A/N:
See, look, I told you I wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Hooray for remembering the day of the week this time. Thank you to everyone who has commented, subbed, or kudo'd so far. I hope you're enjoying the story, and I'll see you at the bottom!
Summary:
Skulker attempts to impart some wisdom into the distracted mind of their new charge...
Chapter Specific Warnings:
Death(Ghost animal), Ritual Sacrifice(Ghost animal), Dismemberment(Ghost animal)
11th of Verŝante, 103rd year of Emperor Kairos
"Now, what I have in my hand is called 'Flotsam Grain'. It's considered a weed, since most areas specialize in monocrop agriculture, but it fixes specnitrioxide into the soil, which helps plants grow. More importantly for you, it grows along the east side of river banks and is edible. You can use this plant to get a sense of direction and as food. It only grows in areas of the Fae Wilds west of the Sha-Griffon mountains and on the central the plane, but it's abundant in every season save Fallow." They stopped to pull out a root from their pocket, and held it in front of the ghostling's face. "Both the roots and the leaves are edible, but you have to heat the roots after stripping the outer bark, or it will give you iridiolymph poisoning. Not enough to be serious, but no being likes vomiting...well, no one except Lenaindros nobility during a feast." They dropped both plants in front of the child and glared down at his bored looking face. "Study how these plants look, and memorize it. Even if you don't see leaves on the flotsam, you can dig up the roots for nutrients, and they are easy to identify." They waited a flicker to make sure they had the child's attention, before glancing away to reach into another pocket on their belt. "Now," when they turned around, they found the boy watching the spectral flutters again. "Boy, I won't tell you this again. You need to pay attention."
"No happy."
"I don't care if you find it interesting, it's important for your survival. You need to understand how to track down food and water if you're trapped in a hostile area or lost."
"Why?"
"Because it will keep you alive."
"Skully?"
"It's important if I'm not with you, yes." Divine's Grace, they were beginning to understand the nuance behind the child's monosyllabic responses. It had been a monato, but they still thought gleaning that much information from a few mumbled grunts was slightly absurd.
"When?" He looked up at them with teary eyes, and an impressive pout. They bit back a groan. They wanted to say something sarcastic 'eston-cycle' or 'in a spin', but that, they'd learned the hard way, was a fast track to a wailing ghostling. Their ears were still throbbing from the fit he had thrown that morrowtide because breakfast was different than usual. Another tantrum was worth avoiding.
"You like to wander off. What if you get lost for a cycle or two and need food?"
"Can't lost. Skully always find." This was true. They weren't the Zone's greatest Ĉasisto for nothing, but flattering their ego wasn't going to get him out of lessons.
"Even so, don't you want to know what's safe to lick and what isn't?" The child's flat stare told them otherwise, and that too wasn't surprising. The brat had no self-preservation instinct, they'd come to discover. "Well, I say you need to, so you're going to learn."
"No happy."
"I heard you the first time, Boy, but you're learning it anyway. I already knew all this by your age." Well, they were guessing at his age, but they'd learned this as a second returnling, and he was more developed than that. The proclamation failed to impress him, though. Also expected, as the child failed to be impressed by most of their feats. They chalked it up to a lack of context and ignorance. They finished pulling out the fronds of the Blightcure bush they'd spied along the flight here and set it in front of him. "This is a general anti-toxin, it's effective on most broad spectrum ectolytics weaker than that found in Crystal Curse-wreck."
"Buh?"
"I told you what that is yestercycle," they resisted the desire to rub at their temples, "it's the most poisonous thing growing during Renewal, and you tried to eat it yestercycle."
"Purble?"
"Yes, that one." Well, even if the name hadn't stuck, some of the description about it did. "The dark purple spikes covered in glistening liquid with amaranthian glints inside, that's the Curse-wreck. Do you remember why it's called that?"
"Um," at this the Boy did seem to be thinking, nose scrunched in that characteristic way that signaled trying to use his core for something other than existing. "Cure ouchies?"
"Hrm," they grunted, mildly amused that's the part he recalled. "Yes, it can be used as medicine, but only if you know how to refine it. What's the important part I told you about?"
"No licking!"
"Well, if you won't remember the names, at least you'll recognize it well enough to avoid poisoning yourself."
"What poison?"
