Chapter 110: Ticking Clock
/Not all gods fall on the simple ends of kind or cruel. In fact, most are somewhere in between. Light can warm or scorch, anvils may make shields or swords, and webs may catch food or trap prey.
Yet, no god delves in this duality as much as Jeringr of shadow. After all, shadows, by nature, are everchanging. A sick mirror of reality, projected and reduced to the very base of one's character. Shadows always follow, stand below and unnoticed, and yet somehow seem to scoff at those above.
As such, the god of shadows is the mimic, patron of actors and friend of thieves. A disguise is incomplete without a small token to Jeringr, and without him, there would be no performance. He is the hidden dancer, the flickering fear. He is kind, and he is cruel.
That much is clear in the story of his creation. At first, there was light, and that light made darkness exist. After all, that much is known, the fact that darkness is an absence of light. However, the darkness was shapeless, and primal. It was not yet shadow, but rather the void.
Of course, the void still exists, the true darkness, but that is not the topic. The void had to become more defined. Take shape as not only void, but as darkness. As shadow and night, as underground and distant, as well as cold. Because darkness is not simple.
Jeringr is one part of that void, the primal darkness, the first, but he came to shape only when other things existed. When the world was forged, he danced between the cracks, cackled wherever the light couldn't reach, and yet in the mornings and evenings he would grow somber and lay down to admire the sky, and then the shadows stretch from one horizon to the other.
To mock is one of his favourite pastimes indeed. Of course it is, to see a flicker in the corner of one's eye will always be menacing. He may mock one for being scared, but yet those jokes are also a warning of that which lurks in true darkness. A reminder to stay in the light, both for safety of you, and of him. For without light, once again the flickering fear cannot exist.
Yet, whenever beauty blossoms, he is also there. Lovers in moonlight are accompanied by him, and when people are truly close their shadows sometimes meld into one. He gives shelter to privacy, and dances in the flame of a candle. That perhaps is some of his comfort.
Still, the hidden dancer is guide to anything unseen. Not only privacy and intimacy, but also secrecy. The webspinner likes to tell lies in daylight, spin things so tight that the noose cannot be escaped, but that is not how the lord of shadows does things.
He is secret. Hidden. Always lurking. He guides those who skulk in the dark, and yet exposes them when faced with light. In that way, Jeringr values skill above all else. It is up to one's own self, rather than any fate, to win his support, and when one has enough practice, the flickering fear may be one's guide underneath the stars. For good, or for bad./
An excerpt from "Of greater Beings", by Matthew Lexicon, the stubborn historian.
- - - - - -
Funnily enough, the visitors Zyl had was from two entirely different factions. For some reason, all of Ragnarok had shown up, which was already confusing enough, only to see that Berthorn was knocking on his door as well. For a moment, Zyl considered shutting it closed in their face, but then again, that seemed quite inappropriate.
There was a long moment of silence in the doorframe. Zyl frowned, Berthorn smiled, and Wilhelmia stood there, more confused than anything.
Eventually of course, the silence broke.
"So are we going in or what?" Eric asked first, forcing a sigh out of Zyl.
"Yes," the dragon said after another moment, running his hand through his hair. "Yes, come in, please. Leon, could you prepare some drinks?"
"Of course," the butler said, giving a bow and disappearing.
"So, what brings you here?" Zyl asked, refusing to let the tension in the air take over.
"Oh, I think you know, lord Friaminth. I sent you a letter ahead of time after all, did I not?" Berthorn asked, his grin growing ever wider. He seemed to already think himself the victor, and sadly, Zyl wouldn't exactly be able to disagree.
Luckily, Zyl didn't have to stand the smile very long, since Magma soon reached out and smacked Berthorn's back with all the force her large arm could muster. Given how much Berthorn fell in on himself, it was probably quite a bit.
"I don't think he meant you, buddy," she said.
"Ours is a private matter, guardian," Wilhelmia quickly added. "Though we believe it might be an urgent one."
"So is mine, lord Friaminth," Berthorn spoke up again. "Quite frankly, I would wager it is more important than theirs."
"Hardly," Pul immediately countered. "Nothing could be more important than that which we deem as such."
Zyl genuinely had to hold back from smacking himself in the face. These people were all difficult, and today was already not a good day. But he'd take anything over a conversation with his former brother, so Zyl spoke up again. "Lord Berthorn, it would seem as though our popular friends are quite impatient. Given that your virtue in that manner certainly surpasses theirs, I would ask you please let me see them first. We both know that your matter can be dealt with later still, as long as this doesn't take up my whole day?"
