by Kim Wedlock
Everyone except the people most capable of making a difference. But the Order was in turmoil. Even if they were the most qualified to help, getting them involved would hinder their own efforts as well as the Arana's approved and classified work, which remained crucial to Turunda's safety regardless of the keliceran's mental state. They would need to know too many details about too many things, and with the Order's integrity in question, not even she was comfortable with the idea of shining the light of even a dying candle on any of the Arana's activity.
So it was all on them. They had failed to discourage him, to convince him that the prisoner was lying - the amount of time he'd devoted to the cells had left them little opportunity - and now he could form a spell by himself, albeit a meagre one, he would never give up on the tuition.
They had to go after the prisoner. Talk to him, have the Order invoke their right of custody - why they had yet to was a mystery - or perhaps go as far as to kill him if things really got so desperate.
But Taliel already knew what Malson would say. While the rest of their meagre little insurrection approached from other angles, he would again ask her to use Salus's affection for her to their advantage.
And while she would certainly agree, she privately found herself unwilling.
But it was for the good of all. She was a phidipan. She would not be paralysed by doubt. So she shed it, raised her head and walked taller through the building, making her way towards the dormitory for a well-deserved rest.
She stepped outside through the House doors and breathed the floral, late spring air, calling upon her training to rid her mind of troubles. It was as flawless as always. She was relaxed for almost a full minute before a large, brown moth fluttered down and flapped about in front of her, and her heart sank at the sight of the scroll of paper tied to its furry back. She expected it would drop further still as she read its contents.
But it didn't. Instead it jumped as if trying to clamber out of her mouth.
She folded the paper immediately, forcing away the steel rod that seemed to have been pushed through her shoulders with this newest reason to feel dirty, and tried with all her might to subdue the ridiculously immature racing of her heart as she set back off in search of a vacant bed.
Chapter 50
"Right back to the same routine!" Rathen roared in disbelief as they barrelled through the thin trees, shielding his face from the lowest branches that tried to rake his cheek as they whipped past.
"Well it's good to know the world hasn't forgotten us!"
He barely spared Anthis's tart remark a snarl. The three moved as fast as they could over the loose, sandy soil, only just managing to avoid the snaking reach of gnarled roots as they threw the briefest half-glances behind them, cursing the sun, the clouds, and all in the sky along with them as they went. The first sight of comfort and familiarity after three weeks in the desert, and no sooner had they dared to sigh in relief and marvel at the wonderful shape of leaves than an ear-piercing shriek had ripped through the air, and they were descended upon by a flight of harpies.
Rathen heard someone's foot catch behind him, then the waft of air from a single beat of powerful wings and the shrill cry of imminent victory. He gritted his teeth and formed a decisive spell, ignoring Garon's usual shouts for him to stand down, and a moment later the five feathered humanoids were buffeted up into the air and far beyond the cover of the trees.
Garon cursed in frustration even as he took immediate advantage of the lull to steer them off into denser forest. They expected their hunters to fall back upon them within a moment, having surely wizened to this trick by now, but they didn't reappear. None of them believed for a moment that they had been frightened off.
They slowed only as soon as they dared, Rathen and Anthis each fighting for their breath as quietly as they could while Garon listened closely to the air. Squawks soon rose nearby, but they moved no closer. They sounded distracted. Garon nodded to the south and the two followed, looping once more, wider, back in their original direction.
"Casting magic at them doesn't help," the inquisitor reminded Rathen sharply once the squawks had become distant and reduced to painful squeals, and their pace became a little less cautious.
"Well I fail to see what just running will do. They can track us - all too well, it seems. Not even three weeks in a desert shook them! They've probably been patrolling the border, waiting for us." He growled under his breath. "And all because--"
A rustle in the trees above brought them to a dead halt and their guard returned with force, but rather than a flurry of feathers bustling through the leaves, six muddy, child-sized squirrels came scurrying down the trunks instead.
All three sighed tiresomely.
