Sabine was a princess pursued by the sorcerer Dahkhal until she managed to turn the tables on him. She exchanged the world’s memory of her existence to trap Dahkhal as a tiny jellyfish in a
Sabine was a princess pursued by the sorcerer Dahkhal until she managed to turn the tables on him. She exchanged the world’s memory of her existence to trap Dahkhal as a tiny jellyfish in a ring on her finger. In an ironic twist, Dahkhal was the only person who remembered who she was, and they became friends. That is, until the ring was stolen from her by Deacon Struct. Now she’s set off to find her lost ring. To read the previous adventures of Sabine, click here. To support us on Patreon, click here. The story continues below.
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A formless, fracture-minded shade descended through a morass of darkness. It fell, rendered to its core, through a bottomless expanse of endless night. But, after an initial, indeterminate amount of time, the shade found enough mental fortitude to think, “Well, this is stupid. Think I’m done with this now.” Because, even with everything else pulled away, the shade was stubborn. It then decided, “Think I’m tired of being formless too. I’m a girl, right? I’ve been called an ugly girl before, you don’t usually insult a boy by calling him an ugly girl, do you?” And, at the memory she’s received praise and insults all her life for her red hair, it came back into being and shone like a candle in the darkness.
The form examined the appendages it suddenly had and, after only a little more consideration, recalled, “I wore rings. Lots of rings. From lots of men.” The wood and coral and metal of those rings materialized the more she thought on it. Men had given her those rings. Husbands had given her those rings. Some of them were extraordinary, some could be surprisingly dull, one harbored a truly unforeseen secret, one was little better than the monster he’d slain. But each had some part to play in forming the person she was. And so did that great, recurrent evil she’d finally banished on her own.
Sabine was just starting to think the whole piecing herself back together ordeal was a lot easier than she’d expected when the darkness leveled off. As if she woke from a dream, she found herself in a dimly lit room, seated on a stool. She raised a hand over her eyes, even the weak illumination given by the strange, overhead candles hurt her after all that darkness. With a squint, she assessed her surroundings to find a strange sign illuminated by magic that read, “Spirit World.”
“Great name, idn’t it? Monks pop in here all the time and the monasteries don’t even question it.”
The mercenary looked to her side, then double-took. A tall, slender woman with a head of long, flowing red hair sat next to her as she sipped from a wine glass. She wore a dress stitched from the stars and night sky.
After some struggle to articulate a response, Sabine asked, “You’re… me?”
She shrugged and took a long drink from her glass. Although she swallowed, the red contents within didn’t appear to diminish. “You’re me, more accurately. But what’s it matter? I am—” she was interrupted by a hiccup, then beat her chest to clear her throat. “Sabrius, goddess of wine, celebrations, and stupid decisions that start with, ‘watch this.’”
Sabine’s jaw went slack as she beheld her family’s ancient matriarch, and her previous divine incarnation. After some struggle, she asked, “What—what are you doing here? Where are we?”
“My favorite watering hole, didn’t you see the sign?” Sabrius uttered a rueful chuckle. “That idiot back in your world tried breaking you down.” She swirled around her glass. “Fortunately for you, you’re not that complex of a creature. You’ll be fine, you can go back whenever you want.” She snapped her fingers toward the opposite side of the bar. “Here, let me get you a drink first.”
Something in those words frustrated Sabine as a stein levitated up from behind the bar. “What do you mean I’m not that complex?”
Sabrius rolled her eyes. “Darling, don’t make a big thing of this. You’re the avatar of a booze goddess. The universe bends around you to set you up for ridiculous shenanigans.”
Sabine gawked; it was all she could do. “Shenanigans? That’s what you think my life is?”
“Criminy, kid, yeah, shenanigans.” Sabrius moved her finger as though she conducted an orchestra, and a large bottle of liquor emerged from behind the bar. “One dead husband is a tragedy. Two dead husbands is horrific luck. But ten? Ten is hilarious.”
With her fists clenched, Sabine said, “It wasn’t when it happened to me—to us!”
“Kid, I’ve been incarnated plenty of times, and I’ve been married plenty of times.” Sabrius gestured at the liquor bottle, and it poured out a dram. “The only person who was ever worth it was your twelve-time-great grandpa, Eric.” She let out a noise like a snarling cat. “Now that guy could shuck some corn, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh gods, stop.” Sabine pressed her hands over her ears.
