Chapter 32: Branching Paths
Surprisingly, there was very little evidence of the raid come morning, just lots of footprints on the main path. Even the three cultists he’d taken down had disappeared, retrieved by their compatriots on the retreat. He wouldn’t have stopped them if he’d been able.
The wind tousled his hair as he stood atop the small hill, holding the crumpled note attached to a bag. The breeze was hollow, holding within it a sense of loss. He rejected that notion; she could not have been taken. Or worse. There was no one more evasive in the world, he knew.
He recrumpled the note. He knew what it said, having read it several times already.
Hi Dantes,
I made you some candy. Do you want to hang out tonight, just the two of us?
-Mitty
There was several more lines, but they were all scratched out and illegible, even to his sight. Dantes had looked around the village for further clues of her passing but found nothing, and eventually chose to return here where he’d found the note.
He took a deep breath, feeling the hole formerly occupied by his companion. Now, uncertainty and fear filled it. He thought now he understood what she’d said that day on Windcrown, when he’d told her his wish. The fear of loss. He still felt it, in a way. He knew she wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. Just far away, somewhere beyond these flowers, in a cold cell alone, perhaps. But not dead. Surely, if she were dead, he would know it. The world would stop, and a feeling would come upon him, and he would know. No, she was alive. She must be.
He saw then Violet approaching and descended to hill to meet her. Perhaps she would know where to start. She was still the only villager to regularly converse with him, though he’d gotten some half-warm greetings out of some others after his first hunting trip.
“Dantes! Have you seen Russel? He is not in the village.”
“Neither is Mitts. I saw him fighting last night but did not see how it ended. Have you seen her?”
She shook her head. “No, but I heard from young Flutters in Spring that she left with a cultist.”
“She was captured?” He’d expected as much.
“No. She went willingly” she said grimly, a distant rage lurking in the depths of her eyes.
Liar. He bit that back. Surely the child had misread the situation, or Mitts had been magically compelled. She would not abandon him. Would she? And if she had, could he just let her go?
No.
He clenched his hand, further crushing the note in his hand. She wasn’t getting away so easily. If she wanted to leave him, she would have to say it to his face, not flee in the night like the coward he knew she wasn’t.
Besides, she’d left behind a message. A hasty one. Surely, she would not do that if she had intended to leave. Or was the message a mistake, dropped in haste?
While he ruminated, he joined Violet at the treeline nearest where they’d last seen Russel.
The vegetation was trampled flat here, with great gashes torn out of the larger plants. A trail of destruction led further into the jungle, though as they followed it, the nature of the destruction seemed to change periodically. Sometimes flowers were cut to fine shreds, as though by a knife, and at others they were crushed flat, or in one case, burnt to cinders. Here a great stem was bruised, and there a lowly flower bed burnt to ashes.
There was no conversation as they pushed further into the jungle, eventually arriving in a clearing, order hewn from the dense flora in a small circle. At its center lay a small rabbit, which seemed odd given its surroundings, and doubly odd once he considered he’d not seen an animal that wasn’t an insect since arriving, save the massive hummingbirds he supposed.
The bunny seemed injured, so he scooped it up in one hand.
“Hello little one. I don’t suppose you’ve seen a grumpy looking old guy come through here?”
The little bunny bit his thumb, almost causing him to drop it. “It’s me” it squeaked.
He turned to Violet who was looking on with a smirk.
“You say something?”
“No” she said. “Are you losing it already?”
“Down here, fool.”
He looked down at the bunny who was managing to make a very irritated face somehow.
“Oh, sorry Russel. Let’s get you back to Zinnia. Why are you a rabbit?”
“I’m stuck, you goat. Now let’s move” he chittered.
He nodded, and the trio began their return journey.
“They took Mitts. Do you know where they went? Who were they? Why were they here?”
“Cult of the New Sun. They believe the eclipse causes the sun to extinguish, and only the blood of royalty or great magic can birth a new sun. Burr-brained fools. Their temple is to the north, where coast meets jungle. Next to the Crimson Fields.”
Dantes heart firmed, aimlessness evaporating under direction. He nodded, handing Russel to Violet.
“Take Russel back to Zinnia, I’m going north.”
Determinedly, he set off towards the rising sun, pushing through the flowers. He heard Violet call out behind him, but his path was set in stone, just like his mind. He was going to find his friend.
***
She looked at the little creature cradled in her hands. She did not recognize it, only that Elder Rustles in the Wind had taken this bizarre form. Perhaps it was particularly fearsome in battle. Those long teeth might do some damage at someone’s throat.
