Chapter 19: [Spell: Spectral Reflection]

The sun had sunk toward dusk. I remained silent to keep myself secret. I had learned that a single player discovering my nature could have rippling repercussions. For the time being, I simply observed from the saddle of Azwold’s rented Riding Goat. We rode through thin, paper white birches and fat, knotted pines to the Remembering Ring. We tethered our mounts and Relja untied a long board wrapped in thin brown cloth from Berem’s Riding Goat. The glint of a mirror blinked as a corner of cloth slid free.

“Careful,” said Azwold, “one crack and the spell could fly astray.”

Berem grunted, hefting the mirror under one arm and smiling down to Vish.

“I know this was my idea,” said Relja, “but it’s still a little spooky.”

“Don’t worry,” said Azwold. “The spell in your old book there looks kinda like [Spell: Fading Gate]. Like a variant of a spell I know. Should be fine.”

They had spoken of the spell requiring a triad to cast. I found it difficult to believe that Azwold had not considered Berem’s NPC status. He either thought it was irrelevant, or was creating a false security.

Relja nodded her head then put a hand on Fizzu’s long neck. She looked her mesa strider in his apple-sized eyes and hugged him. Then she retrieved the aged Art Magic book from his saddle bags.

By the dimming half-light, she studied a few worn pages to memorize. Relja passed the book to Azwold, then proceeded toward a glow beyond the trees.

Ducking through low branches to the edge of the ring of obelisks, I placed a hand on the nearest one. My knuckle bones scraped lightly on the rough, yet porous stone; like hardened sand.

“As is custom,” said Relja, “Elder Neejael’s [Candle of Remembrance] burns inside one of these air-enchanted glass spheres.” She spun in a slow circle, counting from one to eleven. Eleven spindly obelisks stood in a circle, one sphere hanging from each spire’s lowest arm. An etched ring of flat, intricate stone anchored the middle ground between them.

The obelisks leaned inward up above. Were I three times as tall, I might touch their apex. A solitary candle was only one candle more than an ideal scenario, I supposed, but every obelisk was inhabited. Moths flittered among us, lured by the ghostly glow of lit candles in glass spheres. Many Mesafolk had departed of late.

“My elder’s candle is a dark orange color,” said Relja.

“This one?” said Azwold, peering into an orb. “There are engravings in the wax.”

Attempting to exude an air of respect and solemnity as she walked across the etched stone, Relja joined the mage.

“I can kind of read it,” she said.

“I’ll try and translate,” said Azwold. “Can you set up the mirror?”

“Some candles have writing and some don’t,” said Berem, carrying the mirror. “Wonder why.”

His fox refused to follow, remaining at the periphery. Vish was hesitant, which made her the wisest among us, mayhap.

“Crafting a [Candle of Remembrance] takes time,” said Azwold. “Maybe they ran out?”

“Alright,” whispered Relja, as they huddled near the candle in its orb, “put the mirror down there. And let me check my book.”

She scanned the pages one last time, then sat cross-legged between the candle and mirror. She pointed to Azwold and Berem, turning the book to show them the illustrations story book style. They took their places, triangulating their stances, and practicing their movements.

Then Relja stared at moths in the mirror to meditate.

They cast [Spell: Spectral Reflection] and the Remembering Ring wavered like smoky water. Within the ring, we shared Relja’s sight.

Her mind went cerulean as cloud scudded sky. A misty form appeared before her, twisting in wind. It was a spirit.

“What’s this?” said the candle specter.

“I was attempting to contact elder Neejael,” Relja’s voice echoed softly on the walls of my skull.

“You’re out in the Remembering Ring? You mustn’t.” Its voice was quiet as a dense fog.

“I’m sorry,” Relja said. “I must have aimed my mirror wrong.”

“Listen, girl. We must wait out our memory moon and be off to the beyond. Without hesitation. We must free up obelisks for others.”

“The moon won’t move slower just because of me.”

“Meddling with spirit magic within the ring can disrupt the Spirit Realm connections here.”

“Alright, well,” said Relja, “Sorry to bother you. I’m just trying to heal the affliction.”

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“How?”

Relja concentrated to hold on to her trance state.

1) “There was a Spirit Harvest…” (Truth)

2) “It’s top secret. I could tell you, but…” (Joke, Charm)

3) “I am a powerful mage and demand Neejael’s location. Tell me, or I’ll break your candle orb.” (Intimidate)

4) “Elder Neejael knows a secret code. I need it to gain audience with an influential plague faerie.” (Lie)

She calmed her mind a moment, then spoke: “There was a Spirit Harvest. Way down in the valleys, and Stonesthrow Island,” her voice grew softer. “It may have brought on the affliction. That’s what I think. And I wanted to speak with my elder, to see if she agreed. To bounce ideas.”

“Before I,” the spirit hesitated, “ended up in a candle…I thought of ‘the affliction’ as a bit of an overblown name for it. As you can see, it is not. But the wax of this candle holds secrets. Bee secrets. They share our affliction. You want to bounce ideas? Put a hive on your head.”

That advice seemed as solid as honey. Relja scoffed. The tranquility of sky-mind faded and [Spell: Spectral Reflection] was broken.

The Remembering Ring wavered, returning to normal like a fog drifting away. Falling to her palms, Relja huffed. Sweat chilled her skin beneath her mothy robe.

The mirror had shattered.

“You okay?” Medett was kneeling to stare at her.

Relja stared back, confused.

“I couldn’t stand around in the orchard,” said Medett. “Got restless, grabbed a goat, and rode. Good thing I did? Let’s have a look at you.”

“I’m alright,” said Relja, “but I think we aimed the mirror wrong.”

“Oh,” Berem tensed, his bone jewelry jangled, “what happened? I couldn’t hear the thing talking.”

