85. Rage Against the Currents

  Serac bounded down the Realm-cave, paying no heed to her own safety nor to the threat of Wildspawns she might jostle out of their hiding places.

  The wider platform soon shrank and made way for interrupted ledges, holding to the cave’s topographical pattern. Serac—who earlier had inched her way across with her back against the wall—now leapt through the obstacles as if they weren’t there, with a grace and skill hitherto unknown even to herself.

  Gone was the clumsy, dense-boned Rakshasa who’d flattened her stomach against a turtle shell or hemmed and hawed over the height of a fall. With no time to worry or overthink, she’d given herself over to her instincts, which now did a remarkable job of guiding her from precarious foothold to slippery stepping stone. Indeed, she’d turned into a traceur extraordinaire, lithe of body and fleet of foot.

  If Serac had stopped to think about it, she might’ve realized just how unusual her parkouring talents were—perhaps on a similar level of uncanniness as her natural prowess as a marksman. It was just as well then that she didn’t allow herself to stop, even as she recited her most immediate and urgent mission like a mantra.

  Must get to Zacko. Must get to him fast. Must get to him ASAP so I can… so I can…

  So she could do what exactly?

  And as soon as that first doubt crept into her mind, she lost her footing. Instead of bouncing off the next barely perceptible bump on the wall, her feet found nothing but air.

  Her stomach was the first thing to drop as she fell from what was surely a ‘lethal’ height. Then she soon found that falling to her death felt eerily similar to drowning, as she kicked her legs and flailed her arms, desperate for anything to…

  … Catch her mid-fall and pull her back up to safety—all in one smooth, powerful motion.

  Serac felt her cinnabar face redden another shade as she once again found herself in Lars’s arms. For at least a second or two, she forgot all about her hurry and instead concentrated on feeling absolutely mortified.

  As for the sturgeon man, his ever-impassive face betrayed nothing of what he thought about having saved the Rakshasa’s life twice in quick succession. But his voice did take on an audibly stern edge as he admonished her.

  “Now not the time to lose head. We take it one ledge at a time. Less haste, more speed.”

  Lars’s words made a lot of sense, of course, and their pithiness might’ve given Zacko’s fabled ‘mama’ a run for her money. And as Serac bit back on her protests and lowered herself onto a nearby foothold, she forced herself to reflect on the futility of her mission.

  She could parkour down the Realm-cave at breakneck pace all she wanted, but that couldn’t bring Zacko any closer to full health. It wasn’t like she had some magical way of sharing her Realm Boon with him, nor could she whip up a special antidote that would work on a [Synthesis]-inept Manusya. Really, all she’d achieve by rushing was to put both herself and Lars in danger.

  And along with her newfound calmness, a rather radical thought occurred to her. The idea was, in a word, distasteful, so much so that it might’ve even shocked and disgusted her—if she hadn’t already tried something similar in the past.

  “This is more of a thought experiment than anything, so don’t take it too seriously.” She kept her voice to barely above a whisper, doing her best to avoid disturbing the ripples. “Right now, all of us—and by us, I mean you, me, your brother, and Zacko—are tethered to the Hubstation up by the Town Market. Which means if we die in here—say, by slipping up and falling from a lethal height—we’d all just reconstitute back in Stamgard. It’ll set us back a ways, and we’d lose some Liminal Karma we’d never get back, but it’s also our fastest and surest way to an ‘exit’. And yet, we both know we’re never gonna try that. I know what my reasons are, but I just wanna hear yours.”

  “I said ‘less haste’, not hunker down and wax philosophical.”

  “Well, chief, the fastest way for you to get me to budge now is to answer my question. Just think of this as a—what’s the phrase—vetting process. For me to decide if you’re someone I could trust with my back.”

  “… Saving your life twice not enough?”

  “Ah, so you are keeping score! See? This is good, let’s keep it rolling. Out with it now.”

  “… Karma you already mentioned. Also want to ensure my brother safe and not… in need of assistance. Besides which, something sinister happening below us, down near the very bottom of the Roots. Needs investigating. The responsible thing as Wayfarer.”

  “You’ve just given me a bunch of practical reasons, and sure, they’re important, too. But I was looking for something more…” In want of the correct words to express herself, Serac reached across and punched Lars in the chest, right where his heart should’ve sat (assuming Yakshas and Rakshasas shared some anatomical parallels). “Something that bubbles from deep within you… rails and screams at you, until it’s the only thing you can hear and obey.”

  Several moments passed in increasingly awkward silence, with Serac’s outstretched fist starting to tremble from sheer embarrassment. But then finally, mercifully, Lars’s hitherto icy visage cracked to reveal a faint yet unmistakable smile.

  “You mean rage,” he said in a low voice, surprising Serac again with his answer. “Rage at the vagarious cruelties of an unjust world. Rage against the currents that would push me down and wash me bare. It was rage that first drove me and my brother onto our Paths, and perhaps it still simmers at the core of what makes us Wayfarers. I yearn to descend this cave to its very depths, that I may see into the face of what so insolently pulled me and my brother apart and away from our Paths—that I may punish its ill-timed audacity. Is that the answer you wanted to hear, Serac Edin?”

  Serac’s own face split into a broad grin, even as her spine shivered with excitement. Yes. This was exactly what she’d wanted to hear, and she couldn’t have said it better herself. Where had it even come from? Whatever its origins, it was gone in an instant, as the sturgeon man reset his face in ice.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  “No more chatter. We move now.”

  By now, it seemed obvious that Lars Tomasen’s speech mannerisms were economical by choice. For he was clearly capable of something far more eloquent and evocative. And as a still smirking Serac resumed her wall-hugging descent, she allowed herself to hope that she might see that side of Lars again.

