Dyani quickly adapted to her new routine. She rose with the dawn like always, but avoided any questions about her gear or attire by leaving before her mother woke. The early start also meant she had a solid six hours of hunting with time to clean up before her mother got back from work.
She initially tried to solve her navigation problem by marking intersections with chalk, but found that her markings were worn away after a couple days. The most pleasant explanation was that they were gradually washed away by the humid environment, but more than one place that Dyani knew she had marked had claw marks on the stone.
Eventually settling on mapping out the local area of the sewer in a notebook, Dyani quickly filled its pages with twisting lines and landmarks. The primary issue with navigation also turned out to be a solution. Since the Sewers were dug out to follow the lines of the major roots of the Mountain Oak, they split, twisted, and curved without a conceivable pattern.
While this was frustrating without a map or other way to navigate, Dyani was saved from being completely turned around on several occasions due to unique and distinctive intersections.
After several weeks of navigating, Dyani was starting to regard the Mountain Oak above her as a comforting guardian. Whether it was due to her spiritual senses growing more attuned to the nature mana it emanated, or some kind of madness brought on by long days in the dark, it helped the knot of loneliness from the continued absence of her friends.
They’d only been allowed back home a couple times since they’d started their Slayer training, and each of them had been too mentally and physically exhausted to do more than exchange a few words and a hug. The experience was obviously taxing them, but each seemed hesitant to say anything too positive or too negative about the training.
It was clearly Veraine’s doing. Dyani knew each of her friends well enough that Nodin wouldn’t normally think about what he said until after it was out of his mouth, and Daggan could be painfully honest.
Veraine was the only one with both the sense and disposition to avoid provoking any more jealousy than Dyani was already working to tamp down. And although she really did appreciate the effort, it prevented the trio from sharing more than the broad strokes of what they had been doing and learning, beyond the fact that Daggan was being trained by a man that was fat, but really shouldn’t be.
Dyani didn’t know what to make of that, but she consoled herself with the fact that soon, she’d be able to join them.
Dyani considered telling her friends about her exploits, but eventually decided to wait until she reached level two and would be able to hunt proper monsters. Stabbing mushroom rats and other foul-smelling oddities while acid jellyfish rode by on a river of filth wasn’t the kind of story she wanted to share, and they had enough to worry about for now.
As for the monsters, they gave her experience, but had little else to recommend them. The blue mushroom infested rats were the most common, but she found another acidic jellyfish in a unique and painful color, and stranger things besides.
Her least favorite by far were the moving patches of pale, green moss. There was enough natural moss for them to blend in unnoticed, unless she wanted to poke the walls and ceiling with her spear every few feet.
The mossy creature was fond of ambushes, and would leap out at her when her back was turned, or even when she was distracted by another monster. After wrapping itself around her like a moldy blanket, the moss released cascades of off-white spores that found purchase in her lungs or on any exposed skin before sprouting into thread-like feelers that waved in an invisible wind.
Her first encounter with what she had decided to call Hate Blankets left her coughing up blood, bile, and bits of growing moss after she threw the monster into the nearby river of sewage.
When she didn’t die, Dyani spent the next few hours crawling to the overhead grate that let in the river from the park, where she scrubbed every bit of her skin free of the moss and choked down and vomited up gallons of water.
Each of the sprouting strands of spore left a hole in her skin when removed, and apparently had some blood thinning properties, since the tiny wounds refused to stop bleeding for a worryingly long time.
From some combination of the moss, extended time in the cold water, or the sewer filth that got into her wounds, when Dyani was woken by her mother the next morning she was miserably sick.
“Dyani! Are you alright?” Dyani slowly opened her eyes, wincing at the sunlight that was so much brighter than when she normally woke at dawn.
“It’s okay mom, it’s okay. I’m fine.” She raised a hand, but quickly hid it under the covers she saw the pus-filled constellations where the spores had taken root. As long as her mom didn’t worry, or ask too many questions, she could keep up with her monster hunting trips, or at least once she didn’t feel like insects were crawling in her lungs and she found a way to kill that Hate Blanket without becoming its breeding ground.
Her croaking voice and the wracking coughs that followed had the opposite of her intended effect.
“I’ll be right back, Dyani. Don’t move.”
Deaf to further protests, her mom flew out of the house faster than she’d seen in years, headfirst, without her usual affectation of walking. Dyani groaned, coughed, then just thought about groaning instead.
She was an idiot. It was all she could do to get home, clean, and act normal yesterday, but if she’d gone to the goddess’s temple, she could’ve been healed without her mother being any the wiser.
Dyani hadn’t been since she was a kid, but she knew they offered healing services and alchemical remedies in exchange for coin or service. She didn't know what it would cost to rid herself of the effects of the Hate Blanket, and she certainly couldn’t pay in notes, but she would gladly give several days of her time if it meant killing anything growing in her lungs or blood.
