Clear as

Crystal 2

Hunting in the Mist

Silas Keplar

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Cover Art by:

James Kim

Freelance Concept Artist/Illustrator

Edited by:  K. Ecclestone

Freelance Editor (Upwork)

Originally Published by Silas Keplar

Copyright © February 2023

ISBN: 978-1-990164-26-2

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What is this place?

Oriato struggled to focus through his befuddlement. Upon first waking, his surroundings were familiar and comfortable; it only made sense that having fallen asleep in his own bed, that was where he should awaken.

Yet as the fog of sleep evaporated, important elements of the room struck him as intensely wrong. A haze covered everything, akin to seeing a lantern through fog. Except… he couldn’t tell where any of the room’s light was coming from. He had left no candle burning, nor used his magic to conjure a light. He preferred to sleep in total darkness.

All the room’s colors were bled of their sharpness in the odd, grey luminance. He was a man of influence. The furniture in his room was polished oak inlaid with designs emphasized with bright paints, yet the rich textures were becoming indistinct and drained of impact.

His sleeping clothing felt wrong as well. The expensive fabric was no longer pleasant on his skin. He cast his eyes down and gasped in shock. The fine silk garments had become disturbingly translucent and were continuing to dissolve. The silver scarab pin clinging to his chest was slower to lose its luster, though it would doubtlessly diminish soon.

What truly disturbed him was the nature of his body which the dissipating fabric was beginning to reveal. His skin appeared to be made of polished marble, radiating softly from within. Rather than matching the natural, olive tone of his skin, the living stone of which he was now made had a deep, emerald base with swathes of sunflower yellow painted through it.

Anyone else would be confused about those hues. For Oriato, they were the key to understanding what was happening to him. Those color patterns were identical to his status orb. Every soul-bearing person in the world had their own orb which only they could see and access. Even with all his historical knowledge, Oriato had never heard tell of any magic that could compel another person’s orb to become visible, much less give up its secrets.

His magical skills had always been rooted in the physical. When he ventured into other disciplines, he preferred the comparatively logical, orderly structure of mental magic.

Far less palatable were the Dreamscape, the province of Emotion-based magic, and… this place. The connection to his status orb told him what he needed to know. This was the Astral Void, the space between all other realms, reachable only by Soul-based magic. It was a place of ideation where belief and self-actualization were the true power that had to be harnessed.

Though he spent few of his Wizarding hours embracing this element of magic, he was far from being a novice who would leave himself vulnerable out of ignorance. He rasped out the power words that would shunt his soul back into his corporeal form: “Lwaff ser coss nifwah.”

Nothing happened.

Fear cut into him. It should have worked to banish even malevolent magic used to drag him into the Void. Astral essence gave energy to spells in this place. There was no need for material components to fuel the effect.

A wicked cackle echoed off the chamber walls.

Oriato spun onto his knees, his gaze hunting the corners for the source. There was nothing. Why are the walls even here? My residual surroundings should have merged with the Void by now! He couldn’t see them, but he knew the roiling clouds that made up the boundless Astral expanse loomed beyond the walls, constantly breaking down the temporary mental constructs that travelers brought with them.

The cackle came again, bouncing about the room that refused to fade. The laugh ended with a sucking hiss, as if the lurking creature was anticipating the pleasure of feasting on him.

His altered form wasn’t made of flesh and blood, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be harmed. There were horrors that prowled the Void’s endless clouds and storms. Could one have found me so quickly?

He launched from the bland slab into which his bed had transformed and raced through the door. He turned right, making for his central reception hall. Only…

He came to a crossroads between two corridors instead. This isn’t right. This isn’t the layout of my home. A chill stole down his spine as he picked the left path. Nothing is making sense. I need a way out. To get lost in the mists before this thing finds me!

The corridor didn’t hold straight. It bent in a sweeping curve. The floor sloped down, making it hard to run without picking up too much speed and risking a bad fall. He mocked himself harshly. A fall? In the Astral Void? He should be able to float in this place, with movement controlled more by willpower and belief. But his rational mind was slow to adapt with the seemingly physical barriers trapping him inside.

A split in the hall greeted him at the bottom of that slope. He was about to pick one when a sneering laugh pierced out from the darkness within, along with the sound of metal grinding against the stone. Staggering away, aware he was being herded, he bolted down the opposite tunnel. This is a gods-damned maze and I’m lost in it.

His reality shifted. A corridor that had not existed before formed to his right. From the shadows, a hatchet with a glittering blade of azure metal whirled out at him. It lodged into the rocky wall as if sinking into soft cheese. The handle, which had to be made from the ivory of an unknown astral beast if it was to exist in this place, had black runes up and down its length. They glowed a fierce blue, and the weapon yanked free and flew back into the dark.

“Oops. Missed.” The mischievous snicker became another sinister cackle.

Oriato cowered away and began to run again. He tried to place the voice from anywhere in the six decades of his life, but it wasn’t familiar. His mental block fractured as his subconscious fought to adapt to the Void. With a staggered step, he half-floated several paces, then landed badly and twisted an ankle.

* Crippled: Right Leg – Moderate *

Had he been anywhere else, he would have been too crippled to carry on. But as his mind shifted, his weight mattered less and less. He clawed at the stone and shambled away from the danger.

The maze walls opened and he entered a large chamber filled with row upon row of stone columns. Set into each was a carving built to resemble a leering, multifaced gargoyle. The monstrous statues were alive, and they snapped and bit at him as he passed. There was no such place. It was a figment of his hunter’s deranged imagination. He trembled away from the vicious creations, even as he crawled beneath their reach and tried to lose himself amidst the living pillars.

“Are ya afraid?” the voice mocked him. “In da real world, would ya have wet yerself yet? Woulda liked ta’ve seen dat.” Another of those crude cackles barked over the expansive room. The echoes once again stole any chance of locating its source.

“What do you want?” Oriato groaned, unable at first to produce more than a whisper as he searched one way and the next. Fighting to banish the weakness from his tone, he repeated with as much iron as he could muster, “What do you want?”

He spun just in time to see the blue-metal weapon flickering at him once more. This time, it didn’t miss. It lodged into his chest, breaking past the marble his skin had become as if it was nothing more than flesh. He looked down to see a floating set of numbers waft up from the impact point.

\-95/

Radiant-white mist flowed out. It didn’t spatter or splash to the floor; rather, it formed into tiny globs and drifted away, where it slowly began to disperse into nothingness. It was the essence of his soul being leeched away.

The Sage side of his brain inspected the weapon and the wound it had caused with a sort of clinical detachment. Spectralium. No other metal could exist to hurt me here.

The runes on the hatchet handle flared again. His astral body jerked as the small axe ripped free and sailed back to its master. He snarled in pain as the brutal departure added to the damage already done.

\-26/

The pain was both the same and yet different from how it was in the physical world. Yet this was a body crafted from his soul. While it was the essence of who he was being torn apart, he felt it like any other wound here in the Void.

“Does it hurt?” the creature hissed. “Such small sufferin’. Think dese tiny bits o’ pain make ya worth pityin’?”

Even nigh-weightless, Oriato couldn’t summon the will to move. He remained leaning against one of the pillars, shaking his head as he tried to understand. “Wh-what… who… who are you?”

This time the rough laughter was dreadfully dark and filled with hatred. “Ruin dat many lives that you can’t even guess? Bah! I owe ya nothin’. It’ll hurt ya more dis way. Gonna end ya without even lettin’ ya know who be doing the killin’!”

The hatchet flew again. The flash of its blue metal was the last thing he saw before it lodged between his eyes.

Chapter 1

Yokïmi was being watched.

She had expected to be noticed as she approached. The zaskran protected the Sanctuary of the Lost Monolith with fierce territorialism. No traveler was ever left to wander through the nearby forests and mountain passes without a hidden escort. If they were innocently passing through the region, they were left to carry on without interference. Those who were suspected of looking for the entrance to the Sanctuary were given harsher treatment.

As a humanoid living among serpentians, she had been well-known by all. The zaskran were long-lived and warmed slowly to outsiders. After nearly a year among them, she wouldn’t claim to have made any devoted friends, but neither was she a stranger.

But she felt the hostility in the two sentries who were lurking nearby. Their irritation had only grown as she made a direct line for the pass that would take her into the outer valley where the Sanctuary’s gateway was concealed. The threat of violence was hovering in the air.

Rather than push the issue, Yokïmi stopped in her tracks. “No sense hiding. I know most of the scouts by name. Is that you, Raksiss? Nitheriss?”

Her challenge spurred the scouts out into the open. One had a spear, while the other carried a crossbow. They spread in front of her, one to each side, eyeing her with surprise. “How do you know thosse namess?” the archer demanded.

“In the same way I know yours, Dissiess.” She inclined her head in a nod to the spearman. “Accelis. Our final sparring match before I left on my Quest was a memorable one.”

Accelis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “We thought you a wandering sspirit. But thesse trickss belong to the fae.” His grip tightened on his spear.

Frustration boiled in Yokïmi’s heart. Not so memorable after all. She’d become used to the company of those who had helped stop her brother’s rampage. It was impossible to feel invisible when days were spent bantering with those who had shared such dangers, and each night lost in the arms of her elven lover. She had forgotten that though her cursed Aura scores had been creeping higher, they had been pitifully small when she last departed the Sanctuary. The impression she had made on the typical zaskran was likely akin to the last mosquito they had swatted away, and equally as irritating. Easily dismissed once gone.

Fortunately, this wasn’t a battle she had to fight head-on. That suited her. Her Ekanshin style of martial arts was all about energy manipulation, redirection, and precise strikes. Those techniques could be used in conversation as well.

“I am not one of the fae, though it is fae magic that shrouds me. Fear not. I won’t ask for your trust. But I’ve critical information regarding one of your Guardians. I traveled with Taliskhan.”

That name jolted both of the scouts. They undoubtedly knew of the powerful Guardian’s uncompromising nature. Invoking his names clearly changed their entire perspective. “What of him?” Dissiess demanded.

“That must be heard by the other Guardians first. Take me to the Monolith, then summon Yeztinass and Ishayel. They will decide how to act.”

Accelis hissed in warning. “You know far too much, outssider. We sshould kill you now for knowing thesse thingss.” His hands fidgeted along the shaft of his spear as he tried to determine how a stranger could have such details of his hidden home. The promise of knowledge regarding Taliskhan only made any refusal harder. “When you approach the gateway and the Guardianss do not like what you ssay, your life will be forfeit.”

Yokïmi didn’t miss his choice of words. ‘When’, not ‘if’. She had crossed the boundary. They would no longer turn her away. She would either convince someone of her truth, or the Sanctuary’s hunters would stalk her until she was dead. Even if she killed these two, others would follow. She stood a decent chance of defeating these two, but eventually they would wear her down long before she reached any sort of safety.

Her reaction was closer to humor than fear. Foolish of me. I should have known right from the start that only the Guardians would see past the damage done to my Aura scores. She waved at the pathway ahead. “Shall I lead the way?”

Not taking her jest well, Acceslis scowled her way, then marched off in a huff.

Dissiess gestured for her to follow with his crossbow pointed her way. “I sshall be watching the whole way.”

Certain he would keep his promise, still Yokïmi didn’t feel any fear. Protecting the Sanctuary made them distrustful. Being zaskran made them surly with any other race. Yet their training under the three Guardians had invested them with a level of honor any knight might envy. She could trust in their promised actions: to escort her to the Guardians, and to kill her if they failed to recognize her.

As emotionally damaging as her fight had been against her monstrous twin brother, the struggle had left Yokïmi stronger than she had ever been. Her martial training was well suited to physical conditioning, but the requirements of her ChiKiln magic were no less demanding in their own way. Unable to carry material components with her, she was forced to fuel spells with her own chi. That meant doing herself harm. Increasing her resistance to the self-imposed, magical damage was the only way she would be able to cast more powerful spells.

All of which meant the climb through the steep mountain pass did not faze her. The two zaskran seemed to be pushing hard, as if trying to steal the breath from the unwelcome visitor as a way to humble her. She was pleased to disappoint them, arriving at the Sanctuary entrance in better shape than her escorts. Even more surly at the failure of their game, Accelis vanished through the gateway while Dissiess maintained his watch upon her.

In an effort to be polite, Yokïmi averted her eyes as the spearman tapped the blocks in the correct order to activate the magical portal. She also made no attempt to peer through the opening to see the verdant, supernatural valley beyond. It was easy, since she had no curiosity. She knew it looked precisely like the valley spread in front of her in this world, except that the Sanctuary had more ideal weather and showed the signs of zaskran occupation that had lasted for centuries.

Originally, there had been six entries into the valley. One by one, the gateways had all been destroyed. The entry was an archway made of interconnected slabs of rock. It wasn’t marked on any maps, and the number of people outside of the zaskran colony who knew its exact location could be counted on her two hands with fingers left to spare. Thus had the place earned the name Sanctuary of the Lost Monolith.

She didn’t have long to ponder those facts before the gateway opened again from the opposite side.

First to emerge was Yeztinass, her ChiKiln mentor. As typical for him, crimson robes hid nearly all his features. The end of his serpentian snout protruded from under the hood, and she had a vague impression of red eyes peering out of the darkness. His hands looped into each sleeve, and the bulk of the robes concealed any details about his body.

His flowing gait was unhurried. His impenetrable calm betrayed nothing resembling either joy at seeing her or anger at seeing a stranger. He angled to one side, less to take a flanking position and more to ensure he was clear of his colleague’s path. He held his silence, though she had the distinct impression he was absorbing her every detail. One hand flickered in a gesture of dismissal. Dissiess obeyed the command instantly, slipping away into the forest to return to his patrol.

Ishayel was no less composed, though her nature radiated a different sort of self-assurance. As the Sanctuary’s senior Cleric to Zifyiveth, the Goddess of the Serpentian racial triad, her duty revolved around being a paragon example of her kind. Aloof. Enigmatic. Slow to embrace any emotion. Observing the world and soaking in details before striking out with deadly certainty. From Yokïmi’s time among them, she knew they had a fierce sense of territory, clan, pride, and honor. She could see those various elements perpetually balanced in every decision the Head Cleric had ever made. She saw them being weighed now regarding her arrival.

Yet with a rush of joy, Yokïmi also saw the one thing she had hoped above all other things to see: recognition. Taking a deep, relieved breath, she flowed into a respectful bow. “I’ve returned.”

“Alone.” Yeztinass intoned, his feelings on the matter inscrutable. If anything could be read in his voice, there was a mild yet firm suggestion that an explanation was required.

Knowing these two would not appreciate flowery softening, she spoke plainly. “Taliskhan died fulfilling his final Quest. The creature who had once been Haruto Kai was destroyed. Her soul is free to travel to the River. May the Grey Lady’s Grims take her there.”

“And may hiss ssoul be taken into our Mother’ss embrace,” Ishayel whispered. Where a human might have fidgeted in the discussion of such a tragic topic, the serpentian Cleric’s gaze never shied away. Her hands remained peacefully folded into a tented triangle in front of her chest. “Grave tidingss. Not only for the losss of sso great a warrior. But he wass alsso one of an important triad. Three Guardianss of the Ssanctuary have alwayss protected it.”

“And three there remain.” It was Yokïmi’s turn to summon her confidence and keep her eyes locked on the two masters.

Yeztinass understood. He drifted forward, extending a single hand. It was covered by a deep red glove, extending high enough to hide every inch of his skin. His inch-long, razor sharp claws protruded through holes crafted for the purpose. Yokïmi matched the gesture, giving him the freedom to touch her crystal flesh. Rather than be fascinated by her magically altered nature, the ChiKiln tapped one claw on the bracelet wrapped around her wrist.

“You come bearing hiss itemss ass well ass hiss title.”

Making no effort to pull her hand away, Yokïmi turned her arm for him to see the stylized heron symbol inscribed on it, a clear indicator that it was indeed the magical items Taliskhan had once owned, gifted to Haruto, then insisted she take. They changed to suit the wearer, meaning they had become as clear as crystal as soon as they touched her skin.

“Perhaps he knew they would help identify me as… as his heir.” Yokïmi felt proud she had only stumbled once thus far. She was not so impervious to the emotions brought on by his sacrifice, the gifts he had chosen to offer her, and the promises he had insisted she make. She hadn’t had near enough time to grieve, much less face what those promises meant for her future. Returning here, to his people and places dear to his heart, would inescapably lead to her facing both in a far more personal way.

This was the first challenge she needed to meet. Shifting her focus from one to the other and back, she asked, “You won’t challenge my claim?”

“You accepted the charge when he laid it upon you?” Ishayel asked.

“I did.”

“Iss the Doom upon you?”

She recalled seeing the entry under the Quirks section of her personal status. She had yet to summon the courage to explore it and see what it would demand of her. “It is.”

“We carry the ssame,” the Cleric offered. What Yokïmi read as an edge of kindness hovered around each word. “There iss nothing for uss to challenge. We sswore long ago to resspect the choicess each of uss make in picking a ssuccesssor.”

Yestinass withdrew his hand, returning to his folded-arm stance. “We do not undersstand hiss reassonss for embracing a human sstudent. But he did. Firsst, with Haruto. Now, with you. His sselection of you wass no accident.”

“Your people do not even remember who I am. A fine Guardian I will make.”

“Their memoriess will reawaken in time. Berisss esspecially will be pleassed to ssee you return,” Ishayel reassured her.

Squaring her shoulders, Yokïmi motioned with her chin toward the gateway. “Then I’ve your leave to enter? I’ll live in the Robin’s Cage for now.” The year she’d spent in that small hut looking out over the valley had been a pleasant one, though she was sure it would be lonely without Parrun to keep her company.

“That iss not your place.” Ishayel didn’t sound like she woul accept a compromise in this.

Her meaning struck home. Yokïmi’s eyes widened in shock. “You cannot mean for me to take over Taliskhan’s dojo!”

“Indeed, we do not,” Yeztinass intoned. “For it iss Yokïmi’s dojo.”

She leveled a fierce scowl his way, though she could detect no sarcasm in his damnably calm tone. Ai ya, he sincerely means it, doesn’t he? She raised a final protest. “I’m not an Elder.”

“Age iss of no conssequence. Nor iss it necesssary for the otherss to accept you for you to act ass protector over them. None of the otherss will dare asscend thosse sstairss. Not without being declared the new Guardian. Ssomeone musst tend the dojo. The duty iss yourss.”

She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her promise mount. I may need to name one of the others in the Sanctuary my alternate. I won’t always be here. She cast away that worry as one that could wait for another time.

“We sshall sspread word of your arrival among uss,” Ishayel said. “For a time, it sshall be part of our holy notices, required by our Goddesss to read and undersstand. Sso it sshall be until awarenesss of you piercess even the thickesst of mindss.” A ghost of a smile passed over her thin, lipless mouth. “Thiss may take time, for zasskran are sslow to change. Be patient with them.” She turned toward the portal.

“That’s all?” Yokïmi couldn’t stop the sense of shock. She’d stood under judgment of death. Now, they were leaving her to enter at her own whim.

“What more iss there to ssay? You are a Guardian. We hold no authority over you. Though a wisse persson might sstop, assk and conssider our advice before making any rassh decissionss on her own.” Once again, Yezinass delivered what might have been a light-hearted jest with his utterly dead-pan tone.

A wry smirk stole over her own lips. “Indeed, she should.” Hoping for more, she asked, “Will you receive me in the Nest in a few days? I’ve made progress in my ChiKiln art, but I’ve questions to ask. Guardian I may be, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t use a mentor as well.”

“It iss unussual for any two Guardianss to sspend prolonged time in each other’ss placess of power. But I have not forgotten your needss, nor the excellent progresss you were able to make. Ass Guardian or asspirant to my art, you are alwayss welcome.” Yeztinass began to withdraw.

Hoping she hadn’t misstepped too badly with that request, she looked to the other Elder. Religion had never resonated with Yokïmi, and she had little reason to embrace any element of the Zifyiveth faith, since the Goddess of the Serpentians was focused on the well-being of the snakelings, zaskran, and naga. But if she was to be among them, respect had to be offered, and she knew it.

“Last time, I spent very little time in your temple, Ishayel. I would be honored to learn more of your efforts as well. That much I owe the Sanctuary’s people if I’m going to be watching over them.”

“I would be honored in turn. Talisskhan wass never one to dwell on the wordss of our Mother. It would do my heart well to know the new Ekansshin Guardian iss of a different mind.” Another of her clever, ghostly smiles clung to the Cleric’s expression as she followed Yeztinass through the gateway.

Great. I intended to follow in Taliskhan’s footsteps, at least for the first while. Yet here I am threatening to rock the boat with my first words. She waited until the two had passed out of sight, then gave them further time to be well gone from the entry point.

Only then did she approach the Monolith, tap the sequence on the stones to open the path, and step through into the sunshine beyond.

Chapter 2

The air of the Sanctuary was fresh and pure compared to where she had left. Not by any massive degree, but neither was it merely an illusion. In this otherworldly place, there were no ash spewing fire mountains belching their grit into the wind. The prevailing weather blew most of the plumes’ fallout to the east, but the countryside of Hu’na’la endured its fair share of poison rain, ashfall that spoiled their fields, and cinders which burned buildings to the ground.

Yokïmi could have stayed along valley’s outer ridgelines to intercept the crude stairs rough-hewn into the rocky cliffs that led up to Taliskhan’s personal manse. The steppes lined with ponds used to farm both rice and shellfood provided no end of pathways. She could remain well clear of the hamlets scattered over the valley center while dodging any crop-tending zaskrans she happened upon.

Keeping clear is only delaying what needs to happen. If I’m going to be a Guardian of this place, they need to know me. My Aura scores are higher, now. Perhaps I’ll stick in a few of their minds this time. With those thoughts in mind, she struck out across the heart of the valley, staying as true to a crow’s flight path as she could.

As different as zaskran could be from humans, one common element they shared with nearly every intelligent race was a weakness for gossip-filled whispers. The story of her arrival had already spread in front of her.

And so, the gaze of the zaskrans she met did not radiate hatred for an outsider. Instead, she read suspicion in their eyes, along with the displeasure of having an unhappy messenger walking among them. She had brought the dark tidings of Taliskhan’s death without the good sense to leave them alone to their mourning. Maybe I should have kept my distance after all.

Prickly though their stares might be, Yokïmi appreciated what was absent. Her solitary walk through the Hu’na’laan wilderness had taken a week. Being alone had given her time with her thoughts and the soothing enjoyment of not being under constant observation or judgment.

Her time alone hadn’t changed the fact that the powerful Curses laid upon her remained. They still prevented her from concealing her body’s shape while also shattering her ability to hide her thoughts and emotions. It was no longer possible for her to use self-control to put up a mask. Her face and body language broadcast inner truths that she might want to keep hidden. Anyone who wished to know had only to consider her for a few seconds.

But the zaskrans did not care to know. Nor were they prone to casual outbursts of lust. They might be glaring at her like an unwelcome guest, but at least their focus was on her face instead of lower down.

Whether refreshing her presence among them was the right decision or not, she knew she couldn’t disperse their hostility in a single day. She didn’t linger, continuing on her path until she stood at the base of the stone steps.

She hesitated before setting her feet upon them again. When she first came upon them, she remembered thinking they were not made for her. Too tall for one her height. Too broad to have the next one in easy reach without taking an energetic bound. Yet in a way, that makes them perfect for me. The only way to feel natural going up is to do it with dynamic, running steps. She needed to find ways to think of this place as her own. Taliskhan would forever be there in spirit, but she couldn’t allow him to haunt it. He probably would for a while. A presence as powerful as his couldn’t help but linger. But not forever. Not if she was going to make this her home.

Yokïmi began the ascent. Her legs churned in small, explosive bursts. She alighted on each step on the balls of her feet before launching to the next. There were thousands of steps. It had taken her months to be able to finish the entire climb from base to summit without pausing for rest. Once she accomplished the feat, she resolved to never fail at the task again.

She settled into a metronome-perfect pace, savoring the simple joy of physical exertion. It wasn’t the peace of meditation, but the uncomplicated focus that came from controlling her breathing, banishing the burn from her muscles, and steeling her will helped her forget any dark thoughts or memories until at last she vaulted over the edge of the last stair.

It hadn’t even been a month since she had last stood on that spot, not even long enough for the plantlife to grow much beyond Taliskhan’s usual tight control. Hundreds of times, she had scanned the dojo before entering the grounds. All the familiar elements now felt entirely different. This was hers. The books in the meditation study were for her growth. The spartan bedchambers were for her rest after a punishing day of exercise and drills.

She padded over the tatami mats of the dojo’s main training area. The rice filling felt comfortably firm under her feet, helping ground her in the moment. Bellatir training is best carried out with partners. I’ll need to find which of the zaskrans below have strengths to complement mine and challenge my weaknesses. As the Ekanshin Guardian, it would undoubtedly be one of her duties to ensure the art continued to flourishin the Sanctuary. It would be some time before she could encourage practice from the vaunted statin of a grand master. She would have to rely on doing so with enthusiasm and cooperative education.

With a heavy sigh, Yokïmi decided it was past time she learned precisely what this Doom upon her meant for her future. She couldn’t develop a path to increase both her Bellatir and ChiKiln Levels until she had all the information.

Entering the meditation chamber, she sank into a lotus posture with flexible ease. Cycling a few deep breaths, she resisted the temptation to drift into that state, no matter how the relaxation promised to ease the troubles on her mind. Instead, she called to her status orb from where it hovered near the corner of the three-walled room’s overhang.

Over a year had passed since her forced transformation into a Crystalline Human. Despite the countless times she had inspected her orb since that terrible day, the change to the orb still felt unnatural to her. Before, the sphere had contained a vibrant swirl of pink interspersed with the occasional flicker of sky blue. Now it was a glass orb nearly as clear as her skin. Only a few wisps of pink churned within like a never-dispersing cloud touched by the first hints of sunrise. It was lovely in its own way, but she couldn’t yet embrace it as her own.

Yet it responded to her commands, proving once again this was indeed the map to her inner self. She wasted no time in bringing forth the full description of the Quirk that had appeared in the wake of her promise to Taliskhan.

Quirk: Doom of the Sanctuary Guardian:

Conditions:

-  This Doom remains forever, unconditionally active.

-  This Doom can be transferred to another Soul-bearing individual only if the following conditions are met:

• One’s own death appears imminent.

• The other individual is capable of taking a protector role.

• The other individual is willing.

-  Guardians must ensure the gateways into the Sanctuary remain open.

Strength:

-  Epic

Effects:

-  Each time a gateway falls, supernatural pain will wrack the Guardian’s body, mind, emotions, and soul. Resilience checks will be made against their Tolerance, Willpower, Stability, and ego. Failure will result in a permanent -50 loss to PDP/MDP/EDP/SDP. If any score reduced below zero, the Guardian will suffer Death/Coma/Insanity/Loss of Self. If the final gateway is destroyed, the Guardian will perish and their soul will be consigned to Oblivion unless Divine Intervention is received.

-  If the Doom is not transferred to another prior to one’s own death, the Guardian shall be doomed to haunt the site of their own demise as a restless spirit until another individual promises to assume the duty.

Ai ya. The only chance of salvation is Divine Intervention? I’m sure Ishayel’s faith is not inspired by the chance for his Goddess to save him, but she certainly has at least one huge reason to remain devout. Yokïmi was quite certain Narrum, the God of Humanoids, would not raise even the smallest of his fingers to rescue her Soul from this fate.

The secrecy of the Sanctuary had now become a matter of survival for her.

Despite the harsh implications, Yokïmi didn’t regret her choice. Nor did she feel like Taliskhan had dumped this on her to save his own soul. She honestly believed he would prefer to rise as a ghost than push this Doom on anyone unworthy. Now I’ll have to live up to his expectations.

The information within the Doom had not revealed any of the heritage duties she had expected. Nothing about teaching Ekanshin. Nothing about empowering other ChiKilns. Not even a hint about supporting and sustaining the faith of the Serpentian Goddess. If protecting those elements is not the purpose of the Guardians, then… ai ya, what is?

She nearly wished for Taliskhan’s spirit to return so she could demand the answers from him. Neither of the others had been forthcoming. Are they waiting for me to approach them? Or is this all they know? She feared the duties they had assigned themselves were more traditional than required by the Doom. Five gateways have been destroyed. Their collapse almost certainly cost previous Guardians their lives. If the first ones knew the secrets of this place, it is possible they took those secrets to the grave. I need to ask the Elders. I need to know what they know.

*          *          *

Come nightfall, Yokïmi was treated to another of the luxuries of the dojo. A series of lanterns scattered across the manse lit of their own internal magic. They flickered as if shedding natural radiance off candles hidden behind their translucent glass, but the devices never required replacement.

Two of the lanterns hung within the meditation temple, which doubled as the study chamber. Sturdy shelves were lined with the thick tomes and bound scrolls that captured knowledge of Taliskhan’s martial arts.

Her former master was an orderly soul. It had not taken her long to decipher his methods, then sift through the available material to find teachings to suit her level. The discovery was not entirely a happy one. From the various diagrams, she believed there were three, perhaps four appropriate books and a like number of scrolls. Unfortunately, only three of the works were written in a Hu’na’laan dialect she could understand. Another was in Goldaan, and she counted her blessings that her mother had been diligent with instructing her in the tongue of her homeland.

She suspected another grouping of a book and two scrolls were in the serpentian’s language, perhaps even written by Taliskhan himself. The elegant, bold, scrupulously efficient lettering certainly matched his personality, while the sinuous flow of the script was suggestive of their snake-kin heritage. Her first instinct was to ask for a translation, but she decided it might be more beneficial to both her learning and her status among the zaskran to ask for tutoring in the language until she could read it herself.

The rest were written in two other, unknown dialects. These were mysteries she would need to unlock. The more advanced works had the same mixture, and she refused to accept that half the wisdom contained in the Ekanshin library was inaccessible to her. Languages did not come easily for her, but she swore to grind through the elder scripts until they surrendered their mysteries to her.

For now, she focused on those she could understand. At first, the morsels of Ekanshin knowledge she unearthed were the most tempting. But upon opening an aged tome wrapped in alligator hide, she discovered a possible answer to a riddle that had been bothering her for some time.

Having seen Taliskhan fight, Yokïmi had marveled at how he used the spell-like abilities granted to him by his Bellatir training. She knew first-hand how using them chewed up one’s Physical Damage Points. As impressive as he had been, she could hardly credit him with possessing so many.

Yet here in her hands was guidance on how to attain a Level path of which she had never heard tell. Taliskhan had not mentioned it, perhaps wanting her to focus on her Bellatir progression. After all, until she had the powers to use, what use was having a greater source to draw upon? However, it seemed upon this new path, one could enhance one’s PDP to empower one’s magic.

It was possible to build one’s PDP in a more direct way: by advancing other Levels which had a purely physical power base. She knew that the Pugelist and Taudoka martial arts provided body hardening practice, allowing them to survive punishing battles far better than would her chosen Bellatir path.

But physical improvement wasn’t the secret here. The deeper she delved into the teachings, the better she understood that this was an internal, meditative path. The name of it was Wellspring, and that functioned as an apt descriptor from what she could see. Improvement depended on bettering one’s meditative ability, followed by an unlocking of internal potential. If what she read was accurate, it wasn’t limited to PDP. One’s MDP, EDP, and SDP could all be enhanced.

She noted that it was not a panacea for all things damage related. The Wellspring was intended to be a font of magical potential. The support to one’s PDP could not be used to take additional damage, it seemed, nor could the other aspects protect one’s mind, emotions, or soul. But this font of power could be used to fuel spells and similar effects. Rather than eating away at her own internal Chi, she could draw on this source to power her spells.

At first, it confused her why this Level path even existed. The teachings did not suggest that you needed any magical ability at all to obtain it. Why unlock magical potential inside yourself if you could not then use it? It didn’t make sense to her until she recalled one of the more recent Techniques she had unlocked as part of her ChiKiln advancement. I can siphon power off other people. If I was an archmage, the power of my spells might overwhelm any amount of PDP I personally possess. It could also burn out any number of assistants who are helping me cast my magic. But if one or even several of these Wellsprings were there to offer up this additional essence, it could fuel amazing levels of magic without causing any death.

The concept was fascinating, and she became increasingly absorbed in her study. The hours melted away and all three moons which had all been visible that night were nearly set when she was shaken from her ruminations by the rattle of a bucket being set on the ground at the entrance to her meditation temple.

Yokïmi glanced up to see an elderly zaskran dipping a ladle into the clear water she had carried onto the grounds. She spilled a healthy dose upon the potted plants hanging about the room. A pair of snips hung from her belt, no doubt ready to cut away any wilting sprigs.

Serpentians had prolonged lives, second only to the elves and other fae-kin. They could pass centuries without showing any signs of age. But here was one who had crossed the boundary, showing her ancient years in the way her pebbled skin hung from her long jowls and the relatively stiff bending of her joints. The oiled grace which marked most zaskrans had all but vanished, and her limp tail dragged upon the ground rather than weaving sinuous patterns in the air.

Though there was a tired air about the zaskran female, she was not careless. She poured the water without allowing a drop to fall anywhere she didn’t intend. The shift covering her figure was simple but clean and well-mended. When Yokïmi started from her trance, the zaskran noticed immediately. Her clear eyes slid over to her, and a crooked smile formed on her broad mouth. “Apologiess for dissturbing you, Guardian.”

Yokïmi’s manners failed her in her surprise. “I thought no one else came up here. I was told it was… not done.” She had so recently claimed the manse as her own that objecting to anyone walking through her home uninvited felt unnatural.

A trace of cool amusement creased the ancient zaskran’s features. “Will you hold to thoughtss, beliefs, and hearssayss desspite the proof in front of your eyess?”

Embarrassment would have drawn a blush from her if her crystal-clear body could still produce such an effect. “I… no, of course not. It’s just that I have spent many hours here before and never seen you.”

“Which might be odd if it were a matter of chance.” That sly twist of humor continued to cling to the Elder’s face.

Yokïmi began to understand. “Are you one of Taliskhan’s secrets? I’ve always assumed he had many.” She waved at the books around her. “I’ve already found a few here.”

“Not hiss ssecret alone,” the Elder said. “I have little causse to be among the otherss of the Ssanctuary. When the Guardianss have need of memoriess of the passt, they come to find me.”

Yokïmi’s gaze wandered to the water bucket. “But you came here on your own?”

“The other Guardianss rarely leave the valley. On the few occassionss it wass necesssary, Talisskhan wass the insstrument of our people’ss will upon the wider world.” She gestured at the plants she was tending. “Whenever he wass gone, I looked after hiss home sso he would not find it overgrown upon hiss return.”

“I thought it might be magic which upkept it.” Yokïmi’s lips quirked into a soft smile of her own. “That… or that the plants feared his displeasure and the dust dared not gather upon his things. Even they wouldn’t risk his wrath.”

The Elder issued a small if genuine laugh. “Perhapss there iss truth in thiss, and I have been wassting my time for all thesse centuriess.” She raised the ladle to another of the pots. “Yet I enjoy it, even ass I’ve enjoyed our many converssationss on nightss when neither of uss could ssleep. I will misss him greatly.”

As keenly as Yokïmi felt the loss of her mentor, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for the Elder to have lost such a long-time companion.

There were questions she wanted to ask, for she believed Taliskhan to be the eldest among the zaskran, and even he was not ancient enough to know the full history of the colony’s migration into the Sanctuary, nor the purpose which had drawn them here. Even the Zifyiveth faithful had no records. They merely went on belief that their Goddess had drawn them her to embrace the privacy their kind prized so much. Can’t think of a way to ask that is not rude. Instead, she merely asked, “Who you are?”

“Mekuhssui iss the name given to me, though I’ve few occassionss to usse it.” Her name was a bare fraction of what she might have used to self-identify, but it was all she provided. “You are not yet thiss place’ss masster.”

“Is it so obvious?”

“I obsserved you for a time from on the higher ridge. When you walk the groundss, you sset your feet tenderly, ass one afraid they might dissturb the rightful owner’ss preferencess.” She indicated the book shelves with her now-empty ladle. “Notice that even though you’ve delved into the knowledge left behind, you’ve replaced each book in the ssame location from which you took it.”

Yokïmi’s first impulse was to protest that making reckless changes to a system that had worked for an elder master would be ill-advised. But she knew that would be evading the point. If I’m being honest, she’s right about my intent. I’m replacing them because I feel his ghost watching over my shoulder and fear he would frown in disapproval. Her shoulders slumped a little as she surrendered to that truth. “Logically, I know he isn’t returning. But knowledge doesn’t pierce the heart so easily. His spirit isn’t gone yet.”

“Your pressence will make hiss sspirit linger,” Mekuhsui said.

“How do you mean?”

“It wass important for him to have a human adept under hiss protection. Did you know Haruto Kai had promissed to return?”

“Not in so many words,” Yokïmi replied. “She spoke fondly of her time here. I had a sense that she had made a promise to return for another period of training. One she couldn’t attain without her master’s aid.” She noticed the odd way the Elder had phrased her comment. Not that it was important in Taliskhan’s view. Merely that it was important. She pressed, “Is this why he took me as his apprentice? Not to honor Haruto, but because it was… important?”

“Can it not be both?” The Elder zaskran rested a fond hand on her shoulder. “Be at peace with thiss. Not every mysstery iss meant to be ssolved, though thiss one may unravel to you in the fullnesss of time. For now, what iss important iss that you come to ssee thiss ass your home. That wherever your travelss take you, you return here.”

“I am a Guardian, now. The Doom is on me to do so.”

“That iss the promise you made with your will. Better sstill if the wissh to return iss in your heart for the love you bear thiss place. Embrace the Ssanctuary ass your own.” Mekuhsui squeezed her arm one last time, gathered up her bucket, and ambled off into the darkness around the dojo.

Yokïmi didn’t move as she watched the Elder go. The valley was ideal for growing her abilities. Lovely for keeping her apart from a civilization that would treat her like an outcast at best and at worst an object to be exploited. Katashi, her Father-in-Narrum, was her only remaining family. While he had promised to aid her in regaining some measure of control over herself, he had a life of his own. It was not her intent to burden him any more than necessary.

And so, she had come to the Sanctuary of the Lost Monolith. She had intended to remain here for years. At least, until she had accomplished her Quests to eliminate the Curses hanging over her head.

She wasn’t ready to face, much less accept, all that her new Guardian status implied. Her life had changed. The only question was to what degree. Could she think of this place as home? Or would this become an obligation she had to endure? Only time will tell, I guess. I’ll take a few months to train before I commit to a Quest. Perhaps by the time I have my next reason to leave, the urge to come back will be more than what this Doom demands of me.

By Narrum’s grace, I should not be here

Katashi had earned a great deal of his Sage knowledge through reading, but he credited more from his time spent traveling, adventuring, and exploring the world. His survival instincts had not been taxed in many years, but they had not atrophied so far that he couldn’t adapt to the unexpected.

He immediately recognized the morphing of his body into its astral form. While he wasn’t a constant traveler in the Void, he used it often enough to transition to spectral meetings with other distant scholars. He was not rattled by how his clothing disintegrated nor how his body turned into a swirl of green, blue, violet marble. When he returned to the mortal realm, both would return to normal. This was but an illusion.

“Lwaff ser coss nifwah,” he swiftly intoned. The astral dispersal spell did not even cause a mild shiver in his presence in the Void. Frowning, he snapped out another spell, this one at the Evolved Level, one of the strongest he knew how to cast. “Tai kren coss ver wuuth sien vey!”

The Void’s essence gave energy to the magic. A wave rippled outward, blasting away the lingering remnants of his home and revealing the boundless clouds and roiling storms that were the Void’s true nature.

Only… not all of the temporary construct was torn away. The bed upon which he knelt remained.

Before his brow could crease in consternation at the padded platform’s resilience, the center of it opened into a yawning pit. He fell into darkness, tumbling what he measured as a few stories before he completed the shift to the astral reality, where the concept of gravity was a mindset rather than a truth that couldn’t be ignored. He ceased his fall, then looked up so he could fly out of the chasm.

Except the chasm was no longer a viable path. The opening had collapsed in on itself, and the pieces were now falling toward him in precisely the way they shouldn’t in this place.

He had sufficient strength to cast the spell to Dispel Temporary Astral Constructs one more time. He wasn’t sure it would be any more effective from within the bed than it had been from atop it. Unwilling to leave himself drained of spell points granted by his Ego Resilience score, Katashi bought himself time by flying downward faster than the shattered pieces were falling.

The chasm’s walls spread outward into a massive pit. Stone pillars and cross-braces filled the space, creating a tangled maze of blind spots. Katashi darted away from the opening, allowing the debris to sail past him and smash harmlessly on the conjured stone below.

Before he could reorient himself with the danger past, a whirling flicker of blue metal slashed out of the darkness at him. The Sage barked another spell. “Rei nash!” He added a shielding gesture with his hands. A glowing barrier appeared in the path of the approaching weapon, but the hatchet pierced right through it. He’d already wasted his time to evade. The blade lodged into his arm, hacking into the astral marble of his skin like it was parchment.

\-52/

An instant later, the ivory of its handle flared to brilliant life, and the hatchet tore free of him, leaving behind a cracked wound that bled astral essence in the form of white fog.

\-22/

* Bleeding *

\-2/

* Bleeding *

\-2/

Katashi drifted to the left until he slumped against one of the nearby pillars. Idiot. Astral magic will not stop spectralium. I’d need materials to conjure physical magic.

A fierce snarl reverberated off the conjured stone walls, the echoes even more distorted than they would be in caves on the material world. “Taste it yet? Taste da fear ya gave me? Want ya chokin’ on it by da end!”

He’d known this was an enemy coming for him. Astral creatures did not fish in the mortal realm, dangling their lures to draw hapless beings into their midst. This attack was as targeted as the hatred in that voice. But he did not recognize the voice, and that infuriated him. I should know anyone who hates me this much.

“There is no need for this. Show yourself. Tell me how I can make amends!” Katashi clawed his way around the pillar, doing what he could to obscure the sightlines of this unseen enemy. He needed to draw them out. To allow himself a chance to unleash a magical attack.

“Amends? Pathetic mewlin’ from da monster who tore apart me life,” his hunter hissed. “Give ya da same offer ya gave my kind!”

Pain lanced up Katashi’s back as the same cursed weapon sliced into him. He reeled forward, floating into the open space between the pillars, no longer able to control his drift. He lurched again as the blade tore free, leaving another seeping wound.

\-61/

\-29/

* Bleeding *

\-4/

* Bleeding *

\-4/

Though his astral body needed no air, he found himself gasping for it in his agony. His ability to perceive the cave structure wavered. His life was slipping away and he couldn’t tighten his grasp around it.

With the fog of his own pain shrouding him, a single detail suddenly stood out to him upon his own body. A glittering silver pin remained on his chest. Any after-image would have faded by now, even one crafted of that pure metal. But what spoke to him most was the shape of it. A scarab beetle.

He tried to seize it, but the molten heat of it seared his marble flesh, drawing forth a fresh snarl. He brought the palm up on front of his eyes and saw the blackened insect pattern burned into the colorful stone flesh. Visions of crude, torn banners flapping amidst black smoke came to him. Banners bearing the same symbol. It cannot be. Not after all these years.

He ceased trying to draw on his astral magic. It was too late. He was too far gone. He had to protect the others. But they might be protected. Their minds might not be accessible. He only had one chance. He needed to pick a mind he was sure would be both friendly and accepting of any sending.

The answer came to him in a flash of inspiration. I know of such a mind. One that is Cursed to be open.

The spell he conjured was within the mental domain, a simple spell given greater wings in the Void. He formed the images with exacting care, knowing he would only have one chance to impress upon his Darrum all she needed to know.

A heartbeat after he felt the surge of the spell’s completion, fire exploded in his mind as the glimmering hatchet weapon split open the marble of his astral skull.

Chapter 3

Yokïmi raised her left knee, intercepting a clever kick that her sparring partner had been trying to sneak past her defense. While she had learned how to stiffen her toes enough to hit pressure points, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the practice. Of the four zaskran who she commonly invited up to her dojo to spar, only Zehtaphis could do so at will. This kick had been aimed at her hip, an attempt to strike the special spot that would numb or even paralyze her entire leg.

For that was the game of the day. Both had mastered the Numbing Strike Technique. Zehtaphis had gone on to perfect the more advanced Paralysis Strike. It was Yokïmi’s goal for the day to sharpen her own skills until she attained that Technique. Both were also hunting for a chance to use the Stunning, Rattling, or Knockout Strikes. While she knew the last of them, it was dependent on a person to be already suffering from a ‘Stunned’ or ‘Rattled’ condition.

And so, this sparring session was a game of cat and mouse. The rules they had agreed upon forbid direct strikes against the opponent’s PDP. Her hastily raised block brought her leg into his range, and so he stabbed a stiffened, two-finger, nihonzuki strike at the inner side of her knee, targeting a point that would cripple the lower part of her leg since his attempt at the upper point had been foiled.

Except she wasn’t blind to the opening. She had executed the move knowing that she had provided bait. Nor was she so foolish as to take the obvious lure he was offering in turn. The simplest attack would be against his out-reached elbow. She could rip her raised knee out of his reach, then fall upon him with a falcon-quick blade-hand strike of her own to numb if not paralyze his left forearm and hand. Yet he would surely expect it and be waiting with another counter-attack of his own.

Yokïmi tried to break the chain of expectations. Bypassing the obvious option, she launched off the foot upon which she balanced, trusting that she could lower her previously raised knee, catch her weight and perch upon it after she delivered her kick. Now airborne, her right foot arced around and cut toward Zehtaphis’ temple, threatening a Stunning Strike.

A chime sounded from her orb, even though her opponent darted an arm up to block the kick before it could take him in the side of the face. A sense of victory welled up inside her chest. After three months of intense practice, she knew that was the pure note declaring she had gained enough Experience Points to advance her Bellatir Level.

The success sent a surge of energy into every limb. As soon as she landed, she dropped into a deep crouch and spun into a sweeping attack with her right heel. A slower opponent might have been tripped, but she never expected Zehtaphis to be caught by it. She followed the feint by launching back into the air and jutting a bold, jumping front kick toward the zaskran’s chin, hoping to land a rare Rattling Strike.

Her world suddenly split open. A roar filled her ears as a massive circle filled with dark, purplish-gray mist dominated her vision. Stormy cloud formations boiled around the perimeter, seeming to crackle with fits of lightning.

As terrifying as those images might be, the vision centered on a figure that was both familiar but also strange. The face could only be Katashi. She had known her Father-in-Narrum all her life, and he had been instrumental in regaining a measure of control in the aftermath of her twin brother’s fell wish magic. Yet it also wasn’t him. His body was made of smooth stone, the colors a myriad of swirling, cool shades. They suited him in a way that felt intensely personal, an expression of his soul made visible to all around him.

He wore no clothes, though his natural body’s definition was muted behind his stone skin, hiding any sexuality as if he was wearing a tight-fitting, body-hugging garment. The only detail was a single silver pin he wore near to his heart. A massive rent was broken through the marble of his shoulder, and it seeped a thick, white vapor.

In a move filled with desperation, Katashi threw a hand forward and opened his palm. An image formed, conjured from his will: a knife. It was no work of art, but also had the sense of being important; the blended nickel and steel gave the blade an intriguing pattern, while the bone of the hilt had a strange hue that suggested it was from an unusual, perhaps even monstrous animal that the original owner had carved apart.

Take it from my chamber.

Yokïmi couldn’t tell where the words came from. They were not spoken. They merely appeared in her mind, sent from Katashi’s own. She winced at the power of them hitting home, for they sailed right through her Curse-weakened mental shields with complete disregard for her comfort, supplanting any other thoughts she might have had in that moment.

The image shifted again. This time, a door appeared, and this time what she saw was entirely familiar. It was the door at the top of her Farrum’s tower. Entering was forbidden to anyone else. His apprentices had never been allowed within that room. Even she had been denied entry.

Take it here.

Katashi’s face broke into an expression akin to sadness. She might have read regret painted there as well. It flickered too quickly to be sure.

I’m sorry.

The vision ended. The details broke apart and dispersed into motes of dust before vanishing into the nothingness from which the sending had been conjured.

Reality returned abruptly. The entire vision had happened between the span of one second and the next. Her concentration had been obliterated, and the advanced kick she had been attempting lost all cohesion.

Not understanding what had happened, Zehtaphis took the chance she had offered. He rushed her with an upwards crossblock, catching her leg and toppling her away to send her crashing heavily to her back. Only her reflexive breakfall saved her from real damage, and she would be carrying an uncomfortable pattern of bad bruises until her Chi Healing could banish them. Intending to finish her, the zaskran leaped into the air and brought a foot stomping down toward her face, going for the Knockout Strike.

“I yield!” Yokïmi cried, throwing her arms high in a last-ditch effort to deflect his blow and save herself the added pain.

It was nearly not enough. Her shout doubtlessly caught Zehtaphis by surprise, since part of the exercise was the execution of the strikes. They had put their bodies on the line, willing to suffer discomfort to help the other enhance their Techniques. He deflected the path of his stomp the few inches necessary to smash the rice mats by her ear rather than thumping into her face. Unsure as to the reason for her early submission, the zaskran danced away and abandoned his combat stance.

“Are you well, Guardian?”

She made no effort to stop him from addressing her with the title. She had no other to offer, and the idea of using the given name of one of their three protectors seemed to horrify the Sanctuary’s zaskrans. Even those who routinely traded blows with her in the dojo refused any such offers. The respect was nice, but it ensured a certain distance would never fade between them. As a humanoid outsider, there was little chance of warmth, but this guaranteed the best she could hope for was to be seen as a benevolent overseer.

“I… saw something. I don’t know what.” She rose up onto her elbows, struggling to understand. “It could be nothing more than a hallucination, but it felt like more than that. It felt real, like a true vision.”

“I sshould have known you would not grow disstracted without causse,” Zephatis noted. “And that it wassn’t my brilliant tacticss that broke your concentration.”

He was the best of her sparring partners. She didn’t mind referring to those zaskrans who were less astute with their Ekanshin practice as students, but she wouldn’t dare use the term for those who were near to her in talent. Too often, they were teaching her. More frequently, they ended up learning together, trying to unravel a new nugget of wisdom she had found in Taliskhan’s books.

As such, whenever any of them dared to reveal a hint of humor past the layers of respect he typically wore, Yokïmi was diligent to encourage it, for it was the closest thing to friendship she was likely to ever have in this place. She bestowed him as genuine a smile as she could manage with the troubling vision lingering in her mind. “You nearly had me a time or two in the last exchange. Then again, I thought I had you, too.”

His serpentine head canted to one side in a zaskran-style expression of concern. “Apologiess, Guardian, but you appear sshaken.”

“I am,” she admitted. “It was beyond disturbing, especially if it was somehow real.” She rolled up off her back, flowing to her feet. With the fight ended, she tapped her inner arm at the spot where Katashi had implanted the diamond which controlled her Phantom Body Sheath. She made it a rule not to overuse the magic. In a fight, though it offered no armor-like protection, it wrapped her body in a comforting tightness. After years of disciplined practice, her body was well-sculpted, but she would always appreciate how the sheath prevented her breasts from bobbing erratically during her jumps or flips.

She paced over to the towel she had flipped over a nearby tree branch. Mopping the sweat from her brow, she added, “I’m afraid I need to cut our session short. I need to seek out the other Guardians for their wisdom.”

Zehtaphis tucked his feet together and gave her a deep bow, far greater than her status as an Ekanshin master warranted. “If you have need of me later, pleasse ssend word.” He vanished without further complaint.

She sighed. Fairly sure I wasn’t all that curt. It’s the same as being a noble and dismissing a servant. Only so much you can do to smooth it out. Deciding it was pointless to linger over the matter, she finished toweling off her clear body. She was tempted to dip herself in the pond, but decided against it. The climb down the stairs and the inevitable return up would have her wanting a bath later.

As typical after a rigorous practice, Yokïmi’s hand fluttered up to the crystal rose nestled in her hair. As always, Avalessa’s magic had held true. The parting favor granted by her elven lover remained untroubled, casting its gentle scent over her. She supposed the habit might not be so noticeable if she had anything else to worry over regarding her appearance. But as it was, the heron bracelets and anklets sealed over her wrists and ankles had no chance of slipping free, and she was otherwise as naked as the day she was born.

Taking to the steps, she went slowly at first so she could weave some simple magic along the way. A complex message like she had evidently received from Katashi was utterly beyond her. However, her recent studies had granted her the ability to send a short sending. She whispered a few words first to Yeztinass and then to Ishayel, asking them to meet her at the base of the stairs. She could only hope they would grant her request and save her trips to the Nest and the Zifyiveth temple.

They arrived within a half sunspan following her descent. She paid her respects, then related the troubling manifestation.

Her ChiKiln mentor spoke first. “From this vission, your Farrum as you call him… he wass in pain?”

“Difficult to know. He was in this strange marble-stone form. He appeared to be suffering from a craggy wound that could not have been healthy.”

“Transsmutation magic can change mortal flessh in all manner of wayss. But you ssaid hiss ssurroundings were difficult to disscern.”

She nodded. “There was only mist. His body floated as if on nothing. Could he have been walking in the Dreamscape? I’ve heard anything is possible there.”

His thin, pebbled lips tightened still further. “Thiss iss not familiar to me. But my magic iss grounded in the Physsical. I have not the talent for walking beyond thiss mortal realm.”

Yokïmi folded her arms and rocked back on her heels. She was not so much struck by all the questions she needed answered. Rather, there was a single, massive question that had to be resolved before she could ask any other. “I need to know if this was real. Could I have imagined it? Am I going insane? Or if it came from outside of me, then was it truly Katashi, or some fae creature seeking to lure me in?” The more she learned of magic, she became increasingly aware of the wide scope of dangers the world had to offer.

Ishayel had been silent until then. The Cleric lifted a hand now to call Yokïmi’s attention. “Thiss much I can help you disscover. Sstand where you are. Permit me the chance to call on the Goddesss’ favor.” Her eyes closed and she began to whisper her prayer. Shimmering sparkles flickered in the air around Yokïmi. Most fell to the ground and blinked out of existence. A few clung to the crown of her head. Ishayel returned to the moment with the peaceful smile that came to those who had asked for Divine help and received it. “The sspell wass real. An advanced Ssending with perssonal modificationss to the commonly known core sspell, no doubt the work of your Wizardly Farrum.”

“He does enjoy the challenge of shaping spells to suit his needs.” Yokïmi cycled a deep breath in and out. “He was desperate. It felt like he was saying goodbye.”

“Thiss iss what he ssaid?” Yeztinass asked.

“No,” she mused, thinking back. “He apologized. I don’t understand why. He did so well by me. I guess he didn’t do it for me. I was a child and never connected with him nor honored the way he lived his life. He did it for the sake of my father’s memory. But whatever his reasons, I’ve no cause to complain.”

The other two Guardians were quiet as they absorbed what she’d said. Once again, it was Ishayel who broke the silence. “You mentioned a tassk he gave you.”

“He bid me go to his meditation chamber. The items he keeps in there are not valuable in the way of gold or diamonds. They are sentimental reminders of his life. I was only in there a few times. He wants me to retrieve a specific one and bring it up to his tower.”

“Why the tower?” Yeztinass wondered.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he’s trapped in there. One of his altered spells may have gone awry. I don’t know why he wouldn’t send for the help of his apprentices, but he must have chosen me for a reason.” Her uncertainty melted away as she spoke, replaced by a clarity of purpose.

Her fellow Guardians read it in her eyes. Ishayel put words to it. “You intend to sseek out the truth?”

“How can I do any less?” Yokïmi met their eyes one after the other. “I’ve no intent to abandon the Sanctuary. But Taliskhan went forth when honor demanded it. He owed Haruto a debt. I’m caught in the same net.”

“He never returned from paying that debt,” Yeztinass reminded her.

“I don’t want to wander down that dark path.” Her head sank with a sigh. “But I know it’s your responsibility to worry. If it comes to that, I will choose a successor.”

Further silence hung about the two zaskran, this time more uncomfortable.

“Give me something. Your blessing or your anger. I’d rather leave with the former, but the latter won’t stop me.”

The pair exchanged another long look with each other. Their wordless communion ended when Yeztinass faced her once more to ask, “Do you consider the sspellss you now know ssufficient for your purposse?”

She didn’t read irritation in him. Her time among the zaskran might rank her among the foremost humanoids, but that was no great feat considering their secluded nature. That the ChiKiln was among the most reclusive and unreadable of their kind didn’t help at all.

Deciding his question was intended to be helpful, she replied, “Yes. I’ve mastered the four initial, Low-Level spells I was once told all apprentices learn: Fire Bolt, Cause Mild Fear, Sense Astral Presence, and the Minor Mental Message I used to contact you earlier. After sifting through the scrolls Katashi gifted me, I added on Ice Bolt, Read Surface Thoughts, and Lesser Emotive Wall to offset my cursed openness. If I spend another hour or so on it this afternoon, I should have Lesser Sense Magic Auras locked in my brain.”

“All are Low-powered sspellss. What of your Moderate oness?”

“Self Invisibility was the first,” Yokïmi wasn’t ashamed to say. The zaskran might not feel the same temptations with her walking around naked, but she didn’t doubt the other Guardians’ ability to understand why she had need of that spell.

“And the oness I challenged you to acquire?”

“I’m shaky on Lesser Whirlwind, but it’s coming along. I’d say I have a decent grasp of Lesser Telekinesis. You were right that starting with the trivial version as a stepping stone helped.”

“What of the lasst two, Generate Acid or Basse. And the oppossing Negation?”

“The first is a Low Level, so it shouldn’t be causing me such problems, but it is. The Negation stil feels like I am reading an unknown language.”

Yeztinass crossed his arms, sliding his gloved hands back into his voluminous sleeves. “Transsmutation magic iss not for everyone.”

“I’m altering myself using Invisiblity,” Yokïmi noted.

“Actually, you are not. Blotting yoursself from the view of otherss iss an illussion of light and perception. Strong mindss can ssee through the effect. You’ll need more powerful sspellss like Perfect Invissibility to sshield againsst the piercing eyess of archmagess. With Transsmutation magic, there iss no trick. The old ssubsstance iss gone and the new ssubsstance exisstss ass an objective reality.”

“But magic changed my flesh to be near invisible. This is a real change.”

“There is a powerful sspell where Transsmutation meets Illussion. It is known as True Invissibility. It iss not in my ability to command it.”

Yokïmi chewed on everything he was saying. “I’ll remember all this. For now, I’ll need to leave my studies behind. I can’t travel with spell books.”

Ishayel now spoke. “Ssince we cannot offer you any tokenss for your road, it iss time we besstowed a different gift to improve your journey.”

“Your support is more than enough,” Yokïmi said.

“But wordss of support will do little to enssure your ssafe return.” The Cleric bestowed a thin smile on her. “We have faith you would find another Guardian sshould you fall, but to have a new one among uss sso ssoon may do more harm than you might think.”

“How so?” Yokïmi opened her palms in genuine, helpless wonder. “I mean… you’ve asked nothing of me. Is that because I’m so new? Are there tasks I should be performing?”

“You’ve taken to the tutelage of our people admirably. In truth, more rapidly than we asssumed you would. For that, you have our thankss. The practice is part of our colony’ss identity. Ssince it is unlikely any ssuccesssor you chosse would have ssimilar sskillss with Ekansshin, we would misss your diligent effortss, but… in the end, no, thesse are not our primary concernss.”

“Then what is it?”

Yezinass was the one to answer. “Even among our kind, there can be doubt. Faith in the Goddesss can remain firm, but faith in our purposse can be sshaken. For centuriess, our people have been convinced there iss a reasson for our pressence in the valley. That reasson iss wrapped up in the fate of the Guardianss and our duty to ssafeguard the gatewayss while keeping them ssecret.”

“A secret from the ancient evil Taliskhan spoke about. The ones who seek to destroy them. He never told me why.”

“Nor do we know,” Ishayel admitted. “It is a ssecret we hope one day Our Goddesss will whissper into our earss when the time is right. But if one Guardian after another is losst, there are thosse among uss who might quesstion our path. If any can sstep into the role, then how can ssuch a role be sspecial? And if the Guardianss be not sspecial, then how can our purposse be Divinely insspired?”

Yokïmi frowned. “I think I understand.” Shaking her head, she banished the temptation to stay, but still promised them, “I won’t forget that my death will cause ripples. I left behind my place as a noble because I knew I would have to wander. I never considered that there might be similar impacts to being a Guardian. You’ll need to forgive me for that.”

“If you had, would you have rejected Talisskhan’ss plea?”

“No,” she admitted with a soft huff.

“Which bringss uss back to the gift we intended,” Ishayel said with a small note of satisfaction. “You have mentioned to me that the Curssess upon you have been weakened.”

“Yes. When we disrupted my brother’s magic, our efforts leeched some of the power from the effects the magic had caused. They were Epic, Ascendant, and Superior before. They reduced and left them as Ascendant, Superior, and Evolved.”

Ishayel flicked two fingers as if snatching her point from the air. “Which hass brought one into the range where I can exert influence. After much prayer, I believe I have found the depth of faith where I channel ssufficient power from the Goddesss to rid you of the leasst of them. I know it iss not the one which caussess you the mosst disstresss, but thiss may sserve to lesssen the number of Quesstss you musst undertake and alsso sshield your mind during the one you are about to begin.”

Yokïmi’s jaw clicked open. “That… this is… priceless!” The wider meaning of the offer struck her. “If I can find a way to stunt the other Curses…”

Hearing her drift off at the stunning implications, Ishayel confirmed for her, “Yess, I sshould be able to efface thosse ass well.” She held out a hand as invitation for Yokïmi to walk beside her toward the Zifyivethan temple. “It will only take a few hourss to prepare the ritual. Come. My acolytess will ssee you are properly anointed. I am ssure Berisss will appreciate the opportunity to bid you farewell on your journey.”

With her spirits buoyed, Yokïmi sprang into motion. It wasn’t merely the gift alone. Knowing they would not judge her harshly for departing from the valley would lighten her steps along the way. A good thing, too. If I read the desperation on Katashi’s face right, the path is going to be challenging enough already.

*          *          *

The enchanted lanterns of the dojo were once more lit as Yokïmi made herself ready to leave. She intended to have a few hours sleep before setting out. Time was of the essence, but she was a fortnight’s walk away from Atsumae. A few hours now would mean nothing, but losing days or missing clues to decipher what was happening because she foolishly exhausted herself might be costly.

She found believing in the removal of her first Curse difficult. The prospect of potentially living with them all forever had loomed large in her mind. Yet the proof was right in front of her eyes as she peered into her status orb. Her window into her mind was no longer thrown wide. There were monsters and magic who might still break past the veil and into her thoughts, but at least they would have to work for the privilege.

That only left two: the allergy preventing her from defining her physical form, and the opened book that were her emotions to any who cared to know. Often as not, she considered her crystalline form and her shattered Aura scores to be Curses in their own right, but those two effects could not be so easily banished.

Easy. She mocked the idea in the privacy of her thoughts. Who would ever declare Curses of this magnitude easy to wash away except the one on whom they had recently been so much worse?

Shifting away from the Curses, she found renewed satisfaction in the appearance of two new Techniques. Normally such things were granted by the gaining of Levels in a specific path, but she knew they could also be obtained through diligent work so long as they were within the bounds of one’s aptitudes and general levels of power. She read along the two lines of her updated status.

* New Technique Unlocked – Pressure Point Strike (Paralyzing) now Level 1 *

* New Technique Unlocked – Stunning Strike now Level 1 *

She had put nearly as much work into Rattling Strike, but apparently the harder Technique was still beyond her. Perhaps once she invested her XP, her higher Bellatir Level would put it in reach. Or even grant it to me immediately? She debated trying to meditate on it. Taliskhan had shown her how focused thoughts on a known power within a Level path could draw it down upon you when your Level advanced.

In the end, she discarded the notion. With Stunning Strike already at her command, the ability to cause a more severe disorientation in an opponent wasn’t that critical. Not compared against the possibility of earning a different, unknown yet potentially more useful option.

With that in mind, she shifted down to the list of her current levels.

Levels: (19 of 100 Used)

Harpist:   5 [+]

Bellatir:   4   (Ekanshin Style) [+]

ChiKiln:   3 [+]

Virtuoso:   3 [+]

Polyhistor:   2 [+]

Sorcerer:   2 [+]

From her childhood instruction, she knew the maximum number was equal to her Rating, a value determined purely by her identity as a human. They were the mid-range race within the humanoid triad, bordered on the smaller side by half-folk and on the larger side by ogres, who were also often referred to as giants. Having her flesh and blood altered to be clear as glass had not changed her Rating, likely because this clear skin was not any harder or less prone to damage than any other human’s.

Those numbers meant she had plenty of potential growth available to her. Most Level paths only had between 10 and 20 stages, which meant she could take nearly every one she had started to its completion without fear of stagnating. Then again, these aren’t the last paths I intend to open, are they? ChiKiln lets me burn PDPs to cast physical magic without components, but I need to unlock the others. MindBender for Mental spells. PowerEmpath for Emotive ones. Then SoulCrafter for those in the Soul domain. Not to mention my new discovery of Wellspring, which could give me the freedom to engage each of those magics on a whole new level.

All of that seemed so very far away. With the completion of her last Quest, she now had the knowledge to find masters and mentors who might be willing to teach her in each of those mystic arts. But none of them were close, which meant each was a voyage unto its own. She needed the freedom to use her time for her own ends. Until that happened, there was no sense yearning for what she couldn’t have.

Brushing the useless dreams aside, she focused on the tangible gains she could make now. There was a green [+] symbol next to her Bellatir path, signaling she had earned the XP she needed to advance. The rest were all red, meaning she could dump the XP into them at a poor conversion rate, creeping the non-aligned Levels toward advancement to be accomplished later. If she was so desperately focused on one of her other paths, then she wouldn’t have spent hours upon hours training in the dojo. There was only one real option here, and that was the one she selected.

* Bellatir level up! *

* Resilience (Tolerance) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +8 *

* Mental Damage Points +4 *

* Emotional Damage Points +3 *

* Soul Damage Points +2 *

* New Technique Unlocked – Bellatir Adapted Spell: Force Dart now Level 1 *

Her spine stiffened at having access to a new spell-like power. She was not averse to the hard work it took to master a spell by more typical means of study, but she felt a heady rush of possibilities to suddenly be able to conjure magic that she hadn’t even read about in a book before this moment. She hurried to open the details.

Technique: Bellatir Adapted Spell: Force Dart: Level 1

-  This is a Spell hardened into a form where a martial art master can summon magical energy in reduced time and with reduced requirements.

-  The Spell must still be provided with energy, either from material components or using a separate Technique for Burning PDP. Material components must be held in the practitioner’s hand through which the spell’s effect will flow.

-  The material components required are three blades of grass.

-  The practitioner can use Force Dart to extend a Pressure Point Strike effect beyond the need for direct physical touch. The practitioner must have personal knowledge of the strike being used. This spell grants no augmentation to the Level of the Technique being applied. The path of the Force Dart must be direct from the practitioner’s finger to the target. It cannot curve, nor can it start from a different angle.

-  Current Range of the Force Dart: 3 feet.

-  Current PDP energy requirement: 100% of normal Low-Level spell.

-  Force Dart is a Low-Level spell.

-  Higher levels of this Technique will extend the range at which the Force Dart is effective, as well as reducing the energy demand if Burning PDP. It will always be rated as a Low-Level spell.

Having so recently expanded her precision strike repertoire, Yokïmi was pleased with the new ability. Not that she could afford to use it carelessly. Her Resilience (Tolerance) score provided her with 41 points to expend, and every Low-Level spell sapped 9 of them. After her Level increase, she now had 115 PDP to her name. Each spell she empowered with them scraped away 15 from her pool. As such, while she would suffer from the pain, she wouldn’t be able to kill herself even if she cast every spell that she could… so long as she began in perfect health. How likely is that? She snorted to herself.

All of which meant that, unless she raised the Force Dart’s Level substantially, she couldn’t use the ability to retreat fully beyond melee range. But there might be a critical moment when she could use this against an enemy who calculated themselves to be well beyond her combat distance.

A sense of completion filled her. Unable to carry so much as a backpack, there was nothing she could pack. She had stared at the maps showing the landscape she would have to traverse for over an hour, plotting her route to take advantage of terrain while avoiding any civilization. Entering any town or village was ill-advised. She had no coin to spend. While the residents might take pity on her, her past experience suggested they were more likely to react poorly. Either with anger for defying the traditional modes of modest dress that devout Narrum-worshippers preferred, or with desire, as if her exposed figure were an open invitation to every lech who laid eyes on her.

No need for such risks at all. I know the way. Parrun and I walked this path in reverse, and we didn’t have the virtue of knowing our destination. All she needed to do was set her feet in motion and trust in her wilderness skills.

Whatever has become of you, Farrum, I’m coming. If I can save you, I will. If I can’t… I’ll make sure justice is served.

Chapter 4

Had she been asked, Yokïmi would not have guessed that her return to Katashi’s manse would include a repetition of her original fence climbing. Yet here I am. She hooked an ankle over the top and flipped down into his personal garden. She liked to think she landed with a touch more grace this time. Not only was her training at a different level, but she was in a totally different, far less desperate state.

Unlike her uncomfortable, fear-soaked boat trip up the city’s canals, this time her entry had been a pleasant stroll in a literal sense. She had been cloaked in her recently mastered Invisibility spell, and so she had moderated her pace to avoid signaling her presence to anyone, neither by the sound of her feet scattering pebbles on the ground nor a careless collision as she slipped through the shadows.

She had selected to enter under cover of night, an allowance for the off chance that her magic failed her. The nooks and alleys created by the sprawling buildings gave her an excellent fall-back option.

Despite the late hour, she had been worried to find Katashi’s front entry dark and sealed. Normally, with the aid of his apprentices, her Farrum kept his doors open for the city’s populace to seek his wisdom at all hours. Whether for emergencies or to salve a curious mind who couldn’t find rest without answers, he had a reputation he would not easily sacrifice. It was a clear sign that something was wrong.

Seeing light through a few windows, Yokïmi remained confident that if she knocked upon the door, there would be an answer. But she wished her first exploration to be unimpeded by anyone else’s guiding hand, impression, or opinions.

And so, she slipped over the fence and stole past the garden’s sliding door, once again admiring the elegant construction of the wooden frame and the precise fitting of the paper inlay. This was her Farrum, forever using his wealth to obtain expert craftsmanship without the addition of any ostentatious embellishments.

She slinked through the interior, quiet as a cat as she followed familiar paths. Though it had been over a year since last she inhabited the grounds, she had done so for several months. She could have found her way in total darkness had it been required. Fortunately, she was given no cause to test her knowledge. She found Katashi in the bed he had slept in every night he had lived there.

Only now, that life was gone. He lay in dreadful stillness. A soft blue glow surrounded him, making him appear angelic in his repose. Yokïmi slipped closer, granting respect to the man who had been her family’s friend for his entire life. They were not connected by blood, but the vows that linked them ran nearly as deep.

Katashi appeared uninjured from what she could tell. He could be asleep if not for his chest refusing to rise and fall. What happened here? She did not recognize the magic field surrounding him, but assumed it was keeping his body from succumbing to corruption. The purpose for the preservation was unknown. On one occasion, their conversation had ventured into the dark territory of funeral rites. She knew Katashi had wished to be cremated and scattered over Atsumae’s harbor.

Whoever had ignored his wishes had granted her the boon of seeing him as he died. He was much as she remembered him on their last parting. A few added gray hairs may have intruded the hairline along his temples, but nothing more striking. No marble skin crafted of swirling color. No cracked wound weeping mist. Nothing at all to account for the death of this man who had been perfectly hale for a humanoid male who had crossed his 60th year and was making steady progress across that decade. He was a Sage. He had the knowledge of generations to guard his health. He was spry, in many ways fit beyond many half his age.

Her inspection wandered to his clothing. He wasn’t in his bedclothes, which suggested whoever had found him had changed them so as to avoid embarrassment. But neither had he been dressed into formal attire, as was common for those being prepared for burial. These were casual robes of a style she had seen him wear hundreds of times. It added to the illusion that he was merely napping and might rise from the bed at any time.

Whispering a brief prayer of forgiveness to his spirit, she passed her hands along his body, searching along the collar, hems, and folds in his clothing. As with his home’s décor, Katashi was not given to blatant displays of his wealth. But he was not immune to sentiment, nor the awareness of fashion and how presenting himself properly could affect the opinions of others. There were three different chains he occasionally wore around his neck. None of them were there. It was a point worth noting, but not overtly telling. He had gone without often enough.

More important was the lack of his ring. He possessed one with a lion symbol upon it. From one of his stories, she knew it was the mark of an adventuring group he had traveled with in his youth. The group had been formed between well-to-do friends, whose adventures had not been harrowing but rather a bonding experience to glue together their clique. He had long since given up such excitement in favor of a sedentary life, but kept the ring as a keepsake. It was missing from his hands.

The only other anomaly was the silver pin she found under the folds of his robe, clinging to his undershirt. She didn’t recognize it, but it was stashed in a secretive place on his body that it would be highly improper if she were to have seen it. He had worn it in the vision, which only served to confirm for her that it really was Katashi who had sent her the mental images.

Before she could seek further, the light in the room changed. Yokïmi spun away from the body to find a young woman entering, a candle lit in its holder. She was not familiar, though she was clearly no rogue. Not a thief alive would have worn her long, patterned dressing gown, if for no other reason than it was sure to tangle her legs if she did anything more than walk slowly about. Beyond that, there was a pampered quality to her, suggesting she was the last person who would ever be caught raiding a strange manse in the dead of night.

A mouse would have been proud of Yokïmi’s stealth, and her presence was permitted by the protective wards around the manse. The unknown woman could not have come in response to her quiet entry. The gentle grief on the newcomer’s face suggested she had come to pay respects to the fallen Sage.

But as her eyes fell on Yokïmi’s glass-clear figure, refracting the flickering candlelight against the room’s shadows, alarm crept rapidly onto her face. “Wh-what… what are you?”

“Family.” Yokïmi’s curt reply wasn’t very helpful, but she couldn’t dismiss the protective edge in her voice as she stood between this stranger and her dead Farrum. She still could not place the woman. She appeared to be native to Hu’na’la, though her characteristics hinted at her being from the island region governed by Shishaku Furuta. “Why are you here?”

The accusation prompted an unexpected reaction. The scream was natural enough, but the name she shrieked changed Yokïmi’s perspective. “Hanzo! Hanzo! There’s… there’s… Hanzo!” She backed rapidly toward the door, trying to claw it open. But she was frantic, and her fingernails scrambled uselessly over the wood, missing the sliding door’s latch again and again.

Had she been the supernatural monster this woman feared, Yokïmi could have ripped her to pieces before any help arrived. But she was calling out the name of Katashi’s most loyal apprentice. Despite an ill-advised infatuation with her, Hanzo had helped her onto the path of magical learning. If she is somehow connected to him, then maybe she isn’t here to cause any mischief.

Hanzo appeared within moments. In his fumbling rush, he nearly did more injury than good. His hand punched through the thick paper, then wrenched it partially off its gliding track as he tore it open. He was also in his night clothes, and Yokïmi did not miss how the pattern was complementary to the woman’s own, a fact which she did not read as an accident.

Bursting into the room, Hanzo interposed himself in front of the woman, shielding her with a reckless, personal bravery of which Yokïmi would not have believed him capable. His hands raised as if ready to weave a defensive spell when the sight of Yokïmi stalled him. His eyes squinted in confusion and everything in his expression suggested that he was struggling to untangle a puzzle.

Yokïmi lost her patience. “Ai ya! Not again. You forgot me once in an inconvenient moment. Do not let it happen now!”

The biting comment scattered the fog in his brain. “Yokïmi? Why are you here?”

Her head tilted to one side as sarcasm shaded her reply. “Is that an honest question?” Not wanting to provoke a quarrel, she waved toward Katashi’s bed. “How did this happen?”

Hanzo wilted under the hard question. “I don’t know. Neither did the Sage who watched over his death.”

His wording didn’t seem to make sense. They watched him die? Not wanting to wander in the dark, Yokïmi instead demanded, “Tell me everything.”

“Hold on. Who are you to demand such things?” Sensing there was no immediate danger, the woman reasserted herself, stepping up to stand by Hanzo’s shoulder, though she didn’t dare to leave his side.

Hanzo took it on himself to make the introductions, gesturing first at his one-time colleague. “This is Yokïmi. I know she must seem a spirit or a fae creature to you, but believe me she is as human as we are, merely changed by an evil magic.”

“And what was she to my cousin? She seems… most inappropriate!”

Surprise made Yokïmi’s eyebrows climb higher.

“Peace. There are reasons for all of this. It is a long tale, too long to tell quickly. She is his Daughter-in-Narrum. Katashi was a grand friend to her father, Shishaku Kikuchi. The lord’s death in the same incident that changed Yokïmi pained him greatly. He sought to help her.” Shifting to the other foot, Hanzo reversed the introduction. “And this is Amaya Chano, his cousin.”

“He had no siblings,” Yokïmi quibbled. Hating how petulant she sounded, she wrestled the irritation she was feeling back under control.

“But he had cousins,” Hanzo argued back. “And those cousins had children, making them but one removed. Amaya is one of them.” He stood a touch taller. “Now my wife.”

It took effort not to gawk openly at the pair. The revelation explained the obvious ease between the two, even draped in bedclothes.

“Shall I tell the story?” Hanzo asked.

Before he could answer, Amaya interjected again. “Can you not… find some clothes before we speak?” As her fear faded, the woman remembered her sense of propriety no-doubt beaten into her by Narrum-fearing family members and Clergy over the course of her life.

Mention of her nakedness forced Hanzo to avert his eyes at last. A flush stole over his features, likely made worse as memories resurfaced of his fumbling advances upon her.

Not wanting to torment him, especially not in front of his wife, Yokïmi grasped at a nearby drapery and tugged it over to one of the bed posts. She tied a quick knot, then faced the pair again. “This will have to do.” Reading the outrage on Amaya’s face, she brushed past any further argument so she could get to the heart of the matter at hand. “Speak plainly. There is not a mark on him!”

Hanzo settled calming hands on his wife’s shoulders, a gentle plea for her to find a measure of understanding. “She is grieving as much as we are.”

Amaya clenched her teeth, but managed to quench her anger at their visitor’s indecency.

His comment carried a wisdom Yokïmi found surprising in the man. Twice now, his maturity had caught her off-guard, and she resolved to stop underestimating him. He’s done some growing up since I’ve been gone. Deciding to extend her own olive branch, she said, “Please… tell me.”

Gathering his strength for the dark tale, Hanzo’s expression didn’t display much certainty. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have many answers. He returned home in the early evening. He mentioned being fatigued and decided to retire before his normal hour.”

“That wasn’t unusual?”

“Even on a typical night, I would say not. But that was the evening he released Lahni from his service. He gave the impression that it was not a pleasant meeting. He only took the time to check the wards and ensure they would no longer welcome the man. He was content. Even sleepy as he was, he wouldn’t have rested until they were well sealed.”

“Mm,” was all Yokïmi murmured in wordless agreement. She could not recall a single encounter with the third apprentice that she would describe as ‘pleasant’. From what she knew, Katashi had taken on the young noble as a favor to his family, then suffered the dilettante under his roof for so long to avoid any backlash. He must have finally decided he had invested enough time to satisfy all those involved… except, perhaps, Lahni, who would have to face the fact of his own failure. He didn’t want to be a Sage, and he was a mediocre Wizard at best. Nor did he have any loyalty to Katashi. He could have walked away and never looked back. But being dismissed might have hurt his pride.

Hanzo must have read the interplay of emotions on her face, for he was quick to offer, “I don’t think Lahni had anything to do with this. He was dragged back here by his family to pay proper respects. I would call him snidely pleased that someone had given our master his so-called ‘comeuppance’. There was no pride of accomplishment in his attitude. I don’t believe this was done by his hand.”

Yokïmi had no intention of leaving any stone unturned, even if it meant provoking Lahni and his powerful family and friends. But she couldn’t deny that it was Hanzo who had been present to witness Lahni’s reaction. “We’ll see. But I take your meaning. Go on.”

“Not much else to say. He went to sleep and never awoke. A cleaning servant arrived the next morning and found him here. He was in these clothes, the same ones he had worn out the previous evening. He must have been so tired that he collapsed without changing.”

Yokïmi held up a finger to pause him. “He hadn’t been touched since?”

“We feared any disturbance might hurt him.”

“Hurt him? Are you saying he was alive when he was found?”

Hanzo’s shoulders slumped. “Alive? In a sense. Once he taught me the word ‘coma’. A state where the body exists but the mind is gone. Or perhaps it is the soul that has departed. This was him. His heart beat. His lungs breathed. But he reacted to nothing. He could not be roused. He weakened rapidly. With two days… he was gone.”

Nothing about the story matched the supernaturally charged desperation Yokïmi had read upon Katashi’s face during the Sending. “Ten days have passed since I knew to come. Why does he remain like this? I expected to find nothing but ashes if he was dead.”

Nodding to show he was aware of the Sage’s wishes, Hanzo said, “The choice was taken from my hands.”

“As it was taken from mine,” Amaya added.

Shifting her attention to the woman, Yokïmi asked, “How do you mean?”

“He lived apart from his family for a reason. I underestimated the poison that existed between them. I thought they deserved to know his condition, and that his death might be at hand. I had a message sent to them, hoping his impending death might heal the rift.”

Her admission was steeped in personal pain. Yokïmi took a guess. “That’s why you were here, wasn’t it? To reach across the gap between them?”

“I hated knowing that such a rift existed for reasons that seemed so… ridiculously small. Against my family’s wishes, I came to make amends. Honestly, I think I succeeded.” She curled an arm around Hanzo’s elbow, tucking herself in against him. “Otherwise, would he have blessed my betrothal to his last apprentice?”

Seeing the connection between them made Yokïmi smile. Perhaps it is she who has drawn forth the differences in him. Her opinion of the woman rose. “What you are saying is that there is family drama about to be played out.”

“In their bitterness, those who should love him most will finally exert power over him they never possessed while he was alive. They have declared his body to remain inviolate until they arrive to decide what to do.” Amaya’s confidence withered with her next words. “If I was a braver woman, I would do as he wished and damn my family’s ill intent. But… I’m not ready to cut myself off from them.”

Hanzo leaned his cheek against the top of her head. “I won’t ask that of you. As much as I want to honor him, he who we knew as Katashi has departed. He rests either with Narrum or has passed into the River of Souls. He will understand.”

Yokïmi found herself unable to argue. She kept silent, not about to promise anything. If she heard of these people making a mockery of the handling of Katashi’s remains, she would return and burn him herself, along with anyone else who sought to stop her. For now, it actually served her purpose in having those remains on hand.

“By the time they arrive, I may have answers for you and them,” Yokïmi suggested, pacing behind the makeshift screen she had assembled.

“Answers?” Amaya asked, and Hanzo’s own curiosity was equally perked.

“As near as I can tell from your tale, on the very evening he became lost in sleep, he gave me a Sending. He was in a different form and injured from what I could tell.”

“You’re saying he was killed in his sleep?” Hanzo’s tone was not one of doubt. Like her, his magical tutelage was complete enough to know that a person could have their mind, emotions, and soul torn apart in addition to one’s body.

“It is possible this was some dreadful accident, but I don’t believe so. If this was a badly taken risk on his part, I’d think he would simply have said his goodbyes in the time he had. But instead, he bid me to find an item. It felt like he was giving me a clue that can help me understand what happened to him.”

“Why not the face of the killer?”

“I’ve no idea, Hanzo. The magic lasted only seconds. Perhaps he never saw who it was doing it. I… I don’t know.” She clenched a hand in frustration. “I’ve combed my memory for every detail, but there is so little there.”

Not pressing any further, Hanzo instead asked, “What was the item?”

“A knife of blended metal with a bone hilt.”

“I’ve seen it. It’s in his meditation chamber.”

Hope kindled inside her. “Katashi bid for me to search for it there among his other mementos. It must be important in some fashion.”

“If it is still there,” Amaya said with a note of caution. “We have not done a full accounting of everything in there.”

“Because the wards are intact and there is nothing of inherent value. Only sentimental.”

“What’s happened?” Yokïmi cut in.

Hanzo rubbed his forehead as he sighed. “Since his death, we’ve noticed items have gone missing. All the genuine silverware. His stashes of coins. Many of the spellbooks from his casting chamber. We’ve clearly had a thief on the grounds.”

“What about the external wards?”

“Ripped to tatters by an unknown magic. Only two areas remained protected. His meditation chamber and his tower.”

Yokïmi’s mouth creased into a frown. “Strange. Did you notice his ring was missing?”

“Yes. But it was made of gold. A thief wouldn’t have hesitated to strip it away. If he could rob a dead man, why not steal directly off his corpse?”

Yokïmi couldn’t argue the point, but she wasn’t so certain. “You may be right. But everything else is impersonal. That’s the only item with a real connection to him. Whoever has it now might know more about what happened to him.”

Hanzo agreed with a nod.

“What will you do now?” Amaya asked.

“Exactly what he bid of me. If the knife is still here, then he asked me to bring it to his tower. I don’t know what I’m going to discover, but this was his dying wish. I’m going to see it through.”

Chapter 5

Yokïmi paid attention as she stepped into Katashi’s meditation chamber, focusing on her senses in a way she hadn’t when crawling over the garden wall. She felt the tiny prickle of the magic wards sampling her identity and deciding she was allowed to pass.

She wasn’t used to seeing this room from inside. On less than a handful of occasions, she had found it necessary to seek him out here. Normally, she spoke to him through the central fire which connected this room to the study where she had spent most of her private time.

Turning in place, she oriented herself to the room’s contents. Nearly all of it was the same. A few candles were at different lengths. The cushion he sat upon when seeking his inner self had been changed, the padding on the last one probably worn out.

Other than such mundane variations, the only noteworthy addition was a piece of paper left on his writing desk. The piece of furniture was low to the ground, usable when Katashi was sitting upon his low cushion. It was also on wheels, so that he could draw it in front of himself at a whim, then discard it when he wanted space for contemplation. The Sage was an organized man, not prone to leaving stray documents laying about.

Folding down onto one knee, Yokïmi examined the document. The paper was expensive. The cost of a single sheet might feed a low-born family for a week. Even those of Katashi’s strata didn’t use items like this on a whim. The characters on the page were tightly woven and neat, crafted by an educated hand with what seemed to be decades of practice.

At the top of the page, a house crest was emblazoned. It was a gorilla, its great fists placed as if it was beating its chest, with crossed spears behind it. She did remember the symbol, but the name next to it was known to her: Household of the Wizard Oriato. This was the one Farrum petitioned for help in crafting my Body Sheath. Intrigued as to why this letter was left in a place of such honor, she scanned over the content.

A gasp escaped her as she reached a fateful line.

With deepest regrets, I must report

Master Oriato’s passing from this world.

She read further, discovering the letter was in fact written by the hand of his wife, Rionata, who signed the missive as ‘The Widowed Lady Oriato Ado’. Genuine grief clung to every curl and line, giving Yokïmi no cause to doubt the truth it contained.

After hearing Hanzo’s story, it was then no surprise that another set of lines stood out to her, and she re-read them several times.

Mercifully, my husband did not suffer.

Following a spirited evening with friends,

he retreated to his room for a quiet glass of wine.

There, unseen by any other, he sank to his bed,

And fell into a deep sleep.

When the sun came up, he did not stir.

Nor could we wake him.

The withering began, and within two days,

he was gone.

Yokïmi sank onto her heels, stunned by the revelation. This could be describing Katashi’s own death. What strange mischief is this? That he could read of a friend’s death and then suffer the same in the same manner only a few weeks later… She had witnessed many bizarre, wonderful, and terrible things in her life. The word ‘impossible’ no longer seemed so easy to invoke. But this strained… no, it shattered the boundary of coincidence and random chance.

Memorizing the letter and its crest, trusting not only in her sharp mind by the Eidetic Memory Talent she had recently acquired, Yokïmi rose to her feet and searched for the item she had come to obtain. It didn’t take long. There were only a score of shelves affixed to hardpoints on the walls, each carrying a single item that was uniquely sentimental and helped Katashi recall important places, times, and people from his past. That was all she knew, for he had never gifted her with the individual stories. Perhaps if she had remained to become his rightful successor, he might have trusted her with them.

The knife rested on a deep blue cushion. The swirl of nickel amidst the darker steel caught the light. She could understand why anyone might take it as a treasure. Katashi’s conjured mental image had been nigh-perfect, a result of him gazing upon it countless times since he had laid it here to rest.

Curiosity drove her now. She had the means to satisfy it. Taking up the knife, she quit the chamber and made directly for the spiraling stairs that led to Katashi’s private tower.

As the stairs fell behind her, a small measure of worry crept in. Her Farrum kept little from those he trusted as apprentices, but one unbending rule had been that none of them were allowed through the door at the top of the stairs. Not even she. While he had never threatened them with any specific consequences, he had mentioned on occasion how the wards upon this door were different, and might not be friendly to anyone who tempted fate.

But he told me do this. I never disobeyed him, but is it possible the way was always open to me? I was not merely an apprentice. I was his Darrum. If he hated his own relatives as much as Amaya suggests, I may be all he had in the way of family.

Trusting in that hope, Yokïmi finished the climb and took hold of the handle. The tower was a true stone structure, and the door a solid chunk of thick oak. Steeling her spine and preparing for a jolt of pain, she pushed her way through.

Nothing happened as she crossed the threshold. Once more, she felt another magical tingle pass through her as she stepped in, and was evidently accepted by the wards.

Yokïmi had expected to find Katashi’s personal casting chamber, but this was not such a place. The glass dome overhead gave her a lovely view of the night above. Spears of white light shot down from the dome to strike a black sphere on a pedestal at the center of the room. It was as if a select number of the stars above were being tracked as they crossed the sky, though she could not discern a purpose for it.

She paced around the sphere, her already quiet footsteps swallowed up by the cushioning of the carpet. She made no attempt to hide the awe on her face, knowing these must be Katashi’s hidden treasures. They were in places of honor, and thus had to be special in some fashion.

Other than the sphere, there were three additional items installed around the perimeter of the room. She paused respectfully by each, determined not to be foolish or hasty, trying to discern which was the one that her Farrum had meant to be joined with the knife, for that had to have been his purpose.

The first was an odd plant of a sort she had never seen. It stood nearly as tall as her, and was a single, thick, green stalk covered with spines and absent any leaves. She would have believed it simply part of her Katashi’s botanical fascination, except there was a pattern of vibrant azure lines running under the plant’s outer skin. The color rarely appeared in nature, and usually only on butterflies, frogs, and flowers as a warning about the poison they carried.

As she turned to move on, the slight disturbance in the air she created brought forth a slight ripple of sound. Aware that the spines might be deadly, Yokïmi plucked a few and set them to resonating with clear notes. While her lengthy training as a Harpist and in dabbling with other instruments gave her the ear to identify and appreciate each note, she would have to experiment and spend long hours in practice if she ever wanted to make real music with the organic instrument.

She was appreciating the final resonance when suddenly the plant’s spines began to vibrate of their own accord. She listened with rapt attention as a chain of notes echoed around the room. She did not consider the production music in any traditional sense. The selection of notes was too mechanical and lacked the artful flow a composer would invest in her work.

A pause came. And then, another series of notes. This time, it was a shorter pattern. Yokïmi might have been fooling herself, but she swore she could hear an inquiring tone injected into the notes. Could there be another mind behind this? Is this a means of communication? Farrum was never a patron of the arts, but he might keep such an item if it let him converse with another without exerting any magical effort.

Confirming the nature of the item, discovering who was on the other end, and teaching herself whatever musical language they used would all take time. She might be able to discover a set of instructions Katashi may have crafted, but none were immediately available in the room. In the end, this was a novelty and an intellectual puzzle that she didn’t have time to pursue.

She shifted to the next option. This was also an organic specimen, namely an egg. The size was impressive, suggestive of a larger species. She was no expert on animals or monsters to even guess at what it could be, though she did not get a sense of it being from a typical avian. The coloring on it was a deep ocean blue, rippled through with dark patches of near black. Its surface was contoured and crusted, rather than smooth.

The egg was encased in glass, which was partially frosted. She held a hand up to the covering and indeed found it chilly even to approach. The interior was made up to resemble a nest, but she had the impression that Katashi had not been attempting to hatch it. Rather, the containment and cold felt restrictive, as if he was doing all that he could to prevent the creature within from emerging.

Again, her natural knowledge failed her. She had no idea how long the spawn of any animal, creature, or monster could survive in this state. Surely, after being contained for so long, the egg had to be inert. Whatever once lay inside must be long dead.

Once again, she felt sure this not the purpose for which Katashi had sent her. The knife could crack the shell, and there was an off-chance doing so might be the catalyst needed to bring forth the creature alive. But none of that rang true.

Which brought her to the last object, and by far the most promising. Set upon the table was a spidery looking contraption in the rough shape of a sphere, consisting primarily of thin bars made of platinum. The strands of the web were wide enough that she could easily reach through to the interior. At eight different spots, those bars bent inward to point at a focus at the heart of the device. Each end was capped with a gemstone the color of orange found in a lurid sunset, cut in a wedge shape with its point aimed into the core.

The whole item resonated with power as she approached, signaling it was already awake. Without any sign of needing any further preparation, she decided there was nothing to be gained by hesitation. Yokïmi took the risk and slid the knife through the cage-like shell until it reached the focal point.

What sounded like the hum of a thousand bees stormed into her senses, and the platinum cage melted away, becoming like a fog which rushed outward to create a far larger sphere of mist around her. In the same moment, the gemstones illuminated with an inner fire. The same deep-amber glow swelled into being around the knife.

Within the newly created sphere of mist, the tower’s interior ceased to exist in her perception. In its place, there came the trees, brambles, grass, and rocks of an old-growth forest. When the woodland reached the fog barrier, it became like a painting done by a master who was able to convey depth and substance over a two-dimensional surface. Above her, the bright sky with both of the world’s suns broke past the fractured canopy, shedding brilliant light and creating a sharp contrast to the scattered shadows brought on by the overhanging tree limbs. A glorious vision, yet also not quite real, more like an artist’s interpretation of the lovely summer warmth.

Inside the sphere where reality was firmer, Yokïmi was surrounded by a group of mostly strangers. The only one who was immediately recognizable by his face was Katashi, though his now-youthful features were accented by a thin mustache and an arrow-like beard on his chin. His typical, tailored robes befitting a Sage’s station were gone, replaced by a wide-shouldered doublet, trousers made of thick but expensive linen, and oiled leather boots molded perfectly to his feet.

He grasped a polished wand crafted of white ash, waving the tip in mute threat as he demanded, “Have you the map?”

A scraggly figure crouched behind a boulder growled back in a guttural accent, “Ya got da gold?”

Katashi clenched his jaw at the frustrating impasse. Keeping his wand on point, he broke watch on the shadowy figure long enough to give a curt nod at one of his companions. “Show him.”

The rapid-fire conversation was in Yin-riss, the trading tongue for the nations with ports along the Ocean Crossing and its subsidiary waterways. For the disparate group of people to be using it wasn’t a surprise. The surprise was that Yokïmi had never learned it. Now she could both recognize it and understand the exchange.

From her viewing angle, Yokïmi could not immediately see the second man’s face. However, he wore an overcoat that settled over his torso like a vest, then draped low enough to hang past his knees. On the back was a brocaded sigil. Though it was far more elaborate than the symbol she had seen inscribed on the paper missive she’d recently viewed, the proud gorilla and crossed spears were unmistakable. This has to be Oriato.

Even seen from the back, the man had all the trappings of the nobly born. His sleek black hair, so common among the native of Hu’na’la, was combed to shimmering perfection despite the fact they were on an adventure in the woods, then bound into a tight ponytail by intermingled bronze and silver threads. The hand which brought forth a pouch from under his overcoat was tucked into a calfskin glove that was a work of art unto itself. Oriato raised the pouch and jiggled it to demonstrate its weight.

The hidden figure snarled, “Could be nuttin’ but iron chips.”

“If it is, it’s still more wealth than you’ve seen in a single place,” Oriato quipped back, sounding more amused than angry at being questioned.

“We’re not here to cheat you,” insisted the third of the group, drawing Yokïmi’s attention her way. Yokïmi quickly placed her heritage as being Goldaan. This woman’s skin was a shade lighter than her own mother’s, who was also a scion of that region located south across the Shinjira Sea, but that meant little. Goldaan was a sweeping land with multiple clans and lineages. While it didn’t have a unique claim on peoples with dark chocolate skin, the true tell was this woman’s accent, a match to the one her own mother had retained to the day she died. The liquid-consonant musicality was unmistakable.

A poorly educated outsider might easily err in thinking the Goldaan civilization was little more than a scattered grouping of barbaric tribes. Rain-drenched jungles dominated their homeland, which rotted away everything from wood to steel. Any effort to raise cities were soon defeated as the rainforests turned them into vine-covered ruins. Clothing too easily degenerated into soggy, mold-infested rags. Thus, it was no surprise this woman’s modesty was guarded by little more than a few patches of natural fabric connected by leather straps.

Yokïmi was somewhat surprised to see her Farrum in the company of such a woman. He was a traditionalist who had never approved of her father’s choice to earn political favor by wedding a Goldaan outsider. Nor had he liked the ‘dangerously improper’ habits her mother had brought into the Kikuchi castle. She read no tension between the members of this group.

“Well said, Dola.” Oriato gave his offered coin purse an insistant shake, facing the hidden contact again. “You’re the one who is lurking out of sight. We stand here in the light of day. No surprises. Come forth and treat with us on the level.”

A hiss emanated from the cloaked creature. Its sharp, red eyes blazed toward the fourth human of the group. “Ya swore an oath on blood I wouldn’ be hurt. By ya, nor yar kin.”

Katashi balked. “What madness would have you blood-swear with a goblin, Taharis?”

The last of them let out a raucous laugh. A leafy branch wafted against the side of his shimmering scaled mail. He reacted quickly to pluck it off and cast it away with an arrogant flick of his hand. A set of six, golden bands on one finger marked him as the sixth-born son of a Vyzian house, but his attitude was fit to be worn by a duke of that free city. “Does an oath to such a low creature matter?” He locked a sneer on the crouched figure. “And these are not my kin.”

