A Song of Shadow

by Vasily Mahanenko

  I quickly tried to get up on my feet, fell down, sat up awkwardly, grabbed my lute and cast Song of Cleansing, really, really hoping that the roots wrapped around my legs were classified as a ‘negative magic effect.’ There was no result. And for good reason—there was no debuff to dispel. What to do? Scorch everything around me with Vengeful Flame? Or should I start casting magic missiles at the roots one at a time. My mana would evaporate in a moment...

  The approaching sentry wasn’t helping my thought process. The ground beneath me kept shaking from each footfall. Damn, damn! I’ll try to destroy my fetters. I quickly selected a wooden noose wrapped around one leg and was about to blast it with a magic missile when I noticed that the root was subject to a coveted buff: ‘Magic Control.’

  Song of Cleansing—on the root this time!

  This freed my right leg, the root holding it slithering back under ground where it should’ve stayed all along. Now the other leg...

  I jumped up and dashed away from the approaching guard. He had just reached the spot where I had been trapped. He tarried there without finding anything and again stomped his bark-covered paw. Once again roots burst from the ground, and again I faceplanted into the earth, but this time I managed to free myself much faster. Even if belatedly, but I recalled that I can spread my spells across several targets at once. It’s too bad only that I didn’t gain any more knowledge or mana in the process. The sentry turned his terrible face in the direction of my lute and thumped in my direction. I gave myself a knock on the head: If I only had a brain! I needed to use Canopy of Silence immediately!

  I cast the canopy with the smallest radius possible—one meter—but I didn’t dare start running again. Another faceplant was guaranteed, the spell’s channeling would be interrupted, and the sound of the faceplant and its attendant jingling would clearly be heard by the monster. My mana wouldn’t hold out for too long, so I should use the time left to me to study my opponent and work out a sensible strategy.

  I forced myself to calm my beating heart and walk carefully backwards, away from the Forest Sentry, playing my lute and maintaining the canopy. Damn, my hands were occupied and I couldn’t drink a mana potion or even some water!

  The log had just now reached the site of my second fall. He stamped in place pensively and then began stomping, telegraphing the roots’ appearance. This time I stopped ahead of time and avoided faceplanting. Moreover, my brains finally woke up and began to analyze what was going on. Another Song of Cleansing made a deep hole in my mana reserves, so I had to dispel the canopy of silence and drink a mana potion.

  Due to your racial trait, a minor mana potion restores 100 MP.

  Drinking the potion doubles your mana regeneration for 10 seconds. Current mana regeneration: 4 MP per second.

  Current mana: 293/760 MP.

  Life goes on! It’s too bad only that my reserve of a dozen mana potions seemed a bit meager at the moment. On the other hand, I began to discern a pattern to the sentry’s actions. The roots were popping up only within 100 meters of the thumping log. They would pop up and if they missed their mark, they’d disappear again underground. And what if I tried jumping in place at the exact moment that the sentry stomped?

  I didn’t have to wait long to find out. The next blow that shook the ground followed about ten seconds after the previous one. I didn’t try to run and merely waited for the log to lift its paw and then jumped as high as I could. I have to say that in meatspace, my jumps weren’t so impressive—here I flew up by a good one to two meters and watched with pleasure as the roots that erupted from the earth retreated empty-uh-handed.

  Current mana: 133/760 MP.

  A second potion of mana.

  Current mana: 233/760 MP.

  This time the Forest Sentry didn’t leave. He tossed his hoary head left and right, trying to hear the trespasser. I, in turn, tried my best not to make any noise. After ten seconds a new stomp came. A jump, the roots flailed in the air futilely and retreated underground. It looks like it takes ten seconds for his spell to cool down. The radius remained unchanged, about a hundred meters.

  Current mana: 73/760 MP.

  I drank seven potions in a row and looked sadly at the remaining three bottles. Finding a timer in my interface, I waited for the next ‘stomp,’ jumped and as soon as I landed, sprinted away from the sentry.

  Current mana: 701/760 MP.

