Fluid - 11

Reverie comes easily, but more from exhaustion than the peace of mind I usually have at night. When I wake, the house at first seems quiet, but relaxing the restriction on Resonance reveals Phile tossing and turning in her room.

I don’t want to leave, but I also don’t want to stay where I’m not entirely welcome.

Taking apart the wards I set last night, I feel for the oath link and find it still pointing towards the guildhall. Picking up the chair I’d created for my rented room, I Teleport into Zosime’s workspace and set it by the wall. Rather than risk waking anyone by opening the front door, I Teleport again, putting myself in front of the guildhall.

The nearly full moon provides plenty of light to see the extensive changes the planar energies induced. The white stone is now primarily grey, but some areas show brass or wild green plants beneath a translucent surface. Where before, four white pillars had supported the front awning, now they’re columns of brass gears sheathed in glass. Some gears turn quickly while others remain motionless, yet I can feel all of them tied to the building’s additional floors.

Catching Imhotep’s presence on the floor above, I give the front door a whispered nudge to unlock it and bend the hall’s wards around me. With my member’s token in hand, they’re happy to accept my presence, and I head towards Nikias' presence. Someone shifted him from the room we rented for the interview to one marked as being for the guild’s staff. Slipping inside, I find Tove floating overhead, having dimmed her light to a glowworm’s intensity.

Around the rectangular room, they’ve spaced a few chairs among bookshelves filled with scrolls and slate plaques. A table on the long wall sits opposite the simple bed on which Nikias sleeps. Though his feet jut out from the end, someone covered him properly with a blanket.

“Whose idea was it to keep him here?”

Tove floats towards me, her voice an airy whisper. “Imhotep’s. He sent a messenger to let Nikias' family know. I told him I’d monitor Nikias and that you’d likely be back to make clothing in the morning.”

Taking in how soundly Nikias is sleeping, I slip inside and perch on the closest chair. He sounds stable, just idling in his dreams.

Tove swoops down almost before I’ve sat. “Why so glum?”

Sighing, I try for a smile, but it feels so fake I give up. “Phile’s upset with me. Two groups have betrayed her—at least I know of two—so I can understand why, but I’m not them. I don’t feel it's right to accept someone lashing out at me because someone has hurt them in the past, but she’s hurting.”

“People act on the sum of their life experiences, Gail. They learn to be suspicious when they’ve been hurt in the past.”

Another sigh escapes before I can stop it. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ve made a mess of things.”

“Everyone makes a mess‌, it gives you practise picking yourself up and trying again. Or will a stumble stop you?” asks Tove.

It's not a question I want to answer. Though I use Silent Song, the golden motes of light gathering let Tove know what I’m doing, and she remains quiet while I work. I stop when I’ve got a few sets of sturdy clothing in shades of forest green, plus suitable armour and weapons.

The clothes are leather pants and boots, with cotton shirts and small clothes, all with enchantments to adjust their fit to suit the wearer. I don’t want him taking undue risks or not learning the basics because of powerful gear, so I stick to steel in the chain hauberk,  longsword, and gladius but include the enchantments to tailor themselves to him.

Tove floats across them and bumps against the chain links.

“Should I create armour and swords for Myrto?”

“Might be best, so they’re on equal footing. Be careful you don’t make the local Smith jealous,” Tove cautions in a whisper.

“I’ve still got a way to go before I’m up to creating masterwork equipment. That reminds me, I’ve not even seen the local smithy yet, so no idea of their capabilities. I’ll check on how busy and skilled they are before I make more gear beyond these sets.”

Creating armour and weapons for Myrto, I tuck them into Inventory and sit back in the chair.

“Anything planned for today?” asks Tove. “I mean, I’m pretty sure it's after midnight. Did you have a good reverie?”

“Yes and no—I woke up feeling rested, but my meditation felt unsettled.”

“I remember that happening on some days. Not meditations; I mean restless sleep,” Tove offers. “It’s weird to think I’ve now been a Celestial longer than I had lived.”