Outrage blistered in the hidden goblin’s snarling reply. “What? Ya lied!”

“You assumed. It was a bad gamble.” Taharis rolled his eyes, then jerked his hand to summon the goblin forth. “Enough playing the fool. Get out here in the sun so we can see what you brought us.”

The goblin issued another unhappy growl, canting his shaded eyes up toward the suns.

That drew another laugh from Taharis. “Cease the drama. I know your kind despise the light, but only idiots believe it will light your flesh on fire. You’ll gain no sympathy from us.”

His mockery did its work. The goblin scrambled up onto the boulder. There he crouched again, though now the scraps of leather clinging to his scrawny body were visible. Much of his face was still obscured, though Yokïmi marked the mulbous nose and green skin that confirmed he belonged to the smallfolk goblinoid race.

In what seemed like an effort to disperse some of the tension, Katashi shifted his wand to point at the goblin’s rope belt. “A fine knife. If you can buy such things, do you even need our gold?”

“Wha’, dis?” The goblin hacked a coughing laugh, sliding the blade from its crude sheath. The vivid nickel-steel blend was revealed, confirming it was the same knife that Yokïmi held within the memory cage. “Made by da best smith in da clan. Filched it from da Shaman along wit’ da map.” All humor leeched off his blotchy face, and he flipped it over to Katashi and spat on the ground. “Best in a goblin clan. Bah! Wha’ a worthless claim. Keep it. I’ll buy meself a master-forged one instead!” He scoured them all with a poisonous glare. “Is dis some clumsy scam ta give me less coin?”

Katashi caught the knife out of the air with nimble fingers. “Not at all. If this map is as good as you told my friend, it will be worth every penny.”

“Every golden penny,” the goblin gnashed back at him.

“As you say.”

Giving them the evil eye for a bit longer, the goblin finally produced a scroll of rat-eaten parchment. “It’s all marked. Da Shaman knows his craft. Da hidden entrance. Da traps ta avoid. Da treasure stash. Though da last be a risk. I couldn’ steal da five keys he spread to da strongest clan warriors, and he didn’ mark any traps dat guard it, inside or out.”

“Explains why you didn’t just get your greasy hands on the clan’s treasure and slip away into the forest, isn’t that right?” Taharis barked a laugh.

“Better yer risk than mine,” the goblin snapped, then tossed the scroll at Dola.

Leaning on her spear, she didn’t so much as flinch as she snagged the item. Clasping the top end with her curled spear hand, she unraveled it with the other. Skimming it to ensure all the details were there, she indicated her approval with a brisk nod.

Oriato rolled his wrist and sailed the pouch into the goblin’s hand. “Begone, then. If we find you in the tunnels, you’ll find no mercy from our hands. It will be my pleasure to recover the gold.”

Curling his lips in a final sneer, the goblin plopped down from the boulder. “When ya see da Shaman, gut him wit’ dat knife o’ his. Then he’ll know it was me dat sold his ass to a bunch o’ reavers.” He rustled off into the wood.

“Will he betray us?” Dola asked, her hard eyes on the goblin’s retreating form, as if weighing the benefits of throwing her spear into his back to save them all the potential trouble. “Are we not here to kill them? Not to jabber at them and let them go.”

“That miserable wretch will be halfway to the sea by morning.” Taharis shook his head in false sympathy. “Better than average chance he’ll brag about it to the wrong sort and an orc will club him over the head for it. That much gold corrupts any mind unused to holding it. He’ll be stupid and probably dead by morning. But he’ll never risk showing it to his own clan for fear they would claim it for their own.”

“There is no sense giving him any chance to rethink his clan loyalty. We should strike immediately,” Oriato insisted. “Not to mention, the time is right. With the suns in the sky, they’ll be slow to act and half-blind whenever we catch them in the open.”

Katashi didn’t argue with his friend. “If the clan Shaman notices his map and knife missing, then their suspicions will be increased ten-fold. We’ll have lost the advantage we paid for. We attack at once.” He jammed the goblin-made knife into a loop in his belt.

“You’re keeping that trash?” Taharis jeered his way.

“It is not so poorly made. It has an interesting blade.” Katashi’s lips quirked into wry smile. “Besides, I’ve a mind to keep memories of our adventures. Who knows how many we’ll have. When I’m an old man, I might need such things to remember all we’ve done.”

With an ease that suggested they were all friends and long-time traveling companions, the group moved off into the forest. They had no need to discuss what their roles would be, nor how they would watch each other’s back. Yokïmi could tell they were ready for the fight, and now they also had the key that would give them an insurmountable advantage. Death was coming for the goblin clan.

The scene tore apart into a blizzard, all the details blended together in a riotous smear of ever-changing colors. When finally the view settled into place, Yokïmi found herself in a chamber she did not recognize. It was not Katashi’s meditation chamber in his manse, but still a private room which carried all the marks of being in a previous home he might have owned.

She watched as he settled the knife onto a cushion. Not quite so fine as the one she had found it upon in the present day, but one with enough quality that suggested he was trying to rest the weapon in a place of honor. The younger Katashi stepped back so as to appreciate the effect he had created, then let out a contented sigh.

Another whirlwind of color stormed about her, only to settle in the same room. She saw him again picking up the knife to hold it. He twirled it in his hands, running his fingertips over its contours and smiled, not doubt allowing memories of the day he had acquired it to surface. After a few minutes, he replaced it on the shelf.

Twice more, she watched the scene change, noticing the small differences with each return. The room’s décor shifted ever so slightly. Age crept onto Katashi’s face, pushing him beyond the boundless vigor of youth and into his full maturity.

Eventually, she witnessed his placing of the knife into a traveling box along with other items he’d acquired. It was taken forth again in the familiar room below, only to be installed on the very shelf she had found it upon in his manse.

Yokïmi pulled her copy of the knife free of the memory cage. If she held on, the vision might go on to show every time her Farrum touched it. She had no need to see its entire history of gathering dust.

This is the event he wanted me to see. Whatever happened to him, his death is connected to this clan his adventuring team invaded. Although… I’d put more credit in the idea if they had betrayed the one who sold them the map. It looked like the bargain was struck and held true on both ends. Why would the goblin return for revenge?

There were obviously pieces that remained missing. She was at the start of the trail, not the end. If she was going to have her answers, she needed to find the next breadcrumb. Katashi believed this would lead her in the right direction. She needed to have faith and follow that path to its end.

Chapter 6

After infiltrating the city and her subsequent discoveries in the tower, Yokïmi was tired enough to need sleep. She retreated to the study she had once occupied. The crackling of the fire was perfect for soothing her tumbling thoughts. They threatened to keep her mind churning despite her fatigue, and that would defeat her intention for an early start to her day.

When she awoke, she quickly debated how to engage with Hanzo and Amaya. She could call on her invisibility and speak with them like a ghost, but as Yeztinass had warned her, either of them might see through the illusion she was creating. The odds of that went up drastically if she spoke with them and gave them a locus on which to fixate their attention. Without even meaning to, they might negate her magic, bruise their sense of propriety yet again, and thus waste the magical energy she would invest.

Instead, she rang the service bell that Katashi had installed for her use. She was pleased to find it still worked, and that the morning service staff had arrived for the day. A maid appeared to find a blanket spread across the room like a barrier, with Yokïmi’s head and shoulders peeking over it.

The maid gave a small start, but mercifully it was one who had been serving in her position during Yokïmi’s last stay. “Lady Kikuchi! We weren’t told you had returned. May I bring you something?”

“Nice to see you again, Rakita. I arrived last evening and won’t be staying long. Anything you have on hand for breakfast would be nice. More importantly, when Hanzo emerges from his chambers, could you have him brought my way?”

Dipping her head in deference, the maid answered carefully. “I’ll pass along word to Master Hanzo at his earliest convenience.”

A tight smile played along her lips, admiring the maid’s sense of loyalty. Hard to think of him as such, but until Katashi’s family arrives to assert their claim, he’s the lord in these walls. Leaving that unspoken, Yokïmi merely said, “Try and impress upon Master Hanzo the importance of our meeting.”

“I will, My Lady!” Flushed with the challenge of being caught between the egos of two nobles, even two as kindly as these, Rakita sketched a quick bow and raced from the room.

Proof that the maid had taken her gentle pressure to heart came in the form of both Hanzo and Amaya arriving in the study before the promised breakfast. Yokïmi was hardly waiting a sunspan when they appeared.

Wasting no time, she waved a greeting but proceeded right to the core of the matter with pausing for pleasantries. “Katashi’s death wasn’t natural.”

Gasping with the greater shock, Amaya blurted, “You’re quite sure?”

“Beyond doubt. A friend of his died in similar circumstances, and I’ve discovered they are connected to a past event. That event was what Katashi was trying to get me to see in his Sending.”

“Did this friend perish at the same time? Maybe a mutal spell gone awry?” Hanzo asked.

Yokïmi shook her head, showing him the letter she had retrieved from her Farrum’s meditation room. “He received this not long before he died. I’m not saying he couldn’t have accidentally gone beyond his limits. If he was trying to find answers regarding Oriato’s death, it’s not impossible that he pushed himself too hard and ended up getting hurt. But you knew him better than I did. He was a careful man. It feels wrong to think he’d be so reckless.”

“Indeed. If that is what happened, then it must be because he encountered something he didn’t expect.”

Amaya’s mouth formed into a hard line. “I see it both your faces. You don’t think that’s true. Which means… he was killed. How? Was it magic of the mind? Is that why he couldn’t wake up?”

“I don’t know,” Yokïmi admitted. “This sort of magic is beyond me. You can have your emotions scrambled in a dream, but that usually presents as insanity in the aftermath. I’d say this appears more like his mind was erased or his soul destroyed.”

“How can you discover which it is?”

“By finding the one who attacked him.” Her gaze tracked to Hanzo. “You said Katashi met with Lahni to dismiss him. Did you speak to him? I know you two were never friends, but did he hint at having any insight at all?”

“None. I wanted to kick him for how smug he looked.”

“Then I’ll speak with him.” Yokïmi had no intention of letting the lordling off the hook so easily. “I need to know everything from everyone who saw him alive that evening. Seems right to start there.”

“He’s living in his own apartments funded by his family. It’s a compound intended for the scions of wealthy families who wish some measure of freedom and privacy without sacrificing security. It may be difficult to enter.”

She folded one fist into the palm of the other hand. “I’ll put that to the test.”

Feeding off her willingness to act, Hanzo asked, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Bring word to the local magistrate. Appeal for a chance to speak to the lords of the city. Farrum was well known to them. Well liked. Often called upon to attend their personal needs. Them that he didn’t die in his sleep. They can call on stronger magic and other resources I can’t use. Convincing them could be pivotal to finding justice for Katashi.”

“I… I mean…” Hanzo swallowed hard. “They never knew me. How… I mean, why would they listen to me?”

Amaya took Hanzo’s hand. “In this city, I might only be Katashi’s distant cousin. But never forget, our family holds sway within Shishaku Furuta’s lands. Displeasing another lord by ignoring the death of one of our family’s sons will not sit well.”

“I’ll leave that to you, though I admit to having no real hope. It’s too easy to dismiss this as one more aged man who slipped off into an endless sleep. Other Sages have already said as much. They are going to think we’re stirring up trouble they don’t need.” Yokïmi gritted her teeth. “But I know there’s more to this. I can feel it in my bones.”

“If you need anything for your hunt, let us know,” Hanzo said.

“Anything at all,” Amaya reiterated.

“My thanks. I’ll be back tonight to talk over what we’ve found.”

*          *          *

Before leaving the manse, Yokïmi shrouded herself with invisibility. The question of her own brazenness didn’t factor in. Not that she would willingly venture forth without a scrap of clothing to cover her. She enjoyed the freedom of the Sanctuary… but that was the Sanctuary, surrounded by zaskran who didn’t much care. Nor was it all about the reactions she’d get by wandering around naked. The angry shouts of the conservative minded and the overt leers of the predators would be utterly counterproductive to the activities she had in mind.

She intended to have a private, very direct chat with Lahni. From Hanzo’s description, the arrogant lord hadn’t changed. She wasn’t anticipating he would be cooperative. She wanted to be alone with him to ensure she could ‘encourage’ him to be honest, whether he liked it or not.

Which meant calling on her recently mastered Invisibility spell was necessary, if costly. Moderate-Level spells sapped a good chunk of her Tolerance: 25 pts, which represented more than half her casting strength. To save herself from suffering the pain of 30 PDP raking her body, she made use of a shard of glass as the material component, since it would burn away and she wouldn’t have to carry it with her.

Despite her glass skin now being truly transparent, she didn’t entirely trust in it. She would be crossing a rather large chunk of a city built on canals, which meant she had to cross bridges and enter into close proximity of others. Any accidental bump or unintentional noise might give a random person cause to doubt they were alone, and thus disperse the effect.

The chances of discovery grew larger as she entered one of the sections of town favored by the highborn. Instead of the palatial mansions built by noble families, this area catered to the lavish whims of those who had the privilege and coin to live in decadent luxury. There were blocks of expensive apartments for lease. This was one of the few sections of the city where multi-story stone and wood construction were common.

Those structures were interwoven with theaters, courtyards, high-class taverns, gambling dens with at least a modicum of decency about them, and pillow houses where geisha and courtesans plied their sensual trades. Shops which proclaimed to be selling oddities from around the world, mystics ready to tell fortunes, and food vendors hoping to sell their delectable tidbits to the drunken masses in need of sustenance were all common sights.

During the day, most of those establishments were at low ebb for clientele. Though she didn’t fear any swirling throngs of revelers unintentionally nudging her, the prickly eyes of the city watch were out in force. This area was ripe for all manners of crime: a place where sketchy characters like mummers and musicians could cloak thieves and hustlers in their midst, ready to prey on the vulnerable, young nobles suffering from heads swollen from drink after a night of revelry and laughter. Most had rooms to which they could retreat. Others boarded carriages to whisk them to their family holding. Not all made it. Some were lured back into other establishments with the promise of food or drink or coin. Others simply collapsed in alleyway corners to sleep off their excess. The worst fates were those who were set upon, robbed blind, kidnapped for ransom, or outright killed.

Those events didn’t happen often, but they did happen, and the city watch was there to punish those who tried. Worse, they were always vigilant. The guards in this area all doubled as fire watch, making sure blankets and water could be brought quickly to bear to douse any fire caused by drifting ash from the fire mountains. Their suspicious eyes were the most likely to pierce her illusion, and so she gave them as wide a berth as possible. The circuitous route she was forced to take cost her half an hour’s time, but the saved her from any brusque encounters.

She finally located the sprawling complex where Hanzo told her that Lahni was now making his home. He had taken over a section of rooms on the third and fourth floors near the north end of the compound. She expected to find several servants on retainer, likely to include a personal security detail above and beyond the guards provided by the compound’s owners.

First things first, she mused to herself, then checked the space around her. She was in a narrow alley, across the throughfare from one of the compound’s entrances. No one was in easy listening distance. Opening her hand, she exposed the shred of parchment she had carried from the manse. She intended to conjure a Mental domain spell, which meant she couldn’t use her ChiKiln power to burn PDP. She muttered the power words to the Lesser Sense Magic Aura spell: “Ash kess da beswah.”

As the parchment burned away to nothing, her perception of the world changed. Shimmering blue glows surrounded any item in sight with magical influence upon it, or revealed to her any areas where a standing spell might be active. The Lesser version of the spell didn’t reveal many details about the true nature of that magic, but she could exercise some intelligence to figure that out.

She felt no surprise when precious few items became illuminated by the effect. While magic was an undeniable part of their world, Katashi had often reminded her that for most people, it was a wondrous thing that rarely impacted their lives. She noticed a weak glow clinging to the sword of one watchkeeper. Another hovered about a kettle in an antique shop. Perhaps if she raided one of the noble apartments, she might see more. Their wealth could buy them access to such wonders. But she couldn’t see through the stone with her Lesser spell, and so if such items existed, they were blocked from her immediate view.

What she could see were the traps laid out for the express purpose of stopping thieves and rogues from gaining access to the apartment complex. She didn’t fear mechanical traps, since they would be set off nightly by the drunken lords staggering home after their bawdy carousing. But magical screens were a whole different manner. She saw them stretched across doors, corridors, and many of the windows. While she couldn’t discern their effects, she could guess there was an assortment of alarms, damaging spells, and… probably most common… negation spells that would strip away protections such as her invisibility.

With the outer barriers revealed to her eyes, Yokïmi plotted her path.

Needing a distraction, she activated her Trivial-Level Telekinesis spell. It couldn’t lift much, but more than enough to disturb a rack full of gardening tools. They clattered to the cobblestones and drew the attention of one of the guards. They were well trained, so the opposite guard instinctively searched in the other direction, making sure this wasn’t a trick.

He guessed wrong about the nature of the trick. She skimmed between the pair while they scanned the street, then hopped atop a fence to the side of one magical warning screen. With an explosive leap, she vaulted over the secondary screen intended to catch people doing precisely that. She landed with cat-like grace, dissipating the impact so it would not rouse the notice of the same guards she had just left behind.

She wove together a chain of similar evasions, requiring her to call upon the full measure of her flexibility and creativity. She bypassed stairwells by scaling flower trellices, crept along corridors near the ceiling, and took short-cuts through rooms with windows left carelessly open.

Her caution was nearly undone by chance. Breezing out a window to land on what had seemed like an empty, courtyard-facing walkway, she found a guard rising from behind a huge potted plant. He was fiddling with how his pant leg was tucked into his boot, perhaps having just finished with retying a lace that had come free.

Whatever his reasons for having been crouched out of sight, he was close enough to hear the soft patter of her landing on her bare feet. His nose scrunched as he peered into the space she occupied, confused as some of his senses told him something was there while her magic sought to fool them.

Not waiting on the outcome, Yokïmi dropped low and jutted a single knuckle strike into the side of his knee. The intent was not to damage, but to hit the precise spot to send a wave of numbness down his lower leg. She then swept into a spiraling turn and lashed against his remaining good leg with a trip attack.

[-2]  [-3]

* Crippled: Right Leg – Mild *

* Tripped *

* Stunned *

With all his support gone, the guard toppled heavily to the ground with a pained ‘Oof!’ Before he could react to being felled by what seemed like a ghost, Yokïmi followed through by delivering a sharp, Knockout Strike to the side of his face. His disorientation left him open, and she sent him into unconsciousness before he really knew he was under attack.

[-12]

* Unconscious *

Except he wasn’t alone. His patrol partner must have drifted briefly away, but had returned in time to see the other man fall. Yokïmi’s own violent movements had disrupted her illusion, making it easier for the second guard to see through the magic. However, her glass skin still rendered her difficult to identify.

Instinctively seeking to sow more confusion, she called upon her Presence Haze, the first Bellatir-adapted spell she had learned. Her outline blurred, further obscuring her crystalline form.

The second guard’s mouth opened, issuing a short gasp of surprise and his hand reached for the hilt of his sword. But he didn’t have time to generate a real shout of alarm nor draw the weapon before she engaged him. Rolling over her shoulder, she used the momentum to spring into his space, calling on her recently developed skills to jam a finger-blade strike into his throat, aiming not to crush his windpipe but rather to send him into a choking fit.

[-8]

* Choking *

{-1}

* Choking *

{-1}

With him silenced and reeling, she followed up with an open palm strike to his chin, calling on her recently developed skills to shake him totally off-balance.

[-5]

* Stunned *

Now woozy and gasping, the guard didn’t even see her Knockout Strike coming before it impacted on his temple and sent him into temporary oblivion.

[-11]

* Unconscious *

Dropping into a low combat stance, Yokïmi listened for the sound of any other guards rushing to respond. None came, suggesting she had taken them out quickly enough that the scuffle hadn’t been noticed.

As the immediate excitement faded, her senses swam with a mild wave of dizziness. Unsure of the cause, she pressed her knuckles together to check her self-status.

* Tolerance: Warning – 5 Points Remaining *

She cursed herself for acting too swiftly. Using material components made me careless. It wasn’t hurting so I forgot how much a Moderate Spell takes out of me. If she had over-extended herself, she could have passed out here right next to the guards she had brought down. She would have woken up embarrassed and in chains.

Summoning her Willpower to keep her going despite the fatigue, she heaved the fallen guards into a nearby, empty apartment and shut the door. She’d have to hope they wouldn’t be discovered before they awoke. Her time was now being measured by an invisible clock, and she had no further magic to assist her until she had time to rest.

Yokïmi believed she had a solid chance of finding Lahni in his chambers. The indolent, undisciplined former apprentice had never been quick to rise. She suspected he would trend toward being even more lethargic without Katashi there to crack the whip over him.

Since her invisibility had been shattered, she decided to avoid going through the outer apartments and risk alerting the serving staff. Taking a chance, she edged out onto a thin decorative outcropping. She had no formal rogue training, but her mastery over her body’s movement, an ability to apply both static and dynamic strength, a focus on balance, and her overall flexibility combined to give her climbing skills most people would envy.

The real risk was that the window she was targeting looked out over the street below. Her glass-clear skin made her nothing more than a sunlit outline as she crept over to the opening. All I need to do is keep my movements deliberate. No sudden lurches that might catch the eyes below. Slow and steady. Slow… and… steady. Knowing that the unconscious guards might be discovered at any moment didn’t help in maintaining restraint, but she kept herself calm until the window slats were within reach.

She found the slats closed, probably to block out the suns’ light to avoid hurting the eyes of the drunk lord inside. As flinging one open would be seen, she eased one of the two panels ajar just far enough so her slender figure could eel through and into the shaded room.

Scanning the room, she ensured there wasn’t anyone else loitering inside. She then locked the double doors separating it from his outer dressing room, then wedged the back of a chair under the handles to give her a few more seconds should they be interrupted.

Lastly, she approached the bed. Her gaze skimmed over the items on the side tables, picking out a few that might be used as components to power a spell. She dragged the squat furniture out of easy reach. That would only leave him Trivial magic to call upon. She didn’t intend to give him the chance.

Yokïmi took in the sprawled lord on his bed, a sour distaste on her tongue and her nose wrinkling at the pungent odor of booze seeping from the drunk man’s pores. He was pretty clear how happy he’d be to have me in his bed chamber. Doubt this is what he meant. Without further ceremony, she grasped the blankets and tore them off, casting them onto the ground.

Lahni groaned and picked his head off the bed to peer blearily around the room. “Wh-az… umm… hmm?” Sleep and the remains of drink clogged his thinking as he struggled to comprehend what was going on.

“I need answers from you. Real answers. Which means I need you not to be an ass for a while.”

“Huh?” He finally managed to focus on her enough to realize he couldn’t fully focus on her transparent body. “How much did I drink last night? Rosy, is… that isn’t you, is it, Rosy?”

With a deep sigh, Yokïmi grabbed a water-filled vase off a shelf, tossed the decorative flowers away, and dashed the murky remnants into Lahni’s face.

“Gah!” He backed up into the headboard, wiping at his face. “What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck do you think you –”

“– Shut up!” She snapped. Stepping to the side of the bed, she snatched up one of the pillows his thrashing had kicked about. She held it out in front of his face. “We need to talk. Scream out, and I’ll use this so we aren’t interrupted.”

“If dare lay a hand on me, I’ll –”

Smack! Her palm struck him across the face, jerking his head to one side. A blunt force damage tag appeared on his skin ahead of the bruise sure to follow.

[-4]

Giving a couple seconds for the ringing in his ears to fade, Yokïmi said, “Threats are stupid. Especially empty ones. Tell me about Katashi. Tell me about the last time you saw him alive.”

“What? That bastard Sage? What do you care about some broken…” His vitriole trickled away, overtaken by his surprise. “You! I remember you. His prissy sprig of a Darrum that was prancing around the manse all last year.” He barked a laugh, running his eyes up and down her naked form. “Glad to see your fashion sense hasn’t changed. Missed you after you left. Though you featured in my dreams often enou–”

Smack! Her hand sliced back the other way, catching under the opposite eye.

[-5]

Clutching at his face, Lahni snarled, “Stop doing that!”

“Then stop being worthy of them,” she spat back. “You want me to leave? I don’t want to be here. Make both of us happy and tell me what you know!”

“About what?”

“You heard me the first time. Katashi was with you the night he died. Tell me about it.”

“It was nothing,” he began. “He was a doddering fool unworthy of having me around. I told him to –”

Not letting him develop the lie further, Yokïmi drove a finger strike into his knee with a touch more savage power than was necessary for the Paralyzing Strike to work. It sent a ripple of pain up his nerves and into his spine before turning the limb into a temporary lump of meat.

[-8]

* Crippled: Right Leg – Severe *

He went to scream and she buried the pillow over his face, holding it tightly as he moaned into the other side and grasped at his leg. She didn’t use enough force to really smother him, only to keep the noise from carrying.

His initial reaction faded and his hands scrambled at the makeshift gag. Deciding he had control of himself again, she pulled the pillow away and demanded, “The truth! I know he was ending your apprenticeship that night. At first I thought that gave you cause to kill him, but you don’t have that in you. But you could have seen what happened. Think!”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”

Letting out a furious hiss, she drove her fingers into his other leg, duplicating her previous strike.

[-7]

* Crippled: Left Leg – Severe *

Once again, she smothered his pain cries with the pillow, riding out his writhing until all she could hear was him sucking in ragged breaths. Pulling away the covering, she growled, “He’s dead! This isn’t a joke. This isn’t something you can sneer away. Someone is going to pay for what they did to him. Do you really want to be standing in my way?”

His eyes blazed back at her, guarding his silence.

Contempt boiled inside her. “Damn you for a pathetic fool. He was killed by a foul magic and you saw nothing?”

“Why should I help avenge him?” Lahni snarled back. “He dismissed me like a failure. Like I was a waste of his time!”

She shook her head in disdain. “If nothing else, tell me where you went. If you were blind to everything going on, I’ll find someone who might have been paying attention.”

He resisted a bit longer, but as soon as he saw her winding up to deliver another blow across his cheek, he blurted out, “The Fiddling Fox! A favorite of mine near his tower.” He snorted. “Guess he thought it’d be easier to banish me where I was comfortable. Not even that worked out. There was a fight that caused a bowl of soup to spill over me. Haven’t been back since.”

Yokïmi remained in a position to threaten him for several breaths longer, daring the genuine look on his face to crack even a fraction. But soon, she was convinced of his honesty, and she backed away several steps.

“I’m going there. If not a single soul can remember the pair of you sitting there, I’ll be back. I won’t ask so nicely next time.” She dropped the pillow on the floor. “You’re every bit as pathetic as I remember you. He was right to send you away.”

He rose to his knees, not brave enough to leave the cushions of his bed and challenge her, though his glare promised all sorts of pain. “Come here again, and my guards will cut you to pieces.”

“Leaving others to fight his battles. Fine way to prove you aren’t a useless sot hiding under fine clothes.” Contempt drew the insult from her, but she gave it added stink in hopes it would freeze Lahni from calling for his guards the moment she was gone from the room. With any luck, his pride will be at war long enough with his desire to hurt me that I can get away clean.

Either way, she needed to make a quick escape. Tearing open the window slat, she swung out onto the narrow overhang. Going down was always easier than up, and she noticed a hay-laden cart that would make the descent all the faster. Dropping down into the back with a light crash, she rolled off the end and vanished down the street before the cart’s driver could even turn around and bellow at whatever troublemaker was threatening to ruin his day.

Absent the strength to renew her Invisibility spell, or even to cast her Gather Darkness spell, Yokïmi tucked herself into the deepest shadows she could find and began the long, laborious trip back across the city. Eventually, she reached a wide street connecting two large markets and decided there was no way to cross without being seen until dark.

Finding a storage cellar that looked like it hadn’t been accessed for a while, she huddled into a dim corner and tucked out of sight. She allowed herself to drift along the edge of consciousness. Nervous as a mouse, she passed the hours in a fitful sleep that regenerated some portion of her magical strength. Hopefully, it would be enough to sustain her during the evening to come.

Chapter 7

As the bustle of the streets outside faded with the suns going down, the final stretch of Yokïmi’s rest proved the deepest. It carried her well into the evening. Two of the white moons, Desolis and Ehtnaza, were in the sky. The last, Nabusha, would follow after midnight.

Before setting out again, she decided it was worthwhile to run through her status. Normally the chimes of advancement supernaturally cut through any surrounding noise, but you had to be in a mental state to notice them. Her angry words with Lahni, hearing his utter lack of concern for the death of a man who had tried to shepherd him along a useful path… it had bothered her more than she cared to admit. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him out of hand and send his soul to Narrum for an early judgment.

Calling down her status orb, she first sifted through the items listed under recent changes.

* Meditation – Skill now level 6 *

* Empty-Hand Combat (Strikes) – Skill now level 8 *

* Stealth – Skill now level 7 *

* Channel Energy from Components – Talent now level 5 *

* New Impactful Moment – Death of First Farrum *

The Skill ranks were welcome. Recent events had proven why each of them would be useful, if not critical. None of them could match the importance of the Talent increase. This was the heart of her magic. She opened the listing.

Talent: Channel Energy from Components: Level 5

-  This is the fundamental process that enables magic to work without harming a practitioner. The energy for supernatural effects must come from some source. If material components are not linked to the spell, the spell will fail and could do damage to the practitioner as it does.

-  Channeling limits are linked to individual Resilience scores: Physical Spells to Tolerance, Emotive Spells to Stability, Mental Spells to Willpower, Soul Spells to Ego.

-  Current channeling limits:

• Trivial difficulty spells sap Resilience 1 points.

• Low difficulty spells sap Resilience 5 points.

• Moderate difficulty spells sap Resilience 18 points.

• High difficulty spells sap Resilience 50 points.

• Evolved difficulty spells sap Resilience 100 points.

• Superior difficulty spells sap Resilience 320 points.

• Ascendant difficulty spells sap Resilience 720 points.

• Epic difficulty spells sap Resilience 2000 points.

• Divine difficulty spells sap Resilience 6000 points.

-  Current Resilience refresh rates:

• Secure, unconscious rest: 1 point per 5 minutes

• Uncomfortable, unconscious rest: 1 point per 12 minutes

• Stressful, unconscious rest: 1 point per 18 minutes

• Secure, conscious respite: 1 point per 40 minutes

• Uncomfortable, conscious respite: 1 point per 60 minutes

• Stressful, conscious respite: 1 point per 80 minutes

-  Higher levels of this Talent reduce cost for channeling as well as improve refresh rates.

Her breath caught on a gasp of hopeful excitement. So close to being able to summon High-Level spells. The rush faded and she laughed at herself. She’d so recently attained access to her initial Moderate spells. Calling on one that morning had put her in a state of near exhaustion. Master those first before swimming any deeper into the pool.

The new point structure was sufficient to allow casting two Physical domain, Moderate spells if she was at her full strength, with enough left over to squeeze out a Low-level one if she was desperate. That was a gratifying improvement. I need to improve my repertoire of spells in the other domains. I’m wasting the vitality I have in those areas.

Yokïmi was in no mood to open the details on the Impactful Moment. She wasn’t sure exactly when it had appeared. When I heard about it? No, because I wasn’t sure. Probably when I finally stood over him and confirmed he wasn’t breathing. It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to see what sort of emotional damage it had done to her. The wording ‘First Farrum’ bothered her, though she guessed it wasn’t losing parents or siblings. If she was a dedicated worshipper of Narrum, there was no reason she couldn’t name another mentor to watch over her spiritual health. Phrasing the entry this way might be the Humanoid God’s subtle way to message that to me. Too bad I’ve no intention of doing so.

A quick scan confirmed nothing else had changed. She banished the orb and made herself ready to leave the cellar. She briefly considered shrouding herself with invisibility again, but the short sleep hadn’t been enough to replenish her magical reservoirs. Even with the new power usage levels she’d attained, casting it would cost her the lion’s share of her points and reduce her Tolerance to a fragile state. That wasn’t a great way to start the night.

The darkness was her friend, so she decided to conserve her strength until she needed it. The streets and canals of Atsumae were an entirely different world at this hour. What had been impassable streets in the day now merely required careful timing to cross.

Finding the Fiddling Fox was not difficult. It was a pleasant eatery that made its reputation by serving food and drink that was a few cuts above most taverns. Since it wasn’t trying to be a den of iniquity where people could carry out all manners of sins in private, the owners had crafted it to be visible, set on a road with decent foot traffic.

Yokïmi worried her spell conservation would have to be sacrificed. There were too many people and too many street lanterns to get a look in through the windows without being spotted. She wasn’t pleased with the idea. Inside the crowded establishment, the chances of being tripped over would rise, and the people eating would be more sober on average and thus better able to catch any mistake she made and thus see through her illusion. She held fast, hoping for a different prospect.

Her patience provided one. The last two people visible in the street decided to enter the Fox, giving something else for the serving staff to be noticing in addition to emptying the street. Yokïmi crept up to the lower corner of the front window. It didn’t have glass, but the sliding shutters were drawn open to allow the warm air of the night to filter inside.

Sure enough, the bustle of the interior was rife with opportunities to jostle her and break any invisibility screen. Nor were there shadows and corners that could hide her in her natural form. I don’t need to search the place. I only need to speak with someone who would have been here that night. Someone who would be paying attention.

The answer shouldn’t have surprised her. There was a steady stream of servers flowing in and out of a door at the back of the dining area. Some of them had to be present that night. Crossing over to follow them through the door and ask around for answers wasn’t going to work out.

Stepping away from the window before she was discovered, Yokïmi slipped down the side alley. The fence surrounding the property was a palisade of thick posts sharpened into spikes. It would be a deterrent to anyone less capable, but she latched onto one of the crude spear tips and used it as a bracing point to flip over the top. Landing softly, she sidestepped behind a shed so she could watch the yard.

The pattern was hard to discern. The door she had noticed from the front opened here, and the stream of servers was equally busy as before. They were all struggling to maintain their professional air despite their rush. They were all garbed in white kimonos with a bright orange obi and similar trim. The color pattern felt like a statement, showing they were a cut above common tavern staff by avoiding any food stains on the pristine garments.

The servers cut across the yard on a covered walkway. The wide, sloping roof would shield against rain and help slough off the mild snows that fell on the city in winter. The path led to the largest outbuilding, possessing three smoking chimneys which revealed it to be the kitchen. Now and then, one of the servers diverted from food delivery to approach a cellar from which they fetched wine or to carry a satchel of cast-offs and other garbage to a refuse shed.

Once again, Yokïmi relied on her patience. She needed to speak with one of them without interruption. Any interference in this well-oiled machine would be swiftly noticed. But she was determined to get her answers. Even if I have to wait until the end of the evening and corner the last one here, I’ll get my chance.

The kitchen’s double doors swung open on their hinges yet again. For the twentieth time since she’d begun watching, a server emerged with a platter propped up on one hand. She was slightly stout in a manner few women in Hu’na’la shared; not rotund, but rather calling to mind what a lumberjack’s lifestyle might do to a Hu’na’laan female’s general musculature. She was only slightly taller than Yokïmi, but the kimono robe couldn’t hide her broad shoulders. A small shiver passed down her spine as she imagined the firm hands steadying that platter gripping her tightly in passion.

The fantasy was rudely brushed aside even before Yokïmi could chastise herself for drifting. Another of the servants wandered into her path in a way that seemed deliberate to her as an onlooker. The overloaded tray was sent ‘accidentally’ spilling to the cobblestones in a messy smear.

“By Narrum above, who taught you to walk, Isammu?” the woman griped, reaching up to clutch protectively at the arm which had been supporting the load, as if dropping it had caused her some injury. A small set of tags began to tick off the top of her head, though the rate was incredibly low.

* Bleeding *

(-1)

* Bleeding *

(-0)

* Bleeding *

(-1)

“Shouldn’t be working if you aren’t ready to be back,” came the other server’s snide answer. He skipped around the mess he had created with no intention of stopping to help. “Should thank me! If you’d been bumped on the floor, you could’ve dumped all that on a customer. Hirosho would have taken every coin you’d earned as punishment.” He backed away, flashing her one last mocking sneer, then dipped into the kitchen to get his next load.

Grimacing in irritation and pain, the serving woman lowered herself as if she was intending to bend her knees and begin cleaning the mess. She hissed again, her hands flying down to grasp her right thigh. The shift in her grip gave Yokïmi a glimpse at the woman’s sleeve. A small blotch of crimson had stained the white material from the inside, revealing a hidden injury.

Another door into the main building creaked open, the timing of it hinting that the new arrival was responding to the sound of the platter crashing down. A woman who was ferret-thin with a face to match clattered down the wooden steps leading from her private office. “What’s this then, Kona?”

“A mistake, Hirosho-sama. It won’t happen again,” the proud woman answered, growling away her pain as she got to one knee and fished the platter back to her side.

The other servers were angling around her, giving her space while avoiding any risk of getting the spilled food on their own lower hems and slippers. Though most of them flashed her a sympathetic look, none of them paused to lend a hand. A few rolled their eyes, as if finding the whole scene pathetic.

The culprit she’d called Isammu came along on his own delivery task and called out, “Should be working at the Choking Dog or the Puffed Parrot. Hear the crowds there will toss coin even at a damaged minx like you.”

“Enough!” Hirosho cut in. “Off with you! Before the food you carry goes cold and I have coin from your pocket.”

“More a door sentry than a server, this one. Proved it the other night. Don’t ignore your talents!” Isammu snickered before striding to the door and heading into the dining area.

Scowling after him, Hirosho paced across the yard to stand near her crouched servant. Her gaze flickered to the damage tags continuing to scroll off her head.

* Bleeding *

(-0)

* Bleeding *

(-0)

“Perhaps he’s right. I was cruel to allow you back so soon.”

Stopping in her efforts, Kona clenched a fist and braced herself against the ground as she struggled to contain her anger. “You know why I’m here. The medicine for my sister does not come cheaply.”

“I cannot make you a sentry,” Hirosho said, regret heavy in her tone. “Taulk and Baugher deflect more violence in their simple presence than their skill with fists.”

“Your orc thugs didn’t stop that idiot from pulling a knife. I was the one who stopped the Shishaku’s son from being cut up,” Kona griped back. But she quickly shook her head, as if afraid her boss would take that for an argument in favor of her taking a sentry position. “The pittance you pay them wouldn’t be enough. The added coin we get tossed for good service is what I need.”

Hirosho sighed. “I’m afraid I cannot risk an incident. The Fox’s reputation would suffer. Even if you could keep your composure, these…” She waved at the damage tags. “…could not be missed. Go to Hajuna. Tell her to stitch you up. I’ll pay for it. Until your healing is far enough along that the stitches will not tear, don’t return. Don’t fear for your place here. It’s secure.”

Even to Yokïmi’s ears, with so little exposure to this woman, the bland promise felt utterly false. This was not a woman who would allow a hole in her organization to exist for longer than a day. Once she had another trained and working, Kona would certainly have to bide her time and hope for one of the other servers to fall ill or get hurt in order to regain her place.

From the strain on Kona’s face, she hadn’t missed the lurking danger, either. For a brief moment, Yokïmi thought she was going to burst out in anger, objecting that she had been injured while working for the officious boss. But signs of that rebellion faded in the face of her uncaring superior. “Can I finish out the night? I’m not really that hurt. I was caught by surprise.”

“Other surprises might happen. I can’t have you bleeding in the main room, or on the food in the kitchen.”

“I’ve worked half the night without anyone calling me on being weak. Surely, there is something I could do.”

Hirosho’s jaw worked as she considered the benefits and shortcomings for keeping around a worker who would likely not return. “Bind that cut well. Then spend the next few hours with the axe. The firewood supply for the kitchen has grown lean. I’ll give you a silver chip if you can fill the shed before the night’s over.”

Yokïmi was darkly impressed with the temptation the business woman had chosen. A silver chip wasn’t much, but it was a handsome reward for a half-night’s work. At the same time, she could see the mostly-empty firewood shed. Filling it would require serious effort. As proud as Kona’s claims might be, accomplishing the feat wasn’t at all certain. Hirosho was clearly betting against the woman’s Resilience, and she hadn’t offered a half-payment. It was either all or nothing.

“I’ll see it done,” Kona promised, summoning all her confidence.

“Off you go, then. Make sure this is mopped up before you do.” The parting shot was a nasty one, made worse by her callous dismissiveness as she sucked away a small chunk of Kona’s remaining time. She removed herself with unhurried steps back into her office.

Despite the crunch on her time, Kona didn’t move for a couple minutes, trying to absorb all that happened. Her head hung low, but Yokïmi didn’t hear even a soft sob escape.

The other servers continued to veer around her and the mess, devoutly averting their eyes as if dismissing an unclean person from their midst. Yokïmi wanted to snarl at them, wondering how they could ignore what Kona’s dismissal implied about the fragility of their own places at the Fox.

A trace of shame crept through Yokïmi as selfishness stopped her from any impulsive urge to go out and help. Her appearance would disrupt the whole establishment and likely end with her being chased away, absent any answers. She soothed her ego by deciding not all of her concern was self-centered. If she was seen to be connected with Kona, the tavern manager might decide to expel the other woman early for consorting with a ‘fae spirit’ or whatever they decided Yokïmi was.

Which meant she was forced to watch Kona piece herself back together alone. The injured server chose to sweep up the remains of the platter despite the seeping blood that continued to increase the stain on her kimono uniform. She seemed determined to withdraw from where she was under the eyes of her former peers: some of their gazes sympathetic and others judgmental, neither of which did anything to give her aid.

Once done, Kona approached the kitchen and called inside. She was given a few bands of cloth, which she took toward the wood chopping station. It was distant enough from the server walkway to give her some small measure of privacy, even if it wasn’t totally out of view.

Yokïmi knew this woman was the best option for getting answers. Lahni had hinted at a fight on the night in question. An upscale place like this wasn’t like rough taverns where such things happened as a matter of course. Kona’s injury almost certainly placed her in the same room with Katashi mere hours before he died.

To reduce the danger, Yokïmi whispered the words of her Conjure Fog spell. Forming the intent in her mind, she didn’t create a bank as thick as soup, instead going for wisps that would fill the miniature courtyard. Kona would be nothing but a vague impression to the servants crossing the walkway, and Yokïmi’s glass form would be practically invisible.

Shuffling ideas on how to approach her, Yokïmi picked her way across the compound until she was on the periphery of the chopping station. It was little more than a central stump driven into the ground. An axe was lodged in the top. A rough dumping of weighty logs was nearby, waiting to be hewn into usable wedges.

There were a couple benches along one wall that backed onto the kitchens. Kona had settled heavily into one of them. She unraveled the bands of her obi, then shed her kimono. She moved tenderly as she stripped the sleeve away from her wound, sucking in a quiet hiss as the soiled cloth peeled away.

Her undergarments were not traditional. The lovely robes were meant to give the Fox servers a touch of class, but the thick material must have been hot to work in. As such, Kona had donned as little extra as possible to minimize the heat.

Her legs were nearly bare, covered to mid-thigh by cotton briefs. The quality of their make was questionable, but they were no doubt breathable. A lurid bruise stretched all along her outer leg, reaching almost to her knee, which explained the server’s difficulty in reaching her knees earlier.

Yokïmi’s focus was drawn upward to the ugly slash across Kona’s arm. Her arms and shoulders were bare, giving any observer a clear view of the cut. From the way the skin was being tugged, it looked like someone, perhaps even the server herself, had done a crude job of stitching the wound together. The result might help the wound close, but would inevitably lead to a ragged scar. It would also open with ridiculous ease, as had been proven by the earlier accident.

The rest of Kona’s attire probably wasn’t intended to be alluring. Akin to her briefs in quality, the lacing along the cotton top was stretched to its breaking point. Threadbare patches threatened to burst wider with every breath she took. The garment wasn’t naturally a corset, but it had grown to mimick one as it hugged her. Yokïmi guessed she had obtained it when she was far younger, then continued to grow without the spare coin to buy herself a new one to fit her womanly figure. That left her impressive breasts to swell out invitingly with each breath, and it was a blessing of the Goddess of Fortune that they did not tumble into view.

Kona began the arduous task of winding a bandage around her bleeding arm. As strong as she had tried to appear, she had lost at least 10 PDP while Yokïmi watched, and looking unbothered had clearly drained her Willpower. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she tried to keep the wrap tight enough to keep pressure on the wound while soaking up the excess blood.

Yokïmi was done waiting. It wasn’t in her to leave Kona to suffer through this alone. Emerging from the fog to the point where the other woman could hear her whispers, she said softly, “Can I help with that?”

The server’s head swung up, only for her expression to veer rapidly through a whole rainbow of emotion. The first was annoyance, perhaps expecting it to be some peer of hers trying to make last-minute amends. That transitioned to confusion, her ability to focus on Yokïmi’s crystalline skin hampered by her still-low Aura scores. Persistance allowed her to pierce the effect, but seeing the ghostly woman in front of her sent Kona spiraling toward fear.

She had hoped for a cooler reaction, but that didn’t mean Yokïmi wasn’t ready for this predictable spike. She dashed forward, imposing herself in the server’s personal space. She sank her elbow against the shoulder attached to Kona’s injured arm, taking advantage of her pain which would prevent the woman from generating any real leverage. Her hand slipped over Kona’s mouth, stifling the cry of alarm that might sneak out. Her other hand snagged hold of the wrist on the server’s good arm, applying a wrist lock and pushing it against the wall above the server’s head. Lastly, Yokïmi snuck her right knee onto the bench between Kona’s spread legs, then leaned her bodyweight to lock Kona’s hips against the wall, stealing away the other woman’s ability to easily generate momentum for an escape.

Kona had a noticeable, raw strength advantage, but Yokïmi had the training for hand-to-hand combat, especially in the area of locks and holds and pressure points. Added to the element of surprise and Kona’s injury, it was little wonder that a tag floated off Kona’s head, indicating she wasn’t going to be able to break free.

* Pinned *

Her purpose wasn’t to handle the server roughly. Yokïmi rushed to say, “Please, don’t scream. I’m not here to hurt you. Quite the opposite. I want to help.” She locked eyes with the woman, whose straining to escape lessened as the words sunk in. “If I take my hand away, do you promise not to scream?”

Kona’s gaze remained hard a bit longer, but she dipped her chin in as much of a curt nod as she could manage under Yokïmi’s firm grip. Ready to reassert the covering in an eyeblink, she removed her hand. Free to speak, Kona lip’s trembled as she begged, “D-don’t… don’t take me now… please, I’ve… I can’t leave her alone.”

“Take you?”

“Are you not one of the Grey Lady’s Grims? Come to take me to the River of Souls? Offering to help by taking away the burden that is my life?”

Yokïmi didn’t mock the superstitious claim, hearing the depths of the woman’s pain resonating inside. Ai ya, she half wants it, as much as she fears it. Wants to let all her burdens go and be done with it all. The realization fractured her heart, wishing she had more to give.

“All I meant was that the binding would be smoother if done by another.”

“You aren’t… one of them?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know what the Lady’s soul guides look like, much less to claim my place among them.” Yokïmi summoned as kind a smile as she could. “I found you for a reason, but it isn’t your soul. It’s what you know.”

“What I know?” Kona issued a self-deprecating laugh. “Such knowledge isn’t worth a wooden penny, nor enough to fill that puddle there.”

“Don’t be so sure. You might not even know what you’ve seen.”

Fear hadn’t entirely fled, and Kona’s breath continued deep and fast even as she fought to stay calm. “If… if you mean no harm, then… will you let me up? I’m not used to… to being this close to anyone.”

When locked in battle, she never noticed such things. During grappling practice, she’d often rolled on the ground with limbs coiled around her opponent without a shred of embarrassment. Kona’s initial capture had fallen into the same mindset, but now that the sense of conflict was fading, Yokïmi became all too aware of their proximity. Exerting control over the stronger woman took precise leverage and positioning. Her bare breasts were huddled against the server’s swelling cleavage, while she could feel the heat of the Kona’s core along her leg.

As soon as the connection struck Yokïmi as rather pleasant, embarrassment flooded her and demanded she withdraw. She backed away, perhaps a bit too fast. “I… apologize for taking you unaware. Having any of the others see me would have ended our talk before it began.”

Mention of her boss and peers caused Kona to flicker her eyes that way. She seemed to notice the fog for the first time. “The mist came in just in time.” Grimacing in discomfort, she raised a wad of bandage padding to her arm to stem the blood that had begun to seep forth again. “If not a Grim, then what are you?”

Smothering a sigh, Yokïmi didn’t interrupt her until the question was asked, though she wondered how many more times she would hear it in her life. “Nothing more than a human with an odd tale to tell.”

“Magic?”

“Not all of it is friendly.” She waved at Kona’s arm. “Will you allow me to help? I meant the offer.”

Uncertainty at being touched by an unknown being, whatever she might claim, was flush on Kona’s face. But a fresh twinge of pain made her rethink herself. “Do what you can.”

Unlike her earlier strike, Yokïmi moved slow. She took up the wadding first and pressed it more firmly to the wound. Kona winced, but this time it was fully expected and welcome to stem the blood flow. Plucking up the longer binding cloth, Yokïmi began to weave it around the other woman’s arm to lock the wadding in place. “That woman, the one you called Hirosho, you should take her offer to have this stitched.”

“I don’t want to owe her anything.” Kona dark tone that seemed to promise revenge for a thousand previous slights.

“It was freely offered.”

“When I am here begging to be accepted back under this roof in a fortnight, she will remind me of it. Nothing is ever free with her.”

“Why come back? I saw you carry that platter. Heard you say you fended off a madman with a knife. Other taverns would take you on and be glad to have one capable of handling themselves like that.”

“Where the coin is half as much, and the customers add extra only if you don’t smack their hands away from grabbing what they want,” Kona growled in reply. “Some like the attention. Others can fake it. I don’t and I can’t.”

Sympathizing with her, Yokïmi asked, “But your need is great enough that you would debase yourself by coming back?”

“If it was only my need, perhaps not.”

“Your sister,” Yokïmi murmured, curling her hands around the woman’s bicep as she spoke. “I heard you mention her and a remedy she needs.” Not prying further, she realized an opportunity existed here. “What if we could be the answer to each other’s woes?”

Suspicion returned to Kona’s narrowed eyes. “How do you mean?”

“You intercepted a knife intended for another. That’s what you said, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve a colleague who will be visited soon by his wife’s family. They are seeing to the burial of dear friend. He’s… too trusting. I don’t think he knows how far these people might be willing to go.”

“Are you asking me to guard them?” Kona balked, pulling back in some surprise.

Yokïmi held on to the bandage, encouraging her to not drift too far away while amending her offer. “More to be of service to them. They would welcome a versatile hand that I think you might be. What’s more, you could see what they don’t. Listen for what they miss. Sniff out plots and warn them before these wolves in their sheep’s clothing bare their true teeth.”

“That could be dangerous.” Temptation lurked under her objection.

“So can working in a fancy establishment like this,” Yokïmi quipped back, as lightly as she dared.

“Hmm, guess so.” Kona frowned as she accepted the gentle barb. “What will this cost me? You said you came for a reason. To learn something I might know, but... is that all?”

“Yes. Answer my questions, and I’ll see to it you have a place in my friend’s house. You’ll never have to come begging to that creature in the office ever again.” Yokïmi didn’t mind seizing on Kona’s hatred for the Fox’s manager. If Kona could help her discover what happened to her Farrum, the least she could do was find a safer place for her to earn the wage she needed to help her sibling.

A thread of nervous energy made Kona fidget. “I have no idea what you think I know. You’re probably going to be disappointed.”

Yokïmi finished the bandage wrap by tying a tight knot, then tucking the ends in so they wouldn’t get snagged and risk unraveling the work. “I’m going to have to trust you’ll remember all you can. I have nothing. Which means no matter which fragments are in your memory, they’re more than I have right now.”

Still unsure, Kona tested the wrapping on her arm. The Bleeding tags over her head had stopped, and her smile was one of admiration. “You did that well.”

“I’ve been banged around enough times. Learned a few tricks.” Yokïmi was glad she hadn’t forgotten how. Her Chi Healing power had become a luxury she relied upon. Not having to sew up wounds and wait for days or even weeks for every scrape or cut to fade was a gods-send. Sensing the time was right, she pressed, “I wish to speak of the night you received this wound.”

“Huh,” Kona huffed. “Few nights are so clear.”

“Good. There were two men who were eating alone. One an elderly Sage well known in these parts; Katashi Saito. The other a young lordling whose face would be familiar to you. He frequented the Fox. Lahni Tahami.”

The server didn’t hesitate. “They were there. I wasn’t waiting on them, but I’m certain. I thought for sure the trouble of the evening would revolve around them.”

“Why?”

“Well, at first, it was because they didn’t seem to be friends. They were arguing. The one you call Katashi was calm but very stern. Lord Tahami is well known to all the staff, but he was even more agitated than usual. He usually preens and holds himself above everyone else. Instead, he was carrying on like the petulant child we all figured him to be.”

“But their quarrel never led to anything?”

“It never had the chance.” Kona shifted in her seat, rolling a finger as if to turn back time in her story. “There was another who was watching them.”

“You’re sure?”

“Hard to forget a goblin.”

The link to the vision she’d seen in the Memory Cage couldn’t be ignored. “What was a goblin doing in the Fox? I heard you say there are orc thugs watching the door. Wouldn’t they have crushed him on sight?”

“Gold buys respect. He didn’t give us the chance to toss him out. He came in flipping a gold chip. Not sure where a goblin came by that sort of coin. Probably stole it. But Hirosho wasn’t about to turn that sort of coin away. Even looking back, she probably thinks a scuffle and me getting sliced up was probably worth it.” Shaking her head, Kona went on, “She told me to find him a table where he wouldn’t offend the other customers.” Kona shrugged. “Never met a goblin before. This one was on the older side, but spry enough. Gnarled face and knobby joints, but not nearly as disgusting as I’ve heard them to be. Seemed to have bathed in the last week and wasn’t smearing grime over the tables. He set about making friends right away.”

“Oh?” Yokïmi’s head canted to one side, finding that odd. “How so?”

“Began buying ale for this one table. Couldn’t tell why he picked them, but his coins soon had them good and soused. They kept waving him over like they wanted to make him their mascot for the night, but he refused. Made no sense at the time, but Hirosho wasn’t complaining. Drunk men order food, and that one table was a good chunk of the night’s earnings.”

Confused, Yokïmi had to ask, “What does this goblin have to do with Katashi?”

“Not sure. But as soon as your friend Sage entered, the goblin was fixated on him. Tried to hide it, but I’d been serving him all night. The change in him was obvious. Kept sneaking looks at him and the lordling. Whenever he did, he would get to fidgeting with this silver token, spinning it about his fingers.”

“A token? Like a coin?”

“Umm, no. Same size, but shaped more like a bug.”

Yokïmi’s breath caught in her throat. “Do you know what a scarab beetle looks like?”

“No, but… well, a beetle of some kind could be right.”

It wasn’t an absolute confirmation, but more than enough to draw Yokïmi’s interest. “What happened next?”

Grimacing as a twinge of pain bothered her bruised leg, Kona shifted in her seat to elevate it. Reading her discomfort, before she could carry on, Yokïmi slid onto the end of the bench and eased the leg up onto her own thighs. “Here. Let me.” She skimmed her hands to either side of the purplish, bruised patch and rubbed her thumbs into the muscles on either side. Unable to do much to address the pain, she figured at least she could soothe the tension bordering the injury.

Surprised at first, a light moan of relief escaped from Kona. She leaned her head against the wall and sighed, “That feels good.”

“Keep going,” Yokïmi said with gentle encouragement to match the progress of her tender fingers.

“Mmm, alright. Umm, next… oh, yes, the fight. The goblin started it all.”

“With Katashi?”

“No. That’s what was odd.” Kona rolled her head on the wall, easing a kink in her neck while also expressing her disbelief in what she’d seen. “Didn’t make sense. He’d been obsessing over your Sage. Looking back, I should have seen the warning signs and convinced Hirosho to push him out into the night before he started any trouble. After buying off all those others with drinks, would have made sense to get them riled up and have them attack your friend.”

Yokïmi had honestly thought that was where the story had been leading. Hanzo had said that Katashi came home in a fine state, and even Lahni hadn’t made very much of the fight other than it had spoiled his evening. She had suspected Katashi had seen it coming and used his magic to contain it. “But instead…?”

Growing more comfortable under Yokïmi’s touch, Kona slid deeper into her lean against the wall, giving her leg more freely for the other woman’s exploring fingers. “The idiot goblin insulted a group of officers from some lord’s personal retinue. The lord’s son was there, treating them to a dinner for good service. They were in their cups as well. When they went to snatch him up, the ones the goblin had been plying stormed in to defend him. By then, they were spoiling for a fight.”

“Did the two I knew get involved?”

“Hard to say. Wasn’t deep into it when one of the ruffians pulled a knife. I was stupid enough to get in his way. But from what I saw after the mess calmed down, your two were still in their seats. Their table was a bit cracked and the lordling looked a bit ruffled, as if someone had messed with him but been chased off before he could get hurt. They left not long after on their own feet.”

Yokïmi pursed her lips, absorbing every detail. “And the goblin?”

“Gone into the night. Didn’t even bite anyone’s ankle. Guess he didn’t want to be around to watch the turmoil he’d caused. Or to get blamed for it.” As Yokïmi’s hand found a particularly sweet spot high on her inner thigh, Kona issued a long murmur that was split between relief and pleasure. “Mm, right there.”

Had she the color in her skin to do so, Yokïmi might have blushed a touch, for her fingertips were dancing just under the hem of Kona’s cotton briefs. But she didn’t retreat away, not about to remove her touch when it seemed to be helping. “Which means the only one who knows why this all happened is that goblin. I need to find him.”

“Hmm. Might be able to help with that. Those guardsmen didn’t let the insult fade. Not after the pain it caused them or the danger it brought on the lord’s son. They asked around for the few days after, trying to find the goblin. No one was going to help hide him, so the little bastard must have kept his head down. Eventually, the questions stopped. That’s when he poked his head out again.”

“Surprised no one sold him out.”

“They might have tried.” Kona shrugged again. “I might have tried if he stuck his nose in the Fox. But word I heard was that he wasn’t hanging around taverns drinking anymore. He was approaching captains trying to book passage on a ship.”

“A ship?” The fact surprised Yokïmi. Is he done in this region? He had some hand in Katashi’s death and now needs to flee? She asked, “Any chance he bought his way onto one?”

“Not from what I heard. Couple captains he asked laughed at him. Others poured beer over his head. One even pulled a knife of his own and threatened to cut the little bugger’s throat for even asking. If sailors consider us women ill fortune on their ships, goblins are outright plagues.”

Means he might still be around, Yokïmi mused. With her hope rekindled, she asked, “Is there anywhere he might get lucky? There has to be a couple captains willing to take that chance. Like you said, the right gold in the right hands can buy anything.”

“The Grizzled Goose,” Kona decided. “Rough place. Not exactly a pirate den. Atsumae doesn’t allow anyone flying a black flag to berth. But not much better. And even if all the human scum who call themselves captains turn him down, I know of at least one orc who brings his whaling cog into port now and again.”

A small hint of nervous anticipation crept into Yokïmi. Is that ship in port now? I could already be in danger of missing him. Her fingers drew away as she straightened her spine. “Who can I talk to there? Who’d know?”

“Not sure,” Kona admitted. “No real friends on the staff.” A sort of regret edged onto her features. “No need for you to rush off. I could ask. Find out who might know. Give me a couple days?”

Yokïmi was already shaking her head. “Another time.” She paused, warmly capping the server’s knee with one palm. “It’s a nice offer, but I can’t wait. He could already be on the ocean putting leagues between us. I’ll figure it out when I get there.” She ran a comforting stroke down the strong calf of the other woman’s leg. “Find Sage Katashi’s tower. He was well known. Shouldn’t be hard. Ask for Hanzo or his wife Amaya. Both know me. Tell them who sent you, and that I trust you to watch over them while the family is in town. Tell them everything you told me about Katashi. They’ll be happy to hear any detail about his death, because right now they know nothing. It’ll help them trust you to know that you were trying to look out for him.”

“You’re sure they will take my word?”

Yokïmi opened her arms, displaying her naked body. “I’ve no token I can give you. But use my last name: Kikuchi. Tell them you saw me and what I looked like. I don’t let just anyone see me.”

“Yes, you are… kinda unique,” Kona agreed, striving but failing not to take in every detail of her near-transparent form.

“They both have good hearts. They’ll help you. But if for some reason they don’t, I’ll be back at the tower by morning. Stay in the market nearby. I’ll find you and take you inside.” She paused, then advised, “Don’t keep knowledge of your sister to yourself. Knowing she’s in trouble… my friends will help with that, too. I know it’s been hard. Probably difficult to trust anyone with secrets like that. But you can trust those two.”

A reluctance stained Kona’s expression, but she ventured to say, “I’ll… think about it.”

Giving her leg one last squeeze, Yokïmi bounced to her feet. “I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure. For now… I’ve got some gobin hunting to do.”

Chapter 8

Yokïmi ghosted up a secluded alley toward the Grizzled Goose, plotting out how she was going to make this work. As uncomfortable as it might have been to stride into the Fox, at least there the reaction would have been civilized to some measure. A slum tavern off Wharf Street would be as close to lawless as anywhere in Atsumae.

Good fortune smiled on her this time around. As she came into sight of the squalid drinking house and its weathered sign depicting a honking bird to match its name, the battered door swung open. A goblin was shoved through the opening. He staggered in the street, flinging an irritated wave back over his shoulder. A few seconds later, a thin, slinking zelkeinus stepped out.

Non-humanoids were a rare sight anywhere in Hu’na’la except in ports. But even in Atsumae and other shoreside towns like it, zelkeinus verged on being legendary as a soul-bearing race. According to the single book she’d read that mentioned them, they were far more common in southern seas. This was the first Yokïmi had ever seen in person.

This seemed like a male of their kind, though the text had claimed it could be difficult to tell. Both genders tended to be slender, moved with an oily shimmy to their hips, and had spiny, crusted growths over their skin which could make it difficult to discern any telling features. Male coloring tended to bias toward the darker shades, and this one was predominantly a blue so dark that it belonged in a dusky sky long after the suns were below the horizon.

The author who had written the text which was her only zelkeinan tutor had described them as having visages akin to seeing a giant starfish glom onto a person’s face until the creature merged with them and they become one. Yokïmi could see some lie in that description, for the five-pointed nature of the zelkeinus’ face was clearly natural, but she could see where the writer had found his inspiration. Slits for eyes, a stretched bulge in place of a nose, and a gash of a mouth showing pointed, jagged teeth gave the zelkeinus an alien expression on which it would be hard to discern emotion without practice.

As soon as his tendril-toed feet found the cobblestones of the street, the zelkeinus skinned his rapier and weaved the tip through a meaningful dance in front of the goblin’s face. “Well? You’ve done enough yammering. Told you, you’ve got one chance to show me you ain’t a lying gob-rat. Otherwise, by Hulltarm’s foul eye, I’ll use your head on a spike as a bowsprit when I leave harbor.”

“Stay yer hand, Jakoowen. I’m not fer bein’ stupid enough te bring coin into a den like dat.” The goblin gave another jerky wave. “Just ‘member, what I got te show ye today ain’t but a third of what I be willin’ te give ye once me feet are dry in Torg’s Port.”

The zelkeinus’ invocation of the Sea God had been enough, but the rest of the goblin’s words confirmed him to be a ship’s captain. How many other goblins could there be in Atsumae lurking around dank taverns trying to book passage? Answering her own question with a knowing smirk, Yokïmi considered if the goblin matched Kona’s description.

On average, goblinoids tended not to live as long as their humanoid equivalents, and the smallfolk races of each triad rarely survived their larger kin. All goblins had leathery skin, but the creased folds in this one’s jowls and the sagging of his ears suggested he was deep into his gods-allotted span of life. Despite his evident age, this one moved with the energy of one half his age. Or maybe not. Goblins usually die on swords and speartips before they get much past a couple decades. Maybe this is normal and they never lose that wiry strength that makes them so vicious.

The goblin in the street also matched in being semi-respectable. Not only clean and without a swarm of flies around him, but the vest and leggings were made from decent fabric without any obvious rips or signs of wear. That he wasn’t wearing anything to cover his clawed feet seemed more like a choice rather than due to a lack of coin.

What bothered Yokïmi was how familiar the aged goblin was. She couldn’t hardly see his face against the street lanterns, but there was something in the way he moved that twigged her memory. Maybe a fighting style I’ve witnessed before?

Pushing that aside for now, she knew she had to hear this conversation. The goblin was indeed trying to leave Hu’na’la behind. Torg’s Port was across the Shinjira Sea, a free city on the same, small, island continent as the Goldaan clan-nation. He could become forever lost in the sweeping, rain-soaked jungles that dominated that region.

The goblin veered down a different alley, leading the Captain he’d called Jakoowen into the darker shadows there. The zelkeinus paused to lift the torch in his other hand, lighting the end by using one of the street lanterns. She was about to follow when a second pair emerged from inside the tavern. The timing was too perfect. They had been doing the same as her, waiting for the goblin to lead the way out of sight.

She didn’t have to wonder about their loyalty, though both were human. Their hand-sewn, sun-bleached clothing and knives made for cutting ropes proclaimed them as sailors, and both had crudely stitched patches on their arms with a five-pointed emblem on them. The pair were outsiders, with pale skin and sandy blonde hair that was all-but unknown among those born to Hu’na’la. They ambled off in the wake of their Captain, no doubt following to give him support in case the goblin played any tricks.

Their presence complicated matters, but Yokïmi wasn’t willing to surrender the chance just yet. She snuck along in their wake, taking full advantage of her clear skin and bare feet that made it easy to be all but silent.

The goblin hadn’t taken the Captain far. He had turned down a dead-end offshoot to the alley, little more than a narrow space between two other businesses which used it as a spot for storage and dumping refuse. A gnarled rattick looked up from her scavenged meal to hiss at them, but one snarl from Jakoowen sent the ratgirl scampering away into the night.

Keeping to the shadows, the two humans stepped into the alley and inched halfway down the length, but didn’t impose themselves on the meeting happening at the end.

If the goblin knew they were there, he didn’t seem nervous about it. He was preoccupied with prying up one of the street’s stones. Even the clever rattick had missed it, and their kind were infamous scavengers, only to be outdone by kobolds in how they could harvest hidden value even from a wasteland. The goblin came up with a heavy bag. He jiggled it for the Captain’s approval.

Not impressed, Jakoowen flicked his rapier. The point tore the bottom of the bag, sending a cascade of coins down onto the cobblestones below. It was a sure way to avoid any fakery that the goblin might be trying with a trick bag. But there were no tricks. Nothing but silver and gold pennies and chips spilled out. That seemed to match what had been promised. The zelkeinus darted his sword back into its sheath and folded his arms across his chest, his expression filled with disbelief. “Now how did a miserable creature like you come up with that sort of coin?”

“Yer de one whose gonna be searchin’ de alley corners if any of dem rolled off,” the goblin growled. “Was all dere, not a word of a lie.”

“Odd to hear myself say it, but I believe you.” Jakoowen grunted, almost angry at himself for the fact.

“Twice dat much if ye get me ta port safely,” the goblin reminded him again, certainly aware that nothing was stopping him from getting skewered except the Captain’s avarice.

The zelkeinus never had a chance to respond.

A boot crunched at the entrance to the alley, behind where Yokïmi had concealed herself. A slippery, snide voice chuckled, “Now look what just appeared from the ether. Seen me a couple faelapses in my time, but the monster that shows up ain’t never been nothin’ like you.”

She craned her head around, catching sight of the the lurker who had cut her off from behind. A second layer to their protection. Gods damn them, why would they be so cautious over a goblin?

Before she could spin any further, the sailor behind her raised the crossbow cradled in his arms, the thick wire already latched back and ready to hurl a nastily barbed bolt into her back. “Ah, ah. That’s far enough. Keep those hands where I can see ‘em.”

“What’s going on back there, Sekellep?” Jakoowen called out. He’d taken precautions, but he sounded irritated that they had actually been necessary.

“Found a skulker droppin’ an ear on your meeting, Captain.”

“That so? Walk the facker this way. See what got them so curious.” Jakoowen’s tone was deliberately genteel, but he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all Yokïmi.

Sekellep planted a heavy foot forward, though the step didn’t quite put him in easy striking range of her back kick. “Step into the light. Won’t ask twice.”

Yokïmi extended her arms to each side, trying not to provoke the sailor with his tentacled finger on the trigger. She made sure he saw that her hands were empty, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. If they suspected she might have magic, then they would be watching for any attempt to snatch up a material component to power a spell. They can’t know that I don’t need them, which means I only need time to weave the runes and speak the power words.

Her glance over her shoulder had confirmed that this last sailor was another zelkeinus. Sekellep was a deep green, hinting at a different clan heritage, but she didn’t think there was any way to use that fact. Loyalty in this group was going to flow to the Captain, not along any bloodlines.

Deciding it was better to obey for now, she paced forward, keeping it slow to avoid any of the sailors from doing anything rash. There was still one moon in the sky, shedding its white light into the otherwise dark alley. The only other source was the crackling torch in the Captain’s hand. That was a small mercy. Combined with her glass skin, their prying eyes wouldn’t be able to see every detail of her nakedness. That didn’t mean she was pleased about standing in full view of the rogues. They might leer. She could suffer that. But she was sure they would be quick to kill if it suited them.

She picked a distance that seemed as safe as she could hope, coming to a stop without anyone’s bidding. “I wasn’t skulking, as you call it.”

“Oh ho, this fae’s got a voice!” The human to her left snickered, tapping his fingernails against his knife in mute threat. “Wonder what else we can get it to say.”

“Might take jabbing it with all sorts of things,” the sailor to her other side laughed, waggling his iron belt buckle in a whole different type of warning.

Jakoowen allowed them to finish their taunts before intervening, a smirk pasted on his own thin mouth. “Don’t pay Axdon and Gaeld any mind. The sea doesn’t teach much in the way of manners.” His own gaze raked up and down her figure. “Though it’s hard not to see you as some sort of gift that we’re living right. That it? You Hulltarm’s gift sent to keep us less lonely ‘fore we head back out?”

“No.” The reply was a tad sharp to be considered perfectly safe, but she needed to walk the line. Too far one way, and they would strike her down. Too far the other, and they might think she was ripe for whatever sick games they dreamed up. Let them stare. Let their eyes glaze over as their cocks swell. It’ll make them slow. Turning her wrist, she pointed toward the goblin who had tucked himself into the alley’s darkest corner. “Not here for you. I’ve business with him.”

A flicker of surprise crossed the Captain’s face. He half-turned to face the cowering goblinoid. “With this pathetic simp? Why would a fae spirit coalesce to hunt down a facken gob-rat?”

“Did the gobber see you appear from a faelapse? Try to sneak his tongue between those glass legs of yours while you were still forming?” That gem came from Sekellep who was keeping his place behind her.

Schooling her expression to minimize her scowl, Yokïmi didn’t fight their naming her one of the wild-kin. Fae were dangerous. She was dangerous as well, but fae didn’t have to prove it. “He had a part in slaying one dear to me. I’ve come for answers.” She was proud of the quiet, cold menace laced through her words.

The goblin heard it. He also seemed to believe it. His eyes bugged out, and his whole demeanor changed. Shifting from hiding to action, his hand dove under his vest and came out holding a rune-covered pebble pulsing with crimson magical energy. He hurled it against the side of the nearest building. It was a load-bearing wall, so it was predominantly wood with a few stone pillars in support. The pebble’s explosive power laughed at the structure, blowing a hole through it tall enough that the goblin wouldn’t even need to duck as he dashed through.

All the others in the alley reflexively covered their ears at the unanticipated assault on their senses. Over the ring in their ears, the goblin bellowed, “I’ve a sapphire de size o’ me fist. Show me her head when I board the ship on de ‘morrow, and it’s yers!” He darted through the opening and out of sight.

He left a palpable tension in the air behind him. Unseen calculations raced behind Jakoowen’s eyes as he weighed risks. The seething need for violence in the human sailors suggested they had expected to betray the goblin. Now robbed of killing him, the idea of taking out their frustration on her was enticing. Then there was the zelkeinus behind her. His crossbow shook in his grip, torn between greed for the promised jewel and the fact that his Captain hadn’t yet given the command.

Sensing any peaceful resolution slipping away, Yokïmi hunted down the Captain’s gaze. “Don’t. He’s not worth this.”

He wavered for a few breaths longer. Just long enough to give her one last flash of hope. But then his eyes went agate hard.

She didn’t wait for him to give the order.

Yokïmi went from static calm to sharp violence between one heartbeat and the next. Surrendering to the pull of gravity, she dropped out of Sekellep’s frame of view without warning. Rolling back over one shoulder, she closed the distance between them. She rode the momentum, launching herself off the ground using her arms. Her legs lashed upward. One cracked against the weapon, dislodging its bulk and sending it crashing to the ground. The other jabbed into the zelkeinus’ slender chest, knocking him off balance enough that he staggered onto his heels.

[-12]

* Off Balance *

Sighting the sailor’s throat between the lowest-two starfish limbs that splayed to the sides of his face, she lashed out with a spear-knuckle strike. With the odds against her, Yokïmi had no intention of pulling her punches. She called on her Choking Strike Technique, but wasn’t aiming to simply steal the zelkenius’ air. She put enough force behind it to crush his windpipe.

* Critical Wound *

[-97]

* Stunned *

* Choking *

{-2}

* Choking *

{-2}

Leaving him to grasp at his neck and struggle to take another breath, she whirled around to face the others. She had expended nearly all the surprise her swift actions had bought her. Now her greatest advantage was distance.

Her spell selection was wider than it ever had been, though still amateurish when compared against the expansive mental libraries of accomplished Wizards. In the moment, her choices were also limited because she didn’t have the components to activate Mental, Emotional, or Soul-based spells.

But with a lack of time to consider properly, she instinctively fell back on her Signature Spell, whipping her fingers through the familiar rune patterns and cracking out the power words with unshakable confidence. “Incroive zi akaivir!” A ray of pink energy lashed out, briefly lighting up the alley. The Razor Beam didn’t produce heat, but it sliced as deeply as a brutal slash with the finest katana.

Yokïmi had been tempted to go for a critical wound, but the spell required her to aim. She couldn’t afford to miss and face three attackers with a huge chunk of her magic wasted. Instead, she sliced the Beam in low across Jakoowen’s legs, reading him as the most dangerous foe. Isolate him, deal with his thugs, then come back to finish him off later. She cut the beam sideways, scouring a bloody line across both of his legs, catching he left one a little worse.

(-45)  (-61)

* Crippled: Right Leg – Moderate *

* Crippled: Left Leg – Severe *

* Tripped *

The zelkeinus went down in an angry heap, bellowing, “Kill that bitch!”

The two human sailors weren’t waiting to be ordered. They closed in on her flanks. Axdon brandished the knife he’d been playing with, while Gaeld’s meaty hands closed into fists that resembled sledgehammers.

They were looking to reach her at the same time. Can’t get pinned between them, they’re already damn close. Making her choice, she surged into Axdon’s face, seizing the wrist of his knife hand before he could generate the power for a good stab. Rotating her body inward, she used what force she could generate from her hips to ram her elbow into his sternum. She heard the air blasted from his lungs, winding him.

[-22]

* Stunned *

Sensing the blow coming, rather than go tense, Yokïmi hugged into the man, relaxing as much as she could to absorb the pain. Gaeld’s fist hit her square in the back, solidly enough that she felt a couple of her ribs crack under the impact. She couldn’t see the bruise damage tag where it appeared, but taking more than a few of those hammer blows would finish her.

She counted on the sailor going back to the well again, lining up a second fist to follow the first. Instead, she rolled out of the way at the last instant, slipping under Axdon’s armpit, keeping her hold on his wrist in a sharp twisting motion. That locked up the man’s shoulder, and if anything drove his face and chest into his partner’s brutal punch. Gaeld pummeled his friend, catching him center-chest and knocking whatever meager air he had regained out of him yet again.

[-37]

* Stunned *

* Off Balance *

Keeping hold of Axdon’s wrist for leverage, Yokïmi loaded up her leg into a chambered position and sent a blistering side kick into the man’s exposed side. The edge of her foot exploded into his floating left rib. A sickening crack echoed over the tight alleyway. From the cutting damage tag that appeared along with the one for blunt force, she knew she had sent the bone piercing into his lung.

[-25]  (-21)

* Bleeding *

{-1}

* Bleeding *

{-1}

Axdon staggered away from her, forgetting about anything else as he clutched at his chest. His heel caught on a jagged stone, toppling him into the thick wood structure of the wall behind.

His grip on the knife loosened, allowing Yokïmi the chance to strip it away. The Ekanshin art did not specialize in weapons, but both spear and knife were part of her core Skills, creeping upward at pace with her Bellatir levels. She wasn’t a master, but neither did the blade feel alien in her hands.

Raging at his own error, Gaeld lunged at her in a series of punches. They came so fast, he had finished throwing his fifth before he realized she was weaving left and right, dodging them while putting the knife in the path of each fist. His fingers had been reduced to a mess of bloody ribbons.

(-6)  (-5)  (-4)  (-6)  (-7)

Howling in a blend of anger and pain, he ceased any effort at finesse. He bulled forward and slammed her bodily with his shoulder, throwing her heavily against the wall. The double impact of the brutish move shook her badly.

[-11]  [-26]

* Off Balance *

The status tag was nearly the death of her. If it had been Rattled or even Stunned, he would have crushed her skull before she could react. As it was, she was in danger of not being able to properly dodge his next strike.

Surrendering to her compromised balance, she dropped to the ground right before Gaeld’s thunderous follow-up punch crunched into the wood. Ignoring whatever damage tags that might give him, she rolled through his legs to end up on her knees. Still not entirely steady, she used that stronger base to quickly set herself, then stabbed her stolen knife into the small of the sailor’s back. The attack lacked her normal pinpoint precision, but the blade was broad enough to sever his spine despite her margin of error.

* Critical Wound *

(-71)

* Crippled: Both Legs – Permanent *

* Tripped *

* Rattled *

The status flow off the top of the man’s head told the tale of him being finished, even as he crumpled to the stones, clutching at his back while his now dead legs failed to keep him vertical.

By then, Axdon was coming out of stupor. Seeing the rest of his crew scattered over the pavement in various, broken states, he tossed a final snarl her way before lumbering off into the night.

“Get back here you coward!” Jakoowen blared. He had torn open one of his inner pockets to produce an earthenware vial. Breaking the end stoppered up by wax, he gulped down the contents. The soft sigh of what Yokïmi swore was a muted, angelic chorus sang in the air. A tag emerged from the Captain’s head, this one a celebration of renewed vitality.

{+42}

* Crippled: Both Legs – Ended *

She cursed under her breath as he all-but reversed the damage she’d done to him, knowing her spell power was too low to replicate the effect. Seeing him already lumbering to his feet and clawing at his rapier, she grasped at a spell that was rapid enough to cast in the split second she had. The Trivial spell soaked up nearly all her remaining Tolerance points, evoking a slight wave of dizziness as she barked the power word. A spark of intense, fiery light ignited in front of the Captain’s eyes, sizzling his skin and forcing him to scrunch his eyes closed to block out the radiance.

{-2}

* Blinded *

In blind wrath, Jakoowen slashed about with his rapier to fend off the crystalline woman who had proven herself so dangerous. To his credit, he kept his balance, weaving his thin sword in a warding dance that made approaching him from any angle a bad risk.

A vague desire filtered through Yokïmi’s thoughts, wishing she had access to a weapon-breaking Technique she had read about. It was common to Taudoka, the path of hard-style martial arts. No sense dreaming for what I don’t have. Have to make do with what I’ve practiced. She needed to act fast. The Trivial spell wouldn’t dazzle him for long, and she had no wish to face the experienced Captain on equal footing with her magic drained.

Desperate to create some sort of advantage, Yokïmi waded into combat range. Bracing the dull side of her knife along her forearm, she intercepted the whistling rapier with precise timing. Steel clanged on steel as the two blades met.

The positive effect was that it forged an opening. She lashed out through it with a nihonzuki attack to his right knee. So recently recovered from her earlier spell, the joint succumbed to her Paralyzing Strike with greater ease.

[-4]

* Crippled: Right Leg – Severe *

The negative effect of her efforts was that the meeting of their blades gave the semi-blinded Captain a fix on her location. Even as he snarled in hatred as she stole the function of his leg yet again, he lurched into her, trying to overwhelm her with rabid fury. He tried to bring his sword to bear, but they were tangled too close for him to take a clean swipe. He punched her on the side of the head with the hilt, then rammed an elbow into her shoulder.

[-17]  [-8]

Woozy from the battering, Yokïmi had to act before he beat her into the cobblestones. Taking the risk of exposing her flank, she darted a foot around his only stable supporting leg and delivered a sharp heel kick. When she felt his sole skid, she hooked his body with an arm and added a twist with her hips. It was awkward amidst their grapple, and she probably couldn’t have pulled it off against an uninjured enemy. But Jakoowen wasn’t able to lean on his paralyzed leg for support. It flopped uselessly as he sprawled onto the ground with a hard thump that shook his bones.

[-11]

* Tripped *

* Stunned *

Flailing as he flipped, the zelkeinus didn’t smack the ground without giving Yokïmi a slash of revenge. The tip of his rapier snagged her side, cutting open a shallow but long rent in her clear skin.

(-7)

* Bleeding *

(-2)

* Bleeding *

(-2)

Shaking from the pain, she retreated away from the groggy Captain. The fire lancing into her nerves all along the wound was far beyond what she expected. At first, she suspected poison, but then she recalled what her ChiKiln mentor had told her. Using her body’s energy for magic weakened her in a supernatural way, making her less resilient to physical damage until she recovered. Smaller injuries would hurt on a different level and more quickly overwhelm her senses.

The Bleeding effect might kill her if she didn’t give her Chi Healing a chance to stop the loss of PDP. She knew she was already below 10, which meant she could bleed out if she couldn’t find a quiet hole to rest. As much as she hated to leave enemies alive to find her again, she shuffled away toward the exit of the alley.

“I’m not done with you!” Jakoowen clawed at the stones under him, trying to shake off the Stunned tag as he struggled up onto his working knee. He clambered onto his foot and took a few hops in her direction before he sank down again. Slashing the empty air, he screamed, “Don’t you walk away from me! I will find you!”

Keeping walking. One foot before the other. I can stumble faster hurt than he can crawl angry. She stepped around the corner, and putting a solid wall between them instantly reenergized her. Don’t let him crawl back into sight of you. They don’t matter. You need to find that goblin before he’s safely aboard their ship.

While that need burned inside her, so did the pain. She fought her way across the street and into a different alley, turning two more corners even as the bad cut continued to bleed out the clear fluid that was her life essence.

* Bleeding *

(-2)

* Bleeding *

(-2)

Not hearing any pursuit, Yokïmi slowed enough that she could press a palm against the wound, applying pressure in an effort to staunch the flow. At least it won’t be as easy for them to follow a clear blood trail in the night. She had to hope Jakoowen’s concern for his injured sailors outweighed his anger at her.

Weakness sapped at her limbs as she carried on, checking each time she came to a corner to ensure she didn’t walk right into a trap. Whether it was those sailors or different ruffians altogether, she knew she didn’t have the strength to fend anyone off. The only good sign was that her tags were growing less severe.

* Bleeding *

(-1)

* Bleeding *

(-1)

Wooziness was making her head feel like it was packed in wool. She needed rest. A blurriness in front of her eyes was making it hard to see. Finding another cellar to hide in seemed impossible. At last, she sank to her knees and crawled behind a pile of scrap wood left behind a carpenter’s shop. Tucking herself in as far as she could, she made sure she wasn’t in sight of any major streets and huddled against the wall.

Finally able to rest, she took deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. She closed her eyes and sank her head against the wood. A part of her wondered if entering a meditation state might help her Chi Healing accelerate, but there was no way she could find that sort of harmony. At least, not at my Skill level. Taliskhan would probably tell me it only seems impossible because I haven’t done it yet. A mental image of the zaskran master folded into a lotus position while a dozen arrows pierced him from all directions drew a dark snicker from her.

“Over here!” came a soft cry.

Yokïmi heard it through haze. It felt thick, like she had been on the verge of sleep. Can’t sleep. They could find me. Just rest. Need to stay aware. She did what she could to tuck herself into a tighter ball. They might be talking about someone else.

“Knew I smelled blood. But there’s nothing but water. What is she?”

It was too late. They had already found her. Their questions told her that these weren’t the sailors. But that didn’t mean they weren’t friends to the rogues. “Leave… I’ll… be fine…” She hated how weak the words spilled off her lips.

“Feisty thing, aren’t you? Someone’s opened you up real well. Come on, Tessi, get that litter unfolded. We can get her to the clinic together.”

Yokïmi was having difficulty pulling focus, not even sure she was hearing their voices right. They sounded like they were coming through thick fog, echoing and overlapping. Probably my own bleariness. She tried again to wave them off. “Not… it’s not as bad as… as it looks. I’ll h-heal…”

“Not if you die first,” the other one corrected her, obviously misinterpreting the vague reference to Yokïmi’s supernatural healing ability. Hands grabbed at her shoulders and legs, and she was lifted off the ground and laid on what felt like a canvass mat. “Tsk tsk, not even a stitch of clothing on you. Not a smart way to venture into this world, little fae.”

She didn’t have the strength to correct them. She used every ounce of it she had to pull focus on any detail she could lock onto. A small gasp of delight escaped her as she noticed the signs both these people were carrying. Each had a sign propped over their heads, held up by a wooden harness lashed to their shoulders. Painted there was the symbol of two hands cupped together, pouring water that had been cupped in the palms.

Followers of Esiphone, she realized, then collapsed bonelessly into their litter. She was picked up, but the feeling of being carried off was no longer as terrifying. They don’t know who I am, but they won’t hurt me.

She didn’t need to be a Sage’s apprentice to know the symbol for the God of Healing, Purification, Cleansing, and Burial Rites. Their version of charity was roaming the streets searching for people who were injured or diseased. They were a common sight in any moderately-sized settlement. There was some small irony that others of their order might be scooping up the zelkeinus whose throat she had crushed to see him properly sunk into the sea as was the normal etiquette for his people, assuming the sailors she had left alive didn’t see to it themselves. But she had lived, and so the healers were taking her to one of their hidden clinics to recover.

Such places were tucked out of sight, drawing little attention. Long tradition made them neutral ground. Even thugs and assassins respected the boundaries. If anyone grew impatient with their grudge and invaded a clinic, the healers would cease any care to those belonging to the same family, guild, or gang. It was a long-lasting revenge that sometimes took years to be felt, but there was always a new plague that eventually came hunting through the streets, at which point any slight given to the healers would be keenly felt.

That didn’t mean Yokïmi needed their art. The damage tags seeping from her wound had already ceased leeching away her life, reduced in severity to where they could not longer account for PDP loss.

* Bleeding *

(-0)

* Bleeding *

(-0)

But she was still hovering on the edge of consciousness. If she checked her status, she’d probably find her PDP at no more than 1 or 2, and her Fatigue levels well into the Acute level. There was no telling if Jakoowen might have other sailors combing the streets. Being carried into safety where she could regain her strength was a boon she couldn’t turn away.

The energy rush that came with combat, fear, and scrambling away from fights was fading as a sense of security took over. Her awareness fuzzed in and out as she was carted along. The two Esiphonians became nothing but two indistinct faces bobbing against the lantern lights. Darkness intermittently shrouded her vision until, at last, she ended her war and surrendered to oblivion.

Chapter 9

As Yokïmi returned from her dreams, all that had been good had become wrong.

She was on a crude bed in a cloistered room. That much was expected and consistent with being in an Esiphonian clinic. But the feeling of safety was totally absent as she felt the bindings wrapped around her wrists and ankles which kept her lashed her to the bed.

Irritation that they might think she would hurt herself or others shifted rapidly to something more visceral as she realized she was being restrained in other ways. The worst was a piece of leather curved into a shape reminiscent of a horseshoe inserted into her mouth, then tied about her jaw and neck to keep it locked in place. There was an airway drilled in the center, allowing her breath through her mouth if she wished, or to be fed water or liquids without removing it. She’d read about such devices amidst Katashi’s various teaching texts on mage-craft.

It was a fallacy that magic users needed to broadcast the power words of spells to the open air. They didn’t need to be audible; they merely needed to be clearly enunciated. The mystic element of the universe that allowed magic to happen needed to hear the words, not other people. For that reason, simple mouth coverings wouldn’t prevent any style of mage from calling on their craft.

A mage-bit like this was an entirely different story. This device interposed between a person’s teeth and wedged the jaw open slightly. That prevented correct completion of the phrases, even mumbled under one’s breath. It was an effective muzzle that also stifled magic. While she couldn’t see it, she suspected there was a lock on the mechanism, preventing her from removing it even if her hands were free.

But her hands were definitely not free. Sensing an added weight constricting them, she craned her neck to see a different sort of contraption on both. The two devices were mirrors of each other, locking her first two fingers together as well as the last two. The links allowed her to close her grip, though only stiffly and with none of her usual grace. That gave her some measure of functionality to lift simple tools, but it was like she had two broad, clunky digits instead of the nimble four which she used to craft runes in the air.

“They’re called mage-braces.” Lahni was leaning against a nearby wall, leering down at her. “Clever things, aren’t they? You can keep feeding yourself without your captors giving you access to any dangerous spells.”

“Mmmmm!” She called as loudly as she could manage around the bit, raising little more than a muffled moan. Ai ya, where are the Healers?

Inspecting his manicured fingernails, buffing their edges with a file, he mocked her efforts. “Don’t bother. I was very convincing in my arguments that we weren’t to be interrupted.” A lazy smile crowned his lips. “Easy to give them something else to focus on. I’ve heard knife wounds to the gut are difficult to treat. Should test their abilities, don’t you think?”

Confusion well inside her. Her Curse was sure to make it plain on her face.

He merely chuckled. “Your concern is touching. Fear not. Common street whores… like you deserve to be… need to fear the Healers turning their back. My family has its own means.” He shook his head. “Not sure why you have such concern for them. They are the ones who gave you up.”

“Nn nn,” she mumbled back, not about to believe his lies.

“Such faith in total stranger. Bad idea. But I guess it isn’t entirely misplaced. You see, they did give you up, but with the best of intentions. When the Healers pull an important person they recognize off the street, they are quick to notify the family. And when they discover someone… or, in your case, some thing they find strange, they put out quiet word for any information regarding whose oddity they might have found.”

He flashed her another of his lazy, arrogant smiles as he pushed off the wall. “Fortunately, I was able to see through their careful words and arrived here first to claim you.” Letting out a satisfied smile as she scanned her retrained form, he reached toward one of her legs.

She tensed, revulsion ripping up and down her spine. “Nnnn!”

He paused to let out a snort of derision. “Behave. Oh, I’d love to have you bounce on my shaft a while. Say the word that you’ll be my personal sex toy, and I’ll carry you to where we can have some wonderful private time.” One eyebrow ticked up, as if sarcastically waiting for an answer to his ridiculous idea. “No? Ah well. But as to what you said earlier… you’re right. I’m not a killer. Nor a rapist.” His mouth twisted into an evil smirk. “Then again, I’m not above hiring killers to do my bidding. Equally sure your new caretakers I’ve arranged will find someone willing to feed you some cock.”

He reached for her again, but his hand closed over the anklet around her right leg. He felt for the hidden clasp and removed it. He followed with the one on her left before moving up to unsnap both the matching bracelets.

To the extent the mage-braces and lashings made it possible, Yokïmi stretched her hands toward them. She gritted her teeth, knowing the effort was useless, but they were all she had left of Taliskhan. The only thing she could wear, but for the crystal flower in her hair.

Ignoring her, he stood tall and considered the four items with their heron symbols. “Not sure why you wear these when you claim you can’t wear anything else. Have you been lying to us all this time? Are you nothing but a slut who likes to shove what Narrum gave you in everyone’s faces?” He rolled his shoulders and tucked the items into his pocket. “Maybe I’ll sell them. But for now, let’s call them keepsakes. Whenever I think of the embarrassment you caused me, seeing these will do my heart good.”

Seething behind her bindings, she flexed her constrained hands in and out of fists, not yet sure where her captor was going with his plans.

Drifting away, Lahni offered, “Revenge really is more satisfying when you carry it out with your own hand, isn’t it?” He tapped on the door leading out.

Responding to his signal, the door was pulled open. A group of three men entered, their demeanor all business. Two of them were in simple if well-fitting leathers, bearing the muscles and determined faces of thugs who had been given a mission. The last had a cultivated superiority about him, though not the air of a lord. His clothes were refined enough to hail from an important family, but he ambled in the way of common folk. He was native to Hu’na’la, though his pug-shaped nose and bunched cheeks had multiple ring piercings in a fashion that wasn’t common in the region.

“No need to ask if this is her,” grunted the obvious leader of the trio. “One more neteibu we can clean from the streets.”

Yokïmi hissed from behind her mage-bit. The ugly term was for any non-humanoid, going beyond calling them outsiders to imply they were somehow unclean. That they would use the word told her much about these people.

Though he knew she was a humanoid transformed into this state, Lahni did nothing to correct the man. “My pleasure to tip you off that I saw one roaming around. Just remember, she’s got magical talent. If you get sloppy, she’ll give you trouble.”

The man huffed. “Huh, that so? Don’t you worry, we’ll mind her well.” He stumped over to stand over the bed. “Oh yes, you’ll fit in perfectly where we’re going.” He leaned down, making sure his face was all she could see. “Hear me, whatever you are? I’m Shuhago. Even a lesser being like you has value. I happen to know how to unlock it. Give me more trouble than you’re worth, and I won’t bother with the effort.” He jerked his head at the two thugs. “Get her into the carriage. Be quiet about it. I’ve paid off the shift guards at the east gate, but don’t need anyone else wandering around asking questions.”

Grunting their understanding, the two minions glommed onto her. They knew their business, adding shackles that kept her legs together before removing the lashings, giving her no chance to kick out at them. As soon as her arms were free, they wrestled them behind her back and locked them into interlocked manacles, poor replacements for her lost bracelets.

Between them, they were able to lift her weight without difficulty and carry her from the room. She was taken down a short hall, then out into a tight alley. An ox-pulled wagon was waiting. They slid her unceremoniously into the back, then slammed the rear gate behind her.

The vehicle was boxed in. The construction wasn’t seamless, allowing slanting beams of sunslight into the interior. Though she was lying on the ground, it gave her enough visibility to see that she wasn’t alone. There was a female coyamar chained against one wall. Two male high elves strapped back-to-back near the front end. Three rascarro males were stacked on caged-in shelves. Lastly, a female gnome. The shortfolk from the mollec racial triad was locked in a swinging cage suspended from the ceiling. Yokïmi had to hope the connection was strong. If the cage’s chain snapped, it would fall onto her where she lay on her side, without the benefit of having her hands free to deflect the impact.

The wagon rumbled into motion. The shocks on it were crude, not offering much relief from the wheels rattling over the stone streets. She’d be thankful when they finally got beyond the gates and onto comparatively soft dirt roads.

Any small noises the captives could generate were nothing compared to the racket of the cheap carriage. From what their captives had said about greasing the palms of some guards with gold, Yokïmi didn’t trust in any of the city watch to be of any help. Especially when many of the ruling caste are sympathetic to those who would exile every non-humanoid from Hu’na’la. The trade that came from outside merchant traffic made a massive banishment impossible, but it seemed like a blind eye was being turned to stripping small cart loads away, no matter how illegal slavery might be in this region. Illegal… unless it happens to undesirables.

Far too soon, she felt the transition off the city streets and into the rough paths leading into the wilderness beyond. Her captors had mentioned the east gate, giving her some idea of their direction, but beyond that, she had no idea to where she was being hauled away.

*          *          *

Simmering with rage unlike anything she had ever felt, Yokïmi had every intention of testing the resolve of these slavers at the earliest opportunity. She knew they would try and keep them weak, but they couldn’t know about the Gifts she’d received along with her Curses. Hunger and to a less extent Thirst had far less effect on her. The abrasions from the chains she wore might grind away at her skin, but her Chi Healing would offset the damage. She wouldn’t be in the same, low-grade but constant pain as the rest of the prisoners.

The carriage’s first stop killed her notions of an easy escape. They hauled them one by one from the enclosed space. She thought they might make their first mistake when they unhooked their leg shackles so they could walk. Instead, the man who had called himself Shuhago kept a hawklike watch as his thugs hooked solid, iron rods between each of them. They were long enough to keep them from touching each other with their hands secured, but trapped as a unit that would make running all but impossible.

They were marched together to a river bank. The slavers refilled the water jugs affixed to the side of the wagon, then fed dribbling to each of their charges. It was Shuhago himself who stopped in front of her and upended his waterskin with a smirk on his face. “You aren’t thirsty, are ya?”

Knowing he could read the damned tag scrolling off her head, Yokïmi resisted the temptation to spit it back in his face. Conserve your strength. They won’t give you much. All she could was turn her face into the stream, suffering his braying laugh as he drenched her whole upper body as she tried to suck in whatever she could through the hole in her mage-bit.

Soon after, they were forced back into the carriages so they could continue the trip. Looking around, she saw that she was one of three who were gagged, but none of the others spoke openly. She caught a few whispers between the rascarro, but they seemed to be using their own tongue.

On the second pause, she discovered the single cart wasn’t destined to remain solitary. Two more linked up with them, creating a convoy that continued further eastward. She was beyond any of the lands she had thus far traveled, and knew they were carrying in the direction only by the progression of the fire mountains along the skyline to the north. Those were an undeniable landmark.

She was not keen that this path would eventually take them near the Ash Fields of Tasys, the dead wastes that lay in the path of the prevailing winds, on which the soot from those behemoths was widely scattered. It seemed unlikely these slavers would take them into that terrible place. Far more likely, their destination was Haven. The badly named settlement was where many non-humanoids were driven when they could no longer eke out a living inside Hu’na’la. By all accounts, the sprawling place was little more than a lawless camp writ large. Not a place to live. Merely a ragged port where desperate refugees could scrape together enough coin to buy passage to more welcoming lands. Or become slaves themselves and be hauled away before they died.

