COBALT 7.1: YUNE LISTENS

“That is the purpose of wedding. To defy death with the promise of new life. To find one another in the shadowland by the bond that is willingly shared, the pact renewed at every instant, at every level of the planes. There is nothing more holy than the creation of the soul, and so there is nothing more sacred than this joining of souls.”

– from the Urdaithian Creed

“Seriously?” I furrowed my brow at the fairy. “I’m not even getting an augmented sense of smell.”

“Well you can’t blame me,” the tiny chap squeaked indignantly, flapping his wings to carry himself up into the ethereal breeze. “I did my best, you know.”

“I release you from my service,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Go, do whatever it is fairies do…”

“Fine by me,” he replied in a miffed tone, and floated off through the supernaturally-tall trees and their gushing spouts of gleaming sap.

I clapped my hands and sighed, then set off again in a random direction.

“She’s pretty hard to replace, eh?” my piggish, mouldy gremlin asked, trotting alongside me in his red, curly boots. “Zelurra…” He hissed wistfully. “She was a tasty little thing, wasn’t she?”

“I do not appreciate that kind of talk,” my bronze-skinned, nearly-naked sylph said from my other side. “The lady was trouble. And that was not her name. We are well to be rid of her. It is due to her and… her ilk that we fey suffer our poor repute.”

“She was trouble, sure, but useful trouble,” I said heavily. “I still haven’t found anything that lets me see and hear half as well as she did, and it’s been weeks – I thought I’d get used to it, but…”

“Here he goes again,” Zab grumbled.

“We do share your mind, Feychilde,” Avaelar said in a conciliatory manner, “much of the time at least. We have seen through your eyes. We are well-versed in that of which you speak.”

“Alright, alright.” I stopped walking. “I think we’re done here.”

“You do not mean –“ Avaelar began.

“It’s time. It’s no worse than a wraith.”

The sylph cast me a disappointed look. “Gilaela will not be pleased.”

“I’ll keep him asleep, don’t worry.”

“I should think so!” he chided me, then, with a sheepish look on his face, said, “Apologies, Feychilde. I realise that you require perceptions beyond those afforded mortal men – yet I cannot comprehend your thinking in this. To what power might I turn, should you fail to resist the blood-hunger? And are you not Feychilde? Are –“

“You do share my mind, noble sylph. You know those are my number one problems. Number one and two problems, I mean…” The way he’d phrased it got me bothered all of a sudden – like I could become an enemy to be dealt with rather than still being me…

I took a breath, then squared my shoulders. “And you should know by now, I can’t afford to make mistakes. If my pride costs even one life –“

He held up his hand. “I should not question. I bow.” Avaelar ducked his head at me, the most respectful gesture he’d yet graced me with… thereby making me feel even more guilty about this.

“Very clever,” I snapped. “Come on, let’s go back.”

I ushered them through the jadeway, back into the twilit graveyard at the shrine of Yune in Sticktown, and joined with them again. Next I brought forth my wraith into the space I occupied, accessing its weightless nature and adjusting it down to the bare minimum.

“I would request my own sojourn, if I would not be remiss,” Avaelar mumbled.

“I’ll stay!” Zab said.

Very well.

With only my gremlin for company, I found the gesture that beckoned my lone remaining vampire into the world from the Nethernum.

A line of purple mist expanded then receded, leaving behind a pale-faced, pale-haired guy with gaunt features, pursed lips, and Sticktown clothing on his back. He was five-eight or five-nine, ugly as sin with a potato-shaped head and a huge bald patch, yet his vampiric nature – the daunting eyes, the languid stance – remained encapsulating.

“How mad are you?” I asked in a level voice, speaking Netheric. “I know we haven’t had chance to chat – you did alright in Zadhal, though…“

“Master…” He replied in the same hollow tongue, yet I could catch the Sticktown accent nonetheless. He was looking uncomfortable, refusing to meet my eyes. “Master, please… Please let me go, I promise –“

“You aren’t being let go. You’re… having your utility increased, that’s all.”

