A New Member Joins the Saintess’s Party

After checking whether the corridor is safe to cross or not, I sneak out of my room and head towards a certain Daoine Sidhe’s. No one else seems to be inside, which is pretty normal. Everyone gathered outside Beluacor’s house, preparing to leave Toll Dubh.

    With a smug smile, I stop in front of Tyffeon’s door.

“Now is my chance…”

    Reaching out my hand, my fingers curl over the knob. Cautiously. Turn the knob. Slowly.

    BAM!

    Gasp.

    Despite all my precautions, a hand slams the door next to my head before I have a chance to open it. Giving my heart the unwise idea to perform the same trick against my chest.

“What do you think you’re doing, exactly?” Tyffeon scolds. “Didn’t you say you just forgot something in your room?”

    I almost turn around to face him when I realise how close he is. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of his chest against my back.

“When the hell did you get inside?!” I protest.

    Unfair would be a weak word to describe my honest dismay at the lack of the faintest hint of his presence. As if the house itself mocked my attempts to inspect Tyffeon’s bedroom.

“Your despair does little to answer my question.”

    I scoff.

“I just… wanted to check if you packed everything you needed, of course.”

“Of course, because you know what I’d bring with me.”

“Well…”

“Don’t tell me you’re still worried about that pendant of yours?” Tyffeon’s fingers lean harder against the door. Such slender fingers… “If your new one isn’t to your liking, I can still take it back.”

    In a reflex, I cover the moon-shaped gem hanging from my neck.

“Nyo… That’s mean. It’s a treasure dear to my heart, now.” I turn my head to glance at Tyffeon. “You made it, after all.”

    An attack calls for an attack. And it would be a sin not to weaponise such a kabedon.

    Thus, deciding to ignore my survival instincts, I turn around to face Tyffeon. The fabric of my dress brushes the door as I reach out my free hand to toy with his thin pastel-green braid. Letting my thumb run along it.

    If his immediate reaction is to frown, Tyffeon misses his opportunity to step back quickly enough.

“It’s just hard for me to forget completely about it in such a short while.” I continue. “But, fine. I won’t even ask you if you brought it with you, or if you hid it in your room. For, to pin a pure lady against a door with such ardour, I guess that you have other priorities than to answer me, anyway.”

    Bringing his braid closer to my face, I brush it softly against my lips.

    Innocent and genuine as I am, it doesn’t deter Tyffeon from rudely wrapping his arm around my waist, hurling me over his shoulder as if I were but a miserable rice bag.

“Ackk!”

“Calling you a lady is a sacrilege against many concepts in the universe.”

    With these words, he turns around and proceeds to head outside.

“You forgot the pure!”

“Pointless.”

“Hey!!”

    Carried outside in a way which probably allows Timoria and Awa to admire my saintly derriere, I observe ‒ unfazed ‒ the cottage growing distant. Until my feet are finally granted the ground’s grace again.

    Turning around to face our little troop, I can only notice one’s blatant absence.

“Still no sign of Beluacor?”

    Timoria shakes her head, my little owl perched on its top.

“His Mimic King isn’t in its pen either.” She notes.

“Maybe he’s been called to handle monsters in the lower levels.” Tyffeon suggests.

“Shouldn’t we wait for him?” I glance at my dear Daoine Sidhe. “It would be too bad to leave without saying goodbye to him.”

“It’s not necessary.”

    A beat. At the thought of the dangers awaiting us, I can’t help but insist.

“Are you sure, Tyffeon? It may as well be the last time we step into Gnog Fontalamh.”

    Even though we plan to take a detour back here ‒ a much-needed one before heading to the fifth kingdom ‒ it supposes we’ll be alive enough to do so.

“Goodbyes only bring misfortune.” He concludes. “We’ll return.”

    And, with these words, we begin heading towards the rift which leads to the surface. Over there, the cabins which once brought us down here keep running back and forth down the hole.

