12 Miles Below

I woke up to the smell of food.

Which was an entirely unexpected event, since last I remember I was falling down to my death, after being fatally stabbed in the gut. Just to make sure I’d be extra dead when I reached the bottom.

Admittedly, not great odds.

Waking up was a slow affair at first. Realizing I was still alive took me a few cycles of belief and disbelief. Taking slow breaths came next. Creaking my eyes open came last. Wondering if I was about to see the afterlife, and what sort of amenities I could expect up here.

Instead of the afterlife, all I saw was metal. Specifically, a relic armor helmet staring right back at me, a little too close for comfort. And by little, I mean nearly head-butting me.

I gave a slight shout, trying to scoot away on instinct before realizing my back was propped up against the side of a tree trunk with a small campfire near my feet. A few skewers of unidentified meat were being roasted slowly over the fire, left unattended.

The relic knight before me said nothing, helmet still staring me down.

“Am I… dead?” I asked, trying to back my head at least a few inches away.

That faceless helmet continued to stare for a moment more, before they backed off finally and gave me some space. “No.” A woman’s voice said. “You survived the fall.”

“How?” I asked, more confused. “I’m pretty sure I was at death’s door and already had front row tickets in hand.”

“Death’s door has tickets?” She asked, seemingly genuinely confused.

“Err, that was a joke.” I said. “My mouth runs on autopilot sometimes and I blab, terrible habit, never ends well for me. And talking about that, how exactly am I alive again?”

“I healed you.” She said, as if it were the most mundane thing. Heal a spine, regrow a limb, all in a day’s work. I was with some strange company here.

I didn’t say anything, waiting for her to elaborate, but she seemed to think that was the end of my question, turning around to the campfire and poking at the skewers to keep them from burning. I noticed a few other features as she moved around. That relic helmet was a half-plate version like the one Atius wore when he still had his original armor. That type left the back and neck exposed. Completely useless for surface knights, since the environment was the main enemy in the first place, but down here in the underground things were rather toasty in comparison.

She had lightly tanned skin from the bits of her neck I could see, but that wasn’t what really drew my attention.

The stark blond hair I’d thought was ornamentation from the helmet was actually her own hair. Ridiculously long, tied up in a ponytail and stylized too, like a physics defying poofy mess. I’d spent time around Kidra, so I knew exactly how difficult it was to get hair to look like that. And given we were in the middle of absolutely nowhere, I was morbidly curious what sort of bargain with the devil this woman made to get those results. Hair normally looks flat and falls straight down. Hers didn’t.

My hand hesitantly reached out to my stomach, and I found out a few things. First, Journey was online and functional, given I could move my arm without effort, so the fuel cells must have been replaced while I was out of commission. Second, I had no helmet, and no idea where it had gone, given it had been thrown off a cliff last I saw. And third, my other arm was still torn up from the beating To’Aacar gave it. Moving that was next to impossible. Battle damage hadn’t been patched up clearly.

It’s the fourth thing that was the absolute weirdest. My stomach - which should have a large hole punched through straight past my spine - seemed completely healthy. No trace at all of any damage, just a regular stomach with fleshy bits all there and working. When I reached a hand behind, I could touch the other side, my spine exactly where it should be.

This had mite bullshit space magic written all over it in bold font. That and her perfect hair.

But I digress. I had to find out what kind of bargains she’d made to keep me alive in the first place. “I was…” I rolled my hand around, trying to find the right word. “Ahh… hoping for some more details on how you healed a completely unhealable wound?” This had to be more than just spit and expensive first aid foam. Maybe even an expensive band aid.

She didn’t answer for a short moment, and then her head shot straight up, as if she’d come up with a brilliant idea. “I bribed the ticket man.” She said, sounding almost proud, staring me down again as if expecting something from me.

My head needed a moment to mentally reboot.

