Chapter 193: 193
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Orison laughed, "He wasn't a bear mutant. Just a Russian descent with a love of weight training and a dislike for razors... I'm letting him track us for safety purposes. I may have hinted that he could make some merits and other such for selling our location info."
Birgir went silent and started laughing loudly out of the blue during some more of Babs' questions. When the girl turned towards him in confusion, he just said that it was nothing and gave a wink at Orison once she'd focused back. More questions were in want of asking but both Roy and the young mage needed to keep their focus on safely navigating a multitude of potential dangers that would see the flying disk sinking into the mucky swamp water, unsalvageable.
At one point, the mist that was once not much higher than a few inches off the swamp's water level began climbing higher and higher until they were flying at just above tree level. They continued that way til the tree line was pushing close to the safety limit of closeness to the planar ceiling which was quite low in comparison to most. Despite that, Orison did nothing to disturb the trees or dip even the smallest part of their ride into the fog.
Inching slowly, they kept the course with Roy beginning to sweat as a red light came on to indicate unhealthy levels of exposure to wall effects. He didn't have to keep going for long until Orison found what he was feeling for. He was poked out of the beginnings of delirium and followed a pointing finger.
The young mage said, "Descend at that gap over there. Go straight down as evenly as possible without disturbing anything and don't worry about what you see."
Ghostly apparitions flitted past their craft, oddly producing excitement rather than fright in Babs. It was a good sign for what the young mage had planned. According to the thoughts Roy had plastered to his tight and pale face, that seemed to be unconventional suicide.
While the equipment specialist tried to gingerly land among a few shuffling corpses, Orison asked him to open the dome. For a moment, Roy almost said no but years of military discipline had him doing as ordered despite screaming instinct begging the opposite. As the young mage walked out onto the rubber deck that coated the portion of the Reese Rover used to climb in and out of the craft, a maggot ridden corpse scrambled its way on top.
"Report to your mistress that she has visitors to discuss trade business," Orison said boldly as the zombie seemed to disregard his words.
"Oh, it did. I just don't see any reason to answer that with manners, trespasser," a woman with nearly Victorian style widow's mourning clothes stood to the edge of misty sight.
Chuckling, Orison replied, "Not even if one is your late husband's descendant and another is a young girl possessing talents akin to your own?"
The zombies were called off but the woman was trembling as she personally approached. If anything, the air grew more dangerous and the young mage's instincts were picking up on light threats of imminent peril.
Attempting not to laugh even harder, he said, "Oh, that's right. He's your descendant too. Not one of the dalliances that came later. His family always wondered what happened to you.
Whisked away by the Tennessee Devil Dog indeed. Little did they know it was a Marine and that the real scandal was his African heritage that had you telling fibs and distorting events. Would it make you feel a little more comfortable to know that such things don't even raise an eyebrow anymore?"
Turning around to look at the poleaxed specialist, he said, "Well, are you going to come out here and greet your great-great grandmother? You were probably wondering why I was laughing when you said 'devil dog' like your ancestor had been taken advantage of by a hell hound. He was just a marine on leave. It's your double great granny you got your touch of magical talent from.
"Here, take a bottle of Doc Agave and catch up with her... Mrs. Brown, I would greatly appreciate it if you could allow us to tour the gardens while you visit. I know better than to touch anything and there are probably words you want to share in private, between just family."
The woman nodded and said in a shaky but still youthful voice, "That would be a thoughtful gesture, Mr..."
"Cantrip is the family name but you can call me Orison if or when it suits you, Mam," Orison said with as much due respect as he could muster.
He may have played a little caddish to get her attention but it was time to play gentleman if he wanted to get his way later. So, with attention to detail, he was polite and courteous at all times, even to the zombies that shuffled across the by ways of the sizable swamp island. Quick on the uptake, Babs adopted a precociously cute act in tandem.
Sidling up close while they walked through an unconventional and macabre garden, Birgir whispered, "You're going to have that woman teach my granddaughter magic?"
The young mage replied conversationally, "Don't let the current situation cloud your judgment. Roy might be fine but we are in dire straits should you do anything to offend our host. And to answer your question, yes. If she takes a shine to Babs, the heritage she could bestow would cause the seidr practitioners of your country to writhe in abject jealousy.
"They spent decades to recover what foreign faith stole from you, culturally. She has a purer and more genuine heritage legacy than all but the great three families... No offense, but it would be an honor and an undeserved privilege.
"Babs, don't be influenced overly much by the Ps and Qs we have to observe. Just be yourself... with proper manners. Even if she murdered us, as long as you didn't offend her, she'd let you leave with Roy."
She looked up at her grandfather in concern and then back through the fog towards where they came with a cold glint in her eye that promised hellish vengeance. Orison saw it and held back the urge to smile under a poker face. He knew that Mrs Brown had an eye on them the whole time and that small show of backbone would win the girl more favor than weeks of boot licking.
The girl had won half the battle. She just needed to go in with a polite and girlish charm. If she did, the war of favorable opinion would be won. Despite her stiffness, Mrs Brown was a soft touch with children.
