The Harrowing
Guenhibhar took a deep breath as she pushed open the heavy doors leading into the Harrowing chamber. The time had come to prove herself: to her fellow apprentices, to her mentors, and to the people she had left behind when her talent for magic had been discovered.
The air in the Harrowing Chamber hummed and vibrated; inhaling brought with it a coppery tang, though she had no injury. First Enchanter Irving stood in the center of the chamber; Ser Greagoir, knight-commander of the Chantry Templars, stood beside him, scowling.
Irving turned at Guen's approach. It may have been her imagination, but she thought she saw a hint of a paternal smile on the First Enchanter's aged face. "Are you ready, child?" he asked. "Once you enter the Fade, there is no turning back."
Guen took a second deep breath, jerked her head in a nod, and answered, "I'm ready." Her fists clenched reflexively, as if to contain the answer her lips had already released.
"Know this, Apprentice," Greagoir interjected curtly, "if you fail, the templars will do their duty. You will die."
Guen recognized the threat in the Knight-Commander's words—if her spirit did not return to her physical form within a time frame Greagoir deemed reasonable, the templars would assume she had been possessed, and would slay her without remorse, rather than allow an abomination to walk free. She noticed Cullen, one of the junior templars, standing to one side, looking as unhappy as she had ever seen him. She had always been friendly with Cullen, and she had to wonder at his purpose in attending her Harrowing. For everyone's sake, she hoped it was for moral support, and that his unhappiness was merely the symptom of seeing a friend walk into danger.
Irving intervened upon seeing her nervousness. "Once in the Fade," he explained gently, "you will be armed with only your will. Be careful; yours will not be the only spirit wandering about."
Guen nodded her understanding, the nervous knot in her stomach making her feel ill. She knew better than to profess her confidence in her abilities, for pride made an easy target for spirits and demons to take possession of a mage's spirit.
A bowl rested on an ornate stand, set in the center of the room. Within it, something shimmered. Guen dipped her hand into the bowl; she was surprised at the substance's chill.
"This is lyrium," Irving continued. "It will allow you to enter the Fade."
The lyrium spread over Guen's hand, and with it, an increasing sense of being slowly pulled away from herself, from her body. Everything began to take on the same luminescence as the lyrium until it hurt to keep her eyes open. She squeezed them shut against the sting. Sounds ceased to exist. Her body became a cumbersome thing—with a final exhalation, she surrendered to the force pulling her into the Fade.
When she dared open her eyes, everything had taken on strange shades of muted colors. And nothing seemed solid. Guen dusted herself off and looked around for some indication of direction. She had no staff, no charms. Irving had not lied when he'd said her only weapon would be sheer force of will. Already she felt the strangeness of the Fade sapping away at her strength.
"So they threw you to the wolves," sighed a voice tinged with bitterness. "I swear it's always the same."
Startled, Guen looked around wildly for the speaker, but saw none. Finally, she thought to look down. No one was there, save a mouse that was slightly larger than normal.
"They didn't even try to prepare you for anything you met in the Fade, did they?" the mouse said indignantly. "That 'armed with only your will' clap-trap kills more apprentices than the templars do."
Guen stared at the mouse, baffled. Bafflement quickly turned to wide-eyed amazement as the mouse transformed into a human man in a flash of light. "Who are you?" she blurted.
"My name is Mouse," he replied. "Not my real name, obviously. I don't remember that anymore."
"How do you forget your real name?" Guen wondered. He was not a handsome-looking man; rather tired looking, actually, and his dull blue eyes were full of bitterness.
"I was an apprentice, like you," Mouse elaborated. "At least, I think I was. I don't think I have a body to go back to. I…I took too long during my Harrowing, and I think the templars killed me."
Guen felt a twinge of nervousness. How long had she been here? There was no way of marking time in the Fade that she could distinguish. She was growing accustomed to the strangeness, at least. "What am I supposed to be doing here?" she asked. "All anyone ever seemed to tell me was how dangerous the Fade is."
"It is dangerous," Mouse replied. "As for your test, you must find a demon, and resist its attempts to possess you."
"Oh is that all," Guen remarked flippantly. "How do I find this demon, then?"
"Usually it finds you," he answered cryptically. "There are other spirits here, as well. One powerful spirit in particular. I can sense it over this way."
Cardinal directions didn't seem to have any meaning in the Fade; Guen had no way of knowing if "this way" meant "west" or "up, down, and sideways." She could do nothing but follow Mouse's guidance for the moment. "How can you tell where spirits are?" she asked curiously.
"If you allow your mind to wander, you'll find it pulls you in one direction or another," Mouse replied. "The stronger the pull, the more powerful the spirit."
Guen released her stranglehold on her self-control, and found herself being pulled just as Mouse had described, as though by many different currents. One current in particular was stronger than the rest; Guen followed it.
Unbelievably, she heard the sounds of a forge, faint at first, then growing louder as she drew near. She spotted Mouse curled into a shadow behind a rock, again as a rodent. Before her stood the strangest smithy she had ever seen. Swords, shields and staves rested on stands, meticulously laid out by size. Everything shimmered, just like the lyrium in the Harrowing Chamber.
