Book 3: Chapters 11-15 [Edited]

Chapter 11 - Finish Line

Just as water holds greater value than gold for a thirsty man, so too does silence in a world filled with incessant noise. Cultivate your silence, contemplate deep thoughts, and you will be able to hear more. To observe without distraction.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

Continuing onwards at a rapid clip, uncaring of stealth, or the better part of caution, I made my way, ever upwards, with the clank and jangle of metal echoing my footsteps. No adversary presented itself to me, giving me time to review recent events. The last encounter with the giant scorpion worried me. Perhaps more than it should have. Not that it was a close call, or anything of that matter, rather, it was my lack of self-control.

It was not ingrained reflex, born from conflict, or intense training that had moved my arm to block the giant scorpion's stinger, rather it had been something else. My arm had moved of its own volition, admittedly to defend me, angling my shield perfectly, blocking the scorpion's attack completely. However, it was still most worrying nonetheless. Was I willing to cede a little control in order to have an automatic means of defense? Where would it end? Was I slowly being taken over?

The voices soothed me. Promising that all was well. I always had ultimate control, whether it was with my magic or my fate. It was important to think positively, especially in dire circumstances. Perhaps I should just think of this as an upgrade of sorts. The Mimic, after all, had no will of its own, so the voices now told me, whispering their assurances. However, it still functioned at a very basic level with its instincts for self-preservation very much intact. It was still programmed on an instinctual level to protect itself, and by extension, me.

Wanting to confirm the promise of the voices, I moved my shield arm, making sure that I had complete control. Summoning and dismissing my shield multiple times, I reaffirmed that it was indeed I who was ultimately in control. Like always, it was a disturbing sight, to see tendrils of matter grow out of my arm before forming a construction of thick wood and hard metal. Was it my imagination, or did the shield look a little more hefty, a little more solid in its constructions?

I tried to initiate mental communication with the Mimic, the alien creature that had bonded with me. I expected an attack of some sort, but was instead met only with silence. No words or alien impressions assaulted my senses, no communication. Though the power and convenience it brought were welcome, it was a relief to not have another voice to contend with in the halls of my mind. So relieved was I that my feet stopped their onward progression, and I had to shake myself out of the fugue that had settled onto me.

The thing was dead, truly dead, in the way that counted most, at least. I had confirmed what the voices had told me, the thing was basically in a vegetative state. Therefore, it was mine to control, and not the other way round. Who knows what it planned for me, had we joined together in mental communion? Which led me to consider, if we had indeed bonded, would I have remained essentially me? Was that not, in a way, a form of death? With so many things pulling me this way and that, I counted this as a victory. An act of defiance against Iasis herself, and, by proxy, the gods of this world.

Resuming my onward march, I was determined to not be sidetracked and defeated by negative thoughts and to focus on my singular goal of getting out of here. Philosophizing on the nature of self and so forth could wait until after I had returned to surface lands, the Bright, as the recently departed Zala had quaintly put it.

More of the lichen had grown here, and the purples in the walls were being overrun with the greens of it. The type of creature I began to encounter started to change. Instead of them all being universally blind, some of them had large disc-like eyes that glowed in the dark. For some reason, I decided to take this as a positive sign that I was getting closer to my goal, the surface.

The wind, the guide that had picked up Zala’s torch, was growing stronger too, another positive sign. In the overall ledger of my current circumstance, accounts were slowly being balanced toward the black.

Feeling that I had made decent progress, I sat down on the hard stone floor, placing my helm to my side. Although I felt my body was far from tired, my mind was reaching its limit. I searched for a state as free from conscious thought as possible, but failed abysmally. I had made a promise to myself to not be sidetracked by negative thoughts, but the reality was that my mind was too cluttered by a myriad of concerns and worries to make good decisions. Taking a quick break, I decided that slowly unpacking them now would be the better option, while I could. It turned out that digesting events and putting things into order helped me to relax.

I idly traced an armored hand through some of the green glowing lichen, Beron’s Dream, as this world deigned to name it. The tingling sensation returned, vaguely pleasant in that it helped to break up the general monotony and served to distract my mind. How easy it would be to fall asleep here, I wondered. Shaking my head, I quickly dismissed that disastrous thought!

Was that thought even my own? Was even the lichen working against me? A sudden spike of paranoia flared hot as I scrambled to my feet. I stilled myself, slowly forcing my breathing to resume its natural pace as my heart pumped wildly in my chest.

Beron’s Dream indeed! I debated whether I should dispose of my collected samples, then decided it would make no difference, surrounded as I was by the ominous lichen. They might make for a valuable alchemical ingredient on the surface, as I doubted anyone, apart from the local Troglodytes I had encountered, ventured into this deep realm. At the very least, I decided to refrain from physical contact with the lichen.

Time to move on.

Adjusting my bevor, which had begun to loosen, I rolled my shoulders and started up once again. One foot in front of another, I walked at a steady pace that ate up the distance until I finally came to fork. From the left, I could feel the flowing air caress my cheek and from the right I swore I heard the echo of… cats fighting? A ridiculous thought. Still, the goddess had suggested that I should choose the left path. Despite my suspicions of Iasis’ words, it was still the clear and obvious choice.

