yes,” Cleya confirmed.

“Good. A word of advice, if you’re going to claim the responsibility for all that, you should refrain from mentioning others involved.”

“I did not meet you here. I did not see any caravan pass by. Is that enough?”

“Yes.”

With the deal struck, Cleya ordered the Halberds to arrange for Diana’s demands while discussing the Cult’s hideout with her.

In a matter of minutes, Diana walked away with horses loaded with supplies. She took them up the hill where the last vestiges of the caravan remained. They would need it if they wanted to proceed. It was their luck that Boris disturbed the Needlewoods. Diana caught on to that disturbance and traced it back. It didn’t taken her long to figure out what had happened. The ambitions of Halberds added to her worries a little. But Diana had greater troubles to worry about. Something terrible was beginning to stir, she could sense. She needed to know who set such malevolence in motion. And what they expected to gain from it…

With Diana gone, captain Brom turned to his general in curiosity. The elf may have been strong but he could not believe that general Cleya stepped down. “Why did we surrender to her threats?” he asked.

Cleya eyed his ambition with pity. “We don’t need to fight a hellish monster just for a little reward, Brom.”

Brom felt confused. She allowed the elf freedom just because of a hellhound? Those ludicrous allegations of it coming out of the pits of hell were absolute rubbish. “We could have killed the hellhound,” Brom suggested.

Cleya laughed at his suggestion, bursting into hysterical fits while the Halberds looked at her in dismay and fear, ready to escape if she started killing them instead. “Brom,” she said with a snort, “The hellhound isn’t the monster I was talking about.”

____________________________________________

Boris dragged the last corpse through the grass, feeling an icy touch upon his ankles while his feet trudged mechanically. A trail of blood lay in the dirt behind him, dripping down the blades of grass in thin, viscid droplets and soaking the ground with the stench of death. He bent a little low, in an effort to support his burden, and walked towards the pile of corpses.

Once there, he hefted the hands while Halkone hefted the legs and they swung the dead man, who had been Gabe just hours ago, hurling him into the pit with a thump. They piled their own dead with the cultists' corpses and the bodies wrapped around each other in deathly horror. It felt unreal.

A nauseous Boris covered his mouth as he recognized familiar faces mashed within that bloodied heap. People he talked to. People he killed. They all came together into one hideous monster. Like a chimera from hell.

“Are you alright?” Halkone asked, seeing his sweating face.

“Yeah,” Boris answered, hiding his fear.

“Did you take the coin and valuables?” Halkone enquired with the same voice.

With a stiff nod, Boris held up a pouch and a sleek threaded necklace with a small ring, a memento perhaps. They were dirty red. Halkone took them, weighing the pouch and slipping the necklace into his pockets, then found Boris eyeing him with disgust.

“Don't look at me like that boy,” he spoke roughly, “The dead have no use for wealth. It only draws unwanted trouble if you bury them with gold.”

Halkone received no response. Boris turned and hurried away, trying to erase the scene from his memory. Behind him, two mages worked to split the ground slowly and then clamp it back upon the corpses, providing a burial.

“Are you done?” a voice asked as soon as Boris emerged out of the grove of trees. Boris turned to see Diana observing him. He nodded sourly. The relief he felt on seeing her back had disappeared now. Diana ?had compelled him to haul the dead for hours, to look death and despair in the eye even after the victory, to face his own cruelty and that of his enemies. Even with his tired body and conflicted mind, Boris did just that. Now Boris hated her as much as he hated himself.

“Well then,” Diana said with a keen eye, “come with me.”

“I would like to rest a bit more,” Boris protested, stifling a chill up his legs and swallowing his spit. He had barely slept enough. His wounds protested the effort he undertook with scorching pain. His left arm was barely usable, burnt and stabbed. The bandages did little to ease the pain. He needed rest. Even if it came with nightmares.

“You can rest afterwards, kid. There’s a stream down west. You want to smell of blood when we reach the next stop?”

“Alright,” Boris relented and followed Diana to the stream. It was a shallow rivulet, clean and transparent. It followed a smooth curve between the hills to the south and perhaps ended in the larger plains Boris read about. Nimble fishes flaunted bright colors in the sunlight here and a few animals stood by their herds, drinking from the stream.

Boris dipped his legs into the cold water and felt it soothe his pain.

“There’s no one here now,” Diana spoke beside him. “You should let it out.”

“Let what out?” Boris asked dryly.

Diana frowned and plugged him in the gut without a warning. The sudden blow left Boris scrunched up and groaning beside the lake.

“Why did you—

Boris tried to complain but felt a terrible wave rise up his stomach. The unease worsened and he vomited, spilling all his meal in the stream and dirtying the water. He could not stop after that and continued to empty his insides. Tears streamed down his face as Boris gagged and retched, trying to expel it all. Disgust, hatred, guilt, and distress. He rinsed his mouth and puked some more. Then he plodded upstream and lay down in the shallows, letting the water wash him away.