"What?"
"What...'poison' mean?" He looked up at them with the most attention he'd managed all cycle, and it suddenly occurred to them they'd explained what a medicine was, and the child understood what an injury was, but had never explained 'poison' in simple terms. Divine, they were not a good teacher.
"A poison is a substance that disturbs the function of your core or ectoplasm. It doesn't give you injuries on the outside, it hurts your insides. If you consume a poison, it makes you ill, and can even End you." The Boy poked at the Flotsam root in front of him listlessly, before looking back up at them.
"What End?" Right. A ghostling this small would have no understanding of Death or the Beyond. They considered explaining it, but remembered the tantrum from this cyclespring. No. They did not desire another half a spin of crying, hiccuping ghostling noises, actually.
"I'll explain it some other time." If they were lucky, things would be fully unthawed in all of the local villages soon, and they'd be in the position to take in an orphan to help tend to the crops as planting commenced. Everyone always wanted more hands then, and the chief of Fekunda owed them a favor besides.
They'd already traveled through the local villages the last monato, asking if anyone had lost a ghostling or if they'd seen travelers come through the area. No one knew anything in the closest three villages, or at least, they wouldn't fess up to knowing anything. That left the Boy origins lying across the Eastern Expanse as some Ĉiamdaŭra peasant's child. But they'd already tried speaking Wieczno to him instead of Spectral Common, and they'd gotten nowhere. With no leads, and nowhere to place him for the moment, they'd decided to give him the basics of survival training, but…
The child had given up poking at the root to watch the flutters again. For some reason, he found them endlessly entertaining. His eyes tracked their movements and smiled every time one took flight in a flash of cerulean light. Truly, he had to have witnessed it dek-du times by now, but that didn't deter him from watching the bugs instead of studying something important. They'd spent the last two spins going over how to identify the direction of the flow of waters, it could change rapidly, other ghosts insisted—wrongly—without warning, and which plants nearest to water were edible.
Water was the fastest way to re-energize when drained, but there were certain compounds in other forms of ectoplasm, refined by ecto-creatures like plants and animals, that complex ghosts like them needed to survive. Finding water and eating edible water-borne plants was a consistent way to sustain your existence, as long as you watched for floods or water predators. In Renewal and in this part of the Wilds, though, flooding was the greatest risk. They'd tried three cycles ago to explain how to predict the severity and direction of flood waters, but the ghostling had fallen asleep in the middle of the explanation.
They watched the Boy marvel at the flutters for a few flickers longer, before stomping their boot to get his attention again. "Stop watching the flutters, child, and focus on memorizing the shape of those plants." The ghostling let out one of his 'I'm-frustrated-and-don't-want-to-listen' whines and Skulker took a deep breath to steady their nerves. Maybe he needs to let off some energy? They remembered being more antsy, having a shorter attention span, as a ghostling. "Why don't we move on to identifying grasses for the moment."
They floated away from the pile of various herbs and roots they'd set in front of the Boy in the last spin, and stood in front of the bottom of a hillock covered in grasses. "Now, we've covered all three of these grasses before, so this is a review and a test."
"What test?"
"It means you have to figure out which grass is which on your own." They gestured behind them, spreading their hand wide to take in the entire area at the bottom of the hill. "Behind me is three types of grass. One of them is edible, one of them is not, and the last contains a surfectant disruptor. Your job is to describe which grass is which, go pick the edible one, and explain how to properly prepare it for consumption."
"Buhh…"
"I know you know what I'm talking about. You're not getting out of this by pretending you don't understand." The Boy pouted at this claim, and leaned around their form to stare at the grass beyond them.
"I no member."
"Well, that's unfortunate for you, because one of these really itches."
"Itch?"
"You'll find out what that means if you chose the wrong grass. No more dawdling. I'm going to go stand over there and then you'll take my place. Point to which grass is which, and go pick your choice." So declared, they flew under the shade of one of the Emberwillow trees and admired the forming buds coming in on their hanging tendrils. They'll be able to make Emberflower jam soon.
