The sun hadn’t even risen when loud rapping awoke Callan. He stared around bleary-eyed until he finally remembered where he was, then slid out bed, hunting for his pants in the dark.
The rapping at the door continued, more insistent. “Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on!”
Why would they—
“It’s. An. Expression,” Callan said through gritted teeth. What time even was it? He could have sworn he’d just fallen asleep a few minutes ago. If only he’d remembered to wear his watch to the hospital, he could’ve—
Actually, never mind. He was probably better off not knowing. It would only make things worse.
The rapping grew louder. Callan slipped on his shoes, then stalked over to the door and wrenched it open. “Alright, you made your point you arrogant son of a—”
A small, lanky boy blinked back at him with an expression that was a mixture of surprise and mounting horror. For his own part, Callan stared right back, his sleep-deprived brain trying to piece together why he looked so familiar, when...
“It’s you!” he said, pointing. “From the river!”
The boy glanced nervously over his shoulder, and Callan realized his voice had been a bit louder than he’d intended. More softly, he said, “What are you doing here?”
“My... my father sent me to fetch you.” When Callan just stared at him blankly, the boy continued, “To work? In the fields?”
“Oh. Ohhhh! You’re Radavan’s son?”
The boy bobbed his head, then turned away. “If you’ll follow me. Please?”
He took off at a pace that was a little too fast to be called a walk. Luckily, even without his god-enhanced Momentum Callan had never exactly been slow. It was the work of a moment to catch back up.
“I’m Callan, by the way,” he said, when the boy glanced back. “I don’t remember if I ever got a chance to mention that yesterday.”
“Lisson,” the boy offered back.
“Nice to meet you, Lisson. Glad to see you’ve recovered from your swim.” He remembered something else from the day before, and added. “So you’re Radavan’s son, huh? No wonder you didn’t want me to mention anything about what happened.”
“You aren’t, are you? Going to tell him?” The boy’s eyes had gone wide with terror.
“Nah, I’m no narc. Your secret is safe with me.”
Please stop using words that I have to scramble to think of an appropriate translation for, Xeph grumbled. ‘Tattletale’ was a perfectly acceptable word to use in this situation.
“Sorry, Xeph. I’ll try to keep your inconveniences to a minimum.” Callan rolled his eyes, knowing full well the god couldn’t see him doing it.
Noticing Lisson watching him again, he said. “Don’t mind me. Just conversing with the god currently wedged into my cranium.”
Human! You did it again!
“So it’s true, you are an avatar?” Lisson asked. There was a note of adoration to his voice.
“Yep. I imagine your dad let that little secret slip?”
The boy nodded. “Plus, I saw you practicing in the woods before you came to the village.”
“That was you?” Callan shook his head. Managing that twice in as many days felt like some kind of record.
“Yes. Sorry for spying.” The boy looked at the ground with a guilty expression.
“Hey, not your fault. You couldn’t have known I was going to be out there.”
“Oh, not then. I meant yesterday. I was working the field, and when I saw you walk by, I knew you had to be the avatar I’d overheard father telling mother about. So I snuck after you, hoping to see you work more of your magic.”
“Technically, it’s not magic. They’re called bounties—extensions of Xeph’s power. That’s the god in my head, Xeph-Zul-Karatl, god of stones and mountains.”
“What can you do?” The boy asked eagerly. “That whip you made yesterday looked spooky, but it wasn’t particularly impressive.”
Hmmph. Boy went from fawning to judgmental far too fast for my liking. That’s a yeth for you: always practical.
Callan glanced around. They had left the village itself now and were picking their way along the edge of a field, presumably headed towards whichever one Radavan managed. Reaching down, he picked up a nearby stone. He pressed it between his hands and activated his orison.
Alert: 2.5% Apotheosis used.
Total Apotheosis is at 2.5%
“Just a second... and there!” He handed Lisson his handiwork. The boy lifted it up and studied it appreciatively in the early morning light.
The previously round rock had been transformed into a somewhat crude dagger, rounded at one end and flat at the other, with an edge not really suited for anything, but which looked dangerous enough.
“I could probably refine it into something usable with enough time,” Callan said. “Bring it by later and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Callan!” The boy slipped the stone dagger into a pocket of his overalls. With that, they continued on through the fields.
Soon enough Callan spotted Radavan, along with four others. The yeth waved them onward.
“About time you got back, boy. What took you so long?”
“Sorry, father, I hurried as fast as I—”
“My fault,” Callan said. The yeth man turned on him. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to wake up at dark o’clock like this? I’m half tempted to crawl into the nearest ditch and take a nap.”
