Revolver Chronicles [Afterlife LitRPG] (Book 1 COMPLETE)

195. Deliveries

Jasper rose as the visitors entered. The hem of her pleated robe—sheer silk folded in on itself to give an illusion of translucency—lifted weightlessly from the earthen floor. The young woman then smiled by way of greeting. Serene and welcoming, yet tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Serac held her breath. She could feel herself grow warm and her chest pound with a familiar urgency. Familiar only because she'd felt it once before—the first time she'd laid eyes on a Yaksha prince by the name of Rathor Tyrsen. What had Trippy called it then? The fight-or-flight response?

But because she'd felt it once before, she also knew how to process it. She'd come to understand that some souls simply had this effect on others. It was only natural, and that by itself meant nothing more and nothing less.

Jasper aft'Hanafin was beautiful in a way that was effortless, inescapable, and perhaps even unfair. But beauty of this nature was only skin-deep (fur-deep in this case), and it remained to be seen whether the woman's inner soul matched her gorgeous exteriors. Not that it's a high bar to clear, but let's hope you're not anything like Prince Sicko…

Once Serac managed to come down from her beholder's high, she took note of her detective partner. Trav too had gone stock-still, looking just as stricken by Jasper's beauty, which must've been a frequent occurrence for him. He eventually did recover, enough to speak in a mumbling baritone.

"Sister Hanafin. The Keeper be with you."

"And with you, Brother Nankervis." Jasper's voice was warm, confident, and unexpectedly throaty. Young but not at all immature. The woman then turned her serenely smiling eyes onto Serac, causing the latter to gulp down a residual hitch of the fight-or-flight response.

"This is Sister Serac aft'Edin," Trav hastened to start the introductions. Somewhat superfluous, considering all parties present had Pathsight to do that for them. "I'm sure Viceroy Enright has already briefed you on the circumstances of Sister Edin's arrival, as well as her contributions to the ongoing murder investigations. It's his wish that the two of you get to know each other… in view of future collaboration."

So formal and uptight, Serac thought, at the same time feeling a tad uneasy on Trav's lovesick behalf. It didn't escape her notice that he'd skipped the salute, nor that Jasper had referred to the Cardinal as 'Brother' despite his higher rank within the Templar Order. This girl definitely gets some kind of special treatment.

Presently, the woman's doe eyes gave off a faint gleam as she scanned Serac with Pathsight. She then took a step back from the center of the room, leaving an unbroken circle of light where she'd stood a moment ago.

"Of course," Jasper said in response to the Viceroy's relayed wishes. "Sister Edin. Would you care to join me upon the telescope?"

Telescope? Serac didn't pretend to be familiar with the term, but somehow, the word made her picture a strange object. An intricate, metallic instrument of sorts. One that would look rather out of place anywhere inside the Veilwatch Temple, let alone within this Observatory's cozy, minimalist room. In any case, it was clear enough what Jasper meant, so Serac had little trouble following instructions.

"Like this?" she spoke her first words to the rose garden in Mriga form, just as she stepped forward to occupy the circle of light.

"Lovely."

Jasper herself stepped back into the circle and put a delicate hand on the small of Serac's back. The woman was now close enough for Serac to get a good whiff of the roses' velvety scent. Butterflies flitted in and out of her vision, almost as lively as the ones in her stomach.

"Sister Edin, I'm going to demonstrate to you my powers. That you might better understand my role in assisting your work. Before I do that, though, can you tell me what you see and feel as you stand here beneath the Gloam?"

So direct and articulate, Serac thought, at the same time feeling a tad uneasy on Oriole's clueless behalf. She's opposite to the tabbycat in almost every way. How will they ever make it as a couple?

"Have you not heard?" Trippy cut in unexpectedly. "Opposites attract."

Serac had no horse in the race (or cat or deer). But the more time she spent in Jasper's rosy presence, the less she liked the odds for either dour-faced Trav or bumbling Oriole. At any rate, she'd been asked a direct question, which left her scrambling for a half-cogent answer.

"Um… I guess I just see the sky," she began uncertainly, "enclosed by the circle. That is what I should be looking at, isn't it? As for what I feel, I don't—wait, hang on…"

That was when she did feel something very much out of the ordinary. Followed by a vision of something that very much didn't belong.

