69 - Have Murrcee

  Joe wiped his face, casting sidelong glances at the huntress, trying to judge her reaction to his breakdown. To his surprise, Hah’roo only wore her typical tranquil expression. He saw nothing that hinted that he had lost her respect.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” he muttered, still avoiding meeting her eyes.

  “There is nothing to apologize for. I have heard that slaying a sworn enemy can be a very profound event. You are also young in experience, which could make that doubly so. Think nothing of it,” she breathed in her airily calm voice.

  Her take on what was bothering Joe wasn’t quite right, but he didn't have it in him to explain it to her. He was not sure how the taboos of modern Earth against killing people would translate to this seemingly more violent fantasy world.

  Wanting to change the topic, Joe’s woundsight gave him a far safer subject. “Your arm? We have the hunt tomorrow … tonight …. I have no idea what time it is. We need to get you to someone who can fix bones.”

  “My thoughts exactly. We should head back to Telemont Square. The best healers in the city are there. Grab your staff,” she advised, pointing to the corner of the room. Joe couldn’t see the polearm, but he had no doubts she was right about its location. Hah’roo’s Perception was far better than his.

  “What about this?” Joe asked, holding up Haybreaker.

  “Keep it if you wish. I have hunted people for contracts before, and the three who survived this attempt should have no grudge against us. They were left alive, though bound, and mostly without loss. These, of course, are the penalty for failure,” she added, juggling three coin purses with cut drawstrings. “But any good bounty hunter would know they got off lightly here.”

  Joe tried to smile at her levity, but it felt more like a grimace due to his cold feeling that just wouldn’t go away. Of course, she noticed.

  “Let us go. My arm is aching, and I would have it well for tomorrow’s hunt.”

  The trip to Telemont Square took close to an hour and a half. This was with Hah’roo’s flawless sense of direction, thanks to her whispering winds guiding her. Peregrine Harbor Bay was huge compared to Heron’s Reef.

  Somewhere along the way, Joe also used [Ideal Alias] to normalize his info for identification.

  It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t in the mood to get creative at the moment. It should be enough to blend in with. The level wasn't an exaggeration, either. The fight with Sir Groven had leveled him, even though he had not been able to appreciate the joy that such an event usually brought. Joe noted he had gained a free attribute point and then closed the notification, returning to following Hah'roo through the silent streets.

  While his thoughts were along the lines of his character attributes, Joe checked to see if he still could access Groven’s list. He felt a little ghoulish making the attempt, but he knew he might need the trait for the quest ahead. Nothing. It was possible that it was just that he was too far away again, but Joe felt it was more likely that the knight’s death had ended that opportunity.

  During the trek, Mazsy’s buff expired, removing the metallic tones from his strained conversation with Hah’roo.

  It was not the huntress who had been making the exchanges awkward. According to Onhur, every word she had spoken was utterly honest, even bluntly so at times. It was Joe who was distracted. Time and again, his thoughts returned to Groven. Each time. his words seemed to vanish when his memories reached the moment his fingers clenched the goblin knife. His mind locked, tucking everything afterward behind a mental door. There were flashes of blood and the glint of metal, but to keep his sanity, nothing else.

  Joe had expected the plaza of temples to be empty, but to his surprise, there was a significant number of people here, far more than they had seen anywhere else on their journey across the city. Matching the robes and vestments to the most active churches provided much of the answers. Symbols of the moon denoted the followers of Nyt. Joe didn't know which god the cleric with the star-filled robes belonged to, but their presence also made perfect sense. The followers of Ayl were merrily soused and clearly not yet ready for bed.

  It was to none of these, though, that Hah’roo aimed for. Instead, it was the large sandstone church Joe had passed when he first entered Telemont Square. The walls were covered in an earth-tone mural of mostly oranges, reds, yellows, and browns. It depicted hundreds of people all supporting one another, lifting each other up, and giving comfort. Tan-robed templars stood outside performing healings and, for the Aylians, detoxification.

