The following night came by quickly, leaving two very uncommon patients at Otterwesh's apothecary.

  Alard Wells had been poisoned, but with a few tests, Isemberd discovered with what the spirit had used to bring the knight down. He worked on an antidote and mixed it with an elixir to help with most of the symptoms.

  The evil spirit was now back to being shackled to the mage and, even though the Forest Lady weakened it, it was still far stronger than it used to be. Isemberd was feeling exhausted and sick, his head aching horribly and every illusion created by the spirit to mess up his senses were extremely powerful. Sometimes, he went deaf in one ear as the druid yelled directly into it. He was struck with constant trouble to breathe and his eyes were aching.

  With the added euphoria and the strong emotional volatility from excessive magic use, the mage was in a rough and frustrating psychological state. When paying attention to the druid, hanging on his shoulders, he wanted to cry, cackle, run away or incinerate everything around him, all at the same time.

  Still, he stood there, as firm as he could, his floating lamp illuminating the dark house while he walked around, tools and objects flying to serve him as he needed them. The damage all over the house was a problem for later and it ranged from scratches on the walls up to the ravaged kitchen floor.

  He prepared the medicine for his friend, found and destroyed all the magical traps that were still hidden around the house and started to tidy up the attic. Many of his building materials were destroyed and useless and he still found some traps around there.

  The chest containing the vile cursed tome was still there, its heavy padlock hanging in the very same well he left it last time.

  After finishing treating the poisoned noble, which took a few hours, Isemberd leaned his back against the room's wall, dizzy and nauseated. Alard would probably sleep all night from there and would wake up with many discomforts, but he was out of danger.

  The mage turned his attention to Erika Morgan, that was laying on his own bed. She seemed well, no external wounds and nothing besides a few bruises on her arms. However, she showed severe signs the druid caused way more interior damage than he expected.

  She was resting there while he treated Alard and, when entering the room, he felt the terrible effects of her magic eye. The tool designed to detect and disrupt mages, interfering with their spells and causing a heavy sickness on mages the more magic they used. It could also detect magic sources and allowed its user to even cast some simple spells themselves.

  The effects of the sickness were way more potent on mages that had recently manipulated large amounts of magical essence, and that was Isemberd's case that night. The healer was violently assaulted when entering the room by a powerful magic sickness. He bowed outside, collapsing and vomiting, his knees trembling and threatening to fail him. When recovering from the effects, he had to deal with the druid's laughter near his ear and the mocking trying to make him lose his control.

  Still feeling awful, Isemberd searched the lady's belongings and found almost nothing. She came with only what she was wearing and even the blade, under some scrutiny, wasn't anything particularly special. The mage noticed she wasn't wearing the little jewelry he saw when they met for the first time.

  Isemberd sat down on the chair near his study. He remembered the mage hunters of Sorin using magical equipment to level the playing field against the mages. He once fought warriors of the noble house of Morgan using magical blades and armor and now he awarded his survival and that of Alard's to pure luck.

  If Erika had one of those magical weapons, the druid would have killed all of them, for sure.

  Leaving his thoughts on the matter aside he stood up. He started to exam his patient, taking her temperature, gently opening her magic eye that gazed at him with uncanny independence, then her normal eye, her breathing, her pulse, the noise her heart was making. He did all of that with simple spells, refraining from touching her as much as possible.

  All the time he could feel the evil spirit trying to force his trick of reaching out for her with his magical essence and that was now causing Isemberd a headache. The mage could just block the spirit's magic with his own, but it was tiresome at that point and he would surely fail if he were to stop paying attention to it.

  At some point he gave up trying to keep this up and formed a different magical sign. It looked like a number nine laid down over his raised palm, two fingers stretched out. The spell formed a different kind of magical cloak than the one he used against the monster-tree before. He ripped off a little of it and molded it into a veil. The magic fabric spread fluidly around his fingers, as if it were at the same time fiber and liquid.

  With a grimace he covered Erika's face with the veil. She reacted harshly once, as if she were having a terrible nightmare. He could understand. When stepping away from the veil, she calmed down and her breathing stabilized.

  Now he couldn't hear the druid and all magic essence in him was sealed off from outside influences, like an armor. He went out after his staff that was still in the middle of the corridor since he came back from the spiritual realm. Visiting his office, he looked for a big and heavy tome with hard to read texts in it. There he looked for medicine and other alternative solutions to heal the effects of a spiritual possession and damage caused by an invader spirit.

