CHAPTER B5: THOSE LEFT BEHIND

Elsbeth walked through the streets of the ruined city and wondered at the change in atmosphere she sensed from the people who inhabited it. Did they feel safe now that Tyron was gone? Were they glad to be out from under his thumb, no longer needing to fear the Necromancer who might turn on them at any moment?

Or perhaps it was the opposite? Was she sensing an air of fragility, of vulnerability, now that their most powerful protector was no longer around?

Their faces were hard to read, and the emotions she sensed from them were a confused jumble, without clarity or focus. It made sense; the people in the city were still living very uncertain lives, focused on sustaining themselves rather than striving for a future that may not exist.

Unless Tyron was successful in his venture to the Realm of the Dead, there would be nothing to stop the devastation that everyone knew was coming their way. Despite the now more visible presence of the Slayers on the streets, the uncertainty continued to hang over the refugees like a cloud. Elsbeth sighed as she shifted her burden on her shoulder. It would be nice if Priests gained more physical capacity from the Unseen; she'd grumbled about it to Munhilde more than once, only for the older woman to laugh in her face. Even the boost she received from reaching silver hadn’t made her as strong as she would have liked, the load she bore wasn’t heavy, but uncomfortable if she didn’t shift it around.

She was certainly getting more durable, which didn’t hurt.

The western side of the ruined city was where most of the crafters had settled down, forming a community around the first warehouses to be cleaned and repaired when they’d arrived. Elsbeth smiled and greeted the people who approached her, some just for a chat, others to ask for news, occasionally to ask for a blessing or prayer. Many she knew by name but there were many she did not. It was still staggering just how many people had followed them over the mountains. Hundreds of thousands, into the millions, had made the dangerous journey through the passes, using routes carved out by superhuman Slayers and tireless undead.

It was even more sobering to think of how many had not.

Shaking her golden head, Elsbeth pushed the darker thoughts away as she spied her destination. With a warm smile on her face, she stepped off to the side of the road and approached a newly fitted wooden door with a pair of names carved into it by an expert hand.

She knocked and heard a woman inside call “Just a minute!”, followed by rustling. A few moments later, the door was cautiously pulled open to reveal a young woman inside, looking frazzled and a little wary.

“Cerry,” Elsbeth grinned down at the short, brown-haired girl. “How’s everyone’s favourite ball of sunshine?”

The young woman mock-glowered at her, hands planted on her hips.

“Elsbeth Ranner, by the whispers of the dead.”

“Can I come in, or are you going to make me stand here in the doorway with a sack full of cores slung over my shoulder?”

“I suppose I’ll have to let you in,” Cerry sighed, stepping back to allow room as she turned and called out. “Flynn! Elsbeth is here with your cores.”

There was a clatter of confused noise from further into the residence before a muffled voice replied.

“Elsbeth? She brought them herself?”

Followed by more clattering.

“Come in and sit down,” Cerry said, pulling the Priestess inside, ushering her towards the table.

Like most people in the city, getting ahold of wood was harder than getting fresh meat, despite the Slayers recently starting to make regular expeditions to fell trees. The inside of their small home was well lit thanks to Flynn’s arcanist expertise, soft light playing over the stone table pressed against one wall. There weren’t many homely elements, a scrap of cloth here and there, a carving resting above the hearth, but it felt cozy and comfortable, largely due to the presence of the two who lived in it.

Flynn emerged and unconsciously walked to Cerry’s side, blinking as if his eyes were sore as he took her hand.

“Elsbeth, I didn’t realise you were bringing these yourself,” he said.

“I had some time this afternoon, and it’s been a while since I checked up on you,” she said, placing the cores in the centre of the table. “They had quite the haul out there, apparently. I haven’t counted, but there must be hundreds in there.” ṛаＮổ𝐁ĚⱾ

Flynn, Tyron’s former apprentice Arcanist, just shook his head and sighed, looking wistfully at the sack.

“Do you have any idea how much that would have cost before?” he murmured. “Master Almsfield… I mean… Steelarm… he had me working on tiny chips, and now it rains high quality cores.”

“I wish it rained tea,” Cerry said. “Speaking of which, how about I put on the kettle? I have a little left over, enough for the three of us.”

“There is?” Flynn blinked, then smiled gratefully. “That would be amazing. Thank you, love.”

“Of course,” she smiled back at him before disappearing into the kitchen.

Flynn slid into a chair opposite Elsbeth and reached for the sack, pulling it towards him and untying the thread so he could take a peek inside.

“There’s some high grade cores in here,” he said, eyes widening as he glanced back to Elsbeth. “Usually these wouldn’t come to me. Has something happened?”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Tyron isn’t here,” she shrugged, “and it isn’t like we can afford to waste them. The demand for enchantments is inexhaustible. Honestly, we might get through people’s needs a little faster now that he isn’t scooping up so many cores.”

“That may be true,” Flynn frowned, “but I know he was doing a lot of work for the city. I’d be surprised to learn he was using even half of what he got for himself.”

“I’m surprised you’re still so firmly on his side,” Elsbeth said, a little sadly, “after everything that happened.”

“Tell me about it,” Cerry sniffed, poking her head around the corner. “He won’t say a bad word about the man.”

Flynn held up his hands defensively.

“I don’t think that’s true. I certainly think Master Steelarm has acted in a… a very selfish manner.”

