Within mere days, news of their courtship had spread through the valley. They would be married next year, during the spring wedding season.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Wanderlust
At first, there was nothing but pain and darkness. Fox floated in a sea of inky black silence, aware of every agonizing slice in his hand, and the burning in his chest. After some time, he thought he could hear the snapping of sails on the wind, and the creak of a ship’s deck. There was the slight scent of ocean all around him, and the distant sound of a hundred pirates singing a song about facing the hangman. Then, starlight began to glimmer, and slowly the world took shape around him. His eyes were open, and he was staring up at the canvas ceiling of a tent.
It hadn’t been starlight, but rather the pulsing, sparkling glow of a dozen fireflies just on the other side of the thin fabric. Fox could see their silhouettes, landing briefly on top of his tent before flittering away into the darkness once more. There was no other illumination within the tent. No lantern or candlelight, nothing but the twinkling overhead and a dim, flickering play of light and shadow against the door. Fox thought there might be a campfire just outside.
He sat up, grunting as he took stock of himself. He was dressed from the waist down in clean, soft leggings, but his chest was bare, and his fox-shaped scar seemed to be covered in some sort of salve. His head hurt, and his hand was tightly wrapped in clean bandages. His other arm was bound as well, but still stung from where Vol Tyrr’s sword had sliced into him. Every part of him felt battered and bruised, and generally tender. But, with each breath, Fox’s senses were starting to return to him. He could hear distant music somewhere, and the crackling of wood. Low voices nearby. A playful wind ruffling the branches of trees far overhead.
And, he could smell something divine. Meat and spices, and something fresh and exotic. Fox was suddenly aware of how painfully hungry he was, and he rolled off his raised sleeping pallet. Fresh clothes were already laid out for him, and he pulled them on with some difficulty as he worked around his many injuries. Finally, stomach roaring so loudly he was sure the whole campsite could hear it, Fox pushed open the flap of his tent, and walked out into a night filled with color and revelry.
This, he realized at once, was like no camp he had ever set with the Shavid. While their tents of grand color and garishly-painted wagons were familiar to the point of feeling like home, this was something else entirely. Everywhere there was color, evident even in the firelight and lantern glow, and the countless fireflies mingling in the overhead canopy. There were not just tents, or wagons, there were dwellings of all shapes and sizes. Houses attached to the sides of trees, with brightly-clad individuals climbing up and down ladders to reach them. Hammocks stretched between them, all hung with bells and chimes that tinkled harmoniously whenever they were disturbed. A dozen tents clustered around each roaring bonfire, and Fox could see the flames of at least six dancing through the trees.
His own tent was nestled between two large trees with low-hanging branches, each simply dripping with hanging globes of colored lights. The fire directly across from it appeared to be the source of the mouth-watering smell that had dragged Fox from his sick bed. A large boar was being turned on a spit, and Radda was carefully drizzling it with some sort of sauce. He looked up when he heard Fox approach, and dropped his ladle unceremoniously back into the sauce cauldron.
“My boy!” With a raucous hoot of laughter, Radda swept Fox up in his arms and hugged him so tight, Fox started to cough as his lungs protested.
“He’s only just gotten back to ‘barely alive,’” said Darby from somewhere behind the player. “Let’s not kill him just yet?”
Obediently, Radda set Fox carefully back on his feet, and stood back, tears of joy and gratitude filling his eyes. “Apologies for my manner,” said Radda. “I’ve only been waiting for weeks to see that you were alright.”
“Weeks?” asked Fox incredulously.
“A little over a fortnight,” said Darby, pushing Radda aside and guiding Fox to a seat by the fire. “For the first week, we weren’t really sure you were going to make it.” As Radda returned to cooking, Darby continued. “Someone sat with you at all hours for days, just to be sure you were still breathing. One of the court healers from Calibas was instrumental in your recovery. Then, when we were sure you weren’t in immediate danger anymore, it was only a matter of waiting it out.”
