Seventy Four

The next morning, when Fyndraxis was back among the living, Bird conspired to get to the bottom of this glitch thing. Something was way off about Fyndraxis, and she knew in her gut that somebody, somehow, had stolen her friend. He had been replaced with somebody that had no idea what they were doing. Not that Fyndraxis ever really knew what he was doing, but at least he knew who he was. He had amnesia, so he didn’t really, but he was working on that.
A strategy would have to be implemented to catch this interloper in a lie. Something devious. Something that only the true Fyndraxis would respond correctly to.
“Morning, honey,” Bird said sweetly.
“Morning, babe, “ The false sword answered, “how’d you sleep?”
“Not very well,” she continued her ruse, “I was worried about you. Is that glitch thing okay now?”
“Yeah,” the imposter claimed, “I think I have it all figured out. I should be back to normal.”
“Thank goodness, now we can get back to trying to figure out how to destroy Terra,” she gave a stab at that one on a hunch.
“Yeah,” whatever was in the sword was rolling with the punches, “I think we should rethink that one a bit, she is very powerful and I think we can negotiate with her. She might be too dangerous to completely write off,” whatever that was in the sword was undoubtedly Terra.
“Well, as long as you get a body out of the deal, I’ll be satisfied. I can’t wait for us to be together,” she was laying it on pretty thick, but she had already gleaned most of the knowledge that she had been searching for.
“We should go and talk to Solomon,” the interloper suggested.
“Sure thing, I just need to get dressed,” Bird stated.
“Only if I can watch,” Terra had taken the romantic cues and ran with them.
This was a moment that actually made Bird nauseous, she tried not to show it though, and dressed at a reasonable pace. She had wanted to throw her clothes on as fast as possible, but refrained from doing so, so that she wouldn’t be tipping her hand.
They made the short journey to the Lodge and made their way up to the throne room. It looked as if Solomon hadn’t actually gone to sleep, so his morning routine of having panic attacks and getting blind drunk was unnecessary because he had been getting blind drunk all night.
“Liberty,” he slurred, “just who I wanted to see.”
“Hello, Solomon,” she greeted.
“Last night, I managed to get everyone a set of Hunter armor. They’re great, but now we’re out of dust or whatever you want to call it,” he hiccuped through most of this.
“We’ll need to send a party into the Waste to gather more materials,” the imposter commanded, “the faster we do this the better. These Hunters serve more than one purpose. They are not only magic for you to use as you wish, but they will be a home for a spirit from the sky. She will guide us into a new age of wisdom and high technology. We have to hurry though, her time is running short.”
“Yeah,” he burped, “Terra, I know her. You don’t have to sell me on this thing Fyn. Everyone’s busy though. Bird, You mind popping into the waste for more dust?”
“I could do that. I’ll need some time to prepare,” she said.
“Fine,” Solomon got up, and headed off to presumably find somewhere to vomit.
Bird and the false sword left the throne room and headed back to the Yurt for supplies, but she had no intention of making her way into the waste. She knew that she had an imposter on her hands, but she didn’t really know what to do with that information.
She ended up leaving the sword in her yurt and taking a walk out into the forest to speak with Mycellus. On her way to him, she removed her Hunter cloak, and hung it on a tree out of a deepening sense of paranoia. Mycellus had been around the block a few times and was well acquainted with the subtle art of deception, he had been rubbing off on her.
She picked a suitable tree to sit under and closed her eyes in preparation for communion with the mushroom god. She would be visiting him in the Mycelial network, so she had to prepare her mind. This worked out well, because if anyone were to try to eavesdrop on her, she would appear to be sleeping under a tree. His voice came gently, and a ghostly image of him danced in her vision. They were together in utter darkness, Mycellus had chosen not to whip up a comfortable simulation in which to chat.
“Liberty,” he intoned, “to what do I owe the honor”
“It’s Fyn, something’s not right,” she informed the deity.
“I have to agree,” Mycellus spoke from the void, “I have been listening and he does seem a bit off. I think this whole glitch business is a ruse.”
“Terra did something to him. It’s the only explanation,” she explained, “I’m almost positive that she is in the sword.”
“And what do you suppose we should do about that?” He asked, as if he were a teacher speaking to a rather bright student.
Bird frowned. This was a terrible question. Not because it was poorly thought out, but because it was true. What could they do? The sword itself was an artifact that could be seen as functionally indestructible. If she were to infiltrate the sword and try to go kick some ass, she would probably be biting off a bit more than she could chew. If it was Terra in there, she would probably eat Bird alive.
She could take the sword out to the quarry and drop it into the depths of the earth, but on the way there she would be subject to whatever attacks Terra could muster from the Hunters. Hell, Terra could just make a Hunter body and just climb right out of the quarry. Then she would just be pissed off and liable to turn Bird into radioactive ground meat. She was stumped.
“Shit, I have no idea,” she admitted, sullenly.
“I suggest we move quickly,” Mycellus mused absently, “the less time she has to plan and act, the higher the chances of our success.”
“What should we do?” Bird asked, eager for a plan of action.
“I have taken out an insurance policy of sorts. Ironic to take out insurance against an actuary, don’t you think?” Mycellus chuckled, involved in a private joke.
“What?” She didn’t understand his joke, or see what he was getting at.
“I have been searching my memory for a solution to this Daemon Sword problem and I believe I have come up with something sufficient,” his private joke had been abandoned, so he moved on to more serious matters, “with Terra inhabiting the sword, it has become her agent on Earth. I cannot abide this. I do not know or trust Terra, and I suspect she wants this planet for herself. Like any newcomer to the market, she will of course think it wise to have a policy of indiscriminate consumption. She will take the Hunter network and turn this beautiful project that I have been working on for a billion years into a monoculture. I don’t know this for a fact, but in my experience it tends to be the case.”
“We could just ask her?” Bird suggested.
“I’m afraid we can’t,” he informed her, regretfully, “any knowledge of our suspicions would undoubtedly be met with hostility and give her cause to accelerate whatever plans she might be laying.”
“So, what do you suggest?” She queried, hopefully.
“We remove her piece from the board,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world.
“How?” She asked, still puzzled.
“Leave that to me,” he practiced a bit more wry amusement, he seemed to like that state of being, “like I said, I have been searching my memory for a solution, and have come up with something sufficient.”