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Chapter 58: Flying Whales Can Be Fun
🕑 Added 2025-01-16 18:36:00 +0000 UTCMarcus wiggled his toes, then smiled under his mustache.
"Laura!" he asked. "Can we have some more, please?"
"Yes, please!" a death spirit agreed.
"It’s running low!" replied another.
Laura chuckled. "Fine," she said, waving her hands in the air. "Have a bunch."
Water jumped out of her empty palms and into a hole in the ground, replenishing what little had been absorbed by the damp soil. She then returned to lounging on her little wooden chair, burying her nose in the book she held; a purple little thing called ‘A Swamp’s Fire.’
Hydromancers could conjure clean water out of thin air, and the Akshik tribe was in dire need of it. Theoretically, her hands should have been full, and not with books.
However, as it turned out, hydromancers could conjure a lot of water. Laura had easily handled the watering of the crocus flowers, the tribe’s loved delicacies, and had even filled all kinds of containers for the tribe with enough water to last them another two batches of flowers—she’d only stopped there because they ran out of containers. A few craftsmen were already hard at work, carving wood and molding clay into appropriate shapes.
The rest of the craftsmen were away from the tribe, repairing the airship while Axehand guarded them. Marcus had insisted on joining, but they’d shut him down, claiming that guests shouldn’t tire themselves. Unfortunately, they couldn’t reject Axehand, as he was necessary to keep the crocodiles at bay.
The Akshik tribe were the masters of the swamp, sure, but that was mostly because they knew to avoid the dangerous places.
The tribe’s containers ran out while Laura still had water to give, so they’d decided to utilize it by filling a shallow hole in the ground, then dipping their bare feet inside and reveling in the sensation. Marcus, Jerry, and a few death spirits were already partaking in this leisure activity, while the storytelling group had also decided to relocate here.
"Well, don’t keep us waiting!" Jerry said. "What happened next?"
"Hoho." A death spirit laughed, letting her head fall back. "What indeed, I wonder…"
"Don’t lie!" Another spirit pointed at her. "You’ve got it all planned out; you always have! No need to build up the beans, just spill them out!"
"Fine, fine." The narrator relented. "So, the bull-man had just rammed into Nick, sending him rolling down a bushy downhill. His tumbling ended at a steep cliff. He fell off, into the dark waters below—but, at the last moment, he grabbed onto a flimsy outcropping, barely saving himself!"
"You already said those!" another death spirit complained. "How did Nick save himself?"
"Well," the narrator continued with an enigmatic smile, "saved himself is kind of a stretch. What actually happened was…"
The story went on, everyone hanging from the narrator’s lips. It was full of action, and sharp twists and turns, but the intricate stories these people constructed couldn’t be narrated in the span of a few minutes. There were frequent breaks, and somehow, they always happened at the worst possible moments, forcing Marcus to attend the next session as well or he would run out of nails to bite!
How dreadful… This addiction is worse than purple spice!
He and Jerry were both drawn into this story. Jerry enjoyed it thoroughly, constantly debating theories with the other storytellers, while Marcus was left grumbling and eagerly awaiting the next segment, muttering his ideas only to himself. When he felt he had a good one, he would smugly enter the conversation and explain all the intricacies and hints left by the storyteller, making everyone gasp.
He’d even gotten it right once!
Laura accompanied them but seemed to easily shrug off the hooks. How she did that was a mystery to Marcus. It also served as a challenge to the storyteller, apparently, who seemed to weave even more nail-biting storylines for them to follow, further exasperating everyone’s agony.
Why can she resist but I cannot? Marcus thought, grumbling inwardly. I must prove that it is difficult!
"Boney!" he shouted out. "Come join us! This story is fun!"
The skeleton ignored him.
"Like this?" he asked, crimson flames burning in his eye sockets as he stared at the animal skin strewn before him.
"Almost!" a nearby death spirit replied excitedly. He was one of the master painters, and his black eyes twinkled as he leaned into Boney’s painting of a starry night. "You got the swirling of the stars right, but…something’s missing here. What could it be? Hmm." He thought about it, diving into what they called ‘the master’s flow.’ "Have you considered adding a melting clock?"
