Eldritch Guidance-Chapter 106 – Big Theological Differences

The morning after his conversation with Crowley, Joe found himself walking alone along the cobbled streets of the western district of Graheel. The early sunlight filtered through the sparse clouds, casting long shadows as the city began to stir awake. He had deliberately left the rest of his team behind at the archives, where they were combing through the endless stack of documents for any clues and filling out paperwork. Sneaking away wasn’t exactly professional, and he knew it would likely piss off Mike—again.

“This time, at least, I have a solid reason,” Joe thought, trying to convince himself. “Unlike the last time, when I left him buried in that mountain of paperwork without a word.”

The quartz crystal containing the hex fragment sat securely in his pocket. His primary mission was to deliver it to the university for analysis, hoping their experts could determine how to trace it back to its source. But before that, Joe had a detour in mind—one that Mike would undoubtedly question later. He was heading to see Wren, the secret cultist, in the hopes that Wren might know how to perform the reverse divination ritual Crowley had mentioned.

Even though the university was now cooperating with the police, they were still very slow. The process of them setting up this ritual might take a whole week to do. Joe was hoping going through Wren would be quicker.

Joe sighed as he walked, the weight of the investigation heavy on his mind. “If Wren doesn’t know how to do it, I’ll just have to rely on the university. Either way, I need results.”

He adjusted his coat against the chill of the morning breeze, already rehearsing how he would explain this little excursion to Mike. “With any luck, the explanation will be enough to placate him. Maybe…”

Joe strolled down the quiet street, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness of the early morning. This part of the city was just beginning to stir, with only a few scattered figures going about their business. The soft hum of distant activity barely reached his ears, leaving the street steeped in a peaceful hush.

Eventually, he arrived at a familiar sight—the small herbal shop tucked between two unassuming buildings. The display window was just as he remembered, its shelves crowded with jars of peculiar herbs. The glass, fogged with condensation and streaked with the marks of time, made it impossible to peer deeper into the shop’s interior.

The faint but distinct aroma of dried herbs wafted through the air, greeting Joe before he even reached the door. It was a curious mixture of sharp, earthy, and medicinal scents that seemed to hang perpetually around the shop. Taking a deep breath, Joe steeled himself before stepping forward. “Here we go again.”

As Joe stepped through the door of the herbal shop, the intensity of the herbal scent immediately enveloped him. It was as if the very air was thick with it, a mixture of earthy notes and sharper, more pungent aromas. He had expected to be the first customer of the day, but to his surprise, the shop already had a visitor.

Past the towering shelves stacked high with dried plants and glass jars, Joe saw Wren. True to form, Wren still looked very much like a man who had stepped out of the wilderness. His tangled dreadlocks were adorned with a collection of beads and a strange talisman, and his arms and neck were covered in intricate tribal tattoos that seemed to convey some primal meaning. The ruggedness of his appearance contrasted with the otherwise cozy, cluttered atmosphere of the shop.

Wren was in conversation with an older man, his face lined with age but otherwise ordinary. The two of them were speaking quietly, but the moment Joe entered, their conversation came to an abrupt halt. The older man regarded Joe with a curious glance, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether Joe was a regular or not.

Wren, on the other hand, appeared genuinely shocked. His eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he froze, his mouth hanging slightly open as he processed Joe’s unexpected presence. There was a mix of recognition and something else in his expression, something Joe couldn't quite place. The older man looked from Wren to Joe, then back to Wren, sensing the shift in the atmosphere.

Joe: “Don’t mind me. I can wait until you're done.”

The older man turned back to Wren.

Old Man: “Since you have another customer I won’t keep you. Did those herbs I wanted come in?

Wren: “Um, yes. I have them. The usual price.”

Old Man: “Here you go. Ten thousand glint,” he said while handing Wren a cheque.

Wren took the money with a brief nod, briefly checked it before placing it into his pocket. He then reached beneath the counter and pulled out a crinkled brown paper bag, its edges slightly worn. With a swift motion, he handed the bag to the older man, who accepted it with a nod of appreciation.

The man glanced at Joe briefly as he turned to leave the store. As he passed, his gaze lingered for just a moment, and he gave Joe a firm, friendly nod—both a greeting and a subtle farewell. It was a gesture that seemed casual, as if the man was silently acknowledging something unspoken between them.

