Ch: 111.5
Plumeria slipped back into her tiny tree and followed her intangible root system back to Wheatford’s orphanage. Her home in the Secret Garden was much more suitable than that boggy marshland. She climbed into the miniature human bed the living dead boy made for her and went to visit her friends, in the outside.
She woke, rooted in the rich, warm soil of Becky’s soul island. Thirp and Marduk arrived shortly after, having sensed her arrival. Those delightful sugar wasps began buzzing all around, droning happily.
“I not only witnessed a human birth, I participated, better yet, it took place in the direct outflow of the void… His name is already being whispered by the trees.”
“That’s four… I don’t think we can count sweet Becky, she is too firmly rooted in this world, like the others.” Marduk said sadly. “This feels like Beast’s work, ever subtle and indirect.”
“What of Gary…?” Thirp sang softly. “Is there any hope for him?”
“Little, he continues to slowly dissolve, the progress is almost imperceptible… for now. If we knew what held him together so long in the void it might provide a clue, but the conclusion is forgone.” Ducky shook his golden ringlets slowly.
“The devourer is still collecting lost pieces, but the boy is very small and scattered over a very large… everything.”
“Let us focus on what can be used and mourn our sacrifices later.” Plumeria rustled her leaves at them both. “You are thinking like mortals. Amy, Wilford, Rio and now, Franklin Knubbel are what is important.” She shook a spray of petals off into the stream separating Becky’s island from Gary.
“Whatever design is taking shape, we are peering through a chrysalis. Who can say what will spread its wings and take flight?”
“I never could understand brother Beast and his machinations… he is so alien, so mortal and yet so different.” Ducky muttered.
“Beast is alien… to all worlds, and to none. Where ever animate life dwells, Beast is there.” Plumeria whispered. “Whether transplanted to a dead world by guile, craft or chance… or native and strange beyond all imagining, Beast is there. We will unravel a plot of that one when it is time and not before.”
#
Otho and Naiomi were sheened with sweat, with their palms and the soles of their feet connected as they meditated. Sharing their qi and manna freely, circulating them together in a manner so intimate was a rare technique.
Not for any risk or difficulty, but because of the intimacy required. Any true initiate would blush to see them so engaged, despite the act being completely without physical effect.
Power thrummed between the pair, as the machines continued their endless work, staffed by cheerful green capped teens in pairs and trios. Braan left a basket from the kitchen by the elders as he went about his duties. He deeply enjoyed tempering and molding sample sized bars for the wrapping crew in the morning.
Wrapping sucked hard, so he always traded those shifts away when he drew them. He nodded to the elders as he left, headed to his favorite job. Today was trashworm day.
He whistled a happy tune as he strolled all the way across town, pulling an empty handcart. That was just for show now. He trotted over the hill and down into Shitpit Valley, Wheatford’s dirty little open secret.
All the storm drains, household and civic sewers, all the midden pits and every trash tip in town was connected here, to this place of reeking desolation.
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Every day, members of the Nightsoil guild would come down, fish out twenty or thirty worms with un-barbed fish hooks and carry them to different sewer access points around town.
Those worms would be cut in halves and dropped in, to chew their way back here. They would relentlessly continue eating and pushing the waste through the tunnels, to rejoin the mass of wiggling worms below.
Braan was here for groceries. A few stale hunks of bread in a bag were all that was in the cart. With a nasty crouton, he baited a wickedly barbed hook, on a length of steel chain twenty feet long. That sturdy assembly was attached to a stout rope anchored at the top.
Fishing for worms was not challenging and since he was wearing the orphanage’s two secret treasures, he wouldn’t break a sweat or smell a thing.
Otho had managed to get ahold of a storage ring, capable of holding over one hundred pounds and one of the near mythical ‘stink rings’ the veterans wouldn’t shut up about.
Braan was careful to keep his gloves on, over those rings. If they slipped off into the pit, he would probably be better off to jump in after them, worms or no.
A short but grizzly half hour later, he tossed the tracts and mouth ends of sixty worms into the pit and dragged his half filled cart home. The stink ring even made the trip back a pleasure, despite his light burden of reeking worm.
Most kids hated fishing for worms the way he hated wrapping chocolate, funny how things work out sometimes.
#
The second in command of the Flintspire Adventure guild was a Craft priest of medium stature, but enormous build. The cheerful smith was so heavily muscled, he had to pass through some doors sideways. Despite that, he was quick, light on his feet and ready with a smile or joke.
“...biggest walking stick I ever saw, it climbed right down the worm’s throat and strangled it from the inside.” He held up his enormous hands to forestall their complaints.
“It’s all true I swear! So the walking stick, she’s inside the worm, she falls apart into firewood, lights up and roasts it from the inside out…” Once more his massive paws demanded silence.
“It’s all true or my name is Betty! So this big bug, she crawls out and plants herself in a tree right there, pretty as you like and says, ‘Hey big boy, why doncha’… come up and see me sometime..’ Now I’m a married man and happily so, but she was the prettiest haunted bug tree I ever saw!”
The whole Wheatford platoon moaned in derision and catcalled the burly priest, who just smiled and took their good humored abuse.
“So… you didn’t stop in the prettiest meadow you ever saw? Right at the foot of the bluff? You didn’t meet a beautiful little red haired woman with magnolia flowers in her hair?”
The catcalls stopped slowly, then the jeers. “How much worm did that madman unload into those groaning carts behind us?” The blocky priest kept marching happily along, but now his muscles seemed smug.
He led their little procession to a low walled pasture, its clay ramparts studded with sharp flint fragments.
“This will be your encampment, it’s pretty safe around here, but I’ll have a couple veteran Adventurers camp with you. They can use the exercise.”
They were barely outside the town walls proper and conveniently near a gate in case of real trouble, Olan smiled at his temporary home.
“All right, let’s get comfortable, our refugees are expected within two days.”
By late afternoon privy pits were dug, trashworms installed, a cooktent assembled and the guard’s personal tents were ready.
Teamsters and laborers erected several large dormitory tents and began unlading bunks and bedding from their wagons with rowdy efficiency. They trundled away as evening started creeping in.
That was when the local goodwives started creeping around. Each one brought a son or daughter of marriageable age along, to ‘help carry’ the vast array of pies, casseroles, kettles and loaves.
They slowly and carefully stuffed the Wheatford guards full, while introducing their young adults, in the age-old tradition.
Olan and Firth watched the show and feasted from ‘the officer’s table’ “Not that I mind… but none of the goodwives are shoving their sons at me… that’s kinda odd.” Firth remarked softly.
“Nope,” Olan muttered around his silly long pipe stem. “I told them we’re betrothed.” He puffed it to life and passed it to his corporal. “Will you marry me, Firth?”
“Gods, Olan… took you bloody long enough.” She grumbled happily. “Pick a day… maybe I’ll show up.”
“Hey, Angus… come here for a minute, bring Fritz, we need a best man.”
“Not very romantic Olan…” Firth grumbled.
“Well I asked Khan for advice… he told me some confusing story about ballsacks, so I have to try my best.” Olan said cheerfully.
“Interesting… I asked Luna for her wisdom. She said I should grab you some dark night and make you mine.” Firth smiled a hungry and predatory grin at him.
“Maybe I should do my part first?” Angus rumbled, dragging skinny, easy going Fritz along to witness. “After that, my sister runs an inn at the market gate. I’ll linger here tonight…” He winked an absurdly muscular eyelid at them with a sassy grin.
“Bear with me, I don’t do quickie weddings often…”
#