It turns out Harrowood shuts the city gates at night. Probably not a bad idea, what with nightbanes prowling the nearby mountain range.
It’s also rather inconvenient for me to slip out of the city after dusk and return before dawn, giving the predator enough time—and space—to go on its nightly prowls. Of course, they let travelers in if they state their business and prove their benevolence, but I’m thinking a talking glass homunculus probably won’t meet their criteria. In the end, I use a couple of Void Whips on an unpatrolled section of wall to pull myself up and over. Not the least-suspicious solution, but it works.
The predator enjoys its nightly escapade, per usual. There’s new areas to explore, new small creatures to chase—not to mention a handful of undead creatures, even this far from the Black Spire. Nothing as big or dangerous as nightbanes (the predator scoffs at the idea of nightbanes posing any threat to us) but mouse-sized clusters of bones, animated by a faint internal glow of green, mimicking no creature we’ve ever seen. Maybe they’re a mix of creatures. The bones of rats and birds and lizards, all mixed together just enough to be functional. Straining to reach through the mental void that seems to distance us from the System whenever the predator wields more control, we’re able to get a staticy assessment from Echo: the creatures are simply called “mobs” and are indeed the remains of an assortment of creatures that have forgotten what they once were, reanimated by the ambient necrotic energy of the Black Spire.
The predator doesn’t particularly care about any of this. It’s more interested in what they taste like.
We pounce on one, crushing the brittle bones between our glass teeth. The faint taste that passes through our void—if taste even applies to what the predator can sense through its essence—is damp and musty and a lot like dirt. Part of us finds this intriguing, the other part extremely disgusted. The green light in the mob puffs out like an exhaled breath, but not before we can pull it into our void. We feel the tiniest flicker of enhanced strength as we absorb it. Like eating souls or absorbing other magical energy sources. But this is so faint that we barely notice its effect at all. Maybe bigger creatures would give us more.
Sadly—or happily, depending on your perspective—we don’t have an opportunity to test this theory before sunrise. We slink over the city walls, back to our inn, and through the window Zyneth had left propped open for us before anyone in our party wakes.
I guess this is going to be the routine, now, isn’t it?
----------------------------------------
The next morning, Noli drags Rezira off for some shopping while Zyneth accompanies me to the Merchant’s Guild to procure a map and list of businesses in the city. We’d done this once before, many months ago. How strange it is to be walking in here on my own two legs.
“There’s plenty more businesses not registered with the Guild,” Zyneth remarks as I glance over the map. “Though likely the ones who paid to be advertised are more profitable. Do you know where you want to start?”
“Not really,” I admit. “Maybe a construction company of some kind that could use someone good with glass? I think I will just browse my options for now.” It’s certainly strange to have the luxury to take my time with things.
“I’ll come check in on you in a few hours,” Zyneth suggests.
I laugh. “Really, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve got Captain Murrok’s disguise if I need it. And you recharged my translator so I sound like a person again.” An endeavor he managed yesterday evening, deeming it worth the risk to attempt to recharge the device now that we’re among civilization and can replace it if his artificing attempts went wrong. The fear turned out to be unfounded, as the translator charged right back up. I guess even a man as capable as Zyneth can suffer from self-doubt—or maybe he’s just extra cautious when it comes to me.
“How about we meet for lunch at noon,” I tell him when he still seems unconvinced. “That meat on a stick stall near our inn.” He seemed to like that place yesterday.
“Alright,” Zyneth relents, laughing lightly. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”
His smile turns mischievous. “So you do want me.”
My soul lurches in my chest. Oh, that bastard. “You set me up.”
“Perhaps.” He still seems amused, but he also raises an expectant eyebrow.
An uncomfortable mixture of affection and anxiety is warring within me.
“You want me to say it?” I ask.
“Say what?” he asks innocently.
I’m not sure I can. I certainly can’t if I think about it too much. So the answer is to stop thinking about it. Just say it. Just get it out there. Right… now!
“Yes,” I blurt, dropping my voice as I rush to get the words out. “I do want you. Is that what you want to hear?”
He grins. “I could stand to hear it more often.”
Relief floods through me, bringing with it an entirely new set of worries. “This is really not my forte,” I admit.
