Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Pursuing their different lines of investigation into the discovery down by the harbour, the Winterheart cousins make a new acquaintance. Jaden takes the opportunity to go see Lilya, while they're still in the city. Oleander helps Jaden realise something.

Flashback: Oleander recalls how growing up is seldom easy. It's even harder for a child all on her own.

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Chapter 19: Stone and Ashes

OLEANDER

Where the sunkissed plains of Olmar met the dark woods of Sorun was a town that prided itself as being either the first welcome into the human lands, or the last bastion before the wild. Tarad was a town of two sides.

It was the kind of town that thought itself bigger than it really was, grown prideful of its importance, and forgetting it was just a small part of a much larger world. Yet underneath this veneer of arrogance was the heart of a frightened child, staring into the darkest parts of the wilderness. Tarad was a town of two minds.

There was the Tarad that a visitor saw when they passed through, a place where travellers could resupply and a hub where several cultures were brought together - the elves of the forest in the west, the Olmani of the steppes in the east, and the mysterious Lacunai of the mountains in the south. In its own way, Tarad experienced a measure of the multitude enjoyed by great metropolises like Tier or Etrana.

Then there was the Tarad that a girl saw if she had grown up in those streets. It was a place of great opportunities, and great inequalities. Sometimes a trader would need her to deliver a message, or a traveller wanted to be shown to a nice inn. Sometimes they forgot to be careful around their coin, and the girl would eat and sleep somewhere warm. Then there were the other days. Tarad was a town of two faces.

Oleander felt it in her gut even before she approached the table; this was a bad idea. The men seated in the corner were drinking and laughing. She saw too many tankards, the laughs were a little too loud, but the smell of the food made the hunger pains in her stomach even worse. She saw the swords resting against the wall, and the colours of the tabards they were wiping their greasy hands on. They were mercenaries, warriors for hire, one of the several groups roaming the roads of Olmar. The only thing that made them different from the bandits was the letters of right they carried.

She waited until the tired-looking barmaid brought another tray of beer and meat to their table, and slipped up when the men were distracted and making awful suggestions to the woman, who kept a stiff smile on her lips. Oleander knew Delphine, and felt bad for her. The barmaid was kind to the girl when she could, sneaking her some leftovers sometimes, when the innkeeper was busy elsewhere. It made her feel a little better about what she was about to do. Stealing from nice people always made her feel sad, even though she had to.

Oleander plucked a purse that was left momentarily unattended from the table, quickly slipping it inside her tunic. As soon as Delphine stood back up, Oleander scooted in underneath the arm of a staggering woodsman, using his large belly as cover while she made her way back to the door. She didn't much enjoy going back out into the cold, but she knew it was too risky to stick around when the owner of the purse found himself coins short.

The cool air make her cheeks prickle after leaving the warm inn. At times like these, they kept the fires going as much as possible. Her feet left small prints in the powdery snow as she ran around the corner of the building, hiding behind a rainwater barrel that had thin fingers of frost across the surface. It rarely snowed in Olmar, but those winters were the worst. Those were the winters that killed girls who didn’t have a home.

She fished the purse out of her dirty tunic, and upended the contents into her cupped hand. A smile spread across her face. The mercenaries must’ve been paid recently. There were more silver marks than copper pennies in the small pile. She began to count them, biting her lip at the thought of how much food this would get her. Maybe she could even pay someone to let her sleep inside for a week or two?

A strong hand grabbed her long, red hair, and slammed her against the wall. The coins fell from her hands into the dirt by their feet.

"What did I say, Trask? I said to you, there was a waif traipsing around with sticky paws." One of the men with stubble on his chin spat on the ground. To him, children like Oleander rated lower than wild dogs.

"No! These are mine. Someone gave them to me!" She scratched at the hand that pulled her hair. If only she had shorter hair, she might have been able to escape.

"Yeah, who'd give good silver to a rotten rat like you?" The man that held her leaned in close. The scars on his arms and face told the story of a life of bad decisions. He was ready to hit her, his fist so much larger than hers.

"It was an elven prince! He said he was going to come for me, and take me back to his castle!" Oleander yelled, and kicked the man called Trask in the shin. He swore, and returned a slap hard enough to make stars appear well before sundown.

A couple of the mercenaries burst out into laughter, which only served to anger the man holding her even further.

"You filthy little thief. I'm going to make sure you remember this day," the man pushed the scrawny, redheaded girl into the arms of his friend. "Hold her!"

The man started to pull off his belt.

"Hey, isn't she a little too young for that?" Said one of the others, but the look in his eyes told another story.

"Yeah, but she's old enough to be taught a lesson," he growled, and brought the belt down on Oleander's back with a crack. It would take more than one welt on that childlike back to quell his anger.

She tried to shut her eyes and heart against the pain, but a part of her still hoped that someone would save her.

Please? Is there anyone out there who can take me away from all this?

The noise in the tavern was not quite loud enough to drown out their words, but certainly enough to provide the certain kind of privacy only found at a public place. The Port in the Storm was the kind of place sailors went to make sure they would be able to last their next voyage without hard drinks. Most patrons drank like they were on a mission, and they sang like they had no shame.

To the Northmen, this felt right at home. Put some blonde beards on the locals, and this could just as easily have been the warrior’s longhouse in Strom. The pale blonde elf that shared their table, however, stared at the scene with something akin to mystification, or horror.