“Feel better?” Diana asked a while after Boris settled.

“Yes,” Boris accepted.

“There are things we need to talk about,” Diana said, lying down beside him.

“I am listening.”

Diana scooped a handful of water and let it spill through her fingers. “There is bad news and worse news,” she said.

Boris sighed, slapping the water with swinging legs and letting the stray droplets tingle his face. “Let’s begin with the bad part,” he decided.

“You almost died in Laur.”

“It was my bad,” Boris apologized.

“I had to use another blessing upon you just to keep you alive.”

Boris squinted in thought. “And you did not tell me, just like you did not mention Argyvael.”

“Argyvael is a buffoon.”

“But he did something to me,” Boris replied, “It makes the birds come after me from time to time.”

“It’s a small gift perhaps,” Diana replied. She fed her magic into the water and it rose in glinting currents, slithering around like a serpent in the air.

“I wouldn’t really call it—

Boris tried to grasp one of the floating currents but they burst apart at his touch. “Oh forget it,” he said bitterly, “What was it you wanted to say?”

“That you have two blessings inside you, a blessing of growth and blessing of health and long life.”

“Thank you?” Boris did not understand how that constituted bad news.

“But it still hasn’t changed you much. Your wounds are not healing any faster, your strength has not grown a lot, you are even feeling weak to the weather at times.”

“I am an inept, this is what happens,” Boris replied while jabbing the water for fishes. He caught none.

“The blessing of health and long life is different from the blessing of growth. It works fast, within weeks. For months, those who receive the blessing show a drastic healing capacity. Small wounds heal within minutes. Some have even regrown a finger or two. The blessing weakens with age and cannot be cast again.”

“Yeah?” Boris feigned interest while trying to feel for fishes using his will.

Diana swept a delicate hand through the water and brought up a brilliant green fish, holding it just out of reach from Boris. As Boris sat up to grab that fish Diana threw it back into the water. “If a blessing cannot heal your wounds now,” she continued with Boris now attentive, “then sooner or later, there will be no magic that can heal you.”

Boris shrugged nonchalantly. “I am prepared for that. There is nothing wrong if my wounds heal normally. I would prefer that, in fact. Magic hurts my insides.”

“Then you need to act with good judgment. I heard you jumped up to a wyvern and crashed down with it. An innocent person was onboard. There were better ways to go about it, safer and surer. Were you prepared to break your bones when you did that? To kill all those around you while you crashed?”

“I was not thinking right at the time,” Boris averted his eyes.

“You were overexerting your will. It clouded your reasoning with blind hatred,” Diana clarified.

“Yeah, I realized. I will try to keep that in check.”

“If you go moonstruck Boris, I will kill you myself. I promise.” The last part Diana spoke with such certainty that Boris never doubted she would do so. It gave shock to his thoughts.

“….Moonstruck? What’s that?” Boris asked after a pause.

Diana got up and looked him in the eye. “Insane, murderous, violent,” she explained, “It’s what happens when you overuse your will, let your own emotions twist your mind. There’s no cure.”

“I will keep that in mind.” Boris nodded and Diana swiped out another fish in a smooth motion. “Think very hard upon it,” she said, handing the fish to Boris. “This brings me to the worse news.”

“There’s something worse than you killing me?” Boris asked, holding the flapping fish and trying to examine it.

“You will die soon,” Diana added in a plain, unaffected voice. It was Boris’s turn to let the fish drop in water. He scratched his head as he watched the fish escape. “Is that fortune telling?” he joked, “No thanks, I don’t believe that stuff.”

“I came to know that nobody has told you yet. So I will. An inept has a short lifespan.”

“How short?” Boris asked, apprehensive. He knew they hid things from him. They had no right to!

“Most die within months of being born. I have never heard of any live past twelve.”

“That’s- but I am sixteen already.” A chord of grim realization struck Boris and a hasty denial formed inside his head. ‘That can’t be true,’ he panicked, ‘that’s barely any time! I can’t just die like that.’

“It hasn’t even been a year since you became an inept,” Diana stated.

“Excuse me?” Boris replied with a bitter voice. “You think I could use magic back in my world?” If this was what inepts were then he had been an inept all his life. And lived off it without any trouble. It was one thing to live without magic and another to die without it. Boris clawed his wounded hands into the riverbed in anger and tried to crush the stones there. It did not work. Nothing worked his way!

“Doesn’t matter,” Diana told him. Her voice held neither pity nor encouragement. Just the plain, harsh truth.

