Christopher Kellen - Elegy

Here and there could be seen a bloodstain – on the ground, perhaps across a doorway, or smeared on the side of a building. They were always long dried, and never fresh. He wondered how it was that there seemed to be no life here at all, and yet there clearly had been only a few months previous. He could almost imagine the children playing in the streets, mothers calling out from the houses for their precious babes and they would come running home just in time for dinner. Instead, the only sounds that seemed to echo in these streets were the cries and screams of the damned, and though he heard nothing, he could swear that the agony of death was palpable everywhere he looked.

"It's so quiet," Mikel whispered. "Where is everyone?"

"Either dead," D'Arden said in a low tone, "Or perhaps contributing to the body count. We must find where the fel beasts are hiding. This may be difficult for you, boy – I know none of the folk here, but you do. There may be faces that you recognize. Know that they are no longer the people you knew, but simply monsters wearing their image. You must cut them down quickly and decisively, because if you do not, they will feast on your flesh and dig out your eyes with their bare hands."

"How will I know who is dangerous and who is not?" Mikel said.

"Demons are clever and cunning, but fel beasts are not. They know nothing except the hunger to kill and destroy. If any one of them speaks so much as a word to you that is not a black curse or a cry of hunger, then stay your hand. Otherwise, be sure that you strike first." D'Arden kept his voice level. He could feel that the strain on the young man was beginning to take its toll on his mind.

"Can't the manna tell you where they're hiding?" Mikel asked.

D'Arden shook his head. "It's too far gone. The corruption is too great here. I cannot read the manna right now, no more than you could read information by staring directly into the sun. All it would do is cause you agony and burn your eyes so they could no longer see."

Across the street, D'Arden spotted what looked like a corpse. "Stay close, boy. Follow me and keep an eye out for anything that might be on the prowl."

Mikel nodded grimly, and they crossed together. D'Arden was right – it was the corpse of a small girl child, no more than seven winters old when she'd died. The kill was not fresh, but it was recent. No smell of decay marked the flesh, nor had it begun to swell in the light of the sun. The flesh was cold and hard, and the eyes stared sightlessly upward, as though they were unwilling to gaze upon the horrific gash that had torn open her throat and stained the pretty green dress she wore dark with her own blood. It was almost as though someone with a particularly dark sense of humor had sculpted a porcelain doll and left it lying thoughtlessly in the street, so pale was the child's graying flesh.

D'Arden stole a glance at the boy, who was staring studiously away from the body. The Arbiter guessed that Mikel had seen his fair share of death, but he understood how difficult it could be to see such a horrific fate come to a child. He reached out one hand to close the girl's eyes.

The dead girl seemed to come suddenly to life as her teeth closed on his wrist. He gave a sharp cry as the child's sharp incisors drew blood, and as he yanked his hand away, his flesh tore apart, dripping scarlet across the road and adding to the darkness on the child's dress.

"Mikel!" D'Arden shouted.

The steel blade flashed in the sunlight and connected with the child's corpse as it leapt into the air toward the Arbiter's throat. There was no spray of blood as there might have been if the blade had cut living flesh, but instead it simply cut a heavy gash at the corpse's midsection. The body no longer had the support to keep itself upright and collapsed onto the cobblestones, but still it clawed towards them even as they took a large step backwards.

"Stand back, boy," D'Arden said, holding his injured wrist close to his body. With his other hand, he collected the manna around it – dangerous, with so much corruption around – drawing the power from within him rather than from without to avoid feeding the creature further with corrupted power, and shot a bolt of azure light at the animated corpse. It let out a terrible, rasping shriek as the manna fire engulfed the body and consumed it to nothing within the space of a few seconds.

"What… what was that?" the boy gasped, staggering backwards.

"Exactly what it looked like," D'Arden said with a grimace. The pain in his wrist lanced through his body as the manna purified the corruption that remained behind from the child's teeth. "You came through with that sword, boy. I'm impressed with that swing. If you hadn't, I'm not sure I could have gotten my blade up in time, and then the beast would have been at my throat."

"But… that child…" Mikel stuttered.

"Yes, the child. The child that hasn't been a child for quite some time. Who knows how long she may have been lying there, just waiting for you or one of your companions to cross the gate and attempt to come to her aid. It's the corruption, boy. It's all around you, it's everywhere… and it spares no one from its horror."

D'Arden checked his wrist. The wound had already begun to knit itself back together, and blood no longer seeped forth from the torn flesh. The manna was in his veins, in his blood, and he could already see the little wisps of blue fire that crept along the ground from the scarlet drops that had fallen, seeking out the corrupted manna and purifying what little of it was present. He flexed the healing joint once, twice and then nodded sharply.

"It appears it may be more dangerous here than I thought," D'Arden said, reaching his hand back behind his shoulder and grasping the handle of his crystalline blade. With its characteristic rasp, it came free from its holding, the blue glow pulsing slightly as it immediately sprang to life.

Mikel stared at the crystal sword with wide eyes. "That's a manna blade. Is it dangerous?"

"Not to any but those who are cut by its edge," D'Arden answered. "It does not radiate uncontrolled power like the fonts do. Every drop of power within this blade is controlled carefully by me, and none escapes without my explicit direction."

The boy let out the breath he had been holding. "That's good."

D'Arden glanced around them in both directions. The child had been the only person on the street. Everything else was silent, desolate, lonely. He did see, though, that on the far side of the street there was a door to a richly decorated building that hung slightly ajar, revealing only darkness within.

He raised one hand to sight along it, extending one finger in a gesture of indication. "There. That is where we go next. We must determine where the demon's source of power is, and whether these folk are only his food, or whether he dwells among them, perhaps forcing them to venerate him as some sort of sick, twisted deity."

"Do demons do that often?" the boy asked.

"Perhaps too often," D'Arden said.

They crossed the street and approached the open doorway. D'Arden slowed his pace considerably once they reached within a few steps of the arch, holding out one hand behind him to indicate that his armored companion should slow his gait as well. Carefully, cautiously, he crept closer to the aperture, listening intently for any sounds that might emit from within.

Only silence issued forth.

Holding his hand out behind him once more to indicate that the boy should stay where he was, D'Arden pushed open the thick wooden door. Its hinges let out a creak so loud that it felt for a moment as if the silent world had been torn asunder.

Damn. Now, if there was anything inside, they would know for certain that he was coming. It seemed to be his luck these days.