Avarice

Chapter 21: Wraithmarsh

White demon, where's your selfish kiss?

White demon sorrow will arrange,

Let's not forget about the fear,

Black invitation to this place that cannot change?

While strangely holy, come for a rain.

"A White Demon Love Song" – The Killers

Reaver had left quite a few hours ago, citing "business reasons". Naveena of course knew better, and was slightly annoyed that he thought her so dense as not to actually realize what he was really doing, but she acquiesced to the idea (Not without first rolling her eyes) of not confronting him and sat alone in the bed, bundling threadbare blankets around her shoulders. It was frighteningly cold, and Naveena found herself actually yearning for her seaborne prison upon the Narcissus' Reflection.

Eventually she gave up on trying to sleep and stood from the bed, sighing, wrapping a pale robe around her muscled form. She tied the sash and headed downstairs, each step creaking ominously, and wondered if Alden would care if she had a glass of wine without paying. Surely he wouldn't notice, right?

Unfortunately for her, Alden was still very much awake, wiping glasses with a dirty rag, humming some sort of song to himself. The tavern was empty, which seemed to be a normal occurrence, because most barkeeps sweated over how many people were within or not, drinking themselves into an early grave.

"Not too busy, huh?" She asked, timidly, clearing her throat. Alden jumped a little, looking up at her.

He cracked a grin, gold teeth glinting with the light of the lanterns, "It never is." He went from the counter, dropping both glass and rag upon the surface, and pulled a rickety chair over for her to sit on. "Couldn't sleep, could you?"

"No." Sighed Naveena, taking the seat. Alden moved back into place behind the counter. "Reaver and I… we're going to the Wraithmarsh tomorrow."

The look on Alden's face was so frightened that it chilled Naveena to the bone. His demeanor had changed completely, and his shoulders had tensed, squared, sharp with his broad shoulders. And his eyes… his eyes had become so dark they seemed almost black. He must have realized he was scaring her though, because he shuddered and began wiping the glass in his hand more vigorously.

"The Wraithmarsh," He spat, teeth grinding together as he wiped a dark stain on the glass. "Figures."

"Er…" Naveena shifted uneasily in her seat. "Is that bad?"

"It's swallowing Bloodstone, if that counts as bad." Alden wiped the stain even harder but groaned and eventually gave up.

"What?" Naveena looked up at him, blue eyes wide. Swallowing? "What do you mean swallowing?"

Alden placed the glass down harshly on the counter, and moved again. There was the rattling and clinking of glass against utensil, and he came back with two cups of ale, placing one in front of Naveena. She stared at it, and glanced back up at Alden, eyebrow raised.

"You're gonna need it." He said, and brought a stool around so he could sit across from her. Alden took a sip from the glass, grimacing as it crawled down his throat. Naveena took a sip as well, and could see why he'd grimaced. It tasted like spiders.

"It all starts with a tiny town, that used to be where Wraithmarsh is, now." Alden sighed, shoulders squared again. Something obviously gripped him, like icy fingers curled around his windpipe, choking. Suffocating. The air around them seemed to feel like blankets, and Naveena felt heavy beneath it. "Oakvale."

"Oakvale. Like Oakfield?" Naveena pressed.

"Hm. Oakfield was founded by a few survivors from Oakvale, you know. People that had clawed their way out. Don't know if they were trying to rebuild themselves, or if they were trying to pretend that it never happened." Alden looked her directly in the eyes, frowning, lines pressed around his ancient lips. "I can't blame them either way."

She took another taste of the spidery drink. Watching Alden carefully as the man shuddered, gripping his mug tightly with long, elegant fingers. He was missing the pinky finger on his left hand, she noticed. It was a small pale stump.

"It was a small farming community, cut off from Bowerstone by a… forest, of sorts. Or a marsh, really." He shifted on his bar stool, uncomfortable. "Known as Darkwood. It was infested with Balverines, and bandits. It's a leg of the Wraithmarsh, now." He shook his head, sighing. "Those poor sods. They never saw it coming."

"Never saw what coming?" She pressed, leaning forward, as though Alden were about to tell her a secret. Her fingers tightened around the glass, so tightly that it seemed it would splinter beneath the weight of her strength.

Alden chuckled darkly, looking up at her from his heavily-lidded eyes. For a second, his gaze seemed so icy and piercing that they felt like icicles about to pierce the skin, shiny stalactites in the mouth of a yawning cavern. Beneath the layers of ice, however, was something else. Buried deep within. Fear, sharp and tangible. So tangible that Naveena could almost taste his horror on the edge of her tongue, overpowering the drink.

