Even with the stormwinds, the Elder Twin had emptied and filled again before the Windrider left the doldrums. It was a happy day when they once again saw the coast of the mainland, a long thin strip of brown across the horizon, with a tiny hole of blue in the center: the Strait of the Scribes.
The voyage had been mostly calm since the storm, and there’d been no sign of Tshav. Their only stop had been at an island port to find Yarik a new anchor — only to learn that it had been conquered by human-eating mermaids since Yarik had last been there. This might not have been a problem, except that Alika and Snow had disguised themselves as humans, and even removing the illusion wouldn’t convince the mermaids otherwise. Still, they had managed to retrieve an anchor from a shipwreck and were soon on their way.
Gust had been in and out of consciousness since they had found him, and only over the past few days had he managed to stay awake for any decent period of time. Getting him to eat and drink had been difficult, and for a while, Yarik had been concerned that he would die of thirst. Still, he’d begun eating fish in the short periods he’d stayed awake and had slowly introduced himself to all of the crew members.
Alika hadn’t been sure why his healing was taking so long: his wounds had long since closed up. Snow had worried that he might have been carrying a terrible Kurothian disease with him, and they would all soon succumb, but Yarik had suggested it had to do with the bracelet he’d been wearing. Gust had confirmed this in one of his waking moments — it was an overuse of magic, combined with his body having to adjust to Tasien’s ‘auric resonance’, whatever that meant.
Whatever the case, the four had left Gust beneath the cabin to rest and recover (except for Tarka, who refused to leave the poor Kurothian alone).
Alika stood on one of the Windrider’s bows, watching as the shoreline crept closer. The home of the Scribes was nothing like the human cities she’d been to. The coast itself was a sheer rocky cliffside, waves constantly crashing against it as if the entire sea was throwing her might against the land. No dragon could climb up such a surface, though Alika spotted a thin, slippery stairwell rising out of the sea. Smaller rocks jutted from the water, creating a treacherous coast for the many, many ships between them and the strait.
The narrow strait itself was formed by the two cliffs almost meeting — just almost. The land formed the shape of two upturned claws, their tips brought together but not quite touching. The space beneath the claws formed the Strait of the Scribes, a thin waterway that shimmered with an unnatural blue light, a grid of hexagons stretching across it like bubble films, masses of ships anchored on either side.
The hexagonal film stretched up to the tips of the cliff-claws, bounded by a bridge so large that a city had been built upon it: the City of the Scribes. Angular walls of glittering white stone, each far taller than a dragon, stretched across the bridge and down the land. Small slits for windows dotted many levels of the city, though no movement could be seen inside. Spired pearly towers rose from behind the city walls, looking down upon the ships trapped on either side of the strait.
The Windrider came to a stop at the back of the mass of ships: a hodge-podge of boats of all shapes and sizes. Sailed ones, rowed ones, boats as small as rafts, and boats as big as houses. There were hundreds of them, all still, waiting behind the blue hexagonal film, another cluster visible on the other side.
“These ruins are so big!” Alika gasped, her eyes focused on the city above them. “They’re larger than the one Yarik was from!”
“They’re not ruins,” Snow yapped, twisting her tails. The Windrider had gotten so close to another boat that she could jump to it. “Yarik, that’s a magic barrier. How are we supposed to get through that?”
“The Scribes are sticklers for bureaucracy, and like to keep track of everything that’s going through their gates: they’d keep track of everything in the world if they could,” Yarik answered. “Their cataloging system is intense, and they only allow one boat through a day — searching the vessel and interviewing the crew is quite time-consuming, after all. Taxes must be paid, pawprints must be registered, and forms fired in triplicate.”
“Um,” Tarka asked. “What are taxes and forms?”
“Torture methods invented by bored humans,” Yarik muttered. “Ah, and don’t think the four of you are exempt by virtue of your species. It just means extra paperwork, and perhaps some poking and prodding: more knowledge for the Scribes after all.”
“Sounds like you’ve had some bad experiences,” Snow replied.
“Bah,” Yarik said. “They’re a nightmare for merchants, but the magic they trade is worth it if you have the patience. The Scribes aren’t known for being expedient: based on the number of boats being held up, it will be quite a few great months before we’re even granted a hearing.”
Snow groaned, burying her snout in her tails.
“We can look for the Night of the Scribes then!” Tarka exclaimed, always thinking of the bright side.
