Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 2 - Chapter 59
🕑 Added 2024-11-28 02:00:02 +0000 UTCFritz had intended to inform his team of what he had felt from the Doors, but he felt a sudden, vicious twisting in his stomach. Then his heart shuddered. All the energy leaked out of him like water through a sieve. He staggered backwards, and tripped on an unfurled bedroll, tumbling to the ground and onto his back.
Fritz gasped, feeling like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs, and from where he lay, breathing hard, he could hear George, then Rosie groan in pain.
There was a chorus of exclamations and questions, mostly along the lines of "What's wrong?" and "Are you alright?"
"Calm down. It's those pills," Lauren stated over the hubbub. "The scrolls said the withdrawal would be intense. Remember?"
Even if Fritz hadn't remembered, this awful weariness would have reminded him. He tried to struggle up, but his bones were heavier than lead and his muscles had the all solidity of a squid's spine.
"Urgh," Fritz complained eloquently. "Bert... get... me... to... my... bed."
His brother quickly marched to his side and lifted him, then strode over to and placed him in his bedroll.
"Foooood," Fritz croaked, trying to make it sound as pitiable as possible while his stomach gurgled.
Bert grinned. "Wait your turn. We'll get ours together."
The other two assailed by the sudden terrible tiredness were also escorted to their own beds.
Even through his hazy vision, Fritz could make out their sunken features and drooping eyelids. They fell asleep as soon as their blankets were thrown over them. Fritz wondered how he was still conscious, though he quickly attributed his resilience to his Control. His moonsilvered bones probably didn't hurt either, at least when it came to enduring the toxins, though physically they ached coldly.
After about six minutes, Bert approached with two bowls filled with fired shark fillets. In his starving, weakened state Fritz almost cried. The shark was the same, chewy and bland, but right now, it was the most divine food in the world. Without decorum he ate, scarfing down the meat. Over the next hour, he received another two servings of the stuff, which he was not begrudged. They had plenty of shark flesh left.
There was more than enough to last them a couple of days, even if they ate as greedily as they did at the moment. Everyone who was awake ate more than one dinner, even Lauren who Fritz had observed to be a light eater. Of course, the greatest appetite and the hardest to sate was Bert's. He was ravenous, consuming enough for ten men.
When Fritz felt full he pulled his sirensilk sheet up to his cheek and nodded off, letting his weariness claim him at last.
---
"Will they be okay?" Bert asked.
Lauren bit back a "How would I know?" and instead sighed. Then she reiterated what she had read in the raider's scrolls.
"They should be fine after some rest. It was all in the scroll. It described a burst of long-lasting energy followed by a sudden, extreme weakness when it wears off."
"I wouldn't worry," she added when she noticed the concern written on the faces of Cal and Bert.
Rosie let out an indelicate snore and a snort, while George's chest rose and fell smoothly, the man was quiet even in sleep. It was one of the things she liked about him, that, and he didn't attempt to flirt with her as Cal and Bert did. A rare find.
"Are you sure?" Cal asked.
She wasn't one hundred per cent sure, but she nodded anyway. She was no alchemist, though that didn't mean she had been completely untutored in potions, supplements and remedies. While she knew not how to make them, she could at least recognise and categorise them as any good merchant should. Not that she wanted to be a merchant any longer, that much had been made clear to her over her Climb.
Even now, exhausted as she was, the thrill of the adventure burned brightly in her chest. Or perhaps that was simply Essence of Fire, it could sometimes be hard to tell the difference. Not that she cared, both flames were a welcome, warming intoxication.
Cal sighed in relief and Lauren scanned the small room as she puffed up her pillow. Just across from her, the two newcomers set up their own beds, Jane lay down to get some sleep while Toby sat beside her, watching over her.
Lauren didn't quite know how to think of the two. Well, Toby was easy, he was a shifty, sulking sort, a bit like Cal, if more morose than malingering. Though he did have the redeeming feature of being devoted to his lady, which was sweet. Whereas Jane was guarded and mistrustful of others, though she had a surprisingly shrewd mind as shown by her canny bargaining and calculated begging. She also had those scars, not that she would have been pretty without them, but they did prevent her from embracing what little beauty she possessed. A pity.
Lauren had been in desperate want of some friendship of the more feminine kind. A role Rosie just couldn't or wouldn't be able to fulfil, being as crass and crude as one of the boys. She had thought that perhaps she and Jane could strike up a rapport, but the woman was simply too suspicious of any helping hand. Which was to be expected, considering she was of that same paranoid breed as the other gutter rats.