“Well,” said Fox jokingly, “I’m sorry to say you’re stuck with me.”
Darby chuckled. “Ah, well. There’s always next time.”
“What, next time we have to escape a power-mad lord, in a city infested by a godlike plant?”
“This doesn’t happen every day for you?”
The pair laughed, and Radda approached, bearing a giant platter of food. As he did, Fox looked around the clearing, trying to take it all in. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked, accepting the supper gratefully.
“This, my young friend,” said Radda joyously, “is the heart of all Shavid culture. The traveling city.” He spread his arms and gestured broadly to the forest around them, filled with color and light and music and laughter. “Welcome to Wanderlust!”
∞∞∞
Dinner was a joyous affair, filled with reunions and fresh introductions. As Fox stuffed himself with every food brought to him, Shavid and Calibas cityfolk alike all came to wish him well. Some were the familiar faces of players that he knew, including a pale but smiling Mindi, who seemed to have recovered from the Still. Others were men and women who introduced themselves as refugees, who had escaped Calibas’s destruction with the Shavid. And then, there were the unfamiliar Shavid. Players and musicians and storytellers from other traveling companies flitted in and out of the small campsite clearing all night, saying hello to old friends and rapidly making new ones.
Fox ate his way steadily through a small feast that could have rivaled any noble meal in Calibas. The boar had been slathered in thick sauce that made his tongue tingle. He was given hot drinks laden with strange spices, and seasoned potatoes roasted on skewers. A basket of fancy breads and small cakes was passed around the circle at one point, and Fox had to restrain himself from simply keeping it when it reached him. Finally, he pushed his plate aside and stretched out on the ground, staring up at the firefly-lit ceiling of hammocks and trees above him, a satisfied smile on his face.
He lay like that for quite some time, closing his eyes and taking in the sounds and smells of Wanderlust. The wind felt excited, and Fox thought for a brief moment that it was happy to see him again. He’d been unconscious for so long, after all. And so, he let his senses go, allowing the wind to take him wherever it saw fit.
The Shavid magic was so thick in the air, Fox could almost taste it. Everywhere, there was music. No song matched another, but the cacophony was somehow harmonious and soothing. Bits of stories and the emotions that went with them seemed as plentiful as the fireflies, and flashes of illusion made every corner of the patchworked city feel like something from a dream. Fox could smell the sweat from dancers as they traded steps with long-lost friends, and the tang of fresh soap and exotic oils.
Everywhere, the Shavid had constructed temporary stages. Some seemed to have been unfolded from the sides of wagons and carts, like those Fox was used to from Radda’s players. Others had been constructed in the centers of their own clearings, and lit with hanging lanterns and torches. Still others were something different entirely, hanging from the trees or dug into the ground itself, or simply converted from the natural stone and wood of the forest.
Even using the wind as his eyes and ears, Fox could tell that every traveling company was unique. Some appeared to have themed all of their performances. At the heart of one campsite, there was a massive tent with blank walls, and all the Shavid inside were dressed in shades of grey and deepest black. They appeared to specialize in some sort of shadow puppetry, and it was difficult to say where the performer ended and the illusion began. At another, every Shavid was
costumed in red, and incorporated fire into their performance. The jugglers tossed great flaming torches, and the dancers looked as if they were wearing living sparks, that glimmered and moved as they did. The ground burned beneath their feet, transforming bare earth into hot coals, and then back to overgrown forest floor when they stepped away again. In yet another clearing, Fox saw performers dangling high in the air on some sort of sling, leaping and catching each other, and wrapping themselves impossibly in long ropes of fabric.
With every Shavid group, the wind was eager to help spur their art along. It made flames dance higher, and carried the sound of every song and story up into the air, filling the forests of Wanderlust with a palpable, invigorating energy. And Fox knew, as he came back to his own body, that he would not be sleeping tonight. He had slept for long enough, and missed days of this madness already. As he opened his eyes and sat up, anxious to start exploring, he found more familiar faces making their way toward him through Radda’s camp.