Not exactly true, but he wasn’t going to stand there and let Radavan vent his frustration against Callan on his own son.
“Bah. Typical northern city-dwellers. Never started work at an honest hour in your life.” Radavan turned away and spat. Callan almost corrected the man before remembering that was the story they had concocted with Belinda. Besides, he was, technically, a city dweller. Seattle might be many things, but a small farming community it was not.
“So what are we doing out here today?” he asked by way of changing the subject.
“Harvesting adle. What else?” Radavan shoved a sack and knife into Callan’s hands. “How much do you know about adle harvests?”
“Pretend I know nothing,” Callan said, his grin wide. “Completely unfamiliar with the plant.”
“I suppose, if that is how you want to play it...” The farmer went on to demonstrate how to cut into an adle pod, allowing the seed inside to flow into the waiting sack. “And that is all there is to it. Try not to allow it all to spill on the ground, and keep an eye out for weevil infestations. Damn creatures like to crawl inside a pod, eat all the grain, and leave their eggs behind in its place. Lost a few fields over the years that way, and I’m determined not to let it happen again.”
Nodding, Callan slung his sack over his shoulder. Radavan turned and gestured to the other assembled lud. “You’ve already met my boy, Lisson. Over here is Rictee, Mund, Dosoti, and my brother, Rym.”
Callan tore his eyes away from Dosoti, a black haired yeth of middling age and with a sizeable gut, to stare at the last worker. By comparison Rym was lanky, almost bordering on emaciated, and had dark rings around both his eyes like they’d suffered recent injury. He gave a weak smile, showing yellowed and missing teeth.
“You have a brother? Belinda didn’t mention anything about him before.”
“No, she wouldn’t.” Rym’s smile disappeared, and he looked away. Radavan stepped closer. He spoke in a whisper.
“My mother and Rym are no longer on speaking terms. I’m not sure she even knows he’s working for me, so I’d appreciate if you kept his name off your lips in her presence.” There was a stern note to his voice, but a pleading look in his eyes. After a moment, Callan nodded.
“Sure. Not my place to get involved in family squabbles.”
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“Thank you, Callan. I appreciate that.” Radavan stepped back and clapped his hands. “Alright, let's get to work on the northwest field today. Rictee, you’re with Dosoti. Mund, you’re with me. Callan, you can work with Rym and Lisson. They’ll let you know if you’re overlooking anything.”
Before Callan could respond, the farmer turned and set off towards a distant field, the others trailing behind him. Callan sighed.
“Maybe we’ll get a chance to talk with Dosoti at lunch or something.”
That’s assuming they even take a lunch, Xeph noted. Which, given they’re yeth, I would assume is ‘no’.
“Great,” Callan said. “Just great.”
----------------------------------------
It turned out that harvesting adle was not, in fact, as simple as it looked. The pods were leathery tough and resisted the blade unless Callan put all of his effort into it. Half the time, the knife just slipped to one side, nearly cutting whatever hand was holding the stalk in place.
“You need to apply enough force, but not too much,” Lisson lectured him. “Even if you avoid cutting your hand, you risk damaging the seed inside. Try to pick the flattest spot on the pod and put your muscle into it. But not all your muscle.”
Callan tried another pod, and succeeded in punching a hole through both sides, letting half the grain escape. Great. Even with an eighteen in Brawn, he was apparently still worse at this than a literal child.
Lisson patted his arm. “You’ll get the hang of it soon enough. Even my father can’t expect you to be perfect at this the first time.”
“If you believe that nephew, you clearly don’t know my brother,” Rym said from where he lay amid several clusters of stalks. The thin yeth had harvested a half-dozen or so stalks before collapsing.
“If you’re worried, you could always help, uncle.”
“I would, but... y’know.” He waved a hand in a general sort of way in the air. “If either of you need me, I’m just going to close my eyes for a few minutes.”
A few seconds later, the unmistakable sound of snoring emerged from the adle stalks.
“So what’s up with him?” Callan asked as he attempted to harvest another stalk. This one practically exploded as he jabbed it, sending grain everywhere. Inside his head, Xeph snickered.
“My uncle?” Lisson glanced back at the two legs sticking out from the cluster. “He’s always been like that, long as I can remember. Father provides food in exchange for a bit of help, but I think it’s mostly to keep an eye on him. He says if we don’t, uncle will just get himself into trouble.”
“Just weird your grandmother didn’t mention him, I guess.” Even if they were on outs with each other, the man was another potential faithful.
Most likely she feels he isn’t trustworthy, Xeph said. Callan paused mid-swipe.
