Chapter 24

Wil dug deep into his bag of holding, searching desperately for the healing potions he knew were kept there. The potions he had obtained in the auction with Annabelle were gone, ages ago. His trip north and the first few weeks on the wall had seen to that.

He had replaced them multiple times, first from the Mage Guild, then the Mercantile Association in Elbing.

Frantic, and mindful of his broken arm, he dug deeper into the bag. The necromantic magic the Fat Man used had damaged the bag’s enchantments, making it difficult to search. Usually, he could summon whatever he was looking for to the top of the bag, but it seemed the damage had made it more…finicky.

The Clockwork Owl had carried him far away from the Spire, clutched tightly in its claws. But even with the distance between them, he could still smell the smoke even from this far away. The fire must have caused considerable damage

Settled on the shore of a lake, Wil had slept for hours, shivering as the effects of the negative energy ravished his body. He had only woken a short time ago, screaming awake from the nightmares.

His skin was pale and clammy, his vision hazy, the colors washed out and grey. His encounter with the Fat Man left him at death’s door, and no amount of rest on the ground of the ‘Inner Realm’ could fix him.

He had seen this effect before, from adventurers and auxiliaries who had traveled too close to the source of the corruption in Aachen. Their greed drove them forward, even as their bodies ailed and faded with each step.

Garman had warned him away from the Merchant’s council quarters, advice that Wil had heeded. Others weren’t so lucky to have a mentor like him. They explored places best left alone.

The results of such activities were similar to what Wil was now experiencing, the negative energy became a piece of death itself, slowly trying to claim his life.

Finally feeling his hand close around the small, glass vials, he pulled out three potions. Their crimson red liquid sloshed around in their narrow containers. Pulling the cork of the first one, Wil poured the contents down his throat, waiting for the healing warmth the spread throughout his body.

Seconds passed, then minutes, but nothing happened. He didn’t feel recovered, he didn’t feel anything at all, as if nothing had changed.

Desperate, he pulled the cork form the second bottle, pouring the red liquid over his hastily bandaged arm. The broken bone, tied tightly, was still bent at an unnatural angle.

He was competent in first aid, no one who served on the wall could escape the necessity of battlefield treatment, but his expertise fell short when it came to fixing a major injury like this. Wil’s left arm was useless until he could have a cleric or healer look at it. The bleeding had stopped, but he needed the potion to help the injury along, or at the very least, stave off infection. Gods knew he was weak enough right now, that even the smallest sickness could kill him.

Waiting as the potion seeped into his skin, he felt the burning warmth wrap around his arm, the bone not magically going back into place, but the swelling and pain receded slightly.

Confused at the lack of results, he drank the third potion. This time a faint energy swept through his limbs, alleviating some of the aches, and brining a hint of color back to his skin. But his hand was still black and mangled, the flesh aged and withered.

Luckily, the wounded hand was on his injured left arm, rendering it useless, even if the potion could heal it.

“Shit.” Wil muttered, looking at his hand as he pulled out more bandages from his bag. Negative energy wounds could only be completely healed by divine, clerical magic. He had hoped for three potions to do more, but it looked as if he would be severely weakened until he could escape from this place. But at least it had taken the edge off.

He would live, barely.

Slowly standing, Wil created a crude sling for his injured left arm, cradling it tight against his chest, as he looked around his campsite. Placed on the edge of a clear, blue lake, the rocky shore was adequate for his needs.

Drawing fresh water, he placed it in a pot, taken from his bag, before gathering broken twigs and limbs, to start a fire. Not willing to drain his mana, he used a piece of flint and a knife, something that he hadn’t used since he was a boy, starting fires in the backyard of the manor.

He smiled while he remembered stealing books from his father’s study, trying to set them on fire before Greaves could catch him. It was worth the beating just to see that look on his father’s face.

Chuckling, he got to work, and soon had a small fire, burning brightly.

Throwing some things into the pot, a small bag of oats and some salt, he put it over the hot flames, not even bothering to conjure a tripod to hang it on. Exhausted, he settled in next the warm fire, his body grateful for the warmth.

The Owl settled in on a log next to the fire, its metallic head constantly turning as it looked around, its gears whirling quietly. The sun was going down, the candle flame low on the horizon. He couldn’t see the spinning coin moon, not yet, but he knew it was up there somewhere.

The pot bubbled merrily over the dancing flames, and the smell of his meal was making his stomach rumble.

“Thanks…for saving me.” Wil said, looking at his companion. He was never truly sure how much it understood, and he felt almost embarrassed to talk to it. Although it didn’t respond, it did stare quietly at him, before turning back to look at the surrounding. He took that as a ‘you’re welcome.’

Sighing, he pulled his cloak out from the bag, wrapping it tight around his shoulders as another round of shivers swept through him. Shaking, he pulled the pot off the flames, pulling out a bowl and wooden spoon from his pack.

Not waiting for it to cool, he enjoyed every mouthful of the hot food. His stomach comfortably full, he made his slow way to the lake’s edge, washing the dish by hand before returning it to his bag and sitting down again.

“Do you think we got him? Or is the Fat Man going to be waiting for us back at the Spire?” Wil whispered to the owl, while staring into the flames. Softly hooting, the Owl ignored his inquiry, looking at the forest on the other side of the water, the trees dark in the dim light.

“You’re right…doesn’t matter, we have to go back there, regardless. We can’t leave until this is settled.” Wil muttered, thinking to himself.

Why did he even bother? Here he was, injured worse than he had ever been, sick to his stomach, with only a metal bird for company, and he still couldn’t even consider leaving things unfinished.

“What do I owe it anyway? Stupid Turtle…” Wil mumbled. Thinking about the Drake, and all his friends there, he realized quickly he answered his own question. The gods were assholes, no doubt about it.

But mortal lives were part of a game that played by the gods’ rules. Aruna may have had a hand in sending him here, but, until he could be strong enough follow his own path, he needed to dance by the tune they played.

“Someday, Bitey, you and I are going to be able to finally say ‘no’ to all this bullshit.” Wil said, looking at the bird. The Owl simply tilted its head, with a faint ‘hoot’ to mock his suggestion.

“You know, I used to come to a lake like this when I was young. Not with Markus. He was always too busy with my father. But mother would take me and my sister sometimes.” Wil paused, lost in thought. His mind felt fuzzy, things were becoming hard to focus on.

“You would have liked her…my mother, I mean, not my sister. I’d be terrified, if I were you, of meeting her. She’d likely want to take you apart, not to see how you worked, but just to see you suffer.” Wil spoke, not really knowing what he was saying. His skin, cold before, was now feverously hot, even though the shivers wouldn’t go away.

Wincing, he tried to flex his stiff fingers, wondering why they weren’t responding like they should.

Looking at his blackened fingers, like they belonged to another person, he leaned back, using his bag of holding as a pillow.

“She tried to kill me, at the lake. Pushed me in the water, laughing. I can remember sinking, the water closing over me. I was terrified. And there she was, laughing at me….” Wil trailed off, his eyes heavy.

“Wasn’t the last time, either. Tried to kill me again before I went to the academy. She wanted to ‘practice’ magic… lucky April was there, I wouldn’t be here otherwise…” Wil said, his eyes closed now. His thoughts slow, his breathing even.

“Terrible way… to treat someone you loved…someone you owe your life to…” He whispered, before sleep claimed him again.

The night was quiet, the spinning silver coin floating high overhead. The crackling fire sent embers high into the night sky. And all through the night, a Clockwork Owl kept watch, its soft hoots occasionally breaking the silence.