by Rosie Scott
Smoke clouded out in the air as I expelled a shaky breath. Vallen's explanation of my personality felt disturbingly accurate. He managed to take something about me I viewed as a negative and evaluate it like a benefit.
“Does it ever get better?” I asked.
“What, the anger?”
“The anger. The pain. The rage.”
“For some, yes. For others, no.” Vallen smiled softly like a consolation. “You can grow a tolerance to pain over the years. It never fixes it, but for me, transforming seems to hurt less now than it did two centuries ago even if the difference is in my head, not reality. You talk about rage like it's something you need to fix. Like you can just one day paint over it and it won't bother you anymore. Rage runs deeper than that. It's an effect, not a cause. In order to work on your rage, you have to work on the issues that created it.”
The only way to quell my innate rage was to go back underground to right its wrongs and enact vengeance on those who once oppressed me. I frowned and said with a tone of hopelessness, “That's impossible for me.”
“Then I imagine you'll have to learn how to deal with it long-term,” Vallen replied. “But don't think that makes you broken, Calder. You're just a work in progress like the rest of us.”
I pondered his words for a few moments in silence. Finally, I blurted, “You are stupidly optimistic.”
Vallen laughed. “Yeah? And that annoys a pessimist like you?”
“All optimists annoy me,” I retorted, only partially in jest. “Despite all reason they accept life's punishments with a grin. I don't understand it, so it angers me.”
Vallen snorted. “Yet, Koby is one of the biggest optimists I've ever met and he's your dearest friend.”
“I know. What the hell's wrong with me?”
Vallen slapped me on the back. “Everything and then some, friend.”
I gave him an unconvincing glare. “The question was rhetorical.”
He grinned. “I told you I'd give you brutal honesty. I'm an optimist, not a liar.”
I smirked at his teasing and flicked my cigarette into the marsh. For the first time, I felt completely vulnerable to someone other than Koby. Somehow, Vallen's perception, openness, and his willingness to help in all situations broke down my natural defenses. When I spoke next, no awkwardness plagued my words.
“You have become a lifesaver to me in more ways than one,” I began, the humbled and honest tone of my ruined voice surprising even me. “Thank you. For everything.”
Vallen sobered. “I'd do it all again in a heartbeat, friend. I'm glad we met. I admire you, you know?”
That admission was the last thing I ever thought I'd hear. I gave him a baffled expression. “Why?”
He chuckled at my confusion but answered, “Because despite your doubts and all the shit life throws at you, you refuse to give up. Your battles are always fought uphill, but you keep trudging forth like you like the pain.”
“Maybe I do,” I jested. “Ask Hilly. She knows my kinks.”
Vallen chortled. “As do half the women in Tenesea by now, I'd wager.”
“When you asked to speak to me, I thought you wanted to confront me,” I confided.
He frowned. “About women?”
“About Hilly in particular. Jealousy is commonplace among surface-dwellers, or so they taught Koby and me in Silvi. I can't figure out you and Jayce for the life of me.”
“We're kooks, is all,” Vallen jested lightly. “Every relationship I've ever had has either ended in death or disappointments. I'm a busy man. Most women want me to choose them over work and I can't. I learned long ago to stop trying for something serious. As for Jayce, she tries to have relationships. She's just bad at them. They usually end in screaming matches and vows to murder.”
“I've already warned Kali.”
He snorted. “What a coincidence! So have I.” After we laughed, he confided, “I try to make friends with everyone I meet, but with you I actually feel like it's working.”
“It is, you persistent bastard.”
Vallen grinned and shook my shoulder in rapport. “Good. Then our journeys have only just begun.”
Twelve
61st of New Moon, 359
Heavy rainfall accompanied our return to Tenesea, coming down in sheets that pummeled the canopies until they danced and spread across pools of water in ripples. The heat convinced the humidity to rise as a dense mist that shielded everything but the giant tree from view until we were near it. Still, fellow Alderi took advantage of the humidity, fishing on the lagoon and going out in groups to forage. We followed Vallen over the pathways to the city's entrance, walking through tiny sweeping clouds.
