NOVEL NEXT Book 5, Chapter 13
"Grandma!"
"Hello, Catherine," Terpsichore Ironheart said warmly, as she returned the hug. "I've been watching you, down there. I couldn't be prouder if you were my own flesh and blood."
"Thanks," I said, turning to behold the scrying pool through which the dead could watch the living. It was in the classic Druidic mold;a wide, circular pond, with water that was perfectly clear, still, and flat. High Elven Wizards had their own ways of doing it; the classic crystal ball had been our invention, as had the magic mirror, but my mother happened to have a tremendously satisfying-looking water-based version, which used laminar flow and hidden pocket dimension reservoirs to produce a flat, conveniently-vertical surface like a magic mirror out of an artificial waterfall. "So, any specific insights you'd like to share besides being proud of me in general?"
I moved to sit down, but... this was Artorias' back yard; Artorias Wind-Caller, for all that he was a High Elf, had always preferred a more rural life, settling down in the hinterlands of Redwater proper with his wife, a fellow Druid who he'd met specifically because both of them wanted to live somewhere that let them touch grass at a moment's notice. As such, the seating out here consisted of "fallen logs"- they were enchanted to stop the rot and decay of a real fallen log, but they were still logs, and I didn't feel like sitting on one. So instead, I pulled out a simple pipe-and-cloth folding chair that I'd patterned after the chairs I'd seen in my first trip to the afterlife, and sat down.
"Well, among other things," Terpsichore said, taking a seat across my lap- apparently the logs didn't agree with her, either- "I'm very proud of how you've treated my darling Volex. So proud that it verges on shame, in fact."
"...You, uh... you lost me," I said, frowning. "How are you so proud you're ashamed?"
"Not ashamed of you, ashamed of me," Terpsichore said. "Let me clear something up for you, Catherine darling: Volex isn't in love with me, and venting it through you as a proxy. Volex was in love with me, and saw you as a suitable proxy, but then she actually got to know you. You were... You were better to her, than I ever was. Oh, I was nice to her; never smacked her around or berated and belittled her, unless it was in the bedroom and we'd talked about it. But... I never trusted her. I kept thinking of her as the temptress who'd already shown she was willing to betray her master, and wondering... what if, the next time Paimon builds a cult on the mortal plane, she shows her true colors, and betrays whoever her current master is in order to secure Paimon's victory?"
I grimaced. That was...
"She wouldn't do that," I said, shaking her head.
"Well, I know that now," Terpsichore said. "Hardly does her any good when I'm dead, does it? No, Catherine, I had my chance, and I squandered it. You were the one who loved Volex enough to really trust her, and you were the one who did it while you were alive. Volex loves you, Catherine, more than anyone or anything in the world. It's a good thing you're so durable; if you really died for good here, she'd be inconsolable."
"I..." I trailed off, frowning, as Terpsichore climbed out of my lap again, humming quietly to myself. "...Well. I suppose I'd better let her know the feeling's mutual, when I get back."
"She knows," Terpsichore said. "But it never hurts to be reminded. Tell her I'm sorry, would you?"
"I will."
---
I woke up on the forest floor to find Volex hunched over me with an empty hypodermic syringe in her hands; Talia, being an immortal elf, had made use of my time travel and time dilation with me, and done a fair amount of working ahead in her Alchemy program, which included learning all sorts of healing potion recipes, and finding out about the various ways they could be administered.
Normally, I'd attribute Volex's effective use of the syringe to either Occult skill or the vein-seeking enchantment I'd put on the needle. However, given that I had just been stabbed in the heart with a sword, I reckoned any idiot could've gotten the healing potion into my bloodstream.
"Hey," I rasped out, my throat dry- why did my throat always dry out when I died? "Thanks, hon. I love you."
Volex tossed the empty syringe aside and threw herself on top of me, holding me close and fighting back tears.
"Hey, hey, it's all over," I said, reaching up and patting her back. "Let it all out, angel. You did well."
Volex finally stopped fighting it, and started sobbing into my shoulder, her feelings coming through our bond more clearly than any mere words could. She'd been so scared, scared that she'd lost me, that she'd failed me- first by being unable to stop Karthrynax from killing me, and then by "wasting" time on breaking all of Karthrynax's limbs and forcibly binding her soul to that junky reliquary of a much more traditional and prison-like design, before she finally- after two minutes of viciously fast work- came to help me.
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She blamed herself for a lot. For not being able to stop Karthrynax- not just because Volex wasn't strong enough to protect her Master, but because she knew Karthrynax, and felt like she should've been able to do something to control the damn fool.
She nearly hated herself. Thought she deserved to be punished for this failure. After all, that's how it'd worked back in Hell.
