-From Aphorisms: 1:32
Vivex slid down to the ground along Tok’s back as they settled in to camp for the night in another ruin, aiming for a sapling as she slid off the side of him. She grabbed the top of the growing tree, letting it bend and slow her drop before letting go and landing on her feet. It snapped back up, leaves fluttering loudly as it did.
Tok grunted, then rumbled “Medicine.”
Vivex didn’t need the reminder, but it was soothing that he made sure she didn’t forget. She moved out to find her daily dose out in the undergrowth. She only ever took as much as she needed for a single use anymore, still not trusting herself with any excess.
Can’t give in. Especially now. Not with a looming judgement on the horizon.
Any excuse to justify. Her Instinct agreed. Overcome.
It didn’t take her long to gather the herbs and berries she needed into her bag. As she did her stomach growled.
Need something to eat, too.
Consume!
Finding food was, to her surprise, even easier on the mainland. Somehow, off of the island, it was even more abundant. Because of that, it wasn’t long before she was up a mango tree, plucking fruits. Her Instinct guiding her up it without explaining why first, leaving her a moment to ponder why food was so abundant.
Signs of prey were everywhere, tracks, scat, scents. And it seemed like there was even more kinds of fruit and vegetables as well. Her height in the tree only confirming what she had seen on the ground below.
Not been picked clean. Her Instinct hissed, filling her eyes and hand. Picking out the ripest specimens.
The brood must rotate hatching locations then. Let them replenish each time.
Her Instinct grunted, somehow feeling that was correct.
Something about the plants was strange though, but she couldn’t put a claw on what it was.
Her Instinct grabbed another mango with her hand. Vivex ate greedily, peeling the skins of the fruits with her claws and chewing up the rich sweet juice, scraping the large seeds before tossing them off into the underbrush. Her Instinct lingered to make a point to her forebrain.
True. She picked another. The Initiate wasn’t about to look at a boon such as this with any suspicion after her trial. It was hard to savor the fruit though, given what Tok had said.
I need to find a way to show my fitness. Juice dripped stickily down her chin. Finish my bow for starters, then practice shooting it. She wouldn’t get as good as Zavzess from what little she saw of his technique, but she had to do something.
Strength. With that came the deeper understanding of the concept she had taken to heart from the example Tok had guided her towards. Not just the body, but the mind as well. That would require finesse that she thought she had.
What? Specifics. Her Instinct growled.
True… I don’t know what they would be looking for.
Vivex started her descent, hopping to the peak of some more ruins, noting that these stones did not have the runes carved in them. She took another step.
CRERRK!
Something under her feet shifted and she jerked in surprise. Then with a sudden scraping sound, the stones gave way!
Shit!
She reached out, snarling, claws finding the slots between the worked stones. They held, then gave way too!
Vivex tumbled into the dark with a yelp.
Thwump-ba-da-bump!
With a clatter she felt her feet hit something made of stone before she toppled off in the dark. The warrior snarled in pain as she hit her head and jostled her wounds. She lay there for a moment after, panting.
Damn ruins. Damn rocks!
She sniffed the air. Rolling over slowly with a pained groan.
It stank slightly like death, but not in a concerning way. Not new, but old, lingering. Cycles and cycles past.
Sealed for ages.
The Initiate stood, tossing the useless stones to one side, looking around.
Everything was overgrown and coated with roots. The space lit only by the hole she had fallen through. But then she saw a hue that drew her attention. The yellowish off-white of moldy old bones.
Marrow!
Vivex moved closer to inspect it, tongue flickering as her Instinct took advantage of being in control from gathering food.
The corpse was up against one of the walls of the ruin, slumped forward in death. It was encased in earthbone plates, most thin and pitted with age. It had a similar shell on its head, empty sockets and bare teeth facing out through a hole in the head-shell.
Whoever it had been, they had been huge, more than seven feet tall. But there was something else that made the situation even more interesting to her.
No tail, flat face.
Smoothskin…
What was it doing here? When had it died? How had-
Arrows. Observe. Her Instinct growled, brushing the ends of mostly rotted pillarwood. She ran a claw along one of the longer shafts, and it got caught in a notch almost perfectly sized for it. She hissed thoughtfully.
Shaped with claws. One of the brood killed this smoothskin.