Choosing the left, I continued my slow ascent from this surreal and alien realm, my way lit now by more than just the light of my Holy Aura. A part of me almost missed Zala’s inane chatter, and accompanying this thought came a small twinge of guilt. No doubt she would have warned me of the dangers of Beron’s Dream, not that I would have chosen a different path.

Almost imperceptibly, as step followed step, the strange purple and green glows began to disappear as the path inclined ever upwards. Air was moving faster now, more than just the ghost of a breeze, cool against my face as it blew past me. Without the mineral and lichen glow, the ambience outside my circle of light was reduced to a dark gray.

Dull colored crystal growths began to appear as sharp thin squarish blocks with odd spikes, lining the walls. Milky white, they sullenly refracted my emitted light. A quick Identify later revealed them to be simple salt crystals, but the how and why of their formation here was a mystery to me. I smashed one out of the wall with a stiff kick, to keep as a souvenir and seasoning for later.

I resumed my march uphill through this dark pathway. Was it me, or was it that the air in this place, where the salt crystals bloomed, had begun to lighten, making the atmosphere less oppressive?

The path grew wider, finally giving me enough room to swing the proverbial cat. There was a whistle now to the wind, bringing with it, I hoped, the promise of potential sunlight and sky. Soon, stone gave way to familiar white sand and I knew that I had almost escaped my dark hell.

There, ahead of me, was a patch of lightened gray that I rushed to with a new joy. The gray had been refracted light from the minerals embedded in the rocky walls, however, when I looked to my left I was finally gifted with the first hints that the light was not my own. A singular speck, a glorious speck, of blessed natural light shone gloriously like a faraway star.

I continued on, at a fast jog, as the speck grew ever larger. Creatures moved away from me, small things that looked like desert rats with large elephantine ears. They chirped in annoyance at having to give way to me, an interloper in their kingdom.

Natural light, a soft silver, contested with my Aura in providing illumination. With the singular goal of escape, I kept on walking, until there was no more ceiling, just the vast expanse of starlit heavens. No longer was I treading the ancient darkness within the bowels of the earth, but the pleasant dark of the old night.

I knelt in the cool sands of the Whispering Wastes, feeling a certain sense of dry relief. Then the reality of it all hit me. I had, at last, emerged.

Chapter - 12 Return

On the fairest of morns, mariners whisper of glimpsing Heaven's Pillar across the shimmering expanse of the Glass Fire Sea. I have beheld it with my own eyes. During a voyage to document the courage of those seafarers who dare the perilous waves, I saw it rise up from beyond the horizon. Truly, it stands as a shadowy column, stretching toward the heavens, as its namesake suggests.

It is doubtful that nature alone sculpted such a wonder, yet its origin remains shrouded in mystery - perhaps it is a creation of the gods themselves or simply created by the hands of men? Its true essence remains unknown, for to date, no soul has traversed the Glass Fire and returned to tell the tale.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

Being alone with no companions, under an alien sky, brought with it a minor spell of agoraphobia, as my world expanded with the heavens above. It took me a few moments to gather myself as I took in the breathtaking view. Under the midnight stars, I started the mental maintenance of sorting out the tangled knot of my emotions and taking general stock. Looking across the dunes of Wastes, I saw a familiar straight, dark line, cutting across the silver sands in the distance.

It was the Samasutum, the Green Road, the only familiar landmark in the desert, and the only hope of reuniting with my companions. I have never been great with judging distance, as the translation from abstract measurements to a good approximation was a difficult task for me. Even so, I estimated the distance to the river to be around half a day’s walk. With the greater part of my reserves of Stamina remaining, my body was willing, but my mind sought rest, stretched to the limit as it was. I longed for the healing void that only true slumber could bring.

However, to sleep so close to the gates of my personal hell would be a fool’s choice, and night would be the best time to travel. With an almost full moon high in the sky, it would be easy to navigate across the sands. And so, with a mental prod, I began my tiring trek. I was driven by a will to live, and a fear of death, and underlying all of that, an ambition to be something more. After all, I was brought to this world for a reason, but it would be up to me to find my destiny. Or to create one, free from the meddling of those more powerful than I.

So I plodded on, up and down the dunes, while the shifting sands under my feet sapped my Stamina at a greater rate than I had thought it would. Climbing a particularly difficult dune, I spent a minute or so just getting my breath back. It was no doubt cold, but my exertions fuelled an inner fire that kept me warm.

A wondrous, if a little worrying, sight filled my eyes as I looked across the vast expanse before me. In the pale light, I spied a group of creatures cutting through the air, a meter or so above the sands. Diamond-shaped bodies that were flat and thin made, and twin tails, whisking through the air, resembling a school of manta rays.

The expanse played merry havoc with my already poor sense of distance, so I could not truly judge the size of the manta ray analogues correctly. Also, they were well beyond the range of my Identify, not that it would have given me any useful insights. Still, it would have served to satisfy some of my curiosity and, at the very least, would give a name to these creatures.

Once they had disappeared far over the dune, I resumed my plodding walk toward the Green Road. Careful not to stumble, I made my descent down the slope of the dune before making another climb up the next. This pattern repeated itself until the first light broke over the horizon to the east.

The silver of the Green Road changed into a yellowish orange and the stars of the night sky were dispelled with the new pastel dawn. As time passed, these colors, in turn, gave way to a clean azure blue as the sun made her presence known.

Even at this early hour, the cold of the night was swiftly being overcome. I was grateful for the scraps that remained of my tatty robe, for they would provide some protection from the sun’s rays.

