Sailing Ether Tides

Book 2: Dirt Diver’s Dance

Heartbreak Hotel Ch: 19

“We’re in a complicated position here…” The king explained in the steamy pool, as they soaked in the strange atmosphere that the storm had developed as it wound down. The wind moaned in the trees almost passionately, as the clouds thinned and stars began peeking out through the ragged shreds of vapor and mist.

“There are no active gods here; on any of these realms, really. Only the prime worlds, the ones closest to the center are touched by the gods that rule this slice of reality; perhaps only the true world feels their gaze, I don’t know.” He sighed softly and smiled.

“Spirits we have and demons… but no gods; until now!” Ghnash grinned happily with his shiny new teeth and nodded. “I feel goddess SpiderBoobs in you, her kiss grows inside your souls. Soon she will touch others, she whispers that SmartyPants, SmileyFace and others will come here soon.”

“What’s the difference between gods, spirits and whatnot?” Gandree asked quietly. “The clan cared only about crafts and mining.” He shrugged at the father and daughter in his bath and grinned.

“Though, they didn’t really bother to teach me anything about the outside world… I never even saw the human traders that came to the hold. One of the masters always hauled me down into the deepest tunnels on market days.”

“Stupid…wretched beardos.” The king grumbled before beginning his lecture.

“All living beings have some sort of spirit, whether it be a slime mold, deer, human, or even a more advanced being, like a goblin.” He grinned and gave a soft chuckle.

“A mortal spirit leaves the body when it dies and lingers on as a remnant; a shade of Will and Mind. Such haunts cause little trouble and will drift away eventually; most living people cannot even see them. Mortal ghosts and shades are everywhere, all the time.”

“Creepy.” Gandree answered calmly. “So gods, demons and spirits, what’s the difference?”

“There are spirits of the land, spirits of trees, waters and stones, all around us at all times, but they are sleepy and resist interacting with the swift lives of mortals…” He smiled and nodded.

“Witches, mages and the wise can call on ghosts and the spirits of the land, sky and water for aid, or rouse their fury against foes; while the unwise find their rage turned on the one who awakens them for foolish or wicked ends…”

“Like the demon your ghosts devoured?” The dwarf asked.

“No, no! Not devoured, torn apart.” The king clarified gently. “My ghosts tore him to shreds and stole away his soul, it’s locked in my flute! A friend will take him away soon; while I use what’s left to make a new weapon for my brothers’ war on the Light cult.” He cackled madly at the sky for a few seconds.

“Papa... go on.” Daisybelle murmured from under Gandree’s arm.

“Yes, dear. So, anyway; gods are a normal expression of a community of living souls. They appear naturally, with the development of culture and language.” The king grinned and shrugged.

“This world and so many others broke off from the prime world or worlds after the gods formed, as a result of some catastrophe… None know what it was or why. Because of this, we lack a fully formed etheric veil of our own, existing inside the aegis of the prime worlds, but set apart and hidden.”

“So why don’t the gods come here?” The dwarf asked. “And how did, Cowl… Goddess SmileyFace, touch my soul? I never left Dwarfhold.”

“Gods, ghosts and outsiders may not pass the void maws; save inside the protective Animus and aura of a living person.” Ghnash chuckled happily and splashed with barely restrained Joy.

“The man we were… shattered from, had little love for most gods and did not trust them; only a few could touch him directly. Somehow, you took a piece of goddess Smileyface with you through the void… By good fortune you arrived with a divine Contract already touching your soul!” He crowed and chittered at the starry sky above.

“That you shared her with my Daisybelle is enough to earn you my thanks. Then you shared her with me…” The king’s smile widened Gandree too, stared up at the sky above, through drifting shreds of windblown clouds.

“Gods attain sentience and gain power and reach through the expansion and development of their adherents.”The king continued.

“The Magician knows more, but you are not ready to meet him, so you must suffer my tutelage.” His wicked chuckle and grin were oddly soothing. The warm cozy girl snuggled close beside him and the three enormous wolfhounds sprawled around the bath helped too.

“So that covers ghosts, spirits and gods… You mentioned outsiders and demons.”

“Outsiders are just living souls; full souls that somehow achieved sentience in the void between worlds or escaped their mortal flesh intact, to dwell forever in the limitless ether.” He shrugged his muscular green shoulders and smiled weakly.

