MASK OF THE CHILD
A Dark Souls fanfiction by MungoJerry
- Chapter 3 -
Question
He sleeps fitfully, the brow of his olive face tight. She couldn't stop looking away, examining the misshapen depression on the bridge of his nose, mark of a drake's claw. Couldn't believe that they both still drew breath. That his head was resting in her lap. Carefully, she transferred Artorias's head to a bedroll, then reached out to idly brush a dark curl from his brow with her fingertip.
She was grateful for Elizabeth's silence. Normally, she couldn't bear anyone to see her like this. Inside she was yet undone and feared the cracks would breach the surface of her skin, her armor, expose her to prying eyes.
If the healers had insisted on staying, she may have forced them out. As it was, they had done their best and claimed they could do no more. They couldn't understand the full extent or nature of the damage Artorias suffered, and recommended he be returned to the capital as soon as possible. His body wasn't reacting strongly enough to the healing miracles left behind by the Princess.
"You should have some, too," Elizabeth said softly, dipping the brim of her generous basidium. Ciaran wanted to take offense at her tone, but nonetheless plucked a bit from a white toadstool growing out of the ground, compliments of her hostess. She tilted her mask up and ate, her strength returning in increments. I don't understand, she thought to herself. She let the mask fall again and turned to Elizabeth. She could hear that pestilence of a man in leathers making a ruckus outside, the knights keeping him in place.
"That foolish child..." Elizabeth had said after Ciaran's group made it back to camp and brought Artorias into the tent, her modest face contorting into an expression of deep sorrow, "...she did it.."
"Elizabeth. You're telling me the... thing I saw back there, that abyssal monster-" she clenched a fist after pulling her gauntlet back on, speaking stiff jawed "-was an undead human woman?" Impossible? The abyss's corruption did appear to have a… proclivity, towards human beings. Had it somehow taken on this new form, used an undead woman as a vessel? Ciaran began to pace.
"But you're saying it... it saved Artorias, somehow? Was saving him?" The memories rushed through her skull- the darkness, howling, the cold-
Wait, it had said.
Elizabeth's cap bobbed gently, the tiny points of her eyes refusing to meet Ciaran's own. "I believe that to be the case, given the recent turn of events." She turned to Artorias on the ground, "to think the Knight Artorias would be returned to us, even in this darkest of times..."
When Ciaran and her group had first arrived in Oolacile, Elizabeth had told them of Artorias's possession. How he had fallen to the Abyss and become a demon. Oh, the disbelief and misgiving that had rumbled through the party. It was then that Ciaran had announced that she would be scouting ahead personally. What she'd thought was her darkest moment had turned to this. This...
"Elizabeth."
"She visited this bonfire often and spoke to me. Learned a few sorceries. She was not unpleasant company," Elizabeth stopped and wavered again, "she refused to slay the Knight Artorias, and begged me for help. When I could give her none, she disappeared for a time. The last I saw her was early this morning. She thanked me for my company and service, and... swore to me that she would rescue Princess Dusk."
The human Princess- Ciaran had almost forgotten. Could she possibly still live?
"Seeing the Knight Artorias before me and hearing your account, I can't help but think she must have paid some terrible price. I fear for the lives of Princess Dusk and the child, both."
"The child... you mean the woman?" Elizabeth nodded at Ciaran's question, "Why-... nevermind. Frankly, I fear for our own lives if it comes back." She considered Artorias at her back, the contingent sprawled across the clearing. Did they have enough firepower to repel the creature? The knights knew powerful lightning miracles, but what if that wasn't enough?
"You said it was heading for town?" Elizabeth said.
"Yes, well.. it seemed to go through the Township," thrashing, shrieking, "before descending into the chasm swallowing the area."
"I wonder..."
Ciaran sighed, shook her head, "You don't think-"
"It sounds impossible, but..." Elizabeth squared her face, as much as she was able, with Ciaran's, "She swore to me. She rescued Artorias when he seemed lost, and now she faces the Beast at the bottom of the cavern for the sake of my Dusk, this human you refer to as it, this creature possessed by the Dark."
