Please Do Not Feed the Wildlife
Remy didn’t wait around. He wished Ward luck and left without ceremony.‡
Ward waved goodbye. He recognized the pathway Remy followed. It indicated the direction to the Pale, but he personally felt no compulsion to travel it yet. I think I get to stick around a while, he told Rhea.
Rhea stared down at Ward’s fungus-infested corpse, her face somber.
“What do we do now?” Winstead asked. “Are we safe to leave the camp?”
“Let’s find out.” Marweg’s eyes glazed over in concentration. A minute later, a shimmering swirl of multicolored ribbon strands burst out of nowhere. They curled like a flock of birds, then gradually coagulated into one pulsing and twitching entity, intent on Marweg, that twirled with innocent query.
“Hello, Spindlerieve,” Marweg said softly, absentmindedly running his fingers along a few stray ribbons. “Help me out here, will you?”
With a gesture understood by both, Spindlerieve gathered and sprung up over the wall of water, turning a ring over all of them in sparkling threads of color, then swept back down to Marweg and laid one tendril on his arm.
Marweg nodded. “There’s no mushrooms waiting outside the ring for us,” he relayed. We should be safe to leave. Actually, safe might be a bit of an overstatement, but there are no immediate threats.”
“Where are we going, though?” Rhea asked. “Do you have directions?”
Winstead lowered the wall of water, and Marweg’s steps squelched in the wet ground as he approached the raised roots of an alien mangrove. He grasped a section of root and focused.
“Good morning. Could you help me find some rotfire?” he asked the root.
“We don’t know this name,” it responded, confused. “What is it?”
Marweg frowned, thinking. “Well, it’s supposed to be a voracious burning, never goes out, devours leaves and root—”
“Burning…” the roots repeated. Marweg felt a very slight twitch in his fingers.
“Yes, burning, it consumes everything it touches. It may be held in check by the rapid growth of židek vines.”
“...consuming…”
A rictus of terror communicated itself to him as the roots spasmed in his hand. A sudden lurch pulled him off his feet, and he landed face-first in the boggy water.
He coughed and spluttered as he got to his feet. “No, no, thank you, it’s all right. I can handle it,” he protested, waving a hand to forestall assistance. But he was stunned into silence as he looked around. He didn’t recognize the ground, the roots weren’t the same shape, and Rhea and Winstead were nowhere to be seen.
Marweg turned accusingly to the roots. “Excuse me, but what did you do to me?”
“Rotfire consumes, we fear it,” the root whimpered back to him. The voice was the same, he felt sure. “We take away the threat, far away.”
“But I’m not a threat to you!” Marweg said indignantly.
The root did not respond.
Marweg looked around and saw nothing but trees, shrubs, and bog through the green filter of weak light. He swallowed hard. “Oh,” he murmured to himself, a slight catch in his throat. “Oh dear.”*
Rhea and Winstead blinked, but Marweg stubbornly failed to reappear.‡
“Where’d he go?” Rhea blurted. “Ward, can you see him?”
Nope, Ward answered. Should I go look?
“Please don’t,” Rhea protested. “We don’t need you any deader than you already are.”
Winstead gave her a strange look. “Rhea, what is going on?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Besides Marweg disappearing? I hope not. Why?”
Winstead shook her head. “It’s just that you’re talking to Ward, but all I hear is your side of the conversation. It’s weird.”
Rhea nodded. “I suppose. At least one of us can communicate with him. We need to find Marweg before he ends up like Ward.” She focused deeply and wove escapewith the wind to coax the forest to carry her message. Marweg, if you’re around here, please respond to me.††
No answer came. But as Rhea looked up, hoping to hear a response, she saw a trail of colored tendrils drifting away from their campsite. Her intuition leaped.
“Follow the threads!” She grabbed her belongings and motioned for Winstead to grab hers. They split Marweg and Ward’s belongings between their packs and Donkey and followed Spindlerieve.
Ward watched them go. I have to try something first, he communicated to Rhea, then I’ll come after you.
He looked down at the mushroom hotel his body had become. How did one possess a body? He’d never asked his guests before how they did it, what it felt like, or what was needed to start. And he had always been present to lend a hand. Without a host, or a key, it felt more akin to breaking and entering.
He steeled himself and broke through the metaphorical window, reaching inside the body and pulling his spirit up and through, contorting to fit the frame. As he settled into the body’s senses, a bleak realization filled his soul.
He would never use his body again. It felt sodden, mildewed, riddled with rot and weakened joints. The organs lay dead, unwilling to start. The musculature pulled ineffectually at the frame, which creaked ominously. The house was condemned and would soon collapse under its own weight.