For the first time, Berthorn's smile slightly wavered. "Yes, certainly," he replied after a pause. "Then I shall wait until I am called."
With a nod to acknowledge him, Zyl and the whole band then headed into the dining hall, where drinks were already prepared. Not for each individual, but rather a variety of them stacked in the middle of the table. As they entered, Zyl also quickly whispered something to Leon, which the butler acknowledged with a nod, before quickly heading outside.
After noticing the change in the air when Maclroy casts a barrier around the room, Zyl leaned back in his chair.
"Well then, this is as private as we may get here. Please, speak your mind," Zyl said, when Leon had returned into the hall.
"Thank you," Wilhelmia nodded. "We've come to offer our aid to you."
"Your aid?" Zyl asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why would you aid someone you have never spoken to before?"
"It is a longer story."
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"Any minute I don't have to see Berthorn is a minute in heaven," Zyl said with a somewhat cynical smile. "Go on."
"Very well," Wilhelmia replied. "We've been playing on the demon continent recently, under sponsorship of queen Zagan. Yet, our sponsor failed, and thus, by having spread her name, we have failed too. Therefore, we wish to make amends again."
"How did she fail?" Zyl asked.
"Our contract was simple, made with the demoness' ability. If either party attempts to purposely harm or steal from someone else without good justification, it is broken, and punishment will ensue. Lady Zagan coveted something of yours. She coveted so much, that using an ability of mine, I could hear parts of her thoughts, something about a spark of yours. Thus, as our lady has sinned while we were under her, we have taken the next magic circle as soon as we could to try and help with the situation."
"So you've been dragged into trouble that was never yours?" Zyl asked again, surprised at how upstanding the people in front of him seemed. A rarity, really. Almost everyone usually wanted something from him.
"It would seem so."
"How can I trust you?" the dragon asked again, resting his chin on his gloved hands.
"I have a contractual ability," Oliva said tentatively. They were the smallest out of the other group, and easy to overlook, but Zyl's eyes fixed on them quickly.
"That does make things a lot easier," he said, a slight smile now finding itself on his face. "Now, I hope this doesn't seem too extreme, but since this is a matter of my personal well being in addition to someone quite dear to me, I do have to ask for a contract that sets the baseline first. Something like anything spoken in this room as long as all of us are present here can be nothing but the truth, and must be kept confidential, forcefully. Not even at risk of death, but simply preventing the words from being spoken."
As Zyl talked, Wilhelmia also began to smile. Which was strange to the dragon, since these were terms that would usually make anyone frown. Unlike her, he could not tell another's intentions immediately, after all, but she could. Wilhelmia had already discerned by then that Zyl was, in fact, being selfless. That in and of itself would not be enough to immediately bring a smile to her lips, but in addition to that, the person she was facing seemed careful and smart.
Maybe this would not be as bad as she had thought.
"That seems reasonable," she said, and soon the contract was drafted and signed, taking hold not long after.
"Now then, you are here to do me a favour? And in exchange for that, you only want me to keep your reputation somewhat clean?" Zyl asked.
"Indeed. Anything that we can do, we will try to accomplish," Wilhelmia said.
"Very well," Zyl responded one more time, a calm smile settling on his face. Not one of glee or excitement, but one of calm. His heart was feeling a little more at ease again, because now...
"There's someone who I might need you to help out," Zyl said.
Now, he wouldn't have to worry about Mercury as much anymore.
- - -
After some time had passed, the door to the dining hall swung open. Zyl's discussion with all of Ragnarok was over, and the band already turned to leave, only giving Berthorn the courtesy of a quick nod.
Still, he didn't let that get to his head. His smile was unshaken, still resting comfortably on his lips, which glistened with spit. In fact, perhaps if he hadn't practiced his manners so much, he would be frothing at the mouth now. They finally had put Zyl into a position where escaping was nearly impossible.
But he shouldn't get ahead of himself. Berthorn shook his head as he walked towards the dining room, calming his thoughts. The deed would only be completed once he held his brother's spark in his own hands, that was the sole reason for his visit.
And so, he settled down, and entered into the dining room, around the same time as Ragnarok was heading off to their next destination.
As soon as he got into the room, Berthord wasted no time. He immediately jumped onto a chair, draping one arm over its back, putting his shoes onto the table, and using his second arm to fill the glass in front of him with the nearest drink. It wasn't because he liked to conduct himself poorly, but these little acts of rebellion were usually all Zyl would tolerate.
Not this time though, that much Berthorn knew, and thus the smile on his face widened.