“I spoke with a mystery spirit, not elder Neejael,” said Relja.

“Oh,” Berem relaxed into a slouch.

“He said to put a hive on my head,” Relja mimicked her trance-breaking scoff.

“Oh,” Berem tensed again, “Bees are another bug who work as collectives. There’s a spell for communing with them. Involves donning a [Hive Wax Hood].”

“Well well,” said Medett, “More of this? Ants wasn’t enough? Then spirit magic in a sacred place? I knew you lot couldn’t handle things alone.”

“We need your vine magics to connect our vision, sister,” said Berem.

“Bees, is it?” said Azwold. “Hmm. We’ll want local colonies, right?”

“I may be an NPC,” said Berem, looking at me, “but you can’t hide critters from a Beast Ranger.”

But he glanced away and did not elaborate. I looked at Berem, wondering if he knew I was unusual. Perhaps he could sense a human spirit in me like I did in him? Or he sensed my bees.

Medett sighed. Then Medett yelled as she passed beyond the obelisk perimeter.

Relja and Berem rushed to her, abandoning the mirror frame and its shattered fragments. Medett was by our mounts. We joined her to see that one of the riding goats was now only hide and skeleton and spiral horns.

“A cost,” said Azwold.

“A mistake,” Medett frowned. “Did you cast it right?”

“I’m so sorry,” Relja held out her hand.

Medett withdrew her own. “It’s fine. I’ll walk. He was a loaner.” She turned to her brother. “Where can we find bees, then?”

Berem’s disappointment at her apathy for the goat was visible. He threw down the brown cloth they’d wrapped the mirror in and began bundling the dead animal’s remains. “So you agree?” he said. “We should help even though you don’t want to?” He hefted the goat bones onto the back of his mount.

“Tangybark doesn’t stop anyone from dying. Only makes their existence less dreadful,” Medett said. “Long as I can blame you for slowing my work, I guess I’ll come. Stabbing your finger with a needle some more sounds alright.”

Reminded that her HP would dribble away if she didn’t, Relja gnawed a Tangybark scrap.

“I am grateful,” she gave a weak smile.

~<>*<>*<>~

“Making something as sweet as honey takes teamwork,” Berem said as the little roots wormed into his fingertips.

“Like root systems intertwining under the dirt,” Medett added. “Talking betwixt the mycelium.”

“Mmm. But this hive was abandoned,” he said, gently placing the [Hive Wax Hood] he’d crafted over Relja’s head. “Not a good sign for the colony.”

“But lucky for us too, right?” said Azwold, giving me an unnecessary nudge.

I trusted the mage had reasons for avoiding it, otherwise I could have volunteered my own bees.

“Means more bees are dying than we thought,” said Berem. “Lucky for the moment. Not so much for tomorrow.”

“Let’s link up,” said Azwold. “More heads equals more problem solving power.”

“Hand,” commanded Medett.

Relja stuck her arm out toward Medett’s voice. Like bee stings, the little vines went in.

Berem and Azwold followed suit. I stood next to Azwold, as a good minion ought to, and sent a tiny vine runner to entwine his free hand. We would all see.

A honeycomb latticed its way through our minds; a network of bee thought. This type of cognition was less disconcerting than that of ants, one among us thought. A pixelated panorama; dozens of compound eyes viewing and sharing amongst themselves. Straggling survivors of Relja’s helmet wax colony.

I wanted to acquire some; more workers for my own ribcage colony. Mayhap once our quest was complete.

Seeing via bees now, we had little need for speaking. We flew.

We found bees in a hivework clinic. They were bustling, treating each other by eating silky spore filaments sprouting from around their antennae. A parasitic fungi? They rubbed one another with something like honey, but purple. I sensed the siblings thinking similar thoughts; if the fungus caused the sickness, was the purple stuff a cure?

We watched the movements of bees outside of hives. We watched the places where the fringes of colonies met. In this way, we watchers transversed a long stretch of the Realm via brief brushes between worker bees. From the high mesas, around the crescent of mountains, up and over their passes between peaks. We let gusting winds carry us into the sky and across the high, rain shadow deserts until the obsidian spires of Nevahj loomed dark in the distance.

“Why would they fly so far?” asked Relja, voice hoarse.

But her question answered itself.

Duskberries. The bees were collecting nectar from where the berries flowered. From their natural habitat; the higher desert climate of Nevahj.

The honeycomb pixel vision faded. Relja reached up and removed the wax helmet. The tree where they’d found the abandoned hive resolved itself into higher definition.

“Duskberry flowers,” said Medett with an unmistakable note of intrigue.

“But duskberries only arrive here dried,” said Relja.

“Which means the fungus can survive the drying process?” said Medett.

“If my people have the same fungal parasite as the bees,” said Relja, “then probably, yes. Mesafolk are widely immune to the effects of a bee sting. Maybe it’s because of something symbiotic, or parasitic. Maybe it’s the reason I could meld better with bees than ants? A shared parasite.”

Medett shook her head. “Valleyfolk have become more resilient to stings, too. Might mean we’ve all got it.”

“Doesn’t it also mean that we have to go to Nevahj?” asked Berem.

“It does. And it’s not a problem,” said Relja, turning to her Mesa Strider. “C’mon Fizzu. We’re gonna set up a voyage at the balloon yard.”

The bird squawked.

Relja leaned over, grabbing her belly. The itch was getting hungrier. She tugged a piece of [Tangybark] out of her robe, slobbering as she gnawed.

“We should bring them some bark,” said Medett. “The Nevahjians.”

“Oh, yes,” Relja nodded. “Okay, meet us at the balloon yard. Know where it is?”

“Soleus City, right?" said Berem, kneeling to pick up Vish. "We’ll find it.” Then the siblings departed.