DB Lazarus
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65. Beneath the Surface - I
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 05:28:56 +0000 UTCI rose before the first bell despite a restless sleep after last night’s antics. The morning after drinking always carried a price, though today’s was not as steep as in the past. While my mouth was bone dry, I did not sport the expected headache.
I still stumbled on the way to the bathroom for a few steps until the blood finally perfused my brain. I had barely finished filling a cup of water when someone knocked on my door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. I brought some food.“
“One second.” I went to open the door for Dorian and found him carrying a large tray and, more importantly, a large waterskin attached to his belt. “What’s this?”
“I figured I should check on you and, well, make amends for last night.”
I tried to recall exactly what he needed to apologize for, but much of the end of last night remained a blur.
Had I seen a pink moon?
“Last night is a bit hazy. I—” I sniffed the air as hints of a savory aroma slipped under the lids of whatever food he carried. I stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “Honestly, if that tastes as good as it smells, then I don’t care. Consider it forgiven.”
He sighed. “That lack of memory is why I need to apologize.”
I took a deeper breath, and this time, my mouth watered. I pulled him in by the sleeve. “As I said, don’t care. What did you bring me?”
He scooted past me and placed the tray on the table. The tray had two plates, both covered with a wood cloche. I sat down in one of the chairs, expectant. He made a show of revealing it, but it was justified. As he lifted the cover, steam billowed outward. With it, came a deep aroma etched into my brain for childhood.
Each plate had three fried eggs laid over a spread of thin cuts of meat. On the side, a root vegetable mash took up the rest of the plate. It was a classic American breakfast in more ways than one.
The words “green eggs and ham” almost slipped out of my mouth. True, only the egg yolks were green. And the ham had a marbling more iridescent than white. But hey, it was close enough.
Something in my reaction made his shoulders drop a hair. I cocked my head. “What?”
“You’ve had this before?”
“No? Should I—” Then it clicked. “Ah, this breakfast reminds me of a famous meal.”
“Really?”
“It is from a…very well-known story.”
“But you haven’t had them.”
“Never the real thing—not even an imitation. Though, will I be able to tolerate them?” I leaned in a bit. The color was frighteningly close to last night’s liquor.
He perked up. “Definitely. And you are in for a treat. These eggs are from an immature forest drake. You might struggle with them raw, but frying diminishes the potency—which is good for you. It also makes them taste so much better.”
“A forest drake, huh?”
“Yep.”
At least it wasn’t a mutated chicken…
I pointed to the meat. “And that is ham?” Dorian nodded. “What about the mash?”
“Local root vegetable called vaparöt.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It is good once cooked.” He pointed to my dish. “Try it before it gets cold.”
I picked at the eggs with a fork. A slight pressure from my fork punctured the yolk’s membrane, and thick green spilled over the fried egg whites. I cut a small triangle with my fork and brought a dripping piece to my lips. Thankfully, last night’s antics hadn’t generated any revulsion. In fact, it did the opposite. If I could trust the translation, I was about to eat eggs from an animal a step below this world’s dragons. My stomach growled. When in Rome…
Dorian smiled as my eyes widened, then laughed as I let out a small, undignified moan. “Good, isn’t it?”
I didn’t—couldn’t—respond. I wolfed down three frantic bites of egg mixed with cuts of meat and vegetables before I was satisfied enough to speak. “So, all this is because you got me drunk?” He nodded. “Well then maybe I’ll let you get me hammered a few more times if this is how you make it up for me.”
He chuckled. “Don’t think that this will become routine. It took a bit of finagling to get the [Chief Steward] to open up the stocks.”
“Well, consider yourself forgiven. But really, you didn’t have to do this. I was the one stupid enough to take that drink as a shot. It wouldn’t be fair to blame you for it. What were you going to do, not serve it? That drink seemed important.”
“It was a special reserve. But I could’ve not served you. It was my f—“
“Look, I am not an Ættar.” He snorted. “You don’t owe me anything, but if you think you do, then let’s just agree that this more than made up for everything.“
He smiled. “Fine. Deal. Honestly, I might have put this together independently if I had realized you had been so deprived. No one should go without experiencing this.”
“It is better than last night’s food.”
“It is a grade above that.”
“Wow. Wait. Dorian, how much did this cost?”
He waved away my concern. “It is fine.” I eyed him questioningly. “Really it is. But you kinda had me worried when you were surprised by Teja and her Veil.”
Veil? Then, the details came back to me. The moon had been pink. I hadn’t hallucinated it. It also had a band behind it. It took me a moment to process what that implied. Did this planet have rings?
“I could see how that would be concerning.”
“Yeah. There was another reason I brought this up. This food is similar enough to the drink that it would prevent another crash, not that you look like you need it. I half expected you to still be stumbling.”
“What was in that drink last night?”
”It’s a special Oresian drink. High-grade supplies are prepared in a special manner that increases the potency.”
“Special, like distilling?” I didn’t remember much, but that drink had been a high enough proof to volatilize at room temp.
”How do you know about that process?!?”
