“What in the world…?” I wondered aloud, still staring down at where the words were slowly fading away.

Above me, Sav cleared his throat.

“It’s an ax,” he said. “...just big.”

I blinked, looking back at the gigantic man in confusion.

“Huh? Oh…” I got it. Sav couldn’t see what had just happened to me, so all he witnessed was me looking down at the ax and then being surprised. Fair enough.

“No—wait, Sav, how much do you know about Galdur?”

“Some,” he said.

“Great,” I sighed. “Detailed as always. And root arrays and spells?”

“Less than some,” he shook his head.

“Swell. Right, so how about you help me up there and I’ll explain what just happened? If no one else shows up to claim dominion over my coveted second-in-command position of Squire, it’s likely to be you. So, you should probably know some things.”

Sav reached a hand out, and when I went to grab it, he withdrew it.

“No,” he said. “Hand’s not for you. For the ax.”

“Listen, you’re either helping me up or I’m going to give you a paddlin’ with that big-ass war weapon.”

“You can try,” he said. “Can’t imagine it’ll end well.”

“You’re mighty confident for someone who doesn’t have an Elemental Shield at their disposal.”

He shrugged, thought about it for a second, then reached down again to prop me up. As he tugged, I kept a grip on the ax, which easily slid out of the stone with surprising ease.

Huh.

I was delighted to find that Pierce likely wasn’t actually some insanely strong stranger—the weapon was as light as a kitten fart for me, too. It came up right alongside me. Must’ve been something magical—which was surprising me less and less. Once I got up, I examined it, careful not to knock Sav over as I moved it around slowly through the air.

“Now, how might I transport this?”

“I’ll carry it,” Sav offered.

“Yeesh, you don’t quit, do you?”

“I’ve a warrior’s spirit,” he said.

“Naw, you’ve got the heart of a thief.”

He shrugged.

However, as I examined the light-yet-unwieldy ax, my Marshlore seemed to be working overtime, to the point that I almost felt as if it was bumping up against some resistance. Because there was suddenly some kind of…barrier keeping it at bay from the information Marshlore was attempting to glean. I didn’t know what it was, so, thinking about it, I concentrated a bit. Really focused on Marshlore, you know? At least how the magic seemed to suggest mentally. The sensation was elusive—I couldn’t quite get my mental arms around it. It was like chasing an itch on your back you know is there but don’t have the flexibility to reach proper.

But I kept at it, until there was a sort of ‘pop’ that I felt rather than heard. Then, swimming in the air in front of me was misty confirmation of its nature.

THE BARDAGAÖXI OF WISTFUL DISOBEDIENCE

The hell? Alright, Marshlore—all that hullabaloo and dancing around just for a confusing name? Wistful disobedience? What in the big, ornery green hell did that mean? I knew what the words meant separately, but together it was just gobbledigook.

“Eh, whatever…” I said aloud. “Not my circus, not my monkey.”

Besides, I was far more intrigued by the idea of this Shroudpiercing spell. What would it allow me to do? Also, now that I was thinking about it—it was a touch strange because typically when I learned a new spell, it asked me where I wanted to place it. But, so far, that hadn’t—

One position remains in the Deep-Rooted Array. Place this Galdur in the final open position?

Ask and ye shall receive, I thought.

But, what to do about that? I only had one spot left, but then what would I do should I happen upon another ripple o’ fortune? Give it up? Or replace one I already had? Sure, I hadn’t exactly gotten a full range of use out of ‘em, but, I was still early on in my adventures, wasn’t I? Suppose so—unless I died. I needed to make sure I took good account of my spells for future use. Really, the only ones I used on a semi-regular basis were Marshlore and Elemental Shield. Waterwalking was situational, and Mist Veil I felt like I’d only used maybe twice? I’d need to change that.

Still, there was the fact that I wasn’t really sure how to proceed. Fortunately, there was someone who probably would know how to advise me. The old homeless Santa, Otho. However, with someone from Clan Sav present, he might not be the most…pleasant to deal with. Sure, he was friendly enough with me, but he’d seemed pretty upset that I’d even so much as interacted with one of Sav’s ilk, let alone entertaining the idea of one being my future Squire.

Still, I needed answers—and I’ve established already that I ain’t one to just let things lie and be a mystery. So…

“Hey Sav,” I said.

He grunted and nodded at me.

“I’m about to summon…a kind of…spirit or something—not sure exactly.”

“Ghost?” Sav asked, looking almost concerned.

“Maybe,” I said. “But, a ‘friendly’ kind. You know, like Casper.”

The big man just looked at me blankly.

“Right,” I said—he’d have no frame of reference for that. “Uh, like an ancestral variety,” I continued. “But, here’s the thing: he’s not a big fan of your Clan—for some reason.”

“Ignorant,” Sav said.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Honestly,” I started. “I don’t really care about the politics or drama or what have you behind his motivations. But, much like one of those uncles who makes things awkward during Thanksgiving dinner, he’s a necessary evil, and might be useful at the moment.”

