Dragonslayer, Inc.
Chapter XXII- Evening Twilight

The following events in my life can be best told through the story of three twilights:

First Twilight

It had been a few days since our encounter with Arge’s army. We hadn’t moved much because of the injuries suffered by the aunt-like Slayer. Nevertheless, we were on a good track because of our racing away from the loyalists, as well as the simple fact that riding horses is faster than walking.

We were closing in on the north, and beyond that, Curam. The upper lip of the land dipped southward. There was only a hundred miles between the shore and the northern tip of Rolar. Because of the undulating nature of the terrain, we had to meander north and south as we made our way east, toward the center of the continent. When we reached Miyok Forest, we would turn back north and hike another couple hundred miles to the base of Curam. But Miyok Forest was a long way away.

Walking a tightrope is difficult. That’s why it impresses people. Walking a tightrope in harsh crosswinds with the sun in your eye, then having to leap through the air and land on another tightrope is borderline impossible, and that’s what it felt like we were doing, but there was no applause for us, no commendations. There was only the knowledge that were getting ever so slightly closer to Icithan.

I think I’ve made clear why it was not optimal to get too close to the desert- I’m surprised Arge made it through- but the northern desert is the worst. Pits of quicksand and hyperaggressive vultures are abundant, but neither is the biggest issue, which in itself is telling. There are more horrors there than can be enumerated.

It has been desert the longest. When it turned, cries went out, but they went unanswered by the masses, and the situation deteriorated. That the desert spread so far so rapidly should not cover the extent to which its origins have suffered. It’s a haunted wasteland, filled with building splinters and bones, and the sand refuses to stick together, making travel nearly impossible even if you’re enough of a miracle worker to not encounter its worst features.

What is its worst feature? Dust storms: angry, overwhelming dust storms that are ten times as blinding as the worst blizzard and a hundred times as painful. Of all the threats I listed, they are the most serious. We took great care to avoid them, running directly north if there was even a miniscule chance one was heading our way.

We tried not to run too far though. The threat poised by the northern shore was arguably worse. This was not a normal waterfront.

This was Firecane Bay, and we were sure to stay away from it.

Firecanes are, to put it simply, fiery hurricanes. Volcanic gas is swirled around by fast-moving warm air before bursting into flame. The original flame is typically the size of a small dog and does not pose a serious threat. However, the winds that helped birth it prove to be effective parents, nurturing it into an inferno.

This is known as flying fire, and it is devastating, but not every instance of flying fire constitutes a firecane. Flying fire can occur without the presence of a hurricane, however flying fire that is the product of a hurricane is much worse. The winds are faster, stronger, longer-lasting and more widespread, so the flying fire itself is faster, stronger, longer-lasting, and more widespread. You would hope that the storm rains would douse the fire, but that doesn’t happen. The fire floats on top of the storm. Like most children, it both cares for its parents and disobeys them. The flying fire never removes itself from the storm, but it randomly strikes down from above, taking a hedonistic glee in the devastation it wreaks.

When the storm crashes into shore, the fire destabilizes and descends, turning darker in the process until it flashes between blood-maroon and pitch-black. This is where most of its destruction comes from. The hurricane itself causes a good deal of damage, as every hurricane that is strong enough to sustain flying fire is fearsome on its own merits, but then the fire breaks across the shore and makes what came before look like cakewalk, child’s play, practice, a warm-up.

It is though the apocalypse has come, and the world is going to end.

There is nothing more intimidating and infuriating than a firecane. Rare and unpredictable, they are the stuff of myth. I didn’t believe they were real. How naïve I was.

“That’s impossible,” I said when Machen brought up the possibility of us getting struck by one. “Hurricanes can’t catch fire. It’s utter nonsense made up by early explorers who didn’t know what they were talking about. They saw hurricanes at sunrise or sunset and thought they were on fire, or thought they looked like they were on fire. It’s an area to watch out for, yeah, but we’re not gonna be burned to death. Don’t panic. Don’t freak out. We need to be concerned, but we don’t need to be afraid.”

I felt my muscles tense up, as though there were the slightest nerve in my brain that doubted what I was saying, but I felt like a leader. I felt like I was inspiring my fellow Slayers, helping them better deal with the pressures of the journey.

“It’s not impossible, and you do need to be afraid,” said Ironwall vigilantly, shooting me down. He spoke briskly, as though he had a limited amount of time to release this information. “Firecanes are real, and they are deadly. Hopefully, none of us will die, but the chance of mortality is far greater if one or more of us is not aware of what’s at stake. Let me say with absolute clarity that firecanes are the worst menace known to this world. Likely, we won’t run into one, but on the off chance that we do, please don’t let your guard down. You’ve come this far. Don’t let your journey end here.”

Those words came back to me at the end of the day. We had stopped for the night on a windswept moor. There was no foliage and no animal life, but it was warm. The hot winds that form firecanes were blowing in from the north and from the east. They were bad omens, but I welcomed them with open arms. It was the warmest I had felt since leaving Natura.

We took turns taking care of the aunt-like Slayer. There wasn’t much we could do, but we tried our best.