“Like she suspects him of supporting the pro-bridge faction?” That would go a long way to explaining why the two weren’t apparently speaking. Then another thought occurred to him. “You don’t think he’s... you know, with the cult.” He hissed this last part.
Possible. But I meant because the man is clearly an addict. He shows all the signs of late-stage flux dependence.
Callan straightened. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he let out a sigh. “Let me guess: you just uncompressed this little tidbit of information?”
No, I noticed the moment the yeth began speaking. The teeth give it away, if nothing else. His head-mate paused, then added, Ah. That is right, flux is not a known narcotic on your world, is it?
“No, but we invented a few in recent centuries that are probably similar.”
Somehow, I doubt that. Flux is a chronodissociative—its users experience vivid hallucinations that feel as if they last for hours or days during the few seconds the drug is active. If used sparingly, it can allow a person to enjoy several lifetimes of living—albeit much of which is spent in an illusion. A convincing illusion, but an illusion, nonetheless.
“Huh. I guess I could see why that would be rather addictive.” Callan glanced back at the sleeping yeth before returning to his harvesting.
Even more so than you think. But flux’s greatest danger isn’t the allure of its visions—though those can be harmful for many reasons, sleep deprivation being the most common side-effect—it is how its users leave more and more of themselves behind in their hallucinations with each use. Until a day comes that they do not return at all.
Callan frowned. “How do you know all this, anyway? Shouldn’t these memories be locked up?”
Maybe this Rym had the drug on him, and Callan hadn’t noticed? There must have been some external stimuli to set Xeph off like this.
Not all my memories are compressed. Xeph went silent a moment, as Callan fumbled catching another stream of grain pouring from an adle pod. At least he felt like he was getting better, two out of three, maybe.
Finally, the god continued. Memories of my former avatars remain the most vivid. Those were the least compressed, if at all, because they are tied intrinsically in with who I am. Centuries ago, I had an avatar that was a flux addict.
“Oh.” Callan wasn’t sure what else to say about that. Luckily, it didn’t seem as if Xeph was looking for commentary.
It was not so bad at first. But more and more often, my avatar did not return to himself. I was left trapped for days at a time in a body that was still breathing, but functionally dead. Eventually I was forced to abandon him during one of his rare lucid periods. He transferred me to another of my priests, returned to his room, and... simply never woke up again.
“I’m... sorry to hear that, Xeph.”
It is alright, it was a long time in the past. I only hope that he experienced a lifetime of happiness before his body succumbed to malnutrition.
“How do you think he’s even getting this flux?” Callan asked, hoping for a change of subject. “It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing a small farming community would have in abundance.”
That I do not know. Though that yeth Falchion mentioned he runs a trading post, so perhaps such substances come through with the occasional traveling merchant. A place like the Badlands likely has more than a few souls that rely on flux to help them deal with inner turmoil.
“Callan? Are you ready for me to empty your bag?” Lisson appeared at his elbow, his own sack now bulging with grain. Callan glanced down at his own, and seeing that it was only half full, gave a shake of his head.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll see if I can’t get a bit more, first.”
The boy nodded, then took off running through the fields. Callan watched him disappear from sight before returning to his own work.
Learning about Rym had been informative, but ultimately useless. Callan needed to get closer to Dosoti, plus anyone else who might be a potential priest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t likely to happen with the man some two or three fields distant.
With a sigh, Callan returned to his work. One hour down, only like ten or twelve more to go until dinner.
He almost cried at the thought.
----------------------------------------
When the sun began to finally set that evening, Radavan called a halt to the day’s work. They’d managed to harvest several barrels of grain—Callan’s contribution being less than a third of what anyone else brought in, even Lisson—but apparently, these were only a handful of some twenty-five fields that needed to be harvested in the coming days. The mere thought brought a shudder down Callan’s spine.
If he needed any incentive to get this business with Veritas done and dealt with as quickly as possible, there it was.
As he handed back his bag and knife, Callan spotted Dosoti walking towards town. He shoved his equipment into Radavan’s hands, and ignoring his grunt of annoyance ran after the older yeth man.
“Hey, you're Dosoti, right? I’m Callan. Thought it would be good to get to know everyone I’m working with. How long have you—?”
“Not interested,” the man snapped, then hurried off without a backwards glance. Callan slowed to a halt and frowned after him.