“….How long do you think I have got?” Boris asked, looking down at his own reflection. ‘I need to go back,’ he reminded himself, ‘I need to return soon! This isn’t the place for me.’ Ripples formed and died on the water surface. They distorted his image and turned it hideous. Boris saw his own face jeer at him and punched a hostile fist into the water. Splashes wet him with cold reality and rained upon his hopes. “How long have I got Diana? Tell me truthfully!” he demanded.

“I’d give you two,” Diana replied with the same calm, “three if I was being optimistic, but I don’t like being optimistic about this. Are you prepared to die like this?”

‘What the hell is she asking!’ Boris fumed. ‘Am I prepared to die? I’m sixteen for God’s sake! You ask a sixteen year old to die because of bullshit?’ Ripples formed inside his mind this time and spilled over. A small commotion occurred as the nearby herds scampered about. Diana did not even bat an eyelid, keeping her eyes sharp and her face expectant. “No,” Boris replied in low, harsh whisper, struggling with his own will, “Not at all.”

“Then you better put all your effort in finding a way back. Killing the demon lord is one.” Boris felt Diana cut through his anger as she said that. Her will spun around his own and sliced away every bit of hostility. His mind staggered in surprise then throbbed in defiance. And yet, no matter how much of rage he threw at her, she never flinched. In mere seconds, Diana clasped all around his mind and poked him into silence. In the end, his will surrendered and shrunk into silence. Diana smiled but said nothing.

“You make it sound like killing a rabbit,” Boris answered Diana’s suggestion. He felt strange and light-headed but the anger receded into his mind..

“Sound preparations, a good plan and a resolve to kill for necessity.”

“I would rather not,” Boris denied. He did give it some thought before. A lot of it in fact. It just did not sit right. “There has to be a simpler, easier way than fighting armies of demons just to kill a guy who has nothing to do with this. Who I don’t even know if he exists or where he is. And to do that within two years? No thanks.” He poked at the water and saw the ripples make fun of his pained face. A faint smile spilled out of his teeth.

“An easier way? Definitely not,” Diana refuted with a flick of her fingers. “You would have to reverse or counter the entire summoning spell. You would have the same luck trying to go back in time.”

Boris felt Diana’s will creep across his mind but let her do so. She sliced through his confusion, his hesitation, his denial, his subsiding rage and then through his cradled confidence until she plunged right into the depths of that empty ocean inside. Could she see something here? For a moment, Boris thought he saw shock flicker across Diana’s smooth eyebrows but then dismissed it. He felt Diana slink around and poke at an emotion he kept hidden. He pushed her out in embarrassment. “Then I will reverse the summoning spell and go back in time if I have to. If it is a spell, it can be read. It can be understood. It can be altered,” Boris answered. His mind was working two ways right now and he was talking both within and without it. It felt strangely satisfying.

“Good luck chasing that dream,” said Diana.

“Then why did you take me with you?” Boris frowned and tried to corner her.

Diana stared through his eyes and withdrew her will completely. “Why does a farmer water barren fields? Why does a sailor wander stormy seas? Why does an army seek peace?” she asked.

“I am not good with riddles,” Boris replied while he debated whether or not to go after Diana’s will in answer.

“Because they see hope beyond it,” said Diana, “That is what I see in you. To be able to fight when powerless, to rise when broken, to struggle when defeated. To accept your worth and not glorify nor pity it. To seek without bias and act without fear. It is not power, intellect or luck. It is hope. That makes you special, different. Worthy. The day you lose that, you lose all your value in my eyes.”

“Wow,” Boris forgot the debate inside his mind and just let it go. He had not heard encouragement for quite a while. It felt good. His mind crooned a little and his will quivered pleasantly.

“That’s all you got from it?” Diana asked, stupefied.

“No, but, that was… inspiring.”

Diana grimaced before speaking again. “What I meant to say,” she said, lifting another fish and letting it jump out of her hands, “is that I don’t believe the summoning spell could be undone but I do believe that that if there is someone who can do that, it would be you. The rest depends on you. Do you believe in yourself? That you could find a way out without fighting the Infernal war?”

Boris did not need to think of an answer. “I must. I will.” He did not have options. Only compulsions. ‘I need to do this,’ he decided, ‘there’s no other way.’

“Then we will leave it at that,” Diana replied and lay back in the water. Boris only then realized that the water did not soak her clothes at all. She had had a spell working all along. Something fell upon his ears as he laid back with a smirk.

Upon this night so promising,

...hear the winter sing

“What’s that,” Boris asked. There was a tune hanging in the air. Faint but discernible. And memorable. “Someone followed us?” Boris wondered as he tried to seep a little of his will across the water into the forest behind. He found nothing but animals.

…spells a gale, they say the snow has come to quell…

“No,” Diana answered his curiosity, “It’s coming from the caravan.”

Sweet dreams upon their silent wails…

“That’s too far,” Boris objected. A person would need a loudspeaker to do that. ‘Or magic,’ he realized.

