We depart the next morning. I stop by Caecius’s shop first to let her know I’ll be leaving and ask her to look after most of my books while I’m away. She doesn’t seem surprised. She takes the texts, then gives me an extra chunk of obsidian to practice with. I depart with a wave, and she watches me go, arms folded and faintly smiling.
Rezira and Noli, of course, are coming with us. I think Zyneth’s given up on trying to keep everyone out of his affairs at this point. I also think he appreciates the company, though he would never say as much.
Despite Zyneth’s worries over the job, everyone else is in high spirits.
“I’ve never been to a Ruin before,” Noli signs as we leave Harrowood. “But the Drifting Isles sounds fun!”
“It’s not fun, it’s dangerous,” Zyneth says.
“It can be both!”
Rezira laughs. “Don’t try to convince her otherwise. It’s a futile effort.”
“I can see that,” Zyneth says, though he’s smiling himself.
“Did you get everything you needed in town?” I ask.
“Yes.” Zyneth nods his head toward his pack, which is admittedly more stuffed than usual. “Though we will need to stock up on more travel rations before heading to the Ruin. We might be there for a couple weeks, depending on where the relic is hidden and what sort of terrain we’re dealing with. Not to mention, getting there will be a chore unto itself.”
“We’ve got over a month to complete the job,” I point out. “Sounds like plenty of time.”
“One would hope,” Zyneth says, dubious.
The evening of day two, we arrive in Peakshadow. Once again, Noli leads us to Attiru’s shop.
They look up in surprise when the whole group of us strides in. “Well! I wasn’t expecting to see you two back so soon. And Rezira! It’s good to see you.”
The orc pulls Attiru into a one-armed hug. “You too, map-maker. Thank you for everything you did for Noli.”
“Oh, no, no.” They wave off the thanks. “Anyone would have done the same. I should be thanking you for helping to fix up my shop!” Extracting themself from Rezira, they pleasantly glance around at the rest of us—and do a double take when they see Zyneth.
“Oh! Lord—I mean, Zyneth.” Their gaze darts between Zyneth and me. “It’s been some time.”
“It has.” Zyneth is making a face like someone just stabbed him in the leg and he’s trying to be real stoic about it.
Attiru glances at me. Zyneth follows their gaze. I, having no eyes, can pretend to be blissfully unaware.
“So,” Attiru says, cutting through the uncomfortable tension. “To what do I owe this reunion?”
“For once, we’re actually here for your services,” I say, hoping to diffuse the awkward atmosphere that had begun to permeate the room. “We need a map.”
Attiru brightens. “Well I’m flattered you decided to choose my establishment. How can I help?”
“We need a map to one of the Ruins,” Zyneth says, all business once more.
“A map of the Ruins?” Attiru steps around Rezira to head over to one of the shelves along the wall, and begins tracing a finger down a stack of scrolls. “Yes, I’ve got a handful of options that should denote their locations.”
“We’re looking for one Ruin, specifically,” Zyneth amends. “The Drifting Isles.”
“Ahh.” Attiru pauses, eyebrows twitching up with intrigued delight. “Now we’re getting interesting. You’re trying to figure out where it is now?”
“Correct,” Zyneth says.
“Tricky.” Attiru leaves the shelf they were at, instead heading over to a display case containing locked maps. They run a finger over its surface, and a glimmer ripples over the glass. Then, they hinge the case open.
“I do have something specific to the Drifting Isles. It’s one of my living maps. Though I’m afraid I haven’t updated it in about a month.” They pull a scroll from the case, then set it atop the display, unrolling the parchment. Everyone huddles close to look.
The map is your standard tan paper affair: a compass in the corner, a display of the world’s continents sprawled across the page, a legend written in loopy font at the bottom. But there’s also shimmering lines passing over the surface in slow moving waves, almost like something I’d have seen on the weather channel on Earth. As I read the legend, I see I’m not totally off: it’s tracking wind currents. There’s also a red line progressing over the page, roughly following the path of the wind-streams. Where it ends, the line turns into a cone, widening and fading out.
Attiru points to this. “That’s the location of the last confirmed sighting I added to the map. The cone indicates the positional uncertainty of where it could be now.”
Zyneth frowns at the page. “That area must cover hundreds of miles.”
“Nearly a thousand, in diameter,” Attiru admits. “However, I believe I have at least one more recent sighting I’ve been delinquent in adding. That will narrow the range down. Let me go through my records. I’ll just be a moment.” They disappear into the back of their shop.
“What do you think?” I ask Zyneth.
“It’s as good a place to start as any,” he says, tracing a finger around the cone where the Drifting Isles might be. “It seems it might have passed over the Moonfall capital not long ago, so that is a potential area to visit for confirmation. Though telepad access between Dunmora and Valenia is limited.”
“You’d think it would be easy to track a giant floating city around the world,” I say.
“One would think,” Zyneth agrees. “However from beneath it often appears indistinguishable from a pillaring storm cloud. Unless there’s particularly high winds to reveal the structures hidden within, it often goes unnoticed. It’s possibly the second-least pillaged Ruin, behind Emrox, due in part to its inaccessibility.”
