“It’s…” Oz froze, the words dead on his lips. Do I admit it or not? After all, dark mages are worse than assassins in this world, and possession isn’t an entirely upright technique, even if Fflyn agreed to it.

He coughed. “Oz sent me out to investigate on his behalf.”

Not quite a lie, Fflyn commented.

“Hmm,” Aisling murmured. After a moment, she shrugged. “Master told me to come along. He said I might learn something. I was hoping I could accompany Oz… but if you’re investigating on his behalf, I’ll come along.”

“Oz has special circumstances. It isn’t easy for him to leave the library,” Oz explained apologetically.

Aisling squinted. “I know.”

“Well. In that case. Shall we go?”

She turned toward the tavern and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled. “I smell something strange. What’s going on with the tavern? Why did you seal it?”

“The tavernkeepers were cursed. A boy who stayed the night received the curse as well.” Oz slid the backpack off his shoulders and showed her the puppet. “At night, hundreds of puppets crawled out of the forest and attacked the tavern, while inside, the tavernkeepers tried to kill us. The tavern has become a death trap.”

“Oh. That is unfortunate.” Aisling lifted her hand and drew a quick series of symbols on the air. They burned where they sat, lit up in flame, then flew toward the tavern. Circling the tavern, they drew a circle, then a bubble. The bubble surrounded the entire tavern, glowing in pale orange, then faded to invisibility.

“Preserving the evidence?” Oz asked.

Aisling nodded. “The Flaming Fist Sect might be small, but we are treated with respect by the other righteous sects. Unless someone is deliberately trying to destroy the evidence or tamper with the scene, most sects should back off if they see that a member of the Flaming Fists has sealed the tavern.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing.” Aisling headed down the mountain, gliding with long, arching steps.

Adjusting the straps on his backpack, Oz followed her down, using his own light-body technique to match.

“Where to?” Aisling asked.

“When we reach the bottom of the mountain?”

She nodded.

Oz thought for a moment, consulting the map of the region inside his head, then nodded back. “The family—that is, of the puppet boy, came from Perham Donny. It’s nearby, down the bottom of the mountain and around in the hills to the east. Seems as good a place as any to start. Plus, it’s a step toward my ultimate goal.” The Lafayne Region with the strange census results is also over to the east, a ways past Perham Donny. The town should make a good rest stop on our way to the region.

Aisling nodded. She lifted her head, peering down. Ahead of them, the trail snaked on, vanishing into the trees as it cut back and forth across the mountain. “I’ve never returned to the mortal world since I went up the mountain.”

“Oh?” Oz asked.

“It’s not common to allow young mages back into the mortal world until they hit third stage. At that point…” She paused, walking in silence for a while.

Oz walked along, letting her think.

Aisling sighed. She shook her head. “It isn’t relevant to me. But for most people, it takes them decades, if not a century, to reach third stage. By that point, their mortal friends and families are dead. It helps cut attachment to the mortal world.”

“Ah,” Oz murmured. Kept away from their families until everyone they know dies… isn’t that incredibly cruel?

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But on the other hand, mages at the third stage might as well be gods to mortals. They can’t be injured by sword nor arrow, and they can wipe out an entire mortal town with a single spell. If mages freely interfered with the mortal world, there would quickly be no mortal world left.

And given that mages need more mage fodder from the mortal world, I understand their hands-off approach.

After all, the tavern curse was the work of mages. Imagine the damage young, stupid mages could inflict upon the world in fits of teenaged fury. Oz nodded to himself. It’s still a bit cruel to separate them from their families, but I understand the logic.

Fflyn nodded. I can imagine the damage some of my fellow sectmates would do, if they returned to the mortal world.

Oz glanced at him. What about you? Your parents—

Sold me. They’re dead to me.

Fair enough.

Aisling looked at Oz from the corner of her eyes. “But then, you’d know that, Fflyn.”

“Of course,” Oz agreed. He paused for a moment, thinking about what Fflyn would say, then quickly appended, “Not that I care.”

Aisling hummed. She smiled. “Like Master thought.”

Oz shot her a look. She figured me out immediately, huh?

