68. It Takes a Village

  As Serac Edin relished her final moments in the highest peak of hell, she was buoyed by memories of camaraderie.

  It’d taken her a lot longer than she might’ve planned, but she was finally here. Back amidst the ruins of the Ossuary where the Bloodfall fed into the revitalized Sanzu River. Now that both she and Zacko had satisfied the eligibility requirements for ascension, there was nothing left to keep them in hell.

  After all the handwringing about Zacko’s debt situation, it was something of an irony that Serac ended up second place in the race to KL-30. The delay, of course, had been the direct result of two factors: 1) the loss of a whooping 63,080 ? of Karma at the end of the Bone Lord fight, and 2) the [Anchored] status effect preventing her from leveling up even if she had the Karma to ingrain.

  On the first count, Serac stuck to her guns and let the Manusya keep all of it (against Zacko’s loud protests and Trippy’s silent disapproval). In the end, it wasn’t her distaste for killing her partner that led to this generous decision. Rather, it was a simple matter of practicality.

  The Wayfarers had closed the Bone Lord saga with Serac on KL-25 and Zacko on KL-21. The massive windfall from his ‘theft’, together with the Karma candies handed out by the Pishacha army, had allowed the latter to level up a further 11 times, bringing him to an ascension-ready KL of 32.

  Afterwards, the NINEFOLD master dedicated his last days in hell to helping his Rakshasa partner catch up. He did so by spending his leftover Karma with impunity, liberally dipping into [Dreamer Aspect] to soften up Aberrants for Serac’s smiting.

  The books didn’t completely balance out, but as far as Serac was concerned, it was more than a fair trade. She received the assist gladly, though she did forbid any activations of VISAGE that would’ve brought Zacko back into the negatives. All in all, it made her progression from KL-25 to 30 as easy and carefree as could be expected.

  That was, at least as far as the numbers were concerned. Because all that freshly earned Liminal Karma would be for naught if she couldn’t find a way to ingrain it. And for that, she needed to unburden herself of another soul’s self-imposed curse.

  When it came to [Anchored], even the ever-rigorous Trippy was at a loss.

  “Based on my knowledge, [Anchored] is almost always a permanent effect,” had been his only (and noticeably sullen) contribution to the topic. “It’s the result of a Wayfarer rejecting or abandoning her Path. Due to cowardice, inability, or—in some rare cases—a superseding obligation. Pathsight does not take kindly to the fickleness of souls, and will punish such deviations accordingly. My one hope with your case is that your [Anchor] was thrust upon you, rather than forged by choice. Perhaps therein lies the solution, but as to the specifics…”

  What did Serac do whenever she was lost? Look to her friends for help. Having exhausted all other options, it was time to turn to the locals again. And who better to ask than the oldest, wisest local she met on the road?

  “I never knew this Meetra, but she was of the same Reticent Tribe from which I myself hail,” had been Ravi the First Hoper’s best-guess advice. “They are a tight-knit group, valuing familial connections above all else. Seek them out in the lowlands to the east. Perhaps that is where you’ll find this ‘obligation’ that anchored a wayward Wayfarer—and in turn the means to put her tortured memories to rest.”

  Serac and Zacko’s visit of First Hope had also coincided with a spot of trouble. Apparently, the nearby Damnatorium had fallen on hard times, with a scarcity of new Penitents compounded by their ‘ferry’ being out of commission. In their neverending quest for more souls to torture, they first turned to known commodities, in the form of fugitives who stood guard at First Hope.

  The Wayfarers, of course, paused their Wayfaring to help defend the settlement. In fact, they did more than defend, taking their improved parameters and polished skills to go on the attack. They ‘invaded’ the Damnatorium in a reverse prison break, cleaning out its bowels of Jailers and Wardens and what other impurities besides.

  For Serac, it doubled as a bit of personal revenge plus a juicy Karma haul, though perhaps even more satisfying was what she was able to do for her fellow inmates. Many more Rakshasas became freesouls that day, and those who couldn’t, due to Frenzy, were laid to rest—with the hope that, by the time they reincarnated, Naraka would be a much better hell.

  As for the Damnatorium itself, not even a pair of leveled- and skilled-up Wayfarers had the means to erase it from the map entirely. Emptied of its roster of industrious Hellspawns, however, it would be some time before this open sore in the lowest pits of hell could return to its former, purulent glory. Although, Serac had a sneaking suspicion that the locals might have other ideas.

  Old scores settled, and a few thousand ? richer for the experience, the Wayfarers said another round of goodbyes to the Hopers and moved to their next destination. They followed Ravi’s lead and headed for the Reticence Fields, though not before stopping by the Huskbound Sanctuary for an escort mission.