He continued, "Mothers tell their children tales of the Wraithmarsh, and Oakvale. Cautionary tales. To prevent them from heading out, playing the hero. It doesn't stop some of them. Sometimes, the monsters that lurk within leave the corpses on the fringes, as a warning. Those tales…" Here, he shook his head. "When I was a child, they curdled my blood and haunted my nightmares. I saw some of the corpses. Some of them were my friends, and to see them there… unmoving… I dreamed I would end up a corpse someday."

"You went to the Wraithmarsh didn't you?" Naveena asked, stark, her throat a great lump. Her mouth had gone dry, and she drank the ale, though it didn't help. Alden laughed, it was a laugh without humor and raised his hand. The hand that had the stump of a finger.

"When I was a teenager, my closest friend, Will, ended up on the fringes." He looked at the hand, a frown twisting his ancient face. It was marred, Naveena noticed finally, with thin, blade-like scars. "I took my father's woodcutter ax and headed out into the Wraithmarsh. And I ran into a hag."

Naveena had heard of hags. Her mother, Sparrow, had hated them in particular. When asked about them, she had said, "The hags say things you don't want to hear. They try to break you, tear you apart from the inside. Any secrets you have, they know. They steal them. Your fear becomes their food, their enjoyment. 'Veena, the one monster I fear, more than anything in the world, is the hag. Should you ever face one, please, you mustn't break."

"The hag tore me apart. Sent her little minions after me. I threw down that axe, my hand streaming with blood, my face filleted like a fish, and I ran. The Wraithmarsh is a place of nightmares. A place of old, old history. And soon, Bloodstone will become a part of that old history."

Naveena tried to swallow the lump tied in her throat. It didn't work. "So what happened to Oakvale?"

"Many years ago," Alden sighed, as though resigned to something. "When Darkwood, Oakvale and the Barley Fields were still three different regions, and this place was nothing but a city in the making, the shadows came to Oakvale. The survivors, those that had fled into Bloodstone or whatever it was called back then, couldn't explain it themselves. They said that the hamlet had caught on fire, and dark, imp-like monsters came and tore it apart. Like they were looking for something. Some of them took the villagers, deep into the woods, never to be seen again."

"The village just… fell?" Naveena asked, tentative, as though stumbling upon something incredibly unpleasant. "What, there was no militia or anything?"

"It was a farming hamlet. It had fallen before, to bandits. But they had rebuilt then." He laughed, sorely. "What? Must I recite the Hero of Oakvale legend now?"

She'd heard that before. Sparrow had kept a book within the Castle library. It was small and leather-bound, with colorful pictures of Balverines and dragons, and a stalwart, blond young man carrying a glowing sword marked down as the Sword of Aeons. Her mother had whispered once that the Hero of Oakvale's blood flowed through their blood. That it was his blood that fed their Hero bloodline through the generations.

"No," Naveena yawned, the tips of her ears reddening in slight embarrassment. She ran a hand through her short red hair, tousling strands. "It was a stupid question, I guess. Er… continue."

"Darkwood began to spread." Alden shifted again on his barstool, uncomfortable. His pale brows furrowed. "Slowly, at first. A marsh grew amidst the remains of Oakvale. Hags found their homes within the ruins of the town, they fed off the pain within. And eventually, all that was left of this region was hardy Bloodstone."

"And the fog?" Inquired Naveena.

"Fog's recent." Alden said. "Your mother, when she lived here for a time, hadn't seen the fog. It came eventually, about four decades ago. Soon, Bloodstone will be nothing but a memory. A part of Wraithmarsh."

Naveena gasped, her breath catching in her throat, "That's… that's horrible!" At her words, Alden took a sip from his mug of ale. "What… what about the people within?"

"We will survive." Alden said, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Naveena. "As we always have."

"I could send a ship, maybe," Naveena offered, her words tight, like a coiled spring. "I couldn't just leave you people here to… to be swallowed up by the Wraithmarsh and—"

Alden raised his hand, interrupting her, "Bloodstone isn't under the jurisdiction of the Crown. You have no right to send us aid. And we are too proud to accept it."

"Why isn't Bloodstone under our jurisdiction?" Naveena asked, slightly cross.

"We've always been a lawless town. No ruler except for the Pirate King. Which Reaver, technically, still is. He left us to our own devices when he joined forces with your mother during the civil war with Oren, the Mayor of Bowerstone at the time. And so far, we have survived our lack of a ruler."

