The neon dried up and the towns dissolved, but the Fluxes stayed. There’s still neon to be found if you know where to look. The woods near the main roads and the Spinal/Coeur border were picked clean decades ago. Whisper and I know where to go in the deep woods. Sifting through the dirt, you find small pebbles of neon, inconsequential on their lonesome, but they add up. They add up quickly enough that you can sell a satchel of loose neon for food, for supplies, everything else that you need. Every few weeks or so. It’s more work to find than it used to be, but people pay more than they used to too. Neon supply is so low that any new neon is worth more than gold. More than jewels.
And yes, there are corrupted to consider. It’s part of the job. Whisper knows to run if she ever comes across any corrupted. Most of the time I run too. But if it’s possible, it’s worth it to try and take them down. Corrupted blood, it’s not neon. Not exactly. But it’s poisonous like neon, and if you drain ‘em you can sell the blood. A corrupted lowrunner is worth two or three gold. A fang maybe four or five. A corrupted growler would be more. Not exactly sure how much, though. The few times I’ve killed a regular growler were risky enough; I don’t even want to think of taking on one that’s been corrupted.
This morning, Whisper and I were eating lowrunner jerky and preparing to make our way down to Aorta, a town buried deep in the Coeur forests. I guess you know that since we brought you here. My head’s not… not exactly right. The town’s a hotbed for brothels, dirty pubs, and unsavory types. Not the best place for a little girl and her father, but the blacksmith here smiths with neon and pays well and most of the permanents here know us so it’s not as dangerous as it could be.
We decided to make one last run before we left for Aorta. We walked a ways north from our camp and hid our neon satchel in a rock bed. Marked one of the rocks with green chalk. The proximity to Aorta meant that we could encounter thieves or bandits at any time, so we almost always hid the neon satchel while we farmed. Only took me getting robbed once to start doing that. Since then, I never keep the neon on me when we farm. Leaving it unattended at the camp was risky too, so we always hid it separate from the camp. Marking the rock was a learned lesson. Only took me losing the satchel once to start marking the hiding place. Don’t need to tell me anything twice.
Whisper and I left the hiding place and went south to where we had panned for neon the days prior. Panning for neon ain’t hard, it just takes patience. Neon is heavier than the dirt around it, so what you do is you go to a water source, a river or a lake, and fill your pan with a couple handfuls of earth. You then fill the pan with water and swirl the mix in the pan so that the neon sinks to the bottom. Then you go to a stream or lake and dip the pan halfway into the water, tipping it forward so that the water washes away the earth from up top and leaves the neon at the bottom of the pan. I’d show you for myself if I wasn’t so… laid up. Do that a hundred times in a day and you got yourself a handful of neon. Do that a couple thousand times in your life and earn enough money to keep you and your daughter afloat.
Whisper ain’t really got the hang of it yet, despite all the times I tried to teach her, and sometimes the neon makes its way back into the water. Not a big deal. I ain’t a great teacher and I ain’t good at explaining things. She’ll get the hang of it eventually. She’s talented in different ways for sure. She was getting frustrated though, so we cut our run short and made our way back to camp. Packed up our things and then started toward the hiding spot.
That’s when we saw the lowrunner, shining drool oozing out its mouth onto the dirt. Its antlers pure blue spread out from its deformed skull. Streaks of telltale neon blue spreading across its hide.
It was looking right at us. And it was angry. I turned to Whisper and said one word, steeling myself to protect her should the lowrunner charge.
“Run.”
SUGAR HOLSTER, DAUGHTER OF DESPAIR “Let’s take a break,” Banquet said.
“You’re tired?” I said. “Already?”
“Of course I’m tired,” Banquet said. She stood next to the hole we had partially dug, panting and sweating, and brushed her hair away from her face. “We don’t even have proper shovels. We’ve been digging for hours and we’ve barely made any progress.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I said. “Come on. I want to finish before Candle gets back.” We had scouted the area for suitable rocks big enough and flat enough to shovel away the earth. We found two. The grifter that surprised us, that I had killed out of what I thought was necessity, his smell still lingered. After I shoved my sword through the man’s back, he had fallen directly into the fire. His clothes had caught fire and his flesh had started to char before we dragged him out and doused the flames. It smelled strangely appetizing. I wanted to get him into the ground and buried before Candle came back from Backdraft.
Candle went back to Backdraft after the grifter told us that Prince Stoic was arrested for our killing of the Librarian. If he was imprisoned, if he was executed for the Librarian’s murder, that would ruin the narrative the Daughters had worked so hard to accomplish. So Candle went back, presumably to free him, while we stayed to take care of the grifter I had killed. She had been gone for a while at that point. I didn’t know how long it would take her to execute a jailbreak. I didn’t know if it would be hours or days. But I didn’t want her to come back and find that we hadn’t finished our task. And now Banquet was tired.
“She’s not coming back tonight,” Banquet said. “Let’s rest and start fresh in the morning.”
“I’m not resting with this body here,” I said. “What if someone comes across us with a dead body? You’re risking everything with your laziness.”
“Fine,” she said. “Fine. You’re not the boss of me, though. Candle’s the lead on this run, remember that.”
I was tired too, but I didn’t want to admit that to Banquet. Let her think I was still full of energy if that guilted her into continuing to dig. I knew I wasn’t her boss, but that didn’t stop me from feeling superior.
We dug. The rocks were poor shovels and the dirt slipped back into the hole after we scooped it out. I could feel future blisters on my hands and had to stop myself from complaining. A bad workman blames his tools. We just needed to work through the pain.
Deep into the night we finished and Candle still hadn’t returned. The hole was finally deep enough to house the grifter’s body, and we stood from where we had hunkered over the hole, wiping the dirt from our pants and hands. We walked back to our camp and positioned ourselves on either side of the grifter, lifting him so we could carry him to his final resting place. I grabbed the legs; Banquet lifted him from under his arms. The smell of charred flesh was stronger now that we were closer and I suppressed my gag reflex. The smell wasn’t bad. That was the problem. He smelled delicious.
It took us significantly less time to bury him than it did to dig the hole and when we were done we collapsed by the burning glow wood campfire, exhausted. Candle still hadn’t returned. It was closer to dawn than to dusk and we didn’t say a word as we lay down to sleep. Our task was done, and now we needed to wait however long it would take for Candle to return to us. To continue our mission. Sleep came quickly and mercilessly.