A few years after the end of the Crystal War, the undead population steadily increased, until the surrounding forest became dangerous to navigate. There are many speculations why this phenomenon occurred, but my theory is that the death of Milon had somehow disrupted the undead he left behind. The magic of the mountain still stirs undeath all around it, but without a leader, without influence, they wander further outward, endlessly searching for a purpose or a final death. It was only when a new necromancer came to be on Mt. Ordeals that their wandering ceased, and they stayed settled on the mountain. What else can this mean?
One must ask the question further, what does this mean of the Fiend's relationship with the world around it? And its relationship with the Crystals? To have such influence over our world is surely the domain of the Crystals alone. The next question further complicates the situation: Where does the Fiends' power come from? What ultimate purpose do they serve? And what happens when there is no one to serve that role? Answering these questions is the only path forward in understanding our world.
Rosa Farrell Harvey, A Theory of Black & White
It had been dumb luck, I thought, that Galen and I had not encountered any monsters during our flight through the forest. Perhaps, in the last few weeks, the undead had migrated back closer to the mountain. I desperately hoped my luck would hold out, as Cain and I noisily trekked through the forest, once again favoring speed for stealth.
We had to go north, skirt east around a smaller crag of mountain, and the town of Dragonwing sat nestled on the coast. While we had less ground to cover, we'd be going on foot and needed to cross before the Bloodletter spotted us from the sky.
Cain stopped, so abruptly that I almost crashed into him. He held a hand up in silent command to wait, then pointed — three decaying forms shuffled about. I could hear them, now, moaning low and pathetic. He shifted aside, to give me a better vantage point, as a silent suggestion that I should take care of them.
I stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder now with Cain, already murmuring the holy prayer into my cupped hands. I felt the magic flooding through me and I redirected the flow into my spell, letting it grow with power in my hands.
The holy explosion erupted around the undead trio, sending each into an inhuman howl of pain and fear. One took a last shambling step toward us, dropped to its knees, and then slumped sideways; the other two merely fell over, their rotting flesh still sizzling from the holy kiss of magic.
"You know," Cain said, suddenly conversational in tone, "They're calling you a witch."
"A witch? No, that's absurd." I protested, appalled at the suggestion.
"No, seriously, it's true." There was a bit of a laugh in his voice, "I see why they're thinking it. You're more powerful than first glance would suggest."
I frowned a bit at that, unsure of how I should take his words, "I'm a white mage with a lot of combat experience. That is all." I said firmly, and then continued, "And furthermore, I do not speak backwards—" but I did not finish.
Instead, I screamed, as a white-hot flash of pain scraped across my arm. I looked down to see a clawed, dirty hand digging into my arm, peeling back ribbons of my flesh in its grip. Then there was another hand on my shoulder, tugging me back into it. I could hear its garbled speech next to my ear, low and moaning. It almost sounded like words, a gagging choke on its own tongue, then with words emerged, slow and stuttering, "Must…must f-f-f-f-find. Her. D-d-d-don't… leave… m-m-m-me." Its rotten breath rolled over me, filling my mouth and nostrils with sudden foulness.
As I was dragged backward, I saw Cain turn, and the sudden alarm alerted his whole body. With a quick movement, I swear I only blinked, he had his spear in his hands and was moving toward us, its tip pointed at me and the zombie. Before I could even draw a breath to tell him NO, he lunged forward with the spear, stabbing just over my shoulder.
Gradually, the claws disengaged from my arm, going limp and falling away. With a shudder, I stumbled out of its grip, and the body tumbled to the ground. I could see it properly, now, with Cain's lance pierced through its soft skull. With a grunt, Cain yanked the spear free, then looked to me, "You okay?"
"I'm okay." I said but did not feel it. I cradled my wounded arm to my chest, and like an old reflex, I murmured the Cure spell into being, letting the magic settle on the open wound. With a holy glow, a warmth rolled over my arm, and the skin gradually knit itself back together. It wasn't a full healing, only enough to get the body started on its own natural healing.
"Rosa…" Cain's deep voice was a warning. I looked up to see a group of dark shapes moving toward us, in slow, staggering steps, but their low moans of distress gave them away. I tried to guess their number, maybe ten, twenty, or more? But they moved in the shadows of the trees and it was hard to distinguish one from the other.
Their voices together, formed a chorus of wails, some high-pitched and keening, others with deep howls. The words gradually emerged, finally coherent through the chaos: "Find her, find her, FIND HER!" Terror shot through me, as if I had suddenly been doused in cold water, the shock awakening each aching muscle.
"Run." I whispered. It had been what my mother said to me as she gripped my hands too tightly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Now, the borrowed word came from me, mirroring that same fear I had heard in her trembling voice.
At my quiet command, Cain turned from the approaching hoard and took off in a run, his armor clinking as he moved. I followed, a few steps behind, and felt terror licking at my heels, spurring me into a faster run. We tore through the trees, catching a few branches in an awkward recoil, but for the most part, Cain's armored body bore the path forward for me.