  As soon as Hah’roo reached the edge of the Murrceeian healers, a purple-skinned man with a curled horn sprouting from the left side of his head jogged up to her.

  “Oh, that looks sore,” he explained in a light voice. “Let's finish fixing that up. Looks like someone started a mend for you, at least.”

  “This one here,” the galeling indicated with a nod toward Joe.

  “I’m not able to fix broken bones for some reason,” Joe admitted. His voice sounded heavy in his ears, weighted down by the cold, dark feeling that refused to go away.

  “Bones are tough, if you’ll pardon the pun,” the horned priest countered good-naturedly. “Many healers have trouble with them. Wanna know a trick?”

  At the offer of advice, Joe finally gave the man his full attention.

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  When Joe nodded, J’kadoo continued. “Learn a {Bone} skill. That’s what did it for me. Worked like a charm to show me how bones work. Once you understand ‘em, patching ‘em back together is as easy as … bing,” the cleric held his hands gently around Hah’roo’s forearm.

  “bang,” a warm golden glow emanated around the fracture point. In Joe’s woundsight, the red of pain and injury was still clear, and then it was gone. Not faded away. It just vanished in a blink of an eye. Divine healing was clearly different from Joe’s accelerated mending.

  “boom,” J’kadoo finished.

  “Now, how about you, Joe? You look like you could use someone to talk to.” the clergyman offered. He patted Hah’roo on the shoulder but was giving Joe his attention. “I’d be happy to lend an ear if you want to talk. I have only one good one today, but it’s all yours.”

  Joe looked at the spiral of horn and realized it must be completely covering the man’s left ear. The cleric noticed his gaze and returned a pleasant shrug.

  “Such is the life of a nu. Who knows what new weirdness the day will bring? Today, it’s a ramshorn. Yesterday was worse. I had these wirey hairs on the inside of my elbow,” he stated, holding out his arm and rubbing his purple skin where the spines had been. “Couldn’t bend my arms without being tickled until they faded away. But enough about me …” reaching out and squeezing Joe’s shoulder in a gesture of warmth. “Would you care to speak of you?”

  Suddenly, Joe realized that the whole spiel had actually been for him. The templar was trying to make Joe comfortable by giving him something other than his own turmoil to focus on.

  And it actually was working.

  “I think I’d like that,” he replied, sending a glance toward Hah’roo.

  “Don’t worry about me, Joe; I’ll be fine. I will report tonight's encounter to the Adventurer’s Guild. They can inform the city watch. I will find you tomorrow. It’s doubtful the Duke has a second team here in the Bay, but still, stay wary. Yes.”

  “I will,” Joe confirmed.

  She nodded to him and J’kadoo, tossing the cleric one of the purloined pouches, and then pirouetting halfway around, she glided away.

  “How did she know how much the healing cost?” Joe wondered as the white-skinned dancer slid across the plaza.

  “It costs as much as the healed cares to give,” J’kadoo replied. Suddenly, Joe’s idea of paying what you want back in Crowfield seemed less original than he had first thought it was. “So what is weighing on you, friend? I could feel your heavy heart long before I sensed Hah’roo’s injured arm.”

  The nu stepped over to a bench, drawing Joe in his wake. Sitting down, Joe shivered, even though the night air was not cold. The chill was inside him. It had been there since the warehouse.

  “I killed a man tonight,” he muttered.

  “Ah. And this is the first time you have done so, I take it?” the murrceeian prompted.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s not the first time I have killed something since I got here, but those were monsters. This was somebody I knew. I had spoken with him. He was an asshole, but he was also the defender of a town. He was a real person.” Joe sputtered to a stop. “This probably doesn’t make any sense. But where I was raised, murder is the worst … or one of the worst things you can do. It’s at the foundation of everything my parents ever taught me about right and wrong.”

  “You are not alone in this, Joe. Murder is not condoned by most any civilized society. Yet I sense you did not commit murder.”

