12 Miles Below

The return trip home was an outright vacation compared to the pace and speed we’d set to get to the temple a day earlier. The airspeeder up on top wasn’t scheduled to be anywhere near our area until the next meetup timezone, so we had time.

Usually, that wouldn’t change much. The underground was dangerous. The longer clan knights operated in a sector, the more machines would start to get drawn, hunting down the hiding humans and eventually swarming the entire area. So between kicking a ball around on the surface and singing songs to pass the time, or sulking around hiding from any sound of machine patrols, clan expeditions usually picked the former.

Well, today the machines were the ones hiding from us. Not to mention we could even take full sleeping schedules since Wrath didn’t actually need to sleep and her active sensors were constant. Father would catch up to that level soon enough, giving us two permanent lookouts.

Not that we actually needed it. Watching Father and Wrath spar was all the evidence we needed to know there wasn’t a single thing in this strata that could put any kind of fight against us.

The Winterblossom technique let us go pretty quick, but a Feather could still outspeed us by a healthy margin if they went all out from the start. It wouldn’t be an instant loss to a clan knight with sufficient skill, but it would be a losing battle. Now, watching two Feathers spar with no holds barred in terms of speed was something completely different.

“Again.” Father said, having somehow kicked Wrath’s swords out of her hands. That last bout had lasted about ten seconds of back and forth, before Father outmaneuvered Wrath. To be fair to her, it had started out a lot more even when they first started to spar.

Wrath dutifully nodded, walking over to the tree her sword had embedded itself into and yanking it out, forcing the tree trunk to move slightly against the initial tug. In moments, she assumed her standard position, eyes growing focused again for the next bout.

That one lasted about seven seconds before Father had once again kicked her sword out of her hand, using the same movement, only a different pattern to get there.

“You cannot stop a chain follow-up from Ox position if my off hand is free to intercept your counter. Always have eyes on my off hand.” He said. “Again.”

All her advantages evaporated once Father really got the hang of speeding up his internal clock, and later began to experiment with new movements only a Feather’s shell could be fast and strong enough to do. Armor was great, but it was still a large chunk of metal plating, some acrobatics weren’t quite as smooth or easy to pull off.

“Journey, replay that last bit at one fourth speed.” I asked, to which the armor complied with a small screen appearing on the top right corner, going over the recording in slower motion. At this speed I could actually both see and digest what was going on. Seven seconds was a short bout time, but these two could fit in just about any amount of fights and dodges. At full speed, it looked far more like two pipe snakes constantly striking out. Fast movements that I could recognize, but only after I stopped to think about what happened.

Once Father started narrowing down new attack and defense patterns, it was over for Wrath’s advantages. She tried to keep up, even going over it with Kidra in slow motion over lunches, debating possible methods of countering the attacks.

Made sense to me.

They were both obsessive dueling fanatics, who clearly saw each other as equal rivals. And yet both had this stubborn pride where they considered each other enemies since they’d spent a good month or so in the Undercity constantly fighting on opposite sides. Give them a minute to start talking and they’d be all high and mighty with each other. Give them another five minutes, and they’d be huddled together scheming possible countermovements and having animated debates about the pro’s and con’s of executing certain movements.

At least until someone walked up to them, and they remembered they were supposed to be standoffish against one another.

“Don’t think I’ll get used to that speed anytime soon.” I muttered, watching the replay again while Wrath sulked through the trees to fish out her sword again.

“Peh.” Cathida answered. “Add a good tripwire or some trap and stab them when they’re on the ground at that point.”

“We really should sit down and figure this whole ‘kill all machines’ mentality you got, might not be mentally healthy you know?”

“I’m dead.” She snarked back. “About as healthy as you can get if you ask me, deary. You should try out being a disembodied ghost sometime, skin will positively glow. And the wrinkles, goddess why, they’re all gone!” She paused. “Journey recommends you don’t, but it’s a stick in the mud.”

“You realize you’re calling yourself a stick in the mud right?”

“Don’t I know it.” She said. “But that’s how the old bat would have handled it, so that’s how I do too.”

She’d been… odd about Father. On one hand, the crusader’s echo would have appreciated and respected his combat ability alone. That he went out and stole a Feather would have been admirable.

On the other hand, that was a Feather, and machines were all cursed spawn of the violet devil, tainting anyone’s soul by association. “You figured out what side of the coin you fall on yet?” I asked. “We’ve had a good day for all this to sink in so far.”

“Hold a squire by their cuff, even I’m having a hard time calculating if the old bat would have changed opinions for this. The silver bimbo she’d have hated on principle, but secretly tolerated. Not tolerant enough to avoid using some of her more choice words around of course. Good heavens, some things must be respected. But she wouldn’t actually stab her in the night. Only threatened to, for appearances.”

