3?

Jackson stood at the same post on the same guard tower as usual, the rare but welcome rainfall pitter-pattering on the simple roof. Rain was a good thing for several reasons: obviously, it kept the crops from drying out, but it also scared off a lot of creatures that thrived under dry conditions. A Sand Gome, for instance, would risk being reduced to a pile of grainy muck if it got too soggy.

It also meant no work to do. Jackson really wished he had taken the chance to bring a book to keep him occupied, but leaving his post to get one now would obviously cause trouble. He almost considered asking Rowan to go fetch one for him if he came by to visit, but there was no head of crimson hair in sight.

Another issue with the situation: the curse was acting up again. That damned itchy feeling. It hadn’t even been long since the last time he had fed it; these days it just kept demanding more, and more often. To call it bothersome would be an understatement.

Many times, he had considered leaving the clan. The curse wasn’t going to go away by itself, and if he wanted to have any hope of dispelling it, it wouldn’t be accomplished here. However, there just wasn’t anyone capable of replacing him as the unofficial clan guardian. Not yet, anyway.

He knew how the other clan members felt about his presence. They feared him, yet also depended on him. Ironically, it made them complacent.

If Jackson was strong enough to handle nearly every invader himself, why should they get stronger? If Jackson would lose control and attack them if he didn’t kill enough monsters, why should they take his prey and put themselves in danger?

Rowan was the only exception. He always strived to improve himself through his own hard work, and Jackson admired him for this, even if he was bad at communicating it. If only the other man didn’t gauge his own self-worth based on the strength that the curse gave Jackson... If anyone could take his place one day, it would be Rowan.

The lazy workday continued to show no signs of becoming more active, so Jackson’s thoughts drifted back to the day the curse bound itself to him.

* * *

Jackson was still rather young back then. Perhaps this is why the memories had mostly faded, and no longer tormented him today. It was him, his parents, and Rowan. He and Rowan would play, spar, and explore the surrounding territory together.

On one such occasion, the four of them were on a combination hike and training exercise venture. Rowan’s parents were too busy with their chieftain duties to watch over him all day, so he was almost more often under the care of Jackson’s parents than his own.

Memories of where they went or what they did on that trip were hazy. The only part Jackson remembered distinctly was when they found the sword.

Jackson’s parents sat and rested by a small pool, a miniature oasis, while Jackson himself and Rowan found a narrow gap in two high ledges. Squeezing through it, they found a nook in the rocks, fairly wide and open to the sky. And, there it was—pierced deep into the stone wall and abandoned.

Naturally, coming across something interesting like this, they just had to mess around with it. Both of them tried to pull it out, but it was Jackson who succeeded. At first, nothing happened. They played around with it, gave it a few swings, then went back to their supervisors to show it off. Who knows, maybe it was something valuable?

But that’s when it finally started. Having never felt it before, Jackson failed to recognize the feeling that started to overwhelm him in waves, turning from an itch to a soreness, a soreness to nausea, nausea to hunger. Then he lost control. The blade gleamed black as it compelled him to swing wildly at his unsuspecting friend and family.

Rowan was the only one who survived, the newly born curse apparently satisfied, for now, with two human lives. He and Rowan cried together, terrified. Jackson tried to hurl the sword into the pond, but when he did so the itch only swelled up again, forcing him to retrieve it.

Young and stupid, they vowed to never tell anyone what happened, to lie and say that it had been a bandit attack. The chieftain solemnly decided to assure Jackson’s safety for the sake of his parents, who had been close friends to him.

The two boys thought for a while that they had fooled him with their lie, but he had always known the truth; there had been no bandits sighted in that area for decades.

* * *

Today, yesterday’s rain had already dried up, much to the disappointment of the farmers in the clan. However, for Jackson, the dry weather meant that Rowan might come to visit him at the guard tower again… well, honestly, he didn’t know whether this was a good thing or not. Lately, his old friend had been a bit less subtle about his jealousy.

Sure enough, there he was: uncombed red hair, wide but probably fake grin, makeshift glaive over his shoulder. “Yo, Jack, it’s been a while, so fancy a spar before dinner? I’ve been itching to get out and move after the rain yesterday, and plus, I’ve picked up a few new tricks lately!”

