39. Lines Drawn (Patreon)

I claw at Gladra’s armored hand, trying to get a breath in to answer.  Choking, I pull at her fingers with one arm as I hold the other away from her body, my tentacular soul fleeing down my arm to hide in my hand, outside her burning soul’s reach.

“She caused this…?” Dasil asks, hand moving to his sword.  “How?”

“I don’t have the faintest,” Gladra growls.  “I didn’t see her do a damn thing, but she somehow caused a full-on perception event.  She even admitted to it!”

“I-I don’t know what that is…!” I manage to choke, prying a finger away from my throat.

“That!” Gladra says, pointing to the scene of destruction where so much of the island is crumbling or outright gone.  “That is a perception event!  And we, the Templars, exist to prevent them!”

She squeezes my neck harder, fury on her face.

“Put too much metal in one place?  God notices.  Fly too far?  God notices.  A war gets too big?  God.  Fucking.  Notices.  And God gets displeased.  The last thing anybody needs is to displease motherfucking God!  Templar Dasil!”

“Agreed, High Templar,” he says coldly, drawing his sword.  Oh, fuck.

Is this how I go out?  This?  Not starvation, not being revealed as a necromancer, not getting mauled to death by a monster, but by some divine whim interpreted by a fanatic?  I quickly look around for something I can do…!  Gladra isn’t casting, at least not yet.  She could be tired or restricted somehow.  If I kill and reanimate a Templar or two, maybe they can—

As Templar Dasil raises his blade, Penelope steps in front of him, glowering dangerously.  He halts in surprise as my teammate reaches up to grab my shoulder.

“As First Lady Betrothed to Lord Erebus,” Penelope intones, “I grant this one my protection.”

A shocked silence settles over the camp.  Dasil lowers his sword.

“You would dare?” Gladra hisses.  “This brat just killed two Templars!”

Penelope glances up at the other woman, somehow seeming simultaneously bored and deadly serious.

“No, I am quite certain that the Mistwatcher just killed two Templars,” Penelope answers blandly.  “It’s a shame the High Templar sent to escort us failed to predict her own God’s whims, but that is hardly the fault of an ignorant child.”

“She admitted to drawing its attention, so she caused the fucking perception event!  Damn your protections, I am well within my rights to—”

“I don’t think she did,” Penelope says, cutting her off.  “Vita has lived… at least twelve years in Skyhope without a single perception event befalling the city.  Remind me, please, how many perception events you have been involved with, First Lady Karthala?  You stood right next to her.  Anything that appeared to be looking at her could have just as easily been looking at you.”

The two stare each other down, Penelope smirking at the furious Templar as I continue to claw at my throat for breath.

“Release her,” Penelope straight-up orders.  “Or kill us both and hope your name covers for your crime.”

With a petulant sneer, Gladra throws me high into the air.  I tumble head over heels a few times before landing with a crash, in serious pain but at least with nothing broken.  I gasp for breath, hands clutched protectively around my throat.

“I’m going to go catch us new rations,” the High Templar hisses, glancing my way briefly before stomping deeper into the forest.

Penelope calmly walks over to heal me again, and the other Templars glower behind their helmets.  Dasil approaches us, sword thankfully sheathed.

“You declared your protections as First Lady Betrothed,” he notes.

“I did,” Penelope confirms.

“We will, of course, need confirmation from the True Lord Erebus that he backs this decision.”

“Naturally,” Penelope says, smiling sweetly.  “I’m sure he will be happy to meet with you when we return to Skyhope after the mission.”

I note she’s conveniently leaving out that we could talk to him right now with that magic necklace she has, and I am super okay with not pointing that out.

“Of course.  We will speak more then,” Templar Dasil answers.  “Do you intend to continue the mission?  Our supplies have been destroyed.  I would personally advise abandoning—”

“No.  I doubt the thing controlling Remus will stay in Litia for long.  This remains our best shot.  The High Templar can use her talents for what she’s actually good at: killing monsters.  I will help prepare them as rations.  We are hunters, after all.”

