A Song of Shadow (The Bard from Barliona Book #2) LitRPG series

by Vasily Mahanenko

  “Nah...” Pasha said a little awkwardly. “They were just beginning to redeem themselves in my eyes, when some thugs showed up...You know the type—street drunks who chug two Mad Dawg Malt Beverages, decide that they must be Vikings and start assaulting and battering anyone around them? Well, while I was looking for my fragmentation grenades to toss at them...while I was fishing them out...well, the bastards broke the musicians’ guitar and violin. Bitches...I haven’t felt so bad for a long, long time.”

  “Yes...that’s not fun,” I agreed and then, just for fun, suggested: “I propose we make a bunch of gold in Barliona doing our cartography business and buy the poor musicians some new instruments. And then you will have them under your window again singing ‘Goldentown.’”

  “I don’t even know them,” sighed Pasha. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

  “Come on...That’s no problem,” I snorted. “If they were playing here so often, I bet one of them lives right here in this building. Post an ad on the building website and I’ll post a few signs around the block just to make sure. Ask them to contact you to discuss a project. Someone will call, if for curiosity’s sake.”

  “I’ll try it,” Pasha nodded without much certainty in his voice. But my main goal had been achieved—the powerless regret in his eyes gave way to a timid hope.

  “Yeah. We just have to make our first million,” I giggled, placing two mugs onto the table and pouring the tea. Pasha lowered himself into a chair with a groan, stirred three teaspoons of sugar into his tea, spilled a few drops into the empty jar and replaced the baited fly trap on the window sill.

  For a while we just chatted about meaningless nonsense, and then I told Pasha about my latest gaming adventures.

  “That’s a good business with your new guitar,” drawled the pilot, wistfully regarding a still-forbidden cookie. The jaw regenerator was scheduled to come off in bit and Pasha was already counting the hours until he could eat normal food again. “What do you think we should do next? I’m pretty bored of running around and drawing maps.”

  “Yes, it’s time to load up on some potions and head for the Arras.” I sat down at the table and outlined my immediate plans. “I already have four letters from Sloe in my inbox. The raiding party wants to know what coordinates they should head to. By the way, will you bring me some mana potions? I need ‘em desperately and the renegades don’t sell any. Besides, I have no access to my bank account.”

  “Not even a question. Meet me at the site of your perfidious betrayal, outside of Eben’s playground. That’s right at the border of the blighted ground. I’ll bring you a medical package.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “The local Getafix ordered me to locate and bring back a sample of that crud your lot is spreading,” Pasha took a sip and frowned: The regenerator housing on his lower jaw caused him an incredible itch and I had already noticed him several times scratching it surreptitiously with a paper clip. “So I’ll try and dig up this ‘revenge weapon,’” he concluded his summary of the quests he was working on.

  “Geta-what?” I didn’t understand.

  “The local druids,” Pasha explained. “That’s just the name of the druid character from that series about the two Gauls—the whiskered, cunning fellow and the, uh, portly young lad with the menhir and the striped pants. Maybe you’ve seen it?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell,” I confessed. “But I think I understand what they want from you. I was instructed to plant some seeds to spread the blight around the land. And it just so happens you need to collect a sample of the same stuff for your Getafix’ study. We can team up: I’ll sow the seeds and you dig them up after I get my reward. It’s just that I have to sow them really far away. I’m not sure you’ll make it even if you use your stealth. The monsters out there are a bit bigger and you might run into renegade patrols. I’ll just give you a few of the seeds when we meet.”

  “What about your quest?”

  “I’ll just get a smaller reward. Not even a thing. And your druids might come up with something more interesting with the seeds. Maybe they’ll even find an antidote to clear the forest. I would like to see what Geranika does.”

  “In that case, let’s finish this tea and jump on in?” Pasha proposed, emptied his mug with two more gulps and slid it aside.

  “Let’s do it,” I agreed.

