Chapter 64: Frayed

Gwen was worried about her friend.

No, "worried" did not convey a strong enough emotion. What word would? Fearful? Upset? Perturbed? Terrified? One of those had to be correct.

She had always been concerned for Achlys's safety and several months ago, Gwen had allowed her curiosity to get the best of her and she made it her mission to learn more about the wraith that was raising the young girl. Gwen knew, as rare as they were, that there were benevolent spirits on the Isles, peaceful souls that were trapped in with all the others. For years she had comforted herself with the thought that Achlys's father was one of these. She was wrong.

There were a few greater wraiths on the Isles that Gwen knew of, names and faces recalled from half-memories she was unused of how she possessed. Achlys's father was not one of these wraiths, but she did not need to know his name he was dangerous. He was fully formed and defined, appearing likely as he had in life, which was already a testament to his strength of spirit. He radiated the unnerving magic of the Isles and a sizable host of spirits followed his command. But what troubled her the most was what she had heard him say to those spirits.

He actually believed that undeath was a good thing! He spoke of the Black Mist and the curse upon these lands as though it were a great blessing, that lingering on was the greatest thing that could befall a soul, and that this was a gift that should be spread to others!

"Oh, how can he look at this and think it is paradise?" Gwen wondered, "Was his life so awful that this is better? Or did the Mist break his mind?"

She knew this was always a possibility. She knew it had happened before. There was one wraith on the Isles, elegant yet imposing, that stirred one of Gwen's half memories whenever she saw her. The memory was warm and happy, one of kinship and love, and, though Gwen did not understand it fully, she had a deep feeling that this wraith would do anything to protect her. "Kalista will help you", the half memory said. But Gwen dared not approach the wraith.

Even if the half memory promised that Kalista was once a compassionate woman of honor, that was not what Gwen had witnessed stalking these desolate shores. The wraith that she had become had a cold, unflinching look in her burning eyes. She fought without a shred of mercy and many wraiths had been dissipated by her spears without a moment's hesitation. Kalista was dangerous.

Perhaps Achlys's father was like that, a soul who had been caring and nurturing in life but had now become warped. That thought still didn't do much to ease her mind.

"Does Achlys believe the same things as he does? How do I tell her that her father is wrong? How do I make her see the truth?"

Gwen had spent days thinking up just the right things to say but whenever she thought she was ready to speak to Achlys, all of her will fled from her, either chased off by the intimidating presence of the greater wraith or the happy expression on her friend's face.

"Will knowing the truth help her right now? She can't change it and she can't leave. Will telling her only make her miserable? Will it put her in danger?"

And then, before she made up her mind to do anything, disaster struck. One of the most dreadful wraiths on the Isles, the Horseman, had come for Achlys. Hecarim. Gwen knew that name from the half memories and it stirred several conflicting emotions within them, but he raised only one emotion in her; anger. She had seen the brutal wraith cut down the living and trample their bodies into the dirt until it was mud.

Always, he was faster than her. Wraiths, as she had come to learn, were drawn to powerful emotions and to Hecarim, a terror in a living soul was like a beacon in the night. No matter how quickly she weaved through the trees or darted over the ruins, Hecarim always found the living before her. It was infuriating, the thought that she could have saved his victims if only she had been a little faster, if only she had sensed them before he had. If only, if only, if only.

At least, she had the power to spare them of a worse fate. After he had butchered their mortal bodies, Hecarim took no interest in their souls and he would leave them where they were slain. That's when Gwen would step in. Before the Black Mist had time to warp the terrified dead into monstrous wraiths, she would cut them from this realm with her enchanted scissors. Snip-snip, and they were free. There was no joy in freeing them though; it felt like a small consolation for not having been able to save them in the first place.

So imagine her horror when she saw Hecarim standing before Achlys! She had nearly rushed in then and there, but she heard the plea Achlys had made to her father that she be allowed to stand up for herself. It stayed her hand as well, but only barely.

Her heart had been in her throat the whole time she watched Achlys fight. It hadn't been much of a competition. Hecarim had out maneuvered her with ease and, when he had tripped her, Gwen was prepared to run out and fight, even if that meant placing herself between two greater wraiths. Her scissors were brandished and the Hallowed Mist was wrapped protectively around her. She took one step from where she had been hiding and was immediately paralyzed with terror at what she saw.

