“What do you mean the fire is broken?” Rye whispered to Karla, whom they had decided to let act as a guide for the time. “How does fire break?”
“My aunt always said it should have burned the city down a decade ago, but if anything, it and its tenders have lost ground to the Rhuna and the knights of Avon. The city is wet, and a fire of this kind needs a lot of coaxing to burn after all.” She shrugged, whispering back. “The legion is not planning any grand excursions, their last one seems not to have gained much ground at all, or so I’ve heard. Also, why are we whispering again?”
Rye pointed to a mosaic near the sign depicting a bundle of reeds behind a scroll and a book.
Library. Should’ve figured. Now, keep an eye out for any cold-blooded individuals of magical ilk and design.
It wasn’t hard to find the mage. They were sitting in a corner, surrounded by ink, two feather quills (so ostentatious!), and a heaping of scrolls ordered in neat triple pyramids.
“Is that her?” Rye asked.
Karla nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma’am. She goes by the name Patia, or so I heard. More pedecud?”
“Mhhh, yes please.” After overcoming her reservations, Rye could now understand why Elia couldn’t get enough of this stuff, and she’d ‘only’ starved herself for a week. Water from the bowls of respite were enough to keep an undead running, but not having anything to eat, and feeling her stomach completely empty was maddening. How must it feel to someone who’d gone without food for a decade? “Alright. You wait here while I test the waters.”
The conjurer was an odd-looking woman, skin gray and covered in narrow bone-white scales ranging from the size of a fingernail to the length of an entire finger. She looked at Rye through a pair of red-rimmed glass-jewelry thingies (it wasn’t doing her hard face any favors) from where she sat amongst scattered possessions. By her robe she was a scholar, though Rye had never seen a scholar with a scaled tail, nor one whose neck could extend nearly five feet as hers did to peer at a bookshelf above her.
Where does all that neck go? She some kind of softshell turtle?
Rye ignored the comment, put on her best friendly face and walked up to the scholar. “Hello! Patia, is that right? I’m Rye.”
The serpentine scholar deigned her with one look, only one, before returning to her scroll.
Rude. But no, no swift judgements, she was either not a people-person or simply busy. Rye could work in spite of either. “I see that I am being a bother. No worries, I’ll be out of your hair, er, scales if you can answer my one question.”
Patia didn’t look up from her scroll. “Ask and begone then. I have much to pore over.”
“Can I somehow regain or relearn a spell which I had a boon for?”
Light scratches of pen on papyrus filled the room. Rye could only glance at the notes, recognizing some calculations of distance, movement and ratios belonging to the art of astronomy. The calculations never fueled her imagination as much as the idea that every star was in someway correlated to another, like a world-spanning clockwork mechanism that could tell her exactly where she was. Of course, there hadn’t been a single night in the week since her awakening.
She was just about to ask Elia when the last full moon was when the woman finished. She cleaned her quill with a rag and before Rye could breathe a sigh, unfurled a second unfilled sheaf.
Soon, impatience got the better of her. “I-”
“It is impossible to regain your spell boon, or any boon at all,” Patia said with such casual surety that Rye’s heart made a small cracking sound, though only she could hear it. “They are foisted upon us by divine will and divine will takes them thusly.”
“W-well, could you teach me how to… do magic instead?” Rye asked, knowing full well that though she did not have a great basis for casting magic, she was well-equipped for learning. “I know maths, history, astronomy, the seven dialects… I am a diligent student. Oh, and if there is an issue of payment I have this.”
She placed down the scroll of magic she had found in Glenrock’s large tower, the ball with Yewen’s essence from the same and a copper ring.
Patia’s gaze swept over the ball and ring before stopping at the scroll.
“Will you give this to me?” she asked, holding it up. “Not because it is worth much, but because it is a waste for a lay to drag it around until it tears, burns, or dissolves in any number of grisly liquids.”
“W-what? I-” Rye looked at the scroll which already was plastered with spots of dried blood. “I guess I could donate it to the library.”
The scholar nodded, depositing it in a somewhat prominent nook in the wall.
Altruism. Great. This better pay off.
“You say you want to be a conjurer?” The woman gave a soft scowl, a simple twitch of her brows and the corners of her lips. At least the face was human, human enough. She must have gotten a body-transforming boon, like Elia had, except she hadn’t given it to the water bowls as an offering. Perhaps she was afraid of losing her other ones.