Neil and Gully had heard he was awake. They were rushing to greet him, enormous grins on both of their faces. The three embraced immediately, Fox ignoring his injuries’ protests. It wasn’t until they all parted again that he allowed himself to gingerly massage his arm, wincing slightly.
“We were three campsites over, watching the fire dancers, when word reached us!” said Neil, clapping Fox enthusiastically on his good shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re finally awake. It only took you a lifetime.” Gully elbowed her beau good-naturedly, and Neil winked at her.
“So sorry if my brush with death got in the way of your adventure,” joked Fox, and all three laughed.
“Do you want a tour?” asked Gully. She was positively bouncing with excitement. “I’ve never seen so many colors! Did you know there were this many Shavid in the world? Have you ever been to a place like this before?”
Neil rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “She’s been absolutely enthralled with all of it,” he said. “Already asked Radda if she could travel the world with us forever.” He leaned over and gently kissed Gully on her cheek. “Hard to believe this bubbly, over-eager pup was a classy and intelligent noble not three weeks ago.”
Gully turned on him at once, eyebrow raised, with her hands on her hips. “Try me, Palladoran. I dare you.”
Grinning, Neil raised his hands in surrender. “Apologies, my lady.” He offered her his arm. “Now then, shall we give our dear Fox the grand Wanderlust experience?”
Gully pursed her lips, examining the proffered arm, before dissolving into giggles and taking it. She offered her other arm to Fox, who accepted, and the three strode off into the trees, where everything Fox had seen through the wind came to life around him as they walked. At every new campsite, Shavid from other groups wanted to meet him, and offered him a seat at their fire. It seemed word of his exploits had traveled fast, and the word Cartomancer followed him wherever he went. He was greeted time and time again with awe and wonder, and tried to mask his discomfort by complimenting the shows, constantly trying to change the subject.
And, everywhere he went, Fox looked for signs of his other companions. He searched for Bartrum in the crowds, and kept his eyes open for any hint of Farran. He found neither, and when he asked Neil if he knew where they were, Neil uncomfortably admitted that neither had been seen since Calibas, and Fox’s heart sank.
There was, however, a wonderful moment that briefly drove the worry from his mind. Someone shrieked his name with joy, and Iness came running through a crowd, closely followed by Professor Articus. Iness hugged him, and the professor shook his hand vigorously.
“Oh Fox,” said the girl, “we heard what you’d done, everyone has! When people found out Artie and I knew you from University?!”
“We have enjoyed a bit of associated celebrity of late,” admitted Articus. And then, his boyish face fell almost at once. “Oh, I hope it’s alright that I’ve been telling people of your skills in my class?”
“Of course, Professor,” Fox reassured him.
“I think ... just ‘Articus’ for now,” the man replied with a bittersweet smile.
“Well, I’m glad you’re both alright,” said Fox. And then, finally asking someone the question he was dreading an answer to, he said, “Was there anyone else you both cared about that didn’t ... that is, how many ... ” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, and Iness stepped in before he could finish.
“A little over 200 of us survived,” she said.
Fox felt as if something had punched him in the gut. “Only 200?” he said shakily. “In so big a city? But ... I thought for sure that with the floods, the citizens would have time —”
“It wasn’t the floods,” said Iness. “Those waters saved many of our lives, you’re right. No, it was the branches. The plant that people have been calling the Limbwalker. They collapsed in on the city, and trapped everyone inside who couldn’t make it out quickly enough. Once the vines and roots started to touch someone, it was like they couldn’t pull free, no matter how hard they tried.”
Gully looked miserable, and Fox knew she was remembering her friend Evie, being absorbed by the tree in the dungeons.
Fox’s throat was thick, and he wasn’t sure if he needed to throw up or scream. Forcing whatever emotion it was back down, he managed to grunt, “It was just trying to protect the city. It cared, too much, about all of you.” He gave the small group a terse nod. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me I think I need to head back to our camp. First day back on my feet, don’t want to overdo it.”
