Chapter 131: A Spark, Puff, and Tater following Squirt

The day for Jul, Cirn, and Telos was a long as it was unforgiving. Telos managed to save most of those with the worse injuries. Their work was made simpler by the eagle-eyed village head named Vwik, who had organized casualties by severity of injury. Though he did not hoard the potions, he used clear, efficient judgement, withholding them unless absolutely necessary, favoring children first in priority and keeping some on hand as the rest of those unaccounted for were found.

Between Jul and Cirn, they found the remaining living villagers in an hour, just before sunset. After that, the work was grimmer, scan spells not nearly as effective for uncovering the dead.

Ten fey dead, and over a hundred injured in a village of just over two hundred. While the number could have been much higher, the casualty count alone was mind boggling.

Exhausted, the three high fey all individually refused to sleep in any form of structure, favoring the villagers in a way the villagers didn’t quite know what to do with. Still, the villagers remained wary enough of the displays of raw power between the three that no one openly questioned the trio.

Instead, Jul and Cirn helped reinforce buildings and handed out simple bowls of stew to the exhausted villagers. Jul even cast a high-level spell to prevent the rainclouds from dropping their bounty on the village, though he had the control and foresight to let the rain fall outside the walls on the crops.

Only when the last of the treated fey was moved into a stable building with a roof over their head did Jul and Cirn finally stop to rest.

The night was quiet of all but the occasional wail of grief as the two set up a makeshift camp in silence. The supplies had included a tent big enough for all three high fey, and so Jul taken it on himself to set up the tent, start a fire, and lay out bedrolls.

Cirn, being too awkward to do more than stand around and await orders, found comfort in helping him set up, as few village fey were comfortable giving her orders, anyway, and most had already headed off to their own makeshift beds. Cirn and Jul even managed to cook for themselves using the supplies Jul had on hand, though unpracticed as he was cooking, he ended up burning the food a bit.

An hour after sundown, Telos dragged themselves to the tent, shooting the two others an appreciated glance at the warm, slightly burnt food, the cool glass of water, and the waiting bedroll.

With a groan, Telos dropped onto a waiting bedroll first, laying out on their back, their arm thrown over their eyes as if they wanted to pretend the world wasn’t there at all.

Jul, washed up and ready for bed in all but mentality, sat on his own bedroll, cross legged and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he studied the fire. Cirn had cast a cleanse on herself and removed her outer armor, but was no less covered than she usually was, her eyes haunted as she stared at her hands.

Telos spoke first. “There was no warning.”

Neither Jul nor Cirn said anything, letting the words spill out from Telos, instead.

“There was no feybeast. No magic that they sensed. One second, it was peace, the next, the houses began exploding from the inside with no rhyme or reason to it. Many were outside since it was daytime. It was the only thing that saved them. I shudder to think what might have happened if this was done at night.”

The words weighed heavily on the trio. The fire flickered and crackled between them.

Sitting up with a groan, Telos reached over to the warm, slightly burnt soup, dragging it closer to them and looking more disheveled than Jul had ever seen them look before. They ate without tasting, consuming for nutrition and not enjoyment.

Jul finally asked the question all three of them wondered. “If it wasn’t a feybeast, then… what was it?”

Telos took another gulp of soup before answering. “A test, I think.”

“You think?”

“Normal territories don’t send out an archmagis to do patrols. The caravans have finished their rounds for the year. In a normal territory, no one would have known about this until next spring.”

Cirn’s fury spilled out over her side of the tent, but she still managed to keep her aura restrained enough to not chill the other two. Her voice was tight as she said, “Testing magic of violence on children is unacceptable.”

Jul dropped his gaze to the ground.

Telos answered, “While I agree, the airship crashes had children in them. Our enemies it seems have no qualms pushing aside morality.”

Jul asked, “Why the airship crashes? I understood that they were dropping fey into the Wylds for explosive feybeast growth, but why?”

“Lord Everwinter believes there’s a few reasons for it. Political dissenters, marginalized groups, anyone that might in some way be a threat to the Skyian Emperor’s narrative of events. We intercepted missives from their heralds calling for their people to turn on their neighbors and report any suspicious activity. Fey are a spiteful lot, so they likely had a plethora to choose from.”

“Even then, airships?”

“Their armada is expansive, and once a ship is passed its age of usefulness, it becomes a wonderous hunk of junk. The Isles are limited in space. We made a convenient dumping ground that served to disturb us, forced us to spread resources thinly over a vast area early in the year, and left the villages unprepared. Twice the number of crops they’d normally lose to feybeasts were lost during spring and summer in just feybeast attacks. Several other territories are suffering similar shortages, leaving the royals scrambling to find enough food for everyone without upsetting the high fey.”

The silence lingered after Telos’ last statement.

Only after the fire crackled several times did Jul speak again. “We should turn in. Tomorrow, in the daylight, we can look for answers.”

Cirn stood stiffly from her bedroll, stalking out of the tent, the flames almost dying out from her aura of rage as she went. Jul’s eyes followed her, a lump in his throat urging him to say something to her, to call out words that would help.

None came to mind.

Instead, he let the fire drop to smoldering embers, leading by example as he slipped himself into his bedroll.

