Playing God 12

Playing God 12

Charlie Foxtrot

“Chhaarrggee!!!” the little girl on my back roared.

Well, she thought it was a roar, a battle cry worthy of a true knight. Really, it was more of a squeak, the kind that might intimidate an elephant from the sheer “what the fuck” factor.

I was happy to oblige. I was in my beast form, resized to be about the same height as a pony. Two of my tails wrapped around her thighs while a third encircled her waist. She couldn’t fall even if she tried to throw herself off.

I “galloped,” or really, gently cantered with as much speed as Ellaria Sand thought was appropriate for her daughter. My course was steady. My stride was swift. Tongue lolling in a happy, foxy grin, I ferried my gallant knight-to-be into battle.

Truthfully, I was running away from my problems. Not physically of course, but there was a bit of a commotion when Doran strolled down to breakfast from the Tower of the Sun.

He descended the whole thing on his own, leaving Areo Hotah and several maids flabbergasted. He even did a little skip when he thought no one was watching to prove to himself that yes, he had functional legs again. He was still sore about losing so much land to me, but he did offer me a nod of acknowledgement.

It left no doubt in anyone’s mind just who had done the healing. “Master Fox” now became “Master Healer Fox” or “Maester Fox,” despite both my and the maesters’ insistence that I had nothing to do with the Citadel.

And by Ammy-chan’s favorite stripper were the maesters annoying!

They were men of learning, the wisest men south of the Marches. And as men of learning, they decided that they simply could not leave a mystery such as myself unexplored. Really, the only reason I didn’t smite them was because I’d then have to smite Sarella for fairness too, and I liked her marginally better.

Thus, I spent the morning as a fox. They couldn’t question me if I was busy, right? Right. Teaching the next generation was obviously a sacred duty.

I felt Elia tense with resolve as we approached the quintain again. We’d done this a dozen times now and her aim was getting much better.

We’d gathered quite a crowd. There was Ellaria, keeping a watchful eye on her daughter. Next to her, the sand snakes cheered their sister on, tossing out as many jokes and taunts as genuine advice. Arianne stood next to them, trying and failing to act as if she was above the spectacle.

Even the knights who’d actually been sparring had largely stopped. Oberyn and Daemon stood by his daughters. Garin the Orphan, though he was no knight, unstrung his bow and cracked jokes by the princess’ side. And behind loomed Ser Andrey, judgmental but unable to say anything with the good cheer.

The quintain towered over us, a giant of wood and rawhide and steel. This was our Goliath, the latest hurdle on our path to knighthood and eternal glory. Its post had been painted a brilliant, angry red, with a leather cuirass dressed over its form for authenticity. One of its arms ended in a stuffed leather sock while the other bore a wooden shield.

The Little Lance held her weapon underarm. Her legs braced against my side as she prepared herself for impact. In her offhand was a shield, made of light pinewood and sized for her smaller frame. She wouldn’t need it, but it was good to get used to the weight.

There was a sharp, wooden thwack as the point of her lance met the quintain’s shield. It was a laudable improvement from this morning, when she could barely scuff the edge of the target. The quintain spun on its axis and its rotation caught her on the back as we passed by.

“Eep!” she squeaked, more in surprise than pain. Ellaria had insisted that the leather sock be filled with softer padding rather than the usual wood shavings and dirt.

I fell forward, slowly with an exaggerated gasp, as though I’d been the one to sustain the mortal blow. My tails untangled from her body, letting her slip off my back with ease. “Woe! The brave knight has fallen in battle!”

“Get up,” she whined, pushing against my side. “You weren’t even the one who got hit!”

“I was dealt emotional damage. I now have a phobia of scarecrows.”

“What? What’s a phobia?”

I rolled around in the dirt a bit. The sand was nice and warm against my fur. “A phobia is an unreasonable fear of something.”

“Come on, one more try.”

“You said that three tries ago.”

“Last one, promise!”

“A good knight knows to rest his steed, daughter,” Oberyn came to my rescue, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“See? Exactly.” I transformed back and hopped to my feet. My robes visibly cleaned themselves as I stood. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to get in some practice of my own.”

“Oh? Practice? You did say you use a spear to fight. Will we finally see this fabled spearmanship of yours?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. That wasn’t what I meant. I want to practice my kagura.”

“Your what?”

“Ka-gu-ra,” I sounded out the unfamiliar word for him. “It’s a type of ritual dance hosted in our temples. I guess there is a staff involved, and I guess that staff is my spear as well, but it’s not really a martial art.”

