Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

The back room of the Wayward Rat where Riya led Sunday was quite cozy by all estimates. He had noticed a few other locked doors and even took a glimpse of the kitchen, where all the human food was prepared. The destination she had chosen led them below ground and around quite a few large barrels of what he presumed was the taverns’ alcohol stock. It was well hidden and seemed specifically designed for discussions of the shadier sort.

She grimaced as he plopped down on the nicest chair without caring at all about the mess he was making.

“Don’t worry, it’s mostly dry blood and guts by now,” he said. There was no use in being a bad guest, but the petty revenge for being kept in the dark and followed felt somewhat good.

“Oh, that’s fine then. I was about to start worrying.” Riya said with a grimace and took a seat opposite him. The room was prepared for such a visit as there were cups and a few bottles on the table, and Sunday helped himself taking the opportunity for her to play the good hostess away, earning himself another scowl.

“What is this about?” Riya asked as she crossed her legs. He looked her up and down and once again lamented at how dark and dangerously attractive the undead woman was despite her scarring.

“Say, do undead do it?” Sunday asked. The question had been bothering him for a while, and he had certainly felt the flame of desire a few times. That could’ve simply been a reflection of his strange state of being though.

Riya’s eye twitched, but she seemed very good at keeping a neutral expression. Is she going to play dumb and make me explain myself?

“Yes,” she simply replied. “Although if you’re propositioning me, you should’ve taken a bath first. I don’t like your chances as you are now. Not at all.”

It was Sunday’s turn to be surprised but as it was in business and love, revealing one’s hand ahead of time was a stupid move, so he simply nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a moment of unbroken silence. Both needed air to speak, but Sunday was well aware of his current state. However, even bad hygiene could be used strategically. Hopefully, Riya would be grossed out enough to not do her usual dance of words and be straight with him for once.

“So, what the fuck is your deal?” Sunday finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. You give me magical drinks that probably cost an arm and a leg, you have that creep Kallus follow me, and you haven’t charged me for the room in the last… I don’t know, I lost count. What’s up? And don’t tell me it’s because of my eyes. I know they are pretty.”

Roll the dice bitch, feed me your sweet lies, or crush me beneath the weight of truth. I need something to work with.

‘Women’s words are poison, kids!’ Old Rud had said. Sunday had found in time that it was not women that were the problem, but the old bastard himself. Birds of a feather flocked together, as the saying went. What could an old foul-mouthed drunk with a horde of thieving orphans at his back offer to a decent person? A lot of headaches, that’s what.

However, he was expecting at least some poison from Riya’s lips.

“Blumwin is a peaceful place on the surface,” Riya began slowly as if trying to use as little air as possible, and Sunday barely stopped himself from groaning. “But there are many dark undercurrents. An unknown undead not hailing from any of the clans can mean only a few things since there are no burial grounds on the edges of the region.”

“And what are they?”

“That you have either crossed the belt of fallen lands separating us from the rest of the world or that you have come by the use of some unknown rare spell,” Riya explained. “Furthermore, your reaction to the drink the first time we met told me enough to know that you’ve been human before. And some part of you still is.”

Sunday watched her without reaction, but his mind was churning. Everything seemed to be a test. Every step of the way. First Jishu, now Riya.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she waved a hand and took the glass he had graciously poured her. “You’re fascinating even without all the theories of your origin. An undead mage with red eyes that is neither a vampire nor anything I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve seen a lot, mind you, but I know of places and people. That’s my job.”

The first hint of what she or this place is. Perhaps she’s the reason I was brought here. Or at least part of it.

She took a sip and sighed, followed immediately by scrunching her nose. Sunday shrugged in apology. He was not yet sorry, but he was hopeful she would give him a reason to be. What was having to apologize if he gained someone resourceful on his side in the end?

“Woman, be honest with me, and I’ll be honest with you. How about it?” he tried again. She was still doing her thing of talking around the subject, but if any of his suspicions were correct, then it was just a part of the job.

Riya once again took a long pause, then leaned on the table and smiled as Sunday’s eyes strayed south of hers for a brief moment. Damned woman.

“Fine. I’ll give you the courtesy of asking the first question since I know a lot more about you than you do of me,” she said.

Finally. “What do you do apart from charming young unassuming undead with free booze and your eyes?” As deep as the abyss of the hells.

“I gather information, I sell information. My work is to know things and to arrange things. I know a lot that can be of use to one such as you. The Arcanum keeps its secrets close and it will take you more than mere years and servitude to truly learn what hides beneath its thick walls and locked doors.” Riya simply answered.

“Isn’t that a bit cliché for a bartender?” Ah, I wonder where I’d be now if I hadn’t died. Probably in bed with some rich girl, living my dreams. That’s the way a bartending shift is supposed to end. Poor me.

“My turn. Where do you come from and who do you work for?”

I don’t think the answer is what you’re looking for girl. “That’s two. Pick one.”

Riya smirked, “Fine. Where do you come from? I have my guesses, but let’s see how far off the mark they are.”

“I come from a city I don’t know the location or name of. I fell from the sky knowing nothing of this world or magi or even the Divine,” Sunday said.

For the first time, he saw her mask crack. Her dark eyes became even darker and traces of anger marred her otherwise beautiful features. He had expected as much. His answer was nonsensical and only created a slew of more questions he didn’t have the answer to.

“I’m not lying to you, nor am I playing games. Until very recently, I wasn’t certain of my purpose here, but now I have a few clues.”

Riya studied him for an uncomfortable amount of time, then drank her glass in a few gulps and poured herself another. “This… is not what I expected,” she eventually sighed.

