Dr Acula

Chapter 14: Truth

Her anger was a palpable, tangible thing. 

Her rage-filled every drop of her boiling blood. It consumed her as she changed. The bones of her legs cracked as they grew. Her skin pulled tight against her straining muscles, threatening to burst, before giving way to thick fur hide. Her eyes narrowed and blackened. Her jaw ached as her blunted teeth grew and sharpened into a serrated beak. Her mandible audibly creaked as she transformed. 

She could barely hear her scream over the roar of the chanting crowds. 

“Mameluk, Mameluk, Mameluk” 

The crowds droned on as she slaughtered. 

Her own personal choir. 

There were no Gods in the Blood Arena, only her. And from far and wide warriors came to pay tribute. And they paid it with their flesh, for with every swipe of her razor claws she dealt their fate. 

“Ferox. Ferox. Ferox.”

They screamed her name. Her true name. For she had long forgotten it. 

Sinew and flesh hung from her beak as she called, beckoning on the next round of attackers. She was ready. 

Her anger was palpable. It was tangible. 

It was something to be feared. 

With a sudden jolt of lightning, ripping through her bones, she crashed to the floor. With another, she whimpered and cowered. 

She begged, her skin covered in a mix of blood and her own sweat from the heat of the forge. The bright light from the lava made it difficult to make out the figures of her companions through her tears. She tried to count them, to ensure she hadn’t completely lost control, praying the blood that coated her skin was only that of the drow Nere and his followers. 

The large arm around her shoulders did little to reassure her. She flinched away, undeserving and unwanting of any consolation Halsin could offer her. 

She had chosen this. She knew the consequences - the cost of such a transformation. When she had entered the chamber with her companions at her flank, she knew that she would be back there. Back in the arena, under the punishing desert sun. 

That was the cost of the Ironhands’ freedom - her own. 

Fen brushed off any concern from her party, pulling herself to her wobbling feet. Without hesitation, she crossed the room to where Astarion stood, finally stepping out of the shadows. She grabbed the sheathed dagger from his belt, without even stopping to acknowledge him. He didn’t try to stop her. He just watched on. 

She didn’t look back as she continued, making her way over to the lifeless corpse of the True Soul Nere. Deep claw marks raked down his chest. Fen almost wanted to trace them with her own much smaller hands, to feel any connection to the beast who had done this. The beast she knew was her.

His blood was pooled on the floor around him - trailed across the stone floor. She could make out giant paw prints in the smears. Her own bare feet dwarfed in comparison to the impressions she had left just moments before. 

His head lay limply to the side, his neck laid open and dribbling, the strap muscles laid open and severed. He had been almost decapitated by her beak. 

Fen had never taken the time to consider her victims so carefully before. Their bubbling throats and spluttered last breaths would haunt her thoughts. She would see the whites of their eyes behind her own eyelids each night. Previously she couldn’t bear to look upon them, but now she forced herself to. As her eyes scanned him, she learnt more about the beast she was. 

The monster you are.

Astarion’s words lingered in her mind. Perhaps the only way she could ever learn to control the rage within her was to acknowledge first that the beast was her. 

She clutched the dagger tightly and with a steady hand finished what her jaws had started. There wasn’t much flesh to cut through, only the cartilage and bone of his neck. With a grunt, she reached for his scalp, holding the head up to look at what remained of his face. 

“Well, that was disgusting.” 

She ignored his snide tone, dropping his knife back at his feet as she walked past. The decapitated head in her hands gave her an odd sense of strength. A sign of what she was capable of. 

No longer a victim. No longer something to be pitied. 

On the first night in the Shadow-Cursed lands, they all set their tents up much closer to each other than usual. 

Fen had even considered resting by the fire, desperate for every pool of light she could shield herself in.

The Shadow Curse was worse than she expected. The depths of the darkness filled every inch of the mind and soul. Dark shapes twisted and coiled in the corners of her vision. Even at camp with Gale’s warding spells, the darkness crept in. No amount of torchlight would keep it at bay. 

