Eight: Chapter 21

After about an hour of watching and waiting, it looked like maybe it really would be safe to enter the Red Room. The only hitch was that the path would take me under the smaller fuchsia-colored lichen on the ceiling.

What was scarier than an invasive lichen? An intelligent version that—oh, by the way—targeted and stole your qi. None of the others appeared to do that, based on what I’d seen of their talents.

Just what is up with this world? Can’t something just be nice and pleasant?

I took a calming breath and re-established myself in being one with the land. It’d been a long day, a frightening and stressful day, but freaking out at every obstacle wasn’t going to help. If the uekisheile was a danger, then I’d wade into the eilesheile to avoid walking under it. The answer was that simple.

I did wonder about the ‘Dawn’ in its description though. The only other time I’d seen anything like that was the bishkawi alpha’s dusk.

Light and dark, eh? It didn’t take a genius to make the connection to silver and darklight. To be reflected in their descriptions though, did that mean the uekisheile and alpha used different paths to grow or evolve into what they are now?

That was a decent supposition and explained why some creatures of the same type were so different from their brethren—not just the bishkawi and uekisheile, but also the monster turkeys. I’d have to grab a snapshot of the turkeys to see if the theory held true.

For now, I settled on taking a sample of the eilesheile. Hopefully Ikfael will know if it’s valuable or not.

I used Woldec’s hunting knife to scrape some onto a square cloth, which I then tightly wrapped with cordage. Not wanting to contaminate any of my new containers, I hung the wrapped eilesheile from the backpack. Nothing happened while I worked. The eilesheile didn’t move, and I didn’t feel anything strange. The condition section of my Status stayed clear.

I sighed. Maybe this wouldn’t be as hard as I’d thought it’d be.

The chimneys on the right side of the room were too high to reach, but on the left, the stalagmites almost connected to the stalactites. It looked like I’d be able to climb them to see if the chimney on that side was a viable exit to the outside.

After a moment’s consideration, I shook my head and left through the room’s other exit instead. The uekisheile clung to the stone near the left-side chimney—I felt uneasy about getting that close to a creature with the Qi Plunderer talent.

The tunnel wound upward, but I stopped as soon as I found a pile of dung. The pile was the size and shape you’d expect from a mountain lion, but it didn’t belong to the one whose corpse I’d found earlier. That creature had been dead for months. No, the dung was only a week or two old at most.

I hightailed it back to the Red Room. Suddenly, the uekisheile didn’t seem so bad—at least, not compared to a murder cat. I recalled vividly the way Akbash’s face had peeled away from his skull, as well as all the myriad cuts on his and Biaka’s bodies. Yes, the lichen was a threat, but I’d safely gathered the eilesheile. Maybe the uekisheile had to be ingested to be dangerous too?

So, I decided on an exploratory climb, and dropped my gear and grabbed onto the biggest stalagmite to pull myself up. The ripples in the stone helped with my footing. Not that I needed a lot—it was only about fifteen feet to the top of the stalagmite. So far so good. And it should be an easy jump to the stalactite.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, and leapt. There was a moment of flying, which ended with me grabbing onto the stalactite and wrapping my legs around it. Like a caterpillar, I inched my way up.

Near the ceiling, I circled around the stalactite’s base to get to the chimney, and saw that it wasn’t wide enough to fit me, not if I wanted to bring the backpack and the rest of my gear. I was in the middle of brainstorming solutions when something moved out of the corner of my eye.

Up close, the uekisheile looked a lot like wolf lichen, with multiple branches ending in feathery tufts. The breeze from the chimney caused the tufts to sway in the air. At least, I hoped it was the breeze. The tufts moved almost as if they were sniffing the air.

“Ah, hello. Don’t mind me. I’m, ah, just passing through. I’ll be leaving now, so don’t bother to get up or anything.”

I scooted around the stalactite to put the stone between us, then quickly inched my way down. Halfway, I checked to make sure the uekisheile wasn’t following, and saw the thin tendrils under the creature’s base slide into and out of the stone to pick their way toward me.

I humped down even faster, but my hands were sweaty. I lost my grip, and for a moment I was falling, my arms flailing and my heart racing in panic. Then I felt like I’d been smacked by a huge paddle. My head snapped back against the stone and everything went black.

