Curse of the Long-Living

0

“Rise, dragon! Raze their fortress to the ground!” Anastasia shouted as loudly as she could. The ribbons wrapped around her arms and legs, filled with power, sprang to life.

Over the battlefield streaked with smoke and fire, the ribbons folded and wove themselves into a formless shape, pulsing with energy. The body of a dragon emerged, each ridge, limb, and tooth taken from a portion of Anastasia’s ribbons. From its massive jaws, a dim orange light grew brighter and brighter. Anastasia shielded her face from the heat.

The blast could be heard from miles away. White hot fire spewed in a straight line from the dragon’s jaws. When the light died down, the snow atop the fortress had melted away and the western wall had been replaced with a gaping hole. Bits of molten stone and metal dripped from the edges.

“All soldiers, into the breach!”

1

Days had passed. Anastasia was woken up by a bump. Snow, melted and refrozen, covered the road in frozen chunks. In the nights leading up to this, she had difficulty sleeping. Cold wind seeped through the windows and the ride gave her motion sickness.

“You’re awake.” A girl with a tightly wrapped winter jacket and muffler obscuring her face called out from the corner. Her name was Maria.

“Seems that we may never arrive.” Anastasia said. “We will be out of food in a few days.”

“You should be relieved.” Maria remarked. “In spite of our circumstances, we’d still keep a noblewoman like you fed.”

Anastasia was the first of her family to be born as nobility. Her father had earned the title after fifteen years of working in the civil service for the late monarch. It was then transferred to Anastasia, as the oldest child. The system had been enacted in spite of substantial protests from the existing ruling class. It was followed by a large increase in the number of nobles on the imperial registry. Anastasia was a noble in name only, her estate consisting of little more than a patch of land where she was raised.

Maria peered out of a small window towards the driver. It plodded forward atop a horse, both a fused amalgamation of ribbons and wood. They were nothing more than a set of lifeless mannequins spurred forward by Anastasia’s will.

“If we’re out of food, that means the journey will soon be at an end.” Maria sullenly proclaimed with a smile. “Do not worry, we will arrive at daybreak.”

2

The village was similar to how Anastasia remembered it. It was her hometown. She and Maria spent their childhoods playing in the summer forests and attending festivals with the villagers. They’d known each other since they were very young, since Maria was adopted as a second child.

Somehow, the atmosphere seemed bleak, even for winter. The morning sun cast its glow on a few scattered old men, barely moving in the cold. Soon to be dead and buried, Maria thought to herself.

“We shouldn’t waste time. We’re here to see my father.” Anastasia pointed to the far side of the village. In the distance, an aged home barely large enough to denote the estate could be seen.

“We’re in no hurry,” Maria said. “After what we saw at Snowbank, perhaps we should speak to one of the locals first.”

“Did you not say there were enemies both inside and out?” Anastasia rebuffed. She twirled a strand of curled hair between her fingers.

“I did, but I know the people well, as do you. We can trust them. During the time where we do not know who to trust, allies should be kept close.”

“I’d never thought to hear an empire’s doll telling me to trust the people.”

“Now you have. Wait here.” Maria waved to Anastasia and quietly darted away.

Anastasia retreated back to the wagon and peered at the snowy landscape. It was dotted with houses fashioned out of dirt and red clay. Morning sunlight reflecting off of the freshly-fallen snow cast a bluish glow into Anastasia’s view. Some younger villagers had emerged from their homes. They briefly swept the snow off rooftops and away from the entrances to their homes.

The pair had been hastily sent off without explanation after a battle in an ongoing military campaign. A faction of eastern nobles took advantage of a number of mysterious deaths in the royal family as well as a distant blood relation to make their claim to the throne. The ensuing civil war had lasted over six months, and showed no signs of ending.

Maria’s unit played an important role in the annihilation of an enemy fortification. Anastasia burnt a hole clean through a thick stone wall while Maria and others provided support. It was strange that a soldier of her rank and Anastasia’s status should be discharged abruptly with no warning.