“In part?” I ask.
“Harpies don’t find it nearly so inaccessible,” Zyneth says. “Though the arcana-infused creatures that live in the dead city pose enough of a threat that the few who are capable of exploring it tend to opt not to.”
“Arcana-infused creatures,” I say. “Of course.”
“Something all the Ruins have in common, I’m afraid.”
Attiru returns from the back with a handful of letters, and we back up to give them space to work. Uncorking a bottle of ink, they pause, reading one of the letters again, before they flick a finger up, and the ink jumps from the well, following their finger like a pen as they scrawl some coordinates right over the face of the map.
I notice the predator watching closely at this, curiously following Attiru’s ink magic. It’s speculating on if it’s void; it doesn’t feel like void, but it looks like it.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
It’s not. It’s just… er… dark water, I tell it, belatedly realizing I don’t actually know what ink is made of. That’s what Noli and I thought you were, originally. I think back to when my vial appeared to contain ink. It’s long since been emptied, now that all of the predator’s void has been let out. Ink is used for writing. Like all those magic books I read.
The predator doesn’t remark on any of this, simply watching as the ink on the map gradually sinks into its surface, absorbed into the parchment like a sponge. At the same time, the red line progresses, and the cone halves in size.
“That’s as good as I can get it without another sighting,” Attiru says.
“Still a large area,” Zyneth remarks. “But much more manageable to search.”
“How come you don’t need to update the air currents?” I ask.
“Those are near-live recordings,” Attiru explains. “I had a wind-mage friend of mine help set that up. There's a global wind-tracking spell network headed by a group of scholars in Dunmora, and this spell is designed to tap into that and overlap their findings on this map. There’s no such spell designed to track the Drifting Isles—or, if there is, I am not aware of it. You’d need to place something on the Ruins to act as a tracker.” They trail off thoughtfully.
“This should be more than sufficient as is,” Zyneth says. “Thank you for your assistance. Can we purchase this map from you?”
Attiru hesitates. “It’s a work in progress, really. I’d prefer to make replicas before selling.”
“A loan then?” Zyneth asks.
Attiru looks us all over with a curious gleam in their eyes. The expression gives me a bad feeling. “Actually, I think this presents a unique opportunity to complete my map. I would like to come with you.”
“No,” Zyneth and I say simultaneously. We glance at each other.
“Absolutely not,” Zyneth continues. “It’s far too dangerous.”
“I’ve faced danger before,” Attiru says, faintly amused. “With all present company, no less.”
The reminder stirs faint dread in my soul. If they come with us, there’d be no way for me to keep the secret that the predator is no longer contained in my Inventory. “This is different,” I say. “It’s a bad idea. It can’t be worth the risk.”
“If I were able to go there in person, I could plant a tracker that could link back to my atlas,” Attiru says. “I’m not sure if something similar has been done before. It would be incredibly valuable. And this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve willingly entered risky situations to further the development of my atlas collection.”
“Is there a way we can complete your map for you?” I ask, desperate.
Attiru considers this. “Do any of you have a background in graphical artificing?”
None of us reply.
Attiru smiles cheerfully. “I suspected not.”
Zyneth shakes his head, but before he can argue, Noli cuts in. “Why not let them come?” she asks. “They said they understand what they’re getting into. They may not be combat-trained, but neither is Rezira or Kanin, and I’ve witnessed that they’re plenty capable of taking care of themself. We should trust their judgment.”
Rezira finishes translating this for Zyneth and Attiru, then adds, “Look, all of us were there when we were fighting to get Noli’s soul back in her body. And Attiru was the one who took the most hits. If they say they’re up for it, then they’re up for it.”
Zyneth winces. I’m equally uncomfortable with the idea. But the women are right; this isn’t our call, especially as we’re the ones coming here asking Attiru for a favor.
“Alright,” Zyneth says with a sigh. “Fair enough. But we’re on a tight timetable. Would you be ready to leave tomorrow?”
The scholar brightens. “I’ll begin packing immediately.”
----------------------------------------
I’ve got about an hour until it’s the predator’s time to go hunt undead creatures in the forest, so I spend a late dinner with Zyneth and the rest as they discuss travel plans and socialize. Attiru is deep in discussion with Noli and Rezira about mapping the forests around Bluevine—apparently an area of land left long neglected by local cartographers—so Zyneth and I are left to our own devices.
“You didn’t want them to come,” Zyneth remarks quietly. “Is it because of the predator?”
“Of course.” I twirl a little chip of obsidian around my fingers. “What am I supposed to tell them? It was hard enough with Noli.”
“It might not be as big as you’ve made it in your head,” Zyneth says. He plucks the obsidian chip from the air, and I mentally tug it back, engaging in an invisible tug-of-war. He chuckles, letting go. “But I can also talk to them about it if you’d prefer.”
That’s an appealing offer. “What would you say?” I wonder.
“That the creature is still with you, but under control, and its temperament has changed and is no longer a threat to us.”
“I’m not sure all that is true,” I say.
