BXBX NOVEL Chapter 32
Chapter 32
Venom
For three days, I became a machine for processing food into biomass and feces.
[You have acquired status: Poisoned, Hemolytic, Paralysis (level 3).]
Wait, what?
I mean, I’d gotten salmonella poisoning before. And I’d eaten the wrong fungi, but this was poisoning on another scale entirely. This was poison expected to kill someone with Might level 3.
.....
And I’d developed some bonuses to Resist Poison and Resist Disease, but nothing on the sheer scale I needed. Twelve days later, and I’d have been Might 3 plus those advantages.
Hemolytic just meant it was borne through my blood. Paralysis meant I couldn’t call for help. I engaged what abilities I could, and just held on for the series of ten-minute timers.
[Resist Poison save failed, six points of Toxin damage. Your health is now 14/20 points.]
In the distance, I could hear the sounds of battle.
[Resist Poison save failed, six points of Toxin damage. Your health is now 8/20 points.]
The sounds of battle stopped; two people dragged a silent Sandru to a vacant bed. The other beds were also rapidly occupied. There was much cursing, as people were dragged between beds, or just left in the nearby hallway. Two children, I recognized the scent as Darren and Jefe, my fellow linkboys.
[Resist Poison save succeeded; Poisoned, Hemolytic, Paralysis (level 2), four points of Toxin damage. Your health is now 4/20 points.]
[Your pain threshold now exceeds your remaining health; you will experience a period of unconsciousness.]
I called my spell Lucid Dreaming; it’s like invoking, but because there is no invocation, it is both faster and more dangerous. It was only a partial success; I was trapped outside my dreams, in the cold hard logic of the System itself.
Well, might as well go for broke. I had the development points for another use per day of my Toxin Save Bonus. I invested and used it.
[Resist Poison save succeeded; Poisoned, Hemolytic, Paralysis (level 1), three points of Toxin damage. Your health is now 1/20 points.]
[Resist Poison save succeeded; you are no longer Poisoned. You are no longer Paralyzed.]
I rolled onto my side and vomited, voided both bladder and bowels right there. I released the Lucid Dream, and fell from darkness into a sleepless grey.
I was one of the lucky ones; I lived. About a third of the guild had eaten breakfast, and over half of those had been my fellow children.
Neither Darren nor Jefe made it; my greatest consolation was that Kismet was still away.
#
Sandru had recovered, but many of the wounds festered, and he had difficulty treating them.
“Can you grind herbs by touch?”
TAP, I guess so.
Sandru set me to work. Comfrey, garlic, sage. Sandru had others mixing the powders and juices together, and working them into bandages.
The guardsmen had protected us with spear and shield and sword, and now it was our time to help them with our agile fingers. It must have been horrible; I was moved from my bed to the floor.
The kitchen had an outside door; Madra had been in the kitchen when the invaders came. Her replacement never tried to infuse the food, insisting on speed rather than quality.
Twice that day, Reynald stopped by the infirmary for reports. He cursed and spat at something called the Crimson Hand.
The Might bump to nutrition hit the next day; three times two times five is thirty, a marked increase over twenty. It came with no improvements, possibly because I was still under half my health.
It is a tribute to Sandru’s skill that only one of the wounded guardsmen whose wounds festered had died; some of the guards had wills, or at least friends who knew whether they should be buried or burned. One even wanted to be shipped home.
Stacks of firewood could fit into my inventory, and I could hold a shovel, even if my lack of fatigue meant that I needed frequent rest breaks.
My Regimens both warned me that I had been away from them for two weeks, and my bonuses were starting to go away. I was too tired to care.
And blessed Flame, I had eyelids again. When my bandages slipped, I was able to close them against the pain.
When we returned to the guildhall, weary and sweaty and dirty, it was Kismet who took my hand, and insisted an equally weary Sandru change my bandages.
Her charm was capable of holding three Dream mana, but its condition was rapidly dropping; I guessed that Nastyman was getting desperate. But I had Dream mana to spare, and the infusion process went smoothly enough.
“Who or what is the Crimson Hand?” I asked her, as we lay together on the floor of Lorraine’s room, blankets wrapped around us like a cocoon.
“Don’t know. I’ve heard it’s a guild to the south.”
“A temple to the south.” Lorraine corrected. “Worship some war god that’s trying to take Ares’ place.”
Kismet blinked. “Gods can do that?”
“With enough faith. That’s why they empower divine magics. You’d have to get the specifics from one of the local shrines, I couldn’t tell you how it works.”
“But that makes no sense. We aren’t a temple.”
“But many of the male guardsmen worship Ares, just as we female guardsmen worship Artemis or Athena.”
“Or Minerva.” Tymaea said.
“In spite of your heretical use of the wrong name, I pray for your soul, sister.”
“As I pray for yours, sister.”
Kismet rubbed her nose on the back of my neck. “But surely there’s enough worship to go around. Why risk your own worshippers to harm the worshippers of another?”
Tymaea answered first. “Because it’s more than just souls. There are sacred sites, natural landmarks, and even consecrated grounds. The longer souls have regarded something as sacred, the more valuable it is to the various divinities.”
“Gods are stupid.” Kismet said. She picked idly at a bandage. “I hate this new scale color, Rhishi. It looks like some sort of dark mud.”
“Alas, I have other priorities, such as healing without scars. I’ve no nutrition to spare for niceties such as color.”
She batted me in a raw skinless spot. “Stop pretending you can change your scales.”
