《Calamity》


 Prologue

    The days were becoming exhausting. Despite the Church of the Will placing Kaitlyn in a rather nice room after her arrest, she had not spent much time in it. Interrogations, hearings, and health examinations filled every one of the ten-or-so days since Matthew died.


    The questioning was intrusive. How had she known Matt? Where was her hometown? How did she get involved with Matt? How long were they married? What was her involvement in the theft at Happfield?


    There was one positive, though, to all of this. The room she had been stuffed into had a comfortable bed, a writing desk, a beautiful painting of Duskfall, and most importantly, wards in the stones around it. The elements had been coming to her much more aggressively upon her arrival at The Throne, and it was becoming more and more difficult to hold them at bay.


    Kaitlyn¡¯s grandmother had taught her about partitioning her emotions and hiding them from the elements. After all, the nonliving world is not known for its restraint. Between floods, earthquakes, eruptions, and tornadoes, it would be best to hold these forces at arm¡¯s length when emotionally compromised.


    And Kaitlyn was definitely emotionally compromised. She would spend her alone time in the room just staring at the wall, tears slowly flowing. With the wards, she was able to express herself, if only a little. She could feel, even with the magic in the wall, the bricks were concerned and wanted to help. But The Throne, with its thousands of innocent men, women, and children, was no place for Kaitlyn to take down those emotional walls.


    That dream she had begun having repeated itself, too. The dream that put her on the edge of a cliff, looking out over a beautiful valley watching Kraag slowing moving in the distance. Then she seizes control of the elements around her, wreaking destruction and havoc the world over as she expressed every emotion in her heart just until she woke up, her face red with tears she cried while asleep.


    She had no idea what the Church was planning on doing with her, but Kaitlyn was prepared to just maintain this state that was as close to stability as she could find. Her musings were eventually distracted by a knock.


    Knowing that whoever it was probably had a key anyway, Kaitlyn quietly called ¡°come in.¡±


    The tumbler in the door flipped and opened slightly. A young priestess stuck her head in and looked relieved to see Kaitlyn.


    ¡°Hello there,¡± the priestess said. ¡°How are you today?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, thank you,¡± Kaitlyn muttered.


    ¡°I am Sister Maribel. I have been assigned as your interrogator.¡±


    ¡°It is nice to meet you. I¡¯m sure you know my name already.¡± Kaitlyn turned to look at Maribel, her face stoic.


    Maribel frowned. ¡°Well, yes, Kaitlyn.¡±


    ¡°So what do you want to know?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Maribel shut the door behind her to step fully into the room. ¡°I will not be that kind of interrogator. I will be with you as a partner from now on until the Justicar¡¯s sentence has been carried out.¡±


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    The phrase hit harder than Maribel had intended. Kaitlyn¡¯s sudden swing of the head and look of shock gave away that much.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been sentenced? They never called for me.¡±


    Maribel looked concerned. ¡°Had you not heard?¡±


    ¡°I have not been out of this room for two days, Sister.¡±


    ¡°Well, this is pretty frustrating, and more than a little embarrassing,¡± Maribel said, as she checked to make sure the door was locked. ¡°The council has been very shady in handling you and I do not like it one bit.¡±


    Kaitlyn was taken aback by the sudden honesty from Sister Maribel. It was the first flicker of genuine relations Kaitlyn had seen since she had spoken to the council¡¯s single layperson. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°They are going extremely fast in handling someone that tried to mitigate the damage being done. It is strange. I was just performing this duty down in Dawnbreak for a pirate that had murdered hundreds at sea. For her, the speed was understandable. The evidence was clear and the councils and Justicar had met long beforehand to discuss how to handle her if and when she was captured.


    ¡°But you? The speed and sloppiness are a little uncalled for if you ask me.¡±


    Kaitlyn felt strange. On one hand, indignant she was supposedly being mistreated by the Church of the Will, the people who would decide her fate. On the other hand, she was so glad to finally meet someone who would speak clearly to her. Not use the lofty language full of double meanings that the Church of the Will traded so freely.


    ¡°What does it mean?¡± Kaitlyn asked her.


    ¡°Who knows,¡± Maribel said, sitting down in the chair for the writing desk and looking down at the floor. ¡°I just got here in the Throne this morning. Barely had time to catch lunch with a friend when they came running down to get me and get us introduced.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I inconvenienced you,¡± Kaitlyn muttered.


    ¡°Oh Dreamer,¡± Maribel said, shocked. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. I¡¯m so sorry. What I mean is that I am usually required to check in with my bosses before I get assigned to anything. That did not happen today. They really want to move this along. It has me frustrated. And concerned.¡±


    ¡°Well, what is the sentence?¡±


    ¡°They have recognized your guilt in the case of relic theft, but your innocence on the day The Throne was attacked. They appreciate your efforts in helping the day of the attack, but are unable to overlook the fact you attacked a Paladin of the Church and helped steal the Halcyon Band.¡±


    ¡°I understand,¡± Kaitlyn said, her eyes urging Maribel to continue.


    ¡°While the church feels that their punishments for relic thieves are too harsh for you, they are unable to compromise. And So they¡¯ve decided to send you back to your tribe to be punished.¡±


    Kaitlyn¡¯s eyes widened at the words.


    ¡°Tomorrow, you and I will be on the road with a small retinue. Your tribe is currently East of Crossroads, near Kraag¡¯s current location. And we will continue along until we reunite you with the nomads.¡±


    ¡°I can not go back, though. I married out of the tribe, so I am not part of them anymore. Does the Church not know our rules?¡±


    ¡°See, that¡¯s what worries me. I would have thought the Council had already spoken to your tribe, but if they are just pushing decisions to look like they are handling things, there is a chance they did not.¡±


    ¡°I abandoned the tribe, then committed relic theft? They will kill me,¡± Kaitlyn urged.


    ¡°So will the Church of the Will.¡±


    ¡°Sister, I do not want to die for Matthew¡¯s sins,¡± Kaitlyn said glumly.


    ¡°In that case, agree to the Church¡¯s terms. Come with me on the road, and we can try to get to the bottom of this before any blood is spilt.¡±


    ¡°Any more blood,¡± Kaitlyn corrected.


    ¡°I know I am asking a lot,¡± Maribel began. ¡°But will you trust me, Kaitlyn?¡±


    ¡°I have little else left, I suppose.¡±

 Knight Errant Scene I

    ¡°She¡¯s right in here, mom,¡± Corporal Samson Bleedingheart said as he lightly pushed open the door to a small bedroom in the Back City Mission. Jane Estin, as well as every other civilian exposed to the concrete breath of the catoblepas who lived, was being quarantined in the mission. Keeping them in the Back City prevented gawkers from questioning them, and also prevented the spread of the uncomfortable disease called ¡°dust lung.¡±


    ¡°Oh, thank Dreamer you¡¯re okay!¡± Marie Estin shrieked as she pressed past Sam and into the room. She wore a modest, but brightly colored day dress, clutching a wide brimmed hat in one hand and a bag in the other. Jane was sitting up in her bed and was moving rapidly between happy at the sight of her mother, and distraught at her mother¡¯s doting. ¡°What were you thinking, running out there? Your brother told me everything. You were so reckless.¡±


    ¡°Mother, it all worked out. Sam and his friend helped me out.¡±


    ¡°And had they not been there?¡± Mrs. Estin reprimanded. She turned to look at her son. ¡°Sam, would you be so kind as to give us a moment?¡±


    ¡°Mom, don¡¯t stress her out. She is still recovering. Coughing up rocks,¡± Sam urged from the doorway.


    ¡°Samson, a moment please.¡± The stern words of a frustrated mother was all that was needed. Sam backed down, stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him.


    ¡°Mom, not now,¡± Jane pleaded as her mother lifted her handbag and set it on the end of the bed.


    ¡°Oh, how I wish I could have said that when you ran out of that restaurant into an active crime scene with dead bodies littering the floor,¡± she mused as she pulled a small planner notebook from the bag.


    ¡°You are being dramatic,¡± Jane rolled her eyes.


    Marie did not respond. Instead, she opened the notebook¡¯s front cover. A flowery handwritten note took up the entire first blank page. Do not call attention to what you wish to remain secret. People will ignore what is not their problem.


    Jane grumbled as her mother silently read the note over and over. The air in the room became heavy and sounds from the hallway and from outside the window over Jane¡¯s head quieted until they were practically silent. Eventually, all Jane could hear was her own breathing, still slightly graveling, and the frustrating tapping of her mother¡¯s toes.


    ¡°Do you not remember how long it took to teach you the weave?¡±


    ¡°What kind of question is that?¡± Jane retorted.


    ¡°Years, Jane, of not just your free time, but mine as well. Daughter of mine, I have devoted more to you than my other children. I don¡¯t mean that harshly, but just honestly! You are my investment in the weave.¡±


    ¡°I know, mom.¡±


    Marie straightened her dress and sat on the edge of the bed, turning her chin to the ceiling. ¡°Then why did you endanger our work the way you did?¡±


    ¡°Because people needed help, mother.¡± Jane was starting to get heated. ¡°I was sitting in that restaurant, listening to people scream and die outside. And you wanted me to just sit there, eating my snacks and drinking my wine?¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡±


    ¡°I thought the whole weave thing was to help people?¡±


    ¡°And how in Chael¡¯s name are you supposed to help people when your lungs have been turned to stone, Jane? What if, Dreamer forbid, I had been one of those dying down there? And you run out into the street, and the worst happens? That is our entire thread within the weave gone in one afternoon.¡±


    The hypothetical situation silenced Jane. After a moment of poignant quiet, the matron of the Estin family continued.


    ¡°You must understand, there is a difference between material help and facilitation, Jane. Your brother felt the call to help just as you and I did. But he is the one with the armor and the hammer. He is the one that can fight the monsters and save the civilians.¡± As she monologued, Mrs. Estin actually seemed to calm herself down.


    ¡°You and I, though? We do what we can to put people where they can be of most help. For example, our friend in Dawnbreak was worried about a stranger, so I managed to help get an ally of ours to Dawnbreak to gather intelligence. Luckily, we now know that a former Court Magus to the Emperor of Gavundar is in the March. Who knows what damage he could have done before we learned the hard way.¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Mom, I understand. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°You know we are only permitted to train one apprentice without special permission, Jane. Do you understand how hard it would hurt me to request that permission because my oldest daughter had died?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jane urged, hoping to cut her mother off before the drama spun up again. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry.¡±


    Marie stayed quiet, turning her head down to the floor.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t we know they were coming?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Why weren¡¯t we ready?¡± Jane asked, unwilling at first to turn the conversation grim, but she had been thinking quite a bit about why this disaster was allowed to happen. So many in the The Throne are in the weave. Surely someone would have known.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Jane. I am worried about it, though. I had received a handful of missives over the past few months, all referring to situations like ours. Broken hearts and minds smashing into vaults to steal magical items. It seems the man with the Halcyon Band was not the only one. Just the one who got the furthest to his end.¡± She sighed deeply. ¡°But we¡¯re trying our best to get to the bottom of things. Can I count on you to help us? Or will you be running out into danger, risking your neck again?¡±


    ¡°Mom,¡± Jane responded, rolling her eyes. ¡°I told you I was sorry. What I did was stupid. I won¡¯t take any unnecessary risks.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Mrs. Estin said with a tight smile. ¡°Because it seems our trade is going to become more necessary in the coming days.¡± As she rose from the bed, the sounds from outside of the room began to return slowly and gradually. Jane almost did not notice them until they were back at their natural volume.


    ¡°So,¡± Jane began now that their serious conversation was over. ¡°Can I go home? I still have that wedding to plan.¡±


    After Sam left his sister¡¯s room, wincing as he imagined what his mother was saying behind the door, he walked past Brother Nathan¡¯s open door. The priest normally worked in his office with the door shut and locked. Sam and Shiner would sit and argue over who would or would not knock to stir the angry man when they were on duty.


    In a profound lapse of judgement, Sam saw the open door as an opportunity.


    ¡°Excuse me, Brother Nathan?¡± Sam called into the room as he lightly rapped his gauntleted knuckle on the doorframe.


    ¡°Corporal Bleedingheart,¡± the priest answered without looking up. ¡°We still have not decided if you will be submitted for any commendation for your deeds during the attack.¡±


    Slightly off balance from the sharp response, Sam stuttered. ¡°Uh, sorry, Brother. That is actually not why I am here. May I ask about the Halcyon Band.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± The response was immediate and sharp. Sam waited for additional words, but they were not coming. Finally, Brother Nathan looked up. ¡°No, you may not.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Sam, confused by the hostility, found himself under too much inertia to back down. ¡°I was wondering, though, if someone needed to go back to Happfield.¡±


    ¡°Your duty is here, working for me in the Back City Mission, Corporal Bleedingheart. I can not just spend Church funds so you can shirk your duty.¡±


    ¡°But, has Father Pryce heard what has happened?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure the Church will inform him how and when they see fit.¡±


    ¡°I mean,¡± Sam looked down at his feet, beginning to feel foolish for expecting this to go any other way. ¡°I was there when it was stolen. I feel some sort of responsibility to Father Pryce.¡±


    ¡°You can face your shame here, Corporal. You need not travel across the country to do that. We can have you reprimanded if you truly feel responsible for the deaths.¡±


    Flustered, and embarrassed, Sam felt paralyzed. For some reason, this was not what he had expected. After he and Shiner killed the catoblepas during Mathew Carpenter¡¯s attack on the main hall, the two had enjoyed some sort of celebrity amongst the city¡¯s paladins. Knowing waves and salutes were coming from even senior paladins in both Back City, and The Throne proper. But here, in this office, he was made to feel small and stupid, just as the Father Abbot had left him feeling after he nearly died during his paladin examination.


    ¡°Was there something else, Corporal?¡± Brother Nathan asked, with more annoyance than kindness.


    ¡°I just,¡± Sam said, shaking his head, unable to prevent himself from talking. ¡°I feel guilty and want to check on Father Pryce.¡±


    ¡°Well if it is that important to you, Corporal, then you should spend your leave and your own money to go to Happfield. I¡¯m sure some of the Estin fortune can get you more than a two-way carriage.¡±


    Sam felt foolish all over again. The suggestion that he spend his own time and money to do what should have been a courtesy of the Church was offensive. But checking on Father Pryce did mean a lot to him. ¡°I think I will do that, Brother.¡±


    ¡°Well, I wish you luck finding brothers and sisters able to cover your duty. After your last trip to Happfield, they may not be willing to fill your gaps in the work schedule again. If that is all, Corporal Bleedingheart, I have work to tend to.¡± Without another word, Brother Nathan looked back down to the paperwork on his desk.


    ¡°Thank you, Brother. I will begin working on my paperwork for leave.¡±


    ¡°Corporal,¡± Brother Nathan said, looking up. ¡°Close the door when you leave.¡±

 The Pirate and the Wizard Scene I

    It had been a week. Seven awful, silent days. And when Zora looked south, she could still see the steeples of Dawnbreak. Five of those days had been spent with Cayd sitting in the dirt, hours away from the main road connecting Dawnbreak with Crossroads, scrawling something unreadable in the soil around him. He sat with that stupid, dusty lantern in his lap, with his eyes closed like an enraptured hoarder.


    Zora, on the other hand, spent the days alternatively looking toward the glistening sea to the south and the mountains to the north.  The sea was beginning to shrink against the horizon with every step they would take northwest.


    Every morning when she woke up, Zora came to enjoy scanning the peaks for where Kraag had trundled off to. The Elder God had always captured her imagination, especially in the time since that monster haunted her dreams. Kraag was a massive force of nature, yet he just walked. He gave trade routes and major cities wide berth, supposedly because he knew how much destruction he could cause if he stepped in the wrong place. If there was one thing she could look forward to in this damned punishment from the Sun Goddess, it would be getting closer to Kraag. Maybe she would be able to see his face?


    What Zora did not come to enjoy, though, was Cayd in between his long, silent meditation periods. He was hungry for conversation and never took a hint. As they sat across from one another one afternoon around a light lunch of fruit and cheese, Cayd began his ¡°conversation.¡±


    ¡°How are you today?¡±


    Zora grunted.


    ¡°Has your pendant lit up at all again?¡±


    Zora scowled at this one. The pendant, her gift from Tidus, was her business alone. She knew that the only reason Cayd knew about it was because of how brightly it would glow at night.  Zora could hear Tidus¡¯s voice come from the god¡¯s tear in the small bottle of seawater whenever the light inside shined. It was, at this point, a highlight of her life. She hated that he had the gall to ask about it.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ll be able to start traveling properly soon. Are you ready?¡±


    ¡°Cayd, I¡¯d been expecting to be done finding your little man-friend already.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for him,¡± Cayd urged. ¡°But the man we¡¯re dealing with is not a pushover hedge-wizard. He is talented.¡±


    ¡°Pff,¡± Zora scoffed. ¡°Student must have surpassed the teacher.¡±


    Cayd laughed, which frustrated Zora even more. ¡°In a way, yes. Though, not necessarily the way I had wanted.¡± Cayd paused, waiting for the inevitable ¡°what do you mean?¡± from Zora.


    But it never came. The former pirate captain was picking something from under her fingernails, not listening.


    ¡°Do you miss your crew?¡± Cayd finally asked.