“Unfortunately, outsiders are not welcome within their compound,” Yarik replied, shaking his head. “It’s far more difficult for a non-Scribe to get in than to get through. Even I’ve never been inside.”
Alika squinted, staring at Yarik. Was it just her, or was he trying hard to hide a smirk?
“We’re not really just planning to just sit on a boat for a few months and fill out these… forms, right?” she asked. “You don’t — I mean, Tarka and I don’t have the time to just sit around and do nothing.”
Yarik winked, and finally let loose the grin he’d been holding back. He laughed a hearty laugh, coughing and wheezing.
“Of course not!” he said as soon as he had caught his breath. “I’d prefer getting ripped apart by a mermaid! No, no, there’s another way through: Smuggler’s Way, a series of caves through the cliffside caverns unbeknownst to all these fools. They aren’t well-guarded, but they’re known to be treacherous waters — any ship larger than the Windrider can’t fit through it. In fact, one might even say that the Windrider holds the maximum amount of cargo that can be taken through Smuggler’s Way, a delightfully coincidental fact I certainly had no knowledge of when I had her built!”
“Treacherous doesn’t sound good,” Alika murmured.
“The turbulent currents and winds through it are constantly shifting, threatening to smash ships against sharp rocks,” Yarik grinned. “It’s dark and maze-like, and there’s always the risk of running, or even ramming, into one of the Scribes’ guard boats. However, it would be far from the first time I’ve been through it.”
“Great!” groaned Snow. “Yarik, I swear: sometimes I think you’re trying to get us all killed.”
“But there’s no other way through?” Alika asked. “It’s Smuggler’s Way or waiting it out?”
“Not unless the Windrider grows wings, or you want to spend a year or two sailing west. If there were another way, these ships would’ve taken it.” Yarik gestured at the mess of ships around them.
“Then we have no choice,” Alika sighed.
“I can’t believe that you of all of us are advocating for Yarik’s lunacy,” Snow scoffed.
Alika folded in her wings. It was this, or they’d reach the northern shore without a captain.
“Hey, what about the Night of the Scribes?” Tarka asked again. “Irmiq specifically told us we had to do that. We can’t just ignore it! That’s what Mom wanted!”
“While Yarik takes the boat through the sea caves, Snow and I will investigate the Scribes,” Alika decided.
“So I’m just being volunteered for this?” Snow retorted. “As both the oldest here and the one with the most years ahead of her, I think I should get a say with how dangerous an activity I’m doing.”
“Welcome to the club,” Tarka grumbled. “Wanna trade?”
“Snow, why are you making this so hard?” Alika sighed. “You’re the only one who can disguise us. If they don’t allow non-Scribes in, we’ll just go as Scribes.”
“It didn’t work so well last time,” Snow replied. “Or the time before that.”
“This time, Tarka is going to be staying with Yarik, who is going to keep a very close eye on him.”
“But Irmiq said we needed to seek it out together!” Tarka protested.
Stolen novel; please report.
“It did not say that,” Alika calmly said. “You’re not messing up another reconnaissance mission. Do you want to get yourself captured by the Scribes?”
“No,” Tarka grumbled. “Fine. I’ll just hang out with Yarik and Gust instead!”
Tarka trotted over to Gust, who was busy sleeping beneath the caverns. He poked the serpentine dragon in the neck. “Hey, hey Gust! Guess what? We’re going to be going into some super dangerous caves instead of checking out the very safe and boring ruins above us! Aren’t you excited?”
Gust shifted, slithering and letting out a quiet groan.
“Tarka, leave Gust alone,” Alika said. “He’s sleeping.”
“All he does is sleep!” Tarka stomped his paws. “I want Gust to tell me more about Kuroth!”
“If you’d ripped a hole in the sky between realms, you’d want to do nothing but sleep as well,” Alika replied.
Tarka grunted but backed off.
“Then it’s decided,” Yarik nodded. “Tonight, we set sail for Smuggler’s Way.”
----------------------------------------
It was only once the sun was far beneath the horizon and darkness had crept over the strait that the Windrider moved, and a light drizzle rained down upon the water. More quiet than the waves, the Windrider threaded between the many merchant and traveler vessels waiting for the Scribes. Snow stood perched on top of the forward mast, her three tails held out as she wove illusion with their tips. Though only one of the Twins was out that night, and the rings were a thin line so close to the Curtain, the crew of the Windrider didn’t want to take any chances.