"Um, this one is the, uh," he closed his mouth, opened it again, and settled his lips into a frown. He clearly had no idea which was which. That would make the next few swirls interesting. "The blue one I eat?" He looked over to them, eyes studying their face. They were sure their face was as impassive as ever, and in flickers the Boy's hopeful searching fell into nervous fidgets. No hints for you, ghost child, you should have paid attention. "The move a lot ones no-eat. Um, and the glow ones no touch." He drifted towards the blue plants a few paces away, eyes narrowed as the Nova light glinted off the surface into his face. Then, with all the lack of care only a small child could manage, he plunged his hand into the bundle of grass near the stones. He jumped into the entire patch for good measure, reaching for the longest blades of grass to carry back with him.
He ripped up a few handfuls and carried them in his arms, pressing them to his chest so they don't blow away in the wind. They wait one core beat, then another, as the Boy stomped back through the mud to the appointed spot. Then, he suddenly dropped them on the ground. "Feel bad?" He asked, staring down at his arms and shaking them. He then rubbed them a few times, and the rubbing quickly transformed into scratching.
"I imagine it does," they responded as the Boy began itching at his exposed legs as well, "because you just jumped into a Blistering Stinger patch." His scratching grew more intense as he unknowingly spread the irritating enzyme coating the grass onto every new area of skin he brushed against in an attempt to soothe the sensation. "If you'd paid attention, you'd know that Blistering Stingers were blue and grow on semi-marsh land in stony and sandy soil. The glowing grass, the Olive Bladeleaf, isn't edible, but at least if you'd guessed that, it wouldn't hurt you." The Boy was beginning to whine, and he had flopped to the ground rolling about in an attempt to scrub off the enzyme or scratch more skin at once, they weren't sure.
They found the entire display more tiring than anything else. Blistering glass wasn't dangerous, and was only moderately irritating to the surface ectoplasm making up many complex ghosts. The real issue was how much it demonstrated the Boy wasn't listening to their lessons. They had gone over the types of plants it was unsafe to come into contact with multiple times, emphasizing it because being poisoned or having your outer layers slough off was a more pressing concern than learning how to find water or identify food. Then, they'd considered the child's propensity to test everything he discovered or become curious of with his mouth, and re-organized their lessons accordingly.
Despite this, the child clearly hadn't absorbed their warnings, too distracted by watching spectral flutters, nova flash bugs, or swaying amber vines. When they were his age, they'd already mastered simple traps and were catching harmless animal ghosts. They caught their first blob at maybe half his current size. Why isn't this working? They frowned down at the scratching, whining ghostling as he rolled towards the Bladeleaf unconsciously. With his outer layers already compromised, the Bladeleaf would dug in and cause more pain. They sighed and carefully plucked the wriggling ghostling off the ground, away from the plants. "I have medicine to soothe the irritation and counteract the Blistering Stinger's enzymes at home. In the future, consider paying more attention when I tell you the difference between types of plants so you don't end up rolling in itch-inducing grass."
"Hurts!"
"Hmf," they grunted, settling the ghostling into a position where he couldn't do more damage to his outer layer of ectoplasm, or get enzyme onto them. "We're heading back home for midcycle, after I wash the enzyme off and slather you in lotion, we have more business in the mountains."
"Noooo."
"Tough Duntun nuts, ghostling. Next time, pay attention during lessons, and you won't have to go to the altar covered in blisters."
One bath, highly contested, some food, sullenly consumed, and fresh clothes, a true struggle to adorn him with, later, and they were flying back towards the western edge of their territory. The ghostling was not a fast flyer, but they'd discovered after a few cycles of food and rest soon after he'd first appeared, they were a surprisingly competent one. They could only guess at the Boy's age based on developmental milestones in their core, but he kept demonstrating conflicting abilities. His language skills suggested he was near a second returnling, but most four returnlings could only float, with a few able to fly a few arm lengths a cycle. The Boy could easily handle a few Nova Arcs without complaint. Vexatious. Couldn't understanding the brat be simpler?
Still, as long as they watched their speed, he seemed to prefer flying to being held. It made things somewhat easier for them, having their hands free of whiny, always somehow sticky, ghostling was better than the alternative. But if they had anywhere to be in a hurry, it meant scoping them up and dealing with his insistence he could do it on his own. Tedious. Now, they were closing onto the edge of the forest, the open space representing the shallow pond dotted marshes coming into view. The Boy would spend all cycle jumping in muddy puddles and chasing after bubbler or swift-glint ghostlings if he got the chance, so he'd fashioned a leash and tied it to his waist after the first miserable morrowtide a dek-cycle ago when he'd given them the slip.