"Of them." Rathen lowered his hands. "What do you want?"
"You're right, big 'uns ain't good at 'hello'."
"I told you."
The six ditchlings, armed with their usual makeshift spears and slingshots, the former very recently bloodied, surrounded the three and peered up at them with large, thoughtful eyes. Their gazes shifted in unison from one face to the next, their silent communication disturbingly evident, until one of them, whose hair either supported a bird's nest or was just that knotted, spoke what they all must have agreed upon.
"What was the desert like? Did you sink up to your whoseits in the sand?"
"The desert?" Anthis frowned. "How did you know...are there Arkhamas in the desert?"
The six blinked. "No..."
"...Then how did you know...?"
They peered slowly past them towards the east, where, beyond the edge of the trees, lay little but scrub and sand. Their eyes turned slowly back. "Where else would you have come from...?"
"Is there something you want?" Rathen sighed wearily, and their collective gaze flicked quickly onto him.
"We're here by coinkydink, mostly," another said as she leaned against her spear, her skin so pale that, joined with the paint, she almost perfectly blended in with the light-dappled sand-soil. "But we saved your rears, so we reckon you owe us." She peered forwards, her eyes narrowing into silver-forested slits that just dared him to dispute it. "We 'ave questions."
The three looked uneasily from one to the other, but shortly agreed.
Her gaze remained serious. "Did you find anythin' useful to yer job in that giant sandpit?"
"Why?" Rathen felt a sudden, ominous wave pass through his blood as he realised that it had been almost four weeks since they'd last had any news of Turunda, let alone any first-hand experience of its arcane suffering. "What's happened?"
She waved her hand vaguely despite the alarm in his eyes. "More of the usual, really. The Lady and her sisters get jealous when places get prettier than what they can make, then they leave, and we all 'ave to hunt 'em down again." With unnecessary theatrics, she turned her head and peered towards them with one wide, allusive eye. "But lately, the Lady's been getting mighty upset. Rather than keep leaving, she's been ob'iteratin' every place that outdoes her. They're startin' to break."
"Break? Do you mean the ground splits?"
"Exactly that, yep!" Said the first with the bird's nest as their faces turned a shade paler. "We been trying to apeese her, but she seems dead set on revenge. We figure it's this magic o' yours what's doing it, but it's all going out of control. She's really angry. Lots of us have gone to sleep in the mess what's left."
"Where?" He asked urgently.
They each thought for a moment, then began counting off on their fingers: "Greentop, The Ghost Patch, Wrenroot--"
"Wrenroot?" Anthis interrupted in a panic. "Is everyone all right?"
"No, not really, but they're still awake."
"And Nug?" Rathen added, unsatisfied and insulted on Aria's behalf by her casual tone.
"He's fine, he's fine." The girl waved it away. "So did you find anything or not?"
"Nothing that will yield results right now."
The ditchlings exchanged mild looks of disappointment. "Thought as much," the boy repl
ied. "But you did get something, didn't you?"
"Yes, but--"
"That's all we wanted to know. That and the whoseits. We heard sand is like water - did you have to swim?"
"...No..."
They nodded, apparently intrigued. "Weird. Well, we've all been itchin' about this magic busyness - we ain't been able to find out 'cause no one's been able to follow you for ages."
Rathen blinked. "Follow...? Are there usually di--Arkhamas following us?"
"No," he replied, casually again, "we just keep an eye. Check up on you every now and then. We got our own matters to take care of, you know! We can't be playing your shadows all the time!"
"Are you still being hunted?" Garon asked warily, but they laughed and waved the notion away.
"Na," a second girl replied, wearing a necklace of bird beaks - small birds. Too small even to be harpy chicks. They hoped. "We kill harpies, harpies kill us, and hoomans kill everyone. But it's okay, we're smarter than them. We've got all of 'em running and flapping about in circles. 'Course, we still don't know why hoomans are getting involved in summit what ain't their business." She leaned towards them suspiciously.