Or many. Her Instinct countered, noting that there were ten arrows.
Either way, these might be of use.
Her tongue flickered out, yellow eyes wide and curious. Vivex reached out and grabbed the shaft of one and pulled it free with a jerk.
Clang! Bang! Thudada thudada bong!
The head of the corpse, complete with head-shell, rolled forward with a ringing earthbonian chime. Startling her into jerking back slightly as it toppled away from the corpse.
She tilted her head and looked back at the arrow. The tip was also coated in the earthbone moss. The hunter scraped it along the stones of the floor, and found the moss only coated the earthbone in a thin layer.
Must have been kept mostly dry by the armor.
It was then that she spotted the long blade at the corpse’s hip, and excitedly she grabbed the handle, lifting it up. It was covered in the moss.
Could probably knock it free. The black blade wasn’t damaged by stone, so why should this one? And the arrows had only a surface coating of the moss.
Then I’d have a true weapon! Like the Provider!
She could see herself now, swinging through the vines slashing at the scaled tailless monsters of her dreams. Killing them then roasting their flesh to fuel her next hunt of them.
Kill!
The guard even had a pattern to it that looked like scales! It was perfect! Clawed fingers tightened around the soggy hilt, and Vivex lifted the weapon high and brought it down hard on the stone!
With a dry muffled crunch the weapon broke in the middle before flaking into large sheets of the moss.
Vivex glared at the useless thing.
Too wet. Too long. Too old. Her Instinct growled. Both parts of her mind had been excited to have a longer blade to fight with, but there was little point in lingering on the idea now.
She looked at the remaining moldering arrows.
Could use those.
Moss.
Maybe not. Easy enough to check.
Her Instinct hissed. Mine. She agreed with herself.
She tossed the useless hilt behind her and moved to collect them.
Clang!
She whirled, knife in hand, but it had only been the hilt hitting the head-shell. Vivex stared at it for a moment.
Outside a skirnet wailed.
The little survivor grabbed the head-shell, dumping the skull out and examining the condition of the earthbone. It was made of a different kind, one which grew earthbone moss of a unique hue. Greenish-gray.
There was a lot of ornamentation on the shell, carved shapes and designs, a strange crest down the middle. No scales, per se, but more patterns and shapes. That didn’t matter much to her though, or affect her plans for it. It was intact. No holes or cracks.
It was a bit conical, with a cut out that would let the smoothskin see and protect its ugly stunted snout.
Could use this too. She tucked the head-shell under her arm. She started to turn, then spotted something that made her stop. Behind the preylike teeth that she thought was typical for Smoothskins, was a series of folding fangs.
Like a viper!
Falsescale!
Kill! Now!
With a snarl she lifted the helmet up and brought it crashing down on the skull, shattering it into splinters. She wasn’t sure if the action had been that of her forebrain or hindbrain. She didn’t care.
She set about destroying the rest of the bones, not trusting them after the revival of One-eye the traitor into that thing. It made gathering the arrowheads much easier, and she was pleased that they were still intact, stuffing them into her bag as she went. Using the ragged leather strap of the helmet to tie it to her belt.
Need to leave. She was starting to feel uncomfortable. Watched.
Agreed.
What resources she could gather gathered, Vivex climbed up and out of the ruin. She had to pull down quite a few stones before she could pull herself out and not worry about falling back down again.
It suited her fine, most fell onto the broken corpse, only further sundering it to smithereens. She scrambled back to rejoin Tok, leaping over a log as she followed the smell of fire back to the camp.
Jeg tripped over a stump, landing in a scrambling sprawl for a second, almost upending the sacks in the process.
Tum grabbed him with his good hand and hossed his business partner up with a grunt. “Idjit! Don’t lose the swag!” He pushed his friend forward.
“There Tum! Lookie!” Jeg gasped, nodding in the direction as he shifted the sacks and kept running.
Not too far off was the portal they had been looking for. A great stone thing, swirling green and teal energy with sparkling motes throughout.
The wampus beasts were right behind though! And it was as if they understood that the gate meant that their prey would escape because all three pushed themselves to run even faster.
One crouched, clearly preparing to pounce!
“I ain’t no mouse you overgrown Tomcat!” Tum shouted, whirling and pointing the pistol at it.
As if it understood what a gun was, the wampus flinched and jumped to one side.
