Beneath the Dragoneye Moons

Chapter 537: Interlude - Susan Weaver - The Secret of the Pekari

A long, long time ago, in the Fourth Remus Empire:

“You’ll never believe what I bought today!” Susan grinned as she entered the tent where her friends and fellow [Seamstresses] and [Camp Followers] lived and worked. Her eyes rapidly adjusted from the bright sun outside to the more reasonable darkness in the tent.

“It’s a loom.” Olive said.

“Is it the loom you’ve been saving up for?” Beth asked.

“You haven’t talked about anything else for months. Please tell me it’s not a loom.” Cora said.

Susan puffed out her cheeks and finished dragging the coffee-table sized loom into the room. The cramped tent instantly became tiny, and her friends groaned and complained good-naturedly, Beth throwing a needle in Susan’s direction.

“Hey!” The [Spinner of Yarns] protested as the needle pinged off the loom. “This is how we’re getting out of here! Don’t damage it!”

Susan was saying the loom was their way out, but in truth, she knew her most potent tool was something else.

Her mind.

She yearned for knowledge, burned for it. There was a great fire in her chest that demanded to know everything. Susan knew she was at the bottom. She’d been born in a camp, and if she didn’t work her ass off, she’d die in one. If she were lucky, she’d marry one of the soldiers first, maybe have a few children and repeat the cycle.

No. She wanted more. She would be more. She knew she was ignorant, but worked every hour of every day to fix it, listening, learning. A weed trying to grow in a desert.

She sat down, grabbed the worst set of yarn they had. An ugly grey they’d picked up for cheap when a batch of dyes got mixed together, utterly ruining the yarn. It was thick, coarse, and nobody wanted their clothes stitched back together with it, making it the perfect set to practice on. Susan carefully set everything up, knowing it was likely going to be ruined as she learned.

“You know, I’ve been wondering, and I don’t want to dampen your spirits. If you’re spending all your time on the loom, aren’t you not fixing clothes anymore, just replacing one set of work with another? How’s that supposed to work?” Olive asked.

“[Stitch and Bitch].” Susan promptly answered, having worked through the problem before.

“How? You’ve only got one set of hands.” Beth asked.

“It’s already a multi-tasking skill, shouldn’t be too hard to make it multi-task more.” Susan said.

“Enough about Susan! If anyone’s getting out of here, she is.” Cora said. “Unlike Maeve. She’s pregnant again.”

“No!” Olive gasped. “Seriously!? Is it at least one of the same fathers?”

Beth laughed.

“I’ll bet every single arc I have that it isn’t. If she charged for what she did, she’d own the whole camp.”

Olive shot Susan a look. The woman was usually quick to jump in, but was spending her full focus on the loom, slowly weaving the yarn into the first bolt of ridiculously ugly cloth.

“I bet Susan has something even juicer.” Oliver said. “Go on, what’s the most infamous [Gossip] have for us today?”

“Well!” Susan rose to the challenge. “Rumor has it that a vampire was spotted last night.”

[*ding!* The skill [Stitch and Bitch] leveled up! 129 -> 130]

[*ding!* The class [Spinner of Yarns] leveled up! 136 -> 137]

Gasps went around the small tent, Cora yelping as she drove her needle a little too deep, drawing blood from her thumb. She instantly started to suck on it, waving her other hand and using a skill to prevent and remove stains.

“Did he suck someone’s blood?” Beth asked.

“Do we like vampires?” Olive asked.

“Vampires are on our side… right?” Cora asked.

“In theory.” Susan hedged. “But I’m not so sure…”

The four of them chatted and worked, steadily working through a pile of torn clothing. Beth even tackled a pair of boots for free, hoping to break her skills through into letting her stitch up sandals and boots. Being able to improve them would be a major boon, and carve out a niche among the rest of the camp followers, a way to make enough money that she could maybe make the harrowing trip out to one of the towns or cities, and have enough to rent out a meager shop.

Susan’s ear twitched as she heard far-off shouts and screams thanks to [The Walls have Threads]. It only worked on walls she was touching made out of threads, which was basically every tent ever made, perfect in the camp follower’s living arrangements.

She stood up.

“Pack it up girls, something’s happening.”

Her friends knew better than to argue. They had started off with a dozen of them, and those who hadn’t listened to Susan when she got like that weren’t around for a reason.

Susan left her loom behind. If they needed to run, the last thing she wanted was to be weighed down by it.

The four women exited the tent, Susan orienting away from the screams, bundling up her skirts, and marching off at a brisk pace. Her friends followed.

The violence and screaming escalated, and soon they found soldiers running towards the commotion. The fighting caught up with them.

