Path of Lyssa -

Path of Lyssa

is being written as part of a novel-writing challenge over the month of November. Please expect poor editing!

Current word count:

53,751

This chapter contains scenes of

violent bestiality.

---

5 - Innocents

The jagged hills of the eastern pass loomed up around Lyssa like the teeth of a gargantuan hound, one she was resolutely striding down and into. The icy winds that buffeted her clothing and stung her eyes and face were each a frigid exhalation from the beast's gullet. She had her arms raised across her face, since the limited sunlight left little for her to witness in their advance along the narrow natural paths between the sharp peaks of the hills. She leant forward and into the wind to make her silhouette smaller, her presence diminished. The churning, magical energy in her stomach granted her weary legs an energy that food or sleep never could have achieved, but which still felt just barely capable of pushing her body onwards. Ahead of her, she assumed, would be Charisse, whose eerie curse did the same to his plodding pace. And Claire, too. What spurred her feet? Her love for her friend? Her deity? Lyssa had to wonder what that felt like.

No god would speak to her, no matter how she prayed. And recently, she'd tried. So awash in the dark of ignorance as she was, Lyssa would have taken insight from anyone who would share. But Oculus All-seeing never saw fit to reach back when she called to him. Lyssa couldn't tell if he'd even heard her, of if he was just ignoring her.

Rightly so, if he was. Lyssa was a monster. She was a killer. Delain's blood was on her hands. And no matter that she hadn't been the one to skewer him with iron herself. She had drunk too deeply of his essence and left him hollowed. It was no wonder that he hadn't been himself on the day of battle, after what she had taken from him. He was dead because of her. And now all that was left of him was the sparkling mercury of his spirit in her arcane reserves, waiting to be digested. Lyssa sniffed through the soreness of her nostrils, singed red by the bitter cold. Good. Let her ache. Monster!

"Lyssa..."

She didn't slow her pace, and so bumped weakly into Claire, who had turned and halted ahead of her. The girl's arms held tightly to her shoulders and kept her from slipping in the scree of their path. When Lyssa tore her weary eyes open, she saw Claire's red hair below the hood of her mantle, the blue shine of her irises. Redness also along the paleness of her nose and cheeks.

"Are you alright?" Claire asked her. "You're flagging, Lyssa."

"I ap-pologise," Lyssa stuttered, her jaw shivering. "I am simply w-w-weak this m-m-morrow."

"Lyssa, it's nearly evening..."

"It is?" she said with a breathy chuckle. "I had thought that it was surely only..."

"And you did not eat for breakfast again this morning." Claire's eyes narrowed, hardened. Their shining blue turned icy. "You never eat enough."

"I..."

"And we never see you sleeping, either."

"I... I don't..."

Claire tugged her suddenly forward, and Lyssa fell into a hug against the hardy villager girl. Claire's arms around her were both a welcome strength and a potent warmth. She stroked Lyssa's hair and breathed hot gusts of breath against her chill cheeks.

"We will need to talk soon, I believe," she said quietly. "About you and your magic. Charisse and I can't have you hiding behind your memory loss forever, you know. I suspect you have discovered more about yourself these past nights than you are willing to share with your friends, and I would hear those discoveries for myself."

Lyssa laughed weakly. "Did Oculus tell you such?"

"He didn't have to," Claire replied with a swallow. "Also, I would hear of what you intend to do when we reach the Dark Lord."

Lyssa's breath caught as, once more, his face filled her vision. His full lips and topaz eyes. The shining pearl in the centre of his forehead. His voice echoed in her ears. "

Lyssa...!

" So close, now.

"You walk with us to find him, just as we do," said Claire firmly. "But we walk in search of his demise. What about you? Do you even know?"

She could feel her lip quavering.

"Soon." Claire pressed her forehead against hers and held it there for a long moment, as if hoping to share in her innermost mind. "Soon, let us talk. Before we get so far that we cannot turn back. Is that well, Lyssa?"

Lyssa held to Claire's wrists and closed her eyes tight. She delved the depths of her heart in search of words to dissuade the suspicions of her friend. She grasped for a disarming smile, a sly joke, a ribald statement that would take the attention away from her. After all, the insinuation of Claire's words was easy to parse. If Lyssa couldn't share her honest truth with Claire and Charisse, it would be better for the pair to leave her behind. But what she found inside herself instead was a piteous sob that shook her gullet.