“What is that man doing?” She asked, one hand covering her mouth, and the other pointing into the mess. Her hood was back up, covering her ears and distinctive features. As far as they could tell, aside from wenches bringing the beer and rum, she was the only woman here. Definitely the only female customer.

“He’s dancing,” Stann watched the show with a wide grin. He could see this going wrong in any number of ways.

“That’s not dancing. That’s convulsing.” The elf shook her head a little, and pulled the hood down further.

"Introductions, then. I'm Kellen Winterheart. You've already met my dear cousin Stann." The rune seeker spoke with a low rumble, despite the fact that none would be able to hear them even a few paces from their table.

"I'm spoken to as Alisan," the elf inclined her head, speaking slowly to keep her accent manageable. While she clearly knew the Trade language of the human lands, she seemed out of practice.

"Now, please tell us about what you were doing?" Kellen leaned in a little closer. They had run into her outside a warehouse where their friends had seen some upsetting signs of sentient trafficking. During their brief exchange, it had become apparent that they were investigating the same thing, and it would only make sense to compare notes.

"The group I work with had suspicions about a trade operation out of Ral Sona, and after we found out that there had been Albander merchants involved we made sure that I would be part of the siria group headed here to perform during your festival." Alisan kept her hands folded on the table while she spoke, maybe as a sign of trust.

"Why the secrecy?" Stann asked, waving down a serving wench, holding up three fingers and pointing at their table. At the elf’s rapid shaking of her head, he held up four fingers instead.

"Something like this — this operation — couldn't have been going on if they weren't careful. Careful people are often watchful as well. No need to give them any advance warnings. A single elf travelling to a human city could only mean a few things, after all."

"An outcast, an adventurer," Kellen gave the elf a calculating look. "Or a spy."

"I don't report to the Ruling Caste," Alisan dismissed the speculation. "The people I work with have gradually become aware of the troubled situation inside Serecea - Sorun - and have tried to gather as much knowledge as possible. We were hoping I could find out more by approaching the matter from this end."

"We know of at least three people involved in the Alband side of the smuggling operation. Two local merchants we're currently tracking down, and the captain of a Marsander ship. They were loading his vessel around noon today." Stann tapped the table with a finger as if counting the people he was talking about.

"If we're in luck, the ship is still moored and we can ask the captain some questions," Kellen nodded. Most of what they had was merely speculations, but from what Oleander and… Jaden had said, the captain seemed to be at least partially under duress and might reveal something if pressed.

"Fortune has forgotten us. There was some commotion a distance from the storage house I've been watching, and suddenly the labourers were pulled out. I saw a single hooded man enter once everyone was away. He left a while later. I was about to see if I could get inside to look around, but I was overcome by a strong... uh, halean? I was afraid for my future." The elf tried to find the right word, but instead finished her explanation a little clumsily.

"What does that have to do with the captain?" Stann asked, but he was already starting to see where it was leading.

"Whatever had happened inside that place, frightened the captain and his crew as much as it had me. They raised anchor and left on the sunfall tides." Alisan turned her hands palms up on the table, as if offering something the two men needed to hear, but not necessarily had wanted.

"We can still ask around about the captain and his ship. There are many things we can find out. Also, we should be able to poke around inside that storage house now, especially with everyone gone," Stann looked at his cousin. It was one of the things they had intended to do anyway.

"I wonder about that man you saw entering the building, Alisan. We might want to start there. The harbourmaster's office will still be here tomorrow, but anything - and anyone - in that warehouse might not." Kellen concluded ominously, then sat up straighter and looked around. “But, where is our beer?”

Both cousins turned around in their chairs and pantomimed their lack of beer at the barkeep, who just glared at his serving wenches, and motioned at Kellen to come pick up their tankards himself.

While the large rune seeker was pushing his way through a half-hearted brawl between two shiphands, Stann ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and favoured their new elven friend with a wide grin. She returned a guarded frown, leaning back a bit.

"What were you doing browsing Northern steel when you were supposed to be snooping around here?" The warrior asked suavely.

"While I don't really have to explain myself to you, out of respect for this... budding alliance, I will.” Alisan looked a little uncomfortable with the way Stann was giving her his attention, but continued speaking in a more confident voice. “I didn't know where to look when I first got here. I spent most of my time speaking with various travelling merchants, hoping that one of them would have noticed a large shipment coming out of Ser- Sorun."

"That makes sense."

"Also, spending too much time down here would mean risking being accosted by strange, burly men." The elf raised an eyebrow at him.

"Point taken. Sorry if we scared you." Stann rubbed the back of his neck.

"I wasn't scared. I can take care of myself," the elven features looked even more attractive when annoyed. "I was just taken aback by your smell."

"My manly aroma overwhelmed you? It's been known to happen." Stann looked pleased with himself.

"I'm telling you to take a bath, perot," Alisan said with eyes narrowing.

"Will you join me in the tub?" The Northern warrior replied, teasing more than actually asking.

"She's going to cut you, cousin. Either with words, or with that knife she's keeping up her sleeve," Kellen informed as he returned to the table with their beer.

The sun was setting as Jaden and Mirena walked back to the craftsmen’s district with the sun at their backs. Jaden kept looking at her shadow, its shape and movements so unfamiliar to what she was used to.

