Chapter 13: White Vial
I trudged through the winding corridors of the Kythera castle, Sister Amara's soft footsteps echoing beside mine.
We were on our way to meet with Xanna to update her on our frustratingly fruitless efforts to track down Saber. The thought of facing her again, seeing the desperation and fury in those unsettling grey eyes, made my stomach churn.
As we approached Xanna's office, the sound of raised voices caught my attention. I held up a hand, signaling Amara to stop. She cocked her head, listening intently.
"...enough is enough!" The deep, resonant voice of the Archbishop filled the air, his words sharp with frustration. "You've put enough effort into looking for Saber. Do you forget your true cause, hero?"
I exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Amara. We both knew we shouldn't be listening, but curiosity rooted us to the spot.
"You don't even need him anymore," the Archbishop continued, his voice lowering to a harsh whisper. "His purpose was served."
My blood ran cold at those words. What in the hells did that mean? I leaned closer to the heavy oak door, straining to hear Xanna's response.
"You don't understand," Xanna's voice was barely audible, trembling with an emotion I couldn't quite place. "I need him. He's... he's everything."
The Archbishop let out a heavy sigh. "My child, you are the prophesied hero. The fate of our world rests on your shoulders. We cannot afford to waste any more resources on this... distraction."
The Archbishop's voice hardened his words, cutting through the air like a blade. "It was your idea, Xanna. Your plan to treat your own husband like cattle. You even wear that cursed wedding ring you took from him to make it easier for your retainer to milk him dry."
The sound of a fist slamming against wood echoed through the door. "I did what I had to do!" Xanna screamed, her voice raw with anguish and rage. "You don't understand! None of you understand!"
"Child, calm yourself," the Archbishop's tone softened slightly. "The church does not think what you did to your husband was wrong. We understand the necessity of your actions."
The Archbishop's voice took on a soothing tone, like a parent comforting a distraught child. "My dear, please understand. The storerooms beneath the castle are brimming with Saber's... contribution. Vials upon vials of golden and white liquids, each one thrumming with raw magical potential. It's more than enough to fuel our assault on the demon queen's army."
I felt my jaw drop, my mind reeling at the implications. Beside me, Amara's face had gone pale.
There was a moment of heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice softer now. "Once the demon queen is found and defeated, you can refocus all our resources on finding Saber. But for now, we must prioritize the greater good. Surely you can see the wisdom in this?"
The tension in the air was palpable, even through the thick door. When Xanna finally spoke, her voice was low and dangerous, barely more than a whisper.
"Over. My. Dead. Body."
The sound of a chair scraping against stone was followed by a strangled gasp. I exchanged a panicked look with Amara before she burst through the door, me hot on her heels.
The sight that greeted us was shocking. Xanna had the Archbishop pinned against the wall, her slender hands wrapped around his throat. The old man's face was turning an alarming shade of purple, his eyes bulging as he clawed weakly at Xanna's grip.
"Xanna, stop!" Amara cried out, rushing forward.
At the sound of Amara's voice, Xanna seemed to snap out of her rage. She released the Archbishop, who crumpled to the floor, gasping and coughing. Xanna took a step back, her face a mask of cold fury as she glared down at the wheezing priest.
"Get out," she snarled, her voice dripping with venom.
The Archbishop stumbled to his feet, his face flushed with a mixture of rage and humiliation.
"You foolish, deluded girl!" he spat, his voice hoarse from Xanna's assault. "Can't you see the truth that's right in front of you?" His words dripped with venom, each syllable a dagger aimed at Xanna's heart. "Xanna, you drove that idiot Saber away. He didn't get kidnapped. He escaped!"
The words hung in the air like a physical presence, heavy and suffocating. For a moment, the only sound was the soft crackle of torches and the labored breathing of the Archbishop.
Xanna's reaction was immediate and terrifying. Her eyes, already unsettling in their intensity, took on a manic gleam that sent shivers down my spine. With a fluid motion that spoke of years of training, she drew her sword. The weapon hummed with barely contained power.