  Chapter Eight

  The cave I appeared in had not changed at all. Yet Geranika and the Sixth were nowhere to be seen—a renegade biota glanced at me indifferently and returned to his observation of the Forest Sentries. Now all eleven looked the same, although only five of them bore the ‘Binding Seal’ buff. Exactly the same one that I had. No descriptions or explanations, no additional effects. For curiosity’s sake, I cast the new Detect Currents of Vitality spell on myself. Nothing changed. The world neither blurred around me nor snapped into focus. Everything was the same as before. It was only when I looked closely that I noticed thin, barely discernible, spectral threads tethering me to the sentries that bore the seal. So is this the weak channel that needs time to grow? Cool. Having no further questions, I turned to go and only then noticed two ghostly umbilical cords that had been emanating from my back. The translucent, pale tendrils suddenly flushed with a vivid purple and I lost 10% of my HP. The system helpfully informed me that some vitality had been transferred to my summoned souls. The ghostly cables faded to their earlier dull luster. So now I can look on as my ghost buddies suckle on my vitus. All I have to figure out is what the point of this spectacle is.

  One way or another, I need to bring the souls with me and figure out how to control my new companions. The party interface indicated that the souls had about seven hours before they would return to the Gray Lands. It turns out that when I exit the game, the countdown doesn’t pause. Too bad. Even worse was the level difference among my companions. Though Salamander was at a respectable Level 23, Anica was still merely at Level 6. I guess her level was pretty low when she was alive, while the Salamander King’s level was limited by my summoner trait and then modified by my composition stats.

  The king had five abilities: Leadership (a +5% to damage for allies and rage recovery rate), Spider Exterminator (+50% damage to all arachnids) and three attacks which did damage to the enemy. Anica had one ability, but it was a very useful one: Curiosity (+10% to XP earned). I even stopped to consider whether it was worth putting off our foray to the Arras in order to grind a bit in the company of this sweet girl, but in the end I had to drop the idea. The scenario’s climax was quickly approaching and I still had not brought the raiding party to the location. Who knows, I might even need the help of high-level players. And I can always summon Anica again later.

  The spheres that fettered the souls remained lying in the middle of Astilba’s laboratory. Astilba herself was engrossed in some convoluted seal she was etching on the floor with a shimmering lilac-colored liquid. As soon as I opened my mouth to greet her, the Sixth looked up from her work, waved her hand and said: “Go away and take your souls with you. You are disturbing me.”

  I shut my mouth and beckoned my unfettered companions to follow me. We left the staff headquarters quickly and silently. Even Anica obeyed quietly and followed me with mincing steps. The camp outside headquarters seemed suspiciously empty. Apart from the quartermaster, languishing in his tent hopelessly, we met only a single biota, himself surprised at the sight of ghosts. Well, yes, it’s not an ordinary sight. Under different circumstances, I could make some scratch here. Set up a tent and have my ghosts put on a show for passersby. I’ll just need to summon some clowns, acrobats and jugglers from the Gray Lands.

  “What kind of a creature are you, Lorelei?” Salamander’s voice broke through the clinking of gold in my head.

  “What do you mean?” I even stopped from my surprise, and Anica, who had not managed to slow down, bumped into my back. Maybe she’s a ghost but she sure has a palpable forehead.

  “In the Gray Lands, your essence was...” The king hesitated, try
ing to find the right word. “Blurred. Changeable. Almost foggy. I did not see clearly there in general. People were only silhouettes. There it seemed to me that you were human, but you are a...”

  “Thornbush!” Anica popped into our exchange. “You look like a blackthorn we had growing near our field back home. You’ve been bewitched, right? You’re really a princess? Is the prince looking for you?”

  I was already growing exhausted by so many questions. Uh-huh, I’m an elven princess; I’m just slightly under the weather at the moment.

  “I am a biota,” I began to explain, waiting for the girl to run out of questions. “We are something like sentient plants from a magical forest. I’m not a princess, but I am a little bewitched, like this entire part of the forest.”

  The blighted forest around left no doubt that a curse or two had been cast here.

  “We are going to go meet a good friend of mine right now and along the way I will tell you a story...”

