The Fool 21

Later during the night on their trek, Rogers came over with a four or five year old girl asleep, drooling on his head with her arms and legs dangling over his shoulders. "Why did you leave us outside? It's cold and they were hungry."

Orison said, "No offense. I can appreciate and even admire your altruism but that little girl on your head was a beast that would have ripped you limb from limb earlier in the day. It's their 'hunger' that keeps me at a distance, if you need a reason you can understand. We didn't really have enough for us, now there's you, who I'm inclined to share what little I have with, your two buddies and a gaggle of ex-goblinoids."

Looking grim, the inwardly mature early teen said, "How bad is it? What plane are we on and how hard will it be to get back to Avalon?"

Stonily, Orison replied, "If there isn't another food producing magic item in one of these ruins, the winter is going to get bleak. Our best hope of aid sees US as food, sort of. Come spring, there's other possibilities but the mountains are impassable from here to then. I got that from Sammy herself. Well, my three companions did.

"From what little Hunter read, we're in West Reach. It's the edge of the known world. On the other side of this mountain range is a place called the Illuminated Plains. The rest of this place is just as much a mystery to me as it is to you.

"There's no going to Avalon. At least, there's no going the way I think you're suggesting. You've been down for close to a lifetime from Beta- Alpha Minoris' perspective."

Rogers said, "Then, how do you know about my boys? How did you get here?"

Orison shook his head. "I was only part of the person who knew your kids and that explanation isn't one I'm willing to have with you right now. Garret and Gurrut are on a mid-dimensional world called Amoril. As best I can figure, they MIGHT still be alive but more than likely are not or very, very old men by now."

The 'boy' looked desolate. Returning to his group, the two who constantly flanked him, returned to their 'posts' but remained silent. The suits they wore revealed no features and looked like WWII replicas complete with gas masks. They were the only ones out of Rogers whole group that had anything resembling regular clothes, even the 'boy' himself. Orison wondered what made them act so strictly subordinated or why Rogers didn't seem to question it in any way.

Looking over, the young mage saw that Cray had picked up a little shoulder hitchhiker himself, an around eight year old looking boy with blistered and seeping feet. They had been cleaned and bandaged by the archer but that was the extent. Pacing up to him, Orison asked, "How are you holding up?"

"Had a lot on my mind. Sorry... I ain't been very good support the last few, have I?" Cray said.

Orison patted his shoulder, earning a warning hiss from the boy. "It's understandable. You've been through a lot and new curve balls keep getting thrown at you before you can adjust. It might sound odd but I'm a little relieved you aren't having such an easy time coping. I think it might make me a little jealous if you did."

Cray soothed the boy as Orison applied some healing to the kid's feet making the boy look at the young mage with surprised awe. "Sh-sh- shama... E-e-e shama!"

A few people looked over as Orison placed a finger up to his lips. The boy must have been a little smarter than his other kin because he immediately went silent.

The archer chuckled and said, "He's an edge over all these other rusty blades. Might be why they shun him. They ain't mean like but when he fell over, that boy in charge over there didn't notice and none of his kinfolk gave a lick. Well, one did but it weren't the kind of lick you wanna see. I think if we were stopping for a rest then, that one might of tried to eat him."

Two hours past daybreak, Rogers called for a rest. Their three dhampir guides were mostly fine with that until Rogers clarified the need for longer than a five or ten minute one. Orison quickly jumped in to state that a two hour rest would end up saving a good deal of need for recovery from injuries later. Time to clean and cover foot wounds was needed and a small nap would bolster flagging energy.

Mr Photogenic said, "Food is an ever pressing issue. Unless you're willing to dole out another share to all these good people, pressing on could mean recovering items capable of serving those needs."

The remainder of Roy's ration bars and the one's Lily left in the cupboard might feed the whole lot for four days or so. That pressed Orison because after that, there would only be the special ones she had left in the liquor cabinet remaining. Those were like the ones from the silk purse illusion and he had no intentions of sharing or even using them unless it was absolutely necessary. They weren't just food, they were recovery and life extension medicine.

Silently, he pulled out a handful of Roy's bars and split them in half before handing them out. The male dhampir looked at him in stunned speechlessness while Hunter looked on bitterly. Cole's face was unreadable but he was looking at a lot more than just Orison. Rogers appeared as if he had something to say but held his tongue for the moment.

After glancing at Cray to see the man unconcerned and goofing around with his savage child, he turned to the dhampir man and said, "Then it's decided."

'Snow White' paced back from where 'Silent Beauty' merely slowed a little but showed no signs of stopping. "Wasteful... Still, far more noble than I thought you capable... Father, Grandmother wishes a word with you."