As Fox turned to leave, Iness grabbed him by the good arm. “It’s 200 more than it would have been,” she said firmly.
“And thousands less than it should have,” said Fox before he could stop himself. “Excuse me.” He pulled his arm free, and stalked back to his tent. Nobody bothered him as he sat inside, listening to Wanderlust slowly fall quieter throughout the night as people began to fall asleep. The music never truly stopped, but those musicians still playing shifted their tunes to lullabies and soothing melodies. Even the frogs and crickets sang along with them, chirping in seamless harmony until the whole campsite felt like the inside of a perfectly-crafted music box.
Fox did not sleep, but not from excitement as he’d anticipated hours earlier. Instead, his guilt kept him awake, as he tried to remember the name of every Calibas city-dweller he’d ever been introduced to, and wondered if they had been lost along with the rest.
His mood only cleared somewhat over the next couple of days as he watched performances with his friends, and always kept an eye out for his mentors. Darby was always nearby in Radda’s camp, though he seemed to be fighting some sort of lengthy headache. When Fox finally asked him about it on the second day, Darby simply said he was remembering. That history had been made that night back in Calibas, and until it was permanently locked away in his living memories, he could do little else.
And then, four nights after Fox awoke in Wanderlust, he returned to his tent after a long evening of watching Shavid musicians teach each other their favorite songs, to find Bartrum Bookmonger sitting on the edge of his cot.
∞∞∞
“The city is entirely devoured,” said Bartrum. “We stayed behind, Farran and I, to be sure that no one else could be saved.”
“He’s alive, then?” said Fox, perking up slightly.
“He is,” said Bartrum with a nod. “He’ll be here soon, but before that I thought it was time we checked in about your first mission as a proper spy.” He folded his arms, and looked Fox up and down carefully. “You did far better than I ever would have hoped. Under the circumstances, any other young agent would have failed.”
“I would hardly consider a devoured city to be a success,” countered Fox.
“But saving the city wasn’t the job,” said Bartrum. He met Fox’s gaze, a firmness in his voice. “These are the impossible choices. It seems heartless and cruel to sacrifice so many people, even for the good of the world. You may tell yourself you can save eve
ryone. But that belief will paralyze you. What you did back in Calibas was nothing short of heroic. I know it doesn’t feel like it now,” he hurried on as Fox opened his mouth to argue, “but look.” He pulled back a corner of Fox’s tent door. Outside, a small gathering of Shavid, both familiar and strange, were toasting to the completion of a new song they’d written together. Just past them, Fox could barely see the shadows of Gully and Neil sitting knee-to-knee, enjoying their dinner. “Everyone you meet, for the rest of your life, was saved by what you did back there. Not just these people, or the ones in the rest of the Shavid city, or the rest of the continent. The rest of the Known World, for the rest of your time wandering it.”
Bartrum let Fox gaze upon the scene for a moment longer before closing the tent flap again. “What that World Seed would have done is nigh on irreversible. And you stopped it. You are allowed to grieve. All of us do. But that’s the cost of winning.”
Fox turned to Bartrum, and noted how tired the man looked. “And how many times have you ... won?” he asked.
“Far too many, in all my long years,” said Bartrum sadly.
The pair let the silence of mutual understanding settle around them for a moment. Nothing more needed to be said about the deaths in Calibas. Fox knew the guilt might never fade completely, but when he remembered how many impossible choices Bartrum had made in his lifetime, it dulled the pain somewhat by comparison. It was, perhaps, better after all to live with the guilt than live with the consequences.
After that, talk turned to the papers they’d stolen from Lord Gilvard’s study. “We’ve found out why this thing could control the Still,” said Bartrum, spreading out several of the parchment pieces on the trunk at the foot of Fox’s cot. “And, we believe it was targeting you. That it caught Mindi and the others was merely an accident, brought on by unwieldy guesswork on the part of the gardener.”
Inkspice (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 2) Page 27