The Call
"Find her!"
Achlys had to go. Where? With all the others of course. Wherever they were was where she needed to be. She felt it in her soul. She needed to go and join the Harrowing.
But she could not. She could not fly or let her form become one with the Black Mist. Her body was mortal, her soul constrained by flesh and life, so here on the Isles she was forced to remain, growing more restless as each hour ticked maddeningly slowly by and the voice in her head grew louder.
"Go!"
She had been left with the Chronicler of Ruin as the entirety of Karthus's congregation had been called away with him. On any other day, Achlys would have loved to spend time in the ancient library with its hundreds of books, but right now, it felt as welcoming as a prison. Not one of any of those books had been able to hold her attention for more than half an hour.
Always at the back of her mind, the urge to obey the Harrowing's pull, to drop everything and search, was gnawing at her. She had attempted to soothe this desire by seeking out the little owl statue she had seen in her dream. At least then she would be searching for something. But when she had found it, it had done nothing to ease her mind. If anything, finding the owl had only filled her with a rush of angered adrenaline. This was not what she was supposed to be looking for.
"My queen, where is she?"
"I don't know," Achlys whispered as she turned the owl statue over in her hands.
At the sound of her voice, Acheron turned to Achlys and tilted his head in an inquisitive manner.
"Why do I feel like this, Acheron?"
He made a clicking noise that sounded like a pebble being dropped on stone.
"Ugh," was Achlys's only response to that comment.
She returned the owl to the shelf and trudged herself back up the stairs of the grand library, her mind pounding with each step.
"You shouldn't be here," her thoughts said, "you should be with the others. You should be searching. You should be helping."
Like the beating of a heart, these thoughts continued to pulse in her mind all the way back to the Chronicler's chambers. Back in the room, Achlys went and sat before the panoramic window and stared out at the city below as if what she was supposed to be looking for was somewhere down there in the ruins of specter and stone.
The Chronicler of Ruin was floating beside one of her many bookcases and had five open tomes hovering before her as if she were reading them all at once. Without looking up from her task, she spoke to the young girl.
"Achlys, Deathsinger's daughter, oath bound to Ruined King," her hollow voice echoed, "you have returned. Were you able to find what it is you sought?"
The question made Achlys feel like the universe was mocking her and she had to stop herself from snapping at the wraith and remind herself that she had originally left the chamber to search for the owl, not the queen.
"You must find her."
"Yeah, I found it," Achlys answered, "but I didn't take it. It was on a shelf with books about birds, it belonged there."
The Chronicler nodded but said no more. Over the years, Achlys had found that unless you asked a question or the Chronicler had a question for you, she was not a talkative spirit. With no conversation to be had, the only sound in the chamber was the ceaseless scratching of the scrivener wraiths upon their endless paper and the rapid tapping of Achlys foot upon the floor.
Achlys tried to work her restless energy out through her hands. She tugged and pulled at her hair, braiding it in a minute only to undo the braid the next. Then she put it into two braids before undoing it, and then three, and then five, and then three again, but this time braided the three braids into one mega braid before, of course, undoing it all. Her fingers glided through her silvery locks as she tried to empty her head of all thoughts, but the second her fingers snagged a tangle, all the frustration rushed back two fold.
"Keep searching!"
"Alright already!" Achlys shouted as she jumped to her feet.
Her agitation sent ripples through the weaker wraiths in the room. Scriveners shifted over their desks, some hissed, making a sound that was like paper tearing, and others curled their parchment like forms up on themselves. The one nearest Achlys sprang from its seat and floated over to her, letting out a low moan and extending its hand as it did. Before it could reach her though, the Chronicler appeared between them. She held out a hand to stay her scrivener and turned to look at Achlys.
"You are troubled, child," she stated.
"Let nothing stand in your way!"
As these words rang through her head the last of Achlys's patience was lost and in its place she had found an angrier tone than she had ever imagined she would use with an elder.
"Of course I'm troubled," Achlys shouted, "I'm not doing what I promised I would! I'm stuck!"
