Vainglory 3.36 - Anything

Here's today's chapter! I'm seeing very accurate predictions in my comments, and I have to wonder if I'm being too predictable, lol. Perhaps you're all just exceptionally intelligent, though. Yeah, I'll go with that. Anyway, it's all right; we all love to get a prediction right, don't we? :)

-Plum

36 – Anything

“Sacrifice?” Grace asked before Ward could.

“That’s right,” Rose replied, nodding her blindfolded head. “Even if we dispel this corrupted fragment of Haley’s spirit, it will leave her with a wounded spirit—a void that wants to be filled. It will forever draw unclean things to her.”

Ward shook his head, looking at Haley. She looked small and vulnerable. “She won’t heal?”

“Certainly, she may, given time and study, but there’s another way. A faster one.” Rose turned to regard Ward, pressing her palm against his chest. Her touch was warm, and he felt like there was more to that touch than a simple offer of comfort. She was putting something into him—sharing her strength. “It’s one thing to have one's spirit corrupted against one’s will, it’s quite another to give a piece willingly.”

Ward could connect the dots. “You want me to give her a piece of mine?”

“No!” Grace cried.

“Hush, you!” Rose hissed, and Ward was sure she’d be glaring if she weren’t blindfolded. “You’ll have your own sacrifice to make!”

“How would that even work?” Ward asked, bringing Rose’s attention back to him.

“She needs something positive, something good to fill the void. To you, it will feel like you’re giving up a memory…and the feelings that go along with it.”

Ward nodded. “Okay.”

Rose smiled at him, but it was a hard smile, and he couldn’t read her true feelings, not with her eyes covered. Still resting her hand on his chest, quivering with some kind of mystical charge, she turned to Grace. “And you. You’ll need to do battle with the fragment. You’ll need to use some of your own anima to burn it out.”

“My own anima? All I am is anima!”

Rose nodded. “I told you it would be a sacrifice.”

Grace scowled, the fires in her eyes flaring. “How do you know what to do? This seems a bit outside the realm of a martial arts master!”

Rose slowly drew her hand away from Ward’s chest as she inhaled deeply through her nose. She took her time answering, but after a few seconds, she reached up and untied her headband. “How do I know? Because I’m a Grand Master of the Soul, little spirit, and I see much.” As she drew the black cloth away from her face, Ward immediately noted how the band of flesh surrounding her eyes was a shade paler than the rest of her face; she didn’t take that thing off very often.

Her brows were heavy and dark, angled sharply over her closed eyes and their thick lashes. When she opened them, though, Ward lost sight of everything else, sinking into the strange dark depths of Rose’s eyes. They were like pools of deep, dark water, populated by a thousand brilliant stars. She shifted her gaze between Ward and Grace, nodding as her lips curled into an almost predatory smile. “I see you, Grace, and I see you, Ward. You’ll do this for your friend because your love won’t let you refuse. Now, let’s stop wasting time. I have preparations to make.”

With that, she lifted her blindfold to her face and carefully tied it over her eyes. Then, she turned and padded across the wooden floor toward the hallway that led to the interior of her house. “Wait with Haley,” she said as she disappeared around the corner.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Grace whispered.

“Can we trust her?” Ward asked.

“Can we not?”

Ward frowned, lost for words as he sat down and tugged his leather shoes off. He didn’t feel right, standing around on that beautiful polished wooden floor in them. “What will happen to you if you lose some anima?”

Grace sat down beside him, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve never used your own anima for anything?”

She shook her head. “It’s kind of a cardinal rule for my kind. We are anima. It would be like me telling you to use your blood to put out a fire.”

“Ah.” Ward put his shoes into his magical bag. Then, figuring he wouldn’t need it anytime soon and wanting to be more comfortable, he unbuckled his sword belt and put it away, too.

“You’re so willing to give up a memory?”

Ward shrugged. “I have lots of memories.”

“You sound like every stupid human who’s ever tried to bargain with a djinn.”

“A djinn? Are those real?”

“Don’t be flippant, Ward. I’m scared, and you should be too!”

Ward sighed and grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Grace. Do you really think it’s going to hurt you? Maybe we need to find another way.”

Grace shook her head, the flames in her eyes flickering in the moisture of unshed tears. Could she cry? Was it all part of her illusion? “I want to help Haley, and if this is how…”

Ward waited for her to finish, but she didn’t say anything more, so he said, “I mean, this is how Rose says to help her. It doesn’t mean it’s the only way.”

“You saw her eyes. I feel like… I feel like she’s right. Like she just knows. Does that make sense? Am I being naïve?”

Ward chuckled, squeezing her hand again. Her fingers felt warm and soft—real. “You’re the last person I’d call naïve, but I know you want to help Haley. I know you care about her. That might be clouding your judgment.”

“You’re the same!”

Ward nodded. “Yeah. I’d do anything for her. I care about you, too, though. Maybe there’s some way I can fight that spirit—some way I can drive it out.”

