Amdirlain’s PoV - Limbo - Monastery of Will’s Hand
The hour spent guiding Nomein and Tenzin had disappeared in the blink of an eye. Time however, played its usual tricks while talking through the unpleasant memories with Elliyna. Each minute seemed to drag on, and the hours chewed her resolve with serrated teeth. When she finally called a halt, Elliyna looked at Amdirlain with grim consideration.
“Before you go, when did you first see yourself as unworthy of respect?”
“I don’t-”
A raised hand stopped Amdirlain’s protest, and Elliyna went on once she’d stilled completely. “Know you accept responsibility for events, not your own doing. Know I’ve seen that primarily in two types of individuals: ones where everything is about them and those lacking self-affection. Of the two, I’m inclined to ask you two questions: why do you hate yourself, and why must everything be your fault?”
Amdirlain opened her mouth to object but stopped at Elliyna’s concerned but unyielding gaze. “Would you like me to give you examples? Know I have many already, and I’m sure I’ll encounter more during our future conversations.”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see it that way,” Amdirlain replied and leant forward, ready to argue the point.
“Know we will meet again in a few days; I require time in meditations to ensure my body’s self-image. Know you are to avoid delving into fresh memories, instead think about your life before your curse. “
“Why? Is that going to help with the mess? It’s all post curse.”
Elliyna interrupted her protests before she could say anything more. “When did you first see yourself as less important than others?”
The question caught Amdirlain off-guard, and she jerked back in her seat.
“Know that last question I want you considering for me during this gap in our sessions,” stated Elliyna, having ignored Amdirlain’s question. “Know you are to delve until you truly get to its heart, even after our discussions resume.”
“I don’t see it that way,”
“Know I’m aware of that, but your self-perspective will certainly contribute to issues even if it’s not at the core of them,” replied Elliyna. “Know that I would suggest you decline Master Tenzin’s aid for now in resolving your issue with the Psi reserves. Or are your emotions under control enough that providing them with greater strength is safe?”
Feeling battered and worse for wear, Amdirlain nodded jerkily and left without a word. The walk through the passageways usually gave her time to find her calm. The minimal illumination of the evening was not bothering her senses, yet tonight peace escaped her, and the darkness itched against her mind. Peering at Limbo’s black spiralling sky, she halted on an open walkway and took in the eerie displays far out of range for most being’s sight. Before she moved on, she sent two quick messages not for someone else’s sake but for her own.
“Isa, thank you for your Message; it helped, but don’t send another; I’m still working through too much. You wanted to speak in person, but I can’t sit on this pain any longer. Everyone changes, but after enduring Viper—for you of all people—to ask me if I’d had ’at least’ bonked someone was worse than anything she put me through. I got asked by my Healer when I had stopped respecting myself, but when did you stop respecting me?”
“Maybe the vibes you got were from me being out of my head in pain, so much so, that I almost left. I can’t even say it was because of our past friendship that stayed, but more I didn’t—couldn’t—trust my own emotions. Is that sad that you’re free now because I couldn’t trust myself? You’re free, but I’m trapped for who knows how long.”
The trembling started after only four or five steps; with her legs threatening to give way, she changed into a transparent membrane across the stone. The responding tearful apology buzzed with its good news, but with no ears to hear and caught up in the painful memories churning inside her, it went unheard.
Isa’s PoV - Eyrarháls
I’d eventually made our excuses, and we’d left Víearr to introduce his foster daughter to her new family. Stepping past the gate brought a sigh from the lifting of the orderly embrace. The first note crossing my lips in tune with the courtyard’s song made me realise it wasn’t only the courtyard’s wards. We’d both been in tune with another, further to the east. Music that had soaked into the town’s groundwaters only to bubble and foam about every droplet joined by more energy draining out of its source.
“The Silver Chalice next?” Ilya asks, stopping next to me under the shade of the old trees. Her words spoken in Celestial were barely whispers; every word in it was a gentle melody across her battered song, calling my attention to all the sharp wounded edges. Its inflections are soothing to the ears and apparently to Ilya’s emotions.
“We should get a room. I want to relax and listen to this town’s music,” I reply happily.
Ilya’s smile echoes my own. “I hope you’ve still got plenty of coins left then since it’s the fanciest inn in town.”
“I told you I got lots from the Dwarves, but I’ve still got pretty things I can sell from years ago,” I reply, letting the music go for now. “Amdirlain used her Inventory in so many ways, where I just became a massive packrat.”
