“What do you think they’re talking about?” Venedir asked as they walked behind the vampire, keeping a distance of a few paces.
“Fuck if I know.” answered Gwenyth.
“What I’m more curious about is what he was going to ask after seeing Sylviane.”
“Maybe he thought she was a vampire at first?” Zander said.
“She has those red eyes, after all…”
“Maybe.” Gwenyth didn’t sound convinced.
“But vampires aren’t the only species that can have red eyes.”
“He did dismiss his own question.” Zander offered and shrugged.
“And I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone not of our species in Faring schools.”
Finley didn’t feel too convinced with Zander’s hypothesis either but did not say anything.
He had no alternative theory to offer.
“That doesn’t mean that they can’t be part of the Faring.
Your observation could be just coincidence or specific to our schools” Gwenyth said.
“Ah, let it be.” said Venedir.
“It’s not important.
She’s our driftfellow and has given us no reason to cast any doubt on her in any form.”
“That’s true… fine.” conceded Gwenyth.
“Gwenyth, I meant to ask you.” said Zander.
“Has Elyria been around lately?”
“No… she disappeared around lunch time on our first day, if I remember correctly.
Why do you ask?”
“Was just curious.” Zander said and then turned to Finley.
“What about Nyvaeriel?”
Finley – who had been looking down at the mud ruining his shoes – snapped to attention, jerking his head up.
“Uh… I think we would have separated some time during the first night when we were knocked off-course.
She was headed to Fluviale as well so we decided to go together but she’s more of an Alaric-like companion than Xara in terms of absenteeism.”
“Any chance we’ll see her here?” asked Venedir.
“Doubtful.
Most likely she’ll be visiting aquatic entities and those will mostly be far away from Rainy village.”
Finley then smiled as Xara caught his eye, in the form of a blue koala, sitting on Venedir’s backpack.
Finley doubted Venedir could even discern the extra weight.
“What about you, Venedir?
Does the Morveille visit you much?”
Venedir looked at Finley a bit surprised.
“Who t-?” “Lee.” the two said together and Finley smiled.
“No.
He doesn’t visit much since I don’t fight so often.”
“Does he only visit when you’re fighting or something similar?” asked Gwenyth.
“Mostly, he makes exceptions on occasion.”
“At least you have a way to attract his attention.
My companion shows up and leaves whenever.
He doesn’t even speak so I can’t communicate with him properly.” Zander grumbled.
Finley gave a comforting pat to Zander, his eyes trying to blink the water away but the rain was turning into a downpour.
“Are we there yet?” He muttered and pulled up the hood of his cloak.
“Why is everything about you so… white and silvery and shiny?” Gwenyth asked him.
Finley didn’t seek clarification.
He didn’t need to.
“I feel most comfortable and most myself in such raiment.
And the rest is genetics.
I come off as a sagely wise whitebeard – in the metaphorical sense – sometimes, but it’s okay.
I’ve never been a people person.”
“People person or not, every person is a drift person.” Venedir said with a big smile and nudged him with his shoulder.
“So they are.” Finley conceded with a grin.
“I think I see the buildings.” Zander said and Finley looked up at him.
The lad was using his hands as binoculars to sharpen the focus of his eyes.
It made Finley smile.
Finley didn’t attempt looking at the village, however.
The navigator’s word was good enough.
“Great.
I can’t wait!” Gwenyth exclaimed.
“Surely you don’t mind a little impromptu shower.
And we are in Rainy Village after all.” teased Venedir.
“Sorry if I don’t prefer getting drenched.” Gwenyth shot back sullenly.
“You should carry an umbrella then.” Venedir said with a grin.
“Much use would that be given the angle rain comes at in such winds.
And it’s too inconvenient to carry an umbrella around.”
“You carry your axe.”
“Only when I’m fighting.
Do you see it here right now, genius?”
“Can’t win an argument with you.”
“Because you don’t speak sense.”
Venedir and Zander laughed.
Finley couldn’t help but smile as he looked up at his driftfellows – dare he say, his friends.
Ahead of the trio in front of them, Finley could now make out a few dozen buildings of wood and stone.
