The Song of Roland Ch. 25

Severed nerves burned like molten fire as her sliced veins wept red tears down on her face, nearly blinding her. Kelsea clung to the blade for dear life, her strength negated by Triss' superior leverage. The blade slid in a slow, diagonal slice down her palm, moving towards an inexorable contact with her exposed throat.

"S-stop..." Kelsea gritted out, clinging desperately to the last tendrils of her human psyche as her demonic will took hold. "Please..." Triss said nothing, her haggard breath spilling out of her nostrils as she shoved against the Demon's grip with all her might.

At last, unable to hold back any longer, Kelsea unleashed herself.

Her conscious mind descended into a deep place. Her body moved of its own accord. Her free hand came up, striking Triss in the chest, lifting her into the air and back down from the force of the impact. She knocked the wind from the mercenary's lungs, just enough to turn the death struggle decisively in her favor.

Heedless of either injury or pain, the Demon grabbed the sword edge near the tip with her free hand, digging both palms into the blade for leverage as she ripped it free from Triss' grasp. With a snarl she threw it away, seizing the larger woman by the collar and throwing her down onto the ground next to her.

Kelsea rolled, coming atop her struggling prey. She pinned her to the ground, watching with a predator's eye as Triss made a pathetic attempt to escape her grasp. A sense of triumph wriggled through her gut, her mind reveling in the adulating whispers that encouraged her to finish what she'd started.

Take her. Break her! Make her feel your pain!

She has failed, she is yours now.

You have won.

Kelsea leaned in close, blood dripping from her shoulder and staining Triss' surcoat with red from her ruined hands. She stared deep into Triss' eyes, eyes that looked up at her with undisguised fear. Her lips stretched wide in a malicious smile.

Good, she thought. She should be afraid. Triss was-

She... she was-

Kelsea paused, her mind reeled with confusion.

What... was she...?

The squirming of her prey snapped her back to the present. She could not let this morsel slip away, not if she wished to help the town. She could not kill Triss -

...She couldn't?

No... no! She couldn't! She needed her for-

Wait, what did she need her for? Why had she stopped? The hunger was calling. She wanted to feed. The hex in her gut twinged a dire warning.

Roland.

She had to protect Roland. He... he would never forgive her if she killed his friend. But Triss would ruin everything if she just let her go.

Yes, this was for the best.

This was the only remaining option.

"Look into my eyes." Kelsea whispered, her voice taking on a peculiar, sing-song quality. Triss' impotent struggles grew all the more desperate. But the Demon would not be dissuaded. "Look at me. I need you to look at me."

Triss looked at her. She fell into the soothing glow of Kelsea's gaze. The Demon drew her in, watching with perverse pleasure as her would-be rival's expression slackened, and her eyes went dull.

"That's it." Kelsea whispered, her blood-caked fingernails curling across the scar on Triss' cheek. "Easy now. I don't want to hurt you."

How effortless it was, how simple it was when she did things this way. Why had she waited so long to try this? Hadn't life been so much easier when it was just her and her servants journeying together? Why did she ever bother trying to-

"TRISS!"

It took the booming roar of Roland's voice to yank Kelsea back from the brink of madness.

Startled, the Demon turned. There Roland stood at the top of the stairs, staring at her with a crazed look in his eye. He was resplendent, clad in form-fitting leather armor like some hero of a forgotten age. His white cloak billowed out behind him as the breeze kicked up, his long strands of red hair buffeted in the air. But the look on his face was that of utter horror.

His eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. They were so expressive; she could almost hear the wordless language in them as they took in the scene of a bloodied, half-naked Demon, hunched atop his motionless friend.

"Triss!" He shouted again, rushing forward. "Gods above, get off of her!"

He rushed forward, moving to draw his sword. Then, he faltered.

"...Kelsea?"

Whatever fevered spell had taken hold of Kelsea in the midst of her mortal peril faded away. She looked down at her hands, staring with a strange detachment at the deep furrows cut between them. Blood poured from her palms, coating the snow beneath her with dripping, crimson waterfalls. She could see bone.

"R-Roland." She managed out, unable to comprehend what had just happened. She was trembling like a leaf.

