Chương 20: Fórsa Soup

Miriam woke as a loud bell rang. Outside her door there was a cacophony of loud groans and shuffling feet as deckhands made their way from their hammocks further down the body of the ship. Miriam eased herself down out of her hammock, trying to avoid accidentally kicking the door open into the stream of people. All in all she had slept wonderfully.

The hammock had been far more cozy than Solas's cot, and a unique feature of sleeping on a bed of webbing was that she could relax her head back without her horns getting in the way. The headaches of the previous night were gone and she felt energized in a way she hadn't in a long time. Now that she had a plan for making it through the day and still managing to use her fórsa, she was looking forward to what Róise would show her. As if on cue, Miriam's door opened to reveal the first mate.

Róise had an easy smile on as she handed Miriam a bundle of cloth.

"Morning! I see you're up with the bell. Best quality of any shipmate, I say - punctuality! Brought you some new clothes - if you don't mind me saying, but what you've got on isn't exactly keeping the goods contained, and I need my crew not to be distracted. Get changed and meet me topside. We'll get some chow in you and get going for the day." Miriam couldn't quite close the door to change, but it didn't matter.

She decided to keep wearing Solas's ratty yellow overalls under the new clothes for the sole reason that she had no other way to keep the Reel close to her skin. Fortunately her frequent plunges into the ocean had her smelling more salty than the greasy it used to be. Her new clothes were of the same type Róise wore - loose green shirt with navy pants that ended just below the knee. Breakfast was some sort of oat gruel and water, served on deck.

Miriam collected a bowl of the stuff and found a secluded spot to dig in. She was extremely hungry. Only a few moments had passed when another deckhand plopped down next to her. He was an older man, with a long, matted beard. He wore an orange bandana over his forehead and his hair hung down in thick locks.

"Not a lot of the lads here are too eager to sleep in a dead man's hammock," he rumbled, shoving a wooden spoon of gruel into his mouth. Miriam raised an eyebrow.

"And that's what I was doing last night?" The man huffed loudly.

"Three men dead, day before yesterday." She narrowed her eyes.

"Three men who happened to share the same closet?"

"Closet you says. Luxury living to the likes of us," the man said.

"Three men, aye, who met the fórsa blades of Róise Séarlait, right there on the deck." Miriam knew she was supposed to be shocked that a little thing like Róise could pose a danger to three hardy deckhands, but she had seen the first mate work on the red serpent. Her power was obvious.

"And why did that happen?" The man cracked a grin, showing off some surprisingly straight if yellowed teeth.

"Just a little light mutiny, ma'am." Miriam snorted.

"I'm not so much a landlubber that I don't know what happens to mutineers at sea, friend." The man cackled.

"Aye, yeah, they had it comin' for sure. But still - sleeping with their spirits must be a bit… unsettling?" She laughed.

"It was the best sleep I've had in ages. You looking to trade hammocks?" He shrugged.

"The ship's not so big a man would turn up his nose at a bit of privacy." Miriam looked him in the eye.

"What's your name, sir?"

"Call me Maitiú."

"Miriam. And if I catch one whiff of your flea-bitten hide near my closet you'll find vines growing where the sun fails to shine." She manifested a spring of vine in her palm and tossed it at him. Maitiú chortled.

"Aye, aye, fair enough, lass. Can't blame a man for trying, can you?"

"But - if you find some way to make yourself useful to me over the next few days this might be a topic we can revisit. I'll let you know if such an opportunity arises." Miriam turned her attention fully back to her bowl. The old man laughed again.

"I think you'll do well here, Miss Miriam. I hope we get a chance to talk again." He launched himself up to go put his bowl away with a speed and grace she would not have expected from an older man. She swallowed her gruel hard - it was as tasteless as it looked. She had gambled that whether in the Tír or the Realms Above, a sailor was a sailor, and you don't deal with a lifelong sailor by being a pushover on your first day at sea.

