Fluid - 23

Hagen creates padded chairs so we can talk comfortably, though the spells leave them sounding precisely the same. The days I’ve been absent have far more news to catch up on than I’d expected, though, with all the Domain’s varied activities, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. While some of it is the usual changes and growth, the news of Sage’s progression in closing two of Orcus’ gates is excellent. A few times during our conversation, I almost call him Hook but catch myself in time to use his chosen alias.

When dawn is nearly here, I get up and stretch, aware that the lingering aches I’ve been ignoring have lessened without further pushing myself last night.

“With Esdras, your mother asked me to tell you the Dragon’s presence is because of the settlement accords from when the humans arrived on this continent. They agreed to help protect elven and dwarven borders from humanoid incursions and in return, the elves and their allies promised to help protect humans from chromatic Dragon incursions.”

“The gold dragons are allies with the elves and dwarves?”

“Gold and silver dragons are involved; most of the other metallics on the Material Plane can’t take a lesser form to disguise themselves,” amends Hagen.

After shifting back to my female Wood Elf shape, I nod in understanding. “I’ve not met a Silver Dragon before, maybe I’ll ask Esdras for an introduction.”

Hagen snorts. “Dragons are secretive.”

Rolling my eyes at his unnecessary warning, I smile. “Yes, I know they’re not all like aunt Sarah and grandpa Azex.”

Mentioning the Ancient Wyrm causes Hagen to shiver. “He’s one you take too lightly.”

Bopping him on the nose gets me a mock glare. “Whatever! If you’re going to be a timid kitty, you’re in the wrong form. Now, do you want me to introduce you to Midyåci?”

“Just because he gave you a ride,” grumbles Hagen with a huff. “I’m sure I can handle introducing myself to the Mechanus law binder. I’ll use Fabricate to set up some seats and desks for the children; after your local carpenter finishes your order, you can re-use them elsewhere.”

“Hagen! Stop pretending to forget his name.”

Hagen shrugs at my protest. “Yeah, I’ll get used to it.”

My glare only sets him laughing.

“Fine, Basileios then.”

His offhand reply earns him a poke in the ribs. “I knew you remembered me telling you.”

With the sky lighting up, I dispatch messages for the others to meet at Hestia’s Temple an hour after dawn. Giving Hagen a wave, I join Zosime, Phile and Nikias for breakfast before we proceed through our morning routine.

As soon as they’re all present and ready at Hestia’s temple, we get started. The shells we’d left behind are nowhere to be seen, and even the scattered detritus has disappeared. With the wind-smoothed beach showing no sign of what removed them, I mark the six new inhabitants.

“Since some have already moved in, do we start from here each day?” I ask.

The look Nanok gives the rock ledge and the steep drop into the sea makes his preference obvious.

“It’s a secure arrival point,” replies Ipy.

Nanok nods in agreement. “Walking won’t kill us, so unless we find another spot offering equal safety, it makes sense to start here.”

“I’d meant to make boots for people last night—to make walking on the sand easier. Do you want me to do that or enchant your current boots?”

“Easy foes and getting practice on bad footing,” states Ipy. “An enchantment like that would be more important in the swamp.”

“Alright, let's deal with this lot, and then I’ll mark the next stretch.”

The day proceeds smoothly, with the team quickly finding the same rhythm. Ipy and Nanok aggravate the crabs, and the rest disassemble them. Restricting myself to magic to speed my recovery also gives Wizard a chance to catch up.

The crabs that appear over the next kilometre continue to grow; those towards the end—when laid out with their legs stretched flat—wouldn’t fit on my widened road. The quickened pace lets us add more crabs to the day’s tally, and we take out 35 in total.

When we return to Otis before lunch, he takes one look at Androkles’ grin and shakes his head. “Am I going to run out of salt?”

“It takes seven days for the fish to be ready via salting, correct?” I ask.

“That’s right,” agrees Otis, and points a thumb over his shoulder. “The drying racks are out the back of the warehouse; we bring them inside if the weather turns.”

“Would it help if I cover the area in glass so you could leave them out?”

