Chapter 36

Boon

Mags’s mind struggled to keep up with the absurdity of what had just happened. She glanced down at the splintered wood and remnants of fur that had been the tiger-man. A whole house had dropped from the sky and crushed the Bonesinger, and now it was prancing on a giant pair of chicken legs?

“Did I really just get saved by a hut with chicken legs?” she muttered, half-laughing to herself.

She spotted Calcabrina sprawled a few yards away, and let out a trembling sight of relief when she noticed the horns on the girl’s head shift ever so slightly. Thank the gods, she’s alive. Mags stumbled over to her, her own bruises and cuts aching with each step. Calcabrina sat up gingerly, brushing dirt from her bloodstained tunic, her breath shallow and strained.

“You okay?” Mags asked, though the question felt almost absurd given their state. The two of them had just battled two Soulsingers and an aether-mad Bonesinger and lived to tell of it.

Calcabrina managed a small, weary smile. “I’ll survive. Once we’re back at Bijel Garden, Scarmiglione can patch me up.” She tried to stand but winced, and Mags extended a hand, pulling her to her feet.

Mags took stock of herself, realizing her own body felt like one massive bruise. Her limbs were heavy, exhaustion pulling at her muscles with an almost physical weight. The journey back was going to be grueling, especially with every ounce of mana burned from her body. She’d never felt an exhaustion like the one she had when her mind scraped the bottom of her mana reserves. Malacoda had explained that mana reserves would naturally replenish over time. She wondered how that actually worked. Did the body replenish its mana similar to how it heals and grows over time? Was there an Attribute that affected mana regeneration? These were questions she’d need to ask Malacoda during their next lesson.

The Hag’s head gave a polite, if grating, cough. “Now that the danger has passed,” she said with a toothy grin that nearly split the yellow, paper-thin skin of her face, “could one of you young folk see to my head? Being a head without a body is such a dreadful nuisance.”

Suppressing a sigh, Mags strode over, lifting the Hag’s head from the ground. The crone winked at her, entirely too pleased, as Mags carried her to where her body lay sprawled on the forest floor. When Mags lowered the head to the stump of her neck, she gasped as bloody, sinewy threads extended upward, twining from the body and into the head. The threads knit themselves with a grotesque, seamless efficiency, sewing the head firmly back onto the shoulders. And then, with a sudden jerk, the Hag’s body bolted upright.

But her head was on backward.

With a grumbling groan, the Hag raised her bony hands, gripping her own face, and gave it a rough, twisting spin. The head turned with a crunch, her eyes rolling in her sockets like marbles before they settled forward. Her mouth split into a wide grin as she brushed off her skirts.

“Ah, much better,” she said, flexing her gnarled fingers. “Thank you, my dears.”

Calcabrina stared, still half in shock. Mags tried not to stare. The wet crunch of the Hag’s neck being twisted around the right way would haunt her for weeks, she was sure.

The Hag adjusted her shawl, clearing her throat before continuing. “I suppose it’s time for proper introductions. You may call me Baba Yaga. Witch of this wood, keeper of its secrets, and not too fond of visitors.” Her tone softened, and she sniffed indignantly as she looked over the bodies of the three mercenaries. “And after that little display, I think I owe you both something for your troubles.”

The Hag produced a small, worn mortar and pestle, pressing it into Calcabrina’s hands. “This is a gift, child, though what it does will be for you to discover in time. Its powers will reveal themselves only when needed. Don’t let it gather dust.”

Calcabrina blinked, reverent, her fingers brushing over the ancient stone. “Erm—thank you,” she said, lamely.

Then the Hag turned to Mags, her eyes studying her with unsettling intensity. “As for you, little pup. You’re . . . an interesting one, aren’t you? Not quite Angel, not quite human. Dead, yet still alive . . . reborn.”

Baba Yaga cackled when she saw the slack-jawed look on Mags’ face. “Yes, yes. I see you, little pup. For what you really are. Live long enough to be my age and . . . well, you learn to truly see the way the world is.”

Mags cleared her throat, about to respond, but Baba Yaga cut her off.

“There’s something worth watching in you.” Her grin widened, showing a set of yellowed teeth far too sharp.

Before Mags could respond, Baba Yaga reached up to her face and, with a horrible squelching sound, plucked her own left eye from its socket. Mags stifled a gasp as the Hag held it out. The eye was oddly vibrant, swirling with blues and greens, its gaze seeming to pierce her very soul.

“I give you a rare boon, one that no witch like me would part with lightly—the Hag’s Eye. Through it, I’ll watch and see what becomes of you. You’ll see things, too, if you know how to look.” The eye floated from her gnarled hand, its gaze fixing on Mags before slowly sinking into her palm. It carried a warmth that sent shivers up her arm.