Her threat had been completely toothless - she could feel that his fórsa density was greater than hers. No where near the tight bundle of power Róise or the Captain were, but enough that any threat from Miriam was an obviously empty one. It seemed the crew here might not be against bartering for valuables, and he had let her know that her little closet was a coveted commodity.

She didn't even know if Róise would let her trade it away, but the possibility might give a little leverage she could use if she was going to free Iohannes from the keel cage. The crew finished off breakfast quickly and got to work. Miriam was fascinated to watch how a ship in the Tír worked - there were far fewer lines around the sails than she was used to - in fact she couldn't really even tell how the sailors would manipulate the sheets. She quickly realized that everything on the ship was run on fórsa.

She watched as one crew member, a thin woman with furred arms and claws, seemed to throw invisible ropes over the yard arms and pull, sending the sail careening upward. Would that truly be better than just using ropes, she wondered? Róise approached her and Miriam gestured at the invisible rigging.

"I may have oversold my experience as a deckhand. In the Realms Above we do all this with ropes. I wouldn't even know how to do this with fórsa." The first mate nodded.

"That makes sense. Not to insult you, but your fórsa density is… well. You've clearly never had to use it to work before." Miriam laughed.

"Back at my family's lumberyard we could easily spot anyone trying to come in and do the job with soft hands. I guess that's me now." Róise nodded her head.

"Let's start out in the Captain's cabin. There's enough room in there and we don't need everyone seeing you get started."

"You mean see how bad I am," Miriam corrected. Róise shrugged and led the way. The captain's cabin was in the very rear of the ship, below the wheel. The first mate knocked on the door, with no response. She began to look annoyed, and knocked again.

"Whaaat?"

"Get your butt over here and…" Róise bit her tongue.

"I mean… Captain, I need you to let us in. I'm working with Miriam on her Life Nature today, remember?"

"Ohhh. Yeah, ok." Miriam could hear some rattling around, muffled swearing and one disturbingly loud crash before the door creaked open. On the other side was Cormac Fiadh, minus his usual hat and in rumpled nightclothes.

"I apologize for not appearing at my best," he said.

"I didn't realize this was happening so early." Róise slapped him lightly on the back of the head.

"It's well into the daylight hours. Get out there and do some captainy things already." Cormac seemed like he wanted to say something back, but it just devolved into mumbling. He snagged his regular clothes from a pile by the door and shuffled out sheepishly, nodding again to Miriam as he pushed past. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Miriam looked at Róise askance.

"I'm sorry to ask but you and the Captain…"

"Yeah, he's not very captain-like is he?" Róise led Miriam into the Captain's cabin.

"We grew up together in the Third Ring. I've known him all my life, so it's very difficult to start treating him like an authority figure rather than basically my dumb younger brother. Not that he deserves to be an authority figure," she grumbled. The cabin was relatively small, but did boast a large bay window looking out at the sea - an enchanting view, gentle whitecaps lolling behind them, clouds racing in the clear blue sky.

A large bed dominated most of the room, but Róise lifted it one-handed and leaned it against the wall, where she secured it with rope. Clearly this was a space that saw more regular use than just the captain's slumber.

"What was life in the Third Ring like? Since I've been in the Tír, I've only seen the swamp and this boat." Miriam sat at the center of the floor at Róise's prompting.

"It was…" Róise screwed up her face, as if wondering how much she should share.

"Compared to here… it was… bah. Cormac can tell you. He's dying to ask you about the Realms Above anyway. I'm sure he wouldn't mind trading his story for some of yours. Or… you know… for free. Whether you want to hear it or not." Miriam laughed politely.

"Anyway. We're here for a different reason. Either you're a passenger or a deckhand - and this ship doesn't take passengers. You need to be able to use your fórsa to help sail this ship, fight off dangers and get us to our goal. With that in mind, I'm going to try to instruct you some on how to use Life Nature fórsa." Róise sat down next to Miriam, crossing her legs.

