The Waystation Ch. 23 (Patreon)

Chapter 23

Detour I

Bert stretched as he walked over the connecting bridge to Trailer One. The farmland was looking… strange. He leaned on the railing for a while, trying to make heads or tails of the fields below him.

He was only gone for a day or two at most.

Scruff kicked open the door to the cottage, making Bert wince, emerging with an armful of what appeared to be scrap metal. Yawning hugely, Scruff tottered over to the nearest cleared row. The former urchin happily dropped a piece of metal into each hole and kicked the dirt over it. Once they reached the end of the row and the last piece of metal was buried, they turned and walked back down the row, stopping at each buried bit of metal to stomp on the dirt until it was completely flat.

Bert opened his mouth to ask what the hell they were doing, only to freeze as the newly converted farmer held their hands out over the row; green energy flowed from their fingers, and tiny metallic shoots broke the surface of the row. Bert’s mouth hung open for a while. Scruff returned to the cottage again, this time returning with an arm full of…

“What the actual fuck?” Bert yelled, startling Scruff.

“What? What?” Scruff stared around, “What’s wrong?” They kept spinning in place, spilling more things from their arms as they looked for the problem.

“Scruff?” Bert asked carefully.

“What?”Scruff said anxiously.

“Why are you carrying body parts?” Bert used his most gentle ‘talking to an angry Bell’ voice.

“I’m Farming?” They replied happily.

“We can get you fertilizer if you want. You don’t need to bury dead stuff in your fields.” Still the same careful voice.

“I’m not burying it, idiot.” Scruff gave him a look, “I’m planting it.”

“I think you might be confused about how farming works….” Bert tried.

“Have you got the farmer class?” Scruff asked defensively.

“No, but-”

“Well, I do.” Scruff shrugged and proceeded along another row, dropping a hand, finger, bit of leg, an eyeball, or worse into each hole and kicking the dirt over it. As they returned and stamped the ground flat, Bert winced every time.

“This isn’t going to work,” Bert tried, “You need seeds to grow things, not just parts.”

“Oh, I know.” Scruff said as they once more poured green energy across the row. “I’m not stupid.”

Bert once more lost his power of speech as small, white shoots broke through the ground.

“That’s just not right….” He said eventually. He watched the strange kid as they carefully watered each bizarre little shoot with a dented watering can.

“So, Scruff,” He said casually, “Want to show me around? Maybe tell me your plans for this area?”

“Sure.” They sounded excited. Leading the way around behind the cottage, Scruff led him over to the strangest field of crops Bert had ever seen. “So this is my testing area, where I come up with the new plants and try new stuff. I didn’t exactly have anything to plant, so I was just going to ask Bell if she had any,” Scruff hesitated for a moment, “But she seemed… busy. So instead, I noticed I had a skill that let me make a seed from just about anything.” Scruff beamed. “It is a basic farmer skill, the first one I got, so I kind of ignored it. But it makes sense. Everyone has to start somewhere… and for a farmer, it all starts with a seed.”

“Okay, how does that lead to planting bits of metal and corpses?” Bert asked.

“I’m getting to it!” Scruff glowered. “You have a real impatient streak; you know that?”

“Sorry, go on.” Bert sighed. He really hated teenagers.

“Well, there was not a lot of plant stuff around unless I wanted to farm a tree,” Scruff laughed, “Can you imagine that? A farm full of trees?”

“You mean an orchard?” Bert asked innocently.

“Don’t be a dick all your life.” Scruff said flatly, “So anyway, I did have a substantial amount of dead people, blood, broken metal, and that kind of stuff. So I made my seeds out of that.” They shrugged. “It just makes sense.”

“How much time have you spent around Bell lately?” Bert asked suspiciously.

“Ha Ha Ha,” Scruff said sarcastically. “Anyway, it worked. So I planted the first ones over here.” Scruff showed Bert three rows of plants. The first looked a bit like a corn stalk but was entirely made of metallic material. “This is the Bolt Bush, and it grows crossbow bolts and spikes of metal.”

“Bolt Bush?” Bert asked. “It’s not a bush, though?”

“You have a giant sloth bear called Slothy… you don’t get a say on naming things,” Scruff said with a laugh. “This one is the Blood Fruit Bush.” Scruff pointed to a strange, dark fern-like plant. Bunches of deep red berries hung from the branches. “It’s so cool. It is literal blood but sweet!” Scruff grabbed a berry and bit into it. Blood squished between her teeth as she ate. “Bell says it is good for you and even has healing properties.”

