12 Miles Below

“It's about my sister’s son.” Captain Atlas said. “She left about a decade ago to live with her husband, a good cook last I heard. They’re in Atrena.”

I swear, I could almost feel Wrath somewhere out in the world perking her head up at the mention of a cook, despite the room having just Father, Quath, the captain and me in it. Never underestimate Feather hearing or specifically her stomach.

“They work at a restaurant that they funded from Quath’s loans.” The captain continued, unaware of the potential hunger gremlin he’d awakened on the other side of the wall. It’s technically my imagination of course, she might just be sitting out on the convoy having small talk with some of the knights or merchants.

“The last message I got from her was about four months back asking for help for her son.” Atlas finished. “She’s searching for help anywhere she can find it.”

Father raised an eyebrow at that. “This seems unrelated to us.”

“I would like to hear more.” Wrath said on the comms. “Atrena may have a different food culture and ingredient list to work with. Perhaps the captain might have some stored in his armor’s memory?”

So I wasn’t imagining anything. I’ve got an official honed sixth sense now when it comes to her, and I felt just a little smug about it.

“We are not diverting the expedition to feed your gullet.” Father said over the private comms to the food gremlin. “You of all people should know the stakes.”

My sixth sense was telling me Wrath was giving an angry pout right about now and sulking wherever she was sitting.

Atlas coughed slightly to clear the awkward air. “It… is mildly related to you, sir Deathless.” The captain said, unaware of the side conversation. “I had a few chances to get to Atrena before, but my sister’s confidence in my skills is… misguided. The help he needs isn’t something anyone in the local city could do, and not something I could do either.”

“Enough dodging. What help?” Father asked.

Atlas took a deep breath, then gave a look behind him, likely on pure reflex. Assured nobody was overhearing him or watching this direction, he slowly whispered out. “He’s turned Deathless. But he’s only fourteen! He’s just a boy, and from what Samantha wrote, he’s terrified of his powers. The boy’s been learning to bake all his life, not fight. If the city knew, they’d draft him. Or toss him into a combat program of some kind, lock him up tight and restrict his freedom.”

“Lock him up?” I asked, a little curious about that. “A Deathless? What?”

Quath nodded with a sad frown. “The new generation Deathless. Made an old paradigm that was well understood and easy to quantify into a complete scrapshow.”

“Explain.” Father said, now interested. “I’ve only heard rumors. I want to hear the truth.”

“Veteran Deathless like the honorable master here, already registered and known about. And trusted.” Atlas said. “New Deathless used to be grounds for celebration. These days… not anymore.”

There’d been some chaos around the new generation of Deathless. To’Aacar - gods rest his evil black and hopefully permanently dead soul - had strong opinions about them and needed everyone in earshot to know.

Tsuya had said the selection was basically random now, and some last ditch attempt on her end to improve on the prior design.

And Father had only heard rumors that the new Deathless were sinister, egotistical and thought only about personal glory and themselves.

Now, straight from the captain, I’m learning one of those egotistical and glory-hungry Deathless Father heard about was a fourteen year old kid. Which made sense for the rumors of them being brash egotistical glory-hounds, except he’s a teenage baker who didn’t want to fight and was hiding from the city’s watch right now, not some teenage hooligan who’d just been given a gun.

Did track with To’Aacar’s ideas of them, he’d probably find a baker to be an insult to his favorite prey. A rolling pin is not the deadly weapon he’d expect for a good fight.

Quath waggled an index finger to father. “Deathless from prior generations like Yvain here are easy to understand. They’re the traditional heroes, always following a strict moral compass forward and a safe bet to trust. The new generation would be like… anti-heroes. Generally understood they would fight on humanity’s side, but they would do so in a far less trustworthy manner. One or two wouldn’t be an issue, but there’s quite a lot these days and that’s just the ones that step out of the shadows to announce themselves in the world.”

“Most likely never asked or wanted the responsibilities in the first place.” Atlas said. “Like my sister’s son.”

“Brings some problems when it’s criminals getting powers.” Quath said. “They’re used to violence being a bargaining tool, stealing things from others as a right that the strong gain over the weak, and so forth. Them getting powers has been what made the most problems. Not the grandma’s or kids. So cities had to enact drafts to grab hold of those Deathless and beat them into shape before they grew too powerful. Or claimed by the wrong people.”

“What happens if they grow too powerful?” I asked, a little worried now about the ramifications of all this.

“Exactly what you think would happen, happens.” Quath answered back. “Hence why Atlas here wants the kid trained fast. He needs to be safe not just from the city authorities, but other Deathless seeking to consolidate their power against their own rival Deathless. It’s a grim time.”

“You mean if Yvain here walked into a city, some of the Deathless there would jump him?” I asked, pointing a thumb at Father.

