Battle Hymn of the Republic

“No, Willow, that’s not how it works,” gritted Percival between his teeth, trying to regain some sense of his composure. Throwing his weight into it, he brought himself back up to his feet, pressing a finger and thumb to his eyes, pinching his nose, “You can’t just kill Vengeance. Loathing killed Vengeance before the Menagerie killed him, and she came back. I’ve killed Vengeance; over and over and over, and she just comes back. When Ruarc walks through that door, he will walk in, toss you through it and kill Vengeance. Everything starts over; from the beginning.”

His gesticulations were wild, if not burdened more with his weight than she was used to. The man’s grace and composure faded away with his fatigue, and the more he tapped away at the table he stood at, the more he seemed ready to speak further.

“I haven’t been entirely honest.”

Percival turned to her, but didn’t not look at her, “You did not accidentally tumble your way into my world. No one gets in by accident. I am this plane’s god.”

Finally, his deep, green eyes swiveled to hers, “I saw an opportunity. After coaxing Laframboise from hiding, I knew I had a chance. You are an Allomancer. You can do more than just kill. You can assuage the shades of their torment in a way that Laoise could only do superficially before Doubt killed her. All of the other Gods that the Menagerie slew were emotions of the moment, and Loathing was only the close exception for how viciously they ground him to dust. But Vengeance?”

He clenched a fist together so tightly it shook, “Vengeance is a slow burn. It must be unraveled, otherwise it just rises again. We could kill Vengeance a thousand times, but until we reduce her malice to nothing it won’t matter.”

The man pressed a finger to her chest, not breaking his gaze, “You are the only person who can do this – the only one who can do it right. Your mind. Your heart. Your abilities set you apart from any one person in the world. Rook could come barreling in to help, but only you can free Modeka from her mental prison, you’re the only who can save her from Vengeance.”

“Then why were you so adamant about me learning how to use a saber?” Willow asked in as even a tone as she could manage, her eyebrow twitching slightly. “Is real saber mastery the friends we made along the way?”

Sighing heavily, the Briton tapped the toe of here boot against the ground behind her as she considered the matter. It had made sense, after all the last times she had Soothed the wraiths stuff seemed peachy, so using the same method against Big Boss tracked. At the same time, finding out she had been hand picked for this endeavor was flattering and at the same time disconcerting. One minute enjoying a peaceful Summer vacation, and the next helping decide the fate of a pocket dimension was fairly heavy stuff. What was worse was that Caxton was correct in his assessment of her. Rationally she should have gone with Laoise, but no, she had taken the Call to Adventure hook, line, and sinker; and for better or worse she was committed to the cause in heart and soul.

“But, yeah yeah, I get it. This isn’t about beating Vengeance, it’s about subduing Vengeance. Get close through who know how many wraiths, and survive long enough to Soothe Vengeance’s… vengeance. With the potential caveat of doing it before Mister Flynn shows up and becomes an Irish bull in a China shop. Do I have the long and short of it?”

“Your training was to ensure you’d stop running headfirst into a grave at every opportunity and that you’d have a chance at closing the distance with Vengeance,” clarified Percival, “you’re going to find that she’s much worse than I am. I’m counting on your allomancy to close the gap.”

Percival groaned, waving his hand and opening up the ceiling above him to unmake the top of the mountain. It was still mid-day, judging by how the sun entered into the cosmic hole. With a quick whip of his wrist, the hole closed and the room was returned to normal.

“Your understanding of the situation is apt. There’s no telling how quickly Laoise will make it back. If it’s 10 AM in Osaka, it’s probably something like 2 AM at Carneath,” reasoned the Alchemist, “Ruarc will be asleep, so it’ll take time to get him moving, but he also won’t be hard to wrangle. We need to stay ahead of the time dilation. You need to move now. You need to be in the forest by the time they get here. That’s the minimum to guarantee you make it to Vengeance before he does.”

With an outstretched hand, the man’s face contorted with focus until a familiar staff appeared in his hand. It was the masterwork that Diligence had been crafting at the heart of the mountain, only now it appeared to be in its finest form, all rough edges hewn to fine detail. Percival wielded it with a practiced care, before presenting it to Willow.

“Keep this close,” he stated, “it is the key to exposing Vengeance to attack. In the center of the forest, there is a limestone platform, it’s mostly in tatters, but if you bring the staff there, you’ll bring the shade forth. There are tribes of Spriggans protecting the spirits of the dead. They’re viciously territorial, but you need to find the tribe that is guarding my spirit. It will be able to reason with them, and then bring the rest of the tribes to your side. The Spriggans will be key in keeping the wraiths off of you.”

He raised a finger, “One last thing. The staff; it is a conduit to this world. If you concentrate well enough, you can call forth the artisans to help you. We don’t have time to practice summoning, so you’re going to need to practice on the road if you want to get the most out of the staff. It uses my power, it just needs technique to get going.”

Listening dutifully, Willow took the staff as it was offered and inspected it through the rest of the mission briefing. Once Caxton had finished the explanation Willow’s mind was split. One part working to commit everything he had said to memory, the other part trying to convince herself not to learn the summoning trick simply to heckle the Artisans.

“Forest. Platform. Spriggans,” Willow followed up. “Seems straightforward enough, and I should be able to beat Old Man Flynn to the finish line with my head start. That said, I should probs get back and break the news to Diligence that he’ll have to miss the party in order to get my metal order done by morning.”

Percival shook his head.

“I accounted for this,” whispered the man loudly. He turned and made his way back to the door, pulled it up and reached inside. From what looked like a long closet, he drew up a large pouch, “there’s no time for Diligence’s minutiae. He’s dear, but will lose sight of his goal fashioning in presentation.