"We've already told you - or, others - that it's nothing to do with us," Garon explained quite firmly. "Humans aren't all connected."
"That really doesn't make any sense at all, but all right. Why do you think it's happening, then? What did we do to you but steal some pies and bread and run off with your washing? We ain't never hurt no one, not really." The rest nodded eagerly.
"Have your conflicts moved onto human land?"
"Oh, all land is 'hooman land' as far as you're thinkin'. But if you mean have we started throwing things at harpies on farms and outside your dens, then no. Near, maybe, but not on. That would be dumb. There's nowhere to hide from the sky on a farm, and if we tried to hide around your dens, you'd all point and shout and scream and make merry hell! Why? D'you reckon that's it?"
"Most likely. Your mischief upsets people, and with the war, your distractions could have severe consequences."
"Mm..." Deeply pensive frowns furrowed every pale brow. Rathen, Anthis and Garon watched them carefully, wondering what they were thinking, and what they were sharing. Finally, they all looked up with the same conclusion in their oversized eyes. "You're all so complicated." The first girl said flatly as the others once more nodded their whole-hearted agreement. "Can't seem to get nothing right where you big folks are concerned. Can't be outside your dens, can't be near 'em, can't be close enough to glimpse through a squint from the top of a tree!"
"Are things no closer to resolved between you?" Rathen asked, recalling Kienza's words to him about their own accidental hostility with the feathered terrors.
"Hah!" A second boy barked. "Resolved?! How? They dive on us, squawking and screaming, snatching us away! We ain't got a chance to sneeze or scratch our arses, never mind 'resolve' anythin'!"
"But we're awright, ain't we?" The second girl said, beaming mischievously around at her comrades. "No one's gonna get one up on us, not in the end!"
The shrill, metallic sound of birdcall tore suddenly over the treetops. Immediately, everyone fell silent. All eyes turned searchingly towards the thin leaves as they lowered themselves in preparation to spring away, while the ditchlings readied their weapons and pressed themselves invisibly against the tree trunks.
A long moment passed under the oppressive silence before the ditchlings began to scurry away on an unspoken agreement. "We'll keep looking," the bird nest boy informed them in a whisper, "and if we find anything, we'll let you know."
"We're sure you will..."
The shriek came again, closer, but as the last of the ditchlings vanished among the trees, their crude voices rose in enthusiastic howls, and the harpies responded in fury.
The three waited until they were sure the cacophony was moving away from them, then took quick advantage of the ditchlings' distraction.
"The magic is getting worse," Rathen said needlessly as they slipped away.
"Of course it's getting worse," Garon growled. "But I didn't expect it to reach so far into Turunda already..."
"Could they be mistaken?"
Rathen shook his head. "No. They wouldn't be mistaken." His jaw tightened, feeling the growing weight of the rapidly increasing pressure he found himself trapped beneath. "We're running out of time..."
They hurried back to the small outcropping of stone that concealed their makeshift camp, additionally shadowed by a brief but dense cluster of trees, beneath which they found Petra standing diligently with her sword drawn and Aria stuck close beside her. Her sharp eyes flicked immediately onto them from her search of the leafy sky, but her relief evaporated once they'd assured her that the threat had passed. "Food?"
They shook their heads.
She sheathed her sword with a sigh and turned towards the bags set against the exposed clay wall, where she began rummaging through the preserved meats and soft, white cheeses they'd taken from the tribe. No one had been comfortable stealing from the reserves of the dead village, but it would have spoiled if left alone, and with a sea journey ahead of them, it would be a valuable asset. It was already curious that the earthen tribe hadn't taken it themselves when they'd attacked, but perhaps they viewed their diet with as much disdain as they did the wind goddess.
"How long is this doomed voyage of ours going to take?" She asked as she began to tear apart meagre morsels for another inadequate meal. Garon gave her a flat look of disapproval for yet again voicing her hopelessness for the sea passage, but she didn't see it.
