Chapter Text
Caleb’s mouth tastes of ash and blood.
Though he’s tasted it a million times, the flavour proves stinging and intrusive, copper flooding his mouth and making his eyes water. Still, he keeps his teeth firmly clamped down on his tongue.
He could handle the pain. Anything to keep his silence.
He glances over to Jester’s face, scrunched up in concentration. Her lips move ever so slightly as she communes with her deity, lighting up the holy symbol clasped between her fingers. Forest green flashes across her blue skin, and Caleb has to squint just to keep his eyes open.
He feels the light pulse behind his eyes, settling somewhere in his sinuses. Jester’s magic feels like sunlight on skin, the smell of burning caramel.
Some time passes, and the spell slowly fades away, leaving just him, Jester, and the forest around them.
Jester opens one eye. “Feel any different?” she asks.
“Dizzier,” he says. The constant barrage of divine magic is making his vision swim and flare.
Jester puffs out her cheeks in frustration, dropping her hands into her lap. “I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried, like, all my healing spells.”
Caleb wants to offer help, offer some idea of what to do, but he can’t trust his mouth to move the way he wants it to.
She sighs. “I’m really sorry, Caleb.” (Cay-leb)
He doesn’t respond. Mercifully, the spell doesn’t force him to.
Jester pokes him on the forehead after a few moments of silence. “Do you want me to try another Dispel Magic?”
Caleb stares at the treetops above them. “If it didn’t work once, it will not work a second time.”
“Okay…but…there might be some other things I can try,” she says, leaning back. He can see the tension in her hands, the exhaustion settling into her eyes.
“Jester, do not drain yourself of spells on my behalf—”
Ignoring him, Jester grasps her holy symbol tight once more, resuming her mumbling. To an outsider, it looks like she’s having a conversation with herself, but Caleb can swear he sees a flash of green in the corner of his vision. He tries to follow it, but it seems a flash of green is all he will get.
Leaving her some semblance of privacy, he shuts his eyes. The cold of the forest floor seeps into his back, the dirt beneath his fingernails cool and grainy.
His tongue aches, his head pounds.
Caleb is not a pious man. But with every spell Jester tries, he silently prays to any and every god listening that that spell will be the one. He knows, in some darkened twisted part of his chest, muddled and cloudy, that a solution will not come so easily.
When the rest of the Mighty Nein return, they return to find Caleb and Jester in the same position they left them in—Caleb flat on his back, Jester crisscrossed next to him muttering prayer after prayer.
Caleb doesn’t need to ask them anything to know how things went on their end. The solemn mix of guilt and pity dashed across all their faces is enough to make Caleb wince.
He knew in his heart they wouldn’t find him. And they won’t find him again for a long time, Caleb is sure. Wizards of that caliber have measures to protect themselves against a simple scry. Even he has protections against divination. Being able to hold their own against him for that long was a stroke of luck. If Caleb hadn’t gone down as hard as he did, if he didn’t distract the party and give the opposing wizard the chance he needed to escape…perhaps things would have gone differently.
Or perhaps they would still be the same situation they are now.
Regardless; Fjord, Beau, Caduceus, and Nott approach with tired eyes and sore feet.
Jester looks no better. She has to be running on fumes at this point, her lips dry and cracked, and her fingers almost purple with how tightly she’s been squeezing her divine focus. It sounds far worse than it is, with the science behind how red blood beneath blue skin appears to a human eye. Caleb’s surprised the wood of her charm hasn’t splintered yet.
Caduceus is the first to reach them, placing a gentle hand on Jester’s shoulder.
“I think that’s enough for now, Jester,” he says slowly, kindly.
Jester’s hands lax slightly, her head drooping like a wilting flower. “I…I had a couple more things I could try…I mean maybe if we both cast at the same time, then maybe—”
Before she can finish, Caduceus leans down closer, muttering something in Jester’s ear that Caleb can’t quite pick up on.
Jester’s eyes flicker between the two of them, holding Caleb’s gaze for a moment before she breaks away.
“Okay,” she sighs. Her voice sounds hoarse. Guilt twists in Caleb’s stomach.
Caduceus helps her stand, meeting Caleb’s eyes as they rise. The firbolg gives him a smile and a small nod, and Caleb can’t help but feel an odd weight behind both gestures. Ever since they learned of the reality behind Caleb’s ailment, Caduceus has been oddly quiet. Oddly composed.
He tries to not let it bother him, tries not to think on it too hard. The heavier a thought weighs in his mind, the more strongly he feels the need to voice it.
They stay in that clearing for another hour or two, just long enough for those who got caught up in the brunt of the battle to heal up a bit and get their bearings in check. Nott doesn’t leave his side once, silent the whole time. Caleb is thankful for that, at least. He wants nothing more than to feed her white lies of comfort, just enough to ease her mind, but his mouth won’t even make the shape of a lie.