One night became two. Then three. If she was correct, a journey of this distance could take over three weeks, even with the benefit of decent weather, clear roads, and the carriages. The group grew from three carriage to five, and then to seven as they crossed into the lands of Shishaku Nasuka, whose authority extended all the way to the Borderlands.

Despite the group’s increased size, she was continually frustrated that their procedures grew no less lax. She swore it came from the simple fact that they knew they were escorting non-humanoids, many of which had abilities that could be dangerous to the unwary.

Under Shuhago’s personal orders, she was treated as one of the worst. The mage-bit and braces marked her as surely as would a poisonous tail or the ability to spit fire between her teeth. She was given no reprieve from her restraints, not even during meals. Once a day, they forced a soupy, tasteless gruel into the gap between her lips. It was either swallow or choke, and they didn’t seem to care which it was. That indifference only roused a deeper desire to see them suffer for their callous evil.

In those first days, she feared the boredom of the open road might spawn darker temptations in the hearts of the slavers. Not only for her, either. The rest of the slaves were kept equally naked, though blending into the parade of flesh didn’t do anything to reduce her shame.

Yet, if there was any rosy side to her situation, the slaver masters seemed intent on retaining the ‘value’ of those they transported. Shuhago and the other gang leaders who joined them kept tight rein on their people, whipping any whose hands wandered too far. Yokïmi had to put up with more than a few groping fingers as she was pushed in and out of the carriage, an affront to her senses but far less than she had expected. Worse is coming, she knew, though she tried to ignore it to safeguard her sanity.

Another tidbit of good fortune was that the rose given to her by Avalessa remained nestled in her hair. Since it was clear, it had taken some time for the slavers to notice it was not merely a curl in her hair. They had tried to remove it as they had taken every other personal item, but its magic defeated them. Not even a blade could cut it free. She could have told them that she had the power to slip it free with but a thought, but that admission would never cross her lips, even if they took out the mage-bit to allow her speech.

As the days bled into one another, a new challenge arose for her; a challenge that went beyond the need to tolerate the physical abuses and to will herself to remain sharp, watching for any hole she could exploit. She was discovering that anything, no matter how horrible, could begin to assume the aspect of being routine. She could not afford that to happen.

For if she did, she knew her Curse was waiting for her. She recalled the wording. If she didn’t, all she needed to do was summon down her orb. Not even the slavers could prevent her from doing it, no matter how they bound her hands. The Curse demanded that she never wear anything to define her form. No clothing. No jewelry. No hat, ribbon, or flourish.

Yet as cruel as the Curse was, it was not so harsh as to punish her for what she could not control. If done against her will, the Curse would not activate. The painful rash and the worse effects that would follow would be held at bay. Which meant as long as the mage restraints and chains were unwanted, she would remain whole.

For that reason, if no other, she couldn’t allow herself to become dulled to the shame of what was happening to her. On one hand, she wanted to keep the anger hot, lurking just below the surface. But it also meant she was forced to live with the constant humiliation. Not just live with it, but embrace it and feel it every day as they rolled across the countryside.

It soon became an exercise in using her Stability and Ego. She had never felt those two Resiliencies tested so severely. To retain her emotions in the proper equilibrium while also protecting the very essence of who she was became a constant pressure she had to endure. If she failed, only death awaited. An ugly death by means of a horrible Curse that never slept.

She was smelling ash in the air almost continuously by the time they arrived at their unnamed destination. They were given no warning that this was the last stop. She couldn’t even read excitement on the faces of the slavers, suggesting this was merely the endpoint of a business voyage, not the place they called home.

She was beginning to loathe their small sojourns outside the carriage each day. Her lungs itched inside her chest, and she wondered how long it would be before she developed a bad cough that never faded.

That was the only hint she had that they were into the Borderlands beyond Hu’na’la’s eastern reaches. If they were near Haven, she caught no sight of it when she was pulled off the covered wagon for the final time. As she did each time, she blinked to clear her vision as she was pulled from the dark interior into the daylight. The clouds were thick, making the transition less intense that time.

From what she could tell, theirs was the last wagon to be off-loaded. The back gates of the rest stood open, and the other groups of slaves had been taken away. Mud and dust from the departing footsteps of the other slaves led up a ramp constructed in a gap in a cliff face. It was the only feature that made this rough cul-de-sac ravine remarkable.

While the other groups of slavers had departed with their ‘cargo’, Shuhago’s group of three weren’t alone. They had been joined by a score of armed warriors, who she assumed were permanently stationed in this outpost. They weren’t carrying swords, but rather heavy cudgels and tetsubos that could be used to beat rowdy prisoners into submission. Despite having the air of being part of a different retinue, they listened when Shuhago barked orders and worked efficiently to watch and control the slaves as they were taken off the wagon.

She was forced to her knees on a rough blanket. Surprised at the comfort, she noticed the canyon floor was covered in jagged gravel. Not being nice. But bloody knees wouldn’t look good to whoever is going to buy us. Ai ya, they’re practical bastards. Why does that make it worse?

One by one, the others from her group were shoved to the ground beside her. Their leg shackles weren’t on, nor were they connected by the poles. While it was the most freedom she’d had in weeks, the odds against her were too staggering to contemplate an escape. Assuming she could dash clear of the guards with her arms trapped, she might find herself in the middle of an ash-covered desert that would kill her in hours.

Thumping steps descending the ramp announced a new arrival. She sauntered into view, shielded by a parisol even with a gray sky. Though the pattern of her features suggested she was Hu’na’laan, she was dreadfully pale, and she acted as if a single shaft of sunlight on her skin might be the end of her.

The local guards stiffened, seemingly aware that a displeased glance from her could mean any of thir deaths. Shuhago kept his composure, though he tugged his traveling leathers into a better semblance of order. “Lady Ash.”

“Quite a paltry crop you’ve brought my way.” The woman unfolded a fan and waved it into her face. She rolled her neck, trying to get the breeze she was creating in between the folds of flesh on her neck.

“I might have stayed back here to unload the wagons, but do you think I don’t have lurkers amidst the buyers? Average is two silver marks a head. My man is not great at doing his maths, but even he can figure we’re north of five across those you’ve already sold.” Shuhago pointed along his line of captives. “This bunch won’t do any worse.”

The Lady Ash paced down the line. “You are always grumpy after a long road. These are the games of merchants, are they not?”

Shuhago rocked back on his heels. “Never been much for that sort of game. You won’t be talking me into a bad share on healthy flesh like this. If you follow my advice, both our profits will be all the higher.”

Her upper lip curled into a gentle sneer, her flicking fan swatting a few mosquitos away. “Impress me.”

“The elves first. Start strong. Jump to the coyamar. She hasn’t lost all her snarl. The rascarro next. They’ll go for pennies to one of the underground arenas. Clears the air.” He banged his walking staff against the bars around the gnome inside. They hadn’t let her out, choosing instead to unhook the cage from the wagon’s ceiling and plunk it on the ground. “Then we get into the cream. Found this one holed up in a glassblower’s shop. Find a household willing to invest the time to bend her to their will, and you can sell her for a lot more than her body.” He stabbed his finger at Yokïmi. “Finish with her.”

Being singled out only spiked her ire. Yokïmi gave free reign to her anger, knowing everyone in range would be able to read it clearly on her face. She saw nothing to be gained by playing the mouse.

Lady Ash didn’t miss her silent rage. “You speak of the coyamar’s spirit, but I’d say this one has fire in her as well. No wonder you’ve kept her in the restraints. She’d burn us all with her magic if she could.” The Lady pursed her lips. “Hmm. I would reverse the elves with her. Let them go last. Elves are a delicacy for many. She’s a fetching bit of flesh, but owners don’t like trouble.”

“They do for the right reason,” Shuhago objected. “She’s unique. Your customers are worldly. How many coyamar have they seen? Scores of gnomes. And probably even a few handfuls of elves. Never anything like her. Koszna, Warrick, and Vasaka will be crawling over each other to bid on something new. That’s assuming Tinama, Lyrus, or one of the other deviants don’t snatch her up as a personal bedwarmer.”

“To their permanent risk.”

“All of them have disciplinarians to teach her not to use her powers except to their benefit. If that fails, they can cut out her tongue and mangle her fingers. A waste of talent, but that’s their choice.” Shuhago shrugged.

“Afraid to get your own hands dirty?” Lady Ash cocked an eyebrow his way.

The slaver exposed the knife on his belt. “Tell me we’ll get a better price for her if she’s mutilated, and I’ll do the deed right here. But we put a lot of effort into getting them here in one piece by your own preference.”

The Lady let out an exasperated sigh. “Perhaps so. Warrick might be happy to have her harmless for his brothel, but I know the other collectors… Lyrus especially… enjoys clipping the wings of his own servants personally. Any damage beforehand will drop her price.” She tapped her fan against her chin, then snapped it open again to mark her decision. “We’ll do it your way. Get them moving. I’ve left this pause to whet the crowd’s appetite, but we dare not allow them to become bored.” She departed for the ramp, her fan never stopping.

Shuhago snapped his fingers, goading his team into action. They affixed one of the guide poles to each of the elves’ backs, right above where they arms were fastened together. Rather than join the poles to other slaves, they used them to muscle the slaves around, shoving them up the ramp toward whatever awaited them.

Yokïmi watched as the others from her wagon were taken away. Fear of the unknown raked at her. As much as she never wanted to see what was at the top of that ramp, being blind to her fate was worse.

That torment was ended as her turn came, promising a whole new sort of awful to come. The slavers arrived, one of them grasping her shoulders to hold her still while the other snapped the guide pole into place.

She wanted to fight. She was desperate to find some real way to strike out at them that wouldn’t be the same as committing suicide. Helplessness had been her constant companion for weeks, but the acidic taste of it had never been so strong on her tongue. Until then, she’d been a captive. Now, she was about to be sold and made into a slave in truth.

Reading the volatility in her expression, one of the guards leveled a kick into her stomach, knocking some of the wind from her. A blotchy tag blossomed over her clear skin.

[-10]

* Off Balance *

Shuhago came stomping over. “Hey! Don’t you be damaging my wares!”

The guard snorted. “It’s expected for them to show up with a couple bruises.” He scanned down Yokïmi’s bare body, then waved at her in disgust. “Can’t see nothing on her anyway.”

It was no surprise to Yokïmi. Her blood was clear, and so the internal bleeding that caused bruises were invisible. She assumed the raspy texture of burned scar tissue or other contoured changes might be discernable. She wasn’t sure that was a blessing in this place, where sadists might be frustrated that they couldn’t see proof of their maltreatment.

She folded in on herself, exaggerating the pain and pretending to gasp at breath, hoping her act might lull those surrounding her into a false sense of security.

Neither of the thug-slavers bought into it. They were seasoned in dealing with all kinds. She might be unique, but they had been handling her for weeks now and had taken her measure for what she could handle.

Shuhago left them to control her, jabbing a finger into the guard’s chest. “Back off or I’ll mention to Lady Ash your personal take on her valuables. She’s a fondness for taking back the balance owed her in the form of spilled guts on the sand.” He glared at the guard until the man backed down. Irritated at the delay, Shuhago jerked his hand toward the ramp. “Get her up there!”

His impatience caused the underling behind her to wrench a bit too hard on her guide pole. Suffering from the Off-Balance status, she danced along with the motion and nearly tripped. Her sideways stagger brought her near to the other thug, who hadn’t been paying attention.

Seeing him so flat-footed, she impulsively lashed out at him, ramming her heel into his kneecap. She still wasn’t confident in delivering pressure point strikes with her feet, but she didn’t need anything to subtle to create a disabling effect. The crack was audible as his knee bent in the wrong direction.

[-38]

* Crippled: Right Leg – Severe *

She had no plan, but it didn’t matter. She’d started this and there was no stopping now. She lurched back against the pole holding her. The thug behind her was staring open-mouthed at his friend. Her sudden reverse lunge caused his grip to slip. The end of the pole thrust into his chest, pummeling him with a bruise of his own.

[-21]

* Off Balance *

Diving forward, she tore the pole completely out of his grasp. She rolled over one shoulder, aiming herself at one of the nearby guards who was raising his cudgel for a battering strike. The end of the guide pole whistled through a high arc and whipped into his face.

[-31]

* Stunned *

A crunch came from his nose. The guard shrank away as blood gushed out, his hands clutching at his face.

Yokïmi twisted her bound hands, getting as much control as he could over the iron rod. It was beyond awkward, as the rod stood out behind her like a ridiculous tail, but it was the only weapon she had. Ai ya, what the hell am I doing?

The rhetorical if utterly reasonable question didn’t stop her from sending a sharp, snap kick into the Stunned guard’s jaw. That toppled him onto his back with a pained ‘oof!’

[-22]

* Tripped *

Quick as a cat, she leaped onto his chest and used his ribcage as a jumping-off point. Her first thought was to dash for the exit gap through which the wagons had entered, but there were half a dozen guards blocking her path. The ramp was out of the question for equally obvious reasons. A rapid scan showed her a different, much thinner opening. It seemed to lead into a second, adjacent valley. Skewing her path in that direction, she had only a single guard she needed to best. I need to find a way out of these restraints if I’m going to survive this. These two bastards are in my way!

Feeding off her anger, rather than keep clear of the man, she went straight at him. She saw his surprise at not having to chase her, and his satisfaction as he raised his tetsubo-style club.

He should have been paying attention to what I did to his friend. She went to her knees and swirled on them as his strike passed over her head. The pole jammed into the man’s hip, causing a painful though not debilitating whap.

[-15]

But she didn’t remain low for long. Skipping into a low crouch, she exploded upward and swept a crescent kick into the back of the man’s head. It needs to work this time! Using all the ability she possessed, she tried one more time to do what she’d never managed to do in practice. The blow struck home right at the base of the guard’s skull and sent him staggering forward. He eventually tumbled to his knees as he grabbed at the sides of his head, which was no doubt ringing with a pounding headache.

[-36]

* Rattled *

She rejoiced inside at her first successful Rattling Strike. A chime came from her orb, the only thing in the valley that joined her in that celebration. Landing on the balls of her feet, she darted for the path out of the valley. She beat the other guards who were closing in from the side, trying to cut her off.

Yokïmi careened through the narrow pass, breezing past the two stunned guards who had been stationed at the midpoint. Their bored faces changed to near panic as they realized the very purpose for which they had been put there, a purpose they never had to execute, had just happened and they had failed utterly. Any chance she had at escape would come from speed and continuing to take ruthless advantage of the surprise she had built –

– a dart zipped from one side as she burst into the new valley. The needle-shaped missile lodged in her neck. Innocuous, the damage it rose wasn’t enough to lower her PDP.

(-0)

* Enervated *

* Rattled *

She’d never seen that first condition roll off anyone before, much less herself. Her running steps carried her beyond where it floated in the air, and she peered back at with a dream-like fuzz building in her mind. Poison… the dart had to have some sort of poison… Weakness seeped into all her limbs, rendering her normally flowing gait into a drunken, labored wobble.

Guards appeared around her, though they weren’t in the colors of Lady Ash. The black-and-green livery wasn’t familiar, nor was the sigil of the leaf within a moon. They certainly weren’t friends, for a club impacted upon her one leg, while a second impacted on her shoulder. Another thudded into her back. Between the three of them, she was battered to the ground.

[-21]  [-26]  [-23]

* Tripped *

Her senses picking up only a fraction of what they normally did and delivered it to her brain in a scattered, hazy slurry.

“Enough!” commanded a man in a voice she’d never heard. Between watery blinks, she picked out a Hu’na’laan man whose olive coloring was deep enough that it seemed like his blood itself ran emerald, suggesting he was from the northern region governed by Shishaku Iyanno, a region where the bias against non-humanoids ran particularly deep. His dark robes were purpose cut to fend off heat, while the sash around his throat could be used to block out ash-filled wind when it blew. Cradled in his left hand was an exquisitely crafted blowgun, likely the source of the dart in her neck.

He ambled closer, in no rush now that his order had been given, absolutely confident that it would be obeyed. “I’d say she’s been well caught, don’t you?” He smirked at the guards, who rewarded him with a few sycophantic chuckles in return.

“What is the meaning of this commotion?” Lady Ash did not have the constitution for making her voice truly strident, but her bluster as she entered the secondary valley lent her added gravity. There was a ramp here too, and she was at the top. Her fan fluttered furiously as she descended with all the speed her rotund body allowed.

Shuhago rushed from the cross-path at nearly the same moment, trailed by the uncrippled thug and two of Ash’s own guards. Relief stole over his face as he saw Yokïmi crumpled in a ball on the ground. “Thank fucking Narrum.”

The man with the dart gun gave another harsh guffaw at his expense. “Hah! Having trouble keeping hold of your own stock?”

“Piss off, Warrick,” the slaver growled back.

By then, Lady Ash had reached the valley basin and strode into their midst. Her smoking gaze took in the details, finally settling on Yokïmi herself. “Bah. This one. She’s determined to be trouble. Did I not say it? Foolish to think otherwise. Seen it a thousand times, some mares cannot be tamed!”

“I’ll see her whipped before we take her to the stage,” Shuhago said, his tone husky with blatant threat, suggesting Yokïmi would be lucky to survive the punishment before she was sold. “I’ll accept the loss if any think she looks the worse for it.”

Lady Ash’s fan worked harder in her fury, sneering his way. “You’ve had your chance. I won’t let your promises cause further strife. For the disruption you’ve caused, you’ll forfeit her intended sale price out of your profit for the day.”

“That’s outrageous!” Shuhago roared back.

“Hold your tongue,” she hissed back at him. “If my custom doesn’t appeal to you, find a new trade. You’ll find no other slave markets in the north. Get you on a ship for Mandagonnik where the Emperor blesses our work, if you wish to defy me.” She held his gaze, challenging him. “Well? No? Good. Complain again, and I’ll banish you from my market. Then the choice won’t be yours.”

Clenching his teeth, he seemed about to speak several times but then thought better of it. Eventually, he snarled, “What of her, then?”

One of her guards who had been in the other valley spoke up, “Knife to the gut for harm done your people. Basago’s nose will hang crooked for the rest of his life. Teach these slaves what happens to –”

“– No lessons will be learned,” Lady Ash interjected. “We do not hold them here. They pass through, and we do not let them speak.”

“If your guards want a bit of revenge, I’ve got an option,” the man with the dart gun said.

“What is it, Warrick?” Ash canted her eyes his way, her fan slowing to a thoughtful pace.

“Killing her would be a waste of good flesh. And there are fates worse than death. Give her to me. I’ll take her to my non-humanoid brothel.” He fiddled with his pouch and brought out a single iron penny. Flicking it over to the Lady, he said, “Fair payment. Means I don’t need to make any off her. I’ll sell her to the dregs who crawl in off the street. Twenty brutes will stretch her out in the first hour.”

Lady Ash appeared amused by the offer. “Mmm, yes. Isn’t it strange how much those who hate non-humanoids delight in such acts. See that she doesn’t enjoy the last few weeks of her life, and I’ll give you an early viewing of prime specimens at the next meeting.” She flicked her fan disdainfully, as if suddenly remembering she was too good to be talking to him. “Take that glass waistrel out of my sight before I’m tempted to shatter her myself. If she’s still here by the time I return from taking vapors to calm my nerves, I’ll have her killed and damn your plans, no matter how fitting.” She grasped her hand tightly around the penny he had given her. “And I won’t be paying you back.” Sparing one last scathing look Shuhago’s way, she sauntered off in the company of her guards.

While the Lady’s armed men seemed satisfied with the compromise, Shuhago’s thug had a nasty frown painted on his face. “We’re really gonna let this go?”

“Not much choice,” Shuhago growled back. He cast a poisonous look toward Warrick. “Not going to forget you profitted off me like this.”

The brothel owner shifted so he stood between the slaver and where Yokïmi lay crumpled on the ground. “Sounds like you learned the wrong lesson from all this. It was you idiots who let her slip her collar. I just sniffed which way the wind was blowing.” He shrugged. “Trail along if you want. Only gonna charge a wooden chip to torment this one. You should have that much left over after all this, if you want some revenge.”

Shuhago’s lip curled. “Take me for one of your deviant clients, do you? Fuck off. See you in the wild, and we won’t be having words. I’ll say all I need to say with my sword.” He jerked a hand and summoned his man to follow him back to the off-loading valley.

That left Warrick alone with guards dressed in his colors. One of them asked, “Want me to lock her in the wagon?”

“Carefully. If we underestimate her and make the same mistake, I’ll lose twice the reputation Shuhago just suffered.”

“Care what condition she’s in?”

“Don’t damage her too much.” Warrick walked around Yokïmi, considering her from different angles. “Said I wouldn’t sell for much, but they won’t know. Treasure like this isn’t to be wasted.” He grunted, then stood tall. “Doesn’t mean you need to consider her as fragile. You saw what she did. Don’t want to hear a peep out of her. Make sure of it.” He turned on his heels and strode off.

“Count on it, Sir.” The guard’s pug face filled her hazy view. “Night, night, girlie.” He wound up with the handle of his club and smashed it into her face, sending her into unconsciousness.

Chapter 10

Yokïmi was shaken awake yet again.

On the first few occasions, the haze brought on by the poison from the dart had remained. She’d had no sense of how long she’d been under, nor been able to count the number of times she had been roused. That made it pointless to count afterward, so she hadn’t tried.

Her traveling conditions were relatively worse when compared to the first leg. Not that she’d been in any state of luxury in Shuhago’s convoy, but at least they had fed her regularly and taken their slaves out to see the sky. This time, she was stuck in a cage not unlike the gnome’s. Her hands were bound in front of her this time, but they were affixed to the cage itself. Water came in the form of a bucket tossed in her face a few times a day, forcing her to wriggle to get as many drops as possible to spill over her restraints and past her lips.

They had fed her twice. The first time, she’d spit out the foul excuse for soup. Her captors had left the resultant mess on the floor of her wagon to rot. Its smell did not improve as it seeped into the wood boards. The second time, they had force-fed her until she choked it down her throat. She had kept it down, since vomiting out the small hole in her mage-bit might actually clog the holes and risk suffocating her. It became one more reason to hate them.

Since they never took her from the wagon’s darkness, she had no idea as to the composition of Warrick’s convoy. From the muffled sounds, she knew there was more than one wagon, perhaps as many as a dozen. The guards were a strong force who laughed and called out to each other in good humor, as if they were the lords of all creation.

For the same reasons, she had no idea why they had stopped this time. What little she knew of their numbers, she knew even less of their routine. Her watering and feeding had come at differing times, done whenever they remembered her and wanted to laugh at her while wet and sputtering.

The normal levity surrounding the guards outside became muted. Yokïmi sensed the change even in her cage. The wilderness around them had quieted, leaving nothing but the huffs of the wagon oxen and the occasional creak of a wagon shifting on its axels.

She wasn’t immune to the tension. Could be anything out there. If it’s a monster, I could get crushed in here and never know what was coming. Once again, it was the helplessness that struck her hardest. She rattled her chains, screaming against the mage-bit and despising the pathetic mewl that was the best she could produce.

The whole wagon surged forward a few feet. The sudden jerk set her cage to swaying. The chain above her squeaked on its poorly oiled hinges.

What in Narrum’s hell was that? Yokïmi spread her feet, jamming them against the edges of the cage to stop herself from being shoved against the thick bars if another jostling came.

A chorus of terrified bleats came from the oxen pulling her wagon. The vehicle shook violently, the front end heaving upward. Thunderous hooves pounded the ground as the animals stormed away, somehow free of their yokes. For an awkward moment, the wagon teetered in that state, tipped practically on its end. Its wooden construction groaned miserably all around her. The fragile balance failed, and the front wheels crashed back to earth.

Her swinging cage soared the opposite way. The wrenching motion on the hinge above was too much. It snapped, and the whole cage went smashing into the wagon’s bed on its side. Never meant to endure that sort of punishment, many of the welds on the bars broke.

Sucking in deep breaths, Yokïmi darted her eyes left and right, trying to guess where the next danger was coming from. A fresh groan echoed in the small space, and the wagon lurched forward and to the right. The wheel on that side had crumbled following the falling impact. A brief pause… then, the whole wagon began to skew in that same direction, as if skidding on mud.

Struggling to keep her wits as her small world disintegrated, she tracked along the cage, testing for weak points that weren’t yet visible. Her yanks and pulls popped a few more welds until at last she was able to rip out the chains holding her to the frame. Her hands were still together in their mage-braces, but at least they were free.

The wagon’s skid stopped abruptly, as if the it had hit a boulder. But the top-heavy vehicle had lost its support on that side. It began to tip. The sickening motion started slow, but then the rear wheel on the same side gave out. Wood splintered explosively, and the rolling motion accelerated.

Yokïmi had no real options. She was still in the cage, but the metal bars were more likely to fragment and stab into her than act as any sort of protection. She thrust her back against the bottom, then reached out in three directions with bound hands and both feet to brace herself as best she could.

Once, twice, and a third time, the wagon rolled on its way down some unknown embankment. Branches snapped and cracked and whipped against the sides until at last the whole contraption came to a crunching halt against some object it couldn’t crush.

The whole way, her cage was tossed about, slamming into the wagon’s enclosed sides. On the final tumble, the metal frame hit a weak point in the wooden tenting. Taking Yokïmi with it, the cage burst through and cartwheeled a further dozen feet before it dug into the dirt. She was battered the whole way, the shock of each impact reverberating through her bones. She gave up trying to stay uninjured, instead focusing on making sure none of the sharp metal protrusions on the disintegrating cage punctured her body.

[-3]  [-5]  [-9]  [-7]  [-6]  [-4]  [-5]  -8]  [-9]

* Rattled *

Shaken to her core, she crawled from the skeletal remains of the cage, which was so twisted it could hardly be recognized as such. She tried to stand, but her balance failed her. Falling to her hands and knees, she took in great heaving breaths as she forced the pain away from the front of her mind. Ai ya… what a way to get free. She still had no idea what was happening. Could have been nothing but an accident. They could be coming.

That panicked thought helped clear her mind a little. She realized there were indeed scrambling feet coming in her direction. Before she could bolt away, two guards in Warrick’s colors appeared to either side of her. The brothel-keeper himself staggered out of the woods, red-faced and full of what she read as more fear than anger.

“Seize her! We can use her as a hostage,” he bellowed, then grew an ugly sneer. “Or a shield.”

One guard reached for her, but an arrow slashed out of the forest and took him in the chest. He went down in a heap as a damage tag proclaimed his end.

(-126)

* Dead *

The other shrank in on himself, hunting for the archer so he could try and ward off the same fate. But he lingered too close to Yokïmi, and had forgotten she was a danger in her own way.

She brought both hands up into his face with all her power. With a Rattled tag on her, she could barely think straight, much less apply a precision strike. That left her blunt force. She lost her balance as she did it, but managed to connect solidly. She grimaced against the pain, aiming to break the mage-braces on his cheek bones, and knew her own hands might suffer under the impact. Wood splintered, metal bent, and bones cracked as she connected.

{-51}

* Blinded *

* Stunned *

* Tripped *

His injuries forced the guard into a headlong roll further down the slope. But she didn’t escape unscathed.

{-21}

* Crippled: Both Hands – Mild *

* Rattled *

The pain in her forearms and hands kept the Rattled condition in place, though she nearly cried in relief as the mage-braces crumbled off them, so broken that they wouldn’t contain a mouse’s strength. Combined with the fall, a huge chunk of her PDP had been eaten away. Aching in every muscle and joint, she dragged herself in a direction that seemed to be away from the chaos.

She didn’t get far. Strong hands grabbed her from behind and yanked her up into a choke hold. It was an amateur hold, one she might have been able to escape if her senses weren’t so scrambled.

Before she could assemble a plan, Warrick announced himself as the one who had her by shoving a blowgun dart into view. The tip was smeared with a black substance that needed no added threat. He provided one anyway. “One jab of this and you won’t last ten breaths, hear me?” When she gave no response, he shook her harshly. “Did you hear me?”

She let out a fierce hiss, wanting to do nothing more than smash her head into his smug face. But even the slight protection of her Body Sheath wasn’t active, and she was nothing but flesh for him to scratch. Biding her time once more, Yokïmi concentrated on watching for the right time to act.

Having heard her response, Warrick dragged her a few steps down the slope, planting his back against a thick tree. He yelled up the slope, “Leave me be! I walk away or this creature suffers for your stupidity!”

“Your guards are scattered, slaver!” The speaker emerged from the trees, his sword drawn. He was comfortable walking in the rough terrain, though his yellow-and-red clothing weren’t the best for hiding in the greenery.

“The prisons of Ektaka aren’t that bad. Give up the location of your secret brothel, and maybe they won’t even hang you.” A second Warrior appeared, this one with an axe thrown casually over one shoulder. His uniform was of a less obvious kind, nothing more than a blue shoulder wrap with a symbol stretched over his otherwise normal forest attire.

One by one, as they finished dealing with the brothel-keeper’s own guards, other soldiers gathered in a circle around them. A few had bows or crossbows, making for a clear danger should Warrick waver in using Yokïmi as a shield. By the time their numbers reached a dozen, she decided there were four distinct groups that made up the whole. She couldn’t decide what that meant. For the immediate present, it didn’t much matter.

Warrick became increasingly agitated as the odds worsened. “Didn’t you hear me? This is Wasp’s Nettle poison. Her death will be on your hands if you don’t let me go!”

The first man to appear propped one foot on a fallen log, settling his sword across his knee like it was a sign of parlay. “In what world do you see yourself walking away free? Kill her, and we hang you for sure. Hold her, and we watch. And watch. And watch. Eventually, you fall asleep and we take you. Maybe hang you for wasting our time after we beat the location of the brothel out of you.”

“I’ll kill her before then!”

The man sighed. “Which means you die. See? This isn’t going anywhere. Surrender and we’ll give you a chance to beg for some lord’s mercy.”

Yokïmi hated the options being laid out, as it meant her survival was dependent on the slaver being rational. If his only futures included death or life locked in a cage, she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t kill her to die on his own terms. A man who could do what he’s done to non-humanoids has to hate them. Killing one more before he dies might be a final victory. That wasn’t an end she could accept, even if the soldiers surrounding them could.

My hands are free. An idea sprang to mind. She was far more comfortable casting Trivial spells using verbal commands, but she knew how to cast those in her repertoire with gestures alone. But she’d only get one chance.

Suppressing the ache in her partially crippled hands, she wove a quick series of runes down by her center, where her captor might not see them. Arriving at the final fragment, she carved the symbol as sharply as she could, ending with a flourish that drove spikes of pain into her flesh all the way to her elbow.

Warrick gripped her tighter, realizing what she was doing. “Harlot!” Forgetting about the fact that she was the only thing keeping him alive, he tried to sink the dart into her neck.

Except, for few critical moments of time, the dart wouldn’t budge from where it hung in the air. Warrick’s eyes flew wide as he gathered his strength and yanked it back into his control.

The Trivial Telekinesis spell couldn’t fend him off. It was meant for moving tiny things about a room. Hardly more than a parlor trick. But it hung Warrick’s efforts for that brief whisper of time.

That was all the time she needed now that her hands were free. Her left fist smashed backward, crunching his dangling bits in a way no male could well endure.

[-25]

* Rattled *

Ducking left, she separated from the point of that deadly dart. He lunged after her, but she had generated enough space that her flexibility and speed kept her safe. She latched onto his wrist in a special grip that sent a ripple of pain down his arm when she twisted it. He instinctively tried to rip free, but she guided his own strength and sent the dart in his tight grip plunging into his own neck.

(-27)

* Decay *

{-10}

* Decay *

{-10}

Yokïmi scampered away, standing taller as she watched him gag. At first, he clawed at the bolt from the pain of having the weapon piercing his neck. But soon he began to thrash for the black death he’d smeared on it. His limbs locked up and foam dribbled from the corner of his mouth until he slouched down the bark and lay still.

She glared at him too long in grim satisfaction, the ball of tense hatred she’d been holding inside wound too tight to relax that quickly. She just stood there and… seethed.

A flicker of movement summoned her back to reality. She spun away, dropping down into a low, combat crouch. She tucked in behind tree stump, blocking her exposed body from the eyes of as many of the soldiers as she could. One fingertip raced to the diamond implant on her arm, activating her Phantom Body Sheath so she could be ready to run through the tangled forest.

“Woah!” called the one who had tried to talk Warrick down. “Let’s not do anything rash. We’re here to help.” Rather than leave his sword over his knee, the man wiped the bloody edge along the grass and slid it back into its sheath.

Another came in from the side, this one in the third style of uniform that was mostly black leathers with a red stripe down the front and back of his torso. She hissed, circling away, unable to defend herself from all directions.

“Not trying to hurt you,” the soldier said, edging up to Warrick’s corpse. He reached in and placed a hand over his neck, checking for a pulse. Confirming he was dead, the soldier gave a shake of his head toward the talker.

“Too bad,” the first soldier grouched. “Answers are a lot harder to get off a dead man. Though I guess I’d rather see him dead than you, whoever you are. Do you see the keys?”

The black-clad man continued to search the body, slipping a hand into a pocket from where he produced a small ring of equally tiny keys. “Hmm, good, here they are. Looks like one will fit.” He shifted toward Yokïmi.

Her fists clenched, readying for a fight.

Rocking back on his heels, the soldier exhaled as patient a sigh as he could. “Fair enough. Wouldn’t trust anyone either in the spot you’re in. Here. One of these will fit that mouth restraint of yours. Might be hard to find the clasps and locks without help… but, your choice.” He threw the key ring over the space between them.

His toss was genuine, not meant as a trick. She barely had to move her hands to pluck them out of the air. Her eyes skimmed left and right, gauging whether this was a ruse to divert her attention, turning it in on herself so one of them could run in on her from behind.

The temptation eventually proved too much. The idea of being free of the cursed contraption compelled her to dart one hand in, finding the key holes she had always known had to be there. It took her far longer than she would have liked to figure out the right key, partly because there ended up being two of them, one on each side of her jaw.

Around her, the soldiers continued to show patience as she fought her way free. They actually showed something like relief when she finally spit out the mage-bit and hurled it as far into the forest as she could manage. Her jaw ached. After so long, it almost felt wrong to close her mouth completely. The forced change raked at her pride, wanting to undo it so badly she could taste it on her tongue. She deliberately closed her mouth, holding it there despite how ‘unnatural’ it felt for now.

The first man, still standing higher on the slope, said, “Good. Now that that’s done –”

“– Who are you people?” She cut him off, not about to be dictated to even by this group who clearly had taken control of the convoy. “I don’t understand what’s going on. I… I thank you for releasing me, but why have you come?”

The man held up his hands, a silent plea for calm and peace. “We’re not here to simply rob these slavers of those they stole. We are here to see you free. But it is not my credit to claim nor my words you should hear. Will you consent to being taken to our Mistresses? It’s on their authority this has been done.”

“More than one?” Hearing they had some sort of group commanding them was unusual. She flicked hands at their various uniforms. “Four of them?”

He smiled back. “Just so. They are friends. Or, perhaps, colleagues. I wouldn’t want to define the nature of what they are since we’re nothing but hirelings.”

“Mercenaries?”

“As good a word as any, though we’ve reason to be loyal to them beyond the gold they pay.” The man chuckled. “But the gold helps.” He held out a hand behind him. One of his men from the same group handed him a satchel. He undid the straps and showed her a bundled-up shift inside. “Not sure it will fit, but it’s yours if you want it.”

She itched to take it. Her desire to cover herself wasn’t gone, not even after nearly two years with the Curse hanging over her. Especially now, with her freedom reclaimed and under the eyes of so many.

But she was forced to shake her head. “I… I can’t. Don’t ask. I don’t have the strength. A part of my nature compels me to be like this.” For some reason, she felt like she needed to be covered. Her arms pulled in around her breasts and center, making them less visible. Drawing a long, slow breath, she pointed up the slope. “That way?”

Pulling back the bag in mild surprise, he answered, “Yes.”

“Are there others?”

“We’ve pulled more than twenty from the wagons. Yours was never meant to go for such a terrible ride.” Trying not to seem like he was leering, his eyes did hunt over her exposed skin. “Are you injured?”

The last thing she wanted was to have some healer among them to paw over her to inspect her invisible bruises. She ached all over, but her Chi Healing would eventually soothe those hidden injuries. “Nothing I can’t survive.” She looked right and considered the four soldiers on that side. “Give me a path. Don’t… walk too near. I’ll follow.”

The man paused, nervous about something. “Will you give me your oath? You are free, but I’ll have to suffer a tongue lashing if you merely slip away. It’s more than a courtesy. They will have questions. The answers might be important in finding this slaver’s hidden grotto.”

“I’ve never been there,” she warned him.

“But there is no telling what you might have heard. Please. There are hundreds more in the place they were taking you. We’ve been hunting them a long time.”

Yokïmi would be lying to say she wasn’t tempted to take flight into the forest. She wasn’t helpless. She’d ventured across open wilderness with nothing but her Sheath and skin to protect her. Finding clean water and wild food wouldn’t be that hard. Given all the soldiers were from Hu’na’la, she guessed that Warrick had brought her back from the Borderlands and into the eastern reaches of Shishaku Nasuka’s lands. This isn’t my fight. I’ve my own mission and my own Quests beyond.

And yet, she couldn’t deny that these people had saved her. She owed them… courtesy? Perhaps it was nothing more than that, and perhaps she hadn’t forgotten that much about the manners instilled in her. Slipping away would be… impolite.

She laughed at herself. What difference will a few hours make. The trail I was following is already cold. No reason to rub these people raw after they risked their lives for mine.

Aloud, she called out to him, “You have my word. I’d simply rather not walk… right among you.”

“That I can understand.” The apparent leader among the soldiers gave a nod to those who were standing in her way. They melted out of her path, shifting to walk alongside their peers as they returned up the slope.

Yokïmi held to her word, bound almost as much by her curiosity as by her honor. The more she watched them, the more she could see that these were four distinct groups who were working together. They biased toward staying near to their own people, while not fearing the others as potential rivals.

She wasn’t led very far. They carried on a hundred paces from the battle site, arriving at a clearing far enough that the rescued slaves didn’t need to see their wagon-shaped prisons nor smell the death from the slaughtered captors.

A well-appointed carriage had been parked amidst the trees. Yokïmi could hardly imagine a conveyance less suited to a forest ambush. The whorls in its willow wood construction were beautiful, but also soft and easy to penetrate. The elaborate silverwork along the edges would not only break off during a rough ride, but would draw bandits like flies. The wheels were thin, meant to blend with the aesthetic of the carriage rather than handle the ruts on a poor road.

The other freed slaves had been assembled in a semi-circle around the door. All their bindings had been cut, but none of them were in any hurry to flee off into the woods. Unlike Yokïmi, none of them had turned away the chance to don the offered clothing, regaining a portion of their dignity. They were a mix that matched the general demographics of outsiders in Hu’na’la. Half were humans with a smattering of half-folk, though all with features that marked them as being from other lands: red or blonde hair, rounded eyes, hawkish noses, square chins, or skin colors that lacked any trace of local bloodlines. The other half were predominantly rodenlacs and lupins. Ratticks and rascarro haunted the sewers and alleys of every major city, with Hu’na’la being no exception. Also paralleling other nations, duggins wended their way into households frequently enough, and their larger cousins, coyamar, blended with humanoid civilization well enough that they caused little turmoil. The rest were a singular mix made up of an orc, a catkin, a noäm, and an elf, though the latter’s features seemed diluted from the normal alien grace of their kind, suggesting her to be a half-elf of unknown mixture.

As fascinating as the group was, Yokïmi’s focus was drawn to the top of the carriage, where flew four banners, one from each corner. Scattered in the woods around them, there were other carts and supply wagons, each bearing their own banners and colors. Each of those had only one such flag, claimed by one of the factions in this group. Only the carriage bore all four. Unlike the various soldiers’ uniforms, these banners portrayed the sigils and colors far more clearly, giving her a few clues as to who had saved them.

The first was known to her, but only from books. Yellow and red, a match to the head soldier, with a symbol of a bull with a fire mountain in the background, it was that of Shishaku Nasuka’s family. She was aware that the color of the bull would detail which family branch owned it, but she didn’t know enough to discern what the deep blue animal suggested.

The second was a mystery: a simple golden ship on a green background. It was reminiscent of a family with ‘merchant money’, often looked down on by the great noble houses, but who had enough money to maintain a personal guard of substantial size.

Next was a brown flag with five silver arrows crossed over the center. She knew it belonged to the Chapter of Roving Wolves. They were a widely scattered union, more than simple caravan guards but less than intrepid adventurers, specializing in close protection of important people who decided to venture forth on risky travels and dangerous missions.

As telling as each might be, her eyes were drawn inexorably to the last: a predominantly black banner with a red border, and in the center a white gorilla with silver spears crossed behind it. It was the sigil of Oriato’s house.

The trials of the previous weeks could not be erased, but the symbol glowed out to her like a lifeline back to the life she’d once had. People were dead. A killer is hunting them. She’d been demeaned and humiliated and not all the ones responsible had been brought to justice. That would not be forgotten. But… the days had not stopped in their turning. That banner blazed in her eyes as a way back to the purpose she had once had. A purpose stolen from her that could now be reclaimed as a way to reclaim herself.

Stunned at the sight, she stood just inside the treeline, not moving as the head soldier rapped on the carriage door. “They are assembled. Would you have words with them?”

“It would be our privilege,” a soft voice answered. The door cracked open, and the soldier did the duty of propping it open to allow the occupants to disembark.

If anything could ground her from her spike of excitement, it was the appearance of the four women from within. They were a match to the carriage: luxurious, refined, and utterly unsuited to a wilderness environment. Their floral-pattern kimonos were crafted with the finest of Eshphoran silks. Their chosen colors didn’t precisely match the flags above, but it was impossible to miss how each of them had aligned themselves to one of the factions.

Their decorous steps revealed pillowy slippers, which told Yokïmi why the soldiers had laid out a carpet on the clearing floor. She had never seen faces so precisely painted to accentuate their features to devastating effect. Their hairstyles were braided masterpieces, interwoven with the stems of flowers selected for how their shades matched their garments.

Taking her place in the center of the circle, the lady draped in the colors of Lord Nasuka summoned the attention of the gathered freed slaves. “For the pains you’ve suffered, you have my sympathy. We know your lives have been forever altered. We can’t set it all to right, but we will do what we can. Each of you will be asked for your wishes. If it is to return to your lives, it shall be so. If this madness has soured you to life in Hu’na’la, we shall find you passage to a land of your choosing.”

A female coyamar cradled a young-looking human who was crying in her arms. With narrowed eyes that suggested she thought this was a trick, she demanded, “Will this boon come at a cost you’ve yet to name?”

The lady swayed a bit closer, then fanned her flowing skirt with courtly elegance so that it settled around her in a perfect fan as she went to her knees. She made it look simple, but Yokïmi could only imagine the hundreds of hours of practicing it would have taken to make it seem effortless. Now at an eye level with the coyamar woman, the lady replied in a gentle tone. “No cost. Speak nothing else except to name your intentions, if that is what you wish. But there is a gift we would ask of all of you. Information. Allow us to ask you questions before you go.”

The lady in the brown-and-silver kimono came to her side, placing a supportive hand on her companion’s right shoulder. “You are not the first group to go missing, and we fear you will not be the last. This place in the forest is the furthest our scouts have ever tracked them. None of those we’ve bribed can tell us how to find the hidden lair they use. A stray, careless word from one of them that you thought meant nothing could be the key to unlocking the secret.”

Her plea appeared to move many of the newly freed. Where reluctance and uncertainty had ruled the crowd, a tangible shift toward cooperation swept over them like a rising tide.

“Our brave warriors that you see around you were the instruments of your bonds breaking. Heed them now. They’ll find you a fire to keep you warm as we talk. Food will be ready soon.” The lady in gold and blue gestured down a small set of paths beaten into the underbrush, obviously pre-prepared to take the released captives to individual campsites.

“I want to stay with her,” the coyamar insisted.

“So long as she wants the same,” the first lady said, walking a careful line. Her eyes went to the child in the lupin’s arms. When the girl returned a timid nod, the lady’s calm smile returned. “We are here to help, though I know trust will be slow to come after what you endured.”

Hope began to overcome the small crowd’s inertia. The soldiers left their posts to escort each small group that found the courage to break apart from the others and head off to find greater comfort. Many stopped to extend hands toward the ladies, seeking their blessing as they went.

As they started to disperse, the warriors took addition notice of Yokïmi, as she was still lingering well away from the others. One of them drifted her way. He didn’t seem annoyed or looking to upset her; rather, his eyes were kept respectfully high, and his empathy shone in his expression, likely intending to offer himself as an escort without forcing her to give up her privacy.

But that was the last thing she wanted. That path led to being treated like a victim. To be considered as nothing more than a source of information for the mission these ladies had started. I’ve my own purpose. And that one can show me the way.

She fixated on the last of the Ladies, the only one who had yet to speak. The black, red, and white floral pattern on her kimono marked her connection to Oriato. Yokïmi had every intention of offering these people any memory that might help in her hunt, but what she wanted wasn’t an escort home nor a ship to elsewhere. It was to know what this woman knew about him, whatever her connection.

Forgetting her reluctance to stay away from other people’s gazes, she strode away from the soldier and across the clearing, making a direct line for the lady. Her fae-like appearance combined with her determination to create a dangerous air, which rose the hackles of the lady’s protectors. Five of her soldiers moved to intercept. Sensing her purpose, the former slaves melted away from her path.

Before she could be stopped, Yokïmi reached easy speaking distance. She took the full measure of the Lady as she approached. Her cheekbones were as flawless as delicate porcelain, which seemed to suit her temperament. Not passive, but at peace with remaining silent as the others had their moment in the sun. Trying not to sound too intent, Yokïmi focused exclusively on her, ignoring the rest of the turmoil she was causing around her.

“How do you know the Lord Oriato? Are you family? I need to know about his death. It’s important in ways that aren’t easy to say.”

Mentioning his death didn’t earn her any friendship from the soldiers. Their hands went to the hilts of their weapons, while a range of annoyance to suspicion crossed their features.

Retaining her graceful control, the Lady rose a staying hand. “I dare say I could ask you those same questions, though I might make an effort to do so more tactfully.”

The polite chastisement gnawed at Yokïmi, but she didn’t back off. “I know I might seem rude, but we need to speak. It’s been…” She sucked in a deep breath, making an effort to emulate the other woman’s stability. “… a long few weeks. I would say you couldn’t imagine, but if you’ve been at war with these slavers for this long, perhaps you can.”

One of the Lady’s elegantly sculpted eyebrows crept upward. “I would not deign to say I know a thing without experiencing it first-hand. Then again…” A self-deprecating smile shaded her features. “… there are other elements of my life which might grant me some insight to what you might have endured had we not intervened.”

“Mistress, are you sure…?” One of her darkly uniformed guards who had the semblance of authority about him whispered in caution.

The Lady didn’t disregard the warning, but neither did she call them in to restrain Yokïmi. “No, it’s alright. From what she’s said, it’s important we talk.” Every move a dance in its own right, the lady tilted her head to look at her peers. “I’ll remain with this one awhile.”

That created a modest stir. The Lady connected to Shishaku Nasuka hovered on the edge of that special annoyance that came to a superior who had not expected to have her plans derailed by someone under her influence. “Once we have word the slaves are in good hands, the carriage will depart.” She left hanging in the air the unspoken threat that it would leave ‘with or without you’, but no one listening could have missed it.

“Then I shall ride,” Oriato’s Lady replied pleasantly.

Her gentle rebuke, shunning luxury as a means of control, left nothing for the other woman to use as leverage. She inclined her head in a very slight bow, managing to insinuate that the subtle break from her authority might not have been harsh, but certainly wouldn’t be forgotten. She drifted off to attend her lead soldiers before loading back into the carriage to be carried off.

“I’ll see to it a set of horses remain behind,” the lead soldier from Oriato’s retinue murmured. “Our people have to assist with the dispersal of the slaves, but I’ll leave three to see you safely back to Ektaka.”

“My thanks, Captain.” The Lady bestowed him with a curtsy on him, to which he returned a respectful nod before tromping off.

The mark of honor seemed too deep for the relationship that Yokïmi assumed existed between them. Guard captains bow to their Ladies. What’s going on here? They called her Mistress, not by any noble title. I’m missing something. Allowing the churn to swirl around her until there were far fewer ears in range to hear, Yokïmi said, “For friends, the other Ladies have abandoned you out here rather easily.”

“They are friends when the time suits. Companions at others. Allies when our interests align. Competitors… always.” The woman crafted a smile that conveyed a precise mixture of mild humor edged with sharp awareness of reality. “Always an uneasy truce in the Floating World.”

Despite her best efforts to remain taut and ready as the trio of soldiers left behind surrounded them, that revelation sucked away much of tension that remained in her frame. No doubt her surprise shone clearly on her face. “The Floating World? You are all…” Her mind flickered through the possibilities, then settled on the only one that made sense, no matter how unlikely. “…geisha?”

“Emiko Ikada,” the Lady pronounced in response, dipping her chin and falling into a ghost of a curtsy to accompany the introduction.

“Yokïmi Kikuchi,” she replied reflexively, giving the last name before remembering she had toyed with discarding it forever. “How is it these soldiers obey your whims?”

“Hardly anything so trivial. Call it a crusade,” Emiko amended politely. “All geisha have patrons. If one is very fortunate, a single one. By the time we are little more than girls, we know that coin is a base commodity. Influence is superior. In this case, the privilege to have fine warriors aid us in erasing the taint of slave rings such as the one that caught you in its web.”

Yokïmi glanced at the Warriors lingering nearby. “They are mercenaries?”

“An unfair characterization. They are loyal to their houses.”

“Who pass them to you?”

Emiko slipped her hands into the voluminous sleeves, a demure smile gracing her lips. “Most are volunteers. Righteous causes can be difficult to find, especially those which earn you the favor of my kind. Our whispers can unlock certain doors and make those who help us very welcome in the pleasure houses of the Floating World.”

Yokïmi began to understand. “They’d be heroes for ending misery like this.”

“Like in the halls of political power, there are tiers in my world. Madames who rule over any such house. Geisha, whose artistry is valued beyond our touch. Then the personal Concubines kept by a single lord who has no fear of any other hand on their body. Then Courtesans, whose flesh and erotic skill fetch worthy price. Whores who are possessed by the hour for the coins that merchants and common folk have in their pockets. Then… the poor Draglettes who are fed iron or even wood pennies to spread their legs. Such is the Floating World, as ruthless as the one you walk in.”

“But one they are free to face on their own terms,” Yokïmi said, guessing where she was going.

“Unlike slaves. They are a tier who should never exist. One that dishonors both worlds at the same time. Yet as shameful as it is, no matter how cheaply willing flesh can be found, there are those who want to violate the unwilling. Worst of all, those unwilling and from among those you hate. Warrick was a peddler of such tainted dreams. A pleasure to hear he will never do so again.”

“I won’t apologize for killing him. But like these others, I’ll do my best to help you find his lair,” Yokïmi offered sincerely.

It was Emiko’s turn to take words from the other person’s mouth. “But this is not the reason you are desperate to speak to me.”

Yokïmi squared her shoulders as the conversation returned to where it had started. “Oriato. Your link to him.”

“I have three patrons. He was one. If I am being honest, my favorite. His demands on me were so light, and his gifts generous.”

An important element fell into place. “You were his inspiration for the Phantom Body Sheath spell!”

“How do you know of this?”

Yokïmi raised her arm and tapped the diamond inserted in her arm. It sparked briefly as her Sheath deactivated. “I was given a more permanent version.”

Unable to help herself, the geisha took a half-step forward in fascination. Her hands unfolded, one reaching out. Her fingertips stopped just short of brushing along the skin above the implanted jewel. “What lovely magic.”

The skin along Yokïmi’s arm grew gooseflesh at the near connection. She held perfectly still, fearing any sudden motion to cause the Geisha to flinch away. “He changed my life without ever knowing me.”

A gentle smile overtook Emiko’s face. “His magic was never of the strongest kind, but he used it with a deft hand.” Her appreciative skimmed along Yokïmi’s crystalline skin, as if connecting the Wizard’s capabilities with the lithely sculpted body she had created for herself through diligence. “Forgive my asking, but are you a fae creature he summoned forth? Is that why you show him loyalty?”

“I owe him none. I’m very much human, though altered by events that are… too painful to recount here and now.”

“This is not your normal state?” Emiko interrupted, looking suddenly abashed. She already looked ready to summon the guards to fetch clothing, embarrassed that it had not already been provided.

Yokïmi placed a quick hand on the geisha’s wrist to prevent it. “They have already offered. I’ve a Curse on me that… limits me in many ways.”

Though she could not possibly understand, the Geisha acted as though she did. Making no effort to pull free, she spoke to the guards. “Prepare a campsite. We can offer an illusion of privacy, if nothing else.” She then rolled her hand within the circle of Yokïmi’s grip and returned a mirror hold. “Come. Sit with me where it is warm and we won’t fear the setting of the suns.”

With her Body Sheath folded away, Yokïmi did feel the first hint of chill as the sunslight crept behind the trees. Linked together, they found a smaller clearing with a pre-dug firepit. The soldiers soon had the blaze going.

As they worked around them, Emiko asked, “If you know so little of my Lord, then how is it you know he died?”

“A letter I found in the home of someone I knew. It mentioned he died recently. I was so caught up in my own events that I thought very little about it. You see, he appeared in a vision of the past shown to me by a magic device.”

“Not so recently anymore,” the Geisha whispered, though the grief had not faded in her tone. A shadowy laugh spilled from her. “Though not so long ago that his family has ended my allowance.” She caught the eye of one soldier whose eyes lingered on the pair a bit too long. He flushed and spun away, followed soon after by the others who left the women alone in the gathering night. “I dare say the Captain of his retinue is partially responsible fo that. He would be afraid his men would lose my favor. But the time will come. His widow was never pleased with our arrangement, even though we were never lovers.”

“His widow. That would be Rionata?”

A tiny flinch of displeasure flickered across the Geisha’s face. “You know of her?”

“It was her who sent the letter.”

“To who?”

“The Lord Sage Katashi Saito. I am his Darrum. I arrived to grieve his death and found that he had been mourning your lord’s passing before his own.”

“He’s dead?” Mild shock stole over Emiko’s face. “What tragic news. My Lord mentioned him often. They adventured together in their youth with a group of friends.”

“Hmm, yes. Along with…” Yokïmi closed her eyes, struggling to remember the names.

Emiko provided them. “Dola Yahaya and Taharis Rossi.”

“They were in the same dream.” Yokïmi felt somewhat foolish for how tenuous the connections were as she spoke them aloud. “Before he died, Katashi sent me a message, imploring me to see this vision. He appeared to die in his sleep, but now I’m not so sure. There was a goblin in this dream, and I discovered one creating turmoil on the same night he died.”

“Oriato also died peacefully in his bed,” the Geisha said.

“For a known reason? If anything, he seemed younger than Katashi. Was it a wasting disease?”

“No. It was unexpected. He simply didn’t wake up. Then his heart gave out a few days later.”

The similarity to Katashi’s death were far beyond ignoring. “Has he already been buried?”

“Cremated. His ashes are in a shrine established by his widow in their drawing room.”

Yokïmi’s shoulders shrank. “I should have expected. Even before I was betrayed to the slavers, he was already dead over two weeks. If there’s any connection between the two, it is likely long erased.”

Emiko reached a hand across the space between them, laying feather-light fingers on her forearm. “Don’t be so sure. I won’t doubt his widow’s grief is real, but the two had become estranged over the previous years. She might not know what is important to him. She may have kept anything he wore and anything he possessed on that night. I’m also sure the two personal guards who were always with him are still on the house’s protection detail. They might know where he went that night. Who he met. If there are answers to be had, they will be at his manse.”

Though tempted to grasp at any chance to unravel her puzzle, Yokïmi smothered the wisps of hope. Don’t want to be seeing links that don’t exist. Sliding in to kneel closer to the Geisha, she gently trapped the other woman’s fingers against her skin. “Take me there. I need to find out.”

“We’ll stir a pot by going there.” Emiko let out a deep sigh. “It could cost me everything if I rouse his Widow’s ire.”

Yokïmi had no wish to rip the Geisha’s life apart. Guilt held her tongue from using an argument she wasn’t sure the other woman could possibly deny.

It shone through the open window her Curse tore in her emotions. Emiko read it plainly and spoke the words herself. “But if Oriato was murdered instead of passing in his sleep, I owe it to him to discover the truth. His family… everyone who knew him… deserves to know the truth.”

Thankful it was out in the open, Yokïmi added, “It goes beyond him. What we find might shed light on Katashi’s end as well.”

“I feel like this is one of those moments Narrum will judge me for when my soul goes before him.”

The thought turned Yokïmi sour. She held in any grand blasphemy, but couldn’t hold her tongue entirely. “His opinion isn’t the one I care about. It’s yours. Forget about what going to happen after. I want to know what you can live with for the rest of your life here and now. Tell me you can walk away from this, and I won’t ask you again. I won’t press you to lose everything for the promises I’ve made. But… if you’re like me and need to see his spirit is safely at rest, then help me do this.”

The question tore away some of the Geisha’s veil. She was perhaps a decade older than Yokïmi, but right then she seemed far less the supernaturally poised woman and far more a person staring into an uncertain future, wondering if she was strong enough to risk facing it.

Feeling as though she had done enough to tread carefully, Yokïmi was compelled to show what it would mean to her a final time. She didn’t simply trust in her Curse to leave her emotions bare. She radiated it willfully, with all the strength of her diminished Aura. “Please.”

She saw what remained of Emiko’s uncertainty crumble.

Chapter 11

The ambush site proved to be within a couple day’s ride of Ektaka, the eastern-most city of Shishaku Nasuka, and also a port on the coastline. Four castles were built to overlook and protect the entrance to a long bay, while the wider city sprawled out along the shore.

Yokïmi guessed Warrick had risked building his hidden slave brothel this close to a major population center to lure in the bastards twisted enough to indulge. There has to be a magical element that helps hide it. Over the first day of their ride back to the city, she welcomed the relentless stream of questions levied by both Emiko and her soldiers, attempting to tease out every detail of what she had seen, heard, or even smelled while in captivity.

Once they relented, the conversation between the two women ventured into different territory. On the surface, it was pleasant. She spoke of her family, concentrating on any memory of Katashi since her companion knew him, if only by reputation as Oriato’s friend. As she grew more comfortable, she found herself relating her time with the zaskrans, deliberately leaving out any mention of the colony’s name or any hint as to the entrance’s location. For Emiko’s part, she related her own early life as a performer in a circus menagerie, the source of her exquisite dancing Skills and Techniques that her patrons found so compelling.

“I’ve learned to appreciate flexibility in my own training and adventures,” Yokïmi admitted. “At first, it had more to do with executing any movements and kicks on demand. But after being tied up like I was, I’m beginning to think adding contortion abilities might not be a terrible idea.”

Emiko struck a thoughtful pose as she rode side-saddle on her horse, leg folded as if it was entirely natural to sit in an artful fashion, eschewing what others might find comfortable. “A difficult path, better pursued when you were young and your bones had not yet set as they are now.” She let out a soft sigh. “Then again, time and dedication can produce dramatic effects.”

“What do you mean?”

The Geisha gestured along her own postured legs. “If you sat like this, how long before you would feel numb and unable to walk?”

“On this sort of rough trail? Half an hour,” Yokïmi decided. “You haven’t said a word after all this time. I was just thinking about how resilient you had to be to put up with it. And that you’d probably suffer pins-and-needles before you have to walk.” She gestured at the forest around them. “Without any audience besides me, is it really worth it?”

Emiko graced her with a lush smile. “Are you not an appreciative audience?”

Unable to meet the searching intensity in her gorgeous eyes, Yokïmi tried to find the leather weave on her horse’s harness very fascinating to bury any untoward emotions. She evaded by quipping, “An audience of one, either way.”

Though her knowing smile never faded, Emiko didn’t press further. Instead, she planted one hand on the horn of her saddle and the other on the cantle. Her slender arms hid a corded strength which activated now. She pushed herself upward so that her behind hovered above the seat. The folds of her kimono and underdress spilled away as she raised her calves as she pointed her legs right at Yokïmi. Above her delicate slippers, she could see the Geisha’s lithe legs were wrapped in white silk as counterpoint to the overall color scheme of her outer garments. The material was sheer and patterned with white threading in the shape of playful kittens romping around. Bracing herself in place, Emiko used her pointed toes to draw out the characters of Yokïmi’s name in the air.

She wished she could say she followed the impressive display with nothing more than admiration for the Geisha’s prowess. But the agile woman knew what she was doing, layering a seductive flow to every flick of movement. It was no surprise the legs were aimed right at Yokïmi, allowing her to follow them high enough to catch a hint of her knees.

When finished, the woman sank back into her saddle, regaining the same side-saddle position she had held for most of the day, her legs once more folded over each other. As if she wasn’t aware how improper she had been, she flipped her kimono’s skirts back into place, hiding herself back behind the shield of her modesty.

Yokïmi stole a look over at the three soldiers riding about them. Two in front were scanning the woods ahead for danger. They had been studiously keeping their eyes away to avoid seeing her nakedness. The one riding support behind had a greater challenge, though if he failed, all he would see was the upper curve of her behind. He was now deliberately averting his gaze, looking flushed, wide-eyed, and ready to choke over what he’d witnessed.

Darting back to look at her companion, Yokïmi swallowed hard and did what she could to banish the rapt awe with which she had followed everything the woman had done. When she murmured in a trace of awe, she focused with all her Willpower on speaking about the physical nature of the performance, since her Geisha companion had been trying to prove something when this all started. “No numbness at all?”

Emiko’s wry smirk suggested she knew she had succeeded in drawing a deeper sort of interest from Yokïmi, but diplomatically constrained herself to only the professional level. “There are Geisha who can remain in far more compromising positions for hours. Have you seen the painting entitled Soaring Siren by Surona Mazashi?”

“Katashi showed me a replica once in a book. I’m sure the illuminator didn’t do the original justice.”

“But you saw the position of the woman, balancing on a single toe?” When she her companion confirmed with a nod, Emiko said, “The myth of her story is that she held that pose for the entire twelve hours while he painted the masterpiece.”

Yokïmi wanted to scoff, but knew it would be rude to be so dismissive. Not like I haven’t seen other impossible things in my time. I cast magic. For all I know, this legendary Geisha had her own Techniques to craft such marvels with her body. Instead, she asked, “What was her name?”

A sad but accepting smile took over Emiko’s expression. “If anyone remembers, I’ve never heard it told. An inescapable reality of my kind. We are the inspiration for those who own the glory. We are the music playing in the background as the sculptor chisels the finest of his work. The gentle hands massaging the back of the writer so he does not slouch as he creates poetry that will change the world.”

“That’s both beautiful… and horrible.”

“A fair summary of our lifestyle.”

Yokïmi narrowed her eyes at her word choice, but held her tongue.

Emiko noticed. “We’re speaking our minds here, aren’t we?”

Ai ya, how do I soak any challenge from this? Selecting her own phrasing with care, Yokïmi said, “I get the sense you don’t quite place yourself in the same ring as the lives you’re talking about. I wondered why.”

“Those stories are magical.”

“Yours isn’t?” Yokïmi asked in quiet concern.

“Reality isn’t,” Emiko whispered. She scratched her fingernails along the saddle. “The life of a Geisha was an escape. My performance troupe failed and our overseer abandoned us in the worst of states. I survived by entering the Floating World. But unlike many others, I had Skills that one Madame eventually recognized. She guided me into more than lying on my back for coin.”

Yokïmi mused, “Is that so different from others?”

“Perhaps not.” Her nails raked a bit deeper into the leather. “What’s missing is that very magic. No sculptor. No poet. My body has remained my own these last few years, but how have I inspired anything more than their healthy appetite upon returning to their wives and mistresses?”

Yokïmi went silent for a while, unsure what to offer against that. “Knowing the full impact you had on them might be impossible.” Her own fingers traced up along her arm where her diamond lay beneath her skin. “I know it might not be what you meant. But I happen to know one life you’ve changed.”

“Oh?”

“Oriato was inspired to a work of art. But it wasn’t a gift for the world. Only for you. A beautiful work of elegant magic to enable your art.”

“Without it, I would never have gained the patrons I did.” Her nails pierced a bit deeper. “Nor would he have enjoyed my performances quite so much.”

Yokïmi didn’t argue the point, hearing truth in it. “But he went on to share it with Katashi. And he recrafted it for me. Nothing I’ve done in the last few months would have felt possible without this magic.” She considered that further. “Without this magic, my brother might still be on his rampage. The fae-blight we sealed might still be growing.” She rose her eyes to meet the other woman’s. “Will it help you rest easy or unsettle you further to know you’ve joined with other Geisha of legend? An inspiration who might have saved the world but will never be known.”

Her companion’s mouth fell open, stunned into silence. “I… don’t know.”

“We can share that fate. I’m quite sure the tomes of history won’t remember my name, either. Our Narrumian Cleric? Her Church will record hers. The Gnollish God’s servant? His name will be chanted around their fire circles, I’m sure.” Her memory conjured Avalessa only reluctantly. “An elven princess can be her own history, as long as she lives.” A dark chuckle escaped Yokïmi’s lips. “But I’ve no people nor family nor sect to record what I’ve done.” She steeled her spine, remembering what she needed to become. “Do either of us need them?”

The tension in Emiko’s stiffened claw of a hand eased, then withdrew from the saddle, relaxing back against her side. “Thank you for telling me this.” She was quiet a long time. The horses moved beneath them, blissfully unaware of the weighty conversation going on above them. “I’ll go with you to bid farewell to Oriato.”

“Are you sure?” Yokïmi hadn’t forgotten the consequences the Geisha had said she might risk if she caused the family any difficulty.

“It’s time I accept he’s gone.” Her eyes carried a fond warmth as they settled on her glass-skinned companion. “And if you are what my inspiration has brought to the world, seems only right I act to protect it.”

Wispy butterflies tickled her inside under that look. “I’ll…umm… I mean, I’ll be thankful for your company.” She pried her way back to clear thinking. “Since you say our welcome in his home might be cold.” The return of rational thought gave Yokïmi a real concern. She tilted her head, wondering, “Could we be denied entry?”

“If we give the Widow her chance… yes. And so, we shall not.” A mischievous smirk banished the lingering wisps of her somber thoughts.

*          *          *

Their small procession paused on the outskirts of the city, allowing one of the soldiers to find and hire an appropriate carriage for their purposes. The one he brought was comfortable, but nothing approaching the ostentatious one shared by all four Geisha.

As they boarded, Emiko gave her final directions. “Bring us into the secondary courtyard. Bypass any who seek to stop you for questions until you are within the walls and beyond the sight of any passersby in the streets.”

The soldier nodded, then vaulted up into the driver’s seat.

Yokïmi settled into her seat. “Why there?”

“If we approached in the public eye, the guards would see it as a deliberate slight against the family’s honor. They would be bound to dismiss us, whatever pressure I can bring to bear.”

That much, Yokïmi could understand. Perception is reality. The Floating World must remain invisible if it ever touches a highborn house, lest any noble be thought to be vunerable to human weakness. It was a foolish façade, but an inevitable part of the decorum that such houses safeguarded, as if the authority to rule derived from their ability to be purer and more perfect than the commoners. If only they actually were what they pretended to be. Wouldn’t that be something?

Instead of oxen, the soldier had opted for horses for the sake of speed. The carriage rattled into motion and bore them down into the streets, working through the morning crowds.

“When we arrive, I’d ask that you treat me as one of your own,” Yokïmi said.

“Oh?”

“A presumption, I know. I’ve Skill with a harp. Far more than a layman, but not enough to inspire a masterpiece.” A pleasant memory crossed her mind.

“Hmm,” Emiko murmured, leveling an inquisitive gaze her way. “But you have inspired someone.”

“For a night I’ll never forget,” Yokïmi admitted, fairly certain her desires from her time in Avalessa’s arms would be shining through her eyes, Curse or no Curse. “But what other explanation will make sense for my condition? They will think less of me for my immodesty. As anyone else, I walk in Narrum-damned sin. As a Geisha, it becomes an idiosyncracy they may accept, since we’re already breaking decorum.”

“I’m the one he kept.”

“Would they know if we claimed I’m your understudy?” Yokïmi couldn’t help the urge to flash her a teasing smile. “I’ve a collection of mentors who can attest that I am only somewhat prone to chaotic behavior that drove them wild.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Emiko tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin. “I’ve never guided a novice before. That is what they are properly called.” Mockingly prim firmness gave her an aspect of beautiful iron. “A worthy novice would know that.”

A sly smile crept on Yokïmi’s lips. “A student is only as good as their teacher. Perhaps in this tale, you were too loose with your discipline.”

“A fanciful idea that would never hold water. With any novice, I would have a very firm hand.”

The smoke in the Geisha’s eyes sucked the breath right out of Yokïmi.

Reaching across the space between them, Emiko trapped a piece of lacing that had come loose from the cushion under Yokïmi between her fingers. She wound it around one finger, then gave an experimental tug. “Unless you behave, I may have to show you that being tied by ropes has a pleasant side.”

Yokïmi had an immediate vision of that thread being curled about her leg, pinning it to the cushion as the first step in… something more. Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe in here?

Emiko relaxed the intensity of her game, her mouth curving into a warm smile. “Your idea will work to get us inside. When we arrive, walk with your hands folded demurely in front to cover your modesty. Not only will it reduce their stares, but it will look like a formal posture that I’ve ordered you to assume while in public.”

“As you wish, Mistress.” Yokïmi meant it to be teasing, but the syllables ended up ringing far too true. Ai ya, where is your mind? She chastised herself.

As one of her eyebrows crept higher in interest, Emiko’s lips changed to a rather sinful grin. “Such a fine start.”

Taking a measure of mercy on Yokïmi, the Geisha allowed her teasing to fade as the carriage rattled on. They took time to compose themselves, assuming the right attitudes for the coming invasion of Oriato’s home. A soft intrusion, but an intrusion all the same.

“Wait a few moments. I’ll do what I can to make this easier.” Emiko tapped on the door. A soldier opened it, to which she gave a graceful bow of her head in appreciation.

Yokïmi couldn’t help but admire the subtle way she could accept courtesy as her proper due while conveying respect, knowing that even as an honored Geisha, her place in the Floating World put her on a low rung in the social hierarchy. Her Lord empowers her to use mercenaries to eradicate scum untouchable by the local lordship for fear of angering those who see it as cleansing the non-humans from the region. And yet… her very presence in one of their houses would ‘taint’ it. Amazed at the tangled web of their culture, she shuffled nearer to the door, waiting for the Geisha to do as she willed. She tapped her Body Sheath into life. While she wasn’t anticipating danger, being distracted by any discomfort might make her miss something.

Flowing out into the middle of the courtyard, Emiko turned in a slow circle and considered the house guards. “Enemies come from the outside, do they not? I wouldn’t want to be a distraction from your duties.”

Uncomfortable shuffling followed as the guards took the less-than-subtle hint and ceased gawking at the emerging drama. Once they were gone, she turned to wave an inviting hand back at the carriage. “Come along, Novice. We have our respects to pay.”

Yokïmi eased her way down the carriage steps. Even after three days in her presence, none of the soldiers dared offer her a hand down. The one holding the door hid behind it, saving himself from pretending he wasn’t sneaking glances her way. Her Body Sheath was active, protecting her soles from the courtyard stones. She arranged her hands discretely and padded along in Emiko’s wake as she went for the door.

The only house guard who remained visible was the one standing by the entrance. Though he had an insignia that suggested he was an officer of some kind, his youth suggested he was a young shift lieutenant not long on experience. He swallowed hard at the two approaching women. “A fair morning to you, Miss Ikada. I’ve never had the pleasure of admiring your beauty in such favorable light.”

“Ahh, Junaki. Not so young that you can’t find a compliment to use as a club.” Emiko folded her arms neatly in her kimono’s sleeves, looking unperturbed that the door hadn’t yet opened for her. “You see, Novice, what the good man here is struggling not to point out that my previous visits to the lord’s manse have always come after the suns have found their beds. Typically on nights when the Lady of the house had ventured out to visit with family in their home city.”

Junaki flushed, then dropped his voice into a pleading whisper. “The Lady is here. Not yet risen from her apartments for the day, but present on the grounds. She would have me whipped or even flayed for admitting you.”

“By Narrum’s heaven, is that true?” She turned to her ‘novice’ and asked, “Is flaying still done?”

“An ugly practice decades out of fashion, I am happy to say.” Yokïmi was certain her own father didn’t use such punishments on his lands, though she wasn’t so sure for the rest of Hu’na’la. But she knew what Emiko was looking to hear from her.

“Mm, I believe you’re right.” The Geisha returned a happy smile to the office. “See? You’re quite safe. No need to let your imagination run away with you. And if it comes to a flogging, a strong man such as yourself could take a few canes to the back without suffering permanent damage, I should think.”

He began again, “If you would be so kind –”

She edged in over his quiet plea, though she didn’t speak so loudly as to summon more attention, her way of protecting his attempt at decorum while hinting that she could destroy it if she wished. “We have come to pay our respects, and it shall be allowed.”

“But if I do –”

“If you don’t, I know where you prefer to dip your quill. Do you ever wish to do so again?”

Agony brewed inside the man as he faced a choice he didn’t want to make. His tone dropped even lower, barely audible over the breeze. “I need to inform the Lady of the house. It’s my duty. I’ll be cast out if I betray her trust. Please, do not make me choose.”

Pity edged into her expression. “I would not have her unaware of the happenings under her roof. But from what you said, she has not emerged from her morning ablutions. Surely there is no reason to break her solitude for so small a matter.”

“It will not be more than a sunspan before she hears. I dare not guess at her reaction.”

“Leave that to me.” Emiko flickered her eyes to the door in heavy suggestion. The officer cracked and held the door for her. She inclined her head in that respectful gesture, as if unaware of the pressure she had brought to bear. “Come along, Novice. Our time is short.”

The pair slipped inside. Yokïmi’s focus roamed over the décor, sensing a disconnection with the man she had seen in her vision. Not sure what I expected. Gorilla gargoyles lining the corridors? Hmm, not sure, but his spirit isn’t in this place.

Reading her confusion, Emiko tapped the frame of a nearby painting depicting a sweeping yet somehow uninspiring landscape. “Never doubt this is his wife’s home. He ceased having a say in it a long time ago.” She betrayed no disenchantment with the other woman, nor shame in her role, merely an acceptance that she had learned such details by being the confidante of someone who couldn’t find that release in his personal life. The Geisha led the way into the drawing room, moving like a ghost through a house she knew well but over which held no ownership.

The shrine took up half the room, though it wasn’t gaudy. An imposing silver urn dominated the arrangement. A flag with the Wizard’s personal symbol functioned as the backdrop. Various shelves and tables held an assortment of items that were identifiable as his by the style and size. All were neatly assembled and arranged, somehow both a fitting tribute yet also impersonal, as if the one responsible didn’t know how to use the items to paint a picture of the man who wore them.

Emiko drifted toward the urn, lost in memory.

Leaving her to commune with her patron’s spirit, Yokïmi paced in front of the rest of the belongings, attempting to understand the pattern of the shrine’s layout. One set of clothing wasn’t in a pile so much as an arrangement, as if laid out by a servant for their lord to wear the next morning. Or in memory of the outfit they found him in. The last things he ever wore. She ran a respectful hand along the fabric, then paused as she ran along a slight bulge. The arranged folds had been disturbed, halfway covering a piece of jewelry. She uncovered the item, and her breath caught on the sight of a scarab beetle pin, identical to the one she had seen before.

“Emiko, take a look at this.”

The Geisha emerged from her reverie, a soft film over her eyes. “Yes?”

“Was this dear to him? He was found in his sleep. Was it normal that he would have this on him during the night?”

Emiko joined her, bending gracefully at her waist to carefully inspect the scarab. “No. I have never seen him wear this.”

Suspicion clenched around Yokïmi’s heart. “Is there any chance he could have made a gift of one to my Farrum? Perhaps bought as a pair for two friends to wear?”

“I see no reason he would.” Emiko pursed her lips, then gave a tight shake of her head after a second consideration. “It does not follow from who he was. He wasn’t fond of insects.”

“Nor was Katashi,” Yokïmi murmured. “Not afraid of them, but he would not have been the source of such a gift, either.”

Emiko straightened. “What could it mean?”

“I don’t know. But it’s important. A goblin that might have been involved in his death was seen with an item like this only hours before his death. Both men died in similar ways, and now… here is another. This has to be connected.” Yokïmi turned away with a hiss of exasperation. “I don’t understand. Did Oriato deal with any goblins? One who had reason to be angry with him… angry enough to kill?”

“What a horrid thing to say!” A strident voice crashed into their conversation. A woman in an elaborate version of Hu’na’laan court dress swept into the study, though her entire ensemble was made of black satin and lace. “I will not have his memory besmirched in the very shrine made to keep it pure!”

Emiko kept her composure as she slowly turned to face the woman. “My deepest sympathies for your loss, Lady Rionata.” She fell into a flowing curtsy, bowing her eyes.

That was only taken as an insult. Rionata’s eyes flared with unconcealed rage. “You dare use my name? Dare to insinuate he would treat with lesser beasts such as goblins? Dare to bring a second harlot into my home?” Her blazing eyes scoured over Yokïmi’s glass-clear nakedness. “Another shameless non-human without any shred of decency!”

“My intentions were only to bid farewell, Lady Ado. To explain to my Novice how deeply our kind are indebted to the patrons of our artistry –”

“– Artistry?” The Lady brayed a harsh laugh, though no humor could broach the anger simmering inside her eyes. “You have plagued my life long enough. My life is shattered without my Oriato. If there is but one ray of sunslight in the darkness, it is my joy in knowing I will never lay eyes upon you again.” Dismissing Yokïmi with a haughty sniff, she marched up to the Geisha, showing no regard at all for her personal space. “If I hear so much as a whisper of you spreading these callous, disrespectful lies about him… about him consorting with base-born creatures…” She visibly took hold of herself, reeling her anger back in. “I will leave you to your miserable existence. Consider it my gift for what you meant to my husband. But if I hear of you despoiling his reputation, I will make my wrath known.”

“We are trying to discover –” Yokïmi tried to intercede.

“– Nothing,” Rionata declared sharply, turning on her. “could interest me less than what a fae-cursed harlot has to say.”

For a brief moment, Yokïmi had the urge to answer with her own full identity. This was a woman who clearly saw her rank and privilege as her greatest weapon. With a modicum of effort, Yokïmi could prove her own family station, one that overshadowed Lady Ado by a few leagues.

The desire turned to ash in her mouth. It would be a victory of ego over ego. Hollow. She caught Emiko’s eyes and saw no injury there. If she was secretly stung by the Lady’s rage, the emotions were buried behind an impenetrable mask. Yokïmi swallowed her own pride and lowered her own gaze…

… and saw Emiko use the distraction to sneak the scarab pin off Oriato’s vest. She palmed it before slipping her hands back inside her sleeves.

Rionata’s upper lip curled. “Leave while I still feel inclined to permit you the dignity of walking away instead of being carried out like sacks.”

Under her baleful eyes, Emiko ticked a nod to her ‘novice’ and padded from the room. Yokïmi followed, impressed yet again how the poised woman could be summarily dismissed, utter not a word of complaint, yet seem like the one who had retained her honor while it was the other who lost face.

As they stepped into the corridor, she came even with the Geisha’s arm and whispered, “Do you think she could be deflecting because she knows? By stopping us from asking about the goblin, she’s preventing us from looking into his death. There could be someone in Ektaka with knowledge of the one I saw trying to escape.”

“No,” Emiko replied with confidence. “While she did not love him, neither did she despise him. Her station in life has been threatened by his death. I believe that is the source of her mourning, and it is genuine.” She brought the scarab pin briefly into view. “I suspected you would want this.”

“You guessed right. But I’ve nowhere to carry it.”

“Come back into my carriage. Let us go and speak together in peace about where you’ll go and what you’ll need. The promise we made to all the slaves we rescued was to see them safely on their path. I haven’t forgotten. We shall discuss what you need and where you’ll go.”

“As my Mistress wishes,” Yokïmi quipped, advancing with a few quicker steps to hold open the outer door.

Emiko passed her with a tightly restrained smile. Knowing they would be under greater observation upon re-entering the courtyard, her reply was a bare whisper. “As a Novice, you would be a handful indeed.”

As they approached the carriage, the soldier standing at the door was apologetic. “We will take you to your villa, Miss Ikada. But my watch captain has informed me that I’m to offer no other service and to return within the hour.”

Rather than snipe at him, Emiko affected another of her sultry bows. “Your final kindess will not be forgotten. Pass that to the others. Let them know I am much aware of where orders come from, that honor demands obedience, and I am not one to hold blame unfairly where it shouldn’t lie.”

Yokïmi settled into the seat across from her. “Didn’t you say you would remove your favor from the house soldiers if they were ordered to abandon you?”

“I said I might,” the Geisha corrected, arranging the skirt of her kimono to a more fetching hang, though her companion was the only one there to see it. “And I still may, if more is to be gained in making such a statement compared to keeping these men as hidden allies. I can’t afford to be rash.” She tapped on the wooden pass-through to the driver, who took the signal and snapped them into motion with the reins.

Yokïmi fell silent as she considered the other woman’s perspective. Balancing forever between so many different alliances and allegiances. And Oriato is but one of her patrons, though he may be the most influential. This is exactly the sort of life I could never lead. I might miss the power of being able to use my name, but if this is the price, then I am well rid of it.

Chapter 12

The carriage entered through a break in a decorative fence. Made of sweeping trellises and latticework, it could not hope to keep a determined thief away, unless there was an unseen magic at work. The courtyard within was a rotunda not intended as a purely functional design. A lovely fountain with a statue of a flamingo with its wings spread occupied the center. Flower-laden vines were draped over the windows, doors, and arches that led deeper into the sprawling compound.

Yokïmi decided there was a blend of secrecy and ego-stroking at work. When the patrons of the Geisha arrived to be entertained, protecting their identities from the general public was part of the mysticism of the Floating World. At the same time, they didn’t want those wealthy lords sneaking through dank tunnels to hide their faces. Here was a place of secluded beauty where they could be welcomed for their evening of decadent, even hedonistic art.

She scowled at the sense of judgment she carried. I’d think better of them if this was only about appreciating these sensual artists for their skills. But Emiko confessed that it doesn’t often stop there. The Geisha themselves might not often surrender their bodies, but the patrons bring along other courtesans to satiate the passions that the Geisha stir up. Not to mention the lavish feasts and flood of wine they consume while here. In her mind, except for the real gift of providing the Geisha freedom to pursue an art for which they were passionate, she could see little difference between this arrangement and those who frequented the brothels scattered around the city. Gold. Gold is the difference, and it pays for a different perception.

But she was trespassing on this world, and her private emotions were too easily read, particularly by women trained in the art of noticing the smallest of details to ensure they could properly handle their patrons and other visitors and provide them with the immersive experience they desired. And so, she schooled herself away from such thoughts.

“Are you coming?” Emiko asked, already halfway out the door before she noticed that her companion wasn’t following.

Ai ya, concentrate on why you’re here. Try not to irritate the only woman who currently cares that I exist. She slipped from the door and into the open. Apart from the soldiers they had brought with them, there were only a few serving girls wandering the courtyard. They were talented at seeing nothing, meandering away about their tasks and leaving Yokïmi with the impression she had not been noticed, though she was absolutely sure that her presence had been marked and would be spread about the whole of the complex within minutes.

Emiko led her down an equally charming corridor, stopping to open a sliding door and admit them to her villa. It proved to be square shaped series of corridors surrounding a central garden.

Once again, Yokïmi was faced with a décor that did not match the personality of the owner. This time, she didn’t have to wonder why. In the end, this was not the Geisha’s property. It was the place she dwelled in for entertaining those who kept it for her. Her selection of artwork, flowers, and colors were the first step in setting the mood for her guests. Each choice was intended to evoke interest and invite conversation, such as a flower with an unusual shade or a series of candlesticks quite obviously crafted beyond Hu’na’la’s borders.

Passing into the garden, they went to their knees at a low table on a grouping of white cushions patterned with blue doves. It was nestled in the sweep of a crescent-shaped reflecting pool, stocked with calico koi and wafting fronds of multi-colored water plants. Two servants appeared before long, girls not much past the age of ten, who quickly arranged two place settings and then departed to fetch food and drink.

“This is idyllic,” Yokïmi said. “Those two couldn’t be considered novices, could they?”

“Far too young at this point. But the Madame keeps them to learn the flow of the business and learn the rudiments of many Skills. Those that show aptitude will receive greater instruction and perhaps a place among us.”

“Those that don’t?”

A sad smile passed over Emiko’s face. “As I’ve said, the Floating World can be ruthless in its own way. But Hinuda is kind. I’ve never seen her utterly abandon any girl.”

“I thought you had your own patrons, but you are also beholden to her?” Yokïmi wasn’t sure she understood.

“Is anyone entirely free?” The Geisha’s morose humor persisted. “Hinuda shepherded me into this life. Now I rent this place from her and she receives a fraction of the income I receive. Call it a symbiosis that works for us both.”

“What if you tire of it?” Yokïmi wondered if she was forever trapped and was merely making light of the situation.

Emiko’s shoulders rose and fell in an artful shrug. “All I need do is entice one of my patrons into taking an exclusive interest in me. Nearly all such Geisha are ensconced in their own apartments.”

Reading hesitation in her description, Yokïmi recalled another fact the woman had revealed in an earlier conversation. “And nearly all of them become concubines?”

“Nearly all,” Emiko concurred with a quiet whisper, her smile fading.

Trapped indeed. Her only real escape is to return to being what she left behind, even if only for a single client. No wonder she said she could understand something of what a slave endures. Not wanting to linger on the uncomfortable snare, Yokïmi asked, “Can we speak more about Oriato’s other friends when he was traveling with Katashi?”

Her Geisha companion paused her with a raised palm as the servants returned.

One bore a tray of simple fruits, nuts, and cheese, along with a glass bowl filled with cream balanced in the center. She seemed about to pull away when Emiko tensed, her eyes locking pointedly on the tray itself. The servant girl went a touch paler and rushed to shift it closer to Yokïmi by an inch, a subtle mark of importance to the guest. Emiko rewarded her with the very briefest of smiles.

Once her partner slipped away, the second girl went to her knees and placed two small wide-brimmed cups near to each of them. Her tray also carried two flasks, one with iced water and the other chilled sake. She poured out a helping of the latter into their cups, then returned the flask to its place without dribbling a single droplet, as if the liquid inside was sacred. That earned a pleased dip of Emiko’s chin. It was little more than a twitch, but the girl’s eyes shone with gratitude.

Both retreated without speaking a word, bowing in respect at the edge of the room before vanishing.

“They are well trained,” Yokïmi said, surprised at the quiet efficiency. “Couldn’t help but think they were being judged.”

“They were,” Emiko admitted.

“You?”

“All of us. All the time.” She permitted herself a soft sigh. “I like to think I teach more than I chastise. I’d be content to claim that I’m less cruel than others who they must endure.”

The scent of the rice wine reached Yokïmi. “Jasmine?”

“The sake is blended with tea of that flower,” Emiko explained. “If you’ve never tried it, it is a pleasant experience.”

“I suspect pleasant experiences are the normal state of affairs in your home,” Yokïmi murmured, hiding a gentle grin of her own behind the cup as she took a sip. The jasmine scent filled her nose as the roasted flavor of aged sake commanded her tastebuds. The combination was unique, and as compelling as the Geisha had promised.

Emiko watched her companion’s sampling intently. “Consider it a fond wish of mine to see you proven right during your stay.” She plucked a grape from the tray, mingling it with a small shard of cheese. Brushing the tips through the cream, she nibbled both together.

Yokïmi’s eyes snagged ever so briefly on the Geisha’s mouth as they formed a sweet puckered shape around the bulge of the fruit. The juices from within burst over her lips, moistening them before being swept in deeper with a delicate flash of the woman’s tongue. Ai ya, she whispered to herself. That couldn’t have been an accident. Does she know what she’s doing, or is she so practiced at being seductively alluring that she cannot help it?

Dwelling on the question was a path to dangerous temptation. She delicately nudged their conversation back to the answers she needed. “Oriato’s friends?”

Her companion’s eyes ticked upward as she fell into a search of her memory. “They from time to time referred to themselves as the Servants of the Mad Moon.” At Yokïmi’s look of surprise, the corners of her mouth turned up in a knowing smirk. “Rather evocative, isn’t it? But my Lord often reminisced about those days. All four were born of privilege and carried that status into their adult lives. None of them needed to adventure into the world. They were driven by individual wants that differed between them.”

“Katashi was a Sage,” Yokïmi noted. “Not a thrill seeker.”

“From what my Lord said, you’ve named his motivation. He was not a man to accept the word of others. He sought confirmation of what he read in his books. From one tale, they ventured to a szezzil hive to confirm if one can tell a difference in the air during mating season.”

“Oriato was the same?”

Emiko shook her head as she raised her sake cup to her lips. “He had a more practical bent. He wanted to experience the world first-hand, so he could speak to the dangers of the world with the authority of one who had witnessed and survived them.”

“Hm,” Yokïmi said. “I think I understand. I wouldn’t put it past them to have purposefully departed on these journeys when Nabusha’s fangs were showing.”

“And when the others were new or absent from the sky,” the Geisha confirmed.

The pretentious poetry nearly made Yokïmi sputter as she took another sip on the jasmine sake. All three of the world’s moons glowed white in the sky, and their turning was marked by their single greatest feature on each side. With Nabusha, it was a formation that looked like an empty sea, while on either side were great crags that resembled the fangs of a terrible monster eternally trying to devour their world. When neither Desolis nor Ehtnaza could be seen, the fangs were an ill omen. Strange events were rumored to happen more frequently. Faelapses appeared with greater frequency. And those with normally good sense embarked on foolish adventures. Seems my Farrum embraced the idea in a way I never thought possible.

A brief flutter of amusement touched the Geisha’s expression, delighted by her companion’s reaction. “The entire idea came from Taharis Rossi. He was the wildest of the bunch, given to flights of fancy and taking gambles the others might deem foolish. He didn’t seek wisdom. He wanted amusement. These were the stories he would relate in the halls of other lords to make an evening less boring and a woman’s underthings more likely to slide off.”

The wicked hint drew a raised eyebrow from Yokïmi. She gathered a small helping of salted pumpkin seeds from the tray to stall her reply. “Considered himself charming, did he?”

“And unlikely to believe anyone who told him otherwise. He is a scion of the Rossi house. Not an heir apparent to the main line of succession, but the cadet branches are still active in the politics of Vyz. He is one of theirs, and has all the trademarks of a man raised to privilege.”

Yokïmi hunted through her own memory. Before she acquired her Eidetic Memory Talent, she wasn’t sure she could have recalled anything about the Free City. It was on the far side of the Ocean Crossing, beyond the vast stretch of the Harkonian Empire.

“What about the last of them?”

“Dola Yahaya involved herself for the scars she’d get.” Seeing that her companion didn’t yet understand, Emiko asked, “What do you know of the Weight on Goldaan Souls?”

A fresh memory rose to the forefront of Yokïmi’s mind: her mother slipping through a door to escape a gathering of lords at Kikuchi Castle, hiding in a study where her daughter had been reading. She’d explained why she’d fled, though the younger version of Yokïmi had not fully understood what her mother had been trying to say. “Umm, I’ve only heard it described once. My mother claimed she had communed with her ancestors regarding my brothers and I. She didn’t think we inherited the burden.”

“Odd. It is said to be a fundamental need that dwells in the heart of every Goldaanan descendant. If they fail to meet their challenge, their souls cannot rest, according to their beliefs.”

“My mother hinted that it was the Weight that pushed her into accepting marriage to a foreigner.” Biting into a small wedge of cheese, Yokïmi chewed thoughtfully, chiseling away at the memory for any other detail. Very little emerged. “It wasn’t as if she had discarded all the traditions of her home. We learned the language. I know many Goldaan customs. Enough that I doubt I would embarrass myself walking among them. But she only touched on the Weight that one time.”

Shifting back to their main subject, the Geisha said, “From my Lord’s retelling, she was terrified of fighting. The speed of it. The violence. The potential for pain. For her, it was a dizzying experience and she was determined to quash the whirlwind once and for all.”

“I wouldn’t have known from the way she appeared in the vision. I wouldn’t call her brash, but she was definitely composed.”

Emiko folded her hands over her kneeling lap. “Then she was meeting her test.”

Having no reason to argue, Yokïmi simply asked, “Do you know how the group formed?”

“On Midmark, during the Reaper’s Chase.”

“Ahh… and that is?”

A sympathetic smile showed on Emiko’s lips. “I’d never heard of it either, until my Lord described it to me. Midmark is a large island near the center of the Ocean Crossing. As you could imagine, an important waypoint for ships which has become a trade hub. The laws are also somewhat… lax. Slavery is outlawed, but not much else. The local authorities make little effort to trace the history of items being sold on the docks, nor to check the registry of ships who arrive so long as they pay the harbor taxes. Might be the only place in the world where you can see a Harkonian frigate or a Kuykistan corsair tied up at one dock with a pirate cutter a hundred paces away pretending to be an upstanding merchant ferry.”

“I follow you.”

“The Reaper’s Chase is a horse race through a series of canyons and tunnels that wrap around the mountain at the island’s northern end. The distance is around 400 leagues.”

Yokïmi let out an impressed whistle. “That’s quite a stretch. How can the crowd find that enjoyable?”

“Magical viewing is possible, though interference is strictly outlawed.”

“How many can afford that?”

Emiko smirked. “They found a way to appease the mob as well. They’ve assembled arenas at five key points, and spectators can wander through magical gateways that connect them so they can arrive and cheer on their favorites. In each arena, the race masters assemble obstacles. Inherently non-deadly, though they can delay people.”

Yokïmi nodded her understanding. “And delays are costly?”

“Those are the stakes which make this race unique. As the last rider begins, a supernatural entity known only as the Reaper sets out after them. By my Lord’s account, the creature advances at a steady walking pace. But it never stops and never tires. The horse riders can race ahead, sleep, water their horses… whatever they wish. But if they stop too long, the Reaper will be upon them.”

Given the creature’s name, Yokïmi had no illusions about what happened when it found them. “Quite a risk. If they survive?”

“All the mounted finishers receive a signature gold mark made for the event. The victor earns a staggering prize said to be worthy of a king. Indeed, kings have been known to compete.”

Seeing both their cups had been reduced, Yokïmi retrieved the sake flask and filled both to a reasonable mark. “Any can enter?”

“The only requirement is a mount. Horses are most common, though my Lord related an amusingly tragic tail of a lad who attempted it on a donkey. It does not end well.”

Shaking her head at the insanity some people would undertake for the sake of riches or pride… or perhaps desperation?... Yokïmi refreshed the taste of the jasmine sake in her mouth before asking, “All of them went?”

“Back when they were all between twenty and twenty-five years of age. Each for their own reasons, which you might be able to guess.” Emiko extended her first finger. “Your Father-in-Narrum went to map the trail.”

“It isn’t secret?”

“Not at all. Not even the layout for the canyon maze. Up until a month before the race, contestants can walk along and study the path. The entire path is then placed off-limits so the obstacles can be built in the arenas. Those are secret. But the participants are not allowed maps on the day of the race. Getting turned around and needing to backtrack has cost more than one person their life. Katashi doubted the renditions he had seen, so he went to create a definitive version, covering all three major routes, where they cross each other, the major natural resources along the way, and so on.”

“Oriato already knew him from before that time. Did he go to help?”

“No. They shared passage on the same ship.” The Geisha stretched out a second finger. “My Lord went to have conversations with the champions and record their impressions.” Her third finger went up. “Dola did not know how to ride in those days. She had no intention of competing in the Chase, but was testing herself in the accompanying tourney.”

“Hm, let me guess, Taharis participated?” Yokïmi felt sure of her guess.

Emiko’s fourth finger popped out. “The Chase is conducted every three years, and he has been there without fail since he was twelve. My Lord once saw his collection of golden survival tokens and dubbed them impressive. The year they met was apparently the first year that Taharis was one of the Stoic.”

Yokïmi showed her curiosity with a raised eyebrow.

“Before each race, the three participants with the most survival tokens are named the Stoic. Each one can claim a boon from the Midmark Deien. They are not directly given. The treasures are hidden on the race path. Anyone can claim them if they have the ability.”

“What can they be?”

“Nearly anything within the Deien’s power to grant. Legends of the race suggest that the ruling Deien has never refused any Stoic his request. Even when one asked for his sister’s hand in marriage, he bribed her with a dowry of such a size that she willingly placed herself in a cage until rescued by one of the champions, joining them on their horse to arrive at the finish line.”

“And ever since, Taharis has been one of the Stoic.”

“Perhaps his greatest claim to fame,” Emiko said with a dip of her chin.

“So, they met. And the rest is history,” Yokïmi said. “Including at one point a raid on a goblin clan. Did he ever mention that?”

“Apologies, no.” Done with her count, Emiko’s hands gathered up her cup. It floated in her grip, held perfectly still as she spoke, showing no urge to fidget or gesture with it. “I’ve no illusions that violence was a part of his wanderings, but never fixated on it. Do you know why they were striking this clan? If there was some strange item to be retrieved or legend that needed to be confirmed? He would have spoken of that, forgetting any protectors surrounding it.”

Sifting quickly through her recollection of the vision, Yokïmi could only shake her head. “Nothing like that. They paid well to bypass the clan’s defenses, but they said nothing of what they expected to find."

The apology remained on Emiko’s face, having nothing else to say.

Issuing a sigh, Yokïmi could think of only one last concern. “Please tell me you know where they are.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say with certainty. Dola was never long parted from her clan, Jallu Samka. Finding them beneath the rain forest canopies will not be easy, but unless you have the magic to find her, it is probably your only chance. Find you way to the Free City of Tadak. They’ve kept a friendly relation with the jungle clans, who migrate past from season to season for trade. If any can guide you to a single clan, you’ll find them there.”