“The ticket man.” She repeated, “That was a joke. You claimed you were at death’s door with tickets. That implies that there was an admin at the door that could be susceptible to bribery. Except ethereal beings such as death should not be susceptible to bribery.” She quickly added, sounding supremely flustered when I didn’t say anything back.

Okay. Reassessment: I was in very strange company.

I turned to my rescuer, getting over the oddity that I was still alive and kicking. “One moment, let’s start over for a second here. I don’t mean to be rude to the person that quite literally saved my life, but I’m a little lost here. Can we start with the basics? Like introductions?”

“I am Hecate. A Deathless.” she said without preamble. “I was traveling in the area when I came across you.”

Things clicked together. She’s a Deathless. I’m in the presence of a demi-god, which explains the hair, and the whole not being dead thing. “Now I get it.” I said, “So you healed me with some kind of occult spell?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’ve recently learned how to heal people.”

In great company at least. A bonafide Deathless. Wait, before I get ahead of myself, there’s a mystery I had to resolve here. “Wasn’t I a splattered corpse on the ground? Are your powers strong enough to bring people back from the dead?”

I had vague memories of being caught in midair, and I’m not sure if it’s my tired mind that’s making things up, or if I really did get caught by an angel of some kind.

“No.” She said, turning her attention to the food. “I caught you before you landed.”

Angel theory was gaining an edge here over everyone else. “Another kind of Deathless power?” I asked, waving a hand looking for more information.

“I have wings.” She said plainly, as if it were clear and anything else I was insinuating was uncouth.

Right. Of course she’d have wings. Who wouldn’t? Silly me.

I didn’t see anything that looked like wings from here, but wings could be spectral occult scrapshit for all I knew. Armor wise, there were two oddities I could spot. One was the metal half skirt she wore, made up of metal blades all snuggly hugging her hips with different lengths. It looked vaguely like folded wings? If I squinted a little bit.

The other oddity was the actual shape of the armor, looking far more sleek and compact than relic armor like Journey. Her gauntlets ended in claws even. A skirt of blades seemed on brand.

“All right,” I said with a shrug, deciding not to question it further. Hecate the Deathless had wings, somewhere, and that was fine by me. “Just happy to be here.” I said, bringing my legs under me and standing up. The metal groaned for a bit, high-pitched whining escaped parts of the armor cracks reminding me that Journey was really straining itself just to move right now. That didn’t sound healthy from the armor. “How long has it been?”

“Five hours, twelve minutes, twenty-two secon—” She stopped, looked to the side as if someone had called her name, before turning back to me and quickly adding, “My… relic armor was tracking the exact time, of course. Returning to the point, we are approximately twenty-three miles away from your initial fall. The area was dangerous, and I needed to relocate before my presence could be noticed.”

Two things learned from this: The fight between Lord Atius and To’Aacar would have long been over with.

And second, she’s very by the books, preferring exact measurements over approximations. I had in inkling of her personality - I’ve seen it before. If she’d been in the clan, she’d have been one of those Retainers that were perpetually pissed off at how everyone flagrantly ignored proper protocols and rules - specifically idiots like me. Logi kindred spirits they were, just born into the wrong House. Except Hecate seemed more like the wide eye’d rookie who hadn’t yet lost all that initial innocence. Thinking everyone was only doing a one-time infraction and certainly wouldn’t ignore rules a second time. Or third, fourth, twentieth, and so forth until they lost all hope in humanity following proper operating procedures.

I stood up and took a respectful bow. “I realize I haven’t properly introduced myself yet. I am Keith Winterscar, a surface knight from clan Altosk, of House Winterscar. Thanks for the save, Lord Deathless Hecate, I owe you a life debt.”

Whatever kind of healing power she had, it was absolutely game changing. No aches or anything. Felt like I’d had a great night’s sleep. Journey was the one that sounded like it was in pain, given the noise it made on each movement.

Hecate paused, giving my impromptu bow a measured look that gave no hints through the armor’s faceplate. “I suppose you do.” She finally said, almost cryptically, taking a skewer out of the fire, and offering it my way.