Ward might have wept, but one needed tear ducts for that. He pulled himself out and gave a last forlorn look at his former home.
Goodbye, I guess, he thought miserably, then turned and followed behind.¶
Even at the best pace they could manage, Spindlerieve slowly widened the gap between them.
“It’s not fair,” Winstead complained, “It’s flying, and we’re trudging through swamp!”
“Just keep going,” Rhea said, through heaving breaths. “At least it’s high enough we can see it.”
Their shoes were soaked through to their feet, the uncertain footing constantly burdening their steps. Donkey scuttled through alongside them, splattering them with mud with its larger footsteps.
They had passed through a particularly dense knot of trees surrounded by bog water when Rhea froze. She held out a hand to stop Winstead, and together they prevented Donkey from scuttling on. She pointed a little to their left.
Winstead’s eyes grew wide. “What is that?” she whispered. Rhea shook her head.
A large brown snub-nosed lizard the size of a hippo lay flat on the edge of the bog, its tail trailing into the water, its body across half their route. If Rhea hadn’t pointed it out, Winstead might not have seen it at all. It looked like a raised bed of fungal growth atop a mound of mud. Translucent eggs covered its entire back like rows of bulbous boils. periodically, one would pop, and a hatchling crawled out, clambered across the body, and dropped into the swamp water. The lizard never stirred; only the slow rising and falling of its chest betrayed any movement. Its eyes were closed.
“What do you think?” Winstead asked. “Attack while it’s sleeping or sneak by?”
Rhea looked up. They could make a way around but would still have to cross uncomfortably near the lizard. “We can’t afford to take long. If we lose Spindlerieve, we might never find Marweg again.”
Winstead nodded. “Let me see how dangerous this thing is.” She quietly intoned a meditation that had come to her in the night.††
With a puff of dusty red mist the incantation formed an image of an old woman above the creature’s head, her despairing face staring out into the swamp.
“It’s killed people before,” Winstead muttered. “We should try to avoid it.”
They crept forward, Winstead in the lead. She was halfway past when her foot slipped, shooting out toward the creature’s face. She landed on her other foot with a heavy slap, and a large chunk of mud flew up to land with a splat on the lizard’s nose.
It snorted, stirring. Rhea gathered her legs to spring over its head across the narrow path. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself clearing it with grace.
She was not prepared for the squishiness of its back as her toe caught its side and sprawled her all over the exposed eggs. The air filled with wet popping noises, and Rhea felt the hatchlings squirm underneath her.
The lizard’s eyes opened wide. As Rhea tumbled off its back and into the mud, it turned to face her. It yawned, revealing three rows of jagged teeth.
“Rhea?” Winstead said unsteadily. “Run?”
“I think we lost it,” Rhea gasped.
Winstead didn’t reply, too winded to speak. She bent over, hands on her knees, trying to breathe. Sweat (and for Rhea, amniotic fluid) matted their hair against their flushed heads, their clothes plastered to their bodies with the humidity and the heat of the chase. But there before them gently floated Spindlerieve, and soon they followed, still breathing hard. Donkey trudged behind steadily, seemingly oblivious to the danger they had just escaped. They walked in silence, with a tacit understanding that the embarrassing incident would be left behind them.
Spindlerieve stopped, hovering in place, then abruptly bolted down and out of sight.
“Really?!” Rhea grimaced. She looked over at Winstead. “Let’s make another push, we can’t lose it n—”
A loud cry of relief cut Rhea’s reply short. They looked up to see Marweg approaching, Spindlerieve wrapped around him like a stream of colorful strands.
“There you are, I’m so glad to see you again—oh my, you look awful,” Marweg began.
Winstead brushed drying mud out of her hair, and Rhea wiped off more gunk and shook it off into the swamp.
“There’s nothing here that isn’t gross to wash in, and everything stinks,” Rhea said bluntly.
Marweg looked around. “Is Ward with you?”‡
Rhea listened. “No, he’s not.”
“That’s going to be a bit of a problem, then. I don’t know how to deal with this device of his, and without him, we can’t do what we’re here to do at all.”
“He said he’d catch up.” Rhea gestured to a knoll and sat down. “Let’s take a breather and see if he arrives soon.”
“Supposing he doesn’t?” Marweg asked.
“Then we move on anyway. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than necessary.”
They’d rested a while, staring into the middle distance, the women ignoring Marweg’s attempts at small talk, when Rhea suddenly turned her head. “Hey, Ward.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Marweg breathed in relief. “Are you okay, Ward?”
Mostly.
When a quick glance confirmed that no fungal corpses had followed along, Rhea relayed Ward’s answer.