Ironwall took the longest turns by far. He didn’t want to leave her side. There was gentle empathy in his eyes, but there was steely determination too. As the sun set, there was little doubt he cared more for her life than his own. When I called for dinner, he didn’t respond.

I told him it was my turn to treat her. Reluctantly, he got up and whispered a last thought into her ear. To my amusement, she responded. The last time it was my turn to take care of her, I asked her a dozen questions but only got murmurs and grunts in response, and the same thing happened this time.

It wasn’t like she ignored me. When I talked, she rarely took her eyes off me. Ironwall had a special effect on her. He could get through to her. I thought about how many stories the two of them must have shared over the years.

But even his magic was not a panacea. The first few days after her injuries, the aunt-like Slayer had been getting better. She had walked around, smiled, and declined help when it was offered. Steph told me, “In a few days, she’ll be as good as new.”

That did not happen. It had now been a week since her injuries, and she was getting worse. Her eyes, face, and skin were soggy and colorless, drained of their vitality. I couldn’t look at her without feeling pity.

“Maybe a friendly tribe will come out of nowhere and lend us a hand,” I said to her as she lay silent. “Hey, it happened once before. They say lightning can’t strike twice, but that’s a lie. In Natura, there’s a spire that towers above the rest of the city. You must have seen it. If not, well… suffice it to say you haven’t missed much. It went up five, six years ago, and it’s become pretty unpopular. My mom and my sister both hate it. It’s made of wood, but there’s some metal too, and… anyway, it’s gotten hit by lightning five times since it went up. Do you hear me? Five times. That’s ridiculous.”

I don’t know why I expected this to engender a reaction, but it didn’t. If any emotion registered in her face, I didn’t see it. After thirty seconds, she managed a neutral grunt.

This was enough encouragement for me, so I kept on talking: “Going on a journey is different than I thought it would be. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think it would be easy, but I thought it would be fulfilling. I thought when we beat a mangy beast that was trying to eat us or made through a blinding snowstorm that was trying to murder us, we’d get a high, and that high would be enough to last us through the toughest of times, but that doesn’t happen, does it? The challenges you face on your journey… they’re not challenges you can win. They’re challenges you can survive, and if you’re lucky enough to survive them, you get relief, not joy, and that relief doesn’t last. It’s not enough to get you through the tough times. You’re left feeling empty, you know? You feel like there’s a hole in your heart, and it’s collapsing you from the inside.” I took a deep breath, and then I shivered even though I wasn’t cold. “Funny thing is, ten years from now, I’ll look back on this journey as the highlight of my life, provided I survive.”

I was right.

The twilight hit its apex. The land seemed both dead and alive.

As I tended to her wounds, the scent of food and fire drifted my way. It was tantalizing, captivating even. I licked my lips. If I hadn’t eaten already, I would have snatched a handful of grub and run back to her with a roll in my mouth.

“Do you want a bite to eat?” I asked the aunt-like Slayer, who was sniffing the scent out of the air. It occurred to me that she might be hungry too.

She grunted, but it was a positive grunt. When I pulled out a piece of stale bread, her eyes opened wide, and the corners of her mouth turned upward. I placed it in her hands, and she ravenously stuffed it into her mouth.

I felt a rush of sympathy.

“Thank you,” she said.

Her voice sounded like a chorus of bullfrogs that had been stepped on by a dragon’s paw, but it was nice to hear her talk, even if she had only said two words.

“You’re welcome,” I responded civilly. “The pleasure is all mine.”

She closed her eyes and turned on her side. I put my back to hers and stared at the fire. It was only a hundred feet away, so I could see the blue of its base, the orange of its spindly flames, and the red of its cinders.

When the winds were right, I could feel its warmth. I didn’t need more warmth, not then, but it was good to have. I wish I could have stored it.

Twilight faded to night. The aroma of the food faded. Dinner had finished. Ironwall came running to the aunt-like Slayer. I was gonna get up soon, but until then, I stretched my legs, raised my arms, and whistled.

Second Twilight

It had been five days. We hadn’t made much progress.

In theory, we would have been in Miyok Forest. Our horses were getting faster as they recovered from the battle, and with the air being warm, we could travel at night as well as during the day. In practice, it was a different story.

The aunt-like Slayer continued to deteriorate. More like a doll than a human, she became less responsive by the day. Ironwall had grown desperate, and he lost his mind. He yelled at us five times a day that we weren’t taking good enough care of her. Riding was a futile endeavor. Inevitably, he would force us to stop within fifteen minutes, claiming we were tiring her out.

When Machen reminded Ironwall that Icithan could leave Curam at any time, Ironwall shouted him down, ending a long rant with, “You do not tell me to move faster. We move when I say we move.”

I tried a more practical and empathetic approach, arguing that she was getting worse and the best hope of finding proper medicine or a friendly tribe was in Miyok. He was more responsive, but his behavior did not change. He knew I was right, but he was afraid, and his fear clouded his judgment. To him, there was no worse scenario than the aunt-like Slayer dying midst a day of hard riding.

In five days of riding, we had covered as much distance as we normally could in three days of walking. It was an honest disgrace, and no one was happy. Steph jokingly considered a mutiny, and an exasperated Machen was on board.