A few minutes later, the male dhampir came back and said, "Since time doesn't seem to press you as greatly as we see it's encroaching issues, Mother will go ahead of us to begin searching. We shall stay and act as guides."

Orison replied, as he helped Rogers attend to feet concerns, "I feel the urgency but I also know the limits of human endurance and the consequences for ignoring them too long. I would feel a great deal more at ease if she'd wait with us. The span of two hours isn't short but it isn't long either. If there's need for another rest stop, I won't push as hard about holding you back."

There wasn't even a moment's pause before the man said, "Our partnership is in its infancy. A little suspicion is understandable. Surely our presence is enough guarantee to allow our mother to move as she wishes?"

Orison said blandly, "It depends. Is she going to start an early search or to prepare a cage for our reception? How are we to know? I have yet to have a reason to doubt your word but it's two hours for goodwill and continued trust."

Hunter spoke up. "Come on! She could be going to deal with enemies all by herself just so we have an easy time getting there and you want to turn it into some kind of conspiracy!?"

The young mage sighed as he saw a slight quirk of lip on the man while 'Snow White' glanced at her father, frowning. Orison filed that away along with his correction on the nature of their relationship. He could have sworn them siblings but then again, he knew nothing about the vampires of this world. The only guesses for what kind of natural progeny they could create and the features of such an entity, laid in dubious information from a game made on another world.

Orison shrugged. "I'm not suggesting that she is but she COULD be going to negotiate with such threats and we're the bargaining chips in that scenario. As far as I'm concerned, me and those that are willing to come with me will not be going with you if she doesn't stay with us."

The fact that the man wasn't moving to speak with his mother was all the answer he needed. He stated his intent and unsurprisingly, other than the archer and his little shadow, no one else was willing to follow but there were a couple who had words to share.

Off to the side, Rogers said, "I don't know if it was a hallucination or not but is there a pretty woman in your group that's staying out of sight?"

As Cray coughed to keep his honest face from giving anything away, Orison said, "Far out of sight... Why?"

Fidgeting a little, the 'boy' said, "I'm not stupid but they don't have the strength for a trek back north... Did she happen to have my uniform? And, uh, do you think she might be into younger men?"

Moving out of Roger's peripheral vision, Cray nearly turned purple trying to hold his tongue, taking deep breaths.

Poker face sliding into place, Orison replied, "One moment. I'll... talk with her."

Moving his sight inward, he pushed his intent into the closet within the cabin. Three uniforms hung neatly on all but one of the permanent hangers within. Matching boots belts and a few other random things were neatly organized in the bottom.

Locking onto his items, he returned his sight outward and said conversationally, "Al-ice, send me the uniform and equipment for the Rogers man we found."

The young mage pulled out the things that belonged to 'boy' Rogers and handed them over. "She wanted me to tell you that there were two rusalka, female water spirits, that were watching over you. They took off to the center of the undead empire here, presumably to start their own lake. They... carried a family resemblance."

Rogers looked lost for a moment.

Turning equal parts sad and angry, the 'boy' muttered, "He knew. That b*****d knew that the scientist on our team wasn't just bullsh*ting. Sis, I'm so sorry. They sent you and that other Rogers main family girl into that bubbling mud pit and they knew."

Packing away his emotional baggage with practiced ease, he added, "This will help a lot. Once i've done what I need to, I'll try to catch up with you all."

Covertly, he reached into a hidden vest pouch and closed his eyes. Removing his hand from it, he held a tracker. "I'll wear this one. The other should be good to sense my approach within around five miles. Cardinal point only direction capability sucks but it's cheap and lasts for years."

He took the small pin shaped tracker and shoved it deep into the cartilage under his nose and capped it on either side. Done giving himself an invisible septum piercing, he put the uniform on and used some straps to secure what was far too big at the moment. With a wave and well wishing, he rejoined his group.

As Orison and Cray began their trek back north with the little guy in tow, 'Snow White' glided up to them. Hunter was making his way towards them too.

"Do you insist on this?" she said.

Wary of sudden trickery, the young mage said, "What other way is there? The question was rhetorical. You know full well why I'm doing it."

Pulling out a blank sheet of smooth tanned skin, she unrolled her personal map and used magic to copy it over with a grudging look. "The fang symbols are known nests of the goblin tribes, That symbol is for known caves and that one is for historical sites, different ruins and so on."

Orison raised an eyebrow. "That's surprisingly altruistic."

"I believe that you are a man... or monster... of his word. I want you to know I'm a woman of mine. If you need sinister motive to put your blackguard heart at ease, consider it a method of wild game preservation," she said before sauntering away seductively.

As Hunter approached, he shot a thinly veiled jealous look between them. "You're insane. Cray and Cole almost died just going hunting once. All you're chasing is death up there!"