I didn’t decline, of course, taking the food and a seat at the campfire, waiting for it to cool down.

Hecate brought one clawed armored hand and dislodged her helmet, while the other hand brought her own skewer closer. It gave me a view of her full face for the first time up to now.

Don’t know why I expected her to look like anything else. She’s an immortal demi-god touched by divinity. The only other people I’ve seen come close to Hecate in terms of looks were in digital books. There was something ethereal and otherworldly in her looks, which made her almost inhumanly pretty.

If she looked like an angel, it lasted up until she started eating. In about three bites and one second everything was gone from her hand. She’d stuffed her cheeks full until they puffed out like a rodent. That wasn’t an exaggeration. By everything - I meant everything. The stick was no exception. I could hear the crunch of wood from here as she happily chewed away.

I was in very, very strange company.

Hecate caught me staring eventually, and I took my cue to eat a bite of my food before anything could get awkward. I’m not sure if it’s impolite to avoid eating the wooden part, but I didn’t come from her culture and didn’t have a jaw made of fucking steel.

Food was edible. I’d rate it as an average meal out of ten. No spices, or anything fancy. Which made sense, she had been traveling light. Not even a backpack with her. I wouldn’t expect her to be carrying spice pouches in her hands just to eat a little better.

On her part, she seemed mortified for some reason, glancing down at her empty hand and back at me a few times, face flushing red.

Scrapshit, I might have insulted her cooking by not eating the skewer itself. Undersider culture was a black hole and all I knew came from the pilgrims. Imperial customs might not be vogue down here, or niche even.

Well. When among friends do as friends do. And all that other terrible life advice.

I bit into the skewer and started to munch on the stick bite by bite.

Awful. Terrible bitter taste that seemed to linger all over my mouth and suck out all the moisture. Plus I needed to really mash it up into a pump before I could swallow the thing, else I’d get splinters lining down my throat. At least the meat somewhat helped the whole process.

“Got water?” I wheezed, coughing a bit from the ordeal. Hecate on her part kept bouncing her gaze between me and to my right side, looking a lot less mortified and now simply confused. Trying to tell me something?

I raised my hands in mock surrender, deciding it wasn’t worth trying to pretend anymore. “If you’re trying to tell me something, I really can’t understand. Completely honest here. I’m from the surface, I’m not familiar with any of the undersider customs. Hand signs, or any kind of signaling included.”

The Deathless nodded, waving away the issue as if it wasn’t what mattered. “There’s a stream nearby, but I do not have any canteens with me.” She pointed in a direction, probably where the stream was.

“Do you just drink directly from the stream?”

Hecate paused, as if considering the question for the first time in her life. “Yes?”

You couldn’t say that with any kind of conviction? Gods above, Deathless down here were an enigma. Atius brought with him all the standards as far as I’d heard. Maybe he was the one that had gone native after spending so much time among the clan, and out in the wild Deathless were far less reliant on any kind of tool?

You know what? Not going to question it either. Emergency needs first. I had wood in my mouth and a desperate need to wash it down somehow. I stood up, hoping Journey was up to the walk and excusing myself for that drink.

“I’ll come with you.” She said, also standing up to follow behind.

“I’ve never met another Deathless besides my clan lord.” I said, passing the time and trying to stick the wad of mashed up wood pulp on the side of my cheek. “I always heard Deathless spend most of their time in the lower levels, and this is just the first strata. Are you one of the new Deathless I keep hearing about, or part of the old guard?”

She paused for a moment, as if considering what to say. “I have been a Deathless for one month, twenty da—” She stopped, looking outright guilty, like she’d just been scolded. “Approximately two months now.” She corrected meekly.

“Two months?” Wait - Deathless don’t have any previous memories, according to Atius. Could she have been traveling around here aimlessly ever since her awakening? Has Hecate never been to an Undersider city yet? That explains some of the oddities: She’s gods damned feral.

