Book of The Dead

“Bring them here, quickly!”

Be it the smell of smoke or the screaming, there were many things that vied for Elsbeth’s attention, but she remained focused on those who needed her help.

A grizzled Slayer with grey hair and a severe cut on their forehead, loosely bandaged with what looked to be a strip of his shirt, carried the injured forward to lay them on the ground. Dragged may have been a better description, the woman was unable to bear her own weight and only her arm flung across the Slayers’ shoulder was keeping her upright.

She groaned in pain as she was laid down and Elsbeth sprang forward to cut away her clothes. Caked in blood, they were stuck to her flesh and had to be peeled off.

“I’m fine,” the woman wheezed. “Go take care of someone else.”

“She’s not fine,” the man told Elsbeth flatly. “I saw her take a spear straight through the chest. She’s got more holes in her lungs than I think is recommended.”

“Shut up, Elgen,” the wounded woman, clearly also a Slayer, said, then coughed and spat out a wad of bloody phlegm.

“Love you too, idiot. I’m going back out there. Take care of her, Miss Priest.”

“The gods will do what they can.”

With one final glance at the woman on the ground, the man, Elgen, turned and left, back out into the night.“Lie still and I’ll see what I can do for you,” Elsbeth said. “What’s your name?”

“Sue,” the Slayer said, her breath rasping in her throat. “I’m a gold rank Brawler. Something like this will heal overnight.”

Peeling back the last of her shirt, Elsbeth took a good look at the wound. There was so much blood, more than should be possible out of such a small person, but the body of a gold ranked Slayer was hardly the same as a regular person’s. If Elsbeth had been struck as this woman had, she likely would have died instantly.

“It really won’t,” Elsbeth told her with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. The makeshift field hospital she was working in was already full, with more coming in every minute. After an entire day of fighting, she was bone weary but refused to rest while there were still others she could help. “Let me wash the wound clean and then I’ll rustle up a little divine intervention for you. How does that sound?”

“They won’t… they won’t ask anything from me… will they?” Sue forced out, a fearful expression on her face.

They’ll ask something from one of us, Elsbeth thought wearily.

“Whatever happens, it’ll be better than dying. Now lie still.”

Luckily it wasn’t hard to get clean warm water, conjured from the magickally rich environment by the enchanted fountains placed everywhere throughout the city. Once she’d wiped away the dirt and blood, the full extent of the injury was clear, and it didn’t do anything to change her opinion of its severity.

Not wasting time, she clasped her hands together in prayer and called upon the Old Gods of the realm to intervene.

They were quick to respond, not teasing her, as they often did, by withholding their attention. Fickle and uncaring, the Old Gods were closer to the incarnation of the Realm itself than they were to people, and they simply didn’t think or act like a person might.

After millennia of being largely hands off, they were finally interested in doing something about the state of the world, probably motivated in large part by the looming threat to their own existence. Whatever the reason, Elsbeth wasn’t going to complain when they were quick to respond to her entreaties to aid the faithful.

Or in the case of Sue, those who defended the faithful.

Crone, Raven and Rot turned their eyes to her.

This woman has taken grave injury fighting to protect your believers and defeat the Empire, she prayed. Give her grace, that she might live and struggle on in the future.

The Three always preferred to help those who helped themselves, so it didn’t hurt to flavour any prayer in that direction. This time, it was Crone who gave her assent and Elsbeth extended her hands to lay them on the wound.

Divine power flooded through her, pouring onto the injury, and it began to rapidly heal. Before it was completely repaired, the flow of power stopped and Elsbeth was seized with a crushing weariness. Gritting her teeth, she endured, refusing to let herself lose consciousness. People still needed her.

Once she had mastered herself, Elsbeth straightened.

“You aren’t fully healed,” she warned the female Slayer. “There will be a price to pay, the Old Gods will always take when they give. Expect there to be pain and lethargy for a while yet.”

“Seems like a small price to pay,” Sue replied, cautiously poking at her chest with one hand.

Elsbeth smiled ruefully.

“They are unusually generous today.”

Taking a breath, she forced herself to stand, putting out a hand to grasp the nearby wall and prevent herself from falling over. One breath, two, and she was fine. Everywhere she looked there were wounded, lying in cots, on the floor, staggering in through the doors, fresh from the fighting.

What could she do but help them?

Time passed in a blur, one face blending into the next as she went from person to person, doing what she could to alleviate their pain. Sometimes, that was nothing, she served at the whim of the gods after all. Other times, she was able to enact miraculous healing, channeling divinity itself. In those moments, she felt a deep gratitude to The Three, for accepting her where The Five had rejected and abandoned her.

“Girl, are you alright?”

Elsbeth blinked, tried to focus, then blinked again. Someone was standing in front of her, but she couldn’t work out who it was. Her damned eyes just refused to sharpen.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, then realised she was swaying on her feet.

“Fool child,” the person muttered before reaching out and scooping her up in two hands.

Closer now, she was able to make out the moustache.

“Worthy?” she asked.

“Aye, lass. It’s me.”

