[prose-only version here]

XII.

Duskmarch 16, Thornsday, Year 731.

Oakton had five main city gates, and Lake Gate was the southernmost of them, positioned on the broad road running parallel to the Bay of Mists’ northern shore. It was a somewhat puzzling name since Lake Miran lay centrally within Oakton’s walls, at the very base of the mighty Argenoak. Still, Lake Gate was the primary point of passage for fisherfolk, water traders, and travelers, with access to a dozen small bayward settlements to the south. Twin towers squatted on either side of the arched gatehouse, with an aged stone wall thick with moss from the bay winds and constants mists. A carved lintel above the gate bore the relief of a swan in flight over water, one of the symbols of the Mere-Lady, goddess of fresh water, lakes, and rivers, and patron of Lake Miran.

They left just after dawn. The winter rains had broken a day earlier, and the morning air around Lake Gate carried the fresh, briny tang of the coast, mingling with the scent of fish and smoke from nearby drying racks. Gulls and reedbirds circled overhead, with the ever-present branches of the Argenoak concealing the brightening sky farther above.

Vessa thought that perhaps there were more travelers at the city walls looking to enter than she would have expected for midwinter, and all looking grim and haunted. She would have casually asked an Iron Thorn guard about it had she not had a warrant on her head, and instead pulled the hood of her travel cloak tight as she passed through the crowds, as if unused to the morning chill.

She’d forgotten how slow they needed to move thanks to Alric’s lamed foot. The man would stubbornly walk as long and far as instructed, but he would never do so quickly. As a result, they set a strolling pace south of Oakton, Alric’s runed staff jabbing the wide road amidst their footfalls.

“This bloody plan still feels half-baked,” Maelen complained. “I’d rather have faced that twice-cursed Nightwight again to get whatever’s buried in his camp, then moved south. Hadren said he’s south of where we’d gotten the book. Why not start at the Hold?”

They’d had this conversation round in circles for two days. Alric sighed, and when he spoke his voice held the lack of emotion of someone making the same points half a dozen times. He ticked off points on his ink-stained fingers. “First, because I don’t believe what’s buried near Sarin is treasure. Second, we might not survive another encounter with him. Third, the idea of Sarin gaining access to the Tome is terrifying. Fourth, Hadren also said that ‘anyone in the dark’ would know how to find this Starless Rift, and there are towns south of Oakton, not west of it.” He waggled his fingers. “Did I miss anything?”

Maelen hocked and spat into the dirt, scowling.

“You said you were going to research the Starless Rift before we left,” Vessa chimed in, trying to change the subject. “Any luck?”

Now it was the scribe’s turn to scowl. “None, I’m afraid. I could find no mention of it in the Lodge’s histories, not even in the restricted texts I’m not supposed to have access to. It’s… well, I have no idea what it is, much less where.”

“So the bloody plan is just to walk south and ask directions?” Maelen asked sourly.

“Pretty much,” Alric smiled. Vessa thought his face utterly transformed when he smiled. It was a shame he did so rarely. “I have enough coin for us to sleep in beds long enough to at least try. If we find nothing, well… I suppose then we can brave Sarin’s camp.”

“Shit plan,” Maelen grumped, and kicked a rock skittering into the long grass by the roadside. Then she blew out a breath noisily, seemed to gather herself, and added, “Well. At least we’re out of the city for a bit. Lets the heat die down a bit on Vessa’s warrant.”

“I’m still unclear why Vessa has a warrant,” Alric admitted. “What–”

“It’s stupid,” she interrupted. “Maelen picked a fight and I was blamed for it. One of the morons we… well, I stabbed, was somebody important’s son.”

“Who’s son?” Alric blinked.

Vessa shrugged and rubbed at her nose. She answered impatiently. “Don’t remember. It’ll die down. I’ve had warrants on my head before, same as Maelen.”

“Whatever for?”

“By the all the twisted knots, man! Leave it!” Vessa snapped, a sudden exasperation filling her. His constant questions about… well, everything, never ceased. Alric stopped his shuffling walk to stare at her, and she stomped past him, walking briskly ahead. “Come on! We’re making bad time and you’re too slow!” She barked over her shoulder. Alric asked something she couldn’t hear, and Maelen’s bellowed laughing filled the air.

They spoke little the rest of the day, Vessa brushing away any attempts at conversation. On their walks, she said that she would scout ahead, but it was only an excuse to be in her own head. She found herself surprisingly embarrassed by her morning outburst and simultaneously infuriated whenever Maelen’s grin caught her eye. Vessa knew that her friend thought she and Alric would be rolling in the barn sooner than later, even when the two of them genuinely had nothing in common. Handsome enough, but soft. Maelen wouldn’t bed him, so why did she think Vessa would? Teasing, like they were twelve. Ridiculous.