    A few Knockers make their way through the underground village, either enjoying a day off or walking towards the galleries. Whenever we cross their path, most bow their heads at us in a sign of acknowledgment. After we unveiled their nightmares and freed their folk from them the same day, the egg room accident was quickly forgotten. Shame and gratitude. An uncanny cocktail which granted us their respect for the centuries to come. Until they die. Until their children forget. Unless this world falls into oblivion first, which is unironically the most likely end to expect.

    Chief Gobha is absent from his castle today too. He told us to visit him before leaving, and I have no intention to forget about it since he kidnapped my bow a couple of days ago. Pretty much against my consent.

“We’re supposed to meet Gobha on the surface,” I think, curling my fingers into a hopeful fist, “I can’t wait to retrieve it…”

“Come in!” The Knocker at the side of the cabin invites us to take our place.

    But I barely have the time to step in. Barely, because the moment I do, a familiar voice resonates.

“Wait!”

    Beluacor heads towards us, on top of his Mimic King.

    Upon seeing him, I step back, glancing his way.

“Are you going to the surface, or not?” The Knocker handling the back-and-forth of the cabins asks.

“We’ll take the next one.” I declare, a smile on my lips as I move away. Beluacor’s monster already slowing down. “Did you forget to give a bear hug to your dear son before we leave?” I ask the Knocker, feeling Tyffeon scowling at me.

“No,” Beluacor shakes his night blue beard, “I just finished sorting out a few important things.”

“Important things?” Tyffeon raises an eyebrow.

“I’m coming with you.”

    The words come out as simple as if he were joining us on a quick stroll. Maybe it is for someone who sees a year pass in the blink of an eye.

“What.” Tyffeon frowns, as welcoming as winter’s embrace.

    Unsure how to react, I remain silent despite mid-opening my mouth. Instead, it’s Timoria who voices our doubts.

“A-are you? You already guided us to the depths and fought the emissary… If you come with us…” She averts her emerald gaze.

“You’ll be in danger again.” I finish.

    Blinking like he doesn’t grasp where the problem is at all, Tyffeon’s father doesn’t reply at once. Stroking his thick beard instead.

“You’ll be in danger too. At least, if there are more of us to be thrown into danger, then the danger will be lesser.”

“You should stay in Toll Dubh.” Tyffeon protests. “We didn’t risk our lives to save you just so you could find death from another’s claws.”

“If you head to Coeur-du-Lac kingdom, you stand no chance with your current party.” Beluacor argues. “At the bottom of the lake where the Dracs live, your Ignis magic will be useless. Timoria’s Lignum magic will be slowed down, and the Saintess’s benediction…” He trails off, glancing at me.

“Rain underwater…” I scratch the back of my neck with a conflicted expression. “Yeah. I’ll most likely be of no use.”

    And even if I manage to use thunderbolts as I did with the dungeon’s beast, electricity in such an environment… it has a clear suicidal scent. Which leaves us relying on Timoria and Tyffeon’s benedictions alone.

“I have an affinity with Metallum,” Beluacor resumes, “and my name is potent enough to be of help.”

    Beast’s heart… A Tamer able to control the monsters dwelling in the dungeon, although not limited to these.

“And who says Gobha will let his best Tamer quit Gnog Fontalamh?” Tyffeon keeps defending his bone. A protective son, truly.

“Umbrestio will fill their ranks.” Beluacor replies. “He even agreed to feed the monsters I have at home.”

“I’m surprised that you trust him.” Tyffeon notes.

“He’s not a bad Knocker, and he seeks atonement. It’s not like I’m well-placed to hold a grudge against him.”

“Did you ever hold a grudge against anyone…”

“So it’s settled.” Beluacor ignores his son’s muttering, tapping the place beside him on top of his Mimic King. “Hop in! It’s time to leave, isn’t it?”

“Huhh?” Timoria utters.

    As we exchange glances, I can feel her despair growing as a bad feeling consumes any hope she had of forgetting her mimic-travelling trauma.

    Tyffeon, left with no other point to argue, can only sigh in acknowledgement of his defeat. His arms still crossed in utter annoyance. Quite the pleasant sight, if I may say.

“Well,” I begin, advancing towards the Mimic King, “I guess we can now officially welcome you to our party.”

