Rye stared at the burning ceiling through the portal and the image held her thoughts in place like a lead weight.
She looked left, she turned right.
The others were decompressing from their adventures in the swamp. Karla was still poking the Wolf’s writhing body as it slowly stitched itself together. Zane was haggling with the man formerly known as Harris, not knowing that he was buying things from the pact’s quartermaster, who would likely have given him the very same things either for cheap or free back at home.
But his home was on fire. He was not ready to face it. They were all not ready. And Rye? No, Rye was also not ready, not one bit. An inescapable pull to act, to do something pulled Rye’s thoughts back into line.
This was an attack. Rhuna was attacking two days early. Her options?
Returning after death was impossible; the pact would never be as cooperative or prepared as today. She couldn’t just save herself and Elia either. Ignoring the moral implications, she promised to handle everything for her, and that meant making sure the pact and her friends lived.
I need to help, I need to go, she thought. No, wait, I have to get Elia. We can do this together.
She sat down and tried to enter her white dream. The moment she did, a sudden shock shook her awake. It felt like she had just slammed her head against a wall. This never happened before. She tried to sleep more forcefully.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself, “sleep faster.”
But she could not. She could not even forcefully put herself into a dreaming state. Any power she had over her greater shard was gone as well.
Pay the price, Zippo tittered. Five thousand dreams.
“I don’t have time to manage other people’s dreams!” Rye hissed. “I need to wake Elia up, now!”
Pay the price.
Her gaze bored a burning hole into empty space.
“Fine. Be like that. I’ll just do it all myself then.”
Her hand tightened around her sole casting focus, the Yorivale branch Elia had not sold. She still had her conjuration and her boons.
What else do I need?
About a boatload of bravery, which she was decidedly lacking in. And a weapon.
Her eyes fell on Pascal, who was carefully molding her commission in his weird oven-cauldron thingy. He looked up at her as she stomped over, fixing him with an intense stare.
“Is it finished?”
Pascal blinked, slowly removing the blade from his esoteric metal-carving-tool. “Why yes, I was only giving the pommel a finishing sheen. This was quite the challenge; it had been a long time since I carved with such acclaimed materials. Moonlight’s spirit has been preserved, enhanced even from its shattered form. Regarding the design I chose a middle between a fileting knife and the knives used to cut the salmon fish. I only hope this may help you on your journey.”
“Good work.” Rye practically snatched the perfectly shaped blade out of his hands, turned to walk away, hesitated, then turned again and embraced him in a hug. “Thank you so much. She is going to love this. I will repay you, somehow.”
Pascal chuckled as he waved her off. He felt like a warm fireplace and smelled of moss. “I am only following the purpose given to me by my creator the great god Ruthe. I carve metal. And when the last iron ingot has rusted and the gold has turned to dust, that is when my work will be complete, and I will rest.”
Rye shivered at the thought of spending an eternity in this place. “But Ruthe and all the other gods have abandoned us. He cannot dictate your purpose in life. You don’t owe him anything.”
“Perhaps that is why making this for you brought me the greatest joy.” Pascal smiled through his bushy mustache. “Be safe now, yes? Heroes are best remembered for the heroics that cost their life.”
Rye returned to the bowl, summoned up the right portal, then hesitated.
Why did she feel compelled to act the part of a hero? The pact was not her home, and even Elia barely felt like she fit in despite many people who had come from Earthland living there. The pact’s people were crazy, weird, and more than just a bit rude. They were far removed from any of her friends, her family, her lovers. Rye was certain that no matter how much she tried, she would never quite fit in with them all.
A pink hand touched her shoulder. “Are you going to do something stupid again?” Cesare asked.
“Maybe,” Rye muttered. “But it will be worth it.”
Elia wanted a home. And one thing Rye did care about was Elia, brave Elia, who was loyal and grumpy and though not fearless, always willing to do what had to be done no matter the obstacles, no matter the cost, no matter if she had to do it alone.
If Rye was to be a god, then she ought to try imitating just a tiny portion of that infinite grit. And then she could keep everyone safe.
She closed her eyes, counted to three, and plunged herself through the water.
*Gong*
Rye emerged to the sound of the ceiling cracking under the fire. She was about to hurry out when someone coughed behind her. Cesare had followed her, but the entire structure around the bowl was about to give. With a lunge she leapt away from the bowl, bursting through the door just as wood and bricks poured down after her.