He didn't feel bad for the Irregular woman who'd managed to impress Mrs Brown in the alternate future. The unborn baby she had come to this island with, the one who she was supposedly worried over the future of, was murdered right in front of its Rowdy soldier father. That woman abused the gift she had received and used her own baby to kill the father with curse magic, taking that gift with her to the watery grave she had earned for doing so. Maybe she became something like Mrs, Brown but much less likely to have ANY intentions of passing it along.
A few hours later, while Roy looked through his great-great grandfather's things, The 'lady' of the house came to speak with her other guests. After sharing a few empty pleasantries that were more a formality or perhaps an indulgent exercise in old and unused skills, she led them to the solar of her home for tea. Returning tit for tat, it was an uncommon and beneficial variety that Orison desperately wished he had in the dying world. After the mild poisoning and edge of the eye hallucinations wore off, their bodies would be slightly more resistant to negative and inert essences.
" A fine tea, Mrs Brown. I admit that rumors of your prowess as a formidable sommelier has been eclipsed by other specialties. Much to the disservice of the world, I might add," the young mage said fawningly.
"If such a trifle can win your warm praise, Mr Cantrip, then I wonder what words the full breadth of my talents would earn me?" she said as a faint smile rested on her cold face.
He replied earnestly, "Speechlessly in awe, I'm sure... Assuming I wasn't attempting to persuade you to spare someone's life, of course."
"And yet, you came here anyway. Should I call you brave or foolish?" she mused.
"I wouldn't want either title. Roy is my friend and I happened to know of this place, and of you, through indirect ways. Our little girl here is in need of a proper mentor as well. I have a decent legacy but it's not a proper match for her natural talents," Orison lead.
The woman smiled wickedly and said, "Come here and let me get a better look at you, girl."
Nervously, though not as nervous as Birgir, Babs approached the woman.
That nervousness spread to Orison and bloomed to a feverish level in Birgir when the woman said, "What's your name, child?"
Babs said, "One who seeks a mentor. Are you my mentor?"
"Not yet. And why should I be, if you won't even give me something as simple as a name? Is such a basic courtesy beyond you?" The sly woman said.
Babs replied, perhaps a little too boldly for the sake of her grandfather and the young mage's peace of mind, "Such a basic courtesy is beyond any mystic who doesn't want to get cursed. Those zombies didn't make themselves."
As Birgir prepared to throw himself in front of his granddaughter, if need be, Mrs Brown laughed. "A little too frank but all too true. Come, let us test the veracity of your promoter. It would do little good if all this was the fantasy of an opportunist who plays at soothsaying."
Left outside the inner house's door, Orison didn't have the nerve to use spirit sight inside a house made of spirit and death. A few minutes later, Birgir and her grandfather left the room frowning as Mrs Brown left it with a far more menacing scowl.
"I thought you brought to me one suited. It seems your skills of prediction are as false and affected as your courtesy," the woman said as she looked down at the iron and bronze staff in the girl's hand.
Orison smiled and said, "Care to make a wager on that?"
"I sent her into my ritual room to pick out a fetish that called to her and she came out with my grandmother's old distaff. It's so heavy and unwieldy, she couldn't even use it after she developed arthritis. If it wasn't an heirloom she had received from her own grandmother, I wouldn't have bothered stealing away with it when I picked up the rest of her things that rightfully belonged to me," she said, slightly distraught.
"A gate for a gate, Mrs Brown. I say she got exactly the right thing. Do you dare or not?" Orison said, mysterious smile.
"And now I do not see your thoughts as clearly. Alright, even the antics of a charlatan can amuse before they grow boring. Your gate or mine." she said, threats of violence dancing at the edges of her scarlet filling eyes.
The young mage turned towards Babs and said. "First of all. Good job. You got the best thing... Sit on that rock over there and keep that rod in your right hand while you rest it in your lap.
"Okay, good. Now close your eyes for a second and picture yourself back in your room in the small apartment. Your mom's left for the night with a new friend and your brother's putting in a late session at the gym. You're bored but there's nothing to do. So, you just stare at the wall.
"You're not asleep but it's not the same as awake. You slide in between. There's pictures on the wall, people's faces, conversations. Let the building shiver pass through you, over you... Raise your right hand slightly and imagine those faces twisting spinning, smoothing out into strings. The rod in your hand holds them in place for you so you can gather more..."
Orison slowly eased up his suggestive voice and let her do her thing. She tucked the object under arm for a moment before she frowned and grabbed it back in her hand and made a whacking motion with it. Smiling afterwards, she started rocking back and forth a little and signing a song or maybe chanting.
To his left the young mage heard a sharp intake of breath. Mrs Brown was holding a hand to her mouth as a brackish tear slid down her face. The shuffling corpses making their rounds on the island stopped what they were doing and laid down like they were taking a nap. Soon the ghostly balls of glowing light and apparitions joined them while Mrs Brown herself seemed drowsy.
