The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Charlotte Wick tried to buy some time by raising a furred hand to wipe across her mouth. At the last second, she paused before contact could begin; her hands was crusted with dirt from her morning appointment. Her lip twitched. And although it shouldn’t matter to her, her newfound discovery of life’s complexities meant she was also in tune with the thousands of small bacteria that skittered through the mud, their amoeba feelers waving.

With a grimace, she lowered her hand. Opposite her, the Homid Matron tilted her head to the side. “Well? The family should be shifting their furniture and heirlooms later in the afternoon. Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone else, but my brother’s wife’s aunt Reneke is a hoarder. Heirlooms! In the slums! She’d rather her poor husband break his back than stop dragging her ratty old vanity around. Right now, we barely have enough room for ourselves! Totally unnecessary. I’m really sorry for coming so suddenly, but I didn’t know who else to call. If you cannot finish the task by then, god, I’ll almost thank you. We could snap that old vanity into driftwood-”

“No, it will be done,” Charlotte Wick nodded her head quite quickly, hoping to be soon free of Homid gossip.

The woman gave Charlotte a prim nod in response, pressed one of her toes to her lips in one final urging of secrecy, and pushed her way outside the layer of hanging fronds that marked the edge of Charlotte’s dwelling. She pulled in a wide reed basket and left it on the floor. Without another word, she turned and left, leaving Charlotte Wick standing alone with her ‘payment’.

Charlotte pressed her eyes closed. She felt vaguely ill and overstrained; after her image had refined itself, it was difficult to look at anything and not see the thousands of bacteria, viruses, mites, fungi, and other drifting single-cell organisms that lived an entirely separate existence from the bodies they inhabited.

Her skin tingled with the infinite populations as they lived out their small lives. Charlotte believed she could turn all this understanding into power, but right now it felt like she had opened her eyes in the middle of a nightmare and found her subconscious had actually been trying to cushion the blow of reality.

How did I get here? She wondered. She forced herself to sit down on the low-cushioned beds she had received as one of her payments for services. The bedding was well-worn but cozy, reminding her of her favorite cave nook growing up, but she pressed those thoughts to the side. She did her best to ignore the warzone that erupted on the spots where her skin touched the new surface. Waves of bacteria from both sides slammed up against one another. She focused her thoughts away.

Element One of Charlotte’s New Existence: After she had been freed from Homewell’s prison during the Nether attack, she had made her freedom permanent by assisting with the defense. Homewell had issued her an official pardon (no small portion of that was related to Nether King Hungry Eye’s own intervention int he city’s defense.) Meanwhile, Randidly very clearly broadcast how busy he was, so she had been left to her own devices with this freedom. So she had kept training, kept refining her understanding of the world.

For now, the Lifeseal was the primary source of her inspiration, so she took up lodging right beyond the edge of the city.

Element Two, in which Charlotte Sabotages herself: In addition to her own training regarding the Lifeseal, she had been deeply fascinated by the root system in the Western Slums. The interactions between the Lifeseal and the bacteria of the roots were almost like an elaborate tango between two longtime dance partners, although as far as Charlotte could tell the two collectives, one energy and one bacteria, should be on entirely separate planes of existence. They shouldn’t be able to interact.

In her attempts to understand the relationship better, she had dug underneath the root system to meditate in the location where the two forces midst. She had wanted to sit amongst the interactions and try and intuit the connections.

Element Three, when Serendipity Haymakers Charlotte from a Blind Spot: A Lizakh father, covered in dirt, dried blood, and holding in his arms all the remaining belongings he possesses, saw Charlotte digging beneath the vines. Now homeless due to the plants, he decided this was a genius idea and completely misinterpreted the reason for her excavation.

Hence, with three elements, Charlotte Wick rapidly became the first and most in-demand digging specialist in the Homewell slums. An expert, recommended via word of mouth most enthusiastically by every customer.

Growling to herself, Charlotte reached over to the basket and removed the burlap covering. The warmth and sweetness of several berry scones wafted up to her. She quickly deactivated all of her images, so she couldn’t witness these delights’ invisible bacteria passengers. And she felt oddly underappreciated, considering she might be the most powerful individual in the slums right now.

Paid to muck around with a basket full of scones.

No scones were that delicious.

Yet Charlotte had also developed quite the taste for the matured fruit of Randidly’s vines. So although she grumbled, she plucked up the basket, grabbed her shovel to sling across her back, and left her private meditation area.

At this point, the main thrust of her training was acclimating to the flood of information coming to her. Different environments worked better for that.

Charlotte had what was considered prime real estate by the people of the slums, right up against Homewell’s walls. The guardhouse, and an entrance to the city, were only a few meters away. Meanwhile, the location given to her by the woman was near the edge of the Badlands. Good for harvesting berries or ostrich, but still somewhat wild. To get there, Charlotte hopped up on top of the nearby vine thoroughfare and prepared to head to work.

“Miss Wick! Thank god I caught you!”

Charlotte turned around. Two Homids rushed up to her position, the elder galloping with overdeveloped arms-turned-into legs, while the younger showed her immaturity by walking like a human with her long arms swinging by her sides. The older Homid, a woman who Charlotte had met a few times, smiled with the forced nervousness of an individual with only bad options laid out before her. “Actually, Miss Wick, can I ask a huge favor? As I’m sure you know, the schools remain closed- so little Dattylan here- well, she’s just fascinated by your work! Everyone admires the sharp corners you create; the subtle differences in floor depth really liven up the dwellings. So perhaps, just for today- how about she apprentice with you?”

Charlotte blinked, but by that point the woman was already galloping past. “I really appreciate it, my shift starts- well, now. Bye, my sweet little tuber! Be good for Miss Wick today!”