It was as Finley had expected from his studies of Fluviale.
A society of marsh and swamp creatures.
What assimilators would call primitive beings or villagers, unenlightened by technology and modern ways of living.
Farers knew better, at least they liked to think so.
He also noticed the trio stopping and seemingly waiting for them.
They caught up with them in a minute.
“So.” Alaric said.
“Your friends here have some news they’d like to share with you.
I’ll be back in some time.
You should get rooms at The Laughing Tree.
One for me definitely.
I definitely won’t be sharing with you lot, except Callie maybe.
I’m used to her scent.”
“I’ll pass.” Callie said flatly.
“We’ll get you a single.”
Alaric grinned.
“Great.
I look forward to it.
But for now I must bid you adieu.”
Before any of them could respond, he was gone.
In the blink of an eye, or even faster.
Finley had no way of telling.
“So… what did Ricky have to say?” Gwenyth asked as they entered the village premises, marked by an emerald archway marked with carvings throughout.
Callie did not respond, having stopped at the archway and now peering at the carvings.
“What are they?” asked Venedir.
“They’re names.” she replied.
“Of elves, by the looks of it.”
“But elves don’t live here.” said Finley, confused.
“And how are you so sure they’re elves’ names?”
“Their names are marked very distinctly by the repetition of the same vowel one after the other at least once in their full names.” Callie replied.
“And no other species does that?” replied Finley.
“They could and they do.
But it’s not as common.
All the names I see here have that pattern.”
“But is it important?”
Her cause of impatience was quite apparent to Finley, even though the lass said not her true intention for her impatience.
This was as apparent to its recipient.
“As the liaison it serves me well to pick up on such things that are there to be observed.
But since it wasn’t mentioned in any travel journals, it can’t be of too great importance for us.
Still keep your eyes and ears open, do not make assumptions.
Call for me if a situation is escalating undesirably.”
The driftfellows nodded.
“Now, to answer your question.
Ricky-boy wants us to do a small task for us – for which he is paying us handsomely.” She added firstly and in no small amount of haste, lest she be bombarded with protests.
Money’s allure was no small one, especially for the drift that was experiencing the freedom that came with adulthood for the first time in their young and tender lives.
“How much?” asked Zander, his voice almost quivering with curiosity and excitement.
Finley wondered how much of Zander’s earnings might be lost in gambling, and an even more delightful thought was the prediction of how much of that loss would be Finley’s gain.
“Four hundred thousand.” The gasps and sounds of surprise that followed the declaration were of no small degree and all of a sudden, the quartet was very keen to hear what was to follow.
“And protection in our passage through the dragon isles, which will save us time.” In the passing of these moments, Finley did notice that Sylviane’s expression was not an enthusiastic one.
While he did regard her to be mild-mannered and Callie’s tone had no exciting characteristic to it either, it came of as unusual nonetheless.
The apparent reason for Sylviane’s dourness dawned on Finley when Callie continued.
“The task Alaric has brought upon us in exchange is for us to rescue a friend of his from prison – more precisely, a demon who’s been arrested for defacement of the lake south of here.”
To the drift’s credit, their incredulity was quite controlled, even Gwenyth and Zander – the more emotionally unrestrained of their group.
Mayhaps it was implied that the assignment would have some degree of peril and inconvenience being afforded to its undertakers from the very nature of the one who assigned it and the compensation being arranged for its performance.
Venedir seemed to go a route altogetherly different in his response.
“Is this a literal demon or merely so in his act?” He asked with a smile.
Callie and Sylviane both seemed mildly surprised that such was the question Venedir chose to pose to them upon being presented with such information.
But Callie answered in an even tone.
“A literal demon.
I see no reason why it should have been the latter.”
“We are Allfarers.
Preserving the environment and sustainability are one of our key goals.
Surely anyone who threatens the state of the world our society and those foreign strive to maintain should be disparaged as a demon.”
“Is that not discriminatory to the class of demons?
You are susceptible too easily to bedtime stories that assimilators are told.” Sylviane said.
“I don’t know where you have gained such undesirable exposures.
Let it not pollute your way of thinking.”
“I am taken aback at this too, Venedir.” said Finley.