Achlys had collapsed to the ground and Black Mist was pouring from her.

"The Mist? Achlys?"

The realization struck Gwen like a thunderbolt.

"No! No, no, no, no, no! This cannot be! She is going to die!"

Gwen knew the Black Mist was like rot on a soul. To any of the living it was unfortunate enough to permeate, it was a death sentence. And her friend was vomiting it out.

She was so petrified in that moment that it took her several seconds to register that Achlys's father had attacked Hecarim, scooped Achlys up in his arms, and began to retreat towards the cathedral. The host of spirits that trailed after the wraith surged forward, forming a frightful barrier between their master and the Horseman, but Gwen was determined to follow after the lich. Still hidden, she carefully skirted around the enrgaged spirits and into the ancient building.

The remnants of that building's splendor were lost on Gwen. She didn't pay a moment's attention to the high carved columns or colored murals made of glass, depicting myths long forgotten; she rushed right past them. Quick footsteps carried her swiftly past the pews to stand by the altar Achlys had been placed upon. She stood opposite the wraith, though he had no idea she was there.

Powerless. That was the sensation that filled Gwen as she looked down at Achlys. The young girl's eyes were clenched shut in pain and she was shivering uncontrollably. For a moment, Gwen considered throwing off the Mist and calling out to the other wraith "please, let me help!" but a moment's hesitation stopped her. A fear creeped into her mind. A fear that warned her that, by revealing herself, she would distract the wraith and that would result in Achlys's death. She understood little of the Isles' magic compared to this specter.

The wraith worked quickly, finding the source of Achlys's pain in a matter of seconds. He pulled back her shirt, revealing the cursed magic writhing beneath her skin and placed his fingers above her heart where the corruption was the thickest. Magic flowed from him to reign in the chaos. All Gwen could do was watch. The Mist stopped pouring from Achlys. Wearily, she had turned her to her father, thanked him, and immediately fell into a shallow sleep.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you," Gwen thought mournfully, "I don't know what would have happened if I tried to cut it from you. It might have saved you or killed you. I was too afraid to lose you. I'm sorry."

Gwen looked over to Achlys's father. He looked as concerned as she was.

"He talks about death so much, but it looks like he doesn't want her to die either. That's a relief, I think."

She let out a long, exhausted sigh. Seeing her friend like this pained her.

"I'm a doll! Making children feel better is what I was made to do!"

Moving ever so gently, so as not to wake her, Gwen reached out and took Achlys's hand. She was deathly cold. Achlys stirred in her sleep, catching the immediate attention of her father. Gwen released her hand and took a step back as the wraith circled the altar, checking to see if anything had disturbed Achlys.

Finding nothing, he imitated the sound of a sigh that his body would have made in life.

"You're going to get well, Achlys," he promised, "and you will come out of this stronger. I will do everything I can to help you."

He then directed two wraiths to stand guard around her before gliding out of the room in search of something.

"I promise that too," Gwen had whispered, "I promise that and so much more. I will get us off these Isles. I will find a way to help you."

She had wanted to keep speaking and promise her friend that there were better days ahead, but the wraith had returned and once more, Gwen became silent. In his hands, the wraith carried something Gwen was familiar with; the small toy she had repaired on the day she first me Achlys. He placed the doll into Achlys's hand and, even in her exhausted sleep, she wrapped her arms tightly around the plush. Gwen saw the silvery thread she had used to repair the doll shimmer blue under the young girl's touch, though the wraith did not appear to notice this at all.

The entire night and all the next day, neither Gwen nor Achlys's father left her side. Achlys slept through most of it, waking only briefly as she was moved to her bedroom. As uneasy as the whole day was, Gwen did have to admit that she felt a certain thrill at discovering that Achlys's bed appeared to be a boat that looked seaworthy.

As the day drifted on, a sense of restlessness began to overwhelm Gwen. She was doing nothing. She did not want to leave her friend's side, but sitting and watching her sleep wasn't helping her get better. Gwen felt as though she had to do something.

"I have to go, Achlys," she whispered to the sleeping girl, "but I will be back as soon as I can and it will be with something that will help. I know it will be."