… sweet rest upon all fears held.

“It’s a good song. A good song doesn’t die so easily.”

Say, what tidings does it bring? Oh grace, I hear the winter sing

“What?” Boris could not understand what Diana meant. Why would a good song last longer? It was just… sound. A loud song on the other hand—

“It will last for a while,” Diana added, listening with amusement, “It’s that girl you picked up. She has a good voice to match.”

“Thea? I never would have thought she could speak, let alone sing,” Boris remarked.

Upon this night so promising~

“It has become different though,” Diana added without paying him heed. Once again, she swept a thin current of water into the air and made it dance. The rhythm matched the tune. Diana examined her own magic and nodded. “That’s what happens when a song changes tongues,” she explained.

“You know this song?” Boris asked.

“The humans call it the winter’s lullaby.”

“And the elves?” Boris added curiously, catching on the slight hesitation in her voice.

“We have a different version. We call it the Deadman’s Eulogy. It’s rarely sung.”

“No wonder,” Boris agreed.

“But it’s beautiful nonetheless. Powerful too. It lives much longer,” Diana added. That made Boris more curious. ‘How can a song live? Is this another one of her allegories?’

“Can I hear it?” he asked.

“No,” Diana answered without a shred of doubt.

“I expected that,” Boris regretted and turned his thoughts another way. “There’s something else I want to know. Do my friends know about this? That I am going to die soon?”

“I don’t think Durham has any plans to do that. It would reflect him in poor light and might even invite desertion.”

“That’s good. I would like to keep it that way,” Boris decided. There was still some hesitation. Maybe they could help him. But Boris knew very well what path they would take. They would run straight into demon lands without thought or reason. He could see it ending very, very badly. He could see them die like idiots while he ended up much the same. They were a stopgap measure, not a preferred one. Especially with their changed mentality.

“Then you should talk to Elaine,” Diana advised, “Tell her not to let it spill because she is the one most likely to do so.”

“….”

“Why are you blushing?” Diana looked curiously while Boris paused in memory. “No, don’t tell me! Really? Really?” she asked. Now she knew what part of his mind he wanted to hide. For someone treading close to death, that should have been absurd. And inconceivable.

“Wh- I can’t help what I can’t help,” Boris made a flimsy retort with a wave of his hand.

“I take my words back. You are hopeless. And insane.”

_____________________________________________

Boris clung to the ground in cover, desperate to shield himself from the rubble that flew around him like a swarm of locusts, intent on devastating everything. The ground rumbled and ached, shivering like a sickly child to its mother's rage. It was a rage that filled the air whole, froze it over and coagulated it. Boris choked and shuddered, wet his pants his despair.

They were all mere flecks before that rage. Flecks of coal that would burn to nothingness before they could kindle a flame. Boris was no different. If there was a difference, it would be that he was still crouching while everyone else seemed to crawl. Boris watched in utter horror and desperation. How could he let this happen? How could he fail?

He could not think. He had to stop this madness. This calamity. But he possessed nothing now. Not the salt of Alun, nor the Tortonic concoction, not even a chalk to make to the glyph. All that his battered body held was his will—crazy, tumultuous and aching to be unleashed and thrown about. Like an unfettered beast.

“Stop!” he roared. His enormous will burst into a storm of rage and the monster stirred. More arms ripped through the smouldering earth and decimated his surroundings, scattering boulders like flecks of dirt. A terrifying chill swept through the air. Cold, ruthless, irate. Boris gasped as he witnessed something emerge into that dreadful emptiness.

It was a glowering eye. A dense, billowing orb of fire. The blood red eye stared at him in pure, unconcealed wrath. Boris had never known fear as he knew it now. It paralyzed his mind and melted his skin. It numbed his heart and boiled his soul. It spurned his very existence. All the fury in this world had materialized before him. Become a being in itself.

“Uskah shilae’kend,” it spoke and Boris surrendered his courage to terror. There was nothing he could do to that. Nothing anyone could.

“Get away from it Boris!”

He knew that voice. No! That wasn't good! It was all going wrong! Again.

“Don't!” his words fell on deaf ears as Ray marched ahead, Claire in tow. Ray held a sword of glowing blue and a shield that looked like translucent petals woven together. They were both immensely powerful, Boris could tell, but futile indeed.

“Get back! All of you!” Boris howled with all his remaining sanity.

They did not listen. Ray plunged ahead, repelling those enormous arms with his shield and slashing inhumanly at them. For a brief, treacherous moment, it seemed he would win. The next moment he was dead, his body pierced by the same wriggling, twisted arm that should have pierced Boris instead. The monster hurled his corpse and Boris dove, desperate to catch him.

And even though he knew Ray was dead, Boris could not help but hope. Words repeated inside his head, alien words that should not have made sense. Yet he knew them very well. 'Uskah shilae’kend!' Boris realized painfully, 'One must die.'

