Letti awoke to the most curious sensation that her skin was crawling over itself. She thrashed, remembering the spiders. Two pairs of hands grabbed each of her arms and held her still. She screamed, the discomfort unbearable. Finally, blessed were the twins, her skin stopped writhing upon itself. She lay, limp and sweating, before rolling over and vomiting.
Opening her eyes, she saw Thorn and Candor, both looking haggard, peering over her. Both pairs of eyes were worried. Letti struggled to push herself to a seated position. Candor helped her.
“You ok?” Candor asked hoarsely. Letti could see the shine off Candor’s bright white hair in the early grey of the morning. She shuddered, thinking of the way the monster breathed hotly through the pincers. She remembered the aching burn of its blood along her stomach and looked down at her sternum. It was flawless; no abrasion, no scar, no mark marred her tan skin.
She leaned into Candor, who rocked her murmuring a soft lullaby. Letti could hear Candor’s heart beating hard.
Thorn rocked back, nearly falling onto his elbows. He leaned forward, resting his head between his legs. Finally, he looked up. “We need to move.” His voice also bore the strain of having spoken aloud for hours on end without pause. “That was a large amount of majik; we are likely to have deadlier visitors than these if we linger.”
Letti averted her eyes from the monster, but Thorn walked up to it and snapped off a small fang that hid behind its pincers. “Here.” Thorn handed Letti the curved bone. “Your first kill.”
“I don’t want it.” Letti whispered.
Thorn shrugged, but Candor put out her hand. “You will.” She said simply.
Pocketing the fang, Candor stood and pulled Letti to her feet. “Come on. We did not heal you just to fight more of these things, and thanks,” Candor glanced sarcastically at Thorn, “for the warning about them.”
Thorn shrugged. “They haven’t been this far east in a while. They usually don’t come this close to the Way.” He frowned. “They must be able to feel the change in majik.”
“Any other friends we should know that might feel this trace change?” Candor asked.
“Probably.” Thorn replied dismissively. “But if we’re going to go through that list, we’ll be here twice my lifespan over.”
Quietly, the trio wiped their swords and shrugged on their packs. Setting off at an angle to the hill, Candor considered her fatigue. Never had she felt as tired as she did traipsing up the side of that particular Kotemor. The majik she had executed, the energy she had expended using every piece of herself to focus on Letti left her feeling like a wrung rag. Though she was glad Letti walked between them, Candor bristled in a quick moment of fear as she worried she would collapse, and they would never find her.
No. Candor gritted her teeth. This is not how I go. Instead of concentrating on her exhaustion, Candor marveled at the feat she and Thorn had accomplished. She had opened her eyes once, as she had felt her focus shifting from the words. She could see the white blood leaching out of Letti’s stomach even as skin closed around other areas of her torso. Candor had emptied herself once more at that moment, allowing only the blood, red and white, enter and exit her vision. She resolved, should she practice majik again, not to close her eyes. Vision offered her another point of contact, a boundary for her mind to penetrate and direct her energy as purely as possible.
Candor only noticed they had reached a summit when light broke across her face, forcing her to blink several times.
“Come here.” Thorn beckoned. He pointed southward, over two smaller ridgelines. “Can you see the flatland over there?”
“Yes.” Letti squinted. “There’s a haze around it.”
“Aye. That would be their fires.” Thorn sighed. “I really did not want to revisit this place for a while.”
“Why?” Candor looked up at him, unbalanced.
Thorn glanced down at her, then, concerned, dropped his pack and shoved a large hand in it to search for something. Pulling out a dark piece of something hard, he handed it to her. “Eat this.”
“Why?” Candor’s stubbornness did not stop her from taking the food, whatever it was.
“You’ve not ever used majik like that. This will help until we get to the next ridge.” Thorn pointed. “We’ll rest there for the night and reach the village the next day. I don’t want to go any closer. I don’t know if their hunting patterns have changed since last I travelled here.”
