Joe dashed over to the stooped saurian cleric and offered his hand to help her over the craggy ground. She dipped her head in thanks, even though she likely didn’t need any assistance. She had that same ineffable nature Joe associated with those classic fictional kung fu masters. Age and strength all in one. Even so, she placed her green-scaled fingers on his arm and steered them both toward a long, low, flat boulder.
Joe had to shove hard against the wildness, who quickly became impatient with Mercy Suku’s delicate steps. It didn’t understand why they also had to go slowly. She would catch up. Joe wrestled the frenetic spirit into behaving, somehow managing not to trip himself or the ancient healer in the process.
As they settled on the bench-like stone, Joe asked the question he was most concerned with.
“How is Margen?”
He knew that the temple of Mairrhee, the god of camaraderie, had taken in the founder, but they had quickly called on the saint when they realized just how virulent the mummy rot was. Even though the sibling gods of Mairrhee and Myrrhcee had been feuding throughout recorded history, they had made an exception for this remarkable woman. The small scaled woman might be the only Myrrhcian cleric in the world welcomed in one of the Temples of Fellowship.
“To be frank, he’s a terrible mess. I could undo the damage the disease has done to him, but it would be a long and unpleasant task for everyone involved. We have decided it will be better if he rejoins his blade one last time. When he emerges healthy once again, then I will destroy the core of the curse that has been killing him. This means he is gone for a few months, which the city council is much disappointed by.”
“No surprise there. You would not believe the number of banquets I have had to attend in his place already. They sounded like they had a whole bunch more planned.”
“Your guild’s leader, Master Silver, put up a fair fuss, but I am not one who can be swayed by pomp. This is what is best for Margen. He was not happy to find I was a stone too stuck to be moved.”
“I can imagine.” Joe digested her words and realized this meant Margen had to die again. He turned to meet her serene gaze and asked, “Will he have to suffer long this time around? I hope I did not prolong his pain by healing him as much as I did.”
“Nay, son. You did a wonderful thing,” she expressed once again, taking his damaged hand in between her fine green-scaled fingers. “He was overjoyed to see how large and prosperous Fort Coral had grown. Margen is most content with how things have turned out. It was he who suggested this course of action.”
“How long will it take?” Joe wondered. “You know. Take for him to die again.”
“Not long at all. I will help him expend his stamina. Once that occurs, the rot will take him in a matter of hours at most,” the woman stated as he examined his wound. “He is getting his affairs in order tonight for his last sojourn from the land of the living. When he next returns from the blade, it will be for good.” She squeezed his fingers lightly, and Joe realized they were all there once again. He hadn't even felt the healing. One second ago, his hand was made up of odd bumps where he had been trying to regrow the bone. The next, it was back to its former five-fingered shaggy self.
“How …. ?”
“Myrrhcee gives,” she intoned rotely and serenely, but Joe caught the yellow scales around her eyes crinkling in amusement. She was showing off a little to someone who could appreciate just how outstanding her gifts were.
“Now, enough about Margen, young man. I felt your spirit growling through the night as you ran past my home. You are all out of sorts. What you need now is inner temperance in the battle you are waging with yourself. It is almost a good thing you have not become a cleric or noble vassal. You already have too many conflicting compulsions at work.”
Joe looked at her quizzically. He knew the whole wild and civilized Joe were at odds, but it felt like there was more in the way Suku spoke. She tapped his forearm, poking the symbol of the Thirteenth Omen tattooed into his flesh.
“This, too, is driving you in ways you have not even noticed yet.”
“Really?” Joe wondered in disbelief. “It hasn’t made a peep since the Night Skinner?”
“I think the consequences of these last few days will easily rival your thwarting that horrid man’s machinations.” Her words were spoken with a simple, calm earnestness, yet the more Joe processed what she was saying, the more both halves of himself wanted to freak out.
“The Erlking? That will be more important than what happened in Peregrine Harbor? But my mark didn’t do anything the whole time we were in the ziggurat,” Joe gawped.
“It wouldn’t have, at least not until your final confrontation.”
“It didn’t do anything then either.”
“Are you sure? Were you in any clear state to know if the symbol was alight with potential? From what I have heard, the fact you did not explode long before reaching the twisted fey lord was a tad miraculous. Your omen won’t win your battles for you, but I am aware many of the Marks of Prophecy nudge fate should it suit them. This feels like such an event to me.”
“I wonder if I tell Taylyn that; maybe she’ll talk to me again,” he mused. Joe had tried several times to apologize to the mousling explosionist, but Myllo and Puqmup had gently let him know she was not ready to see him yet.
“I don’t think that is the argument to win someone back. Marks are fickle. But hearts heal. Give her time, son.”
Sighing loudly, Joe scrubbed his hands over his face. While the wildness seemed calmer around the Mercy, it was starting to get restless again.
“I know. I’m just so beat. I can’t seem to wait for anything. I’m either chasing my tail outdoors or chaffing indoors. I’m exhausted, but the wildness just won’t stop.”
