When Adora had finished the potion, she found Amie waiting at the top of the cliff-side path leading down to the docks, watching and waiting for the ship to come in, just as she'd said she would be. Adora passed her the potion, and then made a brief attempt to escape.
"I guess that's all you need from me, so if you don't mind, I'll just be-"
"Stay," Amie commanded sharply, rapping the end of her staff on the stone without looking away from the ocean.
With obvious reluctance, but fearfully clear memory of what defiance of Freedonia's wizard had earned her, Adora stopped and stood where she was. Amie did not tell her why Adora needed to remain. In truth, she suspected Adora was bright enough to figure it out for herself, if only she would use her head for thinking for once.
For a long time, they both stood silently watching the water. Finally, the ship appeared on the horizon, though it was almost dark before it finally docked.
"Unless I tell you otherwise," Amie warned quietly, "You are to say nothing, and you are to do nothing. I may need your protection before this is over, but I will not stand for your interference."
If things went badly and Steven chose to attack, Amie would need Adora to buy her precious moments to cast a spell. In essence, Adora was going to be Amie's meat shield if things went blood pear shaped. Amie wasn't happy about it, but she feared the alternative.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Adora muttered impatiently, "Tick off the wizard, get zapped. Let's just get this over with. I've gotta break someone out of the stocks in, like, two hours so Lord Spaulding can arrest him for war crimes. Again."
"Your petty acts of crown-approved vandalism can wait," Amie said serenely.
Patiently, Amie watched as Steven disembarked from the ship. At once she could see what others seemed to have found out the hard way. There was a darkness around Steven, not like an actual black cloud over his head, but just as visible as if it were a physical reality. He looked miserable, and terribly lost, like he didn't know what he was doing or why he was doing it, but didn't have the will to stop himself, or even to care one way or the other.
Amie blinked back tears. She had already cried once for him, and that was enough. Now she needed to save him, if it was possible to do so. Her tears would not help him now.
As Steven came up the path towards her, Amie took a deep, steadying breath, and managed to smile, "Hello, Captain Steven. How did the Aarbyville campaign go?"
Steven looked startled to see her, but not suspicious, as he responded almost mechanically, "Well. Aarbyville's forces were divided between here and Tredony, leaving their territory itself virtually unguarded. It was a simple matter to destroy what little opposition existed. Aarbyville is ours now."
"That should do some very interesting things to the Tredony-Aarbyville conflict, don't you think?" Amie inquired, doing her best to feign interest in the subject when she really wanted to ask if Steven had hurt any unarmed persons in Aarbyville.
"Tredony. Aarbyville. What's the difference?" Steven sighed, and then shrugged with apparent indifference, "They both belong to Freedonia now."
Steven looked her in the eyes when he spoke, but Amie did not see the warmth that was usually in his dark eyes. Instead, they were cold, and rimmed with unnatural redness she found difficult to ignore. The soul looking out at her wasn't even human, and just trying to maintain eye contact gave her chills. The voice was Steven's, but the words were not. Yet, somewhere in there, Amie knew Steven was still present. She could feel it, and she knew that the demon would not even have acknowledged her if not for Steven. It was as if Steven could be in control, but he was nearly asleep, and thus easily suppressed by the demon. But still there.
If only she could reach him long enough to convince him to drink the potion. But already it was clear she was losing his interest, or the demon's interest anyway. Boredly, he looked away from her, and towards Adora, as if noticing the spy's presence for the first time.
Adora had stood still and silent this entire time, but now she suddenly snapped to life, smiling broadly and fluttering her eyelashes at Steven. The sight of it sickened Amie, though she managed to keep that to herself.
"I'm eager to hear all about your trip," Adora purred with a winsome smile, "I'm sure it was very exciting, full of adventure and-" she faltered a moment but maintained her smile, "-Killing. Lots of killing. Tell me, how many heads did you put on spikes? Six? Seven?"
