77. Chef Petey

  [Realm Boon: SYNTHESIS]

  [Anchored Realm: PRETJORD]

  [Boon Description: When certain food items are consumed, the Yaksha (or Rakshasa) assimilates the magic inherent in the world and gains a unique effect. The effect varies by the item.]

  ***

  For all his earlier humility, Petter Svensen became a self-assured maestro when it came to his turn to cook—a transformation into a completely different person as soon as he was in his ‘element’.

  “First, miss and mister, we ought to clean and soak the liver so it loses its gaminess.”

  As a hell bumpkin, Serac wasn’t sure she could even recognize ‘gaminess’ if she tasted it. But Zacko was apparently familiar with the term, and saw the importance of what Petter proposed. Even in his hangry state, the Manusya was willing to put up with a bit of extra prep time.

  Petter grabbed the Ulvknall liver, first with apparent reverence, then with practiced aplomb as he settled into his task. He took it to a nearby brook where he washed the whole thing under running fresh water. Then he used a pocketknife to trim off the gunky bits (which was the extent of Serac’s ability to describe the process) before letting it sit in a small pool of salted water.

  “There. While we wait, we can see about starting a fire. Unless… either of you has a handy Wayfarer’s way of doing it?”

  At this, Serac and Zacko looked at each other and shrugged. Outside of rolling around inside a Damnatorium Furnace or setting Aberrants aflame with [Catharsis], Serac had exactly zero experience with fires. Somehow, she doubted that any of her prior knowledge could apply here.

  Thankfully, Petter was old hat at starting fires in the middle of the wilderness. The Wayfarers helped him gather kindling in the form of twigs, leaves, and pine needles. Meanwhile, Petter himself set up his ‘stove’: an impromptu contraption of packed dirt and flat rocks, with a niche in the center wherein went the kindling.

  He then pulled out a small painted box, inside which sat several thin wooden sticks. Here, Petter hesitated for a moment, which gave Serac the chance to exchange another look with her fellow layperson. From Zacko’s blank expression, it was clear that even the Manesferan didn’t recognize the object in Chef Petey’s hand.

  “Matchsticks,” the chef explained, still deep in thought as he eyed the box’s contents. “Cost me a fortune, and I’m down to my last handful, but”—he looked up with a solemn nod—“this is worth it.”

  Petter took out one of the sticks and held it against the side of the box. A flick of the wrist, then voila, the niche under the stove, along with all the kindling went up in flames.

  Serac couldn’t help but gasp, clap, and cheer. She turned to Zacko, hoping for someone to share in her wonderment, but found, to her chagrin, that the Manusya was utterly unmoved.

  “What?” Zacko said with a defensive shrug. “We’ve got stuff like ‘lighters’ and ‘hotplates’ up in Manesfera. You expect me to be impressed by this stone age technology?”

  “It’s not a competition!” Serac protested. “Starting fire from nothing. Now that’s what I call ‘magic’, and we ought to appreciate it for what it is.”

  “You do realize you carry around a gun that shoots fire, blood, bone, and apparently a butcher’s knife too, right? I think your wonders-and-mysteries sensor needs a bit of fine tuning.”

  “Yeah, well, like this asshole I know always says: the afterlife works in mysterious ways.”

  After that inane sidebar, Chef Petey restored order by teaching the Wayfarers how to mind the fire, while he went back to the Ulvknall liver. The final preparations involved cutting the shapeless blob into neat ‘steaks’ that nearly looked fit for Rakshasa consumption. He then seasoned the slices with pinches of salt and generous sprinkles of pepper (“a good Pretjordian chef never goes anywhere without them!”) before throwing them onto the heated ‘stovetop’.

  The steaks sizzled and browned, giving off an oddly earthy aroma that immediately made Serac’s mouth water. It had to be said that the smell wasn’t exactly ‘enticing’ or even ‘good’, but it somehow woke in her a hitherto unknown appetite. A hell bumpkin she might be, but some primitive part of her consciousness responded to the age-old alchemy of meat, spice, and heat.

  For the next short while, Chef Petey let his ingredients cook themselves. He intervened only to sprinkle in a batch of freshly stripped thyme (“lucky for us, the Hevnerskog is full of these things, especially around the edges of a clearing like the one we’re in now!”). The addition of thyme infused the air with a grassy, piney fragrance, which only heightened Serac’s anticipation.

  “And… there! I think we’re done. Medium rare is the way to go, you know. Bon appetit, Wayfarers! Or should I say… Bone appetit?”

  Serac gasped again, this time out of sheer shock. Beside her, Zacko guffawed uproariously as he reached across and clapped Petter on the shoulder. And with that rather fruitful sidebar out of the way, it was finally time to dig in.

  As Serac stared at her still smoking steak, however, she was interrupted again, this time by Pathsight:

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  [Designation: Stone-cooked Ulvknall Liver]

  [Item Class: Consumable]

  [Item Description: Pocket sand—dishonorable trickery or pragmatic survival technique? Don’t judge until you’ve walked a mile in the furry shoes of these tenacious creatures. When consumed by a [Synthesis]-adept Wayfarer, the Ulvknall liver cures all [Bleed] effects and confers [Regen] for 20 seconds.]

  By then, however, Serac’s appetite was such that she couldn’t care less what nuggets of wisdom Pathsight had to offer. Get food in belly first, then we can talk. Serac took a bite, then couldn’t help but let out yet another gasp.

  “This. Is. INCREDIBLE! From that ugly thing to this? You’re a miracle worker, Petey!”

  “I was wrong, and you were right, Serac,” this from Zacko beside her. “This shit right here? This is magic. Someone cooked here, and that someone is Pete.”