A spirit, large and vaguely humanoid, stood at an anvil. As Guen drew closer, it grew more defined. Most of its bulk was composed of armor that covered every part of the spirit save for a craggy, masculine face. "Would you choose one of Valor's weapons?" he boomed. "Then you must duel me."
"Duel you?" Guen echoed incredulously, mentally gauging her own meager physical capabilities against the raw power the spirit, Valor, exuded. "Why not just kill myself and save you the trouble?"
"It would be no trouble," Valor assured her sarcastically.
Indignation swelled within her, almost palpably. "Really," she said icily. "And if I were to simply demand one?"
Valor paused. He had seen and dueled many apprentices. He was unsure if this one realized she was exercising her will upon him as her outrage increased. "I would slay you, for ignoring the rules of engagement," he bluffed.
Guen paused to consider. "How do you make such things?" she stalled. "I've seen no ore or hard wood."
"I bring them into being by my will alone," Valor replied. "What I wish to create, I create."
If will can do such things, perhaps it is not so trivial a weapon as Mouse made it seem to be, Guen thought. Forcing herself to stand as tall as her elven frame would permit, she commanded, "Give me a staff. I must do battle with a demon if I am to leave this place a true mage."
Valor nearly staggered at the power behind her words. She was yet untried, true, but it would take a better—or more foolish—spirit than he to test the limits of her influence and endurance. "Your will is too strong," he admitted. "Take this, and welcome," he said solemnly, holding out a staff that was talker than she by roughly the length of her hand.
Guen masked her surprise with ceremony as she gravely accepted Valor's gift. She bowed her head in thanks and walked away without another word.
Valor almost didn't notice the small form darting out from the shadows to follow the promising young apprentice. "A better spirit, or more foolish," he muttered.
"I cannot believe that worked," Guen said shakily as Mouse caught up with her. Only her grip on her new staff kept her hands from shaking.
"Nor can I," Mouse agreed with a laughing gasp of relief as he returned to his human form. "You were magnificent!" He looked at her in admiration. "You're very brave, you know."
Guen shrugged uncomfortably; she was unaccustomed to such praise. "I don't know what would have happened to us had I failed," she confided. "I suppose I would have had to duel him."
"'Us'?" Mouse echoed, a strange catch in his voice.
"Well, yes," Guen answered with a frown. "I need a guide, and in return, I offer my protection. To the best of my ability, anyway. Have none of the other apprentices made this offer to you?"
"None," Mouse answered flatly. "It is…good to feel needed again."
Guen gave him an encouraging smile as they continued down the Fade path.
She had no way of marking how long it had been. The currents that indicated the presence of different spirits ebbed and flowed. Some shades attacked; most did not. Anything hostile was brutally dispatched by Guen's repertoire of spells, small as it was. Bolts of energy shot from the end of the gifted staff, unerringly striking their intended targets. Mouse encouraged her to use some of her more powerful spells, but she politely refused, explaining that she wanted to save them for when she encountered the demon she was meant to face.
She had no way of knowing how long it had been, but Mouse stopped in his tracks abruptly, holding up a hand to silence her. "There's something up ahead, can you feel it?" he whispered urgently. "Not a spirit—it might be a demon, I think."
Fear trilled up Guen's spine like icy fingers. "We got lucky with Valor," she whispered back. "I don't think we can count on the same luck being with us twice."
"Focus!" Mouse urged. "Demons feed off your weakness. Be strong, as you were with Valor."
It occurred briefly to Guen that for a mousey spirit of an apprentice who had hidden during her last encounter with a powerful entity, he knew rather a lot about what she was required to do here. Probably from watching so many apprentices move through here, she reasoned. She straightened her spine and approached the demon. Aside from its grotesque appearance, it really wasn't what she had expected. For one thing, it was napping. And snoring. Loudly. Its appearance was that of a large hound or a bear, save for the hog –like nose. It stirred a little as Guen and Mouse approached, but otherwise showed no sign of waking.
"We can probably walk right past it," Guen murmured.
"No, please," pleaded a sonorous, sleepy voice that could only have come from the snoring demon. "Stay and chat a while. I never meet anyone interesting in this place anymore."
Guen froze as the demon rose from its repose. Mouth dry, she stammered, "What makes you think I'm interesting?"
"Another…spirit follows you," the demon answered, turning its ghastly head toward Mouse with interest. "What purpose do you serve little one?"
"He is my guide in this place," Guen answered quickly as Mouse reverted back to his rodent form. "I am yet unfamiliar with this place, and had need of one. Tell me truly, creature, are you the demon I meant to face?"
"Not Sloth. Not I," the demon answered readily. "I find such things to be far too tiresome. But if you will but humor me for a few moments, I will give your small friend something very useful."
Guen glanced at Mouse, who, she admitted, was not being very useful at the moment. "Speak your terms, then" she said imperiously.
"Do you like riddles?" Sloth inquired.