  Never in my life have I run so fast. By the next appearance of the roots, I had managed to leave the haze’s AoE and cover a quarter of the distance left, when the timer reminded me that it was time to jump again. The roots popping from the ground didn’t get me, but they did indicate that the sentry’s spell range was close by: About five meters ahead of me, the vegetation was behaving itself as it should without any writhing roots to be seen. Without slowing down I ran for my yearned for gladiolus.

  You are tired. Current stamina: 35/100.

  Without breaking my stride, I whipped out my flask, sipped some water and happily read a notification about my fully-restored stamina and temporarily increased mana regeneration.

  Current mana: 305/760 MP.

  I was nearing the gladiolus, while my timer counted down until the next stomp. Two, one...Jump! And nothing. Landing, I looked around in midstride. The sentry far behind me was slowly trudging toward the border of the Shadow Haze, the presence of which had no effect on my own vision. It just looked like a portion of the forest landscape had been filmed in black and white. And in this monochrome scene, a solitary ent was slowly trudging to the land of Technicolor.

  Current mana: 241/760 MP.

  I only needed time to plant at least one seed before he gets out of there and my mana goes to zero and the haze is dispelled. As I approached my flower objective I slowed to a fast pace and opened my map. I need to head north a little and skirt that small hill...Uh-huh! Right there!

  Current mana: 81/760 MP.

  I couldn’t see the sentry for the hill and I hoped that stupid stump couldn’t see me either. My mana was almost out and I needed to save the remaining potions for an emergency. As for now, it was time to sow some seeds.

  There was no explanation for the big and small dots in the pattern, but I figured that these designated the spots to sow the large and little seeds respectively. The earth shuddered beneath my feet, reminding me of the Forest Sentry’s implacable approach. I quickly took a large seed from my bag and examined it. It seeped black fog in my hand. How was I supposed to sow it? Simply stick it into the ground? Which way was up and which was down? And how deep did it have to be planted? The earth shuddered once more. The hell with the details! Taking out my dagger (I guess it turned out useful after all), I feverishly dug a shallow hole, stuck in the seed and covered it with the loose earth.

  Quest updated: Help the Renegades. Step 2.

  1 of 14 large seeds planted.

  13 large seeds and 57 small ones remaining.

  Achievement unlocked! ‘Grim Sower I’ (Sow 9 more Shadow Seeds to earn the next rank).

  Achievement reward: +1% to Blight spread.

  As I was about to run for the next waypoint, my old friend, the Forest Sentry, appeared from behind the hill. I still did not have much mana and there was a good hour left on Shadow Haze’s cooldown, so I had to act quickly and accurately. Wait for the root spell, jump into the air, reset the timer and keep running!

  As the log caught sight of me, he roared triumphantly and raised a stumpy paw. I jumped as the roots erupted all around me.

  Hang on. Not all around me!

  The spot of earth immediately under me was growing black, the grass withering and sprouting thorns. As soon as I landed, the system greeted me with a welcome buff.

  Blighted Strength: +50% to all stats. +1% HP for every minute spent on blighted ground.

  A safe space! The large seeds blight the earth and create a refuge for me! It was too bad that the blight spread slower than the sentry’s approach. Something tells me that he won’t have to step onto the actual blighted groun
d in order to get at me with his big old paw. And this means I have to keep running. In theory, the problem isn’t a complicated one: Maintain a respectful distance, jump once every ten seconds and wait until the blight spreads and creates a refuge. At that point, ‘I’m back on base!’

  In actual fact everything worked out differently. The sentry chased after me with all the grace of a galloping elephant, and I tore in a wide arc, dutifully hopping according to my timer. After the third seed, though, the sentry no longer ‘stomped’ to send the roots after me. He stopped, looked up at the sky and glowing emerald will o’ wisps began to circle his ample trunk.

  A bad feeling rose in my gut and I took off as fast as I could for the slowly-spreading spot of blighted ground...I didn’t make it.

  Whirling in a spiral, the swarm of fireflies beelined after me...

