Chapter 21: Chapter 20: The Book (Final)

For the first time since her memories had awoken, Joan didn’t mind being confined to a bed. As her leg healed she wrote, unleashing the torrent of information that seemed to have built up in her brain, waiting for this moment to finally be unleashed. Searle, to his credit, had stayed by her side through most of it, either reading books of his own, or occasionally being a trusted ear she could speak to when she struggled to get a memory to properly form. She hated to say it, but she couldn’t have gotten as much done without him to help.

Aside from checking on her health, even Bauteut and Emeline had given the pair space, even once her leg was healed enough she was cleared to walk (so long as she swore not to run or jump).

By the time Joan finally finished she’d ended up filling dozens of pages in the book, documenting everything she could remember. She’d started out so simple, writing all of the details she could recall about each chosen. Their likes, dislikes, names, family, where they traveled, little quirks she’d learned over the years. After that, she started writing out all of the spells and techniques she could remember, how she’d done them, which ones she could do still, which ones she’d likely never be able to do again and the handful she thought she may be able to do once she got older and her body and magic grew stronger. Then she’d written out the ones the chosen had learned.

From there she began to write out all the details she could remember about her adventures, the people she had met of importance, why they had mattered. Everything she could recall about the cult and the demon lord. Now her hand had an imprint of the pen and it was only thanks to the rapidly drying ink she used that her hand was only slightly ink stained. She stretched out her fingers and stared at the results of her work. It had taken days of hard work, but she felt proud of her efforts.

It was finally out of her head and written on paper. It felt so incredibly freeing. Now she didn’t have to remember every little detail by herself, she had a book of notes she could look at when she forgot things. More importantly, it had helped her remember plenty of things that she hadn’t even thought of, allowing her to keep track of stuff that had entirely slipped her mind. She knew it wasn’t perfect and there were so many things she didn’t yet remember, it felt good to finally have something she didn’t have to fret about forgetting.

She’d also begun to write things that had changed from her expectations, things she had experienced as Joan, but had been drowned out by the memories of so many past lives. People she had met, events that had happened. She’d heard about the death of Onrol, but she hadn’t really cared at the time. There were others she had known who had also perished, others who had perished in her past lives but now might actually be alive.

Joan couldn’t help but feel humbled to know the impact her life had had on the world. Having the hero had done so much, both good and bad. Yet in all her past lives she had barely paid attention to everything that was going on around her, only focusing on her destiny. She slowly stroked a hand against the scar on her leg and gave another soft sigh. She was certain that Emeline could have removed it if she’d wanted, but it served a purpose now. This scar would hopefully prove to be a grim reminder that, try as she might, she wasn’t the hero anymore. Her life could be snuffed out by some things here as easily as they could blow out a candle. More importantly, though, the cult was stronger than ever. She wondered how long until the demon lord would make his appearance and become the threat that was the catalyst to draw all of the chosen together. Was the demon lord already in control, directing the cult from the shadows? Or perhaps the success of the cult had changed the plan entirely, resulting in the demon lord never taking control of it.

Judging by all of the details she knew, she would have been in her mid teens by now if she were still the hero. Some of the threats she had fought had appeared and already been defeated. Others, not so much. Hardwin had been the only known chosen, as such he’d had to deal with everything himself.

But the concerning thing, at least to her, was that things didn’t seem to be following the same time table. The more she connected her past with her present, the more her worry grew. There might have been something out there, watching the chosen and readying to strike. Perhaps even testing them.

In her past lives it felt as if barely a week had gone by without some new threat appearing that she’d had to deal with. It had all been a frantic rush to stop things before they got out of control, with the occasional month or two of time where things were safe. Now?

Things seemed to be coming at far a slower pace. It would have almost been comforting, except the fact that these creations seemed stronger. The Troll of Reflections had had years to grow, but the lava horses had summoned in greater numbers this time, though fortunately not enough to overwhelm Hardwin. Worse, more territory had fallen to the demons over the years.

Joan flipped through the book until she came to a small drawing of the borders between the demon lands and the human empire. There had been so many threats along the old border, she wondered if it was possible the advance had resulted in them fighting each other. She’d always assumed that all of the threats had been the machinations of the demon lord, but was it possible that they hadn’t been? Korgron had proven that not all demons were allied with the demon lord, so what if all these monsters hadn’t been either?

Or what if the appearance of the hero had spurred them into action? Perhaps the hero had forced them to rush their plans, to keep her busy until their preparations were complete? She felt a small ache in her heart at the realization that it had worked. She’d been so blind to the true threats that loomed in the shadows until it was too late.