Ciaran felt her chest constrict as her pacing increased in intensity, one hand worrying the hilt of a tracer. "Could a human really do all that? Not an hour ago, one aimed a crossbow at me as I tried to bring Artorias back for healing. They are the cause of this Abyssal cancer devouring Oolacile. They poisoned their own land, doomed us all-" exposed Artorias to possession-
"Lady Ciaran-"
"-their corruption consumes their bodies and drives them mad in undeath!" She wheeled on the sage, "How? Why?"
A space of heavy silence filled the tent before Elizabeth spoke again, "My lady, humans are capable of a great many things when sufficiently motivated, both terrible and wonderful."
They stood in silence, Ciaran's gaze trained on a flickering candle. She thought of the New Londo refugee waiting outside, and the man in black. Her eyes shifted to Elizabeth, and then back to Artorias. "Is that so?"
It answered nothing.
"What will you do now?" Elizabeth asked.
Go home. Find Gough, pick up everything, and leave this godsforsaken place to its fate. Get Artorias some proper care, and wait on him like a lovesick handmaiden. A pity they couldn't uproot Elizabeth and plant her in the palace gardens.
What a pleasant dream that would be.
She turned to look at Artorias resting on the ground. Ciaran knew her duty. She could not forget who she was. And a question burned deep inside her, mad as Chaos itself.
After what felt like an age, sitting in a circle of spears, Marvelous Chester saw the main tent's flap fly open, Lord's Blade Ciaran striding out with purpose.
"You-!" He started, but was cut off by a spearpoint to the throat. He threw the offending knight a sneer, even if it couldn't see it behind his mask, and reseated himself on the damp rock.
"The Lady Ciaran ordered to keep you quiet," it said. He couldn't tell if it was male or female, human or whatever Gwyn's Knights were supposed to be. Their height and narrow heads made him think of tin scarecrows. He wanted to knock off one of their helmets and see what lurked underneath.
Something else seethed beneath his own skin, restless and demanding.
"Captain Umsol!" Ciaran called.
One of the knights immediately approached the Lord's Blade, awaiting orders. "My Lady."
"I am ordering the majority of the contingent to retreat. Leave behind a scouting party and a healer to remain at this camp with horses. Make haste with the Knight Artorias to Anor Londo and inform Dragon Slayer Ornstein of what has occurred. I will stay behind and attempt to retrieve Princess Dusk. And-" here she glanced at Chester, "-determine the fate of that foul beast that attacked Knight Artorias." She leaned in, telling the Captain something else in a low voice.
The seething thing under Chester's skin made him snarl, and then give a toothy smile, because he knew the identity of the monster she named like an epithet. It had to be her. The fool did it somehow. Didn't the damn knightess just tell him what he wanted? And this woman wanted to go looking for-
He chuckled to himself, earning what he assumed to be annoyed looks from his guards. He didn't stir when they left him to help pack up camp. They began marching off in neat lines flanking a wagon carrying the comatose body of their dear, most noble of knights- how brave, how sacrificial his nature! Not so tough as the tales said, after all, and no more mongrel mascot to keep him company on cold nights, given the wolf's absence.
If he wanted to, he could send a crossbow bolt up the limp bint's nose from where he sat, and that's where the knight's tale would end. No honorable death. No noble sacrifice. Just put down like the rest of the mad dogs amidst the wailing of his blue whore. He wondered what manner of soul would pour out of such a vessel. It would be darker than expected, no doubt. Especially now. What a shock that would be to his mewling cadre.
A clattering stirred Chester from his thoughts- his confiscated crossbow, now thrown at his feet. Ciaran stood before him.
"I entered the colosseum to find an abyssal beast sapping something from Knight Artorias. It bested the both of us, leaving us alive, then fled into the chasm." She watched him expectantly, bemused mask unreadable.
It. He'd rather had enough of masked women. He picked up his crossbow, checking it for damage. As much as he held the knightess in contempt, he knew she wasn't stupid enough to offer him a chance at retaliation. Given he was no fool, he knew that meant she didn't consider him a problem.
She was a Lord's Blade, after all. One of the best. How humbling. Marvelous Chester didn't like being humbled.
"What can you tell me about it?" she asked.
He stood straight, shouldering his crossbow, not answering. Of course he knew her. He'd needled her for ages, it seemed. Too long.
"Was she something to you?"