“Listen, girlie, just accept your role. You’re my avatar, that makes you an amusing cosmic plaything. None of this dumb crap is your fault, it’s just fate.” Sabrius wiggled her fingers and the dram she’d poured pushed itself to Sabine’s side. “It was all decided before you were even born. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can end this psych session and you can get back to reality.”
When the dram came within Sabine’s reach, she swiped her arm across the bar and knocked it away. “You know what? I don’t think I’m feeling thirsty today.”
“Of course you are,” Sabrius said. “I’m pretty sure your body only has two states—thirsty and hungover. So, let’s speed up that transition.”
When Sabine couldn’t find the athame at her belt, she contented herself with a hand slammed on the bar. “Listen here, lady. I don’t care if you’re a goddess, and I don’t care if I’m your reincarnation. You seem so convinced I’m nothing like everyone else, but I’m more than just some drunk.”
“Of course you are.” Sabrius’s voice rose in amusement. “You’re a drunk whose pants sometimes fall down—sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident.”
“Be that as it may!” Sabine smacked the bar again for emphasis. “You probably thought you knew all about me when I was always stuck being a damsel too. Did you see this coming? That I’d survive this long outside of keeps and castles? That I’d slay monsters and evil men and just keep enduring?”
Sabrius rolled her eyes. “Not so hard to do when you’ve got all my power backing you up, believe me. Oh, but fine, go ahead, throw your little temper tantrum.” She lowered her voice and waved her hand about. “‘Look at me, I’m such a special little avatar. I’m not just a reincarnation; I’m my own person.’ Pssh.” She turned back toward the bar and grabbed the liquor bottle she’d produced by its neck. “You should have had some of this, it’s good stuff.”
“I don’t need another drink. And I don’t need to be analyzed by someone who couldn’t stand one halfway-decent god in her pantheon.”
“Oh, just get out then, miss pious-pants.” Sabrius chugged from the bottle and motioned toward an adjacent hallway. “And get your pal, he’s been in the bathroom this whole time.”
With a raised eyebrow, Sabine pushed open a door Sabrius motioned to labeled, “Am-BRO-Shas.” When she looked within, she flinched and took a step back. Tall, jaundice yellow, and adorned with a crown of ram’s horns, stood Dahkhal—the original, humanoid Dahkhal—leaned against a porcelain basin. He stared into a mirror with his blood-red eyes. After a moment to consider him, Sabine noticed a strange mutation in his flesh that rolled up and down him like a wave. Every few seconds, the rippled skin took on its slimy, purple jellyfish form. His hands and arms changed to tentacles; his head sank into his chest like a bell. He paid her no mind as he gazed, transfixed, at his reflection.
Sabine struggled for how to approach him. It took a few seconds of careful observation to notice he was even blinking, so trapped did he seem in his stare. After several failed starts and stops, she asked, “Am I supposed to be sorry?”
Dahkhal didn’t turn to face her. “Sorry for what, princess?”
She looked down. “I don’t know. You kidnapped me over and over; you kept killing the people I cared about. I had no reason to think it was ever going to stop—I stuck you in that body out of self-defense.”
“… But?”
“But you’re the closest thing to an actual friend I have in the whole, rotten world! And—and—I don’t know. If I don’t hate you anymore, then I don’t like that I’m the one who took away your humanity. I can’t undo it, I don’t know if I would if I could, I still think you’re kind of a horse’s ass. But… but…” She started to tremble. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
Dahkhal breathed a long, heavy exhale as he turned away from the mirror and looked toward her. The last time she’d faced him in this form, she’d put an arrow through one of his eyes. “I was a little more rotten than the rest of the world. And you’re a little less. Frankly, you’ve made me a little less too. I suppose that makes us a good team.”
Each looked like they wanted to smile at the other, but neither quite had the fortitude to be the first.
Back from the bar came a call of, “You guys are gonna make me hurl. And that’s not just the booze talking.”
Before either could respond, there came a furious, shrieking cry of, “What?!” Even from the one word, the two could identify Struct.
As they stepped out of the washroom, Sabrius dug a broom out from the other side of the bar and beat against the ceiling. “Keep it down up there, damn you!” She turned to the two. “If you’re done being all affectionate, I’m renting a room to that bloated sack Barphurmuir upstairs, and the king of his fan club is being a pest. You mind going up there and shutting him up?” She motioned at a staircase in the tavern’s corner.
Still confused and disoriented, Sabine turned to Dahkhal, the two shared a nod and ascended toward a final confrontation.
To Be Continued…