77. Chef Petey

  [Realm Boon: SYNTHESIS]

  [Anchored Realm: PRETJORD]

  [Boon Description: To [Synthesize] is to assimilate the magic inherent in the world and make it your own. Gain unique effects by consuming designated food products. The effect varies by item.]

  ***

  For all his earlier humility, Petter Svensen became a self-assured maestro when it came to his turn to cook. He was in his ‘element’ now—a stage for his freest and truest self to come out and play.

  “First, Miss and Mister, we soak the liver to get rid of its gaminess.”

  As a hell bumpkin, Serac couldn’t recognize ‘gaminess’ if she tasted it. But Zacko was apparently on board with the plan. Even in his hanger, the Manusya was willing to put up with a bit of prep time.

  Petter grabbed the Ulvknall liver, first with apparent reverence, then with practiced aplomb as he settled into the task. To a nearby brook where he washed the whole thing in running fresh water. Then a pocketknife to trim off the gunky bits, before letting it sit in a pool of salted water.

  “There. We can start a fire while we wait. Unless… do either of you have a handy spell for it?”

  Serac and Zacko looked at each other and shrugged. Outside of rolling around inside a Damnatorium Furnace or torching Aberrants with [Catharsis], Serac had little to no experience with fires. Somehow, she doubted her prior knowledge could (or should) apply here.

  Thankfully, Petter was old hat at starting fires in the middle of the wilderness. The Wayfarers helped him gather kindling in the form of twigs, leaves, and pine needles. Meanwhile, the chef himself improvised a ‘stove’ out of packed dirt and flat rocks, complete with a central niche to house the kindling. Finally, Petter pulled out a small painted box, which contained several thin, wooden sticks.

  “Matchsticks,” he explained, apparently deep in thought as he eyed the box’s contents. “Cost me a fortune, and I’m down to my last handful, but”—he looked up with a solemn nod—“this is worth it.”

  Petter took out one of the sticks and held it against the side of the box. A flick of the wrist, and voila. The niche under the stove along with the kindling went up in flames.

  Serac gasped, clapped, and cheered. She turned to Zacko, expecting him to share in her wonderment. The Manusya, however, was utterly unmoved.

  “What?” Zacko said with a defensive shrug. “We’ve got ‘lighters’ and ‘hotplates’ up in Manesfera. You expect me to be impressed by this stone age technology?”

  “It’s not a competition!” Serac protested. “Starting fire from nothing. Now that’s what I call ‘magic’, and we ought to appreciate it for what it is.”

  “You do realize you carry around a gun that shoots fire, blood, bone, and apparently a butcher’s knife too, right? I think your wonders-and-mysteries sensor could use a bit of tuning.”

  “Yeah, well, like this asshole I know always says: the afterlife works in mysterious ways.”

  Inane sidebar aside, Chef Petey restored order by teaching the Wayfarers how to mind the fire, while he himself went back to the Ulvknall liver. The final steps involved cutting the shapeless blob into ‘steak slices’ that nearly looked fit for Rakshasa consumption. He then seasoned each slice with pinches of salt and generous sprinkles of pepper (“a good Pretjordian chef never goes anywhere without them!”) before throwing them onto the heated stovetop.

  The steaks sizzled and browned, giving off an earthy aroma that immediately made Serac’s mouth water. Strictly speaking, the smell wasn’t exactly ‘enticing’ or even ‘good’, but it somehow woke in her a hitherto unknown appetite. A hell bumpkin she might be, but some primitive part of her consciousness responded to the age-old alchemy of meat, spice, and heat.

  For the next short while, Chef Petey let his ingredients cook themselves. He intervened only to sprinkle in a batch of freshly stripped thyme. The addition of thyme infused the air with a grassy, piney fragrance, which only heightened Serac’s anticipation.

  “And… there! I think we’re done. Medium rare is the way to go, you know, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Bon appetit, Wayfarers! Or should I say… Bone appetit?”

  Serac gasped again, this time out of sheer shock. Beside her, Zacko guffawed uproariously as he reached across and clapped Petter on the shoulder. And with that rather fruitful sidebar out of the way, it was finally time to dig in.

  As Serac stared at her still smoking steak, however, she was interrupted again, this time by Pathsight.

  [Designation: Stone-cooked Ulvknall Liver]

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  [Item Class: Consumable]

  [Item Description: Pocket sand: dishonorable trickery or pragmatic survival technique? Don’t judge until you’ve walked a mile in the furry shoes of these tenacious creatures. When consumed by a [Synthesis]-adept Wayfarer, the Ulvknall liver cures all [Bleed] effects and confers [Regen] for 20 seconds.]

  By then, Serac’s appetite was such she couldn’t care less what nuggets of wisdom Pathsight had to offer. Get food in belly first, then we can talk. Serac took a bite, then couldn’t help but let out yet another gasp.

  “This. Is. INCREDIBLE! From that ugly thing to this? You’re a miracle worker, Petey!”

  “I was wrong, and you were right, Serac,” Zacko spoke through his mouthful. “This shit right here? This is magic.”

  The chef in question, hitherto confident and authoritative, suddenly melted into an aw-shucks smile.

  “You give me too much credit, Miss and Mister. A chef is only as good as his ingredients, and they don’t get much richer and savorier than an Ulvknall liver.”