“That’s a lady cat Tu- shitfire! Lookout!”
Tum turned and pointed it at the big male, who had rushed forward while he was distracted with the female. The barrel actually went into the beast’s toothy jaw, the end touching the roof of its mouth.
With a sizzling hiss of flame and fire and a sickly-sweet smell, the iron in the steel ignited the flesh of the fae creature.
It jerked away with a yowl, eyes wide and skidding to try and dodge away from the shot!
Click!
It was too late!
BANG!
The shot blew the six legged lion’s brains out, spattering his two mates and making them flee for the hills. Growling back at the pair of humans.
With a sigh Tum holstered the gun, looking at the massive creature, his frown matching his mustache. “Shame to leave it Jeg. Be a bit of a waste.”
Jeg looked at the corpse of the beast, then back to his friend. “Tum, the way out is right there. I wanna go home! Get to the Pink Orchid and unwind with a nice fiendkin girl.”
“Jeg m’lad, you need to get some learnin in that thick skull of yorn.” Tum said, bending down and grabbing the beast by the scruff. “Come on an help me with this’n.”
Sighing Jeg shifted both sacks to one hand and grabbed the Wumpus with the other. “Whatcha mean, get some learnin? I’m not a stump, y’know.”
Tum grunted, lifting up the front end and pulling with Jeg towards the portal, the four hind limbs dragging limply.
“First, they prefer Belmaian as their name. You want t’get the best time, use that, just like callin a gray gnome a whatsit...”
“Vettar.” Jeg supplied.
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“There it is, a Vettar,” Tum continued, blowing out a breath as he yanked at the dead varmint, “Sec- hoo boy- second, the first thing you should want is a warsh. Scrub up clean n’all.”
They walked under a huge toadstool mushroom, three stories high, the shade somehow warming instead of cooling.
“Ain’t that odd. Anyway, Third,” he hefted the wampus a bit higher off the ground, “this here beastie probably is worth some coin too. Think of it, some noble might pay a pile to have a six legged lion like this! And all the damage to the pelt is back behind the business end anyway.”
“Aye, fair enough.” Jeg sighed.
They got to the portal proper, a huge square block covered in runes, held by two pillars carved to look like a pair of beautiful fae holding it up, one male and one female. Gold gleamed in the runes, glinting and shimmering weirdly in the aetherlight.
“Come on then, let’s get back to civilization.” Tum said with a grin.
The world warped and changed around them.
Morte scratched the poor wampus under the chin, the loud purring rumble of his throat echoing slightly in Her realm, six legs stretching out as he flopped over to get his belly rubbed. “Poor boy. Don’t you worry. Mama’s here. Plenty of good times ahead for you now.” Her voice was practically a purr.
She had changed physically too, growing whiskers and another pair of arms, slowly sprouting a tail while She kept the stance of a person.
Behind Her, the Firebringer rolled His eyes.
Vivex returned to the camp and told the Provider what she had found, holding up the helmet.
He hissed thoughtfully, waving a hand over the helmet and focusing deeply on it before shaking his head. “This is fine to use. You did good to scatter those bones though. I shall finish the job.” The Blackscale stood, striding over to the river and pulling a huge boulder out of it, following her tracks to the place.
She scrubbed out the inside of the helmet with river sand, doing so until the water poured out clear before taking it back filled.
Bang..! It seemed that the Provider had finished the job off in the distance.
Sure enough, she was just putting down the third stone to hold the helmet up over the fire, encircling a little bed of coals, when he returned, minus the boulder.
He sat, watching her.
She fed the fledgling fire, the water already starting to steam, but slowly.
The fire popped.
“How could something like that happen Provider?” She finally asked, feeding in more wood.
“The Falsescaled can infect the humans. They can infect all of the genera, but humans most of all.”
She flinched at the prefixes Tok used in front of ‘human’. It… they were… harsh. Even directed at Parasites.
He looked at her. “Be wary of them, neonate. They are tempted by power. All smoothskins. And all don’t have their Instinct to temper that idea,” he paused, then added, “and even that is not foolproof as you well know.”
“So they could just be… anywhere in the smoothskin lands?” she asked, horrified.
“No, it is unlikely. But if they were, terrible things would happen around them.”
She put the spider silk in the simmering water, snapping a twig against her leg and adding it to the healthy fire.