My head hurt, and I felt like I needed to throw up. My vision was blurry, but thankfully my Status page was unaffected.

I fumbled for the waterskin to cast Healing Water, then fumbled some more while visualizing the necessary runes. Through the nausea and disorientation, I painstakingly fought to assemble the image—bit by bit—until finally the mana washed through me.

My vision cleared, and I saw that the area around me was empty of eilesheile. Huh, they can move after all.

And then I saw why—the uekisheile was perched on my chest. Their tendrils poked through the chain links in my armor and through the weave of my clothes. I carefully looked inside my shirt and saw the tendrils poking into my skin.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

My chest tingled, as if an electric current ran through it. I slowly reached for my new hunting knife to scrape the lichen off, but the current buzzed in response. I froze. A couple of breaths later, the buzzing eased. I brought to mind the rune for Cold Snap, but that triggered another round of buzzing.

Was the ueikisheile reading my mind? My intent? Would Anesthetic help with that? Thinking mild thoughts, I wondered about the impact of a sequence of Anesthetic, Cold Snap, a knife slash, and Healing Water. My mana tank felt not quite half full, which meant about nine points worth of mana. That was enough for two spells, not three.

Just Anesthetic and Cold Snap might be enough, but then I’d be operating without a safety net. I struggled with the decision, and in the meantime the uekisheile seemed to be content sitting on my chest. Maybe… maybe I had time to recover the mana needed for three spells? I began to circulate my energies.

The electric current’s tenor changed. Wait, electric current? Ah, I was such a dunce—that was the uekisheile’s qi. For a moment, I thought the creature had read my intent again and caught on to my plan, but no, that was their excitement I sensed. Their qi and my qi were in contact, and I could somewhat feel their intent through the connection, just like they seemed to be feeling mine.

The lichen spread to follow the way my qi moved through my body. The tendrils picked their way up to my neck, across my face, and a clump gathered above my upper dantian. Another small clump did the same for my lower dantian.

The qi running through their tendrils tickled, and I involuntarily laughed. The motion alarmed the uekisheile, and their tendrils tightened, but that only tickled more. I tried not to laugh—how miserable a death that would be—yet I couldn’t help it. The more wary the uekisheile became, the deeper it dug in. The combination of tendrils and qi was torture.

And somewhere along the way—when no harm came to the uekisheile—their wariness turned into curiosity. The tendrils spread to look for more ticklish spots. They even tried to get into my pants, but I blocked the way with my hands.

“Oh no,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “We’re not going there.”

My refusal alarmed the uekisheile, but I tried—I tried so very hard—to be clear about my intent. I didn’t mean any harm, but there was a boundary I wouldn’t let them cross. In response, through their qi I felt confusion, wariness, and a spike in their curiosity. What I didn’t feel, however, was threatened.

I started circulating my energy again, which the uekisheile liked. They snuggled into me, almost like a cat into a warm blanket. Slowly, I sat up.

Their qi signaled wariness and alarm.

I stopped. Then, when the uekisheile calmed, I started again.

Wariness, alarm.

I stopped, and repeated the process, moving only when the uekisheile relaxed. Eventually, they became accustomed to the motion. They also realized it was warmer and more comfortable under my clothes.

I was mobile again, which was progress, but I wasn’t sure where to go. My options were the chimney above and the tunnel with the fresh dung, but neither held any clues on how to eject my new passenger. I could still try to scrape them off, but it’d for sure spoil the uekisheile’s mood. And probably my life as well.

I carefully backtracked to the big room with the pipe organ. Perhaps I could lure the uekisheile onto one of the zombies instead?

As I walked, the uekisheile’s tufts poked out from under my shirt to sense the changes in their environment. Their qi tingled so much I could practically feel the excitement, and their intent too, as they sampled the air in each passage, searching for new and interesting things. At the same time, they were aware of me—their attention palpable—and every action, emotion, and thought of mine caused ripples in their qi.

They seemed happy to simply observe the changes in their environment. The thing they loved most, though, was me circulating my energy, so I walked slowly and focused on keeping my qi moving smoothly through my meridians. The uekisheile burbled happily as I did so. It wasn’t audible—lichens don’t have any way to make sound—but their qi hummed, almost like they were singing to themselves.