It had been a long discussion with this nobleman, Arim, who to his credit had known quite a bit about the trading business but admitted that there were many things that were simply beyond his ken; especially the more mundane goods. His family had mainly dealt in luxury goods, the more glamorous side of the merchant’s life. While he said they had recently focused more on the timber industry, most of what he had learned while growing up was of their grandfather’s exploits in moving around expensive things like Kasman silk, Etrian tea, Sorunese songwood, and Marsander porcelain. During that time, he said, the family had been busy putting their fingers in all kinds of pies, which eventually led to enough losses that they withdrew from that scene. The recent development had mostly been his brother’s initiative.

Mirena had shown some insight in the luxury trade as well, and commenting that during the periods of war the trade with Marsantias ceased due to them technically being part of the empire, which created a shortage of fine porcelain. That caused the rich to turn their eyes on the exquisitely carved wood from Sorun. For a brief moment during and after the war, the elven country gained special recognition in high society. Mirena spoke of how her mother still kept a set of elven wooden dinnerware she had brought along as a part of her dowry. During that time after the war, the world experienced a stint of obsession with many things elven, and several enterprising merchants began to import all kinds of “exotic elven goods” from Sorun. Though, it would be more than a hundred years later before something similar happened again, when the highly sought after songwood began to appear on the market.

It had grown late, however, and Arim had some morning appointments. He had bid them both goodbye after walking them to the door himself, and reminded Mirena that unless she had changed her mind, she was still welcome tomorrow like they had originally planned. The knight had seemed happy to accept the invitation all over again, though, and there was a brief moment when they had just looked at each other for a while. Jaden had felt like she was intruding on something.

“So, what did you think?” Mirena asked, as they passed a small plaza where some lingering festivities still went on. The Founding festival carried on for two or three days, depending on where you were. Etria and the other old imperial countries made more of a thing out of it, of course. The Albander mostly took the celebration as an excuse to drink inappropriately and forget some of their national obsession with good manners for a night or two.

“About what? Arim?” Jaden blinked a few times, looking up from the flagstones.

“Of course. I felt he was a very gracious host, especially under the circumstances of our surprise visit this late,” Mirena glanced back over her shoulder a little. They were far away from the aristocrats’ district, but maybe her eyes saw something Jaden’s didn’t.

“I guess. I mean, he was nice and polite.” Jaden had also been grateful of how the nobleman hadn’t stared at her. After their introduction he only looked at her when they were talking, and then he kept eye contact. Well, maybe he had snuck a few glances, but he had been subtle about it, unlike Jaden’s friends. “It was good to find someone who knew a little about the merchant trade. Locally, that is.”

“He was very good with his servants, too. That’s a giveaway. ‘Know a person by how they treat their employees’.” Mirena might not have a good relationship with her father, but he had taught her several valuable lessons. The knight got a rare mischievous glimpse in her eyes. “It doesn’t hurt that he is quite handsome, as well.”

“Uh… Rena? Are you having a girl-talk with me?” The mystic looked awkward, tugging at her sleeves. Mirena hadn’t spoken with her like this before. They had shared things with each other, of course, but not in this way. “You promised you would treat me like who I am, not what I look like, remember?”

“I… I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, Jaden. I haven’t forgotten who you are, nor will I.” Mirena smiled apologetically, trying to see the man inside the woman walking next to her. It was very hard.

By the time they had returned to the Old Hog, the sky was mostly dark. The common room was filled halfway with regulars, mostly Albander and dwarven workers from the guilds. Luckily, the inn was built by a dwarf with visions of eternity in mind, so the walls and ceiling were sturdy enough that little noise from the drinking made its way into the rooms where guests would sleep.

“Good night, Jaden. I’m going to see if Arim can tell us anything more when I meet him again tomorrow.” Mirena had asked some questions regarding cross-border trade and routes that the nobleman hadn’t been able to answer, but promised to make some inquiries during his meetings next morning. “Also, he said that his scribe was busy looking through the family’s old books for anything they might have on imports out of Sorun.”

“Okay. Good night, Rena,” Jaden said as she opened her door. The two beds in there made her pause a little. There had been no more room at the Old Hog, nor anywhere else. She would be sharing with Stann tonight, like she had many times before. But tonight would be different. “Oh, and I feel he was a good person.”

“I did, too. You’re more than welcome to come with me again tomorrow. Arim did say I could bring friends if I wanted to,” Mirena said with a big, beautiful smile.

“I’ll think about it,” the mystic mumbled evasively, and went inside.

Her bed was strewn with clothes, both her old ones, and some of the new Mirena had offered her. With a sigh, Jaden began to straighten and fold the borrowed blouses and skirts, things she would never wear, and set them aside on a chair. The repetitive task made her mind wander. Representatives from Talraman coming to Farcrest at the same time as another group of mystics was involved in the smuggling of magical creatures — creatures that could normally be subject of the mystic pact. Was this a coincidence, or were there connections beyond what she could see? Beyond what she wanted to see?

The Lacunai were not mercenaries. They were much too proud in their strength and traditions to stoop to that. But there were always black sheep in any flock. Throughout the years, some mystics had been disruptive to the point where they had been banished from the mountain. Others had simply left, gone rogue. However, the behir-mystic had been very strong. More than strong enough to qualify as a protector. Even someone as removed from the politics of Talraman as Jaden would’ve heard about it, if someone of the blue-streaked woman’s power had been forcefully sent away.

If there was a connection between the two groups of mystics in Farcrest, it meant that something had taken a truly bad turn for the worse back home. Even more troubling was the possibility that her sister might be involved in it.

