Chapter 18 - Calm Before the Storm (Patreon)

I looked back over my shoulder at Brynn every once in a while. He had on that horned helmet that looked like a slice of the night sky. When I looked at it too long, it did funny things to my eyes. 

Some of my molten shield techniques had apparently caught part of his boot on fire back in the training arena. His big toe was sticking out of his right shoe. The robe was ripped and shredded in places, showing strips of his bare skin beneath. He was skinny but with a broad-shouldered frame and long legs. I couldn’t quite believe he was somehow supposed to be Seraphel.

The thought still messed with my mind. In truth, part of the reason I decided to stick around was plain curiosity. I wasn’t sure how, but I figured he was somehow pulling the wool over this Circa woman’s eyes. He did look like the painting of Seraphel in her personal space, but who says the painter got it right? And after a few hundred years, somebody would certainly come along who looked like one of the old gods. The helmet, though… That was a little trickier to explain. It matched the armor in the painting almost exactly.

I had decided if Brynn wasn’t Seraphel, he might have been in league with somebody who knew Seraphel. At the very least, he was in league with somebody powerful enough to give him that helmet. That alone was a mystery and a half. So, I was going to stick it out. Sooner or later, his lie would slip, and I wanted to be here to see the truth of it all. If I got a little free training from a Silver while I was at it, all the better.

Sure... Some small, stupid part of me hoped it was all true. But I couldn't hang my hopes on stupid, girlish hope.

We were out of view from Riverwell and approaching a large rocky hill. I could see the hint of a crumbling structure on top. That must have been the ruins Jarn told us about in our briefing. A level two infestation. I wouldn’t have admitted it to a soul, but I was already terrified of the prospect when we had planned to bring a party of thirty. Jarn had the whole town guard coming, plus fifteen adventurers commissioned. That would’ve put us at about ten Irons and twenty Woods strong. It would’ve been a miracle if we made it without any losses, even with that number.

Infestations did appear pretty often. When the gears of the world were turning properly, the guild put out a commission as soon as a threat was detected. Your average Wood to Iron level adventurers set out, grouped up, and cleared the thing. Everybody collected their coin and moved on to the next. Crisis averted.

But it was only somewhat routine with a large group. I knew a Silver was no joke, especially with an epic corestone class… but this was insanity. There was no other way to put it. I'd once heard it estimated that an Iron was worth five to ten Woods, depending on their personal strength and the power of their corestone. A Silver was worth five to ten Irons, and so on. Circa had an epic class corestone, so I figured that put her more toward being worth about ten Irons. Then again, I'd heard that from a drunken adventurer at a bar. Maybe it was all bullshit.

“...should at least try,” Circa said. She’d been talking to Rock, who she was now gently urging to move in Brynn’s direction. 

I’d been drifting closer to the two, trying to overhear what they were talking about so quietly up front.

Rock sighed, nodded his head, and turned toward me. I hesitated, then watched him walk right past me and toward Brynn. The supposed god walked slowly at the back with his potion bottle in one hand. He was waving his free hand around absently. I couldn’t be sure behind the helmet, but it almost looked like he was walking with his eyes closed.

Rock stopped a little in front of Brynn and spoke. “If we’re going in there together, I suppose I should—”

Rock cut off his words with a small scream as a liquid sprayed out of Brynn’s empty hand. The tomte ducked and swiped an arm in front of himself at the last second. Blue light pulsed in a semi-circle, deflecting the hissing liquid away from Rock.

Brynn was staring at the liquid on the ground, hands still held out wide.

Rock had his quarter-staff in both hands now, like he was about to start bashing Brynn’s head in.

I pulled out my shield and got between them at the same time as Circa.

“I am so sorry,” Brynn said. The helmet made his voice sound deeper and more sinister than when he had it off. “My eyes were closed, and—”

Rock spit on the ground and stalked off, muttering under his breath. “Introduce yourself,” he said in a mockingly high-pitched voice. “He’s kind. You’ll see.”

Circa looked after the tomte but seemed more interested in the hissing liquid on the ground. “Is this from your ability?” she asked.

“Why did that feel like throwing up out of my hand?” Brynn asked. “God. That was disgusting.”

I shook my head in disbelief. There was simply no way he’d managed to use an active ability that quickly after attuning his corestone.

“Incredible,” Circa breathed.

Rock watched from a distance. His bushy gray brows were raised beneath the shadow of his hood. He didn’t seem to understand the fuss, which answered one of my questions. The tomte didn’t know who Brynn was supposed to be. To him, Brynn probably looked like some high-born who had been handed down a family heirloom helmet. It looked like he was still considering attacking Brynn for trying to spray him with poison. As a Wood, Brynn might as well be a toddler who tried to kick an adult’s shin, and my guess was Rock saw it the same way.

Once Brynn recovered from the shock of making his ability work, he jogged up to Rock. The two of them talked softly as Brynn gestured his hands, finishing with what looked like a reenactment of the moment he sprayed poison at Rock.

After a while, the tomte’s posture relaxed a little and he gave a curt nod, continuing up the hill toward the ruins.

There was a bounce in Brynn’s step as he followed after Rock. Potion still in hand, he stuck a palm out and produced a paltry spray of poison about as impressive as a stream of piss.

Circa was at my side. The woman was quiet as a damn ghost.

“You still doubt him?” she asked.

“Never said that.”

“It’s written on your face, girl.”

“If he’s who he says he is, what does it matter if I doubt him or not?”

Brynn pumped his fist, jumped up, and kicked his heels after making another stream of weak poison jet out of his hands. He yelled something up to Rock that I couldn’t quite make out and the tomte seemed to ignore him.

Bryn squatted like a wrestler, both palms out as he jerked his arms back and forth, producing about as much liquid as a firmly squeezed lemon with each pump. I caught myself smiling and wiped the look off my face.

“He has a very hard path ahead of him," Circa said. "Impossible, maybe. He’ll need loyalty and friends he can trust more than anything.”

“That’s tough rocks for him,” I said. “The way he is, he’ll be lucky if he makes it another week without getting robbed and stabbed in a back alley somewhere.”

“You’re right,” Circa said.

I lifted my eyebrow, surprised at her honesty.

She didn’t exactly smile, but her expression softened. “He’s lucky to have found you when he did. I can’t promise you riches or favor with a divine house. Ours is scattered and weak. I can’t promise you success. All I can promise is the reward of following a worthwhile cause."

I snorted. “That’s the thing about causes. Everybody thinks theirs is worthwhile.”

“Tell me, what do you know of The Nine?”

“Same as most people, I suppose. Old stories parents told their kids about nine gods in the old days. Constantly at war and trying to get their fingers in everything.”

“And what of The Rift?”

I squinted. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“What if I told you something in The Rift had the gods frightened?"

"I'd ask how you got a god to admit they were scared."

Circa smiled a little. "I didn't. But something made them believe they needed to resort to this for more power, yes?" She gestured to Brynn. He looked like he was out of mana, now. He shook his hand, gave it a disappointed look, and kept trudging up the hill.

A chill ran through me. If she was right, what in the hell could make a god think they’d need to reset their progress for more power? To make all of them but one think that?