Ch: 61 Surreal Estate

Becky, Gary and Shai settled together on the couch, while Thirp clung to a chair and lectured them in musical and liquid tones.

“Gods are interesting entities…” She sang, bobbing up and down slowly in time to her words. “They are composed of a core entity, a proto mind that is formless and malleable. Each one is unique to its environment and develops in tandem with a species of sentient life.” Her harp trilled a rising chorus of triumph. 

“Gods are our souls, collectively manifesting their existence on a higher plane, while remaining bound to the mortal world. Our spiritual shared ancestor and a living gestalt entity, composed of all the thoughts, ideas and mental energy of their followers and believers.”

 

“So the gods are what we think they are… and are also us?” Becky mused, as Wilford crawled into her lap. 

 

“Exactly. As a species evolves and develops, it often spawns additional gods, filling different needs and expressing different emotions and ideas. 

As a newly promoted demigoddess myself, I have a unique perspective on the mortal world.” Thirp sang gleefully. “Or in this case, worlds.” 

 

“Pump the brakes, Thirp, tell us about that.” Gary hugged Amy in between himself and Shai, tucking her in snugly. “You never talk about your stuff.”

“Oh, my. I suppose the tale might be instructive, at that!” She dropped into a lower register than her usual voice, slowing the cadence as well. In minor keys of portent and reverence she began.

 

“Among my kind, children emerge fully formed and nearly mature, I will omit the details. These young ones need instruction and education from their elders to integrate into society, not unlike your own species.”

“To aid this, some few of lord Aclintherios’ priests choose to bind their souls to the mortal realm, being reincarnated whole, over several lives.”

“I am one such. I was currently between lives, so I volunteered to be his emissary to you, and by extension, your pantheon and worlds.”

 

“This allowed me unparalleled access to an exotic soul, its body, even its unique created environment. ‘Surreal Estate’ is going to be the title of my book.” Her harp tittered and sang at that, nearly breaking the sacred vibe. 

“I digress. As a result I was touched by threads and fragments of your soul, so foreign and strange. As Shai’s soul joined yours in such an unusual manner, followed by Becky and the youngsters, they too influenced me.” 

“I am now too deeply bound to your worlds and pantheon to be reborn into mine as a mortal. My lord saw fit to grace me with a place in his web of demigods, I am now the demi goddess of diplomacy and extraplanar studies. ‘She Who Spins In The Void’ is a bit much I think.”

She bowed and twirled while receiving her accolades, strumming happily.

“As a permanent part of my world’s pantheon I am poised to become a part of your world’s as well.” She sang a hopeful song, spinning a delicate lace of music through the whole room. 

“Once a bridge between our worlds is formed, many things will become clear.” Her voice shifted back into ominous and reverent tones. “It is the nature of gods to be influenced by the thoughts and ideas of their people, but this is also a limitation. Hold on tight my friends, things are getting tricky now.” She laid in some percussion to make her point gently.

“Joy, Beast, War, even fair and kind Marduk, they are not human gods. They are the forgotten gods of the fae.”

She let that point dangle and echo for a few beats before carrying on. “When humans made their way to this realm, the local gods adopted them, simply put.” Her music sang of hope and loss at once, confusing the emotions of her listeners. 

“These gods are older than your species by an unimaginable gulf of time. So old that their own kind developed immortality, fled into the void seeking new worlds and forgot them. That is how many realms die, their sentients go extinct, leave, or simply forget them, that is also how gods die.”

 

“Kai and the Dryads said something like that… you must have seen them in my mind over the last few days.” Gary said quietly.

“Yes, occasionally, a new species that is compatible will appear with their own native god or gods and subsume the prior entities.” She sang softly and sadly. 

“In this case, a few humans slipped through from their world of no magic and no gods and were snapped up by the hungry deities. It would have been an act of pure instinct, guided by compatibility and resonance with those souls.” 

“Please do not judge them for this, I myself have very few worshipers and believers. I feel the constraints that places on my power and influence, it is uncomfortable.”

“I wish you to interview these entities thoroughly Gary. In fact, it would be best if all of you were there during the discussion, multiple perspectives can be invaluable!”

 

“So could ye say that the dryads be something like demigoddesses or summat? They did claim to hae guided mankind frae beyond the veil an did draw us here firstwise.” Shai marveled softly. “Could it be such?”