“Of course, Lady Vesuvius,” he replies, bowing stiffly and turning to depart.

“Templar Dasil,” Penelope calls as he leaves, “If it pleases you, I would like to offer to pay bereavement to the families of the deceased on behalf of or in addition to the Templars.  Out of my personal wealth, if necessary.”

He halts, then turns and bows far more genuinely.

“Thank you, Lady Vesuvius,” he replies, departing again.

I watch him go, taking a few shaky breaths.

“Th-thanks,” I manage to choke out when we’re alone.

Penelope flashes me a rather unpleasant smile.

“You’re the one in my debt now,” she states firmly.

“Wh-what?” I ask, blinking.  “I saved you, you saved me!  Aren’t we even now?”

“No.”

She glances sidelong at me, her soul singing gleefully as her gaze seems to be full of nothing but disdain.

“You don’t understand the gravity of what I just did.  I put in a lot of work to wriggle out from under my fiancé’s thumb, just to crawl right back under it for your sake.”

I frown, poking her in the belly right over where her soul rests.

“Liar.  You’re way too happy about this.”

She laughs, her soul tinkling high notes in time with the action.

“Oh, I didn’t say I wasn’t happy.  My family is always delighted to pull one over on Lady Karthala.  Besides… you’re going to help wriggle me right back out again, aren’t you Vita?  Unless...”

I snort.

“Of course I’ll help.  You’re not gonna need to blackmail me for that.”

She shrugs.

“I might.”

I blink.  She’s grinning like it’s a joke, but in reality… she’s dead serious.

“Something you want to, uh, run by me, Penelope?”

“Yes, but not now,” she answers.  “We’ll have to see if we survive Litia Village first.  Just… as a heads-up, though?”

She leans down to whisper, smiling sweetly.

“If your pet tries to reveal any more secrets, I’m killing it.”

I blink.

“Penelope, you can’t just threaten to—”

“Yes I can,” she says, cutting me off.  “The slime is pushing its boundaries, seeing what it can get away with.  You’re just letting it.  I’m rapidly losing a lot of respect for you, Vita.  If you won’t discipline your dog, I will.”

“She’s trying,” I say, scowling.  “She’s not a dog.  She’s a person in a shitty situation.”

“And I’m sure you see so many parallels with yourself there that it’s blinding, but I’m afraid I don’t sympathize with a torturous puddle of sludge.  Be happy I’m this tolerant.  If it wants to survive, it will have to behave.”

Penta takes control, nodding my head once.

“Good,” Penelope says.  “Now let’s help the Templars and go back to marching.  I want this all to finally be over with.”

I get up to follow her, feeling grateful and more than a little overwhelmed.  I have to resist my urge to send a tendril into her body and poke at the bubbly bits of her soul.  I bet they’re even more amusingly squishy than Penta’s!  It seemed uncomfortable for my poor friend, though, which is a shame.  Soul-hugs are even better than normal hugs.

“So… at least twelve years, huh?” I say, playfully squinting at her.

“I don’t have any exact way to determine your age, and it’s certainly possible that starvation is why you are… stunted.  However, it seems less likely than the idea that you are simply wrong.”

I scowl, but don’t argue.  This time.

“What did you do, anyway?” I ask.  “With the ‘I grant this one my protection’ stuff?”

“I hired you, basically.  Templars possess the right of adjudication on commonfolk, but by tying you to a noble house they must first submit an official inquiry, and… well, it gets complicated from there.  Since Gladra is a noble herself, I had to use my fiancé’s name to match her rank.  The important part is that Gladra is no longer legally able to ash you as she pleases.”

I nod.

“Huh.  Neat.  I guess it makes sense that Templars can’t just stab nobles whenever they feel like it.  Wait, am I a noble now?”

“No,” Penelope says.  “You’re my slave.”

“What!?”