The Archbishop's eyes widened in fear, all traces of his earlier bravado vanishing in an instant. Without another word, he turned and fled, his robes billowing behind him as he ran with surprising speed for a man of his age and stature.
As Xanna made to follow, her sword raised, and her face contorted in a mask of fury, Amara stepped forward. With a gentleness that belied the tension in the room, she placed a hand on Xanna's arm.
"Xanna, please," Amara's melodic voice was soft but firm. "This isn't the way."
For a heart-stopping moment, I thought Xanna might turn her wrath on Amara. Her grip on the Starblade tightened, her knuckles turning white with the effort. But then, slowly, the manic light in her eyes began to fade. The sword lowered, though she didn't sheathe it.
Xanna turned to face us, her piercing grey eyes sweeping over Amara and me. "What?" she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass.
I swallowed hard, suddenly acutely aware of the sweat beading on my forehead. The words stuck in my throat, but I forced them out, knowing that silence would only make things worse.
"Our search for Saber is... well, it's turning up no leads," I said, my voice sounding rough and uncertain even to my own ears.
Xanna's face contorted with rage, her eyes flashing dangerously. With a primal scream that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, she whirled around and brought her fist down on a nearby table. The ancient oak splintered under the force of her blow, sending maps, scrolls, and delicate instruments flying in all directions.
"How the FUCK could he have just disappeared without a trace?!" she roared, her voice raw with anguish and fury.
Amara stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, like someone approaching a wounded animal. Her blue-green eyes were filled with a mixture of concern and pity as she gazed at her friend.
"Xanna," she said softly, her melodic voice a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. "We need to stay calm."
Amara reached out, gently placing a hand on Xanna's trembling shoulder. "I know you're hurting," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "But this... this isn't helping anyone, least of all Saber."
Xanna's eyes flashed with anger at Amara's words, but something in her friend's gentle gaze seemed to penetrate the fog of rage. Her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her like water from a broken vessel. She sheathed her sword with a metallic hiss, the enchanted blade seeming to pulse with disappointment at being denied its violence.
"You know what?" Xanna said, a hint of her old fire creeping back into her voice. "Fuck it. Let's go drink."
*****
The grand dining hall of Kythera's castle felt vast and empty, with just the three of us huddled at one end of a massive oak table.
Xanna sat hunched over the table, her white hair cascading around her face like a curtain. She gripped a large tankard in hand, draining it of its contents before slamming it down with enough force to make the silverware rattle. Without missing a beat, she reached for another, already lined up and waiting.
I sipped my own ale slowly, savoring the rich, hoppy flavor and trying to ignore the knot of unease growing in my stomach. Across from me, Sister Amara cradled her third glass of wine, her usually serene features marred by a slight flush. The deep red liquid sloshed dangerously close to the rim as she raised it to her lips for another sip.
"Eryk," Xanna's voice cut through the heavy silence, slurred but still carrying that undercurrent of command that made me sit up straighter. "Wan' hear a secret?"
I hesitated, my tankard halfway to my lips. The look in Xanna's eyes was wild and unfocused, a far cry from the sharp, calculating gaze I was used to. "I don't know if that's a good idea," I said carefully, setting my drink down.
Xanna let out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "S'all my fault," she muttered, her words running together. "Saber... he ran away 'cause of me."
"No, Xanna, that's not true," Amara interjected, her normally melodic voice thick with wine and emotion. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Xanna's arm.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, the ale suddenly tasting bitter on my tongue. The Archbishop's words echoed in my mind, a nagging whisper I couldn't shake. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to ask.
"Xanna," I began, my voice low and hesitant, "what did the Archbishop mean about those golden and white vials?"
The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the hearth fire and the distant rumble of thunder outside. Xanna's head snapped up, her piercing grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made me want to shrink back into my chair.
For a moment, I thought she might lash out, her hand twitching towards the hilt of her sword. But then, to my surprise and growing unease, she began to laugh. It wasn't her usual laugh, warm and full of life, but a harsh, bitter sound that sent chills down my spine.
"Oh, Eryk," she said, her voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker, more dangerous. "Sweet, simple, Eryk. Always so eager to throw yourself into the fray, aren't you?"