The older man walked toward the door, his footsteps slow but purposeful. As the bell above the door jingled, he stepped outside, leaving the shop and the peculiar tension hanging in the air. Joe couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity about the interaction but quickly turned his focus back to Wren, whose expression had shifted to something more guarded.

Joe: “I see you're making a killing with those dream shrooms you're selling. Ten thousand glint,” he said followed by a whistle.

Wren: “For your information, no, I wasn't selling dream shrooms,” he sneered. “It was a rare herb that was from the eastern continent. So, it cost a lot to import it.

Joe: “Even with the import fees, it shouldn't cost that much. What kind or herb could and medicinal benefits could justify that price.”

Wren: “It is called white crow root. It only grows within this one region and it can’t be cultivated, so it has to be foraged. As for its medicinal benefits…” he paused, carefully considering his words to respect the person who just bought the herbs. “It improves… blood circulation in your lower body.”

Joe: “That’s some fucking expensive viagra.” he said, already guessing the use for the herb.

Wren: “What are you here for?” he said, already annoyed by Joe’s presence. “It can’t be to harass me to figure out the herbs my customers are buying.”

Joe wasn’t oblivious to the subtle cues. Wren’s stiff posture and the way his gaze darted to the door made it clear—he wanted Joe gone. Normally, Joe might have humored the thought of leaving, perhaps even leveraging the upper hand he held over Wren due to his precarious situation. But time wasn’t on his side, and he had no patience for games this morning.

He opted for efficiency, cutting through the tension with a straightforward approach.

Joe: “Do you know how to perform a reverse divination?”

Wren: “Why?”

Joe: “You didn’t say no, which means you at least know about it.”

Wren: “I do know about it. But, to perform a reverse divination you need something corrupted by the influence of an evil nameless god.”

Joe reached into his pocket and pulled out the quartz crystal Crowley had given him. He placed it on the table in front of Wren, the faint clink of stone against wood breaking the tense silence. The crystal, seemingly ordinary at first glance, held a tiny black dot suspended at its core—a detail that would mean little to most but could speak volumes to someone like Wren. Joe’s expression remained neutral, his eyes fixed on Wren as if challenging him to deny recognition of the object’s significance.

Joe: “Would a hex fragment do it?”

Wren picked up the crystal Joe had placed on the table, holding it up to his eye with a discerning gaze. His fingers turned it slightly, the light catching the tiny black dot suspended within. For a few moments, his face remained stoic, but then his expression shifted. His eyes widened in surprise, and a flicker of disbelief crossed his features. Whatever he saw in the crystal had clearly taken him aback, leaving him momentarily stunned.

Wren: “How in the world did you extract a hex fragment into quartz?” he said with a tone of disbelief.

Joe: “Are these things that hard to remove from someone?”

Wren: “No, they’re not hard to remove. But, they are hard to extract and then stored in crystals like this. Normally, they disappear the moment you remove them from whatever it was attached to. And, wait. You asked if it was hard to remove from a person, does that mean this was attached to someone? Oh, no… That’s not good. That means this was from someone that is going to be sacrificed.”

Joe: “The person we extracted this from is safe for now. And, It was Steven Crowley that stored it in this crystal.”

Wren: “The Hand of Light? I guess if it’s him it would be possible. I imagine someone like him is skilled enough to pull something like this off,” he said, placing the crystal back on the table.

Joe: “Can you perform the reverse divination with this?”

Wren paused, his gaze lingering on the crystal as Joe's question hung in the air. The unkept man appeared on the verge of refusing, his lips parting as if to dismiss the request outright. But then he hesitated, inhaling deeply through his nose and closing his eyes momentarily. With a resigned expression, he let out a long, heavy sigh, as though weighing the burden of his next words.

Wren: “I can set the ritual up, but I can’t perform it. It takes someone able to manipulate aether, and as you know, i’m aetherless. I can’t use modern magic.”

Joe: “That’s fine. I can use aether.”

Wren: “Can you also channel vito’s and necros? This ritual normally takes two mages. One channeling aether with vito and the other necros.”

Joe: “Im… not attuned to either of those elements.”

Wren: “Well, it’s not going to work then.”

Joe crossed his arms, his brow furrowing as he turned the situation over in his mind. He needed someone with the right elemental composition—someone he trusted—since they’d have to accompany him to Wren and, more importantly, keep the herbalist’s affiliations a secret. His options were limited. Among his team, he knew of two people capable of using necros: Mike and Rell. However, the other critical element, vitos, posed a greater challenge. Joe couldn’t think of anyone within his immediate circle who wielded vitos with the proficiency this ritual would undoubtedly demand.

