RE: Monarch

Days passed. Every setting sun and southern-facing fissure taking me further north.
Solitude has a way of playing tricks on you after a while. Imprints in the dirt start to resemble fresh footprints. Distant rumblings of the earth and faraway twittering of the few stressed but surviving birds can resemble voices, if your mind wanders long enough.
It helped that this territory wasn't entirely unfamiliar. I'd gone long stretches in the sanctum without encountering another living mortal.
The differences—beyond the absence of Vogrin—was that the Sanctum was artificial, forged from a monolithic amount of mana by the gods, created as both boon and proving ground in equal measure. It made sense. The more dangerous the area, the more alluring the potential rewards. Balance.
Here, the only rewards were a basin of semi-clean water here, a ration there, and doubling back to check for anything resembling hostiles, only to find a trail I'd eventually identify as my own.
It was sobering. Thoth was a serious obstacle to be overcome. But that was not the end of the struggle. Removing that obstacle meant nothing if I didn't find a way to stop Ragnarok. A monumental undertaking Thoth herself had failed countless times, all while holding infinitely more skill, knowledge, and expertise than I could ever hope to accumulate.
Despair pounded at the door of my mind. Never gone, no matter how intent I was to shut it out. Amplified by the scorching air, magnified by the slow, throbbing headache that set in after the first day and persisted now.
"You don't want to go to Whitefall, brother." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the silhouette of a girl walking beside me in fine garments, her skirts unsullied by the cinders they trailed through.
"I rather think I do, Annette." I responded, bright and chipper.
"Yes. And with any luck, whatever caused this. Assuming it didn't come from the continent beyond." I paused mid-step, glancing around.
The hallucinations had started this morning, with the recently expatriated arch-mage crouching above me and plunging a dagger in my chest. I'd felt pain, the sear of the knife parting flesh, widening my ribs, and lodging itself, only to roll away coughing and heaving and find the knife gone, and my attacker departed.
Only the coughing had persisted, a subtle warning that the attempt to filter the painful air I breathed was less effective than I'd thought.
It was hardly the first time I'd seen something that wasn't there. My mind often betrayed me in difficult times, either to blunt the blow or rub it in, like some sage sadist, pointing out all the ironies in my failures and highlighting the people I'd lost. Yet that typically happened after extended torment. That I was experiencing it so early made me question whether it was simply a product of a troubled mind, or if there was some physical explanation for the symptom.
Food poisoning or tainted water were both the most straightforward, obvious explanations. I wasn't experiencing any sort of intestinal distress, so food poisoning was likely out.
The symptoms—and the possibilities they implied—were frightening. I needed to examine the water from my most recently filled skin somehow before drinking from it again. But doing that outdoors, fully exposed to whatever was circulating the air, was likely to make my troubles worse.
"Ni'lend."
I felt my body tense and closed my eyes.
More than anything, I wanted to see her. But seeing her would be a reminder that
. That all I needed to do was lay down and wait for death to take me, and she'd be right there, waiting for me to leave these wretched wastes behind.
Fingers interlocked with the hand at my side and pulled my arm forward, taking me further down the road. I cracked an eyelid and saw a curtain of violet hair fluttering in the acrid breeze. "Don't look, if that's easier."
"I wish it worked that way."
"What?" Her voice was amused, so defined and specific it was hard to accept it wasn't real. "You don't trust me?"
My brow furrowed. "This isn't you. Not really."
Her laughter was music.
"We've spent so much of our lives together. Argued. Loved. Dreamed. You often know what I'm about to say before I say it. In a way, the piece of me that lives in you is as real as I ever was." She told me.
For the briefest moment, the solitude of the wasteland was sundered. Sunlight warmed my face, the gentle glow of uncovered day radiating from beyond my eyelids. It felt as if I'd been transported somewhere else, somewhere cloudless and temperate, free from the unforgiving harshness of my surroundings.
"Then why do I get the feeling that if I look at you, you'll be gone?"
"Because you are cynical, ni'lend."
"So are you."
"I wear my misgivings as a cloak, one that can be worn or shed as I please. It is not the same."
"Critical even in death."
"Don't pout." She chided.
"Gods, it really sounds like you."
The arm tugged at me, and I felt the even path fade to the crunching of grass.
Dimly, I knew that this was wrong. That Maya wasn't really here, that she was still gone, her body interred in the Timbermour's crypt. Yet the fog of denial weighed heavy on my mind, impossible to fully shake off. A growing sense of urgency unsettled it.
Because I hadn't been looking where I was going for some time.
"Is it so difficult to accept help when it's given?"