“Will Taharis be easier?”

“I’m afraid not.” Emiko wilted, visibly disappointed by her lack of knowledge. “While he hails from Vyz, even as he aged, he remained an avid traveler. No matter where I sent you, it would be nothing but a false hope.”

Yokïmi edged around the table, cupping a tender hand around the Geisha’s nearest forearm. “None of that regret. You’ve painted a vivid picture.”

“Yet not complete enough to call it a masterpiece of my own.” Emiko turned her hand until she could curl her own fingers in a mirror of Yokïmi’s touch. “Promise me you’ll stay the night. I may dredge other details from the back of my brain.”

Yokïmi allowed her arm to linger in the other woman’s warm grasp, in no rush to withdraw it. “How could I deny such a request from the one who saved me? I’ll try not to be any more of a burden. But I’ll need to be gone with the first light.”

Nodding her acceptance, Emiko didn’t need to ask why. “Do you know where you’ll be going?”

“Back to Atsumae. Will you trust me with the scarab you so neatly filched?”

Her companion smirked, leaving her one arm captive in Yokïmi’s hand while her other settled her cup on the table and retrieved the silver pin from a hidden pocket. She set it spinning on its balance point. “I absconded with it on the assumption you’d make better use of it than his widow.”

“There’s a magical device in Katashi’s tower that will show me its history. Along with the one I found hooked to my Farrum on his death bed, they may provide a deeper understanding of what’s going on.”

“Hm, I hope you’re right.” Emiko angled her free hand back toward the courtyard beyond the walls. “If you won’t refuse the charity, I’ll provide you with a horse and a pair of saddlebags. It’ll cut your journey in half, even if you need to divert off the road for anyone you hear coming.”

“And give me a place to tuck this bauble way so I don’t have to carry it across the entire breadth of Hu’na’la.” Yokïmi wasn’t sure what to say.

“If your suspicions are justified, then my Lord was murdered. See an end to his killer, and I’ll consider all my kindnesses well repaid.” Emiko gave her arm a squeeze to punctuate the sentiment. The connection drew a tilt of her head. “Is your Body Sheath yet active?”

“Mmm? Oh, I guess it is.” She reached to deactivate it.

“May I?” She waited until Yokïmi rolled her arm to expose the spot with the diamond implant in invitation. “I saw you do it before. Let me see if I can get this right.” She tapped the spot.

The thin barrier between their linked arms faded. The difference wasn’t much, for the magic was meant to allow harmless contact through. Anyone else might never have noticed, but the Geisha had intimate knowledge of the spell herself. When the effect was gone, her fingers stirred along her companion’s arm, sampling her crystal flesh. “Strangely smooth yet still skin.”

The gooseflesh that rose along her arm was nigh-invisible, as the tiny bumps were as clear as the rest of her. Deflecting from the sensations that shivered along her spine, Yokïmi asked, “Can you cast it yourself?”

“No. I’m afraid the magic I command is of a different nature.” She tucked her legs in under kimono and rose to her feet in a smooth, fluid motion. “Would you like to see how I summon it?”

Beyond curious, Yokïmi didn’t place any weight on her linked hand. Her training made her perfectly capable of following the Geisha’s example. They fell into step beside each other, though she allowed herself to be led up the garden steps and down one of the corridors to a door at one corner of the square-shaped residence.

Only then did Emiko relinquish her arm as she eased open the shoji door. She nudged off her slippers and glided onto the inner mats with her stocking-covered feet. “Welcome to the sanctum for my art.”

Yokïmi’s Farrum had mentioned the woman’s abilities only once, leaving much unsaid and thus to her imagination. She absorbed the details with the rapt fascination of one who had long wondered and clearly been mistaken about her preconceptions.

There was a clear centerpiece to the room, lit from four different angles by mounted disks shedding directional light. Conjured by magic, the light was soft yet constant, each a slightly different hue to ensure a blend of shadows that Emiko could employ during her dance.

The apparatus itself was unlike anything Yokïmi had ever seen. Crafted of polished copper, it resembled an elongated ovals standing on its end, welded to the floor for stability.

Rather than heading for those, Emiko padded to one side of the room where there was a trio of low cabinets. They were designed to be unassuming, meant to be ignored in favor of the centerpiece. Atop one was a decorative bowl made of porcelain, with dark paint depicting magical runes glazed onto the surface. A large pewter decanter stood beside it, from which the Geisha poured a generous stream of water into the waiting bowl.

As she finished the task, Yokïmi scanned the remainder of the room. Decorative vases adorned all the wooden posts, each one bearing sprigs of white flower blossoms. Exactly where she expected to see a viewing position, there was a set of four lounge seats. They couldn’t be called chairs, as they didn’t have legs. The backs, arms, and seats were bolted to the ground to provide proper support. Their wicker construction was made more comfortable by the pillows propped into them. They were staggered in their arrangement.

“My Lord Oriato knew I would wish to make the activation simple, something I could blend into the evening of a performance,” Emiko said as she produced a sweeping ladle made of the same coppery metal as the centerpiece.

Her description drew Yokïmi over to her side so she could peer into the lovely bowl. A soft white glow was emanating up through the water, creating an interesting ripple pattern on the ceiling above. The source proved to be a crystal the size of her thumbnail. “Is it a special kind?”

“Merely a chip off a quartz formation that grows just outside of town.” She tugged open the top drawer of the middle cabinet. In a wooden compartment within, there were a half-dozen more chips. “Each one is exhausted after two or three uses. Venturing out to acquire more is an inconvenience, but my Lord did not wish to burden me with a crippling expense.” She brought the ladle to her lips, making the simple movement into physical poetry. A brief wash of white radiance spread from her lips, over her face and neck, then out of sight as it passed beneath her kimono.

“What a lovely way to bring it to life.” Yokïmi skimmed a fingertip along the bowl’s porcelain rim. “Can the spell markings be changed?”

“Not without recasting the entire bowl. But I’ve no reason to do so. He took such care in the first crafting that I’ve never wished for anything else. Has it failed you in some way?”

“The opposite, though I’ve had ideas on what I might wish to change if my life of adventure is going to continue.” Yokïmi sighed. “A moot point, I’m afraid. The book with my Farrum’s variation was stolen by the one who killed him.”

“Another similarity between the two,” Emiko noted.

“Items were taken?”

“Quite a few. Though not much of value. His magic chambers were untouched, as were the family safes.”

Yokïmi didn’t even try to hide her confusion. “How strange. None of that mattered with Katashi. I dare say his valuables were concealed behind wards every bit as powerful as the ones I felt in Oriato’s home. He had far fewer people coming and going in his private areas. Your Lord had to account for his entire family. Guards. Servants who live there. If anything, shouldn’t it have been more vulnerable?” The litany of thoughts and facts prodded at her for some reason. Then suddenly, an idea struck. “Hold on. Didn’t I hear you say that when Oriato returned home, he went immediately to bed?”

“Such was the word I was given. Unnaturally tired, they called him.”

“As was Katashi. But he fought through the call of his bed to refresh the protections around his home. He was stripping away the permissions for a banished apprentice to enter. Which means he probably touched on everything. His casting chambers. Any stashes of wealth, even those he hadn’t entrusted to them for fear they might have snuck a way in during the time they were there.”

Emiko gestured helplessly. “What are you suggesting?”

“What if their very presence was carving a hole in their defenses?” She stabbed a finger back to where they had left the scarab pin in the garden. “That could be the weapon used to murder them both.” She clenched the hand. “I need to get it back to the memory cage.”

The declaration led them back to where they had been before, with Yokïmi already having insisted that she had to leave at first light. Emiko placed a kind hand on her shoulder. “You may have the right of it. But torturing yourself over it will not make the answers come any faster.” Dipping lower, the Geisha opened another of the drawers. She took out a thin tome and laid it beside the bowl. “When you leave, take this with you.”

Yokïmi gasped. “The origin of the spell?”

“Without Katashi’s amendments, but it gives you a place to start.”

“Emiko, I’m not sure –”

Once more, the Geisha’s hand fell upon her companion’s arm, this time gentle in an effort to stop her argument. “You are on the path to change. Which of us is more likely to need it?”

Yokïmi’s impulse to resist the offer crumbled as quickly as it had arisen. Her other hand covered Emiko’s. “I guess I should simply say ‘thank you’. It’s a precious gift. I don’t have the magical knowledge to even think of altering a spell this complex, but the time will come.” She squeezed her companion’s fingers. “You’re sure?”

“Use the magic for your dreams. I’ll be using it to dance.” Her smile was content. “For me, that’s all I want.”

It was unimaginable to offer anything less than sincerity, so Yokïmi admitted, “I’ve yearned to see it since Katashi told me of it. I was sure I’d never seen the like.”

“Would you like to?”

Yokïmi’ eyes darted in temptation to the centerpiece, a flicker of imagination placing the Geisha’s lithe body upon it. “Are you…?” She faltered, unsure how to put her question into words. She owes me nothing. Precisely the opposite. And… Her mouth felt suddenly dry. Can I survive the torment of seeing her without being with her?

Emiko rotated to face her more directly, their joined hands determining the space left between them. “I’m sure.” A knowing smile lurked behind her lips, the same gentle amusement dancing behind her dark eyes along with… something else. A heat that made Yokïmi’s heart skip in its natural beat. “Since this is your first experience in the Floating World, I may need to take precautions.”

“Precautions?”

“Mm hm.” With the lightest of pressure, Emiko shifted them toward the wicker seats. Though her training would have allowed Yokïmi to effortlessly break any lock on her wrist, there was no doubt that it was the Geisha who was controlling the dancelike steps. Nor was there any chance that Yokïmi wouldn’t follow. The Geisha’s legs folded under her kimono, dropping into a deep curtsy and eventually all the way to her knees.

Yokïmi went with her. Sensing that one of the chairs was to be her place, she didn’t fight it. Emiko selected the one furthest back in the cluster, and Yokïmi rolled back onto her bare behind and sank into the plush cushion. The back of the chair lounged at a steep angle, meant for indolent relaxation while watching the Geisha’s performance.

Taking her seat required her to unclasp their joined hands. Emiko allowed her to part with a final, sublime brush of her fingertips on Yokïmi’s wrist. The Geisha held her palm aloft, a silent command for her audience of one to stay in place. Her gaze turned playfully stern, as if adding ‘whatever the provocation.’

With her warning delivered, Emiko’s hands went to her obi. With deft movements replicated countless times, she unraveled the wide belt from about her midriff. Once it was draped over her arm, she skimmed on her knees around the wicker chair with an ease any martial artist would admire.

Yokïmi wondered at her purpose until she felt her wrist being captured by silken fabric. The obi was being woven through the openings in the wicker, snaring both of her lower arms and pinning them to the chair’s sides. Her breath came a little deeper as she suppressed the instinct to escape, allowing herself to be tied in place. “Is this a normal part of the show?”

Emiko leaned in over her shoulder and whispered into her ear. “Only for those who I suspect might not behave.”

The emphasis on the last word caused Yokïmi to shiver again. Or it might have been the other woman’s warm breath washing over her skin. She couldn’t be sure.

Appearing again in front, Emiko rose to her feet. She fell into a respectful curtsy, bowing her chin as deeply as she would for any Lord. There was no doubt that this marked the true beginning of her process. Her movements had always been graceful, but now they took on the rote perfection that came from deliberate craftsmanship and thousands of hours of practice.

Her hands opened one side of her kimono, then the other. She extended her arms with the refined elegance of a swan, then lowered them so that the outer garment spilled off her limbs.

The motion left her in nothing but a long under-dress. Yokïmi had caught hint of the rose-red color of its high collar where it showed past the black of her outer kimono. Now fully revealed, she could see that it hugged the Geisha’s body like a poured liquid unwilling to continue its flow, jealously guarding her modesty from others.

Running her fingertips from just above her hips along the center of her body, then up between her breasts, she found the lowest of the golden buttons that held the dress closed. Edging higher, the next button followed. And another. With each one, the window grew wider. Though she was not a buxom woman, the swells of her flesh beneath were enough to press the fabric wider. Soon, the strain fell upon the last button at her neck.

With exact timing, Emiko swiveled on the balls of her feet, turning away at the precise moment her finger flicked apart that last clasp. The fabric fell, but she caught it as it slipped past her shoulders. Holding it to her breasts, the material along her back made it a bit farther, revealing the lean, sexy muscles down to her lower back. She peered back over her shoulder, as if checking to make sure her audience was paying proper attention.

Yokïmi wasn’t sure if she had breathed since the moment the unveiling had begun. Any doubt regarding the wisdom of her restraints went away, for her arms flexed involuntarily, making the wicker creak and stretch in the quiet air.

“Ready?” Emiko asked in a breathy whisper.

“No,” Yokïmi said as longing crept into her core. She squirmed upon the pillow, rubbing one thigh against the other in a futile effort to satisfy the growing ache.

“That was the right answer.” The Geisha released her grasp, allowing the garment to slide down and pool on the ground. The red fabric seemed to cradle every curve as it went, only reluctantly giving up the woman’s secrets.

Yokïmi pored over every inch of her exquisite figure. There was no sign of small clothes to guard the woman’s modesty, nor prevent Yokïmi from appreciating the heart shape of the Geisha’s flawless behind. Only the white silk of her kitten-stitched stockings remained; the upper hem was coiled about her mid-thighs, while the translucent material covered down to her feet, melding perfectly to her legs and leaving nothing as a mystery.

It took Emiko five spiraling steps to reach her apparatus. Along the journey, she faced her rapt audience twice. Each time, her hands conspired to prevent Yokïmi from seeing anything scandalous, though the Geisha was well beyond any normal state of propriety. Not until she came to a stop did she relent in the teasing. Her right arm swept high, coming to a rest against the outer curve of the oval. Her left arm extended into the air, striking a pose that invited her admirer to do precisely that one last time before she mounted the centerpiece. One leg remained pillar straight while the other curved into a delicate arch, her pointed toes alighted on the floor.

The simple positioning was a declaration. All her flirtatious pretentions of modesty now evaporated. Her breasts hung in full view, their firm shape natural and yet prevented from swaying very far by the magic of the Body Sheath surrounding her. The petals of her sex peeked out past the precisely-trimmed fuzz she had left to accent her intimate area to best effect.

Emiko seemed to soak in the fixation of her new devotee, reveling in how blinking suddenly became an inconvenience for Yokïmi, who was suddenly wishing her crystalline eyelids could be truly transparent so she could stare at the Geisha without any interruption.

“Thunder of Snow Falling,” the Geisha called out. From an unseen part of the room, music came to life. Believing there were no hidden players just beyond the paper walls, a trick she had seen her father pull during social gatherings to create the same illusion, Yokïmi assumed it was magic responding to her call. The piece was a familiar one she had played upon her harp. It was far more impactful with a pair of shamisen accompanied by a shakuhachi flute and a poignant beat upon taiko drums to keep the pace. The name of the piece gave away the secret to its purpose of finding grand meaning during moments of introspection and stillness. The notes ebbed and flowed with stately grace, the intricacy compelling in every moment yet in no hurry to reach its crescendo.

Emiko’s dance reflected that same pattern. Each movement was precise, executed in time with the pounding beat, then held as if to both prove none of the exotic poses were causing her any distress while giving time for her audience to appreciate the lines her body was sculpting.

Gripping the oval at two anchor points, Emiko mounted the structure. With a display of slow, dynamic power that would make most acrobats proud, she lifted her feet off the ground. Suspended by arms alone, she split her legs, stretching one high while the other trailed low. If she did nothing else, the display of flexibility alone would have had Yokïmi gasp.

Twisting on her palms, the Geisha spun about the metal shaft until she entered the oval shape. Once inside, she began an acrobatic display that defied Yokïmi’s imagination. She all but danced along the smooth, copper curve. In one moment, she was executing a gymnastic spiral that seemed impossible. In the next, she held herself in elegant positions that showed perfect control while highlighting the flawless lines of her body. At times her legs were split as she hung suspended from the upper bar. Seconds later, she would whip about with breathtaking speed, then catching herself anf striking another artistic pose.

With smooth grace, she unfurled her limbs from around the structure and dismounted. She did it in perfect time to the dramatic flourish at the end of the musical piece. She arched her back and struck a final pose with her arms wide as the last, triumphant notes wafted over the room. Her legs were spread wide. Pride and determination were fixed on her face. The deeper rise and fall of her breasts suggested the toll the routine was taking on her, but she didn’t waver.

As the music wended its way through a final, lingering chord, she flowed through an elegant bow. In her naked state, a traditional curtsy would have looked awkward. Instead, she folded into a position that resembled a swan, her arms flung wide while her chin dipped low, her eyes downcast demurely. When she recovered, she touched her lips to her fingers before extending her palm out, as if casting a kiss to her audience.

Her right arm flowed back around her breasts, concealing as much as she could while going to one knee. The other leg folded inward to protect her intimate area from view, recapturing her modesty as a definitive end to the performance, though she remained very much on display. Her eyes remained low, not daring to meet Yokïmi’s appreciative gaze. It was a position no doubt expected by her patrons who were her normal audience.

That didn’t last long. Her gaze flickered up to meet the nigh-unblinking gaze of the woman watching her. “I’ve several other routines, but the music for this one makes it a favorite.”

“Ai ya, Emiko, I’ve… no words at all.” If she had the freedom to check her self-status, Yokïmi was sure an Enchanted tag would be hovering above her head. She’d never seen an athletic display, set to music and melded so perfectly with a lovely form. Her desire harkened back to the same emotions stirred up by Nua, the golden-statue-dancer who had been her first lover. She, too, had sculpted her body into a living work of art. Emiko was drawing her in with a similar magic, and Yokïmi was helpless to resist it.

“Hm, being struck speechless is a finer compliment than any poetry you might create.” Mischievous intent played across her expression. “I’ve other Talents and Skills I’ve been dying to practise. Alas, I so rarely have an audience of the right sort. They may not be quite so refined, but I assure you… you would enjoy them.”

“I…” Clear thoughts were difficult in forming. It was a novel experience for Yokïmi, far more used to her mind responding as sharply as her body to her demands upon it. But the simmering heat in Emiko’s eyes had her writhing inside, unable to give voice to what she wanted. A few shaky words were the best she could conjure. “… show me.”

Another of her far-too-knowing smiles graced the Geisha’s lips. “Will you do as I ask?”

“Mm hm.”

“Then close your eyes.”

Yokïmi’s first impulse was resistance, partially in response to the added vulnerability it would bring her, but also from a simple desire to not miss a moment of the Geisha’s presence. As her every gesture was art, the idea of missing any of them might spoil the memory of an evening she was sure to cherish.

Desire washed that impulse away. Far more compelling were the possibilities of what Emiko might do if she was extended the very trust that Yokïmi had professed. And so, she obeyed, letting her eyelids sink shut and turned her whole awareness to her other senses.

She had the impression that Emiko did not come directly toward her. The purpose for that diversion was soon revealed. Emiko’s tender hands curled around Yokïmi’s right ankle, then caressed upward to her knee. Following her exploration by feel alone made the tingles of delight even more intense. She felt those hands take the slender weight of her right leg and ease it sideways until it touched the wicker chair slightly ahead and further to the right.

A small gasp escaped her when she felt silken straps being wrapped about her lower leg. The Geisha knew her business, winding the soft, wide bands up and down so that the limb was completely immobilized without cinching too tightly on any circle of skin.

Gifting her a final caress, Emiko’s hands wandered to her companion’s left ankle, sliding it outward to bind it to the wicker chair on the opposite side. A light brush of air wafted over the delicate folds of her sex, reminding her she could not be more exposed. She could sense the heat from Emiko’s body, nestled between her spread thighs.

Yokïmi eyes fluttered open. The other woman was right there, gazing back at her, as if measuring who long it would take before the temptation to see became too much. “Your Skill at tying knots is certainly advanced.”

“With anything you can name. Ropes. Sashes.” Emiko swayed forward. “Tongues.” Her head tilted and her velvety lips melded against her new lover’s own. Her tongue stole inward to slide over Yokïmi’s. The fingernails of one hand raked lightly along her thigh, ending just short of where she wanted them to go.

Subconsciously, she tugged at the silken bindings around her arms, a whimper trembling off her lips when she found herself unable to get free.

Breaking their intense kiss, Emiko brushed her cheek along Yokïmi’s, bringing her mouth into range of her ear. She whispered, “Mm, not quite yet.” She sucked her lover’s earlobe between her lips until she brought forth a moan, then licked lightly over the bundle of nerves right below before murmuring, “I need you right where you are for now.”

The Geisha’s teasing fingers continued to spiral around and around without actually landing where Yokïmi wished them to be. Aching for more, she gasped out a ragged little laugh. “Whatever you want, evil woman, you’ll never make me talk.”

Emiko leaned back to support her weight with her legs alone, then raked the fingers of her upper hand along her lover’s clear flesh, down from her neck to the valley between her breasts. “Oh no? But I already feel your heart beating so very fast. Are you enjoying my sweet torment? Wondering what will come next?” Her palm glided sideways, up the curve of Yokïmi’s right breast and capturing it in a warm embrace. In the same breath, she dipped her longest finger into her slit, finding the pearl at its crest.

“Mmm,” Yokïmi moaned, shifting her hips in an effort to grind herself against that touch.

“Why would I need you to speak when I can evoke noises like that?” Emiko’s changed from merely cuddling the breast in her hand to squeezing it in a gentle, rhythmic massage. The finger delving into Yokïmi’s dripping wet sex stroked over her clit in a down and up cycle intended to spike her lust higher. Emiko’s other fingers framed the central one, caressed the clear skin to either side, suggesting they too might also get involved in the giving of pleasure… yet still taking their time, a maddening reminder that Yokïmi could do nothing to provoke them into joining any faster.

Straining against her silk bindings once more, Yokïmi’s head rolled in mounting sexual frustration. Her toes clenched then unfurled as her desire waxed and waned under the Geisha’s tender, wonderful, yet wicked control. She couldn’t imagine wanting anything so badly as to have those fingers go further. To do more.

Emiko went one step beyond, reading what her new lover truly needed. She lifted her fingers from Yokïmi’s sex, obviously enjoying the moan of disappointment that provoked. With exaggerated sensuality, she slipped her two middle fingers between her lips. Suckling on them until wet and ready, she returned them to Yokïmi’s heat. The tips pierced into her without resistance. Yokïmi did everything she could to spread herself, welcoming the sensation of being stroked on the inside by Emiko’s earnest fingers. Even as the Geisha began a lovely, pulsing pace, the pad of her thumb swirled about Yokïmi’s clit, playing her lust with all the talent that she herself played the harp.

Tied as she was, with nothing else to be done, Yokïmi surrendered herself to the moment. She hissed as sudden, fierce tingles erupted along her scalp as Emiko wove her fingers through the clear strands of her hair and tugged backward, baring Yokïmi’s throat. The Geisha leaned in, blazing hot kisses along her neck as her fingers stirred Yokïmi’s lust right over the ledge of orgasm. The crystalline-skinned woman’s fingers and toes spasmed opened and closed as she rode the waves of pleasure.

“Harder,” Yokïmi whispered urgently.

Emiko issued a breathy laugh. “Say please.”

“Please!”

“Mmm, that sounded like you meant it.” The Geisha gave her what she wanted. The thrusts of her fingers went from being delicate and talented to being firm and demanding.

Yokïmi disintegrated into another shattering climax. Her thighs tensed so hard that they quivered as she used her soles to press her hips off the ground, rocking in a desperate need to fuck herself harder on Emiko’s hand. Nothing else mattered as the vigorously lewd smacks of wet flesh on flesh filled the chamber, and Yokïmi was consumed by the glorious, shining light of bliss.

When the world returned, she found her heart beating hard enough that it might erupt from her chest. Finding that Emiko had shifted her upper hand from her hair and down to her breast, she happily pushed her mound into Emiko’s warm palm. The other woman’s tender cupping into her flesh prolonged the final ripples of pleasure, yet also served to ease her back into sanity. At last, she collapsed back to her behind.

Emiko didn’t let her rest long. Prowling up Yokïmi’s restrained body, she tucked her sculpted legs over the low back of the wicker chair, and thus over her captive lover’s arms. That bent Yokïmi’s head back until it rested against the rounded, cushioned top of the chair, her face now straddled by Emiko’s thighs. With a sigh of pure satisfaction, the Geisha settled her netherlips against Yokïmi’s mouth. “Slide out your crystal tongue. I’d love to see if it feels as perfect as the rest of you.”

Still halfway shattered by her recent release, Yokïmi obeyed without question. She spared a kiss on the other woman’s sex before sliding her tongue between her folds. Tasting her cream already starting to flow, she moaned against the Geisha’s flesh, hoping Emiko would feel the humming vibration in it.

She responded in the best of ways, issuing a soft whisper of wordless pleasure, running her fingers through Yokïmi’s hair. Her fingers clutched to her head in a tender but firm demand to keep that mouth on her.

Yokïmi didn’t disappoint her. Swirling the tip of her tongue deeper and deeper, she sought to sip her lover’s nectar directly from the source.

“Not the first time you’ve done this, is it?” Emiko emitted a delightfully sensual laugh, utterly unabashed about enjoying sex. One of her hands left the tangle of Yokïmi’s hair and glided down to dance around her own clit. “Let’s see if we can quench that thirst of yours, hmm?”

Her fingers spiraled around her pearl. Her voice became breathier as she teased her pleasure higher, but she never stopped enchanting Yokïmi by reminding her of the most compelling elements of the moment. “Can you feel my thighs on your cheeks? I can see you there trapped between them. If I squeeze like this, it gathers your lips against me that much better. Mmm, isn’t that lovely. Sliding your tongue that much further inside. Don’t stop. Show me how much you want to taste me.”

Once again, Yokïmi obeyed, for it was exactly what she did want. As much as she wanted to drink of the other woman’s release, she was already drinking in the incredible vision of the Geisha looming above her. Pinned as she was, all she could see was Emiko’s flawless skin, from her midriff to her breasts and finally her lust-filled eyes so, so far above, peering down at her with wanton need.

They locked eyes. Yokïmi read Emiko’s desires. She beamed back her willingness to be the instrument of her pleasure. Her tongue thrust in as deeply as she could, melding her piercing licks with the increasingly desperate swirls of the other woman’s fingers on her clit.

Emiko came apart with the beauty of a poem. Suddenly, there was a spurt of sweet juices spilling over Yokïmi’s lips. She jerked against her bonds, wanting to wrap her hands around the Geisha’s legs and grasp her close so she couldn’t escape until Yokïmi had devoured her fill.

She needn’t have worried. Emiko wasn’t going anywhere. With lustful laughter, she wallowed in the experience, grinding her sex against Yokïmi’s mouth as her climax rippled into a lovely aftershock.

When at last her pleasure receded, the Geisha shivered with the memory of the Soul-cleansing release. Her legs stepped back so she could glide down Yokïmi’s body. She ensured her breasts brushed Yokïmi’s glass-clear cheeks, lingering long enough to earn a few kisses on the inner swells of each. Yokïmi gladly provided them, wishing she could stay forever trapped there.

But Emiko went lower, easing down until she was seated in Yokïmi’s lap. Melding against her, breasts pressed against breasts, Emiko stared into her eyes with a mischievous light. “Now, if I let you go, are you going to behave?”

Despite everything they’d done, the lustful fire simmering in Yokïmi’s core hadn’t dimmed. She didn’t need her emotional Curse, willfully radiating her less than pure mindset as she answered, “Not even a little.”

“That… is the right answer.” Emiko let out a bright giggle as she reached over and tugged the ends of the knots binding Yokïmi to the chairs, setting her free to do whatever wickedness came to her mind.

*          *          *

Yokïmi neatly pinched the handle of her teacup with two fingers, raising it to her mouth with all the decorum bestowed upon her by her youthful tutors. It was not a habit she had clung to, but affecting polished manners in Emiko’s garden was… appropriate.

A shoji slid open far enough for the Geisha to step through. She paused to glide it shut behind her, then paced over to the low table and folded herself onto her knees on a cushion. Her kimono was predominantly yellow that morning, with blue flowers patterned through it. Every aspect of the woman was once more meticulously sculpted as it had been the day before. Nothing about the prior evening’s activities had persuaded her to be casual in any fashion around her guest.

As she settled in place, her smile was kind and her greeting nod held a trace of intimate warmth, but it was all under tight control. “I see the servants were their usual efficient selves. What did they provide us today?”

“A porridge with cream, raisins, and almonds as the heart of it.” Yokïmi snapped off a chunk from an apple wedge and munched it between her teeth as proof that there were other complementary items to pick from. She found her own ability to separate the night from the morning slip. “Can I… I don’t know, but I want to say something about last night. How wonderful it was. I never thought I would enjoy…” She was at a loss to go on.

Utterly unembarrassed, Emiko slipped a hand across the table to claim her lover’s. “It is in my nature to seek out what a person needs to release. To find a release that goes beyond the physical. Sometimes, it is a key they prefer to have turned over and over. Occasionally, it is the need for the entirely new.”

“Not sure why that would be. I’m not what you call… very experienced.” A trace of a self-deprecating smile fluttered over her lips. “Everything is at least partly new.”

“Ahh, you see, that offers the best explanation of all. You are searching. An exciting time. A wonderful thing for me.”

“How so?”

A delighted grin threatened to emerge past the Geisha’s control. “Because you’ll embrace what I showed you. How many lovers will you have in the span of your life? It does my heart glad to think on the pleasure I’ll help bring to others when you bring the lovely tricks I showed you into those future beds.”

Yokïmi’s mouth fell open with a soft gasp. “You are a naughty creature through and through, aren’t you?”

“Takes one to know another. I wasn’t the instructor during the whole of the night. Where did you learn that –”

“– Can we… um… not, please? I… I’m not sure I’m ready for such candid conversation.” Yokïmi was caught between the delicious memories of their night’s fun and the well-drilled modesty she’d been taught to safeguard in the light of day, lessons which felt that much closer having already summoned her table manners. “Can we speak instead on a final request I might make?”

Her phrasing gave Emiko an opening to tease her further, but she was polite enough not to take it. “What would that be?”

“You’ve already done so much. I’m hoping this will be in your interest as much as it is in mine. Time is not on my side. Nor is having an abundance of resources. I wish I had both to settle all the debts I owe to people who have wronged me since I was torn from my city.”

Emiko guessed, “You’re speaking of the slave ring?”

“It needs to be disrupted. They were well run, but fragile as well. With the right strength of arms, they could be scattered to the winds. Maybe not destroyed forever, but at least diminished until they can rebuild.”

“You spoke of this ‘Lady Ash’,” the Geisha recalled. “And from your description of the location, I believe I may know where you were taken to be sold. It will not be easy to mount an expedition there. The Eastern Wastes, even the area near Haven, is a lawless place where non-humanoids and monsters are prevalent and none of them feel kindly to Hu’na’la.”

“That might be so, but many of the same people who would hate us there were no doubt victims of this process. Or they had families who were torn apart by it.”

Emiko nodded. “I said it would be difficult, but I will see it done. Even if it takes the last of my influence and wealth granted by Oriato. A fine gift to honor his memory.”

Yokïmi picked up the silver scarab from where it had been left on the table the night before. “Which means I can focus on honoring his passing in a whole different way. By finding the one who killed him.”

“I’ve already passed orders for a horse to be made ready. It will be waiting on your convenience.” Emiko squeezed her crystalline hand warmly. “And if I’ve managed to brighten your perception of this region, perhaps you will come again? So long as I am here, you’ll always have shelter from any storm.”

“I know you are not of a mind to wander,” Yokïmi replied. “But know that if you ever need anything, send word to me. I’ve told you of the allies I have in Atsumae. I’ll do all I can to give them a means to communicate with me. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.” She dipped her chin in a small yet heartfelt bow.

Favoring her with a warm smile, Emiko withdrew her hand, alighting it upon the warming lid for her porridge. She whisked it away and inhaled the pleasant, sugary steam that wafted up. “Now that our vows are spoken, shall we enjoy a final meal?”

The cream of which is not nearly so sweet as that which we shared last night, Yokïmi whispered into her own mind. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say it aloud. From the Geisha’s knowing smile that dawned on her lips, she read the emotions behind it all too clearly. Gentle laughter played between them as they brought their spoons to the meal, sharing the last few hours of each other’s company before the swirl of events in their lives swept them away along far different paths.

Chapter 13

“A visitor to see you, Lord Tahami.” The house servant sank into a sweeping curtsy, as low as she would for the true lord of the family. The entire household staff had learned this was the path of least resistance to prevent the young, third-born son from lashing out during his frequent visits to the family’s primary residence.

“Is that so?” Lahni made no effort to conceal his arrogant smirk. Good. I’ve finally got them properly trained. Would’ve happened faster if I was here full-time. Soon enough, when it’s all mine.

He had to be patient. If his brothers disappeared or died in too tight a sequence, suspicion would be aroused. Fortunately, the eldest would not survive the voyage he was about to take to Midmark. The ship’s captain was under Lahni’s pay and willing to ensure an accident ensued. As for his middle brother, a less-than-reputable shaman had already crafted a magical disease that would eat him alive within the year. It would be delivered through his sibling’s secret paramour, and would only spread when she spread her legs for him. That would keep the pestilence between them, so long as they were as loyal to each other as they both claimed to be. Then… there will only be my father. If I’m lucky, he’ll succumb to his own weakness and grief.

For now, he would have to enjoy the pleasures of authority wherever he could find them. “Who is it?”

“An Esiphonian Cleric trying hard but failing to be mistaken for something else.”

Lahni’s eyebrow ticked higher. “While you were noticing that much, did you happen to notice if she was concealing any items on her? Weapons? Vials of poison?” He smothered a snort at a joke only he would get. He hadn’t bothered to tell his family about using their influence to gain access to Yokïmi, though the subtle revenge the sect of healers used would doubtlessly extend to his whole clan. A few more of them dying at unexpected times will only serve my cause and hide the pattern of my own misdeeds. If his father wasn’t blind to the politics among the non-Narrum religions, he might have cultivated a relationship with the Esiphonian High Cleric could have provided a warning or a chance to force Lahni into making some sort of restitution. As it was, by the time it became important to them, it would be too late.

“She carries nothing,” was the servant’s answer.

“Why would I permit her an audience, then?”

“Shall I send her away?”

Lahni let out a sigh. The problem with intimidation as a tactic is that he couldn’t expect initiative or mental engagement from the staff. They would do what he asked of them. Out of loyalty to the family, they would watch for danger. But not much else.

He turned his own mind to the puzzle. The safer play was to dismiss the visitor without being heard. He could see no positive reason for one of their ilk bothering him. Then again, is this a tacit form of intimidation of their own? Rather than find me at my apartments, they come to me here. A subtle suggestion that they might go to my father and explain what I’ve done? He didn’t really believe that, but he had to know for sure.

Surfacing from his thoughts, he felt no remorse at wasting the servant’s time. It was why such people existed: to wait on his whims. “Show the visitor in.”

She replicated the same deep mark of respect, then departed without another word. Her footsteps pattered down the corridor, returning with a second set echoing along beside her within only a few minutes. The door cracked and the visitor was ushered inside alone.

Left to make her own introductions, the Cleric side-stepped meekly along the far wall, maintaining a cautious distance as if Lahni was a dangerous animal loose in the room. Her mouth worked a few times, but nothing more than a few small squeaks emerged.

Exasperated, Lahni was even less sure what this could be about. Hardly a strong advocate. He spun in his chair and leaned toward the woman aggressively. “Speak. Or leave.”

Washing her hands on her black apron, the woman said, “My name is Yui.”

“Should I care?”

His sharp retort put a touch of starch in the Cleric’s spine. “If you don’t want to be robbed blind, you should care very much!”

Robbed? He hadn’t expected that. The Esiphonians didn’t deal in coin except what they received in donations. Surprised curiosity drew him in. “Mm, a bold declaration. My family’s holdings are well protected.”

“I was speaking of your interests, My Lord. I’m given to understand you have taken advantage of Anja’s stronghold?”

He stiffened. “You’re well informed.”

“His Lordship shouldn’t find that shocking, given his recent history.”

“I’m given to understand your Order makes no use of the many things heard when pulling the injured and dying off the streets.”

Yui clenched her jaw. “True. But I have ambitions beyond my time in the Order. One does not build the coin necessary to escape this life by doing charitable work alone.”

“Ahh. And you take me for a pigeon you can pluck?”

“I take you for a man who’d willingly part with some coin rather than lose far, far more.”

Lahni narrowed his eyes. “Why not go to Anja himself? He could line your pockets even better than me.”

“The Headmistress of my clinic is his lover. Even if he believes me, he might also betray me to her. You’re out of favor. They’d think you are a liar even if you tried.”

He was impressed. She might survive the games she’s decided to play after all. He decided the rogue Cleric needed to be reminded that she didn’t hold all the cards, nor was she quite as clever as she believed. “You realize that I’ve no further need of you.”

Her mouth gaped open. “I… I haven’t told you anything about the robbery!”

“What more do I need? You wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t time for me to act. You obviously want me to keep my mouth shut to Anja. All I need to do is withdraw my valuables from his care. He’ll sputter about how he’s the most trustworthy safehold for private fortunes. I’ll tell him I’ve a new venture to invest in, and that I’ll return my profits to his care.” He tilted his head, sending a challenging stare her way. “So, I’m asking you, why do I need to pay you a single coin?”

Glaring right back, she snipped, “You’ve already cost yourself the good will of my Order. You’re cut off from information they might find, even the kind my Order would normally pass along. I’m your last resource. Can you afford to spurn me?”

Her argument was not as undeniable as she clearly believed it to be. Lahni had knowingly burned his bridge to the Esiphonian Order once. Why not again? Hmm, but all they do is notify families of injured souls they’ve rescued. She’s offering far more. No guarantee, but who’s to know what information she might stumble across?

He leaned back in his chair, affecting a bored look. “Perhaps I can.” He watched as her expression meandered through anger, worry, and significant fear. Coming away empty-handed after risking so much was probably chief among her concerns. Who’s got who in who’s grasp?

Smothering his smirk, he dipped fingers into his coin purse and came up with five gold chips. The sum was a week’s worth of petty spending change for him. To a soon-to-be orphaned Esiphonian Cleric, it would represent the start of her emancipation from her servitude. “Consider this a mark of trust. You will come to me with any further tidbits that you know I’d find interesting, yes?”

She took an unconscious step forward, her hand twitching with the desire to snatch the small coins off the table. “Have no doubt, My Lord.”

He rose. “Stash them well about your person. I’d offer you help to stash them in your silken purse, but I’ve other business to attend to. Knock on the door when you are ready to leave. My servant shall see you out.” He savored the tinge of embarrassed horror that passed over her face in response to his crudity.

Striding to the door leading to his own rooms, he paused, exaggerating his expression to suggest he had just remembered one final threat. “Oh, and be aware, you aren’t the only means by which I gather information. Should I come to find you knew something and withheld it, you’ll find that my form of retribution comes far swifter and more directly than the pitiful version your Order employs.”

Leaving that to sink in, he set off to ensure his treasures were safe.

*          *          *

From outside, Anja’s business appeared nothing more than a second-hand market, where those in need of coin could pawn their belongings and others could rediscover them as fresh treasures. One of the elements which made him so effective as a reservoir for valuables was that his establishment didn’t look like a place where such precious items were kept.

For that reason, among others, neither Anja nor any of his assistants followed Lahni into the streets to plead with him into leaving a fraction of his personal riches behind. All of their arguments had been made inside, and they dared not make a public scene.

Lahni considered the night sky. Clouds were blocking out the stars and three moons. A soft fog choked in the street, rendering the city’s lanterns into hazy pockets struggling to shed enough light for people to find their way.

A dog barked amidst a small scuffle across the street. With the valuables stashed about his person, he was hyper sensitive. He was forced to conduct the retrieval without the benefit of Tahami house guards. He might as well declare the stash of personal wealth to his father.

In this case, his spike of concern faded as rapidly as it had come. Down one of the alleys, he could see two Esiphonian Clerics tending to what looked like a couple drunks huddled atop each other. A stray dog was bouncing about, yapping and distracting them from their duties. He admitted his smirk was born from a petty place, but he welcomed the amusement at their expense. Have fun tending to the dregs of our world.

He gave a brisk nod to the two mercenary guards he’d hired for close protection. Neither flinched from their duties, keeping their focus on the streets around them. Proving yet again that gold is the best motivator, he snorted to himself. Grasping hold of the carriage door, he levered himself inside and flopped into the seat. “Driver! Take Shykan Street to the West Gate, then double back along Higashi Canal until you reach Andikol Way. You’ll find a building with an orange-shaded door. Don’t stop until we’re there. Not for anyone.”

“Understood, My Lord!” the muffled voice from the forward driving deck called through the partition. A whip cracked, and the horses tugged the vehicle into motion.

Having imparted a sense of urgency on his team, Lahni braced himself within the cushions, ready to be shaken as the carriage wheels bounced over the uneven stones of Atsumae’s streets.

The jarring never came. The carriage did rattle into motion, but not at the speed he had expected. Frustration sprang to life inside him. It was not a night for patience. Nor for suffering the inadequacies of fools.

Before he could bark at his driver, a crystalline figure wavered into existence, emerging from behind a screen of invisibility. While the rest of her body was glass, the scathing glare she fixed on him was diamond hard.

“Guards!” Lahni bellowed.

Nothing happened. The carriage continued on its path.

Yokïmi never blinked. “Took more rope than I would have liked to lash them in place at their posts. They’ll wake up. Probably. I tried not to batter your old drivers too badly before leaving them in that alley. They were only hirelings after all. The Esiphonians will tend to them. You’ve already met Yui, our new driver.”

Lahni gnashed his teeth. “That upstart bitch!” He clutched at a pocket sewn into his outfit, trying to extract the rat hair he could use to power a Firebolt spell.

Now Yokïmi moved. With blinding speed, she battered his arm to one side, then sent a thrust kick hammering into his forearm. His wrist and elbow smashed into the wood. As they wedged in place, the two bones inside snapped like twigs.

{-39}

* Crippled: Left Arm – Severe *

Pain exploded in his mind. His focus crumbled and all thoughts of spellcasting was wiped away by a red wall of agony. He dragged his shattered arm against his chest, cradling it close as he sobbed. “Narrum-cursed whore!”

“That’s what you tried to make me, isn’t it? Afraid it didn’t take.” Yokïmi returned to her seat, violent intent lurking right under her surface. Lahni could see it; he could see the hidden tension behind her calm. She was a coiled spring, waiting for him to make another rash attempt before unleashing further pain.

The worst part was, he could feel lust boiling right along his hatred and fear. She was every bit as enticing as the first time he’d met her. Naked before his eyes yet utterly untouchable. To be at her mercy was… intolerable!

Yet it was also undeniable.

“How did you convince these cowards to help you?” he snarled at her.

“Turns out the line in the sand was for a woman to be sold into slavery from one of their clinics. You had them believing you’d killed me. For you, that probably would have been better.”

Gasping through clenched teeth, he demanded, “What do you want?”

“What you stole from me.” Yokïmi’s lip curled slightly. “You can’t give back the time I lost. Nor erase the humiliation I endured.” She stabbed a finger his way. “So you’ll return the so-called ‘tokens’ you took before I strip them off your corpse.”

Never! He wanted to scream it at her with defiance. But he was trembling inside, and he knew the only thing that would come out would be a battered whimper that would sound nothing less than pathetic.

Leaning to one side, he struggled to pry open the pocket with her trinkets. He whipped them at her with all his strength… only to hate himself all the more as she plucked all four out of the air with nimble fingers. “Worthless scrap. Choke on them!” he sputtered.

Yokïmi’s head canted to one side, picking out another detail he had unveiled in his pained squirming. “If it doesn’t hurt to lose these, I’d wonder what’s in that jacket.”

His eyes blazed. “Never thought of you as a dirty thief.”

“I’m usually not. But let’s call this claiming the spoils of war, instead.”

He saw no compromise in her glare. Seething with shame and pain, he wrestled out of the jacket, leaving it to fall on the floor. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“I’d say that makes us even.” The carriage rumbled to a stop. Yokïmi tossed her head at the door. “Run. Before I change my mind. Think long and hard about coming after me. I won’t stay my hand again.”

Collecting his scraps of strength, Lahni lurched to the exit. He braced his shoulder against the door, working the latch open so he could easily smash open the door. It also concealed how his working hand grasped the buckle of belt. He rotated the smooth, ruby ball at its center. “I knew it from the beginning.”

“Knew what?”

“That you would be weak when it really mattered.” Grimacing in determination, he yanked the pellet free and turned to throw it into Yokïmi’s face. He’d be risking his own death in the explosion, but he could fling himself outward. If the vial in his thigh pocket filled with a healing potion survived the impact outside, he stood a good chance of survival… and the crystalline bitch would be fried to a crisp either way.

But when he finished his spin, it wasn’t to face a flatfooted woman unaware she was going to be roasted. His vision was filled by two crystalline feet already lashing out at him. One slammed into his belly while the other smashed his face. The double kicked crushed him against the carriage door… which he unlatched in preparation for his escape.

The wood proved to be no barrier at all. He careened through it. But instead of rough ground against which he would make a bad landing, he found himself soaring past the edge of a bridge. He hit the water in the canal and plunged below the surface. Darkness immediately closed in around him.

A soft crunch was lost behind the splash he made as the explosive crystal imploded in his reflexively tightened grip.

*          *          *

Yokïmi perched at the carriage exit. She watched as a small fireball pulsed into brief existence before being extinguished by the canal water. Churned water burst upward, but the spray didn’t even touch her feet. She swore she saw a blackened body sink out of sight. She doubted Lahni could have kept himself afloat with his busted arm, but the detonation had to have ended him. If he survives that, then he’s under the protection of the gods. I’ll leave him to them.

Leaning out from the driver’s plank, Yui asked, “Did he go under?”

“Yes. He’s gone.” Saying it out loud helped make it real. No regret. He was never going to leave this alone. If it had to end, might as well end with him at the bottom of the canal.

“What now?”

That question was a far simpler one for Yokïmi. Figuring out how to draw Lahni away from his hole with her heron bracelets in hand had been the far harder problem. She mounted the top of the carriage. With first one unconscious guard and then the other, she undid the lashings keeping them in place, shoving them over onto the bridge.

“Earned your pay today, didn’t you?” she quipped down at the mercenary guards. They wouldn’t thank her for the pain, but being hired guards rather than loyal lapdogs to Lahni had been the key reason why she’d taken the chance to leave them alive.

With that done, she turned back to Yui. “Take me to the home of Katashi Saito.”

“The Sage that died?”

“Yes. Drop me off a couple streets from his manse. I’ll find my own way there. You can ditch the carriage where the city watch can find it and return it to the family. We’ll leave them the mystery of deciphering what happened.”

Stooping inside, Yokïmi tore Lahni’s jacket along one of the seams. She had no idea what was in the various pockets. Letting blind fortune dictate what happened, she wrapped the torn fabric into a tight spiral and handed it up to Yui. “A donation from the Tahami family. Enough to soothe your Headmistress’ anger over what Lahni did? To lift the ban on helping the others in his family? I don’t know them, but they might not deserve the stain on their honor.”

“Now that he’s dead? I’ll make sure it’s enough.”

“Can I trust you to look after my horse and belongings until morning?”

“Not expecting a warm welcome?” Yui asked, wondering why she wouldn’t simply stable her animal at the manse.

“If I’m wrong, I’ll send for him immediately. But, no. I’m not.” Winding the second half of the torn jacket into a bundle she could carry, Yokïmi then snapped her anklets and bracelets back into place. She watched with satisfaction as their color bled away and they became glass-clear additions about her skin. “Let’s go. The night isn’t over yet.”

Chapter 14

As soon as Yokïmi approached Katashi’s home, she knew his extended family had arrived. Though it was past midnight, lanterns and candles were glowing inside, and the sound of conversation filtered out. Not amiable or casual. Rather, the voices stabbed out sharply, overlapping as several arguments played out in an effort to carve apart the belongings of a man they all despised but whose possession might enhance their own standing and wealth. The energy behind those conversations suggested the arrival of the family was recent, and the squabbles still fresh.

She had no wish to be a part of that, even on the periphery. At best, they would invite her in as a family friend and then maneuver her as a pawn to support their own viewpoints. At worst, she would be shunned as a magically-distorted outsider and exiled from their midst, thus prevented from accomplishing what she had come to do.

And so, for the third time, her return to Katashi’s manse was done over the garden wall, slinking through a side door, and creeping toward the stairs leading up to the fallen Sage’s tower. The light tingle of the wards along her skin told her that the family had not thought to have them changed.

When she finished her climb, Yokïmi was gratified to see that they hadn’t yet summoned in an outside Wizard to crack the wards on the door. She entered to find everything how she had left it, suggesting none of the other family members had been found worthy of passing through. She resolved to not leave the chamber until she decided upon how to dispense with all the items within. By the time she returned from her hunt, this would all be gone.

She didn’t expect to be interrupted before morning, but there was no guarantee. Wasting no time, she stepped over to the memory cage. With the rest of her belongings at the Esiphonian clinic, the only item she had retained was the silver scarab pin. Holding it in her palm, she inserted her hand into the metal frame and then waited for the magic to activate.

The same buzzing as before hummed through her senses, and the cage dissolved into fog that swirled outward to envelop her in a dome of recalled memory locked into the item.

There was a claustrophobic oppression to the cave that formed around her. The constricted space was more like a series of pockets in the rock which joined together, with jagged protrusions of stone reaching in to further reduce the available dwelling area. Ruddy campfires burned in three of them, the smoke gathering up at the ceiling to escape through a natural chimney, though the smell of ash remained heavy on the air.

Yokïmi couldn’t discern much about the other cave pockets, but a single goblin hunched at the side of this one. Knowing as little as she did about their kind, she could only extrapolate a few specific details: female; young, though in the range considered adult; tattered leather scraps for clothing, typical of goblin attire; and without any marking or flourish to suggest she was an important member of her clan.

“Hm, hm, hmmm, hm hm hm hmmm,” the goblin hummed cheerily, the tune bouncing along with the crackle of the fire rather than to any set tune. Her nimble fingers weaved a bone needle through a scrap of black fabric, crafting a design using a crude grey thread that was just light enough to show up on the background. Yokïmi had the impression that she was rushing through the final steps with a cute eagerness to be done.

Cute? She challenged her own choice of words, but then decided it was the only possible choice. Despite her gap-toothed smile, asymmetric ears, and the mottled green of her skin, the merry energy hovering about the goblin was too sunny for these caves. It made Yokïmi want to coax her onward so she could see the pride of victory that came when the work was complete.

A new figure emerged from the dark. The bubble of the memory cage’s magic puffed around the outline of a second goblin as he slinked out of a nearby tunnel. Yokïmi didn’t restrained her gasp, knowing these apparitions couldn’t hear her.

The male goblin crept in close to the female and croaked softly, “Got somethin’ fer ya, Tnaaf.”

The female didn’t seem startled by him. There was a familiarity in her reaction that spoke of family; his presence was simply too normal for him to ever spook her. She seized the edges of the fabric in her lap and held it up for him to see. “Look look! Dejlik’ll hand o’er a whole deer flank fer dis!”

Yokïmi’s covered her mouth in shock. The design was crude, with blocky curves and far less detail than a master seamstress could create, but the symbol was unmistakable: a scarab beetle. She also realized the two were conversing in goblin speak. The meaning of their words was coming to her as clearly as the yin-riss trade tongue had the last time around.

“Gonna eat all dat before it goes bad?” Plecht waved a dismissive hand.

Tnaaf wilted. “Worked hard on it.”

Seeing that he’d upset her, Plecht sank down next to her. “Bah, jus sayin’ it’s better’n any of dem should get. Yer too good. Should be craftin’ in some human somewhere, sellin’ yer stitches fer real coin.”

She smacked him on the leg. “Nice words comin’ from a brudder don’t mean much. Now don’t be talkin’ down ‘bout the clan. Wrong ears hear ya and we’ll be exiled out inta the forest fer a fortnight. I don’t wanna sleep in no muddy ditch.”

“Won’t hafta put up wit all dat crap much longer,” Plecht muttered.

“Huh?”

He shook off her question, fishing around in his pocket. “Got a shiny fer ya.”

“You do?” Tnaaf brightened, spinning to face him. “Gimme!”

Plecht presented her with a duplicate of the scarab pin that Yokïmi held. The silver shimmered in the firelight. “Filched it off a human merchie.”

“So pretty!” She snatched at it.

But her brother was faster. He snapped it back into his palm.

“Mean!” His sister whined back. “Said it was mine!”

“Ya gotta listen, first.”

“What about?”

Plecht grasped her shoulder with his empty hand and shook her a little, as if to jar her into sensibility. “Know what Dejlik would do if he found silver on ya? Or any of da others?”

She batted his hand away. “Not gonna be dat stupid. Know they’d take it.”

“If yer lucky. Kill you more like.” Her brother revealed the scarab again, pinched between a finger and thumb. “I need ya to make me a promise. Yer gonna take it and bury it in da woods.”

“But I wanna look at it!” Tnaaf protested.

“And ya can whenever ya like. Know da great blue ash tree da clan turned inta a stump last spring?”

“Course I do. Shamans made us chop da damn thing inta splinters fer one of der silly rituals,” Tnaaf snorted.

“Good. Dig a hole fer it dere. No waitin’. Do it before the suns get below da trees,” he pressed.

“I will.” When she saw her brother scowl at her, she protested, “I said I will!” She snatched at the scarab again, and this time he didn’t pull it away. She held it to her heart and issued the tiniest squeal.

Plecht scrunched his eyes in suspicion. “You made da vow.”

“And I won’t be forgettin’, alright?” Tnaaf scowled back.

Measuring her sincerity, her brother grouched under his breath and went back to his tunnel. He fixed a last, long glare her way. “Be gone soon.” Then he vanished into the dark.

Tnaaf rolled her eyes, then brought the scarab up to her eye, inspecting it more closely. “So shiny!” Her grin reversed into a scowl again. “Gonna make me get it dirty. So stupid.” She stewed for a few seconds longer, then clenched her fist around the pin as a new grin spawned. “I know what he’ll thank me fer!”

As she jumped to her feet, the entire scene was leeched of its color, the whole world shifting to a greyscale version of itself. The details of each objected became hazy, breaking apart into mist that reshaped and reformed into something entirely different.

Yokïmi found she had arrived in a different cave. The nature of the rock made it feel like the same underground complex, but there were homey touches that turned a bare cave into a warren for living. Rough blankets were tossed onto the rocks, while rugs nailed to the walls both deadened the echoes and helped trap the heat from the low-burning fire.

A different female goblin was at the fire, tending a crockpot with a thick soup bubbling away inside. Small differences suggested this female was of a higher station in the clan than the two siblings: her clothing fit her stooped frame and didn’t hang in tatters, there was bone-crafted jewelry draped around her neck and wrists, and she even had three copper nose rings, an open display of wealth that few goblins could afford.

“Kegloa!” Tnaaf swooped in from one of two entry tunnels. She scampered to the side of the fire, tucking herself in as close as she could without risking getting smacked in the face as the other goblin continued to prepare the food. “You need ta see dis!”

Goblin facial expressions were not identical to human ones, but Yokïmi was fairly certain that she was reading mostly annoyance in how the other goblin female tensed. Continuing to stir her pot, Kegloa cut right past any friendly greeting. “What is it, Tnaaf?”

“Da reason ya should mate me brudder!” the younger goblin exclaimed.

That brought on a roll of Kegloa’s eyes. “Dis again? Have we not spoke of dis enough? He can’t give me what I want.”

“How ya know till you give him the chance, huh?” Bringing out the scarab, Tnaaf presented it boldly. “See what he got me?”

Against what Yokïmi had seen so far of her nature, the other goblin’s interest rose. She dropped the wooden spoon she’d been using on the food and turned to see it better. “He… gave dat to ya?”

“Betcher ass he did, cause his heart is too big fer dat chest of his.” Pride shone on her face. “Think hard on it. If dis is what he’d snag fer his sister, whadye think he’d poach fer a mate? He’d scratch and claw and steal and kill to see drops o’ silver spillin’ off yer body. Ya didn’t see it before but I told ya dis was in him if ya cared ta look.”

Avarice was alive in Kegloa’s eyes, but she visibly heaved herself back from that ledge. “Bah! He’s naught but a scrawny piddler who’s been sniffing at me backside fer his whole life.”

“Hey! Dat’s not da way ta be talkin’ ‘bout him. He’s more!”

Stooping down from her lofty attitude, Kegloa closed her hands over the other goblin’s. In a mark of what read to Yokïmi as sympathy, she made no effort to steal the scarab, instead closing Tnaaf’s fingers around it like it was a talisman that would help her endure the brutal truth she was about to hear. “Tnaaf, da rumors are true. Ya know it in yer heart. Yer loyal ta think well o’ him, but he don’t deserve it. His first raid, he hid in da trees.”

“He was barely more’n a stripling when dey took him out!”

Not arguing, Kegloa added, “When dey opened dat mine in da lower halls, he refused ta crawl inta dat hole and see if it was worth diggin’ more.”

Tears watered Tnaaf’s eyes. “Smelled bad in dere, he said. Smelled o’ rotten eggs from da yellow vapors. Told dem all and saved dem all from dyin’ on da fumes!”

Again, the other goblin didn’t quibble, shifting to a different story. “Not more’n a week past, he skipped durin’ a town raid. Wasn’t da first time he did it, neither. Gone from start ta finish, not a word ta da raid leader and not a coin ta show he’d been doin’ anythin’ but hidin’ in a hole.”

‘Ain’t true,” Tnaaf snarled back, but she didn’t have any excuse to offer this time around. “His belly ain’t yellow, I’m tellin’ ya!”

“But da clan all thinks it is. I can’t –”

The wall beyond the fire exploded inward. Rock shrapnel scattered over them. By pure chance, the blast caught Kegloa more than it did Tnaaf. She was peppered with dozens of stone chunks, sailing fast enough to whistle as they cut the air. Two larger blocks cracked into her, breaking bones in her arm and leg.

[-40]  [-32]

* Crippled: Right Arm – Moderate *

* Crippled: Right Leg – Moderate *

* Stunned *

As Kegloa spun away and curled into a protective ball, Tnaaf tucked and rolled in the opposite direction. A couple small rocks skipped off her back, leaving behind bruises and ruining her balance. She crashed into the cave wall with a heavy thump.

[-15]  [-13]  [-18]

* Off Balance *

Wobbly from the impact, she scrambled behind a rock outcropping. Sucking in fearful breaths, she peeked out to see what was happening.

Yokïmi was no less entranced, though lacking the physical danger, hers was a far more intellectual interest. When Taharis strode through the passage blasted through the stone, her surprise was muted due to what she had seen in the previous vision and from anticipating that there had to be some connection.

Without hesitation, the Vyzian noble lunged across the cave. His longsword pierced Kegloa’s head and dug a fingerwidth into the stone wall.

(-21)

* Dead *

He didn’t seem concerned with the edge of his weapon. He yanked the blade free and turned away before the goblin’s corpse flopped to the ground. “One down. Probably about a thousand to go.”

Dola hissed. “These rats can’t hide in their maze. Not when we’ve got the map. Where next?”

Oriato and Katashi entered in the wake of the two Warriors, getting their bearings. It was Katashi who held the map. He rotated it left, then pointed at one of the exits. “That way. If we strike the Shaman’s den first, we take away the only magic they have while we’re still strong.”

Finishing a spell, Oriato’s eyes took on a faraway look. “None of them in the corridor. If we move fast, we can take them by surprise.”

They moved well together, never getting in each other’s way. In the same moment that she was impressed, Yokïmi was desperate to hear some sort of remorse creep into their tones. Kegloa had been alive seconds earlier. The prattle of the two goblins talking about arranging mates had been… benign. To have Kegloa lying dead on the cold stone floor was so sudden a change that Yokïmi was having a hard time adapting. The harsh practicality of the adventurers made it worse. That’s not what they are from this memory’s point of view. For Tnaaf and the rest of these goblins, the four of them are reavers.

She was dragged from her contemplation as the young goblin female stole away from the cave. The memory was linked to the scarab. Katashi and the others advanced one way. Tnaaf wisely fled in the opposite direction, tugging Yokïmi’s viewpoint along with her. The small goblin was breathing frantically around her sobs. Even if she had the bravery to call out a warning, she might not have been able to draw in enough air for a proper yell.

Off in the distance, other cries of alarm echoed back at them. There was a terrible sound of scorching fire sucking the air through the tunnels to feed it. Screams of pain followed. When Tnaaf peeked around a corner, she saw a goblin lit up like a torch rush by. Black smoke and the reek of burned flesh rolled over her and left both her and her invisible watcher gagging.

Trembling in fear, Tnaaf babbled a few times almost too low to hear. “Not gonna let dem have it. Not gonna let dem have it.” She darted into a tiny side cavern.

The small space had no purpose, left over from the warren’s construction. One day, the clan might have used it as a launching off point for a new tunnel system. That would never happen now. Yokïmi knew it. She knew Katashi and his team walked away, which meant the clan was about to be destroyed.

Tnaaf knew what she was looking for. The rock floor of the tunnel system gave way to sand. She scooted into the darkest corner. Scooping heaps of sand with her bare fingers, she created a pit deep enough that the scarab wouldn’t be easily discovered.

With hurried sweeps, the goblin covered her silver pin. A few of her tears dampened the sand before she turned and fled back out into the tunnels.

Color bled away from the scene again. This time, though the cavern walls grew insubstantial, the setting didn’t shift. Yokïmi had the sense of time passing. Flickers of bats fluttering in to nest or mice scurrying in looking for food came and went, leaving tracks and tidbits of food rotting in the sand as the only proof of their passing.

Definition returned as shadows cast from a torch illuminated the cave again. Tnaaf returned, though this time she was creeping through the goblin warren as if it was haunted by the ghosts of her clan. She padded across the sandy floor, her narrowed eye searching the corners as if trying to remember which she had used as a hiding spot.

In many ways, Yokïmi could tell this was not the same goblin who had fled in panic in the previous scene. At least a decade of age had fully matured her, and it was clear those had been hard years. Her body was both emaciated from poor feeding yet hardened like leather under a baking sun. The cute youth she’d been had evolved into this fierce creature. One of her ears was sliced off halfway down. The last finger on each hand was missing. One eye was gone, the gap filled with what looked like a smooth, brown stone. She had survived, but it was clear that staying alive had cost her something inside.

Tnaaf fell to her knees in the right spot. With reverent scoops, she unearthed the scarab pin and drew it out of the sand. A sniff echoed off the walls as a few tears ran down her cheeks. “Told you I wouldn’t lose it, brudder.”

Her fingers clenched around the silver as her whispered voice turned ugly. “Gonna find dem. Gonna kill dem fer what dey done. Eat dere hearts and feed dem ta whate’er hell dere god has waitin’ fer dem. Promised ya I wouldn’t lose yer gift, brudder. Now I promise I’ll kill them fer killin’ ya.”

With that vow made, she shoved the pin into her pocket.

The scene greyed out, and this time the setting fuzzed to mark a change in both time and place, finally settling on the next point when the history of the scarab became relevant.

The jumps were not abrupt enough to cause Yokïmi any nausea, but she experienced some disorientation as she tried to place herself in the world as the details became firm. They were in a ruined town, with architecture that was definitely not Hu’na’laan, and not matching to any culture she had studied in her youth. The civilization had been dead long enough for the forest to reclaim nearly all of the buildings. Bushes and trees had burst through even the stonework, while vines and moss clung to every surface.

Tnaaf snuck along the town’s streets which had become more akin to forest trails. She peeked around corners with the caution of a thief making her way through a populated, thriving city, expecting to be noticed and arrested by the local guards.

Yokïmi realized why a few moments later. A zombified relic of the people who once lived there shambled out from around one half-collapsed building. The man’s rotted, dead eyes stared directly forward, but a hunting shadow grew out of its stooped back. The incorporeal’s amber eyes burned hot as it twisted left and right, tirelessly hunting for anything foolish enough to enter the ruin.

Ducking low, Tnaaf bided her time until the undead horror was well gone. She scooted along another alley, then yelped in terror as another of the shadow-zombies appeared. This time, she wasn’t fast enough to evade its notice. The shade portion shrieked in anger, goading the zombie it infested to stumble toward her with as much speed as its desiccated legs could generate.

The noise served to summon other creatures as well. Squawking in fright, Tnaaf darted away, but she went deeper into the maze of the ruin rather than sprinting for its edge. Desperation drove her as she cut down one street after another, trying to lose her undead pursuers but really only picking up more on her trail. Yokïmi had no idea what she was hunting for, but it was clear the goblin did.

They were in a section that was more crumbled that most when she found what she wanted. Yokïmi guessed this would have been a dilapidated area, inhabited by the poor of the city. The lanes were twisted, broken, and narrow, crisscrossed by gaps that hardly qualified as alleys. Amidst the overgrown rubble, a single structure remained intact. Four pillars supported an overhanging roof. In the center of the stone platform that served as the base, a blocky altar of pure white marble dominated the space. The entire structure was entirely untouched by the encroaching greenery.

Upon it, a black candle was ensconced in a bronze holder. Crimson runes coiled around the shaft, embedded right into the wax. From the wick, a bright red flame burned strong and pure, not fluttering at all from the frequent breezes that washed through the ruin.

Tnaaf reached the clean-swept base and scrambled onto it. She scampered away from the side as the undead hunters closed in.

As soon as her last limb was inside the outline of the pillars, it was as if the creatures became blind to her. Their snarls turned to moans of displeasure. Their burning eyes began to search once more, eventually leading their zombie hosts off to hunt down the intruder they had lost.

As her terrified breaths came back under control, Tnaaf rotated onto all fours and crawled closer to the altar. Fear became awe as she folded herself onto her knees and gazed up at the strong, steady candle burning in the dusky light. She whispered, “Myrmida, hear my need.”

The candle flame flickered.

In the space between one heartbeat and the next, a figure appeared on the altar. Leanly masculine in shape, and of a size to match most humans, the creature lounged on his side, head propped up by one hand supported by his elbow. His attitude might have been indolent, except there was a sharp intelligence to the way his gaze locked onto the penitent goblin.

“I have not been summoned to this temple in ages,” he spoke in a sibilant tenor, every syllable smooth and precisely enunciated. Combined with the ragged pattern of goblin speak, it made him sound even more alien to the natural world.

Not that he could be confused for a human or any of the other soul-bearing races. His skin was shadowy crimson. Neat horns poked out from the bone structures of his body: forehead, cheeks, chin, elbows, and other joints. Rather than seeming monstrous, they blended with his handsome face and sleek, black clothing as if they were planned accents. All of his clothing were crafted of the same, shiny, night-black material, except for a cravat that matched the red of the candle, spilling from his neck as if he was gushing arterial blood pumping right from his heart.

“M-myrmida?” Tnaaf asked with a tremble in her own voice. As hardened as she might have become, the goblin female clearly knew she was in the presence of a creature far beyond her. One that could quash her with little more than a thought.

The minion issued a cultured laugh. “The Lady does not appear herself to hear pleas for Revenge. You must trust she has heard your soul crying out for it. It is why she allowed me to appear.”

A slurry of emotion boiled over inside Tnaaf. She sobbed out, “Dey are beyond me. I cannot touch dem. Yet dey took everythin’. Killed my whole clan.”

The amusement on the dark minion’s visage diminished. “The path to Revenge is not always easy nor straight. But the Lady shall not abide lies.”

Confusion stained her face. “I… no lies! Reavers slew my clan. Come farther dan any o’ my kind have ever come!”

One eyebrow crept upward on the dark minion’s face. “Did you truly not know?”

“Know?”

A sly smile emerged on his lips, so deep a red that they were nearly black. “Your brother yet lives.”

Tnaaf emitted a stunned gasp. “Dat’s… but dat’s… not… not possible…”

“What can and cannot be is difficult to know beyond doubt.” His smirk grew in its cunning twist. “Yes, I believe the path to Revenge must join you two together again. The debts to the Lady might find their balance.”

Not seeming to understand, the goblin blurted out, “He can’t kill dem either. He ain’t no Warrior. Not a mage. What can he do?”

“He can be your anchor, for you shall need one in this world.” Reading her lack of comprehension, the minion declared, “You’ve nothing to sacrifice to Her Lady. Nothing to offer for her aid. Nothing except your very flesh. Will you give this in exchange for the tools you will need?”

The concept was too large for the goblin. She looked down at her body as if trying to imagine what the dark being could be trying to tell her. Yokïmi followed the words, but even she wasn’t sure she understood all the implications of what was being offered.

But that didn’t stop Tnaaf from accepting the terms. Her expression hardened again into resolve. “Whatever must be done, I’ll do it.”

Yokïmi knew it was coming; otherwise, she wouldn’t be hunting for her Farrum’s killer. And yet it surprised her, to see this level of hatred. From what she had seen in the earlier visions, the goblin and her brother were outsiders within the clan, hardly the sort who would spend years of their lives to see them avenged. Why is she willing to lose her physical body for this? Goblinoid blood rage could produce insanity, creating a horde that would leap upon the spears of their enemies to avenge their fallen kin, but that was a hot reaction of the moment. It didn’t fuel this cold, lingering Quest for Revenge. This is personal to her. What am I missing?

The minion spun up into a cross-legged position, never leaving the altar. His hands spread wide, creating a soft red glow between them. Into that space, items manifested from nothing. “These are what you shall need.”

The first was a hatchet-style weapon. Yokïmi had never seen its like; the metal was a lustrous blue that shimmered with an internal life, while the handle was an ivory with a swirling pattern she could not relate to any animal she’d seen depicted in any painting or drawing.

Next came a crystal disk about the size of Yokïmi’s palm. It was heavily faceted, turning any light that struck it into fractal rainbows.

The last was a grouping, which didn’t come entirely from the ether. The scarab pin floated out from Tnaaf’s pocket. She reflexively grabbed at it, then caught herself from ruining whatever magic was being crafted for her purpose. As the silver pin entered the red light, the metal grew molten hot. It split into four identical items which spun slowly around each other.

The goblin’s eye was wide with wonder. “What do I –” The question was cut off as her hands flew to her head, clawing into her own skin and letting out a hiss as harsh pain raked her inside.

“Do you understand what you must do?” the minion demanded.

“Y-y-yes…”

“Do you accept the terms of what My Lady offers?”

Swallowing hard, Tnaaf mastered herself again. She straightened her spine and fought to meet the dark being’s gaze. “Yes.” This time, she didn’t tremble.

“Excellent.” The minion opened his palms, causing the items to drift into the goblin’s hands. His fingers then closed into neat steeples, that clever smirk back on his face. “Only in chaos can true leveling be found. Be that Revenge.”

As Tnaaf stashed the now-replicated scarab pins in her pocket, the altar scene blurred out of existence. Only Tnaaf remained in the vision, though her kneeling pose morphed from one of supplication to one of imposition on another goblin squatting beside her: her brother.

She was in the midst of tugging the beetle pins into view. “You will do dis fer me! Believed ya dead, but now yer here and I need ya. Not askin’. I’m tellin’, and you’ll be listenin’, hear me?”

“But why?” Plecht barked back. He, too, had aged. The added wrinkles on his skin were enough to link him beyond any doubt to the older goblin Yokïmi had hunted through the streets of Atsumae. “Da past is da past. Let it die!”

“How can ya say dat?” Tnaaf shrieked. Wherever the two had set the fire they were crouched around, she obviously didn’t fear discovery.

“Been so long,” Plecht protested. “Life in da clan wasn’t a dream, and ya know it. I’ve been –”

“– You’ve been?” Tnaaf drowned him out with mockery. “Do ya know what those reavers did ta me?”

“Didn’t ya escape?”

“Escape? Some foul magic made da air at da end of da tunnels thick. I couldn’t get out.” She shivered at the memory.

“Ya were dere?” When she nodded, Plecht clenched his teeth. “I’d hoped ya got lost in da woods after! Told ya to bury dat pin, didn’t I? If ya listened and did what I told ya, the reavers never would’a seen ya!”

“Does it matter what could’a been? Three of us were chained, not killed. A cruel harpy-human forced Jukkin ta fight her one on one. Ran him through with her spear. One with bad magic said he wanted us other two fer spell bits. Wanted dem fresh and so said he’d drag us back ta his home before the end.” Tnaaf’s fingers shook at the memory.

Instinctively, Yokïmi wanted to dismiss what she was saying. Katashi wouldn’t do that. Even if Oriato would… would he?... Katashi couldn’t have let him do such a thing.

“But ya got away?” Plecht asked hopefully.

Tnaaf jerked a finger toward her eye. “Does it look like I got away?” She gave a bitter shake of her head. “No, I didn’t. Damned reavers got drunk on our clan’s bellyboiler, laughing ‘bout how bad the drink was. The others all passed out. Den da one with da swords said he wasn’t gonna let me go off with da magic one until he had his fun.”

Plecht paled. “He ravaged ya?”

“Said orcs got dere rapin’ fun in human towns. He laughed dat it was only right ta see it go da udder way while dey were reavin’.” Hate was alive in her remaining eye, speaking through tightly clenched teeth. “Next mornin’, dey split up. One of da witchy ones took me and Halek back ta his tower. Cut pieces off us.” She gestured at her ear, eye, fingers, and then finished by showing a tooth missing. She jerked her leathers aside to show a ragged scar. “Cut somethin’ inside, too. Not sure what. Halek didn’t survive it.”

“But ya did? How’d ya get free?”

“Didn’t. I just didn’t die. When he had what he wanted, he handed me ta dis fooker runnin’ a fight arena in da underground. Humans don’t keep slaves… not till dey do. Told da guy ta keep me fightin’ till I was dead.” She scrubbed at her face as she could wash away the bad memories.

Plecht’s shoulders sagged. “Ya were never a Warrior.”

“Still ain’t,” she shot back. “Scrapped hard. Couldn’t let it end like dat. Wanted to just… not fight. So many times. But dey put me in dere and I found myself clawin’ and bitin’ and doin’ whatever I could.”

“Until?”

“Until dat fooker came in ta pat me on da head after I scratched da eyes outta some poor duggin.” She gave a pained shrug. “Was gonna be me or him. Ended up bein’ me.” Her lips curled into a snarl. “Fooker thought I was his pet by den. Thought I was bein’ a good girl fer him. Stupid fooker. Tore his fooken throat out and ran. Nearly starved while hidin’ from da guards lookin’ fer a blood-soaked goblin. But I got out. Got clean.”

“And now, yer aimin’ to even da scales,” Plecht said.

“Ain’t never gonna be even. Not a place in dis fooken world dat’ll strip dem naked and make dem fight bare-hand against some orc while others bet on it. But I’m aimin’ ta see dem in the ground, dat’s fer damned sure.”

“How? Ya saw dem. Ain’t no way.” Her brother looked ready to launch into another plea for her to give up the hopeless idea.

“Got me a way,” she growled back, then dumped the scarab pins in his hand. “Need yer help. Need ya ta be sneaky. Sneaky like ya never been before. Get one of dese on dem, one after da next.”

“What will dat do?”

“Magic stuff. Put dem in a place called an Astral Void.” She said it like one who really didn’t understand the concept, and might even be afraid of what it would mean. But there was no chance that she was going to stop. “When dey are dere, it won’t matter if dey are strong, or got a shield against poison, or any o’ da udder ways they can’t be touched in da here and now.”

“Why me? Why can’t ya do dis?”

She held up the crystal disk. “Because once I use dis, I’m gonna be in da mists where I can hunt dem. Can’t be in both. Once I go in, I’m not gonna be comin’ back.”

A different spark ignited in Plecht. He considered the beetle pins again. “Ya said dese would cut through magic?”

“Carve me a wide path.”

“A wide path… right to da heart o’ where dey live, hmm?” Plecht mused.

“Won’t matter. I’ll bring dem ta me,” Tnaaf insisted.

Waving away whatever he’d been thinking, her brother said, “As ya say. If ya want yer revenge dis bad, den I’ll help ya do it. Not sure how ya knew I was still breathin’, but I’m glad ya found me. We’ll see this done right.”

Satisfaction shone on Tnaaf’s face. “Keep da disk safe. It’s me. If it breaks, I go driftin’ inta nothin’.” She clutched him in a hug. “Last time I’ll be feelin’ anythin’. Gotta be dis way.”

Plecht swept his arms around her. “Worth it?”

“Couldn’a live with anythin’ else.” Sniffing back the few tears that had leaked out, she grasped the crystal in one hand and the odd hatchet in the other. She drew a symbol on the surface of the disk. Within seconds, her body had dissolved into luminous fog. This wasn’t the vision changing, Yokïmi could tell. This was part of the memory. The scarabs had changed possession to Plecht, and she was now seeing this from his point of view. His sister’s gaseous form lost its shape and flowed into the crystal, vanishing from sight. All that was left behind was a thrumming yellow light locked in the heart of that disk.

With a deep sigh, Plecht tucked the pins out of sight and settled into his seat by the fire to think out his part in what was to come.

The visions began to flow more rapidly. She saw Plecht slip neatly through a crowd at a party, being followed by several house guards who knew a goblin wasn’t supposed to be among such august company. He darted past a man who Yokïmi recognized as an older version of the Oriato she had seen in these memories. ‘Accidentally’ spilling wine onto the man’s robes, the goblin played up being the obsequious idiot most humans assumed them to be. Oriato was also not a fool, and expertly covered his coin purse and the pockets with expensive spell components he wore. But he didn’t realize that Plecht’s intent was not to steal, but to add to his belongings in the worst possible way. With the scarab pinned in place, the goblin fled before the house guards could pin him down.

Long shadows dominated the next scene. Oriato entered his home, already flagging with the supernatural fatigue imposed by the scarab. Doing nothing more than giving vague directions to his staff for the morning, he drifted by his wife who was snapping at him. His senses must have been dulled, for her words were as unrecognizable to Yokïmi as they were to him. He sank into his bed, not bothering to strip off his finery, never to wake again.

Yokïmi expected that to be the end, but the procession of visions went on. The scarabs had come from the same source, and so they appeared to be linked.

The scenes that followed were more confirmation from her own investigation. Seeing the goblin spinning the scarab in The Fiddling Fox. The scuffle which had eventually cost Kona her position. Plecht nipping in to plant the pin on Katashi as both him and Lahni tried to remain aloof from the scuffle without success. Her Farrum returning to his tower, fighting off the magical fatigue while checking his wards to remove Lahni from being able to access them. And then him fading off to sleep. He never went into his meditation chamber nor to the tower. That’s why those wards remained whole while Plecht had free access to the rest of his wealth. Wonder how such a small thief could have made off with so many coins and books without parking a cart out front…

Her brief reverie was interrupted as the scene changed yet again. Her breath caught as she realized this was a scene from after Katashi’s death. For a brief moment, she thought she was about to see either Dola or Taharis being hung with one of the pins, meaning it would be too late to do anything about their deaths.

But instead, there was bright daylight, with both suns shining down on an unfamiliar coastline. Plecht was standing on the deck of what looked like an old whaling cog as it limped into a harbor. He was flicking one of the scarabs up and down as he considered the city growing larger in his view. “Two more,” he murmured. “Hope both as are rich as the last two.” With that, he stuffed the scarab away.

The setting turned. It began in a dizzying spin. The scarab pin skipped across a rough, moss-covered courtyard of cobblestones. Plecht was nearby, with a hand in one pocket where he was digging out a few coins to pay off a stable boy. Cursing, he darted after the pin, snatching it off the ground as if afraid that anyone else could have seen it.

He needn’t have worried. A score of caravan workers and guards loitered near a cluster of wagons. Nothing marked them as a team except how they hung around each other in a companionable manner. Several laughed as they watched the goblin scramble. One among them, a coyamar female, called out, “Thought you were getting a room instead of bedding down with the rest of us. Change your mind?”

Yokïmi saw a dirty sneer crease the goblin’s mouth, but he got it back under control before facing the group. “No. And if you leave without me in the morning, your employer won’t get the other half of his gold. See how well he takes that.”

His threat only drew fresh laughter before turning back to their chatting.

Ignoring them, Plecht finished paying the stable boy his penny, then stomped into the nearby building. A sign hung outside, painted with a scarecrow holding a pitchfork. As he grabbed the beaten, iron handle, he shoved the scarab back into his jacket, this time finding a pocket where it was less likely to slip away from him.

The visions ended, leaving Yokïmi alone in the tower. Her hand pulled out of the memory cage, then her arms hung limply by her side. She simply stood there in the low-lit chamber, stunned by the implications of everything she had just seen.

Chapter 15

By the gods, Farrum, what did you do? Are these really the friends you kept? Was this who you were back then? A flash of anger overwhelmed Yokïmi’s good sense. She spun around and caught sight of the prickly plant that rested in one of the chamber’s stations of honor. She remembered the sense that it connected to an unknown contact. Hating the idea that any of his past acquaintances might have a reach into his sanctum spiked her anger still further. She summoned her magical power with a fierce hiss. “Incroive zi akaivir!” A pink ray of cutting energy lashed across the room, slicing through the spiky plant.

(-94)

The top half began to fall, but then the release of the magical energy within it came. The plant exploded outward, its pulp relatively harmless, but the needle spikes whistling about in a dangerous spray.

Yokïmi ducked behind the central podium, though two of the sharp pieces caught her along the hip and shoulder.

(-8)  (-9)

Neither dug in too deeply, and the minor wounds began to heal as soon as she yanked out the small spikes. She cursed at herself for being rash, trying to bring her emotions back under control. But it didn’t come easy.

She didn’t believe her anger stemmed from seeing the clan’s destruction from the side of the goblins. Since seeing the first vision, she’d known the ‘Servants of the Mad Moon’ had attacked the goblin warren. It was disturbing to witness the domestic lives of the goblins being suddenly shattered, but she wasn’t ignorant of the strife that existed between certain racial triads in the world, especially these two. Goblinoids raided human towns. Humanoids purged their warrens. While she had no wish to be part of it, the vicious cycle was unlikely to end given the bold passions that ruled the hearts of both groups.

What haunted her were the accusation Tnaaf had made about what Katashi’s group had done to her. Yokïmi had just fought free of her own slavery. To think that her Farrum might have been involved in a similar atrocity staggered her. Dola was nothing more than a stranger with a vague link to her mother’s people. Forcing a goblin to fight to the death wasn’t pleasant, but the least of what had happened. Taharis using the helpless goblin female for his pleasure was reprehensible. But… Oriato harvesting parts of her body, only to sell her as a pit-fighting slave? That was beyond the pale.

Hadn’t he given liberty for Emiko to combat slavery with his own hirelings? Yokïmi had thought that meant the Wizard shared the Geisha’s hatred of the practice. I’m being naïve, aren’t I? It was an act. A way to draw Emiko into his trust. He didn’t care about saving slaves, only about making her happy while he did whatever he wanted whenever she wasn’t near enough to see it.

The whole idea left a horrid taste in her mouth, suddenly happy that Emiko was well free of the man. If he was still alive, I’d have to intercede. To tell her what the man she trusted was capable of doing.

What made the bad taste linger was what she didn’t know about Katashi. How much did he know? And if he did know, was he simply turning a blind eye, or… was he involved? An ugly pit formed in her belly as she considered the Sage’s intelligence and ability to see past the surface of people. He had to have known.

She began to question if hunting this goblin was the right thing to do. Both of them, actually. The sister is in the Astral Void. That’s where Katashi was in the sending. Why he looked so different. I need to find the brother, but it’s the sister that is doing the killing. And if what I saw is correct, then I won’t be able to stop her unless I can shift into the Void myself.

Despite the flicker of doubt, Yokïmi knew she wasn’t going to stop. The need to improve her Soul-based magic, which she needed to access the Astral Void, was always a part of her future. This only made it that much more important. And I can’t just leave these two to murder two more people. They deserve justice, but not the bloody retribution handed to them by the Revenge Goddess. That Dark Minion of Myrmida was too amused by all this. He knew it wasn’t as simple as a goblin striking back at those who wronged her.

Yokïmi frowned. The goblin she now knew as Tnaaf had no reason to lie in any of those scenes. She believed… but that didn’t mean there wasn’t another layer. Things or events or people that Tnaaf couldn’t have known about influencing what happened. Yokïmi had to unravel this if she was every going to sleep well at night.

Marshalling what remained of her magical strength, she conjured a mental sending to Hanzo to save the risk of venturing into the heavily occupied household.

I’m in the tower. Bring Amaya. And Kona if she ever came here.

It wasn’t long before the entry door she had left partially open swung wide. Kona was the first through, blocking the frame as if ready to absorb the attack of a lurking enemy. Any sign of the ceremonial dress from the restaurant was gone. A simple, tan juban covered her with a voluminous, split-leg hakama of a darker brown hiding her legs except for her sandaled feet. She showed no sign of good combat form, making her a poor bodyguard at best, but she was clearly eager to do what she could to protect the ones who had taken her in.

As soon as she saw Yokïmi, her suspicion fell away and became relief. She strode over and wrapped her powerful arms around the crystalline woman, lifting her up in an exuberant hug. Her cheek pressed into Yokïmi’s bare midriff. “You’re here!”

A wave of heat passed through her at the close contact. Memory of their last encounter in the Fiddling Fox’s enclosed yard made it worse. Too much of it had hovered on the edge of intimacy. Patting the other woman gently on the head, Yokïmi murmured, “Thought you weren’t used to being touched.”

“I make exceptions for those who are back from the dead,” Kona replied in a private voice of her own. Still, she was reminded they weren’t alone and allowed Yokïmi to sink back to the ground. Stepping back a pace, her face flushed with a tinge of embarrassment at her loss of decorum, she said, “You said you were going to meet me here the next morning. I knew you were hunting that goblin. When you didn’t show up, I… well, I guess I feared the worst.”

“As did we,” Hanzo admitted, entering with his wife’s arm threaded through his own. They were both in proper evening attire, though the loose strands of their hair and the slight blurriness in their eyes told the story that they had likely been woken from sleep. “When Kona approached us, her first question was whether you had returned. That got us to worrying. After two weeks without word, I admit my hope was all but gone.”

Yokïmi dipped her head in apology. “It’s a long tale. One filled with ugliness that I’m not really ready to talk about. If I could have sent word, I would have. Believe me.” Her recent discoveries loomed heavily on her mind. For a brief second, she debated telling Hanzo right then. He was around Katashi for longer. If my Farrum had a hidden, darker side, could he have kept it that well hidden from his apprentices? Could that be why he never kept any of them for very long? Like with Emiko and her relationship to Oriato, she held her peace because Katashi was already dead. She didn’t have to fear that the man would corrupt Hanzo if he wasn’t made aware. Until she knew… knew for sure… she wouldn’t poison the image of him in anyone’s mind.

Instead, she asked, “Did you get an audience with the local lords?”

Amaya inserted herself in. “I used my influence and the pending arrival of my family to force their hand, doing what I could to connect his death with that of another Lord who was one of his oldest friends.”

Once more, Yokïmi stifled any urge to speak ill of that bond. If it’s all true, I want to believe it was Oriato who rotted Katashi’s conscience. But… it could easily have been the other way, if I’m being honest. Damn you, Farrum, I far preferred thinking of you as a simple, benevolent Sage of good standing. A man who was above all the terribleness in the world. She mocked the childish view, hardly believing she’d held on to it for as long as she had.

Pushing past her dark thoughts, she asked, “What came of it?”

“Nothing,” Amaya admitted.

“Two old men dying in their sleep,” Hanzo clarified. He traded a weighty look with his wife, then said, “There’s more you need to know.”

“About Katashi?”

“Your family.” Hanzo steadied himself with a deep breath, then dove in. “Your father’s death was deemed a tragedy of a faelapse incursion. An act of magical nature run amok. Absent any claim from any living member, your family’s lands have been split between the three surrounding Shishakus. Such is the word of the Kazoku Council.”

“They want stability,” Amaya said with an apologetic shrug. “There was nothing to be done. They were all very courteous and quick to quash any efforts I made at challenging any conclusion and causing turmoil.”

Yokïmi was somewhat surprised to feel her heart lighten with the knowledge.

Kona’s head tilted with curiosity. “You’re smiling.”

“Am I?” She shook her head, reminded of how utterly transparent she was in more ways that one. “Seems like the issue has been taken out of my hands. I didn’t want the title. Mastery over the region was never going to be mine. Now… it’s gone for good.” The relief inside grew as she said it aloud. “Now I know it was the right choice not to chase after it.”

“Then what of Katashi’s killer?” Hanzo was antsy on his feet, shifting his weight back and forth. “His family are eager to harvest his home for anything valuable. Having his death declared natural has opened the door for them. Is there any chance you know enough to stop them?”

“I’m sorry.” Yokïmi shook her head. “I’ve got an idea where I have to go next, but it’s going to take time to get answers. Will you lose the tower?”

“No.” Amaya let out a delicate huff. “None of the vultures in my family wish to live here. If they could teleport this property to our home, they would. As it stands, we’ll be the masters of it when they leave. I only question whether there will be any furniture left when they do.”

“I hesitate to be insensitive in my own way, but I’m going to claim the items left up here.” Embarrassment stung at Yokïmi as she considered how she had already destroyed one of them in her anger. “The memory cage might still be useful in my search, and I have a feeling that egg might be somehow dangerous. No sense leaving you with anything more to trouble your mind. When I leave, I’ll break the wards so you can come and go as you please.”

“You… will put no claim on the tower?” Hanzo asked carefully, as if fearing the question might nudge her into changing her mind.

“None,” she answered, hoping it didn’t come across as too curt. If the worst proves true, then I would disavow my place as his Darrum. Even if I could have a claim here, I wouldn’t want it. Better to let it go now. These two need it more than me. I’ve got the Sanctuary, if nothing else.

But the Sanctuary was in the middle of the wilderness, and it was dangerous to be seen coming and going. That was precisely the careless trend that might lead an enemy to the gates. She needed a place out in the world to function as her home away from home.

Amaya prompted her, “Then what next for you?”

“I’ve no time to waste. The one I am hunting is already across the sea. I had a vision that showed the goblin entering what was probably Torg’s Port, then of a tavern of some kind beyond it. I need to make up the weeks between us, and I’ve still new things to learn before I dare face the ones responsible.” Her focus turned to Kona. “I feel like I’ve stolen you away from your life and dropped you in the middle of our problems. Are you willing to go a bit further?”

The former serving-woman tossed her wide shoulders. “Perhaps. What would you have me do?”

“For the most part, the same as you’ve been doing until Katashi’s family is gone and leaves Hanzo and Amaya in peace. But I’d appreciate you taking care of a few favors for me tonight and then after I’m gone.”

“Name them.”

“I’ve left a few belongings at an Esiphonian clinic nearby. I’ll draft you a note that will allow you to claim them.” Reading that the other woman was following, Yokïmi added, “You’ll find a coat with quite a few valuables in them. Gemstones that can afford a few nice things. The most important is to find a Wizard capable of opening a portal to Torg’s Port. If I can turn the goblin’s weeks of lead time into mere days or even hours, it’ll give me a fighting chance to intervene before he strikes again.” She left the existence of Tnaaf and her role in the killing unspoken, knowing the facts would only cause delay as she tried to explain.

“Such passage is expensive,” Kona said.

“But worthwhile. That must happen tonight. I’ll sleep here and depart in the morning. The second favor I’d ask can wait until later. I need you to locate a cottage within a day’s walk of Atsumae, off in the hills. Make the owner’s dreams come true. Lavish them with a price they can’t ignore. Once you’ve found it, take what I own there. This metal cage. That egg. My new spellbook and the horse that carried me on the last leg of my trip.”

“I can do that, but cottages take work,” Kona noted.

“Once your duties here are over, I’d be honored if you’d tend it for me.” An idea came to her. “Am I right in remembering you had an ailing sister? Perhaps time away from the city in the fresh air of the forest might help. At the very least, it would save you the cost of town living.”

“That’s… incredibly generous.” It was Kona’s turn to slump her shoulders as if granted a huge reprieve from a never-ending pressure. “But I need coin for the medication I need. Master Hanzo and Lady Amaya have been as kind as you thought they would. I’m ashamed to say I can’t do without that coin.”

“You’ll have what you need. Call it a caretaker’s fee,” Yokïmi said as a salve to the other woman’s pride, not sure if she would accept pure charity.

“I’ll see it done.” Kona swept into a deep bow, pleasure rich in her expression. “I’ll return soon with word of the portal.”

Once she was gone, Hanzo asked, “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“I’ve two more I need to…” Her first choice had been to say ‘save’, but the perspective offered by the visions was continuing to distort the nature of her mission. Her selection changed after a brief hesitation. “… find before the goblin has his chance. One is likely deep in the Goldaanan jungles. The other… perhaps as far as Vyz. It could be months before I return.”

“That’s where you’ll go next? The jungles? They are the closer.”

“Soon. But there a magical specialist I need to visit first. In my travels, I’ve acquired an Education Skill surrounding such people. She’s a SoulCrafter. An expert regarding Astral magic and using the soul itself to power it.”

“That’s necessary?”

Yokïmi returned a grim nod. “Katashi’s killer has access to magic in that sphere. If I can’t master some of those Techniques, then I fear I won’t survive the trials that are to come.”

“We… hope you do,” Hanzo offered, then gathered his wife’s arm in his own so they could go.

Yokïmi had a sudden sense that this might be the final time she would ever have a private word with the man. Nothing about their final words held any rancor, and yet… the idea that this would be how their time together would end felt… wrong.

“Hanzo.” His name crossed her lips before she had decided what to say.

He paused by the door. “Yes?”

“I…” She shook her head. “Truth is, we keep being around each other only when it feels like our lives are troubled and threatening to get worse. You’ve… been a bright point in all that. Maybe not always smooth, but I’ve always known you’re a man with a good heart. For whatever it’s worth, you have my thanks.”

Amaya curled her other arm around him. “He is a good man. I’ll try and look after him.”

Embarrassed by the praise, Hanzo ducked his head and fled with as much of his dignity as he could. Amaya kept with him, snuggling into him with the full measure of her love.

As she watched them go, Yokïmi found herself wondering at the path of Katashi’s life. He helped me when he didn’t have to. Chased Lahni away after recognizing what sort of man he is. And I really think you helped shape Hanzo without any poison in his soul. Maybe a bit of clinging innocence, but that isn’t so bad. She shook her head, and whispered out loud, “What in Narrum’s hells happened over the years between?”

Another mystery lurked just out of sight, and it was one she didn’t want to crack open. When did he know my father? How did they meet? And was it the Katashi he seemed to be then or the one I knew who became my father’s friend?

It was more than a dark pit that she didn’t want to dive into. It felt like a whirlpool. If she dipped in a toe, she might get sucked under the surface in spite of all her strength and willpower. If she embarked on the next phase of this Quest, there was no telling what she’d find.

But it wasn’t a question of ‘if’. She was committed. Not knowing would eat away at her, and if she waited, the chance to find these goblin siblings would be gone. It was now or never. So… it would be now.

Chapter 16

Now that they had descended back into the manse, Yokïmi hoped Hanzo and Amaya would get the few hours of sleep they needed to properly arm themselves for a day spent bickering with Katashi’s extended family.

Yokïmi had every intention of following their example. Kona was a local. While she had no reason to have ever sought out a portal mage, she had every confidence the other woman would locate one by the early morning. Yokïmi would be wise to spend as much of the time between now and then resting.

But this was also the first evening in quite some time where she was both alone and entirely secure behind protective wards. Much had transpired, and it was time to spend her XP in a useful way.

Calling her orb into her palms, she confirmed that she had acquired enough to raise a Level in one of her magical disciplines: ChiKiln or Sorcerer. The specialist path was tempting. Another Level invested there might provide her with additional tools she could use with Physical-based magic, easily her most developed array of spells.

However, it was Soul-based magic that would take her to the Astral Void. SoulCrafter Levels would allow her to empower those spells using her SDP, but it wasn’t impossible to use components if she gave herself the time and arranged the proper place. The Sorcerer path was general; whatever upgrades it offered would touch all her magical disciplines.

She had an idea regarding that. One of the last powers she’d awakened for ChiKiln was the ability to Link PDP Sources, creating a ring of donors if the casting of a spell would kill her doing it alone. The details of the Talent implied there were parallel Talents for each of the other disciplines. Following that same reasoning, she had to believe there was a way to Link the Resiliences of different people. She could set up a cooperative structure to hold open the magical channel, whether she empowered it with components, her own body, or a ring of helpers.

Taliskhan had taught her the trick of meditating ahead of picking a new Level, though he had warned her that the effort would fail if such a power didn’t exist or it was simply impossible to acquire at her current power ranking. Meditating couldn’t alter the fundamental barriers the gods had put in place; it could only bend the percentages in her favor.

Folding herself into a lotus position, she sank into her own mind. Finding her center took far longer than it normally did. Every time she blanked her emotions, they chiseled their way back into her awareness. For over an hour, calm evaded her until she nearly surrendered the effort.

In frustration, her hands raked up through her hair… and came upon the crystal rose placed there by Avalessa. Nestled in among her wavy curls, the glass coloring which matched her own tended to make people ignore it as a simple affectation. Even her slavers had only tugged on it once or twice, realized it would not come free, and dismissed it as harmless. And… they weren’t wrong. Other than allowing her to speak Elvish, it had only one power that was easy to miss, especially when she was surrounded by other odors.

But here in the tower, the subtle scent of the flower wafted down to her nose. She closed her eyes and inhaled the perfume of it, allowing it to revive the memories of those sweet days spent with her Star-Elven lover. She was drawn into that peaceful moment in the aftermath of her brother’s defeat and before Avalessa had departed and Yokïmi had returned to the Sanctuary to assume her position as its Guardian and recommence her training. For that brief time, the imposing Quests and all expectations had been nothing. She had dwelled in bliss.

The calm she desired came to her. The storm of other emotions receded. The serenity of a meditative trance settled over her, and Yokïmi existed there for nearly an hour with a sole thought left to resonate: the new Talent she wanted.

When she felt the conditioning was complete, Yokïmi reached into her orb and committed her XP to her next Level.

