Sailing Ether Tides 

Ch: 14 Hole Lotta Love

 Tallum, Leafchaser and Jeskin watched with concern on their faces as the team slowly descended into the dark fissure, after lunch and a nap.

 

“It won’t matter if it’s day or night down there…” Amy answered with a shrug, when Leafy expressed concern at the idea of devling in the evening. “If this runs long, Tallum will bring you back to town.” She kissed the catgirl on the cheek, giggled sweetly and dashed off to join her crew of insane monster hunters.

 

Amy, Wilf and Rio took the lead, with Frankie and Maya in the center of their column. Benny and Luna brought up the rear, as they made their slow, careful way through the convoluted nest of caves under the surface of the volcano’s cone. Everything was jagged, sharp, abrasive or slippery… everything. One long, steeply slanted fissure in the rock sported a floor of smooth obsidian, dark and almost frictionless. 

Amy had placed one incautious foot on the ice slick surface and nearly taken a ride into the depths of the mountain, a ride that most likely would have ended in a forest of sharp obsidian fragments or some other unpleasantness, far, far below. Only Rio and Wilf’s foresight, in tying the team together with a length of stout spidersilk rope, had saved her from embarrassment at minimum. 

 

Townies never understood why the orphans practiced the arts of free climbing, parkour and acrobatics so diligently… but townies never saw them at work. Monsters and dangerous beasts were rarely found in open plains or on paved thoroughfares; instead, dense forests, sucking bogs and caves were the rule. 

 

Rio leapt up on to a high, natural table of coarse tufa stone, the bubbly, foamy lava stone that comprised most of the island. From that platform, he clambered up onto a protrusion higher up on the rough wall of the cavern and wedged a steel device into a fissure. In a trice, he had ropes run through the first anchor point and another for safety, planted nearby. 

Amy took the lead at his call, swinging across the deep chasm splitting the chamber. A moment later, Wilf and Ivy landed on the other side. They swiftly assembled a few lines, to allow the less agile members of the party to traverse the rift safely.

 

Benny shuddered and sweated the whole ten yards across, landing on the other side, pale and shaken by the experience.

“Sorry, Ben... This is turning into more of a delve than we’d hoped.” Amy sighed softly, when they had camp assembled on the cavern floor. She passed him a mug of tea and a sandwich, served with a side of hug, around his massive arm. “Rio and Maya are out with Ivy, scouting for whatever it is.”

 

“Don’t worry about me, Amy.” He mumbled, his voice pitched to carry only within the camp. “I’ll let Becky know we will be a little late coming home.” 

In the middle of the warm, fetid cavern, he produced a lap desk and a few sheets of waxed parchment. He wrote a brief message on a single sheet, which he swiftly began folding and creasing with his enormous, yet nimble fingers.

With a few confident movements, the message became a small origami bird of ivory colored paper. He held the tiny thing on his calloused, wide palm and whispered something softly.

The big man pricked his inner arm with a small, steel nibbed pen and wrote a single character in his own blood on the small object. With a soft rustle, it stirred, stretched and flew off his palm, darting into the cave system on its mission.

 

“Don’t be too impressed.” He murmured, when he saw the way Amy was smiling at him. “Becky and Ivy wrote the spells and enchantments on the parchments; anyone can use them, if they learn the activation spell.”

#

 

Filly and Becky were strolling through the busy trading post, when a tiny white bird landed on the young priestess’ shoulder. “Excuse me, lady Dunham, I have a team in the field. This could be important…”

The confident, erudite girl in robes embellished in a complex springtime forest scene took only a moment to unfold and read her magical messenger bird; the message drew a slight frown to her dusky lips.

 

“My young comrades have gone into a cave system, hunting an unknown monster.” She spoke quietly, with only a little dissatisfaction showing through. “If we are called away inland, we will do our best to make certain that we don’t leave you a mess, lady Dunham.”