  He spent one or two hours studying, using the light of his lamp and the calm awarded by his magical armor. When the flame started to die and the sunlight of the morning started to enter the window, he tilted his head, feeling like he was about to pass out. He leaned against the wall, being hit by another wave of dizziness and nausea, all the exhaustion finally catching up to him. Before he could try and sit down again, a familiar voice entered the office's window:

  “Miss Eloane, Master will be furious if he knows we were chatting! Don't tell him that, please!”

  Gillibert sounded worried somewhere outside, near the backyard.

  “He will understand, Gillibert” the unfamiliar voice that he took a few moments to realize it was Eloane, the mage apprentice that worked for the Count's family.

  The mage sighed and ended up sleeping standing, his back against the wall and the heavy book opened in the exact page he needed: a remedy for purifying magical essence, to cleanse spiritual influences.

  All around the house, tools that were waiting for its master commands fell to the ground, free from Isemberd's invisible force.

  He fell unconscious really easily. The magical cloak dissipated in a purple smoke around him and the nightmarish dreams were just another step in his constant torture.

  He woke up disoriented, sunlight hitting his face. He was gently laid down over a blanket at a corner of the guest room he left Alard sleeping in. Judging by the light, the sun should be high in the sky already.

  “Good morning, oh great Third Star” Alard greeted him with a husky voice. “How are we feeling?”

  Isemberd sat down.

  “You…”

  “I asked first!” The knight grunted, interrupting his friend “You look awful.”

  The mage sighed.

  “Yes.” he admitted.

  “Master! Master!” Gillibert screamed “Master! You're a…”

  Something stopped him from finishing his sentence.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Mister Isemberd.” lady Eloane sounded uneasy, “Are you okay?”

  She was near the entrance of the room, holding Gillibert in her hands.

  “As much as possible, miss.” he replied as the dizziness that he now knew it was the druid's magic poking around him. “Keep Gillibert with you a little more, please.”

  The apprentice nodded. The evil spirit kicked around louder and the mage noticed the lady trembling and taking a step back.

  “It's all under control” he assured, “for now.”

  “Sir, you need help.”

  “No. Lady Morgan needs help.” he retorted, bluntly, “How long did I sleep?”

  She tilted her head, thinking.

  “I think about three hours, sir.”

  “I need a cup of tea and my owl safe far away from me for a few more hours.” he said, grunting when sitting up. “I need to fix and clean my whole house…”

  Eloane nodded with a comprehensive demeanor.

  “I understand, sir. The knights came with me, they're outside. Sir Robert said you protected him from illusions in the woods.”

  “I didn't…” Isemberd started, the stopped and rubbed his face. He was in no shape to be polite to anyone.

  Alard did it for him:

  “Bring them inside, Eloane, please. I need to discuss some instructions with them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No” the mage mumbled, “The house is in shambles, I can't have guests right now…”

  “Master!” Gillibert was about to complain, but this time Eloane interrupted him:

  “Mister Isemberd” she started, cautiously choosing her words, “We're at your service as well. We are your allies by oath.”

  He sighed. The druid were cackling at his ear, making him deaf at one side.

  “We came here with the intention of helping.” she added.

  Alard grunted in pain as he sat up in the bed.

  “You heard the lady.” he said, “That's an order, mister Third Star.”

  “I'll put you to sleep again…”

  The knight laughed shortly.

  “After I talk with the knights, if you must.”

  Eloane sighed, clearly relieved.

  “I won't pretend I'm an alchemist as capable as you, sir, but I'm sure I can work under your orders.”

  Isemberd inclined his head and said:

  “You’re going to hate being my assistant.” she didn't react and he continued: “I have a list of ingredients I need with utmost urgent. I dropped the tome containing its depictions in my office. I also need a huge pyre, prepared for me in my backyard.”

  He stopped to cough horribly for a long moment. Blood came out of his mouth after he coughed a little more.

  “You also need to rebuild my protections for Miss Morgan senses, her eye must have destroyed mine at this point…”

  “I already rebuilt them.” the apprentice said, putting Gillibert near Alard at his bed. “She is showing dangerous signs of essence poisoning.”

  Isemberd heard the druid growling at his ear while mumbling all sorts of threats to the mage he knew could feel his presence.

  “After I recover myself, you will have to assist me in her treatment.” he kept his cold pragmatic gaze at the lady's face. “It will be terrifying.”

  “With all due respect, sir, the only terrifying thing is how are you still capable of speaking and walking after all you did in the past hours.” she replied. “I'll call for the knights and start working on what you asked, now please, both of you, try to rest a little.”

  “Do not let anyone wander the woods alone. I still don't know if things are back to normal.” he said, ignoring her. “And take Gillibert with you, I don't want him near me.”

  The owlet flew to the table, from where he could observe his master in a sad silence. After a bit, he flew to Eloane's shoulder. Isemberd looked away, to the window.

