Soul Fire Sale, chapter 11.

So, apparently this one was just lost. I had this and twelve set to post and they just... didn't, as far as I can tell. Sorry about that. Just look at it as a windfall of sorts, and not me being incompetent as all hell. And of course, please enjoy.

It turned out that Oliver had a talent for spells, or more specifically, learning spells. He'd already learned two of mine just last night. Sure, they were low level and didn't strike me as challenging, but it was still impressive for a single night.

Especially since I'd tried to duplicate the feat and only managed to learn one of his; a low level divination spell that allowed whoever cast the spell to find other users of magic, specifically. It wasn't even as useful as the spell I used to detect magic, and worked off the same principles. At least, I was fairly sure it did - It wasn't like I'd been given a formal education on magic and the rules here.

Oliver had been apologetic, of course, at least visibly. But I I could feel the strain of absolute insufferability lurking just under his skin, and the smile he was hiding.

I was half sure I no longer wanted to just hand over a golem to the man, just because.

It had nothing to do with the fact that my own golem was now currently cradling me, again, as close to me as she could get without actually merging with me.

Now that was a scary thought. Maybe I shouldn't have made Loam out of clay after all - it led to some unpleasant thoughts fresh from waking up.

I missed 'the thing'. Great movie, and I'd never be able to see it again.

That hit incredibly; much harder than it should have.

I needed coffee. Well, coffee or beer by the case. Barrel. Whatever.

"Loam, let go of me."

Loam released her hands clasped around my waist, and I rolled away. Today, I could clearly see the look of disappointment, the... pout?  

Loam's face was animated, moving. she was making facial expressions. Then, of course, it all stopped; the expression slid off her face the way wet clay might from a wall after you threw a ball of it there. More expressive than yesterday, it seemed, but the emotion wasn't lasting as long. Or the tell wasn't, one or the other.

The clay construct's hands twitched, then stilled.

I was proud of how I reacted. No lightning, none of my several curses flung; I'd even managed a nice and orderly retreat instead of a panicked roll. Not even so much as a very manly scream or yell. My mind did rush to a singular question first: why was my creation naked?

Clearly, she had taken her clothes off, but why? I was the only example of sleeping she had at the moment, and I wasn't sleeping in the buff.

Underwear counted. I certainly wasn't sleeping in the same dress I wore all day; that just wasn't going to happen. "Loam, get dressed." She hadn't done that yesterday.

I watched, pulling my dress on, and Loam fumbled her way through, pulling her own pants on first. They didn't rip; she was being careful. Slow and methodical. She got it right.

Then she pulled her shirt over her head backwards.

I settled everything where it should be with a sigh and approached the medieval equivalent of a murder machine. "It is on backwards. You tell by looking at the neck hole here; if it's lower here, then that is the front. Hole your arms out front, like this."

Loam did as I ordered, following the example I gave, and I wrestled the shirt around. "You can lower your arms now."

Loam lowered her arms - still with no expression at all. Was it time for an experiment?

"Loam follow me... if you'd like."

I walked out.

I could hear Loam following me, step by step.

Oliver was awake, sitting at the table. He was thankfully dressed in his robes, which were beginning to look - and smell - a little gamey at this point.

The kettle was steaming, and there was another cup sitting on it, waiting for me.

"Good morning," He accused.

I didn't see what was so good about it. The sun was barely up, it was a little chilly, and there was no food in sight. Still, I could play along: "Good morning. I think we might want to reconsider the whole golem army thing."

Oliver raised a single eyebrow. "We were considering a golem army?"

We weren't? "We might have been. However, they seem to develop... quirks."

Loam stopped where she was as I sat down, moving into her 'at attention' stance a mere three steps away. So the usual stance at the usual range; nothing new there.

Well, from a certain value of new. It wasn't like I really knew the behavior of golems, or spells, or whatever else - I'd been here for less than a week. An old hand, I was not.

Oliver was also studying Loam, and his face was more expressive: he was only half awake and clearly trying his best and... a flicker of surprise?

I looked back. Loam was standing there, the same as always, seemingly more than happy to mimic a coat rack. I turned back to Oliver and met his eyes.

"Yeah, I see what you mean. I think we should put the plans of world conquest by pretty french maids on hold for now."

