Chapter XLII: The Dream Team

“I may have,” Vile paused to consider his words, “overreacted.”

The small Hume girl in front of him, her hair uneven and singed, gazed with watery eyes at the wizard. The Tarutaru was hardly any taller than the girl, but it still seemed she was somehow able to crane her neck upwards so that the full effect of enormous eyes and quivering lip greeted Vile. He looked as if he might retch in response, his lip curling back as he made an audible sound of disgust.

“Go on,” Rykoshet ordered, fists on his hips behind the mage. Vile shot him a backwards glance filled with malice, then looked back at the girl, whose concerned-looking mother hovered nearby.

“I was not in a mood to celebrate,” the Tarutaru let out grudgingly, “and when I was asked to . . . play . . . I found it upsetting. I shouldn’t have set your hair on fire.”

“It’s okay, little man!” the girl declared, throwing her arms open and wrapping them around Vile forgivingly. “The other big doll person told me you didn’t mean it when she made me all better!”

Vile stood frozen in the embrace, lightning crackling through his eyes as his teeth ground together so hard that Rykoshet feared he might break a tooth. At his feet, the stone floors of the castle began to splinter and crack, and the girl’s mother gasped as the air around the wizard started to shimmer with heat.

“That’s good!” the Elvaan cried out, pulling the tiny Hume girl away and depositing her back with her mother. “Thank you for accepting his apology. Now go back with your mother.”

The woman seemed only too happy to retreat, her young one held firmly in tow. “Bye-bye, little man!” the girl called out after Vile, waving her tiny arm.

Rykoshet dreaded turning around, but he knew Vile was going to stand there until he did.

“Well,” he said, as smoothly as he could manage, “that wasn’t so – “

“You threw a party,” the Tarutaru said acidly. “Our friends are dead along with who knows how many other thousands of people, we’re living with monsters to survive, we could be killed at any second if the demons find out we’re holed up here, and you threw a party.” His words somehow managed to carry more fire than any he could magically burn with. “And with all of that going on, that little twit asked me if I wanted to play.”

Rykoshet stood his ground, pretending not to feel the waves of force emanating from the wizard’s aura. “She’s a child who probably saw horrible things in Jeuno, and survived living in Garlaige. She was told for the first time in months that she could play and have fun. If you want to be upset at someone, be upset with me. Don’t take it out on children.”

Vile considered his words, squinting at him under the brim of his pointed sorcerer’s cap. “You’re right,” he replied after thinking about it, “she didn’t do anything wrong. It was my mistake. Next time someone bothers me with something idiotic, I’ll come set you on fire.”

“That’s not what I – “

“I’m glad we worked this out. Now what was so important that you wanted me for?”

“A man made of water that nobody else remembers seeing wants me to take four people to Pso’Xja and fight an army of demons.”

Vile blinked, then nodded, pursing his lips in thought as he held a finger against his chin.

“You could have told him anything else,” Baeladar said as Rykoshet walked past, clenching a still-burning strand of hair in between two of his fingers. “Anything but that rubbish you told me, and yet you consciously chose to repeat yourself. Good show, Rykoshet.”

“He said he’ll show up where Lethe wanted me to meet him and see what happens,” Rykoshet sourly shot back, taking a second to cough out a smoke ring. “That’s as good as a “you can count on me” as far as I’m concerned.”

“Lethe,” Baeladar scoffed, rolling his eyes. Matching his stride to that of his leader, the Paladin walked beside him as they approached their next destination. “Rykoshet, listen. You’ve let these dreams get the better of you. With everything that’s happened, no one blames you, but are you really meaning to stand in the hall and wait for a magical man no one has seen but you?”

“I don’t have time to argue this with you again Bael,” Rykoshet dismissed as the two of them began descending the great stone steps leading into the lower levels of Oztroja. “Even if you don’t believe me, can’t you at least humor me?”

Stepping out in front of him, Baeladar formed a barrier between the warrior and the bottom of the stairwell. The smooth, unlined face of the Paladin was grimly serious as he stared with dark eyes back at Rykoshet, and when he spoke it was not with his usual dry wit, but rather evident and grave concern.

