Friendly Fyre: Chapter 8 - The Eye of Lorata

Mirzayael occasionally uses her spear as a walking stick when the terrain gets tough, favoring her injured side. It apparently had not been some form of incredibly dark humor when Beryl had said she’d removed Mirzayael’s injured leg. The limb is severed just above the joint, seemingly scarred over already; though I expect magic may have something to do with the rapid recovery. The missing limb doesn’t appear to slow the woman down, having seven others to make up for the missing one, though as the caverns grow steep and rough, she occasionally slips, always threatening to fall on her injured side. Each time she falters, I say nothing. 

Do you think, when she said I wouldn’t be returning if she didn’t like my answer, she meant she’d just leave me in the caverns? I muse to Echo and the Dungeon Core. Or do you think she intends to kill me?

[Query not recognized,] Echo says. 

The Dungeon Core also has no idea what I’m talking about. Who wants to kill me? Why? I should not let that happen. Then the Core would have no source of mana!

Your concern is appreciated, I think. Excellent insight from the both of them.

I lift my Spark up, gesturing to the left. “This way next.”

“How are you doing that?” Mirzayael asks. 

It’s the first question she’s asked since she ordered me to take her to where I first entered the cave system. 

“What do you mean?” I ask. 

“Harpies don’t have night vision like arachnoids,” she says. “Yet you keep noticing these small side passages before I do. How are you seeing them?”

“Oh,” I say, squinting into the dark. Actually I’ve just been focusing on the small illuminated patch of ground before my feet. “I’m not. I’m navigating by a map the Dungeon Core has given me access to. It’s rather incomplete, but it at least allows me to retrace my steps.”

“A map?” Mirzayael asks. “Show me.”

I shake my head apologetically. “I don’t think I can. The map is in my mind.” But just saying that aloud gives me pause. “Actually. I might be able to show you after all. I have a spell, Psionic Touch, that allows me to speak mind-to-mind.”

Mirzayael narrows her eyes at me. “This is the mind magic you mentioned before?”

“Yes.” I guess Echo and the Dungeon Core also probably count as mind-magic of a sort. Is it strange I’m growing used to their presences already? “It might be able to give you a peek into what I’m experiencing,” I say. “Potentially. Truly, I’m not sure if it would work as intended, but—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mirzayael interrupts. “I have no intention of giving you access to my mind. If you lead us true, that will be proof enough of your claim.”

“Fair enough.” Truth be told, if someone asked to perform mind-magic on me, I’d be equally skeptical. “In that case, best save our breath. We’ve another few hours’ climb to go.”

We progress largely in silence, which I pretend to interpret in a comradery sort of way, pointedly ignoring the spear in Mirzayael’s hand. I know the chamber I lead her to will not provide the answer she’s looking for, especially as she’s expecting me to take her to some cave exit leading out onto the ice. Which means I have the next few hours to try to predict how she’ll respond—and prepare to defend myself if necessary. 

I refresh my memory on her stats with a covert Check. 

[Name: Mirzayael]

[Species: Arachnoid]

[Class: Silk Warrior]

[Level: 29]

[HP: 235/235]

[Mana: 110/110]

She’s got a leg up on me—no pun intended—in just about every regard except for Mana. Her Level and HP are formidable, not to mention I can see how she moves: she’s faster, stronger, and has armor and weapons whereas I’m dressed in rags. If she decides to kill me, she’ll have the clear advantage. 

Which means I’ll need to be clever. I’ve only three spells at my disposal; Spark, Blaze, and Psionic Touch. Spark isn’t good for anything other than a small light. Psionic Touch is unlikely to help in a combat situation. Blaze could certainly be effective, though it has the potential to eat up all my mana in a matter of seconds. But I’ve got the Dungeon Core at my disposal, too. That might be my saving grace. If I could open a hole beneath her feet, or summon a wall between us, the element of surprise might be enough to land a decisive blow. 

Though I’d prefer to avoid that scenario, if at all possible, considering my continued survival depends on access to her city. 

I continue to run other scenarios through my mind while we walk. Surprising her with Psionic Touch to get across the honesty of my intentions: likely to get me stabbed in the stomach. Using Blaze as a flashbang: might be good to buy me a few extra seconds, but would only be effective if she’s not expecting me to go on the offensive. Spark: largely useless in this scenario as far as I can tell. Dungeon Core: altering the terrain is my best bet. Summoning items from the Dungeon Core’s Inventory: potentially the winning strategy, depending on how quickly and efficiently it can be done. Adding items to my inventory: could be good if I can get a hand on her spear without getting stabbed first. 

Echo, is there a limit to what can be added to my Inventory? I ask. 

[Apart from the limited storage space, living creatures are not compatible with Inventory space.]

No adding people, then, got it. I chew on this for a moment more. You said the Dungeon Core didn’t qualify as life. Does that mean it could be added to my Inventory?

[Affirmative,] Echo says. 

The Dungeon Core, itself listening to this conversation, doesn’t understand exactly what I’m asking about, but is alarmed nevertheless. 

That was pure scientific curiosity, I let it know. I don’t have any intention of adding you to my Inventory
 whatever that truly means. 

The Core remains rightfully nervous, and I decide it’s probably prudent to let the line of questioning drop for now. I turn off Psionic Touch so I can begin to recover my mana. 

I’m at 148/200 right now, just from the casual chatting I’ve been doing with the Core. My Spark is effectively free at this point. It’ll only take another two minutes to get up to the 150 mana that Psionic Link requires, but if I activate it then, I’ll have completely emptied my mana stores, effectively leaving me helpless. I decide to wait until my mana has fully recovered first; then I’ll have an extra 50 just in case I’ll need it. 

I hope I won’t.

The minutes seem to crawl by as I watch my stats creep back up. The adage that a watched clock seems to run slower certainly feels true in this case. But inevitably, finally, I get confirmation from Echo. 

[Mana: 200/200]

My stomach flutters nervously. Here we go. For better or worse, no turning back now. Activate Psionic Link, I tell Echo. With the Dungeon Core.

[Spell activated.]

Like I’m activating a Psionic Touch, I can feel the Core’s presence resurface in my mind. It happily greets my presence, as usual. Also as usual, it asks if I have any mana to spare. 

Not this moment, I say. But I have something that will give both of us access to more mana going forward. 

Yay! The Dungeon Core hopes it’s much, much, much more.

Er. Not really. But every little bit counts, right?

More is better.

I extend my offer to it anyway. The Psionic Link stretches between our minds like a bridge. It takes both parties to establish the link, it seems. I anchored my side. But will the Core take hold of the other?

Okay!

[Psionic Link established,] Echo says. [Mana expended.]

I wait a beat. I don’t feel any different. Did the spell even work? I mentally reach for the Dungeon Core.

Oh! The Core burst happily into my mind. We can still talk! Does this mean we can always talk now? Without stopping? Do I have any more mana I can give it?

I’m beginning to wonder exactly what I’ve gotten myself into. 

By the time we reach our destination, I’m trying not to pant from the exertion of the climb. My legs feel like they’re made of lead. My feet sting from all the walking. It seems like even in this body I could stand to work out more.

“Here we are,” I finally say, pausing to take a breath. “Please watch your step. There’s a large hole along one side of the passage.” 

“Are you sure?” Mirzayael asks, looking around. “We’re not at the surface, yet.”

“Well, this is where I came from,” I say. “Do you want me to lead, or you?”

She gestures me ahead. I shrug, holding my Spark before me as I carefully pick my way into the tunnel. I try to ignore the fact that Mirzayael’s spear is leveled at my back.

The room is just as I’d left it. The giant crack the Dungeon Core had made still runs through the floor, through which several of the skeletons have fallen, but the rest of the room is untouched. Bones, stones, and hints of ancient weaponry litter the floor. I carefully pick my way around them, trying to be as respectful to the remains as possible. 

“The room was sealed when I woke up here,” I tell Mirzayael as she steps into the room, looking around. The only hint of surprise in her expression are slightly raised eyebrows. “The Dungeon Core is what got me out. It turned the stones blocking the exit into sand, like it did to the stone that had trapped your leg.”

Mirzayael moves slowly through the room, glancing around at the floor and nudging some of the bones with the butt of her spear. My firelight glimmers off her smooth, shell-like body. 

She comes to a stop at the center of the room, the one space of cleared, flat stone. 

“It was here,” I say, crouching down to touch the rock. Still so cold to the touch. But I guess it’s no wonder if I’m really in the arctic. Ah, how I would love to see the sun again. Feel the warmth against my skin. 

Mirzayael doesn’t respond as she steps slowly around the perimeter. At one point, she pauses, bending down to pick something out of the pebbles and bones. 

“What is it?” I ask, not particularly expecting to get an answer. 

She stares at it a moment, then finally angles her hand to show me. It appears to be a small bronze badge of some sort. There’s a symbol carved into the surface, something like a stylized eye, though it means nothing to me. 

[Check,] Echo says. [The sigil of Lorata, marking the bearer as her Champion.]

“Who’s Lorata?” I ask. 

Mirzayael stares at me for a long moment. Finally, she tucks the badge away within her folds, keeping her eyes carefully on the floor as she slowly picks her way across. 

“Lorata,” Mirzayael finally says, “is the god of light, wisdom, foresight, and is the head of the pantheon. It is also said she was the one who declared our people forsaken.”

It takes me a moment to digest all this. “Then, that skeleton
” I raise my eyebrows. “All these skeletons
?”

“At least the one, so far as I can tell,” Mirzayael says. “But yes; that one appears to be the remains of a Champion. This very well may be the chamber where Fyreneth made her last stand.”

“Oh,” I say, faintly. The implications of Fyreneth dying here—of my being reborn in the exact spot—do not escape me. Yet, I can’t quite process how I feel about that. Disbelief, certainly. I know who I am, and it is not an ancient leader of these people. But if this is the place of her fall, if the skeletons of others have been preserved here for hundreds of years, where are Fyreneth’s remains? 

I certainly hope the reason I was given a phoenix harpy’s body is a mere coincidence. But given all the other circumstantial evidence, I find that statistically unlikely. 

I shudder, hoping all of this doesn’t mean what I think it means. 

“Perhaps,” I say, “we could not tell the rest of the town about this room being the location of my reincarnation.”

Mirzayael looks at me strangely. “I think that might be wise.” 

I nod, relieved. Any way we could prevent the rumor mill from being stoked is preferable to me. Not to mention, I need time to process these new revelations myself. 

“Do you believe me, then?” I ask her. “That I am not from this world? That I have no idea how I ended up here or came to inhabit this body?”

“Well, it is at least certain that you came through this room,” she says. She points her spear to marks on the ground. “Recent footprints I picked out before you had a chance to walk this way. That, coupled with your ability to lead me here, and with what you’ve demonstrated with the Dungeon Core
 Yes, I believe you appeared here, even if I still find the story unbelievable.” She turns to me. “I also do not believe you are Fyreneth.”

“Good,” I say, relieved. “Please, I have no desire to inherit that burden of responsibilities. That is, if you intend to let me return to your village.”

Mirzayael tips her head at me. “You are a strange person, Outsider.”

“I suppose that fits,” I say. “Everything about this is strange to me.”

“Hm.” She smiles faintly. “Alright. I’ll give you a chance to prove your trustworthiness. You may return with me to the Keep.”

“Thank you,” I say, my shoulders sagging. Oh, thank god. I never would have won a fight against her. 

The Dungeon Core, meanwhile, seems a little put out it didn’t get to summon a bunch of rocks or cause another fissure. 

“Come,” Mirzayael says, gesturing to the exit. “We should begin to make our way back. It will still be some hours before we return to town, and by then we will both be hungry.”

I’m rather hungry now, actually, given my unwise decision to skip lunch, but I doubt complaining will earn me any points with her. 

“Excellent,” I say, despite my aching legs. At least this trek will be downhill. “Then, if I am officially accepted as one of your own—”

“—Contingent upon proving your trustworthiness,” she cuts in.

“Right, that,” I say. “Assuming I can demonstrate my authenticity, I believe it would be to my benefit to learn as much about this city, the history, this world, as possible. Nek mentioned there might be books in the Catacombs. Do you think I would be able to get my hands on those, in whatever state they might be in?”

Mirzayael leads us back out of the room, snorting at my remark. “Nek is a fool. Nothing save the walls have survived the Catacomb’s decay.”

“Ah,” I say, deflating. “That’s unfortunate. It would have been terribly convenient. What are the Catacombs, anyway?”

“The remnants of the lost kingdom,” Mirzayael says. Happily, she seems to be more responsive to my questions now, though I’d perhaps stop shy of calling her friendly. “When the city was returned to the earth, at first people still lived within the castle walls, determined to continue living their lives as they had before. But without Fyreneth’s magic to power it, the castle slowly died. The lights flickered out. The water dried up. All the warmth leached away. Eventually the inhabitants were forced to leave and seek more fertile caverns. That is why we dwindle in the cavern we currently live in today. We suspect there is a thermal spring which passes beneath us, allowing such flora to thrive in our section of the cave system, but we’ve been unable to tap into it or track it elsewhere. So we live in our makeshift home as best we can. Having seen what remains of Fyreneth’s Fortress, our ancestors must have lived in such prosperity, in comparison.” 

A thermal spring? Interesting. I wonder if that’s something the Dungeon Core would be able to sniff out. 

But the Catacombs intrigue me just as much. If the city was powered by magic, does that mean it’s just waiting to be turned back on, given the right parameters are met? They had lighting, plumbing, heating—all things the people of Mirzayael’s city are in desperate need of. Could the answer be buried there, somewhere in the ruins? 

“I should very much like to visit the Catacombs,” I say.

Mirzayael shrugs. “You are more than welcome to. A few have wandered into the Catacombs only to become lost and perish there: I would warn you to be wary of meeting a similar fate, except it seems your Core would help you in this respect.”

I nod excitedly. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“We?” she repeats skeptically. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I suspect you’re unlikely to let me go anywhere alone until I’ve earned your trust,” I say. “Unless you’d rather it be Nek who accompanies me?”

Mirzayael laughs.

She actually laughs.

“Alright, Outsider,” she agrees. “Tomorrow, we will visit the Catacombs.”