“Utility?” It seemed to break through his mood, and he turned his lavender gaze on me. “Ain’t that posh-speak for sewage-work?”

“Your usefulness,” I amended myself. “You’re going to be my eyes and ears. I just wanted to… I don’t know…”

He stood incredibly still, as motionless and silent as a statue, regarding me with unblinking, piercing eyes.

“… find out if you were a great conversationalist,” I finished, and sighed again. “Fine. Get in here.”

I waved a hand as if to strike him, and as though he were an illusion my arm passed right through him, absorbing his substance into myself.

Go to sleep, vampire.

The sensations trickled over me.

The evening. It lived and breathed.

I almost felt that I could hear the grass growing, never mind the worms wriggling around in it. I could smell the rain, and the rot, and the winter mushrooms. I could make out the veins in the individual leaves that swirled in the shadows.

The feeling of strength, power, that I received from my satyrs when I joined with them was definitely missing. My musculature hadn’t been changed, nor my bone density – I could tell that much just by flexing my arm.

Nor did I find myself craving a cup of blood…

All in all, I was satisfied. I spread Avaelar’s wings and took off for Treetown, adjusting my tangibility as I climbed the cold air.

I’d been lucky with the vampire, it seemed – or had I?

Did my desire to get the perception powers of the vampire have something to do with it? If I spend more time, dwelling on what I want to get out of the relationship, will I get better results?

“Not got a clue,” Zab said instantly.

Zel would’ve known.

“She probably could’ve written the book on it.” The gremlin sounded like he was taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in my distress.

Even if you’re right, she wouldn’t have ever told me the truth about it, I thought back. She’d have let on about it before I picked you up, if she was going to… No, she was scared I’d figure it out – she didn’t want me to get her danger-sense, or conscious control of her future-sight…

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“You can do everything I can do,” Zab commented.

Except the mind-scan – and it’s not like my illusions are as good as yours. Plus… sorry, Zabalam, but you’re a bit of a one-trick pony. Zel had a whole candy-bag of minor abilities…

She was a dangerous adversary – whatever she was, whomever she served. No one’s explanations made any sense of her betrayal, though. Sure, maybe a few of the sorcerers that went around with things like her inside them had ended up being disintegrated in Incursions. But she’d done what she could to keep me away from that level of danger – or was that just a ruse, lulling me into a false sense of security, only waiting till I ripened to let me be plucked? Could she really be in league with the dragon’s demons? She’d always made out as though she hated dragons… And she’d worked so hard to rid us of Tyr Kayn’s influence… Was it possible she just wasn’t aware Lovebright was one of her master’s plots, until it was too late?

“Oh man, just send me to sleep already,” Zab said.

My brief flash of irritation at the interruption and my wholehearted agreement with his proposition were enough to send his consciousness straight back to his home plane – exactly what was supposed to happen, when the eldritch was properly bound.

Exactly how Zel – whatever her damn name was – had given herself away.

I flew on over the Blackrush, over Oldtown. Off in the distance, my vampiric sight let me pick out the trees beyond the Whiteflood – my destination.

Zab was right. I’d spent too much time dwelling over the faerie queen already. There were so many other pressing issues. Everseer bothered me the most – the fact every murder she committed from now on was on my head – my failure to end the threat she posed, when I had the chance… But the Nighteye situation was probably just as bad. Lying about the druid to Fangmoon and Sunspring, and the poor old grouse they’d found who knew him – it stung… but I didn’t have the luxury of conscience. I’d gradually lessened my outward confidence that we’d find ‘Theor’ until Killstop made the timely suggestion in front of everyone that we give up. In secret she was doing her best to counter the cover, the scrying-shield which Everseer’s presence in his life had granted Nighteye, but the truth was that we were swamped. Bigger events were afoot, drawing our attention. The dragon revivification stuff loomed over everything, never mind the whole ‘twin archmage’ fiasco…

According to Phanar, Ord Ylon wanted Redgate to visit his lair. That could only mean Lovebright had manipulated Timesnatcher into correcting the flow of the future, so that the evil arch-sorcerer would end up heading to Chakobar. Which meant Tyr Kayn and Ord Ylon were colluding… and if Everseer was right, that they were serving the ancient dragon progenitors, Ulu Kalar and Mal Tagar… then it was entirely possible that they’d been working towards the resurrection of a whole host of long-dead wyrms.

