Chapter 171: Death of a Hypocrite

“There wasn’t any more you could do,” Sen said, predictably, because it had to be said. The remaining poachers had been sorted, and the forest had been judiciously hunted down and cleared of every last crystal-eater, and it was quite grateful to continue growing unmolested of the monsters that blundered its bounty without regard to the ecosystem.

“I know.”

“If we had not been there, all of them would have died.”

“Yeah.”

But she wanted to wallow for a bit, and Sen let her, satisfied that she would not blame herself. And she would not blame herself, Sen knew her too well; She was far too logical for such a morose conclusion, and Sen had pointed out the logic for her in case her mind decided it would not.

The remaining poachers had all organized on a separate skimmer that ran alongside them, asked by the Forest Wardens to escort back to the main station in Kallid, dutifully operated by Sage, ever useful. They’d be returned to Kallid, where they’d face a judgement rather mild, all things considered, having already suffered ill-circumstance enough to traumatize their minds in a cost no humane sentence could ever replicate. They’d do mandated community service, pay a large fee in installments to the city in economically manageable portions for all their own individual circumstances, with a warning that any further poaching would not be treated so leniently.

(It wasn’t that Erras necessarily treated criminals better than Earth—or at least America’s—standard, but that large vulnerable populations were a necromancer or vampire or rogue researcher’s first experimental targets, so some amount of rehabilitation was preventative to outright disaster. Sanshi and Shian had a similar integration/rehabilitation program, persisting after Erin Nisei’s arrest. That’s not to say there weren’t those that slipped through the cracks, but that official programs did exist, for those that were willing to use them.)

In some ways, life would be better for them than it had been before their poaching, if they had the persistence to finish their sentence. Some of them might turn to illegal activity again, and Kallid would not be so lenient the second time. It would be difficult for a long while, but not impossible. If they any had dreams of riches, they would quickly learn why they were dreams, and best remain so. If there were any unfortunately sick relatives, John or any local healer or priest, would deal with the offending ailment, and everyone would be on their merry, healthy way. Needless to say, plights of the financial sort on Erras were not typically due to burdensome sick relatives. And if the poacher’s circumstance were due to the unsavory sort, of loan sharks and underworld violence, then Kallid’s city guard were assigned a delightful task of rooting out the necrotizing weeds before they further entrenched in their beautiful city. They’d really like to stop having to break up fights between the sober and the drunk, because it had grown so predictable it had become local culture. A drug cartel, or an illegal loan shark, would at least be an interesting change of pace, and maybe would allow them to use their investigative skills before they completely rusted.

*****

For a month, the team cycled: 3 weeks of diving, 1 week of contracts. There was nothing that next month, as expected. Sen had garnered some amount of local fame as the adventurer to challenge for a hot-blooded spar, and there was a rising betting pool of which local would finally defeat him. Nara was known as the one who’d wouldn’t necessarily win, but had an interesting enough fighting style that all the locals wanted the experience for themselves. She had, as one does, become extremely adept at not being found so as not to be bothered, and so it became a new challenge to find her in the first place, in order to challenge her. So…that had backfired.

It was one of those weekends where she was found, not by someone she expected herself to be found by, but supposed if anyone could find her, it would be the smug All-Knowing, Knowledge. Or at least, her priest.

Nara was wearing a rather nice dark blue cloak, lined with expensive fur, not because the weather called for it, but because she had always wanted to wander around wearing a nice cloak like she some sort of incognito nobility that did not know how to actually be incognito because they were wearing far too nice of a cloak like some sort of fantasy TV series.

“Miss Edea, if I could have one moment of your time,” the priest called out at a volume loud enough to indicate she had been Found, but not so loud as to draw attention. The nice thing about Knowledge priests, if you could call it nice, was that they knew how to be at exactly the right distance to pull of such a casually skillful feat.

She stopped, because if she walked away any further, he’d have to raise her voice, and then she would be Found by muscle-for-brains, and would not enjoy that at this particular moment, not that she minded sparring (just not all the time, the lunatics).