What had he seen? He didn't seem to want to say, but he'd clearly seen something just now. Whatever, It was too early for all this, and I didn't have enough stimulants. I poured a cup of tea from the kettle.

Then, after a moment of thought, I snagged another cup and carefully poured another.

I had to be careful here. "Loam, if you'd like, you may sit down."

I waved an arm at the large, over-made chair that we knew could support Loam's weight.

Loam wasted no time going over, taking small steps, and sitting herself gingerly on the chair; ghosts, hints of emotions stealing over her face for just a fraction of a second before sliding off.

I set the cup down in front of her. You may drink it, if you'd like."

Oliver was giving me another eyebrow. We both watched Loam as she quickly but oh so carefully picked up the cup and brought it to her lips. She even held her pinky out, while cradling the cup in both hands.

I didn't laugh, but I wanted to. She looked so serious... for just a moment.

It was enough.

"You know, I thought seeing something look so human but not was the creepiest thing. Now I know better," Oliver said. "That is... "

I interrupted as he trailed off: "Yeah, I know. Think about how I feel. I sleep in the same room."

At least Loam hadn't done anything unfortunate. Yet. There was no mention of anything like this in the information dumped directly into my mind. There were known cases of golems being made for extended periods of time - months or even years - and nothing like this was even hinted at.

I really needed to find a library. A library I wouldn't get thrown out of. I'm sure there was one in the fortress I'd been booted from, and I was sure there was one in the capital of this kingdom, just down that very road.

If I showed up in the capital, the King would surely make a big deal of it. He might even try something again.

We needed alternate sources of information. Ruins, old towers, ancient crones or bent backed guys, something.

I sipped; my tea was cooling. Oliver sipped.

I hint of motion from the window. Amiera. She knocked.

Loam snapped her head toward the sound.

"Come in Amiera," I kept my gaze on my creation, and didn't miss anything this time. Loam settled in, almost relaxed, as she heard the name. Did she recognize other people? I mean I got it if she recognized Oliver; she'd been around Oliver since her creation. But recognizing Amiera would show a little more going on in my clay golem's head than I would have suspected; it meant my creation was actively recognizing people that did not actually matter to her.

They weren't targets, and they were people to protect, so Loam shouldn't have any interest in them at all. That much the lore I had stuffed in my head was clear on; it was why well worded and precise instructions were so important.

It also seemed to be wrong, at least for Loam now.

Amiera walked in, sketched a quick bow, and started her spiel: "Good morning lord mage, lady witch. I am here to make your breakfast. After, with your leave, I shall take your measurements and deliver them to our seamstress and tailor."

She sounded scared; low key petrified of offending us. The basket of food she held in both wringing hands, both cooked and uncooked, seemed close to shaking.

I wanted to allay her fears, but I wasn't sure how to do that. "By all means. I hope you don't mind us being in here while you work; it's the warmest room in the house."

It was not a warm morning, and the stove helped mitigate that more than the fireplace.

She clearly minded. "I do not."

I resolved just to chat away while she was here, as someone with nothing at all to hide might, but then I realized something - I had nothing at all to talk about. "So... want to get ready, head outside, and see what sort of trouble we can find? It's a tradition of sorts, after all."

Oliver shrugged. "Sure. Might as well go see what, if anything, is at the top of the mountain."

Right, we were asked about that. When I heard that, it felt like an extended quest; a massive long-term journey were we were meant to walk our way up over weeks and carefully scout around.

At the moment, I didn't want any part of that. So far, we hadn't been attacked in the air, and I was tempted just to claim the air as mine unless an attack happened. It wasn't the cautious approach, but it did let me sleep in a bed at night. Well, possibly; even with flight, it might take a while to deal with whatever was going on at the peak.

I'd leave it up to Oliver.

I wonder, could I make a flying golem? It was already a little annoying that Loam couldn't fly. I wouldn't have tried with my first anyway since modifying the spell might have caused problems.

Well, modifying it more than I already had. Something I was half regretting. By all the knowledge shoved into my head, my golem was Weird, capital W.