Boris awoke from his sleep craving for breath. Sweating rained down his flushed face in profuse lines of prickling cold. He swept his hair back and wiped his face upon his sleeves. The dream was faint, but its essence lingered. There were broken scenes playing inside his mind. Incoherent memories that did not exist. There were stuck inside like barbs within cotton wool. ‘One must die,’ his unconscious repeated, ‘One must die.’

‘Stop!’ Boris held his head and silenced it. Tried to ease his throbbing headache. It persisted and Boris shunned it. This was not real. Just a twisted result of his imagination. 'This is just a dream,' Boris consoled himself, 'I have worse things to worry about.'

Extricating himself out of the tent, Boris wandered into the night outside. It was not his turn on the watch but he did not want to get any more sleep, did not want any more dreams tonight. He wished the day would dawn but knew better. By now, he had grown used to the diurnal cycle and could guess the time with a look.

He had grown used to most things in fact. They clashed with bandits twice recently and he faced few dangerous monsters too. It felt like a part of daily life. Even the small village they earlier passed by felt natural and he haggled with merchants amicably. This world was not that bad. Boris shook his head; that was not a thought he wanted to nurture.

Boris soon found himself by the site of the extinguished campfire and gazed at the remains. The burnt residue clung sullenly to the ground, wet with the low hanging mist, and shimmied in the flaky moonlight. Despite the scanty breeze, the smell of food had long washed away and all that remained was the ashen impression of firewood in a crisscrossed pattern. Even that made him feel hungry, and hunger turned to relief as Boris chuckled to himself, surprised that not even anxiety could suppress his appetite. He lay down lazily, his mind still hazy like the mist, and looked at the sky above.

It was a cloudy night, and the moon floated in and out of cover sluggishly while the air whistled in soft, memorable tunes.

Upon this night so promising…

It took Boris a while to realize that it was not the breeze but someone singing. A shallow, clumsy voice that Boris could not have figured out, if not for his eager hearing. He got up, intrigued by the song, and followed it up the curve of the hill, between the twisted willows, from where it seemed to descend.

…sooth, I hear the dead men sing

…say the dead men tell~ no tales…

After a long, persistent search, Boris still fumbled about the song’s origin. The more he followed it the more it confused him. The voice did not just radiate from a single point; it seemed to reflect off the trees and the rocks, forming new voices and different tones. It swirled and spun all around him. Boris caught upon a familiar voice within that chorus and traced it deeper through a winding path.

…that dreams don’t dwell in si~lent wails…

..what tidings do~ they bring

Upon this night so promising~

The surroundings took a faint glow but stood riveted while Boris clambered up. Short, scraggly plants sprouted glowing bulbs on their stalks. He plucked a few but they burst into darkness at his touch. Boris moved on, amazed, and emerged out of the thicket, finding himself face to face with Elaine. Her face was stuck in surprise.

“It's a good song,” he said, trying not to look like a stalker.

“I know,” Elaine replied, regaining her composure. “Do you ever get a good night’s sleep?”

“Sometimes,” Boris shrugged. He scaled the boulder Elaine occupied and took a seat beside her. For a while, they just sat in silence.

“You know,” Boris began by taking a frosty breath. “I have decided. I won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

“You’re eloping with Diana?” Elaine took a jab at him.

“Yes. No! I mean coming back to Cumaria, to my friends, to you.”

“You will come back,” she replied.

“Not unless I find a way to return to my world,” Boris said. There was another matter clobbering his head. His recent dream left a deeper impression than before.

“And how will you do that exactly? Sneak into the night to the demon lord’s base?” Elaine asked with growing sarcasm.

“I have theories,” Boris suggested, “Undoing the summoning spell may be difficult but it’s not impossible.”

“Do you know what you are talking about?” Elaine blurted, “Hundreds of years of work went into creating that single spell. You are not trying to untangle a knot, you are trying to untangle a- a whirlpool, if that makes sense. You have been reading up on glyphs for two weeks and you think you break one of the greatest arcane spells of all time?”

“I think I can.”

“….Okay, let’s just say you can,” Elaine surrendered with a despairing sigh. “You will still need a lot of help,” she expounded further, “From skilled mages to exhaustive books to unusual implements. If you just ask, I can get you into the magic academy. I can get you instructors that will guide you, even Grey seems to be happy to help. And Violet is here. The Farlores have a lot of clout and magic capability. You can roll about in your precious books all day. You can sleep to their words and wake to their smell. You’re abandoning all that on one selfish whim? Throwing your friends away? I just don’t understand. I mean, who in his right mind would even think like that?”

“I have some misgivings about the kingdom.”