  We passed the journey to the rendezvous point in conversation. Thanks to the Shadow Ward spell, the blighted beasts did not attack my ghosts and no one disturbed us. A couple of times I glimpsed the silhouettes of renegade biota, but they never hailed us. I related to my companions the events unfolding in the Hidden Forest in the most picturesque, fairy-tale manner I could, omitting anything that could seem objectionable. In the correct light, the situation could be rendered as a tragedy with an open ending and as a result, when I had finished, both souls felt sympathy for all sides in this conflict.

  After that, Salamander told us a bit about himself. I did not hear anything fundamentally new, but the story of the rebel king’s life would definitely help me in writing the song. Anica’s story turned out to be much shorter and simpler. The girl lived in a village with the funny name Cranberries that was situated in the Malabarian frontier, near the border with the Free Lands. The region was a very peaceful one so the children would frequently go to the forest to pick berries and mushrooms on their own. And it was no different on the day of her demise.

  “I had just grabbed the mushroom to pick it,” Anica said quietly, “when I stepped on something hard. I thought it was a stone. I looked down and saw like a jewelry box, old and partially rotted. It had been in the ground for a long time. Grass and mushrooms had grown over it. Only the corner was sticking out. The lock too had rotted. And inside it there was this pendant. A very beautiful pendant...”

  The girl even squinted and smiled, recalling the marvelous find.

  “I put the pendant on and everything grew cold, very cold, and then dark too. And I found myself in that terrible place, and a voice was calling me. And my mother is waiting for me at home.” The girl sobbed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “You’ll take me to mom, won’t you?”

  Quest available: Homecoming. Description: Go to Cranberries Village on the border of Malabar, summon Anica’s soul and bring her to her mother. Quest type: Unique. Reward: None. Penalty for failing/refusing the quest: Anica’s party bonuses will no longer apply.

  “I already said I would,” I reminded the girl, accepting the quest. “Only I cannot promise that it will be soon. People like me are not much welcome in Malabar. But I will definitely find a way to take you to your mother.”

  “Hooray!” Anica exclaimed joyfully and dashed ahead of us.

  “Are you really going to fulfill this promise?” Salamander asked quietly.

  “Absolutely.”

  “It is a noble goal,” the spirit said after a pause.

  He sat down on the tree root sticking out of the ground and stretched out his legs, enjoying the world of the living. Even the ugly, blighted forest failed to dampen his mood. I understood him. Anything that was different from the monotony of the Gray Lands seemed beautiful.

  “Azur,” I called to my ghostly companion. “Can you help me? I need to read this one text.”

  “Of course.” He seemed happy at the chance to help. “If of course it is written in a language I know.”

  This gave me pause. Indeed, the ancient king could not know the language of the biota. And yet here he is speaking to me. Is this some feature of summoning the dead? Probably.

  “Let’s find out.”

  I pulled Cypro’s notes out of my inventory and looked inside just in case. Nothing. Blank pages. Sighing, I handed the journal to Salamander.

  “You were curious enough to find all the sigils,” he began, but I waved my hand, gesturing him to skip ahead.

  Salamander continued to patter through the text until, at the words “Good luck, my unknown friend,” I gestured for him to slow down.

  “The soul of the animal belongs to the Gray Lands. In order for it to become your guide, it must also become a part of the world of the living. In my travels, I have encountered various solutions to this problem. There are such generous shamans who voluntarily invite the spirits into themselves and thereby become guides into their world. Sorcerers would instill their cicerones into the bodies of animals whose souls had been weakened beforehand. Perhaps someone tried to do the same with sentients. For us, the biota, everything is much simpler. There are special flowers that grow in the druids’ grove called vitars. Acquire one of its seeds. With its help, you will be able to summon the soul into the seed and grow a suitable body for your cicerone.”

  Quest received: Creating a Cicerone. Step 2.

  “A new body...” Salamander repeated in a fascinated whisper and looked at me curiously. “Is that possible? For ones like us?”