Dazed, the former mortal only half-felt Roland's gentle touch upon her shoulder as he pulled her off her foe. She fell onto her side, revealing the mess of blood that covered her chest and arms.

He picked her up off the ground and hefted her into his arms. Those warm, comforting arms. She wished she could fall asleep in his embrace... but such things were beyond her now. Kelsea felt his fear, his shock and dismay lurking in the forefront of his mind. It was worse than the pain.

She had hurt him. She knew she had. She'd harmed them both.

"Fuck!" Roland said, his voice rising an octave. "Fuck! What have you done, is she-?"

"S-she's alive." Kelsea groaned, gritting her teeth as Roland's fingers traced across the gaping wound in her shoulder. The stabbing needles in her chest now felt like they'd been dipped in fire.

"...What have you done?" She heard him ask again, but his dim voice was all but lost in the whirling cold.

There was shouting in the distance. And the tolling of a bell. Snow kicked up into Kelsea's face, and she had to blink repeatedly to clear her hazy vision.

"I-I... I-" she babbled. Roland set her down gently. She felt his presence leave her for a moment as he went to see Triss. Kelsea whimpered in helpless fear.

After all that struggle, and he still... wanted-

She wasn't thinking clearly. Her wounds were already starting to mend, but it would take time for even her hellish constitution to regenerate from such grievous injury. Time they did not have. She could hear the shouting growing closer. Others had been altered to the commotion on the wall. The Gods only knew how or why Roland had been the first to find them.

"I... have to go." Kelsea said, lifting herself with a gasp of pain up off the ground. Her hands screamed in protest as she used the half-severed palms to push herself up, her legs nearly giving out on her as she rose unsteadily to her feet.

"What?" Roland said, his stricken gaze turning in her direction with preternatural quickness. "Stay still, you're still in-"

"There's no time, Roland." Kelsea replied. She gestured to herself, to her blood-soaked robes, now little more than rags. Her left breast was exposed, and her demonic appearance was on full display beneath the ruined fabric. Blood was splattered everywhere. There would be no concealing what had happened, no paltry explanations that could hope to cover the scope of their confrontation.

So be it. Let her be the monster once more. Roland could lie, divert all blame to her.

At least he would be...

"Kelsea don't." Roland said, his voice shaking, but she would not be dissuaded. She took hold of her ragged robe, ripping them free from her body in one, smooth movement, exposing her true form. Nude, she tossed them to the winds, letting the breeze carry them off the wall. It felt good to be free once more.

Kelsea smiled, staring at Roland for a long moment, savoring the last sight of him as he sat, frozen over Triss' insatiate form. Footsteps pounded up the stone staircase behind them, voices shouting as orange torchlight dawned above the crest of the stairs.

Kelsea looked out to the distant sky, spotting a tiny speck circling in the distance. Night was falling, it would be black as pitch soon. She had many leagues to go, yet.

"I love you." She whispered, knowing he would hear, even if the wind carried her words far from mortal hearing.

Then she mounted the crenellations, and leapt headlong off the wall.

The wind whipped past her ears as she plummeted, whatever final shout Roland had yelled after her being lost to the wind. She hit the snowbank below with a loud thud, her superhuman strength allowing her to mostly absorb the impact. Compared to the knife wounds, it was barely noticeable. She stood, her legs still wobbly and her head swimming from the loss of blood.

But this was no time to stop moving. Voices rose in panic from the wall above, a half dozen or more. She was just ahead of them. Every second she wasted was another chance to be discovered, to be identified. She could only hope that Roland would think of a plan to explain himself once she was gone.

Kelsea lurched to her feet, stumbling the first few steps as she found her footing in the snow. The yawning gaps in the outer gate called to her, charred remnants of the old palisade burned to a crisp in the earlier battle to make holes for the Imps to flood through. Now, they were her salvation.

"Succubus!" Came Roland's voice from the wall, "She's been attacked by a gods-damned Succubus!"

Kelsea suppressed a pained smile as she forced herself to move, her lithe form and preternatural speed giving her an edge in the immediate moments after her discovery. He was always so clever, her Roland. Always quick to turn a tragic circumstance into an unexpected advantage. She could only hope her sacrifice was enough.