“And?” Elaine arched a brow. “Durham may not like you but I’d like to see him try harming you. That will not end up well, he knows. You are the companion of heroes. If you so wish, you can get the status of a noble.”

Boris pushed a weak smile on his grim face. “And what if my being here is what drags them to hell?” he asked, “If it brings about something worse? If it ends in a calamity?”

“Now you’re just blowing this up!” Elaine exclaimed, “What calamity? The Infernal war is a calamity. It is coming whether you like it or not.”

“I- something worse maybe coming… and it maybe coming for me. I don’t want people to get embroiled in it.”

“Putting aside your delusions, people are always going to get embroiled in such things. That’s what people do.”

“I don’t want to lose them. Or you,” Boris replied. There were deaths he could tolerate and deaths he could never. It was a biased view perhaps, but he couldn’t help it.

“Oh God!” Elaine huffed and held her head in annoyance. “So you will run and hide away in some corner of the world for the rest of your life?”

“There’s not much left of the rest of my life,” Boris joked.

“Who told you that? It’s Diana isn’t it? That conceited, thoroughbred prude,” a harsh, unforgiving tone crept into her voice as Elaine expressed her disapproval.

“Why did you keep it from me?”

“Because it’s not necessarily true,” Elaine hissed, “You are human but also not so. Your friends are human but even more not so.”

“That doesn’t make me any less of an inept.”

“And who was it that censured me for defining him as an inept?” She narrowed her eyes with a frown.

“I- well-” Boris stuttered, “this isn’t about my identity, it’s about my life.”

“Which you have thrown into enough peril by now.” Elaine picked up a stone and hurled it across the sky, as if aiming to strike a moon. “You want to save yourself by jumping down the abyss?” she stared Boris in the eyes, “You don’t want to die but you’re playing with death? You’ve become a mercenary to save lives?”

“Yeah, that’s… hypocritical, I know. But I don’t know how else to go about it.” Boris scratched his head and started plucking strands of grass.

“Oh I wonder! Surely not by accepting my help or your friends’ support?” Elaine countered.

“And now we are back to square one.”

“You are running in circles because you don’t want to get out of it. In fact, you clearly don’t even know what you want ! Which would be all good if you were open to options. But no, you will go that one stubborn route you have decided, right until the dead end. What is it that elves can offer you?” Elaine’s voice rose with each sentence she spoke. Boris could almost see her temples throb and her brain heat up. He shook his head and let her will calm down before he spoke again. It gave him time to think. To keep his words simple.

“An escape from the kingdom,” answered Boris softly, “an alternate outlook on the situation and a deeper understanding of the glyphs and magic. Diana is very different from most people I have ever met.”

“Oh I bet she is!” Elaine heated up again as Boris regretted his choice of words. “You know one elf and you know them all, don’t you?”

“This kingdom did not create magic, Elaine,” Boris put out a dismal reply while uprooting a whole chunk of grass with force, “It borrowed that. The glyphs, the spells, the rules. All this came from the elves. Especially the arcane magic,” he pointed out, “Which why people here know so less about it. Which is why I have better odds understanding the summoning spell there. Not to mention the Elven Codex which has records older than Cumaria itself, I have heard.” This was just something Boris gathered from his conversations with Diana and Grey and the few books he read.

“You are not wrong and not right,” Elaine replied, “A lot of magic has changed a lot over time. The summoning spells may have been invented by the elves but it’s the humans who refined it.”

“Well, it looks to me more like we stole it. Diana has told me more about the summoning spell than either Violet or Grey. Even you haven’t told me anything except for the fact that it is triangular. You might call it a secret but I think nobody here knows exactly how or why it works at all. Heck, I might have better luck joining the Cult,” Boris justified. With a flick of his hand, he scattered the torn grass all around. There was more to it, he knew. He was trying to find escape. To start afresh with better prospects. But he did not mention it.

“You are really rubbing me off now,” Elaine answered with a stony voice.

“Then let’s not talk about this,” Boris huffed, “I am afraid I will say things I will really regret.”

“So you want me to blindly accept that you may not be coming back and relay that to your friends?”

“That and, please, don’t tell them I am about to die in two years time. Ray will break into the demon lands like a donkey without its reins. It’s going to make all this much worse.”

“You are not going to die so easily! And you are going to come back. You can take my word on this.”

“Okay,” Boris resigned.

“You still have a lot of time to think before you cross into Cylia,” Elaine persisted.

“Elaine.”

“Think this through well, Boris. It’s an important decision,” Elaine tried to suppress the coercion in her voice but her will gave it away.

“Elaine,” Boris smirked, feeling a little bit of her worry mixed inside anger, anxiety and denial.

“What?” Elaine frowned at his silly face, “I’m not asking much.”

“Then can I ask for a hug?” he asked with arms spread wide.

Elaine froze, then narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Go and die, you scoundrel.”

