Chapter 11 - Arrivals and Absences
The passages and plazas of Rootshadow bustled with energy, every inch alive with preparations for the Big Mix. Nestled among the massive roots of the ancient Shadowspine tree, the largest Middleshy settlement sprawled like a maze of tunnels, courtyards, and arched chambers carved into living wood. These structures blended with the tree’s natural curves and wood patterns, lending the settlement its unique, enclosed grandeur. The air buzzed with the mingling scents of fresh lacquer and fancy cookery wafting from each level. It was as though its entire population pulsed with anticipation for the Concord Crossing—the Big Mix, as the young Shy prefer to call it. Beneath the safety of their root canopy, Middleshy bustled about, ensuring every detail of the gathering radiated hospitality, good cheer and taste. Already considering their innate reticence, it wouldn’t do to have either set of guests have something to complain about when meeting among the Middle.
Menna stood on the raised balcony of her family’s home overlooking the central market, clutching the small leather-bound document she had spent the past week painstakingly preparing. Her hands traced the cover’s embossed patterns absentmindedly as her eyes scanned the pathways below. It was a humble thing—bound in plain leather, filled with diagrams and equations, with arcane analysis further enlightened by the Arclith slide rule she’d picked up in Mossgrove. She clung to the hope that her insights might earn her a place in one of the Deepshy’s prestigious institutions if she caught the right person or group’s attention.
Menna adjusted the folds of her new gown, its shimmering green silk flowing around her like fresh spring grass made liquid. The rich fabric whispered with every movement, the feel of it unfamiliar and exhilarating. Her long, dark, usually unruly curls were pinned back with delicate crystal pins for a change, a practical style to avoid getting it caught in the jostling crowds.
Below, the arrival of the Sunshy caravan created a ripple of activity. Traders and farmers paused their work to watch as the nomads entered Rootshadow’s protective enclosure. After days of crossing the open grasslands from all across the caldera, the Sunshy riders had shed their muted, camouflage colors, flipping their garments to reveal vibrant reds, golds, and blues. Their mounts bounded in anticipation, their fur or feathers streaked with pigments and harnesses ornamented with ribbons and badges. The Sunshy themselves let their laughter ring out louder than they would while exposed out on the surface, as they greeted their Middleshy hosts with boisterous energy.
Menna scanned the crowd. Her gaze darted to the winding paths leading into the settlement, scanning for familiar faces among the Sunshy riders. She hoped to spot the unmistakable fiery tones of Sylven’s rumpled hair, the easy swagger of his walk, or his crooked grin. He’d promised something big at the Mix—a daring feat to prove his worth as a Sunbrave. But the longer she looked, the more her stomach sank. She told herself it was just idle curiosity, a simple check to see if the aspiring Sunbrave who’d promised to best her was living up to his word.
Not that I care, she thought, chewing on her lip. He’ll probably just roll his eyes at this. Her hand tightened around her book. Sylven’s teasing words from Mossgrove still echoed in her mind, and the idea of his smirk made her chest tighten with a mix of irritation and something else she couldn’t quite name.
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A low, resonant hum drew Menna’s gaze toward the Shadowspine’s hollow core. The Deepshy elevators were ascending from far beneath Rootshadow, their mechanisms powered by the shimmering glow of Arclith technology. Menna tightened her grip on her book as the first Deepshy emerged.
Where the Sunshy arrived in a storm of sound and color, the Deepshy were a study in quiet refinement. Clad in muted silvers and greys, they carried themselves as if they were above the noise and chaos of the surface world—and in truth, many of them believed that. The Deepshy cities, carved well beyond the reach of bad weather and wild predators, were marvels of engineering and magic. To ascend to the Middleshy levels was, in their eyes, to venture too close to danger.
Menna’s heart skipped as she spotted Kaeloris emerging from the elevator. The young Deepshy delegate’s indigo robes shimmered faintly, the intricate embroidery of his house sigil catching the lantern light. He moved with an easy confidence, gesturing lightly to the assistants who trailed behind him.
He’s perfect, Menna thought. The kind of person who could take her findings seriously. She adjusted the folds of her gown and clutched her notes tighter.
If I can get Kaeloris to notice my work, maybe he’ll recommend me to someone at Umbryss Arcademy.