Candor stuck the gift into her mouth and felt a wonderful sensation run to the tips of her fingers and the bottoms of her feet. Her eyes lit up at the sugary, bitter cream filling her mouth, and Candor grinned at Thorn, who smiled back.
“It’s chocolate.” He said gruffly. “Some of the plains folk make the best chocolate. Nobody makes better chocolate than the alchemists of Durevin though.” Thorn licked his lips in spite of himself. “It’s restorative.”
“It certainly is.” Candor smacked her own lips. “I can keep going.”
“Good.” Thorn hitched his pack up, amused.
That evening, the effects of the chocolate were wearing off. Thorn did not consider this a worthwhile excuse, and bested Candor five times in a row. Finally, after Thorn had motioned to Letti, Candor flopped down against the trunk of a tree, and promptly fell asleep.
Thorn shook his head as he watched Candor’s bright hair shift over her face. It gusted slightly as she breathed out. Her sword glittered in her lap. Thorn shifted, half his mind focusing on the fight with Letti, half considering what he had risked to keep her alive. I acted on suspicion alone, Thorn thought to himself, had I been wrong, I would have killed them both. He felt both sickened and vindicated, as if exercising Candor’s ability had offered him a new sense of trust in himself. This success, however, posed many more questions than it answered.
Thorn jabbed sharply, and Letti yelped, bruised. “Keep your elbow tucked in.” He advised absentmindedly. She scowled but did she as she was told. Of the two, Letti was the most coachable, Thorn knew. Candor was dangerously stubborn, and he had offered her the door to a world made for death. Eyes sad, Thorn finished the fight.
~.~
The next morning, Thorn began to educate the girls on the ghosteaters. “These are a very secluded people.” Thorn began. “Despite plains to the south, they stay in their swamps and hunt the periphery of the Kotemor. They are a loyal people. It is what defines them.”
Candor and Letti trudged in front of Thorn, and he spoke with more volume than he had in the last few days, which they found refreshing.
“All of their ancestors are buried beneath their homes.” Thorn made a face. “Their oldest families claim ancestors from the first arrival of humans to Icaria. Their corpses stacked upon each other going down into the bogs.”
Candor blanched. “So, when someone dies, they press all the other bodies deeper?”
“Something like that.” Thorn shrugged. “I’ve never been invited to a death ceremony. But the way it’s been described to me, that’s exactly what happens. The house is floated to another patch of swamp, the funeral happens, the body is placed in the bog, pushed down a bit, and the house is replaced. The house’s weight pressures the whole column of bodies down.”
“But,” Letti tried to count. “That’s, an uncountable number of corpses.”
“Defintely not uncountable.” Thorn replied conversationally. “In fact, they have pristine records. Not hard when most people are related in some form or fashion to each other at this point. But yes, it’s a fair load of dead people in swamps, brooded over by their descendants.”
Candor wrinkled her nose. “Don’t they smell?” She remembered the horrible odors of the village, and those bodies had been a day old.
“No.” Thorn explained. “They’re in bogs, which preserve the bodies almost entirely. No decomposition, no smell.” He glanced at the girls. “I wouldn’t mention your distaste for their culture when we arrive.”
“Clever advice.” Candor muttered. “Any other courtesies we should be made aware of?”
Thorn thought for a moment. “We shouldn’t be coming up on death days, or I’d steer clear of them.”
“Death days?” Letti asked.
“Aye. For about three days, once a year, the ghosteaters celebrate their ancestors. They light fires to the tops of the bogs, and they feast, celebrate, and host their ancestors’ souls.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Candor was sure she had misheard. “They host souls?”
“Yes.” Thorn stroked the pommel of his sword. “I think it’s a lot of hog wash, the smoke from the bog fuddles their minds. But they truly believe they are offering their ancestors another chance to walk the land.”
Letti put a hand over her mouth.