“Well…good, I suppose.” Marweg fumbled for words, then latched onto the idea looming largest in his mind. “Ward, are you going to be able to guide us in how to use this device while you’re…dead?”
I could maybe borrow someone else’s hands for a bit. It's obvious to me how to use it, but I don’t know how well I can explain it to someone else…
“How hard would it be for me to do for you what you do when you host?” Rhea asked. “And no, I am not joining your cult.”
I’m not sure, but we could try hosting. Maybe when we get closer.
“We’ll keep that in pocket.” Rhea turned to Marweg. “How far do we have to go?”
“I’m not sure, but I could probably find out.” He walked over to another tree.
“Try not to disappear this time, all right?” Rhea called.
“I shall give my mind to it.” Marweg laid a hand on the bark of the trunk, specifically avoiding any roots. “In what direction is the fire that perpetually consumes the ever-growing plant that sustains it?” he asked.
After a short wait, it responded, “I’m sorry, I have only heard of such things. You will have to speak to my elder cousins.”
“That’s quite all right. Can you direct me to these cousins?”
A moment later, Marweg pulled his hand away. “Northeast is where we’re headed. Fortunately, we’ve been going more or less in the right direction.”
There were no paths, no trails, no roads, no indicators to follow that weren’t made by huge creatures ambling through. Marweg sent Spindlerieve ahead and up, searching for both the fire and a clear path, and the others followed.
For a while Spindlerieve reported a clear path. Then it disappeared into the foliage above.
After several minutes Marweg began to fidget and mutter anxiously. A few minutes more and the strings returned, fluttering down and laying a few strands upon Marweg’s shoulder. Marweg’s mind filled with images farther along their way: of trees that grew in girth and height, of ecosystems in the understory of the trees above the floor, of the canopy spread wide in the light of the green sun, and of colossal islands, floating in a network of vines and foliage high above the treetops. The distance was miles but might be made by nightfall.
With a final glancing touch, Spindlerieve disappeared in a swirl of light and color.
“That’s encouraging, at least,” Winstead said after Marweg had relayed the scout’s report.
“That’s not.” Rhea frowned. “Listen.”
Noises echoed from a more densely wooded area ahead of them. The trees were not scattered and stunted, but fully mature, deep-rooted, and strong. Shuffling, occasional shrill or guttural vocalizations, and loud sounds of eating broke from the space ahead.
“Sounds close,” Marweg noted. He summoned a nebbit, a small furry flying creature. Its wings were made of flickering eye membranes, and the fur on its back rippled and coursed in and out and side to side. At his quick command, it flew forward.
The nebbit soon returned, reporting the landscape ahead with the hair on its back bristling topographically. Marweg instructed it to show where the noises were coming from, and the hairs shifted again, introducing a cowlick.
“This is where we are, and here’s where the noise is,” Marweg said, tracing with his finger, “and so we should walk around it like this to keep well out of their way.” He indicated a traversable section to the side. “In the meantime,” he told the creature, “you keep watch and let us know if whatever is making the noise comes in our direction.”
The creature flapped its wings in assent and flew off.
“Shall we, then?” Marweg led the way.
About a third of the way around, they made out a wide clearing. On the far side several tall, winged scavengers tore at a carcass trapped in the tree roots.
“Let’s leave them to their dinner,” Marweg advised. “Avoid the tree roots; we don’t want any incidents. That poor unfortunate may have been trapped within the roots by accident, but we should assume everything is trying to kill us right now. I’ll see if I can get some direction and advice.” He placed a hand on the nearest tree. Rhea and Winstead gave joint sighs and settled down with Donkey to wait.
Marweg had never experienced such malice. The tree conveyed a series of morbid fantasies: to spear him with its branches, to rip the nutrients from his body, to break him apart with its roots.§
“Do you make these threats to all trees, or just me because I am made of meat?”††
Snags are for fire and rot.
“Perhaps, but I can evade both. In fact, I seek the rotfire, and I mean to capture it.”
Do not presume a right to the canopy. Plant yourself, and know your place.
Ten minutes had elapsed. Rhea and Winstead kept a suspicious watch.
“Rhea?” Winstead said suddenly. “Look.”
“At what?” Rhea craned her neck.
“Exactly.” Winstead pointed. “The trees are blocking our view of the clearing. I can’t see the scavengers now.”
Rhea turned a circle, reviewing their situation nervously.
“They’re shifting. I think they’re closing in.” Winstead shuddered.
Rhea walked to Marweg and poked him. “We need to move. I think the forest is actively closing in on us.”
