115. The Seeker

  Team Serac had a lot to consider, but at least one decision seemed simple enough. The latest battle had left both Wayfarers in a world of hurt. It was finally time for Serac to use her Waystation [Privilege]—a carryover from Naraka she’d been hoarding for three months.

  Her newest lotus bloomed upon a frozen sea. Come springtime and with ice melting, it’d sink to the depths of the Netherpool where she’d have no way to reach. Hopefully, she’d have no need of it by then. But right now, her team had to set down ‘anchors’ where they had the most promising lead for a Frostkrill sighting.

  Incidentally, it also meant they had to make the final call about a certain dusty old soul.

  “The adult and responsible thing would be to square her away somewhere safe, far from all the fighting.” In a stark reversal from earlier, Zacko now advocated for Inge’s needs over his team’s. Perhaps not so surprising, given his Manesferan instinct to avoid ‘iffy situations’ where possible. “Because I don’t know about you, but I don’t need no collateral manslaughter on my conscience.”

  “I’m totally with you on the count of Inge must be protected at all costs,” Serac made her rebuttal, “but can we really afford to let slip this golden opportunity? You saw what happened. There’s clearly some truth to this ‘Inge the Seeker’ business, and I think she’s our ticket to actually winning this thing! We just have to be careful and efficient with our smiting, that’s all.”

  “Oh, that’s all, is it? I’m sure that won’t be a problem at all, considering how we breezed through those first couple of smites. Are you sure you’re being completely rational about this?”

  In fact, Serac wasn’t sure at all. She nervously glanced at the sun, which continued its steady descent across a seafoam sky. Couldn’t be more than two or three hours left before sundown. Even the time spent arguing was precious minutes lost.

  Yet how could Serac keep a level head? Even ignoring a Wayfarer’s compulsion to chase the fattest Karmic challenges available, she—like anyone else—hated losing. Most importantly, the well-publicized wager with Rathor Tyrsen meant Serac wasn’t fighting only for herself.

  “You have the right of it, Wayfarer.” Trippy gave his third opinion, unprompted. “Assuming this Inge Bjornsdatter is up to the task, she represents the clearest avenue to close the gap between you and the competition. Besides, if she herself agrees to help, what’s the issue?”

  You would say that, wouldn’t you? Somehow, Trippy’s endorsement put a damper on Serac’s own enthusiasm. She could think of several issues right away, starting with whether Inge was even ‘competent’ to agree to anything.

  But that was when Inge herself entered the discussion. Ash opened its castle gates, and out stepped the koi-typed Yaksha, leaning on young Petter for support. She was bundled from head to toe in her blankets and scarves, leaving only her ribbon-adorned eyes exposed to the elements.

  At the sight of the ancient woman, Serac’s resolve wavered some more. Zacko was right and she knew it. How could they expect to go on a hunt with this creaky, wobbly thing in tow? Which only made Inge’s next words all the more surprising:

  “That was quite the romp, wasn’t it? Well, are we doing this or what? Don’t tell me you’re pooped after just one smite!”

  The woman’s round eyes bore the same childlike wonder with which she’d ‘heralded’ the Jotuneter’s arrival. And that was how Serac learned something new about her newest friend. What she’d assumed to be a ‘trance state’ hadn’t been a trance at all. No, this youthful, energetic, adventurous woman was the baseline. The ‘real’ Inge Bjornsdatter, resurrected from the ripples that had frozen with the Netherpool long long ago.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?” Serac asked, placing an anxious hand on what she thought might be Inge’s arm (hard to tell with all the blankets!). “From here on out, it won’t just be one or two smites. We’re really going for it.”

  “Why, I wouldn’t expect anything less!” Inge’s eyes crinkled into an eager smile. “If I’m joining the Realmhunt, you best believe I’m in it to win it.”

  Serac let out a nervous laugh.