Mags flexed her fingers, feeling the strange energy hum through her veins. She didn’t close her palm. How do you properly hold an eye ball? . . . Actually, let’s not think about the fact that I have this old woman’s eye just sitting in my palm.

With a final, satisfied cackle, Baba Yaga turned and climbed the stoop of her house, which straightened, its chicken legs ready to carry her deeper into the wood. She gave Mags and Calcabrina a nod. “Tell Celestine I send my regards.”

With that, the chicken-legged hut sprang into motion, trotting off through the forest, the Hag’s laughter trailing like mist as they watched her vanish into the trees.

Mags held the Hag’s eye in her hand, its unsettling warmth and slight pulse feeling like something between a heartbeat and a whisper. It didn’t hurt exactly, but the thing was undeniably . . . alive. She could practically feel it observing her, aware of her touch. A part of her wanted to fling it into the undergrowth. Instead, with a sigh, she gently closed her fingers over it and slipped it into her pocket, hoping she’d forget the way it felt in her palm. It actually reminded her of the way the Angel’s egg had felt when she first encountered it in the Deep outside Solstice.

Nearby, Calcabrina bent over the fat man’s body and picked up a small metallic sphere that glinted in the low, filtered light of the forest. She tossed it to Mags, who caught it mid-air, brow raised.

“What is it?” Mags asked, turning it over in her hands. It was deceptively heavy for its size, cool to the touch, and faintly engraved with runes that shifted in her grip.

“An Aether-bound Pocket,” Calcabrina said. “Or just a Pocket, for short. Pretty rare, and very expensive aether-tec. It’s a storage device that synchronizes with Yggdrasil so you can store practically anything inside it. A portable pocket space inventory.”

Mags felt a pang of excitement, clutching the Pocket a little tighter. “And you’re giving it to me?”

Calcabrina nodded her head towards the tattered remains of Mags’ satchel bag and its contents that had been scattered over the clearing. “Seems like you’ll need it, and it will serve you well at Brightwash, I’m sure.”

Mags smiled. “Thank you!” She turned the sphere in her hand, looking over it some more. “How do I use it?”

“You’ll have to attune to it first,” Calcabrina replied, dusting off her hands. “Once you do, it can shrink down to the size of a marble, but it’ll take a bit of practice before you get the hang of it.”

Mags nodded, then made her way over to retrieve Mithra from where it had landed. She felt a surge of relief as her fingers closed around the sword’s hilt, comforted by the familiar weight. This blade was becoming as much a part of her as her own skin. She slipped it into the sheath at her back and walked back to Calcabrina, who was standing over the remains of the two men, her gaze somber.

“What should we do with the bodies?” Mags asked, trying not to look too closely at the grim scene.

“Leave them,” Calcabrina said, her voice low. “It’d be too much for us alone, anyway. Especially in our state. When we return to Bijel Garden, we’ll let Celestine know.”

Her eyes drifted to the dismembered arm of the tiger-man, fur matted with blood, the hand still partially curled as if ready to swipe. Mags stared at it, unease stirring. “Is this what aether rot looks like?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “He attacked his own ally who was out here trying to find him a cure for this condition.”

Calcabrina nodded slowly. “Aether rot’s different for each type of Soulsinger. For Bonesingers like him . . . and me . . . it means losing control of their own transformations until they’re unable to revert back to their original form. They become more beast, or monster, than person. Sometimes they’re driven purely by the instinct that is coupled with their Bonesinging form.” She paused, frowning as she looked at the severed limb. “But the madness, regardless of which form it takes . . . that part’s the same for all of us, in the end.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Mags thought about what Calcabrina had told her not too long ago. We all touch the Aethereal Sea and grapple with the monsters that lurk beneath its surface. Not a one of us comes back whole. Remember that, Mags. Remember that as you continue down this path you’ve chosen.

The two of them turned their backs to the clearing, making their way through the dense undergrowth, the sounds of birds and insects returning to the forest as they left the grimness of the battlefield behind.

Eventually, they reached the spot where the airship rested, the sight of the skyfin—a creature resembling an enormous goldfish, tethered to the ship by thick cords—giving a surreal, peaceful touch to the scene. It floated in place, ignorant of the violence that had taken place not a half hour walk away. Calcabrina moved toward it, her fingers brushing against the side of the beast’s smooth body as it floated lazily in the air.

“Time for you to go, too,” she murmured. In a single bound, she leapt onto the roof of the airship. Her arm shimmered, and was replaced by a fur-covered arm, hand tipped in razor-sharp claws. With a practiced motion, she sliced her hand through the silvered tethers, cutting the skyfin free from the ship’s mooring. As the creature drifted away, it twisted and flipped in the air, graceful and ethereal as it swam into the open sky.