 

“This festering problem is mine to deal with, honored cleric. Your light touch in this has been noted and appreciated…” She murmured happily, with her teacup failing to hide a smile on her lips. “I was almost to the point of considering a brute force solution… Sanction of the merchant lords, price controls and even martial law if need be.”

 

“Well, baroness… secular matters should be heading in the right direction.” Becky sighed happily. “Now, I get to go to the temple of Crafts and raise all kinds of trouble.” The diminutive, beautiful young priestess rose gracefully and tucked her arm through sir Kermal’s waiting elbow. 

“That’s the part I live for…”

 

The dark skinned young knight wore his formal armor, emblazoned with his awards from the duke’s Belen and Rummel as well as the duchess of Lemur. The shining golden medals on his breast were surrounded by a flock of lesser houses’ citations.

“It’s an eyesore, but it impresses the rubes…” He answered his wife’s silent complaint. “In this, I become a figure of influence and authority; in my regular armor, they’ll underestimate me and provoke you… And then we’ll have Jasper Hills, all over again.”

 

“You said you wouldn't bring that up again!” She whined, while leaning against his captured arm and rubbing herself against him. 

 

“You said I wouldn’t… not me. If you want to stop being reminded of your mistakes, stop setting yourself up to revisit them.” Kermal sighed softly, his will weakened by the warmth spreading over his arm.

 

The young couple chatted and flirted through the town, strolling the early evening streets and enjoying the bustle and hum. The tension hiding beneath the market ward’s thin veneer of placid civility was almost palpable.

Hostile eyes followed them from shopfronts, as prosperous people scurried to the other side of the street to avoid the strolling pair.

 

“Right now, they are angry and offended…” Becky whispered quietly as they walked in a pool of near silence, through the busy town. “Soon, it will be a properly fermented outrage!” 

 

Her sexy little giggle at the end sent a shiver down Kermal’s spine. “You’re terrifyingly spooky, when you’re cute…” He whispered into her cowl of creeping shadow tentacles.

 

“You mean I’m cute when I’m spooky, don’t you, sir Knight?” She asked archly.

 

“Nope, I'll stand by it.” He winked as they entered the Craft temple park, a smaller version of the main temple district that was surrounded by banking houses, merchant halls and other financial institutions. 

 

Together, they strolled up to the intricate, elaborate, over decorated architectural eyesore and stepped into the sacred hall. A young acolyte in the brown and white formal robes of a mainline Craft priest stepped up to halt their progress. 

“This is a sacred space… the uninitiated must beg the boon of visitation, from head priest Vikkers, in order to tour the temple.”

 

“And if I have been initiated?” The robed girl asked sweetly from deep within her hood of crawling, lurking shadows. “I am Becky Ward, First Reader of Marduk, god of Knowledge and mortal Arts and Crafts… since poor Craft’s sad misadventure.” 

 

The acolyte paled, gasped and scrambled away down the shiny, marble halls, rapidly vanishing into the temple’s maze like interior. Statues in heroic and glorious poses were scattered everywhere; most appeared to be monuments to local notables and wealthy merchant lords, dressed in stone robes of conservative and antique cut.

 

There were men and women depicted old or young, but always perfectly proportioned, beautiful and idealized. The only common factors were general opulence, a plaque, usually of gilt bronze singing some notable family’s praises, and most importantly… At each and every belt or sash, dangled a fat, bulging coin purse. Often , the artist had chiseled in bulging seams, bursting stitches, or the faces of familiar coins, pressed so firmly against the imagined sack, that the image could be seen. It was pretty impressive, as a display of craft, even if it was in pretty bad taste.

 

Most of the figures wore real robes and sparkling jewels, draped and pinned over the stone monuments to their elders; that they might remain in fashion. All of it was artfully arranged and folded to be certain that the essential, stone carved coin pouch was exposed to public view. 

The statuary people were draped and dressed in so much costly stuff, that the display of opulence swiftly soured into gaudy, over exuberant foolishness.