“Some are benign, others are deeply alien but without malice, or simply curious; those may peek into the mortal realm, or even meddle slightly for their own goals, interests and such…” He shrugged indifferently, then frowned.

“A few are wicked, pernicious and troublesome. Those we call demons. They are a blight on all realms; always they are cruel, mad or simply indifferent to mortal suffering. Demons toy with mortal sentients and disport themselves in the world for their own reasons.”

“How do you tell the difference?” Gandree asked quietly.

“Demons, like spirits and gods, must act through mortal agents. Gods and spirits do this through cults and social rituals, drawing the faithful towards their goals through influence and by granting miracles or magic to the faithful.”

The king glared up at the sky for a moment or two.

“Not that all gods are so benign and benevolent… Some are as wicked and vile as can be. Others are only gods by their own assertion, like the cult of ‘Light’. They worship an outsider demon of starlight and illusion as their goddess, ‘Light’ rather than the spirit Light, who cannot see into this realm.” He sorted furiously at the vast, star speckled sky.

“So a demon or outsider can pretend to be a god? How do you know the difference?” Gandree wondered aloud.

“Outsiders and demons use their cults to gain access to mortal bodies, to inhabit those mortal bodies through various, generally unclean methods, that they might directly interact with the mortal realms.” The king answered firmly. “True gods need not your body, they may ask for a physical act from their adherents, but such are mortal choices. No god can truly inhibit a mortal body without that being’s express and conscious will, and then only for the barest instant.” He chuckled darkly.

“Only a mortal being of terrifying power, lingering on the very precipice of life, death and madness could allow such a thing to happen. Mortal flesh cannot contain even a fraction of the divine.”

“But you said the goddess is inside me…?” He asked the king, carefully.

“No, boy, she touched your soul and left her mark on you… A mortal body truly inhabited by a god would erupt into a soft breeze and a cloud of dust too fine to be seen with mortal eyes in a few scant heartbeats.” Ghnash sighed happily.

“Your SmileyFace, SpiderBoobs and others are gods and goddesses... I smell them on you… And I want more of them in my realm. Did any of them tell you what they needed to enter this world?”

“SmartyPants says he wants dumplings, tea and cookies!” Daisybelle cheered. “Snacktime, Gandree boy!”

#

“Hey, Rio… Do the thing…!” Ward cried, as Alder and Hazel joined in on congas taken from the kid’s collection of instruments. “Come on… you know you wanna!”

“I’m not supposed to…” The tall lad mumbled awkwardly. “We have new people around.”

“Don’t be a baby, Lindsey’s fine.” Ward urged him, with a wink at the lanky, deeply embarrassed girl.

“What’s going on?” She asked Barry, swaying in his arms to the music, no longer caring how she was dressed, as long as he held her that way.

“Rio has a gift that he also hasn’t been able to use for a long time.” Barry whispered. “He used to call forth musicians from the distant past to play with us, but that ability was sealed away when papa got cursed.” He shrugged happily.

“We… had a weird dream; after that, the gift re-awakened in him… These shades already haunt us anyway, so it’s just good clean fun.”

“G-G-Ghosts?” She stammered.

“Yeah, but the least scary ghosts ever… there is one my mom has always been terrified of, though. I kinda wanna see him, since she’s not around right now.” Barry sighed as Rio began thudding along on a heavily decorated pair of small, conjoined drums.

“Your mother is afraid of them?” Lindsey murmured, growing pale as shadows began to twitch and squirm around the room. She was having trouble reconciling her memory of that fierce, fearless woman and her son’s wild claims.

A few seconds later, a portly man wearing a round topped hat and a pencil mustache appeared from a shadow behind the stage. He sat behind the keys of Wilf’s little pianoforte and began driving the music, with an absolutely ecstatic smile on his shadowy, largely indistinct face.

“Fats! Welcome back!” Amy gasped happily, saluting him with a cheerful riff from her guitar.

“He doesn’t seem scary…” Lindsey sighed at the plump, cheerful shade who was hammering on the keys and grinning around a smoldering paper tube of some herb, clenched between his lips.

“Nah, Everybody loves master Waller… I think he’s super cool.” Barry whispered as they danced together. “Rio…”

The tall boy wrapped around her called out to his brother, his voice cutting through the mix easily.

“Are you Feelin All Right?”

