Brightwing Herbalchemy and Monster Slaying
Hey guys!
Welcome back to Arthus and Morgana's story, I know that it's been a long time since the last update. From now on, the chapters should be coming a bit faster.
Either way, I hope that you guys enjoy this chapter and I'll see you all in the next one!
......
It is a truth as old as nature that all must one day end.
Everything dies, and yet, in that ending, there exists the chance for something new. For whether it's the deer hunted for its flesh or the tree that is felled for the use of its timber; death begets life.
For one to live, another must die.
I slapped at my neck, smooshing the thumb-sized insect too late to avoid its bite. I cursed, trying to ignore the cloud of them that still buzzed around me and the soupy, thickness of the almost knee-deep water.
Death begets life, and nowhere is that more true than in a fucking swamp.
"There," Shags said. "Grab some of the sneezeweed."
"Where?" I asked, smearing another too-large bug against my forearm.
"In the grass, imbecile," Shags said. "There to your left.
Morgana's familiar was dangling from a sling across my chest. He was hunched into himself, as miserable as I was in this wet, rotting place.
I waded over, using the butt of my spear to help me find my footing. I crouched in the calf-deep water before the patch of swamp grass, careful not to inhale too many insects along with the muggy air.
"Is it the flower?" I asked, seeing bright spots of yellow amongst the slimy stalks of grass.
"Obviously."
I grunted through my annoyance, drawing the sickle-shaped knife Morgana had lent me. Shags and I had been at this all morning, splashing through this wetland in search of ingredients for my wife's potions. The sack slung over my back was starting to be quite full, and as I cut through a handful of the flowers, I hoped that they would go much in the way of finally filling it.
"What are you doing!" Shags cried, startling me.
"Saints, and--" My surprised curse turned into a ragged cough as I sucked in a handful of insects. Shags was squirming against my chest, letting loose an angry tirade that I mostly didn't hear.
"What?" I eventually managed to croak.
"We need the whole plant, you thrice-cursed fool! Flower, stem, and root, all of it together. This is useless!"
I straightened, tossing the cut flowers away with a growl of disgust. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it's obvious, you brainless animal! When has Miss Morgana ever taken only part of a plant? Think for once in your life you stupid, worthless, Teutonian oaf! I swear, I'm going-- Ack!"
The splash of his body hitting the water cut him off. I'd dumped him out of his sling, my patience worn thin by the marsh and his caustic personality. I watched him gasp as he surfaced. He paddled around in a tight circle before swimming over to the hump of dank earth beneath the tuft of sneezeweed and swamp grass.
"You!" He said, pulling himself out. "You, you-- bastard!"
"Oops," I drawled. "Sorry. I didn't think."
The rabbit was on his haunches, his chest heaving and his breath rapid. His white coat of fur was streaked with filth and plant matter. He was thin beneath his sodden fur, enough that I could see him shake with every staccato beat of his heart.
I grinned through a surge of self-righteous satisfaction.
"You stupid brute," Shags hissed, his voice losing its courtly hauteur. "Do you think you're fucking clever? You're pathetic."
I tightened my grip on my spear, staring down at the familiar through the buzzing cloud insects. "Stop talking to me like that, Shags."
"Or what?" Shags said. The rabbit's face twisted into something that might be called a sneer. The weight of the expression was undercut, somewhat, by the water dripping from his floppy ears. "Are you going to hit me again? What a brilliant way of solving your problems. I bet your ancestors are so fucking proud."
I crushed another fat insect against my neck with way too much force. My earlier satisfaction was gone, replaced by a red heat that rose through me.
"Did it feel good to put me in my place?" Shags continued, his voice dripping with venom. "To finally shut me up? Congratulations, Arthus, you've just learned how every other angry bastard deals with those he's bigger than."
Shame burned through me, my knuckles creaking where they gripped the haft of my spear.
"How long until you hurt Miss Morgana? How long until you hit, or kill her? Because, sure as the fucking sunrise, there will come a day where you argue and she's beaten you in every way but one."
Shags's eyes gleamed, and I fought the urge to look away. My entire being cried out, revolted by the image that the rabbit had put in my mind.
"Stop it," I said, the sound coming out as something between a croak and a whisper. "I'd never hurt her."
"You've killed for every scar on your back," Shags said. "You're a Bloodeagle, a butcher amongst butchers. You're never going to fucking change. And if you truly loved her, you'd pack up and leave us both in peace."
Now I did look away. My body was clenched tightly enough that I thought my bones might shatter. Guilt and self-loathing roared through me, and my scars were lines of fire down my back. I wanted to tell Shags to go to hell; to scream that I was more than my past and that I would never do anything to hurt Morgana.
But the weight of my sins was like two great wings on my back, smothering whatever words I might say.
"You're a feral fucking dog, Arthus," Shags said. "All you can do is bite."
And at that moment, while my body was frozen and my mind was filled with the beating carrion wings, I heard a trumpet call. It rocked me with its strangeness, pulling me from myself.
I raised my head, tilting it towards the sound. It was distant, coming from beyond the bounds of the swamp. My eyes scanned the far-away line of the forest. We were an hour from the road, facing south and west, towards an area of wilderness from which no trumpet call should have sounded.
"What is ...?" I murmured, trailing off.
"Probably just some village crier," Shags said. When I looked back, the rabbit was pawing at his ears, wiping at the remaining water. "Now, we were speaking about you leaving. I think that--"
Shags shrieked as I lunged towards him. My spear flashed low, and he ducked right as the tip of my weapon ripped the air above him. It plunged into the ground behind him, missing him by about a handsbreath.
"You-- You--" Shags stammered, hunched into himself. His entire frame trembled. "You can't-- You can't kill me!"
"I'm not going to kill you, Shags," I said, straightening and yanking my spear from the marshy earth. Pinned to the tip, and still thrashing in death, was the body of a large snake. My voice was bitter. "But you're right. I'm a Teutonian Bloodeagle, killing is all I do."
......
My thoughts remained dark even as we emerged back onto the road to Dalford. The sun was high in the sky, though it did little to dry my squelching boots and water-logged trousers.
I walked quickly towards the town, the sack I held slung over my shoulder heavy with damp plant matter and the weight of the dead snake. It was an adder, and rather than leave it to rot, I figured that Morgana could find some use for it.
Shags was a stiff, silent bundle wrapped against my chest. His still sodden fur had long since soaked through my tunic and the sling that held him, ensuring that he remained as wrapped within the swamp's dampness as I was.
At least the insects hadn't followed us too far beyond the reed-choked edge of their home.