“As one would do.” I drooled out, watching as Wrath discussed with Kidra in low voices. Father could, of course, overhear it all given his newfound hearing abilities. But the old man was meditating in position and leaving Wrath to debate her next attempts in peace.

Kidra gave a final nod, agreeing with whatever conclusion they’d come up with and Wrath turned back to point a blade at Father, demanding another training bout. She lasted eleven seconds this time before the sword was slapped out of her grip. She’d managed to avoid the kick, but not the follow-up hand.

“Your old man is far too outside bounds Journey can accurately predict.” Cathida said. “Stealing a Feather’s shell is just ludicrous. Cathida would have been far too conflicted about the whole thing.”

“Well, if you can’t pick snow over ice, how about we decide she’d have approved of the change and leave it at that?”

She cackled, “You sneaky little git, you think I’d simply listen to anyone and agree with them?”

“Well. The old bat wouldn’t. But you’re not exactly her, now are you? I’m sure you can wiggle the rules around a bit.”

“Journey couldn’t care less about how a language engram behaves.” Cathida verbally shrugged. “Suppose I could bend the rules a bit. It’s all a giant gray zone anyhow.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop being grouchy about Father?”

“Keep asking brat, and I’ll show you what grouchy really means.” She huffed.

Took that as a yes, and decided to close the topic before Cathida could start to Cathida.

Right on time too, another knight softly sat down next to me. One that has been a bit of an odd topic among the clan knights here.

Fang Arcbound, of House Arcbound. Now free of his old armor, and wearing Father’s feral version. Loose definition of wearing. "I only heard small word about Tenisent's son, truth be told." He said, sitting down. "Don't think I ever got a chance to sit down and talk with you yet. You're quite different from the rumors."

"Oh? I'm curious to see how they paint me these days." I said. "How terrible are we talking about here?"

"More like how they didn't." He turned to watch the fights, helmet silently recording like mine was. "I was serving among the expedition teams, I'd known the old first blade had both a daughter and a son, but no accomplishments to their names yet. Imagine my surprise when you both appear out of nowhere leading the charge with all... well, all this." He said waving a hand. "One moment I'm called back from expedition to prepare for raiders, and the next... here. Feels like a blur to me."

I didn't know how to answer that. Arcbound had died on this expedition, and now he was a walking disembodied spirit puppeteering relic armor. Some change of pace from day to day life.

“We’re all an odd bunch, I reckon.” He said in the silence, voice having that synthetic quality relic armors have. Under that faceless helmet was absolutely nothing at all. No one inside, just walking armor. Eerie to think about.

“The start of a punchline joke.” I answered. “Two Feathers, a wannabe warlock in possessed armor, an actual possessed armor, and the most dangerous group of knights in the world walk into the canteen.”

“Oh, I’ve been thinking about that one already.” He said, helmet turning back to me. “Everyone orders, barkeep goes to each but stops at the armor and says ‘Sorry, we don’t serve spirits here.’” He cackled. Cathida cackled with him.

I guess the laugh was contagious as I ended up also chuckling along. “Glad to see you’re adjusting to the new out of body experience.”

“Afterlife’s not what they said it’d be, admittedly.” He tutted, tapping his dagger a few times. “For one, I think taking a bath will be a little awkward. I’m afraid I’d rust in peace.”

“Please just kill me the normal way,” I sighed. “You don’t need to torture me like this.”

“But I’m supposed to haunt people now.” He huffed, elbow knocking into my side a few times. “Just doing my job kiddo, no need to lose your head about it. Trust me, that's not all it's cracked up to be.”

“Oh, see now there’s one I don’t have to run any weird calculations on.” Cathida said, proud. “Kindred spirit there. The old bat would have been friends with you in a heartbeat.”

“Don’t know about that. Might take a while for me.” Arcbound said, tapping his chest where a heart should have been. He chuckled again, then his voice went more somber. “I’ll miss eating. And sensations. That, I can already tell. Deathless live forever, but they do have far more to enjoy out of life. And some still go mad after long enough. I know I will need to be vigilant and adapt.”

It was a morbid thought. “Maybe not forever.” I said. “Father has a Feather’s body, and it might not happen again that we’d get another Feather for you to possess. But that doesn’t mean you’re only stuck to the armor. We might get the mites to create something similar to a Feather, enough to regain your senses.”

Icestride walked into our group and sat down next to me, clearly having overheard the topic. “We do have that on our to-do list. Visiting mite forges and getting all we can for the clan. The Winterscar whelp speaks right about it, Arcbound. Your current state of being is likely temporary.”

The knight in question nodded. “I had no complaints in the first place, leader. I am a knight retainer, I was trained for exactly this. Duty and purpose is enough.”

