Sledding the Matterhorns (2/2)

“Eh. It's fine. So you're an earth guy?”

“Yes. My family learned this combination back in the wars. I'm mainly a Duelist and Earth Elementalist. Eventually I'll unlock the Elemental Warrior job, and then things get interesting. Knight's a recent addition, but the armor skills make it worthwhile. When my code's working, anyway.” He frowned. “It's back down to one again and I still don't know why.”

“You were arguing pretty hard with them...” Buttons said, cautiously. “I didn't listen in, but that was definitely your voice shouting, for some of it.”

“So why did those creatures attack us?” Threadbare asked. “Does anyone know?”

“I do,” Glub spoke up. “Ran into some of their cousins before. They're collectively called matterhorns. The earth ones are solidhorns, the cloud ones are gasserhorns, and there's liquihorns in mountain lakes and big rivers sometimes. They're territorial as fudge, man.”

“Legend speaks of the, hmmm... fourth type,” Dracosnack added. “Plasmahorns. But they are said to only be found around volcanoes, and similar hotspots.”

“This is pretty close to the Outpost,” Button said. “We'd better report this, so they can get a kill team out.”

“Or a Tamer team,” Threadbare said, glancing around at the torn up landscape. “If their only issue is territoriality they might be useful pets for one of the new recruits.”

There was silence for a bit, as the rest of the team shared glances between each other.

Threadbare broke the tension. “Is something the matter?”

“Sir...” Apollyon coughed. “That was a lethal fight. If we had been less experienced or hadn't used teamwork, we would have been scattered and killed. It would have been certain death for new recruits. Hells, that thing hit you for a solid one-eighty or so. A lot of trainees don't even have that sort of hit points.”

“Some of us still don't,” Buttons muttered.

Threadbare would have blinked if his eyes weren't buttons. Then he checked his status screen. Sure enough, he was down to three hundred and sixty three hit points. “Oh. Hm. Mend Golem. Mend.”

That put it right, but the lesson was a bit sobering. “I suppose it's been a while since I've been in a real fight. I'm a bit bad at judging this sort of thing.”

“I think maybe it's 'cuz of the shit we went through early on, you know?” Glub said. “Things were pretty hairy back then. I was only there for part of it, but Zuula told me stories 'fore she and Mordecai went off on their trip. Your danger meter might be kinda skewed.”

Threadbare smiled. “Then I shall do my best to rely on my friends to help me keep my perspective. I'm glad to be on this trip with you and I'm proud that you handled that well.”

Buttons looked away.

Surprisingly, it was Apollyon who caught it, and spoke. “No, no, it's fine. You did a good job too. It's not your fault you got scared off, but as soon as you could you turned around and shot back. Isn't that what shooters are supposed to do? Let the tanks tank, and put damage in from afar?”

“We're called snipers, meatsack,” Buttons said back, but her heart clearly wasn't in the insult. “Ah... yeah, I guess when you put it that way... maybe...” she folded her arms. “Hmph. Thanks.”

The rest of the day went smoothly. And around the campfire that night, Glub told stories of the old days, the struggle against the demon king Melos, and the way they'd infiltrated Fort Bronze. Almost everything had gone wrong with that mission, yet they'd managed to get away with vital information that had turned the tide of battle later.

“Reason used to be some kind of daemon engine? No way!” Buttons chirped, her eyes wide. “She's so chill now! We used to hang out after ballistics class, she'd give me extra range time and I'd help her with her macrame!”

“Macrame? Weaving?” Dracosnack asked.

“Yeah, she said she found it relaxing, but her hands were too big for a lot of it. She had to work with ropes and frames the size of river barges, and even then she had a lot of snags and tears. I got little fingers, so it's easier for me.” The tin soldier shook her head. “It's weird to think that she used to be some sort of tentacle demonbeast.”

“Technically she, hmmm... wasn't,” Dracosnack offered. “She wasn't a greater golem back then. Her soul wasn't called into being until after it was all over, and her mmmm... frame had been cleansed of daemonic flesh and magic. She was only a thing, not a person, until Threadbare uplifted her.”

“I have a question, if it's not too personal,” Apollyon said, staring directly down at Threadbare.

“I'd have to hear it first,” Threadbare said. In the past he would have said ask away, but after spending three years among curious humans, he'd gotten a little cautious about some of their notions. A lot of them tended to think in very vulgar ways that upset Celia when he went and asked her for clarification.