“That would save some time each day, but the cost-”

“I’ve got glass I made from the cove’s sand, and there isn’t any cost involved. The quicker you can salt the meat, the sooner I can take it somewhere to sell,” I point out over the top of his attempts to protest. Before he can get his balance, I move on. “You’re going to need salt production improved, aren’t you? Who among the salt harvesters should I talk to?”

Otis looks as confused as Phile and Nikias, so I turn to Androkles.

“I can introduce you to Selene, but I doubt it would go well,” says Androkles. “What are you planning to do?”

“I’d still like to talk to her. I could put some effects in place to speed up the water evaporation,” I explain. “They’ll still need to fill and scrape the trays, but the salt will separate faster. It will make a valuable trade item if it's not needed locally. Now, let me put up the coverage here.”

Androkles laughs over Otis’ protests, and I slip through the workers as he’s still scrambling for words. Rows of racks sit on uneven ground with assorted fish and crab fillets held in place. Above the frames, loosely woven nets don’t impede the sunlight but represent a hazard that, along with some children ready with sticks, keeps the birds at bay.

Though I could have the frame in place in minutes, I took my time raising the ground evenly and growing the supports from the bedrock. The net that had been in place detached from the building, and I lay it along the back wall.

Though I’d prefer the prettier honeycomb coral look, I use the same simple style as the warehouse—straight uprights at the corners at regular intervals along the back and edges. A simple melody places the essence of steel into the glass panes before they go into place, and the stone grows in bands to hold them securely. The only interruption in the walls’ flow is a metal and glass door secured by a latch for workers to exit.

“I’ve enchanted the glass, so it's as strong as steel. Will this be sufficient, Otis?” I ask, looking back at where he’d remained by the rear door.

“More than sufficient, Lady Gailneth,” Otis replies, and he gives me a wink when I roll my eyes.

“Excellent. Then I assume the children can have some lunch and start their lessons. Hagen will be in the hall and has everything they'll need,” I state, and when he stammers his protests, I step close and put a finger near his lips to hush him. “I have ways to help that others don’t. Are we okay?”

“More than okay, Gail. Thank you,” Otis says when I lower my hand.

“I’ll leave you to your day, Otis,” I say and give him and the other workers a polite nod before I head off.

Although it's tempting to ask straight away, I wait until the warehouse is out of earshot. “Okay, why is my talking to Selene a bad idea?”

“She worshipped Triton before the Gods’ War,” states Androkles, with a tone that implies it's all I needed to know.

“Why do I feel that should mean something to me?”

“That was the only Mantle any of the elves kept,” Phile chimes in, and she shakes her head when I give her a confused look. “The royal guard killed him even though he was just holed up in a temple in Athens, not taking part in the conflict, and his power is the only one that the Andúnë royal guard kept.”

“Okay, but I’d still like to try.”

“According to the representation laws, she took over my seat on the council,” adds Androkles.

“Why?”

Androkles shrugged. “I stepped aside because I was going adventuring again. The council members should be those remaining in the village.”

Androkles leads the way further east, well past the road that heads up to the Guildhall. They covered the flat ground just before the eastern wall with stone trays some four metres square. The location is beyond the cove's curve, but a small man-made inlet gives them access to the ocean. As we approach, a group of youths use a seesaw pole with a large canvas funnel to scoop water into a stone channel. Various chutes allow the water to flow into stone trays, one of which I spot women scraping out the dried salt.

When Androkles calls out a subdued greeting, a white-haired, sun-worn lady looks our way. Her wrinkled face sets into well-worn lines when she fixes Androkles with a fierce, hazel-eyed glare. “You better be here to take back your council spot.”

“What did you do?” I ask.

“She’s only had to deal with one meeting,” scoffs Androkles.

“Once a week at most, lying fish kisser. Two in two days! Otis passed on the news about the children getting lessons from this afternoon. Those that don’t work at the warehouse are complaining,” grumbles Selene.

“The lessons are for anyone’s children,” I correct. “I never said it was only for those with parents involved in filleting. Though, if anyone needs help with their literacy, they can attend too.”

“What?!” gasps Selene. “How old can they be?”