"A week or so," he replied. "Maybe two. There should be enough to see us through. Even if we can't catch any fish."
"I don't think there are any fish out there. Fishing vessels always come back empty."
"Petra."
She rolled her eyes at his censure but otherwise said nothing.
"Where's Eyila?" Anthis asked softly, glancing around as he seated himself between two tree roots while Petra handed out the rations, ignoring the others as they shuffled away from him. They each followed Aria's finger as she pointed out through the trees and off into the sand. They saw the girl's form and could just about make out the bronze sheen to her skin in the dropping light. No one looked for too long, and only Anthis's cheeks reddened. "Has she...?"
"No. She's not said a word. She's just sat there, meditating."
"She's always doing that now..." Aria said sadly, settling down between Anthis and her father who pulled her closer towards him - or further from the other.
"She's not handling this well at all," Rathen stated with his own disapproval.
"She's trying to communicate with her people's spirits," Anthis explained. "That seems like a pretty normal response for someone like her, to me."
His lip curled at the cocksure tone he was sure he'd heard. "She's meditating naked. Is that normal?"
"She's not naked," Petra clarified, "she's topless, and none of you should be looking so closely as to notice."
Anthis turned his eyes onto the salted oryx meat. "Perhaps it is normal practise and she was just being considerate of us before. It's understandable under the circumstances that she'd take any measures she could to try to reach out to them. Regardless of whether or not she'll admit that's what she's doing."
"She's not going to admit anything," she sighed. "She's not spoken for five days."
"Has anyone seen her eat anything?"
Everyone shook their heads.
Anthis rose to his feet.
"What are you doing?" Rathen asked quickly.
"You've got three guesses."
"Sit down."
"She has to eat something, and she's not going to do it by herself. Someone needs to make her - or," his eyes narrowed down at him, "do you think you're that person again?"
Rathen stared back steadily. "Leave her alone."
He hesitated, appearing to consider the demand, but rather than obey and sit back down or ignore him and approach her, he turned squar
ely towards the mage with crackling defiance. "Everyone? Or me?"
He matched his challenge. "You."
"I'm sick of this."
"Anthis, don't start," Garon warned, but the historian ignored him, green fire blazing in his eyes as they remained fixed sharply on the mage, watching closely for any and every reaction while he tightened his fists to steady his resolve.
"Where do you get off ordering everyone around?"
"What?"
"Do you still fancy yourself a sahrot? Still see yourself as a cut above everyone else, with your 'prodigy' magic? Your heroic honours? Because you must realise that no one remembers any of that. You're not here because of what you've done, you're only here because you're not linked to the Order anymore - you could just as easily have been left to rot wherever you've been hiding all these years! You're not as invaluable as you seem to think!"
"Anthis--"
"And yet you think you are?!" Rathen growled back, rising to his feet and cutting the inquisitor short. "How many other historians could have done this job with the right start? Even now, we could just take your notes, give them to someone else and leave you right here! 'Renowned historian' - you're arrogant, you're flighty, you're insane, and you're not invaluable either! We only need your notes!"
"Rathen--"
"I am the notes! After that fire, all we have left is what's in my head! So I'm afraid I have become quite invaluable. Quite necessary, in fact."
"I wonder if you would be so 'necessary' if I slammed your head into the floor and got it all out of there myself."
"That's enough!"
"I wonder if you would have to use your magic to achieve it."
Rathen's eyes flared. "Would you like to find out?"
Anthis smiled sickeningly. "Oh I would love to."
Rathen's taut, white fist flew towards him, but Anthis, by luck or by suddenly acquired skill, managed to avoid it with a swift backwards step. Rathen immediately swung for him again, and this time only missed because Anthis tripped over a root and fell to the ground just out of his reach. But when he leapt upon him for a third attempt, both of them ignoring the others' shouts for them to stop, Anthis firmly planted his boot in his chest and shoved him away with an unnaturally powerful push.