I was more passive, but I couldn’t pretend the situation wasn’t completely insufferable. It’s one thing to go slow because of a blizzard. It’s another to go slow for no good reason. The hopelessness of our situation had sunk in. There was nothing we ourselves could do with our present equipment to save her life.

Even so, it wouldn’t have been more than a nuisance if we had been on an organized schedule. If Ironwall had said something along the lines of, “She’s in terrible shape. She can’t handle riding. I understand we can’t stop traveling, but I think it would be for the best if we only rode for two hours a day until she got better,” it would have been bothersome, but we would have accepted it, just as we accepted his order to climb to the entrance of Segrabi Cavern despite being miserable and exhausted. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the (F)indNƟvᴇl.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Instead, we had these awkward sessions where we would ride, get into a rhythm, have to stop riding, take an indeterminate and inordinate amount of time off, spend most of that time watching Ironwall take care of her because we had little to say to one another, and fall into a drowsy trance before having to ride again. It was absurd, and we rightfully hated it.

I went to plead with Ironwall to stop the madness, but the thought dropped out of my mind the second I saw the aunt-like Slayer. Her skin had turned purple. Her eyes were the consistency of egg whites. Her bones were malleable. This was not the work of her battle wounds.

As kindly as I could, I asked Ironwall, “How is she?”

“What do you think? Life’s so easy for you. When one of your friends is on the brink of death, people I thought were fictional pop out of the woodwork and lend you a hand. You’re so lucky.” He intended his words to hurt, but there was no bite in his voice, no snarl. His sentences tumbled out of his mouth like drips from a leaky faucet. “You have no idea how lucky you are. You’ve got the dream, kid: money, fame, luck, experience, people who care about you. I would give anything to be in your shoes.”

“I don’t have time for this. If she’s gonna die, we have to move fast. If we ride and don’t stop, we can reach Miyok in a day. It’s a tough task, but we can do it, Ironwall. I believe in you. I trust you. I wanna follow you.”

“What have you done to earn your luck? You’re a talented fighter, but you fight on instinct, and what’s that but luck? Some people have bad instincts. You happen to have good ones. It’s just luck. Meanwhile, I’ve worked harder than I had to for longer than I had to in more ways that I had do, and what’s my reward? To watch my friend die, and then to die myself. Why did I become a Slayer in the first place? I should have become a businessman or an athlete or a lawyer. My life would have been better.”

“Self-pity isn’t a good look on you, Ironwall.”

“That’s not even my real name.”

“Then what is?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He drew his warhammer and held it above his head.

“Calm down,” I belted.

His hands were clammy. The warhammer slipped. I caught it and threw it as far away as I could.

“That was good of you,” he whispered. He proceeded to tell me the details of her condition. A disease had stolen into her wounds and reduced her to a vegetative state. This disease is why she stopped getting better. It is a rare disease, but it is at its most common in this region.

I gave him a hug when he was done talking, then said, “What can we do?”

“It’s my fault.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“It took me forever to recognize the disease. I didn’t even know she had a disease until earlier today. I’m not in a position to handle this.”

“Can’t we get her to Miyok?”

“If we could teleport. These horses are fast, but they’re not that fast. She’d be dead before she got there.”

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Don’t be rash. It’s irreversible now anyway.”

“You should have led with that.” I punched the ground.

“Put me out of my misery, Coran.”

“No.”

The sun set.

Rushing like a river, twilight overtook the land. Brooding iciness sat upon my shoulders, as if they were being held by phantasmal hands. The moonlight was a menace breaking through my ribs and cracking my heart into tiny pieces.

“Please,” said Ironwall. “I’m no good to you. I’m no good to anyone. I was wrong. You can make it without me. You’re strong. You’re tough. You’re capable.”

“You just told me I wasn’t deserving of my good luck. Which is it?”

“The latter. The former. Both. Neither. I don’t know. Give me my warhammer. I’ll do it myself.”

“I’m not letting you kill yourself,” I said, a spark of anger in my voice. “There were thirteen of us. If you had your way, there only would have been twelve.”

“I was wrong about Stephanie,” he interrupted. “I’ll admit that.”

“This isn’t about her. You were willing to let Machen die, and before that, when we were climbing up to Segrabi, you were willing to let that one Slayer run off. There were thirteen of us, and now there are only five. Soon there will only be four: you, me, Machen, and Steph. It was a given that some of us were gonna die, but you were way, way too willing to let it happen. If you had fought as hard for their lives as you fought for hers, maybe some of us would still be alive. It’s getting lonely, Ironwall, real lonely, and if you die, it’s only gonna get lonelier. You’ve been negligent enough. You’ve done enough damage. …I’m not letting you kill yourself.”

“Stay with me then.”

“Fine. I’ll stay with you until she…”

“…Dies. You can say it.”

“I don’t want to, not now. I’ve had enough of death.”

“That I can relate to.”

Wanting to seal his promise, he stuck out his hand, and I grasped it. We shook three times, which I admit was a bit much, but it gave him the confidence he deserved.

“Sorry about her,” I said.

“Sorry about the trouble I’ve put you through.”

“I don’t mind.”

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