“Stay”. The word was a whisper, barely audible even to Des’s own ears, but the deer, previously springing through the underbrush, drew to an abrupt halt. It stood still, facing the same direction it had been fleeing until Dena’s red-feathered arrow pierced its neck.

“There’s no fun to hunting like this,” Des said. He was becoming much more adept at utilising the new power he possessed, and it seldom drained or disoriented him as it had in the first instance. He broke branches underfoot and clumsily parsed his way across the forest floor toward the deer’s now fallen corpse.

“Speak for yourself,” Dena replied. “I’m saving so much not having to buy ten arrows for every kill I chase”.

“You could just buy a wand, you’d never have to buy another arrow”.

“Ha, a wand-” Dena laughed at the idea for a moment, before her face became lost in thought. “Well, actually, maybe if we can get through the season like this… who knows?” Des sighed.

His aptitude with the stone was certainly growing. He hadn’t shared with Dena his encounter with the butcher, only the nature of the black stone's power, but each time he called upon its magic it got a little easier. When he called upon it he felt more of it; he could see the webs and cracks beneath its surface, the tell-tale roots of thaumaturgical energy that wove themselves deep inside, far beyond the space he could perceive from the outside. The stone’s interior was a pocket that defied its container.

From the very first moment Des had called upon the force inside it had fascinated him. The rush electrified his body, let the energy flow like no other virtue gem ever had before. It was a feeling that the primal part of his mind wanted to feel always, constantly, and it was a feeling that he had quickly become wary of.

He didn’t understand the force he was wielding, not entirely. Only that he could command another living thing and that it would obey, unquestioningly, for as long as Des could maintain his concentration. The how and the why of it eluded him; it was a magic quite unlike any other, virtue gems didn’t typically contain powers that were so imperceptible. He’d certainly never heard of one that could influence the mind of another living creature.

There were gems which could subtly enhance the bearer, and there were gems that could create followers, even at least one which could cause confusion as to friend and foe - but mind control? Such a broad and terrible power? It was a unique thing, to the best of his knowledge, and it scared him. As far as he understood it, there were only a few limitations. He had to speak an instruction, and he had to lock eyes with the subject; he couldn’t just call out and have any listener obey. It was still too soon for him to know what else the stone was capable of, aside from longevity and influence, and he didn’t know how else to find out.

If there existed an anchoring spirit in the gem, a person whose memories made up the source of the virtue gem’s capabilities, like the gladiator who had granted him the lacerating attack inside the Chamber of SIns, then Des had yet to find them, though not for lack of trying. All his mental probing had ended without discovery. Where he had always been able to touch minds and communicate telepathically with those that dwelled within other gems, fractured existences as they were, this one was different.

It refused to speak to him, never acknowledging him except for when he commanded the gem’s power. Even a few out-loud conversations, episodes which had made Des feel quite foolish in their aftermath, had not enticed the spirit to answer him.

Des and Dena reached the deer together, stopping just short of its body. It had fallen beside a particularly muddy ditch, but the carcass itself seemed unspoiled by the ground. Better still, the deer lacked any tell-tale sign of the corruption; such a creature was quickly becoming a rarity. It was the fifth deer they’d found today, but the first unmarred by the corruption’s touch. Only with Des’s new ability had they been able to hunt five animals so quickly.

As Des looked down he couldn’t bring himself to look at the deer, its eyes locked open in an expression of alarm, almost frightened, and fixed in his direction. Dena didn’t notice the deer’s stare or was otherwise unphased by it, and she stooped beside it quickly, lifting the body with one hand and hefting it onto her shoulders.

“I should take this back to be cleaned and carved - it’s a good buck, it’d be nice to have it prepared properly for once.” Dena’s face was half-hidden by the shade of the canopy, her familiar and soft voice reaching out from seemingly nowhere. Des stepped closer so that he could see her lips, and so that he could put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Will you meet me later?” he asked. Even in the gloom of the mid-afternoon forest, her smile was obvious; a quick flutter that broke moments before she could control her expression.

“Of course,” she nodded. Dena leaned towards him, brushing her lips against Des’s. The deer carcass stopped him from embracing her and kissing her fully, and instead, he settled for a whispered goodbye.

“Usual spot?” he asked, thinking of the tower winding beneath the great tree.

