Arrows of Desire 4.10

There was a funeral held for Tabbeeza and the rest of the fallen: seventeen, in total. Most were adventurers, some I knew, such as Glesvir of Belvar's party who had taken an arrow to the neck and been dead before he'd reached my infirmary. A few non-adventurers, however, had also been killed, a kobold woman who had just arrived and been trying to set up a business making desserts and had been running supplies for the defenders when a fireball had caught her dead on, and several Beastkin ex-slaves who had taken up arms to defend their new home.

A light rain was falling as the pyres for the dead dhampir were lit down by the beach, next to the ruined dock and the shattered wall. The vampire-like people's tradition dictated that bodies be burnt and their ashes returned to the temple nearest to where they had been born. Laera led the service, speaking from the 'Book of the Goddess' that seemed rather radically divorced from Catholic teachings: with a focus on reincarnation for the virtuous rather than any kind of paradise.

I noticed several of the Outlanders, including Swithin and Caroline looking a little uncomfortable with the foreign religious service, but they didn't disturb the ceremony, and tossed flowers onto the pyres before they were lit along with everyone else.

Grey grief and red anger and white hatred hung over the crowd, so potent to me that at several points I needed to step away and calm myself before returning. Adventuring was a dangerous job, everyone knew that, but the Guild took pains to make it safer. It published and distributed a guide full of useful notes about enemies, traps, and the bosses within the dungeon, along with maps on a biweekly basis. More often, for the advanced floors.

There was also a difference between losing your friends and colleagues to monsters in a dungeon, and to losing them to other people. The former felt almost like a natural disaster, tragic, but not really something where people could blame another like the latter.

I understood the feelings, in part because I felt them myself. It wasn't fair that all of Guildport had been targeted because a Caith had been killed in a dispute with a handful of beastkin.

For all its faults, chiefly the fact that they had not gotten permission to build itself in the first place, Guildport was not the same as Port Imperial: they didn't keep slaves, and they didn't raid Caith villages and put them to the flame. There was a difference between an uninvited and rude squatter and a murderous invader. Although, then again, perhaps if it were your house that was being squatted in, you might not see that distinction quite so clearly.

Regardless, I mourned for those killed and hoped with all my heart that this would not be the opening act in a larger tragedy.

Beastkin funerary tradition was more varied, with some of the dead being buried and others being taken out in boats well past the reef, weighed down with rocks, and lain to rest amongst the waves. There were also a whole host of ceremonies, some overtly religious in nature, others seemingly more secular.

I was invited to a few, and went along, although I didn't really understand the significance of what was happening since my grasp of the varied languages of Carritas, the continent from which the Beastkin hailed, was shaky at best. Most were sombre affairs, although one of them—for a koala-like woman form 'the southeast'—felt more like a celebration than anything else, with laughing and drinking and singing and dancing.

Tabbeeza's body also wasn't amongst those put to the flame. Tradition dictated that those of the 'Feywilde'—some kind of alternate dimension from which Grimalkin hailed—were returned to it via rings of mushrooms that grew in places where nature held sway. There had been a short ceremony for her, where Laera and Jalver had openly cried and hugged the small cat-like woman's body. The latter pointedly didn't look at me, although Laera surprised me with an embrace when I went to give her my condolences again.

"I know you would have done your best to help her, Charlie," said Laera, rubbing my back. "She liked you a lot, you know?"

"Me?" I said, somewhat surprised.

"She said 'you weren't an idiot,'" said Laera with a hoarse laugh. "High praise from Tabbz." Laera made a choking sound and reached out to smooth some of her friend's white fur down. "Goddess, I'll miss you, you little maniac…"

I hesitated, before touching the grimalkin wizard gently on the shoulder. Tabbeeza had been a terrible teacher, blunt and grumpy and difficult to follow. But she had taught Caroline, Nathan, me, and all the Outlanders who had come after us, and never asked anything in return. This world was far poorer for her loss.

"Danke für alles, was du für mir getan hast," I said, feeling tears pool in my eyes as I said one last thank-you to the small, white-furred woman.

After everyone had said their goodbyes, the Grimalkin of the settlement, Lord Mousington included, along with the wombat-like Herbert ren Snark, wandered off into the jungle with the small wizard's body on a litter, and returned several hours later without it.

And, just like that, the small wizard who had taught me Valorian was gone.

***

"Charlie, do you have a moment?" asked Laera.

I was back in my clinic, just having finished up healing the town's enchantress, Hannar, who had come in with a respiratory virus. It was early evening, and I had been about to crack open my illusion spellbook and try to get the hang of the bear illusion during the lull in patients.

"Sure," I said, washing my hands and drying them on a towel before grabbing a teapot and filling it with some mint-like herbs. I snapped my fingers, and with a simple cantrip I'd gotten pretty good at, conjured a small flame in a terracotta bowl, over which I carefully sat the pot. "What's up?"

