Chapter 26: Lady of the Bonfire
"What is it you wish to know?" Shanalotte asked as she looked over at Erik Potts, who had taken a seat on a smaller boulder next to her.
"How do you sit on these things all day?" Erik griped, trying to find a spot on the rock that did not dig into his backside.
"I've sat in worse places." 'And slept in them as well,' the auburn haired woman thought to herself, memories of her childhood rising unbidden to her mind.
"Now is that all, or do you have real questions?"
"What exactly is a Monarch Candidate?"
The Emerald Herald had not expected that. Where had he heard that title? She hadn't used it in a long time, not since Saulden failed.
"Where did you learn of that title?" Shanalotte demanded, leaning over to the chef with a fierce glint in her visible eye.
"Queen Mytha of Alken told it to me, as well as how it was a plan involving the three kingdoms. It had to do with the First Flame," Erik said, carefully watching the Herald and not at all intimidated by her glare. He'd seen a woman with a worm for an eye and rotten, deformed corpses that refused to die, he could take her angry yet cute pout any day!
As soon as he thought that Erik's brain ground to a halt. Did he really just refer to something she did as 'cute?'
"Impossible! Mytha was twisted by Chaos and was as close to Hollowing as possible for her beforehand. There is nothing left of her mind that could let her speak!"
"And how would you know that? As far as I know you've never left this place in years," Erik challenged.
"I am the last of the Fire Keepers! I am one with the Bonfires! I can gaze into them and peer upon any being whose soul I recognize," Shanalotte retorted, hopping off her stony throne to stare back at Erik.
"Then take a look into that bonfire there and take a gander at Mytha," Erik replied calmly, smoothing sliding off his own rock to face the Emerald Herald's stare.
With a disparaging snort the Herald stomped over to the crackling flames and gazed into them, her expression becoming unfocused the longer she peered deep into the embers. After a few minutes her face contorted into a mix of disbelief and surprise, and she whirled about to look at Erik.
"HOW?" She all but spat, grabbing Erik by the collar with both hands and shoving her face close to his own.
"The recipes of my ancestor cured her," the chef proclaimed. There was no trace of pride in his words, nor was there arrogance, condescension, or anything else of the like Shanalotte had expected to hear.
"How?" She asked, quieter this time. Her voice was barely a whisper, and her gaze had lost all of its bite.
"I don't know exactly, but the Four Divine Dishes Donovan Potts created long ago appear to have curative properties," Erik mused. "The ingredients are rare and some come from mystical sources. There is a chance that they react together to create unimaginable effects. Like alchemy."
Culinary Alchemy. Now she'd heard it all! Shanalotte felt something bubble up in her, a sensation she'd all but forgotten.
Erik stared in wonder as tremors wracked the Emerald Herald's frame. She trembled, trying to hold something in, but a series of snorts escaped her lips, and soon she found herself leaking giggles, and finally the dam could restrain it no longer. She laughed.
She laughed and laughed and laughed. Releasing Erik's shirt, Shanalotte fell to her knees and released laughter that echoed across Majula. Clear and bell-like, her mirth resounded over the cliffs and waves of the ocean, and upon the worn timbers of the town's buildings. Her laughter was a mix of desperate joy and unbridled disbelief.
Hearing it, Shalquoir almost shed a tear for her friend. How long had it been since she'd last heard the Emerald Herald give a genuine laugh? How many years had passed since Shanalotte closed off her heart? Purring in happiness, Shalquoir knew of a certain chef who was getting a gift later!
For everyone else, they could only stare in amazement at the scene before them. None of them had ever heard her laugh before. None of them had ever seen her smile. Even Saulden, the oldest resident of Majula, had only ever seen false smiles upon her lips. But now there she was, laughing and smiling and experiencing joy one more time.
After several minutes of riotous laughter, Shanalotte finally settled down and wiped her eyes while stifling her chuckles.
Erik froze in shock as he watched the Emerald Herald remove her tears of mirth. As her hand cleared away the moisture, they unveiled her hidden eye. Royal purple with a sapphire iris. Memories of an elegant, intoxicatingly beautiful woman filled his mind, and he recalled the woman who'd called herself the Witch of Izalith. The young Undead chef felt something throb in his chest as he watched her smiling brightly in the afterglow of her laughter, while the setting sun cast astonishing highlights through her hair.
"It's been so long since I last laughed like that," Shanalotte admitted, regaining control of her emotions. With an iron will she buried her previous enjoyment and put on a mask of cold neutrality. Her bangs hide her vibrant eye once more, and Erik felt slightly disappointed.
"The Monarch Candidate is an Undead who is destined to rekindle the First Flame," Shanalotte explained, standing up again and facing Erik. "He must gather several powerful souls to use as fuel. These souls are ones that have been touched in some way by the First Flame, and thus have a connection to it. By restoring the First Flame to its full glory, the Curse of the Undead will be lifted and the gods will be restored in power, so they may guide and watch over the world once more."
"And that is the truth?" Erik inquired. The Herald nodded.
"Yes. That is who the Monarch Candidate is. The person who is fated to save the world."
