25

Augmentation

Patches hopped up the stairs deftly considering her missing paw, and Scorpion followed a few steps behind holding the fragments of the Nightcrawler bow. The mouseling scurried down a hallway, clutching her satchel to prevent it from jostling, paused, then looked back and waited for the larger ratling to catch up.

Scorpion gave an impatient look, and Patches glowered in response. "We're here."

Despite her assurance, the two continued for some time, descending a second stairway, crossing a rotunda, and descending a third stairway with no end in sight. Patches ran down a corridor Scorpion was certain they had passed earlier, then rose high on her hind legs, sniffing, before backtracking some distance. When Scorpion turned to follow, he nearly jumped at Cricket's silhouette blocking the dark hallway, assuming it was the original because of the lack of antennae. He grunted, tired of trying to communicate with the deaf insect.

Wordlessly, Cricket followed the ratlings. Eventually, the mouseling found the room she was searching for, and leapt once for the handle before relenting and letting Scorpion open the door.

Cricket caught the edge as it swung closed and slipped in as well.

Scorpion eyed the circular room skeptically. Candles of black wax adorned the walls. An altar of stacked bones sat in the center, on top of which lay a small crystal ball. The room smelled of sweet spices.

"This it?" Scorpion asked.

Patches nodded.

"What's special about this room?"

Patches circled the altar and placed a paw on the clear orb. "It's magic."

"It looks like glass."

"I think it is. But I think it's magic glass," she stated, undeterred.

Cricket bumped into the ratling, and Scorpion growled, taking a step away. The insect still hovered awkwardly close.

Scorpion addressed the mouseling, "Is this dangerous?"

"Uh-huh," the mouseling said. "But I've done it before. Once on purpose."

"Where do you want the bow?"

Patches circled the altar again and indicated a spot on the bare ground. Scorpion placed the broken bow on the cold stone and stepped back.

The mouseling pulled a plain ring, carved from obsidian, from her pouch and placed it atop the bow.

"Black glass is magically spongy," she said. "So it's used a lot in enchantments." She raised her nose in the air as she spoke. "Since it's black, it will match the bow. I think that helps."

She continued, "If I let the magic out, it will go straight up like hot air, so the ring will catch it." Patches rummaged through her pouch again and produced a burlap cloth. "This is pretty heavy, so I think it will trap the magic in. We want as much to go into the ring as possible." She placed it atop the ring.

Scorpion nodded skeptically. "I would really like to move the enchantment to a dagger."

"That won't work," Patches explained with the authority of a child explaining something to a smaller child. "Daggers are stick-shaped, so the magic will just shoot out of the tip. We need a circle to trap it."

He groaned beneath his breath, but made no further objection.

Patches circled the broken bow three times, sniffing it.

"Stand still. If it gets out, I think the room will go dark."

"Oh," Scorpion said. "Didn't Damien do that once. I forgot. But are you sure that's what will happen? What if the crawling black stuff comes out?"

"Um..." Patches thought. "I'm pretty sure."

She placed her paw and her stump on the cloth and pressed the ring against the remnants of the bow, then began whispering quickly.

She stopped speaking, but the whispers continued for a moment. Patches circled the cloth and began whispering again. The new sounds overlapped the old, like an echo.

Cricket watched eagerly from the sidelines, and Scorpion pulled the insect back with his hand, figuring he couldn't hear the chanting.

Patches moved to a third location, as her words hung in the air, and began whispering again. Slowly, the fragments of the bow began to shake beneath the cloth. Black tendrils began to stretch across the fabric, and Patches let go, hopping back a step.

The bow, however, continued to vibrate. The cloth began to rot away before their eyes and black fumes poured out. Scorpion covered his nose and the mouseling buried her snout in the elbow of her wounded arm. Her good hand, she stretched toward the fumes and then she concentrated. The fumes stopped rising and began billowing out to the sides. She stared so hard her nose twitched, and the black smoke slowly withdrew, moving back toward the bow, only to be absorbed into the ring.

Long after the fumes vanished, Patches gasped, her tiny heart pounding in her chest.

"Is... that it?" Scorpion asked.