“Rykoshet, the people here count on you. The Yagudo, the Jeunoans, everyone. Especially us. We will follow you, Rykoshet, but you have to understand our concern for you. What you’re talking about is insane. A man appearing on a river atop the table, that nobody else remembers seeing? This business with the “Four Winds?” Pso’Xja? Rykoshet,” he clapped his friend on the shoulder, softening his gaze, “can you blame us for not believing you?”

The blonde Elvaan took a deep breath, and slowly moved Baeladar’s gauntleted hand off the shoulder of his black armor. He didn’t have time for this.

“Bael, believe me, I appreciate your concern, but you have to trust me, okay?” He leveled a gaze at the Paladin. “I’ve told you what’s at stake.”

“Yes, you’ve told me that a man you dreamed up told you that some people survived the attack. Don’t you realize that just makes it sound all the more implausible?”

Baeladar turned to the side as Rykoshet brushed past him, wrenching free the door leading to where he was going.

“This was never a debate, Bael. Do the things I need you to get done.”

Baeladar’s angered sigh was lost to the sound of Rykoshet slamming shut the door to the dungeon.

It had been some time since he had come in here. Some few dim torches provided the scant bit of light to be had, and the sound of rats scampering across the rough-hewn stone floors was the only sound to break the gravely still arrangement of cells. The cells themselves were rooms barely large enough to lay down inside of, with nothing but bare floors and shackles bolted to the walls within the confines of the thick iron bars surmounting each one. The torchlight provided enough light to see clearly the hallways of the cramped space, but the interior of the cells themselves were frighteningly dark. When they had come into ownership of Castle Oztroja, there had been but one prisoner locked in the dungeon, and Rykoshet did his best to ignore the feeling of eyes upon him as he strode past that prisoner’s cell. There was another down here now, and that was the one the Elvaan wanted to see.

At the end of the corridor there was one cell set not behind bars, but a thick wooden door with a small window in it to see out of. It was twice as large as the other cells, which still meant it was far too miniscule to live in, but it afforded the imprisoned space for a bed of sorts, at least in the Yagudo style of bedding. Rykoshet removed the key he had taken from the gaoler and turned it in the lock, hearing the tumblers clunk open noisily. Taking a swallow, he opened the door, and light shone in on Tzee Xicu the Manifest.

Her condition was shocking. The demigod which had nearly snuffed out eighteen opponents single-handedly had wasted away, having seldom eaten and taken little to drink in the time since her defeat. She still wore the enormous mask, though it was beginning to look far too large for her reduced frame, and she weakly rose her head at the sight of Rykoshet entering her cell. Unlike the other prisoner, Tzee Xicu was not wearing the power-sapping manacles the Yagudo normally kept their captured in, and Rykoshet knew that one with power such as hers could have easily escaped this cell at any time. Even without the Astral Signa, Tzee Xicu the Manifest was the most powerful Yagudo in existence, yet here she was, slowly starving to death of her own accord. The situation had Rykoshet torn. He had no specific desire to see the Yagudo suffer, but he could not release her, and doubted she would be released if he offered. He had struck the blow which defeated her, and by all previous Yagudo rites, she should have died then and there. When she had regained consciousness to find her life spared, she had apparently taken to the task of finishing the job herself. Painful as it was to watch, trying to reverse a thousand years of Yagudo tradition was simply not one of the items on his agenda.

Perhaps though, there was still one more way to save her life.

“Child of Altana,” Tzee Xicu acknowledged Rykoshet with a nod, her quiet voice as musical as ever, “have you finally come to see me to my ancestors?”

“That will have to wait,” he replied dismissively, “there’s something I need to ask you.”

Tzee Xicu sighed, letting her head droop back down. With a single raised claw, she made a brief gesture. Her feathers still shimmered, rippling with such an effect as to distort the air around her, so much that she appeared blurred at the edges. Even deprived of the Signa and starved in prison, her power was still an awesome sight to behold. “Ask then, Elvaan,” she said sadly. “I will answer.”