Grace pressed her lips into a firm line, shaking her head. “I’m doing this. Rose said she knew I would, that she could see it. Let’s just face it.”

Ward arched an eyebrow, surprised by her conviction and faith in the strange Gopah master. Before he could press the issue, though, Rose returned, carrying a tray with two cups of steaming liquid. She stopped near Haley’s quiet, still figure and said, “Ward. Come and sit beside Haley. Grace, you too.”

Ward stood and padded over the wooden planks and lowered himself to Haley’s side, folding his legs underneath him. He picked up her hand without thinking. Her flesh was cold, and her face looked pale, despite the warm amber glow of the lights in the room. Rose sat on the other side of her, across from Ward, balancing the tray with the two cups of steaming liquid—it looked like tea—on her knees. Grace sat beside Ward.

“This tea will prepare you both, elevating your vibrations to the point where it will be trivial for your spirits to slip free of your mortal vessel, traveling where your will intends. I’ll give some to Haley as well. I’ll perform some rhythms, building a bridge between you and Haley. Grace, you’ll see a portal manifest. I’m not sure what form it will take; it could be a door, a hole in the floor, a window, or even something like a cave. You’ll need to go inside. That act will symbolize you moving into Haley’s vessel, where she and the corrupted spirit await. That’s when you’ll need to do battle.

“Haley won’t be able to help you at first, because as things stand right now, that fragment of herself is still her. Once Ward makes his sacrifice, however, her spirit will be made whole, and she’ll be able to recognize the interloper in her vessel. Together, you should be able to vanquish the corruption.” She reached a hand out and surprised Ward by taking Grace’s hand. “I’m sorry. I know you’re frightened, but to fully cleanse her, you’ll need to burn it with some of your fire—your anima.”

Ward watched Grace take her instructions. Her face was pensive, her eyes almost unfocused as she stared at Haley’s face. Still, she didn’t question or argue; she simply nodded. When Rose released her hand, she folded it in her lap.

“And me?” Ward asked, staring at Rose, wondering what her strange eyes could see through that black cloth.

“The tea will put your mind into the right state. You’ll likely see Grace’s struggle. You’ll feel Haley, and when I pull, the right memory will come to you. Ward, I know you think Grace has the more difficult role to play, but when I said this will be a sacrifice, I wasn’t speaking lightly. Steel yourself.”

Ward felt a rumble in his chest, his bestial nature irritated by her words. If he were honest, though, he’d acknowledge that it was mostly because he didn’t know how to steel himself. He was determined to help Haley, and, as far as he was concerned, she was worth any damn memory. He wasn’t good at hiding his feelings, and he doubted Rose was having any trouble reading his thoughts, written plainly on his face, but she didn’t speak. She picked up one of the cups and held it out to him, cupped in the palm of her hand. “Drink this down. It will affect you both.”

Ward took it and tilted it tentatively to his lips. He sipped it, testing the temperature, and when he found it bitter with a hint of citrus, but not too hot, he tilted the cup back and gulped it down in one shot.

“Good.” Rose smiled, revealing some of her teeth—white and straight, but with a small gap between her center incisors. “The effect will feel subtle, but you should find yourself relaxing soon. Tilt Haley’s head up for me.”

Ward scooped an arm under Haley’s shoulders, lifting her off the ground. Her head lolled, but Rose was quick to steady it with one hand while the other tilted the cup of tea to her lips. “Will she drink—” he started to ask, but, to his surprise, Haley’s lips parted and she swallowed as Rose poured the tea into her mouth.

“She’s not as unconscious as she seems.” Rose picked up Ward’s empty cup and then stood gracefully. “Now, I’m going to perform some Gopah rhythms. You’ll feel the energy building in the air, and soon, Grace, you’ll see the portal. Don’t hesitate to use it.” She moved to the edge of the platform, set the cups down, and then returned. She pressed her hands together, bowed, and then began to move, performing a martial dance that instantly made Ward think of Haley.

He wasn’t sure what else to do, so he watched her, tracking her movements with an ever-increasing sense of wonder; she was like flowing water, one movement blending into the next. A faint ochre glow began to limn her fists, then her arms, then her shoulders, and the air rippled with the heat and force of her perfectly controlled movements. Just as she’d said, a kind of charge began to permeate the air and the boards under Ward. It felt like potential, like a lightning bolt was waiting to unleash.

His skin tingled, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and every breath tingled, almost effervescent with the power Rose was gathering. One second, Ward was watching her move, and the next, he found himself observing a strange, obsidian door, inlaid with silver tracings that resembled vines and flowers. He blinked, confused, but it remained—a door with a silver handle standing straight out of the wooden platform before him.

He almost asked what it was, but then Grace stood up, staring at the door. She took a step toward it, moving around Haley’s unmoving form, but then she glanced at Ward, her eyes wide with fear and worry. Suddenly, Ward wanted to call the whole thing off. He’d do anything for Haley, true, but he cared about Grace, too. There had to be another—

Grace shook her head, obviously guessing what he was thinking. She locked eyes with him, and though fear was evident in her eyes, she pressed her lips into a stern expression and nodded once. It was clear what she was saying: We’ll do this for Haley. No backing down. Then, she grasped the door handle and pulled it open. Ward couldn’t see anything beyond it—just blackness. When Grace stepped through, the door swung shut, and then it was gone, like it had never been.