However, with my high Constitution, I was pretty sure I could survive, even in a furnace, for a good amount of time. The dry desert heat did, however, sap what moisture I had, and I had to drink often and deeply from my supplies. The water I had acquired from the underground lake tasted acrid and unpleasant, the metallic notes reminding me of the taste of old blood.

Then I noticed something odd as I drank a mouthful of stale, leathery water. I observed a thin, wavy line that reached up into the sky. Initially, I believed it to be a mirage, a deception of the eyes on the brain. However, unlike a mirage, as I got closer, the vision remained. It was a column of smoke, and here in the Whispering Wastes, it could mean only one thing, the presence of people.

Encouraged with new purpose, my stride lengthened as I walked towards the source of the smoke. An hour passed, or it could have been two, and my eyes were greeted with a flashing glint of something reflecting the sun’s light. A minute or so later, there was another glint, this time closer. I thought that this could be the flash of metal, and here on the sands of this desert, the presence of metal meant the presence of people.

Worried now, I paced myself and watched my Stamina. I wanted to be able to face whoever it was, and have the ability to swing my weapon a few times. I played with the idea of simply stopping and observing to conserve my Stamina. However, this thought was born from my old way of life.  My soft way of life. An excuse to procrastinate when facing a difficult or delicate situation. My Stamina was a non-factor, as a quick glance at my Status confirmed. At around three-quarters full, there was plenty of gas in the tank, so to speak. I would act and investigate.

Perhaps it was my Endure skill, but I felt the extreme temperatures of the desert much less. In full armor, no less. Another hour passed, and I saw dots moving towards me on an intercept course, and the glint of exposed metal flashed again, this time markedly closer. Long hours passed, and the dots resolved into indistinct figures.

Wait, was one of them waving at me? I squinted my eyes, trying to confirm what I suspected. Was the heatwave over the sands playing tricks with my eyes? Should I even wave back? The figures were growing clearer, as if becoming a higher resolution. I fancied I saw a familiar blonde on an even more familiar frame.

After a good while, the larger figure detached itself from the group, coming at me at a loping run that ate up the distance between us. It could have only been Kidu, as he whooped and hollered in a booming voice that could have only belonged to my old companion.

Exhausted, both mentally and physically, I could not return his enthusiasm. I could only plod on, drawing to the next fated moment, my mind a whirl with the fact of the reality before me. Eventually, we made our way to each other across the scalding sands.

“By the blood of the gods! It is you!” exclaimed the wild man, running up to me and clasping my shoulder. He was almost quivering with joy and excitement. Like a dog that had been too long without its master.

My voice betrayed me, a stutter I did not know I had, stopping me from formulating a response. I simply nodded in acknowledgment before forcing out a reply.

“H… how long has it been?” The weakness in my voice was a surprise, even to me.

“five days and four nights since the Earth Dragon came… Just as the warmlander woman dreamed,” began Kidu in a rumbling voice that was cut off suddenly by a childish squeal of delight.

“I told you! It’s Gil! ” an annoying high-pitched voice exclaimed, a voice that could have only belonged to Larynda.

“You will have to tell me all… later,” I panted, before taking the last swig of water from one of my recently acquired water skins.

I looked at Larynda, who was almost bouncing with enthusiasm, pointing at me and whispering to Cordelia, her energy almost infectious. Cordelia met my eyes, with a beatific grace, before she went down on bended knee in the hot sand.

“It is just like the vision, praise be the Goddess,” she intoned in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, as if she doubted the reality before her. That, more than anything, stirred a little phantom of worry in my gut.

A zealot doubting their faith was as dangerous as one in the throes of religious experience. Even now, was Avaria still pulling at the threads, like a spider at the center of its web? Would it be best if I ended Cordelia here and now? Yes, it would be a waste but…

“…for the better part of the day we rode the great worm before, exhausted, it sought the deeper sands. For the first time in my life, I was lost…” Kidu continued with his explanation.

“But thanks to me, I led us back to the river! I got water for us when we got all hot and thirsty! Then… then…” chirped Larynda, in what she probably thought of as a helpful manner.

“We thought that you would head back to the Green Road. We found Pakum there, along with Elwin. By the grace of the Goddess, none of them were injured, apart from a few minor hurts. Truly a miracle. Now, the pair wait for us with nary a scratch on them, with the main part of our supplies, closer to the Samasutum. It was Kidu who ordered them to keep a signal fire lit at all times,” the warrior woman clarified, giving a nod of respect and acknowledgment to the large man.

“After rejoining the caravan for supply, we spent the next day searching for you. In a moment of weakness, I feared you lost. Then that same night, in my most troubled sleep, Avaria gave me a vision of you fighting the dread minions of the underworld. I saw you walking here along the sands, and so as Avaria showed me, it has come to pass.”

Cordelia had been receiving visions, again? I could not help but feel worried. Did this put me into Avaria’s debt? A being that I truly despised, and the source of all of my troubles.

“Minions of the underworld!? Hah! If that is true, you go to places where no normal mortal may walk. Your legend only grows. If only I could have been with you… not that riding a Guardian is not also worthy of song. If only I had learned more of the womanly arts, I could make an epic of our deeds!” guffawed Kidu, his laugh throaty.