    Zora¡¯s response was a roll of the eyes so saturated with disdain that Zora worried she had pulled a muscle. ¡°What kind of asinine question is that, Cayd?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just trying to make conversation,¡± the sorcerer responded with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you showed some effort, as well?¡±


    ¡°I want to go home. Not talk to you. Nor watch you sit and fondle your little lamp.¡±


    ¡°That little lamp kept you from being executed.¡±


    ¡°What? It got me arrested! Had Tidus not shown up I would be dead!¡±


    ¡°Boldbounty would not have let you make it into the chapel. He would have killed you. I sort of saved your life, cutting that deal with Solanna,¡± Cayd said. He was smiling now that he had finally gotten Zora talking.


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Zora cooed. ¡°Thank you so much.¡± She showed the sun brand Solanna had cursed her with. ¡°I appreciate your generosity, sir. Now that I can¡¯t so much as step in a puddle without enraging the damned sun, my life is just so much better.¡±


    Cayd grinned. ¡°Glad to help. In all honesty, though, I finally caught on to some leads with the Lumineer. There have been some murders in Crossroads. All seem to have hints of blue magic. I think we should start there.¡±


    ¡°Zora, you can¡¯t be a pirate any more. You need to be a detective instead,¡± Zora mocked as she chewed on a wedge of apple. ¡°Gear up!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of someone not willing to stop a murderer before.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Even from a murderer?¡± Zora asked. Then she widened her eyes in mock shock. ¡°Did you not know I was a pirate?¡±


    ¡°Oh please,¡± Cayd dismissed. ¡°Stop pretending to be so hard, Zora. You¡¯re One of those ¡®all for the greater good, I¡¯ll do the wrong thing¡¯ types of people. I can tell.¡±


    Again, Zora shrunk inward. ¡°You do not know me, Gavundari. You will never know me. Ever. Now watch your words.¡±


    ¡°And the wooden bridge to Zora¡¯s heart sways in the wind,¡± Cayd sung. But his playful teasing stopped when he noticed the temperature around him rise. It was easy at times to forget Zora was one of the most powerful red magic users he had met. No wonder, though. She wore her emotions like flamboyant outfits.


    Zora got up and walked from Cayd, dusty puffs leapt from her heels as she moved.


    ¡°Hey, Zora,¡± Cayd called over to her.


    ¡°Screw off, Cayd,¡± she spat back.


    With a groan, Cayd rose and walked after her. ¡°Look, I know we¡¯re off to a slow start, and I know it¡¯s a change for you. But I need you to work with me.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to be here, Cayd,¡± Zora said sternly. ¡°You understand that I feel kidnapped, right?¡±


    ¡°You are a prisoner,¡± Cayd reminded her. ¡°Look at your hand. I understand that your type has that ¡®better dead than imprisoned¡¯ garbage in your heads, but I am your best bet for freedom.¡±


    ¡°Then why do you sit on your ass playing with your toys? I want that freedom, Cayd, and you want your boyfriend caught. So let us get on with it.¡±


    ¡°You are being mean for no reason,¡± Cayd reprimanded. It felt strange, two adults talking to another like this. Adults of Cayd and Zora¡¯s ages, especially. ¡°Why is it a fight with you? Always?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s all I do. I fight.¡±


    ¡°Well give me some time and we will put that fighting to good use. But until then, I need two things from you. I need you to trust me, and I need you to finally acknowledge that I did something nice for you.¡±


    ¡°What did you do? Stand up to that bitch in the sky? Wow! You showed you had more balls than a chapel of paladins.¡± Zora hissed in pain at the end of the remark. The brand on her was stinging in response to the curse.


    ¡°High Sergeant Boldbounty was my friend,¡± Cayd asserted. ¡°He gave me a place to stay and something to do while I worked on finding the man I¡¯m looking for. And to spare your life, I threw that friendship away.¡±


    ¡°Your fault,¡± Zora shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask you to do anything for me, much less shackle us together.¡±


    ¡°You would rather I let you die on that stage?¡± Cayd asked. He paused, then glared at her. ¡°No. I¡¯m not letting you answer that. You¡¯re not an idiot, but you are cruel. You would proudly straighten up, tell me yes, you would rather be dead than standing here arguing with me. But that is outright stupid. There is no way you regret being alive today. You may not be where you want to be, or doing what you want to do, but your heart is beating. And for that reason, you have to be a little bit grateful. A little bit.¡±


    Zora¡¯s visage did not change. She was fury, etched in stone. Finally, she settled on a response. ¡°I hate you,¡± she growled.


    ¡°Nice.¡± Cayd turned away, nodding. ¡°You are truly a child, you know? You look like a woman, but you¡¯re like¡­ five.¡± He started walking away, back to the circle of glyph-like notes he had drawn in the morning with the lumineer sitting in the middle of it. ¡°Maybe four. Not older than six, though, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    Zora spun quickly away as her rage bubbled. Heat swelled around her, and she performed her emotional-mental tricks that converted that rage to worry and concern. She held an open hand out in front of her at an upward angle.


    Lightning arcs leapt around her arm and wrist, swarming up around her hand, before she let it fire off toward the noon sun. There was a crash of thunder as her spell rushed skyward. The sudden expression of emotion was invigorating and releasing.


    She turned back to where Cayd was sitting, eyes closed, breathing measured. As she watched him, Zora started to smile. ¡°I meant it!¡± she cried over to him. ¡°I do hate you!¡±


    ¡°These next few months are going to surely be awful for you, then,¡± he replied without even looking back at her.


    In the distance, the peak of Kraag¡¯s shell shifted, almost unnoticeably against the other mountain peaks between Dawnbreak and Crossroads. Zora watched as the mountain seemed to pause for just a moment.


    She had to have been imagining it, but it seemed like he had taken notice of her lightning bolt. But when she thought harder about it, why would this woman, with a gift from the ocean god around her neck, and a curse of the sun goddess on her arm, catch the attention of the Elder God Kraag?


    The Lumineer painted the picture around where Cayd was sitting. It was as though he was right in the room with Boldbounty as he sat with the Mother Superior in charge of the chapel they had just left a handful of days before.


    ¡°So we have two Gavundari court magicians on The March?¡± the priestess asked, no way she could be noticing Cayd watching her through one of the many magical items in that chamber.


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Boldbounty responded jovially. ¡°Mister Cayd was actually the Minister of Magical Affairs, the highest ranking magic user in the entire country. Up through the Jade Lion¡¯s War, though. He left his post after that.¡±


    ¡°And came here?¡±


    ¡°Not sure. The time does not add up perfectly, but I am still working on it.¡±


    ¡°And who is the other one?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve found the name Zarraz,¡± Boldbounty responded. ¡°He arrived here just after the Jade Lion¡¯s War about fifteen years ago. He was very young. And he hid himself well. No one has been able to find him.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he is that Crossroads murderer?¡±


    ¡°I sure hope,¡± Boldbounty shrugged. ¡°Three birds with one stone, eh?¡±


    ¡°Four if you count the pirate.¡±

 The Nomad Scene I

    The nomadic tribes were myriad, but organized into general groups across the sprawling society of Kraag¡¯s Host. And all were in the interest of seizing mercantile advantages. The Summer Wanderers were red magic users who used their passions to act as performance artists, circuses, or, in the case of the more aggressive tribes, mercenaries. The Winter Sailors were transporters, ferrymen, and cargo carriers for the waterways and seas around the world. The Stone Circle Clan were a migrant labor force.


    And then there were the Spring Wind Tribes. They indulged in whimsy, literally following weather patterns from town to town and teaching themselves crafting skills to fill a city¡¯s market stands with knick knacks, only to forget the skills as soon as they left the city.


    A specific type of nomad was required in this tribe, and Robin Pluck was one. Known as a wind runner, Robin channeled his glee and excitement to carry his strides miles ahead of the tribe¡¯s bulk to scout out potential towns and villages they could take advantage of with their trinkets.


    Robin¡¯s goal was to visit the town, explore the scenery, and get to know the needs of the citizens there. If the skills and crafts of the tribe were a good fit for the town, then the tribe would arrive, make loads of money, and then move on. If the town was not a good fit? Robin would rush back to the Host¡¯s main body in the shadow of their turtle god and redirect them to another settlement.


    The job was a perfect fit for the whimsical and flaky man. The feeling of the early morning wind in Robin¡¯s sandy blond hair was like the fingers of a lover. The blur of the scenery rushing past was a delight. The way the wind would be churned into an embrace that carried him, holding his lower back and carrying his feet in his travels was as comforting as it could be.


    And Robin knew comfort. It was part of the job. Getting to know folks in a town meant opening your heart, making yourself accessible. The people in larger cities revelled in his friendliness, and those in the smaller cities were enthralled with his foreign look and curious to learn more.


    Robin was a fanged folk, and had been born in central Gavundar, but that meant little to a nomad, especially in the Spring Wind. He had crossed the sea without the Host four times in his life.


    Or was it five?


    The girl he had kissed on the roof of the Duskfall bank was before the librarian in Gavundar¡¯s Academy City, but after that shirtless woodsman south of the Capital. So in that case, it would have to have been five times.


    As Robin ran, his mind would wander through his conquests. The men and women he had teased and flirted with. Sometimes the relationship would go further. If the town was worth it, Robin would spend the night. Only if the settlement was promising. Or if the bed was really comfortable. Or there was a promise of a good breakfast. Regardless, the nature of his job was such that he did not like to count himself attached.


    In fact, he had become so detached that he barely even knew anyone in the Host anymore. They were always shuffling in and out, breaking away to take on jobs or coming home to have children. He stopped trying to make friends with them. He had games to play out in the cities.


    But, Robin still got attached. The muscles of the man with the woodcutting axe hovered in his mind, while the librarian¡¯s perfume caught, still, in his nose.


    And just as vividly, Robin could remember that the librarian¡¯s neighborhood in New Academy City was a total killing. He wound up spending a full five days with her while his nomad family pulled in bags of cash and partied through the nights. They sustained their travels all the way to The Throne with that stop. The woodsman¡¯s woodwork village, though? That had been a pass. The merchants turned north and hit the Capital because it was always easy.


    If only he could have another day with each of those two.


    Robin had a roster of tristes he missed. Some for their personalities, others for their bodies, and still others because of how easy they had been to piss off. At the very base of the thing, this was all a game to Robin. He was not in these towns to make friends or relationships. He was there to get information for the rest of the tribe. The emotional play was just the sugary pill he used to help get his way.


    He always started with the flirting and the seduction. It came easily for him. But if that failed, as it sometimes did, he would turn to teasing and cruelty. After all, passion is passion, and a person will indulge in anger just as readily as they would in lust.


    Crossroads was ahead of him. A massive city in Southeastern Talnor, a ways in-land from Dawnbreak, but on the edge of the Fireline, beyond which lay the horrifying Scorched Cities. The locals called it the trade hub seeing as it was properly on a river, unlike its coastal neighbor, Dawnbreak. Crossroads may have had the money, the buildings, the shops, the culture, and the food. But most importantly, it had the freight. That is what had him interested. Slowly, he began to reduce his flight speed so he could drift right down into the town¡¯s main thoroughfare.


    The townspeople paid little mind as he arrived. Shop assistants with brooms groggily swept dust from the walkways at their storefronts. Keepers would be scrubbing windows or arranging displays. The entire area was thick with the aroma of baking bread. Every corner in Crossroads had a cafe, or so they said. From where Robin stood, it seemed every other building had one.


    He scanned the drowsy crowd. The effort of picking a guide was a two-way interaction. If Robin was not attracted, then his heart would not be in it. And that was the key, after all. Heart. With just a few lines, Robin could feel the guide out, see what they wanted, and mold his heart to fit. Whenever he told them of his conquests, the other runners would call him ¡°Kraag¡¯s Cruelest Empath.¡± But it paid for their meals.


    But if Robin did not want to make the effort to empathize with these guides? Then it was like cooking a steak for a chicken.


    A girl was looking at Robin, her eyes almost like burs in his chest. Reflexively, he reached to his torso, expecting to feel something at his low cut, v-shaped color that had caught her attention. But there was nothing. The girl was a little too desperate. Not very fun.


    He felt another stare through a shop window. A middle-aged druid looking woman. She had some grey in her hair that was pulled tightly over her pointed ears into a bun. She was looking with a wry smile. Robin wondered if she was married as he strolled toward her shop, making sure that he did not maintain eye contact.


    He would turn his eyes in her direction every four or five steps to show that he had noticed her, but playfully appear shy. Her stare never let up. He approached the door to the shop, a small bakery, and mocked sadness when he saw a handmade ¡°closed¡± sign hanging in it.


    ¡°Oh, sorry, friend,¡± the woman said as she pulled the door open. A small bell over the frame jingled as she did. ¡°I always forget that sign. Lost a whole day¡¯s business once. Had to throw out all that bread, I did.¡±


    Robin laughed as he moved to the center of the bakery, casing the shop, and its owner. No family photos on the wall. But wire racks covered in fresh baked breads of all sorts. There had to be several ovens running together in the back. Too many for her to run alone, most likely.


    Her ears were pointed, indicating her druid heritage, and meaning she was likely not a shaman. Even more evidence she would need help baking all of this since she could not depend on magic to heat her ovens. Disappointing. Robin tended to avoid married folks, even when they seemed this interested. It never made for an easy cleanup.


    ¡°Let me know what I can bag up for ya,¡± she chimed as she moved behind a counter near the window. ¡°You mind me asking when the rest are coming in? We¡¯ve been wanting for textiles for a good month now.¡±


    Robin laughed out loud. She knew! She knew what he was. ¡°Depends, how many changes of clothes do you still have?¡± he joked. ¡°We like to wait until the town is truly desperate.¡±


    The woman guffawed. ¡°Should¡¯ve come yesterday then, friend.¡±


    Robin laughed with her as he eyed the bread. Windwalking was tiring work. He fished for a geld in his pocket once he found a small loaf speckled with chunks of apple and swirls of cinnamon. As he found his money, the loaf on the rack moved.


    Another person had slipped into the room at some point. A young man, looked to be in his mid-twenties. He had pointed ears, like the woman, but fiery red hair, and emerald eyes.


    ¡°Um, hello,¡± he said shyly when he saw Robin staring.


    ¡°Hello,¡± Robin answered, smiling. That was always his first act, smiling. Simple, but often overlooked. Maintain the eye contact, or even better? Look around their entire person a bit.


    The boy watched Robin for a second before looking at the woman. ¡°Aunty, the cheese loaves are in the third oven now.¡±


    ¡°Fantastic. Help that gentleman pick out something. He¡¯s probably starved. He¡¯s a Windwalker.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± the man was interested. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since you all have come here. The last group told us nothing was for sale. There was nearly a riot.¡±


    ¡°Well, maybe their Windwalker just did not have a good guide?¡± Robin suggested with a nod toward the young man.


    The red head looked down. His brown pants were worn out at the knees, and his grey shirt was stained with all manner of bakery materials. He wore a grey and black checked scarf, as well, but it was threadbare and tattered.


    ¡°Well I hope this one finds a good guide,¡± he said with a shrug, grabbing a baking sheet that was leaning on the racks and moving back toward the door he had emerged from.


    Robin wanted him.


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    ¡°How much for this loaf?¡± the shaman asked, holding the apple and cinnamon bread up for Aunty to see.


    ¡°Just a geld, my man,¡± she replied cheerfully.


    ¡°When do you guys close up for the day?¡± he asked. ¡°I may need to get some bread to take back with me.¡± Robin looked back toward the door to the ovens.


    ¡°We are only open till an hour after lunch. But we usually shut the ovens off a few hours before that. I¡¯m sure my nephew can show you around town after that. I would offer but I have so much cleaning to do.¡±


    Robin smiled. ¡°That would be wonderful. I¡¯ll see you all in a few hours, then!¡±


    Robin spent the rest of the morning walking, watching, listening, and eating the delightful sweetbread. Clothwork was the theme of the needs here. It seemed that a bout of pirate bombings of fields outside of Dawnbreak, as well as a lack of Paladins to help caravans go north meant new clothes had been hard to come by in the poorer neighborhoods Crossroads. The traders that could get hold of textiles bypassed the suburbs and went straight to the noble neighborhoods, then out of the city to make sure the fat citizens of The Throne and Duskfall stayed clothed.


    Robin¡¯s mother was a stellar seamstress. This would be simple.


    With the work for the day more or less finished, it was time for pleasure. So Robin went back to the bakery to see Aunty making a sale while her nephew sat idly near the door to the ovens.


    ¡°Oh, welcome back,¡± he called, noticing Robin¡¯s entry.


    ¡°Thank you! What would you recommend for lunch?¡± he asked.


    The boy looked around the racks at the other breads, but noticed through the corner of his eye that Robin never looked away. ¡°I would say a slice of tomato and herb. Savory but not too dense.¡±


    ¡°Sounds wonderful,¡± Robin said with a nod. He looked to where the man was gesturing and snagged one of the dark, red flecked breads. ¡°Your aunt said you all turn the ovens off around lunchtime?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the man said, wiping his brow with the tattered scarf. ¡°Spend all morning baking, bound to have leftovers if we keep up the volume all day.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense. So what do you do with the rest of your day?¡±


    ¡°Help move bread and clean up, mostly.¡±


    ¡°Explains why this place is spotless.¡±


    The man laughed. ¡°The trick is keeping a layer of flour on everything. Then nothing looks dirty.¡±


    ¡°So tricky,¡± Robin winked. ¡°But smart.¡± Robin watched as the man¡¯s green eyes did their best to look elsewhere. But whenever he looked at Robin, the Windwalker smirked.