“I need to know what Hiraiko is hearing when she holds the Astral Signa.”

Tzee Xicu’s head rose again, and she turned to peer intently at Rykoshet. She did not seem so starved and weakened anymore, Rykoshet became acutely aware, as the force of her presence suddenly bore down upon him.

“Why?”

“I have been called to Pso”Xja,” he answered, “and I was instructed to bring Hiraiko with me. I know Pso’Xja is supposed to be a place of ancient magic, and I know Hiraiko’s been holding on to something that probably taps into it. I need to know what the connection is. Now,” he repeated, “what does she hear?”

“She hears the voices of the Avatars. The true Avatars, the Prime Avatars, not the shadows summoned into our world when those with the ability to tap into their power call them forth.”

“I know that already,” Rykoshet said, frustrated. “But what are they trying to tell her?”

Tzee Xicu said nothing, turning her head away. “You do not know which questions to ask, thus you shall never find your answer.”

“Tzee Xicu!” Rykoshet implored. “You charged me with safeguarding the Yagudo. I didn’t know why then, but I do now. The entire story about how you turned down servitude under the demons and stood up for the freedom of your people. I’m trying to live up to your request, Tzee Xicu. I don’t want to lead the Yagudo, but I’m fulfilling the charge you left me when you passed the burden of Oztroja from your shoulders to mine.”

“I was not worthy,” Tzee Xicu said, her melodic voice distant, “else I would have defeated you and the demons both.”

“I won’t contest that now,” he replied, “but this is for the good of the Yagudo. What happened to you, what happened to all of us, it was orchestrated. It was deliberate. What I’m doing is going to strike out at the people responsible. I’m going to make sure they pay, but Hiraiko – and probably the Signa – is tied up in it. If there’s anything you can tell me about why that might be, please, Tzee Xicu, help me help the Yagudo.”

The Manifest did not reply at first, peering into the stifling confines of her cell, never moving from the makeshift nest in which she sat. Her shimmering eyes gleamed behind the ceremonial mask she wore, still bearing the scars of the fight against Those Guys. Finally, she turned to Rykoshet, head upturned, and gave her answer.

“Ask this Hiraiko the Summoner not what she is hearing, but what she is not hearing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You would not,” Tzee Xicu replied, “but if you are lucky, she will.”

Silence overtook the cell. Rykosher knew he would get nothing further from her.

“There’s one more thing, Tzee Xicu.” He had debated whether or not he was going to say this, but in the moment it seemed the right thing to do.

“Speak,” she said simply.

“I may not survive this mission to make those responsible pay. If I fall, the Yagudo will be without a leader again.”

One of her shimmering eyes turned to regard him.

“If that happens, the people will need their real leader back. You will have to retake Oztroja. The Yagudo, the Jeunoans now here, without me, you are their best chance of survival.”

Whatever her opinions were on the declaration, she did not voice them. However, one of her claws suddenly dipped down and withdrew an uneaten crawler egg from the bucket of food which she daily refused. Beneath her mask, she bit down on it, chewing on it softly even as her hand reached down for another.

“I shall consider it,” she told Rykoshet.

He gave her a nod, and closed the door to her cell. With any luck, he had just saved her life.

He had no time to feel proud of himself before a clanging sound snapped his attention towards the other occupied cell, and he backed up against the iron bars at his back when he saw that the Yagudo’s prisoner, shackled hands grasping the gate of his cell, was standing, a crooked smile on his face, as he peered deliberately at Rykoshet with two blazing eyes.

“Going somewhere?” he asked in a tone dripping with danger.

Mouth hanging open slightly, Rykoshet breathed not a word in response, and edged away as quickly as he could. The prisoner stared after him, hands sliding down the bars as Rykoshet made for the exit.

“I just wanted you to know,” he called after the Elvaan in a dry and raspy voice, “I’m starting to get bored down here.”

Rykoshet couldn’t close the door to the dungeon fast enough.