 

“Yes, that is correct! We must whet that keen mind of yours Shai, it is a formidable tool. The dryads and the turtle Kai are genii locorum, spirits of the land. Demigod would certainly fit them well, though I wish to learn more.” Her harp shifted up into her normal range once again. “I see you are waking, Please visit us more often Gary, your mind and soul need to dream more than most.”

#

 

Back in the waking world, Gary shimmied out from among his family and slipped down into the workshop. He began whistling and singing softly, while his tools took up the rhythm. 

 

And its no, nae never… 

no nae never no more…

 

Will I play the wild rover, 

no never, no more…

 

Shai and Tallum joined his song near dawn, while the kids got moving under Becky’s guidance. “What are you working on over there Tallum?” Gary sang, while buffing a golden harp frame, streaked with purple and brown grain. 

 

“Ivy liked your musical baton, she wanted to see if I could make her a truncheon and shield along those lines.” He grinned and held up a steel ovoid mace head. “Wanna put a haft on that for me Gary?” He pitched it over, giving a spin to his toss. The object sang a deep resonant note as it flew.

 

“Oh shit! It’s like those meditation ball things… genius! How did you do it?” The musician cheerfully swung the mace head in graceful arcs, making it resound and chime.

 

“There's a bronze ball inside, with a small bit of magnetized iron in it. I made the head the opposite pole. Ivy helped with the enchantment, I’m still struggling there.” The big smith frowned. “I can’t even see how you do what you do.”  

 

Gary took the weapon over to his bench with a manic giggle. “I’m stealing this idea, help me with four of my sandwich motors in miniature bro, like one inch square…”

#

 

Becky had to break them up with a pot of steaming coffee. “Breakfast time nerds. Get upstairs and bathe, you all smell like hot metal and wax… The high priestess has spoken!” She chivvied her sweaty elders upstairs and into the bath with threats and promises of coffee.

“You can go back downstairs and play after lunch, time to get up into the real world.” She barked while wielding her coffee pot.

#

 

Out in the garden, Amy had Plumeria on her shoulder while Liam staked out plots and dug holes in the dark soil with Gary’s bronze shovel. “None of your duskmoons Gary! Request denied.” Liam said as soon as he and Shai strolled over.  

 

“I would never… well, hardly ever…” He goofed and fumbled  around until Shai swatted his backside. 

 

“He would nae an ye know it, Liam.” Her glare was relaxed and jovial as she watched Amy skip away to the small play house near the plum tree. 

A few minutes later, Plumeria emerged in her human form, draped in richly decorated robes of plum and amber. Their razor sharp creases and folds accentuated her aura of beautiful mystery. 

“Almost all of my druids have gathered… I sense the touch of one more, that I have yet to meet.” She swept a graceful bow and smiled graciously. Somehow she was young and dewey, while ancient beyond all knowing.

“In uncounted centuries of human existence on this plane, no dryad has ever entered a human dwelling. Since I am, at the moment, unique among my kind, I would like to please see yours, while we discuss matters.” Plumeria’s speech was clear and warm, like sap warmed by the summer sun. 

 

Shai was more than willing to provide a tour, even attempting to drag her into the potentially fatal nest of ‘filthy ironmongery’ lurking in the workshop. 

“I kin see yer point… fie, tae the common room that we may speak in comfort and hae a mite to snack on.”

She returned mere minutes later with a stack of golden, steaming buns filled with some reddish ooze. The room reeked of sweet and tangy sauce with the undertone of ground groundworm.

“Summat called filthy Joseph… nae Unclean Jason sandwiches. Tis another fever dream frae somewhere far off.” Shai announced proudly. “We hae delved deep, there be some treasures yet tae find.”

 

“Mmm, they’re called Sloppy Joes, there is a whole mythology around them… our guest would probably prefer something…” Gary was about to rise and help out with a vegetarian option when plumeria reached for a second, while munching the first.

 

“I taste your magic and my sister Solange’s commingled with the worm’s, a heady blend! He took a bite of her, but I am finishing the meal… I never knew vengeance could be sweet and tangy.” The dryad crowed to herself, while snacking.

“On that topic, I hear some echo of my old rival Solange about you, what is this?” She peered at him, as though at an interesting bug. “Did you slay Solange over some trifle or discourtesy? She was ever quick to anger and often too late to forgive.”