As she shouted, the mark at her throat pulsed. This outburst sent a new wave of emotion through the scrivener at the Chronicler's side. Its body twitched and it let out another long moan before beginning to pace behind the greater wraith.
"Oh stop it, Tel," Achlys snapped, turning her attention to it, "you're always worrying."
Achlys was not fully aware of what she had said and how she had just identified a wraith that she had never been formally introduced to. Different words dominated her attention.
"Do not hesitate!"
But even as Achlys paid no mind to her words, they were all the scrivener was aware of. Scrivener Tel froze where he hovered. A quiver trembled down the scraps of parchment that comprised its form and suddenly, all the words written upon them vanished. Then, just as quickly as the words had vanished new letters appeared on it; all of them say "Tel." And for a brief moment, the parchment where a head would have been showed no words at all, but instead lines that appeared to be features of a thin nose with a pair of glasses perched at the end and a mouth, pursed in worry, with an ink stain at its corner.
The Chronicler of Ruin watched as this unfolded.
"Scrivener Tel," she said, "fourth apprentice, quill biter. Yes, Tel was this wraith's name in life. It has not been spoken aloud in centuries. How did you come to know it?"
"Go!"
"I don't know," Achlys answered, "I heard it in a dream or maybe one of your memories you shared with me. I don't know. I just know I- I need to go."
"Go where?"
"I don't know! Anywhere! Maybe just a walk around the city. I just can't stay here."
"Take my hand," the Chronicler ordered as she held out her hand.
As agitated as she was, she was not at such a loss of her sense that she would openly defy an elder. Achlys did as she was asked and the Chronicler closed her fingers around the young girl's hand. A few moments of connection was all the greater wraith needed.
"Find her!"
"You hear the call of the Harrowing," the Chronicler said.
"I know she is here!"
"It can be deafening, impossible to ignore, and distressful to resist."
"I don't want to resist," Achlys said, "I want to do what I promised I would."
"Find her!"
"I was not called away," the Chronicler continued, "I cannot bring you where the Harrowing has gone, but I also will do nothing to prevent you from easing this call. Go for your walk, Achlys. Search Helia. Search earnestly. Even if your search is in vain, an effort may soothe your soul."
"Do you really think so?"
"I have no better advice to offer. You cannot surrender yourself to it completely, so you must serve the call as best you can."
"I'll try."
"Do not fail!"
Achlys did not like that answer, but it was the best option she had, so back down the many stairs she went and headed out the door.
She took in a deep breath, letting the salt laden air fill her lungs, and let out something that was half a sigh and half a growl.
"I need to empty my head," she thought, "I need to serve as best as I can."
"Surrender!"
"Surrender. How?"
Without any clear goal in mind outside of "search," Achlys ventured out into the city. She had been here dozens of times with Karthus, Elise, and Katherine, and there were few places in the city she hadn't visited. Elise especially had been thorough to search any of the interesting buildings on their treasure hunting days.
"Where haven't we looked, Acheron?" she asked as she wandered the cracked streets aimlessly.
If Acheron responded, she didn't hear him.
"Turn over everything!"
"You know what? It doesn't matter," she growled at nobody, "She's not here. We're not going to find her, just pick a building and start searching."
Abruptly, she turned to the left and entered the first building she saw, the remnants of an old bakery, and searched it as thoroughly as she could. She peaked under tables, searched through any intact cabinets, brushed through the dust and rubble that accumulated in the corners, and even stuck her head into the oven.
"Nothing here."
"Keep searching."
"Uuugh, come on, Acheron. Let's keep being useless in another place."
The next building they searched was some sort of a residential structure, or at least, half of what once was a residential structure. Achlys checked around the hearth, wiggling each stone to see if one was perhaps covering a concealed compartment and when that yielded no result, she sent Acheron up the chimney. Still, they found nothing, so the search continued.
"I need to be thorough," she thought.
"Keep searching!"
"I need to keep searching."
Though the stairs of the house had been obliterated, some of the second story of the home remained.
"We're going up, Acheron," Achlys said, "wait for me at the top. I might need you."