Golems made out of gleaming green metal were mercilessly moving through the camp, weapons mirroring what the Legions used like a cruel mockery. A [Legionnaire] thrust his spear through one golem’s chest, but the golem was metal, not flesh and bone. The counter-strike went through his head, and he dropped.

Metal slugs buzzed through the air like angry hornets, and Susan kept her head on a swivel, trying to see and [Understand] everything. Small spider-like golems scuttled around like insects, positioning themselves before spitting out a dozen slugs, then scuttling along.

Where is safety? How do we get out? Susan asked herself.

Cora screamed and grabbed her hand - no, the stump of her wrist where her hand used to be - and fell to the muddy ground hard, splattering her dress as blood started to geyster.

“Go!” Susan shouted to her other friends, coming to a slow stop then running back to Cora, skirts hiked around her waist.

Why don’t I have a movement skill!? Susan cursed herself in the moment, kneeling down next to Cora.

“Thread!” She demanded, using a skill to pull one out of Cora’s ruined dress. Susan slapped her hand away and tied the string aggressively around Cora’s forearm. “Keep it strong!” She said, then froze.

Cora continued to sob as a dozen golems loomed above them. The butt of a spear came crashing down onto her back, then the golems grabbed her by the ankles and started to drag her away.

“No! NOOOOOOOOO!” Cora screamed and yelled, trying to grab onto things, constantly forgetting she only had one hand now. “NO!”

Tent, barrel, crate, body - it didn’t matter what she grabbed onto, the golems continued to drag her away. Susan remained frozen, hating that she was once again not doing anything for her friend, thankful that she was untouched.

Why? She asked herself. Why Cora? Why not me? What’s the difference between us? What principles are they using?

[*ding!* [Cool-headed] leveled up! 43 -> 44]

It was like a shuttle moving over a loom, like a needle dancing over clothes. There was always a pattern. Always a reason, even if she couldn’t see it. Susan remained frozen as the golems continued to march back and forth, killing some people and dragging others away.

What is different about me? Susan wondered. Why am I ignored?

The first thought that popped into her head was she was a [Seamstress]. It was dumb, it was unlikely, and Cora had just been dragged off. It wasn’t that.

Susan carefully looked and listened, entertaining ideas and dismissing them.

Hair color? Weight? Weight to height ratio? Could I be pregnant? Skills? Class level? Even class level versus odd? Class quality? Nail length?

Finally, she hit one she thought might be right.

She… was staying still? Did the golems work off movement? They had to sense things somehow, right? Or did they have their own skill to see? But maybe the skill was movement-based?

She kept watching, analyzing, categorizing.

[*ding!* The skill [Coolheaded] leveled up! 44 -> 45]

[*ding!* The class [Scrappy Survivalist] leveled up! 79 -> 80]

The golems were ruthless fighters. Anyone that lifted a hand against them was put down.

But… but they didn’t kill anyone who was running from them.

That was the first rule Susan cemented in her mind.

The more she watched, her calves trembling from the crouched position she found herself unable to move from, the more she felt she understood.

They killed people who fought back.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

They injured people who ran.

People who were frozen they ignored.

There was a brief break in the golems, and Susan took the chance to get up and move a bit, trying to find a safer, better spot. She heard some more golems coming - mostly a man screaming as he was dragged along - and froze again. She spotted a boy, hiding behind a barrel, clutching his foot with his lips white as he bit down into them, trying not to make a sound. Susan brought a finger up to her lips, trying to let him know to be quiet.

The golems marched past, then another set came by, marching right up to the boy. He shook in terror as they grabbed his arms, dragging them off like the rest.

It isn’t being still. Susan updated her ideas. What’s different between me and him?

She doubted it was the shaking. Susan had been trembling like a leaf on a tree.

How was he similar to Cora?

A thousand items were entertained and dismissed, before Susan finally hit upon one that might work.

They were both injured.

Was it the initial pinprick injury that caused it? Or was it because Cora had caught a slug with her hand? The very same hand that had the needle mark.

It could just be a coincidence, but Susan was now wondering if they aimed for injuries. Aimed for people already weakened, like predators went for the weak members of a flock.

The knowledge didn’t matter as the soldiers of the Legion formed up and properly swept through the camp, driving the golems off once and for all. Susan made her way back to her tent, hoping to meet the rest of her friends there, her mind trying to work out the why.

Why attack them? Why kill people? Why take prisoners?

Why only take injured prisoners? Wouldn’t it have been easy for one of them to harm Susan, then drag her away like the rest of them?

