Chapter 74 - The Cursed Effigy VI
Claire clenched her teeth as the cold evening air rushed by. She was soaring through the sky, pushing herself with her tail and boosting towards the citadel, one vector at a time. Though night had already fallen, she remained accompanied by fliers aplenty. There were just as many birds active throughout the night as there had been during the day; gulls, eagles, and petrels littered the void, squawking away with no concern for the diurnal. They were difficult to spot in the darkness, but paying close attention revealed that there were more of them than there were stars in the sky. The distant light sources would often find themselves obscured by large winged silhouettes.
Birds, islands, and foxes were by no means the only entities coasting up above. Off in the distance, slowly moving from one side of the world to the other, was a massive shattered moon, topped by a wizard’s hat and orbited by a large ring of debris, fragments of its broken frame.
Once well above the settlement, the lyrkress shifted to pushing forward. She launched herself towards one of the three ancient trees that had grown from the ruins, all of which were located at the center of town. A last minute flick of the tail mitigated the force of the impact. She would have been able to negate it outright had she been more experienced, but as it stood, she found her forehead with a fresh bruise and the tree with one less branch. Still, the rogue was able to remain obscured and hidden within the canopy.
Sylvia had a much easier time accomplishing the same feat. She had casually floated up to the citadel and landed atop Claire’s head, as would any other fox. Not that non-Llystletein foxes could float. Or transform into fairies, for that matter.
Narrowing her eyes, Claire carefully scanned her surroundings before making her way out of the tree. Her crash landing had come with a series of blatant thunks, but the settlement remained unresponsive. Though the time of day was certainly a contributor, she didn’t think it a key factor. To her surprise and displeasure, the ruins were still lively, even with the sun far beneath the horizon. Turning her eyes to where her ears made out the clinking of glass and roaring of laughter, she found a dozen or so buildings with their flames still kept alight. Claire doubted that the locals had missed the crash from so close; they must have simply chosen to ignore it.
“Wow, that was kinda mes—”
Claire grabbed the fox by the snout to cut her off before bringing a finger to her lips. “Quiet. They’ll hear us,” she whispered.
“Right, sorry…” said Sylvia, in a lower tone. “Anyway, that was really messy. Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you hit yourself pretty badly.”
“I’m fine.”
“Well, if you say so. But just so you know, I can heal you if you get hurt outside a fight, so don’t be afraid to ask!”
“I’m fine,” repeated the snake horse. “Where’s your father?”
“Ummm… let’s see…” Sylvia hummed a short note and stuck it to her face as she sniffed at the air. “I think he’s… over that way?”
Her paw was pointed at one of the stranger-looking buildings at the end of the street. From the outside, the pentagonal structure looked to be a sort of abbey, courtesy of the symbol engraved on its door. Claire recognized the Grand Scale as Flitzegarde’s mark, a holy rune representing the concept of order. Recognition, however, was as far as she got. She couldn’t recall any of the concepts associated with the divine, nor any of her preferences or taboos. Though a bit confused, she didn’t stress about it. Even if it bore the goddess’ mark, the building hardly seemed to be one that continued to serve a religious purpose. From what she could hear, the once-abbey had been converted to a sort of eatery, likely a diner or a bar.
“One second.” After raising her ears and scanning the soundscape one last time, Claire pulled the fluffy triangles inside her cloak and closed the holes that had been crafted to allow their exposure. Taking her security a step further, she extended her hood’s lip so that it would better hide her features. “Okay. I’m ready.”
“Then let’s g—” The fox started to cheer, but clamped her paws over her mouth upon realizing that she had started to raise her voice. “Erm… oops. I mean, let’s go!” she shouted, in a whisper.
Leading the way, Sylvia waltzed straight down the middle of the road with her tail swaying behind her. Claire considered the more cautious approach of sneaking from building to building, but shrugged it off after recalling that she had just checked for enemies. The vixen’s heartbeat had been the only other she heard, so she set her caution aside and followed in her companion’s footsteps.
“This is my first time visiting a town that isn’t on the second floor,” said Sylvia, practically skipping along. “I can’t believe they have so many plants all over the place! It reminds me of Darkwood Hollow.”
