by Kara Timmins
“Quick!” Critiko and Gwyn yelled together. “Drink the other one!”
Eloy brought the second beverage up to his mouth and watched the ruby red liquid drain away through watery eyes. Every part of his mouth that burned from the first drink cooled at the touch of the second. Critiko pounded the wooden table with his fist as he tried to breathe through his laughter, and Gwyn had a hand to his side, his fingers trying to clench against the laugh cramp.
“You all right there?” Critiko asked through his laughter. “How are ya feeling?”
Eloy assessed the state of his body before giving his companions an oversize smile. He felt a sense of childlike joy. He felt great, and he suspected the warmth working its way through his body came from more than just the drinks. Looking into Critiko’s reddening, smiling face confirmed it. Eloy hadn’t realized just how much he had grown to miss being among friends.
“I feel great,” Eloy said.
Critiko drank the last of his sweet drink. “We should get some more!”
They drank two more rounds of the beverage duo before Eloy got back to asking about the forest. He made every word slow and thoughtful. “What are some of the things you have seen in there?”
“Lots of things,” Gwyn said with the same cadence. “Glowing balls of light that drift around. They’re beautiful, and if you look right at them, everything in your being wants to go with them, but you can’t. The people who have gone deep into the darkest parts of the forest never come back.”
Gwyn looked at the wood grain without seeing it.
“Sometimes it’s the things you don’t see,” he continued. “You’ll be out there, not knowing if it’s day or night because of how dark it can get, and you’ll just know there’s something close—like something out of a dream that you can’t outrun—so you just sit there really still and hope that it goes away.”
“And then what?” Eloy asked, leaning forward.
“Sometimes it does; sometimes it doesn’t. I’ve been lucky so far. Nothing more than a couple scars to show for it. Haven’t seen anything that makes me stop going in to find things to trade.” Gwyn winked.
“What do you find in there?” Eloy asked.
“Whatever I come across that I know I can sell,” Gwyn said. “It’s always different. There’s no way to know if there is a right season for something or a good place to find it. Things change or don’t function in there like they do out here. There are different plants and mushrooms that are good and can be used by an average person, but some of the stuff is only useful to those who know how to use it—people who can do things regular folks can’t. Those things I can get some good coin for.”
Eloy thought about Kella and her son, Midash—so far away in their cabin like an island in their strangely peaceful forest, with their ability to get inside his mind—and nodded in understanding.
“What kind of things do you have that a non-magical person can use?” Eloy asked.
“Are you in the market for something?” Gwyn asked.
“Maybe.” Eloy put both hands on the top of the wooden table to steady himself before continuing. “Let’s say someone needs to know something but doesn’t know what that thing is. Let’s say the one thing he knows is that there’s some place he is supposed to be, but he doesn’t know where that place is or how to get there. He just knows it’s some place connected with magic. What would you say if someone asked you a question like that? Maybe I’m not saying it right—I’m sure it sounds mad.” Eloy let his forehead dip down to the tabletop.
“I wouldn’t say it sounds mad,” Gwyn said. “A little slurred, but not mad.”
Eloy picked his head back up and looked at Gwyn again. “No?”
“I mean,” Gwyn said, “I don’t know exactly what you’re trying to ask, but I think I might be able to help.”
Gwyn looked at Critiko for a moment, sighed, and looked back at Eloy.
“I’ve heard about something,” Gwyn said. “Let me just start by saying I haven’t seen any of this for myself, and it’s deeper in the forest than I care to go. I’m not saying you, or whoever this person looking for something is, should go out and try to find this place because it’s very dangerous. Got it?”
“Got it.” Eloy leaned forward and nodded in quick, small bounces.
“There’s a story of a Seer in the thick of the woods,” Gwyn started. “It’s said this Seer knows everything there is to know, sees everything there is to see. This creature is free from the bounds of reason that keeps information from common people like you and me. I’ve known of only a few who have gone out looking for this Seer, hoping to guide themselves to answers, riches, or glory, and I know of only one who came out again.” Gwyn glanced at the woman sitting next to him, her attention homed in on his story, and he leaned in closer to Eloy and Critiko and lowered his voice. “He says the only reason he got out was because he had the brains to turn around. But he was sure he was close. If you knew this man, you’d know to trust him. He knows things. He can read the sense of things on the air. He knows danger before it has time to reach him, and he knows magic. He said he felt both in equal measure, and it was strong. The Seer is there all right. Getting to the legend is another matter. But to answer your question, I would say that’s the story that best solves the predicament.” Gwyn took a sip from his big cup.
Eloy had started having difficulty finding a clear thought after he took his second drink of the acidic beverage, but even in his haze, he knew Gwyn had said something helpful. He opened his mouth to start another round of questions but closed it again when he saw that neither of his companions were looking at him or each other anymore. He followed their attention to a woman near the main door of the building. Eloy found himself mesmerized by the slopes and juts of her profile. Everything about her face seemed so precise. She had hair the color of desert grass, which was pulled to the side of her head and woven together like a rope. Even from his distance, Eloy could see the different shades of gold running through it. Everything about her body looked made of muscle. She had little softness to her, especially in her face. If she was older than Eloy, it wasn’t by more than a year or two of his twenty-four years.