Maria was a special operative in service of the crown. Soldiers like her were referred to as dolls. Dolls enforced the imperial will through their skilled manipulation of the elements. Anastasia was similarly versed in these crafts, but unlike Maria, wasn’t required to swear her allegiance to the crown as part of her military service. Practically speaking, all it meant was an extra charge if Maria were to be tried for crimes.

Anastasia munched on a piece of half frozen bread, kindling a small flame in the palm of her other hand to warm it up.

“I’m back,” Maria crawled back into the wagon.

“Any news in the village?” Anastasia asked.

“Nothing good. Your father isn’t home. I fear he may never return.”

“What?” Anastasia exclaimed in a worried tone.

“Some soldiers entered and threw him into a windowless wooden cell before hauling him off,” Maria said directly. There was no use in avoiding the subject. If they’d carelessly entered the estate, they might have met the same outcome.

Anastasia put her hands up to her face to obscure her pained expression. It was a well known expression that a “dollhouse” was an empty house once inhabited by someone who’d been whisked away by dolls. A return to the dollhouse was rare.

“In any case, we must return,” Anastasia adamantly declared. “My father’s study. It likely holds some answers regarding our fates. He’s no fool. Even if he would be stricken by terrible misfortune, he’d leave us something to keep hope alive.”

“I’m pleased with your optimism. But even the bravest fighters don’t expect their death when it comes. I agree that we should search your home, but don’t expect anything more than a handful of ash and papers.”

Maria was noticeably displeased.

3

The door to the three-story home opened with hardly a sound. “There’s no one here,” Maria concluded. The home smelled of dust and was nearly as cold as the air outside.

A narrow hallway lined with rooms snaked towards the entrance alongside a flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

“It’s been some time since your father was taken. All of the doors are open. It’s likely whoever was here searched the building.”

Anastasia didn’t respond. She was resolutely focused on keeping her composure. Thoughts of loss and confusion tugged on her throat and sucked her breath away.

Maria turned to face her. She removed her frosty mittens and wrapped her snow-white arms around Anastasia’s shoulders. Maria’s bare arms were cold as ice. They offered no substantial comfort to the grieving Anastasia.

“I’m scared.” Anastasia muttered as glistening tears rolled down her cheeks. “The instant we left this town, it became a different place. I hardly recognize anyone. And you’re the only one I can speak to. I can’t call this place home anymore.”

“You’re back.”

An unknown voice softly echoed from the end of the hallway. It was shrill and scratchy, similar to a poorly maintained violin.

“Stay back!” Maria shouted and held out her bare hand. The air around her grew thick with icy flower petals, ready to engulf anyone who approached. The sharp drop in temperature sucked the air from Anastasia’s lungs.

The figure appeared around the corner and fell to the ground. It was a woman. Her dirty grey uniform was soiled with blood and dirt. Clotted blood covered their neck and a deep cut on her chest.

“Captain!” Anastasia wiped the tears with the back of her hand and rushed to the captain’s side.

“What happened?” Maria called out from beside the doorway.

“Put your petals away, Maria. It’s the captain.”

“She may have pursuers. I’ll watch the door” Maria replied. The captain’s presence made the home a dangerous place; Maria was fully aware of this.

“Don’t worry about me. Someone fired an explosive at my horse and a piece of shrapnel lodged itself in my neck on my way here. The bleeding has already stopped, but I could use some better bandages and a drink.” The captain whispered. Her expression was nonchalant, but it was clear from the lack of color in her face that her consciousness was fading.

“Your injuries. They look very serious,” Anastasia stated. She held her hand close to the captain’s neck, careful not to touch the tender flesh.

“Then take me somewhere to patch me up. And let me ride in your wagon.”

The captain’s name was Fyodora Yavokhaev. It was a mouthful, so even those ranking above her referred to her by “captain”. She held the rank of captain. Not long ago, she led Maria’s platoon at Snowbank.

