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Chapter 8: The Right Height
🕑 Added 2025-05-09 08:31:37 +0000 UTCBreathing very slowly and steadily, Rylan pressed himself against the stone, his eyes fixed on the brightening orange glow in the distance.
About half a minute later, the source of the light finally turned the corner. It was a small flame, sputtering in the fog as it licked the inside of a lantern held by a tall man dressed in dark clothing, with a mean-looking mace at his hip. A similarly dressed woman with a harpooncaster on her back trailed after him, studying a large scroll that was partially opened, and a shorter, bored-looking man with two long daggers at his waist brought up the rear.
Rylan let out a quiet sigh of relief when he confirmed none of them were Quinthar.
The tall man with the lantern roved his eyes left to right, and Rylan did his best not to move a muscle. Quinthar or not, the man looked rather imposing—though he was thankfully not quite as big or broad as Halloth—so he’d still rather avoid the confrontation. Therefore, he was quite thankful that the bright orange shine coming from the lantern easily drowned out the soft glow of his and Kher’s footprints.
As the trio approached the crossing, Rylan caught a whiff of a smell that for a brief moment, transported him back to the crash he’d survived over a sixty-day season ago. After a moment, he realised it was the smoke coming off the lantern, spreading the smell of burning whale fat.
Rylan’s tension mounted as the threesome approached the crossing in front of them, and his breath hitched when the woman suddenly raised a hand, and they all stopped.
The shorter, bored-looking man let out a sigh, and bent over, allowing her to brace the scroll against his back. Her eyes scanned over it while she dabbed her quill against her ink-stained tongue, then dipped it in a small jar hanging from a cord around her neck, and started to scratch something onto the scroll.
Unfortunately, under the angle he was looking from, Rylan couldn’t quite make out what she was jotting down, and he didn’t dare crane his neck to get a better look.
Thankfully, they were more than close enough to overhear.
“You know, I have to imagine,” the man who was bending over started conversationally, “that your wrist must be starting to hurt by now. Why don’t I take over for a bit?”
The tall man snorted quietly.
“Nice try,” the woman replied dryly, dotting her quill against her tongue again, then resuming her scratching.
“Come ooon,” the short man whined. “I’m so sick of this!”
“Yeah, well, suck it up,” the woman replied. “We’re getting paid too much to risk this job on your drawing ‘skills.’ Also, I’m not bending over for you, ever.”
“Ouch,” the tall man muttered in a deep voice, sounding amused.
“Fine!” the short man spat out. “Let me carry the lantern then!”
“Then what am I supposed to support my scroll on?” the woman asked.
“His back, obviously!”
“Did you bring a stool for me I haven’t spotted yet?”
A brief silence fell, broken only by the taller man’s snickers, before the short man suddenly straightened up. “Wait, did you only ask me along because I’m the right height to draw on?!”
Tutting in annoyance, the woman carefully rolled her scroll back up. “Of course not. It was just a bonus.”
“That’s it!” the short man growled. “Tomorrow I’m bringing a fogging easel!”
Thankfully, at that point they moved on into the cave they had originally come from.
As their bickering faded into the distance, Rylan let out a relieved breath and turned to Kher. “What a weird bunch. Do you know them?”
“Nah,” Kher replied, from farther away than Rylan had expected. “Never met ’em in my life. And let’s keep it that way.”
Rylan hurriedly got up and started moving after the dim blob of white light that was Kher’s spirit. His eyes hadn’t adjusted enough to make out the old man’s footprints yet, but that didn’t seem to matter for his spirit vision.
“What do you think she’s drawing?” he asked after catching up. “It’s got to be a map, right?”
“That seems likely,” Kher said tersely.
When Kher didn’t add anything for several seconds, Rylan continued instead. “That begs the question: who’s paying them to do so?”
“Yeah, well... some mysteries are best left untouched, son. Anyone who’s mad and rich enough to commission a map of this fogging maze, I’d steer well clear of.”
Rylan’s eyes quickly reacclimatised as he followed Kher through the caves, allowing him to study the footprints of the odd threesome.
Unfortunately, those didn’t seem to hold any answers, and before long, Kher diverged from the path they’d taken.
