Chương 171: 85. Thank You, and Goodbye

I wake up without any memory of falling asleep, and my first thought upon waking is that I've got to stop doing that. Sleep from passing out or getting knocked unconscious isn't as properly restful, as evidenced by the fact that I feel just as tired as I was before, if not worse. We're in a bed, I think. A pretty comfortable one. Probably the only thing about being awake that's comfortable right now. It almost goes without saying that everything hurts—we're always doing that to ourselves.

Learning to survive alone in a horrible death-cave has taught us to constantly go all-out, even if it means putting our body at risk. Probably a bad habit, but I'm not convinced we'd survive otherwise. Not sure how we'll survive if we keep doing this, either. With a reluctant sigh, I crack open my eyes and groan in pain as even the dim light of the oil lamp is enough to spike my migraine. Was it worth it, after all that?

I can feel the gentle rocking of the ship, and we don't appear to be in shackles, so I have to assume that Jira made it out of the harbor. So at the very least, we accomplished our immediate goals. That still doesn't answer the question, though, does it? Was it worth it? We got a bit of petty vengeance, and we escaped for the time being, but Draga is still dead. It makes me want to cry, but the tears aren't coming. I'm just tired.

With a second attempt, I slowly open my eyes, letting myself adjust little by little to the room's gloomy light. It's Jira's cabin, I realize. The only private accommodation on the ship—despite easily being big enough for more. The main source of light is a small oil lamp that makes the room smell vaguely of fish. I can't make out much of anything else, because I'm not wearing our glasses.

Luckily, somebody was thoughtful enough to place them right next to the only source of light, and as I don them and blink my eyes into focus, I notice that they were sitting on top of a letter. A single sheet of paper, folded neatly in half, which I unfold to reveal densely packed and neatly written Fa'aun script.

"I have no idea what this says," I sigh out loud. I guess that means I'm not Allie right now, though I kind of had that impression. It's always odd, these brief moments of not knowing who we are in the moments just after we wake, or sometimes when we switch if it happens suddenly enough. It's nice that we're blessed with a way to check. [Violet: Tier 2 Human] That tracks. I was in front when we passed out—though that actually doesn't tend to make a difference. Allie and I are usually the first ones up.

Maybe because we were the first ones to "appear" though that's pretty baseless speculation. It could just as easily be a personality thing.

"Let me," Allison offers.

"I've been working on reading, and the skill helps a lot." I nod silently, grateful not to be alone for once. It takes a few moments to get through the letter, and Allie has to make a few guesses along the way, but it reads: Hello girls, and any snoops or spies reading this. Either this letter has ended up somewhere it's not supposed to, or you are currently on board Captain Jira's ship and my worst prediction has come to pass.

I hope you can forgive the lack of warning, but augury is a tricky thing and it's often more productive to prepare contingencies rather than go around doomsaying. Understand that fate is difficult to read and harder still to change. Just ask your captain about that if you doubt me. Nothing is ever certain, but the World Engine plays with loaded dice.

By way of apology, I've taken the liberty of gathering resources from the friends and allies you've made since your arrival—and I'm truly impressed by just how many there are! The first and most obvious being the ship you are on now, though I can take little credit for that—Jira's presence in and of itself could be considered an omen for those who know her well enough. The second is from myself. Assuming they were not stolen, you should find two graduated sets of ampoules accompanying this letter.

I did not have time to reformulate them to perfectly suit your body, but with Talla's assistance you should be able to start from the smallest dosage and find the tincture that works best for you. As I am not certain how exactly the connection between your body and souls work, I've included formulae for both positive and negative expressions of magical strain and labeled each accordingly.

Based on Talla's accounts of your misadventures in the convergence point, my hypothesis is that strain is spread across all of your souls, but concentrated on whichever one invokes the spell or skill that causes it. The magical effects of the tincture should do the same, but the physical ones will, naturally, affect all of you equally. Do use them with caution, and reserve the largest doses only for extreme situations and emergencies—though I have little doubt you'll find such causes sooner or later.

The remaining gifts, I will allow to speak for themselves. Good luck, Miss Maev, and on behalf of my people, I apologize for your terribly rude introduction to this world. The letter isn't signed, but it's pretty obvious who it's from.

"Wow, even in a letter that fucker loves to hear himself talk, huh?" Maggie mutters.