He coached her through boiling it, which he said would get rid of the stickiness and let her twist it into line.
By the time they both went to sleep, her wounds were redressed, and she had a string for her bow that she could tell might just last her for the rest of her life.
I’ll have to start practicing tomorrow.
Once ants are out. Her Instinct corrected.
She hissed, annoyed, but she knew her hindbrain was right, she wouldn’t do herself any favors by pushing herself too hard. She pulled out the spider’s silk with a stick, twisting and rolling to gather it all into a bundle before letting it cool and dry to work it. Instinct guiding her once again.
The poachers both spluttered and coughed, kicking out of a hay bale and nearly startling the old crotchety farmer out of his skin doing it. Back in the regular world.
After they had explained themselves, lying the whole time and with Tum hiding his gun, they managed to talk him into selling them a cart and horse to haul the beast with. At an exorbitant price, much to their dismay.
The portal changed location every time it was used, though that particular one always was at the border of the city, something about the aether nodes installed forty years ago by the emperor.
They discussed possibly coming back in the night to try and pilfer back their coin in whispers, but Jeg noticed the man kept nearly a score of hunting dogs.
“Dogs has a nasty bite, Tum.”
“That they do, Jeg m’boy. An it always is a shame to put down a good dog.”
“And he reminds me of my Pap, Tum.”
Tum scratched his scalp, finding a stick there and tossing it to the road, “Then he should rightly keep that money, we did spill his hay bale all over after all.”
That decided, the pair of poachers didn’t waste any time getting to the Old City, piling everything into the cart and driving it towards the smaller walled portion of Salkov, the one closer to the sea.
Jeg snuck off the path for a bit before coming back with some linen sheets he had stolen from the laundry line from the next farm down the road, covering the sacks and the wampus with it. If only to keep from getting stopped by any guards not on the take.
Which is why more of their gold went into the hands of one of the wall guard, and still more into the hands of several of the other patrols. And even with all that, they still had enough money and loot to live as kings for at least a year.
Tum pulled reins so that the cart went down a back alley when he saw the Sanctum of Jonius, glowering at it.
“Damned Templars don’t appreciate a little coin to ease travel in this blinking city.” The smuggler grumbled. And with Tum’s gun they didn’t want to be stopped.
Eventually they got to their destination, Wilson’s Draughts, which was far too close to the Sanctum for Tum’s liking.
“Idiot should have set up more than a few blocks away.” He grumbled, snapping the reins one handed.
Tum pushed open the door with a bang. “Oi! Greg m’lad! We’re ba-”
He froze, lifting both hands as cold razor-sharp steel pressed against his throat.
“What do we have here, Gregor?” The voice was smooth, almost a gentle hiss of a whisper, and it came out from the shadows of a red hood muffled by a red kerchief much too fancy to be a low level thug.
Jeg, outside still, started to run, but another redrobe reached out and pulled him in with an actual hiss and clawed hands.
“N-now Mr. Bookkeeper, I ain’t want nothin’ doin’ with you.” Tum said, fighting to keep his voice from shaking.
“Come on, let’s just gut em!” a woman said in a terribly gravelly voice, grinning with crazed eyes and tossing her knife into the air and catching it again. “I wanna see somethin bleed.” She paused, staring eyes fixing on Tum.
She rushed forward, as fast as that iguana of a leatherback had back in the swamp. Tum winced at the sudden movement, fighting down a little yell of fright, but all she did was get close.
“Tum?” Savinna’s grin was just as enticingly dangerous as the poacher remembered, the hanging scar around her neck just as interesting.
“H-hey Savinna, mind vouchin?”
“Mmmm… I like the mustache…” She said, grabbing one side and pulling, hard enough to hurt. She shrugged, still smiling slightly “Not vouchin’ for you. Gotta do that yourself.”
“Zasa’avi’s eyes, Tum!” Jeg snarled.
“Shut it!” Tum said with a sigh.
“Th-these are the men I was telling you of, Mr. K.” Gregor stammered, talking around his bruised face. “S-see! I told you! They have the materials to continue my research into the alchemical process you requested.”
Mr. K’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the pair. “Oh..?” He motioned to more of the bookkeepers to check outside, then for two more to search both Tum and Jeg.