  Eloane bowed politely at Alard before leaving.

  “I know I already said it before” the noble lord said, “but you don't need to be hostile towards everyone.”

  “I wasn't hostile” he retorted. “I just don't feel like being polite. It's different.”

  He fixed his posture, breathing heavily.

  “Well, we're all alive thanks to you.” The noble said. “I think we can forgive you this time. How are you feeling?”

  “What a shitty question.”

  “Berd.” The knight turned, with difficulty, towards his friend. “Look at me.”

  The usually melancholic and distant gaze of the mage was now clearly nervous. He tried to say something, but the knight interrupted him:

  “That spirit was trying to mess up with you. And it worked, by the looks of it.”

  A pause.

  “But we're with you. And no one will say a thing about what happened before. What you were forced to do.”

  Isemberd looked down. Few people knew about the details of the Octahedron's way of fighting and what they actually did in the war.

  “At that night, in that bridge, you did the right thing, not the easy one.” Alard said.

  “It doesn't matter.” The mage replied. “The druid is still here…”

  The sound of heavy boots interrupted them. Two knights appeared near the corridor and one of them entered after a polite bow. Isemberd recognized one of them, the man that came to call him the day before, which now felt like an eternity ago.

  “Lord Alard. Third Star.” He greeted them.

  They were Sir Karl and Sir Robert. The two knights updated Alard about the town's conditions after the magic incident. Isemberd didn't pay much attention as he wasn't interested in the subject and only acknowledged the knights with a nod when they were leaving.

  Alard asked them to split into two groups. Sir Karl would go back to Otterwesh with most of the nine knights of their caravan to prepare their trip back to Scarwood Fortress. Sir Robert would stay with two other warriors to assist the mages and would stay the night there.

  Gillibert entered by the window and stayed at the corner of Alard's bed. Isemberd observed the owlet, not saying anything.

  “Master…” the owl finally spoke “You don't look well…”

  “Wait until you see the other guy.” Alard joked, coughing a little. “I still feel awful.”

  The mage sighed, putting a lot of effort to sit properly and lean on the wall.

  “We were really lucky.”

  “We also took all the right decisions.” Alard replied, relaxing at the bed. “Can I hope to take a nap without you picking up a fight with anyone?”

  Isemberd shook his head.

  “Hey…”

  “You do not need to thank me, my friend. Neither you should be rummaging about things we could have done better.” The knight cut him. “I will for sure have some fantastic bonfire stories to tell my nieces at Scarwood.”

  The mage didn't laugh and waited in silence, alone with his thoughts and the druid’s angry remarks. The knights were preparing his pyre and Eloane was preparing the ingredients for Lady Morgan's medicine.

  The apprentice was actually efficient and only bothered Isemberd once or twice for him to explain some instructions the book had. They finished their big fire as the night fell upon them. Isemberd stumbled his way there, meekly holding himself up by leaning on his staff. He asked them to leave and the knights didn't wait for him to ask twice.

  Eloane, however, stood there.

  “I don't want you nearby.” he said, grumpy.

  “Sir, if something goes wrong with your spells, only I can help you.”

  He sighed before glaring at her with a grimace that could be out of pain.

  “Even if you were to try and disturb me, nothing wrong would happen to my spells.” he said.

  Eloane stayed quiet and he sat down near the big fire, enough for his clothes to start burning.

  “Did you ever want to be a part of the Octahedron?” he asked.

  “I still do.” she said, stopping at a safe distance of the pyre.

  “You must start to get used to the absurd, then.” he replied. “Sometimes to the monstrous.”

  Isemberd formed the magic sign that looked like a triangle and stood there, sitting while the fire made him sweat and his body started to burn.

  “The cost of it is to become like me.” he added. “Or worse.”

  “Haunted?” she asked, forming her own Matter Sign, with a triangle, and levitating in a lotus position, near Isemberd, protecting herself from the flame's heat.

  He didn't reply and started himself to levitate, moving into the flames and disappearing into them. The nasty smell of burning skin and hair came out of the fire.

  “They say I'm closer to a fire demon than to a human.” his voice echoed out of the flames, muffled by the sounds a fireplace usually does. “I like to think I'm not even the weirder of the eight stars of my generation.”

  “I am certainly up to face the risk if that's the kind of power I can achieve, Master Isemberd.” she replied, her voice filled with a trembling admiration.

  She sounded excited. To any outsider, it would appear a mage was being burned alive in the flames of a big pyre and the eerie silence of it was both terrifying and mysterious. The flames were now starting to shrink and calm down, as if something were sucking them in.

  Or maybe the flames were being eaten by a demon of rage and fire.