“They don’t hold with majik. They don’t understand it, and they don’t like it. Nor do they like new magic.” Thorn shrugged. “They find their own magic in faith.”
“Fine line.” Candor observed.
“Indeed.” Thorn replied gravely. “Faith is to be tested less than majik. Majik will kill you. Faith will kill you and everyone around you.”
All three fell silent.
“Why don’t you want to be there around a death day if you don’t think their ancestors inhabit them? Couldn’t you just sleep for a few days then be on your way?” Candor asked.
“No.” Thorn’s tone was low. “Very little good happens when you don’t believe your body, or your actions, are your own. It is a very dangerous time to be around these humans.”
Understanding the implications, Candor nodded. “Best hope that haze wasn’t from early bog fires.” She joked.
Thorn froze, then growled deep in his chest.
“Nothing for it, Thorn.” Candor said breezily. “There’s no better place to go, and we can’t be set upon again. This is the fastest way out of the forest.”
Thorn grunted, declining to agree, but finding no alterative solution, continued his march forward. Perhaps that smoke as simply a result of summer haze and cooking fires, he thought to himself.
The next ridgeline seemed to arrive much more quickly than Thorn had anticipated. Atop the shorter ridge, Candor could see small clouds of smoke wafting across the bogs. The structures Candor assumed were the floating houses seemed no bigger than anthills from this distance.
“Chances you know any ghosteaters Thorn? Any friends of yours down there?” Candor asked as they began their final descent.
Behind the large swamps, Letti thought she could see a small glittering, as if the horizon itself were made of diamond.
“I knew a few people here.” Thorn touched his gold hoop unconsciously, “But they are long dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Candor murmured. She meant it. “It must be awful to watch the people around you die over and over again.”
Thorn did not reply, but Candor could see the side of his face tighten slightly. She sighed. Emotional sanctuary was not a strength of hers. Best leave that to Letti, she thought to herself.
Letti, for her part, was considering what it meant, exactly, to host the spirit of one’s ancestors, but, with a quick glance at Thorn, decided not to ask. Glad as she was to be exiting the creature infested Kotemor, Letti had to acknowledge there existed a certain simplicity in the Black Teeth. It was life or death under the leaves of the impossibly tall trees. People meant politics. People meant perception. Letti had learned this lesson early from her parents. Her great-great grandparents, Letti knew, had escaped persecution in the east. They had fled west as far as they could, finding sanctuary in the village. Beyond that, Letti’s parents refused to contextualize their family’s flight in history, so Letti was forced to listen without a full understanding of the politics of great eastern cities, and the two-faced nature of nobles.
“Be ready.” Thorn’s low rumble wrenched Letti back to the present. The hill began to slope more easily, and the air felt damp. A heavy perfume of wet earth and dying things infused the staccato breeze. Under these less than welcoming aromas lay the scent of smoke.
“Watch your step.” Thorn cautioned. “Follow exactly where I put my boots.”
The girls nodded, and both tightened their rucks. They did not need a swinging weight upending their balance.
The trees grew more dispersed, and Thorn stepped carefully on rocks, testing patches of earth before placing his full weight upon them. Candor and Letti followed, step for step, using the tall, white-trunked trees for aid when they paused.
“Brace yourselves.” Thorn said over his shoulder, before stepping past the last line of trees into the smoke-filled sunlight.
“He grows ever so loquacious when nervous.” Candor quipped but felt her stomach drop. It had been some time since she had engaged with humans beyond Letti and Thorn. She remembered her manners and ran through the courtesies Mo and Lola had taught her.
Assaulted by the low hanging sun, Candor emerged from the tree line to see Thorn stepping quickly across a long, mossy stretch of ground. To each side, low, dark water curled around the impossibly green grass. Reeds waved here and there, more welcoming than any of the austere houses that punctuated the near-distance.