"Well then, lord Berthorn, what brings you here?" Zyl asked, his face now grave again.
"Oh, brother, we both know exactly what I'm doing here," he said, moving a strand of his oily black hair aside, as he swirled the liquid he had poured around in the glass. His swamp-green eyes still fixed on Zyl, whose frown only grew deeper at the world of brother.
"We are no longer family, Berthorn," the man in white ground out. It should have been obvious, as nothing about them was alike. Not their hair, not their eyes, not their stature or their faces. Yet of course, they were bound by blood.
"You know just as well as I that this is a bond that won't break, brother," the sleezy man said with a grin, downing half his drink. "Ah, but you might want to calm your rage, if you wish to see your little friend another day."
Zyl was already holding back the desire to harm the ambassador before him. The only reason he was sent is because he knew how to be an annoying ass better than anyone else. Simply mentioning their brotherhood made Zyl sick to the stomach.
"Proper family would not ask me to give myself up," Zyl replied as calmly as he could, though some of his rage certainly seeped through
"A proper brother would not need to be asked!" Berthorn replied, slamming the glass down so hard it shattered immediately. His frown was washed away from one moment to another, as the remainder of his wine stained the tablecloth.
At the very least, Berthorn's feet were now on the floor again, rather than the table.
Slowly, Zyl shook his head, not responding to the other man's fury. "You have walked the line long enough now, ambassador Berthorn. Speak carelessly again, and-"
"And fucking what?" the man in question hissed. "And your little furball dies, that's what. This time, Zyl," he spat the name out as if it was an insult, "you cannot touch me. Not even a little. In fact, I will be staying at your mansion from now on, until we have your spark. I won't ask anything outrageous, don't worry. We're family after all, isn't that right?"
With the last sentence, some semblance of calm returned to the man's voice, the furrows disappearing from his face and it smoothed itself over again. Soon, the same, slimy smile as usual was right back on Berthorn's lips.
"Now, tell me your decision," he said, before drinking more wine, this time straight from the bottle.
Zyl waited for a long time, letting the seconds tick by, but he saw no way out for now. "Fine," he eventually relented. "I'll start preparations to give you what you want. Expect it to take at least a couple days."
"See brother," Berthorn replied, his smile growing ever deeper. "It could have been so easy from the start."
- - - - - -
To all of this, Mercury was oblivious. Entirely oblivious, almost impressively so. Of course he knew that someone had touched on his mind for a little while. That's how he was able to explore the castle, after all. That much he had been able to read from the voice that told him to get out, he could tell that whoever it was, they didn't exactly mean well for him.
So of course, he didn't. But ever since then, nothing like that had happened anymore. Complete and utter radio silence. He'd just slept like a baby, unable to even try and see the weave of his dreams. He sighed about that on the inside, but it mattered little.
As always, he just had to be patient. In fact, he was taking so much time that he could clearly feel his title doing some work. After all, he had only glimpsed the nothingness for a moment, when he was forcefully thrown out of the other dream he had visited, and yet he had glimpsed much more from it than what he usually would have been able to.
But that would only matter once he got the time to deal with it. For now, Mercury decided to simply enjoy his last day with Marsh, Alex, and Ria. He'd grown to know the three of them quite well, and befriended them too, so he wasn't exactly happy to be leaving, but it was kind of unavoidable.
He and Ryuutesai-sensei would be staying the night, and then heading off first thing tomorrow morning. Then, Mercury would have to learn how to swing a hammer. He already had a headache just thinking about it, since
Dang, what was he even thinking about? That was future Mercury's problem. For now, he should enjoy his evening.
"Thanks again for letting me stay with you. Honestly, I really appreciate it," he said with a smile.
"You're welc-" Alex started, but was interrupted by an elbow to the ribcage from Ria.
"It was our pleasure," she said, and Marsh nodded along to her words.
"Yeah, seriously, it's been great getting to know you," they added. "So please, stop being so sappy and instead just come visit again, sometime soon."
"Ahem, yes, our doors are always open for you," Alex said curtly, before resuming his meal.
Next to all of this, Yasashiku couldn't help but smile a little. He usually lived alone, and seeing people being close always warmed his old heart.
Thus, the evening passed in good company, and the morning soon rolled around.
Mercury and Yasashiku said their goodbyes, both giving a promise to visit, and then they walked off. The journey would take a little while, but it should be more than doable in a couple of days.
But at least for those few more days, Mercury was safe. No one would ambush them on the journey, that much was certain, since Zyl was upholding his promise and Alexander might still smell something fishy if they didn't send letter on arrival.
And thus, the days ticked by once more.