She’d been sure she was fine yesterday. Besides feeling a bit cold, hoarse, and groggy, she hadn’t had any symptoms. Even her tiny spore wounds had stopped bleeding and faded into subtle pink patches that could be mistaken for a spotty sunburn.
Dyani spent the half an hour it took for her mother to return, trying not to itch at her skin and contemplating how to kill the mossy creature that had infected her. Fire would be perfect. Once again, she wished her talent had been like her father’s. An affinity for fire magic and related abilities to wield it as a tangible weapon would make short work of any plant monster.
If she were level 6, she would just be able to manage the strain of her father’s level 7 fire sword, but by that time her raw physical ability would let her tear through the level 1 Hate Blankets with a single blow.
Without some other enchanted weapon, fire wouldn’t be practical in the damp, unfriendly environment.
Her mother finally returned with a tall woman that had all the softness and bedside manner of a rusty knife.
“Thank you so much for coming. Here she is.”
“Mom, you didn’t need to bring a healer. I’ll be fine.” While Dyani was more than happy to be healed, she knew they couldn’t afford what it would cost. Additionally, she feared this woman would have the skills or the knowledge to know she’d been attacked by a monster and would tell her mother.
“Nonsense, you’re half dead where you lay,” the healer said, peering down with eyes like chips of gray ice, “Nymin, you should’ve called me as soon as she got sick.”
“I did. She was fine last night. Maybe a little tired, but nothing like this.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Hmmm,” the healer hummed, unconvinced, “Nymin, boil me a pot of water. I’ll see what needs doing.”
Dyani’s mother hesitated, clearly wanting to stay with her daughter, but the healer snapped her fingers in her face.
“Go. The water first, then the healing.” Nymin’s face set in determination and she flew through the wall of Dyani’s bedroom that led to her own room, rather than straight to the kitchen.
Dyani groaned. That was where her mother kept their meager savings. Apparently she needed more mana to move the pot and water, and she would be consuming notes to get it.
“Calm yourself,” the healer said, “I am Kemo Frostblade, we have met, but you were small, so you would not remember.”
“Dyani. Could you boil the water instead? My mother-” Dyani cut off as wracking coughs shook her body. Kemo placed a hand on her chest and chanted in a language Dyani didn’t know. Her coughs slowed as mana as cold as ice melt flowed through her body, soothing her lungs and the worst of the itching.
“I know your mother and her talent, but she must boil the water.”
“Why?” Dyani asked when she had the breath to speak.
“Because it is not for healing, it is for keeping her away,” Kemo said. Dyani caught the slightest quirk at the corners of the healer’s mouth, like a smile’s corpse. “Now, tell me what filled you with spores.”
Dyani froze. This was very near the worst case scenario. This healer knew something about what had infected her. The only mercy was that Kemo had kept her mother out of the room, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t relay everything Dyani told her. Keeping silent would be best.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ah, my mistake then.” Kemo held up the hand she had used to cleanse Dyani’s body. Floating above it was a blue-white sphere of visible mana filled with a swirling mass of the pale yellow spores that the Hate Blanket had infected her with.
“If these are not spores, you will want them back.” Kemo tipped her hand forward and the sphere floated toward Dyani’s chest, the mana containing the spores flickering and fading.
“No, Yes, I mean-” Dyani panicked. Being infected with those horrible things once was bad enough, twice might kill her.
“Tell me.” Kemo said calmly as the sphere continued to fade.
“I don’t know what it’s called.” The sphere stabilized, but didn’t return to Kemo’s hand. The healer raised an eyebrow, inviting Dyani to continue. Dyani’s mind raced for a better solution, but this crazy healer seemed perfectly happy to return those spores to her body and leave her to die, which severely limited her options.
“It was a plant monster, a sheet of moss that jumped on me from a wall.” Kemo nodded and flicked a finger, pulling the spore sphere back to her hand.
“Plover Moss,” Kemo said, “A nasty monster from nature affinity areas. Easy to find outside the city, but inside…”
Dyani clearly heard the implication, but clenched her jaw and glared at the healer.
Instead of anger, that prompted an actual smile, which revealed teeth that were sharper than they should be and faintly metallic. All in all it wasn’t comforting.
“Just like Rotto. More spine than brain.”
“You knew my dad.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Better than most, but less than I should’ve,” Kemo said, closing her fist, which caused the sphere of mana and spores to vanish. Dyani hoped it was really destroyed and wouldn’t return. “I was his healer.”
“You’re a slayer?” Dyani asked, forgetting her cured infection and the sores that still covered her body.
“I was. Now I heal, travel, and kill as I wish. Rotto’s death soured me to the guild.”
Dyani’s whole body went still, even her heart and breath ceasing. This woman held the answers that her mother refused to talk about, or didn’t know.
“Do you know who killed him?” That question had kept Dyani up for weeks on end after her father’s death. She’d screamed for answers, bewildered that no one seemed to care.