“Cesare you stupid, stupid fool you.”
Cesare coughed. “Pot, meet kettle.”
That got a laugh out of her. Then she remembered that she was in an active war zone and looked for cover. People yelling and the clang of metal on metal filled every part of her awareness. Sparks and embers filled the scorching air and Rye stumbled as a humongous creature crashed into the building they had just been in.
It stood three times as tall as her, with pale eyes beneath a crown of broken horns, its skin leathery and the flesh beneath rotten and decayed. If Rye had not known better she would have said that it was a dragon. But dragons were supposed to be majestic and glorious. This mockery, the way it jittered and struggled to move, was almost sad.
Still coughing from all the dust, Rye saw Karla’s aunt riding it, puppeteering it with jerky motions of her hands. With a lurch of its moth-eaten wings, she lifted it up, and its underside simply dropped off with a wet sound, legs and all.
Before she could decide whether to run or hop on, a man stepped out of the shadow right next to her.
“Miss Elia?” he asked, barely giving Cesare a glance. “We need to go, while Camille holds them off.”
“Elia’s asleep.” Cesare said. “You’re talking to Rye.”
“Are you her greater shard?”
She blinked. Right, that would be a reasonable suggestion to make. “We are two spirits, one body. We take turns. And before you ask, Zane and Karla are safe, as far away from here as can be.”
He nodded. “Good. You two, follow me. The pact is retreating.”
She froze for a moment, then caught up, sword gripped tightly in hand. “What do you mean, retreating? I just got here! And who are you?”
“I am Zack, second in command of the thieves guild–,” he said and was cut off as a coordinated hail of arrows feathered the three of them. Her [Threat music] only started playing after the fact.
You have died
Divine grace protects thee, loyal undead
You have lost: Ring of grace
----------------------------------------
Rye woke up to the sound of fire and a failing roof. She swore, pulling Cesare out the door just in time before the building collapsed again.
Being like Elia means doing this kind of stuff too. That’s alright. I can do this.
She watched the shadow impatiently until a figure emerged from it.
“Miss Elia–“
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Yes! Hello! We move now!”
Zach seemed surprised, but he simply nodded. In spite of the uncanny resemblance to his younger brother, unlike Zane he seemed fully in control of his wits. “You arrived just in time. This place is compromised.”
“Compromised?” Cesare asked. They ducked in behind a house, just as the arrows started plinking and plonking off its tiled roof. “What does ‘compromised’ mean?”
“It means Rhuna found a way in. We overlooked a bowl in the sewers, behind a wall someone bricked over. Her army is pouring out in a relentless stream. There is no chance of victory, so we’re scrambling for the hills. Don’t worry, we’ve done this before, so most everyone is packed and prepared. Camille and some others are fighting her champions. The dregs are buying us time.”
“But that means you’re leaving them to die,” Rye said. “Again and again. That’s cruel.”
If her appeal had any effect, he didn’t show it. “Becoming a dreg is a death sentence.”
“They look plenty unalive to me.” Rye looked back, the sounds of violence coming from every alley and from in the sewers. “Those dregs were your friends once. Family even.”
He stopped her from crossing a road where a battle was raging between the pact’s dregs and Rhuna’s own beak-nosed ones. They took a left, sneaking in and around houses unseen.
“Hey, are you even listening?”
He loomed up against her and for a moment, her heart did an inappropriate skip. “Show me the person who has a dozen lesser shards and I’ll gladly pay any price to get my friends back. But they signed the pact. And in the pact, the dead ensure the survival of the living.”
She opened her mouth to say something. But this was a matter of survival. The pact saw dregs as dead people. If they could extract more value from them, they gladly would. It was ugly and felt wrong, but she would have to bear it. Elia had borne worse and more than that, she didn’t pester people for answers and thought things through herself.
So, here was a thought: Through all the violence and risk, Zach had waited for her. Beyond whether the pact already saw her as a member or not, it implied that they saw some greater value within her. Was it the shard? Was it her knowledge and Elia’s ability to come back again and again? Or something else?