    As Aunty finished up her sale, she called over to the men. ¡°Welcome back, Windwalker! Good news for us?¡±


    ¡°Your nephew ain¡¯t the only one who needs new trousers!¡± Robin called over, winking again at the red head. He looked down in embarrassment, but Aunty guffawed.


    ¡°Good to hear! Hey, Arlo, why don¡¯t you show our guest around town a bit? Make sure he knows what he may be getting into?¡±


    ¡°Uh, sure,¡± the boy said, looking fleetingly at a grinning Robin. He moved from behind the counter. ¡°He¡¯s gonna buy the tomato herb loaf, there,¡± he told his aunt as he moved from behind the counter.


    ¡°On the house!¡± Aunty sang.


    Robin and the redhead strolled through the town and Robin worked his magic. He asked about how Arlo spent his days, teased him for bad luck with the town¡¯s girls, flicked his ear to get his attention, and fluctuated between deep questions about the man personally, and shallow questions about the scenery. Robin had dealt with folks like him before. Shy, lonely, and walled off. They had beautiful personalities but they hid themselves under layers. You had to dig in and find them.


    It took a while, but the red headed man began to open up. It started with him discussing his hobbies of visiting restaurants and how much he liked spending weekends in other parts of Crossroads trying new foods. And then slowly he began to tell stories from the past.


    When the former girlfriends came up over dinner, Robin was feeling confident. They sat across a small metal table on a patio. The restaurant was one of the surprisingly rare Syzzyth places. Both men had shallow bowls of spicy, lightly sauced noodles placed in front of them by a lithe, scale-covered woman that silently wove through the patrons.


    ¡°She told me I was spending too much time with my aunt,¡± the man explained of his last girlfriend matter of factly. ¡°When I told her that my parents had died trying to cross the Scorched Cities, she told me my family had too much history taking risks and I would have too much emotional distress. Our auras didn¡¯t align, or something.¡±


    Robin laughed, but cut himself off quickly. ¡°Sorry, but that is just disrespectful. Sounds like she just wanted to break up.¡±


    ¡°Bah, it¡¯s fine. She did this terrible thing where she would run her hand through her hair and sniff it. Like, habitually.¡±


    ¡°Did she have special soap or something?¡±


    Arlo shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Never smelled anything myself.¡± He sighed. ¡°What about you, Rob?¡±


    Robin grinned. ¡°I think we should eat. If we wait until I am done telling stories of my lovers, we¡¯ll both die hungry.¡±


    The redhead laughed and snagged his utensils. The two finished their meal, Robin sneakily paying for both, and began walking the streets again. The sun was finally starting to set later, but the chill of early spring was harsh. The cold was pushing the two closer together as they walked.


    ¡°Did you get an inn room?¡± the redhead asked.


    ¡°Nah, I just curl up in some trash, usually,¡± Robin joked. ¡°Keeps me feeling alive!¡±


    ¡°No, seriously. Where are you staying? There¡¯s been some creepy stuff happening in the Crossroads lately.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Kidnaps, murders. I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s kind of spooky. I don¡¯t think you should stay out all night.¡±


    ¡°Well, what do you suggest?¡± Robin could pretty much guess what was coming. But he wanted it to be the man¡¯s suggestion.


    The redhead took a deep breath. ¡°I live alone up above the bakery. My aunt stays with her mom across town. I can let you use my old camping roll.¡±


    ¡°Would Aunty be okay with me staying there?¡±


    The man shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m usually up and working before she gets there.¡±


    ¡°If you think it is that dangerous here, then I would really appreciate it,¡± Robin said, patting the man on the shoulder. Hover for effect. The redhead leaned in, but just a bit.


    The two made their way to the bakery and up a set of stairs behind an inconspicuous door in the corner of the sales floor. The redhead¡¯s apartment was a modest, studio-style tenament. A small couch at one end. A full-sized bed at the other.


    ¡°Let me get that bedroll for you,¡± he said as he stretched and walked to a linen chest against the wall. Robin admired him for a moment as he dug through the box, then sat on the couch with a sigh.


    ¡°Here ya go,¡± the man said, throwing the bundle of padding and a thick blanket on the floor in front of Robin.


    ¡°Thanks! Here, sit down,¡± he said, patting the free seat. With a moment¡¯s hesitation, the man sat.


    ¡°Thank you for taking me around today,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°Did you like that restaurant? I uh¡­ I take all my dates there.¡±


    Robin¡¯s heart fluttered. This was the moment of truth for him. The part of the guide experience that was the summation of his challenges. Robin always imagined it as him readying a bow, tracking onto a target, and waiting. When he loosed the arrow, it would whiz off toward its goal, hopefully striking the bullseye, possibly falling into the mud beside it.


    When Robin succeeded, he was gleeful. But when he failed, he was still happy because he could see how difficult it was for his target to rebuke him. They would squirm and search for excuses before letting him down softly. Either way, Robin¡¯s ego was boosted.


    ¡°So,¡± Robin said, imagining himself knocking the arrow and drawing back the string. In the apartment, he moved his arm around the redhead¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Was this a date, then?¡±


    The arrow was flying. The silence was building so much tension. And Robin delighted in it. When the arrow finally stopped, the relief would be a rush.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± the redhead finally said.


    The arrow fell into the dirt with a thwack.


    ¡°I know what you are,¡± the man added. ¡°You¡¯ll be gone tomorrow. And a week later, maybe I¡¯ll meet your friends with the Host. No point in feeling like I¡¯ve gotten to know someone real, huh?¡±


    Robin paused for a moment. He could see the man was uncomfortable. Heartsick, maybe. Robin felt sorry for him. His shoulders were tense under Robin¡¯s hands. The Windwalker was doing just fine, but the young man was really struggling with this pedestrian conversation. That¡¯s what Robin liked to see. ¡°My friends? Oh, you don¡¯t want to meet them.¡±


    The redhead laughed, easing up.


    ¡°Look at me,¡± Robin said, flicking the man¡¯s face with his hand. He guided his face so that Robin could look into those green eyes. He stared for a moment, then looked down at the tattered scarf. ¡°What¡¯s this scarf?¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not sure,¡± the man responded, shrugging off Robin¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s sort of who I am, I guess? People just identify me by it. I¡¯ve just had it for so long.¡±


    ¡°Any emotional attachment?¡±


    ¡°Not really, why?¡±


    ¡°I think you should try a green scarf. It would bring out your eyes.¡±


    A week later, the redheaded man was walking down the main street of his neighborhood. His Aunt had let him off for the evening, so he was meeting the cute girl from the post office at the Syzzyth restaurant he loved so much. He was taking the long way to get there, though. Just as he had expected, the Market of Kraag¡¯s Host had arrived.


    In fact, he had more or less forgotten about his day affair with the Windwalker by the time they had arrived. Sure, it had only been a week ago, but the triste had only been a few hours. The bright colors and boisterous attitudes had brought the memories with a smile, though.


    ¡°Oi! You there! With hair like Kraag¡¯s eyes!¡± The hawker called him as soon as he stepped amongst the market¡¯s stalls. The woman had a Southern March accent so thick it certainly had to be fake.


    She barely waited for him to approach her stall, covered in piles of cloths, bolts of fabrics, and finished clothing, before she spoke. ¡°Am I to understand you met wit¡¯ our Windwalker?¡±


    The man blushed. So he ran home and told. How embarrassing.


    ¡°Now, now, you¡¯re turning red as your hair.¡± She cackled at his reaction. ¡°Don¡¯t be shy now. I¡¯d be lying if I said we had nuthin¡¯ in common, you and I.¡± She winked at him, and felt so exposed to her he could throw up.


    She just laughed. ¡°Here, I have a gift for ya.¡± She leaned down beneath the stall¡¯s counter and emerged with a square-shaped package wrapped in brown paper. ¡°Open it now! Go on!¡±


    Arlo gently accepted the gift from the loud woman, tearing at the corner. He could not control the surprised smile. Inside the paper was a bright green scarf with forest green stripes.


    ¡°This is amazing,¡± he said.


    ¡°Made it meself,¡± she beamed.


    ¡°What do I owe you?¡± he asked, reaching to his pocket.


    ¡°Nothin at all¡¯, dear. Friend of Robin is a friend of ours!¡±

 The Shaman Scene I

    The gilded shackles sat, open, on the velvet cushion to Kaitlyn¡¯s side. So long as the curtains were drawn and the doors of the carriage were shut, Kaitlyn was free. But the shackles were not the only restraints on Kaitlyn. Her emotions had been capped so aggressively since she helped Matthew rob Happfield Chapel. Those were the shackles that could not, or should not, be removed.


    The carriage door opened suddenly, and Kaitlyn reached for the cuffs, but Maribel calmed her. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, just me,¡± the priestess said as she climbed in and sat across from the shamaness. She had a tight grip on a sky blue kerchief. ¡°We¡¯ve found the Stone Circle. They are right between Elmsmith and Crossroads.¡±


    ¡°How long is that?¡±


    ¡°Two days.¡± Maribel sounded sad. ¡°But I can stretch it to three.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the point, Sister?¡±


    ¡°Gives me more time to get to the bottom of this. I just found out that your arrest is not even being made public knowledge at The Throne. As far as the civilians there are concerned, all of the attackers and everyone involved was killed by the Inquisitors.¡±


    ¡°Why would they say that?¡±


    ¡°The theory so far,¡± Maribel began, looking down at the cloth in her hands. ¡°The Church wants to make it clear that this is a special situation. Their response was complete and decisive.¡±


    ¡°I was on the street, though, sister. It was chaos. More civilians than clergy were helping.¡±


    ¡°That may be,¡± Maribel conceded. ¡°But what do you want them to do? Admit they were caught off guard? Outsmarted by some bandits? The priest I just spoke with was a former assistant to a Justicar. He said that, most likely, the council is aware you have to be punished for relic theft, but they want to reward your help. So they are sending you to your tribe instead of killing you outright.


    ¡°And in that, they are also silencing a witness to the chaos. Sending away someone who could, and likely would, speak to the truth of the situation.¡±


    Kaitlyn shook her head. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t the only one. That paladin from Happfield was with me.¡±


    Maribel perked up. ¡°A paladin from Happfield?¡±


    ¡°Yes. His name was Sam. We fought for the Halcyon Band, but after-¡± Kaitlyn¡¯s breath caught suddenly. She redirected her focus to stifling her expressions.


    Maribel was not sure what to address. The fact that Sam had been in the street, or that something was upsetting Kaitlyn. But there were still two days left. Time enough to address everything, hopefully.


    ¡°Kaitlyn, why will your tribe kill you?¡±


    Relieved to be distracted, Kaitlyn exhaled. ¡°The saying we use is that the stone can not decide to roll off. To choose to leave is to renounce your identity as a stone. My family did not stop me when I left, but they will not support my return.¡±


    ¡°So you chose to leave?¡±


    ¡°Yes, we went to a small town near the Scorched Cities. I had just turned eighteen and was finally a woman in the eyes of my family. I was invited to join the laborers. The town had asked for our help rebuilding the main road. And I met Matthew there. He and his father were rebuilding a storefront.¡±


    ¡°So you both knew each other for a time?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Kaitlyn said, smiling at her happy memories, regardless how distant they were. ¡°He followed us to a few towns, doing small carpentry jobs. And I looked for excuses to see him, too. The tribe sends scouts out to look for work. Whenever it was going anywhere near Matthew, I would volunteer.¡±


    ¡°Love at first sight, then?¡±


    ¡°That is what it felt like. Lust and manipulation in hindsight. I was such a fool.¡±


    Maribel watched Kaitlyn carefully. Something was churning within her.


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    ¡°Would you believe that last year I was doting over him, crying and swooning the same way I did when he proposed to me?¡± Kaitlyn looked at Maribel, saw the concern in her eyes, and decided to continue. ¡°The Stone Circle? We have this giant, circular slab we carry with us everywhere. It¡¯s the center of settlement whenever we camp. It is a holy site. And Matthew climbed up on that thing and called me up there.


    ¡°I can still feel the stares and hear the offended gasps, Sister. If I could go back in time I¡¯d put my hand on that idiot girl¡¯s shoulder and never let her go near him. But I hated their rules and Matthew was such a risk taker. He was this dark, handsome rebel. And he was defaming this sexist, unyielding society that treated me as little else than a uterus with callused hands. So I leapt up there and accepted his proposal right there.¡±


    ¡°How did the tribe react?¡±


    ¡°My grandmother was the one to pronounce me dismissed. We were forced down from the slab and the tribe left us there on that road. I cried some. My parents, my friends, my life. It was gone. But I had Matthew, right? He was what I wanted. And he made sure I knew that.


    ¡°I thought I was free, but I guess,¡± Kaitlyn chuckled. ¡°I just traded one warden for another. Everything I did was for him, through him, and by him. If I wanted anything? I would have to ask him. But now that I think about it, I wanted to. I think I needed him to approve my logic. Approve my decisions.¡±


    Kaitlyn was becoming emotional again, so Maribel gave her the space to calm.


    ¡°I was so stupid. I¡¯m hearing again everything he said to me. Every time he conceded to what I wanted it was just to forward his little schemes. That¡¯s how I got pregnant.¡±


    ¡°You have a child?¡±


    ¡°Matthew killed it.¡± Kaitlyn¡¯s eyes locked with Maribel¡¯s, and the priestess could feel the rage. ¡°He murdered it. I could not stop him because I was fighting Sam on Matthew¡¯s orders. I was a month pregnant, fighting a man with a hammer. Then I blacked out and my family was gone.¡±


    The tear ran down maribel¡¯s face, a combination of the harsh emotions in the room and fear of the sudden rising temperature.


    ¡°Are you okay, Kaitlyn?¡± Maribel asked.


    Suddenly, the carriage cooled. ¡°I apologize. I-¡±


    ¡°You have nothing to apologize for, Kaitlyn,¡± Maribel said. ¡°Matthew is the monster here, is he not?¡±


    ¡°My stupidity is unforgivable,¡± Kaitlyn said with a slight shrug.


    Catching her breath after the tension was dispelled, Maribel sighed. ¡°Everyone makes mistakes, Kaitlyn. But that¡¯s what we have friends and family for. They are there to stop us. I wanted to be a traveling singer and dancer, you know?¡±


    Kaitlyn smiled at the thought. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes,¡± Maribel nodded. ¡°I would crow like a rooster. Oh Dreamer, I thought I was a real diva. But my brother regularly informed me I was not.¡±


    ¡°Thank Kraag for brothers, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Yes, count your blessings. The world is much better off without me on the stage. I was going to stylize my name as ¡®Merry Belle,¡¯ Kaitlyn. It would have been the cruelest fate this world had ever befallen.¡±


    Kaitlyn laughed out loud.


    ¡°I guess, what I mean,¡± Maribel continued. ¡°Is that even if you failed, it was not you who failed alone. We all support each other. And if no one called attention to or warned you of Matthew¡¯s machinations, then the blood is on their hands, too, right? They were, as you said, just as stupid to fall for Matthew¡¯s tricks. Or worse, they let you fall for them.¡±


    Kaitlyn was shaken by that. Those words etched themselves onto her heart then and there. She did not hear Maribel follow the remark with ¡°and when the blood is shared, the stains aren¡¯t as thick.¡±


    That night, Maribel was trying to sleep in the carriage. She held the kerchief from Mrs. Estin, feeling the message woven into the cloth. Her mentor told her that in the weave, she would see the threads that bind the world.


    As Kaitlyn slept, slumped against the inside of the carriage, she had a dream where she stood on a cliff overlooking a beautiful valley. Kraag walked in the distance. A funerary urn sat at her feet.


    Kaitlyn knew the container held her child¡¯s remains. Something in her mind told her to release them. Open the dam and let these feelings flow. That would be the only way she could forgive herself. And once she was forgiven, she could hold the others accountable.


    The urn cracked, then shattered.


    Kaitlyn looked up to see flaming meteors falling from the sky as the ground split. Pillars of magma and flame surged skyward. Kraag cried out as the world reeled.


    Immediately below the cliff sat a circular stone slab. Nomads clad in brown looked up at Kaitlyn, their faces soaked with tears, as they wailed for forgiveness and mercy. Something in Kaitlyn¡¯s heart swelled at their begging. At their prayers.


    It was feeding her and making her stronger.


    The meteors whistled and screamed as they collided with the mountains, slinging stone and slag across the valley, and these unnatural sounds blended horrifically with the screams of the nomad tribe.


    The Throne rest at the end of the valley and the hypocritical clergy rest inside. It was broken by a meteor in a flash and an explosion.


    The nomads cried louder and the power within Kaitlyn swelled. She turned her face blissfully skyward as the world was shaken apart.

 The Wizard and the Pirate Scene II

    The silence was horrifying. A young paladin was sitting behind a welcome desk in a district mission on the outskirts of Crossroads. She stared at Cayd, her face etched deep with confusion and revulsion.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir,¡± she slowly said. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I understand that there is a serial killer here being investigated by the church. I would like to help.¡± Cayd spoke slowly for her. He felt eyes on him, and he looked over to see Zora on the edge of the lobby, her lips pursed to prevent her laughing.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have a tip,¡± the paladin clarified.