In the roil of her thoughts, Vessa did her best to appreciate the unseasonably beautiful weather and scenery. Through low-lying grasslands, the Long Road snaked ever southward. To the west were the forested hills of the Greenwood Rise. Every now and again, they could see the Bay of Mists to the east, the wide body of water separating Oakton from Bayren and its peninsula. Vessa had never been across the Bay, but the wide waters made her nervous. She’d heard tales of the ocean beyond Bayren, a vast never-ending expanse of undrinkable water, and the very idea of it made her queasy.

Several travelers and wagons passed them, all heading to Oakton, their breath puffing in the chill air. They told stories of monsters ravaging livestock and kidnapping children, forcing them towards the refuge behind city walls. None of the accounts matched another, though–Some swore of black dogs. Others, writhing worms. Still others, invisible things that screamed in the dark. Maelen pronounced it all “unreliable village nonsense.” No one, it seemed, had heard of the Starless Rift.

At dusk, they reached Leandra’s Rest, a small fishing hamlet nestled between reed marshes and the shore road. It consisted of little more than a few docks, its scattering of wooden houses built upon low stilts. There were shrines to the Mere-Lady and Harbormaster but no central place of worship. Indeed, the only common space in the community was its sole tavern, the Brine Spoon. Fishing nets draped the outside railings. A hand-painted, chipped sign above the door showed a wooden spoon stirring a curling wave. Vessa wondered how communities like this one survived the wilds of the Redwood Marches. Hardy folk, these villagers, and more than a little crazy.

Inside, the Brine Spoon at dinnertime was filled with the scent of fish stew and hearth smoke. The beams were hung with dried herbs, clamshell chimes, and driftwood. The floor was packed sand and oiled planks. The three of them received nods from the handful of patrons and made their way to the bar, which seemed to be carved from a single, huge bone, possibly from some sea creature that had wandered into the bay—just another reason to avoid the water, from Vessa’s perspective. Behind the bar, cloudy bottles lined crooked shelves, along with a pot of bubbling stew. A tarnished plaque with the stag sigil of Calvenor, faded but proudly displayed, had been pinned to a far wall.

Alric’s hope, since Hadren had proclaimed that “anyone in the dark” would know the Starless Rift’s whereabouts, was that they should ask villagers after the sun had set. So, the three of them ordered their stew and hunks of bread, sipped ale from clay mugs, and waited until deep into the evening.

The mood amongst the party remained tense during the meal, and Vessa was surprised when Alric asked, “So. You two are free of debt. What do you do now?”

“What?” she and Maelen answered in unison, pausing in sopping up the stew with bread.

“It’s only…” he said, his rich voice cautious. “You agreed to travel to Thornmere Hold because of your debts to the Latchkey Circle, yes? Those debts are paid. Why travel with me now?”

Maelen went back to eating her stew while Vessa waited for her to answer. After swallowing a mouthful, the broad-shouldered warrior grinned, “It’s not that complicated. I want money. Hadren said he’d give you treasure for the book. You seem inclined to give it to him, and are willing to share the treasure besides, so it’s an easy path to coin. We get you safely to Hadren. We get paid.”

“And where Maelen goes, I go,” Vessa added with casual conviction. Maelen blinked at that, a look of mild surprise. “Plus, money’s nice,” she added.

“Yes, but… then what?” Alric prompted, dipping a spoon into his bowl. He was the only one of them using a spoon. “Don’t you have goals? What do you want to do with the coin you earn? What’s it all for?”

Maelen scoffed. “You’re overthinking it, lad. Life is better with a heavy purse. Now that our debts are paid, what we make is ours to keep. We’re mercenaries, Vessa and me. This is what we do.”

“There’s got to be more to your life than that,” Alric pushed. “Don’t you have any dreams? Goals for your life?”

“Living is enough,” Maelen said with a shrug, Alric grunted but for once thought better of pursuing the conversation, and the three returned to their silent meal. The scribe likely didn’t catch it, but Vessa had known the gruff warrior well these past few years. His words had struck a nerve and set her thinking. Her eyes glazed over as she ate, less aware of her surroundings, her movements just a blink slower. In fact, Maelen’s surprising reaction caused Vessa to roll the question more seriously around in her skull. It was as her friend had said: Money was for spending, work was for money, and that was it. Or was it? She realized that her first answer had been more accurate… Vessa was here for Maelen, coin or no. But why? She scowled, irritated all over again. Alric and his blasted brain caused more problems than they solved.

Eventually, they wiped their bowls clean, licked their fingers, and finished their ale. They agreed to split up, moving individually throughout the tavern to ask patrons about the Starless Rift’s whereabouts.

The conversations proved fruitless. They heard more rumors of monsters, were bombarded by village gossip and requests for news from the city. Vessa was propositioned for sex twice, once by a tattooed, Tideborn fisherman, and another by the one-eared bartender. Her answer both times had almost started a fight, and, in the end, Alric agreed to pay twice their room rate to retain their rooms that night. The three of them went to bed early, frustrated and bickering about what to do the next day.

Duskmarch 17, Goldday, Year 731.