Oddly enough, her horns felt it first. A subtle shift in the sky above, as if its invisible curtains had lifted from a gust of wind. The same wind blew down signals that then transmitted real, expressible information to Serac's pair of 'receptors'.

Deserted streets lit by roaring oil-flame. The hearty warmth of long-simmering stew. A hulking shadow that stalked a grimy corridor.

Serac shuddered. She opened and closed her mouth. She wanted to relay her findings to the Mriga who'd asked for them in the first place, but somehow, she too had become an awkward, bumbling fool in Jasper's presence. Or was it in the presence of something else—something impossibly large and unknowably ancient?

In any case, her effort was for naught, as the deer woman seemed to understand all the same.

"I see," Jasper said, as if she really had shared the fleeting vision. The woman stood slightly behind Serac, her face hidden from view. Her butterflies, however, fluttered with newfound urgency. Yet, when she spoke again, her voice remained as calm as ever. "It seems to me, Sister Edin, that you have a natural connection to the Gloam. Perhaps even stronger than many of us Mrigas. That is welcome news. It should only make my job easier."

That's it? Serac had to wonder. No mention of the 'Night'-vision? Or of the big scary shadow? She couldn't be sure if Jasper chose to ignore it or simply hadn't seen what she saw. In either case, it was best to take her cue from the Mriga woman and keep the findings to herself.

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"My power is best experienced rather than explained," Jasper continued, letting go of Serac to step closer to the light's center. The Rakshasa, in turn, couldn't help but take a nervous step back. "The delivery mechanism is simple enough. THE PRESTIGE—that is, my roses—produce pollen imbued with the Gloam's 'harmonizing' effects. In order to share that with all of Dawnwick, I send out my VEILWINGS at Dusk. When the skyveils come down, [Anointed] by THE PRESTIGE, they grant every sleeping soul the peace of body and mind that had eluded them all Day."

"Harmonizing?" Serac parroted, skeptical even in the face of Jasper's overwhelming charisma. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Like I said"—the woman smiled meaningfully—"best experienced rather than explained. Here."

[THE PRESTIGE Spell: THE KEEPER'S BALM]

Suddenly, Jasper's already sunlit visage, along with the rose garden upon her antlers, ignited with their own aura. A strange color, a little like HIEROPHANT's [Dusklight] softened by CROZIER's gold. Warm, confident, and oddly youthful.

It seemed to capture a specific stage in a soul's life cycle. That fleeting moment between the reckless abandon of childhood and the harrowing tumult of adulthood. That inevitable moment when a soul was surest of what and who they were. Their freest and truest self—before the world had a chance to erode and unmake them.

"Raw umber," Trippy offered and left it at that, as if it were explanation enough.

Before Serac could ponder Jasper's unique aura and what it signified, the woman's magic progressed onto its next stage. The delivery mechanism. One butterfly departed its roost to then settle above Serac's ash-gray hair, busily fluttering its VEILWINGS to shower its new host with imbued pollen.

The [Anointment] first manifested as another flash of dissonant sensations and impossible visions. Not so much 'Night'-vision as an interrogation of Serac as a person and a soul.

Distorted shadows jumped and lurched upon a blood-soaked field. One such shadow rose and took the shape of a melee fighter, the swings of its polemace cutting through the red haze like a blade through flesh. Then the vision zoomed in on the shadow's face. Mouth agape and twisted in a gleeful grin. Eyes glinting with mischief and mockery of all within sight.

And when the shadow spoke, Serac spoke with it. Her own bubbly voice merged with her shadow-self's impish yet somehow regal lilt. It/they/she said,

"Wake up, sleepyhead. It's time for you to come out and play."

Serac managed to dispel the vision with a violent shudder. As soon as she 'returned' to her present reality, she found her breaths uneven and back soaked with cold sweat.

The shadow-self was gone. No, not gone. Rather, it'd become one with her. Seamless and absolute. Purity and wholeness of body and mind. With it, every part of her being brimmed with a feathery, weightless sort of energy.

Freed from the drudgery of Day and Night. Released from the burden of her [Oath]. [Anointed] and blessed by the Keeper's Gloaming benevolence, Serac—at least temporarily—belonged to no one but herself.

