Chapter 854 – A different stage (Patreon)

“Impossible,” the chieftain said, rhythmically tapping his claws against his desk.

Opposite him stood his two cubs, looking up at him with pleading expressions. Two sprites perched on each child’s head, one leaning against each ear. The boy, Vihaan, was holding an extra sprite in each palm, while his sister, Anika, held Nephthys in one hand and the rolled-up petition in the other.

The chieftain hadn’t even bothered to read the parchment.

“But Father... this troupe is so much better than the others! They include all sorts of visuals in their plays, and their stories will make you cry your eyes out if you just give them a chance. There might not be another group on the planet like them!” Vihaan insisted.

“Son, I’m not doubting that. I’ve heard about the quality of their performances from a lot of people over the past few days. But we can’t halt our village’s expansion for the sake of music and shows. Even if we brought in wood from farther away, the River Yanges borders our settlement on three sides. The forest is the only place left for us to expand,” the chieftain explained.

He was a Blue with a few white streaks scattered across his fur, which probably meant that he was an older Orange-born – the oldest bearfolk living in the village, most likely.

“Can’t we just delay it for a few years? Maybe we can help the Yaksha grow new trees on the other side of the forest, so they won’t need the ones we cut down?” the girl suggested.

The chieftain sighed. “If it were just up to me and the other villagers, we could have slowed down for a while. The problem is that we’re under a lot of external pressure that’s entirely out of my control.”

“What sort of external pressure?” Percy asked from atop Vihaan’s head.

He and the rest of the troupe had been content to remain silent and let the cubs negotiate on their behalf, thinking that the chieftain was more likely to be convinced by his own children than a bunch of tiny sprites that he barely knew. However, this was the first Percy had heard of anyone else being involved in the decision.

The older bearfolk paused, trying to figure out who had spoken. It was only after a couple of seconds that his gaze landed on the grey sprite leaning on his son’s left ear.

“A Jambavanti Venerable,” the Blue-cored mage said, like that was supposed to mean something. After realizing that neither the children nor the sprites recognized that title, he decided to elaborate. “A candidate for divinity.”

“A demigod, you mean?” Percy asked, creasing his monochromatic forehead.

The chieftain nodded. “This particular Venerable claims to be one of our ancestors. Apparently, he was born here – or in whatever other settlement existed in this region several millennia ago. He wishes to turn our village into a sort of vacation home where he can relax whenever he’s feeling nostalgic about his childhood. He’s ordered us to expand and improve the settlement, and we’re quickly running out of time to meet his requirements.”

His claws stopped tapping.

“The next inspection is due just after the next full moon, but the village is still twenty percent smaller than it’s supposed to be, in addition to missing a restaurant, an inn, and a couple of the other requested facilities. Believe me, I’ve already delayed our expansion as much as I can.”

Percy turned to Pav, who was standing across from him, leaning on the cub’s right ear. He gave the pink sprite a questioning look, though the troupe leader merely shook his head.

“We understand,” Pav said. “With your permission, we would like to play one final time for the bearfolk about to start working in the forest. Consider it our last performance for the people of Jambavan.”

The chieftain nodded but showed no intention of changing his mind about the project, much to the cubs’ disappointment. Vihaan opened his mouth to argue again, but held his tongue after Pav whispered something in his ear.

Percy wasn’t particularly happy with this turn of events either, though he wasn’t surprised by the sprites refusing his protection again.

The Yaksha were arguably the purest beings he had ever met, with few of the concerns that drove other lifeforms. They never had to worry about food or water, since their trees received all the sunlight, nutrients, and moisture they needed from their surroundings. They weren’t concerned with their lifespan, health, or reproduction either, because the forests were self-regenerating. Younger trees would replace the older ones, essentially making the Yaksha immortal.

The forests could expand, shrink, or even split into smaller forests under the right circumstances, though the Yaksha didn’t seem to strive for or worry about any of those things. They didn’t even care about power, money, or attaining divinity.

The only thing that could threaten a Yaksha were the sapients they shared a planet with.

Consequently, the forests had developed the ability to manifest karmic avatars to protect themselves from the bearfolk who sought to chop their trees down. The Yaksha’s magic wasn’t powerful enough to defeat the sapients in combat, so they sent their travelling troupes to perform for the natives instead, hoping to convince them that the forests were worth preserving.

From what Percy could tell, that strategy had proven quite effective in the past, to the point that the Yaksha had even learned to draw power directly from the entertainment of their audiences and their fame. The more people who knew about them and enjoyed their art, the more the trees would flourish and the forests would expand.

However, generations of bearfolk had grown up watching the same sort of performances. The sprites’ art had become just another part of village life – one the natives rarely spared a second glance.

“Are you sure about this?” Micky asked the other troupe members after the cubs gently lowered the sprites on the steps just outside their front door. “It doesn’t have to be one or the other. We can protect you guys from the demigod and the chieftain while continuing to perform for the people who enjoy our plays.”

Percy had made similar offers more than once, though the sprites had always refused. Protecting their trees wasn’t all they wanted.

According to Pav, the Yaksha had grown so reliant on the bearfolk’s amusement that their trees would wither and die without it. Keeping the axes away wouldn’t be enough if their troupes could no longer draw an audience. The very ability that had contributed to the past success of the Yaksha had turned into a chain that forced them to single-mindedly pursue the entertainment of the natives. The sentient forests were dying out, and there were far fewer Yaksha left on Jambavan than there had once been.

The sprites wanted to convince the bearfolk to spare them through their art. Letting Percy force the chieftain to leave them alone would hardly feel like a success, even if some of the villagers continued to enjoy their plays.

Rik chuckled. “Why do you even care? Doesn’t this work in your favour?”

The sprites’ deal with Percy’s group only required the latter to help enrich the troupe’s performances in one final attempt to convince the villagers. Nobody had said anything about having to protect them from a greedy demigod. In some ways, it was more convenient for Percy that their attempt had ended so quickly. It meant he could try merging the Yaksha’s soul with the World Tree seed much sooner than he had anticipated. When the Yaksha had first set their terms, Percy had fully expected the project to last for centuries.

“That’s beside the point,” Percy replied. “If my idea works, the four of you will eventually grow even closer to us than family. I have no intention of taking advantage of you or building the foundation of our relationship on deception. As long as you still have your forest, I’m more than happy to help you in whatever way you see fit. We can discuss what comes afterwards when you no longer have anything tying you to this world.”

“Even if your lifespan runs out before we’re ready? Even if we end up going back on our word a thousand years from now?” Sha asked.

“Even then.” Percy nodded. “We’ll just keep looking for more ways to extend our lifespans if this takes too long.”

“There’s no need for that,” Pav interjected. “The people in the pub did enjoy our work. I’m glad we got to see that before leaving.” He glanced at the rolled-up petition. “But we’ve spent long enough begging for a place here. Perhaps it’s time to try somewhere else.”

The pink sprite looked back at Percy. “I do have one question for you: In this new life that you wish to give us, will we have the opportunity to grow famous again? To touch the hearts of people and make their lives better?”

Percy grinned. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

The sprites smiled too, their colourful faces beaming with excitement as they glanced at one another.

“Then there’s only one thing left to do on this planet,” Kal said. “Let’s give the villagers one last performance to remember us by!”