“Such an old lady.”

My teasing tone gets a soft giggle from Tove. “I know, right?”

“No wonder you’re worried about washing dishes—if you gained hands you might get wrinkly skin.”

“That would be so terrible,” gushes Tove, and she laughs loudly. The sound has Nikias stirring, and Tove rushes down in front of me. “Shh, don’t be so loud.”

“You’re the one laughing goose. Did you speak to Myrto yet?” I ask in a matching whisper.

“Yes, she was outside the guildhall when I teleported you away. She was upset to see Nikias on the stretcher. I told her what you’d shared about the oath and classes, and that you’d saved him.”

Rubbing my face, I hold back another sigh. “Does Myrto want nothing to do with me as well?”

“She’s glad her childhood friend isn’t dead. I told her I’d help her get some Class options after morning prayers. Should I offer to help Irene as well?”

“What you do isn’t my choice, but it can’t hurt to ask her if you feel so inclined.”

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

“I need to pee, and then I’m going to listen to the cove. While I’ve composed some songs for the work, I haven’t determined if it will be too much effort to process the sand.”

After using the guildhall’s facilities, cleaning up properly suddenly appeals. Bringing a magical bathtub with me had been Aunt Am’s suggestion and I'm glad for it now. When I set it down in the lady's area of the lavatorium, the tub fills instantly, frothing up with lots of smelly white bubbles. Sitting in the water’s warmth elicits a contented sigh, and I relax back against its sloped end, with the lavender scent easing my tension away.

I’ve barely had a minute submerged when Imhotep is suddenly there in a belted Wizard’s half-robe, with a curved sword in one hand and electricity dancing along the blade.

Keeping perfectly still, I smile up at him. “The bubbles are no threat. Please spare them.”

Imhotep gives a low growl, and the energy dissipates. “I locked the guildhall for the night.”

“I was checking on Nikias, and I needed to clean up. Magically cleaning felt like it had left a residue today.”

“Don’t you have a home you’re staying at?”

Slipping further under the bubbles, I shrug. “I moved out. I’m not sure Phile is comfortable with me at present.”

“The guildhall is not here to host adventurers needing a place to sleep.”

“Not sleeping. I was washing up. The lavatorium is here for members' comfort, right?” I ask, smiling innocently at his frown.

“How did you get past the wards’ alarm?” grumbles Imhotep, motioning with his sword towards the hall’s front doors.

“I said hello nicely and had my guild token out. It let me in. What gave me away?”

“Nothing, and that’s my concern,” admits Imhotep. “I woke up to check Nikias' condition, and the wards told me there was an extra person in this room.”

“So you barged into the lady's room?”

“For all I knew, someone was here setting up a trap to injure guild members. Where is your token now?”

Smiling at him, I retrieve it from Inventory and dance it across my fingers. “I put it away.”

“Gail,” spits Imhotep.

“I’m trying your patience. Yeah, I get that,” I admit, and I feel my smile wane. “Wasn’t a fun evening, was it? Can I teach you an Affinity or two to apologise for the stress?”

Imhotep’s frown turns into a full-fledged scowl. “Are you trying to bribe a guild official?”

“No, I just wanted to say sorry for the mess this evening and for disturbing your rest.”

“Do you pay attention to any rules, or do you see yourself above them all?” asks Imhotep.

“I’m not above rules, but at present, I’ll admit I’m stumbling from one mistake to the next, so yeah, there is that.”

Pacing about sets his robes snapping, and when he turns back, his glare is solidly in place, matching the song within. “You’re now on probation; one more mistake, one foot out of line,  and you’re out of the guild. I’m assigning Nanoĸ as your team’s mentor—if you even have a team. I spotted Phile’s discomfort, which you admit to being an issue. You almost killed Nikias, and I might be an oblivious male, but I’m pretty sure Myrto has her heart set on him. So that maybe leaves you with Ipy. While he is an experienced adventurer, I don't trust his judgement about you since you have a prior relationship with at least one of his Goddess’ celestials.”