Endless questions rattled around Susan’s head, but she stopped dead at their tent.

It was destroyed. All their work, all their needles, all their yarn and thread had been carelessly trampled down. The loom that Susan had scrimped and saved and quietly ignored her little pile of coins suddenly getting larger as her friends chipped in was in six pieces, splinters all over the place.

They were ruined. There were no safety nets, nothing to catch them if they couldn’t pay for food. They’d have to sleep outside, in the cold fall air, or offer to warm a bed if they didn’t want to wake up coated in frost.

And Cora was gone.

All this knowledge, and nothing to do with it! Susan cursed herself, then paused.

Wait. Nothing to do with it?

The golems fought back against people fighting them. They shot, captured, and dragged back anyone injured.

What would they do if someone uninjured just… walked right up to them?

They were large, intimidating, and violent. Most soldiers were loud and spoiling for a fight, and when a problem seemed to demand immediate violence, why look for any other solution? When people had needle and thread, every problem looked like it could be stitched up.

Was there any reason Susan couldn’t just… walk right up to them, and get Cora back?

The idea was insane. Ludicrous.

But Susan needed something to get out of the hole she was in. Something that would boost her class quality to a point where she could be called a Classer. Something that would rescue her friend. An edge, anywhere.

Slow, steady, and methodical had bought her a ripped tent, a shattered loom, a kidnapped friend, and three arcs to her name.

What was the point in continuing to try it, as opposed to going for a big risk with a big return?

Susan grabbed three unbroken needles, the first vaguely usable stretch of thread she could find, and marched down the muddy almost-paths, following the obvious trail the golems had left.

It was better if Beth and Olive thought she’d died in the attack if she never returned. It would be easier, in a way, for them to process that, than Susan suddenly getting up and throwing herself into the golem’s den.

The path was so obvious a toddler could follow it.

“Excuse me! Ma’am! It’s not safe that way!” A soldier tried to stop her, and had all the bulk and the stats to do so. All Susan had going for herself was a sharp tongue and a burning desire inside of her.

“You’re going to have to fucking stab me to stop me, and I’ll shove this needle so deep into your fucking eyeballs that you’ll shit it back out.”

The way to talk with people was to go to their level, and soldiers demanded the crudest explanations of them all. The soldier shuddered at the visual, and didn’t try to stop Susan as she marched right down the path, the trail leading to a dense forest, skirt still hiked up around her waist.

Suicidal mission or not, Susan wasn’t going to be an idiot about things. She carefully stepped around sticks and didn’t let any branches snag her, convinced if she had the slightest injury the golems would jump her, and she’d join Cora.

Susan hesitated at the end of the trail, a large brick opening welcoming her. There was no way the [Scouts] had missed this. Where had it come from? Why so… obvious?

Susan had a keen ear for gossip, and nothing here was matching up. It was like the bar that sold drinks for less than they cost, there had to be something more to it, like debt-traps that effectively enslaved people who suddenly found they’d drunk more than their pouch had.

She’d come this far. Shaking hand gripping her needles between her fingers, Susan descended, her breath hitching in her throat as she froze on the last step. A pair of golem sentries with shields, spears, and swords were waiting, unmoving, at the bottom. Several more spider-shooters were on the ceiling and walls.

This was it. The moment of truth. Heart racing, palms slick with sweat, Susan slowly moved forward, betting everything on her observations.

[*ding!* The class [Spinner of Yarns] leveled up! 137 -> 140]

[*ding!* The class [Scrappy Survivalist] leveled up! 80 -> 81]

She practically had a heart attack as one of the spider-shooters whirled its barrel around, firing a slug right in front of her nose.

[*ding!* The class [Spinner of Yarns] leveled up! 140 -> 141]

Susan disabled notifications. She didn’t need the distraction.

I’m right! The thought flashed through her mind as the bullet impacted the stone tile near her feet. They don’t attack if I’m not aggressive or injured!

Intimidation, they were fine with, and Susan made a note around the chipped stone. An unlucky attack could throw shrapnel at her, potentially cutting her a tiny bit and causing the golems to descend upon her. Flinching could put her in the path of a bullet, or moving too quickly would do it as well.

Susan slowly walked down the brick hallway, collecting more and more slug-shooters as she went. A hail of bullets rained around her, shooting off parts of her blonde hair, leaving holes in her simple dress.

But not a single one touched her, not so long as she maintained a slow, steady pace. The shots were angled, she idly noticed, to not let chips hit her either.

Her heart started to race as she saw a series of evenly spaced holes in the wall, her mind conjuring up everything she’d ever heard about spike traps. She couldn’t pause and look at it, not with the lethal hail raining around her. She’d catch a dozen shots by pausing.

