162. [POLSKA] Oyster

Renate Sandvik swam, leaving many a restless wave in her wake.

The early spring sun was out in full force, its beams jumping across the Netherpool's glistening surface. The water was still a little chill to the touch, but Renna herself preferred it like this. For it reminded her of the changing seasons—the turning over of a new leaf.

Munkfred the house/tortoise clearly didn't share in her love for cool water. It hadn't stopped shivering since it'd stepped into the shallows, with its scaly eyes set in a morose frown. But it persisted all the same, for its love for the old woman sitting atop its shell won out over its distaste for the inhospitable elements.

Renna made more waves as she swam over to the tortoise. She gave the underside of its carapace an appreciative pat, which was only met by more shivering. She let out a raspy chuckle at Munkfred's expense, then hopped onto its shell in one lithe motion.

All was quiet. All was calm. The water at the tortoise's feet—the very last wave Renna would make upon the Netherpool—spread out in a circle before rippling back to complete stillness.

"Done for the day?"

The smiling, wrinkled face of Inge Bjornsdatter greeted Renna as she joined her friend topside. Despite the warming weather, the koi woman was bundled up in her usual kelp-and-blanket combination. It was the one health-conscious compromise Inge had agreed to—in exchange for stopping her doses of [Rebalancing].

Renna looked upon the red-and-gold ribbons that had colored so much of her life. Alongside her mother's, Inge's smile had been one of Renna's earliest memories. How many times had she looked that smile in the face as she told a story, a dream, a heartache, or a lie? Well, she was about to add one more half-lie to that list, for she herself wasn't quite ready to commit to the full truth.

"Just thought I'd dry off for a bit," she said and took a seat next to Inge, careful not to splash any water onto the blanket. "See if I can't figure out what you find so fascinating about getting baked alive."

Inge let out a chuckle of her own, thin and wispy.

"When you get to my age, I think you'll understand," she said fondly. "Just being out in the sun—feeling the air, the ripples, and everything they bring back. It's a blessing. I feel blessed. All thanks to you, child."

Renna turned her head slightly, unwilling to meet Inge's eyes. Thankfully, the koi woman didn't press the issue.

Yes. It was true that Inge had lived a longer life than most Yakshas, Anchored or otherwise. Part of it was down to the woman's natural constitution, but the main reason was the [Pearl of Rebalancing].

For about the last decade and change, Renna had used OYSTER to help Inge fend off the Siphoning Disease—a rare, degenerative illness that struck Yakshas of certain typings (koi, unfortunately, being one of them). But little did it occur to Renna that, all this time, she'd been treating Inge against her will.

A long-term side effect of [Rebalancing] could look a lot like the effects of natural aging—memory loss, confusion, general frailty—thereby masking itself in the eyes of even the most devoted caretaker. Renna, in her singular obsession to keep Inge alive, had failed to consider whether the woman truly lived under her care.

It'd been just over a month since that fateful day when the Realmtree had gone up in flames. A month of Inge refusing her 'medicine'—and therefore a month of steady disease progression. Because of it, an already wilted woman had grown smaller, weaker, and brittler than ever before.

Yet, Inge was also the most lucid Renna had seen her in years. It wasn't just a temporary illusion—a gestalt—whipped up by the ripples. Inge the Seeker had returned—because she'd never left. And she was here to stay, until the end of her days.

… Would that the 'end' didn't loom so near.

"One thing never made sense to me," Renna suddenly blurted, more to halt her own train of thought than out of real curiosity. "There was that time—maybe for about two months leading up to the Realmhunt—where you seemed to have made a real turnaround. More talkative than usual, more energetic, and more like yourself. And that was with regular doses of [Rebalancing]. Why do you think that is? What happened to you in those two months?"

At this, Inge chuckled again, louder this time and perhaps with even a little hint of mischief.

"I believe, child, that you have it the other way around."

"… I don't understand."

"I'm saying that, when two souls spend so much time cooped up inside a tortoise together, they have a way of influencing each other. Think, now. What happened around that time to make you more talkative, more energetic, and more like yourself?"

Renna did the math. The answer came to her in an instant, yet it caught her so off guard that she let out a small audible gasp. She then averted her gaze again, the better to hide the flush of her pink cheeks.

But nothing could get past the woman who'd heard every one of a lonely princess's stories, dreams, heartaches, and lies.

"All the more reason," Inge said, gentle yet firm, "you need to stop stalling and go."

Renna stayed silent for a while longer, trying one last lie to see if she could fool herself.

"I don't need to go," she mumbled, like a small child making a feeble excuse. "Eventually yes, I suppose. But there isn't some kind of deadline. I could—I should—stay with you a while longer. At least until… until…"

"Renna, look at me."

Renna did—or tried to, anyway. Her attempt was foiled by a veil of brimming tears.

"Renna," Inge said again, voice as clear and resolute as the younger woman's had been wavering, "won't you hear this dusty old soul's one last wish? I only ask that you set yourself free. Do not let me be the anchor to hold you back. I never wanted it before this. And I don't want it now."

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At this, Renna could no longer hold herself back. She held onto Inge—as tightly as she dared—and cried.

Hers were the shuddering, unrestrained sobs of a small child. Her stolen childhood had been called back by the ripples—only for her to now receive the blessing she'd been craving all her life.

Open up your shell, child, and look out with your own two eyes, unclouded by judgment. And you'll surely see the truth of it—that the world really is your oyster.

Go on, my wayward daughter.

Let go.

***

The early spring sun began its descent. A pink frog girl with puffy, wide-set eyes leaned against her dearest friend… and spoke of the tomorrows that spread before them.

