Chương 52: Long Awaited Rest

Petra's hand relaxed on the strap.

"Thank you," she said, still looking at the party window.

"Keep moving."

"A gracious acceptance," Mimir murmured.

"They'll carve it above the wedding doors."

"There are no doors," I told him.

"Aye, lad. That's the part worth correcting." The exit was close enough now that I could see the turn beyond it. I guided the staff past a raised seam in the floor and kept Petra beside me. The party window stayed at the edge of my sight. I dismissed it, then brought it back before it had fully disappeared. Petra looked over.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing." Another notification appeared before she could ask anything else. [Floor Collapse Dispensed.] [Human Presence Within the Inverted Spire.] I read the second line again. Beside my hip, Mimir stopped moving his mouth around whatever remark he had been preparing. His gaze held in the same direction as mine for a moment, then shifted toward the passage. He offered no explanation.

I could have asked, but Petra was already approaching the uneven step ahead, and I had accumulated enough questions that choosing one had become its own inconvenience.

"Watch the step," I said, and crossed it after her. We made camp on the next floor in a shallow recess behind a ridge of stone. I went far enough past it to check the approach before turning back. The ground rose on one side, leaving a narrow opening through which anything large would have to come. Smaller things could manage the rocks. I examined the gaps anyway. Petra remained where I had left her, holding her bow with both hands.

"Here?" she asked.

"Yes." She looked at the bare ground.

"You're certain?" I nudged a loose stone out of the place where I intended to sit.

"Would you prefer somewhere with more entrances?"

"I was thinking somewhere flatter." There was a flat patch nearer the opening. I pointed it out, and she set her belongings there without further discussion. I watched her remove a small roll of cloth from her pack, shake it once, and spread it across the ground. One corner curled back immediately. She weighted it with a stone. I would have sat on the ground. By the time we had gathered enough dry wood, she had also arranged the loose rocks into a boundary around the fire.

I could see no immediate need for such a precise boundary, but it gave her something to do while I checked the ridge once more. Mimir complained when I set his head on a stone beside me.

"Turn me toward the fire, lad. If I must spend the evening at ankle height, I'd like a view worth having."

"You will dry out."

"And ye'll crack if someone thanks ye twice. We all endure our afflictions." I turned him slightly and sat with the staff across my knees. Petra opened a packet and held it toward me. Several dark strips of meat lay inside.

"Have some." Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"I don't need it."

"You've barely been able to stand."

"That was unrelated to food." She continued holding out the packet. I selected a strip because she appeared willing to remain in that position for some time. The first bite required more effort than I expected. Salt worked into the corners of my mouth while I tried to separate the piece with my teeth. Petra folded the packet onto her lap and ate without apparent difficulty.

"You can take smaller bites," she said.

"I know how to eat."

"Alright." I chewed. There was a hard edge along one side of the strip that resisted every attempt to soften it. I had swallowed considerably worse substances for smaller benefits, which seemed a reasonable basis for finishing. Halfway through, I gave the remaining piece to Mimir. He looked at it.

"Ye feed the relic now?"

"You have a mouth."

"A conclusion worthy of your many years of study." He accepted it between his teeth. Petra watched him work at the meat, then looked down at the packet as though reconsidering how much food we would require. The fire took properly after I moved one of the thicker sticks. Smoke had been collecting beneath it and drifting straight toward my face. I shifted the wood until the smoke went toward the opening instead. Petra waited until I had finished before asking, "What happened to you?"

"I fought."

"I saw that part." I kept the stick in my hand.

"Then what are you asking?"

"You disappeared. Both of you. I stayed where you told me to, and then there was nothing I could do."

"A spatial manipulation technique," I said.

"I was pulled into it." She leaned forward a little.

"Where did it take you?"

"Somewhere inside the technique."

"That doesn't tell me much."

"It is difficult to give directions." Mimir made a noise around the jerky. I chose to understand it as a complaint about the texture. Petra glanced toward him, then returned to me.

"How did you get out?"

"I fought, and I won." The stick had begun to blacken at its tip. I drew it back before the heat reached my fingers. She waited. I had given her what I intended to give her, and eventually she lowered her eyes to the food.

"You don't look as though you won."

"I am here."

"You're also very pale."

"That has already been discussed."

"Yes. The lack of sunlight." She examined the bandage on my arm.

"Perhaps try a little less all at once." Mimir choked on his piece of meat. I looked at Petra. She was folding the packet closed with considerable attention, pressing down each edge before tucking it into her pack.

"Your bow," I said. Her hand paused.

"What about it?"

"Let me see it." She picked it up from beside her bedding and passed it across the fire's edge, keeping the string away from the heat. I took it by the grip. The wrapping had loosened where her palm rested, and one limb carried a shallow scrape that had cut through its finish. I turned it over.

"Did something hit this?"

"A few things."

"While you were holding it?"

"Yes." That explained the marks near the grip. I pressed my thumb against the wrapping and felt the movement underneath. It remained usable, but there was no reason to leave it as it was. Pathfinder helped me follow a route through the bow's structure while I fed a thin current of mana into the grip. I kept the flow small. My reserves had already suffered enough from my recent decisions. Petra moved closer.

"What are you doing?"

"Reinforcing it."

"Should I take the string off?"

"Leave it." The mana met resistance where the wood had been strained. I adjusted its course, working along one limb before returning to the grip. There was an old familiarity to the process that made my fingers attempt movements this body had no reason to know. I had spent a run as an Enchanter. At the time, I had considered it closer to a craft performed with unreasonable force than to the work of a mage. My strength had reached ninety-nine.

Many difficulties could be addressed by holding something still until it accepted what I was doing. I had less strength now. The bow required patience, which was an inferior substitute in several respects, though cheaper than breaking it. Mimir finished his jerky.

"If ye turn that into a club, give the lass fair warning."

"I know what I'm doing."

"Aye. That phrase has buried apprentices across several ages." Petra's fingers rested on her knee, following the movement of mine. I expected another question, but she remained quiet while I guided the mana past the damaged section. [Reinforcement Successful.] [Weapon Level Increased.] The wrapping tightened beneath my hand. I checked the limbs again and passed the bow back. Petra took it carefully. Her gaze moved to a point just above the weapon, where her own system presumably supplied the result.

Then she smiled.

"The level went up."

"Yes." She ran her thumb over the grip.

"You could have told me you were doing that."

"I did."

"You said reinforcing."

"That was what increased the level." She looked at me for a moment, then shook her head and tested the weight of it between her hands.

"Thank you." I moved the blackened stick back into the fire.

"I'm sorry," she added.

"I'd offer you something better than dried meat, but I don't have much left. I had more before…" Her free hand pressed against her side. The movement drew her shoulders inward, and she stopped speaking while adjusting the fabric beneath her fingers. I looked at the place she held.

"Does it hurt?"

"It's fine." That answer had served me poorly enough recently that I doubted it on principle. She took her hand away before I could ask to see.

"The others left," she said.

"I was with a party. They left me." I watched her settle the bow across her lap. Her thumb continued rubbing the newly tightened wrapping.