    ¡°No. I want to offer my service.¡±


    The paladin eyed Cayd¡¯s ratty, dirty, and oversized brown cloak. ¡°What services?¡±


    ¡°I would like to speak to someone on the investigation.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry sir, but I do not think I can just get you in touch with someone like that,¡± the paladin said with a chuckle. ¡°Let me get the head of the Mission. Maybe he can help you.¡±


    ¡°Sure, fine,¡± Cayd groaned. He walked away from the desk to where Zora was trying hard to keep from laughing.


    ¡°What, are you some sort of detective?¡± Zora asked breathlessly.


    ¡°I got you arrested,¡± Cayd fired back.


    Zora frowned. ¡°Sure, whatever. But you can¡¯t just walk into a place and ask about their serial killers. Your little triste with Boldbounty was a one-off I think.¡±


    ¡°Impossible. The High Sergeant said he would send word ahead of us.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± Zora said with an exaggerated nod. ¡°I¡¯m sure he wants nothing more than to help us. Those clergy folk? That¡¯s all they really want to do. Help strangers and their god-cursed captives!¡±


    ¡°I really wish you would take this more seriously. The man I am looking for is more dangerous than you are giving him credit for.¡±


    ¡°How about I only take it as seriously as the Church of the Will, the most powerful organization on the March, does? How does that sound?¡±


    Cayd seethed in silence as a door at the end of the lobby opened. A paladin and priest emerged, neither in uniform or armor, but instead in the clothes you would expect to see in a market. It was only the close cut hair that gave away the paladin¡¯s station and the shepherd''s crook that the priest carried in his hand showing his. ¡°Excuse me,¡± the paladin called in Cayd and Zora¡¯s direction. ¡°You wanted to meet with me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Cayd said, moving to meet him. ¡°Are you familiar with High Sergeant Boldbounty?¡±


    The paladin¡¯s eyes narrowed at the name drop. ¡°Well, yes, I am. He is the new Officer in Charge at Dawn Break. Why?¡±


    ¡°Well, I helped him with the capture of the pirate queen. Now I am here to help you capture your serial killer.¡±


    The priest chimed in. ¡°I understand that the execution of the pirate queen was a profound failure, though.¡±


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°Well yes,¡± Cayd said. ¡°In the sense that we did not execute her. But there was a bit of a change of plans.¡±


    ¡°Divine intervention,¡± the paladin remarked. Cayd noticed the paladin looking over his shoulder at Zora, her back to them as she chewed on her fingernail. ¡°Excuse me, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Zora had not been paying attention. When she was called, she turned quickly with a grin, revealing the mark of Solanna on her wrist.


    ¡°It¡¯s her.¡± The priest was lowering his crook, pointing it to her.


    ¡°I¡¯m reformed!¡± Zora snapped. ¡°Found faith.¡±


    ¡°Cayd Zahid,¡± the Paladin said, looking to Cayd. ¡°You are not welcome here. Any help you could offer us is not necessary. Obviously we could not trust your judgement.¡±


    ¡°But Boldbounty,¡± Cayd retorted.


    ¡°Does not work here,¡± the paladin finished. ¡°His jurisdiction is south of here. This is mine. You are not welcome in my Mission. I understand you are blessed by Solanna which is why I will not arrest you and your pirate bride right now. But leave us, and do not get involved in our affairs.¡±


    Cayd was quiet in confusion. ¡°Did you not receive a letter?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± the priest answered. ¡°Which is why we must ask you to leave.¡±


    ¡°Great work, Cayd,¡± Zora said as they strolled the massive main drag of Crossroads just out in front of the Mission. People were walking around them, not paying them any mind as they pushed to shops and stalls strewn about the cobblestone road. The white marble cathedral where the Justicar reigned was looming over them, making the strike to the pride that was the mission sting that much worse. They had not even reached the true person in charge.


    ¡°Not now.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean ¡®not now?¡¯ What are we supposed to do? Your newest little boyfriend stabbed you in the back.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not surprised.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± Zora said chuckling. ¡°Can¡¯t trust those paladins any more than you can wake their god. Man, you looked like an idiot in there. ¡®Hey, you don¡¯t know me! But I¡¯m here to do your job.¡¯¡± Zora¡¯s mocking was in a bravado as close to Cayd¡¯s voice as she could muster.


    ¡°Zora,¡± Cayd warned. ¡°I am thinking about what to do next.¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Call Solanna. Get this shit off my arm. Let me go home.¡±


    Cayd looked at her, confused. ¡°We need to find the man I am looking for. Then Solanna will remove her curse. That is the deal.¡±


    Zora groaned. ¡°So what, we¡¯re just going to be private investigators? Vigilantes? Sneaking around to find a serial killer and keep me from getting murdered by the Church at the same time?¡±


    ¡°If that is what we have to do?¡±


    ¡°Why, though?¡± Zora asked, stopping in the street. Cayd took a few more paces away before stopping.


    ¡°I have to answer for what he is capable of, Zora.¡± Cayd looked back over his shoulder. ¡°Part of what he is now is my fault. And I need to stop him.¡±


    For the first time in a few days, Zora studied Cayd. He was more than just annoyed. Just slightly, she reached out to him with her empathy. So much of it was obvious. He was too old to be without regret or sorrow. The laugh lines at the corners of his mouth were validated by a dense sense of humor. But within him, in addition to the obvious items, was something Zora knew well. An ocean of fear.


    Fear that everything was Cayd¡¯s fault. Fear that he could never atone.


    Fear that Cayd had failed every single individual who had trusted him.


    Fear that one day, the sins he committed and the people he had failed would all come calling.


    Zora frowned, feeling the strength of his fear in the form of goose bumps and tingling follicles. Her clothing clung to her as static charges moved through her nerves. ¡°Who, exactly, are we looking for?¡±


    ¡°A former student. His name is Zarraz.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Zora forced a smile. ¡°I want to get back to sea. So I guess we¡¯re going to be vigilantes hunting a Zarraz.¡±


    Cayd smiled back at her, just as forced. ¡°We should probably find somewhere to live, then.¡±


    ¡°And probably new clothes,¡± Zora said, strolling to Cayd. She grabbed his linen cloak, rubbing the scratchy material between her fingers. ¡°You look like a corn sack, Cayd. We need to get you styled.¡±

 The Nomad Scene II

    Robin took the final bite of the curried vegetable dish and frowned. The planner at the Host insisted he take two boxes, but Robin had to play tough and only took one. He was starving. The wind blew across the mid-March valley, and Robin, sitting atop a gentle hill, looked in the direction it was blowing to where Kraag was slowly moving.


    This was the first time Robin had seen Kraag this close in months, always making it a point to be where the people who knew him were not. He always thought it was the ignorance of youth that made it impossible for him to fathom Kraag¡¯s size. His serpentine head and colossal legs were beyond anything a normal man could ever comprehend. Robin was pleasantly surprised to see Kraag was just as chillingly large as he remembered.


    The setting sun cast the mountainous tortoise in a fiery orange light. Robin stretched out wide and yawned, laying down in the open to rest for the night.


    But his sleep was interrupted by the violent trembling of the earth beneath him. Robin awoke with a start, looking up to see Kraag, lit by the full moon, much closer than he had been when Robin went to sleep. He was so close now, Robin could see the nomads, known as Kraag¡¯s Host, milling about near the beast. They were a multicolor horde of representatives from all of the other tribes, skittering around at his feet and on the creature¡¯s back, but they seemed startled that Kraag was moving as quickly as he was.


    ¡°Robin!¡± The call was the voice of a woman¡¯s, but it came on the wind. Or, in it, rather.


    The Windwalker swung around with a mix of surprise to see his run planner, with her short-chopped, orange hair and dirty cheeks, sprinting toward him, gusts speeding her along. Another figure was accompanying her, running just as quickly.


    ¡°What are you doing here? I¡¯m the Windwalker,¡± Robin teased as the planner and the man with her came to a stop. His joking ended, though, when he saw tension in her eyes.


    ¡°I told you to stay with us tonight,¡± the planner said. ¡°We¡¯re a week out of the nearest town. You did not have to leave so early.¡±


    ¡°Who is this?¡± Robin asked, nodding to the man. He was dressed in Wind Tribe clothing. But it was the traditional stuff. Generations away from what Robin and his family had come to be wearing. He was clearly a different part of Host, the most distilled version of red magic using nomadic cultures.


    ¡°I have come from Kraag¡¯s shell. I will not waste your time with introductions right now. Our time is short. As you can see, Kraag is excited.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°For his new Speaker,¡± the man said with a bow of his head.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us?¡± Robin¡¯s planner asked him, her eyes becoming misty. ¡°You come to spend a day with us for the first time in a year and you don¡¯t say a damn thing about this?¡±


    ¡°I apologize if I was not clear,¡± the man said to her. ¡°Robin did not know. We did not allow Kraag to tell him. But the Elder God has grown rather eager. It would appear he has much to say.¡±


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Robin asked, becoming frantic. The trembling footsteps of the approaching god served as a throbbing and foreboding rhythm that underlined the obvious distress his sister was showing. But the other nomad¡¯s calm was just as unsettling.


    ¡°Kraag has chosen his voice,¡± the Spring Wind nomad repeated. ¡°That is all I may say. When you are ready we will approach the Elder God.¡±


    Robin looked at the planner and the man from the shell and frowned. ¡°Can I say no?¡±


    ¡°Well, it is not me you must deny.¡±


    Robin turned to look at the approaching mountain, still shaking the world beneath him. He looked southward to see the dim lights of metropolitan Crossroads on the horizon. They could certainly feel the rumbles of the beast¡¯s footfalls. This had to be the closest he had ever come to the massive city. ¡°So I can tell him no?¡±


    ¡°You are permitted to try, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°Robin, don¡¯t be stupid,¡± the planner pleaded. But Robin had no idea if she was advocating for or against the god¡¯s calling.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I have much of a choice just yet.¡±


    ¡°That aside,¡± the nomad interjected. ¡°This is something to be proud and happy about. Kraag has not had a speaker since the founding of the Talnorel Alliance. And your friend was personally chosen.¡±


    Robin had heard ¡°Speaker for Kraag¡± used in the past. But never gave much thought to what it could mean. It was a position three generations separated from anything he knew as contemporary information. And to add to that, many of the modern shamans viewed the Host as overly processed, too rigid, and destructively traditional in their handling of red magic and life in general. What could the Speaker be but the singular personification of that?


    He was not sure why the planner looked so upset about all of this. She did always take issue with him ¡°hiding details¡± from her. But this was news to him just the same. It seemed like an easy enough fix. He would just tell Kraag he was not interested. It would be as easy as that.


    ¡°Whatever,¡± Robin sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s go see him. I¡¯ll tell him the bad news.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to do it?¡± she asked.


    Robin grinned. ¡°I make my living running. I¡¯d die of boredom waiting for Kraag to get anywhere interesting.¡±


    She ran to her brother, hugging him tightly. Robin could not help but feel her reaction was a little hyper-emotional. And so he opened up his empathy for a second. The static charge in the air confirmed that she was acting out of fear.


    Fear that she would never see her runner again.


    Curious, Robin reached his empathetic aura in the other nomad¡¯s direction and immediately regretted it. By all accounts, his fears were confirmed.


    ¡°Are you ready, then?¡± the nomad asked.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The run to Kraag¡¯s shadow was over in an instant. The nomad grabbed Robin, leaving the woman on the hill, and brought him into the midst of three others already standing before the massive turtle god. The rest of the Host traditionally stayed beneath, beside, and behind Kraag out of respect for his leadership. But this evening, these figures were standing in front of him.


    Standing so close to Kraag always made Robin¡¯s stomach turn. The god was colossal, of course, but the cognitive dissonance created by watching this mountain moving was sickening. For the first time, Robin could see that the myths about Kraag¡¯s composition were not myths. His shell did not just look like a mountain, but was a massive, jagged stone monolith just as tall as the peaks he strolled amongst. The thick skin pulled taut over his gargantuan legs looked as though it was made of sand, small flecks of something shiny reflecting the bright moonlight in an enchanting, flickering light show. When the god exhaled from the nostrils at the front of his wide, snakelike head, the wind had the smell of a spring breeze just after a rainstorm. And when Kraag turned his head downward to look at Robin, the Windwalker¡¯s breath caught.


    Kraag¡¯s eyes were twinkling pools of water, and despite still being high above Robin, he could see himself in the pools. There was an aquifer of emotion just behind the reflection excitedly wanting out. Only one was being allowed to express itself.


    Kraag was so happy to see Robin. And he was nervous that Robin would not like him. And he was so sorry to wake Robin up, but he was just so excited to see him.


    ¡°We almost got to him before you,¡± one of the three shamans said suddenly, teasing the man from the shell that had gathered Robin. Robin was immediately caught by her beauty. She was clad in a traditional Winter Sailor costume made up of a two piece garment that, even in the moonlight, was clearly a bright sapphire color. The clothing was made more modest by sashes and scarves and a robe of sparkling tulle that gave the woman the appearance of being clad in the oceans.


    ¡°You¡¯re dismissed now. Your job is done.¡± The woman who harshly banished the man was the opposite of her Winter Sailor counterpart. This hag was huddled over, weighed down by layers of brown shawls and massive necklaces of strong stones. In her hand was a rod of sandstone, lightened with holes driven through it, and chiseled smooth. She was a Stone Circle Shamaness. Just as blunt and mean as Robin expected from them.


    The third figure at Kraag¡¯s feet was a handsome, dark skinned Summer Wanderer, in traditional clothes just like his friends. Billowing silver pants contrasted with his shirtless torso and the bright copper bangles he wore on his arms in a way that was clearly designed to catch attention.


    ¡°Welcome to the host,¡± the watery witch said, flowing over to Robin and gingerly grabbing his hand. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you. Kraag has been thinking of you for quite some time. My name is Anya.¡±


    ¡°The pleasure is mine, Anya,¡± Robin said with a smirk.


    ¡°No!¡± shrieked the stone circle woman. The rod came down between the eyes of the two. ¡°Your hedonism is through! You are a representative of the voice of our god.¡±


    Robin was completely taken aback. ¡°Actually,¡± he began. ¡°I came to say no thank you.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Anya asked, sounding heartbroken.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be the Speaker,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°Good.¡± The old crone let out a barking laugh. ¡°Hopefully we can get someone more respectful to hold the title.¡±


    ¡°You mean a Stone Circle,¡± the Summer Wanderer said, his deep voice a harsh plug on what Robin was sure was an explosive temper. He stared the crone down with eyes that showed how angry he could get if the conversation continued.


    ¡°Maybe, Yanni¡± she said with a wave. ¡°Kraag gets to decide, does he not?¡±


    ¡°And Kraag chose you,¡± Anya urged to Robin.


    ¡°What is wrong with being the Voice of Kraag?¡± Yanni asked, stepping forward. There was something almost threatening in his voice.


    ¡°Nothing is wrong with it,¡± Robin said softly. ¡°I just don¡¯t think it¡¯s for me, is all.¡±


    The old woman laughed again. ¡°As if you have agency when a god calls to you? Who do you think you are, Windwalker? It is all a pleasure for you all, isn¡¯t it? Run from stimulation to stimulation. You all are disgusting.¡±


    ¡°Well now I want to deny it to get away from her.¡±


    Suddenly, Robin was awash in something. Happiness, but a little more focus. A sort of joviality that comes from jokes made at another¡¯s expense. It was so overwhelming it nearly took Robin¡¯s breath away. He looked up to see Kraag looking down at the four, his mouth wide and slightly open. As close as he could get to a smile.


    ¡°You feel something?¡± Anya asked excitedly. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Robin looked at Anya and Yanni. ¡°I think he¡¯s laughing at her.¡±


    The old woman spun on her heels and stared knives at Robin and looked to Kraag. His head slowly tilted from the woman to Robin and back again.


    Yanni cracked a smile. ¡°What is wrong, Louise?¡±


    The woman did not respond, only smoldered.


    ¡°You have the gift,¡± Anya explained. ¡°You have the connection. And he already trusts you. We were going west, you know? Before he found you.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You dense fool,¡± Louise spat. ¡°We all had to change our plans, intentions, and goals because Kraag thought you seemed acceptable. Glad to see we suffered for nothing. I only hope Kraag recovers from the disappointment quickly.¡±


    ¡°Pay her no mind,¡± Yanni urged. ¡°Her tribe split when we changed direction because many did not want to see a new Speaker that was not from the Circle.¡±


    ¡°Was it truly Kraag that decided to see me?¡± Robin asked, looking up in awe at the elder god.


    Anya nodded. ¡°Kraag only chooses a speaker when he needs to speak. And he only chooses the speaker who can be trusted to speak for him. That is you Robin!¡±


    ¡°Why does he need to speak now?¡±


    A new emotional flood washed over Robin. There was a fear, but as Robin explored it, focusing on the fine details of the emotion, it seemed to be anxiety. Fear based on a distant, looming threat. A storm not yet even on the horizon.


    When Robin looked back to Anya, he saw her forcing a smile through discomfort. ¡°We don¡¯t know. But we do know that you are the one that can speak for him. And you can put the perfect words to everything he wishes to say.¡±


    ¡°As long as it¡¯s erotic and shallow happiness,¡± Louise muttered.


    ¡°That is why we are here,¡± Yanni added, half to her, and half to Robin. ¡°Kraag believes he needs a voice, and so we need you. But you need our experience.¡±


    ¡°Accept your calling, Robin,¡± Anya added. ¡°We will teach you the flexibility and calm of the waters. The passion and the fury of the flames. The stalwart and hardheadedness of the stones.¡±


    ¡°And the wind?¡± Robin asked.


