57. Eggs and Omelets


    As the Wayfarers began their most nerve-wracking meditation session yet, Serac volunteered to take first watch. It was the only logical choice, given that her counterpart was mere seconds away from bleeding out.


    Zacko took his much-needed reconstitution break, and Serac hunkered down for a staring contest with the Maidens. Or rather, with just Sundara, because Meetra had gone right back to her own staring contest with the floor.


    What vague sense of contentment Serac had harbored since making her [Third Pledge] had all but evaporated. Indeed, it’d been ‘shocked’ out of her system upon discovering that Meetra the Bone Maiden—that cruel operator who’d slit a child’s throat without a second thought—was or at least had been a Wayfarer herself.


    “Do you not trust us to leave you be while you meditate?”


    Sundara was the one to pose the question, still wearing her impenetrable smile. It was the kind of smile that made the accompanying question easy to answer.


    “Of course not,” Serac said with a slight touch of incredulity. “You guys have been nothing but bad news ever since we met. And this latest stunt with the Waystation… if anything, it lowers you even further in my estimation. Because it means you once had the power and freedom to go your own way, then you threw it away, all for a child murderer with a skeleton fetish.”


    At this, Meetra momentarily turned her silent glare Serac’s way, but still did not deign to speak. As for the older Maiden, she remained stock-still in her seat as she offered an even-keeled response.


    “I would’ve thought that one such as yourself,” Sundara said, “risen from the roiling pits of the Damnatorium, could see what we see with more clarity and dream what we dream with more fervor. Are you really so selfish as to turn a blind eye to the suffering and despair of your fellow denizens of hell? Is the pursuit of your own ‘power and freedom’ the only guidepost upon your Path?”


    What? So caught off guard was Serac by these words that she sputtered once or twice before finding her own.


    “Are you for real right now?” she exclaimed with a heavy note of incredulity. “I think you have it backwards! I’m not the one kidnapping children or turning their parents into Bone Husks! What do you see and dream that could even begin to justify that sort of nastiness?”


    “What I see is a Realm that’s full of life, yet deprived of the means for said lives to prosper,” the older woman answered calmly. “I see that I and so many other Rakshasas—and that includes you, Serac Edin—have been condemned to this existence through no fault of our own. Penitence for sins we didn’t commit. Karmic retribution for lives we’ve no memories of. I know that my words ring true to you, don’t deny it.”


    Indeed they did, and indeed she couldn’t. Until her moment of transmutation, Serac wouldn’t have even dreamed of being anything more than a Penitent lifer. But now?


    “You ask what I dream, Wayfarer?” Sundara continued, and for the first time, her eyes misted slightly, and her voice quivered with genuine emotion. “You may be content to go your own way, never again to spare a thought for this Realm once you’ve moved on, but I’m not. I dream of a Naraka severed of our Karmic chains. A Naraka strong and united enough to defy our collective fate. For Rakshasas everywhere to rise—to take from this world what we deserve in this life. Not in the next, and certainly not from a previous one. And that is why Meetra and I serve our Lord. For he is the guidepost to our dream.”


    For a moment, Serac was flustered into silence. All this time, she’d been so focused on her Wayfarer’s task of, well, Wayfaring that she never stopped to think on the places and people she’d leave behind.


    Sure, she’d built that bridge across the Fibrinous Canyon. She supposed that was something. But what would become of Ravi, Pazu, Indira, and all the other Hopers she’d gotten to know? Would she ever see them again after ascending to a higher Realm? Did she care?


    The answer came quickly, which was that, yes, of course she cared. But what was the point of caring if she hadn’t the means nor even the will to act on it? What was the point of connection if it was never meant to be permanent?


    At least in that sense, perhaps the other woman was right. Hers was a selfish and ultimately lonely journey, regardless of how many companions or friends she met along the way. For her Path would never let her stray for long.


    Serac became aware of a strange sensation around her right temple. Not so much pain, but more like tingling—like a thought or voice that was just on the cusp of making itself known.


    “Do not be swayed by the Maidens, Wayfarer,” Trippy made himself heard then, and while the timing was a little suspicious, Serac somehow knew it to be mere coincidence. “They may have their own Path to tread, but so do you. Do not lose sight of what matters to you.”


    You don’t need to tell me, Trippy. I know exactly where my priorities lie. And they certainly don’t include—


    “The killings, the kidnappings, this Bone Blight,” she spoke quietly, finally managing to match Sundara’s calm. “They’re all part of this noble dream, are they? You know, Zacko taught me this Manesferan saying the other day. Is this like a ‘break a few eggs to make an omelet’ type deal for you?”


    Sundara did her best Zacko impression by raising one eyebrow.


    “I don’t know what an ‘omelet’ is, but if you’re asking whether the sacrifices are for the greater good, then the answer is yes. Make no mistake, Wayfarer: what we have on our hands is a war. For Naraka to rise, we must first drag down the other Realms—especially those who sit pretty atop the mountain. I’m given to understand that you’ve… already had some dealings with an agent of Devalem. Then surely, you must know the kind of power that’s required to defy the gods themselves. Power that’s far beyond the reach of Narakites in our current state.”


    “Yeah, I’m sure [Ossifying] folks and keeping kids penned up in a cave is doing wonders to improve that situation.”If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    “What our Lord needs are soldiers who can fight. Soldiers who’re absolutely loyal. Who’ve proven themselves worthy of championing his cause. Too many of our fellow Rakshasas fall well short of that standard, but there’s yet hope for the younger generation. A brave few among those children you claim to care about will rise to the occasion—to join myself and Meetra by our Lord’s side. As for the others, well… you’ve already seen what became of some of them. In the end, they shall all serve the greater plan, one way or another.”