Jaden put down a blue skirt, brushing the soft fabric with her hands. Lilya would never be part of something like that. Her sister was many things: hard, competitive, unforgiving, and even petty at times. But she was never cruel. Despite what Lilya’s drift may have changed inside of her, Jaden could not imagine that her sister would willingly torture or maim sentient creatures. The small doubt was nauseating however. She had to find out the truth.

The black-haired mystic stood up with a resolute expression, and grabbed her old cloak.

When Stann put down his second tankard, it was dusky enough outside that they could sneak around without being spotted immediately by anyone happening upon them by the large storage houses. Despite his urgings, the elf Alisan had declined partaking in the cheap beer. That only meant more for him and Kellen, however.

“I’d say it’s about time now,” the warrior said out loud after taking a look at the sky through the window. It would be a while yet before the stars came out, but the light that trickled over the horizon would still be enough for them to see by.

Kellen brought up the rear, equal part of allowing the lady to go first, and to stop and giving the rest of the room a glare to dissuade anyone trying to follow them with less than honourable intentions in mind. Neither the rune seeker, nor his cousin, was going down this road for the first time. They knew what sort of things could happen in a harbour after sunset. Neither of them feared the fight that could happen. The parting intimidation was for the others’ benefit. Anyone picking a fight with the Winterhearts would have to be prepared to spend the rest of the night looking for their teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, Kellen saw two rough-looking men sit back down, one of them shaking his head slightly.

The waterside district wasn’t as much deserted during the evening, as it was ignoring everyone. What happened in the harbour after dark, was apparently going to stay in the harbour after dark. They saw some other people going about some business, but no one challenged them as they approached warehouse where they had first spotted Alisan hiding nearby.

The wagon-sized doors were chained shut with a padlock. Stann gave the chain a firm tug, causing a jingling that felt too loud.

“I can probably cut the chain, but it’ll take a while and it will wake up the entire city,” he muttered. The padlock looked dwarfmade. It would likely be easier to break down the wooden walls.

“It was open when I was here earlier. I had intended to slip in during the day,” Alisan shrugged, when they turned to her.

“I take it you don’t have any… specialised skills, in situations like these?” The rune seeker gave the elf a speculative look.

“I’m neither a magician, nor a spy of the Videre.” She crossed her arms. “I offer my apologies should that disappoint you.”

“Now I wish we had brought Red along. She would have had the lock off with just a tap of her finger. Then she probably would’ve stolen the lock. It looks expensive.” Stann turned the padlock in his hands.

“Loud is out of the question, subtle is not an option. Let’s go with option number three, then.” Kellen dipped into one of his belt-pouches.

“What is he talking about?” Alisan asked the warrior, as they stepped aside to let the rune seeker take a closer look at the door.

“Option three is always the same. Power,” Stann nodded as his cousin after taking one final look around.

Kellen grasped the rune stone in his hand firmly, and touched the hinges of one of the big door by one side. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but eventually the wood began to discolour and expand, warping. Water trickled down the wall. He switched hands, and suddenly there was a soft crack coming from inside the wood. The water had frozen solid, splitting the soaked planks. With a tug, the hinges pulled clear of the wall, allowing the entire section to swing open enough for them to get inside. It was not subtle. Anyone would notice the damage the next day. But it wasn’t loud either. It was option three.

The front area of the warehouse was more or less what they expected. It was a large, mostly empty area with signs of recently having housed several crates, large pots and boxes. But their friends had spoken about an inner section, so they headed further inside. No light from the outside reached especially far inside, making the warehouse almost pitch black beyond the first dozen paces or so.

“I can’t see my own hand in front of me,” Stann whispered, then bit back a curse as he bumped his foot into something.

“I can only make out some parts, but further inside is almost complete darkness for me as well,” Alisan replied. Her elven eyes were much keener in poor lighting, but in utter darkness she was as blind as any human. “Please remain where you are.”

There were some soft rustling noises coming from her direction, followed by a muted humming. Suddenly, a soft light emanated from a small glass globe in her hand. It was barely enough to read by, not even as strong as a single lit candle, but where was once only darkness, the outlines of the warehouse interior appeared. By the light of Alisan’s moonstone, they explored further inside. It felt a little surreal, with no sound other than their footsteps echoing, and their own breathing.

The inner section was maybe half as big as the front part of the warehouse, but it was full of covered cages of various sizes. Stann approached the closest one, and lifted the burlap to look inside.

“Bring the light a bit closer,” he whispered to the elf.

When they gathered by the cage, they saw that a fine, grey-white ash formed an irregular pile on the floor. Going from cage to cage, they saw the same in every one they checked.

“Something terrible happened here,” Alisan said with a tremble in her voice.

Jaden left the big townhouse with mixed feelings. She was both relieved that the convocation was still going on, although most had already left. She had managed to find a functionary who was willing to tell her where the Talraman envoys were staying, in exchange for nothing but a smile. Jaden wasn’t sure how she felt about… influencing someone like that, but she suspected that the convocation staff was not allowed to release this kind of information to just anyone who asked. It was a small price to pay, all things considered. If kindness could get her what force most certainly would not, was it such a bad thing? The young man working the late shift and seeing to the needs of the gathered magicians followed Jaden to the door, and watched her leave. A quick glance back confirmed Jaden’s suspicion that the leggings might have been a bad idea.