Bert said nothing as he tried not to throw up. Scruff wiped her mouth with her hand, which came away with a bloody smear.

“But this is by far the best; it’s the Ghost Vine!” Scruff pointed to a strange white plant with large pale fruit hanging from it. They looked like plums, but blueish white, with a pale mist slowly leaking around the stem. “You can’t eat these, as they are like pure DEATH energy,” Scruff grinned, “But Trav says he could probably make a beer or a mead out of it that would probably not kill everyone who drank it!”

Bert tried to smile encouragingly. “So, what about plans for the future?”

“Oh, that’s easy; follow me.” Scruff practically skipped back to the front and excitedly showed off her creations, still growing in their odd, misshapen fields. “These are Sword Sprouts; these are Shield Spines; these are the Spear Ferns, and this is the best one, the Steak Tree!”

Bert looked at the sapling in front of him. It did not look very likely to sprout a steak anywhere. “Steak Tree?”

“Yeah, look.” She reached out and cut off a small branch. Blood leaked from the cut. She held it out to him proudly, showing the deep red flesh beneath the bark was clearly steak. “Just think, if we grow it big enough, a single branch will make about a hundred steaks easy!” She beamed and began enthusiastically chewing the end of the branch. “Hey, where are you going? I still have stuff to show you.”

“I’ll come back later, just got some stuff I need to do.” Bert smiled weakly as he carefully backed away.

“Okay, I’m going to work on a new plant anyway!”

“Have fun,” Bert called back over his shoulder as he forced himself to walk calmly through the fields of horrors.

He was used to the idea of Mad Scientists, Mad Mages, and Mad Necromancers. Bert was worried he had created the universe's first Mad Farmer.

Gods help them all.

============

“Hey, Boss.” Bud raised his tankard to Bert as he entered the Bear’s Fall. “I’m just trying out Trav’s latest mead.”

“How is it?” Bert asked.

“Good!” Bud burped hugely. A significant accomplishment for a creature without a stomach. “This new Death Mead is amazing,” Bud gestured to the dry floor. “I don’t know where it goes, but I’m glad it did.” He burbled.

“Ah, right. That’s made with some of Scruff’s new creations?” Bert verified.

“Yup, that kid makes some creepy stuff.” Bud tapped the counter he was leaning against with his finger. “And I’m a talking skeleton; I know creepy!”

“You’re a little drunk, aren’t you?” Bert grinned at the gently swaying skeleton.

“I am NOT!” Bud looked aghast. “I am completely in control of my thingies.”

“So Trav made a mead that undead can get pissed on?” Bert laughed.

“Morning Lord, I did indeed.” Trav came through the doors from his distillery, which had taken up over half of the bottom floor of the Bear’s Fall. “I was chatting with Bud over a drink and thought it was only fair he joined me in a tipple if he wanted to.” The satyr looked nervous. “I didn’t overstep, I hope?”

“Not at all; it’s a fantastic idea. Just don’t call me Lord, okay?” Bert laughed. “I have a thing against Nobles.”

“Which ones?” Trav asked, surprised. “I thought you had only just arrived recently.

“All of them.” Bert shrugged. “I have a problem with the whole idea of a Noble class.”

“Don’t get him started, Trav,” Bud said as he waved his tankard for another drink, “Trust me, it’s a long, long, long explanation.”

Bert laughed.

“I would offer you some, Caretaker, but I am afraid I am unsure of the effect on Fae as of yet,” Trav said as he poured a faintly glowing liquid into Bud’s tankard.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that….” Bert said. “Their crops are all a little….”

“Impossible?” Trav offered.

“Basically.” Bert nodded.

“I asked her about that, actually.” Trav smiled. “It appears they received the ‘Waystation Farmer’ variant of the class. It has a few extra options and quirks to allow them to operate on crops for other creatures in other worlds.”

“Well, Shit,” Bert said.

“I am sure I can convince her to grow some more standard plants in time.” Trav smiled.

“So you know about the Streak Tree?” Bert asked.

“The what?” Trav’s smile faltered. “I did not….”

“Yeah, I think Scruff is just gonna do as they please.” Bert laughed, “So they should fit in well here.”

“True,” Bud chuckled.

“I still don’t get how she can grow this stuff, even with a variant class.” Bert sighed. “Some of the shit she is doing….”