Ilya looks me up and down in mock confusion, but it’s clear she’s just using the excuse to ogle. “You’ve no whiskers nor a furry tail.”
Looping my arm through her left to leave her sword hand free, I head in what I hope is the right direction. “They have a very nice bathing set up.”
My words raise light notes through Ilya’s song. “She put that in her account, too?”
“Only in that Verdandi was going to pay her contracts in chimes of bath time at this place,” I tease and feel Ilya’s muscles tighten.
“Your friend has an Assassin Class? What do you mean, pay in chimes?”
I manage not to giggle at the rise in her bafflement. “Yes. I felt your tension, but I didn’t listen for the cause. Until you mentioned it this morning, I’d thought it was just nerves from being jealous and the unexpected situation. She took on assassination contracts with payment based on a chime of bath time for groups of undead destroyed. It helped her level the Class; if both parties agree to the contract price, it doesn’t matter how silly.”
“You knew I was jealous and said nothing?” grumbles Ilya, but the quick notes make it clear the wheels spinning inside her mind are on a different matter.
A quick kiss eases her frown, and the music from the people about us doesn’t shift in unpleasant ways. “Ilya, my love, you’re often jealous, and if I say anything, it makes you paranoid as well. Letting you come to your own decisions proved the correct choice in the past. Plus, I wasn’t the calmest either, and I’m stupid. I heard her song briefly with Ki Healing active. I should have trusted her more, but it seems I’ve gained some paranoia as well.”
“Tell me when I’m going wrong; I’ve inflicted enough injury in the past.”
“Training wounds don’t count, though the first times you stabbed me were a shock,” I said and poke a finger into her forearms for emphasis.
My dig gets the response I expect. “I’m not apologising for those wounds; you needed to learn fast.”
Giving her a teasing smile gets an eye-roll reaction at taking my bait. “Did I ask you to?”
“No, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll kiss all the places I’ve stabbed, cut, or put arrows in you,”
My lazy smile draws delightful notes from Ilya. “That’s a lot of kissing.”
“That’s the idea,” murmurs Ilya happily, and I squeeze her arm, mostly enjoying the music about us. The melodies are full of life. Even the dark edges here are flicks of distorted chords compared to the grim choruses of even Hell’s quietest places.
The decorative exterior of The Silver Chalice is fancy, near-seamless stonework resonating with the Dwarven builders’ care. Each note rang with their pride, sturdiness, and joy in their craft. Celtic-style knots link while climbing every edge of the building, corner work, doorways, and window frames alike. While crafters, Human and Dwarven alike, had skilfully built every structure within the inner ward, this one seemed almost a foundational piece of the town. It was a deep bass thrum that lent its support to the town’s music, even though it clearly could stand on its own.
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It wasn’t just the fanciest inn on price alone, but a family’s pride and tradition ran throughout its melody, giving the place a life of its own. There are places in The Exchange that are shallow in comparison despite their greater age. It was the difference between existing merely to serve a function or being part of a larger whole with a family’s focus, pride, and care.
Ilya stops in sync with me, but with her gaze roaming the street and people, it’s clear she doesn’t see or—unsurprisingly hear—the place as I do.
“What’s up?”
I wave a hand upwards to draw a canopy above us. “The building feels like a solid, oak tree growing from the earth, rather than a place of business.”
“It''s stone.”
Her dismissive tone draws up an unintended laugh. “You’re still such a sylph at heart.”
“It’s a building, so what? There are wards woven into it, protecting its stonework against impacts, fire, and spells. It would gain a temporary respite during a fight. It’s a place easily broken with sufficient force, and its wards don’t change that.”
“And a romantic. Have I mentioned that? Can’t you feel the sense of family about this place?”
“All I see is a stone building,” Ilya insists, pulling me towards the door before I can explain further.
A blond-haired woman with a solemn song and faded laugh lines on her middle-aged features moves through the morning crowd with the ease of long practice. Her silver-eyed gaze flickered with the door’s motion, and though the smile didn’t waver, her gaze grew a fraction sadder.
“Would we be able to have a table on the next floor, please?” I ask. “Near a window, if possible.”
She greets the request with a polite nod, and doesn’t react with surprise; despite having caught that my words and the movement of my lips didn’t mesh. “Of course, just follow me.”