"Depends on where it comes from." I shook my head. "But that doesn't change the fact that I can't see with my eyes closed."
"Any help can make a difference in the worst of times. Principles don't matter if you're dead. Trust me on that." Warm breath tickled my ear. "And no.
"
My eyes snapped open.
It took a moment to process what I was seeing. Dozens of ashen squares speckled a desiccated riverbed that snaked through a leafless forest, like little ships ravaged by rocks, washed up on the nearest shore, their cargo assorted twigs that were blackened and grey, only retaining the rarest semblance of color.
The memory of assembling our baskets and returning the flowers and clippings to the earth washed over me with sickening clarity.
My chest ached.
It was hard to look at. I might have turned away, wandered my way back to the road without looking further if the distant glint of a reflection hadn't caught my eye. I squinted, not sure where it was coming from, until a patch of sunlight broke through the clouds and refracted in the window. Beyond a copse of dead trees I spotted the wall that contained it. A house—though it bore the title loosely. More hut than cabin, its bound thatched roof blackened from decay. It likely wouldn't hold up for long, but all I needed was a handful of hours to run some tests on my recently acquired water.
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I crossed the river, stepping over the trail of grey sludge at the center, careful to navigate around what remained of the baskets.
As a precaution, I circled the house once, pressing against its walls. The effects of the blue fire were remarkably inconsistent. My guess was that it had something to do with duration and angle of exposure. It turned some buildings to burned-out husks and left others untouched.
A far greater danger was offered by places that appeared solid enough to invite ingress but collapsed when the slightest pressure was applied in the right area. With that in mind, I circled the house once, kicking the toe of my boot lightly against the corners, pressing the flat of my hand against any section of wall that appeared unsound.
Other than a slight groan and a loose rock here or there, it seemed the place was more or less intact.
I gripped the handle firmly and pulled.
The door groaned and swung open, hinge creaking loudly—too loudly—until the ear-piercing snap of tortured metal filled the air and the top hinge gave way. It nearly came off in my hands, but I caught it in time to force it upright, then carefully ease it shut behind me.
I backed away, hands out, ready to grab it again. But this time it remained in place.
Hermetic domiciles deep within the Everwood had a way of setting my teeth on edge. For obvious reasons. There was a cellar too, though it wasn't secured with anything other than an ordinary iron lock instead of high steel chains, which, to be honest, made me feel a bit better. That wasn't an absolute guarantee I wouldn't find children in cages being tormented in the basement if I looked there, but at the very least it was a solid point against. If Barion set the standard, anyway.
Various dried herbs were hung from the ceiling at several points, surprisingly free of rot. That was astronomically lucky—perhaps the first spot of real luck I'd had since the world ended. I perused the rest, feeling a surge of energy.
Yes. There was a large alembic, even a complete set of glassware.
It wasn't unheard of. A great deal of magical ingredients grew in the Everwood, and those that made their living off producing various potions and poultices could do well so long as they stuck to the outskirts and did not venture too deeply in. With the intact roof, I already had everything I needed to test my water. But if some of the hanging and bundled herbs were still viable, there was a good chance it'd be possible to round out my collection.
There were a few items I rarely carried on me that could make a huge difference. Revitalizing draughts would help with mineral deficiencies and clear some of the growing fog from my mind.
I put the back of my hand to my forehead. It felt cool to the touch, which meant either I was still warm from the journey, or there was a fever brewing. Something to drive that down would be helpful, especially if it grew serious. Delirium could kill me as easily as any ghoul.
But neither would be possible if the universal solvent was tainted.
I seized a sizable piece of glassware from a tall shelf and placed it on the workstation, toggling the mana lamp below the transparent workspace. It would illuminate the fluid, making the results of any test far easier to spot.
Naturally, it didn't work.
There was a small brazier beneath the station that would provide lighting and heat, which might be useful later but might affect the results of the test in some way.
Instead, I lit a small charred twig in the brazier with a single spark. The dantalion flame could be hideously inefficient at large scales, draining me dry in seconds if I attempted to shape and direct an inferno—but it was an exponential ramp. At its smallest, it barely made a dent in whatever small increment of mana I had left.
Its purple light was dim but brightened the liquid enough that I could see tiny black specks of unknown detritus floating along its volume.
I lifted the large beaker and stared at it, actively fighting the temptation to chuck it against the wall in frustration. It likely wasn't potable and couldn't be made so—but if I just discarded it, I'd be throwing away my only chance to confirm what the malady was.
Though it was likely doomed, I ran the tainted water through a sieve, removing as much of the offending substance as possible.
Once that was done, I dropped a small pinch of ollum in the center.