Boris sulked and hugged himself. “Yeah, I’ll do that sometime,” he joked, referring to the eventual certainty of death.

“Don’t.” Elaine bit her lip.

“Can you at least sing that song again? I really like it now.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, boy.”

“But honesty should,” Boris added, turning his back to Elaine’s and turning to face the sky.

“We will see,” Elaine retorted.

Boris waited patiently. Reluctantly, Elaine started to sing again. Her voice was soft and clumsy, full of confidence but devoid of finesse. The song however, did not feel amiss. It was comfortable and touching, almost nostalgic. Boris had no time to wonder if he had heard it before. He drifted off to sleep soundly, his back pressed against Elaine in trust.

Elaine continued to sing in half a daze. It was more than a song for her. A shadow of the past and an omen of the future. Despite it all, Elaine could not part with it. It was stuck inside her mind forever. Like a mother’s lullaby.

“What a sickly song,” a voice commented and Elaine jerked up.

“Do you know what it beckons, maiden of light?” the creature spoke with a fake smile. It was the height of a child and its form hovered in the air like a ghost, blurry and deceptive. Elaine took a deep breath against her jittery heart, grasping her scepter in readiness.

“How did you find me, pixar?” she threatened.

The pixar vanished a moment and reappeared above her, prompting Elaine to cock her neck at a sharp angle. “We have eyes upon the night and day,” he said in a drawling voice. “What conceit makes you hide?”

Elaine squeezed her scepter and let the blade of light emerge upon it. Her hair started to take a faint glow in the moonlight when she spoke again, “This no place for your kind, pixar. Why are you here?” Her voice hid desperation and spilled venom.

“A sweet little child you have there,” the pixar informed her, vanishing again and reappearing an arm’s length from Boris. “It has caught our fancies.”

“Don’t touch him,” Elaine blurted. “He’s mine.” Her weapon now pointed at the hovering pixar while her other arm held Boris by his back. All this while, Boris slept like a log in the ocean, rocking upon the waves without a care.

“Yours?” the pixar let out a shrill voice, like an insect almost. “What a pitiful deceit you wear. He slips each day from your grasp, like a handful of sand. You know of him nothing. Not his past, nor his future come. And now, he is going to leave without a doubt. You are going to lose him…” he disappeared and reappeared beside Elaine’s ears. “…to the elves,” he added in a stabbing voice.

Elaine crushed her anger and stormed her thoughts. She could not fight well here. She had very little leeway in between Boris and the pixar. “That is none of your bloody concern,” she hissed, scorn dripping, “Keep away from me and my affairs.”

The pixar flew back up and displayed another smile. His expressions felt utterly shallow—doctored and fickle—just like his very presence. “What a poor way you have of turning the favor. Even a bird remembers the hand it feeds off of.”

“I owe you no favors that I must repay. Do not test my tolerance pixar,” Elaine issued another threat in defense, “or you will find it wanting.”

“There is much more to you we find wanting, Elaine Sithe. Your jest of a threat for one…” the pixar continued in his drawling voice, “…Your pretence for another,” he ran a soft, nimble finger upon Elaine’s face before she recoiled and fired a wind sickle that missed him. “Do humor us a while in your intolerance too,” he provoked.

Elaine pumped mana like a mad beast. Her hair sparked and scattered. Her eyes clogged with immense darkness. Her feet itched with energy while she tugged Boris and carefully laid him down. “You will not get it from me,” she declared, “whatever it is you want.” She wished it did not come to a fight. She was ill prepared even for escape, much less a fight.

“We want that child, we need him more,” the pixar parroted his demand.

“Well you’re not getting him. Not even over my dead body.” She raised her left and shaped a spell upon it. That made the pixar twitch.

“He is not the key you search for, maiden of light,” the pixar droned, twisting in and out of air. His voice sounded soft, hollow. Elaine gauged him with a tense heart, waiting for any attack to come.

“That is for me to decide,” she denied, sweat forming upon her brows. Her eyes swayed with the pixar’s shifting form but her feet stood firm.

“He will find no use among your aspirations. Like a fish on land, he will always crave the sea beyond. Give him to us.” The pixar flashed beside her ears. Elaine swept a blinding slash into the night but it missed, even at an arm’s length. “…We know what to do of him. We know how to fulfill your wish.”

“I have no wishes to speak of.” Elaine’s eyes flickered. This was too difficult in the night. She could not feel his presence creep about and her vision was hampered.

“So you say, Elaine Sithe. ¬You hide it well…” the pixar preached, “but we know. We know things you crave dearly,” he tempted her, “So dearly, you would kill for them. We know where the key dwells. We know how to get it. We can share the knowledge…” he offered, “but you must share the child with us.”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pixar,” Elaine stressed. “He is mine, and mine alone.”

