“Mind vacation.” Prisoner said with a smile and a nod, as if that explained everything. It didn’t.
“Pretend we don’t know what that means.” Sechen sighed.
“Because we don’t.” Metea/Irric added.
“Alright. Where to start…” Prisoner blew out a long breath, then clasped his hands together. “Existential bleed is one of those accelerants that does crazy stuff to your container and headspace in exchange for some absurd bonuses. It made sleepy ten times stronger than he should have been, but in exchange he’s gone on a little mind vacation.”
Prisoner held up a hand to stop the questions he saw on Sechen and Metea/Irric’s faces. “I’m gettin’ to the explanation. Sleepy’s headspace has taken a nice little trip to the annals of space and time, and it’s taken everything that makes him, well, him with it. That includes all the functions for makin’ his body tick; his body’s bein’ preserved by a combination of the existential bleed’s powers and my own. But since he died before dissociatin’, his body shut down completely and booted his headspace out without so much as a wave goodbye.”
“So he’s alive until the existential bleed runs out?” Metea/Irric asked. “And you have some way to fix him?”
“Well, I know how to fix him. We need some more things, and someone who knows what to do with them to get it up and runnin’. You actually might be able to help, cloudy.”
“Me?” Metea/Irric pointed to herself in disbelief. “How?”
Prisoner pointed at the spike in her hands. “We need a particularly powerful sort of concoction, the right infusion method, and someone with enough skill to make and apply them. You think you might fill one or both of those positions?”
“So that’s why you let me take all my infusion tools.” Metea/Irric said slowly, then nodded. “I’ll take a look at what we need, but I can’t promise anything. Glasrime made sure everything good that came into the glacier was either given to his inner circle or sold way out of my price range. And there was no way Rainshear was giving me anything like that.”
“Couldn’t ask for anythin’ else.” Prisoner said. “Oh, and one more thing; we’ve got all of two weeks to get sleepy’s corpse back up to snuff.”
Metea/Irric scrunched her face up and leaned on one hand. “That’s not a lot of time. If I have to learn anything new, or we don’t have everything you need, I don’t think two weeks is enough.”
“And that’s why we’re goin’ to the Gilded Night. The overgrown gecko’s markets have everything you could ever want, and everyone to do anything you’d ever want.” Prisoner chuckled. “If it hasn’t changed since the last time I perused Hoalt’s wares, of course.”
Sechen shook her head with a grimace.“I don’t know if you wanted that to sound skeezy, but it did. How long has it been since you’ve been to the gilded night?”
“Oh, just a little bit. Don’t think about it too hard.” Prisoner waved his hand, then froze. “Hold up. General gecko just said somethin’ that I think’ll make this a little easier for us.”
Sechen craned her neck to look for General Temery, but all she could see were the small Issi-manufactured buildings that the army had raised for the impromptu field camp. They were a mishmash of types, from mud huts to miniature black and gold castles, and a large flat slab of black rock that had Issi runes etched into it that the camp used to cook. Sechen wondered how they kept the bugs away, but figured there had to be either someone or something emanating an aura that drove them off. But nobody was out, and nobody was about, so there shouldn’t have been any way that Prisoner could have overheard anything.
“Mind explaining how you can hear someone through walls?”
“Walls and their own dampin’ techniques.” Prisoner corrected. “I’ve made this camp into my domain, and I’ve been very careful not to let anyone in on that fact. If General gecko decides to go back into her big ol’ dragon form, she might notice somethin’, but it won’t come to that. She don’t need to scare anyone off anymore, and it’d be mighty uncomfortable tryin’ to live amongst us smaller folk as one big lizard.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you could overhear her.” Sechen pointed out.
“It doesn’t?” Prisoner asked, with surprise on his face. “You can’t sense what kind’ve Issi I’ve got floatin’ around here?”
“Should I be able to?” Sechen asked, then gestured at the purple and silver motes meandering around the clearing. “Metea/Irric, can you tell what this is?”