"I think I got most of it." She placed her nose close to the ring, then recoiled at the smell. "Yeah, it's in there."

"Is it... safe to touch?"

"No, I already told you it wouldn't be safe. I just said I could move it."

"Right, okay. Don't... get worked up. This is cool. Way better than nothing."

Scorpion reached out gingerly and tapped the ring, quickly pulling his finger away.

"Oh, it's cold."

Patches nodded.

"Like, icy cold..." Scorpion looked over at Cricket and the insect gave a thumbs up.

"That's normal," the mouseling replied. It's cold but smells burnt, like Oydd's ghouls. I think that's a good sign."

Scorpion grasped the ring, testing it. He winced with it in his grip and his clenched fist began to tremble before he decided to stow the magic item in his own pouch.

He eyed the insect as if he might say something and headed for the door. With one last glance at the room, he saw the mouseling's eye magnified as she peered through the far side of the crystal ball.

"Are you coming?"

"I want to stay here. I like the smell. It reminds me of the morgue back at the Warrens."

Scorpion shrugged and slipped out the door, only to hear Cricket's footsteps following after him.

*****

Jeshu vaguely registered the insect leaving his side during the night, but continued to meditate, paying him no heed. Without the need for much sleep, the dryad had learned, somewhat against his will, to be quiet and still, and to be content being quiet and still. He learned to calm his mind when things around him slowed down—for example, when Cricket was asleep. And, like a spring bud awaiting the sunlight, he stored his energy for when it was needed.

Sadly, he could not feel it welling up so much as in times past. He ached, which was a new sensation for the druid. While it was not necessarily painful to move, with the exception of his wounded side, it was more taxing—more demanding than it had been in his youth.

Though he could not quite put a finger on it, keeping the flow of mana moving felt therapeutic. He could control the flow within himself, but that still felt... stagnant. Transferring mana to Cricket helped. It was the nature of dryads, and druids as well, to reach out, to connect—to collaborate with nature.

Still, when the night passed, and Jeshu opened his eyes, he saw that Cricket had left two of the mana potions, and the dryad gladly kept them for himself.

He creaked as he stood, and let out a slight groan, then retrieved his ice hammer from where it lay against the wall and began his way back to the top of the tower. Through the night he had brought supplication to his goddess, Elkennah, praying for guidance and wisdom. But her eyes did not see down in the dark, or her ears did not hear—unconcerned with the workings of the underworld.

For decades he had cultivated a relationship with the deity, but now felt as though he misunderstood her.

Jeshu sighed. If he were to learn to wield Bale's hammer, he required protection from his goddess. Through Elkennah he had learned to resist the arcane and to confront dark magic without fear. Though he did not understand divine energy, he thought, perhaps, with Elkennah's grace, he might resist it as well.

He had reached for Bale's hammer only once, and while he did seem to resist the effects of the weapon more than the others, he could not simply shirk it off like he did with Ghajan's hammer.

As the druid wandered the tower, he passed a pantry full of seeds, dried meat, and grains.

Bax sat against the far wall with a pained face, and a profoundly vacant look in his eyes. When the gnome noticed Jeshu, he immediately donned a convincing smile and beckoned the druid to sit.

Jeshu stood in the doorway, trying to read the gnome's previous expression, before he entered and sat down across from Bax.

He said nothing to the gnome and Bax simply stared off for over a minute before speaking a word.

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"Do you miss it?" Bax asked.

Without even needing the gnome to clarify, Jeshu answered, "Terribly."

Bax nodded. "I had a wife."

Jeshu allowed a moment for this information to sink in before asking "And they took you from her? Or did they take her from you?"

"I don't remember..." Bax frowned. "I think... she helped me remember things."

"What was her name?"

Bax shook his head. "I've got it narrowed down to three. But... why can't I remember that?"

"Can you remember her face?"

Bax nodded. "Well, I've got it narrowed down to two... which is good for me. But!" he held up a finger, "we had the same last name, so... Thimblefork... or Tallowbarrow... or..."

"Tell me about her..."