  I paused to think here. What would happen if I summon the king’s spirit into the seed? Can I grow a biota out of him? Or how about from Anica? Why then doesn’t Astilba know about this method? This is a way to respawn NPCs after all...And if he knew all this, why didn’t Cypro simply revive the dead using the vitar seeds?

  “I imagine it’s not so simple,” I answered honestly. “But if you like, I can try to summon your soul into the seed.”

  “And I will return to Barliona?” Salamander asked, doubting his own words. “Will I be like you?”

  “Maybe. We will try.”

  “And Anica?”

  “If she wants to—why not? But biota do not grow after spawning. I’m afraid, in this case, she will forever be locked in the body of a child.”

  Salamander fixed the girl with a stare of mixed feelings as she went running happily across the blighted meadow. In the tree line, Chip’s tall, shaggy figure loomed from the brush. Seeing him, Anica stopped, stretched her hand in the direction of the apparition and exclaimed:

  “Look! An animal in a costume!”

  It so happened that this was the first pirq we had come across on our journey.

  “Why look at you, you’re a bona fide little anthropologist,” Chip said, approaching us.

  He stopped in his favorite pose: on one foot, propped up by his halberd, with his left heel tucked into his right inner thigh. A balancing act of fur and steel.

  “Good girl,” he continued, examining Anica. “That’s the right way to think about it. Oh, hello, my rock and roll star!” This was already addressed to me. “Have you taken up the, uh, Ghostbuster profession?”

  “It talks!” yelped the girl with a mixture of rapture and fear. “Did you hear? Did you hear?”

  Here, Salamander pleasantly surprised me. Instead of whipping out his blade and sallying forth, he glanced at Chip, then at me, then at Anica, mumbled something to himself and...that’s it. I guess he had managed to get used to the local flavor and figured that we were looking at a sentient with a strange appearance. Or maybe he was still preoccupied with the chance of getting a new body and the appearance of a giant talking cat didn’t interest him.

  “You have no idea how much he talks, Anica. Meet my friend Chip. He is very nice, though you wouldn’t think so by his appearance. Isn’t that right, Chip?” I looked at Chip expressively, prodding him to say something reassuring.

  “Eh?” Chip muttered indistinctly.

  What’s wrong with him? The pirq was gawking at the
ghost with a look I couldn’t quite read.

  “Chip.” The furball squatted down slowly before the girl. “And what’s your name, young lady?”

  Hearing these words, the girl’s mood changed entirely. Her fear fled without a trace and a sly smile bloomed on her face. She picked up the hem of her dress and performed a curtsy.

  “Lady Anica, sir,” the girl said coquettishly.

  It was so amusing and cute that I could hardly suppress my laughter, only doing so for fear of offending her.

  “Lady Anica,” Chip repeated gravely. “A pretty name. And where did the young lady come by...” The shaggy bastard nodded at me and Salamander. “This lovely zoo?”

  “Lovely what?” The girl repeated, staring at Chip in fascination.

  Honestly, I would not be surprised if she kissed the pirq on the nose, causing him to undergo a magic transformation like in a fairy tale. Only in this case, not into a beautiful prince, but a pink pony.

  “The zoo,” Chip winked. “That’s a kind of place where various animals live so that people can come and watch them. Sometimes, you can even pet them.”

  I was just wondering what would be a suitable way to get the shaggy jerk back when the karma decided everything without my participation. Anica enthusiastically opened her eyes and asked with childish spontaneity:

  “Oh! Is that where you live? At the zoo? And can I pet you too, yes?”

  This time I could not restrain myself and began giggling quietly into the palm of my hand.

  “I’m from the reserve,” Chip said with a self-important air. “That is where the rarest and most priceless animals live.”

  He bowed his overgrown head, lowering it to the child’s hand. Anica immediately began to stroke the pirq’s fur while hopping in delight. But the most ridiculous part was that Chip began to...purr! And exactly like any other house cat, only at his proper volume! I wonder if the developers had done this on purpose or I simply don’t know something about Pasha’s talents?