“I wouldn’t look too long,” Gwyn said. “You might get yourself hurt.”
“Huh?” Eloy said. “Oh. I was just . . .”
“I’m just playin’ with you,” Gwyn said. “Really, though, it’s best to keep the looking brief and pleasant.”
“Who’s that?” Eloy asked.
Critiko waved at the woman. “That’s Neasa.”
She gave Critiko a half smile and a wave, then turned to talk to Leit. She looked back toward them before leaving, locking eyes with Eloy before walking out. Her look was firm and assessing. Eloy almost looked away, but didn’t.
“She’s something.” Eloy’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Critiko turned back in his seat to face Gwyn. “She’s a treasure, that one. One of the best, I say.”
“Should we have another drink?” Gwyn asked.
Eloy opened his mouth to form words of protest, but Critiko and Gwyn already had their hands up to get more.
5
Any questions asked and answered after that were beyond Eloy’s recall.
It felt late by the time they walked out into the night air, but the jovial noise of those around them hadn’t changed much. A few people even joked about Critiko and Eloy’s early turn-in as Critiko led the way back to the house.
“You know,” Eloy said, “for people who have such drinks, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to have to scale endless steps in order to get home.”
Eloy half walked, half crawled up to Critiko’s front door.
“You get used to it with practice,” Critiko said from the top of the stairs.
Once inside, Critiko put together a bed for Eloy, they said their mumbled good-nights, and Eloy dropped into a hard slee
p.
Eloy had never been more aware of the subtle padding of the moment between the disconnect of sleep and the mindfulness of being awake than he did the morning after his night with Critiko and Gwyn. He felt sick before his eyes were open. The blood in the veins at his temples throbbed, and everything inside of him felt inflamed. Eloy gave a squinted scan around the room. Thick rainy clouds blocked the daylight, but even the light that managed to get through seemed like too much. He didn’t see Critiko.
Eloy made careful movements as he rose from the animal furs and steadied himself against the round table in the center of the room. A plate holding a few lumps of fatty cheese, torn pieces of bread, and a pitcher of the clear, cold rainwater rattled on the polished surface as he steadied himself. Next to the food and water was a note. Eloy read it with one eye closed.
For you.
Eat if you can.
If you try and find you can’t,
try to make it outside.
X,
C
Eloy drank as much of the water as his churning stomach could hold, but the idea of eating made the water bubble back up in his throat. The hydration made some of the memories from the night before come into focus. He hadn’t intended to say anything about what he was looking for or what his intentions were in the north, but he was certain he hadn’t said anything regarding the stone or how it came to him, which was a relief.
The outside air had a chill that was just on the edge of being uncomfortable, but its freshness in comparison to being inside was a relief. Eloy had the pitcher from the table in hand as he stood on the porch and cleaned himself enough that he wouldn’t have to brave the frigid water from under the house. After collecting as many of his blurry thoughts from the night before as he could, he focused on the one thing he needed to know: how to get into the woods to find the answers he needed.
He returned the empty pitcher to the table and went out to find Gwyn.
6
There looked to be just as many people walking around the plant-flanked paths as there had been the night before, but the expressions they wore were of a completely different nature. The friendly nods and smiles were still there—the citizens of Valia shared a marked difference in disposition than those from Curiol—but they walked with stiff backs and purposeful strides. Eloy had a hard time remembering where things were in the town, and even if he could, he hadn’t seen all of it. He didn’t know where he could find Gwyn, so he ventured toward areas where people clustered. His progress was slow from both sickness and confusion. In his wandering, he managed to find Critiko by late morning.
“Well, look who finally made it out,” Critiko said. His booming voice hadn’t been hushed by the night’s frivolity, even if Eloy’s tolerance for noise had suffered. He put an arm around Eloy’s shoulders and gave them a shake. “Ready to do some work?”
“What kind of work?” Eloy was never one to refuse the payment of work after a kindness, but the sickness in his head and gut protested the prospect.
“I’m just playing with you. How are you feeling?” Critiko asked.
“Something tells me you already know the answer to that question,” Eloy said.
“You bet I do, I just wanted to hear you say it. I’ll tell you what, though, you’re out walking around before sundown, which is far better than I did the first time I had some of those drinks. Looks like you’re doing pretty good to me.”
“Well, I don’t feel it.”
“You will.”
Critiko pointed to a plot of tilled black soil. “I’m just about done here, so if you want to wait a bit, we’ll go find some lunch.”
“Okay,” Eloy said. “Do you know where Gwyn is? There’s something I wanted to ask him.”
“If you walk down this road here, you’ll come to the trade square. He should still be there hoping to make a deal or two.”
“Great. Thanks. I’ll be quick.”
“No rush,” Critiko said. “I’ll be here. There’s always work to fill time that would otherwise be wasted on waiting.”