“Usual spot,” she murmured. A silent longing glance passed between them, leaping from her eyes to his before Dena turned her head and started to walk away. Des watched her make her way between the trees, admiring her deft movements and eternal grace, keeping an eye fixed on her form until she had, at last, passed through enough of the undergrowth that he could hardly make her out.

- - - - - - - - - -

The animals seemed to keep a wary distance from him as he made his way across the Phrecian forest, though Des had no designs on hunting any more of them. The past two days he’d had more than enough of his fill, hollow as it was, sharing Dena’s camp and helping to keep it in order. He kept eating, though since he’d first implanted the stone the act hadn’t been enjoyable, and he kept hunting to satiate that need. She hadn’t said as such, but Des knew Dena appreciated his being able to contribute. The black gem had granted him the means to do a great deal more than he had previously aspired to.

He wandered for a time, with nothing to do now that he had already finished hunting for the day.

I should take up a hobby, he thought, wondering what he’d do with himself now that hunting was becoming easier. He seemed to have nothing but time the past few days. The past night he’d tossed and turned for hours until Dena had asked him to leave her sleeping bag; walking around, until morning, had been all he could think to do. Along with finding any joy from his food, sleep was still elusive.

“Help us, please!”

“Someone help!” The twin cries called out a fraction of a second apart, the first distinctly male and the second unmistakably female. Des leapt forward, sprinting through the bushes and between a gap in the trees as he headed for the nearby road, where the voices had come from.

As he rounded a tall oak he came upon the sight of two cowering travellers, a man in a brown tunic, and a woman in a tan dress, standing in front of an armoured middle-aged man, clad in chainmail and wielding a mace made of a blue-and-silver metal; the mace head’s colour shifted as it caught the dying afternoon sun, warping from one to the other as the wielder raised it above his head. All around the man stood magically-birthed pillars of ice, interspersed without order, each as tall as a man. As Des came across the scene another rose in front of him, growing from beneath the forest earth as though the world below was entirely made of frost and rime.

“Stop!” Des yelled, hoping his voice could carry far enough. His body answered him, a storm swirling inside and swelling his chest, coursing beneath his arms as an invisible energy rushed between him and the attacker; the blue-and-silver mace drew to an abrupt halt, hovering above the head of the woman, and the pillars of ice that decorated the road began to shrink and melt, small pieces breaking off rapidly as the armoured man’s concentration was shaken.

The travellers' confusion was palpable. They turned from their attacker to Des, and back again, each time trying to make sense of the scene in front of them. The armoured man stood rigid, his eyes glazed over and his expression muted. The travellers bowed toward Des as he approached.

“I don’t know what you did, but thank you sir - thank you for saving my wife and me from that brute,” the man said. Des simply nodded back at him.

“Anyone would’ve,” he lied. His concentration  momentarily broken, the armoured man twitched. He was pulling away from the black stone’s magic.

Des stepped in front of the man, between him and the travellers; standing closer he could see him as someone he knew, a storyteller who had once lived in the forest encampment.

Eoin… A heaviness settled upon Des’s chest. Another exile lost to the corruption. Even behind the glassy stare of the armoured man, he could see only anger; Eoin shuddered again, trying to break through the hold Des had him under. Hatred streaked plainly across his face as he spat and struggled.

“What are you waiting for?” the travelling woman asked. “Kill him! He tried to kill us!”

“I’m not a murderer,” Des replied, shaking his head. Eoin’s eyes were a mask of fury - not a word of their conversation was reaching his ears.

Once the corruption takes root…

“Then I’ll do it-” her husband said, kneeling to pick up a pointed rock from beside the road.

“No, don’t-” Des said calmly. The virtue gem inside his arm bristled, begging to be let loose, to exert his will over the travellers as he had the exile in front of him. Breathing heavily Des ignored the virtue gem's needling.

The travelling man hesitated, his hand already clenched around the rock. His wife spat on the ground.

“If you don’t kill that monster, then you’ve murdered his next victim”.

True enough, Des reflected, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to execute a helpless man. The black gem pressed up against his consciousness, whispering.

Power. Use me. A voice… the black stone didn’t seem to care what for, only that he would call upon it again.