The communal areas of Tenesea bustled with light-skinned people looking to avoid the weather, a strict contrast to the Alderi loitering comfortably outside. Some perked up with recognition and fondness as Vallen walked by, but he didn't stop to lose himself in conversation today. We headed underground in the tree, where its trunk widened further before separating off into various roots.
The arena was the main attraction of the large lowest floor; even though we only headed to the level above it, the reverberations of animalistic squeals and growls traveled over carved wood from the current battle. Cheers and hollers followed as onlookers made bets and got lost in hysteria. Due to the inclement weather, the arena was packed; the tense vibrations consistently massaging my feet promised it drew a crowd.
Jayce was so fidgety at the back of our group that even Kali refused to walk with her. After half a moon of travel with little ferris and few opportunities for shapeshifting, her patience was non-existent. Now in the presence of the arena she loved so dearly, she could barely contain herself. I felt overbearing sympathy for Vallen then; in many ways, Jayce was like a child who always sought mayhem and would never grow up. That he'd kept her happy and out of trouble for nearly three centuries spoke wonders of his patience and good nature.
Other than Jayce, we were quiet as Vallen led us down a long hallway. Coming to a locked door, he rummaged around in a knapsack and pulled out a set of keys. He managed to choose the right one immediately and opened the door, unveiling a large storage room that exuded the stench of ferris. Crates were stacked floor to ceiling and wall to wall, leaving only enough room for someone to walk to the back row. The area was dark until Vallen summoned an alteration light in his left hand and walked down the side aisle. He kept his eyes on the closest crates, lifting attached pieces of parchment to read their notes.
“Looks like it's all there, brother,” Jayce commented, impatiently leaning on the door frame with her forehead.
Vallen shook his head with stress as he checked the last of the crates. “If you paid any attention, you'd see it's not.”
Koby tensed beside me in the hallway. “But if the pirates got in here, wouldn't they have taken it all?”
Vallen glanced up, his creamy skin sparkling by his summoned magical light. “They weren't in here. We last received a batch of ferris on the 45th of Dark Star.”
“Explain what you're thinking,” I requested, trying not to let anxiety get the best of me.
Vallen exhaled slowly and double-checked the dates posted on the crates. “We keep track of our ferris by the dates of the shipments. That way it's easier to keep track of which batches need to be cured, packed, what have you. Considering the harvesting cycle, we have it set up so that they deliver the shipments more or less in the middle of every season. The latest shipment is from the 45th of Dark Star.”
The connotation was clear. Given we were now in late-New Moon, Tenesea was missing a shipment.
“You're saying a shipment should've been delivered about a fortnight ago and wasn't,” I surmised.
“Right.”
“That sounds vaguely familiar,” Koby mused dryly before a sigh of frustration.
“Maybe they raided the paddies up north,” I suggested, though that was the last possibility I wanted to consider.
Vallen grimaced, reached up to hi
s face, and held his temples. “Fuck,” he hissed, starting to rub at a worsening headache.
“Would they have had the time?” Hassan pondered aloud. “Assuming that was Cale's ship spotted in Misu—”
“Jonatan said he spotted them mere days after I left to request a hunting party,” Cyrene pointed out. “I left on the 18th of Dark Star last year. That gives them nearly half a year to sail up the coast, find the paddies, and raid them.”
“Plenty of time,” Jaecar said morosely. “Even if Cale had no direction or clue, the paddies are just off the north and northeastern coasts, visible to someone on the ocean with a discerning eye or a good spyglass. They're isolated, too. The workers sleep there in shacks but there's no reason for others to go out there unless it's for transport. If they raided it while you were gone,” he nodded at Vallen, “no one here would even know about it.”
“But Jayce sent an extra group of warriors out there,” Vallen reminded us.
“Cale's crew is large,” Koby replied. “He sails a dwarven galleon. It's possible they overwhelmed them.”