“Well, Way Way is definitely helping Scruff,” Bud said.

“Really?” Bert said, surprised.

“Oh yeah, Way Way is totally helping,” Bud said again. “And also, I am sure Way Way is completely helping her.”

“Yeah, that’s enough mead for now, mate.” Bert laughed as he gently prised the tankard from Bud’s hands.

“Nooo.” Bud groaned and tried to get it back. “I like it.”

“I can tell,” Bert grinned. “Just a little break, eh Bud?”

“Fine.” Bud grumped.

“Um, excuse me?” Trav asked.

“What’s up, Trav?” Bert asked.

“Who is Way Way?” The satyr looked perplexed.

“The Waystation. Bell’s name for them.” Bert clarified.

“Ah, okay?” Trav seemed uncomfortable with the nickname but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Bert mentally reached out to the Waystation, asking about Scruff. A series of images of Scruff beaming with pride, accompanied by feelings of warmth and happiness, flooded his mind. Bert couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, Way Way is helping.” Bert chuckled.

“Um, perhaps it is not my place, but… is it wise to treat the Waystation as if it was a separate and independent entity rather than a simple interface.”

“Ah, Trav. You were doing so well.” Bert groaned. “Let me make one thing clear… This Waystation is made up of three equal parts. Me, Bell, and Way Way. Three parts. Not two.” He held up a hand, “Actually, I’m wrong. Make that five parts. Me, Bell, Way Way, Bud, and Slothy.” He shrugged. “I forgot to update the speech, I guess. Anyway, to be straight to the point… We expect equal respect for all of those five.”

“Or, if you prefer, we can turn you into a bloody smear on the floor.” A cold voice said from behind them.

“Hey, Bell.” Bert waved happily as Trav paled.

“Hey, Bert,” Bell chirped. “So, do we drown him in his own ale, or shall I get creative?”

“Please, forgive my ignorance.” Trav prostrated himself on the floor before Bell.

“If you say anything bad about Way Way again, I’ll get creative.” Bell grinned down at the shivering satyr.

“I shall never say another word about them other than in honor or praise.” Trav quavered.

“Good satyr,” Bell said primly. “Now, let’s see this new mead of yours.”

“At once, Lady Bell.” Trav scrambled from the room and into his brewery.

“This stuff is made from Death mana fruits,” Bert warned.

“We are Fae!” Bell said proudly. “We can drink anything ever made.” She beamed. “Or are you too afraid?” She grinned.

“Oh, it’s like that?” Bert asked with a crooked smile.

“Always, Caretaker!” Bell smirked back.

“Two Death Meads!” They roared at the same time.

“Boss?” A hurt voice said.

“Three Death Meads!” Bert corrected.

“I love you, Boss!” Bud beamed.

An hour later, Bert gently nudged open the door to the Gate House. He was carrying a gently snoring Bud as he made his way carefully into the house. It had been a challenge to get into the door as a snoring Slothy had blocked the doorway. The giant creature still liked to sleep outside the gatehouse, the only problem being the increased size often meant she entirely blocked the doorway.

More than once, Bert had seen Bud climbing carefully out of one of the windows rather than wake the giant creature.

The inside of the Gatehouse had changed since he had last been there. The walls, previously bare of any decoration, now showed frescos of battle. In the first, Bert saw a single archer firing from the wreckage of a skyship, aiming at a figure of impossible size. After a minute, he realized it was him. Huh. He must have looked pretty scary to Bud back then. Moving on, he came to another fresco; this one showed a swirling mass of creatures surrounding the archer and the man while a giant sloth loomed above them both. The figures fought back to back against the endless horde.

Another fresco showed a world of flame and blood. In the middle of it all was the archer, on the back of a giant sloth bear. The archer loomed over the enemies, his bow spitting death as he rode atop the mighty creature. Dead humans lay all around.

Finally making it into the bedroom, Bert stopped and stared at three more frescos.

In the first, a figure of shadow was holding its arms wide apart, with the skeleton in the middle, light swirling around it. Bert figured this showed when he had first claimed Bud. The second fresco was the two of them walking through the woods, Bert leading the skeleton through the darkness.

It was the final fresco that really got Bert. It was by far the largest in the room, taking up an entire wall. Unlike the other pictures, this one showed them standing together, not fighting but just grinning. The picture showed Bud standing proudly with Bert’s arm draped over his shoulder. They looked relaxed and happy.