When Acheron had floated up to the second floor, Achlys drew her magic to herself, and leapt into the air. Her feet kicked below her, flickering with the faintest traces of magic, as she struggled to levitate. It was not a graceful accession, her legs stretching as though she were trying to climb several stairs in one steps, but she was able to pull herself up. At the top, she threw her arms out and wrapped them around Acheron.
"Pull."
He moved backwards and pulled her up the last bit so she could stumble onto the floor.
"Thank you," she said as she let out a breath she had been holding out of concentration.
She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow (levitation magic was still a challenge on a good day) and went to take a deep breath to refocus herself. . .
"No rest until she is found!"
. . . and exhaled with a grunt as though she were hit in the stomach.
"Rest later," she reprimanded herself, a scowl crossing her face "you haven't earned rest yet."
As she had with the first floor, Achlys was thorough with her search, going so far as to even coat her hands in balefire so she could pull back and check behind the phantasmal curtains that hung in the blasted out window. Acheron was sent up to check around the exposed rafters as she crouched to peek under the remnants of a bed and, accidentally of course, startled a small wraith that was hiding there, causing it to flee with a shriek.
"Did you find anything?" she asked as she walked over and opened an old wardrobe whose contents had been eroded away by time.
Acheron made a sound that she knew meant "negative."
"Baaah!"
She slammed the wardrobe closed.
"Do not fail me!"
"Then I need to look somewhere else. This place is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!"
She rushed over to the edge of the floor.
"Come here, Acheron. We're leaving."
Acheron floated down to Achlys's outstretched arms so she could hold him tightly to her body. Then, using both her magic and his ability to levitate, she stepped off the edge and descended in a motion that could be described as a graceful fall.
On the ground once more, she immediately released Acheron and threw her hands to her head as more words rang through her mind.
"Do not fail!"
"I don't want to! I don't! I really don't!" she pleaded with someone who could not hear her, "I'm trying. I know it's useless, but I'm trying."
"Not enough."
"I will search until it is."
The ruins of a study hall were the next building Achlys stumbled into. Over a dozen desks and stools crowded the little room. Even after so much time had passed, most were still facing towards a dais where a scholar would have stood and lectured. Upon this dais though, there was nothing, just a pile of rubble from where the wall behind it had partially collapsed inwards. About the room, phantasmal books and scraps of parchment flitted through the air and on one desk at the front, a ghostly quill kept dipping itself into a glass inkwell in search of ink that had long since dried up. Achlys swatted one of these books away that had drifted too close and dropped down the few steps into the room.
"Search earnestly," she thought, "that's what the Chronicler said to do."
She began the next step of her fruitless endeavor by looking under each desk.
"Acheron, please check on top of the bookshelves. We need to do what we can and hopefully it will make the feeling in my stomach go away."
Her words were slow and spoken with a calm and even tone that was actively trying to suppress her mounting frustration. The way her fingers gripped the corners of the desks however, betrayed her true feelings.
"I just need to search enough," she reminded herself, "I just need to do what I can. I just need to –"
"Find her!"
"Aaargh!"
Her grip on the table became white knuckled and, without thinking, she flipped the table to its side.
"I'm trying but I don't know! Raaaah!"
She kicked a nearby stool, sending it clattering across the floor. Then, before the stool had even come to a stop, she grabbed a second table and sent it crashing over as well.
"Where is she?!"
Light pulsed at Achlys's throat, making her sea glass pendant glow as though it had a light of its own. Black Mist seeped through her clenched teeth as she growled, though it was such a faint amount that she didn't even notice as she recklessly tore through the room.
"Not here! She's not here! Search the next one! Search until she is found!"
"Next one," Achlys grunted, "we need to go to the next one."
The thought to back track even a few steps never occurred to her. Instead, Achlys rushed up the dais and began to scramble over the piled ruble to continue through the broken wall in her desperate attempt to go anywhere.
"Acheron, come on!"
"Forward!"
Speed was chosen over balance as she climbed.
"We have to –Aaah!"