Laera didn't answer immediately, and instead cast her eyes over the small stock of healing potions that I'd ordered from the local alchemist for use whenever I wasn't around, or in the event of further crises.

"Negotiating with the Greenskins," she said eventually. "You really think it can be done?"

"I hope so," I said, pulling out two cups. "Tea?"

Laera nodded and continued to stare into space for almost a minute more.

"Jalver thinks it's a bad idea," said Laera. "He wants to go to war."

The teapot began to whistle, and I took it off the flame, pouring two slightly irregular, blue-glazed mugs and managing to keep them mostly leaf free.

"The Guild isn't an army," I replied. "And if the Mercians have thus far failed to drive out the local Caith, what makes you think that will work?"

"It's a bad idea," agreed Laera, sipping at the tea. "But there are a lot of people who agree with him at the moment."

"They're hurt and angry," I said. "I am too."

"You? Ms-" said Laera, before checking herself. "-Doctor 'I'm always in control?'"

"That's really how you see me?" I said. "I'm not in control Laera, I'm struggling to keep my head above water in a world I don't understand. Tabbeeza was kind to me, taught me to speak this language. I miss her too; I wish I'd spent more time with her. Don't confuse my opposition to the politics of retribution for a lack of anger and sadness. I'm a person, just like anyone else."

Laera took another sip of her tea and considered this.

"I see your point," said Laera eventually. "If Jalver gets his way, it will never end. We'll be sending more and more and more ashes back to the homeland." She paused. "That's what happened on your world?"

"More or less."

"And you think we can do better?" said Laera.

"At the macro level? The big picture?" I said. "I doubt it, at least, it won't be us alone that does it. But here? In this bay? With these Caith? Yes, I think we can do better."

"The prisoners respect you," said Laera after a few more moments thought. "Or, at least, you confuse them enough that they might listen to you."

I shifted uneasily. "You want me to negotiate? Laera, I'm not a leader-"

"You're in charge of the single largest block of organised adventurers, your 'Union,'" said Laera, making air quotes. "Like Hells you're not a leader."

I frowned. "What? But-"

"Oh, you didn't hear?" said Laera. "Every single one of the Outlanders who could understand what the Guild was has signed up."

I blinked rapidly. "What!?"

Surely not. Many, many of my fellow Earthlings had made it clear they had no interest in going back into the undead infested dungeon. Why had that suddenly changed…?

"The attack rattled them. Guess they didn't want to be sitting ducks," said Laera. She held up her hands. "I didn't pressure them-"

"I believe you," I said. "Just… didn't expect that."

"So, yes, you are a leader in this town, whether you like it or not," said Laera. "And, assuming you stay in charge of the union, your influence is only going to increase as you Outlanders do what you do best and get strong fast, and more of you probably keep showing up.

"So don't give me 'oh no, I'm Charlie, I'm just a small little pussy cat who organises slave breaks and acts like a battering ram at every opportunity.' You're a leader, you're not dhampir, and you have credibility from healing the prisoners — you're the best positioned to open negotiations. To say nothing of the bullshit that is empathomancy."

"You know I can't read you though, right?" I said. "Well, if I touch your arm I sort of can…"

"Really? Ugh." She made a face and moved perhaps a fraction further away from me, although I wasn't sure if it was conscious on her part. "And you can't read me, normally, yet," said Laera. "Get strong enough, and you'll pierce my infernal aura."

Huh. So Laera did know why I couldn't read her? Interesting.

"Alright so… we release the prisoners, and I ask them to take me back to their camp?" said Charlie. "Their town? What do they have?"

"I don't know. But, yes, that was what I was thinking, yes," said Laera. "And take that great lummox of yours."

"Nathan?" I said.

"He's a Greenskin." She paused. "Sort of. And you always want someone watching your back."

A trek through the jungle with Nathan, even if he was less of a prick than he used to be, was not exactly my idea of fun. But then again, this wasn't about fun, this was about trying to stop bloodshed, trying to lay a single stone on a path that might lead somewhere other than genocide, that might allow Guildport to be something other than a brutal colonial enclave.

"Alright, I'll go," I said. "But Jalver isn't going to be happy you're releasing the prisoners."

"Jalver isn't going to be happy no matter what I do," said Laera. "He loved Tabbz like a sister, and he's always put loyalty to his friends first. But I need to think of the town, and the future."

---

A.N. Like all my original work this is released four chapters ahead on my Patreon, and updates Thursdays.

I also have a finished fantasy novel that can be read on Scribblehub, Shattered Moon, and an episodic space-fantasy/horror/doctor-who-esque series, Mishka the Great and Powerful, that updates every Saturday, and Marci of the Dreadfort that will be coming to Scribblehub soon!

I also have the eBook of my first novel available on Kobo, Amazon, and my Patreon!