She fiddles with her alchemical supplies, and while Caleb may know next to nothing about alchemy, he does know the things Nott is attempting to mix stray far from a poison or acid.
He tries to busy himself. Pretends to gather his materials for the teleportation circle, pretends to review his books and re-read his spells. Pretends he isn’t aware of every single second that passes, seconds that pass in silence and worry and fear, fear that he is stuck like this.
Caleb counts them, despite himself.
About 1,800 pass before the teleportation circle is ready to go. Before the last line is drawn, Beau calls everyone over, shouting something about ‘team meeting’. They gather in a half-circle around her, and while Caleb expects that Fjord, Caduceus, and Nott are somehow a part of this, he does not expect Jester to be so calm and collected. Her charm is still clasped between her fingers.
Beau stands with her arms crossed, her expression firm. She levels them each with a look before settling her eyes on Caleb.
“You don’t need to say anything. But I just wanted to say that I know this is shitty. And its gonna keep being shitty until it wears off or we can find a cure or whatever,” she starts, and Caleb keeps his bottom lip between his teeth just in case.
“So until we figure this thing out, I wanted to set some rules. And I wanted to set them before we get to the house.” Beau re-scans the group, as if weighing their reactions.
They all nod in some sort of understanding, re-affirming Beau’s point.
Caleb has a feeling there is a conversation he’s missed.
“Rule one—no one asks Caleb anything that isn’t common knowledge, alright? If I find out you’re trying to pull secrets from him or just teasing him to pull random shit I’ll beat your ass, got it?”
Jester raises her hand, expectedly.
Beau sighs, rolling her head back. “Yeah?”
“What if, um, like, we meant to ask a simple question, but it accidentally makes him answer something he doesn’t want to or something?” Jester asks, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.
Beau hesitates for a moment. She glances over to Caleb.
“When you’re saying the truth, it doesn’t have to be heard, right? So you can just say it out loud and it’ll be over?”
Caleb pauses. “Uh. Ja, I think…I think that’s how it works. That’s how it worked earlier, at least.”
Beau nods once, turning her attention back to the rest of the group. “So there. If he’s about to answer something he doesn’t want to, cover your ears, and leave the room.”
Jester shrinks back, but nods nevertheless. The rest of the party doesn’t seem to be bothered by that condition either. Caleb hates it.
“You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells for me,” he interrupts.
Beau doesn’t even flinch. She keeps her eyes away from him, continuing to address the group. She expected this.
“Rule two. Caleb can’t control what he’s saying right now, so if he says something that hurts your feelings or something, try not to hold it against him, ‘kay? Sometimes the truth hurts.”
He hears murmurs of agreement flood around him, and its enough to make Caleb’s gut lurch.
“That is ridiculous,” he spits out.
All eyes turn to him. All except Beau.
She keeps her eyes pinned forward, her hands clenched into fists. She looks like she was the day he first met her. Harsh-features and a harsher attitude. The cracks in her façade only show how much she’s grown since then. The anger still remains, though.
“Rule three—"
“I am serious Beauregard,” he pushes.
She closes her eyes. “You don’t get a say in this.”
“You have to be joking. If I say something, I should be held accountable. I am not a child.”
When Beau’s eyes re-open they are alight with fury. “Really? You really want us to hold you accountable for the crazy shit you say now? While you’re like this?”
Fjord steps between them, arms out. “Okay, that is enough,” he says, pushing them each apart slightly.
Caleb shoves Fjord’s arm down and off his chest, and it is such an abnormal reaction from him it catches the half-orc by surprise. “What happened was my fault. I need to accept the consequences, and that is a part of it, so yes Beau.”
She is silent for a moment. Her jaw shifts, blue eyes narrow, and then her mouth opens.
“What do you think of my outfit?” she asks.
“Tacky at best,” Caleb hears himself say, but his voice sounds far, far, far away.
He slaps his hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. The words are out, and a smile slowly spreads across Beau’s face.
The smile says I told you so.
“Fjord’s outfit?”
Though muffled by his hand, the answer comes out all the same. “Gaudy and bland—you have made your point, that is quite enou—”
Beau’s grin turns wicked. “Essek’s outfit?”
“Attractive but pretentious—stop it” he chokes, the words coming out garbled around the meat of his hand. He bites down hard enough to draw blood, leaving teeth-shaped dents into his own flesh.
Fjord quickly presses his hands over Caleb’s ears, and while it’s enough to drown out what Beau says next, he does not miss Jester stomping forward, snatching Beau by the shirt collar. Without any effort, the deceptively strong tiefling hauls the other girl backwards into the forest and away from Caleb.
