Chapter 20: Isekai Life & Blood Promise

I gently brushed Calliope’s hair away from her face, as her head rested on my lap. Thanks to Yua, the blade that had penetrated her throat was gone, though the wound was still an ugly, puckered line where there should be the smooth skin of her neck. Her skin was marvellously soft, and with her mouth and eyes closed, her face seemed more peaceful. I wondered, briefly, where her soul was residing, and whether she was comfortable there.

When the griffon appeared and distracted the worgs, Voss, Moruca and Yua were able to rally and fight back. Confronted with a larger, more powerful predator and my rallying allies, the nerve of the worgs (or goblins? It was hard to tell who was in charge between the predatory, massive mount and the cunning yet weak rider) finally broke and they fled.

The house has burned down to ashes and foundation, with nothing left of what had once been a family’s home. The glowing coals and a few hastily-constructed torches gave off what little light we had, although the horizon was already glowing with the promise of dawn.

Not for the first time, my mind seemed split in two.

On one hand, my old mind was telling me it was alright. Calliope was an invoker, so her constitution was supposed to be high- high enough that she wasn’t likely to fail her resurrection roll, high enough that losing a point of constitution to being resurrected shouldn’t be an issue. Even if someone couldn’t be found to cast Raise Dead in time, we could cremate her and save her ashes for a Resurrection later. It was simple, we just had to get by without an extra caster for awhile.

The other half of my mind was in turmoil. Calliope, my friend since magic school, my lover these past few months, was dead. Worse, it was because of a tragic mistake that I made in the heat of the moment. I was oh-so-confident that I had picked the best spells, made the best tactical decisions, and then in the moment when I had almost no other option, I failed the party. And poor Calliope, who just days ago was expressing her angst over our relationship, paid the price.

The mean between these two warring states of mind was silent, sullen depression. I had no clear idea of how much time had passed, but I couldn’t pull myself away from Calliope’s body.

Yua was kneeling off to one side, her greatsword sitting in front of her, and her head inclined- in shame or in prayer, I couldn’t say. Voss was standing nearby, looking visibly upset. He had cried some earlier- I couldn’t make out the fine details of his face, but I thought I heard him sobbing- but occasionally he would sidle over and give me a comforting pat on the back.

Moruca had vanished early on, saying she would gather spent arrows and count the dead. And Raszil ... was dealing with our new guests.

The two people who had arrived on their griffon were clad all in black- black feathered cloaks, black clothing, black boots, except for their shining elven chain mail, which gleamed silver even in the dim light of the coals. They were elves, a slender, smaller one and a taller, broad-shouldered man. I could hear the low sounds of their discussion with the gnomish cleric, and although I couldn’t make out the words, it had the trilling, singsong quality of elvish.

As for the griffon itself, it was ... somewhere, noisy snacking on some worgs in the dark.

Suddenly, a light grew stronger in the corner of my eye. “Well, it was a hell of a battle,” I heard Moruca’s voice say, “Sixteen dead worgs, almost as many goblins. They won’t be trying this again any time soon, that I promise you.”

A major victory, all things considered. The tribe couldn’t have much in the way of worgs, cavalry or otherwise, left. But I didn’t feel any joy or pride from this input. It was just another fact, as cold and dead as-

I bit my lip to prevent myself from sobbing, hard enough to taste blood.

“Only managed to find one of those special arrows of yours. Here, Voss, you gave ‘em hell.”

“Thanks, Moruca.”

“S’nothing.”

Then, I felt a light hand squeeze my shoulder, and the old woman’s voice again. “We’re still in enemy territory, lad. You’ve had your moment, but we’re going to need you back soon.”

“Right,” I replied, numbly.

“It ain’t never going to stop being sad, son, but sooner or later it’ll stop hurting so bad. But right now, the living need you.”

I nodded, and gently lifted Calliope’s head off my lap so I could rise. Yua rose with me, reaching out to steady me with a hand when I stumbled on my numb legs. Despite her wounds, she was much more steady on her feet than I.

With an effort, I pushed away that half of my mind- the one in mourning. Having my thoughts and feeling divided like this had some advantages, it seemed. I could seal up that grief and deal with it later, with an ease that I never had in life.

I looked towards the two elven warriors. “What’s their story, anyway?”

“I don’t know, Raszil has been the one talking with them this whole time,” Voss replied, “But, look at this.”

He handed me an arrow from the bundle that Moruca had gathered for him. It was carved from pale, bone-white wood, and fletched with black feathers.

I nodded and handed the arrow back.

As a group, we marched over to where the gnome and elves were standing. Their conversation cut off as we approached. I must have seemed a little intense, because Raszil cleared his throat nervously. “Theodore, Voss, everyone, this here is Haseth and Seran. I think they’ve got something to say that you might be interested in hearing.”

The two elves were both men. Despite their drastically different body types- one was a typical short, slender pretty boy elf, while the broad-shouldered man had a hard, stoic face, and a nasty scar that ran across his left eye, leaving it milky and sightless. They both had black hair- which oddly still had some of the shimmery quality of Ashryn’s- in short military cuts, and dark eyes.

The tall one stepped forward and offered his hand. “I am Haseth, captain of the Ravenwatch,” he said in a crisp, military tone that wouldn’t be out of place on a drill sergeant. When I clasped his hand, it was dry and rough, like shaking hands with a stone.

“Theodore,” I said simply, meeting his gaze. I had gotten used to dealing with his type when we were slouching around the palace in Tresens. “How long have you been following us?”

Haseth and Seran exchanged glances. “We weren’t following you, although we have been noting your presence,” Haseth replied, “We seemed to have similar goals, and while we do not often make our presence known to outsiders, we are not heartless. When we noted your trouble, guiding you to a place of refuge seemed prudent.”

“What do you mean, similar goals?” Voss asked in return.

Haseth narrowed his eyes a little bit giving Voss a glare that could cut glass. “Pardon me, but it is customary among our people to introduce ourselves before speaking.”