* Sorcerer level up! *

* Resilience (Tolerance) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +4 *

* Mental Damage Points +2 *

* Emotional Damage Points +1 *

* Soul Damage Points +1 *

* New Talent Unlocked – Link Resilience Sources now Level 1 *

Satisfaction filled her. I’ve done it. That has to be it. She rushed to open the details, hoping it was what the name implied.

Talent: Link Resilience Sources: Level 1

-  With this Talent, the practitioner can link with other soul-possessing beings to share the Resilience Cost of a spell. This works with all domains of spells: Physical, Mental, Emotive, or Soul and will draw the required points from the appropriate respective Resilience: Tolerance, Willpower, Stability, or Ego.

-  The central spellcaster will always bear the maximum share of the burden.

-  Every participant must have the Talent to Channel Energy from Components. However, the Level of the central spellcaster will determine spell costs and power.

-  The current maximum number of linked beings: 2

-  The current distribution of Resiliency cost is:

• Central caster: Must channel minimum 75%

• Linked participants: Maximum 15% each, spread determined by caster

-  Links formed with willing participants automatically succeed. Links cannot be formed to unwilling or unconscious participants, as checks against their Resilience to form a magical conduit automatically fail.

-  Higher levels of this Talent increases the number of linked beings and improves the percentage that can be spread among them.

Neither of the main limitations surprised Yokïmi, though one of them was cause for regret. She had no intention of forcing unwilling people to fuel her spells, so the inability to do so here was no real loss. But the requirement for any helper to have the ability to Channel Energy significantly limited the people she could call upon in a moment of need. This doesn’t feel like a power intended for a crisis. Otherwise, the other Wizards would be casting their own magic to survive instead of helping me. This seems like a power for a more deliberate casting, for when an assembly can come together and achieve something great.

She was about to send away her orb when she noted a set of three new entries that needed to be investigated. Her jaw clenched tighter as she opened the details of the first, hardly wanting a reminder of being taken from Atsumae… but also, not able to deny how deeply the experience had cut her.

Impactful Moment: Enslavement by Betrayal:

-  This marks the event of being taken from one’s free life, in this case due to the betrayal of a person in one’s life. The loss of agency and ability to determine one’s own future is a trauma that can mark a person forever.

-  Duration of Enslavement: Moderate (~1 Month)

- Duress of Enslavement: Moderate (bondage, mild mistreatment, threat of abuse severe)

-  Intuition (Power) +2

- New Talent Unlocked – Sense Non-Consensual Duress now Level 1

A flash of irritation at the gods above passed through her, wondering how any of them could look down and consider her confinement ‘moderate’. The emotional sting and the hatred she felt for those who had taken her was only mellowed by knowing Emiko was doing all she could to shatter the slave ring, while she had set her own account to right with Lahni. That allowed the logical side of her mind to engage, thinking on all the ways it could have been worse, and how much worse it would have been for her if her training hadn’t prepared her with strong Resiliences so she could rebound from the captivity and seize control of her life again.

She shook her head, freshly amazed by how cold the statistics behind their lives could be. It was a full record, but she wondered if anyone reading the details in her orb without the context of experiencing them could possibly understand. If this is how the gods measure our lives when we come to them after death, I’m not sure I could trust their judgement to be fair.

On the heels of reading that entry, the details in the second came with a stunning contrast. Had she the color to do so, she would have blushed more deeply than she ever had before.

Impactful Moment: Submission to the Acrobatic Geisha:

-  A new first, the awakening of a different sort of pleasure. This marks the discovery of one’s enjoyment of being under the talented hands of a lover willing to take charge of the moment. Another step on the path to understanding one’s own nature.

-  Aura (Precision) +2

-  Resilience (Stability) +2

-  Resilience (Ego) +2

-  Emotional Damage Points +1

-  Soul Damage Points +1

She couldn’t deny the truth of it. The exhilaration of being at Emiko’s tender mercy had been sufficient to fire her dreams for several nights that followed, and would no doubt return. She wasn’t sure if it was a special moment, or if she’d want it to be part of her loveplay again… or always? She hadn’t had the chance to contemplate it. Looking back, she couldn’t deny the trend. Nua, her first lover, had been gentle yet hadn’t hesitated to guide the way. And Avalessa had certainly led their first dances before taking a firm hand in bed. In every case, their confidence had unlocked Yokïmi’s lust, freeing her inhibitions.

Yokïmi nibbled at one lip, nearly laughing at herself as she realized her spiraling thoughts were stirring a lustful longing to life. A need to have hands upon her that knew what they were doing…

Ai ya, not now. Have some self control!

She shivered and set aside the desire as much as she could. In the end, the only absolute truth that struck her about those two Impactful Moments standing next to each other was the fundamental difference that came from consent. When taken by force, being bound and threatened with others using her body, it was a nightmare. When she offered that power to a lover, it had become so intensely thrilling that it had changed her inside, becoming something for which she might yearn forever.

The new Talent she’d gained from the first was intriguing, perhaps a way to fight for those who couldn’t get free of such bad situations. She opened the details.

Talent: Sense Non-Consensual Duress: Level 1

-  The Practitioner can augment natural Intuition abilities to recognize individuals suffering the effects of slavery, unjust confinement, or abuse.

-  This ability can see past external displays of discipline where those entrapped are forced to hide their discomfort.

-  Radius of Talent depends on visibility:

• In direct sight: 50 feet

• Blocked from Sight: 10 feet

-  Sensitivity of Talent governed by Ability scores:

• In direct sight: Intuition (Power) augmented by Talent Level

• Blocked from Sight: Intuition (Precision) augmented by Talent Level

-  Higher levels of this Talent increase the range of detection and improves sensitivity.

Hmm, that’s interesting. Does that mean I could sense a slave’s pain even through a wall? It would take experience with it, though she hoped it wouldn’t be necessary anytime soon. I’d like to believe such things are not that common.

She feared the opposite.

That dark thought wasn’t made better as she shifted to the last of the new entries. It was another Impactful Moment sure to challenge her beliefs.

Impactful Moment: Human Killer x2:

-  Deliberate, non-combat killing of one’s own kind can skew one’s perception and change the nature of how one’s aura influences others of one’s own race. The adjustments below will change with further slaying of other humans.

-  Aura (Power) +2

-  Orthodox / Deviant adjusted by +01. This score will increase if done to safeguard one’s family or other reasons expected of a human. This score will reduce if done for reasons unconnected to such mentality.

-  Empathic / Psychotic adjusted by -01. This score will increase if done for the cause of others and their well-being. This score will reduce if killings are for pleasure, personal revenge, or for material gain.

-  Angelic / Infernal adjusted by +01. This score will increase if done to save others or to support goodly designs / masters who demand it. This score will reduce if killings are for personal gain or to support evil designs / masters who demand it.

Once again, the cold numbers hardly managed to tell the whole tale. She couldn’t bring herself to regret ending the evil that had been Warrick or Lahni, and it seemed like the gods agreed with her choices for the most part. And if taking a bit of revenge for myself causes one Alignment score to dip a bit, it’s a price I’m willing to pay. She had never felt any particular impact from those scores. Religious types seemed to hold great stock in them, and her concern for the gods and their ilk had never been strong. Let them judge me however they will, so long as they remain in the background of my life.

Taking a deep breath, Yokïmi decided that was enough introspection for now. It helped to find acceptance for what she saw in her orb, but none of it equated to sleep. Once she passed through the portal, she would be back on the road headed south. This time, it would be in a part of the world far from her own. Unlike her own. And without any expectation of finding a friendly face.

To face that, she had to be ready. Sharp. And with all her magical and physical reservoirs filled. Hanzo had retrieved for her a simple blanket and pillow, which she laid out on the tower’s stone. Not ideal, but sufficient comfort to lull her into the sleep she needed.

Chapter 17

When Kona returned with the morning suns, Yokïmi thanked her for her efforts and wished her and her sister well one last time. With what she was leaving them, Yokïmi was confident the two women could survive for at least a year before they would have to make other arrangements. It depended on what her sister needed, and whether her condition grew better or worse. If I’m going to return, that’s enough time. And if I’m not… well, I’ll have left them no worse than when I met them.

She didn’t look at her efforts with them as purely charity. Kona was injured because she was mixed up in the goblin’s plot to hook the scarab onto Katashi. That was the Sage’s past catching up with him. She wasn’t related to him by blood, but she was Family-in-Narrum to him. Which meant, since no one else was going to bear responsibility, it was on her to level the debt their family’s conflict had caused the two sisters.

Once Kona had emptied the tower and set off to find an appropriate cottage, Yokïmi prepared to leave. She imposed on Hanzo’s good will a final time; he had the Sage’s modest carriage made ready, then paid off Rakita to drive it to the necessary destination. Yokïmi felt sure the servant could be trusted to conveniently forget to mention the small mission to Katashi’s visiting family and that the Sage’s glass-skinned Darrum had ever been there.

The serving girl wasn’t incredibly Skilled as a driver, but she did well to roll the carriage to within a few steps of the entry door to the Portal Mage’s residence. Using the propped-open door to block herself from the street, Yokïmi was able to cross inside with only a second or two of being exposed to any potential onlooker.

It was immediately obvious that the mage’s assistants had been pre-warned about her. There were two, one male and one female. The former kept his eyes deliberately averted, annoyance at the requirement on his face. His palm extended, and his tone was brusque. “Provide the agreed upon balance.”

Not about to cause issues when she needed this service, Yokïmi folded her arms in as decorous a way possible as she handed over the gemstone Kona had promised.

The women rolled her eyes at her peer. “You’re being ridiculous.” She turned a warm smile on their guest. “I swear, this entire country is filled with prudes. He kept his calm when Fumiaki Nako arrived dressed in the plumage of a tropical bird and demanded to be sent to a mountain where he could determine beyond any doubt his ability to fly, but Narrum-forfend a naked woman should arrive!”

Her male peer flickered an ornery glance her way, then immediately averted his eyes once more. He brought the gemstone to his eye, peering at it through a loupe. “Hmph. There is proper and improper.”

“And ignoring that fact is part of the payment we’ve been provided,” the woman snipped, then extended a friendly hand toward the stairs leading up. “Come. I’ll guide you to Master Maochi.” She ignored the scowl her partner gave her for not waiting on his determination of the gem’s value.

Yokïmi wasn’t about to argue the good fortune of finding a reasonable person to deal with. As they began their climb, she considered the woman escorting her. Her almond-shaped eyes, light-olive skin, and straight black hair were similar to the common features among Hu’na’laans, but they were shared by natives of at least two other nations: An’ja’no across the Shinjira Sea to the west, as well as Mo’ga’ra which was across the Suoston Sea to the east-southeast. She guessed there could even be others in the world of which Yokïmi was not aware. From what little Yokïmi knew of those other peoples, she decided the woman’s cheekbones were suggestive of An’ja’noan heritage.

“Thank the Elements that someone in this house has a practical view. Dare I hope your Master shares that attitude?”

A knowing smirk caught the corner of the woman’s mouth, recognizing Yokïmi’s game. As much as Narrum was worshipped in Hu’na’la, it was the four elemental gods and goddesses who were the most commonly revered in An’ja’no, along with the Goddess of Ice, Crystals, and Time because of the massive glacier that dominated the interior of the continent on which that nation had been founded. It was the name of that Goddess that the assistant invoked. “One would think Crysallis herself had frozen Narrum’s heart. Or at least, frozen his traditions so they might never evolve.”

“My Father and my Farrum would call it devolving were their traditions to change, moving away from what Narrum wished.”

“Not your mother? Isn’t it her place to instruct her daughters in proper conduct?”

It was Yokïmi’s turn for her lips to tug into wry humor. “She was Goldaan.’

“Ahh.” The servant let out a laugh, needing no other answers. “I’m afraid my Master aligns with the traditional sect. But you were wise to send your servant ahead to provide details. Had you surprised him, he might have refused you passage. Forewarned, he can carry out this business while remaining behind a folding screen I have erected in the center of the room. Stay to one side of it. Decorum will be preserved.”

“In Narrum’s name,” Yokïmi murmured, not meaning to be intentionally blasphemous and yet unable to ignore the frustration that came with the restraints her Curse placed on her. To show she wasn’t intending to start an argument, she asked, “How should I address him?”

“Master Maochi will do.”

“Did he know the Sage Katashi?”

“Indeed. His death was a great tragedy.”

Yokïmi gave a tight nod, saying nothing else. It was enough to know she could play on that connection if needed. Together, they ascended upward into a tower not unlike the one in Katashi’s manse.

The chamber at the summit proved completely different. Her Farrum’s had been sparse, used only for his special items. Maochi’s space bordered on being cluttered. Thick rugs and tapestries hung from every wall and several from the roof as well. Archaic furniture, the youngest of which appeared a century old, filled every available space along the chamber’s edges. Tables heaped with books and random items were everywhere, tempting Yokïmi into petitioning to remain there for a week merely to explore. He’s probably forgotten more interesting tidbits stashed in this room than I’ve ever seen or possessed in my whole life.

The object which dominated the space was an empty, freestanding archway. Its structure was thick, worthy of framing the entry to a modest-sized keep. The likenesses of gargoyles and all manner of fae creatures were carved into the wood. The details made them seem ready to come alive, again tempting her toward remaining behind and spending hours delighting in the exquisite renditions.

“Ahem,” came the clearing of a throat from behind the decorative screen which created a pocket of privacy amidst the clutter.

I’m not here to explore, Yokïmi reminded herself. From all she had heard of this man, he wasn’t going to be patient with a customer who was already imposing on his traditional sensibilities. Upsetting him will only get me banished. Not to mention, cut off from any others who share his power. He’ll be sure to use his influence to warn them if I prove… impetuous. Aloud, she called out, “I believe you were expecting me, Master Maochi. I’ve arranged travel to the south.”

“Hmph. Indeed. Your servant was not specific. She mentioned Torg’s Port, but there are four portals in that vicinity through which I can send you. Two in the city. One in the Duke’s castle. Or, to the Tatterdemalion.” The gruff man behind the screen presented the possibilities without fanfare, obviously wishing to be rid of her.

“Excuse me, but… what was the last?”

“A well-established waypoint south of the city. It is used in some capacity by nearly every caravan traveling the Vulture’s Road.”

Yokïmi’s education had included mention of that trade route. The Road began at Torg’s Port, then cut across the comparatively thin island continent to the Free City of Tadak, a port on the Hidden Sea. From there, convoys sailed to Kailaston before venturing across the expansive grasslands of Tarataak, the homeland of Kharr, her one-time gnollish Questing-partner. Those who survived would reach Eshphor on the Broken Sea. Many adventurous merchants never reached the gateway to the southern trading ports, earning the Vulture’s Road its name.

The waypoint station was unfamiliar, apparently not so famous as to earn mention in any of her childhood lessons. But it twigged her mind in a different way. “Isn’t that a name used for scarecrows from time to time?”

“Hmph,” came the grumpy reply, not making any effort to encourage her curiosity. “I’ve yet to hear your decision.”

Yokïmi carefully concealed her sigh. But she didn’t need his confirmation. She remembered the hanging sign from her vision. A scarecrow sign flapping in the wind above the very spot where Plecht had scrambled to recover one of his scarab pins. The goblin had been there recently. Maybe as recently as the last few days. She also recognized that appearing to the south of the city, where her naked state could only get her noticed or in direct trouble, was another benefit she couldn’t dismiss.

“To the Tatterdemalion, then,” she said.

“Very well. Stand there. It will take three minutes to complete the activation of the portal. When you see yellow fog drift through the center, walk through. Do not stop until you arrive on the far side of the path. Do not wait until it fades to red, or you may be lost between.”

“Between what?”

“Between,” Maochi emphasized. He didn’t speak to her again. His words became a ramble of magical phrases, none of which were familiar. Teleportation of any sort was a subdiscipline of Physical spells that she had yet to pursue in any measure.

Avoiding any such distraction her curiosity might cause, she focused on the archway. Already, a white fog was beginning to form out of nothing. It spilled like a gaseous waterfall from the top before splashing against the carpeted floor and evaporating. She couldn’t see anything through it. Stepping in would be an act of faith in the Wizard’s magic. No need to be nervous. He’s no reason to hate me, and repeat business has to be a core principle of what he does. Besides, this isn’t even the first time I’ve stepped through a portal. The Sanctuary’s gateways throw me beyond the boundaries of our world into some magical valley. Taking a leap across a single sea is child’s play next to that.

Repeating that affirmation a few times helped. When the color of the fog deepened into the yellow band, Yokïmi didn’t hesitate. She walked through the arch and didn’t break stride.

Once the mist broke over her shoulders, she found herself on what seemed to be a conjured bridge made of illuminated clouds. The endless flow of fog within the arch extended here, now beginning several paces overhead and falling to either side of her, spreading out to form the endless cloud bank below the bridge. While the pathway was narrow, she didn’t feel even an ounce of vertigo or the need to fight for balance. There was an amazing sensation of crossing leagues with every stride of her legs.

Then the end came into view. She understood Maochi’s warning somewhat better now that she was faced with leaving the breath-taking space behind. This was as near to flying as she had ever felt outside of her dreams. But the temptation wasn’t strong. She carried on through the second yellow-fog barrier that marked the termination of the bridge.

The drop as she exited was a few inches more than she had expected, but her training prevented her from stumbling. She wondered if the ‘error’ was intentional to put newcomers off-balance. Her eyes darted about the room. If the owners were capable of such petty tactics, then they might not be trustworthy.

She quickly noticed that she had exited through a large, square-shaped mirror rather than an archway, telling her that these portal paths did not need to be connected to specific, identical types of artifacts. She filed it away under information she might need someday if she ever delved into the area of portal magic.

The room was even more cluttered than the one she had left. Where Maochi’s chamber had carried the flavor of a poorly curated museum, this had the eclectic turmoil of a madman’s lair. What might be remarkable ideas chalked onto slabs or scribbled on parchment mixed with discarded apple cores and unsorted piles of rotting clothes. Most striking were the two large cages, one dominating a large chunk of the conical ceiling, while the other cordoned off a significant chunk of the main floor.

In the former, three winged creatures flapped among a twisted maze of perches. She might have felt bad for the captives, as the space within didn’t give them sufficient room to stretch their wings, but any sympathy evaporated under the baleful glares the creatures were sending her way which conveyed far more than avian intelligence. Their bodies reminded her of stooped versions of vultures, but their wings ended in three-clawed talons capable of hooking onto the latticework in their cages. Horse-like manes flowed off the back of their heads and extended down their spines and tails. Those tails were far longer than a typical birds, end in a snapping pincer akin to the mandibles of some spiders.

No less disturbing were the denizens of the second cage. The trio of creatures might once have been lycaons or hyenas, but could no longer be mistaken as such. Their snouts were overgrown with brutish teeth, blunt and hoggish rather than sharp in the manner of canines. Their pug noses twitched endlessly, dripping mucous onto the ground wherever they walked while hanging whiskers waved in the air like tentacles. Three ridges of webbed spines grew off their backs in distinct fans, while the fur growing off the rest of their body was patchy and mottled brown. Their four legs ended in forms akin to being hands, possessing something less than opposable thumbs and yet digits far more flexible than typical paws. They snuffled at the edge of their cage, taking immediate note of her. They shoved against the gate, wanting to be near enough to gnaw on her.

She had never seen the like of either creature. Fae-spawn? Or twisted creations of the portal mage himself? She had no idea, and would glad to quickly leave and put their lurking, malevolent presences behind. One of the vulture-spawn snapped at her, then let out a long stream of white droppings before flapping away. It was close enough that she had to scramble sideways in disgust to avoid getting spattered. Her reflexive motion brought her close enough to the ground-mounted cage that the nearest lycaon-spawn clamped its ugly teeth onto the bars and rattled the metal as if it was her arm.

Pushing down her fear, she muttered, “Think I met a cousin of yours once. He was equally well mannered.”
The creature glared back as if it could understand the implied insult, banging its head twice more against the side od the cage.

“Longer you stay near them, the worse they’ll get.” A cackle followed as the portal mage stepped out from behind a messy partition of wood panels and discarded supplies which appeared to outline his main work area. His frazzled grey hair was as unruly as his living space, and he wiped grease from his hands onto an already stained smock as if he was getting ready to grasp her forearm in greeting. His greedy eyes drank her in from head to toe. “Though I might drool ‘bout as much. Look… at… you. Porcelain skin is one thing, but never seen glass before. My, oh, my, that is…something.” He barked a laugh and panted a few times like a dog in heat before flashing her a sloppy grin.

Yokïmi’s skin wanted to crawl right off her bones. “This is… the Tatterdemalion?” He had spoken to her in yin-riss, so she followed suit. It was odd, calling on a language that had been magically gifted for the first time.

“Where else would it be?” The Wizard leaned against a nearby wall, causing a small landslide of papers which overturned an inkwell. None of it appeared to bother him. “The Wizard what sent you knew his business or he couldn’t have cracked open the bridge in the first place. Or maybe his magic might have fractured halfway and left you drifting in the nothing, hmm? But you’re here, so makes sense you’d be at the ‘here’ you wanted in the first place, no?” He grinned, harvesting another eyeful of her figure. “Much to my liking. You can stay as long as you please, darling.”

Unsure if the smarmy mage would care about her emotions, that didn’t mean they weren’t on display. Refusing to dwell on the ick, she concentrated on what else had about the Wizard. He has to have some knowledge. Some power. Otherwise, he couldn’t be part of this chain. Couldn’t keep control of those aberrations in the cages. Respect him for that, if nothing else. Hoping the façade was convincing, she asked, “The way out? If possible, avoiding the caravans making use of the place? I’d rather not cause a fuss.”

“Too late, darling. Got me all hot and bothered. But I’m happy ‘nough not to share the joy with any others.” He sauntered over and tapped on a wooden plank covered with notices stuck in place by tacks. Yet as she watched, what had seemed mundane at first proved magical, for the words upon some of the notices changed before her eyes. Another couple vanished while a few others appeared out of nothing. “But you’re sure? Trip between Torg’s Port and Tadak is a lot safer with a convoy. Road veers near the jungle a few times, and goes right through Widowmaker Canyon. Ain’t called that just because of the narrow paths near a couple cliffs, though they’ve taken a few wagons over the side to be sure.”

“No,” she said firmly.

“What about maps?” He strutted over to a honeycombed shelving unit, gesturing expansively over the rolled-up scrolls in all the cubbies. “Got every square inch of the Vulture’s Road detailed out, plus a few other places besides.”

“No,” she insisted again. She wasn’t one to turn her nose up at knowledge, but her own, recently acquired Skill regarding magical specialists was all she needed at the moment. She knew the path. When she got there, she could figure out the next step. She had no wish to be beholden to this man for anything. Nor could she pay him. At least not in any way she would contemplate in this life. “The exit will do.”

“Mind me asking where you’re going?”

“Why do you care?”

“Boredom, mostly.” He scratched at his belly through his smock, his every movement lazy. He waved at the changing notices again. “Know every caravan on the Road. Who’s in it. How far they’ve gone. When they reach the gates. But never get out there myself. Always living through them, you know?”

“Not really.” His curiosity gave her a small opening. “Trade you a question for a question.”

“Oh yeah? What you want to know?”

“Not many goblins walking around all alone.”

“Always fearing they’ll get squashed,” the Wizard snorted, though his brow scrunched in with concentration. “Wanting to know if I’ve seen one?”

“Only if it’s been in the last few days.”

“Hmm.” He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Feed me and I’ll feed you.” A sneering smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes dipped lower. “Though I might already owe you.”

“Going south. But I won’t be on the Road. Have family in these parts. I’m thinking I might find them if I veered west of the Road into the Solseer Hills toward where the jungles start.” No single element was a bold lie. She was heading generally south. She had no intention of following the Vulture’s Road. Her mother’s family was Goldaan, and if she biased to the west through those hills and into the jungles, she might find her mother’s people. Only when combined into the sum of their parts did the statements become misleading.

Nodding slowly, the Wizard replied, “Huh. That so? Not an easy place to homestead. Hope you find them okay. What’s that got to do with a goblin?”

“That would be two questions, and like you said, you already owe me.” She deliberately crossed her arms, blocking the view he found so riveting.

“Caught me there,” he laughed, utterly unashamed for his efforts to chisel out more information nor for his wandering gaze. “Saw one here. Hooked up with a caravan bound for Tadak. Though he bought two or three maps I didn’t think he’d want. Maps that would take him into the outer jungles.” He snickered. “You two are a lot alike.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. See, he said he was looking for family, too. Said a goblin clan lurks in the jungles not far from the Road. Wanted anything I had that might help track them down. Guess that’s something that cuts right across racial triads, hmm? We all need to belong somewhere.”

“Quite the insight. You’re right. I’m feeling the desire to be safe among my kin pulling at me right now. The way out?”

He grinned back. “Patience is never a virtue with the young.” He jabbed a finger at a door behind her. “That way. Turn left, not right. Takes you into the servant halls. Follow the stairs down two levels. Take a right, slip through the sitting room when you’re happy that it’s empty, then down the last set of stairs leading out into the chicken-killing yard. Might be messy, but you’ll only see a servant or two along the way, if that.”

In no mood to offer thanks, Yokïmi dipped her chin more in acknowledgement than respect, then spun for the door.

“Mm, mm. As good coming as ye are going. Yer a work of art, darling.”

Clenching her jaw, she left the lech behind, ignoring his final snickers as she swung the door closed a bit too hard for necessity’s sake. He’s a worm. Let it go. Not trusting that his directions weren’t part of another game to embarrass her, she took each corner with caution. At the sound of any voices, she held back or ducked into closets along the way, allowing the servants to pass her by without being seen.

But in the end, and to her mild surprise, the path out of the sprawling Tatterdemalion was as the Wizard had described. She found herself at the back of the waypoint compound. Guessing that the portal mage was probably looking out one of his crusted-glass windows to confirm what she’d said, Yokïmi trotted away from the building westward.

She decided she’d hold that path for a few hours, keeping just out of sight of the Road. Once she was well over the horizon, she could wait for a break in the wagon and foot traffic, then cross to the opposite side. She needed to veer nearly a dozen leagues out to the east if she was going to find the town of Ambagos on the northern boundary of the Thrushwood.

That’s where she’d find a SoulCrafter, according to the knowledge in her head.

That’s where she’d find the Astral teaching and magic that she would need to survive the challenges to come.

Chapter 18

A brief turmoil in the sky drew Yokïmi’s focus from the landscape. After two days of walking, she was well to the east of the Vulture’s Road, skimming over a pasture with its grass kept short by the grazing goats. There were a few copses of trees in view, but nothing that was even a shadow of the Thrushwood which was her destination.

The sky was cast over with a bank of clouds, doing a fine job of muting the brightness of both suns. She barely had to shield her eyes as she glanced upward.

The erratic movement she’d noticed was a cluster of four black dots: three small and darting while the last was large and imposing. They were locked in an aerial battle, with the three pecking away at the lone brute. But the trio soon learned there was nothing ponderous about their target. Snapping bites and swipes from the talons of the larger creature sent one of the smaller birds tumbling dead to the ground, then chased the other two into bloody flight.

That’s not a natural bird. Yokïmi accelerated her pace a little, though she tried not to seem like she was rushing for cover like a bit of prey. She amended her path toward a rickety bridge spanning a small stream. Assuming it held, crossing it would allow her to circle around the wooded area in front of her on the opposite side to her original intent.

Yokïmi felt sure the change would take her well beyond this creature’s hunting ground. She was soon proven wrong. Its spiraling flight shifted to avoid the distance between them opening. She didn’t get a sense that it was maneuvering for an attack, but neither was it letting her slip away. It isn’t here by accident.

She was less than a hundred paces beyond the bridge when she caught a snuffling growl on her flank. Upping her pace and placing the stream as an added, unexpected barrier must have drawn the stalking animal out of its stealth. She hadn’t so much as suspected its presence.

Along with her avian tracker, that meant she was caught in a sort of pincer. If one of the creatures lost her, the other could keep a fix on her until the other caught up. Tracking, but not attacking. Which means they’ve a different purpose. Probably marking my location for more dangerous hunters. That wasn’t a pleasant thought, especially when she didn’t know their purpose.

At least, not for sure. The coincidences were too great for her not to have some idea. That dark shape in the sky could easily be one of the portal mage’s vulture-spawn. And I’d say the noise my other shadow made could easily have come from the Lycaon-monster. She was angry at herself for missing this possibility. She had been so proud of cloaking her emotions and faking her destination. It seemed he had been using his own guile, hiding his intent behind his lechery. Not that he wasn’t enjoying himself in the process, but I didn’t stop to think he might have sold out to the goblin. That rotter already used his gold to hire protection once before. Should have guessed he’d do it again. Perfect place for it, if nearly all caravans and travelers stop at the Tatterdemalion on the way through. Ai ya, I was being a short-sighted fool.

She dragged herself away from the bitter thoughts. There would be time for yelling at herself later. She needed to deal with the mess she’d gotten herself into first. For that, she needed to seize the advantage by escaping her watchers, then find out exactly what sort of hunters she was dealing with… and if the goblin had paid them enough to make their mission worth dying for.

First things first. Trying not to be obvious, she gauged the flight of the vulture-spawn. Recalling the lurking intelligence in the beast, she hid the weaving of her spell runes. The last power words spilled from her lips in a rush, and she spun to the attack. A sizzling ray of pink energy sliced across the sky. Her quick aim wasn’t perfect, but it clipped the creature across a wing.

(-71)

* Crippled: Wing – Mild *

* Fear: Severe *

Its pained cry echoed back to her as its wings began flapping to open the distance. Yokïmi launched into a second casting of her Signature Spell. The distance was longer, but she had the time to target more deliberately. When she finally cut loose, the vulture-spawn was right at the edge of her magical ability. Another Razor Beam stabbed into the beast, scattering feathers and blood droplets alike.

(-69)

* Fear: Acute *

If the first strike hadn’t scared it off entirely, the second turned the creature toward absolute panic. Hobbled by its tortured wing, its flight lacked even a semblance of grace as it raced for the northern horizon in the general direction of the Tatterdemalion cage-coop it called home.

With the avian’s eyes off her back, Yokïmi burst into a sprint. She didn’t have any illusion that she could outrun one of those lycaon-spawn across an open field, but she only needed to gain the woodline.

She began her next magical conjuring before she was inside the forest. She ducked behind a tree, then began the more complicated portion of a spell she had only recently learned. Whispering under her breath, she had to remain quiet if this was going to work. She crept further in, interposing the trees between her and where she thought the other creature would enter in pursuit.

Relief filled her as she finished the spell. The nearly-absent breeze swept into stronger motion. More importantly, it began to swirl. She kept her summoned Minor Whirlwind below its full power, though it was strong enough to whip a few branches and pebbles hard enough to crack off the tree trunks. It wouldn’t be enough to kill the lycaon-spawn, but it would confuse its sense of smell. The concept of upwind and downwind was now irrelevant.

She shifted position on the off chance the creature had followed her until the end of the spellcasting. Hunkering down low behind a bush, she waited for some sign of her stalker coming closer to regain contact.

Yokïmi heard its growl first. That guided her to where its drooping whiskers and dripping nose snuffled at the ground. The tension in its limbs screamed caution. The creature clearly hated having its greatest advantage brushed aside. Saliva dripped from between the misshapen teeth of its open maw, the growl coming from its throat a constant, primal hum.

She tried to fight down her own nerves and the mental image of those teeth locking around her arm. I need to let it get a bit closer. A bit… closer…

Now! The explosive energy for a Trivial level Fire Spark rushed from her core, barely enough pain for her to notice after so long using her ChiKiln Techniques. Her fingers snapped once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time. With each small crack of noise, a small burst of fire appeared right in front of the lycaon-spawn’s nose.

The first spark brought the creature up short. The second had it back on its heels. The third and the fourth made it recoil. She didn’t relent. The heat was enough to singe its sensitive nose, but more importantly it was dazzling and surprising in the low light of the woods. No matter how it twisted its head, she made sure the next one appeared right by its face. Five. Then six. She added a seventh before going for the finale.

{-1}  {-2}  {-1}  {-2}  {-1}  {-1}  {-1}

* Dazed *

* Fear: Moderate *

“Zonnet di kris vak!” She hissed, suffering the higher inner damage demand to conjure the Low-level Fire Bolt spell. A true, blazing missile flashed across the space between them and blasted into the beast’s face.

{-63}

* Burning *

{-2}

* Burning *

{-2}

Its fur ignited, charring its head and back, threatening to envelop the rest of its body with her conjured Whirlwind fanning the flames. The creature yipped in pain, staggered back, and crushed its face into patches of grass in an effort to smother the fire. Utterly disheartened, the lycaon-spawn gave up the hunt and fled.

While the two animals were dangerous, Yokïmi didn’t suspect for a second that they were alone. Both were meant for tracking. That meant others they were leading, waiting for the right chance to ambush her.

Her next step was to obscure the surroundings. She felt the drain on her body as she brought a thick fog into existence, turning the small woodland into a maze. Fatigue sapped at her as she dipped deeply into her Physical magic reservoirs.

Time to do exactly what I didn’t want to be doing. Her memory sifted through the various spells she had available to her in the Mental, Emotional, and Soul aspects of her magic and considered the materials she might need to cast any of them. Her eyes went to the ground, foraging for whatever she could locate to expand her available weapons.

She found a couple small feathers, and then a pine needle that was sharp enough that she could prick her finger and draw forth a droplet of blood. A plan formed in her mind, though it would take a few risks. Her best hope would be for the hunters to simply pass her by or abandon the chase now that their guide creatures had been scared off.

Her luck wasn’t that good. She saw a shadow stepping carefully around a tightly packed copse of trees. Then she picked out a soft whisper, though she couldn’t make out whether it was a question or an order or a simple curse.

Circling at the very limits of visibility, Yokïmi used her crystalline form to her advantage. While the hunters were insubstantial forms, she was nothing but a ghost. There was a decent chance she could walk into open sight and they would still be slow to realize she was more than an apparition in the mist.

“She’s definitely onto us, Gutch,” one of the pursuers murmured in an alto voice that suggested a female owner.

None of the hunters were hulks, but the one she’d named was the biggest of the lot. He stooped to one knee as if checking the ground for tracks. “No time to be getting skittish.”

“She ran off the Wizard’s pets and now ducked into the fog. I’m telling you –”

Another of the hunters cut her off with a scoff. “Gold don’t come easy, Tinya. If you want to run, happy to take your share.”

“Report said she walked away from half-a-dozen sailors who tried to smear her over the cobblestones.” A nervous waver played in Tinya’s voice.

The same scoffer mocked her again. “From the mouth of a goblin. Filthy stinker doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

“Why would he play up the danger?” Tinya hissed back. “That would only bump the price we’d demand.”

Gutch jerked a hand into the air to silence their argument. “Also makes sure we come in heavy, with more than enough to handle her. Been reading her tracks since we picked up the trail yesterday. Barefoot. Definitely alone. Haven’t seen so much as an apple core that she’s dropped. Figure she’s traveling light. Not much to make us worried.” He pointed off to the right. “Hollan, that way.”

The scornful hunter prowled off, following the orders.

Gutch flickered another finger left. “Tinya. And don’t jump at nothing, hear me?”

She issued a small whine, but she straightened her spine, drew a short sword, and crept off in search of their quarry.

The leader canted his gaze towards the last of the group, the only one who had yet to speak. He made a patting gesture with his palm.

Taking the silent order, the quiet fourth edged up against a nearby tree and nocked a bolt into place on a crossbow. They didn’t move, taking a watchful position and began to scan for any movement in the fog.

With his team dispersed, Gutch rose from his knee, but remained in a predatorial crouch. He advanced with precisely placed steps, looking for snares and traps. He called out, “Tricks won’t help you. We’ll run you to ground eventually. You know it as well as us.”

Yokïmi ignored him and his intimidation tactics. Instead, she focused on moving soundlessly in on the silent archer’s flank. She whispered her way through a Read Surface Thoughts spell, summoning on her Willpower to channel the spell instead of her depleted Tolerance. The feather clasped between her fingers fizzled into nothingness.

She felt a resistance pressure as the man’s mind sought to keep her out, but her magic proved superior. The strange sensation of another person’s thoughts filtered through her consciousness: Flush her out. Give me a shot.

Gutch was still speaking, trying to goad a reaction from their quarry. “We’re doing this for gold, not outta hate. Don’t care one way or another about you. The one who hired us wants to stuff you onto a ship. Didn’t much care about which one or where it was sailing. Give us trouble, and we bury you in these woods. Hear me? No need for this to get ugly!”

The archer eased away from his backing, taking careful steps as he crossed over to a fallen tree. He laid the forward end of his crossbow down for support, his hawkish eyes barely blinking as he scoured the fog. That’s right. Stick your head out for a nice talk. I’ll put one through your eye before you can surrender. No need to march you back to a ship, is there? No one will be the wiser if we leave you in a ditch.

It was one of the few moments Yokïmi wished she had perfected a lethal, coup de grace strike. She had stalked in right behind the archer. Exercising all her self-control, she didn’t lash out with the blade of her foot in an effort to snap the higher vertebrae of the man’s spine. She restrained herself to a precise knuckle-strike to the same region to temporarily paralyze him, then followed up by grabbing his hair and pummeling a blackout blow against his temple.

[-13]

* Crippled: Body – Severe *

[-28]

* Unconscious *

The archer was out of the fight before he even knew he was in it. She caught the crossbow before it went clattering to the ground. She wasn’t proficient with it, and her first instinct was to render the weapon harmless. I’ve still got the element of surprise on them. I can use this to even the odds. Locating the shadow of the one called Hollan, Yokïmi went back on her own hunt.

Unaware he had lost one of his own, Gutch pulled a set of shackles off his belt and rattled them in the air. “Trust me. Steel is much friendlier in this shape. Don’t make us use the sharp bits. Never been fond of killing when it ain’t needed.”

Yokïmi snuck toward Hollan’s side. She repeated the same Read Surface Thoughts spell, having no need to conserve her Mental spell strength. Her Willpower reserves were barely touched, she didn’t have any other material components to use, nor did she know any Moderate-level spells in the Mental sphere that would burn through her reservoir rapidly.

Hollan’s thoughts proved scattered compared to the focused archer. Heh. Hope she don’t lay down easy. Could use a fight. What was that? Oh. Stupid squirrel. Ain’t going through these brambles. Left or right? Left. Yeah, left. Now if I was a stupid bitch hiding in a hole, where would I be?

Yokïmi pursed her lips and whistled softly from right behind his elbow.

He spun, eyes widening in shock. A thought sparked in his brain. Crap!

The next thing that went through his mind was the crossbow bolt she had leveled at his head. She wouldn’t have trusted her aim from any further off, but at this range, missing was all but impossible. The weapon’s heavy wire snapped forward with a muted chunk. The bolt’s tip plunged through the man’s eye and broke out the skull, leaving the man’s head transfixed.

* Critical Wound *

(-213)

* Dead *

As soon as she triggered the crossbow, Yokïmi ducked low, dropped the weapon, and melted back into the mist. If either of the other two turned to see Hollan fall, she hoped to make it seem as if he had died by an invisible ghost’s hand.

Circling in the opposite direction, she paused behind a tree and cupped a hand around her mouth to cloak the direction of her voice. “Is the goblin paying you that well? Enough to risk your life to follow the orders of one you’d probably spit on if you saw him walking in the streets?” Finishing the taunt, she continued in her arcing path, heading for the one named Tinya.

“A goblin’s pockets can be as deep as any other.” Gutch peeled his long sword from its scabbard. “The Wizard said you were fetchin’. Won’t be nearly so pretty with a couple feet of steel pushed through your gut. Exile on a ship is a better option. Surrender!”

Yokïmi didn’t have a hook into his thoughts. She didn’t need one. The other two had been eager to betray her, and she doubted they would have been so brazen without their leader’s support.

Ignoring his empty offer, she used his gruff yells to cover her own magical incantation. Her target already had a tag hovering above her head.

* Fear: Moderate *

Stabbing the pine needle into her arm, she flourished the bloodied, makeshift pin as she finished her spell. It vaporized as new fear swelled inside Tinya, confirmed by the change to her marking.

* Fear: Severe *

The woman stiffened and her fingers went white on her blade. “Something’s wrong!”

The angle was wrong for a full paralysis strike, and it was incredibly difficult to execute. Yokïmi was down to her last scraps of magical energy. She couldn’t afford to waste this chance. Darting one finger toward the skittish mercenary, she activated her Force Dart Technique and paid the cost for it in pain. She focused through the haze of dizziness as her Tolerance points dropped to near zero, carrying her Paralyzing Strike through on the other woman’s shoulder.

* Crippled: Right Arm – Severe *

Tinya yelped as her arm went numb. Her sword clattered off the rocks at her feet. Her mouth opened in shock at the sensation of her own body betraying her.

Yokïmi stepped out of the mist in full view of her, hoping the other woman wasn’t at all ready for her spirit-like nature, whatever she might have been told by the Wizard. “One limb down. What’s next?”

* Fear: Acute *

As her tag intensified, Tinya let out a shriek. She yanked out a knife from where it was strapped on her forearm and flung it at the fae apparition that had materialized in front of her. Then she turned on her heels and fled into the fog.

The reflexive attack caught Yokïmi by surprise. She pivoted sideways, smacking at the blade in an effort to deflect it away. The edge sliced open a nasty cut along her forearm before spinning away into the brush.

(-9)

Hissing in pain, Yokïmi locked onto the last of the hunters with a glare devoid of any humor. Tinya’s cry had summoned his attention, but he was still too distant in the fog to make out much detail on his glass-skinned opponent.  As he crept forward, she circled, trying to keep that distance open for now. “Seems like you’re all by yourself. Think it’s time to explore other options than the ones you gave me?”

Gutch had seen Tinya flee, but her claim that the other two were also gone struck him hard. No crossbow bolt came from his sniper. Nor did Hollan come charging in to support. A tag phased into existence above his head.

* Fear: Mild *

The effect grew no worse as the veteran hunter kept his calm. Interposing his long sword between them, he demanded, “And what would those options be?”

“The portal Wizard’s pets are gone. You could pretend you never found me once they fled.”

“And prove my incompetence to the Wizard? Ensure I never get another tracking job again?” He barked a laugh and deepened into a true combat crouch.

“Better than never getting a job again because you’re floating down the River of Souls.” To an observer who didn’t know her, she remained unprepared. But her weight shifted onto the balls of her feet, and she picked out the more vulnerable pressure point targets he was leaving exposed. Her Physical magic was all but depleted, and she didn’t have the spell components to activate any spells from the other spheres, even if they could make a difference in this fight.

His leather gauntlets creaked as the grip on his sword tightened. “We’ll see who ends up digging the grave and who ends up lyin’ in it.” He attacked before the last words were past his lips. Despite his bullish attitude, his first strikes were on-balance and deliberate. Seeing no sign of a weapon on her, he used his reach advantage well, thrusting and hacking in a way that never opened his body for her to slip in behind his guard.

Yokïmi bided her own time, learning the way her opponent moved. Staying just ahead of each attack, she worked on frustrating him, getting him fixated on seeing her blood for the first time. When sure that he was deep in that single-minded attitude, she played her gambit. She let him get closer, opening a chance for him to slash right through her left arm and side.

He took the bait. He cut loose with additional power, convinced he had her dead to rights. With a deft side-shuffle, Yokïmi revealed the young tree behind her, which he had been too intent on her to see. His long sword notched deeply into its green wood. She lashed out with a side kick, doing more to shove him back than to injure him.

[-5]

* Off Balance *

With the tree binding his sword, it was torn from his grasp as Gutch stumbled. He grasped at a dagger in a belt sheath. She dove in like a falcon, jabbing a finger into the correct spot to numb the hand questing for the weapon. He snarled and jumped away, waggling his arm in a useless attempt to bring sensation back below his wrist.

* Crippled: Right Hand – Severe *

They reset opposite each other, locking glares that were equally uncompromising. Around them, the fog broke as her spell ended, allowing daylight to once more pierce the trees. A shaft of sunslight played over his face, making him flinch away. He spat to one side, pumping the fingers of his left hand as if getting it ready to take over primary duty from his right one. “Got a few nasty tricks in you, I’ll give ya that.”

“More where that came from.” She feinted a punch at his head to provoke a reaction.

He gave her one. Protecting his working hand, he yanked the dagger out and swiped at her extended hand. He waded into her personal space with lumbering strides and tried to plant the dagger into her chest.

Gutch had Yokïmi outmassed and overpowered. She dared not match him strength for strength. Once again, she retreated before his rage, letting him expend his momentum. Her game was precision. When the time was right, she sank to one knee and latched onto a palm-sized rock. She rebounded to her feet and met his next slash by smashing the rock against the handle and his fingers gripping it. She heard his knuckles crack under the impact.

[-21]

* Crippled: Left Hand – Mild *

“Narrum’s balls!” the hunter bellowed in pain. The dagger tumbled from his fingers, and Yokïmi plucked it up mid-fall. Sensing the threat, Gutch lurched forward and wrapped his meaty arms around her. He crushed her against his chest, pinning her arms and stopping her from bringing the dagger to bear. It was her turn to suffer pain as the sound of her cracking ribs filled the air.

[-24]

* Pinned *

Summoning the Break Grapple Holds Technique she’d learned for exactly this occasion, the supernatural ability went beyond her normal flexibility and knowledge of body mechanics to wedge an opening in his grasp. It gave her the room to twist the dagger and jam it deep into Gutch’s left hip.

(-29)

Dropping below the ring of his arms, Yokïmi lashed out at the hunter’s knee. His patchwork armor blocked her direct path to his vital points. Instead, she threw all her weight behind an open-palm blow that tried to bend his joint in the wrong direction.

[-21]

* Crippled: Right Leg – Mild *

Even as she did, Gutch folded his two crippled hands together and smashed them down in a double hammer blow on her shoulders. His weakened leg stole much of the power he could generate, but the force still thundered through her.

[-29]

* Stunned *

Her vision swam and her mind refused to clear. She flung herself backward, rolling over her shoulder in a blind bid to win distance between them. She would have died then and there but for the man’s damaged knee on one side and the dagger rammed into his left hip socket. It slowed his pursuit to an angry stagger, though there was no doubting that he was coming for her.

He reached low, ripping a knife from its ankle sheath. “S’all I need to skin you alive. Gonna claim my gold with your pretty crystal hide!” He stomped after her as if every fall of his heavy boots were meant to crush her into the ground.

Recklessly bruising herself on rocks as she tumbled, her Stunned condition plagued Yokïmi. It removed the option for any of the precision attacks she had mastered. She mistimed one of her rolls, losing momentum and flopping out painfully on her back.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the archer’s limp form. A leather satchel had flopped on the ground next to him. She saw the stiff fletching of a half-dozen bolts protruding from the end. Snatching two into her left hand, she tossed one to her right and whipped it like a dart at her charging assailant.

Gutch batted it with an irritable swipe of his hand, taking little more than a flea bite on his hand. But she expected him to swat the impromptu missile away. That was her feint. Coiling into a spring, she exploded in low with the bolt’s point leading. It punched into his leathers just above the metal plate protecting his groin. She didn’t stop until everything but the fletching was plunged into his flesh.

* Critical Wound *

(-91)

* Bleeding *

(-1)

* Bleeding *

(-1)

The hunter doubled over, unable to let out a howl of pain with the spike through his gut. She didn’t give him the chance to recover. Spinning into his side, she claimed his knife arm and jammed his elbow into a painful bar by using a wrist lock. Adding a vicious twist, his fingers lost control of the knife hilt and she stripped it away from him. Flipping it into a proper grip, she lanced it into the unsuspecting hunter’s head, using the dark spot of his ear tunnel as a target.

* Critical Wound *

(-262)

* Dead *

It was by far the deadliest knife wound she had ever delivered. Her orb chimed in the background of their fight. Yokïmi had the instinctive certainty that she’d just gained a quick-kill style ability. She released her hold on the man, leaving him to fall lifeless to the forest floor.

The pain from her magical exertion and the battering she’d taken from Gutch made her want to collapse onto her own patch of dirt. But she couldn’t give in to the temptation. The archer among them was only unconscious, and she couldn’t bring herself to murder him in cold blood. Then there was Tinya. Her fear would soon recede and she’d remember that she’d left friends behind. She could return at any minute, and Yokïmi had no faith that she could fight off a capable Warrior looking for revenge.

She couldn’t simply stagger away, either. For all she knew, one of those two might be a decent tracker. Focusing as best she could, she picked her way over the hardest ground she could find. With every step, she praised her Body Sheath’s protection, stopping her soles from getting cut apart on every sharp edge or jagged rock.

Once beyond the large copse of trees, she pushed into the swaying grass in a nearby field. She found what looked like a goat trail and took to it, treading over the compacted ground to conceal her comparatively shallow tracks. When she came upon a stream, she ventured out over the stony riverbed.

Three hours of walking were behind her before she started looking for a refuge for the night. The suns were still a few hours from the horizon, but her energy reserves were failing fast.

The stream took her into another small, wooded area. Foraging for a few nuts and berries to fill the hole in her stomach, she found a tree with an exposed root structure along the water bank. Digging in, she hollowed out a nest, pushing the mud and dirt outward to block off as many sight lines as possible. She left her Body Sheath active, more than happy to burn a full night’s worth of power to keep the worst of the grime and bugs from getting onto her exposed skin.

Yokïmi was about to surrender the initiative to the hunters. If they found her, she’d have to hope they were sloppy enough to wake her up before they could kill her in her sleep. She felt as safe as she possibly could given those circumstances.

Whispering to herself again and again to build her confidence, she closed her eyes and let dreams take her, willing her Chi Healing Talent to work its magic.

*          *          *

The chattering of an unseen animal drew Yokïmi from her sleep. Her eyes hunted about her dark hollow, making sure a predator hadn’t wormed its way into her refuge. She heard another commotion out amidst the trees as the animal attacked its prey, followed by a sharp death cry as it made its kill.

None of that had anything to do with her, but the mild resurgence of adrenaline had her wide awake with further sleep unlikely. Stiffness warred with soreness in every muscle she tested. Stumbling about in the dark while her body ached sounded terrible. Stretching out her limbs to soothe the aches, she decided to remain in place until the suns dawned.

Needing to occupy her mind while her body healed, Yokïmi summoned her status orb from where it was lazily orbiting in the cramped space. With some disappointment, she saw a new Level [+] marker she had not expected. It was next to an entry that was shaded, indicating she had yet to take a rank in it: Rogue. It was a Basic Level, meaning it was one that could be accessed instinctively and without the need for mentorship. Her trickery and use of rogue-style weapons must have suggested to the gods who governed their world that she was seeking entry onto that path.

Only, she wasn’t. Perhaps a few of the Skills on that path might be useful, but that was not the way she wanted to go about acquiring them. Instead, she tapped on the yellow [+] marker, dumping the XP into her Bellatir path. The addition wasn’t yet sufficient to increase her level, but it would close the gap. Not that I want to get into more conflict, but given what I’m doing, that’s pretty much inevitable.

She then considered the other recent changes on her status line.

* New Talent Unlocked – Coup de Grace now level 1 *

* Chi Healing – Talent now level 3 *

* Danger Sense – Talent now level 2 *

* Bellatir Adapted Spell (Force Dart) – Technique now level 2 *

* Burn PDP for Magical Energy – Technique now level 4 *

* Pressure Point Strike (Numbing) – Technique now level 3 *

* Pressure Point Strike (Paralyzing) – Technique now level 2 *

* Knockout Strike – Technique now level 3 *

* Signature Physical Spell (Razor Beam – Minor) – Technique now level 3 *

She wasn’t certain whether it was activating the Coup de Grace Talent or the possible Rogue Level she’d been offered which had activated the earlier orb chime. Perhaps both simultaneously, since her precision knife strike had seemingly caused it. The rest was an appreciative slew of advances that proved she was bettering the Techniques that were core to her Ekanshin and ChiKiln paths.

Chief among them was the Burn PDP Technique. Reducing the cost of powering her spells was of paramount importance in extending herself in future combats. It was also her core Chi power, which would enable her Chi Healing Technique. She opened up the details that would be so pivotal in her survival.

Technique: Burn PDP for Magical Energy: Level 4

-  This is the fundamental process that enables a practitioner to burn Physical Damage Points instead of material components to produce magical energy. Unlike the physical pain endured during a failed spell, this process can be controlled, improved, and streamlined.

-  PDP can only be used to power spells in the physical domain. Mental, Emotive, and Soul-based magic utilize other Techniques that must be mastered separately.

-  Trivial spells are commonly powered by ambient material components. However, they can draw upon PDP if the ChiKiln requires, such as in a sterile environment.

-  Current channeling costs:

• Trivial difficulty spells sap 1 PDP.

• Low difficulty spells sap 10 PDP.

• Moderate difficulty spells sap 20 PDP.

• High difficulty spells sap 60 PDP.

• Evolved difficulty spells sap 180 PDP.

• Superior difficulty spells sap 400 PDP.

• Ascendant difficulty spells sap 800 PDP.

• Epic difficulty spells sap 4000 PDP.

• Divine difficulty spells sap 8000 PDP.

-  Current magically-burned PDP refresh rates:

• Secure, unconscious rest: 1 point per 8 minutes

• Uncomfortable, unconscious rest: 1 point per 16 minutes

• Stressful, unconscious rest: 1 point per 30 minutes

• Secure, conscious respite: 1 point per 50 minutes

• Uncomfortable, conscious respite: 1 point per 90 minutes

• Stressful, conscious respite: 1 point per 110 minutes

-  Higher levels of this Technique reduce cost for channeling as well as improve refresh rates.

The cost of the High difficulty spells made her yearn to augment her Tolerance. She was only a few points away from being able to open a channel strong enough to handle that much energy. She still recalled a time when the potential offered by Low Level spells had amazed her. Soon enough. If the only way I can break my Curses is by advancing far enough that I can dispel them myself, then so be it.

She shifted to her Chi Healing entry to discover how much faster her body would now regain PDP after she’d been stupid enough to nearly get herself killed.

Talent: Chi Healing: Level 3

-  As a prerequisite to obtaining this Talent, the Bellatir must have awakened the Technique for Burning PDP for Magical Energy. This Talent uses the same power of the inner Chi to increase natural healing rates.

-  Physical damage endured by the practitioner will now recover at a rate linked to the recovery rate indicated by one’s Burning PDP for Magical Energy Technique. The recovery rates are governed by type:

• [Bludgeoning] Damage recovers at 75% listed rate.

• (Cutting/Clean Edge) Damage recovers at 60% listed rate.

• {Aggravated} Damage recovers at 40% listed rate.

-  The healing this Talent provides happens concurrently to recovery rates from other Talents and Techniques.

-  This Talent is a prerequisite for other Techniques that can allow the individual to grant others healing energy.

-  Only Physical Damage Points (PDP) can be healed with this process. Mental, Emotive, and Soul-based damage (MDP, EDP, SDP) must be healed utilizing other Techniques mastered separately.

-  Higher levels of this Technique improve the percentages for recovery. Above level 10, recovery for mundane PDP injuries will exceed those lost due to Burning for Magical Energy.

There was still room to grow the ability, but Yokïmi had to be pleased. Without this ability, she’d be crawling to the temple of any god who might be friendly to her cause, begging for their faithful to heal her. That, or trying to scrape together enough gold to buy potions or a magical device that could do the healing. She wondered, Will Tinya or her archer friend tell the Wizard that I escaped, but that I was injured? Will they pass that along to the goblin? She could only hope. It might make Plecht think that she would be longer delayed. That might make him relax. To take his time.

She couldn’t count on that. Especially since she still needed to try and gain access to Soul based magic that she could rely on without materials for energy. She was gambling that her experience with accessing the ChiKiln path would let her crack open SoulCrafter Levels more easily. That will depend on what sort of mentor I find in Ambagos. I have a name, but I know nothing about her.

Distracting herself from any further grim doubting, Yokïmi focused on the last Technique which promised a pleasant surprise.

Technique: Signature Physical Spell: Level 3

-  The ChiKiln may select a single Spell from their known inventory which becomes their Signature Spell. The selection can only be changed upon gaining a new level in this Technique.

-  This spell can be cast with reduced cost, both in Tolerance points and (if material components are not used) in the PDP required to Burn sufficient energy.

-  The maximum level for the Signature spell is currently Moderate.

-  Casting the Signature Spell requires 50% of normal costs.

-  This Technique can only create a Signature Spell from the physical domain. Signature Spells for the Mental, Emotive, and Soul-based domains are possible utilizing other Techniques that must be mastered separately.

-  Higher levels of this Technique increase the maximum level of the spell that may be chosen as well as reducing the % cost.

Sure enough, beyond the exciting drop in the spell’s cost, she could finally decide to pick a Moderate spell. She knew the spell was intended to be a favorite, even a way of marking her as a mage, but she couldn’t deny the temptation of picking a higher-level spell to streamline her power. Her Low-Level spells took 5 Tolerance Points and 10 PDP to cast, while her Moderate ones took 18 Tolerance and 20 PDP. Slashing the cost of a Moderate spell in half would make far more sense.

In the end, she realized she had a great alternative. The Minor Razor Beam spell had been useful, with a sentimental connection as a special spell selected for her by Katashi. She had often considered finding a more powerful version of the same spell to keep as her Signature. In the future, she might revert to that idea.

But the shine was dulled when it came to sentimentality for Katashi, and there was another spell that was going to be perhaps more useful as she ventured into populated areas. She selected her Invisibility Spell with a flex of her will.

Banishing her orb, Yokïmi tested her legs and found the ache in them had vanished. Staying longer would be lethargy, and I can’t afford to be lazy. Not until I get some sign of how close the goblin is getting to finding Dola. With that in mind, she clambered out past the cage of roots and waded back into the stream.

She spent nearly a full sunspan scanning the trees and listening in the morning light. Nothing but a few scampering animals and fluttering birds. She guessed any of them could be spies for the Wizard, but she doubted it. He seemed to prefer his monsters. She’d have to trust in that. Jumping each time she heard a bird chirp would drive her insane before the suns crested at noon.

As confident as she could be that she wasn’t being actively hunted, Yokïmi set off down the stream. She’d stay in the water until she left the woods to see if she could find a landmark she recognized from the maps she’d studied. If not, she’d simply head south. The Thrushwood dominated the eastern side of the Vulture’s Road. She could hardly miss it. Once she did, she would be able to track along its perimeter until she found the village of Ambagos.

And then, find out if begging really is good for the soul. May Lady Fortune be merciful that this SoulCrafter is of a generous spirit and willing to help.

Chapter 19

Her new Signature spell proved immediately useful. Yokïmi appreciated how much less the activation of her Invisibility hurt. Thus shrouded, she entered Ambagos in search of answers. If there was a SoulCrafter in the area, the villagers would know of her and any local legends surrounding her.

Four days had passed since she’d escaped the hunters. Knowing that she’d have to eavesdrop or find someone amenable to speaking with her, she had camped outside the rustic community and entered in the morning hours. The community was beginning to come alive as the market stalls opened.

Yokïmi felt at ease with the general wholesome feel to the place, though it was different enough to Hu’na’laan villages to be fascinating. Her use of the portal made the change feel unnatural. She was suddenly walking among people whose skin trended toward dusky caramel and whose clothing fashion came from a culture that favored looser, flowing patterns anchored by straps of leather around the joints.

She came upon an elderly woman squatting on her porch. Though she was swathed in a cloak to ward off cold, her face was turned up toward the suns as if enjoying the warmth. Staring into the brilliant light appeared to cause her no discomfort. That combined with the milky film over her eyes suggested she was blind.

Positioning herself by the side of the porch, Yokïmi waited until she was sure no one else was in earshot. In a casual tone, attempting to give nothing away about being an invisible, glass-skinned, magically-altered aberration of humanity, she said, “Good morning, good mother. Mind if I ask a few questions?”

The woman didn’t seem startled, perhaps hearing Yokïmi’s footsteps. “Ohh, a traveler. Or should I call you a pilgrim instead?”

Yokïmi didn’t read any hesitation or suspicion against outsiders that could breed in secluded villagers. Gentle amusement played in her tone as she asked, “How’d you guess?”

“Few come to our little village. Fewer still who aren’t familiar. We know anyone who might visit from the nearby hamlets. Those people know our faces. Know enough to call me Netty. Which makes you a stranger. And what cause would a stranger have to be here but to petition Heliasta for her favor?”

The name was a match to the information granted to her by her Quest-given Education Skill. “Does that mean she’s been kind to your village? Kind enough to have formed a partnership with your people?”

“I’m sure she has no wish to spend her days farming and foraging for food,” Netty answered with a soft cackle of a laugh. “She’s wise enough to avoid biting the hands that feed her.”

Yokïmi perched on the porch at the woman’s side, comfortable in her presence. It was pleasant to linger in the sunslight, watching the people of a village stroll by without worrying about causing a stir. “And pilgrims like me? Are we a common sight?”

“Mm.” The elder woman wriggled her shoulders indifferently. “Not so rare that you shock us by coming. Not so common that it is boring to meet one of you. Perhaps three or four every year wander through.”

“How many leave disappointed?”

Netty issued another of her light cackles. “Are you sure you want to know? It could poison your hopes.”

“I like to know what I’m getting myself into,” Yokïmi admitted, scratching her nails absently against the porch’s crude wooden boards.

“And if I tell you naught but one in every ten remains to become one of the Sorceress’s apprentices? Would you lose heart and leave?”

“No.”

Netty turned up a palm, waving at the air as if brushing away such concerns. “Then it shouldn’t matter.”

“It could matter,” Yokïmi argued gently. “If you’ve seen so many come and go, you might see a pattern. Other than her taking only women into her care. That much is known.”

“Ahh, a wiser sort of question. Shall I give away my secrets so freely?”

Yokïmi breathed a soft laugh of her own. “I’d ask your price, but I get the feeling you don’t want for very much.”

Netty turned her head as if to peer at her visitor, a holdover from the days she could see. “You might not be one of the foolish ones. Means you might have a chance.” She shook her head. “But I’m afraid I can’t demand any sort of price. I won’t try to sell what I don’t have.”

“Has she left any instructions for those such as me?”

“If you stand by the town’s well and face south, you’ll see a rock painted white standing by the side of one path that leads into the Thrushwood. Follow the white rocks to the clearing. From there, your fate is your own.”

Yokïmi tilted her head, then huffed a little laugh when she remembered the woman couldn’t see her expression of probing curiosity. “No hints were given by those who went before me?”

“Those who become apprentices are sworn to secrecy when they visit us from the forest. Those who fail tend to leave quickly. In anger. Or in shame. Or merely to leave a failed chapter of their lives behind them. None have ever stayed to gossip about the loss,” the old woman answered with a wry smirk.

“Perhaps I’ll be the first.” Yokïmi rose to her feet, already searching for a safe way to approach the well.

“No confidence?”

“Call it a deliberate effort to keep my sense of humor.” She placed a single, warm hand on Netty’s shoulder. “If I owned anything in the world, I’d reward you for your help. All I have to offer is my thanks.”

The elder woman patted her hand in return. “That will have to do.”

“Oi, Netty! What are you doin’?” A strident voice called out, getting louder as the man behind it strode closer. He had seen five or six decades himself by the look of him, and though he was brusque, there was genuine concern layered under his gruff demands. “Talking to the air again?”

Feeling a touch guilty, the last thing Yokïmi wanted was to be stuck answering questions. She whispered, “I’m sorry for any trouble I’ve caused you,” then slipped her hand away and drifted down the crude road meandering between the village buildings.

Behind her, she heard Netty snap back at the man, “Minding my own business, which is what you should be doing yerself, Mallik.”

With that, Yokïmi trusted the blind woman could handle herself around her own village peers. Invisible, she didn’t have to smother her grin as Netty continued to berate the man until he probably wished he had never stuck his nose in.

She soon left audible range of their squabble and found the well. The white painted rock was exactly where Netty had described it. It was oddly visible, for the village market sprawled in a haphazard way and should have had a high chance of someone blocking or covering it without thinking. But the space around the white rock had been left deliberately open, which Yokïmi believed to be the result of a deal the leaders of Ambagos had struck with the Sorceress. Maybe in exchange for her protection? The idea made a certain amount of symbiotic sense.

The trail of painted rocks proved equally reliable. Whether by muscle or magic, the pathway remained groomed and free from the encroaching underbrush. She kept her pace measured, despite an urge to rush. The idea that she was already under observation occurred to her, meaning she might already be sculpting her initial impression toward her would-be mentor.

Even maintaining a sense of decorum, it only took a sunspan to reach the clearing Netty had mentioned. The center was dominated by an expansive gazebo constructed of weathered wood. Yokïmi circled it, looking for any important details or a clue as to what might be expected of her. Finding nothing, she mounted the two steps and walked to the middle of the platform.

There she found a circle. The outline was made of tightly packed rune shapes. They weren’t drawn; rather, they were embedded into the wood using pure silver. She inspected the runes, not understanding the full extent of the spell, but able to determine that their purpose revolved around detection and communication.

Confident they would neither cause her pain nor teleport her away, she stepped into the ring. With no idea as to how long she’d have to wait, Yokïmi folded herself into a kneeling position, stilled her mind, and focused on her rhythmic breathing. She dispelled her invisibility effect. Not that she feared the Sorceress would be unable to penetrate the illusion, but it felt rude to maintain the sensory screen.

Aware that she would have to be responsive, she floated above the level of a true meditative trance. That meant she was aware of time passing. Her patience was equal to the task. Having terrible options helps. The next closest SoulCrafter mentor is on a different continent, and I’d lose all trace of the goblin. Failure here won’t make my task impossible, but the slim chance of saving Dola would vanish, assuming she was the next target for the goblin siblings.

“Please, rise. We do not kneel in this place.”

There was no warning. No flash of light that might have flickered through her eyelids. A soft alto called out to Yokïmi, compelling her to open her eyes. A stately, voluptuous, blonde-haired woman stood at the apex of the structure’s far end. She was shrouded in a blue gown, with a fitted top that flared out into a multi-layered skirt. Her hands were swathed in gloves, while her face was hidden behind a mask sculpted with exquisite detail. Not an inch of her skin was showing, yet Yokïmi felt like the woman’s personality was clear.

She also wasn’t alone. To each side, four women stretched out in a line along the gazebo’s inner edge. They were dressed identically in close-fitting white dresses. The outfits included gloves but not masks, allowing Yokïmi to tell that they came from a variety of backgrounds from far beyond the local region. The pilgrims who came before me.

Though it had been delivered with grace, Yokïmi recognized the Sorceress’ order for what it was. She obeyed with polished movements that she hoped would carry sufficient, controlled poise to impress the women in front of her. “Do I have the honor of addressing Heliasta?”

The Sorceress dipped her chin in affirmation. “Which I’ll take as confirmation that you didn’t wander into my domain by accident.”

“The opposite, to be sure,” Yokïmi said, making no effort to hide herself, physically or emotionally. If I’m to be judged, might as well be all at once. She spread her hands, palms open as if to offer her crystal form as evidence. “I’ve had some success along the pathways of magic, but a Curse restrains me in my use of materials. Recent events are forcing me to enhance my mastery of Soul magic, particularly Astral magic. If I’m to have any chance of surviving this fight, I need access to the energy in my Soul that can power my magic directly. I need to become a SoulCrafter.”

Heliasta penetrating gaze seemed to absorb the story along with every aspect of her penitent’s presence. Apart from the few intimate moments she’d enjoyed, Yokïmi wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this level of attention since her Aura scores had been diminished. When she finally replied, the Sorceress’s smooth voice had acquired a hint of empathy. “Every motivation for those seeking my power is unique, but few are so immediately obvious and easy to believe.”

“I’ve nothing to hide, and lives may depend on achieving this. You’ll find no one more motivated.” Yokïmi had no wish to insult the other women already gathered around the Sorceress. She guessed it was possible one or more of them were learning this magic to save others. But this was not a moment for watered-down statements.

None of the assembled aspirants objected. If anything, a few betrayed sympathy. Yokïmi didn’t like how sadness mingled with that sympathy, as if they already knew she was going to be dismissed. One of them with the skin of brown-smoke quartz near the end of the right line clenched her hand so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Heliasta steepled her fingers before her chest. “Inspiration can help a person down this path. As can the drive that comes from immediate need. But experience has taught me this too easily changes into desperation. My mentorship comes at a cost; a promise of service for a period of five years.”

“Five… years?” Shock resonated in Yokïmi’s reply, none of it feigned. “Accessing this Technique takes that long?” She could hardly believe it, having opened her ChiKiln path in but a few months.

“Not by itself. To be honest, many of my aspirants come to me as neophytes to magic. I mentor them from the very beginnings of their talent, blending the demands of being a SoulCrafter into everything they do with magic.”

Yokïmi resisted the urge to step forward out of the ring of runes. “You won’t find my discipline lacking. Please, this is not for my own sake. Lives depend on me, and time is not on their side.”

The gloom-filled sympathy of the other aspirants deepened. There was no longer a question of them believing she would be sent away. They were now in mourning, certain that they wouldn’t be gaining another sister-in-training. With a toss of her night-black hair, the beauty on the end risked a glance at her mistress, as if contemplating a plea for mercy. But it never came.

“I understand,” Heliasta declared. “And I believe what you’ve said, from your point of view. I will not compromise in this. To embrace Soul magic requires you to know thyself, inside and out. To come to peace with who you are so that it can become a source of real power.” She gave a sorrowful shake of her head. “I demand many vows of my aspirants. One of honesty, to me and yourself. One of privation, casting aside the temptation of luxury and decadent food. Of chastity, for it is the magic you must focus on, not lovers. And perhaps most important, a vow to remain here, away from the world while you seek out your innermost self.”

Yokïmi’s eyes drifted closed in regret. “I’m… sorry.” Taking a deep breath, she found her control before meeting the Sorceress’ intense gaze again. “You don’t know me. If you did, you’d know I’ve been denied many of these things in the past, by my own will or the will of others. I’ve no fear of doing so again if that is what is required. But… I cannot turn away from the world for that long. I’ve responsibilities.”

“Then tend to them as best you can,” Heliasta replied. Her rejection wasn’t harsh, but it was firm. “But you will tend to them without the power I can offer. Such are my terms and I will not change them.” She wove a quick spell pattern in the air, then blinked away with the mutter of a single word of power. It wasn’t sufficient to activate a Teleportation spell, suggesting her magic was enhanced by the construction around them.

One by one, her aspirants followed her example. Two of them mouthed ‘sorry’ before shunting away.

When it came to the last of them, the woman delayed, the agony of a moral decision staining her lovely features. Biting her lower lip, she rushed through a spell weaving that was far longer than those of her companions, ending with mystic phrasing that was far different. “Eoh misk lav ta norrah.” She added the same power word as the others, causing her body to flicker away.

Left behind was a smoky outline of the woman’s body. Yokïmi was about to ask it a question when the ghost raised a finger to its lips, begging for silence. It wafted away from where the woman had stood, descended the gazebo steps and floated back down the forest path.

Yokïmi couldn’t resist the invitation. She had to pick her feet up into a quick jog to keep pace with the swift spirit. The idea of approaching Ambagos without being invisible carried risk, but she decided the spirit had to have something better in mind than leading her right into the arms of the townsfolk. Unless this is her way of getting rid of me before I cause trouble. But… no, that wasn’t what was on her mind. I’m sure of it.

Her trust bore fruit. The ghost left the trail before they came into view from any of the village roads. Yokïmi’s struggle to keep close grew harder as she danced through the underbrush. Her spirit guide simply passed through the tangles. It led the way to a series of cottages, approaching from the back, then vanished as it passed through the log construction of the building. Yokïmi snuck around the corners, ensuring she wouldn’t be spotted before darting into the interior.

What she found inside was a modest accommodation without any personalization. The village was too small for a proper inn, but she guessed these cottages served to house outsiders on the rare occasion they stayed the night. Her only concern was if the proprietors decided to let out this room and found her squatting in it.

The spirit guide lingered in the center of the room. As Yokïmi entered, it made a patting gesture with both hands, a clear request for her to remain in place. Giving no further detail, the apparition evaporated into thin air.

Yokïmi turned in a quick circle, but saw no sign of the ghost anywhere in the chamber. There was no note. No additional details at all.

Releasing an explosive breath, she dropped to the edge of the bed and scrubbed a hand through her hair. Wait? Ai ya, for how long?

Chapter 20

Yokïmi spent her time considering options. The nearest other SoulCrafters lived beyond the oceans. It was possible she might locate another nearby, for her Education Skill was not high enough to be perfect, but the search would take time. She might be able to scrape together the gold or gemstones it would take to buy portal passage to reduce the time demands, but there was no guarantee. Not to mention, I can’t go back to the Tatterdemalion, which is the closest Portal Mage I know. After tossing it over in her mind, she decided the next best option would be to find Dola Yahaya and warn her of the impending danger. That might challenge her goblin stalker, making it far more difficult to attach one of his scarabs to her. It wouldn’t solve the problem forever, but it could buy her time to properly arm herself with Astral magic.

The night passed. Yokïmi’s vigil was broken only by fitful sleep. When the morning dawned, she challenged herself as to how many more days and nights could slip away before she would call this an empty hope.

Patience, she counselled herself. If this woman is taking the risk to help despite her mistress’ wishes, a few hours or even a few days may be a small price to pay. Her efforts at self-reassurance didn’t stop her from pacing as the day began to wear on.

Before high sun, the door opened and the aspirant herself entered in a swirl of skirts. Yokïmi recognized her by her dark hair, which held to the same flowing style that spilled over one shoulder, though the woman had utterly abandoned the rest of her plain white attire. In its place was an outfit designed to entrance any potential admirer with a single glance. A billowing white blouse sprouted from beneath a golden-yellow corset, presenting her figure to best advantage. Her crimson skirt might be thought tame when she was still, but her swirling movement revealed slits down both sides, creating windows to her sculpted legs sheathed in netted stockings. As a final accent, she wore high-topped, leather boots of a provocative style that had Yokïmi thinking wicked thoughts of how she would greatly prefer them kept on were they to ever tumble into a bed together.

Easing the door back onto its frame as if fearing any noise might prompt attention, the Sorceress’ apprentice deposited the carrying case slung over her shoulder onto the room’s table, then took a few rushed paces toward where Yokïmi awaited. “Goddess of Fortune be praised, you’re still here! I couldn’t be sure. Sending the Astral Ghost was all I could think to do.”

“It was clever. I’ve never seen magic like that,” Yokïmi admitted, wanting to be charitable despite the distressing wait. “This place is safe? I’ve been worrying all night that I’d become an unwelcome surprise for another traveler.”

“The owner wouldn’t dare. It’s part of Heliasta’s arrangement with the village that this cottage must be left open should any of us require it.” Waving that aside as unimportant, she said, “Please, I would hear more of your tale. I couldn’t bear to know someone may have been sentenced to an early death.”

“I fear that’s exactly what will happen,” Yokïmi admitted.

“Your family?”

“No.” She took another deep breath, trying to organize the messy tale in her mind while also calming the pounding of her heart as the lovely woman’s vanilla scent carrying over the room. Not the time for getting distracted. She began again. “I’m Yokïmi Kikuchi. I’ve become caught up in what I originally thought was finding justice for my Father-in-Narrum who was killed by an Astral Assassin. Now… I’m not so sure. I’m trying to understand the truth while stopping more people from dying.”

She leaned against a bed post, raising two fingers to her forehead to massage away the strain she felt growing as she considered the tasks standing in her way. “I didn’t have time to explain this to your Mistress, but I’ve already opened the ChiKiln path. I’ve learned to power magic from inside my body. Perhaps I’m wrong to link the two, but I’d hoped the experience would give me an edge. If nothing else, I wanted to walk away with the books, scrolls, or even stone tablets if needs be to teach myself how to do it.” Her chin sank, knowing how unlikely the idea was and how desperate she must sound to be considering it.

“I know nothing of the ChiKiln way. I cannot say whether it would help you or hinder you by confusing the two ideas,” the apprentice admitted. She pressed a palm to her chest. “My name is Arabella Deyamonnette. I’m two years into my apprenticeship, having begun from a humble place devoid of any magic.”

“And already conjuring Astral shapes? Impressive.” Yokïmi felt compelled to draw attention to what the woman wore, doing her utmost to avoid thinking on her attraction as it would inevitably shine out. “What became of your other dress? It seemed like a uniform for all the apprentices.”

“You’re right. These are the clothes I arrived in. I haven’t donned them since I stepped foot in my Mistress’ home. But even a glimpse of a white dress in the village would be noticed. They don’t know me, but word of any apprentice walking beyond the forest would surely get back to Heliasta’s ears.” Her hands came together as if praying. “Whatever happens, tell no one we met. She has friends all over this region. I can’t lose this chance.”

Hating herself for saying it, Yokïmi’s couldn’t bear to stay silent. “I don’t want to cost you everything simply for being kind.”

Arabella was shaking her head before the words were even finished. “It’s my risk to take. Heliasta is cautious. I know others who have come to her have deceived her. She swore to never allow that again, and from that were born her rules that she follows without exception.” A gentle smile curled over her lips, and she looked at Yokïmi with a considering air. “But you aren’t here to lie to us. I don’t know why I know that with such certainty, but I do.”

Yokïmi sank to the bed again with a deep sigh, planting her face in her palms.

“What? Have I said something wrong?” the apprentice asked with genuine concern.

“No. And yes.” Yokïmi dragged herself away from darker thoughts. “It’s my least favorite thing: to find reason to be grateful for the Curses laid upon me. But that’s where you owe your thanks. Not sure I could lie to you even if I wanted to.” She summoned her own smile born of wry humor. “Fortunately, I don’t. Please, tell me, am I wasting my time? Can I open the SoulCrafter path on my own?”

“Entirely on your own with nothing but a tome to guide you?” Arabella leaned against the room’s table, folding one leg over the other beneath her skirts. “Not everyone could, but you’ve already cast magic. I haven’t seen any measure of your discipline, but assuming for the moment you’d push yourself hard… then, yes. But it would take time.”

“How long?”

“Impossible to say. But to connect your soul to your magic in anything less than a year would make you a genius.”

Yokïmi wilted in her seat.

Arabella hurried on, “But that isn’t the only way.”

“Hmm?”

The apprentice reached to the satchel behind her. She opened the flap and drew forth an irregular object. The base was a disk of thick mahogany, which then supported a jagged crystal in a shape reminiscent of a person trying to shape a flower blossom with both hands. It was mostly clear, but with black shadows encroaching on the interior. “This is a Soul Reflecting Crystal. Alone, it is of little value. But a SoulCrafter can use it to guide neophytes into connecting with the Soul’s essence, allowing it to be tapped for power.”

Bursting to her feet, Yokïmi closed the distance between them, captivated by the unveiled device. “A gift of Crysallis indeed,” she whispered, invoking the name of the Goddess of Crystals as well as Ice, Longevity, and Time. “How long would it take?”

“Difficult to say,” Arabella murmured, making no effort to move away. Her own fascination was evident as she absorbed the fine details of Yokïmi’s glass-skinned form. “It is rare for anyone with magical training to accept Heliasta’s offer. Their pride so often negates the idea of being an apprentice for half-a-decade. None of the current apprentices had your gifts when they began their journey.”

Not wanting to sound over-eager, but aware her intensity was probably unmistakable, Yokïmi met the other woman’s eyes. “Is there anything we must do before we try?”

“You would certainly fit in among the others,” Arabella said with knowing amusement. “None of us could wait, either.”

With mention of the nearby group, Yokïmi had to ask, “Will Heliasta be able to tell what you did? Are you going to get into trouble?”

“I took a vow of honesty. If she ever asks if I aided you, then I will tell her. I won’t avoid the consequences. I’m taking this risk.” A wry grin took over her lips. “But I won’t be mentioning it off-hand, either. Nor do I believe she’ll be able to tell that the Reflecting Crystal has been used. It does not have a memory of its own.”

“I don’t know what to say. To have you take this risk… well, you know lives may well depend on it. My peace of mind certainly does. It’s an incredible gift.”

Arabella extended a warning finger. “Before you commit to this path, I’ve things I must tell you.”

“Such as?”

“The process is…” The apprentice shuffled in the spot she leaned, running her one leg along the other in a fidget that ended up being appealing.

“Invasive?” Yokïmi suggested.

“Intimate,” the other woman countered. “It is one of the reasons the Sorceress demands honesty from us. Not only to retain her trust, but because attempts to cloak the truth will make the journey with the Reflecting Crystal pointless. The idea is to find the essence of one’s Soul. We will be with each other on the journey. You might be the focus, but I’ll need to expose myself to the magic to enable the process. The whole idea is that while I can guide your Soul into joining with its inner power, the structure that takes shape will mirror the one formed inside of me. Do you understand how interwoven we will be during this process?”

“Intellectually, I’d say yes. But I get the feeling that whatever I think it will be like, the true experience will surpass it.” Yokïmi pressed off the table, standing so that her eyes were level with Arabella’s own. “I accept. How could I not? After what you’ve risked because of the dangers I described… how could I turn away simply because you might get a glimpse at the darkest, pettiest, worst sides of me?” She shook her head, dismissing the very idea. “All I need is to know the next step. Please, tell me.”

Arabella settled the black-shaded crystal onto the table, aligning the base to the exact center. “I’ve preparations to make that are best done alone. Can you get food? Water?”

“Might have to be foraged. Not so easy to buy things when naked and with no coin, and I’m not much of a thief.”

That earned her a smile from the apprentice. “What you can find in the forest is fine with me. Give me an hour to set what I need in place. I have until dawn until I’ll be missed. It should be enough time, but do not keep me waiting long.”

Stepping over to the exit, Yokïmi did all she could to radiate reassurance. “I won’t. You’ve given me new hope so quickly that I’m not sure I ever lost it. That means a lot. What’s the saying? Wild horses could not drag me away from walking back through this door?” With a final smile, she went out into the sunshine, ducking low and slipping around the building to remain unseen. Be late? It’s going to take every scrap of Willpower to stop me from rushing back too quickly and ruining the peace she needs.

*          *          *

Yokïmi returned an hour later. It was all her curiosity and urgency could allow.

As she eased open the door, she found it had been enough time for Arabella to transform the interior. Blankets covered the few small windows to block out the midday light. Four lanterns in the corners of the room shed hazy light upon the scene at the center.

The SoulCrafter apprentice had shuffled much of the furniture to the outskirts of the room, creating an open space. She had piled layers of rugs to create a raised, padded dais. She was kneeling on it as Yokïmi entered, her skirts draped artfully over her folded legs. The Reflecting Crystal was at the center, its wooden base sufficiently stable to remain erect even on the rugs.

The space left open for Yokïmi was obvious, at least to anyone who had participated in a magical ritual. She deposited the food she had gathered onto another table. Arabella was deep into her concentration, perhaps indicating her readiness and that eating could wait until after the ceremony. It didn’t bother Yokïmi. Gathering food was intended as a distraction. If she doesn’t need it, neither do I. She mirrored Arabella’s posture, arranging her hands in her lap and establishing her breathing into a rhythm appropriate for the first stages of meditation.

“Why are you here?” The apprentice’s question came without preamble.

Yokïmi considered the open question. She decided it best to go with the direct, obvious answer to start. It could be part of the ritual, and she wanted no doubt as to her purpose when the magic activated. “To open my SoulCrafter path.”

“Why do you wish for this?”

“To face a formless enemy and survive.”

“Only this?”

Yokïmi wasn’t sure if this was the woman’s perception, sensing there was a deeper motivation, or if she worried that the magic wouldn’t work if it was only being used for such a short-term goal. Either way, she didn’t dare to attempt any obfuscation. Arabella had warned her this was to be an intimate process. Intimacy required honesty. “I’ve Quests to fulfill. Quests to be free of Curses laid upon me. I need full control of my magic to succeed.”

“Why do you need to be free of these Curses?”

“They are Curses,” Yokïmi answered, unsure why the other woman would ask the self-evident question.

“Why do you need to be free of them?” Arabella reinforced with different inflection, pushing her right back.

Yokïmi opened her mouth to give her same answer more firmly, thinking at first it was a question of confidence in what she was saying. But the words froze before they got out as her thoughts tried to untangle themselves. They are Curses. How could one live with…? Her streaming thoughts cut off as new realizations occurred to her. Perhaps some do. Perhaps some have no other choice, and would rather exist with the Curse than risk their lives to dispel them. But… she wasn’t. That’s what Arabella was trying to goad her into exploring.

Which made the real issue into why she would risk her life or even her soul being destroyed to be free of the Curses. It was nothing she’d ever put into words before. She tried. “Because they define me against my will.”

“Why does that matter?”

Yokïmi clenched her teeth. How could it not matter? Once again, she fought down that impulse to assume anyone would rage against such a lack of control over one’s own life. “My life has to be my own. The choices have to be mine.”

“Will you seek to control the storms or the predators or the sea, all of which might end you? What of the Divine who govern so much of our fate?” Arabella’s intense gaze remained fixated on Yokïmi. There was no judgement in her demand. No scorn. Only pressure, pushing Yokïmi to peel back the layers.

“I…” Once again, she was struck mute, realizing she hadn’t been accepting the full truth. She’s right. There’s so much beyond my control. Is there a way to become a goddess and rise above it all? Do I want to take it that far? The very idea sounded foolish, but… even if there was a path, she realized she didn’t need that. Wasn’t even sure she would want that, for surely her very nature would have to change. A Divine mandate would come with that sort of grand power, and she didn’t want it any more than she had wanted her noble title.

Then what do I want? Not to be free of fate, but… She struggled to understand what her own desires were telling her. When the answer came, it fell from her lips in the same moment the thought crystalized. “To be what I wish. To have what I need to meet whatever challenges come on my own terms. I don’t need to control everything else, but I need to have full command of myself!”

“Including your Soul?” Arabella’s question came sharply.

“It has to be that way,” Yokïmi insisted, leaving no room for compromise.

The SoulCrafter apprentice extended her fingertips until they touched the various points of the Reflecting Crystal on her side. “Then do as I do, and we’ll open your path together.”

Unfurling her arms, Yokïmi plotted where each of her fingers would land, then settled the pads of each in place. The crystal was cool to the touch, but an electric tingle danced lightly over her skin. A soft white glow emanated from within the inky shadows within, growing stronger the longer they remained in contact.

Before long, the light was too bright for her to keep her eyes open. Yet when she closed them, she was greeted by a white void that made it difficult to be sure that she was blocking the light out.

And then… she was no longer there.

She was somewhere else.

Dwelling in that empty place, she realized she wasn’t alone. A second being drifted there with her. Like two clouds brushing against each other, they were not as one, yet their edges mingled.

New reality replaced what they had left behind. It drew her in. Drew them both in.

Once again, she was somewhere else.

Someone else…

They were Arabella.

A mere child. She was running from the house as her mother called out to her sharply. Since the child she was didn’t care, the words her mother shouted were lost. Whatever chore that needed doing was boring. She bolted into her father’s carpentry shop. His beaming smile welcomed her. He didn’t care that it wasn’t considered normal for the women in the area to delve into the trades. She adored him for that. She darted over to the workspace he had created for her. At her young age, she could only lift so much. A small block was trapped in a vise. She picked up a small chisel and resumed her work chipping out the form of an owl, her latest statuette. She hoped one day they would bring coin in for the family. That it would be her life’s calling…

They were Yokïmi.

Barely more than a child, she twirled in circles, streams of brightly colored fabric fluttering from both outstretched arms. Her younger brother, Suta, copied her nearby. The strips of cloth were so long that his shorter legs came close to tripping over them. He giggled, every now and then stopping to jump up and down with childish glee before returning to the movements. Seated between them, her mother tapped her fingers upon a drum, giving them both a melody and an underlying beat for their dance. She laughed with unmistakable joy and love as she watched her children spin.

The heavy doors leading from the outer hallway clanged open. Yokïmi’s father stalked in. He glowered at the scene, murmuring something about her mother being too lax with her children. Her elder brother, Mamura, stood at his father’s shoulder. Armor protected his chest. The hilt protruding over one shoulder was for the sword strapped to his back. Not yet six and ten, but already looking like a man grown. He didn’t sneer, but the arrogant set to his face suggested he was proud to have left such childish pursuits behind.

Their last brother, Akuje, was not there. She couldn’t remember where he was on that day… nor why he had been excluded from both the fun and serious parts of their lives.

The child that was Yokïmi felt the chill from her father, but she didn’t care. Her mother was laughing, and she loved moving her feet and body in time to the music. She knew right then that it would be part of her life’s calling…

They were Arabella.

There was nothing but Genna in her world. Hours before, the lovely woman had been nothing but the daughter of the town’s baker. Now, Genna was biting her left nipple and grinding a thigh between her legs. Everything was new. And she wanted more.

The moment was shattered. The door burst inward. Her mother snapped a leather strap off one of the wooden posts holding up the ceiling, startling Genna and chasing her from the room, all while her mother shouted the condemnations of Narrum after her.

What followed was a blend of humiliation and sorrow. Demands to leave behind such unnatural feelings. The stern reminders of what was proper. By far the most painful was her father’s reluctance to speak for her. He had always stood behind her. Stood up for her, even when she threatened to embarrass the family.

But not now.

That was what drove her from their home. Not her mother’s fury. It was her father’s abandonment.

Going forward, she had to be careful who she let into her world. She would venture away from her homeland, hoping to find a place where acceptance was the rule, rather than judgement. Until then, she would bury her feelings and never let anyone see them. Not until she was sure they could accept her for who she was.

But burying them was not the same as banishing them forever…

They were Yokïmi.

Her hands played across the strings of her harp, conjuring her half of her favorite song, Tickling Feathers on a Breeze. Across from her, perched neatly on her own stool was Ayaka, one of her two attending ladies. The woman skimmed her delicate bow over the strings of her kokyū, creating the counter-point harmony for the duet.

For some unknown reason, Ayaka noticed her lady’s attention. Her lovely lips became a shy, tender smile. Her night-black eyes sank with a demure air that complemented her songbird features and kind personality.

They had played together many times over the years since Ayaka had come to Kikuchi castle. They were friends. Confidantes. As close to sisters as two could be without sharing blood.

Never before had her thoughts drifted as they did now. Tracing along Ayaka’s slender neck. Noticing how her beautifully tailored kimono both hid and emphasized her feminine charm. Following the lithe outline of Ayaka’s crossed legs beneath her flowing skirt. Enjoying how her floating, petite foot bobbed in a metronome pattern to establish their baseline beat.

How would her sweet friend react if made aware of her lady’s urges?

She buried them for what they were. Improper for so many reasons.

Yet… buried was not the same as forever banished…

They were Arabella.

The owl statuette peered down at her from a high shelf in her changing room. Nostalgia washed through her. It wasn’t regret. Nor sadness. Merely an awareness for what could have been… and what had never come to pass.

Recentering on the moment, she flipped the fluffy, orange shawl around her neck and checked her image in a nearby, copper-backed mirror. It was poor quality, but all that the poor acting troupe could afford. But it reflected well enough to confirm that she was the spitting image of Tarantuella, the evil queen in the play created by a little known but talented playwright.

It wasn’t an easy life. They too often played for crowds who wouldn’t sit still unless the costumes showed a gratuitous amount of skin. The bodice of the evil queen dipped dangerously low, and she would have to refrain from breathing too deeply lest she give the watching people too much of a show.

But she loved bringing these roles to life. To embrace being someone else for a time. And if she was being honest, there was a certain power that came from strutting across the stage in these outfits, knowing every eye was on her, seeing the enraptured tags appearing over the audience’s heads, and being entirely beyond their reach.

And she was good at it…

They were Yokïmi.

She’d done this same move hundreds of times. Each time, she rotated her body and attempted to twist Torei’s wrist so as to lock his elbow and use his own momentum to send him flying. Each time, her grasp had accomplished nothing. He had been left on balance, after which he jabbed a punch into her shoulder as a painful reminder of her failure.

But this time, she awakened to a subtle shift she could make to fully capture his energy. It edged him off his center and committed his weight distribution into her control. That meant it was his own mass that help bend his arm into a painful shape. His instincts kicked in, forcing him up on his toes as his brain sought out some escape. This time, her rotation picked him off his feet and sent him hurtling over her hip to crash hard on the tatami mats.

It was vindication. The feeling of unlocking that secret swelled her confidence, confirming that she could unlock other secrets. That the Ekanshin variant of the Bellatir path was accessible to her. The chime from her orb only made it more real.

This was a path she loved as much as her music, and it offered her a way to sharpen her reflexes and senses. To discipline her mind.

If she applied herself, she could be good at it, a master in her own right…

The spiral of experiences continued, reflecting back and forth between them. Whatever magic governed the Crystal, it seemed to search for memories and events which had assembled them into the people they were. It picked those within Arabella that echoed key notes from Yokïmi’s own life. With them, she assumed the magic was forging a path to connect her Soul to her magic, using Arabella’s open path as an example.

At last, they came out of the trance. Yokïmi found herself far closer to the other woman than when they began. Unconsciously, they had inched toward each other until their knees nearly touched. The Reflecting Crystal was nestled in the small shape bordered by their thighs. Its radiance was fading away, leaving them in nothing but candlelight.

Yokïmi’s breath was coming hard, as if she’d been running the steps to Taliskhan’s… no, her dojo back in the Sanctuary. Panic made her breath come faster still, knowing that some of the memories that had surfaced in their union might threaten the secrecy she had promised to keep.

Reading her fears, Arabella lifted one hand from the Reflecting Crystal and placed it on Yokïmi’s shoulder. After delving so deeply inside each other, the physical contact didn’t feel the least bit awkward. Indeed, Yokïmi welcomed the warmth, using it as a steadying point to bring herself back to the real world. Arabella said, “Whatever we saw will remain secret between us. Remember what it was like. It wasn’t only the knowledge. The emotions and spirit were there as well. I know the promises you’ve made. I know the death and destruction that might follow if I fail.” A gentle yet wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I came to you to save lives, remember? Not tear them apart.”

“Thanks,” Yokïmi said, putting every ounce of meaning she could into it. “I didn’t mean to put that burden on you. It isn’t your fault. You warned me how deep this connection would become. I’m still coming to terms with the idea of being responsible for so many others.”

“And I know how uncomfortable it makes you. You so willingly gave up your rights to your family’s lands, then immediately gained a new people whose fate might be even more totally in your hands.” Arabella stroked tender fingers along Yokïmi’s bare shoulder. A small blush crept to her cheeks, perhaps remembering her own secrets had been revealed and that Yokïmi knew the caress upon her glass skin was being appreciated on more levels than that of comfort. The SoulCrafter apprentice slipped her fingers away as she rushed to say, “Call your orb. See if the connection has been forged.”

Doing what she could to ignore the shiver that ran down her spine in the wake of Arabella’s caress, Yokïmi did as she was bid. Her mostly-clear orb descended into the space between them. As she reached up to access it, she found herself wishing Arabella could see it. Otherwise, it was simply empty space, and her hands seemed like they were reaching toward the other woman’s breasts. Yokïmi swore the apprentice’s breathing quickened a little at the illusion, and forced herself to concentrate on the less intimate business at hand.

Her status appeared inside the sphere, mercifully obscuring Arabella’s figure from her view. It gave her the answers she needed. Even better, it gave her the ones she wanted.

* SoulCrafter level up! *

* Resilience (Ego) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +1 *

* Mental Damage Points +1 *

* Emotional Damage Points +1 *

* Soul Damage Points +10 *

* New Technique Unlocked – Burn SDP for Magical Energy now Level 1 *

* New Impactful Moment – Memory Bond with the Life-Loving Thespian *

The taboo against discussing what one found in the orb felt foolish after what she’d shared with Arabella. She flashed a teasing grin over the top of the orb. “It calls you the Life-Loving Thespian. You’ve gained magic, but the Divine powers apparently still see you on stage.”

“I’ll never stop loving it.” Arabella didn’t shy away, meeting her gaze without flinching. “You saw why I came here. My troupe leader cheated the others and ran off with our coin. But Heliasta was in the audience for my last performance. We were desperate to earn enough coin to feed us through the month’s end. She saw my potential. I owe her for taking that chance.”

“I also heard you demand that she fund the troupe for a year, to give them a chance to survive doing what they loved. To make sure none of them died in a gutter.” Yokïmi had no reason to feel pride. It wasn’t like she had known this woman before, much less helped to guide the evolution of her morality and courage. But she couldn’t help it. She knew the apprentice now better than any sister. Had been inside her mind. Had existed as her for some of the most pivotal moments in her life.

Arabella nodded. “And she agreed. She kept her word. And then I gave her mine. Your orb says I love life? Well, that’s why I might be willing to help you, but I could never break my vow to her. Whether I’ll ever stand on a stage again or not, I don’t know. But I’m hers for three more years, and nothing can change that.”

“I understand. I really do.” Yokïmi said. Her gaze drifted back to her orb, teasing out the details for the Impactful Moment.

Impactful Moment: Memory Bond with the Life-Loving Thespian:

-  Through the Reflecting Crystal, a bond was formed that allowed both involved to share in each other’s true nature. Each saw the other, truly seeing each other’s heart, wishes, and dreams. This leaves its mark.

-  Conjuring this magic through the SoulCrafter Reflecting Crystal has resulted in a mirror image of the Thespian’s SDP energy channel and unlocked the SoulCrafter path.

-  Advanced Level (SoulCrafter) is unlocked. XP for Level 1 granted.

-  Aura (Power, Precision, Persistence) +2

Heady joy cloyed her mind as she shifted to open the Technique that was going to be so critical to her survival.

Technique: Burn SDP for Magical Energy: Level 1

-  This is the fundamental process that enables a SoulCrafter practitioner to burn Soul Damage Points instead of material components to produce magical energy. Note: Soul Magic does not utilize materials in the Astral Void, and will not call upon this Technique for any level of spell.

-  SDP can only be used to power spells in the Soul domain. Physical, Mental, and Emotive-based magic utilize other Techniques that must be mastered separately.

-  Trivial spells are commonly powered by ambient material components. However, they can draw upon SDP if the SoulCrafter requires, such as in a sterile environment.

-  Current channeling costs:

• Trivial difficulty spells sap 1 SDP.

• Low difficulty spells sap 25 SDP.

• Moderate difficulty spells sap 50 SDP.

• High difficulty spells sap 100 SDP.

• Evolved difficulty spells sap 300 SDP.