  Damage taken. -230 HP.

  HP Remaining: 0/230.

  Attention! Respawn Penalty: -30% XP.

  The launch screen and a familiar notification:

  You have died. Enter Barliona again in 12 hours.

  Sheer pedantry compelled me to open the battle log. I’m curious after all just how hard the stump had let me have it. What I saw was impressive: 100,000 damage from a spell with the telling name ‘Sylvyn’s Wrath.’ I expect it’ll take me another couple hundred levels to be able to survive that kind of attack. Like I give damn though. I was pleased with myself: Despite the sad conclusion of today’s adventure, I had found a way to complete this quest. Maybe not at my first attempt and maybe not even the second, but with practice I definitely would manage it. And that means that I’ll be able to reach the Arras and lead Sloe’s clan through it, then get my hands on all kinds of nice gear and have an easier time of this game. But that’s all later. Right now, I needed to sleep.

  Chapter Three

  I slept in right through the morning. I’d forgotten to set the alarm, the apartment was dead silent, and so I only woke up to a cautious knocking on my door around noon.

  “Kiera...” The door cracked open and Pasha’s snout appeared in the opening. “Do you feel like having some breakfast?”

  “Mmm?” I muttered and tore my head from the pillow. I glanced at my comm lying on the ottoman, made out the time and muttered something by way of confirmation. The door shut and the room turned into a mini-zombie-apocalypse complete with the awkward shuffling, incoherent mumbling and generally undead appearance of the main heroine. It was only once I’d come to in the shower that I mentally reproached myself. Some assistant I was, sleeping in until the patient had to call me to breakfast and not the other way around.

  I made up for it by doing the daily cartridge swap. I had already mastered this procedure: Take out the empty cartridges, put them into the sterilizer, insert the new ones until they click and make sure that the regenerators are working. Pasha would blush and huff and puff like an ancient steam engine every time I performed this procedure. In order to distract from his clearly awkward thoughts, he began to rattle off his morning’s virtual adventures with an exaggerated bravado.

  “After I respawned, I found myself back at the training ground,” he said, making an effort to look away from the sterilizer, which I was loading with used cartridges. “It’s all messed up in there, worse than you see in the post-apocalyptic horror flicks. That weird touch-me-not, the botanic Krampus was there. He jumped on me as soon as he saw me; almost pulled out my whiskers in his excitement.”

  “Touch-who-what?” I inquired about yet another one of Pasha’s verbal pearls.

  Used to this, he explained:

  “Like a prude. You know, one of those who won’t abide any jokes in their direction and immediately adopt the pose of a Spanish cavalier ready for a duel. Old Eben in other words.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how you came up with that one. And so what did this, uh, prude want from you?”

  “Eh...He wanted to know what the hell happened at the training ground and who was responsible for the damage to state property at his secret facility. I explained to him in simple terms—I mean that piece of oak really has trouble understanding simple speech—what was what, so he grabbed me by the gills and dragged me to the local jail. I had to explain to him that you were really getting into your Mata Hari act and that I was like your tracer agent.”

  “Tracer agent?”

  “Come on, Kiera, you’ve been living with us how long?” Pasha seemed outraged by my lack of knowledge. “And you still haven’t mastered ordinary human speech! A tracer agent is like a messenger for other secret agents. That’s it...I’m putting Snegov on notice for his neglect of your military intelligence education. Although never mind...” Pasha caught himself, “we’re dealing with a ranger here. They’re too sensitive for punishment. Reproach them once and they’ll soil the slippers the same morning.”

  “I think I can even guess whose,” I chortled. “So what about Eben? Did he give you some new quest? A medal perhaps? Tell me he gave you a cookie at least!”