My hapless shrug draws Selene’s glare. “It's meant mainly for the children, but Hagen will teach anyone that shows up, as I just said.”

Selene spins to snap orders, and four youths sprint away, fleeing her sharp-edged tone. Her steel-eyed gaze doesn’t soften when she turns back to take my measure. “What do you get out of teaching humans?”

“Knowledge gives new opportunities. While I don’t follow Lerina, I respect her teachings to help others improve their life,” I reply, but Selene’s stern gaze doesn’t shift. “Though I’m not doing the teaching, one of Lerina’s followers is handling the teaching for free—since I provided the building. I gather someone brought word to whatever meeting they dragged you into?”

“That new Guild Master had word from the adventurers that slept there overnight. An open hall that’s bigger than some houses. You like grand gestures, don’t you, Elf?” grumbles Selene.

“That makes sense. A few adventurers stayed at Sanctuary last night and would have gone to the Guildhall this morning.”

Selene’s lips twist momentarily. “Sanctuary? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, do you think I should put up a sign? Hopefully, others will come to feel the same about the place. Anyone that means no trouble is welcome,” I reply, keeping my tone light to counterpoint her sourness.

“Others are wondering about your fancy road, which caused arguments this morning,” grumbles Selene.

At her fishing attempt, I raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Are you planning to put it in more places?”

“Should I?”

“Why are you playing coy?” interrogates Selene, the hardness in her gaze invading her tone.

“I’d like to understand your perspective and perhaps others’ concerns before I do so. You seem to be in two minds over the availability of the school, and you’re not exactly welcoming to the road from your tone.”

“Why should I like your fancy elven road? It certainly doesn’t help me,” grumbles Selene.

“It's not elven. They don’t build the best roads, and some are worse than animal tracks. I modelled it off the dwarven highways,” I explain, but her frosted gaze doesn’t soften. Nikias almost goes to ask a question but closes his mouth at Selene’s expression.

“You made it to your Sanctuary,” retorts Selene

“It goes quite far beyond Sanctuary, and the village will profit from Sanctuary’s existence,” I counter.

“Do you have an answer for everything?”

“Nope,” I chirp and restrain my smile when her teeth grind. “Although technically that was an answer, I don’t know everything.”

“Selene,” murmurs Androkles. “That’s enough.”

“No, father, it ‌isn’t. She might have you charmed with her fancy elven ways, but I’m not impressed. This whole thing will be trouble,” snaps Selene, and she crosses her arms determinedly. “The children might learn from this teacher, but the price will eventually come home to roost. Now, what is it you want, Elf?”

Looking at them, I can’t see the resemblance. “Father?”

“Selene is my youngest daughter; her mother passed some years ago,” replies Androkles in a carefully spoken tone.

“We don’t need to explain our relationship to the likes of her. We lost enough to the elves,” snaps Selene.

“This village didn’t, and many other kingdoms lost people to Crete’s armies. Do you intend to make restitution for those or only demand what you see as yours?” asks Androkles.

“I lost my God to elven murderers, and others in the village theirs,” growls Selene, her ire focusing on Androkles. “You never forgave him for leaving. Why are you going so easy on this one? Trying to get between her legs as well?”

“Enough,” snaps Androkles.

Selene stalks towards him, eyes burning with rage. “Yes, you’ve had more than enough affairs.”

Androkles exhales slowly, and his words grind out between clenched teeth. “Your mother is over forty years in the grave, Selene. Your argument is with me; this isn’t the time to air a decades-old grudge. Gail came to help your family’s business, or are you too proud to accept that help?”

Nostrils flaring, Selene looks ready to spit in his face. “Elven help comes with a price I’m not sure I want to pay. Murderous dagger-eared bastards, the lot of them.”

The anger about the Greek gods’ deaths had been making me count to help keep my cool, but her bitter tone broke my control.

“Apollo’s schemes killed Amdirlain in an ambush, and he tried to consume her power—a goddess I’d be dead without. The village carries his name, yet do you see me behaving as you do?” I ask softly, and Selene's eyes widen, and the pace of her heartbeat soars. “I’d suggest we set grievances aside, don’t you?”

“Your eyes are glowing,” murmurs Phile.