“Ah. Well, yes, we should move then.” Marweg pulled his concentration away from the tree, but his hand refused. A sticky, pale secretion had coated his palm.
“Plant myself here, eh?” he said sardonically. “Rhea, if you would be so kind, please pull me away from the tree without touching the sap. I’m afraid I can’t move right now.”
Rhea called Winstead over, and together they pulled Marweg’s rigid body away from the tree and plopped him on top of Donkey. The hexacrix gave a guttural trill in protest but shouldered the load. Rhea and Winstead gingerly led it around the clearing, avoiding roots, bark, and all other vegetation for good measure.
Bouncing on Donkey’s back, Marweg relayed with slurred speech that he believed they needed to head up, into the canopy. Ward paid no attention, having just realized that he was no longer bound by gravity, and was floating delightedly near the others, giggling at his newfound liberty.
The wall brought him up short.
It shimmered, radiant with purple, green, and pink like a soap bubble. It stretched like a membrane as far up and to the side as they could see, wavering gently with the air currents, bulges sliding around with no discernable pattern. It was beautiful and unsettling, like a bioluminescent cancer.
Their path led straight through it.
“Should we send Donkey through first?” Winstead asked.
“Why not send my little spy through first?” Marweg suggested in return. He had regained most of his limbs’ functions but had taken regular respites on Donkey. He recalled and directed the nebbit to scout ahead.
The film encased the nebbit briefly as it crossed over, seeming to close over it without being breached. It made a short circuit and crossed back. Upon inspection, Marweg declared it unharmed, lacking even any residue from the wall. All the nebbit communicated was that the air felt thicker.‽
Rhea steeled herself. “I’ll go through with Donkey,” she said, gathering the lead rope and wrapping it around Marweg’s slowly recovering hands. “Hold onto this, and we’ll come back through afterward.”
Marweg held on as well as he could, and Rhea and Donkey crossed over and came back without issue.
“It seems safe,” she said. “That said, are we going the right way?”
“That is the question,” Marweg said, still trying to stretch his limbs.
“I thought you had a plan!” Rhea glared.
“I did!” he replied indignantly. “My plan was to ask.” He looked down, braced himself, and inquired of the nearby vegetation, “How are the vines today?”
The vines recognized the rotfire description instantly, citing relations who had been maimed by it. When questioned about its whereabouts, they mentioned periodic conflagrations that were more generational stories than news. Their current direction led to a place where some older and higher vines had settled into a détente; these other plants, the vines confirmed, matched Marweg’s understanding of the židek.
So oriented, they crossed the threshold and had just settled into a brisk rhythm when a thunderous bellow split the air. They hid quickly, before chancing a look toward the source of the disturbance.
A gargantuan beast, thirty feet tall and bearlike with curled horns, chased something they couldn’t see. Its footfalls shook the ground, deadwood splintering and water greedily filling the paw-shaped hollows. Snapping branches cascaded to either side of its passing in a rain of splinters and fragments. More fortunate flora merely bent, roots partially pulled up from the ground, to make way for the massive monster. Another roar shook the air around them, reverberating through their heads and leaving their ears ringing.‽
Having bulldozed the landscape, the beast passed. In its wake was silence, a silence the four of them realized they hadn’t yet heard in all their time in Green. It was a watchful silence, a fearful unwillingness to be the first to break the quiet.
“I think we have a path forward for a while now,” Winstead said, “and we’ll be able to make better time on it too.”
So long as it doesn’t backtrack, Ward mused.
Rhea gave a snort of laughter. “And other creatures probably got out of the way.”
“It doesn’t quite line up with our way,” Marweg ventured, “but we could keep to it until we find a path up.”
For several more hours they traveled uninterrupted. Marweg regained full movement and feeling in his limbs and was able to relieve Donkey of its additional burden. He thanked it for making the extra effort, and Donkey expressed its affection by mildly mauling his legs.
The trees changed where a river split the forest floor, gnarling up branches above them into an interlocked latticework. They set up camp but decided against trying to do so in the understory of the branches themselves. Winstead once again raised a water wall, Marweg and Rhea put up tents, and Ward drifted around, taking in the world at a different, slower pace.
"We should try to conserve our food,” Rhea mused aloud.
“Agreed,” Marweg replied. “Nothing we’ve encountered seems safe to eat, even if we could hunt it.”
That night, during the third watch, Winstead perked up as a herd of zebriths moved in and surrounded their camp. From mid-neck to the ground the creatures resembled giraffes, but where the head should have been was instead a burst of leaves and foliage. The longer she watched, the more docile they appeared, many wading up to their knees in the water. She decided to let the others sleep.