Bert felt a tear roll down his cheek.

The skeleton stirred momentarily as he lay the snoring Bud down on the bed.

“Hey, Boss. Did I tell you I upgraded my class to Ranger Captain? How cool is that?” Bud asked sleepily.

“The coolest, mate.” Bert smiled. “You’ve done so well.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Bud said as he once more started to snore.

Bert quietly closed the door on his way out. He stopped briefly and ran his hands over the archer in the first fresco.

It was nice to know he was doing some good.

The moment was slightly spoiled as he had to clamber his way over the sleeping Slothy to get out the door.

=============

It is strange the things you can get used to. The things that get just to be routine. It is always jarring the first time you wake up to a new alarm. The thing is, a week later, that same alarm will barely register. Or, in Bert’s case…

“Boss, It’s the pixie she-”

“I’m on my way,” Bert sighed as he pulled himself out of bed. He was so used to the routine by now he didn’t even wake up properly until he felt the first lurching turn of the Waystation.

“Bell!” Bert yelled as he came out of the Barn, still pulling a shirt over his head.

“She’s not talking, Boss.” Bud shrugged. “I already tried but can’t get the lift to work.”

“Any idea what she’s doing?” Bert asked as they hurried over to the tower.

“No idea, but….” the skeleton trailed off.

“What?” Bert asked, a chill going down his spine.

“Trav said she took a whole barrel of Death Mead up with her.” Bud shrugged.

“Fucking wonderful.” Bert muttered, “A drunk pixie.”

Bud was right, and the platform refused to move. Way Way couldn’t help either, so he assumed it was something Bell was actively doing. Grumbling to himself the entire time, Bert aimed his grappling hook at a window halfway up and fired.

He slowly climbed the wall as faint singing and occasional giggles echoed down the tower.

Other than the occasional sudden turn slamming him into the walls, it was an easy climb. Hooking an arm over the edge, Bert aimed again. This time the grapple hooked onto the rim of the hole into the top of the tower.

Bert was dangling in mid-air as he slowly retracted the grapple when he heard a voice above him.

“What are you doing?” Bell slurred as she peered over the edge.

“I’m trying to get up to the top,” Bert growled.

“Why?” She asked.

“So I can see where we are going?” Bert tried, realizing his mistake.

“Noooo.” Bell trilled, “You want to stop me driving, don’t you?”

“Of course not!” Bert tried to sound offended. “I just want to… don’t you fucking dare.”

Bell giggled as she slowly pushed the grapple off the lip. “See you next fall!” She called as Bert dropped.

“Bell!”

Twenty minutes later, Bert winced as his leg bones snapped back into place. This was his third attempt to make it up the tower.

“Bell?” Bert called up the tower.”

“Yes, Bert?” A giggling pixie responded.

“I’m going to get up there eventually.” He said levelly.

“Yes, Bert.” Another giggle.

“Why not just let me up there?” Bert asked.

An empty tankard exploded next to him.

“No! I’m driving.” A manic giggle sounded as the Waystation lurched to the right.

“Bell?” He called again.

“Fuck off, fat ass!” Bell called down.

With a sigh, Bert sat and crossed his legs. Leaning back against the tower wall, he dropped into the tides.

Connecting to the Waystation took a moment as he fought to calm himself. Once connected, he reached out and cast the Ebb runes on each of the giant treads.

The Waystation lurched to a stop.

“What the-” Bell’s voice echoed down the tower. “Bert, the Waystation won’t move!” She sounded confused and worried, “I think I broke it?”

Far below, a smile spread over Bert’s face.

“Why don’t you come down, and I’ll see if I can fix it?” Bert called casually.

“Yeah, I need more drink anyway.” Bell giggled as she flew down the tower.

She paused as she got to the base of the tower and saw Bert, his mana channels glowing with power. “What are you doing?”

Bert grinned.

A stone slab slammed into place, blocking Bell as she tried to fly back up the tower.

“You cheating, little BITCH!” Bell growled as she rounded on a beaming Bert.

“Bring it, you psychotic FIARY!” Bert was a little cranky after breaking his legs and more, three times.

“NO ONE CALLS ME A FAIRY!” Bell blazed as her Ringer flew into her hands.

Bert got to his feet, summoning his shield and making his hand glow with the chill rune.

“Um, I’ll just take Slothy and have a look around,” Bud said quietly as he closed the door to the tower.

A loud thump made him wince, and he started to run.