“The only way to find out is to head north ourselves,” Vallen decided, confidence re-entering his posture once he stood up straight despite his troubled eyes. “Let's stay here tonight. I'll ask around and make sure there aren't innocent explanations for all of this. Then we'll head out in the morning.” He stalked out of the room, dispelling his summoned magical light until the storage room went dark. He hesitated next to Jayce at the doorway and said, “Do me a favor and gather more warriors. Have them meet us on the ramp tomorrow morning. And for the love of the gods, don't let me down on this.”
Jayce flinched in surprise at her brother's uncharacteristic bite. As she watched him walk briskly away, she called after him, “I'll handle it.”
*
No one in Tenesea had answers for Vallen. Worse yet, no one took the initiative to investigate the missing shipment or travel north to check on the paddy workers. The more I witnessed about the inner workings of the city, the more I understood why Vallen was so important here. Most if not all civilians in Tenesea had everyday jobs, but few went above and beyond to handle larger responsibilities. The utter confusion and disorder that resulted from a lack of established hierarchies was the first detriment I personally saw to the anarchism of the wildlands.
Nevertheless, we headed out for the ferris paddies the next day, three dozen haphazardly gathered volunteers following our lead. The trip would take us roughly as long as the walk between Misu and Tenesea; we longed for the convenience and speed of sailing. To think that the ship builders should complete our barque by Red Moon was a relief, but it was impossible to know how long our investigation would take and where it would lead us. Koby and I didn't mind the heavy humidity, of course, but I was becoming stir-crazy without the open sea and our crew members often fought sickness due to the unsavory conditions.
Our route allowed us to experience the most expansive areas of the marshes, for the easiest way to reach the paddies from Tenesea was to use the northern lagoon's edge as a guide. We traveled north with the lake sprawled out to our right and seemingly endless flat wetlands to our left. In the far distance along the western edge of the continent, Koby claimed he could see a skyline of trees where the marshes converted back to swamps. Since my eyesight was too poor to see it, I jokingly called him a lying braggart.
A fortnight after the lagoon's edge pulled in a northeastern direction, we reached the ferris paddy fields. At first, they were only discernible by the groups of deep-green plants in the marshes that grew in suspiciously organized rectangular patterns on the landscape. I'd smoked more than enough ferris in my life, but this was my first time seeing the plant up close. Each started with a long, limber green stem that rose from shallow water like bristles of the marsh. Bunches of leafy extensions grew from multiple stipules off the upper stem, reminiscent of long bird feathers. The scent of ferris lingered in the air, but it was muted, raw.
Even more noticeable than the ferris plants was the absence of those who tended to it. The air was eerily quiet, void of the ambiance of everyday life and the questions we didn't dare ask. We silently walked between two paddy fields on a muddy pathway etching along higher ground, looking for clues.
My eyes were peeled, but it was my nose that stopped me in my tracks so brusquely that Koby ran into my back before recovering. I squinted my eyes shut as if squeezing them to a pulp would free me of the visual memories that rushed to the forefront of my mind. Flashes of Fraco's corpse seared into my brain. Screams of desperate and dying men shattered off stone walls. Bodily fluids covered me—stinking, yellow, clouded with pus—and I couldn't move. My cage was shrinking like it would swallow me whole—
I opened my eyes with a gasp. Terror stole my breath, prohibiting me from feeling embarrassment for the moment as the others watched my panic attack with confusion and alarm. I desperately stared at the open skies above them, reminding myself I was free.
“Bodies,” I managed, the word barely a tremble. I shoved a hand in my trouser pocket so hard it ripped the stitching and tugged out a cigarette. Without a word, Neliah stepped through the crowd to light it and save me a match. As I brought the drug to my lips, I motioned around at the paddies and clarified, “I smell bodies here.”