It’s actually kind of cute, in a weird alien-invader way.

The uekisheile must’ve liked what that thought did to my qi, because the humming transformed into a trilling. Unexpectedly, though, the next thing I knew, I felt a sharp pain across my chest, like I’d been slapped.

I jerked my shirt down, ready with my knife, but the uekisheile was no longer there. All I saw was a starburst welt centered over my heart. The uekisheile’s qi wriggled as they settled inside my middle dantian. The feeling was like chugging a liter of fizzy water, except the water was alive and curious.

The uekisheile had somehow transformed into qi and injected themselves into the whirlpool of energy around my heart. They sent feelers throughout my whole body to explore, and felt… satisfied. Apparently, I was a warm and cozy home. I was also delicious. Some of my qi drained away and, alarmed, I immediately checked my Status.

My mind raced, but since the uekisheile could read my intent, I didn’t think any threatening or violent thoughts. No, what I needed was to be less hospitable, so they’d leave my body, but not so much that I wasn’t worth keeping alive.

The uekisheile liked when the qi sped through my meridians. Would it be less appealing if the qi slowed down? I’d never tried that before, but it was worth a shot. I applied my will, and my qi responded, thickening like molasses. I used the image to slow the energy’s flow to a crawl.

Confused, the uekisheile prodded the qi to speed it up again. The two intents collided in my heart dantian, the fast qi hitting the slow and turning it back on itself.

The qi churned. My heartbeat stuttered, and I couldn’t breathe. The uekisheile was also in distress, jostled by the sudden turbulence. Both of us quickly changed tack—our intents aligned—and we willed the qi in my heart dantian to resume spinning normally.

A thin stream of qi shifted course. Then another joined it, and the two drew a third. From three, a flow was established, and the rest of the qi soon followed, circling through the dantian. The fast qi spun against the slow, like two lanes of traffic circling a roundabout. No, they were more like rivers, although still circling.

I shook my head to clear it. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that I can breathe. My heart beat normally again.

Emergency averted, I thought about how to continue, except I wasn’t given the chance. Where the fast and slow qi were adjoined, the boundary sheared away to form a third, middle ring between them. This qi, in turn, was pressured by the rings around it.

Squeezed by the fast on one side and the slow on the other, it bucked and kicked. The chaotic flow was hemmed in, though, unable to escape the rings confining it. The unruly qi roiled, splashing and spluttering and smashing against itself, until a single drop found a denser, more stable formation. Heavier than the rest of the qi around it, this drop fell from the middle ring into the center of the whirlpool. Another drop of condensed qi fell, and then a third.

My chest felt both heavy and light. My amazement at this development turned into horror, however, when the uekisheile surrounded the newly condensed qi and ate it. A shiver of pleasure ran through the creature, and I just assumed that was it—I was done, dead. They’d eat all my qi.

The uekisheile didn’t, though. Yes, they ate the first and second drops, but once my panic subsided, I found that they’d left the third alone. Their own qi circulated rapidly, giving the impression of intense thought.

A reprieve, then, but I wasn’t sure for how long. I needed to become unappetizing as quickly as possible. Maybe if no more qi condensed, then I’d no longer be delicious? We could go back to how they first found me, and they wouldn’t eat me? Or at least not right away.

I sped up my qi to match the portion under the uekisheile’s control. In moments, it was zipping around my dantian faster than I’d ever thought possible. There were two of us pushing, after all.

That confused the uekisheile, and they switched gears. Their intent now focused on slowing my qi in order to resume the condensation process, but I matched speeds with them again and no condensed qi was forthcoming.

The creature radiated a blend of confusion, dissatisfaction, and unhappiness in response. Interestingly, there was also a curiosity about the tenor of their own emotions. Much of what they felt seemed new. Only hunger, satiation, and a kind of unrequited curiosity were familiar.

The uekisheile really was intelligent. I didn’t know how much, but maybe we could communicate? Come to an arrangement where they didn’t eat me?

I called to mind the joy of greeting a friend.

The uekisheile liked that.

I radiated a feeling of welcome.