"Stop. Stop! I'm not so proud that I can't admit a mistake," she said.
Babs snapped out of trance and looked around in confusion for a moment before she looked at Orison. "You're not wrong but you're not right either. It is a thingy for holding stuff but not to make threads. It just, I don't know, helps hold things but it's also a weapon. It's missing pieces too. It should jingle."
The woman ran back into the house like it was on fire and returned a short moment later with a box of old iron and brass pieces. It was from Babs' fuzzy memory but Orison could figure it out and piece by piece, he mended the broken decorations back on. A subtle but strong hum came from what he thought was merely an extra thick distaff.
Birgir said, "That's a Volva's iron staff."
Unable to blush but looking scandalized, Mrs Brown frowned at the man, causing him to blush at the realization of her misunderstanding. "Not...not unmentionable parts, mam. Volva is a seidr practitioner... a wise woman. Did your grandmother have something with symbols on it? Runes, if you know what they are."
From there, Orison had no place in the goings on. It was outside the realm of his comprehensions and wouldn't particularly enrich them. So, he went to find Roy.
After Roy finished excitedly showing off his ancestor's stuff, he said, "I don't really get it, though. How did all of this end up here?"
Orison gave a lopsided grin. "Not all the rips are new. Some of them are old, from the time before this world drew magic away from people. Before Southern Louisiana was renamed Antioche Bay, not too far from a place called Chauvin, that's where they ran away. He liked going out, in more ways than one but... One of those times, he took her because he'd found something... magical.
"She stayed. He came and went. As hard of a time as he had being faithful, there was no doubt that he loved her because he NEVER brought anyone else here and he never left for long. The only other person to come here was someone named Julia who may or may not be your great grandaunt. You'll have to talk to Mrs Brown about that but I'd suggest not."
With night rolling into it's last legs, everyone met back up in the living room. Mrs Brown looked faded, washed out. At first, the young mage as confused by what could be the cause but among the revelations that came to light from the woman's collection of her grandmother's things turned out to be a secret journal embroidered into the squares of an old quilt. Within its stitches was a rich story of a woman who had many friendly connections.
The legacy that Mrs Brown had studied over her life was a series of three leather bound books that turned out to be a duel trophy with one best friend that had turned bitter enemy. It was a sordid tale that the young mage had little interest in but had taken wind out of the revenant lady's sails. Losing a great deal of the will that had held her clinging to the material side of the veil, she made quick work of doling what she had to who she wished to receive it.
Moved to some pity, Orison said as he watched her look over the dark accumulation of gruesome magical makings, "Life is strange. It took you down a path of love but also a path of damnation. If you hadn't taken it, then your legacy and life may not have been as fully lived nor as meaningful. It's not a justification and there may not be some shining hall awaiting you on the other side but there are no guarantees that what would have awaited you at the end of a wider, more traveled road would be better.
"You have found a good hearted girl to carry your grandmother's light and a descendant to carry you and your husband's memory. You lived a life of regal destruction, royal wickedness. In modern terms, you were one hell of a bad a** swamp witch. I have a memory of someone saying 'If you can't be good, be good at it.' You were damn good at it."
She smiled weakly and replied, "You really shouldn't waste your kindness on someone like me. I might decide to haunt you."
He shrugged, "Kindness isn't wasted unless it's ignored... I have a suggestion if you don't want to leave it up to fate. You know, what you're going to, I mean. There's this oddity of an afterlife ruler named Noxflora..."
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Orison laughed, "He wasn't a bear mutant. Just a Russian descent with a love of weight training and a dislike for razors... I'm letting him track us for safety purposes. I may have hinted that he could make some merits and other such for selling our location info."
Birgir went silent and started laughing loudly out of the blue during some more of Babs' questions. When the girl turned towards him in confusion, he just said that it was nothing and gave a wink at Orison once she'd focused back. More questions were in want of asking but both Roy and the young mage needed to keep their focus on safely navigating a multitude of potential dangers that would see the flying disk sinking into the mucky swamp water, unsalvageable.
At one point, the mist that was once not much higher than a few inches off the swamp's water level began climbing higher and higher until they were flying at just above tree level. They continued that way til the tree line was pushing close to the safety limit of closeness to the planar ceiling which was quite low in comparison to most. Despite that, Orison did nothing to disturb the trees or dip even the smallest part of their ride into the fog.
Inching slowly, they kept the course with Roy beginning to sweat as a red light came on to indicate unhealthy levels of exposure to wall effects. He didn't have to keep going for long until Orison found what he was feeling for. He was poked out of the beginnings of delirium and followed a pointing finger.
The young mage said, "Descend at that gap over there. Go straight down as evenly as possible without disturbing anything and don't worry about what you see."
Ghostly apparitions flitted past their craft, oddly producing excitement rather than fright in Babs. It was a good sign for what the young mage had planned. According to the thoughts Roy had plastered to his tight and pale face, that seemed to be unconventional suicide.