“Are...you sure?” Hassan asked. His voice echoed in and out of focus as I filled my lungs with smoke. “Everywhere smells like shit in the marshes. It could just be—”
“No,” I insisted. “I know the difference. There are bodies here that have been—” I cut myself short. Only when I felt a hand on my shoulder did I realize Koby came near to comfort me.
“They're old,” Koby clarified as I focused on smoking. He must have recognized the smell, too. “Decomposing.”
Sage walked to the side of the pathway without a word, setting down his greatsword and tugging off his equipment bags. When he was prepared to walk into the shallow water of the nearest paddy, he turned to me and asked, “Can you tell which general direction the smell's coming from?”
I pointed to the left, where the paddy stretched further northeast.
Sage turned and headed into the shallow water. Looking forlorn, Jaecar headed down the embankment of the risen path to do the same, though he turned to Vallen and said, “Depending on what we find, it might be easier for me to transform and search from above.”
Vallen nodded once. His morose expression spoke wonders.
We waited in silence as Sage and Jaecar searched for bodies. Just after lighting my third cigarette in a row, I watched Jaecar stop among the field of ferris, bend over, and stand back up before calling Sage over.
Jaecar returned to us as Sage dragged the body through the paddy and to another embankment of a path to the north. The Celd's foresight in retrieving the body without bringing it over to where I could see it filled me with gratitude that I wasn't yet calm enough to articulate. For now, I listened as Jaecar reported the news to Vallen. He whispered, but my superior hearing picked up on every word.
“Alderi paddy worker,” Jaecar began. “Gutted. Bloated beyond recognition. Based on his state of decomposition, I'd guess he's been dead a moon, maybe two.”
“Nearly two moons to the day ago I left Misu for Tenesea,” Cyrene spoke up, her arms crossed over her chest. “Is it possible this isn't the work of these pirates you're after?”
“Possibly, but not likely,” Jaecar admitted. “The timing's still right. Like I said, I'm just going based on decomposition. It's a window of time, not an exact science.”
“You guys found one body,” Jayce interrupted. “One. Out of the dozens working here and the hunting party I sent to guard them. This isn't proof of anything yet.”
Vallen exhaled heavily. “You're right. We need to wait to throw theories around until we reach the warehouses. We've barely breached the paddies.”
We waited until Sage came back to continue our trek northeast. The sun had only tilted another inch toward the west behind hazy clouds when Vallen stopped in hi
s tracks, laughed humorlessly, and stated, “The plants are gone.”
The weight of an anchor dropped in my gut, sinking through its depths before tugging flesh along with it in a painful ache. Ahead, more paddies were set up like the last, large cultivated rectangles of shallow water surrounded by elevated packed earth. The fields of green so prevalent in the earlier paddies were absent in every one from here on out. Underwater, there were only rich soil and mounds where ferris plants had been uprooted.
“You were right, Cal,” Koby murmured to me, recalling our conversation in Tenesea where I admitted suspicions that Cale would start his operation by stealing the plants, not just the product. But I didn't want to be right. This was the most lucrative plan Cale could have come up with for himself, and the worst for us.
In the distance, multiple ramshackle wooden buildings broke the greenish-gray horizon. We headed there, passing field after empty field. None of us said a word as we passed another floating body. The victim was another Alderi man, floating face down, his once deep purple skin dull and gray after losing its color. Oil spots swirled in prismatic hues in the surrounding waters as the corpse marinaded in its own slowly escaping juices.
We reached the group of buildings. The area opened up now that we were near it, but this wasn't a town. These were merely a few structures out in the middle of nowhere. The largest buildings were clearly the warehouses used for drying and curing ferris, while tiny shacks and lean-tos spotted the land around and between them where the workers stayed.
The residual energy in the air indicated emotions had run high here, actions were taken, lives were snuffed out. Yet, it was deathly quiet. To the south, a small warped dock waited at the edge of the lagoon. Multiple rowboats lined the pier, eerily still on the waters that were so calm surface algae remained unbroken. These were the boats they used to transport the ferris south to Tenesea, but the knots tying them in place were stiff and old.