A prickly sensation washed over her body, like being licked by a cat’s tongue.
With a single gesture Patia stored the bronze ring in her robes. “Consider this payment for bothering me, for asking more than one question, and for my honest advice: You won’t ever be more than an amateurish conjurer.”
Great advice. This is basically highway robbery. I won’t tell you what to do, Rye, just that that’s two items for zero gain. You should stab her or demand it back.
Rye couldn’t do either and her kicked-puppy face wasn’t working to convince the scholar that she suddenly did want an apprentice out of pity. She dialed it back to show a more subdued, but all the more piercing disappointment. That seemed at last to get a sigh out of the mage. She put her pen aside before cleaning her ocular lenses. “I do not say this out of malice. I am afraid it is a matter of your foundation, of your spirit. In that regard, you do not measure up and teaching you would be more a danger even than a waste of my time. Now leave, I have important work to do and my time is valuable.”
“Maybe I could hel–“
“No.” She fixed Rye with an icy gaze and that was enough for her to turn around, shoulders slumped.
It was that simple then. She had no chance of learning magic and Rye saw no other way of actually making it back home alive on her own terms. Measuring up to Elia, who kept on pulling skill after skill from her bag of expertises, was out of the question. She’d never be an ace at hand-to-hand combat and without her boon she was of little more use than a talking head.
Rye left, not tear stricken, but deeply cut.
You gonna be alright after that?
“I mean, I’ve never tried anything and truly failed, so this is new.” Rye sighed as she walked down another few flights of stairs, followed by Karla. At the bottom a field grew into view, grasses and dandelion popping out from what must have been an old road that now with the collapsed buildings all around formed a secret courtyard . “I just need to find a distraction and – oh, look, is that the merchant?”
Yes, finally. She could still haggle. She wandered over to the man swaddled in colorful robes and took a peek at his mountain of goods all arrayed through some personal system she couldn’t decipher at first or second glance. If she had to guess the system’s name was ‘clutter’ and it ordered its items wherever they fit. She had a good number of souls, she could probably afford quite a bit.
But there was something familiar about this man. Gangly limbs, charred stumps for legs, a thin mouth beneath the turban covering his head above the nose.
“Harris? Or rather, the man formerly known as such?”
The man who may have been Harris stirred, jolted up with a snort. “’Pologies, I must have nodded off. Ah, a forlorn. Come, come, to Mahdi’s emporium. I have wares for you, wares you cannot imagine.”
No implication that he might have known her. She must have been imagining things then. The two even had completely different sorting methods, they couldn’t be the same person. Karla waved and he waved back.
“This is the pedecud vendor I was talking about. Pray, sir, where is your slugepede?”
“Herbert is out grazing, out hunting.” he answered. “You’ll have to wait for warm cud, I only have cold bowls left.”
Rye inserted herself between the two. “Sorry, this ‘pedecud’, how much is it per bowl?”
“100 Souls, milady.”
Rye’s face fell. She looked at Karla. “Aren’t you somewhat… soul-impoverished?”
“I ran up a tab.” Karla sheepishly inspected the ground. “My aunt’s name is worth credit.”
Uh, I think with your two bowls and my eighteen, that makes two thousand souls?
Rye paid the lot on the spot. The simple feeling of debt was terrifying.
Stolen novel; please report.
You have given: Soul x2,000
“How much for a set of plate armor, good sir?” Rye smiled, pointed at one of three sets of plate he had propped up against a short wall.
“Ah, yes. Well, before I start, you seem new here. This here plate I only sell as full sets. For the cheapest, I ask 23.000 souls.” He pointed first to the one with darkened metal and a funnel-like helmet similar to the Wolf’s.
Watch hound set
Armor made for the watch hounds of Yorivale, taking after a forgotten hero neither beast nor man.
The watch hounds of Yorivale were once an order of knights dedicated to the eradication of the influence of the moonwell and sorcery on the land. They roamed countryside in great packs, breaking every result of sorcerous malpractice upon the wheel with single-minded zeal.
Moderately protects against fiery and frigid conjurations.
We might not have enough. Shall I check, milady?
Rye could check herself thank you very much.
Soul count: 21,181
Goddangit.
Every time it was more, every time it was not enough. Rye watched as the man pointed out how that was the cheapest set and her shame only grew. She couldn’t decide between feeding Elia and getting good, durable armor that would last. They would need to buy low quality gear, which would break easier and be an additional drain on their resources.