 

The young couple strolled the nave of the temple, eyeing the sculptures, frescoes, paintings and woodwork with smug satisfaction. “Becky…” Kermal warned. “I know you and Otho, beloved of Joy, have spent a lot of time together… If you have these sculptures ‘nudified’ or something…” He began, with a slight, nervous quaver in his voice.

 

“Kermie, husband… would I do something so crass?” She asked sweetly. “I’m going to have them all moved out into the temple garden. Art is meant to be enjoyed by all, not closeted away in some dismal, chilly cavern.” 

Her voice was quite a bit louder that was strictly needful, so Kermal turned around with a sigh, to see who she was really speaking to.

“... We’ll bust out those walls, put in some stained glass windows here, there and there… The frescoes have got to go, I’ll work on that with Dannyl… Oh, hello, honored clerics.” Becky paused her architectural discourse, just long enough to acknowledge the cluster of richly robed men and women scurrying their way, across the otherwise silent temple.

 

“This temple is closed to foreign cultists and the uninitiated.” The tallest and eldest robed figure barked loudly, once they were in looming and bullying range.

 

“A sorry state of affairs, that. Never you mind, we’ll be rectifying that soon.” Becky chirped happily, while explaining her planned renovations, to the man in the armor of a ducal champion. 

He was smaller than most knights and slightly built, he wore a simple wooden and bronze hilted shortsword at his hip, in the strange, anthropomorphic style of the northern hill tribes. The pommel of his weapon was fashioned as a simple human head, stylized and cast in bronze; while the wooden grip was carved and ridged, giving the impression of a man’s torso, with his arms wrapped around himself. 

Two bronze quillons jutted out, styled as humanoid legs, with rudimentary ‘feet’ at the terminals. The blade and quillons rested in a scabbard of wood, covered with a pale indigo fabric, stitched with tiny pockets and a small, rectangular, red label bearing a cryptic word in a foreign alphabet ‘LEVI’S’ it read, to the initiated. That suggested that the blade, mercifully concealed within its scabbard, was the erect male organ of the construct. 

The strange sword gave the appearance of a nude man, plunging, member first into a strange  pair of pants. 

 

Bizarre, phallic sword aside, the man’s formal armor of Order bore the official ducal badges of three duchies and a distressing number of counts and barons. Including the knotted golden fishnet braid of their own liege. 

 

This man, standing beside the cryptic, robed figure, idly discussing plans to turn the temple of Craft into a ‘public library’, filled the head priest with a sour, wrenching dread in his guts.

 

“As you have been repeatedly warned, Craft is dead. The god Craft has fallen, Marduk, the light of man’s Knowledge holds sway in this temple.” Her light, sweet sounding voice sliced the clerics to the bone. “I am Becky, First Reader of the god Knowledge… I’m your pontiff, my children.”

 

She let them sputter and gabble on for a while, they even sent runners to the temple of Order, for a squad of justiciar knights to come roust them. Things were said, threats were uttered and dire proclamations shouted… There was even a full blown ritual to excommunicate her from the cult of Crafts. The attempt failed utterly, when the deity failed to respond… as everyone present fully expected. 

“Calling on a dead god requires a very special skill set and a relationship with the fundamental powers of the universe.” Becky murmured happily, while she watched them perform the empty rite, from a folding chair, while nibbling on a spicy black pepper, goat cheese, watercress and cucumber sandwich. 

“A family friend makes the cheese, delightful isn’t it?” She asked sir Dunham, senior member of the trio of knights sent down from the temple.

 

“Delightful.” He sighed into his teacup, his bottom settled into a comfy chair, inside a circle of cordage, lifted on elaborately carved wooden stanchions. 

“How does this velvet rope keep them at bay and muffle the noise? I Must know!”

 

“It’s a magical tool, designed to infuriate and annoy those outside the circle.” She smiled benignly at the cluster of well dressed clerics and Trade Association members, surrounding their pleasant little sitting room in the temple hall. 