The white powder spread out with a quiet fizz, just as it was meant to. If it continued to dissipate evenly, it would eventually settle down in a thin layer at the bottom. I'd still lose a little of what I'd put in to the accumulated silt. But better that than—
Whatever thoughts I had stopped, trailing off, as I realized the silt wasn't settling to the bottom at all. Instead, it formed thin threads that grew, as if they were continually unfurling.
It was completely contaminated. And I'd bet all the gold in the treasury that it hadn't been like that when I'd found it. There'd been no dark specks, and the basin was sealed airtight. It didn't make sense.
Unless...
Nearing panic, I whirled, snatching the half-empty skin from the workspace, praying I found a hole or tear, anything that offered a better explanation than the fear my mind immediately leapt to. No. The skin was impeccable. Nausea grew as I set that skin aside and removed another from my provisions, one I hadn't touched since Kholis. It should have been pristine.
I cleaned the previous glass, then thought better and discarded it, grabbing another from the shelves, checking its surface for any dust, anything out of place at all, and finding it sterile. Taking the skin, I poured about a third of the contents into the container.
And groaned.
Black flecks floated within the contents—arguably more than had been in the first sample. Again, I examined the skin and found it flawless.
The rest didn't need to be tested, but I did it anyway, finding the same result in each.
My eyes trailed to a thin letter opener on the desk.
There was a horrible creak of metal and a resounding snap, followed by a torrent of surprised swearing. Deflating in a mix of frustration and defeat, I leaned my head down on my fist as the door fell forward, nearly collapsing outward before leather-clad fingers gripped it tightly, straightening it back up. Thoth rotated, putting herself inside and propping the now-destroyed door back up like a barricade. She swiped at the front of her armor, wiping some of the contact dust off, nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Oh look. It's you." I muttered, tilting my cheek onto my fist.
"It's me." Thoth agreed. She took me in with a smirk. "Not looking so good, Cairn."
"Fuck off."
"Could it be that you're hallucinating? Growing feverish?" It was obvious from her tone that the question was rhetorical.
"Fuck
the way off." Somehow, I suppressed the rising tirade. Thoth looked practically the same as when I'd left, while my circumstances had gone downhill considerably. On second thought, that wasn't entirely accurate. The still-untreated wound at her collarbone was red with some bubbling around where she'd been gouged, clearly infected.
"My, so
this iteration. I'd like nothing more than to let matters be and delay my duties until you're too riddled with sickness and despair to speak."
"Just kill me already and be done with it."
"Not yet. Haste is the plunderer of satisfaction." Thoth dropped her bags to the dusty floorboards and stretched, breathing a content sigh. Then she surveyed the room, her gilded eye flitting to the mess of water skins and the multitude of glasses. "That was quick."
My foot tapped as I thought aloud, doing my best to ignore the unwanted company. "It's obvious whatever particles taint the water are small enough to travel the air and pass through whatever infinitesimal gaps there are in the skins, accumulating over time. If I had pine pitch or birch tar, I could do something about it, though the process would not be quick. Unfortunately, both of those things require
. Which are suddenly in short supply."
Three thumps in slow succession, one after another, as Thoth tossed a series of bulging water skins onto the table in clear view.
"I prefer beeswax, worked into the leather. The taste is not nearly as foul."
"How wonderful for you." I rubbed my eyes, suddenly exhausted.
"This is my surplus. It's a good idea to gather extra in times such as these, but prosperity has cursed me. They are too much weight when my burdens are already many."
Slowly, I lowered my hands from my face. "So. You'd be willing to part with some."
"Perhaps." Thoth said, letting it hang.
"Another wager?" I asked. It was the last thing I needed right now, my mind compromised as it was.
"No. A question that remains a mystery. Answer it properly and the skins are yours."
My mouth tightened.
Thoth paced, strolling around the small hut with her arms crossed, idly inspecting the surroundings and stooping to peek at the contents of various shelves as she spoke. "I've ended you enough times throughout the iterations that I've become very familiar with the minutiae, every detail down to the tiniest intricacies involving your passing. At this point I know it quite well." Her expression grew troubled. "Despite that, what I can't bring myself to understand is
you did it."
"In the sanctum." I realized, feeling disquieted as it became all too clear where this was leading.
Thoth nodded, her gaze intent. "It was you. Not a glamoured stand-in or directed illusion. I watched the light leave your eyes and felt your very soul slip from the vessel, as I have seen and felt countless iterations before. Greeting death as clearly and convincingly as you ever have. Yet here we are. Both alive and debatably well, within the same iteration." She kicked her boots up onto the table, leaning backwards precariously. "So tell me. How the hells does that happen?"