The Contagion

[PepsiWhirda]

*****

Whirda sat far back from the crackling fire, her knees tucked in against her chest and her bevor shifted high to protect her face. She found the light intolerable now. The flames that would once have brought her comfort now served only as a reminder of her affliction. The ripples of her attunement to the darkness seemed to cower, retreating like cornered prey to settle somewhere behind her.

The revelation of the shadow contagion raging inside her had been slow in coming to the forefront. As a nagging suspicion, Whirda had foolishly allowed its power to spread, even enhancing her command of the abilities it granted through frequent teleportation and camouflage. At first it had been fun. She could explain the strange powers away as a perquisite of carrying the shade's dagger, ignore the subtle war it waged on her body, on her very identity. Indeed, that explanation still held a measure of credibility—perhaps it was merely a side effect of the ensorcelled blade, she allowed, although her instinct spoke to a more foul truth.

She thought of the guard's expression when he saw her face. Whirda may not have been well-liked back home, that much was true, but she had never been feared, not by goodly folk, never by those she had risked her life to protect. It was just like in her dream, when Lady Tyrande lifted her face to show the contagion had claimed her as well. The notion brought sent a chill coursing through her. If Lady Tyrande and her mighty tree fell, what hope remained for the rest of her realm?

So distracted, Whirda did not hear the footsteps padding up to her camp. Only when she heard her name from across the fire did she look up sharply, to see a bearded yet undoubtedly familiar face.

"You're supposed to be dead," Dobson said, sitting on the mottled log beside her.

Whirda chuckled, a humorless gesture. "I'm starting to think I am."

Dobson leaned over and wrapped her in a hug. "It's good to see you after all this time."

"How long has it been," she asked.

"You mean you don't know?"

Whirda shrugged. "I remember killing the shade, and then waking up in his lair a couple days ago. Nothing of the time in between."

"So it's true," Dobson said, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Ahn'Thrix is dead."

"Yeah, and he left me a couple of souvenirs." Whirda pointed at the dagger with one hand, and used the other to lower her bevor, to reveal the scar along her throat.

Dobson blanched. "How the hell..."

"Now tell me," Whirda said, indelicately changing the subject. "How long has it been?"

"A year," Dobson said, his eyes still locked on her neck. "More, maybe. Sometimes it's hard to tell when you haven't seen the sun in half a decade. We tried to go back for you, half a dozen times. We mapped every cavern beneath that gods-forsaken mountain, with no sign of you."

That's because these infernal powers kept me hidden. "You tried, Dobson. Thank you. It's more than I deserved."

"Don't say that." Dobson had aged a lot in a year, for certain, but the reediness of youth still lingered in his voice. "Whirda, you're a hero."

"Right," Whirda deadpanned. "It was very heroic, being turned away from the gates of the town I helped to save."

Dobson's face fell. "You don't have to be cruel," he muttered. "If it had been me on that patrol, I would have had to make the same call. I'm guessing whatever this—" motioning at his neck to indicate he meant her scar—"is, has something to do with how you look."

"I'm not a shade, Dobson," she began defensively. She caught the anger she felt at Darkshire begin to well up inside her and forced it back down. "At least, not yet."

"I believe you," Dobson said quietly. "I do, Whirda, but think about it rationally. Who could feel safe—truly safe—with you in their midst, looking like you do."

Whirda said. "I know. You're right. All that's left to do is return to Tyrande. Perhaps she can provide some insight into how I can cure this—this..." She trailed off, panic choking off her words. She took a deep breath, then another. "What of Nyx and the professor?"

"Nyx," Dobson echoed, a smile creeping onto his face. It faded quickly. "She, uh, she's gone."

"Dead?" Whirda's voice fell oddly flat, empty of emotion.

"She, uh, she was in league with whatever that... that thing was, inside her. They escaped before the professor could kill the, uh, demon. Hurt him pretty bad, too."

"Just like he said," Whirda murmured, feeling foolish. "So he's here? Can I see him?"

"Uh, no," Dobson said. "He and Mayor Boone had a... disagreement, of, uh, of sorts, and the professor left."

"Left? Where did he go?"

"I don't know." Dobson looked down. "Look, Whirda... Darkshire's not in good shape. We're packed with refugees from The Tangled Green—the blight is still spreading, by the way—, losing patrols it seems like every day, and they have me in charge of it. I admire your heroism and I will always consider you my friends, but my allegiance lies with Darkshire first."

Whirda cast him a sharp look, but let him continue.

"I can't tell you where the professor is," Dobson said. "But I can tell you this: a trio passed through the town a few days back, talking about the blight. They have some new information. They seem to know how to cure it, Whirda. Once and for all."

"Primes?" she asked, reflecting a moment on how naturally the word fell from her, as if the concept was one she had known all her life.

"Yeah," Dobson confirmed. "I'm expecting them back any day now, hopefully with more news. I think you should wait and hear what they have to say, before you make any decisions. Maybe they can find a way to fix you too."

Whirda said nothing. As Dobson's allegiance was to Darkshire, so was hers to Lady Tyrande. If nothing else, Whirda was an honorable woman. She had accepted this quest, so she had to see it through to the end. The dream of Lady Tyrande-turned-shade rose unbidden to her memory. What would she find upon returning to The Tangled Green? she wondered. And if the blight continued, had she truly completed her mission at all? She had to wait and hear what the Primes had to say.

She nodded, confirming the thought. "I'll stay, Dobson. But not for long."

"Good. I have to get back to the town, but until then, here." He hefted a bag off his back and dropped it to the ground in front of her. "Food, water, blankets. I'll come back at this time tomorrow if the Primes haven't returned."

"Okay," Whirda said.

Without another word, Dobson turned on his heel and left, his slender silhouette fading into the distance. She wanted to call after him, to thank him for what he was doing, but something kept the words inside her. To Whirda, it felt like her humanity was falling away.