Her anger had briefly slipped away as they came to the surface from the Underdark. A profound sense of sadness had consumed her when she had first laid eyes upon the wretched lands. The twisted husks of trees didn’t sing to her. There was no gentle breeze greeting her as she travelled. There was only silence and despair. 

There was no nature here. 

Her sadness quickly flashed back to anger at the thought. The land had been ravished and racked by the Sharran Curse, left in an ungodly state of undeath.

Save the thousands. Break their curse. Bring them back to the circle. 

Fen couldn’t help but wonder whether this was her calling. She doubted there would be thousands of people surviving in such hostile lands, but she did not doubt that the curse needed to be broken. For too long had the Western Heartlands been exiled from The Circle. 

Shadowheart had been awfully quiet since their arrival, her usual evening prayer had been replaced with quiet consideration. Fen supposed she should be happy with what the Sharrans had achieved, but couldn’t help but notice the uncertainty in her companions' eyes. That look alone gave Fen hope that her friend would one day leave the darkness and embrace the light. She wouldn’t push it however, she herself knew how a crisis of faith felt, and knew she needed time to work through this alone. Lae’Zel had abandoned her crusade on the cleric, no doubt recognising the same thing Fen did. She had even helped her pitch her tent one night. 

Despite the friendliness, the unease that the group felt in the Underdark remained, only now it was tenfold. They barely mumbled greetings to each other each morning and retired early to bed. It was a difficult time for everyone. 

The unexpected guest didn’t help either. 

Fen was getting tired of uninvited guests. Raphael had frustrated her with his sickly showmanship charm and Mizora was more than enough to worry about. At least Silvanus had the mercy to chastise her outside of camp. 

The wizard Elminster wasn’t unwelcome at first. After his awful request of Gale, Fen found him positively malignant. 

“The Orb”

When Elminster declared that Gale alone would be the one to destroy the Absolute, he knew immediately what his mentor had meant. It was as if he had always known.

“Mystra has granted me the power to stop the clock, as you were on the orb’s rush to overpower you.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Instead, you’ll be able to unleash its lethal combustion at will.”

Gale said nothing but listened. Fen’s heart pounded in her throat. 

“You must find the heart of the Absolute, whatever that may be and use yourself as the catalyst-” 

Fen couldn’t stand for this. Couldn’t stand for what he was being asked 

“Gale, he’s asking you to kill yourself!” She looked up at her companion where he stood like a statue in the firelight, the expression on his face heartbreaking and unwavering. 

“Fen” Wyll said quietly but offered no other reassurance. 

“It gives me no pleasure to tell you this my friend, but it is Mystra’s will.” Fen’s eyes narrowed at his words. Goddess or not, she couldn’t even condescend herself to tell Gale herself. She had sent a lackey. At least Silvanus had always given her the respect to demand such awful things from her in person. 

“Yours must be the sacrifice which undoes the Absolute, and for your sacrifice, you will be redeemed. As if Mystra’s promise.” 

Fen’s heart raced in panic. There it was, the one thing Gale wanted in the world - the one thing he would sacrifice everything for, Mystra’s forgiveness. 

After Elminster’s charm had taken, and the ancient wizard had disappeared in a cloud of vapour, Gale retreated to his tent. There was no candlelit glow as he retired - the usual sign that he was going to stay up into the late hours to read. His light was extinguished as soon as the tent flap closed. 

Fen was left standing in the middle of the camp, incredulous with what had just taken place. She looked at her other companions, sadly going back to their own camp activities. Karlach gave her a solemn look before returning to restrapping the wood of her great axe. No one appeared as upset about this as she did. Were they all going to stand back and just watch Gale kill himself for his goddess? The one who refused him?

She stormed after him. 

“You cannot seriously be considering this Gale.” She said, sealing the tent flap behind her. 