Then, with great reluctance and fierce determination, Gwen stood from where she had been sitting. She picked up her scissors, gave Achlys's hand a reassuring, parting squeeze, and, giving the Hallowed Mist a cautionary tug to ensure it was wrapped tightly around her, went to stand before Achlys's father.

"I am leaving now," she addressed him, though he could not see or hear her, "and before I go, I want you to know that you are wrong. You are wrong about the Mist, you are wrong about undeath, and you are wrong about this place being paradise. You are so wrong that thinking about leaving Achlys with you makes me dizzy with nervousness.

She paused and took a breath to calm herself.

"But, I can tell that you love her. You care about her, that's obvious, and deep down, maybe you don't want her to die. I don't know that part for sure. I'm just hoping. I'm hoping so much that in life you were a kind, nurturing man that has been corrupted by the Mist and maybe those good parts of you are still in there. I hope you really don't want her to suffer as a wraith and even if you did, I wouldn't allow it. I would cut her soul free in an instant!"

She could feel herself getting worked up again and she had to take another deep breath before continuing.

"But Achlys isn't dead, so I won't dwell on that possibility, not while there is still a chance she can be saved. I'm going to help. I'm going to look for a cure or spell or something. I'll be back as soon as I can, but until then, keep doing everything you can to keep her alive. If you turn her into a wraith I'll never forgive you! So, good bye and good luck to you and good luck to me!"

Without allowing herself any more time to doubt her resolve, Gwen sped form the cathedral and headed towards the ruins of Helia. For days Gwen had scoured the ruins of the once great city looking for something that could potentially help Achlys; artifacts, elixirs, medical supplies, anything. She trailed after wraiths she believed may have been physicians in life and rummaged through libraries in search of medical texts. She had little luck.

"I can't read many of these books and all the elixirs I have found looks like they've dried up a long, long time ago," she sighed, "at least I have this little thing."

She held up a little soapstone trinket she had found. It looked like a carving of a salamander curled up on itself. She had tested it (extremely carefully) on herself and was delighted to have discovered that the trinket filled her body with warmth.

"This should help with the shivering at least," she reassured herself, "and if you can help with one part you can help with more."

Filled in equal parts with fear and hope, Gwen returned to the cathedral as quickly as her legs would carry her. She raced through the magic blasted woods and blackened fields. No wraith could obstruct her path. But when she appeared at the cathedral, an unexpected sound greeted her; Achlys's laughter.

Joy had swelled within Gwen at the sound. She peered into the yard and saw Achlys running and playing with her skull like companion. She looked so cheerful and carefree, as though she weren't on death's doorsteps just days ago. And then a flash of green light caught Gwen's eye and all the joy and relief she had been feeling was dashed away in an instant. Something was wrong. Something was so very wrong. Something was so very truly wrong.

As Achlys had jumped in the air, the necklace she worse shifted and revealed a small mark at the base of her throat. The inverted triangle was not much larger than a button, but to Gwen, Achlys may as well have had her chest torn open. She knew who that symbol belong to.

"Viego."

His name stirred powerful emotions within Gwen. Though she had never encountered him as she was now, she felt in her soul, and in conflicting half memories, that he was responsible for what had happened here centuries ago. That also meant that he was responsible for the pain and misery that the Black Mist spread. That meant he was dangerous. That meant that he was absolutely not someone Achlys should ever, ever, never ever, have contact with.

But he did. At some point he did and he left his mark on Achlys. And if she bore his mark, did that not mean that her soul was indentured to him? How could someone who seemed so earnest in her desire to aid others serve someone so who was so intent on spreading ruin and sorrow?

Gwen tried to shake the unpleasant thoughts from her head, but failed to do so.

"Something is wrong. Something about this has to be wrong. They've done something to Achlys. That's the only explanation. She can't be beyond saving. She just can't!" Gwen's mind frantically reeled, "Achlys needs your help. Chin up, Gwen! Your mission hasn't changed, only the ailment has. No need to panic. You can do this! The Mist can't corrupt the living, can it? No, Achlys is still good at heart. Believe this! Do not panic."

She squeezed and squeezed and squeezed the salamander charm but it did nothing to stop the deep chill that filled her.