“To be a Crusader is to follow orders,” he whispers out the side of his mouth to me. “If you want to make the cut for the unit—”
“You know I do,” I hiss.
“Then don’t think about whatever has infested your mind. Just do as you’re told.”
A low growl escapes me, but fortunately it’s only loud enough for Dimitri to hear.
“If that’s all, before we set out, I’m told some of you lost your necro-ink in the catacombs. Now, I understand that those were…extenuating circumstance, but in the future, do be sure to hold on to your ink. It is a limited resource.”
He holds up three necklaces with black vials attached, and me and two other recruits go to him. Alphonse hands the first two vials to the others with a pleasant nod, but when he loops mine over my head, he comes close to my ear.
“Don’t lose it again,” he growls, and a moment later, he’s standing tall again, an air of importance about him as he addresses me and the recruits. “This is the true testament to your skills and training. Those who survive this mission will become Crusaders in a few days’ time. Those who don’t will become our next batch of necro-ink.”
My stomach sours at his callousness, but it shouldn’t surprise me. He doesn’t care about us. All he wants is to impress his father when he arrives. He wants his catacomb rich with necro-ink and bodies to be harvested, he wants his arsenal stocked for the next generation of recruits. Since he still hasn’t brought down the Primordial Qaeus, these are the only things he has to make himself feel important.
Alphonse twirls his hand in the air. “However, there is one more purpose. Those of you who return to Nigh bearing a gift for the Shadow Crusade—a discovered vial of necro-ink, a retrieved shadowsteel weapon—you will be selected as a member of a new unit of Crusaders, the very one to be led by Captain Eparah.”
Dimitri and I exchange a look.
“So, be vigilant in your time in Ashenvale. It will define the rest of your service to Arcathain.”
The necro-ink still feels wet where I placed it. Anything else would’ve dried by now and begun to crust away with the slightest change in my expression. But this stuff, sticky as tar, prevails in its liquid nature.
I shouldn’t be thinking about it though. My mind should be void of anything other than the quiet shadows around us, the whispers of the trees as the wind blows through their blackened leaves, and the soft sounds of our feet as we slink through the devastated land of the Shadowthorn.
We spent all day yesterday walking through obliterated fields and demolished villages until we reached a burrow where the Crusaders rest for the evening.
Prior to our arrival in Nigh, I never even knew sleeping in the Shadowthorn was possible. I’d always imagined the place to be so heavily crawling with shadowcreatures, so wrought with danger, that it would be impossible to rest for so much as a drink of water, let alone to catch some sleep. But, in the weeks since we arrived, nearing two months now, we’ve been taught how to camp in the Shadowthorn safely. The prepping begins well before entering the Primordial’s territory, and Alphonse came well prepared. One of the many useful items packed in his burlap sacks were jars of meat soaked in brine. The solution ensured that the meat wouldn’t go bad, and the airtight jars concealed the scent so that none of the demons would smell the carcass.
At least, not until we wanted them to.
Sleeping in the Shadowthorn is apparently a simple feat as long as flanks of meat are rigged in varying locations a safe distance away from the real meal—us—and as long as an adequate shelter is built, one that relies on tree branches to conceal it underground. The Crusaders have made this trip so often that they already had one made.
The night passed relatively quiet, aside from the yowls we heard in the distance when one of the slabs of meat was found.
I slept as well as I could.
Today though, I woke up more unnerved than before. Every step we take deeper into the hazy darkness feels like we are walking straight into Qaeus’ maw. I’ve never been this far into the Shadowthorn before, never thought I’d find myself this deep willingly. And still, we push farther. It goes against every natural instinct in my body to keep going. We know the dangers that lurk ahead, and we know that we’re only putting more distance between us and the safety we had in Arcathain.
This is the life we chose. If I’m lucky, there will come a time when I feel more at home in the Shadowthorn than I do back at Nigh. I’ll have lived through so many expeditions that I’ll know this place as well as the Crusaders guiding us now do.
“It’s just up ahead,” Eparah calls over her shoulder.
I’ve never seen her like this before, so grave and vigilant. It’s nothing like the warmth I’m used to feeling from her, and if my interest wasn’t so suddenly piqued to see the state of Ashenvale, I might’ve wondered how the Shadowthorn will leave its mark on me, as well.
“Be alert,” she continues. “The demons know we return here frequently. It’s very likely they patrol this village regularly so remember to move quietly, and keep your eyes trained on the shadows.”
My throat becomes the dusty parchment of the forgotten books in Nigh’s ancient library. Sneaking a glance behind me, I spy Silver. Fear takes hold of her in more blatant displays. Her bottom lip trembles when we walk through the main gate of the town. I wonder if she’s able to find any comfort in having Güthric by her side, or if she’s too far away to even notice him standing beside her, watching her like his gentle, giant heart is breaking.
My frightful, skittish eyes rove over the derelict houses and buildings around us, the rafters collapsed and the doors thrown wide. Still, Ashenvale looks nowhere near as devastated as I expected it to. For reasons unknown to logic, I thought the place would be in flames, smoke still rising from where the shops had scorched during the scourge. I thought the streets would be littered with the decayed bodies of the forgotten, the poor souls who couldn’t escape in time, and the ones the Shadow Crusade were trying to retrieve. At the very least, I expected to have to step over hundreds of scattered bones, the discarded remnants of whatever was left after the demons had their feast.
But the streets of Ashenvale are bare, the air crisp, if not a little earthy. This place is so vacant, it doesn’t even look like anyone ever lived here. I see no stalls, no abandoned carts of fruit that have long since rotted, no shops full of linens to be purchased or bartered, and no horses in the corral.
Ashenvale has been thoroughly gutted, by demon and man alike. I can’t imagine there’s much left to be scavenged here.
Once we’re a fair way inside the village, Alphonse slows, bringing the rest of us to a halt behind him.
“Here,” he says, clearly speaking to the Crusaders among us. “Take two recruits each, scavenge what you can, and return here within the hour.” They nod all around, but he tightens his voice. “Do I make myself clear? One hour. No more.”
“Should you come across—” Eparah pauses like she can’t quite find the right word from too many horrors to choose from. She eventually settles on, “Anything, call for aid. If you’re too far out, send someone back and stand your ground until your brethren can find you.”