Timbrelle fought to stay upright in her seat. Much like the first night answering endless questions, Gren showed an enthusiasm for exhaustive recounting. The judge, a mild looking elderly woman, took notes from her seat on the stand in the center of the circular room. She’d been politely listening to Gren’s no-nonsense and lengthy report when a moment to cut in presented itself.

“Thorough work, young Grenway. I see why you have earned a reputation for such diligence. Would you please introduce the ladies in question?”

“Diadna, your grace.” He gestured to the woman who nodded politely to the judge. “And Timbrelle.”

The judge studied Timbrelle for a long time before asking “Where are you from?”

The anxiety she’d come to expect from this question drove an icy spike into her chest. There was no lying to this judge, not when her subpoena monitored her breathing and heartbeat. No different than a lie detector.

“Utah, your honor.” She answered honestly.

“Yewtah?” She tested the word on her lips. “Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Though I’m an old woman who kept her nose in the books rather than maps.

“If you can, please tell us more about the Dorark. You are not under suspicion of any kind. This hearing is for public health and documentation. Be at ease.” She assured Timbrelle who sat alone before the judge. The old woman gestured a young man forward.

He was the first person in this world that sported a hair color that deviated from the natural spectrum. A mane of glorious olive green curls bobbed about his shoulders.

“Hello Timbrelle. My name is Artur Antilé. I work in Yost under the Royal family. My title is Justice of Agriculture, but I encourage you to call me Mr. Antilé.” The man smiled pleasantly. “I’ll be conducting this interview.”

He lead her back through Gren’s report. Repeatedly questioning her about simple things like the foliage and spending extended lengths of time extruding from her every single thing she knew of Dorark mushrooms. He seemed disappointed that she couldn’t name the specific varieties. The relenting point was when Timbrelle swore to follow up for a private interview with his lab.

It looked like her life was not yet to be free of the wretched fungus. Disgusting filth.

Mr. Antilé prodded her about the trees of the Dorark.

“The behavior you’ve described goes well past nyctinasty. From your descriptions, these trees approach sentience. Tell me. Do you believe the trees capable of higher thought?” The man’s intensity brought him so close she could see that his eyelashes were also a deep green. They had to grow that way.

“They could be appeased…” She searched for an answer. “They enjoyed stories and disliked long stretches of silence. They gave me gifts when I did what they wanted and… punished me when I didn’t.”

Mr. Antilé shifted his weight awkwardly. “My deepest apologies. I can be indelicate in these matters; I thank you for withstanding my unintended interrogation. Please only share what you feel safe and comfortable discussing.”

A purple aura washed over the room from the judge’s bench. It smelled of amethyst. The aura brought calm and tranquility to those seated under its rays. Timbrelle was beginning to understand that non-aurors couldn’t see the shimmering corona of aurora jewels. People all around her eased their posture and breathed deeper, unaware that the amethyst had been used. It wasn’t the first time the judge had exposed the amethyst. There was a purple strobe every single time the judge spoke. The effect was a mild, pleasant feeling. An amethyst diffuser.

It was the same in the city. Self driving carriages with bright red aura blasting out the windows rolled placidly down the streets. Blue fuzz obscured every inch of the purportedly ornate Yostier fountains. Not that she could enjoy them when it looked like she was seeing them through dirty stained glass. The bronze of her subpoena was one of the only auras she had encountered that couldn’t be attributed to a gem. In the slight links of the chain there was no one focal point. The rusty light emanated from its entirety.

Timbrelle had taken to closing her eyes when the judge spoke. She’d have a crystalurgical seizure if she sat through much more strobing.

“The trees are like children. They get angry, curious, excited… bored.”

She remembered briefly, the deer she’d encountered in the Dorark. Long before Adna had found her, that ragged doe crossed her path. There had been no fear of Timbrelle. The two observed each other with macabre disinterest before going on their way. Had she just been lost, wandering in a regular forest, she may have considered the doe food. As it was, with the creature stalking her through every corner of the Dorark, she gave it the same consideration one might have for their reflection in the window.

Timbrelle truly considered the question again. “Yes. I believe them to be capable of higher thought. They communicate and plan together. Even uprooting each other to stop my path.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“In your opinion, for what reason did the forest keep you so long?” Mr. Antilé leaned in, notepad ready.

“‘Why?’” Timbrelle repeated, giving it some thought. “I think they found it entertaining.“

Perhaps sensing the direction her answer was headed, the judge blasted the room with ‘calm’.

“Once I began talking to them and Adna, telling stories, jokes— anything to distract from the hike, they became infinitely more placid …the trees, not Adna.” She clarified.

“Rude.” Intoned a voice from the gallery.

“While that does not end my questions, it does mark the end of my time.” Mr. Antilé smiled warmly. “If I may intrude upon your schedule, I would love to learn more of your tale soon. May I call on you, Miss Timbrelle?”

She nodded. A little lost. “But I don’t know where we’ll be staying. Trest- House Daliega has hosted us so far but I think we might move to the temple.”