She followed the priest into the café he was conveniently nearby (presumably the Knowledge priest knew it was of suitably quality, and perhaps even the reason he had stopped her here of all places), and she ordered something delicious for herself, because she deserved it. It was a fresh sauté that made use of the local mushrooms that propagated in the damp forests of spring, layered with potatoes, cheese, and cream as some sort of sauce (with hints of smoked meat and herbs for flavor), and fresh bread to indulgently dip, a meal with no care for caloric quantity.

The priest ordered something equally indulgent for himself, and Nara found he knew how to enjoy life, and liked him better. Then, she briefly wondered if that’s why Knowledge sent this particular priest in the first place, then decided in that train of thought lay madness.

“I’m Gwydion,” he said as he peppered his food with the countenance of a man that knew how exactly to maximize the enjoyment of whatever he ate, which included seasoning his food to his person preference, regardless of the chef’s vision.

“Nara. You know me but it’s only polite.”

He bobbed his head and took a sip of his red soul—tomato base, cocona cream, and iceburn chili peppers for flavor.

He was a quiet and sure man, one who had lived long enough to know what he liked in life, and what he did not, and did not feel the need to explain it to anyone else in particular. He was an elf, and surprisingly had facial hair (from some sort of mixed ancestry), with Ashwood hair and pale blue eyes.

“I have been tasked with my goddess to deliver some instructions.”

“Instructions, is it?” She didn’t like the sound of that.

He nodded, acknowledging that she wasn’t a priest and wouldn’t necessarily follow instructions.

“My goddess asks that when it is the time to cross through the portal, that you find a way to do so. You do not have to worry about the way back. And, when the time is right and you have heard what you need to hear, and record what you have heard, that you communicate it to the priest.”

It was all rather cryptic, although not nearly as cryptic as she thought it would be. For one, she’d eventually have to cross a portal. Lovely. Two, that she had to hear some sort of information, because that was rather specific, record said information, then pass it onto another priest. It all seemed very circumspect, although she acknowledged that she did make a rather uniquely qualified messenger.

“Right. I have a lot of questions.”

He shrugged. “Ask them. I will answer what I can.”

“What is it I need to hear?”

“My goddess cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?”

He considered this for a moment. “Will not.”

“Why not?”

“Our divine gods are limited in how much they may or may not interfere in the affairs of reality. The gods work in balance, and where once exerts too much influence, others gain more in turn. Since my goddess is the goddess of Knowledge, any information she communicates, outside of her priests, is a Divine Act.”

“So, she wants me to do something for her without having to use her influence quota.”

“It’s an oversimplification, but not entirely inaccurate. And yet it prevents other gods, such as Deceit, from exerting more influence than they should. However, this is not something you would be doing for Knowledge, but for the people of Kallid. It is to their benefit.”

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“And who is the priest I need to say this information to?”

“An Undeath priest.”

“Delightful. And Knowledge can’t just tell Undeath?”

He waved his spoon lazily, “Limitations. And…it is not information for only Undeath to hear, but he would be the first to hear it. So?”

“So, what?”

“Will you do as asked?”

She considered this for a moment.

“I want something in return.”

He arched an eyebrow up, rather mildly. “You want something for an act that’d benefit the people of Kallid.”

“It’s not like I’m a citizen—you know that. And I’ve always thought it was stupid why the good guys have to go off and save the world for free, because it’s the right thing to do, and not get any rewards for it. I mean, sometimes they do, but it’s never a guaranteed thing. If I’m doing this thing and suitably traumatizing myself by going through a portal, then I want some motivation. Besides, your goddess gets to preserve her precious quota. I should get something out of all this, don’t you think?”

He sipped his soup and dipped his bread. “Personally, I agree with that.”

“And non-personally? By that I mean your goddess.”

“She agrees as well. What is it that you want?”

“She knows what I want,” Nara said, although she thought the ‘she-knows-what-I-know-and-I-know-that-she-knows’ was getting rather circulatory.

He tilted his head, considering, or perhaps hearing something. “My goddess wants to know if it may be an item.”

“Since knowledge would use up that quota?”

“Some of it. It would be, as your world calls it, a net positive. However, she has the confidence that this item would satisfy a problem you have not yet figured out how to solve.”