Not all of their route was just walking, either. There was a surprising amount of climbing involved, sometimes over piles of loose rock, other times nearly straight up a wall. At first, this was quite doable, thanks to the floaty fog. But after they crossed the driftline, it became a lot harder.
Still, Kher seemed to be in no rush, patiently waiting for Rylan to climb up with Arphin’s eager assistance in pointing out holds. Slowly, they made their way up through the cave system, until Rylan figured they had to be getting close to the lower ring.
He caught himself glancing up at times, wondering if he might be able to see the spirits of the people wandering the streets. However, they were either still too far away or the rock was too thick for him to see the weak glow of their spirits through.
Because Rylan had learned he could see spirits even through things that blocked his line of sight sometimes, like fog, the bamboo walls of the Soggy Shepherd, and even right through Dreadmaw’s flesh into its stomach. But perhaps rock was more difficult to see through, because it was denser or something like that... Arphin certainly seemed to have trouble with it.
His eyes finally caught a moving glow, but not above him. Rather, it was off in the distance and to the right, that he spotted a twirling yellow glow.
The sight startled him, because the light didn’t play off the walls of the tunnel, and it was the same colour as Arphin. Which meant it was probably... a spirit. Perhaps one born of Aetherium, like Arphin, but considering its erratic, high-speed manoeuvres, not stuck inside of it.
A free spirit, like Maris had been before she was captured by the Hermeans. And like she was again, now.
‘Arphin,’ he sent quickly, ‘can you sense that?’
[Sense what, Boss?]
Rylan pointed, though it was difficult to track the fast-moving thing with his finger. ‘That!’
[Ehm... you mean your finger? Yeah, Boss, obviously I can sense your finger...]
Well, that answered that question. The yellow ball of light definitely didn’t have a physical form, and despite looking quite similar to Arphin in Rylan’s spirit vision, the chatty blade didn’t seem capable of detecting it.
Actually, it looked kind of... familiar.
The last time Rylan had earnestly prayed to Zeph, had been when he’d been trying to rescue the captain from Dreadmaw’s stomach. And back then, he’d spotted a yellow glow that moved not unlike the one he was watching now.
At the time, it seemed to have sent a helpful breeze that held Dreadmaw in place for just a bit longer, and Rylan had wondered whether it had been Zeph Herself, answering his prayer.
However, the spirit he was looking at now seemed too small to be called a Greater Spirit. And perhaps that had been true of the spirit back then as well... Shouldn’t seeing Zeph Herself with his vision have been like watching the sun rise above the horizon, glorious and blinding in intensity?
The twirling spirit changed directions, and suddenly approached at high speed. Rylan’s eyes widened and he braced himself, but it just flew right by, a slight breeze brushing over his skin in its wake.
When he glanced over his shoulder to see where it went, it was gone.
[Huh?] Arphin muttered. [That was weird... Oh, watch out Boss!]
Rylan turned back around only to see that Kher had stopped in front of him again. The old man was muttering to himself as he seemed to pat the rock in front of him. Then he grunted, and Rylan blinked, squinting in surprise against the sliver of light in front of him.
“Give me a hand here, would you?”
Rylan stepped up, and hesitantly helped the old man push against what felt like a brick wall. Slowly, it rotated, opening up into a dimly lit tunnel.
Rylan scrunched up his nose as he was hit by the smell of it. “Yuck, what is this place?”
“It’s called a sewer,” Kher replied stuffily.
Glancing over, Rylan saw the man had stuffed two small pieces of cloth into his nostrils.
Kher shot him a gap-toothed grin. “Pretty horrid, ain’t it? Great place to hide stuff, though.”
The old man stepped on through the gap they had opened up and, holding his nose, Rylan followed after him.
The source of the smell became readily apparent when he noticed what was floating down the shallow channel in the middle of the tunnel.
“Gross,” he muttered, quickly averting his eyes, glad there was only very little light filtering in through small holes at one side that appeared to lead up to the street.
“This ain’t nothing,” Kher replied amusedly. “You should see the sites down at the bottom, where these channels end.”