To be fair, I had never actually had a real uncle—at least until recently, I guess—and the closest thing I had to awkward extended family relations was my foster dad Brent’s brother Keith. He didn’t rave about Nazi’s on the moon, or secret shadow governments or the president being a secret alien insect or anything. He just went on-and-fuckin-on about online battle arena games. To the point you could hardly get a word in edgewise about anything without him rattling off about which characters were “good” that week, and something about hit boxes and big spell circles. Hell, I once spent a whole car ride with him, where he yammered off about these big ol' fantasy creatures they needed to beat, and how his team was always missing what's happening on their map.

Some of it even ended up being sort of interesting to a laymen like me. Unless he got on the topic of ‘updates,’ though. Hoo boy! That was a mistake. Keith would angrily and passionately bark about how they'd ‘change the whole game,’ though I couldn't make heads or tails of it. He was always tossing out terms that he understood completely and wholly, but from my experience, they were clear as mud to anyone not knee-deep in it.

Funnily enough, now that I was here, some of that stuff had entered my mind a time or two. There was a certain sort of gamified vibe to the general goings-on here in Dralore that shared some space on that Venn diagram. I had to imagine what was transpiring for me might’ve been Keith’s idea of a heaven—and I kinda felt bad it was me that had to deal with it, rather than someone like him.

Hell, Keith would probably have already been the Marsh Knight by now, and sorted out those Nine Emperors quicker ‘n shit.

I realized I’d been lost in thought, and Sav had an eyebrow raised, staring at me in that intimidating way. Then I heard a grumble and we both looked down at his stomach.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Hungry,” he said.

“Think maybe you can find some grub in this joint?” I wondered, not really to Sav, but just kinda musing about it.

However, he seemed to think that was a request on my part, and he nodded, padding off down the hallway, my bore club still slung over his shoulder.

“Careful now!” I warned.

His raised hand waved me away, the big man never turning back as he receded into the darkness of the corridor beyond.

Suppose that takes care of the awkwardness for a moment…

So, rather than take up any more time with distractions, I directed my attention to the attavita compass and called out to Otho.

“Hey, old man,” I muttered. “Can I get your opinion on something?”

It was just a moment later when the spectral form of Otho blossomed into being in a flash of blue and white mist. The bearded ol’ coot frantically spun in place, assessing his surroundings.

“Gah!” He roared, then, finding…whatever he thought was supposed to be there missing, turned to regard me.

“Aye! Boy! Ye made it through to the other side again! Good on ye!”

I stared at him.

“Why…uh, how come you ‘sploded outta there screamin’ bloody murder, Otho?” I wondered.

“Thought that the enemy ye’d been facing might’ve had his grips in the attavita. Didn’t want ‘im to summon me out of the thing and force me unto undue labor,” Otho explained, shaking his head. “Now, what can I help ye with, boy?”

I just stared at him.

“Wait…summon you…out of the attavita?”

“Aye,” Otho said, raising an eyebrow. “Ye addled, boy? What’s with that strange look?”

I sighed.

“One thing at a time,” I muttered, “one thing at a time.”

Then I straightened up, choosing to forgo my usual line of questioning for one more immediate concern.

"Okay, Otho, here's the thing. I got this... Shroudpiercing Galdur, right? But my Array's about as full as a tick on a hound. I'm worried I'll have to give something up once I fill it up. So, that’s my predicament. Any advice?"

Otho scratched his spectral beard, his eyes narrowing in thought.

"Well, boy, if ye do find yourself in need of more space, ye can always transfer a spell into the attavita.”

I blinked.

"You can do that?"

He frowned, then his expression softened. "Ah, right, right. Ye're still learning the ropes of this whole Galdur business. Yes, lad, ye can transfer spells. Keeps 'em safe and sound until ye need 'em. Like a pocket for valuables."

"Huh," I murmured, still processing this new piece of info. "Well, that's handy. So about this Shroudpiercin—"

"Shroud Piercing?" Otho interrupted, his frown returning. "Truth be the telling, I never heard of that one before. Sounds... tricky."

I shrugged. "Yeah, I ain't sure what it does yet. Any ideas?"

Otho hummed, his gaze drifting off as he pondered.

"Can't say I do, lad. But if it's as unusual as it sounds, might be ye're better off not using it if ye can help it. Sounds like a good way to get yerself trapped or worse."

"Trapped?" My voice cracked a bit. "Well, that's reassuring."

He grunted. "The Bog's full of secrets and not all of 'em are friendly. Be careful and tread lightly with that Galdur of yers."

I nodded, feeling a bit more wary. "Got it. Thanks, Otho.”

“Aye,” he said. “Now, was there anything else?”

He paused, glancing around at the digs.

“Where are we?” he wondered.

Then his eyes rested on the ax.

“...and what’s that?”

“We’re in the tower we saw earlier from the swamp,” I said. “Hyrus House, I think?”

“Hyrushjem?” Otho offered, his ghostly eyes growing serious.

“That’s the one,” I confirmed, then gestured to the ax. “And this is…some word I’m not going to try to pronounce, but it belonged to someone called Pierce—er, I guess ‘Piercer of the Veil.’”

