Chapter 1: Act I Chapter 1: Pyres

Chapter 1: Pyres

Smoke billowed into the air, rising in twisting grey clouds that coiled across the deep blue sky. The pyre continued to burn, orange and golden flames rising higher and higher as they leaped and climbed over one another in their bid for the heavens. They would soon reach their maximum height, ultimately chained down by the size of the pile of charred corpses offered to them.

Enya stood in front of the flames, unmoving even as the smoke thickened and a familiar dryness stung her lungs. She was always struck by how similar the smell of burning bodies was to that of burning wood. If not for the added rancid notes of fat and the foul hints of burning excrement, there would be little differentiation between the two. As if the only thing separating a human body from its surroundings was its own filth.

Nadine hated the smell. After the first three times Enya had performed this rite, she’d stomped over to her, looked her dead in the eye, and said, “Patrol by yourself if you’re gonna keep making it reek, you pyromaniac.”

Despite the harshness of her words that day, whenever Raynor or Theresa were too busy to recite the closing prayers, Nadine never failed to quietly come along at Enya’s request (Enya had tried to learn the funeral prayer herself, but her memory had never been very good. No, it was better to focus on what she was able to do). Nadine would mutter the prayer beneath her breath while flinching from the smell; she never liked to pray loudly. Maybe Nadine didn’t understand why Enya would bother building pyres “for a bunch of strangers’ corpses, are you sure you’re not just coming up with an excuse to light a bunch of fires?” as she’d say, but Enya appreciated that she was nonetheless willing to help when asked.

In front of her, the flames had reached their peak and were beginning to recede. She’d have to leave and find Theresa soon, since Raynor probably hadn’t returned from his training yet. This village, or what remained of it, was about an hour away from Acrine, and she’d rather not force Theresa to travel back when it was dark out.

After stopping to make sure her sword was securely in its sheath, she turned away from the lingering flames and began to half-climb half-step her way over the ruins of what was once a village. She didn’t even know its name, but when it came to reporting new Rot sightings, a general location was enough.

Surrounding the small clearing she’d made around the pyre, blackened wood jutted out from the earth like knives. Former buildings stood crooked and half melted, trees twisted and contorted themselves in tight coils and jagged shapes, and of course, there were the piles of rubble and dust holding the homes and people who’d been disintegrated beyond recognition. After she’d first arrived and taken out the lingering Decays crawling about the rubble, it had taken her the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon to drag the corpses that were still solid and the pieces she thought might’ve once been human into a pile. Some of the more odd pieces probably weren’t human at all, but over the years she’d learned to stop underestimating what the Rot and its accompanying Decays could do to a body.

She frowned as she quickly jumped over a darkened lump of something that squished under her feet when she accidentally kicked it. When she’d gathered them, a few of the more intact bodies had still been warm; the Rot must have retreated not long before she’d arrived. No matter how used to such scenes she’d gotten, she could never shake the feeling that she was always too late. How many times had she found a town like this, with warm bodies and lingering Decays that were so easy for her to finish off? “Don’t worry about it, it’s our job to record stuff not to fight Decays,” Nadine would say. “Leave that to the Paragons.” Despite her sister’s words, it never really assuaged the guilt. She could still remember the first time, back when she’d begun taking recordkeeping jobs, that she’d stumbled across the remains of a town hit by the Rot. There had been a Decay, one not much larger than a human, lumbering casually over the bodies lying on the ground. It had had 7 legs, each one coming to a point at the end and jutting out from a long, gaunt body, and Enya could remember watching as it casually stepped onto one of the corpses and the subsequent squelch and spray of blood is it punctured between a body’s eyes.

She’d burned that Decay to death, pulling from her magic reserves without a care for consequences as she numbly watched it light up in flames. Seeing the wisps of smoke rising from the creature, a part of her had been vaguely reminded of the the Twelfth God, and she’d turned away and began working. That was the first pyre she’d built, a clumsy attempt to help the souls of the deceased peacefully find their way to be reincarnated. Theresa had thought it was a wonderful idea when she’d asked her to say the final passing prayers, and she’d continued to perform this rite with every ruined village she came across. At this point, she couldn’t count how many pyres she’d built.

Enya glanced back over at the now faded flames. There had been a lot of bodies this time, and from here, some of them had fallen away from the primary pile and didn’t seem to have caught fire properly. Once she brought Theresa here, she’d probably have to relight the pyre.

As she turned away, from the corner of her eyes, she thought she caught a flicker of movement. She whirled around, hand on the hilt of her sword as her eyes scanned the surroundings, but she could find no other living soul there. Her gaze lingered on the pile of corpses. Could it be?