“I didn’t realize you took your faith so seriously.”

“It’s important stuff. Many miko and kannushi, that’s what we call our priestesses and priests, believe that these dances are how mortals can commune with the divine. A kagura is at once a form of worship, and also a spell. Done right, there are kagura that grant protection, purification, or even good luck.”

“Can we watch your practice?” Tyene asked as she walked over. She began inspecting her sister’s “knightly attire,” which was just an old gambleson that had been hastily resized to fit the frame of an eleven year old girl.

“I suppose, but it’s not much of a spectacle,” I said as I called the Ame no Nuboko to me as I found a spacious corner of the yard. “Alright, feel free. Let me think about which one I want to do…”

I held my spear aloft as the air quieted. Streams of mana that only I could see gathered around me as I began to move. Each motion, from the swaying of my tails to the slightest flutter of my sleeves, was done with methodical intentionality. But it was slow, so slow that I saw most of the sand snakes wander off in boredom in short order.

That was okay. They were free to watch, but they were never the intended audience. The kagura was a means by which a kannushi might commune with the divine. In other words, it was a form of prayer. And as prayer, it was never intended for mortal entertainment.

It was as I’d suspected. This world’s mana had lain stagnant for far too long. It wasn’t dead, for no world could sustain life without some mana, but it was scabbed and congealed. It flowed like thick lava or tar rather than clear water. No wonder the mages of this world were so weak. I felt a little like a plumber as I coaxed the stagnant ley lines to flow again.

Maybe this was what the red comet would do in the future, but on a much wider scale. I harnessed the mana little by little until I had enough for a measly seventh-tier spell, and that without ever tapping into my own reserves. By now, the streams of mana encircled me, swirling around in thick weaves that were visible to the naked eye.

I heard gasps of surprise as these humans saw the building block of magic for the very first time. More than one went for their weapons, as if it’d help them. They were such jumpy folk; hadn’t I told them that the kagura was a form of magic?

I silently widened the area of effect before condensing the stream of mana into a swirling orb. Then, with great reverence, I knelt and placed the orb into the soil beneath. The ground took my offering, gathered from the world itself, like a hungry chick begging for food from its mother.

Seeing that I’d finished, Tyene bustled over. “What did you do? What was that?”

“Greater Sanctification. I turned the seventh-tier spell into a ritual via the kagura. Doing it this way takes longer, but I can increase the area of effect. As for what the spell does, it’s a rite of purification.”

“You purified… the ground? Like how the septa purifies offerings?”

“That’s a good way of looking at it. I can clear away curses, poisons, and negative karma. It’s so effective that earthbound spirits can be dispelled completely by accident.”

“But… Why? Sunspear is not tainted ground, thank you very much.”

“Maybe not in the spiritual sense, but physically? Your wells are murky and some of the food your people eat is spoiled.”

“You decided to… clean the city…?”

“Go, check the wells and pull me a cup,” Oberyn waved a servant off. “Are you trying to tell us something, Charlie?”

“Not particularly,” I shrugged. It wasn’t their fault their medieval society was backwards as fuck. “You asked for a demonstration and I wanted a spell that was both useful and wouldn’t be too dangerous to use in the middle of a crowd.”

“You did all that just to clean water?” Andrey the knight asked. Nominally, he’d been training with Ser Daemon Sand since dawn, but had actually been watching Elia and me.

“Ritual magic is impressive not because of what it can do, but how it is done,” I explained patiently. “I purified the water, cleaned all the shit and piss, and cleansed any spoiled food for the entirety of Sunspear, Shadow City included.”

“And you’ve yet to use that spear. Is that for decoration or do you know how to use it?”

“I practice spearmanship on my own, Ser Andrey. Like I said, I much prefer to battle stories and stars than men.”

“Well, come spar with me, Master Fox,” he taunted. “You’ll learn nothing by stabbing the air.”

I sighed. He’d been on about this for days now. He was annoying, but at first, his antics were a little cute. I’d mapped out the tangled web of relationships over the past few days.

He, like Ser Daemon, was clearly in love with the Dornish princess and saw me as a threat. Unfortunately, whereas his fellow knight took cues from Oberyn and knew to keep his mouth shut, he couldn’t seem to resist challenging me to a “spar” every chance he got.

“You’re not going to stop asking for a spar, are you, Ser Andrey?”

“Why not? You seem eager to show off your magic, but I’ve yet to see you use that spear. Or is that just a walking stick to you?”