"How far have you gotten with your Life weaving?"

"I've… wrapped my arms up to the humerus, but I haven't had time to finish the rest." Róise frowned.

"Wrapped? Is that a visualization you're using for the weaving?" Miriam was taken aback - she had assumed the way she had done it was just the right way she had stumbled upon.

"Yes - I basically wrap my bones with Life Nature fórsa. Is that not what everyone does?" Róise raised an eyebrow.

"You would have to have a pretty good awareness of your own skeleton to even try that." Miriam shrugged self-consciously.

"I worked as a doctor for a little while, so I memorized the bones. I don't know if a dryad's bones are different though…"

"They might be. Every different breed of Aos Si has its own quirks."

"What do they call… what you and the captain are? Forgive me for asking, but you both just look human to me." Róise laughed.

"No! We're not even the same ourselves. Most forms in the Tír bend more or less in this direction, at least to start. I'm told as you get older, or as you climb the Rings, you might see more drastic physical differences. Cormac's a Bodac. I'm a pixie."

"A pixie?"

"That's funny to you?"

"No, no… I just thought pixies were tiny creatures with wings!" Róise cracked an ironic smile.

"How old do you think I am?"

"You get smaller over time?" Róise shook her head.

"We're getting off track. It might be easier to start with seeing what you can do. Create a fórsa manifestation for me and we can see what you're working with." Miriam conjured a simple vine from her palm and held it out to Róise. The first mate took it and looked closely.

"Can you make it do something un-vine-like?" Miriam summoned another vine, but in the shape of a cup, just as she had done with Eoin. This time though, with her other two natures locked down, the cup came out dry and nicely coiled together. Róise nodded.

"Ok. Here's what I'm getting at - have you ever made these vines do something that a normal vine could not be made to do?" Miriam thought about her fight with the red serpent. She had summoned stakes that time - but that was just reshaped bits of the canoe. Dryad stuff, she assumed, not Life Nature stuff.

"No, I can't say I have." Róise set the vines aside.

"Don't worry. This is something every fórsa manipulator has to get over. Usually they're children… but I guess we all have to start somewhere." She hesitated.

"So, I only know this as a children's story. I think if I try to tell it any other way I'm going to mess it up. Bear with me?" Miriam smiled.

"I have told my share of children's stories. I wouldn't mind hearing one more." Róise looked a little embarrassed, but began anyway.

"A long, long time ago, the world was… a big bowl of fórsa soup. Just an empty container with all this life-stuff in it, pulled from the Realms Above. But the bowl got too full, and there was nowhere else for the fórsa-soup to go. The fórsa got more and more compressed until - bop!" Miriam was startled.

"Bop?"

"Bop. I assure you that's an integral part of telling this story. Keeps young ones interested. The compressed fórsa at the center of the soup became something else. A collection of life stuff that could… think about the soup it was in. That happened over and over, again and again until finally there were thousands and thousands of minds inhabiting the soup. But what were they to do, these new minds? Just keep waiting until more and more minds were created, an endless cycle of compression and boredom?"

"Noooo," Miriam said, appropriately childlike. Róise laughed softly.

"They started using the fórsa in the bowl for themselves. They made bodies, each a little different, which became Pixies and Bodacs and Banshees and Puca. They began to use the fórsa to create the world around them. But even when the world was made, they knew something about it that you don't know!"

"What?"

"Even when they made a tree, or a rock or… a sailing ship - it was just their imagination pulling the fórsa together in a shape they found pleasing. If you are making things with fórsa - it can look like a thing - but it's not that thing. It doesn't have to behave the way that thing would behave if it were real." Miriam looked at her hand.

"So… these are behaving like vines, because I know they're vines, and I know what vines should do." Róise nodded.

"Watch." She summoned what looked like a steel bar in her hand.