Fjord’s hands can’t block out Jester’s scolding, a colourful mix of common curse words and infernal that he is sure can’t be words of praise. Even Nott joins in, baring teeth that Beau holds no fear for anyway. He appreciates the effort.
The whole thing is very dramatic and while Caleb is tempted to step in and stop them, the heavy stone resting in the pit of his stomach does a wonderful job of blocking out any fantasies he has of normal conversation. He settles for standing idly by, Fjord’s calloused hands still pressed firmly on either side of his face (Sailor’s hands. Swordsman’s hands. Incredibly uncomfortable, but he doesn’t have the heart to say so.)
A few minutes pass like this before Caduceus steps in front of him, cutting off view of the girls.
“Let’s take a walk,” he says. Or at least Caleb thinks he says. Fjord’s hands are still covering his ears and Caleb’s never been good at reading lips.
Hesitantly, Caleb nods, and Caduceus starts off walking in the opposite direction of the group. The firbolg’s steps are so sure and guided, Caleb would think he knew where he was going. But then his long ears flick at the sound of a birdcall, and suddenly he’s walking a little further north. Another birdcall. A little further east.
It unsettles Caleb more than he’d like to admit.
Fjord’s hands slip from the side of his head, one settling on his shoulder for a moment.
“Don’t stray too far,” he says. “We don’t know if that mage could still be lurking around.”
Caleb swallows, pretending like that isn’t exactly what he’s hoping for. He’s already walking away by the time the spell fuels the urge to voice the thought. Small victories.
Caduceus leads him to a dried-up pond, tree roots and fungi clambering through the soft soil. The spot is disturbingly on-brand for the cleric, who has taken up to contentedly poking at the crumbling edges of the pond with the end of his staff.
“Have you ever dug a well, Caleb?” he asks. Caleb knows this tone. He is about to learn something.
“I can’t say that I have,” he replies through gritted teeth.
As good as the intentions are, Caleb is starting to resent metaphors. Caduceus seems to have an infinite supply of these stories. Little sayings of how faith is like a green bean, of how a stone in a river is actually a very deep representation of resilience. Caleb doesn’t think its very deep. Anyone can say anything about random objects, and so long as someone wants to see something from it, they will.
Maybe Caleb is being too cynical about it all. Caduceus speaks sparingly on his family, but perhaps they were all like this. Perhaps these are the fables and folktales he was told as a child, and that’s why they seem to come in infinite supply.
Caleb grew up on very different stories.
Caleb grew up on tales of children swapped out for changelings in the night, of how if you step too close to the river the nixies will bite off your toes. He was taught to leave a saucer of milk and honey by the doorstep, and to always carry rowan berries in your pockets to ward off evil spirits.
He’s so lost in his reminiscing; Caleb barely notices Caduceus standing right in front of him. He looks expectant. There is clearly a question Caleb has missed.
“Caleb?” Caduceus asks, low and gentle. The end of his staff is stained brown with mud.
Caleb shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “I got distracted. My apologies.”
Caduceus stands a little taller. “That’s alright. Do you want me to start over?”
“Not really,” Caleb’s mouth says before he can stop it. He winces, but Caduceus takes it in stride.
“That’s alright. This is exactly what I’m hoping to see from you, as blunt as it may be,” he mutters, half to himself, before returning back to his task. The pond is half-caved in already.
“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Caleb says, stepping a little closer to the edge of the pond. The soil squishes beneath his boots.
“Well, I didn’t really mean much by it. I know this group tends to…omit things,” Liars. Just say we are liars. “But I believe that this could be a great opportunity. Fate has given you this chance, and fate seems bent on teaching you a lesson specifically.”
Caleb’s nails dig into his palms. He should have expected this from Caduceus. Good intentions, but they make Caleb’s gut lurch so violently its almost painful. What lesson is he to learn from this? This is a nightmare. He is a burden, and all his omissions are going to bite him in the ass. Hard. If this is fate at work then Caleb is sure the universe is working against him.
Caduceus doesn’t seem to be finished. “The truth can be very useful. And while it may seem cruel to force honesty on you this way, we can use this as a learning experience.”
“I don’t want to learn anything from this. I want this to be over,” Caleb grumbles.
He toes the dirt so hard a chunk breaks off, tumbling into the pit below. Caleb’s foot goes with it, panic setting in as he lurches forward.
With barely any effort at all, Caduceus steadies Caleb with one arm. He holds it there until Caleb regains his balance. Lucky for them both, that doesn’t take very long at all because neither of them have been of the strong sort.
Unphased, Caduceus continues his ‘lesson’. “All I’m saying is, maybe this is just what we needed. A little bit of fate.”
Caleb’s face scrunches up like an apple left to rot. “And what does that mean?”
Caduceus smiles. “You shouldn’t dig for water where you already have some.”
Nonsense.