“Oh, yeah… Though, maybe…” The tall, dark lad called out as the music shifted, becoming more primal, driving and dark. “Yeah, I’m Feelin Alright.”

As Rio spoke, a strange, disheveled man with wild, curly hair and mutton chop whiskers on his cheeks, slipped out of the dark corner behind the stand up bass. He stepped out from Sequoia’s shadow, without interrupting her bass groove.

The newcomer seemed to be absolutely drenched in ghost sweat, soaking his thin, white, unpleasantly clingy shirt very unattractively.

He stepped to the front of the stage, opened his mouth and began to sing, rich, ragged, desperate cry; a plea cast into a world without compassion.

Seems I've got to have,

a change of scene…

Every night I have,

The strangest dream!

Imprisoned by the way it could have been

Left here on my own,

Or so it seems;

I've got to leave before I start to scream

But someone locked the door…

and took the key!

As he sang, the shade began to thrash about, as though experiencing physical torture or suffering a fit of some kind. He flailed and twitched constantly, while the rough, pleading song thundered from his shadowy throat.

You're feelin' alright?

Oh no…

I'm not feelin' too good myself,

No, no…

“My mom can’t stand to watch Joe Cocker dance… it burns her very soul… He can really sing, though.” Barry sighed happily, swaying her in his arms as dryads, demigods and ghosts sang and played all around them.

#

For some reason, the storm plucked and strummed Shai’s poor ragged husband; battering his soul, tormenting him, until Kree was forced to sting him stupid.

He was bleary eyed, goofy and under strict instruction to not play any stringed instruments until his fingertips finished healing.

She had him laid out by the fire upstairs under his familiar’s supervision, while she did some work in the basement forge. The sound of his bamboo flute was soothing, transmitted by the little drum on the wall by her forge…

He’d made that just for her, before things got bad and three gods vanished from the pantheon. The nifty little enchanted drum would transmit the sound of any instrument he played, down into her forge, so long as he was within a mile or two of the house.

It had been a fun trinket, just to make her smile; now it was an early warning device, alerting her if he succumbed to temptation and began playing. Or if he took up an instrument that would damage the new skin on his fingers.

She shunted those thoughts aside and fell into the familiar rhythm of the work, invoking her gifts from Brigid, goddess of Hearths and Forges to bless her crafts.

The soft susurrus of steel sliding over her polishing stones was soothing, nothing beat a hand polished finish for the keenest edge and smoothest sheen. A yard of gently curved steel sang sweetly against oiled limestone, whispering and sighing under her hands. Any fool could slam a heavy sledge onto a hot ingot of pig iron to impress the rubes with a fashy display of flying, molten iron scale.

The real test of a smith was in the finish, fit and function.

It was just a scythe blade, a bit of craft to help a neighbor; so she put some fancy little embellishments here and there, where only the user would notice. Nothing ostentatious, she just carved the heads of the handle rivets into sweet little steel roses. At the end, she added a weighted bronze pommel, sculpted in the shape of a little pudgy sparrow, shaped to fit the palm of the hand just so.

She giggled at the heirloom quality farm implement and sighed. It was the kind of thing her husband once made, just for the joy of the work and to entertain or delight. Whether a mandolin, enchanted to make a dairyman’s goats dance, or her deadly gravedigging shovel that cut men and monsters as easily as sod, he always surprised her.

“Fie… I do hate working wi-out thee by my side…” She whispered into the forge. Only the interstellar cellar spider could hear her… and she could be relied on to keep secrets.

The long legged arachnid rattled softly in the quiet basement, as she began to spin in her web; until, with a soft, crackling pop and a few colorful, magical sparks, she vanished into the ether.

#

Dana, goddess of Healing, fumed and sulked in the curtained pavilion of golden silk she’d caused to be erected on the eternal meadow, her place of torment. “That filthy, unclean thing has left me trapped like this for… what do they call it, when the sun goes all the way around?” She demanded of her underlings.

“Years?” Ermet, mistress of Herbs asked in genuine confusion. “Or perhaps days? What even is a month? This is so perplexing!”

“Oh, poor darlings…” Thirp muttered crossly. “You’ve had an eternity to watch mortals develop and study them; you just never bothered. Now, suddenly you are interested in their doings?”

“If that is all you’ve come for… Begone, spider!” Hygeia shrilled, waving a broom in a manner that suggested she might even try it.