  The chef in question, hitherto confident and authoritative in manner as he directed his assistants, suddenly melted into an aw-shucks smile, complete with vaguely wavy hand movements.

  “You give me too much credit, miss and mister. A chef is only as good as his ingredients, and they don’t get much richer and savorier than an Ulvknall liver.”

  As far as the Wayfarers were concerned, the magic of food didn’t stop at its taste and texture. Serac managed to tear her attention away from her mouthful long enough to note the creamy orange of her [Satiety] gauge, which ticked up and up at a vigorous rate.

  And because Serac was a Rakshasa with her [Realm Boon] trait, she enjoyed an additional effect that not even her Manusya partner was privy to.

  [4], [4], [4], …

  [1], [1], [1], …

  Gone was the [Lesser Bleed] inflicted by a wolf monster’s claws. In its place, the passive healing from a fresh [Regen] ticked along, in conjunction with its [Lesser] sibling that was already in effect. At this rate, Serac would refill her missing HP in no time.

  “Ooh, really handy, this!” she remarked to no one in particular. “Now I’m curious what other food items and special effects there might be!”

  “As am I, Wayfarer,” Trippy suddenly chimed in. “Whenever possible, it would behoove you to use [Harvest] on every new Aberrant we encounter—if only to populate our culinary knowledge base.”

  “Noted and agreed,” Serac said with a contented smile. The strained mood between her and Trippy had yet to fully smooth over, and they often went hours without speaking. But right now, with hot food in her belly and good company to share the joy, all that felt like blood under the bridge. “So, am I right to understand all the Yaksha Wayfarers have [Synthesis] too? Man, I’m jealous; they must be stuffing their faces everywhere they go!”

  “Speaking of which,” this from jolly jolly Zacko, who stopped mid-bite to raise one eyebrow at Petter, “you said something funny earlier, Pete. Something about me and Serac being the first Wayfarers you’ve ever seen in action? I would’ve thought there’d be plenty of Pretjord starters roaming about the place. At least that’s what I told Serac before we came here, so now I kind of look like a liar. Are Yaksha Wayfarers really that rare?”

  “I had the same question, actually,” Serac added. “Like, even this quest we’re on right now… I thought it was kind of strange that the townspeople would be so eager to hoist it on outrealmers they barely knew. Aren’t there, you know, locals who’d be taking care of the local Aberrant problems?”

  At this, Petter Svensen gave his strangest reaction yet. It was a light chuckle, though with a somewhat forced quality that suggested he might be masking a more genuine emotion.

  “No, Mr Zacarias, as far as I know, Yaksha Wayfarers aren’t rare,” he seemed to choose his words carefully, “but what’s rare are the occasions that would warrant their coming down to Stamgard. And yes, Miss Serac, the local Wayfarers do take care of local problems, but only at a price… and it’s no price a scavenger like me could afford.”

  Serac and Zacko exchanged another look.

  “You mean these Wayfarers in Pretjord charge the locals for smiting Aberrants? And what, everyone’s okay with that?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if we’ve ever thought about it in terms of ‘okay’ or not. It’s a decree passed down by King Tyr himself: that all Wayfarers waiting to ascend first serve in his Kronvakt—the most elite regiment of the Kronheer. It’s been that way for as long as I’ve been alive. Even before my dad’s and my granda’s times, I’d wager.”

  “Well, that’s just… not cool,” Serac fumed, the memory of the Bone Lord and his ‘Pledges’ still fresh on her mind. “This King Tyr is your Realm Immortal, isn’t he? Well, he sounds like as big a jerk as the one we just smited in Naraka.”

  “Maybe don’t rush into your seditious manifestos just yet, eh, princess?” Zacko cut in with his sardonic smile. “We’ve literally just gotten to this Realm. There’s probably more for us to see and do before we could decide how we feel about the big guy in charge.”

  Petter had paled into a lighter shade of yellow at Serac’s mention of ‘smiting an Immortal’. And when he spoke again, his normally bouncy voice had taken on a leaden weight.

  “Is it so strange, Miss Serac? For souls to be rewarded for what they’re worth? You, Mr Zacarias, and all the Wayfarers in the Kronvakt keep us safe from Aberrants with your powerful magic. Then there’re people like Mr Palmr who’ve got the brains and the know-how to run a complicated business. Even my dad was big and strong, which meant folks always had work for him. But then, look at me. Puny, dopey, and not one talent to my name.”

  “Hey, I thought Zacko already talked the ‘humble’ out of you!” Serac reached across and gave Petter a light punch on the shoulder. “And get outta here with your ‘no talent’ nonsense! This is the best Ulvknall liver I’ve ever had; you’re crazy talented!”

  “This is Pretjord, miss. The Realm of hunger and the neverending pursuit of satiety. Everyone here is a cook, and that means I’m nothing special. It’s… it’s honestly a small miracle that I haven’t been sent down to Rotgard. So, at least in that sense, I suppose I should count my blessings.”

  Serac opened her mouth to argue, then fell silent. She glanced at Zacko for help, but the Manusya merely stared at Petter with an inscrutable frown.

  Maybe they’re right, Serac thought as her shoulders drooped. Maybe I know too little about this Realm to be running my mouth. Time for me to watch, listen, and learn. Then maybe I could find the right way to help Chef Petey get his groove back.

  As if he’d read her mind, Petter looked up and gave Serac an appreciative smile.

  “Come on, Miss Serac. Mister Zacarias.” The bounce in his voice was back, but Serac was no longer certain that this was Petter Svensen at his most natural self. “Let’s head back into town and give folks the good news. Your first quest done and dusted, and what a way to do it!”

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