That wasn’t going to end well for any of those Deathless of course, but it would probably cause a lot of collateral damage.

“They’re not idiots.” Atlas said. “The ones who took advantage of their powers to take over know better than to pick a fight with the older Deathless who take particular personal insult to the new generation. Not to mention older Deathless are warriors who’ve fought for their lives enough to be comfortable with that. New Deathless are still learning. No, if Master Yvain came with us, the Deathless running around the shadows in Atrena would absolutely hide from his sight. And port authorities would likely offer little problems if a trusted Deathless were to take on an apprentice.”

“Why did your sister reach out to you about it then instead of an older Deathless?” I asked, still a little puzzled. “You aren’t one or even work with them often. She may as well just be talking to a random guard for help.”

Oddly enough it was Father who answered that. “She’s a civilian. To her sight, Deathless and soldiers are part of the same coin. All warriors. And to train a warrior, she needed a warrior. To keep her son safe, she needed one she could trust.”

Atlas nodded, “Master Yvain is correct. But I can’t help her. I lead a company here, I don’t know a thing about training Deathless. And the ones I do know of, are all far into the lower strata with no way to contact them. They don’t come back up until years later when their gear and equipment need to be repaired or their minds need a break from war.” He turned then to Father, and bowed low. “Please, you are the only Deathless I know that could potentially save my nephew. If you walked into that city, all her problems would be solved and you’d be putting a new Deathless on the right path.”

It was an awkward bow, done by someone who wasn’t used to the motion or knowing the exact angles needed for different types of request. This would have been something that should have been asked with his forehead touching the floor for example, but Undersider culture was a lot more about salutes, kneeling and wordplay than bowing. He was trying his best though.

“I cannot help you.” Father said, looking supremely uncomfortable. Then he turned to me, “Explain it.”

I could see Father really was not good at this kind of thing.

“He has good reasons.” I said to Atlas who looked a little heartbroken but also unsurprised. “A fourteen year old untrained soldier is in terrible hands with this group. Believe me, we’re not here on vacation, and where we’re going it’s not going to be a place for a fourteen year old to grow in. We also can’t spare the time to stop by your city for a few months to help train the kid. It sounds heartless when I say it like this, but it’s true. We do have a time limit on our quest.”

Quath nodded, reaching a hand out to pat my shoulder. I couldn’t feel any of that because of my armor, but appreciated the gesture anyhow. “The captain knew this was likely the answer, he only requested a moment to at least ask.”

“I didn’t say it’s hopeless.” I said, which put a pause to both undersiders and even Father, who looked at me with narrowing eyes as if demanding I don’t do what he thinks I would do. I waved him off so he knew not to worry. “You mentioned all the Deathless you know of are deeper underground, but have you considered the Deathless living in the opposite direction? Up instead of down?”

Seemed like an Undersider specific blind spot. They knew about the surface clans, but it didn’t really live in the same reality as they did. Almost like the local machines. Yrob and the others did know it existed, they just never thought about it much. Like some distant land or something in books that theoretically existed out there.

Quath got it immediately. “Ah, of course! Clan Altosk is known to have a Deathless clan lord! I believe his name was lord… Amarus? Adrius? Something with A.”

“Lord Atius.” Father said immediately, conditioning kicking in even in a different body.

“That one.” Quath said without noticing anything suspicious. Then he turned to the captain. “That could work for your situation. Have the boy leave with a pilgrimage up to the surface, it would be trivial. I’m certain a Deathless would greet a fellow without having to climb any kind of social ladder for the opportunity to talk to a clan lord.”

Atlas was nodding along, “Suppose there’s no better training regiment than a surface knight to teach the boy how to fight back against other Deathless trying to press gang him into service. Plus, the hard life up there would teach him to not take things for granted. Only problem will be finding a way to convince the kid it’s not a prison sentence and a better life than he’d have with the undersider local military.”

“The mother will agree.” Father said with certainty. “She will do what is best for the boy, even if the boy does not yet see it.”

I had a slightly different viewpoint. “Surface clans have bakers. We’re not primitives. He might have to get used to eating insects, but it’s not like we lack sugar, salt and flour to work with.”

Quath nodded frantically, eyes twinkling with new schemes. “Oh and it would be excellent branding for the bakery, a cook trained up in the surface clans and bringing back both grizzled veteran experience and harrowing tales along with new cooking methods and techniques. That would sell quite spectacularly!” He turned to the captain, “I’m sure the boy could be convinced about all that easily enough.”

The captain gave a shrug. “So long as he’s safe and knows how to take care of himself. That’s all my sister needs to hear.”

“Then it’s settled.” Quath said, clapping his hand together then patting his belly with a smile. “We’ll divert to Atrena, and I’ll have a convoy setup to bring the kid up to the surface. Trading is rather cost-prohibitive with surface clans,” He gave me a quick glance, “No offense meant to you Master Nighthaven Prime, but it’s likely there hasn’t been a pilgrimage in a long while so demand should be moderate enough to break even.”