She narrowed her eyes, then dumbly said, “I’m uh, not following. I thought she knew what I wanted, since she’s the goddess of knowledge and all that, but are we talking about the same thing? This is what I get for trying to be cryptic, isn’t it?”

“My goddess is offering an item that would grant the capability of your portals to cross dimensional boundaries.”

“I thought my portals could already do that.”

“This item would allow it to work for others, and not just you. It still would not allow you to transport others limitless physical distance like you can for yourself.”

“But I could transport others across dimensions.”

“Yes. Within the other limitations of your portal, such as rank and capacity.”

She briefly pondered the mechanics of a trans-dimensional portal, and how the portal would be determining when exactly was it extended too far in range. If she made a portal here, would her portal on Earth open on the closest equivalent location on Earth? If Erras was larger than Earth, how would that work? Or could she open the portal anywhere on Earth, as long as it was trans-dimensional?

And it was true that Nara needed a method to get John to Earth. Transporting herself was just a snap-crackle-pop; it was other people that had always been the pebble in the shoe.

“…And why can’t she give me a way to go to Earth? That’s always been my original problem.”

“The answer to that question is-“

“-knowledge, right.”

(Rather, the priest thought, it was better she didn’t know that she did have a way back to Earth, unpleasant as the method was, and that she benefitted more from not knowing than knowing. Knowledge would say that Nara could “thank her later” except it wasn’t the sort of circumstance anyone would thank her for.

Knowledge knew the value of keeping quiet.

Knowledge, of course, didn’t know the future, but made rather good predictions of it, by her own unbiased assessment. She moved pieces here and there, manipulating the best outcome for all (and for herself, of course, or rather, for Knowledge Itself, as that was her Domain and Purpose), and it would be a thankless task, except to her priests, who on some level existed to thank her.

She didn’t inherently care about the destruction of the world, except that there would be no more knowledge with no more people to discover it. Undeath priests hardly had thorough academic fervor. Their nature was disposed towards shortcuts.)

“So, when will I get this item?”

“After you have gotten the information,” her priest said for her.

Nara considered this.

(She was a reasonable sort, in negotiations, Knowledge assessed. Often too reasonable, in that she could push to have her way, but negotiates for the mutual benefit of all parties involved, to save herself the hassle of bargaining in the first place. The Aciano Favorite was a wilier and pushier sort, but it did make her rather reliable for the sort of business she had been involved with so far, and others found that whatever she was saying was reasonable in turn, without realizing it. It was a subtle, unconscious manipulation, whereby being so reasonable others did not realize they could have been unreasonable, because that would have been rather rude.

Of course, Knowledge was not that adept with emotions, even as she knew thoughts. She understood Nara only by looking at her past actions and her current considerations. Politics was Dominion’s game.)

“Halfway through said mysterious task? Hmmm, I’m okay with that,” Nara agreed.

(And so, the deal was struck, unofficial as it was, and Knowledge was assured the plan at hand was progressing as it should. For the best possible outcome.)

*****

Another storm had been brewing, of a more personal sort, if you could call a leonid temper a storm, and not say, a rather strong gust of wind.

Theodore Dahl brewed his temper, growing more and more infuriated with one particular house guest. So brewed his temper, that it developed into alcohol and sat in his gut, impeding the faculties of his brain and better sense, if he ever had any.

He had first tried to find said infuriating house guest, and found he could not, which only infuriated him further as if every cell in his body wasn’t already incensed with indignant irritation.

Twice, he attempted to follow the team into the mausoleum, waking bright and early and planting himself at the steps with every intention to follow them through the portal and harangue them. He failed both times. Nara, rather gleefully, held him back with physical violence, then escaped through her own portal to an agreed destination he wasn’t privy to.

He debated, for several idiotic moments, whether he’d wander through the mausoleum on the own for the chance to run into them in there, but concluded, in a surprising fit of logic, that he would meet the same failure.

It all culminated in what tempers often culminate into.

It culminated in a little crime.