“You have studied two years of the creatures of this world.
This harshness in judgement merits you not, good Farer.”
Venedir conceded.
“I apologise.
I meant to ask it mostly in jest but I see my fault here.
I should be more mindful.”
The drift accepted the sincerity of the apology and moved on to pressing matters.
“Where is this prison?” asked Gwenyth.
“Rainy Village itself, in an underground establishment where the handful of prisoners are kept.
Alaric said that he cannot detect its defenses, however.” Callie said.
“So there’s something guarding the prison that a vampire can’t detect?” Zander said.
“You do understand that we are bait for his convenience and knowledge.”
“What you say may be true in all likelihood.” Sylviane said.
“But it is also true that in his three centuries of living, the vampire may have grown risk averse.
We might just find this assignment to be a piece of cake – walking in and out.”
Gwenyth scoffed.
“Like that would ever happen.”
After a few more minutes of bickering – punctuated by a thirty second awkward silence when Callie asked a tree spirit for directions to the Laughing Tree – they finally agreed to doing the task with minimal violence and absolutely no killing, the latter uncompromisable to an extent that they would refuse to do it if violating it were a requirement.
Given Alaric’s nature – and Finley was sure Callie knew this as well but did not verbalise it so as to prevent more argument -, it was very likely that the integrity of their constraints would be upheld.
The matter was resolved by the time they happened upon the Laughing tree.
They would do their shopping, sight-seeing for the first few days while also trying to find the other drifts there and trying to look for other assignments to do, then start sneaking about to scout the prison, doing the actual rescue (for the lack of a better word coming to mind in the moment of the discussion) during the middle of the night, taking their leave thereafter.
With the conversation not distracting Finley’s mind anymore, he could finally take in the majesty of the Laughing Tree as it loomed over them.
The tree trunk seemed to be a hundred metres in diameter.
It reached several hundred feet in height.
The wood was a beautiful dark brown, the branches were thick and most ended in crimson leaves.
Wooden platforms extended out from the trunks, crafted most skillfully so as to appear part of the tree itself, windows and doors were carved into the trunk itself, some even opening out onto the branches themselves.
“We must get one of the upper floors and have access to the branches.” said Zander.
“We must.”
“We must certainly try.” concurred Sylviane.
As the drift entered the premises, they spread out a little in their exploration.
Finley took up an unoccupied section of the wall, leaning back against its edge as he took in the bustling lobby in its entirety.
It was filled with many manners of creatures, native to Fluviale and otherwise.
The front desk, however, appeared to be untended to and a clueless Callie was looking for someone to inquire about lodging from.
Finley eventually took pity on Callie’s helpless state and joined her in the effort, spending a full couple minutes before the lad gave up and retired to the front desk, using the support of his hands to hop on to the desk to sit on it – only to nearly fall off in his hurry to get off it as a booming, scary voice yelled at him.
“Get OFF me!”
Surely not!
he thought in bewilderment as he turned around to look at the table, his heart racing at the yell and the suddenness thereof.
He was aware that most people in the hotel lobby were now looking at him.
His drift was at the desk in no time at all.
“I-It speaks!” Finley said to his driftfellows.
“It’s she, dumbass.
Can’t you tell?”
“I can’t.” responded Finley, anticipating another outburst which did not realise into being.
“Of course you can’t.
Fuckin’ Farers.
So ignorant and uneducated.” Finley wondered if that comment should get him all bristled-like.
Instead he asked “How do you know we’re Farers?”
“How do you see that I’m a talking desk, asshole?
Senses, right?
Why should I be any different?”
“Yeah… sorry.” Finley said abashedly, too apprehensive of being abused to ask how exactly a piece of wood could sense things.
But Venedir was not.
And he asked exactly that.
“I don’t have physical sensing body parts like you do, but being of the Laughing Tree’s wood, I have the same sentience she does.”
“So you’re two separate beings now?” asked Sylviane.
“Yes… and no.
It may not be comprehensible to mortals and those of inferior intelligence but-” Venedir laughed then, interrupting the desk.
“But.” She regained a handle of what she was saying.
“I’ll try since I’m supposed to be helpful.”