• Superior difficulty spells sap 600 SDP.

• Ascendant difficulty spells sap 1200 SDP.

• Epic difficulty spells sap 6000 SDP.

• Divine difficulty spells sap 12000 SDP.

-  Current magically-burned SDP refresh rates:

• Secure, unconscious rest: 1 point per 15 minutes

• Uncomfortable, unconscious rest: 1 point per 30 minutes

• Stressful, unconscious rest: 1 point per 45 minutes

• Secure, conscious respite: 1 point per 75 minutes

• Uncomfortable, conscious respite: 1 point per 120 minutes

• Stressful, conscious respite: 1 point per 150 minutes

-  Higher levels of this Technique reduce cost for channeling as well as improve refresh rates.

It was the match to her ChiKiln ability, though very much in its infancy stage. With only 74 SDP, she’d only be able to conjure a single Moderate level spell before exhausting herself. But first, I’ll have to learn a few. Or even one that will matter in an Astral-style conflict. I have access to the power. But now I’ve got to practice what I’ve learned. The journey isn’t over. Only beginning. She refocused on the room around her, dismissing her orb and taking a deep, steadying breath to signal her return.

But without the distraction, that left them together in the middle of the cozy room with nothing but candlelight to fend off temptation. The luster it brought to Arabella’s lightly-bronzed skin was of no help at all.

The former-thespian averted her gaze as if fighting similar urges at war with her better judgement. When she spoke, Yokïmi could hear the effort it took her to coax clear words past the dry catch in her throat. “You won’t ask me to break my vow. I won’t be foolish enough to think you’ll reconsider staying.” A tiny twitch of her lips hinted at regret-filled humor. “Perhaps for the best. My vow of chastity might be in real danger if you should stay.” Unable to stop herself, she stroked a thumb along Yokïmi’s left cheek before sliding her fingers through the crystal-clear strands of her hair.

New tingles washed down her body. Her head turned slightly until her lips brushed against the other woman’s inner forearm. She wanted to give in. To explore where this could go…

Yokïmi wasn’t sure where she found the strength to turn away. For certain, the knowledge that Arabella would shatter one of her vows if they succumbed bolstered her Willpower. She all but leapt to her feet and pulled back against a thick wooden desk pushed against the side of the room. “You’re… you’re right. I can’t live with these Curses on me. Can’t ignore my responsibilities as a Guardian. And then these murders that are going to happen…” She sounded like she was reminding herself as much as convincing the other woman. “Letting any of those falter would be a betrayal of myself.”

Arabella gave no objection. She rose as well, though with far less explosive energy. Her saddened smile was filled with self-pity. “I can’t even ask you to remain nearby to learn a few spells, can I?”

“Time is not on my side.”

Arabella swayed closer, though she first circled by the table where her belongings rested. She pulled a leather-bound tome from within her satchel, then padded closer. Each snap of her boot heels on the exposed wooden floor threatened to pierce Yokïmi’s restraint, begging for her to flip open the slits of her skirt to explore along her stocking-clad legs. The SoulCrafter apprentice brought the book up, not quite interposed between them. “This is for you. The spells within come only from the lower three tiers of Soul magic, but they are all centered on the Astral sphere.”

Swallowing hard as she kept tight hold of her willpower, Yokïmi suddenly found herself perched on the edge of desk, her knees parted just far enough that the other woman could slip between them. Focus on the gift. She had the thought that rejecting it might be the gentlest way to keep a barrier between them. “It’s a wonderful offer. But I can’t take it with me. Not safely. The best I could hope for would be that I would lose it. At worst, the Curse would burn my fingers for daring to hold it if anyone else happened to look my way.”

“You have that rose. That suggests it can be done if we’re clever enough,” Arabella said. She tilted her head to the side and considered the short fall of Yokïmi’s hair. “This is meant to be a travel tome, though I doubt its creator ever considered it would need to be concealed in so specific a way. If you speak the power word, it will shrink to the size just larger than your thumbnail. This bracket on the back will function as a hairclip at that size. You could tuck it under your hair.”

Excitement of a different kind welled inside Yokïmi. Her eyes widened as she absorbed the details of the book with renewed interest that fell just shy of avarice. “How incredible. You’d part with it?”

“I wouldn’t want to send you into a losing fight.” Arabella leaned forward, her mouth mere inches away.

When she whispered the power word, her breath ghosted over Yokïmi’s lips, triggering her to roll them against each other to moisten them. Yokïmi held utterly still, not even breathing as the other woman worked the clip onto her hair, then carefully arranged the item out of sight. She felt the unpleasant uncoiling of the Curse’s power until it was tucked away. It faded before it began to hurt. “I’m not sure what I can say.”

“Tell me the pleasant lie that you’ll reconsider staying with us in the forest once you are done this quest.” Arabella let her hands fall to the tops of Yokïmi’s thighs, one palm resting on each as she lingered between the glass-skinned woman’s thighs. With a sigh, she shook her head. “But then there will be another Quest, won’t there?”

Yokïmi’s expression was all soft sympathy. “I’ll never be free to dedicate a half-decade of my life here. Not unless changes come that I can’t envision.” The fingers of both her hands alighted on Arabella’s arms. They drifted upward, past her elbows until she could play them over the other woman’s shoulders in fond caresses. “But your vows will be done one day, won’t they? Maybe we’ll meet out in the world. You know all my secrets. If you want, you can find me. I don’t know what we could mean to each other. But I’d enjoying finding out.”

“I’d tell you where you could find me when I go, but I’ve no idea.”

“I’ve always loved the theater. I’ll watch for your name on any signs I see promoting the latest troupe in the places I visit.” Yokïmi shone her most encouraging smile. “If you want to be here learning magic, then I wish you the best. But don’t surrender your dreams. If you want something else, when your vow is done… chase after it. Promise me?”

“I will.” Arabella gave her legs a final, intimate squeeze, obviously reluctant to slide away. “In hopes you’ll survive long enough for me to come hunting you, here’s my last bit of advice. You need to find a specific Goldaan clan, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t bother with going south to Tadak. You might find a guide there, but it is a trader cesspool. Cross the Vulture’s Road toward the west-southwest from here. It’s not entirely safe, as you’ll cut through the lands of the Hexjaw goblin clan. You’ll know you’re on track when you see their totems strapped to the trees. Get into the highlands and travel the Weathernight Pass. The goblins won’t track you once you get over the central ridge. They’re too scared of the jungle predators.”

“Even goblins have some wisdom,” Yokïmi quipped.

With a wry smile, Arabella dipped her chin to acknowledge she’d scored a point. “Stay out of the jungle until you have someone to guide you through. At the southwest end, you’ll find a bluff that looks out over the jungle. It’s known as the Arrowhead. Build a fire that produces heavy smoke. You know how to do this?”

Yokïmi nodded.

“Interrupt the smoke to create a signal. Twice long. Twice short. Repeat as long as you can manage. Any Goldaan tribe will know its meaning and send someone to find out who is asking for an audience. It will be up to you to convince them that one of their own is in danger. If you succeed, they will guide you to where you need to go, perhaps even ahead of this goblin you are hunting.”

Yokïmi curled her fingers around the other woman’s upper arms. “You’ve given me hope where I didn’t have much. I’ll never forget it.” She drew her into a hug. For a long while, they remained in each other’s arms. For too long, as neither wished to end it. A kiss fell on her shoulder. She placed one of her own on the exposed skin above Arabella’s collar. The heat of temptation tugged at her heart, and Yokïmi was certain the same was simmering inside Arabella as well.

“I need to go,” Yokïmi murmured.

“I know.” The apprentice didn’t sound like she had the strength to let go.

With a shift of her weight, Yokïmi slipped down to the ground, not withdrawing her arms until the last second. Closing her eyes to steel herself to what was necessary for both of them, she took a deliberate step back and whispered the command words to her new Signature Spell.

Invisibility stole her from the other woman’s sight. On silent footsteps, Yokïmi glided left, trying to remove the chance that the apprentice would focus on the spot where she’d vanished and try to pierce the illusion.

Fortunately, Arabella embraced the sudden severance as a gift. She touched her fingers to her lips and blew the kiss into the air of the room. Hurrying to gather her things, she all but ran from the cottage.

The whole time, Yokïmi kept herself pressed to the walls, taking no risk that they would run into each other. If they did, they would tumble to the rugs, and she was sure neither would leave without both of them breaking vows they had made.

There has been a Sign

The small gargoyle finished its flight, landing on the head of a statue. Being little more than four inches tall, the winged creature’s weight didn’t wobble the marble sculpture of a fetching woman bathing in a fountain. It scooped a hand into the collecting pool and gulped down a mouthful.

Isador Tal’Rook surfaced from her deep contemplation of the painting on the wall. Strolling through her gallery was her version of heaven. She’d spent a lifetime acquiring the contents. Though her magic would sustain her for some years to come, eventually she would succumb to mortality. The loss of her gallery would be the one regret she would take with her to the River of Souls.

She turned to consider her tiny creation. “What did you say, Laetis?”

The gargoyle clicked its tongue. “One of the scrying orbs in your observatory is casting off noise and lights.”

Her lips pursed into a faint frown of disapproval. “A touch more detail?”

“Loud noise and bright lights,” Laetis quipped.

“Remind me again why I created you in the first place?”

“Every time you find one of your ‘flowers’, you go looking again. You never tell us what you are looking for,” the gargoyle complained, skipping down to the rim of the fountain with a single beat of its wings to slow its descent.

“Why should I not? I am not trying to reach some end. This is all about the journey and experiencing each treasure.” Isador gestured up at the painting she had been admiring. It depicted a young woman with angular features amidst a spill of red hair. She was seated at a low table with a quill in hand, her hand lingering over a sheet of expensive, bone-white parchment. “You were not yet animated when I met her. Antonia Fastus, a Harkonian princess, though one distantly removed in the lineage. She’s quite lovely, isn’t she?”

Laetis cocked its head to one side, not quite sure how to answer that. Isador had made the creatures to be asexual and androgynous, rendering their ability to perceive and appreciate such things underdeveloped.

Treating her own question as rhetorical, Isador went on, “Few were aware of how utterly graceless she was. Clumsy. And unfortunate, for her parents were thoughtless and brutal in their methods of instruction. I swear they thought they could beat charm into her with a cane.” She sighed. “Her pleas to the gods and goddesses went unanswered, but my scrying orbs heard. Finding her the right tutors was a pleasure. By the end, her dancing and wordplay were as eloquent as her bone structure.”

Her gaze drifted back up to the perfect capturing of the woman in the painting, which showed not only her aspect but also conveyed her inner spirit. It had yearned to be free, and Isador would cherish her part in bringing the young princess’ full potential to life.

“Ahem.” Laetis faked the cough and drummed its small claws on the marble woman’s arm beside it.

The light yet sharp reprimand stopped Isador from falling back into her obsession. As annoying as the gargoyles could be, she had given them their irreverent personalities for a reason. Too few people in the world would dare speak an ill word against her, nor risk irritating her even when it was to her benefit.

“Ah, yes, the observatory. We should go. Time might be critical. I need to get a sense of who my magic has seen.” She fixed her gaze on the gallery exit, refusing to look left or right lest one of her other priceless treasures diminish her sense of purpose.

Once out in the hall, it was easier to keep her concentration. Her stride lengthened as she moved through the warm, palatial halls of her home. While it was built in the solitude of a wide mountain range, surrounded by glaciers and swirling storms of snow, she maintained a warm atmosphere within. That was well suited to her style, for her thin, shoulderless, backless dress secured to the choker around her neck would provide nearly no protection against the cold. Her skirt was long, but it was airy and light as it floated weightlessly about her legs.

She all but flew up the spiraling stairs that led to her observatory. The architect of her home had positioned the chamber for a view of the stars. Her own purpose was rather different, though she saw no reason not to enjoy her searches by carrying them out under the expansive sky. When she passed through the hatch, she found the dome had already been scrolled open. Any hint of the sky was obscured by a blizzard howling over the peaks.

Storms could be fascinating in their own way, but her focus was taken immediately by her orbs. Specifically, one of the dozen seated on slender, golden pedestals. This one was sending out a whistling demand for attention, strobing a white light into the room again and again. Inside the other eleven, there was a dizzying view of blurred landscapes flying by at breathtaking speed as they magically hunted over the world. But this one was locked on a single point: the hazy impression of a village near an expansive woodland, with a bright splash of color in the orb’s central view.

Isador waved a hand over the orb, almost like she was petting a favorite animal. “Show me what you’ve found, my darling.”

The whistle faded to a purr, and the white light ceased its panicked flashes. The town wasn’t rendered in any sort of detail; such was not the orb’s purpose. It was searching for spirits and magical essences. It could show wishes and dreams far more readily than it could the objective reality of the mundane world. Now, it showed her what an outsider might call two drifting clouds: one red, one purple, and intermingled as they wafted away from the village.

Laetis’ claws scratched on the ground as he came to stand beside her, peering up at the odd vision. “What is it?”

“An awakening,” Isador murmured, summoning knowledge from the back of her mind regarding a subject she had not considered in years. A possibility she had almost lost hope of ever finding.

“What’s there?”

“More important is what isn’t there,” Isador said quietly, partially speaking to herself as her understanding of the vision improved.

The gargoyle folded its arms irritably. “That isn’t helpful.”

“Don’t be grumpy. This is a day for celebration. I’ve got myself a new treasure to guide.” Isador circled a fingertip above the glass, pointing at the clouds. “This is the remnant of a magical connection being forged. A very specific one that allows the caster to draw magical energy directly from one’s Soul. But the second cloud laced within is an interwoven pattern of a second pathway that was already open. I believe it is the connection to the owner’s Chi. They’ve learned to access their body in the same way.”

Laetis shrugged, not seeing the reason for joy.

“Do you know when the last time anyone has accomplished this?”

“Last Selladay?” The gargoyle wagged a finger. “No. You said you were excited. Has to be longer. Three moons ago? Two seasons?”

Isador’s scowl returned. “I went too far in making you clever. Or… thinking yourself clever, anyway.” The spirit clouds in the orb churned with a bit more energy, returning her to a sense of wonder. “68 years. 156 years since anyone opened three of the four pathways. I’ve uncovered legends dating back nigh-on 500 years regarding the last to open all four, and that was an elf who had centuries of life to find her way to them.”

“Is it really so difficult?”

“More a question of motivation. Purpose. Resolve. Call it what you will. Magic is possible without it. Arguably, easier, for using components removes the pain. Why fight so hard when you can bend down, scrape up a chunk of dirt and use it to summon your magic?”

“Umm… why?”

“It’s the question that must be asked of this spirit’s owner. And whatever the answer, it must be nurtured.”

“What if she only wanted these two?” the gargoyle asked.

“Wasted potential. I’ll shepherd her on a better path. She could be one of the crown jewels of those I’ve shaped over the years.”

“You need to find her first,” Laetis noted.

“Indeed.” Isador paced over to a wall map depicting the known world in fine detail. She extended a clawed hand toward the orb and drew out the telltale markings of the spirit it had sensed in the form of a fine mist. She sent the trace onto the map. A faint glow formed over much of Hu’na’la, a nation bordering the icelands of the north, though kept warm by the range of fire mountains nearby. Clusters began to emerge. One above the coastal city of Atsumae. The brightest above a castle belonging to the Kikuchi family.

Oddly, none of the traces had a sense of recency to it. She was not flustered. There were many reasons that could be true. Ramblers and travelers who never set down roots tended to show up weakly upon the map. Sailors upon the trackless sea had their trails washed away by the salt water. There were those with weak spirits, though she didn’t believe this person she was tracking was in that category. Though she might have weak Aura scores. Then there was always the possibility of unknown magic which could act to blot a person out and cause magic to have difficulty locking onto them. If that was true, Isador was fortunate to pick up any solid trace at all.

“Seems like you’ll need to track her,” her gargoyle mused.

“And I’ve just the one to help with that.” Isador positioned herself in front of the archway she’d erected in the center of the room. Summoning her magical will, she scattered a dusty mixture of the required components and spoke the activation words. The spell incinerated the cloud of particles to conjure a swirling fog within the archway. The portal that opened was an advanced version that most used to minimize the Ego points spent to form a bridge through the Astral Void. With this spell, it was like opening a window directly between one place and another. A modification she’d crafted into the spell allowed it to open near to any servant who bore her token.

Through this portal, she could see a dank room at the back of a rustic tavern or inn. There weren’t any windows, boarded up or otherwise, and the roof was low enough to be mildly claustrophobic. Two murky lanterns were providing the only light. A bed dominated the small space, though a few thickly cushioned chairs had been shoehorned in against the walls.

Beddings, sheets, and clothes were strewn liberally about the room. That disarray was matched by the three male and two female figures sprawling over the bed and furniture in limp, nude, obviously post-coital exhaustion.

In the foreground was the focus of Isador’s spell. A woman had one foot on a stool, fastening the buckles on the supple, suede boots which extended to her mid-thigh. The rest of her attire matched the same motif; hugging her body, yet flexible and worked in after years of travel. The teasing partition in her leather top along her sternum to show off a hint of cleavage was no accident, but a deliberate choice to provide distraction to those who didn’t have the willpower to ignore it.

One of Isador’s eyebrows ticked upward in wry admission that she had failed the test. Bent over as the other woman was, she offered a clear view right down that path. The two of them had never been lovers, but that had everything to do with Isador believing a firm separation between professionalism and play was necessary. She also tended to fall for classic beauty. This woman had a rough appeal that would never be called pretty; merely unique and intriguing, along with a firm body forged by a lifetime of adventuring.

“Harper,” she offered by way of greeting.

The other woman reacted with only mild surprise, taking the appearance of the portal in stride. “Dame Tal’Rook. What a nice surprise.” She tugged the last buckle into place and inspected the result with satisfaction.

Glancing at her unconscious companions, Isador asked with a dry inflection, “Quite the night you seem to have had.”

Not turning her back on the portal, Harper rolled her shoulders and neck, producing a small crack. With a soft groan of pleasure, she said, “Needed to work off some stress. They seemed like fun. I was right.”

“Are you embroiled in something?”

“Just finished.” A jaunty smirk emerged. “Actually, I might have pissed off the owner of a local merchant cartel. Fine time to be elsewhere.”

“Excellent. I’ve a task for you.”

“Another charity case?”

Isador leveled a repressive frown at the impudent woman. She put up with the sass from her gargoyles as a means to check her own impulses. Allowing someone from outside her control to do the same was unwise. She allowed a touch of her power to crackle along her fingers.

Harper put up her hands to show empty palms. “Peace, Wizardess. I meant nothing by it.”

“I select unique souls to draw out their full potential,” Isador said firmly. “I appreciate exceptional women. You’ve been of significant aid in my pursuit of these goals in the past. Will you be part of this again?”

“Hey, no arguments. As long as your gold remains pure, I’m your woman. Where is she?”

“Unknown. Your first task will be to find her. If you are ready, step through the gateway. I’ll take you to the right place to start.” Isador extended a hand to the boundary of the portal.

Harper reached below a nearby table and pulled a weathered pack from under the wood. Sparing a fond wave to the slumbering lovers behind her, she grasped Isador’s forearm from across half the world. She surrendered to Isador’s will, allowing herself to be pulled through.

The Wizardess did so with a fluid motion. It was more an act of willpower than strength, compelling the one connected to her flesh to traverse the portal. Once the mercenary was through, Isador wove a second spell, ever so slightly different from the last. This time, she centered the portal she opened on a known place, rather than hunting for a gifted token.

When the archway opened, the scene was somewhat different than she expected. It was on the edge of the forest. That much had been intentional. But rather than looking up at a majestic castle in the Hu’na’laan style, there was nothing but a sweeping hillside capped with rubble. Not about to let a small detail stop her, Isador stepped through with her hand locked on Harper, ensuring the magic recognized her and allowed her to pass.

The air was faintly chill, with an unpleasant breeze drifting down from the highlands. Not far off, there was a city of tents with banners overhead. Workers were scattered between those tents and the ruins, some hacking away with tools while others dragged items they had uncovered back to the encampment.

Isador noted the banners flying above the tents. “How is your Hu’na’laan heraldry? This should be the castle of Lord Kikuchi.”

“The symbols are for Shishaku Umori. He owns the lands adjacent. The Council of High Lords who rule them has kept the peace for decades, but it is possible a local war broke out between them. We could be seeing the resultant plunder.” Harper lurched her foot away from the ground, issuing a soft curse. “Gods’ hells, what’s that?”

Isador hadn’t noticed, for she had an amulet which kept a protective shield around her. If she didn’t intend for someone to be able to walk past, such as she had with Harper, then it would instinctively act to repel. With her attention drawn to the ground, she could see the grass was alive and trying to curl around them. Much of it was too short or scraggly or frail to get a purchase, but a few strands had coiled around Harper’s calf with enough strength to snag her.

Now more aware, Isador broadened her view away from the tent settlement, taking in the wilderness and few distorted animals she could pick out in the sky and flitting across the ground. “This entire area has been distorted by a faelapse. I’ve never seen anything so extensive.”

“Might explain why someone special enough to catch your notice originated from here.” Harper kicked at a gopher with eight eyes that hissed her way with a serpent tongue. “Mind if we move along? I’d rather not stick around to see if I’m special enough to live here.”

With a tight smile of understanding, Isador walked into the ruins, giving the workers a wide berth. She saw no need to involve the lord or any of his people, regardless of the power dynamics at play. She followed the energy of the spirit she was tracking until they came within sight of the fallen keep at the center of the destruction. “There. That was her home.”

“Part of the noble family?”

“Difficult to say. She’s been gone for some time, and the magical upheaval is confusing my senses.” Isador pursed her lips as she considered the ruins. Then, it was her turn to gasp softly as she noticed a glimmer of gold. She rushed over to a pit that had been partially excavated. At the base, there was a statue in the likeness of a beauty of a woman rendered in gold.

Harper paced alongside her to the edge of the pit. She reached out to test some of the ropes that had been lashed around the statue, then secured to a hitching post by the side of the hole. “Looks like they are getting ready to heave it out. They just don’t have it dug out quite well enough.”

“Not an it,” Isador murmured in genuine awe. “There’s a spirit inside there.”

“The statue’s alive? Is she the one you wanted?”

“No. Someone else. I feel a connection to the one we are seeking. But it is not her.” She gave a soft shake of her head. “These people are hauling it about as if it is an object. They don’t know the truth, I’m sure of it.”

“What do you want to do?”

“First, I’ll see you on your quest. Then, I’ll use my magic to free it and take it from their hands.”

Harper snorted. “Not sure Lord Umori will be thrilled with you stealing his plunder.”

“One cannot steal what they are not even aware they have. I cannot allow her to rest in the hands of people so blind that they missed the soul trapped inside the carving.”

“Can you free her?”

Isador allowed the question to pass her by unanswered. Instead, she produced a set of eyeglasses. They were of exquisite make, comfortable enough to be worn throughout the day and with lenses so clear that they wouldn’t cause the least bit of distortion. Creating such a thing without magic was nigh impossible in the current age, even for true masters.

Harper accept the item, looking uncertain. “Umm, proud to say that my eyesight is damn near perfect. Or are you trying to tell me I’m fooling myself?”

The Wizardess fixed the mercenary with another scowl. “Remain near the ruins for no less than ten hours. Better yet, stay all night until the coming dawns. Keep out of sight. In that time, the essence of the spirit we’re seeking will soak into these glasses. When you put them on, you’ll be able to follow the path of her travels.”

“Walking in her wake? That could take a long time.”

“You’re not a mindless bloodhound. Feel for the strongest pull. Use your mind to determine where she might have gone next and cut corners. I have faith you’ll catch up to her.” Isador drew a whistle from her pocket. “But I’ve one more bit of help to offer that will close the distance rapidly.”

She blew through the item. No sound came out; at least, no sound in the audible range of humans. In the nearby camp, a few dogs let out mournful cries as the high-pitched shriek of the whistle bothered them.

Both of the women then heard an answering cry. Like the hunting call of a bird of prey, only vastly amplified. They followed the sound up into the sky, seeing a circling bird. But though it was difficult to tell against the wide, cloudy expanse, there was a distinct impression that the bird’s scale was out of tune with normal creatures found in the natural world.

Satisfied, Isador handed the whistle to the mercenary. “One note to draw her closer. Two to bring her to land. Holding it will allow you to mentally command her to go where you wish.”

Harper’s smile was elated. Her fingers fidgeted with the item, obviously tempted to bring the massive bird in immediately so that she could take wing. Knowing that the bird’s arrival would create a massive stir in the nearby encampment was all that held her back. “How incredible! Does she have a name?”

“Onyadaz. Be cautious. She can soar across a sea if it is demanded of her, but the Ocean Crossing would be too far in one stretch. She will serve you until you accomplish what I’m asking you to do.”

“To be clear, you’re asking me to find this spirit.”

“Find her, yes. But then offer your assistance. Help her on this path. Do what you can to convince her that opening the magical paths of PowerEmpath and MindBender is in her best interest.”

“Is it?”

“Those are not the questions I’m paying you to ask.” Isador eased her scowl, wanting the mercenary on her side. “Achieving this will bring her no harm, I assure you. Once she realizes the benefits these paths can bring, totally in line with the ones she’s already achieved, I’m sure she will want the same thing. Help her come to those same conclusions.”

“If I can’t?”

“Then I shall compensate you for what you’ve done, and try another tactic. I won’t give up on her, even if she gives up on herself.”

“How do I reach you?” Harper asked.

“The whistle. Use three notes in a row, and I shall hear it. It will only work a handful of times, so be prudent in calling for me. But I will be eager to hear of her progress. And save one for the end. For when she has finally accomplished this feat, I will eager to meet her. Very eager indeed.”

Chapter 21

Breathing hard, Yokïmi backed away from the smoldering fire still billowing off dense smoke. Even high on the Arrowhead bluff, the wilderness was verdant green, making it easy to find the moist wood she needed. She tossed aside the wide, leafy branch she had been using to interrupt the smoke flow to create the pattern Arabella had described. She had repeated the pattern six times every hour for the last five hours. It might be overkill, but she didn’t want to rely on anyone seeing a single sending.

Walking to the edge of the bluff, she stretched her back and stared out over the jungle expanse. The density of the forest increased rapidly as the landscape descended out of the mountain pass. From this vantage, she could see upwards of twenty leagues, and the wildness was already a towering, double-canopy jungle that would continue to thicken as it spread southwest.

There was a winding trail that switchbacked its way up the Arrowhead. She noticed a pair of figures separate from the trees and begin the climb. It was a good sign. She debated the benefits of waiting for them. It would confirm she was the owner of the fire. It would also give more space for the meeting. Encountering two strangers on a tight trail could limit options if they proved to be hostile.

Despite those negatives, she didn’t want to force them to make the entire climb. They were already answering the call. No sense making it harder on them than it had to be. She scooped dirt onto the fire to smother it, then took to the trail at a bouncing jog. The rocks were plentiful and sharp enough to refresh her gratitude for her Phantom Body Sheath and its protection of her soles.

For the joy of the exertion, she pushed herself hard. She covered the lion’s share of the distance, meeting the pair when they were only a quarter of the way up the cliff. She picked a point where the trail reversed on itself, carving around a huge boulder protruding from slope. She perched on one of the boulder’s smaller cousins, folding her legs and arms so that the predominant element of her first impression wouldn’t be her nudity. Yes, now I can focus on hoping they won’t destroy me for being a glass-skinned fae or spirit.

She needn’t have been so worried. When they appeared, she found herself facing a pair possessing nearly as little clothing as she did. The man’s sword and spheres were caught up in a pouch-like thong, while the woman wore a leafy skirt without bothering to cover the petite bobs that were her breasts. Both had dark oaken skin, a shade that could protect them against the twin suns even at their most brutal.

The similarity to her mother provoked an instant sense of hope in Yokïmi that this meeting might not go poorly after all. They had spears, but both were using them as walking staffs, jamming the butts into the ground to aid in their climb. She sensed no intention for violence in either of them.

“I hope the rains have smiled on your travels today,” she said in her fluent if accented Goldaan, thanking her mother’s memory for having taught her. “I’m Yokïmi, the one who lit the fire and sent the signal from the Arrowhead.”

The pair tensed, making a show of grabbing their spears a bit tighter. Neither brandished them, nor did their expressions devolve any further than understandable caution. The man demanded, “What are you? And how did you know about the signal?”

“As human as you, though changed by magic. I’ve come on a Quest, one that will end in saving the life of a tribeswoman. But I’ve no idea where her clan might be under the canopy.”

The two fell into a private whisper. When they parted, it was the woman who spoke. “Tell us of this danger. We will take word of it to our Elders. They can decide to act on it or not. You may go with our thanks.”

If only it was so easy, Yokïmi thought to herself. A part of her was tempted to take the woman’s offer. It would put her on guard, and thus on equal footing with Plecht as he looked for any opening to hook one of the scarabs to her. But she couldn’t wash her hands of it so easily. If she could save Dola, there was also the chance that the woman could shed better light on the Servants of the Mad Moon.

“It is not so simple a matter,” she said. “There’s an enemy coming with very special powers. I’m not even certain I can see or stop them, but at least I have a chance.” She decided to tug on whatever heart strings she could. “I also bear tidings regarding some of this person’s oldest friends. I’d like to deliver it personally. To… reduce the sting.”

She could tell the first half of her story worried them, but the second part melted their hard exterior. The man asked, “Who is it you seek?”

“Dola Yahaya of the clan Jallu Samka.”

The man rocked back on his heels, struck by the answer.

His companion jumped in. “We know of her. And we can find her people.” She twitched a finger at her companion. “This is Kwame. I’m Talla. If you are going to walk with us, you need to listen when we speak. A thousand things can kill you in the jungle. The smallest creature can have the worst poison. Allowing your mind to drift could have you walk into a quicksand pit between one step and the next.”

“I’ll step where you step,” Yokïmi assured her.

Talla frowned, weighing the promise. “See that you do.” Her eyes flickered over the crystal woman’s bare shoulders, without any sort of pack or carrying satchel. “You’ve no things?”

“I travel light.”

“Food?”

“I eat off the land. I’d appreciate you showing me what’s safe to eat as we go.”

Kwame huffed. “She might survive after all.” He turned and stalked back down the path. Talla followed. Neither of them paused to see if the visitor to their lands was going to follow.

Yokïmi felt sure that the two wouldn’t deliberately abandon her. But they were going to test her. To see if she could back up her brave claims with action. They might respect her intent to save a Goldaan from death, but they weren’t going to trust that Yokïmi was willing to risk her life for this until she actually did it.

And so, she did. Ai ya. Here I am, mother. I finally get to experience your homeland and see if it measures up to your vivid descriptions. Let’s hope the reality is a tad less deadly and every inch as magical. Kicking off the boulder, she ran after her guides, making sure to never lose sight of them. They were now her lifeline, a truth that would only sharpen as they went deeper under the canopies.

*          *          *

Having experts to lead the way transformed a harrowing journey into one that was merely dangerous. Yokïmi learned an incredible amount about jungle survival in the first hour, and she did it without the fear of experimenting on unknown food sources or fleeing from unfamiliar predators.

She also got the sense that her guides gained a grudging respect for her over the first couple of days. Her Gifts meant she ate little. Her training made it so she didn’t have to stop and rest very often. Her Body Sheath warded off the stinging brambles and the sticky residue slathered over many leaves which could cause rashes and hives. She liked the idea of being the least helpless visitor they’d escorted through their lands, requiring far less tending.

On the fourth day, they encountered thin smoke wafting through the trees. It was laced with the smell of meat sizzling over a fire. Kwame crooked a finger to summon his charge closer and pointed ahead. “Jallu Samka will linger here for another half-moon. Talla has gone ahead to warn them we are coming. Take caution in your words. Elder Yahaya is highly respected. If you mis-speak so they suspect you are the cause of this threat, you might be adrift in the River of Souls before you realize what you’ve done.”

Nodding her understanding, Yokïmi walked alongside him. When they entered the first clearing, it seemed like the situation had already deteriorated badly. Talla was exchanging heated words with a half-circle of locals.

Upon sighting Yokïmi, one of those locals broke off and stomped her way. He was a powerful specimen, one of the clan’s Warrior-Hunters with far less patience than the Elders he left behind. He began yelling angrily and stabbing a finger at her in accusation. “This is your doing! Strange people bring strange diseases. Do you think you’re the first merchant to come selling their miracle herbs to cure a sickness they themselves brought into our midst?”

Once more, she silently praised her mother’s preparation. Waiting for a translation would have made her feel off balance. Instead, she was able to snap back in the Goldaan tongue, “It isn’t an illness!”

Her use of the language struck as hard as her claim. Though his anger didn’t cool very far, he stopped short of bullying his way right into arm’s reach of her. “How can you know? Talla brought you from beyond the jungle.”

“Give her time to speak,” intoned one of the Elders who approached from behind the Warrior-Hunter. “Peace, now. I’m Lanja, husband to Dola and Voice of Jallu Samka. What do you know of this?”

“Forgive me,” Yokïmi rushed to say. “But time may be brief. When did Dola fall into sleep?”

“Less than two hours ago.”

“Was there another outsider here? A goblin or any other?”

“Our Hunters caught sight of a band from a different clan yesterday, but they were never close enough to pass sickness between them. A friendly encounter.”

Yokïmi chewed on that, grimacing at the implications. They could have been the goblin’s guides. He could have slipped away and entered this camp unseen. He’s already proven that he’s slippery as an eel. She didn’t voice her suspicions, not wanting to blame another clan for having a role in this. Not when they might have been duped. That would only begin a conflict that could cause more death due to the goblin’s games.

Instead, she said, “I fear it might be too late. I’ve seen this twice before with people Dola once knew. Someone is hunting those she once called friends.”

“Who?” Lanja demanded.

“Do you know Oriato? Or Katashi?”

The Elder stiffened. “By name, though she never brought them back to these lands.”

“Both are dead. Potentially by the same magic affecting Dola now. Bring me to her, please. If I can be any help, I must act quickly.” Yokïmi would already have been running without their permission if she had any idea where to go.

Suspicion hadn’t left the clansfolk, but the Cursed clarity of her emotions was swaying the man. At last, Lanja waved a hand toward the deeper parts of the encampment. “Hrule, take her there.”

“But –”

“I said take her!” The Elder’s tone crackled with authority.

The bold Warrior-Hunter ceased his arguments. His doubts didn’t fade, but his obedience proved stronger. He spun about and stormed toward the collection of huts. They were temporary shelters, meant to last no more than a month’s time, but also crafted with techniques passed down over generations. She was confident they would fend off the persistent rains better than any stone building would manage in the dense wilderness. He led her to one which was no grander than the others, but sufficiently embellished with symbols and totems to mark it as belonging to people of authority.

Despite his brash attitude, Hrule didn’t enter. He was on the verge of blocking her from stepping inside. “The Elder is being tended by Nualo. Do not interfere with her rituals!”

Having no time to pander to his fears, no matter how justified, Yokïmi brushed past him. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, then narrowed in on the large bamboo cot where Dola and Lanja laid their heads at night.

Hovering over the bed was one of the clan Shamans. Her skin was painted and her body covered with fetishes. Yokïmi could sense real power in them; they carried a rustic magic passed down from ages past. She was fascinated, tempted to spend hours in deep conversation with Nualo, probing for any secrets that the Shaman might be willing to confess.

But there was no time. Dola lay upon the bed, squirming as if locked in a terrible nightmare from which she could not awaken. The Shaman held her opened palms over her patient, chanting words of power that were having no effect.

Yokïmi swept down onto her knees by the bedside. “You may not believe this, but this is a good sign.” She tugged at the vines wrapped around Dola’s body.

“Cease your meddling!” Nualo barked. “The plant will leech the bad humors.”

“I’ve no doubt it would,” Yokïmi said, not wanting to argue about rituals she didn’t understand. “But this isn’t about evil in her blood.”

“Then what?”

“Consider it like an evil spirit.”

“Impossible! I crafted the wards that keep such things away from the village. I’d stake my life on those barriers!”

Not pausing in her work, Yokïmi pried away another coil of the vines to reveal the strips of Dola’s sparse clothing. She unrolled one fold in the fabric and found a silver scarab pin snagged within. “The error is not in your craftsmanship, my good Shaman. A parasite hitched a ride on her. One that isn’t native to this jungle. These can tear through magical protections.”

Letting out a fierce hiss, the Shaman snatched at the scarab to rip it free. Her hand closed on nothing, passing through the object as if it was insubstantial. Her fury grew stronger as she made a second attempt to equally little effect.

On the meager chance her position as an outsider might make a difference, Yokïmi made her own effort to grab at the pin. It passed through her fingers easier than smoke.

“What is it doing to her?” the Shaman demanded.

“Do you know anything of the Astral Void?”

“A place of spirits, ghosts, and wayward Souls.”

Yokïmi gave a tight nod. “This beetle token has the power to capture a person’s soul and drag it forcefully into the Void. An assassin will be waiting to try and kill her Astral presence.” Dola’s limbs gave a violent series of twitches. “If this stops and she enters a motionless sleep, we’ll know the killer has succeeded.”

“Can you…” The Shaman gestured uncertainly over Dola’s body. “… dispel what is happening?”

“I don’t have that level of power.”

Seething with impotence, Nualo demanded, “What were you intending on doing?”

“Reaching her before she was taken!” Yokïmi snapped back, then corralled her irritation before it could spawn an argument between them. “But I feared I would not. I’ve practiced the magic to enter the Void myself. I can protect her from this attacker. If I can drive the killer away, perhaps the scarab’s power will fade. Or at least, it will buy us time to find a way to reconnect her soul to her body.”

Nualo’s jaw clenched, obviously hating the idea of trusting a total stranger with her Elder’s safety. She also had very little choice. “Do not return until you have succeeded.”

Yokïmi did her best to ignore the implied threat. She needed all her concentration on the spell she was about to cast. Moderate-Level magic was demanding on her, the pinnacle of her Talent. She was particularly thankful for her newly opened path to burn SDP, for the material element to the spell she needed to cast was a chunk of obsidian. As common as it was near the volcanoes that bordered her home, she had no idea where she could acquire such a thing in the rainforest.

Joining her hands to help focus her thoughts, her fingers then parted to craft the Lesser Astral Projection spell. Lines of purple-pink light appeared in the air as she wove the runes shapes that would activate the magic.

As she joined the ends and perfected the floating shape, she intoned the words of power. “Lwaff ner jin canto.” Following the last of the spell’s directions, her palms spread across Dola’s midriff. She reached out for the link between the other woman’s body and the otherworldly location of her Soul.

The demands on her being were different than calling upon her Physical Spells. The Channel that opened to control the magic was founded in her Ego. Her sense of self. Knowing this was her and the rest of the world wasn’t so as to shape the energy surging across that boundary. The power to summon the energy itself came from her SDP: the fundamental cohesion of her Soul. Willfully tearing into it was like battering against the immortal structure that was herself. It felt like a violent version of self-doubt; it was painful, but akin to the pain that came from tragedy that forced a person to wonder if they were worthy of this life, much less worthy of being invited into the heaven of some Divine being or to be given new life in the River of Souls. She suffered through the waves of insecurity and remained focused on creating a presence for her Soul within the Astral Void.

A fuzzy haze imposed on her senses. It was akin to falling asleep, but amplified and without the possibility to jolting back awake. She lost connection with her mortal form and slipped into the realm where only souls dwelled.

*          *          *

An echo of the real hut remained around her, but its color had become muted to a pattern of grey tones. Within seconds, the structure began to lose its coherence, vanishing like fog before the sun.

She recalled reading in her new spellbook that her last impression of the mortal world would impress on the substance of the Astral Void, but that it would soon dissipate without powerful magic capable of molding the gaseous matter that permeated this dimension. What surprised her was that, as her own vision evaporated, she was not greeted by the wider Void’s endless expanse. Instead, the rainforest that surrounded the hut remained.

There was a quality to the image that seemed impossible. She hadn’t had the time to make so accurate a memory. Could this be a construct left over from Dola’s transference? That means it will have lingered for hours. She was aware that time passed differently in the Void, more a matter of shared perception than any objective reality. But her hut construct was already gone, which meant this area wasn’t frozen in time. Which means Dola’s construct has the power to last where mine didn’t. And since I’m sure she doesn’t have magical training, that means it almost has to be the scarab. Perhaps the goblin assassin wants to hunt her through a twisted variant of her target’s own home. But… who then has control, Dola… or Tnaaf?

Not thrilled with the idea of wandering through a mutable landscape under the influence of a killer, Yokïmi took stock of her own condition. Her transformation was less startling for her than for others. She had no clothing to be missing. Her skin had taken on the look of polished marble instead of glass, but it was nearly as clear. Faint swirls of pink were laced through her, stemming from a small, bright core where her diaphragm had once controlled her breathing. He feminine curves had been smoothed out, making her seem less naked than she’d been in over a year.

Yokïmi was quick to make the connection to her status orb. I’ve become a reflection of its substance. She reached up and felt through her hair, seeking the only two items that were not part of who she was. Both Arabella’s miniaturized spellbook and the rose given to her by Avalessa were gone; more precisely, they had been left behind in the physical world.

A savage yell erupted from somewhere in the forest construct. A brief, bright, blue radiance flashed, leaving an afterglow that was slow to fade from her eyes. She heard a heavy thwack, akin to a lumberjack chopping his axe into a tree he intended to fell. A maniacal cackle followed, along with a sarcastic mocking. “Aww, I missed that time. Did that scare you? Which do you like better, the pain or the fear? Want to ask me which one I thought was worse? I had plenty of both after you sacrificed me to that hellhole!”

It had to be Tnaaf, her words growing more caustic as she went on. She punctuated her taunting with what Yokïmi assumed was another attack. Once more, that brilliant flash reflected off the spectral trees, accompanied by another loud sound of wooden impact.

Yokïmi dared not delay. She bounced off her knees and rushed toward the sounds of the fighting. At first, she couldn’t quite understand why she felt sluggish. She was nearly out of the clearing before she came to realize her progress had very little to do with her churning feet. The presence of the trees was keeping her locked in the rigid mentality of the material world, where the effort of one’s muscles was the key to movement. Being cast directly into the open Astral Void might have been briefly disorienting, but it would have allowed her to adjust faster to the idea that her actions were dependent on her belief that they were possible, rather than the limitations of her physical form.

By the time she came into sight of the two combatants, Yokïmi had ceased all pretense of running. She floated at high speed past the tree trunks, arrowing to intercept the conflict before the goblin assassin could end it.

The battle was not going well for the Goldaan Elder. Her left leg was sheared off mid-thigh, likely a deadly wound in the mortal realm. Gouts of white mist were spraying from the stump and evaporating into the ether. Having made the same adjustment to the properties of the Void, Dola didn’t let the normally crippling wound prevent her from making desperate evasions. She had still taken several other injuries. The lacerations seeped white fog, further weakening her Soul.

* Bleeding *

\-6/

* Bleeding *

\-6/

Her hunter appeared utterly confident. The goblin retained her height and general shape. Like the rest of them, her clothing was gone and her skin was replaced by radiant marble. Her shade was a shimmering, obsidian black, threaded by thin bands of brilliant white restlessly shifting in an ever-changing pattern.

Tnaaf brandished a hatchet crafted from a metal glowing fierce blue. The fine details of the forest construct nearest to her became distorted as she moved past, the radiance of her weapon tearing at the tree structures, causing them to vent streams of Astral vapor. She floated forward, fixated entirely on her crippled human target. “They say nothing is worse than the death of one’s Soul. No deeper pain. I’ll laugh knowing that the shreds that remain will never drift to the River. No Deity will ever take pity on a pathetic creature like you. This is where you die!” Her hand drew back, ready to launch her shining blade into the Elder’s chest.

Yokïmi almost stumbled on the words and symbols necessary to activate another of the few Astral spells she had learned. She wove the pattern as quickly as she could, thankful for every second Tnaaf gave her as the goblin savored her impending kill. She completed the magic mere seconds before the strike happened. Yokïmi exulted in the rush of magical energy that passed through her, delighting in how she didn’t need to draw on her SDP as the Void fed her with the energy she needed.

Her Minor Astral Shield sprang into existence around Dola in a crimson-hued shell. A heartbeat later, the hatchet cut into the outer surface. To Yokïmi’s astonishment, it sliced through without a hint of resistance.

That would have meant Dola’s end, but the Elder took advantage of being briefly obscured. She lurched sideways, attempting to cause the goblin to miss. She was a fraction too slow, saving the integrity of her soul but not avoiding added pain. The hatchet’s radiant, sapphire edge hacked into her right bicep. The marble of her arm fragmented, broke off, and shattered into nothing but white mist. Instead of continuing her escape, the agony of the loss made Dola fold in on herself, near the end of her Soul’s endurance.

\-39/

* Bleeding *

\-7/

* Bleeding *

\-7/

* Rattled *

* Fear: Severe *

Yokïmi rushed to intervene as she saw the strange weapon’s ivory handle illuminate and flicker back toward the goblin’s hand. Her fingers danced through another spell, then sent a Minor Bolt of crackling Astral energy lancing at the assassin.

Tnaaf retrieved her weapon in time. Reflexively jerking it between them, the blue radiance of its metal flared brighter. Yokïmi couldn’t tell if it absorbed or dispelled her attack. It didn’t matter; either way, it left the killer’s Astral form unharmed.

“Who are you?” snarled the goblin. She slashed the Void with her clawed hand. “No. It doesn’t matter. You have no idea what you are interfering with. Begone!”

“Only if you leave her alone!” Yokïmi snapped, trying to decide her next action. Her Ego spell points were draining fast. Even if she could get an attack past that damned glowing weapon, she wasn’t sure she had enough power to deliver a killing strike.

“Never!” Tnaaf hurled the hatchet again, this time aiming for Yokïmi. Her arm whipped with the abnormal speed only possible in this otherworldly place, imparting supernatural power on the thrown weapon.

Yokïmi dipped sideways, evading it through raw belief that she could. She darted in fast and smashed a knuckle strike against choking point on the goblin’s throat.

\-1/

The result was pathetic and showed no sign of causing Tnaaf any sort of breathing distress. Yokïmi didn’t even have time to curse herself for a fool at having forgotten that pressure points and vital areas meant less than nothing on these Astral forms.

Tnaaf used her advantage ruthlessly, allowing her enemy to make the pointless physical attack while she concentrated on summoning back her shimmering blade. It thunked into her hand and she slashed it across Yokïmi’s midriff before she could spring back out of the way.

\-27/

* Bleeding *

\-1/

* Bleeding *

\-1/

For the first time in a long while, her life essence sprang forth with the same shade as others. White mist sprayed out in an initial rush, then continued to seep out in a lesser cloud. Weakness sapped at her Soul. Combined with the 15 SDP that it had cost her to project herself into the Astral Void in the first place, she had lost over two-thirds of her Soul’s available durability. She could sense her Resilience (Ego) being called upon, testing her belief that she could hold together the essence of who she was against this opponent.

It didn’t help that every attack she had at her fingertips was proving useless. Her magic. Her Bellatir training. It counts for nothing! Yokïmi instinctively pulled back in self-preservation.

With the pressure off, Tnaaf spun back to her original target. She flung her hatchet once again. The curved blade split Dola’s marble chest open right between her breasts. The burst of radiance that surged out was many times stronger than previous injuries.

* Critical Wound *

\-52/

* Dead *

When the flash faded, the inner light that had shone past the woman’s marble exterior was gone. She didn’t collapse, for there was no true ‘down’ in the Void. She merely drifted. The edges of her body began to disintegrate, no longer held together by the fundamental essence of her Soul which defined her as her.

Seeing the one she was trying to protect destroyed, Yokïmi knew she couldn’t let her failure end in her own demise. Dashing on the wings of her belief, she slipped deeper into the forest construct, hoping it would hide her.

The goblin turned her head to snarl at Yokïmi, mercifully not choosing to pursue her. “Interfere with me again, and I shall destroy you. Nothing can stop me!” Her weapon returned to her hand and pulsed harshly.

Yokïmi was forced to hide her eyes. When the dazzle cleared, she found herself floating in a truly empty Void. The forest was gone, as was Tnaaf and Dola’s remains. All she could see was the deep purple expanse, filled with the endless, rolling vapor-storms which occasionally flickered with energy lightning as the ambient static energy shifted about.

Tnaaf’s final threat rang in her ears. The worst part was that Yokïmi had no answer to it. She’d been a mouse under the claws of a cat, for all the good she’d done. The goblin had become an Astral monster in her own right, unstoppable and perhaps unstable. She would go after Taharis next. But once she was finished her pattern of revenge, what then? If Yokïmi believed the vision in the memory cage, Tnaaf was detached from her living body. Potentially immortal. Where would her rage take her once her initial rampage was over?

She had to be stopped.

But Yokïmi had no idea how she could possibly accomplish that feat when she was so utterly outmatched.

*          *          *

The physical world reformed around her as her Soul reconnected with her body. Yokïmi remained kneeling by the cot. Dola was still asleep upon it, though any sign of agitation was gone. In fact, all signs of movement except for her breathing had ceased.

Her hand dipped down and plucked the scarab pin off the woman’s clothing. It was solid under her fingertips, empty of any magic now that it had served its purpose.

From where she hovered over Dola’s head, Nualo whispered, “Is… this a good sign?”

Yokïmi’s shoulders sank as she scanned along the Elder’s form. The woman was technically alive. She could easily imagine the uncertainty and worry that filled the hearts of those who had cared about Oriato and Katashi. How strange it must have seemed not to be able to wake them. Dola looked at peace. As if she could awake at any moment.

“I’m afraid not,” she breathed out in sincere regret. “Her Soul is gone. I… I failed.”

Anger roared onto the Shaman’s face. Her hands clenched, one about her staff and the other into a claw ready to scratch Yokïmi’s eyes out. She came to the precipice of her anger crashing over the edge… then, staggered away from the cot and collapsed to the ground by the thatched wall. “No. It isn’t you who failed. It was us. Her tribe allowed this fiend to sneak that token onto the Elder.” Her eyes closed in pain. “There’s nothing to be done.”

“Nothing but making sure this goblin doesn’t kill again.”

The Shaman’s eyebrows climbed in disbelief. “You couldn’t stop the magic from destroying her inside. What will be different the next time?”

It was the very question that was still baffling Yokïmi. “I don’t know. But my various mentors have taught me that if the answer isn’t obvious, that doesn’t make it impossible. I know the identity of her next target. There is a small chance I can stop the goblin in this world from placing the scarab on him.”

“This doesn’t seem wise to hope for this. This is our home. Our jungle. Yet even here, we never saw the one who placed that evil bug on our Elder.”

“Mm, I have the same fear. This goblin is tricky and isn’t above hiring goons to do his dirty work. He may also have magic I can’t guard against.” Yokïmi shifted to her only other idea. “The assassin was armed with a weapon I’ve never seen before. It nullified my magic and was deadly to Astral beings. I need to counter it before I face the killer again.”

“What do you need?”

Yokïmi wished she knew. Which means I need to educate myself. “A Sage who can speak about the Astral Void and magical weapons that work within it. Or a library where I can seek the knowledge for myself.”

Nualo frowned. “We do not concern ourselves with the doings of outsiders. But I would stay clear of Tadak. It’s nothing but an ugly swarm of merchant caravans about to cross the Hidden Sea and the parasites trying to leech coin off them before they go.”

“Isn’t that where the Goldaan clans go when trading with us outsiders?”

“For exactly that reason. No one in Tadak asks questions or bothers us. Gold is their only concern.” She shook her head. “No, not there. I’ll have Daago, one of the Hunters, to take you to the Free City of Aurook. It’s far to the south, nestled in a rocky valley that keeps the jungle at bay. They prize their isolation and have little to do with the clans.”

Yokïmi quirked an eyebrow. “But you think they will have the resources I need?”

“I’ve been inside their walls. I was part of the last entourage who went there to reaffirm the boundaries that keep the peace. I was shown what they called their Grand Library. It was a massive room filled with more books than I thought existed in the world.” She cast a serious scowl at her visitor. “I saw their pride in it. It was sacred. And not open to the curiosity of the common people.”

“Then I won’t bother them by asking,” Yokïmi murmured, already thinking of her Invisibility spell. She wouldn’t feel bad about sneaking in. Her only intent was to steal the knowledge they were hoarding, not the books themselves. “How long will it take to get there?”

“It’s not a short trip, but Daago knows the rivers well. He’ll take you through the rapids on the Zadirag. It will cut a week off the voyage.”

Yokïmi felt a small spark of hope displace some of the fatigue and disappointment that had been clinging to her weakened Soul. “This could make all the difference. How do I thank you?”

“Find these killers. Find them and tear their hearts out for what they’ve done to our Elder. If we cannot reach them, you can be our hands in this.”

“I’ll… do what I can.” Yokïmi avoiding saying anything stronger, honestly worried that a Quest might activate and trap her into a pre-determined path of revenge. She felt sure that nothing short of death was going to stop these fanatic goblins. But she also knew this was becoming a spiral of revenge.

She was still blind to a huge part of the story. Dola had taken her secrets to the grave. Any temptation to probe at what the clansfolk might know about Dola’s travels had died when the Shaman twice mentioned how they preferred secrecy. I need their help to cross the jungle. Asking prying questions that hint at evil deeds their Elder might have committed is a fine way to get myself exiled. A swift trip down a river will become weeks clawing my way out of the rainforest… if I can even survive. She wouldn’t lie to herself. There was no denying it. She was using them. But doing anything else would only bring pain while giving the goblins a chance to slip beyond her grasp forever.

Stay alive, Taharis Rossi. You’re my last link to them. If you die, these two will fade into the mist. I might never find them again. Stay alive long enough for me to find some way to stop them.

Chapter 22

Yokïmi’s fingernail clicked along the tomes on the shelf, counting each one she passed over. Most of them didn’t have writing or numbers on the edge, meaning she had to go by the description she had filched from the librarian’s desk. Twenty-third from the third shelf marker. Inch wide. Red leather binding. She found it. Prying the book from between the others, she read the title to confirm it was the one she wanted.

Kamdon Meers

Strange Metals and Alloys

Mentally praising the librarians who were unknowingly helping her, she wished she had the coin to leave them an anonymous bit of charity by way of thanks. The hour was past midnight. She had every reason to believe the central chamber was empty, so she walked into a reading gallery where she could spread out the three books she had retrieved for research.

Magical lights were scattered sparsely through the area, avoiding candles while ensuring full darkness never fell even deep in the stacks so the librarians never risked injury. She didn’t anticipate that the individual lanterns on the gallery tables would be tapped awake. Noticing a few of them already glowing made her approach more cautiously. She risked a peek into the gallery without venturing in, trusting her glass skin to give herself the advantage.

Instead of seeing any staff, there was a sole woman curled into one of the chairs. The heels of her tall, supple boots were kicked over the back of a second chair. She was occupied with inserting a thin, wooden wand into an odd contraption comprised of stacked spheres with holes drilled through them. A score of other wands were already passed through those holes, with another few dozen waiting in piles on the table.

Yokïmi was about to pull away when she caught sight of a book resting on the table. Its title called to her in a way she found hard to ignore.

Esran Minkoil

Comprehending the MindBender Path

She drifted away from the protective shelving before she fully considered the risks. The stranger presented a nearly irresistible temptation. The book teased a similar interest. The fascinating game was novel to her. And if she was being honest, the woman had an undeniable allure about her. Her well-worn, body-hugging leathers, lean physical conditioning, and smooth mannerisms suggested an exploratative life with dangers she’d survived, rendering them into stories that would likely be worth hearing.

Finishing her insertion, the stranger craned her neck to the side and looked toward Yokïmi. She nudged the spectacles over her eyes higher up her nose and sent a smile her way. “Evening. Guess I’m not the only one who likes it when it’s quieter in here.”

Since the woman wasn’t reacting with anger, Yokïmi didn’t immediately flee, though she remained balanced on the balls of her feet and fixed the path to the exit in her mind. The stranger had spoken in yin-riss, so she answered in the same tongue. “Are the daylight hours much louder?”

“Considering the owners would unleash his hounds to chase me out, I’d say yes. Hard to read with that sort of thing going on.” The woman grinned, creaking her chair as she lounged back in it further. “Something tells me a fetching spirit such as yourself isn’t doing her late-night reading because you couldn’t sleep.”

One of Yokïmi’s arms floated in front of her breasts at the comment, subconsciously covering herself as the stranger hinted she was aware of Yokïmi in a sensual way. “I’m not a spirit.”

“Mm, I know. My name’s Harper Kayt.”

After a brief moment weighing the consequences, she offered, “Yokïmi Kikuchi. Are you… a magic practitioner?”

“Not in the least.” Harper issued a lush laugh that turned some part of Yokïmi’s core to liquid. The adventuress tapped her fingertips on the MindBender tome. “I’m using this to figure out how to block myself from this sort of power. I’ve run up against a few nasty opponents who tried to muck around in here.” She tapped her temple.

Feeling awkward standing in the open, Yokïmi stepped down the stairs into the gallery. She found a chair across the table from the other woman, putting a natural barrier between them to make herself feel less exposed. “It’s not the right book.”

“Oh?”

“The path it mentions is about powering spells with mental essence. It’s a fairly specific talent that few Sorcerers or Wizards care to master. You’d be better served investigating mental hardening exercises for lay persons.”

Harper picked up her book and rotated the title in Yokïmi’s direction. “You’re something of an expert?”

“Not yet.”

“But you’ve tried?”

“Not yet,” Yokïmi echoed herself. “I’ve a cursory knowledge. I’ll aspire for more one day.”

“After you achieve your goals as a master metal worker?” Harper waved at the red-leather book now lying on the table between them.

Yokïmi folded her arms over it, mildly annoyed that her clear skin didn’t do much to obscure the title. She decided it didn’t matter. Her purpose wasn’t really a secret. The odds of any random traveller selling knowledge of her presence and progress to Plecht was absurdly low. “I’m trying to identify a weapon I saw with rather bizarre properties.”

“Magical?”

“It’s possible.” Yokïmi pursed her lips, remembering the Astral encounter. “But in truth, I’m beginning to think the answer lies elsewhere. The one wielding it did so with such ease, calling on its power constantly and without any concern for depleting a magical reservoir. Investing an item with sufficient magic would make it an artifact in its own right.”

“Hm.” Harper tilted her head, her curiosity engaged. “Sounds like you’re speaking of an item forged from a Glorious Metal. They transcend magic in many ways.”

Yokïmi had entertained the idea before. “I’ve encountered such a thing before. But this weapon was different. It was capable of entering the Astral Void and striking at Souls and spirits. Not to mention interfering with Soul-based magic.”

A sort of eager interest awoke on Harper’s face. “I think I might be able to help you out.”

“How so?”

“Happens that I’m a treasure hunter of sorts. Done my fair share of research and been to most places one can travel in this world. Not many scholars out there who are well versed in the Glorious Metals. You’re welcome to go find one, or I could make you an offer right here and now.”

It was Yokïmi’s turn to be tempted by curiosity. “Am I to take you at your word?”

“Or I can prove it.” The adventuress waggled a finger at the clear-metal bracelets on Yokïmi’s wrists. “I know enough to recognize those as siovoneon. Can’t be entirely certain, though the way they blend so well to your skin is rather telling. You’d have to toss it in a fire and see if they radiate an emerald aura to be sure.”

“And you know what the metal can do?” Yokïmi probed, trying not to let her breath catch on her sudden excitement. Those tidbits were leagues beyond what she had known until this point.

But it was immediately clear that Harper hadn’t missed the tell. “You didn’t know, did you?” Her smile twisted into something more wryly amused. “Guess I’ve got myself another bargaining chip.”

Yokïmi didn’t like the idea of accepting the woman’s word for being the only easily accessible resource for learning about the Glorious Metals. There could be another, perfectly knowledgeable Sage right down the street. But this woman had the undeniable benefit of being present. Not to mention I wouldn’t have to reveal myself to yet another, who might not take my nature in stride. Ai ya… fine. Might as well hear her price before I spurn her. Allowing her scowl to show, Yokïmi demanded, “What will this knowledge cost me?”

Harper’s playful smile didn’t fade. She crooked a finger, inviting her closer. “Let’s not do this as adversaries. I want to help. But I want to make sure you understand what I want out of it, first. Why don’t we talk over a game, hmm?” She gestured at the structure of spheres and wands she had been fiddling with.

Exchanging her current chair for one directly across the table, Yokïmi inspected the unfamiliar item. “I’ve never seen this before.”

“It was introduced to me by a woman who’s employed me fairly often over the years. She sees herself as something of a mentor. I’d say she’s mostly fond of meddling, but the end is often the same.”

Yokïmi dropped her eyes level with the game, shifting left and right until she was sure she had a full understanding of the various details. The base was a wooden square measuring a foot on each side, then an inch thick. There were holes drilled in the base. The pattern seemed random at first, but she realized the holes formed a letter from an unfamiliar language.

Noticing her interest, Harper provided, “The symbol is pronounced Sveerasi. It’s the name of the game.”

Nodding in thanks, Yokïmi continued her inspection. There were thirty holes that made up the symbol. Into each one, there was a pole inserted. Each was as thick as one of her fingernails, sturdy enough to support the spheres positioned along their lengths. There were four spheres on each, though not at equal heights, creating something of a forest. Each sphere was honeycombed, creating a mesh of possible holes where they could be speared.

The last element were the two piles of fifty wooden wands. One set was painted white, the other black. Their size marked their purpose. They were thin enough to pass through the holes in the spheres, while a foot-and-a-half long, enough for a player to use them to transfix several spheres across the whole expanse of the game space.

The setup was enough to fascinate Yokïmi. “How does one play?”

“The concept is simple. Mastering the strategy is far harder. We each begin by placing three wands. During this initiation phase, you cannot tap against the other’s wands, nor pass through any sphere they claim.”

“Alright.”

“Then the conflict begins. The goal is to pass a wand through the various spheres. If you manage to pierce a sphere where the other player has a wand, you change the color of that wand to your own. You can claim more than one of your opponent’s wands in a given turn. Indeed, that is how you win, since it is easy to claim at least one with every placement. However, if you tap against your opponent’s wand while inserting your own, then you must remove it without benefit.”

Yokïmi caught on. “Winning would seem to require a steady hand as much as an understanding of the rules.”

“Just so.”

“Can more than two play?”

“I’ve seen sets with as many as six colors. Makes for a wonderful mess by the end. But this is my personal, travel set. It only allows for two.” Harper plucked up one of the wands, spun it once around her fingers, then slid it smoothly into the structure, catching three of the spheres along its diagonal path. “This search for your special metal… is that all that is keeping you from becoming a MindBender?”

Yokïmi’s focus didn’t waver from the game, considering what might be a wise opening placement. She decided on one; her opponent didn’t react, lending her to believe it wasn’t inspiring nor foolish. Well enough for a beginner. To the question, she answered, “It certainly stands in the way. But my motivation to go after the MindBender path is a touch more complicated.”

“How so?” Harper placed her second, well distant and on a different slope from her original. It would make it hard to pass any single wand through more than one sphere she owned at a time.

“I’ve Quests that need doing. Dangerous ones to undo Curses afflicting me.”

“Curses? Can they hurt those around you?”

“Not directly,” Yokïmi admitted, inserting her own second piece. She dipped a hand to gesture at her naked state. “This isn’t by choice. I can’t carry the materials necessary to cast spells. Which means I need to find ways to cast magic without the natural components to power them. MindBender is one such path.”

“Ah.” Her opponent fed her third and final starting piece through a set of four spheres. “Until then, you’re locked out from using your full array of magic.”

“Yes. And on a challenging Quest, that could get me killed.”

“Unlocking the power might be a Quest unto itself.”

“I’m… aware.” Deciding she had given away enough, Yokïmi focused on selecting her own third starting point. She confidently slid the wand into place as she turned the conversation back on the other woman. “Well? Knowing I’ve nothing of value, what would you ask of me for this knowledge of yours?”

Harper made her first competitive play which subverted one of her opponent’s wands. “You could be wearing a necklace filled with fist-sized diamonds and my answer would be the same. The lion’s share of why I do what I do is for the tales. Both the hidden legends I get to uncover first-hand, and the new stories that experiencing them generates in my own life.”

Pausing just before she slid a wand into one of the spheres, Yokïmi glanced at the other woman in some surprise. “You sound like you want to be part of what I’m doing.”

“If you are seeking an item made of Glorious Metal, of course I do! I might know about them, but I’ve only ever held one in my life.” She tapped the hilt of a small blade strapped behind her lower back. “A knife made of mithril. Won’t tell you what it cost me to walk away with it.”

Yokïmi inserted the stick, changing a wand to her side. “I’ve heard of it. What does it do?”

“Mithril is known from breaking enchantments in the physical world and making cuts that are magical. They won’t heal unless other magic is employed.”

Taking in the information and storing it away, Yokïmi said, “You need to know this doesn’t end with finding an item. I’m hunting a pair of assassins. One has sent minions after me. Twice. The other nearly destroyed my Soul. I can’t promise you safety.”

“Nor did I ask you to. Risk walks hand in hand with reward. It’s what makes the good things in life worth having.” Harper smirked as she jabbed a wand through a series of four spheres, claiming two of Yokïmi’s with one play. “Allow me to sweeten the pot. I’m going to tell you what you need to know. I also happen to know a few places you can lay your hands on one. Even better, I have a means to travel that will make sailing over the oceans unnecessary. Could save you weeks. All you need to do is promise to take me along. You keep the Glorious metal item, but surrender the rest of whatever treasure we find to me. You’re saying you can’t carry any of it anyway, so that shouldn’t bother you.”

Tapping a wand against her lips, Yokïmi mused that over. She’s right. I’m not in this for the riches. Not even sure we’re going to find any. Worried that the adventuress might act rashly to force that issue, she said, “Wherever these items might be, I’ve no intention of swiping them out from under anyone’s nose. However we obtain them, it will be by honest means.”

Harper’s wry smile persisted. “I’m not here to pressure you. We’ll do it your way. At least until you realize that’s not working and decide we need to veer into shadier moral territory.”

“I’ve your word?”

“Will that suffice? Or shall we share blood over it?”

Yokïmi’s eyes narrowed, genuinely believing that despite Harper’s lingering, dark humor, the offer wasn’t merely for show. The woman wouldn’t back away if that’s what Yokïmi demanded.

Harper met her suspicious gaze, not flinching at all. “Going to take your turn before the turn of the century?”

Ai ya, this is not a good idea. Not sure how or why, but I’m going to regret this. Yokïmi inserted the wand she was fidgeting with. “Seems we have an accord.”

“Excellent. Now tell me all you know of the subject. No sense wasting time with redundant information.”

“Hardly anything. A dear friend of mine had weapons made of adamantine. From what she said, they are nigh unbreakable.”

Harper nodded as she made her next move on the game board, reversing the progress Yokïmi had made. “A fair assessment. I’ve never heard the secret of how such items could be forged since adamantine would shatter any hammer you hit it with. Is that all?”

“No,” Yokïmi murmured. “I was in the presence of an aethervult spear.”

“A fae killer? That must have been impressive.”

“It saved our lives.” Yokïmi selected another wand, taking her time with her next selection. She was beginning to recognize that some of her opponent’s moves carried a deeper tactic that she wasn’t quite able to grasp. She pinged the end of the wand against one of her bracelets. “And of course, I have these. But they were gifts. I was never told what they could do.”

Dipping her chin to acknowledge the summary, Harper said, “We’ll need to test them in a fire at our first chance. But their chameleon ability makes it all but certain they are crafted of siovoneon.”

“Do you know their purpose?”

“Not fully. Much depends on the metal’s purity, the skill of the workmanship, how they are worn, and the intent of the maker. But in general, they cloak the owner from the eyes of otherworldly beings. Fae. Spirit. Angelic. Demonic. You’d need to find a master smith who can inspect your set to determine their purpose and quality more precisely.”

Yokïmi memorized the details, already making vague plans to follow the adventuress’ advice. Picking her spot on the Sveerasi construct, she slid in a wand to capture two of Harper’s. “What of the weapon I described?”

“While I’ve never seen such a weapon myself, it can only be one thing. Glowing blue. Deadly to Astral beings. Countering Soul magic. It had to be spectralium.”

Sampling the new word on her tongue, Yokïmi asked, “And you know where I could find another? To study and maybe to obtain it?”

“Where we can find them,” Harper clarified. She positioned a wand in an oblique position, then skimmed it right through the heart of the construct, touching the right spheres to convert all her opponent’s remaining wands, ending the game in her favor.

Yokïmi stared at the ruins of her game play, not quite sure how that had happened.

“Takes time to envision all the angles,” Harper offered in commiseration, a playfully smirk hiding just behind her lips.

“Hmm, so it seems.” Yokïmi swallowed the touch of embarrassment she had no righteous reason to feel. She simply wasn’t accustomed to being so casually defeated, even in games and activities for which she was an amateur.

Continuing to restrain her gentle gloating, Harper shifted back to the true business at hand. “I’ve heard of a scattering of spectralium artifacts, though I haven’t verified any of them. A scepter with a top piece crafted like blue-metal flame, buried in an Aldanoan noble’s tomb to light his way across the spirit realm. A tiara shaped from the metal, claimed by a dragon west of the Spine of Harkonia.”

“A dragon?”

Harper raised her forefinger and thumb, separated by an inch. “Only a small one.” Flashing a grin, she went on, “Another is a set of weapons owned by the Deien of Midmark.”

That sparked Yokïmi’s interest. Details from her memory began to surface. A possible plan began to coalesce in her mind. “What kind of weapon?”

“Unknown, but definitely some sort of matched set that is part of his personal collection.”

Jumping topics, she asked, “Is this a year for the Reaper’s Chase?”

Harper quirked an eyebrow. “The Chase? Oh. Umm, yeah. It is. A fine time to go. What with all the personalities who arrive, the two of us would hardly be noticed, even if we arrived on Onyadaz.”

“What’s that?”

“Better to ask who. She has quite the personality. Not as intelligent as some humans…” The adventuress shrugged and her teasing grin returned. “… though that depends on which human.”

In spite of her curiosity, Yokïmi did follow the other woman’s bait. She was clearly eager to reveal another secret, but she needed to chase down her current idea. “This might be the bit of fortune I needed.”

“I’m not following.”

Unable to resist the reversal, Yokïmi returned a clever smile. “You need to see all the angles from a certain point of view.”

“Well played.” Harper touched a finger to her forehead, as if acknowledging a point in sparring.

Yokïmi offered more of her story. “I’m trying to protect a man against a pair of goblin assassins. I’ve identified how they operate. One hooks the prey to break down their magical defenses. Once vulnerable, the other finishes the dark deed. Their next target is a man named Taharis Rossi, originally of Vyz. But he is a wanderer. Difficult to track down. But he has earned a place as a Stoic in the Chase.”

That provoked shock from Harper. “Quite the achievement. One not easily abandoned.”

“Especially since he has no idea he’s being hunted. He as no reason not to show up.” Yokïmi leaned onto her elbows, tapping the table for emphasis. “We need to get to him before the ceremony where the Stoics are asked for their prizes.”

“You want him to ask for the spectralium weapons.”

“And he will,” Yokïmi insisted with confidence. “At least he will if I tell him his life is on the line.”

Harper leaned back in her chair again. “Will it be easy to convince him?”

“Easier than I wish it was.” Seeing the confusion that caused, Yokïmi explained, “The goblins are targeting a group of four friends. Three are already dead, including my mentor. He’s the last.”

Rounding her lips in a silent ‘Oooo’ to acknowledge the pain such an event must have caused, Harper followed with a nod. “Yeah. That should do it.” In a well-practiced pattern, she began to disassemble the Sveerasi game.

“We’re going now?” Yokïmi asked, a touch surprised at the other woman’s willingness to push forward.

Harper tossed another shrug. “I’ve no reason to stay here. I’m as much a wanderer as this Vyzian you spoke about. I’m not familiar enough with the Reaver’s Chase to know all of the ceremonies surrounding it. I don’t know how far in advance the Stoics need to ask for their special prizes. We also don’t know when this guy of yours is going to arrive.”

“He’s not mine,” Yokïmi said a touch sharply.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. But you’re going through an awful lot of effort to keep him alive.”

“There’s… details I don’t know. I’m going to stop these killers, but I’m going to find the truth of why they are doing this. The truth about the one who trained me in magic. I owe myself that much. If I can prevent more people dying while I’m at it? So much the better.”

Harper had paused in her work. “Alright. I think I get it.” She started to take apart her game again. “But that doesn’t change why we need to hurry. In fact, it makes going fast even more important. If you don’t know the habits of this ‘Taharis’ we’re seeking, then he could arrive early to enjoy in the festivals leading up to the Chase. If these killers know him at all, they can discover what you already know. That means, they could know he’s going to be there.”

“And if they don’t get him there, they might lose track of him,” Yokïmi concluded, thinking the same thing. “You’re sure you can get us there fast?”

Harper dropped her belongings into a pack and returned a fierce grin. “Depends on how firmly you can hold on.”

Chapter 23

“Ai yaaa!” Equal measures of fear and excitement rang from Yokïmi’s shriek as Onyadaz dipped her beak and plunged out of the clouds. While a direct comparison to any normal bird was impossible, the grand avian creature closely resembled a dove with the wingspan of an albatross. Though she wasn’t built like a bird of prey capable of sharper, attacking dives, she still managed an impressive swoop sufficient to take Yokïmi’s breath away.

The maneuver didn’t make her fear for her safety. She was well strapped into a saddle crafted specifically for the massive bird. The contraption was purpose-built for two to ride comfortably. She was in front, with Harper nestled in close behind her. Yokïmi wasn’t immune to the lovely effect of having her buttocks snuggled in between the other woman’s spread thighs, nor could she ignore Harper’s fingers curled securely around the curve of her hips, as if steadying her. Hardly necessary, but Yokïmi made no effort to chase them away.

Though this wasn’t Harper’s first flight, she appeared to be enjoying the thrill of flight right along with her passenger. She whooped in delight as they reached the end of the dive and banked into a long, descending spiral over an island that was still far below. Onyadaz angled her wings to catch the wind, reducing their speed as she made ready to land on a perch somewhere.

With less wind whistling past, they were able to speak, though it still required Harper to lean herself right into Yokïmi’s back and speak directly into her ear. Once again, Yokïmi found no reason to complain as she felt the warmth of the adventuress’ breath on her skin.

Sounding pleasantly flustered herself, by either the flight or the contact, Harper said, “There it is! Midmark. The island at the center of the Ocean Crossing. They are used to strangers, especially in the time around the Chase, but we’re approaching slow so they don’t view it as an attack. Nice and friendly, right?”

Yokïmi had been considering her options for the last few hours, knowing they were getting close. She had finally made up her mind. To make herself heard, she followed the pleasant procedure of laying her head against Harper’s shoulder, then rolling her mouth close to the other woman’s ear. It only exaggerated their close proximity, and she felt Harper’s fingers clench a bit tighter around her hips.

“I’m going to cast an Invisibility spell. You’ll need to pretend I’m not here. I’ll slip off first and keep away from the others. Better to simply not deal with awkward questions.”

Shifting positions, Harper answered, “I know I said we’d blend in with the eccentrics and oddballs, but sounds like a good choice. Find your way to the Pearl Tower.”

“Sounds expensive.”

Harper laughed. “It is. But I’ve got a few tricks to play. I’ll arrange accommodations, then meet you by the fountain with the deer on the main terrace. Once we’re settled, we can see if Rossi has arrived.”

“Guess we have a plan!” Yokïmi faced forward, reluctantly blocking out the amazing vista beneath them, turning her awareness inward for long enough to summon her magical power. She needed to complete the spell before the spotters on the castle turrets beneath recognized that there were two passengers instead of one.

*          *          *

Even the well-cushioned lounge chair set on their impressive balcony couldn’t offset the flash of Yokïmi’s frustration. She snapped her spellbook closed and descended into what she knew was a sullen grouse. It wasn’t the most mature reaction, but her current lack of options was one of those things she hated.

Harper was at the balcony’s beverage service, pouring an orange-colored concoction from a carafe into her waiting goblet. Hearing her companion’s frustration, made abundantly clear by her Curse and growing comfort in Harper’s presence, the adventuress aimed the liquid stream into a second goblet. She swayed over and presented it to Yokïmi with a flourish. “To take the edge off.”

Accepting the offering, she gave the beverage an experimental sniff. It was a blend of tropical fruits of which she had little experience in her northern home. One couldn’t miss the sweet aroma of fermentation hidden in the mix. She ticked a curious glance at the other woman.

“Spiced rum. A local delicacy,” Harper offered as she leaned against the balcony’s outer railing; she had no concern that she would plunge down the cliff into the ocean far below if the structure failed.

From the scent, Yokïmi felt sure that the new flavor would not displace her normal preference for sake, but it wasn’t unpleasant. She took a sampling sip, then a more generous second. Not bad at all. Swirling the drink around the goblet, she gave voice to her frustration. “I haven’t found a single note, much less any spell, that hints at how I can gain an advantage over a spectralium weapon. From what I saw, she’d be able to cut through or absorb anything I do. Not to mention whatever powers the scarab pins give her. Or any other token she might have.”

“You’re sure she has more?”

Yokïmi didn’t hesitate. “No doubt at all. She was keeping the Astral forest-construct whole for too long to be natural. Which means she has influence over the Void. She can bend it to her will. I know that she was changed by the revenge magic she summoned. She might very well be a creature of the Void now, which means fighting her there is like striking at her in her own clan warren.” Only unlike Katashi and his group, I don’t have a map to cheat my way in and take her by surprise.

Too agitated to remain stretched out on the relaxing furniture, Yokïmi rolled off her back and planted her feet on the ground. She spoke the command word to shrink her spellbook to miniature size and pinned it behind her tumble of crystalline strands. Pushing off the cushions, she prowled into the room’s interior.

Harper drifted in her wake, perhaps sensing the conversation wasn’t quite over.

That act interested Yokïmi, though she was unsure why. There was an obvious attraction between them, but she felt sure this wasn’t connected to that. Harper was attentive, learning the signs that indicated when Yokïmi wanted to talk and when she was best left alone. Perhaps it’s part of her nature as a treasure hunter, knowing that she might have to put her life in my hands in the next few days if things get bad. Maybe I could learn from that. Might come a time I need to know what she’s thinking without needing to ask.

There was an ornate, 47-string pedal harp standing by a similarly impressive grand piano. Yokïmi drifted that way, running a hand over the strings. They hummed with perfect pitch. A servant tuned this before we took over the room. Continuing to play her fingers lightly over the filaments, she teased, “Not skimping on the accommodations, are you? With the entire city filling with the elite of the world, how was this sort of luxury available? Much less affordable? I mean…” She gestured back at the balcony and rolling waves of the water beyond. “Look at that view!”

“You might be surprised.” Harper paced to the piano and plunked a few keys. “The rooms in highest demand face the city. Everyone wants to gawk at the festivities. To laugh at the loons in their bright costumes. Bet on the street games and admire the performers and buskers.” She shrugged. “Their loss. I prefer the gulls.”

Anyone less musically inclined might have missed that the adventuress wasn’t picking random notes. They harmonized with her own half-hearted strumming. It was a casual, loose affiliation. Perhaps done subconsciously, but it couldn’t be purely by accident. Yokïmi glanced over at the other woman, trying to judge the intentional quality to her fiddling. “Popular or not, this sort of opulence takes coin.”

“Fair point.” Sensing her interest, Harper’s fingers fell away from the keys. “I may have imposed on your side to this story to improve our lodging. Didn’t feel like passing the next few days squatting in a back-alley inn.” She canted her head to one side in soft challenge. “Wouldn’t you agree we stand a better chance of encountering a Stoic in a place like this?”

“I suppose.”

“Well, I improved our odds.”

“Oh?” Yokïmi narrowed her eyes. “How?”

“By convincing the tower’s attending staff that we are the advance party for one of the arriving Stoic. We’re here to ensure his apartments are ready for all his eccentricities.” Harper tossed her shoulders and flashed a grin. “I’d say odds are better than average that they assume we’re his candy that he’ll spend the nights munching on.”

Yokïmi sighed. “Did you encourage that belief?”

“Maybe.” Harper issued a dismissive laugh. “Don’t fret over it, my dear Yoki. Whatever helps them believe that we belong next to Taharis Rossi. When he arrives, they will direct him here. If he shows up but slums it in the city, the servants will whisper rumors into our ears. This can’t go wrong.”

Yokïmi turned away, not wanting the other woman to see how the use of the nickname affected her. The last time she’d heard it had been from Katashi. She had never encouraged its use, always worried that it sounded so diminutive. She spoke over her shoulder, trying to decide whether she would object or not when the adventuress inevitably used it again. “Unless he reacts badly to being told his advance party has prepared his room, which he knows nothing about?”

“Psh.” Harper waved the idea away. “Put yourself in his place. He doesn’t know assassins are after him. He’s not hard to find because he’s cagey. He’s a wanderer. If given a mystery about women pretending to warm a room for him, I think he’ll show up with a half-hard cock.”

With a roll of her eyes, Yokïmi strolled over to a nearby couch. She perched on the edge, using the careful arrangement to bleed away the last of the mixed emotions from the use of the nickname. “Wonderful. Not my choice to have my first meeting with the man while he’s randy.”

“We won’t be the only ones stroking his ego. Did you know that if he participates this year, he becomes the longest legacy Stoic? The one who held it last year perished elsewhere in the world.”

“Hmm.” Yokïmi sifted through everything she knew about the man. She had seen him as part of the vision. The scene had been long enough to get a sense for the man. “He’s going to lap up that attention.”

“Which means once he’s in the room, all we need to do is hold his interest long enough to explain how he’s being hunted.”

Yokïmi felt confident. “I know Katashi. I’ve been in contact with those who knew Oriato. I was there to see Dola die. I know more about the state of his old adventuring friends than he does. I can make sure he doesn’t run off before we have our say.” Shaking her head, she didn’t hide how impressed she was with the other woman. “You’ve been busy in the few hours we’ve been here.”

“What did you think I was doing while you were deep in that book of yours?” Harper’s playful grin returned. “I mean, I can watch you laying about for hours. But even my lewdness eventually loses out to my boredom. Speaking of which.” She retrieved one of her traveling bags and plunked it down at the low table situated between the room’s couches. She began to pull out the pieces of her Sveerasi game. “Shall we play?”

Eyeing the game with a blend of interest and reluctance, Yokïmi said, “Not sure if I’ll be a salve to your boredom. I’ve got a long road before I’m going to be halfway competent at this.”

“I won’t let you develop any horrendous habits. But it’s always fun to watch how a true beginner comes at the game. Chances are I’ll end up adapting my gameplay. Maybe even surprise the one who thinks she taught me everything she knows.” Harper finished the assembly, then slid the bundle of black wands across the table.

Accepting them, Yokïmi picked one out and made one of her first three initial moves. “Who was that?”

“A woman who prizes her solitude enough that she magically created her own servants because she didn’t like the idea of having others around who have their own minds about things.”

“But she mentored you?”

“Mm,” Harper murmured. She placed her own first wand. “She’s a complicated woman. She likes to reshape people. Calls it helping them find their potential. I was one of her projects. Found me in a gutter and put me on the path to being… well, more than I was going to be.”

Yokïmi inclined an eyebrow. “For nothing?”

“She didn’t demand anything more than being available when she needs a favor.”

“Do those happen often?” Yokïmi inserted another choice into the game spheres.

“Often enough that I know she hasn’t forgotten me.” Harper mirrored her play.

Yokïmi smirked as she put her last opening piece in play. “Well, then I’ve only one question. How does she put up with you? I mean, you have your own mind on everything.”

Harper grasped a nearby pillow and flung it at her. “Just for that, I’m not taking it easy on you.” She dipped her last opening wand into the structure. “Prepare to be destroyed, Yoki.”

*          *          *

Gentle yet firm, a hand shook her arm. “Yoki? Yokïmi? Where are you in there?” There was urgency in the summons, but each word was smeared into sluggish blurs, like hearing them from underwater.

She surfaced from the darkest depths of her mind. Finding her mouth parched, Yokïmi squinted around at the low light. The suns were blocked by the tower behind her, casting long shadows that covered the balcony. She had begun her meditation not long after those suns had crested the horizon in front of her. No less than ten hours had passed since she had closed her eyes.

“I’m here,” she muttered, sampling her voice as if fearing she wouldn’t remember how to use it. Ten hours… but it felt like days I was in that nightmare. Swallowing against the intense dryness in her throat, she pleaded, “Water?”

Unsurprisingly, it was Harper on the balcony with her. She fetched a goblet of the clear liquid, offering it as she sunk onto a lounging divan nearby. “Are you well?”

Yokïmi’s first instinct was to gulp down a huge mouthful, but the idea of trying to take so much in at once turned her stomach. Instead, she sipped at the water. The small amount did nothing to slake her thirst; rather, it reminded her body to the true level of its dehydration and awakened her need more sharply. Her next drink was longer, though she tried not to overdo it. “Everything is fine. I was meditating.”

Harper’s concern was still there. Her gaze flicked down to Yokïmi’s cheek. “There are dried tears on your skin. I’ve seen you meditating before. This was something else.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong, though Yokïmi knew she was making the mistake that many people made when they didn’t fully understand the exercise of exploring the depths of one’s self through self-reflection. “Not all meditations are created equal.” She groaned as she unfolded her legs from her lotus position. During her longer sessions, she rarely kept them folded, aware of the pins and needles sensation she would have o endure. I’m not yet a master who can do that pose for so long and be ready to run seconds later. Even with my flexibility, I’ve still got much to perfect. She moaned as she stretched out, whimpering as the numbness receded and the intense, near-painful tingles began.

“Not sure I understand. But I was calling your name for a few minutes.” Harper looked a touch worried. “I know we’re trying to fill our days, but it has only been a week. Going a bit far to sit out in the suns folded into a pretzel while they bake the water out of you.”

“It’s part of the Technique,” Yokïmi replied. “I’m trying to unlock a new path. But it’s difficult with only written words to follow. I memorized as much as I could about the entry-level Techniques before leaving home. Haven’t had many chances to try them out, but as you said, we’ve got days to fill.”

“A new Level path?”

“Mm hm. Connected with the ones I’ve told you about.”

That roused Harper immediate interest. “Will this unlock MindBender or… what was the other one you’ve yet to open… PowerEmpath, right?”

Yokïmi confirmed she had it right with a nod. “Neither, I’m afraid. I have no idea where to start with those. The entry requirements into ChiKiln were entirely different from my SoulCrafter experience. I’m expecting those two to be equally divergent.”

“Is… there a fifth? There are only four elements of magic, right?”

“As far as I’m aware, though the gods and goddesses know that I’ll never claim to be a know-it-all Sage.” Yokïmi took a few cleansing breaths, trying to leave behind the horrid imagery she had been exposed to over the last hours. “This is a path called Wellspring. One of my Bellatir mentors mastered it. The idea is to unlock a flow of damage points to fuel one’s magic so you don’t eat away at yourself. At least, not as quickly. Considering the cost of some of the higher levels of magic, I might never be able to power them unless I do this. Or…”

“Or?”

“There are abilities to siphon magical energy out of other beings. If the Talent is strong enough and I have enough willing participants, I could power stronger spells.”

Harper’s jaw clicked open. “That… sounds like it could be incredibly evil.”

Having read the details of the Talent and knowing there were rules regarding the removal of energy from unwilling or unconscious beings, Yokïmi had to agree. She kept that to herself, focusing instead on the Wellspring path they had been discussing. “Which is why I want to power spells from within myself.”

“How is this meditation different from others?”

Yokïmi paused, trying to decide how to explain it to someone who had never practiced such things. She was also struck by the avid interest from her companion. There was an edge that went beyond polite conversation. It was an edge that came whenever they spoke about her pursuit of the magical paths. One day I’ll puzzle out where this comes from, and why it never led to her learning her own magic.

Shaking that off, she tried to describe the Technique she was attempting to master. “I’m only at the start of the journey. But Wellspring requires the channeling of massive amounts of PDP, MDP, EDP, and SDP that aren’t your own. I guess they are generated by the magical weave itself. But if you can’t handle your own pain, you can’t handle more.” She shrugged. “The first part of the training is to explore yourself. While under physical duress, I need to unlock all the memories that hurt me. Times when I felt like I was nothing. When I doubted who I was. When I felt stupid for missing a clue or helpless because I couldn’t hold it together.”

The idea looked like it made Harper sick. “Better to forget all that shit.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But I can’t. Not if I want this path to open.”

“No way you can stop all that from hurting.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s necessary.” Yokïmi bounced her legs, trying to speed the tingles toward fading by pumping her blood. “Only to experience them. To peel back any layers and make sure I’m not fooling myself about how badly they hurt. Or how useless it is to hold on to them. Or how wrong I was to feel them in the first place. Or… how I should have felt even worse if I really take responsibility for what happened.”

Harper visibly shivered. “You’ve got to be insane to do that to yourself.” She seemed to take hold of herself, realizing what she was saying. She rushed to reverse herself. “But if that’s what you need to do, then so be it. You told me how much these alternate paths mean to you. If you can augment their power? Then it’s worth the pain.”

Yokïmi smiled. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll try not to freak you out too much when I do.”

Harper considered what had been said. “You mentioned those vampiric Talents to take energy from others. Have you learned any?”

The description caught Yokïmi by surprise. Always thought of it as a communal magic, like Witches in a coven. But I guess she could be right as well. All about how the magic-user goes about her practice. Aloud, she admitted, “I know I can siphon PDPs to power Physical spells.” She reached up to cover the spellbook pinned under her hair. “This book has instructions on how to carry out the same for Soul spells, but I haven’t had the chance to practice.”

Harper inched forward on the divan. “You could try it on me.”

The offer was tempting. Yokïmi instinctively argued against it. “You understand it would be painful for you? Not like getting cut or punched. It hurts inside. Like digging into who you are.”

Harper’s resolve didn’t fade. She actually looked a bit excited at being part of something new. “I’ve taken SDP damage before. Not often, but I know what you mean.” The light in her eyes grew brighter. “Can you take us to the Astral Void you spoke about? I’ve never seen it. Can’t really even picture it. Try to use my energy to take us there.”

Once again, Yokïmi was struck by her companion’s odd investment in this. Yet she couldn’t see any angle that would give her advantage for allowing Yokïmi to use her as a practice target for her magic.

“Let’s try,” was all she said.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Concentration is key. I’ll be casting the magic and controlling the extraction of the energy. I need you to be deliberately, consciously willing to accept both effects. If you throw up mental blocks, if only by reflex, it will lessen the chances of success.” Yokïmi was already ordering her thoughts, bringing to mind her weakest Astral Projection spell. The one she had used to take a Soul Form in the Void was of Moderate Level, and she couldn’t cast two of those, not even with Harper taking 20% of the burden, which would be the maximum allowed if this new Talent was anything like the one for Linking Chi Sources.

Instead, she would cast Astral Projection - Ghost View. It was a Low-Level spell, and would merely place them in the Void, drifting aimlessly. She said, “Once we are there, you won’t be able to do anything. Merely observe. It’s all I have the strength to offer.”

“I understand.” The adventuress remained intent, closing her eyes and taking long breaths to ready herself for the focus demanded of her.

Yokïmi began the first spell. She would send the other woman ahead of her, then link herself into the Void. The crafting of the Low-powered runes was straightforward, though her competency with Soul magic was still growing. It didn’t flow as naturally as the Physical spells which she used far more often.

She opened the channel, calling on her Resilience(Ego) to shape Soul energy into magical power. With every spell she cast, forming that conduit was becoming easier. She arrived at the point where she would normally tap into her SoulCrafter abilities to supply the energy.

Now came the difficult part. The Talent she was attempting to access called for her to split the demands into twin, divergent paths. She envisioned Harper’s soul dwelling inside her body close at hand. The link she was building would not be as deeply personal as the one forged between her and Arabella, but Yokïmi still felt a sudden rush of presence. The acute awareness that Harper was there, waiting to be joined to her in some way.

This was a Talent rather than a Technique. That meant there was a large instinctive element to what she was trying to do. Yokïmi opened herself to that flow. She was not yet a master Sorcerer, but she was also no longer the neophyte that her Farrum had inducted into the magical paths. The experience of linking to Arabella also helped, for she knew what it was like to be melded with another Soul and to share energies between them.

Quite suddenly, the connection opened. A slithering line of energy extended to the waiting tail of the second path Yokïmi had formed. As soon as the two ends met, Harper issued a soft gasp. Yokïmi’s eyes were open and saw the damage tag float off the top of her head.

\-5/

For an adventurer with Harper’s experience, that wasn’t a staggering amount of SDP. It was also a willing sacrifice. Both explained why her gasp of pain was little more than a whisper that escaped her lips. She’d been ready, and her willing participation didn’t falter.

Impressed with the other woman’s concentration, Yokïmi carried out the last portion of the spell. Her companion went utterly still as her consciousness was cast into the realm of Souls, encased in the simple ghost form she had conjured. Harper continued to breathe. Her heart no doubt beat in her chest. But there was no other movement to suggest she was alive or aware of the mortal world.

Hmm. I never stopped to think there is danger in doing this. We’ll be vulnerable as long as the magic is active. They were in a room where Taharis could stumble in at any time, primed to discover what game was being played on him, probably hopeful that the women waiting really were the higher-class courtesans for which Harper had allowed the servants to mistake them. We can’t be gone long. If I believe the worst about him… believe what Tnaaf said he did to her… then he might not be above taking advantage of two women trapped in Astral stasis.

She cast the second spell as quickly as she could, pushing herself to replicate the same effect in a minimal time. Mercifully, since Harper’s last conscious thoughts involved being a willing participant, her soul gave up another slice of SDP.

\-5/

Yokïmi grimaced as she invested her own 20 SDP to power the rest of the spell. That was 40 of 74 she had used in rapid succession, and the effort was a considerable drain on her Ego. She fought through it, closed her eyes, and cast herself into the Void.

She appeared in the endless expanse. This time, there was no residual construct. After all, they weren’t really ‘there’. Only the perception of their souls was observing the Void. Neither were they granted Astral bodies. Unable to see herself, Yokïmi assumed she was similar in form to Harper, who she perceived as nothing more than an amorphous cloud with a higher density than the Astral storms swirling around them.

Harper’s cloud was a chaotic blend of colors from the warm side of the spectrum. Lurid reds, garish orange, and brilliant yellow churned within restlessly, never at peace, always hungry for a new pattern to emerge. Yokïmi had no way of knowing this was akin to an Astral body which used the colors of a person’s orb, but she had no reason to suspect otherwise. The frenetic swirl was certainly believable as a representation of the woman’s spirit.

Having absorbed enough of the new experience, Yokïmi utilized the rudimentary communication available in this form to beam a simple message. “Time we were back. You only need to will yourself back into your body.”

Wordless understanding washed back over her, along with the thought, “A bit longer. So beautiful.”

Sure. Lovely. Until an Astral assassin comes hunting you with a spectralium hatchet. Canceling only her own spell, Yokïmi returned to her body, taking in a deep breath of the warm evening air to remind herself of the delights of the mortal realm. Good reasons to be alive. Can’t imagine thrusting myself into the Void forever like Tnaaf. Even for the chance at impossible revenge… to never take in another breath again? I can’t imagine.

Harper remained immobile. It took only the smallest effort to retain the other spell. Yokïmi was used to splitting her attention between several things, especially if it was only to check her status orb while she waited.

With some surprise, she found that a choice normally offered to her had been taken. Her forceful pursuit of the new Talent must have been viewed by this system of the gods as a willful selection of the path that she needed to obtain it. Her XP had been dumped into the SoulCrafter path, and she found a new Level waiting for her.

* SoulCrafter level up! *

* Resilience (Ego) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +1 *

* Mental Damage Points +1 *

* Emotional Damage Points +1 *

* Soul Damage Points +10 *

* New Talent Unlocked – Link Soul Sources now Level 1 *

She glossed over to the Talent’s details.

Talent: Link Soul Sources: Level 1

-  With this Talent, the practitioner can link with other soul-possessing beings to draw part of a spell’s SDP cost. This can only work with Soul spells. Linking for Physical, Mental, or Emotive based spells require separate Talents.

-  The current maximum number of linked beings: 1

-  The current percentage of the spell’s total SDP cost that can be siphoned: 20%

-  The percentage is spread among available linked beings (not the number multiplied by the percentage).

-  Links formed with willing participants automatically succeed.

-  Link can be formed to unwilling or unconscious participants with reduced chance of success. Opposition to the links are governed by both participant’s Tolerance Scores. If % is less than 0, the link cannot be formed.

• Unconscious: Own Tol. – 50% Other Tol.

• Conscious but unaware: Own Tol. – Other Tol.

• Conscious and unwilling: Own Tol. – 2x Other Tol.

-  Higher levels of this Talent increases the number of linked beings who can spread the percentage cost among them and the total percentage that can be channeled by the practitioner.

It was a near copy of the Link Chi Sources Talent, a fact that she appreciated for how it suggested there really was an order to the rules that governed their lives.

A knock sounded on the door. Not strident or demanding. Muted. A request to be admitted.

Not Taharis. A servant? Muttering a soft curse, Yokïmi ended the spell, but it would take a short time for Harper to reawaken. She wasn’t a magic-user and wouldn’t know how to reorient herself to the physical world in a disciplined way.

Hoping she could handle the situation herself, Yokïmi padded over to the door. There was a pass-through hatch set at eye level. She worked open the latch, but stayed out of direct view. “May I help you?”

“I bring word that your lord has arrived by ship. One of our pages will bring him to the residence within the hour.” Without waiting to hear acknowledgement, the unseen servant retreated with quiet footsteps.

Yokïmi resealed the hatch and pulled back into the central room. She found Harper waiting for her, still looking somewhat disoriented. She passed on the message. “At least we get to decide how to receive him.”

“You’re the one whose words he needs to hear.” Harper opened a palm back at her, inviting her to take the lead.

“I’m not going to hide.”

“Invisible? You could be a ghost in the room until he accepts that this isn’t a joke.” Harper shrugged as she offered the middle ground.