Did that mean it was all over? Did Redgate’s demise spell the end of their plots? Or did it just mean Tyr Kayn found another sorcerer to take over his part of the plan? The Magisterium dispatched investigators to Ord Ylon’s lair, and their reports should’ve been coming in any day now. Either way, we would soon find out what there was to be discovered in the old wyrm’s tunnels.

This much of my speculations I’d shared with Killstop, my co-conspirator. Tanra was already keeping Nighteye’s newfound heretic status a secret for me, and I figured a little more Heresy couldn’t hurt now the damage was done. She hadn’t caught much of what Everseer said to me in that buried tunnel but she’d inferred a lot using her power, and, well… in for a penny, in for a plat. I’d explained what the super-diviner said, her reference to a Time of the Twins, a ‘Crucible’ of sorts. To her credit, she took the news that Mund was destined to be eaten by dragons extremely well, I thought, only commenting on the difficulty the monsters would encounter in locating enough sauce to go with their historic barbecue.

I wished I could be as lackadaisical about the whole thing. Wasn’t this the future that she and Timesnatcher both had nightmares about? It was strange that she seemed so carefree about it… could it be that she was simply covering her concerns with bravado?

But this was Tanra, after all. She was hardly predictable either.

Diviners, I sighed internally for what felt like the thousandth time in the last three months.

It was good to have a confidante, though. I couldn’t risk telling Em. I’d patched things up with her, of course, and now, just two days from the first of Yearsend, our relationship was better than ever, sort of. I’d meant to confront her, but how could I? I was being a hypocrite, and keeping the blood off my own hands meant nothing if I’d been facilitating those without such qualms. So, she’d killed people. Everyone I knew had killed people. The victims were heretics, mass-murderers… I let the moment pass me by, and after a few days it all just blew over. There was too much occupying our attention for me to stay fixated on one little thing anyway.

At the Gathering, Timesnatcher chose Stormsword to debrief the Maginox section of the heretic battle, and she filled-in those who’d stayed at Ryntol Wood on what they’d missed. There’d been a couple of new champions in the circle, too – Copperbrow, a very nervous-looking gnome wizard in a bronze robe and mask, and Ripplewhim, an even-more nervous-looking Sticktown enchanter clad in green and black. I noted their looks of relief mingled with horror when they started to recognise the magnitude of the events they’d only-just missed out on. When I caught up with Ripplewhim after the meeting ended he didn’t want to chat, and walked out of the Ceryad chamber with an expression on his (lower) face that said he might not be coming back.

Might not be allowed back, if what they’d told me about Glaif and Illodin were true. Without the heart of a champion beating in his breast, what would happen if he tried to enter again? Would the doors simply fail to open for him, or would he be unable to cross the threshold? Redgate had allegedly experienced no discernible issues entering the Tower, but he had put his life on the line for others… ostensibly, anyway. Would Ripplewhim do the same?

Not that I could blame the new guy. While Timesnatcher had elected to speak about the dragons and their purpose in front of everyone – about the twins, about the book the heretics stole – I thought it was a bad idea. The gossip and rumours started almost immediately. His words were half-truth and hearsay, full of uncorroborated speculation. I knew more than he did, for once. Until I found another book or some other credible source – and I was spending every scant spare minute I could scrape together looking – I had no way to tell him, or anyone but Killstop, about Everseer’s information.

Not without risking my neck.

I dropped down at Phanar and Kani’s garden; I could see the cleric and Ana already sitting at the outdoor table with Tanra and Bor, glasses and tankards in front of them. An anti-precipitation spell covered the garden with its faint, orangey glow. Phanar and Ibbalat were busy carrying bowls, filled with warm fruits and steamed vegetables, into and out of the open doorway, loading them up on a side-table. I wouldn’t have taken a group of adventurers for such expert chefs but over the last few weeks they’d been keen to prove me wrong – it seemed being out in the wilderness half your life meant you had to be self-reliant in the cookery department, not just in the practice of self-defence.