"But hey, free magic potions. Take the big one!" I roll my eyes, but I do find the tinctures the Alchemist left us. As he said, they are in two sets of crystal ampoules going from small enough to contain only a few drops all the way up to the size of a beer bottle. The liquid within is clear and featureless, and the ampoules are each labeled with the Fa'aun characters for positive or negative. Without hesitation, I snap the seal on the smallest dose for negative expression and drink the contents.

I don't feel any different. Perhaps a tiny film of the pervasive malaise I'm feeling gets lifted, but that could just be placebo. Oh well, I'll consult Talla before touching the rest.

"Coward," Maggie gripes.

"I remember how badly the last one messed with our head," I reply.

"I'm following the doctor's instructions." Moving on, now that I know to look, I find a small collection of presents at the foot of the bed, each with their own accompanying letter. The first one I notice—I look away immediately, letting my eyes wander instead to the unmistakable shape of a pair of sturdy hiking boots. If I didn't know any better and if not for the materials, I might have thought that they came straight from our own world.

Master Iro has done an astounding job of converting our rough and amateur designs and sketches into something better than I could have ever imagined. Made from the thick hide of the laser geckos and lined with finely woven silk from Nipper, the boots go up just past our ankles and are tied with laces made of more silk. To my complete shock, the soles are even made of rubber. The handwriting of the accompanying letter is messy and contains annotations from at least two other hands. Allie reads it out for us.

I dislike being rushed, but your patron paid up front and I'm no Goddess-cursed thief. I had to pull several all-nighters and most of my best skills to get these done on time, so don't blame me if they end up being shoddy work. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. (Note: They're fine. Probably his best work. He's just mad he couldn't spend another month agonizing over the laces. - Baira) I also dislike last-second design changes.