Menna glanced at her document. She’d suffered sleepless nights and finger cramps while using the arclith slide rule relic to analyze several hitherto unsolved arcane equations. Her findings—filled with meticulous diagrams and calculations—were bound in the book in her hands. She hoped to find an opportunity to present it to someone like Kaeloris, someone with the influence to champion a Middler in the Deep.
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The sound of laughter and the distinctive jingling of harnesses pulled Menna’s attention back to the entrance paths. A group of Sunshy, still mounted on a menagerie of beasts, entered Rootshadow’s outer courtyards in a wave of bright colors and raucous energy. Their flags bore the unmistakable sigil of Sylven’s tribe—a stylized shard surrounded by rays.
Among the colorful riders, she finally spotted two familiar faces—Sylven’s siblings. Saera, her dark hair bound in loose twists, sat atop her pika while barely containing her impatience at having to wait in a line. Torran, the eldest and one of the tallest Shy who Menna had ever seen, was busy making sure their entrance was orderly.
Menna wove through the crush of jampacked Shy and mounts to approach them.
“Menna!” Saera called, her expression brightening as she dismounted, squeezing between a plowhog and a salamander. “Come to join the party?” Her voice was teasing but warm. “Did you finally decide you want to be a Sunshy?”
Torran, not one to mince words, asked point blank, “Are you looking for our brother?”
Menna ignored the heat rising in her cheeks. “Neither. I was just... curious. But isn’t Sylven supposed to be with you?”
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Saera exchanged a glance with Torran, her smile faltering. “He’s still off doing his Rite. Taking his sweet time,” she said after a beat. “But that’s typical Sylven, isn’t it? Always the last to show up.”
“He probably has some big stunt planned,” Trellis added, puffing out his chest theatrically. “You know him—always needs to make an entrance.”
Menna forced a smile, though unease prickled at the edges of her thoughts. “He swore that he’d bring something impressive to the Mix,” she muttered. “An egg or... something else.”
“Don’t worry,” Saera said reassuringly. “Sylven’s too strong-willed to let himself fail.”
Torran smirked. “You mean too stubborn.”
Saera shot him a look, then turned back to Menna. “He’ll show up, Menna. He always does. Probably with some ridiculous tale to tell.”
Menna nodded, though her worry lingered. Why do I even care? she thought irritably. He’ll just make fun of my work anyway. She clutched the leather-bound document to her chest, suddenly self-conscious.
Saera’s gaze flicked down to Menna’s gown, and a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Aren’t you all dressed up? Just to meet and greet us Sunshy?”
Menna’s cheeks flushed, and she shook her head quickly. “No! I… I also have a presentation—for the Deepshy… about Arclith… I found a relic to help me validate my computations, input and balance certain variables…” she stammered. The two Sunshy just stared at her as if she were speaking in kobold. Defeated, she just held up the bound document as proof, though she immediately regretted it as Torran leaned closer to inspect it.
“You’re not planning to read that out loud, are you?” he teased. “I’d fall asleep before you finished the first page.”
Saera gave him a light smack on the arm. “Don’t listen to him. I think it’s impressive. Maybe you’ll finally catch the eye of someone who appreciates how clever you are.”
Menna managed a small smile, though her thoughts remained clouded with uncertainty. As the siblings continued to banter, her gaze drifted back to the pathways.
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Back in her room, Menna fretted at her reflection in the mirror. She had spent the better part of the week perfecting her presentation. The slide rule relic rested on her desk, its faintly glowing surface still a mystery in some ways, but one she had unraveled just enough to feel confident in her calculations. She flipped through her notes, reviewing sections of her analysis in her head.
Still, Sylven’s absence nagged at her. She tried to focus on her goal—making a good impression on the Deepshy scholars—but her mind kept wandering to Sylven’s oath back in Mossgrove.
She sighed, setting the notes aside. “Why do I even care?” she muttered. “He’ll probably just laugh at my dress and call me a nerd.” Yet the thought of him missing the mix entirely ruined her excitement for the gathering.
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As the evening wore on, the bustle of the pre-Mix grew louder. Middleshy traders scurried to perfect their displays, their goods decking the courtyards in an array of colors and textures. Rootshadow’s standing as the foremost gathering point for all the Shy was on full show, its residents determined to impress.