Dawn had broken over the horizon a few hours earlier by the time Rykoshet made his way back to the great hall. It had been cleared of the remnants left from the previous evening’s festivities, and was now just as sparse and plain as the Yagudo liked it, save for the occasional Jeunoan construct beginning to take shape off in the corners. He had tried to snatch some sleep, but the encounter in the dungeon had left him tossing and turning, and he had been able to only just drift off to a dreamless slumber when Odessa entered his bedchamber, waking him according to his wishes.

“Don’t look at me that way,” she reprimanded, “you were the one who asked to be woken up this early.”

“Did you at least bring me something to eat?” he mumbled grumpily, trying to remember why it was he ever wanted to move his head from his pillow.

Odessa shot an acidic glare at him. “I’m not your serving wench,” she said bitingly, “I only woke you up so you can suffer the same lack of sleep you’re making the rest of us go through with this “Lethe” nonsense.”

“I thought San d’Orian women were raised to be gentle,” Rykoshet complained of the silver-haired Elvaan woman. She had taken her locks out of the braid she had worn the night before, and they once again tumbled freely down the back of her voluminous white robes.

“Well.” Odessa said sweetly, her voice dripping honey, “I guess the company I keep must have rubbed off on me.” Her visage immediately went from sunshine to storm cloud. “Now get up and get ready, everyone’s waiting downstairs for you to be disappointed.”

So it was he found himself in full armor, the black-and-crimson tempered damascus steel gleaming in the early sun, his gauntlets grasped tightly around the shaft of Tzee Xicu’s spear. The mighty polearm was more than a symbol of power, the cruelly curved blade surmounted to it looked as thought it could cleave stone. The bearer of the other of the Manifest’s keepsakes was already waiting, her green doublet and the drab leggings and gloves she wore as much a mark of her calling as the red horn she wore across her forehead.

“I’m glad you came, Hiraiko,” Rykoshet said honestly.

She nodded, her hands gripped about the Astral Signa, as the almost always were. “It seemed like the right thing to do.” She said simply.

“It doesn’t to me,” Betrayil said at her side. The ninja, garbed completely in black, drew a menacing figure at Hiraiko’s side. When Rykoshet had explained the nature of his undertaking and the caveat that the Summoner most accompany him, Betrayil’s joining the venture had been non-negotiable. Unlike the others gathered, Betrayil seemed not to have made any decisions about Rykoshet’s story one way or the other. He only knew Hiraiko was being asked to put herself in danger.

Vile said nothing, but only looked meaningfully at the sun, climbing high behind the pallor which covered the skies. It seemed to be growing darker by the day. It was still clear that he meant to indicate that time was passing quickly, and the mysterious Lethe had yet to appear.

Then there was the fourth person chosen for the job. Rykoshet’s scowl countered Battousai’s grin.

“If Celeres wasn’t nursing a hangover . . . “ Rykoshet growled.

Battousai shrugged, shifting the weight of the great sword at his back. “Lucky for you I can hold my liquor, eh?”

The elder brother turned away sourly. Life just seemed determined to make fun of him some days.

“This is a waste of time,” Vile said to no one in particular.

“Just a little longer,” Rykoshet urged, looking up to check the position of the sun through the vaulted windows. The throng moving at the regular day’s tasks through the great hall parted around them, some stopping to say hello,

“I guess mom never broke you of the imaginary friend habit,” Battousai commented after a few more minutes had passed. Rykoshet ground his teeth together without responding, which seemed to be exactly the response Battousai had wanted, making it even more infuriating.

The sun climbed higher. Only Hiraiko and Betrayil remained silent in their thoughts regarding what they were doing standing here. A gong sounded in the distance, tolling the hour. Vile turned, exasperated, and began walking away.

It was only because he turned to spit on the ground that he saw bubbles forming from between the cracks.

Water began gurgling up from beneath the surface of the stones of Oztroja as a thick mist suddenly poured in from the walls.

The look on Battousai’s face was worth every second of the waiting and more.