  “I really mean it,” she probed for one last confirmation. “When I say we’re going for it, I mean the big one. The—”

  “Frostkrill,” Inge cut in with, incredibly, a hint of impatience. Along with her youthful spirits, even the rhythm of her thoughts and speech had picked up. “Why do you think I was out here in the first place, child? Now, let’s get going already. That sun won’t wait while we prattle like bored handmaids!”

  Serac laughed again, a little less nervous. She looked to Zacko to gauge his temperature, and was met by a defeated shrug of the shoulders. And that was that.

  Team Serac resumed their hunt, now with an ‘outside consultant’ in tow. They’d undergone a dramatic shift in formation, Inge insisting she needed to be close to the ice to do her spotter’s work. The koi woman led the party on tortoise-back while Serac, Zacko, and Petter followed on foot.

  Ash remained in its Steed form and followed the party from a slight distance. Now that the team had gotten ‘warm’ in their search for the Frostkrill, a living castle’s mobility and speed were no longer needed. But it was still nice to have a fortress for the Anchoreds to take refuge if things did get hairy.

  True to her boasts, Inge took no time to find the next hotspot. She signaled the party to halt, then slid off Munkfred and onto the ice with a shockingly smooth motion, giving none of her younger companions the chance to offer aid.

  Even the woman’s gait had steadied considerably, as she paced to and fro upon her chosen patch of ice. The young’uns stood back in silence and left the master to her work. After about a minute, Inge stopped and stomped on the ice a few times, leaving a visible imprint of her cleats.

  “Here,” she said, then made her own way back to her tortoise. Her eyes shone brilliantly, showing none of their earlier droopiness.

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  Serac limbered up her newly re-located left arm for some drilling work. She bent over the spot to punch it, but not before voicing a point of curiosity:

  “How do you guys do it anyway? Spotting, I mean. How do you know if a spot would be good for luring Aberrants?”

  “It’s easy if you know what to look for,” Inge answered, snappy and not at all scattered. “As much as we busy-souls leave our imprints on the world in the form of ripples, so too do the ripples sway our actions in turn, even if we might not realize it. History has a way of repeating itself, especially if those of us in the present fall too much in love with the varnish we paint over our own memories. I think even you, child, are old enough to know a little of what I mean.”

  Serac nodded slowly, while giving Zacko a sidelong glance.

  “You could say the Netherpool is the purest representation of ‘history’ in its physical form,” Inge continued. “It is, after all, where all that washes away with the Sanzu ends up. A collection of an entire Realm’s worth of memories. The job of a spotter is to recognize the shapes and movements of those memories—how they respond to and in turn direct the Wildspawns that call these waters home. And I’ll tell you this, child. ’Neath your feet, right now, swirl currents large and powerful enough to push their way into the next Realm over!”

  Serac had to stop and blink at Inge several times. Well, I can see why people like Inge or Captain Sea Bass might make the best spotters—and why someone like Petey would be fighting an uphill battle. To perceive and understand the shapes of ‘memories’, it must help to have a lot of them yourself.

  Back on task now. Time to make some new memories with new friends. [Auxiliary Technique: THE GRIND]. Inge’s footprints broke apart into icy shards that floated in Team Serac’s newest chokepoint.

  Now to actually draw in the Aberrants. The Wayfarers’ first instinct was to use Zacko’s [Sinner Aspect] again, but now that ramping up to the Frostkrill had become a real possibility, Serac had second thoughts.

  “Is it wise to drop your HP down to 1? If this all goes according to plan, we’ll be fighting a lot of Aberrants in one go. I know you’re good at dodge-tanking, but even one slip-up will send you back to the Waystation.”

  “Well then, it’s a good thing the Waystation is within walking distance, isn’t it?” Zacko said dismissively. “Besides, it’s not like we’ve got any other choice, right? Square pegs into round—”

  “What are you two still yammering about?” Inge called down from the saddle of her high tortoise. “Aren’t you using that lure of yours?”

  Both Wayfarers turned to their their consultant.

  “Lure?” Zacko asked dubiously. “You don’t mean—?”

  “The Frostkrillbane, young man. Yes, I do mean it.”