Menna couldn’t help but notice the subtle tension between the different levels of Shykind. While the Middleshy prided themselves on their role as hosts, she knew there was an undercurrent of insecurity. The Concord Crossing, after all, was rooted in legendary figures—a union between leading Sunshy and Deepshy clans that had shaped their shared history. The Middleshy had always been the witnesses and enablers, the facilitators and supporters, but never the central players. And despite their cheerful boasts, she could sense the immense pressure to prove their own importance.
Menna sighed as she returned to her family’s compound, the vibrant noise of the passages fading below her. She set her notes on her desk and gazed out the window at the softly glowing lanterns that lined the courtyards below.
Her thoughts wandered to Sylven. It wasn’t like him to miss an opportunity to show off as much as possible. What are you up to? she wondered, chewing on her lip.
Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to her notes, running a finger over the runes etched into the Arclith slide rule. Focus, she told herself. Sylven’s not your problem.
Yet as she reviewed her calculations, a small, nagging voice whispered in the back of her mind. What if something’s gone wrong?
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Kerren stood in the receiving area of Thistlebranch emporium, adjusting the arrangement of goods with a practiced eye. Rare herbs and animal pelts sat alongside intricate arcwork gadgets and tools, each curated and positioned to best appeal to Sunshy and Deepshy alike.
Ellana hovered nearby, her sharp gaze appraising the layout. “The Deepshy will appreciate these pure amber nuggets and firefly glowsacs,” she murmured, pointing with a finger made heavy with rings. “Place them front and center. And don’t forget to mention their use in Arclith crafting. Subtle hints of utility will draw them in.”
Kerren chuckled, leaning casually against a post. “They’ll buy them for the glow alone. I don’t think they need another excuse, El.” He glanced over at Menna, who was busy with her own preparations nearby. “And you’re fussing again. They’re just Deepshy guests, not judges at a contest, or the AllShy Council.”
“They’re both, in a sense,” Ellana retorted, her tone crisp. “And I’m only fussing because I want them to recognize the Thistlebranch name as synonymous with excellence.”
Kerren rolled his eyes good-naturedly, then waved to a passing Sunshy trader. “See that? That’s the difference between us. I’d rather they remember us as fair. And friendly!”
Ellana sighed, “Someone has to balance your lack of reserve, Kerren.” She shook her head, but her lips curved into a small smile
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Menna tuned out her parents' exchange, her focus drifting to the stream of Sunshy arriving at the market square. Their voices carried snippets of news and speculation as they greeted one another and swapped tales of their daring deeds.
She caught fragments of conversation near the edge of the square.
“I heard Sylven’s been gone for going on a week,” one Sunshy remarked, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Probably planning to swoop in with something outrageous.”
“Or not at all,” another countered with a shrug. “You know how he is—always pushing the edge. One day, he’s bound to push too far.”
The words hit Menna harder than she expected. Her chest tightened, her thoughts racing. She hadn’t seen Sylven since Mossgrove, and though she told herself it didn’t matter, her gaze lingered on the new arrivals, searching unconsciously for a familiar face.
Why am I so worried? Menna frowned, shaking her head. It’s not like I even like him. He’s probably off boasting about his latest ‘feat’ somewhere.
The thought sparked irritation, but beneath it simmered an unacknowledged concern. She hated the idea of Sylven failing—or worse, not showing up at all. What if he really had gone too far this time?
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Menna forced herself back to her work. The delicate silk gown she’d reserved for important occasions was laid out on a nearby table, its intricate embroidery glinting faintly in the soft light filtering through the roots above. She smoothed a hand over the fabric, her thoughts shifting to her research.
The slide rule rested beside her, its surface glowing faintly as she traced its etched symbols. The parchment she’d prepared sat nearby, filled with neat lines of calculations and annotations. It was more than a simple analysis. She had made a real effort to go off in tangents and explore techniques that she had never come across in any of the textbooks that had made their way up from the Deepshy universities. These were her unique findings, her chance to stand out, to show that Middler sense and Deep knowledge, grafted together, could bear exceptional fruit.
If she could get Kaeloris—or any of the Deepshy delegation—to take notice, it could change everything. She imagined their pale faces lighting up with interest, their measured voices acknowledging her insights. The vision sent a thrill of determination through her.
And yet, as she packed the relic and her notes into a case, doubt crept in. What if it’s not enough? What if they see me as just another Middler trying too hard?
Menna clenched her fists, forcing the thought aside. “It will be more than enough,” she murmured to herself. I promised Sylven I’d show them up.