“What did Nanoĸ say that set Tove on edge?” I ask, ignoring his foul mode with the exhaustion underlying his state.

“That we should deal with you,” grumbles Imhotep. “As in, kick you out of the guild, which Tove took differently.”

Squishing some bubbles between my fingers, I don’t even meet his gaze. “He still doesn’t like me.”

“No, he doesn’t, but I trust him to be professional in a team. I’ve heard him deliver factual reports even about people he detests, so I’m confident he’ll be unbiased,” declares Imhotep. “Make sure the outer door is secure when you leave. If I find it unlocked later, that will be your last mistake.”

He disappears just as quickly as he came, and with my enjoyment of the tub gone, I simply wash up, donning fresh leather and a pale blue silk shirt, before I head on my way. When I leave, I check all the locks and the building's shutters, resisting the urge to seal them magically.

Along both sides of the dock, the locals have moored various boats. Most are a little larger than rowboats, like the one Androkles had been repairing, but there are a couple of sloops with their sails furled tight on the river’s edge. Low tide has them almost resting on the accumulated silt in the outlet. Nets set out to dry on racks are obstructing the dock’s end and, accompanied by the sound of creaking boats, I slip past them to sit at the very end.

The night’s low tide keeps my feet well clear of the water, and swinging them idly, I listen to the ocean and the cove’s seafloor. Spreading out Resonance, I picture it as a large net and set to learning the sound in each square.

It's hours before the sky deepens into the predawn darkness, and fishermen start towards the docks. In the predawn, those going out glance at me as they untie their boats from the dock or push them clear of the beach. The boat crews that reclaim their nets from the racks nearby give me suspicious looks before they head on their way.

Androkles' intent approach when he comes along the beach grabs my attention, but I just sit and wait. I see the issue when he sits beside me. Bare feet dangle towards the surf, and the age-loosened skin from yesterday is now youthful and tight. Sighing, I look up and take him in with a nod. Age-spotted skin is now clear and tight, adding definition to the angularity of his features, with hints of blue showing in the olive skin tone.

“I did too much, I see. I meant to stop after I fixed all your organ issues.”

“I’m not sure it's too much for me,” protests Androkles, and his smile adds the only lines to once wrinkly skin. “Though certainly it will surprise others. Last night I had dropped by to talk to a guild Scout about a report and was on hand for the end of the drama. On the way here, I heard mutterings about necromancy—likely because of tales of blood spilled.”

“The blood was mine. All magic has a price. Some take Mana from the environment or the Divine, others draw it from materials or preparatory work; I pushed myself to save Nikias, and I broke bones and sweated blood.”

“Lucky you had a Priest and Celestial on hand to heal you. Imhotep made some announcements, but I’m sure others will ask, especially with a rumour of necromancy making the rounds.”

“That’s crazy. No one died, and there wasn’t a single bit of death magic involved,” I protest and shake my head in frustration.

Androkles gestures to himself. “I pointed out that a necromancer can’t do the healing you provided. So hopefully that calms things down for you. Most people know nothing about necromancy. If they hear about blood involved in something magical, it's either necromancy or deals with lower planes.”

Letting out a huff, I dig my fingers into the end of the stone dock. “Great. Well, I'm glad they recognised you and didn’t think you’d become an evil minion or something.”

The silence settles in and stretches out. Though I can tell Androkles is expecting me to speak, I just stay quiet.

“That bleeding part normal?” asks Androkles after nearly a half hour of silence.

The question broke my focus from the cove’s bedrock, and my smile is flat and awkward.

“Not at all. Normally, it fatigues me, but it depends on what I’m doing. I was drawing tiny streams from three planar sources, and if I slipped, I might have found out if it's possible to resurrect me.”

“Tiny streams? The guildhall looks quite different,” observes Androkles.