Yarik steered them through the field of jagged rocks and kept their boat hidden in the shadow of the more southerly of the cliffs. They sailed so close to the sheer cliffside that Alika could stretch out a wing from the port side of the ship and touch it. Tarka almost did, though Alika pulled him back before he could.
“There’s a current that flows along the cliffside and through Smuggler’s Way,” Yarik explained, dipping a hand down into the water. “Today it’s flowing west to east, pulling us through.”
“Is that good?” Alika asked. “Bad?”
Yarik shrugged. “It means we won’t be stopping to let you and Snow off. See that corner? That’s the staircase.”
Alika squinted, picking out the rocky staircase that Yarik had said would lead up to the Scribes’ compound. It seemed as old as the cliffs themselves, each of the stone steps sunken back into the cliffside, slippery and smooth from centuries of use. It wound back and forth haphazardly up the cliffs, and Alika couldn’t pick out where it ended.
“Great,” Alika muttered. “Snow, get down here! We’ll need to jump!”
Snow landed on Alika’s back, causing the dragon to yelp as the fox’s claws dug into her backside.
“You’ll need to jump,” Snow grinned. “My legs are a bit too stubby for feats like this”
Alika rolled her eyes and perched on the edge of the Windrider, swashing her tail as the staircase moved closer. “Then make sure to hold on.”
“See you on the other side!” Tarka said, waving a paw as he backed away from the edge. “Don’t get attacked by any taxes!”
“We’ll try our best,” Snow snickered.
“Stay safe,” Alika replied, rubbing Tarka with a wing just as the bow of the ship crossed the stairwell. The stone at the bottom of it was dark and sheer, ground down by the tide and waves.
With a twist of her tail, Alika ran backward along the Windrider and leaped from the edge, holding out her wings for balance. She landed softly along the cliffside, scrabbling to find a claw-hold. Snow bit down on a flap of skin between her wings to keep herself on, which didn’t make it any easier for Alika as her claws slipped, and she slid down the stairwell, her tail splashing into cold water.
Finally, Alika managed to catch ahold of the stone, keeping everything but her hindlegs and tail from getting soaked by crashing waves. Snow climbed up Alika’s neck, leaping from the dragon’s head onto the stair above her.
“Looks chilly,” Snow murmured, cocking her head.
“It is,” Alika grumbled, dragging her tail from the water. She stepped up to another stair and shook it rapidly, spraying Snow with droplets of cold water.
“Ah yes, the lovely perfume of wet dragon,” Snow rolled her eyes and twisted one of her tails. “Let’s change that, shall we?”
Alika was by now used to Snow’s antics and didn’t even lose her claw-hold as Snow cast an illusion over the two of them. In a few moments, Alika was at Snow’s height. Both of them had shrunk, though Snow only slightly, and their snouts had shortened with their fur. Sensitive whiskers poked out from Alika’s nose.
“Don’t tell Littletooth about this,” Alika said, rubbing at her snout with a paw. Her saber fangs were gone, as well as her wings, and her tail was thin and long. Snow had been kind enough to allow her to retain a hint of blue in her gray fur.
“Hey, don’t poke at the illusion too much!” Snow warned her, flicking her now single tail. “Remember, we’re not actually cats. I’ve still got a couple hundred years before I can shapeshift for real.”
“Got it,” Alika replied, leaping from stair to stair and trying not to think too much about where her limbs actually were. She glanced at the Windrider, drifting down the edge of the cliff. “I hope they’ll be fine without your magic.”
“It’s Yarik and Tarka!” Snow said, leaping ahead of Alika. “What could go wrong?”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Alika grumbled.
Alika looked up. The staircase stretched up to the top of the cliff. They had a long way to go.
“Well, we’re at the Scribes, and it’s night,” Alika said, her words drifting away on the salty wind. “So, Irmiq: what would you have me do?”
Alika and Snow climbed up the slippery stairs, each of their pawsteps careful and planned. The shoreline retreated beneath them, and the Windrider became a small blotch of wood, carefully crawling along the treacherous cliff’s edge.
Soon, the two of them were walking northward and over open water, to the point at which the cliffs had crumbled away to make the strait. Wind whipped against Alika’s side, threatening to tear her off from the path. But finally, the staircase reached its end: the white walls of the Scribes, vast and imposing to two cats.