“Someone is approaching!” Maria glared at the two. “The wagon is in the back. We’ll leave through the other side.”

“Understood.” Anastasia grabbed an arm and tried to hoist the captain’s full weight on her body. Her small frame struggled to move under the extra weight.

“I can walk. Just lend me your shoulder,” the captain responded. The two of them limped down the hallway and disappeared around the corner.

A tall, slender man in overbearing formal dress approached the front entrance, putting one foot in front of another. While the tassels on his shoulder pads and officer’s cap suggested one of high rank, his casual gait suggested otherwise.

“Ha…” he breathed a white breath into his gloves. “Hello, Maria.”

He turned to look Maria in the eye. His eyes were a web of gold and black, irises deeply set like spiders trapped in a marble. Enduring his stare was enough to make her dizzy.

Maria clenched her teeth and furrowed her brow. His mental assault blurred her vision, but his silhouette remained visible through Maria’s half-conscious eyes.

“Hm!” Maria uttered a command without opening her mouth. The frozen flower petals surrounded the man in a beautiful blizzard, whizzing past as they etched thousands of tiny cuts in his flesh. At his feet, a pool of crimson blood extended and froze upon contact with the frigid ground.

The frozen flower petals cleared to expose the remains of the man’s body. It was unrecognizable as human. Chunks of flesh and gore scattered atop a layer of red-stained snow. Bits of bone and disconnected arteries poked out of the mangled mass.

“…”

The mound of flesh quivered and shook. Skin, teeth, and eyes pulled together and rearranged. The man's head pieced itself together, first eyes and mouth, followed by the rest of the skull, and finally ears, nose, and skin. His dark hair, wide smile, and uncanny black-gold eyes sat atop the leftover pile of ruined remains. He wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Could you wait to hear what I have to say before resorting to violence?” The man’s head exclaimed.

“Why aren’t you regenerating the rest of your body?” Maria asked. “It should be easy for you.”

“It's cold. My frozen blood ignores my command. For now, I’m just a head. I pose no threat.” the man said. He raised the edges of his mouth in a fake smile. Once he finished with this girl, he could return to the task of piecing himself together.

“So, what did you come here for? To use our captain as bait so you could arrest us all?”

“If I had wanted that I wouldn’t have come alone.”

The man blinked and his eyes were replaced with normal brown ones. Discounting the fact that he was a lone head propped upright, passerby might mistake him for an ordinary traveler. “The girl’s father is dead. There’s nothing left in the home that hasn’t been taken or destroyed. Everyone in your unit besides you three was executed on suspicion of treason.”

Maria stared at him, motionless. Her dull blue eyes trained intently on his rat-like face.

“Go to the capital. There’s a councilor named Reshevsky there who has all of your answers. Tell him that you were sent there by his student. His least talented, laziest student.” the man said with a slight chuckle.

Maria stood up and put her mittens back on. “I’ll give you my thanks. I’d never thought an abyssal like you could show kindness.” Maria turned around to leave.

“Wait! Could you put me next to a fire?” The man cried out.

Maria didn’t respond and disappeared down the hallway, leaving the door open.

4

The three sat around a fire. Anastasia had gathered an abundance of kindling and fuel, so the fire blazed with life. In the presence of the brisk evening winds, it left the ground they sat on moist and warm. The group sat at least a meter away to avoid sparks searing holes in their clothing. After a bit of struggle, Maria had washed and dressed the captain’s wounds on her neck and torso. Most of her upper body was wrapped in bandages, leaving only her hands and face exposed.

Anastasia curled her arms around her knees and placed her chin atop them as she sat on the ground. Since gaining her regular voice back, the captain had spared no time in spilling everything she knew.