Over breakfast, Alric urged them to continue south to the next village. Maelen called him a fool, but said it was his coin to burn. Lacking conviction, they took longer than usual to pack their travel packs and left the Brine Spoon well after sunrise.

Clouds had gathered overhead, and morning fog still snaked its way through much of the village. As they passed through the short patch of rocky soil the locals called a village square, a voice called out in the mists.

“My, my! What do you call a mouse, rabid dog, and kicked puppy walking in darkness towards a cliff?” The voice was dry and thin with age, but clear as a bell. The three of them stopped. Vessa’s senses were sharper than the others and pointed.

“There,” she said simply. They followed her lead, and as they neared the square’s edge, the fog momentarily parted.

Sitting on an overturned fish crate near a lantern post was an old Dunfolk woman, her skin dark and leathery, her tightly coiled hair bound up in a patched, sea-green shawl. Leaning next to her was a wiry cane made of driftwood, carved with words Vessa couldn’t make out.

“Ah!” Alric’s face brightened. “The village crier, yes? What news, ma’am?”

“Ma’am?” the woman cackled. “So proper! People around here call me Wink,” she winked dramatically, still chuckling. Then she cleared her throat theatrically and said, “The shore speaks tide. The blind speak time!”

Vessa hadn’t noticed, but the old woman was indeed blind, her eyes clouded white. Yet she looked at each of their faces intently with her milky gaze, smiling with amusement. But if she couldn’t see, how did she know where they stood? It was unnerving.

“What do you want to know, son? News from passing barges? Perhaps the sex of the new Vintel child two houses yonder? Or perhaps,” she paused dramatically. “You have a more specific question? Such as…” Another pause, and she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m always so in the dark, you see.” She waved a hand in front of her sightless face, then winked at him.

“What are you–? Oh!” Alric started, and the woman laughed again, wheezing with joy.

“What in the Rootmother’s name is going on?” Maelen leaned over and whispered to Vessa. She looked back and shrugged.

“Go on,” the woman fought to catch her breath and waved at Alric. “Tell your canine friends the joke.”

“People in the dark will know!” he said to them triumphantly. “Of course! It’s the blind. The blind know the way to the Starless Rift!” Wink whooped with joy at the proclamation, sharing in Alric’s triumph.

“I’ll be damned,” Maelen said in surprise. “So where is it then?”

“You’ll be damned?” the woman scolded. “No, no, no. You’ll be dead, dear, snapping at the hands trying to pet you, never accepting their love. The boy here is the damned one, struggling as one of the dark gods plucks him by his naked tail.”

“What did you say?” Maelen’s face glowered and her muscles tensed.

“You know of Orthuun, then?” Alric said, and at the name Wink made a warding sign over her chest and forehead. “Of his Tome?”

“Bad business, my boy, bad business,” Wink shook her head sadly. “That little book of yours is one of five, and each darker than the next. Get rid of it, if you can, for the Blind Sovereign’s shadow is falling across us all, and I fear no light will remain.”

“What do you mean I’ll be dead?” Maelen challenged, and Vessa put a hand on her muscled arm, pulling her back.

“Wait, Mae,” she whispered urgently. “Let them talk.”

“You– you’re not with Hadren? And Orthuun?” Alric asked insistently.

“I’ve lost my sight, son, not my ability to see,” she made the same warding gesture. “Free advice from an old woman? Drop that book down a deep well and run as far as you can away from here.”

“Here meaning this village?” he asked.

Wink didn’t answer right away. She looked up into the cloudy sky with those white eyes, considering. Then she shrugged with a grin. “Never mind. He’s got the whole Redwood Marches in his blackened palm. You would have to run far, or fight him back. But even if you fight and win, you must release the book. Which,” she sighed dramatically, “you probably won’t do.”

“I don’t understand,” Alric said helplessly, looking like a young boy to Vessa’s eyes. He licked his lips.

“No,” she smiled. “I don’t suspect you do. Travel well, little mouse! Two days west and the same south. There’s your Starless Rift. There’s no missing it,” she said sourly.

“Is there anything else?” Alric urged. “Anything else we need to know? Who’s Hadren? What is the Starless Rift?”

“Anything else? Hm. Let’s see…” Wink rubbed at her chin again thoughtfully. “When you get to the cliff’s edge, little mouse: Don’t jump.”

“Come on,” Maelen growled, pulling at Alric’s arm in the same way Vessa had done to hers. “We have our directions. Let’s leave this blind old bat to babble her nonsense to someone else.”

Wink shrieked after them: “Release the book! Don’t jump! The dark falls forever!”

“Why am I a kicked puppy?” Vessa grumbled to Maelen, but her friend was too busy dragging Alric along to answer.

As they left Leandra’s Rest, shoulders hunched to the morning chill, they could still hear Wink’s breathless calls in the fog.

“Run or fight, but don’t jump into the darkness!”

Next: Vastren Hollow [with game notes]