At first, being surrounded by the scroungers and scavengers had rankled. She and Fritz were far beyond their station she was surprised they even dared talk to them. Over time though, seeing the way they began to shine in their respective roles, and noticing that they had a backbone born of struggle, she began to doubt the conventional wisdom about the low-born and the working folk.
Maybe the gutter rats weren't just vermin, as hard to root out as skulg and thrice as much trouble. Maybe some of them were like pearls? A spec of dirt, irritating and coarse until smoothed out by their betters.
Was that why Fritz almost treated them as equals? To try to bring out that hidden worth? Or was it to foster powerful servants that owed him more than they could ever repay, ensuring their eternal loyalty?
Another mystery to be added to the list of mysteries. That man's blood, his house, marked him as the most important person in the group by far, and that was before you counted those mysterious Guide Powers he obviously had, and hid poorly. And what about his bond with Bert? That Brute. There was a man he truly treated as an equal, a brother even. Their story, of course, made little sense, even if she could see it being true. In fact, she hoped it was real and that it wasn't some ruse, that he wasn't just some noble on some great lark with his bodyguard.
How far had they Climbed? Where had they Climbed? What level were they really?
She shook her head slightly, she was tired and her mind was wandering. She should check on Jane, make sure she's comfortable.
"Jane," Lauren called gently before the woman fell asleep.
"Yes?" Jane replied, tiredly.
"How are you feeling?"
"Tired. How do you think?" Jane grumbled.
Lauren didn't reply right away, instead, she removed her boots, slipped into her own bedroll and covered herself in the wondrous sirensilk.
"That's good to hear, sleep well," she eventually said. When her head met her pillow she was out in seconds, before she could even hear the muttered reply.
---
"Sleep well," Jane said softly.
Lauren seemed not to hear her, but that was fine. Toby looked down and gave Jane a rare smile. She smiled back.
"What's got you smilin'," she whispered.
"It's good to see you making a friend," he whispered back. "You need one."
All I need is you, Toby, she thought as she grasped his hand and held it.
"I can't work out her game," Jane admitted.
"What?"
"Her scheme."
"You think she's after something?"
"The pretty ones always are."
"Oh, she's pretty? I hadn't noticed," Toby said, quickly dropping down and kissing her cheek.
She nearly giggled, and a grin crept onto her face no matter how hard she tried to keep it off. She slapped his leg lightly.
"Don't lie to me. As if you haven't noticed,"
Toby shrugged.
"But she doesn't seem interested in you," Jane observed. "Unlike that scaly slut. So I don't know what she wants from us."
"If she doesn't care for me she must be after you," Toby said.
"Idiot," she said squeezing his hand. "But I don't think it's that."
"Maybe she's just lonely," Toby said thoughtfully. "Surrounded by men, like you are."
"I don't care about that," Jane argued.
"But she might," Toby said.
He was likely right, this time, mostly though he could be rather dense about such things. It came with his moods, he was always most observant when not in one of his dark depressions, like now. He almost looked happy. Was it because of the baby? Or maybe that Fritz and Bert still lived? She hoped it was the baby. Though she was afraid, deep down she was giddy at the thought of being a mother.
She'd be a better mother than her own, she wouldn't throw her child to the street or try to sell her. She'd be loving and good, not a drunk, bitter whore.
Jane yawned and felt the weariness soak into her bones. Even as tired as she was, she worried. Worried for her future, their future, the future of her family.
Under Toby's watchful, sad gaze, she let herself relax, then she began to drift off.
---
Rosie woke up, she was starving. There was a hole in her stomach that needed to be filled.
"Cal," she said. "I'm hungry."
"I saved you some shark," Cal replied handing her a bowl.
She sat up, her whole body hurt.
She took the offered food and chomped down the fried shark.
It was great. Much better than rat.
"Mmm," she groaned. "Good stuff."
"Thanks," Cal said. "How are you feeling."
"Still hungry," she replied through a mouthful of shark. "And achy."
Cal put his hand over her bowl and another fillet fell out from thin air.
"Thanks," Rosie said, beaming. "The hurt isn't bad. Not as bad as when I was stabbed."
"That's good," Cal sighed. "Now that you're awake, I'll get some sleep."
"Okay. I'll make sure you're safe," Rosie said proudly.
"Night," Cal said.
"Night."
Rosie ate until she felt full, then ate the last three bites. She had never been so well fed, but now she was bored. She had also never been so surrounded by handsome men. And they were all so close, stuck together in this small room. Noticing that made her feel a different kind of hunger. Another ache added to the others with nowhere to go.
