Chapter Four

The will to live

Morph cried out as the spell ignited, in the same way Benton was taken out, to the sage's dismay. He felt another thump as an arrow found his shoulder, but before he could even begin to react, he was weighted down again by black tendrils. "Wait!" he screamed, "Why are you fighting me? We both study the same thing!" Despite himself, he couldn't keep a pleading tone out of his voice, "We can help each other, you know. All you have to do is…" His restraints tightened, and his next plea was lost in an agonizing scream that only came out as a gurgle.

"Silence!" Bartholomew screamed, "'Studying the same thing?' Do not try to place me on the same level as you, distasteful scumbag. Taking the lives of innocent people, commandeering the bodies of those who did nothing against you, harvesting human souls for personal benefit… You are a perversion on mankind itself. Spare your breath for pleas for life; death is all that awaits you."

Morph flailed and struggled to get out of bondage, wincing as an arrow flew past his face. He thrashed and screamed, trying to find some escape from the cloaked stranger. A moment of inspiration flashed across his face. He pulled an item from his robes and began a chant, trying hard to ignore the flashes of pain as the tendrils tightened further.

"Sierra!" The cloaked man yelled, "He's casting, stop him please!" The woman fitted another bolt and promptly fired for the sage. The projectile whistled through air and landed with a thunk against skin.

Unfortunately for the Archer, the skin was not Morph's. One of the thieves had stepped in and took the missile. However, if the man felt any pain from the arrow still quivering in his throat, he never showed it; he still had that confident sneer splayed across his face even as he fell.

Morph gave one final thrash, shaking off the energy holding him in place. Knowing that any freedom would only be temporary, he reached out for empty air to catch a staff that seemed to fall from the sky at that moment, "Foolish shaman, I command thee to fall silent!" he called, his vigor renewed by this faint flicker of hope.

Bartholomew gasped, "Oh, dear… Flu-!" He grabbed for his throat, as if something was wrong, mouth open as if he were screaming. He leaned back and bellowed, but no sound came out.

The magic encasing Morph finally dissipated, but his happiness was short lived as yet another arrow sunk into his thigh. He tried to hobble off, clenching the item in his free hand so hard, he would have bled if he could do that. Almost there, he thought, just a few more seconds and I can escape…

Another pang of dread attacked him as he turned around. The child with the lance was back up, pulling himself shakily to his feet. The lady with the spell book had finally come around and was casting, the woman on the roof was aimed for his throat, and even the man with the blessed sword was starting to stir. And all the while the shaman-the blasted shaman! - was coming for him now, carrying a borrowed club from one of the bandit corpses.

Fear began its work contorting his features now. He held the clenched object to his face, "Take me home!" he pleaded, "Take me to the Isle! Anywhere! Please!"

"You… bastard!" Benton broke into an awkward run, forgoing the spear altogether, just lurching forward and charging straight for the sage.

The artifact began to glow, to Morph's relief. He tossed it to the ground, and was gone in a flash of light. Benton swung at empty air and, really only planning to get in that one shot, hadn't the strength or balance to prevent sprawling to the ground.

Bartholomew shook his head, then tried his voice again, finding to his relief that the spell's effects were already wearing off. He turned to Sierra, "Perhaps I should leave it to you to explain to the children what has happened, if it is not too much of an impediment, I myself am feeling rather woozy after that encounter, so perhaps I'll… I'll…" Before he could say any more, his strength failed him and he joined the masses on the ground.

Halfway across the world…

The ravens knew instinctively to fly away not a few moments before the air began to twist and contort above the dilapidated ruins of a formerly grand building. From that disturbance, Morph was chucked out as unceremoniously as a giant spits out a seed.

He looked up, at the dais raised right in front of his nose, to the black iron cauldron and the wealth of souls trapped inside. He had to move quickly; he could feel his life-force on its last strenuous strains. Growling away the excruciating pain, he dragged himself up the stairs and threw one arm over… and waited. The minutes became an hour, and Morph was worried that if he couldn't get a soul soon…

Suddenly his worries were put to rest as he felt the familiar warmth of human soul brush past his hand. He grabbed onto that warmth like a tangible thing and pulled out his prize, a glowing blue fireball, not unlike the ones he put to use at the village. As soon as the flame left the relative safety of the cauldron, Morph's mind was assaulted by a familiar keening, a lower one this time, that made his teeth chatter. It was normal, he told himself for the hundredth time. He convinced himself that it was just an effect of the souls leaving the conduit. With a flick of the wrist, he silenced the keening forever as it landed in his mouth.

Morph's face finally softened, his panic and anxiety finally wearing off. He began laughing, slow and soft at first, but picking up in speed and volume, to the point where the ravens, who by now had decided to return confident that the danger was over, had all scattered once more from the crazed man. His mirth didn't last long, though, and soon his shoulders were bobbing up and down not in laughter, but in a bizarre parody of sobs.

"Too close…too close…too close…" he kept repeating. He had come so close to death, so close…He didn't want to die; he had taken so many steps to stay alive, had even opened his creator's tome and found the secrets to the harvesting of Acquiescence to use human souls to fuel his body, but it wasn't enough. He could feel it; his form was unstable ever since he first came to be, and no matter how many souls he collected, he would only be delaying the oh-so-inevitable.

Despite all that, his fear of dying far outweighed logic, and he resolved to hold the entire world's life in his hands before he would die. He rose to his feet, moved to an outcropping where once a battlement stood, and though he had no physiological need for it, he slept.

Back in the village…

"Eeeeeek!"

Walter sat bolt upright at the sound of Nora's voice, but he soon realized his blunder when the stars finally stopped obscuring his vision. He rose to his feet gingerly, breathing heavy the whole way up. "Nora-Agh!" he stumbled as the effort required to shout out brought another flash of pain wracking through him. "Strength, man, strength…" he muttered before slowly hobbling to where the three ladies had gathered, using his weapon as an improvised crutch.

"I-I think he's dead!" Nora wailed, staring at the cloaked man who had promptly fell to the ground.

The woman named Sierra shouldered her bow, "No, he's all right, kid. He's just asleep for a little bit."

Sylva spoke next, "'Just asleep'? Are you mad? Look at him! He's…" Her next words were interrupted by a loud, uneven snore from the body on the ground, "…snoring really loudly." She finished

Sierra sighed, "He's been like this forever, gets all worked up at around the same time every day, and then just gets t' snoozin' wherever he is when he finally cools down. Ev'ry. Single. Day! I tell ya, I'd just 'bout go nuts weren't fer the fact he's so darn cute when he's sleepin'!"

As if in response, Bartholomew began muttering and rolling over in his sleep, "No, no, you do me too much an honor with your praise… Oh, I've learned so much under your tutelage, Master Canis, and I cannot say enough words to show my gratitude…"

Sylva frowned, "Uh, perhaps you could explain a few things… our friend's sleeping habits non-withstanding."

Sierra nodded, "Yeah, reckon I should. Now where ta start…"

Guys and gals, I would like your opinions, leave a review. Any thing I need to improve, let me know! That's it... TaleForge out!