The trade square of Valia was much smaller than the ones Eloy had seen before. Trees filled the area, and people trading pots of leafy greens, plump fruits, and stiff vegetables designated their spaces between thick knobby tree roots. Eloy walked around until he found Gwyn resting a few strides away from the others amid items of a stranger nature.
“Look who’s walking around!” Gwyn said. “Good to see you, friend.”
“Good to see you too,” Eloy said.
“How’re you feeling?” Gwyn asked.
“The fact that both you and Critiko asked me that leads me to wonder if one of you should have given me a warning.”
Gwyn stood up. “You’re a grown man. Gotta learn those lessons on your own. Here. Eat this.” Gwyn picked up a pinch of what looked like dried tree moss. “Don’t tell Critiko I gave it to you. Just pretend like you’re feeling fine as ever on your own. That’ll really mess with his head.”
Eloy took the moss and put it in his mouth. The bitterness of it overwhelmed his tongue, and he made a quick decision to bypass chewing it and went straight to swallowing it. Its effect was immediate. The insatiable sense of thirst that gripped his body lifted, and the feeling that something was squeezing his head dissipated.
“How’re you doing now?” Gwyn asked.
“Much better,” Eloy said. “Thank you. What can I pay you for it?”
“Ah, no need for that. It seems only right that it be part of your welcome.”
“Thanks. Was what you gave me something that came from the forest? I remember you saying last night that there are things in the forest that regular, non-magical type people can use.”
“That’s correct. It’s called hepamut moss. I sell my fair share of that stuff, as you can imagine.”
Gwyn pointed to what looked to be common strips of tree bark. “This here is dendriped. People use that when their feet stay in their wet leathers for too long, and they get the itch. Also a big seller.”
He pointed to a few more earthy looking items: one for trouble sleeping, a vine that caused hallucinations, and a root used as a salve for rashes.
Eloy pointed to the other side of the spread of items at things that looked unfamiliar. “And those are the other kinds of items, I assume?”
“Correct again. This berry”—Gwyn pointed at a piece of dried fruit—“I find in the dung of an unknown creature from the forest. From what I’ve been told, it’s a very rare berry that grows in the heart of the forest. Meaning, it only grows in a place no one could travel to and survive. Sometimes, though, a creature will eat some and be so kind as to leave it in the periphery for people like me to find. There are people who filter it in boiling water and use it to see things beyond death. They say their body dies, but the berry lets them come back. If you or I used it, we would just die without coming back.”
Gwyn picked up the next item, a thing that spiraled to a point and stayed stiff as he lifted it by its base. “This is a broken nail from a creature not unlike you and me. It walks on two legs, and its hair is coated in a fine green moss. Its nails grow long and spiral like this so they can dig deep into the ground. I found this sticking out of the soil, left right where it broke off.”
“What do people use it for?” Eloy asked.
“The shavings help people project their minds to different places. This piece can last someone for the rest of their lives.”
“And that one?” Eloy pointed at a box in the center of all the other special items.
“That’s the most valuable thing I have to sell.” Gwyn enveloped the delicate box with his long fingers and lifted it up for inspection.
Gwyn pushed a button on the top and, with a soft click, the wooden panels opened up like a flower before flattening flush against his palm. Eloy leaned in, expecting to see something wonderful inside, but he didn’t see anything
.
“What does the box do?” Eloy knew well enough that a seemingly common item can be more powerful than it appears.
“The box is just presentation. Look closer.” Gwyn tilted his hand until it caught a weak ray of sunlight.
Then Eloy saw what was in the box. It shimmered with a gleam of pure things. It held a prism of colors, just like the many hues he used to see when he looked closely at Evas’s dark hair when the hot sun bore down on it. He leaned in closer, as if beckoned.
“What is it?” Eloy asked.
“The silk of the thyrethan spider. The spiders come in all sizes from as small as the nail on your little finger to bigger than a grown man, and they all live together in clumps inside the woods. They’re extremely aggressive, so if they know you’re there, it is already too late. You’re no stranger to how a web works, I take it? So, you know that any spider knows to listen to its web. Well, if you so much as pluck a single strand, they’ll all hear you, and they will be there before you know what you’ve done. Getting a strand like this is almost impossible. I happened on this partly out of luck, partly out of skill, and whatever left was just stupidity. I’ve had it for a few years now. Not a whole lot of people can afford a thing like this, and even fewer are able to use it.”
“What do people do with it?” Eloy asked.
“It takes away all boundaries of what we know to be true. As in, you know what you know from your past, you know what you are experiencing right this moment, you know what you hope for the future, and there are the things that will actually occur. All of these things are real, but they are real to you. It’s so a part of your reality that you don’t second-guess it. But I have a truth too, and that truth is different from yours. In fact, it might as well be a completely different world than the one you’re in. Now imagine that every person, every living thing, has that truth of a past, present, and things yet to come that don’t look or feel like all the others. This piece of thyrethan web can assist in connecting to those other paths, ride them out, and know things that anyone who hasn’t used it can even begin to understand. It is all truth. All realities. That kind of knowledge could untether the spool of who we all are if given to the wrong person.”