(102) Letter

Tara could once again feel the gazes burning holes into her back as she stepped over a particularly large tendril. These fungal fingers spread out like spongy roots from the nearby trees, significant tripping hazards with the fog clinging to the ground.

A glance back showed the three ladies following and, as expected, all three gazes were locked onto Tara. She had brushed Redra’s question aside, holding a finger to her mouth and urging the boys to move on quickly. Her ploy had mostly worked, as the stress of moving deeper into the Gloam tended to impose an aura of silence.

She was not foolish enough to think it would work forever, though. They would have to camp sooner or later, and that was a prime opportunity for the group to ambush her. 

The thought made her frown. She had meant they would ‘ambush’ her with questions, but as she considered, it was not impossible that these three, who were complete strangers, could actually ambush her, should they think she had valuable information.

Dany slowed his pace gradually but noticeably, while Jessup maintained his own, taking the lead. Dany fell back until he was near enough to Tara for his harsh whispers to carry clearly.

“Can you like…say something to them?” he asked.

“What? Why?” Tara responded, matching his whisper.

“It’s awkward. They obviously want to talk about your magic, and you love talking about magic, don’t you?” he guessed.

“So? Maybe you wouldn’t feel so awkward if you were paying closer attention to your surroundings, preparing to resist the urge to strike—” she started, her lecture already primed.

Crunch.

Tara spun, scanning the three behind her. Redra looked away, doing her usual best to pretend she had not been staring, while Esmerelda was looking at Wynn, who was staring down at her foot in confusion, likely wondering what she had stepped on.

A figure rose through the fog with a terrible arch in its back, as if pulled by a string, from where it had been lying prone. It stood straight and towered over Wynn, who stared up at it in horror. 

Though not as tall as the previous one, this walker dwarfed everyone in the party. It was wider than the first, around twice as wide as Jessup, who was the most muscled of the group, and it had six limbs. Its four segmented legs were insectile, and though their feet were hidden by the fog, Tara could hear sharp claws gripping the ground.

It, too, was covered thickly in fungal growths, yet a patch of them was missing from its neck, revealing dark brown skin that seemed cracked beneath, likely the spot that Wynn had stepped on.

It reared both its bladed arms back, and Wynn raised her shield in response.

The situation unfolded in the blink of an eye, and Tara had time only to bring out a single whip, though not enough to actually do anything with it.

Clang!

The ringing of a blade striking steel echoed into the muted silence, and Tara was relieved to see Wynn hiding behind her shield, not aiming a counterattack. However, her relief was short-lived.

Fwum!

The walker was engulfed in a white-hot flash of fire, reduced to ashes in mere seconds while the rest of the group shielded their eyes. A strangled cry was all it had time to vocalize before it was vaporized where it stood, but it was enough.

In the deafening silence that followed, only the wind blowing the fog across the ground could be heard. The group stared, as one, at where the walker had been incinerated, all equally shocked, whether by the spell or the walker’s sudden appearance and equally sudden disappearance.

“Shit. Run!” Tara shouted, turning around and sprinting just behind Dany and Jessup, who needed no instruction.

A din of rustles and groans began to fill the surroundings, the air permeated with energy, as if vibrating. Snaps and cracks sounded from all directions, smaller twigs and branches, and much larger limbs breaking as a stampede assembled.

“Ha,” Esmerelda scoffed, raising both her hands, preparing a spell.

“Don’t, you fool! You’ll bring the whole fucking forest down on us!” Tara screamed, turning her head around to speak, but shifting her gaze in all directions, watching for threats.

“Looks like it is already,” Esmerelda mused, a light jog all she needed to keep up with Tara’s sprint.

“You killed one, a single walker. These are the agents from the immediate surroundings who are coming to investigate. We just need to get some distance and hide, lie low until they settle. If you start killing en masse, you’re going to piss the whole Gloam off!” she hissed.

Esmerelda seemed to glance between Tara and the shadows under the trees a few times, eventually lowering her hands with a sigh.

“Surely, when they find their compatriot reduced to cinders, they will begin hunting us regardless?” Wynn suggested.

“They’re not individually intelligent. It’s only when you draw enough of the hive mind’s attention that you start to get complicated reasoning. Assuming we’re far enough away or hidden, they’ll arrive to find their comrade dead, search for a few minutes, and return to loafing when they don’t find anything significant,” Tara explained, cupping her ears to focus on the sounds from the forest.

They were gaining distance, the sounds of their original pursuers fading, but she could hear the faint thump of footsteps in front of them. Worse still, they were running into a canyon that was narrowing the further they went. There would be only one way out of this crevice, and it would be straight through the approaching walkers.