They continued their flight until the sounds of combat were growing ever more distant. The dregs were gone from the streets. Every now and then Rye saw a group of pact members rushing across the cobblestone or finishing off some pursuer or errant beast. They did so quickly and efficiently, from the oldest who was baiting their attention to the youngest, who quickly gathered shards and other gear after the fight was done.
The pact then was not a nation, but a collective of individuals held together by a solitary oath and by their useful skills and boons. Technically, that would qualify them as an order of knights.
Rye snorted. What a ridiculous thought. “Where are you running to?”
“The nearest bowl, which is a couple of kilometers away. There, we will file through and set up in a new location, preferably somewhere with an attendant, somewhere far away from Rhuna and the other two monsters Avon and Quintus.”
Rye thought back to Crossroad and Clearwater temple. “If you need a safe place to run to, I know a couple. And I can get you there too. See? Infinite bowl portals.”
She showed her tattooed hand, which was when she realized that Elia had gotten a tattoo without her permission. On the one hand, it meant she had to give less souls to that grubby Mahdi for feathers. On the other hand, not asking for permission made her angry.
My body – our body – is… gah! I shouldn’t have spent so much time asleep.
But this was going to save everyone now. It was a good thing. All she needed to do was reach the bowl.
Heya frenemie~
“No.”
I hope you know how to dodge~
“Nonono!”
A shadow fell over Rye and moments later, the world around her exploded into stone shrapnel.
You have died
You have lost: Soul x1,914
You have lost: Soul Shard [Common] x52, [Uncommon] x28, [Rare] x9, [Epic] x1
----------------------------------------
‘Almost… there…’ Rye leapt for her bundle of shards and souls, snatching them off of the ground mid-run.
With only moments to spare, she dodged a rain of stone pillars that pelted her surroundings. They shattered against the ground and people alike, their shapes quivering until they returned to being parts of houses that had been ripped off.
[Threat music] was playing a familiar theme of ominous trumpets and brass instruments. It was no secret who was throwing those.
I-initiative is king. Reach is queen. Rhuna has both in spades. She is spying on me from somewhere. But she knows, wouldn’t killing us just reset the board?
She jumped over a pothole as another wave of projectiles impacted right behind her.
Unless… unless Rhuna wants to. She’s close to the bowl.
“Miss Rye!” Zach yelled, twisting and turning like a living shadow. “We can’t afford to lure the Rhuna to our evac point. We have to take a detour!”
He stopped at a lower building to give her a leg up, practically tossing her onto the roof. A roof that was already home to a trio of bird-masked dregs.
“Oh, hello Elia,” one crowed happily as they jumped her.
Rye let out a surprised squawk as she slashed at it out of reflex. Moonlight sang, supping from her reservoir as a crescent wave of solid silver-blue light cut straight through the dreg. Its fellows squawked, startled, which gave Zach the opening he needed. He crept out of their shadows and slashed first their ankles, then their throats.
Rye shakily stood up, eying her sword, and the two dregs that had come within an inch of killing her.
Zach was already helping Cesare on to the nearest rooftop. “Come on. We have to leave. Before the next volley.”
Come with me, Sam, a memory echoed in her mind. We have to leave.
What about your parents?
… they lost my respect when they ignored our effort, and our sacrifice, both yours and mine. But they only care about the prim and as the prima, I am giving the only responsible response. We are leaving.
“I…” Rye hesitated.
She looked down at the destruction, at the dead and the still screaming. Rhuna was after her, specifically. Rhuna knew. There was a different solution that would save everyone else. But she was too much of a coward to take it.
I’m still afraid. I’m still that same little girl that thinks that in the end, everything will just happen to work out fine. But it never does, does it? Not without the right person in the wrong place.
A giant rotting dragon’s head slammed into the building right next to her, swearing in french. The many-limbed octopod atop it coalesced into a giant humanoid frame with a feathery mane and a golden lion’s mask.
“There you are, frenemie.” Rhuna stepped on Camille’s head, crushing it. “I’ve been looking all over.”
Rhuna looked between her, and the spot Zach had just been in with a furrowed brow. Her vision exploded into pretty pink clouds, obscuring her vision just long enough for Zach to plunge his dagger into her marble body. She barely staggered.
“Miss Rye, run!”
In a handful of swift motions, she caught Cesare by the neck, broke Zach's arm, folded him into a pretzel, then tossed him off the building.