“It’s Issi.” Metea/Irric said, pursing her lips and following a wisp with her eyes. “Something spatial. Maybe… movement? No, no, that doesn’t feel right. Travel?”
“Wrong.” Prisoner sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “You two need my help more than I thought. Oh, they’re done talkin’. Act natural; General gecko’s comin’.”
Coming was a slight overstatement, since General Temery didn’t leave one of the miniature castles for close to five minutes, and any time Sechen piped up to ask what was happening Prisoner instantly shut her down with a shush and closing his fingers as if he were pinching her mouth. Eventually she stopped asking and rested her head on her hands, watching where Prisoner had pointed out for when General Temery eventually emerged. And when she did, it wasn’t with the fury Sechen had been expecting; no, she walked out in casual dress, a black leather pack with a long strap emblazoned with Hoalt’s emblem on its side, and a smile on her face that exposed razor-sharp golden teeth.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I’m aware you said you didn’t need anything from us, but the Emperor has set his sights on expansion.” General Temery said as she stepped over the line Prisoner had drawn, setting down the pack on the plush carpet Prisoner had pulled out of thin air. “If we did not offer this much, at least, he would discipline us when we returned home.”
“Well, this is one of the more pleasant bribes I’ve been offered. You sure you’re willin’ to part with all this stuff? Seems expensive to me.” Prisoner said, gesturing at the pack. Sechen couldn’t so much as feel anything from them, but Prisoner spoke as if they were filled with treasure.
“I mean no offense by this, but two of your companions are quite weak for their ages.” General Temery gestured at Sechen and Elach’s body that Prisoner had stuffed into a sleeping bag. “If you wish to ask something of the Emperor, they will need as much help as they can get.”
“Ah, so this is for Hoalt’s sake.” Prisoner nodded. “Makes sense. Is that why you’re campin’ out here in the first place?”
General Temery shook her head. “It isn’t my place to say. But the Emperor is in need of worthy vassals, so this price is a small one to pay for potential. There are no strings attached, just remember that this came from the Gilded Night.”
“Oh, of course we will.” Prisoner said. “Thank you kindly, General.”
Sechen waited thirty seconds after General Temery disappeared back into the miniature castle before speaking. “So what’s the real deal?”
“The real deal is, surprisingly, exactly what she told us.” Prisoner said. “But she left out the part where Emperor gecko’s sendin’ this whole troupe with the hopes of snatchin’ a bunch of apprentices from Glasrime at somethin’ to do with the equinox. Apparently he don’t got one of his finely manicured talons in the equinox punch bowl that Glasrime and Lavassil do, and he can’t stand it any more.”
“That’s it?” Metea/Irric raised an eyebrow. “No invasion?”
“No invasion.” Prisoner repeated. “Unless they’re powerful enough to turn my eavesdropping on me. And I’m ninety percent sure they ain’t that good.”
“Ninety?” Sechen asked.
Prisoner ignored her, leaning over to grab the pack General Temery had left behind. “So, why don’t we take a look at the goodies our fine hosts have blessed us with? With one huge helpin’ of hesitation at usin’ em.”
Sechen sighed and leaned forward, hissing in annoyance as the wind decided at that moment to single her out and whip the fire’s smoke directly at her. She waved a hand in front of her face, coughing and sputtering, and she could have sworn she heard Prisoner chuckle at her misfortune.
“I’ve got you.” Metea/Irric said, and Sechen felt a cool, wet wind cradling her, protecting her from the spitting sparks and smoke of the fire.
“Thanks.” Sechen said with a nod, reaching out into the winds to wet her hand before wiping the smoke out of her eyes.
“Hmm. I expected better.” Prisoner mumbled as he fished through the pack. “Or maybe this is what’s considered better nowadays? No, no, you gotta switch up your expectations.” Prisoner looked up at Sechen. “Gotta think like ringlet over there.”
