North of Cylvania city, past the northern farms and the thin branch of the river that stretched eastward, lay the fallen lands of Balmoran.
Once it had been an Earldom, and the northern frontier of Cylvania. Home to hardy monsters and hardier folk, the settlers had spent decades pushing into the wilderness, making deals with the friendlier monsters, and warring with the hostile ones. It was a place of heavy winters and mild summers, where the oak trees marched north until they hit the ranks and legions of pines and failed to make headway as the mountains rose wild on the horizon.
And once they had identified the rough area where the airship had gone down, the maps had confirmed that the shortest route to their objective was through Balmoran. So they had crossed the river at the ford, bypassed the trading post that was the only nod to civilization for the next few hundred miles, and set off into the no man's land that had once been the growing heart of the north.
Though it certainly didn't look like it at the minute.
“What happened here?” Asked Thomasi, the tall human who had identified his main profession as 'Ringmaster'. “Was it dragons?”
He gestured an arm at the bleak space around them, gray and black save for an occasional vine or sapling that had somehow taken root despite the odds.
“No,” Celia said. “War. Most of Balmoran's villages were on this border. When my father went to war against Balmoran he had the farmlands burned and salted to keep anyone from resettling.”
She spoke as she marched, her feet double-timing and sending up puffs of ash. The dog beastkin, Cagna, had enough Mercenary levels to supply the Forced March skill for the party. Her skill wasn't high enough to make a huge difference, and it only lasted an hour for each use, but it had let them get a significant way out into the burned region.
But maybe not far enough. Celia shifted the large pack on her back around until she could turn her head and get a look at Zuula.
Zuula had been a surprise. The half-orc Shaman had departed the kingdom with the death of her husband, a death that still made Celia's mood dark to think about. There had been no word from her for nearly a year. Now she'd shown back up and fallen in with the group without hesitation. Now she walked placidly along, occasionally using her spear to jab at suspicious pieces of debris.
Behind her, strode the Muscle Wizaard. He was the biggest human that Celia had ever seen, wearing a starred red-and-purple robe over a physique that wouldn't be out of place on a giant. A conical pointy hat that bore his name in gold letters topped it off. And on his nose sat pair of round spectacles that made his eyes look large when he caught her gaze. He nodded solemnly and gave her a beaming smile through a white beard.
And why shouldn't he be happy? He'd been comfy in the guest dungeon, and according to Graves he had requested and spent the day learning the Wizard job from one of his research staff.
It had been a lifelong dream or something of the sort, but Celia hadn't been listening at the time, mostly just fighting the urge to go and find Threadbare NOW and damn all the consequences.
To the front, Cagna and Missus Fluffbear and Kayin lead the way. It seemed strange to see the tiny Paladin on a wooden mount, a simple carved horse that Celia had animated for the trip. But Mopsy was gone, and none of her kittens were currently available for training as a mount. And given how deadly their foe was, bringing an untrained mount along would just be taking the poor thing to its certain death.
Kayin was ranging far out in front, so agile and small and light that she barely stirred up any ash as she went. Occasionally the green-clad dogwoman, Cagna, would snarl at her to draw back, and stay within range of the group. Kayin took it in stride, obeying up until she started to get restless again and then the cycle repeated itself.
“Such a waste,” Thomasi said, eyeing the mostly-barren plain that had once been a thriving northern town. “But it looks like we're almost to the woodline.”
“That's a problem,” Kayin called back, pointing at the setting sun. “We need to be further along, desu.”
“I thought we were making pretty good time,” Cagna said.
“We are. But... uh... once night gets here the ghosts come out,” Kayin said, slowing so that everyone else was in vocal range.
She flinched a bit, as everyone's eyes turned to her.
“So they're real?” Celia asked, not breaking stride.
“I think you probably should have mentioned ghosts,” Cagna said, glowering.
“Beh,” Zuula said, grinning. “Let dem come. Could use a good fight.”