  ***

  It went without saying that the Realm-cave was about as big as the Realmtree itself. And with no fast-flowing rivers to follow, the pace of the Wayfarers’ progress left much to be desired.

  Within the cave’s darkness, Serac had no way to measure the passage of time—other than, perhaps, via the gradual decrementation of her [Satiety] gauge, as well as the accompanying gnaws of [Hunger]. She was reminded again of the harsh realities of Pretjordian life—the ever-present hourglass that was the near-constant need to unite belly with food. All the more reason to conquer this dungeon quickly and get the hell out of here.

  By then, enough time had passed for Serac to have adopted a stoic stance on Zacko’s unknown fate. After all, hadn’t she been the one to so vehemently defend the Manusya’s resilience and ability to look after himself? Zacko doesn’t need me mothering him; I’m sure he’s gotten over the [Poison] thing already, or if not, he must’ve found a way to deal with it in his own way.

  The Rakshasa-Yaksha pair ran into more Wildspawns along their way. Serac took the opportunities then to ‘populate her culinary knowledge base’, as previously suggested by Trippy. Opting to spend Satiety instead of MP, she managed to hit a Rumpetroll and a Slangespytt once each with [Harvest].

  The former left behind a clump of dark, gelatinous goo—evidently the writhing ‘something’ that made the grenade/torpedo so volatile. Serac couldn’t bear to touch it herself and immediately passed it off to Lars for safekeeping.

  The experiment with the Poison Ball didn’t go as well. For it was only after Serac had fired an imbued bullet from [Chamber Two] that she remembered the Slangespytt had full mitigation against Zealous damage. Which, in this case, also meant that it was immune to being [Harvested].

  It was a disappointing (but fairly consequence-free) way to learn that not everything under (or shut off from) the Pretjordian sun could be turned to food. And perhaps it was just as well, considering whatever the Slangespytt left behind would likely be [Poisonous] anyway.

  All that to say Serac had grown rather bored by the time she and Lars made their way onto the largest platform yet—a massive, hanging flatrock that sloped down from the walls before stretching towards the cave’s center. Here, the whole cave had ‘dried’ considerably, which was to say the rapid currents that whipped about the place now contained much more air than water. According to Lars the local, this too was more or less in line with the ‘outside’, given that much of the lower parts of Rotgard were a barren wasteland full of dried-up rivers.

  The Wayfarers trod lightly across the flatrock, periodically peering down from the edge to scout for the next landing spots. But everywhere they looked, the drops seemed too precipitous to be worth the risk—even for a sturgeon who could ‘read’ the shape of the land.

  And it was thus, as Serac and Lars inched their way further and further ‘inland’, that the latter suddenly grabbed the former by the shoulder to warn her of a potential new threat.

  “Quiet,” Lars spoke softly. “A figure approaches.”

  Serac squinted into the distance ahead, seeing nothing.

  “Is it Zacko? Or your brother maybe?”

  “Not Hans. Could be the Manusya. But… something strange. Something more. We should—wait, Rakshasa! What are you—?”

  Serac couldn’t contain herself. She broke into a light, slouching jog as she felt her way into the darkness. If it’s really Zacko, then I need to catch him before he goes off again. And if it’s not, well, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Eventually, a shadowy silhouette distinguished itself from the surrounding darkness—a humanoid one, which was promising, but not quite the confirmation Serac was after. Luckily for her, she had more than her naked eyes to rely upon for identification.

  [Designation: ZACARIAS BORGES-JUVENTUS]

  [Wayfarer Race: MANUSYA]

  [Karmic Level: 32]

  [Liminal Karma: 17,350 ?]

  “Oi, Zacko!” Serac shouted happily as she sped up her jog into a run. As she got nearer, she saw that the man sported a nearly full HP bar, which was more good news. Our crafty little Manusya found a way to rid himself of the [Poison], after all!

  “Serac? It’s really you, isn’t it?” Zacko’s full figure emerged then, looking as hale as could be expected in the dim, green lighting. He wore his trademark sardonic smile as he quipped, “And here I thought I’d have to go all the way back to town to find you again!”

  “Come on, you should have more faith in me than that!” Serac’s smile widened as she punched her newly reunited partner in the arm. Somehow, she found herself heartened by the solid contact. “And here I thought I’d have to nurse you back to health. How’d you cure yourself of [Poison], anyway? Did Hans Tomasen help you? Speaking of, is the big guy here with you?”

  “No, not Hans. Wait, he’s not with you either?”

  “Nope. Just Lars, who should be coming up behind me any second now.”

  “Huh. I wonder what’s happened to the other twin.”

  “You still haven’t told me how you dealt with the [Poison].”

  “Yeah, about that,” Zacko stalled, suddenly looking sheepish—a strange enough reaction to make Serac’s ‘sixth sense’ tingle. The Manusya continued, “I did have someone help me. But probably not who you might expect. Heck, even I can’t believe—”

  That was when a trunk-like sturgeon arm reached out from behind Serac and pushed Zacko in the chest. Or tried to, anyway, if it hadn’t been for the Manusya taking a deft backstep out of harm’s way.

  “What the—”

  Serac had only a Ksana to express her bewilderment before she found herself in Lars’s arms again, this time being pulled back in a protective gesture. It was as if the Yaksha wanted to keep her away from Zacko. And she couldn’t for the life of her understand why…

  … Until her eyes readjusted and latched onto a second figure that emerged from the shadows—a hooded figure, slight of build, with a comically large shovel slung over her finless back.

  [Designation: ???]

  [Wayfarer Race: YAKSHA]

  [Karmic Level: 63]

  [Liminal Karma: 20,240 ?]

  [ZEALOUS Instrument: OYSTER]

  [Auxiliary: DREDGER]

  Patreon |

  STAT SHEETS: