Shattered Bastions

[Leecifer]

Chapter Sixteen: Cold Comfort​

A few weeks later, they reached the next Bastion.

Thule.

From the outside, it was another pure black hemisphere, and, passing through it, in those moments where Dylan hung suspended in an infinite blackness, concentrating, he could feel another presence, completely unlike those before. This one was warm, and encouraging, almost feeling like a welcoming slap on the back, before he was out of that space between spaces, his revolver once more filled with pure-black rounds.

That warmth was a direct comparison to the Bastion itself, which was really freaking cold.

So much it was practically a slap in the face as soon as he stepped out of their Cart, actually, and the ground the Caravan had circled up on was covered with several inches of snow. Which, for a New England guy, Dylan found… weirdly comforting.

Because, he realized, the Farweald didn't seem to have temperature, it just… was, only the Bastions, be it New Agartha's ambient warmth, or Gondolin's eternally cool breeze, having something he could feel. And, after weeks outside of it, feeling it again was centering in a way he hadn't expected. Though, from how Sam instantly turned back around to get a coat, some of his classmates probably wished the temperature wasn't felt that much.

And, in retrospect, the coldness he'd felt that first night? The chill that sent him shivering? That hadn't been actual cold. No, that'd been tiredness, adrenaline crash, and blood loss, though he didn't have enough experience with any of those to recognize it.

He did now.

Their jobs didn't stop once they were in Thule, though, even if they did a lot more hauling, of goods the Caravan was trading, and of goods they'd purchased. Dylan's [Courier] didn't increasing in rank, but was really useful in helping him figure out where to take things. More than that, he started to direct others once he realized he could look at something, form a hypothetical as if he were going to drop it off, and his [Job] would give him directions he could then pass on.

For a moment, he worried that he'd overstepped, as technically his job was just to carry things, but the guy in charge just checked the manifest, handed it to him, and said, "Keep going," so that was nice.

Asking around, no, they weren't imagining it, they could distantly hear, and smell, the ocean, as a third of the Bastion was an interior sea, a bay where fish just… showed up, the same way that metal veins were created in New Agartha, the NAgs 'collapsing' used up mine shafts, only for them to slowly be reset a month later.

It was this sea where a lot of what this Bastion offered in trade came from, both in fish and, of all things, salt. Which seemed… basic, but apparently, yep, their overlooking salt's value was another Outlander thing, though it was also a rich Bastion resident thing to believe, which helped. And, in return, Thule wanted a number of things, though most of all what the locals wanted was honey, which the Caravan had picked up from Gondolin. Not to buy and sell directly, the Caravan had just serviced a delivery contract, since the two were so close together. Because the locals really liked 'mead', a wine made out of honey instead of grapes.

Also, honey, which had been shipped in barrels?

Really heavy.

Malik wondered how big Gondolin's bees must be, which Kristen tried to call him stupid over, because back on Earth bugs just couldn't get above a certain size, because of physics.

Ivy pointed out that they'd killed bigger bugs last week, the Omukiddies already past that mark, and the larger, higher ranked Omukade were supposedly bigger than their Carts.

Kristen hadn't said anything after that.

So they'd worked, Dylan's group continuing their training, knowing they were being watched, but, well, Quill knew what they were doing, and if they shouldn't've, he would've said something, right?

Nothing came of it, at least yet, but it was still something to do, at least.

Then, on the fourth day, they were told it was their turn for 'shore leave', this time without minders as Thule was one of the few Outlander friendly Bastions out there, though they shouldn't be open with what they were, because they weren't the only travelers around. Also, news that their Caravan had Outlanders, if it got ahead of them, which, with their bouncing path, it might, would eventually be very bad.

So they were given their earnings, and turned loose, Dylan confused why he was given two satchels, one pouch of coins larger than the other.

Being told that the smaller was Anna's earnings… he didn't have a response, and the woman handling the payouts just patted him on the shoulder and motioned for him to leave, because more people were waiting for theirs.

Stepping out into the Bastion's city, he didn't know where to go, so just let his feet carry him.

Through markets, seeing hammered silver jewelry that…

He stopped and got a drink, a hot tea, sweet, which…

The docks were busy, working areas, not a vacation beach, Anna'd been right about that, and he just sat on a low wall, the cold biting, but centering, something he needed.

Eventually, he moved on, as, letting out a long breath, he could feel [Survivor] active, both blunting the worst of the temperature, despite the thin layer of ice that'd formed on his jacket, cracking as he moved, and pushing him forward once more.

Moving on, feeling his own Pulse of life, which had grown quiet, begin again, he wandered more, catching sight of Sam and Val, turning to avoid them, still no idea where he was actually going, [Courier] unable to deliver him to wherever he was going, because even it didn't know.

Above, in the cold, sharp blue skies, sat clouds, thin and streaky, like soft white slashes across the heavens, as the illusion of the sun crept towards the horizon, and he… just kept moving.

Until he stopped.

Standing in front of a restaurant, nothing too fancy, but better than a market stall, the kind that, with how much money they made, they could afford without drawing attention.

The kind he'd promised he'd take Anna to.

And, despite himself, he walked forward, entering it, the question from the waitress if he was alone taking him aback, before he told her he was, and was led to a small table, near the back, and handed a menu made of carved wood, the prices little tiles that'd been slotted in, which… was something to focus on, pinging it with [Arcane Handyman] to find the little release lever that'd pop them all out.

But, ordering, he just… sat there.

Alone with the one thing he didn't want to be with.

Himself.

Which was kind of stupid, really, because then why did he go off on his own?

But Dylan made a lot of mistakes.

His meal came, some kind of fish, he hadn't known what it was just that it was about middling price wise, and, it was good.

Really good.

More than anything else, in that moment, he wished he could share it with Anna.

And… he started crying.

Couldn't help it.

Couldn't stop.

Only could try and do so quietly, so he didn't bother anyone.

But the waitress came over anyways, and, instead of telling him to leave, which he'd get, just asked, voice soft, and warm, "You with the Avalon Caravan, Hun?"

He tried to respond, but the words wouldn't form, past a choked, "I-I-Ye," so he just nodded instead.

"Heard they lost people," she remarked, gently, and he just nodded again.

"You lose someone?" was the question that made him have to force himself not to sob, so he kept his mouth closed, and just nodded again.

Then she left, which… was good. Heading into the back, leaving him alone, so he didn't make this… weird.

And, it was a struggle, but he managed to pull himself back together, a bit, before she came back, and locked the front doors, only then did Dylan realize he was the only customer here, having wandered in between lunch and dinner.

He went still, as much as he could, as the older woman, his mother's age, poured herself a glass of water, and took the seat across from Dylan, studying him, before asking, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Which he didn't.

He really didn't.

Unfortunately, he couldn't not.

Not like he was forced to, just, he'd been pushing it down, trying not to think about it, and then the thing with Ivy, and…

"I loved her."

It was something he'd never told Anna, would never tell Anna now.

Not because he hadn't realized it, but because he'd been worried it'd make things…

Weird.

Did he know then, what would happen?

No, no he didn't think he did, it was just… not something you just said.

So he hadn't.

And God he wished he had.

So, slowly, he told the waitress, a stranger who didn't even know his name, about Annabeth.

About how much he cared for her.

Of all the things he loved about her, of her smile when he got her flowers, of the warmth that was just for when it was the two of them, of, of her lightness, which made him feel better just being around her.

Of how, the two of them, joining up with the Caravan after leaving their 'Bastion' along with their friends, had worked to fit in, of how he tried to give her space, tried not to bother her, both of them so busy and how he regretted it now.

Then, of that night, when the world went dark, and something tried to come down, but didn't, and the two of them fought, how he tried to protect her, how he took the hits for her, to do what a good man should.

Dylan fell silent for a long minute, or maybe five, he wasn't sure, the woman just waiting, his dinner long since gone cold.

Then, slowly, haltingly, he continued talking about Anna.

Of how she left him to die, and couldn't even listen to him try and save her as she did so.

Because that was what happened.

And… he was never going to see this woman again, didn't have to face it every time he saw her, and, at the same time, if he was telling her, he…

He wanted to be honest.

So he finished, wishing he'd been stronger, but, he hadn't, and now she was gone.

"Anna, she your age?" the waitress asked, when it was clear he was done.

"A couple months older," he replied.

The woman gave him a sad look, before shaking her head. "I don't think you're being fair to her."

What!?

"H-How?" Dylan demanded, because, damn it, how else had he let her down? What else was left!

The Waitress took a sip of her water, "You're an adult, right?"

"What does that have to do with what I did?" he questioned, off-balance, but the woman just waited. "I, yeah, I am! Which meant it's on me that, what happened is on me!"

"What you did," she agreed. "Not what this Anna of yours did. You made your decision. She made hers. Pretending it's all on you, you're taking that from her. Sounds like you didn't really see her. Just like she didn't see you."

Memories of what Ivy said hit him, and, okay, sure, he didn't see what was right in front of him, but Dylan couldn't stop messing up. "She saw me!" he argued.

"She thought you were gonna beg, Hun," the waitress stated.

"I did!" he reminded her.

But the woman shook her head, "No. I don't know her, but from what you said? She thought you were gonna beg her to stay. Knew it. And was scared if you did, she'd not be strong enough to run, and you'd both die." She sighed, "Not sayin' she was right, but that's what she probably thought. And she was wrong. Twice." Another sip. "You trusted her, right?"

"With my life," Dylan responded, not having to think about it.

"And she didn't trust you with hers," the Waitress responded simply. Frowning, she added, "That's, that doesn't make her a bad person, Hun. Just normal."

"And I'm not!?" he demanded, trying not to cry again, feeling raw.

The woman gave him a long look. "No. You're not. And not just 'cause you're an Outlander."

That brought him up short, heart hammering, wanting to run, wondering if he needed to fight, remembering what they were told, but-

"It's fine, we won't tell anyone," she reassured him. "You can put the gun down, Hun."

He blinked, not realizing he was holding it, the rounds still loaded, from days ago, faintly smoking with blackness, as, hesitantly, he re-holstered it. "I. Um. Sorry. Just. Sorry."

Slowly reaching over, the woman patted his arm. "It's fine. But… everyone knows. Caravanners? They ain't normal. That's why people join, 'cause they want to be more. And the ones that aren't, and do it anyways? A lot of them don't make it. By Ægir, there's a reason I stayed here, and I'm not sad I did. But that was my choice, not my husband's, just like it was my choice to say yeah when he courted me. And this Anna of yours, she made her own choices. And ya gotta respect them, to respect her."

Dylan sat with that, finally asking, "I didn't respect her, did I?"

"Sounds like she didn't either," the woman told him. "But you're young. What, twenty?"

"Eighteen," he corrected.

The waitress blinked, "Oh, you're new new." At his look she explained, "All Outlanders are eighteen when they start. It's why that's the age you're an adult in most Bastions. Or that's what I heard. Eighteen here."

"It's been a rough few months," he offered with a helpless shrug.

She considered that, "And you're already Lead?"

He laughed bitterly, "We all got there our first day. Night. Whatever. Got them fighting a Shadow Pack. Picked up a few more Leads, a few Clays. Didn't help."

"Let you survive," the waitress disagreed. "Would've let her survive, if she'd trusted you. That's not nuthin', Hun."

"It just wasn't enough," Dylan noted.

"You bein' here tells me it was," the woman replied, standing, and picking up his dish. "'l'll have my Hubby warm this up for ya, Hun. He's a Bronze Culinarian, and just magic in the kitchen!"

And then she was gone, back in five minutes, his dinner hot once again, the sauce sizzling slightly. "Thanks," Dylan told her. "For this. And… Everything. Sorry you had to close down."

Giving him a flat look, the waitress reached over, and lightly cuffed him in the back of the head, not hard enough to hurt, just to get his attention.

"I chose to do that, young man," she chided. "Don't be apologizin' for somethin' someone else did. You been doin' too much of that already, it seems."

"R-right, sorry, thanks," he stammered. "This… is gonna take a bit, isn't it."

"Best things do," the woman replied. "Enjoy the meal."

"I will," he promised, as she went and opened up the front, enjoying it, as it was really good.

And, when he left, he also left Annabeth's pouch, and all the coins in it.

She wouldn't've wanted to do that, but…

He did.

And he was responsible for his actions.

So he needed to do what he thought was right.

Not what he thought others might have wanted him to do.

Stepping into the freezing Thule air, the evening light turning the snow drifts into piles of glistening bronze, Dylan knew he wasn't magically better.

The past still hurt, but he couldn't do anything to change it.

The future would probably hurt too, because more bad things would happen.

But he could control the present, decide what he did now.

Dylan still hurt, but, for once, he no longer felt like he was drowning.

Now?

Now he could tread water.

Or, he could do what Malik and the others had been trying to help him do.

And swim.

… Not literally though, the water here had looked absolutely freaking freezing.

His smile was small, and pained, but it was honest, as he headed back to the Caravan, hoping he could find Malik, and see what his roommate had gotten up to this time.



AN: As always, next four chapters are up on Patreon and Subscribestar, and this story will be stubbed before publication, so it won't stay up here forever.

 

[TheManWithoutAPlan]

Dylan still hurt, but, for once, he no longer felt like he was drowning.

Now?

Now he could tread water.

Or, he could do what Malik and the others had been trying to help him do.

And swim

Click to shrink...

Not just be a [Surviver] but a Live-er.

I take my bow for my terrible joke.

 

[vladspellbinder]

This is exactly what Dylan needed. I am very happy they got it.

Now if only Kyle could get a "Stop being a twat" slap as well.

Thanks for the chapter.

 

[Slake Mothman]

Given how one of Dylan's most defining characteristics is his ability to admit his mistakes and work to correct them, I wonder how this conversation will affect the development of his [Jobs].

"You made your decision. She made hers. Pretending it's all on you, you're taking that from her. Sounds like you didn't really see her. Just like she didn't see you."

Click to shrink...

This line feels important for Dylan going forward. If he keys into his rose-tinted glasses of Anna as a mistake to be corrected, I could see him working on social perception, ways of seeing the 'truth' of a person both in words, identity, and action, eventually landing him something like a character profiling job.

She wouldn't've wanted to do that, but…

He did.

And he was responsible for his actions.

So he needed to do what he thought was right.

Click to shrink...

This is how leaders are made, baby! Love seeing my boy growing a spine, really gives me the tingles.

 

[Rotceh]

A great chapter; I wonder how this conversation will affect their work as a [Survivor], because it's not just physical—it's also mental.

 

[gthesob]

Dylan's [Courier] didn't increasing in rank

Click to shrink...

increase

 

[Leecifer]

Chapter Seventeen: Reading The Room

​

Things didn't magically improve, but, focusing forward, they did improve, as he sought out the others, hung out with them, something they all noticed immediately, but didn't say anything about, thankfully, and were just happy to have him. As for Thule itself, while it was very cold, that wasn't that bad, as most buildings were warmed using fires built in specialty firepits, large and small.

Using his [Job]s, he'd studied the rune-lined hearths, torch sconces, and more, the Mana in them circulating through the wood placed within, allowing it to burn, and burn, and burn, barely consuming any wood, modifying the flame, almost the way Quill had, when they'd first met the Calculant, but in the other way, producing heat, and light, but reducing the consumption to a fraction of what it should've been.

Which shouldn't've worked, but, well, Magic.

And, after asking Thrain that it wasn't an 'Outlander' thing, he'd asked the people who lived here about the Runes, the locals were not offended, rather proud of them actually. Thus, on his second day of 'leave', the Caravan spending extra-long to do repairs they couldn't on the road, he headed over to their 'Rune-Hall'.

It was a large structure, made entirely of ice, but light brown ice, a substance called 'pykrete' which wasn't magical at all, but which apparently held magic itself really well. Also, despite being made of ice, the inside was rather comfortable. Though, looking at the walls, there was a thin layer of magic on this side of them to keep it from melting despite the temperature.

The payout from collecting everything the Veilbreacher left had been substantial, and Dylan had more than enough to pay for a day-pass within the Rune-Hall's library. He was directed to the back, to read some introductory texts.

And he wasn't the only one from the Caravan there.

Dylan recognized others, here and there, but standing out from the rest was Bart, who glanced up from a tome, and froze.

For a moment, Dylan considered just walking away, trying not to cause trouble, trying to let the other guy figure out what he wanted to do, but…

That shouldn't be him anymore.

So instead he walked over, smiling, not having to fake it, and greeted, "Hi, Bartholomew."

"It's Barth-" the other guy started to correct, then caught himself. "Er, I mean, hi Dylan. What're you doing here?"

"Learning magic, same as you," the Raider offered. "I've got two magic [Job]s, [Thaumic Scrutineer] and [Arcane Handyman], and I'm hoping I can either find books to help with them, or maybe pick up another. You?"

"…Same," the nerdy guy replied after a moment. "My [Tridecagramist] doesn't use Runes, however my profession does, and I was hoping to bridge the gap. My [Pyre Runescribe] does, but only fire related ones, and shaping ones, not the others. Your [Job], the handyman one, does?"

"A little," Dylan agreed, "but I have no idea how. It's about fixing, not creating, but maybe I can figure out the difference. I can see flow on a big scale, but not the things that actually make the flows. You got any suggestions for books?"

Bart hesitated, before reaching over to one of the books he had next to him, lifting it and offering it to the other teen. "I think this one? I thought I could match my [Job]'s flows to its, but it's too different, but I'm working from casting, not creating either. It might work better for you."

"Thanks!" the Raider smiled, accepting the tome from the Runescribe, opening it up, seeing it was in his language, not having worried about that until just this moment. Paging through it, he realized that he probably should've done what Malik did, and got a research focused [Job], to make this easier, as there was no way he could get through everything in the six hours he had, unless he skimmed.

Should he skim?

It was a book on magic, skimming seemed… unwise.

He'd skim a little.

And his skimming… told him he needed a different book.

"Any on what Runes actually are?" Dylan asked.

"How can you not know what Runes are?" Bart replied, confused.

With a shrug, the Raider told the Runescribe, "Don't have the [Job] for it."

The other boy blinked behind his glasses, then pushed them up, slightly embarrassed. "Oh. Right. Um. There might be a book. But I can explain a little, if you want?"

"Sure," Dylan shrugged, focusing fully.

Bart hesitated, then turned and grabbed his bag, taking out a small piece of slate, and a stylus, a quickly muttered spell, two fingers drawing a pattern with practiced speed, clearing it. "So. Runes, are, like, shapes. But, but not flat shapes. We see them as flat, because they are, technically, but you can draw a three-dimensional object onto a two-dimensional one through use of perspective. Runes are five-dimensional shapes, at least the basic ones are, one of the ones that Mister- doesn't matter," he stopped himself, sketching out an odd, curving shape, but lifting his stylus, which left behind a white line of something between chalk and ink, and in doing so didn't create one complete shape, but two that seemed to be cut in half.

"One of the problems is that Runes are Runes, even if you don't want them to be Runes, so just making them correctly, if there's enough Mana present, will make them active Runes. There's limiters, and switches, and flow-directors, and, and a lot of mechanisms, however a Rune-Chain probably will not have enough Mana to pull from in the air, or what you're writing it on, or what you're writing it with, to self-activate. And a Rune-Array definitely won't. But a single Rune…"

The Scribe made another Rune, this one in one piece, one that almost looked like a stylized sun, and as soon as Bartholomew lifted the stylus, it began to glow.

Dylan looked at it with Scrutineer, and he could see the pattern, a very simple one, tight, almost unreadable for how it ran over itself, but it was pulling from the ink, which was magic, to power itself. Then, with a quick slash through it with his stylus, Bart broke it, the flow flooding out of the pattern like the stroke was a sword-wound, the pattern tearing itself apart in an instant as it bled out.

"Got it, don't draw Runes, but… how do you practice?" Dylan asked. "Because you're good at it."

The nerdy guy sat up a little straighter. "Non-magical materials, and meta-Runes, mostly." He scribed another one, swirly, but a little crooked, which also activated, and… did nothing. "This one's for concentration. For a chain, it'd compact the effect, or distill it, or, Runes do a lot of things at once."

"Like how clip means to cut something, or attach it?" the Raider questioned.

"Worse, like how when you say 'see' do you mean the letter, the water, or looking at something," Bart corrected. "And Rune grammar is positional, so doing it in a line does one thing, and a ring is close but repeating, but then there's shapes, and, have you looked inside one of the light bulbs the Caravan uses?"

Dylan nodded, thinking about it. "Yeah, they're clusters of three. So, is that a triangle, or a really small circle?"

"Both," the Scribe groaned. "And also each cluster is part of a greater cluster that interacts with the others."

"Which is the flow I saw before," the Handyman realized. "But, I just kinda… re-carved the paths that were wearing out. With magic."

"… How?" Bart questioned.

Dylan just shrugged. "Magic."

"That's not an… fine, it is an answer, but it's not a good one," the nerd grumbled.

"I know," the jock grinned. "That's why I'm here to learn!"

Thinking about it, Bartholomew slowly said, "If I had to guess, and I'd want to check, you were either doing something to the channels that form when the Rune-Array first burns in, when a device is first activated. Or you were, I don't know, poking the shape in the fourth or fifth dimension or something."

"Isn't the fourth dimension just time?" Dylan checked.

"That's what our textbooks said, yeah," the other boy agreed. "So, technically they're five dimensional since they're in dimensions one, two, three, five, and six, and bigger things also use dimension four, but that's because they don't do everything at once, so the ordering makes them six dimensional, but that makes us four dimensional, so everyone just kind of ignores that one."

Taking a second to process that, the jock asked, "Because that's just doing things in sequence?"

"Exactly," Bart nodded.

Working on that, Dylan asked, "But, like, what are Runes. Why do those shapes do that?"

"Oh. Um. No one knows," the other guy admitted with a grimace.

"Okay," the Raider shrugged.

Taken aback, the Scribe echoed, almost offended, "Okay?"

"There's a lot of stuff we don't know," Dylan offered. "But they mean stuff, and it's complicated, and we're learning how to use them, and learning how to use them will probably help our [Job]s."

Glancing down at the slate, a thought occurred to the larger teen. "So, the one that makes light looks like a sun, kinda, and the one that concentrates things looks like a drain, or maybe a twister from above. Then," he looked at the first Rune Bart drew, mentally putting it together, with the rounded bottom, and the pointed top, the curves, and recognizing it from looking at the 'eternal hearths' that were everywhere, "is that the one for fire?"

"And heat, and consumption, and purification, and revelation but the Glow Rune is also that, and calling which the Glow Rune isn't, and the soul, and also a certain shade of orange-red, and probably a few different things," the nerd listed off. "And it doesn't matter which you meant, only what you 'said'. Except what you meant can help, because you can nudge it a bit, but not a lot." Helplessly, he waved at the stack of books. "There's a reason I'm not allowed to touch anything for my profession until I get a Rune creating [Job] up to Lead. And the one I have doesn't work, because it's meant for fighting, all of ours were, not building or repairing."

"Completely understandable," the jock nodded. "You make something that's supposed to power a torch and it consumes someone's soul!"

"I, the power that'd take… No, Dylan, that's not how that works," Bartholomew waved away. "But you might try and make something turn red, like an indicator light, and it lights on fire instead. Bigger things take more power, and if you're too vague it will fizzle nine times out of ten. The tenth one is where it can be dangerous. But that's why a Runeworker needs to learn formulas, why they work, and modify them. New Rune-Chains can work, but New Rune-Arrays are dangerous."

"And new Runes?" the Raider questioned.

The other boy clearly wanted to call him stupid, but hesitated, and instead handed over the stylus. "There's a rune for ice, and stasis, and isolation, and cold, and clearness, and preservation, and white, and a few other things. Draw it."

Taking the stylus, Dylan thought about it, before, nodding, started sketching it out, the spiked hexagonal design taking shape, until, when he was done, he lifted the stylus, and the shape frosted over.

"… How."

Dylan pointed to the wall, where one of the nodules that kept the pykrete frozen sat, and Bart, frowning, got up, walked over to it, looked at it closely, cast a couple spells, then walked back.

"Okay, bad example," the nerd admitted. "Try this instead. It's wind, and sky, and dispersal, and freedom, and anxiety for some reason, and also the soul, and a specific kind of green, and a bunch of others."

"That's wind," the Raider stated.

The Scribe nodded. "Yeah, that's why I started with it. Draw wind."

He tried, with three wavy lines, and nothing happened.

"Runes are always a single piece," Bart corrected.

Dylan tried three wavy lines that were connected, but, no.

A spiral, but smoother than the concentrated one, and going in the other direction? Nothing.

Then he tried the symbol of the Air Wanderers from that Incarnation: The Last Wind-Wielder show Malik liked, the three spirals in a pyramid, watching Bart, and that got a reaction from the Scribe, but only for a second, not magically, but as a flicker of disbelief on the Scribe's face, before it was hidden, the 'rune' he made completely inert.

Maybe his curves were too curvy?

But at that point he was reading someone who already knew it, not doing it himself, which… was kind of Bart's point.

"No freaking clue," he said, passing it over to the Scribe, who nodded confidently, though also, for some reason, had seemed a bit nervous. "So, yeah, recognizing it and making it up are two really different things."

"Exactly, and this is it," the other boy stated, drawing a rune, which was a whirlwind, made of three primary spirals, each one kind of boomerang-ish, but also three smaller swirls that flowed into the bigger ones, and Dylan had to kick himself because he'd seen Anna make that Rune, he just hadn't connected it, because…

Because she never talked about her [Job].

Which, while the thought wasn't fun, it… didn't hurt as much as he felt like it should. Because he hadn't asked about hers, but he'd talked about his, a bit, and she just… never did so back.

"Okay, I think I got the basics. Thanks!" Dylan smiled, looking back to the book, which, knowing how Runes worked, it was describing Rune-Array flow patterns, and the 'definition' part made a lot more sense, if the things it was made of each had a dozen different things they could be.

Which the placement could help define.

Because if Fire was soul, and Wind was soul, then both could definitely be soul, or they could cancel each other out to not be soul, or…

Okay. Yeah. Magic was complicated.

Obviously.

Wizards were never shown as dumb after all.

But, while he knew he could be stupid, Dylan knew he wasn't either, so got to studying, wishing he'd brought a notebook to copy stuff down into, seeing the example runes. The runes there were also divided, but the Thule system cut them horizontally, while the way that Bart did it was at an angle, bottom left to top right. Either way, it was easy enough to read them, but whoever wrote it expected him to know all of them already.

"The Caravan have a Rune dictionary?" the Raider asked idly.

"Huh? Yeah. I checked, there's no new ones here," the Scribe replied. "At least on the books they let commoners pay to read."

Nodding, Dylan went back to it, thinking of the things he'd worked with, of the patterns he'd navigated by feel, and by the traces they left behind, seeing how it matched up to what he was reading.

"Why aren't you mad?"

The Handyman paused, then looked up, to see the other guy staring at him. "Um, should I be?"

"With what I did?" Bart pressed.

"… which is?" Dylan countered.

"I took Kyle's side!" the nerd responded, a little too loudly, an older man three tables over giving them a warning look, eyes momentarily crackling with electricity. "I took Kyle's side," he repeated, at a carrying whisper. "And I've been with his group. And you just… walked up."

Glancing around, the jock noted, "Kyle isn't here. And… I get why he's mad at me. I was mad at me. Still am a bit, but, I did all I could. And she… did what she did. But you haven't done anything to me, Bartholomew. We just haven't hung out. Okay. That's allowed. And even if Kyle never forgives me for what happened… that's his decision. There's no reason we can't be friends."

The Scribe stared for a moment, before blinking rapidly, and looking back at his book, going, "I wouldn't say we're that close. At least yet. But. Yeah. Sure. And it's nice to have someone else around who isn't a complete idiot."

"Yep, I'm only mostly a moron," Dylan teased.

That got a surprised snort out of the other boy, who countered, "and getting better."

"All I can ask," the Raider agreed, and they turned back to their books.

<SB>​

Dylan met up with the others between shifts, though not given 'shore leave' for those few hours, for a whole bunch of reasons. It wasn't personal, they were told, all Caravans were limited by those restrictions, because flooding a Bastion with unknown people often came right before a raid, the attackers stealing and running for the Bastion's edge. That meant they still had time, just time they couldn't spend outside of their 'Berth'.

However, even in their area, it was still very cold, which led them to try to pick up elemental resistance-based [Job]s.

Which involved being very cold, until they couldn't take it anymore, before they warmed up and healed any damage they'd taken, getting frostbite not fun, but, after Ivy got [Snowdancer] the others agreed it was worth trying. Unfortunately for Dylan, he realized he wasn't training something new, just working on [Survivor], though he didn't name the [Job] to the others, Sam having a similar problem of cross-over with [Bulwark], as did Logan with his [Sentinel].

Though, at the same time, that meant what they did trained those [Job]s, and was why they could handle the cold a lot better from the beginning, as opposed to the other three, who needed repeated healing before they got their new abilities, then handled it even better than Dylan and Sam did. Their resistance was a lot more general, and came from Clay rank [Job]s, while Logan's, being general too, came from his Lead rank combat-focused [Job], which made up the difference with the other three's new, more specific, Clay ones.

It took several days' worth of work, and even with [Survivor] it was kinda miserable, but he was there for the others, which helped them keep going, until Malik finally got [Emberheart]. He'd been combating the cold not by being immune to it, but by heating up to fight it, doing pushups, shadowboxing, and so on, which, as he kept trying to warm himself up without using magic, made a certain kind of sense that now he could do it with magic. Or, well, not magic, but with his [Job], which was supernatural.

On their next Shore Leave, Dylan was back in the library, and met up with Bart, taking another crack at Runework, having managed to take a look at the Caravan's Rune-dictionary, which…

There were a LOT of Runes, and the meaning lists weren't definitive, just 'here's the meanings we've figured out, in order of ease of activation for those purposes, whether you mean to or not.'

"Hey, the rest of us are meeting up for dinner at a place Sam and Ivy's boss suggested," he offered to the other boy, as the 'sun' set in the distance, through frosted windows. "You wanna come?"

"You sure?" the Scribe checked, taken aback.

"Of course, wouldn't've offered otherwise, Bartholomew," Dylan smiled.

However, the nerd hesitated, before, with a grimace, he shook his head. "I, no, the pass was for all day, and we're heading out soon. I wanna get everything I can from here."

From the look he sent the jock from behind his glasses, Bart was worried about the Raider's response, which was… wrong, and he showed the wizard-in-training so, by just nodding, "Makes sense. I'll be heading out in an hour, if you change your mind."

"I won't," Bart stressed.

"Then I'll head out then, and see you back at the Caravan," Dylan reassured him, showing he wasn't mad.

"O-Oh. Okay. Thanks," the other guy replied, turning back to his book, but not relaxing until the jock did the same.

Regardless, Dylan did leave, following the directions he'd been given, getting there exactly on time, for his self-delivery, as a proper [Courier] should, which meant he was about fifteen minutes early, Ivy already there, but the rest slowly trickled in, Malik last. Entering the wide double doors, though, it wasn't a restaurant.

It was a Mead Hall.

The kind of thing that wouldn't be out of place in Beowulf. Looking around, however, there were set tables, and menus, but they were all colored to match the floor and the walls, and the center was a huge roasting pit, where what looked like a half dozen giant sharks were being slowly turned. Next to them was a pair of chefs, a man and a woman, both very muscular, who were carving off sections with axes, plating them, and handing them off to servers who carried them to the tables.

Each of their group was given a steel bracelet, magical, with three zeros on the front, that'd record how much they owed, to be paid when they left, and told to find a seat wherever they wanted. Finding a mostly empty table, there was an older guy there, who didn't mind them joining him, introducing himself as Haldur Einerson.

They gave their own names, Logan starting, but lying and saying his last name was Verdi. Dylan, who had already opened his mouth, panicked and just said, "Dylan… Smith," while his roommate's, "Malik Kurasaki" got him an incredulous look from Ivy. The Huntress introduced herself as "Ivy Han", Sam offered "Samantha Nerissa" with a smirk, while Val stated, "Valeria Smith, not related."

Getting the menus, they ordered drinks, the first round free, which when it arrived, and was mead, made them all pause. "I don't drink alcohol," Ivy stated. "Can I have water instead? Or tea?"

"Why not?" Haldur asked, skeptically.

"She's underage," Dylan responded, remembering what the waitress from a few weeks ago had said. "She's seventeen."

That caused the older man to laugh, "Drinkin' age be thirteen in Thule, youngin', don't you worry!"

"I'd still rather not," the Asian girl argued, pausing to glance at Dylan, before she offered her flagon to Logan. "You want it, you're the oldest."

"Twenty isn't really 'oldest'," Logan shot back, running with the lie, "but I won't say no to free beer."

"It's technically a wine," Sam offered.

"Grapes?" Val questioned, having taken a sip.

"Honey, actually," the theater girl corrected. "Which is why we offloaded so many barrels of it."

The Hispanic teen took another sip, and nodded. "Worth it."

That got a laugh from the table behind her, which had been eavesdropping, a couple turning around, asking about the Caravan, the food arriving and ridiculously good. The Shark steaks tasted more like cow than cod, and were seasoned all the way through, despite being cut off and immediately served. Turned out the two chefs were husband and wife, and owned the restaurant, both Wrought Silver, with different and complementary [Job]s that let them handle every aspect of it themselves.

Dylan, meanwhile, couldn't help but examine the bracelet, their server having a small tablet with a wand attached by a thin metal strand that she tapped to the bottom of their item when the food was delivered. The zeros then shifted to reflect the price of what they just got, the rune-clusters underneath it tight, and complex, one set underneath the display, another on the tap-point, forming a continuous loop of energy. While he could recognize a few of the Runes, like the one for receiving, and change, and a snowflake shaped Ice rune doing double duty as both permanence and impermanence at the same time, he had no idea why it worked, only that it did.

Meanwhile, the drinks and the food kept coming, the bracelet letting him make sure he didn't spend too much, the crowd getting rowdier as the evening went on. Dylan ended up nursing a flagon, watching Val arm-wrestle some locals, the tanned girl having drunk a lot more than he did, her cheeks darkened in a flush that wasn't going away. With a glare, she slammed the other woman's hand to the table, the locals cheering.

The woman, meanwhile, didn't like it as much, surging to her feet, and yelling, "You think you're so tough? I could take you in a fight!" A guy, probably her friend, tried to pull her back, but she shrugged him off, going, "Unless you're too much of a coward to try me!"

Val, meanwhile, had turned around on her bench, but didn't get up, just leaned back, arms spread, and replied, "Wolves don't bark. Bitches do."

Which prompted howls of laughter from the locals, as the woman hauled off and tried to punch their classmate in the face, only for there to be a momentary flash of steel, and the vaguest impression of a helmet over Val's cheek, taking the hit, causing the woman to reel back. Though, when the local tried again, Val moved, standing, grabbing the woman's arm, and, turning, rotating on her hip, to throw her, aiming for the table they'd just used, but overdoing it, and hitting the next table over. One guy's flagon broke, and he sprayed himself with Mead, while, when someone else laughed, he threw the broken handle at the laugher, who, then threw his flagon at the man, spraying him down with even more mead.

"BRAWL!" someone else yelled, and, as if on cue, everyone started fighting at once.

Reflexively Dylan stood, looking for the danger, revolver in hand as-

Ting

He didn't see him move, but one of the Chefs was just there, the back of his axe on the gun's barrel, slowly, but with undeniable strength, forcing it down, giving the boy a look that was both sympathetic and chiding. "No Weapons In The Kitchen," the man stated, with the same undeniable Presence as Hark, more real than real.

Finding himself unable to speak, Dylan just nodded, and put it away, only now realizing that while people were fighting, it was all with their bare hands, and even then, not really fighting, no one trying that hard.

Or, well, some people were, but they weren't very good at it.

Meanwhile, the other Chef was casually cutting up roast potatoes, before, with a flick of her wrist, she sent a dozen golf ball sized cubes of tuber flying. They all slammed into people, causing them to flinch, or nudge them slightly, a fist that would've hit someone's eye now hitting their cheek instead, still sending the person hit sprawling, but not that hurt.

More than that, actually looking at what was going on, for the most part, only the people standing were fighting, while a third of the people, staying seated, were just watching the show.

Sitting himself, nursing his drink, he didn't even see the male Chef move, the man seeming to teleport back to the central hearth, a slice of shark cut and sent flying, landing perfectly on Dylan's plate, before falling apart into thin strips that were clearly finger food. Staring at it, Dylan shrugged, and offered some to Ivy, who he saw put away the knife she'd pulled, the girl nodding and grabbing some herself.

Logan and Sam watched on, seated, the girl looking a bit worried, while Malik, grinning, jumped up onto the bench and launched himself two tables over, on top of a guy who was about to smash his flagon on the back of someone's else's head with a yell of "The Public's Elbow!", getting into it.

Popping some of the bits of shark in his mouth, this dish was 'overcooked', but not burnt, making it more akin to a soft jerky, and good in a different way. Dylan looked past the fighting, and the customers, to see how the Chefs worked, as well as how the servers were ducking deftly around the fight, delivering food to the people seated, and a thought occurred to him.

"This is the Kitchen."

"What?" Ivy questioned, but Logan just nodded, "Yep."

"They're Silvers, and Wrought, so whatever their [Job] is, that's all they can really do," the Raider explained. "But, by making this the Kitchen, they've… made it their domain, or, maybe their Domain? It's something Malik mentioned. But, by making this the place they work, it might let them do a lot more than if there was a kitchen in the back, and this was the sitting area. Or maybe I'm wrong," he deferred.

"Nah, yer not wrong," a woman, sitting at the next table over, agreed. "You not see this kind of thing before?"

The man beside her turned around to look at the four of them, peering suspiciously. "Not knowin' that. Are you lot Out….siders?"

"Of course we're Outsiders," Ivy responded scornfully, and without hesitation. "We're with the Avalon Caravan."

The woman smacked the man beside her on the arm, "Ignore Halvard, he asks that of every group of kids that passes through."

"And one time I'm gonna be right, Signe!" he shot back.

"And then, when ya are, what're ya gonna do next?" Signe questioned, sounding like they had this conversation a lot.

"And then I'll be right!" Halvard grinned. "Which don't happen often, so I'll brag 'bout it for months!"

That got a snort from the woman, as she rolled her eyes, and turned to them. "Ignore him. Ye be right 'bout Einar and Eira. It's one of the reason people don't mind startin' a fight, since everyone knows they'll keep friendly-like. Both 'cause gettin' kicked out means ya don't get their cookin' no more, and 'cause if ya really push it they'll toss you on the fire and carve ya up."

Which, from his own cross-discipline experiments, and talking with his roommate, Dylan knew was all too literal, even if they wouldn't actually eat you.

Sam, meanwhile, looked a bit green, Halvard cackling and reassuring her, "Don't worry, girlie, they hadn't had to do that for years."

Which both helped, and didn't, but also meant that the Raider relaxed a bit more, knowing his friends wouldn't push it that far.

The Theater girl, however, paled, as she started to stand, weaving slightly, a bit drunk herself, "I, but, but Val! I should go apologize!"

"For what?" Signe scoffed. "Yiva was literally askin' for it, and that lass of yours was just showin' Proper Thule Spirit!"

"It'll be fine," Logan reassured the dark-haired girl, patting her on the shoulder, but also forcing her back down as someone behind her noticed she was up, and started to make their way over. "If they didn't want her to-" He paused as Val was tossed through the air, flying twenty feet, turned herself around and landed on a large guy's shoulders, arms waving wildly to catch her balance, before kicking off from them to head back the way she came, "they would've stopped her."

"O-Oh, okay," Sam agreed, taking another sip of her drink, and finding it empty. "Uh, can I have another?"

As if summoned, a server arrived, putting down a full mug, taking the empty, and tapping the girl's bracelet, before disappearing back into the melee.

"Interesting place your boss suggested," Dylan commented to Ivy.

"Honestly, 'bout what I expected," the Asian girl responded, on her third honey-tea. "Though her comment that 'seating was optional' makes a lot more sense now."

He laughed, at that, shaking his head, enjoying himself, only a single pang of longing hitting him, but he pushed it aside, something made easier by the comforting warmth that filled him from the drink, as he focused on the here and now.

He did notice that Ivy, who'd been watching him, smiled herself for some reason, but he didn't pry, just enjoying the show, and his meal.

<SB>​

"Alright all of ye!" Thrain's voice rang out, waking Dylan up. "Everybody get yer butts out! Ya ain't in trouble, but this be serious as a batch o' bad ale!"

At the word ale, the Raider's head throbbed, as he… might've gotten a bit more drunk than he thought, but, reflexively, he reached for [Pulsewright]. The beating of his heart sent a wave of energy through him, as he saw the minor snarls that'd accumulated, especially in his head, which he smoothed out, the ache fading, though his mouth was really dry in a way his [Job] couldn't fix.

Across from him, Malik, who Dylan had practically carried back, groaned, moaned, and gave out a small pained cry as he held his head.

"Physician, heal thyself," the Raider, still waking up, instructed.

"Wha'?" the other guy replied.

Slowly getting up himself, Thrain still calling out for them to come out, Dylan translated, "Cast Cure."

"… Right. Cure," the dark-skinned teen replied, sighing in relief after the green energy washed over him. "And, why am I still, uh, oh, it's a status effect. Esuna." A bit of gold energy passed over the Moonblade, who, after a moment, popped right up out of bed, way too energetic. "Drinking sucks!"

"Drinking, or what comes after?" Dylan countered, grabbing his canteen from his bag, and taking a swig of water, which helped, stretching.

"… What comes after," the other guy replied, gaze going distant. "Holy cow, I got in a barfight! And my first kiss!"

That stopped the Raider. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah! She was nice, and… uh, I didn't know her name," the other guy admitted. "But she hit like a bear, and she wanted me to come back to her place, but, like, I couldn't, you know, do anything. I was drunk. You shouldn't do that stuff when you're drunk! It wouldn't be right! Besides, I wasn't staying around!"

I think she didn't care, and knew that, Dylan thought, but didn't share, just nodding, and going, "Nice. And good on ya."

Malik shrugged, "It's what Himmal the Hero would've done," which, if Dylan knew who that was, would probably have been really profound, so the jock just gave him another nod, grabbed a shirt, and headed out.

Across the hall from them, Val staggered out, blearily, supported by Ivy, Thrain glancing at the feminine pair and chuckling good naturedly, "Glad to see ya be havin' a good time out there!"

Dylan stepped across to them, and held out both hands, asking, "Pulse?"

The Athletic girl took a second to figure out what he was offering, before taking his hands, leaning on them for support, as he concentrated. Sending the energy through one hand, and across her body, letting it bounce, she was very messed up. Not injured, none of her threads were broken, but a lot were thinned, snarled, and in various states of 'not good', but he was able to, with a firm mental handle, smooth out the worst of it, as she sagged into him a little, dumping half of his reserves into her.

Feeling a tap on his arm, he opened his eyes, Ivy giving him a 'wrap it up' gesture, and he nodded, doing one last run, before he let go of Val, though it took her a second to let go of him in turn. Dylan waved from Malik to Val, prompting the guy, after a moment, to use two spells to handle the rest.

The others were out, Kristen yawning, as Thrain nodded, and stepped up. "Alright, listen up. Another Caravan showed up, though callin' them a Caravan be pushin' it. They set up the next Berth over, 'cause of course they did, not any o' the others, so, until we head out, and be out for a bit, yer not to leave this Cart. Don't worry 'bout yer day-jobs, 'cause this be Hark's orders, so no's gonna hold it against ya."

Everyone glanced around, Kyle asking, "Are they gonna attack us?"

"Ha!" Thrain laughed, the sound hard-edged. "Nay, laddie, 'least not in Thule proper. The Amberites be proper bastards, and if they go after us, we'll be right proper fooked, but we ain't in the same league, shames me to say, and unless we piss em off they won't give us a lick of care. Something I be perfectly fine with, as their mercies be anythin' but 'tender'."

"But if they know you have Outlanders?" Dylan asked, when it was clear no one else would.

"Aye, they'll think we be steppin' on their overly big toes," the Trackrunner nodded, "that they usin' to be holdin' up their overly fat heads. So, 'cause they be downright rude with their scannin', you lot are in here, which be shielded 'gainst that sort of thing. Not on purpose, but 'cause this Cart be meant to handle some o' the rougher places in the Farweald, the kind where the Light o' Day gets… really Bright."

Wanting to ask what the heck that meant, Kristen cut Dylan off before he could, inquiring nervously, "Wait, what if they talk to the locals. We've been out, and what if they realized what we are. Not that I let it slip," she quickly added, at the dwarf's disappointed gaze, turning to glare at Bart, "but some people aren't as subtle as they think they are!"

"Oh that's rich," the bespectacled boy shot back, "given-"

"It be fine," Thrain interrupted the pair. "Amberites ain't be what we'd call social. Comes with thinkin' they're the only 'real' ones out there, don't ask. They're here to trade for powerful shite, even better than what we scrounged up from the 'Breacher, and to be off, not ta mingle with 'shadows'. That said, stay here, we're leavin' tomorrow, and just… don't leave," he reiterated.

"We won't," Dylan promised, looking around. "Right?"

Kyle shot him a sour look, started to say something, then caught Thrain's eye, and thought better of it. "We won't," he repeated instead.

"Good," the Trackrunner sighed, shoulders dropping. "I brought meal request cards, so fill 'em out, lads and lassies, and we'll have yer food dropped off Lickety Split."

Reaching into a pouch, he pulled them out and handed them to everyone, who marked them and handed them back, and were just… left.

Sam, Logan, Val, and Ivy wandered over to Dylan and Malik's room, and Dylan suggested they work on some kind of Research job, like Malik had. In response Val and Logan both nodded, the Stoner said that was a good idea, and both immediately left because neither one wanted to do that.

And then it was reading.

A lot of reading.

Which, while it was all new stuff they didn't know, just going through the textbooks on their phones, was boring as heck and didn't help with their [Job]s at all. One thing [Job] related they did discover was that [Pulsewright] helped with stress headaches in a way that Malik's healing didn't. From what they could tell, it had to get bad enough to be a substantive change before the other boy's 'cleansing' magic could work, while Dylan's healing didn't rely on artificially formal systems, and was thus a lot more freeform and granular.

Looking outside, while they thought they caught sight of something, their Cart was near the center, which, Dylan realized, was probably on purpose.

The next day it wasn't until early afternoon that their Caravan left, everything packed up, and, slowly, Cart after Cart, it unspooled and they headed for the exit.

Which meant they had to pass by the Amberites.

And, seeing them, the name made a lot more sense.

Because the other Caravan wasn't Carts pulled together into a small mini-town, it was a fortress. One that was made out of orangish crystal, completely opaque, forming a ring of too-smooth stones. But the stones weren't stones, at least not just stones, because, as they all gathered, watching, a teal light shone below the surface of the crystals, a light that, as they got closer, resolved into circuitry. Circuitry which pulsed with light, regularly, the radiance passing through the entire structure in a rhythm that seemed far too much like a heartbeat for Dylan's liking.

The walls themselves were tall, at least thirty feet, obscuring whatever was inside, but, spotted along the top, were figures in full-body armor, so bulky that other than 'humanoid' they couldn't tell anything about the Amberites. They held what were likely some kind of rifles, made of the same orange crystal, with teal circuitry running down them, weapon and armor in sync.

It was only once they got some distance, however, that Logan pointed out that wasn't all, because, hanging over the Amberite encampment were… not-birds.

Giant not-birds.

They looked like low-polygon models of birds, made of the same material as everything else, which drifted above the fortress, not flapping, just floating, and occasionally seeming to twitch, just a little, to make the fighter-jet sized not-birds even more deeply unsettling.

Soon enough, they hit the edge of the Bastion, the fake horizon showing a forest of snow-covered trees sweeping over them, and, again, the presence, still warm, still welcoming, though this time, Dylan couldn't be sure, but it felt… distracted.

And then they were gone, the Caravan, once it was free, taking off at speed, not the fastest they could go, but there was no hesitation, every Cart getting up to cruising velocity instead of how they normally left bastions, moving slowly, just in case someone forgot something.

"There," Ivy said, pointing, and they turned, following her finger, as, back near the Bastion, high up, only visible because one wingtip was outlined against the blacker-than-black-ness of the bubble of reality was another Not-Bird.

Watching them.

"Well, looks like we're gonna be in here for a bit longer," Dylan offered. "So… research party?"

The others groaned, but Logan and Val at least stuck around this time, as they left Thule behind, though, hopefully, they'd be back one day.




AN: As always, next four chapters are up on Patreon and Subscribestar, and this story will be stubbed before publication, so it won't stay up here forever.

 

[kraryal]

not ta mingle with 'shadows'.

Click to shrink...

There's some real nostalgia now, good taste in literature. I like the aesthetic too, really made them your own.