Chapter 2: Black Embers
'Well, I've never heard of a black ember. Hmm... How about you... leave it with me? I find it strangely fascinating..' -Blacksmith Andre of Astora, First Dark Age
"That woman what wandered in by the dawn... what do you make of her?" A large half-hollowed man rumbled to his companion.
"What, the one-armed lass who burst naked from the flames?" The dour, smaller fellow asked.
"You twit, how many women appear out of nowhere around here that you have to ask which one?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised. Not sure if the cat counts, but look into the Flame long enough and you'll see strange figures. Anyhow, the lass. She's of a dangerous sort, I'd wager. How else do you suppose a cripple made it to this backwater hamlet?"
The woman in question was speaking with Maughlin, the resident merchant of bits and baubles, who had gifted her with a pair of trousers and a hemp-woven tunic. Lenigrast knew the gift was given moreso out of awkwardness at the sight of an unclothed young woman than any generosity, of course. "The Firekeeper's taken some sort of interest in the lass. Haven't seen her so lively since that 'Bearer' passed through, the poor bastard." He heaved his shoulders in what would have been called a shrug, were it done by a man of lesser stature. "Can you feel it, in the air? Her scent. The wind carries it, like a... a bitter draught. Not like a Hollow, not rotten, but... wrong."
"You big oaf, no wonder she hasn't spoken to us yet! Sniffing women from across a breeze..." Saulden scoffed. "But... you've a point. That Witchling isn't natural, that I'd swear on. She's of a dangerous sort," he repeated.
"Aye, but... well, I'd be remiss to let a young lass wander off to her death without a scrap of steel in her hand." With that, the blacksmith rose to his feet and ambled down the knoll to speak with the strange woman.
"You, lass. You've no weapon?" The blunt question came from a large, greenish man peering down at me with milky white eyes. I wished dearly to ask why he was green, but a nagging feeling told me that would be incredibly rude. A weapon, he asked... I'd taken a bread knife to the hem of the trousers gifted to me by the man in yellow, but it was no weapon. My attention now drawn to the matter, I felt terribly naked without one.
"Ah, no. The merchant gave me some spare clothes, but I had nothing when I woke here. Do I need one?" I stood from the grass where I was tending to my clothes. The man scoffed at my question, and I felt vaguely upset by it. Does he think I'm dumb?
"'Do I need one', you ask! Wandering about the countryside naked and unarmed, it's a wonder you aren't dead or Hollow yet. You certainly do, unless the idea of being a shambling corpse appeals to you. Kids these days," he muttered.
"I haven't been wandering anywhere, actually. At least, not anywhere that I remember. I'm from somewhere else, but I don't really know where. I woke here by the fire, and I don't know where I was before that." While that explanation seemed silly to me, the large man readily accepted it.
"What manner of witchery brought you senseless from the flames, I wonder? Have you no memories of your homeland?" His tone turned somber, and his features indescribably heavy and sad.
"...The sun rose in the east, over the water. Ships were left to rust at sea, in a great graveyard. And the people tore each other to pieces over scraps." An image burned in my mind, of a monstrous creature rising from the depths, bringing tide and ruin in his wake. "The city was flooded. I don't remember any more," I said hurriedly, driving the picture from my thoughts. The man stroked his chin, looking outwards over the waves.
"The sun... rose, you say? I've never heard tell of a rising sun. And rusting ships, metal ships! You come from no land in this world." He bore the expression of a man speaking to the insane; I felt much the same at his words.
"How can the sun not move? It's daytime now, and when the sun sets, it'll be night. Then it rises, and it's day again. That's... how it's always been."
"Strange ideas in your head! This is the Age of Fire. So long as the First Flame burns, light shines upon us. Should it ever go out, we are cast into eternal darkness, an Age of Dark. The Allfather wrote as much!" He looked worriedly out upon the horizon, cast in the deep hues of twilight. "As a young lad, I recall the sky was blinding in its brilliance. Never thought I'd live to see the end."
"I don't understand," I said at length, twisting the hem of my shirt. "That doesn't feel right to me. That's not how the world works! What's this First Flame? Who is the Allfather?"
"You've lost a great deal of sense along with your memories, lass!" Lenigrast made polite effort in not laughing at my confusion. "Better to ask a scholar than a blacksmith those questions." He extended his arm to me, hand open. "Perhaps you'll fit in here at Majula better than you suspect; we've all lost something here. Our past, our families, our homes. You're not alone in being absent of good sense!" I looked between his offered hand and my own stump.