A brick lurched out from where it was in the stack and took Achlys's balance with it. She tumbled down the pile, scraping her leg in the process. It was not a far fall, less than her own height, but it was enough to knock the wind from her lungs as she landed in the dirt.
"Ouch…"
Achlys let out a low groan as she pushed herself back up to a sitting position. She winced as she touched her knees and looked down at her fingers to see that they had a bright red dot upon them. A quick look down showed that, though the scrape was not deep, it was bleeding and would take a few minutes to form a scab. And all the while, the voice in her head demanded that she press onward.
"Damn it," she hissed.
Around her several wraiths crept forward through the shadows. They had been drawn in by the intense feelings of distress that radiated from the young girl and the scent of living blood. Achlys did not take the time to check to see if these wraiths were aggressive or simply curious.
She pointed to the nearest wraith.
"Drive them off."
Acheron let out a shriek and dove in the direction Achlys had indicated. Balefire flared as he crashed into the offending wraith and he sent it fleeing with a shrill hiss. He then spun around and launched himself after the next nearest wraith, and then the next after that.
"Keep searching!"
"I am, I am," Achlys repeated as she forced herself back to her feet.
She took a step and pain spread through her knees, but that was not the worst part. She cradled her head in her hands and clutched at her hair as Viego's words echoed through her.
"It's like someone keeps tugging on my soul," she moaned, "and like my stomach is being shaken and my heart is jumping. I want it to stop. I want it to stop. Acheron, we need to do something different to make it stop. Follow."
Step by stinging step, Achlys marched through Helia as Acheron, ever dutiful, patrolled around her and chased off any spirits that moved too close until they stood before a collapsed section of floor. It was an entrance to the Vaults. Achlys stared down into the shadows and the imposing darkness of the place. With each moment she hesitated venturing down her agitation was steadily replaced with a different unease.
"Well, this is how we get down," she spoke, "do you remember last time we came here with Thresh? How we tried to glide down together and I almost fell and hurt myself badly. He said it would have killed me. I haven't forgotten."
The Vaults were a place where she knew she was never supposed to go alone. Both Karthus and Thresh had made this fact unquestionably clear, and even if they had said nothing to warn her of this, her memories of the twists and turns in complete darkness, with only the haunting light of Thresh's lantern to guide her was enough to send a chill down her spine.
"Do not hesitate!"
She took a step forward.
"Are you ready?"
She held out her arms to hold Acheron. He obliged.
"Do not falter!"
She leaned a foot out over the drop.
"There might be something useful down there."
"Do not stop!"
She could not bring herself to step off. In the core of her soul, she knew that if she went down there she would become lost, die afraid in the dark, and not even her wraith would be able to find its way out.
"I can't do it."
With trembling legs, she backed quickly away from the ledge. She kept Acheron hugged tightly to her.
"I can't do it."
"Find her!"
Her hands flew up to cover her ears, as though that would help silence the Harrowing's call in her head.
"I can't do it!"
She curled in on herself and rocked her head.
"Is this what other wraiths feel during a Harrowing or is it just me?"
The sound of Acheron's concerned trilling cut through waves of anger churning in her mind. She reached out and hugged him close once more.
"I don't know what to do. His voice keeps getting louder and it's making it difficult to think. Do you have any ideas?"
Acheron pressed himself deeper into her body.
"Go that way" she interpreted this action as.
"To the docks? Yes," she let out a sigh of relief, "that's a good idea. That's where I keep seeing the queen in the nightmares."
Desperation gave her speed as she made her way to the docks. She was panting when she arrived, her heat beating from both her sprint and the adrenaline brought on by Harrowing's urges. Her head lashed back and forth as she quickly looked around her. She had come up with a plan to search the area from top to bottom on her way down, but now that she was here all plans were forgotten.
Impulsively she rushed back and forth, sometimes looking into nearby buildings, sometimes rummaging through rubble, sometimes peering down into the water at the sunken ships eerily well preserved below. At last though, her eyes came to rest on a stream of Black Mist. Achlys went to it.