I really needed to stop dwelling. Right, I'd make a list. Herbs and rare growing things I could use both in magic and potions - and maybe even some poisons. I didn't really like the idea of being a poisoner, but it was hard to argue with results, and just because I had one didn't mean I needed to use it. It was another option, nothing more.

Right, good questions. "Amiera, do you know of anything we might need to take on our journey up the mountain, or anything we need to know?"

The poor woman almost eeped at mention of her name.

Then she put her thinking cap on, while she stirred some thing that I caught a glimpse of. French toast? Surely not, right?

No, it was. I didn't recognize all of it, but that had to be the one, the only, french toast.

Now I was officially hungry.

"Rope, I think. Some parts of the mountain are steep, I've been told, so some gear to climb with is useful. You should not need food or water, as the streams and rivers flow down from the top and the game is plentiful."

She risked a glance at us. "Unless, of course, you cannot hunt well."

I had no doubt we'd do alright. "Anything else?"

"Firewood, possibly. Some areas of the mountain are barren, or so I am told, and you do not wish to be without heat when the sun sinks this time of year."

Yeah, I wasn't carrying spare firewood around. The more Amiera explained, the more I just didn't want to mess with it.

Amiera approached me first, a plate full of honest to goodness french toast. She plunked it down in my reach, and then brought out a clay jug of something. Which would likely be syrup.

I uncorked it, and my nose confirmed it was some kind of syrup. Not maple, but something close, dark and viscous.

Amiera turned and settled back in next to the stove. Oliver whined. He actually whined, like a dog who sees a treat but isn't given one.

Amiera turned back. "I can only cook enough for one of you at a time, unless I delay giving both of you breakfast and letting someone's plate cool."

I had to ladle the substance out with a spoon; it settled onto the plate in dollops, and ever so slowly began to spread out. I wondered how long it would take to spread without help?

Oliver answered, with a few sage nods: "So you chose the scary old witch rather than the handsome and rugged looking mage. I understand completely."

Rugged? "Who are you kidding? Have you seen yourself?"

I decided to ignore how Amiera had paled and almost split her knuckles gripping the spatula she was currently trying hard to murder.

Oliver also ignored it, and smiled at me. "Of course I have! It's alright, I know I'm rogue-ishly handsome!"

He even pointed to himself as he said it. What a shameless guy. "If you're going to compliment yourself, you should at least use actual words.

Of to the side, Amiera had calmed herself, and was quietly making more of this french toast but not french toast. Whatever it was, it wasn't poisoned. I took a testing bite to find it more flavorful than I expected, and a little hot compared to the stuff I was used to.

A little weird, but still good. "This is excellent Amiera, thank you."

She breathed a sigh, thinking none of us heard or saw.

Loam had been staring at her the entire time; there was no expression on her face, but I would swear I felt a hint of a frown from my creation.

I took another bite. "This is good; you're going to like this."

Oliver frowned and grabbed his chest dramatically. "You wound me! Here you are, my bosom traveling companion, and taking advantage of your dastardly nature to hold such wondrous food against me! I shall have my revenge!"

He was really hamming it up. I mean, it was working, so I couldn't really say anything against it, but this was the first time he'd been so... bombastic.

No wait, come to think of it, it wasn't.

Amiera was stifling a giggle now, and Loam actually shot him a glance. Which he winked for, being him.

There, I felt that one clearly; confusion. My golem had no idea what was going on in this instant.

I felt it clear as a bell ringing a pure crystal note, almost like a church bell tolling the hour. A bell I was certain I shouldn't be hearing at all, but I'd somehow gotten plugged into.

Whatever, I wasn't going to deal with it right now. I poured myself some more tea, making sure to go over the steps slowly. Loam was watching, after all. Always watching.

I realized I hadn't made the attempt to fill her with my mana yet. She should be low by now, dangerously low.

A quick whisper and I could see all things magic - and the enchantment revealed that Loam had a full tank. My own mana was only a little bit lower than it should be; how odd. If she'd been... feeding on me during the night, I should be lower than I am now and it was unlikely she'd be full.

Loam picked up the tea kettle and the leaves, and set up her own tea, just as I had. She didn't switch out the leaves, instead using the ones I'd placed in. Then she raised it and sipped, all exactly like she had before. Exactly as I'd shown her before.