Her comment makes me aware my eyes aren’t the only thing shifting, and I pull myself back into control before it's obvious. “I can get rather emotional about the suffering Apollo inflicted on Amdirlain, so let's move past that. Now, arguments aside, I’d still like to help your family harvest more salt daily.”

Selene eyes me suspiciously. “What would that cost us?”

“Given your attitude? One part in ten of your additional harvest. Since they’ve just filled some trays from your inlet, will you let me show you the effect on one of them?” I ask.

“You should take one part in five since she wants to behave this way,” interjects Phile and Selene hisses in protest.

“That's why it's one in ten and not one in a hundred,” I reply and notice Selene about to interject. “I can go up if Selene argues, but I won’t go down. Shall we be civil?”

“Bow my head, you mean?” sneers Selene.

Rolling my eyes has her glaring at me, and I lift a hand before she can snap. “Civil means to stop snarling at anyone in this conversation, nor bringing up things I wasn’t a part of, and I’ll return the same courtesy.”

“We don’t want help from the likes of you,” snaps Selene, clenching her hands as she unfolds her arms.

Though I give a polite nod, I make sure not to smile. “Your choice. Have a nice day. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“What are you going to do now?” asks Androkles.

“I want to go have lunch but let’s talk to Otis about how much salt he’d need for the tonnes of crabmeat we have,” I reply as I turn away from Selene. “Creating raw materials is easy.”

“What?!” demands Selene.

Turning back, I smile at her with perhaps a touch more teeth than I should show. “If you’re unable to produce the amount of salt that I need to get our crabmeat salted, then I need to explore other options. Can we work together, or do I work around you?”

Some of the other women start muttering, but Selene grinds her teeth at first.

Eventually, she swallows and gives a jerky nod. “Which tray did you want to use?”

“Any of the ones just filled. To begin with, I’ll only affect the water in it to show you what will happen,” I explain.

It’s a simple song filled with heated notes focused on saltwater sitting still, and the humidity around the tray spikes in the rush of evaporation. Limited by the boundary of the tray, it doesn’t take long to be swept away by the breeze, but it brings an improvement to mind. A thin salt crust sits on the stone with the last of the moisture gone.

Looking at Selene, I gesture to the salt. “Now the rest is as normal. Once you’re done, open the sluice gate from the trough and refill it.”

A quick spell sends the salt swirling into a basket, and the basic magic sets the onlookers murmuring again. They’d put the trays between the last house and the village’s wall, but onlookers, drawn in by the argument, crowd where space allows.

“If you want the magic, I’ll set it in place to cause it to evaporate again. Though, would you like this to provide drinking water as well? That will save you carrying it this far away from the river.”

Selene looks ready to swallow her tongue before another woman nudges her from behind. Rather than respond to the nudge, Selene finally nods. “That would be useful.”

“Well, I won’t make you have a fit by asking you to have manners. Heavens forbid you might say thanks or please,” I tease, and the woman who nudged Selene snorts. When Selene turns to glare, the dark-haired woman gives her a challenging smile.

Music fills the places with an oscillating beat and, caught up in the growing energy, rock surges from the bedrock. Unlike the warehouse, I don’t bother matching it to the local architecture instead forming a trellis of coral-like growth that spears upwards and merges into a rectangular gazebo over the trays. In the roof, fluted openings sit ready to draw in the evaporating water and send it towards the back before it’s cooled. Restored into a fluid state, it will drop into the basin I form near the largest alleyway between houses.

Connected to it via the earth, I place a dirty white crystal needle barely the length of my pinkie inside the structure, and the trays hiss momentarily before they’re left salt covered. The targeted effect leaves the water in the upper trough unchanged.

“So the only downside to water collection is that the basin will eventually overflow, but I’ll leave you to manage that issue. Perhaps someone can dig a channel to take the overflow back to the cove.”

“We’ll manage,” Selene says flatly, and I resist the temptation to blow a raspberry, instead walking away.

“She was stupidly rude, but you still did extra for them. Why?” asks Phile once we’re past the first house.

The question has me considering my inappropriate behaviour, and I wince in disgust.