Yokïmi appreciated the intent, but didn’t like how it sounded. She cast about for another option until she caught sight of the sheets on the bed through the opened double doors into the main bedroom. There were five lesser rooms within the apartment. Both of them had claimed one of those, leaving the largest for Taharis as a way to salve his ego when he discovered that he’d been duped. The sheets on the wide bed could easily provide a barrier…

But that wasn’t quite right either. “Can you find another of those servants? Locate a dressing screen. Perhaps two. Only high enough to come to my shoulders. I want to look him in the eye without him being distracted by gawking at my breasts.”

“Guess that means you won’t go for the option of splitting his attention by having me hang my own out in the breeze. Too bad. Might have been fun watching him get whiplash snapping his neck back and forth.” Harper snickered, then grabbed up her coin purse in case she needed a few bribes to prompt swifter action. “I’ll get it done.” She vanished into the hall.

That left Yokïmi nothing to do but wait. She wandered through the room without really seeing any of the details. All her attention was turned inward, ordering her thoughts and the words she might use to convince this lord he was going to die unless he did exactly what she asked of him.

Chapter 24

When the door to their apartment opened again, there was no announcement. Only bravado. The man Yokïmi recognized from the memory cage vision as Taharis Rossi shoved the door wide and strode into the central room as if he owned it. She forgave him that initial arrogance, considering their cover story relied on him believing that… or at least, pretending to believe it around others.

Though he wasn’t in armor, his clothing was the equivalent to the expensive, slightly gaudy scale mail she had seen on him before. While invisibly slipping through the castle, she’d seen enough of the other nobles to know his choices were mirroring local, upscale styles. That style included a cape, which he whirled with impressive grandeur.

“Determine if it’s safe, Delgo!” Taharis commanded along with an airy wave of his hand. He gave no sign of recognizing the strangeness of the demand since he had entered the room first without any apparent precautions.

Paying that oddity no heed, his guard stomped past him and snuffled at the room. His short stature marked him as one of the small folk races, while his bulldoggish jowls and pug nose put him within the lupin racial triad. He was a duggin. They more commonly found their place amidst human society by guarding houses, but Yokïmi wasn’t surprised to see the haughty noble had pressed one into service as his personal guardian.

Nothing about Delgo’s four-and-a-half-foot height restrained him from a crisp, professional check on the other rooms. He rolled twin maces on each shoulder, swaggering as if trying to intimidate unseen foes. His nose twitched continually, suggesting that was how he was really searching the apartment. He eyed Harper up and down, then gave an approving grunt.

When he stepped to check behind Yokïmi’s screens, she fixed him with a scathing glare. “Don’t.”

The duggin backed off at the crackle in her tone. To his credit as a guard, he cast a questioning look over at Taharis, apparently willing to test the crystal woman’s temper if he insisted on a full search.

“Umm, there should be no concerns,” the page standing in the door said with some confusion. “Your servants have been here over a week preparing your arrival.”

“Yes, I recall you mentioning my advance party has done all that I asked of them,” Taharis mused, flicking his fingers in a gesture that made Delgo stand down from any further investigation. He struck a thoughtful pose as he considered Harper. “Though should I return once you’ve had the chance the put on those delightful outfits I intended for my female staff?”

Harper summoned an outwardly sweet smile with a dagger sharpness buried just under the surface, daring him to jest about it any further. “We decided they were hardly fitting for when others were in the room.”

Her warning didn’t seem to deflate the man’s confidence at all. If anything, his expression shifted toward humor. He tossed a copper coin over his shoulder to tip the page. “Leave us be.”

“Yes, Milord.” The young lad organized a quick train of other servants who brought in a trio of leather sacks that held the noble’s belongings, then together the group vanished back up the corridor.

“Shall I go as well?” Delgo asked.

Rather than answer immediately, Taharis measured the two women in his room once again.

This time, Yokïmi jabbed him in the direction they wanted. She leaned on the top of her screen. She did a poor job of being suggestive, but hoped it was enough to give the man an excuse. “Does he watch you do absolutely everything?”

Another tick tugged at the corner of the noble’s mouth, nearly causing a grin. “Keep watch from outside the door.”

Delgo prowled toward the archway. His palms tightened on his maces, and he picked up that threatening swagger again as he growled suspiciously at the two strange women.

“From outside the closed door, Delgo.” Taharis made a show of removing his gloves as he waited patiently.

Eventually, the duggin pulled the portal shut with a firm snap. His final glare suggested he could pounce back into the room at any moment.

In their solitude, the noble didn’t lose his haughty attitude. His appreciative gaze roved over Harper’s athletic figure, then passed to Yokïmi and her protective screen with amusement. “Quite the gamble to use my reputation. I could have you arrested. Or at least chased off the island. But I’ve always had a curious mind. So… entertain me and I’ll do neither. Assuming you aren’t here to rob me, and mournful that you aren’t here to fuck me, what does that leave?”

Aware that Harper was deferring to her, Yokïmi replied, “Trying to warn you about an attempt on your life.”

“Oh ho? Is that so?” His eyebrows rose in mild disbelief, though not immediate dismissal. “Who would be so impertinent as to kill a member of the Vyzian nobility?”

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes. From what Emiko had said, his family wasn’t precisely prominent enough to start a war if one of their scions ended up with a knife in his back. Especially not one with a bad case of wanderlust. But she couldn’t mock him. She needed him in a serious mindset. “The same ones who have killed Katashi Saito, Oriato Ado, and Dola Yahaya.”

That swept any humor from his face. He tried to keep his aloof ease, but tension tightened his shoulders and neck.

She pressed, “You’re the last of the Servants of the Mad Moon. And these killers won’t stop until you’re in your grave.”

“Who?” Taharis demanded past clenched teeth.

“Is the name ‘Tnaaf’ familiar?”

“No.”

“What about Plecht?”

Grimacing in irritation, he answered, “No. Aren’t those goblin names?”

“Well spotted. Two goblins from a clan that you and the Servants raided several decades ago.”

“Decades?” Taharis scoffed. “And these goblins are still alive? They must be near the end of their lives!” He frowned deeply. “Besides, what does it matter? Delgo himself could handle any five goblins. I’m not a spring chicken, but my sword arm isn’t that slow.”

Yokïmi watched him carefully, unsure of what to think. He appeared entirely dismissive of the goblins. Whatever memories they evoked, he betrayed nothing to suggest what might have happened. No moral qualms. Does that make Tnaaf a liar? Or is he a monster that can look back on raping her without even a twinge crossing his face. If so… how many others has he hurt to make this one blend into the background?

But he was still a tool she needed to use to get at the truth. “They won’t challenge you to a duel. That’s not their way.”

He folded his arms. “What ‘way’ could they have open to them?”

“A way made possible by the Goddess of Revenge.” Yokïmi edged the statement as sharply as she could to cut through his bravado.

It worked. He staggered back a few steps, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “How could their plea have been that strong? They are goblins. As common as spit!”

“Any soul-bearing being carries with them a chance to catch the ear of the gods,” Harper warned him.

“And the one named Tnaaf felt raw enough about your ‘great conquest’ to find an abandoned temple to Myrmida and beg for a way to take revenge on those too powerful for her to fight on her own.” Yokïmi thumped a fist against the top of her screen. “That gift was granted.”

His eyes narrowed. “How will they do it?”

“The one named Plecht has a collection of scarab-shaped pins. Once affixed to your body, its powers are at least three-fold. It breaks magical protections that prevent Soul magic from affecting you. It will make you tired, pushing you to fall asleep. Then lastly, it will send you into the Astral Void.”

“Why does he not strike at me personally?”

Yokïmi explained, “It was his sister who petitioned the Goddess of Revenge. This is not his Quest. It is hers. He is merely an instrument. Besides, while he is clever, he might not know what sort of poison protection you have. Or if you’ll manage to fight off his dagger despite the fatigue. No. He’ll gladly let you slip away into the Astral Void, then rob you blind while your soul is carved apart. He gains everything. Wealth. Safety. And it fooled everyone. No one even thought to look for a murderer. That’s why no warning was passed to you from your friends or their families.”

“So that’s where the attack will come? In the Void? I’ve little experience with it.”

“Yes. At the hands of Tnaaf. She has changed herself into some sort of Astral being and wields a spectralium weapon. Do you know of that material?”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard a few myths.”

“I’ve witnessed its power first-hand. It pierces Astral bodies and constructs as easily as a mundane axe can chop into mortal wood.” Yokïmi allowed her fear at the idea of facing the Tnaaf again to creep into her words, willing him to hear the truth behind the emotion. Wanting him to grow his own fear. Fear will make him act.

Taharis paced down the wall, running his fingers along the painted surface to help him stay grounded and think. “We can’t fight an Astral stalker. Which means we need to stop this before it even happens. Prevent the first one from snagging the beetle on me.” He planted a palm against the plaster as he determined his best chance at survival. “I’m no easy mark. I’ve hacked off enough hands from would-be thieves and sent even more to the jails of the world.”

“You can’t ward against him that way!” Yokïmi quashed her frustration as best she could. “He has hoarded wealth. Gathered magic. Developed abilities. Don’t you see? He can be patient. Send others to do what he cannot. And you can’t fail. Not even once, or it’s over.”

He whirled to face her. “Have you a better way?”

“A slim one. Not without risk. But it puts the power in our hands.” More accurately, in my hands, Yokïmi thought, but left that part unspoken.

“Explain.”

Now that he was listening, Yokïmi paused again to collect her ideas into an easily understood plan. "Your privileges as a Stoic are key. The Deien possesses some sort of spectralium weapon. I want you to make that your prize.”

“It will be placed along the Reaper’s Chase path.”

“Precisely. We’ll take part and help you retrieve the pair of weapons. Once I have it, I’ll be ready to face this Astral assassin again.”

“Again…” Taharis hung on that, then broke away from what she implied as he understood what she intended for him. He barked a laugh at her sheer audacity. “You think to use me as bait!”

“This is the way!” Yokïmi insisted. “If you allow Plecht to choose his time, he might hang that scarab on you when I won’t be there to protect you.”

“Why shouldn’t I keep the weapons? I’ll carry them into the Void and defend myself,” he growled.

“I am certain they will be stripped from you. From what I’ve read, it will take concentration to bring these spectralium items through the veil. The scarabs muddle the mind. Both Katashi and Oriato’s keen minds were dulled. If they had any defenses to carry with them, they never had the chance.” She shook her head. “No. We need to force this to happen on our terms. We need to separate the weapon from the target.”

“I am not merely a –”

“– This time you are,” she shot back, having enough of his pride. “You need to come to terms with that, Milord.” She granted the title as some small salve to his Ego. “And you need to trust us.”

“Us?” Taharis snorted.

“I’ll follow you into the Void. That will leave us vulnerable in this world. You have Delgo to watch over you. But I won’t place myself under his protection alone. My friend here shall stand by me should the goblin rogue in this world seek to take matters into his own hands. However unlikely, I won’t be left helpless.”

Taharis glared over at Harper, who flashed him a mildly impudent smirk in reply. He grumbled, “Nothing about this is clean. Much could go wrong. If we fail to retrieve the weapons or if this ‘Plecht’ creature realizes I’m too willing a target, your plan will crumble.”

Yokïmi gripped the top of the screen and gave a wry smirk of her own. “Then it’s best we don’t fail, isn’t it?”

Chapter 25

The sheer spectacle of the stadium at the race’s starting point surpassed Yokïmi’s expectations.

The people crowding the arena-style seating were packed shoulder to shoulder. From Emiko’s description, she knew they could migrate to the challenge points along the route, meaning none of them had to leave early to catch the later excitement. Every nation and city-state bordering on the Ocean Crossing was represented, and many other beyond. The stunning milieu was staggering, especially considering that Yokïmi’s previous experience with other cultures were the dockyards in Atsumae and the mess of caravans outside the Tatterdemalion.

If anything could compete with the crowd for variety, it was the participants themselves. They came from equally disparate homelands, but many were riotously boisterous as they prepared to risk their lives. They waved and yelled up into the audience, trying to appear bold and worthy of the crowd’s accolades. Their bright costumes seemed better suited to a festival than a life-and-death horse race.

Yokïmi was free to gawk at the display. She was snuggled on the back of Harper’s saddle, leaving the adventuress to guide them through the crowd. Yokïmi had her Invisibility spell active. Riding her own mount would only prompt people to wonder about the empty saddle until a few inevitably saw through her illusion. A few sidelong, lingering gazes sent their way suggested a few of the other challengers were already penetrating her screen with their diverse talents and advanced attributes. None of them called her out. A naked, glass-skinned woman didn’t even break into the top ten weirdest personalities in view.

Taharis rode beside them, astride his night-black destrier. He had provided them with their mare. The animal seemed sure of foot and easily capable of bearing the two women, but couldn’t hope to physically compete with the noble’s sleek warhorse. He leaned down to feed his horse an apple, then patted her on the neck as she crunched away at it. “Always give Liberty a small treat before the race. There’ll be few enough of them along the way.”

“Don’t suppose you have another for Puzzlebox here?” Harper asked.

The nobleman shot her a withering stare. “Should I even ask ‘why’ that name?”

“Handling her as taken some figuring out. But we’re getting used to each other.”

“Uh huh. Yes, well. I’ve provided the animal. You can decide on what to feed her other than the oats in our packs. Be sparing with those. It’s a long race. There are resupply points, but not many, and they become quickly depleted by the frontrunners.”

“Do you have to finish the Chase on your horse?” Yokïmi whispered across to him.

“To claim a prize and a finisher’s token, yes. But you can crawl across to stay ahead of the Reaper if you have to.”

Delgo huffed from where he rolled awkwardly atop his mule which he had dubbed Nibbles. “Good. I could run faster than this beast. Will the Reaper cull the mounts if they run wild?”

“No. Soul-bearing races only.”

“Good. Then as soon as we’re out of sight of the stadium, I’m cutting this mongrel loose. Otherwise, I’ll only be slowing you down.” He jerked his chin toward the garishly decorated exit leading out onto the flat stones cobbling the first league of the Chase’s path. “Should we get closer?”

Yokïmi glanced over and saw a few score riders were already jostling for position at the magical barrier preventing anyone from starting early. The squabbling was becoming bad enough that two of the mounted contestants were being crushed against the invisible screen and looked like they were in danger of being hurt before setting a single foot on the path.

“Better to give the overly-eager their space,” Taharis said as he watched the same scuffle. “As I said, it’s a long race.”

Hearing the wise words from him had Yokïmi thinking there was additional depth to the impetuous noble. Or is it merely learned behavior from all the mistakes he’s made here over the years?

A strident laugh burst in on their conversation. A barrel-chested man in light riding gear dragged his horse closer, leading it by the reins as if sparing the animal his weight until it was time to go. A pair of others walked along with him, making for an intimidating band. The leader swept a judgmental glare over Taharis, totally ignoring the rest of them. “What the fuck got into you at the ceremony last night, Rossi?”

Affecting a bland, bored tone, the noble said, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Do you mind? You’re attracting flies, Lorrus.”

With a snort, the other man ignored the attempt at deflection and plowed on. “Bit of a selfish prick, ain’t ya? I mean, you might want those stupid sticks for your personal collection, but you wasted a chance to have a real treasure up for grabs!”

“Isn’t he a Stoic?” Yokïmi whispered into Harper’s ear. While she had attended the celebration in her invisible state, she had been focused almost entirely on making sure no goblin-shaped rogues crept up on Taharis. Harper dipped her chin by way of reply, and so Yokïmi followed up with, “What did this one pick?”

She must have spoken too loudly. Fortunately, Lorrus took it as a question from Harper, rather than looking for an invisible companion behind her. His lip formed a snide curl. “The Hawk’s Bay, largest galley in the Midmarkian merchant fleet.”

Harper whistled, genuinely impressed. It hadn’t been her question, but she quipped, “Hardly believe that he granted that.”

Taharis pointed out to the Chase path. “There is a ship’s wheel hidden on the route. The last Stoic begged for the Deien to resurrect and rejuvenate his favorite pack of hunting hounds who were killed by a rampaging troll. The cost of bringing eight dogs back from the dead and reducing their age to puppies might rival the ship.”

Lorrus sneered. “But you ask for two sticks because they happen to have a few small bands of spectralium upon them. Glorious metals are no small treasure, but what can you do but put them on your mantle?”

Once again, Yokïmi gave Taharis credit for holding his tongue. Admitting that the weapons were the key to saving his life would only inspire this obvious rival to make an effort to swipe them from under his nose.

Instead, the noble pasted another bland smile on his face. “I enjoy possessing rare things. A ship? I saw a thousand of them in the harbor. What could be more common than a hunting hound? But I’ve never seen or held, much less owned a piece of spectralium. A fine thing, I’d say.”

“Beyond fine,” grumbled a new voice. Everyone engaged in the conversation turned to see a small squad of five armored figures approaching in a tight wedge. The one at the apex of the formation frowned reprovingly at the two Stoics. “Neither of you should pin your hopes on keeping these treasures.”

“Who’s this?” Harper asked, thankfully echoing the same question rattling around in Yokïmi’s mind.

Taharis rolled his eyes and flared his arms in a grandiose, obsequious way. “May I introduce Armand di Karn, Champion Knight of the Midmark Deien.”

That earned him an iron glare from the knight. “Dark was the day I was forced to play your name at the top of the Stoic ladder. The Reaper would do me a favor by culling you.”

“Not today, I think. I wouldn’t want to make your task that easy.” Taharis angled himself toward the others and added in a mocking tone. “You see, the good Knight’s work is to act as spoiler to our dreams. He’s here to take the Deien’s gifts back before we can put our grubby hands on them. Quite the honorable pursuit, wouldn’t you say?”

“I obey the commands of my liege,” Armand rumbled, just shy of a threat.

Yokïmi gave Harper a nudge in her ribs.

Picking up on the cue, the adventuress interceded as smoothly as she could. “If these spectralium weapons are merely curiosities, then I’d assume you’ll be after the ship’s wheel? Or protecting your court Wizard from thumbing his nose at the gods by summoning so many dead things back into the mortal realm?”

Rather than ease the situation, Armand inspected her as if she were nothing but a bug. “Is it prudent to make my acquaintance by impugning my honor?”

If he hoped to shame Harper with his tone, the knight could not have picked a worse target. Her expression tightened and her hand twitched, looking close to whipping her hidden mithril dagger into the man’s face.

Ignoring the danger, or more probably not recognizing it as such, Armand sniffed in disdain at her chill, silent reply. “I shall retrieve all three. Seek to interfere at your peril.” He clicked his tongue and drove his horse through their formation.

Yokïmi had no fear that the man had pierced her spell. I would be invisible even if I allowed the magic to fade. She murmured into Harper’s ear, “He’s going to be a problem.”

“If he makes himself one, we’ll impugn more than his honor,” the adventuress promised, her eyes still lancing spears in the man’s back.

*          *          *

The barrier went down.

With outbursts that ranged from battle cries to peals of laughter, the throng lurched into motion and stormed down the stone path. At least two were jostled off their mounts and trampled to a death that had nothing to do with the Reaper.

Even the most experienced began to drift in that direction. One of the dominant features in the entry stadium was a clockwork device, but the time on it was clicking backward. When it struck the marked ‘zero’, the Reaper would be unleashed. Any remaining behind would meet a quick end.

Armand and his team of loyalists departed right on the heels of the frantic crowd. Lorrus gave one last sardonic laugh at Taharis and led the way out of the arena at an unhurried trot.

As they watched them go, Harper asked, “Why do I feel like there is a reasonable chance one of those two is going to try and kill you?”

Taharis huffed. “Not Lorrus. He’s got too much of an ego. He wants the token for finishing and the prizes if he can find them, and you can’t get either if you kill another race participant. The organizers didn’t want it turning into a bloodbath. He might leave me to die somewhere on the route without saving me, but he won’t stick the knife in himself.”

“Doesn’t sound like the Champion would be hobbled by the same problems if he’s obeying the orders of the Deien.”

“It is the Deien’s race. He’ll obey the rules so he doesn’t cause his ruler any embarrassment.” Taharis paused to think. “Though again, he might not see it as killing me if he cripples me and leaves me for the Reaper. Best we give him a wide berth whenever possible.”

Moving in a loose pack with a few dozen other groups, they rode out between two lines of palm trees that bordered the path, their long fronds blowing in the breeze washing in from the ocean. Yokïmi had initially wondered how the Chase masters controlled this part. There was no physical barrier that would prevent undeclared people from joining or for participants to think better of the risk and flee. Now that they were between the trees, she could see the magical runes burned into the trunks. They had been warned to stay on the path. She saw no reason to test the boundaries to witness the punishment for disobedience. None of the other riders seemed any more inclined to veer off and become object examples.

Believing she had enough distance to any other riders to remain unheard, Yokïmi asked, “How are we going to find the weapons? I take it they didn’t send a private note explaining to you where they were located?”

“Magical clues are left along the way. It will be on us to notice them and decipher their meanings.”

“Will that be difficult?”

Taharis shook his head. “Those focused on winning the grand prize don’t take the time to hunt around. Anyone going slower can’t spend too long pondering the puzzles lest the Reaper take them. The puzzles are set to be challenges that can be solved in the time between.”

The pack continued to break up, giving them a chance to goad their horses into a faster pace. Delgo wasn’t wrong in his estimation of his mount’s speed. The canyon walls were just coming into view when the bodyguard hopped down and smacked the animal on its flank to send it bolting away. “Good riddance to ya!”

Needing to warm up her limbs, Yokïmi slipped off the back of Harper’s mare and joined the duggin in his run. The pace wasn’t exhausting. Her normal training demanded far more. The week spent trapped in their apartment had been pleasant but also lethargic. She had done what she could to train, but there was nothing like the luxury of open space.

From what she could tell, the canyon they entered was a natural phenomenon. It had been sculpted over centuries to form an imposing gateway. Two massive gargoyles had been carved into the rock. They were positioned to mockingly leer at the riders passing between.

Yokïmi noticed that the magic emblazoned on the trees continued here. A line of runes was scribed into the rock near the top of the canyons, probably creating an unseen ceiling that stretched from wall to wall, constraining those with flying magic or mounts to the path. She saw ripples of power awaken in scattered patches across the expanse whenever a bird or bug crossed the screen as the magic checked them for soul-bearing sentience. Even shape-shifting won’t get a person through, she mused.

A torrential sound of rushing water summoned her attention as they passed the second league marker inside the canyons. She looked ahead and saw a set of massive metal gates thrown wide. The first of the five arena waypoints, she realized. It was earlier than she expected, but she supposed the organizers needed obstacles to start breaking up the packs of riders.

It was clear that the crowd from the starting stadium had found the portals and were using them to fill the auditorium here. They were pressed to the railing, goading on their favorites and yelling at those who dared support their rivals.

The ruckus from the participants rivaled the thunder of the water and the pounding fists and stomping feet of the audience. They were shouting to each other as they worked out various solutions to the obstacle. The layout wasn’t complex. Three powerful streams had been created. Each one entered through the arena wall, then carved across to a similar exit hole. Their imposing flow could sweep away anything but the strongest of draft horses with the weight to lean into the current. Various solutions were being attempted along the river banks.

Rapid experimentation from the earliest riders had determined that there were fording points, but only three per river, and none of the pairs were in line with each other. A knot of horses and riders clogged the entry point for each. Shoving was rampant, and more than a few knives had already been drawn.

A small minority had magical spells or items that permitted flight for both them and their mounts. Those few sailed to the far banks and carried on at a gallop, trying to seize on their advantage. Yet it is still early, Yokïmi thought, recalling Taharis’ warnings. A tiny lead now could be chewed away before a hundred leagues are behind us. She couldn’t deny that if she had that same power, she’d be tempted to use it after seeing her competitors floundering in the water.

Others had different magic. Armand had surged his warhorse right into the stream, casting some sort of shield which deflected the water around his team, causing a huge, billowing spray. They arrived on the far side soaked to the bone but no worse for the effort.

Still others were working in cooperation. Yokïmi saw one man dragging a rope with him as he made it across a ford. He pulled it away from the throng, then hammered a series of spikes into the ground which mirrored an anchor point on the near bank. As soon as he had the rope secure, a waiting group hooked the ropes to their mounts as a brace against the current and started to cross.

Before engaging herself in solving the problem for their own team, Yokïmi looked to the far side’s exit points. All of them were dark, and she could tell they angled down into the mountain stone. Emiko had told her that there were three paths that often intertwined, always meeting at the arenas. This was where the pattern began, and it seemed their next few leagues would be underground.

“We’ve no idea which one might have our treasure,” Harper murmured. “Might not be along this length… but then again, it could be and we’ll race right past it if we choose wrong.”

“Take your time once we’re across. Search for clues then. First… the water.” Taharis had come alive, discarding his attitude of the indolent noble. His eyes moved with a sharp clarity that was far more reminiscent of the man Yokïmi had seen in her vision of the past. “Ideas?”

“Wait,” Delgo growled. “No sense trading blood with this rabble. The mess will clear in less than an hour. We can ford the rivers in peace.”

“Says the one who’s here to keep his master warm and safe,” Harper noted with a wry smirk.

“You need him alive as much as I do,” the duggin sniped back.

Ignoring their banter, Yokïmi scanned the arena. She disregarded the rope teams, never seriously contemplating the taking advantage of their equipment. She had no doubt they would cut the lines before leaving. Her magic wasn’t an option, and Taharis wasn’t offering any such solutions. Her sharp eyes picked out the runes which prevented contestants from climbing into the outer stadium and merging with the crowd. Even assuming we could have clambered our way through that craziness, it isn’t an option.

“Can we afford to wait?” she asked aloud.

Taharis frowned. “Normally, my focus has always been on finishing well. Never taken the top prize, though I’ve claimed a few of the lesser ones, and never been out of the top ten. I’ve never made collecting the treasures a priority.”

“But you’ve picked them as one of the Stoics.”

“And I always pick a juicy one to tempt idiots into slowing down. This isn’t my normal game. Armand is an expert seeker. Retrieving these items is exactly what he does. We can’t give him too far of a head-start.”

That decided it for Yokïmi. They weren’t going to cover the entire distance of the Chase in a single day. She had to shepherd her magical reservoir and avoid waste, but she couldn’t hold it all in reserve waiting for the perfect chance to use it. Then she never would.

“Stay close. This is going to be all about confusion.” Having said that, she placed a hand on Harper’s leg to let the other woman know she was there. “Can I sit in front of you? I need to cast spells while you ride us through the mess.”

“Not sure which is better… ahead or behind.” Harper’s lips twitched with a hidden grin as she grabbed Yokïmi’s wrist and helped lever her up into position. She arranged herself to allow space for her passenger to settle between her hips and the pommel.

The way Yokïmi’s buttocks molded against the other woman’s pelvis was no less distracting now than it had been while flying Onyadaz. Having a purpose helped her concentrate, though she flashed a quick, reproving glare over her shoulder when Harper gave a deliberate, less-than-pure wiggle to meld her thighs more completely against the back of Yokïmi’s legs. She was naturally met by the adventuress’ utterly unrepentant grin.

Focusing forward, Yokïmi wove her way through several spells. The first was fog, since that seemed like the most explainable addition to the scene in front of her. She concentrated on the right-most ford points on each river, hoping it would cause others to bias toward the left. She then added a darkness spell, deepening the suppressive quality of the fog.

The last piece of the puzzle was one of her most powerful spells: Whirlwind. It wouldn’t be enough to cause too much destruction, but she churned up the air inside the magical fog as powerfully as she could. It didn’t make crossing the river at that point impossible. Only miserable. It was a misery they were going to share.

“Go!” she hissed at the others.

The crowd was breaking up and holding back. A good number were diverting to other crossings. Those that remained were working up the courage to press into the unknown effect, worried that it was a danger conjured by the Chase designers.

Yokïmi knew better. She knew it was nothing more than a bit of darkness and water and wind. She knew she could cancel it at a moment’s notice if it threatened to topple them into the water. Goading their small party, they cut through the middle of the chaos and surged across first one river, then another, and finally the last to burst onto the far bank.

The Whirlwind spell took significant concentration, so she let that die first. The darkness didn’t seem necessary either. She left the fog so that others who followed them would come across tentatively. Only a matter of time before someone with stronger magic disperses it. Yokïmi just needed to buy them enough time to select their path and be well clear before a new crowd formed.

“Nicely done,” Delgo growled with a bare modicum of respect.

“A fine parlor trick, yes,” Taharis granted. From the direct way he looked at her, it was clear his sharp eyes had managed to pierce her veil. “Seems like feminine wiles aren’t your only weapon.”

Yokïmi canted one of her clear eyebrows at him. “If that wasn’t obvious to you before now, I’ve no idea how you’ve managed to survive for as long as you have in this world. Why not try and figure out which path we should take? That would be a great help.”

Amused rather than offended, the noble pointed down the nearest tunnel. “That one.”

“Oh? Why?”

By way of answer, he produced a small dagger and whipped it end-over-end at a point just inside the tunnel. It stuck into a patch of dirt. That startled a creature that had been hiding in a small hole nearby. It wasn’t quite a rat, with eyes too beady and teeth too large. Yokïmi would call it a wholly original creature, created from someone’s drunken interpretation of a feral vermin.

What made it particularly striking was that it shone with a glimmering blue light exactly like spectralium. She had only seen it for a few brief seconds while fighting Tnaaf, but she’d never forget the otherworldly, sapphire shimmer.

Giving a squeak of annoyance, the rat scampered away down the tunnel and vanished. The glow wasn’t powerful, and was soon lost in the darkness.

“Follow the clues.” Taharis smirked.

“Would it be so early in the race?” Harper questioned.

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Might be the first part of a pattern. Or maybe we’ll see other hints about vermin like that. But this is precisely the sort of sign we need to pick out. Let’s not ignore it now that we have it.” He tapped his ankles in the flanks of his destrier, picking the mare up into a brisk canter.

Obeying the call, Delgo loped along after him, his nose sniffing at the air to search for warning signs in the dark.

“Guess that doesn’t leave us much of a choice,” Harper quipped as she got their own mount moving.

Yokïmi had to agree. Splitting up was about the worst idea she could imagine at that point. Better to make our best guess and be wrong than try to hedge our bets and end up getting killed because we weren’t there to support each other. This race is just getting started.

Chapter 26

The second arena was a towering hedge maze. Harper’s experience delving into lost and mysterious catacombs all around the world proved the decisive Talent they needed. She led them through without any significant backtracking. If there were greater dangers inside the maze, they never encountered them, though they heard a few muted screams echoing over the greenery.

When they came upon the third arena, it was filled with tall grass and trees with long, sweeping leaves. Huge, four-legged sauropods stomped among the plantlife, munching contentedly. But they were skittish. The smallest noise set them off. They smashed with their tails and bull-rushed anyone who came within sight of their dull eyes. Delgo solved the problem by learning to ward them off with high-pitched keens.

Each time they left an arena, they searched for signs of the sapphire vermin. The critters weren’t easy to spot, but never impossible. Yokïmi tried to count them, thinking perhaps the number might be a clue, but she gave up when Harper caught sight of one that she’d missed. She was forced to admit that she might have missed a dozen for all she knew.

What Yokïmi found creepily fascinating was the never-ending, existential dread that the Reaper represented.

It began as nothing. They never saw the creature. With the progress they had made, she had to assume they had left it far behind. And yet… there was no denying that it was there. Far more powerful than hefty herbivore lizards. Far more dangerous than whatever had lurked in the maze. It was an inescapable truth that the Reaper was hunting them.

Every time they stopped to rest, the unseen creature drew nearer. When they stopped to sleep, Yokïmi found herself unable to settle, as if afraid of sleeping a fraction too deeply only to wake up with the Reaper’s claws hanging over their necks. She’d bolted awake more than once with that exact nightmare haunting her.

For the thousandth time, she glanced over her shoulder from where she was riding behind Harper. They were above ground on this leg, plodding up a long slope within the tall walls of the canyon. The suns weren’t yet above the ridges, but the day’s rising warmth heralded their coming. There wasn’t a single cloud in the visible parts of the sky. Yet she swore she felt a chill. It’s back there. What makes it even worse is that we have no idea how far it is. No idea if we’re setting a good pace or if it could be right beyond the last bend. How maddening. Who would ever do this for fun?

“There’s a rotten smell ahead,” Delgo growled, interrupting her thoughts.

Yokïmi peered ahead and saw where the canyon walls closed in, forcing the pathway to re-enter the tunnel system. “Looks like we’re about to head underground again.”

“Dealing with that smell the whole time?” Harper wrinkled her nose.

“It isn’t coming from there.” The duggin guard slunk toward an indentation on the rock walls. He sniffed, then backed off. “Bah! That’s it. Horrid.”

Intrigued, Yokïmi shifted off the horse and padded over to the stone. She swore it was a shadowy contour. But as she drew closer, she realized it was deeper. There was a fake fold in the rock. As she watched, another of those sapphire vermin scampered down the rocks and vanished into the hidden cave. “This… this is it.”

“Fuck that,” Delgo snarled. “I ain’t going in that smelly hole! Why this one? We’ve seen lots of those damned rats!”

“Because this one is trying to hide,” Taharis said. “But you’re right. You aren’t going in the hole.”

“I’m not?”

“The horses won’t fit. You’ll remain here and keep them from being stolen or chased off. Draw no attention to the opening. Feed and water the mounts so they are ready for a hard ride. Once we have what we want, we need to make up all the ground we can.”

“I understand, Master.”

With that done, Taharis faced the others. “Well? Who wants to take the honor?”

Yokïmi was curious, but she wouldn’t say she was eager to claim the privilege. Her nose wasn’t as sharp as the duggin’s, but the soured milk and old egg smell emanating from the rent in the rock wall was enough to curdle anyone’s stomach. Will going in later make it any better? She supposed there was an argument for Taharis to lead the way since they were trying to save his life. Then again, I want to be the one to wield the weapons, don’t I?

She glanced up at Harper. “You coming or staying with the duggin?”

Throwing her leg off Puzzlebox, the adventuress thumped to the ground and pulled the shortsword and its sheath from the holding spot on her saddle. “I’m here to rob and steal whatever else might be tucked away down there with your treasure, remember? Besides, do you think I’d miss the fun?”

Scrunching her nose against the smell, Yokïmi murmured, “You’ve got a strange idea about fun.” Now knowing she’d have the two of them in support, she dipped around the fold in the rock and delved into whatever challenge awaited them.

*          *          *

Yokïmi was skidding down a ramp before she had fully oriented to the dark tunnel. The walls and ceiling were near enough that she could brace her hands against them. Her feet slid like they were on ice. The slope wasn’t severe, but enough to build plenty of speed to make her worry about what was waiting for her below.

A gentle, white radiance came through an opening below her. Bracing herself, as soon as her feet touched level stone, she absorbed the impact and rolled tightly over one shoulder. She was on a stone semi-circle, the flat side against the wall with the ramp-tunnel while the curved side faced out into a wide chamber. The white radiance was coming from a series of glowing orbs sunk into the rock all along the chamber’s perimeter.

Beyond the stone half-disk, the floor became grey sand. She saw shimmers of blue passing though it, possibly refracting the light from the white orbs. Above, the rock was visible, but far enough that she couldn’t leap up and touch it. A pattern of half-inch thick ropes was strung all through the chamber just above head level, mimicking a spiderweb. There was no slack in the lines. She couldn’t determine any specific order to them, nor were they connecting anything to each other. They were simply affixed to the walls with iron fixtures that could take the strain.

Before she could hunt any further, she was forced to jump aside as Taharis arrived. The sure-footed noble didn’t match her acrobatic landing, but he kept his feet using a stumbling shuffle to dispel his momentum.

Harper landed with a tad more grace, bending her knees into a deep crouch to take the impact. She remained low, perched on the balls of her feet as she absorbed the detail of the room. One of her fingers darted out. “There!”

Snapping her gaze to the far side of the room, Yokïmi saw it: one of those sapphire vermin scampering along one of the ropes. It had a very soft bell around its neck as if to summon their attention. Even better, it had a long stick in its jaws. The stick was nearly two feet long, and had twin, half-inch wide bands of glimmering sapphire spectralium wrapped around both ends.

“And there,” Taharis said, gesturing himself.

Shifting around, Yokïmi saw a duplicate of the first vermin carrying a duplicate weapon. Two fighting sticks. They were exactly the sort of weapon she would feel comfortable wielding. Maybe not the most lethal, but well suited to her art, and very good at defensive movements against other weapons. She didn’t recognize the material of the handles, but she would figure it out once she got her hands on them.

The vermin were quick as they clawed along the suspended ropes. Worse, she couldn’t tell where they were going. They jumped from one path to another, scampering this way and that in an endless loop. That would make cutting them off more challenging if she couldn’t beat them to a specific goal. But that didn’t make it impossible. Like catching chickens in a coop. Just need to corner them and snatch them up.

Yokïmi extended her hand over the sand. She sensed no heat. Saw no sign that touching it would be immediately fatal. Had no sense of impending doom. With some measure of confidence, she locked eyes on the nearest of the racing vermin and stepped out onto the sand.

Then she was falling. She began in darkness with no scope of where she was. Pinwheeling her limbs in a frantic way would earn her nothing. First priority was to locate the ground. Within a couple heartbeats, she was back into the white light of the chamber. That helped. Directly below, she could see her two companions searching for where she had gone.

Using all her flexibility and physical prowess, she twisted to get her feet beneath her. She absorbed as much of the impact as she could with her legs, then dissipated even more by flowing into a side roll and smashing her hands down in a breakfall move.

She estimated she had fallen around two stories. That meant she was almost inevitably going to get hurt. When the bruise tags emerged along the side of her body that had taken the impact, she supposed she should be grateful that they were so minor.

[-22]

Groaning, she lay there on the ground for a good sunspeck before prying herself off the stones. “Ai ya. That was fairly terrible.”

Harper rushed to her side. “What happened?”

“Dunno,” Yokïmi replied, piecing herself back together after the abrupt transition. “I was there. Then I was up there. Direct teleport.” She scowled at the sand. “Guess I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

Harper offered her hand. “Then let’s figure it out.”

Grasping her forearm, Yokïmi popped back to her feet. “Neither of you saw anything when I was taken?”

“The sand illuminated.” Taharis waved a hand out over the chamber floor. “The whole thing.”

“Not the whole thing,” Harper objected. “I swear I noticed that some of it didn’t flare up. But it went so fast.” As soon as she said it, her face fell, realizing what she had to be the solution.

Taharis frowned. “We need to see it again.”

“That’s a long fall,” Yokïmi noted. “If you take it badly, it could really hurt.”

Harper’s smile turned syrupy sweet. “Which means we need our most talented, highly trained, wonderfully bendable member to do the honors.”

“I seem to recall already doing it once.” Yokïmi knew what she was doing. She didn’t want to admit the painfully, deliberately cute face Harper was making was having any effect on her whatsoever…

The adventuress captured her lower lip behind her teeth, the corner of her mouth twitching with a hidden grin. “Please? You’re our only hope.”

“You are absolutely evil.” Yokïmi’s accusation only provoked that grin further, and she knew she’d lost. Taharis was staying out of it, happy not to be the one who was tossed into the air. Gathering herself, she marched back over to the sand. “Do me a favor and watch this time so I don’t have to do this again?”

She paused long enough to get her companions to make some sign of promising, then got ready for another plunge. Though she decided she would use her magic to help, she didn’t want to waste a powerful spell on this. However, a Trivial-level spell was no burden. She cast her Minor Telekinesis spell. Hoping the trap would activate in the same way, she then stepped onto the sand.

It was exactly the same. She appeared in what must be a hidden chamber carved into the ceiling above the stone semi-circle. Knowing what was going to happen, she was able to reorient herself in space much more rapidly and plan how she was going to impact. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt. She seized herself with her magic, trying to hold herself up. The Trivial power wasn’t enough to offset more than a quarter of her weight, but that was a huge benefit when it came to taking the fall. She let out a grunt as she took the brunt of the damage, but it didn’t rattle her bones so much this time around.

[-16]

Crawling onto her hands and knees, she took a few seconds to get her breath back. “Tell me you saw something?”

“Yeah,” Harper confirmed. “But we’re not liking what it means.”

The vague hint roused her curiosity enough for Yokïmi to banish the hurt and push back to her feet. She roamed over to the edge of the stone to see what they wanted to show her. “What is it?”

“See the discolorations?” Taharis asked.

Yokïmi refreshed her view of the sand, remembering that there had been twinkles, like refractions of light. She squinted, trying to make them out against the grey sand. She eventually saw them. They were ripples of blue, moving like comets across the floor: large, bulbous central areas with tails that followed after. She could see five of them moving about in the room. They didn’t jump. They flowed. Never overlapping, never disappearing. “Yes. I see them.”

“Those didn’t glow,” Taharis said. “When the rest lit up, they stayed the same blue color. No change.”

She caught on. “So it’s possible that if we’re touching the blue, we won’t activate the teleportation.” The difficulty struck her. “We have to chase those vermin while keeping on those moving patterns?”

“And if we miss, then we go for another tumble,” Harper confirmed, thinking the same thing. “Probably when it’s unexpected, which will be a bad way to start a fall.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Should we all try at once? Could help us corner the critters.”

“Could also have us running into each other.” Taharis watched the movement of the color comets. “They are slow enough that we could run on them. They won’t leave us behind.”

Yokïmi was taking her own measure of them. “If the vermin react like typical rats, they will bolt as soon as we go after them. We need to be able to chase them into each other’s arms. Can’t risk doing this one by one.” She stepped to the edge. “And we can’t wait.”

“The Reaper is coming,” Taharis muttered, voicing the looming fear they couldn’t afford to forget.

Taking a last, steadying breath, she timed her jump and leaped onto one of the moving blue patterns. She ran along the ‘tail’ portion, trying to move at the same pace so that it didn’t get away but also so she didn’t overrun it. It was an odd sensation, like standing still even though she was at a brisk run.

Hopping to another comet as it passed nearby, she sprang to a third in a quick series, aiming to get close to one of the scampering vermin before it could see her there. She was close and launched into the air to grasp at the beast.

To her surprise, the creature must have seen her. In an eyeblink, it bounced off the line it was on and soared up to a higher level, well beyond her grasp. She cursed softly as she fell back to the sand with no hope of landing on one of the mobile blue patches.

Which led to her falling and impacting on the stone pad… again. Her Telekinesis spell had ended, but it was a Trivial spell. She spat out the activation word in a rush, glad that she didn’t stumble. Grabbing at her weight, she had just enough time to buoy herself a little before landing.

[-19]

She groaned as she tried to pick herself off the ground, knowing she hadn’t been as ready for that one. Her whole body felt like a single bruise after the triple battering she had taken.

Sounds of effort brought her focus back to the room. She saw both Taharis and Harper jumping from one color-comet to the next, each of them aiming at a different fleeing vermin.

Taharis came near to his first. Rather than play the game of leaping at it, he tried to slash his sword against the rope to sever it and bring the creature to him. But the cord must have been made of stern material, for it turned his blade aside with a metallic screech. The swipe cost him his balance on the blue patch, and he vanished as his toes crossed onto the grey sand.

Yokïmi scrambled out of the way, not wanting to be a cushion for the noble when he came crashing out of the darkness above. He struck the stones with far less agility, jamming one knee badly that didn’t bend quickly enough under the pressure. One of his trouser legs tore open as he tumbled and skidded across the rough stone, exposing his thigh where a nasty damage tag appeared, no doubt to be later followed by an ugly bruise.

[-38]

Harper fared little better, though she tried to be inventive. She whipped a dagger at one of the vermin. It was quick enough to dart away, and the weapon never came close. The adventuress then flung a second, herding it right toward the second animal so they were within arm’s reach of each other. Harper then jumped into both their midst, perhaps hoping they would interfere with each other, or that if she couldn’t get one, then she might snatch hold of the other.

But the critters proved faster. They both did that odd bouncing movement, flipping their light bodies to the higher-level ropes with remarkable symmetry. Harper saved herself from striking the sand head first, but then vanished as she was sent to face another, far longer fall.

Reacting instinctively, Yokïmi clawed at her Telekinesis magic again. Having appeared now three times herself and seeing Taharis spill from the same point, she knew where Harper would emerge. She was able to apply the magical force sooner, straining with all the power in the minor spell to offset the woman’s slender weight. Yokïmi didn’t think twice before rushing beneath her to absorb even more of the fall.

Her joint efforts resulted in both of them only taking minor bumps. They went spilling together into a heap with Yokïmi on top, each with only a light damage tag.

[-2]  [-4]

As Harper realized what had happened, she relaxed and her head slumped to the stone with her hair fanned out beneath. “This isn’t working. Need to change our tactics.”

Yokïmi noticed the adventuress wasn’t exactly chasing her off. She lingered there as her thoughts spiraled. We are adapting. We each tried something different. Except… what did each attempt have in common?

A possible answer popped into her mind. Without pausing to discuss it, Yokïmi lifted off the other woman and sprinted to the edge. Only the ball of one foot connected with the first comet before she skipped to the next. Building her momentum, she didn’t try to get close to one of the vermin. She merely aimed at one, then hopped up to latch onto one of the ropes.

The length of cable depressed a couple inches under her weight, but otherwise held. Like with the vermin, it provided more spring than she thought it should. She used the motion to flip up onto the top, balancing briefly on the precarious perch. She then rode the second bounce and soared to one of the higher ropes. She was now far above the sand and risking a bad fall, especially if she hit one of the other cables on the way down.

But she trusted in her nimbleness. Every Ekanshin Technique she learned was about precision. In a different way, the same finesse was required from the spell runes she wove in the air. She landed on the next rope, generated a new spring. She chanced to see that the vermin were skittering toward each other, and so took a third bounce to let them get closer before launching at them like burst from a trampoline.

Neither of the vermin ever saw her coming. Instead of coming from beneath, where they were used to watching for threats, she came diving from above like a falcon. She grabbed one of the fighting sticks, ripping it from the critter’s mouth. With a rapid flip and snap of the weapon, she sent it whistling into a crisp whack against the other, bashing it from between the second vermin’s jaws.

Seeing it happen, Taharis was already moving. He began to leap across the sand, heading for the spectralium-banded stick before the vermin could scamper down and grab it up against from the ground.

Yokïmi didn’t see if he made it. She was too busy trying to avoid smashing into the dirt face-first. Tucking her head in, she curled to take the impact on her back, ready to roll with any impact. But she never felt it. As soon as her flesh touched the sand, she was transported to the darkness above the room.

“Ai ya!” She’d been spared the impact, but she had carried all her speed into the upper chamber. Now with even farther to fall. “Taka ni vaz!” Once more she screamed out the command word for her Minor Telekinesis spell and desperately tried to flatten out her deadly velocity.

Suddenly Harper was there. She intercepted her glass-skinned companion as if she feared Yokïmi really would shatter into a million pieces on impact. This time their meeting was far harder, sending both of them rattling over the stone, jostling their senses and battering their limbs as both did what they could to protect their cores and heads from serious injury.

[-25]  [-31]

* Rattled *

Harper took the worst of it, though neither of them were quick to move after they rolled to a painful stop. Yokïmi noticed the Rattled tag above the other woman’s head, and knew she must have one of her own. The world was swimming around her, all fine details blurred into a soup that was slow to resolve.

“We… need to stop doing that…” Harper tried to gesture with a hand for emphasis, but it flopped bonelessly back to the stone pad. Ponderously, the two began to get themselves untangled, laughing helplessly as they did with a chorus of agonized groans.

By the time they found their feet, the Rattled tags had faded. Taharis had made it back and was holding onto the second stick.

Yokïmi held out the other one to Harper. That surprised both of the others. She explained, “I know I’m the one who is supposed to wield them, but I need to get familiarized with them. Study them. For now, they are pretty much cargo, and I can’t carry them. If each of you tuck one away, that increases our chances of reaching the end of the race with at least one.”

“Even if the worst happens, you mean?” Harper quipped darkly.

“Yes.”

“Speaking of the Reaper, that means we can’t hang around here waiting for our bones to stop shaking after those falls.” Taharis pointed at the entry slide they had taken. “It’s going to take the better part of an hour to climb back up and into the canyon. Delgo is going to start wondering if we found a new way out.”

“Better not have run off,” Harper growled. “We need those horses. We can’t claim any prizes unless we’re mounted at the end.”

“He’s loyal. Beyond the gold I pay him. He’ll be there,” Taharis said with absolute certainty.

“Then lead the way.” Yokïmi waved at the inclined tunnel. “When we get close enough, you can call out for him to toss a rope down to help us climb. Every second we can add on being ahead of the Reaper, the better.” She guessed the duggin would do it for whoever called, but better the voice come from the one he was devoted to serve and protect. Sooner we’re out of this den and I don’t have to see or think about sapphire vermin ever again, the better.

Chapter 27

“Delgo! Can’t you hear me? Open those flapping ears of yours, you cursed duggin.” Taharis had gone from charitable to irritated to fully annoyed as their group clawed inch by inch up to the original platform. He’d been calling for his guard to send down help for the last five minutes with no response.

When he crested the edge, the noble stomped over and craned his neck around the fold in the rock that hid the entrance. His anger cooled between one breath and the next. “The horses are gone.”

“Fah!” Harper cursed. “Thought you said he was trustworthy.”

“He is. Makes no sense for him to betray me. Not now, and not like this.” Taharis dropped his voice as he spoke.

Yokïmi caught on. There’s someone else out here. Someone who took the duggin by surprise. She whispered, “Why wouldn’t they come after us?”

“Might as well go ask them. Not like we’ve got any other options if they are waiting for us. There isn’t a lot of cover out there and the Reaper is coming.” Harper checked the area around the opening, then went out further.

Taharis and Yokïmi glanced at each other and shrugged, neither sure what else to do but follow. They both took it slow, not wanting to get picked off one at a time by some hidden archer.

It was quickly evident to Yokïmi that they needn’t have bothered. The one who was interfering with their plans was playing a whole different game, though she couldn’t immediately tell what the goal might be.

Lorrus and his cronies were ahead. The were formed up in a line with their horses just inside where the canyon became a tunnel descending under the island’s central mountain. Liberty and Puzzlebox were corralled behind them with leads attached to their harnesses.

The snarky Stoic was holding onto a leash affixed to Delgo, who was himself gagged and with his wrists bound. Yokïmi’s jaw tightened with anger on the small lupin’s behalf. As much as duggins had a close relationship with humans, often choosing to be their guards and servants, there was nothing more insulting that treating them like an actual dog or putting a leash and collar around them. It was a taboo thing among their kind. For Lorrus to do so went beyond arrogance and into the realm of the cruel.

With that one clue, any suspicion at all that Delgo might have betrayed them died instantly. Yokïmi also noted there were bruises on his face a couple of nasty scrapes along his arms. He didn’t let them take the horses easily. But it didn’t matter, because they had them.

“Got distracted, huh?” Lorrus called out snidely.

“Isn’t any concern of yours!” Taharis shouted back. “I’m not giving you what I found.”

Lorrus barked a laugh. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you scratched out of the mud down there. I only stayed so I could see your face one last time. Oh, and to make sure that you didn’t find some other way out of whatever cave you were digging through.” He snapped his fingers.

On his signal, his minion on the far right raised a wand and muttered a power word under her breath. Its tip glowed a fierce red. A loud, screeching hiss sounded from the tunnel entrance from which they had climbed. The whole side of the canyon super-heated and turned into molten slag. It dripped down, filling the entrance and cutting off their ability to go back down.

Yokïmi held her tongue. She wasn’t surprised that Harper did the same, but was mildly amazed that Taharis didn’t taunt the other man by saying that there wasn’t any other way out from down there, and that the woman wielding the wand had just wasted her magic.

Throwing up his arms, Taharis demanded, “What is this? Making sure I don’t have a mount to cross? Are you that desperate to take over as the primary Stoic? Always figured you for a cheat. Guess I nailed that one on the head.”

Alright, maybe he isn’t smart enough to avoid antagonizing the one in control. Yokïmi frowned, darting her eyes left and right, trying to decide if they had any other options here. It was an open, bare canyon. Their enemies were a good thirty paces away, and there wasn’t any respectable cover between them. Even if she cast a spell like darkness or fog, Lorrus would have plenty of time to pull his people back and run off with their mounts.

“Nice try,” Lorrus called out. “But I’m not gonna kill you. That would cost me the prize as well. I’ll have to let the Reaper do the dirty work. Better hurry. Time is short!” He snapped his fingers again.

As before, the simple signal was all he needed. This time, the woman with the wand raised her voice and shouted, “Klaiphostorix!” She then swept the wand in an arc just in front of their line. A rumble shook the ground and chunky boulders began to crash down from the top of the tunnel.

“Go. Run to your master, whelp. Enjoy a few last hours of life!” Lorrus released Delgo’s leash and kicked him forward.

The duggin half-stumbled, half-ran away from the horses, lurching weakly as he tried not to lose his feet lest he get crushed. He was nearly back to where the other three stood when the powerful stone magic behind them reached a new ferocity.

A howling wind lashed them, carrying pebbles and rocks to pelt them. Then a massive crrraaccckk tore the air. A blast wave washed over them and threw them all to the ground, pitching all of them into the black void of unconsciousness.

*          *          *

Every muscle ached. Yokïmi was fairly sure even her bones were protesting as she came back from the darkness. She tried to move an arm. It screamed at her. A lot. She opened bleary eyes, expecting to see it was bent and broken into a dozen different misshapen angles. It wasn’t. It merely felt like it was.

Grimacing against the pain, she willed for her Chi-Healing Talent to do its work faster. If she was still feeling this terrible even after being out cold, she must have been reduced to near minimal levels of PDP. I still might be scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Before she had a chance to summon her orb or even press her knuckles together to check her quick-status, the sight of a mailed boot nearby made her pause. Struggling onto one side, she looked up to see the grim face of Armand, the Deien’s Knight Champion.

“Did you wreck the path?” he asked in a grim tone.

Yokïmi sought for the right retort.

From not far off, Harper beat her to the punch. She was sprawled painfully over a rockfall, attempting to summon the strength to sit up straight. The effort wasn’t going well. “Yeah. We brought half the mountain down on ourselves, deliberately blocking us on the wrong side so we could play tiddlywinks with the Reaper!”

The biting sarcasm was not lost on the Knight. His gaze was frosty, but he didn’t ask any other questions. He marched over to where one of the banded fighting sticks lay on the ground. Many of their belongings had been strewn about from the force of the blast wave. Neither Taharis nor Harper had had the chance to find a semi-permanent traveling home for them. He stooped down and gathered it up. The second one was also on the ground, even now being retrieved by one of Armand’s companions.

“Hey!” Yokïmi objected. “We pulled those from the cavern. We earned them!” Each word cost her in pain. She put as much force as she could behind her yell, accepting the way it made her skull throb.

Armand glanced down at the fighting stick in his hand. One of his sculpted, plucked eyebrows rose. “It appears you carelessly dropped it.” He flipped it over to another of his minions who stashed it away under one of his horse’s packs.

“Fucking bastard,” Harper snarled, rolling off the pile of stones, aiming to get on her knees but ending up on her stomach, no closer to being vertical.

“You’ve already got the wheel for the ship. You’ve proven your worth to the Deien!” Taharis barked out. The noble was in a little better shape, perhaps protected by unseen magic. But he was slumped against the right canyon wall, only shakily able to rise to his feet.

Grasping hold of his warhorse’s pommel, Armand used one foot in the stirrup to lever himself up into the saddle. He settled into place, somehow managing to make the mundane movement a pointed shot at their own lack. “Seems claiming any of the rewards is beyond you. A shame.” He jerked his head back the way they had come as direction to his squires. “Come, lads. We need to make the previous crossroads before the Reaper.” He tipped a hand to his visor in salute to those he was leaving behind. “I’ve a magic that tells me how far off the Reaper walks. I’m sorry. You haven’t the time to make it. Even for us, it will be a near thing.”

With that said, he laid his whip to his horse, and the animal bolted into a gallop back down the valley. His squires didn’t waste a moment in following him, their lives perhaps more on the line since their mounts wouldn’t be of the same quality and stood a better chance of throwing a shoe or straining a muscle at the worst possible moment.

Bunching one hand into a fist, Yokïmi pressed her knuckles against the rough, pebbled stone. She didn’t ignore the pain. She used it to sharpen her mind and give her the spark to get off the ground and back to her feet. “Come on. We need to go!” But then, she spotted Delgo lying crushed under a few large boulders. She began in a wobbling path, but felt steadier with every step as she went to help free him.

The loyalty between Taharis and Delgo apparently flowed both ways. The noble also staggered his way over to the rocks. He began to grapple and shift whatever rocks he could move out of the way to free his guard. But he suddenly stopped and sank to his knees. “He’s… he’s gone.”

Yokïmi reached his side, going to her knees atop the pebbles and dirt. She saw what he saw. The caved-in skull. The blood spattered everywhere. “I’m… sorry.”

Taharis briefly closed his eyes. But then, he marshalled himself against the grief. “Fear not. I haven’t survived this many years by not having a few tricks up my sleeve. I have a way past the landslide. We won’t be facing the Reaper today.”

Yokïmi froze. “What? We can’t! Armand went that way. We need those weapons against the goblins. If we go past the rock slide, we might be able to find him and cut him off, but there’s no guarantee. He’ll be ahorse while we’ll be blindly guessing.”

“The Reaper is a sure death,” Taharis growled. “Delgo has already paid the price of this folly. We have other defenses against these piddly creepers. The one you call Plecht might never find me.”

“You’ll live in fear forever?” Yokïmi grabbed his arm. “Will you buy into whatever Armand says? He doesn’t know how fast we can run. Perhaps the Reaper will be delayed with killing others who are trapped. Or Armand might get trapped himself. We can’t simply abandon our hope of catching him.”

“He’s mounted. He’s got a lead. There’s no hope chasing him!”

Yokïmi struggled to find something to convince him, but nothing came to mind. He could very well be right. He probably was right. But she couldn’t give in. We were so close. We had the weapons in our hands! She said, “There’s always a chance. Always a hope. We need to try! If we find the way blocked, then we can return and take this safer path. We can outrun the Reaper on foot.”

Taharis hissed. “I’m not cutting it that close. Do what you wish, but I’m not joining Delgo in the River of Souls today. I’ll worry about tomorrow when it is heralded by the dawns!” Taking what looked like a copper hoop about a foot in diameter from a pouch along his back, he tossed it against the bulk of the rockfall. The magical ring grew until it was wide and tall enough for a human-sized person to go through if they crouched. The middle seethed with a magical cloud, then cleared, showing a dark tunnel beyond: a short-range portal bypassing the blockage. He glared back at her one last time. “This will close once I’m through. It is now or never. Don’t be a fool. We can overtake some of the slower racers. Take their mounts. I can still defend my Stoic title. You can claim your own finishing token if you hurry!”

She issued a soft snort. “You’re trying to convince me to take the path of robbing others to get what we need?” Shaking her head, she wondered once again what she was doing. “Idiot. Maybe I shouldn’t have even tried to save your life. If you do this, Delgo died for nothing!”

Shaking his head in disdain, Taharis snarled, “Following your flighty ideas is what got him killed. This goblin sneak of yours will never touch me. I should never have listened to you.” Without a backward glance, Taharis stepped through the portal. True to his word, it closed behind him.

Harper pried herself up off the ground and stumbled to her side. “Why are we risking ourselves if he isn’t even willing to save himself?”

“I’ve told you,” Yokïmi whispered, staring at the rocks as if not quite able to believe he’d left. Easier every day to believe he really is a rapist prig. She shivered, then turned away from the rock fall blocking their way and met her companion’s eyes steadily. “I’m here to learn the truth. Watching his back was the best way to do it.” She shrugged. “If he won’t face the danger, then he’ll reap whatever consequences come his way. But that means I need to do what I can to witness it happening. That means surviving and being ready for what is coming.”

The adventuress peered back down the canyon. “He wasn’t wrong. The Knight is on horseback. If he makes it to the crossroads before the Reaper, then he will have a clear path to the finish. He’ll be beyond our reach. If not, well… if he sinks into the Reaper’s cloud, the weapons will be lost. Getting items back from the Reaper when it takes them is as impossible as surviving its wrath.”

“You’re only saying that because it has never been done.” Yokïmi chuckled. For some reason, that made something in her mind click. Has this ever been done before? Will the race organizers get mad, or praise me for thinking of a way to get around their rules? Deciding they had nothing to lose, she asked, “But why risk it? Better to simply catch Armand and take the items back, right?”

“And we’ll do that… how?”

“You have your whistle to summon Onyadaz?”

Harper nodded. “But she cannot enter the canyon. Nor can we leave it.”

Yokïmi betrayed a wry smile. “Flesh can’t bypass the magic runes keeping us in here. But I’d say a rope probably can.”

*          *          *

Yokïmi dipped her crystal-clear foot through the loop she had knotted in the rope dangling down the cliff. “You’re sure you can make sure our feathered friend won’t bounce us off the canyon walls?”

“Looking for guarantees?” Harper smirked. “Where’s your sense of adventure.” She grabbed the second rope and braced one booted foot in its loop. She then pushed herself up against Yokïmi’s slender body. “You fend left, I fend right?”

“That’s assuming we can keep facing in the right direction.”

“Need I remind you that this is your idea?”

“Ai ya, don’t remind me.” Yokïmi shivered, knowing this was incredibly stupid. But she couldn’t see any other high-odds way of catching up to Armand and his group. They needed to find them before they got to the crossroads, or they would vanish down another path never to be found again. “Desperation makes for stupid ideas.”

Harper tugged on her rope, testing it for a firm hold. At the top of the cliff, Onyadaz gave a low, hoarse screech. It was not unlike a hawk, but amplified for the bird’s size so that it echoed over the valley. “She seems eager to try this.”

Taking a steadying breath, Yokïmi reminded herself as much as her partner in this insane venture, “Keep in mind the horses are almost as important as getting the weapons. We need to be mounted to keep the treasures. Nor can we kill Armand or his whelps.”

“If we survive –”

“– if?”

“When we get through this, I promise not to gut them without thinking twice.” Harper flashed her a syrupy sweet smile, then brought the bird-whistle to her lips and sent out the super-high-pitched signal.

Onyadaz didn’t wait. Spreading her wings, the huge avian launched into the air and soared down the center of the valley.

Yokïmi did what she could to prepare herself for the initial lurch into motion. The two women were snapped off the rise they had occupied. Not only had the ledge made it easier to get the rope into the clutch of Onyadaz’s hands, but they didn’t have to worry about bouncing off the stone floor if the bird didn’t immediately find a safe, level flight.

They spun a few times as the spirals in their tether sorted out. Eventually, they were left facing forward except for when Onyadaz banked around a bend. With each swooping change in direction, Yokïmi let out a small shriek blending fear and not a small amount of exhilaration. Her time flying across the ocean had given her a taste for being in the air. She had every intention of finding a spellbook from which she could learn some sort of flying magic in the near future. Sure would have been helpful to save our behinds without the need for a death-defying stunt.

In spite of the danger they were in and the danger they were flying into, Harper let out a peal of laughter as they banked around a ninety-degree turn. Her laughter was cut off as Onyadaz’s flight line proved to be a touch too fierce. They swung outward like a pendulum toward the wall. Both of them kicked at the rocks, the brief, thudding impacts giving them bruises along their soles, but stopped themselves from getting dragged in a more brutal way. As they soared back into open flight, Yokïmi could sense an accompanying fear in the way the woman clung to her, mirroring her own. As exciting as this was, nothing could hide the fact that if they missed reacting to one of those turns, they were going to get smeared across the stones or end up plummeting to the valley floor.

Ten leagues whistled by below them, covering in less than a sunspan a distance that would have taken them hours on foot. Yokïmi recognized one particular curve in the pathway accompanied by a wicked drop. She remembered the slope had reduced even Taharis’ destrier to a plodding walk by the top. The crossroads weren’t far off. The two women shifted against each other, readying for what was coming.

Then they were upon it. Armand’s group was falling out of a full gallop, sizing up the alternate path. Having arrived before the Reaper cut them off, they no longer needed to rush. Yokïmi willed them to remain oblivious a few seconds longer.

A leather-clad Warrior was the nearest of the Champion’s minions. Onyadaz’s shadow washed over him. He swiveled in his saddle, squinting up toward the sun. His confusion contorted into surprise. Yokïmi didn’t give him a chance to shout a warning. Bracing against Harper, she leaped right at the man with a bold left knee leading. She both heard and felt the crack of his cheek bone as she clipped him on the way past.

[-41]

* Rattled *

* Unhorsed *

Yokïmi kept her poise as she sailed by. She absorbed the impact on the ground, bouncing into a dive roll that dispersed all but the smallest fraction of the damage. With the rest of the bruises over her body, she wouldn’t even notice another one forming.

Her target was less fortunate. The Warrior pinwheeled in the air as he collapsed off his horse. In a Rattled state, he barely recognized what was happening, doing almost nothing to cushion his fall. The crunch he made hitting the stones below was painful to hear. Fresh damage tags emerged, and he didn’t get up.

{-31}

* Unconscious *

Harper took a different tactic as Onyadaz dragged her past the others. She kicked off the trailing rider to get a swing toward the next. She smashed the flat of her shortsword into the back of the man’s head, ringing it off his helmet as she swept by.

{-6}

* Stunned *

As she got within range of the last of Armand’s Warriors, she also dropped off the rope and grabbed hold of the reins on her way down. The sudden wrenching motion caused the trotting horse to stagger sideways, then rear away as it fought to keep its balance. The sudden shift toppled the rider from his saddle and he went crashing to the ground in a heap.

* Unhorsed *

{-19}

* Stunned *

Harper didn’t share Yokïmi’s well-honed, acrobatic skill, but it was her plan to fall. She went for a rough tumble that rashed up her skin, but she bounced back to her feet having never lost grip on her sword. Above, her massive avian soared off into the blue, relieved of her burden and likely not to return until summoned again.

The horseman she’d kicked wasn’t hurt. He redirected his charge to intercept her, grasping the haft of a cavalry mace as he closed.

Not about to let her get overwhelmed, Yokïmi grimaced against the pain as she conjured a Razor Beam. She slashed it along the uninjured rider’s arm. He bellowed in pain, dropping his weapon and clutching at the wound to stem the blood seeping from the magic cut.

(-32)

* Crippled: Right Arm – Moderate *

Seizing the advantage, Harper jumped as the horse ran by. She hammered her short sword’s pommel into the rider’s chest with enough force to crack ribs. He toppled backward, flopping off the saddle, and then bounced further off his own mount’s backside before crashing to the rocky floor.

{-40}

* Unhorsed *

[-16]  [-21]

* Unconscious *

Trusting the adventuress to handle the rider she’d sent tumbling with the yank on his reins, Yokïmi sprinted at the one Harper had sword-bashed. He was just uncrossing his eyes when she got to him. As his Stunned condition faded, she jammed a two-finger strike behind the metal plate protecting the front of his right thigh, numbing his whole leg.

[-4]

* Crippled: Right leg – Moderate *

She grabbed hold of him and wrenched the rider sideways. With full command of his limbs, the man would probably have been strong and experienced enough to keep his seat. But his leg was limp, leaving him to slump down out of his saddle to crumble awkwardly to the ground.

* Unhorsed *

That didn’t make the Warrior helpless. As he fell, he ripped his own mace from where it was strapped to the horse’s side. He flailed it in a circle, driving Yokïmi back. She gave way, having regenerated far too few PDP to risk getting clipped by such a weapon. The Warrior tried to pursue, but Yokïmi was too fleet-of-foot, especially with him dragging one leg behind him. She danced around him, searching for an opening as he swiped at her again and again.

Needing to break the stalemate, Yokïmi activated a Technique she had yet to use in combat. He was staying on balance, not allowing her in close enough to try another pressure-point strike. And so, she wove a Force Dart spell into her next attempt. She fought to get on the correct angle, then lanced the hardened energy line right into his left hip.

[-0]

* Crippled: Left leg – Moderate *

Before he knew it was happening, the Warrior lost all that remained of his stability. He tumbled forward right into the spinning kick Yokïmi had waiting for him, using her Knockout Technique to send him into oblivion.

[-38]

* Unconscious *

As she finished the series, she staggered as a wave of dizziness swept over her. Falling to one knee, she jammed her knuckles together and witnessed the grim truth rolling off them in a rapid status update.

* Tolerance: Warning – 5 Points Remaining *

* PDP: Warning – 10 Points Remaining *

* Fatigued: Moderate *

A glint of blue caught the corner of her eye. Yokïmi dragged herself back into the moment. She planted one fist against the stone floor, pushed off, and grabbed hold of her latest opponent’s horse before it could bolt. She stripped the two fighting sticks out of their hold, gawking at the supernatural glimmer to the spectralium bands at each end. “There you are.”

A sickening crack brought her spinning back around in time to watch Harper slump at Armand’s feet. The Champion remained astride his warhorse with a cudgel braced in one hand.

Summoning her fury, Yokïmi snatched a rock from the ground and flung it so that it pinged off the barding girding the side of the horse’s neck. Darting past the man she had just felled, she slid a knife from his sheath and sailed it end over end at the Knight.

Armand barked a curse, lurching his club into the knife’s path. A full inch of the blade was lodged into the wood. The combined attack forced the man and his mount to reel back from Harper’s unconscious form. He pulled his steed further back as Yokïmi jumped in front of the fallen woman, warding against any further attack. “Are you mad, woman? The Reaper will be upon us soon!”

“Did you honestly expect us to lay down under the monster’s claws?” Yokïmi gave a curt shake of her head.

“No.” An arrogant twist curled Armand’s lip. “But I did not expect such ingenuity from the whelps clinging to Taharis’ trouser cuffs. He’s no true Stoic. He’s a snake that managed to crawl over the finish line too many times.”

“Now’s not the time to be debating his virtues.” Yokïmi risked a glance at the nearest animal. “None of us want to die by Reaper. Stay back while I sling my friend over that horse. We ride down that trail and see you at the end. Won’t even take the one with that fancy wheel strapped to the saddle. Ai ya, can’t even imagine what I’d do with a whole ship to call my own. That should please your Deien well enough that you brought back one of his toys. Enough to keep his favor, yes?”

Armand kept tight rein on his warhorse as it gave a skittish prance, eager to be in motion. “No denying that you surprised me. But do not mistake the cutting down of my supporters using the element of surprise with facing the Deien’s Champion. You would not stand against me at your best, and you are not at your best. Your Fatigued tag betrays you as much as your heavy breathing.”

“By your master’s own rules, you can’t kill us.”

A light sneer stained Armand’s mouth. “A smoke screen to ring the appearance of fairness. If I end you, I can no longer claim the treasures. What then becomes of them?”

Yokïmi frowned as she worked out what he meant. “They revert to the Deien.”

“And he rewards me either way.” He curled a hand around the handle of the knife lodged in his cudgel and yanked it free. He noticed as a waft of dark fog drifted between them. He tossed the knife aside in contempt and goaded his horse closer. “Our time is up. The Reaper draws close. You made it to the crossroads and earned your survival. Drop the weapons and run. Attempt to leave with them, and I will knock you down and leave you for the demon in the mist.”

Demon in the mist. Yokïmi could shake the phrase from her mind. In a sudden rush of understanding, she dropped low and wrapped her arms around Harper. Heaving her into a shoulder carry, Yokïmi staggered away from the Knight and away from the dubious safety of the open path to the finish.

Confusion clouded Armand’s face. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? You tried limiting my options once. Didn’t work that time, did it? Isn’t going to work any better this time!” Yokïmi kept hauling her friend toward the thickening mist approaching from behind. She willed the Champion to remain frozen a few seconds longer. If he charged, she wasn’t sure she could fend him off very long.

The encroaching fog carried an acrid taste. It stung the nostrils of the horses, making them whinny and toss their heads and finally take flight up the canyon. Yokïmi veered close to one and smacked it on the hindquarters, yelling, “Giddyyah!” The horse needed no further encouragement. It launched into a gallop. Like a dam breaking, the other riderless animals broke in the same direction.

The Champion’s own mount danced under him, agitated to be away from the danger it could sense stalking closer. Sensing the animal’s rising desperation, Armand fought to keep control as he bellowed, “You’re mad. No prize is worth death!”

“Seems like I’ve taken away your options this time.” She held aloft the twin sticks clenched in her palm. “Ride off, Milord. You said it yourself. These aren’t worth your life.”

Armand glanced over his shoulder, seeing the other horses already growing smaller in the distance. They had the other treasures he had already recovered. He’d have to catch them before others stumbled upon them or he would go before his master empty-handed. With one last scathing glare at his minions scattered over the ground, he wheeled his warhorse about and rode off with building speed.

All of Yokïmi’s bravado melted away, replaced by fear. Ai ya, what in Narrum’s hell am I doing? But it was too late to second-guess her plan. She struggled to get Harper to the side of the crossroad area and slumped her in amidst a tumble of small boulders and rocks. With that done, she folded herself over the woman and willed herself to be unseen. She didn’t even think about her Invisibility spell. Even if she had the power left, she felt sure nothing so simple would fool the Reaper. Others had probably tried and failed.

A low heat built inside her heron bracelets and anklets. It wasn’t enough to burn, but there was no denying the bloom of a certain warmth as the siovoneon items reacted to the pressure of a terrible presence and sought to keep her obscured from it. Yokïmi went utterly still, silently begging Harper to remain unconscious and not spasm awake to cause their deaths.

As soon as she saw it, Yokïmi knew she would be wishing to unsee it for the rest of her life. The sounds came first. A slithering from the dark fog as if from a bouncing tongue smacking against teeth. “Thit-tt-tt-tt-tt-tt. Thit-tt-tt-tt-tt.”

She could hardly believe the size of the creature as it loomed out of the mist. A dozen spidery legs extended from the central body, spanning the whole width of the path. They gripped onto the rock walls and floor, giving wet squelches as suction pads at the ends gained traction on the canyon stone. While incredibly long, she swore the coating on the chiton-covered limbs looked as impenetrable as forged steel. The Reaper’s mist wisped from minute holes at each of the three joints along those legs, ensuring it was forever half-lost in its own fog.

The creature’s main bulk was nestled at the crux of the legs. It was a shaggy, shapeless blob. Dun black moss coated its hide and dangled into tendrils below. At first glance, she couldn’t find any eyes. Only a forest of prehensile tentacles spilled out from the Reaper’s belly. Each restless appendage ended in a maw with a circle of teeth that scratched at the rocks. Three, forked tongues darked out constantly to sample and slather slime over everything they touched.

Her stomach truly started to churn when one of the maws turned her way. Past the tongues and teeth was a hungry eye filled with ugly red veins. She briefly wondered how it could consume anything past that blockage, but her question was soon horridly answered. One tentacle snagged onto one of the Warriors she had felled. Crunching followed as the gnashing teeth destroyed his legs and set to work on his midriff and chest. The aperture swayed back her way. She saw the pieces of the body being sizzled by an acid, rendered into a boneless slop that seeped up around the floating eye, absorbed like a normal eye sucking tears back into its ducts.

Only the flesh and cloth were vulnerable. Any metal or wood that didn’t immediately succumb were scattered back out onto the stones. That confused her. Everything she’d heard about the Reaper said that nothing survived in its wake: neither person nor the items they carried. A lie. A sweep team will likely be through to harvest whatever they find. The Deien claims it all for his hoard while no one from the families of the fallen know enough to object and demand any returns.

Her scattered thoughts were wiped away when one of the maws dragged over the stone within a few inches of her. She fought down a ‘meep’ that nearly squeaked out of her throat, holding her breath so that it couldn’t even sense the heat coming from her mouth. Tears streamed from her eyes as the acrid stench of the beast assaulted her eyes. The sting was a fiery burn that lingered long after the tentacle was gone.

All of Armand’s minions were consumed, leaving behind scattered piles of slime-dripping valuables. For one terrifying moment, she thought herself undone as one of the Reaper’s massive legs stabbed toward her. Summoning every inch of her control, she remained in place even as it rammed into the canyon walls only a few paces above where Yokïmi protected Harper from its view. She sucked in shaking breaths until the devouring beast stalked onward.

As it reached the point where it had to choose a path, there was a sickening rip of flesh parting. The Reaper tore itself in half like a horridly twisted starfish ripping in two. Both halves then reformed into perfectly whole versions of itself. Soon there were two. Each one went creeping up the separate valleys with remorseless, unwavering determination to consume anyone foolish or tired enough to fall behind the pace of the race. The fog was taken with them. Soon the creatures were obscured by their own cloud.

Yokïmi wanted nothing more than to linger there for a few hours, hoping her breathing would return to normal. But if she was right and there were collection teams striding along behind the Reaper, they might be near at hand. I have a sneaking suspicion they won’t take kindly to the idea of someone surviving the Reaper. Might be more convenient to have Harper and I disappear.

Testing her companion’s reactions to a tap on the cheek, Yokïmi figured she had a few more minutes before the other woman could be roused. With a wry smile, she darted over to where some of the items from the Champion’s Warriors had fallen. She looked for anything of immediate value: rings, jewels, or high-valued coins. She discarded anything of bulk. She brought the small stash of treasures back to Harper and tucked them into her pockets. I did say I’d give her ‘added valuables’ for sticking by me while I got the fighting sticks. This should be enough to satisfy the promise.

With that done, she fished the smelling salts from another of Harper’s pockets and wafted them under her nose until the woman started into a groggy state of wakefulness. “Shush-shush,” Yokïmi said in an effort to quell any loud questions. “The danger isn’t fully past.”

“Not fully past? The Reaper?”

“Come and gone.”

Harper choked on the idea. “But we’re still here?”

“You were right about the siovoneon. It cloaked us. I’d certainly call it a demon.” She shivered.

“What now?” the adventuress asked with a groan.

“Armand survived. As far as he’s concerned, we were taken by the Reaper. Not sure what they’ll think when their scavenging teams don’t find the spectralium stick. If gold and silver can survive the demon’s acid, then Glorious Metals surely would. But we’ll cross that road when we come to it.”

“You want to pretend to be dead?”

“Seems like a safe way to fade into the background and keep track of Taharis. At least as long as he is on the island.” Yokïmi pointed first toward the start and then the finish lines. “Not sure it will be safe to slip out either way. Let’s pace after the Reaper. We’ll look for a spot to stash ourselves and wait until the Chase is over and the runes are deactivated. If nothing else, Onyadaz can pluck us out from among the mountains.”

Harper rolled her neck, trying to work out a bad kink from laying against the stones, then tested the nasty bump on her head from where Armand had struck her. “All while hoping the goblin doesn’t find him before we get free. If he’s sharp, it might all be over by the time we find Taharis again.”

Chapter 28

“For a man with a death sentence on his head, Taharis is quite the social butterfly.” Harper inserted another stalk of dried flour pasta in her mouth, chewing on the end as it slowly softened. Her shoulders were leaned against the stone wall of the castle rising behind them.

“He has a lucky horseshoe shoved up his ass. He’s come to rely on it and it’s going to get him killed.” Yokïmi tried to sound disturbed by that, and not only for the opportunity it would cost her. She wasn’t sure it came across as very sincere.

She shifted on her windowsill perch by Harper’s shoulder. She was cloaked under an Invisibility spell to stop from causing a sensation in the marketplace. They were gazing into the healthy press of people shuffling from one merchant to the next. It was chaos, but a friendly sort encouraged by the festival atmosphere still hanging over the tropical island.

True to Harper’s observation, Taharis was taking every advantage of that friendliness. His reputation had come through the Reaper’s Chase untarnished. He’d pulled off the minor miracle of finding a horse, apparently without killing anyone for it. He’d crossed the finish line with an abysmal ranking and without any honorifics or special trophies. But he earned a finishing token and retained his place as the longest-surviving Stoic. While Yokïmi hadn’t been present to see it, the yelling match between the Vyzian noble and Armand had been both epic in scope and tragically embarrassing to witness.

Such ignominy had rolled right off Taharis’ back. He had a woman tucked under one arm who he was feeding from an oversized wine bottle grasped in his opposite hand. They ambled up to a silk merchant. The woman gushed over a purple-banded scarf, flipping it around Taharis’ neck to drag him closer and encourage him to lay down the gold for it.

“She’s a plant,” Harper whispered. “Brings in customers and talks about how, mmm, so good the silk would feel against her skin until the mark is shelling out coin he didn’t even know he had.”

Yokïmi lost a touch of concentration at Harper’s sensual impression of the strange woman’s supposed powers of persuasion. She decided the breathy, melodramatic quality suited the exaggerated way the woman was pressing against Taharis and pouting so his focus never drifted from her mouth. The street tart knew her business. Even at this distance, Yokïmi was drawn by the glossy, moist sheen on those lips.

But she was far enough away to avoid being taken in completely. Far enough that she could notice other details, especially the raised eyebrow and mocking sneer on the lips of the silk merchant. “Not his.”

“What?”

“You’re right that she’s a plant, but not his. Look. He’s delighted but irritated at the same time. Disgusted even?”

Harper squinted her eyes. “Oh yeah. He has an Eshphoran look to him. Happy to feed the lavish lifestyles of any outsiders so long as he doesn’t have to witness our decadent, deviant ways first-hand.”

“I lived in Hu’na’la my whole life. I know how that goes.” Yokïmi rolled her eyes.

“Except in Eshphor, it isn’t because Narrum commanded it. The philosophy of Qiarthism grips the whole place. Have a whole sect teaching about discipline and restraint and self-denial.” Harper smirked. “Bet ya ten gold on a hundred this merchant could look down his nose at public kissing while secretly getting his cock sucked behind that stall.”

Yokïmi huffed in soft humor. “No wager.” She was about to make another quip about hypocrisy lurking everywhere when the ruffles along the edge of the silk merchant’s stall fluttered without any sign of a breeze. Her spine snapped straight as she caught a clawed, green hand slip out to brush against Taharis’ robes. “That sneaky, conniving little rodent. Not the merchant. She was bought by the goblin!”

She hopped off the ledge, irritated at herself for not remembering the way Plecht operated. Hired people to kill me twice. Bribed local guides to get him into the jungle to kill Dola. Of course, he’d use patsies here. Been happening right under our noses. The pushy wine sampler. The lute player bumping her behind off his hips. The admirer who kept getting in his face, praising him for his arena battles during the Chase. The last one should have twigged her to what was going on. Taharis had a certain cunning, but nothing he’d done had stood out as noteworthy. If anything, the man seemed to survive by blending behind others who took the fall for him.

She understood it now. The goblin had been sending this parade of vapid interlopers to dull the noble’s caution, letting each of them in closer and closer until he didn’t so much as blink at the tart holding him by the silk scarf, making sure his eyes were only on her lips while the goblin quietly murdered him.

Landing on the balls of her feet, ready to sprint, Yokïmi said, “Get him. Get him back to his room. Don’t let him fall asleep!” She didn’t wait, but Harper was quick on the uptake and followed her into the press. The adventuress arrowed right for Taharis, while Yokïmi aimed for the space between the silk merchant’s stall and the clay jug trader beside him. There was a narrow alley perfect for slipping away from the bazaar unseen.

Darting along the path, she scooted around a pack of urchin children tossing dice and burst out in a small courtyard nestled between the wooden buildings. Dozens of clothing lines were strung from the various windows, obscuring her view. It was a maze she didn’t have time to search. With a sharp crackle to her magical words, she sent a Lesser Whirlwind blustering through the space. She kept the power under restraint, just strong enough to billow the fabric out of her way without sending it all scattering to the four corners of the city.

The vigorous snapping of the clothing in the magical wind startled the goblin creeping along the far wall. Plecht froze. The illusion of Yokïmi’s invisibility didn’t fool him at all. His beady gaze stabbed right through the screen, following by blatant shock taking over his expression. “What are you? Some unkillable spirit?” Gritting his jagged teeth, he bolted to a crack in the stonework.

“Not again!” Yokïmi cut the angle to intercept him.

Plecht ignored her and dove at the tiny opening with utter disregard for any pain he caused himself. His chest rubbed over the rough cobblestones, raising a small scattering of damage tags as he scraped open his skin.

{-2}  {-3}  {-3}

The goblin ended his skid on the far side. He scrambled away, then slammed a small, breakable orb down onto the ground right at the opening. Yokïmi was close enough to hear the item fracture. She flinched away, anticipating an explosion. Instead, the orb puffed up like dried corn over heat. Suddenly the entire fissure was filled with a semi-gooey foam that dried within a few seconds into a soft clay.

Yokïmi took an experimental rake at the substance. She was able to dig a handful away. It didn’t cling any more than dirt. She could get through it, but it would take several minutes to make a hole big enough to worm even her slender body through.

“Ai ya!” She slashed her nails through the material one last time, this time in frustration. He got away again! Damn the slippery bastard! Getting herself back under control, she spun away and stalked across the courtyard. She recast her Invisibility magic, worried that her own spell casting and the goblin’s attention might have caused too many cracks in the illusion.

As soon as she felt confident in her cloak, she began to run. Catching the goblin was part of this, but hardly the end. If Plecht had managed to snag one of the scarabs onto Taharis’ clothing, then the hard part was about to begin.

*          *          *

Yokïmi burst into the apartment, taking in the scene.

There was no sign of the woman who had lured Taharis to the silk merchant. She had doubtlessly bolted as soon as people started yelling, proving her palms had been greased by the goblin and that she wasn’t any sort of real companion to the noble.

Harper had the man pressed against one of the chamber’s central support pillars, pinning him in a vertical position. She was spitting words at him, trying to keep his focus on her. Her palm slapped him across one of his cheeks.

“That working?” Yokïmi asked, allowing her spell to fall away so they could speak.

“Can’t hurt. Not to mention how satisfying it is.” Harper flashed a dark smirk.

Taharis blinked hard, as if trying to banish the apparent illusion of them being there. “Neither of you… you can’t be here. Armand saw you consumed by the fog. The Reaper had you!” His knees seemed to weaken, staggering despite Harper’s firm grasp.

“We warned you this goblin was fiendishly slippery, and you went walking through a market with your head half in a bottle? Daft fool.”

A realization came to him. “You… were using me as bait!”

“You hung yourself out on the hook. No sense not taking advantage.” Harper pushed him a bit higher on the post, getting less and less help from his own efforts. “Now look at you.”

“Doesn’t… doesn’t make sense. I… I have wards. Warnings I set. Any goblin… should have… should have caught fire. Burned just by coming close.”

Yokïmi’s lip curled in disdain hearing the willfully mean magic. There weren’t more than a handful of goblins in the city, but he could have hurt any of them if they had stumbled too close. “Wasn’t I clear? He’s got magic. He specializes in getting past such measures.”

“He’s a goblin! Nothing… nothing but a… a fucking goblin.” Taharis was fighting hard, his breathing shallow as he fought to keep his eyes open.

“A goblin who might have killed you where the Reaper failed.” Yokïmi went to her knees, brushing her hands along Taharis’ trousers. When she found it, she could hardly believe what was right in front of her eyes. The scarab pin was there, affixed to the inner side near his thigh. She could feel it past the material. How in Narrum’s hell did he manage that? He’d have to have cut open the fabric, slipped it in, then sealed it again. Impossible! She gave a firm shake of her head, dismissing the unhelpful thought. She knew first-hand what magical Techniques and Talents could do.

Nothing bothering with anything so surgical, Yokïmi dug her fingernails into the trousers and tore them open at the seam. Folding back the fabric, she exposed the scarab to the light. She raked her fingers over it. Just as with Dola, her hand passed right through it. The magic was already active, drawing Taharis into the Astral Void as inevitably as the tide washing a careless swimmer out to sea.

Issuing a soft curse, Yokïmi waved toward a nearby divan. “Lay him out there. No sense waiting for him to collapse.”

“Slapping him won’t be enough, I take it?” Harper braced his weight between them, and the two women aimed him to fall onto the cushioned furniture.

“Don’t… don’t… give… give up… can’t sleep.” Despite his protests, Taharis was speaking slower, his eyes already closed. “In… in Katashi’s name… for mem… memory of him… and what I meant to him. He would… want me alive. Find… f-find a way. Don’t… don’t give… up. D-don’t… shame him… like that.”

Yokïmi clenched her jaw, wanting to hate the man even more for invoking the name. But it didn’t stop her from remembering how she hadn’t been there to help protect her Farrum. The helplessness of watching Dola die even though she’d been there.

Catching the fire in her eyes, Harper squeezed her arm. “Hey. Don’t listen. He’s a worm who’s tugging at your heartstrings because he thinks it will keep him alive. Nothing more!”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Yokïmi jerked her head in a nod, trying to convince herself as much as her newfound friend. “You’re right.”

“You have your plan. You unlocked a whole new path of magic to do this. Tracked down a couple minor artifacts and dragged us both under the nose of certain death to keep your hands on them. Time to face the music.”

Steadying herself with another, longer breath, Yokïmi held out her hand. “Let me have them.”

Harper met her eyes once more, measuring if she was ready. Then with an approving nod, the adventuress unstrapped the spectralium-banded fighting sticks from the holding spot across her back and planted them in her companion’s clear palms. “Remember, his life isn’t what this is about. You’re here for answers. Go find them.”

“You’ll stay?”

“If that goblin slips in hoping to rob Taharis blind, I’ll be waiting.”

“Be careful.”

“I won’t underestimate him.”

Yokïmi returned a warm, trusting smile. It hadn’t been Harper’s choice to give her life into Yokïmi’s hands. She’d been unconscious when she’d been dragged under the fangs of the Reaper. But that didn’t change the fact that Yokïmi had pulled her through the ugly situation.

Now it was time to give the same sort of trust. To hand her life over to this other person, along with the very real risk that she was stepping into a fight against a creature with far more experience fighting amidst the Astral clouds. There was a very real chance that this was the last bit of sunslight she would ever feel on her skin.

On sudden impulse, she leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss on the other woman’s mouth. “I know. You’ve got me. I’m… in good hands.” She hurried to turn away, not wanting to see Harper’s reaction. She swore she could feel the woman beaming that wicked smirk of hers, but she didn’t turn around to see it confirmed.

Instead, she folded herself into a lotus position, settled her new weapons in her lap where they touched her skin, then wove the spell that would send her soul into the Void.

*          *          *

The Astral construct of the room was as oddly persistent as Dola’s jungle had been. Perhaps even more so as she entered on the heels of the one who was being targeted. She lifted her arms to examine her clear-marble form, then clenched her hands around her fighting sticks.

The weapons had changed. The material of the grip shone like polished ivory, identical to the haft of the hatchet she had seen Tnaaf carrying. The spectralium bands were radiant beyond their gentle glow in the mortal world.

A scream carried in from the balcony.

Shaken from her reverie, Yokïmi ran through the archway. The expansive lounging space remained intact, but the view beyond the railing wasn’t the rolling surf of the ocean around Midmark. The endless storms of the Void stretched to infinity. The violet-hued lightning was particularly intense in their vicinity, streaking across her vision while sending out deep booms of thunder that vibrated the whole construct around them. The noise ripped at the edges of anything solid, trying to crack it apart and break it down into nothing but Astral mist.

Taharis was crawling on one side, trying to reach that edge as if the endless drop could afford him some means of escape. The scarab stood out on his leg, flashing silver against the dull grey backdrop of the construct. He clearly had not adjusted to the nature of this realm. His belief in the downward pull of the world kept him pinned to the stone construct, leaving him to inch along painfully when he should be flying off as fast as his mind could propel him.

Not that he would have made it far. He hadn’t fallen; he had been chopped off his feet. The spectralium hatchet was lodged in his thigh. It pulsed with a throbbing beat, as if connected to the seething anger of its owner.

Tnaaf was hovering above him, a dolphin in water as she floated in the Void. The ribbons of white laced through her obsidian form prowled through one pattern after another, signaling her agitation. One of her hands was outstretched. Each time her fingers flexed, the hatchet shook violently inside Taharis’ Astral flesh and drew out another scream from the man.

She was clearly delighting in his pain. “I hunted da others. Wanted dem pissing in dere britches from a monster stalkin’ dem. I stole da control dey had o’er dere lives just like dey stole mine from me. I picked dem apart like dat fookin mage carved off whate’er chunks of me he wanted.” The goblin’s cackle echoed over the balcony as bits of it were blasted away by the rolling thunderclaps. She twisted her hand again, raising another scream of pain from Taharis. “But not ya! Ya’ll see me. Ya’ll beg me ta make it stop like I did. And I’ll listen just like ya listened. It’ll end when I’m fookin ready ta send yer soul ta da River!”

Testing her grip on her fighting sticks one last time, Yokïmi emerged from hiding. “I think it’s time we talked, Tnaaf.”

The goblin whirled in mid-air, her face twisting into a mask of rage. “I told ya not ta interfere with me again!” Her hand flexed wide. The hatchet ripped out of Taharis’ leg and whipped back to thunk into her hand.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Yokïmi called back, deliberately keeping her weapons at her side.

“Then leave!” Her arm snapped forward and hurled the hatchet in a whistling flight at Yokïmi’s face.

It took all of her courage not to simply dive aside. If her weapons failed, she was risking that the sapphire blade would notch into her forehead. But she needed to know now if she was fighting on something approaching a level field.

Yokïmi put her paired weapons through a defensive weave. The band at the end of one screeched metal on metal against the hatchet blade. Its flight diverted as the two blue glows interacted and proved unable to overcome each other. They repulsed like two magnets of the same kind.

New fury surged in Tnaaf. She summoned her weapon back to her hand and readied for another throw. “You won’t stop me!”

Not waiting for the goblin to attack again, Yokïmi soared at her, using the element of surprise as she proved to be an enemy who already knew how to use the Void to her advantage. She struck from the left and right, trying to drive the goblin away from her target.

Tnaaf zipped backward, trying to buy herself space. Slashing a cut at her opponent’s waist, the goblin reached out with her willpower and changed the construct around them. A spire of stone shot out of the balcony and rammed into Yokïmi.

\-1/

The impact did little more than rattle Yokïmi in her crystal-marble body. What hurt in the mortal realm was a mere shadow here. But it knocked her off her mental balance and opened her to an attack. She swatted one stick to the side just in time to intercept the hatchet as it came whirling in on her again.

Before Tnaaf could summon it back, Yokïmi darted in with both sticks leading. She rammed the ends into the goblin’s midriff, then blasted them in twin strikes to either side of where her ribcage would have been if she was in mortal form. Small cracks spidered out on the goblin’s obsidian chest.

\-5/  \-7/

Tnaaf plummeted down to the balcony’s surface, then waved her hands in a covering gesture. The construct shifted, forming a stone, dome shield over her head and obscuring her from view.

Yokïmi cursed, flying higher to avoid being surprised. Ai ya, how do I defeat a being with the power to alter reality around me?

Proving the danger, the stone dome morphed into a sphere and rocketed up at her. Yokïmi tried to evade, but it exploded in her face. She was peppered by the shrapnel, though the battering was secondary to the way the blast wave buffeted her and made it impossible to mentally control her flight.

\-3/  \-2/

Tnaaf erupted into her face, swinging the hatchet with ferocious abandon. She had no style or finesse. Only pure, undiluted passion and a sense of her own righteousness. The edge scoured across Yokïmi’s side and leg, opening two small cuts in her marble surface that seeped the white fog that was her soul’s blood.

\-5/  \-4/

Yokïmi realized she was lucky that the goblin had never encountered a real fight before. She was a hunter, not an Astral Warrior. If she had honed her powers to bend the Void while mastering her hatchet, she could be unstoppable. Which is one reason I’m here. If she completes her revenge, then what next?

Gritting her teeth against the odd sensation that came from her soul being injured, Yokïmi blocked the next strikes and began to fight back. She soared higher, trying to stay away from the construct.

But Tnaaf quickly proved that she didn’t need what was already built. She waved her arms and formed a massive stone disk from the Void’s vapors. Enormous spikes jutted from its surface. She sent it racing toward her enemy, then flew in from the opposite direction, trying to pin Yokïmi between the two threats.

But the goblin’s own efforts had begun to teach Yokïmi in turn. She extended one of her spectralium weapons toward the incoming construct and flooded her willpower through the Glorious metal. Its glow increased, sending out a pulse of power that tore apart the spiked disk. It dissolved into fragments and then into mist as it raced past her.

She spun to take the goblin’s hatchet strike on her other stick. The two of them exchanged blows and parries, neither gaining an advantage until at last they flew apart.

Tnaaf hung in the air, taking in seething breaths. She bellowed, “Why do ya shield him? He raped me in dat forest! I deserve revenge!”

From below, Taharis yelled back, “As if she would believe lying, goblin scum like you!”

“Quiet!” Yokïmi snapped back at him. “At first, all I saw was a killer. But I’ve seen more. She’s taking revenge for more than what you did. You destroyed her whole clan.”

“A clan that raided a human village. A Hu’na’laan village! But for a twist of fate and privilege, your family could be among those they killed.” Taharis ended in a gasp of pain as he struggled to remain coherent as white soul-blood continued to waft from the ugly wound in his leg.

“And so revenge breeds revenge,” Yokïmi hissed, hating the whole cycle. “But she wasn’t there for that raid. And you didn’t let it end there. You took what you wanted from her. Then Oriato dragged her back to his home and hurt her before condemning her to the pits as a slave.” She fought to keep her own anger from spiraling out of control and turned to face the goblin. “I… I know. Do you hear me? I know your story. Tell me this is the truth. Tell me and I’ll believe you!”

If she could sob from her obsidian eyes, Tnaaf probably would have wept openly. The sound of it was thick as she gasped words raw with emotion. “Dey wouldn’t stop haunting me. I saw dem watching, do ya know dat? Breaking bread wit’ da one who ran da arena.”

“Katashi… he wouldn’t have watched slaves fighting like that. Tell me. Tell me he wasn’t there. The old mage that was Oriato’s friend.” Yokïmi wanted so badly to believe.

It wasn’t Tnaaf who answered. From below, Taharis mocked her, “Oh, he wouldn’t come after he found the Light of Narrum. He tried so hard to forget that he’d made dark decisions in his past.” He snorted around his pain. “Didn’t stop him from accepting the packages I sent him. Gifts with spell components from all manner of creatures we hunted and ore out what we he needed to cast his spells. A path you follow right behind him!”

“Not the same path,” Yokïmi growled under her breath. She buried the hurt that the accusations raised. It was a pain to be dealt with at a later time.