The uekisheile liked that too.

I remembered the feeling of talking late into the night, sharing stories around a campfire.

The uekisheile was curious about these new feelings and found them enjoyable, but nothing I tried triggered a response other than simple appreciation. To them, I seemed nothing more than an environment to be inhabited, not a thinking being. Their only experience of intelligence was their own. They must not have met any others, or kept their prey alive long enough to discover they could be intelligent. So, if all they knew was themselves, I’d have to find a way to show we were similar.

I started by reflecting the uekisheile’s own humming, trilling, and curiosity back toward them.

The uekisheile responded with alarm-surprise, and I felt a stab through my heart. The pain shocked me, but I tried not to react—focusing instead on maintaining a consistent tone to the thoughts and feelings I’d been reflecting, so as to not further alarm the creature.

The tenor of the uekieheile’s qi changed to confusion-wariness-curiosity.

Relieved, I matched this new blend of thought-feelings, and continued to filter out my fear, my uneasiness, and my uncertainty. Hopefully, it would be enough.

The uekisheile recognized their own feelings, but not the hope. The emotion had snuck in between the others. Confusion-confusion-confusion.

The uekisheile was a curious creature, quite literally. For a solid hour, I did nothing but reflect back to them their curiosity, puzzlement, and intrigue. Imagine a puppy finding a mirror for the first time—that was what it was like.

But I had to show the uekisheile that I was more than a mirror. They tended toward three-tone bundles of emotions and mental states, so I started by reversing what they gave me. Curiosity-expectation-eagerness became eagerness-expectation-curiosity. Then after a round of three bundles, I changed the order from 3-2-1 to 2-1-3. A round after that, I switched to 1-3-2. Then back to 3-2-1 after another round.

The uekisheile’s surprise gave way to delight. They began varying their tones in order to hear what would happen, and quickly understood the pattern: for every round of three bundles, I rotated the sequence by one. I knew they’d gotten it, because they started mimicking me, radiating the tones along with me, like we were singing together.

We quickly fell into using the same three tones over and over again. It was time for another change, so I replaced one of the old tones with a new one. The uekisheile was confused at first, but quickly understood what was happening.

It was a game: at the top of the round, I would call out a three-tone bundle of thought-feelings, then the two of us would reverse it for a turn and start shifting the sequence until we were back where we started.

We went through three rounds of the game before I changed the rules once more: where I would normally call the new bundle, I stayed silent. Instead, I gently nudged the uekisheile with my qi and prompted them with waiting-waiting-expectation.

Now, there was a strong chance they’d misunderstand and assume my prompt was the next sequence in the game, but I hoped they’d read the intention behind the thought bundle: that I wanted them to call the next sequence in our call and response game.

Their answer was, surprise-suspicion-delight.

I jumped on it and immediately responded to their call with delight-suspicion-surprise.

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the uekisheile picked up the sequence and I made sure to sing along with them. The game was on again, except it was now their responsibility to call. Then, after three rounds, the uekisheile gently nudged me.

I smiled with relief. They got it! They understand the game’s rules. Did they also understand they were interacting with another player? I hoped so. That was my aim after all.

We played the game for an hour—me pacing the tunnels of the cave system while making absolutely sure I could understand the uekisheile’s thoughts and they could understand mine—before I tackled the most difficult part of what I intended: trying to converse with the uekisheile. When my turn came up next, I radiated, fun-gratitude-fun.

The uekisheile thought it was another variation, and they responded accordingly.

I offered, welcome-friend-welcome.

The game’s rules had broken, and the uekisheile’s qi stumbled as they tried to find how the most recent change fit with the old pattern. Nothing seemed to work though, and they radiated, confusion-disorientation-confusion.

I took a breath and strung together a sequence of comfort-relaxation-welcome. Curiosity-questioning-hunger. Hunger-satiation-patience. Patience-patience-patience.

The uekisheile repeated my tones with a questioning bent to them. Their qi spun quickly, but I couldn’t catch every tone. There were glimpses of the ones I’d shared during the game—peacefulness, friendship, and ease. I’d tried, while we played, to build a shared vocabulary of thoughts and emotions that might be helpful.