She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her face inches from mine. I could smell the alcohol on her breath, see the manic glint in her eyes that made my heart race with a primal fear.
"Tell me, Eryk," Xanna said, her words slurring slightly but her gaze unnervingly focused. "What are you willing to give up to stop the demon army? To save this world of yours?"
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "Everything," I said, my voice hoarse but firm. "My life, if that's what it takes."
Xanna's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Your life?" she repeated, her tone mocking. "That's nothing, Eryk. Nothing at all."
She leaned back in her chair, taking another long swig from her tankard before fixing me with those unsettling grey eyes once more. "What about the person you love most in the whole world?"
I frowned, confusion warring with the growing sense of dread in my gut. "I don't understand," I said slowly.
Xanna's smile widened, revealing too many teeth. "Oh, but you will," she purred, her voice low and dangerous. "Would you not only doom them but treat them as cattle?"
"What... what are you saying?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Xanna's eyes glittered with a manic light, her smile growing wider, more predatory. She leaned in close, her white hair falling around her face like a veil.
"Lock them away," she hissed, "to cast spells on them to constantly revitalize their stamina just to get them to keep cumming non-stop."
I jerked back, nearly toppling my chair in my haste to put distance between us. My heart hammered in my chest, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. Xanna threw her head back and laughed, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.
She pointed a long, slender finger at Amara, who sat quietly sipping her wine, her face an unreadable mask. "Did you know," Xanna said, her voice dripping with dark amusement, "this saintly bitch had to invent a spell to help his body create semen faster?"
Amara lowered her glass, a frown creasing her usually serene features. "It was what the archbishop ordered," she said softly, her eyes downcast.
Xanna laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed through the cavernous dining hall. "Do you think his orders are from your gods?" she sneered, her words slurring slightly as she swayed in her seat.
Amara's face fell, her usual serene expression crumpling into one of shame and regret. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the hearth fire. "But the Pope's words are. And the Bishop takes orders from the Pope."
Xanna rolled her eyes dramatically, the motion nearly causing her to topple from her chair. "Oh, spare me your religious hierarchy bullshit," she spat, reaching for another tankard of ale.
As if summoned by the weight of our dark conversation, the doors of the dining hall creaked open. A figure stepped hesitantly into the flickering firelight, and I felt my jaw drop in shock.
It was Shelly, one of Xanna's attendants. But she was... different. Her usually slender frame was now unmistakably altered, her belly swollen with the unmistakable curve of pregnancy. She stood there, wringing her hands nervously, her eyes darting between us like a frightened deer.
Amara's reaction was immediate and visceral. She stiffened in her chair, her face draining of color as she stared at Shelly's pregnant form.
Xanna, in her drunken state, seemed oblivious to the tension that had suddenly gripped the room. She gestured wildly with her tankard, sloshing ale over the rim as she pointed at Shelly.
"Well, well!" Xanna slurred, her voice tinged with a bitter, self-deprecating humor. "Look who it is! Here comes the woman pregnant with my husband's baby!"
The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt my eyes widen, my gaze darting between Xanna's drunken sneer and Shelly's trembling form. "What?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
Shelly's lower lip quivered, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Those... those were your orders, Xanna," she said, her voice small and broken. "You made me do that. Against my will."
Xanna's eyes fixed on Shelly's swollen belly, her gaze a mixture of jealousy, longing, and something darker.
"Sacrifices," Xanna murmured. "Sacrifices need to be made for the greater good." Her hand tightened around her tankard, knuckles white with tension.
The words hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. I felt my stomach churn, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. The pieces were falling into place, forming a picture so horrific I could barely comprehend it.
"Xanna," I said, my voice hoarse and strained, "what happened to Saber? What did you do to him?"
The room fell silent.
"I did what I had to do, too," she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek and catching the firelight like a liquid diamond. "Now, even without Saber here, we have enough of him left to make the rest easy."
"But you know what?" She pauses for a moment and then begins to laugh. "Once he was gone, I can't think of a reason worth saving this shitty fucking place."