They'd passed by the lake on the way there, its banks teetering on the edge of over full, and they'd hummed in satisfaction at the build up of water. Soon, the flood plains would be full of run-off, and the marshes properly wet once more. A stolen glance to their left showed the Boy pouting and looking around at the stagnant pools below, likely searching for more bubblers to chase. He seemed to like the muli-colored floating bubbles they blew to catch above water prey. They put the pout out of their mind as they left the marshes and the gentle green slopes of the lower mountain meadow and brush came into view. "If you behave while at the altar, we can stop by the marshes on the way home." That, predictably, perked up the ghostling's pout into a grin. They'd realized bribing him was sometimes faster than stubbornly demanding obedience a turn into his stay.
The Verta of Renewal brush faded into deep emerald as they reached the stones of the mountains. The thaw was in full effect. Rushing rivulets of water carved away at stone and left fingers of melt, cut through the lower edges of glaciers, and cascaded over cliffs and bluffs into swirling pools and icy waves below. Despite the moisture, the air felt crisp and buzzing with energy as the stone and rock danced with the fresh melt. They guided their leashed charge away from splashing in a pool near an outcropping of rocks, and back towards the mouth of the cave. "You'll catch a curse from the chill, stop trying to play in that." They tugged again, drawing them closer.
"Not cold in marsh water."
"That's because this is glacier melt and that is Renewal rain. This is much colder. Stay away from it, or you'll shiver the whole prayer and the flight home." A quick dip wouldn't be enough to hurt him, probably, but it would make him uncomfortable. They'd learned an uncomfortable ghostling was a whiny ghostling, and they really hated whining. Else, they'd have let him learn the lesson on his own. They summoned a shield and re-directed the water covering the mouth of the cave away. "Come." They motioned inside, and waited until the Boy had passed through to do so themselves and let the water continue its path down the mountain. As they flew deeper into the stones, the rush of the falls turned into a distant echo. They held out a hand to light the way, more out of habit and for the Boy's sake than their own. They saw perfectly fine in the dark.
"Why?"
"I haven't brought you here before, but this is an important place. Inside, is an altar dedicated to Theros and Odiphlaxus."
"What?"
"Who. They are members of the Divine."
"What?" he repeated, brows drawn together over big, curious eyes.
"The Divine are gods. They are beings much more powerful than ghosts that rule over all beings bound by Time." They glanced down at the ghostling's face, unsurprised to find that befuddled scrunch on his forehead. "They are important beings that guide us and can make our lives easier, or harder if you misbehave." That did seem to break through the child's inattention, because now he was looking around the cave rapidly. "They aren't here in person, but their influence and knowledge is vast. They don't need to be physically here to know what's happening."
"Like Skully sense things?"
"Yes, but much better."
"Skully sense everything."
"Not everything, Boy, just enough to keep you out of trouble and do my work." They untied the leash and wrapped it around their belt again. "extant-cycle, I've come to offer prayers of gratitude." They waited for the usual questions, but none appeared. Instead, the child was staring at the altar, eyes roaming over the images carved into relief on the stone, and the Wraith Bramble logs sitting in a depression a few arm lengths away. "That symbol," they point to the knotted vines twinning around the edges of the stonework, "represents, you may have heard Him called "Cernunnos" in your village, but my people call Him Theros." They waited for either term to spark some recognition in the child's eyes, but still nothing. They were like a hollow vessel…they really didn't want him to be a true Divine foundling. "That symbol there, the feathers over the bird taking flight? That represents, the people of Arachtalamh call Him "Aodh", but He is called "Istota" in Ĉiamdaŭra and Odiphlaxus by my people."
"Where Skully from?"
"Some place far away from here, and not somewhere you need to concern yourself with."
"Why?"