Sechen crossed her arms. “You know we can hear you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Prisoner waved off Sechen’s comment. “It’s been a long while since I’ve been in your shoes, and almost as long since I’ve been in cloudy’s, so my idea of useful and worthwhile ain’t exactly helpful at the moment. I think this is supposed to be for you, cloudy.”
Prisoner handed Metea/Irric a glass ball with a little gold and black castle inside of it, swirls of gold-flecked wind dancing around the tower like silk around a dancer. Metea/Irric held it gingerly, as if simply observing it would cause it to shatter, until Prisoner put one hand on the ball and one hand on Metea/Irric’s hands and shook it. The look on Metea/Irric’s face was one of pure horror, as if Prisoner was committing a grave atrocity by simply shaking the glass ball.
“Calm down.” Prisoner snorted. “It’s a snowglobe. Though calling it a windglobe might be more fitting. You shake it and those little gold flecks convert whatever Issi it’s gathered into wind Issi. So, do you think it’ll be useful for you?”
“I… don’t know.” Metea/Irric admitted. “I’ve never really had a problem with purifying my own Issi, but if I was bad at that, this would be an amazing gift. But those little gold flecks…” Metea/Irric stared at the globe with a newfound hunger. “I could use those.”
“I’ll help you break it down once we’ve done some distance.” Prisoner said. “If you think you need the help, that is.”
Metea/Irric nodded in thanks. “Even if I don’t, having a safety net is always welcome.”
“Alright, that’s you sorted then. Let’s see, this one’s for sleepy…” Prisoner set aside a bundle wrapped in brown waxed paper, tied up with black twine. “And this one’s for shiny. Even after hearin’ them discuss all this, still gives me the warm fuzzies knowin’ they thought of him. Ah, here we go, ringlet; yours.”
Prisoner set down a book bound in black leather with a string of golden symbols on the cover and handed Sechen what looked like a lighter. It wasn’t gold or black, like the other gifts, but was made almost entirely of silver so polished and pure that it was a perfect mirror for the firelight. Sechen unscrewed the bottom and pulled out a rectangle of some kind of glass-like crystal, holding it up to her eye and sneaking a look at the fire. It was a little distorted from the rectangular prism, but nothing more. Sechen snapped it back into place and screwed the bottom back on, then flicked up the lid.
Where the sparkstone would have been on a normal lighter, there was instead a thumb rest made to look like several people were holding up a flat oval-shaped stone. Their carved expressions portrayed an emotion that betrayed their size, an intense struggle and terrified hurry through what must have been burning pain for whatever they’d been tasked to do. Sechen couldn’t bring herself to rest her thumb on the tiny carving’s burden.
“What, you don’t know how a lighter works?” Prisoner asked, holding up a closed fist with a raised thumb that he continuously brought only the first knuckle down. “It’s easy.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Sechen muttered, staring at the lighter with unease. There was too much emotion in something so… trivial. “This thing freaks me out for some reason.”
“That’s probably a good thing. Soulflame ain’t exactly the kind of thing you want to go all gung-ho with.” Prisoner gestured for Sechen to throw him the lighter, and Sechen flicked the lid closed before tossing it underhanded. “And this ain’t just soulflame. Got some kind of anti-prism housed in soul silver with enough runes to run somethin’ ten times bigger than this puppy.”
Soulflame? Anti-prism? Sechen shook her head and bit back all the questions except the most important one. “So what does it do?”
Prisoner flicked the lighter open and rested his thumb on the oval, then slid it down. A purple light flared into being, with lines of blackened silver shooting through it as it sputtered and burst as if it was trying to escape its confines.
“Takes a little bit of your Issi, runs it through the prism, and ignites it. Should’ve guessed it was a flame prism, but hey, everyone makes mistakes sometimes.” Prisoner flicked the lid closed and threw the lighter to Sechen. “Not sure how useful it’ll be for you, but General gecko seemed to think it’d help. Give it a flick.”