“Never heard such a name,” Otho said. “But them with bynames so mysterious sounding tend to either be no one of importance, or those of deadly importance. I’d tread carefully there, too…”

His eyes traced the blade of the weapon.

“Especially if ye took this without their permission.”

“Well, that’s a problem for future Leo,” I said. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll need to make myself too concerned since I tanned his ass upside down and backward about five minutes ago. What I want to know, though—what were you talking about with the whole ‘taking you outta the attavita,’ thing? I thought you were…what’s the word—relegated? Yeah, relegated to be confined inside it.”

Otho's expression turned somber, a hint of concern flickering in his spectral eyes. He leaned in, as if to share a secret.

"Confined, yes, but not utterly bound," he began. "The attavita, it's a powerful artifact, but it's not without its vulnerabilities. An expert in Galdur, particularly one versed in the manipulation of memory and time, could figure out some method to extract me. It's a complicated process, mind ye, involving a deep understanding of the spells binding me and the ability to untangle them without triggering the protections."

I grimaced. "Protections?"

"Aye, boy. The attavita's designed to safely guard its spirits. If someone tried to force me out without proper know-how, it'd likely provoke a backlash. Could be anything from a nasty spell rebound to completely erasing my essence."

I whistled softly. "Sounds like a delicate operation."

"More delicate than threading a needle through a chrysalis, boy," Otho nodded. "But…possible for someone who knows their way around Galdur—moreover the darker aspects of it."

The ramifications of that were daunting. I didn’t really understand how levels of power worked here—other than the seemingly ‘throw-away’ line Myri had tossed out about Rippening, or what have you—but the way Otho was talking about it…seemed like something big and important.

“How’d you…uh, get put in that thing in the first place?” I wondered. “If that’s not…like…rude to ask.”

Otho shrugged.

“Bog witch,” he said.

“Bog witch?” I wondered. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, boy, that a bog witch did me in,” he shook his head. “Snatched up my Enaid wholecloth and stuffed me in this thing. Word of advice, lad—never accept an invitation of what appears to be a beautiful, naked woman wandering alone in the swamp unless ye get her credentials first.”

That made me think about the Pyre Knight from Clan Bolcan. Now, she hadn’t been naked—quite the opposite in fact, armed to the teeth as she was—but she’d been out on her own in the swamp, and I had to think that if I’d not minded myself well enough, she’d have taken great pleasure in forcibly jamming me into my own confined space as well. I shook my head free of the uncomfortable thought and smiled back at Otho.

“Noted,” I said. “Now—I think it’s time for me to accept this new spell into—”

“Who goes there?!” Otho erupted suddenly, his eyes narrowing into the darkness. I will admit I jumped a little at the sudden sound, turning to look back behind me into the corridor. A bulky shape was padding along, munching on something. Sav. He was carrying an armful of what appeared to be aged cheeses while calmly chewing a wedge for himself.

Ah, shit…

“Hey there!” I called out to the big teenager, hoping to suddenly have a genius idea as to how to avoid the potential awkwardness of their meeting. But before I could continue, Sav froze, his eyes landing on Otho. Likewise, the old specter seemed to be equally as fixed in place, just staring at my companion under his pile of dairy.

“What are ye doing here?!” Otho demanded, jabbing a thick finger at my potential Squire.

“Eating,” Sav responded. “Why’re you here?”

“I’m assisting the future Marsh Knight boy with his tasks!” Otho shot back. “What sort of foul fate has befallen us to be labored with yer presence you vile scum?!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” I shouted, stepping between the two and waving my arms. “Easy, there! Ain’t gotta be no bad blood! We’re all on the same team!”

“Team!?” Otho roared. “Never a team that didn’t rot with one of his brood making a showing.”

I was surprised that Otho had been able to spot who he was on sight, though…there was more to it. It seemed like these two specifically knew one another.

“Only team you’d be allowed on is a team of horses,” Sav stated soberly, his glare unflinching. “Old beast.”

Am I fucking missing something? I wondered. What is with this instant animosity?

“Aye,” Otho bit back sarcastically. “Were that the case, my first order of business would be to kick yer great lump of a skull in!”

“Welcome to try,” Sav said back.

“ENOUGH!” I shouted. Both of them looked at me, as if suddenly noticing me for the first time. “I’m not sure how you know one another, or why you’re spittin’ all this ornery venom, but I ain’t got time for it. Explain yourself, now, or I’m gonna toss both of y’all into the swamp and wash my hands of the both of you.”

There was a long silence as the two regarded one another carefully. I spoke to Sav, gesturing to Otho.

“Who is he to you?”

He didn’t say anything at first—neither of them did, actually. Finally, when it seemed like they were both competing for the ‘quiet game’ championship, Sav spoke.

“No one of importance,” he said. “Only my great, great grandsire.”

I was floored.

“Your grandpa?!” I shouted.

“Aye,” Otho nodded menacingly. “He’s my descendent. Filthy Sav. And his great, great, great, great grandmother was the one who put me in the attavita.”