Oh, well. She and Sachairi are my staunchest allies right now. I don’t think Sachairi would mind, even if I was a dark mage, and Aisling is mostly of the same mind as Sachairi. As long as she doesn’t think I’m a demon, I’m safe… and I’m pretty sure she’s convinced I’m not a demon.

Sun beamed down, filtering through the leaves and speckling the trail with light and shadow. A cool breeze blew, flickering through Oz’s hair. Birds sang and the leaves rustled, the forest quiet and serene. Oz kept his head on a swivel, but not a single hint appeared of the wooden puppets that had mobbed the tavern last night.

“Something worrying you?” Aisling asked.

“I’m just wondering where those puppets got to. The other ones, who beat at the tavern last night,” Oz explained.

Aisling closed her eyes. Between one step and the next, a pulse of heat and power burst out from her core and into the forest around them. The trees’ leaves rustled, the undergrowth thrown into a flurry.

All the leaves settled down. Aisling opened her eyes. “I sense nothing.”

“Not even dormant puppets?” Oz asked.

She shook her head. “As far as I can sense, only the ordinary animals and plants for the mountain.”

Oz pursed his lips. Huh. Where’d they all go, then?

His mind went to the puppet boy in his bag, and he shifted, uncomfortable. I hope I’m not right. His parents didn’t transform, right? There’s no way I’m right.

Unless…

They reached the bottom of the mountain. Before the sun moved any further across the sky, they came upon the outskirts of the village. There, Oz raised his hand. “From here, let’s walk like mortals. If a mage is actually causing trouble, we shouldn’t spook them.”

Aisling looked down at her orange robes. She raised her hand to her wrist, and a dark, ragged cloak fell out. Sliding it on, she nodded at Oz.

Oz glanced at his robes. The dark fabric was fine, but nondescript. He shrugged to himself. Could be better, but it’s not terrible in terms of standing out.

Fflyn nodded. We look like a poor noble. It should be fine.

This qualifies as nobility? He looked down at himself. I suppose we are in this world’s medieval era.

This world’s…? Fflyn asked.

Whoops. Those were meant to be private thoughts. Don’t worry about it!

You’ve already seen other worlds? Wow. I guess you do have a World Door in your library. Wait, is that what you were talking about?

Oz licked his lips. He nodded. Yep.

Other worlds with civilizations of their own… take me there, sometime! Fflyn requested.

Careful to keep his thoughts private this time, Oz consulted the library, sweating just a little. How common is it to encounter other worlds in this world? With their own civilizations, at that.

The first floor’s books held no answers.

Clicking his tongue, Oz sighed to himself. A problem for later floors.

From out of the forest, they passed fields where the villagers had carved out their small measure of civilization out of the wild and employed the land for farming. Farmers bent over their crops, men and women alike striding along the rows of bushy green plants. A villager passed them on the road, walking alongside an oxcart. The ox looked at them with big, wet eyes, plodding along. Gruff-faced, in rough clothes, he cast a glance at them, then looked away without a word. A wrinkled grandmother followed some distance later, grumbling under her breath to herself as she hefted a bag over her shoulder. When she saw them, she pursed her lips as though she’d bit a bitter lemon, and hurried away.

“I’m getting the vibes that visitors aren’t exactly appreciated here,” Oz murmured.

Aisling nodded silently. She walked quietly alongside him, not even kicking up the dust.

Oz nudged her. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Aisling asked.

He nodded. “Walk like that. Kick up dirt. Be like a mortal.”

Aisling paused. She looked at her feet, then, with visible effort, kicked the ground, throwing up a great cloud of dust from the dry road that pattered down over her slippers.

Oz opened his mouth. He shut it, then opened it again. “You know what? Never mind. You were doing fine. I’ll kick up enough dirt for both of us.”

She nodded.

Ahead, the village proper loomed, small buildings built of brick with tall thatched roofs, the thatch piled thick. Villagers moved around, wandering narrow cobbled streets. As they entered the village, all the villagers slowed in their tracks. All eyes turned to them, staring, unblinking.

Oz cleared his throat. He forced a smile. Yeah. Those vibes? It’s more like a siren now.