“It’s not uncommon…” my voice trailed off as his eyes widened even further.
Crap. When was that invented back at home?
“Please don’t tell me that this is an Oresian trade secret.” He didn’t have to. His expression said it all. I hurried to add, “Well, you don’t need to worry. The details of the process are not something that I can say I’m familiar—”
I shook my head at the rush of information that flooded my brain.
Crap. Correction. I hadn’t been familiar with it. Now, thanks to a skill, I had a detailed description of a simple still for distilling ethanol to clean tools as well as a rudimentary history of alcoholic drinks and sanitation. Except, I shouldn’t have been able to know this.
The part on the still came from a sidebar about doctors in the Wild West in a textbook I had used during a college course on medical history. I had always skipped those because they only added some color and I had more important things to do with my time. However, I now had a perfect picture of it in my mind, and the pictured schematic was quite detailed. Was this the power of [Eidetic Memory: Medicine]?
Dorian gave me a funny look, and I amended my statement. “Let’s just say that I’m not intimately familiar with the process. I haven’t used a still, but it came up as part of my training.”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed sharply. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head slightly. “I guess I am not giving away major secrets here. With increased trade, the secret has started to get out. And really, distilling is the easy part—but just try not to bring it up, okay? The Humans down south are enterprising. Some may be close to figuring out the process. If they do, skills related to it will follow. Then it won’t be much of a leap for them to make spirits worth drinking.”
“I will keep my mouth shut, but it can’t be that easy. There has to be an art to it.” No way did they have massive vats pumping this stuff out.
“Of course there is. It takes a master [Distiller] using the right combination of skills and ingredients to make what we had yesterday. Use the skills poorly or get the ratios wrong, and the spirits are undrinkable.”
”Hey, is this similar to how they make healing potions?”
“I don’t know. I’m not an [Alchemist]. I’ve heard of spirits with healing properties. My uncle claimed they work, quite well actually—as long as you don’t mind getting drunk.”
“Yeah, I could see how that could be a problem.”
“Limits its combat utility. Also somehow, they still give you a hangover.”
“Even better.” He just shook his head in agreement.
Despite its limitations, it was still fascinating. If it was anything like chemistry, the alcohol could act as a better solvent, but who knew when magic was involved? However, better healing potions would be a boon for me—and everyone else. If I could ever get out of here, I would need to pick the brain of a chemist or, more appropriately, an [Alchemist]. Maybe I could apply some of my knowledge in novel ways.
“Just a word to the wise. You have to be careful with spirits. Spirits are a mark of a skill. Not all [Brewers] can advance to become a [distiller]. It isn’t uncommon for people to sell knock-offs or failed attempts to recoup costs.”
“So it’s not a common drink?”
“No. Not unless you are rich and powerful. Most save it for a celebration. Truthfully, I normally wouldn’t have busted it out for an occasion like this. However, it seemed like the right time given the other celebration.
“I think our hærlið appreciated it.”
“Oresiani and Ættir may disagree about many things, but we both appreciate a good drink.” He couldn’t hide the sly smile, but it faded away as he leaned forward, elbows on the table. “In all seriousness, our hærlið is taking a risk on us. I am sure you realize this.” I nodded. Someday, I would learn the history behind the tension between Humans and Ættir to better understand the significance of being considered a trúnaðr. “Ættir value action more than words. It was my way of showing thanks and support.”
“Do you think this will last?”
“I hope so, but…gods, I hate playing these types of games. But at least Ættir are more straightforward than Oresiani—and definitely Humans. Only the Volki are easier to understand.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Raw power. It’s always who has the biggest—” He gestured down to his crotch.
I laughed. “I’m not some blushing bride, you know. You can just say dick—or whatever word you were thinking.”
He shook his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Human nobles can be so conservative about this stuff.” He continued quickly. “Sadly, I am only half kidding about the crack about the Volki. You can judge the strength of a Volk on his Marks and the size of his harem. The two powerhouses will clash until one has proven dominance.”
“I imagine that can get messy.”
“Yep. However, if the reigning Alfa doesn’t have a viable challenger, the politics are easy.”
“We at risk of that here?”
“Definitely not. He is one the strongest leaders in decades.”
“Which is why he can be absent without worry of reprisal.”
“Correct, though his second plays a role. I wouldn’t be surprised if some problems disappear before they rise to the Alfa’s attention.”
I thought back to my first day in the camp when a high-level Volk had visited the healer’s lodge. Had I been one of those problems?
“Wonderful. But, on a more positive note, I don’t think you need to worry about your status with the company. You’ve proved your value. Sharing your spirits could have only helped. From what I remember from last night, that really pleased Eiræk and the rest of the team.’’
He winced. “Yeah, but I might have tarnished some of that goodwill by touching on a sensitive subject.”
“Oh?”
“I might have said that it wasn’t a party without women and dancing.”
“Most would agree—you may be more than some.” I hadn’t forgotten Dorian’s comments on Esper, and by the subtle redness in his cheeks, my tease was spot on.