"Why would I do that?"
"You’re right, maybe we should make those into two paintings. Now, look here, my disciple." He grabbed the brush. "Paintings can be viewed in many ways, so you want to direct the viewer’s gaze or it’s like listening to a story backward. If you just add a line here and another there, you can guide them. Then, knowing the path their eye will follow, you can combine different images into one painting to form a story…"
The master painted a few simple, swirling lines, and Boney’s eye-flames flickered. The painting had been transformed! Suddenly, everything made sense and fit together perfectly!
"I will never reach your level, teacher…" he said, sighing in disappointment.
"No worries, my disciple! With just a few decades of practice, you’ll be just as good as me, or at least close! Come on, let’s try again."
Marcus grumbled, drawing his eyes away. Boney had been painting almost non-stop for three days now, exploiting an undead’s endless physical and mental stamina. His ears drifted back to the narrator.
"—but he ducked under the swing, then stepped aside and rammed his closed fist into the bull-man’s stomach. BAM! The enemy was thrown back, mooing in pain, while—"
There was a certain musicality to the narration, Marcus realized. A rising and falling like the tide, expertly woven into words. It even followed the beat of the nearby musicians, who banged their drums, blew into flutes, and pulled the strings of their instruments into an ever-changing rhythm. They were playing some kind of game, where one of them randomly changed things up and the rest had to play around him, forming a series of divine melodies quickly lost to oblivion when the next melody began.
The dancer group had also joined in that game, changing their movements and entire style to fit the music. Sometimes, they were slow and full of hidden meaning. Others, they were fast and intense, radiating joy and energy. Their movements stirred the soul every time—except for Headless, who did his best to keep up but was obviously lacking despite practicing for three days straight.
The dancers were playing around his mistakes, however, making them seem planned and insightful, treating this as yet another game to hone their skills.
Marcus very much admired them for that. Despite reaching incredible heights, they did not rest, but rather found ways to constantly mix things up and challenge themselves. They were only acting out of pure enjoyment for what they were doing, and that was commendable, even if, in Marcus’s opinion, very impractical.
He had seen dancers in the Sea of Sands. They were significantly worse than these ones yet made a ton of money!
They could easily tour the Kingdoms and make a fortune. What a waste…but, to each their own.
He, too, had been influenced by the serenity of this place.
Who could have guessed it? The great Marcus Copperfield, always rushing from place to place and discovering scores of treasures, would enjoy a vacation.
The Akshik tribe, perhaps due to living fifty years like this, didn’t rush at all. When the cook called them for lunch, they’d sometimes spend an hour just sitting around and waiting. He caught people lounging on grass for days at a time, and he saw them waiting for the sunset since the early afternoon.
Marcus was used to a high-speed life, so this approach made his insides itch; but, after three days, he had to admit that having nothing to do was indeed pleasant. Laura felt the same way, and the two often exchanged reassuring glances.
Jerry and his undead, however, fit this place like peas in a pod.
Before even reaching here, Marcus had seen Jerry lounge on his chair for a week straight. He still carried the same chair around, placing it wherever he wanted and sitting on it. He claimed it made his buttocks jelly. Marcus thought that was silly, but Jerry seemed happy. Since they were companions now, Marcus was happy too.
Boboar and Foxy were also having fun, constantly playing tag with some of the most athletic death spirits—careful not to harm anyone, of course.
Speaking of animals…
"Hey, Horace," Marcus said, turning to the person beside him as the narrator took a short break to nibble on something.
"Hmm? What is it, my friend?"
"How can undead whales fly? We were attacked by one."
Horace laughed, a crisp sound full of energy.
"How can skeletons talk?" he asked back, motioning at Boney. "Magic can do unbelievable things."
"Yes, but necromancy works with the soul’s ingrained memories of what it can and can’t do. Whales shouldn’t fly."
Horace laughed again. "What if I told you some species of whales can fly?"
"I would call you crazy."
"Call me whatever you want, but it’s true." He raised a hand to point at the sky through the foliage. "We see flying whales every once in a while, but they aren’t always dead. Sometimes, they’re alive and kicking, and not just that, but they carry people."
"Are you serious?"