“Honestly, me neither. I’ve only told that about me to some sorry bastards in the wetlands not far from here, and the only one who seemed to somewhat believe me was a child whose demon-summoning ritual I ruined.” I’m showing a lot of trust here girl, don’t fuck this up for me.

It was all a gamble, but Sunday had decided that for all her faults Riya was probably the one who could help him the most. It was a conjecture based on a simple hunch, but Sunday had already decided to do this. He had no time, considering crazy lunatics were turning into monsters or killing themselves just to tell him to smile. His spell situation was urgent and the Arcanum was not the answer to his problems. Trusting a place built around monopolizing spells and arts would be dumber than trusting a stranger out on the street.

“What is this place, or more precisely… why is this tavern special?” Sunday asked after giving her enough time to calm down.

“The Wayward Rat is a gathering place created long ago by someone far more terrifying than I’ll ever hope to be. Unless, of course, I one day awaken as a mage and follow in his footsteps. I cannot divulge anything more on this front but just know that short of a rank four magi or an avatar of the Divine descending upon this place, the tavern will weather all storms. This is something I can guarantee.”

It was Sunday’s turn to be surprised. He didn’t know what an avatar was, but knowing what spells were capable of and feeling the power that a single step up gave him, even in his exhausted condition, was enough to judge that a rank four was someone few could mess with.

Riya thought for a long while, seemingly having decided to forego her initial questions. Her eyes glistened dangerously for a moment and she smiled.

“What are the limits of your healing spell?” she asked.

Fuck. Devious woman. I can always lie but…Ah, most of it is out there anyway. Elora knows I can heal the dead, and the Manor kids will be selling my healing wine. Sunday loved lying. There had been times he had lived for lying. However, there were also times when lying would only bring trouble down the road, and considering all the moving pieces on the board, this was one such time.

That didn’t stop him from hesitating, but he had decided to be mostly truthful. What was a man if not his word?

“I can heal the living, and I can heal the dead. As for the limits… I have yet to find any. Perhaps a missing limb or an eye?” He had seen his spell regrow flesh without an issue though, but it had done nothing for Hark’s eye when Sunday had slapped the moth into him. Perhaps because the wound had been sustained while he had still been human or an eye was too difficult to affect.

Riya’s eyes widened and she eagerly leaned forward until she was half on the table and stared into Sunday’s eyes. “Can you heal scarring or… souls?”

He eyed her burn scars and his voice grew gentler. “I don’t know. We can try with the scarring right now. I have some juice left.”

The discomfort was negligible and Sunday was certain he would be as good as new once he had time to use the fused moths. However, he was unsure what would happen if he used them on someone else. Life and death were suited to his strange body and soul, but they had also demolished the Divine’s spawn.

Riya nodded, “Even if it doesn’t succeed, I’ll be eternally grateful for your help. And I repay my debts. However, let’s not do it now.”

What a strange person you are. He nodded.

“My turn then… Can you tell me what it means for a spell to become bonded?” He didn’t have high hopes, and it was revealing another part of his secrets but spells practically lived inside of him, and knowing more about them was paramount if he wanted to use their power without any further complications.

Riya had sat back down, but she seemed a bit more expressive than before as if part of her mask had fallen. “I do,” she said. “I’ve learned a lot in preparation for my eventual awakening and I like reading theory. It is a great thing for a mage to bond with a spell. It typically happens at later ranks, when a mage has fully connected to his core. The manual of the art you’re using should have explained what I’m about to say, but I’ll do so for your sake too.”

Sunday nodded eagerly. This was great! He should’ve begged Riya to teach him the ways of the world the first time he met her!

“At Rank One your spells stay in the Outer layer of your soul space. Next comes the opening of the Inner layer, which is at Rank Two and allows you to connect closer with your spells and use them more efficiently, repair any sustained damage faster, protect them better in the case of tool spells, and start nurturing a bond. It will, of course, also allow you to reveal more of their power but that comes with each rank. Then comes the opening of the Core, which makes one an Adept and a Rank Three Mage. Only bonded spells can enter one’s core, grow along with the mage, and even change to better suit him.”

“What about rank four?” Sunday asked. If Riya minded that he was asking more questions she didn’t show it.

Riya shook her head. “That is not something I am privy to. It is bad to know each step of the way before getting to it yourself. All I know is that it is a step much more difficult and important than any of the preceding ones.”

“Then what of bonded spells?”

“It is what happens before using a spell as a core spell. It is done only after one is certain the spell is a fit for them. However, it is very difficult to completely bond a spell at rank two or even at the early stages of rank three. The process is unique for each spell and it essentially makes them connected to the soul.”

“Then… can one remove a bonded spell?”

Riya raised an eyebrow. “Not without wrecking their soul. I know some arts can slowly separate a bonded spell from one’s soul, and there might be ways to convince the spell to leave on its own, but… those are theories. I’m not a mage and I’m certain there’s a lot I don’t know.”

Shit. Alright. I’m fucked for now then. Maybe it’s not so bad? But from all that she’s saying I’m gathering that spells are like living beings. Then, is she wrong, or was Jishu wrong, or is there some middle ground? Jishu claimed to have been a rank four before while Riya seems very well-informed but… she’s not a mage.

“How about you go take a bath? One’s waiting for you in your room. Then we can continue our talk.”

Sunday slowly nodded although he was a bit disappointed to end the conversation so soon and stood up. This all had been massively helpful to him.

“Riya, I—”

“Go take a bath, and I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sunday felt his eyes grow as large as saucers. Is she…

He tentatively followed her back up toward the common room, having forgotten a lot of his worries.