Chapter 223

223 Servant of the Axe – Friends Like These

Chapter Type: Character Development

Adelose was a female spirit, freckled of skin and red of hair. She was also transparent, more so than most residents of the Dreamtime.

In particular, it was hard to focus on any details of her face.

“I like your eyes.” She told me.

“Rhishisikk, this Adelose. She’s what happens when a ghost hangs around long enough and learns to sustain itself. Adelose, this is Rhishisikk. He’s a spawn of the titans, but he gets quests done.”

“Yes, I heard about him from the horned rat. I’ve a quest for you, if you don’t mind.”

“So long as it doesn’t conflict with my existing duties. Honestly, I’m very busy.”

“Oh, it’s a small thing.” She said. “When you next pass through Boadicea’s Girdle, I’d like you to expose three ghosts to the sun.”

“Won’t that kill them?” I asked.

.....

“I certainly hope so.” She said. “Their existence... is a blight upon my own.”

“Well, I suppose I can find three ghosts in a town of that size, but it may take me a while.”

“No! I mean... please, no, I misspoke. I want three very specific ghosts brought into the sunlight. Billy Morris, Missie Chapel, and Stewart George, as they were known in life.”

“Can you give me any help finding them?”

“Not precisely, but there are several sunken buildings that can only be accessed from the city sewers. One of those is the orphanage where we lived together. That’s where you can find them.”

“Wait, these are your FRIENDS?”

She seemed to shrink a bit. “In life, we were friends. In death, we were comrades. But I’ve moved beyond that, while they... haven’t.”

“Maybe it’s just a matter of time.” I said.

“No.” Adelose said. “We share a common root. They can... eat of my energies. And they are using that power to generate fear. And... I understand ghosts do that. The problem is that they are storing that fear-energy in our root. I can feel it, struggling to change me, to change who I am. I... I have a right to exist, don’t I?”

I sighed, wishing for Kismet to break in just then and make a decision.

“This shared root,” I asked, “This is why you can’t kill them yourself?”

“Oh no,” she said, “it is entirely within my power to wipe them from existence.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Then why do you need me?”

“Well, putting out a quest means I get to save my personal energies for growth, rather than expending them... well, killing what’s left of my friends. You see, I don’t... want to kill them myself. I heard about you surviving a raid on the ghost pirates on... on whatever that island is called. I thought you might be a ghost slayer.”

“How powerful are these ghosts?”

“Oh, together they’re about... about a tenth as strong as I am.”

“And if I can give them somewhere else to store their fear rather than the root you share?”

“Oh, that would be just AMAZING. Do you think you can?”

“I don’t know. How much of your friends are left?”

And there were other details. But, come dawn, I had my first quest with more than one path toward completion.

#

“How much do you know about killing ghosts?” I asked Kismet.

“Rhishi, shut up and cook eggs. Nobody cares right now.”

“CAN you kill ghosts?” Tarantula asked. “I’m not an expert on the undead, but aren’t they all already dead?”

“Not all of them.” Madonna said. “Ghouls, for example, are still alive, they’re just necromantically attuned. Husband, where is my bacon?”

“We have no ham left, and therefore, no bacon.”

“You are a hunter. There are pigs on the southern part of this island. Go get bacon, I’ll wait.”

Kismet held her shoulder. “We DO have coffee, would you like coffee?”

“It won’t taste like bacon.” She replied, but let herself be led away.

“Why do YOU want to kill ghosts?” Tarantula asked me.

I explained the quest to her.

“I’m not an expert on divinities, but that sounds rather petty for a god or goddess not to just do that for themselves.”

“Spirits, at least most spirits, find it difficult to manifest in our world. The larger the spirit, the larger the manifestation, and thus the more energy to maintain. Literally, being in our world is harmful to them.”

“Why is that? I would think a world is a world.”

I scraped eggs off the pans with a spatula and flipped them. “I suppose I can teach you the theory later. But just now, I am busy infusing and cooking eggs.”

“Is after breakfast too early?”

“If you don’t mind walking in the rain.” I said.

“I have a parasol.” She replied.

Oh, yes. I forgot to mention, our cook was in rebellion, or else really had contracted a case of River Fever from head lice, both of which were running rampant in the inn next door.

There were herbs, which we were employing, and medicine, which we used sparingly because of cost, and there was magic, which we did not know.

So, we purchased soap, and advocated bathing, and you can imagine how well that went over with sailors.

Anyway, Tarantula and I took a pleasant walk to the west, into the jungle, along the river to where the shrine of Sobek was.

“Someone has left a cage of rats here!”

“Just ignore the rats, and they’re likely to ignore you.”

I began tying off strings and hanging beads from them.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m going to use these physical objects as anchors for the mystic ward to keep the shrine spiritually clean.”

“That sounds like an awful lot of work for an abandoned shrine.”

I looked around at the debris. “There is a woman who is supposed to be picking this up.”

“She must lack a parasol.”

I snorted. “And, potentially, a work ethic.”

The ward, again, refused to hold. It was a close thing, and the edges of the shrine-space I’d marked were visible in the spirit world. It just... fell apart into tatters.

“Well, it IS getting closer to taking.” I said. “Maybe next week.”

“If you survive my attack next week.”

“True, but I’m planning next week on the belief that both of us will be there to see it.”

“It won’t be poison.” She said.

“Good, variety is the spice of life.”

“In your place, I would take my threats very seriously.”

“Do you plan to hold to your oath for the next three days?”

“At least that long, yes.”

“Then why borrow fear from next week? I’m sure there’s enough going on right now to keep us busy until then.”

And so, there was; it turns out there was a winter tournament in the coming week. As horses were rare in the Isles, there was no Lancer competition, but the docks would be full and to the point of being overloaded with people for the fishing competition.

“Ambassador,” Gamilla said, “you really need to convince the other women not to go.”

“Why? The sword competition is the top martial contest of the tournament.”

???????????????? ???????????????????????????? ???????????????????????? ???????????????????? ???????? ????????????????????-????????????.????????????

“No, the FENCING competition is the top martial contest. Rules are much more strict than a normal sword tournament.”

But when we confronted them with the stricter rules, it just made them practice even harder.

I was a fool; I let myself be conned into baking cookies and bread for the event, both of which vanished seemingly overnight.

Why was I doing that, anyway? I was more than a cook.

Oh, right. Carpentry required wood.

Tarantula made her attempt to kill me while we were setting up decorations to hang between the two inns; she “slipped”, and slid in a way to knock me off the roof. I was able to grab the edge, but could not hold onto the rain-slicked tiles.

Cats make better use of their evolutions against falling than I did that day. I landed firmly on my butt, taking twenty-four Concussion damage, and pulling every muscle in the back of my left leg.

But, for the first time in a long while, I was able to walk away from a fall. Well, limp, but I moved away under my own power.

.....

“Are you dead?” Tarantula called over the edge of the roof, and “Well, I’ll try again next week, then. Enjoy the tournament.”

I know, I know. More than four days to heal, it could be considered little more than a prank. By some people. People who weren’t me.

Honestly, I hated myself more than her at that moment. If I’d been thinking instead of reacting, I could have just grabbed HER instead of the roof.

I could have excused that as self-defense, at least.

I hobbled up the stairs; I’d just have to remember not to visit any active volcanoes with her around.

I made my way to my hammock. I had survived, and the rest really could wait until tomorrow.

Except that I’d forgotten to lock the door.