Where should they go? Should they just…climb one of the mushroom trees? The rings should render them essentially invisible, at least to the blanket of surveillance the spores provided. No, that would not work. She could not be sure how the walkers saw, but they definitely had some sort of vision. 

Perhaps they were all different, their vision dependent on whatever the base creature was prior to infection. Regardless, she could not count on every single entity failing to look up.

Tara was startled from her reasoning by a flash of cold blue eyes in the shadows. It was fast, and she wondered whether she had even seen them, as when she was roused fully from her thoughts, they were gone. She searched the forest beside her as she ran thoroughly, scanning all the underbrush and anywhere a shadow was particularly deep, yet she found no trace of the eyes.

Maybe she had imagined—

There!

They gazed at her from under the shadow of a mushroom stalk, and the fog hung unnaturally high, as if rising from its position to cloak a figure. As she watched, the eyes glanced over to the right, to the east, as if signaling.

What the fuck ever. It beats having to cut our way through walkers and drawing even more.

“This way!” she shouted, darting away from the group.

“Wha—we’ll end up trapped this way!” Dany shouted, quickly catching up to her.

“We’ll end up trapped no matter what. At least this way we’ll have the cliff wall at our backs,” Tara reasoned.

“You mean we’ll have our backs against the wall. This doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Dany retorted.

Eyes.

“This way!” Tara shouted, veering off slightly north.

A huge wall of stone rose before her, its face nearly hidden by a sheet of tiny mushrooms that grew from the rock like dew budding on a surface. She scanned the wall, hoping desperately that she had not just chased a ghost to her demise.

“What the—in there!” she called, a colossal doorway appearing in the wall.

It had decidedly not been there before, but the cracking and groaning from behind her harried all thoughts of traps and bad ideas from her mind. She ran inside, followed by the other five, and just as she realized how dark the space was, a smooth sheet of stone slid closed behind the group, sealing them inside the cavern.

——————————————

A woman sat, her head in her hands, in a decorated office of polished wood and gilded corners. A small fire burned beneath a mantle, several chairs and a couch positioned to catch faint whispers of its heat. Tall shelves lined the walls, filled with books and knick-knacks, only interrupted by arched windows that let the afternoon sunlight filter in, dappled through the thin drapes.

The desk before her was covered with stacks of scrolls and reams of paper, with artifacts of chaos scattered between them: an empty inkwell, broken quills, and residue from sloshed drink.

The woman had long auburn hair that fell in unkempt frumps, scattering across the open ledgers and stacked papers, shining in the sun like molten metal spilled from a crucible. It was difficult to know whether she was awake, as though her arms still supported the weight of he head, she made no movements, scarcely even breathing.

She did not respond, did not so much as twitch, when a knock sounded on the door across from her.

“Ma’am? There is a guest for you…” came a hesitant voice.

Several seconds passed, but no answer was forthcoming. 

“I am very sorry, but it appears she is not accepting—wait! You can’t—” came the frantic shouts from the hall.

The door opened without a sound, the oiled hinges offering no complaint as a woman strode through, her short blonde hair bouncing with each step. She stood before the desk, and the woman behind it, waiting.

“I am sorry, ma’am. I tried to stop her, but…” a servant said, smoothing her skirt as she looked between the guest and the woman behind the desk.

“Ellie. Have you come to gloat? Have you come to observe the family’s fall with your own eyes? Have you come to affirm that leaving was the right decision?” the woman groaned, her head still in her hands.

Her voice was deep and authoritative, yet dry and hoarse, as if she had not had a sip in days.

“I did not leave because I thought the family would decline. I left because I found the family’s loyalties reprehensible. Pledging to the Taolu, a family known for the slave trade, for smuggling dirt, for bribery, intimidation, and coercion, for assassinations against competitors, and nearly every revolting thing imaginable, was too much for my delicate morals,” Ellie replied calmly.

“So, you’ve come to pay respects, then? Come to lay a bouquet on the unfilled grave?” the woman asked, finally raising her hazel eyes.

“No, Larelle. I have come to offer you and those under you redemption. I have come to offer you a future,” Ellie said, withdrawing a sealed letter and presenting it.

Larelle took the letter with a single hand, tossing it haphazardly before her, atop the already-significant stack of papers.

It was fancy, its surface firm and textured. The wax was a deep green, and the seal was of a large feather, its plumage symmetrical. On the front was writing in gilded green script.

“To: Larelle the Hopeful

From: Your hope, the Ma’at Trading Company”