While the equipment specialist tried to gingerly land among a few shuffling corpses, Orison asked him to open the dome. For a moment, Roy almost said no but years of military discipline had him doing as ordered despite screaming instinct begging the opposite. As the young mage walked out onto the rubber deck that coated the portion of the Reese Rover used to climb in and out of the craft, a maggot ridden corpse scrambled its way on top.
"Report to your mistress that she has visitors to discuss trade business," Orison said boldly as the zombie seemed to disregard his words.
"Oh, it did. I just don't see any reason to answer that with manners, trespasser," a woman with nearly Victorian style widow's mourning clothes stood to the edge of misty sight.
Chuckling, Orison replied, "Not even if one is your late husband's descendant and another is a young girl possessing talents akin to your own?"
The zombies were called off but the woman was trembling as she personally approached. If anything, the air grew more dangerous and the young mage's instincts were picking up on light threats of imminent peril.
Attempting not to laugh even harder, he said, "Oh, that's right. He's your descendant too. Not one of the dalliances that came later. His family always wondered what happened to you.
Whisked away by the Tennessee Devil Dog indeed. Little did they know it was a Marine and that the real scandal was his African heritage that had you telling fibs and distorting events. Would it make you feel a little more comfortable to know that such things don't even raise an eyebrow anymore?"
Turning around to look at the poleaxed specialist, he said, "Well, are you going to come out here and greet your great-great grandmother? You were probably wondering why I was laughing when you said 'devil dog' like your ancestor had been taken advantage of by a hell hound. He was just a marine on leave. It's your double great granny you got your touch of magical talent from.
"Here, take a bottle of Doc Agave and catch up with her... Mrs. Brown, I would greatly appreciate it if you could allow us to tour the gardens while you visit. I know better than to touch anything and there are probably words you want to share in private, between just family."
The woman nodded and said in a shaky but still youthful voice, "That would be a thoughtful gesture, Mr..."
"Cantrip is the family name but you can call me Orison if or when it suits you, Mam," Orison said with as much due respect as he could muster.
He may have played a little caddish to get her attention but it was time to play gentleman if he wanted to get his way later. So, with attention to detail, he was polite and courteous at all times, even to the zombies that shuffled across the by ways of the sizable swamp island. Quick on the uptake, Babs adopted a precociously cute act in tandem.
Sidling up close while they walked through an unconventional and macabre garden, Birgir whispered, "You're going to have that woman teach my granddaughter magic?"
The young mage replied conversationally, "Don't let the current situation cloud your judgment. Roy might be fine but we are in dire straits should you do anything to offend our host. And to answer your question, yes. If she takes a shine to Babs, the heritage she could bestow would cause the seidr practitioners of your country to writhe in abject jealousy.
"They spent decades to recover what foreign faith stole from you, culturally. She has a purer and more genuine heritage legacy than all but the great three families... No offense, but it would be an honor and an undeserved privilege.
"Babs, don't be influenced overly much by the Ps and Qs we have to observe. Just be yourself... with proper manners. Even if she murdered us, as long as you didn't offend her, she'd let you leave with Roy."
She looked up at her grandfather in concern and then back through the fog towards where they came with a cold glint in her eye that promised hellish vengeance. Orison saw it and held back the urge to smile under a poker face. He knew that Mrs Brown had an eye on them the whole time and that small show of backbone would win the girl more favor than weeks of boot licking.
The girl had won half the battle. She just needed to go in with a polite and girlish charm. If she did, the war of favorable opinion would be won. Despite her stiffness, Mrs Brown was a soft touch with children.
He didn't feel bad for the Irregular woman who'd managed to impress Mrs Brown in the alternate future. The unborn baby she had come to this island with, the one who she was supposedly worried over the future of, was murdered right in front of its Rowdy soldier father. That woman abused the gift she had received and used her own baby to kill the father with curse magic, taking that gift with her to the watery grave she had earned for doing so. Maybe she became something like Mrs, Brown but much less likely to have ANY intentions of passing it along.
A few hours later, while Roy looked through his great-great grandfather's things, The 'lady' of the house came to speak with her other guests. After sharing a few empty pleasantries that were more a formality or perhaps an indulgent exercise in old and unused skills, she led them to the solar of her home for tea. Returning tit for tat, it was an uncommon and beneficial variety that Orison desperately wished he had in the dying world. After the mild poisoning and edge of the eye hallucinations wore off, their bodies would be slightly more resistant to negative and inert essences.
" A fine tea, Mrs Brown. I admit that rumors of your prowess as a formidable sommelier has been eclipsed by other specialties. Much to the disservice of the world, I might add," the young mage said fawningly.
"If such a trifle can win your warm praise, Mr Cantrip, then I wonder what words the full breadth of my talents would earn me?" she said as a faint smile rested on her cold face.
He replied earnestly, "Speechlessly in awe, I'm sure... Assuming I wasn't attempting to persuade you to spare someone's life, of course."
"And yet, you came here anyway. Should I call you brave or foolish?" she mused.