"Ah!" Bax exclaimed. "No, not barrow. But she invented the cheesebarrow. Revolutionized gnomish society as I knew it. Mostly just as I knew it, though. Not a lot of other gnomes used the cheesebarrow. But obviously I had to learn..."

"Because?" Jeshu probed.

"Because... she was a cheesemonger."

"Oh... you know, of all the foods that come from animals, I think I like cheese the most."

Bax nodded, somewhat distracted by his own thoughts. "And I was a gardener."

"Oh?"

"I always had a knack for magic, but... if I ever get back to the surface, I think that's what I like most. Too many of the plants down here try to eat you..."

"We can get you to the surface," Jeshu stated. "I don't see what's stopping us. We are far from Al Tsiroth. Our master is dead. Our home is destroyed. We are... no longer slaves."

"But I wouldn't know where to go."

"Oydd could find your village. Maybe track down your wife."

Bax shook his head. "No, I feel like I'm doing something important. And she would actually like that I'm doing... something. What about you?"

"Why don't I go back? I really have nothing to go back to."

"There's not a pretty gal dryad waiting for you?"

Jeshu laughed. "That's something Cricket would ask. But no."

"A pretty guy dryad?" Bax asked innocently.

Jeshu thought for a moment. "Actually, I think I prefer to be alone. I move slowly, and I'd rather keep my own pace than try to match someone else, if you understand..."

"I don't..."

"It simply isn't a need of mine."

Bax laughed but suddenly looked worried. "No, no! I'm not being critical. Taking definitely isn't a need of yours..." he said, cryptically. The gnome stood and brushed off his leggings. "But that's not what I meant."

*****

Cricket followed Scorpion for a little while, but noticed the ratling kept looking back in irritation, so he decided to take a different route. But he was already bored, and he wasn't sure he could find his way back to Patches.

He did, however, think he could find his way back to the troll's lab. He had assigned a few landmarks in his head to help him navigate, including both labs and the training room, as well as two mess halls, but the tower was still largely an unnavigable maze.

Cricket thought he was nearing the portal room, but came upon, instead, an empty chamber of roughly the same shape, which meant he was off by at least a floor. But he wasn't sure if it was up or down. Feeling somewhat recovered from practice, he decided to make one clone, then sent the shadow down while he went up. That way, at least one of them was likely to find his way.

As it was, Cricket came upon the portal room almost immediately, but thought it a waste to report back to his shadow, so he just continued on, figuring there were plenty of fun activities in the tower to entertain a wandering shadow.

Cricket sighed, imagining all the fun adventures his shadow was having, when he finally stumbled upon the door to the trollblood's lab. He saw the faint glow of magic flowing out from beneath the door—a soft violet light that flickered almost like a fire light, but more mechanically, moving only between two or three set positions and then back again.

Cricket tried the handle, but found it locked.

Oydd... he tried to reach out with his mind, but felt nothing without his antennae to tune into the rudra. Cricket let out a heavy sigh, slipped a dagger into the keyhole and miraculously managed to release the mechanism before resorting to violence.

Cricket, out of habit, walked silently, though he made no willful effort to be stealthy.

Still, Oydd did not hear his approach. Cricket first came upon the rudra's severed left arm, discarded carelessly on the floor, lying in a pool of blue blood.

The rudra worked with his back to the insect, and Cricket carefully circled around from a short distance, intentionally entering Oydd's field of vision to announce himself.

When Oydd noticed his presence, his face flashed briefly with a look of irritation, which he quickly hid.

"What are you doing, Oydd?"

What does it look like? the rudra snapped.

Cricket didn't answer. Oydd continued to operate, slicing the leathery exterior of Bale's claw with an adamantine scalpel. The severed edges hungrily, eagerly attached to Oydd's raw flesh. The rudra peeled back the skin again, and reached into the gap with a finger, realigning a muscle or tendon. From Cricket's position, he could not tell, but he had seen the rudra operate on enough corpses to understand the basic principles.

When he withdrew the scalpel, the violet flesh began to reseal, and the blood along the contact point instantly dried and flaked away. The pinky claw twitched, then straightened willfully. Oydd made another incision, and began connecting the ring finger. He showed no signs of pain but for a strain of the facial muscles that looked more like fatigue.