"I fear I've lost a great many things." Slowly, realization dawned on my acquaintance's face and he hastily lowered his arm, scratching at his belly.
"My apologies. It is not my intention to bother you with memories of things long gone. Rather, I come to offer my services. The name is Lenigrast, a blacksmith by trade, and I refuse to allow a young woman such as yourself to wander about unarmed. Not while I've steel to shape!" He pounded his chest in pride.
"You'll make me an arm?" My brows rose in wonder. Where had I awoken, that could fashion limbs from steel? Lenigrast coughed in startled embarrassment.
"A weapon, lass."
"Oh." My head drooped in disappointment. "What manner of weapon?"
"Certainly not a sword. There's a stigma to left-handed swordsmen, a curse on their kind. I'll not bestow such luck on you, poor as yours must be." He began to pace about me, squeezing my arm and patting my shoulders. "You're certainly no waif," he muttered, "muscled as you are. Not disciplined as a soldier, either, I'd wager. A brigand, perhaps, or a mercenary?" He eyed me suspiciously, before seeming to catch himself and averted his gaze. "Whatever you were before, I'll allow you the courtesy of forgiveness. We've all done things not worthy of boast. So long as you leave the past behind."
A scene formed behind my eyes; holding hostages under threat of violence as I- we- robbed them blind. Who were 'we'? Faint memories of companionship, with a terrible secret looming over it all. "I think I'd prefer a knife," I said at length. Lenigrast measured me with his gaze, before nodding in satisfaction.
"You've the reach for it, and don't seem the type to stumble about and stab yourself. Very well, I'll fashion you a dagger." He made to ascend the steep hill towards his hut, before catching himself, and turning back to me sheepishly. "Ah... a problem, lass. My forge is locked, and the key lost. I'm much too... insulated," he slapped his belly in emphasis, "to try and crawl through the window. Do an old man a favor and open it for me, and I'll set to that knife!" I looked up the hill to the dilapidated hut, lacking a roof, windows, and a wall, and wondered how a locked door could pose any obstacle whatsoever to accessing the building. Perhaps it was a test of fairness? A favor for a favor.
"Alright, Lenigrast." I turned to the tickling sensation at the fore of my head, like little legs crawling over my skull, a mother's fingers running through my hair. There was an army inhabiting Majula, invisible to all but me, calling out to my soul. Great Mother! Lady Sovereign! Tiny feet stamped and mandibles clicked in their chittering language. I silently requested their aid, and in silence, my friends set to work. Crawling up and across the metal bars of the door, tiny arachnids positioned themselves around the lock. One of many bashed its head repeatedly against the metal, until it fell dead. Its companions quickly caught the falling carapace in silk, tightly binding and stretching out its body and many legs until it formed a long, thin bundle. The spiders manipulated the makeshift pick as a group until, with a satisfyingly deep clank! the door swung open. Lenigrast jumped at the sound, his considerable body suddenly quite agile at the unexpected noise, and twisted about to stare open-mouthed at the now wide-open door.
"But- how! You've no staff to cast spells! What manner of sorcery is this?" His tone combined wonder, fear and anger. Have I done something wrong?
"I... asked the spiders." I turned my head away, prepared for... I wasn't sure. An attack? None came, and I turned back to him, legs tensed to run away if need be. He was still there, with a contemplative expression.
"A one-armed woman, born of the flame and from unknown lands, using magic with no staff... You speak of metal ships, of moving skies, and of talking spiders. Saying something is strange about you is like saying something is wrong with Drangleic. Everything is wrong. I'll fashion your steel, and see you can wield it, but then I'll have naught more to do with you, lass. No hard feelings, but you're caught up in things bigger than my world." I studied his face, feeling loss at the prospect of this friendly man vowing to avoid me. But he was resolute, and I wouldn't force his hand.