This wasn't the kind of protection Amie had expected. But Adora felt nothing for Steven's plight, and so did not struggle to find words. Her job was deception, and so she easily feigned attraction and intense interest in the details of Steven's conquest. Besides which, the revolting things that seemed to pop into Adora's head actually seemed to pique the demon's interest.
"There was much killing," Steven said, sounding proud of this, "Many foolish mercenaries were run through by Aarbyville pirates. On our way to Aarbyville, we came upon a vessel and sank her. Her crew drowned while we watched. It was very entertaining."
"Ooh, tell me more!" Adora lilted, her eyes big and bright.
Managing to swallow the bile in the back of her throat, Amie used the time to raise her staff. Light flashed along its length, but Adora kept Steven carefully angled so he did not see, moving so that she blocked his progress up the path as well, to prevent him from leaving while Amie was mid-cast. Irritating and childish as she was, Adora was nonetheless very good at what she did.
Electric sparks flickered up and down the staff. The light and electricity leaped out to either side, forming geometric shapes in the air, shapes which Amie gathered up with her hands, and flung outward towards Steven. Closing her eyes, Amie reached out across the telepathic link she had just created, "Steven. Hear me."
At first, she was greeted only be ominous silence and a terrible, menacing blackness. It was as if she had been plunged suddenly underwater, except the water was thick and black like tar, and it was pulling her down, swallowing her up. But Amie sensed she herself was in no danger from it. She could break the connection if she wanted at any time. But somewhere in this thick and stinking ichor was Steven. He wasn't sleeping under the surface.
He was drowning.
"Steven, if you can hear me," she began, then paused to see if there would be a response, but there wasn't, so she continued, "I'm going to ask you to do something. If you've ever trusted me at all, I need you to trust me now and do as I ask. Can you do that, Steven?"
The only answer was silence. But Amie nonetheless felt that, in that silence, she was heard.
It was like exiting the darkness of The Cave and finding himself out on the sea surrounded by fog. Colors were indistinct, shapes blurred, but at least there was something out there. Something, however dim and unlovely, was more than nothing. Even the smallest flicker of light was better than utter darkness. When he tried to breathe, it felt like his lungs had forgotten how to expand to let in air. His throat ached as if he'd been screaming, though he didn't remember having done so. There was a distant whispery roaring-type sound in his ears, like the rush of blood... but it was not blood.
Slowly his vision cleared, and Steven saw he was standing on the path from the docks, holding an empty bottle of some kind. Adora stood in front of him, looking sort of... afraid. Without really knowing why, he turned his head, and saw Amie was beside him. He didn't remember her being there, yet somehow he'd known she was there. Not guessed, known.
It puzzled him. Then again, the more he thought, the more everything puzzled him.
"What... happened?" he asked, feeling shaky, as if he was about to fall apart, and he didn't know why, or what might be the thing that caused him to break like thin glass.
"I just gave you a nice healthy dose of reality in a bottle," Adora replied, but even she could not conceal the strained nature of her smile.
Frowning, he turned to Amie in the hopes of a more comprehensive explanation. But she just looked inexpressibly worried. No, it wasn't that she looked worried, it was that she felt worried.
The realization only served to deepen Steven's confusion. A pain manifested in his chest, but he realized that it wasn't his, and it wasn't physical. It was Amie, and she was hurting inside. She didn't appear to be wounded, yet Steven could not doubt what he knew. She was pained for some reason.
Not understanding, Steven started to ask her what was wrong, but then it hit him. He remembered the sword, and the old fisherman's death, and the voice in his head, the voice of Animus screaming at him. The memories came in a rush after that, each one worse than the last as he watched his descent into darkness through his own eyes. He remembered the blood and the death and -worse- the hunger for more carnage after each act of violence was complete.
Now he understood why Amie was pained and worried. If their positions had been reversed, Steven knew he would have been terrified. Even as it was, his own actions scared him. He didn't understand what had caused him to behave that way, or why he hadn't tried to stop, why it felt as if he had actually enjoyed what he had been doing, releasing anger and hatred he had not previously known himself to be capable of on anyone and everyone he could find an excuse to. Above all of the other feelings in the memories however, was the feeling of being terribly isolated and alone.
