Before the Light Dies - Sorrel cursed by the Hunger Spirit

The Job

Sorrel had been lucky. She gave a slight smile as poured boiling water into Lucan’s tub. The Feythorne had been a challenge she feared she was ill-equipped for. Yinmaris, Glint, Yuli and Heret were skilful comrades, but once she had seen her arrows fail to harm the misty creature, she had nothing left in her arsenal. All she could do was help the loggers flee. She envied Glint his magic as he conjured invisibility and strange copies of himself to deceive whatever it was that threatened them. She envied Yinmaris his uplifting music. She envied Yuli her wings and magic. She envied Heret his power and certainty. But together they had prevailed.

The loggers had been hiding in the company hut as Carlin and Cordelia Jadefist had suggested.

The bodies of the four dead workers had been brutally torn to pieces, so the beast was powerful and merciless. As the sun sank below the horizon, flight seemed the wisest option. Especially as all the party heard voices in their head – the same voice, presumably – suggesting a powerful dark magic was starting to control them.

The retreat had been scrappy and inglorious, but they had rescued every logger. The pay had been good, although Sorrel spent every piece of it on the enchanted studded leather that Yinmaris had been kind enough to sell her. He was a good comrade. He could see her need. She owed him a favour for this and she would not forget.

She paid her debts and honoured those who served, always.

But still, something of the mist and the forest seemed to stick to her clothes and skin. There was a stench that caught the back of her throat and made her skin crawl. So she boiled more water until the tub was scalding and stepped using scented oil and a hard brush to erase all trace of the day.

The Mark

As she scrubbed, she noticed a mark on her skin by her hips that she swore she had never seen before.

As she scoured her flesh she felt a pricking at the back of her head. With a surge of adrenaline she recognised it from the Feythorne. The spirit voice. It was still inside her. But it had retreated back into the Shadowfell… what was happening to her?

“You are such a fine creature,” she heard the voice crawling through her mind and she shuddered as if it was dragging shards of ice through her soul. “We will feed well together.”

She suddenly became aware of a gnawing hunger tearing at her guts. She needed meat. Raw meat. The taste of blood on her lips.

“What are you doing in my head, you filth? Who are you?” she spoke out loud but realised the thing could read her thoughts before her lips moved.

“I am hunger. I am thirst. Where I bite, I hold till I die, and even after death they must cut out my mouthful from my enemy's body and bury it with me. I can fast a hundred years and not die. I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze. I can drink a river of blood and not burst. Show me your enemies. I will help you fight, I will give you glory in battle, I will drive home your blow so that we can feed. And if you are hurt, I will protect you. I will burst forth and take possession of you, wielding your weapons for you. We will strike out at anyone who threatens you, who stands too near, who may harm our precious skin.”

She gripped the sides of the tub and stared at the tattoo, comprehension dawning. “You would have me attack those nearest me?”

“Why yes. For they are your foes. They must be destroyed.”

“You can see inside my head,” she spat furiously. “You know how I fight. I am never beside my enemy. I strike from afar.”

“Oh, that’s so awkward…” the voice snickered. “It’s also so delicious. I can feel the realisation stealing through you and your despair is like the scent of the finest perfume to me. Why else do you think I chose you?”

She stared at the armour Yinmaris had sold her. This morning she would have shouted with joy to strap it on. Now it didn’t please her eyes at all. There was no armour that could guarantee she would never be harmed. There was no armour that could stop her turning on those beside her.

She stared blindly into the candle flame in front of her. She had lost her faith in people the moment she found her parents had sold her. She could only trust those who fought alongside her. Sana became the love of her life because they were constantly fighting for their lives together.

After Sana died, she tried to love civilians. She wanted to make them happy. Sometimes she did, but she didn’t know how she did it. Love, she concluded, was like a game of chess except the board was flowing water, the pieces were made of smoke and no move she made had any effect on the outcome.

And she could feel the spirit’s pleasure growing with every thought.

The Curse

“Who will want to serve with you now, berserker?” it hissed. “All I can find in your mind is fighting and comrades. You have been trained for nothing else. I have never known a soul so focussed and so empty. Just two things hold you together and now you have neither. You have only me.”

Sorrel gagged. If she had turned on Glint today… She climbed from the tub then slumped to her knees as horror crept through her. This was worse than losing Sana. This was as if she had killed Sana herself. Her friends faces danced in front of her eyes – Kavel, Glint, Varga, Serphina, Kelne, Angier and oh sweet goddess, Toothy. What if she struck Toothy? How could she look in his eyes ever again?

She would die first.

She looked at the tattoo, pulled her dagger from its sheath and plunged it into her skin.

She screamed, bit back the sound and fell to her knees. The blood seeped from the wound as she twisted the knife, trying to carve away the flesh that carried the dark stain. But as she dragged the serrated edge through her muscle, she felt rather than saw the mark move, drifting insolently across her hips.

The voice at the back of her head laughed.

“Did you think it would be so easy?”

She buckled forward in pain and despair, then clutched the side of the tub.

“If you make me hurt my friends, I will not stop at a shallow cut,” she hissed. “I vow on my honour, on the House and on Sana’s soul that I will kill myself before I kill anyone I serve with. I will visit an apothecary for the poison I need, and we shall see who knows what hunger really means.”

“You sorry fool,” the spirit sneered. “Whoever finds your body will be my next host. I cannot be stopped. You are temporary. I am eternal. And did you look at the bodies of the meat that died? Did you see how I devour them? They ate each other. As my power grows and your hunger grows, animal meat will not be enough. That is the moment I most cherish. I will keep you sane as the hunger overtakes you.”

Sorrel thought frantically. She would turn to the goddess. The temple must have a solution. There must be something that can be done.

She whispered a soft prayer and as she did a slow smile drifted across her face. The goddess must have seen this coming and sent her a gift to save her. She fumbled in her backpack and pulled out a feather, feeling the spirit’s curiosity.

The Vow

“This, spirit, is your death. A Qaal feather. It transforms into a boat that moves under its own power. I will visit the Temple of Selune and see if you can be burned from my flesh and if not I will set course for the deepest waters, shackle my hands and mouth and bind my eyes and you and I will sail from Kantas for 24 hours until we are countless miles from shore. And then, spirit, as the magic of the Qaal fades the boat will disappear beneath us.” She laughed as she felt its anger boil.

“Before I go, I will ask the priests to bind you to me to ensure I take you to the depths beneath. Then in the pits of Hell I will find you and show you what suffering means. You can play for now, with your crude facsimile of desire, but you do not know the mistake you have made. I am Sorrel Darkfire, child of the Dark House, and I will not dishonour my vow to serve.”

She fell on the hard wooden floor and the darkness flooded through her as slowly as the lifeblood pulsed out of her wound. At the back of her head, the voice still whispered, but in her soul a clock started ticking slowly down. One way or another, she would end this on her own terms. She would remain unvanquished.