"But still—" Naveena protested.

"No." And that was the end of it.

"But—" More protest.

"I said no."

The Queen of Albion sighed, as if annoyed by the lack of cooperation, but acquiesced herself to Alden's resounding no. She didn't really have a choice in the matter, but it annoyed her, regardless of the fact that she herself felt similar pride. Indeed, she too would have refused outside aid against the Darkness. It was something Albion needed to do itself.

"Thank you," Naveena remarked, finally, taking a sip from her mug. It still tasted like spiders. "For telling me about the Wraithmarsh. I doubt I would've gotten anything out of Reaver if I asked."

"Anytime, my lady," Alden smiled at her. It was a kind smile, dimpled and powerful. It reminded Naveena of her father's smile. "Your mother was a good acquaintance of mind. It was the least I could do, for her daughter."

"What was my mother like?" Naveena asked, curious. "I mean, she died when I was very young. The only thing I really remember about her was…" Her looks, her laugh, her smile, her eyes. It cut deep to the core, a pick at a scab that had long since healed.

"She was the most beautiful woman I've ever met," Alden replied, smiling, eyes crinkled at the edges like wrinkled parchment. "And sharp as the swords she used."

The two sat in companionable silence for a long while, until their mugs were empty. Naveena bade him good night, and, feeling the tiniest bit tipsy as she crawled into her and Reaver's bed, (It was strange, weird, to share a bed with him. Like there was something wrong with the thought) she quickly fell asleep, breathing in The Leper's Arms' must and dust.

Reaver awoke her only a few hours later, when the sun had just reach the nadir of the hills, and the foggy sky was a lighter gray than the night before.

"The Wraithmarsh is wet." Was the first thing out of Naveena's mouth when they entered the swamp. How intelligible. She would have done Jasper proud. It didn't help that Alden's tales were traipsing after her, clinging to her head like an incredibly raunchy rash.

Reaver scoffed, "How incredibly observant! Such powers of observation must do you well, Your Majesty."

"You'd be surprised." She groused, pulling her coat around her. A sudden chill moved down her spine as she slogged through the wet marsh, each step resulting in the ground swallowing the sound of her feet until she pulled them up, resulting in a wet, sloppy sound that reminded her of someone smacking their lips.

Reaver appeared to have no such trouble, moving soundlessly through the marsh like an overgrown panther, or a man returning home. He was holding something peculiar in his arms, however. A large circular disk that was made of no metal Naveena had ever seen, but it looked rusty, flecked with copper-gold. Looking at it made her stomach twist in coils.

"What is that," She asked, feeling particularly nosy. "In your arms? Is that why we're here, in this Light-forsaken place?"

Reaver looked down at the disk, as though he'd forgotten it was there, "Ah, your powers of observation continue to benefit you. Indeed, this tiresome little thing belongs to a certain odious people out in this… place. And so I, being the graciously gracious person that I am, am going to return it. For I certainly don't want it."

"But what is it?" Naveena pressed, getting closer. Her shoes yawned and the ground beneath her smacked. Reaver continued his soundless, eerie approach.

"Whoever knows?" Replied Reaver, getting annoyed. "But it certainly has no place in my home, Avo no! I mean look at this. So… brown and shapeless!"

They passed a series of black gates. It seemed like it had once been a graveyard, but every grave she saw was covered in bits of moss and dirt, a casualty of the ever-changing world around it. There was a teddy bear with its head torn off in front of one of the graves, and it seemed like it had been there for an incredibly long time. A certain wetness was beginning to cling to Naveena's cheeks.

"I hate this place." She said, eager to fill the silence gaping between the two of them. Talking made her less nervous. "It's… sad."

"Sad?" Reaver shot back, chuckling. "I find the word repugnant much more satisfactory, if I may say so myself."

"Alden told me about… this place. How it's swallowing Bloodstone."

"That fool puts a great deal of weight in old wives tales." Reaver said, angrily. "Such an uncouth man. This place is certainly not spreading."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Naveena remembered something.

"Did you grow up in Bloodstone?"

Reaver laughed, a real laugh, high and almost cruel, "Oh, yes. I was born there." His fingers clenched the disc in his hands tightly, curling into the serrated edge.

They continued along the path until they found themselves entering a wide space, with a dilapidated well in the middle of it. It was incredibly cold there, and Naveena was surprised to see both her and Reaver's breath pour out in long streams in front of them.

And then they found a hag.

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