“The ‘wildness.’ An excellent name for your inner passion,” the ancient healer mused.
“Glad you like it,” Joe scoffed.
“Don’t be glib with me, Joe. I’m here to help.” Aghast, he immediately stammered an apology, only to have her pat his hand. “I understand you are out of sorts. How about I give you the same kind of help your omen might.”
Before Joe could ask what she meant, a notification appeared in the corner of his eye.
TAME THE WILDS (Rare)
Your sense of self is at odds with your inner passions. The Saint Mercy Suku of Fort Coral is directing you to find your balance once again.
Reward: The Blessing of Myrrhcee and Inner Peace.
“You can just give out Rare quests on a whim?”
“I can give higher than Rare, but you don’t need it. Consider it a perk of being as old as I am.”
“Inner peace? Is that something you guys really …,” he muttered amusedly.
“Joe!” the ancient healer barked. “Stop playing word games in that head of yours and make a choice. We can stay and talk, or you can accept my quest and try to get your control back, but please stop picking the pretty flowers along the path.”
He recognized that expression as akin to ‘getting lost in the weeds.’ She was right though. His tired brain was just fumbling along. If this was the prescription from the greatest healer he knew, he’d be stupid to ignore it.
Standing up off the low rock, Joe cracked his back and accepted the quest. Once affirmed, the window changed.
TAME THE WILDS (Rare)
Your spirits are out of balance. Find one who can teach how to bring them back into harmony.
Reward: The Blessing of Myrrhcee and Inner Peace.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
“Really!” Joe sighed. “You mean Mahq, don’t you?”
“I don’t mean anything, Joe. I just made the request to the Giver of Quests, and you received their response.”
“I had Mahq try to help me with a martial discipline, and all I got was hours of back pain and frustration. He is a great kid, but trying to follow the way he thinks is like trying to untangle thread.”
“So, feel free to continue with your workout. It seems to be working just fine, yes,” her mild voice replied.
“Now, who's being snarky, ma’am,” Joe countered with a tilt of his head.
“Another perk of being so venerable, son,” the scaled priestess said warmly. “But seriously. Joe. The quest I offered will help you, but, as always, it’s up to you to proceed as you wish. The One Above does not make your choices for you. Though I must say, the fact you immediately named the young druid makes me think you already know the obvious path.”
“Yeah. I do,” Joe uttered with no enthusiasm at all. He scrubbed his face once more with his rough palms and turned to where the saintly woman sat.
“Thank you,” he stated with as much sincerity as his tired mind could muster. Of all the people he had ever met, this woman had his unqualified respect. If Joe had to pick a perfect definition of sainthood, Mercy Suku and Mister Rogers would be at the top of his list.
“Be well, Joe. Now shoo. I’d like to get back to sleep without feral spirits growling around the Swift Water streets.”
Joe cracked a wane smile and waved before turning on his heel and loping back toward Midtown under the moonlit sky. Soon, the wildness was pushing them into a sprint. By the time they reached the heavier stone building in the center of Fort Coral, he was parkouring across the buildings and brachiating off the balconies that lined the boulevard.
Loping up Serra Lane, he had reached the purple bloom-coated apartment complex in no time at all. The young druid he was coming to talk with had done wonders restoring the flowering vines after Cauldrakon had torn half of them down. The florally-roofed courtyard was one of the few contained areas the wildness seemed to actually enjoy.
Too bad, Joe was not staying out here. He headed up the stairs and slunk up to his door. As quietly as possible, he eased it open, hoping not to wake Kendell.
He needn’t have bothered. His bed was empty except for a hastily scrawled note. Joe picked it up. The moonlight from the windows was more than enough for his enhanced vision to read by.
What is it with you and unexpected guests?
Bunking with RC at the Guildhouse.
Need sleep.
Joe wondered if Yuk was back. His disjointed friend had come by yesterday morning. Kenda was not thrilled to wake up to a pile of centipedes and beetles on the blankets nestled between her feet.
“Yuk, you here,” Joe asked the room in general since his friend could be anywhere.
“Nope,” a flat voice replied inches from Joe’s back.
“Gah!” he yelped. Spinning around, finding Mahq standing right behind him. Where the boy had come from was a complete mystery. [Night Hunter] had not detected him at all.
“That is what the lady said, too, when she woke up and saw me waiting.” the druid stated in his inflectionless voice.
“Whoof,” Joe breathed, holding his heart. “You were waiting? For me? Where?”
Mahq pointed at the ground beside the bed. That meant Kenda must have woken up with the expressionless boy standing beside the bed, looking down at her. “Aw, man! That's not creepy at all,” he groaned.
Joe was deep in the doghouse already for his restlessness these last few days. Now, thanks to his two very unusual guests, he was going to have to think of something really great to apologize with. He wondered if getting her another one of those gorgeous dresses would be considered a present for her or himself.
“You have a quest about me. So I came. But you were not here.”
“Sorry, Mahq. Yeah, I’m having a spirit problem. When we were in the pyramid in the valley …”
“Your head spirit gave control to your heart spirit and then took it back. I know. Your world spirit woke again, too,” the young druid interjected, looking at the wall instead of Joe.