“It's one of the reasons the war effort stalled, and the resistance got time to regroup back in the day,” Celia said, watching the treeline approach, and knowing they wouldn't get far enough away from the ashen lands. “The dead weren't properly buried, and every night they'll wake up and go looking for vengeance. They roam a fair ways into the woods. And no, Zuula, we can't fight them. We need to let our breathing friends rest, so we can get a good start before dawn.”
“Is fine, dey can nap while Zuula kick ass,” the Shaman protested.
“We won't have to.” Celia pointed up at the pack on her back, easily four times her size. “Graves sent along a few supplies. One of them's a scroll of Warding.”
“Oh, that would do it!” Fluffbear squeaked. “We'll just have to make the circle nice and big so people don't have to walk outside it to poop and stuff!”
“We'll have to camp early and dig a latrine then,” Cagna decided, measuring the sun against the horizon.
“Nyannnn... we need to get off the ash first,” Kayin said. “I'll run ahead and see if I can find a spot!”
And before anyone could stop her, she was gone, tiny puffs of ash in her wake.
“Fotutto cat!” Cagna snarled, and ran after her, leaving much bigger clouds of ash behind her.
“What did she say?” Celia squinted after her.
“Ah, you don't want to know,” Thomasi assured her. “Shall we quicken our pace a bit?”
“You don't mind?” Celia asked. She was a golem, and had plenty of time to adjust to her new body. She didn't have muscles to get tired, though given enough time and hard work she could run out of energy temporarily.
“We don't,” The Muscle Wizaard rumbled. “We're actually pretty spry, so if you want I can pick you two up and we can really cut the dust.”
Celia considered it, and decided that there was no one around to see her who wasn't a friend or at least willing to act like one at the minute, so her pride could take the hit. “I think we'll take you up on that. Fluffbear?”
“More hugs are always good!” the little grizzly squeaked, and with the two golems ensconced in the Muscle Wizaard's arms, the group made their own ash clouds across the flats.
They found a decent spot at the edge of a stream, about a mile into the treeline. It was far enough back from the ash that it was only a sooty smell in the air, and the trees were tangled enough that it made a reasonably solid green and brown wall between their group and the plains. With the last rays of the sun winking on the horizon, Celia dug the scroll out of the bag, traced a circle with the small packet of green reagents attached to the paper, and chanted “Ward against ghosts.”
For a second she felt odd.
For another second she remembered that she was undead.
After another second she was very glad that she hadn't made it a general ward against undead. If she'd had breath to hold she would have let it out in a sigh at the near miss.
The feeling passed, and the circle flared to life, glowing in the first shadows of evening. Then it went dark again.
Not a moment later, not even a minute, the edges of the circle flared again like a spark of lightning touching the earth and blossoming into a full bolt. And Celia saw forms, tens, dozens, rapidly growing into hundreds, pressing around the edge of the circle. There was a high-pitched sizzling in the air, one that could be ectoplasm boiling, or the screaming of the damned; it was hard to tell.
Cagna cleared her throat. “You ah, you weren't kidding about those ghosts...”
“This is too many to fight,” the Muscle Wizaard said, as the pulsing flares of the Wards illuminated the quickly gathering mob beyond, light shining through their wispy forms, eyes black holes in their unmoving faces. There were features to them, yes, but they moved around and through each other so much that individuals couldn't really be discerned.
The only commonality between them was a murderous glare, a twisted scowl of anger, and bared spectral teeth.
“This isn't right, desu,” Kayin whispered.
“No, you told us there would be ghosts,” Thomasi said, eyes white in the greenish light. “And here they are.”
“Not this many,” Kayin said, her voice steadying. “But they can't get through the wards.”
“I could let them speak,” Fluffbear said. “But uh, I don't think they'd say anything we want to hear.”
Celia put her pack down and clambered atop it to get a better view.
And as she did so, she noticed the ghostly heads lifting in unison.
She hopped down off the pack.
The ghosts lowered their heads.
She climbed the pack again. They lifted their heads again.
