Gordon then made his way to Elias's home. He was greeted at the door by Elias's wife, a young woman with a worried expression. Unlike Thomas, who was a single 21-year-old, Elias, despite being only 18, was married and had a young son.
Elias's wife, her face etched with worry, welcomed Gordon inside. He found Elias lying in bed, his skin pale and clammy. Gordon sat beside the bed, his brow furrowed with concern. But as he observed Elias, a strange, unsettling feeling washed over him. He could feel it, almost smell it – a subtle but distinct aura of fear emanating from Elias.
Gordon frowned. Why was Elias afraid? Of him? It didn't make sense. They were colleagues, friends even. Yet, the fear was palpable, a tangible presence in the room. It was weird, very weird.
As they engaged in small talk, discussing Elias's condition and Gordon's completion of their shared duties, Gordon's unease deepened. He could not only feel Elias's fear, but he could almost taste it, a metallic tang in the air. And as the conversation progressed, the fear morphed into something else: guilt.
Gordon's mind began to piece together the clues. Elias's clammy skin, his avoidance of eye contact, the way he flinched when Gordon moved too quickly – it all pointed to one thing. Elias was lying. He was pretending to be sick. The guilt he felt was from deceiving Gordon. He was afraid of being found out.
Gordon, his voice low and steady, cut through the pretense. "Elias," he said, his gaze fixed on his colleague's face, "are you really sick?"
Elias's eyes darted away, his breath catching in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, his face flushed.
"Elias," Gordon repeated, his voice firm but gentle, "tell me the truth."
Elias hesitated, his gaze flickering between Gordon and the floor. He swallowed hard, then finally, his voice barely a whisper, he admitted, "No... I'm not." He couldn't meet Gordon's eyes.
"Why, Elias?" Gordon asked, his voice laced with a mixture of disappointment and concern. "Why did you lie about being sick?"
Elias, his face flushed with shame, avoided Gordon's gaze. He stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I... I was scared, Gordon. I was terrified of catching the sickness. Everyone's dying... I just... I couldn't face it. I thought if I pretended to be sick, I could stay away from everyone, stay safe." He looked up, his eyes filled with fear and desperation. "I panicked."
Gordon wasn't truly angry with Elias for feigning illness. He understood the fear that gripped the village, the desperate desire to avoid the deadly curse. And, to be honest, he didn't feel particularly burdened by having done the work himself. With his wind powers, the cremation and ash collection had been relatively easy. In fact, he felt he had done enough. He had done the burning, so why should he also do the cleaning.
He was more annoyed at the fact that he was tricked.
With a sigh of resignation, Gordon decided to leave Elias's house. He didn't have the energy to argue or berate him. He understood Elias's fear, even if he didn't condone his deception. He simply felt a weariness, a sense of disappointment.
He decided to head to Mr. Suhat's house. He wanted to resume his efforts to learn to read. He figured it would be a good way to distract himself from the day's unsettling events. Perhaps the quiet concentration required for reading would help clear his head. He needed something to take his mind off the strange dreams, the Ichor Curse, and the unsettling fear he had sensed from Elias.
Gordon sat in Mr. Suhat's study, a mix of confusion and astonishment swirling within him. He scanned the pages of the book before him, the words flowing smoothly from his eyes to his mind. He was reading, and not just reading, but reading fluently.
A sense of disbelief washed over him. Just a few days ago, he had struggled to decipher simple words, to recognize the individual letters that formed them. Now, he was effortlessly navigating complex sentences, absorbing the information with remarkable ease.
"How...?" he muttered to himself, his brow furrowed. "How am I doing this?" He recalled his previous visit, the frustrating struggle to even sound out basic words. The sudden leap in his reading ability was nothing short of miraculous.
A flicker of arrogance, quickly followed by a wave of self-doubt, crossed his mind. "Am I... am I a genius?" he wondered, his voice laced with incredulity. "Is that even possible?" He shook his head, dismissing the thought. It was too absurd, too unbelievable. Yet, the evidence was right before him, in the words he was effortlessly reading.
Mr. Suhat, seated comfortably across from Gordon, observed his student's rapid progress with a quiet, knowing smile. He wasn't a teacher by trade, but he felt a sense of obligation, a debt of gratitude. He had agreed to teach Gordon to read as a favor, a repayment for the young hunter's assistance in exorcising the troublesome ghost that had plagued his house.
He watched Gordon's eyes scan the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration. He knew Gordon possessed magical abilities, and he suspected they were contributing to his accelerated learning. But he also recognized the young man's genuine desire to learn, his dedication to mastering the written word.
He was pleased to see Gordon making such remarkable progress. It was a small repayment for the service Gordon had rendered, a way of showing his appreciation.