Rose continued her “rhythms,” and the energy in the air continued to thicken, but Ward had a hard time trying to watch her. His mind drifted through a million memories, mostly of Haley. He remembered when he’d first seen her with her brother, preparing to enter the Catacombs in Tarnish. He remembered her tears when her brother died. He remembered how she’d trusted him, and followed him through that damned place.

His mind drifted to memories of Tarnish after the Catacombs—Haley’s parents’ deaths, her confiding in him that she’d killed the thug he’d captured, and their flight on horses she’d taken from her parents’ country estate. As he ran through his memories of her, something strange happened around him. The lights faded, and the floor—pale, polished wood—darkened to charcoal and then grew transparent. A scene unfolded beneath him, and Ward had a perfect, bird’s-eye view.

A mirrored, yet dark and colorless, version of the wooden platform lay there. In that strange grayscale place, two bright figures fought—a woman shrouded in white and yellow flames, and another one cloaked in blue ice. As he stared, he recognized what he was seeing: Grace was battling Haley’s corruption. They didn’t fight like martial arts experts. They didn’t use weapons. They grappled, tugging and pushing, snarling and spitting, as they moved each other back and forth across the platform.

Could Grace win? It seemed like a stalemate. Ward’s mind was foggy with the effects of the tea or the thick nature of the energy in the air, but almost dreamily, he remembered that she was waiting for Haley to help. Haley couldn’t help yet, though, could she? She needed a piece of Ward’s spirit. What kind of piece, though? Immediately, he knew the answer: she needed something bright and good—no criminals apprehended, no trials, no lengthy investigations.

Ward watched a kaleidoscope of memories drift across his mind’s eye. He saw his sister, his ex-wife, and his parents. He saw good times before the bad, but they felt too old, too stale. He needed something sharp and fresh, but good, and that’s when he saw Fay’s face come into focus. He saw the gaps where someone had knocked her teeth out, he heard her laugh, and he felt her warm touch. He tasted her kiss, he savored her embrace, he heard whispered promises before he left town, and—

“No,” he gasped, choking the word out as he shook his head. He didn’t want to forget Fayella. They had plans! Didn’t he promise he’d come back?

Rose’s voice came to him, vibrating with power, resonating in his chest. “Steel yourself, warrior. Did I not say it would be a sacrifice?” He heard pain in her voice, something shared; she knew what he was going through.

Ward squeezed his eyes shut, and then he felt the tug, the pull of Rose’s “rhythm.” Whatever method she had, however she worked her magic, it was potent, and he knew it wanted that memory. He could fight against it. He could hold on to Fay. Rose couldn’t take her from him, not if he wouldn’t let her. But it was the perfect memory, the perfect part of him; it would make Haley whole and strong. Was he so greedy that he couldn’t give up that one thing? Didn’t he say he’d do anything for her?

Biting back tears, Ward focused on Fayella’s face, on her scent, her laugh, her touch, and then he relaxed his will, and he felt Rose’s magic tug those things away from him. It felt like having a thread a mile long pulled through his nasal passage. It tingled and stung, and left him numb. Dimly, he watched the memories float past—a walk through town, a pleasant lunch, laughter in the inn, a stolen kiss before he left. He blinked, and this time he couldn’t stop the tears from leaking from his eyes as those memories became blurry.

After a time, he found himself staring at the strangely transparent wooden planks, and he couldn’t remember what he was upset about. He felt like he’d lost something, but he couldn’t recall what. Meanwhile, a dramatic clash was taking place below. Grace had been joined by another woman, a twin to the one cloaked in ice, but this one was cloaked in flames, orange and red—a campfire beside Grace’s sunlight.

They each, Grace and Haley, had a grip on one of the corrupted Haley’s arms. They pulled, battling back and forth silently, and then Grace’s fire flared, arcing out of her to strike the corrupted Haley’s chest. Ward saw Haley’s icy twin arch her back and tilt her face to the ceiling, as her mouth opened in agony. He saw her crumble, consumed by Grace’s fire, burned to ash.

When she was gone, that strange space beneath the floor was much darker than before, and Ward saw why: Haley still stood, cloaked in her warm flames, but Grace had fallen to her knees, and her brilliant fire was dim, a pale ghost of its former glory. The floorboards began to darken, their transparent nature fading. Ward leaned forward, pounding and grasping at the planks.

“Grace,” he croaked hoarsely, trying to rip the boards up, desperate to see that she was okay, even though he knew that wasn’t how it worked. As the lights returned and the boards took on their proper polished wooden sheen, his head grew light, though, and darkness closed in on him. He fell backward, overcome by the tea’s soporific effects, the heavy energy in the air, and the trial of giving up a part of himself, even if he couldn’t remember it.