"I don't know what I am!" she gasped.

Opening her eyes was an effort. But when she did, she saw that Claire was smiling.

"You sounded like me and Charisse just then," said the girl. "Worry not, Lyssa. We shall learn the truth of all of this together. And then, how we proceed will become clear."

"Is all well?"

Charisse loomed out of the windy gloom like a dark shadow. He put his arm around Claire and leaned into the private moment, but Lyssa saw that he fit the space perfectly. His eyes were bright despite the stiffness of his tail of dark hair, a hint of a smile at his lips.

"All is well, Charisse," Claire assured him.

"I just... required a mere moment to compose myself," Lyssa agreed. "Apologies for the delay."

"That's no bother," said Charisse. "But come and look at this."

The three of them advanced into the wind together. Hiding in the width of Charisse's broad frame made the going a little easier. But after just a few long strides up a rubble-strewn incline, the land opened up before them. Lyssa shielded her eyes with one arm and looked out on a plain of gently rolling hills beyond the jaggedness of the land that had so far bordered the eastern reaches. A river, demure and peaceful compared to the might of the Dusk, ran north to south-east between the grassy lumps of the hills. Beyond and further east, the peaks of the mountains that hid the Black Palace itself. But nestled into this oasis of calmer geography, packed in tight and roofed in thick, yellowing straw, was a village. The wooden buildings looked hardy and strong, the work of hands used to the needs of rustic infrastructure. The glasswork windows were thick to block out the cold weather traditional in this part of the land. And from within burst warm, orange firelight, shining out into the gloom like beckoning beacons.

"Oh... my!" Claire sighed. Her hand found Lyssa's and squeezed it tightly, and Lyssa turned to the girl with curious eyes. She, and Charisse too, looked ready to burst into tears.

Of course, she reminded herself. These are village kids. This reminded them of their home.

"Listen," sighed Charisse with a dreamy smile. "Listen for it..."

They did so. Lyssa held her breath as she awaited the surprise that Charisse wanted to share with them. The wind rushed from between the mountain peaks and gusted against the homes of the village. And on the wind was a note, crisp and clear. The resonant ringing of a viol. The beginning of a song. And then, the song began in earnest and in concert with a little orchestra of instruments. It was accompanied with cheers and the distant stamping of feet.

"They are celebrating!" gasped Claire, placing her free hand over her lips. "But what could a settlement so close to the Dark Legion's stronghold have to celebrate?"

Charisse's grin was shining in the dark, eager and childlike. "Let's go and find out!" he said.

---

"Travellers? In this Era?" The man was a rounded fellow in his late middle age, by Charisse's guess. His portly frame and thinning hair reminded him of the men of Hilldown who had worked their share of labour and were now easing into retirement, seeing out their cosy evenings in the local pub and in the easy company of others they had known their whole lives. Charisse's father should have become one of them, had the Dark Lord's curse not had its way with him.

"I promise that we aren't anyone suspicious," said Claire with a smile. "We are making our way east, and we happened to spy this village. If there is space inside for us to warm our hands and ease our feet, we would be very grateful of it."

Charisse peered around the village man and into the feast hall beyond. Hilldown had such a building, one they used on celebration days so that everyone could eat and drink and dance together. And this one was in full use tonight. Long tables had been pushed up to the stone walls to make space for a throng of dancers in the centre. The dance was the Sunset Two-step, a hopping back-and-forth that had participants in two long lines facing their partners. Dancers would move quickly between several partners for the duration of the song before, if the musical conductor had done their job, ending with each back in their original pairing. And it was as popular here as it had been in Hilldown, with even the observers sitting at the tables tapping their feet to the beat and laughing amiably. The cluster by the bar at the far end of the hall seemed to be engaging in negotiations for drinks in time with the rhythm of the dance. Charisse even found himself swaying along.

"You're... heading east?" The tall man who barred their path looked across the three of them once more. His eyes narrowed on Charisse's axe, holstered at his belt, and Claire's blackjack at her hip.

"It's not what you might think," Charisse said, standing straight and ignoring the intoxicating scene of rustic hospitality beyond with effort. "We have no intention of joining the Dark Legion."

"No? Then why go to their home at all?"