“Selene can choose to be nasty, and I can’t control that, but I can choose how I react to it. I shouldn’t have implied I would make salt for Otis, but I wanted to help the rest of Selene’s family, so I was a bit of a bully. I shouldn’t have done that; it was rude of me.”

Phile shakes her head. “I’d have treated her harsher if I’d been in your position. Then again, you put up with me.”

“That was just a misstep on a scary night. Don’t worry about it,” I say and step close to bump shoulders with her. “It’s all good. How many days do you think I can go without something dramatic occurring?”

“You have days with nothing weird going on?” gasps Phile dramatically.

At that, I blow a raspberry that sets her off laughing. “Not so far.”

Nikias clears his throat. “How long will that effect last?”

“About ten thousand years-”

“Only ten thousand years,” laughs Phile, and she suddenly sobers when I nod.

“Unless someone destroys the gazebo or puts in new trays too high off the ground. The water won’t evaporate if the trays are the wrong size or too high off the ground,” I admit.

“Shouldn’t you have told her about the trays?” asks Phile.

“I thought it would have been obvious. The water isn’t evaporating from the trough.”

With that, the questions end until we’re heading away from the cove towards Zosime’s house.

“Weren’t you going to sell the crab meat to the dwarves fresh?” asks Androkles.

Shrugging, I lift my hands in mock helplessness. “I was, but Selene doesn’t know that.”

Nikias scratches his head and frowns. “But you said you would talk to Otis about how much salt he’d needed.”

“Exactly, and though I said creating raw materials is easy, I didn’t say I’d create salt or get him to do the work,” I explain. “Enquiring is different to commissioning work to be done. Honestly, I am curious about how much salt she’ll have to harvest to cope with all the meat we have. I might ask Otis tomorrow.”

“You tricked her,” snickers Nikias.

“I wasn’t planning to get Otis to do the work beyond what he can manage with village supplies. I can easily take them to Stoneheart and sell them fresh. That Selene didn’t want Otis to benefit unless she got a cut says a bit about her,” I say and glance at Androkles. “Has she always been like that?”

“Not when she was younger, but after her mother died, life became more about her first,” admits Androkles softly, his mouth tightening into a hard line at odds with his playful personality.

“Hopefully, we can go a few days following this routine. If the crabs keep growing, Nikias and Myrto will probably be level two in their classes on day four,” I say, and Phile snorts at the blunt subject change.

“Myrto pointed out yesterday afternoon it's effectively a four level jump,” admits Nikias sheepishly. “So a level a day feels better.”

“Maybe don’t keep your brain in your scabbard,” suggests Phile.

“At least I’ll store it with my sword and not my dagger,” retorts Nikias, eyeing the assorted daggers Phile carries.

“Can we use him to bait the crabs tomorrow?” enquires Phile.

“I think Nanok would object,” replies Androkles, and he fixes Phile with a sly grin. “Someone else might be up for the job.”

The banter leaves most of the unpleasantness behind, while lunch and my practice push the lingering sense of it away. I slip upstairs after dinner but not for my reverie, as the others likely assume. Instead, my flesh shrinks and changes, the density of my muscles and bones jumping as I take on a form with the black hair and dark skin common among mountain dwarves. Changing into a grey Wizard half robe and mithril-capped boots, I retrieve my Stoneheart ward stone.

I reposition to my mother’s Temple there, at the start of the corridor of temples. Pillars along the Temple’s sides serve as boundaries for the murals. None of them looks like my mother, and only one appears to be Amdirlain. Most don’t feature a central figure, rather groups of various species work together to help those in need.

Before the main altar, a tangle of rose vines sits beneath the floor’s stone as if ready to burst out at any moment. Since it was based on the parasitic torturers that once afflicted Amdirlain’s Soul, maybe I should ask her if she wants it removed. I don’t know why she still loves roses after the aeons that the things had tormented her.

Blending with some departing worshippers, I make my way out to the main chasm listening to the city’s beat as I go. Boots and hammers pound in time, the dwarves of Stoneheart having Order etched deep into their bones. It's not a universal beat like in Mechanus, but groups working to a shared tempo are more common than not.