As he mulled over his limited options, a sudden thought struck him. There was someone else—someone outside his team but still familiar enough to be trusted. It was a risky choice, one he knew Wren wouldn’t be thrilled about, but desperate circumstances called for calculated risks. He didn’t have time to waste. They needed to find where these slime were being created as soon as possible, to keep more people from getting attacked.

Joe: “Could someone that was skilled in both elements perform this ritual.”

Wren: “Someone attuned to vito and necros? I suppose, but they would have to be pretty skilled in handling both elements. This ritual uses two mages because it’s easier for each mage to focus on a single element rather than two.”

Joe: “Then I know someone that can help us. You set this ritual up and I’ll go get someone that will perform the ritual,” he said, not giving Wren a chance to respond.

Joe exited the store briskly, leaving the quartz with the hex fragment behind on Wren's table. As he stepped out into the crisp morning air, he exhaled deeply, his breath visible in the chill. The weight of his decision settled on him like a heavy cloak. The person he had in mind had the necessary skill, and more importantly, Joe felt they could be counted on when it mattered most.

"And I can see this as an opportunity," Joe mused silently, "a chance to bridge the divide between the followers of light and Wren's circle."

♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦♦

A few hours after Joe talked to Wren, he returned to the store walking through the front door with a confident stride.

Joe: “Hey Wrenn, I got our person for the reverse divination.”

Wren stood at his workbench, his back to the front door, meticulously grinding a handful of dried herbs with a mortar and pestle. He was immersed in preparing the ingredients for the reverse divination ritual when the sound of Joe’s voice broke through the stillness. Wren paused, exhaling a long, heavy sigh, the weight of annoyance settling over him like a familiar cloak. Slowly turning around, he muttered under his breath, already bracing himself for whatever trouble Joe had brought with him this time.

Wren: “OK. I’m just about—” he paused as he saw the person Joe brought with him.

Trailing behind Joe and stepping through the door of the herbal shop was none other than Steven Crowley, dressed in simple black attire. It was unmistakable—the former Hand of Light had entered Wren's sanctuary. For Wren, this was an unwelcome and unsettling sight. Of all the people in the world, Steven Crowley was perhaps the very last person he would have wanted to see within the walls of his home.

Wren: “Why is… Father Crowley here?”

Joe: “This is who I was talking about. Someone skilled in both vitos and necros magic.”

Crowley: “Um, I’m not exactly sure what’s going on. I was just told my magic was needed.”

Wren: “No, no, no nope. We’re not doing this. Sorry, Mr Crowley, I have to ask you both to leave.”

Crowley: "I’m not sure what the problem is," Crowley said, his tone steady but laced with a hint of concern. "But I’ve already promised Joe that I would keep things confidential, as part of my role in helping to resolve this situation. So, if you’re feeling uneasy, there’s no need to. I won’t be telling anyone about whatever secret you have."

Wren: “That’s not the problem, I need—”

Joe: “Wren is a cultist of the nameless gods, father,” he interjected.

Wren: “WHY! WHY! WHY! WHHHY!! I’ve done nothing to you or anyone in this city!" Wren yelled at Joe, his voice raw with emotion as tears streamed down his face. "But every step of the way, you've been trying to ruin my life ever since we met. And now... now you've gone and told the church I’m here. I didn’t want any of this! All I wanted was to live in peace here in Graheel. But now, it’s all shattered! I have to pick everything up and leave again, just like I always do, because the church knows I’m here," his voice cracked as the weight of his words hit him, and the sobs that followed were the sound of years of pain and isolation spilling out all at once.

Crowley turned to Joe, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief as the revelation of Wren’s true identity hit him like a blow.

Crowley: “You didn’t say we were going to be talking with a cultist.”

Joe: “It shouldn’t matter. Wren’s on our side.”

Crowley: “It does matter! Nameless cults are dangerous.”

Joe: “Wren’s cult is different. They’re all about helping people like the church does. So, you two should be able to get along.”

Crowley: “Mr Striker, I don’t think you understand what cultists are like. They lie all the time. This man is dangerous and is probably planning something insidious. You need to arrest him right now,” he demanded of Joe.

