Chapter 75 – Contingencies
Routine, Orestis had decided long ago, was the natural enemy of a long life. Unfortunately, it was also a necessity that he could not do without.
Seven days had passed since the spar. In that time, he had settled into something resembling a schedule—which was itself a minor miracle, given how many things conspired to insert themselves into his time. Ever since he’d set foot on Nomyra, it had been one thing after another.
Well, at least I’ve finally managed to go a week without some new intrusion.
Eirene’s training continued on its three-day rotation. Thankfully, Maxim never bothered to show up for the physical or spell training sessions after that one time, so Orestis was spared having to be annoyed by the idiot. Maxim only joined for the spars, but that was inevitable. Even the goddesses appeared for that one.
I don’t know why they still keep joining. Not like they were learning anything new.
Then again, they do help Eirene. So I suppose it’s fine.
They had moved the spars to new environments for the subsequent sessions—a desert, and then a stretch of open ocean. The latter had been a bit of a trial for Nuri. She had spent the first half hour glued to either his hair or Eirene’s, eyeing the water below with the betrayed expression of a creature who held him personally responsible for the absence of solid ground.
Orestis had also noticed that Eirene had recently taken to darkening the hair around her neck, in an apparent bid to lure the little critter onto her shoulder rather than his head. It was working, too—which confirmed his theory that Nuri nested in his hair purely because it happened to be black, like her fur.
I really want to see what she’ll do if I change the colour of my hair to something lighter. Maybe after I perfect the communication spell.
With everything else on his plate, he had not allocated any time to work on that particular spell yet. What he had been working on was Varra’s lich body. And that was actually progressing remarkably well.
The accidental harvest of divine essence had not just solved Varra’s material shortage; it had rewritten the entire project.
On a related note, Varra insisted that ‘divine essence’ remained a tentative name. The lich maintained that anything that sounded so plain was an insult to a discovery of such magnitude.
And yet, when Orestis pointed out how Varra had named his life force storage units ‘life crystals’, the lich countered by saying that those had been named before he split his soul into good and evil halves, so his naming sense had apparently been ‘less sophisticated’ back then.
Orestis wisely decided not to pursue the argument, in case the lich decided that his backstory required his soul to have been forged in dragon fire or corrupted by demons.
Theatrics aside, they had spent two days characterising the properties of divine essence. That it could be used as a soul vessel had already been established. Further testing had revealed that it actively reinforced the soul’s structure. And when fabricated into the skeletal framework, it outperformed the previous material on every axis they could measure, whether it was density, conductivity, or strength.
Now, the challenge had become one of ratios: how to craft a material that would maximise the benefits on all fronts at once. The trick was finding the right proportion.
I’d even call the process enjoyable. If not for the wings.
Varra had taken to manifesting the sacred-profane wings every time they made a breakthrough. And the more significant the discovery, the larger they became. Orestis had long since stopped commenting on it; acknowledgement only served to encourage the fool.
Regardless, the end result was that they were now crafting something considerably more powerful than the lich body Orestis remembered. The original had been formidable. This one would be in a completely different category altogether.
Perhaps he should have been more concerned about the implications of all this. The future Varra had already been nigh unkillable. And here Orestis was, handing that same eccentric lich an even stronger body to mess around in.
Eh. It’ll be fine. Not my problem.
The work was interesting. Orestis had learned long ago to take ‘interesting’ where he could find it. As for the rest? If the gods had a problem with it, they could sort it out themselves.
***
After the research, the thing that took up most of his time was the logistics of the birthday gathering.
Orestis was, he would admit privately, putting more thought into it than the situation strictly warranted. Of course, it was not because of sentiment. Obviously not. A gathering of two families plus one uninvited hero required coordination, and coordination required attention. So he was paying attention. That was all.
The structure was settled, but he made sure to check in with Thaleia every day regardless—just in case something came up. Eleven centuries of experience had taught Orestis that the probability of random nonsense was never zero.
Which was why, today, he had decided to handle one of the larger remaining variables in advance.
Or rather, I should say I luckily chanced upon the opportunity to do so.
He opened a gate in the sitting room and stepped through into his parents’ home in Theramon. A minute later, he returned with both of them in tow. It was their first time inside the house, and his mother’s gaze immediately began travelling, taking in the furnishings and all the small touches Eirene had added.
“Oh, this is lovely,” she said, already wandering towards the kitchen. It was uncanny. Almost as though she possessed some instinctive ability to locate kitchens in any house she entered.