Travel that morning was agreed to be vertical, and they spent some time strapping the device and their supplies more securely onto Donkey. They’d just tightened the last straps when splashing noises erupted from the river, coinciding with panic among the zebriths.‽
Along a nearby sandbar, a small knot of crocodilian creatures burst out in ambush. Several found their marks, dragging zebriths into the river, while others missed and climbed out of the water, snapping at the nearest prey they could find.
The herd scattered so fast that Marweg realized they would soon be the nearest target. But before he could say anything, a voice above them shouted, “Don’t stand there, climb!Climb up here to safety.”‡
Everyone rushed to the tree trunk except Ward, who observed calmly as he floated toward the voice. Donkey and Winstead found footholds and clambered up. Marweg hesitated, a latent fear of heights manifesting. Rhea goaded him upward, the climbed after him, leaning into the active current of magic to accelerate her efforts.
An invisible surge of strength swelled within her, and she clambered up the trunk, encouraging herself with a weave and an incantation that had come to mind in a recent meditation. But as soon as the words left her lips, she realized her mistake.†† All around them, everything started growing at breakneck pace. Branches overhead flowered, fruited, and fell past them to the ground, where they broke open into feverish new growth. Insect eggs laid on leaves developed in seconds into swarms that took flight, beetle-wings spread.
As the climbers ducked and dodged, a clutch of eggs below cracked into a full thrash of adult reptilian carnivores raging with hunger. They attacked each other, threshing the water to mist with flailing limbs and tails. Among the fleeing zebrith, juveniles shot up to full height as they ran headlong into the forest.
“Quickly, quickly!” the voice above cried. They redoubled their efforts and soon reached a large branch overlooking a leafy, cross-hatched mesh. Below them, the carnivores gorged themselves in a horrid din.
“That was a rush,” Winstead noted with relief. “Let’s not do that ever again.”
They looked at the being who’d called. The form seemed male, flesh taut against a skeletal frame, and held a silver shepherd’s crook. He gave them a wide smile.
But only Rhea and Ward saw his charges: herds of spectral animals that milled around him, feeding on something they couldn’t see. Two of them walked right through Winstead. Ward approached one and tried to stroke its nose.
“Thanks for the advice,” Marweg said gratefully, gasping for breath.
“You are welcome,” the figure replied. “I was expecting a massacre here. Although,” he noted, looking down, “not one quite on this scale. I’m here to take care of them afterwards.”
Rhea shuffled her feet and gave an embarrassed chuckle. “You shepherd their spirits?”
“I guide them safely to the Pale, if they are willing and able.”
Ward drifted over. I had a friend named Remy who was trying to get there earlier. If you happen to see him, would you please tell him hello from me and show him along?
The tender nodded in recognition and smiled with reassuring calm. I believe I saw him just a bit earlier today. Be comforted, he is safely away. My name is Djoba. I am a servant of Demogan.
Rhea looked between the tender and where she thought Ward was. “What’s going on? I’m only getting half the conversation here.”
“What conversation?” Winstead asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Rhea frowned. “Shit, I’m sorry. Ward again. And this is Djoba.”
Winstead quirked an eyebrow.
Marweg looked back and forth between them with confusion. “What’s going on?” he asked, bewildered.
Rhea took a deep breath. “There’s a herd of ghost animals around us all right now. There’s nothing wrong, that’s just what he’s ushering to the Pale.”
“Fine…” repeated Marweg. He turned to Djoba. “It seems that here it would be a rather busy job.”
“It is quite demanding,” Djoba conceded.‡
“Thanks for helping us avoid joining your charges,” Marweg said. “We’d hate to impose on your time.”
“It’s self-interest as much as altruism. I’m already overburdened.” Djoba leaned a little more heavily on the crook. “If you know anyone willing to aid the process, I’d be grateful for assistance.”
Ward shuffled behind Rhea, trying to stay out of sight.
“We’re attempting to gather rotfire to deal with a problem on Indigo,” Marweg said. “Do you know where we might go from here?”
“Yes, yes I do.” The tender thought a moment, then described a trajectory upward into the canopy. “You’ll know you have found it,” he concluded, “when you find a wall of dancing green and black.”
Marweg thanked him profusely. Rhea looked down to the carnage below. She half expected to see more spirits like the herd, but the remnants forming around the corpses didn’t correspond to the shapes they’d occupied in life, and Rhea turned away, perplexed.‽
The tender bid farewell, and at Rhea’s insistence they roped themselves together before proceeding deeper into the understory. Leaves here grew thick as boards, and the branches wide as pathways. It wasn’t long until they were navigating the understory with the confidence of a city skyway.
It was a pity there were no guardrails.