That shit we put on the soles was a nightmare to work with and treating it made the entire shop smell like rotten eggs. Works a dream, though. You might get almost as much traction as proper hooves with these. (The rubber is an expensive import from the Blessed Lands, courtesy Roro's sister Biyu. It was hilarious seeing the arrogant little brat get a lecture about representing the family right in front of Master Iro and I. She also wanted me to forward her sincerest apologies for "The Incident," whatever that means. - Baira) (She means the thing at the party. - Rara) I also dislike my letter getting scribbled on. The materials should hold enchantments, but there are none on them since we had no time. Figure it out yourself, or better yet, bring them back so I can finish the damn things properly! (Again, they're fine. - B~ The ink visibly runs from where the pen or quill was snatched out of Baira's hands, before an even messier hand than usual signs the letter off. Iro Clanless. Tier 10 Masterwork Artisan." Oh, he leveled!" Allie notes with glee." Good for him." The new shoes are such an improvement over even the other pair from Iro that we usually wear that it almost feels as if they should be saved for special occasions. But that's a silly thought. These are made to be worn, and we already have Allie's heels if we're going to be dressing for fashion. Wait, do we still have those? The next gift turns out to answer that question for us—a hefty travel bag with yet another letter attached. Hey Maev! I'm told you might need to leave the city suddenly at some point, and while I hope that doesn't happen, I've done my best to make arrangements for you. Assuming my instructions were followed properly, this should have nice fashionable clothes for any weather or occasion—all your size, which was not easy. I've also ordered any personal effects from your room to be included, but depending on how hastily this had to be put together, they might have missed some things. Your friend wherever you go, Lady Tara Goa Baanu (But you can always call me Rara!) Sure enough, the bag is full of clothes, including our ragged old cloak and the outfit we originally arrived in this world wearing. In the outer pockets, I also find our notes and writing, a bit crumpled from being hastily stuffed into the bag, and even the various grooming tools that Allie's been collecting. The last pocket has two items and another letter. I'm grateful to see my puzzle cube included. It's a small thing, but I would have missed it. The second item is what looks at a glance to be some sort of flat knife in a leather sheathe, but the letter explains. I don't know why you would want to shave what little fur you actually have, but I convinced a barber to sell me this when I explained what it was for. I'm told you should wet the area carefully and preferably lather it with some kind of soap to help prevent injury. - Biharu Foren I furrow my brows and blink at the shaving razor and inexplicable letter accompanying it." Who?" I ask." Uh, Biharu?" Allie says, as if that should mean something to me." One of the girls that runs the baths. We've talked to her in the bath like a dozen times."" Oh," I reply lamely." I must not have been paying attention."" Little Miss Never-nude over here swoons at the sight of a titty," Maggie jeers." Don't pretend you knew who that was either," Eva interjects. Well, it's good to have, I decide, ignoring their bickering and packing the razor away. I guess Allie made more friends than I realized. The next item forces me to swallow those words, and even as down as I'm feeling, I can't help but smile at the laconic note attached to it. Vi. I'm disappointed that you're leaving on such short notice and without saying goodbye. Especially while our records are even in chess. I hope that this puzzle keeps you busy until you return to settle the score. - Anna Foren The puzzle in question is a complex set of interconnected metal rings and bars that's similar enough to a puzzle I know for me to understand the goal—to disentangle all of the pieces not physically attached to each other—but different enough that I don't already know the solution. I search for other gifts, and there are a few. A sack of mana candles with a note from Tamara "sincerely" apologizing that she's unable to return the entire set, several bags of dried fruit and nuts from Sszlaw for their "favorite customer," and even a little marble statuette of us carved by Dani—which is impressive, if slightly creepy. But eventually, I run out of heartfelt letters and parting gifts arranged by the alarmingly—and perhaps literally—prescient alchemist. All but one. The first one I noticed. The one I've been avoiding this entire time. Desperately trying not to acknowledge." Come on, Vi," Allie nudges me." We have to look." I know, but I don't want to. It's stupid and petty of me, but it just feels wrong. I don't deserve it. Not that. Not from him. Nevertheless, I force myself to return to the foot of the bed and gingerly lift the item leaning innocuously against the wall. I lay the surprisingly light steel short spear across my lap and inspect the attached note. The script is very neatly written, with a sense of careful precision that makes even Anna's handwriting look sloppy by comparison. The calligraphy of somebody who doesn't take writing for granted—someone careful not to waste precious ink or paper. I can't read it, but I try to memorize every line. Every last stroke of the pen, down to the places where the ink grows thin, or where it bleeds a little more after a fresh dip in the ink. Without prompting, Allison begins to read quietly. Maev. Allison, Violet, Magdalena, and Priestess E'ava'al'n. I fear I owe you all an apology. For I have not been entirely honest with you. I have known, since before we ever encountered each other in that accursed cave, what fate awaits me. I have been certain since the very first idle complaint from Saban about how long Lady Kiera and her entourage were taking in their inspection. As you read this, I am dead. It is not your fault. I have been dead since the day we met. Perhaps since the moment I accepted Lady Kiera's offer. In truth, I am not always certain that I truly left the ringward battlefields alive, but I am no philosopher. From the moment of my birth, I have lived on borrowed time. I have not always used that time well, but it was always my hope that as a ranger, I could make up for the wasted days of my youth, to leave this world a better place than I found it. It was never my aim to rise beyond my birth, as Lady Faarah did. Simply to do something good with my life, so that I would not feel ashamed to go into the Goddess' embrace. I know that you will have fought for me. And I know that it will have been in vain. I thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You thought of me where none would, rallied those who might otherwise forget me to your cause, and reminded me that even a life like mine can have value. I hope that I spent it well and passed into the embrace of our Goddess with dignity. Please do not resent my people. We are flawed, as all Her creations are, but I still love them, even if they do not love me in return. By the grace of Lady Gaa and Lady Faarah, I have been paid my commission despite the ongoing suspension and the failure of my last mission. Knowing that there is nothing for me to spend it on, I have instead paid to have your spear properly reforged. The smith I commissioned is beyond what I could normally afford, but Lady Tara opened some doors, and I suspect that the budget may have been raised behind my back. Nevertheless, this is my final gift to you. A masterwork spear which incorporates the original spearhead that I clumsily affixed for you, made from an alloy that I'm promised should be able to withstand even your terrifying throwing arm—though I don't suggest testing that claim. May it carry my spirit, and protect you on your journey as I could not. Thank you, and goodbye, Sir Draga Clanless, Tier 5 Warrior, Tier 3 Ranger of the Stebaari Order. With shaking hands, I set the letter aside before it can be soaked by the tears streaming down my cheeks. All I can do is draw my knees up to my chest and bury my face in them as I sob uncontrollably. It's an ugly cry—the kind of bawling that's normally reserved for children—but I can't help it. It sweeps over us so completely that we're not even sure who we are at any given moment, but it doesn't matter. On this, like so few other things, we are all completely aligned. More than once, we hear the sound of hooves approaching the door, before they stop and hesitate. Nobody interrupts us.