"I wouldn't want either title. Roy is my friend and I happened to know of this place, and of you, through indirect ways. Our little girl here is in need of a proper mentor as well. I have a decent legacy but it's not a proper match for her natural talents," Orison lead.
The woman smiled wickedly and said, "Come here and let me get a better look at you, girl."
Nervously, though not as nervous as Birgir, Babs approached the woman.
That nervousness spread to Orison and bloomed to a feverish level in Birgir when the woman said, "What's your name, child?"
Babs said, "One who seeks a mentor. Are you my mentor?"
"Not yet. And why should I be, if you won't even give me something as simple as a name? Is such a basic courtesy beyond you?" The sly woman said.
Babs replied, perhaps a little too boldly for the sake of her grandfather and the young mage's peace of mind, "Such a basic courtesy is beyond any mystic who doesn't want to get cursed. Those zombies didn't make themselves."
As Birgir prepared to throw himself in front of his granddaughter, if need be, Mrs Brown laughed. "A little too frank but all too true. Come, let us test the veracity of your promoter. It would do little good if all this was the fantasy of an opportunist who plays at soothsaying."
Left outside the inner house's door, Orison didn't have the nerve to use spirit sight inside a house made of spirit and death. A few minutes later, Birgir and her grandfather left the room frowning as Mrs Brown left it with a far more menacing scowl.
"I thought you brought to me one suited. It seems your skills of prediction are as false and affected as your courtesy," the woman said as she looked down at the iron and bronze staff in the girl's hand.
Orison smiled and said, "Care to make a wager on that?"
"I sent her into my ritual room to pick out a fetish that called to her and she came out with my grandmother's old distaff. It's so heavy and unwieldy, she couldn't even use it after she developed arthritis. If it wasn't an heirloom she had received from her own grandmother, I wouldn't have bothered stealing away with it when I picked up the rest of her things that rightfully belonged to me," she said, slightly distraught.
"A gate for a gate, Mrs Brown. I say she got exactly the right thing. Do you dare or not?" Orison said, mysterious smile.
"And now I do not see your thoughts as clearly. Alright, even the antics of a charlatan can amuse before they grow boring. Your gate or mine." she said, threats of violence dancing at the edges of her scarlet filling eyes.
The young mage turned towards Babs and said. "First of all. Good job. You got the best thing... Sit on that rock over there and keep that rod in your right hand while you rest it in your lap.
"Okay, good. Now close your eyes for a second and picture yourself back in your room in the small apartment. Your mom's left for the night with a new friend and your brother's putting in a late session at the gym. You're bored but there's nothing to do. So, you just stare at the wall.
"You're not asleep but it's not the same as awake. You slide in between. There's pictures on the wall, people's faces, conversations. Let the building shiver pass through you, over you... Raise your right hand slightly and imagine those faces twisting spinning, smoothing out into strings. The rod in your hand holds them in place for you so you can gather more..."
Orison slowly eased up his suggestive voice and let her do her thing. She tucked the object under arm for a moment before she frowned and grabbed it back in her hand and made a whacking motion with it. Smiling afterwards, she started rocking back and forth a little and signing a song or maybe chanting.
To his left the young mage heard a sharp intake of breath. Mrs Brown was holding a hand to her mouth as a brackish tear slid down her face. The shuffling corpses making their rounds on the island stopped what they were doing and laid down like they were taking a nap. Soon the ghostly balls of glowing light and apparitions joined them while Mrs Brown herself seemed drowsy.
"Stop. Stop! I'm not so proud that I can't admit a mistake," she said.
Babs snapped out of trance and looked around in confusion for a moment before she looked at Orison. "You're not wrong but you're not right either. It is a thingy for holding stuff but not to make threads. It just, I don't know, helps hold things but it's also a weapon. It's missing pieces too. It should jingle."
The woman ran back into the house like it was on fire and returned a short moment later with a box of old iron and brass pieces. It was from Babs' fuzzy memory but Orison could figure it out and piece by piece, he mended the broken decorations back on. A subtle but strong hum came from what he thought was merely an extra thick distaff.
Birgir said, "That's a Volva's iron staff."
Unable to blush but looking scandalized, Mrs Brown frowned at the man, causing him to blush at the realization of her misunderstanding. "Not...not unmentionable parts, mam. Volva is a seidr practitioner... a wise woman. Did your grandmother have something with symbols on it? Runes, if you know what they are."
From there, Orison had no place in the goings on. It was outside the realm of his comprehensions and wouldn't particularly enrich them. So, he went to find Roy.
After Roy finished excitedly showing off his ancestor's stuff, he said, "I don't really get it, though. How did all of this end up here?"
Orison gave a lopsided grin. "Not all the rips are new. Some of them are old, from the time before this world drew magic away from people. Before Southern Louisiana was renamed Antioche Bay, not too far from a place called Chauvin, that's where they ran away. He liked going out, in more ways than one but... One of those times, he took her because he'd found something... magical.
"She stayed. He came and went. As hard of a time as he had being faithful, there was no doubt that he loved her because he NEVER brought anyone else here and he never left for long. The only other person to come here was someone named Julia who may or may not be your great grandaunt. You'll have to talk to Mrs Brown about that but I'd suggest not."