“I will tell you all about it, but I would feel better if I did it in a setting that was a touch more comfortable.” I inserted, hoping that they got my drift. I still needed a little time to process and digest this little reunion.

Sensing my intent, Cordelia was quick to support me. “Of course, Hera… Gilgamesh. Come now, let us be on our way. There will be time enough for your account later,” she said, her voice filled with new authority.

What were the chances? To be attacked by a great worm, only to be separated from my companions, and then to reunite with them in this vast expanse? A part of me almost expected a gain in my Luck attribute, such were the odds against this fortuitous turn of events. It all seemed so very scripted, like I was indeed part of a game.

It all seemed, well, rather convenient. This could only be Divine intervention, again. Looking back, the whole encounter with Iasis had a certain element of theatre to it bordering on pantomime. It had been orchestrated. Only through the strength of my arms, my magical might, and my own good fortune did I prevail. Or, so I liked to believe.

Though ultimately glad that things had turned out the way they did, I could not quite shake off a feeling of dread. Beneficial, or not, there was the question of free will against the greater powers. It was a dangerous thing when the eyes of the gods were upon you.

Chapter 13 - Excuses

The Festival of the Undrawn, also known as the Contest of the Saints, is an annual event held in the City of Dust, Al-Lazar. Warriors from all over the continent, and occasionally from beyond, travel here to test their mettle against each other.

From this pool of brave fighters, the Shareholder families of the great city frequently select their guards and entourage. In the fabled times of yore, it is whispered that certain noble families ventured beyond the confines of tradition, choosing their consorts from among these gallant fighters to fortify their dynasties.

Various businesses of the city often sponsor a fighter to bring these minor houses of trade some measure of prestige. Winning the tournament is a tremendous honor. Yet, for the Shareholder families, the triumph of a fighter they have chosen is more than a mere victory. It is an investment of prestige that pays dividends in influence at the city’s Council, giving their voice greater weight, especially in matters of war.

- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.

In a rare moment of introspection, my thoughts danced across the fading memories of my old world, as together, we walked on warming sands. At this juncture of my life, no doubt many of my old circle of friends would falsely label me a sociopath, others would hit closer to the mark of a psychopath, and the even less imaginative would call me a narcissist. I would prefer to think of myself as something far more noble, I was a survivor. Evidence to this fact, I had survived all of the ridiculous trials and tribulations that this game had thrown at me. Who cared about those fair-weather friends anyway? I doubt any of them would have been of any use to me in this world, I thought to myself, eyes focusing to the front.

Kidu led the way ahead of us, his long stride eating up the distance. Every now and again he would stop and wait for us to catch up, a vague tic of annoyance occasionally playing about on his rocky features. Worried, he had offered me a Healing potion. I refused his offer as politely as I could, my magic more than enough to see to my well-being. Shrugging his massive shoulders, he explained to me that they had made a temporary camp while they had searched for me. According to him, the caravan was a day’s travel ahead, and Laes had agreed to wait only for a week before he would have to resume travel. It was lucky that they had found me when they did.

Along the way, Cordelia had whispered prayers over and over, eyes closed as she offered her supplication to her goddess. I felt a tingle of radiance, holy energy, wash over me. It was a similar sensation to my own Heal spell, but there was no holy song nor angelic light. Out of a corner of one eye, I saw Larynda try and copy Cordelia, only to completely fail. This drew a beatific smile from the Temple Knight, satisfied as she was that her goddess had answered her prayer. It was more than the words of a chant that gave one control of magic, I concluded.

An hour or two passed, and the distinctive shape of a huge Xaruar was now clear to see. Another hour and we were close enough that I could hear the river. We had arrived at my companions’ temporary camp. A man wrapped out in a collection of loose flowing cloth walked out with a sauntering gait to meet us.

“Well… well… if it isn’t the man blessed by the luck of all the gods. Avaria’s tits, you really did survive getting gobbled down by a Guardian! Not that I doubted for a moment!” Elwin half-shouted in obvious joy, before he ran the last few paces to give me an uncomfortable hug. I had never been comfortable with public displays of affection, preferring to keep an appropriate social and physical distance away from people.

“What’s with… your attire? I almost didn’t recognize you…” I inquired once he was done with his public outburst.

Holding up his arms to display his new garments, he began to explain. “These… a bit hot now around these parts. The Raven folk started wearing ‘em, and I thought why not? They looked a bit hot, but surely they can’t be worse than a thick padded jacket. In fact, surprisingly cool. Course, you look as if a giant sandworm swallowed you up and spat you out!” he added with a grin.

Unable to think of a witty rejoinder, I just gave him a weak smile in response. I took a quick glance at what was left of my brown robe, my garment that had survived encounters with monsters and gods. It was definitely on its last legs.

Elwin, I knew, was speaking the truth, I really did look a mess. As for the Rogue, he was wearing garb that was a close approximation to the desert clothes of Bedouin tribes of Earth. The loose-fitting cloth helped the air to circulate, hence keeping the body cool. These clothes also protected people from the hot winds and dust storms. I would have to see about acquiring some once we rejoined the Ravens.

Still, a part of me could not help but feel that it looked a little silly on him. He looked, at least to my eyes, like a tourist trying on the local costume. As for Larynda, it seemed that the heat did not touch her in the slightest. No doubt due to her recent mastery of the element of water.

Cordelia, as always, looked beautiful, despite being in full armor. Only a single line of sweat on her delicate brow was the evidence of the heat or physical exertion.