I waved a hand off, no insult taken.

He gave a happy nod back. “I’ll have to look at a good list of potential trade good to recover and sell on the way back. There’s opportunity in everything! Yes, this is going along splendidly. Most splendid!”

“Think Lord Atius will welcome the kid in?” I asked, a little curious as we watched the convoy depart away.

“He will.” Father said without a hint of doubt in his voice.

I could see that happen too. Lord Atius would have already done it just to help a fellow Deathless get up and running. Even more so having a direct example of the new generation Deathless to see what’s going, along with a first hand source on what was going on underground and in the cities with all the new Deathless appearing.

That there were small criminal gangs of Deathless was… a little hard to understand. Rationally it made sense of course: Give power to the wrong people and the wrong people would do wrong things with it. No wonder the reputation of being self-centered, vain and glory-hounds had started to pop up about them.

The actual good people really were hiding away, afraid of being forced into service by either the gangs roaming around, or the city itself in an attempt to keep them from those gangs. Either way, it ended up in them being drafted up as soldiers.

“I would be curious to meet this new Deathless at some point in the future, when I return to the surface.” Wrath said, sprinting along to our side.

“You just want sugar cookies.” I shot back.

“Why are you phrasing it as an accusation?” Wrath answered, confused at why anyone wouldn’t want a few free sugar cookies.

“Stay focused.” Father said, taking a few sharp turns across the landscape. We had a direct path to the mite terminal, along with an entire superimposed map of the area. So far reality matched the map exactly. Quath had done his job right.

We didn’t stay focused, as much as Father insisted.

Wrath and I devolved down to discussing different cooking methods, tools and setups when it came to cookies and she brought out books to show different older culture’s methods of baking up cookies. Some of which were interesting, and others seem downright heretical.

Insects being used in traditional clan bakery was rather new to her, but I told her nutgrubs tasted like undersider cinnamon from what I got to sample over at her city, so long as the right parts were extracted. They had a small sac of blood-like fluid right by their kidney, and that would get mixed with butter and all the traditional cookie ingredients. That's how we got our version of cinnamon cookies.

From what my friends among the agrifarmers had told me, nugbugs were pretty easy to cultivate, but their diet had to be specific to nuts and a few specific strains of wallbark. Feed the bugs the wrong thing and they’d taste different or outright bitter.

When she asked why a large insect needed a fluid sac that tasted like cinnamon, I had no answer. According to Wrath, the plant version undersiders worked with had that flavor more as a byproduct to defend itself against insects and other parasites. We had no clue what the organ served or did for the bug.

It got worse as we explored theories.

Wrath also had no records of nugbugs being a thing at all among her entire collection of insects, which led us down another weasel hole. Almost all our strains of bugs and insects weren’t in her catalog of insects, except for crickets, pillbugs and isopods. But her variations were super tiny and practically inedible, minus the isopod that was more of an aquatic animal like fish were.

A cricket leg drumstick wasn’t something she had marked down in the same category as a chicken leg drumstick. Whereas to me the only difference was that cricket legs were more stringy with a slightly different taste and the hard spiny exoskeleton wasn’t supposed to be eaten.

I asked her how she hadn't noticed among all the new food she tried while up on the surface. I knew the logi had entire rotations dedicated to serving her something different and new for each meal. For the months she was up there, it was one of the main things all the logi gossipped about.

So I had to ask her what foods she actually ate that she never had a full cricket leg to start asking questions about, and I got my answer:

The logi were really thoughtful. They gave her foods they knew pilgrims ate without fear, since she was from the underside. So she never got to see the more staple foods. Bless the logi hearts, they couldn’t have known. Some of the dishes Wrath described seemed like they had been made up on the spot from different dishes, and all done to hide their true origin and nature. So the Logi quite literally demanded the chefs and cooking staff to find ways to hide the amount of insects Wrath got to eat, focused on more chicken, fruits and vegetable dishes and managed to keep that pace going for months on end.

Also no decorative plates. She had one dish served on a spiral plate where food was organized around the spiral and Wrath got confused if that was part of the dish or not to eat. She solved that question the only way Wrath would solve any question about food. Logi learned that one quick.

It all made her want to go back to the surface and demand the authentic culinary experience rather than the watered down pilgrim version she got.

By that point, Father had largely glazed completely over our discussion, leaving us to jog in the back while Wrath and I traded theories on how this many insects had gone completely uncategorized by all the machine and human archives throughout history.

Half a day passed by fast, but we eventually had to cut our talk short as we ran right into the mite terminal itself, exactly as Quath had listed its likely location.

And Abraxas had clearly been here from the moment we opened the doors to walk in.