"Well enough," she answered guardedly.
"Answer my riddles correctly, and I will teach your small friend a new form. Do not, and I attack. Shall we begin?"
"Be careful," Mouse whispered. "He may be lazy, but sloth demons are still tricky."
Guen looked from Mouse to Sloth, and decided. "Ask me your riddles, then, Sloth."
One by one, Guen answered the demon's riddles. True to his word, Sloth taught Mouse the form of a large bear, one he could use to do battle."
"One more question, if I may," Guen ventured boldly. "Where will I find the demon I am meant to face?"
"Burning pits," Sloth yawned in answer, just before slipping back into his stupor.
"We saw those as you came in," Mouse reminded her.
They returned to the area in which she had entered the Fade. The staff from Valor vibrated in her hand. Her demon must be near, then. The heat from the fires scorched her skin under her apprentice robes, and she knew getting too close would spell trouble. She stood in the middle of the natural arena, waiting for some sort of sign or indication she was in the right place at the right time.
She didn't have to wait for very long. The ground beneath her began to rumble, and grow hot. Through the cracks oozed a mass that appeared to be made of pure lava. It slowly articulated into a legless torso with two arms. Guen had the fanciful thought that it looked like a slug—if a slug were made of magma and bent upon being the sole executor of her impending fiery doom. Guen recognized it from her texts as a Rage Demon, but had no way of gauging its strength without engaging it in combat. Which, she supposed, was the entire point of her being here.
This was it—the culmination of her years of training and lessons, sleepless nights studying method. Almost outside of herself, she pointed the tip of the staff toward the approaching demon. "Let's see what we're made of," she murmured, and called upon the pool of energy within herself she reserved for magic. Pure force shot from the end of the staff, pushing the demon back. Again and again, Guen cast the same spell, gaining a little more ground each time. She murmured a different incantation, one that would—in theory—freeze her opponent in place, maybe long enough for Mouse to experiment with his new form.
Her spell worked, and for longer than expected. Mouse almost instinctively changed into his new bear shape and clawed wildly at the frozen Rage Demon. Guen shouted a warning as she saw clouds of steam begin to emerge from cracks in the ice. "Mouse! Get back!"
Mouse obeyed just in time—the demon burst from the icy prison with a hiss and spew of boiling water.
Guen tried to case the same freezing spell again—her small bolts of energy didn't seem to weaken the demon as much as being frozen had. The spell fizzled in her hands, uncast. Panic threatened to overwhelm her; the lascivious, hungry smile on the rage demon's face promised nothing but the worst death imaginable should she falter. Summoning the last reserves of her energy, she tried casting her freezing spell one last time.
Mouse almost didn't wait for her spell to succeed before tearing into the demon with the bear's claws and teeth. Ice and magma chipped away, little by little, as he whittled it down to nothing. Guen kept firing her bolt spell, hoping it would be enough to banish the demon. Finally, it was gone.
Guen leaned heavily upon her staff, all but spent, but elated. She had done it! She'd passed her Harrowing!
"You did it!" Mouse exclaimed, rushing toward her.
He was smiling, Guen noticed, for the first time. "Indeed, I suppose I did," she replied with a smile. "Now what?"
"We return to the Harrowing chamber," Mouse answered easily.
Guen's gaze sharpened. "We?" she echoed. "I thought you said you didn't have a body to go back to." There was a new, hungry gleam in his eye she mistrusted. Something wasn't right.
"Well, I'd need your help with that, obviously," he admitted. "If I could just…tag along."
"I don't think so, Mouse," Guen said carefully, allowing her already tenuous hold on her self-control loosen, to allow herself to be pulled in one direction or another. "I'm grateful for the help you've given, and I've protected you as best as I can. You've even got a new shape, one that will protect you even after I'm gone. But what you're proposing sounds very close to an abomination is."
"According to who? The templars?" Mouse cackled scornfully. "They fear us. They fear our power."
"With reason," Guen argued, truly alarmed now. All the currents of power in the Fade, every force—they all carried her straight to Mouse. "You've been here long enough. You've likely seen what can go wrong here." Strength flowed into her, preparation for battle granting an unexpected reprieve from her fatigue. "The rage demon wasn't the test, was it," she stated, more than asked. "Who are you, Mouse?"
Mouse laughed in a manner that could only be described as evil. His shape began to change. He grew, as tall as an oak and twice as wide. Spines slithered and hardened into wicked-looking spikes; rock-like plates replaced his apprentice robes. Only when his transformation was complete did Guen recognize his—its—form: a pride demon. Despair swelled within her, even as she gripped Valor's staff and prepared for battle. She hoped Greagoir was standing near, ready to end it, should she fail. Her staff betrayed her, however—it faded into nothing. Her clenched fist held nothing but air.
"Nothing is as it seems in this place," the pride demon chortled in a voice like brimstones grinding together. "Remember that."
Guen felt herself falling, losing control. She tried to scream—defiance, a warning, anything—but her throat had closed. So this was what becoming an abomination felt like, she thought. Everything just…going away…fading.