 

“No, she is a friend of ours now, living just about two days of normal travel away.” Gary pulled out his new teleblaster, in a sweet blonde clear coat. 

Winter sunshine glinted off wormtooth frets, nut and bridge, they gleamed toothpaste commercial white, against the haunted magnolia wood. Its buttery yellow and deep caramel grain made the amber knobs and dials seem to glow from within. He slung it on a strap of sheared wormhide with bronze magnolia flower buttons.

 

Baobhan sith (Cry of the Banshee), unique guitar, instrument, enchanted. Aura, sonic and mental enchantments will be enhanced when wielded by or near a source of etheric magic. Compulsion and restraint enchantments from hostile sources will erode under the influence of instrument.

 

Gary began to play, improvising in the theme of ‘Sweet Caroline’. 

“I picked up some stray lumber in the aftermath of the battle. A little magical kiln action and this baby really sings.” He wandered farther into the tune, experimenting with a little reverb.

“I can’t resist fun toys, but I also share.” He said smugly. “I finished Becky’s sword, buckler and most of her armor this morning, Dannyl’s new whip is almost ready. Busy busy busy.” 

#

 

“Keep it busy! Fifth platoon… Charge!” Duke Leopold Belen shouted into the mist, urging his troops with magically amplified commands and encouragement. 

 

“The stonesmiths say it’s contained now, they can hold it here indefinitely…” The runner waited for a reply, drenched with sweat and heaving vast plumes of steam into the cold misty morning.

 

“Tag out for another before you drop lad, have the next in line tell them to hold it until we can get our specialists back.” He spoke crisply, in the broad, drawling accent of lowland fringe farmers.

 

“No more in line your grace, I’m the last runner still moving, it’s the ice milord, the others are in the healer’s tent.” He sprinted back into the chaotic mess without further words.

 

“Send a rider into Wheatford for resupply… and get my daughter and her band of misfits out here. I want to see what we are dealing with first hand.” He grumbled. “Khan and Luna will be helpful at minimum. Trelawny can use her arts in service of the duchy, rather than chasing that boy.”

 

“Pardon your grace, perhaps another combat troop might…” Theophus began, stumbling for an excuse.

 

He eyed the man critically. “Would you rather stay here and shove lances into that thing until the spring melt?” Balking at an order was out of character for the ambitious priest.

“I take it you have yet to come to terms with my daughter’s new friends, well tough. Get them here, and requisition supplies for an extended stay. We may need to wait for the mages to answer this one.”

#

 

 Vera Anglin, second in command and leader of first platoon, grabbed a fresh lance from her groom. “Find me something bigger, more barbs, tell the smiths to think up something nasty! Gods, this thing heals fast.” As she wheeled her tired beast for one more charge. 

“Find me a fresh mount somewhere… I’ll ride a plowmare before I lose a horse to simple exhaustion. Tell the others the same. We go afoot before we sacrifice horses  to this wretched thing.” 

With a soothing pat to Sergio’s sweaty neck, she whispered. “One more run, then we retire for the afternoon. On friend!”

Her platoon formed up at the edge of a stone walled pasture, looking down on the remains of Evard village. Its wide, sandy frontage on the shallow sea made a fine place to fish. Low rolling hillsides and a wide dry valley behind made the place almost fit to be a town. 

Or it had been, now it was tumbled wooden and stone homes, scattered thatch and writhing tentacles. Long brown and green knots of puckered and loathsome flesh writhed and crawled over the empty structures and streets.

“Wheel right, we strafe that big one on the west side and withdraw, don’t take any risks, this is going to be  a long one.” Ten knights in heavy mail nodded silently and checked their gear one last time. Grooms moved down the line, inspecting mounts and called their approval to each.

 

She turned to her troop of red armored foot. “Prepare yourselves for engagement. This is going to come to swords and axes before it’s done…” With a raised fist she shouted into the sky. “First platoon, CHARGE!”

 

They thundered down the country road at a full gallop, trampling lesser knots of slimy flesh beneath their iron shod hooves. They bore down on a massive rope of writhing nasty, as it was crushing a dairy barn to rubble in its mindless search for meat. 