“Was calling me an asshole helpful?” Finley muttered.
“Yes, in fact.
So that I’m not subjected to further assholery and you gain some sense.”
“I apologised for it.
But I really didn’t know such creations could exist in my years of study.
I thought only intact trees could have sentience, not products thereof.”
“And who told you that your species had reached the pinnacle of human knowledge, retard?”
Finley sighed loudly.
“Sorry, please continue.”
“Anyway.” the desk said with as much sass a piece of furniture could muster.
“As I was saying, all products of the tree have sentience.
The most minor of shavings and leaves even.
But we all feel the tree’s existence and sentience.
We are part of hers.” Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“Great.
So she’s like your mother?” said Zander.
“No.
And yes.
But also my sister.”
“Sounds complicated.” said Gwenyth.
“I have no doubts it is, for you all.”
“Um… what kind of rooms do you have available?” asked Callie.
“Bold of you to assume that since I’m the front desk, I’ll cater to inane queries like yours.”
“Is my assumption wrong?”
The desk sighed, somehow.
“No.
We have all sorts of rooms, capable of accommodating upto ten of your kind.”
“Shall we get one room for us then?” Callie turned towards them and asked.
There were nods, shrugs and murmurs of agreement.
“Should be cheapest.” Gwenyth commented.
“Not completely imbecilic, you farers.
Lovely.
I’ll book one of those for you.”
“And a single room also, please.” Callie said.
“Who’s it for?” asked the desk brusquely.
“A vampire.” answered Zander.
“What’s a vampire doing with you lot?
Must have fallen off and be going through a rough patch right now.”
Callie shrugged.
“That’ll be three hundred for you lot and a hundred for the vampire.”
Everyone handed their share over on the desk.
“Seems alright.
Now, your room numbers are sixteen – for you lot – and twenty seven – for the vampire.
Can any one of you read Eklerian or do you need me to send for someone to take you to your rooms?”
Callie shook her head.
“It’s fine.
We can manage.
However, sixteen seems like a room that might be on a low elevation.
Do you have anything closer to the branches of your… mother-sister?”
The desk vibrated and giggled a little.
“It is funny to hear you make mention of her in such a manner.
And I’ll oblige your request.
Take eighty-seven from my collection instead.
No extra charge.”
The drift thanked the desk profusely and upon the realisation by Zander that they knew not her name, requested for it and it was revealed to them that the exquisite desk was named Yvindrael.
Finley then riffled through the colorful collection of keys of the lodging with Callie, eventually finding theirs – a long key of white metal with gold carvings displaying the lodging it belonged to and the room it provided access to.
The drift headed briskly to their room, eager to dry themselves – though that may as well be pointless given the nature of the village they were in (it rained more than two hundred and twenty days out of two hundred and seventy nine).
The room was far from a disappointment, especially given how much it cost.
It had a couple of double beds, a couple of singles – which Finley and Callie immediately claimed.
“Before we disperse hither and thither, we should have a rough itinerary in place, drift.” Gwenyth declared.
“We should get the shopping done and put it back in the Oaty today.” suggested Venedir, which was greeted by disagreement, most of the drift averse to making the climb again.
“Tomorrow then.” Venedir said, a concession acceptable to all.
“Let’s go to the waterfall today.” Sylviane said excitedly.
“The rain may stop by Wairores and we can get going then.
Let’s have a nice breakfast – the lodge has a bakery and an eatery otherwise!”
All seemed in agreement.
Callie shushed them then and spoke in a particularly low voice.
“So we do the scouting the day after tomorrow and engage in the breaking out on the fourth night or fifth, depending on conditions.” That sounded like a solid plan of action to all so they scattered, drying and freshening up.
The drift then headed out into their balcony, an open airy space fenced beautifully by intricately carved and adorned wood.
While the height of the fencing was not so high so as to be restricting any attempts at hurdling it, there was still a door built into it – one that camouflaged itself nicely and had slipped by the eyes of at least some of his driftfellows, Finley thought.
Gwenyth dragged a table out and Sylviane fished out the deck of cards from her backpack.
The gang played a few rounds of cards, with a small stake this time – fifty coins a player – since everyone was saving up for the shopping that needed to be done.