I looked to Oberyn, who shrugged ambivalently. He wasn’t the type to rescue me, especially since he knew I needed no assistance. Nor did he think I’d execute the young knight for being a lovesick fool. In the end, so long as he thought no one would die, it was all entertainment to him.

I respected that. Annoying in this instance, but it was a very yokai-ish mentality to have. And, seeing how he was their prince, if he didn’t see fit to move, no one else would, either.

I shoved my spear into my inventory. “Very well, ser. You shall have your spar.”

“Your actions don’t suit your words. What will you fight with if not your spear?” he asked, satisfied but confused.

I headed over to the curtain wall that enclosed Sunspear. Along the wall were several racks of weapons, each blunted for practice. “We’ll use blunt weapons, obviously. Did you intend to draw live steel against a guest?”

He coughed awkwardly at the implication. “O-Of course not. Fine, pick your weapon.”

I examined the racks for a moment. I took my time, seemingly examining the spears. Truthfully, I felt that fighting a mortal was rather… Gauche? Excessive? It was most certainly in poor taste, like Superman punting an infant. Still, I couldn’t deny that he was asking for it.

I could just snap his silly, little sword with my bare hands and slap him unconscious, but I didn’t want that kind of dominating performance. I rather liked it here; I didn’t want to breed so much resentment that my presence caused trouble for the Martells. He needed to be taught a lesson, yet in a way that was funny rather than scary.

I had an idea. I picked up one spear, tested its weight, and then reached for another. And another. And another. And another. Until soon, I had eleven of them held in my arms like firewood.

“Are you sure, Ser Andrey? This is your last chance to back off. No one will call you craven for avoiding a spar against an okami,” I warned him a final time, knowing well his answer.

“Just pick a spear already,” he demanded impatiently.

“Very well then.” I grabbed all eleven spears and held them out, one in each hand and all nine tails. I placed my left foot forward in something vaguely approximating a combat stance. “Come, ser, acquit yourself well.”

“What? What the hell are you doing?”

“You look surprised. I have selected my weapons. The spar can begin whenever you desire.”

“You have eleven spears!”

“I do,” I nodded proudly, feeling as stupid as I probably looked. “Behold, the undefeated fox style of spearmanship!”

“That’s not a real style!”

“Says you. Are you the fox? Or am I? I say it is the fox style, ser. Who are you to mock my culture? Now, come, ser! Face me like a man!”

“I-You-Argh! Fine!” He tossed his own sword to the side and picked up a greatsword off the rack.

That was… a good choice. The best choice would have been to avoid poking the mobile spear wall, but a greatsword was the least bad option otherwise. I didn’t know how much experience he had with it, he only ever had a bastard sword strapped to his hip, but it was the weapon specifically designed for sweeping aside multiple spears.

Then, the “spar” began. He roared, though in confusion or rage, I couldn’t tell, and rushed me. He must have thought I could not put much strength in my tails because he swept his sword in a wide arc to cover his entry. His form was quite nice, as expected of a man trusted to guard the princess.

That was, of course, false. A kitsune’s tails were both extremely dextrous and durable, and that wasn’t counting the fact that my defensive stats were much higher than my offensive stats. I made a show of interlocking three of my tails to block the sweep before jabbing towards his throat, armpit, groin, and inside knee, all at the same time.

He hissed with pain as he skipped back. Caution now replaced the rage. He’d instinctively turned his torso to redirect the throat shot against his gorget, but everything else had landed. Already, I could see him shuffling with a bit of a limp.

I groaned internally. This was another reason I’d been avoiding sparring with anyone. Momonga could bodily pick up and toss a grown ice dragon and I was physically much stronger than a full caster like him. Controlling that kind of strength didn’t come easy. Blunted spear or no, I was striking with a lot more force than I’d intended.

“Sorry about that,” I apologized with a sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to hit quite so hard. We can call that the end if you’d like.”

“This isn’t over,” he spat. If nothing else, he had grit.

His following attempts were better, but mostly because I pulled back more of my tails and only ever struck with two or three at a time. Though this did let him last longer, he made zero progress towards actually hitting me. Fights did often come down to effective range and there was simply no way for him to close this gap.

Eventually, he tuckered himself out and I swept his leg from under him. I poked his neck and Oberyn called the match.

I put the spears away and began to head inside. Soon, I heard the pitter patter of sandals on sandstone. “So, was that truly the ‘undefeated fox style?’”