He did not sleep for hours that night, caught up in the horrors of the daytime and wondering what horrific weapon had been tested that left no magical residue and the caustic scent of metal in the air.

The next morning, Squirt sized up Tater, Puff, and Spark in the greenling den. All three wore live blades that were on the cheaper end of the spectrum, the same type of practice ones she had used for twenty years before getting her current set from Quinn. Tater and Puff had originally served as part of her gang alongside Leaf almost sixty years ago and were roughly similar in ages to her and Puds. Spark was one of the older greenlings, still in his prime, but weathered by it.

She checked over their equipment first, trying not to let her nerves show. The three of them let her fuss, an emotional distance between them that had yet to be resolved, leaving the air somewhat awkward and stilted in a way that reminded Squirt of the damn icy veil woman.

Tater wouldn’t look her directly in the eyes, instead playing with the single lock with highlights of pink in her otherwise uniformly short green hair. Puff had the same affable smile he always had, unbothered by anything, a touch of gray to his coloring and a paleness to his skin that set him apart from other greenlings. Spark, meanwhile, had highlights of red in his hair mixed with a few grays of age, and seemed as stoic as his name was energetic.

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Hoping the goddess didn’t try to lend her “help” again, Squirt led them over to the shrine and had all three of them follow her in the most basic prayer for guidance and protection during a hunt there was. They finished, and with no other formalities, Squirt began trotting out one of the bolt holes out of the castle.

Squirt led the way through the tunnel while Pakos took up the rear. Once they made it out of the secret entrance and into the forest proper, she took a deep breath, relieved and at peace in the Wylds once more.

Gods, she hated the castle walls. Any castle walls.

Anything that reminded her of Riverlands.

Making her way through the forest, she paused long enough to show them the wakeberry plants, having them memorize where they were in relation to the keep and not just the secret exit, and spent some time gathering the berries for the communal fund. Once dried, they kept for years due to an inherent magical property that kept them from spoiling so long as they remained dry, and merchants were always happy to accept them in trades.

The group continued north through the twisted maze of foliage, Squirt showing them how to check for direction with the compasses each had, teaching them how to orient themselves and find their way back.

Along the way, she stopped by blazing anthills, pointing out the pile of reddish sand that was the indicator of one, showing them how to use a stick to extract the warrior ants that had the chemical used in the powder bombs. Stick in, wiggle, pull out, place into bag. Once enough were gathered, tie the bag overnight in water to drown them as they did not release their quarry once they had chomped on it, and simply break off the dead ones, dry them out, and grind them up into a powder.

The hunters had complained about the number of steps despite the dead simplicity, but none of the three of her current students did, instead paying rapt attention to memorize every detail with an almost off-putting intensity.

When she had first done this twenty years ago, her teacher, Stalf, had looked at her like she was insane. In fact, any villager she had contact with basically decided on her general strangeness and simply smiled and nodded at whatever she said.

It had been disheartening, to say the least.

Now? It was a complete one-eighty, and she wasn’t entirely convinced this was much better. Puff at least was looking her as he looked at everyone, with that bland, dopey smile. Spark didn’t say a single word to her, just nodded and stared intensely at her hands whenever she was demonstrating something. Tater played with the pink lock of hair as she watched, lacking any of the playful teasing that she used to give Squirt, instead looking unsure and nervous any time their eyes actually met.

Squirt genuinely couldn’t decide which was more disheartening—realizing she couldn’t connect to fey she had never met or realizing she was failing to connect with those who had once been her entire world.

Continuing to trot north through the forest, while Squirt remained on guard, the other three slowly realized that the farther from the keep, the more relaxed she became. Her instructions, originally tart, stiff commands, changed to a more even cadence. Observational and conversational.

Bending down, she picked up a stick as she moved before slowing to a stop a short distance from a particularly large tree. She pointed. “See the white residue around the base of the trunk?”

They all nodded, each standing alongside her.

She continued, her tone easy and relaxed. “That’s a tree infected with laughing mushrooms. The mushroom heads only come out when someone gets close. Watch.” She tossed the stick at the base of the tree, where it caused a small plume of white powder. A bunch of white mushroom heads rose up from the leaf litter, their caps glittering and shaking, looking like little laughing mouths.

Her three students all dropped their jaws when the heads began actually laughing. “The laugh is hypnotic. We’re far enough away to be safe, but if we were closer, it would lure us in close enough for their spores to infect our bodies. We’d get the sweetest dreams as we died.”

Squirt reached into her bag and pulled out her handkerchief, earpads, and goggles, showing them. “These are enchanted,” she said simply before wrapping the handkerchief around her neck and pulling it over her mouth and nose. Then the goggles, then the earpads.

Pulling out a jar this time, she trotted right up to the mushrooms, allowing them to lift and dance, using her knife to cut off the heads and drop them into the jar. When she had collected most, but not all, of the heads, she turned back to the other three, held up a flat palm to tell them to stay, and trotted out in a different direction until she was the same distance from the tree. Then she pulled out her waterskin, rinsed off her hands, grabbing a rag and wetting it before using it to clean off her armor and grabbing any large deposits of the spores. Finally, she stuffed that all into the jar and closed the lid. Only then did she pull off the earcuffs, goggles, and handkerchief.