    Louise scoffed. ¡°Idiot. Why would we train you in what Kraag recognizes your expertise in?¡±


    An expert? Robin looked up at Kraag again and was enveloped in Kraag¡¯s welcoming affection. Robin let the emotion fill him. For all the flirting and seducing he had ever done, never had he felt so appreciated as he did in that moment. Far beyond any of the carnal and emotional satisfaction he had pursued through his life. He smiled wide at his new friend, then looked at Anya.


    ¡°What about my job? I run for the Host.¡±


    ¡°Already being handled, Robin,¡± Yanni said, stepping closer, confident in the turn Robin was taking. ¡°We have explained to your planner and the merchants who depend on you that Kraag needs you. We will name some replacements that we recommend. If they accept, then your job will be in capable hands. If they turn down the offer, then all you need is Kraag¡¯s agreement and you will be permitted time away if necessary. This position is a lifestyle, and a positive one. Not a prison sentence.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Robin paused. ¡°I think I could try it. But is there a point of no return? Some paper I sign that locks me in?¡±


    Immediately, Kraag¡¯s excitement struck Robin. It was so full of glee that Robin could not contain his own laughter. He knew then that he had already passed that point.

 Knight Errant Scene II

    ¡°I can not believe you spent personal leave to come bring me bad news,¡± Father Pryce said with a chuckle.


    ¡°It¡¯s really nothing,¡± Sam said, pushing his trunk into the corner of the Happfield Chapel¡¯s extra room. It was an exhausting trek taking his armor, but Brother Nathan would only approve his departure if he remained battle ready. ¡°With my parents up on East Rest, I don¡¯t need my leave to visit family.¡±


    ¡°Still, I feel bad that the tidings could not have been better. Let me make some lunch and we can discuss the details, Sam.¡± Father Pryce led Sam to the chapel¡¯s excuse for a kitchen and Sam learned the depth of the church¡¯s failure to inform Pryce of anything.


    Father Pryce had not learned of Matthew¡¯s attack on The Throne, or that the Halcyon band was the weapon used. Nor had he been informed that immediately after the attack, it was decided the Halcyon band would not be returned to Happfield Chapel. Sam and Kaitlyn, and even Shiner, had prevented many deaths that day, but they were unable to completely stop Matthew¡¯s attack. And they were unable to stop the church from taking away Father Pryce¡¯s purpose.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame,¡± he said slowly as he looked over the bowl of soup he had thrown together for his guest. The clarity of the broth and fatty tissue on the meat underlined the idea that the church had not been providing for their far flung treasure room. Only the vegetables in the dish were significant, but now that Gretta was on a trip to Talnorel¡¯s Grove, they too, would soon wither. ¡°And stupid, to boot. To keep the band and the armor in the same place is asking for the exact same thing to happen again.¡±


    ¡°You think it will?¡±


    ¡°I know, Sam. Matthew and the girl were not alone in that crypt. They had a god with them.¡±


    ¡°How? This is Gessel¡¯s sacrosanct.¡±


    ¡°The avatar was formed and entered with them. It was a deity called the King¡¯s Shade. A Gavundari god and master of illusion and dreams. His worshipped titles include Dreamweaver, and the Lord of Dreams. And Master of Nightmares is a derogatory title.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you say something? I could have told the council that this god was helping them,¡± Sam urged.


    Pryce sighed. ¡°You and I both know, Samson, that the council would not have treated this any differently had Gessel himself walked in here, His Will be Well. This certainly is not the Church I grew up in.¡±


    There was a long silence, and finally, Sam cleared his throat. ¡°There¡¯s actually another thing I came here to do, Father. Something related.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Father,¡± Sam said, taking a deep breath. ¡°The short time I spent with you and Gretta was actually very formative for me. I remember you telling me that I should remember why I became a paladin. Why I gave up my name. And remember the sacrifices made by those who did the same before me.¡±


    ¡°I said all that?¡± Father Pryce asked, looking surprised.


    Sam laughed. ¡°Well, Gretta was there, too.¡±


    ¡°We are very wise,¡± Pryce said, nodding. ¡°Sorry, please continue.¡±


    ¡°I have been thinking about why I joined. I wanted to be a shield for people. And that chance was taken from me. So I tried to become a fighter for the Will. And was punished for it. And when I finally did something good for the church, I¡¯m scoffed at.¡± Sam hung his head. ¡°Father, I¡¯m exhausted. There is no satisfying the Church and there is no satisfying myself. So I¡¯ve come with these.¡± Sam reached into his pants pocket and removed a set of documents folded into a neat rectangle.


    ¡°Samson.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re my crypt entry requests. To go beneath the Abbey and retrieve my name.¡±


    ¡°Samson.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m having trouble finding a reason to raise my shield for someone who won¡¯t raise a finger for me. So I was hoping you would approve my request.¡±


    Pryce was silent. He did not look at Sam, only at the stained glass window over the chapel¡¯s door. Finally, he answered. ¡°I will not.¡±


    ¡°But Father, I have been wounded and robbed since I joined the Church. I am not strong enough for this.¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡± The priest¡¯s response was harsh. More harsh than anything Sam thought Father Pryce could have been capable of. ¡°You look at an old, crumbling man who fought a god¡¯s avatar not one month ago and call yourself weak? You are a quarter of my age and four times my mass, boy. And that tangle of scars on you means your skin is much thicker than mine.¡±


    Sam was taken aback, and Pryce noticed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for my blunt words, Samson,¡± the priest continued. ¡°But you must hear them. The Church is not Gessel. And the Will of the Council is not His. Far from it. That much should be clear to you now. The moment I met you, Sam, I knew what your issue in this organization would be. You are too hard headed to be a paladin.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Are your colleagues treated as unfairly as you feel you are?¡±


    Sam thought hard about Shiner sneaking off and playing pranks but never being reprimanded. Grim, brute forcing his way through every task, breaking many of the things he touched, but still being vaulted by the Mission despite never being promoted. ¡°Only one,¡± he said finally. ¡°Sister Maribel. She is often punished for speaking her mind and acting against the interests of the Mission.¡±


    ¡°Is she the one that went with you into the burning restaurant?¡±


    ¡°She was.¡±


    ¡°Confirmation, Sam,¡± Pryce nodded. ¡°The two of you are woven of the same threads. The world is full of people like me and Brother Nathan, you know? Who take orders without question and do as we¡¯re told. And we do well to keep the machine running. But who makes that machine better? People like you and this Sister Maribel.¡±


    ¡°What am I going to do to make the machine better?¡± Sam asked. ¡°And why should I even bother? Is it just going to work to destroy me whenever I try?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But I love this organization with all of my heart, Samson. And I know a good member when I see one, you can be sure of that much. I am glad to see you in your armor. And I was confident knowing you were in this sanctuary giving it your all when we were attacked.


    ¡°The Church may not understand the value in you as a person, but I am certain that everyone who has interacted with you does. What would your colleagues think if you simply never came back to the mission because you reclaimed your name? What would Sister Maribel think?¡±


    Sam actually gave thought to this one. ¡°She would probably call me a coward.¡±


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    ¡°Harsh words,¡± Father Pryce said with a solemn nod. ¡°Are they true?¡±


    ¡°They might be,¡± Sam said softly.


    ¡°I do not know if I would call it cowardly. Selfish, surely. But cowardly may be going a bit too far. I understand your frustration and pain, Sam, I truly do. But you have been an official paladin for less than a year. There are men and women who have had the title longer, done less with it, and have had experiences much better and much worse.


    ¡°You are not participating in this struggle alone. I believe I told you during your last visit as well, that everyone suffers. It is inescapable. If you go down and get your name out of that crypt, some other demon will shuffle from the darkness to torture you.¡±


    ¡°Father, I just think I¡¯m in over my head.¡±


    Father Pryce laughed heartily. ¡°You say to a man who, again, fought a god in his basement in front of one of the world¡¯s most prized magical treasures. You are not alone Sam! You may be special and you may be talented, but you are not alone in that either. I can see that you have put a lot of thought into wanting to leave the Church, so I will just say this bluntly. I will not be signing your request. I can not, in good conscience, sign your request. Your skills, your personality, are all too valuable to us to let you leave. There are, I¡¯m sure, a hundred lesser priests than me that will scrawl their name all over that document if you were to ask them, just to feel high on getting rid of someone who was not a ¡®true believer.¡¯ But I know you, Sam. And I know you came to me for a reason. Did you really think I would sign this?¡±


    Sam swallowed. This had hurt a little more than he had expected, but it was cathartic still. ¡°No, Father. But what should I do?¡±


    The priest leaned over the table. ¡°The day you left with Kaitlyn, I knew where you would excel, Samson. Have you heard of an Errant License?¡±


    ¡°I have not.¡±


    ¡°They have not been given to a paladin in ages. I can barely remember the last one I had heard about. But I think you¡¯d be the perfect candidate, Samson. With an Errant License, you would be free from a base assignment, permitted to travel and work as you saw fit so long as what you did furthered the virtues and good name of the Church of the Will.¡±


    Sam was awestruck. That sounded perfect. ¡°But what makes you think I would be able to pull something like that off?¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± Father Pryce said with a smile. ¡°You¡¯ll have my approval. I had the documents in order already. I was just about to mail them to you for your signature and submission when you just happened to come knocking. I was hoping it could be more of a surprise, but you seem like you could use some inspiration right now.¡±


    ¡°Father, that¡¯s brilliant. What will I have to do?¡±


    ¡°Nothing once I submit the documents to the Church. It goes up to the council. They will review your record and performance and make a decision. And my input goes further than anything they will get from the Abbey or Brother Nathan.¡±


    ¡°What if it is declined?¡±


    ¡°We submit again. Hardheadedness is key in the Church of the Will, right?¡±


    Sam chuckled. ¡°Right. Father, thank you. Your wisdom and blunt words are just what I needed. Well worth the trip out here.¡±


    ¡°Well if I saved your career, then it was worth my temper, I think. Sam, the church needs people like you. Humans are trouble. Corrupt and morally ambiguous. We need someone with a strong heart and a sense of right and wrong to keep things on track. You will meet resistance to your deeds. That is sure. It will never stop. But know that you fight for something greater when you fight for what is right. Greater than the Church and Gessel combined.¡±


    ¡°Thank you father,¡± Sam said with a nod.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good kid,¡± Father Pryce said with a laugh. ¡°Now, excuse me. I¡¯m going to go start a fire, though. It has gotten chilly, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Only two short hours later saw Father Pryce and Samson Bleedingheart sitting immediately beside the fireplace in the rectory of the chapel. The chill had become intense. Worse than anything Sam had experienced during his time there in the winter months.


    ¡°Such bad weather,¡± Father Pryce said as he shivered. Sam was becoming concerned for the old man¡¯s health.


    ¡°Father, I have my cloak in my trunk. I¡¯m going to go get it for you, alright?¡±


    ¡°Thank you Sam.¡±


    Sam barely opened the door connecting the rectory to the chapel when there was a loud crash. A fog blew into the room, and Sam peered into it before realising he was standing in the midst of a blizzard.


    ¡°What is happening?¡± Father Pryce cried from beside the fire.


    ¡°Church of the Will!¡± boomed a woman¡¯s voice. ¡°I have descended from the Frozen Wastes to demand atonement for the sins you have committed against my people!¡±


    In a bout of surprisingly youthful energy, Father Pryce was on his feet and pushing past Sam out into the swirling blizzard in the sanctuary.


    ¡°Do not cross my threshold goddess!¡± he responded. Sam was dumbstruck. Another god attacking Happfield?


    ¡°This priest knows my station! Does he know my name?¡± the voice challenged.


    ¡°I suppose you would be Petra Ymirstottir, Daughter of Winter.¡±


    As though he had spoken magic words the blizzard calmed. The snow drifted to the floor where it instantly began to melt, and the chill began to abate. Sam rushed to Father Pryce¡¯s side, and was stunned by the muscle-bound woman in the doorway.


    She could not have been much older than him, her youthful face was pale and her hair was snow white. Her muscular, but still petite frame was magnified by leather and hide armor, and her lethality was communicated by the hatchets in her hands.


    ¡°You suppose right, Father,¡± she responded.


    ¡°Father Pryce, please. And this is my bodyguard, Corporal Bleedingheart.¡±


    ¡°The Church is led by an old man and a little boy?¡± Petra asked after taking a long look at the two.


    ¡°There is a misunderstanding,¡± Sam responded. ¡°We are not the leaders of the Church of the Will.¡±


    ¡°This is a church, is it not?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Father Pryce answered. ¡°Please, come inside and we can discuss what is troubling you and your father.¡±


    Petra stared at them suspiciously, then shuffled a foot forward to test her ability to enter Gessel¡¯s territory. She finally had her invitation, and so magical forces did not shred her earthly body. Confused, and slightly ashamed, she returned the hatchets to their holsters and approached Sam and Father Pryce.


    After being invited to some tea with the two, Petra was questioned. The three sat around Father Pryce¡¯s small dining table, a hot kettle between them all. She explained in as few words as possible that slavers had taken Bridgefort, but that the fortress was abandoned by the Church of the Will.


    ¡°It was that abandoning of their post that exposed my people to the horrors of the slavers,¡± Petra accused.


    ¡°And so you seek an audience with the Church¡¯s leaders?¡± Father Pryce asked. ¡°It¡¯s respectable of you to come in person to do that on behalf of your people.¡±


    ¡°They have suffered enough,¡± Petra explained. ¡°I¡¯ve spent months leading them from their home, fighting the wilderness to stay alive. The least I could offer them is rest while I fight their battles in the courts of this Church.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine they would abandon Bridgefort without reason,¡± Sam mused. ¡°Daughter of Winter, was there any indication of struggle?¡±


    ¡°Judging by how picked clean everything was, it looked like they struggled with what to steal as they left.¡±


    Sam bristled at the remark but Father Pryce merely giggled.


    ¡°Paladins of the Will are more honorable than to depart their post like you accuse, Daughter of Winter. I do not mean to disrespect you, but I question your conclusion.¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Petra said, slapping an open hand on Father Pryce¡¯s rickety table. ¡°You¡¯re right, I was so weary and weak from fighting the whole damned Wastes that it was all just a big misunderstanding, huh?¡±


    ¡°As I said,¡± Sam replied. ¡°I mean no disrespect. Only that there must be something more going on than just abandonment.¡±


    ¡°Mighty insightful, paladin,¡± Petra scoffed. ¡°Walk all the way down for that, I did. I¡¯m trying to get to the bottom of it. Glad I stumbled on you to illuminate things.¡±


    ¡°Now, now,¡± Father Pryce intervened as the tempers began to rise. ¡°Daughter of Winter, you must know that we are as shocked to hear this news as you were to discover it. By all accounts of our experience, what you are describing is more or less unheard of. But just by saying this, I do not doubt your claims. You are right, there is something worth investigating going on.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Petra said, cooling.


    ¡°Samson does not doubt you, either,¡± Pryce said, casually introducing Sam¡¯s first name, to Sam¡¯s chagrin. ¡°We are curious.¡±


    ¡°Well, I apologize, Samson,¡± Petra nodded. ¡°My heart aches for my tribe, that''s all.¡±


    ¡°Apology accepted. I understand your pain, and sincerely hope that it was not the Church of the Will which caused your pain.¡±


    There was a beat of awkwardness after their genuine, but slightly out of character remarks, when Father Pryce lit up. ¡°I have a thought, you two. Sam, that paperwork I have prepared for you. It must be presented to the High Council. Why not take it yourself. You can go with the goddess here and help her get an audience with the High Council to have her questions answered.¡±


    ¡°You can truly get to see the leaders of your Church?¡± Petra asked Sam.


    ¡°I uh,¡± Sam was off balance from the sudden suggestion. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not sure. I have to go back to my workplace eventually.¡±


    ¡°Nonsense, Samson,¡± Father Pryce said with a wave. ¡°You¡¯ll be side by side with Petra Ymirstottir. Brother Nathan can be left waiting for a while.¡±


    Sam looked from the frosty visage of the goddess of ice to the warm goading eyes of Father Pryce. Once again backed into a corner, Sam would be taking another woman much more powerful and important than himself to a showdown in The Throne. Hopefully there would be fewer deaths this time around.

 The Shaman Scene II

    Maribel and Kaitlyn were running out of time. Maribel had reached far into the weave, asking questions, turning stones, hoping someone had insight into the High Council¡¯s decision concerning Kaitlyn. Now she was just waiting to hear from any of the contacts. Only five days separated the carriage from where Kaitlyn¡¯s tribe was projected to be waiting.


    The two had grown so close. Partially because they shared the small carriage between the two of them, and partially because there was little to do but talk about themselves. Maribel was struggling with a cognitive dissonance in their exchanges. Unlike the Pirate Queen from the months prior, Kaitlyn was pitiable.


    In fact, she deserved pity. She had been goaded and manipulated past a criminal point of no return. And now she was paying for it. The priestess wished she could shed better light on what Matthew had done to those who had and would be passing judgement, but at the same time, Maribel had just barely dodged Matthew¡¯s attack. Sam and Shiner had barely survived it. And there were many who did not.