A stone sank under her foot. Susan kept her eyes open, waiting for the inevitable end.

It didn’t happen.

Steely, resolute, unflinching, Susan walked through the hall, the spiders scattering as she reached a largeish room.

There seemed to be endless vats filled with green fluids, each one with a floating body inside. A few [Identifies] giving back levels proved the people were still alive. Cruel implements hung from the ceiling, and torture racks lined the walls. Bits of meat hung off the hooks, but they looked too fresh to Susan’s eye. She’d seen her fair share of rotting meat. Like they’d been placed there then preserved. The lack of any bodies currently occupying them, and the lack of activity in spite of the recency of the capture suggested the whole thing was a play. A cruel, evil play, one that dragged any number of unwitting people into and murdered hundreds, but a play nonetheless.

There were props and actors, but who was pulling the strings?

Susan stopped when she saw Cora, floating in the green ooze. Her destroyed hand was now a fleshy lump, and the string that had been around her arm was dissolved. Susan looked around for something, anything, that could indicate a way to open the vat, but came up short. She didn’t want to risk destroying it and peppering her friend with glass, and had no idea if releasing her would help or hurt. What happened when people weren’t exposed to the ooze anymore? Would they die? If Cora spent too much time in there, would she turn into another golem? Was that what they were after?

Each answer Susan came up with just led to a dozen more questions. There was another hallway at the end of the room, and she decided to try to delve deeper.

Deeper… into the dim but suspiciously still-lit hallway. The hallways that only started to faintly glow once she’d entered. The golems were golems - most of them didn’t even have eyes! What were the lights for, except biologics who happened to find their way in this deep?

Traps and larger golems accosted her, all manner of fantastical constructs. A pair of ballista bolts, thicker around than she was and twice as long as Susan was tall, thundered down the hallway, barely missing her on either side. An enormous crusher rumbled down the hall, promising to obliterate Susan. A trapdoor opened right as the threshing arms were on her, dropping Susan down. Her instinct was to reach out and try to stop herself, but she just barely managed to resist scraping her hand raw and bloody against the walls - a sure way to trigger the golems into acting far more aggressively.

The temperature started to aggressively rise, and Susan entered into another, far larger room.

The lights were bright red from vast quantities of molten metal and burning forges, the rest thrown into deep shadows by the moving lights.

She stood near the top of a gigantic, multi-story foundry. Huge cauldrons of liquid metal on chains moved around the room, stopping over molds and pouring their load in. Broken golems were thrown into a furnace, metal pouring out the other end. Parts found their way onto moving walkways, where crushing stamps came down and assembled parts together. Metal was rolled, steam hissed, hammers clanged, and not a single word was spoken. An inspection walkway was oh-so-conveniently placed near the entrance of the hallway, and Susan crept forward, suspecting the game had changed once again.

Yet, if they didn’t want Susan to be here, why had she been tacitly allowed to come so far?

Dread started to rise up, and Susan debated trying to flee. She was in way, way over her head, and the [Legatus] would pay fantastic sums to learn of a gigantic army being formed right under his Legion. Enough to set Susan up with not only a new loom, but a spindle, bolts of cloth, a wagon, nodosauruses, and enough funds after that to reach a new town with herself and all her friends, and their friends as well.

But no - that felt like far worse of an idea than continuing forward. Susan took as many mental notes as she could, seeing all the different models that had ‘hindered’ her approach, and dozens more that hadn’t made an appearance yet. At some unknown point in the process, they seemed to gain ‘life’, animatedly walking off the assembly lines. Round slugs were forged from scrap metal, loaded into mining carts at several per minute before they rumbled away on long metal rails. Some golems that came off the lines looked like the rumored mythical elves, wielding a pair of curved blades instead of the stout spear-and-shield of the Legions. Others looked like the barbarians they faced, and more creatures were represented from around the world, looks that Susan would’ve laughed at any bard for describing. Golems that looked like half-wolves, crocodile-headed golems, golems the size of a finger.

Susan continued to observe and think, and an extra-large golem approached from the front. Susan started to back up, running directly into a second golem that had snuck up behind her in utter silence. The golem grabbed her by the shoulders, and Susan slumped in defeat. The two picked her up, and marched her along.

In the seat of their power, what could Susan do? The best thing was to remain uninjured, and hope she could escape at some point. They escorted her to what looked like an oversized minecart with an opening on the side, letting her stand as they all crowded in. The golems dropped her to the floor, and Susan picked herself up, lurching and catching herself on the extra-large constructs as the minecart started moving.