“It's me,” Celia said, feeling a flutter in her chest, in the spot where a human might keep their heart. “They're all focused on me.”
“Dat make sense,” Zuula said, nodding as she leaned on her spear. “You is de daughter of de man who massacre dem.”
“Oh,” Celia said, and felt guilt rise within her. And that cold voice at the back of her mind, the one she'd been shoving away with anger for the last day, came alive again. It told her that this was her fault, that she was making things harder just by being here. Told her that she should just step out of the circle and get it over with...
A large hand fell on her shoulder, and she jumped a bit.
“Easy there,” said Thomasi. He was stooped slightly to reach down to her shoulder. “It's a bit much, and that's perfectly understandable. Come on over, let's get a fire going and not tell ghost stories.”
The group busied themselves grabbing underbrush and deadwood, and sorting it into logs, kindling, and tinder. Once they had a good amount Cagna built a decent frame, and whispered “Firestarter,” before Celia could.
“Oh, that's right, you're a Scout too,” she told the dog woman.
“Among other things, yes,” Cagna considered her, then sat down and beckoned the Wizaard over. The big man sat back to back with her, and she shifted so they both got a good share of the fire.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“I noticed that your appearance shifted between yesterday and today,” Cagna said. “Did you do that trick the guilds have?”
“I talked with Garon and sorted out some of my jobs, yes,” Celia said. “I kept Animator and Knight, and went back to Steam Knight and Scout. It was a fairly sizable charisma loss, but I'd rather be able to punch pirates in the face with Kindness.”
“In my experience, it's rare to be able to punch kindly,” the Muscle Wizaard said.
“Kindness is her mecha,” Kayin explained. Then she had to explain what a mecha is. They seemed impressed.
“It's interesting that the word for it is in use here,” Thomasi said, squatting next to her and warming his hands. “I have to wonder which direction it came from. Do you know where the Steam Knight class originated? Which part of the world?”
“It's supposed to come from the West,” Celia said. “The Knight who brought it here was called Sir Pantser.”
“Panzer?” Thomasi tilted his head. “Did he talk vis un accent similar to zis vun?”
“I never personally met him. It was before I was born,” Celia shrugged. “About twenty-two or twenty-three years ago. I think he moved on at some point, after he taught the Steam Knight job to some of the royal Knights.”
“Twenty-some years... yes, that would match,” Thomasi said, nodding. “Do you know where he went?”
“Sorry, no,” Celia said. “We can check the royal archives when we get back.”
Cagna squinted at him. “You think he was...”
“Maybe,” Thomasi said.
“What are you talking about?” Kayin asked, hopping up to land on his hat, and peering down at him, face inches from his.
“Ah!” Thomasi startled, and caught himself before he stuck his foot in the fire. Then he chuckled, reached up, and scratched her between the ears. Caught by surprise, Kayin purred.
“One of the reasons I'm traveling, beyond my considerable debt of favors to Chase and her friends, is to try and track down people who... don't seem to fit. Who are a little off, in a very special way.”
“You is trying to keep secrets,” Zuula said, from where she was using a rock as a pillow, and idly tossing other rocks at ghosts. “Why go to de trouble?”
“Because there are other people trying to hunt the people I'm searching for,” Thomasi said, transferring Kayin to the crook of his arms for easier scritches. “And they're the sort who prefer to kill witnesses, even if they have to wipe out villages to do so.”
Unbidden, Celia found her eyes drawn back to the circle of ghosts, and the horde beyond. And their hollow, unblinking eyes, all fixed on her. “Evil,” she whispered.
“Enough of them that the moral standpoints of the rest don't matter,” Thomasi sighed. “The ones we fought acted out of fear, but they still acted.”
“You can keep secrets now if you like, hatman,” Zuula chuckled. “But if dey come near us, be time to share, Zuula tinkin'.”
“So long as you help me retrieve Threadbare, and your halven friends do what they said they would, then you can keep whatever secrets you like,” Celia said, crossing her arms. She looked back into the fire, well away from the ghosts.