Icestride watched with old eyes. Then nodded slowly. “I suppose it would be for us all. And yet still, it is the clan’s duty to attend to the knight retainers in turn. Lord Atius will make it a priority to take care of you, of that I am sure.”

“If there is anyone who knows how to stay sane against the passage of time, it would be the clan lord.” Arcbound nodded. “I’m sure he will teach me a few things. Besides, I wasn’t exactly young when I died. No, I think insanity will have to wait a few decades before it tries something on me.”

“By then, I’m sure we’d have figured something out.” I said. “Besides, as a wandering soul you could also go into the digital sea. Wrath might be able to have a sanctuary made where you can still feel things again.”

He laughed, “I remember the training sessions in that realm. Rather lifelike, pain and all. I wonder if it’s all in the mind or something more fundamental.”

"Life's certainly going to take a turn for the strange going forward." I said, kicking back against the trunk of my tree and watching the fight ahead.

"Your House is about to run into as much turmoil as I'm in." Arcbound said. "Not sure how I feel about it myself, and I'm tied with all the events 'bout as close as could be. Your house has a reputation, even folks in my House knew to steer clear of Winterscars. Although I hear your sister's efforts have brought much needed discipline in the new generation. At least, that was the word on the catways before we left."

"I'm sure a lot of houses breathed a sigh of relief when my house vanished in an afternoon." I said.

He was polite and looked away, staying quiet.

"You don't need to be all stiff with me." I said. "I was among the group taking a few drinks and toasting the Winterscars to whatever frozen afterlife they'd go off too. At least once the shock wore off. The only redeeming thing they ever done was stand their ground at the very end. I'm dead serious about that."

That got a turn from him, looking from that helmet with almost curiosity. "You must have had some childhood to speak of their end this way. Color me surprised, I thought your Father's reputation would have shielded you from the worst inside your house. Only got House gossip to go on though, so that seems flawed."

Icestride gave a dark chuckle. "You forget, Tenisent was hardly who he is now in those days. You were a contender for your House's armor back then, but I was already deep in service. I knew Tenisent when he was the first blade, knew him when he turned into a recluse, and knew him as the reformed man returned. Reality is different from gossip, and young Keith here would know truth from fiction. I'd trust his word over aimless gossip."

"Reality was different." I shrugged. "I got by mostly by being too small to be worth picking on. But, Kidra's in charge now and all the syncopaths are gone and dead. Only ones left are people I'd trust my life to. Have trusted my life to already." I gave a nod to the Winterscar knights further off practicing in their own bouts.

Arcbound stayed quiet at that, pondering.

The duel ahead of us ended again with Wrath having to sulk away and fetch her blade. This time, Kidra took the plate up and tried to duel with Father. He went markedly slower against her, although it was still stupidly fast in my eyes. Still won in just about ten seconds.

“Your mistake is relying on the occult sight too much.” He muttered. “Concepts of movements you know the names to will be obvious to you. Not so much movements that have no name or nature, or movements you are unaware exist.”

Kidra nodded wordlessly, taking the usual bow of a defeated foe before going off to search for her blade. She passed by Wrath and the two gave each other cold cordial glares.

“See that?” Cathida said, “I’m not the only one who’s pretending to dislike the toaster. So you can get off my case, ye head-over-heels besotted henchman.”

“Henchmen?” I said, giving some good fake hurt. “I’d say more... collaborator, or associate.”

“Deary, please jump off a cliff when you get a chance.” Cathida said, then paused. “Journey also says hi.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. “You mean it’s trying to make it clear not to take that suggestion literally.”

“Same thing.” Cathida huffed. “It does know you have a history with cliffs, little panicking thing that it is. I’m sure the silver bimbo would love a chance to rescue you again though.”

Wrath looked up at that, frowning. Kidra was still taking her turn with Father, so she’d been waiting for her turn up next. Clearly also eavesdropping on us.

“Oh, it seems I pricked a nerve there.” Cathida gleefully said. “Since I have your att- wait, wait, wait! Just let me have a little fu-”

And… muted.

Wrath was about to say something back, except her attention was taken over by Father simply drawing his blade up and starting the duel the moment Kidra had been eliminated. In a fight, failing to pay attention was failing to survive. She still gave a squawk of surprise as he dove right into her defense, so perhaps she’d paid a little too much attention elsewhere.

The camp was already starting to pack up for the day. No signs of machines anywhere as usual, they were avoiding us like the plague now. Didn’t know if I should be wary of that, or happy.

But at this rate, we’d be back up on the surface right around the expected arrival window. On time, and without complications. For once, I think the complications were not going to be caused by murderous machines running amok underground.

But until then, I’m going to kick back and eat fish each day until I’m tweedling my thumbs on the surface waiting for the lift back home. Walking around with the bigger stick really did have its perks.

Next chapter - A strange ride home

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