As Candor observed a tiny orange fish in the muddy water to her left, a cry went up from the village. A great ululation, accompanied by the heavy stamping of many feet moving at once sounded, startling Candor. She reached for her sword, but Thorn held out his hand, face grim. “They will welcome us.”
“Will they?” Candor did not pull her sword, but she fingered the grip anxiously.
“We move forward.” Thorn guided the girls over additional land bridges, studiously reminding them to avoid the water.
From the village, twenty or so horses, each ridden by two small humans crashed towards the trio. Keeping to the land bridges themselves, it soon became impossible to tell where the horses would go next, effectively eliminating any alternative path for Thorn, Candor, and Letti, but forward.
Finally, they halted, waiting for the wailing mass to descend upon them. Candor noticed that the man in front wore a small chest plate of hardened wood but bore no weapon. The second rider, the majority of whom were female, Candor noted with some surprise, wore no armor, but held two swords.
Thorn held up both hands, waiting for the chorus of yips and cries to subside.
“Well met, Ush Ankori.” Thorn said calmly.
Candor noted the use of the title.
“We’ve come a long way, and would seek refuge for a night, news of the day, and clean water to drink.” Thorn did not break eye contact with the rider to his direct front.
“If you’ve come far, need shelter, and cry for water, the Ankori will not turn you away. You must answer three questions of truth, before we offer you sanctuary.”
Thorn nodded, as if he had expected this, and indeed, Candor began to understand this was a custom in and of itself.
“Why does the wind blow on the day after death?” The man asked.
“To settle the soul in its watery depths.” Thorn answered calmly.
“Why do the fires burn for three days?”
“To offer a trail, a road, a pathway.”
“And why do we offer our flesh once more?”
“So they might find a way back through our doors.”
With a ferocity that startled the horses, the ululations crashed through the air again, and the man to whom Thorn had been speaking grinned.
It was not a happy smile, Candor noticed, but rather an expression of triumph, almost threatening in its projected joy.
“Welcome, travelers, to the homes of the Ankori.”
“Thorn,” Thorn gestured at himself. “Candor, Letti.” He pointed at the girls, respectively.
The riders all nodded, before turning their horses back to the village. Thorn, Candor, and Letti fell in step behind the leader.
“I take it you know this ritual.” Candor poked Thorn.
“Aye.”
“I thought you said all the people you knew were dead.” Candor whispered.
“All my friends are dead.” Thorn corrected mildly. “Don’t poke me.”
“And what—”
“I’ll explain later.” Thorn cut Candor off. “Let’s just get to a house, eh?”
Rolling her eyes, Candor dropped back once more, catching the eye of a swordswoman, who nodded
seriously at her.
The land bridges grew more numerous, the dark watering holes fewer, as the group marched towards the village. Careful to avoid the deep pools, Candor could not help observing them. Something about their opacity intrigued her; she had a sudden desire to wade into their depths. Recognizing this as folly, Candor tore her eyes from the surface of the water, pinning her gaze to Thorn’s immense back.
A splash sounded from behind Candor, and as fast as she turned, one of the swordswomen was faster, plunging into the bog after Letti.
“Letti!” Candor cried, making to wade in after her friend. A large arm caught her around the waist. “You cannot go where they go.” His mouth close to her ear.
A long moment passed, and Candor’s heart constricted. How deep could these pools plumb?
Finally, the surface rippled slightly, and the two women who waited on the soft grass tensed. As if from nowhere, the surface of the swamp burst open, and the swordswoman and Letti crested the water. The women heaved Letti out of the water. Both were completely and utterly covered in a deep, dark, mud, but otherwise seemed unharmed.
Letti lay shivering on the grass, the woman sat next to her, both un-muddied women bending over them tenderly.
From the center of the small pool, a long, muscled tentacle rose with deceptive speed, whipping towards the group of women.
With a yell, Candor wrenched herself from Thorn and pulled her indogo sword from her back, slicing downwards through the ropy limb. It fell, wriggling slightly, and its owner vanished once more into the depths of the pond.