  The children, even after they’d been released from the Bone Lord’s shroud, still proved mistrustful of strangers. Perhaps it was only natural, after all they’d been through.

  But, once again, Anita the artist provided the first spark, acknowledging Serac’s earnest invitation by taking the latter’s callused hand in her tiny one. Soon, the other children followed suit, until a party of three ballooned to hundreds and more. They left behind the caverns, now hollow and empty save for the children’s drawings—and the memories of the pilgrims that had been encased in Bone.

  Here, the journey slowed to a crawl. The children were too many to fit inside Ash’s cabin, and a little too unruly besides. On top of defending the pack from Aberrants on the road, the Wayfarers received a crash course in the skill of ‘babysitting’, wondering all the while if perhaps leveling [Abidance] might help keep a lid on their boiling tempers.

  Their patience was rewarded when they reached the Reticence Fields. While many of the children had lost their parents, enough responsible relatives and kind-hearted neighbours remained to take in every one of the orphans.

  Boiling tempers notwithstanding, Serac had become deeply attached to the children, which made seeing them off to their new homes (especially Anita) a tearful and bittersweet experience. Yet, as tempted as she was to set down roots amongst the ‘family’ that had eluded her her whole life, she knew that her Path led elsewhere.

  The Reticence Fields proved to be another place of reunion for the Wayfarers. Pazu, Indira, and many other ex-Hopers were already there, lending their able bodies and bright minds to the construction of the rumored Rakshasa ‘city’. Said construction appeared to be well underway, though still in its early stages that focused on shoring up defenses, consolidating scattered tribes, and securing the foundations for a large-scale settlement.

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  Pazu interrupted his work to assist Serac with her search. With his help, they soon found the small hillside village where Meetra and her brother once lived. There, they learned of the brother’s name (Vrata), as well as the siblings’ life story. They too had been orphans who relied on each other to survive, and said to be absolutely inseparable before Meetra’s departure as a Wayfarer.

  The party even managed to track down the very hut that had belonged to the siblings. It was a truly humble affair, consisting of a patchwork tarp held up by sticks, rocks, and bones. It’d been deserted for some time, but the siblings’ fellow tribespeople had left it alone out of respect.

  Here, Serac tried her best to learn what she could of Meetra and the memories that had tied her down.

  A compact table upon which the siblings had kept a running score of their card games. A rickety shelf that displayed a collection of carved bloodstones—likely Vrata’s handiwork. And a worn, cracked shortsword, one crafted and sharpened from bone—no doubt the very weapon with which a young Rakshasa woman had once defended her tribe and her only family from Hellspawns, until one day, the powers that be saw fit to offer her ‘another way out’.

  Serac clutched at her chest as she took it all in. For the first time, she thought she finally understood what might compel a freesoul to cast aside her freedom. But understanding brought her no closer to release.

  And that was when Dashi sat down in front of her, taking her hand in his as he mirrored her meditative pose.

  “I think I know what must be done,” had been the boy’s unexpected solution, spoken with a calm resolve far beyond his years (but not, as both Wayfarers had learned and accepted by then, beyond his character). “Set down your burden, Meetra, and leave it with me, Serac. I will be the reliquary to preserve and honor the memories of my people. Their suffering, their regrets, and their sins alike. And when I’m older and stronger, I will be the hand to carry out their will and build the Naraka of their dreams.”

  If it’d been any other child—nay, any other soul—who'd made these claims, Serac would’ve gently chided them out of their misplaced ambitions. But by then, Serac had traveled with Dashi long enough to develop her own theories about what made him special—why indeed the Bone Lord had chosen this particular boy as his favorite vessel.

  It was because Dashi was Dashanan—the Bone Lord himself. Or, at the very least, a version of him that had once shared the same soul, before bifurcating into body and spirit. She wouldn’t have even dreamed of such an idea—if she didn’t believe herself to be the product of a similar sort of… what was the right word?

  Separation? Replication? The afterlife worked in mysterious ways, and it held its answers close to its chest. Serac would have to gather more pieces before she could complete the full picture.

  For now, however, one such puzzle piece sat in front of her, in the form of a child who was wise, brave, and generous beyond his years. Where his ‘other’ had been twisted and corrupted by centuries of torment and obsession, Dashi the boy still had his whole life ahead of him to make good on his noble spirit—and his natural talent for leadership.

  Especially if that life could be extended into that of an Immortal.

  Until this moment, seated and facing each other across a table full of card game scores, Serac had held out hope that Dashi could become a permanent third member of their little Wayfaring troupe. Of course, that would require his becoming a Wayfarer himself, but the boy obviously had potential—and Serac had the patience to wait.

  She now saw that the hope had been in vain. Not because she’d been wrong about Dashi’s potential or the limits of her own patience. But because the boy had his superseding obligations. His own Path to tread. His own destiny to fulfill.