Marvelous Chester turned to her. "Do you wear a mask to hide your plain looks from your precious, oversized knight?" He took a swaggering step forward, "tell me, how does it feel to come in second place to a dog?"
Something rammed into Chester's face, knocking him on his back. Shrapnel bit into his cheek and forehead, and he felt his hat go flying. "DAMN-" As the sparks cleared from his vision, he reached up to feel his face- his mask was gone- shattered on the ground- and stinging cuts oozed blood. "You b-" Pain blossomed in his side from a kick, and he writhed on the ground.
Ciaran shook out her gauntleted fist, massaging her wrist with the other. "Enough of that, now. It isn't proper to disrespect a Lord's Blade."
"Go to hell!"
But she had already turned away, gesturing and barking orders to the remaining knights. Chester grappled for his crossbow, even though he didn't dare use it. Air hissed in and out of his broken nose. He spat a stream of blood and spittle from his mouth, wiping it with his gloved hand.
"What will you do now?"
She had turned back to him, posture managing to make her appear appraising.
"What concern is it of yours?" he spat back, stepping away. What now, indeed?
"Why are you here?" there was a trace of honest curiosity.
Because he couldn't leave. She had travelled through the bonfires- disappearing in a wreath of flame. That was how she explained it. You saw flame, and when it cleared you were someplace else. The bonfires were connected through the warp and weft of Lordran, through time itself.
But he wasn't supposed to be here, and he couldn't connect to the bonfires like she could- a gift she'd acquired during whatever idiotic quest she ventured. Waiting alone by the cliff, he often daydreamed of murdering the man he'd acquired the old medallion from, and cursed his curiosity leading him to the end of the alley, where the whispering vortex lay.
Ciaran had turned from him again, seeming to have had enough of his silence. She collected three knights and gathered supplies.
"What are you doing?" he asked, unable to help himself.
"Nothing you need be concerned with," she said, turning his words back on him, "If you wish... you may follow the caravan out of Oolacile. But either way, you should leave this place."
The thought repulsed him, as did her apparent pity. He would rather leap into the midnight voids dotting the landscape. But… the blade and her cohort were going back into town. Doubtless in an attempt to finish the fool knight's mission.
"I'll make my own way," he sneered.
"Suit yourself," she replied dismissively.
He thought he'd be escorted out of camp, but he was roundly ignored as the rest of the gear was packed and the caravan moved out. One of the knights flanking Ciaran gave him a final glance before they disappeared into the forest, going the opposite direction of the caravan. Even the giant mushroom had managed to disappear.
A flock of crows flew overhead, and after that it was silent. Chester stood quite still for a long time, then hoisted his crossbow and walked into the forest.
A memory against the burning chaos, it rose underneath the roaring in her head, under her ribs. The angry tide ripping at her limbs. The darkness had ideas, it carried fragments of the knight's pain. She was dispersed among it. But she was on a mission- part of her rebelled against the consumption, and slowly she felt bits of the darkness reorient itself, listening, recognizing her. It listened to the memory as it poured weakly out of a secluded corner of her brain, unbidden, and into the rebel, giving it strength.
When she was a child in Astora she once visited the coast. The memory was vague- she did not remember who she was with, or if maybe she was alone. Maybe it wasn't a visit, and she lived there?
She remembered being on the docks at night, creeping along the wet planks, hearing boats knocking together in the darkness, the surf hitting the rocks and hissing further down the coast. The moon was eaten up by the night sky, and shyer stars shone brighter for its absence, and she moved through the dim starlight unafraid. Up ahead was a black hole of a shape, sitting low on the end of the dock. It was a man, and her star-keened eyes picked out his hands gesturing her forward and wrapping around her shoulder. He offered her a flat stone, and she slung it eagerly at the surface of the water with a flick of her wrist.
It skipped five times before disappearing into the blackness, and each place it skipped blossomed with blue-green light that rippled outward. She and the man got into a small boat and rowed out into the water, each stroke kindling the strange seaborne light. She leaned out, scooped the ocean into her hands, and saw tiny glowing creatures wriggling in the water as it poured through the gaps in her fingers. The man told her that many such creatures lived in the deepest parts of the sea, far from the light of day, only sometimes approaching the surface to share their spectral glow, and she marveled that such things could dwell there, in the absence of light.
The abyss was listening.