17. Renard #2
“And you—who professes to live by a strict code of honor and morality. You who demands it of those around you—you could not even be honest with her, even after she saved your life.”
The words cut deeper than anything else she has said. I remember waking in Hollowmire with her standing over me, having slain the bogunder and halting her quest to care for me, and for Magnar. I remember every act of kindness that followed, and every chance I had to tell her the truth.
I wasted all of them.
When I finally look up again, the Blight Mother has already turned away from me. The judgment has been given—there is nothing left to say.
A massive wyreboar skeleton pushes through the crowd of dead creatures, its enormous ribs creaking as it kneels before her. The Blight Mother climbs onto its back, and mushrooms bloom wherever its bones touch the earth.
The skeletal dead part around her, their empty eye sockets hollow and haunting. She doesn’t look back, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or devastated. This will not be the last time I see my Vireth—I swear it.
The massive wyreboar skeleton rises, towering above the clearing, and then it begins moving toward Valehar with slow, deliberate steps that clatter softly in the breeze.
They move toward my home, and toward inevitable catastrophe.
The rest of the dead fall into line behind the wyreboar, wolves and bears, foxes and boars—creatures I recognize and creatures I do not, all marching through the trees in a strange parade of death that seems to stretch endlessly around me.
At the head of this hellish army rides the woman I love—and I might never have the chance to tell her.
I stand there long after the Blight Mother and all her creatures disappear from sight.
The clearing feels devastatingly empty without her, despite the destruction surrounding it.
Every fiber in my being aches with shame, so much so that I consider sinking into the puddle of sticky black mold on the ground and fading away.
Vireth deserves better than me. Vireth simply deserves better. And if I give up before I have really, truly begun, I will meet the Death Goddess with far too much to atone for. I have the chance now to begin to set things to rights.
The aches in my body have little to do with my injuries and everything to do with my heavy heart.
Eventually, however, I force myself to move and make my way back up the hill toward our camp.
There’s a swell of relief that it seems to have been spared from the path of choking mold and enthusiastic mushrooms, looking much as we left it.
The blankets remain tangled on the ground, and the sight of them sends a sharp ache through my chest. Only hours ago, Vireth had been lying there, sleeping peacefully while I stole away to send a group of bandits back through the woods.
Only hours ago, everything had seemed possible.
I gather our belongings in silence—her satchel, her spare clothes.
The small treasures she collects from Nibblebones and pretends not to care about.
I pack each item carefully, taking far longer than necessary because I want everything to be safe and protected as we travel—as safe and protected as I have failed to keep Vireth.
Magnar lifts his head when I approach, and I rest a hand against his neck, closing my eyes for a moment. He lets out a low breath and nudges my shoulder.
“Old friend,” I murmur. “Once more into the fray, eh? Perhaps for the last time.”
A sad whistling noise sounds from behind me. Nibblebones emerges from beneath one of the blankets and fixes me with a stare that somehow manages to look betrayed. The corpse weasel glances toward the forest, then back at me.
Despite everything, a short laugh escapes me, and gods, it sounds tired.
I sigh. “No, Mistress Bones. I don’t quite have a plan.”
She chitters again, deeply dissatisfied with that answer, then crawls up onto my shoulder, as though she already knows what has transpired, how I have failed, and what we are up against—what I must do.
I saddle Magnar and mount up. The sun is climbing steadily now, casting pale light through the ruined forest. Somewhere ahead, Vireth rides toward Valehar with a goddess wearing her face and speaking with her voice.
I turn Magnar toward the trail and follow.
The hours that pass afterward give me far too much time to think.
The Blight Mother's words linger in my mind because every one of them carried some measure of truth.
I came to Hollowmire with a purpose. I told myself it was necessary.
I told myself I would explain everything when the time was right, after I had earned Vireth's trust, after I understood her better, after I found some way to make the truth hurt less.
Looking back, they all sound like excuses.
The truth is—as it always is—much simpler than that.
I lied to her because I thought I knew better.
I thought I was better—answering to a higher calling, or power.
Excused from my less honorable actions simply because my quest justified everything.
Vireth deserved better—not because she is a goddess, or because she saved my life.
But because she trusted me, and I answered that trust with silence.
I think of her smile, and the way she looked at me across a campfire when she thought I wasn't paying attention. The way she laughed when she forgot to guard herself. The way she held me this morning. The memory now feels almost unbearable.
I love her.
I love her, and somewhere ahead of me she is trapped inside her own body while an ancient goddess marches toward war—all because I couldn’t do what needed to be done years ago—and then hid from the consequences. I tighten my grip on the reins.
I will not abandon her to that fate.
I refuse to stand aside and let the Blight Mother consume what remains of the woman I know.
There has to be a way to free her. There has to be.
And if the cost of finding that path is my life, my title, my home, or anything else I possess, then so be it.
For the first time in a long while, the choice feels simple.
Even with the heaviness of my choices weighing me down, I feel a remarkable lightness in my chest—as though something old and burdensome has suddenly lifted.
I know what I must do.
I dig my heels into Magnar's sides and ride after her.