And how did Dantes understand him? All she heard was weak squeaking. Nonetheless, she made her way back home. Surely Zinnia would know what to do, having been married longer than her parents had been alive. She knew academically Russel was older than he looked, having been born only weeks apart from his wife, however it was always somewhat jarring seeing them side by side. And sad. He would outlive her ten times at least. In all her twenty years of life, she couldn’t remember him looking any different while Zinnia aged every year, it seemed.
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She didn’t know she would have the courage to make such a choice in Russel’s place, choosing a life partner he would outlive by so long. Much better to live and die together, she thought.
It almost made her regret not trying harder with Dantes. He would have made a great partner, if not for the fact that he had no eyes for her. What she’d initially mistaken for flirting was just a flat honesty that warmed her heart. And she realised she had no interest in anyone now. In the absence of responsibility, she felt no desire for marriage.
In the end, he had reminded her about her original dream and motivated her to pursue it. The odds being stacked against her mattered little. Back then in the Saffron Lily grove, she’d hoped the baby hummingbird would choose her then and there. But it had not. And it didn’t matter. If she could not be a knight today, she would try again tomorrow and she would still be valuable to her grove. And she had him to thank for reminding her to not let expectations become shackles.
She looked East where he’d departed, not even taking more than the basic tools they’d set out with for the half day’s journey. A wandering breeze drifted through the leaves in his direction, carrying the scent of dandelions. She knew in her heart that he would be okay, though she could not imagine how. The jungle got more dangerous the further from a grove. Dandelion Grove’s radius was unusually large and safe due to the regular maintenance Russel performed, but she knew how the untamed jungle treated those foolish enough to wander it.
She made good time back to the grove that afternoon, taking the stairs to Zinnia’s two at a time and knocking on the door. Overhead she saw the fading yellow of the canopy giving way to white as it did every year. It was early in the year for the dandelions to bear seeds, but somehow it felt appropriate she thought, as a single fluffy white petal caught the wind and drifted off on unseen currents.
Zinnia hobbled stiffly over to greet them with her usual kindness, gently taking her husband in her hands, bringing him to their shared bedroom before returning to the table where she was weaving baskets. Her fingers though old and wrinkled, still moved nimbly.
She turned to leave but hesitated.
“Zinnia, Dantes has left to recover his friend. Those strangers were strong. Will he be okay?”
Her voice sounded stiff to her own ears as always. The words never came how she bid them. Still, most who knew her well enough could look past it.
“I do not know dear, save that you cannot walk his path for him.” She paused then continued. “But just because he chose to set out alone does not mean you cannot aid him.”
“How can I help? I am a poor tracker, and he will have half a day on me.”
“The circle was looking for proof of the cult’s misdeeds, but we cannot get word to them until my husband recovers. Do you think someone might be willing to make the trip themselves?”
“I see. Thank you, Elder Zinnia.”
She turned and left to pack for the trip, pretending not to hear Zinnia’s complaints at how the title made her sound as though she had a foot in the grave.
***
After following his senses for what felt like weeks, but was better counted in days, he stumbled into a thicket of roses. That was not to say he did so accidentally, as despite being densely packed, the thorny vines parted in a couple places to make pathways through to the center of the rose bush where his cloak told him would be shelter and safety.
Thus far, he’d not seen a single person in this awful jungle, just bugs and plants, though they mostly left him alone due to his dappled green cloak. A useful piece of magic, granting him an affinity for wildlife and the ability to track any living thing he could adequately describe.
Except her.
No, it didn’t matter, she was dead. And the tracking never worked on her anyway. He suspected her cloak shielded her from his divinations, a cruel prank by the demon who’d tasked him with keeping an eye on her. He’d managed to keep tabs on her by tracking the people she travelled with, like that cabin boy, or that big man he’d seen with her a couple times, but it didn’t matter now. By habit, he flickered through the people as he thought. Surprisingly the man was in the jungle too, about a week’s walk to the south. Add on a few days if he doesn’t have a magic cloak with great pockets, he supposed.
He stored the sword he’d been using to cut a path as he saw an end to the thorny tunnel. The vines parted into a large clearing about a hundred paces across, with small homes built of large flower petals and propped up by stems. A couple villagers could be spotted within the grove, but the homes implied twice that number lived here. More, if there were children, which he saw there were.