“Yuck it up. But I am serious. Rægnor didn’t say it outright, but he got all stern and quiet when I brought it up. Thankfully, I wasn’t too intoxicated to notice something was off.” He let out a long sigh. “Stupid alcohol. Have you ever wondered why the Vísir and Esper are the only Ættarsk women here?”
“Maybe in passing?” I shrugged. “I’ve had a lot on my plate. It never rose to the top of my concerns. Is that not normal?”
“No,” he scoffed. “Most Ættarsk warbands are like ours: at least half are women. Depending on the warband, it may be primarily women.”
“And Volkski?”
“Did you not hear my comments about harems?” I gave him a blank look, and he let out an exasperated breath. “You really aren’t from here, are you?” I let that comment slide. “No. It would be rare to see even one female Volk on their front lines.”
“So where are the other Ættarsk women?”
“I don’t know.”
I put down my fork having finally finished the phenomenal breakfast. It was getting late, but we had time. I had gotten up early this morning. “I’m sure you’ve speculated.”
“It has been a topic of conversation.”
“Well?”
“None of this is certain. I am sure the Quartermaster knows, but it’d be easier to pry a high-grade Aether crystal out of the hands of an Oresian than getting secrets out of her.”
“I get it. You don’t know, but…” I gestured for him to continue.
“Okay, okay. First, you have to understand that the real backbone of the Ættarsk warband are not the men, but the women.” He didn’t fail to notice my skepticism. “Yeah. I know. It is hard to believe, especially given what you have seen. The men are giants on the battlefield. However, what women lack in brute force, they make up in agility and grace. Their preferred weapon is the spear. And they strike like serpents from behind their men. They will gut you from paces away. They are beautiful to watch.”
I just shook my head. I had only one example—Esper. The Vísir wasn’t decrepit, but age had taken its toll. She shouldn’t be anywhere near the front line. Esper, on the other hand, did have a natural grace and athletic build, but was she representative of other Ættarsk women? I struggled with seeing her wielding a spear. She was a [Healer], after all. “How much of that is because you might be a bit biased?”
He actually flushed this time. “You would only have to see it once to believe it. Trust me. But the spear isn’t even the real reason they are so feared. It is their Potentials. Most Ættarsk women tend to excel in Projection.”
I sat up straighter. “Can they do things similar to what Kyria Rhaptis does?“
“Not exactly. Ættir tend to have a natural talent for healing. They aren’t going to be shaping the earth. They’re feared because they can heal while they fight. I forget the term they use, but we refer to them as [Battlemenders]. In stories, they knit their comrades’ wounds right before their enemies’ eyes. They allowed the men and—of course, other women—to hold back ten times their number.”
“Hold the line,” I whispered, echoing the Ættir from last night.
“Yeah. That is a key part of their battle strategy, and it is a lot easier to do that when someone can guard your flank and heal your wounds at the same time. They are a force to be reckoned with, and they aren’t even the best of them. Those become [Shamans].”
“How did they lose to the Humans?”
He shrugged. “I know. It’s a good question. But something strange happened with those battles to not have a single woman beside Vísir and Esper here. Sure, the Ættir wouldn’t send a group without any [Healers], but only two? The Vísir had to be a given as one of the most senior [Shaman] in the warbands. [Shamans] may not rule, but their voice has tremendous sway. They would want a representative.”
“And Esper?”
“More healing support?”
He paused, grappling with something. “Dorian, tell me.”
“She might be more expendable because of her…heritage.”
“Isn’t she supposedly gifted? Actually, why are you mentioning expendability? The Ættir seem more than capable of eliminating any monsters in these parts.”
He shot me a look. “Don’t you dare think that burrower was the most dangerous thing out here. However, that wasn’t why I mentioned acceptable losses.” Seconds ticked past before Dorian spoke. “It could be that the Ættir needed all the [Battlemenders] they had, or…”
“What?”
He grimaced. “The Volki have…a reputation when it comes to women.”
It took me a second to put it together. “You aren’t implying…”
“I’m not implying. It’s their way of showing dominance, especially for those who will never ascend high enough to have a mate. It is especially bad in the throes of battle lust.
My body stiffened as his words brought back memories of times I’d rather forget. A sour taste built in my mouth. Slavery and now this. “Esper…She would have known this.”
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“Do you think she volunteered…?” I trailed off, not bothering to finish my half-hearted suggestion. In the face of what had to be massive societal pressure to prove herself, was it truly voluntary?
He shrugged. “She is probably gifted. Those with such Potential are usually protected. However, I don’t think I need to tell you that Ættir have deep-set views when it comes to Humans.”
It was terrible, but it made a sick sort of sense. Her bitterness at the single line I had spoken. My chest tightened. How many more times had my casual words or actions thrown salt in that wound?
“Damn, and I…I needed to make things right with her.”
Minutes passed quietly before Dorian finally spoke. “Sorry to ruin the breakfast.”
“You didn’t. It just—” I gave him a sad smile. “You know, Dorian, this world can suck.”
Dorian just snorted. “You have someplace better?”
For all its faults, I did. Now if I could just get back to it.
***