“Fools. I come to say this. Settle your accounts soon, Dana. Greater forces than either of us are becoming… annoyed by your antics.” Thirp chittered her fangs at them; a habit her goblin king had taught her, it intimidated most beings nicely. Satisfied, she flung a dropline into the sky and clambered up into nowhere, just to show off in front of the imprisoned goddess.

Thirp descended into the garden of the Strange High House in the Mist, into the gathered divines of their ‘Rebel Alliance’. Joy herself lounged on a divan near the pool, draped in a gauzy and filmy wrap and very little else, beyond her ivory mask.

“Lady Dana remains intractable, lady Cowl.” Thirp skittered nervously, to be addressing the being.

She waved one slender hand, in a gesture of utter satisfaction with how things were progressing. The subtle and elegant movement spoke volumes while Cowl remained silent.

With that simple wave, she entreated Thirp to speak more casually and placed her at ease in the divine being’s luminous presence.

“We will be able to begin spreading to other realms soon, my goblin king will ease that process. He’s rather… intimidating and very persuasive.” Thirp sighed with pleasure, as her own aura smoothed out under Joy’s divine gaze and in the radius of her grace.

“Marduk is being invoked even as we speak, goddess SmileyFace…” The divine spider sang happily, teasing the First Divine in a sassy way that surprised them both.

Cowl responded by pantomiming enormous boobies at her eight legged junior, as a sigh of delight escaped from behind the mask.

“Yes, but I have come to enjoy my SpiderBoob persona more than a little.” Thirp cooed, snuggling in beside the elder goddess.

Cowl tipped one hand forward and rotated her wrist in a very small gesture that whispered on at great length about how ‘some gods’ take themselves far too seriously.

“I’m so glad we finally got the chance to talk like this.” The spider goddess sighed softly. “Now we need to convince the goblin king to start sewing up naughty underwear.”

#

Ticklefoot was relentless… and he was so hungry… so very hungry. He giggled madly while scuttling over a rocky mountain’s brow and into a small rift in the never. He hated passing through the endless nothing and despised traveling hungry, or really doing anything hungry.

He wriggled out through the awfully tight gap and into the valley where his Ticklefoot was. His stolen foot… if he could just eat that sweet, sweet foot…

He slipped through that narrow aperture and smelled horses… delicious horses and men.

With absolute dedication, he clamped his teeth down on his tongue until blood flowed to stifle the terrible tickles as he crept closer. From a rocky cliffside ledge, he looked down on a small herd in a rope corral, huddled close together under a shelter of tarps and newly hewn logs.

He grinned a bloody toothed smile around the remains of his tongue when he spotted a tiny blonde human girl child moving around near the edge of the herd. He limbered up his claws and slavered great ropey runnels of drool and blood down his front in anticipation of a rare treat.

The ignorant child even wandered out into the dark to stare at the sky and the fast scudding clouds overhead… nearly under his ledge.

#

A soft, chiming alarm went up in the workshop, over by the cursed spinning wheel and the awful trollfoot ritual circles. “Oh, gods…” Shai muttered as she checked the long, scraggly toe hair she had floating on a pool of melted troll lard. The clay warming bowl was enchanted to keep the noxious fat at just the right temperature for the unclean divination to work.

The follicle end slowly turned in its bowl of rancid liquid, to indicate the other end of the valley, far to the south west. She drew her little bird ocarina out of her Pockets! and began a sprightly tune of warning addressed to Rolf, out at the dungeon entrance site.

Her chubby birdie took wing and flew off to sing her song a few dozen miles away, singing merrily through the remains of the storm.

#

He had it all planned out… He would maul her just a little on his initial pounce, maybe break her legs; then he could carry her off and eat her slowly on some distant hilltop. Not too far away, so the humans could hear her wail and scream…

She strolled right into his range while he was planning, so he leapt, unleashing one desperate, hungry giggle as he flew at her…

The troll had forgotten a lot of things and had been going through a lot lately… but he was sure he’d jumped on a tiny human girl, not an enormous silver and white unicorn mare, whose gleaming, platinum horn was aimed right for his eyes.

#

On the wet, windy pass, the Adventurer camp weathered the storm better than anyone expected… Most of the tents had been ‘borrowed’ from the Wards and seemed improbably stable, durable and waterproof.

A few supply crates got soaked, a few tents fell down, someone slipped in slick mud and came up with a sprained ankle. All in all, sir Rolf Belen was satisfied by the state of things; right up ‘til the chubby little clay bird flew into his tent and began to sing about trouble and trolls.