  Joe turned to face the man seated beside him. “How do you know that?”

  “Murrcee gifts us with the ability to listen beyond the spoken words. She helps us to help others in this way.”

  “Ok. It’s kind of a gray area here. I killed him in cold blood while he was helpless. I can't avoid that part. But I only did so after he vowed never to stop hunting after me and that he planned for a long, painful death when he caught me.”

  “Then that is not murder in the eyes of our laws, Joe. Vows have consequences. Could you have found another solution? I would think so. Regardless, even I, a follower of gentle Murrcee, would not stand idly by if so threatened, attacked, or cornered.”

  “So the god or goddess of mercy doesn’t forbid you guys from fighting?”

  “Goddess. And no. We are even empowered by her to defend others should the need arise.”

  J’kadoo waited a moment until it was clear Joe was lost in his dark, spiraling thoughts again. “That is not to say there are no cultures that foreswear violence and killing,” he proffered to restart the conversation. “The disciples of Peis, for example, take vows to harm no one. There is an aquatic race known as the Scyphozo, to whom any form of bloodshed is an anathema.”

  “But killing, in general, doesn’t seem like it is as big a deal here,” Joe uttered. “The woman I came with, Hah’roo, grew up in a warrior caste. She killed a man, yanked him off a roof, and it didn't seem to faze her one bit.”

  The nu paused for a moment. “And yet, what did she do with others? Did she mercilessly kill them?”

  Joe wondered just what kind of information the goddess was giving the priest. It didn't seem like he knew the answer, but he knew to ask the question.

  “No. She said she tied them up.”

  “So if you are worried this land is a pitiless world, there is my counter. Most value life, similar to your beliefs. I don’t think we generally regard violent deaths quite so terribly as your people do, Joe, but by no means are we all savages through and through.”

  The nu stopped and rubbed under his horn for a second, reconsidering his words. “Well, of course, that depends on where you are. Location matters. There are civilized lands such as Duskrug. There are lands that are constantly locked in strife and battle as well,” he explained. “I think you’d be happier avoiding those, friend.”

  They talked for a while further. After the majority of an hour, Joe gently nudged at his feelings to see if that cold horror was still lurking within. The icy chill in his chest was not gone, but it was greatly diminished.

  J’kadoo suggested a way to banish it further: by getting busy. He led Joe over to the wobbling line of patrons staggering out of the temple of Ayl. Happy for the distraction, he got to work. At first, Joe was only good at settling stomachs and perking up those drooping under their inebriation.

  Over the next hour, with pointers from the purple murrceeian, he learned how to use [Purge] to push the alcohol through the bloodstream. He had experimented a little with this already at Absinthe Abby’s, but the nu cleric showed him tricks to handle serious inebriation. It was not the true [Remove Toxin] J’kadoo had, but it helped. With more practice, Joe realized he might be able to [Purge] poisons.

  Hours later, Joe finally started drooping. He had been dreading trying to sleep, even though J’kadoo had offered him a place to rest several times. Yet, as the last of the most dedicated drinkers from Ayl’s beer garden temple wandered off home, Joe realized he was ok. The act of helping others and improving his skills had gone a long way toward dispelling the dark, cold grip that killing Groven had wrapped around his heart.

  Finally ready, Joe took the murrceeians up on their offer of a warm bed. He was led to a small, comfortable room. As he stripped, Joe noted soft music filling the air, inviting one to be calm. Before lying down, he washed in a basin of magically warmed water scented with something very similar to lavender.

  Even though he was sure night terrors were going to be lurking, waiting for him to fall into their grasp, Joe slept the night through, protected by the blessings of the Goddess of Mercy.

  So, one more reminder that if you want to get into the final battle early, there are 6 chapters ahead on Patreon.

  Oh, and I just got one new review, which reminded me it had been quite a while before that since Illumniaria had any new reviews. Would love to hear what you folks are thinking of the tale.