Riders broke off at measured intervals, lowering their lances and storming by the horrific thing. Each would delicately tip their lance into the squirming mass and ride on, burying the weapon in the mess. Four riders swept by, piercing the writhing tangle and making it thrash even more violently, still they hit no vital spot in the horror. 

Bannock always made a splendid spectacle, their shining silver armor emblazoned with Order’s sigil front and back with brass embellishments.  With grace and style they galloped over the strewn wreckage and slipped a hideously barbed lance into the creature’s body. 

Only a skilled lancer would have been able to detect the subtle shift in the knights shoulders as they adjusted with surgical precision.  The beast’s eye was visible for only a bare instant, but Bannock put on a masterful display of equestrian combat. The wide, flared butt of that wicked device slapped wetly into the ichor that fountained skyward from the ruin of its dying flesh. The thing flailed in its death throes and fell still.

 

With a wild whoop of triumph, the mounted knight reined their exhausted mount, wheeling to rejoin the troop. Their victory shout was cut short as a trashing tentacle swept them from the saddle in blind fury, spending its last life to grab its foe.

The horse carried on alone, to rejoin her herd, while the tall knight struggled to their feet in the churned snow and filth. Their sword gleamed brightly as they sythed a path out, through lesser threats, still gripped by the lifeless meat. 

 

The next rider in line changed course, stampeding to the unhorsed knight. Her lance couched low and aimed at a long, wriggling, wretched appendage that grasped onto the struggling warrior’s leg with terrible force.

  As she tipped her lance home, she curled her body around the weapon, adding her own red armored mass to the thrust. She swung from her saddle smoothly, letting her mount find his own way alone as she hammered full force into the rubbery beast.

Both warriors rose from the muck with difficulty, awkwardly avoiding the massive  appendage as it twitched its last few spasms. Arm in arm, they limped and hacked toward the wedge of foot hewing their way to the fallen pair.  

The ghastly harvest continued for a solid twenty minutes until the whole group won free. They emerged, singing an old song of war whose roots were lost to ancient tradition.

 

Na-na na na,

Hey hey, 

Good bye!

 #

 

Ichor and squelching, fleshy gobbets of meat in their armor and boots made the march back a disgusting trudge, fraught with peril. Bannock and Herlik came up with matching dislocated knees, putting the unlikely pair on makeshift splints and crutches.

“Yeah, but I went down trying to haul you out, so I should get the kill.” Herlik griped sourly as she hobbled on a forked branch. 

“My lance, my kill. I skewered that bastard right through. You just keep making excuses darling, that's why I keep getting kills.” Bannock had a broken manure fork under their arm, shifting and grinding against their armor unpleasantly. “Two days of camp duty is what I estimate these knees will cost us… maybe we will get assigned to peeling vegetables again…” 

Tall and straight-limbed, Bannock had an easy smile and easy going attitude. Smiling gray eyes and jet black hair cropped off at the shoulders set off their shining steel armor very well, when it was not coated with noisome muck.

 

“Kitchen duty? No thanks, between pumping a bellows all day or being knee deep in food waste, I will take a nice warm forge every time.” Herlik was short for a knight of War, blocky and solid as an old tree stump. She dragged her splinted leg along scornfully, as though disappointed in a subordinate’s failure. 

“Bannock and Herlick, reporting for treatment.” She said to the acolyte of Healer stationed at the entrance to the healer’s tent. “Minor injuries only.”

 

“Always you two… and always together.” Fern smiled as she led the pair through the flaps. 

 

“Frequent customers don’t get special treatment, you should know that by now.” Fern used that tired line on every warrior that got dragged into her domain. Two grooms from War helped them out of their armor briskly and carefully, while Fern supervised, swishing her long wand eagerly. 

The pair helped each other bathe with sponges and basins of warm water left behind when the grooms lugged their gear away for repair and cleaning. “Fern enjoys her work too much I think.” Bannock grumbled while scrubbing  mud from Herlick’s dreadlocks. 

Fern the acolyte of Healer touched each with her wand, after a short incantation. Her cleansing spell washed them of potential outside influence, before the Journeyman arrived.

“Forget her, how does mud never get inside your helmet? There must be some magic at work!” Herlick sighed in pleasure as strong, familiar fingers worked the crud from her hair.

“Less talking more scrubbing!” Fern barked as the journeyman of Healer entered. 