She leads us through a crowd of nationalities: pale Norse mixed in with Egyptian, Persian, Romans, and even two ebony dark Nubian warriors with enchanted weapons close at hand. The dark wooden staircase leaves plenty of room to walk beside each other, though its ceiling could be higher. On this floor, the wards muffle the chatter from below and far fewer guests sit about the fine wood tables with only a few Norse enjoying a quieter breakfast. Two of the wide windows don’t have anyone sitting near them and she leads us to the closest table, before I motion to the next along. The view it offers of the Jarl’s Hall is far better for my purposes.
“Is there a difference in menu between floors?”
“No, everything is available no matter the floor you’re on. The guests eating breakfast in the common room at this bell seem to prefer the ground floor.”
I stop her when she offers us both a thick vellum menu with elaborate calligraphy listing the options. I’d already spotted a few diners downstairs with what I wanted.
“I’d like a mead, along with two fried eggs, dark toasted bread along with bacon rashers or ham steaks.”
“A dark ale, and whatever is your biggest breakfast platter,” Ilya quickly adds and doesn’t take one either.
The surprised notes don’t make it to her expression, but I can hear in her mind that Elves dressed as we are have never requested such an order. I give her a smile and a shrug before setting one of the large Dwarven golds on the table’s edge. “We’ve been travelling all night, and I’ve not eaten much of late.”
Her thoughts give away exactly the gold''s worth, and it''s little wonder Ossi hadn’t wanted to give up a half year or more of a skilled labourers’ wages.
“We’d also like a room for a few days, whatever is nearest the top floor.”
“A room each?” she asks, even though it is clear from her tone she’s expecting a denial.
“No,” Ilya says, jumping in, but manages a friendly request. “Only one room with a wide comfy bed, please, and I’m told you have a fancy bath suite? How can we organise time for a long soak after we’ve eaten?”
“I’ll make the arrangements for you.”
“We’re Rúsea and Tiror,” I say before she can walk away. “Might we know your name?”
“Ylva. Well met to you both. Would you like your drinks brought with your meal or before?”
“With would be fine, thank you,” Ilya replies, and I give her a smile in thanks and turn to regard the Jarl’s Hall.
It’s a simple matter to push Steward Hinrik’s name into the minds of the Jarl’s guards, along with a bunch of musings that fit in with their mental chatter. Grabbing the image of an older man, I share it with Ilya while I consider options for dealing with him. The mental image comes complete with a smile that reminds me of contract Devils, always polite, helpful, and unoffensive until they have their target over a barrel. I’ll be glad never to get stuck protecting one of those again.
From the guard’s perspective, he’s about a similar height to most Norse men we’ve seen. Though he wears nice clothes, they’re nothing over the top, a good cut but no jewellery or fancies. Square chin, with wide-set green eyes and greying-auburn hair, he looks friendly and ensures the Jarl’s people get looked after. Now I so want to hear his song. Amdirlain’s account even admitted she clashed with his dad; maybe he’s avenging the family honour in his eyes.
The song further along the street is an example of missing things that makes me wonder what Amdirlain’s record left out. She’d only said she transformed it during a fight a Valkyrie had triggered between herself and Viper. She had said nothing about leaving a blazing song beacon etched within the town, filled with determination.
“Thinking deep thoughts.”
“Trying to decide the best way to make it crystal clear to Steward Hinrik that he’s messed with the wrong people. I was going to smack him proverbially but the guards respect him, so maybe I can smooth it over instead. I think the cousin is the higher priority, only because we don’t know the next time he’ll open that Gate.”
“Then do we go play nice or crush his head?”
“Oh, I don’t want to kill him,” I protest, and explain for Ilya’s confusion. “Someone might bring him back from the dead.”
“What do you want to do with him?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have him pick a card if I’ve not decided before then.”
Even though we’re speaking Celestial, Ilya mutters so softly even I can barely hear. “Just kill him and drop his Soul straight into Hell. Summoning demons to mate with monsters, the risk it puts this entire world in, he certainly deserves something permanent.”
“Someone might be stupid enough to rescue him since he’s connected to the royal family. While I know he deserves it, whoever they send might not,” I reply and catch Ilya’s hand across the table. “We’ll settle them both, check out the enclave and then I’d like to talk to Sidero.”
“I’m still concerned about approaching a Kyton.”