“Oh don't worry about Chase,” the Muscle Wizaard said, grinning. “She'll come through. You got traitors and plotters, but they don't know what they're up against. She'll sniff out this intrigue and hand the guilty ones over to you in a potato sack before you know it.”
“That's a lot of confidence,” Kayin said, getting bored of scritches and almost clawing Thomasi before scrambling out of his arms. “You sure she's up to that? Those are some really sneaky guys back in the Capitol.”
“I trained her myself,” Thomasi said, smiling. “Not that she needed it. She's a natural.”
After that, the conversation died down. The three breathing folks dug out food and drink and slept while Celia and her friends kept watch.
She spent a long time watching the fire, and very little time watching the ghosts. But every now and then she couldn't help looking up at their angry, watching faces, and hearing the distant whispers of loathing in the back of her mind, from whatever demons haunted her porcelain skull.
Threadbare, she told herself, over and over again, forcing the memory of the gentle and kind friend she'd lost into her thoughts. I have to save Threadbare before I die.
The ghosts faded shortly before the dawn. Zuula insisted on going out first and stomping around just in case it was a trick, but nothing happened to her and everyone pretended to believe her when she insisted that she'd scared all of them off. That sorted, the party gathered themselves and headed north.
And as they did so, Celia stiffened and stopped as words flashed in front of her eyes.
THREADBARE HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!
Be well. I am repairing engines. It is taking time. Days, perhaps.
Gritting her ceramic teeth, Celia looked up to the others, who had stopped and were staring at her with varying degrees of concern. “We only have a few days to get to the airship. We need to cover as much ground as possible. Get to high ground and find it before the day's out, if we can.”
“We could pile people in your pack of holding like we did that one time and the fastest one could carry it,” Kayin said.
Celia shook her head. “It's not huge, and it's full up with Kindness, and some other supplies. And with this many breathing people it would run out of air pretty quickly.”
“I've got forced march and I've been leveling it,” Cagna shrugged. “But I'm almost to the point I need more merc levels to raise it.”
Celia reached into the pack and flipped her a coin. “Here. This is my payment for doing what you were going to do anyway.”
Cagna snorted, but pocketed the coin. “It's a start.”
“You want to move faster?” Zuula said. “Got just de ting.” She held up a bundle of herbs.
“Oh my,” Thomasi said. “Oh I recognize those. Are you sure we'll survive them?”
Cagna's ears went flat. “You have to be joking me. Those are banned in every city-state back where we're from. Even Ferrari, and those fools will try anything that lets them go faster.”
“Well we ain't dere, are we? And we gots Fluffbear and me to heal you and talk you down from de bad trips...” Zuula said, waggling the herbs like a feather duster. “Come on, all de cool Shamans be doing it!”
None of them were convinced.
But they were running out of alternatives, and there were a lot of miles to cover.
And so one hasty rearranging later, with the dolls clustered on the Wizaard's back, and Fluffbear's wooden horse stowed in the pack, the hills rang with bellowing yells as Thomasi, Cagna, and the Muscle Wizaard charged madly through the trees at a ludicrous speed for running humanoids, unable to stop or even look back because invisible demons were chasing them.
That the invisible demons were only in their heads didn't matter. Those fuckers were fast.
“You know,” Celia said to Zuula, as she clung for doll life, “This seems a little more... screamy, than the time you dosed us with this stuff.”
“Oh dat was de old stuff,” Zuula said, grinning and trying to catch bugs in her mouth as they ran. “Zuula been... improvin' de recipe.”
At one point they passed by a Ranger camp, one of the hidden enclaves in the woods that the resistance had turned into the starts of new villages, out in the wilderness. But they neither had the time to stop, the coherency to chat, or the presence of mind to do so. Which suited the Rangers fine, a few screaming madfolk gone off to die in the woods fell solely under the category of not their problem.