The Talraman group was housed at an inn not that far away, as it turned out. It was also a much, much nicer place than the Old Hog. While walking up to it along the street, Jaden glimpsed a figure wearing a hooded cloak — a fashion item that seemed to be common these nights — leave the inn and head down a smaller side street. Maybe it was a breeze or the shadows, but Jaden thought that it looked like something bulky was underneath that cloak.

Upon entering, she was not met by a rowdy common room, but instead a lobby. An older man looked up from a book, and smiled.

“Welcome back, mistress Tarasov. I apologise for not noticing you leave. This discourse in Kasmantur’s twin cities history is quite gripping.” He put the book down after carefully adding a bookmark.

“I’m afraid I’m not Lilya, keeper. I’m her br- sister, Jaden,” the black-haired mystic didn’t know what room her sister had been given, and roaming around trying doors at random in a place like this, was a good way to get arrested. The old man looked surprised, but then studied her closer.

“So I see. I could’ve sworn that you were her.” The keeper laughed a little. It was a kind laugh. “I suppose all elves look the same, eh?”

“I’m not an-“

“Anyway, you’ll find your sister in room 2C. If you need anything, just let me know,” the old man smiled again, and adjusted his spectacles as he opened the book once more.

“Thank you,” Jaden mumbled, as she took to the stairs. This was getting ridiculous. They didn’t look that much alike! Lilya had a bit shorter hair, and was elegant and strong, after all.

When she knocked on the door down the hall, it took a while before someone answered. Lilya opened wearing only a simple tunic that showed a lot of her legs, and held a sword in its scabbard, with the attached belt dangling. From this distance Jaden knew that her sister would be able to draw the sword and behead someone in one smooth motion. She had been trained in the same technique herself. Upon seeing who it was outside her room at this hour, Lilya lowered the weapon a bit and glared.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want?" Lilya demanded, shifting her weight from defending against someone trying to push inside, to being able to take the fight into the corridor if need be.

"I want to talk, Lil. Can I come in?" Jaden almost pleaded, looking nervously at the sword. It was a protector’s blade. Simple and unenchanted.

"This morning you dressed like a ragpicker, now you look like a Marsander pirate. If you're having a breakdown, do it in private." Her tone as acerbic as she looked annoyed.

"Please, Lil."

"Fine. Get in before anyone sees you." Lilya stepped to the side and waved her brother inside.

The room was significantly larger than the one Jaden shared at the Old Hog. It was probably as large as all her friends’ rooms put together. There was even a small sitting area and a writing desk, aside from a large and comfortable-looking bed. Jaden folded her cloak over a chair, and sat down in the small couch. For a moment they just looked at each other, Lilya tapping her fingers against her arms.

"You look like mother, if she had dark hair," she finally said, sitting down opposite of Jaden on the second chair. Her legs were slightly apart. A fighter’s position that would allow her to spring to her feet quickly.

"Well, I guess that's natural..." Jaden touched her hair. Ever since Redwall, it had been incredibly glossy, as if she had put oil in it.

"Mostly I meant the spirit influence. Both her and yours are strangers, whereas father’s and mine are from Aden. You've got that almost unreal sense about you." Lilya’s hard, slightly reptilian eyes, stared intently at Jaden.

"Why are you using Mystics' sight right now, Lil?"

"I can't..." Lilya stopped for a moment. Something flashed across her face. "You haven't heard? No, of course not. You've been away for over a year."

"Heard what?" Jaden asked, suddenly reminded about how the world kept moving ever since she had left home. How many things had happened during this time? How many things had she missed?

"I can't see the normal world very well anymore. When the drift reached my eyes, they partially... calcified or something." Lilya clenched her jaw a bit, but didn’t look away. She didn’t even blink. Jaden realised that she hadn’t seen Lilya blink for a long time.

"... you're blind?!" She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"Of course not! I can still see the magical world, and my basilisk has excellent hearing and sense of touch. I function just fine," Lilya almost growled. Whatever her words, it was understandably a sore subject for her.

"Oh, Lil. I didn't know," Jaden leaned in to hug her sister. She hadn’t felt this close with Lilya for many years. The realisation that she wasn’t the only one who had to struggle with the changes the Lacunai spirit-bond caused made her feel less alone. There were other people who had to reassess who they were, and how their lives would go on.

"There you go with that again. By the mountain, you're a weakling. If I can overcome this and grow stronger from it, at least try to do the same. You're not that different." Lilya didn’t return the hug, but she also made no effort to push her brother away.

"Do I look the same?" Jaden leaned back, gesturing at herself.

"You do to me."

They talked for a bit longer, neither truly knowing what to say. Lilya didn’t do smalltalk, and Jaden struggled with her embarrassment. Finally, Jaden spoke about her situation, and the unnatural speed of her drift. They had only briefly touched upon it when they had spoken at the convocation.

"Alright. I'll play. What do you know about your spirit?" Lilya leaned forward, ready to listen to whatever her younger brother would say.

"Not that much. She's a demon, from the Myriad Nether." Jaden shrugged a little, forgetting how it made her jiggle.

"Do you in fact know that, or is this just something you assume?"

"I..." Jaden paused. It was what everyone had said, after all. Also, the demon of Redwall had most definitely been a denizen of the Nether realms, and she was almost identical to her manifested form. "I'm pretty sure."

"What else?"

"She's got wings, empathic fortification, powerful fire summoning." Jaden couldn’t help but being a little proud. Despite everything, she couldn’t complain about the abilities her spirit brought along.