He smelled of blood and smoke. There were burn marks across his arms and it looked like one of his eyebrows had been singed off. The Golden Light of the Empire burned furiously hot. There had been many burns to be treated in the field hospital.

“Do you need healing?” she asked him.

“I don’t need a damned thing from you,” he told her gruffly. “You need to get some rest.”

“I’m…” she wanted to say she was fine, but even now her eyes refused to focus. She’d pushed herself well beyond exhaustion, and The Three had taken from her time and time again, draining her strength and burdening her spirit.

She’d be paying the price for days to come.

“I’m very tired,” she relented and Worthy chuckled.

“Aye, I expect you are. It’s not a bad time to rest anyway. Damned Empire has pulled back, given us a little space. There isn’t going to be any fighting for a while, at least I hope not.”

“It’s over?” she asked, blinking owlishly.

“No, not over. We have a bit of a respite. They’ll be back, but we’ll be better prepared next time.”

“That’s… good,” Elsbeth managed. Her consciousness wavered, ready to fade at a moment’s notice.

Worthy lowered her down into a cot and pulled up a blanket to cover her, but poked her between the eyes before she could drift off.

“What?” she said, her mind focusing again for a brief, fleeting moment.

Worthy finally came into focus, a deep frown creasing his face.

“I just wanted to ask, have you seen Meg? Did she come through here?”

Tired as she was, Elsbeth felt a sharp pang in her chest.

“I haven’t seen her since the fighting started,” she said, shaking her head. She reached to clasp Worthy’s hand. “I’m sure she’s fine. There isn’t anyone in this city tougher than her.”

He forced a smile.

“Of course. Sleep now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Despite the worry blossoming inside her, Elsbeth was unable to resist the pull of sleep any longer. A few moments later and she was dead to the world, her mind lost in a haze of harrowing dreams.

When she awoke, it was to a sharp abiding pain that radiated throughout her entire being. Grimacing, she pulled the covers off herself, wincing as even this simple motion caused a pain throughout her chest.

There was always a price for invoking the aid of The Three, even for their devoted Priests. Those she had healed were no doubt also suffering, but they had the superhuman endurance of Slayers to fall back on, while she did not.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself upright, swallowing a groan as a fresh wave of agony ripped through her frame. However, she was up. A minor victory. If she could move, then she could serve.

Except her plans for further martyrdom were quickly defeated.

“Oh no you don’t.”

A hand was placed against her chest and pushed her down. Elsbeth squawked, but it hurt too much to resist and she was soon back where she started.

“I can help,” Elsbeth insisted weakly.

“No you can’t,” Munhilde snorted, concern hidden in the depths of her brown eyes.

If she looked closely, Elsbeth could now see the signs that her teacher was not as young as she appeared. Through the blessing of the Crone, Munhilde had chosen to retain the appearance of youth, keeping her hair full and her features smooth. To a stranger, she might have looked like a woman of thirty five.

To Elsbeth, there was a weariness and wisdom about the woman that belied her age.

“You overdid it yesterday,” Munhilde told her sternly. “Do you have any idea how many people you healed?”

She tried to count in her head but failed. It all blurred together after a certain point.

“Twelve?” she guessed.

“Try thirty-one,” Munhilde snorted. “You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

“I thought The Three were being cooperative. Don’t they want these people healed?”

“Of course they do, otherwise they would never have helped in the first place. But drawing on their power always bears a cost. It’s in their nature. I genuinely don’t think they are capable of giving aid for nothing.”

Resigned to her fate, Elsbeth lay back on the simple cot, pulling the blankets back up.

“At least tell me what’s happening. Are we still being attacked?”

“Not for the moment,” her teacher reassured her. “The Slayers pushed them back and everyone tending to the rifts has been recalled. They made it quite deep into the city before they were repelled, though.”

Elsbeth closed her eyes. There would be many dead, she knew that already. People she knew, people she had worked with, people she counted as friends. It was difficult for her, sometimes, to resign the gods she had so admired growing up to the ruthless usurpers she now knew them to be.

“Be careful when you go out there,” Munhilde said after a moment of hesitation. “You caused quite a stir with your efforts. If you keep pushing yourself like this, they’re going to crown you the next Venerable.”

Elsbeth snorted.

“I’m not old enough for that, surely.”

Her teacher, however, didn’t see the humour in it.

“A Saint, then. Even the fact you’re alive after calling on them to such an extent is drawing eyes. People are desperate for hope and symbols right now. They’ll latch onto you if you give them a chance.”

Elsbeth slowly opened her eyes to stare at the tiled ceiling overhead.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” she wondered softly. “I’m only doing this so I can help them. I’m only suffering like this so I can make life better for others. If it gives them a little hope, then isn’t it worth it?”

Munhilde stared down at her former pupil for a time, her gaze troubled.

“Think carefully,” Munhilde said eventually, “very, very carefully, before you decide to take on a burden like that. It’ll never be enough. The Venerable gave away pieces of himself his entire life, and he lived a long time. In the end, it still wasn’t enough, and he died for them. That’ll be you, if you let it.”

Elsbeth didn’t reply, she just endured the deep pain throughout her body, looked at the ceiling, and thought.