Book 3: Chapter 16: Falsehood

Book 3: Chapter 16: Falsehood

The pursuit of the ultimate, perfect justice, above all, will simply lead to just more injustice.

- The Human Question by Gideon de Salavia 378 AC.

It was an emotional reunion. Abas Yar ran up to Pakum and gave him a gruff hug before ruffling his head proudly. Seeing this, I had to stop myself from doing the same to Dumuzis mop of hair as he, too, ran up to me. A second later, Catalina threw herself at me, disregarding the dirt and smell, and crushing herself against me. Relief filled me then, and almost for a moment, it felt like I had come home.

Youre back I always knew you would be back, Catalina whispered passionately in my ear.

For some reason, her words brought me back to the reality of my situation. That I was stuck in this barbaric world, forced to fight, to risk my life for what? Bitterness found its way, seeping in through the cracks of my heart and staining the happiness of this moment. A bitterness that I could feel growing into a sharper, more deadly emotion. Hate.

*

Optimism. It ran irresponsibly through the air of the train, infecting all of the workers with renewed vigor. People moved a touch faster, carried a little more, and all without Laes haranguing them to greater effort.

To survive an encounter with a Guardian was a heroic feat, to ride one, a thing of legends. Men looked at my companions and I with new respect, bordering now on awe. If there had been any doubt that I was a servant of the Goddess before, it had been laid to rest now.

From the general mood and snippets of conversation I overheard, my return was overwhelmingly viewed in a positive light. Except for some obvious outliers, it had convinced most of the Ravens that the gods were watching over us. I liked to convince myself that, had Laes decided to press on and abandon me, he would have faced a mutiny. In the coming days, I would have much time to mull over this, the thought stewing in my mind.

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The next day the caravan set off, with two of the larger bull Xaruar at the front to trample down the new growth of giant cottontail and ferns that had seemingly sprung up overnight. The going was slower now as the lead animals were rotated, and the larger obstacles were moved aside to allow for easier passage.

Knowing how the magic worked now, the bolts flew from my crossbow like tracer rounds, lighting up the darkness with their incandescence. Regrettably, I was not able to hit as many as I would have liked. Most likely because I was relying on the added functionality of my Identify spell tracking my targets and my low-level Blind Fighting to even have, as they say, a shot in the dark.

This was, however, a rather expensive hobby, and it was eating into my funds. Also, thanks to my pyrotechnic display, the local fauna was learning to stay clear from the presence of the train. However, a long Sandgorger had been slow on the uptake, and the lone bull attacked one of the guards. An Inferno Bolt through the monsters left eye made sure that we were eating frog that evening.

Despite the Ravens chef adding a lot of spice to the meal, I could not help but feel that it could have done with a bit more punch. It would have been boorish of me to have commented such, and I held my silence. The meal was still filling and good, and by the looks of satisfaction on my companions faces, a cut above the normal fare that we were used to.

It was a shame that the bolt also caused the guard, a man called Khasim, a few second and third-degree burns. Once I was sure there were no other easy targets, I decided to heal the man. I found myself in a good mood, for I had gained a point in both Inferno Bolt and Blind Fighting. Smirking to myself, I absently wondered that, were my Charisma higher, would it have been possible for me to even charge the man for my services in this gamified world? One might argue that it might have been partially the guards fault for getting in the way of my bolt, after all.

As always, the people of the Raven just took this all in with awe, my near-mythic status, and by proxy my companions, growing even more. Could I say that I had finally maxed out my reputation? Khalam, as always, was sour-faced and dour, giving me the worst shifts, the middle watch. I could not blame him, as I would have done the same in his position. Still, it was a little petty.

However, to balance this, I was not without supporters among the Ravens. One particularly vocal example was Abas Yar, who walked now with new dignity and authority. The mark of my divine healing was clear for all to see. He was a walking monument to the grace of my blessing, and he would often sing my praises and proselytize my cause.

More importantly, I think that he could, with his wealth of experience and social standing, actually replace Laes and Khalam if push came to shove. A new original notion that had a certain appeal to it. After all, I owed Laes next to nothing. For the moment it remained simply a hypothetical. For the moment, at least.

The encounter with the Sandgorger was an ever-present reminder of the danger of hidden enemies. To this end, whenever I was paired with Kidu, I would always seek his advice and question why he did what did, and what he observed. It was rather educational, but due to Kidus taciturn nature, much more difficult to elicit.

Larynda, being a child, would, of course, not join us. Her time was spent studying the deeper mysteries of her element from the old witch, Ankhset. Any free time she had during the day, either Elwin, Kidu, or Cordelia would train her how to defend herself. That, or she would play with the other children, which in itself, was a form of training.

The childish games of long ago were more violent than the typical things we enjoy in our modern times, and these games resembled a barbaric throwback to such times. Children would, and did, get hurt. However, pain is a swift teacher, and I could see that Larynda was growing faster, if not just a little stronger.

On occasion, Cordelia would bless us with her company. A welcome thing indeed, for she was strong and skilled. A rare thing for a woman in this world, or my last one. Her sword, when she had occasion to draw it, flowed with efficiency and grace that were at odds with her youthful appearance. They were moves that one would associate with a master at the peak of their craft. It was more than the magic blade that she wielded, it was something that was intrinsically her.

There was nothing in our path that she could not cut down, and she did so with neither anger nor joy staining the clean movements of her blows. It was a beautiful thing to watch.