They ran out of steam about halfway into the foothills of the Guzoverdee mountains, with the sun still a quarter of a day high in the sky. Without a word Fluffbear started putting her Clerical skills to use, healing and removing the lingering conditions bestowed by the really, really potent herbs.
Zuula, for her part, wandered between the three companions, asking questions about their experiences and only occasionally mocking their misfortunes.
“Rest, eat, drink,” Celia said, unfolding the map that was larger than she was, and glancing from it to the hills as she searched for landmarks. “I think we've made good time, but I don't know where we are, exactly. Our best bet is probably to climb as high as we can until we see something.”
Cagna, Thomasi, and the Wizaard looked wearily at the highest peak. There was snow on top of it. The distance from their current, unsnowed location to the rather snowed peak seemed unfairly long. At least another day's worth of travel, unless they used the herbs again.
“I hate to say this,” Cagna said, clambering to her feet, “but we should press on as close to the mountain as we can, set up a base camp, and those of us who can see in the dark should keep pushing onward.”
Celia was about to suggest that she and her golem friends could take the lead, when words flashed in front of her eyes again.
THREADBARE HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!
Be well. Only one engine remaining. Who is Midian? Elvish mage sort?
“Fump!” Celia cursed. “We're running out of time. I'm sorry. We need to keep moving.”
“No... problem,” Thomasi wheezed, clambering to his feet, and chomping into a sticky bun. “Givf me a momfent...”
The other two produced snacks as well, and ate, replenishing their stamina. While she paced and waited, Celia frowned, the delicate plates of her ceramic face rearranging to show her confusion. “Also there's someone called Midian. An elvish mage. Does that sound familiar to anyone?”
Thomasi's eyes went wide, and he choked on his sticky bun.
A few back thumps and a rather crumby mess later, Thomasi nodded. “I know that name. She's one of the people I'm looking for... perhaps. It's been a while, someone else might be using that name. Probably not an elf, though. Yes, this could be her. Ah...” he stopped, and knelt down next to Celia. “Why do you ask?”
“Threadbare asked who she was. I don't have any context.”
Kayin perked up. “And there's Garon's decree. He's saying the name's unknown but they'll research it.”
“Decrees?”
“Threadbare's a Ruler, and Garon's his Ruler. They can use their ruler skills to send messages regardless of range, and all their subjects get them.”
“Okay, that's clever!” Thomasi said. “Do we have any way to talk to them?”
“No. Not until we can get a Scout within range,” Celia glanced to Cagna and Kayin. “We should probably work on that now.”
It took the rest of the day to get to a suitable base camp location, and break out the tents, for the trees were sparse here, and offered no shelter against the chill of the highlands. Cagna paused long enough to start a fire, then beckoned grudgingly to Kayin.
“Oy. Catgirl. We're the best suited to this. Ready to scout ahead?”
Kayin bounced to her feet, and the two were off into the dusk. Celia tracked them heading upwards for a few hundred feet before she lost them.
“No ghosts out here,” Zuula said, studying the surroundings.
“Good,” Celia said, and that word had the weight of relief she didn't expect to feel. She wasn't sure if she could take another night of all those hollow eyes.
“So what's your story?” Missus Fluffbear asked the Muscle Wizaard.
“Well... I always wanted to be a Wizard. But where I come from, it takes money or a lot of talent. I didn't have that. So I decided I'd be a wrestler until I could learn to be a Wizard instead.”
“A what?”
“A Wrestler. Don't you have those here? I go with circuses and carnivals and wrestle people for money.”
“Wait!” Missus Fluffbear hopped up and down, excited, her plate armor ringing with each bound. “You mean to say you get paid to give people HUGS? I didn't know that was a career option!”
After that there was no stopping her excited flood of questions, and the Muscle Wizaard was happy to demonstrate a few of his moves and tricks with a willing Thomasi, who was quite sanguine about being tossed around like a sack of grain. Celia smiled and left them to it...
...turning her head to see Zuula's golden glass eyes staring at her from about an inch away.