Grateful for his conversation with Suku, he quickly made sense of this new designation from the spirit savant. He was confident his world spirit was his Prophetic Mark. “Do I have any other spirits, Mahq?”
“No big ones. There is something I could never understand. It is getting smaller and smaller, though. I think it has to do with you coming through a Valkyrie Gate. I think your valkyrie is letting you do your own thing now, so its connection is fading away.”
“Really?” Joe blurted. “Is that true, Hawking? Am I on my own now?”
Joe waited for a second, but no reply came. When he looked at the boy, Mahq was staring right at him, eye to eye contact. Mahq rarely looked directly at Joe, almost never in the face, and never ever with this level of intensity.
“It almost answered you, and then it saw me and stayed back. Your valkyrie is HUGE. Wow.” Mahq started pacing. “Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.” Thankfully, the boy did not seem upset, but whatever he detected had thrown the young man for quite a loop.
“Hey, Mahq, hey. Stay with me, kiddo,” Joe prompted as he knelt down in front of the astonished young man. “Can you help me with my heart spirit? We have lost our … balance.”
“I know. Head and heart are fighting, and you always take the head’s side. But then you switched and gave heart a chance. That is why your spirits are all worked up.”
An idea struck Joe. “So, it’s the one you feed?” he breathed more to himself than his companion.
“Huh?” Mahq grunted.
“It's an old legend from my world. The quick version is that a grandfather is speaking to his grandson. He tells the boy that everyone has two wolves inside them. One is good and noble. The other is dark and hateful. They are always fighting. The boy then asks, ‘Which one wins?’ to which the grandfather replies, ‘The one you feed.’ So you're saying I need to stop feeding the heart spirit.”
“No,” the boy said with a force his voice typically lacked. “That is an awful analogy. Your world must not understand spirits, Joe. If you starve your heart spirit, it is just going to get more and more hungry. Terrible idea.” Mahq’s foot began tapping against the floor like a peeved old lady.
“Aw. I always liked that parable.”
“Your heart spirit is not hateful, Joe. It’s just not polite and proper like your head spirit. For a little bit, you trusted it to be in charge, and then you took it back. Now you are angry inside. You have to give your heart spirit something else.”
“Like what?” Joe huffed.
It was mind-boggling to think of the wildness as an aspect of himself. It didn’t really feel like it was part of him. It felt more like Yuk, when they were linked together; something connected to him but separate.
And yet Mahq was stating just the opposite; with a surety that Joe couldn’t match. But then again, Mahq had been sure about his Sparrowhawk training, and that had not turned out well. Besides one small gain the rest of the sessions had just been painful and frustrating.
Joe wished Mahq came with a guidebook. Conversations with the spirit savant were exhausting.
“What does it want?” the boy asked.
“Uhh, sorry,” Joe fumbled. “I got lost in thought there for a sec. What does who want?”
“Your heart spirit,” Mahq huffed, rolling his eyes. “You are really bad at this, Joe. You have these giant spirits, and you don’t know any of them except your head spirit, which you think is all you are. But it's not. You are all of them. Well, not the valkyrie. But you are the other three.”
Joe really wanted to ask how he was the Mark of Death, but diving down that rabbit-hole would not help him get any sleep tonight.
“How do I know what my heart spirit wants, Mahq,” he stated as simply and clearly as he could, hoping against hope for just one straight answer.
“When you let the heart spirit have control, what did it do? That will tell you what it wants.”
Joe wanted to bang his head against the end of the bed, but he stopped. A sense of peace filled him for a moment. It felt like Mercy Suku’s presence. Her quest was helping him. There must be an actual answer here.
Joe thought back. There was a lot of fighting and dodging. Movement was a big part of everything they had done, but Joe realized that moving was what they needed to do. It was not what the wildness continuously chose to do the whole time. He flipped open his character sheet and saw that one of his skills had almost doubled and that had been all due to the wildness. [Pack Master] had jumped from 14 to 27. The whole time the wildness was running the show, it was flaring [Pack Master].
“It wants to lead the pack,” Joe uttered, sure in his answer.
“Good, Joe. I wasn’t sure if you were going to get it. So what now?”
Joe rolled the idea around and stated the first idea that came to him: “The wildness needs a pack. But I don’t want to lead Wild Order. They are my friends; I don't want to be in charge.”
“Then pick another pack.”
“Finn? I have just started working with him. I’m not ready for a whole pack of Akluts running around. Pretty sure Fort Coral isn’t either.”
“Oh. You really don’t know.”
“Know what, Mahq?”
“The wildness already picked its pack. It’s getting frustrated ‘cause you won’t call them.”
Clapping his hands over his eyes, Joe started to count down from ten to keep his frayed temper in check. He added Berti and Ord Catstaff, Mahq’s grandparents, to his list of saints.
“What pack, Mahq?”
“The spirit hounds of Ahnun that are bound into the axe you have in your ring. Why do you think your heart spirit pushed you to pick it?”