“I thought your career had to do with spoken words,” he points out, his teasing smile softening.
“Other people wrote the words.”
Zyneth claps a hand to my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Perhaps it’s time I heard your own.”
“I—I’ll try,” I say, meaning it with all my… well, not heart, I guess.
“I’ll look forward to that effort.” Zyneth drops his hand as he draws away, starting to head in the direction of Vardi’s tavern. “Well, I’ll let you get to it. Good luck, today.”
The ghost of his touch lingers on my shoulder. “Lunch?” I call after.
“Lunch,” he agrees, flashing me a smile that makes my soul feel warm and fluttery.
I turn away, picking a street at random as I cool myself down. Why is this so damn hard for me? He likes me. I like him. I’m no longer planning a one-way trip to another planet. And he’s right that it was my job to deliver lines. Maybe I can borrow from my old characters until I come up with something of my own. What would Jack Stone say?
He was a solo action hero whose only mission was to hunt bloodthirsty supernatural monsters and look good while doing it. He’d probably say something like, “My only love is justice.”
God, that show really did suck, didn’t it?
It takes me a bit to get my mind back on track. I’ll be seeing Zyneth again in a few hours, anyway. I’ll have time later to sort through my thoughts. Right now, I need to focus on becoming a productive member of society.
Using the city map, I decide to explore the manufacturing district first. A couple people glance my way as I walk through the streets, though I don’t draw an undue amount of attention. Lone homunculi are semi-common on this side of town, most carrying heavy packages or supplies; although they all tend to be made of stone or wood. I imagine glass seems impractical and exorbitant, but it’s only strange enough for people to do a double take before moving on. Even on this planet I bet most cities have some eccentric rich noble or another who’s eager to show off their wealth. At least it means I’m left alone.
Walking through the manufacturing district, I had been expecting to find blacksmiths and carpenters of some sort—and I do find those. But not in the way I’d thought.
A lot of the carpenters are dryads, growing chairs into existence from branches of living trees. The blacksmiths likewise use magic in the forging of their wares: they pound metal into shape with sharp gestures in place of hammers, and glowing spell circles instead of a fire. It’s fascinating to see all the ways magic has replaced aspects of technology I’m familiar with on Earth.
There isn’t a dedicated window-making business, I find. Instead, glasswork tends to be lumped in with other things: house-shaping services, for instance, or alchemic supply stores which offer all sorts of artificed bottles and jars designed to hold noxious brews. Artificing really isn’t my thing—though maybe it could be, if I looked into it. It would be useful to be able to add my own types of strengthening spells to my glass instead of relying on Zyneth all the time; maybe I’ll ask him about that over lunch.
But learning artificing will take time, and that won’t make me a few extra coins today.
I explore the merchant district next, which is less about fabrication and more about selling pre-built goods. I figure if nothing else it might give me ideas. There’s plenty of stores which sell glasswork, largely in the form of dishware, and even some artisan stalls that have small glass animals. I wonder if I could make something like that. Is it enough to just picture a dog and Sculpt the glass into my mental image? Or does it take more artistry than that? I should try that tonight. I’ve enough Attuned glass I could afford to sell a few little figurines.
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The question is, how will I sell them?
I ask Zyneth the same question when I break for lunch.
“Well, there’s two ways about it, as I see it,” he says, taking three skewers from the smoked meat stall after passing over some coins. “Either you use that disguise Murrok gave you and hope the suspicious attire doesn’t scare customers away, or I can act as your intermediary and sell them on your behalf.” He carries the skewers over to one of many stone benches that line the plaza, and I sit with him. Zyneth nods to me. “That’s assuming you can even make these trinkets.”
“One way to find out,” I say.
I withdraw some of my signing glass from my satchel as Zyneth starts munching on his skewered meat, watching with great interest. I grab a handful of frit and glass fragments too small to be of much use and activate a Sculpt.
[Mana cost: 10]
There was a time when that was everything I had.
I mash the glass together, forming it into a sphere the size of a small plum. Then I picture a cat, sitting, so the piece would be stable; tail wrapped around its legs, so I won’t have any thin, fragile bits to worry about. Something basic and easily recognizable.
