The elders conferred and told him, "You did it, anyway."
Meadow talked while Arlen caught his breath. "What is this ritual?"
"It brings the tribes of the Mire together, once a moon."
Arlen stood up. "I want peace between the Mire and the rest. No more fighting. Thoko allowed it, but the new high chief will not."
One elder said, "We can't be touched here."
Another answered, "His miraculous road shows that we can be, now."
"Only if he lives."
The guide said, "I promised this group safe passage."
"Bah. What will the others do if the swamp devours these outsiders? Will they come and raid us? No."
The elders fell to arguing again. Eventually they reached some kind of consensus that visibly didn't please them all. An old man said, "We live as we do, because we're close to the foulness at the island's heart. So the spirits have made us strong and fierce, to take what we need from abroad."
"What is this foulness?" asked Arlen. "The swamp itself?"
"No. A poison deep within the Mire. From the Builder ruins."
Arlen's party murmured. There'd been rumors that this island had its own ruins, but nothing proven. Mirefolk had the luxury of not conducting tours.
Meadow asked, "Poison? Is that why Mirefolk are... this way?"
An elder answered, "It makes our crop-growing a struggle, and many of our people become strange. The spirits' blessing, yes, but if they aren't given a place to fight elsewhere, they fight and kill among ourselves."
So the raids were partly a way to give the mutant part of the population a way to work out their violent instincts. Arlen said, "If you'll avoid hurting my group, or taking our things, then we will investigate this and try to stop the poison."
"Very well, oh war-chief. What of these roads?"
"I will build you a road anywhere you wish, and houses of stone."
They had him demonstrate by making a little plaza above the marsh, and a two-story house atop that. Everyone was impressed. And so, after several more men dropped into the pit to harass the boar-thing, they finally killed it and shared the meat with Arlen's party. Arlen felt he'd worked for it.
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He and his party rested in Mirefolk territory that night, performing feats of construction and training in magic. They set out in the morning with two non-mutant Mirefolk escorts.
With his road construction he could walk wherever he pleased. When his guides stopped to tell the story of a dead man led astray by lights, Arlen waited but then asked, "Which direction is the ruin?"
"We come to the place of lights, and then the shattered tree, and then the ravine's fork and the broken statue."
"But which direction is it?"
"I don't understand."
Arlen tugged on his ears in frustration, then shut up. Even if the direct line would force him to cross a canyon, he could do it. But no, they wouldn't let him use magic to make it easy. He muttered to Meadow, "One day, we'll have proper maps."
It took hours and several turns and long looping detours. Eventually they found a version of a Catacomb golem embedded in the muck.
Meadow said, "What's it doing out here?"
Their main guide paused to talk about the "broken statue" and note how its most exposed limb pointed back to the ravine fork. Arlen considered trying to pry it up but didn't want to disrupt the landmark. Even though he'd been casually carving a walkway through the swamp the entire time and anybody could follow it, short of tons of determined effort by other earth-moving mages.
The water had grown murkier, with a red tinge. They came to a place of jungle plants and vine-draped trees that concealed old stone walls. Parts of it slumped and tilted. The splashing of fish, frogs and birds had faded out. A bitter smell rose from the muck.
Arlen crouched to look at the tainted ground. "Swamps naturally purify water. Good for everyone else. But that means any poison here might be concentrated. How long has it been here?"
"As long as we remember. Some of us grow strange and feral, others less so."
Arlen approached the building. Its remains were only one story tall in most places. "If they kept something harmful here it would've been in the most sturdy part." He sculpted his path into stairs to begin walking on the roofs, testing his footing. "Has anyone been in here?"
"The High Root Tribe has poked around. Nothing valuable, and there's flooding."
"I'm going in."
Arlen couldn't be sure how bad the pollution was here. It didn't seem to be an instant death problem. To some extent he suspected the healing effects of his Builder magic would help him.
Meadow said, "I'll wait. But will it be safe out here?"
Arlen asked his guides that. They said, "For now we'll stay here. Can you make one of your shelters?"
"Sure." He spent a few minutes making a simple room to one side of the ruin. The Mirefolk were still impressed to watch.
He returned to exploring the roofs and seeking a way in. He made a pair of iron boots for himself that clanked and slowed him but would keep shallow water out. The noise of him stomping around caused something inside a broken room to call out weakly.
Arlen peeked down. A Mirefolk man lay there in pain with a broken leg. Arlen shaped a simple stairway and watched the helpless survivor's eyes widen. "How long have you been here?"
"A day," said the man. "I was hunting, and got curious." A spear lay nearby.
"Let's get you out." Arlen gave him a shoulder and helped him hobble along upstairs. From there he set the guy down on an improvised seat and went to fetch the Mirefolk.
The survivor didn't look thrilled to be rescued by whatever tribe the guides were from, but said, "Thank you. Stone shaman, what island are you from?"
"Opaline, lately."
"I'd heard they were up to strange magic. Here; maybe you can use this thing I found. A sheet of carved bone from the Builders."
Arlen took this gift. It was a thick card with a pattern of neatly punched holes through one side. He smiled as he realized he was probably looking at a key. "Thank you! Meadow, have you ever seen something like this?"
The girl had come along to see the rescue. "Once. It's a necklace worn by one of my neighbors now."
"I want to see that later."