"Mobility, ranged attacks, and conditional empowerment? I've heard worse. But what else about the spirit, not your manifested abilities." Lilya continued relentlessly. She had always been like this. Digging, prying. She went after everything with a single-minded intensity. Now, she was hunting truth.

"I met someone else very much like her, a demon in a village. She spoke of two demon races, I think? The..." Jaden tried to recall.

Drigorii

"The Drigorii, and the Lectii?" She finished, a little lamely. Lilya seemed like she hadn’t noticed the pause.

"I've heard about those. There are houses and societies in the Nethers, just like everywhere else. From what I remember of the otherworld lectures, the House of Lectus are corrupters and hedonists. Bringing out the absolute worst in the people they influence. The House of Drigorius is a more secretive group. Little is known, and less is spoken. Something about how they keep watch over time or fate, or something like that. Which one was your spirit?" Lilya rubbed a finger along her brow, near the hairline. There was a faint golden-green discoloration of the skin.

"Drigorii, according to the other demon." Jaden felt like sighing with relief. At least that meant she was one step further away from the role their father had intended for her.

"I don't know anything else about them. If you had asked me about the Sabakii, however..." Lilya snorted. Even Jaden had heard stories about the bloodragers, the berserkers of Sabakus. Those were the first group of demonic visitors that were mentioned in the citadel’s records. They always left a single survivor, as if the terror was as delicious as the blood they spilled.

"Why did the council send the Lord Protector to the convocation?" Jaden tried to change the subject. Lilya apparently didn’t know anything else about the Drigorii, and talking more about the denizens of the Myriad Nether would just give Jaden nightmares.

"Jay, I can't tell you that. Even if it's not been made official - mostly due to father's influence - you've technically gone rogue.” Lilya snorted again, as close as she got to a laugh right now. “Don't expect to see a strike group of mageslayers any time soon, though. You don't rate that high a priority. I'd say you're slightly above repainting the citadel."

"Thanks,” Jaden rolled her eyes.

"But below adding new gravel to the old mountain path," Lilya continued.

"I get it. Why did Master Hetagon pick you to accompany him, though?" That was the curious part. While Lilya was no doubt a strong magician, she couldn’t have been a protector for more than one and a half years. There had to have been better candidates for this assignment.

"Aside from the fact that I'm a powerful basilisk and have three complimentary pacts?" Lilya smirked a bit. On top of all her shining merits, you would not find humility.

"You have three already?" Jaden had been so proud when she had evened the score before leaving Talraman. Maybe some of that competitiveness ran in the family?

"You're falling behind. Aside from that? Like you, I was the best in my class at siphoning techniques. Put either of us in a large group of magicians and we can cause all kinds of havoc if we need to."

It was true. Aside from their maxim of strength, the Tarasov line had produced some exceptionally skilled thread manipulators during the last couple of generations. Their aunt Sabel even held the classes these days.

"They sent the Lord Protector, and one of our best siphons, into a convocation? You were expecting trouble. The council was ready to throw their weight around." Jaden stated the facts as she saw them.

"I can't comment on that, Jay." Lilya leaned back, and crossed her arms.

"What's happening back home, Lil?"

"Come back with us and find out." She made the same offer again, as she had made when they met at the convocation. Come back home.

"I... I can't. Not like this. I have to find a way to undo all this." Jaden gestured at what she had become.

"Fool errand. Remember, you've only got until midwinter. Then I'm getting you. And you don't want to get got like that, believe you me." Lilya raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Did the council send anyone else than you and the Lord Protector?" Time to change the subject again.

Lilya was silent for a while, looking at Jaden with narrowed eyes. Did those eyes see something she couldn’t? After all, you couldn’t use your mystics’ sight on yourself.

"No, why?" Came the answer after a heartbeat too long.

Jaden hesitated a moment. But this was her sister. She had to put her trust in her sister, just like she had to trust her friends. The alternative was only tears.

"I met two of them down by the harbour. They were working for some Albander smugglers."

"That's preposterous. We Lacunai don't sell ourselves like mere sorcerers." Lilya sneered.

"I had to fight a void elemental and a behir. Sound familiar to you?" Jaden watched her sister carefully.

"... yes. Was the behir a blue-streaked woman an inch taller than us?"

"That's her. Do we know her?" The face appeared before her inner eye again, the shock and sense of utter loss. The memory almost made her nauseous, but what if that was the only way?

"I was in the same class as her. Veranna..." Lilya trailed off, looking to the side. She was tapping her lips, a habit of hers when she was considering something.

"The name sounds familiar."

"Leave that to me, Jay. I'll look into it when I get back. You just do what you need to do, and hurry up about it. You've got less than half a year," she reminded her brother.

"Oh, and Lil? There's a nethermancer in Farcrest. A horribly strong one. He can destroy spirits, I think." Whether or not it was the solution to Jaden’s problems, she had to make sure the knowledge reached Talraman.

"... Destroy them?" Lilya’s eyes went a little wider. Mystics died. That was a fact of life. That just meant that the spirits were released and returned to wherever they came from. But something that could kill spirits? That was something new. That was something terrifying.

"He had something called the spiritbreaker curse. Someone out there has devised a weapon specifically against us." That had to mean something, but what? Jaden bit her lip.

"I'll bring this to Master Hetagon first thing in the morning. Now, get out. I need my sleep." Lilya stood back up, and made shooing gestures at her brother.

"Okay. It... it was nice seeing you again, Lil. Despite everything." Jaden said as she was ushered to the door.