It was actually the stolid Kidu that worried me the most. He was sweating buckets, his dreadlocks drenched. The heat was most definitely taking its toll on him. Larynda offered him a water flask, which he proceeded to gulp down. It was to his great credit that he did not offer a word of complaint, and inside I found myself respecting his stoicism. Or was it simply a form of youthful bravado? Hopefully, he would not suffer from heatstroke.

Obsequiously, Pakum walked up to me and offered a bow.

“Welcome back, Honored One,” he offered in a nasal voice, bowing deeply.

He held both his hands out, and for a stupid moment, I thought that he was waiting for a tip. An awkward few seconds later, I realized he wanted to relieve me of the silly amount of water skins and bags I had about my person. Gratefully, I fulfilled his wish. What was surprising was that I barely felt the difference. Had I turned into the human variant of a pack mule?

Much lighter of spirit, I started towards the river to splash my face, only to spy Patches staked down next to Pakum’s sleeping Xaruar and our mounts. A stab of guilt spiked through my heart, for I had barely spared a thought to my equine companion. Walking down to check on her, my hand unconsciously reached for treats inside my pack that weren’t there. Shaking my head at my old man moment, I settled for giving her a good stroke. Delighted, she gave my gauntlets a good licking.

“Forgive me, Master Gilgamesh, but the caravan waits for us upriver. I fear that it is best that we rejoin with them,” suggested Cordelia from behind me.

Though I longed to just simply rest, I had an image to maintain. If Kidu could endure the heat then I could deal with a ride.

****

Up on my mount, I relished the vista before me. In the time I had spent under the earth, the desert had bloomed. Expanding from beyond the banks of the straight river was an explosion of life. The bleached sands had given way to lush a carpet of grass, and large horsetails that rivaled trees had sprung up. The land was so vibrant with life and raw vitality that every glance revealed movement. Animals had awoken from their annual slumber, frolicking among the greenery. Were it not for the endless expanse of barren sand at the edge of my vision, it would have made a mockery of the name, ‘The Whispering Wastes’.

Cordelia and Elwin rode ahead of us, and I rode alongside Kidu and Pakum on their Xaruar. Behind the large proto-dragon, Larynda rode on Patches, a big smile on her face. Pakum had erected a large covering over the Xaruar, supported by poles attached to the saddle or howdah of the creature. This provided both him and our Hunter a measure of refuge against the sun.

Curious to the reasons for my salvation, I decided to ask Pakum a question, “Why did you not search for me while riding? Surely, that would have been the best way to go about it? And, just how were you able to find me anyways?”

It was then that the Xaruar decided to pause for a moment as if it was considering my question before chomping down on some new greenery. Pakum, annoyed, idly tapped his riding cane against the large creature's head, causing it to give up its snack.

“With all respect, Honored One, the sands where they found you, in that direction from the Samasutum, are treacherous. Not flat and hard like they are along the river. Uncle Abas says it is because of the roots of the old growth that the sand is different there. The sands beyond the river’s claim is different. Some is soft, some hard. Rocky in places, others not. The mounts would be more a liability than anything in the Wastes proper. In the Wastes, the sands are always shifting, making it difficult for horses to maintain their footing, exhausting them, or leading them to injury. Let alone one with a rider. Ramal here, more so,” he answered, pointing affectionately to the big lizard. “Your people would have been forced to walk them. Also, I would be beaten for risking the animals so. I hope that answers your first question to your satisfaction. It was a miracle that we were able to find you. I prayed for you every day,” he added with complete earnestness.

I had suspected something along those lines. Walking across the sands had indeed been a slog. The undulating dunes, rocky and gravelly at times, had been difficult, even for me, to traverse. This sort of terrain would have been difficult for the horses.

“And to your second question. Lady Dazerac, she had a revelation that you were alive and well. She told us where to look for you. Not that I doubted, of course. Ankhset’s apprentice would also have been able to sense you, too, of this I am sure,” he answered with a straightforward solemnity.

I found myself liking the kid. He answered directly, and there was nary a hint of deception or obfuscation about his manner. However, his answer to my second question was troubling, confirming Cordelia’s ramblings to be more than the exclamation of a believer going through a religious experience. It was indeed worrying that my “salvation” had been due to powers outside of my control. But, had it been more Cordelia or Larynda? Larynda, at the cost of some of my pride, I could stomach. Cordelia, on the other hand, meant that still, the goddess was pulling invisible strings as part of some inscrutable plan.

For a moment, it looked as though Larynda had something to add, but I turned away, pretending not to notice.. I simply could not deal with anything else at the moment. I needed time to unwind and decompress. Also, I was sure that she would find a way to tell me whatever was on her mind later anyway, as was the annoying nature of children.

Chapter 14 - Back on the Road

War is the result of a quandary to which no solution can be found.

- From the diary of Damien de Savant.

The air was moist, a juxtaposition to the dry desert breeze that came from the west. The new growth that had taken over this part of the sands could not completely hide the passage of the Ravens’s wagons. My new Tracking skill, low level as it was, gave me a greater clarity in my interpretation of the land. Little things that I had never noticed before, or paid little attention to, came to a stark focus as my eyes roved over them. Browning grass showed where a Xaruar had lain for the night, creating its bed from the crush of leaves. Broken stems here and hoofprints there told me of where the horses had been staked down for the night.