“Come on.” Candor pulled the women to their feet, and gestured, “We need to keep moving.”
Wide-eyed, but bearing those odd triumph-grins, the women nodded, and donned their horses. The one who had saved Letti declined to rejoin her rider, instead placing a mud-covered and as yet mute Letti behind the man, who did not look pleased.
She picked up a stride next to Candor.
“I am Pean of Family Dauteriey, daughter of Mors.” No hand gesture accompanied this introduction.
“I’m Candor.” Candor replied. “Thank you for saving my friend.”
“It would have been a stain on the Ankori for us to lose a guest, and so close to Aislin Alaugh.
“I hope that wasn’t a pet of yours.” Candor wriggled her arm like the tentacle.
The woman laughed, a high tinkling sound that Candor had not expected. “No. Not a pet. We sometimes eat them, but rarely do we hunt them. We will have tentacle tonight.” She crowed and turned back to another horse pair that followed them. The woman raised the tentacle, grasped in her fist.
“It is a delicacy.” Pean explained. “Our swamps are heavy with the evil of the mountains, even this far out.” She made a fist over her heart and pushed it away from herself. “The mountains are poisoned with majik.” She pronounced the word as if it pained her to articulate.
“Our land is protected by our ancestors. You’ll see. The water there does not draw you in.” She smiled.
Candor smiled back but made note of the woman’s relationship to majik. Though the woman was covered in mud, Candor noted her long hair, roped into dreadlocks. Her arms and legs bore muscles with little fat, a testament to riding and hunting and fighting. Candor rather liked her.
As they travelled back to the houses, Candor and Pean discussed the weather, the day, and some of the creatures Candor and her companions had stumbled upon in the Kotemor. Neither discussed what, exactly, the trio were doing or why they had turned up on the Ankori’s front stoop.
Finally, as the sun began its final descent behind the Black Teeth, the group trouped up to a large ring of land that surrounded the houses. Perhaps three or four times the size of their village, the ghosteater’s city bore a curious mix of land and swamp. The large swath of grass that seemed to ring the city quickly gave way to clearer water, interspersed with long, suspended bridges. The bridges, Candor could see, crisscrossed the houses and the pieces of land at various levels. Impressed by the craftsmanship of the homes and the gravity-defying work of their connective architecture, Candor turned to say as much to her guide, but found that she had mounted her horse again. Letti instead stood by Candor, still rather shaken, while the horses and their riders padded along the ring of grass. Turning, Candor saw a small, bent woman clothed in many multi-colored shawls walking toward them along the circumferential path.
“Woden Thorn.” The woman’s voice sounded like the dance of palm leaves. Candor’s breath caught. “It has been too long.”
Thorn smiled broadly and opened his arms. The woman slowly leaned into him, resting her staff against his chest. A moment later they separated, and Thorn held her at arm’s length. “You look marvelous, Usha Haela.”
She swatted him. “It’s been decades.”
For the first time since they had met, Candor thought Thorn looked sheepish. “I’ve been tracking down old mistakes.”
“And is that why you’re back again this time?” Haela drew back. “There are more ways to repent than chasing old sins, Woden Thorn.”
Thorn looked uncomfortable. “I have stumbled upon a new task.” He gestured to Candor and Letti. “I found these two in the Kotemor. Just off the Great Stone Way.”
“Did you?” Haela took a step toward Candor and Letti, ogling them from top to bottom. “What were you doing in the teeth?” She asked.
Candor and Letti hesistated, but Candor finally said, “We lived north of the mountains, at the edge of the sea. We lost our whole village.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” Haela raised an eyebrow at Thorn, who shook his head slightly. “Welcome to Ank Ahela.”
“Thank you, Usha Haela.” Candor murmured. She elbowed Letti who muttered something incomprehensible.
“I take it you fell.” Haela clucked. “Let’s clean you up.” She glanced at Thorn. “You chose an inadvisable time to join us.”