He was sitting with his back against a stack of books in the corner of his tent, rubbing his hand gently over the purple brand on his chest - the only external sign of the Netherese bomb within his chest. 

“An audience with Elmnister is nothing less than memorable.” He smiled sadly as she came to kneel in front of him. “I would have of course preferred to have introduced you in less dire circumstances, but those are hard to come by these days.”

“Yes, what a wonderful old friend Gale, to have asked you to kill yourself.” She scoffed. “Such a lovely wise old man.”

“The doddering act is merely an illusion, one he’s most adept at maintaining.” He said, meeting her eyes suddenly. “Elminster is the most formidable wizard in the realms, perhaps in existence.” 

“If he is so powerful, why can’t he take on the Absolute? Or Mystra! If she is who you think she is, why will she not spare you this?”

“I have no doubt she has the power to do so, but as for permission…. Ao would not look kindly on her meddling in mortal affairs. Divine intervention has the tendency to make things worse, not better.” Of this, Fen knew intimately. More than Gale realised she knew. “That’s why the Gods work through their Chosen.”

Fen saw herself then reflected back in Gale’s warm brown eyes. Two Chosen bound to their fates. Hers to kill. His to die. 

“As for Elminster… he saved the Realms more times than legend can recount. But to take on a god is no easy feat, even for him. My orb is the best chance we have - and only I can wield it.”

“They’ll be another way!” She said loudly. She had no doubt her campmates could hear her pleas. “There must be a way you survive this!” 

“It’s Mystra’s will.” He said sadly. 

“Mystra is a god! She can handle this without taking your life in the bargain.” She reached out to grab his hand, pulling it from his chest to hold it within her own. It was warm and soft. 

“I am no great loss to his bargain.” 

Her heart broke all over again. 

“You are to me.” Her voice cracked, “Or does my opinion not matter?” The lump in her throat was difficult to swallow down. She hadn’t known Gale long, or any of her companions, but she appreciated them significantly nonetheless. Gale had been tenacious in his defence of her when others were keen to cast her aside. He showed great kindness to her and the others, and for that she would always be grateful. To hear him think so lowly of himself was difficult for her when she thought so highly of him. 

“Time seems so infinite when you are young.” His thumb came to stroke the skin of hers, tingling as it made its passes. When she looked up at him, his eyes were glazed over in thought. “A month is an age, a year is a lifetime… it is a strange feeling to realise how little of it one might have left.”

She squeezed his hand in defiance. “You are still young, Gale!”

“Of course, to your elven lifespan, I am but an infant, but I am clearly living on borrowed time, in more ways than one. Perhaps… perhaps this is how it must be.”

“No! Promise me you’ll try and find another way.” She pulled him by his hand until he was sat upright, no longer slouched. Her face came close to his, her green eyes merely inches from his brown. “Promise me you’ll at least try .”

“I can’t-” He stuttered. 

“Promise me.” She urged again. 

“If you promise to save yourself.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Gale-”

“I think that’s perfectly fair. I find a way to survive the orb, and you find a way to survive your situation. Control it.”

“Ok” Was all she said, as quiet as a mouse. 

Fen was developing a habit of making oaths to her companions as of late. 

“Perfume, Astarion? Really?  In a place like this?” Shadowheart scoffed as they readied themselves to leave camp, aiming to reach Last Light Inn before dusk - not that it was easy to tell when dusk was in this living nightmare. 

“Some of us prefer to feel at our best,” He said arrogantly, adjusting the collar under his armour against his neck. “Who knows what new friends we’ll encounter today? It’s important to make a good impression.”

The bergamot, rosemary and brandy wasn’t a naturally occurring scent, as much was clear. But what was clearer to Fen was why he took great care to keep his fragrant oils with him. She saw right through it. She had known from the moment she had first transformed at the goblin camp, and her mind was consumed with the smell of dead flesh. 

“It’s to disguise his smell,” Fen said, without looking up from her boots as she tightened them. “He’s undead.”