Marweg, admiring the sizable insects, stepped off into space at a fork, pulling Rhea backward after him. Their fall was arrested by Donkey, whose weight more than matched the rest of the travelers combined, and Winstead helped slowly haul them back up. Retaking the lead, Rhea took care to call out every subsequent change in trajectory.
After bridging to a different tree, she was struck by a sickly-sweet scent. “Do the rest of you smell that?”
Marweg said nothing. His eyes were focused on one large clump of foliage across a gap of branches. In the right light, he supposed, it could be a large cat. He screwed up his eyes and studied it closely.
The foliage stared back. And blinked.‽
“Do you see that?” he asked excitedly, gesturing for Winstead and Rhea to look. “There, to the left, in the leaves. I think it’s camouflaged.” He rushed to Donkey and rummaged through his packs. “I was sure I’d brought a chemical spray. Does anyone have anything to ward off predators?”
The others shrugged noncommittally. Marweg pursed his lips in disapproval. “Then I’ll keep an eye out for it; let’s hope whatever it is doesn’t hunt in packs.”
The wind changed, and the overpowering sweetness washed over the others. Winstead gagged. “Oh, god, what is that?”
Rhea pointed ahead, covering her mouth. “I think it’s coming from there.”
In the branches, close to the trunk, a huge carcass lay completely mellified and dripping with honey.
“What is that?” Winstead asked, looking at Rhea.
“It looks like that huge horned bear that crashed through the forest yesterday, or a cousin to it,” Rhea answered.
“Up here?” Marweg asked, incredulous.
Rhea shrugged. “Who knows, Marweg, who knows? Donkey got up here, why couldn’t this?”
Marweg wondered aloud, “You know, that honey could likely supplement our rations.”
“I think I’ll pass.” Rhea grimaced. “Even if it was easily harvested, I don’t know that I would trust eating it.”
In silent agreement they moved quickly forward. A thought that had been dancing around the periphery of awareness intruded upon Marweg. I was supposed to meet a goetic here, wasn’t I? Someone named… But try as he might, no answer presented itself. He shrugged. Ah, well, if it was important, I’ll remember it later. He trudged on, the forgotten letters of introduction crinkling in his pack.
“We can climb here.” Marweg pointed out where sturdy vines and enmeshed branches made a promising ascent. They started up.
He did his best not to look down at the ground he couldn’t see anymore. Clouds and mist flowed through the vegetation, blocking the view up and down. Tension in the vine was the only indicator Marweg had of Rhea above and Winstead below. Each passing cloud chilled his body, slowing his ascent until the tug of the taut line drove him on.
Finally, his body planted itself in protest. Rhea tugged once, twice, but Marweg stood paralyzed by fear and damp and cold. In the empty space at his back Marweg felt a chill as something grasped his shoulders, and he shrieked in terror.
“Marweg, what’s happening?” called Rhea from above.
“Something’s grabbing me!” Marweg tried and failed to twist out of reach while remaining immobile.
It’s fine Rhea, it’s fine, I’m just trying to help him hold on, Ward reassured Rhea.
“Stay still, you’ll be fine,” she yelled back. “Ward’s trying to help you, apparently.”
I’m not saying he was going to fall, he replied, but he looked a little unsteady.
Marweg, not privy to their exchange, failed to be reassured and struggled harder in place. Cold fingers clenched onto his shoulders, trying to secure their grip, and he thrust himself against the trunk and screamed to be released.
Eventually the hands relented and Marweg’s cries subsided into quiet sobs. Winstead came up behind and asked, “Can I help you up?”
“Just get me out of these damned clouds,” Marweg managed. With her aid and the gentle tug from above, he resumed the climb.
“I’m glad you’re moving again,” Rhea called. “You going to be alright?’
Well, I tried to help, Ward said miserably.
“Give me a head’s up next time, okay?” Rhea advised.
They broke through the stratus clouds into sunlight. The sudden brightness blinded all but Ward’s spectral vision, but what eventually came into focus was breathtaking.
The vista opened up before them. Treetops rose out of the clouds like islands in a misty sea. Natural vine walkways stretched between the trees and the floating landmasses riddled with vegetation, tethering the bobbing islands to the ground and to each other. The air was cold and invigorating. A shock of wind caught their faces, and they wiped the involuntary tears from their eyes.
Winstead whistled in appreciation. The others nodded in silent agreement.
Rhea looked to Marweg. His hair had gone white. She raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Still up?”
“Still up,” he confirmed.
“Better now?” she asked.
“Much better now that nothing is trying to grab me.” He shuddered.
Rhea reached for a nearby vine. It recoiled from her grip and bit her.