Stretching my neck, I sigh in frustration. “The smallest I could tap into was still almost too much.”

Androkles’ look shifts from curiosity to concern. “You saved a life which normally would bring cheer. So you sitting here is a bit curious; finding someone sitting alone at the dock’s end isn’t a sign of celebration.”

“What do the locals consider it a sign of?”

“With all the boats out? Wanting to be left alone, or planning on a long swim. How long have you been sitting here?” asks Androkles.

I offer another shrug and consider the feel of the evening when I’d sat down. “Over half the night. I entered reverie early.”

“That’s a long time to be sitting out here alone,” Androkles states. “What were you thinking about?”

“My messes. I wore the wrong clothing coming here. Then worried everyone by changing the wall. Nikias almost died. Phile thinks I’m a liar, is continuously fidgeting and will barely look me in the eye. Imhotep now has me on probation. I came to sit here and figure out the fixes to the cove. Instead, I spent almost as much time wondering if people at home only like me because of my mother.”

“Some of that is just inexperience in dealing with others, and stepping out of a parent’s shadow can be hard. Though let's start with your issue with Phile. Are you a liar?”

“I don’t think so,” I offer with a shrug, and his amusement has me clarifying. “I’m selective in what information I share, but I don’t lie.”

Shifting, he turns to face me, almost tucking one leg under himself in a fashion that looks uncomfortable. “Chrysanthe did a number on Phile by shading the truth and lying by omission.”

“So you’re suggesting I be upfront?” I ask, and when Androkles nods, I sadly shake my head. “My secrets aren’t mine alone.”

“That’s pretty easy to say.”

“I think I showed last night that my existence isn’t in the same scope as this village,” I say and then snort in disgust. “Gosh, that sounded so elitist. By the way, what is this village’s name? No one has mentioned it in any conversation.”

His grimace twists his expression as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Apollo’s reach.”

Echoing his grimace, I want to spit. “That’s just blah. No wonder no one wants to mention it.”

“Farthest point east in the kingdoms, first place to see a sunrise each day,” explains Androkles, the look of distaste still firmly in place.

“Maybe you should change the name,” I suggest, trying for lightness.

All that earns me is an eye-roll and a dramatic sigh, but at least he no longer appears ready to throw up. “There have been years of arguments about that.”

“I’ll rename it.”

Androkles laughs dryly, and I get a hint of a smile. “Just like that, will you?”

Waggling a hand, I give a grin. “Not quite. I’ve not agreed with anyone about dredging the harbour yet. Once I finish that work, I’m sure a name will come to mind: Deep Cove, Bright Water, Clear Harbour, or something else—because even boring names are better than that.”

“Imhotep mentioned that to the village council yesterday afternoon. I shared what we spoke about. No one had objections.”

“Are you okay if I handle it now?”

“What changes do you intend?” he counters, and I give him a wink.

Creating pages of diagrams has him blinking at the glow of creation, and when it fades, I pass him pages of top and side diagrams of the cove cleared of sand and silt. I even included a seawall to shield the shore from ocean waves. On each page is what I intend to do versus what it is now.

“Is that seawall long enough?”

“It has the last pier blocked from the normal wave direction. If these are to the same scale, what you intend looks deep enough for ocean draft vessels,” states Androkles after spending some time comparing the diagram to reality. “Would you be able to adjust it afterwards?”

“Easily, but I wanted enough space to allow bigger vessels in. Petrus mentioned a ferry going to Appian, but after seeing the cove, I don’t see how a proper ocean-going vessel could dock here.”

“It is a proper ship, but it doesn’t come into dock,” corrects Androkles. “We have to handle the cargo via smaller boats.”

“Oh, I should tell you I’ve changed my mind about what I suggested charging yesterday.”

Androkles gave me a glum look. “With people spreading rumours, I’m not surprised.”

“Got some coppers with you?”

“Some,” admits Androkles, and at his confusion, I finally laugh.