“There’s jus’ a bit further downright!” exclaimed Larynda, a bright and innocent smile brightening her features. The young half-elf looked carefree and I could see that a little of the permanent darkness and tension that had been about her was now gone.

I was just about to grunt a reply when I saw something moving under the folds of her loose clothes. For a moment, I thought that some new and alien horror would burst out of the little girl. I was to be partially right.

Brown beady eyes popped out, looking out at the world from just under the little girl’s chin. A whiskered nose on a soft-furred face sniffed at the air. Its nose turned in my direction and its little eyes caught sight of me. The rodent, sensing a dangerous presence, retreated under the folds of her clothes. It was the Whispermews, Larynda’s new pet.

“Stop that, Bubbles! Stay still, already!” chided Larynda, laughing gently as she did so.

“I see you are taking care of my gift,” I commented, rolling my shoulders to let loose a little of the tension.

“Yeah, he’s great! Stop that, you. Not you I mean,” she continued. “I think he’s just scared. He’s a really good boy and doesn’t usually act like this. And thanks for Bubbles, he really is the best!”

“Take good care of it… him. All life is important,” I returned lamely, wanting to end our conversation.

I looked towards the other members of my little team, Kidu and Pakum, but they both seemed to just ignore our little exchange. The boy's eyes were fixed on the path upriver, guiding his charge with his stick. Kidu was nibbling on a piece of jerky to while away the time, looking much like a man who was enjoying a pleasant safari.

I had told my companions a very highly edited version of my time beneath the earth. Something in the back of my mind told me that giving them the full uncensored version would not have been the wisest of choices. Noticing Elwin’s typical reaction to some of my accounts, I did not need much convincing.

There had been no encounter with a fell goddess, nor the harrowing divine ordeal that had come with that. It was one of those circumstances where the truth was far far less believable than a convenient lie. No, the tale I gave them simply involved me finding my way to the surface, fighting through an underground cave system filled with monsters and bloody-thirsty locals.

With the exception of Cordelia and Kidu, they received my account with various degrees of skepticism. However, for the most part, It was gladdening that they had looked for me. It almost gave me back my faith in this world’s people. Almost.

*

It was early morning when we finally rejoined the caravan. Along the sandy banks of the Green Road, a thin mist was struggling feebly against the rising desert sun. The vehicles of the train were arranged into a circular formation on the left bank of the river, a plume rising from a large cooking fire at its center. One of the scouts let out a cry, causing the caravan to bestir itself like an anthill under attack.

Once the commotion had died down, Laes and Khalam rode out to meet us, an equal mix of relief and disbelief. I had already played out this encounter a few times in my mind, and I was of two minds as to how I would deal with the Ravens.

I was under the impression that Laes had wanted to continue on to Al-Lazar, taking Larynda with him to fulfill his promise to Hamsa.

However, against his wishes, the small half-elf had been most obstinate, and her protestations had been backed up by a mountain of a man, a former, presumed, assassin, and a warrior-knight of the Goddess herself. In the end, a compromise was reached.

The caravan would wait a little way upriver, and my companions had been given a week to search for me. Anything more than a week would have meant that the sands had truly claimed me. It was a cold calculation, but an understandable one. Overall, I found myself respecting his choice. Still, a small part of it did not sit well with me.

It was very different when one being affected was you, and not some stranger who was half a world away.

“Master Gilgamesh, by the Goddess you have returned. I must confess that I harbored certain doubts. Rare are those who survive an encounter with a Guardian,” he studied my face, searching for answers. “Rarer still for one of them to come from so close to the Green Road. This year the Green Road has been especially strong and, running water, it is an anathema to them. What could have made a Sand Father… ”

“What indeed?” the old Guard Master Khalam added a little acerbically, giving me a knowing look. “I say that we…”

“Enough!” commanded Laes, his usual veneer of restraint and control vanishing like the morning mist. “Must you shame me so! We have talked enough of this. Enough, I say!”

“But Laes, my duty is to the train…” Khalam began to blurt like a child.

“And I am its leader. You would do well to not forget whose coin you take?”

“And what of signs!? You know I learned a little from my brother of the River God’s Pattern. It was how I rose high in the ranks. Nothing but misfortune dogs our trail and, Caravan Master Laes, you know well the reason why,” retorted the old man, bristling.

“Must you bring this up again, it is unseemly,” hissed Laes, growing ever more upset. I could see why. He was losing face in front of, what basically was, the hired help.

Gripping his reins tightly, Khalam seethed like a boy who had been censored by his teacher, but he held back a reply, instead shooting me another scathing glare. I had always felt that the snake had  borne a simmering resentment towards me, and this just cemented those feelings into fact.

“By the blessing of the Goddess, we have returned, Master Laes, Master Khalam. As it was foreordained,” interjected Cordelia cooly. Almost immediately the heat left Khalam, leaving him unbalanced.

“Mistress de Aserac, with all due respect…” he began before I decided to add my piece.

“I have it on good authority that the Guardians will not bother us,” I stated simply, causing the old Guard Master’s perpetual frown to deepen. The man really needed to learn to let things go.

“On what authority… would you presume that the…”

Laes placed a hand on Khalam’s shoulder, and didn’t say a word. His touch was not particularly heavy, nor violent in its nature, but it was finally enough to shut him up.