“Well thank you for that.” He said sarcastically. When Fen finally stood to face him, her own stern look met his. In fact, this was the first time they had so much as looked at each other in the days following the incident at the Grymforge. 

“I can’t say I’ve ever really noticed the whiff of undeath about you, Astarion.” Shadowheart mused as she adjusted the mace at her belt. 

“My ‘whiff’ is very faint, thank you.” 

“But we all know what you are Astarion.” Karlach tried to say cheerfully. “You don’t need to cover anything up for us.” 

Fen had expected a sarcastic retort, or perhaps a sly comment. What she didn’t account for was a brief moment of honesty. 

“Perhaps I don’t like to be reminded of how dead I am, thank you.”

He strode past them, and as Karlach and Shadowheart shrugged at each other, Fen thought she glimpsed a moment of sadness in his eyes. 

She would have regretted it had he not taken such great care to remind her of the beast she was. He was the one who had set that precedent. She refused to be the only monster in camp. 

A shield of light told them that they were in the right place - Last Light Inn. A shiver passed through their spines as they crossed its threshold. Shadowheart hissed and clutched her hand as she was doing more and more often. 

Just as the Harpers in the shadows had informed them, it was every bit the haven they needed. The courtyard of what appeared to be a dilapidated inn was bustling with life. Fen was thankful to see the Tieflings but was surprised by their number, she supposed the rest were taking refuge inside. 

“You there, step forward and keep your hands off your weapons.” A voice called out as they approached. 

With a sense of unease, Fen took a small step. 

“Jaheira!” A young Harper shouted, attempting to make a gesture to the older woman who turned to face them. The dual swords on her back were the first thing Fen noticed of the druid of legend. 

The young harper looked as if she was going to speak, but was quickly silenced by Jaheira’s stern look - colder than any ice knife Fen had thrown.

But before she could open her mouth to speak, vines tightened around her feet, snaking up to her thighs, holding her firmly in place. The slightest move and they tightened further, like a boa. 

“A ‘hello’ would have sufficed.” Astarion’s snide voice came from behind her, before he grunted, no doubt in response to the constriction of his entanglement.

“Hello,” She said humourlessly in return, before reaching for a sealed bottle in her bag. She held up to show them. In sloshing liquid within it, was the silhouette of a tadpole. “This is why we’re here, you see.” She turned it in her hand, as she regarded it, “This curious creatures hold all manner of secrets, but there is one thing that we know. It knows its own kind.”

With a few short strides, the High Harper crossed the yard, coming to hold the bottle up to Fen’s face. She groaned as she tried to avoid the inevitable connection. The tadpole in her brain relished the bond and squirmed against her optic nerve. Fen hissed through her teeth at the intense pain and flashing lights the excited tadpole inflicted upon her.

“You should never have come here, True Soul,” Jaheira shouted, before reaching for a scimitar on her back. The band of Harpers around her followed suit, raising their crossbows. “Mourn for the person you were, before the Absolute infected you.” 

“Wait - “ Fen shouted, struggling to raise her hands against the vines which now curled around her wrists. She could feel the hum of energy against her skin and quietly willed the vines to retreat. “We can explain.”

“I am not interested in the Absolute’s manipulations,” She dismissed her, “Harper’s cut them down-”

“Stop!” A small voice called out in the darkness, “What are you doing? She’s the one who saved us!” Fen could not have been more thankful to see the mischievous tiefling child. 

“This is the one who protected Emerald Grove?” Jaheira’s hand was raised, signalling to her followers to hold. 

“And she saved my friends. One from a Harpy and Arabella from the mad druid with the snake.” 

“Everything the child says is true,” Halsin called out from where he stood, “She is Faithwarden.” 

“A True-Soul with their own mind? How is this possible?”

“Fen!” Shadowheart shouted, before throwing her the artefact they had since learned was their saviour, the only thing stopping them from bursting into a horror of tentacles. 