Mags watched it go, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over her as it disappeared into the horizon.

image [https://i.imgur.com/7P7JEZo.png]

Mags and Calcabrina stumbled through the arched gates of Bijel Garden, exhausted but triumphant. Scarmiglione was already waiting near the gate with his arms crossed, his head tilted to the side in concern, though the half-smile of his mask was unchanging. He clicked his tongue at their approach.

“Back from the forest, are we? And oh my, does it look like you’ve taken all the fun!”

He led them to a room in one of the towers that he made into a makeshift infirmary, where his capable hands worked to bind their cuts and mend bruises, applying salves that tingled and smelled sharply of herbs. Calcabrina winced at his touch, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Mags.

Later, as the evening deepened, Mags found herself face-to-face with Celestine and Sarto, who looked on with a mixture of pride and curiosity. “You did well,” Celestine said, her eyes warm. “The forest is no easy place to tread, but you’ve returned stronger Fate-touched.”

Sarto nodded, a reassuring smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “A task—an obstacle on the path of progression. You rose to meet the task. You’ve earned a night’s rest—the both of you.”

And so, after a quick wash and change of clothes, Mags found herself standing before Malacoda’s quarters. Despite being given the remainder of the evening to rest, she had questions she needed answered. The room was dimly lit by a single lantern, casting a gentle glow on the low table and the numerous cushions around it. Malacoda sat cross-legged, hunched over a small feast, inhaling the rich smells of lentil soup, spiced rice, and stews dotted with beans and vegetables.

“Ah, there she is!” he called out, patting the cushion across from him as he ladled himself another bowl of soup. A placemat, bowl and utensils had already been set for her. “What did you want to discuss, my bright young pupil?”

Mags took her seat, pouring herself a glass of the chilled herbal water he’d had set out. “I . . . gained some new Skills while we were out there,” she began, watching Malacoda’s eyes widen with intrigue.

“That’ll happen the more you get experience in the field and battle more.”

“And something strange—a Spell. When I received the notification . . . It was as if the instructions were already in my mind, like the spell was . . . waiting for me?”

“Ah, now that’s exciting!” Malacoda set down his spoon, his face alight. “Skills are often intuitive, but the parameters need to be tested through trial and error. But Spells are a little different. Yggdrasil can transmit knowledge directly to us when it deems we’re ready. So, when you gain access to a new Spell, the System gives you everything you need to know in that very moment. You’re a Soulsinger, Mags—you have access to more information than you might think.”

Mags looked at him, confused. “It’s a strange feeling. I knew how to use the Spell, but I don’t actively understand it.”

“Exactly,” he replied, grinning. “If you focus, you can actually prompt Yggdrasil’s interface to show you the information. Just use your thoughts to summon the right interface.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Thoughts?”

“Try it now.” He took a gulp of soup, his eyes gleaming. “It’s all about intent. Command it mentally, like when you summon your Attributes interface. Try using the command word Spells.”

Mags closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining a prompt window with the word “Spells.” She opened her eyes and the familiar prompt of neat, silver script filled her vision.

[Access Granted: Yggdrasil]

[Soulsinger Designation: Magdalena]

[Class: Angelic Host (Type: Unassigned)]

. . .

She focused harder. Spells, she mentally commanded.

Then, the familair haptic sensation in the back of her mind.

[Access Spell Information?]

Yes.

She guided Yggdrasil to summon the information she was looking for.

[Spell: Angel Flare Spike]

[Level: D-1]

[Root Affinity: N/A]

[Range: Touch]

[Description: The Soulsinger channels void essence aura into a concentrated spike capable of disrupting mana channels.]

[Current Mana Cost: 20%]

Mags studied the text for a moment.

“I’m assuming it worked?” asked Malacoda around a mouthful of rice.

“Spells have levels too?”

“Yup! But not all Spells, or Skills, can increase in level.”

“And it says the current mana cost of the spell is twenty percent?”

“Ah, this is a good lesson. If your mana reserves increase over time, that number should decrease, unless the Spell increases in level. Right now, what that means is using that Spell will require twenty percent of your maximum mana reserves.”

“Got it.” Mags thought for a second. “So, I can cast it approximately five times before I’m spent.”

“Assuming you’re not using your mana in any other way, and don’t have access to a Celestial Treasure or item that can artificially replenish your reserves.” Malacoda began re-filling his bowl, replenishing the pile of still steaming rice. “I would guess you could use it once, maybe twice, in most combat scenarios.”