Enya shook her head. No, she’d checked twice and there were no survivors. Corpses didn’t move on their own; most likely she’d mistaken the flicker of flames for something else. She turned away, dropping her hand from her sword. Maybe she’d ask Nadine about it later.

Pushing the thought out of her mind, Enya made her careful way out the ruins of the village and began the walk back to Acrine.

—

“You’re crazy.”

Enya blinked. Nadine hadn’t even looked up from where she was wiping glasses. There weren’t many people at the tavern at this time of day (Nadine often liked to boast that she’d nabbed the easiest shift), and at the counter there was only her and Altair, who was reading silently beside her while he sipped on the cup of tea he always brought over to the tavern just to piss Nadine off.

“I see. It was probably just my imagination then.”

Nadine rolled her eyes. “Of course it was your imagination. Corpses don’t move.”

Enya nodded slowly. Nadine sighed.

“What, did you overuse your magic or something? You look out of it.” She paused, her eyes narrowing into slits. “You didn’t use magic to light the pyre, did you?”

Enya didn’t answer. Nadine groaned, rubbing at her temples. “I swear you’ve got a death wish. Just light the fire like a normal person.” She leaned over the counter, placing a hand over Enya’s forehead. “Hm, well you don’t feel colder than usual, at least.”

“It could also be fatigue,” Altair pointed out. “Raynor usually gets tired first and the coldness comes after.”

Nadine snorted. “Maybe that’s why you were seeing things earlier.”

Leaning away from the counter, Enya decided to change the subject before her sister launched into her inevitable, unabridged scolding. “Do you know where Theresa is?”

“She’s at the temple,” Altair said as he flipped a page in his book. “A group of Paragons got injured on duty, so she was called in to help.”

Enya paused. “It wasn’t—“

“No, Raynor wasn’t there. He’s not even allowed on patrol yet until the Rite.” His eyes darkened a bit and he took a sip of his tea. “For the record, he’s not back yet either.”

Enya stared down at the wooden counter, digesting the information. She didn’t know how long it would be until Theresa was done or Raynor returned, and she’d rather finish the rite before sunset. Her eyes drifted over to Nadine, who immediately scowled and took a step back.

“Oh hell no, go ask someone else.”

“You’ve done it before,” Enya pointed out. ”I don’t see why it’s a problem now.” Nadine set the glass she was wiping down on the counter and placed her hands on her hips.

“Didn’t you just say you saw some spooky animated corpse or whatever?”

“You said it was my imagination.”

Nadine scoffed. “Just ‘cause I don’t believe it doesn’t mean I’m risking my life on it.” 

“You have a motion affinity. You could easily get away if something’s there.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not everyone’s got bottomless magic reserves like you. I’d rather not end up paralyzed just because someone can’t memorize a few lines.”

Enya wanted to point out that it was a few paragraphs, not lines, but Nadine continued before she could, jerking her thumb at Altair. “Make him do it. He could probably memorize the prayer right now.”

“I’d really rather not,” Altair said primly. He turned another page in his book.

She groaned. “Just go get a script and read it out loud, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“In order to perform the rite properly, the prayer has to be spoken from memory,” Enya recited.

“Of course you can remember that,” Nadine mumbled. She sighed and shook her head. “I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to. Shift’s not over for another hour and I’m not losing my job over this, thank you very much.”

As if to prove her point, someone stepped up to the counter just as she was done speaking. Enya glanced up from her seat, recognizing the figure from passing glimpses. The woman was extremely tall, easily towering over even Raynor, and she had long red hair a shade darker than Enya’s that was pulled back into a ponytail. Her tanned skin was littered with scars, which, combined with her muscular form and height, made her rather intimidating. She wasn’t from Acrine, Enya knew that much. According to Nadine, the woman was apparently a mercenary who traveled throughout Reyin, and Acrine village, or specifically its tavern, was one of her frequent stops. 

“Hello, what can I get for you?” Nadine said, expression immediately morphing into a wide smile that Enya thought looked rather painful. Her voice had gone up an octave and taken on a bright, sugary tone. From beside Enya, she could hear Altair choke mid tea sip. He coughed a couple times, doing a rather impressive job of hiding the initial choke, in Enya’s opinion.

“Sorry, I’m not here for a drink. I overheard you just now. You’re looking for someone to say a prayer, right?” The woman looked over at Enya, smiling, and Enya was struck by the amber, almost golden color of her eyes as she craned her neck upwards to meet the woman’s gaze. She nodded politely.

“Yes, the passing prayer.”

The woman hummed in acknowledgment, cocking her head to the side. “If you can’t find anyone else, I’d be happy to help you out.” She chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “I probably won’t be as good as a trained priest, but I know it.”

Enya, Altair, and Nadine exchanged looks. Nadine turned back to the woman, her earlier cheery countenance faded. “She was on recordkeeping duty, so it’s like an hour away,” she pointed out. 