Even saying this much caused him to look pained, and, after a beat, Elsbeth burst out laughing.

“Selfish? Selfish? I think that’s the least you could possibly say about Tyron Steelarm.”

“He did a lot to help us, didn’t he, Cerry? We wouldn’t have made it here if not for him.”

“In more ways than one,” she said, emerging with three steaming mugs that she placed on the table. “I wouldn’t have the dead whispering in my ear all day if not for him.”

She slid into the chair next to Flynn and nuzzled up to his side as he placed an arm around her. Elsbeth smiled and took a sip of her drink. The tea was weak. There weren’t many herbs left in most households, and none were being grown, since food was still so scarce. Despite the mild flavour, the brew provided a pleasant warmth that the Priestess very much appreciated.

“Thanks for this, Cerry,” she said, lifting her mug, “I didn’t realise how long it had been since I had a decent cup.”

“You give away everything you come across,” Cerry told her bluntly. “Of course the only nice things you get are the ones I force you to take.”

“I’m not that bad.”

Cerry snorted and Flynn looked to the side, scratching at his nose. Elsbeth narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not,” she insisted, largely to herself.

She didn’t give away everything. Just… most things.

Changing the subject, Flynn took another look at the cores inside the cloth sack.

“I’ll get these to the other Arcanists first thing tomorrow,” he told her. “With these, we should be able to take care of a lot of those in dire need.”

There was a small community of apprentices and masters of various trades who had survived the journey west. Arcanists were no different, though they were generally few in number. Despite never having finished his apprenticeship, Flynn remained one of the most capable they had. Turns out his training under Tyron working with very simple materials to create reliable and sturdy appliances was exactly what was needed in a crisis. The man churned out simple tools for lighting, heating, providing water and other basic needs of survival at an incredible pace, distributing them for free to an immensely grateful community.

“I should mention,” he said after Cerry prompted him with a poke in the ribs, “that our stockpile of materials are starting to grow a little thin.”

“Anything specifically?” she asked him.

“Well…” he started to trail off before Cerry poked him again. “Ouch! No, nothing specifically. We’re running out of everything,” he clarified. “Metals of all kinds, wire, glass, wood, obviously. There are a lot of projects we can’t work on at all—not for a shortage of cores, but everything else.”

“I didn’t realise it had gotten that bad,” Elsbeth frowned. “I’ll have to talk to the Slayers and see if there isn’t anything we can salvage. I know they’ve found other ruins out there but haven’t cleared them out yet, too infested with kin. Perhaps they could find something there?”

“I hope so,” Flynn sighed. “It’s unlikely we can find a source of ore and start smelting anything ourselves, so anything we can get our hands on is going to be a big help.”

Elsbeth nodded. Everyone had brought whatever they could as they’d fled, but there simply wasn’t enough to go around. Of anything. The Slayers had been occupied trying to clear the wasteland ever since they’d arrived, but now with the closest rift largely under control, it might be time to start seeing if there was anything they could bring back from the other ruins.

Putting the thought from her mind, she turned her attention to Cerry.

“And how are you doing? I know things have been hard on you.”

Cerry frowned.

“And who’s been telling you stories?”

Elsbeth shrugged dramatically.

“Who could say?” she said with wide-eyed innocence.

Flynn coughed, looking askance in the most obvious display of guilt Elsbeth had ever seen.

“Traitor,” Cerry huffed, poking him again before settling against his side once more.

“He’s just worried about you,” Elsbeth defended the man.

“I know. That’s why I forgive him for his lapses. I’m doing fine, Elsbeth, really. It’s been… hard, but it’s been nice to be able to help people.”

“I know what that’s like,” Elsbeth chuckled.

Indeed, it was difficult to be an intermediary for the Old Gods, but also rewarding. In the same way, Cerry had been working in the manner her Class demanded, acting as an intermediary between the living and dead, providing comfort for both.

“I’ve heard there’s been a lot of demand,” Elsbeth said. “More than we thought there would be?”

“It’s fine,” Cerry insisted, “if anything, it’s nice to have something to occupy my time.”

“And… the dead? Are they bothering you too much?”

“Not since… well… not since before.”

Elsbeth nodded. There had been a time when the spirits had been overwhelming Cerry, crowding around her day and night. She had no idea what Tyron had done, but he had intervened… somehow. As a result, the dead no longer swarmed Cerry, and she had been able to get some rest.

“And how are you doing level wise?” Elsbeth asked. “I don’t want to annoy you, but Tyron did want me to keep an eye out in case something odd happens when you ascend.”

“I’m not even close to silver,” Cerry sighed. “Though I think I have been progressing fast. There is just… just too many dead.”

“Are they still coming over the mountains?”

Silently, Cerry nodded, and Elsbeth’s face became grim. Somehow, the spirits of the dead had clung to the living as they had made the crossing, but they just kept on coming. The massacre that had taken place was unimaginable, the number of dead obscene. From what she knew, the ghosts should have stayed there, but many were moving, following the others in a trail that never seemed to end.

The Necromancers weren’t complaining, but there had been a lot of pressure on Cerry to try and find loved ones and lay them to rest.

“I don’t like that Tyron is keeping an eye on me,” she said. “I like it even less that you’re the one doing it.”

Elsbeth sighed.

“I understand. Me personally, I’m just worried about you. Tyron? He probably sees a use for you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t try to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Cerry gave her a doubtful look.

“If you say so,” she said.