I doubt that’s intentional.
Keeping the comment to herself, Claire also turned her eyes on the ruined town. Up close, it looked even less livable than it had from afar. She was able to see in more detail the thousand cracks that ran up every wall, the vines that caused the damage, and the blooms born of the fort’s downfall. At best, living in the citadel seemed uncomfortable. At worst, it was no different from being homeless. Every single building was damaged, with the ones in use serving as no exceptions. Even the abbey’s walls and ceilings were boarded up with planks of wood, sheets of metal, and tarps of leather. All the parts used in the repairs were of surprising workmanship. Each plank was of the same dimensions, each metal sheet was flat and uniform, and each leather tarp looked to be of a high enough quality to be afforded only by those in the upper middle class. Do craftsmen not lose their levels?
Though curious, she wasn’t given any time to ponder the question. Spotting a series of moving shadows, the halfbreed cut her thoughts short, magically abducted the fox, and ducked into the alley. Sylvia almost instantly opened her mouth to speak, but Claire pressed a hand over it and kept her silenced.
“Fuckin’ hell, Neil, you damn pussy. I told you the borroks weren’t worth shit. Even Carter’s back already, and him and the girl had it hardest. Heard he was telling old Dickface some crazy shit at the pub. Apparently the stupid cow was so excited you could practically hear him jizzing his pants.”
The first voice she heard was a man’s. His words were spoken in a particularly rough tone that almost made it seem as if he was throwing a fit of rage.
“Eric! What’s wrong with you!? Can’t you go five minutes without saying something disgusting?” He was scolded almost immediately by a female, one with a voice a few pitches deeper than average.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“Can the two of you please settle down? I’m trying to think,” said the group’s final member.
“Then think, One-eye. What’s me shitting on Carter have to do with that?”
“You’re making it very difficult.”
Of the three passersby, she immediately recognized two. They were the werebears that had destroyed her weapon cache. From what she could gather, the runt was the member of the group that had been transformed; she had a vague recollection of the way the other man referred to him.
0% Catgirl? That’s a first.
To her relief, they once again failed to notice her. The group walked right past the alleyway, but she kept her ears on them until they turned a distant corner. Only then did she finally take a hand off the fox’s face and give her a chance to breathe.
“What the heck, Claire! You can’t just cover my nose like that!” complained Sylvia, right away. “I thought I was gonna suffocate!”
“You wouldn’t suffocate that easily,” said the lyrkress, as she stretched her tail. “It’d take a while for your health regeneration to drop into the negatives.”
“I really don’t think that’s how that works! If you run out of air, you die, and that’s that!”
“It is,” said Claire, confidently. “I’ve tried.”
“I think that’s just because your body is weird!”
“No it’s not. All lamias are the same.”
“Then lamias are super weird! First the hunger thing, and now this? Seriously! What the heck!? That’s not how bodies are supposed to work! That’s not normal!”
“It’s normal.”
Claire shrugged as she stepped back out of the alley, only to stiffen up like a statue the moment she looked towards their destination. In front of her stood another familiar face, one that she recognized in the blink of an eye.
“Hello, and good evening.”
Adorned by a pair of boots and a priestly habit was the ability point thief. He had appeared right in the middle of the street without warning, even though her ears had been on high alert.
“Child of Flux, I welcome you to the citadel with open arms.”
After blinking a few times, Claire turned to look at Sylvia, who she assumed the man had been addressing, but apparently the fox was just as confused. She was returning Claire’s gaze, her head tilted to express her lack of understanding.
“You have the wrong person,” said the lyrkress.
“That’s impossible,” he said. “I was guided here by a divine hand.”
“Then maybe you have the wrong time.”
Her voice was steady, but she was far from calm. Even setting his lack of fur aside, she couldn’t help but find herself bothered by the -100% catgirl. Something about him, his aura, and his impression was simply wrong and it took a moment of silent observation for her to pinpoint it.
He didn’t have a heartbeat.
In fact, he was making no sound at all. She couldn’t hear the wind that rushed past his hairless body, nor could she hear his breath, despite watching as his chest heaved up and down. Spoken words aside, he made not a single noise, even as he rummaged through the rucksack slung over his shoulder.