*****

“What were you thinking?” Jago asked his son. He paced around the room angrily, with the anger of a parent wondering where they had gone wrong in raising his son. “I had just been told, by Sen Arlang, our guest, than you had attempted to break into their place of residence. He said they no longer felt welcomed here, no longer wanted to impose on our hospitality, and have chosen to stay in another part of this city. Explain.”

His son looked surly downwards, as if he was the one who had been wronged.

“Theodore,” he said warningly.

“I wanted a better look at the cloud flask. That woman is lying father-“

“Her name is Nara,” Jago snapped. “Where are your manners?”

“…Nara is lying. That flask isn’t a cloud flask.”

He rubbed his forehead again, tired. “I know, Theodore. I have seen enough cloud constructs in my age to know it is not. The society knows who gave it to her, and under what arrangement it was given to her, and has found nothing wrong with its origin or her conduct.”

“So, what is it?” He demanded, as if he had a right to know.

“Her information is sealed, Theodore, and you should know better than to ask that of me,” Jago said tiredly, referencing his position on the Continental Congress. While nepotism wasn’t as much an issue in Erras as long as said nepo baby could perform, Theodore was included amongst the accolades of the proven. “That includes what items she possesses.”

Theodore threw his hands up in frustration, still without the self-awareness of wrong that Jago was now half-convinced he may need to beat into his son.

“And Theodore, I heard your conversation with her, she hadn’t lied about the flask. So stop as if the perceive lie WARRANTED A CRIME.”

Theodore finally had the awareness to look ashamed, ducking his head low and hiking his shoulders up.

Egil, the mediator, prodded his son from a different angle. He was equally disappointed but knew how to force progress where there currently was sufferingly little. He could use a softer touch.

“Theo, what exactly do you want from her?”

“I want to look at her equipment,” he said without hesitation.

“Right, Theo. And how would you accomplish that?”

“By taking a look at her equipment. That’s what I was-“

“I’m going to stop you there, Theodore Lleu Dahl, because I don’t want to hear it. I will ask you one more time, how should you accomplish that?”

And some semblance of maturity washed over Theodore, and the childish fury went out of him like dirt in a spring rain. He knew what was coming.

“You can’t be angry forever, Theodore.” It wasn’t about Nara, not really.

And he was here, sitting like a scolded child, because he was acting like a child that needed to be scolded. Bitterness and shame welled in his throat, like bile, but he squeezed the words out, airing the sting of it.

“She asked me if we were friends.”

“She did, didn’t she,” Egil said, gently. He knew the answer before he asked. “And what you say?”

“I said we weren’t.”

“And?”

“She didn’t owe me an explanation.”

“So, what should you do?” Egil prodded.

The answer was obvious, it always had been. And Theodore had been avoiding it, pulling the curtains closed in willful ignorance.

He groaned, aware of the obvious answer and the immaturity of this whole situation. “…Make friends.”

Egil smiled at Theodore like he was a little slow, but was proud of him nonetheless. Theodore felt he deserved it, his face heating from his embarrassment again.

It was the crux of the issue, making friends. Theodore had so long been sought as a fiend for his ability to make growth items. Would they ever be friends, if made under false pretenses? Would they still be friends if he made what they wanted of him? Would they visit every decade, brandishing their prize, asking their ‘old friend’ to upgrade what he had made? With each breath that asked him for friendship, Theodore felt crumpled and used and unwanted. He felt like a tool with one purpose, to be put to use every so often, like a crystal washer used to brighten up the patio for a home viewing.

To approach Nara with that same intention, was to do to her what others had done to him, and he felt sick inside.

With begrudging acknowledgement, he realized she had outmaneuvered him, before he even realized a game was played between them. She had won on move 1, and only now, on move 32, did he realize he had already lost.

(A page right out of Encio’s playbook. He would be proud.)

If he approached her to be friends, he wouldn’t do it with ulterior motives. He would never ask about her items, nor any items of anyone in the team. He would have to ask to be friends without doing so, or he would be a hypocrite, and he would have to continue to be friends even if he did eventually learn this information, or he would be a hypocrite then as well.

For all of Theodore’s faults, he couldn’t abide being a hypocrite, nor a false friend. If they were to be his friends, he would be their friend.

All that was left was to suck up his pride and begin the excruciating journey of making friends.