Since the capture of a long-held enemy fortress at Snowbank, the captain had left their unit’s celebratory dinner to attend an urgent meeting. There she received an order to capture and dispose of her entire unit, except for her second, Maria. She sent them away quietly to avoid rousing suspicion. However, when it was noticed that two wagons were missing and there were no bodies, she was captured and thrown into an interrogation room. She poked out the eye of one of her captors and convinced the other to aid her escape. She then stole a horse and rode off but was injured in the process. She knew little about what the charges on her unit were, but she never had a chance to ask about it.

“So that’s it. We’re wanted by the crown, and don’t know why.” Anastasia concluded.

“We know a few things. It's supposedly treason. I had that much from our pursuer,” Maria replied.

“Oh? That’s new. I’d never heard about that from the old stand-up.” the captain remarked.

“You knew the abyssal?” Maria asked with a surprised expression. “If you did, why’d he leave you for dead?”

“Ask an abyssal for help, and you’ll find them strangely unwilling. Tell them you don’t need their services, and you’ll find them at your doorstep every morning, asking for something to do.”

“So he’s an ally who doesn’t offer his aid.” said Anastasia sourly. “The point of that is?”

“He also doesn’t offer aid to anyone else. And just like what he told Maria, he comes and goes and tells us useful things. He might also tell enemies useful things, so you could call him everyone’s friend. Or everyone’s enemy.”

“And we’re the ones being arrested for treason.” Maria humorously stated.

“Yes, we are.”

“That’s not the only thing he told me. Captain, does he have a name?” Maria asked.

“I think he calls himself Canary. He goes by Ivan in the registry.”

“Understood, I’ll call him Canary then. He recommended we find a Councilor Reshevsky in the capital,” Maria said.

“That's the High Councilor for you. There’s only a handful.” The captain replied with a smirk. “Getting an audience with him isn’t going to be easy, nor do we have any reason to trust him. Plus, the capital is about two months away by horse.”

“I believe that to be better than freezing to death or waiting for a squad of dolls to murder us in our sleep.” Anastasia shot back. “We may as well head south and get away from some of the snow.”

“I agree with her.” Maria said. “We can get in some sightseeing. I’ve always wanted to travel off of the main road.” She smiled.

5

The man laid under the full moon, exhausted. After more than twelve hours of basking in the frigid air, he was finally whole.

“That kid…” He muttered to himself. He knew Maria had a short fuse, but expected a warning. While he had grown somewhat used to the icy climate, he was completely naked. His body wasn’t the only thing Maria had torn to shreds.

Canary stumbled along the road in his shoes. Those were the only things Maria hadn’t touched. His horse was parked on a path loading into the village. It wasn’t his, but the one the captain had left behind when she rode off with the two fugitives.

A wave of unease washed over him as he approached the horse. It laid motionless on the ground. He noticed the frozen blood that had long stopped flowing from its neck formed a wide pattern at the side of the road. The horse’s head was lifeless, its eyes frozen over and not a whisper of breath escaped its mouth.

“Damn it!” Canary shouted into the woods at the side of the road. No answer. It was time to return to the village. Waking up as breakfast to a pack of wild dogs was wholly undesirable. He turned around. The horse he’d ridden to this village was dead, and now the horse he was planning to ride out of the village was dead. A mysterious horse-killer had to dwell here. Such a thing was certain.

The horse's body shifted and moved. A shadowy figure no taller than a small child stood up from the carcass. His arms hung limply to his sides, brushing against the ground as he walked. His skin was deathly pale and his body was covered in a feathered jacket that stretched to his knees.

Canary took a step back. The man’s empty black eye sockets peered back in the place of eyes. For the first time in many years, Canary recalled a sensation that he had long forgotten: the fear of death. The man’s head turned, twisting around until he could see the skin of the man’s neck straining then tearing from the tension. It extended farther and farther outward, connected by sinewy tissue oozing black sludge.

He ran. It was hardly believable that a knife or sword would defeat such a creature. Rows of trees like spindly hands encroached upon each side of the narrow forest road.