“Go,” Des murmured. Eoin wavered. His arm fell, the blue-silver mace cleaving through the empty air as the spell of holding was broken; he stood still as a new magic rooted him to the ground, as indecision in Des’s command manifested as indecision in Eoin’s actions. “Run, now!” Des’s voice rose in concert with the thaumaturgical energy inside of him, and Eoin immediately turned on the spot, running into the forest.

“What did you do that for?” the travelling man said as he stood. Beside him, his wife sighed deeply and put a hand on the man’s arm.

“Save it Tarke, at least we have our lives”. The woman shot a scowl toward Des as the two began down the road again.

You’re welcome, Des thought.

- - - - - - - - - -

Beneath the tall tower, intertwined with an oak tree just as old, if not older, Des sat waiting for Dena, eager to tell her about his day. The minutes seemed to stretch into hours, badgered as he was by the constant demands of the black virtue gem.

A few times during his wait Des caught sight of an animal passing through the trees: a rabbit or three, several deer, once even an oversized arach spider that had him reaching for his hatchet before it scurried away. Each time the black stone in his arm called to him, begged to be let loose.

Use the power - use me. Gripping his bicep seemed to help control the urges, massaging his arm as though troubled by an ache or pain.

He heard Dena before he saw her. Her footfall fell upon his ear uneasily, branches snapping beneath her feet. Had he not turned to see her a moment later, he could’ve imagined the sound to be someone else. Dena was rarely so careless with things. She stumbled slightly as she approached, glancing down as if she was surprised by the detris on the forest floor. She didn’t look up again, appearing to almost be in a daze.

“Dena? Are you alright?” Des hoisted himself to his feet as she came within arms-reach. He went to place a worried hand upon her shoulder but the second that his fingers grazed her vest strap she pulled away, flinching from him. Her eyes snapped towards Des, looking at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. “What’s wrong?” Des drew back, bewildered by Dena’s reaction.

“It’s-” Dena looked him from head to toe. “-it’s nothing,” she said, her voice quivering slightly.

Is she frightened of me? Sickened by me? Guilt rushed over Des, guilt that had sat at the bottom of his stomach for days, waiting to be disturbed. He’d let a man die to save his own hide. He’d stolen from the dead. His arm was defiled by the old ways, by a virtue gem of obvious malevolence. A wave of possible explanations for Dena’s apparent disgust struck his head, battering the walls of his conscience.

“Whatever it is, we can talk about it,” Des said. She didn’t meet his eyes. He reached out for her hand and she shrank away again. “Dena-”

“I’m okay,” she said, unconvincingly. “H-how are you?”

“Something is clearly wrong,” he murmured, stepping toward her.

“I’m fine,” she hissed, a sharp tone puncturing Des’s ears. She stepped away, continuing their dance, as her face flared with anger.

Is she angry with me? Indignation took its turn to wash over him. He was doing his best. Better than most. He’d fed the weaver’s son with the butcher’s meats. He’d saved the travellers from the rogue exile.

The stone is giving me power to help people. The thought wasn’t his own.

“Tell me!” Des yelled, his voice rising louder in his anger than he meant it to. At that moment a familiar sensation flashed on his mind’s periphery, a stirring.

Gods no- I didn’t mean- With an inkling of what was forming in his chest at that moment, Des tried to swallow the thaumaturgical energy, tried to force it back down, but it was too late; his anger had opened the gate.

Dena froze, her body rigid as Des’s words struck her. Her face contorted for a moment, shock transforming into a dull vacant gaze.

“I heard from the seer what you did to the butcher.” Her words were lifeless, pointed and matter-of-fact. “You used that evil gem against a human being”.

“Dena I’m s-sorry-” Des stammered, for the deed which had shaken her, and for the mental spell he had cast over her. Speaking the words shook the magic’s resolve, and Dena’s face warped again. She wore the same fear and disgust that Des had imagined only moments ago.

“Dena…” His once-companion stood staring at him, petrified. “Dena- please-” He leant toward her, hoping, praying, that she would whisper that she understood, that it had been an accident and she knew, knew, he hadn’t meant to use the stone against her. She blanched the second he tried to move in her direction.

“Stay back!” she snarled, her eyes wide and her hands already at the sheath where her hunting dagger lay.

Unforgivable.

“Dena-”

“Stay away from me!”

Flee.

Des turned and ran.