Being poor sucked.
“The middling one I sell for 31.000,” Mahdi said, pointing then to a set that looked rather too much like the smiling knight’s armor, minus the tar.
Smiling knight set
A knight who smiles is beloved by everyone. Perhaps it is for this reason that when these diplomats and jesters turned on their betters, many were expecting a joke that never came.
Greatly protects the mind from incursion and manipulation.
“And lastly, this is my pride and joy. You scarcely see this outside the silvered gates of Gatheon.” He slapped a pile of red armor that Rye thought was rusted. On the second view, it was rusted, but in a fine and even layer covering the outside from front to back. It almost looked intentional. “This one here is magical, worn by an immortal who climbed the highest peaks of the mountain of gods I hear.”
Everrust set
Set of the knight Obronne, who for his final trial was ordered to climb mount Gatheon in full armor. It is said that when he arrived at the top wearing only the scraps, the gods awarded him this set and granted him dominion as the lord of storms.
Grants immunity to lightning. Greatly protects against fire and bludgeoning attacks. Greatly Increases focus and reduces drain on reservoir when casting fulminations. Rusts but never breaks.
“WHAT?” Rye looked at the words in smoke, at the armor, the merchant, Karla, Quibbles (ribbit), and the armor again. She dismissed and resummoned the smoke. “Merchant, how did you get this?”
“Found it.” He yelped as Rye stepped forward, toppling a jar of bone shards. “I-I did! Miss, you must believe me! In the long past, there was a war, a great dying and everything, anything - even the gods - came falling from the sky! Honest, I have no feet, I only scavenge from those which cannot run. The dead, the truly-rightly ones.”
Rye still stared at him.
Is this Obronne guy famous?
“He was a hero, a legend, an immortal. Forget Hall, who I never heard of, Lord Obronne was on par with Herculeon from the moriad.” Deep breaths, calm breaths. “Mahdi - the merchant is implying he perished.”
“People seldom don’t.” He held up his hands placatingly as Rye looked fit to kill a man and Karla looked like she was unsure who to jump in front of.
Oh, is it going down? C’mon Rye, switch, let me bop him.
Between balled fists and a hot, angry tear, Rye forced herself to look away. “And how much is the armor of a legend worth to you, mister merchant?”
“98.000.”
Rye let out a high whine. Nearly a hundred thousand, an entire great city’s population worth. This man was worse than the man formerly known as Harris. He was shifty, he was mean, and he was going to bleed her dry.
We have no weapons, no armor for head and arms, our chestplate has a fist-sized hole and a deep gouge in it and even our boots are trashed. We need something, but unless you can give him your version of a five-finger discount under the table, we can’t afford everything.
Rye whispered to the side. “Do you really think he’ll lower the prices that much for a single handj-”
NO! Fuck, Rye, get a grip. Ugh, I’m never making a sex-joke again.
Whatever emotion played across Rye’s face was enough for Mahdi to understand her very relative soul-poverty. “Ah, well, I do have some options for the small soulpurse. That is, if you are willing to be civil.”
She was, if only to prove that she was good for something. He gestured to a pile of unsorted, banged up bracers, chest plates, helmets and everything. They were still way overpriced even compared to Harris’ pile, but at least they were polished clean.
“Dang price gouging, purse wrenching, city prices,” she muttered.
She was definitely going to apologize to Harris later and check if he had any good deals at the same time. However, the man who claimed to be Mahdi had much, much more on offer.
“Do you sell mending wedges too?”
He nodded. “Three thousand apiece.”
“Yes, well, ummm.” A chance. Initiative! Channel the disapproving father, channel the slayer of merchants, the slasher of prices. “Do you deal in greater souls? ‘Vessels’, in other terms?”
The man nodded. “Commons mostly, though I have two uncommons for the body. The rarer ones are quite, well, rare considering… well, you know.”
We don’t. I’ve got a hunch though.
“Sir, what do you mean by, well…?”
“Ah, you are from that far away. My condolences and welcome to Loften.” A thin hand emerged from his clothes, pointing crookedly at a rough map of the city. “The city is divided and the great lords of now and yore do not look kindly upon new would-be ascenders. General Quintus, The blighted Cairker-witch, Avon of Nowhere, The Maroon Pact. They all watch, they all punish. They all have their own ascenders. Beware them! But most of all beware the Rhuna. Beware The Lion of the Old Faith.”