On a whim, I waited, and when she sipped again, I matched her. For a single moment, I felt it again; a mental smile that bloomed and faded just as quickly.

Oliver shuddered. "Okay, that was uncanny."

I couldn't resist the smirk. "I hope so."

Oliver got his plate placed in front of him; his eyes lit up and he started fiddling with the syrup.

Amiera stopped in front of me, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else. "Forgive me for asking, but your sister doesn't seem willing to talk."

My sister? Loam was watching Amiera carefully; did I want her to get ideas? Could she get ideas? We looked nothing alike.

"Loam is not very talkative, at least right now." Better cover for her in case she learns how later. She did seem to be getting better all the time. "What would you like to know?"

Amiera shifted feet before answering: "Does she want breakfast? She didn't eat the soup last night, or anything of note before."

I looked to Loam, and she looked to me. People who pay attention are annoying. "Sure, make her half as much as you did me. She doesn't really eat much."

She'd never actually eaten before, so I had no idea what it would do to her or how her body would handle it. I was hoping against hope she'd just throw it up later; the other option would be far less pleasant.

"Alright," Amiera agreed and dutifully turned back to the stove.

I snagged what looked a lot like an apple from the fruit basket and started slicing it. I wasn't sure how it was eaten, but aside from ever so slightly pink flesh it looked like any other fuji or gala back home.

It tasted like one too, which was good. I wasn't committing some other-world error or faux paus by eating the thing raw.

I moved the plate over, in range of my fellow companions. To my surprise, both took a slice; one with more gusto than the other.

I turned to Oliver, ignoring the way Loam seemed to nibble at her newly gained prize. "I wouldn't have figured you for an apple eater."

Oliver shrugged: "When in Rome. Not like they have Tokyo banana."

"I have no idea what that is, but I get the gist."

"What snack do you miss, if any?"

I gave it some thought. "I haven't really had time to miss any just yet. But I'm really going to miss cola."

"Cola? Cola isn't a snack," Oliver scoffed.

"According to the calorie count and the damage it does to your teeth, it is," I countered. "Either way, I'm going to miss it. There is no way these guys have carbonated drinks."

Amiera had been listening. "What is carbonated?" She asked as she lightly slapped down a third plate. It must feel good to finally be done dealing with us.

"Carbonated means it has air in it. Makes the drink fizz in the mouth, like it's having a party."

"The fizz is a tingle, as if your tongue is being tickled," Oliver added.

Amiera thought about it. "No, I've never heard or tasted anything like that."

"Okay, I'll grant you the cola. What next?"

"Doritos, of course." Doritos were the superior chip that was all kinds of bad for you. It would kill you, but what a way to go."

"Huh. Never would have figured you for a Doritos chick."

He didn't say chick, but that was what I heard, the translation magic doing its' job. So the meaning was... close? I just gave him the look he deserved; surely he hadn't forgotten I wasn't a chick at all.

I mean, I guess I was now, but if I wasn't dwelling on it, it was easy to forget. Sometimes.

Oliver coughed and looked away, snagging another slice of apple. Oh, Loam was glaring now - before the expression just slid off again.

Loam was also wearing a disturbing amount of syrup on her. She did look like she'd tried to be careful; there wasn't much on the table, and every piece was carefully cut and being gently ushered into my creation's mouth with her fork - but with the sheer amount of syrup used, it was no wonder. The entire plate was a swimming pool, and Loam wasn't waiting for any of the liquid to drip off before dragging it out and up into her waiting maw.

Sigh. Bath time again.

Oliver was grinning now that he noticed, of course. Loam was still glaring at him, though. Was it a glare when you didn't have a visible expression? I felt like it was just for this case.

Amiera was cleaning up, so I stood up. "Thank you for the breakfast Amiera. Loam, finish your food and then follow me outside."

I wanted to see how cold it was outside, and the best way to do that was to sit outside, much like the mayor was already doing across the square. I tapped my boots on and went out, exchanging one chair for another and waving to the man.

He gave me a large smile that struck me as the most fake customer service smile I'd ever seen and waved back.

I settled in and waited for the sun to warm things up a little. It was going to be a long wait - I couldn't even see the ball of goodness poking through the trees, just the light itself diffused through the trees and air.