Even now she felt like she was still learning things, connections she had missed in her past lives. Things that she suspected would be important in this life especially. Worse of all, so many different lives had held different experiences, sometimes making them all blur together, while others pushed important pieces of information aside.

Like what her name had been. The fact she couldn’t remember it felt like it was something that should have been important. On top of that, why now? She was born years after the hero was supposed to be born, why not at the same time? Did that mean she had existed for a few years as the hero here? Was the hero, who she had been, out there somewhere?

Joan shook her head at that thought. If the hero was out there, the Troll of Reflections would have been gone. On top of that, the demons had pushed far enough into the human lands that she would have long come in contact with them. If the hero was here, then the world would have known. She couldn’t spend all of her time focusing on what might or could be, she had to focus on what was.

Her task, at this point, was simple. Hardwin had to gather the chosen as they were the only means by which they could defeat the Demon Lord and the Inferno God. So she had to slow the cult down and give him the time needed. She had to ensure they had the information needed to destroy the heart. A smile formed on her lips when she glanced through the book once more.

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Now that all of those memories filled the book in front of her, it finally felt like that was all they were. Memories of a life that were nothing more than written words, notes by which she could prepare and go forward with. For the first time she really felt like Joan now. Even if she was weak and vulnerable like this, there was still so much she could do.

Though, if she was too weak there were alternative options she could try. Joan flipped through the book until she came to one entry she’d made in particular. She then glanced to Searle, ensuring he was still asleep.

Even a demon couldn’t really match the power and abilities of a chosen, but it could come close. She knew better than most just how deadly a demon could be. While she didn’t know the ritual by which humans normally became demons, she did know enough she was certain she could figure it out with time. She stroked a finger along one of the small drawings of a demon claw she’d drawn.

If she really had to, if it was the only way to save the world, would such a deed be worth it? She’d already given up the power of the hero, would giving up her humanity be worth it? Even if demons like Korgron existed, those who had been born into it, it was another thing entirely to take on the change willingly.

It was the most foul of all rituals, something said to taint the very soul itself, not just the body. If she tainted herself in such a way, even despite the power she’d gain, she wondered what would happen. Her soul wasn’t just hers, it was the soul of the hero. Would even Fate renounce her then, casting her aside and leaving the world to perish?

Joan closed the book and locked it, holding the key to her chest. No, becoming a demon wasn’t something she could even consider now, no matter how much she wished she had strength. As much as she loathed not being able to handle everything on her own, she would lean on them as much as she had to. She stroked a finger along the edge of the book and sighed again.

Besides, she’d only been the hero for a few weeks now, at best. She supposed she should at least try and ensure that she couldn’t save the world without it before she did something like that.

Joan glanced to Searle and then the shield that rested on the ground besides him. It was so small and simple, were it anything but the weapon of the chosen even she could have picked it up with one hand.

Yet now it would have been like trying to pick up a mountain. More powerful than even the most powerful weapons forged by the greatest blacksmiths, enchanted by the strongest mages. The kind of shield that could repel even a hammer from a god.

She then glanced back to Searle. Still a boy, but one day he’d be a man. She’d thought of him as someone so weak and soft in her past lives. Yet now she had to trust him with her very life. He was more useful and powerful than she could ever hope to be. Even if she did destroy her soul in an attempt to gain more power, she still wouldn’t compare to what he could one day become.

One day the world would hang on his every word, just like they did all the other chosen. Yet, here he was. Sleeping on a small cot just so he wouldn’t have to leave her side. Refusing the grand chamber he had been offered by the king himself.

He trusted her, even though she had given him so little in the past. She stroked her fingers against the book one more time and then slowly slid it out, onto the desk besides her bed. She then fell back and rested her head, staring up at the ceiling once more.

She was Joan. She was a prodigy at best. The equal of any normal being. But they didn’t fight normal creatures. They fought the divine, the impossible, myths and legends. Try as she might, regardless of her past memories, the chosen stood on a mountain that she could never hope to climb. If she was lucky, she could grab the bottom stones.

But she could guide them. Show them. Make them stronger. Most importantly, she could trust them. Believe that they would, could, save the world. Even if she couldn’t be the hero anymore, she would help them to be it. She had to. If that meant accepting Hardwin finding the chosen without her, having a healer like Bauteut watch over her, being near a queen like Emeline and being protected by Searle, so be it.

She wasn’t the hero anymore. She didn’t have to do everything herself. She just had to set everything right as a normal person.