I relished my next words, “On the authority of the Goddess herself,” I stated simply as if I was making a note of the weather. It was a fact after all.

This caused everyone to pause for a moment. No doubt, coming from anyone else, these would be the words of a madman touched by the desert sun. These were, however, the words of a man touched by the Goddess, though which Goddess I had opted not to divulge. It felt good to turn the native’s backward thinking against them.

Laes gave his second a quick look before he bowed slightly. “If Master Gilgamesh says it is so… who are we to doubt the benevolence of the Goddess. Understand that as you place your trust in the Goddess, my people trust in me. I have a duty to them. I could wait no longer than a week. I hope you can understand this,” confessed the horse-faced man.

Had I not needed him and his people to get me to Al-Lazar, to my silly quest, I would have cut him from neck to navel, a feat I was sure that, with my current physical prowess, I could achieve.

“Your display of faith is most heartwarming,” replied Cordelia cooly, taking his near-blasphemy in her stride.

“Welcome Master Gilgamesh. Like me, there are others who are glad of your return,” finished the caravan master, gesturing to some familiar shapes that had started to walk out to meet us from the circle of caravans.

The familiar figures bridged the gap between us. Each face, etched with relief and palpable joy, belonged to people I knew well. Among them, one sight stood out, soothing the pain I endured. A pretty woman, eyes alight with happiness, covered her mouth in a joyful shriek before sprinting towards me.

Chapter 15 - Falsehood

The pursuit of the ultimate, perfect justice, above all, will simply lead to just more injustice.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

It was an emotional reunion. Abas Yar ran up to Pakum and gave him a gruff hug before ruffling his head proudly. Seeing this, I had to stop myself from doing the same to Dumuzi’s mop of hair as he, too, ran up to me. A second later, Catalina threw herself at me, disregarding the dirt and smell, and crushing herself against me. Relief filled me then, and almost for a moment, it felt like I had come home.

“You’re back… I always knew you would be back,” Catalina whispered passionately in my ear.

For some reason, her words brought me back to the reality of my situation. That I was stuck in this barbaric world, forced to fight, to risk my life… for what? Bitterness found its way, seeping in through the cracks of my heart and staining the happiness of this moment. A bitterness that I could feel growing into a sharper, more deadly emotion. Hate.

*

Optimism. It ran irresponsibly through the air of the train, infecting all of the workers with renewed vigor. People moved a touch faster, carried a little more, and all without Laes haranguing them to greater effort.

To survive an encounter with a Guardian was a heroic feat, to ride one, a thing of legends. Men looked at my companions and I with new respect, bordering now on awe. If there had been any doubt that I was a servant of the Goddess before, it had been laid to rest now.

From the general mood and snippets of conversation I overheard, my return was overwhelmingly viewed in a positive light. Except for some obvious outliers, it had convinced most of the Ravens that the gods were watching over us. I liked to convince myself that, had Laes decided to press on and abandon me, he would have faced a mutiny. In the coming days, I would have much time to mull over this, the thought stewing in my mind.

*

The next day the caravan set off, with two of the larger bull Xaruar at the front to trample down the new growth of giant cottontail and ferns that had seemingly sprung up overnight. The going was slower now as the lead animals were rotated, and the larger obstacles were moved aside to allow for easier passage.

Where the Xaruar failed to trample, white five-petalled flowers had begun to bloom along vines that ran across the ground. If one strayed too close to these blossoms they would explode in a burst of pollen, staining one’s clothes with yellow powder. Apart from being a source of mirth for the children, these flowers were uncharacteristically harmless.

The name of these flowers was False-Dusters, for they resembled the fabled Dust Flowers of the city of Al-Lazar. Indeed, every now and again an enterprising merchant would take samples of these plants and try to grow them with some measure of success. However, unlike the real Dust Flowers of Al-Lazar, their pollen produced no lucid dreams, and in fact, had no real alchemical properties at all. Still, it did not stop some of the more unscrupulous from trying to pass it off as real Dust.

All of this I heard from the people of the Ravens. They came to me now, with greetings and snippets from their little unimportant lives. I welcomed them all with a false smile and a few words of wisdom, stolen from my old world. This was enough to satisfy them for now, but I found the incessant interactions grating at times and it was a sore test for my patience.

Catalina, too, had begun to test me. Her attachment to me had become clear, and she no longer made a show of hiding it. Indeed, she made a little show of it, using it to gain social standing with the other womenfolk of the caravan. This, in turn, made her bedtime ramblings a little longer, her questions trickier, as if she was seeking a form of commitment, trying to trap me. I hated it when people tried to force me down a path I did not travel.

Hopefully, she would warm my bed until Al-Lazar, at least, but until then I had to simply put up with it. Now, I finally understood the universal complaints of men who just wanted a simple life.

When I grew tired of spending the evenings with her, I would make an excuse that it was, in fact, my duty to patrol. Using this gifted time, I would instead spend it with the men of the guard, playing cards and gambling with dice. Initially, I of course avoided the poisonous alcoholic beverage arag whenever possible, only drinking the foul stuff when forced to.

However, as time passed, I found myself drinking it anyway as a form of escape. Was this a simulation of married life? A nagging harpy waiting in my bed and a child that was not mine? I was far too young, of course, to be thinking about these things.

