50: Reflection: Ikfael Glen (Patreon)

Rascals. Ikfael Glen was occupied by rascals. One had turned into three. What was next? Nine? Would her peaceful glen turn into… into… an orphanage?

Heavens forbid. Heavens forbid. Heavens forbid. Three is the direction of five. Let it be so!

True, Ikfael had grown accustomed to the first rascal’s presence. The grilled fish was welcome. As was the deer meat. The vegetables were even interesting, especially when combined. Of course, nothing compared to the food from the other world.

Heavens! That was a shock. It was enough to make her heart stop. If she’d had a heart, she’s sure it would have. Just having coffee with Diriktot was enough to get her sweating.

Another world? Another world!

Her eyes had rounded like an owl’s when Diriktot plunged them into the rivers of people--the colors, the noise, the motion. All she’d wanted was shut herself away, but her magic didn’t work.

“Different rules,” Diriktot had said, “but still interesting.”

What in the Imperfect God’s name did that mean?

Diriktot wanted to reward her for her favor. As if the coffee wasn’t enough. Did she need to tour another world as well? No, she did not. Ikfael just wanted peace and quiet.

Her life was enough. She slept on the water. Twice a year, she accepted tribute from the villagers downstream. They brought her tasty food. Occasionally, the elder sleeping under the glen awoke to commune with the stars. Keeping the glen calm was a small service to them. Ikfael didn’t need more than that. 

There was a saying: “A god gifts with ten hands, but you only see one.” Meaning, gods always had more than one purpose for everything they did. 

What was Diriktot’s purpose? To show her how strange the other world was? She didn’t need that! She had the rascal--the first one--to show her that.

No wonder she’d needed to rescue him so many times. He came from a place of giant metal serpents and collegeums filled from floor to ceiling with books.

Coffee was better with milk and sugar. She’d learned that too. Also, donuts, while sweet, were not good for her stomach. They were so good though. Her mouth salivated at the memory.

There was a beehive near the mushroom meadow to the south. Maybe she should send the Eight-rascal to retrieve some honey. It wouldn’t be the same, but the sweetness was attractive. Almost worth the cleansing ritual he’d likely require afterward.

She glanced his way. He was playing with his spear again, modestly this time. Seems he was aware of the other rascals looking his way.

Ikfael sighed. She was just a small spirit. She’d only grown so Skilled because of her good fortune. The sleeping elder’s comprehension of stone and water was deep.

She’d tried to tell Diriktot about the need to keep the glen peaceful, but the god paid her no mind. He only showed her books full of paintings. Books full of patterns. Books full information so dense with experience, her mind spun afterward.

The paintings were so real. It was like they captured people and events in amber and pressed them between the pages. There was also a large flat book on the wall whose cover flashed with motion; portraying small people acting in small ways. None of it made sense, but it was astonishing all the same. 

Ikfael’s Water Arts were such that she could make moving sculptures, but she’d never thought to tell stories with them. All that was needed was to add dyes to the water, and her figures would become more lifelike.

The Eight-rascal deserved credit for the quality of his sculptures. They were whimsical. They had personality. They told a story.

He possessed hidden Talents. Not to mention the ridiculous, the utterly ridiculous, number and depth of connections to the World Spirit.

Those Skills were of help, though. She’d give him that. He wasn’t as polite as the other two--didn’t have their good sense--but he tried, in his own way, to be mindful of her desires. Ikfael flushed with pride at the memory of his gifts. They were offered without anything requested in exchange.

Diriktot wanted to give him choices. Diriktot wanted to test him. Who knew what gods truly wanted? Not Ikfael Glen.

She didn’t know much beyond her territory: the obnoxious bear to the south, the trappers to the north, the poison vines to the west, and the village grateful for clean water to the east. The Heavens above. The elder sleeping below.

That’s all she knew. And now the rascal, who’d somehow made the days more interesting and tasty. The rascal who’d come from another world, full of shocking mysteries. The rascal who turned into three.

Ikfael knew she needed time to understand what she’d seen. Fortunately, she’d have grilled fish everyday to fortify her; sometimes with salt--she’d have to encourage Eight-rascal to get more.

Oh, Heavens. Maybe he knew the origin and making of donuts. The thought was too strong to keep down, and, unbeknownst to Ikfael, saliva dripped from her mouth.

Would honey be enough? Or did the delightful donuts need sugar? There’d been so much of the stuff in the other world. Here, she received maple sugar about every other year in the tributes from the east. That proved they could get it.

Ikfael looked for Eight-rascal (also named Ollie-rascal) and found him still playing with his spear. She walked over, gesturing to the east.