“Get out two of them and put them atop each other.”

When he follows my instructions, I take them from him with a grin. “You just paid me a stack of coins; guess I better get to work.”

“That was hardly a stack,” scoffs Androkles.

I give him a cheeky grin. “There is one other condition.”

“Which is?” Androkles asks warily, his amusement disappearing.

“If someone asks, please tell them you paid me a stack of coins. It's the truth.”

Laughing, I climb to my feet before I put a finger to my lips and whisper. “Two coins atop each other is still a stack.”

“Why are you doing this now?” asks Androkles. “Weren’t you going to charge household supplies?”

“For what household? Phile thinks I’m a freak and doesn’t trust me, so I moved out. Plus, I don’t want to hold a debt over people. That’s not in me, and I’d rather be true to myself than fit into a category people understand. So I will help when I want and on the terms, or lack thereof, that I want. I’ve even decided; if Imhotep kicks me out, that’s fine. I’ll just hire adventurers to help me and sell goods to Esdras directly,” I announce. Catching the sudden fire in his gaze, I quickly change the subject. “Since you were at the meeting, I take it you’re on the village council?”

“I am.”

“Might I please fix the cove’s clogging?” I plead.

“If you let people know in advance.”

“What message would you give people to tell them there will be magical dredging and construction in the harbour?” I ask. “Like what we spoke about yesterday?”

“‘The cove’s problem will be resolved, and new docks will be available on both sides of the river’s outlet.’, this is likely all you need.”

The first song I release isn’t one for construction but simply a message repeating Androkles’ first sentence in his voice. When his words sound in his ears, Androkles starts up in protest, but I skip back to get out of reach. A second grab has his fingers sliding along the bracer’s defensive shield and failing to gain purchase.

“Wait up,” protests Androkles.

I stop the games and wave towards the empty beaches. “Isn’t this the right time of day? I replayed your voice, which would be far more reassuring than my own. Would you like me to send another message letting them know I’ll begin shortly if they want to observe? There will be no disturbance other than some light.”

“You’re right about the best time of day. Though letting everyone know what to expect would be good,” concedes Androkles with a sigh.

“For those who’ve not met me, my name is Gailneth or Gail. My magic’s primary use is creation, not what the rumours say. So if you’d like to see the sand and silt that’s clogged the harbour transformed, now is your chance. While there will be some light, it won’t be brighter than a forge seen at a distance.”

Releasing the message, I see him blink when he hears it again. “Happy?”

A few children rushing towards the harbour clues him in that others also heard.

“How do you send that to the entire village at once?”

“It's a modification of a Message Spell, no big deal.”

Holding up a finger, he stops, and I don’t give him a chance for further questions. At the first beckoning notes, Androkles gives me a frustrated huff, but his expression relaxes at the wonder of the working.

The songs I composed yesterday have the waters slowly brightening before the first change is apparent. Spires of glowing sand drift upwards from the cove’s floor and set the air alight with bright streamers. With the village’s empty windows in mind, once clear of the water, the sand heats and runs, and I tweak it to improve the quality. The molten glass pours into invisible moulds of intent, and the first panes complete. Pulling the heat from them carefully, I set them floating overhead, gleaming in the morning light, while the materials for scores of others rise from the ocean.

Ignoring the new arrivals standing on the dock, I take it carefully, and it’s only once I’ve processed enough sand that I shift to the next set of songs. The murky water caused by the separation of silt and sand clears in places as the first rock pylons grow. While some stone forms from compressing the silt, there won’t be enough, so I weave in enduring granite music to form the first cores.

Piers extend out from four places along the cove with individual floating slips for the number of fishing boats I’ve seen, plus spares. Metal rings chiming on stone herald my work as I start the third song. The seawall I’d envisaged grows from the seafloor, the motif along its edges showing countless broken chains.