The night patrols were uneventful, and I was often paired up with one of my companions. I took this time to learn a little more about them, in particular, what they could do. Elwin, was a dab hand at ‘gray arts’, what this world called the art of the assassination. He knew his way around most weapons, and more importantly, he knew ways of dealing with armored opponents. Where to run a knife to cut a leather strap, and the weak points of certain styles of armor. He told me of the blindspots, the restricted movements that plate, scale, or splint mail gave its users, and how a man might unhorse another. He reminded me that it was still a difficult feat, demonstrating the various techniques on me. They were at times painful lessons, but the knowledge that he imparted to me was valuable nonetheless.

So valuable, in fact, that it caused my Heavy Armor skill to evolve into Improved Heavy Armor and gave me an additional point into Medium Armor. A most welcome bonus.

Since we could not stop for a good length of time, I had to settle for the Raven’s smith, Garven, to cold hammer out the dents as best as he could. More importantly, however, I was able to acquire a new quiver for my fancy crossbow and a new supply of iron bolts. He asked if I wanted a replacement for my lost shield, to which I refused, causing him to simply shrug. I had taken to wearing my mace-flail, Tsengelt-tum, on my hip in addition to my dagger.

With my new ‘toy’, I spent quite a few of my evenings firing off and experimenting with one of my new abilities, Inferno Bolts, at the innocent wildlife, burning a few of them into charred husks. Testing revealed that it served like a sort of magical shortcut for using Rust on a projectile weapon. I could hold a throwing spear with an iron tip, cast the spell, and unlike Rust which activated immediately, the exothermic reaction would only start when it left my hand. Likewise, when cast on a crossbow bolt it did not begin to burn until it was launched. Once, I even nervously passed my fancy crossbow, after casting the spell, to Elwin. The bolt released did not undergo a fiery reaction, which I found to be odd. It looked like I would not be able to make a living from imbuing weapons with magical properties.

Knowing how the magic worked now, the bolts flew from my crossbow like tracer rounds, lighting up the darkness with their incandescence. Regrettably, I was not able to hit as many as I would have liked. Most likely because I was relying on the added functionality of my Identify spell tracking my targets and my low-level Blind Fighting to even have, as they say, a shot in the dark.

This was, however, a rather expensive hobby, and it was eating into my funds. Also, thanks to my pyrotechnic display, the local fauna was learning to stay clear from the presence of the train. However, a long Sandgorger had been slow on the uptake, and the lone bull attacked one of the guards. An Inferno Bolt through the monster’s left eye made sure that we were eating frog that evening.

Despite the Raven’s chef adding a lot of spice to the meal, I could not help but feel that it could have done with a bit more punch. It would have been boorish of me to have commented such, and I held my silence. The meal was still filling and good, and by the looks of satisfaction on my companion’s faces, a cut above the normal fare that we were used to.

It was a shame that the bolt also caused the guard, a man called Khasim, a few second and third-degree burns. Once I was sure there were no other easy targets, I decided to heal the man. I found myself in a good mood, for I had gained a point in both Inferno Bolt and Blind Fighting. Smirking to myself, I absently wondered that, were my Charisma higher, would it have been possible for me to even charge the man for my services in this gamified world? One might argue that it might have been partially the guard’s fault for getting in the way of my bolt, after all.

As always, the people of the Raven just took this all in with awe, my near-mythic status, and by proxy my companions, growing even more. Could I say that I had finally maxed out my reputation? Khalam, as always, was sour-faced and dour, giving me the worst shifts, the middle watch. I could not blame him, as I would have done the same in his position. Still, it was a little petty.

However, to balance this, I was not without supporters among the Ravens. One particularly vocal example was Abas Yar, who walked now with new dignity and authority. The mark of my divine healing was clear for all to see. He was a walking monument to the grace of my blessing, and he would often sing my praises and proselytize my cause.

More importantly, I think that he could, with his wealth of experience and social standing, actually replace Laes and Khalam if push came to shove. A new original notion that had a certain appeal to it. After all, I owed Laes next to nothing. For the moment it remained simply a hypothetical. For the moment, at least.

The encounter with the Sandgorger was an ever-present reminder of the danger of hidden enemies. To this end, whenever I was paired with Kidu, I would always seek his advice and question why he did what did, and what he observed. It was rather educational, but due to Kidu’s taciturn nature, much more difficult to elicit.

Larynda, being a child, would, of course, not join us. Her time was spent studying the deeper mysteries of her element from the old witch, Ankhset. Any free time she had during the day, either Elwin, Kidu, or Cordelia would train her how to defend herself. That, or she would play with the other children, which in itself, was a form of training.

The childish games of long ago were more violent than the typical things we enjoy in our modern times, and these games resembled a barbaric throwback to such times. Children would, and did, get hurt. However, pain is a swift teacher, and I could see that Larynda was growing faster, if not just a little stronger.

On occasion, Cordelia would bless us with her company. A welcome thing indeed, for she was strong and skilled. A rare thing for a woman in this world, or my last one. Her sword, when she had occasion to draw it, flowed with efficiency and grace that were at odds with her youthful appearance. They were moves that one would associate with a master at the peak of their craft. It was more than the magic blade that she wielded, it was something that was intrinsically her.

There was nothing in our path that she could not cut down, and she did so with neither anger nor joy staining the clean movements of her blows. It was a beautiful thing to watch.

Notes;

It seemed that the gods had grown tired of their games, for the moment at least.

beastmaster preacher