He felt a brief sigh of relief as his footsteps were the only ones reverberating into the forest. That relief quickly melted away as he turned around. No matter how far he was to run, like a mirage, the distance between them was getting smaller, inch by inch. Its rotten, yellowed teeth with wide spaces between them clicked together as the creature closed in on its prey.

The village came into view. In the depth of night, only a single yellow light emanated from the main square.

“Quick! Get behind me.” A raspy voice called out to him. It was an old man, a real one. His skin pulsed with life and his eyes twinkled in the dim light cast by a glass lantern at the end of a stick.

Canary passed him and stopped, catching his breath with his hands on his knees. The ghastly creature stayed at the edge of the village, stopping at a burnt-out lamp post. The old man stepped closer to it, waving his lantern to expose it to light. It recoiled and melted away, releasing the sound of dust blowing in the wind.

“I’d never had the chance to talk to you,” the old man said. “I’ve seen you sneaking around the village. What’s your name? What are you doing here?”

6

The inside of the hut was composed of stone bricks with wooden beams running along the corners and ceiling. “Welcome to my house. Cover yourself with this.” The man handed Canary a woven straw sheet. He fought an urge to scratch as its rough surface brushed against the skin of his bare legs. The two of them sat on a pair of rocking chairs facing a stone fireplace. A quiet flame burned inside, casting long shadows against the walls.

The old man set down his lantern beside him. Taking a closer look, Canary noticed the web of wrinkles running along his bald head and sunken eye sockets. The faint bristles covering his face and chin suggested he shaved every couple days.

“You never answered my question,” the old man said.

“Ivan. I came here to find an associate of mine.” Canary used his human name. “They’ve got something that’s important to me, and I came here to get it back. But they’re gone, and I’ve got no way to leave the village.”

“Hm? Then how’d you get here?”

“A horse. A dead horse.”

“Ah. Those ghouls will do that to any livestock they get their hands on.” The man replied with a chuckle. “I’m Yair. The oldest villager, and the only thing standing in between you and the terrors that roam the night.” He held out his hand.

“Thanks for your help, but I have to go. There’s no time to lose.” Canary declared.

“Stay the night, at least. You’ve got nothing to gain by venturing out naked in the cold.” Yair took a look at his naked upper body and sighed. “My clothes won’t fit you, but I can find you something to wear that doesn’t leave you looking like a street performer.

Canary sat back down and reclined in his seat. “Do you have any family?”

“Ha! They’re all dead.”

“You sound surprisingly happy about it.”

“I might not look like it, but I’ve been living here for…” Yair paused and tried to remember. “When was Katarina crowned?”

“More than a hundred years ago.”

“I was about forty when that happened. It was the last time a royal procession came through here,” Yair recalled. He grabbed a wooden bottle lying above the fireplace and took a long sip. “My descendants lived long lives and died peacefully. Most of them, anyways. I’ve got no cause to mourn.”

Canary licked his lips to realize that his throat was parched. He held out his hand and Yair handed him the bottle. He braced for a foul-tasting alcoholic drink but relaxed when all that touched his tongue was water. A bit stale, perhaps, but still water.

“I’d never thought humans would start acting like us after long enough.” Canary remarked.

“You speak like you aren’t one of us.”

“Because I’m not.” Canary revealed his black-gold eyes and looked back at Yair. His eyes briefly widened in surprise, then retreated back to their relaxed position.

“Ah. So that’s why the ghouls seem active lately.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“They hunger for life, especially the long-living. They likely killed your horses smelling the scent of one.”

“So how should I leave? Won’t they pursue me until I stop to rest?” Canary asked condescendingly. Even the thought of the sickly creatures was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

“Leave at first light and reach a clearing before sundown. They can’t leave the forest and sunlight burns their flesh. If you want, I’ll prepare a few supplies for your journey. I’ve got no use for them, anyways.”

“Thanks, old man.” Canary smiled and took another drink of water.