The vines had loosened enough for her to reach out and catch the artefact, not going unnoticed by the older woman. “We don’t know what it is or why, but this. This protects us.”

Jaheira took another step closer, now holding her bottled tadpole up to the octagonal device, watching as it shrivelled and burst into scraps of flesh within its glass prison. 

“Congratulations, you’ve earned yourself the benefit of the doubt.” They all took a collective sigh of relief as the treacherous plants receded. “I’m old enough and wise enough to recognise a sliver of hope as it crawls of out the dark.” 

They followed her inside, but the invitation of a comfortable bed and a hot dinner wasn’t enough to make them feel at ease. 

It was a wonder that the inn itself was still standing. Its structural integrity left plenty to be imagined. However, the warmth of the hearth welcomed them immediately. Fen was relieved to see the other tiefling children, crowded around the sleeping form of a small cat, but wondered where the rest of the Tieflings were. She looked left and right for Zevlor’s reassuring face but was concerned to not find him. Rolan’s solemn face as he sat at the bar alone told her it wasn’t likely good news. 

“There’s some food in the kitchens, but we’re low on meat. You’re all welcome to take up residence in the cellar. It’s no High Hall, but it’s warm and it’s safe from the Shadows.” After several nights in the cold, twisted wilderness, this may as well have been paradise. “But before you settle in, please join me for a drink.”

The group did what they were told, dragging old chairs to sit down at a large oak table that smelt of ale-stained wood. 

“The archdruid Halsin, “ Jaheira said, placing a goblet of wine in front of him. “Don’t be surprised that I know your name. You fit a rather singular description.” She continued to pour drinks for the others from a wine bottle thick with years of dust, “And one survivor of the Shadow-Curse’s fall ought to know another.”

“Never did our paths meet, whilst fighting Ketheric.” 

“No, we were a hundred strong… until we were not. It appears that those of us who saw the birth of the curse are doomed to return to bear witness to its work again.” She sighed, setting the now empty bottle down in the middle of the table. “But I ought to warn you, Halsin, as much as it shamed me, it is not the curse that I have come to cleanse, but the Cult.” 

“These are not mutually exclusive goals, High Harper. We owe a debt to the land - to finish what we started.” He reached out to bring his goblet closer to him, but didn’t yet raise it to his lips, “Silvanus has recently given me faith that it will be done.” 

Her eyes met his suddenly and her eyebrows twitched in a second of surprise, “We have much to discuss, Archdruid Halsin.” She looked back to the rest of the group and gestured for them to take their drinks. “To your health” 

Just as Fen lifted the cup to her lips, the smell of Klauthgrass made her hesitate. 

“It doesn’t spoil the taste if that’s what you are wondering,” Jaheira said, recognising the knowing look in the younger druid’s eyes. 

Astarion sniffed from across the table and sneered, “Truth potion”, confirming Fen’s suspicions. 

She turned from the vampire to face the older woman opposite her and without blinking or breaking her stare, she downed the entire cup. Most of the others followed suit. Shadowheart pushed hers away with a scoff. Astarion poured his out on the floor defiantly. 

“You’re more stupid than I realised.” He openly disproved. 

As foolish as it first appeared, it did seem to help. With every honest disclosure of their predicament, Jaheira visibly relaxed. Fen was careful to only reveal answers to questions she asked. She was truthful, as the potion had forced her to be, but she watched her words vigilantly. Despite her frosty welcome, there was something about Jaheira that Fen could trust. So she told her everything: the parasite, the artefact, the ceremorphosis which hadn’t occurred. 

What she didn’t reveal was anything from before the Nautilus, but Jaheira hadn’t asked. 

“We traced people like you with parasites in their brains all the way from Baldur’s Gate. There the Cult of the Absolute is spreading through the city, quietly and quickly. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.” 

