Dark Souls: The Wayfarer
Book 1
Chapter 1
An uncharacteristic silence had settled upon the cathedral's courtyard. Where usually the subdued chatter of acolytes could be heard there was only the murmur of the wind and the rustling of the saint-trees. Besides Alva and the young maiden, the only souls in sight were the guards positioned at each entrance, halberds gleaming in the midday sun.
Saint Serreta, chosen maiden of the goddess Caitha and consecrated saint of the church of Carim, knelt before the fountain which occupied the centre of the yard, cowl pulled over her head. She grasped her sacred chime in both hands and mouthed prayers to her goddess.
Alva stood in silence, several feet behind her. His breathing was soft, as had been his footsteps as he entered the courtyard, for he was keen not to disturb his lady's worship.
He had been sparring in the cathedral's barracks when one of the Saint's guards had approached him, bidding him visit the maiden in the courtyard alone. Typically, such a disturbance would only prove to irritate him and the messenger would be dismissed, but an invitation to commune with Caitha's chosen was something even Sir Alva could not reject.
Serreta finished her prayer and rose to her feet. She did not turn from the fountain, but Alva knew she was aware of his presence. He stepped closer.
"Your holiness." he issued, his voice even.
"Sir Alva," her voice, likewise even, was as clear and soft as a maiden's chime, "so glad am I that you could meet me here. I have urgent need of a soldier such as thyself, and I am told that of all Carim's holy knights you are the most worthy."
"Your words are kind, your holiness." Alva was well aware of his reputation. It was well-earned- he had fought in Carim's army for a decade and survived countless campaigns before entering into the service of the cathedral. While he would never boast, he could not deny his worth.
"The matter which I wish to divulge to you is known only to myself and to the Archbishop. Together we have agreed that this must not become common knowledge. Knowing this, do you swear that the wrong ears will never hear these words from you?"
"I swear it, your holiness."
For several moments the maiden and the soldier stood in silence, gazing at the statue in the fountain. A slender woman, clad in a simple gown, both hands clasping her face. Clear water ran between her fingers and into the wide basin which encircled her. Serreta turned to face Alva.
The right half of her face was rotten, green, her eye was pure white. The right side of her mouth drooped very slightly, not enough to slur her words but enough to mark her with a permanent grimace. Her golden hair looked brittle, and patched were missing from her scalp. Alva could not prevent his sharp intake of breath at the sight. Serreta, however, retained a composed, authoritative stance.
"The brand appeared upon my flesh not a week ago," she began, "I consulted the Archbishop at once, with terror in my heart. He told me that nobody within the cathedral may hear of this, lest panic spread throughout Carim. He told me that the chosen maiden of Caitha must not appear to carry an affliction of man."
"I had heard rumours. They say that the brand of the Curse has been sighted in the eastern lands… Forossa, and Mirrah too. But I do not understand- how can the augur of a goddess be struck by the Curse of the Undead?"
Serreta smiled forlornly, although only the left corner of her mouth rose, "I am as human as any other, and the Darksign does not discriminate. Do not burden yourself with such questions though- it is urgent that your duty be elucidated.
"You are to leave Carim, covertly, and seek a cure for the Undead Curse. You shall travel alone. No borders shall restrict your journey. Should you uncover a treatment, you are to return to Carim and present it to myself and the Archbishop." she delivered these commands with an air of authority which did not suit someone of her small stature, and Alva understood why Caitha had selected her. He delivered his following statement reluctantly.
"Your holiness, may I speak frankly?"
"You may, Sir Alva."
"For countless ages scholars and errant knights alike have sought a cure for the affliction. Thus far, the only proven solution has been the linking of the First Flame, and such a deed may only be performed by one endowed with a mighty Soul, one worthy of the title of monarch. I fear that I am not he, your holiness."
At this, Serreta collapsed to her knees. Alva lurched forward, hand outstretched to catch her, but the maiden raised a hand to ward him away. He now saw that tears were running from her untainted eye.
"I send you on a fool's errand, sir, I know this. The Archbishop… he insisted upon it… you know that I would never be so self-serving as to release you upon such a doomed quest in order that I may be freed from this Curse! I should be content to relinquish my humanity and go Hollow as thousands soon will, yet he will not allow Caitha's appointed to whither like the rest."
She dropped her chime on the ground and wept, mirroring the stone goddess behind her.
"Please, Alva, do not confront the Archbishop over this matter; it would change nothing."
It was as if she glimpsed the confrontation which was already playing out in his mind. He would stride into the study in the cathedral's central tower, where the Archbishop was no doubt lounging, and… And what? That a cure would never be found? That he would not aid the beloved Saint Serreta? And what then? Face expulsion from the cathedral?
"Your holiness, I cannot guarantee my success," he said solemnly, "but I give you my word that I shall offer every part of my being to curing you of the Curse. Even if I must plunge into the Abyss itself, I will not rest until I stand before you once more, remedy in hand."
"Your devotion moves me," she sniffled, wiping the last tear from her eye. From the folds of her virgin-white robe she removed a slender roll of parchment, sealed with crimson wax bearing the teardrop sigil of Caitha. "This letter acknowledges your service to myself and to the faith. It should be enough to grant you access to most domains. You may break the seal at your discretion."
Alva took the parchment from the saint's pale hand, "My thanks, your holiness, although I fear that there are many who mistrust the faith."
She smiled sadly at this, "It may be that you are right. We have many denigrators, amongst the scholars in particular. Be vigilant."
Alva allowed himself to betray a touch of confidence at this, "Your holiness, you would not have sent for me were it not for my vigilance."
Serreta laughed at this, and Alva thought it the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, "Go now, Sir Alva the Vigilant, and may the Flames guide thee. I shall pray to Caitha for her mercy, Velka for her justice and Fina for her favour, for each of us."
Alva withdrew from the courtyard. At that moment he could not have known that this would be his final exchange with Saint Serreta.