"You're not in Hell, anymore," I cooed, as I gently rubbed my hands up and down her back. "I'm not mad at you for failing me, you didn't fail me in the first place, and you're not going to be punished for this. From where I'm sitting, Volex? You went toe to toe with a fucking demigod for me, and you won. And that... Well. That deserves a reward, if anything. A shame I've already given you this new reliquary; I'll have to think of something else to thank you with."
Volex was still shaking, but... the tears had slowed to a trickle, and soon stopped.
"Now..." I said, quietly. "...I don't mean to impose, but I really don't trust my legs right now. You mind carrying me back towards the grove with the others? I think they should be just about wrapped up, by now, and I really don't trust my legs right now." I did have that regeneration talisman Dad had given me this morning, but I wasn't convinced this was the only sidetracking obstacle I'd have to deal with today, so... I wanted to conserve my strength, and that meant getting other people to heal me.
Volex nodded wordlessly, and straightened up-
"Also we really should pick up all that shit we dropped on the ground," I added. "I'd feel bad about leaving a tube of glass and sharp metal in the forest where anyone can accidentally step on it and ruin their day."
Volex laughed, waving a hand and some Occult-tinged magicka to tidy up the inconvenient little details, and then picked me up in a bridal carry and started walking.
---
"Ah, excellent timing," one of the Elders said in High Elven. "Welcome to our home, weary travelers, on this most auspicious of days. We offer you our full hospitality, although..." He looked around at the devastated glade, the normally cleverly-hidden homes of the Wood Elves now made clearly visible from having been set aflame or torn in half. "...It is a touch less impressive than it was this morning, I will admit."
The Elder was a Wood Elf; there were, as far as I knew, no real genetic or morphological differences between Wood Elves and High Elves- we were different cultures, but not really different ethnicities, and we traded people back and forth all the time. As such, he looked much like a typical elven man- moderately tall, slenderly built, with pale skin, sharp features, and gold-blonde hair. His clothing was very fine indeed; he wore a robe of verdant green cloth with brown embroidery so thick that it traced a shifting image of forests, trees, and fields of grass, and held in one hand a long, tall staff that gnarled at one end around a finely-polished chunk of rosy crystal, and smoothed out as it approached the other end. His robes ended at the midpoint of his shins; beneath them, he wore elegant shoes of black leather that was polished until it shone and glittered like gold, and a pair of incongruously-simple white socks.
He looked exactly like a Wood Elf was "supposed" to look, as though he'd stepped straight out of an old book. Considering the title of Elder, denoting that he was more than a thousand years old, it was entirely possible that at least one depiction of Wood Elves was based mainly on an encounter with him specifically. But then, Wood Elves were also Occultists; living up to a stereotype to make an introduction easier was well within their wheelhouse.
"I are to help," Faith said, in broken High Elven, before walking off to go join the Druids in tending the wounded.
"What, is that a human in that armor?" the Elder asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Mother's tits, she talks like an idiot."
"She's been learning for less than two full seasons, you pompous dick," I said. "Be nice."
"Holy shit, is that a Redwater accent?" the Elder asked. "On a Rosewood? Just goes to show, not even an Elder has seen everything. Anyhow, Cousin, pardon my manners; my name is Clover, I am the head of this grove's Council of Elders, and I regret to inform you that my people and I need slightly more help from you than might first appear."
"I'm aware that I can, in fact, be reasonably blamed for this demon bullshit ruining your New Year," I began, "but I would like to point out that my New Year has also been ruined by this bullshit and more. But..." I sighed. "No, no point venting at you. I'm sorry. What can I do for you? Need a lift to someplace that doesn't have suicidally short-sighted humans summoning Demon Princes as part of some harebrained revenge scheme?" I asked. "Cause I do know a place, but you'll have to bring your own trees."
"Not the help I meant, Cousin," Clover said, shaking his head. "No, Cousin, I'm afraid that we do keep up with Hikaano newspapers; a number of our people have gone High Elf over the years, and we send them off with our blessing, asking only in return that they send news back home regularly. I recognize you, Catherine Ironheart, Red Devil of Barracuda Bay, Slayer of the King of Thieves and a King of Demons alike. Born to elves, friend to dwarves, sympathetic to orcs, and slayer of men."
Wait... he can't possibly be going where I think he's going with this.
"Catherine Ironheart," Clover began, his voice loud and clear as it cut through the noise of a community licking its very fresh wounds. "I am Clover, Chief Elder of Clan Darenthus. I ask of you a grand labor, not only for the sake of my clan, but for the sake of all our people!"
"Mother, preserve me," I whispered.
"Take up the Rosewood Crown that is your birthright, and lead our people to the end of the Age of Sorrows! Defend the innocent, feed the hungry, and thwart the wicked! I beg of you, Catherine Ironheart..."
He sank to one knee, as did all the Wood Elves who weren't busy with life-saving medical procedures, bowing their heads, unworthy to meet my gaze.
"...Be our King."