“Wait, they just dump it out below the cliffs?” Rylan asked, aghast. “Where people live?”
Kher shook his head. “Nah, don’t be silly. Fertiliser’s a valuable resource for the farms. The city doesn’t give this stuff away for free!”
That was not the answer Rylan had expected, but it made a disgusting kind of sense.
“Anyway,” Kher drawled, pointing at a spot in the distance, where some steel rungs went up the side of the tunnel. “There’s your best exit spot, goes straight up into a little alley. If someone spots you, just keep moving until they’re out of sight. And try not to attract the attention of any guards.”
“You’re not coming up with me?”
Kher shook his head. “Can’t risk being seen in the same place too often, so this is where we’re parting ways. By the way, I’d appreciate your discretion about this little exit of mine, here. Took a lot of effort to make.”
Rylan nodded. “Of course. Well... thanks for everything, I guess.”
Kher shrugged, rubbing his nose. “It was no trouble. Appreciate the patronage. Now, would you mind helping me close this up?”
Kher retreated into the caves, and started pulling on the rotating section of brickwork. Rylan dutifully went over and pushed against it from the outside.
Before it fully ground shut, however, Kher spoke up once more. “Hey... good luck out there, kid. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks. You too.”
And then it closed, the door melding almost seamlessly with the wall.
Rylan started taking a deep breath, then quickly thought better of it. Clutching his nose, he hurriedly but carefully made his way over to the steel rungs.
He managed to get there without slipping, even when he hopped over the central channel. Resting his hand on one of the cold rungs, he looked up hesitantly at the stone slab above.
The city of Cliffport, the place he had dreamed of visiting, of living in, for so long, just mere feet away. All he had left to do, was enter it.
Illegally, from a sewer, and preferably without being spotted. This was definitely not how he’d imagined it his grand debut to city life.
Looking up at the stone above, hearing the dull rumbling of carts and murmurs of conversation reverberate through the stone, he could almost imagine the people walking in the bustling streets. Or actually... was he seeing things, or were there blobs of white drifting above the main channel?
Rylan rubbed his eyes, but the blobs remained even with his lids closed and his hands in front of them. It seemed he could see the spirits of the people above even through the stone, if just barely.
Arphin could do better, though. [Boss, what are you waiting for?] the blade admonished. [There’s no one in the alley; this is your chance!]
Glancing back at the stone cover above, Rylan confirmed that there didn’t seem to be anyone near it.
Steeling himself, he started to climb. At the top of the ladder, he found that the slab of stone lying there was quite heavy, but he was still able to lift it. He winced at the scraping noise it made as he pushed it aside, then decided it was probably better to be quick than stealthy, and just threw caution to the haze, shoving it aside roughly.
He tossed his backpack up through the narrow circular opening first, then climbed through himself, squinting against the bright orange sky, lit by the evening sun. The moment he stepped out, the dull echoes he’d heard from down below turned sharp. Carts rattled over the road and somewhere nearby, a delicious-smelling stir-fry sizzled in a hot pan, reminding him that it had been a while since his last meal.
Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t being watched by the people passing on the nearby street, he grabbed his backpack and slung it onto his back. Then, after hesitating a moment, he bent down to quickly push the heavy stone cover back into place.
He wouldn’t want to be responsible for someone falling down and breaking their neck.
The heavy stone slab scraped over the flat stones used to pave the alleyway, then fell into place with a resounding thump.
Somebody on the street let out a shocked gasp, but Rylan just straightened up and hurried deeper into the alley, his heart pounding. He only slowed down when the noise from the street behind him had mostly faded.
[I think we’re in the clear, Boss!]
Rylan glanced back to confirm, then grinned happily.
He’d made it. At long last, he was actually in Cliffport.
Author's note:
Poor little guy, can't even catch a break from his job as easel. ^^
I had way too much fun writing them. I hope you enjoyed reading about them as well! :)
Comments
H.C. Mills
Actually, this might be a Dutch thing... Easel is very close to the Dutch word, ezel. (Which, coincidentally, also means donkey. :p) What word would you have used?
Zero
I see the painter part of you is showing with big words such as ’easel’. Had to search that up.