    ¡°Kaitlyn, may I ask you something?¡±


    ¡°Anything, sister.¡±


    ¡°How did you deal with the excommunication?¡±


    Kaitlyn took a deep breath. ¡°I think we kind of touched on it the other day. I replaced my family with Matthew. In the Stone Circle, an individual has no identity.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Maribel asked.


    ¡°Everything you do is for the good of the tribe. It was here before you and will be here long after. Your individual deeds mean little in the grand scheme of things. When I was excommunicated, there was a void. I had never, in my entire life, cultivated my own identity. And when I lost the purpose of the tribe, I lost purpose altogether. And that''s where Matthew came in.¡±


    ¡°One man replaced your entire culture?¡±


    Kaitlyn sighed. ¡°And now you see how I could get into this mess.¡±


    ¡°Ladies!¡± the driver of the carriage called from the front, his voice barely audible through the thick wooden walls. Maribel gestured for Kaitlyn to wait one moment as she cracked open the window.


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Inn up ahead. Feelin¡¯ thirsty. Mind if we rest for the evening?¡±


    Maribel looked to Kaitlyn, then called through the window ¡°are we still going to arrive on time?¡±


    ¡°Just feed the horse an extra meal and we¡¯ll make it just fine.¡±


    Maribel nodded as Kaitlyn showed a glimmer of hope. ¡°Better safe than sorry. You need your rest. Go ahead and stop.¡±


    The driver did not reply, just slightly sped the wagon up to more quickly arrive at their pit stop. When the carriage came to halt, Kaitlyn put the gilded shackles back on her wrist while Kaitlyn sealed them, just in case.


    The priestess stepped out of the wagon to get a look at the surroundings, but before she could even take in the sight of the inn itself, the stablehand had her attention.


    ¡°Welcome sister! Your driver said you¡¯d be the one to talk to about housing the horses and getting my gold slip?¡±


    Annoyed, Maribel nodded. ¡°Yes, that is me. The slip is in the carriage. Allow me one moment.¡±


    ¡°Can I get a name, Sister?¡±


    ¡°Maribel,¡± she replied, and was shocked when she noticed a slight flash in the stablehand¡¯s expression.


    ¡°I uh,¡± he began, looking around. ¡°Really think that habit fits you.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Thank you,¡± Maribel said, smiling slightly. ¡°I appreciate fine clothwork.¡±


    ¡°As do I,¡± he replied.


    Maribel studied the man for a fleeting moment, noticing a thick woolen mantle, rich dark green in color, that he wore over his shoulders. There was a golden thread that ran through the cloth just where the mantel covered his heart. The name ¡°Snowshoe¡± was written in code.


    ¡°Who is Snowshoe?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Old horse of mine,¡± he replied. ¡°She¡¯s an old bitch now, but I always loved her.¡± Satisfied, the man reached into his pocket and removed a thin handkerchief. ¡°For you, I believe, and if not, a priestess is a hell of a lot better of a candidate to deliver it.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate it,¡± Maribel said with a grin. ¡°Let me get you that golden slip.¡± As she climbed back into the carriage, she worked to read the message.


    Little Sister,


    My contact on the High Council on The Throne was, for some reason, cut from all discussions of your charge¡¯s sentencing. This has not barred me from gathering some information, though. Gossip is easy to come by.


    It would seem that the council sought to remove her as any sort of liability. They knew well they could not charge and try her without upsetting some of the civilians she and the paladins helped to save.


    Not to mention if the tribe learned of her assistance after the Church had condemned her? Relations would be endangered. So they moved as quickly and quietly as possible to get the poor girl off their docket. I hope this helps, dear!


    With love,


    Kind Countess


    So that was that. Political posturing. Without a word to Kaitlyn, Maribel grabbed a golden slip from her travel bag and stepped back outside, crossing to where the stablehand had taken the horse.


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    ¡°That you very much,¡± Maribel said, handing over the golden slip.


    ¡°Of course, I will send your regards,¡± the stablehand replied.


    Maribel walked back to the Church carriage carrying Kaitlyn, feeling vindicated in her position in the Weave, as well as her suspicions in the High Council. But now that she knew, Maribel was unsure what to do with that information. As she arrived at the carriage, she made sure the driver was still in the nearby pub eating, or drinking, or napping. Whatever he did when he made one of his frequent breaks.


    ¡°Kaitlyn, it¡¯s me,¡± Maribel whispered through the cracked carriage door.


    ¡°Anything yet?¡±


    Maribel climbed into the carriage and sat across from Kaitlyn. ¡°You¡¯re a political sacrifice. They do not want to ignore the relic theft incident, but they can''t ignore you helping when Matthew attacked.¡±


    ¡°Just as you thought,¡± Kaitlyn said, sadly.


    ¡°They pushed the decision to simply get you off the table.¡±


    ¡°Someone else¡¯s problem, huh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± Maribel said.


    ¡°What can we do?¡±


    ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not sure.¡±


    ¡°You hadn¡¯t planned for this?¡± Kaitlyn asked, her disappointment mixing with a reignited fear for her life.


    ¡°Well, I wanted to know why they were doing this to you, and then we could work from there,¡± Maribel explained.


    ¡°Very well, Sister,¡± Kaitlyn said, slumping. ¡°It must be nice knowing that once you drop me off to my fate you will be returning home.¡±


    Maribel was shocked by the suckerpunch. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Your life is not on the line, is it? But I¡¯m being returned to the people that excommunicated me branded a criminal. You will go home with a ¡®job well done¡¯ certificate and get paid for leading me to my death.¡±


    Maribel listened quietly, watching the emotions within Kaitlyn work to free themselves. Maybe it was defensiveness, or maybe clarity of mind, but Maribel responded to the agitated shamaness.


    ¡°Yes, I will get to go home. Because I did not attack a clergyman of the Church of the Will. I did not steal a relic of an Elder God. I did not facilitate the deaths of twenty-seven civilians in a shopping area in a world capital. That was you that did that, Kaitlyn.


    ¡°Yes, what Matthew did to you was horrific. I would not wish it on you or anyone else, with or without the context of your own actions. You may have felt you had little recourse other than committing the crimes you committed, but you still committed them.


    ¡°The Church is treating you like a troubled schoolgirl, and that is inappropriate. But I am not interested in getting you free. Just getting you the justice you deserve.¡±


    Kaitlyn stared at Maribel. It was taking everything she had to keep from weeping, but she was not going to risk it. She, trembling, swallowed the emotions down.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Maribel rose from the seat and went to step back outside. ¡°I¡¯m going to check on the driver.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    Kaitlyn sat alone, counting her breaths, in and out. As she inhaled, she flexed a set of muscles deep in her core and lower back, and released them on exhales. Just another trick her grandmother taught her to relax.


    Maribel had a point. There was a time in her relationship where Kaitlyn did things to satisfy Matthew. She had no idea when that urge to please him transformed into fear of disappointing or upsetting him. And honestly, it would probably be impossible to find. But surely, when she attacked Sam, beginning to show her pregnancy, that surely was the moment sympathy for her should have been lost.


    She put the livelihood of her target, her friends, and most importantly, her child, behind her need to please her husband. And the atrocity her husband committed immediately after that battle made clear that Kaitlyn, in Matthew¡¯s mind, was put after his urge to please himself.


    Kaitlyn thought back to when Maribel discussed the spread of blame. How much could Kaitlyn be blamed in all of this? More than she was allowing herself, no doubt.


    As Kaitlyn fell into a gentle sleep, she, once again, took her position on the cliffside in her dream world. The past few nights of this repeated dream, Kraag drew even closer. His misty eyes were looking up at her, twinkling when they noticed her. And then Kraag spoke.


    The voice was not fitting at all. It was refined, well pronounced, and was void of any accent at all.


    ¡°Kaitlyn Carpenter. Is this the name you still prefer?¡±


    ¡°I have no other name now.¡±


    ¡°Excommunication,¡± Kraag replied with understanding. ¡°The Priestess. What do you think of her words?¡±


    Kaitlyn was taken aback. How could he know of the conversation she just had? Suddenly, Kaitlyn¡¯s own awareness in her dream shocked her. Was she even really asleep? ¡°I think there is a reason for what she said. Though I was wronged, I wronged others.¡±


    ¡°So now you will allow me to punish you?¡±


    ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°You are of my tribe. You bow to my laws. And now I will see you convicted for your so-called ¡®wrongs.¡¯ Is this not what you expected to hear?¡±


    ¡°How is this happening?¡± Kaitlyn asked after a moment¡¯s pause. ¡°Are you truly speaking to me? I¡¯ve never known you to do this, Kraag.¡±


    ¡°Do you seek freedom? Freedom to live your life alone? Punish yourself on your own terms and express the emotions that are eating you alive?¡±


    Kaitlyn thought for a moment. ¡°I think it would be best. I do not want my tribe to feel vindicated by my return.¡±


    ¡°Well, Maribel told you plainly. Your freedom depends on you now. No one will help you. No one will take pity on you. You were abused, but your crimes will not go ignored until you free yourself.¡±


    ¡°And how do I do that?¡±


    Suddenly, Kraag¡¯s twinkling, watery eyes turned to blood red rubies. ¡°You know.¡±


    Kaitlyn took a shuffling step, but was shocked when her foot struck something. Her child¡¯s urn sat at the edge of the cliff.


    ¡°Open it,¡± Kraag urged, as black, shadowy liquid poured from his red eyes. ¡°Free your losses and free your emotions, Kaitlyn. Release them to release yourself.¡±


    Kaitlyn smashed the urn and began the end of the world.


    ¡°Kaitlyn,¡± Maribel whispered sternly from the door to the carriage. ¡°Kaitlyn, wake up, please. I have horrible news.¡±


    Kaitlyn woke with a start, her heart still beating quickly from the dream, and her skin still coated with droplets of sweat. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Your tribe is closer than we had expected them to be. We will be arriving in two days instead of five.¡±


    ¡°What? Why? How?¡± Kaitlyn was confused. Her tribe¡¯s rules had them maintain a specific distance from Kraag at all times. They were so easy to find.


    ¡°It seems that Kraag has stopped walking.¡± Maribel looked worried.


    The King¡¯s Shade floated, his avatar only partially formed as two dimly lit red spheres with his shadowy cloak blending in the shade of a nearby tree. He gazed off to the mountain peak he knew to be the shell of Kraag.


    ¡°Thank you, friend,¡± the King¡¯s Shade whispered. ¡°Serendipity was always your weakness. Too dumb to recognize the messages you send.¡±


    The god looked back to the carriage, satisfied with the potency of his dream weaving. With a last flicker of light from his eyes, the god disappeared, leaving a dust of god tears on the grass.

 The Knight Errant Scene III

    Four hours of silence separated Petra and the paladin from the Happfield Chapel. The elderly priest had been kind enough, and urging enough to get the paladin to lead Petra to The Throne. And she was grateful for that. She had never been south of Bridgefort before. She was obviously out of her league when it came to interacting with the Church of the Will. But this had been a misery every step of the way.


    The paladin avoided eye contact, answered any questions Petra had in as few words as possible, and capped the exchange with her title to make sure they would go back to silence as soon as possible.


    ¡°Is it normally this warm here?¡± she had asked minutes into the start of their hike.


    ¡°Depending on the time of year, Winter¡¯s Daughter,¡± Bleedingheart responded over his shoulder, eyes focused down.


    That conversation died there.


    ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    ¡°The Throne, Winter¡¯s Daughter,¡± he said, clearly and succinctly.


    ¡°Oh! So we are going to your home town?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Winter¡¯s Daughter.¡±


    Yet another conversation slain.


    The late morning sun was reaching its peak, and Petra¡¯s temper was reaching a breaking point. She was used to walking in silence, not being able to be heard over the roaring winds of the Frozen Wastes. But she knew everyone there. Maybe not personally, but at least she knew their culture and their history.


    This little man in shining armor with the golden splotch fused into the center of his chest was a total mystery. An alien resident of a foreign world that Petra was more or less an invader to. It was no wonder he treated her the way he did. But that was little comfort for the goddess.


    ¡°Winter¡¯s Daughter, I believe we should rest for a moment,¡± he said suddenly, nodding to a small patch of emerald grass on the side of the road they walked.


    ¡°Call me Petra!¡± she heard herself shout. Instantly, her mind crowded with the better responses she could have had. Something like ¡°sounds good!¡± Or maybe ¡°I would appreciate a rest, thank you.¡± Even ¡°Of course, you¡¯re the guide.¡± Those all would have been friendlier, more constructive responses.


    Sam looked as surprised as she was, suddenly seizing completely. ¡°Excuse me. Petra.¡± He said softly. ¡°I must say, though, I do not feel comfortable referring to you as less than your title.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Petra said. ¡°Is that what it is? Etiquette?¡± She was genuinely asking, but did not mind the extra sting of sarcasm her frustration added to the question.


    ¡°What what is?¡±


    ¡°This stiff, boring silence. Are you being polite to me? I don¡¯t give a damn!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Petra,¡± Sam replied, looking confused as he moved to the patch of grass. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t said a word past ¡®yes, Winter¡¯s Daughter. No, Winter¡¯s Daughter,¡¯ since we left! I¡¯m not usually one for conversation, but at least let¡¯s not just arrive at your Council as strangers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Sam remarked. ¡°I feel it may be inappropriate to interact with divinity so personally. This is a professional interaction.¡±


    Petra¡¯s eyes narrowed on the paladin. ¡°Do you always talk like this?¡±


    ¡°In professional environments, yes, Winter¡¯s Daughter.¡±


    ¡°Petra.¡±


    ¡°My apologies, Petra.¡±


    Petra groaned as she sat on the grass, a light sprinkle of dew beginning to form in a circle around her. ¡°You know what we say about you all? Metal men wear metal clothes!¡±


    ¡°I do not follow.¡±


    ¡°You have no personality, Bleedingheart.¡±


    ¡°I apologize, Petra. Why are you being aggressive with this topic?¡±


    ¡°Because I sure don¡¯t want to travel days mumbling to myself and having two-sentence small talk with my guide.¡±


    Sam looked flustered. ¡°But it is inappropriate to fraternize with gods.¡±


    ¡°Stiff as a pike impaling a crone,¡± Petra remarked dismissively. ¡°I understand. You have your stupid rules. Some stuffy old man will spank you for using my first name.¡±


    Petra noticed Sam wince at this. ¡°Excuse me, Winter¡¯s Daughter, but I ask you do not disrespect the honor of the Church of the Will.¡±


    ¡°Petra,¡± she corrected.


    ¡°My request stands.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Petra grumbled, rolling her eyes.


    Sam stood up and laid a hand on his warhammer at his hip. A flash of golden light danced across it. Petra saw the gesture and guffawed.


    ¡°So you won¡¯t be my friend, but you¡¯ll take arms against me? A little backwards, no?¡±


    ¡°I cannot allow you to disrespect my faith.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Bleedingheart,¡± Petra said with a wide smile. ¡°You do have a personality. It¡¯s just all tangled up and confused. It''s the identity that you lack! You were all chatty and nice yesterday evening with the priest who was there to guide conversation, albeit a little on edge. But today, the rules are just too much.¡±


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    ¡°This is uncalled for,¡± Sam began. ¡°I am guiding you to The Throne as you demanded when you arrived. Your behavior is completely inappropriate for someone benefiting from the generosity of the Will.¡±


    Petra stood to challenge Sam. The brutal woman from the Northern Wastes was only an inch taller than Sam, but her musculature was notable, even under the hides and leathers she wore. Even in all of Sam¡¯s armor, the Winter¡¯s Daughter was more than enough to take him. ¡°Do you forget your station, Paladin? I¡¯m the goddess here. My will is the only one you should be paying attention to today.¡±


    The temperature of the air dropped significantly as she starred Sam down, leaving him trembling. He did his best to stand tall against her, but whether he was shivering from cold or from discomfort, he was certain she saw.


    After a moment of tension, Petra let out another laugh. ¡°I am just teasing.¡±


    Sam roared and turned his back on the goddess, taking a few steps up the road before leaning against a tree.


    Suddenly sullen, Petra watched him. ¡°Did I take it too far?¡± she called. He ignored her, of course. ¡°It¡¯s disrespectful to not answer when a goddess asks a question,¡± she chided in singsong.


    Sam¡¯s head snapped back in her direction for an instant of furious glaring before turning back forward.


    With a groan, Petra moved to him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I was a little harsh. I really do want to get to know you. You are doing me a kindness by guiding me to The Throne. I usually like to appreciate the people that are kind to me, and knowing you would help.¡±


    ¡°What do you want to know?¡± Sam grumbled.


    ¡°Anything! Such as,¡± Petra thought for a moment. ¡°What is your greatest goal!? If the forces of this universe were to show up right in front of you and ask what you wanted more than anything else, what would you tell them?¡±


    Sam was silent for a long moment. His eyes narrowed and widened and then narrowed again. Petra was becoming uncomfortable.


    ¡°Too heavy?¡± she asked.


    Sam still did not reply.