“Interesting.” There was more to Soulsinging and accessing Yggdrasil than Mags could have imagined. She would need to get used to keeping track of the number of additional factors. “Is there a way to tell just how much of my reserves I have left?”

“Sure. That’s a trickier command that will take some practice, but when you have time, practice using the Status command. There are actually Skills that will provide increased details via Yggdrasil.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Mags scooped herself some rice, topping it with an aromatic vegetable stew. She took a bite and savored the flavor and subtle spices on her tongue. She took some time to stuff her face, trading idle banter with Malacoda as they both ate a serving or two of the meal the priestesses had prepared for them.

Afterward, when she was had her fill, she retrieved the small Aetherbound Pocket and the Hag’s Eye. She held them up for Malacoda, whose eyebrows shot up at the sight of the Hag’s Eye, his face split between astonishment and admiration. Mags swore she saw a flash of silver light cross over his eyes.

“A true Hag’s eye!” he exclaimed. He reached over the table. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she replied, extending the eye.

“Wow,” he breathed, taking it from her carefully to examine it. “You’re holding something truly rare here. And that Pocket will be invaluable too. I have one—most experienced Soulsingers have some sort of Inventory. You’ll want to attune to both as soon as possible.”

“I meant to ask you about that. How do I attune to something?”

“Think of how you used the Daedalus Orb. It’s a similar process. Just place a trace of your aura into each item, a bit each day. After several days, Yggdrasil will recognize the connection, and the Attunement will be active. You can also use Yggdrasil’s Inspect function to get basic information about each item’s properties in the meantime.”

Mags turned the Pocket over in her hands, assessing its weight. She channeled some of the ambient aether in the air, generating a small amount of aura. She focused, letting a faint thread of it pass into the Pocket’s core, feeling the slight hum as it responded to her presence. It was an oddly intimate process, like laying the first steps of a bond.

She summoned Yggdrasil and prompted it with the command Inspect. A window of silver text filled her vision, as she had expected.

[Request: Inspect]

. . .

[Inspection Complete]

[Item: Aether-bound Pocket]

[Unattuned]

[Description: The creation of Artificery, an Aether-bound Pocket is a compact pocket space capable of storing and organizing items. This specific Aether-bound Pocket is capable of holding a range of 200 to 500 hundred individual items, factoring the physical and metaphysical weight of each item. This Aether-bound Pocket currently holds 20 objects. Incapable of assessing inventory. Attunement required.]

So it seems whatever that man had stored in the Pocket is still there.

Mags thought about everything she had just learned. She looked at the Hag’s Eye in Malacoda’s hand and requested Yggdrasil to Inspect the eye.

[Request: Inspect]

. . .

[Inspection Complete]

[Item: Hag’s Eye]

[Unattuned; unequipped]

[Description: The left eye of Baba Yaga, Witch of the Woods. It contains a portion of her power.]

That’s it?! The description was disappointing. It seemed like there was a limit to Yggdrasil’s Inspect function. Additionally, the descriptor of the eye being ‘unequipped’ was somewhat unsettling. She wondered how one ‘equipped’ an eye. Perhaps I’ll put off doing anything with the Eye for now. It would be wise to proceed with caution.

Then, Mags tried something else. She focused on Yggdrasil, and prompted it with the command Attunement. To her delighted surprise, it worked. A new window of text scrolled across her vision.

[Access Attunement Information?]

With her mind, she confirmed the request.

[Items Attuned: 0]

[Available Attunement Slots: 3/3]

“I summoned my Attunement information,” she said, glancing through the text at Malacoda.

“Good,” he said. “You’re getting a hang of using the System without needing me to hold your hand through every little detail. That’s the result of a good teacher, I must say.”

Mags rolled her eyes. “It says I have three ‘slots’ available for Attunement. I have a couple of questions. First, what determines the number of items I can attune to? And second, once I use a slot, can I un-attune to an item?”

Malacoda nodded approvingly. “Good questions. The number of items a person can attune to varies from Soulsinger to Soulsinger. It’s tied to your Intelligence Attribute. The higher your Intelligence, the more items you can attune to. Don’t ask me why. That’s stuffy scholar stuff. It’s just how it works! . . . And yes, you can un-attune by simply making the request to Yggdrasil. You will need to have an open slot before you can attune to another item.”

He handed her the Hag’s Eye, but held his gaze, a twinkle of mischief glinting in his eyes. “You’re growing and learning quickly, Mags. I can’t wait to see what sort of tricks you’ll be able to pull with these new tools.”

A grin spread across his face as he leaned back, picking up a piece of flatbread. “But that’s tomorrow’s business. Tonight, rest up. We’ll see what you’ve learned on this little mission of yours come dawn.”