“Feybaby!” Ana called, looking up at me with a devious smile gleaming white in the centre of her narrow, red-brown face.

“Annoythta,” I grated, descending to the paved patio. The girl had a scandalous tendency to spot me when I was approaching, no matter how enwraithed I was.

“You’re almost late,” Kani chided, sipping her hot tea. She always had a bit of a brittle attitude with me – which was understandable, given what she and her friends endured at Redgate’s hands. “Where’s Storm?”

“She’ll be on her way.” I touched down, and instead of pulling out my chair I floated straight through it, only rematerialising and sitting down once I was on the table side. “I got caught up in Etherium. Interviewing fey is way more difficult than I ever expected. And trust me, if there’s one thing I know – it’s fey.”

“Fey?” Ibbalat said, raising an eyebrow at me as he manoeuvred through the doorway holding aloft a bowl of peaches that poured with steam. “What kind?”

“I’ll trade you, answers for one of them,” I said eagerly. My stomach was almost turning over with hunger all of a sudden. “I’m ravenous for some reason.”

“Gladly!” He grinned, and I could see the little wane-leaf in his teeth.

The mage sauntered my way, lowering the bowl so that I could reach in and grab one of the warm, soft fruits – the hot, spicy sauce they were swimming in made them extra-slippery and it took me two goes.

“Kind… fairy,” I said through my juicy mouthful. “Powers… perception. Bit of diviner be good.”

“You joined with a vampire instead?” Ana asked.

I noticed Kani straighten a little in her seat.

“Wha…? How?” I stared at the rogue in confusion.

She raised a finger to one of her canines.

I quickly swallowed, licked my teeth, then shoved my finger in my mouth, running it across my upper row.

She was right. The two teeth were longer, sharper.

“Daaaamn,” I said. “I wonder if I still have a reflection…”

“You do,” Tanra murmured.

“Well…” I felt a bit flustered. “Glad you caught it, Annoythta, rather than my brother and sister!”

“Just happy to be of service, O Mighty Liberator.” She nodded her head, smiling sardonically.

“Erm… it’s An-ath-ta…” Ibbalat intervened, looking in confusion between the two of us.

“You missed her calling him Feybaby when he arrived,” Phanar said, also stepping out the door, this time with a tray of fresh-baked bread. “I believe the rejoinder was well-deserved.”

“I bow to the lady’s brother’s judgement,” Ibbalat’s eyes twinkled, “and apologise to the eminent champion. As for this ‘Feybaby’ thing… I thought I was the one you called ‘baby’…”

He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

“Oh – I didn’t –”

The rogue floundered, looking into the mage’s face, the glum expression he wore behind his beard.

“Never seen her lost for words before,” Bor commented.

“Pretty sure she didn’t mean it that way, Ibb,” I said. “Not unless she wants to fight Storm over me…”

I leaned back and put my hands behind my head. Bor chuckled.

“Eww,” Ana said, screwing her face up. “A sorcerer? I don’t think so. Not that I couldn’t take your girlfriend in a fight –”

“Uh oh,” Tanra breathed, laughing lightly –

“What is this?” came an echoing ripple from above.

Ana looked up, and grinned a little before calling:

“Storm… baby… I’m just sayin’, if I have to fight you when you interrupt Phanar and Kani’s wedding –”

“Vhat?” Em cried, descending.

“Hey –” Kani began.

“Ana!” Phanar burst out.

“– as you’re totally in love with him in secret –”

“This is nonsense!”

“I know.”

“We know.”

“– but your boyfriend,” the rogue glared at me, “got all grumpy –”

“Anathta,” Ibbalat said in a tired voice.

“I think you’ll find,” I remarked, “it’s pronounced An-noyth-ta.”

* * *