With night rolling into it's last legs, everyone met back up in the living room. Mrs Brown looked faded, washed out. At first, the young mage as confused by what could be the cause but among the revelations that came to light from the woman's collection of her grandmother's things turned out to be a secret journal embroidered into the squares of an old quilt. Within its stitches was a rich story of a woman who had many friendly connections.
The legacy that Mrs Brown had studied over her life was a series of three leather bound books that turned out to be a duel trophy with one best friend that had turned bitter enemy. It was a sordid tale that the young mage had little interest in but had taken wind out of the revenant lady's sails. Losing a great deal of the will that had held her clinging to the material side of the veil, she made quick work of doling what she had to who she wished to receive it.
Moved to some pity, Orison said as he watched her look over the dark accumulation of gruesome magical makings, "Life is strange. It took you down a path of love but also a path of damnation. If you hadn't taken it, then your legacy and life may not have been as fully lived nor as meaningful. It's not a justification and there may not be some shining hall awaiting you on the other side but there are no guarantees that what would have awaited you at the end of a wider, more traveled road would be better.
"You have found a good hearted girl to carry your grandmother's light and a descendant to carry you and your husband's memory. You lived a life of regal destruction, royal wickedness. In modern terms, you were one hell of a bad a** swamp witch. I have a memory of someone saying 'If you can't be good, be good at it.' You were damn good at it."
She smiled weakly and replied, "You really shouldn't waste your kindness on someone like me. I might decide to haunt you."
He shrugged, "Kindness isn't wasted unless it's ignored... I have a suggestion if you don't want to leave it up to fate. You know, what you're going to, I mean. There's this oddity of an afterlife ruler named Noxflora..."
Orison laughed, "He wasn't a bear mutant. Just a Russian descent with a love of weight training and a dislike for razors... I'm letting him track us for safety purposes. I may have hinted that he could make some merits and other such for selling our location info." Birgir went silent and started laughing loudly out of the blue during some more of Babs' questions. When the girl turned towards him in confusion, he just said that it was nothing and gave a wink at Orison once she'd focused back. More questions were in want of asking but both Roy and the young mage needed to keep their focus on safely navigating a multitude of potential dangers that would see the flying disk sinking into the mucky swamp water, unsalvageable. At one point, the mist that was once not much higher than a few inches off the swamp's water level began climbing higher and higher until they were flying at just above tree level. They continued that way til the tree line was pushing close to the safety limit of closeness to the planar ceiling which was quite low in comparison to most. Despite that, Orison did nothing to disturb the trees or dip even the smallest part of their ride into the fog. Inching slowly, they kept the course with Roy beginning to sweat as a red light came on to indicate unhealthy levels of exposure to wall effects. He didn't have to keep going for long until Orison found what he was feeling for. He was poked out of the beginnings of delirium and followed a pointing finger. The young mage said, "Descend at that gap over there. Go straight down as evenly as possible without disturbing anything and don't worry about what you see." Ghostly apparitions flitted past their craft, oddly producing excitement rather than fright in Babs. It was a good sign for what the young mage had planned. According to the thoughts Roy had plastered to his tight and pale face, that seemed to be unconventional suicide. While the equipment specialist tried to gingerly land among a few shuffling corpses, Orison asked him to open the dome. For a moment, Roy almost said no but years of military discipline had him doing as ordered despite screaming instinct begging the opposite. As the young mage walked out onto the rubber deck that coated the portion of the Reese Rover used to climb in and out of the craft, a maggot ridden corpse scrambled its way on top. "Report to your mistress that she has visitors to discuss trade business," Orison said boldly as the zombie seemed to disregard his words. "Oh, it did. I just don't see any reason to answer that with manners, trespasser," a woman with nearly Victorian style widow's mourning clothes stood to the edge of misty sight. Chuckling, Orison replied, "Not even if one is your late husband's descendant and another is a young girl possessing talents akin to your own?" The zombies were called off but the woman was trembling as she personally approached. If anything, the air grew more dangerous and the young mage's instincts were picking up on light threats of imminent peril. Attempting not to laugh even harder, he said, "Oh, that's right. He's your descendant too. Not one of the dalliances that came later. His family always wondered what happened to you. Whisked away by the Tennessee Devil Dog indeed. Little did they know it was a Marine and that the real scandal was his African heritage that had you telling fibs and distorting events. Would it make you feel a little more comfortable to know that such things don't even raise an eyebrow anymore?" Turning around to look at the poleaxed specialist, he said, "Well, are you going to come out here and greet your great-great grandmother? You were probably wondering why I was laughing when you said 'devil dog' like your ancestor had been taken advantage of by a hell hound. He was just a marine on leave. It's your double great granny you got your touch of magical talent from. "Here, take a bottle of Doc Agave and catch up with her... Mrs. Brown, I would greatly appreciate it if you could allow us to tour the gardens while you