“Ow!” she cried, snatching her hand back. She sucked at the bite mark as the snake unfurled wings and flew off with the hiss of a boiling kettle.*
“Wow!” Marweg breathed, watching it fly off, then caught himself and hurried to Donkey to rummage for bandages.
Rhea sucked in a breath through her teeth and said, “I need to make sure I’m not poisoned first. Let me try weaving something.” She traced a path in the air with her fingers. The redness and swelling slowly subsided, and before long, her breathing came easier.*
As they readied themselves to move on, Marweg spoke up. “We’re being stalked again, it appears.”
The feline shape in the leaves was well away from where they stood, but the features were unmistakable. It retreated, disappeared, and then appeared again, marginally closer. Its gaze never left Marweg.
Winstead raised an aqueous barrier behind them. “Let us know if it gets closer.”
Rhea cocked her head to one side. “Has everyone paid their toll to Demogan?”
“I haven’t,” Marweg admitted. “I’ll take care of it before we leave, though.”
“You should do something about that shortly,” Rhea suggested. “The warden might get impatient.”
Their first steps on the floating land felt dreamlike—standing at the edge of the world, looking out at the universe.
Ward floated out over the edge, enjoying the view and oblivious to the faint buzzing behind him that rose slowly to a deafening roar.
Rhea, however, turned to see the boiling mass of insects bearing down on their position. “Take cover!” she shouted and began to weave.
“Oh, I say!” Marweg sputtered. Donkey bleated, and Winstead ducked under a blanket as the swarm blacked out the sun, the buzzing rising to a painful whine.
Rhea hurled her weave around them, and a whirling sphere of wind expanded to deflect the buffeting wings and clattering of mandibles.††The swarm parted around the bubble and continued down to the lower canopy.‽
“Please let this be the last thing,” Rhea pleaded, releasing the spell. “I would really like to sleep soon.”
They made their weary way further onto the floating island and set up camp. They had begun making dinner when someone called out, “Hello?”
“Who are you?” Rhea called back, tense.
The voice was female, alto, human. “May I join your camp?”
“Ward, scope it out,” Rhea muttered.
Ward zoomed up to see a woman. Two women, in fact, though they shared one body. One of them looked right at him and greeted him.
You can see me?!
Of course.
Ward smiled wide. You’re the first; this is a new development.
Might we join you? she asked again.
Sure, why not? I mean, I don’t suppose we could stop you if we wanted to; I certainly couldn’t.
“Do you promise not to harm?” Rhea called out as the woman approached.
“You’re safe with me. Moresafe, I suspect,” she answered. She wore a battered, studded-leather jacket and had long red hair on the unshaved side of her head.
“Can you tell if she’s vislae?” Rhea whispered.
I don’t know. There’s two of them.
Rhea peered closer. “Hey, I remember you. You were at the Minton House party when the siege worm wreaked havoc.”
She smiled. “That’s right. I recognize you too, though I don’t remember any of your names. I’m Lucerin.” She looked at Winstead again. “Imagine seeing you here.”*
Winstead shrugged. “It’s been a strange couple days.”
“I believe that.” She gestured to all of them. “Have you eaten? We were about to get settled in.”
“We’d only just gotten set up; we haven’t eaten,” Rhea answered.
“I’ve got more than I need,” she said, pulling honeycombs from her large pack. Marweg stared at them.
“That’s not from the bear creature down below, is it?” he asked incredulously.
“Yeah, I was timely,” she replied, pulling out another one. “Usually you can’t get to them before the maul shoals eat them.”‽
Marweg looked impressed. “You seem to know your way around here.”
“Mostly. I’ve been looking for someone, and it’s taking longer than I’d hoped.”
“Who’re you looking for?” asked Rhea.
You can’t just ask someone that! Ward said, shocked.
“Why not? Admittedly, the only sentient life we’ve encountered has been the warden and the evil trees…”
One soul in Lucerin looked at Ward and said, It’s okay, I’m not offended. The body responded to everyone, “I’m looking for a shaman to help me solve a problem.”
“We also encountered a shepherd of dead creatures,” Marweg said.
“The tenders are good folk.” Lucerin nodded. “But what brings you people here? It’s not a usual place for a casual jaunt.”
“It’s a long story,” Rhea said.
“Best told over a meal,” Marweg pronounced.
The food was strongly flavored and not at all unpleasant. Marweg described their goal and nearly their entire journey in exacting detail for as long as Lucerin was willing to listen. Rhea didn’t even attempt to contradict his openness, making herself comfortable as she ate.
Lucerin sat next to Winstead. During a lull in conversation, she slipped a white circular button to her, whispering, “Wear it with pride, veteran.”