 

“Patel? When did you get here? I thought you were off, luring some ground dragon into the wastes.” Bannock greeted the jolly priest with a graceful wave and smile, while still scrubbing. 

 

“That wrapped up unexpectedly, they shuffled us here to back you lot up. What is it out there?” He asked while palpating the swollen right knees before him. The distinct purplish bruises of outsider contact were obvious.

 

“Some sort of water creature, all tentacles and eyes. The stonesmiths trapped it on shore, but now it’s burrowing. It has a huge central shell, we will need to crack that before we can put this thing down.” 

They sighed and relaxed back as Patel removed his goatskin gloves and tapped his long, slender wand to their knee. “You know the drill, take care, light duty in camp for two days.” He ministered to Herlick just as efficiently.

“The strike team is stuck in the pass between Ellis and Wheatford.” He smiled oddly as he relayed that dire news. “The duke sent riders for the team of youngsters that wrapped up our ground dragon so neatly. Gods know I will appreciate seeing them again.”

 

“New hotshots? Where are they from, Port Egret?” Herlick asked from her cot. “They have a good orphanage, strong martial skills there.”

 

“Nope, Wheatford.” He said with local pride. “Otho found a real set of loons this time. These kids are nothing you expect, Khan is riding at their head, with Luna…”

 

“Those two? The duke was mad to let them retire, why would they go Adventure guild?” Bannock wondered. 

 

“Cause they have been madly in love since their orphanage days and the guild doesn’t care if couples team together.” Herlick sighed and stood on her still tender limb. “Get moving, let’s check in with Vera and get assignments before she sends out a search party.”

 

“Some of us have farther to climb when we arise, Madeline.” The slender knight said archly, though their smile never wavered. “Thank you Patel, we will try to avoid visiting you again. Acolyte Fern, good afternoon.”

 

Equipped with actual crutches, the pair limped downslope to their camp. Nearest the action, as befitted first platoon. Honor has its price, as does duty. Vera met them at the ‘gate’, two slender poles with blue pennants sagging wet and limp in the still, cold mist.

“Kitchen detail, until our resupply comes in, then you two will be shepherding whatever fool greenies are coming with it. You are officially child minders for the duration of this action.” She leaned on her spear and grinned at the mismatched duo. 

“Duke’s orders, he saw your little display and wants you back in top shape. Something about a second strike team… I will hate to lose you, so feel free to fuck up.”

#

 

Maer, known most often as simply Bear, ducked through the flap into the dukes’s tent. They brought a subtle animal warmth and musky sense of danger, barely held at bay with them. The enigmatic entity spoke in a low, growling voice; always clear, but impossible to place any accent or infer a gender. 

“Your grace, the beast cannot leave. My clan will remain on site in case of need, barring a formal request, we will not interfere further.” 

The entity towered over the duke, tall and imposing in fur armor in the likeness of a fierce bear. “Forgive my impertinence your grace, my clan whispers of something new walking the land… or something forgotten. I scent such on your person. A touch of the old world, but new made in a human guise.” They growled quietly. 

“Beware, such are not as we, born of mortal flesh and bound to the laws of this place. They walk in light or shadow with a whim, touching mortal lives with chaos and moving on.” The creature moved closer, taking a deep sniff.

“Yes, touched by summer and winter, alive and dead, this thing is near you, and has touched you. The fool, the hanged man.”

“I can tell you who the fool must be… as for the rest… sit friend, have tea with me. Your wisdom will be welcome” Duke Belen sank to the rug across from the massive bear creature and poured for them both. “Is your seer with you? I would welcome a reading. I would count it a personal debt.”

 

“What debts exist between brothers in arms? She will come anon. She asked to consult you in private and awaits my call.” The creature sipped their honeyed tea  with the duke in companionable silence for a while. “Until our next meeting brother.”

 

The duke rose, once he was alone and opened the rear flap of his tent, letting in a cold draught from the dark woods behind the camp. Moments later, a slim, sleek, brown figure slipped in, closing the flap behind herself.

“Cold, cold, too cold for walking in the woods, human.” She chittered in agitation. 

“The spirits are restless, even the trees are whispering in the winter night. Feed me and we shall begin, as is custom. I smell fish soup?” She tied a colorful, checked napkin around her neck and curled up on the rug by the tea table.