"Because you wouldn't survive long enough to travel to it on your own, even if you did know where it was, and I have no intention of returning." They reached behind them and removed the kill from yestercycle, the first Antlered Thristle of the season. The pelt was Olivujo, instead of Verta, and like most ill-omens, it'd come true immediately. They'd run into a half-starved Sha-Griffon on the way home and spent half a spin wrestling it into submission because it had been after their kill. Worse, it was in such a pitiful state, that it's core had shattered soon after Ending, so they couldn't even extract a nice pelt from the encounter. They're sure Odiphlaxus would be pleased by the offering, but they couldn't help feeling a little irate about missing out on a Sha-Griffon skin. They'd moved closer to these mountains for a reason, and they'd yet to catch one of the large Ora-pelted males endemic to the region. "More on topic, this creature is the preferred offering of Theros for the season of Renewal.Tto thank Him for how well the thaw and Renewal has been proceeding, I intend to send it to Him in the Divine realm."
"How?"
"By burning it." The Boy didn't have anything to say to that, instead poking at the slack mouth and slumping rump of the Thristle with open amusement.
"Why no move?"
"Because it's Ended."
"It move later?"
"No." Thrice curse their luck. I thought I wasn't going to explain this extant-cycle. But how could they avoid the topic? They were a Ĉasisto, Life and Endings were their trade. "It's dead. It's essence has traveled to the Beyond, guided their by the psychopomps in service of Odiphlaxus. That is the eventual fate of all Timebound beings." The child continued poking the squishing flesh of the Thristle with little reaction to their explanation. Maybe they'd been worried for nothing. "What's left here is only the ectoplasm, which I'll return to the cycle by sending a portion to Theros and we'll eat the rest for dinner later."
"Food made from ghosts?"
"Of course," they reached to their side to remove their carving knife to finishing butchering the creature. "Plants are ghosts. Animals are ghosts. We are ghosts. Everything that lives in the Zone is a ghost."
"But...we eat ghosts, how…" the Boy stopped for a moment, watching the ectoplasm ooze from inside the cuts they were placing in the side of the Thristle. "What if things try eat me?"
"Something might, that is the way of things." They groaned when the ghostling started whimpering. Divine's Grace, they didn't want to deal with this right now. "Boy, that's only a concern if you're weak. Weak things become prey, strong things consume prey. Anyone could be prey, but that doesn't mean you must become prey." They looked up from their task, catching the ghostling's glowing eyes glinting off their knife as they worked, before returning to their task. "The Hunter's First Rule is this: 'Inside you are two beings, the Hunter and the Hunted. You must kill the prey inside yourself in order to become strong.' This may be difficult at first, but it is a task within your abilities if you train." They made another slash, carving out the organs it used to purify ecto-grasses into useable ecto-energy. Those made the best sacrifices. "Where I am from, in the Empire, my Clan is one of a few Ĉasistoj families. We explain the concept with a story for ghostlings. Perhaps...would you like to hear a tale?"
"Um," he trailed off, backing away from the innards spilling out near his ecto-bobcat leather boots, growing more pale by the flicker. "Tale happy?" He offered, curling up as far as he could while staying in the light.
"It is not a 'happy' tale, it's a lesson." They pushed the waste storing sack aside, and reached for the core, stable but growing less so as time passed. "it is still interesting," they conceded when the Boy looked more sullen instead of intrigued. They captured the core and set it aside, wiping off their hands to begin preparing the ritual fire as they worked. "Before Malproksime's people came together, before the rule of Uther of the dragon lands, long before even the rule of Pariah," they started. The specific time was never stated, instead every version of the tale merely substituted in a time before certain rulers or lands came to be. When they'd heard their story from the Patriarch, he'd spoken of the time before the rule of Emperor Kairos' grandfather and the destruction of Via Malleo. It was more feeling than fact.
"Ghost kind," they continued, "spoke directly to the Divine instead of receiving wisdom through their acolytes and prophets. In those cycles, the Zone was a much different place, the islands and lands shifted into unrecognizable formations, stranger still than ones extant-cycle." They picked up kindling and placed it into the fire pit on the altar's base. "In a land, that no longer has its name spoken, lived a people who ate without hunting or tilling the land. Their sustenance came from the Mercy of the Divine, delivered upon them cyclically by the swift-winged fowl of Odiphlaxus ferrying Falah from the Divine Realm." They reached for the Wraith Bramble wood and began placing it in the pile. "Falah is a kind of...bread? The scrolls are not clear, but it's holy food that the Divine made for ghostkind to consume." They look over their shoulder at the curled up form of the ghostling, and then continued, "as it so happened, because the Timebound are fallible, they offended the conscious of the Divine. And so the deliverance from the Divine birds stopped coming, and all the land fell into Famine. Starved and filled with lack, ghosts began wasting away, growing weaker, duller sensed, and tired."