“The only reason I’m concerned is that Sidero is going to be livid.” I admit, and pat her hand when the furious chords grow under the ice-calm expression. “No getting between us with this! We’re both higher levels, but I won’t be fighting her. With Sarah it’s safer to let her express herself then let her stew and I deserve a black eye for what I did. You’ve given me far worse training.”
I hiss in joy when a lightbulb hits me and I almost feel pity for one Himelchon Malantur.
“Oh, I know what I’m going to do; it’s vicious, but it will do the trick.”
A grim, complex melody comes to mind, churning with life that makes it hard to hold back, forming them even without knowing if he’s about. I make quick work of meshing it into another to fit my intent.
Breakfast is a welcome distraction and makes me realise I’d never stopped to eat before. The food we’d ordered in Ecbatana had been the first I’d even thought of since becoming an Erinys, and I hadn’t gotten to even sample it. The chewy bread and still-runny yolks taste so good, despite being simple fare, and the crispy bacon, yum yum, isn’t everything better with bacon? Well, except Hell, I’m betting even multiple rashers of bacon an hour wouldn’t make Hell palatable likely they’d find some way to turn it into a punishment instead.
The moan I make around a mouthful of food has Ilya chuckling.
“Meanie,” I mutter around a mouthful of toast.
“Says the one who likes to hold me on the orgasm’s edge.”
The red-headed Elf from Viper’s memory steps out of the Jarl’s Hall his polite well-mannered smile hiding the disgust that sits in his song. Echoes of notes hiss with the Abyss’ screams at me from a song that’s contemptuous of the people about him. A guard that nods respectfully triggering notes of sheer revulsion and hatred, beneath his tranquil face. The melody that I’d been reconsidering springs up again, and I empower the chords running through my mind with the molten fires I’d felt cooking me. I’m not sending him to Hell. I’m going to wrap his mind into it right here while keeping his body alive.
He’s out of sight, but I’m still focused on his music when I release my song amidst it, charged with a troll’s regeneration force to keep his body hale. The river Dis’ song of spiteful self-reflection drops him shrieking in agony before it locks him within its embrace and the physical screaming stops. Though Hell-like agony rises from his song, and the running starts as guards, along with others, come to attend the scene.
“Should we see what happened?” Ilya asks idly.
“I’m sure someone will take care of it. I have things to do today. Frankly, it sounds like someone made a grave mistake. I do hope they’ll learn to be more careful.”
One royal arsehole with locked-in syndrome now served sunny side up. Or should that be down?
The sharp amusement in Ilya’s gaze glints like ice shards reflecting sunlight. “They weren’t simply unlucky?”
“Some things don’t count as merely bad luck, plus it’s too nice a day to waste time on unpleasantness.”
Ilya gives me a coy smile and traces a finger down the side of her tankard. “Food, bath and some time together. Are you sure that plan won’t change?”
“No, I think that one just became locked in. Remind me later to send a message and let everyone know how our travels have gone.”
Savouring another mouthful of breakfast, a Message buzzed in my ear as if summoned by my intention. I felt my face blank from trained reflex against the sheer pain in her voice, and barely swallowed the suddenly tasteless food. I try to compose an apology with memories of Hell’s pain twisting around inside me and bringing me to tears.
“Last message, I promise. You’re right; that was beyond vomit inducing after what you went through. I know how Succubi songs sound with their continual raging physical lusts and I should have asked how you coped, not made that joke. I’ve taken care of Viper. She was in the Persian kingdom, but I ashed her and her priesthood. Locked her use name to ‘this space intentionally left blank’. She might not get further names. I’m not asking for forgiveness because I don’t deserve it, but I’ll still try to prove I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” asks Ilya, her fingertips catching the tears on my cheeks.
“I hurt her, and I didn’t see it. I just heard a Message from her, and she sounds so torn up.”
Catching her hand, I try to give her a reassuring squeeze and wonder at how fortunate I’d been. If they’d kept me in Hell for training, what would have become of me?
“She’s not a Modron with perfectly ordered gears; except for them, most beings have emotions.”
“With anything painful and important to J you normally had to read between the lines. Unimportant or happy stuff she’d share, but anything painful or that mattered, that stayed under lock and key.”
“Would you tell me more about the three of you?”
“She was tiny compared to me even before we really grew, but talk about misleading. We had started school together, and this bully pulled my hair on like the second day, I think, and she punched him straight in the nose. I got her out of that trouble...”