"Get me my sword back, and maybe I'll return the sentiment. Out of my room, Jay." She put a hand on Jaden’s back and pushed her out into the corridor. A second later came the cloak thrown into Jaden’s arms.

"Good night, Lil." She said, clutching the cloak in her hands.

The door slammed shut.

Morning felt like it came a little too early. When Jaden had got back to the Old Hog last night, Stann was already fast asleep in his bed. By his snoring, she guessed the warrior had been drinking a bit. Nevertheless, she felt incredibly exposed when changing out of her clothes. Her heart had almost stopped when the big man had rolled over on his side in his sleep, but him facing away from her — even while sleeping — had made her feel a little better.

When the early sun brushed Jaden’s face, she felt like she hadn’t slept more than a few moments, but she quietly got up anyway. She wasn’t going to go through the awkwardness of dressing together with Stann. Not that she suspected he would try anything. The only thing that would be tried was their nature of their friendship, something that was already uncertain at this point. No, Jaden did what she did best — ran away from her problems, if only for a little while. Gathering up her clothes, she snuck out and headed to the washing room.

There was only a single pail of unheated water available, but it didn’t feel that bad when she used it to clean herself. This made Jaden sit back on her haunches and think for a moment. Since this was summer, it hadn’t been an issue, but she couldn’t remember having felt especially warm or cold since Redwall. Boiling water, or cool, didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Those thoughts took up the rest of her time before she headed back to her room. When she passed the common room on the way, she saw that both the rest of the men had gotten up, and sat stirring their breakfast porridge with sleepy expressions.

Safe back inside her room, she was just about to look over her options for the day when the door opened behind her. Oleander stood there with a scowl on her face.

"Where were you tonight? I knocked on your door but you didn't answer, and you weren't there when I went inside," the redhead demanded. Luckily it seemed like Stann hadn’t made it back by that time either, or Oleander’s reaction would probably have been louder.

"I went to see my sister. There were things I wanted to talk to her about." Jaden sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to sit on any clothes by mistake.

"Oh. Actually, now that you mention it, we saw your sister in the merchant district, standing outside some sort of tavern like she was guarding it or something. A bunch of robed people exited a bit later." Oleander lost some of her steam as she described what she had seen.

"Robed? What did they look like?" The mystic wondered.

"I don't know. Etrian, maybe?"

"Were they sorcerers?" Jaden tried to be more specific.

"How would I know?" Oleander spread her hands and shrugged.

"Uh, did they look especially smug?"

"I guess? Doesn't that describe all wizards?" The redhead pointed out.

"Fair enough"

Jaden sat and looked at her friend for a bit, who seemed every bit as uncomfortable as Jaden felt. She couldn’t help but think that this wouldn’t have been as awkward if she hadn’t kissed Oleander back in the waterfront district. Even if it had just been a trick to fool their pursuers, it had changed something in their relationship.

"Why did you want to see me, Ollie?" Jaden asked, softly. Their friendship meant so much to her, and everything she had done had put great cracks in it. Hopefully there would be a way to mend this before it broke down completely.

"What?" Oleander shook her head a little. She had been staring.

"You said you went to my room?" Jaden prompted.

"I... uhm... I wanted to say that I'm still angry with you."

"Oh. Do you... still want to talk?" The mystic asked, offering rather.

"About what?" Oleander blinked, shifting her weight from one foot to another. After fidgeting for a bit, she finally sat down next to Jaden. Not right next to her, though. There was enough space for someone else to squeeze in between them.

"About anything you want. It's not like I have anything to hide anymore." It was Jaden’s turn to shrug a little. If she did it carefully enough, she wouldn’t cause things to wobble.

"I don't know, Jay. It's... it's like you're not the same person anymore."

"But I am! I'm still that guy you ran into in Tarad," Jaden insisted. It was important that Oleander understood this.

"No you're not. You've changed, Jay, but you can't see it."

"I see it every time I look in the mirror, Ollie!"

"Not like that. You act different, you move different. You even smell... are you wearing perfume?" The redhead tilted her head a bit, and leaned closer.

"What? No!" Jaden had just washed up. It had been regular soap, and nothing else.

"It's like... one day you were my somewhat strange and mysterious friend, and the next you're replaced by this... this girl who claims she's him. But you're not." Oleander rocked back a bit, staring at the ceiling. She released a long sigh.

"I'm still me, Ollie. I promise. I want to return to the person I was, but I don't know how." Jaden felt something stinging in her eyes. She swallowed and tried to keep the tears back. Sometimes the sheer frustration of this whole situation became too much for her. Sometimes she just wanted to scream and punch something, but there never was anything to punch. It was always just her.

"So this is really about your mystic thing?" Oleander gave her a long look with those raincloud grey eyes.

"Yeah. We each have a... a spirit inside us. Everyone's got a different one. We're taught from childhood that this spirit represents who you are, but that's either a big lie, or something went wrong in my case."

"What do you mean, wrong?" Sudden concern made the redhead’s voice tremble.

"With time, we take on aspects of our spirit. Like, if you're bound to a dragon, you can get scales or horns,” Jaden explained, pointing at her head and arms while she talked.

"Or wings? Like that guy we saw at the consortium?"

"Convocation.” Jaden corrected her. “But, yeah, like Alam Hetagon."

"So, your spirit is... a girl?" Oleander sounded incredulous. She knew now that she had seen Jaden’s alternate form at least once before, but she had only seen it as a demon. Something to fear.