“Mother,” he called gently, intercepting her. “I’m sure Eirene would want to be here for a proper tour.” At least, he assumed so. Appealing to her sense of propriety was one of the few things he was certain would prevent his mother from wandering. Besides—
“We are here for another reason.”
“I suppose you’re right,” his mother replied with a sigh. Then, she started looking around. “So where is she?”
She was not asking about Eirene. They were here precisely because Eirene had gone out to do some shopping—and the first time she’d left without Nuri in tow. For reasons of her own, the kitten had elected to stay behind today. Possibly she was sleepy. Possibly she understood that Eirene was only going a short distance and would return.
Either way, Eirene wasn’t around to wonder why he was suddenly so invested in feline diplomacy. With her intellect, even a stray clue could give away the surprise he was planning.
“Nuri,” he called, then waited for a couple of seconds… And got nothing.
Orestis extended his soul senses and felt a response from under the sofa. So she was around, just not interested in showing herself.
He knelt beside the sofa. “Nuri, come out,” he said, while also transmitting his intent through the improvised soul link.
A moment later, he felt her stir. Then her presence vanished from beneath the sofa and reappeared on top of his head.
“Oh. She’s precious!” his mother exclaimed immediately.
Fortunately, she remained where she was. He had explained the situation with the kitten beforehand, so his mother knew better than to approach uninvited.
Of course, Mauthets, by all accounts, could distinguish between hostile and non-hostile presences. The odds of Nuri reacting badly to his parents were close to non-existent. But Orestis had never been fond of leaving things to chance.
And he certainly wasn’t going to wait until the gathering for them to meet, simply hoping everything would go well. He had spent far too long planning this gathering to have it disrupted by carelessness.
Orestis reached up and detached the kitten from his hair—a complicated undertaking that involved several rounds of negotiation and no small amount of resistance. His parents watched with obvious amusement as he finally settled Nuri in his cupped palm.
Finally, he pointed and said, “That’s my mother.” He pointed again. “That’s my father.”
Each statement was accompanied by the corresponding impression. Nuri’s gaze tracked both the gesture and its intended recipient with quiet interest.
Orestis’s father leaned forward while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It almost seems like she understood what you said.”
“She should have,” Orestis replied. “I used an improvised spell to convey what I meant when I pointed.”
Both of his parents stared at him. Then his father shook his head with a tiny smile.
His mother, on the other hand, beamed and reached out. “Ask Nuri if I can hold her!”
Orestis blinked. “Er… I’m not sure how to send something like that. I’m still working on the spell.”
I really should start working on the spell. Sending single-word concepts is really quite inefficient.
But the question quickly became moot when Nuri jumped from his hand into his mother’s surprised grasp.
“Looks like she understood on her own,” his father said, moving closer to scratch the top of Nuri’s head with a finger.
“I suppose she did,” Orestis replied as he watched. They were supposed to be quite intelligent, after all.
Nuri seemed to tolerate his mother’s delighted fussing and cuddling with the dignified forbearance of a creature granting an audience. All the while, she was also looking at Orestis with slightly narrowed eyes.
Maybe he was attributing too much to her expression, but…
Why is she looking at me like she’s granting me a favour?
Orestis decided to ignore it.
Regardless, with this, another contingency had been accounted for. At this point, he had prepared for so many eventualities that the only thing left to do was pray. Not that he ever intended to do that.
Besides, I’m pretty sure Mother has the prayer part covered.
***
The expiry of the wager meant Orestis no longer had an excuse to avoid the villages. Which was a pity; he liked spending time at Varra’s lab, either researching his own soul or working on the lich body.
Still, it was only for a few hours a day, so he went. It was, predictably, a waste of time.
The matter of Kallistrate’s afflicted soldiers had long since stopped being news. Eirene and Maxim had been discussing it with the healers since the beginning; there was nothing left for Orestis to contribute that hadn’t already been said three times over.
And the search for the Saintess remained exactly where it had been: nowhere. They had a list of every female researcher across the six villages, had spoken to each of them, and had found no one who matched. Unless one counted Licinia—which Orestis did not.
Sometime over the past week, she had managed to deduce that the illness was necromantic in origin. But that was something that would have surfaced eventually regardless, so it didn’t prove anything.
The visits were not a complete loss, at least. A handful of the researchers were worth talking to, and conversation with people who could keep pace was rare enough that he indulged it. He offered the occasional insight in return. This had the predictable effect of making them like him—which, in turn, encouraged others to approach.