    Serac frowned at this, trying to understand what had been left unsaid. Then it hit her like a ton of onyx, dust-borne bricks.


    “The Pishachas!” she gasped. “Are they… were they the children that failed to prove themselves?”


    “More accurately, they’re reincarnations of those children, though perhaps not in the sense you might understand the word. Their physical components, as well as their most basic cognitive ability to obey and fulfill our Lord’s wishes, reinforced by and encased in Bone to grant them power far beyond their means. It’s a lengthy and taxing process, one that—regrettably—neither Meetra nor I could assist with. But that is why our Lord has his vessel to act as his eyes, ears, and mouth.”


    A Ksana passed in blissful confusion… then Serac retched, even though there was nothing for her to regurgitate. This time, there’d been no need to read between the lines, for Sundara couldn’t have made any plainer the horrors of what had been said.


    All those children penned up in one place, with a wise, smiling leader to herd the flock. ‘My friends’, he’d called them. How much of that was Dashi the boy and how much an empty vessel filled by the Bone Lord’s evil presence?


    Had all of it been an act? Had she and Zacko been manipulated all this time, as part of an elaborate and involuntary audition to become the Bone Lord’s next champion? Had the Wayfarers run blindly through their choices and constraints, all to save a child that was beyond saving?


    But no. She remembered that moment when a scrawny youngling had thrown himself in front of a Huskbound fist. She remembered his fading whispers about a fight he couldn’t back down from, echoing the tender courage passed down from his newest friend.


    She knew that Dashi the boy was a real soul, one sincere enough to break through a Realm Immortal’s magic—especially when it mattered most. And it was this incontrovertible truth that now fueled her anger as she glowered across the table at the Bone Maidens.


    “Heavy is the head that wears the crown?” she recited in a low voice. “Loyalty is earned? Sacrifice is a privilege? I’m sorry, but your Lord sounds like a miserable crybaby on top of being a massive hypocrite. So, thanks for the job offer, but no thanks. I think I’d rather take my chances with my own vision and dreams. And I gotta tell ya, the vision of you and Meetra going poof into Souldust is looking real good, right about now.”


    Sundara made no reply, but neither did she keep her smile. Meetra pushed off the table and turned to face Serac, with one hand reaching for the sword at her belt.


    As if on cue, that was when Zacko too snapped his eyes open and rose to his feet.


    “Yikes,” was the first word out of his mouth. “Did I miss something? This room is a lot tenser than I remember.”


    Even as she kept her eyes on the Maidens, Serac could see (with a sinking feeling) that Zacko’s left arm was still covered in a layer of Bone.


    “It appears that reconstitution cannot heal this partial [Ossification],” Trippy made the same observation. “My guess is you would need to cut it off at the source, i.e. the Bone Lord himself.”


    That would be my guess too. But first, we need to show these Maidens what’s what.


    Serac was angry, but she hadn’t lost her head completely. She knew she still desperately needed to reconstitute herself, and as she approached the lotus flower, she eyed Sundara questioningly.


    “Go ahead, Wayfarer,” the older woman said, unsmiling but calm. “We shan’t go back on our word, your insults notwithstanding. Our Lord wants a proper trial, and he shall have it.”


    “Go ahead, Serac,” Zacko echoed the sentiments, though for much different reasons. “Get yourself your beauty meditation. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on these jokers.”


    Serac took them up on the offer, though she needed a few moments to calm herself enough to meditate. Once she did, she first checked her status to confirm what she already suspected.


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: OSSIFY]


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: ENLISTED]


    [Wayfarer Status Effect: HEAVY]


    [TRIBULATION active (x3): current buff at 15%]


    Of the negative status effects she’d been lugging around, [Lesser Bleed] was the only one that healed. Her [Ossify] bar was still partially filled, about a third of the way full. And she was, at least according to Pathsight, still [Enlisted], even though she couldn’t be further from feeling any sort of loyalty to the Bone Lord.


    Oh well, gotta take the buffs with the debuffs, I guess.


    She then turned her attention to leveling. Despite her fat cache of Liminal Karma, the requirements had ballooned to the point where she could level only once. After some consideration, she put the point into [Abidance], hoping to offset the Stamina and Poise penalties imposed by her [Heavy] Burden.


    Finally, she took a deep breath before rousing herself from meditation. By now, her anger had subsided somewhat, but she was still ready and willing to—


    “—throw it down, right this instant! That does not belong to you!”


    “Sorry, but like my mama always used to say, finders keepers. Which is especially appropriate in this case.”


    Serac rose to her feet, frowning in confusion at the fracas unfolding before her. Zacko and Meetra were both displaying their ill manners by squaring off atop the table, their faces an inch away from each other but not quite touching.


    “Yikes,” was the first word out of Serac’s mouth. “Did I miss something? This room is… somehow even tenser than I remember.”


    “Oh, it’s nothing,” Zacko said breezily.


    “It’s not nothing,” Meetra snarled, sending spittle into Zacko’s face. “Every second you keep that amulet around your unworthy neck is a second you spend desecrating the memories contained therein.”


    Serac’s frown deepened as she searched her own memories.


    “Oh, it’s that Trinket!” she exclaimed as realization dawned. “[His Sister’s Keeper], was it? But why’re you so worked up—oh.”


    “It’s nothing, Serac,” Zacko said again, with a quiet yet unmistakable menace. “Sweetheart here seems to think she ought to be exempt from the consequences of her own choices. Well, I’ve no intention of humoring her tantrum… and every intention of punishing her straight-up evil deeds.”


    That was when Sundara too finally left her seat, uttering an audible tsk in a rare show of impatience.


    “I think we can all agree”—she reached for an urn that was tied to her belt—“that we’ve gone far past the point where words mean anything. So… what say we all throw down and let our blades do the talking?”