With a suddeness that almost blinded me, we broke through the tree line and emerged out into daylight. What should have been the wide openness of the plains that lay between the Mt. Ordeals forest and the northern coast, was instead a crag of earth, jutting up into the sky. It was not as large as Mt. Ordeals, which stood defiant somewhere in the distance behind us.
"Damn it." Cain growled his displeasure, "We undershot the distance. We should have been further east."
Behind us, something large crashed into a mess of branches and leaves, making a ruckus. It was too dark to see, but Crystals save me, I could hear them. Incoherent mutters mixed in with groans of pain, echoing death and despair.
"We have to move." I said, trying to keep the fear from my voice and not succeeding. We'd have to follow the tree line along the crag until we fully passed it, and only then start north. This left us too exposed to the growing number of undead that seemed to be following us.
I glanced back to Cain, hoping for some insight or idea I hadn't seen, and realized he was looking at me — no, not merely looking, but assessing, with several quick up and downs of his gaze. He seemed to make a decision, and started toward me, his hand extended.
"No, Cain, I don't know what you're thinking." I took a step backward.
"Hang on or I'll carry you. Your choice." He said, very matter of fact, and that's when the first zombie broke through the tree line, a mere dozen paces away. It saw us, and threw its head back in an inhuman scream, then broke out into a shambling run toward us. Cain crouched, and I didn't hesitate, scrambling to jump up on his back and find a grip around his neck and shoulders with my arms. For a moment, I felt ridiculous, a child playing piggy back with an older brother. The moment did not last long, as Cain stood, flexed his legs again, and took off like a shot into the sky.
The wind tore at me and threatened my hold, but I felt Cain's gauntleted grip over mine, helping secure it. He pierced through the sky, not quite directly upward, but skirting through air currents, jumping from one to another as we gained altitude.
We landed, me more roughly than Cain, tumbling away from him as we hit the rocky ground. I rolled a few times, before momentum finally let me go, and I came to rest on my back, looking up into the sky. It took a few dazed moments for me to realize we had landed on a ledge of the crag.
I came to my feet, slowly, and after a few dizzying glimpses, could make out the growing mass of shadows below us. They were more discernible now, out from the trees, and I estimated at least forty of them, now milling about near the forest's edge. More than I had originally thought, or more had joined them mid-chase, both thoughts equally disquieting. And were they actually chasing us? I had never seen an undead creature of any kind pursue their prey so doggedly. A few had met the base of the small mountain, throwing their unfeeling bodies into the rock face.
"I've never seen such a thing." I said, still feeling dizzy as I continued watching them, "Not like this." There seemed more to say, to explain Galen's budding powers, what I had heard the undead say, the recent increase of undead activity around the mountain. But I said nothing; there seemed not enough air up here to say all that needed saying.
"Mm." Cain murmured his agreement, his eyes going distant, toward Mt. Ordeals which loomed in the distance beyond the great circle of forest, "I saw much while I held my vigil at Mt. Ordeals, but never any coordination or cooperation. They seem of a single intent."
We stood there, stuck in the tense moment, the only sounds from the undead below us, still crying and uselessly scrambling up the mountain in failed pursuit.
"Let's go." Cain said, suddenly, breaking the quiet, his eyes no longer on the distant mountain, but now up and above, already seeking out the path and calculating the necessary jumps.
"Not yet," I said softly, still watching the undead mob below. I brought my hands together, clasped in prayer, and began building a spell. I took my time with it, with no fear of reprisal, feeding the spell until it grew, white-hot and burning in my hands and soul.
I brought the spell down, colliding with the earth below, holy light splashing around. Even from our high distance, I could hear the cachophony of screams and shrieks as the undead beasts burned themselves up.
This time, Cain made no witch jokes.
We circled the crag, slowly, occasionally stopping for Cain to make a jump, me clinging to his back for dear life each time. These were lesser jumps, mostly going from one outcropping to another. When we finally reached the northeast corner, we started the descent, until finally Cain landed on the soft, green earth below.
Trying to shrug off the vertigo, I struggled to keep steady on my feet. Cain, with his expressionless helm still on, watched me, then steadied me with his hand on my elbow, and I gradually found balance between my feet.
"The first time in the air is a bit overwhelming." He offered, by way of explanation, "Usually, dragoons in training start with much smaller jumps, to get them used to being in the wind." Then, with a sort of quiet, hopeful excitement, he asked, "It's something else, isn't it?" It was the same tone Cecil had whenever he showed me a new idea for his ships, a love of something you want to share with others. Cain still held my arm.
When I said nothing, Cain continued, "I'd always hoped I could take you up in the air sometime. Just, not with zombies chasing us, and—"
"Cain, don't. Please don't." I muttered the words, closing my eyes against the hurt I knew I would see in him, helm or no helm. He let go of me. I had never felt so defeated and exhausted before, and I could not hold myself to the romanticized picture he had in his head of us in the sky together. Nor could I tactfully dance away from the suggestion, as I always had in the past.
"Of course." He said, too quickly and too curtly, his deep voice with a hard edge, "Let's continue."
We spoke no further, the rest of the journey to Dragonswing.