  “How do you—?” Serac exclaimed, eyes wide. “We didn’t even—”

  “No, you didn’t, but I could smell it on you the moment we met. I won’t ask how it fell into the hands of a pair of outrealmers, but if you’ve got it, you might as well use it. Go on, dears, drop it into the water now, before the currents decide to go a different way.”

  Inge spoke with the authority of age and experience, but Serac still looked to her local guide for confirmation. Petter, stunned into submission by age and experience, could only offer a speculative shrug.

  There was nothing for it. Team Serac had yet to see even one Aberrant at their new chokepoint, but if the most accomplished Realmhunter among them gave them the green light, there was little reason not to go for it. It was finally time to pull their ‘secret weapon’ out into the open.

  The ingredients that made up the [Frostkrillbane] had since been cut up, dried up, ground up, and mashed together into a sachet of fine powder, appropriately forest-green in color. Serac unfolded the sachet with trembling hands, then tipped some of its contents into the icy water at her feet. She was careful to use only about one-tenth of it. Best to save some for later, in case this loop didn’t—

  “What, are you saving them for next year, child?” Inge’s hearty snort dislodged her scarf. “That’s well and good if you’re satisfied with squids and piranhas, but if you want the prawn, you’re gonna have to show some commitment! Go on, now. Dump the whole thing in.”

  “What?” Serac gasped weakly, feeling like a small child admonished by her elder. “Are you… are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure!” the koi woman insisted, showing the full extent of a youthful smile: red, gold, and lotus-white. “You can trust me, child. I stake my reputation as Inge the Seeker.”

  Stunned into submission by age, experience, and beauty, Serac decided to go for it. She did so in one swift motion. A violent shake of the hand before she could chicken out.

  The sachet’s entire contents fell into the hole, where they instantly dissolved. If Serac’s eyes didn’t deceive, the water—for one fleeting Ksana—gave off a Zealous-green glow, as if acknowledging the [Hunger] that swirled all around. Somewhere behind her, Petter choked off an anxious whimper.

  “Good,” Inge said, leaning back in her seat. “And now, it’s up to you, Wayfarers. Let’s see how well and quickly you smite… that the Frostkrill might deem you worthy of its attention.”

  “How long does this usually take?” Zacko asked with his arms crossed. The Manusya alone, still wearing the same dubious expression, appeared somewhat impervious to Inge’s power of persuasion.

  “Oh, who’s to say? Could take an hour. Sometimes only minutes, depending on how feisty these Wildspawns are feeling. But judging by the force behind these currents, I daresay they’d be—”

  Splash!

  The chokepoint played host to its first visitor: a feisty Mennesketer chomping at the bits for some good Wayfarer meat. Forget an hour or even minutes; this one showed up within seconds of Serac dumping out the Frostkrillbane!

  Only one problem. The Mennesketer’s entrance had been so abrupt as to catch both Wayfarers unprepared. Serac had no chance to present her arm for feeding. Neither could Zacko kick the thing onto the ice.

  Yet the sheer momentum of the Mennesketer’s ‘jump’ carried it onto the surface all the same. It leapt past the pair of dumbfounded Wayfarers to land a fair ways away. Not on ice, but on top of Munkfred’s shell. And it didn’t stop, as it immediately flopped into the air again, jaws open wide and all of its teeth pointed to the nearest bundle of blankets.

  “No!”

  Serac reached for her holster, but she knew she was too late. She watched as if in slow motion as a man-eating shadow fell over Inge’s childlike smile…

  Slam!

  Slam? That didn’t sound like piranha teeth closing over Yaksha flesh. No, it sounded more like…

  Serac had to stop and blink in disbelief at the scene before her.

  There Inge Bjornsdatter sat: safe, sound, and snug inside her blankets. At her feet, the Mennesketer lay motionless, jaws bloodied and many of its teeth bent or snapped out of shape. And standing over both of them was the hooded figure of a tree-frog Yaksha, the giant shovel in her hands dripping with fresh piranha blood.

  Renate looked pink. She looked heroic. But most of all, she looked angry as all hell.

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