"No vines for me. I'm in a City subclass of Life - less nature and more like… the things the Aos Si make. But a metal bar can't do this." She whipped the bar towards a wine bottle on the captain's desk - one of hers, Miriam noted with amusement - and it wrapped around the neck, more like a long strap of leather than metal. Róise yanked the bottle back and grabbed it with her other hand, taking a long swig.

"Ahh. You have to let go of the form, then you can train for new functions." Miriam nodded. She opened her hand and concentrated. Vines writhed out of her palm and began twisting together until in her hand she held a dark green hammer - crudely shaped, but solid. Róise looked impressed.

"Nice. Let's see if it's more than skin deep." With another tilt back she drained the bottle and set it in front of Miriam. Miriam slammed the hammer into the bottle - only for her hammer head to deflate like a pillowcase. She cursed, disappointed.

"Not bad, not bad," Róise said.

"It would be weird if you could just do it right away. This is more about training your mind than training your fórsa, and it's the first step in applying your power to actual techniques." Miriam sat with Róise for another hour at least, creating vine hammer after vine hammer, but nothing was helping. She stared at the bent travesty of plant matter in her hand and threw it to the floor with a curse.

"Hey, hey," Róise said reassuringly.

"This never comes easy. You're brought up your whole life to think the world works a certain way. To truly believe that it doesn't - or that it doesn't have to - is tough. I'll admit this part is actually not usually too hard for children - they haven't internalized reality very well by this point, so changing it isn't usually that tough. I'm impressed you're still going though - most people would be fórsa-dry by this point." Miriam huffed.

She hated not being good at something, especially in front of someone else who was very clearly very good at that thing. For a human, anyway, eighty years is a long time to calcify how the world works in your brain. What would it take to dislodge just an embedded worldview? You'd think being kidnapped to a faerie world would do most of the job for you.

Then again, believing the proof of your own eyes - gremlins, magic, sea monsters - was a lot easier than believing a concept - like that a leafy vine could be as hard as iron. Róise patted her knee.

"I have to go up on deck. If I leave Cormac out there too long he might actually start trying to captain the ship and who knows what could happen then? Take some more time and keep working on it. I'll come back down when I hear the bottle break." Miriam nodded.

"Thank you, Róise. I'll try my best to be useful to you." Róise paused at the door, a bit of her genteel pre-school teacher energy fading.

"I hope you will be. I wasn't joking about no passengers. Get it done." Then Miriam was left alone to ponder Róise's sudden change of mood. It was tempting to delve into which persona was the real Róise - the hardass first mate or the school-marm - but she suspected the answer was both. Róise had the feeling of someone who dove into whatever she was doing with absolute focus. When she was trying to teach, she was a gentle teacher, because she believed that would get the best results.

When she was headed out to lead the crew she was a harsh taskmaster, because that was what was needed to do the job. Miriam couldn't decide if that was a sign of flexibility - or the opposite. Back to the task at hand. A vine can be as hard as a hammer. Failure. As hard as a hammer. Failure. Hard as a gods-damned hammer! The vines disintegrated in her hand. She growled. What galled her the most was that this was not a problem in technique.

In all her efforts working on Water Nature with Eoin, she would have constant failures, but she could always see her mistake. Each fix was a change in action, in performance. She was a methodical, practical person and there was no procedure she couldn't perfect given time. But how do you change your brain to believe the opposite of reality? A vine can be as hard as a hammer. No, it apparently couldn't. She caught her breath.

She was trying to brute force it, but she was forgetting the whole of Róise's children's story. A rock was hard because a mind told it to be. Water was wet because a mind decided it should be. This was not the real world - and even if it were this could hold true. The building blocks of things … was what made a tree so different than what made a rock? Just some quirk of time had made a tree a tree and a rock a rock. She looked down again at her hand. A vine can't be as hard as a hammer. But this wasn't a vine.

This is a gods-damned hammer. Crash. Róise opened the door, grinning, while Miriam could hear an outraged squeal from the upper deck: "Did someone just break something in my cabin?" The first mate nodded.

"Congratulations… deckhand."