I sat for hours on the cliffside, the pounding of Lenigrast's hammer and sizzling of hot steel in water forming song in the air. I gazed outward as I sat, at the sky that never moved. By my feet, the spiders worked in artful unison, spinning their silk in a long swath of fabric. They skittered and danced about with inhuman grace, weaving intricate patterns with many-colored silk. The light danced off it in mesmerizing bands, but my attention was turned inwards. A void sat below my shoulder, a part of my body forever gone. And within, cracks in my soul, pouring out disjointed memories. A life half-forgotten, and another never lived, joined together by their ragged seams. And I felt those seams, and the Dark between them. Memories of a place so cold that time itself froze, absent of reason. I floated formlessly in that place for an instant longer than all of history, and felt ethereal beings cast ripples through the Abyss as they moved about, reaching for me. Sister, they called out. Newly born, never meant to be! Come to us, and let us be together. The voices were sweet and tempting, and I nearly answered before a tiny presence on my throat brought me back to reality. Answer them not, Lady! A spider tapped my skin with its fangs insistently. They are lesser, born of hatred and fear. They will corrupt and deceive you. Listen not, speak not to the Fragments! More spiders joined their sister on my skin, dragging behind them the tapestry they'd woven to drape it across my lap. Your Court is here, our Sovereign.
I was woken from my reverie by the heavy thud of footsteps, and hastily wrapped the length of fabric about my neck, concealing my companions. Lenigrast strode from his forge toward me, clutching an object wrapped in leather. "Never let it be said that Lenigrast the Smith put less than his entire soul into a single work!" he boasted. "Your dagger, lass." He proffered the bundle to me, and I accepted it readily, surprised at its weight. As I did so, he peered at the garment woven for me. "Where did you get that? I've never seen such craftsmanship..."
"A gift, from friends." I gave him a hard look, and he obliged in not questioning further. Instead, he nodded at the dagger.
"Heavy, isn't it?" I nodded while undoing the bindings on the leather with my teeth, uncovering the simple sheath. Dark brown leather bands crossed over one another in an arrow formation until coming to a terminal point, capped off with metal. I held the sheath in the pit of my missing limb and pulled the blade free as Lenigrast continued. "Has to be. That's no steak knife, girl. Stick a hollow with that, and they'll readily bleed out. You have to get good and deep, and some of those poor bastards died in armor."
A hollow. I'd heard the word a few times today, and it touched something deep within me. That part of me that felt foreign. The undead, it said. Born of Humanity, bereft of reason. Scraps of fuel for the flame of your soul. "I'll remember that." I hefted the weapon, getting a feel for how it sat in my hand. The thick, heavy blade itself measured at least a foot, right between a shortsword and dagger, with a simple bar of metal as a crossguard, slightly angled upwards. A length of carved material, pleasantly rugged in my hand, formed the hilt. I couldn't identify it as wood, bone or stone. And there, etched just above the hilt into the blade, was a small symbol: a golden sun, half risen above the horizon, the sillhouette of a beetle in the center. I turned to Lenigrast, mouth twisted in disgust. "Why did you carve this?!"
"The steel asked me to," he replied with a massive roll of his shoulders, belatedly identified as a shrug. "I'm no artisan. I believe the best weapon is the kind that works. Bells and whistles just get in the way of a perfectly good blade. But some weapons are born with a soul, and when the steel asks, you answer." He nodded sagely. "It needed to be there. The blade demanded a name: Gold Morning."
"I don't like that name." The words were out of my lips before I could consider how rude they were in the face of a gift.
"We have little choice in our names, lass. Speaking of, you still haven't told me yours, and I shan't call you 'lass' any longer," he huffed.
"It's Taylor," I replied, still eyeing the symbol warily. Gold Morning. The dawn of death.
"A strange name for a stranger girl. Very well, Taylor! How would you like to test that blade against some scum what deserves a stab or two?" I followed his hand as he gestured to a dour-looking man perched further up the cliff upon a heavily weathered stone platform bearing a blocky monument, pondering the grass before him. "Saulden!" At his name, the mail-clad man lazily looked up, blinking owlishly at Lenigrast before slumping back over, head in his hands. "Saulden, you twit!" Lenigrast withdrew the hammer from his belt and threw it at the fellow, who leaped from his seat as the makeshift weapon clattered against stone, and stomped down the hill with fist raised.
"You'll really do it one day, old man! You'll hit me in the head, and I'll die! And then where will you be, hmm? Talking to yourself, rambling about sniffing lasses on the breeze. Enough to give me conniptions, you are!" The man, Saulden, shook his head in exasperation before plodding down to meet us. He peered at me through suspicious eyes, looking back and forth between my own. "You, Witchling. Where'd you come from, hmm? Some Astoran noble? No, you lack the pompous airs, and the nose isn't pointy enough. Certainly too dour for a Catarinite."
"I don't know where I'm from," I replied honestly.