Charisse glanced to the side, meeting Claire and Lyssa's eyes. Lyssa looked away again at once. So skittish these days. But Claire nodded her head with resolute confidence, and Charisse returned the nod at once.

"We're going to slay the Dark Lord."

The portly man blinked in surprise. His fair moustache ruffled with an intake of breath. And at his back, a group of village revellers closest to the door stopped watching the two-step and turned to face them with their own wide eyes. Charisse held their looks and set his shoulders firmly as if their attention would blow him away like a strong wind. There was every chance that this village was home to Dark Adherents or their sympathisers. In fact, this close to the Black Palace, that was more likely than the alternative. But would followers of the dark really celebrate like this, all smiles and dancing? Charisse swallowed.

And he almost choked when the large man slapped his hands against his shoulders with a great, rousing laugh. Charisse found himself tugged forward and deposited by the man's strong arms right inside the feast hall, where now he was the centre of attention.

"Arhi!" the man bellowed right behind him. "These young tykes are off to kill the Dark Lord! Let's get them a fucking drink!"

The hall erupted into cheers, and Charisse found himself set upon by a great horde of men and women.

"You're real heroes?" asked a young man with a beaming smile. "I didn't think there were any left!"

"Ancestors above, look at that axe!" giggled a woman old enough to be Charisse's mother. "I'll bet that has seen some action!"

"We fucking

hate

the Dark Lord around here!" The man had his hands on both of Charisse's shoulders like a proud father. "Anyone claiming they're out to shed his fallow blood is a friend of Slate, and make no mistake. Don't worry, heroes. Arhi will make sure you eat and drink your fill before the morning comes."

Behind the bar, a huge woman with a rugged headscarf tying back her auburn hair nodded his way and winked. At once, his arms were grabbed by the host of Slate's villagers and he was pulled into the fray. Claire, by the sound of her voice, was not far behind.

"W-We would appreciate a chance to rest, thank you, um..."

"Morris is my name," came the voice of the big man.

"And you are this village's mayor, Mister Morris?"

"I'm on the council, sure. Ah, you're worried my voice won't carry weight?"

"N-No. I was just wondering what this occasion was that has everyone so festive."

Charisse had to put out his hands to stop from being shoved right into the wooden bar at the far side of the hall. A frothing pewter mug was already waiting for him, and it was joined at once by two others. His mouth felt awfully dry. But still, Charisse turned about with an elbow on the bar to take in Morris' answer. And he saw the man, now ushering Claire and Lyssa forward with his big hands, twisting his lip anxiously.

"Mister Morris?" prompted Claire.

"It's... solstice," said the councilman. "That's right. It's the solstice tonight."

"It is?" Charisse frowned, and he saw Claire doing much the same. He tried to do the seasonal mathematics in his head, but with difficulty. It had been long since he'd had a good look at the angle of the sun.

"We celebrate the winter solstice a few weeks early, you see," came a kindly female voice at his back, the voice of the tall barwoman Arhi. "Since we get so covered in snow on the night itself and that makes it hard to celebrate. Isn't that right, Morris?"

"Y-Yep, that's right," laughed Morris a touch too loudly.

Now together, Charisse and Claire shared a look. Beside them, Lyssa was watching their silent glances carefully. Charisse handed her a mug of ale with narrowed eyes.

"Let's take it easy tonight," he suggested. "We've come a long way. We won't have the vigour to enjoy ourselves too heartily."

"Well said," nodded Claire. "There is no need to overwork ourselves. We ought to take our time."

Lyssa's eyes told him she understood his hesitance, too. She held the tankard in both hands, and she gave it a sniff.

---

"This is weird, right?" whispered Charisse once the locals had drawn back from their table at the side of the big hall and left them in relative privacy. The lad was leaning across to where Claire and Lyssa were seated beside one another. None of them had touched their drinks yet.

"It is... unexpected." Claire shook her head gently, her red locks bouncing against her shoulders. "I cannot remember a winter solstice festival in Hilldown that matched this level of energy. But here is Slate, a village which celebrates even up alongside the territory of the Dark Adherents. It beggars belief."