Yep. Beware the loot-sniping boss-camper. Fuck – I mean, fudge.
Rye swallowed, focusing on present problems. “Well, I have a common soul I’d like to barter. A forlorn knight’s soul. Would you be interested?”
“Certainly, though you’d have to ask the attendant to oversee this. I do not possess a boon to identify these souls, though I collect them for their prettiness.” A few jars stood aside, glowing wispy water-flames floating within.
Rye, a moment.
“I… I shall look for him then.” She said and excused herself further outside, winding her way through vines and trip-trap roots. She plopped herself down in the sand and sighed for all the world to hear. “Could you leave me to myself, Karla? It’ll only be for a moment.”
Karla, who so far had not found much time or space to make her presence known, nodded once. Rye didn’t miss how she stopped behind the nearby crumbling wall to listen in. Maybe if she did she would adopt a more healthy stance on Rye’s - or Elia’s - status as a person worth respecting.
I’ll go out on a limb and say that something’s weighing on your mind.
Rye played with a lock. “I don’t think I can show my face at home, not when I ran away. I’m… still not sure what the implications are, but I need to know that no matter who I am or was you’ll still treat me the same.”
No reason for me not to.
“Elia, I’m saying that even if there’s a reason, if it turns out I’m some terrible unfaithful daughter or just an idiot, that even then you won’t judge me for it.”
Sure. As long as you don’t keep on calling me a barbarian. It’s rather rude.
Rye bit her tongue. It was true though! What else was she supposed to call her if not a person who comes from outside the empire. “Well, I won’t call you an outsider because that is just the same in green. What about earthlander?”
Earthlander’s fine.
There was a pregnant pause.
Sooo, anything else, or can we move on?
“Elia, do you need me? Because I’ve lost my magic. I can’t be fearless like you. I tried to be like a knight but I lost my cape and your sword in the span of a few hours. I… once we leave Clearwater Temple, will you even want me around or will I just be an annoyance?”
Rye. I don’t like people but let me put it this way: There is nobody I care about besides you, Quibbles and myself. No one else matters. Everyone else I can’t trust.
Normally, she would have waved that off as a bad sign and an unhealthy approach to life, but now was a time where she needed to hear that the most.
“Do you remember our promise at Crossroad Temple?”
That I’ll ferry you to Loften and leave when we find a way to split into two bodies?
Rye nodded. “If it isn’t too much to ask, could you stay around after we have?”
Elia snorted, an ethereal and low grumble.
Sure. As long as we don’t merge and become one amalgamated person before that, I’m in no rush to go anywhere. Keep up that level of self-confidence, it’ll do you good.
“Good. Great, um, thank you…” She wiped away a tear and felt her anxieties settle somewhat, making way for a practiced mindset of practical concerns. “I don’t think we have enough souls, Elia.”
Well, yeah, we might have to sell some of our loot. Haven’t exactly combed through our backpack yet.
“Even then, we’ll bankrupt ourselves just for armor again, armor that will suffer the moment we happen upon something out of our league again.” And they needed food, weapons, essences, a greater soul for the spirit and mind, and more. “We need a plan on how to move forward and a spending plan. How about we each say one thing we want in turn?”
Frankly, my boon is OP. Overpowered. I want another cleaver.
Rye nodded. “I don’t want to be useless in a scrap. I want to learn magic.”
I’d like some more foods.
“I want to know what happened to Loften.”
I want a hamburger.
“I want a–” A bit of remembered dream knowledge pushed to the front. “Elia, a hamburger is a food. Choose something else like a helmet, another pet or, if you have yet to master a useful skill, a mentor. If we take it slow and carefully, save up our souls, then we can pay for most things over time.”
Woah, Quibbles are you listening to this? Rye just called you a pet.
“Ribbit.”
“Elia, I’m serious, we–”
Wait, did you hear that?
Rye sat up straight. “Hear what?”
It sounded like rustling in the bush, like legs and… chewing.
Rye heard a scream and turned around to rush out of the old backyard. Karla was on the ground, a velvety snake as thick as her torso wrapping around her. No, not a snake, a caterpillar or something. A horror from the Dark Forest, crept from the undergrowth invading the city all around.
Giant velvet worm! Kill it!