“Just legally,” Penelope says, waving her hand dismissively.  “You’re merely the property of my future house.  It’s not as though I intend to bind you in shackles and have you whipped.  The position need not even be public.”

I frown.  She says that, but if she revokes that protection I get incinerated by Gladra the fucking Annihilator.

“Well, I guess it’s not like you couldn’t get a Templar to kill me whenever you wanted before now,” I relent.

She looks back at me, smirking.

“There, see?  That’s the spirit.”

I’m quiet for a while as I walk behind her, dragging my feet back towards the ring of men and women that recently almost filleted me.

“Penelope… do you think I actually caused that, uh, perception thingy to happen?  Why did the Mistwatcher do that?”

She sighs.

“Officially, no.  It is the stance of House Erebus and, to my limited ability to declare it, House Vesuvius that you in no way participated, willingly or unwillingly, in obtaining the direct attention of the Mistwatcher.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but.’”

“...But you and I are going to talk about that later.  In private.  For now, just... stay away from the damn edge, Vita.  Whatever just happened should not have happened.  I’ve heard of the Mistwatcher batting at things flying between islands, but people just looking over the edge?  Never.  If it was anyone else, I’d be supremely confident that Gladra was foisting the blame, but… well, we’ll have to make sure you cross over to Litia while the mists are up, I suppose.”

I tilt my head.

“What do you mean ‘cross over?’”

She doesn’t answer my question just then, but soon enough the Templars and us return to walking.  Dasil and Gladra get back in their silence bubble, talking most of the way there without removing their helmets.  It’s… pretty obviously about me.  I can’t help but regret how horribly suspicious Penta and I have been acting, but I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered much.  That tentacle would have come all the same, right?

I guess it might not have.  I don’t have the slightest idea why the Mistwatcher tried to kill me.  Maybe it can tell I stole its food?  Why would it care, though?  It’s just making my soul nice and plump for when I die.

...Maybe I’m fucking with the afterlife after all, and it’s pissed about that.

I shake my head.  No way.  I can’t believe it.  Besides, it just smashed someone’s soul into splinters!  It clearly doesn’t matter to the Mistwatcher if it gets someone’s spirit intact.  I wiggle my tendrils in indignation.  Stupid giant Mistwatcher!  Dumb soul glutton!  Rosco-eating jerk!  Leave some souls for the little gals, huh?

More days pass.  With Penelope there to treat meat and Gladra able to take her frustrations out on the local fauna we’re not wanting for food, at least.  I wonder why the city doesn’t just send Gladra to burn down all the forests.  Do they grow back too fast?  Is she always busy?  Or will even the Annihilator die if she tangles with some of the stuff deeper in?  I’m not sure I want to think about that.

“We’re almost there,” Dasil eventually announces.  “This is where we will make camp.  Penelope, Vita, you two go on ahead alone.  We don’t want to risk Litia noticing we’re here and blowing your cover.”

Thank fuck.  The emotional exhaustion of being around a bunch of angry Templars is worse than the physical exhaustion of walking all this way.

“Three days,” High Templar Gladra calls after us.  “Be out of Litia by the night of the Weeping Isles.  If you’re not back by then, I’m torching the place.”

I gulp and nod at her.  Penelope and I gratefully excuse ourselves, heading out and up over a hill.  As we crest the top, it’s easy to see what must be Litia village.  With buildings constructed mostly of wood instead of stone or clay, the village is about half farmland, the rest all gardens and houses.  From up here it’s easy to see quite a few people working out in the fields.  It appears to be a humble village by all accounts, with one thing that sets it apart: the entire place is its own island, floating separate from the mainland nearly a hundred yards out.  The only thing that connects it to Verdantop proper is a single rickety-looking rope bridge, spanned out over the great freefall of the world.

“We’re, uh, not going to have to walk that, are we?” I ask.

Penelope raises an eyebrow.

“That depends.  Can you fly?”

...Oh boy.  Y’know, I was only kind of afraid of heights before.  Yet for some reason… I really, really don’t wanna walk that bridge now.