She turned her gaze to Toby, who was still awake and looking around. Their eyes met and a shiver ran down her spine. She winked at the man, but that deepened his scowl. She quickly licked her dry lips and he looked away.
That was fine. It was what she expected, she knew she was ugly. If she was a beauty like Lauren they'd all be lining up to have a tumble. It was unfair, good looks were wasted on that stuck-up bitch. Too prude and proper. But when was anything fair? As the saying goes: life is hard and then you die.
Rosie scanned the room, everyone but Bert and Toby were asleep.
Maybe Bert would be up for it. She doubted it, everyone else had rejected her. But you never knew until you asked and offered. She crawled over and sat before him, he turned his amber eyes to her and grinned. His clothes were clean and whole again somehow. They were probably magic.
"Rosie, how are you?" He asked softly.
"Hurt, but okay," she said. "How 'bout you? You torn up bad by the sharks?"
"That's right, ripped to shreds," Bert boasted, showing off a big, tasty arm, covered in still-healing cuts.
Rosie stared for a moment, or three, before returning her gaze to his.
"Are you up for some wrestling?" She asked, raising one eyebrow as she'd seen the working girls do.
It was some kind of signal that would let men know what you were offering, or so she had been told when she'd asked. As coming right out and saying it had failed so far she thought she'd try to be sly.
"What? Spar? Right now? When we're still recovering?" Bert asked.
She stared at him. Raising her eyebrow again. Maybe she wasn't doing it right.
He grinned wider. His smile made him look so good.
"It doesn't have to be that hard," she hedged.
"That's not what I've been told," he replied.
Was that a joke? It was always hard to tell. She decided to stop being sly.
"I want to be with you. Have a tumble," she stated, flat out.
"Oh," Bert said, looking her over with a glint in his eye. He was giving her offer some thought. No recoiling, no flinching or harsh words. That was a good sign.
"We can't, we're too hurt, it's too crowded," he said. "And we're in a Spire. Fritz would have a fit."
Rosie's shoulders sagged. She was sad, but it went just as she knew it would.
"On the outside," he mused. "That's another story."
He winked at her and her heart skipped a beat. Heat crawled up her body. She was glad she was sitting because her legs felt like jellyfish.
"When we get out, let's get a drink," He said, his grin gaining a lusty edge.
She nodded, she nodded so fast and hard her neck cramped.
"Urgh," she agreed painfully.
---
George could hear whispering and a coarse chuckle. He began to sit up, feeling like he had worked all day at the forge bellows, then had to hammer out nine hundred horseshoes.
He let out a groan and his stomach rumbled.
Staring around blearily, he searched for his pack, he needed to eat something, even if it was those terrible rations. Fortunately, he spotted something far better, a bowl piled with three strips of fried shark. It was cold, and even more chewy than when it was hot, but they would fill him and fuel him all the same.
He ate slowly, making sure to not make himself sick by shovelling everything down. He saw the noise makers, Bert and Rosie sitting together as they talked quietly. Or what passed as quietly for those two.
He considered joining them, but the tiles called to him. He could feel he was so close to understanding the Technique painted on the pale clay. Unfortunately, there was no room to practice, if he tried he'd trample over Fritz, Cal and Lauren as they slept. Also if he swung his sword in these small confines he'd hit the column-shaped Well. So he had to content himself with only study.
George pulled his bag to himself and began pouring over the tiles, trying to memorise the stances and sweeping strikes. It wasn't effective practice but it was better than sitting around and doing nothing. That, and the Technique intrigued him, not just for the power it would confer, but for the love of swords and the sublime art of swordplay.
Every time he used Sever it felt wonderful to carve cleanly through beasts, however, more and more it felt like cheating. Even if he knew to wasn't.
"What have you got there?" The man named Toby asked.
George didn't bother to look at him, he'd done so already. He could admit Toby was handsome, but not his type, too thin in the body and too long in the face.
"Tiles," George said.
"From the library?"
George nodded.
"A Technique?"
George shrugged.
Toby nodded, then he moved closer, inclining his head as if asking permission to look them over with him.
George nodded.
Together, in silence, they poured over the tiles.
He seemed interested at first, but soon he grew bored or found the Technique too staunch and solid. It was more than useless for a dagger wielder. With a sigh, Toby sat back and peered around the room.
"How'd Fritz rope you into all this?" He asked.
George shrugged. "He said he was Climbing, and I asked to come."
"You volunteered?" Toby said with some small shock.
"I did," George agreed.
"Why? He's mad," Toby said.
George frowned, it was one thing to think so affectionately, but this accusation irked him. "It's worked out so far. Better than I could have wished."