“Do..” Apollyon grimaced. “Where do the souls that you have come from?”

The fire popped in the silence, as Threadbare considered. “That's a fine question. It's not personal at all. But I don't really know the answer.”

“When we are made, when Threadbare uses the Greater Golem Upgrade, we are essentially born,” Dracosnack said, his voice certain now as he recited what he'd learned from study. “If we were not, then the Newborn's Mercy skill would not work upon us. We mature quickly, so the blessing fades at a greater rate than most other species, but the commonly-accepted logic dictates that is proof that we have souls and that's the moment they land in our bodies.”

“Seems to me like that's kinda shaky ground,” Buttons said. “Doesn't that Newborn's Mercy skill work on newly-hatched bugs, too?”

“Actually they have souls,” Threadbare remarked. “Just very small ones. My friend Graves said that they barely provide the tiniest mote of necromantic energy so there's no real point in using them to power sacrificial rites.”

Apollyon's face twisted at the mention of necromancy, but he tried to stay focused. “You do have souls, I think. There's quite a few people at home who think otherwise, but I'll accept that you do have them. But where do they come from?”

“Dunno,” Buttons said. “Where did your soul come from?”

“From my parents. They each gave up a bit of their own to create something new.”

“What?”

“That's how it works,” Apollyon said, shrugging. “I don't make the rules.”

“Mmmm,” Dracosnack said, rummaging in his pack and pulling out a book. “That's a common Kossite belief. You hold faith in the grumpy god, yes?”

“I do follow Old Koss, yes...” Apollyon said, cautiously.

“And the followers of Aeterna say that every soul is a different piece of the same soul, all building up to the reflection that is the body of the goddess herself, as it twists throughout time which is not linear and in fact all happening at once,” the dragon toy read.

“What? That's crazy, how would that even work?” Apollyon frowned.

“Mmmm, it gets into high-level mathematical theory. I believe the name for the exact theory of the mechanics involved is... ah, here it is... wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.”

“The Yorgumites believe that every object created with love has a soul,” Threadbare offered.

“So... my tabard has a soul?” Apollyon shook his head. “The Aeterna one was just confusing. But this one seems a little... well... silly.”

“I'm afraid I don't know much more about it than that,” Threadbare shrugged. “But when we get to Bigstump Outpost, we should meet a Cleric of Yorgum there. I think she can elaborate more on the idea, if you like.”

Apollyon shook his head. “It's... those don't make any sense, though. What you called the Kossite way, that makes sense to me. I'm the child of my parents. Their souls combined to make a seed, and mine grew from that.”

“I get where you're coming from, man,” Glub patted his leg. “Where I came from, every soul was descended from our great old one Yglnargle’blah. The priests used to say that no matter how many generations down you went, this meant that your soul was just a growth of his, and that no matter where it ended up, one day Yglnargle’blah would wake and drink us all in. He will devour us forever and gain the experiences and powers that we've gathered in life. So when you think about it, we're not that different! Shit, maybe I should take in a Kossite sermon, see if they're my kind of jam! ”

Apollyon's mouth formed into a perfect O of horror, and he stopped asking questions. The discussion wound down after that.

And on the fifth day of travel, with the stockade wall of the outpost on the horizon, Glub's head snapped up.

“We're being stalked,” he said, turning slowly. “Something in the treeline, something black. I can't see it. It's always at the corner of my eye... what do we do, Boss? What's the call, here?” He looked to Threadbare...

...but Threadbare wasn't there.

Threadbare was running full tilt at the treeline, waving his arms and hopping as he went, short bounds that boosted him a full four feet in the air.

The group swore, drew weapons, and charged forward to follow him—

—too late.

A black blur dashed out from the trees, leaped high into the air, and crashed into the little bear, whirling in a blur of fur and tail and claws, and bounding away before any of them could react.

“No!” Buttons yelled, and brought her gun up just as Threabare yelled something...

...only to have her aim knocked askew as Glub slapped the barrel away the split-second before she pulled the trigger.

BLAM!

“The hell did you do that for?” she whirled on him, as the others gave chase. “I had a shot!”

But to her surprise, Glub was smiling. And his grin was positively huge.

“What the hells?” she asked, taking a step back. Had the fishman gone crazy?

“He'll be fine,” Glub waved a finned hand. “Oh. Wait. You didn't hear what he said?”

“No. What did he say?” she asked.

“Just one word,” Glub said, chuckling. “Pulsivar.”