"Very. We’ve never contacted them, but rumors say they’re pillagers who wander the Dead Lands in search of victims to rob. Pirates of the sky, you could call them, though nobody knows where they come from. Some people claim there is a kingdom resting on clouds above the western sea, filled with flying whales, but how could that be true? Kingdoms don’t fly."
"Neither do whales."
"Sure they do, I’ve seen one." Jerry joined the conversation. "We should search for a living one and befriend it—or, better yet, a dead whale I can raise. That would be awesome!"
"Awesome, my ass!" Marcus said. "I don’t want to fly on a whale!"
"Why not?"
"It’s ridiculous! It’s dangerous!"
"But fun."
"Your dead ass is fun! What’s wrong with our airship? Flying ships are perfectly normal, unlike mispositioned marine wildlife!"
"We can have both." Jerry grinned, while Marcus’s face fell.
"Didn’t that storyteller mention a whale called Dick?" asked Horace. "You know, in that story about the sea hunters. If you get a flying one, you could name it Floating Dick."
"Oh. That’s a good idea, but I already have the perfect name: I’ll name it Chonky, because it will be chonky."
"I’m outnumbered by stupidity," Marcus lamented. "Laura, I need your help!"
"I wouldn’t dislike a pet whale," she replied, smiling slightly. "Just don’t name it anything vulgar, please."
"Can you even reanimate a whale?" Marcus asked. "I thought your magic reserves were limited."
"I mean…" Jerry scratched his head. "Okay, no," he finally admitted, "or, at least, not yet. Just wait until I’ve practiced for a decade; let alone raising a whale, I’ll create my own Happy Dead Lands, filled with shoes and chairs."
"It doesn’t work that way," Laura said, "but you’re already doing much better than most necromancers I know, Jerry. You must be exceptionally talented."
"Oh?" He looked at her. "Have you met many?"
"A few, but they were all unpleasant people. You’re the irregular one—and the best, in my opinion."
"Thank you!" Jerry smiled widely. "You’re the best hydromancer I know, too."
"Look!" Horace pointed behind them. "The Billies are at it again." He shot to his feet, competitive spirit burning in his eyes. "I won’t fail this time!"
He grinned, then confidently strolled over, jumping on a taut rope between two trees. He extended both arms to the side, moving them up and down in a weird, rotating manner to maintain his balance on the rope that seemed to be trying to throw him off. For a moment, he’d almost fallen—and then, by sheer willpower and incredible muscles, he twisted his body and restored himself.
From the other side of the rope, a Billy snorted in amusement.
"No fair, Horace," a few death spirits said, having amassed below. "We want to try too!"
"Wait for your turn, then," he replied, but that was enough for him to lose his balance. He fell and harrumphed.
Tightrope walking was a new hobby the Billies had introduced, and a good part of the tribe took to it with fervor—especially Horace, with his muscle-filled body, and the dancers, whose balance was already superb. Some of them had already succeeded.
Horace’s turn came again after a while, and he eagerly jumped on the rope. This time, he even managed to take a step, then another!
His joy was such that he fell immediately, but he instantly got back up and roared in laughter. "I did it!" he shouted, and a Billy high-fived him.
Marcus smiled, watching from the foot-pool.
"Youngsters," he muttered, sighing deeply as he dipped his feet back into the water. "Oh. The soil is absorbing it again, Laura."
"On it."
She waved a hand and refilled the hole; an easy thing for her.
"You could join us, you know," he said. "The water is nice."
"I know, I made it." She smiled. "I’ll have to pass, but thank you. Relaxing like this…is not my style."
"Suit yourself," Marcus replied, leaning back as his feet were enveloped by refreshing coolness.
Maybe we could create one of these on the ship, he thought. His eyes snapped open and a smirk formed on his face. Heh, what a thought. These idiots are turning me into one of them. Such silliness…but why does it feel so nice? And, most importantly, why do I feel as though everything will work out in the end?
He gazed at Jerry. "You’re contagious," he said.
"Me?" the necromancer said. "Why?"
Marcus chuckled and didn’t reply. With his feet in the water, his eyes closed, and his hand fiddling with two taels in his pocket, for a fleeting moment, life seemed nice.