“Flux told me to show you this. She said that it was something that you would recognize immediately.”
From the leather bag, the cat produced the tail end of a fish, specifically one that was charred a deep black and left with a thin layer of skin, brittle enough to crumble at the slightest touch.
So her name is Flux…
“I don’t know what that is,” lied Claire.
“Really? That’s strange.” The cat-sith put the fish back in his backpack as he stood up on his hind legs and fiddled with his feathered cap. “Can you show me what you look like under that hood? The goddess mentioned a few key features, namely some scales and a pair of ears, and I’d like to check for them. Assuming you really don’t recognize the charcoal.”
“I don’t.”
“Wait, you don’t? Wasn’t that fish the one yo—”
Claire paralyzed the fox with a glare, but it was too late. Sylvia had already revealed too many key pieces of information and the glint in the cat’s eye made it clear that he had caught on. Knowing any further deception to be futile, the rogue sighed, peeled back her hood, and revealed her face. I thought foxes were supposed to meow in front of other people, not give me away.
“I knew it. Scales and ears, exactly as described in the revelation.” He smiled and bowed with one hand on his chest and another behind his waist. It was a sharp, practiced motion, the sort you would only expect to see from a man with an education. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Beckard Links, fireclaw devout, at your service.”
Not opting to return the greeting, the bluescale pulled her hood back over her head and hid her eyes. “What does your goddess want?”
“I was told to help you, within reason of course.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Without another word, the lyrkress walked right past the cat. She wanted nothing to do with him. There was no telling what associating with the strange man would bring, even if—or perhaps even precisely because—he had the goddess’ mark of approval. It wasn’t as if Claire suspected that the snarky divine was out to harm her. There was no need for such a convoluted plot. She was ultimately under the box’s umbrella, which was to say that Flux could have smited her at any point in time if she so desired. If anything, her impression of the goddess was a positive one. She thought her a relatively pleasant deity, even if she was too neglectful to offer regular guidance.
Her suspicion came instead as a function of the timing. If the cat-sith was truly the devout he claimed, then he would be a man of great faith, one whose life was dedicated to the goddess’ service, which was to say that she could have sent him at any point in time. He could have been there to greet her immediately upon the ritual’s completion. Given that he was only showing up now, right after she had pulled a prank, with the item used in said prank in tow, she couldn’t help but suspect that the box was using him to get back at her, one way or another.
“I can teach you a number of rare skills, if you’d like. Combat worthy ones.”
The offer stopped the halfbreed in her tracks. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned around and set the fox in her arms down onto the ground.
“Claire, frostblight lyrkress.”
Unlike when she had introduced herself to the furball and the whale, the half-snake went through the formality of disclosing her racial identity, largely in part because she just wanted to say it. She highly doubted that leaking the class’ name would run the risk of exposing her identity. Even as a well educated noble lady, she had never once heard a lyrkress mentioned by any person in any context. Likewise, she saw no problem in listing her name. It was common enough for it to be impossible for a potential hostile to think of her just because it happened to come up in a conversation.
“Wait, is that what you are now? I thought you were a chimera,” said the fox. “Oh I’m Sylvia Redleaf, Llystletein woodfox.”
“Redleaf?” The priest cat furrowed his brow. “You must be Zelos’ daughter then.”
“Yup! We were just about to go see him.”
“I can show you to him, if you’d like.”
“Oh, sure! I was gonna sniff him out, but that’d make it a lot easier.” The vixen rubbed the note off her nose and blew it to the winds, where it soon dissipated back into mana.
“He’s normally in his room at this time of day. Follow me,” said Beckard, who had dropped onto all fours and started walking down the street.
“What about the skills?” asked Claire.
“It’ll be a little late for that, especially if you have other business. You can stop by my office at any time during the day.” He pointed a paw towards a large building on the opposite end of the street. “It’s right over there.”
Like the abbey, the cat’s workplace was a relatively large building marked with a holy symbol, an hourglass with a swirl in both chambers. The mark of the eternal flow.
“Now let’s get going. Zelos likes to drink at night. If we take too long, he may find himself at the bar, too inebriated to speak.”