visit. I know better than to touch anything and there are probably words you want to share in private, between just family." The woman nodded and said in a shaky but still youthful voice, "That would be a thoughtful gesture, Mr..." "Cantrip is the family name but you can call me Orison if or when it suits you, Mam," Orison said with as much due respect as he could muster. He may have played a little caddish to get her attention but it was time to play gentleman if he wanted to get his way later. So, with attention to detail, he was polite and courteous at all times, even to the zombies that shuffled across the by ways of the sizable swamp island. Quick on the uptake, Babs adopted a precociously cute act in tandem. Sidling up close while they walked through an unconventional and macabre garden, Birgir whispered, "You're going to have that woman teach my granddaughter magic?" The young mage replied conversationally, "Don't let the current situation cloud your judgment. Roy might be fine but we are in dire straits should you do anything to offend our host. And to answer your question, yes. If she takes a shine to Babs, the heritage she could bestow would cause the seidr practitioners of your country to writhe in abject jealousy. "They spent decades to recover what foreign faith stole from you, culturally. She has a purer and more genuine heritage legacy than all but the great three families... No offense, but it would be an honor and an undeserved privilege. "Babs, don't be influenced overly much by the Ps and Qs we have to observe. Just be yourself... with proper manners. Even if she murdered us, as long as you didn't offend her, she'd let you leave with Roy." She looked up at her grandfather in concern and then back through the fog towards where they came with a cold glint in her eye that promised hellish vengeance. Orison saw it and held back the urge to smile under a poker face. He knew that Mrs Brown had an eye on them the whole time and that small show of backbone would win the girl more favor than weeks of boot licking. The girl had won half the battle. She just needed to go in with a polite and girlish charm. If she did, the war of favorable opinion would be won. Despite her stiffness, Mrs Brown was a soft touch with children. He didn't feel bad for the Irregular woman who'd managed to impress Mrs Brown in the alternate future. The unborn baby she had come to this island with, the one who she was supposedly worried over the future of, was murdered right in front of its Rowdy soldier father. That woman abused the gift she had received and used her own baby to kill the father with curse magic, taking that gift with her to the watery grave she had earned for doing so. Maybe she became something like Mrs, Brown but much less likely to have ANY intentions of passing it along. A few hours later, while Roy looked through his great-great grandfather's things, The 'lady' of the house came to speak with her other guests. After sharing a few empty pleasantries that were more a formality or perhaps an indulgent exercise in old and unused skills, she led them to the solar of her home for tea. Returning tit for tat, it was an uncommon and beneficial variety that Orison desperately wished he had in the dying world. After the mild poisoning and edge of the eye hallucinations wore off, their bodies would be slightly more resistant to negative and inert essences. " A fine tea, Mrs Brown. I admit that rumors of your prowess as a formidable sommelier has been eclipsed by other specialties. Much to the disservice of the world, I might add," the young mage said fawningly. "If such a trifle can win your warm praise, Mr Cantrip, then I wonder what words the full breadth of my talents would earn me?" she said as a faint smile rested on her cold face. He replied earnestly, "Speechlessly in awe, I'm sure... Assuming I wasn't attempting to persuade you to spare someone's life, of course." "And yet, you came here anyway. Should I call you brave or foolish?" she mused. "I wouldn't want either title. Roy is my friend and I happened to know of this place, and of you, through indirect ways. Our little girl here is in need of a proper mentor as well. I have a decent legacy but it's not a proper match for her natural talents," Orison lead. The woman smiled wickedly and said, "Come here and let me get a better look at you, girl." Nervously, though not as nervous as Birgir, Babs approached the woman. That nervousness spread to Orison and bloomed to a feverish level in Birgir when the woman said, "What's your name, child?" Babs said, "One who seeks a mentor. Are you my mentor?" "Not yet. And why should I be, if you won't even give me something as simple as a name? Is such a basic courtesy beyond you?" The sly woman said. Babs replied, perhaps a little too boldly for the sake of her grandfather and the young mage's peace of mind, "Such a basic courtesy is beyond any mystic who doesn't want to get cursed. Those zombies didn't make themselves." As Birgir prepared to throw himself in front of his granddaughter, if need be, Mrs Brown laughed. "A little too frank but all too true. Come, let us test the veracity of your promoter. It would do little good if all this was the fantasy of an opportunist who plays at soothsaying." Left outside the inner house's door, Orison didn't have the nerve to use spirit sight inside a house made of spirit and death. A few minutes later, Birgir and her grandfather left the room frowning as Mrs Brown left it with a far more menacing scowl. "I thought you brought to me one suited. It seems your skills of prediction are as false and affected as your courtesy," the woman said as she looked down at the iron and bronze staff in the girl's hand. Orison smiled and said, "Care to make a wager on that?" "I sent her into my ritual room to pick out a fetish that called to her and she came out with my grandmother's old distaff. It's so heavy and unwieldy, she couldn't even use it after she developed arthritis. If it wasn't an heirloom she had received from her own grandmother, I wouldn't have bothered stealing away with it when I picked up the rest of her things