Lorraine looked over the edge of her bed. “Do we need to separate you two for the night?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“No, Maham.” I said. My voicebox was aching from my earlier comment. As I was realizing how painful it was to speak, Kismet had also realized something.
“Rhishi! You can speak!”
I couldn’t speak MUCH, and the effort made me painfully aware of my vocal cords not having healed completely yet.
But we were exhausted, and fell into deep sleep well before dusk had turned to night.
When you are exhausted, your ability to defend your dreams from interlopers is lowered. But I knew when he had crossed over.
“Nastyman.”
He looked worse for wear. “Rhishi. Look, you’ve got a lot of pain over here. Could I just – take some?”
“What?”
“I can take your pain. It isn’t as nourishing as fear, but I’m desperate.”
I chuckled. “Kismet’s showing courage and resolve. Is there not enough fear in there for you?”
“This isn’t funny!” he insisted, stomping a foot and trying to grow taller than me. “I – I just need another source of food, just to tide me over.”
“And you think I’d feed you on PAIN? So that you could get a taste of that, and go around HURTING children? Hurting Kismet?”
“You greedy gutless miser! LOOK AT ALL THIS PAIN! You can’t possibly need all this! Just let me-”
“That’s mine.” I said, yanking it from his mouth. “That’s mine, and you can’t have it for free.”
He collapsed, sitting on a bale of hay. There were a lot of those in my dreams that night. “I just don’t want to die.” He said. “Is that so wrong?”
Suddenly, Black Snake was there, hissing out her emotions. NO. HATE. ENEMY.
I threw up a hand, which was as big as the rest of my body. Big enough to keep her from attacking Nastyman. Because dream logic.
ASSHOLE, she sent to me. ASSHOLE.
“Where did you even learn that word?” I asked her.
She wrapped around herself, remaining on guard.
“Nastyman, how would you like to earn that pain?”
He licked his lips. “I’m listening.”
“What if there were another? Someone full of fear, someone with damaged emotions? Would you bind with them instead of Kismet?”
“I’d have to see them. Who do you have in mind?”
“As the Akashic Records, there is one Dreamtime, one Dream. I call upon that oneness, let our dreams be merged. Enter Dream – Nithya!”
.....
She was taller, an adult with the face of a child. She fretted and cursed at her hair, of which she had a massive volume.
“Oh, the vanity! The expectations that can never be met...” he slobbered. “Oh, lady, you simply must let me do that.” He advanced, pulling a brush from nothing, suddenly clad in robes made from liquid blood.
She turned. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I am your humble servant, lady! Name me, and I am yours forever!”
What? That didn’t even make sense! Why was Nastyman acting like that?
“I name you – Scarlet Footman!” I felt the bond forming, the dreadful change.
“Yeeesss.” He said. “I am your footman, lady. Might I get rid of an intruder for you?”
“Intruder?” she looked right at me. “YOU! Why won’t you just go away? What’s so special about you, anyway?”
“I’ll just go.” I said.
“Footman! Off with his HEAD!”
“With great pleasure, my lady.”
#
The dream wasn’t mine; I was exhausted; He had just been empowered by his new spirit bond.
Whatever causes or excuses, I just lost that fight. I returned to my own dream-space, limping and bleeding. I was in the yellow portion of the bar for sanity, and orange in serenity.
When had orange become a status bar color? No, focus.
But Nastyman, or the Red Footman, or whatever he was now, did not follow.
“Oh gods.” I moaned, “What have I done?”
I draped myself over a bale of hay, and let it carry me off to a rainbow land where goblins and butterfly-winged faerie pelted each other with soft candies.
Needless to say, that didn’t count as a night of rest. When I stopped by to pick up a bale of hay to snack on before breakfast, Sandru just guided me to a bed, and plopped me over onto the bloody blankets.
To be fair, he changed out the sheets later in the day.
I did no work that day, even when Kismet came by, insisting that SHE was feeling JUST GREAT, and I should just come.
“Quit harassing my patient.” Sandru said. “Ah! Have you broken his neck?”
“No” I said. “Neck fine. Sleepy.”
He sent a party invite, which I accepted.
“What did you DO yesterday?” he asked. “No, this will not stand. I forbid you to work today.”
“I did the same work yesterday.” Kismet said. “I feel great.”
“Child, there is not a wound on you. Go get breakfast.”
She squeezed my arm. “I’ll be right back.”
I listlessly ate my cold oatmeal, even taking the time to chew. Kismet never returned.
I drowsed at the edge of consciousness, unable to eat with any speed, even when the morning’s bale of hay arrived.
I risked opening an eyelid, and regretted it immediately. My tears somehow got out past the eyelid, clamped shut against the light.
[You are severely injured, and have nine days left before you are healed.]
Was that correct, or had I lost a day? Did I care?
I decided I did not. As long as I healed completely, I didn’t care how long it took. My System had other ideas, fueling my hunger until I had consumed enough to pay for both my daily maintenance and the full amount of daily interest on my biomass loan.
And then, blessed sleep.
I’m not certain if I ate dinner before Cosimo came for me.
“There’s work for you.” He said.
“There is no work for this patient.” Sangru said.
“You can take that up with Master Reynald or the Truthspeaker of Apollo. She desires to see how and why his flesh is mending. He looks like he is still wounded to me.”
Cosimo clapped his hands. “Come on, then. Up, up! Or did you lie when you said you would work for the guild?”
“You stay down.” Sangru said, holding me prone on the bed with his hand.
“No.” I said, grabbing his wrist. “Work to do.”
Weak as I was, Sandru let me move his hand away.
#