After a minute, the spell expires and I hold up the result.
Zyneth pauses mid-bite. “What is that?”
The figure is roughly cone shaped, with a bumpy base where feet should be, and a spikey top that was intended to be ears and a snout. It turns out, some amount of artistic ability is in fact required.
“It’s a cat,” I say.
Zyneth squints, tipping his head. “Do cats from your world have significantly different anatomy than ours?”
“No,” I say flatly. “They’re pretty much the same.”
Zyneth stares at it for a moment longer. Then he bursts out laughing.
“Alright, so, scratch that off the list,” I grumble, stuffing the glass back into my bag.
“No, no, it’s great!” Zyneth assures me, still laughing. “Give it to Noli. She’ll be delighted.”
I indignantly tolerate the laughter until it dwindles into chuckles, and Zyneth takes another bite from his skewer, shaking his head as he smiles. All right, not completely indignant: at least it made him laugh.
“So,” I finally venture. “Labels.”
He crooks an eyebrow at me. “Labels?”
I nervously fiddle with a fleck of glass, floating it between my hands. “Well there’s… the predator, for one,” I say.
“Ah.” He sits back. “You mean how Noli wants to name it.”
“Yeah,” I say, relaxing. “What do you think?”
He shrugs, polishing off one of the skewers. “It feels a bit odd, but I don’t see why not. Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism for her.”
That catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it tried to kill her,” he says. “Twice, if I recall. And now it’s intrinsically associated with you, and you’re perpetually around her. Perhaps giving it a name makes it more knowable. Less frightening.”
The predator is listening as we talk. Well, as much as it can listen. It doesn’t understand language, so far as I can tell, but it gleens insight from my thoughts and processes meaning through associated concepts. It knows we’re talking about it, for instance; it knows the conversation isn’t referring to it in a hostile way. But the subject itself—names—is elusive.
“I suppose that’s why I’m reluctant to name it at all,” I admit. “Maybe I don’t want it to feel knowable.”
“That won’t change what it is,” Zyneth says. “But I understand how you feel. Perhaps you and Noli and just processing the damage it’s caused in different ways.”
“What about you?” I ask. “It caused plenty of damage in Emrox.”
Zyneth goes silent and thoughtful, staring off across the plaza as he takes another bite of his lunch. After a minute, he looks back at me—and my coat, where the predator remains hidden.
“I don’t resent it,” he says. “I’m not sure it’s malicious in any intentional way—though I lack the same level of insight into its mind as you have. But from the outside, it seems to me much like an animal. Simplistic: resource motivated. Dangerous, certainly, but capable of conditioning.”
“I think it’s more intelligent than you’re giving it credit for,” I say. “Or at least, it’s growing more intelligent. Not quite like you or me, but… certainly more than an animal.”
“Wouldn’t that be all the more reason to give it a name?” Zyneth asks. “Based on what I’ve witnessed of its ability to learn so far, it seems to be happening quickly. At some point or another it’s likely to be capable of more complex communication. What will it think when it understands how we currently refer to it? Will that be to our benefit, or detriment?”
I mentally examine the predator. Do you understand any of this? I wonder. This label we have for you. This… association.
The predator picks apart the idea I send it. A superior killer? Yes, that sounds very accurate. It exudes a smug sort of pride at the thought.
“I don’t think it’s bothered,” I report flatly.
Zyneth chuckles. “I suppose I should have expected that. Well, there’s no rush. You don’t need to make a decision today. But I also wouldn’t discourage Noli if she finds some way of referring to it that brings her comfort.”
It’s just not fair that he can be this attractive, competent, and insightful. Leave something for the rest of us.
“Alright,” I agree. “I’ll roll with things for now. But I am not letting her call it Spot.”
Zyneth snorts. “That would be rather jarring.”
He finishes the last few skewers without any further conversation, both of us wrapped in our own thoughts. When he’s done, he gives me an appraising look. “So, was that the only reason you wanted to bring up labels?”
“Of course it wasn’t!” I blurt out. “Us. I wanted to talk about us. Then I chickened out.”
Zyneth chuckles. “Yes, I had surmised as much.”