that rightfully belonged to me," she said, slightly distraught. "A gate for a gate, Mrs Brown. I say she got exactly the right thing. Do you dare or not?" Orison said, mysterious smile. "And now I do not see your thoughts as clearly. Alright, even the antics of a charlatan can amuse before they grow boring. Your gate or mine." she said, threats of violence dancing at the edges of her scarlet filling eyes. The young mage turned towards Babs and said. "First of all. Good job. You got the best thing... Sit on that rock over there and keep that rod in your right hand while you rest it in your lap. "Okay, good. Now close your eyes for a second and picture yourself back in your room in the small apartment. Your mom's left for the night with a new friend and your brother's putting in a late session at the gym. You're bored but there's nothing to do. So, you just stare at the wall. "You're not asleep but it's not the same as awake. You slide in between. There's pictures on the wall, people's faces, conversations. Let the building shiver pass through you, over you... Raise your right hand slightly and imagine those faces twisting spinning, smoothing out into strings. The rod in your hand holds them in place for you so you can gather more..." Orison slowly eased up his suggestive voice and let her do her thing. She tucked the object under arm for a moment before she frowned and grabbed it back in her hand and made a whacking motion with it. Smiling afterwards, she started rocking back and forth a little and signing a song or maybe chanting. To his left the young mage heard a sharp intake of breath. Mrs Brown was holding a hand to her mouth as a brackish tear slid down her face. The shuffling corpses making their rounds on the island stopped what they were doing and laid down like they were taking a nap. Soon the ghostly balls of glowing light and apparitions joined them while Mrs Brown herself seemed drowsy. "Stop. Stop! I'm not so proud that I can't admit a mistake," she said. Babs snapped out of trance and looked around in confusion for a moment before she looked at Orison. "You're not wrong but you're not right either. It is a thingy for holding stuff but not to make threads. It just, I don't know, helps hold things but it's also a weapon. It's missing pieces too. It should jingle." The woman ran back into the house like it was on fire and returned a short moment later with a box of old iron and brass pieces. It was from Babs' fuzzy memory but Orison could figure it out and piece by piece, he mended the broken decorations back on. A subtle but strong hum came from what he thought was merely an extra thick distaff. Birgir said, "That's a Volva's iron staff." Unable to blush but looking scandalized, Mrs Brown frowned at the man, causing him to blush at the realization of her misunderstanding. "Not...not unmentionable parts, mam. Volva is a seidr practitioner... a wise woman. Did your grandmother have something with symbols on it? Runes, if you know what they are." From there, Orison had no place in the goings on. It was outside the realm of his comprehensions and wouldn't particularly enrich them. So, he went to find Roy. After Roy finished excitedly showing off his ancestor's stuff, he said, "I don't really get it, though. How did all of this end up here?" Orison gave a lopsided grin. "Not all the rips are new. Some of them are old, from the time before this world drew magic away from people. Before Southern Louisiana was renamed Antioche Bay, not too far from a place called Chauvin, that's where they ran away. He liked going out, in more ways than one but... One of those times, he took her because he'd found something... magical. "She stayed. He came and went. As hard of a time as he had being faithful, there was no doubt that he loved her because he NEVER brought anyone else here and he never left for long. The only other person to come here was someone named Julia who may or may not be your great grandaunt. You'll have to talk to Mrs Brown about that but I'd suggest not." With night rolling into it's last legs, everyone met back up in the living room. Mrs Brown looked faded, washed out. At first, the young mage as confused by what could be the cause but among the revelations that came to light from the woman's collection of her grandmother's things turned out to be a secret journal embroidered into the squares of an old quilt. Within its stitches was a rich story of a woman who had many friendly connections. The legacy that Mrs Brown had studied over her life was a series of three leather bound books that turned out to be a duel trophy with one best friend that had turned bitter enemy. It was a sordid tale that the young mage had little interest in but had taken wind out of the revenant lady's sails. Losing a great deal of the will that had held her clinging to the material side of the veil, she made quick work of doling what she had to who she wished to receive it. Moved to some pity, Orison said as he watched her look over the dark accumulation of gruesome magical makings, "Life is strange. It took you down a path of love but also a path of damnation. If you hadn't taken it, then your legacy and life may not have been as fully lived nor as meaningful. It's not a justification and there may not be some shining hall awaiting you on the other side but there are no guarantees that what would have awaited you at the end of a wider, more traveled road would be better. "You have found a good hearted girl to carry your grandmother's light and a descendant to carry you and your husband's memory. You lived a life of regal destruction, royal wickedness. In modern terms, you were one hell of a bad a** swamp witch. I have a memory of someone saying 'If you can't be good, be good at it.' You were damn good at it." She smiled weakly and replied, "You really shouldn't waste your kindness on someone like me. I might decide to haunt you." He shrugged, "Kindness isn't wasted unless it's ignored... I have a suggestion if you don't want to leave it up to fate. You know, what you're going to, I mean. There's this oddity of an afterlife ruler named Noxflora..."