I turned to the princess, who looked mildly amused by it all. Garin and Tyene followed close behind. “What makes you think it’s not?”

“You only ever said you had one spear, the Ame no Whatsit.”

“Ame no Nuboko. But yes, that was indeed the ‘undefeated fox style.’ After all, I just made it up and so it has never suffered a defeat. And what am I if not a fox?”

“Why do all that?” Garin asked, frowning. “My friend, I am no warrior, but even I can tell that it was a farce.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him so I decided to play a little,” I replied with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll be angry, and people will probably mock him. In turn, he can say he faced the ‘undefeated fox style,’ something no other can claim. In the end, it will all pass as gossip and jest soon enough.”

“You don’t want to be known as a great warrior?”

“No, of course not. You might start expecting things of me.”

X

Oberyn Martell

I did not ride atop a fox; I rode atop a storm. Blue flames blazed beneath my feet as Sunspear shrank below me. It was a cold flame that did not burn, though I was sure that could change in an instant. If I had any doubts about his claim, they were gone now. This was the god of foxes, as far above his furry subjects as the Seven must be above men.

Ahead of us, a crow flew freely. It was white and gold, and left a trail of shimmering light behind. Not two minutes ago, it had been the hairclip on Charlie’s head. He’d called it the Yatagarasu, a World Item which never failed to find its target. It was beautiful, much like everything else about my new friend.

We soon descended upon the stretch of land promised him. It was as barren as the surrounding desert. Not even a shrub decorated it, nor could it be mined nor farmed. For a moment, I feared he would grow upset over its emptiness though he’d promised he did not mind.

I dismounted and held out the deed. There were two copies, proof that house Martell had made an agreement with a god. It was quite possibly the most important piece of parchment in Westeros. “Here. This is the deed to this land, along with a map marking the borders.”

He turned back into a man and took the deed. “Thanks, now show me exactly where the corners are. I want you to be here when I fence off the territory so there are no disagreements in the future.”

“Very well, what will you do with it?”

“Nothing that puts Dorne at risk. I just want to make a wall so no one gets inside without permission. Some of the things I plan on growing here can be dangerous to humans.”

So saying, we walked the perimeter of his new land. When we’d finished, he struck the butt of his spear into the earth.

I saw yet more magic. Stone grew from the sands in the precise location we’d stepped. It sprouted like a row of trees, forming a wall about the height of a man’s chest. At equal distance starting from the corner where we stood, the stone rose an extra two feet, forming a pillar that ended in an elegantly tiled roof. It looked to be a place for lanterns in the night.

The whole thing was clearly ornamental, right up to the gate overseen by two, stone lions. This wall couldn’t stop Elia, never mind a determined thief. And yet, the casual display of magic made me very glad to be his friend.

Charlie did not destroy. He neither demanded tribute nor worship. His magic had only ever been used to shelter my niece and daughter, clean the city, or build this wall. But I could only assume the inverse would also be possible. 

If he could summon a feast from thin air, how many spears and armors could he forge with but a word? If he could purify wells, could he not also poison them on a whim? And if he could raise this ornamental wall, then did castles have any meaning? Or would he simply command the earth to swallow up all obstacles in his way?

I had a feeling I knew the answer. The waters and the earth would obey this man. No, this god. Maybe the “god of foxes” was no more than the god of woodland beasts, but a god he was, and he towered over all of Dorne as surely as men towered over foxes.

“What sorts of plants will you grow? You said some things can be dangerous for men.”

“Oh, stuff like this,” he replied. He reached into a yawning void and withdrew a flower. It was a rose, except each petal flickered like fire and the core shone with every color of the rainbow. “This here is called Loki’s mischief. Believe it or not, the flower is not on fire.”

“Then what is it?” I asked curiously. “It’s beautiful. I would ask for one to take back to Ellaria, but…”

“But she’d die in agony. The ‘fire’ you see is actually particulates of poisonous powder generated from within the petals. The way it blows in the wind and the orange-red color makes it look like flames.”

I took a healthy step back. For all my love of poisons, I wanted nothing to do with a poison a god might consider dangerous. “And what are its effects? I take it you didn’t bring me here just to poison me.”

“Of course not, that’d be a waste of perfectly good Loki’s mischief. These flowers are quite rare, thank you. Their name is a play on words. Loki is the Norse god of mischief and lies. His name is said to come from the word ‘luk,’ which refers to knots, loops, and entanglements.”

“So it is a fire that does not burn, and so a lie. But the poison itself is deadly anyway,” I observed. “He must be a cruel god for such mischief.”

