HP: Spirit Talker

Three more nights of plundering passed, and on the fourth night, I decided to rest. The people in the clan were preparing for another feast, so I didn't feel much attention.

Then two mummies came, checked my knowledge of the ceremonies, giggled, and disappeared. That was it. It's not my vacation coming, no, it's the peak of their success, their greatness and blah, blah, blah. I drank some concentration powder, which kept me in control and away from stupid things like planting artifact bombs.

I had a lot of thoughts on the subject, but logic, at least mine, says that if I start an apocalypse here, the Vigilantes will be looking for me without stopping and with no statute of limitations.

I'll just run away — there are options. I prepare myself more mentally, because it turns out that the security of the clan territory is tied to a complex system designed for external intrusion. Several concentric circles of sensor charms surround the central territory.

All information goes to the control room, where it is processed by a spirit sealed in an altar and relayed to the mage-operator if something happens. Theoretically, the spirit can monitor everything and everyone in the controlled area, but since I haven't been covered all these years, there's something else I don't know.

What's most important to me is that the ritual control room is not guarded. At all. So my actions for tomorrow night are obvious. By the way, I need to get a haircut, because I've been forced to let my hair down, and I can't stand long locks. Oh, right, I'll do it right now, while the maids are scattered....

***

It's a dark night, quiet... almost: the Miyazaki clan is noisy, and they go to bed late, so you might see some of the personal servants or those preparing for the next day late into the night. But I don't care about that anymore. I collected everything I was interested in, needed, or just wanted. I wanted to thank the venerable mummies, and I couldn't help myself. It will be interesting to see the wrinkled "grunts" of those fossils when they find out that each of the elders lost a set of jewelry.

No, I didn't touch the artifacts, but when I saw the emerald necklace of the ancient old woman, I felt sorry for the poor piece of jewelry. Such a thing should be on the chest of a beautiful woman, to shine and decorate, not to please the old yellow fingers of an old witch.

So I couldn't resist a little mischief, and so I began: I searched the private quarters of every elder, found hiding places, safes, examined everything thoroughly, and requisitioned everything I liked and wanted. I, a kleptomaniac — as soon as I see jewelry, gold, stones, jewels — my hands go for it (actually, I can control myself, but why?). In general, my mood is high, I want to sing a song, but I can't, even if I smile. Today I can.

In a few minutes I am in the control room. There's really no security. Strange people, not even guardian spirits. The hall itself is underground, at a depth of a few dozen meters. As I descend, I notice the places and niches where hidden and not-so-hidden sentries used to be. And now they're gone. Idiocy.

The chamber is a large hall, its walls lined with smooth stone slabs. Everywhere, secret writings are inscribed, carved, and pasted for various purposes, generally to strengthen, preserve, and hide this place from outside scanning. In the corners of the chamber, twenty by thirty meters, there are large stones tied with white rope and marked with some ritual symbols. It is impossible to identify them at a glance. The rope stretches from stone to stone, completely encircling the chamber, and at the very entrance there are small red-golden gate-torias.

Well, from the looks of it, this system prevents any non-human from getting in, and if there's anything inside, it won't let it out. It feels like a very powerful barrier trap, powered by a generic source.

The magic of this place tastes fresh, but as if "sterile", almost tasteless, but there is no mustiness — this means that rituals to support and cleanse the source are performed regularly. Amazing! Does the clan even think with their heads in this matter?

In the middle of the hall is a small wooden house, tiny, with open shutters. Inside is a rectangular altar made of stone blocks. Next to it, on pierced stands, incense burners are smoking — the smoke rises about twenty centimeters and disappears without a trace. There are no foreign odors in the cool air of the chamber.

With a wave of my hand, a paper amulet slips around the neck of the slumbering operator — now the magician will not wake up, and it will not be possible to remove the amulet for two days, only if a strong and clever Omyoji takes it. I walk over to the altar and place my palm on the smooth, warm stone. It feels like my hand is resting on the silky top of a woman's head — even the sweet scent of flowers is palpable.

"Interest. Question. A lingering sadness."

Oh, my! They've captured a sentient spirit, perhaps a Yokai or Ayakashi, and not an aggressive one at that. It's just that it's very difficult to communicate with emotional messages — you have to really rack your brain to convey what you need to convey, not what you get.

But there is another method. I sit by a rock, without breaking contact, and fall into a shallow meditation, just to organize my thoughts. Communicating with thought pictures is easier than with emotional Morse code.

I begin to draw an image in my mind of myself breaking one of the circles around the hut, reversing the flow of energy in another, and loosening the "mind" seal in a third. I finish with a picture of myself radiating interest. There is silence for a few seconds, then comes a response — an answer.

"A tentative hope. Acceptance. Kindness."

Kindness is a good thing, because in this kind of communication, lying feels like the smell of swamp tin, so the threat is minimal. After all, who knows what kind of spirit is out there. I performed the required actions in about ten minutes, but with the brush and paper of the sleeping operator — the seal of "spirit" was archaic, with powerful blocks from obedience to loyalty and helpfulness, with some strange block I have not encountered before. All carefully copied down for further study. When all is done, I return to the altar and place my hand on the stone again. The sensation of the living head of silky hair intensified.

"Gratitude. Joy. Question."

In my mind I draw a picture of the lodge with the altar, the nested webs of amulets and ritual symbols-anchors. I sketch the intersections in the structures, the highways. Then I draw a pair of the most powerful channels from which part of the network is fed.

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