Rolf rang the camp bell, calling the warriors on duty to attend and drawing the eyes of everyone.

“We have word that a troll is near… it’s desperate and dangerous, so mind the horses and of course, no wandering alone.” The young lord scanned the croup of disheveled and weary warriors. “Has anyone seen Ester?”

“Out by the corral, chatting with Annie.” Master Khan offered from the crowd. “Let’s go check on the herd.” The two warriors headed for the sheltered corral and makeshift barn. They were not quite trotting, but they moved much faster than a brisk walk, while keeping their hands near their weapons at all times.

Halfway to the corral, they encountered Luna, carrying the blood drenched form of Ester in her arms.

“Ghahhh, I shouldn’t have eaten that…” Ester moaned pitifully from Luna’s embrace. “I used to be a nightmare, sir Rolf! Look at the state of me now! This is your fault! Take responsibility!”

“I found her near the corral, there was a blood trail leading away; while she seems unharmed, save for being poisoned or sick.” The one eyed woman explained weakly.

“A troll jumped me… wanted to eat me… me!” She moaned. “Naturally I tore out and ate his heart… but I’m not a nightmare anymore! Now I’m sick!” She bawled. “I didn’t even get to smush his brains, so he’ll be back, eventually.”

She squirmed closer to her one eyed mount and sobbed. “Make me some ginger tea, Luna… Annie says that might help. Rolf’s useless in the kitchen.”

#

Ticklefoot staggered off into the night, flexing every muscle in his body constantly to keep his blood moving, while his heart grew back. The horrid unicorn bitch had gutted him and eaten his heart… eaten it while he watched…

That was his move! That was almost the most galling part; worse yet, she didn’t even enjoy it.

She’d seemed to realize her error halfway through the tough, gristly chunk of meat and began gagging, while he dragged himself away. That journey, trailing his guts across the rough granite slab and prickly pine needles was super memorable.

Eventually, he sagged against a scrawny pine tree perched on a high, narrow ledge of cracked stone, waiting and regaining his strength by devouring the needles and eventually the bark of the sickly tree.

At last, just as the sun was coming up, he stood, grabbed his tree and began pulling it from the gritty, barren crack in the stone it was rooted in. He could hobble on the smooth trunk ‘til he got Ticklefoot back… and bash things too!

“Smarts! I gots them!” He giggled softly as he worked on the tree.

With a mighty heave, he wrenched the tree out, as the sound of grating, shifting stone erupted all around.

Slowly, so very slowly, his world shifted and began moving downward at a rapidly increasing pace. A moment later, everything became shifting stones and flying boulders.

It was that red haired demon’s curse… it had to be.

#

Gary sat up late, looking out at the forest side of his home; watching the flickering lights of fireflies and the tricky glowbats. Sly predators that used their own flashing bioluminescence to deceive their prey. The small lights danced along the lake edge and among the trees, as life carried on after the storm blew itself out and climbed the far end of the valley.

“Gary, are ye coming in?” Shai asked from the porch wrapped in a flannel robe.

“I slept all day…” He sighed softly. “I’ll be up for a while. Go on to bed, love.”

Around midnight, the nocturnal light show slowed down and most of the world got super still and peaceful. Gary was still buzzing and humming inside with little chance of sleeping any time soon.

He slipped inside and began the quiet work of innkeeping; folding, fluffing, cleaning and generally keeping an inn... With careful application of his gifts and a little judicious pushing of the limits, he could use some of his old tricks to help with the chores… But really, only if no one was around or awake.

The gaze of a sentient being on his tricky uses of shadow and dimension magic made the whole thing vastly more energy intensive. Once, he had enjoyed confounding people with silly displays and foolish tricks, even if it was inefficient and silly; now any real dip in his Mana pool’s level would send him crashing to the floor, vomiting and with a fresh brown load in his shorts. Not cool.

“Be careful, boss.” Kree muttered from behind his ear, where she liked to perch. “And be quiet, Mariah’s sleeping.”

“I used to own this inn… now I’m what? The night porter?” He whispered to his sassy familiar.

“Pfft, third teir bellboy, at best.” She mumbled sleepily. “You’ve got no ambition. You’d be fired if the mistress didn’t insist on keeping you around for her devious entertainments.”

#