Before even entering the city, Tum had hidden the gun inside the wampus corpse, wrapped in a cloth to keep the steel away from the flesh. He didn’t think anyone would check the corpse, but even with that he struggled to hide his relief when they returned without the weapon.
Once all of the loot was brought inside by the gangmembers, rifled through, and several trinkets taken as ‘tribute’, Mr. K leaned in close to Gregor’s bruised and battered face. He brushed some imaginary lint from his shoulders, making the alchemist twitch in fear.
“If I were you, my friend, I would tell your workers to move more quickly. Or else.” And he snapped his fingers.
The robed figure that had yanked Jeg in, with a clawed hand, lowered his hood. Evil green reptilian eyes glared out of the head of an adder, contorted and stretched over a skull with human proportions. Something about it was horrible to behold, unnatural, unearthly.
The monster hissed loudly, showing long needle-like fangs, yellow venom dripping out of them onto the floor. Unlike the leatherbacks, this one stood straight, like a man, and there was no tail.
“W-we understand! Th-they understand!” Gregor whined, eyes bulging as the beast took a step closer. It hissed in a strange language, not the same as the lizard-kin, otherwise Tum would have understood it.
“No, the masters want this done. You are just a reminder today.”
“Damn, I wanted to stick the bearded one.” Savinna said cackling, “Oh well… see you round, lover…” she said to Tum, wiggling her fingers and grinning wider still.
The beast pulled its hood back up and turned staring at Jeg. Hungry. It said something else.
“No. You will have your chance later. After we clear out those whelps in the Signet District.”
And with that, they left.
When they were in an alleyway, using one of the secret entrances to the old city below to get back to their territory, Savinna said “Klien, you sure know how to tease a girl. I thought we were gonna get to cut that little alchemist up. Or his fiendkin squeeze.”
“I told you Ms. S to never use my name, don’t ever do it again!” Klein snarled.
“Oooh, big man, huh?” She cackled in her horrible gravelly voice, starting to cough while she did, the sound echoing as they entered the undercity.
Back at Wilson’s Draughts, Tum was doing some snarling of his own.
“See professor! This is why I said you couldn’t trust them damned Bookkeepers! Mortes tongue!”
“That’s a new one…” Morte said.
“I mean, it’s a goo-”
“You sure you want to finish that statement?” Morte looked down on Baha'an again and His cell shrunk by several yards. Her skin becoming more translucent, Her features more… dangerous. Her skeleton visible.
“Sorry, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood. It’s quite lone…” Baha’an stopped Himself. Even He knew not to mention loneliness to the God of Death.
But the damage was done.
“Be serious for once, my Baha’an…” She whispered, tears welling, going opaque yet again.
“I didn't mean… I…” He scratched the back of His head, “I'm sorry… I was trying to-”
Morte waved Her hand to silence Him, His confines returning to their old size. She placed that hand over Her eternally flat abdomen, cursing it silently in Her own mind.
Swallowing Her sobs, She pulled herself together. She would have many to welcome into Her realm shortly. But they would never be Hers in the way She coveted. The way She was denied.
“It is enough.” She whispered, proving that even Gods could lie to Themselves.
Harrumphing, Greggor Wilson brushed the front of his shirt, “Mr. Tum, Mr. Jeg, I pay you enough for you to know not to try and give me advice on how I do business.”
Jeg scratched his beard again. “Hells Tum, it were our fault I guess for bein late.”
“Well how was I sposed to know we’d up’n blunder into a Velnar blighted hatchery, Jeg m’boy?” Tum said, arms spread wide in exasperation.
“A hatchery!?” Gregor interrupted, “Come! Tell me of it in the workshop! Bring the supplies and I’ll get your pay.” He scuttled down the stairs.
“Damn alchemists.” Tum grumbled. He and Jeg gathered everything up, pulling the wampus along too to clear out the guts as they told their tale.
Glasswear, burners, mortar and pestles, drawers of strange smelling things and powders were everywhere down there, all in neat little sections, each with a color coded leatherbound book.
They passed one that was open, the page inscribed with cramped notes and a large diagram. It chronicled the passively magical processes and calculations for whatever potion or tincture that Gregor was making.
As always, the bookish man turned to them and waited for both to turn their backs and plug their ears before he reached down into the hidden niche where he kept all of his personal notes in the floor.