They picked up the rocks they used to call forth fire, and started carefully bringing them together, sparks of blue flashing through the dark. "Finally, a ghost grew tired of lack and hunger pangs, and driven to wrath, they struck down one of their brethren in the throes of madness. It is then that ghosts realized that inside them was the means to sustain others, a mortal form of Falah that could be consumed to stave off hunger and sustain their life. The time of Great Ending came upon the la—" they stopped, hearing the chattering of teeth and the sound of stifled sobs. Fantastic. They had a few flickers to turn this around, or it was back to wailing. "Perhaps, we can save the lesson about the importance of the cycles of Life for another cycle." The tinder before them caught, quickly sending up curling wisps of smoke and filling the cave with the sweet scent of burning Flameroot. They looked down at the growing embers, and an idea struck them. "Instead, why don't I tell you how the Goddess of Fire taught the first ghosts how to use flames?" The noises slowed, and when they looked over their shoulder to call the ghostling closer, they noticed him already scooting towards the growing warmth of the firepit.
"Story...happy?"
"Yes, in fact, it is a very enjoyable tale. The Hearthstone came down to walk among ghostkind in disguise, because She wasn't supposed to bring fire to Timebound creatures like us. At least, that is how the story goes in the Empire. The dragons insist She came to them first, which is why their smithing is so strong and why their hot-cored ghosts can use fire so adeptly, but they stole those techniques from Via and the Empire. If you hear some Arachtalamh braggart starting in about how they got the knowledge directly from the Divine, they are a bunch of liars." The ghostling scrubbed at his cheeks and gave them a small smile, sitting as close to the fire as they would allow. "Now, this was even longer ago still, before the fall of the Timebound out of the Graces of the Divine. In a land far away from the Local Zone, more than a deku-du planes down and farther to the south of even Zi Yang, lived a people renowned for their skill at weaving. They had tamed the local plants and convinced them to produce fine strings they wove into cloth so delicate, it even caught the eyes of the Divine. It is for this that the Goddess came down to the mortal plane, hoping to take back with Her a sheaf of the cloth to be turned into a robe by Her attendants in the Divine Realm."
The fire grew from a small candle's worth into a proper blaze as they stoked it and explained the setting of the tale. How the Goddess had coveted the cloth. How the weavers could only work during the lumerta, because without flames, they could not see at lumpura. How the Goddess grew ever more impatient of waiting, only to realize the weavers were not tarrying to draw their customer's ire, but because they lacked Light. "She looked among the faces of the people, shocked that they had never heard of 'fire', for it glowed brightly, contained in every household in the Divine Realm, from the most mundane servants to the Rulers of the Realm like Herself. She paid little attention to the Timebound, leaving such things to the sisters whom ruled Dreams and Weaved Fates. Now, Her inattention had cost Her time She could no longer afford. The Divine Realm's celebrations drew near, and she'd already boasted of the fineness of her dress. The weavers could not make the deadline She'd only informed them existed extant-cycle without more time to work."
"Why not say before?"
"Even the Divine can be subject to hubris," they placed the offering onto the altar, and watched the blaze lick away at its form, "but don't tell someone from Arachtalamh that, it'll cause an argument." They shifted the Boy further away as the fire grew in size. "Now, She was subject to a great dilemma. How would Her bolts of cloth be ready in time? She pondered this question in eons and instants, in a way only the Divine can do, and concluded She must bring them Light so they can work all hours. So concluded, She spirited the Fire out of the Divine Realm, hiding it in a wooden basket that could not burn, crafted by Sideros, to avoid suspicion from the other Divine. She arrived in the Land of the Weavers and showed them the Light, and they worked tirelessly all cycle long to produce the finest, softest, thinnest intangilin they'd ever created. In Her haste to return with the cloth in time, She left the Light with the weavers and rushed home to have Her seamstresses craft Her dress. And because the Divine became drunk on Their ambershine wine and revelry, a diskanto count of seasons spun before She returned. By then, the ghosts had grown used to the Light, and their crafters had even created cloth lanterns that could contain it and change its color for their amusement." They picked up the increasingly excited jiggling ghostling, and set him between their legs to keep him from floating away. "When the Goddess saw all they had accomplished with the Light in Her absence, She thought it Good, and instead of taking it away, taught them to make Fire of their own. In return, they made Her the colorful Light-caputre lanterns they had created so She could drape them around Her home and fill the other Divine with envy, for Her Dress had been the talk of the whole celebration due to their efforts."