While the uekisheile struggled, I made my way back to the Red Room. Judging by how the eilesheile had avoided them earlier, it was clear that one was regularly preyed upon by the other, so I found a cluster of eilesheile without any invasion-related talents.

The eilesheile recoiled, which was new. The lichen hadn’t moved when I’d collected some before. The uekisheile was with me now, though. To my eyes that confirmed the relationship between the two, so I grabbed a bunch of the eilesheile to keep them from escaping. Then I nudged the uekisheile. Satiation-hunger-satiation. Underneath the thought bundle was the intention: please eat this instead of me.

Cautiously, the uekisheile’s tufts appeared on the tops of my hands, and the eilesheile was right there, ready for them. Satiation-hunger-satiation? It was clearly a question, and a question directed at me, which only confused the uekisheile more. To whom were they communicating?

My sense was that prior to meeting me, the uekisheile had understood themselves to be the only intelligent being in their universe. As near as I could tell, the eilesheile were food. Everything else was just food. How strange, then, to find themselves in conversation, no longer alone. How disconcerting.

Suddenly, the uekisheile was on high alert. The tufts disappeared into me, leaving the eilesheile untouched. All their qi retreated to their main body in my heart dantian. I radiated peace-peace-peace, but that only made them more uneasy.

I watched as the uekisheile’s qi rippled, like there were explosions under the surface. The qi around the uekisheile’s body thickened into the walls of a fortress. I couldn’t sense their tones anymore.

They sat like a weight on my heart. I waited for what felt like hours, hardly breathing for fear of accidentally triggering my demise. Eventually, though, tendrils of qi poked out of the fortress to scout the situation. The uekisheile’s curiosity won out over their caution.

I offered, welcome-peace-friendship.

Caution-curiosity-question, they replied.

“My name’s Ol—Eight. It’s Eight,” I said. Well, the words didn’t matter. More importantly, I radiated what it felt like to be me: the sense of self I experienced in deep meditation.

Caution-curiosity-wonder. The uekisheile surprised themselves, as they’d never experienced wonder before. Wonder-wonder-wonder. They were dazed by the new emotion.

I let go of the breath I was holding. They didn’t attack, they didn’t eat my qi, and they could feel wonder. We’d be able to work something out, I was sure of it.

The process was painstaking, tentative on both sides, but we were able to communicate. We took turns expressing a desire, and then the other would react to it, either positively or negatively. That way, over time, we built up an understanding of wants, needs, and boundaries. The boundaries were tough to explain at first, but the uekisheile was a fast learner, a genius among lichen.

The uekisheile, unsurprisingly, wanted a warm and cozy environment full of fast, condensed qi—some of which would be eaten. And I essentially wanted the same thing.

They’d already demonstrated an ability to both speed up the flow of my qi and condense it. Fast qi would help increase its recovery rate, while condensing it increased the capacity of my dantian and meridians; the smaller the qi, the less space it occupied. At least theoretically.

The idea of making one’s qi more dense had never come up in the qigong classes I’d taken, but it was the goal of many Taoist cultivators in the stories I’d read. The protagonists often depended upon it for growing in power.

Eventually, our mutual understanding was:

We would work to make sure I didn’t die, because then the cozy, delicious qi would stop.

The uekisheile could stay and enjoy the cozy, delicious qi.

But not too much, because then I would die, and the cozy, delicious qi would stop. Return to point number one.

Qi was even cozier and more delicious if we worked together to condense it.

Effectively, I became a qi farm for a hyper-intelligent lichen, but hey, it beat being dead. And there were benefits. Like, really good benefits:

Now that I wasn’t fighting it, the uekisheile could circulate my energies for me, which in turn let me effectively meditate while I was doing other stuff. And when I actively meditated, I now had the choice of: Condensing qi into a more compressed state or speeding up the recovery rate even more.

All of the above in exchange for a couple of bites—a couple of points’ worth—of qi per day? That was a deal. And if in the back of my mind I was still freaking out about an alien invader residing in my body, the uekisheile fortunately didn’t notice.

By the time the uekisheile and I were done talking, my Status updated.

Another encounter survived, but at what cost? No, don’t think about it. Just keep moving, Ollie. Just keep moving.