A spired gate tower stood at the end of the stairs, an arched opening leading into the City of the Scribes. Two humans stood guard at the entrance, staring out into the night.
Though they smelled distinct to Alika’s sensitive nose, the two Scribes had dressed much alike, as if they’d intentionally chosen their appearances to match. They both wore simple brown robes, wrapping and hiding all of their bodies but for their hands, feet, and heads, and a simple rope wrapped around each of their waists, though one was green and the other blue. Neither had hair on their scalps, shaved clean, nor did they carry any weapons or other belongings.
While the clothing and lack of head fur of the Scribes were almost identical, the bodies hidden beneath the folds of their robes were quite distinguishable. The Scribe with the green rope was tall and slim, her skin a dark brown, while the other was short and pudgy, his face slightly paler than Yarik’s and dotted with freckles. Both shivered in the cold wind.
Snow stepped in front of Alika, and the two not-so-cats sheltered against the cliffside, out of view of the guards.
“Permission to converse, Sister Cassandra?” the blue-roped Scribe asked. “Or are your thoughts elsewhere? I wouldn’t want to interrupt any wanderings.”
“P-permission granted, Brother Bromius,” the green-roped Scribe replied, her teeth chattering. She wrapped her arms around herself. “This chill wind makes it impossible to focus. Conversation would be appreciated.”
“I feel the same,” Bromius said. “It has been quite some time since we have discussed. How have your studies been going?”
“I have made some progress on my treatise,” Cassandra answered, terse.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Bromius continued. “You’re attempting to hypothesize why lodestone navigation works for the sailors of Lina, but not Tasien, correct?”
“You are about right,” Cassandra replied, “though I am approaching this problem from a broader perspective. I believe that this will give me direct insight into the nature of the lodestone auric field.”
Bromius laughed. “A large undertaking. Do you have ambitions to become the next Mother Superior?”
“Nothing of the sort. I’m genuinely interested in the problem, although it would certainly help if I were granted travel privileges.” She paused. “You wouldn’t happen to have a way of influencing that process, would you?”
“Ah, if I had that power, I wouldn’t be out here in the wind with you!” Bromius answered. “Your former life was in Lina, was it not? Are you wanting to return?”
“Of course not.” Cassandra’s face scrunched up. “I made the Oath of Rebirth. The travel is purely related to my treatise.”
“Certainly, certainly,” Bromius replied. “But you know the Fourth Principle as well as I do. If it’s not a product of the mind alone…”
“…then it has been tainted by our false world of dreams and illusions,” Cassandra finished. “I am well aware, Brother Bromius, but the works of the archons must be known in order to see past them.”
“So you say,” Bromius clucked.
At this, Snow brushed a stone with a paw, knocking it off the staircase. It rolled down the side of the cliff, tumbling and clattering as it fell.
“I think we must put our discourse on pause,” Cassandra suddenly said. “I have heard the presence of a creature.”
“Just a small animal,” Bromius assured her.
“We must account for all animals visible without the use of a focusing glass that could wander through the gate, Brother Bromius,” she replied. “This chilly wind must not make us neglect our duties.”
“It must not,” Bromius sighed.
The two Scribes raised their hands in unison, and the ropes around their waists suddenly twisted around them, unraveling to a length far longer than they had any right to be. As if moved by the wind, the twin ropes tied themselves to a small post at the side of the gate, and the two Scribes stepped over the cliff’s edge in unison.
Too curious not to look, Alika peered over the cliff. The ropes continued to unravel as the Scribes calmly walked down the sheer rockface as calmly as if walking across flat ground.
“Quickly, before they get back,” Snow said as soon as they were out of earshot. She whisked her tail through the air, and Alika suddenly shot back up partway to her normal height.
Snow had changed her appearance as well, now the figure of a tall, bald human covered in brown robes, a green rope around her waist. She flexed her fingers before giving Alika a wicked grin, showing off her flat teeth.
“How do you do, Brother Bromius?” Snow mocked, her voice changed.
“Is that who you turned me into?” Alika grumbled, folding her arms together.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brother Bromius!” Snow replied. “What is your treatise on? I really must know!”
Alika let out a long sigh, stepping toward the gate, the world wobbling under her as she did. “Alright, Sister Cassandra, let’s just keep quiet.”