“How incredibly rude.” She eyed Rye again, and the single oversized Hailstone javelin pointed at her. “Oho, that is one macho-sized spell you’ve got there. Conjuration, am I right? Someone tried to teach me once, but I couldn’t be bothered to learn much; Ice and eldritch entities were just not my style. But before you fire it, let me ask you, as a conjurer: Are you ready to deal with the consequences?” Rhuna turned slightly, using Zach as a shield. “‘Cause if you don’t kill me in one hit, then there won’t be any more nice-Rhuna to save you. There will only be me, and you.”
The air was frigid as they stared each other down. Rye’s mind raced, but every thought ended in one simple result: Death. There was no way out of this cage. Rhuna just held too many cards.
With a defeated flourish, the javelin disappeared. Rhuna’s face grew into a wide smile.
“Let him go,” Rye said.
“Or what?” Rhuna laughed as Cesare struggled in vain. “The big bad undead Elia will slay me, the Rhuna, who is, if you will excuse the comparison, rather godlike?”
Rye breathed in once, and out. Slowly. Carefully.
“That’s right. I’m Elia.” Rye sneered, then toned it down into a scowl of someone angry at the world. She was familiar with Elia, but not with Rye. That was the one card she had to play. But would it be enough? More importantly, was her impression convincing enough?
“Pshh, obviously,” the lioness said. “Did you hit your head, or was that me? Sorry-not-sorry.”
“Cut the fucking crap,” Rye said, surprised by the sharpness in her own voice. “You’re here for a reason, aren’t ‘cha? You’re here for me.”
Rhuna tapped her chin. “Hmm, well, now that you say it, I don’t have that many shard bearers in my collection. Especially not the kind that can make the world travel back through time. How nice of you to offer!”
Rye didn’t even have to pretend to gulp heavily. She was fully immersed in her role. “If I go with you without making a fuss, you’ll let him go, call off the attack on the pact, and swear that you will never harm any member of it again. Or else, well, I’ve got a lot more tricks since Hall.”
Even without looking at Rhuna, Rye knew that she had said something wrong. That smile was still on Rhuna’s face, but it felt like there was no person behind it. In one moment, Rye was standing stock-still. In the next, she was tumbling across rooftops. She barely even saw the lioness kick her, but she sure did feel it.
The world was flooded with pain. Her chest creaked and cracked with every breath. Rye coughed blood as Rhuna approached and leaned down until they were eye to eye.
“Threaten me again and you just might regret being undead. Man, you sure are cocky, thinking you can demand anything from me. But hell, why the heck not? I, Rhuna, swear under the eyes of the Aurana to never harm a member of the maroon pact again, as long as they do not attack me first. If I fail to uphold this then… hmmm… then I’ll lose my head.”
A spluttered laugh escaped Rye’s mouth. She was hurting like never before, but even then she had enough capacity to see that the oath had more holes than most cheeses. If she wanted to make Rye believe that she was being genuine, she could have at least tried to sound a little serious.
But the tattoo-band of an oath still appeared around her neck. Rye would take what she could, even if it cost her own blood. Not that she would have much left if this went on any longer.
Rhuna shoved a bottle of water in her face, forcing her to drink it with a squeeze. She let Cesare go, though he was not moving, likely dead from asphyxiation. Rhuna casually stepped over him, wiping her bloody feet on his vest.
“Alright. Todd?” A small, hideous critter crawled up to Rhuna’s feet, like a mixture between a dwarf and a living, talking wart. “Tell the boys and girls that war’s off the menu for today.”
“Does that mean we lost, mistress?” it asked in a raspy voice.
A heavy hand came to rest on Rye’s shoulder. “No. I think we can count this as a win.”
Rye looked to the right, finding a few shrunken heads hanging from Rhuna’s belt. They were writhing, still alive. One of them looked uncannily like Simon, the traitor they had left behind on Glenrock.
“Kill me,” it whispered.
A bead of sweat ran down Rye’s forehead. There were definitely fates worse than death. If Rhuna found out that she was just pretending to be Elia, well…
Rhuna leaned down, inspecting her from the side. Rye almost screamed. “Don’t think this means everything is hunky-dory. A lot of good people died today, mostly on your end. That should teach you not to fuck with the lion’s food.”
And then she walked, and Rye followed right after into the feathered lion’s den.