  “Yeah right. I’d have to wait till kingdom come before that cactus would offer me a baked good,” Pasha snorted and twitched a little as I inserted another cartridge and the alimentary liquid once again flowed through the regenerator’s tubes, growing the tissue. “He deigned to grant me four levels. And it wouldn’t be a big deal but that I went in there as a Level 9 druid so that now I guess I’ll have to be a druid forever. That’s all she wrote, the ship has sailed and we will all die now: You can’t change your class at Level 13. That herbarium cheapskate, mmm...yeah...He’s worse than my old master sergeant at the academy. In exchange, he heaped me with a ton of orders—not shy that one.” Pasha giggled: “He wants a breakdown of their resources and the location of the HQ and their future plans and he wants it all nice and chewed up like fodder for a chick’s beak...or for his roots...how do those plants eat anyway? But basically, he wants it all on a plate.”

  “And half a kingdom as a reward, I hope?”

  “If only...He’s just offering some magic junk from the local warehouses. I didn’t delve into the details, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. These penny pinchers are watching every tax copper. So it’s good if they don’t punish us, and the whole reward thing is a different matter altogether.”

  “What are we going to do then? I’ve already marked the camp on the map, but I don’t know anything about their plans yet. And what if Eben & Co. decide to act all of a sudden? I still haven’t learned the renegades’ history.”

  “Dang, Kiera!” Pasha howled like a hero of Greek tragedy and grabbed onto his head for dramatic effect. “I keep teaching you and teaching you...We’re going to inflate our valuation on our own. You’ll feed some info to that damn root and he’ll give you some trifles in exchange and heap praise and titles on you, after which everyone will set out to do battle against the rebel barons. Just make sure to plug up their throats: Our whiskers are our own and we won’t be led about by them. So we draw out the fun, hike the payoff amount and when we reach the maximum, we’ll deliver the goods. In the meantime, make sure to avoid taking any initiative that may affect our family budget.”

  “Already family?” I asked, surprised by such a turn.

  “Uh what? Are interracial marriages banned in there? Discrimination,” Pasha sighed. “But all right, in that case we’ll call it the company budget—which is even more important.”

  “And how are we going to increase our valuation as you say?” I asked just in case. “Relay news from the field like, ‘I’ve died once again in an attempt to infiltrate the citadel of evil?’”

  “Leave that to me,” Pasha said soulfully, pressing his hand to his heart. “An old warrior is a wise warrior. When it comes to telling tall tales, only our long-nosed friend could outdo me. I promise you: You’re going to be number one in the botanic spy rankings by the end of the week. They’ll even present you with a gilded spike.”

  “Why a spike?” I asked, baffled.

  “So you can poke a hole again after they kiss your butt close
d,” Pasha explained.

  “The poet in you has died,” I replied to such a lyrical turn of phrase. I was even envious.

  “Well I’m an old soldier and I don’t know anything about words of love...” Pasha sighed pitifully and added: “And yet I know many other shorter but very effective words! This old lieutenant colonel will make a human of you yet!”

  “Listen, maybe you should give it up? The army, I mean. You could be our band’s manager. With your cunning, we’ll be touring the world within a month.”

  “No, no, no!” Pasha shook his head, frightened. “It’s me who’s going to end up doing a tour—in prison for murder. Or at the cemetery from a heart attack: Edilberto alone is worth a squad of greenhorns, and that’s not mentioning the hordes of civilians at your concerts!”

  “Well, you’ve torn out my career at its root,” I feigned sorrow. “Actually, about careers. What are we going to do with your character? You was going to be a warrior. How is a pirq going to play as a caster?”

  “I imagine I’ll get by one way or another,” Pasha shrugged.

  I really had found my way into odd company. Pasha didn’t care about his character’s future, Sasha only ever repeated that it was just a game, and I had borked my own character for the sake of a plot twist. When Pasha climbs into his capsule, he groans like a centenarian, but when Sasha offered him the box with the steamship, he hopped up and down like a 10-year-old and almost sent his regenerators flying to the floor.

  “Honestly, this whole thing is kind of whatever to me,” Pasha went on in the meantime. “When I get better, ain’t no one ever going to see me in that Barliona again. Oh, by the way! You were asleep! Listen up: We’ve hatched a sly and artful plan!” Propping himself up on one arm, Pasha lowered his voice conspiratorially.