More shouting, Kelsea made for the nearest opening in the wall with all haste, her bare feet stomping through snowdrifts as she hurried past the burned husks of farms. How hard they'd all fought, how desperate their defense had been... Kelsea would miss this place and it's people dearly. It had become a sort of home to her.

Blood still dripped from her hands and chest, flowing in long trails onto the snow. She was leaving an easy trail for them to follow, but there was little that could be done about that now. She had to run.

More shouting from the wall. Kelsea could hear a chorus of voices from the battlements, more than just Roland's. She glanced back, seeing only black shadows and blinding torchlight shifting back and forth across the walls' pinnacle in the evening light.

Panting, Kelsea leapt over the blackened stumps of wood that had once been part of the outer cloister's stockade, scurrying forth into the woods with a swiftness that surprised even herself. Freed from the limitations of her mortal companions, she was able to cover far longer distances in a shorter time than she thought was even possible.

She soon lost sight of the village, her vision narrowing down to the trees around her and the vague, near-instinctive sensation of the Harpy in the far distance. She ran for some time, mounting toppled logs and pushing past thick brush with the haste of a hunted beast.

At least her beloved pet might help find her safe refuge for the night, enough time for her to get her bearings and recover from her injuries. Then all that was left was to figure out how to return to Roland's-

Kelsea came to a slow halt, her footsteps petering out as she felt her spine stiffen. Something felt... wrong. The air was frigid.

She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be cold.

Kelsea began to shiver uncontrollably. Her skin prickled with goosebumps. The hapless Demon felt a fresh resurgence of the hex's power twinge deep in her gut.

No. Not now. Gods above, not now!

A fell breeze caressed her cheek, and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. She nearly fell to her knees from the sensation, and had to lean against a nearby pine for support. Kelsea stood there, clutching at her chest for several minutes, panting.

Her blurring vision was drawn towards a vague, shifting shadow to her left, sheltering against a nearby pine.

The figure stepped forward from the darkness as if he had been birthed from nothing. The edges of his ebony smock fluttered in the breeze, a grim smile upon his face. His hands spread wide in a gesture of welcome.

It was Bogdan, the Death Priest.

"...Hello again, child of Amphara." He said, his voice carrying through the trees all around her with a strength that went far beyond a mere echo. "I have been waiting for you."

Kelsea gasped in air, her breath coming out in unsteady bursts as her vision focused and unfocused. Compared to the knife wound this new, stinging agony in her stomach was far worse. She tried to lurch forward, but nearly tripped on her own feet.

"W-what are you doing out here?" She asked, too exhausted from her ordeal to bother with niceties.

Bogdan did not answer. He moved with an ephemeral glide; wraithlike in the dim light. He crossed the distance between them without the slightest crunch of his shoes upon the frozen earth, nor the crinkle of dead leaves underfoot. The priest came to within a dozen paces of her, then stopped.

"Why... are you here?" Kelsea asked again, her voice fading away to feeble nothingness as the hex's insidious grip stole the very breath from her lungs. She was helpless, and they both knew it. Bogdan's eyes traced across her naked, shuddering form.

"Serendipity." He replied, a soft grin gracing his thin lips.

He looked haggard; dark circles shrouded the priest's eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days. He clasped his hands behind his back, swaying gently on his feet like a tree, teetering on the edge of toppling.

"...Can you feel it, Demon?" He whispered, his cadaver smile stretching wide across his face as the wind picked up in the shadowed canopy above. "Fate. It weaves its threads though these ancient pines, as thick and viscous as honey."

Kelsea took a step back, clutching at her wounded shoulder as it throbbed with newfound pain. Something in the Volkhv's nonsensical rambling gave her pause, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"-And now you have come to me, as the dream foretold." He nodded to her, "Wounded like a warrior, naked as a squalling babe. It all makes sense now: you are the sufferer I was sent to seek out. Curious."

The icy breeze blew back Kelsea's hair, whipping it around behind her. Yet there he stood mere feet away: becalmed within a snowstorm. The very air stilled about his person.

"W-what... what rot are you s-speaking?" She asked, her breathing growing more and more unsteady by the moment. Her right eye was twitching; it was getting harder and harder to hear out of her ear. "Who sent you?"