"And you think that is me?" Erik asked in disbelief. At that, Shanalotte paused. She had no answer. A few moments ago she would have denied it vehemently. But now, after spying on Mytha and seeing her not only fully restored to her old glory, but accompanying one of the Sisters of Dark on a journey to Eleum Loyce, the Emerald Herald was uncertain. Many previous Monarch Candidates failed to collect even half of the Great Souls, and yet here was a chef who'd done so. Many of them perished and went Hollow after experience despair as they were forced to fight monsters. Yet here was Erik, unblemished by his time in Drangleic.
"I do not know," Shanalotte confessed, looking at Erik with sorrowful eyes. "I have seen hundreds of Undead come and go, many of them with strong souls who tried oh so desperately to complete the challenges of the Monarch Candidate. And yet all failed. Each and every one. Most went Hollow. One gave up and burned his very soul and Humanity to escape the quest he found himself trapped in. Because once you step onto the path, you cannot leave it. You must finish it, or go Hollow."
"But here you are, a simple cook who had no interest in being a hero or a savior, and yet who has unwittingly collected two of the four Great Souls needed to rekindle the First Flame. You are on the road of the king now, Erik Potts. Your only choice is to succeed."
Shanalotte glanced at Erik to gauge his reaction. She half expected him to break down in terror, to have his mind break under the stress of the unreasonable demands the Gods and Drangleic had foisted upon him. That was how several Monarch Candidates failed. They were simply incapable of carrying that responsibility on their shoulders. But to her surprise Erik did not flinch or falter. Instead, his gaze on sharpened, and it seemed as if he had steeled himself for the future.
"I never thought I'd have to be someone in charge of saving the world," Erik said after a bit. "I thought I would live a full life in Lindelt. Find a woman to love. To marry. Have kids. Succeed my father as the Head Chef of the Lightning Palace and later die surrounded by family."
He looked over to Shanalotte. "I don't know if I'll be able to do what it is you require of me. But I swear on my name and that of my ancestor that I will try."
"Let me try and give you a bit of help then. Take my hands," Shanalotte said, a part of her moved by his dedication and resolve. The chef complied and he felt his body heat up.
"In the past, it was possible for a person to alter their very being by taking the souls of their foes and turning them into power. Using the Bonfire, even the weakest of men could become great sorcerers or skilled knights. Now that ability is lost to all but myself. I can take the souls you've collected and turn them into the strength you need to continue this journey. Close your eyes, and imagine what it is you want to improve. Your endurance, perhaps? Or maybe your attunement with spells? All is possible."
Erik closed his eyes as ordered, and tried to think on what he needed. With a deep breath, he looked deep into himself, and tried to imagine what would best help him.
After a moment of thought he made his choice, and felt the numerous souls he'd acquired on his travels change, shift and flow. They did not vanish. Instead, they changed, transmuting and fusing with his own soul, improving and strengthening it.
A flash of piercing white light filled his mind, and Erik rose and blinked his eyes open. He felt… different. As if he'd grown a few inches and gained some extra muscle mass while also having a bigger capacity to perform his Pyromancies.
And then there was the strange sensation that he had done this before…
He gave a bow to the Emerald Herald and turned away. Grabbing his bag and the magic chest, he walked over to Carhillion and reclaimed his new Pyromancy scroll from the sage. Afterwards he bid a fond farewell to Chloanne, receiving a tender hug from the young ore merchant.
After stocking up on items with Melentia, he was finally ready and headed over to where Lucatiel and Shalquoir were waiting at the slope of the hill that led up to the entrance of the town. He paused as a thought struck him and turned back to Shanalotte.
"By the way, your eye is beautiful. You shouldn't hide it from the world," Erik said gently and gave a charming smile. The Emerald Herald clapped her hands over her covered eye, fighting down a blush that crept over her face at his words.
"Where to next?" He asked his knightess companion. He wasn't sure, but he felt that there was a chilling aura around her that hadn't been there before.
"Up this hill lies a path. It leads through the Shaded Woods and to the territory of Duke Tseldora; the Brightstone Cove. You'll need all your wits and skills to make it through," Shalquoir said, sauntering over. She flicked her tail lazily and metal glinted in the sunlight as a ring flew over to Erik. He caught in and looked at it in surprise.
"A gift from me to you. It may help you on your trip through the woods. The area is home to the Lion Clan as well as the Gyrm. That is a Ring of Whispers. It will allow you to understand any language. It doesn't let you speak it, mind you."
"Such a precious item!" Erik cried, looking at the ring in his hands. It looked thin and fragile, but his growing magical aptitude told him it was filled with an ancient and powerful magic.
"Thank you, young one, for giving my precious friend the chance to laugh again," Shalquoir whispered as she slinked past him and headed to the fire. "It's been far too long since she has had happiness."
Erik nodded in silent understanding before flashing Lucatiel a grin.
"Shall we head off, then?"
Under the mask the knightess rolled her eyes. He really was blind to what he did, wasn't he? With a simple nod she fell into step next to him, and the pair made their way up to their next destination.
Half way up the hill Erik slapped his forehead. He'd forgotten to ask for the Emerald Herald's name again!
Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed yesterday's holiday gift chapter! Now back to our regularly scheduled posting.