Lyssa lifted the metal tankard to her face and sniffed the contents again. Some of the froth went up her nose, causing her to cough. Alcohol. Would it even affect someone like her? Some

thing

like her? She glanced to her side and took in the undulation of the dancing villagers. The air was thick with sweat and rising emotion. The booze had done that, at least in part. It had sparked the light beneath the people of Slate and made them dance. Leaving Lyssa once more out in the dark.

When the current song ended, the makeshift band with its battered instruments falling briefly silent, the hall erupted into applause. Lyssa felt no need to join in. But across from their table, closer to the entrance to the hall, a pair of boys around Charisse's age were watching her. Both had similar shades of rusty blonde hair and similar red in their cheeks from inebriation. They smiled and waved. Lyssa put on the mask with ease, and then smiled right back.

"Charisse!"

Lyssa turned back to the table at Claire's urgent hiss, and she saw Charisse lowering his mug to the table and smacking his lips. He'd created a moustache of foam for himself below his nose.

"I thirst, Claire!" he said with a sigh. "And we can't sit here nursing these gifts all night. Think of how suspicious we would look!"

"Still..." Claire narrowed her eyes at him. "What do you make of it? Does it taste... poisonous?"

"I wouldn't have the faintest idea," Charisse replied with a laugh.

"Why not ask Oculus?" said Lyssa, drawing Claire's eyes back to her. "Is the unseen mystery not his purview?"

"You're right. I should have thought of that. Give me one moment."

Bending down with one arm below the table, Claire rummaged for her belongings. She retrieved her usual writing set, plus a small wooden box that contained some of her preserved herbs. Claire wrote out a query to her deity on the paper, then began selecting coloured dust from the box's compartments with her thumb and forefinger.

"Lyssa, are you alright?" asked Charisse while their friend worked. "You have been out of yourself recently. And you appear a little down right now. I would have thought this setting to be your element."

"I am sorry." Lyssa looked down into her mug. "'Tis not my will to bring down the mood of our coming victory against the Dark Lord. Perhaps it is this land. This charming village notwithstanding, do you not find it awfully dour?"

A carefully constructed lie, one she had been rehearsing. Lyssa had seen the concern in both Claire and Charisse's eyes on their march through the eastern pass, and she had known that this line of questioning was coming. Charisse, opting to believe her, nodded his head.

"I can feel the dark inside me moving about," he agreed with a solemn twist of his brow. "Calling to its master, no doubt. I am here for you if you need me, Lyssa. We can be a support for one another."

She smiled at his kind words. Another day, she might have taken the obvious invitation to flirt with him. But not tonight. Not when she knew that taking that path would end in his death.

Motion at her side drew her eye, as well as Charisse's. A girl a couple of years younger than any of them was standing shyly by the side of their table and was untying a cotton headscarf from around her fair hair. She had big, blue eyes and pale skin with just a hint of freckling at her nose and cheeks. Lyssa thought immediately of Morris, the big councilman. The girl's green dress looked worn with use, and she had pushed up the sleeves past her elbows in service of work.

"M-May I... help you with something?" the girl asked them quietly, kneading her scarf with both hands. "Is the drink... n-not to your liking?"

Lyssa turned to follow the line of her eyes and took in Claire. Her friend had frozen with her prayer parchment folded in two and dipped at one corner into the top of her drink. The fluid was making its way up the paper now. Alongside Claire's embarrassed expression, it looked more than a little ridiculous.

"This is nothing."

"My friend has a, um, a condition," Charisse attempted. "She must take a... a special medicine whenever she, um..."

The girl shook her head with a sad sigh. "There is no need to lie, I understand," she said. "You are wary of gifts given freely and without obligation. Of course you are. You fear that we might seek to poison you, or perhaps tie you up in some sort of dark ritual."

Both Claire and Charisse, clearly affected by the young girl's sadness, made to argue. But neither of them seemed to be able to conjure up the words. It was true, after all. She'd got them dead to rights.

"Here. Perhaps I can assuage some of your fears."

The girl took a seat beside Charisse and pulled all three mugs of ale towards herself. Then, steeling herself with a stern frown and a breath for air, she took a hearty swig from each in turn. Lyssa's eyes were wide at the spectacle, as were those of Claire and Charisse. The girl gasped for breath as she returned Lyssa's mug to the table. It was now more than a third emptied.

"Does that help?" she asked with a shy smile.

Claire unfolded the soggy prayer paper between her hands and read the contents, then gave a relieved smile of her own.