“We have other ways…”

“If you bring him any harm I will hunt you down to my dying breath. I swear upon my blood.”

“What worth is there of tainted blood?” the pixar drawled.

“More than your entire vile breed,” Elaine spurned his taunt.

“A scathing tongue you have tonight. Fair be it. Keep your toy to yourself for now. But beware…” the pixar warned as it started to fade away, “it is too fragile to hold firm.”

Elaine glowered at his disappearing figure then collapsed back in relief, regaining her breath in foggy puffs of vapor. She barely seated herself when the voice spiked beside her ears again. Her heart leapt out of her neck in dread.

“Oh, before we let slip our mind, a parting gift,” the pixar said with feigned amusement, “The tower of Aramad calls. If you so heed it, make haste. Lest it falls to men more foul. Farewell truly, maiden of light,” he floated up into the air and waved an arm at her, “Keep ourselves in your bosom. Well hidden but always at hand,” then it flew into the darkness.

Elaine inhaled a deep gasp as she swallowed the shriek sitting inside her throat. She stayed vigilant for a while, uncertain of the pixar’s whereabouts. But the pixar was long gone. And the fully cloaked figure of Kale appeared back near the camp, walking with a slow, unassuming gait towards his own tent.

Left alone, Elaine dragged Boris back to his previous position and propped herself behind him. A slow warmth spread across her back as Elaine yawned and awaited dawn. She did not sing anymore. But the song had yet to die. It lingered in the air meekly. It permeated the grass and soaked into the earth. It greeted the leaves with the whistling wind and stirred the trees in encouragement. It roused the night in query and finally rose to the heavens in prayer. They stared through an echo of silence. They always did.

Was silence answer enough? Or was a storm still brewing in reply?

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Things you should note-

1- The dream is changing.

2- The pixars are here finally! (A good round of applause for them.) Edit: People, please tell me you noticed that Kale was a pixar all along! (C'mon, I hinted that brazenly!)

3- How Diana uses her will to force Boris into calm. It is not mind control but it is invasive. (Boris lets her do it).

4- The Divine Hands are an organization that has fallen to corruption and worse over the years. They are closely allied with their Orders which themselves is falling out of power (thanks to the king's hatred of them. For reasons I will later speak of.)

5- The song, but I guess no need to mention that.

6- And like I said, Elaine is a difficult character to write about. She has the most layers built into her. Some of you (not most, I hope?) would find her frustrating due to the fact that she is curtailing the development of Boris. But wouldn't you do the same in real life, if you liked Boris? But does she really like Boris? I can't say. Elaine has to be both frustrating and frustrated at times. I like her the way she is but I also want her to change. But she is very difficult. (Ugh!) Nevermind.

Bottom line is, neither you nor I know where Elaine is going. I hope she ends as something better and not worse.

Lastly, there are some issues I have noticed in my fiction that none have pointed out. Of time (measurement, progression and naming). Distance (a little vague.) And communication.

For now I have arbitrarily decided that time is measured in minutes/hours. An year has thirteen months of 28 dyas each. Distance in imperial units (they sound older) and communication is by good old pigeons/birds. There might be exceptions but I haven't really given much thought (aside from one particular scenario).

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Spoiler : There is one more thing I must mention again after my previous rant. I am always open to criticism and suggestions. (I like them. There's a thread for them.) But not to insults and trolling.

If you have read my fic this far you should have noticed me changing things a little here and there. Examples?

1- I slashed the screentime of heroes (drastically). This was an opinion from toobadbro and some others. I agreed because it made the story more enjoyable for you.

2- Someone asked me to introduce the other races as well (in suggestions thread). I introduced the pixars a little earlier for that reason. I also wrote a short story.

3- tivanenk said I should write dark. While I could not change that I did write a dark side story.

4- someone also asked about Boris having a dragon. I will let you know about that by the time the Scourge comes.

I am listening. If I like it, I will change my events to fit it but I will not change the basic spine and critical points (which were decided from the get go.) This means you can get a story that is mostly my own but still have your wishes granted. (without being an ass about it). Well, I hope that appeals to you.

I must also add that sometimes a (even disagreeing/critical) comment just clicks. When this happens, I write the same scene but it turns out much, much better. (This happened with chapter 8). This is actually the biggest reason I am begging for comments and constructive critique.

Thanks for reading.

PS: Next update will come much later. Expect 2 months or so. Sorry.

EDIT: Here's an additional treat (Thanks to na700037 for jogging my memory).

Elaine for eye candy. Rock, moon and clouds for ambience. Boris for scale.

This is the last scene (and scientifically inaccurate :P). It has been sitting with me for months but I couldn't post before completing this chapter. Like my map this is hand-drawn+camscanned+2 filters. This is the best I can draw. Expect one more pic about 10 chapters later.

_theDeva