Thorn swore.
Haela clicked her fingers. “Ach, none of that.” Her expression softened. “Will you join us? Or bind yourself for the three days?”
Thorn scowled. “I will have to discuss. We may try to go straight through. I thought the death days were in the fall.”
“They chance with the moon and the passing of the year.” Haela shook her head. “This is what comes of your time away. You forget our custom.”
Thorn merely shook his head and followed Haela to a small suspension bridge. Together, they crossed it, Haela remarkably agile over the narrow planks. Nearby, a few people sat on wide, raft-like surfaces and propelled themselves along with a staff that looked resembled Haela’s. Here and there, Candor could see, members of the city moved around on these rafts, some holding string that they dangled into the water. Candor realized belatedly that they were fishing. Her method of fishing had been much different, and she was fascinated by the individual nature of these catches. Her nets had caught many fish at once, the better to feed the village.
Crossing the front porch of a house, Candor noticed that the houses were not attached to the earth. She had known to expect as much, but the sight still surprised her. Houses were supposed to touch the earth. The entire structure floated gently, though with little knowledge of its inhabitants. Haela noticed Candor looking. “You wouldn’t know on the inside.” She smiled.
Climbing a small staircase that ran along the outside of the light wooden home, Haela led Thorn, Candor, and Letti across another bridge, suspended several lenths in the air. Candor grinned. She rather enjoyed this method of building common areas. Letti followed less steadily but crossed without incident.
“Here.” Haela swung a long cloth aside and motioned for her guests to enter. “You, Letti, may leave your gear out here.” Haela pointed to the deck that wrapped around the top of the house with the end of her stick. Letti set her pack down, unwound her boots, and tried to wring out her hair.
“Pants too.” Haela instructed.
Had Letti’s face not been covered in mud, her cheeks would certainly have shown a deep blush.
“Good.” Haela then gestured for them to enter. They ducked under the top of the fabric. Candor gasped; the interior was not lavishly decorated, but every piece of furniture sprouted from the interior of the house as if it were a garden. Each piece, Candor could see, had been carved into, or rather out of, the center of the house.
“Our oldest homes are made of the L’shiir trees.” Haela explained. “Harvested before the earliest wars, our ancestors rolled them to the swamps from the edge of the forest and discovered they floated. As they carved them, they lived inside them.” Haela touched the top of the table that spread across the center of the room like a flower. “It is part of how we remember them.”
Candor enjoyed this immensely, much better than carrying one’s dead ancestor’s soul around in one’s own body.
“Thorn.” Haela finally rounded on the large man who had sunk into a large chair with an ornately carved back.
“Yes.”
“You will not be allowed to leave.” Haela stated flatly. “I will plead your case, but you know how the elders feel about me. I do not have the stature required to advance your movement. You must either participate, or consent to the long sleep.”
Thorn grimaced. “That doesn’t work on me.”
“I know.” Haela shrugged. “The girls too, must make a choice.”
Thorn nodded.
“Water is in the corner. Use the pump to bring it up.” Haela gestured to a small bowl like scoop in the floor. “I will return in a bit with food. I encourage you not to wander.” With that, Haela gave them all a stern look and departed, rattling the footbridge on her way.
“You said everyone you knew was dead!” Candor accused Thorn.
“No, I said all my friends were dead.”
“And Heala isn’t your friend?” Candor crossed her arms.
Thorn looked pained. “Friends cause too much pain. I know her. I’ve known her. And that’s all there is to say on the matter.”
“Hardly.” Candor snorted.
“I knew her a long time ago. She helped me track someone down.”
“She left her village?” Candor gasped.
“Yes. And now you can see why she might not have as much luck with the elders, which,” Thorn held up his finger to forestall Candor’s questions. “Is going to be immensely problematic.”
Letti made a small noise, and both Thorn and Candor rememebered she was there.