On the other hand, if she had just recently become a Deathless, that put her straight into the camp of the new generation - the strange generation. Again, not helping her case out here, but the new generation was supposed to have one thing the older ones didn’t, if I put together all the bits and pieces I knew about them so far. “Do you remember your past life?”

“Yes.” she said, putting that theory to rest and making me question a lot more. Up ahead, we got our first viewpoint to the stream I so desperately needed.

“Who were you?” I asked as we reached the bank.

She didn’t answer that, and for a moment I thought I’d asked for some kind of taboo issue. “I was a soldier.” She eventually said and went quiet.

“Was a soldier? Something happened to change that up?” The stream itself was a nice coursing thing, to which my gauntlet added a slight metallic tint to it as I brought up a handful to drink from and swished it around my mouth, swallowing the wood pump with a bit of effort. I took a few more drinks to get the gunk out of my teeth, cursing myself for accepting food in the first place. My other arm was still shredded and moving it around was a chore.

Hecate didn’t answer, either still contemplating what to say or wanting to move onto something else. I took it as an invitation to swap the topic. “So what brought you here? You were traveling around, you said?”

“My primary objective is to find a mite-speaker. I need to confer with one for additional guidance.”

“Mite speaker? Never heard of thos— Wait, no I have, someone I traveled with in the underground spoke about them in passing.” Father had, though he’d been very sparse on the details. He hadn’t believed the mite speakers were honest about their claims, and warned me about charlatans.

“They are a religion created by hu- by people who claim to speak with mites.” Hecate said. “They’re often considered damaged people undergoing psychosis by the cities and exiled outside once they cause too much trouble. I believe there might be more to their ramblings if I can find one and speak to them. However, recent events have forced me to expend a great deal of my power cells.” She tapped the side of her leg with a finger, right where the cells would be. “With my reserves low, I need to find a fountain to restore power first, before I can continue my search. I was not able to share enough with you to repair your armor either, only enough to restore basic movement.”

“Can’t hunt any machines around here and swipe their cells? You’re a Deathless, first strata machine should be like scooping snow to you.”

She shook her head, frowning. “There are currently no machines nearby.”

I did notice this on the way. One blast door passed and suddenly nothing on the other side was trying to kill us. Except for To’Aacar and company.

“I’ve never heard of machines just abandoning an entire sector.” I said. “Seems… odd.”

“They have not abandoned this sector. They’ve moved and gathered into one place.” She said, cryptically. Before I could ask more questions, she turned the tables on me. “And you, Winterscar? Why are you here?”

“Need to get to the Undersider city of Capra’Nor. My sister’s supposed to have returned from there a few weeks ago, but no sign of her yet. So I came looking. Heard anything about that city?”

She nodded. “Yes. That is where the machines in this sector are gathered currently.”

“That’s not good.” So that’s why Kidra never came back. Clan intel was right, machine movements down here were the culprit. She must have been caught in the middle of the war and, with all the machines sieging the city, could not escape. Or knowing her, deliberately stayed because that’d be the kind of thing she’d do. I need to get to her fast, help her get out of this mess. We don’t need the Undersider knights to help us anymore, not with all the advancements we’ve made using Talen’s spellbook. Or if I recruited Hecate to come up to the surface for a few months and help clear out the incoming raiders. No reason to involve the Undersiders anymore.

Though now I’d need to figure out a way to pry Kidra out of here. She was the type that would start calling me nasty names under her breath if I so much as insinuated we should leave people behind. She took those Retainer vows seriously.

“How’s the city holding up? Think we can still make it in time to help?” I asked. “Once we get the power cell problem handled and my own armor patched up, we could join the fight there.”

“There is no fight.” Hecate said sternly.

“What?”

“There is no fight.” She diligently repeated. “The city surrendered a week ago. It has been under machine rule since.”

…

What?

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