Trotting back to the others and keeping her distance from the tree, Squirt showed them the jar. “Remember the throwing sticks? You can turn this into a powder bomb that is undetectable once out of the system and sends the one who inhaled it into a harmless slumber. The ratio does need to be exact—too much, they’ll sleep a month. Too little, and it won’t affect them. And, of course, don’t hit them with too many, or you could kill them.”

Tater leaned over, asking, “Are you serious?”

Squirt nodded.

Tater crossed her arms and stared down at the jar of white, giggling mushrooms. “… we could start equipping everyone with one if they need a quick getaway.”

Squirt raised a brow. “Now you see why I wanted to bring you guys out now?”

Tater winced, her eyes somewhat fearful on the wider forest. “Yeah, but… the monsters…”

Squirt rolled her eyes to the heavens before stalking off, muttering about how not even the greenlings believed the gods damned greenling.

***

Tater leaned closer to Puff. “Is it just me, or is she way grumpier than she used to be?”

Puff hummed, his serene smile still in place. “Perhaps you would be, too, if your fey died.”

Tater winced. “Shit, I forgot about that. We never even offered our condolences.”

Puff stared after where Squirt had disappeared. “Perhaps she is not in need of any.”

Tater continued to think about that as they traveled through the forest.

Squirt had always been the smallest and weakest, but any heist she planned succeeded. Every time.

Still, she’d been practically helpless alone. The girl could sneak, but Puds used to have to help her when she was assigned soup duty since she couldn’t even butcher a rat. Sharp blades helped, but she simply lacked the strength to cut through bone and rarely cared enough about it as a subject to try.

To see her now, covered in scars, battle hardened, and using the blades as she did in their practices? Tater no longer knew who this woman was. She still had a hard time seeing Squirt’s face past that new identity. She couldn’t reconcile the two. Squirt had always been more likely to smirk than smile brightly, sure, but she was quick to laugh and trade jokes before…

Squirt paused before trotting over to a tree and casually standing behind it, waving the others over while she looked farther ahead. She nodded once at whatever she saw beyond the bushes in the middle of Tater had no idea where, and turned back to them, grabbing Tater’s wrist nonchalantly. She whispered to Puff and Spark, “You two stay here. Everyone will get a turn.” Squirt then turned to Tater, her eyes hard with challenge. “Don’t scream.”

Tater grunted as she was dragged around the tree to see—

Her jaw dropped when she realized the small sun patch was not, in fact, empty, and her limbs froze in terror. A monstrous creature with giant eagle wings and a lion’s body shimmered in the sun, becoming visible and glancing at both greenlings. It’s head alone had to be three times the size of Tater’s whole body. Squirt in particular, being the smallest of them, was only just barely taller than its foot.

Squirt didn’t stop, darting around behind the creature to its back leg. Only then did she release Tater’s hand, turning abruptly to face her with a flat, dry, humorless expression. With no further ado, she touched her hand on the creature’s leg and gave it a single stroke over a small section of its coarse fur. Then she gestured at Tater to do the same.

Tater had to swallow bile. She could feel an intense magical aura emanating from the creature. Far less power from a fey was one to be avoided. This was the level at which she was raised to run.

Long seconds passed. Tater finally realized from the flat glare Squirt was leveling at her that the woman was not budging.

Shaking in terror, Tater took a step forward, then another, waiting for the thing to move. An ear twitched her way as it laid its head down with a sigh. She froze, waiting for it to move again, when she heard its breathing even out.

Slowly turning her attention back to Squirt, she shot her a pleading look.

The woman gestured towards the sleeping head meaningfully, raising her brow.

Tater’s muscles bunched. Quick as she could, she touched the thing’s fur before darting back to the safety of the trees, gasping in air once behind the illusion of safety the massive trunk provided.

Puff snickered quietly, whispering, “Damn, she got you good.”

Tater gave him an incredulous look, and his snickering slowly petered out as he realized she wasn’t laughing with him.

At that point, Squirt had returned and grabbed Puff’s wrist. Puff’s serene smile returned as he let Squirt drag him all the way up to the monster the size of a house to touch its foot, which he did with absolute confidence. They returned, and Tater could only stare at Puff in mild disbelief. The man was generally unflappable, yes, but this monster was the size of a house.

Squirt reached out for Spark’s hand, and he pulled his wrist out of her reach before she could touch him, his brow furrowed in stubborn rejection. She nodded, turned and trotted away. Spark followed of his own volition.

Tater was left with Puff, shaking her head in mild disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You can’t tell me there wasn’t at least a little bit of fear in you.”

He shrugged. “I trust her.”

Tater let her eyes slip over his shoulder to see Spark touch the creature’s flank while staring Squirt down, a competitive glint in his eyes.

Squirt smirked, and for the briefest window, Tater saw the woman she used to know, buried under all the layers of everything else. Then she returned to who she was now, trotting away from the creature and back towards Tater, and once again, Tater didn’t know what to say.

So once again, she said nothing, letting the moment pass.