Rotomin Farlight had been more than the average slayer, he was one of the strongest people in the city. At level 8, he was only three levels below the current city lord and came from a powerful city family, the Archweavers.
Rather than kicking up a storm at one of the strongest scions being assassinated outside the city, the Archweavers had acted like he’d never existed.
Dyani and her mother had never been close to the family, having visited the Archweaver estate only a handful of times for family events, during which she’d felt distinctly unwelcome.
After her father’s death, all ties were cut between herself and her mother. The letters her mother had sent had been returned unopened. Dyani knew her mother had gone to visit the family in person, and didn’t know exactly what had happened, but whatever it had been left her mother fighting to keep herself calm and composed in front of her daughter.
Kemo carefully considered her response.
“Not a problem for a young girl.”
“I’ve got my talent. I’m 16. I’m an adult.”
Kemo shook her head and her brows pinched.
“I don’t understand how southerners think a 16 year old is an adult. Among the Jotunn, youths must prove themselves before they can be adults.”
“He’s my dad!” Dyani said in a fierce whisper. She didn’t want to alert her mother, but she needed to get these answers out of Kemo before her mother returned.
“He was.” Kemo said, lifting a hand and gazing at an ice sculpture that condensed from cold mana and mist on her palm.
That cut Dyani off, bringing tears to her eyes and twisting her gut. The craftsmanship was rough, but the sword of frozen flames, the lanky build, and the easy smile made its subject clear.
Without so much as a twitch from Kemo, cracks spidered through the sculpture. The moment stretched, then it crumbled with the sculpture of her father.
The individual pieces sublimated into clouds of white mist before hitting the floor.
Dyani wanted to swear and scream at the healer, but couldn’t so much as speak.
“They killed a great slayer, at level 8. They’d kill you.”
“Who did?”
Kemo sighed, gesturing for Dyani to lie backward. Dyani didn’t want to, but couldn’t ruin the slim chance that Kemo would change her mind and spill her secrets.
Instead of speaking, Kemo lifted her hand, palm down, over all the areas where Dyani’s skin was covered in sores. Wisps of soothing energy, water cool instead of ice cold, flowed out of the healer’s palm and into Dyani’s skin.
Dyani couldn’t help letting out a relieved breath as the pus-filled sores vanished, leaving unblemished skin.
She opened her mouth to continue her interrogation, but her mother chose that moment to float through the wall.
“The water’s boiling. You should grab it Kemo. I might drop it.” She looked down at Dyani and visibly relaxed. “How is she?”
“Well enough. The infection is gone and the worst is over.”
“What was it? What happened?”
Dyani caught the healer’s eyes and silently begged her not to reveal this had been done by a monster.
Whether from Dyani’s silent pleas or her own desires, Kemo kept Dyani’s secret.
“There is an uncommon species of moss that can irritate the lungs and skin. Where she found it, I do not know, but it was not serious.”
“Moss?” Dyani’s mother asked skeptically, “I haven’t heard of something like that in the city.”
“It’s not common,” Kemo repeated, turning to face Dyani, “If you do find it again, don’t touch it again. You can burn it, but vinegar will kill it just as well.”
Now that was interesting. Assuming the hint about vinegar wasn’t just part of the lie to her mother, it gave Dyani a practical weapon to use against any more of these Plover Mosses. She would have to test it from a distance before relying on it in combat.
“Your daughter should rest for a day before returning to her activities.”
“Yes, of course, Kemo.”
“Healer Frostblade,” Kemo said, voice cold as grave dirt, “I forgive you for using my name earlier, for your daughter’s sake, but that privilege is not yours.” Dyani winced at that reprimand, and her mother floated back, her smile frozen to her face.
“Of course…Healer Frostblade. I would ask you to join us for breakfast, but I’m sure you are busy.”
“I am, but there is the matter of my payment.”
“Payment?”
“Yes, I have reconsidered healing her for free. I will take one note.” That was pathetically low. Dyani wasn’t sure what having a professional healer come to your home would normally cost, but it had to be nearly a hundred notes. Asking for a single note was clearly intended as an insult.
Dyani wanted to protest for her mother’s sake, but a look from Kemo kept her silent.
“One note. I’ll just go get that.”
If her mother’s body was truly physical, Dyani was sure she’d hear the grinding of teeth. Her mother would’ve absorbed more than that just to boil the water Kemo had requested, the same water that her mother surely now realized had been unnecessary.
Her mother floated out the same wall she had before. Kemo crouched down next to Dyani’s bed as soon as she left and met her eyes.
“You will grow strong?”
Dyani wasn’t sure how to respond, so she nodded.
“Good. Come to me when you are stronger than your father was, and I will tell you what I know. You will kill those that killed him.” That wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact.
In this moment, Kemo’s blunt way of speaking aligned perfectly with Dyani’s resolve.
“I’ll kill them all.”