Ah, so he just wanted to make me squirm, then. I splay my hands. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“What are we?” I say, nerves creeping through me all over again. At least I no longer have a heart capable of beating a mile a minute.
“That depends mostly on you, I think,” Zyneth says. “We’ve already been through much together. I’d say our cooperation under pressure is fairly well tested.”
“Yes, but.” Why is this so excruciating? “I just. I’ve never done this before,” I finally admit.
Zyneth looks surprised. “Relationships?”
“Yes. No. Emotional relationships,” I say, feeling all twisted up inside. I can’t look at Zyneth while I say this. Impulsively, I shut my vision off. The world goes dark—and somehow, that’s soothing. It’s easier to talk to him like this.
“I’ve been in plenty of physical ones,” I say. “One night stands. Friends with benefits. But I don’t see how that’s possible for me now. And I know that’s not what you want, anyway. But emotional intimacy is new territory for me. I’m pretty sure I’ll fuck it up.”
“You might,” Zyneth agrees, and my soul sinks. “But I might as well. Or maybe neither of us do. Unless you’ve developed the ability to see the future, I’m not sure such speculation is useful.”
He’s right of course. He usually is. I have to fight down the instinct to argue, because a big part of me doesn’t think I deserve his friendship, let alone anything more. But that’s not for me to decide, I suppose.
I force myself to turn my vision back on. He’s still watching me, brow faintly creased, waiting for a response.
“I’m not sure how relationships work without the physical aspect,” I admit. “I don’t know what I have to offer.”
“For now, just your presence is enough,” Zyneth says. “Your thoughts. Your honesty.”
“I don’t know, that’s starting to seem a bit much,” I lightly tease.
His mouth quirks in a smile. “You’re right—honesty might be pushing it.”
I bump his shoulder, and he bumps back. The tightness in my soul lessens, but my nerves aren’t completely gone.
“Okay,” I say. “Yes. I want to try. Whatever that looks like. It’s going to be an adjustment for me. But I admire your patience and understanding and unflappable poise so much—I want to be worthy of that. So I’ll give everything I have to offer.”
“Oh, is that all,” he chuckles. Zyneth holds out a hand. Hesitantly, I take it.
“It’s a two way street, you know,” he says. “You’re acting as though you’re the only one to benefit. But I also see traits in you I admire. Your resilience, your creativity, your compassion. Yes, compassion,” he adds with a laugh when I start to object. “No matter how much you try to hide it beneath sarcasm—even knowing you’re still learning how to properly express it. You care quite a bit, and that means quite a bit to me.”
“Wow. I—thank you.” I decide to stop myself before I can be any less articulate.
Okay. Alright, then. We’re doing this. Should it feel this terrifying? It never has before. “So, labels,” I venture.
“They are optional, you know,” he says.
I nod. “But I suspect you would like one.”
“I would,” he admits. “And you?”
“Sure. Yes. Though I’m not sure what would be appropriate.”
“Would it help for me to suggest some?”
“Please,” I say, relieved. This couldn’t be more outside my wheelhouse.
“Suitor,” Zyneth says. “It’s fairly benign.”
I laugh—though that might be the nerves. The word feels so stiff and formal. “I don’t think anything we’ve been through together could be classified as benign.”
“Lover would be at the opposite end of that spectrum.”
I physically squirm. “That seems a bit…”
“Too much,” Zyneth agrees. “Significant other?”
I hesitate. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.”
“You don’t have a mouth.”
“Please don’t mock me while I’m already dying of mortification,” I say.
He grins. “Partner?”
I stop to think about that one. It’s a bit nondescript. It could as easily mean a business partner as a romantic one. But it certainly fits our relationship—our friendship—up to this point. I’ve leaned on him a lot. I don’t know if I’ve provided the same for him, but I’d like to.
“Let’s try that,” I say. “At least for now.”
He gives my hand a faint squeeze, and terrified, excited, humbled and hopeful, I squeeze it back.
We sit like that for a time. Just existing as the world moves around us.
“So.” Zyneth stirs. “Will you be the one to tell Noli, or shall I?”
“Oh god.” I can vividly picture the overly enthusiastic reception already. “She’s going to try to throw us a party or something.”
Zyneth laughs.