“The more comfy we make ourselves, the less they are able to restrain themselves. My brother discovered this art… it is a potent form of witchcraft.” She answered calmly, while Kermal pulled a tray of cookies from the portable oven.

 

The Fortress Of Soulitude, enchanted tool, barrier construct. Etheric and spiritual enchantments. Rarity, unique, prototype, experimental. Rank, unranked.

Effect: Spiritual Rampart; when installed around a source of etheric magic, this construct will extend the user’s Animus to the perimeter of the construct. Hostile or neutral entities will be psychologically unable to enter, without explicit permission of the user. Truly violent or aggressive intent will allow aggressors to penetrate this barrier. Non sentient beings will ignore all effects, animals of low intelligence will be highly resistant to all effects.

Effect: Good Fences, Good Neighbors; hostile or aggressive vocalizations and displays from outside the barrier will be muted and muffled, allowing user to tune out the noise.

Effect: Backatcha; any entity attempting to penetrate the barrier will be discouraged with illusion and misdirection, until the threshold of violent attack is reached. An alarm will sound when the barrier is breached.

Effect: A Distinct Lack Of Spoons; Barrier construct will appear to be immovable and indestructible to all beings outside the perimeter. Actively hostile intent will negate this glamor and illusion effect.

 

Meanwhile, outside the velvet rope:

“Blasphemy!” Old man Vikkers shouted at the pair of armored knights, wearing justiciar’s armor with the sacred balanced scales of Order, emblazoned in gold on their breastplates. “Your duty is to hurl these fools into the deepest cells on the island, until the ecumenical court is ready to pass sentence!”

 

“The baroness instructed us that such was explicitly not our duty, master Vikkers… we were instructed to follow high priestess Becky’s commands, without hesitation.” The shorter of the two answered blandly.

 

The two knights unhooked the rope and stepped into the magic circle, accompanied by two brief bursts of shrill, outraged shouting from outside, as their auras interrupted the magical ward. Blessed quiet descended a moment later, as they settled in with the others for tea and cookies.

 

“Did that go as well as it seemed?” Sir Dunham asked with a smug smile on his lips, as well as some cookie crumbs and a smear of chocolate.

 

“Age should be accompanied by wisdom, or at least, discretion…” Mazatlal sighed, his dark straight black hair, swarthy features and long aquiline nose placed him as one of the southern folk, as did his badge of Quetzalcoatl's cult on his collar. 

 

“These have been trying times, brother. I still struggle with the changes, myself.” The taller knight, sir Harper, grumbled quietly. “How long do you think they can keep up that level of energy?” He asked his comrade, while looking out on the temple hall and its crowd of agitated people.

 

“Without tea and cookies, maybe an hour… or two. If my brother and his wife were here, we’d already be re-baptising half of them, while the other half would be questioning their sanity.”

 

“I simply must meet this fellow some day.” Sir Dunham murmured happily.

#

 

“Never you fear… little sister.” Ward whispered from a nearby shadow, in a pitch normal humans would be unable to hear. “I’ll send Dannyl to them, he’s relatively near anyway.” 

They were walking back to the trading post in the late evening, under the light of the moons. The fog was thin and wispy for a change, illuminating plenty of small life scurrying and flying all around. That drama, played out above and around them; even in the middle of a bustling city, filled with people living, being born and of naturally, dying. That energy allowed him to slip out of the shadows and join them on silent feet of illusion and moonlight, skipping across the damp cobblestones beside his beloved niece and her husband.

 

“I’m a little worried, I know that they’re in good hands with Ivy… and Amy, Rio and Wilf can handle themselves…” Becky whispered.

 

“There aren’t any sentients in that cave, aside from them. None of them are in my cult and there aren’t any of my trees nearby…” He sighed. “I have less power here than you. If I fly down there, I’m just a ghostly distraction, unable to see any farther than they can and incapable of manifesting.” He smiled, shedding a pale glow all his own on the scene. 

“Dannyl can get there by midday and join them. You know how he is when it comes to mystery monsters.”

#