The updrafts from the furnaces far below bring the scent of molten ores and materials from other planes. If I were afraid of heights, crossing the great bridge would surely give me vertigo—great slabs of interlocking stone supported by a web of chains and woven cables. The two-kilometre stretch was too great to allow for the erection of a single arch, and it sways subtly in the gale from below.

Walking along the outer edge, I let my fingers skim the solid railing and take in those working on the various constructions jutting out from the chasm’s sides. Before the chasm's first curve, two lesser bridges stretch from side to side, but there are scores of platforms built out to extend the chasm’s galleries. Many have enchanted hoists sending cargo plummeting into the depths or laboriously retrieving it.

The pounding of a host of bells calls the time, and though this place never sleeps, a shift change isn’t the best time to haggle. So hearing the quarter shift strike, I pick up my pace. Weaving my way through corridors adorned with millions of hours of carving, I’m soon following the signs rather than memory. The artistic energy in the carvings teases attention, whether depicting simple family scenes or bloody battles featuring diverse foes.

They carve the signage along the corridors with the same eye for perfection as the most complex scene. Eventually, I located the central food market and found a suitable store within its seafood district.

I’m not haggling on the shift change to my relief, but only because getting here and finding what I’m looking for takes three hours—the shift change has come and gone. When a group moves away from the counter with their purchases, the dwarven female behind the counter looks me over with complete disinterest, already ready for her shift to end.

“What do you want?”

Her brusque tone isn’t unfriendly, more matter-of-fact and bored beyond belief. The whisking sound of the recently used cleaver is lightning quick as she repeatedly brushes it along a whetstone in the space of the short sentence.

“I’ve got the meat of 56 giant crabs to sell,” I state. “The smallest had the main body the length of a pony, the biggest a stone wagon.”

That stops her mid-swipe, and she looks me over again, considering the plain robe without clan markings and the lack of braids in my beard. The whetstone gets tucked under the counter, and the cleaver goes into a box-like holder on her hip. “I’ll assume a storage device because we don’t do pickups. Is it already cut up or in need of processing?”

“I already removed the meat from the shell, but it’s raw,” I explain and get a curt nod.

“Bring them around the end. We’ll check them for contaminants before we send them through the cutter.”

She walks to a door at the counter’s end without bothering to see if I’m following her instructions. When I do, the ‘around the end’ leads to a metal platform before a series of rollers. Along each side is an arsenal of blades, all attached to a single figure.

The lady from the counter slips along the wall behind the blades on my right and points to the platform. “Drop them on the metal plate; it’ll weigh and check them. Any with contaminants, we’ll drop in the chute for the dire boars and give you scrap value by weight if you don’t like the price I offer. You can reclaim the meat minus the scrap, but there will still be the processing charge.”

With that explanation, she pulls a stone showing a dark green light from under the platform and waves at me to hurry. When the first sections land, the hollow sound from the platform clears up where the chute’s located.

Yelled instructions have the golem hooking the mound of meat onto the rollers, and the blades chop and slice with frenetic speed. An abacus keeps a growing tally of the weight, and the dark light doesn’t even flicker as the golem processes the tonnes of meat. Once the tallying is done, she still hasn’t introduced herself despite a few questions, and with the tens of thousands of dwarves in range, I don’t listen for her name.

Preservation enchantments enfold the meat, and I catch her bracing herself before the haggling starts. With a mental crack of her knuckles, she lets loose with a critical beat down of the quality. Laughter isn’t the reaction she expected, and she doesn’t take it well, and it's four hours of counterpoints while I press towards what she’ll accept. With everything wrapped up, she’s looking dissatisfied instead of bored. The 56 crabs provide just over thirty-four thousand kilograms of meat. Hoping I’m not about to destroy the village’s economy; I claim the haggled price of 1,067 small golds and change it to a mixture of coinage.

“I’ll get you next time, Wizard,” huffs the Dwarf. Her gaze warms as she again considers the lack of ornaments in my beard, a warmth perhaps fueled by the bags of coins she handed over.

“Nope.”

Before she can argue, I teleport away, glad I only need three hours for reverie.