He plucked out the red volume in there, leaving the others, especially the black one.
The one that would let him run away from this damned city finally. Live forever with his Mislaia. He contemplated naming the tincture something blasphemous, but rejected it immediately.
Best to not tempt the gods.
“I am sorry, my little Gregor…” Morte whispered, still melancholic, “It is too late for that.”
She could see his fate now. It was not far off. She was glad that he would spend his last months happy, though, even if his last moments would be horrendous.
“Doesn’t help that living forever is kind of a sin against you either…” Baha’an muttered. Morte ignored him. He didn’t understand just how difficult it was to reconcile how She felt about the mortals.
“Tell me everything!” he said, grabbing a pen and ink and opening up the sacks.
The poachers told him as he took stock of their haul, and they were paid for both things quite handsomely. The alchemist questioned them quite extensively about the Lizardkin, and wrote all of it down on several sheets of loose paper for later study and organization it yet another notebook. He liked being meticulously organized.
Gregor had run into several interesting tomes about the Leatherbacks, or rather, Truescales. And what they described made him question if the new brutes that the Bookmakers were using were even the same species, or just something altogether different.
He had even managed to acquire some of their slaves, weak spindly ones. Testing his tincture on them. They had all died screeching in their cages, but no matter. They floated out of the sewers like everything else, and he couldn’t afford to fail the Bookkeepers.
It was never good to let down a snake cult, if you enjoyed breathing.
It was two days later, and Vivex was starting to feel well enough that she started doing test draws of her bow. Not with any arrows yet, but she was smart enough to know that she would need to build up her strength to use her new weapon.
She thought of how large Zavaess’s shoulders and back had been. I’ll need a lot of training.
The snakeskin was perfect to hide the color of the wood too, and she was pleased with the result.
Tok lumbered out of the river and up to a huge cypress tree, and Vivex stared in wonder.
The trunk, bent and knobbly, had to be almost eighty feet around. The knees of the tree were so large that they looked like long dead and decayed stumps of normal sized trees. They stuck out of the ground all around the main body of the tree, spreading out all the way into the river.
It's got to be at least two hundred feet tall!
Her Instinct grunted in the back of her mind, pulling her towards it, wanting her to climb, liking the idea of being so high.
“Cydis!” Tok rumbled, staring out at the tree. “I return.”
A breeze picked up, hissing through the leaves.
“Ahhhh… A year has passed,
and so has she,
and she as well in a different light cast.
A little someone has come to see me…”
Vivex jerked and spun towards the voice, matte black blade in hand. There was a strange smoothskin perched on Tok's massive shoulder, one that she couldn't tell the gender of at all.
Not a smoothskin! Her Instinct hissed, forcing her to take a step back.
What?
It was hard to take in the rest of the being while those strange glowing fuchsia irises, which were set in a pair of dark starfield sclera, regarded her.
Old! Her Instinct hissed, pulling back into her spine, and she took another step back.
They spoke in the truetongue.
It had sounded a bit like groaning wood though, like an accent, and it took her a moment to realize that it was because the tree was groaning in concert with this being’s words.
“Cydis, this is Vivex.” Tok rumbled, using prefixes of mild exasperation.
“Ah, the last and first, the first and last.” The… thing… continued, leaping off of the Blackscale's shoulder and floating lazily down to the ground, spiraling like a winged seedpod. “A worthy name,
for one so blessed,
I see much fame,
and followers, obsessed.”
Aetherfolk. Her Instinct hissed, a jumble of emotions that was hard to parse.
“Enough Cydis, I tire of these riddles and rhymes.” Tok growled, though every prefix was respectful.
If the Provider is… So should I…
She flashed desaturated respect at the weird idiot-that-should-be-respected, but stayed on Tok's shoulder, blade in hand. Was it quivering slightly?
They, Cydis she supposed, landed on the ground and sprouted up to match Tok’s size! Growing like a weed.
She was behind her Provider’s head already, looking around and hissing in anger, her black and red combating the pale yellow of her shock throughout her scales.
“Be still, seedling,” the stranger cupped their ugly flat face in one hand thoughtfully, “no… that is not the term…” The voice of Cydis was the same, but the groaning of the cypress behind them was deeper, more resonant.
“Hatchling. Yes… I remember now. As is young Tok here, only eight and sixty years is he.”