"Don't go anywhere without Munkfred," Renna croaked with what was left of her voice, taking the opportunity to mother Inge, one last time. "And don't forget about the extra cache of food next to the taproot. I've shown Munkfred where it is, so if you ever run low, you just need to—"

"Stop worrying about us, child." Inge gave the patch of shark denticles atop Renna's head an affectionate pat. "I'm more capable than you give me credit for. Besides, we're not fugitives anymore, remember? There's nothing to stop us from rolling into town and making nuisances of ourselves to the kind people of Rotgard. And don't forget about young Petter. If I'd thought you were overbearing, I daresay I'm in for a nasty surprise with that one."

Renna let out an unexpected snort… then hastily wiped herself clean. But it was this joke at the mackerel man's expense that most reassured her. Inge's right. I can count on Petter Svensen to do right by her and Munkfred.

After that, there was naught left to do but hold each other—just a little while longer.

"I'll miss you, nana," Renna whispered.

"And I you, child," Inge whispered back. "But more than that, I'll be looking forward. I can't wait to read about your adventures. Because, in the end, right here among the Roots is where the ripples settle."

***

Renna swam alone, against the currents that rushed down the Roots at speed.

Her next order of business took her upstream—to a place of reunion and departure. But before she could move on in earnest, she needed to make one small detour.

The little Renna knew of her family history—on her mother's side—she'd learned secondhand from Inge the Blabbermouth.

She knew that the Sandviks were a tiny tribe of tree-frog Yakshas that had perished during the Waterways Redistribution Project—tragic victims of an accidental landslide. A young woman by the name of Ansig had been the lone survivor. Tyr Djofulsen had then taken great pains to bring her up to Krongard—by all accounts an act of sincere kindness. But whether Ansig herself had wanted to leave her people's home—and whether the ensuing affair had been one of mutual affection—not even Inge managed to pry from the frog woman's tight lips.

Presently, Renna jumped back ashore and pattered her way to her destination: an enormous, moss-laden deadfall that spanned the whole width of a Realmtree root. It was, of course, the Sandviks' ancestral home—still intact, even decades after it'd been abandoned. And here, inside a hollow that might've fit a family of three, stood an unmarked grave.

Renna took a moment to stare at the bare stone slab that served as her mother's grave. It'd remained unmarked all this time—more than a decade after the woman's death. There were many reasons for it, but the only one that really mattered was that her daughter had been too cowardly to remember her name.

Well, not anymore.

[Renate Sandvik] unslung DREDGER and touched the tip of its blade against the stone slab. Then, ever so delicately, she agitated the ripples just enough to etch legible words onto the bare surface.

In Memory of Ansig Sandvik—the wellspring of my Wisdom

Next, she reached into OYSTER and produced a [Pearl] of blue liquid. She finished off the ceremony by pouring its contents onto the grave, watching solemnly as an extension of her [Wisdom] seeped into the soil.

Renna then hesitated, with half a notion to turn around and leave. In the end, however, she made up her mind to follow through with her intentions.

From her belt, she unlatched a child's garden trowel. It was the one she'd pilfered from the erstwhile guesthouse—during her 'game of tag' with the ghost of her father. She'd dropped it in the heat of battle, but had gone back and retrieved it again from the ashen ruins of the royal chambers.

The trowel too had been badly burnt—leaving a mangled piece of molten metal. But it'd retained enough of its shape to at least imitate its original function.

That was good enough for Renna. She bent down and stabbed the trowel into the ground, a little ways off to the side of Ansig's grave. She then fiddled with it a while—tapping into a modicum of her Wayfaring magic to help it along—until it managed to stand upright.

Renna stood to inspect her handiwork.

This mangled little thing would be her father's grave. Oh, not in any official capacity, of course. For his loyal followers had already erected an elaborate memorial somewhere in the lofty heights of Krongard.

No, this was purely for Renna's private use. Not to honor the pathetic Immortal that had left her to suffer… but to remember the mortal, Realm-loving warrior that poked through on occasion—perhaps enough to have won over a Sandvik or two.

Unlike her mother, Tyr Djofulsen didn't deserve to have his name written on his grave. But Renna was willing to give the occasion its own bit of ceremony. After all, that grinning oaf of a bull-shark had been the lightning rod to her Courage.

Renna reached into her OYSTER, took out a [Pearl] of red liquid, and poured.

As she watched [Courage] seep into the soil and mix with [Wisdom], she was suddenly reminded of a fourth member of her dysfunctional family. It went without saying that Loha deserved neither ceremony nor commemoration. But Renna did worry whether the Rakshasa queen and the cruelties she'd suffered at her hand might forever occupy an unwanted space in her heart.

Never one to pass up a good experiment, Renna put her hypothesis to the test. She tried to summon the hatred—to feel around the edges of her scars—and found nothing.

"Hm."

There was nothing there. It'd been just a month and change since she'd last laid eyes on Loha. She now realized that she'd barely spared the woman any thought since then. She hadn't even bothered to watch her die—even though… there'd been a time when she'd wanted nothing more.

"Well… I guess that's as good a sign as any."

Quite so. It was time for Renna to leave the past where it lay—time to move onto the tomorrows that spread before her and her companions.

Her last order of business in Pretjord took her upstream—to a place of departure and reunion. Reunion with the one Rakshasa who'd never left her mind since bundling into her life some three months ago.

Think, now. What happened around that time to make you more talkative, more energetic, and more like yourself?

Renna Sandvik swam at speed, impatient to be reunited with Team Serac.

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