“I’d be happy to get to know you, Callan,” another yeth said, stopping next to him. “I’m Rictee. My father brought my mother here to Aos when I was just a baby, and I’ve lived here ever since—”
“Yeah, uh, that’s great. Maybe another time.” Callan waved the farmhand off and started back towards town. It seemed as if Dosoti wasn’t going to make approaching him easy. Either Callan needed to find out how to get on his good side, or needed to follow him without being noticed.
Unfortunately, he made it all the way back to Aos without seeing the yeth again. Well, whatever, it wasn’t realistic to get this whole matter settled in a single day.
Would have been nice. But not realistic.
Shadows lengthening around him, he made for the town guest house—only to stop a short distance away.
The door to the house already stood open, swaying slightly in the wind.
On full alert, he cautiously snuck forward. When nothing jumped out at him, he nudged the door open and slipped inside.
“Welcome back, Callan.” The woman seated at his table rose to her feet and gave a slight nod of her head.
“Alyssa? What are you doing here?”
“Bringing you your dinner.” She indicated a plate set on the table, with what appeared to contain a small loaf of bread and some cooked vegetables. “It is not much, I’m afraid, but my mother and I cannot cook a feast like last night’s for every supper.”
“No, no, this is fine, believe me.” As if for emphasis, Callan’s stomach rumbled. He stepped forward, picked up the bread and tore a chunk off. It was soft and chewy and saltier than he expected.
“Thanks,” he said around a mouthful. Alyssa gave a small giggle and nodded.
“Glad you’re enjoying it.” She dropped down onto the bed, her arms angled behind to support her. She was wearing a rather frilly yellow dress, quite removed from the pants and leathers he’d seen her wearing on basically every other occasion they’d encountered each other.
Since she’d vacated the chair, Callan claimed it for himself.
“Any luck with Dosoti?” Alyssa asked, watching Callan shove the rest of the bread in his mouth in one go. A single eyebrow crept up her forehead.
“What?” he said. “I was hungry.”
“Apparently. Just don’t swallow the plate too while you’re at it. My mother will want that returned.”
Callan turned back to the table and started shoveling in vegetables. “No promises.”
“Hmm. I’ll see about packing something for you to take to the fields tomorrow. Wouldn’t do to have our town defender collapsing from hunger.”
“Thanks, that would be appreciated.” He finished the vegetables, and still feeling mildly hungry, handed the plate to Alyssa. The yeth woman glanced at it curiously, then set it on the floor beside her. She looked up at Callan, a questioning expression on her face.
“What?”
Mortal, ask her about our additional followers. The mayor promised us another six, and I wish to know when they’ll be delivered.
Sighing, Callan repeated Xeph’s question. Alyssa was still watching him with that curious expression, but she gave a relaxed shrug. “Sorry, can’t say. Likely this evening was the first chance she’s had to speak to my brother, so perhaps tomorrow? Certainly no more than another few days. If it’s important, he always bows to my mother’s wishes eventually.”
A FEW DAYS? Of all the... Xeph descended into muttering, while Callan did his best not to laugh. One track mind, his head-mate.
“Just remind her that the more faithful we have, the more of a threat I’ll be to Veritas.” It occurred to him that the rival god should be returning to Aos soon. He opened his mouth to ask about any further news on that front, but Alyssa spoke first.
“Are you not planning on joining me?” She patted a spot on the bed next to her.
“No?” Maybe it was just because he was exhausted from working in the fields all day, but Callan couldn’t think of why they’d want to talk while sitting side by side. Actually, on that note...
“If there’s no further news about Veritas, or anything else that needs my attention, would you mind clearing out? I’m totally exhausted, and I imagine your brother won’t be starting any later tomorrow than he did today.”
“What, are you telling me that even with all your god-given stamina, a little fieldwork managed to wear you out?”
Maybe when I have more than just forty Fortitude, he thought to himself wryly. Out loud, he said, “Gotta keep up appearances. Besides, a full night’s sleep never did anyone any harm.”
“So you want me to just... go.” Alyssa frowned. The way she spoke made it sound less a question than a statement, but Callan nodded anyway.
“And if you happen to see Kivi or the mayor, please let them know that I’m still working on getting close to Dosoti. Might take a while, though.”
Alyssa rose and stepped aside, and only then did Callan collapse into the bed. He still needed to take his shoes off, but darn it if he wasn’t tired to the bone.
Human, before you sleep tonight, we need to discuss—
Out of the corner of his eye, Callan noticed Alyssa was still standing at his bedside. “Need something, Alyssa?”
“Of course. I should have realized it before.” At her words, Callan rolled onto his side and glanced at her. She wore a victorious expression on her face. “I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured out what?”
“Your secret. I know what you’ve been hiding from us.”