"A likely story, likely story," he muttered. Was it really that likely? Maughlin the merchant hadn't seemed surprised either. Saulden briskly turned to Lenigrast, brandishing a finger. "And you! I was thinking when you interrupted me. Important thoughts. What's this all about?"
"The girl's got her weapon, I'd be remiss in not seeing her taught which end goes where." He gestured from my weapon to his companion's groin.
"So this is how it ends, hmm? My old friend, hiring a crippled killer to gut me." He spat at his feet, turning his nose up in the air and sniffing.
"Saulden, you twit! You've gone hollow in the head. Put on your damned armor and let the lass take a swing or two at you, and I'll set a soup tonight." At Lenigrast's hard tone- or perhaps the promise of food- the sour knight nodded once, huffing as he did, and plodded back up to the plinth he'd sat upon to retrieve a leather chestpiece, sword and shield. He set about strapping the heavy armor on as he stomped back down, adjusting the shield on his arm.
"Very well, lass. Prepare to face a trained Knight of the Way of Blue!" I nodded seriously, and pulled the spider-woven fabric across my lower face. "What're you doing?!" Saulden demanded, looking fearfully at me. "There's a damned face on that neck-chief! A spider's maw!" I used the flat of my blade as a mirror, and saw truth in his words: a fanged mouth sat above my own, glittering in gold and black strands between the broader silver silk. The motion had come naturally to me; covering my face in a fight simply felt normal.
"Old habit," I absently replied, bending my knees and gripping the blade in front of my chest, crossed into a guard.
"Be wary of this one, Saulden. She claims to speak to the little monsters."
"Set me in combat against a damned witch, you have!" The knight took a panicked, hasty swing at me. My many-legged friends beneath his armor whispered to me about his position, how they could smell the blood flowing thicker before he moved, how corded muscle tightened deliciously beneath their feet before he explosively released in a horizontal chop. I thanked them for the warning and stepped smoothly out of the way, and slapped him in his exposed back with the flat of my blade. Saulden growled and whipped back around, blade pointed forwards. As he pulled back for a thrust, I allowed the silent voices, chittering as they were, to guide my movements. He's aiming for your neck, they whispered. He was taught that's how you kill a witch. Cut off her head! Cut off her head! That's how she died. His gran. We small things witnessed. I gripped the dagger blade-down in a closed fist and punched his wrist as it extended, sending his blade hurtling through the air, then pulled back and stabbed downwards into his stomach. The blade stopped at barely grazing his belly, and I repeated the motion twice before ripping upwards, 'gutting' him and leaving a large rent in his armor. His mouth was open as the thick leather armor and shirt beneath were split down the middle, falling off him like an unbuttoned jacket. The faintest trickle of blood formed a hair-thin line up his bare chest, and a stain formed over his pants as he caught sight of the numerous spiders crawling over his bare skin. "Lloyd's balls, she is a witch!" Saulden set about slapping the spiders off, though thankfully none were harmed, as they jumped out of the way and onto the ground, where they safely skittered away. He glared hatefully at me as he stormed off to collect his sword.
"I find it safe to say, you can handle a blade," Lenigrast said at length, taking a step back from me. I flicked the single drop of blood off the edge of my dagger and returned it to its sheath in the crook of my arm before wondering how to affix the thing to my trousers. Eventually Lenigrast noticed my plight and overcame his wariness to step forth. I allowed him to remove the blade and sheath from my tenuous grip, and he quickly tied a leather strap on the sheath through my belt before stepping away again. "Saulden will give me no end of hell for that, you know. Didn't have to humiliate the sod. I doubt you'll find a warm welcome from him after this." Shaking his head, the blacksmith stepped away, and I felt vaguely disappointed in myself. Why had I gone that far? Fear and respect win many fights before the first punch is thrown, some part of me answered. As he left, I caught his last muttered words: "She fights like a woman possessed! What monster bested her and left with her arm?"
As I was left alone once more, I wondered what I was supposed to do now. I lived in this world now, directionless, purposeless. The Emerald Herald was nowhere in sight, Maughlin was holed away in his shack, and both Lenigrast and Saulden wanted nothing to do with me. I'd been aware of myself for less than a day and already I was an outcast. Was this something deeply ingrained in me? Had I been alone before? Or was I simply too unaware of the world around me to know any better? Fear not, great Sovereign! Tiny voices cried out in their un-language. The vermin and small things of this world embrace all manner of refuse. "That's not encouraging, you know," I huffed.