"Do you not know?" Bogdan's thin, wavy locks of grey hair floated like gossamer strands in the air, his hollow eyes staring with undisguised delight into Kelsea's own. He held his hands out, gesturing to her as though he were preaching. "This place, this mountaintop... it is sacred; a confluence of divinity. Who else could have brought us to this pivotal moment?"

"Y-you're speaking in tongues." Kelsea said, staggering to one side. She only just caught her balance. The world was starting to spin. "I didn't come here for- you." She added, taking a second step back.

It was... so hard to move.

Bogdan shook his head. "No. You did not. And yet, here I am."

A pit entered her stomach. Kelsea cast a worried glance back in the direction of the village, but there were no signs of pursuit. In fact...

Where were her footprints? Her trail was gone. All trace of her dripping blood was swept clean from the snow, stretching off into the hoary mist behind her. It was as if she'd been standing here for hours.

The Demon turned back to face the Death Priest. "What do you... want from me?" She asked, tensing in place. She had to resist the impulse of her body to seize up. Liurial's hex was rising like a torrent in her chest, threatening to choke the life out of her.

"I have no idea." Bogdan said with a shrug, "It is not my place to comprehend, only to act."

"Stay away from me." Kelsea said, fear tinging her wavering voice. "I'll... have nothing from you."

The Volkhv did not quail when she raised her ruined hand, blue fire crackling on her trembling fingertips. If anything, he seemed amused by her desperate defiance. The fire sputtered out as quickly as it came as she began to shake from head to toe.

"There is no choice to be found here, child. All must act their part in the celestial panoply." He said, stepping forward. "For what it's worth: the task I must now perform is odious to me as well."

"And... what would that be?" Kelsea croaked out through dry and wavering lips. Her right eyelid fluttered like a hummingbird. She could no longer see out of it. Her brow clenched as she tried to maintain focus.

She... had to stay conscious.

A terrible feeling, akin to a cresting wave washed over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound issued forth. Her vision went black. She felt herself falling, but never suffered the landing.

A voice, a terrible, inhuman voice, whispered like shivering icicles in her ear.

"I must give you a reprieve from Horax's embrace."

Darkness. Pain. Not in her shoulder, but in her gut. In her forehead. Throbbing, stabbing, aching, biting.

She was too cold and too hot, too weak and overtaxed. When she came to, she was shivering, huddled in the thin, skeletal arms of Bogdan.

He was walking. The wind was still. She could see snowflakes drifting in cold silence down from the canopy above. One brushed across her face, and she felt it wet her cheek.

"Where are you taking me?" She whispered.

Bogdan spared a glance down at her, his dark eyes softening, as if with pity.

"Home." He answered.

Kelsea's head swam as her vision came in and out. She lost consciousness again.

Silence. Deathly silence.

After an indeterminate time, her mind rose to the surface again, and she peeked her eyes open. She was so cold. Shivers wracked her body. All around her, she could see gravestones.

"Gods," She wondered in her fevered delirium, "am I to be buried?"

"In a manner of speaking." Bogdan said.

"I... hope mother can forgive me." Kelsea muttered. "I've nothing to pay for my plot."

"Calm yourself, child. We are nearly there."

With no energy left to resist, Kelsea went limp. Her brow knitted together as a fresh wave of pain coursed through her. Her thoughts reeled back and forth between past and present as memories flitted across her mind, shifting and molding and merging together in a confusing blur. None of it made any sense.

At one point, she gazed up at the indistinct image of the person carrying her, and thought it might be Roland... or maybe Grevich. Perhaps it was even her estranged mother, carrying her to bed after another one of her sickness spells.

"...Why?" She asked them all, not really expecting an answer.

She closed her eyes, then opened the left one again. Her right lid refused to cooperate. Kelsea was being lowered into something; something cramped and confining. She laid flat on her back, her arms crossed over her chest. Kelsea weakly lifted her head, but could only see black wood paneling all around. Above her, grey stonework. It was so quiet here, as if the world itself had been struck deaf.

Her vision swam; tears welled up as she felt a fresh wave of pain roll over her. The Priest peered down at her, his face a grim mask. He put a pale, bony finger to his lips.

"Shhhh." Bogdan said.

The coffin lid slammed shut, and she was plunged into utter darkness.