"It's the sword, Knight-Boy," Adora supplied, watching his expression as his bafflement deepened and was joined by a sick, uncomprehending dread of what he'd been, and might yet be again, "You gotta ditch it," she added helpfully.
The sword? Steven turned quizzically to the Animuslaver, lying quietly in its sheath. It looked so peaceful, so pretty. He wanted to draw it and look at it for awhile.
"Steven, no!" apparently the bizarre link between Steven and Amie was a two way street, as she knew his desire almost before he did, "If you draw the sword, you return power to the demon."
"Demon?" Steven inquired slowly, his thoughts feeling clouded and cluttered.
While unasked for memories had come in a tumbling rush, actually reaching for one was like trying to swim through quicksand. It was inexpressibly difficult, as if it took physical exertion to accomplish a task that was clearly a mental one, one that should have taken no effort at all. Still, he pursued the memory, and caught hold of it.
The book he'd read, the one where he'd read the name Animus. The sword claimed by a king, who first saved his kingdom... and then brutally destroyed it, until there was nothing left but the graves. That was what he had failed to remember earlier. Animus had made the king believe himself powerful, and then it had crushed him. Everyone he had ever loved became caught in the crossfire, and the kingdom he'd built had died along with them in the end.
That was the curse of Animuslaver. It was like being asleep and dreaming, not really in control. But when you woke up, your world had been destroyed by your own hand.
"The Animuslaver always abandons its victim in the end," Amie was saying, "But not before destroying them completely. If you don't get rid of the sword, it will kill you, Steven."
Steven understood what she was saying, but... the sword felt good in his hand, he remembered that. There were an exhausting number of enemies out there, and Steven remembered clearly the struggle of trying to think of ways to defeat them, and being repeatedly injured when he wasn't clever or quick enough. And there were just so many out there. So many. The sword made him feel in control, and powerful, able to stand against all enemies.
With some shock, Steven realized that he didn't want to get rid of it, despite what he now knew.
Even though Amie did not say so, did not even seem to want him to know, it occurred to Steven that she'd had a vision of a future. A future where Steven had refused (or else failed) to get rid of Animuslaver. Steven saw the vision now as if through her eyes. He was gone, of course, but if he didn't have to give up the sword, then that didn't seem so bad. He didn't understand why, but death felt preferable to laying down the Animuslaver.
Freedonia existed, albeit now under the rule of Spaulding's son, Jeffrey; that seemed okay. The kingdom had a new knight, a young fellow who looked reasonably capable and bright, Steven felt okay about him too. Adora was gone, but nobody seemed to know where, and no one appeared to miss her, so that probably wasn't so bad. Rupert and Rhianwen were around, with three daughters now: Ruslana, Rihanna and Roxette. Odd name, that last one, but Rhianwen was always being creative like that. In all, the kingdom seemed to be going along fine without him.
But then there was Amie, in her tower. And she was alone.
Always alone, it looked like. Amie had spent so much time pushing people away that no one now dared approach her. It was difficult for Steven to get his head around it, but he realized he was her tie to the people of Freedonia. Without him, she was isolated. Freedonia went on. Everyone went on. Even Amie went on. But she was alone. This was the pain she felt. The pain of losing Steven.
It was surprising and not a little overwhelming to consider that he could be so important to her. But he could not doubt his link to Amie, could not doubt that this was the future she had seen without him in it. Thus he had to accept this vision as fact. Admittedly it was but a brief snapshot. Perhaps a day or a week later, Amie would find a way to make friends. Maybe everything would be alright. But Steven could not take that chance. If his keeping the sword would hurt Amie so badly, then he must get rid of it. And not only get rid of it, but make sure no one else ever fell under its sway again.
The thought brought great pain to him, but Steven knew he had to ignore it.
Animuslaver had to be destroyed.