“Oh!” she startled, then glared at Zuula. “That was a dirty trick.”
“Needed to get a closer look at you,” Zuula said.
“At what?”
“Tension.” Zuula said, reaching out with her plush hand to poke the side of Celia's head. Celia forced herself to sit still, as the Shaman poked and prodded.
And there was a knot there, where several of the plates had drawn together. Celia flinched, and tried to relax, and slowly her face eased a bit.
“He crafted you body well,” Zuula said. “Most golems, Zuula not see dis. But body language, face, de way you shift... you hurting, Celia girl. You hurting.”
Behind them, Fluffbear and the Wizaard were laughing, and judging by the clattering he was teaching her top rope tricks or something of the sort. No one saw her face sag into despair but Zuula.
“What is wrong?” Zuula asked.
Celia breathed, pulling air into her leather lungs. Then out again, seeking the words. In again, when she had them.
“Three years ago I died, Zuula,” she said, finally. “And I'm not sure I shouldn't have stayed dead.”
Zuula studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “She understand.”
Then Celia hugged her, and sobbed. And Zuula hugged her back, and Celia didn't notice when the noise behind her turned to whispers. Fluffbear murmured a question and Thomasi replied in the negative, and then there was silence.
“How do you deal with this?” Celia asked Zuula, her voice wobbling, the waxed strings of her throat squeaking. “How do you... why are we still alive? What's the point? Locked away in these... in these shells that can't really feel, can't taste or smell things, these... things. How do you bear this?”
“One day at a time,” Zuula said, simply. “One day at a time, child.”
“When Threadbare brought me back, I almost... I almost told him to let me go on. But I didn't want to hurt him. I pretended it was fine... no, I fooled myself into thinking it was fine, told myself I was okay with it over and over until I believed it. But now I can't anymore. Now I can't hide from the truth. I'm a dead thing in a hollow shell. What's left for me? What have I got to look forward to?”
“No easy answer,” Zuula said. “Gonna be different for everyone. For Zuula? Two more years wit' her love. Den saw him proper buried. So it was good she came back. Good dat Dreadbare helped. And you... you saved everyone. You helped fight you father.”
“Yes, but that's the past. What's left for me now? Why should I keep going?”
And there was a tinge of pity in her voice, pity that made her remember her Father's scowls, and irritation whenever she whined in his presence. She hated that memory, hated her weakness even more.
“If you can't keep going for youself, you need to do it for odders,” Zuula said, stroking her hair. “For Dreadbear. For de ones you help. For de ones you ain't met yet.”
“He's not enough,” Celia said. “I feel guilty about it, I hate it, but he's not enough to keep me here. I thought he was, I hoped I would feel different in time, but I don't. I love him, but he's... I don't know. He's my bear. And I do want him back. And I do want him to be happy. But I can't be, and... it's... so hard to hide it... and I can't hide it from him anymore...”
“Shh. Shh, shhh...” Zuula stroked her hair and rocked her, and eventually Celia's sobs faded away.
It wasn't a solution.
It didn't help her figure out her future, or reveal a way to survive, or change until she didn't hurt any more.
But for that night, for that moment, it helped a bit. Helped to be in the arms of someone who understood. Helped to have someone she loved and trusted listening to her, and lending her some strength to get through the cold hours after midnight.
They probably would have been there through the rest of the night, if Zuula hadn't started at a noise upslope. “Dey coming back!” she said, helping Celia to her feet.
And Kayin was there first, waving her arms happily. “We found them! They're not far off!”
Celia opened her mouth to reply—
—and words filled her vision once more.
THREADBARE HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!
Be well. The last engines are almost repaired. Leaving soon. Heading northeast.
“Get the others,” she commanded, as Cagna came into the light. “No more time to rest, we have to go now!”
Celia reached into the pack, and metal, heavy metal thumped against the hillside, as she pulled the squat, six-foot tall mechanized armor out of its extra-dimensional storage space.
“I think these pirates need a good dose of Kindness in their life...”