The Warlord

Chapter 43: Calthius

We have been traveling for days, and yet Serestine is no where in sight. Once we crossed over that vast expanse of desert, leaving those sad, hollow ruins behind, we entered a land of rolling hills and thick forests. I look up at the witch, taking my eyes off of the thickets of green below me. She is weaving the wind with nothing but her words and her mind, leaning forward, effortlessly whispering under her breath. I have never seen anything like it before. Perhaps, with her new, unexpected power on our side, we could have a secret weapon against my father. 

"How are you feeling, prince?" The familiar places a hand on my shoulder, her soft voice reaching my ears even through the wind.

I run my hand over my tattered robes, feeling the criss-cross pattern of scars on my back. They still sting and swell at times, but they will fade. It is not the scars that bother me though, but something else; something dwelling within me. A hideous darkness, growing and growling within my gut, snapping at me to let it free. It all started with that cursed cage that Varlock put me in, commanding the demons to torment me with their insidious whispers and sharp teeth. This darkness sprouted, like an inky black flower, spreading its petals and coating my insides. They must have poisoned me with their Hellish witchcraft. Yes, that must be it. I pull my hands away and shrug off her hands. My Heavenly blood will heal me; there is nothing to fear.

"I am fine," I say curtly. "Tell the witch that I can take over tomorrow."

From the corner of my eye, I see the familiar cast a worried glance in my direction, but she follows my words nonetheless and morphs into a black raven, leaving my side in a ruffle of feathers. She soars alongside the witch for a few moments, and I see the latter turn her head towards me in suspicion. Then the familiar flies away, scouting out the area in front of us, leaving me with the stone-faced witch.

Even though she is not facing me, I can feel her attention burning into my head. It is time to end this. The wind takes a dip as we soar over a hill, and the forest turns into a valley. I push my way towards her, propelling myself in the air.

"Hey, witch." I lay a hand on her shoulder, flying beside her. 

She flinches and shoves me away. "Don't touch me," she hisses, breaking the spell for a second. Then she goes back to whispering to the wind, keeping us aloft.

"I know that you do not trust me, but we must watch each other's backs if we are to reach Serestine."

"Why would we need to do that? There have been no dangers."

I let out a sigh. "You are naive, witch. We will encounter a magical forest sooner or later, where elves and the fair folk are rumored to dwell in."

"Rumored." She scoffs, trying to get me to stop talking.

"The old stories never lie. There is always a hint of truth in every tale. And even then, there are hideous beasts prowling in those enchanted woods. It would be best if you let me take care of the rest of the journey starting from tomorrow." Stubborn. Annoying.

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice in all its glory. "Because you're the powerful prince that's above it all."

"I had no choice in choosing you as a pawn!" I can feel my blood rising, my face turning redder by the minute. "Look at the bigger picture! This isn't about what happened in the past!"

Something in her face turns cold, and she looks away. "Leave. I have no intention of talking to you."

"Listen here, you–"

She flings a hand in my direction and a gust of wind sends me back, cutting off my sentence. I try to claw my way back up beside her, hands grasping the air, channeling my magic through my body. And then writhing bits of darkness start to seep from the back of my hands, consuming them, morphing them into claws. The edges of my vision blur with red and I become fixated on the witch ahead of me. A voice howls from within my soul, its words as coarse and brutal as a knife against stone. 

Hunger. Hunger. Hunger.

Before I know it, I cannot see a thing, only a light in front of me, burning bright and strong, tempting me. My mouth starts to water, and I lunge for it like a wild dog, knowing that it is meant for me to consume. 

A sharp pain bursts from my forehead, and then I can see again; I can feel the wind lacing my body, the strange warmth trickling down between my eyes. A dark raven is circling in front of me, talons out, shrieking in panic. I am Calthius, prince of Heaven, heir to the throne. The edges of red fade, the blackness sprouting from my hands recede, and my head lolls to the side.

"Prince! Prince!" Someone calls out to me, reaches a hand towards me, grips me by my shoulders. I can feel myself descending, can feel the wind rushing upwards as I fall towards the earth.

But the blackness dotting my vision is too strong, each spot swarming and growing bigger, forming clusters and clusters until once again, I cannot see. I stretch a hand out in a final attempt to save myself, and feel fingers brush against my own. Then I go numb, my eyes rolling backwards, my body left to the mercy of fate and destiny.