“I don’t mind walking.” 

Nadine’s face scrunched up in the way it only did when she was thinking hard, and she gestured for Enya to come closer. She did so, Altair leaning in a bit to listen as well. “Look, she seems nice enough for a mercenary, but be careful, okay?” She jabbed a finger at Enya’s forehead. “She does anything suspicious, you blast her with magic, got it?”

Enya couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across her lips. “I thought you said not to use magic so often.”

“Well I’m giving you permission now.” Nadine pulled back and picked up another glass to start wiping. “Hurry up and be back soon. I’m not reheating dinner for you if it gets cold,” she said, louder this time.

Enya nodded. “About the records,” she began.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll report it for you. Where is it?”

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“North of here, about an hour away.”

“Got it. Now hurry and get out, you’re blocking business.”

“May the Sixth bless your travels,” Altair said without looking up from his book. 

“And the Second bless your kindness," she replied.

—

“You have good friends,” the woman commented once they were outside. Enya’s gaze drifted to the shut door of the tavern, then back. She nodded, a small smile on her face.

The woman held out a hand, and after a moment’s pause, Enya carefully shook it. Her hands were rough, covered in calluses and old scars, but warm. “I’m Wren,” the woman said.

“Enya.”

Wren nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for Enya to take the lead.

The journey to the village was peaceful. Acrine wasn’t too far from the capital of Reyin, Austea, so it wasn’t uncommon to find travelers passing through the town or sitting down for a drink in the tavern. This northern road, however, was much less traveled, and the two found themselves alone as they walked down the dirt path. A light breeze pushed behind them as they walked, as though the Sixth was urging them forward.

“You’re a recordkeeper, right?” Wren said conversationally. Enya looked over at her and nodded.

“I just do a few patrols around the area,” she explained.

“Must be hard.” 

Enya blinked. “I don’t really think so,” she said truthfully. There usually weren’t many Decays left when she arrived at a place; compared to the Paragons, who actively patrolled and fought them, Enya often found her job amounted to little more than clean up duty. She didn’t even have to go very far. “Being a mercenary is probably harder.”

Wren laughed, hand moving back to readjust the scabbard slung across her back. “Well I certainly do a lot of traveling, that’s for sure.”

“What places have you been?” Enya couldn’t help but ask.

She hummed in thought, staring up at the blue sky. “A lot of places. I’ve been all across Elaren, really, though lately I’ve been sticking to Reyin. Nice climate here, much better than Drainem or Xorris.”

Enya leaned a little closer, unable to hide the giddiness in her voice. “So it really snows all the time in Drainem?”

Wren looked amused. “Not always, but it’s true that there’s always snow on the ground. In the northern parts, there’s great walls of ice as big as mountains.”

Enya’s eyes widened. “What about Xorris?”

“It’s a nicer place than people give it credit for, depending on where you are,” she said. “The desert’s as harsh as stories say, but the Hope Forest is really beautiful. All the leaves and grasses are red, like fire. About the shade of your hair, actually.”

Enya tried to picture the green grasses and the line of trees bordering the path as red. The image fell apart every time she tried.

“Maybe you’ll see it one day,” Wren said. Enya glanced back behind them, down the long dirt road where Acrine had long since faded from view. She imagined Nadine, still at the tavern wearing that absurd cheery smile of hers as she spoke with customers. Altair, reading his book quietly even when the tavern began to fill and grow rowdy. Theresa, somewhere in the temple, hard at work. Raynor, away training. She turned back to the road ahead. “Maybe one day,” she said, and the two continued walking in comfortable silence.

When they were about ten minutes away from their destination, the Decay appeared.

Enya reeled back, drawing her blade on instinct.

It was larger than the ones from the morning, a hulking mass about the size of a large bear, with a soft, squishy body that trailed black gunk wherever it moved. It had no eyes, just a single wide, gaping maw filled with inky darkness. Tightening her grip, Enya charged forward and reached into the familiar well of magic that flowed throughout her body. Raynor described it as a pulling sensation, but to Enya, it always felt more like a soft burning. She tugged away a small tinge of magic and shot it down her arms and into her sword. The blade glowed a faint red as she lunged forward and swung at the creature.

The strike cut deep, bolstered with enhanced force. A spray of dark slime splattered across Enya’s face as she yanked the blade out and stumbled backwards, wiping her arm against her face to wipe the gunk off as her other hand held her sword up at ready.

No sooner had she done so did the creature charge, its wound filling with that strange liquid and sealing itself before her eyes. Enya barely managed to bring her blade up in time, gritting her teeth as she struggled to force the creature back. A second appendage swung forward, and without thinking, Enya reached for that burning sensation and thrust her free hand out. The Decay reeled back, mouth pulled open in a silent wail as the approaching limb lit up with crackling flames. 