    ¡°What about defending the Church like you just did? You stood up to a goddess! Pretty impressive. Something to do with that?¡±


    Sam shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. The Church does not really honor me. I feel bad about it, but I do not know if I would use a wish to honor it.¡±


    ¡°See?¡± Petra said excitedly. She beat her chest with her fist. ¡°That is what I want to hear. This profound, heart of the heart kind of stuff.¡±


    Sam looked over his shoulder to her quizzically. ¡°This is uncomfortable to think about though. You like having these thoughts in your free time? I tend to do my best to avoid topics like this.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s plenty of discomfort up north, Bleedingheart. This is just the tip of the spear for us.¡± She laughed and patted his shoulder. ¡°So not the Church? What about wealth?¡±


    ¡°My family is wealthy already,¡± Sam remarked before catching himself. ¡°But I suppose I sacrificed my name to the Church. So they are not really my family anymore.¡±


    ¡°Um,¡± Petra looked around. ¡°What about a nice set of shining armor? This suit is impressive, but you could use an upgrade, what with that gash in the chest piece.¡±


    Sam turned to her somberly. ¡°Winter¡¯s Daughter, this chest piece is my albatross. It is a symbol of my failure as a vanguard of honor for the Church of the Will. I have a scar on my flesh to match it. My name, Bleedingheart, was given in recognition for the wounds. So I wear this armor in shame. To wish it away would be a cheap escape.¡±


    Petra listened, her frown sinking the whole while. ¡°This is not a fun game for you, Bleedingheart.¡±


    ¡°I do not know what I would wish for, Petra. I have a lot that I want. Nothing that I deserve. Nothing that I need.¡±


    ¡°Nothing you deserve?¡± she repeated. ¡°You don¡¯t earn wishes.¡±


    ¡°I am in debt to many people. Father Pryce, Sergeant Boldbounty, my parents. They all should get wishes before I can even begin to think about them.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I get it now.¡± Petra said, nodding. ¡°You¡¯re one of those kinds of people.¡±


    ¡°What kind?¡±


    ¡°The kind who do not live for themselves and end up starving to death when the winter lasts a week longer than expected and they weren¡¯t prepared for it,¡± Petra nodded with sureness. ¡°At least, that¡¯s my experience with that kind of person.¡±


    Sam shrugged. ¡°If my kindness toward others is the only thing that defines me, then I think I have done well by myself.¡±


    Petra nodded with understanding. ¡°But Bleedingheart, you have to imagine people are like butter. You have the flatbread and you spread the butter on it. If you try to spread across too many flatbreads, no one can taste your butter.¡±


    Sam, lost in the analogy, frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Clear goals,¡± Petra began. ¡°We need clear goals. Goals set with wisdom, not whimsy. If you just go around making grand, knee-jerk reactions to peoples¡¯ suffering, you end up like me.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You know I walked from Bridgefort, yes?¡± she asked.


    ¡°You did? Why not just form your avatar in the March?¡±


    ¡°Do you know of contracts?¡± Petra asked quietly.


    ¡°In general?¡±


    ¡°No, specifically as they concern deities,¡± Petra answered. ¡°It is not something we advertise, but to make our avatars, we make a contract with the mortal realm. We arrive for a single purpose, and when that purpose is fulfilled, we go back to the realm of gods.


    ¡°Many gods are just fine at contract writing. They can form their avatars with specifics and caveats all ready to go, making one avatar that can, in its contract, set a chain of events that get the god precisely what they want.


    ¡°I¡¯m utter shit at it.¡±


    ¡°How so? What happened?¡±


    ¡°I promised the mortal realm that I would save my people from their threats. Did not even think that there were more than two of those. It was a stupid contract to make. So I am stuck here until all of these ¡®threats¡¯ have been addressed.¡±


    ¡°How is that even possible?¡±


    Petra sighed. ¡°I doubt it is. And every day,¡± she began, gesturing to the center of her chest. ¡°The faith they have in me? It¡¯s wavering. They still adore me. They believe in me. But I know that this will not be forever. I¡¯m no Talnorel. I don¡¯t have the worship to sustain an avatar forever.


    ¡°I imagine eventually my people will just forget about it. Maybe it will take a hundred years, maybe more. But their faith in me will waiver. And I¡¯ll lose my powers.¡±


    ¡°You learned all of this soul-searching business just after forming your avatar?¡± Sam asked, not trusting her bravado.


    ¡°Probably not,¡± Petra answered. ¡°I just call it like I see it. All the signs are clear right in front of me. You¡¯re as stupid as I am! Can¡¯t really speak to whether or not I learned my lesson. Because here I am chasing an Oracle¡¯s Vision.¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a vision that an oracle has, Bleedingheart,¡± Petra responded. ¡°I understand you went to school to become a paladin. What do you learn there?¡±


    ¡°I understand the words, Petra,¡± he said, laughing. ¡°I¡¯m just asking for context.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had some,¡± Petra grunted. ¡°She was one of the enemy slaver tribe oracles. Said she had seen the fall of civilization, then showed me, too. Just a big pile of dead gods.¡±


    Sam noticed Petra go quiet. Not just silent, but her whole demeanor and her pugilist aura all toned down as she remembered this oracle vision.


    ¡°Hey, Petra, I think that¡¯s enough heavy topics for now. You asked about the weather earlier? How warm it gets?¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± Petra said, forcing a smile to lift her mood. ¡°And you were very rude in your response, Bleedingheart.¡±


    ¡°Please, call me Sam.¡±

 The Chiefs Son Scene I

    ¡°Get lost, momma¡¯s boy.¡± The venom in the ivy¡¯s voice was unsettling. In life, the plant was only a mess of long, roping vines strangling a beautiful maple tree. On the Verdant Stage, Wesley saw it as a hunched, skinny man, his aura a sick shade of brown. He hovered eerily close to the maple tree¡¯s persona, a stunning woman with a vibrant green bob cut hairdo of maple leaves.


    ¡°Help me,¡± the woman urged as the ivy snatched her by the wrist.


    ¡°Leave her be,¡± Wesley commanded. There was an air of frustration in his tone. Since his mother had announced the return of Gideon, Wesley had noticed a sudden and unsettling increase in Overgrowth activity. Even small sins like this were becoming more common.


    ¡°We all gotta grow,¡± the ivy replied. ¡°You saying her life is more valuable than mine?¡±


    ¡°I have seen ivy that grows alongside its host. Working hard to not strangle it to death.¡±


    ¡°Let me go!¡± the maple shouted as she tried to wrest her arm out of the ivy¡¯s grip.


    ¡°Can¡¯t do that when the wench is hogging all the sunlight!¡± the ivy snarled, his hand losing the human shape Wesley¡¯s mind had given it. The man¡¯s skinny fingers were vines once more that whipped up the maple¡¯s arm and tightened. She screamed in pain and fear as the vines gripped her. ¡°And what¡¯s she doin¡¯ with all that sun? Letting humans draw her sap? Whore.¡±


    She twisted and struggled as the arm turned red, then purple, and finally blue. Wesley screamed for the ivy to stop as he began conjuring his own druidic power. There was a snap and the sound of splintering wood from outside of the stage as the ivy tore off one of the maple¡¯s limbs.


    On the stage, the maple screamed as the man tore her arm off and slung it onto the pitch back floor. The green aura around the limb flickered and died.


    ¡°Enough!¡± At Wesley¡¯s shout, there was an orange blur. The frenzied fox, Lady, tore into the ankle of the ivy. In the real world, the fox was gnawing at the roots of the vines. The ivy screamed as it released the maple and turned its focus to Lady on both the stage and in the forest.


    ¡°You¡¯re stronger than that,¡± Wesley told Lady. ¡°So much stronger than this thug. Destroy him.¡± Lady snarled and went into a frenzy, tearing and shredding the vine¡¯s stage persona, while ripping at leaves and stems in the real world as well.


    As the fox tore at the last remnants of the vines, Wesley ran to the maple as she quietly cried.


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± she muttered. ¡°He was killing me. Had been for a while.¡± Her human-like persona looked down at her shoulder where the ivy had torn her arm away. Splintered wood took the place of flesh, and oozing sap replaced blood in the analogue world.


    ¡°Let me fix that for you,¡± Wesley offered, gently approaching with his hand extended.


    ¡°Can you?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡± Wesley gently rested a hand on the top of her shoulder, and the maple winced out of reflex.


    Outside of the stage, Wesley, his eyes closed in trance, was standing with a hand on the trunk of the large tree.


    ¡°I can only do so much, though,¡± Wesley remarked. ¡°It is your body, after all. You have to put in the effort. There¡¯s so much sunlight here. You should have more than enough strength.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she said, taking a deep breath. The persona of the maple looked up toward the sun, which was nowhere to be found in the inky darkness of the Verdant Stage. The only sources of light were the auras surrounding Wesley, the maple, and Lady.


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    If Wesley were aware in the waking world, he would have heard the groans and pops of wood straining as the tree regrew its lost branches in a matter of seconds. On the stage, however, it was an instant change. After a moment of skyward reverence, the maple looked back to her shoulder to see her arm returned.


    ¡°Thank you so much for helping me. He was¡­¡± Her voice trailed off in discomfort.


    ¡°It¡¯s no problem. I have a question for you, though.¡±


    ¡°Of course. What can I do?¡±


    ¡°Can you check the Verdant for me? I need the nearest avatar.¡±


    ¡°Whose avatar? Talnorel¡¯s?¡±


    ¡°Anyone¡¯s,¡± Wesley said. His somber tone was chilling, even to him. The forests had suddenly become deadly for Talnorel¡¯s missionaries. His partner, Duncan, used the Verdant network just two days before, attempting to reach a group of missionaries closer to Talnorel¡¯s Grove. A bear sympathetic to the Overgrowth charged him five minutes later.


    Wesley barely escaped. Duncan was gone.


    Whether or not Gideon was personally ordering these attacks was unknown. But the massive meeting Wesley¡¯s mother, the presiding Mortal Chief of the Verdant, had held over the network in the last days of winter would not have been unnoticed by the Overgrowth. The bloodthirsty group knew the druids were now on edge and were taking advantage of it.


    The maple looked into the distance as flickers of auras appeared around the pair. Wesley hoped the tree had enough sense to keep his presence quiet. But if not, it would not matter. He would be moving south soon enough. His mother urged him to find refuge in the nearest city if he could not find a god to contact.


    The chief hoped to leverage her son to trigger a modern meeting of the Talnorel Alliance, the vaunted organization of culturally torn and conflict weary factions from across the March that finally stood tall against Dorvan and the Wrath Liches. And though these societies had grown in peace after Dorvan¡¯s ascension, they had grown apart.


    ¡°Get to The Throne, or find a god,¡± his mother had urged him. ¡°We will be going as high as possible as quickly as possible. Overkill is not aggressive enough when it comes to Gideon. Even half of the Alliance surrounding him will put me at ease.¡±


    Wesley¡¯s thoughts were distracted by a sudden chill. Even Lady, still absent mindedly gnawing on pieces of the ivy looked up at the source of the cold air. Through the darkness of the stage, in the distance, Wesley could see a faint, light blue light.


    ¡°I have found a god. She is southeast of here. Going west, toward The Throne.¡±


    ¡°Do you know who it is?¡± Wesley asked the maple.


    ¡°I have never seen her, I am sorry.¡±


    ¡°No problem.¡± Wesley said, looking back to the light. He made a mental note of the direction before turning back to the maple. ¡°I appreciate your help. Will you be okay?¡±


    ¡°I think so. With the vines gone, I should be fine. Thank you, um¡­ What was your name?¡±


    Wesley grabbed his messenger bag from the ground beside him and pulled his frumpy hat from its main pocket as the Verdant Stage began to give way to the real world again. ¡°It¡¯s best we don¡¯t share names,¡± he said dryly. ¡°I apologize for my rudeness, but it¡¯s safer for both of us.¡±


    The tree seemed to tremble in response. ¡°I understand. I¡¯m sorry to trouble you. Good luck.¡±


    ¡°Lady,¡± Wesley said, out loud, to his fox companion. ¡°Let¡¯s go, girl.¡±


    The fox looked up at her master, vines slung around her in various stages of destruction. She spat out what she was still gnawing and ran toward Wesley, leaping over the felled maple branch.


    Where to? Lady asked into Wesley¡¯s mind.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to find out where that god is.¡±


    Maple never saw her. Will she help?


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Wesley muttered. ¡°We just need to be safe right now. We can do our best to convince the goddess. We¡¯ve nothing to lose at this point.¡±


    More druids? Lady offered.


    Wesley had no answer for that. ¡°Come on, Lady. We can at least try. For dad.¡±

 The Wizard and the Pirate Scene III

    ¡°Keep the change, dear,¡± the old woman said as she pushed a sizable stack of Geld toward Zora. It was far beyond the value of the elderly couple¡¯s meal. ¡°Wonderful service.¡±


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± Zora said, beaming. As the couple rose and shuffled out of the restaurant, Zora gathered their dirty dishes and made her way through a swinging door into the back. She winked at Cayd as she passed him working over a pot of simmering sauce. A middle aged woman, one hand on her hip, the other bringing a spoon of the sauce to her lips was starring critically at the Gavundari.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± the woman said. ¡°You¡¯re getting better, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Linda,¡± Cayd said, breathing a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet,¡± she remarked. ¡°It¡¯s better. Not good. Zora, can you run the sink for a moment?¡±


    ¡°Sure thing,¡± Zora replied with a chuckle. She carried the dishes to a deep basin, half full of kitchenware still lightly steaming from stovetop heat. This was Zora¡¯s favorite task. Linda liked how clean Zora¡¯s red magic was able to get the dirtiest dishes. Even baked on grease and scorch marks yielded to Zora control over heat and water. The secret? A charge of quick lightning through a metal pot burned it all away.


    But Zora enjoyed it because interacting with water gave her the chance to hear his voice again. She reached over the sink and opened a valve that began a steady stream of collected rainwater flowing into the basin. While letting the basin fill, Zora turned to watch Cayd and Linda.


    They owed her their lives at this point. Linda¡¯s restaurant had a studio tenament space on its second story that she was hard pressed to rent out. The smells and noise from the restaurant had been a major turn off for most potential renters. But as Cayd and Zora spent their nights chasing rumors about serial killers, they found the setup acceptable. The only issue is, they had used the last of their Geld buying sensible clothing.


    Zora was in one of her quaint, but flattering, pastel blouses with a light vest over it for ¡°service industry class,¡± as Linda called it. Cayd was looking sharp in a button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbow to prevent staining. The clothes looked just fine. Which meant they were not cheap. It was difficult looking for a place to live, but Linda came to the rescue.


    Eager to fill the space, Linda allowed them to stay in the apartment so long as they offered their labor in the restaurant from time to time. It was a wonderful distraction from Zora¡¯s normal boredom and the constant string of disappointments that Cayd¡¯s investigation had been shaping up to be. Particularly between the lunch and dinner rushes when it was too early to investigate and too late to sleep in. Linda had always wanted to tap the market of ¡°old people too prone to overstimulation to eat at a normal time,¡± but could never hire employees for the early afternoon. So, oftentimes, the three were running the restaurant alone before the first of the dinner crowd arrived.


    Satisfied by the depth of the water in the sink, Zora pushed her sleeves up and sunk her hands into the water, warmed by her magic. Instantly, the seawater pendant she had tucked beneath her blouse began to shine. Zora closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the water spilling into the basin and smiled as it turned into words.


    ¡°I miss you so much,¡± the voice of Tidus, the god of sea said softly. ¡°I am so sorry for what happened and I will wait till the end of the world for you to come back.¡±


    The sound of the god¡¯s voice brought a smile to her. Nostalgia for the life that was stolen from her seized Zora as she stood over the sink, feeling the water slosh around her fingers.


    ¡°I miss you so much,¡± the pendant repeated. ¡°I am so sorry for what happened and I will wait till the end of the world for you to come back.¡±


    She missed him, too. And she missed her crew, and her ship, and the feeling that she could go anywhere in the world at any time. She was comfortable enough here in this one-room apartment with a part time job. There was food to eat and a place to sleep. Something she could not always count on at sea. But was she happy?


    The pendant began to play Tidus¡¯s message again.


    ¡°Zora.¡± She heard her name and her heart skipped. Did the pendant have more to say to her? Could Tidus say more?


    ¡°Hey, Zora,¡± the call came again, with a hand on Zora¡¯s shoulder pulling her from her daydream with a start. She looked over to see Cayd, exasperated, looking at the sink.


    ¡°I need a spatula,¡± he said, delicately urging her to hurry up.


    ¡°A turner!¡± Linda corrected from the other end of the kitchen, hands protected by pot holders as she held a pan full of pastries.


    Cayd exhaled sharply at the correction and Zora chuckled.


    ¡°Yeah, no problem,¡± she said. ¡°Sorry, daydreaming for a second.¡± She reached for a small jar containing Linda¡¯s homemade detergent and began cleaning.


    ¡°A damned slave driver,¡± Cayd grumbled as he and Zora walked side-by-side on one of the market streets. They each held a small stuffed dumpling that would serve as one of the few meals they enjoyed not from Linda¡¯s recipe books. ¡°You hear the way she corrected me? A turner!¡±


    Zora laughed out loud. ¡°She¡¯s a cruel mistress! Hardened by leadership and the need to make those tough decisions.¡±


    ¡°Are you as cruel?¡± Cayd asked.


    Zora¡¯s hand whipped up to his ear, pinching the lobe. ¡°You bet your ass.¡± After an instant of Cayd¡¯s panic, she released him with a giggle. ¡°She¡¯s a sweetheart to me, though. Dunno what you did to her.¡±


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    ¡°I do appreciate her,¡± Cayd conceded. ¡°But she can be so mean.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s on the schedule tonight?¡±


    ¡°One of the customers said I should talk to someone in the civilian guard. Going to the Church is going to hit bureaucracy and secrecy. But the lack of professionalism in the civilian teams should help get us what we¡¯re looking for.¡±


    ¡°Where are we gonna find these guys?¡±


    Cayd responded with a nod to a grimy looking alley up ahead. Jovial market shoppers walked past the dark, cobblestone walk without paying it any attention. This was in spite of the wrought iron sign mounted beside it with a jagged arrow pointing into the alley. Crudely painted and poorly maintained, the sign read ¡°Swine¡¯s Pearls ¨C This Way for Food and Drink.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s disgusting,¡± Zora said, grimacing at the name.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a front for something lofty and respectable,¡± Cayd suggested, not believing it himself.


