The Revelation of the Vine: Graft

Chapter 25: Flight for the Crown

  I pushed the blood rage down, as I saw Zahk's leg for the first time. A shredded mess of tissue, muscle, and skin hung from his calf where one of the wolves had taken a chomp during the fray. He gripped his leg above the wounded mass, squeezing it and screaming into the air as he rocked back and forth. "It isn't healing, Cap," he said. The words escaped during a hoarse scream. "The bloody Corruption is corrupting my DNA." The sound of the wolves grew louder as they crossed the barren expanse. I could see their corrupted energy glinting faintly on the horizon. A fog of swirling darkness followed them like a cloud. "You guys have to go," Zahk hollered, "I'm not going to make it anyway. You have to go. Get to the keep. I'll try to hold them off as long as I can." Jurgen, Sol, and Feng tried to argue, as the others peered into the horizon with fearful anxiety. Deep down I knew he was right, but in a dark place, a piece of the corruption exploded with excitement at the idea that the knight would soon be devoured by its kin. Perhaps he would even end up like Kivan, and soon . . . myself. "He's right," I yelled, turning everyone's attention to me, "He's right. We have to get to the Crown. It the only place we'll be able to survive." He looked at me with his face grimaced in pain and held out a hand. I grabbed it and he tugged my arm. I pulled him to his feet, and he winced but had enough strength to put his leg down. The wound was beginning to ooze with the Corruption, as it repaired his body into its own fashion. "I feel it in me," he said, looking into my eyes. His pupils already dilated from the change that was beginning to take hold. "I'm not as strong as you are, Cap, but I can give you some time. Go." I nodded as I looked at him and gripped his shoulder. It was a noble sacrifice. "May you find peace in the Vine, brother," I managed to say. The void-scar in my side throbbed. He smiled, and the pain washed away from his face in that moment. "You, too, Captain," His voice quivered. Then he turned, grasping his sword, and began to Vine-Skip toward the charging wolves. I turned to the group feeling mixed emotions; a heavy silence hung over them. "Don't let his sacrifice be in vain," I said, "Let's go!" We turned from our friend and started the race to the mountain. The world passed by us like a blur as we skipped through the Vine, and the snarling barks and growls of the wolves echoed in the distance. I heard Zahk's battle-cry as he made contact with the violent stampede, and the sounds of his blade slashing through the horde faded as we pressed on. A twisted part of my mind wanted to go back and witness the moment when the horde would overtake him and devour him in Corruption, but I kept myself moving. The mountain path was only a few more miles. Zahk's heroic moment didn't last long before the horde was on the move again and gaining on our trail. The taste of his energy made them hunger even more ferociously after our own, but the sacrifice of his death gave us an increase of power that gave us the strength needed to push forward from the wolves. The refracting beams of moonlight shined down around us like crisscrossing blades. A fact that made me guess it was around midnight, and the moon was in the middle of the sky shining directly above the mist. The small sparks that danced along the ground had turned into long sheets of light, as we Vine-Skipped toward the mountain, watching it grow and grow on the horizon. Despite the fact that we were fleeing from a horde of blood-crazed, corrupted wolves that had just devoured one of our brothers, and was now coming for us, a part of me was enjoying the exhilarating experience. A harsh combination of echoing voices cut into my mind from within, as if the Corruption were broadcasting a message into my very being, Death makes me stronger, too! A force shocked through my nerves, and the pain in my side exploded like I was stabbed all over again. I faltered in my next Surge, and broke the Skip, tumbling to the ground with a wake of dirt, rocks, and dust. I clutched my side, and squeezed my eyes shut, as I lay on the ground. The voice echoed through my mind like a drum. A group of hands grabbed my legs and under my arms, then lifted me into the air. I felt myself surging forward again, as the knights carried me through the Vine Skip. I wanted to fight their grip and fall free, but the pain was too strong for me to move. I didn't want them to take me to the mountain and up the path, or any closer to the keep in my condition. "Let me go," I tried to say, but it came out in a mumbling moan. The howls on the wind seemed to call my name, "Virgil, Virgil." Then a strange sensation washed over me, and I felt lost. Echoing calls waved toward me from a distant place, like someone yelling from the far end of a long tunnel. I heard the desperate pleas but couldn't gather them into a cohesive sound. They were nothing but scattered syllables, like Virva, Jiril, Rijin, and Vahil. None of it made any sense. I felt myself slip away from the pains, and from myself, until there was nothing but darkness. I didn't feel the surging forward swings of the Vine Skip any longer, or the pain in my side. I didn't hear the voice in my head commanding me to do evil. All I heard were the strange syllables. I didn't feel like I entered a dream. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn't figure out how. I didn't feel a body. I tried to speak but couldn't manifest the words into sound. I felt nothing at all, but I heard the syllables grow louder, as if they were coming closer down the tunnel, and they began to change. "Virriin, Jillhaal, Vaaliil, Riivirr." I wanted to scream at the syllables to make sense. I was starting to forget who I was. I was just floating, like nobody, in the vastness of pure nothing. No sight, no feeling, no breath, no motion. I was the nothing, and the nothing was me. And the strange hypnotic syllables were all that existed in the nothing. No. I was the syllables, and the syllables were me. How could I be nothing, but still know I was nothing. I had to be the syllables. I was like a jumbled message, or a broken verse. Like the dyslexic reordering of words that once made sense. That was me. I knew it.