A reedy young man approached him confidently, though confidence did not fit him, just by look. He would likely be an easy target for a quick surprise attack. The two exits her saw were unguarded, and if need be, he could slip away quickly in case of violence. Ignorant of his internal evaluation, the man spoke.
“Traveller. Welcome to our grove. What little we have we are happy to share. Warm yourself by our hearth and rest here in safety as long as you desire.”
That sounded practiced, he thought. He nodded in return, spewing back some equally stale sounding line. From what he figured this man had recently assumed a role of leadership, and was not comfortable in it yet. The son of a previous chieftain perhaps? He knew little of the myriad microcultures of the Florial Jungle, though he knew generally there was an in group and an out group. Traveller sounded somewhere between the two, so he hoped he was in the former group. Perhaps the dappled green cloak lent him some credibility, looking as though woven from the essence of nature itself, which would align with the themes he was seeing. He just had to be careful not to blow his cover before he could find anything useful or actionable.
The young chief nodded, seeming reassured by his needlessly formal response.
“Come, brother. Join us for dinner. Did you get the knights’ warning? We are to be warry of strangers.”
It seemed he was part of the in crowd after all.
“I hadn’t, but I am well aware how strangers can be. What else did they say?”
The man nodded to himself, likely reaffirming internal prejudices.
“Just that there is trouble up north, and to be wary of strangers. They said nothing else. You know how the circle is, don’t say anything unless they feel it needs saying. I don’t like it, far north as we are, but nothing to do but hunker down. There’s been less bugs around lately. Unfortunately, there’s also less food, too. Our hunters are far out, gathering stores in case the worst comes to pass.” The chief appeared unusually tense, unused to the pressure that comes with responsibility perhaps. Or did he detect a hint of guilt? He wasn’t sure.
He nodded as he pondered the implications. From what he knew, there would be a minor detachment of his master’s fleet, only a couple ships, moored on the coast. Surely it wasn’t them. There was no need to provoke the locals, primitive though most were. The Circle was bad news, however. From what he knew, they were a reclusive bunch of druids who stepped in only when the jungle was threatened by external forces. That must mean the trouble was probably internal. A conflict between powers perhaps?
Something else stuck out to him as odd. The chief had said the hunters were gathering food, so he’d expected maybe a handful of people qualified to brave the jungle. Not half the village, which appeared to be missing. Either the people of the jungle were more adept hunters than he’d realised, which he admitted might be possible, or something fishy was happening that the young chief did not want known, even to a “brother”. Maybe reinforcing another grove?
He had too little to go off of. One thing was for sure though, he would not be getting any information on the island here. Not a book in sight. A bigger grove would do better. Perhaps he’d have to find out where the hunters had gone after all.
The chief nodded and made some excuse to be off, which suited Hawk fine, and left him to his own devices in the center of the grove. Nearby, a half dozen children stared openly. One girl giggled and shouted.
“You’re handsome, mister, what’s your name?”
One of the boys elbowed her, maybe a little too hard. “Shhhh, don’t be rude…” The girl glared at him “…Lily” he finished lamely.
The girl seemed pleased at that, though he couldn’t understand why. There was some nuance with names he wasn’t picking up on, but at least he knew to be careful about them. Nonetheless, responding in kind shouldn’t be too bad.
“Some call me Hawk”.
“Just Hawk?” she asked, face reddening.
He nodded. “Where are all your parents? It seems like half the village is out right now.”
“Not half, mister Hawk” the youngest girl around 6 piped up. “There was thirty! I counted!”. Some quick counting revealed that that was exactly half, as there were thirty people in the clearing.
The girl got shushed by the rest of the gang, and aside from the bolder and eldest girl, they were looking at him if not with hostility, at least with enough caution where subtly extracting information would be tricky.
If he was getting his read right, he could angle information from the girl, but that felt slimy, even for slime like him, using a teen’s crush to pry out information that might be useless in the end. He’d put it down as plan D.
Instead, he made his way to a small campfire where the chief had indicated he could find some food. Something cooked after almost a week of rations would be welcome.
An old and round man in an apron brought him something soon enough, grumbling about the lack of help before trotting off back to his quarters, and again he was left in peace to consider where the villagers had gone, and where he could find information about this island. He extended his senses out to search for the young chief, but found he was missing. Perhaps he’d found a thread to pull sooner than he expected. He set aside his thin soup and slipped out of the clearing unnoticed. The daylight was rapidly waning, but that would be no obstacle for him, and he had hunting to do.