"My, the horrible witch is talking to herself!" A smoky, clearly feminine voice called out. I looked about for the speaker, but found nothing. "Down here, you giant human!" I looked down, and found a cat twining between my legs. As I stared incredulously at the feline, its mouth opened and moved. "You are human, yes? Ooh, but you certainly smell like one! What a curious scent!"
"Are you... speaking to me?" I reached out to poke at the creature, and it bat my hand away with a paw.
"Speaking spiders are not strange to you, but a cat is? We cats are far more intelligent than you give us credit for. Especially me!" It... she preened, before licking at her paws.
"And just who are you, exactly?" I sat down before the cat so as not to strain her little neck, and reached out to pet her once more. This time, the tips of my fingers barely made contact with her impossibly smooth, silky fur before she danced away. Tease.
"Why, Shalquoir, but of course! Sweet Shalquoir, I am called. But what are you called, hmm? Do you even know, through the fog of your memories? How your thoughts dance about, how they... Skitter away!" She laughed to herself, a sound so odd to hear from a cat. Any sound was strange from her mouth, but that human laugh especially. A thread of memory danced between my fingertips at her words, but ultimately escaped.
"Taylor," I replied, feeling loss at whatever had slipped my grasp. "Is there something you want from me, Shalquoir?" The cat tittered at my question, casting her head in a sarcastic bent.
"Something I want from a human? And what could you offer me that a wise and beautiful creature such as myself cannot get on my own!"
"I have thumbs," I replied, wiggling the digit.
"You have a thumb, you stupid pink child. Really, how did you save the worlds with such a silly mind!"
"Save the worlds?" The sun on my blade called to me, something about it, something about the Gold Morning. "How did I do such a thing?"
"I wouldn't know anything about that, dear!" The cat was clearly lying. "I am just a cat, after all. You're hallucinating all of this!" Maybe lying.
"Really?" I knew her response before even asking, yet couldn't help but to ask.
"Of course not, you gangly ape!" Shalquoir twisted about, flicking her tail dismissively at me before walking away. I hastily followed her, long strides doing little to catch up with the agile cat. She set to pacing around the wide pit in the center of the village, and I warily stopped before the edge. "I know a lot of things, dear. I know you're from a strange land where the very heavens move in incomprehensible cycles. I know your soul was torn apart under the weight of your sins, and you yourself dragged the fragments kicking and screaming into the heat of an impossible fire. I can smell your soul, child."
Beware the Ancient One, the guardian of mist and trees! Beware her cunning tricks and silver tongue! The small ones within my shirt called to me in urgent warning.
"Beware indeed!" Shalquior nonchalantly spoke, continuing her circle about the pit. Something cold worked its way down my throat.
"You... you hear them? The little ones? How?" They're mine! I wanted to scream.
"Many things speak in tongues you humans are too big and ignorant to hear. Moving too quickly about your lives, rushing from one grave to another. It's no wonder at all most ignore us! Now, how do you hear them? And why are they so fiercely loyal?"
We are hers, she is ours! The Greatest Sovereign, Queen of vermin! Beauty and terror, fear and splendor! The spiders chanted in their silent speech.
"Queen of vermin, hmm? I can't disagree," that damnable cat purred. "But there's another who claims that title. The Rat-King does not abide usurpers, you know."
He hides and connives, claiming nobility! Our Lady walks the surface, her children at her feet. What had I done to earn these kind creatures' loyalty?
From deep within the pit, a sickly presence gripped my mind, dragging my gaze to the bottomless hole. "Oh? Seems like somebody has taken notice of you," Shalquoir purred. "Why don't you be polite and say hello?" Too late, I felt her leap upon my back, toppling me over into the endless tunnel. As I tumbled end over end between planks of wood, I saw the cat floating impossibly in the air, mist wreathing her figure before she disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving an echoing giggle in her wake. Downwards I tumbled, wind whipping through my hair as the spiders still on me scrambled about in their panic. Thick shadows gave way to inky darkness, which led to impenetrable black deeper than any other. Behind my eyes, I saw a man breathing clouds of darkness, a void so thick it choked the senses, and felt this pitch void was more true in its emptiness than even he. And as suddenly as I fell, I hit the bottom, my body pulverized in the impact. I had no chance to scream as every bone and organ was flattened with the impact, and in that moment, I had died.