"Did fire lady, um, make the others mad?"
"At first, when the Others discovered the ghosts had flames, They went to punish them for it, thinking they'd stolen it." They set the last offering on the altar as the Boy gasped at the newest twist in the story. "But then Xenoike told the Others it was payment for creating the lanterns and weaving the cloth of Her dress, and They were forced to accept it."
"If Xenoike make fire, why Theros want burn things?"
"Ghosts weren't allowed to know about fire because it is an element. Like all elements, it is partially of the Divine Realm, so we can send things to Them with them. Sending an offering in fire is not the only way to make an offering, but it is the fastest way." They leaned down to whisper into the ghostling's ear, "and between you and me, I don't have all lumerta to kneel and pray." The Boy's delighted giggles filled the cave, and their core felt brighter hearing it. "Now, it's time to give Theros our thanks for keeping the land healthy and fertile, and to ask Odiphlaxus to guide this ghost's essence safely into the Beyond. Close your eyes, and bow your head." For once, the child listened the first time to an instruction unrelated to food. They followed suit, and raised their hands as well.
"I, Hippolytus Panthḗrain, come before you, Antlered One, to send you this offering in thanks. The lands you have left to my stewardship thrive under your benevolence, and this is but a small piece of the bounty that grows due to your powers. May you continue to bless this territory and those who live upon it." This was a simpler process than the Rite of Renewal, but no less crucial. They glanced down to see the Boy's face scrunched in concentration.
"Um, thanks for the yummy fizzy-pops. I like those." They reached down and patted the ghostling's head, fluffing up his hair in the way they knew he enjoyed.
"To Odiphlaxus I give my thanks for the gift of this Thristle's life, and ask that you guide its essence safely into the Beyond as its being nourishes myself and this child." They settled the wiggling boy for a moment, before another thought struck them. To the Horned God, I offer thanks for this child's safety. I am gracious you allowed me to find him instead of sending him to his End to fuel the cycle. I—
"Skully, food."
"Yes, of course. You're always hungry." They looked into the fire pit as the Verta and Olivujo flames ate away at the last of the offering. "Let's head back for supper then."
A/N:
Welcome to the bottom, dear reader! Aw, they're bonding! Don't tell Skulker that, they'll disagree on account of that being too much emotion and squishy softness. As an aside, I am not a Sword of Truth series fan, so take that information on board when you consider Skulker's words going forward. Speaking of words, since they blab'd so much about religion, why don't I post a little more about it for the end of chapter Lore bonus?
The Divine:
There are twelve major Divine worshiped throughout the Zone. Although the relative popularity of any individual deity changes with culture and country, all twelve are considered the workers that possess the most influence and power over the mortal realm. Their realms of influence are as follows:
*God of the Harvest, Trade, and Travel
*Goddess of War and Weather
*God of Mercy, Diplomacy, Marriage
*Goddess of Hospitality, Hearth, and Clan
*God of Wisdom and Knowledge
*God(dess) of Hope and Love
*God of Crafts and the Forge
*God of Nature and the Hunt
*Goddess of Messages, Prophecy, and Portents
*Goddess of Revelry, Celebration, and Gratitude
*God of the Underworld and Death
*Goddess of Life and Fates
While these are the generally accepted purview of the major Divine, there are some differences in both their rank and area of rulership in certain areas. For example, in Skulker's home country, the deity of Hope and Love also rules passionate war. Nevertheless, you'll find these Divine, and their worshipers, in every part of the Local Zone.
There's more information than this about the gods as a group, and individual deities as well, on my blog. You all should head over there and take a look at the lore posts, ask me questions, poke at art, or anything else your heart desires.
Blog: BalshumetsBaragouin on tumblr
That's it for this week, nothing else to report. I hope you have a great rest of the week, and I'll see you next time!