    As they trudged through the muddy, mildew-ridden alleyway, a sullen man leaning against a wall tried to greet them. However, some manner of phlegm caught wetly in his throat, sending him into a ferocious fit of hacks and coughs. Zora stopped, completely appalled.


    "I hate this," she grumbled.


    "You lived at sea. You''ve seen worse."


    "Not by choice," she hissed. "Just because something doesn''t surprise me does not mean I like it."


    Cayd rolled his eyes and urged her toward the door next to the hacking man. It was a board of thin wooden planks with no uniformity of shape or color. The words "Swine''s Pearls" were crudely branded into the planks, off center and shabby. While the man continued his fit of hacks and coughs, Cayd pushed the door in and the couple stepped into a humid, cool, and very dark tavern that smelled of spilled beer, spoiled foods, and mold. The tavern was quite full, despite its location and atmosphere. Rickety tables were surrounded by men in leather pads with swords on their laps. Their hushed conversations continued, not paying any mind to the newcomers'' entry.


    Cayd could barely see Zora''s frown in the flickering candlelight. "Didn''t you live on a boat?" he whispered.


    "And you can be sure my crew kept that boat clean. This place is disgusting."


    "Hey you two," called a woman from the corner. She wore what looked like a dirty apron, though Cayd and Zora could not be sure, signalling her being an employee of the tavern. "Need something?"


    "Looking for the civilian guard," Cayd announced.


    The woman scoffed. "I''m talking ''bout food and drink."


    "Beer, please," Zora remarked on Cayd''s behalf. "Two."


    "Coming up," she said, pursing her lips, and moving behind a run down bar.


    "Looking for the civilian guard?" one of the leather-clad men asked drunkenly.


    "Mac, hush now," groaned another.


    "Nah, nah," Mac responded. "They wanna fight? I''ll give them a fight."


    "How long have you been drinking?" Zora challenged.


    "Since I was 6, beautiful," Mac answered with a wide smile.


    "We don''t want to fight," Cayd replied. "Mind if I pull up a chair?"


    "Yes." The response was unanimous and off putting to Cayd, but hilarious to Zora.


    "Not my kind of building, but definitely my kind of people!" she chuckled.


    The waitress appeared with two mugs of beer, full to only three quarters. When Cayd and Zora took them, they grimaced at the feel of dust under their fingertips. Cayd looked around for somewhere near the guards to place his mug, but the guards moved their arms on their own table to communicate he would have to stand there, holding it, if he wished to talk to them.


    "Look, we just want to know about the killer," Cayd finally said.


    "What killer?" one replied.


    Zora took a gulp of beer, frowned at the flavor, and replied. "Don''t play stupid. Gonna go on a limb and say you all at least know of him."


    "Not allowed to talk to it, though," Mac said, blinking groggily. "Church moratorium."


    "Well break it."


    "Not even for you." He smiled dreamily at her.


    "What will get you to talk?" Cayd asked.


    The guards took turns looking at one another and at Cayd and Zora. Finally, Mac snagged his mug and began guzzling his beer. The other guards responded in kind, as did every other guest in the tavern. Cayd noticed a sly smile on the face of the waitress as the barkeep excitedly turned to the flagons and kegs behind him.


    "Dammit," Cayd swore under his breath before turning to Zora. She was throwing her mug back as well. "Zora!" he barked. She glanced up at him around the clay mug and fired a wink while she chugged the beverage.


    The tavern became boisterous as Cayd counted out the coins to pay for a full round of drinks. It was pretty much all he had made that day at Linda''s. And here he was hoping to buy a new journal or book. Instead he was feeding the hedonism of these dregs, and that included his so-called partner. He threw the coins on the bar and turned back to the grinning guards.


    "Your change, sir?" the waitress asked.


    "Whatever," Cayd grumbled, his mood sinking when he saw Zora was able to earn a seat at the table. She was laughing and shouting with the guards, and though she had only had the one mug of beer, seemed to be on their level all the same.


    "So, now that we''re all," Mac looked to the ceiling to think of his words. "Socially lubricated!" The table erupted into laughter. The sudden shift from sullen to boisterous in the tavern was further dampening Cayd''s mood. "What did you want to know?"


    "Anything," Cayd grumbled. "Everything. What do you know?"


    "Next to nothin''," another guard said. "One of ours found the first and second bodies. Same situation. Big ol'' knife right in the throat. Left eye gouged out. Not a single bruise."


    "What would a bruise mean?" Zora asked.


    "That there was a fight," Mac answered. "Looks like the victims just took the attack. We thought they may''ve been drugged but the doctors all said no."


    "Was there anything unusual?" Cayd asked. "Such as," there was a long pause as Cayd searched for what would be appropriate to mention, and what was better left quiet. "Could you account for every victim?"


    "No," Mac said grimly. "One woman told me she been murdered but we never found her body." His teasing triggered laughter from around the table, further annoying Cayd. The rapport he had been trying to build was not sticking.


    "No, no," the guard who explained the deaths said, urging the table to quiet down. "There was some weird stuff. Footprints in the blood. Three or four steps away, then just gone. I think that''s all we really got. After the second body, the church came in, took all our paperwork and grilled us for hours on the scene. I''m telling you all I told them. Promise."


    Cayd''s eyes wandered in thought. "Can you tell me where the bodies were found?"


    Mac looked at his guards, then at Zora, and finally at Cayd. All at once they began chugging again.

 The Nomad Scene III

    Robin¡¯s first weeks with Kraag had been a flurry of constant stimulation and activity. The day after he was welcomed to the inner rings of the god¡¯s camp, the resident master of the winds, an aloof and frustratingly condescending man whose name Robin had honestly forgotten, tested him.


    The prospective Speaker had passed of course, which then spurred the days of ¡°probing.¡± Anya, Yanni, and Louise would sporadically appear as Robin wandered the camps littered around Kraag¡¯s host and demand he carry out some fashion of test of his emotional intelligence.


    ¡°Brighten the flame!¡± Yanni urged, his tanned and calloused hands thrusting a candle with a weak flame at him. ¡°What is urging this spark to hold itself back?¡±


    ¡°Do you know how the clouds feel?¡± Anya asked dreamily while a summer rain shower fell around Kraag. ¡°Can you feel it, too? What would you do with those feelings?¡±


    Louise, for her part, would come wobbling up to Robin, stop, and roll her eyes before wobbling away. The test came and went, and Robin failed, without so much as a word for the elderly woman.


    All through this, Kraag¡¯s glistening, watery eyes would watch with excitement. At risk of sounding dramatic, Robin could not get over how much the elder god must have to say and how excited he seemed to be to say it.


    After a handful of days of these probes of Robin¡¯s skills, they had developed his training plan. Every week, Robin would spend only one day with Yanni, two with Anya, and four terrible, miserable days with the crone.


    Yanni was, as Robin had expected, his favorite tutor. The emotional outbursts of fire were simplistic to read. Though he was too used to channeling wind to be able to control fire like Yanni, describing and empathizing with the passionate emotions was simple.


    The one day with Yanni per week was the only time Robin was pleased with his own skills as a shaman. He would spend time with Yanni and his wife and kids singing loudly, doing ¡°cliff shouts¡± and setting small fires to cook camp foods. The days with Anya were bizarre walks into the most ¡°mystical¡± and ¡°superstitious¡± aspects of their culture.


    ¡°What kind of person would you describe as world-weary, Robin?¡± Anya had asked one day. They were sitting, cross legged, in a pond after hiking up a scenic trail on Kraag¡¯s back. A gentle stream waterfall fed the pond and gave their meeting an almost cliche ambience of mysticism.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Robin said without thinking.


    ¡°You did not even spend time wondering,¡± Anya said, her eyes judging. They twinkled with the same silver light as her tulle shawl.


    Robin looked up and to the right while he spent some time dreaming someone up. ¡°I guess it is someone who feels like nothing''s going right?¡±


    ¡°And what makes them different from someone downtrodden?¡±


    ¡°I guess someone world-weary is old,¡± Robin said, tossing his hands up in surrender.


    ¡°Very good, Robin,¡± Anya said with a grin. ¡°Sadness in reaction is acute, while cynicism is cultivated. Think of how water moves. The waterfall behind us? It is that acute moment of passion in the life of this stream.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± Robin said.


    ¡°Many of our nomadic partners count water as singular in its representation. Like stone. But that is not so! We are more prone to reaction than they may be. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯ve spent time in all those places. In the rain, by the pool, at the well. You were showing me all of the emotional states of water?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re getting much better at this.¡± Anya shifted on the stone she sat on and held out her hands. ¡°So I think it is time we did what we needed to!¡±


    Robin looked at her hands quizzically, and when he did not react, Anya continued.


    ¡°The key is not for you to learn our skills,¡± she said with a nod. ¡°You never will.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Robin growled.


    ¡°No!¡± Anya chuckled. ¡°I mean no offense by that. You have your propensity for wind, and I have mine for water. I will never be able to run like you, and you will never swim like me. That is okay. Your job is not to learn from us anything but how we achieve our skills. You need to be able to, with a glance, with a single taste, name the emotion we are feeling. As I showed over our training sessions there is more than one flavor to sadness. And more than one shade. And more than one timbre. You need to be able to recognize them all.¡±


    Anya kept her hands outstretched, and Robin¡¯s eyes widened when he realized why. ¡°You want to empathize? Completely?¡±


    ¡°If I am honest with you, you will taste every flavor, see every shade, and hear every timbre.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Robin stammered. Empathizing freely with another person was one of the deepest taboos. If they carried out the process, there would be no secrets between them. Robin was okay with that, personally, but it was so hard to trust that Anya was okay.


    ¡°Robin,¡± she said, reaching forward and taking his hand. She gave him a warm and welcoming smile. Robin was struck by just how sincere, but platonic it was. He had never seen a look like this before. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am inviting you in.¡±


    With a deep breath, Robin took her hands and opened the walls around his heart. And Robin could feel Anya remove the ones around hers as well. Suddenly, he was awash in her emotions. It was wholly overwhelming, a little frightening, and more strange than he had ever imagined.


    Robin had empathized with wind in the past. And once with fire. But the thing about those elements is that everything had a cornerstone. Wind had some sort of ambition, excitement, and eagerness at all times. And fire was just passion. But here in this woman was everything. The sideswipes on checking in with human emotions were always a way to probe emotions being felt in the moment. This was giving him a whole buffet of every formative feeling Anya had ever experienced.


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    Her childish, innocent happiness had a certain tint to it. One that Robin recognized. It was a sort of warm satisfaction that came from being surrounded by loved ones. Could this be when Anya was living on the ship she had mentioned? She had grown up at sea, and called her crew her family.


    There was one aspect to this warmth and excitement that stood out, and Robin picked a bit at it. It was a family member closer than anyone else.The memory of this person was engorged with adoration, but there was no necessary love that Robin knew was part of blood relations.


    The girl or the woman Anya cared so deeply for was a sister, but not by blood. And tied closely with the emotional identity was a sense of loss. But loss without despair. Anya was hopeful she would see her again.


    Someone else umbrellaed this loss, too. Anya had a passionate sense of duty. One that was greater than her other emotions. It was her drive and her inspiration. Anya saw herself small, part of a larger whole. She sacrificed her personal happiness for this duty, and did it wholeheartedly and excitedly.


    It was clear to Robin because this umbrella was ribbed by pride. Anya may not presently have the happiness and joy like what she felt in her memories, but she had a new one. One that held together by doing what she was born to do.


    And that was where Robin felt things that were extremely familiar.


    His own emotions. Anya was thinking about him. How his training was the most important thing in her heart. Robin smiled.


    As Anya withdrew her hands, he was gently brought back to the waking world, the sound of the waterfall now a welcome soundtrack instead of a trope. ¡°Did you see?¡± Anya asked, wiping away a tear.


    ¡°So much, Anya,¡± Robin said with a grin.


    ¡°You are going to be great, Robin,¡± she said softly, the tears still working their way out.


    ¡°Thank you so much,¡± Robin said, leaning toward her and hugging her tightly.


    ¡°You really are a natural, it seems. You figured it all out so well. I¡¯m going to call it a day now. Do you mind? We haven¡¯t been training that long, but¡­¡±


    ¡°No, I understand,¡± Robin said. ¡°I could use a break, too. Y¡¯all have been working me like a mule.¡±


    Anya let out a laugh and rose from the pond, helping Robin to his feet. ¡°I understand Louise is hard on you. But understand it is because the emotions of stone are so distant from what you¡¯re used to.¡±


    And that was only part of the truth. Louise was also objectively a horrible teacher. Some days she would just be sitting on a rocky outcropping or on the solid ground beneath Kraag, just meditating. She would not even acknowledge Robin. She would just sit there.


    And Robin would try. He truly would. He understood that he was no longer just ¡°some guy¡± doing a job for his family, but someone who could potentially change the world. So he figured the least he could do was sit and meditate for a while. But he would often grow too hungry or too bored and wander off without ever being spoken to. Louise never mentioned it either. Robin had to guess she knew? But he could not be sure.


    The day after empathizing with Anya was another day with Louise. He had to ask ten people before someone could tell him where she was. With a wind-assisted leap, Robin reached the lower reaches of Kraag¡¯s shell to see Louise sitting, eyes closed, with her back to a sheer cliff.


    ¡°Again?¡± he wondered out loud. ¡°Seriously?¡±


    The old woman did not respond.


    Robin fell to the ground with a groan and looked out at The March. The distant flecks of buildings on the horizon denoted Crossroads. It was so far away. He wondered what they were thinking about Kraag having stopped near their city.


    And why did Kraag stop, after all? For him? He was here now. Did he not need to continue walking? Why does he walk? Where is he going?


    Suddenly, Robin realized just how little he knew of Kraag. And in that, he had an idea. With a deep breath, Robin put his hands flat against the ground and began to empathize, just as he had the day before.


    At first, there was just the emotion of the dirt on Kraag¡¯s shell, but just a bit deeper, and suddenly Kraag could be the massive emotions of the elder god. And to his surprise, Kraag received him.


    The emotions struck too heavy at first, and Kraag seemed to notice that it sent Robin reeling, as they immediately pulled back.


    Robin was inundated with Kraag¡¯s concern.


    The Windwalker urged Kraag that he was fine.


    Kraag felt relieved. Then there was curiosity. Specifically about the state of Robin¡¯s training and study.


    Robin felt it was going well enough, but he was not sure if he would be up to Kraag¡¯s expectations.


    Kraag was amused at Robin¡¯s modesty. He was optimistic and proud of Robin¡¯s skills.


    Robin wondered to Kraag why he needed a speaker.


    Kraag¡¯s response was worry and anxiety. There was something temporally and spatially far away. Something bloodthirsty and hateful. And very dangerous.


    How do you know what this is? Robin wondered.


    Kraag expressed affection. A kind of comradery you would feel for someone of similar class and occupation.


    Robin felt curious. A god? Which one?


    And that was when everything went wrong. Kraag¡¯s emotions began to express this god¡¯s identity, and at first, Robin felt great. It was the glee of achieving goals, getting what one wished for, and feeling content in obtaining what you longed for. But that was not all there was to this god¡¯s identity. In addition to dreams, the god was made of nightmares.


    And suddenly, Robin was drowning in fear, terror, and stress. Horrid dreams of falling and waking just before striking the ground. Running but never going fast enough. Terrors of his body being paralyzed while monsters approached.


    The nightmares compounded and exacerbated one another. Robin would feel himself falling alongside a cliff while a hulking beast sprinted alongside him, waiting to pounce, but Robin¡¯s body was immobile. And he was slowing. The beast grew closer and closer, roaring with a sound that filled Robin¡¯s brain.


    He tried to pull back from the empathy, but it was impossible. His emotions had all been drowned by the fear. It was filling him, head to toe, and was suffocating him. And at that moment, Robin realized he was truly suffocating. The fear was killing him.


    He could feel Kraag worrying outside of his own palace of dread, but it was not helping. In fact, it was worsening the situation, as having Kraag so worried kept Robin from calming himself. After all, if a god is worried about something, surely a mortal should be, too.


    Robin tried gasping for air as his muscles cramped with strain.


    There was an explosion of light and he fell to the ground. Louise was standing over him, her staff had a spattering of crimson flecks. Robin coughed, slinging flecks of blood onto the ground.


    ¡°You idiot!¡± Louise shrieked. ¡°You nearly died!¡±


    Robin tried to speak, but he was breathless. He could not ever raise his hand to wipe the blood from his lips. His body felt like it was asleep.


    ¡°You need to understand the emotions of stones if you ever try something like that again. That is the point of all of this.¡±


    Robin just looked up at her.


    ¡°No more training with Yanni. Your horseplay is asinine and unnecessary. Five days with me from now on. You need to learn to be steadfast against the overwhelming. Stupid.¡±


    Robin groaned. All he could feel was an intense apology coming from all around.