“Isn’t it?” Zyneth takes a drink. “It hasn’t tried to attack anyone unprovoked. You have more control over it now than during the original incident in this town, that’s undeniable. Even if it’s not as much control as you want, you still have the capacity to stop it from doing things.”
I can’t really argue with that. It feels like I should. The predator is still very much a possessive monster that delights in hunting and fighting and, most especially, winning.
But he’s right that its initial bloodlust has been significantly curbed. I think that was mostly driven by its desire to absorb enough mana to remain rooted in reality, so it’s not dragged back into the Between. After all my level ups, the mana my soul produces provides more than enough to sustain it now. So without that hunger and desperation, it’s certainly mellowed out. A bit, anyway.
“I’d appreciate you telling them,” I finally say. “Maybe tonight after I leave. Better that they know now than once we’re already on the road for the Drifting Isles.” They deserve to be fully informed before we pull them into any more dangerous adventures.
“I’ll do so,” Zyneth says. “And I’ll tell them to follow up with you if they have any further questions.”
“Ugh, I knew it was too good to be true,” I tease, leaning into his shoulder. My glass tinks against his horn as he tilts his head toward me. What a strange pair we are. He can’t possibly find this comfortable. What does he even see in me? What do I have to offer?
“I have something for you,” I say at the thought.
He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
I sit up so I can tuck the piece of obsidian I was playing with away, and instead pull out the incomplete dagger, still wrapped. “I didn’t have time to finish it, but I might be able to work on it while we travel. No sense in trying to keep it hidden in the meantime.” I pass the bundle over to him.
He undoes the twine, and unfolds the leather, revealing the black dagger beneath.
“I’m not sure if it will hold up in combat,” I admit as Zyneth goes quiet. “The durability spells are still in-work.”
“This is what you’ve been working on?” he asks softly.
“It’s designed to fit your sheath,” I say. “I stole it one night to make sure.”
He laughs quietly at that, picking up the blade to examine the runes I sculpted into its surface. “You’ll surpass me as an artificer if this keeps up. At least where glass is concerned. I’ve never seen obsidian used this way. Most would consider it too much effort to try to reinforce it like this when there’s easier materials to work with.”
“My materials are inherently limited,” I say. “Though I admit I picked obsidian mostly for the aesthetics. It reminds me of you.”
Zyneth carefully lowers the blade, looking at me with a faint, searching frown. “Were you aware of obsidian’s connection to cambions?”
“Cambions?” The question catches me off guard. “No. What do you mean?”
Zyneth sets the blade down. “Our home is Mount Shale. It’s built in the remnants of a dormant volcano. Obsidian is abundant in the area. Often used in jewelry. It’s the royal gemstone.”
Oh. Shit.
Zyneth’s gaze falls back on the dagger. “There is something I should speak with you about. I probably should have already spoken to you about it.”
Well this isn’t how I was expecting this conversation to happen. Way to unintentionally force his hand, Kanin.
“My family,” he says haltingly. “I come from wealth, as you know.” The extended pauses are painful to endure. “Nobility, actually.” His face scrunches in discomfort.
“I know you’re a prince,” I blurt out, nerves getting the best of me.
He looks at me, shocked.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just couldn’t let you keep floundering. But I already know. You don’t have to explain.”
Zyneth blinks. “How did…” His gaze slides over to Attiru, still obliviously engaged in an animated conversation about topography.
“Yeah,” I say, answering his unasked question. “They accidentally let it slip when Noli and I visited two weeks ago.”
Zyneth passes a hand over his face. “Well I suppose now you know why I objected to them coming.”
Actually, I had just assumed he was worried about their safety. “You wanted to keep it buried that bad?”
“No,” Zyneth objects, looking down at his hands. “Well. Perhaps. All this time… I’m sorry. I should have spoken to you about this before now. You should have learned it from me.”
“You appear to be somewhat of a celebrity,” I gently tease. “It would have come to light sooner or later.”
“I know. I just…” He rubs at his palm with his opposite thumb, as if massaging a knot from his muscles. “It’s nice to live without that hanging over me. To forget, for a time. To be around people who can look at me without the attached associations.”
“Aha.” I take his hand to stop his fidgeting. “The truth comes out. Now I know your real motivation for dating someone from another planet.”
That gets a laugh out of him. “I won’t deny it’s been a perk.”
I nod to the dagger. “Is that inappropriate? I can take it back. Make you a new blade out of some normal glass.” I might have to restart my work with the spell circles, if that’s the case, though it wouldn’t be entirely from scratch.
But Zyneth shakes his head. “No. It’s perfect. Thank you, Kanin.” His fingers fold over mine.
God, I wish I could kiss him.
Instead, I do the only thing I really can, and squeeze his hand. “I’d like to learn more,” I tell him. “About you and your family. But I don’t need to know today. You can do that when you’re ready.”
“I will,” he promises. “Maybe when this job is over and everything has settled.”
“Settled?” I laugh. “That’s wishful thinking.”
He chuckles too, leaning his head against me. “You may be right.”
And for that moment, everything in the world feels right.