Enya panted and stumbled backwards, attempting to catch her breath. Her arms ached, and she could feel her muscles weighing down with fatigue. Had she used too much magic earlier?

The Decay didn’t give her a chance to think as the creature’s neck suddenly stretched, longer and longer, until it was no more than a thin string. It twisted, and the head, gaping mouth wide open, came barreling towards her.

It didn’t land. In the second it took Enya to blink, a long chain had pierced through the creature’s mouth, stopping just before it reached her. She stared at it, uncomprehending, when it was yanked back, bringing the head and flapping neck with it. Enya look over just in time to see the chain retracting into Wren’s arm, the color changing from dull silver to that of flesh as it winded around itself and reformed into a hand. Form magic, Enya’s mind supplied.

Wren stepped over to the twitching head, casually drawing her blade and stabbing into the Decay’s open mouth. All at once, the creature fell limp. She pulled the blade back and turned to Enya; she wasn’t even out of breath. “You okay?”

Enya blinked, slowly lowering her sword, and was once again hit with a wave of exhaustion. She felt something brush against her cheek and looked up to see Wren staring at some of the black liquid that she’d gathered on her finger. “Looks like this one absorbs magic with this stuff.” She flicked the gunk away. It landed near the head, which was already beginning to disintegrate into ash. Enya felt a few bits of dust fall on her clothes and reached up to find the liquid was disintegrating as well.

“It’ll be gone soon, so you should be okay.”

“I…thank you.” 

Wren smiled. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Just be careful. Decays with softer bodies like that usually don’t draw magic with their limbs. It’s pretty common to see stuff like this.” She nodded at the liquid that was nearly gone at this point. “It’s better to deal with them at range, just to be safe.”

Enya nodded, committing the information to memory. She glanced around. “Are there any more?” Stray Decays were very rare; either this was a remnant from that morning’s Rot, or the Rot had reappeared. Her eyes darkened at the thought. It used to be uncommon for the Rot to appear in the same area more than once a month. That had changed to once a week, and now it was becoming even shorter.

Wren pointed at the line of trees. “It came from that direction, so I’m guessing the Rot appeared somewhere inside.” She turned away and began moving towards the forest. “I’m gonna go check it out.”

Enya frowned and took a step forward. “I’ll—“

“I’ll meet back up with you at the pyre,” Wren interrupted. “It’s just north of this road, right? Go ahead, this probably won’t take too long.”

Enya shook her head. “I can’t let you go alone.”

“You had your magic drained,” the mercenary pointed out. “Take it easy for a bit. I’ve dealt with Decays for a long time, I promise I’ll be fine.”

Enya’s gaze drifted to the pile of dust that the Decay had become and then back to Wren, who looked utterly calm. Then she looked down at herself, her clothes dirtied and her legs shaking slightly with exhaustion. She forced them to still and slowly nodded. “May the Sixth bless your travels,” she said.

Wren’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and she gave a casual wave as she turned and stepped towards the trees.

Enya stayed until the woman’s silhouette had vanished from view entirely, then a little longer after that. She sighed and shook her head, wiping her blade off on her pants but keeping it outside its sheath. She continued forward, maintaining a steady pace despite the heaviness in her limbs.

When she reached the ruins of the town, she first scanned her surroundings, only relaxing when she found no Decays in sight; the broken landscape remained devoid of movement. Enya began to carefully climb over the piles, making her way over to the clearing where she’d build the pyre.

The fire had already died out, only a few glowing embers and lingering wisps of smoke remaining. Enya frowned as she stepped closer. As she’d feared, there was a group of bodies that had fallen away from the main pile. They now rested a little ways away from the base, completely untouched by flames. She sighed and crouched down. She could relight this area; that would at least give her something to do until Wren got here. Stretching out her hand, the tip of her finger began to glow.

Just as she was nearing the topmost body in the small pile, a tiny flame now lighting up the tip of her finger, the body twitched.

Enya lurched back, scrambling backwards as in front of her eyes, the corpse began to rise.

It jerked, limbs flailing and snapping together, twisting and contorting its broken parts together. The body rose like a puppet drawn by an invisible string, looming over her, patches of melting flesh revealing white bones beneath rough, mottled skin. With a final twitch, the head snapped forward and a dirty, drool and ash covered face stared down at her. The eyes glowed gold before they settled into a dark, rusty red, and the creature shook itself like a wet dog. Blood, flesh, and limp, torn blond hair landed in the dirt around the creature, its face now fully unobscured. Those eyes blinked, and a slow, sharp smile spread across the half melted face.

“Well aren’t I lucky. Never thought I’d find an Ark here.”

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