How was that old fake smiling ass hanging out at this hour with less clothes on than I had? The man had simple pants and a shirt, with a vest! I mean, they were well made, but nothing pointed to them being all that warm.

Then again, nothing pointed to my dress being warm, and it was. Did he have enchanted clothes?

loam stepped outside, still wearing everything she'd eaten, and took up position beside me in that parade rest stance she liked. She did cross over and move to my other side, out of the way of the door. That was something.

I didn't have anything handy to clean her off with.

A bit later, Amiera opened the door and stuck her head out. "I am ready to take your measurements, if you'll allow it."

Right, we shouldn't do that out here. The only reason I'd left anyway was to give Amiera more room to move and room to breathe. It was too cold to just sit around.

Amiera ducked back in ahead of us. "Come on Loam. Let's go back inside."

I led us back in, and Oliver was there, a smile on his face. "I knew you'd be back. They always come back."

Hah, right. As if. "Usually to get their stuff or deliver the restraining order paperwork, right?"

Again, the man clutched his chest with a gnarling hand. "This one is mortal! I shall never love again!"

Time to kick him while he was down. "As if you had a first time," I declared as I went past, my nose as far up in the air as I could place it.

"Ouch." A more understated yet earnest response, just like I liked 'em.

Amiera had anticipated me, and was waiting in my chosen bedroom. She had an actual tape measure in her hand, a strip of cloth with regular hash marks on it.  

"I'll go first. Loam, you watch. Only interfere if my life is in danger, and only to subdue."

Subdue was a big word; I hoped Loam knew it. My creation closed the door and settled next to it, her eyes active.

I stepped forward and held my hands up. "So, what's first?"

The woman promptly stepped forward and held the cloth to my arm, measuring it at the shoulder, both above and below. Then she took a piece of black crayon? Something like that, and wrote the number of hashes on her apron. So, a charcoal pencil.

Next came the number from my armpit to my hip. Then she moved to my bust.

I wanted to say a word or two about dinner and a movie first, but she wouldn't understand it, and I was sure any statement would make her more nervous. So I let the moment pass.

Then came my hips, then my legs, and just like that, I was done. Amiera was frowning slightly by the end. I wasn't even sure she was aware of it.

"Loam, allow Amiera to take your measurements. It is the same process I went through."

Loam stepped forward and raised her hands without complaint. Amiera frowned a bit more, clearly picking up that something was off but stepping in herself to do her job as I backed off. I could admire the professionalism.

It took the handy woman a bit more time to finish with Loam than with me.

Two sets of numbers on the apron, Amiera looked expectantly to Loam.

"Loam, move away from the door."

The woman needed no further invitation than distance from us. She moved, almost running into Oliver, who of course was waiting right outside.

Oliver all but lunged out of the way, which was a smart decision. Amiera would have bowled him over and probably not even noticed; her eyes only caught him after she was well past.

Her apology floated in the air after, she was gone so fast. "I'm sorry, I need to see to the mayor now. Please call upon him if you need anything!"

What had spooked her so badly? She was doing fine, and now she'd all but left a hole of her shape in the door, cartoon style.

Oliver and I shared a glance. I shrugged, and after a moment, so did he.

"Alright, planning session. Loam, follow me."

I settled back in at the table and realized the kettle was out of water. Loam settled in beside me, and I realized I needed to handle that. Wash rags were in the closet. "Loam stay here."

I came back with one and wet it with our water, and got to work cleaning off my messy creation. I half expected to wipe her features off if I scrubbed so hard, but it seemed like that was impossible.

Loam bore it without complaint of course; I could likely do this twice as hard, and not cause her, or it, any pain.

"So, what are we doing?" Oliver asked.

"I intend to look into your mark for today while we make a list of what we need. Tomorrow or the day after, we are walking up the mountain."

"I'm fine with that. Taking the scenic route will give us a chance to see all the things."

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," I finished up with Loam and threw the rag in the corner.

I took my time settling in before reaching over. "Alright, let's see that hand. I'm going to start by translating it and go from there."

Oliver all but slapped his hand into mine. "Be careful of my nails; they are my best feature."

He did have surprisingly good nails. Well cut and healthy.