When the stone stops glowing, I add a lighthouse at the end, sealing the light that shines at its tip in glass panes. Prismatic rainbows glisten across the water as the mirrors in the middle turn through the use of fluted pipes that tame the ocean’s breeze. Even with the sun now well over the horizon, the reflections of golden light are clear.

“It’s beautiful,” breathes Androkles.

“Someone is bound to complain about the light, so I’ll add shutters that can be closed from within during the day. The light is Radiant energy, a mixture of Positive and Fire affinities, so anything undead coming out of the sea,” I pause and fling my hands up dramatically. “Poof.”

“Poof?”

“Up in smoke?”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?”

“I did.”

“You doing more unpaid work?” asks Tove in Celestial, spinning around me before Androkles can reply.

Ignoring the others who’d been waiting with her, I give her a smile that echoes the lightness I feel when I reply in Celestial. “Silly Tove, true rulers should embody the ideals of service. I’m just practising with people who aren’t my own.”

As a beam of light crosses us again, I close my eyes and enjoy the energy that feels so close to home.

“Oh, evil priests and anyone dedicated to dark gods will not like that light. If you hear anyone complaining that the light is painful, that might be the cause.”

“If they try to break it?”

“Yeah, that won’t help. Someone can drop that tower, and the Radiant glow will remain. With nothing directing it, there will be a puddle of light. It should last a few centuries to warn approaching vessels of the seawall’s location and point out the harbour’s entryway.”

“You don’t do things by half measures. What are you going to do with the rest of the glass?” enquires Androkles, motioning up where they’re still glittering in the dawn.

“Sell it or gift it. Whatever I decide, I’ll store it away safely for now.”

The still floating panes come down, and each disappears at a touch.

“Now that you’re done, would you care to explain?” Imhotep grumbles exhaustedly from a stone’s throw away, having appeared and blocked the old dock before I began on the piers.

He and Nanoĸ had blocked off the original dock with others I didn’t recognise beyond them. Phile, Ipy, and Nikias were watching intently from among the sparse crowd on the shore. Caught up in my work, more of the village had come out to enjoy the show than I’d expected, but there were barely fifty.

Keeping calm against his frustrated tone, I breathe slowly to cover my fatigue. “I’m helping the village. Or do you see that as a mistake?”

Androkles nods in satisfaction and taps his foot against the dock. “Thought you’d fancy this up as well.”

His teasing tone earns him a dry look. “Your stack of coins only gets you so much, Androkles.”

“Androkles?” asks Imhotep, his eyes widening as he looks Androkles up and down.

“Indeed, Gail took care of my aches and pains, and everything tightened back up again overnight,” says Androkles. Giving Imhotep a veiled look, he taps his chin. “You should know about that since you’ve had that solid black goatee for two days. Yet she attracts your ire, not the ones bar fighting or coming back regularly with dead team members.”

“I’m not here to discuss guild disciplinary matters, but the magic used. There wasn’t a shred of Mana in the construction,” clarifies Imhotep, still ringing with frustration.

His need for evidence and explanations rubs me wrong, but I keep a meaningless smile in place instead of giving him an earful. “Elven magics involve listening to the world and interacting with it. After that effort, I want to eat breakfast, so I’ll bid you a good day.”

“I would like to know more,” insists Imhotep.

Keeping my smile fixed in place, I give a slight shrug. “That’s nice, but as you clarified this morning, you’re not my friend, Imhotep. So I owe you nothing more than adherence to guild rules. Now excuse me.”

“I-”

Teleport puts me near Ipy, and Tove appears beside me, bubbling with giggles. Giving Ipy a genuine smile, I waved back at the lighthouse. “Good morning, all. Do you like my candle?”

The three of them are quite the trio.

The picture of health, Nikias now towers nearly 15 centimetres over me with lots of kilograms of added muscle. The chain mail sitting overtop the padded shirt I created for him might as well be cloth for how easily he wears it.

Ipy looks calm and composed, hinting at the quiet serenity Father possesses.

Phile, however, is tighter than a harp string with bags under her eyes.