    As I reach out my arm, Beluacor nods and grabs my hand, helping me to climb.

    Once we’re all settled, the Mimic King takes a few steps back. It focuses its attention over our heads, its lianas coiling beneath its massive body. Up there, the cabin already travels back, a steady rope sliding down the pulley.

“Get ready, everyone.”

    Barely does Beluacor finish warning us before the Mimic King launches itself up into the air. Followed by the echo of Timoria’s yells, we whizz past the cabin and towards the rift.

“Yosh! Good beast.” Beluacor congratulates. “Now onto the path leading up the crater.”

    Surrounded by the regular noises of hammers and picks, we circle the entrance of Toll Dubh, gaining height.

    We only pause upon reaching one of the doors built into the rocky wall edging the way.

“That’s our Ruler’s atelier.” Beluacor comments as we slide down his peculiar prancer.

    Compared to the other doors, this one is indeed… sturdier? Gobha being the ruler close to his people he is, there’s no tawdry decoration.

    Knock, knock.

    After thumping the heavy metal ring hanging from the door against it, we wait a bit. Vainly.

    I reach out to knock once more, but at the same moment the door opens on a red beard adorned with golden rings.

“Just in time.” He notes, already turning his back to us. “Come in.”

    A blacksmith’s apron over his clothes, Gobha leads us through his atelier. Odours of burnt metal and coal consuming itself in a nearby fire fill the air.

“Where is my bow…” I whine. “Please, tell me that you didn’t make something unrecognisable out of it. You didn’t break it, right?”

    Retrieving an item wrapped in white fabric from his workplace, the Knockers’ chief turns towards me, reaching it out.

“Stop using your mouth and start using your eyes instead.” He grumbles.

    As I take it in my palms, I notice that it’s ever so slightly heavier than the weight I was accustomed to. But, despite my fears, when I unwrap my bow it’s no different from the beloved memory I keep of it. Aside… from a pastel green gemstone embedded in the middle.

“What is it?” I ask, brushing it with my fingertips.

“A gem infused with magic.” Gobha explains. “To be precise, with a wind spell. It will activate whenever you pull the bowstring taut and will boost the impulse given to your arrow. Thanks to the wind guiding the arrow, you’ll even be able to use it underwater.”

“Wait. Like, for real?”

    The Ruler nods to my inquiry.

“That’s… that’s awesome!”

“I know.” Gobha places his strong hands against his waist. “That’s the least I can do since you saved my folks.”

    And with a gesture of his head, he invites us to follow him.

“I also restored your sword, Tyffeon. It’s now infused with Aqua magic. Or rather with a spell absorbing water. Might be helpful.”

“Interesting.” Tyffeon comments as he draws his enhanced blade from its sheath.

“I also made something for you.” Gobha gestures for Timoria to come closer, the cowmaiden hesitating before stepping closer. “You can’t rely only on your magic. Take this weapon; it’s infused with the same kind of magic as the Saintess’s bow. This way, you can defend yourself underwater. When you throw it, it’ll end up returning to your grasp.”

    While Timoria looks intimidated by a weapon halfway from a boomerang and a sickle, its middle line traced with embedded emeralds, Beluacor begs me to inspect my bow.

    That is, until Gobha offers him a whole new war hammer, partly forged in gold. This sends my dear father-in-law (wishful) into ecstatic contemplation.

“Sounds like Gobha was already well aware he’d come with us.”

    With the best possible equipment at this stage of the game, we’re more than ready to resume our adventure.

“What are you going to do next?” I turn a glance at Gobha.

    For a while, he doesn’t answer at all.

    For a while, he observes me before averting his citrine eyes.

“I decided to visit one by one all the Knockers who returned from the depths in the last five centuries.” Chief Gobha begins. “I want to hear them out, I want them to share these nightmares with me. These I and the elders never suspected.”

    A way for them to share the weight of their sins, a way for him to forgive himself for never sensing the horrors his folk were going through.

“I see.” I conclude. “We all have our battles to lead.”

“And I will do my best to spare my friends the fate I wrote for them in the first place…”