Joe: “I can’t do that. Wren hasn't broken any laws,” he said, purposely omitting the dream shrooms Wren grew in his basement.

Crowley: “I don’t believe that. If he's a follower of the nameless ones, he did something evil,” he said, dismissing Joe’s comment.

Joe: “Well, he hasn't. Can you still keep your promise and help with this ritual?”

Crowley: “NO! I will not! This needs to be reported. I will not allow my magic to be used by a cultist!”

Wren: “You don’t understand what followers of the church of Light are like to people like me. You can’t convince them of anything.”

Joe rubbed his temples, the stress of the situation quickly escalating inside him. He had expected resistance on both sides, but the intensity of Crowley's reaction caught him off guard. The former priest was practically on the verge of storming out, his expression seething with disbelief and distaste at the very thought of cooperating with a cultist. Joe could almost see the wheels turning in Crowley’s head—he was probably preparing to report Wren to the church, to condemn him as a threat to the city.

Joe sighed heavily. He had hoped, naively perhaps, that he could reason with Crowley. From what he had gathered in their previous conversations and what Mike had told him about the former priest's background, Joe had believed Crowley to be kind and understanding—a person who had left the church because of a strong personal conviction. Joe had thought there was a chance that Crowley would compromise, especially considering how much he seemed to value redemption and second chances.

But now, standing here, Joe could see that he had miscalculated. For Crowley, cooperating with someone tied to a cult was simply too much to ask. It was a line that Joe hadn’t realized the former priest had drawn in the sand, and now it was standing between them, a chasm too wide to easily bridge.

The weight of the situation pressed down on Joe's shoulders. If he couldn’t get Crowley to see reason, he knew that not only would he fail to get the reverse divination ritual, but Wren—his ally, the person who had helped him more than once—might be driven out of Graheel. Joe felt a pang of guilt at the thought. Wren hadn’t done anything to deserve being cast out. He wasn’t the villain here. Yet, Joe also knew that without Crowley’s cooperation, everything could fall apart.

As much as Joe might not have outwardly shown it, he didn't want Wren to leave the city. He genuinely believed Wren wasn’t a bad person. He had been upfront with Joe from the start, and the more Joe interacted with him, the more he realized how much information the herbalist had about cults. Wren's knowledge, his vast understanding of the darker side of magic and society, was a resource Joe couldn’t afford to lose—both for this case and for any future investigations.

Joe couldn’t let it end like this. Not when Wren could help, not when Crowley’s heart might still be swayed.

Taking a deep breath, Joe shifted his focus back to the task at hand. He needed to talk to Crowley—calm him down, make him understand why Wren’s cooperation was crucial. He needed to bring Crowley back from the edge, or else everything he had worked for would come crashing down.

Joe: “Alright, listen up, both of you.” Joe’s voice was firm, his patience quickly running out. “I know there's a lot of bad blood between the groups you represent, and I understand the history. But the truth is, we’re all individuals here. You don’t have to let the weight of those associations dictate how you act now. You don’t have to be bound by the expectations or assumptions that come with the titles you wear.”

He let that sink in for a moment, making sure both Crowley and Wren were listening. Their faces were tense, but Joe pressed on, his tone not letting up.

Joe: “Crowley, I’ve seen what you’ve done. You’ve put your life on the line for someone you didn’t even know, without hesitation, when you could have run and saved yourself. And Wren,” Joe turned to face the herbalist, “when a stranger came to you, someone you knew nothing about, you still offered everything you had to help him, expecting nothing in return. Both of you have claimed to help people in need, and your actions have proven that. So why the heck are we standing here arguing?”

Joe paused, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling inside him.

Joe: “We don’t have time for this. Every second you waste bickering, someone out there is dying. Someone who could still be saved if we just work together. I need a reverse divination ritual, now. Are you going to help me or not? Because if you don’t, then maybe your so-called ‘claims of selflessness and ‘faith’ are weaker than I thought. And, that would be a damn shame.”

He stared at them both, daring them to refute him, knowing full well that if either of them backed down now, it could cost more lives. Joe wasn’t asking for their friendship—he wasn’t even asking for their approval. He was asking them to do what was right, to set aside their differences and help solve a problem that was bigger than any of their personal grievances. Time was ticking, and he needed them to see that.

Both Wren and Crowley exchanged a look, their expressions filled with uncertainty.