"No. Well, technically, yes. But it doesn't make any sense. If it followed the normal progression, I should be ... I don't know, getting red skin, or a tail." Jaden really hoped she wouldn’t drift into a tail. Permanent physical additions was common enough, but didn’t happen to every mystic. A tail would make normal clothing even harder to fit. She recalled the special design of Master Hetagon’s shirt. Maybe she should...?

"Your eyes have changed. They used to be brown." Oleander was looking into her eyes, having leaned in a bit closer. The gap between them didn’t seem as big anymore.

"There's that, yes. But 'girl' or 'boy' is not something we consider when choosing our spirits. Granted, many spirits are kind of hard to put a gender to, like my aunt's sea serpent spirit, but there has to have been cases in the past with a mystic getting a spirit with the opposite gender," the mystic mused aloud.

"But you've never heard about any mystics spontaneously changing into girls? Or boys, I suppose?" The redhead asked.

"Not that I've heard of, no. But that might've been kept secret. Gender is not an aspect of the drift." At least, not until now. Was Jaden’s situation something new, or was it something that had happened before? Something that the Lacunai already knew how to deal with, but then Jaden had run away and ruined that chance? The idea turned her stomach.

"Drift?"

"That's what we call our slow change." Jaden didn’t know when or where the word had originated. It was the only word she knew for what every Lacunai accepted as a fact of life.

"So why you? Why now?" Oleander asked the same question Jaden had asked herself so many times.

"It's been going on ever since I completed my spirit-quest. At first, I was upset because I thought I had picked the wrong spirit, a weak one. My family... we have a history of choosing strong spirits. But after my first few manifestations-"

"Your battle-form?"

"...eh, sure. After the first few times I changed into the spirit's form, I noticed that I had already begun to show signs of it. That's simply unheard of. Most mystics go years before showing signs. Lilya's almost two years older than I, and completed her quest at a younger age than most mystics - younger than I was when I did it. She's still only showing the earliest signs of the drift." Jaden felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her sister. She hadn’t known about Lilya’s eyes.

"What's usually the first things to change?"

"Eyes, hair and skin colour, things like that." It was almost always the eyes. The more spiritually minded mystics liked to believe it was because the eyes were the windows to the soul, and the spirit now shared that place.

"Like, getting golden eyes, and growing a tan?" Oleander tapped Jaden’s arm.

"You think that I've been showing my drift at the normal level, and that this," Jaden gestured at her strange body. "This is something else?"

"Do I look like a wizard to you? I don't know. But couldn't it mean something?" The redhead shrugged.

"I'm not sure, but you might be onto something." Jaden had known about the eyes turning a golden colour, but she had just assumed that the tan had been a natural part of being out in the sun more. Then again, she had two bonds that provided her with resistance to heat and fire. Maybe the sun wouldn’t burn her?

"This talk didn't turn out the way I thought it would," Oleander sighed.

"Eh?" Jaden was taken by surprise at the sudden change in the conversation.

"I imagined myself screaming more. Calling you names. Maybe pulling your hair," Oleander ticked things off on her fingers.

"Please don't."

"I'm still angry with you," the redhead made sure her friend understood this.

"I know," Jaden nodded.

"You're going to be paying for this for a long time."

"I know," Jaden repeated.

Oleander gave the mystic a long once-over, her gaze lingering at the most embarrassing places.

"What? What's up with that look?" The mystic squirmed a little.

"Have you changed ALL over?" Oleander couldn’t keep a straight face.

"Ollie! I'm not answering that!"

"Fine." The redhead sighed, and got up.

"Get out of my room. I need to get dressed." Jaden was still wearing parts of the same outfit as yesterday. While that was alright for traveling, she would rather have the chance to air the clothes a little.

"Alright already. Wait, is that my shirt?" Oleander paused, looking down at the blouses on the bed, rather than the folded clothes on the chair.

"What shirt?" Jaden tried to see what her friend was looking at, but saw only her own things.

"The yellow one! That's totally my shirt!" The redhead’s voice went up a little.

"What? No, I bought it yesterday with Mirena."

"You got one just like mine?"

"I liked how it looked on you," Jaden confessed, feeling more than a little silly for thinking so.

"Oh," Oleander blushed. "Well. Okay."

The entire group eventually found themselves around the breakfast table. Some had already finished their food, but that only allowed them to share with the others what their respective investigations had turned up. When putting the pieces together, the outline of a bigger picture began to take shape, and it seemed to point in the same direction.

“Then we are decided? We’ll travel to Sorun, meet up with this Alisan’s friends and see whether we can get to the bottom of whoever is providing the smugglers with their captive creatures.” Mirena looked around the table, noting some nods.

“Unlike normal, though, this is something we’ve decided to do for ourselves. Nobody asked us to come,” Stann pointed out. In most cases, they answered the call of someone seeking their aid.

“No, we were asked,” Jaden disagreed, recalling the sad voice of the hopeless dracone.

“This means there won’t be any reward waiting for us, though?” Oleander sighed a little, more dramatically, than emphatically.

“That remains to be seen. That spicy elven woman seems to belong to some sort of influential organisation over there. What we’re intending will probably go in line with their own agenda, so they might decide to show us some… gratitude,” Stann couldn’t keep a grin off his face at the end. Oleander rolled her eyes.

“Virtue is its own reward,” Mirena reminded her friends.

“Yeah, yeah… but coins are shinier,” the redhead sulked a little.