“Do either of you understand me?” She asked. “Where are we going? Who are you? What do you want? Is someone controlling you? Is there…”

Her curiosity unleashed, she asked non-stop questions for nearly an hour as the minecart shuddered through the earth, going deeper and deeper.

Susan was definitely not in the Fourth Remus Empire anymore.

At last the cart stopped, bright light entering through the opening on the side. The golems repositioned themselves in such a way that made it clear she was supposed to exit. There was no point in sticking around, and Susan left.

The cavern was almost impossible to describe. Thousands of glittering, glowing crystals lined the walls of the cavern, with a gigantic palace slapped right down in the middle. A broad walkway led from one side to another, and a smaller one rose up from the perilous drop to where the minecart had dropped her off, connecting the little ‘secret’ entrance to the main portion. Susan took the invitation, crossing and looking around.

On the other side of the walkway, away from the palace, bristled endless defenses pointing out. Extra-large slug shooters, thick shields, crackling rods sputtering bolts of lightning, and legions of constructs protected the final boardwalk. All along the boardwalk were glowing signs in hundreds of languages. Susan searched until she found one she recognized.

Welcome, and congratulations, Adventurer! You have passed the Trials of the Pekari! Come inside to collect your prize!

Susan eyed the defenses again, glad she hadn’t had to go through that. What level would she have needed to be to even have a chance? At least 400, right?

Levels made her think of the notifications she’d suppressed, and she took a peek.

[*ding!* The class [Spinner of Yarns] leveled up! 141 -> 256]

[*ding!* The class [Scrappy Survivalist] leveled up! 81 -> 128]

She swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat.

How many levels!?

Susan dropped one of her needles, quickly stopping to pick it up. The golems wouldn’t let her, the metal foot crushing it before she could pick it up.

They’re going to silence me. Susan thought, before looking at the signs again.

No… they’re going to reward me?

It had all seemed so obvious when someone stopped to think about it. Yet, the treatment and levels suggested anything but.

She was marched through the eerily silent palace, before finally started to hear laughing voices echo through the halls.

At least they’re not screams. Susan thought.

She was brought to a large dining room. Two people were sitting at a table, laughing and eating. Sort of.

One was a bony skeleton, laughing with an absurd crown on his head. A thin gold band vainly tried to keep a gigantic gemstone five times the size of his head attached, and was somehow making it work. Next to him was a handsome figure with white hair and red eyes, blood thick around his mouth and a carcass in front of him.

It’s not human. Susan thought with relief. She tried to identify the skeleton.

[Mage - 3584].

Susan went pale and swayed slightly. She was far past the realms of Legions and vampires. This was the realm of Immortals, and she had no idea that levels could get that high.

“Night! Night! Here she is, the little wisp of a girl we’ve been watching!” The skeleton roared with laughter, pointing at Susan and pounding the table like it was the greatest joke he’d ever heard. “She figured it out! By all the gods, she figured out my little trick!”

He threw his head back and kicked his heels as he howled, endlessly amused.

The vampire - Night - smiled and took a drink.

“Indeed, Anurak, she did. Quite the clever one.” He refocused his attention on Susan, and she felt all the hairs on her neck go up. “As Anurak Sathirat is far too busy being amused at his own cleverness - which is to say, your cleverness - let me be the first to congratulate you. I know this may come as a surprise to one who managed to, in the span of mere hours, solve the riddle of the Pekari, but it is quite a rare mind that is able to unravel the mystery. A reward is customary, and as I am also here, having been treated to a scene of your exploits, allow me to add on my own reward to the pile. Pray, tell me, is there some boon I can offer?”

Susan’s mind jumped immediately to a new loom, and her mouth was half-open before the rest of her brain caught up to her and snapped it shut.

A new loom? A new loom?! From someone who lived in a palace?!

From… a vampire?

A vampire… like the best of the Fourth Remus Empire?

No, no, she could do better. A little information had brought her this far. What would a lot of information do? What would a connection do? It’d be like stitching her as a patch onto the tapestry of the vampire, brought along on adventure and participating in circles that she previously didn’t know existed.

Plus, something in the back of her mind whispered, he was kinda cute.

What was the best way to frame this? He clearly was no idiot, and would see through things if Susan tried to be too clever.

Ah. In that case, it was better to be overtly subtle.

“Dinner.” She finally answered. “You can treat me to dinner.”

Anurak howled with renewed laughter at the joke, and Night’s eyes glinted with interest as a genuine smile crossed his face.

“Dinner.” He repeated, understanding exactly what Susan was getting at. “I believe I can arrange something.”

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