"Maybe we just need a little extra help searching?" she wondered, "That's all a Harrowing really is, right? A bunch of wraiths working together to help our king. I should be able to do the same thing and ask for help. The congregation is gone, but there must be someone else."
"GO!"
"I will!"
Without hesitation and without a stable thought in her mind, Achlys plunged her hand into the Mist and reached her magic into it. And the Mist reached its consciousness back into her.
"Fly."
"Pain!"
"Search."
"Hurting!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
"Find her!"
With a wail, Achlys crumpled to her knees as the cacophonous cries of the Harrowing ravaged her mind. She tore her hand from the Mist and cradled it against her heart, but she could still hear them and she could see things.
"Onward."
"Faster!"
"I go."
She saw visions of the ocean flying by and banks of Black Mist stretching out in all directions. Faces of phosphorescent green bubbled up through the darkness to hiss and bare their teeth, and scream.
"Looking."
"Where?"
"Pounce!"
Brief as a flash of lightning, she saw the image of a rocky shore, a manor by the cliff side, and a little village nestled below it.
"Tear."
"No more!"
"Help!"
"Kill!"
Another flash, this time much closer to the manor. Tendril of Black Mist raced hungrily towards it. The sight sent her into a frenzy.
"I can hear her!"
Achlys hadn't even noticed that Acheron had dropped down to her side and as she pulled herself back up to her shaking legs, she did not acknowledge her tiny companion, even as he bumped into her arm.
"That's where she is, isn't she?"
Her voice was a whisper.
"That is where I am needed."
Her voice grew stronger as she looked out towards the ocean. She took a step.
"That is where I will go."
She broke into a sprint. The mark on her chest burned brightly. A portion of Mist she had touched coiled around to snake behind her.
"My king demands it of me."
Her eyes shone as brightly as the mark as she approached the end of the dock. With nothing but the waves left before her, Achlys did not stop. She jumped into the air. The Mist followed her stride, and as her legs kicked through the air, it was as though she were stepping upon the ethereal substance.
"I will go!"
Step by step, Achlys rose through the air. High and higher and further and further from the docks she moved, but it was not to last. Twenty paces, mere seconds after she had jumped, her levitation magic failed her, and she dropped into the water below.
The shock cold water was enough to snap Achlys back to her sense. At once she began to kick her legs and reach up towards the surface. She coughed as something rammed into her chest, pushing her upwards faster. Even through squinted eyes, the glowing light she saw below her was undeniably Acheron's.
With a painful sounding cough, Achlys splashed up above the water, spitting out seawater and gasping for breath. A moment later, Acheron too surfaced. She held on to him and kicked furiously as he tugged her towards a crumbling portion of the docks she could pull herself up on.
For several moments all she could do was cough and sneeze and when that was done, she cried. She had failed. She had done everything in her power and it had not been enough. She was exhausted; her limbs were aching, the scrape on her knee stung from the salt water, and her lungs felt hot. She flopped over onto her back and stared upwards as she tried to catch her breath.
Overhead, a lone albatross soared. The white undersides of its wings stood out brightly against the perpetual dark skies that hung above the Isles. This caught the attention of Achlys, who watched as it circled effortlessly. The cry it made as it did so was a musical whistle that was almost jovial. To Achlys, it sounded as if it were mocking her.
"How dare it mock me!"
"How dare they mock my pain!"
"How dare any of them!"
"What gives you the right?"
"Why are you allowed to fly while I am stuck?"
"Why can you be happy while I suffer?"
"It's not fair!"
"It is an insult!"
"It makes me furious!"
"I will not stand for it!"
"I will not allow you to mock us anymore."
Achlys clenched her fist. Balefire blazed forth suddenly and violently in her palm.
"Fall!"
And before she could think, she threw the concentrated magic upwards and struck the bird in the chest. It screeched as it was engulfed by the unhallowed flames. And as it crashed dead onto the Isles, the wrathful voice in Achlys's head was silenced. Now the only sounds she heard were the waves and the hollow whistle of a new wraith pulling itself from its corpse.