“Here.” Thorn said, not unkindly. He walked Letti over to the small inlaid basin. “Candor, I am going to work this pedal that will bring water up these tubes. You clean Letti up. I will face away, but we need to talk about the next few days.”
Candor nodded. Thorn turned his back on the little tub, keeping his left foot on the pedal, pressing with a steady cadence. Soon enough, water started streaming through a small opening where the tube bent over the basin. Candor stripped Letti’s tunic, dropping it in the bottom of the tub. “Step on it as you wash.” Candor instructed. She had grown a bit concerned that Letti hadn’t so much as uttered a word since she had been submerged.
“We couldn’t have arrived at a worse time. We will unlikely be allowed to leave, which leaves the two of you two options. You may either take a draught to sleep for three days, dangerous itself in the best of times. Or you may risk the nonsense of the death days.” Thorn pedaled harder. Water whooshed over Letti, and finally her limbs came to life, and she began to rid herself of the filth.
“It seems to me,” Candor said slowly, “that you are actually frightened these ancestors might inhabit us.”
Thorn let out a puff of air between clenched teeth. “Strange things happen around death days. Between the smoke and the ecstasy, I can’t tell you how it will affect you.”
“Still sounds better than accidentally drinking too much potion and dying.” Candor scrubbed Letti’s back, finding the mud particularly sticky.
“Fair enough.” Thorn ran a hand over his head. “I suppose we try to wait it out up here. See if Haela can lock us in. The problem is that no area is off limits during death days. The ancestors are allowed to go where they wish, as they wish, do what they wish. There are no rules.”
Candor, exasperated, ground her teeth together. “You have made that abundantly clear.”
“I’m trying to offer you the scope of the chaos.” Thorn replied evenly. “You cannot understand it. It mirrors combat. Smoke everywhere, bodies flailing, it is always a miracle to me that more people don’t die on these days.”
“People die?” Letti finally spoke from under the cold water.
“Yes.” Thorn answered. “People die.”
“They kill their own?” Candor asked, voice low.
“They understand it to be the will of the ancestors.” Thorn shrugged. “Their ways are not our ways.”
“No.” Candor whispered. “So why don’t we hide up here, and if someone comes in and threatens us, we kill them and call it the will of the ancestors.”
“We will not be possessed.” Thorn explained. “And none of us will be in our right minds, not with the smoke. It strips inhibitions.”
“Well, what do you suggest then?” Candor snapped. “We should have just stayed in the mountains.”
“I don’t know yet.” Thorn slowed his foot on the pedal and walked over to a small crevice in the side of the house. “And the smoke attracts creatures to the edge of the forrest. It would have done us no good to remain in the teeth.” Opening what turned out to be a small cabinet, Thorn grabbed a towel and returned to the shower, eyes still averted.
Letti took the towel, dried herself, and clothed herself with Candor’s extra tunic and trousers. They then retrieved Letti’s pack and proceeded to clean it as well.
“This is marvelously designed.” Candor crowed once she had finished her own bathing.
“They are quite advanced, despite their isolation.” Thorn replied absentmindedly. He paced near the fabric that hung over the doorframe. Haela had not returned.
“Candor, I think you’re right.” Thorn turned with alacrity, startling Candor enough that she reached for her sword. Finding it was not there, Candor relaxed, and nodded for Thorn to continue.
“We stay here, try to keep our heads, and avoid conflict.” Thorn flexed his hands. “And deconflict as much as possible if needed.”
“Brilliant.” Candor wriggled in her damp clothes. “When does this begin?”
“Tomorrow evening.” Haela flapped the long door-cloth out of her way and moved into the room.
“You may not leave.” She nodded. “But you knew this. Will you take the draught?”
“No.” Thorn shook his head.
“None of you?” Haela looked impressed.
“None of us.” Thorn spread his hands in suppliance. “We will need supplies. We will weather it here.”
“Weather it.” Haela repeated. “So be it.”
~.~
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