“I am an Initiate now.” she hissed, pulling farther behind Tok's head as she whispered her correction. She didn’t like the magic being shown on full display here, not trusting it. Then she realized something.
They called the Provider a hatchling!
She suddenly wasn't sure if she would be in the Blackscale's way if he chose to address such an insult.
“Neonate then, it serves my purpose.” Cydis rustled.
Now that they were larger, she could see that they matched the cypress tree. Headfur like a human, but green and wispy like the needles, craggy thoughtful gray brown bark, with relaxed deep orange crevasses.
The color of a summer sunset.
She matched the pattern for a moment before sliding back into her own.
They started to bare the dark burls that were his teeth in threat, then paused, saying “Ah yes, apologies little one, that was not my meaning.” They instead shifted color for a moment, going bright pale green.
A greeting.
A friendly greeting.
She took a step from behind Tok’s head, staying close just in case, and flashed the greeting back, grunting.
“Now, why have you come, young Tok?”
“She is small.”
“Ah… yes… The rootway.
To arrive there first.
To meet with Shashk.
You know the price.
You know your task.”
“I agree to it.” Tok said, holding out a hand.
“If you reap, you must sow.” Cydis lifted their own woody hand, and from the palm grew a leaf, which curled and filled with seeds of every description.
It filled so full that Vivex could have swum in them, and yet more filled in, more than could have possibly fit in the Provider’s empty hand.
“Where does her future lie, ancient one?” Tok asked holding the bag with reverence.
“Ah… a fulcrum does need a place. Or a place needs a fulcrum.” They paused as Tok rumbled with mild frustration, and Vivex hopped onto the sword on his back, clutching tight, convinced that violence would occur.
The barkskin sighed, then continued as if it pained them to be so straightforward, “Let the council decide. Only, convince them first.”
They looked at Vivex again, magenta in constellation eyes flashing with a weird glow. “She looks nothing like her mother. I find this fascinating.”
“Who-?”
“Does it matter neonate?” Tok’s eyes, crimson red, looked at her. Evaluating, but half lidded.
Vivex closed her mouth and thought. Did she care?
Her Instinct was silent.
She could sense the need to move in her Provider. And that knowledge wouldn’t change much for her anyway.
“No. Not right this moment.”
Her Instinct hissed thoughtfully.
Tok turned and looked at Cydis, red eyes narrowing, then widening, a single grunt of… realization?
She couldn’t be sure. What was there to realize in the Barkskin’s words?
“What is the Rootway, Provider?” She asked instead, not comfortable addressing the strange barkskin.
“A path, neonate. Through the Aetherflow.”
She cocked her head to the side so her muzzle wouldn’t block some of her view of Tok’s eyes. Trying to read his expression.
“The river of energy that suffuses the land. Powers spells and runes.” He turned and nodded to Cydis.
The trunk of the huge cypress rippled, splitting open into a yawning maw of green-yellow energy, and Vivex barely had time to clutch onto the handle of the Providers sword before he strode into the portal.
“Hang on, Vivex.”
Vivex could not see, it was far too bright.
Vivex closed her eyes to protect her sight.
I will not bend under this Aether’s might!
And her Instinct agreed, with one growl. Fight!
And out of the blinding verdant light, hued red by her eyelids, whispering in her ear, was Cydis’s voice.
“Good. Remember your name, young Vivex. Also remember, alike in stature or not, you are your mother’s offspring.”
She couldn’t reply in the whirling vortex of power, the forces threatening to tear her away!
A hand gripped her shoulder, rough like bark, pressing her down so she could get a firmer grip. “You are also your Provider’s neonate. Know that he is his. A family affair I see, and much work to do for thee.”
The hand slipped away and she was alone with the massive sword swaying back and forth as her Provider moved forward implacably. His massive hand pressed gently against her back as he went.
She clung to the handle, the winds of energy swirling around her, wrenching her left then right.
Howling, roaring, blinding, soaring.
Something was passing through her, through her things, through the Provider.
And then, silence.
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
“What?” Vivex hissed, staring.
PATREON! It is at least 15 chapters ahead, and I am working hard to get it permanently up to 20, with plans to add even more! All money there goes right back into making the series as good as I can, and every cent of it is appreciated more than I can say.