Why? Cricket asked calmly.

As the rudra struggled to formulate an answer, the insect continued, Scorpion was already missing an arm. Why not offer it to him?

You find me experimenting on my own body, and that is your first concern? That I might have tested on Scorpion first?

Cricket stared back dumbly.

Scorpion is missing his right arm. Did you think of that? What use would he have of another left hand?

Cricket held up his hands before his face, then flipped the right hand upside-down, so it resembled the left. You could have at least offered —

Would you want two left hands?

Yes, Cricket answered without hesitating, if the alternative is only one hand.

Oydd growled. You're being absurd.

I think... I think you're—

I didn't invite you here. Rather, you might have taken the locked door as a request for privacy.

Oydd tested the second finger and growled in annoyance at the result. I did not ask for your counsel. He continued. I trust my judgment well enough.

And... what did you—

I decided... Cricket... that we are very much in over our heads. If we are to stand a chance—even a miniscule inkling of a chance—Oydd winced, then recomposed himself—we will need to leverage every available asset.

Cricket nodded, but his countenance fell, and he looked quietly at the floor.

This will still take several hours. Since you have already intruded, you might as well make yourself useful and bring me that basin of water.

Cricket retrieved a ceramic dish with a small amount of murky water and placed it within the rudra's grasp. Oydd, however, made no use of it. He continued to dissect his arm in awkward silence.

Eventually, Cricket blurted out, I can make nine clones.

Oydd scowled, I told you—he paused and his scowl slowly relaxed as he realized his hypocrisy.

Cricket continued. You wouldn't be able to handle making shadows.

Another brief look of irritation crossed Oydd's face. Is that so? he said caustically.

Because you wouldn't be able to get along with yourself, Cricket stated evenly. Neither of you would be willing to take orders.

Oydd's scowl softened again as he thought. What is your point? he asked, defeated.

Nothing. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just an observation. You like to give orders, so who would you expect to follow—you or your shadow? One of you would have to be willing to follow orders, or you wouldn't get along.

Oydd focused on connecting a ligament. His mind strained as he stretched the fibrous tissue. Suddenly, a patch of Bale's claw dimmed to black, and he cursed under his breath. Oydd worked furiously, and gradually the violet glow renewed from within.

Did I tell you, I can beat five of myself now? Cricket continued.

How is that relevant?

Relevant to what? I just haven't talked to you in a while.

In your dreams? Oydd asked.

It's not easy.

It's not real, Oydd retaliated.

Cricket looked hurt. I told you, It's about confidence. I didn't use to have the confidence to win, even in my dreams. You... don't think about fighting the way I do, but I can't win against five of myself if I don't think I can.

You can't win against five of yourself if you think you can either.

You don't get it, Cricket thought. Losing confidence can cost you a fight before you even start. I have to be confident first.

Finally, Oydd's eyes narrowed as if in pain, though he had set his scalpel down for the time being.

The rudra sighed loudly. Cricket, I'm sorry.

For what?

I've been cruel to you, and you don't deserve it. I thought you would be.... more upset. Oydd indicated Bale’s claw with his scalpel.

Why? You're my friend.

I—

Like... my second best friend.

What, who...? Oydd floundered.

Like, you and Jesh are tied for second best.

Oydd bit his tongue. He swallowed and pushed the question from his mind. I don't know if Jeshu will understand.

I don't understand. But this will make you stronger?

Immeasurably.

Does that just mean you don't know how to measure it?

Well, yes, but... the rudra stumbled over his thoughts. Think of it as my nine shadows.

So, like, nine times as strong?

Well, no, I mean... I have to push myself and see how strong I can get.

Cricket nodded. Don't let it scratch you. It... gets bad.

The claw has a will of its own, but it can also bow to my will. It is... still a struggle, but when I prevail against it, it will no longer harm me.

Oydd rested his wrist on the table, and the index finger curled involuntarily. He panted and took a deep breath, then rotated his arm and began to cut it open from a new direction, maneuvering strands of muscle into position with his mind.