That part was less welcome. Not everyone who wandered over had anything interesting to say about curses or soul theory. Most simply wanted to be near the strange young researcher the healers had started speaking well of.
I wonder which this one will be, Orestis thought as he regarded the woman who stepped into his quiet corner of the research yard.
She regarded him for a moment before saying, “You’re a strange one.”
“In what way?” Orestis asked.
She tilted her head slightly. “Eirene seems to genuinely care—you can see it in how she listens. And Maxim, he enjoys helping people. He walks lighter every time someone thanks him. But not you. So why?”
“Why am I here, you mean?” he asked, mildly amused. This was certainly different from all the others.
The woman nodded.
“Yes. It’s clear that you don’t care about these villagers.” She didn’t say it as an accusation. From her tone and expression, it was clear that she was simply making an observation. “Even your mission to find a cure for the soldiers: it was Eirene who dragged you along—you admitted as much.”
The idiot had clearly been talking. Not that it mattered; there was nothing in their public goals that was worth hiding.
Although, looking at the woman—who one was easier on the eyes than most of the village staff—Orestis could see the idiot spending an afternoon explaining their goals to her in detail.
So unprofessional. I’d say I expected better of him, but I really don’t.
“As you said—Eirene cares,” Orestis said, answering her question. “That is enough for me.”
The woman smiled faintly. “I think I see now. You care for your friends.”
That… was an odd conclusion. But not wrong.
“Once things here settle down, I’ll lend a hand with the soldiers,” she said. And with that, she turned and walked back toward the treatment ward.
What a strange woman.
Although, she did offer to help find a cure for the soldiers. Probably worth knowing who that was, then.
Orestis glanced around and, seeing Maxim nearby, sent a thin thread of power across the yard to poke him in the arm. Maxim, crouched beside a row of cots, glanced up. Orestis transformed the thread into an invitation for a mental communications link.
‘You rang?’ Maxim asked after accepting the link.
Orestis ignored that and said, ‘The woman who just left. Who is she?’
He did not bother to elaborate more—it was unnecessary. Maxim missed very little of what happened around him.
Maxim glanced towards the treatment ward and replied, ‘Aelia, twenty-nine, from the Seshat temple, upper-percentile healer.’ He listed the details with the ease of someone who had committed the entire village roster to memory. ‘Why?’
‘She offered to help with the soldiers.’
‘That’s good news. That makes four volunteers so far,’ Maxim replied, pleased. Then added, ‘Didn’t expect you to be winning people over. You charmer.’
Orestis gave the idiot a flat look and cut the link. Someone was clearly projecting.
***
The call-node pulsed that evening.
Orestis glanced at it, pleasantly surprised. It was Toren’s device—and he would not call without a reason.
So it’s finally time.
He put on the mask to alter his voice—couldn’t forget that—then activated the node. “Yes?”
“The situation has matured.” Toren opened with exactly the topic Orestis had expected. “The Temple has committed to blaming the campaign, and the families are beginning to ask questions the official story can’t answer. By our assessment, the conditions are about as favourable as they’re going to get for releasing the documents.”
Orestis nodded. Logrion’s operatives would understand these things far better than he did. The only reason Toren was calling him now was because of their arrangement: Orestis would decide when they were released.
And the only reason Orestis put forth the condition was so that he would know when the operation entered its next phase. He had never truly forgotten his plans for the Temple, after all.
“Alright. I’ll defer to your judgement on this. Proceed.”
“Just so you know,” Toren said, “we intend to release the documents gradually—as verified leaks rather than a public accusation. I only bring this up so you understand that the effects won’t be immediate.”
“That makes sense,” Orestis replied. “People are far more receptive to the truth when they believe they’ve discovered it themselves.”
“Good. That’s all.”
The node went quiet after that.
Orestis removed the mask and set it aside, suddenly finding himself in a very good mood.
The Temple would unmake itself in due course, one inquiry at a time, exactly as designed. There was nothing left to manage on his end; the mechanism had been built years ago, and all he’d done tonight was set it in motion. However, it still felt like Toren had called to give him a gift.
Hardly fair, when you think about it. It’s Eirene whose birthday is coming up—and I’m the one who got a present.
Orestis decided that, in the interest of fairness, he should get her another gift. But not the soul spell to talk to Nuri; that would simply feel like an addon to Eleuthera’s gift.
His decision to be generous lasted all of five seconds before he discovered a huge flaw in the plan.
… Wait. So what do I give her?
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