Winstead took it curiously and pinned it to her shirt.*
“It seems I can help you,” Lucerin said when Marweg had finished, the others having supplemented with stray details. “I’ve passed that conflagration before, and there was a firebreak that kept it in check. I don’t know that I’ve seen that specific vine, but I can guide you there in the morning.”
“Morning works for me.” Marweg yawned. “I think we’re too knackered to proceed tonight.”
“That’s it,” Lucerin said, pointing ahead.
The dancing wall of black-and-green fire rose before them, burning unabated and yet maintaining a delicate equilibrium. The vine was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m afraid I can’t stay—I need to be on my way, look me up in Satyrine once you’re back.” With a meaningful nod to Winstead, Lucerin strode off. Winstead remained oblivious.
“So, where’s the vine?” Rhea asked.
“It must be here somewhere,” Marweg said. He walked around what of the rotfire he could see while Ward, through Rhea, described how to use the equipment. Marweg poked a tentpole into the rotfire to see what was burning. It made contact but came out withered and charred. The firebreak seemed both deliberate and incomplete, off somehow. “I think we’re missing something.”
The thought struck them all at the same time. “The Rook!” they exclaimed together. Marweg pulled out the multiphasic compass and beckoned the others to join him. He walked in the direction he’d come to know as rennward and soon found a knot of what was presumably židek vine spilling over itself into a ring of rotfire.
It looked perfectly feasible to obtain both fire and fuel as Ward described. Marweg returned and reported what he’d seen.
“Does Ward have suggestions on how to load the device?” he asked Rhea.
I might be able to operate it myself, Ward said.
“He wants to give it a try,” Rhea relayed.
Ward approached his machine and initiated a test sequence. Marweg, Winstead, and Rhea watched as the machine clicked and whirred without any observable physical manipulation.
It’s working! Ward joyously exclaimed.¶
They brought it to the židek vine and, on the third try, managed to bring enough židek into the device to maintain not only the growth cycle but also stasis with the rotfire. Everything achieved equilibrium, sealed inside the device.
“Great, let’s go to Blue,” Rhea said with relief as they closed the carrier and walked stamward again.
“In a moment. I still have one piece of unfinished business,” Marweg said.
“Oh, right.” Rhea nodded, understanding. “You going to summon something and throw it in the rotfire?”
“Nothing so crass,” Marweg said with distaste, gathering his specific summoning materials.
Drawing a ritual circle, Marweg pronounced his need for aid and protection from the rotfire. As he finished his summoning, an angel appeared.*
“What aid do you ask of me?”
Marweg pointed at the rotfire. “I need you to protect me from that,” he said.
The angel turned to face the threat. A moment later, its blood spattered the grass with flecks of silver and Marweg carefully wiped his knife blade clean.
Rhea stood shocked. “Marweg!?”
“Needed to pay the warden’s toll.” Marweg packed his tools and prepared to leave, oblivious to his companions’ horrified stares.
‡ Invisible Sun, Savage Sword
‡ Silver Sun, Doctor
†† Forte: Converses with Everything, The Language of Plants
* Badly failed an orienteering test.
‡ Green Sun, Tyrannical Clock
†† Weave: Freed Speech
¶ Ward, +1 despair
†† The Dead Hunger for Justice
‡ Blue Sun, Rat
§ Sventwood Trees
†† Forte: Converses with Everything, One of Us
‽ Annihilation
‽ Wooly Thoctar
‽ Zebriths, Teratology pg. 45
‡ Indigo Sun, Enveloping Darkness
†† What Lies Beneath the Leaves is Life after getting magic flux on a parkour weave.
WHAT LIES BENEATH THE LEAVES IS LIFE
Level: 2 (+1 die)
All seeds near you instantly sprout and grow to their full size. All eggs (including insect eggs) near you hatch, and the young immediately grow to adults. After this, the plants and creatures live and grow as they normally would.
Color: Green
‡ Grey Sun, Questing Knight
‽ Tending Nightside Green, Enchiridion of the Path; Lorem, Teratology pg. 108
‽ Avaranis, Teratology pg. 40
* Winged Coatl
* Weave not recorded
†† Weave: Gale
‽ Swarmstorm, Enchiridion
* We’ll return to this comment in the Interlude.
‽ Maul Shoals, Teratology pg. 43
* Sidebar: The Invisible College, and playing the long game.
¶ Ward +1 Joy; Marweg +1 joy, +1 despair; Winstead +1 joy; Rhea +1 despair; couldn’t experience green for herself, +1 joy
* Summon: Angel level 3, protection