“He can be,” Charlie agreed, “but the flower has nothing to do with Loki personally. The ones who named it thought it was clever because the word ‘logi’ can mean fire, and it sounds similar to the god’s name. So, this flower is also sometimes called the falsefire rose.”

“You still haven’t said what the poison does.”

“If enough of the poison touches your skin, or is consumed, you will begin to hallucinate. You will not literally burn, for this rose is not made of fire, but you will feel as if you are being burned alive. This imaginary flame will consume you, until your mind convinces itself that you have already died.”

“That… That is a very cruel poison. Why would you want something like that?”

“Alchemy. It is a common ingredient in many products that influence the senses. For example, there are potions that can allow a man to detect lies or to pierce illusions,” he said. He then plucked a petal and ate it. “It’s also a common garnish in different dishes from Svartalfheim, provided you’re strong enough to resist the poison, of course.”

“Of course…”

I watched him “terraform” the desert. There was a new word, mostly because I would have laughed at anyone who suggested such a thing was possible. But here I was, watching the impossible again. The sand churned. From deep below, fresh soil rose up, inexplicably fertile and loamy.

Then, stone pathways formed from the gate, partitioning the area into different sectors. The plants began to grow. Some, I recognized, while others were clearly magical. This “falsefire rose” was but one of many mysterious plants here.

Yet, the plants he cherished most were a type of beans called “soybeans.” I had no idea why. They were completely mundane. I tasted one straight from the pod. It was mild, slightly sweet, but nothing special. I said so, and he stared at me as if I had committed blasphemy. I noted this plant as something of immense cultural worth to his people.

Finally, he began another dance. This time, he said he was connecting a permanent enchantment to the ley lines, whatever that meant. I simply leaned back and appreciated the grace that no mortal could copy.

When he finished, he had me try to reach past the wall. There was an invisible barrier there where none had been before. With a few words and a light stroll, he’d turned this barren wasteland into a garden more flourishing than the Water Gardens. In ten minutes, he’d fortified his new home to be truly unassailable.

Once again, I was reminded that it would be good to have him as a friend. Had he been any normal man, I would have offered Tyene’s hand to him, but I doubted he’d accept. Doran had made the mistake of playing political games with him already, and we were now paying with this land.

This garden, as beautiful as it was, was a warning. I did not know what sort of punishment he would exact should he be slighted again, but I had no intention of finding out. A god who valued freedom would not take kindly to me making the choice for my daughters.

Still, he and Tyene were close. Arianne, too. If something came of it, then Dorne would be greater than ever. Surely he would not begrudge a father and uncle from nudging things along.

Author’s Note

I envision the kagura of a kannushi class to be something akin to ritualized spells in D&D. For those unaware, a D&D spellcaster can turn a spell into a ritual by spending 10 minutes casting it. This is useless in combat, but can be used to save a caster’s spell slots.

The kagura, for the most part, is the Shinto-flavored version of this for kannushi. Many spells, even those that cannot normally be ritual-casted, can be turned into rituals with the class.

I like the idea that Charlie’s blessings are very valuable, but seemingly underwhelming. A city without disease or risk of plague is ridiculous, but “clean water and no mold” isn’t really something people can weigh like gold. 

You guys can correct me, but I think Daemon and Andrey are supposed to be quite good at fighting? I don’t think they’re anywhere as good as Jamie, Oberyn, etc. but they’re pretty accomplished swordsmen in their own right, right?

Oberyn is smart enough to realize that what can be done can also be undone. Funny enough, he thinks the “god of foxes” is a minor deity. After all, foxes aren’t anything special. Surely no truly great god would have such a simple domain.

Animal Fact: Octopi are kinda fucked up. Not in the “They’re super badass,” kinda way, more in the “God above hates them,” kinda way.

For starters, octopi are not immune to their own ink clouds. The reason they jet away isn’t just because they need to escape their predators. They need to escape their own clouds or they can suffocate.

Second, octopi have donut-shaped brains. Their esophagus passes through this donut. This means that if their beaks fail to break something down enough, they can swallow food that is too big for their esophagus and hurt themselves. Imagine accidentally giving yourself brain damage from swallowing too hard.

Lastly, octopi have three hearts. I mentioned this before. One is for their main body and the other two funnel blood to their gills. What I failed to mention before was that if an octopus swims too fast, its central heart stops beating. They literally cannot maintain a sprint for more than a few seconds because it’ll kill them.