Jackson quietly considered it, but… he didn’t see a point to it. Jackson would win, Rowan would pretend not to be upset, and his suppressed envy would only grow. He was a bit curious to see what those “new tricks” were, but not curious enough.

“Not today, sorry. Maybe in a month or so? You can use that time to polish up those tricks further,” Jackson replied in a level tone.

Maybe it was the wrong thing to say. Rowan’s face flickered with irritation, and he took a deep breath. “Train more, huh,” he said with a forced laugh, trying—and failing—to make himself sound unaffected, “Yeah, guess I’m still not a match for you.”

“You know I didn’t want things to be this way,” Jackson might have been starting to lose his patience.

“Why wouldn’t you want it? You’re strong enough to protect the whole clan, is that not enough for you?” Rowan snapped, accidentally letting his true feelings slip.

“Why would I want,” his patience had run out, his voice ice-cold “to be unable to stop craving the death of everything around me? Why would I want, to have my chance at a normal life with my parents stolen away from me? I have never been interested in fighting, or violence, not like you.”

Jackson had never spoken like this to anyone in his life. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had never truly been angry with anyone before. Not at Rowan as a kid, when he teased him after each of their sparring matches. Not at the people of the clan, who saw him as nothing more than a defense tool. Not even at the curse itself.

This was the final straw. He jumped down from the guard tower. Rowan flinched back and gripped his weapon, instinctively thinking that he was about to be attacked, but Jackson walked right past him. “I’m going to leave the village, to find a cure for the curse. You can have my position, if you want it so much,” Jackson said, now disturbingly calm.

Rowan didn’t try to stop him. Jackson returned home, packed up his few belongings and traveling supplies, and left out the front gate. Rowan was still here when he passed by the guard tower again, but he didn’t make eye contact. Maybe he had wanted to apologize for his petty attitude, but he didn’t say a word.

* * *

Despite the rush of emotions that led to the decision to leave, the journey itself was a rather welcome change of pace. Being on the move meant that he was more likely to find the kind of aggressive wild creatures that would practically throw themselves at him to satisfy the curse’s hunger.

Of course, the time spent without monsters was nicer; some relaxing light exercise. Walking might not have been as enjoyable as sitting down with a good book, but it sure beat standing still all day.

Eventually, he saw something that was very unusual for a place this far out in the wilderness. He nearly drew his blade at the sight of the shambling figure, mistaking it for an undead ghoul of some sort. But it wasn’t, it was a woman, with the ears of an animal, very much alive.

She didn’t even seem to register his presence, just kept dragging her feet forward at a steady pace. When he stood in front of her, she walked right into him and tried to push through, but her frame was light and she ended up being pushed back herself.

As if waking up from a bout of sleepwalking, she opened her eyes wide and shook her head to clear it.

“Where,” the girl murmured as they sat down, Jackson sharing with her some of his provisions “is this? Where am I?”

“You’re pretty far from anywhere, just outside the Heite Mesas. Did you come from the mountains?” Jackson probed gently.

“I… yeah, the mountains, that’s where—” she suddenly seemed to remember something, and fell silent.

Not wanting to pry, Jackson asked no further questions. They sat for a while in silence, and then he realized that her hand holding his waterskin had started to droop down. The beaskfolk girl had fallen asleep where she sat.

* * *

It had been midday when Fiona fell asleep, and now it was the morning of the next day. She lifted herself up from the bedroll she now lay on, still feeling lightheaded, but at least she had gotten some rest. The sound of rustling fabric woke Jackson from where he was dozing off, sitting up against the trunk of a dried tree.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

Fiona nodded slowly, “I guess so. Physically, at least.”

“So, do you know where you’re heading, or are you lost? By the way, the name’s Jackson.”

“Fiona. I… am definitely lost. Or, I was, I don’t even know where I’m going anymore. It’s already way too late by now…”

Jackson raised an eyebrow at those last words, but didn’t press the issue. Fiona didn’t see his expression, she was just staring at the ground now. “Well, if you want to come with me to wherever I’m going, the journey will be much safer for you,” Jackson remarked simply.

Fiona nodded slowly again. The two of them ate a quick breakfast, then she brought her aching body to its feet once more.