Trestovan’s eyes went wide in the gallery. Maybe she should have run it past him first, it might have been a breach of etiquette.

“Which temple? Torta is the only god I can think of who houses guests at their temple. Perhaps Pimt? The God of Guests?” Mr. Antilé popped his briefcase closed and waited for her answer before leaving.

“Nerrus.” She said, returning his smile.

His smile died in an instant. “Why?”

Timbrelle balked. From the way the judge floored the Amethyst and Mr. Antilé stared at her, she was missing something.

“I was talking to the head priest and they offered a room.” She explained in a panic. “That way we won’t be imposing on the Daliegas.”

Trestovan stood from his seat next to Gren, looking just as panicked. “Your honor, this is the first I have heard of these intentions. I fear I have not been a hospitable host to drive them to seek refuge at the Temple of Nerrus.”

The air grew thick with tension. Elderly or not, the judge’s glare at Trestovan was enough to put him back in his seat.

Her bespectacled gaze fell on Timbrelle, suddenly gentle. “Tell me, child. For what purpose were you speaking to the Head Priest of Nerrus? That is something very few people do.”

“It was… a tour of the temple.”

Fede made it abundantly clear that she was not to disclose the names of the congregation. Shorna told her that Nerrus was often the bad guy. But he still had a temple in the city. Yet it was a small, shabby looking house on the outside. However, all the devotees were incredibly wealthy (and she assumed powerful). Though, no one actually knew who they were.

In short: she had no idea if she was digging her grave or not.

“I dropped by and they just showed me around. It was no big deal. Trestovan has been an amazing host!”

The judge sat back in her seat. “House Daliega has been kind to you?” She tested.

“Yes ma’am.”

“You are leaving of your own volition?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You are choosing to stay in that… temple?” Her look of confusion was understandable. A tour of the building they thought was the temple could be comfortably conducted from the doorway. It was that small.

“Yes ma’am, it’s much bigger than it looks. I promise.” She offered a genuine smile.

“Then I wish you the best. This hearing is adjourned but Miss Timbrelle, please accompany me to my chambers. I’ll remove the subpoena.” She hopped down from her chair and made her way to the exit at the back of the room.

“Should I bring Adna?” She asked.

“If you wish. The bailiff can collect hers.” She answered from the door.

Adna waved Timbrelle ahead and slapped Trestovan on the back. “She just about murdered you.”

“I know. Why didn’t you two tell me I had chased you out?”

The judge closed the door, casting the hallway into shadow and silence. The small woman looked even littler now that she had come down from her chair and towering desk at the center of the courtroom. She lead them into a room and bid Timbrelle to take a seat in an overstuffed armchair.

“Yewtah… Yewtah…” she muttered, pulling out a pipe. “I’d offer you a hit but distributing whitegrass is a crime.”

“Smoking it isn’t?” Timbrelle asked, amused.

“It’s medicinal.” She winked. “So tell me about Yewtah. Where is it?”

“I’m not entirely sure where I am. I don’t know how to answer that.” Timbrelle avoided the question.

She studied the young woman. “Then let me ask something else. Are you familiar with ‘Earth’?”

Timbrelle’s heart ground to a halt. Her voice was a whisper. “I’m not.”

A shrill whistle from her subpoena split the air.

“I assure you, child, I am no threat. I claimed this case for an opportunity to ask you that question.” The judge puffed on her pipe, exhaling a stark white cloud of smoke. “This is my first time meeting one of you organically, though. They’re always so… loud.”

“One of us?”

“People from Earth, of course. You may know them as the Unmade… no? I suppose you have to learn the lingo somewhere.” The judge took another long pull from the whitegrass. “Do you know the extent of your statement in the courtroom?”

“Ugh… I thought I was just an unexpected guest. I thought Trestovan’s house would be pleased to hear I’m leaving.” She groaned.

“I know that, but the aristocracy functions differently. House Daliega’s influence will rise if they host you. People who want to meet you would need to go through them. It’s very likely that they wish to foster a relationship with a suspected auror, survivor of the Dorark and soon-to-be recognized Unmade. You are an opportunity, child.”

The judge’s eyes unfocused and she melted further into her own armchair.

She let out a dense cloud of smoke in a hearty laugh. “To tell Daliega that you’d rather stay in that minuscule cottage than their impressive lands… you’re brave.”

“It’s pronounced idiotic.” Timbrelle moaned through her hands. “Maybe I will have some of that.”

“Mm… soliciting drugs from a judge? Yes, I think ‘idiotic’ fits much better.” As the conversation wore on, the judge was rapidly losing elevation. If their chat took too long, she’d be horizontal soon enough. “I will send word to my contacts in the Unmade.”

“And? What happens then? Do I get to go home?”

The judge’s eyes fluttered closed. The pipe shed a gold aura in a circle, trickling out slowly like a steeping tea. On the side table a matching saucer emitted an identical aura. When the two edges of the golden light touched they contracted, pulling the lit pipe onto the saucer. Like the subpoena still fitted to her wrist, the aura came from no one place in particular. It couldn’t be Crystalurgy. It didn’t smell right.