While the mother raced toward Homewell, the daughter awkwardly stopped. She looked up at Charlotte, then looked down at the worn surface of the root beneath their feet. Charlotte’s jaw worked soundlessly as she tried to understand what had just happened.

Now I’m a babysitter?

In her moment of distraction, her image was only too happy to begin feeding her a slew of information regarding the multiplying bacteria across Dattylan’s skin. In children, a dominant bacterium regime hadn’t yet established itself and also their immune system remained in its training stages. Therefore the surface of their body was like the chaotic wilderness, filled with rabid monsters and strange curiosities.

The brief understanding of the things crawling across the child’s skin did little to help the awkward mood of the near-total strangers.

Charlotte cleared her throat but could find no words to follow the noise. The child, a slightly chubby girl compared to the other Homid children Charlotte had seen, kicked at the surface of the vine.

Charlotte considered her important adult role models. Both made her grimace. But compared to Commandant Wick, Randidly Ghosthound at least had his heart in the right place.

So, without second guessing herself, Charlotte asked. “Do you have a shovel?”

Dattylan shook her head. Charlotte told her to wait briefly and hopped back down off the massive vin. She went into her underground space and picked up the original shove she used, which she had obtained from Expira via Neveah. It had been shaped for humanity and appeared like a toy in her large, furred paws. Of course, when she gave the shovel to Dattylan, it was almost a third again as tall as she was. She had to hold it horizontally in her long arms, so the head or the butt didn’t drag.

“Is digging fun?” Dattylan asked, with a sour tone that indicated the kid knew what her answer would be, even before she tried it.

“No it is not,” Charlotte confirmed as she began to trot along the pathway to the job, now with the added headache of a child to observe.

Dattylan blinked in surprise at the agreement, the heavy shovel head already drifting down to scratch across the ground as the exertion wore down her willingness to bear the entire weight. Charlotte found herself thinking the girl needed some physical training, then bit her own lip; truly, some of the shaping she had grown with was… intense. A child unable to handle an adult’s shovel felt more normal.

“Why do you do it then?” Dattylan asked.

“Well,” Charlotte considered that, considered explaining the three elements that led to this turn of events. The tragedy of circumstance that had conspired against her. She considered trying to explain how she hadn’t intended to be this at all, but life had a way of moving you to unexpected places while you were paying attention to different details. But that also seemed inappropriate conversation material for children.

Or more complex than Charlotte knew how to express.

So instead, Charlotte hefted the basket, pulling off the covering and showing the still fragrant baked goods. “Because you can stop and have as many snacks as you want. As long as you don’t mind a little dirt.”

Dattylan’s face opened as she beamed her total and complete support for such a prospect. “Mom complains about how dirty I am all the time. She says its my most marketable skill.”

*****

The Patron of the Deep floated back and forth, considering the prospect. His massive, inflatable-looking body drifted in strange directions as he moved, as parts of him forgot where they were headed and began to meander in an entirely different direction.

Elhume felt a vein in his temple throbbing as he waited. He hated the waiting, hated the stillness. Because the current him was all momentum. Emptiness crackled in his heart, empowering his image but making him wonder why he went to such lengths. Why he continued to fixate on this.

Obviously, he still cared about Pine: his feelings for his son were left untouched by his methods, to steel himself for the harder decisions that protecting Pine involved. Yet he couldn’t help but sense, despite how careful he had been, every time he chose emptiness over his other emotions, he lost something.

Without those drops of life running through his veins, even his care for his son began to wither.

“I need this,” Elhume’s jaw clenched as his patience began to run thin. “Pine is being ripped apart by Fates; I need to create a population that can feed him stories and images without trying to take them back.

“For that… I want to create a special race. One designed to imagine, one creative and chaotic. And I know that, of all the Origin Beasts I have met, none possess your particular… flair for creation.”

“Obviously, you need not wonder about whether I would participate in such an ambitious project, Elhume. Truly, I have been sculpted by the gods for such a purpose.” The Patron of the Deep waved a hand dismissively. The flare of anger at the disrespect was of the exact size of his relief at the agreement, making the result moot. Yet the Patron of the Deep continued to drift back and forth. “No, my role will be excellently fulfilled. It is just… With your vision and my vivid illumination, it is not enough. We require structure. A third, to oversee and corral the excess of enthusiasm that will gush forth from the two of us.”

Elhume felt a strange out-of-body moment. He felt himself opening his mouth and suggesting Mae Myrna. The woman he trusted more than anyone else. The woman he-

Emptiness crackled in his veins. He felt exhausted and furious. Any other emotions he felt for her had been lent out, indefinitely.

“We can manage without,” Elhume barely managed to force the words out through his clenched teeth.

The Patron of the Deep shot him a disappointed look. “The creation of a race is not a simple matter! There is pomp and circumstance, not just for the heady joys of celebration, but because the spirit matters just as much as the substance! And without proper shaping, the spirit and the substance shall run amongst one another, poisonous and degenerate. No, we simply must have someone present to guide the proceedings. But based on your reaction… ahem, well, truth be told my social skills are not only the delightful crown of any dinner party, but-”

“Stay focused,” Elhume growled.

The Patron of the Deep rolled his eyes. “So be it, brevity. Your tragic addiction, squeezing all nuance from life and fitting it into convenient boxes. I know an Engraver of some renowned who would be perfect. I actually met him due to his association with-”

“He will work. I want this done soon, three days,” Elhume hissed. His eyes flashed, all emptiness and withering care. “If you Engraver doesn’t show up in time… well, I’ll just have to go drag him here myself.”

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