Tucked under his chest, he returned to Willow, pressing the bag into what hands she had left to take things. One of his nimble hands withdrew a small shard of metal, coated in a waxy resin, “Treated. To prevent any poisoning in the worst case.”

Again, he retreated to the closet, and grabbed a knapsack. A bottle was chained hooked to it with a carabiner, filled with cool water. Like the bag, he pressed it into her arms, “There are few treats in there to keep you going.”

He lifted out a bandoleer of vials, “a few potions to mend yourself.”

Dropping them back in over what looked like wrapped breads, packaged meats and jars of pickles, he traced a finger over the scar she had given him, “Splash onto a wound to stop the bleeding; knock it back to get it running through your bloodstream. If you run out just… pray… I’ll figure something out.”

For the first time, he wore worried anxiety like an old hat, but it was something hardened, rooted in concern. If she looked too closely, she may have seen something less like her mother and more like the druids she had found safety with. He was no god, merely a man, glowing less and less as he explained all he could to help Willow along.

“Carry yourself like you did today, and you shouldn’t have anything to worry about til you get to the grove.”

“Okaaay, Dad,” Willow said in her best moody teenager voice as she juggled the various items she had been handed as she worked on getting them situated in a more efficient load distribution. Right off that bat, she pulled out a metal shard, Tin by the look of it, and ate it. She didn’t need the metal of course, but she wanted to test the coating on it to make sure it didn’t cause a delay in her uptake. Not dying of metal poisoning was well and good, but dying because a vital metal was delayed mid-fight would kill her faster.

After some rearranging, Willow had the bandoleer sat atop the bag of metals before closing the sack and slinging over her shoulder. Then she took the staff back up and let it rest against her shoulder. Nodding, she turned to face Percy again.

“For what it’s worth, I tend not to worry about most things. Now, I should get back to the party so I can collect my littles and break some hearts.”

Silence became louder in the lull after Willow’s words, as the tin processed as it always did. The flames in the distant hearth became warmer, the colors in the Alchemist’s attire more distinct purples and greens. The padding of feet became louder as someone seemed to be approaching.

“Do whatever you need,” insisted Mr. Caxton, taking her commentary in stolid stride, with one exception, “as long as you keep in mind that the clock is ticking. The time dilation is sometimes narrowed at one-for-one…-”

Tin-powered senses picked up on the feet at the door before the latch began turning. Through the smaller door for the smallkin came Curie and Horst.

“And this is where you’ll be staying…-” explained the glowing aperture, until she caught sight of Mr. Caxton, “-...The on– the ma– the b–...”

An iridescent mote within her exploded into a focused beam of energy, catching its target square in the chest, “--... the bad guy!”

The lance of light pierced his shirt and lanced straight through his body into the wall, singing a mark in the fine stonework. Percival gripped the smoking hole in his chest, stumbling into the door to one of the rooms. He palmed the door handle, stumbling back into the darkness as another lance chased him.

“I got him!” bounced Curie, sparkling literally and figuratively, turning to Willow in the split seconds that had transpired, “Willow, are you okay?”

Horst dashed along with characteristic spriggan frenetics, pushing open the doorway, “Gone. Like a ghost.”

Willow’s jaw had hit the floor as she was in the middle of beginning to greet the two smallfolk. This greeting had, of course, been interrupted by the fricken laser beam arcing across the room. Caxton had been hit and then scarpered off to do alchemist things no doubt. Looking between the door Caxton had fled through and Curie, Willow appeared properly dumbstruck.

“Have you always been able to do that?” Willow mumbled the question as she wondered if she had paid Curie back for the rope she had turned into a lasso. Shaking her head, she knew there was a more important matter to handle. “Yeah. Yes, I am fine. But Curie, that guy, he isn’t a bad guy; he’s just… weird. In fact it’d probably be a bit more accurate to call him an ad hoc patron.”

Gesturing with the staff and knapsack she hadn’t had before, Willow struck a slight pose like she was in a shopping montage.

“So, I guess, if you see him again somehow, say sorry.”

“Sorry? I thought…– No. No, he killed you at least once a week– and…” protested Curie, the light that shrouded her form in the aperture beginning to dim, “and… everyone says he’s-… I-... I-... how is he not the bad-...”

“The face light is something all of them can do!” clarified Horst, rattling over Curie. He was starting to check all of the doors, “It is something the Smart one can do. She pulls her face off. Makes big ray of light. Makes her face light look like a sapling next to an ancient oak. Foom. Just big foom. Magic, I think. Spells.”

Curie couldn’t provide an answer, she seemed distracted.

“I could have killed him,” murmured her small voice, before rotating to the mark on the wall, “... I probably did kill him. Oh.”

The light in her was starting to fade entirely.

“Which of these is my room? No more ropes for me, right?” asked Horst.

“I mean, yes, but I got better each time; physically and metaphysically. If he were a proper bad guy I would have been killed once and that would have been the end of it.”

Turning to Horst, Willow scrunched her face up as she thought things through.

“How do you not have a room? I untied you, like, three months ago,” Willow said to Horst as she bounced the staff against her shoulder. Eventually she just shrugged and started to go and collect the rest of her gear that she took to leaving in her room when dueling. “Also, Horst, to answer your question, none of these rooms are yours.”

She paused and looked up, realizing that sounded mean.

“What I mean to say is we are hitting the road. I completed what I needed to do here, so it is time to get our show rolling again. Plus… I might now be working on a time limit, so ASAP is the name of the game. Good news though, yes, no more ropes for you.”