A surge of excitement coursed through Gordon. The ability to read fluently, to unlock the secrets held within the pages of books, filled him with a sense of exhilaration. He looked up at Mr. Suhat, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Mr. Suhat," he asked, his voice eager, "now that I can read, would it be alright if I... if I explored your library? I'd love to read some of your books."
Mr. Suhat, observing Gordon's enthusiasm, smiled warmly. "Of course, Gordon," he replied, gesturing towards the shelves that lined the walls. "Please, feel free to browse. The library is yours to explore." He was pleased to see Gordon's eagerness to learn, to delve into the world of written knowledge.
Gordon's eyes scanned the spines of the books, his fingers tracing the worn leather covers. He selected a volume that caught his attention, drawn by its intriguing title: "How to Make Your Plants Sing." He opened the book, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"How to Make Your Plants Sing?" he muttered, reading the title aloud. He stared at the cover, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. "Can plants even sing?" he wondered. "Is this... is this a children's book?" He flipped through the pages, searching for illustrations or simplified text, but found only dense paragraphs filled with botanical terms and complex instructions.
Gordon quickly lost interest in the perplexing plant-singing manual. He shelved it, his curiosity replaced by a sense of bewildered amusement. His gaze then fell upon another book, its title emblazoned in bold letters: "The Mighty Hero." The word "hero" piqued his interest, promising tales of courage and adventure.
He eagerly opened the book, only to find himself immersed in the exaggerated exploits of a character named Young Tudor. The stories were fantastical, to say the least. Young Tudor had apparently saved a village from a colossal spider, single-handedly defeated a crocodile that preyed on children, and, most astonishingly, vanquished one hundred dragons in a single battle.
Gordon's eyebrows shot up. "One hundred dragons?" he muttered, his voice laced with incredulity. "That's... that's impossible. Right?" He flipped through the pages, searching for some semblance of realism, but found only more tales of Tudor's superhuman feats.
"Maybe... maybe they meant one hundred snakes?" he reasoned, trying to make sense of the outlandish claims. "Or... really small dragons? Dragon hatchlings, maybe?" He shook his head, dismissing the stories as nothing more than fanciful tales.
Gordon's eyes skimmed over the increasingly ludicrous tales of Young Tudor's exploits. He scoffed at the story of Tudor single-handedly defeating a thousand black wizards and saving thousands of city residents. It was clearly an exaggeration, a blatant fabrication. If Young Tudor were truly that powerful, his name would be legendary, a household name. Gordon had never heard of him.
However, his gaze abruptly halted, his attention snagged by a specific detail within the exaggerated narrative. It wasn't the fantastical feats of strength or magic that caught his eye, but something else, something familiar, something that sent a shiver down his spine.
The detail that caught Gordon's attention was a description of the black wizards, specifically the most powerful among them. The story described these dark sorcerers as having a particularly disturbing practice: they consumed human souls. Not just any souls, but the souls of their enemies, their victims. They did so to absorb the knowledge and memories of those they vanquished. The passage emphasized the chilling efficiency of this method, how it allowed the wizards to accumulate vast stores of arcane knowledge and power.
A chilling realization dawned on Gordon. The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, forming a disturbing picture. His strange, unsettling dream, the sudden, inexplicable knowledge that had flooded his mind – could it all be connected to the high priest he had consumed?
The description of the black wizards consuming souls to gain knowledge resonated with a horrifying clarity. Was it possible that he had inadvertently absorbed the high priest's soul, along with her memories and knowledge? Could the strange dreams and the unbidden information be remnants of the high priest's consciousness, lingering within him? The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
The weight of the realization pressed down on Gordon, a chilling dread settling in his stomach. If it's true, he thought, his mind reeling, what have I become?
He pictured himself as a vessel, a puppet controlled by the lingering essence of the high priest. The image was horrifying. Or perhaps he was a twisted fusion, a grotesque blend of two souls, forever locked in a silent, internal struggle. The thought made him shudder.
What should I do? he wondered, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion. He needed answers, but where could he find them? He glanced around Mr. Suhat's library, the shelves filled with books that now seemed to hold both promise and peril.
Gordon frantically scanned the bookshelves, his eyes darting from spine to spine, searching for any title that hinted at the secrets of the soul. He pulled down volumes, flipping through their pages, but found nothing relevant. The library, once a source of wonder, now felt like a frustrating labyrinth.
The weight of his discovery, the potential horror of his situation, began to overwhelm him. He felt a growing sense of panic, a desperate need to escape the confines of the study. He was stressed, and he needed time to think.
"Thank you, Mr. Suhat," he mumbled, his voice strained, as he placed the books back on the shelves. "I... I think I'll go home now." He didn't wait for a response, turning and hurrying out of the study, his mind racing with unanswered questions and growing fears.