Halsin looked visibly uncomfortable in his chair at the mention of Ketheric Thorm and his Sharran practises. He looked downright nauseous to learn of his supposed immortality. 

The sound of shattered glass made them all jump, and Fen turned in her seat to look behind her at the source of the noise, only to find two tiefling children squabbling over a dropped bottle of wine. 

But with the simple action, she had unintentionally revealed herself. 

There was a scrape of wood against wood as a stool launched back and a quick hand grabbed the back of Fen’s head, twisting it and forcing her face down onto the wood of the table. Her movements were quick for a half-elf of her age. Fen could hear her friends draw their weapons but could only just about see Astarion’s dagger held out in front of him in the corner of her eye.  She could hear the crackle of a firebolt in someone’s hand. 

“Naturae Electi” Jaheira whispered incredulously, the hand not holding down Fen’s head coming to touch the brand on her nape, pushing her braid aside, “Impossible.”

Her heart sank with a sickening thud and she stopped squirming, resided to her fate. 

“Let her go!” Gale’s voice came from next to her. 

The druid released her head, and Fen looked up at her from low before slowly rising to her feet, terrified of what was to be revealed. True potion still coursed through her veins, under any direct questions she could crumble. 

“It’s not impossible, Sister,” Halsin said quietly, “Let us discuss this somewhere more privately-” 

“No,” She said with a slight shake of her head, “There can be only one.” 

There had been scores of Chosen, spanning generations upon generations, as much as been documented in the sacred texts. However, what was clear was that the Chosen never lived a full life and that they were alone in their existence. 

“Jaheira, please. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, the things she’s capable of. If we could just go somewhere-”

“Can someone please tell me what in the nine Hells is going on?” Shadowheart asked. 

“- And I’ve seen it too, Halsin. I saw the child be chosen, myself. I felt His presence.” As quick as a fox, she drew the blade from her back, holding it up against Fen’s neck. The blade felt cold against the hearth-warmed skin of her face. “Tell me, imposter. Who are you?”

“Fenwynn.” Is all her shaky voice would allow. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Astarion asked, his eyes shifting between Fen’s and Jaheira’s, “Natura-whatever the fuck that word was.” 

“Why do you carry the mark of Silvanus” Jaheira continued, not distracted by the others, whose weapons remained pointed toward her.

“Fen, I am sorry-” Halsin apologised. 

“It was given to me.” 

“Are you the Chosen of Silvanus?”

There was no escape. She was cornered. The effects of the Klauthgrass were still just as potent and would likely continue to be for at least another hour. She willed herself to lie, but the herb poisoning her mind wouldn’t allow her to. She wanted to run, but the sharp tip of Jaheira’s scimitar made it impossible to move. 

Say no. Say no. Say no.  

She begged herself to lie.  For the sake of the fragile trust, she had only just started to earn back. 

Say no . 

“Yes.” 

With a clatter, the blade hit the table between them. They both fell back to their seats. Fen's eyes didn’t leave the woman in front of her. She didn’t look at her companions, in fear of what she would find upon their faces. 

“It’s impossible, I don’t see how.”

“A Chosen?” Gale asked the magic in his palm fizzling into vapour. 

“You said there was another,” Fen said, ignoring everything except the woman in front of her,  The realisation of her words finally hit her.

“Yes, another.” The older druid’s eyes drifted from the forgotten scimitar and found Fen’s across the way. “The child. Touched by Silvanus, he guided her here, to safety” 

Fen’s stomach lurched sickeningly with a feeling she couldn’t quite place. Some small part of her longed for someone to truly understand what it was to be his Chosen, with all its difficulties. However, she couldn’t bear the idea that her burdens would soon be shared with a child . It was the last thing she could have wanted. 

Although a small but awful part of her was quietly hopeful that another Naturae Electi would mean she had been discarded, released from her bond. Any feeling of relief was burned away immediately with a flame of white-hot guilt. 

“Who?” Halsin asked finally. 

“The tiefling girl, Arabella.”