"For now." Toby said.
George didn't reply, there wasn't anything to say to such words.
"Well, watch out, he pushes. Pushes you further than you'd want to go I wager," Toby warned darkly.
"If that leads to the top, then that's fine," George stated, annoyance creeping into his tone.
"It's your skin," Toby said.
Fritz had saved these two, forgiven their betrayal and still they spoke ill of him. Some part of him wanted to berate the man, set him right and defend Fritz's and his own honour. But he could see that would do nothing but start a fight and wake the sleeping.
Toby quickly looked away. George realised he'd been glaring. He'd been told before his eyes were intense and unnerving. That had been one of the things he had inherited from his father. It was something of a burden when he was young and tried to make friends, though these days he was thankful for it. Being able to stifle someone with a glance had saved him a lot of trouble.
Toby shuffled away, leaving George to his tiles and his beating, bottled anger.
He looked down, staring at the unyielding style, trying to understand what he was missing. He clenched his fist, released it, and gripped the hilt of his wondrous sword. Still, anger burned within, pulsing with his Forgeheart. He pushed it down, compressing it, holding it tight just as he was used to.
This time something was different. The stiffness and rigidity he felt in his muscles when he tempered his temper, compressed within his body, his muscles felt like corded steel. He stood swiftly, holding onto the feeling, reducing his blade's length to that of a longsword. He took his stance, legs wide, and slightly bent, then he straightened his back, bracing himself.
His sudden rise and the brandishing of his sword caused a stir. Toby quailed, Bert and Rosie looked on with glinting eyes.
George ignored them all, focusing only on this copper sword and his body. He concentrated on the tension within, holding on with furious strength. From his study of the tiles, he knew he had to stay tense throughout the entire movement, that he had to maintain the solidity of stone through the entire cut. Attempting to stay still and swing at the same moment.
His surroundings felt thick, like he was underwater or under the stone of some great mountain. His blade didn't budge, and it gathered weight by the second.
Then he swung.
It was only an inch of movement at first, then another, then, with all the power of an avalanche, the blade cut a horizontal arc in less than a heartbeat. His blade sparked off the Well, clanging like a bell and starling everyone awake. Jane sat up quickly, Toby sprang to his feet, Fritz was a flurry of graceful motion and Cal rolled over to look at the, now notched, column. Bert and Rosie simply kept watching.
They all stared at him and he grinned.
Normally George would be embarrassed by such attention. But he had no time to feel that, not with the tremor that rolled over his Sanctum. It must be the feeling of a Technique taking root if the descriptions from Bert were true.
"What was that?" Cal complained, looking around wildly.
Fritz was on his feet, Quicksilver bared, he glanced over George with hazy eyes, noticed his smile and yawned out, "Congratulations."
Then he went right back to bed.
The team were no longer shocked and staring, they were glaring. Except for Bert of course, he was grinning like he always did.
The shame hit him then, the elation wore off at once and George quickly sat. He began to breathe again. He realised he'd been holding his breath along with his anger and now felt a little lightheaded. Both from the joy and the lack of air.
"Sorry," George said.
Cal glowered and rolled over grumbling something, while Toby shot him a filthy look and draped himself around Jane whose eyes were daggers. Lauren, who was between himself and Jane, had a stormy expression and her eyes were alight with a ring of orange flame.
"Sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to wake you all, I was just so close to understanding the Technique. And I couldn't let it slip by."
"Did you learn it at least," Lauren seethed. "Or did you wake me for no reason?"
"I think I did," George hedged, having not checked his Sanctum and spire sheet yet.
"That's great!" Bert boomed.
"Shhh," Cal hissed.
"Quiet," Fritz groaned. "Trying to sleep...have you no manners?"
"Sorry," Bert said. "That's great," he added in a whispered yell.
George smiled and the rest of the team grumbled and tried to get back to sleep.
"No more swords tonight," Lauren warned.
"Of course," George said.
She lowered her head to her pillow, pulled at her robes to smooth out its bunching fabric and pulled her sirensilk sheet over her head.
"What's it called?" Bert asked softly.
"Yeah, is it one of the famous ones?" Rosie added quietly.
"I'll have to check. One moment."
Comments
GregSandpaper
Me too. Interesting to get a peak at how they view each other. Lauren is even more classist and mercenary than I realized and hasn’t warmed up to the rest of team as much as I’d assumed. They’re pretty close to the top of this spire. Wonder how many will be interested in climbing another with Fritz.
Scarhand
I like these little insights into the rest of the team. Thanks
Malcolm Haynes
Tftc!