But the effect was only short-lived. The butterfly returned to its rosy roost, taking its VEILWINGS with it. The fatigue, the restlessness, the self-doubt. They all flooded back in an instant, such that Serac's knees nearly buckled under their force and intensity. She recovered quickly enough, to be met by Jasper's serene, melancholic, and now slightly apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry I couldn't keep you [Anointed] for a while longer," she said. "Every Dusk, I spread [the Keeper's Balm] upon the whole of Dawnwick. That in the short few hours where the people are granted respite, they might set down their burdens and dream truly and freely. Brother Enright tells me it's the only way for us Mrigas to heal in both body and mind, to ready ourselves for our sacred duties on another Day."

Here, Jasper paused slightly. And in that brief moment, if Serac weren't mistaken, the woman's doe eyes wavered a little—perhaps the first and only sign that she was anything but perfect in every way.

"As I'm sure you can imagine," the young woman continued, "a channeling spell of such scale demands the proportionate amount of resources. Which is why I spend my Days here in the Observatory, keeping myself as close to the Gloam as possible. Which is also why I need to save some of that energy for what's required of me this evening. I hope you understand."

Serac nodded promptly enough, but already, her brows had reknitted themselves with more skepticism.

Jasper spends all her time cooped up in this tiny room by herself, just so her fellow citizens can, what, get a good 'night's' sleep?? But… what about her? When does she get to set down her burdens? And how is her existence any different to being a pri—

"You heard her." Trav spoke up in a slightly strained baritone. He stopped short of entering the circle himself, but nevertheless beckoned for Serac to make her exit. "We've done what we've come here to do. Let us depart and leave Sister Hanafin to her own preparations. Come."

Serac's frown now deepened in indignation. She could think of quite a few reasons to refuse Trav's direct 'request'. At the same time, she didn't want to test [Oathbind]. Especially not when she was soon to take part in an all-important mission.

Speaking of mission…

"Oh, I almost forgot!" She reached into her coat pocket. Oriole's envelope remained intact, if a little more worn at the edges than when it'd begun its journey. Serac handed it to Jasper, seal side up. "Uh, this is gonna sound super strange, but I'm meant to give you this letter. That's pretty much all I know, really. The guy who wrote it swore up and down that you'd know what to do with it once you've read it. Can I leave it with you?"

Jasper blinked at her several times, suddenly looking exactly her age. Her bemused gaze then fell onto the envelope—or rather, the signet seal on its flap—whereupon bemusement immediately turned to a flash of recognition.

The deer woman gave a curious reaction. For one brief moment, she lifted her left hand to her chest and glanced at it. As if she might find something there that could make sense of the situation—of an outrealmer who also happened to be an interdimensional courier.

But there was nothing there. No, not quite nothing. The gesture had been brief and more than likely a subconscious one, but Serac managed to catch sight of something that should have been.

A visible discoloration on Jasper's ring finger. A band-form depression that could only mean the absence of a well-worn trinket.

"Thank you," Jasper said and took the letter with her right hand, voice shaking ever so slightly. "You certainly brought with you some strange tidings, Sister Edin, but I suppose that is only to be expected. I'll be sure to read the letter carefully, so as to honor the sender's intentions."

The woman left it at that, making no move to unseal the letter then and there. Deathly curious though Serac was, she also knew when to give a girl some privacy. Perhaps, with any luck, the two of them could become good enough friends that Jasper might one Day volunteer the contents of the letter. Serac flashed her a smile—a slightly stilted one, if she were being perfectly honest—then turned to leave.

"OK, I'm ready, Trav. Where to ne—?"

Serac froze as she caught the expression on Trav's face.

Throughout their detective partnership, the Cardinal had paid little attention to Serac's (Oriole's) letter. Perhaps he'd thought it irrelevant to the case—to his task of protecting the herd—and therefore beneath his notice. Well, all that seemed to have changed, now that he knew who the letter was for.

Travertine aft'Nankervis stood stock-still, muscles rigid and knuckles white and trembling where he gripped CROZIER. His slitted stag eyes positively bulged with alarm and anger as they stared at the envelope in Jasper's hand. It was an expression far darker and more menacing than any of his self-serious scowls.