  As far as the Wayfarers were concerned, the magic of food didn’t stop at its taste and texture. Serac managed to tear her attention away from her mouthful to note the creamy-orange of her [Satiety] gauge, which ticked up and up at a vigorous rate. And because Serac was a Rakshasa graced with her [Realm Boon], she enjoyed an additional effect denied to her Manusya partner.

  [4], [4], [4], …

  [1], [1], [1], …

  Gone was the [Lesser Bleed] inflicted by a wolf monster’s claws. In its place, the passive healing from a fresh [Regen] ticked along, in conjunction with its [Lesser] sibling that was already in effect. At this rate, Serac would refill her missing HP in no time.

  “Ooh, really handy, this!” she remarked to no one in particular. “Now I’m curious about other food items and special effects!”

  “As am I, Wayfarer,” Trippy suddenly chimed in. “Where possible, it would behoove you to use [Harvest] on every new Aberrant we encounter, if only to populate our culinary knowledge base.”

  “Noted and agreed,” Serac said with a contented smile. The strained mood between her and Trippy had yet to fully smooth over, and they often went hours without speaking. But right now, with hot food in her belly and good company to share the joy, all that felt like blood under the bridge. “So, am I right to understand all the Yaksha Wayfarers have [Synthesis] too? Man, I’m jealous. They must be stuffing their faces everywhere they go!”

  “Speaking of which”—this from jolly jolly Zacko, who stopped mid-bite to raise one eyebrow at Petter—“you said something funny earlier, Pete. About me and Serac being the first Wayfarers you’ve ever seen in action? I would’ve thought there’d be plenty of Pretjord starters roaming about the place. At least that’s what I told Serac before we came here, so now I look like a liar. Are Yaksha Wayfarers really that rare?”

  “I had the same question, actually,” Serac added. “Like, even this quest we’re on right now… I thought it was strange the townspeople would be so eager to foist it on outrealmers they barely knew. Aren’t there, you know, locals to take care of local Aberrant problems?”

  To this, Petter Svensen gave his strangest reaction yet. A light chuckle, though with a somewhat forced quality to perhaps mask a more genuine emotion.

  “No, Mister Zacarias. Yaksha Wayfarers aren’t rare”—he seemed to choose his words carefully—“but what is rare are the occasions that would warrant their coming down to Stamgard. And yes, Miss Serac. The local Wayfarers do take care of local problems, but only at a price… and it’s no price a scavenger like me could afford.”

  Serac and Zacko exchanged another look.

  “You mean these Wayfarers in Pretjord charge the locals for smiting Aberrants? And what, everyone’s okay with that?”

  “I’m not sure if we’ve ever thought about it in terms of ‘okay’ or not. It’s a decree passed down by King Tyr himself. That all active Wayfarers serve in his Kronvakt—the most elite regiment of his army. It’s been that way for as long as I’ve been alive. Even before my dad’s and my granda’s times, I’d wager.”

  “Well, that’s just… not cool.” Serac fumed, the memory of the Bone Lord and his ‘Pledges’ still fresh on her mind. “This King Tyr is your Realm Immortal, isn’t he? Well, he sounds like as big a jerk as the one we just smited in Naraka.”

  “Maybe don’t rush into your seditious manifesto phase just yet, eh, Princess?” Zacko cut in with his sardonic smile. “We’ve literally just arrived in this Realm. There’s probably more for us to see and do before we decide how we feel about the big guy in charge.”

  Petter had paled into a lighter shade of yellow at Serac’s mention of ‘smiting an Immortal’. When he spoke again, his normally bouncy voice had taken on a leaden weight.

  “Is it so strange, Miss Serac? For souls to be rewarded for what they’re worth? You, Mr Zacarias, and all the Wayfarers in the Kronvakt keep us safe from Aberrants with your powerful magic. Then there’re people like Mr Palmr who’ve got the brains and the know-how to run a complicated business. Even my dad was big and strong, which meant folks always had work for him. But then, look at me. Puny, dopey, and not one talent to my name.”

  “Hey, I thought Zacko already talked the ‘humble’ out of you!” Serac reached across and gave Petter a light punch on the shoulder. “And get outta here with your ‘no talent’ nonsense! This is the best Ulvknall liver I’ve ever had. You’re crazy talented!”

  “This is Pretjord, Miss. The Realm of hunger and the neverending pursuit of satiety. Everyone here is a cook, and that means I’m nothing special. It’s… honestly a small miracle I haven’t ended up in Rotgard. So, at least in that sense, I suppose I should count my blessings.”

  Serac opened her mouth to argue, then fell silent. She glanced at Zacko for help, but the Manusya merely stared at Petter with an inscrutable frown.

  Maybe they’re right, Serac thought as her shoulders drooped. Maybe I know too little about this Realm to be running my mouth. Time for me to watch, listen, and learn. Then maybe I could find the right way to help Chef Petey get his groove back.

  As if he’d read her mind, Petter looked up and gave Serac an appreciative smile.

  “Come on, Miss Serac. Mister Zacarias.” The bounce in his voice was back, but Serac was no longer certain this was Petter Svensen at his truest self. “Let’s head back to town and give folks the good news. Your first quest done and dusted, and what a way to do it!”

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