Grimly, Orison shot back, "There are things worse than death. I think the south holds more than one."

Hunter sighed and said, "If you survive til spring by some miracle, I'll try to make a trip to the dirt cave we were holed in. If you get there first, let me know what your plan is. If I do, I'll leave you a note of what mine are. If I can, I'll TRY to leave you a grimoire of whatever magical texts I can study. Catch up is better than nothing."

Orison nodded. "Do you like them or do you admire what they are?"

Hunter looked back. "Yes."

Frowning, the young mage asked, "If they offer to make you like them, would you take it?"

"I wouldn't want to be a vampire but if I could be a dhampir, I would. You have to be born one, though," the budding wizard said wistfully.

"Clear your mind, drink this and think happy thoughts about being a dhampir as you imagine them to be," Orison said, handing him one of the two 'vials of fantasia' that Osomo's debtor substitute had given.

He waited til Hunter took it but didn't wait for the result. With a look to Cray, they began the tiring journey back north.

Once they were nearly a half day up the road in mostly silence, the archer said, "Why did you do that? If that little bottle does what you said it can, won't that make them a might too curious about what other rabbits you can pull from your hat?"

The young mage replied, "If they're the particular combination of smart, cunning but not overly brave type I think they are, it should scare the daylights out of them."

Brow wrinkling, Cray asked, "Why's that?"

"They're proud of what they are. I just casually granted that to a random person like it was no big deal. There's nothing quite as humbling and deeply shaking as seeing something you think makes you special and see someone else giving that something away like charity.

"My main reason for doing it was to keep them from turning Hunter into something like they are but close enough that they can't tell the difference. It puts him on the same level as them. The dhampir in Hunter's mind, I don't think...

"Whatever those three are, it's something that only superficially looks and acts like what Hunter envisions. What they show, what's allowed to express itself into this world, is a shell. That shell hides something with fiendish and corrupt aura. This world's version of Hell, whatever it may be, they have a tie to it."

"Regardless, all those things have a leg up in, is lifespan and a convenient way to convert easy to digest lifeforce into a supernatural fuel source. It's like the Rogers Family training manual is directly built into their bodies and automated along with efficient personal life essence usage, maybe a touch of physical auto-correct. It sounds amazing until you realize that there's all these tiny side-effects and future growth potential limitations."

Cray, sounding interested for all the wrong reasons, said, "What kind of side-effects?"

Orison shrugged. "Well, the need to drink the blood of soul possessing mammals for one. You could survive on fish and chips but alas, no perks. To have the moderate variety of minor supernatural abilities and slow aging, top shelf red is a must. Allergies, particularly to things that greatly affect how blood works, there's probably a few. Sensitivities at the least.

"Look, if you're thinking about it too, don't. Our souls have a great growth rate. I didn't know un-death had a sliding scale but you don't want to be on it. Theirs doesn't grow very well, if at all. A powerful soul might not be that fancy but what it does for you, beats a thousand little parlor tricks... eventually. The important thing is that a powerful soul leads to progress, protection and sets the limits of what 'will' can do."

For the rest of that day, to distract themselves from the fatigue they were accruing, they discussed finer points of the benefits of the soul. To his surprise, Cray had discovered that he'd been using a little of that power in a lot of ways for some time. It was part of 'tapping the calmness' and visualization that he used to be such a great archer. He naturally meditated while doing things like hunting and fishing, which provided a great deal of his steadiness and adaptive ability when things weren't going so well.

The archer's life had been in so much turmoil lately that he had lost some of that natural 'Zen' quality that his childhood upbringing and disposition granted. After their talk, he realized it wasn't necessary to hunt and fish to get it. He also recognized a potential that the young mage had overlooked.

Magic users focused on intent and will to shape and hold magic but those forces had their own way of being used in raw and refined forms of their own. That form had a lot more applications than allowing an arrow to hit a target the archer wasn't looking at, defy adversities to get it there or hit with a little more force than it should have. He had stepped into a wide vista and found a few wispy trails into the cousin of magic, psionics.

It wasn't that Cray had particularly discussed THAT with Orison. The young mage naturally discovered something was up when the trickle of magic essence he sent the archer became sluggish and stopped flowing over but the most minute amount. A force began taking its place within Cray's veins and nerves, particularly around his head.

The memories Orison held of the minute talent he had once exercised to catalyze kinetic models was laughable compared to the silvery essence speckling through the archer's body, slowly driving the less orderly magic out. It wasn't so much that both couldn't co-exist. It was just that the silvery essence was Cray's and the magic contained the aura of another on it, causing it to be gently rejected.

Chuckling, Cray muttered to himself, "Well, if that don't beat all."