  And that was also the moment where Meetra finally found the place to set down her burden. For Serac had found the person to leave it with.

  As Wayfarer and boy sat in joint meditation, a lotus flower bloomed upon a card table. The strange ritual had required Serac to spend a Waystation charge, but she deemed it well worth the cost.

  The bony encasement upon her chest fell away into powder. Meetra and Vrata’s bloodstone cameo gave off a faint blue glow as it floated across the pure-white petals of the lotus flower. It set itself into Dashi’s chest, upon the scars of his erstwhile sacrifice. Then it stayed there, not as a burden, but as the light to guide a boy and his people to the future of their dreams.

  And that was when Serac couldn’t help but snicker, utterly ruining the moment. For she recalled that a certain boy used to carry around a certain lantern. Well, it seemed that he’d gotten himself a brand new one—and in an even more portable form at that!

  Far from admonishing her impropriety, Serac’s companions soon joined in on her merriment. First Zacko, then Dashi who, despite the solemnity of his vows, rocked and shook with a child’s clear-voiced and carefree laugh.

  [Burden: 65/31 (Overburdened) -> 15/31 (Burdened)]

  [TRIBULATION active (x1): current buff at 5%]

  ***

  Several more days of travel (much quicker without the children!) brought the Wayfarers back to the base of the Bloodfall. Here, they stared up into the sky, towards the ‘fissure’ from which the water fell.

  Indeed, ‘Bloodfall’ was something of a partial misnomer. For the water took on its sanguine appearance only halfway through the drop, no doubt muddied and gunked up by Naraka’s hellish essence.

  Prior to that transition, the water was of a mossy, greenish color. Trippy, despite being cross with Serac, could still be coaxed into performing his glossary duties on occasion—this being one of them.

  “Pretjord is characterized by ancient forests and countless bodies of water, all of which are connected to the Sanzu in one way or another. I imagine the green is a reflection of the Realm’s rich biodiversity.”

  “Sounds like paradise,” Serac quipped, oddly heartened by her robot voice’s helpful attitude. “Or at least it sounds like the exact opposite of this hellhole.”

  “Wouldn’t be so sure, princess,” Zacko chimed in, with one eyebrow ever bent in sardonic humor. “Every Realm has its own supply of Aberrants for us to smite. Also, don’t forget, we’ll be running into more Wayfarers the higher we climb. And you know those guys can’t be trusted.”

  “Pfft, you’re one to speak!”

  “Hey, I think I deserve a little credit. At least I didn’t turn out like some of the other Wayfarers you’ve met.”

  At this, Serac’s face fell somewhat, though not for the reason she might’ve expected.

  “Still thinking about Dashi?” Zacko said as he lowered his eyebrow in implied apology.

  Serac nodded, then shook her head just as quickly.

  “No,” she decided. “This is right. This is as it should be.”

  Zacko chuckled good-naturedly. “Like my mama always used to say, it takes a village to raise an Immortal. Dashi’s in good hands, you’ll see. And if he does end up becoming Naraka’s next Realm Immortal, well, he’ll be one boss I wouldn’t mind working with.”

  There Zacko went again with one of mama’s famous sayings. By now, Serac was starting to wonder how much of these aphorisms had actually come from his mother and how much was ad-libbed for the man’s own amusement.

  “Well, it’s like I always say,” Serac took a stab at an ad-lib of her own. “We all have our own Paths to tread, and mine happens to lead nowhere else but up.”

  Zacko smiled at this, as earnest as he’d ever be. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s.”

  According to Trippy’s instructions, all Serac needed to complete her ascension now was to stand under the waterfall and let Pathsight do its thing. It sounded simple enough in theory, but in practice and up close, the Bloodfall looked rather inhospitable—more likely to wash away her scrawny Rakshasa frame than to carry her up into the heavens.

  But, once again, there was nowhere else for her to go but up. So, she screwed up her courage and let nature take its course.

  As it turned out, the water was as inhospitable as it looked. It drenched Serac in its ‘blood’, which was as viscous and hot as if it’d spurt out of a freshly severed artery. She shut her eyes and pushed on, struggling to find purchase on the skeletal fragments that served as the substrate for this portion of the Sanzu River.

  Eventually, she made it to the Bloodfall’s ‘center’, making sure to leave enough room for Zacko to stand beside her. Then, the two of them bowed their heads and brought their hands together in standing meditation.

  [Designation: SERAC EDIN]

  [Karmic Level: 30]

  [Ascension Status: APPROVED]

  As Pathsight ‘did its thing’, a familiar sensation took hold of Serac. Solid into liquid into vapor into soul. Altogether rising towards the heavens—as her Path intended.

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