They did get an allowance for expenses on rations, repairs, whatnot – expected and unforeseen.
But it would not be right to spend that on vices – not until the end of their assignment approached, at least – when they would be sure that the particular purse of money was not going to be required for its intended purpose of use.
As a result of low stakes, Finley could allow himself to be distracted as the sky turned a beautiful shade of violet before Wairo’s vermillion self showed itself on the horizon, visible quite fully even in his waking hour from the height they were situated on.
Wairo half submerged, half peeking out from the sea was one of Finley’s favourite sights and reminded him of a small piece of poetry.
Once he had expressed this to the drift, he was prompted to share it, and so he did.
Going Under
Dying light shines bright,
whale pays homage goes under
water with Wairo’s wolves.
Zander was the first to point out that this piece seemed more appropriate for Wairodon, to which Finley argued that the beholder in the moment could not distinguish the imagery of Wairores and Wairodon.
There was only the moment, and the image before them and that conjured by the poetry – the latter two in synchronisation, which was the principal requirement.
Callie seconded Finley and that was that.
Sylviane did point to the lack of whales in the horizon and Finley lamented his inability to procure one at will.
After a few minutes of admiration, the drift realised that their stomachs were feeling quite deprived of food and drink.
So – after an insignificant transfer of wealth – the drift headed downstairs to the first storey where the bakery was.
Tables and chairs were seemingly scattered across the walkway outside its premises in a perplexing labyrinth which the patrons of the establishment were loathe to simplify.
Instead, they increased its complexity by rearranging furniture to suit their uniquest of needs.
While it amused Finley, he thought of assimilators – so fixed in their habits and greatly inflexible – and their ironic inability to navigate such situations and mannerisms without turning their blood pressure up by at least a tenth.
The gang dragged a couple stray tables and a few chairs together against the walkway railing.
Venedir – assuming his role as the Tender fully and a tad bit more than even that – deigned to order for everyone while the rest speculated how much he would mess up the task in his temporary absence.
Finley noticed Gwenyth’s contribution being abnormally low and noticed that she was looking at a trio of pixies seated not so far from them.
It was a mama and papa and a little girl, the former two roughly three feet tall, all sitting on one chair with the girl in her parents’ lap – half the height of her parents.
It was an endearing sight and Finley felt a smile come to his face but also a dull ache on the back of his head – exactly the sensation he felt in times of moderate to extreme sadness.
Though on the surface there was no reason for it.
“Do you think we have families out there?” asked Gwenyth in a sad and uncharacteristically soft voice – so alien in nature that all conversation ceased at the table.
There was some pondering and awkwardness in how best to answer her question.
“There should be.
A distant aunt or cousins, grandparents or such.” Sylviane left out parents, no surprise at all.
No parents would send their children away in such a manner.
If they did, they would not be the kind of parents they would want to dream of.
And dreaming was all Farers had when it came to family.
But Gwenyth seemed unsatisfied with her answer.
“What about parents?
Aunts and cousins aside – they may not even exist.
But parents – we all have.” Or had.
thought Finley.
“We don’t know for sure.” murmured Zander.
“Maybe technology has progressed-”
“To replace reproduction?
I think not.” Gwenyth scoffed.
Zander was the sort to pass a snide remark to that, but given the raw emotion that was hidden so skillfully by the scoff – yet so apparent -, Zander did not press the matter.
“Hopefully we have parents.” said Finley gently.
“And we can be reunited after the mandatory service.
For a moment it looked like Gwenyth might burst into an emotional expression of the loss of family she – and they all – had experienced.
But when she opened her lips, it was only a toneless agreement.
“Yeah.” she said flatly just as Venedir returned with a few sandwiches and croissants stacked in plates – of which he carried four in merely two arms.
“Feast your eyes and then your stomachs!
I’ll get the coffees and teas after.” He said cheerily and then his smile faded a little as he noticed the mood of the table, sliding the plates smoothly onto the center.
“What… are we talking about?” He asked hesitantly.
“Parents.” said Zander in a tone so morose that the remnants of Venedir’s smile vanished without a trace.