Tnaaf sailed down to the balcony to loom threatening over the noble again. “Honorless dogs. Ya came upon us at high suns. Used da light when goblinoids are weak. Sprang on us in da heart of our lair. Began yer killing with our bread makers and our tunnel diggers. Ya stabbed us in da back and called yourselves heroes.”

“As if your raiders were any better,” Taharis spat back.

Hearing them squabble, pieces began to fall into place. Yokïmi had been so focused on the latter vision that she had largely ignored the earlier one. But as Tnaaf spoke of the attack by the Servants of the Mad Moon, details resolved in her mind. “They were sent in with a map.”

Her cool declaration interceded between the two yelling at each other. Tnaaf spun to face her. “What?”

“If we’re going to hash this out, then everything needs to be known.” Yokïmi met the goblin’s fierce eyes. “They had a map. Knew when to attack. Knew who to kill first in your clan to cause the worst confusion. Your clan was betrayed by one on the inside.”

“Impossible. Dey killed everyone in our clan!”

“All but two.” Yokïmi didn’t relent. “Think about it, Tnaaf. I saw it from the vision. You were never supposed to be there. Your brother gave you the original scarab. He wanted you to be away hiding it when the reavers attacked. And he knew when they were coming because he was the one who betrayed your clan.”

“Yer lying!”

“I’ve as much reason to lie as you do. Think, Tnaaf. When you found him, why wasn’t he as much a slave as you? When I came upon my Farrum’s home, there were items missing. Same with both Dola and Oriato. Your brother isn’t helping you for sake of your revenge. Selling out your clan was how he began his fortune. Now he’s stealing while you have your revenge. When Taharis is dead, what will he ask you to do next? Who will he find for you to kill next so he can profit from their deaths?”

Letting out a howl of rage, Tnaaf backed off and gave them space. “Why shouldn’t he take everythin’ dese monsters possess?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t ignore what he did!” Yokïmi didn’t relent, floating after her. “He was part of that evil day. He let them in. Your own blood isn’t clean in this. If you want revenge on all those responsible, then who is deserves it more than the one who unlocked the door for the monsters who killed your clan?”

“He… he has my crystal. He is my keeper…”

Remembering the vision, Yokïmi seized on the reminder of a detail she’d nearly forgotten. “Merely another way he’s controlling you. When you cease listening to him and killing the ones he wants, he’ll crack open the crystal and leave you to fade into the River forever.”

“He’s my brother!”

“And Katashi was my Farrum. I’m sorry, Tnaaf. Those who share our blood and families are not always what who we think they are. He betrayed you and he’s been using you ever since. The Servants hurt you. This man here raped you and sold you into slavery. I believe you. But it was your brother who fed you to them and never cared enough to ensure you were safe.”

Tnaaf let out an otherworldly scream from the obsidian body forged for her by the Goddess of Revenge. It was fueled by the need to see her fury delivered upon the one who had wronged her. “I want him ta suffer! He deserves to hurt like I did!”

“There’s a better way!” Yokïmi insisted.

The goblin’s whole body seethed with her anger. “Tell me!”

Sensing she had her chance to end this, Yokïmi insisted, “Nothing will hurt him so badly as the death of his reputation. If you kill him here, he will fade off to sleep. How many others has he hurt? How many other women has he raped in the dark of the night? Inquisitors can find that truth and ruin him. They can tear apart his family. Everything he has built in his life can be torn down and reduced to nothing if you let me turn him over to face justice. You say he deserves to hurt? Then nothing can hurt him as much as that.”

Tnaaf didn’t answer, looking like she was wavering.

Yokïmi pressed harder. “You have the power to control the scarabs. Release the power on this one. Send him back to the mortal realm. Tell me where your brother is hiding the crystal that binds your soul. I’ll find him and put the scarab on him. I’ll send him here to you so he can answer for his crimes to the only one who can hold him to account. You.”

The goblin clenched her obsidian jaw. “Ye’d ask me to trust ya?”

“It has to begin somewhere.”

“And what if ya can’t bring dis justice ta him? Human nobles have power. Others protect dem. Stop small people from having dere way.”

“I won’t let that happen. You need to have faith, Tnaaf. Prove you aren’t pure a creature of mindless revenge. Think on what the Goddess would like better. His death? Or the death of everything he ever loved and dreamed of accomplishing? I’ll make sure it all comes crumbling down.”

Tnaaf sought her eyes. “Ya… ya give yer word?”

“It’s given. The only other choice is for us to kill each other here. He’s isn’t worth it. Not in any way. And if I’m right, neither is your brother. I know it’s hard to hear, but believe me. I…” Yokïmi issued a tragically soft laugh. “I know something of unworthy brothers.

The tension drained from Tnaaf’s obsidian form. She reached out her hand. The shimmering silver light of the scarab faded. Almost immediately, Taharis began to fade from sight, his marble form evaporating back into the Void. “Don’t disappoint me, spirit woman. I’ll be waiting.”

Yokïmi didn’t flinch away. “Tell me where he is. Tell me where Plecht is hiding, and I’ll bring him to you to be judged. You can find the truth for yourself.”

*          *          *

Yokïmi inhaled deeply as she came back to herself. The air entering her mortal lungs had never felt so sweet. The scent of the ocean heavy on the air was a reminder of all the things she had to live for.

Sudden fear stole over her as she remembered Taharis preceding her into this world, though not before he might have heard her intent for him. She uncoiled from her meditation pose, ready to chase after him.

She needn’t have bothered. Harper stood over the man, holding him pinned in place. The adventuress pressed her knee into the man’s back, making him grimace in pain. She raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Seems like you managed to bring this one back alive.”

“Still not sure if it was the right thing to do.” Yokïmi paced forward and tore the scarab from his leg. She sighed in relief as it came away in her grasp. She could sense the tingle of magic at its core. It wasn’t inert like the others had been. She seized hold of Taharis by the hair, drawing out a grunt as she manhandled him. “How hard are you going to fight before you confess to all the ugly things you’ve done? I wonder how long scum like you can hold out under a real Inquisitor’s questions.”

“You wouldn’t,” Taharis spat back at her. “A bleeding heart like you has to know torturers don’t find the truth. They find whatever they want. That’s not justice!”

“Oh, I might be willing to accept the appearance of justice this once.” Yokïmi shook her head. “Tell me, Taharis. Did you find Plecht? Or did he find you?”

“Go to hell.”

“Have it your way. I’d ask if Tnaaf was telling the truth, but I wouldn’t believe your word over hers. You took her against her will. The clan’s gold and revenging the blood spilled in the town wasn’t enough for you.”

“She was vermin.”

“But warm enough to stick with your piddly member.” Yokïmi used her anger, striding forward and planting a foot against the small of his back. She looked to Harper. “Can you do me one last favor?”

“Ask.”

“Find me a Kanthalorian Paladin. Not one of the Deien’s justices. We can’t trust them, especially not with one of the Stoic. We’ll have them cast their truth spells and find out exactly what this bastard has done. Unless I miss my guess, they’ll find enough to sink him into a dark cell forever.”

Harper paused halfway to the door. “He has connections. Wealth. You know a Vyzian family like his won’t hesitate to pressure even the Kanthalorian Justices to have one of their scions released.”

“Listen to her,” Taharis groaned, squirming under her boot. “You’ll never –”

“– see you convicted for raping women? Or condemning that goblin and others like her to slavery? We’ll see. And we’ll see if your precious reputation can survive the accusations that will be brought against you.” She leaned down and hissed into his ear. “Pray the inside of a cell is your fate. Because if I hear you’ve escaped justice, I’ll be back to finish what Tnaaf started.” Summoning all her hate for the despicable man, she rammed the palm of her hand into his jaw.

[-19]

* Unconscious *

Harper let out a smirk. “Unfair. I’ve wanted to do that since I met him. The Paladins won’t let me slap him around once they claim him.”

“Hurry back. If he wakes up before they arrive, I’ll let you kick his teeth in until they arrive.”

“Promises, promises.” Harper chuckled. “Once we send him off in shackles, what then?”

“We’ll need Onyadaz again. We’re done with Midmark. There’s a cave back in Hu’na’la. When Plecht returns there, it’ll be our turn to surprise him. And this time, he’s not going to slip away.”

Chapter 29

Yokïmi felt ready for the ambush they had set. She held a fervent wish close to her heart that she wasn’t fooling herself. I’m not going to underestimate this goblin. Never again.

Word of Taharis’ survival and the date of his inquisition had been kept as a guarded secret. The goblin should have no reason to think he hadn’t died like the rest. He’d been smart enough to stay well clear, making no effort to steal any of the noble’s belongings. It seemed as if Plecht had accepted the good fortune of getting away from the final revenge killing with his life.

Harper’s best efforts along the Midmark docks had failed to drum up any sign of the goblin, nor to find the ship he had used for passage. Yokïmi’s worst fear was that he had expended the small fortune to take a portal to the mainland, perhaps all the way back to his den in the Hu’na’laan wilderness.

With that in mind, they had traveled quickly to the north. Even with Onyadaz’s swift flight, they spent days over the Ocean Crossing and then the Shinjira Sea, hopping from one tiny island to the next whenever their avian companion needed the rest.

As restlessly eager as she was to return to her homeland, Yokïmi didn’t let the time go to waste. The Kanthalorian Inquisitors had rewarded them for capturing Taharis. The Justice God’s Faithful believed in balancing scales.

A bad taste lingered in Yokïmi’s mouth as she recalled the moment. Despite all their lordly attitude, she swore the head of the contingent had been close to dismissing Taharis’ sexual attack on Tnaaf as nothing more than ‘reaver chaos’ that would balance the horrors of goblinoid raids. It was so perfectly in line with the noble’s own arguments that she began to fear he’d already lined the pockets of the Inquisitors.

It was Harper’s quick words that had tipped the scales back in their favor. She wove an ugly picture in which Taharis hinted that the goblin wasn’t the only one he’d attacked. His reputation as a smarmy, normally-untouchable Stoic helped. The Kanthalorians had conjured a magic to peer into the noble’s past. What they found had turned them into sharks hungry for the man’s blood. They shared few details, but it seemed he’d hurt a few women right there on Midmark during his frequent visits.

Suddenly, both her and Harper were being given nothing but courtesy and respect. Yokïmi held her nose against the stink on both sides of what happened. Taharis was going to be punished. That was all that mattered. But it tore at her that the Inquisitors had only acted when they knew the victims were from among the ‘civilized’ racial triads, and that it was only through Harper’s lie that they had been willing to investigate at all.

Harper had made it clear she saw ‘justice’ and ‘truth’ as two completely separate things. For her reward, she’d gleefully demanded sufficient coin to offset her near-death experience at the man’s hands.

Yokïmi had taken a different path. She’d been tempted to reject the reward on principle, but she’d given in to temptation based on her own fear for what she’d have to face next. Plecht posed serious danger given his magical tricks, and so she had asked for a new spellbook. It was aligned toward spells that could Disperse Magical Effects across all four elements. The cost in magical energy was significant. It took a Low-level spell to Disperse a Trivial magic, Moderate to Disperse Low, and so on. The Inquisitors had given her a book that exceeded her current abilities. It could teach her the Evolved-level magic that could disperse High-level when she finally had the strength to cast such potent spells.

This book hadn’t come with a clip to reduce it in size. She had discovered that the one Arabella had given her could be taken off the Astral spellbook and used on another, but that only meant she could pick and choose the one spellbook she could carry with her unseen.

Fortunately, she wasn’t traveling alone. There was plenty of room in the packs along Onyadaz’s saddle, and she made use of them. In that way, she was able to spend the nights of their journey adding the new spells to her repertoire, making herself ready to counter anything the goblin might choose to fling at them.

Even better, she discovered her struggles had been rewarded with two new, important advances. The first was her sixth Bellatir level. She had taken it with relish and watched the benefits roll in over her status display.

* Bellatir level up! *

* Resilience (Tolerance) +1 *

* Resilience (Willpower) +1 *

* Resilience (Stability) +1 *

* Resilience (Ego) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +8 *

* Mental Damage Points +4 *

* Emotional Damage Points +3 *

* Soul Damage Points +2 *

* Gift: Augmented Precision *

* Channel Energy from Components – Talent now level 6 *

While the gift wasn’t anything like a new Adapted Spell or unique Technique, the benefits were so fundamental to her nature that they would reach out to touch nearly every Skill, Talent and Technique she held dear.

Gift: Augmented Precision: Level 1

-  Intensive focus on Precision Techniques and/or Level paths has unlocked a new level of finesse across all fundamental Ability scores.

- Physical (Precision) +2

-  Mental, Aura, and Intuition (Precision) +1

She lived and died by her ability to be exact. Finding ways to increase one’s fundamental Ability levels was always a challenge. This was indeed a Gift that she couldn’t properly measure.

The last change was nearly as critical. Her magical usage was continuing to push her core Talent higher. She had cried out in joy as she realized she had access to High-level magic for the first time. She glossed over the rest of the details.

Talent: Channel Energy from Components: Level 6

-  This is the fundamental process that enables magic to work without harming a practitioner. The energy for supernatural effects must come from some source. If material components are not linked to the spell, the spell will fail and could do damage to the practitioner as it does.

-  Channeling limits are linked to individual Resilience scores: Physical Spells to Tolerance, Emotive Spells to Stability, Mental Spells to Willpower, Soul Spells to Ego.

-  Current channeling limits:

• Trivial difficulty spells sap Resilience 1 points.

• Low difficulty spells sap Resilience 4 points.

• Moderate difficulty spells sap Resilience 12 points.

• High difficulty spells sap Resilience 30 points.

• Evolved difficulty spells sap Resilience 75 points.

• Superior difficulty spells sap Resilience 250 points.

• Ascendant difficulty spells sap Resilience 600 points.

• Epic difficulty spells sap Resilience 1200 points.

• Divine difficulty spells sap Resilience 4000 points.

-  Current Resilience refresh rates:

• Secure, unconscious rest: 1 point per 4 minutes

• Uncomfortable, unconscious rest: 1 point per 10 minutes

• Stressful, unconscious rest: 1 point per 15 minutes

• Secure, conscious respite: 1 point per 30 minutes

• Uncomfortable, conscious respite: 1 point per 45 minutes

• Stressful, conscious respite: 1 point per 60 minutes

-  Higher levels of this Talent reduce cost for channeling as well as improve refresh rates.

She wished her spellbooks weren’t trapped back in her Hu’na’laan cottage or in her Sanctuary dojo. The only way she could feel more ready for this encounter would be to learn a selection of magic at that new, advanced level. But that would have to wait.

They found a hillside perch for their avian mount, leaving her a two-hour march from Plecht’s hidden retreat to ensure her safety. Then they crept in and found the cave precisely where Tnaaf had described.

Yokïmi went down into a squat as she peered at the hole in the hillside. “Think he’s in there?”

“No.” Harper leaned against a tree, lifting one of her heels to scrape mud off her tall boot. She feigned a casual air while her gaze remained equally fixated on their target. “Even if he passed through a portal to the nearest city, we’re further than a week’s walk.”

“He’s surprised us before.” Yokïmi pursed her lips. “But I think we’re ahead of him as well. Which means we need to decide how we’re going to do this. We could watch him enter. That might tell us how to disarm any traps he’s left behind.”

Harper hummed in mild disapproval. “But then we’ll be digging him out of his own hole. I’d rather be waiting when he shows up inside where he thinks is safe.”

“Which means we need to get in without destroying anything to warn him off.”

This time, Harper snorted out a self-mocking chuckle. “Saying we can’t outfox this goblin?”

He’s slipped through my fingers more than once, Yokïmi murmured to herself, though she suppressed the unhelpful comment. “I tend to agree, but more because of what I promised. I told Tnaaf I would do everything I could to put her face-to-face with her brother to get her own answers. That will be easier if we’re inside.”

“No time like the present.” Harper dropped her boot to the ground and descended the slope toward the cave.

Yokïmi gifted herself a few moments in place, watching her companion’s confident stride eating up ground. She was honest enough to admit that the focus on their mission and the hours of magical study had been the chief reason why nothing had happened between them. The delight of spending a week snuggled between her thighs in the aerial saddle was a memory that would stick with her.

She let her imagination play with the idea of tugging open the boot’s threaded laces and tight knots until she could ease the leather away from hugging her legs, toss them aside, and soothe the skin beneath with a tender massage.

Sensing the attention, Harper paused to toss a beckoning look over her shoulder. “Coming?”

Nearer than I should be at a time like this. The naughty thought nearly slipped off her tongue unbidden. Mercifully, it didn’t, but she feared the sentiment would be painted clearly across her Cursed face. Embarrassed guilt followed, and she rushed to claw it back under control. The only blessing was that blushing was out of the question.

Covering herself by bounding into motion, she trotted down the grassy hill. She added a further smoke screen by gesturing at the hole. “See the gate? I can see steel bars blocking the opening.”

Harper’s grin lingered, but if she was reading Yokïmi’s mind, she held her peace. “Guess it would have been too easy to simply walk in. What do your magical senses tell you?”

“My skin’s already tingling.” The last hint of arousal vanished as Yokïmi focused her will to channel mental magic. “Do you have that shred of paper I gave you?”

“Here.” Harper slid a crumpled mass from one pocket and handed it over. “This it? Feels expensive. This isn’t cheap parchment.”

“I need the refined type to cast the stronger version of this spell. It’s going to cost me most of my Willpower energy, but it’ll be worth it to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Where’d you get it?”

Yokïmi sighed, then admitted, “Filched it from the Midmark apartment before we left. Didn’t think Taharis was going to be drafting many missives.”

Harper nodded in understanding, not a trace of judgement on her face at the minor theft. “Another reason to find that MindBender expert, huh?”

“Soon.” Her companion was right, which left Yokïmi nothing else to say. There was so much potential in the Emotive and Mental spheres of magic, and her hands were tied without someone walking along beside her feeding her the material components she needed. Swallowing the frustration, she spoke the words for her Advanced Sense Magical Aura spell with added sharpness. “Ash kess da gren va besnajh.”

The paper incinerated between her fingers. A rich blue glow flooded the whole tunnel in front of her. A locus of particularly intense light was centered on the gate’s locking mechanism. “Ai ya,” she whispered, impressed by the scope in spite of the danger. “This goblin doesn’t do anything by half.”

Harper remained well back, giving the trap the respect it was due. “Can you tell what it’ll do?”

“Possibly. I’m trying to peel back the layers, but he has so many spells woven together that I might miss something.” She squatted low again, trying to peer into the tunnel at a different angle. She hated everything she was seeing.

“What’s the play, Yoki?” Harper pressed gently.

Rolling her head on her neck, Yokïmi tossed the options around one last time. “If we try to endure the traps, it’s a big risk. I can see Physical magic. I’d say it’ll conjure flames. Emotional as well. Probably to Cause Fear. Given what his sister has become, he might have included a Forced Shunt into the Void, but I can’t be sure.”

“Nothing Mental?”

“That’s the worst part.” Yokïmi pointed at the brightest spark of magic on the lock. “The most powerful trap involves an attack on the mind. I’d guess it’s at the Evolved-level. Far too strong for me to defeat. Not that I’d have the Willpower points to try after casting the Sense spell." She blinked her eyes, still suffering a bit of fuzz around the edges of her vision with her Willpower dropped to just over five points.

Harper hummed, beginning to see what had Yokïmi troubled.

“It gets worse.”

Harper’s eyebrows flew up.

Yokïmi couldn’t bring herself to smile. “There is a regeneration quality to these spells. Even if I Disperse the energy, they’ll come back.”

“How long will we have?”

“Two minutes. Maybe three at the outside.”

Letting out a low whistle, Harper’s gaze went back to the gate. “I feel like I could pick that lock in that time. But you’re saying the Mental magic will still be active. If it messes with me or distorts my senses, I can’t be sure.”

“Given how strong the magic is, you’d be lucky if that was all it did.”

“Then what’s the idea?”

Taking a deep breath, Yokïmi laid it out. “I’ll cast my highest level Disperse Magic spell in each of the other three spheres. If I’m gauging this right, that will be enough to strip the protections off the tunnel. That’ll give us our opening. But it will soak up nearly everything I’ve got.”

“And then?”

“The only thing I’ll have left will be Physical magic. But that’s what we need. I’ll have just enough to conjure two Low-level spells. The first will be a Razor Beam. I’m going to scraping the bottom of my Tolerance, Harper. I’ll be lucky not to faint right here on the stones.”

“Not sure I like this plan, Yoki. Didn’t we say we needed this to look like the gate is still intact?”

She moved her hand in a slicing gesture. “I’ll slice through right where the metal intersects with the rocks. Just those two bars. Should be enough for us to slip through. Bend a hole between them, then bend them back in place. My second spell will be a Fire Bolt to melt the metal back together. If we’re lucky, it should be enough to fool him.”

“And if not?”

“If not, we’ll be trapped inside and he’ll have all the time in the world to send something nasty at us.” Yokïmi shrugged. “Got anything better?”

“I’m beginning to rethink the idea of waiting out here for him.”

Yokïmi sank to her behind, conserving her strength in preparation for what was coming. “No. We were right. We can’t give him a chance to hole up in here. Not if we want to take him alive.”

Scrubbing at her face, Harper relented. “Fine! Just promise me you won’t pass out. Dragging you through a hole that size is not going to work. Not in that amount of time. Stay strong. Once we’re through, you’ll have all the time you need to rest and build back some of the magical power you’re sacrificing here. You won’t be helpless when he shows up.”

“Not unless he’s right behind us.” Yokïmi took a deep breath, then rolled back onto her feet. “Which means there’s no time like the present. Be ready with the materials I’ll need. Every second I spend stripping away the layers will be that much less time we’ll have to slip through.” Sensing only confidence from her friend, she began the spells.

Any of the individual, High-level Dispersal spells would be at her limit, soaking away 30 points from the Resilience attached to each sphere of magic. In each case, she was left with less than 10. For her Stability, she was reduced to only a single point. She could sense her emotional fragility, nearly sobbing or laughing at any random thought that popped into her head. It was disconcerting to feel so out of control.

Chaining them together made it worse. By the time she unleashed her Soul Dispersal spell, she wanted to do nothing more than curl into a ball and wait for the world’s troubles to roll right over her. She fell to one knee, wavering drunkenly as she tried to remember what she had been trying to do in the first place.

Harper appeared at her shoulder, steadying her and keeping her pointed in the right direction. “Your cutting ray, Yoki. Slice the bars or we aren’t getting through!”

Fortunately, her Tolerance was the only source of strength Yokïmi had left. Gritting her teeth, she wove the runes of the next spell. “Aim my arm,” she hissed, then raced through the magical activation words. “Incroive zi akaivir!”

The adventuress did as she was bid. She huddled in close, bracing her companion’s arm while sighting along it. When the pink-hued ray stabbed across the space, she guided it through the correct spots at the bottom of both bars.

As soon as it faded, Harper slipped her arms around Yokïmi and hauled her up to the gate. Giving a wide berth to the dangerous trap-magic still alive on the central lock, she settled Yokïmi near the base, then braced herself to pry the bars a few inches wider apart. Yokïmi did what she could, miserably aware that it wasn’t much.

But it was sufficient to let them through. Brawnier types would have been left out in the open, but Yokïmi’s trained flexibility let her squirm through, and Harper only cost herself a couple buckles that popped off her leather jerkin as she squeezed past.

“We’re nearly out of time. Get them back in position.” Not stopping to watch, Yokïmi carved the runes for her Fire Bolt spell in the air. She timed it as best she could with the other woman’s efforts. Even as Harper muscled creaked the last bar back into place, she unleashed the searing fire and melted the metal ends into gooey slag.

But that was the last of her Tolerance. She knew she had only one or two points left. Dizziness assaulted her, making her swoon against the rock wall. The world refused to stop spinning. All sense of the danger she was in vanished as intense fatigue clawed her towards unconsciousness.

Again, Harper was there to save her. The other woman’s arms wrapped around her, hauling her away from the gate just as the trap spells flashed back into existence. Yokïmi felt some sort of Astral magic rake against their souls, but both of them repelled the effect.

Flames roared out from the rock walls as if her own Fire Bolt had been rebounded back on them. Harper took the brunt of it along her back. She grimaced at the heat, but she had some sort of magical protection that deflected the worst. Smoke wafted up from her as every droplet of moisture was vaporized off her, but the skin along her neck and shoulders suffered no more than a light reddening.

{-29}

Their good fortune ended as the last trap sprung. Pure, primal fear radiated down on them, tearing at the very fabric of their Emotional well-being. Once again, Harper took the full effect. She immediately broke out into a cold shiver. A scream ripped out from the heart of her as her eyes darted to every shadow, searching for the horrors she was sure would be there. A strange damage tag appeared above her head of a sort Yokïmi had never seen before.

#-68#

Yokïmi gathered her into her arms, drawing her back from the gate before the spells could reactivate. She dragged them clear just before the flames licked out at them again. She kept going, sensing that if they stopped, it would be hours before she could draw Harper back from the catatonia threatening to claim her.

Finding a dark space near to the inner cavern walls, Yokïmi wrapped herself fully around her friend, sharing as much of her body warmth and comfort as she could. She whispered, “It’s alright. The terror will pass. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Harper buried her face into the crook of Yokïmi’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably as a new wave struck her. This time it sounded like grief, or perhaps a new aspect of fear where all hope for the future was lost. Yokïmi cuddled her into her limbs, deciding every inch of contact between them would help ground her friend, acting as a lifeline back to reality whenever the magic released her from its grip.

Time began to slip by as Harper cried in her arms. Yokïmi felt Resilience building anew, though she remained fragile at best. With Harper trembling against her, she couldn’t sink into any sort of real rest. Her strength trickled back to her, but the idea of risking any sort of intense magic made her sick.

The sound of metal on metal alerted her. It was a key in a lock. Nothing else. Plecht’s approach had been otherwise silent.

“Sshhh,” Yokïmi whispered, pulling Harper’s face right against her. She slipped a hand into one of her companion’s pockets and pulled out a handkerchief. Mentally begging the other woman’s forgiveness, she stuffed the material into the adventuress’ mouth to smother her fear-soaked mumblings.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. Plecht stalked into the central part of the cave. He walked toward a pedestal in the room’s center. The pillow at the top cradled a crystal that was familiar from the vision Yokïmi had seen in the memory cage. It was the reservoir for Tnaaf’s soul. A demonic statue hovered above it, its wings swept out and around as if protecting the crystal from a wind that never came. The rest of the goblin’s gathered treasures were strewn about the cavern’s rocky interior in a disorganized mess.

Throwing up his hands, the goblin let out a belly laugh. “It’s done! By Wuulvug’s gunky eye socket, I thunk yer crazy-ass Quest a fool’s wish. But here we are at da end of it. Last of dem is dead. Ye’ve got yer revenge, sis.” He placed a palm on the crystal. “Should crack dis open and send ya ta da River, little’un. By da gods, ye’ve earned a rest.”

He looked left and right, scanning over the piles of items stacked in every direction, the light of avarice burning in his eyes as he considered his fortune. “But I don’t know if I can let ya go. Yer a weapon. Ye’ve turned yerself into dis… dis thing. Now dat the Goddess of Blood’s dun with ya… gods damn it, sis, maybe dere’s udders who should meet ya in da mist – hey! What in da hells?” He lurched to the left, whirling about as he felt Yokïmi’s hand pawing at him. “Ya fooken spirit-girl! How’d ya find me?”

Yokïmi dashed back a few steps, not staying close enough for the goblin to pull one of his magical tricks. She let out the breath she’d been holding to sneak in on the clever Rogue. “I’m not the one who’s going to balance the scales with you.”

Plecht’s eyes narrowed. “Wh-hat… what ya done?” He staggered, blinking hard as a wave of fatigue seeped at him. Shaking his head hard, he twisted around to see the scarab pin she had snagged onto him. He grabbed at it, but his clawed fingers passed right through it. “No!”

“It isn’t me you have to answer to, Plecht. It’s your sister. She’s waited to hear who it was that gave that map to the Servants of the Mad Moon. The map they used to slaughter your whole clan. The map that let them capture her. Rape her. Carve her up like a roast and throw her in the fighting pits.” She shook her head. “All so you could earn your first bag full of gold.” She shook her head in disdain. “Start weaving whatever lies you can now. Your time is short.”

Collapsing against the central pillar, Plecht jostled his sister’s crystal but didn’t send it tumbling to the ground. His head lolled as his eyes grew bleary. Screaming in rage, he fought against the effects by clenching his claws into his own palms hard enough to draw blood. “She won’t… can’t kill me. I’m… I’m…”

“Her brother? Something tells me blood-ties aren’t going to save you this time around.” Yokïmi gestured at the wealth surrounding them. “This might have been her revenge, but that isn’t why you were helping, is it? Betray your clan. Use your kin. Doesn’t matter so long as you line your pockets. Go to her, Plecht. See if you can convince her you aren’t scum that needs killing as badly as the reavers who destroyed her life. I’ll wager your betrayal will be the worst sting to her heart.”

Plecht hissed back at her, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Ya think ye’ve killed me, don’t ya? Think yer gonna take me riches from me cold hands? If Tnaaf ends up sending me ta da River, then yer gonna walk right beside me!” Taking a final breath, he screamed out a series of magically empowered syllables. “Phastafalitith!” The surge took all the strength out of him. He slumped to the ground and lay still as he was stolen away to the Void.

The statue looming above the crystal stood tall, answering the mystical call. Its arms and wings flung wide, and the animated gargoyle let out a rocky bellow to announce its new life. The creature’s eyes swept down and leveled a baleful glare at Yokïmi.

It didn’t take an Emotive spell to raise fear in her heart. She scrambled away, reaching instinctively for her magic. She spat out the words for her Razor Beam, sending a pink ray slashing across the stone beast’s chest. It scoured a deep groove in the creature’s rocky skin, but not enough to even slow it down.

(-31)

A new wave of dizziness washed over her, telling her that she’d chewed away the few Tolerance points she’d managed to regain. Her normal grace failed her as her heel caught on an outcropping along the chamber floor. She staggered badly, then dove into a painful roll to evade the gargoyle as it leaped over the pedestal and landed with crushing force where she’d been standing. The small bruise she suffered was worth not being impaled on its claws.

[-3]

Pure reflex made her try and Numbing Strike on the creature’s leg. She used a knuckle strike, sacrificing precision for a bit of added piercing power, but it still felt like she was hitting a stone wall. The damage tag that rose off the creature was pitiful, and it showed no sign of loss of function.

[-1]

She delivered a quick kick to the gargoyle’s knee, but not for any hope that it would do any significant damage. Rather, she used the impact to generate momentum so she could roll back over her shoulder and bound away from the beast.

[-1]

The gargoyle proved surprisingly fast. Before she could complete her escape movement, it flared its wings and battered her hard enough to send her flying against the nearest chamber wall. Already weakened from burning Chi to power her magic, Yokïmi felt the wave of fatigue that signified her PDP were nearly exhausted.

[-21]  [-20]

* Tripped *

* Rattled *

* Fear: Acute *

Her decimated Tolerance couldn’t sustain her, and her Willpower had yet to recover enough to push her through when all else failed. She tried to rise off the wall, but her muscles turned to liquid. The sensation of her combat-hardened body betraying her made her guts squirm. Her magic was gone and offered no succor.

The gargoyle flapped its wings again and strode toward her with ground-shuddering steps. It raked its claws against nearby chests and structures that it past, shaking the very treasures it was supposed to be protecting. There was no subtlety in the way it stalked at her, and she had no answer to its nakedly violent intent. It raised its claws high a final time, primed to gouge out Yokïmi’s heart –

– when a sword hacked cleanly through the monstrous statue’s neck. Its severed head went spinning off to the side, shattering as it impacted on the ground.

* Critical Wound *

(-151)

* Blinded *

The headless body went wild. Its wings and arms snapped about, lashing out at anything and everything. It smashed into a shelf filled with treasure, splintering the wood and sending coins and jewels raining down on the chamber. It hammered against a stalagmite protruding from the ground, cracking the stone and doing almost as much damaged to its own skin.

[-38]

Knowing she could be easily crushed in its mad rage, Yokïmi dove to one side and crawled desperately for safety. She made it under a rocky protrusion just as the gargoyle slammed one of its massive fists against the upper surface. The pummeling blow shook dust down on top of her, and she was sure she would have been obliterated had it connected with her head.

Then Harper was there again. Having picked her moment, she drove in and pierced the living statue’s chest with her sword. The enchantment on the blade allowed it to dig in deep, cutting right through the rune symbol on gargoyle’s chest that was sustaining its life.

(-87)

* Dead *

A brief flash of light pulsed out from the creature’s core. Between one lurching moment and the next, it began to crumble into pieces. Harper was forced to hop away to avoid the large, hulking remains from crushing her beneath their collapse. Her feet skittered on some of the smaller pieces that were already strewn across the floor.

* Tripped *

[-8]

Landing heavily on her behind, Harper let out a manic laugh at her own expense. She remained sprawled there, every now and then issuing another of those pained laughs. “Gods and goddesses, I can’t believe that worked!”

Prying herself out of her hiding spot, Yokïmi crawled across the ground until she spilled down by her companion’s side. She used the last of her strength to throw a hand over the other woman, squeezing a hug into her. “You sure picked the right time to fight off the Fear effect. I am so glad you did.”

“Sure looked like you could use the help.”

“You saved my life. Again.” Yokïmi sighed. “I’d like to promise that I’m not going to make this a habit, but… well, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

Harper rolled her neck back toward the pedestal. “Did you get him?”

Yokïmi followed her gaze to the fallen goblin’s inert form. From what she could see, he was still breathing. But he also wasn’t awakening. “I sent him for judgment. Something tells me he’s never coming back. Tnaaf will finally have her revenge. All of it.”

Harper’s lips turned into a hard smile. “Good for her.” She grew thoughtful. “Is that it then?”

“I hope so. But there’s one last thing I need to do.” Yokïmi’s mouth drew into a firm line. “Or better said, there’s one last question I need to put to her before this can be over.”

*          *          *

She found Tnaaf floating above the slowly disintegrating replica of the hillside that Plecht had brought with him into the Astral Void. The obsidian goblin peered off into the infinite distance. She was utterly lost in contemplation, not really seeing the endless thunderstorms rolling by. Yokïmi had the sense that if tears could be shed from these marble bodies, they would be streaming down the goblin’s cheeks. As it was, she dwelled in a stoic silence that nevertheless resonated with her grief.

“Anything less would have been wrong. He needed to face justice like all the rest of them.” Yokïmi offered the thought, though she didn’t think it was enough. Nothing seemed like it could be.

Tnaaf replied without turning away from the storms. “It was necessary.”

Her conviction was absolute. “How can you know?”

“Myrmida’s servant came ta me as soon as I broke his Soul body.”

“Here?”

Tnaaf returned a tight nod, the only movement in her obsidian body.

“Did she offer you a boon for seeing the Blood-Quest fulfilled?”

A dark laugh escaped the goblin. “Such is not da way of da Revenge Goddess. Or maybe I was fooken shit at makin’ me deal with Her. Her boon was givin’ me a path ta rightin’ dese wrongs. If I failed, she’d have taken me Soul for torment. But I didn’t.”

“And so, she’ll leave you here for eternity, drifting on the Void?” Yokïmi wasn’t sure if that was any better. Dark deals are forged in vengeance. That much is a truth.

Finally, Tnaaf peeled her eyes away from the Void’s expanse and turned her gaze to Yokïmi. Her voice was somehow smaller, as if unsure what she wanted to say. “You… you can end me. You can break da crystal.”

Had she been in her own body, Yokïmi was sure her throat would have gone bone dry as she realized she held a life entirely in her hands. Even with her spectralium hatchet, it seemed impossible that Tnaaf could destroy her before she dispelled her Astral magic and returned to the mortal world. Even if she proved that wrong, Harper would take her own revenge if Yokïmi failed to awaken.

A tenderness reduced her voice to a whisper, barely enough to be heard over the grumbles of Astral thunder. “Is that what you want?”

Tnaaf was silent for a long while. Her voice trembled when she found her words again. “I… can’t. Asking for it would be like ending meself. I’m no fooken kobold, survivin’ for survivin’s sake… but I can’t do dat.” Her jaw clenched. “Will ya break it? Revenge or no, I killed one dear ta ya.”

“He was. Though I’m no longer sure he deserved my love.” Yokïmi relaxed her will, making no effort to control herself as she drifted on the gentle Astral wind curling around the dissolving hillside. “He was a changed man. But can that be enough to undo everything else he might have done? Or… allowed to be done by his friends without raising a word against it?” She shrugged. “Seems like questions better left to the gods.”

“Finishing me could close da circle.”

“Which is why I’ve come. I need to know if you’re going to force my hand.” Yokïmi waved out into the expanse. “It’s doesn’t hold the vibrant variety of the mortal world. But there’s wonders in the Void you can find. Maybe you can find some morsel of peace by exploring it. Perhaps I’ll even come and explore it with you. I have to practice being in the Void, and the crystal will give me a permanent anchor to you wherever you roam. Maybe you can even be my guide.”

There was enough mobility in Tnaaf’s obsidian-marble face to show dark amusement. “Watching me?”

Yokïmi didn’t back away from the honesty of that statement. “You could become a monster if you wanted. With your gifts, you could be a terror to any who wander into the Void. If you choose to become the monster I thought I was hunting when this began, then I will end you. Please… don’t make me do that. Find peace instead, Tnaaf. You’ve suffered enough. Find a new reason to exist. As much as I can, I’ll be here to help you find it.”

Tnaaf’s head hung, overwhelmed by the possibilities of that future. “A generous gift. Feels like more den I deserve.”

“Leave such judgments to the gods. Between you and me? I think we’ve seen enough death come from this. Enough pain. If you want to give me a gift in return, then make everything you can of this new life.” Yokïmi summoned as genuine a smile as she could. “And I’ll be here to share it with you when I can. Not only as a watcher. Hopefully, in time… as a friend.”

Chapter 30

Plecht’s cave could never be home, but the goblin had cobbled together a comfortable niche for himself. Yokïmi began to wonder if he possessed a modicum of dragon blood in him, for he seemed content to hoard his treasures rather than spend them on luxury.

That made sense given the information she’d been given by Tnaaf. The two had spoken frequently over the last days. Yokïmi had felt almost obligated to hear the female goblin’s entire story. Some of it had eased her mind to know the truth. Other elements of it would spawn nightmares for some time to come.

Among those details was that standing in the presence of Tnaaf’s Soul crystal extended a person’s life. Not indefinitely. Plecht had been showing signs of aging. But much of that had been from before Tnaaf escaped from her slavery and returned on her mission for blood. Goblins rarely reached old age, but even the hardiest would find their grave not long after their 80th year. From what Yokïmi could tell, Plecht had been well over 60, but had seemed as hale as any goblin at their mid-life. This cave represented more than his treasure trove. It was his chance at living longer than any of his kind, even if he could never wander forth to make use of the wealth he had gathered, nor leave it to any kin.

Yokïmi wondered how long the treasures of the cavern would have been lost. Eventually, Plecht would have perished here behind the magically sealed bars of his home. How long before someone stumbled across it with sufficient power or force of will to break through?

She pushed aside the random thought. That wasn’t how events had played out, and the goblin’s wealth were not going to be lost. They had no reason to rush back to civilization. Both her and Harper needed time to recover, and both had tasks to which they needed to attend.

The first grim work had been to bury Plecht when at last his body followed his dead Soul into the grave. After his betrayal and the evil he had wrought, Yokïmi hadn’t concerned herself with a ritual or even a proper burial. They had dug a shallow one and left it to be found by the wolves.

Apart from that, Yokïmi spent half her time with Tnaaf and the other half pushing her meditation, trying to unlock the Wellspring Level path. Her recent experiences had only served to convince her that increasing her inner font of power wasn’t optional.

As for Harper, she spent those same days in lazy, joyous cataloguing of the room’s valuables. From the agreement they had struck, the adventuress had claim over it. She had made her wager and suffered through more than a few brushes with death. Yokïmi couldn’t fault her for being excited that she had just secured a decent fortune. It wasn’t the equal of a dragon’s hoard. Nor even a small wyvern. As with all goblins, Plecht had not been discerning. For every piece of real treasure, there were a dozen fakes artifacts, false gold coins, or cheap items that only looked valuable on the surface.

But that was its own joy for Harper, who waded through the heap like it was a grand adventure. She delighted in her hours spent sifting through the lesser objects to find the true pearls.

Yokïmi only smiled and kept to herself. She had her own cause to celebrate after all. Though she had yet to break through to her inner Wellspring, she had not walked away from the hunt for Plecht without rewards of a different nature. The XP she had gained had been sufficient for some key advancements and no less than two Level bumps.

The first in her list had been seeing her SDP Burn Technique had risen to Level 2. It usually didn’t take long to bring a Talent, Technique, or Skill above the initial Level, but that didn’t make it any less gratifying to see.

Technique: Burn SDP for Magical Energy: Level 2

-  This is the fundamental process that enables a practitioner to burn Soul Damage Points instead of material components to produce magical energy. Unlike the Soul-pain endured during a failed spell, this process can be controlled, improved, and streamlined.

-  SDP can only be used to power spells in the Soul domain. Physical, Mental, and Emotive-based magic utilize other Techniques that must be mastered separately.

-  Trivial spells are commonly powered by ambient material components. However, they can draw upon SDP if the SoulCrafter requires, such as in a sterile environment.

- Note, all Astral Spells conjured in the Void are powered by the essence of that other plane of existence. SDPs will not be called upon.

-  Current channeling costs:

• Trivial difficulty spells sap 1 SDP.

• Low difficulty spells sap 20 SDP.

• Moderate difficulty spells sap 40 SDP.

• High difficulty spells sap 90 SDP.

• Evolved difficulty spells sap 260 SDP.

• Superior difficulty spells sap 550 SDP.

• Ascendant difficulty spells sap 1100 SDP.

• Epic difficulty spells sap 5500 SDP.

• Divine difficulty spells sap 11000 SDP.

-  Current magically-burned SDP refresh rates:

• Secure, unconscious rest: 1 point per 12 minutes

• Uncomfortable, unconscious rest: 1 point per 25 minutes

• Stressful, unconscious rest: 1 point per 40 minutes

• Secure, conscious respite: 1 point per 70 minutes

• Uncomfortable, conscious respite: 1 point per 110 minutes

• Stressful, conscious respite: 1 point per 140 minutes

-  Higher levels of this Technique reduce cost for channeling as well as improve refresh rates.

After developing her PDP Technique, none of it was any surprise, though she knew she had plenty of ground to make up before the Technique would be as potent as her Chi Burn ability.

Next, she had focused on her level increases. ChiKiln had been first.

* ChiKiln level up! *

* Resilience (Tolerance) +1 *

* Resilience (Willpower) +1 *

* Resilience (Stability) +1 *

* Resilience (Ego) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +10 *

* Mental Damage Points +1*

* Emotional Damage Points +1 *

* Soul Damage Points +1 *

* New Gift Unlocked – Chi-Hardened Physique now Level 1 *

Upon opening the Gift, she found her Tolerance had been boosted by 10 while her PDP was enhanced by another 10 beyond the Level gain. While it wasn’t an eccentric new power, Yokïmi knew this could be even more valuable to her. The increases could soak up the lion’s share of the cost of a Moderate-level spell. That could have saved her life earlier.

She had taken the second level with equal excitement.

* SoulCrafter level up! *

* Resilience (Ego) +1 *

* Physical Damage Points +1 *

* Mental Damage Points +1 *

* Emotional Damage Points +1 *

* Soul Damage Points +10 *

* New Talent Unlocked – Astral Healing now Level 1 *

She hadn’t been able to contain her joy upon seeing the final line. She’d let out a whoop of delight that had made Harper jump. She had lingered over the Talent’s details for almost an hour before surfacing to explain why she’d burst out like that.

Talent: Astral Healing: Level 1

-  As a prerequisite to obtaining this Talent, the SoulCrafter must have awakened the Technique for Burning SDP for Magical Energy. This Talent siphons power from the Astral Void to increase the natural healing rates to an injured Soul.

-  Soul damage endured by the practitioner will now recover at a rate linked to the recovery rate indicated by one’s Burning SDP for Magical Energy Technique. The recovery rates are governed by type:

• \Soul/ Damage recovers at 60% listed rate.

• ~Discordant~ Damage recovers at 30% listed rate.

-  The healing this Talent provides happens concurrently to recovery rates from other Talents and Techniques.

-  This Talent is a prerequisite for other Techniques that can allow the individual to grant others healing energy.

-  Only Soul Damage Points (SDP) can be healed with this process. Physical, Mental, and Emotive-based damage (PDP, MDP, EDP) must be healed utilizing other Techniques mastered separately.

-  Higher levels of this Technique improve the percentages for recovery. Above level 10, recovery for mundane SDP injuries will exceed those lost due to Burning for Magical Energy.

She’d been somewhat stunned to learned there was a harsher level of Soul damage, similar to Aggravated Physical damage. From all her experience, it didn’t mean that the wounds were any worse, only that the injuries were vicious and cruel in a way that made healing more challenging. The idea of receiving a horrid wound like that to her Soul made her shiver, and she was now infinitely glad to have a Talent to undo it.

The satisfaction of earning the healing path in her Soul was only made sweeter when she had found her Chi Healing had also risen. It seemed as if near-death experiences shoved the protective instinct into overdrive, resulting in a Talent increase far earlier than she had expected. Knowing that was important, though she didn’t think it was the best idea to go hunting such experiences merely for that benefit. At the same time, she feared this wasn’t the last time she’d get the chance.

Talent: Chi Healing: Level 4

-  As a prerequisite to obtaining this Talent, the Bellatir must have awakened the Technique for Burning PDP for Magical Energy. This Talent uses the same power of the inner Chi to increase natural healing rates.

-  Physical damage endured by the practitioner will now recover at a rate linked to the recovery rate indicated by one’s Burning PDP for Magical Energy Technique. The recovery rates are governed by type:

• [Bludgeoning] Damage recovers at 85% listed rate.

• (Cutting/Clean Edge) Damage recovers at 65% listed rate.

• {Aggravated} Damage recovers at 45% listed rate.

-  The healing this Talent provides happens concurrently to recovery rates from other Talents and Techniques.

-  This Talent is a prerequisite for other Techniques that can allow the individual to grant others healing energy.

-  Only Physical Damage Points (PDP) can be healed with this process. Mental, Emotive, and Soul-based damage (MDP, EDP, SDP) must be healed utilizing other Techniques mastered separately.

-  Higher levels of this Technique improve the percentages for recovery. Above level 10, recovery for mundane PDP injuries will exceed those lost due to Burning for Magical Energy.

She had snagged on the line where it noted the Talent could allow her to flow healing energy into others. She remembered the helplessness she’d felt while holding Harper after the traps had struck. If she could open PowerEmpath, then she could find an Emotional Healing Talent. If she grew that far enough, she might be able to heal Fear.

It was also impossible to ignore the implications of the existence of Discordant damage. There was an order to their world. A sense of balance. Chances were good there would be equally terrible versions of Mental and Emotional damage. She had a nasty suspicion she had already witnessed the latter when that tag appeared above Harper’s head after being struck by the Emotive magic in the trap. The uncontrollable torment she’d endured for those hours haunted Yokïmi. She couldn’t shake the echo of the pain she’d felt after her brother had ripped her life apart. The way she’d laid on the bottom of the skiff on the river, unsure if her heart could ever be mended. The core had been torn right out of her…

She wanted… no, needed a defense against that.

Her drifting thoughts were stunning lures in their own right, tempting her for whole new reasons to chase down the PowerEmpath and MindBender paths. All she’d wanted was to remove the blockages to her magic, but she was increasingly sure that she couldn’t stop even if she managed to end her Curse. These Level paths were providing Techniques and Talents beyond anything she’d thought possible. Powers that could shield her from dangers, regenerate injury, and put her in total control of her fate. The idea of reaching the levels of nigh-invincibility these powers could represent was… intriguing.

One of her own discoveries amidst the goblin’s possession had been a pearlwood lap harp stashed among a collection of rotted instruments of far lesser quality abandoned in a corner. She had nearly cried to see the beautiful instrument so neglected.

It wasn’t a large variant. Meant to nestle comfortably in her lap, its 22 strings were enough to bring life to a wide variety of the songs she knew, though she wouldn’t be able to explore the full range of her creativity. The wood of its construction had a burnished quality, mostly ivory with a subtle, foam-blue undertone.

First, she cleaned the entire instrument. Then she found the silver pins that had been knocked from their mounts and reaffixed the strings under their grasp. Despite the neglect, she smiled as the strings held their tune. She could see a weave of silver and copper filaments in their construction. Strumming with a brush of her fingers, she sighed in satisfaction at the bright musicality and crystal clarity that wafted into the air. Her hands danced through a simple melody and melted at the way it soothed her. In a way, this might be more relaxing than meditation.

“Well, no surprise to find out you have a modest streak. You said you played, but you have real finesse.” Harper entered the well-cushioned area that Plecht had used as a living space. They had taken it over shamelessly, seeing no reason to sleep on the bare rock when such comfort was available. She plunked a mug on the ground. The steam wafting off it carried the scent of peppermint tea.

“I’m hardly a true master. I’d need a few more levels, preferably under the guidance of a new mentor.” Yokïmi wandered her fingertips over the strings, bring out a few pleasant harmonies.

“Did your education include music history?”

“Only a surface knowledge. My family’s instructor focused on practical and artistic expression. Though I think she was waiting for us to show interest so she could teach us about the great masters and the ones who built their instruments.”

Harper settled deeper against a pillow firm enough to support her back. “So, you’ve no idea who might have created that? It’s clearly a tool meant for the rich, built by a master.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve no idea.” Yokïmi betrayed honest regret. The other woman was right. Whoever had commissioned it to be made probably missed it.

“What about those?” Harper waved her hands at the spellbooks strewn about the floor about the thick rugs.

Yokïmi had catalogued them in her mind. She gestured at them as she spoke. “Those the goblin stole from Katashi. I recognize his penmanship. Those I can tell are from Oriato based on his sigil, though I may have missed some if he failed to mark them. As for the others? Who knows? He was a pack rat. Kept everything. His magic was all cobbled together and stolen. He kept using items during combat, so I doubt he could cast his own spells. But I could be wrong.”

“He kept these ones for a reason.”

“Because they’re valuable. Same reason he kept the instruments. He obviously wasn’t playing them, considering their condition.”

Harper bobbed her head, having no argument to offer. “You should keep the books. And the harp.” Seeing the objection emerging on Yokïmi’s face, the adventuress rushed to cut her off. “I know our agreement ceded whatever treasure we found to me. And yes, these count as treasure. But I’d like to think I’m not as short-sighted as our late goblin benefactor. I’ve no skill at music. Less at working magic. I’d rather see them in the hands of a friend.”

Yokïmi searched for what else to say, then wondered why she was arguing to hard. It was a priceless gift. She couldn’t understand half the spells in these books, which meant they would likely fuel her future spell knowledge as her power increased. She couldn’t simply replace them with gold. Wizards didn’t surrender their secrets easily. She stopped trying to reject it and said simply, “Thanks.”

Flashing a smirk of wry approval as Yokïmi came to the right answer, Harper sipped at her drink before saying, “I’d say another day, two at most, and I’ll be ready to pack everything I can. I’ll spend the next few months carting it all away. Don’t want to stuff too much into the bags or Onyadaz will complain about the weight.” She tilted her head to one side inquisitively. “What’s next for you?”

“I’ve responsibilities. I need to check on a place you can’t follow.”

“Oh?”

Yokïmi fixed a kind smile on her face. “I don’t set the rules there. Or… perhaps I do, but I’m only one voice among the lawmakers. Anyone else who comes near will be slain. Don’t take it personally.”

“What about your Quests? And your pursuit of these other paths? Are you going to return to them?”

“After what I learned about Katashi, I need time. But this isn’t the end.” Yokïmi didn’t consider herself wise, but she was certain that the disappointment she felt in her Farrum wasn’t the thing that would disrupt her intent for the future.

“Good to hear.” Harper took another long, thoughtful sip from her cup. “You’ve fascinated me from the start with these new magical concepts you’re exploring. Considering how profitable our partnership has been, I’d be sad to see it end.”

“Oh?” Yokïmi quirked her lips into a challenging smile. “And you’ve a way to remain valuable enough for me to keep around?”

“I have my ways.” Harper rolled her shoulders, playing at casual disinterest that Yokïmi didn’t believe for a second. “Heard of the Riven Bastion?”

The name pricked Yokïmi’s memory, but she couldn’t quite place it. “It’s familiar, but I can’t say from where.”

“No shame in it. It’s a secluded keep and the home to two brothers with opposing world views. One sees emotion as a pivotal element of life. He invites Clerics who worship the deities of artistic expression to join him along with poets, actors, and musicians. They spend their days in salons, crafting poetry, and admiring each other’s creations.”

“And the other brother?”

“He’s a believer in iron control over one’s sensibilities. Suppression is his guiding star. He confides himself to the rule of logic, and believes purely emotion-based actions are frivolous. Weak.”

“Hardly a match made in the heavens.” The information was enough to spur her memory. “I remember, now. There’s a PowerEmpath who dwells there.”

Harper shrugged again. “Seems like a promising place to find someone who can banish the Emotional Vulnerability Curse as well.”

“Such services are never given freely.” Yokïmi chewed at her lip. That might be true, but it didn’t mean Harper was wrong about someone being there who was capable of such negation magic. Even her lesser, Emotive-based Curse was at the Superior level, which meant she needed Ascendant magic to nullify it. The only question would be whether she could meet such a person’s price.

Smiling over the rim of her cup as she drank again, Harper said, “Might help to have someone who can make an introduction.”

“You know one of the regulars there?”

“Not yet. But if you’re sequestering yourself away in some hidden spot for a few months, I have time to make a connection. Trust me, I speak the language of hedonism pretty well.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

With a flick of her wrist, Harper threw a pillow at her and laughed. “Look, you’re exciting to travel with. Farthest thing from boring. I’ve already made a fortune, but that’s not the best sort of payment. I live for the thrill, and you’re thrilling to be around. Winter’s getting thick on the air. Spend it at your retreat. Meet me in Atsumae on the first day of spring. Onyadaz will fly us to the Bastion and I’ll do what I can to introduce you to this PowerEmpath and anyone else who can help.”

The plan spoke to Yokïmi. It also bothered her. Katashi took me in after my family imploded. It felt too good to be true, and that’s exactly what it was. One of his apprentices nearly enslaved me. And avenging his memory nearly killed me and the innocent he wronged. Her gaze settled on Harper for a long while, wishing she could peer past the woman’s surface and into her Soul. Is she being honest? Or does she have other reasons for being here? The truth of it was… Yokïmi wasn’t sure she cared.

The sarcastic edge fell away from Harper’s smile as she watched Yokïmi right back. “You have no idea how frustrating the last few days have been. I’ve never met a person so hells-bent on not having what she wants.”

“And you presume to know what I want?” Yokïmi suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough air to get the words out as Harper stared back at her.

The adventuress leaned forward off her cushion, her expression a blend of playful and predatory. “I’ve known exactly what you wanted from our first flight on Onyadaz. Took me a lot longer to figure out why you kept denying yourself. Sent you every hint I could, but you held yourself back. Confused me to the hells until we were together long enough for me to see what was happening.”

Unsure if she wanted to hear it spoken aloud, Yokïmi found herself asking in a breathy whisper, “But you aren’t confused any more?”

The other woman gave a slow shake of her head, never breaking eye contact. “All I needed was see how you existed. To see how you live for self-control. Discipline.”

“It’s necessary to gain the power I need.” Power I want, she admitted in the privacy of her mind.

Harper dipped her chin, accepting the claim. “If you say so. You’d know better than I. But I’m an expert in my own way. Want to hear a truth I’ve come to know?”

Yokïmi raised an eyebrow, inviting her to speak her mind.

“People are creatures of balance. When that balance dips too far on one side, it creates a lack of harmony in their lives. The only cure is to find a way to restore that balance.”

“You think I’m off center?”

“You know you are, Yoki. You spend more time than anyone I’ve ever met exploring the inside of your mind. How can you be self-aware when you won’t accept the simplest reality?”

“Say it,” Yokïmi murmured, already knowing what the words would be when they spilled off the other woman’s lips. “Tell me what I need.”

“A loss of the very control you live by.”

Yokïmi felt a shiver run up and down her spine just to hear the idea spoken.

Harper’s sharp eyes caught the whole thing, made crystal-clear by her companion’s emotive Curse. She sank back against her pillow, her mouth twisting into a devious yet sensual grin. “It’s time you take those clever fingers of yours off that harp and use them on Harper.”

For a brief moment, Yokïmi froze.

Opening her legs in a display of deliberate, languid suggestiveness, Harper cooed, “Come to me, my lovely dove. Crawl between my thighs and show me how talented you are.”

Another shiver passed through Yokïmi. The tingling of it radiated outward from her core, running down every limb until she felt it in her palms and soles. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt that thrill. As Emiko had woven the ropes that tied her down, she’d felt it then. The Geisha had known what she needed, and Yokïmi had surrendered to the moment. The release had been so powerful, but she’d honestly believed it was a singular desire, stirred up by Emiko’s unique beauty and personality.

But Harper was right. Her memory was too refined and her exploration of it too frequent to ignore the truth hiding in plain sight.

Nua had guided her with a knowing hand. That meant little, since it had been her first time. Being shown the way could be viewed as nothing more than a tender kindness. Yet tangled amidst the sensual imagery of that night in the bathhouse was the confident way Nua had taken her hand and said ‘Come with me’ as she led Yokïmi across the pool before coaxing her to use her hands and mouth in the best of ways.

Then there had been Avalessa. Being pinned to the wall. Being on her hands and knees as the elven princess did such wicked, wicked things to her. How she had so willingly… more honest, eagerly… welcomed the elf straddling her head, pressing thighs to her cheeks to bring her sex into reach of Yokïmi’s tongue.

Equally real was her reaction to Arabella. Could she be forgiven since the SoulCrafter had looked into the heart of her using the crystal? But that only served to highlight the truth of why Yokïmi had so easily parted her legs when Arabella had desired to settle between them. She only asked me to stay. I can still remember that part of me that wanted her to demand it… and what would have happened then?

Her eyes flashed back to the woman across the lounging space.

Harper hadn’t looked away, watching her resistance crumbling. She invested her tone with a touch of steel. “Now, Yoki. Come and be with me.”

Yokïmi gave in. She shifted onto her knees, slinking along the rug in the provocative way to make it clear she knew she was being watched. Her Body Sheath wasn’t active, allowing her glass-clear skin to move naturally. Her breasts swayed as she prowled forward. She deliberately accentuated the effect with her sinuous motion, falling into the role. She wanted to be more than watched. She wanted to be desired. Wanted to be her new lover’s fantasy come to life.

As she crept near, Harper’s left boot rose and planted itself on Yokïmi’s shoulder, holding her back. “There needs to be less between us. Take off my boots.”

A soft tremble of Yokïmi’s arms betrayed her as one of her own wishes was fulfilled. Her hands went to the other woman’s lower leg, cupping around the supple leather sheathing her calf. One by one, she unfastened the ties all the way to her lower thigh, loosening it until she could strip the boot away. Beneath was a thin, cotton, knee-high stocking meant as a comfort barrier between the leather and Harper’s skin. Nuzzling her cheek against the material, Yokïmi all but purred as her fingers found the upper hem. She drew the stocking down, running her fingertips along every inch of the creamy skin she unveiled.

“Now this one,” Harper commanded, slipping her first limb from her lover’s eager touch and placing the opposite boot against her other shoulder. “Treat it just as well.”

It was an order Yokïmi didn’t need to be given. She could have spent hours worshipping the supple leg. First the leather and then the stocking came off, and she pressed her mouth softly to the inside of Harper’s knee. A deep sigh escaped her as she felt the warmth of that flesh against her lips.

As Harper enjoyed the attention, she wasn’t entirely idle. She wore a pair of breeches to cover her core. The ends had been secured around her thighs, hidden under the top of her boots. While watching her lover divest her of the leather, Harper’s own hands unraveled the hip lacing that kept her breeches in place. As Yokïmi delivered that sweet kiss, the adventuress was ready. “Slide them off. Leave nothing behind.”

Yokïmi understood. Her hands ghosted up her companion’s outer legs and took a firm enough hold to draw the fabric down over her curves. She made sure to grasp the material of her smallclothes as well, leaving nothing but bare flesh behind.

Harper folded her legs briefly together to allow for her clothing to be swept away, then lazily spilled them open once more, happily inviting her lover to see anything she wished.

But she didn’t wait long. Harper reached a hand into the short, crystal strands of Yokïmi’s hair. The pressure the adventuress applied was enough to spark tingles all along her lover’s scalp. She obeyed the silent demand, allowing her arms to collapse as her face was drawn down between the other woman’s thighs.

Harper didn’t stop there. She hooked one leg around the back of her lover’s neck, pinning her head in place against her sex. The other curled further down, rubbing her foot over the glass-smooth firmness of Yokïmi’s behind. “Mmm, yes, that’s where you belong. No more waiting, Yoki. You know what I want.”

And she did. It was very much what Yokïmi wanted herself. Another wall inside her crumbled. Another knot of tension came undone as she closed her eyes and tumbled head-first into her surrender.

Her tongue came first. Not timid. While her experience could not match many others, it was enough to know what she was doing. To know what the other woman wanted. But she began slow, licking with long strokes to sample the dew already seeping from Harper’s slit. Encouraged by her first moans, Yokïmi delved deeper, wandering patterns through her honey folds. She teased past the hood hiding Harper’s pearl and earned a gasp of delight as she stroked her tongue over it for the first time.

“Fingers, too.” The adventuress hissed past clenched teeth. While one hand remained in Yokïmi’s hair, the other tugged at the outside of her traveling shirt, as if the fabric had suddenly become horridly uncomfortable and needed to be off.

Yokïmi hadn’t forgotten, but the note of impatience in Harper’s tone edged her deeper into the game. She held off, focusing on getting ever-more creative with the licking of her tongue.

“Fingers!” Harper’s grasp tightened in Yokïmi’s hair. The leg curled around her head locked in, as if suggesting that they only way she would ever be free would be to starting obeying.

A fresh tingle shivered though her at the stern reminder. It drew out a whimper, passing over her lips and into Harper’s warm flesh. This time she obeyed, twinning her two largest fingers and gliding them to the other woman’s heated sex. She was slick with desire. It took nothing to slide them deep, questing with her fingertips for the sweetest points that would have her lover gasping.

Tugging harder at her top, two of the buttons popped their stitches and went bouncing onto the rug. Letting out a warm laugh, Harper sank down into the pillow, pushing herself against the tongue and hand tantalizing her senses. “Mmm, I knew your attention to detail could be put to good use. That’s right, little dove. Suck my clit harder. Mmm, yeah, there it is. Keep going. Firmer with the fingers. K-keep… keep going… oh, gods, yes, like that.” She swiveled her midriff to add her own effort as she rose toward release.

Sensing the onrushing tension in her legs, Yokïmi spiraled her tongue with twice the vigor. Her free hand circled Harper’s thigh and splayed across her taut stomach, adding to their connection in the fiery moment. Between one thrust and the next, she added a third finger into the mix. She plunged them deep, then left them inserted, pumping only the last inch or so in and out, grinding them over the sport meant to illicit intense bursts of ecstasy.

It worked better than she could have imagined. Harper threw back her head and let out a lovely scream of pleasure. Her whole body clenched, spurting her cum against Yokïmi’s face. It burst over her lips with its honied taste, but didn’t stop there, spritzing far enough to stain her nose, cheeks, and chin.

Harper came down from her high with a lustful laugh. “Sweet goddesses above, that was good.” Her chest was heaving with deep breaths that she couldn’t seem to calm. Her passion wasn’t extinguished. The orgasm had only poured lantern oil on the fire.

Sitting up off the pillow, Harper grabbed Yokïmi by the shoulders and shoved her backward. Going with the aggressive handling, Yokïmi spilled onto her back, her fall cushioned by the plush rug. A ferocious smile dominated the adventuress’ expression as she loomed over her lover. “We’re not even close to done.”

Yokïmi lay beneath her, her own breath quickening as she wondered what could be next. She watched with rapt fascination as Harper finished tearing at her over-shirt. She tossed it aside, leaving only her underclothes behind. The garment wasn’t quite a corset, though it wrapped around her sides like a halter-top with generous cups that supported her breasts and presented them as twin mountains that Yokïmi’s mouth was eager to climb. Harper left that on as she dove forward, laying out atop the crystal-skinned woman beneath her.

Her mouth found Yokïmi’s breasts first, lingering upon them until she’d feasted on every inch of flesh upon and between them. Yokïmi’s nipples ached when her lover’s mouth left them, only to be stimulated in a whole new way when Harper’s cotton-covered breasts pressed flush against them.

Then Harper’s mouth was on her neck. On her jawline. Then on her mouth. Yokïmi’s lip parted, ready to surrender, only to have Harper capture her lower lip between her teeth. They closed in a love bite that sparked her pleasure-pain senses, immediately soothed as Harper suckled the lip between her own and brushed it with her tongue.

Yokïmi groaned, needing more. Not sure what, but she needed more. Harper issued another of her sultry laughs, shifting down to blaze a trail of kisses down her neck. “You know you’re mine for the night.” It wasn’t a question.

Another groan escaped Yokïmi. It was all she could manage. She infused it with all her willingness. All her surrender.

“Then it’s time I fucked you properly.” Harper drew up to hover above her again. She radiated confident certainly, moving Yokïmi’s flexible body to suit her will. Yokïmi could never recall feeling so handled, and there was an intensity to it she couldn’t begin to explain. A thrill that had no parallel.

She had no idea what her lover was doing, but Harper never hesitated. She planted one knee on either side of Yokïmi’s right leg. The adventuress’s drenched sex pinned her lover’s thigh to the rug. She swooned even from that mild contact, taking a few brief seconds to grind softly against Yokïmi’s creamy skin.

But she wasn’t finished. Taking advantage of Yokïmi’s well-honed flexibility, Harper took possession of her left leg, stretching it up so she could hug it between her breasts. Leaning forward, she split her crystal-skinned lover’s legs to ensure her sex was well exposed.

The adventuress slid forward, melding her own wet slit against Yokïmi’s own. She placed a hungry kiss on her lover’s upstretched leg, murmuring, “All we need is to find that perfect angle. That… perfect… joining.”

Harper’s hips rolled, evoking a soft, delicious sensation in Yokïmi’s sex. She imagined it being mirrored in the other woman. Yokïmi sucked in a shuddering breath. “Ai yaaa…”

“Ain’t seen nothing yet,” Harper whispered down to her, her eyes locked onto Yokïmi, devouring the sight of her laying out on the rug as she hunted for what she wanted by feel alone.

Yokïmi would never forget the moment she knew their clits had met with electric intensity. The build-up had been fun, but her whole body seized with pleasure as potent as if Harper had just painted her pearl with her tongue. Even better, she saw the reflection of the pleasure in her lover’s reaction.

“Mmm, now I have you exactly where I wanted you,” Harper purred. Going slow to ensure she never lost that perfect contact, she rolled her hips and stirred their linked passion to the next level. Again taking shameless advantage of Yokïmi’s bendy nature, she leaned far enough forward to be in reach of Yokïmi’s glass-clear breasts. Her one arm remained wrapped around the upstretched leg for balance, while the other massaged into Yokïmi’s warm flesh.

Overwhelmed, Yokïmi wasn’t sure what to do with her own. In the end, she grasped hold of Harper’s thighs, wanting to feel them as her muscles worked to grind them against each other. Her head lolled on the rug, half-lost to the new sensations. Harper hadn’t been lying. She was in full control, setting the pace. Yokïmi had nowhere else to look but up into those hungry eyes. This was Harper’s vision. She was being claimed. She was being fucked, and Yokïmi had never felt anything like it.

She surrendered to the amazing feeling. Whimpers escaped her, all she could manage to articulate what she was feeling.

Harper’s aggressive passion took them higher. Their skin grew slick with the effort as they coupled on the cavern floor. They were melded together, rarely parting, and so it was their heaving breaths that were loudest on the air. Now and then, they would lose that perfect angle. Each time, being that much closer to release, they issued groans and drunken laughter. Each time, Harper seized hold of her lover again and soon had them soaring on the same wings.

Already sensitive from her first climax, it was Harper who found release first. She crested with another siren cry, sinking her teeth into the clear flesh of Yokïmi’s calf. She trembled to a stop, clinging tightly to that leg as she rubbed frantically against her lover’s thigh to eke out every last ounce of sensation.

Yokïmi hovered on the same edge. Painfully close, she ached like nothing she’d ever felt before. Wanting… no, needing to tumble over that precipice.

Her frantic whimper summoned Harper back from her lost place. A sly smile emerged on the evil woman’s lips. “Something wrong, my little dove?”

A sort of panic emerged in Yokïmi’s heart as she realized the game the other woman intended to play. “Pl-please… a little more… blessed Kyrrimaya, you… you have to… I need…”

“Cursing in her name, hmm? You must be desperate to invoke her. Never heard that from you before.” Harper’s sly smirk only grew with mischief. Shifting one knee to the other side, she scooped Yokïmi’s other leg off the rug and lifted it into the air to join the other. She curled both of them until Yokïmi was nearly folded in half, her legs tucked up against her own breasts and leaving her buttocks and the backs of her thighs turned up toward her lover. Yokïmi didn’t want to think about the enticing, utterly indecent sort of view she was presenting.

Harper made it both better and worse as she made it very clear that the view had her undivided attention. Her hands caressed over Yokïmi’s curves, drifting tantalizingly close to Yokïmi’s intimate flesh, all of which was hyper-sensitized with her throbbing need to reach orgasm. Yokïmi wanted to bang her head against the rug and plead for the woman’s touch to venture inward. To do something to soothe the agonizing yet oh-so-lovely ache.

Cutting through her haze, Harper asked playfully, “You trust me, don’t you?”

Inspired by the torment she was enduring, Yokïmi burst out with a laugh. “Not even a little!”

“Oh, is that how it’s to be?” Harper gave her own wicked laugh, then delivered a crisp spank to the side of her lover’s right ass cheek.

The sting did nothing to deflate her simmering need. If anything, the crisp whack mingled with the simmering fire inside and intensified what Yokïmi was feeling. She captured her lower lip between her teeth, trying to stifle the moan that wanted to escape.

She failed. It sounded loud and clear in the cavern air.

“Ooo, seems like someone likes it a little rough, hmm?” The next spank fell on the opposite side.

With her secret out, Yokïmi didn’t even try. Her moan sang out as her body trembled from the treatment. She had no way to explain it. If she had even a second to think logically, she knew the encounter was way out of hand. Harper wasn’t the sort who should be given a vulnerable heart of any kind. She was all mischief. A mercenary who seemed to have a veneer of ethics to ensure she didn’t become a monster. But that wasn’t… shouldn’t be enough for Yokïmi to be giving her this sort of intimate trust.

And yet, the idea of giving control to this salacious rogue of a woman sent a strange quiver of anticipation through her. The truth was that Yokïmi didn’t know what Harper was going to do. Didn’t know how far she was going to take this. That made the loss of control all the scarier.

And… all the better.

Forcefully keeping her folded in half, Harper dipped her mouth down and ran her tongue the whole length of her lover’s sex. Her teeth marked her with another love bite on the thigh before delivering another crisp smack to her ass. “Could eat you all night, Yoki. But I’m thinking you need something special.”

A different texture wandered through the heat of Yokïmi’s slit. Cool. Smooth. Her head snapped up, craning to see around her folded legs. “Wh-what…”

Harper didn’t make her guess. She raised the item into view. The phallic shape couldn’t be mistaken. Yokïmi read the material as white porcelain, though she couldn’t be sure in the low firelight and with the sensual haze fogging her mind. At one end, there was a leather grip to ensure she didn’t lose hold.

Yokïmi’s eyes flew wide. “Where did you find that?”

“Oh, this?” The mischief in Harper’s expression trebled. “You’d have seen it far earlier if you’d been a bit braver. I never go far without it. I always seem to find ways to put it to good use.” She brought it to her mouth. Purposefully lewd, she swept along it with her tongue, scooping Yokïmi’s juices clinging to it from its first trip through her labia. Letting out a decadent purr, Harper echoed herself, “Oh yeah, eating you all night would be a pleasure. But there’s plenty of time, don’t you think? For now, let’s try something new.”

Nestling the phallus on Yokïmi’s slit, Harper murmured. “All we need is a little help getting it properly… slick.” Performing her erotic magic again, she produced a small wetskin seemingly from nowhere. When she popped its cork, what dribbled out was a syrupy oil instead of water.

After drenching the length of the porcelain shape, allowing copious amounts to spill down her lover’s sex, Harper slid the phallus lower. At first, Yokïmi strained to keep it in view, but that was hopeless, especially as Harper leaned in to kiss along the back of her thighs as she played.

That meant Yokïmi had to follow the phallus’ progress by touch alone. The smooth, now-lubricated tip glided between the folds of her sex. At first cool, it quickly began to warm as Harper painted its surface with her wet excitement. Several times, Harper positioned the bulbous tip at her steamy entrance, making her sure it was only a matter of time before the other woman sent it deep inside.

Her certainty grew as Harper braced her elbow on the back of Yokïmi’s thighs to keep her folded, then arranged the hand on that arm within reach of her clit. Dipping into her sex to slicken her fingers, she set delightful fire to Yokïmi’s pearl. Yet Harper had been truthful when she called herself an expert in these things. She knew her business, and her dancing touch refused to send Yokïmi crashing over into orgasm.

Within minutes, Harper had her begging. “Faster. A little more. Please… I… Goddess above, Harper, I… I want it.”

“Want what? This?” With mischievous timing, Harper dragged the tip of the porcelain phallus lower than it ever had been, settling the dripping tip against the tight rose of her lover’s ass.

A whole different sort of shiver reverberated through Yokïmi. Memories of Avalessa’s games there returned to the forefront of her mind, but this was something differently entirely.

Harper’s clever fingers never ceased their dance on her clit. Her voice reached out, the mischief fading into something else. “Relax, Yoki. I’ve got you.”

So confident. So sure. The thought bounced around in Yokïmi’s mind. She swallowed hard, throat so very dry as she sensed the length of the phallus behind the comparatively innocent tip that was touching her. If I do this, I am so entirely hers. What will I ever say ‘no’ to?

“Go slow?” She could hardly believe those were the words that had come out.

Harper’s smile dripped pure, hedonistic sin. “I’ve got you.” Her hand shifted, and the pressure on Yokïmi’s vulnerable ring began. “There are two kinds in this world, my little dove. Those who like it and those who don’t. Only one way to find out.” She shifted the hand on Yokïmi’s clit away, caressing up her legs and giving herself the space to sink down and swirl her tongue around the pearl instead.

The licks felt even better than the fingers, and Harper timed it perfectly. As the new sensation melted Yokïmi’s whole body, she relaxed that extra bit. Her anus opened, and the first inch of the phallus sank inside.

“Ai… ai yaaa!” She cried out with the same ferocity as when Onyadaz had taken her first dive while she was in the saddle. She clenched down, shivering violently as she struggled to adapt to the invasion. Sucking in rapid breaths, she closed her eyes. Ai ya. What in the Goddess’ name am I doing? She hovered on the edge of demanding for it to stop. Why don’t I want it to stop? Goddess above, what in the hells is wrong with me?

“How you doing, Yoki?” Harper was back to playing with her clit with her fingers, helping strum her back to some sort of sanity.

“H-hurts…” was all she could get out.

“Mm hm,” Harper murmured, understanding yet not giving of an easy way out. She kept her place, her hand ensuring the phallus remained lodged in her backside.

“S-sorta… sorta want… want more,” Yokïmi whimpered as she realized the truth of what she was feeling inside.

A rich laugh came from her lover’s throat. “Oh, yeah. I’m thinking you’re one of those who needs to have her ass stretched.” Sweeping more of Yokïmi’s own juices down onto the porcelain length, Harper dribbled more of her oil, then coaxed another inch of it into her lover’s ass.

Followed by another. And another.

The whole time, Yokïmi was trapped between pleading for time and begging for more. Her ass clenched around the length, pressing out and feeling like it was becoming her whole world. Yet its presence was making every touch on her body twice as sensitive, like she was even more aware of everything because of it.

The whole experience went beyond the physical surrender to the phallus. She forced herself to keep her eyes open, absorbing the way Harper hung over her like a huntress enjoying her prize. Yokïmi savored the thrill of it. Savored how the other woman was pushing her beyond boundaries she never would have imagined crossing. Not out of control, but rather… in another’s control. A different sort of safety that would let her give in to a release like nothing else.

Time meant nothing. Yokïmi suddenly felt Harper’s fist clutching the phallus’s haft press up against the flesh outside her ass, having no idea how it had come this far. She felt it inside. Inches of hard material penetrating her, now beginning to feel far less painful and far more… far more… something.

Harper was read her expression, and was waiting with the answer. “Like I said… I know what you want.” And with that, she withdrew half the phallus and plunged it back in. Out. In. Out. In. With firm, sure strokes, the woman began to fuck Yokïmi’s ass. In the same motion, she swept down again and took her clit back into her mouth and sucked.

An orgasm like nothing she’d ever felt destroyed Yokïmi’s mind. Her hands flew out to either side, clawing into the rug as she lost all track of reality. Only Harper’s own lithe strength kept her pinned in her folded state. Anyone lesser would have been thrown clear, but the adventuress had clearly been expecting the reaction. She held her lover trapped as she plundered her ass.

With a final thrust, Harper sank the phallus deep inside. Releasing the handle, she shifted her fingers to Yokïmi’s sex. Piercing into her tight, dripping hole, the adventuress rubbed the lower finger against the firm presence of the phallus, only a few thin layers of skin between them. The other side stroked against Yokïmi’s inner pleasure-spot.

Her climax had been about to fall. Instead, it soared to new heights. Heights above where they’d flown with Onyadaz, up where there wasn’t enough air to suck into one’s lungs. Yokïmi began to gasp, uncertain that the world would every form again around her. Her vision whited out, and she decided that if this was how she was going to die, then there was no better way to go.

*          *          *

Yokïmi came to in Harper’s arms.

Every part of her seemed to ache. She felt like she’d sparred with every zaskran in the Sanctuary in her dojo and lost every match. Yet as utterly used as she felt, her bones and muscles were melted into a state of contentment that defied explanation. How can it be both at once?

Harper wasn’t asleep. Or at least, if she had been, Yokïmi’s shuffling had woken her up. She was spooned against Yokïmi’s back, with one hand snuck under her arm to reach and cradle one of Yokïmi’s breasts. Harper’s lips were brushing soft kisses to the nape of her lover’s neck and the back of her shoulders. Her other arm was cradling Yokïmi’s head, then folded back so her hand could caress through her hair.

The tender care was exactly what Yokïmi needed to welcome her back to the world. “That’s nice,” she murmured.

“How’s this?” Harper shifted her fingers from merely stroking through her hair into light scratches along her scalp.

Yokïmi issued a resonant purr. “Even better. Never stop.”

“Never ever?” With a chuckle, she shifted to kiss teasingly at Yokïmi’s earlobe.

A tiny shiver, a mere echo of what the woman had caused before, danced along her nerves. “You’re right. We should have done that sooner. Now I’m not sure how I’m going to make it until spring.”

“Always leave them wanting more.” Harper cradled her tighter.

Yokïmi willingly sank deeper against her chest. She was struck by how Harper made no efforts to change their plans. No protests. No appeals for her to reconsider. They were going to part ways in less than two days plus the time it would take them to fly to Atsumae. That reality hadn’t changed, and Harper wasn’t bothered by it in the least. Remember who she is. Never forget, or this… this lovely thing, whatever it is, could turn bad.

“I was thinking,” Harper said out of nowhere. “You’ve told me about this apprentice of Katashi. Hanzo? Think you told me about his wife as well?”

“Mm hm. Amaya.”

“Do you think they knew about Katashi? About his past, I mean?”

Yokïmi shook her head as best she could without disrupting the lovely scratches on her head. “Absolutely not.”

“Didn’t think so. But they stand to inherit his manse?”

“If they’re lucky. Katashi’s family didn’t seem inclined to move their interests to Atsumae. But they might decide to sell it and keep the profits.”

Harper paused to kiss her shoulder before going on. “That settles it. Plecht made off with a good number of his belongings. I’m going to bring him enough coin to offset a good chunk of the loss. Can’t be sure how much it was, but I’ll make sure it’s enough to hold the tax collectors at bay while they get their business sorted out.”

Yokïmi rolled her head to peer back at her lover. “That’s… very kind.”

“I’ve got more than I know what to do with it.” Harper laughed.

“Do you need my help imagining things to do with it?” Yokïmi nudged her elbow back into her lover’s ribs. “Seriously, I know that’s not it. What made you think of it?”

“Call it an investment.”

“Oh? In who?”

“You.” Laying her cheek against Yokïmi’s skin, Harper explained, “One less distraction. If spring rolls around and we both show up in Atsumae to find Hanzo begging on the streets because Katashi’s family robbed him blind, then you’ll be compelled to help him. Maybe that would take a few minutes. Could take a season. Who knows? One bag of gold now makes that future trouble go away.”

Yokïmi’s eyes narrowed as she kept peering back at her. “You’re that eager to have me back?”

“What do you think? Haven’t had sex that good in a decade.”

Yokïmi arched an eyebrow. “You’ve had it this good before?”

“Don’t be insulted. She was a coyamar with a tongue out to here, and he was a toronuq with a cock I can still feel on cold mornings. The two were whores trained in the pleasure houses of Vyz. What do you expect?”

With her mouth gaping open, Yokïmi grabbed at a nearby pillow and did as best she could to whack her lover with it. A playful fight broke up that ended the lingering intimacy and brought them back further into the normal world.

When they finally settled, they were mostly apart. Their backs were ensconced in two different pillows, though their bare legs remained tangled together in the middle.

“The offer is generous. Do you want to deliver it?”

“You can do it. Easier that way.” Harper shrugged. “I don’t have much of a reputation in Atsumae. Think I’ll stay a ghost there for a while longer.”

“Don’t like the idea of taking credit for your idea.”

“You’ll get over it. Besides, generosity could spoil my reputation as a hardened mercenary.”

“Uh huh.” Yokïmi shook her head, flashing her friend a wry smile. It wasn’t that she didn’t accept the story. Quite the opposite. She could hear the thread of truth in it. Harper wasn’t a pure soul. But she wasn’t a monster, either. She wouldn’t stop wondering at the woman’s full motivations. But for now, it was enough that their interests were temporarily aligned. They would go to the Riven Bastion and discover if their fortunes would continue together afterwards.

For the moment, Yokïmi honestly didn’t think she could be in any better hands.

Chapter 31

Yokïmi stepped over the last ridge and laid eyes on her cottage for the first time.

It seemed strange. She owned it. It was meant to be her retreat from the world, without needing to trek all the way back to the Sanctuary. Perhaps it wasn’t equal in security, but it also didn’t carry the same weight of responsibility.

As always glad for the way her Body Sheath guarded her bare feet against pine needles and stray pebbles, Yokïmi led the string of ponies behind her down the trail. They were laden down with the treasures of her journey. Predominantly, that meant dozens of spellbooks, though Tnaaf’s crystal was tucked in amongst them.

When it came time to return to the Sanctuary, she’d need to pick and choose what would come with her. Tnaaf’s Soul definitely would. She couldn’t possibly leave that out here. She owed it to the goblin to keep it as safe as humanly possible, and that meant bringing it back to the Sanctuary.

Smoke was rising from the chimney on the main structure, as well as from the out-building where she could see a small blacksmith shop had been erected. Kona was standing in front of the anvil, banging away vigorously at a half-formed horseshoe. The powerful woman was stripped to the waist but for a few meager straps of fabric, less for modesty and more to keep her breasts supported as she moved the heated metal.

A sharp whistle came from the main building’s front porch. A second woman was seated in a comfortable, two-person swing. She was older than Kona by at least a decade, and even from this distance, Yokïmi could tell her leg was misshapen, bent in a way that was unnatural and likely uncomfortable. Her sister.

Kona caught the signal and looked up from her work. Her smile came easily as she dropped the metal and walked up to meet Yokïmi as she entered the clearing. “You found your way. Hanzo told you?”

Yokïmi dragged the pony train to a halt before the stubborn animals ambled past her. “He got most of the directions right. Seems like you’ve made yourself at home.”

The other woman looked back at the cabin and the outbuildings, obviously proud of what she’d accomplished. “Every day, it’s more like home.” She risked a glance back at Yokïmi. “Harder to think of leaving it.”

“Don’t. I need a place to come back to. One that isn’t far into the wilderness. But I can’t be here often enough to make it a real home. If you can stand to have me show up now and then to bother you, that is?”

“Have a set of rooms made up for you. That won’t ever change.” Kona extended her forearm in welcome.

Yokïmi clasped it with her own. “You settled the items I sent with you in those rooms?”

“All but the egg. You told me to find a spot for that where it could be cold. I have it in a hollow under the cabin, adjacent to the ice hold. Got it chill enough under there that I can keep cream from going bad for a couple weeks. Think that’s enough?”

“Hard to say. I’ve only been in its presence for a few hours. Keep an eye on it. If a monster hatches, be ready to run or kill it. If it’s anything else…” Yokïmi tossed her shoulders in a shrug.

“Understood.”

“Does the air agree with your sister?” Yokïmi tilted her head toward the other woman, making her guess.

Kona confirmed it. “That’s Gretta. I’ll take you over and introduce you. And yeah, it does. What really agrees with her are the malgor bushes in the area. Chief component to one of the unguents that eases her pain. One less thing we need to buy. One less thing to worry about.”

“Good.”

“Are you staying?”

Yokïmi heaved a regretful sigh. “Not for long. Nothing would make me happier than getting to know the two of you. But I can’t get trapped her for the winter. I need to be elsewhere before the snow flies. I won’t be back before the thaw.”

“You warned me.” Kona waved a hand at the cabin. “Stay the night. We’ll get a warm meal into you, since you can’t stop walking around without clothes.”

Yokïmi smothered her smile. After their first meeting, she had wondered if Kona would be able to look her in the eye. She’d been tempted. Even now, she couldn’t help a small fantasy of having the powerful woman sweep her up, throw her over a shoulder, and carry her off into the one of the cabin’s rooms. Especially after Harper had awoken the side of her that knew how enjoyable it was to be taken like that.

But she banished that temptation. Kona wasn’t officially beholden to her, but Yokïmi could imagine the other woman might feel that way. She’d provided the cottage. Just because she had also said there were no strings attached beyond keeping it as a refuge for when Yokïmi needed one didn’t mean Kona felt the same way. It was salvation for her sister. She’d likely do anything to safeguard a claim to this place. That meant there wasn’t a clean way they could become lovers. Far better to remain as friends.

“Not forever,” Yokïmi finally replied. “It’s why I have to leave. I’m not going to let these Curses haunt me forever.”

“Care to tell me about them?”

“They’re long stories. I’d prefer to hear about you and your sister, if you two are going to be the ones guarding my refuge.”

“Then let’s go trade our long story for yours.” Kona pointed at the ponies. “We’ll get them settled inside the stable fence, get you a bit of stew, and spend the night gabbing. No better way to get to know the people you need to trust, right?”

“Right.” Yokïmi thought back to the intense nights spent in the goblin cave. She’d walked out of there with a deeper understanding of her own needs, but did that walk hand in hand with total trust in Harper? They could trust each other with their lives, but… not necessarily with each other’s hearts. It was a strange thing, but she couldn’t deny the truth of it.

Far easier here, when all she needed to give Kona was keeping her home. “You made the stew?”

“Gretta did. She’s the cook between us. You’ll see.” She took the reins, clicked her teeth, and led the ponies away.

Yokïmi trailed after, about ready to spend a few quiet months finding her center again. She’d never be the same, knowing that Katashi wasn’t who he had claimed. She would deliberately cast any loyalty she had to him into the fire. But she couldn’t ignore how he had opened new paths for her. Paths that she was still following.

She had much to meditate upon during the winter. She had to settle her mind. When she returned to the world, it had to be with a sense of focus. All that mattered was unlocking the last of her magical paths and annihilating these Curses.

She couldn’t let anything else get in the way.

Yokïmi’s Statistics (End of Story)

Name:  Yokïmi Kikuchi

Identity:  Crystalline Human / Female / Adult

Rating:  100

Faith and Devotion:

38 – Blind Fate / Chance

32 – Goddess of Fortune / Misfortune

30 – Narrum, God of Humanoids

Alignment:

+ 24 – Purity / Corruption

+ 57 – Empathic / Psychotic

+ 19 – Angelic / Infernal

– 06 – Orthodox / Deviant

Luck:

-3… -12… +9… +1… +7… -9… +2… -15…

Levels: (26 of 100 Used)

Bellatir:   6   (Ekanshin Style)

Harpist:   5

ChiKiln:   4

Sorcerer:   3

SoulCrafter:   3

Virtuoso:   3

Polyhistor:   2

Abilities:

Power

Precision

Persistence

Physical

13

23

18

Mental

22

26

19

Aura

8

9

8

Intuition

18

17

14

Resilience:

Tolerance:  54

Willpower:   38

Stability:   32

Ego:  46

Damage Points:

Physical:   150

Mental:   100

Emotional:   93

Soul:   99

Inherent Traits:

Ambidexterity (Hands & Feet):   3

Natural Weapon (Arms/Fists/Elbows):   3

Natural Weapon (Legs/Feet/Knee):   3

Languages:

Hu’na’laan (Fluent)

Goldaanan (Minor Accent)

Elven (Fluent / Granted by Magic Item)

Yin-Riss (Minor Accent / Granted by Memory Cage)

Goblin Speak (Minor Accent / Granted by Memory Cage)

Talents:

Astral Healing:   1

Channel Magical Energy from Components:   6

Chi Healing:   4

Danger Sense:   2

Enhanced Physical Flexibility:   5

Flawless Color Match:   3

Harp Finger Dancing:   5

Link Chi Sources:   1

Link Resilience Sources:   1

Link Soul Sources:   1

Read the Crowd:   2

Sense Non-consensual Duress:   1

Spontaneous Musical Improvisation:   2

Techniques:

Bellatir Adapted Spell (Presence Haze – Difficulty: Low):   1

Bellatir Adapted Spell (Force Dart – Difficulty: Low):   3

Break Grapple Hold:   4

Burn PDP for Magical Energy:   4

Burn SDP for Magical Energy:   2

Harp Shadow Playing:   5

Knockout Strike:   3

Pressure Point Strike (Choking Throat Strike):   3

Pressure Point Strike (Numbing):   3

Pressure Point Strike (Paralyzing):   2

Signature Physical Spell (Invisibility - Self):   3

Stunning Strike:   2

Tripping Strike:   4

Spells:

Body Empowered

Conjure Fog – Light (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Physical Magic – Trivial (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Physical Magic – Low (Difficulty: Moderate)

Disperse Physical Magic – Moderate (Difficulty: High)

Elemental Resistance – Lesser (Difficulty: Low)

Extinguish Flame – Small (Difficulty: Trivial)

Fire Bolt – Lesser (Difficulty: Low)

Fire Spark – Small (Difficulty: Trivial)

Grow Hair – Self (Difficulty: Low)

Grow Shadows – Near (Difficulty: Low)

Ice Bolt – Lesser (Difficulty: Low)

Invisibility – Self (Difficulty: Moderate)

Razor Beam – Minor (Difficulty: Low)

Remove Hair – Willing (Difficulty: Trivial)

Sculpt Hair – Willing (Difficulty: Trivial)

Telekinesis – Minor (Difficulty: Trivial)

Telekinesis – Lesser (Difficulty: Moderate)

Whirlwind – Lesser (Difficulty: Moderate)

Mind Empowered

Disperse Mental Magic – Trivial (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Mental Magic – Low (Difficulty: Moderate)

Disperse Mental Magic – Moderate (Difficulty: High)

Erect Mental Shield – Minor (Difficulty: Trivial)

Mental Message – Minor (Difficulty: Low)

Read Thoughts – Surface (Difficulty: Low)

Sense Magical Auras – Lesser (Difficulty: Low)

Sense Magical Auras – Advanced (Difficulty: High)

Emotion Empowered

Cause Fear – Mild (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Emotive Magic – Trivial (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Emotive Magic – Low (Difficulty: Moderate)

Disperse Emotive Magic – Moderate (Difficulty: High)

Emotive Wall – Lesser (Difficulty: Low)

Soul Empowered

Astral Bolt – Minor (Difficulty: Low)

Astral Projection – Ghost View (Difficulty: Low)

Astral Projection – Lesser (Difficulty: Moderate)

Astral Shield – Minor (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Soul Magic – Trivial (Difficulty: Low)

Disperse Soul Magic – Low (Difficulty: Moderate)

Disperse Soul Magic – Moderate (Difficulty: High)

Sense Astral Presence – Near (Difficulty: Low)

Sense Presence of Souls - Near (Difficulty: Trivial)

Skills:

Animal Lore (Aquatic):   2

Animal Lore (Avian):   3

Animal Lore (Terrestrial):   2

Artistry (Calligraphy):   8

Artistry (Dancing):   2

Artistry (Painting):   9

Artistry (Poetry):   6

Artistry (Sculpting):   8

Artistry (Sketching):   9

Brew (Mundane Tincture/Essence):   4

Climbing:   7

Cooking (Kitchen):   3

Cooking (Open Flame):   2

Education (Anatomy):   4

Education (Magic Runes):   3

Education (Music History and Items):   2

Education (Masters of Non-Material Magic):   8

Education (Weather):   2

Empty-Hand Combat (Grapple):   5

Empty-Hand Combat (Strikes):   9

Empty-Hand Combat (Throws):   6

Fighting Sticks:   6

Game Strategy (Sveerasi):   2

Heraldry (Goldaan):   7

Heraldry (Hu’na’la):   9

History (Goldaan):   7

History (Hu’na’la):   9

History (Magic Development):   2

Knife (Melee):   5

Knife (Thrown):   5

Meditation:   8

Monster Lore (Aquatic):   2

Monster Lore (Avian):   3

Monster Lore (Terrestrial):   2

Music (Flute):   4

Music (Harp):   15

Music (Lute):   3

Music (Piano):   9

Oar Use (Small):   2

Spear (Melee):   5

Spear (Thrown):   5

Staff (Bo):   5

Stealth:   8

Swimming:   3

Weaving (Dressmaking):   3

Weaving (Embroidery):   3

Weaving (Needlepoint):   3

Weaving (Quilting):   4

Wilderness Survival (Highlands / Mountains):   4

Wilderness Survival (Jungle):   2

Wilderness Survival (Urban):   3

Wilderness Survival (Woodland):   3

Gifts:

Poison Immunity (Level 3)

Disease Immunity (Level 5)

Prolonged Life (Level 3)

Augmented Hunger Resistance (Level 3)

Augmented Thirst Resistance (Level 1)

Shroud of Love (Level 1)

Augmented Precision (Level 1)

Chi-Hardened Physique (Level 1)

Quirks:

Embedded Phantom Body Sheath (Diamond Focal Point)

Doom of the Sanctuary Guardian (Level: Epic)

Curses:

Physical Definition Allergy (Level: Ascendant)

Emotional Transparency (Level: Superior)

Quest Log:

Reckoning with the Wish-Mad Brother (Status: Complete)

Impactful Moments:

Death of First Bellatir Mentor

Death of Father and Mother

Forced Transmutation to Glass Form by Mad Sibling

Destruction of Family Home

Spontaneous Brush with Magic

Night with the Golden Statue-Artist

Conjured Magic from the Body’s Furnace

Inspiration of the Villagefolk

Death of Zaskran Bellatir Mentor

Profession of Love to the Star-Elven Princess

Death of First Farrum

Enslavement by Betrayal

Submission to the Acrobatic Geisha

Human Killer x2

Memory Bond with the Life-Loving Thespian

Possessions of Note:

Items carried with her:

Clear-Crystal Rose (Quality: Superior, pinned in hair, gifted by Avalessa the AnimalMystic, properties: ever blooming, ever scented, grants ability to speak elvish, will supernaturally cling to hair until removed by owner for first time)

Clear-Crystal Heron Accents (2 Bracelets/2 Anklets) (Quality: Superior, crafted of the Glorious Metal siovoneon, marked with stylized heron symbol, gifted by Ekanshin Master Taliskhan, previously owned by Haruto Kai, properties: appearance adapts to owner, renders wearer indistinct from otherworldly beings while on the mortal plane (fae, spirit, angelic, infernal))

Magic-Infused Book Clip (Quality: Superior, gifted by SoulCrafter Arabella, infused with magic to shrink any book to diminutive size capable of being clipped under the hair out of sight)

Items in Kona’s care at Cottage:

Coins

Pennies

Chips

Coins

Marks

Wood

Lead

Brass

Copper

10

10

10

5

Silver

10

10

5

2

Gold

10

10

3

2

5 Sapphires – small (Quality: Good)

2 Rubies – small (Quality: Good)

2 Amethysts – small (Quality: Good)

Memory Cage (Quality: Superior, properties: displays important history regarding any object small enough to be inserted into the center; grants Language Skills relevant to understanding history)

Egg (size of large melon, ocean-blue with mottled patches of black, the surface crusted and contours, properties: largely unknown, previously kept in cold habitat)

Pearlwood Lap Harp (Quality: Superior, properties: precious metal strings and pins, unknown craftsman)

Legacy Spellbook (Geisha provided book with Phantom Body Sheath origin spell included)

Astral Magic Spellbook (Quality: Superior, gifted by SoulCrafter Arabella, contains select Astral magic from Trivial to Moderate levels)

Dispersal Magic Spellbook (Quality: Superior, gifted by Kanthalorian Inquisitors, contains all Dispersal Magic from Trivial to High for all elements of magic)

Spellbook Collection (various, gathered from goblin cave, not fully explored)

Items in dojo within Sanctuary of the Lost Monolith:

Spellbook (personally developed spellbook covering her general knowledge and spells provided by ChiKiln mentor)

Training Catalogue (Ekanshin) (fighting manuals in various languages)

Training Catalogue (Wellspring) (teaching manuals for new Level Path in various languages)